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There was little Gilmore could do about the Raven Queen’s haunting of his Vax’ildan. Per their pact, it was her right, but Gilmore did not have to like it. Bad enough that Gilmore was forced to share his lovely boy with Keyleth, but now this? This bothered him much more.
At least he could explain to Vax’ildan what was going on. The poor dear was so anxious. Gilmore was certain she was feeding off that, to some extent. Bitch. Higher being to higher being, she really should have asked Gilmore’s permission to stake any claim to his boy. If only Percival had been more careful, Vox Machina would not have been forced to make such a desperate choice.
Well, there was no help for it now. At least Vax would be home later today; that was something to look forward to. Speaking of which, Gilmore should probably do a bit of grooming to make himself more presentable before then. Gingerly, he slid out of bed and, for lack of clothing, tied the sheet into an izaar. Walking was still not optimal, but Gilmore thought perhaps if he could take the small wooden desk chair from Pike’s room to lean on, he might be able to make his way to the baths. Gilmore had barely made it five feet from Pike’s door when he heard footsteps approaching.
“No.” Jarett swept him up this time without warning, casually carrying Gilmore down the hall.
“Good morning to you as well, captain.”
“Fortunate that I was making one last pass by your room before the end of my shift,” Jarett said.
“By complete coincidence, I’m sure,” Gilmore said. “To the baths, please.”
“Do we really have to speak in Common now?” Jarett asked him, fixing his smoky quartz eyes on Gilmore in a way that invited intimacy.
“Not at all,” Gilmore replied. “I just want you to know that there are those here who can understand what we’re saying.”
“But I would say the same to you in any language, Gilt D’amour.”
Gilmore didn’t believe that for a moment. “Prove it.”
“My love is a veiled one; but were he to pass in darkness black as his hair, his shining face would be light enough.” Jarett looked deep into Gilmore’s eyes as he recited the lines. “So if I stray for a night in his black locks, his brow’s bright dawn will guide my eyes.”
“That’s quite an education you have, weaver’s son,” Gilmore said, impressed.
“Every boy in Ank’Harel learns how to read.”
“True, but not every boy can recite the works of our great poets, and in a foreign tongue, no less.”
“I was hoping to say it to you in Marquesian.”
“There may be time yet,” Gilmore told him. “But not today.” He motioned for Jarett to put him down at the edge of the large bathtub. “You do me yet another kindness, Jarett.”
Jarett lingered in the doorway, and Gilmore could not read his body language. “Do you wish me to stay, my lord?”
“No, I believe I can take it from here. Thank you.” Jarett bowed and backed out of the bathroom as though Gilmore were royalty. He shook his head and rang for the servants to bring hot water. What an eclectic group of mortals were gathered here in Whitestone castle.
After soaking in the bath so long that the water had become unpleasantly tepid, Gilmore managed to pull himself out and dry off without assistance. Sherri appeared in the doorway just as he was tying the sheet around his waist once more. “Master Gilmore, Lady Cassandra’s been looking for you. She’s brought some man with her.”
“Good morning, Sherri,” he said with a reproving look.
“Yes. Sorry, sir. Good morning. Do you need help getting back to your room?” When he nodded, she dutifully tucked herself under his arm and assisted him back down the hall. Back in his room, Cassandra introduced him to the halfling at her side, one Mr. Aberwydd, the tailor she had previously promised.
Cassandra and Sherri left the room so that the tailor could take Gilmore’s measurements. Then Gilmore fussed over some fabric samples the tailor had brought. There was no pink or purple to be had, but there was a crimson brocade he liked quite a bit. After he’d described what he wanted to Mr. Aberwydd and made his fabric selections, Gilmore found himself alone once again. He climbed back into bed, feeling perhaps more tired than he should. Either way, Gilmore wanted to conserve his energy for when Vax’ildan returned.
He’d hardly lain down when Cassandra made one of her abrupt and silent appearances. Gilmore wondered if she might not be a better rogue even than his Vax. “Yes, my dear? Please come in.”
Cassandra walked in looking shy, her hands clasped in front of her like a schoolgirl. She took a moment to shut the door and then came to stand a discreet distance from the bed. “Master Gilmore, my brother has told me that you’re very good at working enchantments.”
“That’s true. But come, my dear; we are not strangers. Please call me Gilmore.”
“Very well, sir.” She gave a small curtsy, as though it were impossible for her to be less formal. Gilmore noted that she would not look him in the eye. “There is one thing I’ve been desirous of for some time, though I have thought it impossible...but perhaps, for you…”
“Tell me,” Gilmore prompted, beginning to get a vague idea in his head.
