Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter One

“This is not a negotiation.” Deirta Thelyss’s voice cracked the air like a thunderclap, sharp enough that even her ever-bustling flock of attendants twitched. “You will agree to this marriage, or I will have you cast from Den Thelyss for dereliction of duty. Is that clear?”

Essek held himself stiffly, his shoulders rising in affront. A dangerous lapse of control, considering the woman standing before him, and one he would berate himself for later in the privacy of his tower, but he couldn’t help it. To be bartered off as—as a diplomatic representative of all things. It was absurd, insulting. Was the prestige his accomplishments brought to the den not enough? The Bright Queen herself had awarded him the title of Shadowhand for the advancements he’d made to the field of dunamancy, advancements that had secured countless victories in the war. Why should he have to upend his entire life to accommodate some human he’d never even met?

Deirta raised a contemptuous eyebrow. “Do not glare at me, child. This arrangement need only last long enough to smooth over tensions with the Empire. You’re barely a century into your life; you can spare a decade or two for this.”

Essek barely managed to bite back a retort. Deirta Thelyss did not tolerate disrespect, not from the other dens and not from her children. He needed to switch tactics. “Surely there must be a more suitable candidate for this marriage. Perhaps Verin would be amenable? He has always prioritized responsibility above ambition. If it is truly necessary to shackle one of us to an Empire man . . .”

“Verin is a dutiful son, but he lacks the polish for such functions. You, however, are far more adept at sussing out manipulations and political traps.” The fierceness in his mother’s eyes cooled, becoming calculating. “The situation with the Empire is delicate right now. We were able to maintain an advantageous position during the conflict, but war is rarely popular among those who are expected to fight in it. Push too hard, and they will turn their ire on the ones giving the orders.” She shook her head. “Loath as I am to tether my own kin to the Empire, this peace is necessary if we wish to avoid growing discontent among the lower classes. But we must guard ourselves against the possibility that these alliances are nothing more than a sham on the part of the Empire. This man you are marrying may be a spy or merely a pawn in our adversary’s schemes. Whatever the case, I would rather the truth of our enemy’s intentions be known sooner than later, lest we recklessly entangle ourselves in their plots.”

Too late for that, Essek thought. But, of course, his mother knew nothing of his own entanglements with the enemy, nor could he inform her of such without risking execution. His mother valued family, but she valued the den’s reputation more. If the truth of his dealings came to light, she would turn him over to the queen as proof that Den Thelyss did not suffer traitors.

“I would not ask this of you were there any better options,” his mother went on, the hardness easing from her expression. “But most of the higher-ranking members of Den Thelyss are already wed, and the rest either lack the self-possession to function as diplomats or are actively repulsed by the idea of marrying a human from the Empire. Believe it or not, you are the closest this den has to a suitable candidate. Even considering the mess you made of your last betrothal.”

Heat prickled at the back of Essek’s neck. It had taken him months to repair his reputation after how his previous engagement had ended—months of thinly disguised mockery and vicious speculation. His mother had agreed to terminate the engagement when the situation had become too volatile to manage, but she had yet to forgive him for the scandal his rejection had caused. Even now, his informants occasionally brought him whispers of another ugly rumor.

“If marriage truly does not suit you, then in ten years we can consider alternative solutions,” Deirta went on. Essek forced himself to pay attention. “In all honesty, I doubt this peace with the Empire will last even that long; human kingdoms pass so quickly from hand to hand that it’s a wonder they continue to function at all. But until then, you will do your duty.”

Oh, will I? He clamped down on the words before they could reach his tongue. His mother’s tone made it clear she would not be swayed. Continuing to oppose her wishes would only cost him what little influence he had left with her. He bowed, his neutral expression fixed in place, his hands steady at his side. “As you wish, Mother.”

*

Caleb leaned against the guardrail and watched Xhorhas slide into view like a coin gliding across a tapestry of stars. The Dynasty’s solitary star bleached the leftmost half of the planet to stark whiteness, bright enough to make his eyes ache even through two inches of solar-dampening glass, while the other half lay dark, its silhouette made visible only by the faint starlight peeking out from behind it. That side of the planet would be too cold to support life, he knew. Xhorhas was tidally locked, one side permanently oriented toward its pale sun, the other cast in eternal shadow. A thin line of habitable land lay between the two halves, existing in endless twilight, and here a strip of civilization stretched from north to south, bisecting the small planet like a band of silver.

Despite the planet’s undeniable beauty, Caleb couldn’t help but clutch Frumpkin closer to his chest at the sight. This was not his first time visiting the Dynasty—the Mighty Nein had worked for almost every faction in the Wildemount galaxy at one point or another—but this was the first time he was visiting in a diplomatic capacity.

No, not visiting, he reminded himself, restlessly stroking Frumpkin’s fur. “Visiting” was a pretty fiction for what he was doing here. His role here was more akin to a spy, or perhaps a hostage. Any meager hopes he had of smoothing over tensions between the Dynasty and the Empire were but idealistic fancies. Better to discard them now before they could jeopardize his mission. Before they could jeopardize his friends.

Caleb turned away from the window and made his way back to his cabin, ignoring the curious glances of the other passengers. He wasn’t the only human on the ship, but his clothing and accent marked him clearly as Empire-born, and given Frumpkin’s tendency to waver in and out of sight like a mirage and teleport across the room when startled, they were an unusual pair.

As he walked, he reviewed what he knew of his husband-to-be. Based on the files Ludinus had sent him, Caleb doubted this Essek Thelyss would have any more interest in pursuing a romance than Caleb himself. The reports described him as solitary to the point of standoffishness, too preoccupied with his research to bother with personal connections. It was entirely possible that once the wedding festivities concluded, their interactions would be limited to passing encounters and whatever political events required their joint attendance.

You’ll have to find a way to cozy up to him eventually, Caleb reminded himself. It’s his research the Assembly is interested in. Essek was the foremost expert in the field of dunamancy. Already, his research into the underpinnings of the universe—gravity, time, potential—had led to incredible technological advancements within the Dynasty, advancements that had given them an edge in the war with the Empire. Caleb had seen videos of Empire spaceships crumpling like soda cans after Kryn saboteurs placed gravity-amplifying devices within their engine rooms. The death tolls had been devastating.

Caleb suspected the Assembly of toying with similar research, but whatever they’d been able to reverse-engineer from the remnants of these devices hadn’t been enough to sate their hunger for knowledge. In hindsight, it seemed almost inevitable that when the Mighty Nein had come under suspicion for the death of Vess DeRogna, Ludinus had offered them a deal: cooperate with the Assembly to infiltrate the Dynasty or face execution. They’d made the only choice they could given the circumstances, but all their efforts to avoid becoming entangled with the Cerberus Assembly had scattered like ashes on the wind.

Caleb had not expected the deal to come with a marriage agreement, but it was hardly the most odious thing he’d done in service to an Assembly member. He would uphold his part of the agreement while the rest of the Mighty Nein searched for a way to extricate themselves from the situation, and if there was anything he could do to minimize the damage to both nations in the process, that would have to be enough.

A voice came over the speakers a short time later, announcing that they’d be docking in two hours. Caleb unpacked his suitcases, then repacked them, checking their contents against his mental inventory. Everything was as he’d left it. A quick scan of his wristband showed no new messages, encrypted or otherwise. He hadn’t expected any. Ludinus had forbidden the Mighty Nein from contacting him while he was in the field for the sake of operational security. That wouldn’t stop them from trying, of course, but the Assembly had ways to intercept and block such messages. Depending on the Assembly’s security measures, it could take his friends months to establish any sort of reliable communication, and until then, Caleb would be on his own.

“At least I have you,” he murmured to Frumpkin. The cat stared back, golden eyes keen, then hopped up onto Caleb’s lap. Caleb smiled ruefully, ignoring the widening fissure of loneliness in his heart as Frumpkin began purring against his sternum. “Ja. At least I have you.”

*

“You have a lunch appointment with Taskhand Eriol at twelfth bell, and your mother has requested you make an appearance at Lord Bylan’s banquet this evening,” Uraya said, knobby fingers dancing above their tablet as they scrolled through Essek’s appointment book. “She didn’t make any other demands, so you need only greet Lord and Lady Bylan and spend a couple hours making pleasantries. If we leave the house by fifth bell, we can wrap that up by eighth, and the rest of the evening is yours.”

Essek held his breath against a sigh. Half the reason he’d cultivated a solitary reputation was so that his work would not be disrupted by the myriad social events that occupied so much of his den’s time. “I don’t recall agreeing to the banquet.”

Uraya was a stalwart and unflappable aide, and so they did not grimace, quite. But he could not miss the slight downturn of their mouth at his response. “Your mother insisted. And it’s not a bad idea. Attending the banquet will give you the opportunity to accept congratulations from the local nobility on your impending marriage.”

“Yes, because my fondest desire is to stand around listening to fifty near-strangers congratulate me on a marriage I don’t want with a man I’ve never met.” It had been a month and a half since he’d been forced to acquiesce to the marriage, but the news had only hit for everyone else two weeks ago when the wedding invitations had gone out. Ever since, he’d been forced to attend an unending series of diplomatic events, from one-on-one tea services to gatherings of fifty or more. The thought of having to attend another party was enough to make his head ache.

Uraya flicked him a chiding glance as they crossed the walkway connecting the east and central towers. Out of habit, Essek scanned the grounds for anything amiss. His security system was top of the line, but technology was only as reliable as its users. He trusted his staff—they were dedicated and discreet—but it was important to keep his own eyes open as well.

“Speaking of your husband-to-be,” Uraya said, voice measured, careful, “I just received word that his ship has docked at the terminal. If you wish to meet before people start asking you about him, now would be a good time.”

“The political engine never slows,” Essek muttered. “Very well. Summon him to the western tower. I’ll have the kitchen staff put together some refreshments.”

Uraya nodded and split off to make arrangements. Essek used his tablet to request a simple spread for his guest. As an afterthought, he ordered a bottle of wine to go with it. The files Uraya had sent him on his husband-to-be had not specified the man’s food and drink preferences, but the Solvia Groves Diamond Plum Wine was crisp and pleasantly sweet—a fine accompaniment to a light breakfast, and expensive enough not to give offense should this Caleb Widogast care about such things.

The wine arrived in short order, followed shortly by a charcuterie board stacked with delicately sliced lunch meats and cheeses. A folded note stuck out from underneath the tray, written in the cook’s familiar scrawl: The file Uraya gave us mentioned your betrothed was originally from the Zemni Fields, so we went with a selection of cured and cooked meats common to that region of the Empire. We also have a variety of Zemnian lagers available should he wish for something more traditional than wine. —Merrillil

It may be time to offer her another raise, Essek thought, disposing of the note and pouring a glass of wine for himself while he waited. Fortunately, he did not have to wait long. His tablet hummed, notifying him of a message from Uraya. Your betrothed has just arrived. Sending him to you now.

He replied with a brief thanks and rose, the gravity-adjusters on his feet activating as his toes flexed against the pad inside his slippers. He glided over to the doorway and waited for the chime. It came a moment later, and the view screen to the right of the door displayed an image of the man on the other side.

Essek had seen pictures, of course. The dossier he’d received upon agreeing to the union had contained numerous photos, some candid, some clearly posed. Caleb Widogast was a handsome enough man, rugged in the way so many humans were without straying into sloppiness. The scruff of hair lining his mouth and chin was somewhat distracting—most drow could not grow facial hair, and Dynasty fashion therefore leaned toward clean-shaven faces—but the beard was neatly trimmed and clean, and after a moment’s contemplation, Essek could admit that it framed his face pleasantly.

His eyes were a clear, vibrant blue, like polished azurite.

Essek brushed his fingers over the touch screen on the wall, and the door slid open.

“Ah, hallo,” the man said, his expression brightening as recognition flickered in his eyes. “You must be Essek. My name is Caleb Widogast.”

“A pleasure,” Essek said, only realizing as the words left his mouth that he’d planned all his conversational gambits with the assumption that this man would be just as unhappy to be getting married as he was. Seeing the man’s warm smile, he felt oddly as if he’d missed the last step on a staircase. “I, ah.” He cleared his throat. “Please, come in.”

“Danke.” Caleb stepped inside, eyes flitting curiously about until they settled on the small dining table. “Ah, my apologies if I interrupted your breakfast. Your aide requested I drop by so we could properly meet, but if you’re occupied . . .”

“Not at all. I had the cook prepare this for your arrival. I’m told such foods are traditional in the Zemni Fields.”

“Oh!” Caleb cast another glance at the charcuterie board, his eyebrows lifting in surprise. “This is a fine spread. Though honestly, I’m just glad to have something that hasn’t been freeze-dried. The inter-system ships are not known for carrying fresh food.”

Essek smirked. “I’ve heard that with sufficient bribery, you can sometimes convince crew members to stow fresh food among their belongings as part of their mass allotment. It won’t last you long, but it will at least make the beginning of the journey more pleasant.”

“Is that so? I’ll have to try that next time I travel.” Something flickered in those vivid eyes; Caleb sobered. “Perhaps we should sit. There is much to discuss, and I’m sure you’re very busy with your own duties, given the, ah, expedited pace of this arrangement.”

“A tactful way of phrasing it.” Essek glided over to one of the chairs and gestured to the seat across from him.

Caleb sat, kneading the tassels of his scarf between his fingers. His eyes darted to the table, then up to Essek, then downward once more, nervously. “My apologies. It has been a long trip, and I am still adjusting to . . . Well. Many things, but the idea of being married is a sticky one. I would like to know what expectations you have for me in this role.”

Essek turned the phrasing over in his mind, picking over the implications. There was a submissiveness to the words, as if Caleb expected Essek to dictate the terms of this relationship to him rather than meet him equal footing. Not an unreasonable assumption, given Essek’s position and accomplishments, but most people wanted at least the illusion of equality. If not for the wary alertness in Caleb’s posture, the way he had trouble lifting his gaze from the table, the submissiveness might have struck Essek as obsequious. As it was, he was having trouble pinpointing the moment at which the man’s warm curiosity had morphed into this halting nervousness.

Not exactly an auspicious start for a marriage, Essek thought, even a politically motivated one. He cast his attention about for anything he might use to break the tension and spotted the bottle of wine to his right. “We have much to discuss in the realm of expectations,” he said, “but before that, would you care for a drink?”

Chapter Text

Chapter Two

“I had this brought up from the cellar,” Essek said, seeming to relax a little as he poured Caleb a glass from the bottle in his hands. The translucent pink wine fizzed as he slid the glass across the table. “It’s from the plum groves of Feolinn. It’s not as traditional as the rest of the spread, admittedly, but I hope it is to your tastes.”

“I’m sure it is wonderful,” Caleb said, grateful for the opportunity to recover his composure. Essek’s demeanor so far had been polished, even good-humored, but his charm couldn’t hide the calculation in his blue-violet eyes. Essek was taking Caleb’s measure with every exchange.

A cautious sip of the wine revealed a crisp, bubbling sweetness that reminded Caleb oddly of Jester, though she rarely drank even on special occasions. He inclined his head. “This is very good, thank you.”

“Do you drink much wine?” Essek asked. “My collection is fairly expansive, but if you have a favorite, I can have the cook order in a few cases.”

Caleb opened his mouth to say, “My friend Beauregard knows more about wine than I do,” then clamped down on the words before they could slip free. He couldn’t entirely conceal his friends’ existence from his husband-to-be. Even with all the falsehoods and omissions Ludinus’s people had layered into Caleb’s history, it would have been impractical to remove all traces of his time with the Mighty Nein. But there was no reason to draw attention to them, and plenty of reasons not to, so he hastily adjusted his response. “I tend to drink ale, but there is no need to cater to my preferences. I’ve learned not to be too picky.” He plucked a slice of smoked sausage from the board between them and took a bite.

“How agreeable of you,” Essek said, eyes never straying from Caleb’s face. He leaned forward, lacing his fingers together and resting his chin atop his hands. “So. You asked about my expectations for this marriage. To be perfectly honest, I do not require much in the way of companionship. Most of my work, I do alone, and for those occasions where I am required to engage with a broader social sphere, I generally try to remain aloof from any sort of political squabbling or personal disputes. I like to remain aware of such things,” he clarified, “as in such elevated circles, even minor conflicts can have far-reaching consequences. But whenever possible, I prefer to avoid aligning myself with any one party unless there is significant benefit to myself.”

“I can understand that.” The Mighty Nein had operated much the same way, keeping in contact with many different factions but never wholly committing to any of them. Doing so had allowed them to travel more or less freely within the Wildemount galaxy despite some of their more dubious jobs. “You value your independence.”

“I do. I also value my privacy. You’ll have your own quarters in the central tower, and access to the house and its amenities, but my laboratory is off-limits.”

Caleb nodded. He had expected as much, and he dared not express any interest in visiting the lab lest he tip Essek off to his true purpose here. “And your personal quarters?” he asked, both to redirect the conversation and because if they were setting expectations for their marriage, he wanted to be certain he understood what Essek wanted from him.

Essek blinked, his wineglass pausing halfway to his lips. “Well,” he said with an awkwardness that suggested Caleb had caught him off-guard, “we will need to keep up appearances in public, of course, but I do not . . . That is, you are not required to make yourself available to me in that way.”

Caleb caught the slight quiver of Essek’s ears and leaned forward, waiting.

“I am more given to solitude than most,” Essek continued after a moment, “and while I’ve had the occasional dalliance, I do not require such things to feel fulfilled. If it is important to you to have someone with whom you can have more . . . intimate relations, you are welcome to make outside arrangements. I simply ask that you keep them discreet and do not bring them into the house.”

More sincerity than I expected, Caleb noted. The frankness of Caleb’s inquiry must have rattled him—a useful thing to know, but in this moment a complication. His mission hinged on gaining this man’s trust. Seduction would have been the traditional method, but everything Essek had said suggested he hadn’t wanted this marriage at all—that he saw it as an obligation, not an opportunity. If Caleb seemed too eager to take up the role of the devoted husband, Essek would sense the manipulation beneath the facade, and any chance of gaining his trust would wither like a flower in flame.

No, he would have to approach this another way: by being genuine, or as close to genuine as it was possible to be when you were using someone for your own ends. Caleb cleared his throat. “That is a generous offer, though not quite what I meant to ask. If solitude is your preference, I will respect that, but I hope that with time we can find some solid ground upon which to build a relationship. I want to make this marriage work,” he said as Essek’s eyebrows lifted. “This peace between the Empire and the Dynasty is still fragile. Every thread woven between the two reinforces that peace. I understand that this is not what you wanted for your future. It is not what I wanted, either. But with time, perhaps you and I can do good things together.”

Essek steepled his fingers, regarding Caleb speculatively. “You are not at all what I expected.”

“No? What did you expect?”

“Probably better you don’t know.” A faint smirk touched Essek’s lips. He seemed to have recovered from his discomfiture, settling back into his initial polished charm. “War tends to make for not entirely pleasant opinions of the other side. I am not one to yield easily to social pressures, but I will admit I was wary when I heard I’d be marrying a man of the Empire. Whether or not you are sincere, the people above you will have their own motives. Even with the tides of war turning against them, I have difficulty believing that they negotiated for this match for purely altruistic reasons.”

Caleb didn’t try to hide the bitterness in his smile. “Well, I can’t say I find fault in your suspicions. I myself am skeptical of their intentions. But just because they have their own motives doesn’t mean the rest of us cannot work toward a more lasting peace.”

Essek’s mouth quirked at one corner. “Hmm. To peace, then.” He raised his wineglass.

“To peace,” Caleb agreed, and clinked their glasses together.

*

Their discussion wound on for another half hour, delving into practical matters: details of their impending wedding, living accommodations, public appearances. Eventually, Caleb departed to retrieve his belongings from wherever the porters had left them. He would be staying in the guest suite for the time being, in deference to Essek’s desire for privacy, but aside from the laboratory and their respective bedchambers, they’d be sharing the rest of the house.

Essek sent a quick message to Uraya, asking them to reprogram the security system to give Caleb access to the house’s amenities, then turned his attention to the day’s duties. His lunch appointment with Taskhand Eriol passed easily enough. The grizzled bugbear was businesslike as always, but after forty-five minutes of discussing the lingering tensions with the Empire, Eriol patted him on the shoulder and offered a gruff congratulations on the marriage.

“It is a matter of politics,” Essek replied, flustered by the casual contact but reluctant to show it.

Eriol laughed. “So was mine, but I’ve been with Tsiris for three lifetimes now, and if your Empire man is half as good to you as she’s been to me, you’ll be glad to have him in your corner.”

I’ve never needed anyone in my corner, Essek thought, smiling thinly. He thanked Eriol and took his leave. He had a few hours yet before Lord Bylan’s banquet, so he returned to the Firmaments, where the trio of towers that made up his home awaited him. He drifted toward the central tower, passing the rows of shrubs that lined either side of the stone path. Little purple flowers peeked out from the red-veined leaves, still mostly enclosed in their buds. They would bloom in fits and starts over the next several weeks, eventually falling away to litter his yard with thousands of tear-shaped petals.

No one was waiting for him as he entered, much to his relief. He’d half-expected his mother to drop in to remind him of his duties. An unnecessary interruption, considering he would see her at the banquet tonight, but Deirta Thelyss was not the sort to wait for an opportunity when she could lay an ambush instead. Essek made his way up the stairs, intending to take the walkway to the eastern tower, where his laboratory awaited him, but a low rumble of voices gave him pause.

No, not voices. One voice. Curious, he drifted over to the doors leading into the guest suite. He could faintly hear the accented tones of his betrothed through the barrier, a steady, constant stream of chatter that struck him oddly after the measured thoughtfulness of their earlier conversation.

With a quick glance to ensure no one was watching, Essek laid his ear against the door to listen.

“. . . an adjustment, but I think it is going well so far. Or as well as it can be, considering. It’s hard to get a read on him. The way he spoke, it seemed he was not interested in marriage, but he has been very reasonable so far. That is as much as we can ask under the circumstances, ja?”

There was a pause, as if Caleb was listening to someone’s response, but Essek heard no other voices. A private call? Essek wondered, his attention sharpening.

“Well, whatever his intentions with us are, we’re here now. We should make the best of it. Who knows? Maybe something good will come of all this after all. It would be a nice change of pace after everything that happened with the Nein.”

The Nein, Essek thought, the word sparking his memory. Caleb’s dossier had mentioned a group of mercenaries called the Mighty Nein. Could he be talking to one of them? He’d traveled with them for over two years, performing jobs all across the Wildemount galaxy. With as much as they’d moved around, they’d have had trouble establishing themselves within any particular faction, but not all types of espionage required deep cover. Much could be gleaned from casual observation, especially when you had no firm ties to a specific nation or organization. These mercenaries could be informants for the Empire, or even just for the highest bidder.

Essek listened for another minute or so but heard nothing more. Reluctantly, he withdrew from the doorway and continued on his way to his lab. It was too early to draw conclusions; he needed more data, and that started with researching just what this Caleb Widogast had been up to these past few years.

Chapter Text

Chapter Three

Caleb spent the better part of the afternoon unpacking.

His chambers were extravagant, beyond anything he’d had access to during his travels: a sitting room boasting several armchairs and a bookshelf half-filled with what he assumed to be Xhorhassian classics, all in Undercommon; a bedroom four times the size of his cabin on the Nein Heroez; a bathroom with walls of dark stone that glittered like the inside of a geode. The furnishings were similarly luxurious: a plush bed with lavender privacy curtains, an elegantly carved dresser and writing desk built of pale purple wood, a shower suite that could reconfigure itself into a bathtub large enough for him to fully submerge.

Those fixtures were now accompanied by Caleb’s own belongings—clothing, mostly, and some supplies for Frumpkin, but also a handful of paperbacks he hadn’t been willing to leave behind and a palm-sized stunner Yasha had insisted he bring with him for self-defense. All he had left was to move his clothes into the dresser and find a place to hide his personal tablet. He didn’t expect Ludinus or anyone else from the Assembly to be so unsubtle as to contact him directly, but Jester might if she thought it was the best way to get a message to him, and he wanted his communications with the Nein to remain as isolated as possible until he could establish a safe way to talk to them. If there was a safe way to talk to them.

As he opened the side compartment to retrieve his tablet, however, his eye caught on a coin-sized silver disk taped to the inside of the compartment: a data chip. Unease trickled down his back; it wasn’t one of his.

Carefully, aware that the room might be monitored, he withdrew the tablet and palmed the chip so it would be concealed from any cameras. He’d checked through his luggage before disembarking the ship, and the chip hadn’t been there, but his belongings had been out of his sight several times since then. Plenty of opportunities for one of the Assembly’s agents to hide this amongst his things.

It could just be a communication request. Ludinus would want to check in with him now that he’d arrived, get his report. None of the information on this data chip was likely to directly incriminate either of them—any messages would undoubtedly be hidden under layers of code—but that was no reason to be careless. He’d wait until he had an opportunity to slip away to somewhere he wasn’t being monitored before opening the file.

In the meantime, it was a simple matter to slide the data chip into one of his coat’s many pockets, out of sight. Caleb stowed his tablet in the dresser under several layers of clothing, where it would remain concealed from casual scrutiny without being so well-hidden as to seem suspect. If pressed, he could simply claim embarrassment at the collection of smutty ebooks in his tablet’s library. There were more than enough dubious titles there to lend credence to the deception.

The door chimed again as Caleb finished unpacking. He glanced at the touchscreen by the door and was surprised to see Essek’s aide, Uraya, waiting outside, tapping away at their tablet. Caleb had met them at the spaceport shortly after his ship had docked, and they had struck him as level-headed and efficient. He tapped the icon to open the door. “Hallo.”

“Ah, good, you’re still here,” Uraya said, lowering their tablet and giving him an assessing glance. “If you’ve finished unpacking, I would like to discuss with you the arrangements for the wedding.”

“Of course. Whatever you need.”

Uraya nodded and gestured for him to follow. Caleb drew the collar of his coat closer about his neck and hurried to match their quick stride.

“The first order of business is the ceremony itself,” Uraya said, leading him through the door at the end of the hall, to the open-air walkway that connected the house’s central and western towers. “How much do you know of Xhorhassian wedding customs?”

“Not much, I’m afraid. The engagement period was rather brief.”

Uraya hummed, slowing as they crossed the walkway to another door, this one leading into the western tower. “There are three major components to most wedding ceremonies. First is the blessing of the union by the families of the couple. For most marriages, the blessing is performed by the person closest to whoever is getting married. Your situation is unusual, however. You came here alone, yes?”

“Ja, that is correct.”

“So you have no family to represent you.”

“Ah, no, not as such. My family situation is . . . complicated.” His falsified documents indicated he’d been born into a minor noble house but had become estranged from his family in early adulthood after a series of escalating disagreements over finances—not an illustrious history, but far less damning than the truth, and a convenient excuse to avoid the topic.

“Any close friends who would serve in their stead? They do not have to be physically present,” Uraya clarified as they wound down the central staircase into a small sitting room, “but if it is possible for them to make an appearance via video-call, that would be sufficient to prove that you are entering into this contract with the consent of those closest to you.”

“Can I not agree to it on my own merits?” Caleb asked, eyes drawn to the bookshelves resting against the walls. There were four of them, each filled with tomes of varying colors and widths. Was he allowed to read the books here? Essek had said he was welcome to explore as long as he avoided Essek’s lab and personal chambers, but something about picking through people’s books had always struck Caleb as uncomfortably personal. Still, Essek had not disallowed it . . .

“Not if we want to avoid a scandal,” Uraya said, dragging his attention back to the conversation. “The standards will be somewhat more lax for you than they would for a member of the Dynasty, but it is important that we do not give the impression that you are being coerced into this marriage. Having a blessing from one of your own people will help alleviate those concerns.” They perched on one of the dark blue armchairs, knees tucked up against their chest in a way that reminded him of Beauregard, and gestured for him to sit in the chair across from them.

“I . . . may be able to convince one of my friends to offer their blessings,” Caleb said, sitting. “There are a few people I need to contact first, but as long as I can do so, it should not be an issue.”

“Good. The ceremony is at the end of the week. Speak with whomever you need to in that time and get me their contact information by the morning of the wedding. I’ll make sure it’s handled.”

“It is appreciated.” He would have to speak to Ludinus first to acquire permission to contact Beauregard. Of all the Mighty Nein, she was the one he trusted to navigate the diplomatic aspects of the wedding. Jester or Veth would reveal too much, and Caduceus wasn’t a good enough liar. Moreover, there would be fewer questions if the person blessing his marriage was clearly Empire-born.

“You said there were three major components to wedding ceremonies here,” he said, shifting topics. “What else do we need to discuss?”

“The second component is the marriage contract,” Uraya said. “You’ve already received and agreed to the digital version, but you’ll be expected to sign a physical copy as part of the ceremony.”

“Easy enough. And the third thing?”

“The handfasting ceremony.” Uraya sat up, their posture becoming more businesslike. “The extravagance varies, but I’ve been informed that this will be a relatively simple occasion. Essek is not one for grand celebrations, and with so little lead-up time, the Umavi has agreed to a more modest ceremony than is typical for Den Thelyss. All you have to do is follow along as the priestess joins your hands with a ribbon of cloth to symbolically bind you and Essek together. Is that acceptable to you?”

“Ja, I can do that.”

“Good.” Uraya started to stand, then hesitated, eyeing him uncertainly. “And do you . . . require anything else in terms of ceremony itself? Any traditional practices you wish to incorporate, or requests you’d like to make? We do not—that is, it would not be improper for you to bring some of your own customs to this union. In fact, it might even encourage a greater sense of unity between the two of you.”

“Oh.” Caleb rested his hands on his knees. He hadn’t considered it from that angle; he’d assumed it would be sufficient for him to follow the traditions of the people he would be living amongst for the foreseeable future. And really, he doubted he’d be able to do much to further the cause of peace, considering his mission here. The Cerberus Assembly didn’t care about the treaty. They wanted Essek’s research—and if it wasn’t possible to acquire that research, sabotage was the next logical step.

But tradition . . . it had been a long time since Caleb had allowed himself to imagine a future that didn’t involve either getting killed or tearing down the Cerberus Assembly. A long time since he’d given any thought to what he might want, if he could ever allow himself to want anything. He had little choice in this marriage, but he couldn’t entirely smother the sentiment blossoming in his chest at the thought of a traditional Zemnian wedding.

“There are a few customs,” he said at last, “though I do not think all of them are practical. I assume staging a kidnapping on the day of the wedding would not go over well.”

Uraya blinked slowly. “A . . . kidnapping?”

“Old Zemnian tradition. One of the participants—usually the bride, though obviously that is not applicable in this case—is kidnapped by the groom’s friends and taken to a tavern, where everyone drinks as much as they are able until the groom tracks them down. The groom then has to perform a series of tasks to get her back. I’m not certain how the custom originated, but where I was born it was very common.”

Silence stretched between them for a long moment before Uraya managed a reply. “If . . . if it is important, I am sure a kidnapping could be arranged.”

“No, nein. As I said, I don’t think it would go over well in this case. But if I could, there is one tradition I would like to observe.”

“Which is . . . ?”

“The wedding candle,” Caleb said, sitting up straighter. “By tradition, the bride’s mother gifts a candle to the couple, to be lit together during the ceremony. Afterward, the couple keeps the candle and relights it on special occasions: anniversaries, or sometimes as a gesture of reconciliation after a fight. It’s—my parents kept their wedding candle above their fireplace for seven years before the last bit of wax melted. I remember it smelled of sandalwood.” An ache gathered beneath his breastbone. That candle was years gone now, as were his mother and father. Letting himself get mired in those memories wouldn’t change what he’d done to them.

Perhaps Uraya sensed his anguish, or perhaps they simply wanted to move onto the next topic, but there was sympathy in their voice as they said, “I will see to it that there’s a candle at your wedding. Was there anything else?”

Caleb shook his head. “No, I . . . No. Thank you.”

“Very well.” Uraya hopped to their feet. “We’ll speak again on the morrow. The next few days will be quite busy for you, I’m afraid. You’ll need to select a wedding robe for the ceremony and have your measurements taken, and there are other errands as well. Can you be awake and prepared to leave by eighth bell?”

“That should be doable, ja.” He had spent the trip adjusting to Xhorhas time, and his internal clock would alert him when it was time to wake.

“Then I shall see you at the breakfast table.” Uraya gave him a final nod and departed, leaving him alone amidst the rows of bookshelves.

Caleb made himself wait twenty seconds before going to inspect the books. There were so many of them, more than he’d seen in one place in a long time. Most people read from tablets, for the convenience, but Caleb couldn’t deny the appeal of ink and paper, of elegantly stitched cloth covers and leather bindings. The books on these shelves could have been works of art, every tome unique, exquisite. This was obviously a personal collection, purchased at great expense. Essek’s personal collection. And though the books were clearly designed to be displayed, he could see signs of use on them: places where the soft covers dipped with the imprint of narrow fingers, or where faint lines showed on the spines from the books being opened repeatedly.

A sigh escaped Caleb’s lips, soft even in the warm stillness of the sitting room. “Perhaps we’ll get along after all, you and I,” he murmured, eyes roving over the tomes. The titles skewed heavily nonfiction, with most of the books relating in some way to dunamancy: the subject of Essek’s research and the reason the Cerberus Assembly had placed Caleb here in the first place.

One book leapt out at him immediately: Essays on Gravity and Potentiality in the Field of Dunamancy. The tome itself was bound in blue velvet with silver lettering, eye-catching even beside the other books, but that was not what snared his attention. It was the name stitched onto the spine, vividly familiar to him after these past few weeks: Essek Thelyss.

Curiosity quickened in Caleb’s heart. Essek was one of the top researchers in his field. It made sense that he’d published some of his work. But Caleb still felt like he was getting away with something as he slid the book off the shelf to peek at the table of contents. He had to remind himself that Essek had not forbidden him from picking through his collection. If Essek took it amiss, Caleb could just claim he hadn’t realized the books were off-limits.

He cast his eyes once more about the room to check that no one was watching, then eased himself into one of the armchairs and began to read.

Chapter Text

Chapter Four

It was past tenth bell when Essek finally drifted through the iron gates of his home. The banquet had run long. Lord Bylan’s penchant for endless blathering meant that his opening speech had lasted nearly an hour, far too long for a simple charity event, and the obligatory socialization that followed had been just as tedious.

Essek was accustomed to having eyes on him. Between his den and his title, he commanded a great deal of influence; people often sought him out at public events in the hopes of netting a favor or digging up some shiny nugget of gossip. Tonight, though, the attention had been overwhelming. He’d been forced to accept dozens upon dozens of insincere congratulations and well-wishes, many of them from people he’d only rarely spoken to. Then, every time he’d attempted to extricate himself from a conversation, someone else would chime in to offer unsolicited marital advice.

“You need to accord yourself with better grace,” his mother had hissed at him after he’d finally managed to pull himself away from the drunken ramblings of one Lady Vensat to retrieve another glass of wine. “I don’t care how little you think of the well-wishes. We do not yet know enough of our enemy’s intentions to risk a scandal. You must make a good showing with this marriage, and that begins with pretending to be pleased about it.”

And so he had mingled with the rest of Lord Bylan’s guests until his jaw ached with the effort of smiling and his shoulders were stiff beneath his mantle. It had been an inexpressible relief when the banquet had wound down enough for him to excuse himself without fear of reprisal.

Now, finally, he pressed his hand to the plate beside the front door and stepped into the dim interior of the western tower. As he went, he unfastened the clasp at his throat to remove his mantle and hung it on its hook, along with his cloak. The staff would inspect the garments for any stains or imperfections before he woke tomorrow; they knew how much he prized his dignity.

He started for the wine cellar, the tension slowly easing out of his shoulders. It was late, and he’d had two glasses of wine during the banquet, but a third would not go amiss. It may even help him sleep through the night: a rare luxury for him these days.

Before he could reach the steps leading down to the cellar, however, something caught his eye: a spill of warm light toward the end of the hall, gently flickering. Unease prickled at the back of his neck. He didn’t often leave visitors unattended in his home, and the staff was largely uninterested in his collection of books. Uraya had been the only one to show any curiosity, and they would have already gone home for the night.

And then he remembered: he wasn’t the only one living here anymore. He was betrothed now, and with the exception of his bedchambers and laboratory, he had not restricted his husband-to-be from exploring the house. Essek shut down the part of him that bristled at the invasion and glided over to the open doorway to peer inside.

The source of the flickering illumination immediately became apparent. The sconces on the wall had been set to a soft amber, their pattern altered so the light danced like candle-flames. The glow warmed the cool tones of the walls and chairs, gleamed against the polished vermaloc wood of the low table.

In one of the armchairs, faced away from the door, Caleb sat paging through a narrow book, a look of intense concentration on his face. He’d taken off his coat. Essek hadn’t realized until this moment that he’d only ever seen the man with the coat on, but now he was finding it difficult not to stare. The thin beige shirt Caleb wore did little to conceal the span of his shoulders, the sturdiness of his arms. Caleb was lean by human standards, but Essek had spent most of his life surrounded by drow, fine-boned and graceful, and to his eyesCaleb was appealingly robust.

You still don’t know anything of his true intentions, he reminded himself. This isn’t the time for idle fancies. He schooled his expression into an expectant smile and tapped his knuckles twice against the doorframe to get Caleb’s attention. “It’s late to be up studying. I would have expected you to still be recovering from your travels.”

Caleb had lifted his head at the first word, but as he recognized Essek, his whole body tensed like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t be. Essek raised an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe. “I'm sorry,” Caleb managed after a moment. “Uraya brought me here to discuss some aspects of the wedding, but that was hours ago. I got a bit distracted. You have quite a collection.”

Essek peered at the tomes scattered across the table. There were at least a dozen taken from the shelves, all of them related in some way to dunamancy. Curious, Essek thought, feeling his smile sharpen. Caleb’s interest was not suspect in itself—dunamancy was, after all, Essek’s specialty. But it wasn’t hard to read the tension in Caleb’s shoulders, the caution in his eyes, and Essek had reason to be wary of his intentions. He drifted closer. “If you were looking for something to read, you might have asked Uraya to recommend you something less dense. Dunamancy is not what one would describe as a straightforward field of study.”

Caleb clutched the book he’d been holding close to his chest, head dipping as he broke eye contact. “Your file said you were a scholar of some renown. It’s hard not to be curious.”

“Curiosity is a powerful force,” Essek agreed, gliding forward so he could trace the edges of the book in Caleb’s grip. “So I hope you’ll satisfy mine: which book was it that captured your attention so completely you could not resist picking through my collection?”

Another flinch, tightly controlled. Then, slowly, Caleb loosened his arms so Essek could take the book. Essek recognized the cover at once; it was a collection of essays he’d assembled about a decade ago, one of his first major publications. It had been well-received by those in his field, but controversial among the ruling dens. He remembered his father shouting about his essays being borderline heretical, as if he had any right to argue about dunamancy when he knew it only through the flawed lens of religion.

“I saw your name on the spine,” Caleb said. “It caught my attention.” Not an excuse, nor a confession, just a soft, resigned statement, as if he saw no point in defending himself. The coil of suspicion in Essek’s chest eased just a little, enough for him to really look at the man standing before him. Caleb’s gaze hadn’t risen from the floor, and though his hands had dropped to his sides when he’d released the book, the casual positioning couldn’t hide the slight quivering of his fingers.

Yet despite the fear vibrating through his frame, his expression was flat, his eyes far away. If not for the tension in his body, Essek would almost have thought him bored. But he was afraid, clearly, and until Essek could identify the source of that fear, his paranoia wouldn’t allow him to leave it alone.

“And the rest?” Essek asked, indicating the other books on the table.

“I did not fully understand the contents of your essays, so I checked the bibliography in the back for other sources. It helped a little, but I’m afraid much of it is still beyond me.”

“I would assume so. Dunamancy is a complex field of study; it’s not something one simply picks up with a bit of light reading.”

Caleb twitched as if he wanted to say something, then visibly switched tracks. “My apologies. I should have asked permission before I went poking about.”

“Hmm.” Essek glided a few feet away to study the gaps on his bookshelves, keeping half his attention on Caleb, who stood rooted to the floor, face utterly blank. “It’s interesting,” Essek went on. “I can tell from the way you speak that you are an intelligent and articulate man, and the fact that you thought to check the bibliography suggests you have a fair bit of advanced schooling. Yet when I took a deeper look at your file, I noticed there were no mentions of any education beyond the basic program, no formal scholarship at all. That’s quite the omission.”

“I . . . have training in scholarship, yes,” Caleb said, and Essek felt a stab of satisfaction knowing he’d hit upon something. “I studied neuroscience for a time at the Soltryce Academy in Rexxentrum. But I washed out before I could complete the program. And there were . . . complicating factors, things that were redacted from my personal history out of privacy concerns.”

“What sort of complicating factors?”

Caleb’s eyes darted up to his face, just briefly. He didn’t answer.

Essek narrowed his eyes. “You understand that this is the sort of omission that would rightfully give anyone pause, given that we are to be married in a few days,” he pressed. “If these ‘complicating factors’ are indeed so serious that they had to be expunged from public record, does that not imply they may be worth discussing before we proceed with our arrangement?”

Caleb stilled like a hare caught beneath the gaze of a hawk. “It—no,” he mumbled. “It’s not worth discussing.”

“Isn’t it?” Essek gave a short, mocking laugh. If this man had indeed come here as a spy, he was making a pitiful showing of it. Essek could respect the art of deception—he had spun plenty of lies himself—but an incompetent liar was worthy only of contempt. “Personally, I would prefer to know how much of a liability your past is going to be to me before I tether my life to yours.”

The words hit like a slap; Caleb recoiled, face twisting with a look of such depthless shame and pain that Essek momentarily lost his grip on his ire. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t—” Caleb’s voice wavered over the word. “Please. My past is irrelevant. I will do what I need to do to make this arrangement work. Whatever I need to do. But my time at the academy is not something I talk about. I’m sorry.”

“I care little for apologies, and less for excuses,” Essek said, holding onto his venomous tone with effort. He dared not back down now, not when he was so tantalizingly close to unraveling whatever secret this man held so dear. He was perfectly within his rights to demand an answer. “Tell me, Caleb Widogast: if I cannot expect honesty from the man I am about to marry, why should I marry him at all? Why put even a sliver of trust in someone who refuses to divulge his personal history when it is clearly fraught with potential landmines? Do you truly think me so complacent?”

“It is not about complacency,” Caleb snapped, the fearful shell around him cracking. Essek drew back in surprise. “It is about boundaries. It is about trust. I want to make this work, because if I cannot get it to work—” He exhaled sharply, hands clenching into fists as he turned his face away. “If I cannot get this to work, the ramifications of that failure will fall upon the people I care about. But I will not lay bare every wound I’ve ever suffered to sate your curiosity. I have bled too much over my past to hand you a scalpel so you can cut deeper.”

Essek had learned long ago how to be ruthless, how to guard himself against errant flashes of sympathy, but even he could not entirely steel himself against the rawness in Caleb’s voice, the way his shoulders curled inward as if bracing for a blow. Without quite meaning to, Essek gentled his tone. “And if I cannot accept this unanswered mystery, what of our arrangement? If I demand the truth of your past as the price for my hand, will you tell me?”

Caleb said nothing for a long moment, but slowly, slowly, the intensity seeped from his expression, leaving only a hollow sort of helplessness, like a child who had been punished so often that they’d given up trying to defend themselves.

“Is that what you’re requesting of me?” Caleb asked, and the words were a surrender.

Essek studied the man before him. Caleb’s abrupt capitulation left him feeling oddly unmoored, as if he had stepped in a puddle only to find himself dropping into six feet of water. I have bled too much over my past to hand you a scalpel so you can cut deeper, Caleb had said, and Essek didn’t think he was lying about having been wounded. Would the Empire truly send a spy so damaged he could not maintain his poise under even a cursory interrogation? Or was Caleb an unwitting pawn in the machinations of those above him?

“No,” Essek said at last. He needed to reassess his assumptions, find a less damaging approach. He could not afford to have Caleb cowering before him like this, not when they needed to keep up appearances. “Not tonight.”

Caleb’s body sagged against the armchair he’d vacated. “Thank you.”

You should hate me for this, Essek thought, disquieted by the gratitude in Caleb’s voice. You should be building a shield around your heart to protect yourself from my callousness, not thanking me for empty mercies.

“You have a long week ahead of you,” Essek said. “Rest. We will discuss this another time.”

Caleb said nothing, didn’t even move, and after a moment Essek turned and left him behind.

Chapter Text

Chapter Five

Uraya arrived promptly at eighth bell the next morning to escort Caleb to the Gallimaufry district. “Our first priority is getting you fitted for your wedding robes,” they explained as they ushered him out the door. “You’ll have a few different styles to choose from, but humans aren’t common in Rosohna, and your proportions are distinct enough that most of your clothing will require adjustment.”

Caleb nodded vaguely. Everything about Rosohna so far had been an adjustment, and he’d seen only a tiny fraction of the city. The most notable difference was the sky. Xhorhas was tidally locked, one side burning endlessly beneath the light of its star, the other lost in frigid darkness. The only habitable region was a long vertical band down the middle of the planet, where the temperatures were moderate enough for life to flourish. The perpetual twilight was undeniably beautiful, especially set against the soft grays and purples of Rosohna’s architecture, but a part of him found the eternal dusk disorienting. Even in the deepness of space, he’d been able to rely on an artificial day-night cycle to keep his own rhythms in check. Here, he felt oddly as if he were on an evening stroll, rather than just starting out his morning. 

It didn’t help that he’d slept poorly after last night’s confrontation. He scratched absently at his forearms, anxiety rising again as he remembered Essek’s ruthless inquiries about the gaps in Caleb’s files, that terrible moment when he’d threatened to call off the wedding if Caleb refused to answer him. That Essek had relented in the end mattered little. The fact was that if it came down to baring all his secrets or calling off their arrangement, Caleb would have no choice but to submit to Essek’s questioning. Ludinus had agreed to shield the Mighty Nein from accusations of DeRogna’s assassination on the condition that Caleb acquire Essek’s research for the Assembly. If Caleb couldn’t convince Essek to go through with the wedding, then Ludinus would have no reason to keep his end of the deal.

You still have to make contact with him, Caleb reminded himself, keenly aware of the data chip hidden in his coat. He still hadn’t examined the contents, afraid his rooms at the house were being monitored. In a way, it was fortuitous that Uraya had granted him an excuse to leave the grounds: it gave him plenty of opportunities to slip away to find out what was on the chip.

They arrived at the clothier a few minutes later. Caleb felt out of place as soon as they entered, surrounded on all sides by mannequins in exquisite formalwear: opalescent dresses studded with tiny, sparkling beads of glass; rich floor-length robes dyed in shades of twilight; silvery brooches and hair ornaments woven into wigs or resting on velvet cushions. Most of the ensembles were comprised of cooler colors, blues and violets and occasional greens, but here and there he glimpsed spots of brightness: a coral pink dress he thought Jester would like, a glittering gold circlet reminiscent of Beauregard’s headband.

You are doing this for them, he reminded himself, swallowing his self-consciousness as a slim drow man with coiffed white hair approached. “Welcome, welcome,” he said in a cultured voice, smiling briefly at Uraya before his eyes slid to Caleb. “Good morning. Am I right to assume you are the Empire man everyone has been talking about?”

Be charming. “Yes, hello, I am Caleb Widogast.”

“Excellent.” The smile warmed. “My name is Tival. I’ll be assisting you today. Please, come this way. We shall start by getting your measurements.”

Caleb summoned a smile to his face, relieved when it came easily despite the fatigue buzzing in his head. “Lead the way.”

Tival led them to a curtained-off alcove toward the back of the shop, chatting amiably as they walked, and within minutes the man had a tape measure in hand and was muttering to himself about fit and style. “Neutral tones suit your complexion best, I think, but we can also try some warmer hues. The Shadowhand prefers cool, dark colors—I’ve done a bit of work for him in the past—so something brighter could make for a nice contrast. Uraya!” he called, loud enough to be heard through the thick privacy curtain. “Has the Shadowhand decided which outfit he’ll be wearing to his wedding?”

“Not yet. He said he’d arrange it to complement his betrothed.”

Tival released a put-upon sigh. “That man. You’d think someone so vain would plan his outfits ahead of time, but somehow I always end up playing guessing games. Well, let’s see what we can find, shall we?” He offered Caleb a conspiratorial smile.

They spent the next half hour discussing color choices. Tival carried most of the conversation, speaking with an ease and cheerfulness that soothed the quivering ropes of tension in Caleb’s neck. He hadn’t realized how stiffly he’d been holding himself, how brittle he’d still felt after last night’s confrontation. It should not have shaken him so—he had not, in fact, done anything worth censure in examining Essek’s books. They’d been in one of the house’s communal rooms. It wasn’t unreasonable to assume he was allowed to read them, even if a part of him had known he was overstepping.

But that hadn’t been the root of the issue at all. No, the only reason Essek had pressed so forcefully was because Caleb had overreacted at being caught. If he had not let his own guilty conscience dominate his responses, he might have avoided Essek’s ire—and his suspicion. Now Essek knew for certain that he had things to hide.

And what else could you have said? That you were handpicked by a member of the Cerberus Assembly to be trained in espionage? The truth would only have put him more on guard. He needed to think of a better cover story, something that would explain his reticence to discuss his past without being so dire as to make Essek call off the engagement. Some sort of scandal, perhaps? He could imply that he’d been abused by one of his teachers, that his records had since been sealed to protect the privacy of everyone involved. It wouldn’t even be a lie.

“You carry such tension in your shoulders,” Tival murmured, his gentle voice drawing Caleb out of his preoccupation. “You must be under a great deal of stress.”

A quavering laugh escaped Caleb’s lungs. “It has been a challenging few months. I’m afraid I’m not at my best.”

Tival gave a knowing nod. “It was an arranged marriage, yes? A difficult thing for many. We would all prefer to marry for love, but that is not always a choice we’re given.”

“I think my betrothed would prefer not to marry at all,” Caleb said, then winced. “I, ah—that is not meant as a criticism. It is not a bad thing to prefer solitude over companionship, and from what I understand, Essek is an important figure here in Rosohna. I cannot imagine he enjoys the thought of being shackled to a man he’s only just met, and one from the Empire no less.”

“Political marriages between former enemies are not unusual,” Tival said. “From what I understand, that’s one of the more common reasons these things happen. Not all such couples find love with their partner, but people are people wherever you go. None of us are so different from each other that overtures cannot be made.”

“Even so, I would not be surprised if he resents me for the disruption to his day to day. Already, things feel a little rocky between us. I worry we may not be able to come to an accord.”

Tival’s lips compressed into a thin line. “Might I speak freely?”

Caleb blinked, surprised anyone would feel the need to ask his permission to speak openly. “Of course.”

“I do not know the Shadowhand well,” Tival said carefully, “but he has a . . . reputation for callousness. If he has been unkind to you, it’s not because he’s under any great burden; it’s because he does not see any reason to behave otherwise. But he does have an obligation to respect you as his partner, whether or not there is any affection between you. By agreeing to this marriage, he acknowledges before his den that you are to be considered his equal. So do not be afraid to demand to be treated like one.”

Caleb dropped his gaze. It was good advice, or would have been if his goal had been a healthy relationship. But he had come here under false pretenses to pilfer secrets from a man who had little reason to trust him. With enough time, perhaps he could have convinced Essek to share his research, but that could take months, years, and Caleb was not so optimistic as to believe the Assembly would wait when they could use the Mighty Nein’s freedom as leverage against him.

He wondered, suddenly, if this was how Astrid and Eadwulf had felt under Trent’s thumb. How much of their compliance grew from their faith that the things they did for the Empire were necessary, and how much stemmed from the belief that there was no escape from what Trent had forced them to do? Had they felt as helpless as he did now, watching their options narrow until the only choices they had left were obedience or treason? Caleb had slipped the Assembly’s leash for a time, but here he was again, beholden to an Assembly member, this time with the Mighty Nein’s freedom as collateral. In some ways, it felt like he’d never escaped at all.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said at last. “Thank you.”

Tival studied him for a moment, then seemed to come to a decision. “Wait here. I need to retrieve something from the back.” He swept out the chamber and returned twenty seconds later with another plastic-sheathed set of robes. “What do you think?” he asked, peeling the plastic away.

Caleb studied the ensemble. The predominant fabric was a stark charcoal-black, but woven through the shoulders and cuffs were intricate patterns of gold stitching, bright enough to catch the eye without spoiling the severity of the ensemble. The inside of the robe was lined with panels of amber silk that glowed like burning coals under the bright fitting room lights, and a matching scarf had been wrapped around the robe’s high collar, long enough that the tassels would hang past his knees. Caleb reached out to touch the slippery fabric, breath catching. “This is beautiful.”

“Normally, I would hesitate to recommend such bold colors for a wedding ensemble,” Tival said slowly. “But in this case, I think a little boldness will serve you well.”

Caleb met Tival’s eyes and gave a single nod. “I will wear it proudly.”

“Good.” Tival grinned, the seriousness leaving his expression. “Now, I’m sure you have much to do, so I’ll leave you to your preparations and have this tailored and delivered to your home when it’s ready.” He held the curtain aside, allowing Caleb to exit first. Uraya stood a few paces away, peering down at a colorful necklace in one of the jewelry cases, but they looked up as the curtain parted.

“Quicker than I expected,” they commented, looking at Tival. “I assumed this would be a two-hour affair at least.”

“Things move quickly when inspiration strikes us. And I know you’re on a rather tight timetable.”

Uraya’s mouth quirked. “You’ll send an invoice to the house once you’ve finished?”

“Of course. I don’t work for free, after all.” He turned back to Caleb. “May the light of the Luxon shine upon your marriage, my friend.”

“Thank you,” Caleb replied, letting his tone convey the depth of his gratitude. A knowing look lit in Tival’s eyes as Uraya ushered Caleb toward the exit.

Their next few errands passed without issue. Most of them were related to his personal grooming—Uraya insisted he get his hair trimmed but allowed him to keep his beard, reluctantly agreeing that it was well-kept enough to be decorous. None of the other shopkeepers he met were as warm as Tival, but they did not protest at serving a human from the Empire, which was about as much tolerance as Caleb had dared hope for.

About an hour into their errands, Caleb excused himself, claiming a need go to the restroom. As soon as the stall door closed behind him, he slipped the data chip he’d found in his luggage into the little slot on the side of his tablet. A single untitled text file popped onto the screen.

Taking a breath to steady himself, Caleb opened the document to find an unrelieved wall of text, none of it intelligible. It took him a minute to recognize the cipher: it was an old Volstrucker code, complex enough to confound anyone who hadn’t learned it firsthand unless they were very clever. Evidently, Ludinus had been informed of Caleb’s history.

Don’t think about that. Just focus on decoding the message. Exhaling, he began mentally unraveling the code, simplifying strings of characters into individual letters, then rearranging those letters into words. Twice, he had to backtrack, having lost the thread of it, but his mind had always been sharp; even with the mistakes, it took him just seven minutes to decode.

Drop location: Stars and Scones Bakery, 1533 Syenite St., Gallimaufry district. Messages will be delivered every Grissen and Yulisen at ninth bell, Rosohna time. You’ll find a data chip taped to the underside of the table furthest from the front door with further instructions/contact info . You may leave your reports in the same manner to be collected the following day. If you have a time-sensitive communication, send a message via Link, at address 68D-1547-CX-1D38. We’ll be in touch. —L. D.

Caleb memorized the information, double-checking his work to ensure he had the Link address correct, then wiped the data chip and slipped it back into his pocket. He’d use it later to send his report, but before that he had one piece of information that needed to be relayed swiftly. He tapped an icon on his tablet to access the inter-system Link and rapidly tapped out a message of his own, also in code: Arrived in Rosohna. I am told that for the wedding to proceed without scandal, I require approval from a family member or close friend. Requesting permission to contact Beauregard prior to the ceremony to make arrangements. —C. W.

With a flick of his finger, he sent the message. Another gesture wiped the record of it from his tablet. It had been approximately eleven minutes since he’d entered the restroom. Too long, his instincts warned. He left the stall, splashed cold water on his face until his skin turned clammy, and rearranged his expression so he would look a little worn—an easy deception, considering how raw he still felt after last night.

As he’d hoped, Uraya gave him an oblique glance as he returned. “Feeling all right?”

“Yes, sorry. My anxiety sometimes unsettles my stomach a bit. I just needed a few minutes.”

The faint suspicion in Uraya’s face melted into sympathy. “Do we need to cut our errands short for the day?”

“No, thank you. I’m feeling much better now.”

Uraya’s nodded was hesitant, but they began leading him down the sidewalk. “I hope this is not too forward,” they said, “but you seem a bit off-kilter. If there is anything I can do to help you adjust to your new life here . . .”

He shook his head. “I’m all right. A little tired, maybe. Haven’t been sleeping well.” All true, from a certain perspective.

“Well, if you need assistance of any sort, I am at your disposal. And if the issue is of a more personal nature, I can intercede on your behalf. Essek is a complicated man,” they said at Caleb’s inquiring glance. “Arrogant. Ruthless. Prone to isolating himself. He has been alone a long time, long enough to convince himself he doesn’t need anyone else in his life. The two of you may not have had much choice in this union, but I hope . . . I hope having a partner will draw him out of his isolation enough to remind him that there are things worth more than knowledge or acclaim.”

Caleb dropped his gaze, kneading the fringes of his scarf between his fingers. Isolation was a familiar feeling to him. He’d been alone for over three years when he’d met Veth. He was alone now, unable to even talk to his friends without the Assembly’s permission, but at least he knew there were people out there who cared that he was in danger. Without knowing more of Essek’s situation, he had no way to determine whether he would respond favorably to overtures of friendship.

“Well, maybe I can get him to come out of his shell,” he said, offering Uraya a rueful smile. “Perhaps in time, we can even find our way to being friends.”

“Friends,” Uraya said, a wistful note in their voice. “That would certainly be something.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Six

The Umavi’s message arrived in Essek’s inbox two days after his confrontation with Caleb: I will be available between third and fourth bell this afternoon for tea. Meet me in the lotus garden with your betrothed.

“That’s quite the scowl,” Uraya remarked, lifting their gaze from their tablet long enough to raise an eyebrow at him. “Another gala invitation?”

“Tea with Mother. Third bell.”

Uraya winced in sympathy. “I’ll clear your schedule. Anything I can do to help?”

He swiped his finger across the screen to dismiss the message and picked up the still-warm flatbread he’d selected for his breakfast. It was studded with berries harvested from the Iothia Moorland southwest of Rosohna, though the grain for the bread itself would have come from one of the underground crop-houses, as it wasn’t native to Xhorhas. “She wants Caleb there as well.”

“I’ll let him know.”

“Actually, if you could just make sure his schedule is also clear?” Essek said before Uraya could make it to the doorway. “I intended to speak with him this morning anyway.” He had not talked to Caleb at all since their confrontation, at first because Caleb had been busy with his part of the wedding preparations and later because Essek hadn’t been ready to admit he’d made a tactical blunder in pushing so aggressively for answers. Caleb’s poking about had been suspicious, yes, but Essek should have dropped the matter before it reached such a point of tension. They’d be spending a lot of time together in the coming weeks, attending events and navigating the press. If Essek wanted Caleb’s cooperation, he needed to establish some semblance of harmony between them.

Uraya frowned pensively. “I believe he’s in his chambers if you wish to speak with him now.”

“Thank you. I shall do so presently.” He finished the last bite of his flatbread, wiped his mouth using the cloth napkin next to his plate, and made his way briskly up the stairs toward the walkway leading to the central tower. As he moved, he considered the best way to approach the coming conversation. Would Caleb be resentful of Essek’s presence after their last encounter or merely wary? The latter would be easier to soothe, but if Essek’s offense had been severe enough to turn his husband-to-be against him, he was going to have a difficult time convincing anyone of the stability of their union. In either case, an apology alone was unlikely to suffice. He needed a more tangible peace offering. Caleb had been interested in books. Would it be condescending to offer him some tomes on Dynasty culture? Surely it would be to his benefit to learn more about where he’d be living for the foreseeable future.

Preoccupied with his thoughts, Essek didn’t at first notice the figure leaning over the edge of the gray brick walkway. It was only when the figure abruptly straightened that he realized it wasn’t one of the staff, but the man he’d been looking for. Essek halted as Caleb turned to face him.

No, not face him, Essek realized an instant later. Caleb had angled his body in Essek’s direction, but his gaze was pinned firmly to the brickwork, his body tense as a coiled spring. He dipped his head in acknowledgment. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Essek replied. “I hope I am not interrupting anything.”

“No, I was just looking for my . . .” Caleb began, then seemed to reconsider. “Never mind. What can I do for you?”

“I was wondering if you had a moment to talk.” Privately, he nearly added, but caught himself before the word could slip past his teeth. Caleb already looked ready to flee. The last thing Essek wanted was to entrap him in a conversation he couldn’t walk away from. Better to do this out here, even if the thought of someone else overhearing made Essek’s stomach clench.

Caleb fiddled absently with his scarf. “Ja, we can talk.”

“I . . . wanted to apologize. For the other night,” he clarified as Caleb’s eyes darted to his face. “In hindsight, it is clear I misjudged the situation. I can be paranoid, especially about my research, and I am . . . protective of my space. But I should not have reacted so forcefully to finding you there in the study.”

Caleb shook his head. “I hadn’t realized your books were off-limits. I will restrain myself in the future.”

“They’re not off-limits, they’re . . .” He hesitated, struggling to articulate the sense of invasion he’d felt at seeing a near-stranger in his space, paging through his books. “There is a reason the Dynasty keeps such a tight lock on dunamantic research. You are not the only scholar of the Empire interested in unraveling the secrets of potentiality, to say nothing of the more practical applications of being able to manipulate gravity and density. The books in that room are not forbidden, necessarily, but they would be difficult to acquire where you come from, and in the hands of someone with as keen a mind as yours . . .”

“You worry I’ll bring this knowledge to the Empire,” Caleb surmised. Oddly, the statement seemed to put him on firmer footing. He ceased his fiddling and met Essek’s eyes straight-on.

“That was a concern, yes. Though to be perfectly honest, I do not entirely agree with the Bright Queen’s policies on the subject,” Essek admitted. “It is true that having a monopoly on dunamantic research gives the Dynasty an advantage in times of conflict, but to restrict access to the point where we limit our own ability to study it . . .” He hesitated. He was tiptoeing close to secrets he dared not let slip, but it was not illegal to disagree with the queen’s perspective on dunamancy. Just unwise. “I think there could be some benefit in collaborating with those outside the Dynasty. There are many bright minds within the Empire, and many mysteries yet to be solved. Clinging to our secrets, isolating ourselves from the scientific advancements of other star systems . . . It strikes me as counterproductive.”

Caleb studied him intensely, the tension in his posture shifting to something more alert, less anxious. Essek recognized the spark of curiosity in those eyes, the craving for knowledge. So, not just a political marriage after all, he thought, interest sharpening. Caleb hadn't spoken much of his own pursuits, but it occurred to Essek now that whichever Empire figures had arranged this marriage must have known Caleb would be as interested in the scholarly opportunities this union presented as he was in the political benefits.

“I think there is a great deal to be learned from collaboration,” Caleb said, voice dropping to a husky murmur as he leaned closer. Something electric raced just beneath Essek’s skin, raising goosebumps in its wake. He’d drifted closer without realizing, and the sudden awareness of their proximity sent his thoughts scattering. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d stood this close to someone without immediately wanting to pull back. Light, he could feel the heat emanating from Caleb’s body.

Something moved in the corner of his vision. Essek jolted backward, hand instinctively raised in defense, and was greeted with the sight of a small, furred creature perched atop one of the walkway’s crenellations. “What in the light . . . ?”

“Ah!” Caleb hurriedly crossed the distance to the strange creature and scooped it up. “Frumpkin, I told you not to go roaming.”

“What is that?” Essek asked, too off-balance to bother with politeness.

Caleb tucked his chin, clutching the creature closer to his chest. “His name is Frumpkin. He’s my cat.”

In his bewilderment, it took a moment for Essek to make sense of the words. From what he understood, cats were common pets in the Empire, but they’d never caught on in the Dynasty—possibly because they were too reminiscent of moorbounders, with their protruding fish-like eyes and notoriously bad temper. But this creature was notably smaller, its features less off-putting, and it did not lash out against Caleb’s handling. If anything, it seemed to relax as Caleb held it.

“I have never seen a cat in person before,” Essek admitted, embarrassment trickling in as his initial alarm passed. “I take it he’s tame?”

The defensiveness in Caleb’s posture eased slightly. “Yes, very tame. I’m sorry if he startled you. Frumpkin is usually very good about staying out of trouble, but I imagine he’s feeling cooped up after being stuck in my chambers these past few days.” Reluctantly, he loosened his grip. “Would you like to hold him?”

“I don’t know if I—” he began, and that was all he managed before the cat vanished from Caleb’s arms with a faint whoosh of displaced air and reappeared on Essek’s mantle. He froze, barely suppressing an impulse to bat the creature away, but Frumpkin only clambered from one shoulder to the other, unconcerned.

A few feet in front of him, Caleb had also frozen, one hand half-extended as if to snatch Frumpkin from his perch. His eyes snapped to Essek’s face, but otherwise he made no move. Waiting for my reaction, Essek realized dimly, conscious of Frumpkin settling around his collar. Slowly, slowly, he forced his muscles to unclench, straightening from his defensive half-crouch. “I didn’t realize cats could teleport.”

“I, I’m sorry,” Caleb said, his already pale face turning ashen. “He doesn’t usually—that is, he usually sticks closer to me. The teleportation is a genetic modification. A mistake, really.”

“A mistake,” Essek repeated.

Caleb gave a jerky nod. “Some years ago, a group of Empire scientists altered the genome of a cat colony. They were trying to determine how much they could tamper with a creature’s genetic code before it caused serious adverse effects. Not entirely ethical, but . . . ” His shoulder quirked in a shrug. “In some of the trials, the cats developed minor teleportation abilities, as well as . . . ‘invisibility’ isn’t quite the right word for it. The ability to manipulate the way light refracted off their fur to better camouflage themselves. Predictably, a number of cats escaped the lab and dispersed into the local feral colonies, where their abilities gave them a major survival advantage. They’re considered an invasive species everywhere in the Empire.”

“So you’re telling me you brought an invasive species to another star system?”

Caleb winced. “Ah, well—technically, yes. But don’t worry. Frumpkin has been neutered, and he really is very well behaved. Mostly,” he added, eyes darting to where Frumpkin still perched on Essek’s shoulder. Before Essek could reply, Caleb barreled ahead. “I’m sorry. I know this reflects poorly on my judgment. I did not want to come all this way alone, not when I was already giving up the rest of my old life to do so. I needed someone, and Frumpkin . . . it would not be inaccurate to call him a therapy animal. So.” He faltered, wringing the ends of his scarf. “So I would consider it a great favor if you would allow me to keep him. Please.”

Essek sighed. This conversation wasn’t going at all how he’d envisioned. Caleb’s cooperation was essential if they were to maintain appearances. And beyond that . . . Essek was no softhearted fool; he knew this man had motives beyond reinforcing the tentative peace between the Empire and the Dynasty. But it didn’t sit right with him, the desperate pleading of this man he was to marry. He needed to find a way to salvage this.

“Understand,” he said, every syllable precise, “I have no intention of taking anything from you. Not your past, not your dignity, and certainly not your cat. I am aware that many people think me cold of heart, and they’re not wrong. My relationships with others have always been transactional. But Caleb—” He hesitated, surprised by the sudden swell of guilt at his own callousness. “You do not have to grovel for every minor concession. I know I made a poor impression upon you the other night. I pushed too hard. I wasn’t fair to you. But I do not like the way you shy from me like you expect to be punished. I do not want you to fear me.”

Caleb’s eyes lifted to meet Essek’s, wary. “Then what do you want?”

A confidant, Essek thought. But no, he had thrown away his right to such things when he had traded away two of the Dynasty’s most treasured artifacts, when he had colluded with a foreign power for the sake of furthering his research. He did not regret doing so, despite the peril it put him in, but he had enough sense to know he couldn't risk pulling anyone else into his schemes.

“An equal,” he said instead. “Someone I can rely upon. Someone who does not cower before me. And, in the short term, someone who can sit beside me while my mother interrogates us about our relationship. So. If you’re available this afternoon to meet Den Thelyss’s Umavi over tea, your attendance would be greatly appreciated.”

A calculating look passed across Caleb’s face, then softened into something strangely tentative. “I can keep my cat?”

“You can keep your cat.”

Caleb studied him a moment more, then gave a single nod. “All right.”

“Good.” Essek stepped back, armoring himself once more in formality. “I’ll have Uraya collect you when it’s time to leave. Wear something nice. My mother is picky about presentation.”

A tiny smile touched the corners of Caleb’s mouth. “I will endeavor to look my best. Ah, could I—” He held his hands out toward Frumpkin.

“Oh, yes, the cat.” Essek leaned forward so Caleb could extricate Frumpkin from his mantle. The creature tolerated the treatment without complaint, climbing up onto Caleb’s shoulder and twisting about so its strange yellow eyes settled on Essek. There was something oddly assessing in that feline gaze, as if Frumpkin had judged him and found him wanting.

You are being ridiculous, he told himself, embarrassed to have even entertained the notion. He gave a final nod to Caleb, then turned and glided toward the eastern tower to prepare for the afternoon’s meeting.

Chapter Text

Chapter Seven

Caleb’s tablet buzzed with an incoming call shortly after second bell.

He finished sliding his arms into the long purple coat he’d selected for the upcoming tea service—Uraya had procured several Xhorhassian outfits for him, all tailored according to the measurements Tival had taken—and tapped the icon to accept the call. An instant later, Beauregard’s face appeared onscreen, tight with strain.

“Beauregard,” he said by way of greeting.

“Caleb. This a good time?”

Without turning his face from the screen, Caleb cast a meaningful glance about the room. He had expected the call—Ludinus had granted him permission to get in touch with Beauregard to make arrangements for the wedding—but it was best to assume they were being monitored nonetheless. “I have a few minutes. How are things?”

She lifted one shoulder in a shrug, but her eyes were keen. Good. She’d picked up on his caution. “Kinda shitty, to be honest. Feels like everyone’s prying into our business these days. But no major setbacks. You?”

“Making progress,” he said, fiddling with the top button of his new coat. “Essek is a complicated man, but I think there may be a path forward with him. That’s part of why I wanted to talk to you.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You looking for relationship advice? Because I’m going to be real honest with you, most of my relationships have been, like, one-night stands, so I might not be the best person to ask.”

“Actually, it’s about the wedding. I need a witness to bless the union, someone I know and trust to speak for me. They’re worried it might cause a scandal if I don’t have someone to verify that I’m doing this of my own free will.”

She snorted. “That’s rich.”

He gave her a quelling look. “I know Veth and Jester are the two who would most want to be involved in my wedding,” he said, and oh, how it ached to say their names, knowing they could probably hear him and still being unable to talk to them for fear the Assembly would read too much into their intentions. “But it’s important that this go smoothly, and of all the Mighty Nein, you’re the one I trust to keep things under control.”

Beauregard studied him for a minute, assessing. “Before I agree to this, I gotta ask: are you going to be able to get out of this if things go wrong? Because I’m not saying yes to a plan that ends with you not being able to come back to us.”

“We all agreed this was the best option for now.”

“Yeah, I know. What I’m asking is if, now that you’ve had a few days to get the lay of the land, you still think that’s the case. We can get you out of there, Caleb.” She leaned closer to the screen, voice lowered. “It’ll cost us, but it’s what we’re good at. I just don’t want you putting yourself in a worse position than you’re already in.”

He gave a humorless chuckle. “Hard to think of a riskier place to be. But if you’re worried my husband-to-be is secretly an ax murderer, I don’t think that’s something we have to be concerned about.”

“He being decent to you?”

“Decent enough.” Before Beau could voice the remark dancing on the tip of her tongue, Caleb added, “We’ve come to an understanding, I think. He was not pleased at finding out he was to be married off, but he does not seem entirely averse to the idea of having a partner. And if I am reading him right, he seems to view me as a potential equal. Trust will take time, but I’m hopeful that we can make it work.”

“Never pegged you for an optimist, but whatever.” Beau crossed her arms, shifting restlessly in her blue swivel chair. After a moment, she nodded, straightening her spine. “All right. I’ll give my blessing at your wedding. When’s the ceremony?”

“End of the week.”

“Not giving you much time to settle in, are they?”

“It’s been an eventful couple of days,” he said, smiling a little despite himself. More seriously, he said, “Thank you, Beauregard. I know you have your reservations about all of this, but it means a lot that you’ll be there, even if it’s only on a screen. Give my regards to the others.”

“I will. And if something does happen, and you need to get out of there, don’t be afraid to call. We’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you come back to us.”

That hollow, aching place in his heart trembled slightly at the words. “You’re a good friend, Beauregard. I’ll talk to you again soon.”

“Stay safe.”

He cut the connection, throat tight. This is a good thing, he reminded himself, gripping the edge of his bed’s headboard. Beauregard would be there for the ceremony. Only via video, but she would be there. He wouldn’t be alone on his wedding day. He hadn’t thought that would matter to him. It wasn’t as if he was marrying for love. Even the political considerations of the union were just a cover for his real mission. He had no right to feel sentimental about it, no reason to want his friends there apart from the security of their presence. And yet.

And yet it had been nearly six weeks since he’d last seen them—the longest he’d been separated from the Nein since they’d first come together. He hadn’t realized he’d fallen back into the habit of making himself small until Essek had come to him with an apology on his lips and asked him not to be afraid.

Caleb closed his eyes, dropping down onto the bed and burying his face in the silken sheets. A moment later, Frumpkin joined him, nosing at his neck until Caleb lifted a hand to pet him. “You’re a good friend, too,” he mumbled as Frumpkin curled up against him and began to purr. He let the gentle vibrations soothe him as he counted backwards from fifty, and only when he reached zero did he allow himself to think about what he’d gotten himself into.

There was no way to be certain of Essek’s intentions, not when they had known each other less than three days and avoided each other for most of them . . . but there had been a sincerity to his assertion that he wanted an equal, someone he could rely upon. Essek was not Trent, was not the Assembly, was not any of the petty men who had kicked or spat on Caleb when he’d been a filthy vagabond wandering the Empire’s outer settlements. Essek had made it clear he did not expect Caleb to surrender his dignity for the sake of their arrangement; that was a greater kindness than Caleb had dared hope for.

He laid there on the bed for eight minutes, thoughts swirling restlessly, before the door chime alerted him to a visitor. Standing, he grabbed the wispy lavender scarf he’d laid over the headboard and draped it around his neck. “It’s open.”

The door parted to reveal Uraya, who gave him a clinical once-over before nodding in satisfaction. “The hovercraft is waiting outside to take you to the Umavi’s estate. You read the etiquette notes I sent you?”

“Yes, they were very informative.”

“Good.” Uraya started down the corridor, and he followed, the door sliding shut behind him. “The Umavi won’t expect perfection from you—she recognizes that you are new to the Dynasty and will not yet have had time to master the finer points of etiquette—but she has lived several lifetimes and will appreciate the effort.”

He nodded. “Your notes explained a great deal about the tea service itself, but is there anything else that would be useful for me to know before I meet her?”

“Plenty that would be useful,” Uraya said as they wound down the spiral staircase, “but as it would take hours to cover it all, I will simply say this: it would serve you well to present a united front. Essek has already offered his objections to the marriage, but he will not jeopardize Den Thelyss’s reputation by making a fuss now that you’re here. Your goal should be to convince the Umavi that you are indeed invested in this marriage, and the best way to accomplish that is to avoid showing any discord in your relationship.”

They reached the exterior door, then. A hovercraft was indeed waiting outside the gates, an elegant machine with a rounded violet shell and silver filigree. The vehicle floated six inches off the ground, its undercarriage glowing with soft blue radiance. Caleb had seen many hovercraft in his travels, but most of those had been built for function over form. This one looked like something out of a story, the sort of carriage a fairy godmother would conjure for her favored ward, and Caleb could not help the stirring of wonder in his chest.

His feet carried him forward, and as they did, the hovercraft’s door swung open, revealing a black velvet interior studded with tiny pinpricks of light. Among that artificial night sat a lean figure draped in shadowy robes: Essek.

“Ah, hallo,” Caleb said, sliding into the plush seat.

“Hello.” Essek smirked. “You seem rather starstruck.”

