Chapter 17 - Seeking Asylum

“And you’re sure we’re ready?”

“I’ve spoken with Morra about our plans. It’s not perfect, but it’s the best we can do.”

Aven and Lucian, dressed in their armor with weapons at their hips, picked their way through the Keep towards the War Room. Aven moved to keep up with the young Prince. “And you’re sure you want to go?” he said. “You’re a mage. You’ll be especially vulnerable.”

“I don’t want to be the sort of Prince who simply sits by while others lay down their lives,” Lucian grunted. “Besides. If I’m to earn the loyalty of the mages, I need to be on the front lines. I need to be seen.”

Pushing through the heavy, iron doors leading into the war room, Aven’s gaze swept over his companions. Jorak. Morra. A gnoll and lizardfolk he’d never met before, perhaps Mindulgulph captains… and K'tall. He looked as though he’d rather be anywhere else as he skittered about in the corner in circles.

Aven frowned. “What’s he doing up here?” He asked.

The lizardfolk glanced upwards. “We wanted to see if we could wrestle any more information out of him,” he said.

K'tall looked particularly nervy. As soon as his bug-like eyes locked onto Aven he skittered around the room lightning fast until he settled behind the barbarian, mandiables clicking anxiously.

“I may be only a warrior,” Aven said. “But you don’t wrestle anything out of an ally."

"It takes wrestling to even get him into the baths,” the gnoll sniffed.

Aven turned to the bug, extending a hand. “I’m sorry. You’re safe now. If there’s nothing more you have to give, that’s all right."

The thri-kreen didn’t seem to know what to do with the hand. He cocked his head, unblinking eyes staring in their usual unnerving fashion before he crept forward, booped Aven’s hand and raced out the door.

"Enough,” Morra’s voice boomed and she put up her hand. “We have an assault to go over. Prince Lucian, if you would?”

Lucian held a folded up map under his arms. Giving a curt nod, he unfurled it across the table, pinning it to the corners. Aven leaned forward. A map of Spellhold.

"Spellhold Asylum is an impregnable fortress protected by, ironically enough, magic,” Lucian began. “It’s guarded by an artifact known as a mytahl, which projects powerful magical energy, typically in the form of a shield. This shield affects the mind from all entrances, save for the main bridge here.” He pointed down towards the bridge. “From the information Aven has gathered from K'tall, we’ve learned that the mythal can be temporarily disrupted by touch. Tomorrow morning, my servant and I will infiltrate the Asylum under the guise of mages. Once we’re in, we’ll make our way to the artifact and shut it down."

Morra stepped forward beside the Prince. "From there,” she said. “Our troops will blast a hole directly into the mage holding.” She pointed to the furthest building. “They will board our waiting ship, and with our airborn men we will keep the guards at bay until all are accounted for, and we will make our escape."

“Aven.” Aven brought his gaze up. Lucian watched him from across the table. “Is there anything you would like to add?”

Aven’s tongue fastened into a knot in his mouth. Lucian wanted his opinion?

He gnawed on his lower lip. ”…many will die,“ he said. "I have no doubt about it. Everyone should have a chance to say goodbye before we depart."

"We’re far past goodbyes here, boy,” Morra snorted. “If we were afraid of death, we’d say our goodbyes every morning during breakfast."

"If that’s all,” Lucian pushed off from the table. “I’d like to retire to my chambers. Aven, prepare it for me. Candles, food… Certainly wine. I’ll meet you there.”

Lucian swept by, shoulder just barely brushing Aven’s as he grazed by. Aven watched where he disappeared for but a moment before he began to clear off the table, collecting Lucian’s books and parchments.

He asked for my advice. Perhaps I haven’t lost his favor after all.

“His bodyguard, slave and attendant?” Chortled the lizardfolk. “Busy man. His consort, as well."

Aven’s jaw slid forward. "Very busy. As you should be, rather than taunting your allies. Not a very efficient way to bond before a battle where a certain barbarian might have to save your life."

The lizard’s laughter was an amused hiss, clawed fingers resting on his shoulder. "This is how we bond,” he purred. “Try not to be so tense when he takes you to bed, boy."

Aven glowered at the lizard as he left the room. Grunting under his breath, he gathered the rest of Lucian’s belongings and swept out of the room.

