Chapter 29 - Training of the Mind

Lucian had much to think about on the way back to his shared room. Marcello. Training. Home. His palms sputtered with magic as he walked down the decorated halls, squeezing and unfurling his fists. He absolutely couldn’t wait for Marcello to show him up tomorrow. And in front of Aven.

No. Don’t think like that. He’s trying to help.

Uttering foul words under his breath, Lucian shoved into their room… and stared at the scene in front of him. “What are you doing.”

Aven sat on their purple blanketed bed, surrounded by stacks of books. Some of them weren’t even in common. Books of flora and fauna, books of history, stories and tales. Aven pulled his head up, looking utterly exasperated. “I’m… I’m trying to read.”

Lucian took a delicate seat next to Aven to get a good look at the book. He snorted. “The Tao of Earth… Aven, this is one of the most complicated books out there. It’s philosophy."

“Is it? Somehow, it managed to hurt my head without even being able to read the letters.”

“Well, what did you expect?” Lucian chastised. “That you could just stare at the words and hope they’d just make sense?”

Aven’s shoulders slumped. “Is that stupid?”

“Yes. You need someone to teach you. So move over.”

Aven’s eyes widened. “Why?”

“Because I’m going to teach you, axe brain. We’ll start with something smaller.. Like this one.”

Aven squinted at the cover of the book Lucian had in hand. It depicted a very cute little dragon trampling a village. "Lucian, is this a children’s book?"

"You need to start with beginner level reading. First, we’ll go over the alphabet."

Aven’s eyes searched Lucian’s face. "You’re in a better mood,” he hummed. “Did your discussion with Marcello go…well?"

"Yes. We managed to not kill each other, if that’s what you mean.” He paused. “And… Marcello suggested we train together tomorrow. He may have some techniques that could help me focus my spellcasting.”

“Well, that’s good,” Aven noted. “Between losing all your clothes, summoning bees and blowing up towers, you’ve had a rough time of it.”

“Seems we both have things to learn.” Lucian wormed his way underneath the blankets. “Myself with spellcasting, and you with your literacy. Now…. we’re starting here. This is the letter A.”

——————————————————

Lucian quickly lost patience.

Several hours into their study session, Lucian hurled the book and face planted. “No,” he groaned. “That’s O, not Q.”

Aven massaged the pain away from his eyes. “They all look the same!” He insisted. “The words, they….they float off the page, damn it.”

“What do you mean they float off the page?! They’re right there!”

“I don’t know what I mean, they just… they swirl! They swirl and mix around.”

Lucian scraped his hand across his jaw. “All right, all right, we’ll work on it, just…” he waved his hand, summoning a quill and paper. “Do you know how to spell your name at least? We went over it a couple times.”

Aven nodded and took the quill and parchment from Lucian. Lucian laid on his back as he listened to the scratching of ink on paper - more scratching than should be used for A V E N. He glanced over with a frown. “What are you doing?”

“Hold on.” Aven was biting his tongue in focus as he wrote. Finally, when he finished, he twisted it around. “There.”

“Aven….” Lucian flushed. “That’s my name.”

The L was written backwards, as well as the c and the i and a had been flipped… but it was immediately apparent what Aven had been trying to spell. Aven nodded. “I know. But I just like spelling your name more.”

Lucian stared at Aven for a long while… before a smile broke out over his lips, lifting a hand to his mouth. Delicate fingers took the quill and parchment from Aven’s hands and tossed them to the floor. His weight rolled on top of Aven’s. “You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah, I know,” Aven sighed. His cheeks burned red with embarrassment. “I don’t know why it’s so hard for-”

He was cut off as Lucian kissed him. Slow and loving. His pale fingers drew down Aven’s face, and the man’s shock wore off as he lifted up towards the kiss. When Lucian parted, his blue gaze searched Aven’s eyes. “That’s not what I meant.”

“So I’m not an idiot?”

“Oh, no,” Lucian grinned. “You most certainly are. But you’re also insufferably cute. So it makes up for it.”

“A cute idiot… why can’t I be a sexy warrior?”

Teeth gnawed into Lucian’s lower lip as he withheld a laugh. “That too.”