“I am,” he admitted as the door closed behind him. Faintly, he felt a shift in the oscillation below as the gravity rings that held the vehicle aloft propelled them forward. “This is beautiful.”

“I like to arrive in style. As do you, it seems.” His gaze trailed up and down Caleb’s outfit. “You have a notable preference for long coats. I hope the climate here in Rosohna isn’t too cold for you.”

“Not at all. It’s actually a bit warmer than where I grew up.” He hesitated. Something about Essek’s manner struck him as more guarded than their last conversation, but Caleb could find nothing in their brief exchange that might have triggered such a shift. “I like the weight of it. The coat,” he explained at Essek’s raised eyebrow. “I feel safer, having it on. And if it’s thick enough, it can sometimes stop you from getting stabbed.”

“Do you get stabbed often, then?”

Caleb shrugged. “Not so much anymore. You learn to be quicker on your feet after the first two or three times.”

Essek opened his mouth, then paused, the sly humor draining from his face. “I . . . genuinely cannot tell if you’re joking or not.”

“Ja, no, I’ve been stabbed before. Only one of them was serious, though.” He pressed a hand to his left side, just under the ribs, and gave Essek his most disarming smile. “Fortunately, we had an excellent medic who kept me from bleeding to death. I was out of commission for a few weeks afterward, though.”

The furrow between Essek’s eyebrows deepened. “Your file said you worked with a mercenary group before you came to Rosohna. The Mighty Nein, was it?”

“For a while, ja. We did a few high-profile jobs for the Empire a while back, but we’ve done work all throughout the Wildemount galaxy. I imagine that’s part of why they asked me to act as a diplomatic representative here.” The words came easily; he’d been expecting this conversation since he’d accepted the modified cover story Ludinus’s people had prepared for him, and he had a script prepared for most of the questions Essek was likely to ask.

So it surprised him when Essek asked no questions at all, merely leaned against the backrest of their seat to study him. “You’re a curious man, Caleb Widogast. I look forward to getting to know you better.”

“The feeling is mutual.” Caleb met Essek’s eyes. “Before that, though, we ought to discuss our approach to this tea service.”

Essek straightened, expression turning businesslike. “Indeed. I trust Uraya briefed you on what to expect?”

“They did, but I want your input as well. Our goal is to convince your mother we can behave as a couple in public, ja? I’d like to know how much affection we are expected to show each other, as well as any boundaries I should not cross.”

“My mother’s expectations shouldn’t be too egregious. The people of the Dynasty tend to be fairly reserved by most standards—or, at least, that is true among the drow. Those of goblinoid heritage tend to be less restrained in their affections, and of course there are many other peoples living in Xhorhas, each with their own cultural mores. But Den Thelyss is one of the three primary dens, and as such, we prize our sense of decorum. It should not take more than a few casual touches to paint a convincing picture of marital bliss.” A thread of sarcasm wound through the last two words.

Caleb gave him a rueful smile. “You really don’t like the idea of being married, do you?”

Essek sighed, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “No. Frankly, it’s hard to conceive of it as anything other than another obligation, and I have those in abundance already. Besides, I’ve never been the sort to tether my life to someone else. My research, my ambitions—they’re the sort of pursuits that are not easily shared. I have met very few like-minded people in my life, and most of them are . . . less than trustworthy.” A complicated tangle of emotion rippled across his face—frustration, predominantly, but also something softer. Regret? Longing?

Whatever it was, it vanished as the hovercraft began to slow. Caleb felt an unexpected pang as Essek’s faintly smug mask slotted once more into place. “We’ve reached the estate. Are you ready?”

Caleb arranged his own mouth into a relaxed but dignified smile. “Not at all,” he said, tapping the button to open the door. “But I think we’re going in regardless, ja?”

“Indeed.” Essek followed him out of the vehicle, his eyes on the sprawling estate before them. Its shining white walls glittered with coruscating veins of crystal, as seamless as if the stonework had been drawn from the earth in contiguous sheets, and the lanterns lining either side of the front walkway dimmed and brightened in slow cycles, shifting from blue to green to violet. Altogether, it granted the estate’s front gardens an otherworldly glow.

“It’s like castle out of a fairy tale,” Caleb whispered as they reached the polished silver gates.

Essek laughed, a sharp, short sound, like Caleb had surprised it out of him. “I’d advise you not to eat or drink anything lest you be stolen away to another realm, but that would rather defeat the point of a tea service.”

“Perhaps I should worry more about accidentally making a bargain with a being I do not understand.”

Essek gave another, more restrained huff of laughter. “Perhaps you should,” he said quietly, but the amusement drained swiftly from his voice. “My mother has lived a long time, even by the standards of our den. You’d do well not to give her any leverage over you.”

“Understood.” He held out his arm, and Essek’s brow furrowed for a moment before he cautiously reached over to rest his hand in the crease of Caleb’s elbow. “I hope this is not too forward,” Caleb said, wincing as he remembered what Essek had said about decorum. Essek had agreed on a few casual touches, but they hadn’t really discussed what that entailed.

“No, it’s . . . fine.” Essek cleared his throat. It was difficult to be certain in the shifting lamplight, but Caleb thought he might be blushing. “Let’s head inside, shall we?”

“Ja. Ja, good idea,” Caleb said as Essek opened the door.

Chapter Text

Chapter Eight

The inside of the Thelyss estate was as majestic as its exterior, with enough illumination that Caleb could actually pick out the different colors of the strata embedded in the walls. Most of it seemed to be quartz: veins of amethyst swirled amidst spirals of smoky gray, and here and there a flash of pink gave the entryway a lively aspect. Curiously, the walls were not perfectly flat, but rather had a hewn quality to them, as if this were the entrance to an exquisitely shaped cavern rather than someone’s home.

In deference to the crystalline patterns, the walls were unadorned, but as Essek led him down a series of corridors, they passed numerous small tables bearing decorative plants, many of them displaying some degree of bioluminescence. Caleb had never had much interest in botany, but the alien flora stirred his curiosity nonetheless. He made a mental note to download a book on the subject, then just as quickly discarded the notion. Stay on task. You have your mission here. This is not the time for distractions.

Brandishing his smile once more, he walked with Essek into a vast, tropically warm chamber rife with greenery. “The lotus garden,” Essek explained, leaning close and keeping his voice low. “My mother has been growing lotus flowers for over six hundred years now. Most of the plants you’ll see here are rare cultivars bioengineered in her greenhouse.” He gestured with his free hand toward a shallow, meandering canal cut into the floor, where a profusion of vivid blue blossoms floated serenely atop the sedate current.

“That one is nearly the same color as your eyes,” Caleb said, pointing to a darker, violet-tipped flower.

Essek glanced at him, blinking rapidly, then down at the blossom. “So it is.” He cleared his throat. “Lotus flowers carry a great deal of symbolism here in the Dynasty. Not only are they uncommonly resilient, but they behave curiously in response to a regular day-night cycle, submerging underwater each night and then blooming again the next morning, with nary a stain from the murky water in which they grow. Naturally, this makes them the ideal flower to apply as a metaphor for consecution and rebirth, though they aren’t actually native to this solar system.”

“I have heard of consecution,” Caleb said carefully, “but I’m afraid I don’t know much. Am I correct in understanding it’s some sort of religious ceremony?”

Essek’s mouth flattened. “Something like that.”

A sore subject, Caleb noted. He’d have to do his own research into consecution later. From the primer Ludinus’s people had assembled for him, he knew the phenomena was somehow tied to the beacons, and that it supposedly allowed for the rebirth of souls from one life to the next, but any information beyond that was sketchy. Ludinus’s researchers believed the beacons functioned as a backup storage unit for the mind, harvesting memories and experiences from those who bound themselves to it and reuploading that information into a new body when the previous host expired. If that was the case, then the beacons represented a pathway to immortality—or, if not true immortality, the insurance of knowing one’s existence would continue in some way after one’s passing.

But there were other theories. The books in Essek’s den had spoken much of potentiality, of the endless network of branching possibilities and discarded timelines. Several of his essays had referenced the beacons directly, questioning whether the memory transference was even the original purpose of these artifacts, or simply an ancillary function of the dunamantic power stored within. Essek had posited that the intended purpose of the beacons was not to extend consciousness, but to retrace and perhaps even rewrite reality, though he cautioned against attempting to do so without first understanding the boundaries of what the beacons were capable of.

Before Caleb could think on it any further, the stone path under their feet opened up into a small seating area. There, a drow woman draped in pink and lavender silk awaited them, a tea set arranged in front of her. She rose from her wicker chair as they approached, her robes flowing like water around her. “Welcome, welcome.” Her eyes dipped briefly to Essek’s hand, still resting atop Caleb’s forearm, but if the sight stirred anything in her, it did not show in her ice-white eyes. “I’m so glad you were able to make it.”

“Mother,” Essek said formally, inclining his head. “Allow me to make introductions. This is Caleb Widogast, diplomatic representative of the Dwendalian Empire and my betrothed. Caleb, this is my mother: Lady Deirta Thelyss, Umavi to Den Thelyss of the Kryn Dynasty.”

“It’s an honor to meet you,” Caleb said, the script coming easily. “You have a beautiful garden.”

Deirta gave him a razor-thin smile. “I’ve had several lifetimes to cultivate it. Please, sit. We have much to discuss.”

They seated themselves, Essek releasing Caleb’s arm and folding his hands atop the table. With delicate motions, Deirta set three cups in a line on the table and fastened a packet of leaves to their handles before pouring each cup two-thirds full with hot water. “Do you take milk in your tea? Sugar?”

“No, thank you,” Caleb said. Uraya’s notes had advised him against requesting any modifications to his food or drink unless he was meeting with someone he was close to. He hadn’t been sure whether that rule still applied, given that Deirta had offered, but he saw Essek’s jaw relax fractionally at his refusal.

“To begin with,” she said, sliding a cup to each of them, “I would like to extend my congratulations. First weddings are rare and wonderful events among the ruling dens. I only wish we had the time to prepare a more elaborate ceremony. Essek is still on his first life, but he is a valued member of Den Thelyss. I hope you are finding him an amicable partner.” She raised the rim of her teacup to her lips but did not drink.

“Very much so,” Caleb agreed, summoning his warmest smile. “He’s been very kind to me.”

Deirta paused, her teacup dropping half an inch. “Oh?”

Caleb let his eyes drift toward Essek, who was watching him with a stricken look. He thinks I’m overplaying it, Caleb realized. He straightened in his chair, minutely adjusting his posture and expression to something softer, more rueful. “I was worried, coming here, that I would be unable to find my footing in Rosohna. I’ve visited many places in my travels, but this is the first time I have come to an unfamiliar land with the expectation of making a home there, and I . . .” He hesitated. He would have to step carefully to avoid offering insult. “While I was able to glean much information about my intended from the files I received, it is difficult to assemble a clear picture of a person from documents alone. I couldn’t know what sort of man I’d be marrying until I had the opportunity to meet him, and with so much hinging on our successful union, I was afraid that I would arrive to find myself tethered to someone who would resent my presence in their life.”

Beside him, Essek drew in the slightest of breaths.

“And did you not hold any resentment for this arrangement yourself?” Deirta asked, tilting her head just so.

Caleb met her pale eyes steadily. “No.”

Deirta regarded him for several seconds, then, unexpectedly, let out a peal of laughter. “You are a remarkable liar.”

“Ah . . .” Caleb risked glance at Essek, but the drow had frozen in his chair, watching Deirta the way one might watch a viper coiled to strike. With a triumphant smile, she lifted her teacup and took her first sip.

Caleb forced himself to do the same, adhering desperately to the script provided by Uraya’s etiquette notes: It is customary to sample your food and drink immediately after your host. Doing so beforehand is considered presumptuous, but waiting too long implies that you view their offerings as unsatisfactory.

“Your poise is impressive,” Deirta went on, “but you should take care not to make so much eye contact when you lie. People will notice that you’re trying too hard to seem earnest.”

“I will take that under advisement.” Without shifting his attention away from her face, Caleb reached out to touch the back of Essek’s hand. Essek’s fingers twitched, then just as quickly relaxed as he sat up in his chair.

“Perhaps we should move on,” Essek said. “There must be a reason you summoned us here.”

Deirta’s nose wrinkled. “Obviously. The reason was to meet my son’s betrothed so I could determine whether he was worthy of marrying into Den Thelyss. It is one thing to reopen diplomatic channels after a war—resuming normal operations is a matter of practicality. Tethering one of our den’s most prized young souls to our former enemy, however . . .” Her eyes settled once more upon Caleb. “Well. I’m sure you understand how I might be wary of your allegiance.”

Unease slithered through Caleb’s veins. This was not the first trap she’d laid this evening, but he sensed this one had more bite to it than its predecessors. “Ja, I can understand that.”

“With that in mind, what are your intentions with my son? What benefit does this marriage offer you?”

The safety of my friends. No, too personal. His association with the Mighty Nein was a matter of public record, but he would slit his wrists before he let slip how much he cared about them. The Assembly was already using them as leverage. He would not give this woman the opportunity to do the same, not when Essek had specifically warned him against it. But what other reason could he give that would satisfy her? What could he feasibly want from this union besides the chance to slip the noose the Assembly had around their throats?

Slim fingers brushed the back of his hand as Essek answered for him. “Access to my research, of course.”

Caleb froze. Scheisse.

Deirta arched one delicate eyebrow. “You have an interest in dunamancy, then?”

Caleb’s stomach lurched. He felt like he’d stepped out onto a frozen pond expecting solid ice only to feel the surface giving way beneath his feet. There’s still time to deflect, whispered a distant part of his mind. But no. Deirta had already picked out one of his lies tonight. If he lied to her in this, she would surely parse out his intentions. However, the truth was equally dangerous. Every sliver of honesty he offered her was one more thread for her to tug at, one more lever to manipulate him. He was trapped.

Essek went on, gently stroking the dip between Caleb’s first and second knuckle. “Caleb was quite taken with my collection of essays. He’s something of a scholar himself, though his primary field of study is in neuroscience.”

Deirta frowned slightly. “I wasn’t aware.”

“It wasn’t in his file,” Essek said as if it mattered not at all, as if the omission had not been at the root of their confrontation the other night. “Regardless, it’s difficult to fault someone for their curiosity when that same impulse drives so many of my own pursuits. The fact that dunamantic research is so carefully guarded from those outside of the Dynasty would only have made it a greater temptation.”

The roaring static of Caleb’s thoughts dulled to a distant fuzz. Essek was defending him, giving Deirta something to disapprove of so that she would not look deeper for the truth. He didn’t actually think Caleb was after his research; he’d simply chosen the answer that would let him take control of the conversation.

Moreover, it was working. Deirta’s mouth flattened with displeasure. “Regardless, you have explained to him that his pursuit of such knowledge would be regarded unfavorably here, yes? It would be catastrophic for our den if it were to come out that we had leaked such valuable and privileged information to the Empire.”

“Of course,” Essek said, a smirk finding his lips. His fingers closed around Caleb’s hand. “I would not be so reckless as to share state secrets with a representative of a foreign power, no matter their ties to our den. And I’m certain my betrothed understands those boundaries clearly enough now.”

“Good.” Deirta eased back in her chair, her false smile returning. “This tea is lovely, but I’m feeling rather peckish. Shall I send for some biscuits?”

*

“Well, it has been a pleasure to speak with you both, but I think it’s time we call an end to this visit,” Deirta said half an hour later, placing her empty teacup on the tray for the serving staff to clean up. Essek did the same, rising from his chair as gracefully as he could given the stiffness of his back. Speaking with his mother always left him feeling as if he’d spent the entire visit standing at attention.

Caleb stood as well, pressing one hand to his sternum and bowing at the waist. “It has been an honor to stand in your presence, Umavi Thelyss,” he said with ritual formality.

Deirta raised an eyebrow at Essek. “Your betrothed has better manners than you do,” she muttered in Undercommon.

“One of his many good qualities,” Essek replied, holding onto his smile with effort.

Switching back to Common, Deirta bid them farewell and departed, leaving the two of them alone in the suffocating humidity of the lotus garden. Freed from her scrutiny, Essek at last gave into the impulse to unclasp the top button of his mantle. Sticky as the air was, it provided little relief, but at least he no longer felt quite so confined. He glanced at Caleb, curious to see if he would unzip his own coat, which had to be equally stifling, but Caleb’s attention was still on the path Deirta had taken on her way out of the garden, as if he was afraid that if he turned away, he would find her standing just behind him.

“Come,” Essek said. “Our hovercraft is waiting outside.”

Caleb blinked, awareness returning to his eyes, and joined Essek on the path they’d taken on their way into the garden. Neither of them spoke as they made their way out of the house. It was only after they were seated inside the hovercraft and gliding back to Essek’s towers that Caleb finally broke the silence. “I want to apologize. That did not go as well as it could have. I should have been better prepared.”

Essek frowned. The tea service had been stressful, certainly, but that was true of every interaction he had with his mother. “You did fine,” Essek assured him. “No one is ever truly prepared for a meeting with the Umavi. It went as well as could reasonably be expected.”

Caleb sunk deeper into his seat, scratching absently at the wrappings on his arms. “She is a deft conversationalist. She had me on my back foot the entire time we were in there.”

“My mother has lived a long time. It’s not impossible to wrest control from her, but it’s challenging. I myself can manage it only on occasion, and I lived under her roof for nearly fifty years.”

Caleb studied him for a long moment, not moving from his seat. Unlike on the ride to the estate, he’d put a full body-width of distance between them. Had he truly been so worried about his conduct that he’d felt the need to physically distance himself from Essek’s theoretical disappointment?

Just be glad he isn’t cringing from you anymore, Essek told himself. That’s a vast improvement on how he was before you apologized this morning.

Still, something was obviously bothering the man. Essek retraced the conversation in his mind. He could recall only one thing that might explain Caleb’s reticence. “If you’re worried that you’ve offended me somehow, don’t be. I know you’ve given up a great deal for the sake of this union. I don’t blame you if you resent me for it.”

A furrow formed between Caleb’s eyebrows. “I don’t resent you.” At Essek’s skeptical glance, he clarified, “I resent the circumstances, perhaps, but you’re not the one to blame for the position I’m in.”

Essek dared a smile. “Oh? Who is to blame, then? I’d rather like a word with them, seeing as their actions have pulled me into their tangled web as well.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Caleb’s cautious openness guttered like a candle in the wind as he broke eye contact. There’s a story there, Essek thought. But how to tug at that thread without damaging what little trust he has for me? It was clear enough that Caleb had been hurt in the past—no one behaved as he did without having first suffered a grievous wound. But Essek was beginning to realize that whatever had happened, it went deeper than a single traumatic event. Someone had abused this man, twisted him up inside until he’d come to believe he deserved it. There could be no other explanation for why he was so eager to accommodate Essek’s every request, why he chose his words so carefully, why he’d thought he had to beg to be allowed to keep his cat. He had called Essek kind over tea, had even seemed to mean it, but his standards for how he ought to be treated were so abysmally low that the compliment meant almost nothing.

“Apologies,” Essek said into the silence. “I think I may have implied more venom toward our circumstances than I intended. What I meant is that you should not feel obligated to take the blame for this. You have been thrust into this position just as unwillingly as I have, and given up far more in the process. And to be honest,” he added, aiming for a lighter tone, “if I have to be bound to another person for the foreseeable future, you’re one of the better options.”

Caleb’s shoulders hunched. “That is kind of you to say.”

“It’s the truth,” Essek said sharply. Surprise flashed in Caleb’s eyes. “Do you think you are the first to ask for my hand in marriage? Den Thelyss is one of the most influential houses in the Dynasty, and I am the first son of its Umavi in three centuries. I have received dozens of marriage offers, some before I was even out of my adolescence. Do not think my reputation for coldness is anything but intentional. It was through callousness that I ensured anyone who wanted to use me to advance their agenda would have to bow before my own ambitions or be sidelined.”

“But that’s not what you want of me,” Caleb said, his vivid blue eyes unwavering as he studied Essek’s face.

Essek paused, conscious of Caleb’s attention. “No,” he admitted. “It’s . . . different with you. You’re not interested in me for my position. Light, you’re not interested in me at all.” A bitter laugh threatened at the back of his throat; he suppressed it viciously. This was hardly the time for self-pity. “All you want from this union is peace. Your goals have nothing to do with me.”

Caleb rested his forearms on his knees, eyes lowered. “That’s not entirely true.”

“Oh?” Essek raised an eyebrow. The laugh he’d stifled coiled like a knot of thorns beneath his heart. “Which part do you disagree with?”

“The part where you think I’m not interested in you.”

This time, Essek did laugh, a high, jagged sound, like fracturing glass. It took him a moment to realize Caleb was watching him, utterly sober. Essek’s laughter died in his throat. “Oh. You’re serious.”

“You do not have to reciprocate,” Caleb said, eyes intent. “But you’re a compelling man, Essek. I would not turn you away if you came knocking at my chambers.” He reached behind him, and the hovercraft door swung open, their little bubble of privacy popping.

Essek hastily adjusted his mantle, schooling his features into a mask of confident indifference for the benefit of anyone watching. Then he followed Caleb out of the hovercraft and up the path to the house. “Thank you for accompanying me tonight,” he said as they reached the split in the path. “I have some work to finish up in the lab, but please, enjoy the rest of your evening.”

Caleb gave him a lingering look, his expression inscrutable, then dropped his gaze. “Goodnight, Essek. I’ll see you at breakfast.”

Essek inclined his head, departed for the eastern tower, and did not think about the words ringing in his mind. You’re a compelling man, Essek. I would not turn you away.

Chapter Text

Chapter Nine

The rest of the week flowed by with minimal interruption. Essek spent most of it in his lab, reworking equations and refining his theories. His focus lately had been in the realm of potentiality, of drawing on discarded timelines to influence the world, but like those who had come before him, he was finding it difficult to expand beyond the theoretical. Current dunamantic theory held that there was a single primary timeline, but that when some element of reality was in question, when an outcome was uncertain, that timeline split off into smaller threads of possibility. In that sense, the primary timeline was like a string unspooling through the eons, and the unrealized possibilities—that which could have been—were like the frayed fibers that inevitably peeled away whenever that string met friction: fibers that could potentially be woven back into the string to adjust reality. 

Or so the theories went. In terms of actual data, there were few resources to be found. How did one verify an alteration in time when the very act of doing so meant they had already succeeded in modifying the timeline? If one could reshape a moment in history, how did they prove that said reality had not always been so?

It was a vexing paradox, one Essek had spent countless hours attempting to unravel. Indeed, as much as he wanted to be the one to unravel it, he knew he was likely years away from such a breakthrough—and that was presuming there was any breakthrough to be had at all. It was entirely possible that he was missing some foundational piece of information that would completely undermine his theories, and those of everyone else in his field.

Regardless, the nature of potentiality had been weighing heavily on his mind these past few days, and not solely because of his research. Whenever his mind was not otherwise occupied, his thoughts drifted back to that moment in the hovercraft: the rumbling softness of Caleb’s voice when he’d called Essek compelling, the steadiness of his gaze as he’d all but invited Essek into his bed. I would not turn you away, he’d said, and those words echoed in Essek’s mind every time he let his focus lapse.

It was worse at night. Alone in his chambers, trying to soothe the ever-whirring machine that was his mind, the memory drove him to distraction. And not just that moment, either. Essek could still feel the warmth of Caleb’s forearm beneath his hand, could still recall the cadence of Caleb’s voice when he’d claimed Essek had been very kind to him, could still remember the lingering look Caleb had given him as he’d bid Essek goodnight.

Essek had spent hours lying in bed, restless, his mind running scenarios of how that evening might have ended differently if he had taken Caleb up on his offer. He’d suffered two restless nights in a row before finally taking himself in hand and submitting to the fantasy of Caleb’s fingers digging into his hips, Caleb’s teeth scraping the side of his neck, and it had been shameful how quickly his release had come, how desperately he’d still wanted it afterwards. But it had been the first full night’s sleep he’d managed since his mother had invited them to tea, and by the next morning he had justified it thoroughly enough that he did not blush when Caleb passed him on the stairs. It was self-maintenance, nothing more.

His tablet buzzed shortly after midday on Yulisen with a message from Uraya. You have a video call from an untraceable number. The woman on the other end claims she’s a friend of Caleb’s.

Essek tapped out a quick response: An untraceable number? How curious. I’m in the lab, but I have a moment. Put them through. Sending the message off, he walked over to the wall to open one of the panels there. Inside was a simple monitor, positioned so that the majority of the lab would be out of view of its camera. It was unlikely anyone would be able to glean anything of significance without sifting through his notes, but he had reason to be cautious. No one was permitted within his laboratory except by his personal escort, not even the housekeeping service, and he had not brought anyone here since the last time he’d hired contractors to install new equipment.

The monitor glowed to life as the video call interface appeared onscreen, and a moment later he got his first look at his mysterious caller: a female tiefling, blue-skinned, with curling black horns and a smattering of darker blue freckles across the bridge of her nose. Her expression as she’d appeared had been one of anxious anticipation, but when she saw him, her face brightened with a smile. “Oh, you picked up! Your aide said you might not take the call, so I wasn’t sure. It’s nice to meet you! I’m Jester.”

From her accent, he guessed she came from somewhere on the Menagerie Coast. They shared a star system with the Empire but maintained their own sovereignty, functioning partially as a trading hub and partially as a resort planet for those who wanted to get away from the Empire but lacked the time or inclination to travel to the nearest inter-system gate. “Good afternoon,” Essek replied. “I’m told you’re an associate of Caleb?”

“Yes! I’m with the Mighty Nein. I’m in charge of the comms, but I also do other stuff, like help Caduceus in the infirmary and make sure everyone’s doing okay emotionally, you know? I’m also a really great detective.”

“Right,” he said, momentarily thrown by her enthusiasm. “And you are calling me instead of Caleb because . . . ?”

Jester wilted slightly. “Oh, well, um . . . That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, actually. See, communications between us and Caleb are kind of complicated right now. Nothing bad,” she rushed to assure him, “just, you know, it’s hard to get a hold of him without people intercepting the call, and—” She broke off as someone off-screen spoke, then mouthed a response, fingers twitching with frustration. “Um. So, anyway, we were hoping that since you’re going to be marrying Caleb and all, you could maybe get us a private line of communication to him? Something that would be hard to trace, or that other people wouldn’t know to look for. Just something a little more secure than, like, calling him directly, you know?”

Essek stared. “You . . . realize that is an incredibly suspicious request, yes?”

“It’s not for anything bad, I promise! We just . . . We just want to be able to talk to him.” She dipped her head, her lips scrunching up in an exaggerated pout. “He’s our friend.”

Is he? Essek wondered, his instinctive paranoia crystallizing into something sharper. This woman had identified herself as one of the Mighty Nein, but Caleb’s association with them was public knowledge, and she had offered no verification of her identity. Her aggressive cheer might have swayed Essek if he had not already been primed to mistrust her request. As it was, it struck him as the sort of overwhelming personality a con artist might adopt when distracting a mark.

And beyond that . . . Caleb had been reticent to discuss many things, but of the Mighty Nein he had spoken only in clinical terms, as if trying to distance himself from his former mercenary affiliations. If Caleb no longer wanted to be connected with his old associates, Essek wasn’t about to grant them a direct line back into his life. Not without reason.

“I’m afraid I cannot help you,” he said, veiling his misgivings beneath a layer of formality. “I will inform him that you called, of course, and if he wishes to speak with you, he is welcome to.”

The woman lifted one hand in an abortive gesture. “Oh, but—”

“Have a good evening,” he said and cut the connection. The screen went blank. He shut the monitor off and slid the wall panel back into place, his thoughts cycling rapidly. He was fairly certain this was an outside attempt to pry into Caleb’s business, or perhaps his own, but Essek had been a scholar most of his life. It was his nature to question things. If this Jester was indeed one of Caleb’s associates, what sort of business were the Mighty Nein involved in that required a secure line of communication?

Essek’s first thought was espionage. Theirs wasn’t the only marriage to come from the recent treaty, but their union did place Caleb uncomfortably close to some of the Dynasty’s most influential figures. In such a space, even a casual information-gathering effort could unveil a plethora of valuable intel. Alternatively, it could be a more focused probe, someone hoping to gain access to Essek’s research. Caleb could be a willing agent, or he could be a pawn.

Could someone be blackmailing him? Caleb had admitted that the information of his time at the Soltryce Academy had been redacted from his personal history, had refused to answer Essek’s questions even when faced with the possible dissolution of their marriage agreement. What had happened during his time there that was so dire he couldn’t bring himself to share it?

Whatever it is, it cannot possibly be more damning than your own crimes. A manic laugh bubbled up at the back of Essek’s throat. He forced it down, leaning heavily against the lab table nearest to him. Hysteria would do him no good, and he had no proof of anything. Even if Caleb was being blackmailed, that was no guarantee that the man had actually done anything illegal. There were any number of private humiliations that could serve as leverage, and Caleb . . . Caleb had been victimized in the past. Essek didn’t know how or by whom, but if whoever it was meant to use that knowledge to coerce him into playing the part of a spy, untangling that web of abuse and manipulation would take time.

All of this assumes that there is some form of espionage occurring here, Essek reminded himself. You don’t know enough about the situation to do more than theorize. And if you’re wrong, and that tiefling woman really is a friend of his, all you’ll accomplish by keeping this from Caleb is further damaging his trust in you.

That wouldn’t have bothered him, once. To him, trust had always been a form of currency, something you saved up to trade later on for favors: an advantage over a rival, a secret to be leveraged for power, a scandal quietly suffocated before it could reach the wrong ears. It was not something he offered up freely, nor something he received from others except in carefully negotiated exchanges. Caleb shouldn’t have been able to make him care, shouldn’t have been able to shift such a fundamental cornerstone of Essek’s worldview. And yet.

And yet Essek could not help but recall the vulnerability he sometimes glimpsed in Caleb. Things like how he’d brought his cat here to serve as a therapy animal, or when he’d admitted that he wore his coat everywhere because it made him feel safe. And then there was his quiet confession on their way back from the tea service, when he’d admitted to finding Essek compelling: a sentiment Essek hadn’t been willing to return even after three days of frankly embarrassing pining. Caleb was keeping plenty of secrets—that couldn’t be denied—but with every tentative overture of trust, he was giving Essek more power to manipulate him, to hurt him in ways he’d undoubtedly been hurt before. Why? Surely he knew by now that Essek wasn’t worthy of trust. That had been clear enough from the day he’d caught Caleb paging through his books and jumped straight into an interrogation. Caleb had already taken a significant risk in coming to Rosohna, in placing himself at the center of Essek’s realm of influence. What in the cosmos could have compelled him to wade deeper into the shadow of Essek’s power?

Essek drummed his fingertips on the cool surface of the lab table, thinking. He did not want to lose Caleb’s trust, however little he deserved it, but neither could he discard the possibility that Caleb was a foreign agent here to uncover information for someone higher up in the Empire’s hierarchy. He needed more information, more time. If this was espionage, then Caleb was clearly meant to remain deeply entrenched—Essek could think of a dozen ways to acquire intel that were far less involved than marrying into one of the enemy’s most prominent political families. There would be time before Caleb went digging for anything truly sensitive, which would in turn give Essek time to observe and seek out answers of his own.

Until then, they both had something to gain by moving forward with their relationship. It would be a narrow tightrope to walk, but Essek had dared such risks before. Indeed, if his other arrangement with the Empire ever became public knowledge, he wouldn’t merely be falling from a tightrope—he’d be dropping from a gallows.

Chapter Text

Chapter Ten

Caleb arrived at the Stars and Scones Bakery at eleventh bell Yulisen morning and stayed for an hour, pretending to fill out word puzzles as a pair of chocolate croissants slowly disappeared in front of him. When he was certain no one was watching, he nonchalantly reached beneath the table and removed the data chip taped there, sliding it into one of the tablet’s ports. As expected, he found a file containing another coded message: Request for report re: your current operation. What information have you been able to acquire of the target’s disposition? —L. D.

Target has a tendency towards paranoia, Caleb reported, matching the clinical tone of Ludinus’s message with an ease that left him feeling like he’d submerged himself in something foul. Acquiring his trust will take time, but I believe I am making progress despite some initial resistance. His personal laboratory is off-limits to everyone, including staff, and his security system is extensive and adaptable, though I will continue to seek blind spots to exploit. Alternative infiltration methods may be necessary. —C. W.

He waited another ten minutes to eject the data chip and replace it for Ludinus’s agents to find later, then stood and walked his plate over to the counter, smiling warmly at the broad-shouldered orcish woman who had sold him the croissants. “These were delicious, thank you.”

She gave him a teeth-baring grin. “Good, good,” she said in thickly accented Common. “Got another tray in back if you’re interested.”

Be charming, his instincts whispered. You will have to return here to make your reports. Gaining this woman’s goodwill may help you deflect suspicion later. “Oh, that would be wonderful,” he said, and bought six more croissants for the house.

Errand attended to, he departed the bakery and wound his way through the bustling streets of the Gallimaufry district. He’d spent some time exploring the city these past few days—Essek had been occupied in his lab, and Uraya had needed Caleb only for brief intervals to discuss details of the wedding—but he’d mostly stayed within a mile or so of the house. The only other time he’d been to the Gallimaufry district was when he’d visited the tailor with Uraya, and they’d had too much to accomplish for him to wander.

There was an enticing freedom in being out of the house. His chambers were undeniably luxurious, but he had yet to shake the sense that they were being monitored. After over two years dealing with Beauregard’s snooping and Jester’s collection of pinprick-sized cameras and listening devices, Caleb knew that even a thorough sweep of his rooms might not be enough to ensure his privacy. The streets of Rosohna doubtlessly had their own array of security cameras, but as long as he didn’t do anything too egregious, his movements here were unlikely to draw attention. So he let himself meander, sketching out a map of the area in his head. This area boasted an assortment of businesses, ranging from high-class jewelers and clothiers to rustic inns and taverns, often coexisting within two or three blocks of one another. None of the buildings were shabby enough to qualify as seedy, especially after some of the places he’d visited with the Mighty Nein, but he did stop for a drink at a place called the Dim’s Inn where he received a number of dubious stares from the other patrons. Their scrutiny struck him as oddly nostalgic, reminiscent of the months he and Veth had spent conning people in the Empire before they’d met the rest of the Nein, and Caleb left the inn feeling more buoyant than he had in weeks.

His cheer was further bolstered when on his way back toward the Firmaments, he spotted a warmly lit bookstore wedged in between an art supply shop and a café. He stepped inside—a brass bell jingled as the door swung open—and as he breathed in the scent of paper and ink, something in him eased, like a spring finally allowed to decompress.

With a brief nod to the pink-haired drow girl manning the register, Caleb made his way down the corridors between shelves, eyes roaming over the books. There were hundreds of them—novels and children’s books and comics, arranged by category and author, with featured titles facing out to better show off their covers. Most of the titles were in Undercommon, but here and there he caught words he recognized. He wasn’t as adept at picking up languages as Beauregard, but he kept a pocket dictionary in one of his book holsters, and he’d downloaded some ebooks to help him learn Undercommon before he’d come to Xhorhas.

One book caught his eye immediately: a hardcover collection of Xhorhassian fairy tales, the cover designed in the same style as the book of Zemnian fairy tales he’d brought with him. A glance at the spine confirmed it was the same publisher, and the interior illustrations were similar enough in style that he suspected they’d been drawn by the same hands that had illustrated the dark forests and elegant castles he’d come to know in his youth. More importantly, the book was available in both Common and Undercommon, which meant he could compare the two versions to practice his translations, something which would help him immensely if he ever got his hands on Essek’s research notes.

His thoughts skidded to a halt at the reminder of his mission. It took him a few seconds to unlock the muscles in his back and shoulders, to remember how to breathe. He wasn’t here to read fairy tales or build a life. He was here to steal the research notes of a man he was marrying under false pretenses in order to appease a member of the Cerberus Assembly. It didn’t matter that Ludinus had implied he’d let the Nein take the fall for Vess DeRogna’s death if Caleb didn’t comply; Caleb was still unquestionably the villain of this piece, a worm writhing about inside a rotten apple.

This is necessary, he told himself. This is the person you have to be to keep the rest of the Nein safe. With an effort, Caleb stilled the shaking in his hands and mechanically carried the two tomes, one in each language, up to the register. His longing to explore the rest of the shop’s offerings had evaporated; all he wanted was to get back to the house, back to some semblance of privacy—even if that privacy was an illusion.

Books paid for, he made his way back to the familiar trio of towers in the Firmaments. It was half past fourth bell; he’d stayed out longer than he’d planned, still unused to the way Rosohna’s perpetual twilight threw off his internal clock. He was learning to compensate for the absence of a regular day-night cycle—notably, the city lanterns slowly transitioned in color as the hours went on, perhaps in an effort to circumvent that very issue—but the adjustment wasn’t coming as quickly as he’d have liked.

He’d intended to drop off the sack of pastries and head directly to his chambers, but as he stepped into the dining room, he was forced to revise his plans. Essek was seated at the table, picking at a plate of sliced fruit as he read something off his tablet, and at Caleb’s arrival, his blue-violet eyes shifted immediately to the doorway. “Ah, good evening. I’d been wondering where you disappeared to.”

Caleb winced. “Apologies. I didn’t realize I’d be needed here today. I can—”

Essek lifted a hand. “That wasn’t an accusation. I was merely . . . curious.” Something flickered in Essek’s eyes, there and gone before Caleb could identify it. “I see you’ve been shopping.”

“Just exploring the city, really.” Caleb set the books and the bag of croissants on the table and sat down. “I found a bookshop over in the Gallimaufry district. It’s been a while since I’ve had a chance to browse.”

“Yes, I imagine it’s hard to keep a collection when you’re traversing the universe. It's expensive to transport even a handful of books across the galaxy, let alone everything you might want to read.” Essek hesitated, setting down his tablet and folding his hands in front of him, elbows on the table. “Forgive me. I’m not terribly good at small talk. There’s something I wanted to discuss with you.”

Don’t react, Caleb’s instincts warned at the sudden lurch of his stomach. Casually, he leaned forward and gestured for Essek to continue. After a moment, he did. “I received a call about an hour ago from a woman claiming to be a friend of yours. Jester, she said her name was. She said she was with the Mighty Nein, but I wanted to confirm she was who she claimed to be before . . .”

“Before . . . ?” Caleb prompted, heart pounding.

Essek made a face. “She made an . . . odd request of me. Something about establishing a private line of communication to you?”

“I see.” It hadn’t occurred to Caleb that Jester might simply ask Essek to set up a secure line for him, but in hindsight, it seemed precisely the sort of solution she would attempt. Still, he wished she hadn’t. Even if she’d avoided using their ship’s communication system to contact Essek, that was no guarantee the transmission would be safe from the Assembly’s eyes. Not only that, but her call had undoubtedly tipped Essek off to the fact that she and the rest of the Nein were more valuable to Caleb than he’d let on.

“I did a bit of research into your former mercenary group,” Essek went on, “and while much of the information was unreliable or contradictory, I was able to ascertain that this individual is indeed a member of the Mighty Nein. I take it you know her?”

“I do,” Caleb said after the barest hesitation. “Jester can be somewhat overenthusiastic, but she’s a friend of mine.”

Essek studied him for a long moment, his expression inscrutable. “It’s not my business,” he said, and Caleb sensed he was selecting his words with care, “and I have no issue with you contacting your former associates if that is what you wish. But do you have any idea why they would need a secure line of communication to you?”

“It’s . . . possible they’ve run into some trouble with the local authorities,” he said. It wasn’t an unreasonable assumption. “Nothing terrible, I’m sure, but it’s likely she wanted a secure line so she could tell me about it without worrying about anyone listening in. We . . .” He stumbled a moment, conscious of Essek’s attention. “The Mighty Nein often find ourselves in hot water, legally speaking. It comes with being mercenaries. But whatever it is, I’m sure it will sort itself out soon enough. You need not trouble yourself over it.”

“So you don’t want me to set up a private communication channel with them,” Essek said, leaning forward to rest his chin atop his hands.

Caleb ducked his head, feeling terribly exposed. He wanted a way to talk to Jester and the others more than anything, but it was too much of a risk. If the Assembly learned that he had a private back-channel to his friends, they would assume he was using it to work against them. He needed to keep his distance and trust that they would find a way to dismantle the Assembly’s plans without him. “No. That won’t be necessary.”

Essek nodded as if Caleb had confirmed something for him, then straightened in his chair, picking up the delicate fork beside his plate and spearing a piece of red, seed-studded fruit with it. “Very well. I suppose we can consider the matter closed for now.”

Caleb relaxed. He hadn’t expected Essek to accept his explanation at face value, but he was glad for the chance to change the subject. “I, ah, picked up some croissants while I was out,” he said, crinkling the edges of the pastry bag. “Something of an impulse purchase. You’re welcome to them if you want.”

Essek lifted his head, looking momentarily befuddled. “Oh. Thank you. I’ve already eaten, but if you’d like, you can give them to the staff.”

“Of course. I’ll leave them in the kitchen, then.” Caleb gathered up his bags and stood.

“Before you go,” Essek said. Caleb looked back to see Essek slowly twirling his fork, eyes on the table. “The wedding is tomorrow. Are you ready?”

“Ja, as ready as I can be. And you?”

A pained smile touched Essek’s lips. “Truthfully? I don’t know. It isn’t something I ever thought much about. But as long as you’re willing to go through with it, I intend to do the same. I just—” He peered up at Caleb, a hesitance to the slope of his shoulders. “I just want to make sure that you are willing. That you aren’t entering into this because you feel you have to.”

“I’m all right with it,” Caleb said, and did not think of the Nein, or the Assembly, or any of the other forces pressuring him to go through with the wedding.

“You shouldn’t be,” Essek said, uncharacteristically blunt. “I am not a good man, and by coming here, you have put yourself in my power. I don’t know what you expected of me, but you must have known even before we met that you would have little recourse if I . . . if I were to prove myself unworthy of your trust.”

“I know,” Caleb said quietly.

Essek closed his eyes. Took a breath. Looked at him. “I am not a good man,” he repeated. “But if you’ll allow me to try, I want to be worthy of that trust.”

The air in Caleb’s lungs suddenly felt too hot. It wasn’t that he doubted Essek’s assessment of himself. Through his research, he had crafted weapons of war, weapons that had destroyed countless Empire ships and their crews along with them. Even if he’d never stepped onto the battlefield himself, he was responsible for a great deal of harm. But he was not the only scholar of dunamancy; someone else would have fulfilled that role if he had not. What Essek had done was bad, but Caleb knew how the Assembly would expand on his research, knew how people like Ludinus—like Trent—would twist it to do even more harm. Caleb had agreed to work with them for the sake of the Nein, but the fact that the man he was stealing from had done terrible things didn’t justify what he was doing here.

Regardless, he had a role to play, so instead of crumpling to the floor as he wanted to, he gingerly set the bag of pastries back on the table and placed a hand on Essek’s shoulder. “Can I tell you a secret?”

Essek blinked up at him. “What is it?”

Without breaking contact, Caleb came to stand behind Essek’s chair, gently draping his other arm around Essek’s torso as he whispered into his ear. “I’m not a good man, either.”

He felt Essek’s intake of breath. Felt the tip of Essek’s ear twitch against his cheek. They were intimately close now, but Essek didn’t pull away as Caleb had half-expected. Instead, he tipped his head back against Caleb’s chest and rested his own hand over Caleb’s. “A precious secret indeed,” he murmured, eyelids drifting shut. “What would you ask in return?”

“An assurance that you will not leave me standing alone at the altar tomorrow.”

Essek let out a startled laugh. “You don’t settle for small favors, do you?”

“Not really, no.”

“Well, it’s not as if I have much choice, with my mother so keen on this union.” His voice turned serious as he squeezed Caleb’s hand. “I will be there. I promise.”

Gently, he pressed a kiss to Essek’s forehead. “Thank you.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Eleven

“. . . important that you do not cut or otherwise damage the ribbon when you untie it, as that would be seen as a declaration that you wish to annul the marriage,” Uraya told Caleb as their hovercraft reached the cathedral. They’d arrived early for the ceremony, but the guests would already be gathering inside, exchanging gossip and reinforcing alliances. Hopefully, the presence of so many high-profile attendees would divert attention away from Caleb’s appearance. Essek had arranged things so he would be engaging the press while Uraya sneaked Caleb in through the back, but Caleb had been warned to be wary of anyone asking about their relationship, lest they turn out to be an informant for a rival den. He’d received a list of prepared statements from Den Thelyss’s press office for just such an eventuality, but he couldn’t quite suppress his nervousness.

“You should activate your disguise now,” Uraya said, their hand coming to rest on the door handle.

“Right.” Caleb touched the silvery brooch Uraya had attached to his coat minutes earlier. He recognized the technology—the Mighty Nein had several such devices, designed to bend the light around the wearer to weave a preset hologram around their body. The disguise wasn’t perfect. In dim spaces, it gave off a faint radiance that indicated it was an illusion, and while it could adapt somewhat to shifts in ambient light, reacting to every individual light source just wasn’t possible. But it would get him past anyone likely to harass him on the way in, which was all he really needed.

The brooch activated soundlessly, draping him in an illusion of a white-furred bugbear in unobtrusive formalwear. Uraya nodded and opened the door of their hovercraft. Caleb followed them out, surveying the cathedral where he was about to be married. Even from the back, it was magnificent, carved of translucent gray stone shot through with veins of amethyst. Like the walls of the Thelyss estate, the stone was hewn to resemble a natural formation, rough where other buildings would have been smooth.

An arched doorway led into an austere corridor, which opened up into a square chamber with a statue in the shape of a woman holding up a dodecahedron carved from smoky quartz. “Bright Queen Leylas Kryn,” Uraya murmured as they guided him past the statue, down another hall. “She was the first among our people to discover the Luxon. The object she’s holding is called a beacon; they are believed to be fragments the Luxon’s body, which was scattered when the Luxon broke itself apart to breathe life into the cosmos.”

“It’s beautiful,” Caleb said.

“Yes,” Uraya agreed simply. They led him into a small antechamber. The furnishings here were plain: a few chairs, a fountain accompanied by a set of stone cups, and a tall, narrow mirror. Caleb deactivated his disguise as Uraya laid his wedding robes over one of the chairs. “I’ll give you some privacy. Call if you need anything.”

“Danke.” He waited until they’d stepped outside, then began disrobing. It felt strange to slip into the silken fabric of his wedding robes, which lacked the reassuring weight of his coat. He’d made an effort to wear Dynasty fashions whenever he was out, but he hadn’t had time to sew any extra protections into his new wardrobe yet, and these were sheerer than his day-to-day clothes. He doubted he could have stitched another layer of fabric between the lining and the exterior without it being noticeable, even if he hadn’t been too intimidated by the quality of the garment to try. He’d just have to hope no one tried to assassinate him.

Dressed, he opened the door to let Uraya back in. They gave him an assessing look, mouth pinching with something that might have been dismay. “The wrappings on your arms,” they said, “would it be possible to remove them?”

Caleb hesitated. It hadn’t occurred to him to take them off, and an instinctive impulse to refuse jolted through him at the suggestion. But what objection could he offer? They bore no cultural significance, nor even any sentimental value. Their only purpose was to hide his scars.

“Apologies,” Uraya said, evidently sensing his discomfort. “Were this any other event, I would not press. But the handfasting ceremony is integral to marriage proceedings, and there will be many eyes on you today. Wrapping your arms up like that could imply reluctance to commit to this union.”

“Of course.” Fighting back a swell of unease, he unraveled the wrappings and laid them over the back of the chair. He could do this. The scars were unlikely to show up on camera, thin and surgical as they were, and his sleeves would hide them for most of the ceremony anyway. Essek might see them during the handfasting, but that was all. It was fine.

Uraya fussed over his appearance a while longer, until at last a stern drow woman in opalescent robes came by to announce it was time for him to head to the ceremonial chamber. Caleb gave a final nod to Uraya as they hurried ahead to secure their own seat—Essek had granted them a place in the front row, usually reserved for family and close friends—then walked with the acolyte toward the ceremonial chamber. Before long, the sound of murmuring voices reached his ears. Uraya had said it would be a modest ceremony, but that had been within the context of Den Thelyss’s usual handling of such affairs. Between the rising tide of voices and the majesty of the cathedral itself, Caleb knew this wedding would outshine any of the ceremonies he’d witnessed growing up in Blumenthal.

They paused at the end of the corridor, the acolyte raising a warding hand as she peered through the cloth partition separating them from the ceremonial chamber. A moment later, she turned back to Caleb. “It’s nearly time. When the curtain parts, walk down the steps until you reach the dais. You are to time it so that you reach the pedestal in the center at the same moment as your intended.”

He’d been briefed on the procedure on three separate occasions over the past week, but the reminder didn’t bother him. He was an unknown quantity, a foreigner, and the people in that room would be analyzing his every step. If he faltered even slightly, it could cause a scandal.

It can’t be any worse than walking into King Dwendal’s throne room and seeing your old teacher among his councilors, Caleb told himself, but the thought only made it harder to breathe. He focused instead on the embroidered partition before him. The pattern swirled like the heart of a galaxy, studded with pinpricks of gold, like stars.

Caleb’s fingers twitched when another acolyte drew the curtain aside, and then without a conscious command from his mind, his legs carried him forward into the chamber. The room was just as he’d heard it described: a vast, high-ceilinged chamber shaped like an egg, with concentric rings of steps leading down. Rows of chairs had been arranged on each level for the guests, but even so, the room overflowed with people, all of them looking intimidatingly regal in their formalwear. At the bottom of the steps rose a dais, where a priestess in ornate robes stood waiting, and atop the dais a pedestal carved of semi-translucent white stone.

From the opposite side of the chamber, another figure emerged, draped in black, floating two inches above the floor. It was impossible to read the nuances of Essek’s expression from this distance, but Caleb thought he saw his mouth twitch as their eyes met from across the room.

Conscious of their audience, Caleb slowed to match Essek’s pace, and with each step, he forced his anxiety to recede, walling it away behind a sheet of glass. He was still aware of it, but he stopped feeling it, and that fragile distance allowed him to stop the tremors in his hands and affix a smile to his face.

The head priestess stepped forward as well, her voice grave as she intoned the opening phrases of the ritual. Caleb caught a handful of words—she was speaking in Undercommon—but mostly his attention was on Essek as they reached the pedestal. Essek always looked polished, even in the privacy of his towers, but now he looked celestial. The cloth of his robes could have been cut from the night sky, the constellations trailing down the back and sleeves spun from starlight. Even his jewelry reinforced the theme: chains of tiny stars dangling from his ears and bands of gleaming silver on his fingers. Caleb had thought himself too detached from the proceedings for admiration, but as Essek’s cool smile quirked with sly amusement, he felt his face heating. Oh.

“We will now summon forth each partner’s chosen witness to verify this union,” the priestess said, switching to Common as she made an intricate gesture in the air. A holo-screen appeared at eye-level beside the pedestal, and an instant later, Beauregard’s face flickered into view. She was wearing her Expositor garb, her dark hair bound back in a braid, and her expression was severe. Worry kindled in Caleb’s heart, but there was no way to ask what was wrong without disrupting the ceremony or revealing things they needed to keep buried.

From one of the chairs in the front row stood a broad-shouldered drow man in ceremonial armor. His features were similar enough to Essek’s to mark them as family, but his hair was longer, one portion pulled back into a flowing ponytail, the rest trailing loosely down his back. The priestess addressed him first. “Verin Thelyss, you stand as witness for your brother, Essek, as he prepares to bind himself in matrimony to this man. Have you any objections to this union?”

“I do not,” Verin said formally.

“And you believe that your brother is consenting to this union of his own free will, without coercion?”

Verin’s eyes, a paler violet than his brother’s, shifted to Essek. There was an assessing quality to his gaze, as if Essek were a puzzle he hadn’t yet pieced together, but after a moment he nodded. “I believe so, yes.”

The priestess nodded and turned to Beauregard. “Beauregard Lionett, you stand as witness for Caleb Widogast of the Dwendalian Empire to verify that he has come of his own volition to marry the man you see before you. Do you have any objections?”

Beau’s jaw tightened. She stared hard at Caleb, a question in her eyes. She couldn’t ask him directly if he was all right, not with so many witnesses, but she’d always been alarmingly perceptive. Had she sensed his growing distress? Surely she knew there was nothing she could do for him now except let him go through with this. The Mighty Nein weren’t close enough for a rescue, and his situation was precarious enough that any hint of discord could have dangerous repercussions. This wedding needed to proceed without issue.

“No,” she said at last, and if he had not been so tightly wound, his knees would have buckled with relief. “No objections.”

“And you believe he is consenting to this union of his own free will, without coercion?”

Beau’s eyes narrowed so slightly he might have imagined it. “Yes,” she said, and the lie did not show in her voice.

“Then let the marriage contract be signed.” As the holo-screen vanished and Verin sat down, the priestess produced a sheaf of papers from the low table behind her and set them on the pedestal. Essek thanked her quietly and took the pen clipped to the contract, signing his name at the bottom before passing the pen over to Caleb. He signed his name just below Essek’s, relieved to find his hands steady.

The priestess spoke a while longer, projecting her voice for the audience. A few minutes in, she briefly switched back to Common for the candle-lighting ceremony. It was the one Zemnian tradition Caleb had requested, but in the moment it felt awkward: disruptive, like a wrong note in a song. He knew he was probably panicking over nothing—surely mixed marriages were not unheard of in the Dynasty—but the part of him that had learned to flee and cower on the streets of the Empire was pacing restlessly, searching for an escape.

It’s too late, he told it. We’re already committed. But the desperation didn’t abate.

Then, just as the roaring in his ears was about to reach its crescendo, he felt the touch of cool fingers on the back of his hand. Caleb lifted his head to see Essek watching him, troubled, no longer smiling. Worried for him? No, that didn’t make sense. They’d only known each other a week, and while Caleb was reasonably certain Essek found him attractive, Essek wouldn’t have had time to develop any real feelings for him. He must be worried about the wedding. There were so many eyes upon them, and Caleb was standing frozen at the altar.

“The candle,” Essek said softly, holding an unlit match between them. Caleb managed a stiff nod as he reached out to take hold of the matchstick. Together, they struck the match and raised it toward the candle. As the flame touched the wick, it caught, and the scent of saffron bloomed around them, rich and faintly sweet.

Caleb watched the candle burn for a moment, then looked back to Essek. The matchstick in their hands was still alight, the flame chewing its way toward their fingers, but Essek met his eyes steadily. Waiting.

Caleb felt something inside him settle; he reached up and extinguished the flame before it could touch Essek’s fingertips.

The priestess went on, switching back to Undercommon as they transitioned into the final stage of the ceremony: the handfasting. They joined hands, Essek’s right in Caleb’s left. The priestess produced a pair of silk ribbons, one in gold, the other in silver, and braided them together as the ritual phrases flowed smoothly from her lips. Caleb caught a few words, but most of his attention was on the slow circling of Essek’s thumb over his bare wrist. Had he noticed the scars? Most of them were further up Caleb’s forearm, but there was one just above the knob of his wrist that tingled every time Essek’s thumb passed near it.

Then the pressure of Essek’s fingers shifted, and the priestess was wrapping the braided ribbons around each of their wrists, once, twice, three times before tying them off with an intricate knot. As she withdrew, she raised her voice once more in a long, lyrical phrase. Caleb caught the words for star, journey, and light—some sort of blessing, he guessed—and then movement rippled outward from the dais as the audience rose and intoned an answering phrase.

“Well done,” Essek murmured. He lifted their joined hands to press a kiss to Caleb’s fingers. Caleb blinked—no one had mentioned that part of the ceremony—then dipped his head to do the same. Surprise flickered in Essek’s eyes, as if he hadn’t expected the gesture to be reciprocated, but there was no time to ask about it; Essek was already angling them toward the cameras, a victorious smile on his lips.

Right, Caleb thought dizzily. Time to talk to the press.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twelve

It took only moments for the press to swarm them once the ceremony concluded. Essek laced his fingers through Caleb’s as the sea of journalists rushed in. Long practice kept him from flinching from the flashes of dozens of cameras—drow eyes were sensitive even by Xhorhassian standards, but the too-bright flashes made for better pictures—and then they were being swept up in a tide of questions and requests for interviews.

He answered with the statements Den Thelyss’s press office had composed for him, and was relieved when Caleb did the same. He’d worried Caleb would struggle to cope with the spotlight, but he stuck to the script, even managing a few warm smiles that would play well in the news cycle. The nascent panic Essek had glimpsed in his eyes during the ceremony had dimmed; if not for the subtle quivering of his hands, Essek would have thought him utterly at ease.

Still, best not to push it. Essek gave the press fifteen minutes of platitudes, promising a few of the more favorable outlets interviews later in the week, then deftly extracted them from the crowd so they could make their way outside to their hovercraft. The shaking in Caleb’s hands grew steadily worse the further they went from the cameras, but whether it was relief at getting out of the public eye or a sign that he was about to spiral into a panic attack, Essek wasn’t certain.

“We should have some privacy in here,” he said as he opened the hovercraft door. With their hands still bound together, they had to maneuver carefully through the opening, but they made it inside without any major setbacks. Caleb closed the door behind them, fumbling the latch twice before he managed to get a grip on it. Essek gave him as much space as he could, certain now that Caleb was tipping toward panic after all, but Caleb only let out a harsh breath and sagged against the seat. He muttered something indistinct in Zemnian, then lifted his head to peer tentatively at Essek.

Cautiously, Essek shifted closer, squeezing Caleb’s hand. “All right?”

Caleb nodded. Exhaustion pulled at every muscle of his face, but he sat up a little to lean against Essek’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

For what? Essek wondered, but it seemed unwise to push when Caleb was already trusting him with this moment of vulnerability. Instead, he adjusted his posture to better support Caleb’s weight and waited for some signal of what to do next. The hovercraft glided smoothly along its path, occasionally angling in a new direction. They were headed to the Thelyss estate, where a dinner was being prepared in honor of their union, but Essek had programmed the autopilot to take a circuitous route through Rosohna, reasoning that if they traveled directly to the estate, they’d just end up waiting to make their grand entrance until the bulk of the guests had arrived.

Twenty minutes into the ride, Caleb finally spoke. “Would it be all right for us to untie the handfasting ribbons now, or are there other things we need to do first?”

“We can do it now. The idea is that the new couple has to work together to unravel the knot, but as long as we don’t damage the ribbons, it won’t cause a stir.”

Caleb nodded wearily and turned to face him, plucking delicately at the intricate knot with his free hand. The priestess had left Caleb’s dominant hand free, but for Essek it was the opposite: he had only his clumsier left hand to work with, and that slowed their progress considerably. He ended up mostly holding the ribbons in place so Caleb could pick at the actual knot. But eventually, the tangle began to loosen. Essek reached for the loops around Caleb’s wrist, thinking to pull the now-slack ribbons down over his hand, only for Caleb to flinch from his touch.

“Sorry,” Caleb said hastily, laying his hand flat on the seat between them. “Sorry. Go ahead.”

Essek hesitated. He hadn’t thought anything of touching Caleb’s forearm—they’d been holding hands for the better part of an hour—but something about the contact had clearly jolted Caleb out of his quiescence. Essek looked down at their joined hands, then let his gaze trail up the line of Caleb’s forearm. The wrappings he usually wore were gone, leaving his wrists bare except for the ribbon, but as Essek examined his forearm, something caught his eye: a line of paler skin near the knob of Caleb’s wrist, barely visible. A scar?

More than one, he thought, eyes catching on another line a few inches to the right. Like the first, it was about an inch long and surgically precise. He glanced up to see Caleb staring off into the middle distance, jaw tight.

“You always keep your forearms covered,” Essek said, laying his index finger atop the first scar.

Caleb went still. Essek waited, holding his hand. He was learning that Caleb responded better to leading statements than direct questions, but it was still a solid minute before Caleb thawed enough to respond. “I don’t like the reminder.”

Essek nodded. It was as close to an answer as he was likely to get without pushing, and he needed Caleb functional if they were going to make it through dinner. “Very well. Let’s get this ribbon off, shall we?”

The darkness receded slightly from Caleb’s expression. “You’re not curious?”

“I’m always curious,” Essek said primly. “But I am not going to demand you bare yourself to me merely because we’re married now. I can be patient.”

Caleb fiddled with the handfasting ribbon. Unbidden, Essek thought of the kiss Caleb had placed upon his fingertips at the end of the ceremony, mirroring Essek’s own gesture. He’d done it for the cameras: a hint of romance to reinforce the illusion of an idyllic marriage. He hadn’t expected the kiss to be returned, or for the memory of it to linger beneath the skin, flaring brighter with every brush of Caleb’s fingers.

“And if I don’t want you to be patient?” Caleb asked, his voice soft.

A shiver traced its way down Essek’s spine. That sounded almost like an invitation. But he dared not assume. Caleb was earnest and clever—an intoxicating combination under any circumstances—but his moods were mercurial, difficult to predict, and this change in tone had come so abruptly. It was possible Essek was misreading him entirely. “I’m afraid I don’t quite follow.”

“You’ve been very kind to me in our time together,” Caleb murmured, sliding closer. “I know you have questions about my past, things you’ve held off asking about because you’re worried you’ll reopen old wounds. I don’t deserve that sort of consideration, but I appreciate it. So I’d like to do something nice for you in return.”

Essek caught Caleb’s chin between his fingers. “If you view what I have offered you as kindness, perhaps it’s time you raise your standards. At best, I have been decent to you—and frankly, that is a generous estimate, considering that not a week ago I all but interrogated you over a handful of books.”

“You apologized for that.”

“It was still cruel.”

“Essek.”

Essek’s ears heated at the sound of his name on Caleb’s tongue. He licked his lips. “Yes?”

“May I kiss you?”

Well, that’s a clear enough invitation, Essek thought dizzily. He cupped the back of Caleb’s neck and tugged his head down so their mouths were mere inches apart. Then, feeling quite daring, he said, “Caleb Widogast, you may do anything you like to me.”

Caleb froze, eyes widening, and for a moment Essek feared he’d been too forward. But the stillness lasted only three heartbeats before Caleb surged forward to capture Essek’s mouth with his own. A thrill raced across his skin, raising goosebumps in its wake, and then Caleb’s hands closed around his hips, warm and unyielding. “Scheisse,” Caleb whispered as their lips parted. “Essek.”

A faint, wanting noise rose in the back of Essek’s throat. Desire had always been a rare experience for him, and more so since the disaster of his first betrothal, but he felt it now: a fizzing warmth inside his chest. He tipped his face up so their mouths collided again, and this time, Caleb’s arms moved to encircle Essek’s waist, only to halt halfway as their bound hands made the motion awkward. “We should—we should take this off.”

“Allow me.” Essek reached down to disentangle the ribbon. It had gone taut in their moment of distraction, but the knot was already mostly unraveled, and Essek’s hands were narrow enough that all he had to do was tuck his thumb up against his palm to slip his hand free.

Untethered, Caleb leaned in and maneuvered Essek so his back was pressed against the velvet seat. It wasn’t forceful—Essek could have extricated himself easily if he’d wanted to—but the vision of Caleb pinning him there roused something carnal in him; he grasped Caleb’s hands and guided them down so his fingers grazed the silk sash around his waist. Caleb took the hint, finding the buckle on the right and unfastening it. The sash dropped onto the seat, leaving the front of Essek’s robes to fall open.

Dimly, Essek was aware that they were rushing beyond mere kisses, rumpling their clothes in the process, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. The hovercraft was as private as they were likely to get until they returned to the house, and he didn’t have it in him to wait, not when they had to make it through an entire dinner with his den first. There would be time to make themselves presentable before they reached the estate.

Caleb slipped a finger underneath the robe’s shoulder as if to peel it away. “May I?”

“Yes.” The word came out as a hiss.

Smiling, Caleb tugged the fabric aside and laid a line of kisses along the side of Essek’s neck. Essek’s breath hitched. He wanted Caleb’s teeth on him, worrying bruises into his skin. He wanted Caleb’s hands around his wrists, pinning him in place. He wanted—

Caleb licked a long stripe along the edge of his ear, and Essek’s back arched like a bow being drawn. Oh. Oh.

“Scheisse,” Caleb whispered, pulling back. “Sorry. Sorry, I didn’t mean to—are you all right?”

Essek blinked, still reeling from the sensation. “Do that again.”

“I . . . oh.” This close up, it was easy to see the way Caleb’s pupils dilated. He dipped his head, lips brushing once more against Essek’s ear. “This is a sensitive spot for you, then?”

The base of Essek’s spine prickled as Caleb’s breath ghosted across his earlobe. “Yes.”

“Hmm.” Caleb flicked a finger across the pointed tip of his ear. Pleasure sparked down the back of Essek’s neck; he gave an involuntary cry, his grip on Caleb’s robes tightening. “A very sensitive spot,” Caleb corrected, a clinical note to his voice, as if Essek were a test subject that had reacted curiously to some stimulus.

“It’s . . . common for drow to have sensitive ears.” The words stuck in his throat. “For all elves, I expect. Mine are—” He gasped as Caleb’s tongue swept once more along the edge of his earlobe. “Mine are of m-middling sensitivity, from what I’ve been able to gather.”

“You are—hmm. Very responsive.”

All at once, the haze of pleasure dissolved into icy shame. He turned his face away.

“You do not think so, Schatz?” 

“No, I—” He shifted in the seat, staring at the elegant twist of Caleb’s scarf so he wouldn’t have to meet his eyes. “I’ve been told I’m rather cold, actually.”

“Have you,” Caleb said, a distinctly displeased note to his voice. Essek felt something inside him wither. He’d thought things were going well, but now he’d ruined everything, just as he had with his first betrothal. Only he and Caleb weren’t betrothed anymore—they were married, bound together until one of them either died or chose to sever their union.

It’s not too late to tear the ribbon. He shied from the thought. Not yet. He could still salvage this. He just needed the right words. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply—I will, of course, fulfill my duties to you to the best of my ability. I merely ask that you are . . . patient with me.” The shame simmering in his chest began to roil and burn. “This is not my area of expertise, but if you just give me time, I can learn how best to please you. I know I am cold, in more ways than one. However—”

“Essek.” Caleb caught Essek’s face between his hands and tipped it upward so they were eye to eye. His palms were burning hot, like branding irons. “Breathe.”

Was he breathing? No, he realized as he inhaled—he’d been too caught up in explaining himself. He took another breath, and this one brought a hint of relief with it.

“There we go.” Caleb released his face and withdrew to sit across from him. The sudden distance left Essek feeling indescribably bereft, as if in pulling back, Caleb had torn a piece of Essek away with him. “I’m sorry. You were spiraling, but I shouldn’t have touched you without permission.”

Caleb was apologizing to him? Essek retraced the last few moments, but the only faults in conduct he could find were his own. Light, what was wrong with him? Had he really deluded himself into thinking Caleb would want to fuck him in the back of a hovercraft, half an hour before they were to present themselves to Den Thelyss?

“It’s all right,” he said feebly. The air around him felt thick, as if the world had been wrapped in cotton.

“I am sorry as well for reminding you of something painful,” Caleb went on. “I do not know who called you cold, but they are either a fool or a liar.”

“No, it’s—it was a valid criticism. I don’t normally . . .” He waved vaguely between them. “I am not a man of passion, except as it pertains to my research. ‘Cold’ is an accurate term.” He flicked a glance at Caleb’s face, hoping to find an echo of his own awkwardness, but Caleb’s expression had gone grave. Essek ducked his head and set to work tidying his robes. The moment had been ruined; they weren’t going to get any farther tonight.

As Essek finished refastening the sash around his waist, Caleb spoke. “I fear I’ve been presumptuous. I did not mean to push you, or to imply that you have any duty to me beyond what is outlined in our marriage contract. You told me in our first meeting that you preferred your solitude. If you truly hold no desire for me, you do not have to pretend otherwise.”

“I wasn’t pretending.” He forced himself to smile, hoping it didn’t look as hollow as it felt. It was their wedding day. He could at least put forth the pretense of happiness. “It would be a lie to say I am not attracted to you. You are appealing in many ways, both in terms of personality and wit and in terms of your . . . physical attributes. So I am indeed interested. I merely need time to grow accustomed to the idea of acting upon that interest.”

Caleb regarded him steadily, then inclined his head. “I am interested in you as well. More so than I’d expected.” A rueful smile touched the corners of his mouth, then vanished as his expression once more grew serious. “For now, though, I believe we have a wedding reception to attend.”

Belatedly, Essek realized the hovercraft had been stopped for some time. He straightened the front of his robe and ensured his sash was properly fastened. Then he looked to the trailing loops of their handfasting ribbon, still twined around Caleb’s wrist. “May I?”

Caleb lifted his hand, curiosity sparking in his eyes. Essek carefully separated the now-loose ribbons and pinned the gold strand to the front of his robes, making a bow. “It is customary for newly married couples to wear a piece of the handfasting ribbon somewhere on their person for a few days after the wedding. I can tie yours if you’d like. Perhaps around your scarf? You always seem to be wearing them.”

“Sounds good, ja.” Caleb held up one of the ends of his scarf, and Essek tied the ribbon around it, securely enough that it wouldn’t slip off.

Holding onto his smile, Essek withdrew and reached for the door handle. “Are you ready?”

Caleb nodded once, firmly. “Let’s go meet your family.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Thirteen

Caleb heard the drone of conversation well before they reached the grand hall: a rolling current of voices interspersed with splashes of laughter. Essek had delayed their arrival to ensure the guests would have time to file in before their grand entrance, and evidently his efforts had been successful: from the din, there were at least a hundred people in the chamber ahead.

“You know,” Caleb said, “when Uraya told me this would be a modest affair, I assumed they meant no more than twenty or so people.”

“Den Thelyss is well-established within the Dynasty,” Essek explained. “We were one of the first dens to join the path of the Luxon, and our numbers continue to grow as new members are inducted into the cycle of consecution. A modest affair for us could comprise anywhere from fifty to three hundred people.”

“Big family.”

Essek’s eyebrow quirked in what Caleb recognized as his version of a shrug. “Most of them are either distant cousins or consecuted souls from generations past. They’re here out of obligation or to reinforce alliances, not because they care about my marriage status. Verin is the only one I regularly correspond with, and he’s stationed in Bazzoxan most of the year.”

“Verin was the one who spoke on your behalf during the ceremony,” Caleb said, recognizing the name.

“He’s the nearest blood relative I have besides Mother. That made him the natural choice for my witness.” As they neared the grand hall, Essek guided him down a side corridor, past a trio of servants bearing silver-domed platters. “The staff have set up an archway on the north end of the grand hall. We’ll make our entrance there." 

“I didn’t have a chance to meet Verin during the ceremony,” Caleb said as another servant scurried past with a basket of cloth napkins. “It sounds like he’s important to you.”

Essek hesitated. “My brother is a good man. I trust him more than others of my den.”

Interesting. Caleb was still learning how to sift through the subtler nuances of Essek’s speech, but the flicker of anxiety was easy enough to pick out. Briefly, Caleb considered nudging him for more detail. It was normal for a spouse to show interest in their partner’s familial relationships, and the more Caleb could reinforce his role as Essek’s husband, the better his cover would be. Not only that, but the more he learned of Den Thelyss, the less likely he was to be caught off-guard by some familial complication.

But this was not the same Essek who had shared kisses with him in the back of the hovercraft, who had confided in him about his lack of romantic experience. This was Essek of Den Thelyss, the charming but aloof son of the Umavi. Trying to get him to open up here could only go poorly.

Time to change tacks. “Uraya told me a great deal about Den Thelyss’s allies and rivals, but is there anyone among your own family I should be particularly wary of?”

Essek gave a reserved laugh. “All of them. We’re a family of politicians. Ambition and ruthlessness are practically our defining traits.” The humor in his eyes dimmed. “Perhaps that is uncharitable of me. I may exemplify those traits, but I’m sure you could find someone in my den who’s capable of being kind when there is no tangible benefit. For tonight, however, it’s probably best if you assume that every act of grace or generosity is meant to lure you close so you’ll give up some precious bit of leverage. Most will only be seeking petty advantages, favors to be saved for a stormy day, but I wouldn’t put it past some of them to pry into your business solely for the purpose of harming you—or me, through you.”

“You . . . are not well-liked within your den, then?” Caleb said cautiously, worried the question would come across as insulting. But Essek didn’t seem bothered, only thoughtful.

“It’s not so much about being liked, precisely. It’s more about . . . ‘hierarchy’ isn’t the right word for it. I have accomplished much in my one-hundred-twenty years. That, combined with the fact that I am a new soul born to the Umavi herself, means that I am sometimes held up as an example of how junior members the den should accord themselves. Because of this, many of the my younger cousins, the ones who were born into Den Thelyss rather than returning to us after achieving anamnesis . . ." He shrugged. "Suffice to say that envy can quickly evolve into animosity when the consequences of failure include being cast out from the den.”

“Cast out?” Caleb repeated, startled.

“Of course.” A grim smile touched Essek’s mouth. “How do you think Den Thelyss maintains its position, if not by culling those who fail to uphold our standards? New souls are precious but unpredictable. Anyone who has not been through the consecution process must therefore be judged against the standards set forth by the Umavi. Failing to bring prestige and prosperity to the den, or worse, stirring up trouble through scandals or criminal behavior . . . Well. It is not cruelty to trim away dead weight.”

Caleb felt as if the ground were shifting beneath his feet. He had assumed, foolishly, it seemed, that the dens were familial in structure. Essek had been born into Den Thelyss, after all, and from what he’d read, the ruling dens seemed akin to noble houses, different only in that they occasionally brought in outsiders to supplement their ranks. It hadn’t occurred to him that the reverse might occur—that a child might be born into Den Thelyss only to later be cast out. It reminded him uncomfortably of what had happened to Beauregard. Her father had tried to shape her to fit his vision of who she should be, never acknowledging the qualities that made her remarkable, then disowned her when she’d rebelled against his wishes. Had Essek suffered a similar upbringing? Pressured to succeed lest he be discarded by his own mother and left to scrape by without the support system he’d grown up with?

“Here we are,” Essek said, pulling him into a small chamber where half a dozen attendants in gray smocks clustered around a familiar female figure seated in front of a gilt-framed vanity. Deirta Thelyss had traded her opalescent formalwear for a flowing robe similar to what she’d worn when she’d summoned them for tea. The silken material shimmered as if embedded with tiny diamonds, and her semi-translucent sleeves trailed past her fingertips like streamers, the color transitioning from filmy white to soft pink near the wrists. Deirta held up a hand as she glimpsed them in the mirror, and the flock of attendants broke away, retreating to the corners of the room.

“Essek,” Deirta said, rising from her chair, “I expected you fifteen minutes ago. Don’t tell me it took you this long to untie a simple handfasting knot.”

“Apologies,” Essek said, bowing at the waist. Caleb mirrored the gesture, only realizing as he moved that he’d instinctively frozen when Deirta’s gaze had fallen upon them. “I was preoccupied with other matters. My husband is . . . enthusiastic.” His mouth curled with a smirk. 

“Hm.” The Umavi gave them an appraising look. Caleb kept his expression blank, but there was no hiding the blush in his cheeks. He hadn’t expected Essek to be so brazen about it, especially after the anxiety he’d shown in the hovercraft. But that had been an unguarded moment, the barriers between them eroded by the relative privacy of the setting. Essek was clearly on his guard now, maintaining a smooth, public-facing persona. The fact that he felt the need to do so in his childhood home, where he should have felt safe from the judgment of the people around him . . . Caleb had known Deirta Thelyss was a dangerous woman since he’d met her, but the more of her influence he saw on Essek, the less he liked her.

“Well,” Deirta said crisply, “you’re here now, so you’d best make yourselves presentable. The attendants will announce you when it’s time to make your entrance.”

“Yes, Mother.” Essek stepped aside as Deirta swept past them, his hand briefly closing around Caleb’s before he turned to address the attendants hovering at the edges of the room. “Let’s make this quick, shall we?”

The attendants set to work at once, guiding them both to sit as they rapidly began touching up whatever small imperfections they could find. Thankfully, everyone would be expecting them in their wedding outfits, so they were spared the awkwardness of disrobing, and within ten minutes they were both deemed presentable. A pair of attendants led them down the hallway to a set of heavy vermaloc doors—traditional, not automatic—and pulled them open in unison as a voice from within announced them over the speakers.