When he returned to the Prince’s quarters, it was immediately apparent that Lucian hadn’t yet arrived. Unlit candles lined the desks and windows, the window open with a cool winter breeze billowing in. Aven heaved a breath, striking a match and lit them one by one, drawing a warm bath and pulling back the covers of the Prince’s bed. Wine on the table. A plate of food on the desk. A warm, dim light - enough illumination to read and dim enough for intimacy.

Just as Lucian liked it.

It was nearly a half hour before the Prince arrived. Treading into the room, blue eyes were downcast as he moved to the window, pulling apart the intricate lacing and tethers that held his clothing together. His tired fingers fumbled over the clothing, stiff and quiet.

Aven pushed up from the bed. "What’s wrong?"

"It feels as though something will go terribly wrong.” He drew his tunic away from his body, tense lines like a bowstring brought back to the ear traveling down the length of his spine.

…he looked so upset. Aven’s heart wrenched in his chest and in several short steps, he drew Lucian in close. “We’ll make due with whatever happens. Relax.. I ran you a bath.”

A bath. The mere mention of it had the tension seeping from Lucian’s shoulders.

His eyes roamed Aven, sucking up every detail. A pale hand reached outwards, hesitating right before touching Aven’s skin, resting delicately on his cheek. The Prince’s skin contrasted against the nut brown warmth of Aven’s, thumb grazing over the man’s cheekbone. “Has anyone ever told you you’re beautiful,” Lucian murmured, watching the way the flames rippled off of the man’s skin, intimate shadows cast about by flickering candles.

Aven’s cheeks flushed with a red hue as compliments and warm touches left his heart speeding up within his chest. “I… The only one it matters coming from is you,” he whispered softly, eyes breaking from Lucian’s just briefly before the Prince pulled away.

“I’m going to take my bath. We have a long day tomorrow. Make sure you get some sleep.”

———————————————-

“I have a surprise for you before we leave, Aven.”

“A surprise?”

A light snow fell from the morning sky as Aven and Lucian made their way out of the Mindulgulph Keep and onto its grounds. Weapons were being sharpened in the corner by Bjorn. Jorak was outfitting his beasts with armour. Archers and swordsmen were training in the courtyard. They were preparing for battle.

A surprise. Aven wasn’t sure whether he should feel nervous or excited. Lucian was quite unpredictable at times. His brows furrowed as they began to approach the stables. “The stables?” He asked, looking to Lucian. “Why?”

“Why do you think? I purchased you a horse.”

Aven tripped over his feet, stumbling in the snow. “You what?”

Lucian slowed and arched a brow. “A horse. You know, the quadruped equines we’ve been riding ever since we visited Amn?”

His cheeks flushed. “I know what a horse is,” he said. “It’s just an unexpected gift.”

“Not necessarily. I grow tired of walking and fetching rides on wagons. We need mounts of our own.”

Crash. The sound of shouting and broken wood resonated from inside the stables and Lucian rubbed his jaw. “…of course, I likely should have chosen something a bit more…subservient for you. How many times have you ridden, again?”

“…two or three?”

Lucian nodded. “That’s what I thought. Good luck.” He pushed open the doors.

Two mounts stood in the center of the barn.

Aven’s eyes first found what was obviously meant to be Lucian’s. An exotic beauty with fur that rippled like gold in the morning light. The mare stood, well trained and well behaved with her tail flicking about as she looked to her more rowdy companion.

Aven’s horse towered above Lucian’s. Massive and muscled with jet black fur and hair. The stallion reared, hooves kicking and the two stablehands dove for cover as the horse snorted and screamed, turning about in the stall.

Aven stared, slack jawed. “Lucian,” he said. “They’re beautiful.”

Lucian nodded, looking quite proud of himself. “It’s a Raurin, an ancient breed of light warhorse from the Raurin desert. They say it’s of unequal speed. And as for yours…” Lucian flinched as Jorak kicked backwards, shattering a wagon into pieces before ripping his reins from the hands of a disgruntled kenku. “Yours is a Cormyrean Destrier. They’re sought after all over Faerun, Aven.“

“Why’s that?” Aven questioned.

A blue gaze drifted over to him. “Well, they’re quite like you. Big, strong smelly beasts.”

