Chapter 41 - Devil's Dealings

Everything had happened so fast.

The Zone of Truth. Fastrid lashing out towards Marcello, with the intent to kill during the summit. When Rhaen caught his lethal lightning in his palm, and sent it hurtling back towards the Red Wizard. When Rhaen and Marcello finally slipped in to the Netyarch’s room, he still felt in a daze as he closed the door behind them. “Well,” Rhaen murmured. “That could have been.... Worse.”

Marcello didn’t respond. Rhaen turned, and found Marcello stiff with light seeming to hum across his skin, fingers curled into a tight fist as he leaned his forearm across the wall for support.

Rhaen edged forward. "Marcello..?"

A sudden, immense surge of mana exploded out from Marcello as he collapsed to his knees. Rhaen reacted in the blink of an eye, summoning a shield around himself and all at once, arcane energy ripped outwards like a blast.

Potions lining shelves shattered. Furniture exploded into fragments of shredded wood and the windows were blown out. Rhaen lowered the shield, and Marcello knelt, back to him and shoulders quivering amidst a ring of destruction.

Rhaen didn't approach. He didn't... know what to do. Hurting people, that was something he was efficient at. Something he could do with his eyes closed and both hands tied behind his back. But helping people...easing them through trauma and grief... it was something new entirely. He edged forward, as if to simply show Marcello that he was there and the Netyarch looked up to him. His blue eye swept over Rhaen's features, expression impossible to read. "...come here."

Rhaen did so. His white clothes were dusty from the destruction, and when he knelt down beside Marcello, he was suddenly being wrenched towards the man. Marcello grabbed his arm tight. "You saved me in there."

"I did."

Marcello pulled off his eyepatch. His mismatched gold and blue gaze searched Rhaen before he yanked the drow into a hug. "Thank you, for not letting them eat me alive."

Stiff. Tense. The assassin wasn't used to contact like this. He swallowed, not quite sure what to do with his arms and patted the man's back. "Yes, well....I don't have to tell you how you can repay the favor."

Marcello pulled back slightly and frowned. "Perhaps you do."

"Are you that dense?"

"I'm a tad frazzled."

"Give me what I want."

Marcello's frown deepened. "You want death that badly?"

"Yes."

Marcello's hand retracted from Rhaen's shoulders. A bitter laugh tumbled from his lips and he pushed to his feet. "I see. So you didn't save me. You just wanted to die."

Rhaen flinched. He rubbed at his arm, where his teal runes still hissed with the excess of magic and followed suit. "Whatever you want to think... whatever is easier to think."

Another laugh. Unsteady. Unhinged. Marcello swept across the room to his bed and sank into the silk blankets, staring at his hands that still quivered with magic. "Tell me why you want to die, Rhaen."

"Why."

"I want to know what's scared you so badly that you don't wish to live."

Rhaen didn't answer. Not for a long while. Green eyes stared at Marcello from across the room and, quiet, he drew over and sat down beside Marcello. White hair fell around his face. "...Because if I don't, then I will keep killing."

"You won't." Marcello reached out. Bejeweled hands clasped dark fingers and squeezed. "You are no longer with the Crinti, Rhaen. You don't have to be bound to them.... the choice is yours, and yours alone."

Now, Rhaen laughed. Soft and light, as though he knew some terrible joke that Marcello did not. Marcello frowned. "Why are you laughing?"

"It's not that simple."

"I don't see why not?"

Rhaen fell backwards. White hair fanned across the bedsheets and he sighed. "...you want to know why I want to die?" He murmured. He unfastened his white tunic. Marcello's brows shot up, watching perhaps a bit too closely as Rhaenoran parted the silks from his dusky abdomen... and watched as a sigil began to glow red across the elf's hip.

Marcello’s eyes narrowed. "What is this?" He frowned, coming closer to examine it. "What have they done to you?"

"Greater Geas." Nerves clutched at Rhaen and he lowered the silks. "Spellthieves are important resources in Dambrath. A nation that wars against wizards, we are testaments of their rage and hate. The perfect weapons. The geas is insurance. I am to kill who they say. And if I do not...." His throat constricted.

"What happens, Rhaen."

"...it will be slow. It will be painful. And it will be inevitable... until my target is dead. If I kill my target... a new one will be assigned. And the cycle will continue." The half-drow gave a ragged breath. "My target is still alive. Soon, I will begin to sense the consequence of staying my blade. I can't...I can't live like this anymore. I can't feed on the lives of others. I can't let this be my only purpose, I... I can't."

Something broke inside the Spellthief. His forearm was draped across his face. His shoulders trembled. Marcello watched him, gold and blue gaze softening and the bed sank as Marcello leaned over Rhaen, watching him. "Put your hand on my heart."

Rhaen removed his arm to stare at Marcello incredulously. "Excuse me?"

"Put your hand over my heart," Marcello repeated.

Rhaen hesitated. He reached out, his fingers splaying over Marcello's heart. He felt him. Felt the steady beating, the pulse of mana and.... something else. Something foul. "Do you feel that?" Marcello asked.

Rhaen nodded. "I've felt it before," he murmured. "It's like... tar." He looked up to Marcello. "What is it?"