“Smile,” Essek reminded him, touching the inside of his elbow. Caleb crooked his arm so Essek could rest his hand on his forearm, and then the crowd’s eyes were on them. A handful of flashes went off, bright enough to daze, but Caleb had expected cameras and didn’t flinch. Instead, he focused on the sea of faces beyond, counting rapidly. There had to be over a hundred and fifty people here, mostly drow, but also goblins, bugbears, even a few tieflings. He glimpsed Deirta and Verin near the front of the crowd. Deirta smiled warmly at them, any trace of judgment or disapproval hidden away beneath the proud mask she’d donned for the people around her. Verin, by contrast, was stone-faced, shoulders stiff as he watched them pause beneath the arch of twisting bone-white branches that had been constructed for their arrival.

Unease writhed beneath Caleb’s skin. Had Verin sensed his ruse, or were his suspicions rooted in Caleb’s Empire origins? Both possibilities were worrisome. If Verin had gleaned something of Caleb’s true intentions without even properly meeting him, that implied a degree of insight that rivaled Caduceus’s ability to read people. But even if Verin was merely wary of him for his ties to the Empire, that boded poorly for his mission here. There were enough gaps and inconsistencies in his personal history to fuel Verin’s suspicions for months if he chose to pursue those threads.

This is going to be a problem, Caleb thought as the camera flashes died away. They held their poses a moment longer before Essek began gliding toward the center of the room, and within moments they were swarmed by half a dozen guests offering congratulations on the wedding. Caleb held onto his smile as Essek thanked them for the well-wishes, occasionally interjecting to mention how lovely the ceremony had been and how grateful he was to have found such an accommodating partner.

“Yes, you’re very lucky,” said one of Essek’s cousins, a golden-eyed drow named Thera. “Though I’m surprised our Essek accepted the proposal, considering how his last engagement turned out. You must be something special.”

Caleb kept his smile pinned in place as Essek’s fingers tensed around his forearm. Essek hadn’t mentioned his previous engagement, but if it had ended as poorly as this woman was implying, that explained a great deal about Essek’s reluctance to marry. “My accomplishments are fairly minor," Caleb replied, "but I hope to prove myself worthy of this opportunity. It’s an honor to be welcomed into such a prestigious family.”

“Few people have the privilege,” Thera agreed, venom in her smile. “I wish you both the joy of it.”

Essek cut in smoothly, lips pulling back to show his teeth. “Thank you, Thera. Your well-wishes are appreciated.” He steered Caleb toward the next pocket of guests, and their circuit continued.

Thera wasn’t the only one to make veiled remarks about their union. Most of the people they spoke to seemed surprised Essek had agreed to be married at all, let alone to a man of the Empire. Caleb received plenty of dubious looks, including a few once-overs, some judgmental, others merely confused, as if they couldn’t imagine someone like Essek finding him appealing enough to tolerate as a husband. Privately, Caleb agreed. He didn’t know much about the beauty standards here in the Dynasty, but he doubted gawky, freckled humans were considered desirable. Essek, however, was remarkably handsome even compared to his fellow drow: poised and graceful, like a fine sculpture. It didn’t make sense for him to find Caleb attractive, yet he apparently did—that, or he was a better actor than Caleb assumed.

They’d just finished their second circuit of the grand hall when a chime sounded on the opposite end of the room. Deirta Thelyss stood upon a raised stage just behind the head table, a polished brass bell in one hand, a matching mallet in the other. “Thank you all for joining us to celebrate this union of souls,” she said, her voice ringing clear and bright above the sudden hush. “Please, take your seats. Dinner is about to begin.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Fourteen

As Deirta’s announcement rang out across the room, the crowd came to life again, congregating around the rows of long rectangular tables. Essek led Caleb to the head table. It was positioned perpendicular to the others, allowing them to preside over the room, and though most of the chairs there were of uniform size, the two at the center rose higher in the back, one topped with a beautifully carved crescent moon, the other a matching sun.

“I’m sensing a theme in your family’s decorating sensibilities,” Caleb murmured, leaning in so Essek could hear him.

Essek smirked. “My mother does like her celestial motifs.”

Caleb brushed his fingertip through the cascade of silver stars that comprised Essek’s right earring. “You seem to have a predilection for the celestial as well.”

Essek’s expression softened for the first time since they’d arrived at the estate. “I’ve always had a fondness for the stars,” he admitted as they settled into their chairs. “You have to travel to the dark side of Xhorhas to see them, but if you’re willing to make the trip, the sky is breathtaking.”

“Maybe you can take me there sometime.”

“Maybe. Though I’ll warn you, it’s terribly cold out east. Remote, as well. Outside of a few research outposts, you won’t find much in the way of civilization.”

Caleb shrugged. “Probably not colder than Eiselcross,” he said, referring to one of the unaffiliated dwarf planets beyond the edges of the Empire. That was where the Mighty Nein had been when Vess DeRogna had been murdered by a gang of mercenaries. Where they’d been when everything had gone wrong. They’d managed to avoid direct prosecution for Vess’s death thanks to Ludinus’s intervention, but that favor had come with more than one string attached.

“You’ve been to Eiselcross, then?” Essek said, perking up.

“Briefly.” Caleb dropped his gaze. “The Mighty Nein had a mercenary contract there, but we ran into some unexpected complications. The mining operations out that way get very competitive.”

“I would imagine so. There are a great many valuable minerals locked away beneath the ice. And rumors of other things as well. Remnants of a bygone age.” Essek’s expression turned wistful.

“I don’t know anything about that,” Caleb said, then suppressed a wince. Not his most convincing denial. “We were just there as bodyguards.”

“Bodyguards?” a new voice said. Nervousness bubbled up in Caleb’s stomach as Essek’s brother took the chair to his left. Verin looked him up and down, frowning. “You don’t strike me as the sort to carry a weapon, much less know how to use one.”

“Verin,” Essek said, inclining his head in greeting before once more addressing Caleb. “Forgive my brother’s bluntness. He never did master basic courtesy.”

“If by ‘basic courtesy,’ you mean the ability to smile while sliding a knife between someone’s ribs, then no, I didn’t.” Verin rested an elbow on the table, eyes still trained on Caleb. “So, you’re a mercenary, huh?”

Caleb ducked his head. “I was.”

“Empire side?”

“In our early days. We traveled elsewhere after we got our first ship.” Technically, they’d stolen that ship, renaming it the Mistake before getting entangled with Avantika’s crew and outing her as a traitor to the ruler of Darktow Station. The Plank King had then given them her ship, later renamed the Balleater, and banned them from Darktow for the collateral damage they’d caused.

Verin tilted his head to the side, his eyes intent, but whatever he was going to say was interrupted as a fleet of servants approached the table bearing silver-domed trays. The scent of spices tickled Caleb’s nose, reminiscent of the dishes he’d tasted in his limited forays outside of Essek’s towers. Xhorhassian cuisine leaned heavily vegetarian, with rice being a primary staple, and though Caleb had found most of the dishes dreadfully spicy compared to the freeze-dried fare he’d grown accustomed to, he was learning which dishes were likely to leave the inside of his mouth feeling blistered and which would merely make him sneeze.

At the moment, though, the arrival of dinner was a welcome diversion. As the domes were lifted, he looked to Essek for guidance, but Essek’s eyes were on his brother. “Verin, if you wish to interrogate my husband, please do us all a favor and wait until after the meal.”

“Just making conversation,” Verin said, giving Essek a narrow look before stabbing his chopsticks into the bowl of seasoned rice in front of him. A quick glance around confirmed he wasn’t the only one eating. This dinner must be a less formal event than Deirta’s tea service, despite the larger scale. That, or Caleb had missed a cue while he’d been focused on Verin.

He started in on his own meal: a shallow bowl of steaming white rice topped with a fragrant curry. It was sweeter than most of the Xhorhassian dishes he’d tasted in his wanderings, though it still had enough underlying spice to make his mouth burn. The side of glazed tubers that went with it was sweeter still, slow-cooked until they all but dissolved on his tongue. He glanced to his left to find Essek watching him and was overtaken with a surge of shyness. “This is very good. Did you arrange this?”

A tiny, genuine smile touched Essek’s lips. “Merrillil made some educated guesses about your food preferences,” he said, referring to the chef from his towers. “I merely passed those along to the caterer.”

Caleb glanced at Essek’s own meal: a creamy, reddish-orange soup sprinkled with herbs. Here and there, bits of some pale yellow vegetable hung suspended in the soup. Though elegantly prepared, with a leafy garnish and a scattered arc of breadcrumbs, it struck Caleb as a surprisingly humble meal. “Is that a favorite of yours?”

“You could say that.” Without breaking eye contact, Essek lifted his spoon to his lips, the tip of his tongue curling delicately around a lump of vegetable. Caleb’s cheeks warmed at the brazen flirtation. He knew better than most that seduction could be as much a power play as intimidation, that someone as socially competent as Essek was more than capable of putting on such a performance whether he meant it or not, but that didn’t make him immune to Essek’s charms. In fact, he felt uniquely susceptible to them, as if Essek were a star that had caught Caleb in its orbit.

“You play a dangerous game,” he murmured.

Essek’s eyes twinkled. “Danger can be a source of attraction in itself.”

“Much like gravity.”

Unexpectedly, Essek laughed. “Just so.”

Caleb relaxed, though his pulse continued its rapid thrumming. “Well,” he said, “I suppose we shall add ‘danger’ to your list of specialties, along with time, gravity, and manipulating the fabric of reality.”

“And politics,” Verin muttered from Caleb’s right. “Don’t forget politics.”

Right. I should be mingling with the other attendees. Affixing a smile to his face, Caleb turned to Verin. “So, Essek tells me you spend most of your time in Bazzoxan. What sort of work do you do there?”

Verin eyed him warily. “Why do you ask?”

“Verin serves as taskhand in Bazzoxan,” Essek said, shooting a quelling glance at his brother. “He coordinates military operations at the outpost there, holding the borders against whatever beasts wander in from the Wastes.”

Caleb glanced between them, reading the tension there. He’d assumed the two of them got along, given Essek’s claim that they maintained a regular correspondence, but evidently that wasn’t the case. That, or their conflict was a recent development. “Sounds like a dangerous position,” Caleb said carefully.

“Our father was taskhand in Bazzoxan before me,” Verin said. “He died nine years ago, down in the tunnels.”

“Fortunately, he was within range of a beacon at the time,” Essek said. At Caleb’s curious glance, he elaborated. “The beacons are the artifacts by which the cycle of rebirth is maintained. When a consecuted soul—that is, someone who has been bound to the beacons via certain ceremonial rites—dies while within range of one, their soul is preserved and . . . implanted, shall we say, into a new body when one becomes available. Usually this happens when a child is born within that same region, though some have theorized that an artificial body could also serve as a vessel, if the appropriate conditions are met.”

Caleb had read of artificial vessels in Essek’s collection of essays. It struck him as a pragmatic approach to rebirth, one that dodged the complicated ethics of implanting a soul in a living body, but it seemed imprudent to say so here. He wasn’t familiar enough with the scripture surrounding consecution to comment on it, and even if he had been, he was a foreigner. It wasn’t his place. “That is fascinating.”

“And heretical,” Verin pointed out. “Anyway, it’s been almost a decade since then, so we can expect Father to return soon. If he decides to come back, anyway.” He slanted a hard look at Essek.

“Father and I never did see things in the same light,” Essek said, straightening in his seat. “We fought the last time I saw him. Over religion, naturally. And then he stormed back to Bazzoxan and got himself killed.”

“And you blame yourself for that?” Caleb asked, noting the stiffness of Essek shoulders.

Essek hesitated. “Not in the way you mean. I was unkind, yes. But if he wanted to survive, he shouldn’t have gone unprepared into dangerous territory. And as Verin said, his soul will be resurfacing soon, likely within the next three or four years. I can reconcile with him then.”

A familiar ache kindled in Caleb’s chest. He thought of his own parents’ desperate cries, the horror in their voices when they’d burned. What he’d done to them would have been unforgivable under any circumstances, but . . . but he might not have broken so badly afterward if he’d known there was a way for them to return to the world.

“I’m sorry,” Verin said with grudging sincerity. “This is supposed to be a celebration. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” Essek agreed, shifting his attention back to his meal. Caleb thought about reaching out—he was a good enough liar to recognize when someone was wearing a mask—then decided against it. Essek wouldn’t appreciate his reassurances. Not here, surrounded by people who valued him only for the favors and prestige he could bestow upon them. If they were to speak of it at all, it would be in private, away from anyone who might use Essek’s vulnerability against him.

As if you’re any different, Caleb’s mind whispered. You’re the one manipulating him into trusting you. What will it do to him when he learns you’ve been using him from the start? The thought stung like acid, sharper for the fact that he did care, in spite of his mission. He wasn’t like Astrid; he couldn’t shut off the part of him that felt for the people he was hurting. Once, he’d thought that pain was a measure of his devotion to the Empire, proof that he was willing to sacrifice his own peace of mind in service to a greater goal. But then he remembered lounging in their room at the academy, asking Astrid how she coped. Remembered the confusion on her face when she’d told him it was necessary, as if that absolved them of everything, as if that somehow made it right.

And what about this time? Is it necessary to betray the man you’ve married? Or are you just making excuses like you did under Trent? He needed to protect the Nein, needed to appease Ludinus while they untangled themselves from the web the Cerberus Assembly had snared them in. But maybe there was another way. The Assembly had given him this mission under the assumption that he’d have to steal Essek’s research, but if Essek chose to share it instead . . .

Could he earn Essek’s trust fairly? Essek had said once that he disagreed with the Dynasty’s policies on restricting dunamantic advancements. Could he, perhaps, be swayed to slip Caleb enough of his research to string the Assembly along while the Nein continued their investigation? Essek was no saint, and Caleb didn’t want to implicate him in treason, but maybe . . . maybe there was a way to thread that needle.

First, however, he needed to focus on winning over Essek’s family. He turned back to Verin. “So, how did you find the ceremony? I’m told it was modest by Den Thelyss standards, but I hope it did not disappoint.”

Verin peered at him, eyes narrowed. “The ceremony was nice enough. Very proper. Though I couldn’t help but notice your friend looked rather unhappy about it.”

“Verin,” Essek warned, his spoon clinking against the edge of his bowl.

“No, it’s all right,” Caleb said. “Beauregard can be abrasive. If she came across as prickly at the ceremony, it’s because she’s worried about me. Trust doesn’t come easily to her, but there’s no one else I’d rather have in my corner. And in any case,” he added, giving Verin a meaningful look, “she was not the only one who looked unhappy with the proceedings.”

Verin crossed his arms, but his gaze had turned assessing. After a moment, he spoke, voice low. “I wasn’t the only one with eyes on your friend. Rumors are already circulating about you being coerced into this marriage. Take care that you do not jeopardize my brother’s reputation further by adding kindling to the pyre.”

Slowly, Caleb nodded. “Essek has been good to me. I have no desire to cause trouble for him.”

“I hope not,” Verin said coolly. “For his sake and for yours.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Fifteen

“. . . had to recalibrate the field generator to account for the altitude, but I got it to work, so at least the trip wasn’t a total waste.”

Essek took a sip of wine—a crisp amber vintage from just west of the Penumbra Range—and inclined his head. “Impressive work.”

“Yeah, well.” Lysithea’s shoulders twitched in a shrug. “There’s still plenty of data to comb through. My work isn’t finished yet.”

“It never is.” Essek permitted himself a small smile, trying not to look queasy. Lysithea was one of his more tolerable cousins, ambitious in the pursuit of her research but lacking the jealous resentment that had poisoned most of Essek’s peer relationships. He’d sought her out after dinner, looking for a distraction from the disastrous string of conversations at the head table, but he hadn’t been able to shake his nagging guilt at abandoning his new husband in his haste to escape. It had been necessary, he reminded himself. Caleb needed time to process what Essek had revealed about his role in his father’s death, and Essek . . . Essek needed time to assemble a defense so that when Caleb did inevitably demand answers, he would be able to provide a reasoned, clinical accounting of what had happened.

Still, his composure must have had a few cracks in it, because Lysithea’s next words were tinged with concern. “Not that I care or anything, but are you feeling all right? You look paler than usual.”

“I’m fine,” he said reflexively. “It must be the lighting.”

Her eyes, pink like primroses, flicked doubtfully to the chandelier above. “Right. Anyway, it looks like the caterers just brought out another platter of coffee cake, so I’m going to snap those up before Relar steals them all.”

“I won’t keep you, then,” he said, glad for the excuse to step away. He glided toward one of the grand hall’s adjoining alcoves, only to jerk in surprise as his tablet buzzed with an incoming vid-call. Who could be contacting him now? Everyone who might want to talk to him was either at this party or knew better than to call him without warning.

Then he recognized the string of numbers on the screen and his frustration melted into dread. He glanced over his shoulder, then cursed himself for acting so obviously paranoid. He terminated the call without answering and sent a curt text in its place: Busy.

He tucked the tablet back into its pocket and adjusted course, heading for the servant’s corridor hidden behind a statue of his mother as she’d looked in her first life. The passage was nearly as busy as the grand hall itself, servants carrying plates back and forth as fast as the kitchens could wash them, but unlike the grand hall, no one tried to pester him into conversation.

His tablet buzzed again, insistently. He ignored it, taking a shortcut to a sitting room he knew from his youth saw little use even during major events. Surveying the room to ensure it was indeed empty, he reached into his robe’s other pocket for the device he kept there: a palm-sized metal disk inset with a small screen. He pushed a button on the back of the device to scan the room for recording devices. Then, as two blips appeared on the screen, he tapped a quick command to jam the frequencies that connected them to wherever they were sending their information. Likely, they were linked to the estate’s security system, but there was always a chance a spy had slipped through Den Thelyss’s screening process and planted bugs on the property. Essek had survived this long by being careful; he had no intention of letting his caution lapse.

His tablet buzzed for a third time. Essek schooled his face into an expression of disdain and hit the icon to accept the call. An instant later, a sallow, liver-spotted face appeared on the screen. “Essek,” Trent Ikithon said by way of greeting. “So good to see you. It’s been a while.”

“Ikithon,” Essek said, allowing a thread of contempt to weave through his voice. He’d never liked the man, had protested when Ludinus had insisted on bringing him into their bargain. But Ludinus’s argument that the Assembly couldn’t expand on Essek’s research without committing more minds to the project had been too compelling to refute, and so Ikithon had been brought in as a researcher, along with Vess DeRogna and a few underlings. “Is this about the last update I sent you?”

Ikithon’s papery lips pulled back in a smile. “Actually, I called to congratulate you on the wedding. Apologies for not getting in touch sooner. I’m afraid I wasn’t involved drawing up the treaty; diplomacy is not my area of expertise.”

Clearly, Essek thought. “Your congratulations are appreciated. I would ask, however, that you inform me in advance next time you wish to communicate. I had to slip away from my own wedding reception to receive your call.”

“Of course, of course. Discretion is important, after all.” Ikithon chuckled. “How are you finding your new husband, by the way? Is he everything you hoped he would be?”

“He is adequate,” Essek said tersely. He’d have preferred if the Assembly remained ignorant of his marriage, but convincing them of his indifference was an acceptable alternative. They wouldn’t use Caleb as a lever if they didn’t think Essek cared. “Was there a reason you contacted me? I assume this isn’t a social call.”

“Just wanted to check in,” Ikithon said. “Make sure there were no troubling rumors flying about on your side.”

“There aren’t,” he said warily. “Why? Are you under suspicion?”

“Not by anyone in a position to do anything about it.”

Disquiet trickled down Essek’s spine. That implied someone was aware of Ikithon’s activities, or at least suspected him of colluding with the Dynasty. Colluding with him. Essek was no fool. He knew the Assembly would betray him in an instant if they thought it might spare them the fallout of their machinations. The only reason they hadn’t done so already was because his position within the Dynasty meant he could obfuscate their role in the war as well as his own. Between that and his more expansive knowledge of dunamancy, he was more useful alive and undiscovered . . . for now. Essek had hoped to uncover something more damning about his co-conspirators as they’d worked together, something he could use to condemn them in the eyes of their king without exposing himself to the same scrutiny, but so far his efforts had turned up little.

“Well,” Essek said, relieved when his voice came out cool and unaffected, “do try to keep those leaks under control. Discovery would not bode well for any of us.”

“On that matter, we are agreed.” Ikithon offered another thin smile. “May your marriage bring you much joy in the days to come.”

May you wither beneath the sun like the shambling corpse you so resemble. “Have a good evening,” he said, and ended the call. As soon as Ikithon’s face disappeared, Essek set the tablet to Do Not Disturb and tucked it back into its pocket. Bad enough he’d had to flee his own party; he didn’t need anyone wondering who was calling him on his wedding day.

Secure in the knowledge that he’d already disrupted the room’s recording devices, he collapsed into a nearby armchair and let his forehead drop into his hands. Dealing with the Assembly always set him on edge, but compounding that with the stress of everything else that had gone wrong tonight . . . Essek trailed his fingers over his handfasting ribbon. He’d tied it to the front of his robe, visible to everyone who looked at him, but now that felt horribly prideful. After what he’d heard tonight, Caleb would surely realize how terrible a person Essek was, would see that he’d shackled himself to a man who in his arrogance had driven his own father to a bloody death in the Wastes.

Would it be better to cut ties with him now, before he ruined things any further? It would be a scandal, his second betrothal to end in separation, but his reputation had survived scandals before. Still, the political fallout from this would be far more dire than it had been with Adeen. Then, the damage had been relegated primarily to rumors: that he was stubborn, intractable; that he was neglectful of his partner; or, humiliatingly, that he was too prudish to make a worthy bedmate. But to fail in this marriage would mean weakening the treaty, reigniting tensions between two powers that were eagerly searching for an excuse to resume the war. The Empire had returned the beacons Essek had traded away, but he was under no illusions about what would happen to him if the conflict flared up again. He couldn’t afford the scrutiny another war would bring, not after everything he’d done to cover up his role in the last one.

A knock on the door jolted him out of his distraction. He shot up from his chair, thoughts racing with visions of the Aurora Watch sweeping inside to seize him for interrogation. But it had been a quiet knock, inquisitive, not the forceful pounding that would signify his impending arrest. Essek took a fortifying breath. “Who is it?”

“It’s me. Can I come in?”

Relief flooded in at Caleb’s familiar accent, followed instantly by dread. This was it. This was where it all started to crumble. He’d allowed himself to hope, but he should have known better. Caleb was a good man. Essek had been foolish to think he’d get to keep him.

Nothing to be done for it now, he thought bleakly, and unlocked the door.

Caleb poked his head in. “Everything all right?”

“Everything is fine.” The lie fell easily from his tongue. “Just getting some air.”

Caleb lingered in the threshold a moment longer, then stepped inside. He had a bottle of wine in his hand, the same vintage they’d been sipping all night, but as he closed the door behind him, he set it on the desk to his left and folded his hands in front of his body. “You left in a hurry.”

Well, Essek thought uneasily, at least we’ll be having this argument in private. “I did.” He drifted backward a few paces, positioning himself just behind the low table at the center of the room. He wasn’t expecting violence, not here at the center of his den’s influence, but it was easier to speak with a barrier between them. “I owe you an apology. I should have told you about my father sooner, before the wedding. And I recognize how it looks from the outside. But I didn’t—it wasn’t intentional, what I did. My father and I didn’t get along, but I didn’t manipulate him into getting himself killed. Not on purpose.”

“I didn’t think you had.”

Everyone else did. Essek swallowed hard. Caleb was being kind, but only because he hadn’t had time to work through the implications yet. When he realized how callous Essek had been, how vicious, his kindness would vanish like smoke in the wind. “You have to understand, I’ve spent decades cultivating a reputation for ruthlessness. The circles I operate in, the circles I have been thrust into because of my den, are filled with those who would see my intelligence and potential as reason enough to sabotage me. I had to be callous, had to make it known that I would not tolerate such trespasses upon my research.

“My father and I—We disagreed on many things. He was a devoted follower of the Luxon, while I am . . . indifferent is perhaps too neutral a word. I disagree with many of the tenets of the faith, and my questioning of it, while not precisely forbidden, was frowned upon. Is frowned upon. So my relationship with my father had always been strained. But it worsened as I progressed further in my research. I wanted to push the boundaries of dunamancy—wanted to explore what it could do, beyond what was already known and approved of within the framework of the Luxon. I wrote dozens of research papers, many of which were rejected outright for being too controversial, along with a number of essays, which fared a little better.”

“The collection I found in your study,” Caleb surmised.

Essek nodded. “That collection I had to publish on my own—my body of work was too thin without including my more heretical essays, and I was confident enough in my conclusions to be willing to expend some resources to have it printed and distributed. I didn’t expect my father to read it; by then, our relationship had soured enough that I assumed he would see my name on the cover of his copy and stow it in a corner to gather dust.”

“But he did read it.”

“Yes.” Essek closed his eyes. They were about to get to the damning part of the story, the part where Caleb would lose whatever sympathy he had left for him, but Essek was too far in to stop now. “He summoned me to the estate to confront me about what I’d written. Said I’d dishonored Den Thelyss by publishing something so inflammatory. He didn’t understand.” Frustration leaked into his voice, an echo of what he’d felt that day, standing before his father as he shouted down Essek’s theories. “He was no scholar of dunamancy, nor even a notable member of the faith. His criticisms were all passion and no reason. Meanwhile, I’d already assembled a dozen arguments to defend myself, knowing those essays would meet with strong disapproval if not presented correctly. The scripture claims that the Luxon’s purpose is to learn of its own nature through the experiences of those who are bound to it. In that light, my pursuit of dunamancy was a greater act of faith than anything my father had ever done, even if I myself wasn’t interested in the religious implications of it. But when I said as much . . .” He faltered. That argument was a decade past. Speaking of it shouldn’t affect him so, and yet as he explained himself, he found his stomach churning.

“I’d never seen my father so angry,” he went on when he was sure his voice wouldn’t shake. “He said I was a disgrace to him and to the rest of the den, then stormed off the grounds. I remember watching him through the window as he left, my own anger narrowed down to a knife’s edge. I remember feeling vindicated afterwards, believing my arguments superior simply because I’d held my temper when he could not. I felt like I’d won.

“And then . . . he took a train back to Bazzoxan, a week earlier than he’d planned. I went about my business, locking myself away in my laboratory. I stopped taking calls—I was receiving nearly a dozen each day from others of my den, demanding to know what I’d said to make my father so furious, and I was tired of the distractions. It took Verin showing up at my tower in mourning grays for me to realize something was wrong. Even then, it wasn’t until the rumors started circulating that I understood that most of my family blamed me for my father’s rashness. They thought I’d done it on purpose, thought I’d enraged him to the point of flinging himself into danger so that I wouldn’t have to suffer his criticism anymore. And I . . . allowed them to believe that. So much of my reputation depends on my ability to maintain control of my circumstances. Better to let them think I’d manipulated my father into an act of suicidal recklessness than to admit I’d allowed my pride to blind me to the consequences of my own actions. So you see, not only did I drive my father to an early grave, but I then used his death to bolster my own reputation.”

“Protective camouflage,” Caleb murmured, nodding as if Essek had clarified something for him. Essek looked away. He had been trying to protect himself, or at least his reputation, but Verin had never forgiven him for capitalizing on their father’s death. Nor should he, Essek thought wretchedly. Verin had been the one to take their father’s place in Bazzoxan. He’d accepted the post out of duty, sworn to protect that lonely, barren outpost from all the dangers that threatened it, but it had been Essek’s choices that had put him there. Why should Verin forgive him? It was a miracle his brother was willing to speak to him at all.

Caleb crossed the room, moving not towards Essek but to the cabinet in the corner. He retrieved a pair of short drinking glasses from within and brought them over to the desk where he’d set the wine bottle. With efficient movements, he popped the cork and poured each glass three-quarters full before holding one out to Essek. “Drink.”

Gingerly, Essek eased into the armchair behind him and took a sip. The wine had a bubbly lightness to it, with notes of apple. He risked a glance at Caleb’s face, then raised a forestalling hand as Caleb sat and downed his entire glass in one long drink. “Ah, you probably shouldn’t—”

Caleb set his glass down with a clink, his sober expression never wavering. Essek found himself reluctantly impressed. That much wine would have left him bleary-eyed and suggestible, but evidently Caleb had a heartier constitution than he did: his gaze was as keen as Essek had ever seen it. “So, first things first,” he said, settling into the armchair across from Essek. “What do you need from me?”

Essek stared at him blankly. Caleb poured himself another glass, holding it in front of him as the silence stretched between them, slowly pulling taut. “I don’t understand what you mean,” Essek said when he couldn’t bear the tension anymore. “I’m not the one who’s been wronged.”

“I disagree,” Caleb said with such calm assurance that Essek’s instinctive objection slipped out of his grasp. Caleb leaned forward, resting his hand over Essek’s. “I don’t know much about Den Thelyss’s internal politics, but I know a little about family. And Essek? You deserved better from yours.”

“That’s not . . .” He paused, mentally composing a more appropriate response. “I appreciate the sentiment, truly, but you’re mistaken. If I had not argued when my father called me to task—”

“You still would’ve had every right to your anger. There is no justification for the things he said to you, however strained your relationship was, and the fact that the rest of your family blamed you for his recklessness is like poison in the wound.”

Essek shook his head. “You think too highly of me.”

“You think too little of yourself.” At Essek’s incredulous look, Caleb sighed. “I know you’re aware of your own brilliance. If you’re anything like me, you’ve been told your whole life that your intelligence is what makes you exceptional. You built your reputation around it, your identity. You learned to wear your arrogance like armor and remade yourself as Shadowhand Essek Thelyss. But that’s not what I’m talking about. I am talking about you. I am talking about the fact that there is a good man hiding underneath that armor, a man you’ve been ignoring for so long that you’ve forgotten he exists. And that man’s worth doesn’t lie in his cleverness or his accomplishments—it lies right here.” Caleb lifted his hand and laid it against Essek’s chest. Against his heart.

I stole two of the Dynasty’s most precious artifacts and handed them over to the enemy, Essek did not say. I lit the fuse on this war to serve my own ambitions, while you’re here sacrificing your future in an effort to maintain the peace, and I can never, ever tell you the truth of what I’ve done. You deserve a better man than me, Caleb. I’m sorry.

“There is nothing worthy in my heart,” he said instead. It was as much honesty as he dared offer. “I am as callous and selfish as my reputation claims.”

“You were not born with venom in your veins,” Caleb said, so gently Essek felt something inside him crack. “You learned it. You learned it. I am not trying to absolve you of the choices you’ve made, but I have seen the good in you, Essek. So have a little faith in yourself, ja?”

What is faith to someone as faithless as I? he thought bitterly. But he placed his palm over Caleb’s hand, still warm against his chest. “Would it be all right if we returned to the house? I just . . . I don’t know if I can stand another moment in this place.”

“Ja, we can go back. Do we need to make any farewells before we go?”

Essek shook his head. “I’ll send a message to Uraya. They can inform Mother that we’ve left for the evening. It’s late enough that it shouldn’t be an issue.” His mother wouldn’t be thrilled to discover he’d departed without giving her the opportunity to make a show of it, but he didn’t have another performance in him tonight.

Caleb tucked the half-empty wine bottle into the crook of his elbow and held out his other arm in offering. Essek rested a hand on his forearm, and together they left the study behind and made their way out of the estate.

Chapter Text

Chapter Sixteen

The next three weeks swept by in a whirlwind of press events. Uraya had arranged something for them nearly every day: public appearances with Den Thelyss’s allies, interviews with news outlets and gossip logs, “private” dinners turned photo ops through deliberate leaks of their schedules. Essek was generally gracious enough to inform Caleb when he was planning to pull them into the spotlight, but it always seemed like an afterthought, as if he was so accustomed to people having their eyes on him that the idea of actually having a private meal together never occurred to him. Caleb understood the necessity of sharing their marriage with the public, but at the same time, a part of him missed the man who had returned his kisses in the hovercraft, the man who had taken his hands during the wedding when he was teetering on the edge of a breakdown. Outside his towers, Essek transformed into someone else entirely, someone with an endless supply of pithy remarks and knowing smirks, and when they touched, it was for the benefit of their audience, not for any satisfaction of their own.

Still, they were making progress. Since confessing his shame over his father’s death, Essek had been more willing to drop his masks when they were alone together. He was still reticent to initiate contact, but occasionally he would trace his fingertips across the back of Caleb’s hand over breakfast or catch a loose strand of hair and tuck it behind Caleb’s ear. Once, Caleb caught Essek playfully admonishing Frumpkin for knocking over a stack of papers, and when he’d seen Caleb looking in, he’d smiled bashfully rather than reverting to his usual rigid dignity—a promising sign after how cautious they’d been with each other since the wedding reception. 

When they weren’t busy with various social functions, Caleb was gradually exploring more of Rosohna. Not all of the city was accessible to him: the Lucid Bastion was off-limits to non-approved visitors, and the one time he wandered into the vast, luminescent caverns of the Shadowshire, he received so many hostile looks that he decided to cut his meanderings short for the day. When he mentioned it to Essek at dinner that evening, Essek actually dropped his fork. “You went to the Shadowshire?”

Caleb nodded. “The architecture there is quite beautiful, like a subterranean version of the Firmaments. That’s part of why I was surprised to feel so . . . observed. It did not strike me as a place that would be off-limits, but perhaps I was mistaken?”

Essek hesitated. “You are of course welcome to go wherever you like,” he said with such care that Caleb knew it cost him something to allow it. “But if you're going to the Shadowshire, I would prefer you have someone accompany you to prevent any misunderstandings.”

“Is there something there I’m not supposed to see?”

Essek went quiet, then, his eyes darting away in an uncharacteristic show of nervousness. “It’s nothing. Just—that’s where the Dungeon of Penance is located.”

“Ah,” Caleb replied. “Not a happy place, then.”

“No. The Dungeon of Penance has a . . . troubled history. It’s not the sort of place an outsider such as yourself would be welcome except as a prisoner.”

A shiver trailed down Caleb’s back. He dropped the subject, but later that night, he downloaded a history book on the Dungeon of Penance. As the name implied, it was a prison, with four levels that descended progressively further underground, though some records claimed that there were deeper portions: places of such heinous brutality and privation that their overseers were forbidden from speaking of what happened there.

Caleb stopped reading after that. The tortures hinted at in those records reminded him starkly of the things he’d done under Ikithon’s guidance in the last months of his training. It felt cowardly to shy from the reminder, but the mere implication of what happened in the lowest levels of the dungeon was enough to disrupt his sleep for days. The fact that the Dungeon of Penance was likely where he would end up if his mission here came to light only worsened his state of mind, to the point where Uraya had to cancel two press events on the basis of him being too unwell to attend.

He did not visit the Shadowshire again.

The Gallimaufry was more welcoming by far, with its perpetually festive atmosphere. It bustled at all hours of the day with vendors and street performers, and every time he went, he found some new and intriguing trinket to take home. Some of these, such as the cat figurines and sweet-smelling candles, he kept in his rooms, but more and more he found himself seeking out gifts for Essek: small things that could be dismissed as offhand gestures. There was an exciting challenge to seeking out gifts for his husband. For all that Essek had laid himself bare to Caleb at the reception dinner, they were still getting to know each other, and Essek had more than enough money and influence to acquire most anything he wanted for himself.

But Caleb had been paying attention, and it didn’t take him long to suss out which trinkets were likely to catch Essek’s eye and which would be little more than empty gestures. Essek was a problem-solver by nature, and while most of his keen intellect was directed toward his research, his mind needed something novel to play with once in a while. Caleb took a chance on a twisting metal puzzle he found in a game shop, tied an intricate bow around the interlocking pieces, and left the bundle on the dining room table next to the stand that held their wedding candle. The next morning, he found Essek fiddling with the puzzle over breakfast, eyes bright with focus.

Puzzles were far from the only gifts Caleb left for him. Sometimes he brought food, and sometimes a flower he’d bought off one of the migrating merchant carts, arranged neatly in a thin vase for display. Now and then, he caught Essek eyeing his offerings, always with a slightly befuddled look, as if he was trying to divine some deeper meaning to the things Caleb brought home.

The gifts were not the only aspect of the relationship with which Essek seemed to have trouble. There was a skittishness to him that was reminiscent of a stray cat approaching a stranger who had left food out for them—the skittishness of a man unaccustomed to kindness trying to decide whether it could be trusted, or if it was merely meant to lure him close enough for cruelty. Caleb had glimpsed that same nervousness in his own reflection many times and did what he could to make himself more approachable. He greeted Essek whenever they crossed paths, drew him closer with questions about whatever mundane curiosities he’d encountered in his wanderings. Once, he asked Essek for help placing a figurine atop the bookshelf in his rooms, reasoning that the device in Essek’s slippers that allowed him to hover might be able to lift him an extra foot to reach a high shelf.

“Unfortunately, the gravitational adjustment on this device is too localized,” Essek told him. “I can only float about four inches off the ground. There are devices which can go much higher, but those are typically for use in heavy machinery, where anyone working nearby would have been thoroughly briefed on the dangers of standing too close to a powerful gravitational field.”

“Ah, I suppose that makes sense. Wouldn’t want to accidentally crush someone to death.”

“No, I’d much prefer to do so on purpose. Alas, murder is frowned upon in the Dynasty, otherwise I’d likely have far fewer academic rivals.” He tilted his head, amusement dimming. “I’m surprised you waited this long to ask about it. The floating,” he clarified at Caleb’s confused glance. “Surely you’re curious.”

Caleb fiddled with the ends of his scarf. “I didn’t want to pry, in case it was personal. I thought perhaps the device you use to float was some sort of mobility aid, akin to a hoverchair.”

“No, nothing like that. Such devices exist, but they tend to be more extensive than what I have.” A shy smile touched Essek’s lips. “It’s funny. I originally designed these because I resented Verin for growing taller than me. When I kept wearing them, however, it became something of an expectation for me to float everywhere, and so I never stopped.”

Caleb raised an eyebrow. “An expectation?”

“A personal affectation, really. You will think this is silly of me, but for all that it was a minor twist on an existing device, I always felt so proud whenever anyone asked about it. No one had ever really been impressed with me before then. Not for anything I’d done, at least. I found that I enjoyed the praise.”

“I don’t think that’s silly at all,” Caleb said, and Essek blushed.

“Yes, well, I’d like to think I’ve become marginally less conceited since then. I did a lot of things for attention in those years. Verin had to talk me out of several deeply terrible ideas.”

Caleb grinned in spite of himself. “You should hear some of the things I got up to with my schoolmates when I was younger. Everyone is entitled to a bit of foolishness in their youth, ja?”

“I was forty,” Essek said with such gravity a laugh burst from Caleb’s throat. Essek’s ears quivered, the way they occasionally did when something caught him off-guard, and his blush darkened to a deep plum.

But the peace did not last. Three weeks after the wedding, on Grissen morning, Caleb made his regular visit to the Stars and Scones Bakery to exchange messages with Ludinus. He found the data chip taped in its usual spot on the underside of his table and discreetly popped it into his tablet, expecting another request for information. As he decoded the message, however, ice gathered in the pit of his stomach.

Your friends have been poking around in places they shouldn’t be, the message said. We understand the complicated nature of your agreement with us and do not take offense at their curiosity. However, if you wish for our arrangement to continue unhindered, we expect something more tangible from your next report. —L. D.

It was unmistakably a threat, and more blatant than he’d expected. Caleb felt a sudden, desperate urge to contact his friends, but that wasn’t an option. Even if Jester had miraculously disentangled their ship’s systems from the Assembly’s surveillance, Caleb was surely being monitored as well. In fact, it was likely he was being watched at this very moment to ensure that if he did go haring off in a panic, the Assembly would be able to track his movements and intercept any calls he made.

Discreetly, he dropped a coin from his pocket and ducked down to search for it, using the distraction as an excuse to glance around. There were a handful of other customers lounging in the booths or perched over their tablets, as well as the orcish baker who ran the establishment. She waved at him as she noticed him looking, and his paranoia swelled. The Assembly had chosen this location specifically. Why hadn’t it occurred to him that the owner might be one of their agents? He hadn’t detected any hint of an Empire accent in her broken Common, but if Fjord could fake his former captain’s accent for a year with barely a slip, an agent of the Assembly could easily mimic a Xhorhassian accent. It would certainly make it easier for his communications to pass unremarked if the proprietor of the drop location was in on the ruse.

You don’t know that’s what’s happening, he reminded himself. And in any case, it doesn’t matter. The identity of the Assembly’s other agents was valuable intel, but until he could find a way to use that information, it didn’t change anything about his next step.

As calmly as he could, he composed a response: Understood. The target remains guarded about the details of his research, but I may have another avenue of obtaining information. Caution will necessary, however, as the risk to my cover is significant. Regardless, I will keep you apprised of further developments.

He picked over the wording of his reply for a full twenty minutes before ejecting the data chip and returning it to its hiding place. Hopefully, Ludinus’s agents would interpret his message as confirmation he was advancing the Assembly’s agenda and not as the stalling tactic it was. He’d need to produce results soon, but if he could put them off just a little longer, he might be able to carve out a more palatable set of options. Essek was not the only scholar of dunamancy in the Dynasty. He had colleagues, peers. Stars, if Caleb could find some of their research in a library, that might be enough to appease the Assembly, at least for a while. But even that was more complicated than it sounded. It didn’t matter that he was married to the Dynasty’s foremost scholar on dunamancy—he couldn’t simply walk up to a librarian and ask them where they kept their state secrets. His appearance and accent marked him too obviously as a foreigner.

No, if he wanted information on dunamancy, he needed to go to the source. He could either track down one of Essek’s colleagues and steal their research, or convince Essek to grant him access to his private laboratory. Of those options, breaking into someone else’s lab might actually be less risky, as there would be fewer threads to tie Caleb to the theft. But if he could secure Essek’s cooperation, even in a limited capacity, that would open up a much more reliable source of information.

Regardless, whatever he was doing, he’d need to do it soon. The lives of his friends depended on it.

Chapter Text

Chapter Seventeen

Caleb slipped out at eighth bell the following morning to enact the first stage of his plan.

His first stop was to the clothier where Uraya had brought him the day after his arrival in Rosohna. The proprietor, Tival, had welcomed him warmly despite his Empire origins, and Uraya had since purchased several of his designs to fill out Caleb’s wardrobe. More importantly, Tival had done similar work for Essek in the past and would know which fabrics Essek preferred for his own ensembles.

The bell chimed as Caleb entered, and from the back a cheerful voice rang out in response. “Just a moment!” The words were followed by a dull thump, like a bolt of fabric being dumped onto a table, and then Tival emerged from one of the curtained alcoves, the sleeves of his smoke-and-silver robes rippling like storm clouds. “Ah, welcome back! I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”

“I thought it best to come in person,” Caleb admitted, approaching. “I have a rather unusual request.”

Tival’s eyebrows lifted, more in curiosity than surprise. “I’m always open to novel designs. What did you have in mind?”

“I wanted to make something special for my husband,” he said, and described the idea he’d been toying with.

Tival listened attentively, leaning forward as his interest sharpened, and when Caleb was done, he procured an assortment of palm-sized fabric swatches, labeled and sorted by material. “Not all of these will be suitable for your purposes. I would recommend against synthetic fabrics, as they’re more likely to shrivel and cling to the skin when burned. The spider-silk blends strike me as a safer bet, though I’ll leave the actual testing up to you. I’d prefer not to be setting things on fire here.” He cast a wry glance about the shop, currently occupied by over a hundred robes, gowns, and other garments, most of them sheer enough that an open flame would chew through them like paper.

“Don’t worry, friend,” Caleb said, “I have a place in mind away from anything flammable.”

“Glad to hear it. I assume you'll be back once you’ve conducted your tests?”

“Ja, of course. My hands are a bit clumsy for sewing.” That wasn’t strictly true—he’d sewn enough patches in his clothes to get rather good at it, to say nothing of the times he’d had to suture up his wounds before the Nein had come into his life. But Tival had already done him a great favor in going along with his scheme, and anyway, Caleb doubted his sewing skills were up to Essek’s standards. Best to enlist a professional.

Caleb paid for the fabric swatches and left to start on his next errand. This one brought him to a craft supply store that straddled the border between the Gallimaufry and the Corona districts. The goblin woman who ran the shop gave him a gap-toothed smile when he brought several rolls of fine metal mesh up to the counter. “Must be big project you are working on,” she remarked in heavily accented Common. “Buying up all this at once—maybe I should give you discount.”

“I dabble,” he admitted, “though I don’t have as much time for it as I’d like.”

“No? Such a shame. You have crafty hands, I can tell. Big for fine work, but crafty.” She named the price, and he paid using the account Den Thelyss had set up for him when the marriage agreement had been finalized. They’d granted him a generous stipend, enough to make him paranoid about spending it too freely. He’d been careful to avoid giving anyone reason to doubt his intentions, but he was still an unknown quantity. Someone would be tracking his expenses.

Fortunately, this particular venture could be explained easily enough. He was crafting a gift for his husband, one that would help ensure his personal safety should anything untoward happen. Surely no one in Den Thelyss could object to that. Not openly, at least.

Supplies in hand, he made his way back to Essek’s towers, briefly stopping by his rooms to collect a few things before heading for the backyard. This garden wasn’t as extravagant as those he’d seen at the Thelyss estate—for one, there were no meandering streams or bioluminescent shrubs—but there was a tranquility to it nonetheless. The purple-gray trees had been pruned to form archways over the main path, their red-veined leaves adding a hint of warmth to the cool blue and lavender flowers of the bushes beneath. It would have been a nice place for a wedding, Caleb thought wryly, following the path until it broadened out into a small courtyard.

A marble fountain stood in the center of the circle of paving stones, displaying the same dodecahedral structure Caleb had seen at the cathedral where they’d been married: a beacon. This one was made of steel, not quartz, and unlike the statue from the cathedral, it was not being held up by a sculpture but instead floating about three feet above the marble pedestal, gently rotating: not a monument to the Luxon, but to dunamancy. Caleb smiled. Anyone who didn’t know Essek well would assume he was honoring the very faith he’d rejected, which meant the fountain functioned not only as protective camouflage, but also a private joke for those few who cared enough to know anything about him.

He laid out his supplies a few feet in front the fountain, reasoning that if he did accidentally start a fire, having a fountain nearby to quench any flames would at least make him look like he’d chosen a sensible location for it. Stringing a pair of thin steel cables between two trees, he began to assemble the testing apparatus. The swatches of fabric were layered over a matching patch of metal mesh, the two layers pinned together to simulate the protective lining Tival would later sew into Essek’s cloak. By then, he’d have a more suitable mesh, fabricated specifically for the purpose, but since Caleb was only testing the fabric today, store-bought would suffice.

Satisfied with his setup, he withdrew a small device from his pocket: a palm-sized stunner with two prongs that could be pressed to a person’s body to send a painful electrical jolt through them. Yasha had insisted he bring a weapon with him, though the limited pocket space and too-thin fabric of his Dynasty-style robes had made it difficult to conceal the stunner well enough to carry on his person.

But he had another use for it today. Placing the prongs against the first swatch of fabric, he pressed the button on the side of the device. The stunner crackled to life with a rapid clicking as a spark arced through the fabric to the mesh behind it. Within moments, the fabric began to smolder, then ignited, flame creeping outward from the point of impact. Caleb withdrew the stunner and studied the swatch as the fire ate away at it. A relatively quick burn, with a scent like burning paper. Yellowish flames, consistent with the linen-like material, leaving behind a fragile sheet of ash that crumbled when he tapped it with his finger.

Caleb withdrew the notebook he’d taken from his rooms and jotted down his observations before moving onto the next swatch, a silk-like variety of rayon. As expected, it caught fire almost immediately when he pressed the stunner to it, burning with a bright yellow flame. The next swatch, a polyester-cotton blend, ignited with similar ease, shriveling like burning plastic in the heat.

He’d tested five samples, stopping to make notes each time, when he glimpsed movement in his peripheral. Quicker than expected, he thought, pretending he hadn’t noticed Essek’s approach. His experiment was the bait, but Essek hadn’t bitten yet. Reacting too readily would only tip him off to the fact that he'd been lured. 

Instead, Caleb tested the next swatch, the spider-silk blend Tival had suggested. It smoldered sluggishly, curling away from the heat as the electricity arced between the stunner’s prongs and the mesh, and where it burned, it left behind shiny black beads that crushed easily between his fingers. A promising result.

More promising still was the way Essek drifted closer, coming to stand beside him as he made another note. Feigning distraction, Caleb gave him a slight nod and finished writing his observations before tucking his pencil into the crease of the notebook. “Good morning.”

Essek inclined his head, looking over the patches of burnt fabric. “Uraya mentioned you were conducting some sort of experiment, but I confess this is more elaborate than I expected.”

Caleb hummed. “There’s a project I’m working on, but I needed more data on the properties of the local textiles before I moved into the developmental stage. So I’m running a burn test.”

Essek raised an eyebrow. “I thought your specialty was in neuroscience.”

“It, ah . . .” He stumbled over his words; he’d mentioned his neuroscience background that first evening when Essek had caught him poring over his books, but he hadn’t expected Essek to remember, considering the more precious secrets he’d been busy prying out of Caleb at the time. “To be honest, I abandoned my research into neuroscience after I washed out of the academy. Too many bad memories. But I’ve dabbled in other things over the years.”

“And what are you dabbling in now?” Essek asked, then faltered, cutting an anxious glance in Caleb’s direction. “Apologies. You don't have to answer. It was presumptuous of me to ask.”

“I don’t mind.” He’d been counting on that presumption, in fact. Essek had grown more conscious of his boundaries after those first tumultuous conversations, but he possessed the same ravenous curiosity that had driven Caleb to recklessness in his time with the Mighty Nein. The allure of someone else conducting research in his backyard would have been nigh-irresistible to him. “It’s actually a variation on something I’ve made before. I told you I’d been stabbed a few times, ja?”

At this, Essek’s expression turned wary. “You did.”

“Well, the project I’m working on now is meant to provide protection from similar threats—in this case, a jolt from a stunner.” He briefly activated the device in his hand; it clicked rapidly, electricity arcing between the prongs.

“I see.” Essek glided closer to the row of scorched textiles, pinching the swatch of spider-silk between his fingers. “I assume the purpose of the mesh is to divert the electricity away from one’s body?”

“Ja, essentially. The difficult part is finding fabrics that won’t melt into your skin or continue to burn after ignition. Hence the test.” He gestured to the experimental array. “Different textiles burn in different ways. Before I finalized the design, I wanted to mitigate the risk of lighting you up like a matchstick.”

“I much prefer not being on fire.” A wry smile tugged at Essek’s lips, then melted away as he processed what Caleb had said. “So this project you’re working on—it’s for me?”

“Ja.” Caleb dropped his gaze, self-consciousness rippling through him. This was a manipulation, a way to catch Essek’s attention, but that didn't mean he didn't care what Essek thought of his work. “My coat, the one I wear around the house, is lined with a similar mesh, though that variant is a bit sturdier, meant to protect against knives and projectiles as well. But Dynasty fashion favors more delicate fabrics; the mesh I use for my coat would likely be noticeable if I applied it to your wardrobe, so I am making a lighter version, something that will not weigh you down or otherwise alter how you are perceived.”

Essek turned back to the experimental array, drawing his cloak closer about his body. “This is a rather more extravagant gift than the trinkets you’ve been leaving me,” he said, eyeing Caleb cautiously. “What would you ask in return?”

Caleb blinked. It shouldn’t have surprised him that Essek would view his offer as part of a negotiation; they were both familiar with generosity as a form of manipulation. But Caleb had arranged this tableau to pique Essek’s curiosity, not force the man into his debt. He could justify the former, but if there was any possibility he could get Essek to share his research willingly, Caleb had to play fair. So instead of bargaining for a few hours in Essek’s lab to continue his testing, he traced his thumb over Essek’s cheek and said, “Take me out to dinner.”

“Dinner?”

He nodded. “We’ve been married nearly a month; it’s time we went on a date. Preferably one that isn’t also a photo op.”

Essek studied him for a long moment, a tentative cast to his expression. “And after our date?”

Caleb didn’t pretend to misinterpret him. “After,” he said, lingering over the word, “we return to the house, and if you want me to, I take you to bed, and if you don’t, we retire to our separate chambers for the evening.”

Essek’s intake of breath was barely perceptible, but he couldn’t conceal the way his eyes darkened at the suggestion. “I see. And you have no further expectations for me?”

“No expectations,” Caleb confirmed, stepping back to give Essek room to breathe. “Truthfully, you don’t even have to agree to the dinner. I have reason enough to want you safe, whether or not you’re interested in exploring that aspect of our relationship.”

“Dinner could be nice,” Essek said tentatively. “Tonight?”

“Tonight is good, ja.”

A complicated series of emotions flashed across Essek’s face. “I’ll . . . go make reservations,” he said, and hurriedly glided toward the eastern tower.

Chapter Text

Chapter Eighteen

As the dinner hour drew near, Essek stood facing his reflection. He'd spent twenty minutes sifting through his wardrobe for something suitable for tonight’s date, another ten dithering over accessories, but he’d finally settled upon a set of midnight blue robes with flecks of shimmering gold thread. His jewelry was gold as well, rather than his usual silver: a set of chain earrings strung with sapphires and a pair of wide bracelets that hung loose around his wrists.

The only out of place element was his mantle. He’d donned it without thinking, accustomed to its weight, but it took only a glance to see how jarringly the branching silver protrusions and dark purple fabric clashed with the rest of the ensemble. He couldn’t wear this, not unless he wanted to switch out the rest of his clothes, and he’d already taken more time to dress than he’d planned. If he dallied any longer, Caleb might begin to wonder if he was coming at all.

Reluctantly, he unfastened the clasps at the front of the mantle and lifted it up off his shoulders. At once, he missed its sturdy contours, but as armor went, the mantle did far more to preserve his image than his life. The stunner-proof cloak Caleb was designing for him would provide far more protection than the mostly decorative metal of his mantle, and he knew it.

And how will you repay him for that? Surely a simple date is insufficient recompense for preserving your life. Caleb had no reason to believe Essek was in any particular danger beyond that which was inherent to being the child of an Umavi—a negligible issue, considering the rarity of assassination attempts among the ruling houses. But Caleb didn’t know about Essek’s ties to the Cerberus Assembly, about the danger Essek had put himself in. A stunner-proof cloak wouldn’t guard him against poison in his wine or a knife between his ribs, but stunners were easy to use, impersonal, and more discreet than a plasma gun: a likely weapon for an assassin didn’t care how their target died, only that they got the job done. If Caleb’s cloak could protect him, even for a moment, it might give Essek a chance to flee. How could Essek repay such a gift without tipping his new husband off to his fears that his co-conspirators might any day decide to have him killed?

A knock on his door jolted him out of his anxious musings. “Who is it?”

“It’s Uraya. The hovercraft is waiting out front. Are you ready?”

“Just a moment.” He took a fortifying breath, then set the mantle firmly on the bathroom counter and glided to the door.

Uraya looked him over as he drifted out, yellow eyes assessing, then nodded and handed him a pair of small silver broaches: hologram projectors. He inclined his head in thanks and pinned one of the broaches to his collar, tucking the other into his pocket to give to Caleb later. He didn’t intend to activate his illusion until he had to, but Caleb had requested privacy for their date, and that necessitated certain precautionary measures.

“You’re jittery tonight,” Uraya commented as they made their way downstairs. “Nervous?”

“Not at all,” he lied. “Why should I be? This is hardly the first time I’ve taken my new husband out to dinner.”

“A photo op is a little different from a date.”

Essek hesitated. Uraya had worked for him for the better part of two decades, remaining steadfast through grief and scandal alike. It was to Uraya he went when he needed advice on matters beyond his realm of expertise, and though his status as their employer meant they could never be friends, Uraya had demonstrated enough investment in his well-being that he could afford to let his guard down a little.

That didn’t mean it was easy to do so, however. He wasn't sure he could articulate why this date felt so different from the other functions he and Caleb had attended, or even from the dates he’d shared with Adeen in the months they’d courted. Granted, he liked Caleb a great deal more than he’d ever liked Adeen—Caleb was humble where Adeen had been boastful, precise where Adeen had been ham-handed—but admiration alone shouldn’t have been enough to make Essek’s stomach flutter at the thought of Caleb in a romantic context.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve done something like this,” he said at last. “I just don’t want to disappoint him after all the effort he’s made to . . .”

“To woo you?”

“To accommodate my idiosyncrasies.”

Uraya studied him for a moment as they reached the base of the steps. “You’re fond of him,” they said, surprise blooming across their face.

“I . . . find him intriguing,” Essek said. “He’s an intelligent man. Intuitive. Articulate. Curious.” A memory flashed through his mind: Caleb perched over a table of books, coat tucked around his waist, utterly absorbed in the thin blue tome in his hands. Perhaps that was the source of Essek’s nervousness—the wanting. Essek was not the sort to pine after those he admired. Indeed, he rarely felt desire at all, and when he did, it was a tepid thing, easily ignored. It had nearly knocked him off his feet when he’d realized he wanted Caleb in that way. Still, he wasn’t sure he was ready to act upon those feelings. The thought of Caleb taking him to bed was an alluring fantasy, but the reality of putting himself in someone else’s hands again . . .

Then there was the little voice in the back of his mind that told him Caleb’s interest in him would wane once he learned how unsuited Essek was for that kind of intimacy, once he realized that Essek’s competence in other social arenas didn’t translate to a talent for romance. Caleb was earnest, patient, perceptive. Surely it wouldn’t be much longer before he realized he deserved more than Essek could offer him.

Uraya shrugged. “Well, if it makes a difference, he strikes me as a good match for you.” Certainly better than the last one, they did not say, but Essek could hear the words hanging in the air between them. He smiled stiffly.

“Your insights are appreciated as always,” he said. “Will you collect Caleb for me?”

One of Uraya’s ears swiveled toward the central tower. “I believe he’s already on his way down.”

“Ah. Well. I’d best go walk him to the hovercraft.”

“Call if you need anything,” Uraya said. “And good luck!”

With a final nod, Essek stepped outside and drifted over to where the pathways merged. Three heartbeats later, the door of the central tower slid open. Essek straightened. Caleb had opted for an open-fronted coat, dark purple with white accents at the cuffs and hem, and a puffy white scarf that looped twice around his collar. But it was Caleb’s smile that caught Essek’s attention, warm and steady as a candle flame. Seeing it soothed the simmering anxiety beneath Essek’s sternum enough to let him return the smile without strain. “The scarf is new.”

Beaming, Caleb joined him on the path and laced their fingers together. “I’m still working my way through the accessories your tailor sent last week. My wardrobe has never been so expansive.”

“It suits you,” Essek said, trying not to seem flustered by the casual contact, “though I may have to get you some jewelry to accompany it. It wouldn’t do to let anyone think I’m neglecting my husband.”

“I’m not much of a jewelry person,” Caleb admitted. “My friend Veth took me to get my ears pierced once, early on. I fainted the moment I saw the piercing gun.”

Essek thought of the scars on Caleb’s arms, the wrappings just visible where they peeked out beneath his sleeves. Essek had never gotten the story on those—they weren’t mentioned in any of the records of Caleb’s time with the Mighty Nein—but it didn’t surprise him that Caleb had issues with body modification. “Well, perhaps I could get you a ring instead.”

“A ring?” Caleb repeated, eyelids fluttering.

“If you’d like,” Essek said, puzzled by Caleb’s apparent surprise. “Unless you would prefer something else?”

“No, it’s just—it’s funny, I suppose,” Caleb said as the hovercraft door slid open for them. “Gifting someone a ring so soon after meeting them would be considered very forward where I am from, but considering we’re already married . . .”

“Oh.” Essek dropped his gaze, glad for the darkness of the passenger compartment. Was Caleb implying he’d been too bold, or had Essek failed him by not acquiring a ring for him before the wedding? He’d never bothered to research Empire courting traditions, even after Caleb’s arrival. He’d had no interest in marriage, had resented the idea of being bound to someone he knew so little about. But now his willful ignorance seemed selfish. Caleb had given up everything to come here. What had Essek done besides ask him to devote countless hours to public appearances and interviews?

You’re here now, he told himself, but the thought did little to assuage his guilt. He risked a glance at Caleb’s face, as if he could somehow divine a way to fix this, and found Caleb already watching him. As their eyes met, Caleb reached out to brush his thumb across Essek’s cheek. “That was not a criticism, Schatz. You are welcome to give me a ring if you want, but there is no obligation. And you’ve been more than generous with me already.”

Essek managed a brittle smile. “Quite the contrary: I doubt there is anything I could give that would repay the trust you’ve placed in me. I—” He hesitated, self-conscious. “So much of my life has been spent proving myself a worthy investment in the eyes of my den. It’s been decades since anyone has put their faith in me the way you have. I don’t know what I’ve done to earn your trust, but I am grateful for it.”

Caleb rested his elbows on his knees, eyes never straying from Essek’s face. There was a measuring quality to his gaze, as if he were watching numbers scroll across a screen and tallying them up row by row. When he finally spoke, there was a heaviness to the words. “Sometimes it is better to trust even when you’re not sure of the people around you.”

Essek frowned. "That seems . . . risky." 

"Ja, a bit." A pained smile touched Caleb's lips, then faded just as quickly. "But, you know, I was alone for a long time before I met the Mighty Nein, and in that time I did a lot of shady things to get by. I lied. I stole. I conned people out of their money. In summer, you could get by sleeping in an alleyway or on the side of the road, but winter was harder. You had to take risks if you wanted to survive, and they didn’t always pay off.”

Essek said nothing. He didn’t like the emptiness in Caleb’s eyes, the echo of remembered pain, but he feared interrupting would be worse. Caleb had been so reticent to discuss his past, and nothing in his file had mentioned that he’d once been a vagabond, alone and desperate, with no one to care whether he survived the night. Once, the omission would have been a source of frustration, but looking at him now, Essek could only be glad no one here knew enough of what he’d endured to use it against him. No one but Essek.

“I got arrested a few times,” Caleb went on. “Twice for theft, once for public intoxication. That one was on purpose—I’d heard it was going to be especially cold that night, so I drank half a bottle of whiskey and wandered around town making a nuisance of myself until someone called the authorities. A bed in a jail cell was at least better than freezing to death, and it’s not hard to fool their criminal database if you have the right skill set. But I’m getting off topic.” He shook his head as if to clear it. “The last time I got arrested was for pickpocketing the mayor of the settlement I was in. Of course, I didn’t know she was the mayor at the time; I picked her out of the crowd because she looked a little better off than everyone else, and I thought if I could lift a wallet, I might find enough money to pay for a room somewhere. Instead, I got caught and thrown in jail, where I met Veth.”

The name was familiar to Essek. Caleb had mentioned her in passing before they’d gotten in the hovercraft, but he’d done his own research as well. Veth was the Mighty Nein’s ordnance technician, as well as their primary mechanic, and every story he’d dug up about her suggested she was the most volatile among them. He couldn’t imagine someone as methodical as Caleb befriending someone so unpredictable under ordinary circumstances, but given how tumultuous Caleb’s life had been at the time, perhaps necessity had played a role.

Caleb was still speaking, his voice thoughtful now, reminiscing. “Veth had gotten into a bar fight and broken a beer bottle over someone’s head—that’s how she’d ended up in jail. But all the cells were already occupied, so they threw us in a cell together for the night. Then . . .” Caleb’s face contorted with bitterness. “Well. One of the guards said he’d let her off with a warning if she, ah, did a favor for him.”

Essek winced. “I assume ‘favor’ is a euphemism in this context?”

“Ja. Veth told him to fuck off, said she already had a husband, and when the guard pushed the issue, she grabbed hold of him through the bars and banged his head against them until he went unconscious.”

“That sounds incredibly violent.”

Caleb smiled grimly. “It was. But no one was going to believe an anxious halfling housewife had been the one to beat a guard half to death, so I told her that if she could get us both out, I’d break into their database and erase all record of either of us ever being there. Then she pulled out a set of lockpicks—don’t ask me how she managed to smuggle them in—and unlocked the cell, and the two of us ran off into the night.”

“And you just took it on faith that she had a way to break out of a prison cell?”

“She may have implied earlier in the night that she could get out any time she wanted,” Caleb said, shrugging. “And at that point, things were bad enough that if she did have a way to get out, it was time to go. After that, we stuck together. Ran into trouble a few times out on the road before we met the Mighty Nein, but that’s another story.”

“You don’t often speak of them. The Mighty Nein.”

Caleb hesitated. “I didn’t want them to get caught up in all this. The politics. They each have their skills, but none of us are what you would call diplomatic. Beauregard is the only one of us with any legitimate political ties, and that’s only because she’s affiliated with the Cobalt Soul.”

Essek’s eyebrows lifted. “She’s a librarian?”

“She—no, not exactly.” Caleb made a grasping motion with his hand, like he was trying to find the right words. “The Cobalt Soul maintains an archival network to encourage the accessibility of information, but their main purpose is to root out corruption wherever they find it. Beauregard has never been one to bow to authority. The Cobalt Soul recognized that and put her on the path to becoming an expositor—an investigator, essentially. Someone who seeks out corruption and abuse and eliminates it.”

Unease slithered down Essek’s spine. He was suddenly very glad Caleb had chosen to keep his friends at a distance. The Cobalt Soul didn’t have much of a presence within the Dynasty, but they were a respected intergalactic organization, and Essek was, technically, a traitor. The last thing he needed was one of the Cobalt Soul’s expositors poking around in his business.

“And you care for these people?” he asked, hoping to redirect the conversation.

Caleb’s expression sobered. “They’re the closest thing I have left to a family. I’d do anything for them.” His eyes flickered to Essek’s face, then away. “I’m sorry. I know that’s probably not what you want to hear. As your husband, my loyalty should be to you above all. But I would not be here if not for the Nein. In all likelihood, I’d be lying dead in a ditch somewhere.”

Essek rested a hand on Caleb’s shoulder, as much to chase away the chill crawling down his back as to reassure the man before him. “If they are indeed the ones who kept you alive when you might otherwise have perished, then I am more grateful to them than I can express.”

“You are expressing a great deal of gratitude tonight,” Caleb said, some of the shadows lifting from his face. He leaned forward to press a brief kiss to Essek’s cheek. “But I’m afraid we are late for our reservation.”

Belatedly, Essek realized that they’d reached their destination. He straightened, reflexively adjusting the front of his robes, then remembered the devices in his pocket. “Here, you’ll need this,” he said, handing one to Caleb. “It’s a hologram projector. You said you wanted privacy, so I thought it would be best to disguise ourselves.” That wasn’t the only reason for the holograms. The restaurant he’d chosen for their date was one the humbler establishments in Rosohna, and though their food was excellent, it wasn’t a suitable dinner destination for someone of his station; if it got out that he had visited such a place, he would surely be mocked for it.

Thankfully, Caleb seemed to take no issue with the disguises. He cycled through the preset holograms until he came to the one most suited to him: a broad-shouldered half-drow with blunt, human-ish features, dressed nicely but not lavishly. Caleb grinned, the motion mirrored in the hologram. “How do I look?”

Essek stared into the hologram’s eyes. He’d programmed them to match Caleb’s in color and shape, and the effect was entrancing in a way he couldn’t quite articulate. “Handsome as always,” he said, smiling. “Though I think I prefer your regular face.”

Caleb gave an amused huff and opened the door as Essek donned his own illusion. The abundance of drow in the city meant he didn’t have to change much to pass unremarked, so his disguise merely softened his features, made him look less polished, less obviously upper class. He followed Caleb out of the hovercraft, disengaging his gravity adjusters and letting his feet touch the ground. Caleb glanced at him, eyebrows rising, then reached out to take his hand. “Is this okay?”

Essek lifted Caleb’s hand to lay a kiss over his knuckles. “It’s perfect,” he said, and started for the restaurant doors.

Chapter Text

Chapter Nineteen

The scent of pungent spices and roasting meat tickled Caleb’s nose as they strolled up to the restaurant doors. A sign had been nailed in place above the lintel, letters burned into the wood as if by a magnifying glass. Caleb didn’t recognize the language, but the thinner line of script beneath it was in Undercommon, and after a moment’s fumbling he translated it as “The Hunter’s Cauldron.”

“The Hunter’s Stewpot, actually,” Essek corrected, smiling. “There’s no distinction between the two terms in Undercommon, but among goblinkin, meal preparation carries great cultural significance. They have over two dozen words for ‘cooking pot,’ differentiated according to the approximate size and shape of the vessel, as well as a more nuanced culinary vocabulary than you’ll find anywhere in the galaxy.”

“That is fascinating,” Caleb replied. Goblins weren’t common in the Empire, and those tribes that did make their home there were often derided as thieves and ne’er-do-wells. Having done plenty of shady things himself, Caleb figured that if there was any veracity to those beliefs, it was only because goblinkin were more frequently forced into desperate circumstances than less vilified folk.

Stepping through the doorway, they entered a warmly lit dining area bustling with activity. The pathways between tables were narrow enough that they had to squeeze single-file through the more crowded sections of the room, and in the chaos it took him a moment to notice the bubbling stewpots positioned about the dining area. There were three of them, each surrounded by two rings of tables, simmering steadily over crackling orange fire pits. Every few moments, the staff would come by to stir one of the pots or ladle some of its contents into a bowl, but there seemed to be no distinction between cook and server. The only figure of note was a whipcord-thin goblin in a soup-spattered apron, who Caleb judged to be in charge based on how readily he rattled off commands to the others.

“Apologies for the noise,” Essek said as they claimed a small table at the edge of the room. “The Corona district can be somewhat raucous compared to the more central portions of the city. But I assure you, the food here is exceptional.”

“I like it,” Caleb said. “Reminds me of meals I’ve shared with the Mighty Nein. Things tended to get pretty chaotic between the seven of us.”

“The . . . seven of you?”

“We lost a few along the way.”

“I see.” Essek’s eyebrows knitted, as if he wasn’t quite sure whether Caleb was joking. “I am sorry for your loss?”

“It’s all right,” Caleb said. “We did lose one of our original members a few months into our journey, and Yasha was in and out a lot in the early days, but otherwise our number has remained fairly consistent. The name is something of a translation joke, really. Technically, you could call us ‘the Mighty No’ and it would still be accurate.”

“I see,” Essek said, then turned his head as a white-haired goblin girl strode over to their table.

“Oh, hey, Dezran,” she said, nodding to Essek. “You here for your usual?”

Caleb blinked, but Essek was already answering, unfazed. “I think we’ll be having an assortment tonight, actually. Enough for two, if you would.”

She raised her eyebrows, giving Caleb a once-over. He felt a tinge of nervousness before he remembered he was also in disguise. “Pretty,” the girl remarked, turning back to Essek. “Boyfriend?”

“Something like that.”

“Huh. Well, congratulations. And nice to meet you,” she added, curtsying in Caleb’s direction. “I’m Edel. This your first time visiting The Hunter’s Stewpot?”

“It is, ja.”

“Great. Well, I already know what Dezran wants to drink, but what about you? Any preferences?”

“Do you have ale?” he asked hesitantly.

“Yeah, we got ale,” Edel said, surprising him. Essek’s cook had ordered in a small selection of ale before he’d arrived, anticipating his preferences, but he’d had trouble finding it in the city. Evidently, it wasn’t a popular drink in Rosohna. “You looking for something dark or something pale?”

“Dark.”

Edel grinned, the points of her teeth showing. “Good man. I’ll have that for you in a minute.” She scurried off, dancing nimbly between tables.

Caleb turned back to Essek. “So, Dezran,” he said, arching an eyebrow, “you must come here often for the staff to call you by name.”

Essek’s ears slanted; he began twisting a napkin between his fingers. “When one has been raised to uphold the standards of an influential den, it can sometimes be . . . challenging to explore the less refined portions of the Dynasty. Having a secondary identity allows me to pass unremarked when my whims take me outside my usual circles. According to the paper trail I built for him, Dezran is a scion of one of the minor branches of Den Thane. Although on his first life, he is a devout follower of the Luxon and hopes to earn the rite of consecution by distinguishing himself within the faith.”

“Quite the departure from your true identity,” Caleb noted.

Essek flicked his ears, acknowledging the point. “Perhaps. But my tutors spent a great deal of time teaching me scripture when I was young. I may not have much faith in the Luxon or its associated theology, but learning is never wasted.” His eyes darted up to Caleb’s face. “I, ah . . . I would appreciate it if you didn’t repeat that to anyone else. My atheism is no secret, but I’ve been called a heretic often enough to be cautious of poking at that particular hornet’s nest. The fact that I am a scholar of dunamancy but not a member of the faith . . . Well. Suffice to say there are those who see my skepticism as a dangerous character flaw.”

Caleb suppressed a shiver of anticipation at the mention of dunamancy. “I see no benefit in restricting the pursuit of knowledge solely to those who subscribe to a certain way of thinking,” he said, holding Essek’s gaze. “After all, it is only by daring to step outside the boundaries of what is already known that we broaden our understanding of the world.”

Essek had leaned forward as Caleb spoke, close enough that Caleb could see the imperfections in his disguise: the too-smooth quality of his skin, the way the flickering glow of the cook-fires lay flat and unmoving where it touched the hologram. But even had the disguise been perfect, it could not have hidden the sharpness of Essek’s gaze. The anticipation Caleb had stifled moments ago shifted into unease. Essek had mentioned once that he didn’t agree with the queen’s policies on restricting dunamantic research, but he’d still been reluctant to share his knowledge with a man of the Empire. Would he read Caleb’s assurances as an attempt to wear away at his reservations?

The thunk of two mugs being set on their table jolted them out of their preoccupation. “Soup’ll be up in just a minute,” Edel said, tapping the points of her nails on the scarred wooden table. “Anything else I can get you two in the meantime?”

“No, that will be all, thank you,” Essek said, straightening in his chair.

“Cool. Be right back.” She hurried off again. Caleb rubbed the edges of his scarf between his fingers, his thumb briefly passing through the hologram before the image corrected itself. If he’d had Frumpkin with him, he’d have been cuddling the cat close to his chest, but he’d assumed Essek would be bringing him somewhere fancier and hadn’t wanted to have to explain to the staff that Frumpkin was a therapy animal. Now he wondered if that had been a mistake. He’d tiptoed too close to the boundaries Essek had drawn around his research, and because of that Essek was suspicious of him again.

But when Essek reached out to touch his hand, his fingers were gentle. “Everything all right?”

“Ja. Sorry. Lot of people around. Makes me nervous.”

“We could get our food to-go,” Essek offered.

Caleb shook his head. “I’m all right. Truly,” he added when the concern didn’t fade from Essek’s face. Perhaps Caleb had missed his guess, and Essek’s mind had been spinning off in some other direction entirely. It wouldn’t be the first time Caleb had panicked while treading too close to the secrets he was seeking. “I wouldn’t want to cut our first real date short after you went to the trouble of arranging everything.”

“It was no trouble. Honestly, the biggest struggle has been remembering how this is supposed to work. It’s been a long time since I’ve dined with someone purely for the sake of enjoying their company. I don’t know where to start.”

Caleb stroked his thumb over the back of Essek’s hand. “Think of it like dancing.”

“Dancing?” Essek repeated, ears quivering.

Caleb nodded. “When you are first learning to dance, your instinct is to focus on your footwork. You learn the steps the way a child learns their constellations: through rote memorization. But if you wish to become a truly great dancer, you must move beyond mere choreography. You must feel the rhythm of the music, must be attuned to your partner so that when they deviate from the pattern, you can move with them instead of stepping on their toes. The same is true of conversation. When you focus too much on what you’re supposed to be saying, you lose the essence of the exchange. Better to abandon the steps altogether and move with your partner to create something beautiful.”

Essek stared at him, wide-eyed. It was hard to tell through the illusion, especially with Essek’s dark complexion, but Caleb thought he was blushing.

“That . . . is an apt metaphor,” Essek said at last, faintly, “though I feel like I should inform you that dancing is considered to be rather intimate within the Dynasty. Not really suitable dinner conversation.”

Caleb felt his own face warming. “My apologies. I hadn’t realized.”

“It’s all right.” Hesitantly, Essek leaned forward, lowering his voice. “I was under the impression dancing carried romantic connotations in the Empire as well. Was I mistaken?”

“Not mistaken,” Caleb said slowly. “But it is more innocent, I think. Akin to holding hands. Some dances are more suggestive, but only a very few of those would be considered indecent.”