Insult or not, Aven watched the massive stallion rear up once more. Memories of the arena lit up at the back of his mind, the thundering of hooves pounding against sand in a spray. The lingering after-thought of something lost. This was his horse, he simply knew it. “It’s okay, I can do this, just give me a bit of time.”

Before Lucian could respond, the barbarian advanced on the raging warhorse. Cautioning the stablehands back, he nodded their way and outstretched a palm in attempts to garner attention and soothe the stallion’s tantrum.

Deep brown eyes bore back into Aven’s in a fury, another loud bray came with the defiant swipes of hooves. One soared right past his head, the next caught up on his chest and sent him pinwheeling back. “Easy!” he grated. His chest burned with the swell of pain. He cautiously righted himself again, making eye contact, and nodded up towards the beast.

Again, their gazes met. The stallion touched his front to the ground, cantering backward and swinging his head in agitation.

“You can trust me. I’m going to get you out of this place for a while.” Aven tried desperately to coax him, and eventually, it seemed to pay off. The horse’s movements grew slower, less frantic. He paused almost in thought before stepping toward Aven and the barbarian visibly relaxed.

A mistake.

The moment the horse sensed weakness again, he reared up with a threatening call, hooves kicking out.

But this time, Aven was ready. He dodged aside the flail of hooves and came up at the stallion’s flank. “Fucking hell!” he shouted, “I’m not going to be your punching bag. We are going to do this together and walk out of these damned stables. So quit it.”

The raise of his voice had the horse snorting out in annoyance, but it didn’t rear again. Hooves clicked against wood and finally stilled. It certainly didn’t seem like he was at all happy about letting Aven close, but when advanced upon again, the fury didn’t strike up.

“Good, thank you.” Aven carefully reached out, hand brushing over flank, as another came palm out towards his snout.

Dull teeth snapped towards fingers and the hand quickly retreated to the barbarian’s chest in a scowl. “Alright, fuck you too. Don’t you dare buck me.”

A snort blew from the horse’s nostrils and he shook his head. Whatever that meant, Aven was done with the taunting. After a few minutes, he’d finally gotten him saddled, the stablehands having been of no help out of fear of inciting anger again.

The only thing left was to mount.

Aven stared down the stallion in warning as a foot hooked hold, hands bracing on back and saddle to lift. For a moment, the stallion tensed beneath him as if having doubted how to react. He quickly swung himself over, planting himself firmly on the horse’s back and gripping tight onto reins. No bucking.

But the horse didn’t even move.

Statue still, Aven could feel his frustration boiling as his gaze lifted to find where Lucian stood watching from atop his mare in plain amusement. “Come on, please, he thinks you’re stupid,” Aven hissed lowly.

That did it. The stallion seemed to look dead at Lucian and, defiantly, one step at a time began to carry Aven out of the stables.

Lucian, already mounted and atop his horse, arched a brow. “I was sure you’d go flying,” he snorted. “What are you going to name it?”

“Name it?”

“Sure. This girl is Soleil.” He reached down to push his fingers across the mare’s fur.

Aven considered. “I’m not sure,” he said honestly. “I have to stay with him a while longer to figure out a name.”

“If he doesn’t throw you and crack your head open before then,” Lucian grinned. “I’m surprised you managed to mount him. I asked for their most beautiful stallion, but I likely should have pressed ‘well behaved’ as well.”

“Fortunately, I’m good at taming unruly things,” Aven’s smile was teasing, gaze sliding over towards Lucian who scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“Please. I have expert palace manners, dirty slave,” he purred back. “Are you ready? We need to leave as soon as possible.”

Leave. For the mission. Unease boiled in Aven’s stomach as he thought back to Lucian’s earlier fretting. No. Everything would be fine. They would infiltrate the asylum, free the mages and they’d have the beginnings of an army to return to Aeliorn.

What could possibly go wrong? He gave a firm nod. “I’m ready.”

————————————————–

Returning to Athkatla, the Prince and the barbarian were more reserved. Now the enemies of not only a foreign regency but a band of pirates, they were careful to keep themselves hidden.

Lucian had purchased a cloak, one of peasant garb rather than his traditional noble apparel and he pulled the hood up over his head, concealing his features and trademark stark blonde hair. "There’s something I need to buy,” he said, turning to Aven who had the baby up against his chest. “Take the baby to the Priest and I’ll meet you in the Temple."