Aven didn’t miss a beat, his calloused hand drifted up to brush past Lucian’s cheek, threading fingers through blonde hair. Their mouths met again and Aven swung his other arm around Lucian’s back, drawing their clothed bodies flush.

There was no hurry to draw away.

As they kissed, Lucian let his daintier hand slip beneath the loose fitted linen shirt Aven wore, fingertips slipping up every curve of muscle before nails curved at his chest.

Heat surged through Aven’s skull and his weight shifted onto an elbow. One kiss. Two. He parted with a wet sheen to his lips, a chocolate gaze sweeping down over the prince.

No words passed between them and he began to swiftly pluck away the strings and buttons locking Lucian within his daytime wear. He clumsily fought through every layer and Lucian’s arms raised above his head sending the tunic to the floor.

Aven’s was next. It took seconds for their chests to push warm and bare together. His hands traveled up Lucian’s sides, exploring the lithe figure.

Lucian didn’t let him stare long, quickly seeking to occupy the wandering sentiments. He curled his fingers into Aven’s hair, a knee lifting between the man’s legs. Lips scraped delicately over a stubbled jaw.

Despite every calculated kiss, the way Lucian held himself, Aven could feel his heart racing.

Don’t think.

An icy blue gaze watched him beneath lashes and Aven took his face, drawing them close enough to brush noses. “It’s whatever you want,” he assured in a whisper.

Lucian didn’t speak as his lips touched back down to the man beneath him. Slow. It took no short amount of gentle touches and passing breaths for him to relax before he took it a step further.

His hips rolled down to meet Aven’s and a breath spilled between their joined mouths. Aven spun his fingers into golden hair and bunched it in his hands. He scraped his tongue along Lucian’s lower lip before dipping in to wind their tongues together.

Lucian tasted of fine Halruaan wine and berries.

They kissed until they were breathless, a low buzz of heat warming Aven’s skin to the touch. He drew his lips away with saliva hanging between them. The rise and falls of their chests met rapidly.

He ached to spin Lucian on his back. To work his trousers off of dainty hips and to kiss. But he could still feel Lucian’s muscles tense everytime he moved too fast.

Instead, Aven kept it slow.

His lips latched to Lucian’s jaw. With a flutter of teeth, he left a trail of heated kisses. Aven mouthed his way down to Lucian’s neck and drew porcelain skin between his teeth to suck.

A hand immediately found his chest and Lucian pushed up out of reach. The prince’s face was flushed beyond measure as he gathered his breaths. “No. You can’t go marking me, Aven.” He paused. “….at least..not where they can see.”

Aven nodded with a dip of his head. His lips lowered to Lucian’s shoulder and his words fluttered through the thick, warm air. "I’ll paint you with my lips."

Despite the tension, the nervous stiffness of muscles, Lucian shuddered in response. Lips returned to one another. Hands wandered. As Aven’s fingers drew down Lucian’s throat, he shivered with a smile. “Your fingers are freezing,” he murmured.

Cold? Aven thought dully as his lips moved to Lucian’s jaw. Weird. Why cold, when I feel like I’m burning… He touched his lover, fingertips dragging down his throat… not noticing the way frost slowly spread out from where his fingertips brushed against the blonde’s neck. Didn’t notice the chill lifting up around them…

Not until there was a blast of freezing cold from his hand, like a miniature blizzard that formed upon their bed. It was gone as quickly as it arrived, leaving both of the men staring at each other in shock with icicles hanging from their hair, eyes wide.

"…well,“ Lucian finally managed. "That was… new."

Aven gave another aimless blink as Lucian slid off of him and drew a blanket around his shoulders. "Did…I..do that?"

"Yes. Congratulations."

Aven stared at his hands like they might explode. They still had frost crawling down his fingers and his eyes shot up to Lucian. ”…you don’t sound surprised. At all.“

Lucian shivered and brushed the last few frozen fractals from his arms. "I was afraid this might happen."

"What are you…. what do you mean?” Aven’s voice was a helpless whimper. “Are you okay?"

"What? Yes, I’m fine. It was just a cantrip."