“I see.” Essek’s blush deepened. He seemed on the verge of saying something else, but at that moment, Edel returned, bearing a tray laden with half a dozen cups of soup. Essek sat up, his awkwardness melting away as if it had never been. “Ah, wonderful, thank you.”

“Just wave me over if you need anything else,” Edel replied. “I’ll be around.” Quick as she’d come, she was gone, off to take care of the next table.

Caleb peered down at array of cups. There were six in total, two of each variety: a thick pea-green soup with breadcrumbs dusted over its surface, a hearty orange-tinted stew with bits of shredded meat, and a translucent broth that smelled startlingly like chicken soup. Taking a cue from Essek, he tried the stew first and found it to be mild but hearty, with a more savory flavor profile than other Xhorhassian dishes he’d tried. He closed his eyes, letting the taste spread across his tongue, and when he opened them again, Essek was watching him, a tentative cast to his expression. Caleb summoned his most reassuring smile. “You have the look of someone who is thinking very hard, Schatz.”

“Hmm? Oh.” Looking down, Essek swirled his spoon through the cup of soup closest to him. Caleb waited, sensing he was gathering the courage to say something more, and after a few seconds Essek went on. “I hope this is not too forward of me, but I thought perhaps when we return to our towers, you might share a dance with me?”

Heat pooled in Caleb’s stomach. “Is that something you would enjoy?”

“It is something I would like to try. I’ve never—that is, there has never been anyone for whom I cared enough to ask.”

“You’ve never been in love?”

Essek’s spoon clattered against the edge of the his cup, nearly toppling the dish before his other hand shot out to steady it. His blue-violet eyes darted to Caleb’s face, wide with shock. “No,” he said, then drew back, ears flattening. “Have you?”

“Ja. Long time ago. And once more recently, but it was, ah, one-sided on my part.”

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that,” Essek said, still noticeably tense. “I hope our own arrangement has not made things more complicated.”

“Nein, no. She found someone better suited to her. Someone she can be happy with. And I have moved on as well. I only ask,” he said, returning to his original question, “because I recall some of your den referencing your previous engagement, and I want to make sure I am not stepping on any toes, as it were.”

Essek’s face went very still. Caleb waited, counting out his heartbeats as the silence stretched on: eins, zwei, drei, vier, fünf. He’d just reached sechs when Essek mechanically lowered his spoon into his cup of stew and spoke. “You are not stepping on any toes. Adeen and I were betrothed for several months as part of an alliance between dens, but it quickly became apparent we were unsuited for each other, and the engagement was broken off. I hold no lingering fondness for him. Even if I did—” His composure cracked, a hint of desperation showing through. “Even if I did,” he repeated, “I would not disrespect our marriage by acting upon it.”

“That’s not what I . . .” Caleb began, but the words withered on his tongue. He’d seen Essek react like this once before, after their wedding. They’d been tangled about each other, Caleb planting kisses along the column of Essek’s neck, Essek eager and wanting beneath him. Caleb had commented idly on Essek’s responsiveness, teasing, and Essek had gone still as an ice sculpture in his arms.

“I’ve been told I’m rather cold, actually,” he’d said afterward, rigidly formal, but his stiffness hadn’t been enough to hide the shame in his eyes. They hadn’t spoken of the incident since—they’d had a wedding reception to attend, a family to perform for, and by the time either of them were in a position to talk about it, Caleb had been too busy processing Essek’s confession about his father’s death to question why Essek had pulled away from him.

“He was unkind to you,” Caleb said. “Your previous betrothed.”

“We were unkind to each other,” Essek corrected, eyes focusing once more on Caleb’s face. Another five heartbeats passed in silence before his wariness gave way to confusion. “You’re not going to ask?”

“I’m not here to reopen old wounds, Essek. If you want to tell me, I will listen, but you do not owe me your pain.”

A complicated ripple of emotions passed across Essek’s face, the nuances lost beneath the veil of his disguise. Cautiously, Caleb took Essek’s free hand in his, stroking the ridges of his knuckles.

“You always try to see the good in me,” Essek said, “even when it’s not there. Why?”

“You remind me a great deal of myself, you know. Not always in a good way.” He gave Essek a frail smile. “I told you once that I’m not a good man, and that is still true. But if the people I care about most in the world can look for the good in me after all I’ve done, then I can do the same for you.”

“You’re a far better man than I’ll ever be,” Essek said, sighing. “But thank you. Your trust means a great deal.”

“I do not give it out easily.”

A hint of amusement touched the corners of Essek’s eyes. “I wouldn’t ask you to,” he said, and picked up his mug. “A toast, to new beginnings.”

Caleb lifted his own mug. “To new beginnings,” he said, and drank.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty

The rest of dinner passed without incident. Essek kept the conversation light, studiously avoiding potential points of conflict and focusing instead on innocuous topics: food preferences, favorite books, places they’d visited. Caleb obliged him, his wry humor peeking out as they settled into a more relaxed rhythm. It was a relief to speak of such inconsequential things. Essek didn’t think he could endure any more questions about his engagement to Adeen, nor did he wish to poke too insistently at Caleb’s past, knowing how fraught it was, but it was nice hearing Caleb speak without his usual guardedness.

He even shared a little about the Mighty Nein: battles they’d fought together, pranks his friends had pulled, jokes they’d shared. Essek had dug up a number of stories about the Mighty Nein in the days following Caleb’s arrival, searching for something that would validate his suspicions, but it seemed those scattered reports accounted for only a fraction of their activity. Caleb’s descriptions of their adventures were considerably more chaotic than even the most egregious accounts implied, to the point where if anyone else had come to him with such tales, Essek would've dismissed them as utter fabrications. But Essek had a great deal of experience with liars and braggarts, and Caleb was as earnest as the dark side of Xhorhas was cold.

Eventually, though, they ran out of excuses to prolong their dinner. Essek paid the bill using the account linked to his alias, adding a twenty-five percent gratuity to the charge, and left the restaurant with Caleb at his side. “Back to the towers?” he asked as they slid into the interior of the hovercraft.

Caleb’s eyebrows furrowed. “Ja, unless you had somewhere else in mind?”

“Ah, no,” he said, his awkwardness returning now that they were alone together. He tapped a command into the control panel, glad for the excuse to avert his eyes. They’d deactivated their holograms as soon as the hovercraft door had closed behind them, reverting to their normal appearances, and while it was a relief to be able to see Caleb as he truly was, Essek couldn’t help but think about how it was one less veil between them.

If all goes well, you’re going to be shedding more than your disguise soon enough, he reminded himself, folding his hands in his lap. Caleb settled in beside him, close enough Essek could feel the heat coming off him. Were all humans this warm? It occurred to Essek that he knew little of their physiology beyond what was plainly visible. Would he and Caleb even be compatible in the intimate sense? The mechanics of the act were similar—they had to be, given the existence of half-elf children—but there were countless nuances to taking pleasure with another person, and Essek was hardly an expert in that realm. He remembered the electrifying sweep of Caleb’s tongue over the edge his ear, Caleb’s startled surprise at his reaction. Would it be like that—an exploration of each other’s most sensitive places? Or would they end up muddling through the act, growing more frustrated as they failed to find satisfaction in each other?

Unbidden, his thoughts turned to the last time he’d allowed another man into his bed. Adeen had always been critical of his deficiencies. Even when Essek had been able to bring himself to invite Adeen into his chambers—a more challenging hurdle to overcome than anticipated—finding a balance between what Adeen wanted and what Essek was willing to tolerate had been an ongoing struggle. Still, he could have borne the constant criticism if not for Adeen’s inability to keep their personal affairs private. Essek had spent decades cultivating his reputation, spinning rumors and accumulating favors so that he would not have to go pleading to his den whenever he needed funding or assistance, and Adeen’s boorish behavior had threatened to tear it all down. Essek had known breaking the betrothal would have consequences, known it would be yet another mark against him in the eyes of his den, but he’d been desperate to spare his reputation from further damage.

If he’d known how much worse things would become in the months that followed, perhaps he’d have chosen differently. Or perhaps one of his other failures would have damned him instead. Stars knew he’d made a lot of terrible choices in his life, and not all of them had come to fruition yet. He was a traitor to the Dynasty, a loose end to the Assembly. He’d managed to cover up his crimes so far, but how much longer would it be before Ludinus decided he had no more need for Essek’s cooperation?

“You’ve been very quiet, Schatz,” Caleb murmured when they were two minutes from the towers.

“Just thinking,” he said, then winced at how tersely the words had come out. He risked a glance at Caleb’s face and was surprised to see concern in his eyes. Of course he’s concerned, Essek thought, annoyed at himself. You’ve been ignoring him with no explanation ever since you stepped into the hovercraft. He probably thinks you’re having second thoughts. “Apologies. I was contemplating how the rest of this night is to unfold. It’s been a few years since I’ve done anything like this.”

“For me as well,” Caleb said, then paused, fiddling with his scarf as the hovercraft made its final turn toward the house. “I know how hard it can be, learning to trust again after you’ve been hurt. No one would blame you if you needed more time.”

A bitter laugh rose in Essek’s throat. “You’d be surprised. But thank you. It is comforting to know that you, at least, will not hold my hesitance against me.”

“It would be somewhat hypocritical if I did,” Caleb said as the hovercraft drifted to a halt. He studied Essek a moment more, a heaviness to his gaze, then popped the door open and stepped onto the walkway leading up to the house.

Essek followed, reengaging his gravity adjusters as his feet touched the ground. This was it. He could either wish Caleb goodnight and retreat to his rooms, or . . . or he could be brave and ask Caleb to join him. He peered up at the man beside him, his pulse fluttering. “So,” he said as they reached the split in the path where the flagstones branched into three separate walkways.

“So,” Caleb echoed, taking Essek’s hands. “Here we are.”

“Indeed.” Essek drew in a shallow breath. Caleb’s palms were warm against his skin, his fingers slightly callused. Caleb had spent two years as a mercenary, and while he claimed he wasn’t a front-line fighter, he must have had some experience to still bear calluses months after the fact. That, or he’d secretly been taking quarterstaff lessons during his forays outside the house. Essek found he rather liked the image: Caleb swinging a staff through the air, shirt damp with sweat and clinging to his body.

Caleb gave an amused huff, drawing Essek back to the present moment. He blushed, realizing he’d been staring at Caleb’s chest for several seconds. “You are very distracted tonight, Schatz. I hope I have not stolen your words from you entirely.”

“No, I—” He cleared his throat. “My apologies. My mind seems to be wandering more than usual. Would you—that is, if you would like, you could, ah . . .”

Caleb squeezed his hands, his expression sobering. “When you’re ready, Essek. I can be patient until then.” He started to slip his hands free.

Unthinkingly, Essek tightened his grip and stepped in close, until mere inches lay between them. They both froze at the sudden proximity, the moment spooling out between them, stillness and potential and inevitability all woven together. And then Essek was leaning forward, brushing his lips over Caleb’s in a lingering kiss, and suddenly his next step was very clear. “Would you like to come upstairs?”

*

Essek led Caleb up the winding stairwell of the eastern tower, his hand resting in the crook of Caleb’s elbow as they passed the doors leading to the library, drawing room, and laboratory, until at last they came to the top floor. He pressed his palm to the scanner beside his chamber door and guided Caleb into his private study.

“I, ah, hope you’ll forgive the mess,” he said as he realized he’d been too preoccupied fretting over their date to consider the state of his rooms. Several books lay scattered on his writing desk, along with a mostly-empty bottle of redberry wine and its accompanying cheese tray, now devoid of anything but crumbs.

“I don’t mind,” Caleb said—sincerely, it seemed, given the focus with which he was currently skimming the titles on the bookshelf to their right. Essek allowed himself a moment of admiration. Caleb was undeniably attractive, for all that he did not fit the elven ideals of beauty, but like this he was stunning: face soft with wonder, coppery hair catching the light as he tipped his head back to examine the higher shelves.

“Perhaps I should have taken you to a library for our date,” Essek said, tracing a finger down Caleb’s spine. Caleb inhaled sharply. “Then again, I imagine I’d have had a much harder time coaxing you out of a library than a restaurant, no matter what favors I offered.”

Apprehension flickered in Caleb’s eyes. He stepped away from the bookshelf. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—I’ll leave your books alone.”

“Caleb . . .” He hesitated, wrong-footed by the sudden downturn in Caleb’s mood. It took him a moment to make the connection, and when he did, his stomach twisted with guilt. Of course Caleb would be wary of any implication that he was interested in Essek’s collection. Essek had all but interrogated him over his curiosity that first night, when he’d found Caleb poring over the books in the western tower. Essek had apologized after the fact and considered that adequate restitution, but evidently he’d spooked Caleb worse than he’d realized.

Carefully, he laid a hand over Caleb’s heart. “Dunamancy is an intriguing discipline. I do not hold your curiosity against you.” 

“Ja, I know that,” Caleb said, but he sounded uncertain. Essek studied him for a moment, then turned to scan the bookshelf. It held many of the same tomes as the collection in the western tower, plus a number of more advanced works, all related in some way to his research. Some of the books on these shelves were strictly regulated, available only to those within the highest echelons of the faith—and to longtime patrons of the Marble Tomes Conservatory.

A dangerous thought occurred to him. By the Bright Queen’s law, the study of dunamancy belonged solely to the Dynasty. Sharing even the most basic of dunamantic theory with outsiders bordered on treason, and the Empire’s dabbling with the now-returned beacons had only reinforced the queen’s belief that such knowledge should remain restricted. Merely allowing Caleb into the same room as these books was sufficient to put Essek in legal jeopardy, to say nothing of the research he’d already shared with the Cerberus Assembly.

But Caleb wasn’t with the Assembly. Caleb would not condescend to him as Ludinus did, would not tease him with promises of cooperation only to withhold his discoveries until Essek came to him like a child pleading for sweets. If Essek entrusted him with this knowledge, they would be equals, partners. It could be a true collaboration.

And if he turns out to be a spy after all? demanded the more rational part of his mind. The Umavi selected you for this marriage because she believes you’re the best suited to ferreting out the true reason for his presence here. If you’re wrong about him, if he is indeed a spy, you could be delivering the Dynasty’s most sacred knowledge straight into the Empire’s hands.

Was it worth it, to extend his trust to this man, knowing he might betray it? Caleb had been kind to him, had made every effort to be a good partner, but any spy worth their training would do the same in this scenario. And if he was a spy, did it matter? Essek had already damned himself several times over with the information he’d given the Assembly. What did it matter if he indulged Caleb’s curiosity? It wasn’t as if he could do any more harm.

“You said before that sometimes it is better to trust even when you’re uncertain of the people around you,” Essek said, reaching out to pull a worn leather-bound tome from the shelf. Beside him, Caleb stilled, eyes wide as Essek turned to face him. “All my life, I have known trust only as a form of currency. It was a transaction, a negotiating tool. But you . . . you trust like it’s an act of faith. As if merely believing in people is enough to change them. I cannot say I understand it, nor am I capable of such faith, but I am grateful for it nonetheless. Which is why I want you to have this.” He held out the book.

“Essek . . .” Caleb whispered, eyes burning with a longing so intense it bordered on devastation. He stared down at the tome, his thumb tracing the embossed lettering of the title as Essek pressed it into his hands, then slowly lifted his gaze to Essek’s face. “This is a great gift.”

“Keep it secret. The penalty for sharing such information with outsiders is severe, and I would not be the only one to suffer were this exchange to become known.”

“I will make sure it is well-hidden.” Caleb cradled the book closer to his chest, his face softening. Almost unconsciously, Essek leaned closer. “I, ah, never answered your question. About sharing a dance with you.” Caleb ducked his head shyly. “I don’t know if the offer is still open, but . . .”

“It—yes. The offer is still open. Do you—” Essek paused, taking a moment to compose a response. “Would you like me to put some music on?”

“Ja, that would be good.”

Nodding, Essek glided over to the control panel in the wall and scrolled through his music collection until he found a slow-moving orchestral track. As the first notes twined through the air, he drifted back over to his husband and extended his hand, palm up. “This room is rather small for dancing. We could move to my bedchamber if—if that is amenable to you.”

Caleb’s eyes darkened, pupils dilating until only a thin ring of blue remained. Wordlessly, he took Essek’s hand in his own, allowing Essek to lead him through the archway, deeper into his private chambers.

The bedroom, thankfully, was neater than his study had been, no stray dishes or clutter strewn about. He turned back to Caleb and disengaged his gravity adjusters, allowing his feet to touch the floor as Caleb’s free hand came to rest against the small of his back. They swayed in place for a moment before Caleb leaned in to nuzzle the side of Essek’s neck. Essek tilted his head obligingly, the tips of his ears warming as Caleb guided him through a simple sequence across the expanse of carpet between the bed and the rest of the furnishings.

“You can relax,” Caleb murmured as they finished their first circuit about the room. “It will be easier if you relax.”

Essek chuckled. “I have never relaxed a day in my life.”

“No? Well, then, I will have to make sure I take good care of you.” At Essek’s shiver, Caleb drew back, a curious cant to his head. “Does that appeal to you, Schatz? The idea of someone taking care of you?”

The air in Essek’s lungs suddenly felt too hot. He averted his gaze, stumbling through the next few steps as he struggled to formulate a response. When nothing occurred to him after a few seconds, he focused on mimicking Caleb’s movements. It was more challenging than he’d anticipated, his focus split between his footwork and the meandering tempo of the music, but then he remembered what Caleb had said at dinner, about moving beyond mere choreography to dance with one’s partner, and he shifted his attention back to Caleb, letting him lead.

“Good,” Caleb murmured, dropping a kiss on Essek’s collarbone. “Very good.”

A frisson of desire prickled at the base of his spine. He tilted his head back to give Caleb better access, breath catching at the scrape of teeth against his clavicle, but there was no time to dwell on the sensation. As the music swelled, Caleb swung him in a sweeping arc, his hold on Essek’s waist loosening. Instinctively, Essek scrambled to grab onto the collar of Caleb’s coat, but he needn’t have worried: Caleb’s other arm was already drawing him close once more, strong against his back.

“Sorry,” Caleb said as Essek steadied himself. “You all right?”

Essek gave a weak laugh, his pulse gradually slowing. “You’d think I’d be more accustomed to sudden changes in gravity, since most of my experiments involve bending it to my will. Yet somehow it still catches me off-guard.”

Caleb spun him again, more gently this time, and kissed the slope of his shoulder. “I know what you mean. I’d never been off-planet until I met the Nein. I nearly dislocated my shoulder slamming into a wall before Fjord started giving me lessons on me how to maneuver in micro-gravity. Even then, it was a few months before I stopped knocking into things.”

Essek raised an eyebrow. “Not as graceful in micro-gravity as you are in your dancing, hmm?”

“Fortunately, I wasn’t the only one who had to adjust. Veth hated visiting the engine room at first. Said it wasn’t natural, how gravity just stopped working in the inner cylinder of the ship. Of course, the gravity in the outer cylinder wasn’t gravity at all, just centrifugal force from the rotation of the hull, but that didn’t make a difference to her.”

“I suppose in practical terms, the distinction is academic,” Essek allowed. “Given the choice, however, I prefer a gravitational field generator. Centrifugal force presents too many opportunities for motion sickness.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Caleb said, and pulled him into another spin. This time, Essek leaned into it, playing the counterweight to Caleb’s anchor. They did three full rotations before Caleb reeled him in close. “Centrifugal force has its advantages.”

Essek shivered as the words ghosted over his ear, the sensation racing outward from his spine to hum just beneath the surface of his skin. It felt like taking hold of of a live wire, except there was no pain, just a fizzing sort of pleasure. Caleb’s arm cinched around his waist, holding him upright as the sensation dimmed to a few errant sparks.

“An admirable point,” Essek allowed, altering their path to guide Caleb toward the bed. “But in the interest of a fair and balanced debate, I would like to offer a counterargument.”

Caleb tilted his chin in assent. “By all means.”

“Centrifugal force may be able to simulate gravity,” Essek said, grabbing the lapels of Caleb’s coat, “but where it pertains to falling, there is nothing quite like the real thing.”

Caleb’s brow furrowed. “I’m not sure I—” he began, then yelped as Essek pulled him down onto the bed.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-One

Essek bounced as his back hit the plush coverlet, an amused huff escaping his throat at his husband’s startled squeak. Caleb managed to catch himself on his forearms as Essek pulled him onto the bed, but they still ended up nose-to-nose, close enough Essek could feel the whisper of Caleb's breath against his lips. He smirked. “Did I catch you off-guard?”

“A bit, ja.” Caleb drew back to look at him, strands of auburn hair hanging down to tickle Essek’s cheeks. “You’re feeling bold tonight.”

“The first strike offers many advantages. I’m simply seizing control of the battlefield.” Essek placed a hand on the back of Caleb’s neck to guide him closer. Caleb obligingly leaned in for a kiss, spine relaxing as he settled over Essek’s body. The stubble on his jaw scraped lightly over Essek’s chin as their mouths collided, but his lips were soft, his teeth careful as they nipped at Essek’s lower lip. Essek groaned and deepened the kiss. It was easier than he’d expected to lose himself in the sensation, to part his lips so Caleb’s tongue could dip into his mouth. The last time they’d kissed, it had been impulsive, both of them too lost in the moment to concern themselves with technique. This was slower, more deliberate. They had time to enjoy each other now, time to linger.

“You’re good at this,” Essek murmured between kisses. “Unfairly so.”

“You’re not so bad yourself, meine Perle.”

Essek’s eyelids fluttered. “I don’t recognize that one. Meine Perle.”

“It’s Zemnian for ‘my pearl.’ It’s meant to imply the recipient is precious beyond price.”

Precious indeed, Essek thought. Xhorhas’s oceans were too acidic to support the sort of shellfish that thrived in other biospheres, which meant that if you wanted pearls, you had to have them imported—an expensive endeavor, given how much it cost to transport even a few ounces of luxury goods between star systems. “Are we exchanging terms of endearment now?”

“That depends. Do you have something you want to call me?”

Essek hummed thoughtfully, but before he could answer, Caleb flicked his tongue against the tip of Essek’s ear. Essek gasped, his hips grinding up against Caleb’s. “Perhaps I should call you a tease,” he said to cover his embarrassment. “How long do you intend to vex me with these half-measures? Should I clear my schedule for the rest of the evening?”

Caleb grinned. “For the next half hour, at least. Unless you’d rather I stay the night?”

Essek clutched at the front of Caleb’s coat. “Do—do you want to stay?” he asked, feeling like he’d missed a step in their dance.

“I could,” Caleb said cautiously. “Is that all right?”

Essek hesitated. There was a certain appeal to the idea of waking up wrapped in Caleb’s arms, but it still felt like a forbidden indulgence, one he had no right to claim. He didn’t even know if Caleb would still want him after tonight. “I think perhaps we are getting ahead of ourselves,” he said instead of answering. “After all, you haven’t even taken off your coat yet.”

“I suppose I should remedy that,” Caleb said gravely. He pushed himself to his feet and shrugged off the coat. Beneath it he wore a beige shirt overlaid with a curious leather harness that stretched from his shoulders to a pair of book holsters at his waist. The textbook Essek had lent him was tucked into the left holster, its title hidden beneath one of the straps, while the other holster held Caleb’s tablet and a translation dictionary.

As Essek sat up to admire the broad planes of his chest, Caleb slipped the straps off his shoulders and carefully hung the harness over the desk chair. His undershirt went next, and then his socks, but before he could unbuckle his belt, Essek’s eyes caught on a ridge of scar tissue just beneath Caleb’s ribs. He reached out, fingertips brushing over the raised skin.

“A souvenir from my mercenary days,” Caleb explained. “We were uprooting a den of slavers from the Shadycreek Outpost, and their leader slashed me open with a glaive. Caduceus patched me up, but there wasn’t much he could do about the scar. Veth keeps telling me I should have it professionally treated, but . . .”

“But you don’t like the idea of someone else modifying your body, even cosmetically,” Essek said, then sighed when Caleb tensed. “It’s not hard to figure out. You mentioned earlier that you once fainted at the sight of someone getting their ears pierced. Between that and the scars on your arms . . .”

Caleb winced. “Ah.”

“I will not pry,” Essek said, though a part of him very much wanted to. “Your pain is yours to share or withhold as you see fit. But know that if you ever do decide to talk about it, you will receive no judgment from me.”

Caleb dropped his gaze, scratching anxiously at one forearm with his thumb. “I appreciate that, but, ah, we were in the middle of something, ja?”

“We were.” Essek straightened, looking Caleb up and down. “You look very nice like this.”

Caleb managed a pained smile. “You’re too kind.”

“On the contrary, I think you are too modest.” Essek thumbed the clasp of his robe’s collar, his gaze dropping to his lap. He couldn’t help but think of the last time he’d tried to bare himself to Caleb. He’d wanted him then, desperately enough for his desire to override common sense, but he’d panicked, perceived rejection where there had been none.

It wouldn’t be like that this time. Caleb had made his intentions clear. Still, a little more information wouldn’t go amiss. “We haven’t discussed the details of how we are to proceed beyond this point,” Essek said. “I am no expert in the realm of exchanging pleasures, but I am not wholly without experience. What would you ask of me?”

“Well,” Caleb said, resting his forearms on Essek’s shoulders, the way he had as they’d danced, “what do you like?”

Essek glanced up. “What do I like?”

“Ja.”

“It . . . isn’t something I’ve given much thought,” he admitted. “I’ve never—that is, my previous betrothed wasn’t particularly concerned with such things.”

“Your previous betrothed sounds like an asshole,” Caleb said frankly.

A bitter laugh slipped past Essek’s teeth. “That’s one word for him, yes. But the same could be said of myself. I’ve always been selfish. Adeen and I would never have been close, but if I’d been more willing to bend, we at least could have tolerated each other.”

A furrow formed between Caleb’s eyebrows, but whatever he was thinking, he was kind enough not to say it. “All right. What about before Adeen? You mentioned in our first meeting that you’d had prior dalliances. Was there anything from those encounters that you particularly enjoyed?”

“Ah, no, not really. Those dalliances were . . . hmm. How to phrase this delicately?” He cleared his throat. “In the pursuit of one’s ambitions, it is sometimes necessary to make compromises. Sex was something that mattered little enough to me that I didn’t mind exchanging it for more valuable favors.”

“But that is not what we are doing here,” Caleb said, not quite a question.

Essek met his eyes. “No. That’s not what we’re doing here.”

A trace of conflict lingered in the corners of Caleb’s mouth, as if he were reconsidering this whole endeavor, but within a few heartbeats, his ambivalence gave way to resolve. “Well, in any case, I’d like to do something nice for you. So if there is anything you’ve ever wanted to try, I am happy to oblige.”

Essek bit his lip. That was a substantial offer, even considering how generous Caleb usually was with him. “I do not want to be selfish.”

“But?”

“I’ve . . . never had anyone use their mouth on me.” He peeked up at Caleb through his eyelashes, embarrassment prickling at the base of his neck. “You do not have to, of course. I’m certain I will enjoy whatever you do with me, so please—”

Caleb laid a fingertip against Essek’s lips. “I want to,” he said simply, and let his fingers trail down the column of Essek’s throat to where his neck met his robes. “May I take this off?”

He nodded. Caleb unfastened the robe’s golden clasps one by one, pausing between each one to press a kiss along Essek’s clavicle. As the robe fell away, Caleb’s teeth grazed the juncture between Essek’s neck and shoulder, sending an electrifying jolt down Essek’s spine. He yelped, hands shooting out to grab Caleb’s waist.

“Sensitive?” Caleb asked.

“Yes,” he said meekly.

Caleb ran his palm down Essek’s back, his expression turning serious. “You will tell me if it’s too much, ja? I don’t want to push you into something you’re not ready for.”

“I know,” he said, and he did. But it soothed something in him to hear the words. He knew better than most that the distance between knowing a thing and believing it could span entire galaxies, but it was . . . easier with Caleb. Easier to trust. Easier to let go. “Thank you.”

Caleb hummed softly, slipping his fingers under the hem of Essek’s undershirt. He glanced up, waiting for permission, and at Essek’s nod peeled the garment up over his head and tossed it to the floor. Essek’s breath caught as Caleb laid a trail of kisses from his throat to his sternum, the muscles of his chest fluttering, but his control fractured when Caleb flicked his tongue against one of his nipples. He arched his back, the air hissing out of his lungs. “Now you’re just teasing.”

“Maybe a little,” Caleb allowed, and sucked the nipple between his lips. Essek’s hips stuttered, gliding against the firm planes of Caleb’s abdomen, and with mortification he realized he was already hard. He jerked back, pressing himself deeper into the mattress, but Caleb didn’t seem put off by his arousal. If anything, he seemed pleased, wrapping his hands around Essek’s thighs and pulling him closer to nuzzle at his abdomen. “May I?” he asked as he ran two fingers along the inside of Essek’s waistband.

Essek gave a slight nod. Caleb pressed his lips once more to Essek’s navel, then his hip, before sliding his pants down and planting another line of kisses along the inside of his thigh. Essek tipped his head back, throwing an arm over his face. It was too much and not enough, this sweet, unraveling torture, and as Caleb mouthed at the opalescent silk of Essek’s underwear, he found himself babbling. “Light, Caleb, please, I need you.”

“I’m here,” Caleb promised, and slipped Essek’s underwear down to his ankles to join his pants. With a frustrated whine, Essek kicked off both garments and spread his legs. He wanted Caleb’s mouth on him, wanted Caleb to turn him over and take him over the edge of the bed, wanted those callused hands bearing him down into the mattress. He’d constructed a dozen fantasies around this moment, but he’d overestimated his restraint; Caleb had barely even touched him and already he felt like he was coming apart. “I’m here,” Caleb repeated, and licked a long stripe up the length of his shaft.

Essek gasped. “C-Caleb . . .”

“Meine Perle,” he murmured, lifting Essek’s legs so his thighs rested on Caleb’s shoulders. “Let me take care of you.” He ran his tongue just under the head of Essek’s cock, then closed his lips over the tip.

Essek let out a harsh breath, one hand coming down to tangle in Caleb’s hair as Caleb took him deeper, and soon enough he was lost to the sensations: the warm slickness of Caleb’s mouth, the teasing flicker of his tongue, the bristling scrape of his beard on the inside of Essek’s thighs. Essek had been on the other side of this act a few times and always found it excruciatingly intimate, but evidently Caleb had fewer inhibitions—he lavished attention on Essek’s cock, licking and sucking until he found a pattern that made Essek’s breath hitch. Distantly, Essek could feel the thrum of his pulse, fluttering rapidly. His whole body felt tense, like a steel cable stretched between two pillars, every filament strained to snapping. He was close. He knew he was close, but the expected release didn’t come, and the tension just ratcheted up another notch.

“Caleb, please,” he begged as the first stirrings of distress began to tug at him, but even as he said it, he knew it wouldn’t make a difference. Caleb wasn’t the problem; he was. It didn’t matter that his body was teetering on the edge of overstimulation. His inability to surrender control would keep him from reaching that peak no matter how desperately he wanted it.

And oh, how he wanted it. Attraction was one thing, intimacy another, but neither word could encompass the need coiling tight inside him as Caleb rolled his tongue over the tip of his cock. “You’re doing so well for me, Schatz,” he murmured, lifting his head. Essek whimpered at the praise. He knew Caleb was merely being affectionate, but the words were overwhelming nonetheless.

And yet it still wasn’t enough. He could feel his release slipping further out of reach with every moment. He wasn’t going to be able to let go. “Caleb, I don’t—I don’t know if I can,” he said helplessly, tears pricking in the corners of his eyes.

Caleb peered up at him, his vibrant blue eyes catching the light. He was a vision like this: hair loose around his face, pale skin reflecting the warm glow of the wall-sconces, shoulders bared and bracing Essek’s legs up. Yet it was the softness in his gaze that stilled Essek’s rising panic. Caleb stroked the curve of Essek’s thigh with one callused hand, soothingly, and said, “Can you do it for me?”

Essek stared. “What?”

Caleb kissed the side of his knee. “It’s hard to relinquish control, I know. But can you do it for me?”

“I . . .” He trailed off. There was no judgment in Caleb’s face, just a profound tenderness, as if Essek were the most precious thing in the world. Essek felt something deep inside him give way, like a wall of sand collapsing as the tide rolled in. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I think so.”

“Good.” Caleb dipped his head once more, swallowing him down.

Essek closed his eyes, breath quickening. His nascent panic had subsided, but he still felt every sweep of Caleb’s tongue, every tantalizing brush of Caleb’s beard on his skin. It wasn’t long before he was panting once more, his body trembling on the edge of release. He cleared his throat, straining for coherency. “I, ah—I think I’m close.”

Caleb gave a pleased hum, and the vibration of his voice was enough to tip Essek over the edge. He cried out, fireworks crackling across his nerves, a cascading burst of sensation. Then the intensity of that initial peak dimmed, and he was left with only rippling waves of pleasure, like tiny motes of light sparking across his sweat-damp skin. Caleb continued to lave gently at his length, working him through it, until at last Essek collapsed atop the coverlet, body quivering like a just-plucked harp string.

“All right?” Caleb asked from somewhere far away.

Essek managed a weak nod. There were things he was supposed to say, favors he was supposed to offer in return, but all the words had gone out of his head. Caleb crawled onto the bed next to him, lying on his side so Essek merely had to turn his head to meet his eyes. He gave Essek an assessing glance, then shifted closer to press a kiss between his eyebrows. Essek shivered, tucking his face into Caleb’s shoulder, and as Caleb slid an arm underneath his head as a pillow, the maelstrom in Essek’s heart calmed. “There we go,” Caleb murmured, his other arm coming to rest over Essek’s side. “Just rest now, meine Perle. I have you.”

“You’ll stay?” he asked, the first coherent words to find his tongue.

Surprise darted across Caleb’s face, then softened into something warmer. “Ja, I’ll stay.”

Essek nodded. His body felt heavy, wrung-out, his whirring thoughts for once quiescent. He burrowed into Caleb’s embrace and let himself drift.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-Two

Caleb counted out the seconds as Essek settled against him. It took less than a minute for the drow’s faint tremors to calm, for his breathing to slow to the restful rhythm of sleep. Caleb ran his hand along the column of his husband’s spine. He could still feel the ache of his own arousal, gradually subsiding now. Essek’s responsiveness had affected him more than he’d expected, but he could be patient. He had time for patience, now that he had something tangible to hand over to the Assembly.

His eyes strayed past his husband, to the chair from which his book holsters hung. The textbook Essek had given him dangled from the harness’s left pocket, its rich red-cloth cover all but inviting him to peek inside. The Assembly had already worked out some of the basic principles of dunamancy from their research with the beacons, but there would undoubtedly be gaps in their understanding. But even if this tome held no new discoveries for them, merely possessing it was proof that Caleb’s efforts to earn Essek’s trust were paying dividends. Essek’s generosity had potentially bought Caleb weeks of safety for the Nein.

Not that he’ll ever know that, unless your mission goes horribly wrong. He winced. Everything he’d said to Essek tonight had been true, but that didn’t change the fact that it had started as a calculated ploy to build upon the trust between them. At best, Caleb had hoped to wrangle a few hours in Essek’s lab under the guise of testing the materials for his protective cloak. Instead, Essek had offered him a book from his personal collection, one he’d clearly referenced often based on the worn quality of the pages. He’d risked a great deal, entrusting such sensitive material to an outsider, husband or not. To repay that trust with subterfuge . . .

Perhaps I can find a way to mitigate the damage, Caleb thought, knowing it was little more than a sop to his conscience. Nothing would change the fact that he was betraying Essek with every tidbit he shared, or that he would continue to do so as long as the Nein’s survival hinged on his cooperation. He couldn’t afford to dwell on that now, lest Essek wake and sense the conflict swirling inside him, but as soon as he had a moment to himself, the self-loathing would come surging back in force.

Carefully, he extricated himself from his husband’s embrace. Essek stirred, eyelids flickering, then sank once more into unconsciousness as Caleb eased out of the bed and tiptoed over to the desk. There, he slipped the book out of its holster, along with his translation dictionary and, after a moment’s consideration, his tablet. He’d been practicing his Undercommon in his spare hours, but he wasn’t Beauregard—he couldn’t pick up languages just by hearing them. And if his efforts to parse the book of Xhorhassian fairy tales he’d acquired were any indication, he read Undercommon about as well as a five-year-old. He’d need more than a translation dictionary to unravel this book.

Settling back into bed, he opened the textbook and began working his way through the table of contents. Based on the breadth of subjects, the book was clearly meant to be an introductory text. The topics covered not only the technical aspects of dunamancy—density, gravity, time, potential—but also the philosophical: how dunamantic principles were reflected within the natural world and how the doctrine of the Luxon had formed around those principles. Faith and science were closely intertwined, or so the chapter titles seemed to indicate. He wondered what Essek thought of that, as an atheist—if the hints of scorn Caleb had glimpsed in him were aimed toward the belief system itself or merely toward those who clung to it so tightly they closed their minds to further study.

He kept reading, stopping every few words to riffle through his translation dictionary. That got him through most of the more ubiquitous words, though every few sentences he had to consult his tablet. So it wasn’t until he’d spent the better part of an hour working that he saw the first of Essek’s annotations, an underlined passage accompanied by a brief note in the margins: Outdated as of 754 P.D. See the works of Ivrisil del Mierva for more effective methods re: delineating the boundaries of dunamantic fields.

Intrigued, Caleb focused on the underlined section. It related to gravitational field generators, and how their practical use had been hindered by the difficulty of restricting their scope to a limited range. Unsurprisingly, initial attempts to manipulate gravity on a grand scale had led to a lot of crushed experimental apparatuses, as well as a number of researchers getting dragged into gravity wells. Those who had been lucky enough to survive the early days of such developments had gone on to invent methods to more precisely control such effects, but evidently advancements had been made since this tome had been published.

Curious, Caleb began leafing through the rest of the book. Several pages later, he found another note, this one speculating on whether amplifying the density of an object might be more effective in altering the local gravity than trying to manipulate such a fundamental force directly. Caleb kept going, feeling that familiar shiver of excitement at the prospect of new information. Essek had written something every three or four pages, and while many of the annotations were faded with age, some were newer, inked in a more refined hand—corrections and speculations from later in Essek’s career.

Most of the notes were academic in nature, but occasionally hints of personality peeked through in the form of cutting remarks. Caleb was halfway through a paragraph of scathing criticism about how the priests of the Luxon denied access to valuable research materials to those outside their ranks when Essek stirred, legs extending in a catlike stretch. Caleb smiled as his husband’s eyelids fluttered open. “You drifted off for a bit, meine Perle,” he said, infusing his voice with a playful edge as he nuzzled Essek’s forehead.

“Not for too long, I hope,” Essek said with a hint of uncertainty, like he was worried he’d disappointed Caleb by dozing off.

“I’ve been keeping myself occupied,” Caleb assured him, lifting up the book. “Though I’ll admit I’m somewhat surprised you write in your textbooks. I’d have expected you to find that untidy.”

“I am capable of being practical when it comes to my studies,” Essek said primly. “Didn’t you ever write in yours?”

“Nein. The textbooks I used belonged to the academy. If I’d been caught writing in them, I’d have had to pay for them.”

Essek gave him an odd look, and too late, Caleb realized his answer didn’t match up with the background Ludinus’s people had crafted for him, which indicated he’d been born into nobility—not the sort of person who’d have trouble affording textbooks. But Essek let his answer pass without comment, sitting up to glance at the page Caleb had been reading. “Ah,” he said, wincing. “I’d forgotten about that little rant. Not the most diplomatic way to phrase my opinions on the faith.”

“Ja, if the depth of the pen marks is any indication, you were very passionate about this bit.” Caleb grinned, dropping a kiss atop Essek’s head. “I don’t mind, Schatz. If anything, your conviction makes you more attractive.”

“Hmm.” Essek slid a knee between Caleb’s thighs and gave him a lingering once-over. “Shall I take that to mean you’re interested in continuing this interlude?”

Caleb set the book aside and placed a hand on Essek’s bare hip to draw him closer. “If you’re amenable, ja.”

“More than amenable, Caleb Widogast.” Essek skimmed the tips of his toes along the back of Caleb’s calf. “One might even say eager.”

Caleb felt a spike of arousal low in his gut. Stars, confidence was a good look on his husband. Far better than the halting nervousness Caleb had glimpsed in him when he'd spoken of his previous lovers. “Good. Ja, that’s good. Did you, ah, have a specific scenario in mind, or . . . ?”

“You tell me. You’re the one with the smutty book collection.”

“That is true, though I can’t vouch for their realism. Some of the scenes in those books are rather . . . anatomically dubious. I can’t imagine either of us would find much pleasure in getting fucked while bouncing on a trampoline, for example.”

A startled laugh burst from Essek’s lips. “Surely you’re exaggerating.”

“Nein. It’s a scene from Dance of the Acrobats. One of the romantic leads is a beautiful ribbon dancer, while the other is a stoic trapeze artist from a rival troupe. They have a saucy affair, involving a lot of private shows and swooning admiration. But then the ribbon dancer’s troupe suffers a disastrous setback which leaves their best acrobat injured, and she must go to her lover to convince him to join her for the featured act.”

“And she can’t perform the featured act on her own because . . . ?”

Caleb shrugged. “You know, it’s never really made clear. Presumably because the book is more satisfying if she and her lover get to do a grand performance together, but I’ll admit the plot gets a little thin toward the end.”

“I suppose if anyone were athletic enough to have sex while jumping on a trampoline, it would be a pair of acrobats,” Essek remarked. “That said, I think such a thing would be—what is the phrase?—a little out of our wheelhouse.”

“True.” Caleb stroked the curve of Essek’s thigh. “There are plenty of things we could try that don’t involve masterful feats of agility and stamina. I’ve read that shower sex can be quite enjoyable, so long as you have a good water heater.”

“I do have quite a nice shower,” Essek said, sliding out of bed. “Would you like to see it?”

Caleb grinned, following him through the silver-trimmed door of the adjoining bathroom. It was half again the size of his own, with walls of sparkling black stone and strands of tiny blue lights strung about the mirror, granting just enough illumination to see by. Essek tapped several commands into the control panel beside the shower, then turned back to Caleb. “Might I finish undressing you?”

Caleb nodded, feeling a twinge of nerves. Essek hadn’t balked at his body yet, not even at the gnarled scar beneath his ribs, but it was hard not to feel insecure looking at Essek’s smooth, unblemished skin. Essek was beautiful in the way only those with fine bone structure and access to the amenities of a privileged life could be, while Caleb was . . . well. He wouldn’t blame Essek if he was disappointed.

Yet there was no hesitation in Essek as he unfastened Caleb’s belt buckle, no hesitation as he dragged Caleb’s trousers down his thighs and let them drop to the floor. Caleb shucked them off, his face heating, and then Essek’s fingers were teasing at the elastic of his underwear. “All right?”

“Ja,” Caleb said hoarsely.

Essek laid a kiss on Caleb’s clavicle, then slid Caleb’s underwear down in one smooth motion. Caleb held his breath as Essek’s gaze dipped low, his stomach tightening at the faint smirk that touched his husband’s lips. “You know, I’d read that humans had hair all over, but somehow it hadn’t occurred to me that you’d be hairy down there as well.”

“I could trim it, if you—if you preferred.”

“Oh, don’t misunderstand, Caleb. I like it.” Essek’s eyes swept over Caleb’s body, the sly amusement giving way to sincerity. “I like you.”

Caleb drew in a shallow breath, each word sinking in like a blade. “I like you, too,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to Essek’s to hide the guilt that was surely burning in his eyes. “Very much.”

“Good.” Essek took his hands and tugged him toward the shower. Caleb matched his steps, his mind oddly detached from what was happening. He’d imagined this night a hundred times, plotting every step, working out contingencies for every scenario, but somewhere amidst the dining and the dancing, all his meticulously crafted scripts had slipped from his grasp. It was all he could do to follow Essek’s lead as they stepped beneath the spray, as the frosted glass door closed behind them. Essek’s hands found his hips, drawing him closer still, until their bodies were gliding against one another, water running in rivulets between them. Within minutes, they were both panting, as much from the heat and humidity as from their rising arousal.

Focus, Caleb told himself. He poured a dab of soap into his palm—it smelled of jasmine—and used it to slick up the insides of Essek’s thighs. “Is this all right?” he asked, nudging the tip of his cock between Essek’s legs. 

“Caleb, you could fuck me up against the wall and I wouldn’t complain.” Essek wrapped his arms around Caleb’s neck. “Whatever you want, moya zvezda. I will tell you if it’s too much.”

Moya zvezda, Caleb thought. My star. He brushed Essek’s hair back so he could place a kiss on his forehead, then began to move. Essek adjusted his stance, the circle of his arms narrowing as he rose onto his tiptoes, and together they settled into a steady rhythm, Caleb thrusting in time with the roll of Essek’s hips. It wasn’t long before they were both clinging to each other, desire morphing into desperation. Caleb curled his soap-slick fingers around Essek’s cock and began working him in quick strokes, matching the pace of his thrusts. He could feel his own climax building, like a spring under pressure, but he forced his breathing to even out, delaying his release as Essek’s thighs tensed around his cock. He wanted this to be good for both of them, wanted to watch the pleasure break across Essek’s face as he came undone, wanted Essek to sink loose-limbed and sated into his arms. And so he held himself back, focusing on the mechanics of the act, until at last Essek went taut in his arms, shouting as he came. Caleb held him tight through those first shuddering aftershocks, then thrust once, twice, three times before his own release slammed into him, whiting out his vision and leaving his knees quivering.

When his mind came back to him some minutes later, he was kneeling on the shower floor, water cascading down his back, with Essek’s face tucked against his chest. Gingerly, Caleb rested a hand on the nape of his husband’s neck. “How are you feeling?”

Essek’s arms tightened briefly around Caleb’s shoulders. “Good. And yourself?”

Caleb took a quick mental inventory. He felt simultaneously lighter than air and so heavy he might collapse onto the shower floor and stay there until the water ran cold. “Tired. But good.”

Essek gave an amused huff. “I’d offer to carry you back to bed, but I fear my legs would collapse the moment I tried to lift you.”

“You’re clever. I’m sure you could figure something out.”

“I do have a hover-disk down in my lab that could carry you, but I doubt it would fit through the door. You’re not supposed to turn them on their side once they’re activated. Too much chance the stabilizers will slip out of alignment and send the disk ricocheting off the walls.” He paused, head tilting. “You could borrow my gravity adjusters, but I should warn you, they require a fair bit of coordination.”

Caleb grinned. “Calling me clumsy, are you? I’m wounded.”

“Not clumsy. Maybe a little unsteady at the moment.” Essek trailed his fingers over the side of Caleb’s knees, a tickling pressure.

“Ja, okay, that’s fair,” Caleb said. “But you will let me try them on another time, ja? I’m curious to see how they work.” A twinge of guilt tugged at his heart, but he pushed it away. Essek had already handed him a textbook filled with dunamantic theory. Next to that, the opportunity to fiddle with one of his inventions was a small request.

“Alas, I don’t think they’ll fit you,” Essek said. “But perhaps I could make another set. New data-points are always useful.” He rose to his feet, stretching languidly as the water poured down the curve of his back. Caleb stood as well, taking the opportunity to rinse himself off before stepping out of the shower. They toweled themselves dry, Essek donning a black terrycloth bathrobe on his way back to the bedroom. “Well? Are you coming to bed or not?”

Caleb chuckled. “So impatient, meine Perle. Ready to go again so soon?”

“I’m not quite that ambitious.” Essek gave him a crooked smile. “But it’s late, and as I recall, humans need more sleep than elves. If I am feeling tired, you must be exhausted.”

“Ja, no, you’re right. A few hours of rest would do me good.” He pressed his lips to Essek’s cheek, joy a bright warmth in his chest, and smiled. “To bed, then.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-Three

The rustle of silk sheets pulled Caleb from his slumber. He stretched languidly and opened his eyes to see Essek perched on the edge of the bed, hair tousled, bathrobe hanging loose around his shoulders. The blue-tinted glow of his tablet’s screen scattered across his face, stark against the otherwise pervasive darkness of the bedroom.

“Early morning,” Caleb murmured. It was eight minutes past sixth bell.

Essek glanced at him, laying the tablet face-down on his lap. “Apologies. I didn’t mean to wake you. You can sleep a while longer if you’d like.”

“I don’t mind.” With a tap of his fingers, Caleb turned on the beside lamp, adjusting it to its dimmest setting so it wouldn’t hurt Essek’s eyes, and started gathering his clothes from where they’d been strewn about the floor. “I should head back to my rooms anyway. Frumpkin will be expecting breakfast, and if he doesn’t get it, he’ll be yowling outside your door within the hour.”

“Can’t have that,” Essek said quietly, a tentative cast to his expression. He rose and drifted to his dresser, withdrawing a translucent gray undershirt and opalescent pants and folding them over his arm.

Caleb paused in the middle of putting on his pants. “You all right?”

“I—yes. Everything is fine.”

With a sense of foreboding, Caleb dragged his pants up over his hips, then stepped up behind his husband to wrap his arms around his waist. Essek stilled for three heartbeats, then slowly relaxed, tipping his head back to rest on Caleb’s shoulder. Caleb kissed the side of his neck, softly, reassuring. “I will see you downstairs for breakfast, ja?”

Essek shook his head. “Unfortunately, I don’t have time to linger today,” he said, sliding free of Caleb’s embrace. “I’m meeting with some associates and won’t be back until this afternoon.”

“You can’t be at your best if you don’t eat,” Caleb said. “That’s what my friend Caduceus would tell you if he heard you were skipping meals.”

“Your friend sounds very wise.” Essek hesitated, looking torn, then said, “I’ll have Merrillil prepare me something light to eat on my way there.”

“Good,” Caleb said, withdrawing. It was clear something had put Essek on his guard, but he’d accepted Caleb’s embrace easily enough, which suggested the source of his worries lay elsewhere. A family matter, perhaps?

Regardless, Caleb didn’t wish to fracture Essek’s fragile trust by pressing for details, so instead, he finished gathering up his clothes and headed back to the central tower. As he reached his chambers, Frumpkin leapt off the bed to stand in front of his food bowl, tail swishing impatiently. Caleb smiled and reached down to run his hand down Frumpkin’s back. “At least I know you won’t be skipping breakfast.”

Frumpkin meowed, winding between Caleb’s ankles as he peeled open a can of tuna and mixed it with some dry kibble, an apology for his absence last night. Frumpkin eyed his preparations with interest, eagerly tucking in as Caleb stepped back. “Ja, that’s a good cat.”

He went to his closet to trade last night’s clothes for fresh ones, scrolling through his schedule as he dressed. After nearly a month of joint appearances and press events, their days were finally settling into what Caleb imagined would become their version of normal. They’d still be expected to attend events for Den Thelyss, as well as maintain ties with the various organizations Essek was affiliated with—he’d been invited to give a speech next week at the annual fundraiser for the Marble Tomes Conservatory—but as the public excitement over their wedding had dwindled, the news cycle had turned its eyes elsewhere, leaving them with more time to themselves. So Caleb dressed in his usual garb, book holsters resting at his sides, coat hanging heavily over his shoulders. Between working on the protective cloak and translating the textbook Essek had given him, he had plenty to keep him occupied.

He laid out his translation dictionary and tablet on the bed and flipped open to the page where he’d left off. Normally, he’d have downloaded the contents using the e-code on the interior of the cover flap so he could run the text through his tablet’s translation app, but he’d discovered last night that the book had no e-code—not an insurmountable hurdle, but it meant he’d have to do his own translating. In some ways, that was a positive, as it gave him a legitimate reason to hand over the information inside in bits and pieces, rather than all at once. But even that excuse would only grant him a few weeks at most. Inevitably, one of Ludinus’s people would realize it was more efficient for Caleb to simply take a picture of each page and send the images to the Assembly’s translators for analysis, at which point any chance of him obfuscating Essek’s personal annotations would vanish.

Logically, Caleb knew that was an arbitrary boundary. Essek had lent him this book with the expectation that Caleb would keep it between the two of them. Handing over the information inside was an abuse of Essek’s trust regardless of whether he shared the annotations. And yet, there had to be some line he wouldn’t cross, some betrayal he wouldn’t commit.

As if you haven’t trespassed beyond all hope of forgiveness already. Caleb closed his eyes. He had lured Essek in with promises of companionship, plying him with gifts and reassurances in a bid to secure his role as Essek’s sole confidant, and when he’d seen an opportunity to sink his hooks in deeper, he hadn’t hesitated. If there had ever been any chance of a happy ending for them, he’d ruined it last night when he’d decided seducing Essek was an acceptable means of extracting information.

Beside him, Frumpkin gave a concerned meow. Belatedly, Caleb realized he’d been pressing his hands to either side of his head and squeezing until it ached, as if that would somehow keep the shame from overflowing. Foolish. There was no escaping his shame. There was no escaping any of the things he'd done. But retreating into his own mind would be counterproductive, so instead he forced himself to hold onto Frumpkin, stroking his fur in measured intervals.

“Where does it end?” he whispered to get the words out of his head. “We’ve been here barely a month, yet already it feels like we’re drowning in waters so deep we can’t even see the surface. How much longer can we hold our breath before our lungs are bursting with it? I don’t—” His breathing wavered. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

Frumpkin nuzzled the hollow of his throat. He was purring, the way he always did when Caleb needed soothing, but the comforting rumble did little to dispel his misery. No matter how this ended, Essek would suffer for it, and it would be Caleb’s fault for manipulating him. But there was nothing else he could do. As long as the Assembly held his friends’ lives in their hands, cooperation was the only viable path.

He was out of other options.

*

The deep twilight of the sky warmed in tiny increments as the train rolled westward through the Ghostlands.

Essek stared through the fingerprint-smudged window, watching as the buildings grew progressively more dilapidated. Rosohna was the largest city in the Dynasty, a shining beacon of civilization nestled between the extremes of Xhorhas’s east and west hemispheres, but not even the best engineers could expand its walls fast enough to keep the city’s ever-growing populace from spilling beyond its borders. The Ghostlands were a sprawling hodgepodge of tenement buildings and makeshift houses woven through with a labyrinth of dead-ends and side-streets. This, of course, made them perfectly suited for the sort of underhanded business Essek was conducting today.

As the train began to slow, he tightened his grip on the plastic-upholstered seat beside him. The hologram he wore was that of a broad-shouldered orcish man, one tusk broken, nose crooked and scarred: the sort of visage that warned off all but the boldest of passersby. He’d chosen it to blend in with the rougher working types, but he couldn’t deny that he liked the space it afforded him. Despite his proximity to the doors, no one jostled him or tried to engage him in conversation.

Still, it was a relief when the train pulled into the station. Essek disembarked, moving swiftly to avoid the press of people, and headed immediately for the nearest restroom. There, he activated the jammer in his pocket, disabling the security cameras near his position, and slipped into one of the stalls to switch to his next disguise: that of an older drow man, weathered but nondescript. This was his fourth disguise since he’d left the house—he’d switched appearances after each leg of the trip—but he still couldn’t shake the paranoia that he’d been followed. Ikithon had implied in their last communication that someone on the Empire side had caught on to their dealings. He’d treated it as a minor annoyance, suggested that whoever it was, they weren’t close enough to the truth to be a threat, but Essek couldn’t help but feel exposed. The Assembly would hardly be heartbroken if he were to take the fall for smuggling the beacons out.

Caleb would be. Essek winced at the thought. A foolish sentiment. Whatever Caleb felt for him, care or affection or just simple attraction, it wouldn’t survive the revelation of Essek’s treason. The war would’ve happened with or without his influence—the Empire and the Dynasty had been at odds for decades, the conflict burning brighter with every scrap of territory brought into the two nations’ expanding domains. But the theft of the beacons had lit the fuse, turned the looming inevitability of war into something far more immediate. Whatever Caleb’s reasons for agreeing to their union, be it espionage or blackmail or a genuine belief that it would help mend relations between the Dynasty and the Empire, he was sincere in his desire to build a lasting peace. He would not forgive Essek’s crimes.

Leaving the restroom behind, Essek made his way out of the station, through a narrow maze of streets, until at last he came to a collection of derelict storage units. It was a matter of moments to find the one he was looking for: a unit roughly the size of two hovercraft parked side-by-side, with gaps in the roof that leaked in even the lightest drizzle. He’d registered it under a false name, paying the monthly fee with money that had been siphoned through several accounts, and while no amount of obfuscating falsehoods could entirely conceal his visits here, the lack of functional security cameras would at least make it difficult for anyone to follow his movements remotely.

The door rose with a clangorous rattle as he slid his key card into the slot, revealing the dim, water-stained interior. Essek peered inside, eyes catching on the solitary figure in the corner. He’d expected one of the Assembly’s agents to be waiting for him, but his pulse still jumped at the sight. There was always the chance, however slim, that this would be the day the Assembly decided he was no longer of use to them. Alone in the Ghostlands with only a stunner in his pocket to defend him, he was a distressingly easy target. Not for the first time, he found himself wishing he could’ve delayed this meeting until Caleb finished his protective cloak.

The figure made no move to attack him, however, only leaned back and crossed her arms as the door finished its ascent. She was shorter than him, with the delicate features and purple-gray skin common to the drow: a disguise, almost certainly, but a good one. The Assembly supplied their agents well. Essek pressed the button to lower the door behind him, waiting until they were entirely closed in before speaking. “Well? I assume you have a report for me, given the nature of your master’s message.”

The agent’s eyes narrowed. “The Assembly wished to inform you of a recent break-in at the Vergesson Sanatorium. Numerous files were stolen, among them several documents that reference the project on which you are consulting.”

“The project I facilitated, you mean.” Essek smirked to hide the icy panic shooting through his veins. The sanatorium was one of the Assembly’s most secure facilities, heavily guarded, its security system designed to lock down the entire building should an intruder attempt to bypass the numerous pass-coded doors or biometric scanners. Anyone attempting to break into such a fortified facility would’ve had a clear objective in mind. There was no reason to take such a risk otherwise. Did someone know of his involvement with the Assembly? And if so, to what degree? He doubted his co-conspirators would have been so careless as to name him directly, but if the thieves had been looking for that information, they likely had other pieces of the puzzle.

“The Assembly does not believe the stolen documents are enough, on their own, to jeopardize the project,” the agent went on, her voice neutral. “However, as a gesture of good faith, they thought it best to pass the information along so you may take whatever precautions you see fit.”

Essek didn’t bother to hide his disdain. “A gesture of good faith, hmm? Personally, I’d have preferred an update on our research, but I suppose that would require them to make some actual progress.”

Rage flared behind that flat, empty gaze. Essek watched the woman bite back several scathing replies before her expression closed off entirely. Not quite so well-practiced at hiding your emotions as your master hoped, Essek thought, grimly pleased. Most of the Volstrucker he’d met had carried the same hateful air about them, feverish loyalty mingled with a burning contempt for the Empire’s enemies, but it was rare that they let their zealotry burn so brightly in their eyes. This one must not be as far along in her training as the others. That, or she held some animosity toward him beyond the usual anti-Dynasty indoctrination. Either way, he was glad for any weakness to exploit.

“On the subject of research,” she said stiffly, “they requested I pass along their latest update.” From her sleeve, she produced a small silver disk: a data chip.

Essek drifted closer, his pace casual, unhurried, as if it bothered him not at all to step within stabbing distance of Ikithon’s assassins, and took the chip from her outstretched hand. “Well, it seems this trip wasn’t a waste of time after all.” He pocketed the chip, eyeing the little Volstrucker thoughtfully. Up close, the flaws in her disguise were more apparent: the subtle wrongness to the texture of her hair, the too-smooth quality of her skin, the lack of detail in her irises. Nothing that would be noticed on a cursory inspection, but enough to confirm it was a hologram. Satisfied, Essek withdrew. “Tell Ludinus I will review his findings and send him my notes by this time next week.”

“I’m sure he’ll be delighted to receive them,” the Volstrucker said, not quite managing to hide her resentment. With a final smirk, Essek pressed the button to reopen the door and left the storage unit and the Volstrucker behind.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-Four

The buzz of an incoming message dragged Caleb from the shallows of sleep. He groaned, neck twinging as he peeled his face from the notebook containing his translation work. He’d spent the last two days going through the book Essek had given him, staying up late into the night to unravel its contents, and the long hours were taking their toll. Still, he’d made good progress. The first five chapters were fully translated; all he had to do was run his written notes through a transcription app to convert them to text, and they’d be ready to send off.

He’d omitted Essek’s annotations from the files. He wouldn’t be able to hide them forever, but most of the notes were innocuous enough that if Ludinus asked, Caleb could claim they hadn’t seemed relevant. Ludinus wouldn’t believe him, but with luck he’d interpret it as petty disobedience rather than a sign Caleb was growing unduly attached.

Wiping the grit from his eyes, he picked up his tablet and checked his notifications. There’s a package sitting outside the gate for you, Uraya had sent. The label says it's from the Deepriver Fabrication Plant. Where did you want it?

A package? he wondered before the gears of his brain began to turn. Right. He’d ordered three rolls of metal mesh for use in fashioning Essek’s protective cloak. He hadn’t expected them to arrive so soon. Usually, if you wanted a custom order to get priority, you had to bribe the fabricator.

He texted Uraya back, telling them to leave it in the entryway, then set the tablet down and got to his feet. His back protested fiercely as he straightened. Perhaps those last two hours of translation work had been a bad idea after all; he felt like an automaton that had been left out in the rain to rust. It didn’t help that he’d been slacking on his daily exercise routine—something neither Beauregard nor Fjord would have allowed had he been with them on the Nein Heroez. Maybe he ought to run a few laps around the neighborhood. At least here, the gravity was strong enough that he wouldn’t fling himself into a wall when he inevitably tripped.

Stowing the book and his translation notes in his dresser, he headed downstairs. Uraya was already rolling a medium-sized cardboard box into the entryway on a small dolly. “It’s a little heavy,” they warned as he went to pick it up. “I can retrieve a hover-disk from storage to help carry it.”

“That’s all right,” he assured them, wedging his fingertips beneath the box and lifting it. It was heavy, worryingly so. He’d ordered more mesh than he needed, in case Essek decided he wanted the protective lining incorporated into all his outfits, but if the material was too hefty, it would weigh him down and alter how his clothing hung on his body.

Uraya’s lambent eyes followed the package as he balanced it in his arms. “I’d forgotten how strong humans are.”

Caleb chuckled. “If you think I am strong, you should meet my friend Yasha. I once saw her rip a reinforced door out of its track with her bare hands.” Yasha was technically an aasimar, but to anyone who hadn’t seen the golden wing-shaped patterns on her back and shoulders, she looked like an ordinary, if exceptionally muscular human woman.

“You could always invite your friends to Rosohna for a visit,” Uraya said, a speculative cant to their eyebrows. “We don’t have enough guest rooms to accommodate all of them, but Rosohna has many fine inns and hotels. It would be easy enough to arrange lodging.”

Caleb smothered a pang of nervousness. “I wouldn’t want to pull them away from their work,” he said, shaking his head. “Last I heard, they were in the middle of a rather delicate job. Fussy clients, lots of moving pieces, and all that. They likely won’t be free to visit for some time.”

Uraya studied him keenly, as if trying to read something deeper into his answer. Caleb held their gaze, arranging his face into a mask of polite bemusement, but the faintly troubled furrow of Uraya’s forehead remained. “You know you’re allowed to have guests, yes? Essek would not forbid you from seeing your friends. Even were he foolish enough to try, I would not permit such controlling behavior from my employer, no matter who it was aimed at.”

Caleb paused. That was a rather more dramatic declaration than he’d expected from Essek’s aide. But perhaps he shouldn’t have been surprised. Uraya had made it a priority from the start to ensure Caleb had everything he needed to perform his duties, be it suitable clothing or detailed primers on Dynasty etiquette. Some of that was practicality, he knew, but Uraya had supported him in other ways as well: incorporating the candle-lighting ceremony into the wedding, extending their sympathies when his anxiety had threatened to overwhelm him, even offering the occasional insight into Essek’s more impenetrable moods. Caleb hadn’t expected to find an advocate here of all places, but Uraya had been a steadfast ally since he'd arrived. Maybe it was time he put a little faith in them.

“It is appreciated,” he said, inclining his head. “I will admit, I did worry early on that he would restrict me from communicating with my former companions. But I believe we are past that now. He—” Caleb paused, caught off-guard by a swell of emotion. “I think he has difficulty believing it, but he’s been good to me. He didn’t have to be. He could have resented me for intruding upon his life, for dragging him into a marriage he didn’t ask for. Instead, he chose to be kind.”

Uraya gave him a measuring look. “He will be glad to hear you said so.”

Caleb smiled. “Perhaps he will have an easier time believing it, coming from you.”

“Perhaps he will.”

Recognizing the dismissal, Caleb headed back to his chambers, taking the stairs slowly so as not to overbalance. He set the package on one of the low tables in his sitting room, the muscles in his back twinging. Stars, he really did need to get back into shape; he could already hear Beau shouting at him for neglecting his exercise routine.

Thankfully, he didn’t need to be in fighting trim to open a package. It was mere seconds’ work to peel away the packing tape and cardboard flaps to get at the box’s contents. Inside, three bundles of wire mesh lay nestled against each other, loosely wrapped in cloth. Each roll was comprised of a slightly different copper alloy, the strands finely woven from shining filaments the width of three or four hairs braided together. Caleb grabbed a pair of shears from one of his table’s junk drawers—he’d collected a number of tools and oddments in his wanderings through the city—and snipped a square of mesh from each bundle, comparing their flexibility and heft. The mesh would have to be flexible enough to curl and bend like cloth, but also durable enough not to tear under the slightest strain.

It took only a few moments to determine the first bundle was unsuitable for Essek’s cloak. Though the mesh bent easily enough under his fingers, it was too stiff; any garment lined with it would look unnaturally rigid, as if the fabric were being supported by a wire framework. But the other two bundles were promising. Caleb cut a few more squares from each of those and laid them out on the table in neat rows. Then he retrieved the swatches of fabric he’d gotten from Tival. Four of them had proven promising enough to be worth further testing, so he set to work sewing swatches of each onto the squares of mesh he’d cut out, for a total of eight samples.

By the time he’d finished, it was just past tenth bell. A trickle of anxiety crept down the back of Caleb’s neck. He was due to visit the Stars and Scones Bakery today to update Ludinus on his progress, and while he could theoretically drop by at any time before the bakery closed, he didn’t want to deviate from his routine, lest someone grow curious. Best to proceed as usual.

He selected a set of simple Dynasty-style robes from his dresser, along with a light gray overcoat and icy blue scarf, and left the towers behind, heading for the Gallimaufry district. The air outside was crisp, like the first breath of winter in the Zemni fields. Xhorhas had no axial tilt, but its orbit was such that it did have seasons, albeit mild ones. From what Caleb had read, Rosohna experienced occasional snowfalls in the winter months, enough to frost its elegant spires and sloped rooftops in ice, but for now, the only hint of the turning season was a brisk chill that had him buttoning up his coat as he walked.

“Welcome back,” the orcish proprietor said as he stepped through the doors of the Stars and Scones Bakery. “You here for your usual?”

Caleb suppressed a flutter of unease at her attention. He had no concrete evidence this woman was part of the Assembly’s spy network, but the possibility been lingering at the edges of his mind ever since it had occurred to him several days ago. Investigating wasn’t worth risking his cover—even if he could prove she was one of their agents, there was little he could do about it—so Caleb merely smiled and replied with his usual calculated warmth. “Ja, that would be wonderful, thank you.”

Two minutes later, he had a pair of chocolate croissants and a seat at his regular table. He settled in and spent half an hour playing word puzzles on his tablet. It grated to waste time on something so trivial when he still had three-fourths of the book to translate, but he knew better than most the importance of fading into the background. In the years after his escape from the sanatorium, knowing how to disappear had helped him stay ahead of the people Trent sent to track him down. He couldn’t flee Rosohna as he’d fled his former professor, but those skills could still be useful to him.

When he was certain no one was paying attention, he reached for the familiar bump of the data chip taped to the underside of the table. As expected, his fingertips found the cool metal disk after only a moment’s searching. He popped it into his tablet’s port and set to work decoding the strings of letters, the cipher coming easily after weeks of regular communications. Ludinus’s message was brief and impersonal: Request for update re: your current mission. Any developments?

I was able to acquire a book of some relevance from the target’s private chambers, Caleb replied, encoding the words as he went. The tome appears to have been frequently referenced based on the worn quality of the pages, which leads me to believe it is of considerable utility in his research. I will be sending the translated contents with my reports as I work my way through the book. However, the risk to my cover cannot be overstated; I have replaced the tome with a forgery for the time being, but if the swap is discovered, the target will assume I am responsible. Caleb considered for a moment, then added, I trust this information is sufficient reassurance of my cooperation.

He double-checked the message for errors, then uploaded the file with the first three chapters, saving the other two for his next report. No need to hand over everything just yet.

He ejected the chip and made to stick it once more to the underside of the table. But as he probed around for adhesive strip, his fingers caught on another coin-sized disk. A second data chip? But why? Surely if Ludinus had another message for him, his agent would’ve copied it onto the same disk. Unless it wasn’t from Ludinus. Alarms began to blare in the back of Caleb’s head. If someone else had discovered this drop location, they’d surely be watching to see who stopped by, regardless of whether they’d been able to decode Ludinus’s message. Caleb’s cover could well be compromised already—forty-five minutes was more than long enough for an observer to identify him and notify the Aurora Watch.

Even as part of his brain rapidly began calculating how to flee the city unnoticed, another part had found its way to a second terrible possibility. Ludinus might not have left him any additional messages, but he wouldn't be the only Assembly member aware of Caleb’s mission. Trent had a personal interest in his movements, and the resources to track him. Alone in a foreign land, with no one to insulate him from Ikithon’s manipulations, Caleb was an easy target for whatever threats or offers his former professor might make.

You don’t know it’s him. You won’t know anything until you see what’s on that disk. With effort, he rearranged his expression into a neutral mask and mechanically pressed Ludinus’s data chip to the adhesive until it stuck. Without raising his head, he did another quick scan of the room. Four other patrons, plus the proprietor, all of them seemingly immersed in their own business. One of the customers, a drow girl with streaks of white in her black hair, was sitting alone, a textbook splayed open on her table, but her chair was facing away from him, poorly positioned for covert observation. If anyone was watching him, they were doing an excellent job of blending in. Discreetly, Caleb peeled the second disk free and examined it. It was a standard-issue data chip, the kind you could buy anywhere that sold tech, but as he turned it over, he saw a faint engraving on the back, etched so shallowly he had to tilt it toward the nearby lamp to make it out. When he did, his heart began to pound.

On the back of the data chip was the mark of Captain Tusktooth, the unofficial symbol of the Mighty Nein. His friends had found a way to contact him.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-Five

Essek circled the hologram, eyes tracing the facets of the egg-shaped crystal floating above the lab table. The image was small enough to rest easily in his hand, its outer shell faintly translucent. Every second or so, it pulsed with diffuse gray light, bright and then dim, like the heartbeat of a long-collapsed star.

Or like the slow pulse of a beacon, Essek thought grimly. He wove his fingers through the air to re-summon the constellation of notes and equations attached to the holo-file. He’d picked through them a dozen times already, searching for flaws or inconsistencies, anything that might indicate his co-conspirators were attempting to placate him with false leads. So far as he could tell, their notes were sound. The artificial beacon might not have the storage capacity of its predecessor, but the energy signatures it gave off were undeniably dunamantic.

Why share this now? This device was clearly a product of months of research, months during which Essek had received only the most meager of scraps. The depth of detail in the Assembly’s latest update had been a pleasant surprise, but he couldn’t help but think they’d shared this much only to keep him in line: a shiny bauble to maintain the façade of mutual cooperation when in fact they already had all the leverage they needed to ensure his silence. Or perhaps they’d realized these artificial beacons would be regarded as blasphemous by the Dynasty and thought to give Essek enough rope to hang himself with. A neat way to tie up a loose end. 

He skimmed a paragraph about the device’s irregular shape. Evidently, the smaller structure fit more easily into their testing apparatuses, though there had been concerns that the oblong shape would alter the dunamantic output, like a prism splitting a beam of light. The belief within the Dynasty was that the dodecahedral shape of the beacons was further proof of their divinity, but there was nothing to prove that such artifacts had to take the form of a regular polyhedron. Perhaps it was simply that mankind and nature both preferred repeatable patterns over chaos. More efficient, easier to reproduce on a grand scale—yes, a regular polyhedron would have been better.

In any case, it wasn’t as if Essek would have been allowed to develop such a device himself. The Bright Queen would regard the creation of an artificial beacon as heretical in the extreme, equivalent to someone boasting that they’d reproduced a sliver of divinity through the power of clever engineering. But if it ever came out that such technology already existed, and lay cradled in the hands of the Empire, well, that was another matter entirely, wasn’t it? The queen would claim the Dynasty had more right to it than anyone else, never mind that any such proposition from their own scholars would have been rejected out of hand. Essek pinched the bridge of his nose. The intersections between his research and the faith were tricky to navigate at the best of times, even without adding politics to the mix, but perhaps he could still work this to his advantage. If he could leak the existence of an artificial beacon to the Dynasty without implicating himself, the Bright Queen would likely allow him to study it on his own terms.

The familiar buzz of an incoming message pulled him from his musings. With a sigh, Essek shut off the hologram projector and drifted over to check his notifications. In addition to the usual media updates, he had a message from Uraya: I’ve finished looking over your speech for the fundraiser. You’ll find my notes in your inbox. Let me know if you want me there while you rehearse it.

Right. The fundraiser. Essek closed his eyes, weariness settling over him like a layer of cobwebs. As the son of an Umavi, particularly one of a den so steeped in politics, public speaking was a familiar duty, practically second nature. Still, he wished the timing were better. With the Assembly awaiting his feedback on their artificial beacon, he had little attention to spare for speeches. But Den Thelyss had been donating to the Marble Tomes Conservatory for generations, and their patronage was part of why Essek had been allowed to study dunamancy there despite his rejection of the faith. If he were to back out now, it would not only reflect poorly on him, but on all of Den Thelyss.

I’ll look over it now, he texted back. Thank you. Exiting out of the messaging app, he tapped on his inbox. As promised, Uraya had sent a file with their suggested revisions. There weren’t many—his speech was standard fare for an educational fundraiser, emphasizing the importance of higher learning and the opportunities it provided for those who were willing to put in the work. Uraya had highlighted a few lines that could be misconstrued as being derisive of the faith, softening the language to be more palatable to the more religiously-inclined guests. Essek smothered a surge of contempt. If his audience’s beliefs were so fragile as to shatter at the implication they might have to look beyond their god for answers, they’d surely find the ruthless cross-examination of academia unendurable. But loath as he was to censor himself, his marriage to Caleb had stirred up enough controversy already. Best not to throw any more fuel onto the pyre.

Perhaps I should have Caleb look this over as well, Essek thought as he made his revisions. Without the ingrained biases of one who had grown up mired in Dynasty politics, Caleb’s insights provided a refreshing perspective. And, of course, asking for Caleb’s assistance would give Essek an opportunity to see where they stood with each other.

Tapping a command into the control panel beside his desk, Essek summoned a security map of the house. Three rooms were currently occupied, including his lab, but Caleb’s chambers weren’t among them. Curious, he checked the logs on the entrances. According to the biometric scanners, Caleb’s last contact with the house had been at the front gate approximately half an hour ago. Likely exploring the city again, Essek thought with a twinge of disappointment. Caleb had been sweet to him the morning after their date, but he’d made himself scarce in the days since, preoccupied with his own projects. Essek wasn’t so insecure as to believe Caleb was avoiding him intentionally, but it would be . . . nice to see him again.

Setting the security system to alert him when Caleb returned, Essek turned his attention back to his research. Ludinus would be expecting an update from him soon. If he wanted to remain useful enough to avoid being cut loose, he needed to get back to work.

*

Caleb pushed through the front gates, skin prickling with the sensation of watching eyes. As much of a relief as it had been to find the Captain Tusktooth logo on the second data chip, he couldn’t ignore the possibility the Nein had compromised themselves or him by reaching out. There was every possibility the Assembly had intercepted their message and then set someone to follow him to see how he responded. It was what he’d have done in their position.