Cassandra looked at the floor while she spoke. “It’s just a little thing, and did not matter so much before Vox Machina came here to Whitestone. And yet, I find it more and more standing in the way of me doing my duty now, and so I was wondering…”
“What did you have in mind?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “A cloak, perhaps. Some mundane outer garment I might wear during the day…”
“To protect from sunlight?” Gilmore guessed.
She cringed from his directness, and raised a hand to quickly wipe a tear from her eye. “Please. Please don’t tell anyone. If Percy found out--”
“Now why would I do that?” Gilmore asked. “You’ve done an admirable job of keeping my secret, after all.” This was clearly not something Cassandra could be blamed for. Some circumstances yielded an inevitable result. And when in Rome… “I could certainly enchant an item of clothing for you, once my full powers have returned to me. But is it really necessary? Surely you have a lord chamberlain who can take care of business for you during daylight hours.”
Cassandra was wringing her hands, clearly distressed. “I fear the longer I hide from daylight, the more suspicious it becomes.”
“Very well. But nothing is foolproof. You would still be taking a risk.”
She nodded. “I’m willing to take it.”
“Very well, then.” Gilmore stroked his beard, thinking how he might go about the enchantment. “I’ll do this for you.”
She bowed. “Thank you, Gilmore. It would mean so much to me--that is, unless…”
“Yes?” Special orders were so predictable. There was always one more little thing.
“Well, I was thinking, if the same could be done for an ointment of some sort, that would be even less conspicuous--”
“My dear, I’m good, but even I am not that good.” It was good for his ego that so many of them thought so highly of his abilities, though.
“Very well.” She ducked her head. “I understand.”
Gilmore felt for her. It was not easy being a monster. “My dear, come here.” He held his hand out to her. She looked at it, clearly afraid to touch him. “It’s alright. I mean you no harm.” Cassandra hesitantly reached out, and brushed his palm with just the tips of her fingers, as though his skin might electrocute her. Ignoring her reaction, Gilmore took her hand. “How do you sustain yourself, if I might ask?”
“Oh, I would never hurt anyone!” She shook her head, as though expecting him to mete out punishment. “Never. I have an arrangement with the butcher. And Cook’s blood puddings are famous. No one notices if a few jars go missing.”
Such a pity. “That doesn’t sound like much of a life.”
Cassandra shrugged. “It was the only alternative to death I was given.”
“We all have to make difficult choices. But enforced solitude is even worse than the condition itself.”
“I know what it’s like to live among those who can never know your true nature,” she said, looking up at him bravely.
“Yes. I believe we have that in common.” He squeezed her fingers. “At least we have one another as allies now.”
Cassandra nodded. “Yes...I’d like that. Then neither of us has to feel quite so alone.”
What a dear thing she was. “Come.” Gilmore opened his arms. “Embrace me.” Cassandra seemed to give up her ladylike facade for just a moment, and ran to him like a child. Gilmore hugged her tight enough to hurt, if she’d been human.
“Thank you for keeping my secret,” she said softly. Gilmore lifted a corner of the sheet to dab her bloody tears.
“Thank you for keeping mine.”
“What are you?” Cassandra asked, still in that childlike voice. “Lord Briarwood said your blood was like elemental sunlight in his veins. And Delilah said you blessed the undead like no holy paladin or cleric she’d ever heard of. Are you…?” She stood back, looking at him with fig green eyes full of fear. “...are you a god?”
“That’s very flattering of you to suggest,” Gilmore said, humbly. “But my ego never needed quite that much praise.”
“So...you could be, if you wished it?” she asked, eyes wide.
“Well.” Gilmore shrugged. “Who knows? What I can say is that I much prefer to dwell here among all of you who live your lives, your pain, your tears, your loves deeply and authentically. By comparison, ascending to the celestial sounds to me quite boring.”
Cassandra nodded, clearly not quite knowing what to make of that. “Well, I know it will take some time for you to get better, so I can wait. I just wanted to ask before there were other demands on your attention.”
“That’s thoughtful of you.”
“I’ll have the servants bring up your breakfast.” Cassandra turned hesitantly for the door. “If you’ll excuse me...”
“Of course. A noblewoman’s work is never done.” She almost smiled. “They’ll find out eventually, you know,” he called out as she began to leave the room.
“Yes. I know,” she replied, and left without looking back. Some secrets were more difficult to keep than others. Perhaps Gilmore could convince her to come clean with her brother at least, before it was too late.