"What’s a-"

"A minor spell. Don’t worry, you couldn’t hurt a baby with it.” Lucian took Aven’s hands. “…when you died…and I transferred part of my mana into you in order to bring you back… where do you think it went."

"I don’t know…all I know is that it’s what caused our thoughts and emotions to be able to be shared.”

“It is.” Lucian paused. “To be frank, I’m not yet aware of the full extent of our bond. It’s never been done before. So there may be more changes to anticipate. But it’s clear that you now possess a modicum of arcane ability through what I’ve given you. At least, the usage of cantrips.”

“Modicum…? I don’t understand."

"Modicum, it means…” Lucian rubbed the back of his neck. “It means you have arcane ability now, Aven. But from what I’ve seen, only very little. As much as a child might have.” He smirked. “But of course, as someone who’s never had a drop of magic in their blood, a little may seem like a lot."

Lucian could feel the bombardment of emotions rushing through Aven as he leaned back. His jaw was tight. His fists were clenched. And there was the glisten of tears in his eyes. Lucian’s heart clenched. ”…you don’t have to be afraid,“ he whispered. "We’ll do this together."

"No, I…” Aven shook his head. “It’s just sad. I’m sad."

"Why?"

Aven drew his knees into his chest. "All I needed was the abilities of a toddler to avoid a life of slavery and poverty. That’s all I needed. The simplest, most stupid thing set me apart from everyone else."

"…Aven." Lucian’s arms roped around the man. "It’s not your fault. I was speaking with Marcello… every being, from elves to gnolls… they have mana. It’s the life that flows through us. The fact that you don’t… there’s never been something wrong with you. Somewhere down the line, your family was tampered with."

"That tampering killed my father and made me a slave."

"…a slave no longer." Lucian’s fingers brushed Aven’s jaw. "That life is behind you now. But… we must be very careful. You must be very careful."

"Why..?"

“People generate their mana overtime as it’s used. But you.. You’re running off of a pool of mana that does not regenerate. It’s what keeps you alive. If you use too much…”

Aven’s blood ran cold. “I’ll die.”

Lucian nodded. “You must never use your magic. Understand?”

Aven leaned forward to push his lips to Lucian’s mouth. “Understood.”

“Good. Now let’s sleep. Being destroyed onstage was exhausting.”

—————————————————–

For three days, from dawn until dusk, Lucian trained with Aven. They studied, all the way from the basics to the most advanced techniques of magic. They practiced different schools of arcana to see if Lucian simply reacted worse to one than others. From his specialty, Conjuration to the forbidden arts of Necromancy, Lucian responded the same to all - with wild outbursts of magic.

Aven couldn’t count how many times Lucian’s magic ran amuck amongst the days of training. One night, two supervising wizards went to bed with piglet tails, and another day Lucian’s hair turned neon pink - much to the delight of the Halruaans.

On the morning of the fourth, Lucian picked his way towards the arcane arena, holding his head. “My head aches,” he muttered.

“Mine, too.” Aven thought back to the dinner they had only just shared with several Halruaan nobles.

“I imagine, so. After your outburst at the table.”

Aven flushed. “I live half my life starved and these puffed up peacocks have the audacity to eat and then willingly vomit just so that they can eat more food?!”

“It’s a cultural difference. Halruaa is one of the most prosperous nations in all of Toril.”

“It’s disgusting.”

“I can’t argue with you. But please, no more threatening to strangle noblemen with their own toupees.”

They pushed into the arena. It bore very little resemblance to the ones Aven was familiar with. There were no weapons mounted on the walls, no dummies. It was a wall of mirrors, the ceiling an expanse of stars. Rather than racks of arms and armor, there were shelves of potions and wands.

Marcello stood in the middle of the room, hands folded behind his back.

"Good morning, Lucian, Aven,” Marcello purred. “Are you ready to continue?"

"You mean continue blowing shit up and making daisies pop out of the ground?” Lucian muttered. “Sure.”

Aven was careful to keep his distance. With a waterskin at the ready, he lowered down onto the ground as Lucian got into his stance.

Marcello waved his hand. Illusions flickered to life throughout the room. Shapeless masses of neon green that slowly began to take form. When a face emerged, Lucian’s eyes widened - then narrowed. “What is this?” He demanded.

