Chapter Text
Essek’s life as the Shadowhand of the Kryn Dynasty dies a sudden, soundless death.
Soundless, because the Silence spell upon his door deafens the crack of magic that should have come from outside his quarters. But it doesn’t suppress the blue-white flare of light. It’s dulled by the film of snow clinging to his window, but it’s familiar, unmistakable. Essek sets down his quill and pushes his papers aside, pleasure simmering up inside him, because this light is the glare of a Teleport spell and that means Uraya is back.
The Essek Thelyss of a year ago would have kept writing without looking up. The Essek of nine months ago would have opened the door and asked the nearest soldier to welcome Uraya for him and send them to his quarters. The Essek who exists here, now, lifts into his float and pulls on his gloves and cloak. Then he drifts out into the snow to meet his friend.
The evening is clear, the snow perfectly smooth except for where it’s been tramped down by boots and–in the centre of the thoroughfare–stamped with a halo of fractals from Uraya’s teleport. Uraya themself is standing in the centre of the outpost, leaning a little on their staff. Essek opens his mouth to call out a greeting. Then he looks at them more closely, and the words falter. Uraya’s grip on their staff is just a little too tight, and their body is hunched and still.
Something has gone awry. The teleport, perhaps. Magical travel to Eiselcross is a dangerous, unpredictable business, and even a mage as skilled as Uraya isn’t immune to mishaps. Essek’s stomach kicks. He wills himself into as swift a float as he can manage without being utterly graceless, and skims over the snow to stand before his friend. ‘Uraya. Are you injured?’
Uraya’s fingers clench harder around their staff. They breathe out, breath thickening into mist, and raise their head.
They look at him.
They look at Essek, and there’s a half-second in which they’re too slow to cover what’s on their face. One instant in which the practiced non-expression of a Dynasty courtier cracks, and Essek sees.
First, he sees what’s not there: the usual pleasure in his friend’s face as they meet his eyes. And then he sees what is there. Wariness, turning to confusion, to bright flash of anger, to confusion again, and finally a pain that’s deeper than anything a teleportation mishap could inflict.
And that moment is enough to tell Essek: they know.
Then, because Uraya’s a Dynasty courtier, they smile and loosen their death-grip on their staff. ‘Nothing to be concerned about. I can survive an arcane punch or two.’
Essek is a courtier too, so he smiles back. ‘That is comforting to hear. I am glad to have you returned.’
‘Thank you, Essek. I’ve brought the items you requested, and the new directives from the Lucid Bastion. Shall I leave them in your quarters?’
This is absurd. Uraya knows. Or they suspect. And here the two of them are, discussing formwork in the most pleasant tones they can muster. A conversation of genial lies, as if Essek isn’t a traitor and Uraya hasn’t just become, somehow, aware of that fact.
Essek knots his fingers together, grateful for how his cloak conceals the gesture. He has to find out how much they know. He has to–Light, he has to order his thoughts, first of all–he has to determine how much danger he’s in. Which means somehow getting Uraya to say yes, Essek, I believe you are guilty of the greatest possible sacrilegious treason, and here is how I learned of it.
He has to breathe, too. And not do anything foolish, like panicking.
So he keeps his smile in place. ‘Better to discuss the reports together, I think,’ he says. ‘I’d appreciate hearing your insights on our new orders.’
Uraya nods smoothly, but there’s a nervous twitch to their ears.
So Essek leads them to his quarters and closes the door, sealing out the noise of the outpost. Uraya hops up onto the goblin-sized chair that Essek keeps here for their use, and pulls an armful of tomes from their bag. ‘The books you asked for. And–’ They produce a thick scroll bound in white ribbon. ‘Our new orders.’
Essek nods absently. The Bright Queen’s instructions are spectacularly unimportant to him right now. Uraya knows, and Essek needs to know how.
Uraya is clever and careful. But they’re also prone to flustering, and they’ve never learned to speak falsehoods as fluently as Essek. The method here is obvious: apply pressure until their composure fractures. Which Essek has done to his fellow courtiers a thousand times before, but–this is Uraya. His friend. And Essek learned from the Mighty Nein just how little he enjoys manipulating his friends.
But if someone in the Lens or the Aurora Watch has told Uraya to stay silent, to keep Essek ignorant until they can come for him… then Essek has no other option. He has to be the Shadowhand, just once more.
‘Uraya.’ He frowns and leans a little toward them. ‘Are you sure you’re all right? You seem…’ He measures, mentally, the appropriate length of the pause. ‘Not quite yourself.’