"A curse." The Netyarch sat back. "I traded my life to a demon, to save my friends. He told me I would die... I suppose it was arrogant, thinking he would spare me a slow death and kill me there. Maybe I wanted it like that. But...he destroyed my body." He opened his palms. Electricity crackled at his fingertips. Even the most subtle gesture of magic had Marcello grimacing. "Using my magic sickens me. My mana is like a cancer, feeding on me, killing me. The more I'm forced to use it, the quicker..."

"Is there a cure?"

"I don't know. But..." he reached forward. Fingers brushed across Rhaen's cheek, then his palm flattened to his ebon skin. "Let's make a deal."

"What deal..?"

"I search for a way to end your Geas. To end your imprisonment. In return, you stay by my side. If my condition grows unbearable, and you can no longer take the pull of the Geas... then we'll help each other."

Rhaen was quiet. He didn't meet Marcello's eyes... which was difficult. He gazed at the half-drow with a certain tenderness. "...does Lucian know."

"He caught me coughing blood, but never asked. I imagine not."

"Do you hate me?"

"I hate that you killed my brother. But as for you... no. I see someone who understands my pain."

Rhaen exhaled. His breath swept across Marcello's close lips. "...two birds with one stone," he murmured. "I accept."

The space was only an inch between their lips. So many convoluted emotions. Fear. Uncertainty. The desire to live, the desire to die. Perhaps it was only the desperation to be close to someone that brought their lips together.

Their mouths lingered but a second before Rhaen drew away with an awkward tense of his jaw. Dark fingers threaded into the sheets and his jade gaze searched the room for distraction. “Is the… Halruaan wine as good as they say it is?”

Marcello raised a brow, sinking back to the bed on an elbow. His gaze burned against the Crinti knowingly, a coy grin playing upon his lips. “Rhaenoran, I’ve embarked on two journeys within my lifetime to ease the dreary notion that I am a noble man with a heavy duty. One happens to be my very finely bred line of Blink Dogs. The other is my grand passion of wine. I took over what my father paid little interest in, and now, it is mine to perfect. Of course it tastes as good as they say.”

He waved a hand, the crawl of toxic magic wrapping down his wrist with a cold burn, and steady a bottle lifted from a pail of misty ice alongside two glasses before drifting over. Marcello plucked them from the air, tipping the bottle to fill both to the brim and handed one over. “Drink.”

A grave mistake.

As promised, the wine tasted utterly divine. With hints of berry and fresh baked delicacies, one glass turned into several. Marcello chattered away the whole time, never running dry of gossip or stories to tell. Till eventually the alcohol warmed his face and saddened his mind.

“We don’t know why my mother died. Not really. Was it my father in his last moments? Was it her heartbreak? Or did she simply wish to abandon us?” Marcello’s glass swished empty and when he reached for the remains of the bottle, dusky fingers curled atop his hand to grant pause.

“I think you’ve had enough, Marcello.”

A strong smelling laugh rolled free and Marcello boldly laced their fingers. “What? Are you worried for me? How are you feeling, Rhaenoran? I saw you pack at least two glasses away, I can’t be so far out of bounds.”

Even despite the crawl of red upon darkened cheeks, the Crinti grasped at his control through the fog. Unwilling to see what would happen if he let his guard down against his geas. “I’m alright.” His fingers withdrew stiff from the Netyarch’s. He took glasses and bottle in hand, shoving them over onto the end table aside the bed. “Perhaps I should see myself out and let you rest.”

“No… Don’t do that,” Marcello pleaded. The darkness that crowded beneath his eyes was more prominent without the inhibitions to hold a glamor. His skin pallid, blackness crawling beneath his skin where mana weaved. Yet still so strikingly handsome. His raven hair swept into his face as he drew forward, a hand settling upon Rhaen’s cheek as it’d done once before. “Stay with me tonight. I don’t want to be alone.”

Rhaen shifted uncomfortably, his sharp green eyes rising to find the man’s. Unable to look away. Marcello’s lips were on his. Even drunken, they were never sloppy, if not desperate. Warm. He could feel the way a hand brushed over his shoulder and curled in, how Marcello leaned ever closer to feel their bodies close.

Suddenly, Rhaen went rigid. A hiss drew free from his lips and he pushed Marcello away, his darker lips coated wet. “What are you doing?” he demanded. “This is wrong.”

Confusion seeped over Marcello’s features. “Does it have to be? I don’t care what those fucking nobles have to say about me, its clear they already speak plenty on their own time. And Lucian can get over himself. We’re grown me-”

“No, Marcello.” His hand rose, grasping the Netyarch’s fingers and dragging them from his face. “I killed Theseus. I killed your brother, and yet you still try to help me and coax me into your bed. How could you do that to him?”