Returning to the towers was a risk, but if there was one thing Essek valued more than his reputation, it was his privacy. His secrets might not be safe from Caleb, but his security system was top of the line: biometric sensors to restrict guests from private areas, motion-activated lights on the exterior to prevent people from lurking in the shadows, manual and electronic locks on the laboratory doors. Its only weak point, so far as Caleb had been able to determine, was the near-absence of interior cameras, but in this case that was a boon. The lack of direct surveillance meant that even if the Assembly did have a means of remotely tapping into the house’s network, they’d be severely limited in their ability to spy on him. If they hadn’t intercepted the Nein’s message, this was the one place Caleb could listen to it without risk of being overheard.

They could just be checking in, Caleb told himself as he made his way to the central tower. A risky play merely to establish contact, but the Nein knew how precarious the situation was. They’d have been careful, disguised themselves or hired an intermediary to place the chip. Still, he couldn’t shake the fear that he’d find something more dire in their message: news that they’d been caught investigating the Assembly, or that one of them had been hurt in the process. Caleb knew nothing of their specific plans, but he was keenly aware that without him there to help gather intel, their chances of stumbling into a trap increased significantly. If his absence had led to one of their deaths . . .

Don’t think about it. He pressed his palm to the scanner beside the door and stepped inside, mechanically taking a seat on the bench in the foyer to unlace his boots. Routine. Routine was important. Routine helped you fade into the background when you might otherwise draw attention, and he didn’t want to draw attention. Not now, with the Nein’s data chip burning like a handful of coals in his pocket.

Once he finished removing his boots and placing them on the mat beside the doorway, he made his way upstairs, his pace measured, deliberate. He’d retreat to his chambers, lock himself in the bathroom and set the shower to maximum pressure. The sound of rushing water would muddle his friends’ voices, ensure that if anyone was listening, they wouldn’t be able to make out the words.

Lost in thought, it wasn’t until he glimpsed movement from the corner of his eye that he realized he wasn’t alone. He jerked to a halt, his grip on the banister tightening as his gaze snapped to the black-cloaked figure drifting in from the eastern tower. It wasn’t until the figure turned to face him that he recognized his husband.

“Ah, there you are,” Essek said, expression warming. “Do you have a moment?”

Caleb froze, the intricate machinery of his mind stuttering as he tried to shift gears. It took him a long moment to gather his words, and when he did, there was a flatness to them, as if he were speaking to a stranger. “Ja, of course. What can I do for you?”

“I was wondering if you’d be willing to look over my speech for next week’s fundraiser.” Essek drifted closer, his tablet balanced like a clipboard on his arm. “Den Thelyss has been a patron of the Marble Tomes Conservatory for generations, but this will be my first time attending as a speaker. I want to make sure I’m setting the right tone.”

Caleb nodded, barely processing the words. Be agreeable, his instincts whispered. You’re already spinning more plates than you can hope to keep aloft. You cannot afford another complication right now. “I will take a look at it tonight.”

Essek inclined his head. “Thank you. I’ll send it to you shortly.” He frowned, seeming to take in Caleb’s frazzled state for the first time. “Are you all right? You look . . .”

“Ja, I’m okay.” He summoned a smile to his face, but it must not have been terribly convincing; Essek’s frown deepened. “I, ah, may have stayed up late reading last night,” Caleb said, hoping to redirect his husband’s attention.

“Oh.” Surprise flitted across Essek’s face, followed swiftly by curiosity. He glided closer, voice dropping to a murmur. “So the book I lent you was of interest, then?”

“Very much so.” Caleb dipped his head shyly, grateful for the excuse to break eye contact. He wasn’t adept at playing coy, but better to feign bashfulness than let on how rattled he was. If the slight darkening of Essek’s eyes was any indication, it worked better than Caleb had expected. “My Undercommon is a little rough,” he went on, “so it will take me some time to get through it, but so far it has been illuminating, as have your annotations. I particularly enjoyed the list of grievances you wrote regarding your assigned lab partners.”

Essek smirked. “I’ve always been opinionated. My outspokenness didn’t make me terribly popular at the time, but once you’ve been named the foremost expert in your field, there’s little sense in playing the spurned academic.” His ears slanted as if something had just occurred to him. “Ah, but I should apologize. I didn’t think to ask whether you were fluent in Undercommon. I do have books in Common as well if you’d prefer something more accessible.”

“That’s all right,” Caleb assured him. “I’m a quick study. Besides, it is good practice, ja?”

“I suppose,” Essek said, though he still looked troubled. He lifted his hand as if to brush a curl of hair from Caleb’s face, but instead his fingertips came to rest on Caleb’s cheekbone. “You’ve been neglecting yourself these past few days. I can see it in the shadows under your eyes.”

“Well, you know, it’s an intriguing subject. And I wouldn’t want to deprive you of your reference materials for too long.”

“Naturally." He flashed a grin before growing serious once more. “But please, don’t overwork yourself on my account. If I need to reference something I’ve lent you, I’ll simply ask.”

If only the Assembly would be so considerate, Caleb thought. “Thank you, meine Perle. I appreciate it.” He pressed a kiss to the inside of Essek’s wrist. The scent of ozone and electrical fire clung to his skin, familiar from other times Caleb had caught him after leaving the lab. Experimentally, Caleb flicked the tip of his tongue over the pulse point there, tasting the same bright metallic notes.

Essek’s ears quivered; he leaned forward, and without really thinking about it, Caleb closed the distance to capture Essek’s lips with his own. Essek melted against him, one hand coming to rest at Caleb’s hip, the other burrowing into his hair. Surprised, Caleb took hold of Essek’s waist and reeled him in until their bodies were flush against one another, only a few thin layers of fabric between them. Essek gave a soft groan, his grip on Caleb’s hair tightening as Caleb’s hands slid down to his thighs.

“You know,” Essek said between kisses, “if you’d like some help with those translations, I do have a bit of room in my schedule.”

“Translations?” Caleb echoed, disoriented by the sudden shift in topic.

“Among other things.” Essek trailed one fingernail down the side of Caleb’s neck. “It’s the least I can do after neglecting you these past two days.”

“I . . .” Caleb fumbled for a response, abruptly conscious of the data chip in his coat, the minutes he’d already let slip by as he and Essek had danced around each other. The flirting had been a diversion, a way to steer Essek’s attention toward less dangerous topics. When had it started to become real? “I can’t.”

Essek stilled for half a heartbeat before extricating himself from Caleb’s embrace. “Apologies. I didn’t mean—that is, if you would prefer to stick to translation, I will not press. I only thought we might . . .” He trailed off, cheeks darkening. Caleb shoved down the part of him that wanted desperately to accept Essek’s unspoken offer. Not only would it reinforce their relationship, but afterward, he could convince Essek to actually help him with his translations, potentially sparing him days of work. But as important as it was to maintain this marriage, the Nein had to come first.

“I appreciate the offer. I do,” he insisted, taking Essek’s hands. “But I’m afraid I cannot today. There are some things I need to take care of.”

Essek’s eyebrows furrowed. “Has something happened?”

Caleb hesitated. He could try to sidestep the question, but with Essek’s attention already on him, any attempt to dissemble would be suspicious. If he’d had more time to prepare, he might have attempted to lie, but Essek could be alarmingly perceptive when he sensed something was amiss, and he was clearly on alert now.

No, there was only one option here, risky as it was: he had to tell the truth.

“I received a message from the Mighty Nein this morning,” Caleb said, selecting his words with care. “I haven’t looked at it yet, but things were . . . complicated, when I last saw them. We’ve been out of contact for some time. The fact that they’ve decided to reach out now . . .” He shook his head. “I fear they may need my help.”

“I see.” A complicated series of emotions flickered across Essek’s face. He drifted back, drawing his cloak closer about his shoulders. “If they have indeed put themselves in peril, what will you do? Leave?”

Caleb paused, trying to parse Essek’s tone. He didn’t sound distressed, but there was a guardedness to his posture that hadn’t been present a few moments ago. As if he were bracing himself.

“If it becomes necessary, yes,” Caleb said. “But it may not come to that. As I said, I haven’t looked at their message yet. They may just want me to consult on an operation. We all have our resources and areas of expertise, but if they’ve come across something specific to my skill set, that could explain why they’ve decided to make contact.”

“But you will tell me if you have to leave, yes?” Essek pressed.

Caleb blinked, the source of Essek’s odd tension suddenly becoming clear. Oh. Essek thought Caleb was going to abandon him.

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Caleb said, hoping it wouldn’t turn out to be a lie. “You and I, we are partners, ja? I would not leave you behind without warning.”

“Good,” Essek said, shoulders relaxing fractionally. Caleb relaxed as well, seeing they’d managed to avoid a crisis. “I will let you deal with your business,” Essek went on, “but first, is there anything you need from me? I don’t know if it will help, but if you'd like, I could set up a secure channel for you and your friends.”

Caleb considered it for a moment. Even the most secure of connections could be traced, as Jester had proven on countless occasions. Caleb wasn’t ready to risk catching the Assembly’s attention just for the convenience of a real-time chat, but it was good to know he could reach them in an emergency. “I will think on it. Thank you.” He skimmed his fingertips across the back of Essek’s hand. “Truly. I am grateful for everything you do for me.”

The lingering wariness in Essek’s expression cracked, just a little. “The feeling is mutual, I assure you.” He pressed a kiss to Caleb’s cheek, then withdrew, the edges of his cloak billowing slightly with the movement. “I will be in my chambers if you need me. And if you don’t,” he added, “feel free to drop by anyway. I really would like to help you with those translations.”

“Among other things,” Caleb said, smiling despite himself.

“Among other things,” Essek agreed, and departed.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-Six

As soon as Essek was out of sight, Caleb retreated into his chambers and locked the door. His sitting room was just as he’d left it—lights dimmed, an unfinished smut book balanced on the armrest of the armchair, scraps of fabric and metal mesh spread out on the low table nearby. He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes in an attempt to re-center himself, but his thoughts kept trailing off in different directions, like an old rag unraveling after one too many spins through the wash.

With the Nein’s data chip hanging heavy in his pocket, he ought to be focused on his friends to the exclusion of all else. Instead, his mind kept straying to Essek: the concern in his gaze when he’d noticed the circles under Caleb’s eyes, the wariness he’d let slip when he’d thought Caleb might leave him to return to the Nein. Caleb had managed to soothe his worries before they’d parted ways, but he still felt disconcertingly like he’d missed a step in their dance.

You need to get a grip, he told himself. You have more important things to focus on. He slipped the Mighty Nein’s data chip out of his pocket. The image of Captain Tusktooth grinned back at him, incongruously cheerful beside the restless unease nestling beneath Caleb’s ribs. He slid the chip into his tablet’s port and counted out the three seconds it took for the files to load. There were four of them, all video files, each bearing one or more of his friends’ names. Caleb scanned the list, relief curling through him when he saw everyone was accounted for.

Precautions first. He made his way to the bathroom and opened the control panel for the shower, setting the jets to maximum pressure. He didn’t think anyone here would eavesdrop on him, but Essek and Uraya both had sharp ears, and Caleb had already bungled any chance he’d had of keeping the Nein’s contact with him quiet. If someone did pause outside his door, they’d hear nothing over the sound of rushing water.

Only once the jets kicked on did he allow himself to open the first of the vid files. Jester’s face appeared on the screen, eyes bright, lips pulled back in a teeth-baring grin. A pair of shiny red ribbons decorated her horns, tied in elegant bows, and the wall behind her bore the familiar wooden paneling of the Lavish Chateau.

Caleb felt something inside him crack. If Jester was smiling like that, it meant everyone was safe. Or, if not safe, at least unharmed. That was more than he’d dared hope after Ludinus’s last message. More than he’d dared hope since his last glimpse of them at the Rexxentrum spaceport, when the Assembly’s agents had ushered him through security. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he flexed his thumb and hit play.

“Hi, Caleb, it’s Jester! So, great news—we finally figured out a way to contact you without anyone listening in! We still have to be careful, but I wanted to let you know everyone’s okay. Veth blew up a couple buildings, but no one we care about got hurt, so it’s fine. Also, Fjord says you should make sure no one is eavesdropping on your side, ‘cause we’re pretty sure you’re being watched by the Assembly and maybe also some people in the Dynasty. They’re probably just keeping an eye on things, but we wanted you to know.

“So, anyway, um . . .” A faint tremor wound through her voice as her smile faded. “We hope you’re doing okay. We’ve been a little worried. Beau said you looked like you were kind of freaking out during the wedding ceremony. Which, like, I totally get,” she said quickly, hands flung up in a pacifying gesture. “Weddings can be pre-tty stressful. But I also know you didn’t choose this, so . . . so if you were scared because the guy you were marrying is actually a dick, just know that we’re here for you. I mean, we’re here for you either way, but, like, if you need us to come pick you up, we can totally do that. Just let us know.”

She hesitated for a moment, nose scrunched up, before abruptly slamming her hands down on the counter between her and the screen. “Oh, I almost forgot to tell you! So, I’m sure you already guessed, but we figured out how Ludinus was getting messages to you. Now, obviously, we don’t want to be dropping off our messages in the same place—we only did that this time so you’d find the chip—but we thought we could use the same method, you know? We just need a different drop location. There’s a place called the Dim’s Inn over in the Gallimaufry district. Have you heard of it? We had a friend scout it out, and they agreed to go back every couple days to check for messages. Just record your reply on this data chip and tape it underneath the bathroom sink, behind the drainpipe. I can’t promise we’ll be able to get back to you right away, especially if we’re traveling, but just keep checking, okay?” She gave him a pained smile. “Okay, well, that’s all I really had to say. Everyone else has their own messages for you, so make sure you take a look at those. Beau has some information from the Cobalt Soul—it’s super important—so you should probably watch her video next. Take care of yourself. We miss you!”

“I miss you, too,” Caleb whispered as the recording ended. His eyes were damp with tears, his throat tight, but for the first time in weeks, he felt like he could breathe. They were all right. Not only that, but they’d found a way to talk to him without the Assembly listening in. He’d be able to send a message back to them, help them with whatever operation they were planning next. He could finally do something useful besides pacifying the people who held his friends’ lives in their hands.

Refocusing, he opened the next vid file. This one showed Beau and Fjord standing on the beach, heads pressed together as they tried to operate their tablet. “Are you sure it’s recording?” Fjord was asking.

“I don’t know, man. I think so?” Beau peered narrowly at her screen. “Jester said she had to dig out a lot of the core programming to make this thing unhackable, but the light’s on, so . . .”

“Is 'unhackable' a word? I feel like it’s not a word.”

“Whatever.” Beau rolled her eyes and focused on the camera. “Hey, Caleb, it’s Beau, here with Fjord. We’re in Nicodranas, hanging out on the beach and figured it was time to check in. How’s Xhorhas?”

Fjord slanted a look at Beau, eyebrows drawing together. “You make it sound like we’re on vacation.”

“What do you want me to say, man?”

“I don’t know, how about ‘It’s good to see you’?” Fjord suggested.

Beau sighed. “Hey, Caleb, it’s good to see you.”

Caleb smiled grimly. It wasn’t hard to see the shadows rimming Beau’s eyes, the wrinkle between her eyebrows that spoke of too much stress and too little sleep. Beauregard had always been better at seeing the bigger picture than he was, but like anyone who spent so much time buried in research, she occasionally forgot to take care of herself. He hoped Yasha and Caduceus were making sure she stopped to rest once in a while.

“We’ve got a bunch of important shit to talk about,” Beau went on, “but before that, we wanted to check in. Don’t know if your husband bothered to tell you, but Jester tried to talk to him about establishing a secure line to you. Since you never called back, we figured he conveniently forgot to mention it.”

Caleb winced. Essek had told him about Jester’s request, actually, but he could see why Beau would assume otherwise. Between Caleb’s reluctance to reach out and the distress she’d no doubt read off him during the wedding, she probably thought Essek was isolating him intentionally. Caleb would have to rectify the misunderstanding before it grew into a serious problem. The Nein already had their hands full investigating the Assembly. The last thing he needed right now was for them to come rushing to his rescue.

“Jester was able to hack into the satellite network around Xhorhas,” Fjord said. “That gave us access to Rosohna’s security cams, so we know he’s letting you out of the house, but she hasn’t been able to piggyback off any of the cameras on Essek’s property yet. We assume they’re on their own network, separate from the city’s.”

“Which means we don’t have any idea what’s going on inside.” Beauregard crossed her arms. “So that sucks. Honestly, we’ve all been pretty worried about you, so if you could, like, reassure us that he’s not beating the shit out of you every night, that’d be great.”

“We’re following your lead on this,” Fjord said. “If you still think staying is the right move, we won’t interfere. But if you need us, or even if you just want some backup nearby, just say the word. I don’t know what you’ve been told, if anything, but you’re at greater risk than we are. We’ve got mobility on our side. Even if the Assembly does come after us, it’ll take them time to pin us down. But you’re stuck where you are. If this deal goes south, it’s you they’ll come after first.”

“Speaking of deals,” Beauregard said, “there’s something else you should know. I talked to Dairon after you left. Turns out she spent some time on Xhorhas during the war, gathering intel for the Soul, and she had some interesting information for us. So you know how the war started because the Empire stole the beacons, and the king denied it, and then eventually it came out that the Assembly had ‘found’ them on an archaeological dig? Well, we already guessed that last part was bullshit, but Dairon has this theory that the Assembly had someone in the Dynasty smuggle the beacons out for them. We figure it’s gotta be someone pretty high up the chain. These things are too heavily guarded for someone to just sneak in and take them; you’d need someone with credentials to get into the vault. If the Assembly really does have a contact on the inside, you're our best bet for finding out who they are. Between their identity and the documents we uncovered during out last mission, we should have enough evidence to bring our case before the king and get ourselves out of this mess.”

Fjord nodded soberly. “We’re going to keep digging, but Beau’s right: if we can prove the Assembly colluded with the enemy and kicked off the war, it won’t matter what accusations they throw at us. We’ll be the ones controlling the narrative.”

“Just be careful, man. Caduceus won’t be there to patch you up if you get stabbed.”

“Stay safe,” Fjord said. “And if anything changes, don’t be afraid to reach out. I know things are difficult right now, but don’t throw your life away trying to keep us out of danger. I assure you, danger will find us either way.”

“And if your new husband gives you any trouble, pop him in the nose,” Beauregard added, punching the flat of her palm for emphasis.

Fjord turned, eyebrows furrowed in incredulity. “Why do your solutions always involve punching people?”

“I don’t know, man. It’s what I’m good at.”

“Yes, but—”

“Yeah, yeah, you made your point.” Beau leaned closer to the camera. “Seriously, though, if he’s being a shithead, kick his teeth in. You don’t need that kind of bullshit in your life.” Lightning-quick, she jabbed her finger toward the screen to cut the connection. Caleb smiled in spite of himself. He had no intention of kicking anyone’s teeth in, least of all his husband’s, but he’d missed Beau’s straightforward approach to problem-solving.

If only all our problems could be resolved so simply. He sighed. If his friends were right about the Assembly having a secret contact in the Dynasty, it fell to him to figure out who they were. He considered what he knew of the beacons, both what he’d picked up since arriving in Rosohna and the limited information Ludinus had passed along to him before he’d been sent to Xhorhas. The Kryn considered the beacons to be fragments of their god, imbued with divine power. Caleb couldn’t imagine a devout follower of the Luxon trading such a thing away, but Essek couldn’t be the only person in the Dynasty disillusioned with the faith, and piety could be faked like anything else.

The better question, then, was who would have access to the beacons? Presumably, anyone of sufficient standing within the faith would be allowed to view the artifacts: high priests and priestesses, likely the Umavi as well. Caleb wasn’t certain what qualified someone as such—the only Umavi he knew was Essek’s mother, and he had difficulty reconciling her thinly veiled disdain for her son with her designation as a “perfect soul”—but there was still the issue of motive. The beacons were integral to the reincarnation process; surely even an Umavi who had rejected the faith would hesitate to hand over the very artifact which facilitated their immortality.

You’re looking at this the wrong way, whispered Caleb’s instincts. If the goal was to spit in the face of the Luxon, the thief could have handed them over to anyone in the Empire. But they chose the Assembly. Why? Like ice spreading over the surface of a pond, a theory began to crystallize in Caleb’s mind. Essek had complained often in his annotations about how the faith restricted access to the beacons, but surely he wasn’t the only one frustrated with the faith’s stranglehold on such artifacts. There were other scholars of dunamancy, some of whom might be ambitious enough to partner with the Assembly for the opportunity to study the beacons without the Dynasty’s oversight. A fool’s bargain, Caleb knew, but if there was one thing the Assembly was good at, it was making themselves seem legitimate.

At least he didn’t have to worry about his husband being involved. Ludinus would have no reason to send Caleb to steal Essek’s research if he were already working with the Assembly, after all. Still, perhaps there was a connection there. The Assembly’s contact might have pointed them toward Essek intentionally, hoping to either sabotage a rival or get their hands on his notes. It wouldn’t be their primary motive, but it at least gave Caleb some threads to follow.

In the meantime, however, Caleb had two more messages to listen to. He tapped on the next video, summoning Caduceus and Yasha to the screen. They stood somewhere in the Open Quay, the lower two-thirds of Tidepeak Tower looming in the background. Curiously, though Yasha stood in the foreground of the video, Caduceus was about twenty feet back, admiring the dripping threads of algae dangling from a piece of driftwood.

“Oh, hello!” Yasha said as the recording began. “Testing, testing . . . Wait, what am I testing? Caduceus, how do you know if it’s working?”

“Is the light on?”

“Yes?”

“Then it’s probably working.” Caduceus trotted over to the screen, then nodded. “Yeah, we’re good.”

“Okay, well, uh . . . Hello, Caleb. This is Yasha, here with Caduceus.”

Caduceus lifted his hand in greeting. “Hey. Good to see you. Or talk to you, I suppose? I guess you’ll be seeing us before we see you, unless things get weird.” He made a vague gesture with his hands. “Jester said the others would catch you up on the important bits, so Yasha and I thought we’d update you on the day-to-day stuff. I will say, Beau and Veth have been worried about you. We all have, but they’ll be especially glad to hear from you. Hmm. What else is there?”

“We installed a new irrigation system for the greenhouse,” Yasha said.

“Oh, that’s right.” Caduceus smiled. “The pump on the old system was wearing out, so we replaced it with a more efficient version, and since we were already doing that, we decided to upgrade the rest as well . . .”

Caduceus went on like that for a few minutes, summarizing the mundane details of their travels. Occasionally, Yasha chimed with commentary of her own. Apparently, Beau had gifted her a carnivorous plant a few weeks ago, with sticky, sweet-smelling flowers that closed around their prey like a drawstring sack. “It even eats spiders!” Yasha said at one point, her normally placid voice bubbling with excitement.

Those were far from the only items of interest. Veth had developed a more refined Fluffernutter bomb, and the group had reconnected with Reani during a stopover in Uthodurn. It had been Yasha’s first time meeting the other aasimar—she’d been caught up in the mess with Obann when the Nein initially passed through the Greying Wildlands—and she’d been delighted by Reani’s endless collection of flower crowns. “We’re also planning to visit Yussa later tonight to see if he has any information on the Assembly,” Yasha added. “I’d ask if there was anything you wanted us to pass on to him, but I guess it’ll be a while before you get this message, so . . .”

“I’m sure we’ll talk to him again soon enough either way,” Caduceus said. Caleb felt a twinge of envy for his friend’s inexhaustible serenity. The only time Caleb had felt at peace since leaving the Nein had been when Essek had fallen asleep in his arms, and that tranquility had lasted only minutes before the guilt had come flowing back, cold and inescapable.

“Well, I suppose we should let you go,” Caduceus said after a moment. “Take care. We’ll see you soon.”

Yasha waved awkwardly at the camera, and a moment later, the feed cut off, leaving him with only one video left to watch. Caleb stared at the file with Veth’s name on it, his chest tight, then tapped the play icon. Veth’s face appeared on the screen, closer to the camera than the others had been. Rows of evening gowns and other apparel hung suspended behind her, none of them sized for her small halfling frame. She must be recording in someone’s closet, Caleb thought. Maybe Jester’s, given the assortment of fluffy, brightly colored dresses to Veth’s right.

Like Beau, Veth wore exhaustion over every inch of her face, but hers was underscored with a frenetic twitchiness, as if at any moment she might burst into a flurry of movement. “Caleb, this is Veth the Brave. Do you copy?” She paused, some of the wildness fading from her expression. “I guess you can’t respond to this message. Not right away, at least.” She sighed, seeming to sink in on herself. Caleb wondered how long it had been since his friends had recorded these. Jester hadn’t specified which of their acquaintances would be handling the data drops, but it had likely taken some time for them to get into position. These messages could be weeks old by now.

“I guess I’ll start by saying everyone’s okay,” Veth went on after a moment. “We’re in Nicodranas right now, checking in on family stuff. Jester’s trying to convince her mother to relocate for a while, just in case. Yeza and Luc are going, too. I don’t want to say too much, but if Marion agrees, we’ll be sending them to a certain sweaty gentleman as soon as we’ve got things sorted here.

“As for the rest of us, we’re still figuring out our next step. We talked about maybe setting down on Xhorhas for a while, pretending we’re picking up some work for the Dynasty, but the others said it was too big a risk, and that we should wait until you gave us the go-ahead. And maybe I’m terrible for thinking it, but there’s a part of me that hopes you’ll decide it’s too dangerous for you to stay so we can justify taking you back. But I know you won’t ask us to put ourselves at risk without good reason, even if it means you’re the one suffering for it, so . . . so I guess that’s why it feels so terrible: because it means there’s a part of me that wants you to be in danger just so I can see you again. And I know how selfish that must sound. It is selfish. But this is the first time we’ve been apart since we met, and it’s . . . I don’t know. It seems unfair to compare it to being away from Luc and Yeza, but that’s what it feels like. You were there for me when I needed you most, but now that you need me . . . I feel like I’ve failed you.”

Oh, Veth, Caleb thought, grief stirring in his chest. He’d missed all of the Nein, but Veth had been the first to take a chance on him, the first to see something worthwhile beneath the layers of dirt and shame and terror. Before they’d met, Caleb had barely been a person—had lost himself in a hundred different identities, never lingering more than a few days in any one place lest his past catch up to him. Veth had been the first safe harbor he’d had in years, and as far as they'd both come in their time with the Mighty Nein, they’d never quite shaken their mutual codependency.

“Sorry,” Veth went on, clearing her throat. “Didn’t mean to get all maudlin. It’s hard not to worry, that’s all. As awful as it’s been not having you around, it must be even harder for you, all alone on the other side of the galaxy, married to a stranger. People used to give me and Yeza the side-eye, marrying as young as we did, but at least we got to choose. I can’t imagine how it must feel to have to give yourself over to someone you barely know. I can only hope that he’s being decent to you, and that you’re staying safe as best you can.” She swiped her thumb under each of her eyes to clear away the tears. “You’re one of the smartest people I know, and one of the bravest. But try to be careful, all right? I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you, and I don’t ever want to find out. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he whispered hoarsely. His throat felt raw, but it was a cleansing sort of pain, like a wound scrubbed clean after having been allowed to fester. He exited out of the file menu and switched over to the recording app. He needed to update his friends on everything that had happened since he’d arrived in Rosohna, reassure them he didn’t need rescuing. As his face appeared in the viewing window at the corner of the screen, he tapped the record button.

“Hallo, everyone,” he began, a waver in his voice. “It’s good to hear from you . . .”

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-Seven

It was just past sixth bell when Essek’s door chimed.

He lifted his eyes from his tablet, blinking to clear his vision. He’d spent the last hour looking over his fundraiser speech, muttering lines under his breath to get a feel for their rhythm. To his surprise, Caleb had sent him a copy with his own feedback half an hour ago. Essek had assumed he’d be too busy dealing with whatever trouble his friends had landed themselves in to spare time for something so trivial; knowing he'd made it a priority anyway had warmed Essek in a way he wasn’t quite ready to examine. 

“Just a moment,” he called, setting his tablet aside as he rose from his chair. He swiped a comb from a nearby end table and ran it through his hair, peering into the small mirror atop his desk to ensure he looked presentable. He’d already changed into his evening robes, anticipating a quiet night in, but if his suspicions were correct, his visitor wouldn’t mind his state of undress. Perhaps Caleb would even find the casualwear enticing—that would certainly simplify matters.  

Satisfied with his preparations, he padded over to the door and brushed his fingertips over the view-screen to activate it. As expected, Caleb stood on the other side, fiddling with the top button of his vest. He straightened as the door slid open, his mouth pulling into a cautious smile. “Guten Abend,” he said. “I hope I am not disturbing you.”

“Not at all,” Essek assured him, stepping aside so Caleb could enter. “I would not have extended the invitation only to send you away upon arrival.”

Caleb dipped his head shyly, his cheeks taking on a pinkish hue as he crossed the threshold. Essek allowed himself a moment of admiration. Caleb had swapped clothes in the hours since Essek had seen him last, into a russet sweater vest and long-sleeved white shirt tailored to accentuate the broad lines of his shoulders. His trousers, a rich tan color, were similarly fitted, though not quite long enough to hide his colorful, paw-print patterned socks.

Charmed, Essek picked up the bottle of wine he’d opened earlier this evening and poured a glass for Caleb. “So, I take it you’ve come for some translation assistance.”

“If you are still amenable, ja.” Caleb peered at him through his eyelashes, somehow managing to make it seem as if he were looking up at Essek, despite Essek being several inches shorter without his gravity adjusters. A curious show of deference, but Caleb often reverted to formality when he was uncertain. Essek switched the wineglass to his right hand and placed his left on the small of Caleb’s back.

“Please, sit,” he said, steering Caleb toward the study’s writing desk. Caleb did so, retrieving a spiral-bound notebook and translation dictionary from his book holsters, as well as the tome Essek had lent him. A cloth bookmark stuck out from between two pages, several chapters in; he’d clearly put a lot of time into his translations already. Essek felt a renewed twinge of guilt for not thinking to offer him something in Common. Fundamental Principles of Dunamancy was an excellent primer for new students of the field, but he had other tomes that could have sufficed had he only considered the language barrier. Too late now. 

“You’ve made quite a bit of progress on your own,” he said, retrieving a second chair from his reading nook and settling in beside Caleb. “Why don’t you tell me what you’ve learned so far?”

And so Caleb did, summarizing the contents of the first five chapters with remarkable precision. Essek had worried that Caleb would have been too focused on translating to actually absorb the material, but evidently Caleb’s mind was even sharper than he’d assumed. His recollection was at some points so exacting it was as if he was reciting passages directly from the page.

“I have always had a keen memory,” he said when Essek commented on it, “though it wasn’t always as practiced as you see now. One of my professors at the academy insisted I hone my talents until I could accurately recite entire research papers back to him. One of many mental exercises I learned in those years.” His mouth twisted as if he’d tasted something sour. Essek recalled their confrontation that first night after Caleb’s arrival. The way Caleb had flinched when Essek had brought up his education. The stiffness in his shoulders when he’d admitted to washing out of the neuroscience program. Caleb had shared many details of his past since then, some of them painful, but that had been the only time he’d spoken of the Soltryce Academy. Until now.

Caleb must have realized what he’d let slip, because an instant after he finished speaking, he tensed and flicked his eyes nervously in Essek’s direction. Essek dithered, trying to gauge whether it would be better to reassure his husband or simply let the moment pass unremarked. Before he could decide, however, Caleb shook himself slightly and said, “But that is enough reminiscing. We have work to do, ja?”

“Indeed,” Essek agreed, relieved to let the subject drop. “As I recall, chapter six focuses on gravity and the alteration thereof. As gravity is one of the fundamental forces of our universe, it has a profound influence on reality, including the other dunamantic forces. Figure six shows one example of this . . .”

Their lesson went on in that vein for a while. Though Caleb’s academic background was in neuroscience, he was well-read in all manner of scholarly fields, and the principles of graviturgy came to him swiftly. Essek did more tutoring than translation, though they did halt their discussion briefly to transcribe the several of the more relevant passages into Common so that Caleb could read them at his leisure. It was only when Caleb’s mouth stretched in a jaw-cracking yawn that Essek realized they’d been working for the better part of three hours.

“Perhaps it’s time to retire for the evening,” he said. “You’ve already accumulated a sizable sleep debt, staying up to work on this. No need to drive yourself to exhaustion on my account.”

“I don’t mind,” Caleb said, only for another yawn to distort the words.

Essek gave him an indulgent smile and rose from his chair. “Much as I admire your commitment to learning, you cannot expect to achieve satisfactory results when you refuse to give your brain adequate rest. Besides, what will people think if they see my husband lumbering about, too exhausted to keep his eyes open?”

“I suppose they’ll think we have a very active sex life.”

A shocked laugh burst from Essek’s lips. “Caleb.”

Caleb grinned and stood up to kiss him, first on the lips, then the side of his neck. Essek tucked his face into Caleb’s shoulder to hide his smile. Caleb was freer with his affection than anyone he’d ever known. Some of that was likely his background; the people of the Empire were, on balance, less reserved in their manners than those of the Dynasty. More often than not, they were stereotyped as boorish and greedy, unwilling to keep their hands to themselves.

But Caleb’s courting of him hadn’t been boorish at all. If anything, his approach had been overly cautious, every careful escalation contingent on Essek’s permission. So it always caught him a little off-guard when Caleb kissed him like this, easily and without hesitation, as if unaware of how indecent it was. Perhaps they should have a conversation about that. A kiss on the hand was romantic, endearing even, but a kiss on the lips was nothing short of scandalous. If they were going to be appearing in public together, they'd have to discuss what qualified as appropriate behavior among the higher dens.

The brush of Caleb’s lips over the edge of Essek’s ear jolted him back to the present moment. He moaned, grabbing hold of the front of Caleb’s vest. “Caleb, if you carry on like this, neither of us will be getting any sleep tonight.”

“Wasn’t that why you invited me to your private chambers?”

“So presumptuous,” Essek said as Caleb’s hands slid downward to fiddle with the silk belt of his robes. Essek hastily unfastened the clasps, and within moments, the belt came loose, allowing the front of his robes to fall open. The thin tunic beneath was barely sufficient to preserve his modesty with the robe on, let alone without it, and evidently Caleb knew it: his gaze trailed down the Essek’s body, heavy with desire. 

"Meine Perle, are you suggesting you lured me here merely to study?"

Essek gave him a wry smile. "I didn't say that."

With a soft laugh, Caleb grabbed hold of Essek’s hips and pulled him into a heated kiss. Essek let the experience flow over him: the heat of Caleb’s mouth on his, the sweetness of the wine they’d shared, the faint scent of ink and parchment that trailed after Caleb wherever he went. Essek had never had much interest in kissing—after his first few attempts had failed to stir any of the expected nervousness or desire in him, he’d written it off as a waste of time—but it was different with Caleb. Everything was different with Caleb. Why? Because Caleb had been kind to him where so many others hadn’t? Because Caleb actually cared whether Essek enjoyed himself when they were intimate? Surely those things alone couldn’t explain the fragile, crystalline feeling that hummed in his chest whenever Caleb reached for him.

Their kisses deepened, and before long, they ended up sprawled over the plush armchair in the corner, Caleb straddling Essek’s lap, tugging at the hem of Essek’s tunic. Wordlessly, Essek lifted his arms so Caleb could pull the garment up over his head, and then Caleb’s hands were on his chest, their burning heat a sharp contrast to the cool air of the room.

“Meine Perle,” Caleb murmured, and the whisper of his breath over Essek’s ear was enough to drag a whine from his throat. “Tell me what you want.”

“Anything.” He squirmed beneath Caleb’s weight, too desperate for embarrassment. “Light, Caleb, you must know I'd let you do anything you want to me.”

“A dangerous promise,” Caleb remarked. “But you will have to be more specific, Schatz. What do you want most?”

“I want—” He cried out, pleasure singing through his body as Caleb’s lips sealed around his earlobe. Caleb’s hand trailed up the inside of his thigh, then continued upward to cup his groin through his underwear. Essek arched into his touch, all rational thought deserting him as he strained upward. “I want you inside me.”

Caleb made a sound somewhere between a grunt and a yelp. Essek opened his eyes—when had he closed them?—to find his husband gawking at him, a look of utter surprise on his face. “Oh,” he said faintly, his cheeks an appealing shade of red. “You, ah—you’re sure?”

That sharp, crystalline feeling flared brighter. Essek nodded. “I trust you.”

A complicated expression rippled across Caleb’s face, there and gone before Essek could parse it, and then he was sweeping Essek up into his arms and carrying him through the archway into the bedroom.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Caleb carried his husband across the threshold, careful not to overbalance as he set Essek on the bed and pressed a hungry kiss to his mouth. Essek made a soft, pleased sound, lips parting as he started unfastening the buttons of Caleb’s vest. “How is it,” he growled between kisses, “that I always seem to end up naked while you remain frustratingly overdressed?”

“Insufficient sample size,” Caleb replied, undoing two more buttons while Essek fiddled with the first. “This is only the second time you’ve let me take you to bed; if you want more varied results, we’ll require more data.”

“That could be arranged.” Essek’s gaze trailed down Caleb’s body. “Though I must admit, you do cut a fine figure in your Empire clothes. I’m particularly fond of the paw-print socks.”

At that, Caleb couldn’t help but grin. “You are very cute.” He kissed the first knuckle of each of Essek’s fingers, then released his hands so he could slip out of the vest. His undershirt went next, followed by his socks and his trousers, and finally his underwear. “You see? Now I am even more naked than you.”

“Well, we’ll have to remedy that, won’t we?”

“So we shall. Lie back for me?”

Essek obeyed, the faintest glimmer of confusion sparking in his eyes. Caleb kissed his husband’s navel and tugged at the waistband of his underwear, slipping the garment down his past his knees. Then, smiling a little, he dipped his head and ran his tongue over the head of Essek’s cock. A warbling moan broke free of Essek’s throat, as if the sensation had caught him off-guard; he tilted his head back, eyelids squeezing shut. “Light, Caleb . . .”

“Ja, all right, I will stop teasing.” He patted his husband’s thigh. “Where do you keep your oil?”

“Bedside table, second drawer from the top.” Essek hesitated, as if he had more to say, but clamped his mouth shut at Caleb’s curious glance. Interest piqued, Caleb walked over to the indicated drawer and pulled it open. Inside, he found a pair of glass bottles containing plain, unscented oil, along with a small collection of toys, including a flexible feather-tipped wand and a set of leather restraints meant to encircle the wrists.

Disquiet fluttered beneath his ribs. Picking up the cuffs, he couldn’t help but be drawn back to memories he’d spent years suppressing: the chair Ikithon had bound him to when conducting his experiments; the straps that had held him down in the asylum as he’d writhed and screamed, trying to get anyone to listen. These restraints were kinder than the ones he remembered: the leather was soft, the buckles devoid of sharp edges; they even had a quick-release mechanism where the chain attached to each cuff, so that the wearer could extricate themselves without struggle.

The thought of putting them on sat like a lump of lead in his stomach.

“Caleb?” Essek asked. “Are you all right?”

Caleb forced himself to drop the cuffs. “You, ah,” he said, conscious of Essek’s gaze on his back. “You have quite the collection.”

A pause. Caleb held his breath, counting out the seconds as the silence between them went brittle, until everything felt slightly unreal, like he was seeing the world through a distorted lens. A vision skimmed the surface of his mind: his forearm, pinned down as Ikithon slid a blinking, pill-sized device into a still-bleeding incision just above his wrist.

“Very little of it has seen any use,” Essek said at last, quietly. Caleb forced himself to pay attention. “I bought most of it after I broke my betrothal with Adeen, as a way of reclaiming some of what I felt I’d lost, but . . .”

“But you never used them,” Caleb said, still staring at the cuffs.

“I never had anyone I trusted enough to wear them for.”

Caleb blinked, finally lifting his head. Essek was watching him cautiously from the bed, kneading the edge of the coverlet between his fingers. I trust you, he’d said before, and Caleb knew it to be true. Essek did not bare his secrets carelessly, but he was trusting Caleb with this most personal of vulnerabilities. If only he deserved it.

“I don’t want to deny you this, but . . .” His voice wavered. “I don’t know if—if I could bear to see you made helpless like that,” he finished, and it was close enough to the truth that he only felt a distant twinge of guilt.

Essek shook his head. “You’re not denying me anything. It was an idle curiosity, something I thought I might enjoy under the right circumstances, but that’s all it was. It’s no sacrifice to put it aside.”

Caleb released the breath he’d been holding. “A discussion for another day, perhaps.” Without letting his gaze settle on the cuffs, he plucked a condom and a bottle of oil from the drawer and turned back to the bed. “Besides, we are already taking a rather big step tonight. No need to overcomplicate things.”

“True enough.” Essek looped his arms around Caleb’s shoulders and kissed him, slow and sweet. “You’re certain you’re all right?”

“Ja, I’m fine.” Still, he made no effort to hurry their pace, instead letting Essek trail feather-light kisses down the column of his neck until the cold heaviness in his stomach lightened. Maybe it was selfish to rely on Essek for comfort when he’d already manipulated him into divulging valuable dunamantic secrets, but he hadn’t lured his husband to bed with the intention of using him. Not this time. Maybe not the last time, either, though the waters there were murkier.

Regardless, it wasn’t long before their kisses grew more carnal. Caleb tipped Essek backward onto the bed and uncapped the little glass bottle, dribbling oil over his first two fingers. Essek shuddered as Caleb probed at his entrance, lithe body going taut. Caleb kissed the hollow of his throat. “Nervous?”

Essek hesitated. “Not nervous. Just . . . if I could ask a favor before we proceed?”

“Of course.”

“I’ve had some . . . challenging experiences where it pertains to intimacy,” Essek said. “I’d ask that you not grab the back of my neck or force my face down into the bed. Likewise, I’d prefer you avoid anything that restricts my breathing or ability to speak. And if—” He bit his lip, his cheeks flushing a deeper plum. “If you could be gentle with your words, that would . . . I would be grateful.”

“I will be gentle.” Caleb pressed a kiss to his husband’s forehead. Essek had never outright articulated what had been done to him to make him so skittish, but it wasn’t hard to extrapolate. Caleb could imagine all too clearly the abuses he’d endured, caught between the expectations of his den and his own stubborn dignity. “Thank you. For telling me.”

Essek’s eyebrows furrowed, but some of the tension drained from his body. Caleb laid a line of kisses down the side of his throat, lingering over the pulse point in his neck, and gradually, Essek relaxed. Only when his body was loose and pliant did Caleb reach between his legs once more to circle his entrance. “All right?” he asked when Essek’s thighs twitched.

“Yes, I—yes.”

Caleb poured some oil onto his free hand and wrapped it around Essek’s shaft, earning a muffled moan in response. Then, carefully, he pressed upward with his first finger, until he breached the tight ring of muscle. Essek inhaled sharply, then tilted his hips to give Caleb better access. Obligingly, Caleb slid his finger in up to the second knuckle before withdrawing and repeating the motion. “Good,” he said as Essek’s instinctive resistance eased. “Just like that, meine Perle. You’re doing so well.”

Essek’s eyelids fluttered, as if even now he did not expect kindness, but he didn’t object to the praise, only ran his fingers through Caleb’s hair, as if Caleb were a cat that had deigned to jump into his lap. Caleb mumbled whatever encouragements drifted through his mind, sweet words dripping like honey between them as he lazily stroked Essek’s cock, until at last Essek loosened up enough for Caleb to slip a second finger inside him. Essek threw his head back, breath coming quicker as Caleb grazed that sensitive cluster of nerves. “There,” he gasped. “Right there.”

“You like that, do you?” Smiling, he crooked his fingers, aiming for the same spot. Essek writhed beneath him, grabbing hold of his shoulders.

“Fuck, Caleb, please.”

“Patience, meine Perle. I want to take my time with you.” He released Essek’s cock, focusing on opening him up. Essek clutched at the bed sheets, eyes squeezed shut as Caleb dribbled more oil onto his fingers. He probably could take Essek now, without injury if not without pain, but Essek deserved better than a rough fuck over the edge of the bed; he deserved someone who cared enough to put his pleasure first, someone who would not abuse him as those who’d taken him to bed before so clearly had. Caleb would never be able to make up for the betrayals he’d already committed, but maybe, in this one small way, he could do right by his husband.

Essek squirmed as Caleb slipped a third finger in. He was muttering in Undercommon now, a muddled stream of harsh sibilants, but the desperation behind the words was clear enough. Caleb nuzzled his throat, breathing in the sharp ozone-and-electrical-fire scent of him, and bit into the band of muscle between Essek’s neck and shoulder. Essek arched under him, a strangled cry on his lips, but even as Caleb pulled away to apologize, Essek knotted his fingers in Caleb’s hair and dragged him into a vicious kiss. Startled, Caleb kissed him back, softly at first, then more forcefully when Essek’s teeth scraped harshly over his lower lip. The taste of iron spread through his mouth, faint but distinct. “Scheisse, Essek . . .”

A low whine slipped from Essek’s throat. He ran his tongue over Caleb’s bloody lip in silent apology, then tucked his face against Caleb’s shoulder. “Again?”

Caleb blinked. “You want me to bite you?”

Essek dipped his head, shy as the sun in winter. “I don’t mind wearing a few marks if they’re from you.”

Fuck, that shouldn’t be as arousing as it was. Caleb pressed his lips to Essek’s clavicle, circling the spot briefly with his tongue before sinking his teeth in. Essek moaned and bore down with his hips until Caleb’s fingers were buried up to the knuckle. His eagerness sent another spike of desire pounding through Caleb’s groin. He left a trail of lovebites along Essek’s shoulder, fingers flexing. His wrist was starting to ache from the awkward angle, but that was all right; Essek had loosened up considerably over the last few minutes, enough that Caleb was confident he could take him without pain. He pressed a final kiss to Essek’s lips and said, “Do you have a preference as to position?”

Essek’s gaze drifted up to meet his. It took him a few seconds to process the question, and then his gaze abruptly sharpened. “Do you?”

“Liebling, I asked you first,” Caleb admonished, but relented at the anxious flick of his husband’s ears. “I’d like to look you in the eye, if you’ll allow it.”

Essek drew in a delicate breath, staring up at Caleb with trepidation. “Oh,” he said, voice as fragile as the ice over a just-frozen pond. Caleb was just about to reassure him that he didn’t have to when Essek said, “All right,” and propped himself up on his elbows to kiss Caleb’s forehead.

Things were simple, after that. Caleb tore open the packet containing the condom he’d grabbed earlier and rolled it over his cock, then plucked a small, cylindrical pillow from the head of the bed and used it to prop up Essek’s hips. Essek resettled himself, then gave a slight nod as Caleb placed the tip of his cock against his entrance.

“Ready?” Caleb asked.

Essek tilted his head back, eyelids falling shut. “Yes.”

Taking hold of Essek’s thighs, Caleb pressed inward, breaching the tight ring of muscle. Essek tensed at the intrusion, a shocked breath slipping past his teeth, and for a moment Caleb feared he’d hurt him after all. But then Essek braced himself up on his elbows and speared himself further on Caleb’s cock, his features relaxing. Caleb grunted, overwhelmed, as the soft heat of his husband’s body enveloped him. “Scheisse, Essek, you’re so . . .”

Essek stilled. “Yes?”

“Good,” he said simply, and Essek shivered beneath him. Caleb withdrew slightly and thrust again, once, twice, thrice, until he found the spot that made Essek’s body go taut.

“There, moya zvezda, right there, please, I need—”

“I have you,” Caleb promised. He adjusted his positioning slightly and increased his pace, reaching down once more to take Essek’s cock in his hand. He was fully hard now, his shaft flushed dark with arousal, and at Caleb’s touch, his words dissolved into incoherent pleas. Caleb kept a tight rein on the pleasure swelling inside him, focused on Essek’s face: lips parted, wisps of silvery hair clinging to his forehead, eyes dazed and half-lidded. Looking at him, Caleb couldn’t hold back his surge of affection. Essek had placed his heart in Caleb’s hands, bloody and broken into so many jagged shards after all he’d endured, and all Caleb wanted to do was cradle the pieces in his palms like the most delicate of spun glass.

“You are so beautiful like this,” he said, the words raw with sincerity. “The stars themselves could not compare.”

“Caleb, I—” Essek began, but whatever he might have said was lost as pleasure broke across his face. He gripped Caleb’s shoulders hard, going almost cross-eyed as he came, and the sight of him, so open, so vulnerable, was enough to haul Caleb over the edge. He clutched helplessly at Essek’s thighs as his release tore through him, and for a brief eternity, it was just the two of them, intertwined, the rest of the universe a dim and distant nowhere.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Caleb spent the next week hopping between projects.

Translating the textbook Essek had given him was the highest priority. Caleb worked on it for hours at a time, unraveling line after line of Undercommon until the sentences ran together like ink on a waterlogged page. With Essek’s help, he was tearing through two or three chapters a day, more than enough to appease even the harshest of taskmasters. Ludinus had been pleased with the first three chapters, praising Caleb’s resourcefulness in replacing the real book with a forgery. Caleb wondered what he’d say if he knew the truth: that Essek had shared this knowledge willingly, unprompted, then offered to give him lessons to expand upon the subject. Somehow, Caleb didn't think that revelation would go over well with the Assembly. 

As for the lessons themselves, Essek proved to be a remarkably patient teacher. His corrections were gentle, without judgment, and every few paragraphs, he would check in to make sure Caleb was actually absorbing the material—something Caleb had been too preoccupied to do during his first frantic days of translation, when his friends’ safety had teetered in the balance. Their sessions were more casual than the study sessions Caleb had once shared with Astrid and Eadwulf. Most nights, Essek had a bottle of wine brought up from the cellars, along with samples of whatever Merrillil could throw together between meals: tiny cups of fresh fruit, elegantly arranged cheese trays, and once, memorably, some sort of fried cephalopod coated with breadcrumbs and served alongside a viciously spicy orange sauce. Caleb had downed an entire glass of wine in an effort to wash the searing heat from his tongue, but even that had provided little relief. He’d ended up pouring himself a second glass and draining that as well, more for the numbing effects of the alcohol than any real hope it would soothe his taste buds.

“Are you all right?” Essek had asked afterward, looking at Caleb as one might look at a snake that had just swallowed something slightly too large for its size. “That was a great deal of wine.”

“It was only two glasses,” Caleb had replied, baffled by his husband’s solicitous air until he realized that the same amount of alcohol would have left Essek staggeringly drunk. The image drew a huff of laughter from Caleb’s throat. “My constitution is not so frail as you assume. You should be more worried about the taste buds I burned away.”

“Should I call a doctor?” Essek had asked with such utter sincerity Caleb had to smile. “It has not done you any permanent damage, has it? You should have said something if—why are you laughing?”

And so their study sessions went. Caleb would show up at Essek’s door, book holsters overflowing with notes from whatever chapter he was currently working on, and they would spend an hour or two translating, after which Essek would inevitably veer off into a lecture about dunamantic theory. Caleb couldn’t help but feel enamored, watching his husband bloom with excitement. He had known, of course, how dearly Essek prized his research, but seeing the hazy joy on his face when he lost himself in his equations cut through Caleb’s defenses like a blade through tissue paper. More often than not, Essek’s lecture ended with the two of them sprawled across the nearest piece of furniture, hands fumbling as they dragged each other’s clothes off.

Caleb didn’t learn much about dunamancy once they passed that point, but he did learn a great deal about Essek: that he would drop straight into sleep after sex if allowed to close his eyes; that his refractory period was a brief twenty-two minutes, but he was oversensitive to all but the most ginger of touches for upwards of half an hour; that despite his assertions to the contrary, he liked to cuddle after they finished, often burrowing into Caleb’s embrace as if he were the only source of warmth in the galaxy.

They didn’t spend all their waking hours together, of course. Essek spent most of his days locked in his lab, emerging to eat only when summoned by Uraya or Merrillil, while Caleb alternated between translating and working on the protective cloak. On Da’leysen morning, he tested the conductivity of his metal mesh to ensure it would actually divert a jolt from a stunner and, pleased with the results, sketched up a rough design for the cloak. The aesthetics could be left to Tival, but the particulars of how the mesh would be integrated into the fabric were crucial to the cloak’s efficacy. His designs were intricate enough that he decided to test it on some of his own clothes first, which inevitably led to him standing in the gardens wearing a modified robe while Uraya pointed a stunner at him.

“And you’re certain there is no other way to determine the efficacy of this protective mesh?” they asked, dubiously fiddling with the knob that controlled the intensity of the jolt.

Caleb nodded. “My previous experiments all indicate that it should work, but there is no substitute for live testing. And that stunner is fairly low-powered. Even at its highest setting, it’s unlikely to induce a lethal shock.”

Uraya’s ears swiveled restlessly. “I cannot believe I allowed you to talk me into this.” They raised the device. “Ready?”

“Ja.” Turning away, he spread his arms to present as broad a target as possible. He had an instant’s warning as the stunner whirred to life, and then the shock hit him. A hot, prickling sensation rolled across his back as the jolt struck him between the shoulders, then just as quickly dissipated as the electricity was channeled downwards to the ground, leaving a faint scorch mark in the grass. “There, see? Barely felt a thing.”

“Your hair is sticking up like dandelion fluff,” Uraya said bluntly, then sighed. “You’re going to ask me to try it on a higher setting, aren’t you?”

“That is the plan, ja.”

“I feel we are operating outside my job description, but if you insist on doing this, at least there will be someone here to call for emergency aid when you electrocute yourself.”

“Technically, it’s only electrocution if someone dies.”

“How comforting.” Uraya twisted the dial to the next highest setting. “Very well. Let’s try this again.”

The two of them performed several more tests after that, both at range and up close. At the higher settings, the jolt made the mesh heat up alarmingly, but to Caleb’s relief, nothing started on fire. As long as Essek didn’t get hit with a military-grade stunner, he wouldn’t have to worry about his clothes igniting. Probably.

Satisfied with his designs, he had Uraya make him an appointment with Tival, and on Conthsen morning, Caleb arrived at the tailor’s shop with a collection of diagrams for Essek’s protective cloak. Tival looked them over, then examined the bundle of mesh Caleb had brought, twisting and pulling it between his fingers before nodding thoughtfully. “You developed this material yourself?”

“Ja, mostly.”

“It’s remarkable,” Tival said frankly, holding the mesh up to the light. “Lightweight, flexible, yet capable of dispersing a stunner jolt without crumbling to ash. The practical applications alone . . .”

“It’s not so impressive as all that,” Caleb said, abashed. “There is still the risk of fire. Just because it didn’t ignite the surrounding fabric during the tests is no guarantee such a thing will never occur. That’s why we're adding a quick-release mechanism to the collar of the cloak.”

“Fire safety is a concern,” Tival said. “Even so, I expect I’ll be receiving requests from every noble den in Rosohna once word of this material gets out. If you haven’t filed for a patent already, you’d best do so before someone else swoops in to seize the credit.”

Caleb hesitated. It wasn’t that he hadn’t thought about patenting his inventions. He’d been tinkering with this mesh since early on in his travels with the Nein, though the stuff he’d sewn into their clothing was heavier, sturdy enough to stop a blade. Even that would have been a lucrative invention, if he’d been willing to take the risk. But by that point, he’d spent so long avoiding anything that might draw the eyes of the Assembly that he’d discarded the notion entirely. Better to keep his inventions between himself and the Nein, he’d decided, ignoring the flare of frustration he’d felt at the time.

But the Assembly was well-aware of his movements now. They’d restricted his freedom in so many other ways, but technically, he was no longer on the run from them. So long as he continued to produce results, he could spend his free time however he liked.

“I will think on it,” he said at last. “Though for now, I'd prefer to keep this quiet. This cloak won’t do much to protect my husband from a bullet in his spine. I’d rather any potential assassins remain unaware that he’s protected from more common weapons.”

“A fair point,” Tival said ruefully, “though I must say, all this talk of assassination makes me glad I was not born into one of the higher dens. It must be horribly taxing to go through life worrying someone might slide a knife between your ribs.”

Caleb shrugged. “Eh, you get used to it.”

“Do you?” Tival let out a tinkling laugh. “You’ll forgive me if I’d rather not become so accustomed to violence. Fashion design is cutthroat in its own way, but at least the throat-cutting is metaphorical.” He set the bundle of mesh aside and gathered up Caleb’s design notes. “I have a few orders I must finish before I can begin on this, but if there is no immediate urgency, I can have it finished within three weeks.”

“Three weeks should be fine,” Caleb said. He’d have preferred to have it done sooner—two years as a mercenary had taught him that danger could strike at any time—but Tival had already been more than gracious with his assistance, and Caleb didn’t want to push. He clasped Tival’s hands briefly in gratitude. “Thank you, friend.”

They parted ways, Tival promising to send an invoice once he had a better idea of how difficult the mesh would be to work with, Caleb heading to the Dim’s Inn to see if the Nein had left him any more messages. They hadn’t, but the data chip he’d left tucked behind the sink’s drainpipe had disappeared, which meant whoever his friends had tapped for messenger duty had been through to collect it. Caleb spent half an hour sipping a glass of cheap wine in the corner, then returned to the towers. He might have finished his part in designing Essek’s cloak, but he still had plenty do to. The Assembly had a contact in the Dynasty, someone with the skill and resources to smuggle two Luxon beacons out of one of the most secure vaults in the galaxy. If the thief was indeed one of Essek’s colleagues as Caleb suspected, there was a good chance they’d pointed him out to Ludinus as a possible target for espionage—a neat way to deflect the Assembly’s attention away from oneself and sabotage a rival in the process.

“Will we be seeing any of your colleagues at the fundraiser?” he asked Essek one evening during a lull in their studies.

It wasn’t a subtle probe, but Essek didn’t so much as glance up from the page he was translating. “A few, yes, though I haven’t worked closely with any of them since I was a student. Alas, we’ll still be expected to mingle. Drawbacks of being one of the speakers.”

“Not looking forward to seeing your old friends?”

Essek laughed. “Caleb, I graduated top of my class. I didn’t have friends, I had competition.”

“Old rivals, then?” Caleb pressed, a little too obviously. The mirth faded from Essek’s expression.

“Perhaps,” he said, “though I expect they’ll accord themselves with utmost courtesy. I may not have been terribly popular with my peers back then, but I have the Bright Queen’s favor and an influential den at my back. They’ll be wary of offending me.” He cast a dubious look at Caleb. “Why do you ask?”

Caleb shrugged, hoping the movement would conceal the tension in his shoulders. “No particular reason. It’s been a few years since my last foray into academia, that’s all. I don’t want to embarrass you by going in unprepared.”

Essek’s expression softened. He reached up to brush Caleb’s hair back from his face. “It’s true that I value my reputation highly,” he said, in that cautious way he did when he was tiptoeing around a delicate subject, “but I won’t fault you if you’d rather stay here. I know that you’ve had some . . . traumatic experiences with academia.”

Caleb suppressed an impulse to scratch at his forearms. Aside from his brief slip the other day, he hadn’t spoken of his time at the academy since Essek had interrogated him about it his first night in Rosohna. But clearly Essek had gleaned something from Caleb’s reactions; despite his hesitation over his wording, there wasn’t a trace of doubt in his voice.

“It wasn’t all bad,” Caleb said at last, awkwardly. “I learned a great deal during my time there. Discovered much about the world, and about myself. There are things I regret,” and oh, what a misleading understatement that was, “but the academy itself was wonderful.”

A furrow formed between Essek’s eyebrows, as if someone had presented him an equation that didn’t add up. “Do you miss it, then? Soltryce?”

Caleb hesitated. “No. I miss the atmosphere, perhaps, and the opportunities. But I think my experiences there pretty thoroughly ruined the academy for me. Even if I wanted go back, I’m not sure I could.”

“And if you had the option to seek an education elsewhere—would you consider resuming your scholarly career then? Your time at the academy may have been interrupted,” he added at Caleb’s startled glance, “but that need not be the end of your studies.”

“You’re suggesting I attend school here?”

“It’s not so outlandish an idea. You’ve already proven through our translation sessions to be an exemplary student. I could write you a letter of recommendation, ensure that any concerns about your imperial affiliations do not impact your odds of getting in. I have a fair bit of clout at the conservatory. I believe they would let you take the entrance exams, at least.” He bit his lip, apparently reading the apprehension in Caleb’s face. “Apologies. I’m being presumptuous. I just . . . I want you to know that you could have a future here, independent of our relationship. You don’t have to sacrifice your dreams and ambitions to serve mine.”

Caleb swallowed hard. “It’s not presumptuous. It’s just . . .” Just that he’d forsaken any right he’d had to pursue his dreams years ago, long before his home had burned. Ikithon had guided his decisions, but in the end, his choices were his own. He didn’t deserve a second chance. To be offered one by the very man he’d been sent to manipulate . . .

The cool pressure of Essek’s fingertips against his cheek dragged Caleb from his thoughts. “You don’t have to answer now,” Essek said, “or at all. Whatever your choice, I will support it. Just know that the option is open to you, should you decide it’s something you want.”

Caleb nodded stiffly, praying he didn’t look as miserable as he felt. “I will think on it. Thank you,” he added belatedly. “This is a very generous offer.”

Essek gave a halfhearted smile. “Consider it an investment if you like. It won’t hurt my reputation for others to know how brilliant my husband is. Quite the opposite—it will demonstrate how well-matched we are and discourage any detractors of our union from voicing their objections too loudly.”

“And so your ulterior motive is revealed,” Caleb said, gladly seizing the opportunity to lighten the mood. He placed his hands on either side of his husband’s waist and pulled him close, breathing in the familiar electrical fire scent of him.

Obligingly, Essek wrapped his arms around Caleb’s neck and kissed the edge of his jaw. “One of them, perhaps. But I will admit to enjoying your brilliance on a more . . . sensual level as well.”

“Meine Perle, are you asking me to take you to bed?”

Essek tilted his head back, his lips a bare inch from Caleb’s. “Maybe. If you’re interested.”

“My interest was never in question,” Caleb murmured, and closed the distance between them. Essek sank into the kiss, eyelids fluttering closed, and when morning came the next day, they woke in the warmth of each other’s arms.

Chapter Text

Chapter Thirty

The streetlamps were dimming for their evening cycle when their hovercraft drew to a halt outside the Marble Tomes Conservatory. Caleb straightened the front of his robes—a rich purple wrap that gradually darkened to black near the hem—only to drop his hands as Essek smirked at him from the other end of their seat. “Awfully fussy tonight. Still nervous about making a good impression?”

“This fundraiser is important to you,” Caleb said, sidestepping the question. He was nervous, but not about his appearance. This evening represented his best chance to connect with Essek’s colleagues without drawing suspicion. If he didn’t find any leads tonight, he’d have to resort to riskier methods to identify the Assembly’s secret contact, methods that were more likely to end in his arrest than solve any of his problems. “Best to start off on the right foot, ja?”

Essek’s sly grin softened. “You have nothing to worry about, moya zvezda. Most of the attendees are academics, not courtiers. You’ll be the most handsome man in the room.”

Heat crept up the back of Caleb’s neck. Once, such an encouraging compliment from the man he was sleeping with would have left him glowing with pride. But he’d spent too many years mired in shame for flattery to sit easy within him, and it was hard to fathom what Essek found attractive about him when he utterly failed to match the local standard of beauty. “You’re too kind.”

“Hardly.” Essek tucked a strand of hair behind Caleb’s ear, then withdrew to pop the door open. “Come. We don’t want to be late.”

Caleb followed him out of the hovercraft, extending his arm so Essek could rest his hand in the crook of his elbow, and made for the tall stone doors of the front entrance. Cool greenish light spilled from the windows, which, though not as intricate as the stained glass Caleb had seen on some of the more religious buildings, were inscribed with frosted patterns resembling the Luxon beacons. Several people lingered outside the doors, forming a loose circle around a rotund half-orc woman in a heavy tan shawl as she animatedly recalled a recent mishap in her laboratory. Caleb perked up, curiosity caught.

“Professor Tuss Waccoh,” Essek informed him discreetly. “Her manner can be eccentric, but she’s more canny than people give her credit for. Don’t let her put you off-balance.”

“She is a rival of yours?”

Essek’s mouth flattened. “Not precisely,” he muttered, and that was all he had time to say before Waccoh glanced up and gave him a teeth-baring grin.

“Well, if this ain’t a sight for sore eyes! How you doin’, Thelyss?”

Essek regarded Waccoh with an expression somewhere between polite attention and amused tolerance. “Well enough, considering I’ve been tasked with giving a speech tonight. And yourself? I haven’t seen you outside of your lab in months.”

“I’ve barely been outside my lab in months,” Waccoh said, pride softening the complaint. “You’d think I’d have a little more peace and quiet now that the war’s settled down, but I can’t go an hour without some noble brat hammering on my door. Entitled little shits, all of them. No offense intended, of course.” She inclined her head, then threw a curious glance toward Caleb. “And who’s this handsome piece of arm candy?”

“Ah, hallo, my name is Caleb Widogast,” Caleb replied, inexplicably charmed. Waccoh either didn’t have the social awareness to filter her speech or was so secure in her position that she saw no reason to. Either way, her casual impropriety reminded him oddly of Jester, if Jester were deeply exasperated with the world.

“Caleb is a diplomatic representatives for the Dwendalian Empire,” Essek said. “We were wed this past summer as part of the recent peace treaty.”

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Caleb said by rote.

“A human, eh? Don’t see many of those around Rosohna.” She leaned in close, her gold-tinted eyes scanning Caleb up and down. “We’ve got a few wandering tribes in the Wastes, but I always thought humans needed more sunlight than we get in this sliver of the Dynasty. You taking vitamin D supplements?”

Caleb nodded. Vitamin D supplements were standard for most folk who spent extended periods in space, human or otherwise. Drow were a rare exception—apparently their bodies could synthesize the vitamin without the aid of UV light—but not all of Xhorhas’s inhabitants were so fortunate. Waccoh would have to take them as well, or risk serious health issues. “I will admit to missing the sunshine,” Caleb said, “but the eternal twilight is beautiful in its own right. And I’m happy to stay for my husband.”

“Of course, of course.” Waccoh slanted Essek a gleeful look. “Gotta say, I’ve heard a lot of rumors about humans, but I never thought I’d see you married to one. I bet he’s giving you all kinds of new experiences, eh?”

Essek’s ears quivered as he blushed. “Ah, well, that’s a bit—what I mean to say is—”

Waccoh clapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, no judgment. Lots of fancy folk are into the rugged barbarian types.”

“He’s not a barbarian,” Essek said, rising an inch higher in affront. Caleb brushed his hand down the small of his back.

“It’s all right. I am more surprised to be called ‘rugged’. I’m actually on the scrawny side for a human.”

“Is that right?” Waccoh’s gaze turned assessing. “I’m no anthropologist, but I gotta say, I’m curious. What’s it like in the Empire? Is it true that people will fight each other in the streets for a scrap of meat?”

“We are not quite so savage as that,” Caleb said, clinging to his smile with some effort. He’d known before he’d come to Rosohna that Empire folk, particularly humans, were regarded as brutish and uncivilized by the majority of the Dynasty, and so he’d taken care with how he presented himself in public. But this wasn’t the first time someone had looked at him as if he belonged in a circus, and the attention made his skin at the back of his neck tighten. “The Empire’s politics might be vicious, but when it comes to the people, we’re not so different from the Dynasty. We care for our families and work together to build communities. There is prejudice, of course, and admittedly the Empire’s economic disparities have led to heightened rates of theft and banditry in the outer settlements, but most citizens go their whole lives without engaging in anything more violent than a fistfight.”

“Outside of military business, of course,” Waccoh said, eyes keen.

“And mercenary work,” Caleb confirmed, seeing no point in disagreeing. “But that is another discussion entirely, ja?”

Waccoh flicked a glance toward Essek. He’d mostly recovered from his stammering embarrassment, but he tensed as those golden eyes fell upon him, his courtly mask strained. “Indeed,” he said, a little too sharply. “And one we don’t have time for, I’m afraid. It wouldn’t do for the fundraiser’s opening speaker to be late, would it?”

“Nah, course not,” Waccoh said, ceding the point with a wave of her hand. “Well, I’ll let you get to it, then. And let me know if you ever want to talk politics,” she added to Caleb. “It’s not often I get to meet someone so directly affiliated with the Empire, you know.”

“Of course,” Caleb said, already withdrawing as Essek edged closer to the doors. Waccoh let them go, a speculative gleam in her eyes, and Caleb forced himself to look ahead, into the pentagonal entrance chamber of the conservatory. Several hallways branched off from the room at oblique angles, like spokes on a wheel. Essek guided him down a dark corridor lined on either side with a long, unbroken strip of glass: windows to the rows of bioluminescent plants beyond. There were ferns with glowing stripes along their fronds, hanging vines like jellyfish tendrils, strange hibiscus-like flowers with spiraling patterns on their petals. Caleb stared as they passed, recalling his first visit to the Thelyss estate. “Is this . . . ?”

“My mother’s work, yes,” Essek said quietly. “Before she became head of Den Thelyss, my mother spent a century and a half as headmaster here. Even now, she is on the conservatory’s advisory board—though if I am being honest, I suspect she stays mostly to ensure no one uproots her precious specimens.” He hesitated, lips parted as if he wanted to say something more. Caleb slowed their pace, giving him time to work up to it, and after about twenty seconds, Essek went on. “I’m sorry. I knew Professor Waccoh would be curious about your origins, but I didn’t expect her to be so forward. I should have interceded as soon as I noticed you were uncomfortable.”

Caleb shook his head. “It’s all right. I’d rather hear such things openly than through whispers and rumors.”

“It was still uncouth,” Essek insisted, mouth pinched. “Waccoh is a scholar. She should know better than to rely on stereotypes and propaganda for her information.”

“Ja, but that’s not something you have to apologize for.” When Essek only bit his lip, Caleb changed the subject. “How did you come to meet her? She’s a bit young to have been a professor of yours.”

Essek winced. “We were . . . colleagues. During the war.”

Caleb’s focus sharpened. Could Waccoh be the Assembly’s secret contact? Essek had said she was more canny than she let on. If she’d been involved enough in Essek’s work, she might not even have needed to point the Assembly towards him—his mere association with her might have been enough to catch their eye. There was still the issue of motive, but if her intrusive probing about Caleb was any indication, Waccoh was driven by curiosity. Would she have looked upon the Assembly and seen an opportunity to advance her research? “Does Professor Waccoh study dunamancy as well, then?” 

“Not dunamancy, no. Waccoh is an engineer.” Essek flicked a nervous glance in Caleb’s direction. “Where my work was centered on the destructive potential of dunamancy, she designed machines that could store and channel those energies for military purposes. She’s the one who designed the casing for the Dynasty’s density bombs.”

Images flashed in Caleb’s mind: transport ships crumpling like paper, skyscrapers folding in on themselves as if crushed by an invisible fist, the Zauber Spire listing to the side as it buckled beneath the extreme forces of the Dynasty’s weapon. The Nein had been in the city investigating a corrupt official when they’d heard the high-pitched whine of the device whirring up. Caleb remembered seeing the rippling wave of energy burst from the spire before abruptly reversing direction to crush everything within its radius. The footage had played in the news for weeks afterward, a terrifying demonstration of the enemy's capabilities. 

Afterward, the Assembly had claimed the saboteurs had been sent to steal a priceless artifact from the Zauber Spire’s gallery. Propaganda, Caleb had thought at the time, but now he wondered. The Zauber Spire stood at the center of Halls of Erudition, which operated under the auspices of the Assembly. If they’d been researching one of the beacons there, it was possible the saboteurs had been sent not to steal an artifact, but to recover one that had been stolen from their people.

“I’m sorry,” Essek said, dragging Caleb back to the present. “I should have told you about my role in the conflict before now, but I . . .” He faltered, shoulders curling inward. “I did not want you to think ill of me. That is a poor excuse, I know. You should think ill of me. The devastation I’ve inflicted upon others in service to my ambitions is nothing short of horrific. I do not deserve your solace or your sympathy, and I certainly don’t deserve you. It was foolish of me to hope that I could—that we could—”

“Essek.” Caleb took his husband’s face between his hands. “I already knew about the weapons. It was in your file.”

“I—what?” The bleak desperation in Essek’s expression splintered, confusion taking its place. “No, it wasn’t.”

Caleb frowned. He’d assumed the packet of information he’d received had come from the Dynasty, but as he thought about it, he realized that was foolish. Of course the Assembly would have done their own investigation into Essek. They’d been preparing to infiltrate his life for months, long before Caleb had been dropped into their lap, convenient and expendable. With their resources and influence, they’d have had little trouble discerning the nature of Essek’s work. It had likely been one of the first things they’d looked into.

“The Empire must have collected some intel about you before signing off on the marriage,” Caleb said to smooth things over, but Essek only shook his head, bewildered.

“That information was classified. How did they . . . ?” He stopped, his face abruptly clearing of all expression. “What else was in the file they gave you?”

A twinge of anxiety prickled at the back of Caleb’s skull; he let his hands drop. “Personality assessments,” he said carefully. “Shops and restaurants you frequented. Legal documentation.” A great deal more than had been in his own file, rife with falsehoods as it was. “There was a document that suggested you’d been betrothed at one point,” Caleb went on, wondering if that was what Essek was worried about, “but that information was considered unreliable, as there wasn't enough supporting documentation to confirm it." 

“No, there wouldn't have been,” Essek said absently. “Our dens buried that scandal quite thoroughly. What else?”

Caleb eyed his husband warily. It was clear Essek was worried about something, but it was hard to imagine what secret could be so destructive to their relationship that his wartime developments would seem a trifle by comparison. “I’m sorry, Essek, that’s all I know. You’ve lived a very private life, despite your accomplishments. There wasn’t much for the Empire to find.”

He thought he saw the faintest glimmer of relief in Essek’s eyes, but it was hard to be sure—his courtly mask might have been melded to his face for all that Caleb could read off him. “I see,” he said, preternaturally calm. Caleb felt an impulse to reach out, but some instinct stilled his hand before his fingers could do more than twitch in his husband’s direction. It was the same prickly alertness he felt when a plasma bolt whispered past his ear, close enough for its heat to curl the ends of his hair: the awareness of a threat narrowly avoided. He averted his eyes, slouching to make himself seem smaller, and after another few seconds, the tension slowly drained out of Essek’s posture.

“My apologies,” Essek said. “I did not mean to turn this into an interrogation. Please, let us continue to our destination. We're running late enough as it is.”

Caleb nodded, extending his arm. Essek rested his hand delicately in the crook of his elbow and began drifting toward the end of the hallway, his pace measured. Caleb walked alongside him, disquiet pooling like ice water in the pit of his stomach, and together, they passed through a set of amber doors and into the library of the Marble Tomes.

Chapter Text

Chapter Thirty-One

The doors of the library’s southwestern entrance slid open as they approached, gliding smoothly along their metal track. Essek had brought them to one of the peripheral entrances, hoping to avoid stumbling into any more awkward conversations before he was due to speak, but they’d delayed too long; the normally quiet alcove was already bustling with other attendees, several of whom glanced their way as the door opened.

Essek schooled his expression into a cool smile, ignoring the slow churning of his stomach. Now wasn’t the time to dwell on the things he’d revealed to Caleb, nor the fact that Caleb had evidently known he’d been responsible for developing the density bombs which had proven so devastating in the war. They doubtless had much to discuss after the fundraiser, but until then, Essek could pretend everything was as it should be.

“How long before your speech?” Caleb asked.

Essek peered sideways at him, gauging his expression, but whatever tumultuous feelings Caleb might have had after their last conversation had been thoroughly buried behind a look of polite neutrality. “Perhaps half an hour. I expect the headmaster will try to pin us down ten minutes before I need to be at the podium.”

“Do I need to know anything about them?”

“Not particularly. He became headmaster after I graduated, so we don’t have an extensive history, but his innovations in the field of dunamancy are well known. You might have heard of him, actually—Ivrisil del Mierva.”

“From your annotations,” Caleb said, recognition flashing in his eyes. “His methods for more precisely delineating dunamantic fields enabled a surge of technological advancements throughout the latter half of the eighth century. His work was revolutionary.” Caleb paused, then lowered his voice. “I wouldn’t have expected someone of such renown to leave their research for an administrative position.”

“No?” Essek raised an eyebrow. “Within the Dynasty, it is a great honor to be offered a position at such a prominent university. To guide young souls toward success is to ensure that those who are worthy of continuing on past their first life have the opportunity to distinguish themselves. And it’s not as if he’s lacking for time. His innovations earned him the rite of consecution—a rarity for one born outside the dens. He’s on his second life now, and seems content enough to share his knowledge with the younger generations. I imagine he’ll hold the position a few more decades before he moves on to something else.”