Simple enough. Aven nodded. "All right. I’ll see you there.”

Lucian swiftly melted into the crowd of people bumping up against Aven as they roamed up and down the crowded streets.

Little Lucielle was curled into his chest, balling his shirt into her tiny baby fists and Aven sighed, kissing the child’s forehead before moving off into the direction of the temple. The priest… would he even help them, given that Aven had punched him in the nose and surely broke it? Perhaps he’d call the city watch on him.

Either way… little Lucielle needed to be safe. He owed Alikiir that much.

No one gave Aven a second glance as he breezed through the crowd, charging a path towards the massive domed building dominating the Gem District. As soon as he pushed through the doors, Aven was overwhelmed by a sensation of safety. Priests prayed at the statue of Lathander, the afternoon light gleaming in through the windows, lighting up the temple in a soft, golden ambience.

And over in the corner, leaned over the shrine… was the Priest.

Aven swallowed the knot in his throat. He leaned down to regard the baby. “Think he’ll send me away?” He asked her. Her only response was reaching up to bat at Aven’s face and Aven sighed. “Yeah, that sounds about right,” he murmured, drawing a breath before he approached.

He tapped the man on the shoulder, giving a sheepish smile. “Uh…hullo.”

The priest turned from his prayer. The moment he recognized Aven, his brow arched…but he made no comment of what occurred the last time they met. The great, black and blue welt on his face spoke for itself. “Hello again, boy."

Aven’s eyes tore away to a remote corner of the temple. He chewed on his lip. "I need…sanction. Is that the word? A private talk."

The priest didn’t ask questions. Aven couldn’t tell whether the man was furious or surprised, for he merely pushed to his feet and motioned for Aven to follow. "Come.”

The other priests paid no mind as Aven passed by. All manner of sin had been confessed in those holy walls, and they knew the sanctity of privacy in the eyes of their god. He led Aven inside a small room with a stone altar before a statue of Lathander, hands upturned towards the light of dawn. The door clicked behind them.

“Is the young lord not with you?” The priest asked and Aven shook his head.

“He’ll be joining us soon. He’s not very interested in my charity case."

"You mean the child.” The Priest leaned forward, letting the baby take hold of his finger. “Is she yours?"

Aven’s entire face flushed. "No. She’s…. she’s presented. The Asylum took her parents, and she was next. We want to take her out of Amn but… there’s something we have to do first. She isn’t safe right now."

Understanding passed over the priest’s features. He took the baby from Aven with clear experience, cradling the girl gently in her arms. "You wish sanctuary for her. Does she have any remaining family."

Aven’s heart wrenched. His hands squeezed into fists. ”…a boy, who guarded her. He’s dead, and passed her onto me with his dying breath. Her name is Lucielle.“

“Lucielle.” The Priest smiled. He bounced the baby idly in his arms. “And you’re sure you don’t want her?”

“She wouldn’t do well with me,” Aven murmured. He leaned back to the wall and folded his arms. “Lucian and I are criminals from another country. And soon this one. And very soon, we’re going into war. We can’t have a baby with us.”

The priest eyed Aven for a long moment. “What’s bothering you, son?”

Aven nearly slipped from the wall. "Excuse me? Nothing."

"You are in the house of the Morning Lord, boy,” the Priest said, motioning back to the statue. Whatever you have to say, here it will be safe. Be it I, or our Lord, there is always one willing to listen to those who deserve it.“

Aven’s gaze flicked up towards the statue of Lathander. Hands brandished to the rising sun, baby in hand as though presenting him to the dawn with a cloak rippling behind him. Was he truly listening? Aven sighed. "I do incredibly stupid things for the man I believe I love,” he muttered and wrung his wrists. “And the latest may be the last of it."

The priest smirked. "Ah. Love.” He sat down before the statue, letting the baby toy with the brass rings on his finger. “It can force a man to forsake all vows of duty and all morals. Evil men have felled cities in the name of love. Good men have killed kings and razed kingdoms to the ground in the name of love. What have you done, boy, in the name of your love?”