“Encouragement,” Marcello said, and he sent forward the illusory images of King Darrien Arceneaux.

The word hadn’t even left Marcello’s lips before a magic missile was sent surging from Lucian’s palm. The illusion’s head was blasted off its shoulders. “Ready,” Lucian snarled.

The edge of Marcello’s lip lifted. “Good. But we’re trying something new."

"New…?"

"You told me of your discovery, regarding your bond with Aven.” Marcello motioned to Aven, who at the moment wished he was anywhere but in that room. “Try casting your spell through him, as one might a familiar.”

Lucian gave pause. “…you know how wild my magic is,” he said. “If it goes wrong, then Aven would then be subject to its effects. And I’ve never cast through a familiar, before."

"Yes. But I’m sure he can take it. But I trust in your abilities… perhaps I can demonstrate.”

Demonstrate.

Lucian had to fight to keep from rolling his eyes before he stepped aside and bowed forward with a sweeping hand. “By all means then.”

Netyarch Marcello swept to the center floor, whipping his cloak back as a single eye bore into the swarming mass of the illusionary wall of faces. His hand cast to his side, an unspoken call summoning his blink dog, Acheron, to his side.

The snow-white wolfdog barked out in response to his partner, stormy blue eyes matching Marcello’s gleaming up at him.

“At my ready,” the mage prepared.

Beneath a coat of fur, muscles tensed. The dog’s ears shot forward, his tail at attention.

A dark face breached from the wall and dragged itself forth. Short of stature, with deep ebony skin and knife-pointed ears. A messy mop of white hair splashed across burning red eyes.

Visible tension clung to Marcello as the illusionary figure sprung to attack. Lucian frowned. This must be one of the Crinti he’s heard so much about.

Marcello gritted his teeth together with a jump in his jaw and threw out his hand once it met the halfway mark.

“Now Acheron.”

A split second reaction time. Acheron howled and leapt forward. In mid air his body phased out, reappearing right on top of the illusion of the Crinti. His paws slammed against its chest and with a spark, a spell ignited.

Lucian recognized it immediately.

Shocking Grasp.

The cracks of lightning jumped across the illusion and before it could shatter into pieces, Acheron was already back at Marcello’s side as if he’d never left it.

“Your familiar,” Marcello said, drawing his bejeweled fingers through Acheron’s silky white fur. “Is an extension of yourself. You share a soul. And a soul is simply another word for one’s mana. It is that link that allows a mage to channel and focus their energy through their familiar. Try it now.”

Lucian glanced over to Aven. “…are you ready?”

Aven nodded. “If you think this will help you learn how to stabilize your magic… let’s try it.”

Lucian squeezed his hand, and they stepped into the arena. A secondary illusion peeled itself off of the wall. But it was not Darrien. Nor was it a Crinti.

This time, the face of Darrien’s first knight, Jaheron materialized before them. Lucian watched as Aven physically tensed beside him. Watched as his hands curled into fists. Focus, Lucian thought towards Aven. When you feel my mana, I want you to rush over and grasp onto his face.

What about his throat, came Aven’s reply.

The illusion of the man who murdered Aven’s father, the illusion of the man who made Lucian’s childhood a living hell, marched towards them with a hiss of steel as he drew a foot of his sword from its sheath.

"Hold,” Lucian hisses. He focused. Reached inside of himself, until he could touch the Weave. Then… focused it. Visualized a thread attaching him to Aven. “Hold….” he waited. Aven’s body was tense, eyes narrowed to slits and finally, Aven could feel it. The rush of arcane magic that flooded through him to Aven, connecting them.

“Now!” Lucian snapped.

Aven surged forward. He wasted no time in coiling his large hands around Jaheron’s throat. He could feel the hiss beneath his fingertips as the acidic sludge dripping from his fingers burned against the illusion’s neck. Skin melted against the bone, and Jaheron’s arrogant features dissolved into bubbling goo.

Aven stared at his hands in shock, then looked up to Lucian with a grin. “Can we try that for real on him?”

“Oh, how I’d love to,” Lucian snorted.

Another illusion caught Lucian’s attention. This time, Vesper. The leader of the spellthieves marched forward with a wicked grin, drawing two knives as they twirled between his dusky grey fingers. “Aven!” Lucian said.