It was as if he’d been smacked from his stupor. Marcello flinched away with a tense jump of his jaw, wrenching his hand back. “Sweet Mystra, you keep bringing it up. Am I not allowed a moment to escape people reminding me I lost my whole family!?” A shout. His eyes turned harsh on Rhaenoran. “Some of us don’t do things the way society would deem rational! Some of us aren’t the perfect embodiment of sanity and reason. Certainly not I! Not after years of abuse and disgusting dependence on my family to feel fulfilled. Now they’re all dead and I’m right behind them with the one thing I’ve ever been good at killing me! If I want to sleep with the man who killed my brother it's because I'm trying to not depend on the memory of my family for every ounce of relaxation and happiness in my life. Maybe I want to be reckless and disgusting and live whatever I have left. Don't ask me how could I. I've been devotional my whole life and now I'm taking it into my own hands since nothing else has treated me right.”

Fast. One second they were face to face, Marcello’s shouting threatening to wake those nearby. The next, Rhaen was on top of him, pinning him down to the mattress with hands pressed down onto Marcello’s shoulders. “And what if you regret it? What if we touch and kiss and come morning you can’t even look at me?! I’m the one stuck with you. So please, if not for yourself, consider what this does to me. You’re drunk and you need to sleep.”

Marcello didn’t fight against the hold. Tired, he sank into the sheets miserably with his gaze locked to the man above him. He was quiet. Then finally a breath shuddered in his lungs, ripping apart to the sting of tears behind his eye. “You’re a better man than I anticipated,” he whispered, his head turning away. “Will you at least stay?”

“That’s because you know nothing about me, still.” Rhaenoran withdrew, the bed sinking on the other end as his weight hit it and he sat upright. “Sleep, Netyarch. I will watch over.”

Morning swam with the dull throb of a hangover. As one blue eye blinked open, it burned at the flutter of daylight that scattered across the ceiling. From the other end of the room, a door creaked open, the tail end of a conversation dying to follow the irritable clear of a throat.

Marcello lurched to sit up, stopped fast by a weight strewn across his chest and with a grunt he quickly threw it off. It woke Rhaen with a start, the Crinti shooting straight up with arms and legs detangling from where they splayed entirely across the bed, a line of drool dribbled down his cheek. “Wha… huh?”

Aven and Lucian stood in the doorway, the former looking surprised and the latter rather unamused. "Have we interrupted?" Lucain asked, sweeping into the room and looking not so sorry about waking them.

Memory of last night crept over as Marcello’s gaze briefly swept the man next to him. “No.” Marcello was quick to part from Rhaen and swing his legs over the edge of the bed.

“Good. I need to speak with you. Alone.” He gestured to the door and Rhaen grimaced.

“Of course, your majesty,” he murmured, tiredly making for the door when Aven caught his shoulder.

“You know, we’re going to be leaving for Aeliorn soon,” the warrior said. “Which means Camlen and I need to go into the city to buy supplies. Why don’t you come with us?”

Rhaen arched a brow. “The Council alone didn’t seem to appreciate my presence. You think it will be any better on the streets?”

“Just make yourself look like that girl again. If it was good enough to fool the Netyarch, they won’t notice either.”

Rhaen hesitated. He looked back towards Marcello who nodded encouragingly and he sighed. “...all right. Shall we?”

Aven and Rhaen parted from the room. The moment they were gone, Lucian pressed forward. "...back during the meeting... I lost it. I'm sorry. I nearly ruined everything."

Marcello shook his head, attempting to rid of the dull ache sitting at the front of his skull. He pulled the younger into his arms in a hug. "Don't apologize. Thank you, for sticking up for me... it gave Rhaen time to draw my attention."

"Good... I'm glad everything worked out." His voice was tense. His body stiff.

Marcello pulled back slightly and frowned. "Lucian? Are you all right?"

Lucian sighed. He made for the nearest bottle of wine and tipped it down his throat. "You've put your kingdom in a fortuitous position," he said. "They are going to begin aiding Arkaiun refugees. Your traitors have been rooted out. We've sabotaged the Crinti, for now. But..." He lowered the wine and a breath tumbled from his lips. "With every passing day, my uncle tarnishes my country... my home. Who knows how much has changed in the time I've been gone. I have to go home."

"Would you still like me to come with you?"

Lucian flushed. It was against his very nature to ask for help and with difficulty, nodded. "...yes. I need help."

"Then you have it. But I need your help in return."

"Anything," Lucian promised quickly.

Marcello looked to the door, and his arcane eye whirred to detect intruders. When he was confident they were safe, he returned his gaze to Lucian. "While we travel, we have to search for two cures."

Lucian frowned. "You were coughing blood earlier."

Marcello nodded. "One is for Greater Geas. Rhaen has been inflicted with it by the Crinti. It's a compulsory curse that forces the victim to carry out the will of the caster and failure to do so is death. And the other..." Marcello struggled over his words. He twisted his fingers. "...my arcane cancer."

Lucian looked as though the breath had been punched out of him. Grief and anger contorted his features, pulling it in a number of directions before they flatlined. "How long."

"I believe it started when I made a deal with the devil. There is a... buildup of decay inside of me, growing stronger every time I use my mana. I feel tired. Weak. On top of being unable to sleep. In short... I don't know."

The way Lucian drew forward, Marcello was sure the Prince was going to punch him. Instead, he grasped at Marcello's arm. "You saved my life when I came here," he said. "I'm not going to let you die."

Marcello's laugh was strained. "I'm so glad your adamancy alone can save me. Just make sure I don't become some useless husk, all right?"