What have you done in the name of love. Aven considered, watching as Lucielle flailed about in the Priest’s arms. “I’ve… grown,” he said with a heavy breath. “I see more than just a battle. I see learning to read. Raising armies. Finding the right words to have the love returned. I adorn his presents and protect them with my life. I’m scared because I’m in uncharted territory. And now… I’m hosting a prison break and the only reason I care to do it is because the light in his eyes that burns with so much passion over it is nothing I’d ever stamp out.” He looked up to the Priest. “I’m making him a king in hopes he will have me at his side.”

“So these… terrible things you do is to improve and protect the interests of the one you love, so that you may one day share your life with him.” The priest drew close. He lifted Aven’s chin to bring his gaze up to him. “That doesn’t sound like the intentions of a bad man.” The priest gave a husky chuckle. “Perhaps a lovesick boy, however.”

“The only reason it’s not the intent of a bad man is because he is not a bad man… He’s… Good. A real jackass in showing it, but good.” Aven fidgeted with his fingers. “I want to impress him but every charge I take fails. I’m taking charge again and if this fails… It can’t.”

“There will always be mistakes, boy. What makes a good man is how you learn from those mistakes.” He shouldered the baby on the hip, moving away from Aven to gaze into a display case. “..the prison you’re infiltrating… is it Spellhold?”

Aven’s entire body went rigid, features twisting into a frown.

It was enough of an answer for the priest who sighed. “Then I have something for you.” He lifted the glass, pushing it up and removed something from inside. “Take this. It fits around your neck."

It was a golden torc, the band coming together with two interlocking hands. Aven drew his thumb over its twisted edging.

"What is it..?"

"An old artifact, crafted by the god Ilmater as a gift for a servitor of Lathander who saved the lives of his followers. The Torc of Heroic Sacrifice. Once, and only once, this torc can inflict upon you the damage dealt to another, effectively healing them.”

Aven stared down at the torc in his hands. Even with no magic, he could feel the warmth of divine magic pooling within the golden bands. He drew it around his neck. “…Thank you…I..what does your god stand for?"

"Lathander. The Morninglord.” The priest reached into his shirt, drawing his medallion and lifted it around his neck to place into Aven’s hand. “He is the lord of the dawn, of rebirth and change, and the patron of the creative mind."

"A creative mind?” Aven turned it over. A sun made up in pink, yellow and red gemstones burned with a soft, dim light. “…I’ll keep that in mind. Amn needs a little change, now."

"Aven!"

Aven’s head snapped over towards the door. "That must be Lucian.” He moved to greet him… when the priest’s hand grabbed his arm.

"One more thing, boy." He pointed to the torc. "If a final blow has been dealt… it is imperative you do not use it."

A final blow ."What will happen?"

The priest grimaced, and his eyes searched Aven’s face. "You will die in their place….even if the wound would not have felled you."

Aven’s blood went cold. His jaw twitched. "Thank you. Really… we will return it.” And without another word, swept out into the Temple’s gallery.

Lucian immediately joined him, their hands locking. “Where is she?” He demanded. “Is she all right?”

“So you suddenly care?”

“It’s not her fault you’re an idiot. Is she-” he trailed off as the priest emerged from the back room - baby in his arms. Relief washed over Lucian’s features. “Good,” he murmured. “So you’ll take her then? And it’s good to see you without any fresh broken bones, Servitor.”

“Likewise,” the priest chuckled. “Yes, we will take the girl.”

“You haven’t the faintest idea how relieved I am to hear that. I really do loathe children.” Regardless, he approached the priest and little baby girl. “I bring a gift. For the girl.” He looked awkward, with flushed features and a stiff back.

Shock wrote its way onto Aven’s expression. “Really?” Aven felt something like a stone drop into his gut as Lucian produced a necklace with a familiar ring.

Alikiir’s ring.

“Let this serve as a reminder,” Lucian said, clasping the chain around her neck. “That you will always be protected, little one."

Small baby hands reached out before Lucian could pull away, wrapping around his finger.

He stilled, as though the touch burned into his skin before his mouth twisted into an uncomfortable scowl and he slipped away. "That will be all. We have something to tend to."

The priest hid his smile well as he bowed his head. "Of course, Prince Lucian. I wish you both luck."