Aven recognized the rush of arcane magic this time. As the illusion of Vesper advanced, Aven pressed his palm against the elf’s face. The illusion screamed, backing away as a cold mist creeped across his skull before the winking out in a blink of light.

“I don’t know why,” Lucian murmured. He stared at his hands. “But it’s almost as though my magic is more… stable when I cast through Aven.”

“Stable?” Marcello asked. “Aven, can you feel when Lucian casts through you? I wonder if it’s possible you’re helping him direct it.” He paused. “All right. I think we’re ready.”

“Ready?” Lucian asked. He leaned to the wall, drinking from the waterskin to recover.

“Ready for a duel.”

Lucian choked on his sip and looked up to Marcello with exasperation. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. There’s very little you can learn from illusions that won’t hit back.” Marcello drew black gloves over his long fingers. They crackled with electricity. “Let’s see how adept the nobility of Aeliorn are in the arcane arts.”

Lucian grit his teeth. “I’ve been looking forward to knocking you on your ass since I arrived,” he said.

“Lucian,” Aven warned. He took Lucian’s arm in hand. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“No. But I don’t care. Go sit by the wall where we can’t hit you.”

Aven looked as though he had half a mind to protest… but he knew the look in his lover’s eye. That stubborn gaze, where nothing could possibly change his mind. The barbarian grimaced and nodded, moving aside.

The mages slowly circled. As though the enchanted ceiling was responding to the tension in the room, lightning flashed across an illusory sky. Both of them were tense, slow, waiting for the other to break first.

Lucian was the first to cast. He surged forward, a rapier of solid ice materializing in his grasp. Marcello wasn’t expecting an immediate martial attack. It tore across his side and Marcello hissed out in pain, sidestepping the next strike.

“Very well,” Marcello murmured. His gloved fingers drew an arcane symbol into the air, where they burned a dark purple before a mist washed over Marcello. His skin flickered in and out of existence, phasing between a corporeal and shadow form.

Lucian struck again, but rather than striking skin, his rapier fell through shadow and Lucian stumbled past.

“Bastard!” Lucian snarled. He threw out his hand, and icy daggers that formed around his fingers shot like arrows. Two of them struck into Marcello’s leg while the last passed harmlessly through shadow.

“You like ice, Lucian?” Marcello grinned. “I’ll give you ice.”

Marcello’s single eye burned a hot white light. Both hands thrusted up towards the ceiling followed by a crack of magic, and a hail of ice showered down upon them.

Lucian’s eyes widened. He dropped down low, eyes squeezing shut. He lifted his hand above him, a shield materializing into his grasp and he wore out the crack and thunder of skull sized hail striking against the copper shield.

When the onslaught ended, Lucian threw the shield like a disk towards Marcello, deflected with a wave of magic. Frustration lashed through Lucian. He leveled his hands at Marcello, only to be absorbed into the mage’s palms.

Both of the mages were worn. Marcello’s gaze was fixed on Lucian and a tired breath fell from his lips. “Lucian,” he said. “I’m the better mage between us.” Lucian glowered, about to protest when Marcello lifted his hand. “But you’re a better warrior than I.” Use it."

Marcello thrust his hand down, palm striking the ground. A ripple of darkness stretched out over the room, and black tentacles spawned from the ground, breaking through marble and one of them coiled around Lucian, tight.

Aven was on his feet, tension crawling down his muscles as he watched his lover being squeezed.

They were barbed, cutting into his skin, sapping the strength from his bones. Lucian squirmed and writhed. The more he thrashed about, the tighter they closed in on him. They began to coil around his neck.

“Marcello!” Aven shouted. “Release him!”

“He’ll release himself,” Marcello snapped back.

Lucian gasped for breath. No. He couldn’t beat Marcello as a mage. Just as he couldn’t force his way from the tentacle’s grasp.

He had to play to his strengths.

The black tentacles coiled tighter around him. Around his wrists. Around his throat. Around his torso and waist until he was utterly bound.