"I won't. But what of Halruaa..? They'll have some time trying to manage a spelltheif."

"I trust my council. And..." he flushed. ".... Rhaenoran is coming with us."

Lucian arched a brow. "....I do hope you know what you're doing. We're going to my homeland, Marcello. I expect him to behave." A pause. “And I expect you to behave as well.”

"He will. I promise."

“And what of yourself? You’re already sleeping with him, Marcello? Are you insane?”

Marcello massaged at a temple. “We didn’t fuck, don’t have an aneurysm.”

There was a knock at the door. Marcello sighed. Courtiers looking to gossip about the drama at the summit. "Not now."

"I'm afraid I must insist, Marcello." The Castellan boldly pushed through the doors and the Netyarch softened.

"Castellan... sorry. I thought-"

"I know. It's all right." The Castellan looked troubled.

Marcello braced himself for bad news. "What is it...?"

"There's someone here... from Aeliorn."

Both Marcello and Lucian tensed. They shared a look.

"Who...?" Lucian frowned.

"Ambassador Ceril Trevellion. He wishes to speak with the Netyarch."

The Halaraah Market was as vast and exciting as ever. With a plethora of large combined buildings split to serve each shop and magical tents that expanded the moment someone ducked within, it was built for those with money. Opulent colors and fineries sold in each stall ranging from magical items and potions to soaps and silks all made right within the Halruaan lands.

Halruaa was still in its earliest stages of imports and exports with other nations, most of their supplies homemade and unbeatable in quality anywhere else, making prices more than a little steep for those unaccustomed to the prosperous and magical land.

Aven traveled with Kion at his side, the lion not the only large pet to be crossing streets as behirs and all volumes of arcane horses tromped down paths pulling carriages. A sizeable pouch of gold hung at his hip, clinking as he kept pace with Camlen who skipped ahead, his large hat held atop a cascade of golden hair by a single hand.

The boy’s head spun in all directions, taking in the sights and smells with unmatched energy and excitement. “Aven! Aven do you see all this?! Can you believe how different it is from Amn, none of this would have ever been allowed! Do you think we can find some scrolls? Oh oh! Maybe I can get a wand!” Around his feet, one of Marcello’s blink puppies bounced around, phasing in and out to playfully snap at ankles of passerbys before returning.

“...Whatever you want,” Aven promises with a laugh, nodding to the pup. “You sure you can handle the little guy? Where did he even come from?”

Camlen bowed down, scooping up the puppy who lapped at his face with a yip. “He was pawing around your door this morning, Lucian came out and started yelling at him so I took him off his hands,” he laughs. “Cmon! I see where I wanna go first.”

As Camlen bounced off, Aven hung back, a warm smile hugging the corners of his lips. After getting out of Amn and settling in Halruaa, Camlen had turned into a totally different kid. Hopeful and happy, bouncing back from a trauma nobody expected of him. It made the man’s heart ache in relief.

“Some kid,” Rhaenoran chimed, his voice dripping a smooth, melodic tone in the magical guise of a tan skinned Halruaan woman. “He uh… doesn’t radiate magic at all. Neither do you aside from Lord Lucian’s mana. It makes you easier to be around. We aren’t making each other’s skin crawl. Why is that?”

Aven’s gaze swept back and he motioned them both after Camlen as they talked. His shoulder rolled. “I guess that’s a good thing. I’ve got a curse or something… Lucian says it may be blocking my access to uh.. The weave or whatever, but I kind of prefer being a simpleton. All of his magic stuff seems to be a lot of trouble, I’d probably be too unwieldy.” Kion shoves his great head between them, the lion licking his lips as a protective look leveled the strange elf.

Rhaen stepped to put a bit more distance, drawing his shawl up over dark raven curls that fell down his shoulders. “And Camlen..? Is he..?”

“Tranquil. I guess kind of a mimic of what you do. He had all his mana taken from him by other mages. But instead of any mind control, most of them are just… void. He survived that mental anguish.” Aven lets his fingers curl into Kion’s mane, watching Camlen duck into one of the shops boasting a wide display of wondrous items. “That’s why we’re going to buy him whatever the hell he wants today.”

“...Sounds fair,” Rhaenoran murmurs. He seemed to soften a bit more as he followed.

Inside the shop, shelves were stocked to the brim with trinkets and baubles. From bags strung up on racks with arcane labels and color coded strings to rings glittering and shifting in cases, and lamps, crystals, and more upon shelves. A decadent woman chattered behind her desk, pink hair twirled up like cotton candy and beautiful features powdered with light blush. She spoke with another customer, their conversation drowned by Camlen who begins to speak the moment Aven steps without even paying him a glance.

“-since I can’t cast my own spells, I figured I could at least use already magical items. Wands and scrolls should still function, and could you imagine me with a grand mage staff? I would want one that does cool things like cast darkness so I don’t have to turn my candlelight out at night when I’m comfy in bed.”

“Kion, stay,” Aven commanded the lion, showing him his palm as he closed the shop door behind and stepped around a shelf to stand aside Camlen. “You seriously want an expensive staff just to not have to blow your own candles out at bedtime?”