Aven and Lucian bid goodbye to the priest and entered out onto the streets. Lucian, looking particularly miffed, pushed his blonde hair back. “Finally,” he muttered. “And with that bit of nonsense out of the way, we must begin our plan on getting captured. I had a few ideas, of course none of them involve being treated gently by the city- why are you smiling.”

Aven hadn’t even noticed. “You’re soft.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re soft for babies.”

Lucian scoffed. “No. I simply had to make up for your mistakes. She should know the boy who died for her.”

“Must you turn my every bit of banter into an assault?”

“I’m not the one who started it.”

Aven heaved a breath and followed the Prince into the crowd. “So what’s the plan?” He asked as he came into step with Lucian.

He didn’t answer.

Aven scowled. “Lucian?”

Lucian’s eyes simply narrowed.

“What did I do this time?! Are you still mad about the-” he yelped when Lucian suddenly grabbed his hand and tore him into a nearby ally, glowering at him angrily.

“Do you think I’m an idiot?”

What the hell? Aven grit his teeth. “No, I don’t think you’re an idiot. By all the gods, what is it this time?!” he hissed out.

"I know the nature of that… thing around your neck.” Lucian tugged on the torc and Aven flushed.

“You do?"

"Of course I do. I took an entire class on religious artifacts back at the academy. If I could destroy this, I would. You’re not ever to use it.” His voice was firm. Angry. But Aven didn’t back down.

Something in his gaze… darkened as a hand moved up to grasp Lucian’s. “Will it make you feel better if I agree now?"

"So easily? I was expecting you to fight me on the matter."

"It’s not worth fighting over."

For but a moment, nothing else mattered. The sound of carriages thundering down the road, and hundreds of people walking the streets, shouting with jangling bells and coin. "Promise me, first.” Lucian’s hand tightened around Aven’s. “Please."

"Lucian…"

"Please.“

Aven’s heart twisted in his chest as his eyes searched Lucian’s face. Desperate. Angry… scared. He brought the Prince’s knuckles to his lips. "…I promise."

It was all Lucian needed. He exhaled with relief, hands splaying across Aven’s shoulders as his face fell against his broad chest. "Thank you."

Aven ignored the constricting in his chest and coiled his arms around Lucian, drawing him in tight. His face lowered to light blonde hair as he breathed him in. "I don’t know why you care so much for me."

Lucian didn’t respond for a long while. His fingers were twisted into Aven’s sleeves, content with simply staying there, if only for a moment. His face was buried into Aven’s chest, hiding the way his pale cheeks sprung with red. The only indication was the slightest bit of tension in his body relaxing. "You’re my most loyal servant. You’ve proven, over and over that you’ll protect me and my interests. If I can’t return the favor and protect even my most dedicated subject, what kind of king would I be?” He cleared his throat. “But enough of that. There’s something I’ve been thinking about…. Something we forgot entirely.”

“What’s that?”

“I imagine at Spellhold Asylum they test their new inmates for magical potency. And… if they were to test you, it would give us away.”

Aven grimaced. “I didn’t think of that… so what do you suggest?”

Lucian didn’t seem too keen to enlighten Aven on his idea. He leaned back against the wall and folded his arms. “What if I were to teleport a magical item inside of you.”

“What?!”

“It won’t be too dangerous!” Lucian assured as he lifted his hands. “At least, I don’t think. I’m not an expert in anatomy but… surely your body can stand a small ring being teleported inside of you, right?”

“You have a magic ring? How do you know it won’t do any permanent damage.”

“It offers me protection. And…” Lucian sighed. “I don’t. But we’re running out of options, and time. But I won’t force this upon you, perhaps there’s another way.”

Aven pushed a hand tiredly through his hair. No. Lucian was right. They were running out of time. “No,” he grunted. “No, you’re right… we need to do this, and we need to do this now. Just..please don’t kill me.”

“I won’t.” Lucian slipped off a ring from his finger and held it against Aven’s stomach. He could feel the cool steel even through his shirt and Lucian glanced upwards. “This might feel slightly… uncomfortable.”

Uncomfortable. Somehow, that sounded like an understatement. “Just get it over with.”

Lucian’s hand glowed bright blue. Aven was right… it had been an understatement. The ring being teleported into his body was accompanied by the same sensation as being punched in the stomach and he lurched back, hand on his gut as he doubled over.