Caleb gave him a measuring look. “You respect him. The headmaster.”

“He worked hard to earn his place within the cycle of rebirth. I may disagree with many aspects of the faith, but I can still admire the perseverance of those who succeed despite the odds.”

“I look forward to meeting him, then,” Caleb said, dipping his head. “Will we be encountering any other colleagues of yours this evening?”

Essek frowned. Caleb had asked about his colleagues last night as well, idly, but Essek had never known him to ask the same question twice, and certainly not within so short a span of time. Unease slithered down the back of his neck. Why was Caleb so keen on meeting Essek’s former peers? Had the incident with Waccoh made him suspicious of Essek’s other projects, or had Essek somehow implied he was collaborating with someone else? Caleb couldn’t know of his dealings with the Assembly; the only concrete evidence of their collusion was an encrypted data chip sealed away in a locked drawer in Essek’s laboratory, which Caleb didn’t have access to. So why did it feel like Caleb’s innocuous question was an attempt to pry into his secrets?

Of course he’d want to look deeper into your past, Essek scolded himself. You all but told him you kept your work for the queen secret from him. Why shouldn’t he wonder what else you’ve been up to? Essek remembered the horror he’d glimpsed in Caleb’s eyes when he’d mentioned the density bombs, the wariness when Essek had pressed him on the contents of the dossier he’d received from the Empire. It was possible the Augen Trust had uncovered that information on their own—the crown’s spy network had been a thorn in the Dynasty’s side since long before war had broken out—but more likely the Assembly had slipped this information to the king deliberately, either to sabotage Essek’s marriage and ensure his continued isolation or to remind him they could ruin him whenever they pleased. Essek had managed to remain useful enough to avoid being discarded thus far, but he knew Ludinus considered him expendable. He would have no qualms about leaking pieces of Essek’s history to the royal council.

“Perhaps after the speeches, I can introduce you to some of my former classmates,” Essek said at last, awkwardly. “But I’d rather not get pulled into a conversation only to have to abandon shortly thereafter.”

“Of course.” Caleb gave him a tentative smile. “Perhaps we could make our way to the refreshments table instead. I saw a few people cycling through here earlier with little finger sandwiches.”

“Indeed.” He led Caleb through a gap in the bookshelves and into the vast, high-ceilinged chamber of the library’s entrance hall. The scattered armchairs and worktables that usually dotted the space had been shoved into the corners to make room for a pair of rectangular tables loaded with hors d’oeuvres. They joined the milling crowd, following the current until they came to the table nearest to them. Caleb selected a delicate finger sandwich from one of the platters, along with a thimble-sized paper cup filled with orange sauce; Essek went straight for the wineglasses being set out by one of the caterers. Under ordinary circumstances, he preferred not to indulge in such things until after he’d fulfilled his duties, but he needed something to settle his nerves. He selected a second glass for Caleb, a sweet redberry vintage similar to the Iothian cranberry wine he favored for their study sessions, and returned to his husband’s side. “We should make a circuit of the room, ensure we’re seen in case any of my mother’s spies are looking to report to her on our marriage.”

“I would ask if that’s likely, but having met your mother, it wouldn’t surprise me if she sent someone to keep tabs on things.” Caleb popped the last of his finger sandwich into his mouth and allowed Essek to begin steering him in a slow circuit around the fringes of the crowd.

The next twenty minutes passed smoothly enough. They were greeted by a handful of acquaintances, including a few from Den Thelyss. Essek spared them each a few minutes of attention, more out of obligation than any real desire to connect. At one point he caught a glimpse of Professor Waccoh trundling toward them, but he managed to catch the eye of a noblewoman he vaguely knew from his dealings with Den Olios and engage her in conversation long enough for the professor to move on. Essek knew it wasn’t fair to lay all of this evening’s troubles at Waccoh’s feet when his own actions were the root of the problem, but neither could he entirely smother his frustration with her over their disastrous conversation earlier. 

By the time they finished making their rounds, it was nearly seventh bell. He scanned the crowd, and within moments caught sight of the harried-looking Ivrisil del Mierva, currently engaged in reluctant conversation with the head of the philosophy department.

“Shadowhand,” the headmaster said as they approached, not quite managing to hide his relief. “Wonderful timing. I was just about to seek you out. Professor Davarrin, my apologies, but I must see to the final preparations for the speeches.”

The withered drow woman waved him off. “Yes, yes, bread and circuses, very important, I’m sure.” Her pale eyes flickered keenly over Caleb, slightly magnified by the spectacles resting upon the bridge of her nose. “Who’s this, then?”

“This is Caleb Widogast, diplomatic representative of the Dwendalian Empire,” Essek recited by rote. “We were wed earlier this summer as part of the treaty.”

Professor Davarrin tilted her head, humming thoughtfully. “Yes, I recall hearing something about that. Your mother sent me an invitation, I believe. Purely a formality,” she added, flicking a glance at Caleb. “If she’d really wanted all those people to show up, she’d have sent the invitation six months in advance, not a bare three weeks before the event.”

“Ja, well, six months ago, neither of us knew we’d be getting married at all,” Caleb said, softening the statement with a rueful smile. “Fortunately, Essek and I are well-suited to each other.”

“Is that so?” The glance Davarrin shot Essek was just a shade too knowing. “Personally, I find the practice of arranged marriage rather restrictive, but I suppose it must work out on occasion.”

At that, Essek couldn’t help but sink into himself. Professor Davarrin hadn’t been present for the dissolution of his betrothal to Adeen, but she would have heard the rumors of their failed courtship. The scandal had spread like poison through the tabloids, even gained traction in some of the smaller news outlets. Essek had long suspected Adeen of perpetuating the more virulent rumors, a final insult to soothe his wounded pride, but by then Essek had been too wrung out from months of dealing with the man to confront him over it. Better to endure in silence until their engagement faded from the public eye, he’d told himself, even as the ordeal spooled out over months, an ongoing humiliation.

“In any case,” the headmaster said pointedly, “we have a timetable to keep. Shadowhand, if you would follow me, I can bring you to one of the private reading rooms for a final run-through of your speech.”

“Of course.” Reluctantly, he released Caleb’s arm and met his eyes for the first time since they’d entered the library. “I’ll find you after the speeches are finished.”

Something complicated passed across Caleb’s face. He brushed a stray curl of hair from Essek’s forehead, his touch achingly gentle. “See you soon, Essek.”

“Yes.” His voice sounded faint to his own ears. He took another sip of wine, recalling the fragile warmth he felt whenever Caleb reached for him and measuring it against the sharpness now lying alongside his heart. Such similar feelings on the surface, all bright, crystalline edges, but where the first felt new and precious, this feeling was painfully familiar. Fate had been kind to him for a while, but it was folly to cling to happiness when he’d done so little to deserve it. Perhaps if he’d been less selfish, less shortsighted, he might have been able to salvage something from the wreckage on the horizon, but it was too late now. Better to accept that gracefully while there was still a chance he could retain his dignity.

Essek followed the headmaster deeper into the library, feeling Caleb’s eyes upon his back every step of the way.

Chapter Text

Chapter Thirty-Two

“My, my, I hope that wasn’t my fault,” Professor Davarrin said as Essek hastened after the headmaster. 

“I’m sure he’s just hoping to get one more rehearsal in before he comes onstage,” Caleb said, shooting her a glance. Her comment about marriage might not have been meant as a barb, but it was hard to smother his frustration when her doubtful look had so clearly struck one of Essek's sore spots. 

“If you say so.” Davarrin shrugged, attention straying to the crowd. “Ah, I think I spy the head of the physics department. If you’ll excuse me, I have an argument to finish.”

Caleb let her go, casting one final glance in the direction Essek had gone before making his way toward the refreshment table. Much as he wanted to go after his husband, it would have to wait. This fundraiser might be Caleb’s only chance to make inroads with Essek’s colleagues, and he needed to take advantage of the opportunity. Professor Waccoh had already shown interest in speaking with him again, and he’d dug up the names of a few other notable scholars. It would be difficult to engineer an encounter with them without Essek there to make introductions, but Caleb knew how to be charming. He could manage. 

Plucking another flute of wine from the refreshment table, he joined the rolling tides of the crowd and let it carry him along until he drew close to Lythir VaSuun. The bio Caleb had read indicated he specialized in graviturgy, and that he’d developed a number of technologies for use on the battlefield—devices that could briefly disrupt the local gravity or channel it to push people in a certain direction. His inventions hadn’t earned as much acclaim as Essek’s, being more utilitarian than destructive, but he was nonetheless considered an accomplished scholar. More importantly, Den VaSuun had a long-standing rivalry with Den Thelyss. If this Lythir was the sort of man to sic the Assembly on his political opponents, Essek was a logical target.

Caleb lingered at the edge of the crowd, pretending to skim the conservatory’s bookshelves while he waited for an opportunity. He didn’t have to wait long; a bare three minutes later, Lythir withdrew from his current conversation and continued his circuit around the room, heading roughly in Caleb’s direction. Feigning inattention, Caleb stepped away from the shelves and moved to intercept, though doing so required him to move against the flow of the crowd. Still, his timing was perfect. He cut across Lythir’s path just as he rounded the unattended help desk and let the toe of his shoe catch on the rug there. He stumbled, barely managing not to spill his wine, and bumped into Lythir’s shoulders.

“Ack,” he said, a touch louder than his normal volume. Lythir glanced his way, one eyebrow arched with annoyance. Good, Caleb thought, arranging his face into an embarrassed smile. “My apologies. I fear I’m still growing accustomed to Xhorhas’s gravity.” Before Lythir could respond, he widened his eyes and stood up straighter. “Oh, hello. Have we met? You look familiar.”

Just as Caleb had hoped, his apparent interest seemed to stymie Lythir for a moment. The elf paused, turning to face him more fully. “I think I would remember someone such as yourself,” he said, making no effort to veil the contemptuous once-over he gave Caleb. “So no, we’re not acquainted.”

“My mistake,” Caleb said, ducking his head. “I remember now. You were featured in a recent edition of The Observer—there was a photo of you above the article. They said you were set to become one of Den VaSuun’s most prominent souls.”

“Indeed,” Lythir said, his irritation thawing slightly at the flattery. Caleb felt a spark of triumph. He had the man’s attention; now he just had to hold onto it. “Though I’m surprised to hear you mention it,” Lythir went on. “I didn’t realize The Observer had an audience within the Empire. It’s a rather niche publication.”

“My husband recommended the magazine,” Caleb lied, then winced. “Ah, I’m sorry. I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Caleb Widogast. I’m one of the diplomatic representatives from the Empire.” He bowed slightly, right arm crossed over his chest after Dynasty fashion.

Lythir’s smile thinned. “Thelyss’s new husband, yes. I heard about the wedding—a modest affair for such a prominent den, but I suppose the Umavi wanted to keep it quiet. The bigger the spectacle, the more devastating the scandal, as they say.”

Caleb’s reply dried up on his tongue. He knew there had been some political fallout after Essek’s first betrothal—that much had been easy to pick up during the weeks of interviews and public appearances following their wedding—but most of the barbs they’d received had been subtler. Then again, Lythir had little reason to soften the jab. Not only did he belong to a rival den, but he likely held some professional jealousy toward Essek, whose acclaim within the field would have overshadowed Lythir’s otherwise impressive accomplishments.

“I don’t expect our relationship to end in scandal. Essek has been very accommodating.” The practiced response felt stilted on his tongue. He dropped his gaze. “As for myself, I have no interest in reigniting tensions; I’m happy to do my part to improve relations between the Empire and the Dynasty.”

“Hm. Well, to each their own. But I’d be careful if I were you. Essek has managed to avoid being named a disgrace to his den thus far, but that won’t last forever. Eventually, he’s going to tumble straight into the muck pit, and anyone foolish enough to try pulling him out will end up splattered in filth.” Lythir raised his wineglass in an ironic farewell and brushed past Caleb without another word.

Well, that went poorly. Caleb stared down into his own wineglass, heat creeping up the back of his neck. He’d known his chances of impressing one of Essek’s rivals was low, but he hadn’t expected to be rebuffed so thoroughly. Caleb was accustomed to scorn, and it rarely bothered him, but it was harder to brush off the insult to his husband. It wasn’t Essek’s fault his previous betrothed had tormented him until Essek had been forced to dissolve the relationship, nor that the tabloids had taken their broken engagement and used it as fodder for their gossip columns.

And what do you think is going to happen when you abandon him? Who will stand by him then? Uraya would remain steadfast, he thought. Perhaps Verin as well, though his relationship with Essek had seemed rather contentious when they'd spoken at the wedding reception. Would that be enough to keep Essek from self-destructing after this was all over? Caleb had had the entirety of the Mighty Nein to support him, and it had still taken him months to truly feel secure in their friendship. Essek had spent the last several decades pulling away from everyone who might once have supported him—he would have no safety net when Caleb’s mission here came to an end.

Above him, the rippling green bulbs of the atrium’s chandelier began to dim. The rest of the lights followed a moment later, all save for a discreet circle of lamps set into the floor around the stage on the western edge of the room. Caleb turned to see the headmaster stepping onto the platform, Essek trailing a few paces behind.

“Greetings, everyone, and be welcome,” the headmaster said as people began to shuffle toward the stage. Caleb moved with the crowd, aiming to secure a space near the front, but he’d been halfway across the room when the lights had dimmed, and there were more than fifty people between him and the front row. With a grimace, he skirted the edge of the chamber until he found an open pocket of space beneath one of the second-floor balconies. At least here he’d be able to see his husband, even if the acoustics muddled his words.

“ . . . with great honor that I announce Shadowhand Essek Thelyss, our speaker for this evening,” Ivrisil finished, then withdrew from the stage.

Essek drifted forward, his pace measured, stately, and rested his hands on the podium. “Thank you, Headmaster.” He cleared his throat, his eyes sweeping the room as the last trailing murmurs faded to silence. “And my thanks to the rest of you for being here tonight. It is difficult not to feel humbled, standing amidst the towering shelves of this grand library as we honor the spirit of innovation that has so long fueled the Dynasty's progress. In the six hundred years since its foundations were laid, the Marble Tomes has stood as a bastion of knowledge and discovery, opening its doors to those who seek to unravel the greater mysteries of the world . . ."

Caleb felt a swell of admiration as his husband settled into his speech. Essek had spent hours tinkering with the wording, fine-tuning the syntax and tone until the whole piece flowed like music, yet somehow he made it seem effortless, as if the words had been lying dormant inside him all along, waiting for the right moment to spill forth.

Essek went on. "Returning here, I cannot help but reflect upon the nature of discovery, and how our pursuit of knowledge enriches us, not merely as individuals but as a people. It is through the pursuit of knowledge that we learn to reshape the world, to bend our futures toward better paths, to reach beyond what is already known. It is my belief that our most sacred duty is to support those who seek to expand upon what is already known—a duty which the staff of the Marble Tomes has performed with unfaltering dedication for generations . . .”

“He’s quite the remarkable speaker, isn’t he?” murmured a voice from Caleb’s left. Caleb glanced over to find a short, unfamiliar drow in a dark mantle standing beside him, hands clasped behind his back as he looked toward the stage.

“Ah, yes,” Caleb said, then cursed his awkwardness. He hadn’t realized how much he’d come to rely on Essek’s subtle conversational cues during these events, and he found himself struggling to react to this unexpected approach. He rapidly scanned the man before him, hoping to catch sight of a family crest or other indication of which den he belonged to, but the only distinctive detail was his mantle, a stiff black shell that gleamed even beneath the dim glow of the sconce behind them. Nobility, but not inclined to be flashy about it. Best to play nice, then. “I’m sorry. It seems you have me at a disadvantage. Have we met?”

“No, but I saw some clips of the wedding in the news,” the man said, mouth quirking. “Congratulations on your appointment, by the way.”

It took Caleb a moment to realize the man was referring to his role as a diplomatic representative. He dipped his head, feigning abashment. “Well, you know, it’s mostly a ceremonial title. My only real duty is to stand near my husband and smile.”

“Truly an onerous task.” The drow gave him a conspiratorial grin and lowered his voice. “You know, everyone was quite surprised when the wedding was announced. Someone of his station, married off to a foreigner, and a man of the Empire no less—well. Suffice to say it seemed rather dubious. Then again, Essek has never been the sort to cleave to tradition, so perhaps our doubts were unwarranted.”

“Politics make for the strangest of unions, but we are well-suited, I think.” Caleb glanced up to the stage, trying to gauge how much longer he had before Essek finished his performance. His speech wasn’t terribly long—a few elegant paragraphs about the importance of proper funding in higher education—but when one was reciting aloud, even a single page’s worth of remarks could take time. Caleb turned back to the drow beside him. “Are you a colleague of Essek’s, then?” he asked, hoping the man would introduce himself and perhaps give Caleb some indication of what he was after. “You speak of him with such familiarity.”

“No, nothing like that. We ran in the same circles for a while, but alas, we drifted apart. And there were some political complications as well.”

“What sort of complications?”

“Oh, nothing too dire,” he assured Caleb. “Just some business arrangements that fell through. Barely consequential to anyone save for those whose pride was wounded in the process. I won’t bore you with the details.”

Caleb opened his mouth to say he didn’t mind, but just then, a ripple of applause spread throughout the room; Essek had finished his speech and was drifting back from the podium, his eyes slowly sweeping the audience. Caleb rose up onto his tiptoes, trying to catch his attention, but it was futile. Tucked into a sheltered nook halfway across the room, in the dark, Caleb would be just one more face in the crowd.

He glanced back at his yet-unnamed companion, trying to figure out how to gracefully withdraw from the conversation so he could return to his husband. Without knowing the man’s den or title, it was difficult to gauge which sentiments he’d find inoffensive. Yet even as Caleb dithered, a whisper of suspicion tickled the back of his skull. Why hadn’t this man introduced himself? Was it merely that his den was a rival of Den Thelyss, or were his motives more sinister? Essek had mentioned his mother sending spies to keep tabs on their marriage. Was this man was one of her operatives, hoping to trick Caleb into admitting that their relationship wasn’t as idyllic as it seemed? If so, he was going to be disappointed.

“It’s been wonderful talking with you,” Caleb said, hoping the words sounded more sincere than they felt, “but I believe my husband is expecting me.”

“Actually, if it’s all right, I was hoping to catch up with him before he departed for the evening. It’s been such a long time since we’ve spoken—it will be nice to see him again.”

Caleb hesitated, glancing over his shoulder toward the stage. The headmaster was wrapping up his announcements, his sonorous voice echoing throughout the chamber, but Essek was nowhere to be seen. Caleb scanned the crowd, worry creeping in as the audience began to shift and break apart into smaller groups. Had Essek left without him? No, that was absurd. Whatever lingering distress Essek might feel over their previous conversation, he would never be so inconsiderate as to abandon Caleb at a party without warning. But then where was he?

The seed of worry in his chest was just sprouting into fear when he caught sight of the familiar silver branches of Essek’s mantle. He released a breath and hurried forward, reaching out to take his husband’s hand. Essek jumped, his head whipping around in surprise. “Caleb?”

“Hallo. Sorry,” he added at the tense look on his husband’s face. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Essek said, but his eyes darted away as he said it. “Apologies. You caught me off-guard. Did you still want to meet some of my old colleagues?”

Caleb paused, taking in the tightness of his husband’s mouth, the little divot between his eyebrows. On anyone else, the expression might be taken as simple weariness, but Essek had spent a century perfecting his courtly mask, and tiredness alone wouldn’t be enough to crack it. Caleb stepped closer. “Essek—”

“Ah, just the man I wanted to see,” said a familiar voice. Caleb felt a surge of annoyance at the interruption, but he clamped down on it even as he turned to face the man he’d been speaking to a moment ago. It wasn’t until he felt Essek’s icy fingers digging into his wrist that he realized his husband had gone utterly rigid beside him. “Hello, solntse. It’s been a while.”

“Adeen,” Essek said, eyes fixed upon the other man’s face. “What are you doing here?”

Chapter Text

Chapter Thirty-Three

“Ah, just the man I wanted to see,” Adeen said, the corners of his mouth curling. “Hello, solntse. It’s been a while.” His eyes trailed down the front of Essek’s cloak, heavily, like he wanted to run his fingers through it. Essek fought back a shudder.

“Adeen,” he said faintly. “What are you doing here?”

The instant the words were out, he regretted them. Adeen tilted his head, a faintly disapproving cast to his expression. “Why, Essek, is that any way to greet an old flame?”

Instinctively, he flicked a glance at Caleb’s face, stomach shriveling at the stiff frown there. What had Adeen said to him before Essek had arrived? Had Caleb even known who he was speaking to? Essek had assumed he'd been hallucinating when he’d spotted Adeen chatting with his husband. That had happened sometimes, in the months following their separation: moments when he'd glimpse Adeen’s face among a crowd or hear an echo of dry laughter over his shoulder. It had been nearly a year since the last incident, but this evening had already been horribly stressful. It wasn't unreasonable to think he was suffering a relapse.

And yet here Adeen was, undeniably present. Essek opened his mouth, grasping for something to say. What had Adeen said just now? Something about an old flame?

“I. I’m sorry.” He bowed his head, hating how meek he felt, stammering out an apology to his former betrothed, in public, while his husband looked on. “I was—surprised. To see you. I thought you’d been assigned to one of the border stations.”

Adeen smirked. “Not much need for front-line commanders now that the war is over. I expect I’ll be returning to Rosohna full-time within the next few months.”

“I see.” Essek forced his expression to remain neutral despite the lump of dread gathering in his stomach. “What brings you to the Marble Tomes?”

It was a clumsy segue, but Adeen only chuckled, leaning against the pillar behind him. “I was in town and heard you’d been summoned to give a speech. Thought I’d drop by, offer my congratulations on the wedding.”

So it wasn’t a coincidence that Adeen was here. Essek wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or nauseous. “Thank you,” he said mechanically. “We’re very happy together.”

“Are you? Glad to hear it. Everyone was rather worried, you know. Such a brief engagement, and to a human, no less! No offense intended,” he said to Caleb with such obvious insincerity that Essek had to grit his teeth to keep from saying something unwise. “But you must understand, the circumstances of your union were very unusual. So much pressure on the both of you. One could hardly be blamed for speculating about the . . . coercive nature of such a marriage.”

Anger kindled in Essek’s heart, a seed of warmth to drive back the ice creeping through his veins. He clung to it desperately as he tilted his chin back. “There is always pressure from the dens. But rest assured, had I not wanted this marriage, I would have made it known before I signed the contract.”

“Always so eager to take offense,” Adeen remarked, even as he smile tightened. “You never did learn to let things go. It’s been three years, Essek—isn’t it time to dig up the briar patch?”

“Why bother? The soil underneath has already been thoroughly salted.”

“Careful,” Adeen warned, jaw flexing. “We’re in public, you know. Wouldn’t want to cause a stir.”

The words splashed like ice-water over the rising flames of Essek’s anger. Instinctively, he cast a glance about the room. A handful of people were looking their way, furtively, as if waiting for the moment this exchange would explode into a chorus of raised voices and vicious insults. The thought alone made Essek dizzy. It had never gone that far before. Not in public. There had been rumors, of course, that their relationship was failing—between Adeen’s tendency to gossip about their private affairs and Essek’s reputation for contrariness, it had sometimes seemed everyone was waiting for their betrothal to fall apart. But the thought of enduring an open confrontation now, among so many witnesses . . . Essek turned back to Adeen, praying he didn’t look as pitiful as he suddenly felt. “My apologies. I fear I’ve let my feelings overwhelm my judgment. I didn’t mean to suggest that there was no possibility of—of reconciliation between us. It’s just . . .”

“No, I understand,” Adeen said, and for a moment, he sounded sincere, as if he were sorry to have goaded him. “You still need time.”

Essek bowed his head, grateful for the reprieve even as he sensed his husband’s eyes on him. Caleb must think him a wretched coward, capitulating so easily to this false kindness. But what else could he do? Adeen had set the terms of this encounter; refusing to play by his rules would only lead to a worse humiliation.

“You know,” Caleb said, speaking for the first time since Adeen’s arrival, “I must admit I am curious. You speak as though there is something yet to be reconciled. Might I ask what went happened between you two?”

Adeen paused, eyeing Caleb as one might eye a centipede that had unexpectedly crawled out of their shoe. “That’s rather personal, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Of course, of course.” Caleb flashed an apologetic smile. “I only ask because I do not wish to stick my foot in the muck, so to speak. I’m still growing accustomed to living in the Dynasty, you see, and the last thing I want is to invite scandal upon my husband through my own carelessness.”

Adeen’s eyes narrowed. “If you must know, it was an issue of compatibility. Regrettably, Essek and I were a much better match on paper than we were in practice.”

“Is that all?” Caleb tilted his head thoughtfully. “And here I assumed it was because you raped him.”

Adeen sputtered. “Excuse me?” he demanded, loud enough that Essek reflexively looked around to check who was listening. The furtive glances of the other guests had turned into outright stares, conversations dropping to sly murmurs as they nudged their companions. Essek cast a desperate look at his husband, but Caleb’s attention was firmly fixed upon Adeen. 

“You insolent oaf,” Adeen growled. “You would dare slander a man of my standing?”

“Slander implies a degree of malicious falsehood,” Caleb said. “I am merely verifying a suspicion I’ve had since I learned of you. Or do you have another explanation for why my husband flinches whenever anyone mentions your engagement?”

“Perhaps it reminds him of his failure to fulfill his duties,” Adeen snapped. The icy numbness that had been creeping over Essek grew colder. No, he thought helplessly, his thoughts darting to every petty accusation Adeen had ever lobbed at him, every private humiliation he'd inflicted during the awful months of their courtship. No, please . . . “The lofty Shadowhand," Adeen went on, "lauded scholar of Den Thelyss, known as much for his ruthless political games as for his accomplishments. Pity he’s a dead fish in bed.”

Caleb flung his wine at Adeen’s face.

Essek’s despairing thoughts juddered to a halt as the vibrant spray of red splashed across Adeen’s cheeks and spilled down the pristine tresses of his hair, staining it pink. Adeen reared back, eyes wide with shock, but his reaction came too late—the rest of the wine sluiced down the front of his cloak, sinking into the soft gray fabric in vivid streaks.

Essek stared at the spreading stain for an endless, frozen moment, then looked to his husband. A strange exhilaration raced across his nerves, not unlike the thrill he sometimes felt upon solving an equation that had stymied him for weeks. Oh, he thought with startling clarity. I’m in love.

And time moved forward again.

Before anyone could do more than gawk, Caleb unfurled his scarf and pressed it to Adeen’s cloak to soak up the wine. “Ack, terribly sorry,” he said, voice disconcertingly cheerful in the sudden hush. “I’m afraid I might have overindulged; I’m not usually this clumsy.”

“You ignorant brute,” Adeen snarled, all pretense of friendliness gone as he slapped Caleb's hand away. “I will have you brought before the Aurora Watch for assault—”

“Yes, of course, apologies again,” Caleb said, then abruptly stepped closer, seizing Adeen’s forearm and twisting it just so. Adeen stiffened, a spasm of pain flashing across his face as Caleb’s voice dropped to a whisper. Essek grinned, delight humming beneath his skin. “The average humanoid hand has twenty-eight bones in it. Speak ill of my husband again, and I’ll break every one of yours.”

Adeen gaped, outrage burning in his eyes, but just as he was about to speak, Caleb tweaked his arm once more in warning. His mouth snapped shut, and the color leached out of his face, leaving him pale and drawn. He jerked his forearm free of Caleb’s grasp, teeth bared in a hiss, then stalked away, a hundred pairs of eyes trailing after him.

Caleb watched him retreat for a few seconds, then turned to Essek. “That did not go how I expected it to go," he said, a frantic edge to his voice. "If we have no further obligations, perhaps we should retire for the night.”

“That would be wise, yes,” Essek agreed. The joy bubbling up in his chest was keeping him afloat for the moment, but underneath it, he still felt dangerously unbalanced, like he might shatter at the gentlest touch. Best to retreat before that happened. “To the hovercraft?”

Caleb gave him a wary look but extended his arm without comment. Essek rested his hand in the crook of Caleb’s elbow, and together, they made their way out of the library and into the crisp evening air of Rosohna’s endless twilight. 

Chapter Text

Chapter Thirty-Four

The warm glow of Essek’s happiness lasted until they reached the hovercraft before guttering like a torch left out in the rain. He sagged into his seat and pressed his hands against his eyes to block out the twinkling lights of the passenger compartment. He’d never been prone to headaches, but he could feel one building now, a throbbing pressure like a wad of damp cotton pressed against his brain. His thoughts, too, felt muffled, far more so than they ought to after the single glass of wine he’d consumed. Perversely, that only made him wish he’d thought to stow a bottle under the seat before they’d left home. At least then he could drink until he was actually numb, rather than slogging through this awful exhaustion-induced fog.

Beneath their feet, the hovercraft’s gravity rings hummed to life, their faint oscillation spreading softly through the silence. Essek let his hands drop, staring at his knees. The dull whir should have been comforting, but all it did was remind him that they still had a twenty minute ride home, during which Caleb would either leave him to stew in his misery or demand he explain himself. Privately, Essek hoped for the former. As awful as he felt right now, he knew he had a great deal to answer for. His wartime developments. Adeen’s sudden reemergence in his life. His own cowardice. Caleb had defended him at the conservatory, but that didn’t mean all was well in their relationship.

Yet when Caleb did finally speak, his voice was gentle. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m all right.”

“Essek.”

He winced, fingernails digging into his palms as he withdrew his hands. “I appreciate your defense of me. I do. But there is no need to pretend at harmony now that we’re alone.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Caleb drew back, eyebrows knitting. “Pretend?”

Essek grimaced. “I know you must be—frustrated with me. I kept crucial information from you about my history, both personal and professional. That you already knew parts of it is immaterial. It was my responsibility as your partner to disclose that information before you tethered your future to mine.”

“You think I am upset about your work for the queen?”

So he’d misjudged the source of his husband’s ire. That, or the issue of his wartime developments had slipped Caleb’s mind in the aftermath of Adeen’s arrival, in which case Essek had just reminded him of yet another reason to be angry. He bowed his head, stomach roiling. “My apologies. I should not have assumed. If you would prefer to discuss my . . . relationship with Adeen, then by all means, ask.”

Caleb stiffened, his mouth snapping shut. Essek held his breath, wishing he had the courage to meet his husband’s eyes. But he was still the same coward he’d always been, and the thought of seeing his own self-loathing mirrored in Caleb’s expression was enough to keep his gaze firmly pinned to his knees.

“Essek,” Caleb said after a moment, “I am not angry with you.”

“Aren’t you?” Essek dared a glance at his husband’s face. Caleb’s eyebrows were furrowed, his mouth pressed into an unhappy line. Essek looked away, picking at the edge of his sleeve.

“No. Stars, no.” Caleb shifted forward to take his hands. “I thought you were angry with me.”

At that, Essek did meet his husband’s eyes. “What? Why would I . . . ?”

Caleb dipped his head. “I don’t have much experience with the Dynasty’s courts, but I know when I’ve stuck my foot in it. My actions tonight will not do any favors for our reputation as a respectable couple. There is a high likelihood that I’ve just dragged us both into a major scandal with your former betrothed. I’m not sorry to have done it—that man deserves far worse than a soiled robe—but there will be consequences for embarrassing him so publicly. And none of that even begins to account for the potential legal repercussions.”

“Legal repercussions," Essek repeated. 

Caleb’s face went grim. “I’m fairly certain that threatening to break a military official’s hand qualifies as a criminal offense, to say nothing of the assault charge I might face should he decide to make an issue of it.”

“I would hardly call it assault,” Essek replied, but even as he said it, he realized Caleb was right. Adeen might not be able to have Caleb arrested for ruining his outfit, but that was not the only damage Caleb had inflicted upon him. Essek distinctly remembered the sharp twist of Caleb’s hand as he’d caught Adeen’s wrist, the color leaching out of Adeen’s face as he fought back a spasm of pain. The motion had been discreet, the whispered threat too low for anyone outside their immediate proximity to overhear, but there had been so many people watching by then—surely a few of them had caught enough of the exchange to recognize the violence behind it. Adeen was a respected military commander. It would be all too easy for him to convince the authorities that Caleb had attacked him a fit of possessiveness.

“Whatever charges he may levy at you, he has no proof,” Essek said slowly, thinking. “And while he may have more sway at court than an outsider such as yourself, he must also consider his own reputation. To admit that he was caught off-guard by a simple mercenary would tarnish his image as a competent commander. Adeen may not care much for propriety, but he would not risk being made a fool in the eyes of his subordinates. He never was one to tolerate disrespect from those he considered beneath him.”

Gingerly, Caleb laid his hand on Essek’s cheek. “You were never his inferior, Essek. No matter how he treated you.”

Essek felt something in his chest uncoil. He closed his eyes and turned his head to kiss the inside of his husband’s wrist. “Yes, well. No need to linger on old miseries. It’s enough to know I have someone who cares enough to defend me.”

A pained look passed across Caleb’s face. He leaned forward to rest his forehead against Essek’s. “I am not the only one who cares for you, Essek. I know it’s hard to believe that when you’ve spent so much of your life being torn down by those around you. But if there is one thing I have learned these past few years, it’s that you’re never as alone as you think you are.”

And if being alone is the only way to protect those few who do care for me? What then? He dared not voice the question. Caleb didn’t know of his dealings with the Assembly, of the danger Essek had put himself in. Essek’s initial plan had been to double-cross his co-conspirators, but the longer their arrangement spun on, the more fanciful his designs seemed. He had no leverage, no way to ensure his safety, no proof of their corruption that would not damn him just as thoroughly. He’d thought he could maintain a position of power, but he’d miscalculated, assumed a degree of fairness to their collaboration despite its dubious origins. He’d been a fool. Bad enough that circumstances had forced Caleb into his proximity. He couldn’t justify growing close to anyone else, not when it meant endangering their lives as well as his own.

“Thank you,” he said at last. “For tonight. I am . . . very glad you were there with me.”

Caleb said nothing, just tucked his face into the crook of Essek’s neck and held his hands until the whir of the hovercraft’s gravity rings quieted, signaling their arrival at their towers. Essek squeezed Caleb’s palms and withdrew, unsealing the door and drifting down onto the flagstone path beyond. Essek took his husband’s offered arm and walked with him to the eastern tower, up the stairs to the bio-locked door of his chambers. There, he laid his hand on the sensor to open the door, then turned to face his husband.

Caleb returned his gaze, a peculiar sorrow in his eyes. “I will see you in the morning, ja?”

Essek rose another inch to kiss his husband’s cheek. “In the morning,” he promised as the door slid shut between them. He drew his cloak tighter around his shoulders, waiting until he heard the faint padding of Caleb’s retreating footfalls before stepping away. His head hurt, and he still felt perilously fragile, but for the first time in hours, he was calm. He disengaged his gravity adjusters and deposited his jewelry in the little box above his dresser, programming himself a hot bath as he passed the control panel. The rush of water drowned out the anxious refrain humming at the edges of his mind; by the time he sank into the steaming water, his thoughts were nearly quiet.

He lay there a long time, sprawled out in the contoured hollow of the tub as the jets pulsed in soothing patterns over his skin, as the warm water chased the quivering tension from his back and shoulders. Only then did he allow himself to really think about everything that had happened tonight.

Caleb had been right to worry about the consequences of humiliating Adeen. Potential legal repercussions aside, there would inevitably be some degree of political fallout from tonight’s fundraiser. Relations between Den Thelyss and Den Tasithar had been strained for years, long before Essek's mother had arranged his and Adeen’s betrothal. Den Tasithar’s ruling Umavi were ambitious, and their rising influence had on occasion encroached upon Den Thelyss’s financial and political interests—not enough to threaten their house, but enough to stir up negative sentiments. Essek’s betrothal hadn't just been meant to mend the rifts between their houses, but also to minimize Tasithar’s encroachment into Thelyss’s business ventures. When Essek had refused to go through with the marriage, Tasithar’s negotiators had leveraged his lack of commitment to argue that Den Thelyss had never really intended to tie their fortunes together, and the resulting political dust-up had only further soured relations.

Tonight’s events would put yet another crack in that relationship, Essek knew, yet he could not bring himself to regret it. Loyalty was a rare and precious thing, and Caleb had proven his; whatever consequences they might face for embarrassing a high-ranking member of a rival den, Essek was more than willing to bear them.

Sanguine, he slipped out of the tub, selected a bathrobe from the closet, and returned to his bedchambers. But as he drew near the bed, his gaze snared on the blinking light of his tablet. Disquiet trickled down his back. He could count on two hands the number of people who had his personal number, and of those few, only three of them were people he might want to talk to. He cut a glance at the bedroom door—locked, as he’d left it—then warily stepped forward to grab his tablet from the nightstand. A single message awaited him.

I received word of your little scene with Taskhand Tasithar. I’d expected you to have more control over your husband by now, but it seems even the most diplomatic of humans lack the grace to navigate the noble courts. I expect you at the estate at eighth bell tomorrow morning to discuss damage control.

Beneath the message, in her elegant personalized script, was his mother’s signature.

Essek’s disquiet morphed into dread. He’d known word of tonight’s confrontation would get back to his mother, but he’d hoped to have more time to assemble a defense. Foolish of him. Her spies were everywhere. Of course they’d have reported to her already.

Numbly, Essek set the tablet in its charging port and stumbled barefoot out of his chambers. He couldn’t do this. Couldn’t make nice with the man who had inflicted such misery upon him, as his mother would surely demand. Couldn’t bring himself to apologize for his husband’s interference when he was so painfully grateful for it. Unbidden, he recalled what Caleb had said before, in response to Adeen’s deflections: “And here I assumed it was because you raped him.”

Essek hadn’t let himself think of it that way. How could he, when it meant admitting he’d allowed such a shameful trespass upon his person? When it meant recounting those private humiliations over and over to people who either didn’t care or would use it against him? Even if he could have borne the disgrace, he couldn’t afford to have the authorities poking into his personal affairs, not when he had his own crimes to conceal. Safer to say nothing, to let everyone believe he was simply too prudish to satisfy his partner—that narrative was at least more tolerable than the truth.

But Caleb hadn’t been fooled by Essek’s refusal to acknowledge what had been done to him. No, he had confronted Adeen directly, laid out the truth in plain, unmistakable terms. So few people had ever tried to look beyond Essek’s ruthless persona; fewer still had succeeded. To know Caleb believed him worth protecting despite his flaws . . . Essek could have loved him for that alone.

He strode down the first spiral of stairs and opened the door leading to the bridge between their towers. His resolve wavered as the first gust of cold, dry air hit him—getting caught outside in his bathrobe would be awkward—but then he steeled himself. So what if some late-night photographer caught him visiting his husband’s tower? That was nothing next to the juicy tidbits the media would glean from tonight’s fundraiser. 

The central tower’s lights were already dimmed for their night cycle when he entered—he’d lingered longer in the bath than he’d realized, and it was nearly tenth bell. Would Caleb already be in bed for the night? Humans needed so much more sleep than elves did. If he was already asleep, it would be rude to wake him. Besides, it wasn’t as if Essek had any reason to seek him out, beyond a childish desire for comfort.

And yet . . . Caleb would want to know if he was hurting, wouldn’t he? Essek could not have misread him so entirely as to be mistaken about that. Caleb might not love him—surely that was too much to hope for—but he did care. He wouldn't want Essek to suffer alone.

Before Essek could bring himself to ring the chime, however, the door hissed open. He straightened, fingers digging into the terrycloth fabric of his robe as Caleb blinked at him from the doorway. “Essek?”

“Ah—hello. I was just . . .” Too late, he realized how he must look, showing up outside his lover’s door late at night in nothing but a bathrobe. Small wonder Caleb was staring at him like he might be a trick of the shadows. Essek dropped his gaze, face heating. “I’m sorry. It’s late. I can go.” He started to turn away.

“Wait.”

He stilled. “Yes?”

Carefully, Caleb took hold of his shoulders and turned him so they were facing each other. Essek lifted his head, heart quickening. “Come here,” Caleb murmured, voice softening. 

Hesitantly, Essek stepped closer. He was expecting a kiss, but Caleb only pulled him close and wrapped his arms around him. A tremor ran down Essek’s body, reverberating out from his bones, and then he was clutching desperately at his husband’s sleeves, his breath coming in shallow gasps. “Caleb, I . . .”

“I know. It’s all right.”

“I missed you.”

The words were too sentimental, too revealing, but Caleb only tightened his hold. “I’m here.”

“I don’t want to be alone.”

“You don’t have to be.”

“I know.” He buried his face in his husband’s shoulder to hide the tears beading upon his eyelashes. “I know, I just—is it all right if I stay with you tonight?”

“I did tell you once that I wouldn't turn you away if you came knocking at my door,” Caleb murmured, the slightest hint of amusement curling through his voice before he grew somber once more. “Stay as long as you need to, Essek. I’ll be here. I promise.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Thirty-Five

When Caleb woke early the next morning, his first thought was that Veth had slipped into his bunk again. The warm presence of another breathing body beside his had become familiar enough in the months they’d been on the run together that he’d stopped jolting awake when Veth curled up against him. It had been a comfort, knowing the person he relied upon most was lying next to him. By the end of their first winter together, they’d become so accustomed to cuddling close at night that they’d taken to sharing a bed even when they didn’t need to.

Even so, Caleb had rarely felt quite so cozy as he did this morning. It wasn’t often that they could afford such a nice bed, with a soft, clean-smelling mattress and an abundance of blankets. Caleb breathed deep, inhaling the fresh scent of laundry detergent and . . . electrical fire? He opened his eyes, a dull pang of alarm shooting through him before he remembered where he was. Oh. Right.

He peered down at his husband, his warm contentment draining away as he recalled the shattered quality of Essek’s gaze when he’d shown up at his door, the panicky strength of Essek's grip as he’d clutched at Caleb’s sleeves. Essek hadn’t been able to articulate what had set him off—he had seemed stable, if a little fragile, when they’d parted ways earlier that evening—but he’d spent the better part of an hour trembling in Caleb’s arms, his breath coming in shallow gasps, as if he wanted to weep but couldn't remember how. Caleb had held him as tight as he’d dared, murmuring reassurances until Essek had lapsed into an exhausted slumber, but it had been a hard night for both of them.

With his eyes closed and his mouth soft with sleep, Essek looked far more at peace than he had last night. Between the puffy black bathrobe and the tousled curls of his hair, one could almost imagine he’d drifted off after an intimate evening with a favored paramour. Only the shadows beneath his eyes belied that peace; those would take more than a night’s rest to fade. Caleb studied his husband for a long moment, then gingerly began combing his fingers through his hair. As much as Essek would benefit from a few extra hours of sleep, he needed the structure of his daily routine more. It was already an hour later than he preferred to be out of bed. If Caleb didn’t wake him now, he’d miss breakfast.

Fortunately, it didn’t take long for Essek to stir. He nuzzled Caleb’s shoulder and inhaled deeply, eyes still closed. “Dobroye utro. What time is it?”

“Guten Morgen,” Caleb replied, smiling, “and it’s a little past seventh bell.”

Essek gave a muffled grunt and sat up, blinking blearily at the alarm clock. “Already?”

Caleb nodded. “I wouldn’t have woken you except that Uraya will be arriving soon, and I didn’t think you’d want them to catch you sneaking back to your tower in nothing but a bathrobe.”

“Regrettably, Uraya has seen me in far more compromising positions. Why do you think I pay them so well?” Despite the words, Essek slipped out of bed and began tidying his hair in the bedside mirror. “Fortunately, I keep a spare hologram projector in each of my towers, so unless someone has managed to infiltrate the property without setting off the security system, you’re the only one likely to see me in such disarray.”

Caleb said nothing, his mind snagging on the word infiltrate. He was no peeping tom or overzealous paparazzo, hunting for a salacious snapshot of the mysterious Shadowhand. No, his intentions were far more insidious. Plenty of people had sought to exploit Essek: his connections, his reputation, his knowledge. But only Caleb had woven himself into the tapestry of Essek’s life, played the role of partner and confidant knowing it would end in betrayal. Next to that, a few nosy rumormongers were nothing.

The brush of cool fingertips against his forearm pierced through his rising guilt. He glanced up to see Essek watching him, eyes tinged with worry. “Are you all right?”

“Ja,” Caleb replied, throat dry. “Ja, of course.”

Essek’s mouth twisted unhappily. “Caleb, I know I’m not entirely steady at the moment, but that doesn’t mean you have to ignore your own suffering. I . . . care very much for you. If something is wrong—”

“I’m all right. Just thinking about some things.” Caleb managed a pained smile. “We have a fair bit of damage control ahead of us. I’m simply wondering where our efforts would be best spent.”

“A fair question,” Essek said with a sigh. “I’m sure my mother will have something for us shortly, but until then, best to keep a low profile.”

“I take it she’ll have heard about our run-in with Adeen by now?”

Essek chuckled humorlessly. “No doubt she heard within five minutes of it happening. She, ah. She sent a message last night, summoning me to the estate. I expect she has already prepared a scathing lecture, along with a bulleted list detailing how she expects me to make up for the grievous insult we have dealt to Den Tasithar.”

Caleb stiffened. “You did nothing wrong. I am the one who escalated the situation.”

“It doesn’t matter. My mother will view last night as evidence that I’ve failed to maintain control of our relationship. Not that I’d want such a thing,” he added quickly. “Your choices are yours to make. I would never presume to take them from you. But my mother has certain expectations.”

“That isn’t right,” Caleb said, conviction running like a thread of molten silver through his heart. But Essek only smiled sadly and pressed a kiss to Caleb’s cheek.

“It’s nothing I haven’t endured before. And in any case, it is easier to let her have her way. Should the day come when I must defy her will, I would prefer not to have a reputation for contrariness.”

“It’s not right,” Caleb repeated, but he could see he wasn’t going to change Essek’s mind. He sighed, tucking his hands into his pockets. “How long before we are expected to meet with her?”

“Actually, I was planning to go by myself.” At Caleb’s disbelieving glance, Essek winced. “It’s not that I don’t want you there. I do. But if my mother had meant for you to come, she would have said as much, and I . . . I do not wish to further draw her ire. You understand, don’t you?”

Caleb lowered his gaze, wishing he could deny it. But Essek had a point. Deirta Thelyss was one of the most powerful figures in the Dynasty. Even setting aside that she was Essek’s mother, appeasing her was only sensible. “I can’t say I like the way she treats you,” Caleb said at last, “but if you think it best, I will stay behind.”

The tense line of Essek’s shoulders softened. “Thank you.” He pressed his forehead briefly against Caleb’s chest, then withdrew. “I won’t be long. All other considerations aside, my mother is a busy woman. At most, she’ll have carved out half an hour for me, and that is assuming she intends to recount everything I’ve done to disappoint her lately.”

“That is not as comforting as you think it is,” Caleb said, catching Essek’s hand and squeezing it once before stepping back. “I'll see you soon, ja?”

“Indeed.” Essek hesitated as if he wanted to say something more, then gave an abrupt nod and hurried out of the room, drawing his bathrobe close about his body.

Caleb watched him go, a heaviness settling over him. It was foolish to yearn for the man he’d come here to betray, foolish to pretend their relationship could ever be anything more than a means to an end, but his heart had never loved wisely. Not with Astrid and Eadwulf, who had been his only solace during the worst months of their training. Not with Jester, whose innocence and mischief had reminded him how to laugh despite the grief that hung over him like a shawl. The seeds of his relationship with Essek had been sown in barren soil and watered with lies. Nothing should have been able to grow there, and yet they’d built trellises out of gentle touches and painful truths, nurtured their roots with promises made and kept until something real had blossomed between them. To let that affection bloom into something more, to open himself up to the heartbreak he knew was coming . . . Caleb had too many regrets to think this one would break him, but he’d still spend the rest of his life carrying it. Maybe that was how it should be. He should suffer for the things he'd done—and for the things he had yet to do. 

A stinging pain in his shins dragged him from his musings. He blinked and glanced down to find Frumpkin clawing at his pajama pants, puffed up with agitation. As his vision focused, Frumpkin retreated, circling anxiously in front of him. Belatedly, Caleb realized he'd been scratching at his forearms in his distress, fingers burrowing under the cloth wrappings until they'd started to come unraveled.

“Sorry,” he said thickly, scooping the cat into his arms. “Sorry, mein Freund. I’m all right now.”

Frumpkin meowed plaintively. Caleb sighed and set him on his cat tower before dropping down onto the edge of the bed. There, he uncoiled his wrappings the rest of the way, goosebumps rising where cool air brushed skin.

His scars were just as he remembered them: a dozen or so thin, surgical lines, all measuring less than two inches from end to end. Just long enough to accommodate the implant Ikithon had designed, the one meant to anchor itself to the subject’s neural pathways by way of their peripheral nervous system.

“Most people are reticent to undergo brain surgery, even for simple procedures,” Ikithon had told the three of them, the first time he'd convinced them to submit to his experiments. “My device will provide a far less invasive alternative, but first it must be refined, and the only way to do that is through live testing. Whatever discomfort or pain you’re feeling now, know that your sacrifice is for the betterment of the Empire.”

They’d believed him. Of course they had—they’d been young and ambitious, and their internship under Ikithon had promised great opportunities. By the time the experiments had escalated beyond mere pain, they’d been sold on the idea that their suffering would serve the Empire. It hadn’t been so great a leap, after that, to justify the suffering of those who didn’t share their professor’s vision—those who’d been tricked or coerced into signing the waivers that would give Ikithon the authority to conduct his experiments on them.

And then there had been the other lessons, the ones that had nothing to do with neuroscience, but had instead sought to wear away at their humanity. They’d already believed themselves superior, already been taught to value their master’s approval above everything else. Ikithon had made monsters of them all, but they’d made their own choices, too. They could have walked away. Could have gone to the academy’s ethics board and demanded an investigation into Ikithon’s practices. It wouldn’t have accomplished anything—Ikithon was a respected scholar, his developments the field of neuroscience lauded across the Empire. Even if he weren’t meticulous in covering up the more sinister aspects of his work, he had the influence and connections to squash any inquiries into his research. But they could have tried. They could have at least gotten away.

You can still get away now, Caleb thought. It would mean becoming a fugitive again, putting the Nein at risk, but he could do it. The problem was that it wouldn’t actually solve anything. It wouldn’t even guarantee Essek’s safety: the Assembly would just send someone else to ferret out Essek’s secrets—someone less scrupulous, with orders to obtain the information through whatever means necessary. Maybe Caleb was a softhearted fool, letting himself come to care for someone he was doomed to betray, but he would not abandon Essek to the mercy of the Assembly’s interrogators.

You’re not out of options yet, he reminded himself. There was one way for him to strike back at the Assembly, and that was to expose their corruption. All he had to do was uncover the identity of their co-conspirator on Xhorhas, the one who’d traded away the beacons and set the fuse burning on the war. He’d made some progress last night, despite their premature departure. Professor Waccoh had expressed an interest in discussing politics with him, and unlike most of the attendees, she wasn’t likely to be put off by his wine-tossing. And even if he failed to glean any useful information from her, there were other avenues to explore. Essek had offered to help him enroll in the conservatory. Caleb knew he wouldn’t have time for an academic career, given how many projects he was already juggling, but he could request a tour of the grounds, perhaps make inroads with some of Essek’s fellow scholars. Tearing down the Assembly wouldn’t be enough to save his marriage, but with luck, it might save Essek. That, at least, was a goal worth pursuing.

“All right,” he muttered, rewrapping his forearms. “Time to get to work.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Thirty-Six

Essek arrived at the Thelyss estate five minutes before his appointed meeting time, his hair combed and coiffed, the silver branches of his mantle gleaming. As he drifted down from the hovercraft, his gravity adjusters once more taking his weight, a footman in Thelyss livery approached to greet him. “Shadowhand,” he said, bowing. “Welcome home. May I escort you inside?”

Essek tried to recall the man’s name—his face was vaguely familiar, but he hadn’t been on staff during Essek’s youth, and it had been years since Essek had visited this place without being summoned. “I know the way, thank you,” he said, dropping his keys into the footman’s hand and gliding past him, down the winding stone path to the striated stone walls of the central house. His mother’s front gardens had been redesigned since the wedding reception, their lush summer blooms replaced with hardier, more cold-resistant topiary. Twin rows of short, bone-white trees stood sentinel on either side of the path leading up to front entrance. Their spindly branches had been artistically bent so that each tree tree formed one half of an archway, of which there were eight, all strung with delicate blue and white lights. Passing beneath them, Essek couldn’t help but feel like he was stepping through a gateway to another world, one looking to swallow him up and never let go.

Do not be childish. You’re only going to see your mother. Before he could reconsider walking into the proverbial spider’s web, he rang the doorbell. Within moments, a young drow woman answered, standing straighter as she recognized him. “Shadowhand,” she said formally. “The Umavi welcomes you and asks that you proceed without delay to the main receiving room.”

The skin at the back of Essek’s neck tightened. Without delay was never an encouraging phrase where his mother was concerned. Though he knew he had a full three minutes before he was due to speak with her, he hastened his pace, nearly overtaking the servant as she escorted him down the familiar corridors to an austere antechamber with walls of rough-hewn quartz. There, rapidly keying something into the computer at the desk, sat his mother’s personal assistant, a golden-haired half-drow of two centuries. “Veraine,” he said by way of greeting.

Veraine spared him the briefest of glances, the precise tap-tap-tap of her fingers never faltering. “Essek,” she replied, coolly professional. “Go in. She’s waiting for you.”

“Of course. Thank you.” Stifling a flutter of nervousness, he opened the heavy vermaloc door and glided into the chamber beyond. Rose-tinted light poured from the wall sconces, painting the marble floors in shades of pink, and a dozen or so pedestals topped with potted orchids lined the edges of the room. Delicate traceries of bioluminescence ran like veins through their petals: his mother’s work, no doubt.

Essek didn’t have to examine the blossoms to know that each one would be flawless. He turned his attention instead toward the dais on the far side of the room, where his mother regarded him from her high-backed wicker chair, spine straight, chin tilted imperiously upward. “There you are,” she said. “I’ve been waiting.”

“Umavi.” He bowed deep, holding the position for a count of three before rising. “I received your message. How may I serve?”

His mother eyed him narrowly. “You may begin by explaining how you ended up trapped in conversation with that whelp from Den Tasithar.”

“I—” Essek paused, wrong-footed, but his mother only arched an expectant eyebrow. Did she think he’d encouraged last night's confrontation? He struggled to recall what he’d said, whether anyone had been hovering close enough to eavesdrop, but it was like trying to reassemble a pane of shattered glass: even the smallest fragment of memory threatened to cut him to the bone. “I wasn’t aware Adeen was back in Rosohna,” he said after a moment. “Had I known he was planning to be at the fundraiser, I’d have requested his removal from the guest list.”

“Adeen’s reappearance is a recent wrinkle, it’s true.” His mother scowled, as if annoyed she couldn’t lay the blame on him. “My informants tell me he returned from the border stations only yesterday morning. Even most of his denmates were unaware of his arrival. Like as not, he kept it quiet in the hopes of ambushing you after your speech. That said,” her eyes snapped once more to his face, “you should have extricated yourself from the conversation immediately upon recognizing him. Had you walked away then, this scandal could have been avoided.”

“I do not believe that is the case,” he said, struggling to keep his voice neutral despite the swell of defensiveness rising in his chest. “You said yourself that this was an ambush. Even had there been a way to gracefully remove myself from the conversation, Adeen would still have found a way to humiliate me—and through me, the rest of our den. If not for my husband’s intervention—”

“Enough. We have still been humiliated, you witless child. All your husband’s wine-tossing achieved was giving the tabloids reason to dredge up your failed betrothal. But that is only one of our problems.” At if she’d flipped a switch, the snappish irritation vanished from her face, replaced by cool disapproval. “Silvaris Tasithar contacted my office this morning. Would you care to know why?”

Essek tensed. Silvaris was one of Den Tasithar’s ruling Umavi—they had several, each overseeing a different facet of the den’s business. Originally of Den Mirimm, Silvaris had joined Den Tasithar three centuries ago, sensing greater opportunities for advancement in the newly established house. But she hadn’t abandoned her roots entirely. Like many of Den Mirimm’s prominent souls, Silvaris had a long and storied career as a lawyer.

“Den Tasithar intends to sue us for slander,” Essek surmised grimly.

“Precisely.” His mother rose gracefully from her chair, the gauzy hem of her robes rustling as she descended the dais. “On its own, the wine incident could have been dismissed as possessiveness—undesirable, perhaps, but hardly unexpected from an Empire man. This nonsense about Adeen forcing you, however . . . ” She flicked her fingers distastefully, as if brushing away a cobweb. “It’s put us in an unenviable position. To leave such an insult unanswered would make us look weak and, worse, give the impression that Den Thelyss refuses to look after its own. But to go forward with this accusation without firm evidence . . . No. I will not allow our entire den to become mired in your personal problems. If you wanted justice, you should have sought it three years ago when your betrothal ended. At least then we might have spun the rumors surrounding your relationship in a more useful direction.”

Nausea churned in Essek’s stomach. He’d known he would find no support here, yet some childish part of him had hoped his mother would at least acknowledge what Adeen had done to him. A foolish wish. She hadn’t considered his complaints about Adeen credible when he’d asked her to annul the betrothal; she’d relented only when the toxicity of their relationship had threatened to spill over into the rest of the den’s affairs.

“In your message, you spoke of damage control,” Essek said, forcing his voice to remain even. He couldn’t allow his feelings overrule his reason. Not here. “If I may offer a solution . . . ?”

His mother lifted her hand in invitation. “By all means.”

“The primary issue is my husband’s accusation, yes? So if he were to recant his statement, claim it was made in error, that would theoretically settle matters with Den Tasithar, would it not?”

The Umavi gave him an assessing glance. “Would your husband agree to that?”

“He will if I ask it of him.”

His mother tilted her head, considering. Essek emptied his expression of any trace of doubt. Caleb wouldn’t like the idea of walking back his accusation, but he was a practical man; he would see the wisdom in letting the matter lie. 

“You seem quite confident in his loyalty,” the Umavi said, “considering how little time you’ve known him.”

Essek stilled, stomach sinking. “Caleb is a reasonable man," he said. Too defensive—his mother would see it as base sentimentality. He chose his next words with care. "He understands the advantages of cooperation. And he is . . . sweet to me.”

“So is honey; that’s why we use it to catch flies.” His mother settled back into her chair, fingers curling delicately around the armrests. “I must admit, I thought you too canny to fall for such tender manipulations. Perhaps I should have chosen Verin for this marriage after all. At least he would not have forgotten who the enemy is.”

“I have not forgotten, Umavi,” he said stiffly, caught between fear and affront. “We would be fools to trust the Empire’s peace offerings given the wounds they’ve inflicted upon our people. But that does not make every citizen of the Empire a cutthroat, nor should it keep us from judging individuals on their own merits. Caleb left his home and all those dearest to him for the sake of this treaty. Whatever else he may be, he is sincere in his desire for peace.”

“A scant two months ago, you said he wanted access to your research.”

Essek winced. He had said that—had believed it, even. At the time, he’d had no intention of sharing his work. He’d risked everything entangling himself with the Assembly and received mere scraps in return. The thought of reaching out to the man who’d been foisted upon him for the sake of politics had seemed laughable at best.

And yet he hadn’t been able to resist the magnesium-bright lure of Caleb’s curiosity. Essek knew what it was to long for knowledge only to be denied at every turn. He’d spent decades developing novel theorems surrounding the applications of dunamis, all so that he might someday gain access to study the beacons from which so much dunamantic theory was derived. But even being named Shadowhand had only granted him permission to peer into their depths. To actually experiment upon them was still considered sacrilege, and the priestesses overseeing his work had been appalled at the suggestion. His frustration with those limitations had eventually compelled him to seek other avenues of research, among them his ill-fated collaboration with the Assembly—a gamble that might yet cost him his life, should the fragile balance of power in their arrangement falter.

“Desire does not always equal intent,” Essek said at last, a pedantic equivocation. “I have made my boundaries surrounding my research clear, and Caleb has yet to overstep. If he is a spy, I cannot imagine his superiors are at all satisfied with his results.”

If the first part of his reply had been an evasion, the last was an outright falsehood. Essek hadn’t handed over any of his research, but only because Caleb required proper grounding in the fundamentals before he could delve into the complex equations that made up most of Essek’s day-to-day. For him to pass along even a tenth of the knowledge he’d dropped into Caleb’s lap constituted a grievous breach of secrecy. One could argue, without stretching the truth at all, that he’d committed treason by teaching his husband as much as he had.

“Spy or not, I do not trust his motives,” his mother said. “The fact that you have placed such trust in him only draws into question your own loyalties.”

He tipped his head back, allowing a hint of challenge to show in his eyes. “I am as loyal to Den Thelyss as I have always been. But you did not call me here to discuss my allegiances.”

This earned him a withering glare. Few Umavi cared for defiance, and his daring bordered on rudeness considering their relative positions within the den. But if there was one thing his mother despised more than rebellion, it was spinelessness, and after a moment, her ire dimmed.

“Your suggestion to recant the accusation is not without merit,” she said evenly. “That said, I will not place the reputation of our house in the hands of an Empire man, no matter how sweetly he treats you.” She drew back in her chair, seeming to come to a decision. “This business with Den Tasithar is volatile enough as is—I see no gain in letting someone as emotionally compromised as yourself spearhead the diplomatic effort. You and your husband are to stay out of this until I declare otherwise. I already have several informants tracking the taskhand’s movements—they will keep your aide updated on his whereabouts to ensure you two do not cross paths again until this has blown over.”

Essek let out a breath, a peculiar lightness settling over him. He wasn’t so naïve as to interpret this unexpected reprieve as compassion—his mother was only being prudent—but it was a relief nonetheless to know he wouldn’t be forced to kneel before Den Tasithar’s ruling Umavi and apologize while Adeen watched. A relief, too, that he wouldn’t have to ask Caleb to withdraw his accusation, ugly as it had been. He bowed at the waist. “As you wish, Umavi. I will brief my husband and my staff.”

His mother spared him a nod. “Very good. You may go.”

Essek rose and glided back in the direction of the exit. The door swung ponderously open as he laid his hand upon the wood—though heavy, it was finely crafted, and it took only a gentle push to move it. Emerging into the secretarial chamber beyond, he saw Veraine glance up from her screen, the faintest trace of sympathy in her eyes. “How did it go?" 

"Well enough." He swept past Veraine’s desk, following the echoing corridors to the entrance hall. As he passed through the bone-like archways of the front garden, the footman he’d spoken to before hurried over, holding the keys to his hovercraft. Without breaking stride, Essek plucked the keys from the his hand and continued down the driveway until he caught sight of the familiar violet-and-silver shell of his hovercraft. Slipping inside, he tapped a short sequence into the control panel and set his course for home.

Chapter Text

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Uraya was waiting in the foyer when he returned.

Essek halted in the doorway, noting the nervous shuffling of their feet, the tight clasp of their knobbly fingers as they rose to greet him. There was a grim slant to their shoulders, like they’d spent the last several hours carrying a weight too heavy for their small frame. Essek winced. “I take it you’ve heard, then.”

"When I was trawling through the news this morning,” they confirmed, mouth twisting unhappily. “I must beg your forgiveness. With the war over, I should have been watching more closely for signs Adeen might return to Rosohna. If I had, you might have had some warning before he intercepted you last night.”

Essek sighed. Uraya was one of the most reliable people he’d ever known, steady in a crisis and refreshingly frank compared to other aides he’d hired over the years, but sometimes their sense of duty was more a burden than a benefit. “It’s all right,” he said, unfastening the clasps of his mantle and placing it on the hanger by the door. “Even the Umavi’s spies didn’t know of Adeen’s arrival until he showed up at the fundraiser. We can only conclude there was no way to know.”

Uraya lowered their eyes. “I should have known.”

Hesitantly, wary of overstepping, Essek placed a hand on their shoulder. “You are not to blame for this,” he said, relieved when Uraya’s face merely softened with confusion. “Neither of us could have foreseen Adeen’s ambush, not with how quiet he kept his return. The best we can do is prepare for his next move.”

Slowly, the tension in Uraya’s shoulders relaxed. They patted his hand absently, resting their forehead briefly against his arm before withdrawing, their professional mask sliding back into place. “How did your meeting with the Umavi go?”

“Not as poorly as I’d expected, to be honest,” he said, then began to relay the particulars as he led the way to the dining room. Merrillil had put together a rather extravagant breakfast spread—not just the usual flatbread and juice, but a plate of jam-filled croissants and sugared fancies, a treat Essek had once admitted to finding nostalgic despite his aversion to sweets. It appeared Uraya wasn’t the only one of his staff who’d heard the news. Essek sat, inviting Uraya to join him as he summarized the details of the conversation. “Mother will want some positive press out of us to make up for last night,” he said as he finished the last of his flatbread, “so we can expect an influx of invitations for press events and parties. Caution is important—the last thing we need is another run-in with Adeen—but we should be generous with our time, at least for the next few weeks. I assume you’ve received our lines from Den Thelyss’s press office?”

“For you and Caleb both,” Uraya confirmed. “I suspect he’s already got his memorized.”

“Oh, most certainly.” Despite everything, Essek found himself smiling. “Do you know, I once listened to him recite two full pages from a book he’d read months ago with nary a mistake—a book he didn’t even finish, mind you, because he found the writing too vapid to bother with.”

Uraya’s ears flicked curiously. “Oh? What book?”

“Ah.” Heat flooded Essek’s cheeks. “I believe it was a . . . romance novel.” A very salacious novel, self-published by an author who would have benefited greatly from having an editor, or any sort of beta reader at all. They’d ended up on the topic after Caleb had asked him whether he had any unusual fantasies, to which Essek had admitted he didn’t indulge in such things often enough to develop any particular proclivities. That had somehow turned into Caleb telling him about some of the more absurd kinks he’d stumbled across in his pursuit of interesting smut, which had soon led to him reciting passages out of his most dubious titles, including a sex scene centered around an ambitious pastry chef and a wealthy young man whose courting strategy consisted almost entirely of baking-related euphemisms.

(“You know, by themselves, the puns would not be so egregious,” Caleb had lamented after one particularly awful paragraph. “Really, it’s the repetition that sinks it. An author can only refer to breasts as ‘buttery loaves of flesh’ so many times before their book becomes unreadable.”)

“Right,” Uraya said, then mercifully changed the subject. “Regardless, your press statements are on your tablet. Is there anything else you need before I start revising our events schedule?”

“No, thank you.” He rose, plucking one last piece of candy from the dish. “I should go speak with Caleb. He’ll want to know how the meeting went.”

They parted ways, Uraya heading to their office, Essek to the central tower. As he reached his husband’s chambers, he pressed his hand to the sensor by the door, twitching in surprise when it sprang open immediately. Inside, Caleb hunched over his tablet, a look of concentration on his face, but as the door hissed open, his azurite eyes darted up to Essek’s face. “Ah, hallo.”

“Hello,” Essek replied, regaining his composure. “Apologies for the intrusion. I didn’t realize it was unlocked.”

“I thought you might drop by, so I set the sensor to let you in.” Placing his tablet on the tea table, Caleb rose to take his hands. “How are you doing?”

“Well enough. My mother believes Den Tasithar is preparing to sue us for slander, but she’s not demanding we publicly apologize, so that is one crisis averted.”

“How viable of a case do you think they have? Should we expect to settle this in court?”

Essek lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “It’s difficult to say. Law has never been a particular interest of mine. But Den Tasithar is employing one of their best lawyers, which suggests they believe there is merit in the charge.” Essek bit his lip, staring down at their joined hands. He’d spent the ride back to the house fretting over how to frame this conversation, but that hadn’t prepared him for the sludgy dread he now felt crawling over him. “I . . . do not entirely disagree with their assessment. Rape is a dire accusation. I doubt most people would view what Adeen did to me in such terms. There is too much ambiguity in the situation.”

“I don’t find it ambiguous at all,” Caleb muttered, then gave Essek a quelling look when he made to object. “I have seen the way you freeze up whenever something reminds you of him. That’s not the reaction of someone thinking back on fond memories.”

“Just because I did not enjoy my time with him doesn’t mean I was misused. He—he did nothing to me that I did not in some way agree to.” The words tasted like acid on his tongue, but they were true. Adeen had never forced him. Made him feel obligated, yes, and criticized his lukewarm responses in bed, but those rare moments of violence had been small things: a hand pressed too tightly to the back of his neck, a tweak of his ear when he sniped at Adeen for some barely-remembered trespass. Hardly the sort of brutality that would signify such depravity.

The frustrated lines of Caleb’s face softened. “I am not trying to diminish your experiences,” he said slowly, “but speaking as someone who’s done a lot of harm at the command of terrible people, there is a great deal of difference between agreeing to something because you want to and agreeing because you fear what will happen if you don’t.”

“Perhaps I was a coward, then, to let things go on as long as they did.” Essek smiled bitterly. “Perhaps I am a coward still, shying away from this conflict as I have. Adeen left my life in shambles once already. To face him again, to have my personal affairs combed over by the courts, the media . . . I don’t know if I could bear it.”

Caleb’s fingers tightened around his, the callused pads of his thumbs circling the backs of Essek’s hands. When he spoke, there was a heaviness to his voice. “It’s easier, sometimes, to tell yourself you ended up where you did because of the choices you made. Then, at least, you can say you had some control over how it all fell apart. But . . .” He faltered, mouth twisting into a grimace. “I don’t know. Maybe we give ourselves too much credit in that regard. It’s hard to admit to ourselves that we let other people take our choices from us. The worst abusers are those who know how to hide their cruelty behind a veil of sympathy.”

“Like luring flies with honey,” Essek murmured, recalling his mother’s words. What would she make of the softness in Caleb’s eyes? The tenderness of Caleb’s touch? She had once remarked upon his talent for deception—one of the few times Essek had ever heard her offer a genuine compliment—but even the most gifted of liars couldn’t present a false face forever. If Caleb’s affection for him were a ruse, surely Essek would have sensed something amiss by now. Wouldn’t he?

You’re being paranoid. Caleb has done nothing to deserve your suspicion and everything to deserve your loyalty. All you’ll accomplish by doubting him now is to wear away at your relationship. Forcing his unease aside, he rested his forehead against the hollow of Caleb’s throat. “In any case, we’ve spent long enough ruminating on the past. I have Uraya coordinating with Den Thelyss’s press office, and it’s likely we’ll have some extra events added into our schedules as part of the damage control. You received your press statements?”

Caleb nodded. “Uraya passed them along fifteen minutes ago.”

“Good. We’ll want to avoid unnecessary public appearances for the time being, but there’s always a chance someone will drop by for a visit. Best to have our lines memorized so we can deflect as needed.”

Caleb tucked his hands into his pockets, mouth twisting slightly. “Actually, I was, ah, wondering if it would be all right for me to contact the Nein.” His eyes darted briefly to Essek’s face, then away. “They’re in the middle of a rather delicate operation right now; I wanted to check in with them, see if there is anything I can do to help.”

Not for the first time, Essek wished human ears were more expressive. He could sense a hesitance to the words, but without the extra visual clue, it was hard to be certain whether Caleb was afraid Essek would deny his request or merely worried for his friends. “You are certainly welcome to contact them,” he said, “though I must admit, I am confused as to why you think you require my permission to do so. I have never restricted your communications, nor have I ever tried to record your calls or eavesdrop where I am not welcome.” That last part wasn’t strictly true—Essek had listened at Caleb’s door a handful of times in the early days of their relationship. But he’d only ever caught him in one conversation, and in retrospect, he was fairly certain Caleb had been talking to Frumpkin, not passing along information to the Empire.

“No, I know that,” Caleb said, absently wringing his hands. “It is only that things are . . . complicated right now. We are both spinning a lot of plates. I worry that adding another will make it all come crashing down.”

“I cannot make that judgment for you,” Essek said, “but if it will alleviate your worries, you are welcome to borrow one of my hologram projectors while you’re out.”

Caleb’s eyes flickered up to his. “You do not think that would be suspicious? A human from the Empire wandering about Rosohna wearing an illusion?”

“Only if you’re caught.” Smirking, he tucked his face in the crook of Caleb’s neck, inhaling deeply of the ever-present scent of ink and paper, as well as the more nebulous aroma that clung to Caleb’s skin: clean sweat and subtle spices and the bitter-sharp scent of smoke. “Just take care not to be seen coming and going from our towers in disguise. We don’t want anyone to think I’ve taken a paramour.”

As he’d hoped, some of the shadows lifted from his husband’s eyes. Caleb dipped his head to nuzzle Essek’s hair, arms looping around his torso. “Hopefully I’m keeping you satisfied enough that you don’t need one.”

“Oh, you have nothing to worry about on that account, moya zvezda. I am well-satisfied, indeed. Although,” he said, rising onto his tiptoes to catch his husband in an open-mouthed kiss, “I am learning to indulge now and then.” 

Caleb groaned, fingers tangling in the sleek fabric of Essek’s robe and tugging him forward. That gave Essek enough momentum to maneuver Caleb backward into the wall. Caleb gave a surprised grunt, one hand flying up to catch Essek by the shoulder. “Ah, Liebling—”

“I want to be close to you,” Essek murmured, running his fingers down the front of Caleb’s robe until they caught on the silken belt around his waist. “I want your hands on my skin, your breath on my neck. I want you, or at least every part you’re willing to give me. I . . .” I love you, he almost said, but the words snagged on his tongue. They still felt too much like a secret: the only secret he had that wasn’t tainted by his treason or his selfishness. He wanted to hold onto that secret for a while before he shared it, even with Caleb.

“Ja, okay,” Caleb said breathlessly, only to freeze up a moment later, his hands coming to rest on Essek’s hips. “Just—are you sure? We don’t have to rush this.”

“We’ve been married for months; it’s hardly rushing,” Essek replied, but when that didn’t dispel the uncertainty in Caleb’s expression, he brushed his fingertips over Caleb’s cheek. “You think I’m still dwelling on Adeen.”

Caleb winced. “You had a harrowing night. It would be understandable if it had stirred up some bad memories.”

Essek placed a solemn hand over his husband’s heart. “You are nothing like him, Caleb Widogast. For one, you possess far more sincerity and grace than Adeen ever did. And two,” he brushed a curl of coppery hair behind his husband’s ear, “you are a good man—something Adeen could never hope to emulate, no matter how charmingly he presented himself.”

The line of Caleb’s mouth tightened, shame burning in his eyes. “I’m not as good a man as you think I am.”

“You are good to me,” Essek said firmly, running his finger beneath Caleb’s jaw to lift his chin. “Perhaps that seems a small thing to you, but it is more than I’d dared hope for since I was a child too young to understand that I was little more than a tool for those around me. For most of my life, I’ve had to assume anyone trying to get close to me was doing so out of self-interest. As for those few who were genuine in their pursuits, they were eventually driven away by my mistrust and inflexibility. But I am tired of being alone. Tired of always evaluating others based on their ambitions. If I am wrong about you, so be it. I would rather trust you and be betrayed than allow my paranoia to destroy what we’ve built together.”

Caleb stared at him in raw disbelief, his fingers tense against Essek’s hips. Then, like a porcelain plate tossed carelessly to the floor, his resistance shattered. He pulled Essek into a fierce hug, the tip of his nose burrowing into the side of Essek’s neck, right where his pulse thrummed the strongest. Essek grabbed instinctively for Caleb’s shoulders to steady himself, but he needn’t have worried; Caleb’s arms were strong around his torso, his embrace secure without being suffocating. It took only moments for Essek to sink willingly into his grasp.

I love you, he thought again, and closed his eyes, peace a warm glow beneath his heart.

Chapter Text

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Caleb held him for a long time, face tucked into the crook of Essek’s neck, breath warm against his collarbone. Now and then, Caleb would draw in a short, sharp breath, the circle of his arms tightening convulsively for a moment before relaxing once more, but those were the only cracks in his composure. Essek, for his part, wrapped his arms around his husband’s waist and rested his chin upon Caleb’s shoulder. He had no words of comfort to give—how could he, when he didn’t understand the source of Caleb’s sudden heartache?—but he could trail his fingers through Caleb’s hair, as Caleb had for him last night, and hope that was enough.

Indeed, his touch seemed to soothe the irregular quakes of Caleb’s body. After a few minutes, his breathing steadied, and the tension eased from his frame. He still held Essek close, but his grasp slackened, giving Essek room to pull back and study his face. “Better?”