Camlen looked back to him in thought, the white puppy squirming in his arms before he finally had to put him down. The puppy bounded off out of sight. “You’re right. I’m thinking too small. It should have invisibility too so I can hide my messes from Prince Lucian. Ohhh! Hey Aven look at these!” He bounced over to the rack of leather bags.

A loud chuckle rolled in Aven’s chest and he plucked up one of the bags with a black string tied at its top. “Now you’re talking. What do you think is in these? I’m not going to get a face full of ink am I?”

“No idea! Open it anyways, don’t be a chicken.”

“Camlen I am anything but a chicken.” Aven pulls the string loose and wearily peers inside. Only to find a small black ball at the bottom. Reaching inside, he pulled it out and twisted it in his hands. “...So… what does it do?”

Camlen grinned ear to ear, taking the ball from Aven to wiggle it in the air. “I dunno but wouldn’t it be a cute toy for the puppy? Here puppy puppy!” The little white hound blinked to peek around the corner of a display case, his tongue lolled out and gaze locking on the ball.

From where Rhaen hugged to the wall, careful not to touch anything with his arms squeezed tight around him, his green gaze locked on the ball in Camlen’s hand. Then the puppy. “Oh wait, no don’t do-!”

The ball was tossed. It struck against the ground once and bounced into the air. Simultaneously, the puppy darted forward. The ball shuddered mid air and burst into a flurry of leathery wings as a bat chirped out and- gave a horrendous squeak as the puppy’s teeth clamped down on it, dragging it to the ground in a shake.

Horror.

Everyone in the shop fell dead silent, even the shopkeep and the customer she was with as all eyes turned on the limp form of a magical bat as the puppy tossed it to himself. Camlen’s cheeks surged with red and he raced forward, picking up the pup after getting him to drop the bat. “...heh… oops.”

“Oops?” the shopkeep returned in a posh accent, her brow raised. “That’s seven hundred gold I am now owed.”

Camlen… stepped back to Aven’s side and leveled him with a sheepish grin. “Well… Aven… buddy! You’ve got this yeah? Great! See you outside!” He smacked the man’s shoulder in solidarity and raced for the exit.

“Camlen!” Aven spun to see the tail end of the door closing and his shoulders sagged in a sigh. “Yeah, I got it,” he mutters, drawing up the sack of gold and moving to place it upon the counter. “Seven hundred, right?”

Much to his dismay, Aven left the curio shop seven hundred gold poorer with nothing to show. From there, Camlen came around to apologize and they walked about a few more stores. Along the way, they picked up a new scroll for the boy, a jeweled collar for the puppy, and pastries as a treat.

As they sat in the midst of the market, Aven balanced on the edge of a fountain for a seat, biting into a jelly filled pastry as Camlen taught the puppy to sit off to the side while Kion proudly mimicked all for the off chance he’d get fed. Even Rhaenoran seemed to be a bit more settled as he ate, his guard raising only at the spike of mana as nobles passed a little too close.

“So…” Aven started, looking to the Crinti. “About this morning.”

Dread crossed Rhaenoran’s features in a single exhale and he straightened. “I am not sleeping with the Netyarch.”

“It kind of looked like it. Do you like him?”

“I just fell asleep. And things aren’t as simple as liking someone. We simply… made a deal we both understand.”

Aven frowned. “What kind of deal?”

As they spoke, Camlen’s laughter cut in, the boy wrestling on the ground with the pup who blinked back and forth, hopping on and off him. Rhaen pushed a hand through his hair and sighed. “Aven, what’s the most important thing in your life?”

“Right now..?” His cheeks darkened and Kion came to lay at his feet, the lion stretching out in the sun. “Lucian and Kion.”

“Well then, imagine your love for them being a poison in your veins. The very thing you hold dearest, killing you day after day, slowly from the inside. You’re always tired, always in pain, and the longer it goes on, the more they fade. Like memories slipping away, no comfort of their warmth or presence. Until there’s nothing left.” A green gaze locks Aven dully. “That is what your friend is feeling right now. Liking someone seems very trivial, doesn’t it?”

Aven grimaced. “I guess so. Do you… know how he is doing? If this thing is killing him…”

“All I know is he won’t ever let it show.” He pushed up from the fountain, smoothing out his clothes. “We should get back, should we not?”

It took all of Marcello’s willpower to piece himself together for the day. A fresh change of clothes that rippled down his body in silken violet waves. Black tassels and silver buckles that drew it tight around his frame, extra padded for a fuller, healthier look. His glamor washed away the circles under his eyes, the sickly coloration of skin, and the tints of red that remained with a night of heavy alcohol consumption.

He combed his fingers through perfect-kept waves of raven as he swept down the halls of the palace, a purpose seizing his body erect in perfect posture. The room he came to was sectioned off by grand double doors crusted with gold, the inside a sweep of luxury for guests. It included a seating area aside a wall of windows glistening and open to the outside world draped in curtains of sheer purple.

The centered table hosted a variety of snacks, wines, and books for those in wait, consistently tended to by the invisible servants that fluttered about, dusting furniture and keeping the room fresh.