“Aven!” Lucian’s voice was sharp with alarm and he immediately crouched down by the man. “Are you okay? Did it go wrong?”

“Wrong?” Aven grunted with a hiss. “No. But I can’t say that felt very good.”

“But you feel… all right? No internal bleeding?”

“I don’t think so.”

Lucian blinked, and straightened, his hand pulling off of Aven’s shoulder, which he’d had his nailed coiled around in a vice grip. “Oh. Wow. I can’t believe that worked.”

“What?!”

“Now we need to plan how we’re going to get ourselves captured.”

Aven’s heart was still racing, and his stomach continued to coil and repulse at the alien object suddenly thrust upon it. “What do you have in mind?”

“Well, we have to have a mage battle in the streets, of course. Be casting spells at one another.”

“Yes, but the only problem with that is I can’t cast spells.”

“Easily rectified,” Lucian said with a wave of his hand. “I can simply use a little bit of metamagic to make it seem as though the spell is coming from you.”

“Metamagic?”

Lucian folded his arms and shot him an irritated look. “Metamagic,” he repeated. “The manipulation of spells from their usual state. Such as… being able to cast a spell without its verbal component, or extending the range or duration of a spell. It’s more difficult to cast, and requires a certain level of control over spellcasting ability but I should be able to manage it.”

Aven arched a brow. “…you can barely manage your spellcasting even without tampering with it. And how are we going to start this ‘fight’ anyways?”

Lucian considered for a moment. Then snapped his fingers. “I know how. Follow me.”

He led Aven a short distance away - merely into the center of the street where he glossed his hands over his robes to straighten them. “Okay, Aven, do me a favor and hold this for me.“ He drew off one of his delicate, expensive golden bands and handed it to Aven who took it with wide eyes.

"Oh boy, okay, more gold. But why do I have to-"

"How dare you steal from me, you filthy peasant!"

Aven jumped a foot, recoiling at the lash of Lucian’s voice. The Prince’s eyes were narrowed to slits as he took a step forward, his rage so shockingly believable that Aven stumbled a step back.

Until he noticed the small crowd gathering.

Aven swiftly shifted into action and gripped the band tighter. "Yours? Like you need it,” Aven sneered, drawing away from Lucian who scoffed from behind him.

“Don’t you turn away from me!” He snapped, throwing out his hand.

Aven didn’t expect Lucian to strike him with an actual spell. Townsfolk screamed and staggered backwards as Lucian’s magic missile struck him in the shoulder, sending him staggering forward. He whirled around. “Oh yeah?!” He roared back, putting out his palm and assumed the stance he’d seen most mages take.

Lucian did all the rest. He made no gesture, spoke no arcane words, but Aven could see the focus in his eyes as a spear of ice was conjured in Aven’s fist and the barbarian hurled it forwards, shattering across the shield that Lucian projected.

People nearby were screaming for guards. Aven was unsure whether or not this could be considered a good thing, and he had little time to care as Lucian’s fingers lit up with flames, jet of fire streaming towards him.

Aven dove to the side, a wagon setting alight where he’d just been standing and when an orb of acid materialized in his hand, he hurled it towards the Prince. He dove, acid biting and sizzling into the stone flooring.

Aven moved his hands in a convincing gesture of magic, and could feel the burn of arcana between his fingers as a spell was conjured. A pulse of green leapt from Aven’s fingertips as the pair cast spell after spell at one another, wagons burning and civilians screaming and running.

From the corner of his eye, Aven could see several figures charging down the road, staffs in hand and hoods pulled over their heads.

The Cowled Mages.

"Here we go,” Aven mouthed, fear gripping him. Lucian saw. He offered only a nod, before one of them leveled their staff at the Prince, a bolt of blue striking him in the chest. The effect was immediate.

Stone began to crawl up his flesh, creeping up his arm and Aven could see the briefest moment of panic before Lucian swallowed it, looking up to meet Aven’s gaze before it crawled over his face - petrifying him. Another mage gave their staff a twirl, a jet of blue striking Aven in the back. It was a painful sensation.

Looking down, Aven could see rock creeping along his fingers as they became pillars of stone. Panic. It pooled and surged in Aven’s stomach and he slammed his eyes closed as darkness overtook him.

There was no turning back now.