That nervous ear-twitch reappears. ‘Oh, not at all. Not at all. Just eager for some rest. I always get a little wrung out after dealing with the court. You know how they are.’
‘I do,’ Essek says, with just the right amount of dubiousness. ‘The pointless interjections from Den Icozrin can be wearing.’
Uraya gives a shaky laugh. ‘And there were many. Anyway–the reports. Yes.’
Essek lets them go over the scroll and announce the Bright Queen’s orders. There’s no purpose in listening; none of it has any bearing on him now. If Uraya knows, then the Dynasty must know too, and the word Shadowhand is a flag flying on a ship already sunk.
‘–and I’m to deliver our next report by the end of next month,’ Uraya finishes, rolling up the scroll again. ‘So, um. That is the news.’
‘All the news?’ Essek says, lifting his eyebrows.
Uraya squirms. They do so almost imperceptibly, but Essek is a paranoid man, and reading physical tells is something he learned alongside the reading of arcane glyphs. ‘Nothing more,’ they say.
‘Mm. I have a feeling there is more to what occurred during your trip than irrelevant remarks from Den Icozrin.’
Uraya’s face goes a little too still. There’s little that a court member fears more than this: to be caught in a blatant lie. A moment passes, then another, and Uraya’s window to deflect closes. The silence has lasted too long.
Which Uraya must know, because they hunch forward and bow their head. ‘Essek,’ they say, and their voice rasps in their throat. ‘Don’t ask me.’
Their voice is thick with fear.
And for the first time, Essek fully appreciates what he is trying to make them do. If they do anything, say anything, to let Essek know that he’s under suspicion, then Uraya will be a traitor too. They’re not lying to keep Essek oblivious of the armed guards coming to put him in chains; they’re lying because they could die if they don’t. And Essek has been trying to maneuver them toward that precipice.
The room is magically warmed, but a coldness settles through Essek’s limbs. After Cognouza, after the Nein, he was meant to be–well. Not this.
Essek closes his eyes. Breathes in. Remembers Caleb’s arms holding him, his lips against Essek’s cheek. Try to be kind to yourself.
All right. Kindness to himself means remembering that the habits of a hundred and twenty years cannot be undone in nine months. The Shadowhand is a practiced role, and he will have to give himself time to unlearn the lines.
For now, all he can do is try to do right by Uraya. He starts to wonder what the Mighty Nein would say and do, then recalls that he is one of the Mighty Nein.
He opens his eyes and looks down at his friend. ‘I apologise; I intruded on your privacy.’ He licks his lips and forces out the rest of what he has to say. ‘I will not ask you to say anything that makes you uncomfortable, or endangers you. Please, go and rest. And thank you for the books.’
Uraya looks at him for a long moment, blinking. Then they nod slowly and slip down from their stool. They walk to the door, put one small hand upon the handle, and stop for a moment, as if considering saying more. Then they shake their head and lift the latch. The noise of the outpost returns briefly as the door opens, then vanishes as it shuts.
In the silence, Essek sits. And sits.
So, it is over. Uraya suspects. Which means the Dynasty suspects, which means they will be coming for him. And if they catch him, they will take him and try him and execute him, because he is guilty of every crime he’ll be charged with.
They’re coming. He doesn’t know when, because he doesn’t know how close they are to learning the truth. Uraya may have only overheard whispered rumours in the halls of the Bastion.Or perhaps the head of the Lens herself took them aside to warn them of Essek’s treacherous nature, to recruit them to keep an eye on him. The former scenario might give Essek a few weeks to prepare, perhaps. The latter gives him considerably less time.
His chance to know for certain just walked out of his quarters. And Essek does not regret that. He doesn’t. But it’s galling, to sit with this sick weight of terror and know that he chose it, in the name of doing something right for his friend. And even if he flees now he will still have lost Uraya, lost their respect and trust and company.
He has lost them, as he has lost his position and his home. He will never return to Rosohna unless he goes in chains. He will never–oh, Light, he is never going to see Verin again.
The composure he has been forcing into place is fracturing. He is breathing too hard. He isn’t breathing enough.
This again, Essek thinks tiredly, as his lungs continue to stutter. And since he’s always most productive when he has a fixed goal in mind, he sets himself one: breathe. For the next few minutes, just breathe.
And he does, pulling his cloak tight around him and focusing on just getting air, until the scream in his brain is no longer drowning everything and his lungs remember what a rhythm is. Then he waits a little more. Then he presses his teeth together, hard.