Lucian closed his eyes. Focused. He felt Aven’s presence. Felt the Weave as it flowed through him like the blood in his veins. His fingers flickered with arcane energy. And with a snarl, uttered the arcane words. His body vanished, the tentacles going limp and immediately reappeared - right on top of Marcello.

Marcello caved in shock, his back touching the ground as Lucian’s rapier touched his throat, the blade coming to life in burning flames that lit up their faces in a golden glow. “I win,” Lucian panted.

“First rule of a duel,” Marcello growled. “Never assume.”

Lucian felt the tickle of electricity. He looked down, to find Marcello’s hand an inch from touching his stomach.

Marcello’s face broke out into a grin. “I do believe that’s a tie,” he purred. “And not a single outburst of magic to be seen.”

Lucian couldn’t help it. The elation that surged through him as he immediately turned to find Aven’s gaze. The barbarian didn’t wait to rush forward to wrap Lucian in his arms. “You did amazing,” he smiled, kissing Lucian’s jaw.

Lucian was stunned. Less so from the battle, and more from the blatant display of public affection. He flushed and tucked a strand of blonde behind his ear. “I… really?”

“You’ve certainly been trained well,” Marcello admitted. “Your master was careful to keep you trained in both magical and martial arts… what was his name?”

“Caesar.” Lucian hesitated. “I’m not sure what became of him after I left.”

“Next time you meet, I imagine you owe him thanks. He seems to be quite the teacher.”

“I do owe him thanks.” He paused. “And there’s someone else I owe thanks, as well. Marcello.” He turned to the man who arched a single, dark brow. “When you have a moment, I need to speak with you.”

“Oh?” Marcello said. “I have matters of the Council to tend to… but tonight, I would be happy to spare some time. Find me in my chambers, after the Council has been dismissed.”

————————————

Lucian’s body ached all day. Aven would never understand how taxing the arcane art can be on the body. He could scarcely pay attention as they distracted themselves for the day before Lucian’s meeting with Marcello.

They wandered the vast markets of Halruaa’s capital and gawked at the ostentatious displays of fashion and wealth, constantly meandering down its streets like a parade. They watched one of Halruaa’s famous skyships lifted up from its dock and into the sky.

By the time night fell, and Lucian left Aven to go find Marcello, he needed a drink.

He stopped at the Netyarch’s door and knocked. Gears grinded and the door slid open. Marcello stood in the doorway, silken robes of purple and gold dripping down his frame. It seemed every day he sported an entirely new wardrobe. "Finally here,” he said.

“How are you feeling?"

"No worse than yourself. It was a good fight.” “It was. You do well when you don’t have so many eyes on you."

Petulance and restraint clashed across Lucian’s features. Lucian exhaled. "I was hoping,” he said. “That we could talk, now."

"I’m free. Why don’t you come inside, a moment? I need to write a missive, then I’ll be ready to go."

Lucian swept inside, following after Marcello. The netyarch’s room was big enough to be considered a small house. With a bed lofted up on a marble platform on the far wall and draped in silken curtains, it was big enough to fit a few kings with plush fur blankets and the softest down feather pillows. A seating area dominated the middle of the room next to a small library of bookshelves that enclosed a desk area for work in front of a great wall of windows. Attached was an on-suite bath, as well as a balcony that looked out over the whole of the city. Everything was colored in rich woods and deep purples save for the accented light marble floors and posts.

“You’re holding out on me, Marcello. My room doesn’t have half of these luxuries. My room doesn’t even have a bath.”

“If it offends you so, you’re welcome to borrow mine.”

Lucian scoffed, moving to bite back with a retort… when a small little white head poked out from behind the bed.

"Is that a… puppy?” Lucian asks and Marcello’s eyes widened.

"Oh no.“

Acheron blinked into the room - followed by none other than five of his white pups. All of the hounds tackled Lucian at once, Acheron knocking him to the ground with an oof!

It was the perfect opportunity. The puppies swarmed him. Little teeth chewed on his clothes, tongues scraping across his face. Lucian teleported away from them in a flash on top of the bed. “You have more dogs.”

Marcello had broken out in a grin. "Sit.” His voice rang out across the room and the command was quick to take effect, all of the pups sitting with Acheron towering above them. “Yes. I’ve taken up a breeding project with Acheron. Our blink dogs are the prettiest you’ll ever see."