Caleb met his gaze, blue eyes rimmed with exhaustion. “Ja,” he said hoarsely.

“Good.” Essek continued combing his fingers through his husband’s hair. Despite its thickness, it was shockingly soft. Caleb had had it trimmed prior to the wedding, and the stylists had undoubtedly sent him home with a collection of shampoos and conditioners to infuse it with a glossy shine, but even so, it must have been quite healthy beforehand to part so smoothly beneath Essek’s fingers. An impulse to begin braiding it bloomed in Essek’s heart, followed immediately by a surge of embarrassment. Such romantic sentiments were suitable for lovesick adolescents, not respectable adults. What would the others of his den think if they saw Caleb wearing such an overt sign of Essek’s affection?

They’d probably think you’re in love, Uraya would say, in that tone that implied they wanted to roll their eyes but were too professional to do so. Despite himself, Essek smiled. He wasn’t ready to broadcast his affections so bluntly in public, but perhaps he could allow himself this one indulgence. He pressed a kiss to his husband’s cheek. “Might I ask a favor?”

Caleb’s eyebrows furrowed. “Ja, of course.”

“Will you sit down for me? I’d like to try something.”

Caleb hesitated, uncertain, then went to sit in the indicated chair, spine straight, hands curled around the ends of the armrests. Essek smiled down at him before nudging one arm out of the way so he could perch next to his husband. “Lean forward for me, just a bit. And relax, moya zvezda. I’m not going to ravish you.”

Though the remark made Caleb’s cheeks flush, it was evidently enough of a reassurance. He relaxed, tilting his head forward so his hair draped between them like a curtain. “I would not be averse. Though it’s been a while since I was last on the, ah, receiving end. So to speak.”

Essek chuckled. “Noted. However, in this instance, my intentions are quite pure. May I?” He slid one finger through Caleb’s hair.

“I am in your hands.”

Settling carefully upon his perch, Essek swept a section Caleb’s hair toward him and split it into three parts, running his fingers over each to smooth out the strands. When he was satisfied it wouldn’t tangle at the first fumble of his fingers, he began plaiting it, one length over another, the repetitive motions taking on a meditative aspect as the minutes trickled past. It was only when he reached the end of Caleb’s hair that he realized he hadn’t thought to grab a hair-tie. Cursing to himself, he pinched the little tuft of hair between his thumb and forefinger and cast his eyes about in the hopes that Caleb had left a hair-tie on one of the nearby tables.

“Something wrong?”

“Ah, no, just—I’m afraid I’ve miscalculated my resources; I don’t have anything to secure the braid with.”

Caleb’s smile was warm. Delicately, he took hold of the end of the braid, his callused fingers resting just above Essek’s. “There are some hair binders on the desk. Top drawer on the right.”

Essek nodded and went to the desk. There were indeed a handful of hair binders in the drawer, some stretched and threadbare, others adorned with strands of fiery hair. Essek would have to ask Uraya to purchase some new hair-ties next time they went out—these damaged bands must be annoying to remove.

Returning to the armchair, he took hold of the braid once more and tied it off before tucking it behind Caleb’s ear. “There,” he said with satisfaction. “It’s done.”

“Danke.” Caleb met his eyes, lifting a hand to run his fingers through Essek’s hair. “I’m a bit out of practice, but would you like me to return the favor?”

Essek’s ears quivered, a hot spike of want shooting through his stomach. “If—if you’d like.” Awkwardly, he bent so Caleb could better access his hair, but rather than reaching up to meet him, Caleb pulled him down onto the seat so he was straddling his lap. Essek’s pulse fluttered; he averted his eyes, embarrassment momentarily overcoming desire.

“You’re blushing,” Caleb remarked, his gaze softening as he rested his hands on Essek’s hips. “I hope that was not too forward of me.”

“No, it’s—not at all. I just . . .” Light, why was it suddenly so difficult to string together a coherent sentence? He’d had this man in his bed, surrendered willingly to his hands, his mouth. The idea of Caleb braiding his hair shouldn’t be enough to scramble his thoughts.

Caleb evidently sensed his dismay. He leaned back, his expression growing serious. “If you’d rather revisit this some other time, we can. I don’t want to pressure you.”

“It’s not that.” Essek took a breath, ordering his thoughts. Precision was important. The last thing he wanted was to put that look of despair back in his husband’s eyes by implying he’d overstepped. “I suppose it is a matter of propriety,” Essek said. Caleb glanced at him, curious. “Among drow, the act of braiding someone else’s hair is considered rather intimate. Not carnal, you understand, but . . . personal. A privilege offered to lovers or very dear friends, usually, though it’s not uncommon for parents to braid their children’s hair when they’re young, as a way of preserving tradition.” A dusty memory rose to the surface of his mind: himself at six years old, sitting on the floor as his father braided his hair for some gala or another, humming softly with contentment.

“So it’s been a while since you’ve let anyone braid your hair,” Caleb surmised.

“Over a century now. Though partly that is because I started cutting it short when I was in my fifties.” He smiled ruefully. “Not all of my romances were tragic affairs; some of the people I dallied with over the years would certainly have offered, had my hair been long enough. But then, that’s part of the reason I cut it in the first place. I didn’t want anyone to offer. Didn’t want anyone getting too close.” A frail laugh rose in the back of his throat. “It sounds somewhat foolish when I put it into words.”

“I don’t think it’s foolish at all,” Caleb murmured, looping his arms around Essek’s waist. Essek smiled and ran his fingertips over the ripples of Caleb’s braid.

“Regardless, you’re welcome to return the favor. My hair may be short, but you have clever hands. I’m sure you can manage.”

“I will do my best.” With a soft smile, Caleb selected a length of Essek’s hair and set to work, his motions slow but sure. Essek closed his eyes, basking in the glow of his husband’s attention. He’d never been devout, even as a child, but he’d dutifully attended his mother’s annual pilgrimage to the sunward side of Xhorhas up through his twentieth year, and he remembered the intoxicating warmth of sunlight on his face, the sleepy lassitude that followed a long day of worship. Sitting in Caleb’s lap while the man braided his hair was a little like that, but without the inevitable headache.

Even at the slower pace, however, it took Caleb only half as long to reach the end of Essek’s hair as Essek had taken to reach the end of his. There he paused, long enough that Essek cracked one eye open to look at him. “What is it?”

“You’re going to laugh,” Caleb said, “but I didn’t think to grab another hair-tie.”

Essek stared at him for a moment in disbelief, then, unable to smother his amusement, burst into laughter. “Caleb Widogast, you are a wonder and I adore you.” He caught Caleb’s face between his hands and kissed him.

Caleb gave a muffled grunt of surprise, then melted into the kiss, fingers curling around Essek’s thighs. Encouraged, Essek rolled his hips, drawing another sharp, startled noise from his husband. “Scheisse, Essek . . .”

Laughter bubbling in his lungs, Essek unfastened the first two clasps of his husband’s robes, peeling them back so he could trace his tongue over the pulse point in Caleb’s neck. This elicited a low growl from somewhere deep in Caleb’s throat; within seconds, Caleb had shucked off his outer robes entirely, exposing the sheer tunic beneath. Essek ran his fingers down his husband’s sides until he found the tunic’s hem, then lifted the garment up over Caleb’s head and tossed it over the unoccupied armchair to his left.

“Not to be presumptuous,” Caleb said as Essek nibbled at his collarbone, “but if we are to, ah, continue in this vein, it might be advantageous to avail ourselves of—ack, gods—of the supplies in my nightstand drawer.”

“Probably wise,” Essek agreed, withdrawing. Caleb made to rise as well, but before he could push himself up out of the armchair, Essek placed a hand on his chest. “No, don’t get up, moya zvezda. I prefer you right where you are.”

Caleb blinked, then flushed as he caught on to Essek’s intentions. “Ja, okay.”

Essek threw him a tiny smirk before sliding out of the armchair and heading for his husband’s bedchamber. It was smaller than his own, a third of the floor-space dominated by the massive bed Essek had purchased to replace the guest cot after he’d been informed of his impending marriage. At the time, he’d hoped the finer furnishings would make up for his disinterest in the more salacious aspects of marriage—no need to deny his new partner such luxuries, Essek had told himself, since he’d had no intention of inviting anyone into his bed. It hadn’t occurred to him that he might someday find a different reason to be glad for the extravagance.

Later, he told himself, turning his attention to the nightstand. As promised, he found a modest selection of provisions in the second drawer: lubricants and condoms, as well as a simple silicon dildo in a hard plastic case. Fewer toys than he’d expected, considering his husband’s expansive smut collection, but Caleb was an imaginative man—he could conjure up plenty of evocative fantasies even without such tools.

Adequately provisioned, Essek made for the doorway, only to pause at the threshold as an idea struck him. He dithered for a moment, heat suffusing his cheeks, then set his supplies on the bed and began disrobing. Perhaps it was shallow to want to be admired for his looks, but beauty had a power all its own, and after last night, he wanted to feel powerful. Wanted to watch his husband’s eyes widen when he stepped into view, naked and confident. Wanted to reclaim some small fragment of the control Adeen had stripped away when his eyes had crawled, unwelcome, down the front of Essek’s robes.

And so he peeled away layer after layer of fabric, until he stood utterly bare, his clothes laid out in neat piles atop the bedspread. Then, skin buzzing with anticipation, he returned to the sitting room. Caleb still sat obediently in the armchair, absently picking at a loose thread on one of the armrests. As Essek crept up behind him, however, he stilled, breath catching. Essek set their supplies on a nearby end table and crossed behind the chair so he could trace his fingertips along the curve of Caleb’s bicep. “Close your eyes for me, moy svet.”

A shiver traveled down Caleb’s back. He closed his eyes, tilting his head back as Essek pressed a kiss to his cheek. “That is a new one. Moy svet.”

“It means ‘my light.’ Though given how many hours we’ve spent translating together, I suspect you already knew that.”

“It has religious connotations,” Caleb said, surprising him. “It is how priestesses address the Luxon when trying to commune with it. Them? I’m still not sure how the pronoun is meant to be translated.”

“Both are correct,” Essek said, endeared despite the subject. Caleb would be distracted by the grammatical complexities of religious scripture. “The Luxon has its own unique pronoun in Undercommon, but as there’s not a direct Common equivalent, most people default to either they or it. But we are getting off-topic.” He circled the chair, allowing himself a sly smile as Caleb shifted restlessly in his seat. “Open your eyes.”

Caleb did so, eyelids fluttering as he took in Essek’s form. “You, ah—” His gaze skimmed over Essek’s body, eyes dark with want, before lifting back to his face. “May I?” He half-raised his hand as if to touch.

Pleased, Essek drew closer. “You may.”

Reverently, Caleb skimmed his hands down Essek’s waist, over the jut of his hip, down the curve of his thigh. Essek held himself still, heart skipping madly as Caleb’s hands explored the contours of his body, raising goosebumps in their wake. He felt at once acutely exposed and utterly safe. More than safe, he felt . . . cared for. Cherished. Loved? The mere thought pressed the air from his lungs. He knew he was reading too much into his husband’s attentions, and yet it was hard not to when Caleb looked at him like this, like Essek was the sole light left in the universe.

“It probably goes without saying,” Caleb said, lifting his gaze to Essek’s face, “but you are very handsome like this.”

Essek arched an eyebrow. “Naked?”

“Confident.”

Essek’s breath caught. It took him a few seconds to formulate a response, and even then, his words were faint. “I am less self-assured than I seem.”

“I know.” Caleb leaned in so their foreheads touched. “That is part of the draw, I think. Knowing that I am the only one allowed to see you in all your aspects.” His hands grazed the curve of Essek’s hips, drawing him closer without ever exerting more force than it would take to bend a feather.

“And if there were still parts of me you hadn’t seen,” Essek began, “would that—would you still—”

“I would,” Caleb murmured, kissing the curve of his shoulder. “Maybe it is foolish, but I don’t think there is anything you could tell me that would diminish my regard for you.”

A shiver raced down Essek’s back. So many truths he’d kept hidden, so many secrets he’d held close for fear of the ruin they would bring upon him. To have Caleb’s trust, to have his faith . . . it would have been unfathomable to the man he’d been even a handful of months ago, and yet the thought of losing it sat like a stone in his stomach.

“I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve it,” he said at last, “but I’m grateful for your trust. And I hope—I hope that someday, when my secrets are finally laid bare, you will find a way to forgive me for them.”

Caleb gave him a pained smile. “You are not the only one with secrets, meine Perle. If you can forgive mine, then I can forgive yours. Now, then,” he said, voice lightening, “I believe you were about to ravish me.”

Essek huffed a laugh. “Presumptuous.”

“You are the one sitting naked on my lap, Liebling. A certain amount of presumption is permissible, I think.”

“I suppose so.” With deft fingers, he began unfastening the silken belt at Caleb’s waist. “Though I’ve half a mind to spend the next hour toying with you before I give you what you want.”

Caleb gave an undignified squawk, the pale skin of his cheeks flushing red. Essek let his teeth catch the curve of Caleb’s ear, biting down with just enough pressure to make his husband squirm, then sank down into his lap, grinning all the while.

Chapter Text

Chapter Thirty-Nine

It was mid-afternoon by the time Caleb arrived at the Dim’s Inn, hands in his pockets, disguised a red-skinned tiefling with curling horns, and despite the hour of unplanned romantic dallying, it was early enough in the day that the taproom was mostly empty. He claimed a corner table, where he’d have line of sight on several exits, and ordered a mug of ale, voice pitched low to muddle his accent. He’d been here only once since Jester had suggested it as a drop location for their communications, but the more he could vary his association with this place, the better off he’d be.

His ale arrived in short order. He tipped the barkeep, feigning preoccupation with a video on his tablet until the man walked away, then settled in to sip at his drink until he’d been here long enough to justify a trip to the restroom, where Jester had instructed him to leave his messages for the Nein, and where, presumably, they’d do the same for him.

It helped that he actually did have things to occupy him while he waited. Looking into Essek’s colleagues, for instance. He’d done some preliminary research in the hopes of encountering a few of them at the fundraiser, and while that hadn’t panned out as he’d hoped, he hadn’t failed entirely. Professor Waccoh had expressed interest in talking politics with him, and given her connections to Essek’s wartime developments, she was likely familiar enough with dunamancy to introduce him to others within the field—one of whom, Caleb suspected, would turn out to be the traitor who’d handed the beacons over to the Assembly.

So he busied himself looking into Waccoh’s history, mining it for details he could use to guide their conversations toward topics of interest. The details surrounding her developments during the war were sparse—not surprising, considering the sensitive nature of her work—but her years as a professor of engineering at the Marble Tomes were well-documented. Much of it confirmed what Caleb had already suspected: that Waccoh cared little for propriety and even less for rank, something which had delighted her common-born students and frustrated those who were accustomed to receiving deference from those outside their dens.

That line of research did turn up a few surprises. Caleb had assumed Waccoh’s casual impropriety was a result of her being secure enough in her position that she didn’t need to bother with politeness, but apparently she was both denless and unconsecuted, and had nearly been terminated on several occasions for offending some important figure or another. Essek had alluded to the challenges for outsiders hoping to earn a place among the dens, but Caleb had been under the impression that the whole point of consecution was to ensure that those who distinguished themselves through their service or deeds were permitted to join the Dynasty’s reincarnation cycle. Had he misinterpreted, seeing a merit-based system when in fact consecution was just another means of maintaining the established power structure, or had Waccoh been offered consecution and refused? That must happen on occasion. As much as Essek complained about the Dynasty’s preoccupation with rebirth and immortality, no nation could be comprised entirely of believers. Essek himself was an atheist, and though his lack of faith had earned him some judgment from his family and peers, it hadn’t made him a pariah.

For the first time, it occurred to Caleb that he’d never questioned whether Essek was consecuted. Religion wasn’t a subject they often spoke on, and while he could see Essek refusing consecution on principle, it was equally possible Essek had undergone the process before he’d renounced the faith, or even afterward, as a practical means of preserving his memories should the worst occur.

Stay on task, Widogast, he told himself, refocusing. Whatever her status, Professor Waccoh was clearly well-connected. He’d have to meet with her again, see what information he could glean, maybe wrangle an introduction to some other dunamantic scholars. It would give him a place to start, at least.

Downing the last of his ale, he rose and made his way to the restroom, locking the door behind him before walking over to the solitary sink and running his fingertips along the pipes underneath until he found the strip of adhesive hidden there. As the pad of his finger brushed the tacky surface, it bumped against a small metal disk. Pulse jumping, he peeled the data chip off the pipe and held it up to the light, relief coursing through him as he recognized the symbol of Captain Tusktooth etched into the metal.

With a quick glance over his shoulder to ensure the door was still locked, he slid the disk into his tablet and skimmed the list of files. There were several: a video from Beauregard, tagged “open first”, followed by a collection of files numbered one to six. Caleb slipped a pair of earbuds from his pocket so he could listen without fear of being overheard and tapped the video. Beauregard’s face appeared onscreen a moment later, eyes narrowed with frustration, a few stray hairs sticking out of their bun. “Fucking piece of shit tablet,” she muttered, jabbing her fingertip at something outside the camera’s view. “Are you going to cooperate or not?”

“It’s working, Beau, don’t worry!” Jester called from somewhere off-screen.

“Coulda fooled me.” Beau glared at camera, nose wrinkled with frustration, then visibly composed herself, leaning back until most of her upper body was in view. “Okay, here we go. Recording attempt number six. Hey, Caleb. Received your message. Can’t tell you where we are right now, for security reasons, but we’re doing okay. Actually, we’ve made some progress since the last time we reached out.” She thumbed a stray lock of hair from her forehead. “You, uh, might want to make sure you’re alone for this. We’ve got some pretty sensitive intel to pass along. Don’t want anyone on either side overhearing, so if you need to pause the vid, now would be the time.”

She fell silent then, flicking an awkward glance off-camera before continuing. “Right, so we managed to extract some files from the Vergesson database—and before you ask, everyone is fine; we made it out before any of the Assembly’s goons could catch up to us. Anyway, the data’s pretty heavily encrypted. So far, the only thing Veth and I have been able to scrape from the files is some basic administrative stuff. Nothing useful, at least not yet. We sent it to Yussa to look at, but code-breaking isn’t his specialty, and there’s only so much the Cobalt Soul can do without a warrant, so until we get something more substantial, that’s a dead end, too. Point is, we could really use your big nerd brain on this.”

“Also, we miss you!” Jester said, ducking into view to wave at the camera. “Hope you’re doing okay. Really glad your husband’s not an asshole!”

Beau grimaced. “Yeah, sorry about that. We, uh, might have made some unfair assumptions. Hard not to, when your best friend is shipped off to an alien planet and forced to marry a stranger. And, okay, we might have dug up some kind of incriminating info about the guy. Not sure how much he’s told you, but based on the documents we found, it sounds like he was involved in some shady stuff during the war. Weapons development, military research, stuff like that. Most of it’s classified, so there’s not a lot of detail, but we thought you should know.

“Anyway, we’re passing along the files from Vergesson with this message. Let us know if you manage to crack the encryption. Maybe we’ll get lucky and these files will turn out to be the smoking gun we need. It’d be nice to have something go right for once.” She sighed, crossing her arms in that way she did when she was trying not to let on that she was upset. “Not going to lie, things have been hard with you gone. Veth is half out of her mind with worry. We’ve been talking about sending her to Xhorhas in disguise for a check-in. It’s risky, but I think we’d all feel better if we could talk to you without the subterfuge, even if it’s just a short meeting. I can’t promise it’ll work out, but . . .” She lifted one shoulder in a shrug.

“But if you need us, just call!” Jester finished brightly, stepping into view. “Fjord says we can dodge the Assembly for a few weeks as long as we’re smart about it, so if you really, really need help, you only have to ask.”

“Wouldn’t hurt to have a backup plan, either,” Beau added. “Like, if we don’t get a message from you once a week, we should assume something’s happened to you, or whatever.”

“Yeah, like if we need to break you out of prison or something.” Jester held up her fists, eyes gleaming. “And then we can be all like, ‘No, you can’t have him—he’s ours!’ And it looks like we’re kidnapping you, but really, it’s a rescue mission.”

“Right,” Beauregard said after a brief hesitation. “That’s . . . also an option. But seriously, man, don’t be afraid to call. The only reason we’re cooperating with the Assembly at all is because they’re using you as a hostage. Not much point in keeping up the charade if you get thrown in prison for espionage.” With a sigh, she uncrossed her arms. “Just be careful, man. We’ve got your back, but we’re a long way from Xhorhas. If things go sideways, don’t wait around; get on a shuttle and get out. We’ll find you when we can.”

Jester nodded, her smile softening. “Either way, we’ll see you soon. Be safe.”

“Be safe,” Beau echoed, then tapped the screen to end the recording. The vid-screen flickered briefly before reverting to a thumbnail from the first few seconds of the vid. Caleb lowered his tablet, smothering a sentimental longing to call the Nein right now, regardless of whether the Assembly might be eavesdropping. He’d listened to their first bundle of messages a dozen times now, just to ease the ache of their absence, but even so, he’d have given almost anything to speak to them in real time, to know they were still safe aboard the Nein Heroez.

But he couldn’t risk it. His friends had clearly planned this recording to give away as little as possible. The walls behind Beauregard had been a featureless gray, interrupted only by a single vertical seam lined with stainless steel rivets—an interior wall on some space station, Caleb guessed, though the lack of identifying details made it hard to confirm even that much. Likely, they’d recorded this on a fuel stop somewhere along their journey, seeking out the most nondescript chamber they could find and passing the data along to their contact in Rosohna. Absently, Caleb wondered which of their far-flung friends had been roped into playing messenger. Few of their allies could pass unremarked in Rosohna, but with a hologram projector, that was a minor issue. He could ask, he supposed; having an ally in the city who knew of his mission would give him options should anything go wrong. But reaching out would mean endangering yet another friend, and he wasn’t ready to risk that for a slim chance they might be able to help.

Regardless, he had his own updates to pass along. He switched out the Nein’s data chip for the one he’d brought with him, typed up a brief addition assuring them that he’d look into the files they’d acquired from the database in Vergesson, and stuck the disk behind the drainpipe. With luck, their mysterious messenger would drop by to collect the data chip within the next day or two and pass it along to the Nein through whatever channels they’d deemed safe.

And in the meantime, you have a project of your own to work on. Caleb checked his disguise in the mirror to ensure his hologram was still functioning, then washed his hands and left the restroom behind. Deciphering the Assembly’s secret files was no small task, but if the information within was indeed as sensitive as the layers of encryption implied, it might well be the evidence the Nein needed to prove the Assembly’s corruption and slip the snare they’d caught themselves in.

Chapter Text

Chapter Forty

In the end, it took a scant sixteen hours for news of Caleb’s confrontation with Adeen to tear through every media outlet in Rosohna.

Uraya’s report arrived in Essek’s inbox shortly after midday, heralded by a deceptively cheerful series of chimes from his tablet. Essek abandoned the hologram he’d been studying—a simple graph measuring the dunamantic wave-forms emanated by the Assembly’s artificial beacon—and hastened to his desk. Floating above the usual collection of news updates and notifications, flagged as priority, was a message from Uraya: Media update. Brace yourself before reading.

Well, that’s not ominous at all. Essek tried to remind himself he’d been expecting this. It was only natural that the media would be buzzing. Not only had the fundraiser ended with his new husband dumping a glass of wine on a high-ranking military officer, but said officer was also Essek’s former betrothed, with whom he’d parted on bad terms. Even the more restrained news outlets would have difficulty ignoring such an enticing scrap of gossip. He didn’t even want to think about what the tabloids might say.

Still, there was nothing to be gained by ignoring it. Taking a fortifying breath, he opened the report. Uraya had listed the most reputable publications first, but even so, the best that could be said of them was that they were mercifully light on detail. As indiscreet as Caleb’s wine-tossing had been, the conversation leading up to it had been relatively quiet, and those who had been close enough to eavesdrop had evidently lacked sufficient credibility to be quoted in the more major outlets: a fortunate turn of events, given how many high-profile alumni had been in attendance.

That good fortune didn’t last beyond the first few articles. The smaller news outlets were far less discerning in their gossip, and though most were careful to avoid framing their speculations as fact, many of their articles implied that Caleb had either assaulted Adeen in a fit of possessiveness or been so clumsy with drunkenness as to spill an entire glass of wine on accident. According to Uraya’s notes, the latter possibility was rapidly gaining traction, reinforced by Caleb’s (overtly false) apology to Adeen, as well as a minor incident earlier in the evening in which Caleb had accidentally bumped into one Lythir VaSuun.

Frustration flared in Essek’s chest. True, Caleb had a heightened tolerance for alcohol, owing to his heavier build and strong constitution, but no one who’d actually spoken to him would think him an alcoholic, let alone the sort of stumbling drunkard these articles implied. Logically, Essek knew it was to their benefit to let the everyone believe Caleb had simply gotten a little tipsy, rather than that he’d deliberately assaulted a member of the noble courts, but it was hard not to feel insulted at how eager everyone was to mock his husband’s manners.

The sole silver lining was that many of the publications had raked up Adeen as well. Some derided his surprise appearance as an ill-conceived attempt to win back Essek’s affections, while others speculated on the tense exchange leading up to Caleb’s wine-tossing. A few had dug up bits and pieces of what had been said, though even the sleazier gossip columns avoided outright mentioning Caleb’s accusation. Essek suspected Den Tasithar had threatened to sue anyone who dared suggest one of their own could commit such an act of depravity. Still, it was heartening to know Adeen would be suffering some bad press of his own for once.

Essek sent a brief note of thanks to Uraya, requesting they keep him updated should any new rumors start to propagate. He was about to resume his research when his tablet chimed again, signaling an incoming call. He tensed, then relaxed as he saw the caller ID. With a flick of his fingers, he dispelled the hologram behind him and accepted the call.

“Huh,” Verin said as his face appeared onscreen. “You actually picked up.”

“Contrary to popular belief, I do occasionally respond to calls.” He inclined his head, aware of the stiffness in his voice but unable to completely banish it. “Did you need something? I’m in my lab.”

“Nah, just wanted to see how you were doing,” Verin said, unbothered by the coolness of his voice. “We haven’t talked since the wedding reception, you know.”

“Yes, the reception where you brought up our father’s death and then told my new husband that everyone thought he’d been coerced into marrying me.”

“I didn’t—” Verin broke off, eyes narrowing. Essek waited, arms crossed, letting just a hint of condescension show on his face. Verin would see through it, of course, but Essek was petty enough to find satisfaction in his annoyance. Indeed, Verin clenched his jaw, shoulders hunching defensively. “Look, I’m sorry I got a little hostile. But I wasn’t trying to sabotage your wedding night. I just wanted to get a read on him, make sure he wasn’t planning to, you know . . .”

Essek raised an eyebrow. “To what? Seduce me into sharing state secrets?”

“Yes, exactly.” Verin scowled, nettled. “Can you blame me? Imperial affiliations aside, he’s a mercenary. For all we know, someone hired him to break into your lab.”

“Then they will be terribly disappointed to hear that he’s done no such thing, despite having months to organize a heist. Really, Verin,” he said, contempt winding through his voice, “do you truly think a mercenary would consent to a months-long honeypot scheme in an attempt to extract Dynasty secrets from me? Surely it would be far simpler to set explosives on the door to my lab and snatch whatever research materials he could while the rest of us were busy putting out the flames.”

Ire flashed in Verin’s eyes. “Fine! Maybe he is just some unlucky Dwendalian noble who got stuck in a loveless marriage to seal a treaty. But don’t act like I’m the bad guy for being skeptical about it.”

Anger lodged itself like a shard of ice in Essek’s lungs. Maybe it was unfair of him to be upset when he’d spent the entire conversation recounting months-old grievances, but to have his marriage dismissed as a loveless political affair was more than he was willing to tolerate. “I don’t require your approval to spend time with my husband,” he snapped, chin tilted imperiously, “nor do I appreciate your implication that he’s some sort of imperial spy. Caleb is a good man and a devoted partner. If you wish to air your opinions on my marriage, you’d be better served gossiping with your underlings up in Bazzoxan. I’m sure they’d love to hear about your heroic efforts to save me from myself.”

“Wait, shit, don’t hang up,” Verin said as Essek raised his finger to disconnect the call. Essek met his gaze coldly. “I’m sorry; you’re right, that was a shitty thing for me to say. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just—” He faltered, shoulders hunching with guilt. “Look, you don’t exactly have the best track record with relationships. I wanted to make sure you were really okay, and not just pretending.” Like you always do, he didn’t say, but the words stretched sullenly between them, all the heavier for the worry behind them.

Essek clenched his jaw, but found himself unable to hold onto his ire. That was the problem with Verin. For all that he’d been raised to uphold the same standards of grace and propriety as Essek had, he’d never been able to shake the innate sincerity that made him so ill-suited for the noble courts. It was hard to hold a grudge against someone when their actions were coming from a place of genuine concern, and as contentious as their relationship had become since their father’s death, Verin never had stopped caring.

“My apologies,” Essek said, shame creeping in as his anger guttered. “It’s been a challenging twenty-four hours.”

Verin nodded, a grim sympathy in his eyes. “I heard Adeen showed up to the fundraiser.”

“He did.” Essek sighed, easing down into his desk chair and leaning against the backrest. It didn’t surprise him that the rumors had already reached his brother’s ears, but he could’ve done without the confirmation. “Shall I assume you also heard about the wine incident?”

“I heard your husband smashed a wineglass over Adeen’s head,” Verin said warily.

A bark of bitter laughter burst from Essek’s throat. “Is that what they’re saying in Bazzoxan? I’d forgotten how prone soldiers are to exaggeration. Alas,” he said as Verin eyed him, “the glassware remains regrettably intact. I cannot say the same of Adeen’s cloak, however—I pity the dry cleaner forced to remove that stain. Even if they can, I doubt Adeen could endure the shame of wearing such an obvious reminder of his humiliation. Like as not, he’ll have to burn it.”

“That’s something, at least,” Verin said, but his ears were pinned back with apprehension. “Just be careful. Adeen’s an ass, but he’s an ass with an officer’s commission. He has the resources to make your life hell.”

As if he hasn’t already, Essek thought, amusement fading. Verin might not have the intricate network of informants Essek had cultivated over years in court, but his ability to pull people into his orbit had given him connections of his own. Verin had known long before Essek’s ill-fated betrothal what sort of man Adeen was, albeit not the particulars; he’d been the only member of their den willing to stand by Essek when when he’d asked their mother to annul the betrothal.

“You don’t need to worry about me,” Essek said before his mind could conjure up any more ugly memories. “The Umavi has already taken steps to handle the matter, and there is little enough Adeen can do to me without jeopardizing his own position. In any case,” he added when this failed to dispel the worry in Verin’s eyes, “Caleb has proven willing to come to my defense should I need it, and he has less concern for propriety than I do. He won’t allow any harm to come to me.”

Verin studied him for a moment, then gave a slow nod. “So things are going well between you two, then?”

“Indeed. Caleb is . . .” He hesitated, grasping for something to say that wouldn’t come across as embarrassingly sentimental. “He is kind, clever, adaptable . . .I would say we are well-matched, but to be honest, he’s a far better man than I deserve. Did you know he’s designing a custom cloak for me? It’s lined with a specialized mesh meant to divert a jolt from a stunner. Not that I’m especially worried about being assassinated,” he clarified at Verin’s befuddled frown, though in truth, the fear was never far from his mind, “but considering his past as a mercenary, I can appreciate his desire to keep me safe.”

“But you’re happy, right?” Verin asked, uncharacteristically serious. “He’s good to you?”

Essek smiled, warmth wending through his chest. “I’ve never met anyone who cares as deeply or as vibrantly as he does. I don’t know if—if his feelings toward me will ever develop beyond mere fondness, but there is very little I wouldn’t do to keep him in my life. Of course I am happy to be married to him. I only hope I can one day be worthy of his regard.”

Verin snorted. “It’s not about being worthy, Essek. The people who love you are going to love you whether or not you deserve it. Even if you are an asshole sometimes.”

“Only when it suits my purposes.” Essek smirked. “The public expects a certain degree of aloofness from me. Were I to suddenly espouse such softhearted sentiments as I have here, people would think me concussed.”

“Or drunk,” Verin muttered, then met his eyes. “Hey, I’ve got some leave coming up next month. You all right with me dropping by for a few days? I’d really rather not spend my entire vacation entertaining Mother at the main estate.”

“So long as you let us know when you expect to arrive. Merrillil will need a day or two of warning to prepare enough food to fill the ravening abyss you call a stomach. But yes, you’re welcome to visit. Just please, try not to dredge up any embarrassing stories about our childhood in front of Caleb. I’d like to retain some pretense of dignity.”

“Oh, come on, I’ve at least got to tell him about the Great Redberry Heist of 722.”

“We agreed never to speak of that to anyone.”

“Okay, how about that time you broke one of the conservatory’s density chambers trying to crush a bunch of scrap metal?”

Essek narrowed his eyes. “That was for science.”

“Ooh, or I could tell him about the hover-disc incident of 731—”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“See you at midwinter!” Verin said, grinning brightly as Essek disconnected the call.

Chapter Text

Chapter Forty-One

The days trickled by in drips and drabs, winter creeping incrementally over Rosohna as Xhorhas’s elliptical orbit pulled it farther from its pale star. Caleb spent most of his evenings attending parties on Essek’s arm. Word of his altercation with Adeen had spread through the media like fire in a drought, leaving them with a great deal of damage to repair. Caleb was under strict orders from both Uraya and Den Thelyss to accord himself with courtesy and grace no matter who approached him or how he was provoked.

“Not that you were behaving poorly before,” Uraya had been quick to assure him. “Wine-tossing aside, you’ve been an exemplary partner and a congenial conversationalist in all your dealings here. But the media will be scrutinizing you closely until this blows over, so we must take care with how we present ourselves.”

“No further incidents, I understand,” Caleb had agreed, having no desire to throw any more fuel on the pyre. They were weathering the media crisis as best they could, but it was taking every ounce of Essek’s social graces to repair their image. At events, he wielded politeness like a rapier, deflecting nosy inquiries and subtle barbs with seeming effortlessness. Against his deft pivots and parries, even the bluntest of courtiers failed to penetrate his defenses, and on the rare occasion he had to stoop to cutting remarks, he did so with such casual contempt that the offending party couldn’t help but retreat in disgrace. Indeed, from the outside, Essek seemed utterly untroubled by Adeen’s reappearance, or by the whispers that followed in their wake.

Caleb knew better. Essek might have been glad for his intervention at the fundraiser, but it was clear the damage to their reputation troubled him. In private, he fretted over minor conversations with other courtiers, dissecting them for subtle slights and meaningful glances. Between his anxious perusal of the tabloids and the endless stream of charity banquets and dinner parties, Essek had little time to pursue his own interests. Their nightly translation sessions fell to the wayside, and even Essek’s research was left to languish while he managed the rumor mill.

In the face of such preoccupation, Caleb would’ve expected Essek to withdraw into himself, retreating into the privacy of his lab, where he could steal a few hours of solitude between soirees. Caleb knew what it was to believe oneself undeserving of solace, and while he’d learned to recognize those feelings as self-sabotage, he wasn’t sure Essek possessed the perspective to do the same. But if anything, Essek seemed to want to be closer to him, often showing up outside his door in his evening robes, hair damp from the shower, traces of jasmine-scented soap clinging to his skin. Caleb had been prepared to tend to his own desires, unwilling to initiate anything while Essek was still raw from Adeen’s unexpected return, but it rapidly became apparent that Essek had no interest in abandoning the more physical aspects of their relationship.

“And you’re certain this is all right?” Caleb asked more than once, worried Essek was compartmentalizing too well. “You are not ignoring your own well-being out of some sense of obligation or, or—”

“My heart isn’t made of glass,” Essek sniped, ears flicking dismissively. “Adeen’s callous handling might have bruised it, but hearts are resilient things. Given sufficient time and care, they heal as well as any wound.” Then, softer, he added, “You should know; you’re the one who showed me they could be mended at all.”

“If you’re sure,” Caleb had replied, unable to suppress a surge of guilt. He tried to remind himself that for all he’d wronged Essek, he was working to undermine the people who’d put them in this position. He’d spent the first five days after the fundraiser running the files from Vergesson through every decryption app he could access. None of them had yet produced viable results. Not that Caleb had really expected them to. Vergesson was an Assembly-operated facility, well-funded and heavily invested in their security—he’d have been more suspicious if he had been able to crack their encryption with such straightforward methods.

No, there had to be another layer. A word or phrase meant to act as a key, or a secondary cipher that required a separate document to translate, as with a book code. Caleb hoped it was the former. While book codes could be broken, it generally required the code-breaker to identify the document being used as a key—no small feat, considering the myriad texts the Assembly had access to. It was technically possible to do so by running the encrypted document through series of algorithms, but it required a great deal of processing power, more than Caleb could easily access without tapping into public servers. He’d ask the Nein if they’d recovered any physical texts at Vergesson next time he reached out to them, but until then, he’d assume he was working with a keyword cipher. He seeded a few suggestions into the decryption apps on his tablet and let them run. It would take time to cycle through all the possibilities, even narrowing the parameters to only include words in Common and Zemnian, but by the end he’d have more data.

That left him time to pursue other projects. On Miresen morning, a week after the fundraiser, he joined Essek in the western tower for breakfast. “I’ve been thinking about what you said, about resuming my education,” he began, carefully folding his a piece of flatbread in half so he wouldn’t have to meet Essek’s eyes while he lied to him.

“Is that so?” Essek asked, ears perking up. “I’m glad to hear it. The next entrance exams won’t be held for another five months—I’m afraid the autumn exams have just wrapped up—but we can start laying the groundwork. Were you planning to go back into neuroscience, or have your passions led you elsewhere?”

“I, ah—I hadn’t thought that far ahead, to be honest,” Caleb admitted, hunching in his chair. “I only thought, perhaps, I might be allowed to tour the conservatory, meet with some of the professors. Get the lay of the land, so to speak.”

A hint of uncertainty crept into Essek’s expression. “If you’re worried you will not be welcome there . . .”

Caleb shook his head. “That’s not it. I’ve poked my nose into many places I was not welcome, and only rarely regretted it. I just . . .” His fingers dug into the crust of his flatbread as he fumbled for something to say. “It’s a little daunting, I suppose. Returning to academia after so long.”

“Ah.” Essek winced. “Forgive me. I did not mean to pry.” He reached across the table to brush his fingers tentatively over the back of Caleb’s hand.

Caleb set his flatbread down, throat tightening. He’d withheld the details of his time at Soltryce because of his connections to Ikithon, and by extension the Assembly, but the pressure of keeping that bottle corked had only grown as their relationship had progressed. It was foolish to even think about sharing this part of his past, and yet . . .

And yet he wanted Essek to know him—not the persona Caleb had built to lure him in, but the wretched, shameful reality of who he was underneath. Perhaps that would be enough to frighten him away, to make him withdraw the trust he’d placed in Caleb’s hands. Caleb could construct some excuse for Ludinus, extricate himself from this operation before he could burrow any deeper into Essek’s heart. After all, if Essek chose to end this relationship himself, he’d never have to know how grievously Caleb had betrayed him.

“Perhaps I am just getting cold feet,” he said at last, forcing a smile. “The world of academia can be unforgiving to those who fail to meet expectations.”

Essek gave a rueful laugh. “You don’t have to convince me. I spent over half a decade navigating the waters of academia, and the only field more rife with sabotage is politics. Though I suppose I shouldn’t complain too much.” He regarded Caleb thoughtfully. “Were it not for politics, it’s unlikely we would have met. So for that, at least, I am thankful.”

You wouldn’t be, if you knew why I was sent here. “Ja, true enough.”

“In any case, a tour is easily arranged. Early next month, perhaps? Our schedule is fairly chaotic at the moment, but things ought to have slowed down a bit by then.”

“Next month it is,” Caleb agreed, relieved to have the matter settled.

And so the days drifted by, strangely peaceful despite the pressures bearing down on both of them. Caleb spent his spare hours alternating between projects—translating sections from Essek’s textbooks, attempting to decode the Assembly’s notes, making sure his husband remembered to sit down for a proper meal now and then, instead of subsisting entirely on hors d'oeuvres. It was a neat three weeks after the fundraiser that Caleb received a message from Tival informing him that the protective cloak they’d designed was finished.

“Apologies for the delay,” Tival said as he showed Caleb to the back room of his shop. “It’s rare I have the pleasure of working on such an unusual commission—it inspired me to do some tinkering of my own.”

Caleb offered up a hesitant smile. “I am eager to see how you’ve elaborated on the design.”

Tival must have caught the hint of nervousness in his voice, because he hurriedly lifted his hands in reassurance. “Not to worry—none of my modifications were to the mesh itself, only to the aesthetic. Here, come see.” He pulled a bundle of cloth from one of the cabinets in the wall and let it unfurl in his hands. The midnight blue fabric shimmered in the bright overhead lights, sparkling here and there with tiny glass beads, like stars. “Dyed spider-silk,” Tival told him, “subdued enough to be suitable for serious court functions as well as more relaxed gatherings. This one is closest to your original design, though with a bit of added ornamentation.” With a sweep of his hand, he indicated a line of silver embroidery along the cloak’s hem: a series of patterns similar in style to the branches of Essek’s mantle.

“It’s beautiful,” Caleb said honestly, meeting Tival’s eyes. “But when you said ‘this one’ . . .”

A pleased grin broke across Tival’s face. “Well, one cannot expect someone of the Shadowhand’s status to be content with only one cloak. And as this is designed as much for his protection as for the aesthetic, I thought it wise to ensure he had options.” He laid the garment gingerly over a nearby table and produced a second cloak, this one an opalescent white, diaphanous and billowing. As Caleb leaned in for a closer look, he caught sight of the tracery of embroidery woven throughout the fabric: an intricate geometric pattern, cunningly arranged to conceal the protective mesh beneath.

“This one is somewhat flashier,” Tival said, eyes glinting with pride. “You can still see portions of the mesh through the fabric, but the embroidery obscures the filaments such that anyone who notices them will assume they’re ornamental. Additionally, the fabric is sheer enough to rest nearly transparent over the Shadowhand’s robes. Here, see?” With a flourish, he laid this cloak over the first, smoothing the material with a sweep of his hands. As he did, the thin fabric all but vanished against the blue, leaving only the net of embroidery visible.

“That is remarkable,” Caleb said, lifting a corner of the fabric. “Most designers would have had to introduce a hologram projector to create the same effect. How . . . ?”

“Trade secret, I’m afraid. Suffice to say, you can achieve great things with sufficient skill and the quality materials.” He cleared his throat, ears taking on a tentative slant as he glanced at Caleb. “I’ve sketched out a few other designs, should the Shadowhand require more options, but I did not wish to presume. Your husband is an enigmatic figure, even within Den Thelyss. It’s hard to read past such a guarded persona.”

Caleb’s mouth quirked into a smile. “Worth it, though.”

“Oh, I’m not casting aspersions,” Tival assured him. “A bare three months ago, you could scarcely speak his name without glancing over your shoulder. Now you are commissioning exquisite clothing on his behalf. I can’t imagine you’d do such a thing were he the sort of man you once feared him to be. Regardless,” Tival clapped his hands together before Caleb could fully process that statement, “what do you think?”

“I think I am very glad Den Thelyss offers such a generous stipend to its member’s spouses,” Caleb remarked, drawing a huff of laughter from the clothier. More sincerely, he said, “Thank you, friend. Your work is exemplary as always.”

“And my prices reflect it,” Tival said, eyes twinkling with mischief. “But in all seriousness, I am quite proud of these. I hope your husband sees them for the act of love they are.”

Caleb’s heart fluttered uneasily at the words. Was that what this was? An act of love? Or was it merely a sop to his conscience—a token to make up for the trespasses he’d already committed? What right did he have, to let himself love the man he’d come here to betray? Eventually, the truth would come out, and Essek would be left to clean up the wreckage.

“I hope so, too,” he whispered, the only reply he could safely give. He inclined his head, gathering up the cloaks and folding them neatly over his forearm. “Thank you again. I will make sure Uraya knows to pay for these out of my account.”

Tival frowned slightly, as if he’d sensed something of Caleb’s turmoil. But he was polite enough not to mention it. “Do let me know if you wish to commission anything else, or if you need a friendly ear. I’m told I give very good advice.”

Despite himself, Caleb smiled. “I will keep that in mind,” he said, then added, “You’ve been a good friend to me. I hope someday I can repay the favor.”

Tival huffed a laugh. “No debts between friends. Simply mention my name when the subject of my designs comes up, and I will be well-satisfied.”

“I will.” Caleb offered Tival one final nod, then departed, his thoughts turning toward Essek, and toward home.

Chapter Text

Chapter Forty-Two

The call came at precisely fifteen minutes past second bell. Essek stepped away from his lab table, stowed the experimental apparatus he’d been fiddling with, and went to unlock the drawer where his burner tablet lay hidden in his desk’s secret compartment. A glance at the screen revealed no name, only the long string of letters and numbers that meant the caller’s number couldn’t be traced.

At least the Assembly is still being cautious. He picked up the tablet and swept his finger across the screen to accept the call. As he did, a face appeared onscreen: pale-skinned and angular, with eyes like polished steel. Essek smothered twin flickers of relief and trepidation before they should show on his face. Ludinus’s condescension was preferable to Trent’s insidious reassurances, but even so, Essek would be a fool to let down his guard.

“Martinet,” he said with cool courtesy, setting the tablet on his desk, propped up against a stack of books.

“Shadowhand.” Ludinus’s mouth twisted slightly as he took in Essek’s face, in disapproval, or perhaps distaste. Like many in the Empire, Ludinus held a deep-seated mistrust of the drow, and by extension the Dynasty. Essek had long grown accustomed to the man’s disdain for him; he kept his own expression cordial, showing none of his annoyance. “I received your notes on the artificial beacons,” Ludinus went on. “Insightful as always.”

“Dunamancy is my specialty,” Essek replied. “It’s only natural that my knowledge would prove valuable in our research.”

“But of course. I would never deny your expertise.” Ludinus gave him the barest nod of respect. “In fact, I’d hoped you might be willing to shed some light on certain capabilities of your artifacts. Specifically, we want to know more about the beacons’ capacity to capture and restore the memories of those bound to it.”

Essek fingers twitched against the surface of the desk. “You speak of consecution.”

Ludinus spread his hands as if to say, Well, what did you expect? “We find it curious that an artifact so closely attuned to elements of gravity and time would be capable of storing the contents of one’s mind. It doesn’t seem like something that would be within the purview of dunamancy as you’ve described it.”

“I’ve not denied you an entire branch of dunamantic theory, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“Not at all.” Ludinus smiled faintly, as if in appreciation of a shared joke. Essek resisted the urge to grind his teeth. “That said, your notes on consecution were rather less comprehensive than your notes on other aspects of dunamancy. It struck us as rather odd, considering how central consecution and rebirth are to your people’s primary religion.”

“That is precisely the problem,” Essek replied, annoyed despite himself. “The Dynasty holds the beacons sacred because of their role in consecution, because they facilitate the rebirth of those who have proven themselves worthy. Were someone to discover an alternative method of consecution, a method which did not require the Luxon’s intercession, it would shatter one of the central pillars of the faith. That’s why the Bright Queen does not allow more intensive research into the beacons.” And why I had to smuggle them out of the Dynasty in order to study them at all, he thought bitterly.

“But surely you have theories,” Ludinus pressed.

Essek scowled, nettled. “Of course I do. But seeing as we no longer have access to the beacons, there is little we can do to confirm them.”

“And what of our artificial beacon?” Ludinus arched one delicate eyebrow. “I will grant that it lacks the raw energy output of your artifacts, but surely there are tests we could perform that would offer us more insight. Don’t tell me you’re not curious about the possibilities,” he added as Essek opened his mouth to reply. “Surely even you are not so jaded by your people’s shortsightedness as to scorn this chance to pursue the mysteries you’ve so long sought to unravel?”

“You speak as if I’d be able to take credit.”

Ludinus’s mouth flattened. “You’ve been an invaluable asset thus far. Granted, you’ll have to be careful how you present your findings, but I’ve found that one’s methodology matters little so long as one produces results.”

“How fortunate for you,” Essek replied. “But none of that changes the fact that you’ve withheld the moorbounder’s share of the research. You claim my insights are of great value, yet offer only the most paltry of scraps from your experiments. If my knowledge is so precious to you, does it not follow that I should receive something equally precious in return?

“I understand your frustration,” Ludinus said, lifting his hand in a peacemaking gesture. “It can be . . . challenging to relinquish so much of one’s personal research, particularly when said relinquishment is so fraught with risk. I cannot blame you for feeling slighted. However, now that the war is over, I believe we finally have an opportunity to rectify these issues.” He leaned back slightly, lacing his fingers together as he gathered his thoughts. “Our spies report that your queen will be hosting a gala several months from now to celebrate the newfound peace between our nations. Were certain members of the Assembly to attend, it would afford us the perfect opportunity to meet and share our findings.”

Essek narrowed his eyes. This was obviously another stalling tactic. Ludinus would come to Rosohna, offer him a few crumbs for his efforts, then go back to ignoring him until his demands grew too persistent to dismiss. It was a familiar cycle, one Essek had begrudgingly been forced to accept as their collaboration went on. But what other choice was there? He couldn’t retaliate without revealing his own crimes, and withdrawing from their partnership would accomplish nothing. At best, the Assembly would let him go, secure in the knowledge that he could do nothing to expose them. More likely, however, they would see him as a dangling thread, a threat to their operations, and send one of their Volstrucker to cut his throat.

Still, perhaps he could pry a decent negotiating position out of this. Could he demand something more tangible? Not mere data, but a prototype, perhaps? If these artificial beacons were as promising as Ludinus implied . . .

And how will you explain this to the queen, to the Umavi? They would see it as an attempt to usurp the faith. The only way anyone would accept the artificial beacons would be to prove the Empire had developed them first, and he couldn’t do that without shining a light on his own transgressions. Worse, such a revelation could jeopardize the treaty as well. The current peace rested upon the polite fiction that the Empire had handed over not only the beacons, but all relevant discoveries they’d uncovered in their research. Were Essek to confirm that the Assembly had indeed withheld such significant developments, the Bright Queen would have little choice but to declare that the Empire had treated with them in bad faith.

And yet, the knowledge he could glean from the Assembly’s artificial beacon, the experiments he could perform . . . the thought was dangerously tempting. Any data he collected would have to be carefully disseminated, stripped of the context of his experiments. But it would still be more than what the Assembly had given him so far. It would at least give him another avenue to explore.

“I require more than empty assurances,” Essek said at last, laying his hands flat atop the desk. “Certainly, it is within your power to secure an invitation to the queen’s gala. I’m sure it will be a wonderful party, despite the company. But I have reached the end of my patience. If you truly desire my cooperation, I want something tangible.”

Ludinus’s eyes narrowed. “What are you suggesting?”

“You claim you’ve created an artificial beacon. Such an object would be extremely valuable to my own research; give it to me, and I will share with you my theories on consecution.”

Irritation flickered across Ludinus’s face. “You would have us surrender our most valuable prototype for mere theories?”

“A prototype you were able to make because of the risks I took.” Essek leveled a glare at the man before him. “I am owed compensation for my part in this endeavor. If you want my expertise, I expect you to make good on our agreement.”

“No need to be snappish,” Ludinus replied. “I will discuss your proposal with the others, determine whether it is feasible to smuggle our artificial beacon onto Xhorhas. Whatever we decide, we must be cautious. It would be terribly unfortunate if anyone discovered our collaboration.”

Disquiet fluttered in Essek’s stomach. He gripped the edge of the desk, drawing in a slow breath. He wouldn’t give Ludinus the satisfaction of seeing him rattled. “Indeed. Now, if you have nothing more for me, I must return to my work.”

“Hm.” Ludinus leaned back slightly, eyes appraising. Essek held his stare for five heartbeats, long enough for Ludinus to reply if he intended to, then pressed the icon to end the call. The tablet reverted to its home screen, with its generic background and sparse collection of apps. Essek took a few moments to wipe the device’s memory of the call. It wouldn’t save him if his treachery was discovered, but it might buy him a few extra minutes should he need to make a hasty escape.

As he stowed the tablet once more in its hidden compartment, he let his mind turn over the details of the conversation, the threats and ultimatums. His boldness had caught Ludinus by surprise, of that he was certain, but rather than being proud of this small victory, he felt only a gnawing anxiety. It was foolish to provoke a man who held so much power over him, foolish to make demands when he still had other cards to play. Yes, Ludinus would have found some excuse or another as to why he could share only meager scraps of the discoveries Essek had risked everything to facilitate, but at least the Assembly would still think Essek firmly under their thumb. Essek had let his spite make him reckless.

This was inevitable, he told himself. You were never going to be satisfied waiting on someone else’s discoveries. Your real mistake was thinking that they would regard you as a partner instead of a pawn. He closed his eyes, sinking into his desk chair. He’d been a fool, yes, but there was little he could do to rectify that now. Rescinding his ultimatum would only convince Ludinus that he was too much of a coward to confront them directly—which, in combination with his earlier rashness, would make him seem even more volatile.

With a sigh, he opened his eyes and pushed away from his desk. He’d hoped to spend a few hours working on his own projects, but unsteady as he was, he had a better chance of accidentally crushing himself in a gravity well than achieving anything noteworthy. So instead he took a few minutes to survey the lab and put away the equipment he’d been working with prior to Ludinus’s call, then made his way up the stairs to his chambers. Everything was as he’d left it, tidy yet comfortable. He glided past the sitting room, pausing at the control panel to program himself a bath, but he barely had time to unfasten the sash at his waist before his tablet—the day-to-day one, not the burner tablet he used to communicate with the Assembly—buzzed in its satchel. He flinched, instinctively clamping a hand over it to stifle the vibrations, then chastised himself for the overreaction and withdrew the device from its pocket. At the top of his notifications was a message from Caleb: I have something for you. Do you have a moment? I’m in the western tower.

I just programmed a bath, but I can spare a few minutes, Essek replied, intrigued. Then, worried his response would come across as curt, he added, Do I get a hint?

No hints, but I promise it will be worth your while. See you momentarily .

With a smile, Essek slipped the tablet back into its pocket and canceled the bath. Caleb was rarely so overt in his trinkets. Most of the time, he simply left them on a table somewhere in their towers, adorned with a piece of ribbon or a brief note explaining the nature of the gift. Essek wondered what he’d brought home to merit this change in his delivery method.

I suppose I’ll find out, he thought, refastening his belt and heading for the western tower. Caleb hadn’t specified a particular room, but Essek’s first guess was accurate; as he swept in from the sky-bridge entrance, he heard the scrape of a chair being pushed across the dining room floor, accompanied by the familiar tread of his husband’s socked feet. Essek glided down the steps, a thread of curiosity drawing him forward, and poked his head around the corner to find Caleb fussing with a foil-wrapped package.

“Ah,” Caleb said, brightening as he saw Essek hovering in the doorway. “Come in, come in. I’ve brought you something.”

“So you’ve said.” He glided forward, letting his eyes trail down his husband’s lean form. He was wearing his Empire-style coat, the one he’d been wearing the day they’d met, though he’d changed out the striped scarf for a sleek amber shawl, worn about the shoulders like a mantle. An incongruous ensemble, but he carried it off well.

Or perhaps I am simply biased, Essek thought as Caleb bent to kiss his cheek. “Sorry to pull you away from your bath,” Caleb said. “I know you’ve had few opportunities to relax recently.”

“It’s all right. I can always program another.” He skimmed his fingers along the edge of his husband’s jaw, letting his thumb graze Caleb’s bottom lip as he did. “And even if I could not, there are other ways to relax.”

Caleb’s cheeks flushed an appealing shade of red. “True enough.” He dipped his head, eyes flicking shyly toward Essek’s face. “Would you like to open your present now?”

“Certainly.” He dropped his hand, and Caleb stepped away, grabbing the package from the dining table. The shiny blue wrapping paper crinkled in his hands, the parcel bending slightly as he held it out toward Essek. Something soft, then—a new bathrobe, perhaps? Essek owned two already, but he wouldn’t mind having a third. Easing into one of the dining chairs, he ran his thumb along the seam where the wrapping paper was taped and tore it open, exposing a bundle of sparkling, dark blue fabric, and beneath that, a second bundle, sheer and pale in color. Curious, he pulled the first from its packaging and held it up to the light. It unfolded in his hands: an ankle-length cloak studded with hundreds of dainty glass beads that sparkled in the light. A look at the other bundle revealed a similar cloak, translucent and billowing, embroidered with threads of pristine white and shining copper.

“These are beautiful. One of Tival’s?” he asked, noting the signature sewn discreetly into the collar.

Caleb nodded. “I brought him a rough sketch detailing how the mesh should be incorporated into the lining, but the rest of the design was his.”

“Mesh?” Essek repeated, then sat up as comprehension dawned. “You mean—”

“The protective lining I was experimenting with, ja.” A hint of pride threaded through Caleb’s voice. “Uraya helped me with the final tests. The mesh should be able to divert two or three jolts from a standard stunner, though after that you run the risk of your cloak catching on fire. We weren’t able to test it against military-issue stunners, but based on the conductivity of the mesh, and its durability, I would expect it to hold up to at least one jolt.”

“Caleb, that’s remarkable.”

Caleb’s smile warmed. “It was more a matter of modifying an existing technology than anything. My coat has a similar mesh sewn into its lining, but it’s bulky. I had to thin down the filaments for these cloaks so the fabric would fall naturally, which required me to prioritize certain protections over others. I wouldn’t recommend getting stabbed, and plasma bolts will scorch right through them, so no firefights, either. But they will keep you safe from more common weapons.” He hesitated, clasping his hands in front of his body as he peered at Essek’s face. “Do you like them?”

“Caleb.” He rose from his chair, the paler cloak still cradled in his hands. “This is—you are a marvel. I knew you’d been tinkering with this, but . . .”

“I wanted you to be safe,” Caleb said, eyes darting away, as if the admission embarrassed him. “You are very dear to me. And I am not without enemies of my own. I’d rather you have some measure of protection, limited though it is.” He hesitated, then said, “I hope that is not presumptuous of me.”

“Not at all,” Essek whispered, setting the cloak aside so he could capture his husband’s face between his hands. “This is quite possibly the most thoughtful gift anyone has ever given me.”

Caleb brushed his fingertips down Essek’s cheek. “Don’t oversell it. I made similar armor for everyone in the Mighty Nein.”

“Then I am doubly grateful, knowing you’ve found me worthy of a similar place in your heart.” He pulled back slightly to meet his husband’s eyes. “I want to do something for you in return.”

Caleb shook his head. “No repayment necessary. As I said, I am just glad to see you safe.”

“Even so.” He debated for a moment, tapping his index finger against his husband’s lips. It was foolish to even suggest it, but he’d already made one dreadfully foolish decision today. What was one more? “How would you like a tour of my laboratory?”

Caleb froze, eyes wide with disbelief. “You would let me into your laboratory?”

“We’d have to keep it secret,” Essek cautioned, “even from Uraya. But considering the dunamantic secrets I’ve already shared with you, it hardly seems a dire trespass.” Then, quieter, he added, “It’s been a long time since I’ve had a research partner. Were it anyone else, I doubt I could tolerate the intrusion. But you . . . well. You’ve already proven yourself an exception in so many other regards. I doubt you’ll disappoint me in this.”

“That is a great deal of trust,” Caleb whispered, a peculiar wariness in his eyes.

“Yes, well, as it happens, I trust you a great deal,” Essek replied, tipping his husband’s chin upward. “Do you want to?”

Caleb hesitated a moment more, then nodded once, firmly. “Ja. Ja, I would like that.”

“Good.” Essek pressed a brief kiss to his husband’s lips, then leaned back to give him a sharp smile. “To the lab, then.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Forty-Three

A curious sense of detachment crept over Caleb as he followed Essek to his lab, as if the apparatus of his mind were breaking apart, gears spinning away into space like pieces of a disassembled clock drifting ever farther apart as inertia pulled them in a hundred separate directions. Distantly, he was aware of panic, and beneath that, the pervasive guilt that clung to him like hull sealant, sticky and suffocating. Essek couldn’t truly mean to let him into his lab, no matter how deeply Caleb had burrowed into his heart. This was a test, or a trap. Caleb was meant to refuse.

Wasn’t he?

They reached the door of the laboratory: a heavy steel rectangle set into a reinforced frame, bearing both a manual lock and a keypad. Essek slipped a key from a hidden pocket in his robes and slid it into the lock, paying no attention to Caleb—as if the location of the key were not itself a precious secret, as if there were no question of Caleb’s loyalties. A dim memory of another door skimmed the surface of Caleb’s mind. Ikithon had brought the three of them into his private laboratory as well—had needed to, for his experiments—but he’d always had them wait in the hallway, out of sight of the door, until he’d finished unlocking it. Even brainwashed and fanatically loyal, they’d never been allowed to know the passcode.

Essek was evidently less paranoid than Ikithon; though he leaned forward to shield the keypad from view as he typed in the passcode, the movement was careless, more instinctual than deliberate. Caleb memorized the first three digits of the passcode before he thought to avert his eyes, half-afraid Essek would catch him looking and rescind his invitation. But Essek only opened the door and glanced back at him, smile dimming at whatever he saw on Caleb’s face. “Are you all right?”

“Ja,” Caleb said reflexively, tucking his thumbs into the pockets of his coat. “Just a bit overwhelmed, I think. You, ah. You’re sure we should be doing this?”

Essek shrugged. “This is no more a violation of the Dynasty’s laws than our translation sessions. Which is to say it’s technically a crime, but not one I’m particularly worried we’ll get caught at.” He held the door wider, a hint of challenge in his eyes. “Does that bother you?”

“Nein, just . . . it is a big step.” Smothering another flutter of unease, Caleb stepped across the threshold.

The laboratory was as spacious as he’d expected, taking up the majority of the eastern tower’s penultimate floor. A third of that space was devoted to various chronometers and accelerometers, for measuring time and gravity respectively, as well as a carefully-arranged array of spikes capable of generating an enclosed dunamantic field within which experiments could be performed. The rest of the floor space was devoted to more general equipment: filing cabinets, lab tables, even a top-of-the-line hologram projector. The part of Caleb’s brain that had once been responsible for stretching a handful of coins into several day’s worth of food reflexively began calculating how much this all must have cost, how many years of toil he’d have had to endure to afford even a fraction of the equipment on display here, only to shy from the inevitable sum. Stars above, but it was one thing to know Essek came from wealth and another to see it so plainly laid out before him.

Beside him, Essek arched an eyebrow. “So, first impressions?”

“It’s beautiful,” he whispered, voice hushed. “We have a small experiment chamber aboard the Nein Heroez, but it’s more a closet with a fume hood than a real lab—and we only had the fume hood installed so that Veth didn’t suffocate herself playing with chemicals. I haven’t seen a laboratory like this since . . .” Since Ikithon, he thought, then immediately rejected the comparison. Ikithon’s lab had been a place of torment, where everything he’d once held dear had been slowly scraped away and replaced by an avaricious hunger for his professor’s approval. This . . . this was a haven for discovery, rife with potential and possibility. He glanced at his husband, a silent request for permission. Essek took his hand, one corner of his mouth quirking in a smile.

“Come,” he said, guiding him toward the array of spikes. “We’ll start with the dunamantic field generator.”

Caleb trailed after him. The glassy panic that had held him captive as he’d followed Essek into the lab was melting away, and as it did, a bubbling exhilaration rose in his chest. For all his careful planning, he’d never really expected to see the inside of Essek’s lab—indeed, he’d done everything he could to convince Ludinus the laboratory was impenetrable without Essek’s authorization, insisting that he needed more time to earn his husband’s trust before he could attempt to break in. How simple it would be to maintain that lie, to subtly reinforce what he’d already implied about Essek’s proprietary attitude toward his research.

The Assembly need never know Essek had brought him here.

Essek turned on the dunamantic field generator, and the array of spikes began to vibrate with a faint crystalline hum, like the reverberations of a bell after that first bright chime. “This,” Essek said in the familiar lecturing tone he used when tutoring, “is a variation on the standard dunamantic field generator, and uses principles derived from Mierva’s research into the control and containment of dunamantic waveforms—I won’t go into detail; it’s rather technical, and you’ll need more background in the subject before you can really benefit from an explanation. Suffice to say, this device can both generate a dunamantic field as well as adjust the boundary of said field based on the inputs of whoever is at the controls.”

Caleb nodded. He’d read of such devices, though most of the diagrams had shown enclosed chambers like giant glass bulbs. He spared a moment of concern for his husband’s safety—the naked metal spikes of this array might offer him better control over the dunamantic forces he was channeling, but they’d skewer anyone who fell upon them. “These modifications—they are your own designs?”

Essek smiled, ears flicking shyly. “That is perhaps too generous a way of phrasing it. My device is technically distinct enough that I could patent it, but I’d still like to refine it a bit more—particularly since once I patent it, others in my field will be able to order one built for themselves, and judge my work accordingly. I’d rather put my best foot forward, so to speak.”

“Understandable. I’m sure you’re rivals are clamoring for any excuse to dismiss you.”

“Always.” Essek’s smile turned sly. “Now, then, in that cabinet there, you’ll find a canvas pouch filled with ball bearings,” he went on, pointing. “Fetch it for me, will you?”

Curious, Caleb went to the indicated cabinet and opened it up. There were several pouches, each with a little hand-stitched label identifying their contents: plastic beads, small metal weights, even rubber bouncy balls. Caleb actually peeked inside that pouch, not quite believing the label, and found it did indeed contain an assortment of coin-sized rubber balls in a myriad of colors. An odd thing to keep in a lab, but then, much of Essek’s research revolved around the manipulation of gravity, so perhaps they had some use in his experiments.

The ball bearings themselves were on the bottom shelf, stuck to a pouch of magnets. Caleb pried them apart and left the magnets behind, returning to his husband. “Your collection is very, ah, whimsical.”

“All for a purpose, I assure you,” Essek replied, eyes alight with anticipation as he plucked the pouch from Caleb’s hand. “Now, then, would you care for a demonstration?”

Caleb gestured eagerly toward the machine. “Ja, let’s see it.”

With a flourish, Essek extracted a handful of ball bearings from the pouch and rolled them in his palm. “For this first experiment, I’ve adjusted the field to negate Xhorhas’s planetary gravity and replace it with a weaker gravitational anchor roughly in the center of the array—rather like the primary star of a solar system.” Delicately, he selected one of the ball bearings and tossed it into the field. As it breached the perimeter, the air rippled like a heat mirage, and the ball bearing’s trajectory curved, tracing several long elliptical orbits around an invisible point in the center before it began to lose momentum. The irregular orbit decayed, the ball bearing spiraling closer and closer to the center until it eventually settled inside the nexus of gravity, still spinning but no longer zipping about the space.

“In a vacuum, of course, there would be no air resistance to slow the object’s momentum, allowing it to orbit indefinitely,” Essek said. “Or, at least, until something came along to disrupt it. Naturally, no orbit is perpetually stable, though most life-bearing planets have orbits that are sustainable out to billions of years. I do have a vacuum chamber large enough to encompass this entire field, but we’d have to reassemble it, and it’s heavy enough that I’d rather not bother just now.”

“Still a fascinating demonstration, with or without it,” Caleb said, then cast a oblique glance at his husband. “How many ball bearings do you suppose we could get orbiting at once?”

Essek’s answering smile could have lit up the heavens. “Let’s find out.” Eyes twinkling, he dumped a handful of ball bearings into his hand. “On three?”

“On three,” Caleb agreed. “One, two—”

“Three,” Essek finished, and they each began tossing ball bearings into the field. The little spheres zipped around the space, each adopting a slightly different orbit depending on their entry point and velocity. A few ball bearings managed to escape out the other side of the field, moving too quickly or entering too far from the gravitational anchor to be caught in its orbit, but most of them made several loops before colliding with one another or coming to rest in the center.

Bright, uncomplicated delight fizzed in Caleb’s veins, an echo of the joy he’d felt the first time he’d watched a paper-mache volcano overflow onto his mother’s kitchen table, or the time he’d held a burning blowtorch for his middle school science teacher so they could create a tiny fireball with a puff of airborne flour. There no reports to write, then, no professor resting a proprietary hand on his shoulder and telling him he’d make the Empire proud. A promise, or so he’d told himself, even as the fear of failure worked its tendrils deeper and deeper into his heart, until the thought of disappointing his teacher left him breathless with terror.

It had taken him a long time to put himself right after Ikithon, to curate his own tiny lab on the Ball Eater, and later the Nein Heroez. Even then, he’d restricted his experiments to practical things: mesh-weave armor for his friends, repairs and upgrades for their starship, soil restoration for the greenhouse. Caleb hadn’t experimented for fun in . . . stars, almost fifteen years now. He turned to his husband and saw Essek already watching him, that same unrestrained elation resonating out from him like the song at the heart of the universe, and as their eyes met, Caleb felt something settle into place inside him. Smiling, he leaned forward to lay a kiss on his husband’s cheek.

Essek’s ears flicked to attention. “And what was that for, Caleb Widogast?”

“Nothing. You are very alluring like this, that’s all.”

“Yes, well.” Essek twirled a strand of Caleb’s hair around his fingers, pensive. “I find myself with an abundance of reasons to be thankful these days. A lab partner who shares my passions. A husband with whom I can share my heart. Even my relationship with Verin feels less fraught of late. Did I tell you he’s planning to visit in a few weeks?”

“I thought he was preoccupied up in Bazzoxan,” Caleb said, fumbling a little. He’d only spoken with Verin once, at the wedding reception, and that conversation had felt uncomfortably like an interrogation. But it was clear Essek was unconcerned about his brother’s visit, so Caleb did his best to smother his unease.

“Even taskhands are permitted to take leave now and then,” Essek said. “Not that Verin often does. He never cared much for politics, and as far as the Umavi is concerned, he’s more useful in the field, bringing honor to our den. Beyond that, he cares deeply about his post, despite how it was forced upon him. So this is indeed a rare opportunity.”

“Then I look forward to his arrival,” Caleb said, a fraction too cautiously, if the nervous flicker of Essek’s gaze was any indication.

“My apologies,” Essek said. “I should have asked before I invited him to stay. I just . . . I’ve only recently begun to understand the value of connection. Verin and I were so close when we were children—it’s rare for elves to have two children in a century, let alone in so short a span; we were essentially raised as twins, despite Verin being two years younger. We grew apart somewhat in adulthood, but it was only after our father passed that our relationship truly began to deteriorate. If I could use this chance to start rebuilding it . . .”

Caleb leaned in to rest a hand on his husband’s cheek. “You don’t need my permission to reclaim a part of your family, Essek.”

Essek nodded, the tension easing from his shoulders. “Of course. But even so, I should’ve mentioned it sooner.”

“Perils of an overflowing social calendar,” Caleb remarked. “It’s easy to lose track of the little details.” He slung an arm around his husband’s shoulders, drawing him close for a moment so he could kiss the tip of his ear.

Essek shivered, nestling into the cradle of his arms like a cat seeking shelter from the rain. “You don’t seem the type to lose track of details,” he said, voice wavering a little.

“Ja, well, I wouldn’t be much of a lab partner if I was.” Pressing a final kiss to the center of Essek’s forehead, he straightened. “Now then, you promised me a tour of your lab. Surely gravity fields aren’t the only thing you’re fiddling with.”

“I may have a few more tricks up my sleeve,” Essek admitted, one corner of his mouth curling. “Come. Let me show you some of my other projects.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Forty-Four

They spent the better part of three hours poking about in Essek’s laboratory, alternating between flashy dunamantic demonstrations and animated discussions of the complex science behind them. Caleb listened raptly, feeling more lighthearted than he had since before the Nein’s ill-fated contract with Vess DeRogna. For all that Essek had fortified his laboratory to keep people out, he seemed unaccountably thrilled to show Caleb his work. He flitted between experimental arrays like a hummingbird amidst a flowering garden, as light and carefree as if he were falling in love with his research for the first time.

“Gravity is one of the more versatile dunamantic forces,” he said at one point, gliding over one of the locked cabinets on the wall. “But it’s far from the only force at our fingertips. With the appropriate tools, potentiality itself becomes malleable. Come, try these on.” From the cabinet, he withdrew a set of metal bracers, each with a battery pack embedded in the forearms.

“Do I need to remove my wrappings?” Caleb asked, eyeing the devices warily. They were delicate, each one more like a trio of bracelets linked together by wire than the armor from which they were seemingly modeled.

“That shouldn’t be necessary. Though you may need to remove your coat—I don’t think they’ll fit over your arms otherwise.” A crooked smile creased Essek’s lips. “I’m afraid you’re too muscular for your own good, moya zvezda.”

Caleb snorted but shucked off his coat. “That would be a first.”

Essek grinned wider and slid the bracers onto his arms, flipping a switch on the largest ring. As he did, the bracers began to hum softly, vibrating against Caleb’s forearms. “Stand here,” he said, turning Caleb so he was facing westward, “and keep your eyes forward. I’ll be back momentarily.”

Caleb obeyed, resisting the urge to let his gaze follow his husband as he disappeared from his peripheral. There was a squeak of a metal cabinet opening, followed by a low rustling, then, distinctly, the sound of a ball bearing striking the stone floor and bouncing several times before rolling into the wall behind him. Caleb shifted on his feet, thoughts drifting as the cabinet clanged shut. Essek was clearly planning something, otherwise he’d have lapsed into an explanation by now, but Caleb didn’t want to ruin the surprise by—

Something glinted in Caleb’s peripheral. He spun, instinctively flinging up his hand as the object—another ball bearing, identical to the ones they’d used in their gravity experiment—arced toward him like a comet. As he did, the bracers pulsed, and, like a flower unfurling, Caleb’s mind expanded. His vision went strange, his outstretched hand becoming transparent, then splitting into dozens of identical hands, each slightly offset from the others, tracing a subtly different arc through the air, as if . . . as if the bracers were mapping out different possibilities, outlining options for him to choose from.

As his attention seized hold of one of those possibilities, tugging on it like a string, the potential realities merged again, phantom futures snapping together into a single outcome. His hand rose up to catch the ball bearing just as it came within reach, perfectly, as if he’d taken the time to calculate the precise arc of its passage through the air and simply moved to intercept it. He blinked, staring at the ball bearing in his palm for a startled moment before looking to Essek. “Was . . . ?”

“Disorienting, isn’t it?” Essek gave him a sympathetic smile, nodding toward the bracers. “They enhance the wearer’s ability to react to their surroundings, allowing them to respond with greater alacrity to potential threats. Useful, but a bit jarring if you’re not accustomed to it.”

“Essek, that was incredible,” Caleb whispered, stunned. “How—you mentioned potentiality, but I’m not sure I understand. Are you suggesting these bracers manipulate probability?”

“In a sense,” Essek said, fingers swirling absently through the air, “though that might be oversimplifying it. Think of it as means of augmenting one’s cognitive capacity. When I tossed the ball bearing at you, there was an instant during which you might have reacted in a number of different ways. You might have stepped out of its path, or batted it away, or—as we saw just now—caught it in your hand. And within those possibilities, there were yet more permutations, successes or failures, variations where you moved too slowly or reacted too forcefully. Even had you been adequately prepared, you might still have fumbled the catch. No one can respond perfectly to every stimuli. With these bracers, your predictive capabilities are amplified, enabling you to instinctively reach for the most successful outcome. At least in the short term.” Essek’s smile turned wry. “It won’t save you from poor tactical decisions or inescapable situations, nor will it allow you to react to stimuli you cannot perceive. The energy expenditure is also a problem.”

Caleb glanced down, noting the readout above the battery pack. Where before, the device had been fully charged, its battery level now sat at just above eighty percent. “Ja, I can see how this would run out quickly.”

“Indeed. Although—” Essek’s ears slanted pensively— “in retrospect, perhaps that’s a good thing. When you consider the feats a single properly outfitted soldier could do with a limitless supply of dunamantic potential, other weapons start to seem redundant.”

Caleb grimaced. He hadn’t been thinking of the device in terms of military applications, but he had no trouble grasping the possibilities his husband was hinting at. A soldier who could trace the path of a bullet before it was fired, who could traverse the battlefield as nimbly as a dancer, effortlessly cutting through the enemy's front lines . . . These bracers might not grant invincibility, but that hardly mattered when your every step put you precisely where you needed to be.