He cannot afford this. He needs to think. He needs to determine his goal.
He has always had a goal before. For his earliest decades, it was earn my Den’s approval, before he realised how meaningless that was. Then it was uncover the secrets of dunamancy. Then it was find a way to safely pass the beacons to the Assembly, then conceal that the beacons were passed to the Assembly. And that goal has survived for just over four years, excepting the week where it vanished behind one overwhelming purpose: help and protect the Mighty Nein.
The most reasonable goal, at present, is obvious: flee from the Dynasty. Flee before he can be arrested and executed. And he will have to resign himself to keeping that goal in mind for the rest of his centuries.
He’s ready to go. All his essentials are already sealed in his Secret Chest spell; he could grab what he needs from his office in five minutes and teleport to one of his pre-planned boltholes. He may as well make a start now; staying another hour, another minute could condemn him. Yes. It’s time to go.
Essek doesn’t move.
Because–well, it’s as he told the Nein. Who is he to quarrel if the Aurora Watch should come for him? He can deny nothing. He can offer no justification. He has no excuse for running except that he wants to cling to his life. Fleeing would be the action of a selfish creature, a coward, everything he no longer wants to be.
But he wants to live. He is as selfish as he’s always been and Light, he wants to live–
Essek’s fingers clench into his cloak, nails scraping against the fabric. There’s a howl trying to burst from his chest, and he wants very badly to let it out–but not here, in the silence of his office. He wants it to be heard by someone who cares. He wants to tell someone what he’s feeling, and ask what he should do. And perhaps he could call Uraya back, confess everything, seek their guidance if they are not too hurt to give it. But he doesn’t want to talk to Uraya. He could Send to Verin, even teleport to him in Bazzoxan, and maybe Verin would hear him out once he got over his first shock of anger. But he doesn’t want to talk to Verin. He doesn’t want to talk to any of his distant elder siblings or his comrades in Vurmas or to the mother with whom he shares nothing. The only people he wants to talk to, right now, are the Mighty Nein.
And as if the thought had conjured her, Jester yells her way into his head.
‘Essek! We just killed, like, this basilisk sea snake thing. Fjord got turned to stone but he’s okay now. Kingsley says hi! How are you –’
Jester’s voice shuts off. Essek licks his lips and tries to assign meaning to anything she has just said. Ordinary conversation–as much as any conversation with Jester Lavorre can be described as ordinary –is a bit beyond him right now.
‘A basilisk? That’s impressive. I am glad Fjord is all right.’ Essek hesitates, then decides there is no right way to break news like this. ‘Things on my end are… complicated. The Dynasty suspects. My position is… somewhat vulnerable.’
Only a few seconds pass before Jester’s reply explodes through his skull. ‘They know? But that’s okay, Essek, just teleport to our ship and we’ll make sure you’re safe. Just leave right now. Don’t let them –’
Essek swallows. Some part of him, he realises, still expected the Nein to tell him that the right thing to do, the selfless thing, would be to hand himself in. ‘I will get to safety, yes. I just –’
Once again, he stops, but–he can tell Jester what he’s feeling. She is his friend. He wants to tell her. ‘I feel very selfish doing so. Like I am acting like the person I was before meeting you.’
The silence is longer this time. Uncharacteristically long, by Jester’s standards. But after perhaps a minute, her voice returns. Quieter than usual. More intense.
‘Essek, it’s okay to want to live. If you died, it wouldn’t do anything. You’d just be dead, and we’d be so sad.’ A pause. ‘I’m going–’
He does not learn what Jester is going to do, however, for two reasons. Firstly, the spell ends, and her voice dissolves; secondly, there’s a knock on his door. A familiar knock.
Essek hesitates, waiting for Jester to Send again. But she is, for once, silent. Out of spells, perhaps. So Essek swallows and says, ‘Come in, Uraya.’
Uraya does, pulling the door open, slapping it shut, and then leaning against it. Their lips are pursed as tightly as their jagged teeth will allow. They look at Essek for a long moment without speaking, long enough that Essek ventures a concerned frown in their direction. ‘Is something wrong?’
They don’t respond to this, instead staring at him some more and taking in a long breath. Then they say, ‘I have been thinking.’
Another pause. Essek waits for Uraya to continue, and when they don’t, says, ‘About what?’
‘About how I think you are in danger.’
Essek forces a wry smile. ‘That has always been the case.’
‘Yes, but today, I– there was–’ Uraya stops, mouth open but words apparently frozen, then draws themself a little taller. ‘You’re right. Something did happen while I was gone.’