As Marcello pushed in, his sighs and mutterings stitched into a welcoming smile. Seated up on the couch, a man lounged back, wearing robes of red and gold, his legs crossed and scrolls bound in his hands. He was relaxed, hardly stirring as a single finger wound around the freshly cut mustache that twirled upon his upper lip, dark hair slicked back to accentuate the even tan of his skin.

Ambassador Ceril Trevellion, he’d learned. A new appointment after a recently tragic accident back in Aeliorn that Marcello could hardly defend as an accident at all. It seemed to him Darrien made quick work in replacing pawns on his playing field. “Why Ambassador, to what do I owe the pleasure of your impromptu visit?” the Netyarch rolled off his tongue in a bright greeting. He circled around the couches, coming to settle across from him. “Ah! Netyarch Marcello!” A glittering smile whisked across handsome features, the man no older than his mid forties. Glamor and cosmetics gave him a plastic, younger appearance. In a puff of magic, his scrolls vanished to thin air and he leaned forward, extending a hand across the table. “It has been some time since we last met. You were only a young boy when you last visited Aeliorn.”

He held the Halruaan tongue well for a non-native, almost entirely indistinguishable. He fit the Ambassador duty well. Charming, well educated and versed. A cock sucker. Marcello couldn’t miss the shrewd glint behind Ceril’s eyes. “And you were much lower seated on the court, if memory serves me. Congratulations on the promotion, however unfortunate the circumstances may be.”

“Why thank you, Marcello. You as well. Your brother and your sister in such a short time, you have my deepest condolences.”

Both of them reached for the wine, hands hovering over the first bottle like cobras deciding who were to strike first. Then Marcello swiped it. Two glasses filled and he handed one over to Ceril. “The gods demand blood, they care not for who it is. But enough of that. Go on and try some of our Halruaan wine. I have tweaked the tastes myself as of recent. How were your travels?”

Ceril took the glass, his fingers curled into the jeweled chalice as he sipped idly. He was a man that spoke brazenly with his hands. “Quite dull, I’m afraid. Our people, unlike yours, tend to stick to the seas, though I can’t say I would mind learning what it is to bask on the deck of a skyship.” He peered around his glass. “The wine though, you truly have outdone yourself. King Darrien was right, you are quite a competent and well versed young man.”

“I try. Unfortunately, I cannot send you home on a skyship, but you are welcome to a few bottles for your seabound trip. We’ve begun prepping our stock for other less luxury runs.”

False sympathy flickered over Ceril’s features and he cleared his throat, setting the glass aside. “Yes, I did hear something about your troubles. Filthy vermin, those ground dwelling beasts. I suppose that leads me to the real reason I am here. It’s a long trip for a simple conversation, no matter how charming the host.”

“I assumed as much,” Marcello laughed. He leaned back in his seat casually, turning his wine up to his lips. “Care to shed some light?”

"Aeliorn is in a state of… development." He glanced about - as if to make sure none of the spectral servants were listening before he leaned forward. "They say that the young prince of Aeliorn is dead… but this is false. He tried to assassinate King Darrien, and fled the country. Rumor has it, he has made his way to Halruaa, likely to do away with some of your arcane knowledge. He's gathered a hoard of beasts and wild mages to follow behind him." He shook his head. "I always knew that boy would be trouble, but Darrien insists we find him alive. He wishes to make amends with his wayward nephew. But he cannot do that if he's not found. So we've come to you with a proposition."

“My, what has that bratty boy gotten himself into?” An open insult. Marcello’s lips curled in a f eigned frown. The glass of wine did wonders to ebb away his migraine from the previous hangover, cured with the very thing that caused it to begin with. “Admittedly, Lucian and I have never had the best of relationships. He’s never been receptive to my kindness so I no longer offer it. Please, continue, Lord Ceril.”

The man lamented a sigh. “I assumed as much. He never could allow himself any friends. Not even my boy. We understand you are currently at war with Dambrath. His Highness is willing to grant you support in your war if you would send out search parties across your country to find Prince Lucian.”

“Well I can certainly see what I can do. I dare not stir my citizens further than they already have been, we will need to conduct this as far from public eye as possible.”

“No worries, Netyarch. That is why I offer up a gift. With me, I’ve brought my son, Icarus. I will be leaving him here to aid you in your search, and while he’s a capable young boy, he’s also quite a fan. I hope you can find use in that.”

Marcello pushed onto his feet, discarding his wine glass to offer Ceril a hand. “I was not aware you had a son. I’d be glad to have his help. Perhaps he and I can find some common grounds where the Prince is concerned, you mentioned they once tried to be close.”

Ceril took the hand, sealing their agreement with another sharp smile. “Oh I am sure. I will send him to meet with you shortly once he returns from his walk. Thank you again, Marcello. Your cooperation will be plenty rewarded.”

“The only reward I need is my streets free of danger. Please, enjoy as much of Halruaa as you would like in the meantime.”

With little more than a wave, Ceril plucked up a bottle of wine and was out the door in seconds, leaving Marcello standing in the center of the room. A drop of guard and Marcello snatched his glass in hand, sending it shattering against the furthest wall. “Fucking prick.”

Ambassador Ceril Trevellion.