"I did notice they looked… off. Most are shaggier… uglier… yellow. Yours are white, and wolf like." Lucian reached down to pluck one of them up. "Soft."

"They sell for a fortune. Normally I have buyers lined up, but this war and the loss of Theseus has left me frazzled.” Marcello paused, watching the way the pup wriggled happily in Lucian’s arms. “Perhaps you’d be interested in one?"

"I don’t think I could take care of an animal right now, beyond Aven,” Lucian snorted, setting the pup down. It walked circles between his legs, sniffing at him with tail wagging.

“I suppose a war isn’t ideal for a puppy… but they make great companions. Acheron. Come.” Acheron blinked to Marcello’s side and the man put out his arm. “Take my arm."

Lucian reached out. The moment he touched Marcello’s sleeve - they were teleporting. Marcello’s conjuration wasn’t as smooth as Lucian’s, but he at the very least didn’t make them materialize in solid stone. They stepped through the portal, once again amidst the ruins that surrounded the capital.

The moon gleamed down from an inky night sky. In the distance, the lights of Halarah glittered like a jewel in the dark. Marcello breathed in the night air. Halruaa was hot, even on the coolest days and the nights were no exception. He leaned against a ruined block of stone and let his eye drift over to Lucian. "I assumed you may have wanted some privacy, and there are always prying eyes in the palace. What was it you needed?"

“You annoy me.”

Marcello snorted. “Bold introduction.”

"Ever since we were little. We never… got along.”

“Yes. Mostly because you rejected my friendship at every turn and lied to my father."

"I’m well aware I’ve been a prick my entire life. And yet,” Lucian put out his hand, and a dancing light bobbed from his palm and up into the air. “You’ve done nothing but help me, and support me. Consider this my apology."

"Thanks. I think.” Marcello drew his eyes up towards the moon. “I blamed you for a long while. Every time I looked in the mirror, all I could think of was the way you lied. I kept telling myself… if I never met Lucian Arceneaux, I would be whole. But…” he frowned.

“I’m sorry, Marcello.”

“No. It wasn’t your fault.” Marcello turned his head. “Lying was wrong. I can’t pretend to know why you did it. But… what my father did…what Murdock Silvercrest did to me… nothing justifies abusing a child.” Marcello’s hand sought out his familiar, and his fingers twisted into Acheron’s silvery fur. “It was cruel. And it was wrong. He is the only one to blame.”

Lucian’s eyes searched Marcello for a long while. ”…the boy back then wasn’t willing to be your friend,” he said. “But the man today is. If you’ll have him.“

Marcello’s lip twisted in a soft smile. With a sigh, he pulled down his eyepatch - and his arcane, golden eye lit up in the night as it, along with his blue, focused on Lucian. “I’m glad.” And without another word - pulled Lucian into a hug.

The Prince tensed. Hugs. Hugs were normally received only from his lover. And yet… he felt a comfort in Marcello. Like he hugged on to an older sibling, rather than an old rival. Perhaps it was simply a safety he’d been craving.

Lucian’s fingers twisted into the silks and sank forward against Marcello. ”..thank you.“

"No. Thank you. I’ve needed-” Marcello stopped abruptly, just as Acheron snarled and stared into the dark. “Acheron?” Marcello said, pulling from Lucian. “What is it?”

Lucian could hear it before he could see it.

The twang of crossbow bolts.

“Marcello, get down!” He snapped, and fell to the ground… to hear a cry of pain beside him. To his horror, Marcello fell. His eyes were open. His chest pounded with life, with breath… and yet he was completely frozen, paralyzed in place.

“Marcello!”

“Thank you for your service, Prince Lucian,” laughed a voice from the dark.

Lucian grit his teeth and placed himself overtop his paralyzed companion. “Who are you!”

Forms materialized from the gloom, shrouded in cloaks of black. The closest peeled back his hood to reveal a dusky grey face with burning red eyes, and ivory hair that fell around his elven features.

The Crinti.

The half-drow’s eyes swiftly fanned over the two and he loaded another bolt into his crossbow. “The Masters only want the Netyarch,” he said. “Kill the spare.”