“Such a soldier could still be overwhelmed,” Caleb said at last. “Under a sufficiently concentrated burst of fire, even the swiftest of individuals would eventually be wounded.”

“True,” Essek said. “Likewise, a hidden sniper could shoot them while they were preoccupied. But as with so many aspects of warfare, it’s a matter of scalability. One augmented soldier can be dispatched easily enough, but a battalion? An army? That’s another matter entirely.” He hesitated, then clasped his hands and lowered his eyes. “I’m sorry. It’s not that I take pride in the bloodshed my creations could facilitate. It’s just . . .”

“Just that it’s hard to ignore the possibilities once they’ve occurred to you,” Caleb said, nodding. “I understand.”

“I regret it,” Essek said, uncharacteristically abrupt. “My part in the war. The choices that led up to it. I know that means very little given the suffering my actions have caused, but if I could go back, choose differently . . .”

“I know,” Caleb murmured. “It’s all right.”

A bitter laugh rose from Essek’s throat. “It’s really not.”

Caleb hesitated, then pulled his husband into a hug. Essek gave a startled huff, grasping instinctively at Caleb’s sleeves to steady himself, then tentatively returned the embrace, forehead resting against the collar of Caleb’s coat. They stood like that for a long moment before Essek shuddered, the circle of his arms tightening briefly around Caleb’s shoulders before he withdrew to meet his eyes. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to spoil the mood. I’ve simply been dwelling on my past mistakes of late.”

“You haven’t spoiled anything.” Caleb tipped his head forward, their foreheads briefly touching. “You’re not the only one here whose choices have harmed other people. Whatever regrets you carry, I will not judge you.”

For a moment, Essek was quiet. Then he lowered his gaze. “I know it does no good to dwell upon how things might have been different,” he said, quietly, “but sometimes I wish I’d met you a decade ago, before the war, before I made the choices that led me to do what I did. Perhaps I’d have chosen better if I’d known there was someone out there who could value me for who I was, rather than what I could offer them.”

A bitter ache grew in Caleb’s chest. He tucked his thumbs into his pockets and gave Essek a shadow of a smile. “Ja, well, a decade ago I was a different man. Even if we’d known each other, I doubt I’d have inspired you to make better choices. If anything, I might have tried to pickpocket you.”

Essek smiled, too, rueful. “I would have deserved it.” He glided forward, touching his forehead briefly to Caleb’s cheek before moving toward one of the storage cabinets behind him. “Regardless, I’m glad to have you now.”

The ache in Caleb’s chest sharpened, pulling taut. You shouldn’t be, he thought, throat tightening as the feeling snagged in his heart like a dozen tiny hooks. It was a familiar ache, half guilt and half loss. Essek cared for him, and Caleb, fool that he was, had let himself accept that care as if it was something he deserved, something he could have. But he had no right to Essek’s affections, no right to care for him in turn. Essek would be appalled to realize how much of their relationship had been cultivated upon a bed of lies, and rightly so; that Caleb had allowed something real to bloom between them would only worsen the inevitable betrayal.

“Caleb?” Essek’s voice filtered through to his ears as if from the end of a long tunnel. Caleb froze, momentarily afraid that his husband had somehow gleaned the depths of his trespass, but Essek merely frowned at him, eyebrows furrowed with concern. “Are you all right?”

“I . . . I’m sorry, I—” The harsh buzz of his tablet vibrating against the surface of the nearby lab table made him jump, but he seized on the distraction without hesitation, grabbing the device and tapping the screen to view the caller ID. As he did, the panicky fluttering of his insides abruptly iced over into dread.

“Who is it?” Essek asked, tense, as if he’d felt the same lurching terror Caleb had at the noise. When Caleb instinctively pulled the tablet close against his chest to hide the screen, Essek’s ears flicked with surprise, then pinned back with the beginnings of hurt.

“It’s—Veth,” Caleb said, then winced as how unconvincingly the words had come out. The caller ID had actually read Nott the Brave: one of Veth’s aliases from before they’d found the Mighty Nein. A risky play. She’d used that name for months; it wouldn’t be hard for the Cerberus Assembly to link it back to her. That, combined with the fact that they already had a way of getting messages to one another in secret, could only mean that whatever tidings Veth brought, they must be urgent.

Even as the thought occurred to Caleb, the tablet buzzed again, muffled against his robes. He hugged it tighter to his chest, afraid to answer, afraid of what this unexpected contact might mean for his mission. Essek’s eyes flickered once more to the device, then back to Caleb’s face. “Perhaps you should answer that,” he said, the faintest note of bitterness winding through his voice. “It could be important.”

“Ja. Ja, you are probably right.” Hesitantly, he reached up to touch his husband’s cheek, only to freeze when Essek’s ears twitched in warning. He let his hand drop, shame a lump in his throat. “Thank you for the tour. Your laboratory is magnificent.” You are magnificent, he didn’t say, but perhaps something of the sentiment showed in his expression; the tension in Essek’s shoulders relaxed fractionally as he gestured toward the door.

Caleb retreated, the dull buzz of his tablet shivering through him as he left the lab, and his husband, behind him.

Chapter Text

Chapter Forty-Five

Caleb hurried out of the lab, tablet falling silent as he crossed the bridge to the central tower. As he reached his chambers, the insistent buzzing started up again, Veth’s alias once more appearing on the screen. He glanced over his shoulder reflexively, paranoid, but of course no one was watching. Essek would still be in the lab, Uraya likely in their office, and aside from the twice-weekly cleaning crew that came to tidy the house, no one had reason to linger in the central tower without his invitation. No one would interrupt him here.

Even so, he locked the door and strode into the bathroom, turning on the shower so the rushing water would muddle his voice for anyone who might be listening. Only then did he accept the call, heart squeezing painfully as Veth’s face appeared on screen. “Oh, good, you picked up,” she said, as casually as if her unexpected call hadn’t hauled him to the brink of a panic attack.

“Ja.” He released a shaky breath, sinking to the floor by the bathroom counter. “Has something happened? Are you—” His eyes skated over Veth’s features, searching for signs of injury, anything that might explain why she’d called without warning, but there was only a hint of tension around her mouth, no more than he’d have expected if she’d just picked someone’s pocket and slipped away before they could notice their missing wallet.

“I’m okay,” Veth said, eyes darting briefly to the side. Belatedly, Caleb realized he could hear a faint strain of music in the background, incongruously jaunty. Was Veth calling him from a bar? “Listen, Lebby, there isn’t much time. Jester’s spoofing the signal, but we’ve only got maybe a minute and a half before the Assembly realizes who’s calling. I’m in Rosohna.”

Caleb stiffened, pulse spiking in alarm. “Veth.”

Veth flung her hands up in a pacifying gesture. “It’s fine, it’s fine! No one outside the Nein knows I’m here. I stowed away on an inbound ship—one of those local shuttles that ferry supplies back and forth to Xhorhas’s moons. Well, I say ‘stowed away,’ but really, Fjord got me hired onto their decontamination crew, so mostly I’ve been scrubbing toilets and wiping up vomit—”

“Veth,” Caleb said again, urgently. “What are you doing in Rosohna?”

“Visiting!” Veth beamed at him, oblivious to the staticky panic shivering through his nerves. “Listen, Caleb, we really don’t have much time to talk. I’m in a spaceport bathroom right now, but I can come meet you in the city. Where do you want to meet? The Dim’s Inn?”

Caleb raked his fingers through his hair, struggling to hold onto his composure. “I—we can’t. There will be cameras, it’s not safe—”

“Hey, don’t worry,” Veth said, dismissing his objection with a wave. “I brought my hologram projector; I’ll use that old goblin preset we designed, and you can disguise yourself as a half-orc or something.”

“I—” I need to think about it, he almost said, but Veth’s promised minute-and-a-half of security was running out. “All right. But not the Dim’s Inn. We can’t risk compromising our drop location. Meet me at The Hunter’s Stewpot in the Corona District.” That ought to be safe enough; he’d been there only once, months ago, in disguise. So long as he was careful, no one would recognize him.

“Got it.” Veth nodded once, grinning. “See you soon!”

“Ja. See you soon.” Numbly, Caleb disconnected the call, his thoughts scattering like sand as the screen went blank. A few feet away, the shower jets thudded on, dampening the air. Veth was here, in Rosohna, barely a twenty minute hovercraft ride away. He could see her, speak with her in real time. He could know she was safe, or as safe as any of them could be with the Assembly peering over their shoulders. He drew his legs up against his chest, pressing his forehead into his knees as he counted backwards from one hundred, and slowly the clutching panic he’d felt at seeing her alias on his screen relaxed its hold.

“Scheisse.” Hissing out a breath, he sat up and wiped the record of her call from his tablet. Only then did he turn off the shower and go to gather his things, dithering for a few moments over what to bring. His personal hologram projector, obviously. His stunner and coat, just in case. The data chip with his code-breaking work? No, the Nein would already have copies of the raw data, and none of his efforts had proven fruitful enough to justify the risk. If one of the Assembly’s agents did intercept him, they’d surely search him for evidence that he was undermining their operations. His meeting with Veth would be a major breach of his agreement with Ludinus, but there, at least, he might have a slim chance of playing it off as a moment of weakness—his friend had come to town, unexpectedly, and he’d foolishly risked discovery to meet with her. Ludinus would be annoyed and likely suspicious, but Caleb was an insignificant enough piece in his plans; he might dismiss it as unworthy of further investigation.

Too late now to change your mind, Caleb reminded himself. Veth would already be heading for the Hunter’s Stewpot, and if he didn’t show, the chaos she raised tracking him down would definitely catch the Assembly’s attention. He slung his satchel over his shoulder and left his chambers behind, heading downstairs. He felt another twinge of guilt as he stepped outside, eyes drifting to Essek’s tower. If this went poorly, if Veth’s precautions proved inadequate, he’d be putting his husband in jeopardy. Caleb had, after all, been the subtle option. If Ludinus decided he was no longer fit for this mission, he'd doubtless find a spy with fewer scruples next time. 

Later, he told himself firmly, hurrying down the path leading up to the front gates. He could’ve borrowed Essek’s hovercraft—like so many of the luxuries in their home, he had open access to the small garage where it was kept—but he dismissed it as too ostentatious. So instead he spent ten minutes walking to the rail station, ducked into the restroom to activate his disguise, and snatched a seat on one of the commuter trains to the Coronas, veiled in the form of a lean half-orc in modest student robes.

He’d been sitting down for perhaps five minutes when his tablet buzzed. He flinched, heart jolting, but it was only a text from Essek: Is everything all right? And then, a moment later, You left in somewhat of a hurry.

Sorry, he texted back, squirming at the inadequacy of the word. Veth decided to make a surprise visit to Rosohna, so I’m going to meet her. I’ll be home in a few hours.

Does she require a place to stay for the evening? Essek replied. We repurposed the guest room for your personal chambers, but if your friend needs lodging, accommodations can be made.

Guilt made a hard knot in Caleb’s stomach. Essek was often more formal in his messages, but even so, the offer felt deliberately neutral, almost cold. Caleb thought of the abruptness of his departure, how it must have seemed to Essek—Essek, who had invited him into his lab, his most private sanctum, and shared with him the fruits of his work. Of course he’d been hurt when Caleb had all but run out the door the moment Veth reached out to him. Caleb was a verdammt fool.

No need, he typed, grimly pretending not to have noticed Essek’s distance. A hasty apology over text wouldn’t do anything to mend the harm he’d done, and he didn’t want to risk insulting his husband further in his distraction. She’s only dropping in for tonight; she has an early shuttle to catch, so she’ll be staying at the spaceport. He had no idea whether that was true, whether Veth planned to stick around now that she’d landed safely in the city, but with the Assembly breathing down their necks, it would be folly to invite her into their towers.

I see, Essek sent, brutally impersonal. Very well. Please let me know when you’re on your way home.

I will. Caleb tucked the tablet back into his satchel, sick. He’d grown used to lying to Essek by omission. It was easy enough to talk around most of his secrets. But spinning deliberate falsehoods felt worse, as if he were wading through a river of sludge rather than just skimming the top of it.

The train eventually pulled to a stop near the fringes of the Corona district. Caleb gathered himself and left the train car behind, heading up the station steps to the warren of streets above. He’d come out in one of the more residential portions of the Coronas, surrounded by shabby tenements coated in once-vibrant shades of peeling paint. Clotheslines stretched like garlands between buildings, offering flashes of color amidst the drabness. A few streets down, the tenements gave way to warehouses, and beyond that, the city wall and the Ghostlands.

The architecture itself was distinct from slums he’d passed through in the Empire, but a trace of longing wound through him all the same as he headed toward the Hunter’s Stewpot. He’d spent years sleeping in hostels in places like this, or in sheltered alleys when he couldn’t find a place willing to take in a vagrant with no ID, and as hard as those years had been, a part of him missed the transience of them. It was easy, in places like this, to disappear into the crowd, to let your sense of identity flow away like silt down a river. Anonymity wasn’t the same as safety, not really, but it was close enough that sometimes he’d be able to forget, just for a moment, who he was and what he’d done.

It never lasts, his mind whispered. No matter how far you wander, you’ll never be able to outrun your sins. How could you, when everywhere you go, you commit new ones?

“Caleb! Psst.”

He jerked mid-step and spun toward the voice, heart thundering in his chest. For a brief, disorienting moment, he wasn’t sure where he was. All the buildings had shifted around him, the streets suddenly branching out at strange new angles. It took another long moment for him to realize he’d started to dissociate at some point between leaving the train station and arriving here—and that here was just outside the fenced-off patio of the Hunter’s Stewpot. There was a thin goblin woman with lank black hair waving at him from one of the tables, spoon in hand, lambent eyes bright with welcome. “Caleb,” she hissed, beckoning. “Caleb, it’s me.”

“Veth,” he whispered, the name heavy on his tongue.

Veth paused, her excitement melting into something gentler. “Oh,” she said, abandoning her chair to take his hands through the wooden lattice fence. Her hands were soft, plump and round beneath the illusion, and when she looked at his face, the sympathy in her gaze made something crack deep inside him. “Oh, Lebby. You have had a rough time of it, haven’t you?”

“I—no, I am only—” He swiped the edge of his sleeve over his face, his breath shuddering in the fragile sort of way that usually preceded tears or, more often, a panic attack. He took another breath to steady himself, aborted halfway through, and said, “I think I may have fucked it up.”

“Fucked up . . . the mission?” Veth asked, voice wavering with confusion.

“No, no. Well. Maybe.” A warbling laugh broke from his throat. Stars, Veth probably thought he was unhinged. He cleared his throat, made an effort to level out his voice. “My marriage. I think I fucked it up.”

“Oh,” Veth said again. And then, “Oh, Caleb. Come sit, and we’ll figure out how to fix it.” 

Chapter Text

Chapter Forty-Six

Fifteen minutes later, Caleb sat on one of the wrought-iron chairs of the restaurant’s patio, scraping a porous chunk of bread against the inside of his bowl to soak up the remains of the beef barley soup Veth had ordered for him in between bouts of panicked reassurance.

“Better?” she asked as he shoved the last crust of bread into his mouth.

He nodded, swallowing hard. “Ja. Sorry, that was . . .” He made a vague gesture which Veth generously pretended to understand. “I spent most of the afternoon in a laboratory. I didn’t think to pause for lunch.”

“You’re too skinny,” Veth admonished, pinching his upper arm. “How are we going to put any meat on those bones if you skip half your meals? Hey,” she added as their server passed, “could we get another bowl for my friend here?”

“Veth, you don’t have to—”

“No arguments!” Veth declared. “The first bowl was to take the edge off; the second is to savor. Besides,” she added, lowering her voice, “it’ll give us an excuse to stay and talk a while longer. We’ve got a lot to catch up on.”

“On both sides, I think.” Caleb sighed. “Why don’t we start with how all of you are doing? You’ve shared some in your messages, but I’m sure that’s not all you’ve been up to.”

“Right.” Veth nodded. “So mainly we’ve been poking around looking for dirt on the Assembly. We’re having to be subtle about it, since they’re all tangled in our ship’s systems now, but we’ve been able to put out feelers. Beau managed to talk Dairon into lending us some resources. The Cobalt Soul doesn’t have much on the Assembly itself—as far as official records go, the Assembly’s interests are all legitimate: medical research, engineering, et cetera. Even their financial records are tidy: no obvious sinkholes or unexplained expenses. But that’s public sources. We got some files from their Vergesson databases a few weeks ago . . .” She slanted him a hopeful look.

“The ones you passed along to me, ja.” Caleb stared down into his empty bowl. “They’re locked up pretty tight. I haven’t made much headway.”

“Neither have we. But we showed them to Yussa, too, to see if he could get anything out of them. No luck with the actual decryption, but he mentioned that some of the file names looked a lot like identification numbers.”

“For the Assembly?”

“For the patients. The ones in Vergesson.” Patients like you, she didn’t say, but Caleb felt his stomach clench up anyway. “There are the official files, of course. Confidential, but not any more heavily encrypted than you’d expect for private medical records. Those, we were able to decode. Not that it did us much good—there is a psychiatric facility in Vergesson, with real patients undergoing real treatments with actual doctors and therapists. It’s a cover, but a good one, very authentic. But get this: those bits Yussa thought might be patient ID numbers? None of them match up with any of the official patients in their care. Which means there’s a secret facility there, filled with patients the Assembly doesn’t want anyone else knowing about.”

We knew that already, Caleb thought, unable to stifle his instinctive wash of disappointment, or the wretched bitterness that followed. But he understood what Veth was getting at. Yes, they’d known, because Caleb had lived through it. But there had been no paper trails, no other known escapees available to testify against the Assembly’s practices, and Caleb’s own memories of Vergesson were . . . unreliable. These secret files, however, might well contain damning records of the patients the Assembly didn’t want anyone knowing about. Patients like he’d been—people who’d slipped through the cracks, or become enough of a liability that the Assembly had deemed it necessary to discredit and lock them away. “If Yussa is right, this could give us the leverage we need to slip the Assembly’s leash.”

“Exactly!” Veth brightened, her illusory ears perking up in response to her change in expression. “If they are patient records, it might be enough to convince the king to put them on trial: not just Ikithon, but Ludinus and the rest of the Assembly, too.”

“Ja, maybe,” Caleb said, quieting as their server set another bowl in front of him. He doubted their efforts would go that far—the scandal might be enough to take down Ikithon, perhaps shake the Empire’s trust in the Assembly as a whole, but it wouldn’t ruin them the way Veth hoped it would. The Assembly was like an old tree, their roots too dug in to be torn up by a single storm. A scandal like this would tear some branches off, even scour away some of the soil underneath, but it would take decades of work to uproot them entirely. Decades Caleb was willing to spend, yes, but he couldn’t start on that until he’d freed the rest of the Nein from the snare they’d been caught in. “What else have you found since we last spoke?”

“Well,” Veth said, darting a glance over her shoulder, “you already know there’s a mole in the Dynasty. Beau’s been trying to narrow it down based on your suggestions. She thinks you’re right about the researcher angle. If all they wanted was money, they could have smuggled the beacons to some rich politician. Going to the Assembly only makes sense if they were after knowledge.”

Caleb managed a grim smile. “If so, they’ve been played. The Assembly barely shares its research within its own ranks, let alone with outsiders. I’d be surprised if their Dynasty contact has managed to pry anything of use out of them.”

“Right?” Veth grinned. “The important thing is that, whoever the mole is, they believed they’d get something out of it, and it’s a safe bet that something is knowledge. Beau and Dairon have been compiling a list of potential suspects. Here.” Veth tapped the top of her tablet to his, transferring the data: a list of names, each with a short paragraph explaining why Beauregard had added them to the file. He skimmed it, noting a handful of names he recognized from his own digging: Lythir VaSuun, Tevirri Mirimm, Elaida Al’Dannan—

He halted mid-skim, spine stiffening with surprise. “Essek is on this list.”

“We’re not accusing him,” Veth assured him. “It’s just—he fits the profile, you know? A renowned scholar who just happens to be an outspoken atheist, and his field of study revolves around the beacons? You’ve got to admit, it’s a pretty big coincidence.”

Caleb shook his head. “He’s not the mole.”

Veth hesitated, tracing her spoon along the rim of her bowl. “Listen, Caleb, you know I trust your judgment. But don’t forget he grew up in politics. If he wanted to keep something from you . . .”

“It’s not that,” Caleb said, feeling as if he were trying to catch hold of a ball of twine before it could unravel completely. He lowered his voice. “The Assembly wouldn’t have sent me to spy on him if he was collaborating with them. Aside from being redundant, it’s a waste of resources. Their accomplice has already demonstrated they’re willing to bargain, to say nothing of how much blackmail material the Assembly can leverage against them for smuggling the beacons out of the Dynasty in the first place. They hold both carrot and stick—they don’t need a spy to extract more information from their mole. And it’s as you said: Essek grew up in political circles. He knows how to recognize a snake when he meets one.”

“Do we know for sure that he’s not involved, though? Again, not making any accusations,” Veth said, lifting her hands in a pacifying gesture, “but if I were running a corrupt government organization, I’d want to keep tabs on my intelligence assets, especially if that asset was an influential foreign noble.”

Caleb swallowed down his immediate surge of defensiveness and drew a steadying breath through his nose. Veth wasn’t wrong to float Essek as a possible suspect. He did fit the profile, at least in the broad strokes, and he could feasibly have gained access to one or more of the beacons as part of his studies. But Essek was a fundamentally cautious person, untrusting of his peers and judicious in the risks he took. Caleb couldn’t see him conspiring with an organization so obviously untrustworthy, let alone committing treason on their behalf. Nor was Essek so young and foolish as to be lured in by the Assembly’s empty promises, as Caleb had been in his youth.

“I understand he fits the profile,” Caleb said when he was sure he could moderate his tone, “but Essek isn’t our mole. He might contemplate the idea of collaboration, if he thought it would advance his own research, and if he could trust the people he was working with. But I cannot see him conspiring with the Assembly. Risks aside, Essek prefers to work alone.”

Veth studied him, her goblin-gold eyes assessing, then gave a shallow nod. “All right. If you’re sure. Just be careful, all right? I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Truthfully, it’s not myself I am most worried about,” Caleb muttered, lifting a spoonful of soup to his lips. The broth spread across his tongue, savory with just a hint of the Xhorhassian spices he’d grown accustomed to in his months here, and though the flavor shared only a little with the soups he remembered from his childhood, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of homesickness at the heartiness of it. “Essek has been good to me. I only wish I could be a better husband to him.”

Veth’s face softened with sympathy. “You care about him a lot, don’t you?”

He sighed, lowering his spoon. “You know, it’s a tricky thing. In the broader sense, everything I am to him is a lie. Our marriage is a sham, my supposed history a bunch of hastily papered-over falsehoods. He doesn’t even know my real name, though I suppose that lie, at least, was one I chose for myself. And yet, if you are only looking at the day-to-day things—the evenings we spend together, the way his face warms when I bring him some trinket or another from the market, the conversations we’ve shared . . . those parts all feel very real. I am playing a part still, but more and more, I find I am struggling to hold my heart separate from my actions.”

“Would things be different, if . . .”

“If I’d been able to meet him on equal ground, with earnest intentions?” Caleb suggested. Veth nodded. “Maybe. We are both complicated people. But I think we could’ve been good together.”

“But not now?”

His fingers tightened around his spoon. “I am lying to him, Veth. Every day, I am lying, and it doesn’t matter that I care for him, or that I am doing it to protect you all, because when he realizes what I have done, what I came here to do, it will ruin him.” He hunched over the edge of the table and dragged his palms down his face, frustration a burning knot in his chest. “I will ruin him, trample his heart under my boots in service to an organization I despise, an organization so rotten no amount of reform will ever be enough to cleanse it, and he will hate me for it.”

Veth’s fingers enfolded his palms, her thumbs rubbing soothing circles over the backs of his hands as she gently pried them away from his cheeks. “Oh, Caleb. I wish I could do more to help you. But all I can tell you is this: if you’re sick of lying to him, maybe try telling him the truth.”

At that, Caleb lifted his head long enough cast Veth a weary look. “You want me to tell him the truth.”

“I mean, not all of it, just—” She grimaced. “Okay. Hear me out. What if you told him we’re investigating the Assembly? Or even just Ikithon? You have plenty of reasons to want to take them down, even without the whole ‘blackmailing you into doing their dirty work’ thing. You don’t have to give up the whole game, just tell him enough of the truth that when the rest comes out, he’ll at least understand why you did what you did.”

“It’s not that simple, Veth.”

“We don’t know that! Besides, maybe he could help us. Isn’t his family, like, super high up in the political chain? He might have resources we could use, or information about some of the suspects on that list. And you’re always saying in your messages how brilliant he is. With the two of you working together, I bet you could crack the Assembly’s encryption like that.” She snapped her fingers.

“So you’re suggesting I give him just enough of the truth to further take advantage of him.”

“Yes!” Veth said, then winced at whatever she saw in Caleb’s expression. “Well, no. All I’m saying is that the longer we have to juggle the Assembly problem, the more compromises you’re going to have to make anyway. But if we can pull Essek over to our side, convince him to be our inside man in the Dynasty, it might give us enough to blow this whole thing wide open.”

Caleb sighed. “We’d be risking a lot, involving Essek so closely,” he said, but it was a concession, and Veth knew it. She smiled and gave him a bracing pat on the shoulder.

“High risk, high reward—that’s what you always say, right? We’ve survived worse than this and come out better for it. We’ll get through this, too. And if your marriage hits a few snags along the way, well, it can’t be that much worse than what I put Yeza through, after that goblin gang showed up at our home.”

“Yeza is more forgiving than Essek,” Caleb said, but he managed a frail smile anyway, rising to pull Veth into a tight hug. “Thank you, Veth. You’re a good friend.”

Veth returned the embrace, burying her face in the front of his coat for a long moment before rising up onto her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Hurry and finish your soup. I’ve got two hours before I have to leave to catch my shuttle, and I’d like to spend at least one of them drinking something stronger than the watered down cocktails they serve at the spaceport lounge.”

A laugh rose in the back of Caleb’s throat. “Ja, okay. Give me two minutes to finish my soup, and we’ll see what we can turn up.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Forty-Seven

In the wake of Caleb’s departure, Essek turned to his work.

The laboratory was in disarray, experimental apparatuses abandoned where they’d been left, oddments scattered across the various surfaces like debris from a fallen tower. He set to work returning tools to their drawers, collecting ball bearings and fishing weights from the myriad containers in which they’d been hastily stashed. The bracers of potentiality went back into their locker; the disordered prongs of the dunamantic field generator were realigned. The holo-projector, above which he’d summoned several graphs depicting the results of their playful experiments, was returned to sleep mode. He even swept, though the floor hardly needed it, and ran a mop over the area, floating an extra inch higher so his slippers wouldn’t scuff the wet stone tiles. By the time he’d finished, he’d very nearly managed to bury the burning seed of jealousy simmering beneath his heart.

You’re being childish, he told himself. Caleb hadn’t seen any of his friends in months; of course he would drop everything to go meet with them. It wasn’t any sort of rejection, so why should Essek feel wounded over it? It was fine.

Put it in a box. Shut the box. Put the box away. Essek closed his eyes, took two slow, deep breaths, and went to his desk to retrieve the data chip containing the Assembly’s latest notes from its hidden compartment. He’d squandered too many hours on flashy demonstrations today; if Caleb wanted to spend his evening elsewhere, Essek would simply have to make the best of his absence. He slid the data chip into his lab computer and pulled up the files within, transferring some of them to his secondary and tertiary monitors as he skimmed through the graphs and documents.

Ludinus had overplayed his hand, asking about the beacons’ capacity to store and bestow memories of one’s past lives—he was obviously looking into consecution, or something adjacent to it. But why? To replicate the process? That was the simplest explanation, yet it felt incomplete. Ludinus was old for an elf, but not so old as to be in imminent danger of a fatal cardiac event. Yes, consecution served as a sort of contingency, a way to ensure one's legacy would endure should the body be compromised, but if that was all Ludinus wanted, Essek would’ve expected him to raise the subject well before now, or to have experimented with the process while the Assembly still had possession of the beacons. Instead, his queries had focused primarily on the military applications of dunamancy: serums meant to enhance soldiers’ reaction times; dunamantic waveforms that could slow the movements of enemy soldiers, making them easier targets; weak, gravity-based imitations of the density bombs Essek had developed under the Bright Queen’s patronage. Was Ludinus’s sudden shift in interest merely because, with the war over, he was no longer under pressure to focus his research on dunamancy’s more destructive capabilities? Or was there some other reason for it?

Perhaps he was looking to better understand the cognitive effects associated with dunamancy, Essek thought. The bracers he’d shown Caleb calculated potentiality, mapping out possible outcomes in a way a mortal mind could process, thus allowing the wearer to adjust their response accordingly. Without a mind to discriminate between those outcomes, however, such a tool was useless. Similarly, the beacons needed to access the mind as part of the consecution process in order to attune to the individual whose memories it was meant to store.

Essek thought back to his own failed consecution ceremony, to the strange interior landscape of the beacons where his consciousness had temporarily been pulled: the fracturing futures spiraling out before him, an unspooling web of possibilities; the unspoken invitation to become part of the beacons’ vast archives, to echo on and on through lifetimes. Drifting there, amidst the currents of so many other lives, it had been easy to see why the Dynasty had built a religion around the beacons. They were marvels of lost technology, artifacts of a civilization that has spanned countless galaxies only to die out and leave only scattered relics behind. What he hadn’t understood—what he’d found no answer for in that endless expanse of possibility—was why, if the Luxon’s supposed purpose was to discover itself through its worshipers, no one was permitted to study them outside of religious rituals.

He had refused consecution in that expanse, if it could be called a refusal when he hadn’t known there was a choice to be made. He had refused, and when he’d emerged from his attunement with the beacon unchanged, he’d vowed to seek the truth on his own terms, through empirical evidence and rigorous scientific methodology. It would be nearly fifty years before he was offered another chance to examine a beacon, and even then, he’d only been permitted to look at it. Only the Umavi and the high priestesses were permitted to touch them, let alone experiment, and by then his criticisms of the faith were well-known; he couldn’t have feigned piety even if he’d wanted to.

Even so, he had theories about consecution. The beacons’ ability to transfer memories from one host to the next might seem unique within the field of dunamancy, but only if you looked at consecution as a transference of souls. If you looked at it as recording an individual’s timeline, that inconsistency vanished. Consecution, then, wasn’t a pathway to reincarnation, but a method of storing one’s past, present, and future for later retrieval. The beacon then seeded that data into the next available host—usually a newborn, though on rare occasions anamnesis was known to occur in hosts with certain types of traumatic brain injury—who would then carry that data until their brains developed sufficiently to integrate the previous host’s experiences into their own memory, simulating a sort of delayed reincarnation.

This theory, of course, did come with one rather significant drawback: not only did it demystify the workings of the Luxon, reducing its most sacred ritual to little more than a complicated data storage method, but it implied that those who underwent anamnesis were not, in fact, returning souls, but merely vessels for a data packet meant to overwrite their identity. Essek had managed to get precisely one paper published on the subject, some two decades ago, only for it to be removed from the Marble Tomes archives a scant three days later after being derided as blasphemous by the Rosohna Gazette—a scandal from which it had taken him years to recover. It had been that rejection, more than any other, that had led to him publicly renouncing the faith: a choice which had cost him what little fondness his mother had had left for him, as well as destroyed his status as the favored prodigy of Den Thelyss.

That rejection had also been one of the factors that had nudged him to respond to Ludinus’s offer of correspondence some years later. More than anything, Essek had wanted someone to take his theories seriously, to evaluate them with eyes untainted by religious fervor. For all that Ludinus treated him with contempt now, he had valued Essek’s expertise, had even been sympathetic to his frustrations with the faith.

Perhaps Essek had been naive to extend his trust so far—once he’d handed over the beacons, Ludinus’s complimentary attitude had wilted like wildflowers beneath an unrelenting sun, leaving Essek to frantically cover up his own treason while feigning gratitude for what few scraps the Assembly deigned to toss his way. But at the time, his correspondence with Ludinus had felt like the only thing in his life that was going right, and so he’d been . . . careless.

Essek sighed, closing out the files he’d opened. It was swiftly becoming apparent that he wasn’t going to get anything useful done today. His experimenting with Caleb had been a refreshing distraction, but with Caleb away, he was finding it difficult to recapture that spark of motivation. He ejected the data chip and returned it to its hiding place, then glided out of the laboratory, heading for the western tower.

Uraya was waiting for him at the dinner table, absently nibbling on a slice of cucumber as they tapped away at their tablet with one knobbly finger. Essek nodded a greeting and sat across from them, sending a ping to the kitchen to let Merrillil know where to bring his meal. She brought it out in short order, the colorful links of her hooped earrings tinkling cheerfully as she set his plate in front of him. “Dessert tonight?” she asked in her rumbling voice.

“No, thank you, I’m all right.”

Across the table, Uraya shot him a glance before addressing Merrillil. “If you’ve any fruit tarts left, I’m sure our employer could be convinced to have one. Don’t deny it,” they told Essek before he could refuse. “I could sense you moping from the moment you walked into the room.”

“It’s hardly moping,” Essek replied, nettled. “And even if I were, you don’t need to fuss over me like a brooding nergaliid.”

Uraya huffed. “Do remember I was a mother of three in my first life. I’d have to have been a poor parent not to notice the storm-clouds brewing above your head.” They tipped their head toward Merrillil. “A plate of fruit tarts and a jar of honey, if you’d be so kind.”

Merrillil glanced pensively in Essek’s direction, then, receiving no objection, nodded. “I’ll grab a bottle of wine as well,” she said, and vanished into the kitchen.

Essek waited for the door to swing shut before turning back to Uraya. “That was unnecessary.”

“Yes, but you’ll be glad of it in twenty minutes, when your frustration has given way to melancholy. Eat,” they said, more gently. “I haven’t seen you since breakfast, and unless I’ve missed my guess, you haven’t had anything sent up from the kitchens either.”

Essek exhaled through his teeth but complied; he hadn’t thought to eat, in fact, and now that he had food in front of him, he was ravenous. So he ate, as quickly as he could without sacrificing decorum, while Uraya caught him up on the day’s events: press updates, invitations he’d received, accommodations for Verin’s visit next month. “If you’d like, he can borrow my chambers,” Uraya suggested. “I hardly use them, and it’s easy enough to move my effects to my office for a week.”

“No need. We can just as easily put him in a hotel. I don’t want to put you out merely because I haven’t gotten around to assembling another guest room.”

“It’s no trouble,” Uraya insisted. “I only ever stay here when there’s a crisis to be managed. I’ll have the cleaning crew wash the sheets and give it a thorough vacuuming; I expect that will be enough, considering the conditions your brother is accustomed to sleeping in.”

“I will never understand why anyone would give up the luxuries of city life for the austerity of a barracks,” Essek muttered. But then, Verin never had cared much for lavishness, always slumming it with people he met at bars or nightclubs and returning from every adventure with a new friend and an amusing anecdote to tell their cousins. More irritatingly, Verin’s carousing rarely seemed to stir up any disapproval from their parents, while even the most minor of Essek’s indiscretions were treated as irreparably damaging to the den’s reputation, and had thus been met with censure.

“Perhaps he finds purpose in guarding the populace from the monsters of the Wastes,” Uraya said. “Duty is more of an aspiration than a burden for some, and from everything you’ve told me, your brother wears his mantle with honor.”

“Yes, he’s very good at it,” Essek said, not in the mood to hear more praise of his brother while he was already smarting from his husband’s unintentional rejection. “Do you have anything else to report on?”

Uraya frowned, taking in his tone, and said, “No. But it sounds like you do.”

Essek dragged his chopsticks through his rice, annoyed at Uraya for the presumption, and then at himself for being annoyed. “It’s nothing. I’m simply feeling a little out of sorts today.”

“All right. Why?” When he didn’t answer, they leaned forward. “Are you unwell? I can cancel the rest of your appointments this week if you need—”

“Don’t,” he said sharply, only to feel a stab of guilt as Uraya jerked back in their chair. He lowered his gaze. “My apologies, that was rude. It’s just—it’s a personal matter.”

Uraya’s mouth softened with sympathy. They held out a hand, inviting him to elaborate. Essek sighed, shame prickling along the back of his neck. Uraya had witnessed him in numerous moments of crisis, and while this was far from the worst, rarely had he spiraled so over such a minor problem. It was hard not to feel childish.

“If it’s truly a personal matter, I won’t press,” Uraya said. “But it might help to talk about it. Whatever it is, you know I won’t judge you.”

Essek dropped his gaze to his bowl, churning up rows of rice kernels as he spoke. “I shouldn’t even be upset over it; it’s such a small thing. It’s just—Caleb left in somewhat of a hurry this afternoon to visit a friend, and I cannot help but feel a bit slighted.”

Uraya furrowed their brow. “A friend here in Rosohna?”

“No, his—he’s mentioned his mercenary friends to you, yes? He received a call from his halfling friend and went rushing out the door as if the room had caught fire. And then he left our towers without a word. I had to message him before he even thought to tell me where he was going. Which is fine, of course; he doesn’t have to clear his every coming and going with me. I just—”

“You wish he’d thought to invite you?” Uraya suggested.

Essek opened his mouth to deny it, then sat back in his chair, stymied. Was that all he’d wanted? Not an explanation, but merely to be welcomed among Caleb’s dearest friends? Put that way, it felt like too much to ask. Caleb was fond of him, undoubtedly, steadfast in his devotion and generous with his time. Was Essek being greedy, wanting yet another share of Caleb’s heart merely because Caleb already had all of his?

Uraya was still watching him, awaiting his response. Essek drew a shallow breath through his teeth. “It’s not that I wanted to go with him, necessarily. It’s just . . . he keeps his mercenary life so separate from our marriage. He’ll mention them in passing, and sometimes share a story of their adventures, but he won’t contact them while I’m in the room, and he never mentions any recent developments. Supposedly, his friends are caught up in a delicate operation—my guess is they’ve signed a nondisclosure agreement with their employer and aren’t allowed to discuss the particulars of their current job. But even so, I doubt they’d have been so careful to keep things from Caleb, which means . . .”

“Which means he’s keeping things from you,” Uraya finished.

Essek swallowed hard, something cold and oily sloshing inside his stomach. “Yes.”

Hesitantly, Uraya reached across the table to lay their hand over his. “It probably isn’t as catastrophic as you think it is. Honesty might be a virtue, but no one is entirely honest all the time. Your husband might be withholding this because he doesn’t have all the details, or because he doesn’t wish to bother you, or out of habit. Even if he’s left the mercenary life behind, he likely still considers himself part of the Mighty Nein; it’s natural he’d be cautious of any information that could put them at risk if it found its way to the wrong ears. It doesn’t make him any less loyal to you.”

But what if it does? Essek thought, something sharp lodging between his lungs. What would he do if Caleb decided he wasn’t worth staying in Xhorhas for? He couldn’t keep Caleb here, not if Caleb wanted to go, and if his abrupt departure was any indication, it was clear he valued his friends’ companionship more dearly than he did Essek’s. And why wouldn't he? He’d been all but forced into this marriage; he owed Essek nothing—not his time, nor his loyalty, and certainly not his love.

Mechanically, Essek rose and grabbed the bottle of wine Merrillil had brought out, ignoring the worried slant of Uraya’s ears. “If it’s no trouble, I’m going to take the rest of my meal in my chambers. I have much to think on.” Without another word, he turned and swept out of the dining room, drawing his cloak tight around his body as if the delicate fabric could keep his wounded heart from pouring out of him.

Chapter Text

Chapter Forty-Eight

“And you have all your paperwork, ja?” Caleb asked two hours later, anxiously patting Veth’s coat through her goblin hologram. “Passport, ID, everything you need?”

She swatted at his hands, laughing. “Quit worrying so much. I’ll be fine.” She tugged his face downward so she wouldn’t have to yell to be heard over the din. They’d tucked themselves into a secluded corner of the spaceport lobby, away from the passengers swarming in and out of the elevators, but secluded wasn’t the same as quiet; even with the closer proximity, he had to watch her lips to make out what she was saying. “It’s Fjord you should be worried about. Getting me hired on as a decon rat—I’m an engineer; I should be doing engineer things. Instead I’m going to be scrubbing toilets and mopping up puke until my shuttle docks at Jigow.”

“Safer than stowing away in a storage compartment,” Caleb muttered. “Fjord is right. Most people don’t notice janitorial staff. That means fewer people paying enough attention to realize you’re in disguise. Better to be circumspect, ja?”

“I guess. Still, he could’ve found me a position as a cook or something.”

Caleb winced, recalling the last time Veth had tried to put together a meal for the Nein. There was a reason Caduceus had taken over the ship’s kitchen less than two days after joining up with them. “It’s only for a few days. And we’ve mopped up worse things than vomit. Remember that job we took in Zadash?”

“In the sewers?” Veth shuddered. “Hard to forget. Made a useful escape route when that tower fell, though.”

“That is true.” Caleb crouched down and took Veth’s face between his hands. “Stay safe, ja? The Nein need you.”

Veth smiled sadly. “We need you, too,” she said, then rose onto her tiptoes to press a lingering kiss to his forehead. “Remember what I said, all right? About telling Essek what we’ve been up to, I mean.”

“I will keep it in mind.” He dropped his gaze, unease trickling through him at the reminder. Much as he owed Essek the truth, he doubted it was going to go over well. Disclosing his history with Ikithon would mean admitting he’d lied about significant portions of his past. And that was without factoring in how Essek would react to the truth itself. There was every likelihood Essek would regard his history as an unforgivable offense once he knew what Caleb had done. “Thank you, for the visit,” Caleb added, setting his worry aside to refocus on Veth. “It was a risk, but it was good to see you.”

“Same here.” She took his hand, squeezing it once. “Love you, Caleb.”

Caleb managed a weary smile. “I love you, too. I’ll see you again when it’s safe.”

“Soon,” Veth promised. She gave one last firm nod, then gathered up her bags and scurried toward the elevator.

Caleb watched her dart through the crowds. Watched the glass doors close between them. Watched the cylindrical tube of the elevator shoot up, gaining speed as it rocketed toward the ceiling, up and up along the central column of the spaceport until it vanished from sight, taking Veth with it. Watched the elevator descend again a few minutes later, disgorging a knot of people towing hovering luggage chests behind them as they headed for the doors.

Time to go, he thought, exhaling a shaky breath. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and started for the exit, shoulders hunched against the press of people, the penetrating brightness of the lights above, the noise of countless conversations echoing against the walls. Surrounded on all sides, he couldn’t help but remember being escorted through the Rexxentrum spaceport, the Assembly’s agents gripping his arms to ensure he wouldn’t break and run before they could get him onto the ship to Xhorhas, away from everything he knew and everyone who might help him.

It wasn’t the same. He knew it wasn’t the same, but he found himself pushing faster through the crowd, angling not for the doors but for the sterile, tiled corridor leading to the restrooms. People scowled at him as he shouldered past, muttering uncharitably in Undercommon, but he had no attention to spare for them. As soon as he was clear of the lobby, he broke into a run, skidding around the corner into the men’s restroom and flinging himself into the first open stall he saw. He slammed the door behind him, throwing the latch with shaking hands, then dropped to his knees just in time to vomit noisily into the toilet bowl.

Scheisse, he thought, gasping in a ragged breath. Clumsily, he popped the buttons on his coat, peeling it off with jerky movements. Unable to process the sudden change in his wardrobe, his hologram warped, stretching impossibly to cling to his body, only to dissolve as the garment it was pinned to fell rumpled to the floor. Cool air prickled against the skin of his arms, sank into the sweat-soaked patches of his shirt, relief and discomfort all at once.

He retched again, bringing up bile, but at least he could breathe. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, waiting to see whether the quivering anxiety would escalate into a panic attack. It had been a while since he’d had one; he was probably overdue. But after a few perilous minutes, his trembling subsided enough that he decided he probably wasn’t going to tip over the precipice, and thus ought to pull himself together. He closed his eyes, braced a hand against the wall, and ran through a handful of numerical sequences as he waited for his heart rate to drop back down to its normal rhythm.

The problem—the actual problem, not merely his dislike of crowds or the various traumas the Assembly had inflicted on him—was that he’d overextended himself. If he were only trying to thread the needle between appeasing the Assembly and catering to his husband, that would be manageable. Oh, he’d still feel guilty; there was no avoiding that. But he’d already spent so much of his adulthood mired in shame for the things he’d done. Betraying his politically-arranged partner’s secrets to the Assembly would just be one more compromise. Justifiable, even, unlike some of the choices he’d made under Trent’s guidance.

But Essek was more than that to him now. Had been more to him for months now, much as he’d tried to resist it. Veth was right; Essek deserved the truth, or at least as much of it as Caleb could give. And if Essek, with his brilliant quicksilver mind, realized Caleb was still keeping things from him, realized Caleb was as untrustworthy as he’d suspected in those first days of their acquaintance, well. Perhaps it was only right that Essek should cast him out as the liar he was. Then, at least, there would be no more secrets between them.

Woodenly, Caleb gathered up his coat and reset his disguise, flushing the evidence of his little episode before shuffling out of the stall. A couple people gave him dubious looks as he washed his hands, but he ignored them. With Veth gone, there was nothing left for him to do but return home and face his husband.

*

On one of the balconies overlooking the spaceport lobby, a solitary figure leaned against a guardrail, angling her tablet downward so its camera had a clear view of the crowd below. Finally, she thought as her quarry vanished into the restroom corridor. Something useful. She paused the recording, sending a copy of the vid to her personal server. She’d been trailing Widogast for days, lurking about the Firmaments in half a dozen disguises so she could watch his comings and goings unnoticed. Not her worst assignment, but tedious enough that she’d begun to wonder if the man ever went anywhere without Thelyss—if, indeed, their marriage was as idyllic as the press made it seem.

But it seemed Widogast had some secrets after all. She played back the video, watched Widogast’s goblin friend pull him down for a forehead kiss. A chaste gesture, even by Dynasty standards, but paired with the images she’d captured earlier—a brief cheek kiss at the Hunter’s Stewpot, an offer from the goblin to share a sip of wine from her glass at the tavern they’d visited afterward, a truly scandalous amount of hand-holding—it painted an intimate picture. With the right framing and a few seconds of incriminating audio, this would be more than enough to satisfy her employer.

Should have been more discreet, she thought smugly, opening her video editing app. Though perhaps she was being uncharitable. Most people would’ve been fooled by Widogast’s disguise. Personal hologram projectors were expensive enough to be a rarity, and even those who were familiar with the technology usually had to be looking to notice when someone was using one. But she’d made a career of noticing such details, and it hadn’t been hard to guess what Widogast was up to when he ducked into the rail station restroom to don his disguise. Once she’d gotten close enough to confirm he was wearing a hologram, it had been trivial to trail along after him.

Still, the vid was no good to anyone until she’d run it through a few filters to peel away the illusions. A tricky endeavor for some, but well within her wheelhouse. She fiddled with the editing software, adjusting the ambient light, playing with the contrast until Widogast’s true form was visible beneath the hologram. From there, it was a simple matter of splitting the hologram into its own layer and clearing it from the screen.

Well, isn’t that interesting? she thought, eyebrows lifting as her gaze caught on her quarry’s companion. Looks like Widogast isn’t the only one in disguise. Who might you be? She zoomed in on the woman: not a goblin after all, but a plump halfling woman, dark-haired and adorned with dozens of trinkets and buttons strung on leather cords. Empire-born, almost certainly. There were halflings on Xhorhas, but they rarely left the Lotusden Greenwood, and in any case, they had a distinctive look to them: a look this woman didn’t share.

She smirked. Even outside of the illicit love affair angle, her employer would be very interested to hear that Widogast was arranging clandestine meetings with someone from the Empire. She’d have to do some more research, see if she could link this woman’s face to anyone in Widogast’s personal history. And then, once she had a more detailed picture, she’d deliver it to her boss’s desk and see just how much extra money she could squeeze out of him for her exceptional work.

Chapter Text

Chapter Forty-Nine

Essek was on his third glass of wine when Caleb’s message arrived in his inbox. Apologies again for my abrupt departure. I am home now, if you have a few minutes to talk. And then, before Essek could reply, a second message: I brought some chili from that restaurant you like—a bit spicier than I was willing to try, but I’m assured it’s quite good.

Essek sighed, smothering a childish urge to ignore the messages. But the chili was clearly a peace offering, and it wasn’t as if Caleb would have any difficulty finding him here in his chambers. He typed out a quick reply. I’ve already had dinner, thank you. But you may join me in my sitting room if you wish. A little cold, but cordial enough. He finished the last swallow of his wine and set the empty glass on the table beside his chair. Three glasses over a period of two hours had left him tipsy but not, he thought, slurring drunk. He would be slurring drunk if he had a fourth, but first he’d grant his husband a chance to explain himself.

It was only a few minutes later when Caleb arrived, still draped in the tattered brown coat he favored, with its roughly-patched holes and frayed cuffs. He stepped gingerly across the threshold, flicking a swift glance at Essek’s expression before hastily averting his eyes. “I, ah, left your chili in the refrigerator for later,” he said, shuffling his feet awkwardly, like he wasn’t sure he was welcome.

“Thank you,” Essek said coolly, gesturing to his husband’s usual armchair.

Meekly, Caleb brushed past him, undoing the buttons of his coat and laying it over the back of the chair before turning once more to face him. “You are angry with me.”

“Not at all,” Essek said, but his pique must have shown through; Caleb’s shoulders hunched, and his gaze dropped to the floor. Essek glided to his own chair and settled gracefully into the seat. “What reason would I have to be angry?”

“I can think of a few,” Caleb muttered. He clasped Essek’s hands, cradling them gently between his own. “I am sorry. I meant no insult in leaving so suddenly. When Veth called, I assumed something terrible must have happened, to her or to one of the others. I did not expect a social visit.”

Unwillingly, Essek found his ire dimming. He’d intended to remain firm, to extract a more concrete explanation for his husband’s secrecy around the Mighty Nein. Uraya might see no harm in Caleb’s reticence to discuss them, but Essek had spent most of his life trading in secrets and favors. Moreover, he’d seen the flash of alarm in Caleb’s eyes when Veth’s call had come through, the haste with which he’d hidden the screen when Essek had inquired about it. Nefarious or not, there was clearly more going on with Caleb’s former associates than he’d let on. Yet it was hard to push when Caleb was so visibly worried.

“Your friend is well, then?” Essek asked instead.

“Well enough.” Caleb circled the first two knuckles of Essek’s hand with his thumb, eyes faraway. “I saw her off at the spaceport half an hour ago. I expect she’s on a shuttle off-planet by now.”

“No interest in spending the night here in Rosohna?”

Caleb winced. “It wouldn’t be safe for her here. It was a risk for her to come at all, but she wanted to see me, to make sure I was all right.”

Essek frowned. Halflings weren’t precisely common in Rosohna—the nearest halfling settlement was in the Lotusden Greenwood, on the sunward side of Xhorhas—but neither were humans, and Caleb went wandering the Gallimaufry on his own all the time. Surely he wasn’t worried about Veth encountering violence on Rosohna’s streets when he risked the same nearly every day. So what was he worried about?

“Was your well-being in question, then?” Essek asked, hoping a more indirect query might coax his husband into elaborating. But Caleb winced, fingers tightening around Essek’s palm.

“I’m afraid it’s more complicated than my well-being.” He released Essek’s hand so he could pace the length of the sitting room. Essek watched him uneasily, settling into his own armchair. Caleb’s stride reminded him of nothing so much as a caged moorbounder, as likely to lash out as accept any sort of comfort. Belatedly, Essek cursed himself for not stopping after that first glass of wine. If his thoughts weren’t so muddled, he might have a better sense of his husband’s fears.

“My apologies, but if you could perhaps elaborate?” he said, embarrassed by his own inadequacy. “I am not—that is, I think I need more context before I can help you.”

“Ja, no, you’re right. I’m explaining it poorly.” Caleb drew in a breath, visibly steeling himself. “Are you familiar with the Cerberus Assembly?”

The world lurched sideways. No, Essek thought helplessly, gripping the armrests hard, as if he could steady himself against the sudden surge of dread crashing over him. No, he can’t know, I was careful, he can’t. Can he? Frantically, Essek tried to recall anything he might have let slip, but his thoughts were a howling void, at once too empty and too full of noise to offer any answers. “The Cerberus Assembly?” he repeated, as if he might have misheard, as if this was not a trap springing shut around him.

“In the Empire,” Caleb clarified, a hard twist to his mouth as he turned to meet Essek’s eyes. Instinctively, Essek smoothed his expression into a mask of disinterest, keenly aware of his pounding heart, of the tightness in his lungs. “They comprise nearly half the king’s council,” Caleb went on. “The Martinet runs the Department of Domestic Protections, but between the eight of them, they have their fingers in most of the major governing committees.”

“I am . . . familiar with them, yes,” Essek said. And then, because that sounded too noncommittal, he added, “I believe I met a few of them at a gala, some twenty or so years ago, when relations between the Empire and the Dynasty were less strained. Why do you ask?”

“We—myself and the rest of the Nein—have been investigating them for some time. We’ve long suspected they’ve been taking advantage of their position and influence to conceal their more unsavory interests; however, unraveling the details of their crimes has been more challenging than we’d hoped. It’s only recently that we’ve been able to dig up anything useful.”

“I see,” Essek said, feeling as if he were standing atop a very tall tower as it trembled beneath his feet. “What crimes do you suspect them of?”

“Medical malpractice, to start with,” Caleb replied. “Falsification of patient records, unlawful imprisonment, illicit human experimentation—that much, we know for certain, though it will take time to prove. Some shady interests in the educational sector, primarily through the Soltryce Academy. But mainly we are searching for evidence of treason.”

Essek’s mouth went dry. “Those are very serious charges.”

“Ja, I am aware.” Caleb exhaled sharply, raking his fingers through his hair. “We have some evidence. Not enough to convict, not yet, but we’ve been exchanging intel with the Cobalt Soul, and their working theory is that the Cerberus Assembly made a deal with someone on Xhorhas to smuggle the Luxon beacons off-planet for them.”

“I was told they found the beacons in an archaeological dig.” The lie sounded stilted to his own ears, but Caleb merely flicked his hand dismissively, as if he’d expected the objection and discarded it as too flimsy to require refutation.

“The Empire needed a tidy excuse for not returning the beacons until they were already losing the war; that does not change the fact that two beacons went missing from Xhorhas only to conveniently reappear in the Assembly’s possession when the conflict grew too costly for their liking. As to how they acquired the beacons, there are a few options. Infiltration is possible but time-consuming. A smash-and-grab operation is faster, but risks too many investigations into their practices. Subverting the enemy, however . . .” Caleb drew to a halt, expression grim. “The Assembly has a long history of turning people into tools. If they believed they could sway someone to their side, through blackmail or through common interest, that is what they would do.”

Common interest. The words shivered through him, creeping like ice through his veins. Caleb knew. He had to know, had to at least suspect. After all, who else would have a common interest with the Assembly but a fellow scholar? Who else would hold so little loyalty for the Dynasty but a known critic of the faith that held it together? He held his breath, waiting for the accusations, for the blame. At least for once it would be for something he’d actually done, and not something he’d failed to do.

But in the end, Caleb only shook his head and sighed. “Beauregard has assembled a list of potential suspects. Most are scientists, engineers—people who might benefit from partnering with the Assembly. Whoever it is, they’ll have connections, influence. The Assembly would need someone who could feasibly gain access to the beacons, someone with legitimate credentials. That narrows the list considerably, but it is up to me to winnow it down further.”

“But why must you pursue this investigation at all?” Essek asked, a thread of desperation winding through his voice. “You say the Cobalt Soul is already aware of all this. Why risk yourself going after such a high-profile organization?”

A furrow formed between Caleb’s eyebrows. “Because that is what we do,” he said, sounding almost hurt. Too late, Essek realized he’d been raising his voice. He bit his lip, fumbling for the words to smooth it over, but Caleb went on before he could. “And in any case, it is personal.”

Essek’s heart gave a strange little lurch. “Personal how?”

Caleb dropped his gaze, shoulders curling inward slightly. “I, ah . . . I have a history with them. With Ikithon, to be precise.”

Essek’s fingers tensed around the armrests, sickness rolling through him at the thought of Ikithon in the same room as his husband, his poisonous presence oozing out of him like sludge, soiling everything he touched. His own dealings with the man had been limited to brief, unpleasant conversations filled with false flattery and odious insinuations, but even so, it hadn’t taken him long to see Trent for the eel he was. He couldn’t imagine Caleb approaching such a man willingly, so what had Ikithon done to him, for Caleb to claim they had a history?

Caleb misinterpreted his silence, turning his face aside as if he couldn’t bear the weight of Essek’s gaze. “I did not recognize him for the monster he was. Not when it all started. I was new come to Soltryce, then, entranced by the opportunities I saw within its halls. When my test scores attracted the notice of the head of the neuroscience department, I thought myself fortunate. How wonderful it was, to be recognized by one of the premier scientists of the Empire—how affirming. Of course I did not notice the strings attached to his offer. Ach, but I am getting ahead of myself. First, you need more context.”

“Caleb,” Essek began, the name hoarse with strain. He couldn’t do this, couldn’t listen to his husband bare these most intimate of wounds, not when he’d spent the last three years collaborating with the very man who’d inflicted them. “You don’t have to.”

“That’s the thing, Essek. I think I do.” Caleb’s mouth flattened into a bitter line. “Do you remember the argument we had, the night I came to live here? When you asked why my attendance at the academy had been omitted from my dossier?”

Essek winced. “I remember.”

Caleb nodded. “I told you then that I’d washed out of the academy, but I refused to tell you why. And when that was not enough of an answer, you asked me why you should agree to the marriage at all, if you could not expect honesty from your future husband.”

It shouldn’t have hurt to hear those words dredged up again. Shouldn’t have burned like acid to recall how shamefully he’d acted, when the argument in question was long resolved. But he nodded, forcing down the defensiveness rising in his chest. “I was unfair to you that night. I should not have pushed you so far, nor demanded so much of you when you’d already given up everything for the sake of our arrangement.”

“But you were right,” Caleb said, his azurite eyes glinting with anguish as he met Essek’s startled glance. “I did owe you my honesty. You had no reason to trust me, and every reason to think I might have ulterior motives for agreeing to this marriage. And I could not answer you then, not without jeopardizing everything, but . . . but I think I can answer now, if you will allow it.”

“I suppose I cannot stop you,” Essek replied, barely breathing as he gestured for his husband to go on.

“Perhaps not,” Caleb agreed, shoulders lifting in a resigned shrug. “Well, then. Let me tell you the story of how I came to be one of Ikithon's prized researchers.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Fifty

“When I was young, I lived in a small township outside of Rexxentrum, called Blumenthal,” Caleb began, something in his chest uncoiling as the words fell from his lips. “My mother’s name was Una. My father’s name was Leofric. And I—it will not surprise you to know that even from a young age, I was considered exceptionally gifted. Clever, confident, well-spoken. People used to say that I glided through life, that everything just worked for me. And in many ways they were right.” He managed a brittle smile as he nodded in Essek’s direction. “I had it easier than you did, I think. There were expectations, yes, but I was given room to grow into whatever shape suited me best, and what suited me was science. I was fascinated by the world around me, by its depth and complexity. I wanted to know everything, so I explored everything, and when my knowledge eclipsed that of my teachers, my parents scraped together money for textbooks and research materials.”

Essek studied him, face hard, gripping the edges of his armrests with stiff fingers. Not angry, quite, but intense, as if he meant to dissect every detail. “You weren’t born to wealth, then,” he said, as if Caleb had just confirmed a long-held suspicion of his.

“No,” Caleb admitted, retreating to his usual armchair in the hopes that sitting down would make this conversation less stressful for the both of them. “That was a lie crafted by those who assembled my dossier. Most of those documents were falsified in some way. The Empire wanted to make me seem like a good match for this marriage; admitting I grew up in a little farming town, to a poor family with few prospects, would’ve ruined the image.”

“You’d have thought they’d have redacted the part about you being a mercenary as well, if they were trying to make you seem respectable,” Essek said, in a voice like glass being ground underfoot.

Caleb winced. It was entirely fair for Essek to be angry, he reminded himself. The falsehoods in his dossier might not be his most egregious offense, but he’d still lied about who he was. Even if their lives hadn’t become so intimately entangled, such a deception would be difficult to forgive.

But this was hardly the time to delve into that issue; the truths he intended to share tonight were so much worse than the spun-sugar lies he’d presented at the start of their relationship. He went on. “When I was fifteen, myself and two other students from my town were scouted by the Soltryce Academy. Our test scores had attracted the attention of the recruiters in Rexxentrum: officials looking for diamonds in the rough, whose acceptance into the academy would make their precious school appear more egalitarian than it truly was. Here was the most prestigious school in the Empire, an institution known for their brutal entrance exams and ruthless selection process, offering three nobodies from Blumenthal entry into their grand halls. It was the opportunity of a lifetime. Of course we accepted. We tested out of the basic program—a trivial accomplishment, given what awaited us—and three months later we were on a train to Rexxentrum, speeding toward our futures.”

He faltered then, nostalgia a throbbing ache in his chest. The clarity of experience had corroded the joy of those early days, but even so, remnants of that naive wonder lingered, painting his memories in shades of gold. “I remember stepping off the train in Rexxentrum and staring at the ornamental trees that dotted the sidewalks of the city. It was early autumn, and their leaves were a riot of color: deep reds and vibrant yellows, all the hues of the sunset. Perhaps it is silly to feel so enamored of such a thing, having grown up surrounded by farmland, but the depth of our excitement was such that even the mundane seemed extraordinary. As for the academy itself . . .” A peculiar pang went through him, part regret and part longing. “There were challenges, of course. For all Soltryce claims to value talent above everything, most of its students come from wealth. Not only that, but we were significantly younger than the other freshmen thanks to our early admittance. The three of us, we stuck out like canker sores, which left us . . . isolated from our peers. But even so, we excelled. From a young age, we’d been told we were very clever, and that if we worked hard, our accomplishments would bring great honor to our parents, to all of Blumenthal. How could we be bothered by petty bullying when the future seemed so bright?”

Essek’s eyebrows furrowed, the line of his jaw softening. “But it did not remain so, for you.”

“No,” Caleb admitted, the word sour on his tongue. “I suppose you could say my hopes for the future were too bright. They blinded me to the corruption that so often slithers through such places.” He drew in a fortifying breath, absently scratching at his forearm. “I joined the neuroscience program midway through my second year. That’s not quite standard. For most higher education in the Empire, students are expected to do two years of general studies, followed by specialization in a particular field for another two to six years. But I’d scored very well on my entrance exams—we still took them, for all that we’d been scouted ahead of time—and tested out of several courses without having to take a single class. And for the courses I did take, I performed well enough to draw the attention of some of the faculty’s higher-ups. The word ‘prodigy’ was thrown around, though if I am being honest, I was never quite comfortable with the term. I had a natural aptitude, that is undeniable, but I felt the word minimized how much work I’d put into my studies.”

“I’m familiar with the feeling,” Essek said, a shadow passing across his face, as if he were remembering his own time as a student. “What happened after that?”

“Well, there was a lot of buzz about me by then, and with that, a great deal of pressure for me to choose a particular discipline. I’d received offers from several departments assuring me that if I joined their programs, I would have access to as many resources as they could send my way. I must admit I was waffling. There were so many things that interested me, so much yet to learn. How could I be expected to choose? But then I received a rather extravagant offer from the head of the neuroscience department—not just a promise of resources, but a position as one of his research assistants. Which may not sound terribly glamorous from the outside, but . . .”

“But it would have opened avenues to better opportunities, as well as given you work experience under a respected name,” Essek finished with a grimace.

“Precisely. Not only that, but the professor was considered one of the foremost neurologists in the Empire. So of course I accepted. And it was wonderful at first, as everything about the academy had been wonderful. Ikithon was patient, supportive, invested in my progress—everything you could ever want of a professor, or so it seemed. Not only that, but for the first time since I’d arrived at Soltryce, I was studying alongside people with whom I shared real common ground. Two of my fellow students, Astrid and Eadwulf, had also grown up in Blumenthal, though I’d known them only in passing back then. The three of us became friends in his program, and then more than friends. We relied on one another, encouraged each other. Pushed each other, when necessary. We, all of us, were ambitious, hungry for prestige. In hindsight, I think Ikithon used our commonalities against us. He had his pick of proteges—anyone with even a passing interest in neurology would have been grateful for the opportunity to work with him. Why select three youths from the same nowhere town unless he meant for our shared roots to bring us closer together, to create a bond he could then apply pressure to? We made hostages of one another without ever realizing it.”

“He manipulated you,” Essek said, voice tight.

“Ja, you could say that.” Caleb sighed. “It didn’t help that our studies left us little time for socializing. Neuroscience is a challenging field to begin with, and Ikithon had high expectations. We’d stay up late into the night writing papers or doing lab work, then wake up early again the next morning for class. It kept us isolated, made it easier to justify going weeks or months without spending time with anyone outside the program, and what scant downtime we had was devoted to resting or trying to get ahead of the curve. Not a particularly healthy mindset, but Ikithon was always so proud of us when we finished a difficult project. None of us wished to let him down, so when he mentioned he was having difficulty securing participants for his new study, we offered ourselves as test subjects. In our minds, the lack of volunteers seemed a terrible injustice. He was a brilliant neuroscientist; people ought to be lining up at his office to apply as a test subject, we thought. But if others were unwilling to do their part, the three of us would do our best to fill the gap.”

An uneasy curiosity sparked in Essek’s eyes; he leaned forward in his chair, violet eyes keen. “What was he testing?”

Caleb hesitated, weighing his words carefully before responding. “He claimed it was a therapy machine. Specifically, it was meant to aid in the recovery of memories for those who’d experienced traumatic brain injuries or mental deterioration as a result of illness or age. Essentially, patients would receive an implant that would integrate with their nervous system over time and reinforce deteriorating pathways in the brain before they were lost entirely. Ikithon told us the procedure would be less invasive than existing surgeries, as the implant would be placed into the arm or leg and attach to the peripheral nervous system, from which it would trace a pathway back to the brain.”

Essek hummed skeptically. “I can see why he lacked for volunteers. Not many people would be willing to have an untested neural implant inserted into their bodies.”

Caleb felt a trickle of bitter humor at his husband’s dismissal. “As I said, we were eager to prove ourselves. Recklessly so.”

Essek winced. “I didn’t mean—”

“Ja, I know,” Caleb said. “You’re right, though; we should have known better. But we were young and foolish, and we trusted our professor would not put us through such an experiment unless he was certain it was safe. And it all seemed very professional in any case. We would sit down while he placed the implants in our arms, and then we would answer questions about ourselves while the device collected data from our nervous system. It was . . . innocuous. Mundane. He’d ask us to recall memories from our childhood, or run us through mental exercises while the device was active, and when he finished collecting data, he would remove the implant and send us on our way. He even eased up on our assignments, as a reward for helping him with his research.

“But, of course, it did not end there. Soon after, he began introducing new elements to the experiments. Intravenous drugs to relax us so we’d be less able to withhold details while recounting our memories. Personal inquiries about things we regretted or felt shame over. Interrogation sessions that dragged on for hours. Eventually, we reached a point where he would leave the implants inside our bodies to gather data in between sessions.

“The three of us began to grow uneasy about participating—the more he pushed, the less therapeutic his work seemed. And there were . . . side-effects. Headaches, mostly, but also periods when it seemed our minds seemed to be growing more muddled, not less. What we’d initially believed to be a great opportunity started to feel like a bad dream. But we—” He faltered, shoulders hunching as if he could shield himself from the memories. “We didn’t know who to go to with our concerns. Even if we had, we didn’t want to cause trouble for him, not when he held our futures in his hands. So we kept it among ourselves, endured as best we could.”

“He was experimenting on you,” Essek whispered, aghast.

“We went willingly,” Caleb said. And then, steeling himself, he said, “The same cannot be said for all his test subjects.”

Essek’s eyes snapped to his, his face paling as his slender fingers dug into the armrests. Caleb kneaded the thick fabric of his coat-sleeve between his fingers, braced for the disgust, the recriminations, but Essek only closed his eyes in bleak comprehension. “Before, you accused him of medical malpractice.”

“And human experimentation, ja.” Caleb looked away. “The Assembly has a facility, north of Rexxentrum: the Vergesson Sanatorium. Supposedly, the facility’s purpose is to provide specialized treatment for individuals suffering from severe mental or emotional instability—a hospital of sorts, meant to tend to the Empire’s most vulnerable citizens. And some of their patients do receive that care: the ones with families to ask after them, or money to pay for rehabilitative services. But others . . .” He faltered, memories floating to the surface of his mind like corpses, bloated and putrescent: the featureless cell where he’d be abandoned for days on end; the cracked tiles on the walls of the corridor outside, where one of his fellow inmates had wrested himself from the bruising grip of the orderlies’ hands and proceeded to smash his head into the wall hard enough to fracture his skull; the glint of fluorescent lights reflecting off the scalpel Caleb had used to carve the neural implant from his forearm.

He’d spent most of his internment at the sanatorium in a fog, the keen blade of his mind dulled by what Ikithon had done to him. It had taken him several months after he’d nearly bled out in his cell to realize the neural implant had still been transmitting, interfering with his higher cognitive functions. The one small mercy of his impairment was that he remembered only bits and pieces of his time in Vergesson. If he’d had full access to everything he suspected had happened to him there, he doubted he’d have been able to cling to his sanity those first harrowing months after his escape.

“We’d been in the program for a little over two years when I hit my breaking point,” he said at last, skipping ahead. Essek was still watching him, a sickly pallor to his face, as if he’d gleaned more than enough from Caleb’s protracted silence to fill in the gaps in his story. “It was winter break, and Astrid, Eadwulf, and I had decided to return to Blumenthal for the holiday to reorient ourselves. By then, we all understood that this grand opportunity for our futures had gone dreadfully awry. We thought returning home might grant us some distance, some perspective. I—” His breath caught. “I remember my mother and father being surprised to see me turn up at their door. But they welcomed me home and set about preparing a holiday dinner. Looking back, it’s clear they were worried for me. I hadn’t visited in over a year, and I’d only rarely made time to call. They must have known something was wrong, but I think they were afraid they’d scare me off if they asked too many questions.

“As for myself, I barely remember half of what they said. My mind was filled with fog. I still had one of Ikithon’s devices implanted in my arms. All of us had, for months. Nothing felt real, and my head hurt. It was always hurting, it never stopped. But I . . .” He shook his head, an echo of remembered pain clutching at the back of his skull. “I remember heading upstairs for bed, and then coming back down some hours later, convinced that my mother had left the stove on. I was so sure, Essek. I was so sure. But everything after that is fragmented. I remember turning off the stove, but something went wrong. I got confused, turned the dials the wrong direction. And then I . . . left? I must have, because I remember being outside in the snow when the windows shattered behind me. The gas from the stove had ignited somehow, a spark, or some fault in the wiring, and then the house was burning, flames crawling up the walls like ants swarming an overripe apple, and my parents—” His fingers curled, fingernails dragging against the upholstery with an audible scritch. “I killed them, Essek. I put my trust in a man with no conscience, and I killed them.”

Essek shook his head. “It was an accident. You weren’t in your right mind.”

“But I still did it,” he whispered, rocking forward in his chair. Stars, he could still taste the smoke at the back of his throat, still feel the heat prickling against his skin. He’d tried to run back inside after the explosion, but he’d scarcely made it through the front door before the heat had driven him back. “Do you know, after the firefighters put out the blaze, they did an investigation? According to their report, they found traces of gasoline among the cinders. Arson, they said. I still don’t know if the Assembly paid someone to falsify the report, or if—if I really—”

Abruptly, Essek rose from his chair and caught Caleb’s hands between his own. “Enough,” he said, voice frail, as if the weight of Caleb’s confession had pressed all the strength from it. “Caleb, moy svet, it wasn’t your fault. You were manipulated.”

Caleb clenched his jaw, hunching forward to rest his forehead against his husband’s shoulder. “I could have walked away. Not that night, maybe, but I’d had plenty of opportunities. We knew by then that Ikithon had lied about the therapeutic applications of his implants. At best, he’d stumbled upon a way to meddle with people’s cognitive functions and wanted to see how far he could take it. At worst . . .” He drew in a short, sharp breath. “If I had to guess, I’d say his true goal was to develop a new method of interrogation, one which would allow him to manipulate the brain directly. Such a technique would’ve been particularly valuable to the government as tensions between our two nations continued to rise. But that is only conjecture. I was . . . not well, after the fire. Nor was I in any position to keep tabs on his movements over the years that followed. It’s only very recently that I’ve been able to even consider the idea of seeking justice.”

“Justice,” Essek repeated thinly, tightening his grip around Caleb’s hands.

Caleb lifted his head, heart constricting at his husband’s stony expression, but when no recriminations came pouring forth, he slipped his hands free and leaned back in his chair. “I’m sure you have questions—” he began, then broke off as Essek raised a forestalling hand.

“A moment, please,” he said, rising to his feet and stalking several paces in the opposite direction. He halted there, spine stiff, hands curled into fists as he dragged in a deep breath and held it. Caleb waited, counting out the seconds until at last Essek exhaled sharply and pivoted to face him. “You said you were nineteen when the fire happened?”

“That is correct.”

“And you spent five years on the streets before meeting the Mighty Nein?”

Warily, Caleb nodded. “Thereabouts, ja.”

“Which leaves seven years unaccounted for, yes?”

His throat tightened with shame. “I . . . broke a little, after the fire,” he admitted, fidgeting in his seat. “The shock of losing my parents, and then being under investigation . . . I became unresponsive for a time. Catatonic, really. It was as if my mind was trapped in amber. I was not mentally fit to attend the trial, let alone be sent to prison. Instead, I ended up at Vergesson, in one of their high-security cells where they keep patients who are a danger to themselves, or to others. I wasn’t cognizant enough to understand where I was, or why. If I had been, maybe . . .” The words fell off into silence. He’d already been declared too unwell for prison—even if he’d somehow managed to scrape together an argument for why he should be transferred to a different facility, no one would have listened to him. And so he’d been left to drift in that aching fog, drowning in grief and self-loathing.

“I remained at Vergesson for the better part of seven years,” he went on, sounding terribly fragile to his own ears. “I don’t remember much of it. My impairment was such that I would dissociate for long periods. But what little I do remember . . .” He shuddered. “Maybe at one time the facility was only a mental hospital, but under the Assembly’s management it has become little more than a convenient way of disposing of those who would expose their crimes. And I know how paranoid that sounds, how much like a baseless conspiracy theory. I know you must think I’m lying, or delusional, or—”

“Do not presume to know what I think,” Essek said, making a swift, cutting gesture with his hand. “I am a scion of one of the most influential dens in the Dynasty. I am not oblivious to the depravity that so often comes with power. And you—” He faltered, mouth twisting with some complicated emotion. “I’ve known for some time that you were no stranger to suffering. I may have underestimated the degree to which you’d been abused, but I am not going to call you a liar when you wear the evidence of what happened carved into your arms. Nor do I think you’re delusional.”

“Most people would.”

“Most people are fools.” Essek glided over to his writing desk, drumming his fingers on the wooden desktop in agitation before turning once more to face him. “So what happens next? You say you wish to bring down the Assembly—do you have a plan?”

“Of sorts.” He rose from his chair and tentatively approached his husband. Essek stilled, expression guarded, as if he wasn’t sure where they stood now that so terrible a truth lay between them. “I am not asking you to put yourself at risk, but . . .”

Essek raised an eyebrow. “But?”

“I need help decrypting the Assembly’s files. I’ve been trying, but my tablet lacks the processing power necessary to crack the encryption, and I cannot tap into any public servers for fear the Assembly might realize I have their data. But your network security is far superior to anything I could access elsewhere, as well as being built to handle massive amounts of information. It may be enough.”

“You want access to my lab computer.”

Caleb winced. “If you’d rather not allow me back into your lab, I can give you the data chip, and you can run the program yourself. But if we are to have any hope of tearing down the Assembly, we need these documents. Please, Essek.” Desperately, he reached out and took his husband’s hand. “I can’t do this alone.”

Essek’s ears twitched, his jaw flexing as he looked away. But after a long moment, the tension eased out of his posture, leaving a strange sort of melancholy in its wake. “Of course,” he said quietly. “Whatever you need.”