Ceril followed him.

He was here. In Halruaa. Did that mean his uncle knew where he was? What would he and Marcello talk about? He’d made the man promise that he wouldn’t mention that Lucian was there. Even if Ceril accused Marcello of harboring him, he was to lie. Marcello promised Lucian that everything would be all right, that he was safe... but Lucian couldn’t believe it.

He had to assume that until they were aboard Marcello’s ship and making for Aeliorn that he was constantly being watched by enemies. The courtiers in their pompous wigs. The servants flitting by. None of them could be trusted.

He almost called for Aven to come back to him but... no. Aven had been working so hard keeping all of them alive... he needed a moment with Camlen to relax and explore and not have to worry about anything.

Lucian would take the lion’s share of worry.

The gardens of the Netyarch’s palace were nearly as expansive as its halls. Labyrinths of head mazes and living topiaries of eagles taking flight and dragons breathing fire. Courtiers walked the gardens amidst marble fountains for sparkling clear water and entertainers performing for nobles.

It was halfway through his walk, trying to clear his head that Lucian realized he was being followed. With every turn and twist he made, whoever was at his heels was following, making sure he was in sight. Lucian walked faster.

So did his pursuer.

Lucian grit his teeth. In a split second, he went through his options. He could try and teleport away. He could fight. Maybe it was Ceril’s bodyguards. Captain Kylar.. The leader of the Duskblades. Innumerable enemies it could be. Lucian grit his teeth and peeled around the edge of a hedge maze, ice forming on his fingertips.

He had to get rid of them. Now.

The stranger came around the corner and with a roar, Lucian turned on him, ice ready to cut across the man’s throat - when he squeaked and tumbled back so quickly he bumped into the statue of a mage that nearly toppled over. “L-Lucian!”

Lucian's entire body went rigid. "Icarus?" He hissed.

Icarus Trevellion. The last he’d seen him... Icarus had been waving at Aven and Lucian as they departed Aeliorn to Amn. Did Icarus know then... what was meant to happen? Or was he as ignorant to Darrien’s plot as Aven and Lucian were?

The ice didn't melt away. The cold daggers remained, looking like claws as they crawled along Lucian's fingers. "What are you doing here? You came with your father?"

He didn’t get another word out before Icarus was rushing forward and lunging into his arms. They coiled tight around Lucian, and Icarus’ face buried into his shoulder with a ragged breath. “You are alive,” he whispered, gripping close. “I thought.... When the pirates attacked, everyone thought..”

“I know,” he murmured. “Darrien told everyone that I had died. You...” Lucian squinted. “You don’t know what happened?”

“What do you mean what happened..?” Icarus pulled back. Mousy brown eyes searched his friend in concern. “You and Aven left... your ship was attacked by pirates and Kylar said that during the scuffle you were killed...I didn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe it..Lucian I’m so glad you’re here..”

Lucian wanted to feel relief.

His childhood friend was here. Finally, someone from home that he could trust and yet..Lucian felt hesitation. This was all too convenient. “Icarus,” he said. “What are you doing here..? Does Ceril know-”

“No!” Icarus interrupted quickly. “My father... he came here hoping to align with Marcello. He’s looking for you... everyone is looking for you, to bring back to Darrien. He said I should come to see outside Aeliorn, and I...I..” Heartbreak suddenly settled across Icarus’ features as he watched his old friend. “Why did you betray the King..? He says you committed treason..”

Lucian couldn’t help but bark out with laughter. “Of course he did,” he murmured. “The only treason I committed was avoiding assassination.”

Icarus’ brows shot up. “Assassination?”

“Shh!” Lucian hissed. He glanced up and down the hedge maze and exhaled. “You’re sure your father doesn’t know I’m here?”

Icarus nodded. “I’m the only one... I saw you while I was taking a walk and I followed you.”

Lucian finally allowed himself to feel a semblance of relief. With a breath, he reclined backwards against the hedge, feeling it poke into his back. “...Darrien lied to you.”

“What..?”

“Darrien lied to everyone. And I imagine your father knows the truth, too. I..” Lucian looked up. “I need to tell you the truth.”

Icarus was dead quiet as he listened. He heard... everything. The story of how Aven and Lucian had been attacked by pirates hired by Captain Kylar himself, and how they were able to escape the slave port before they were sold off. How Darrien had sent Spellthief assassins after him, and that they found the Mindulgulph and recruited them. He told Icarus about Spellhold tower. Aven’s death, as well as his own. Calimport. Halruaa, the Crinti, Tartarus... everything. By the end of his tale, Lucian’s voice was stripped raw from all his talking and Icarus gave a ragged breath.

“...Wow...”

“I know,” Lucian murmured, fingers twisting anxiously into blonde hair. “I have to go home, Icarus. I have to find out what Darrien intends for my country, my people. I have to get my crown back.”

“But... how?” Icarus whispered. “Things have... things have really changed, Lucian.”

“How.”

Icarus gave a breath. “...the elves, for one. You know how they only hung around the Ralororis desert? The King is having them pushed further back in. We’ve... attacked a couple of their communities, and tensions between us and them has been really high. And in the Wastes... Darrien has been working on something. No one knows what but some say he’s been working on refashioning a broken tower there. He’s already had his coronation... he’s King, now, Lucian.”

The color drained from the boy’s face and he sighed. “...I figured he might be,” he murmured. “Which will make taking back my crown... a bit harder.”

“Don’t go there.”

Lucian’s head snapped up furiously. “Excuse me?”

Icarus hugged himself. “...Darrien is powerful, Lucian. He has armies and cities loyal to him. And you... you have almost nothing. You’ll get killed if you try.”

“I’ve already been killed,” Lucian said bluntly. “And that matters very little to me. Aeliorn is my kingdom. And perhaps this revolution is simply spite, and my stubbornness to not give it up but I can’t help but feel it’s the right thing to do. My crown was wrongfully taken from me, and I will not see my people suffer at the hands of a man like Darrien.”

“But-”

“And now, you are faced with a choice, Icarus.” Lucian’s eyes were chips of ice as they leveled Icarus. “You can help me win back my throne, or you can return to your father and lead him off my trail.”

“I’m with you.” No hesitation. Not even a second. “If Darrien really intended to kill you... then he’s the traitor, not you. And..” he paused. “You’ve always been my best friend, Lucian. I want... I want to help you.”

The spark of relief turned into a flood of appreciation and Lucian surged forward to hug Icarus tight around his shoulders. “Thank you,” he whispered, gripping close. “I missed you... come on. There’s some new friends I want you to meet.”

It was on his way back to the Palace that he ran into Marcello.

Literally.

Winding the bend of the Netyarch Palace’s expansive gardens, Lucian turned the corner and nearly crashed into Marcello, their heads knocking together. “Ow- Lucian.” Marcello’s hands found the boy’s shoulders. “We need to accelerate our plans to get you back home. Ceril is looking for you.”

Lucian sighed. “Yes, I imagined that’s why he was here. Did he mention anything else?”

Marcello scoffed. “Other than the usual courtier nonsense, he says that Aeliorn is now under the impression that you attempted to assassinate the king.”

“Truly? I have to say, I’m flattered they believe my talents in termination and espionage is formidable enough to target a king.”

“Lucian,” Marcello scolded. “This is serious. He’s left his son here to try and find you. You must be careful.”

Red flushed over Lucian’s features. “Yes...about that.” He waved his hand and Marcello’s eyes widened as Icarus emerged from around the corner. “Marcello... this is Icarus.”

"Lucian," he warned. "He's-"

"Marcello Silvercrest!" Like a puppy, Icarus bounded forward and boldly took the Netyarch's hand, going down onto a knee. "It's an honor! It's been a long time since we've seen each other, you probably don't even remember me, but I saw you at the last tournament! I'm sorry about your eye, it looks like it's doing better? And I'm really sorry about your sister, as well. I remember she was really nice whenever she visited.."

Marcello stared. “Ah... thank you for your condolences-”

“Aven!”

Aven, Rhaen and Camlen - likely searching for Lucian and Marcello - had only just stepped into the gardens when Icarus was tearing from Marcello and leaping towards him in a hug, arms thrown around his neck. Aven staggered backwards, almost falling over with eyes wide. "I-Icarus!" He exclaimed, looking back towards Rhaen and Camlen who stared in confusion. "What are you doing here?"

“His father sent him here to look for me,” Lucian said, folding his arms. A light smile tugged at the edge of his lip. “But he’s on our side now, I told him everything.”

Marcello frowned. “You did?” He asked.

Aven meanwhile was... grinning. “Really?” He asked, looking back towards Icarus. “So you’ll be coming with us back to Aeliorn?”

“If I can help it,” Icarus nodded. “My father told me to stay with Marcello and...that’s what I’ll be doing. So technically I’m not disobeying him.”

“He’s informed me of what’s been happening at home.” Lucian had turned grim as he looked to Aven. “Darrien is beginning to make his move. Things are... changing. We have to go home. And fast.”

“And Lucian told me about what happened with you two as well!” Icarus said. “Did you really fight a dragon under Spellhold Asylum? Lucian said you killed it single handed!”

Aven grinned. “Did he?” He purred, looking back to Lucian who shrugged idly. “It wasn’t nearly as effortless as I’m sure he made it out to be. I didn’t even kill it but... we did fight a vampire.”

Icarus’ eyes threatened to bulge right out of his skull. “Really? What happened?”

It made Lucian’s heart soar to see his lover look so happy. He and Icarus had really hit it off... it meant much to him, for his partner and his best friend to have a good connection. Marcello came to Lucian’s side, arms folded. “He’s... excitable.”

“He’s always been that way,” Lucian chuckled. “He’s... kind. He has a soft heart. Unlike his father.”

“I’ve gathered that. Ceril has a certain petty malice that Icarus lacks.” He glanced over. “Are you sure you can trust him?”

“I trust him with my life. He’s my first glimpse into what’s been happening at home... we have to go. And soon.”

“I agree,” Marcello said. A shadow passed over his eyes. “...but there’s something that must be attended to first, before we can go.” A sigh rolled off his lips and he pushed his hand through black locks. “Kendallyn needs to be laid to rest.”