They don’t have to say this. Perhaps they feel that Essek just did them a favour when he let them leave without telling him anything, and that it has to be returned. But that isn’t a reason to gamble with their life. ‘Uraya, listen. I will be grateful for anything you can say, if you know something that puts me at risk. But do not put yourself in undue danger on my account.’
Uraya wraps their arms around their torso and remains like that for a second or two. Then– ‘But you could have kept pushing, and… well. You didn’t.’
Unsure of what they’re trying to say, Essek dips his head slowly. ‘You have been a friend. For many years. I owe you more than–than what I gave in that moment, and again, I apologise.’
‘And that’s it.’ Uraya gestures to him with a clawed finger. ‘That’s why I came back, and it’s why I have to–why I want to say this. Not knowing about something is always dangerous, in lives like ours. But you were going to… to not know. So I would be safer.’
‘You do not owe me anything because of that.’
Uraya waves one small hand in agitation. ‘But I don’t like it. I went back to my quarters, and I was relieved that you didn’t push any more, and I was grateful. And then I remembered that I was putting you–I am putting you in danger by not saying anything. I didn’t like it. I don’t. It’s very unpleasant. So I thought of what I could do to help, and everything felt less unpleasant. So here I am.’
They’re now a little out of breath, which gives Essek time to say, ‘I’m not fond of you being in danger yourself, Uraya.’
They lift their head, and there’s resolution in the firm set of their shoulders as they look Essek in the eyes again. ‘That will be my decision,’ they say, and they take one firm step further into the room.
Again, Essek waits. They’re silent for a few seconds, clearly gathering both their courage and their words. Then they sigh. ‘It was after I had finished giving my report and collecting the new orders. I was going to find a quiet place to teleport back–I despise doing it in front of everyone–and someone whom I thought was Aurora Watch asked to speak with me in private.’
Essek resists the urge to bite his lip, and nods for them to go on.
‘I thought she was going to apply for a favour. Some personal matter that she didn’t want overheard. But then she led me into an antechamber with a Silenced door.’ Uraya’s lips peel back into a rueful grin. ‘And once she started asking a truly overwhelming amount of questions, I realized she was most likely a Lens agent’
‘And what was her line of questioning?’
‘You were.’ Uraya’s smile drops. ‘She asked about your activities here at the outpost. She asked whether I had ever seen you leave unaccompanied, or deliver a Sending to an unknown person. She asked quite a bit about your... excursion with those friends of yours.’
‘And what did you tell her?’
‘I–well, the truth. I was afraid to lie, to be frank. She was unfriendly.’
Well, at least Uraya is unlikely to have shared anything that could make the Lens more suspicious than they already are. Yes, his world-saving trip with the Nein did very much bring him into contact with the Cerberus Assembly, but Uraya couldn’t have shared that, since they don’t know it. And, yes, Essek receives near-daily Sendings from Jester–and from Caleb, now that he has also learned the spell. But if Uraya has overheard those messages, little about them could be incriminating. Not unless the Lens agent found it highly suspect that Essek regularly answers questions about his taste in pastries and the current state of his bowel operations.
‘I understand,’ Essek says. And he does. He would never expect Uraya to defy the Lens for his sake. ‘And then she... permitted you to return?’
It seems a reckless move. Certainly, his closeness with Uraya has mostly solidified here in Vurmas, away from Rosohna’s eyes. And no one really associates the term Shadowhand with the word friends. But she might at least have considered that Uraya might give Essek a warning, or say something accidental to make him suspect.
An uncharacteristic hardness comes over Uraya’s face. ‘She did. After she attempted to erase my memory of the conversation.’
Essek stares at them, and knows a fierce, Beauregard-like urge to find that agent and gravitationally hurl her through a wall or two. Which is hideously hypocritical, given what he did to Adeen. But the problem of having had the Nein unlock his full range of emotions is that those emotions have become very insistent on being felt. ‘Clearly her attempt was unsuccessful,’ he says, once he’s managed to swallow down the rather sharper words he’d like to say.
‘Indeed. I acted as though the spell had taken effect, pretended to forget the whole exchange, and returned to Vurmas immediately.’
There’s no need to ask how Uraya succeeded in such a deception, even though they’re not as skilled a liar as many of the Dynasty elite. Divination magic–the art of peering into possibilities and causing them to crystallise–is an esteemed art among dunamancers, and Essek knows none more skilled than Uraya. If they wished to deceive a Lens agent, then it would have taken a second’s focus for Uraya to manifest a reality in which they found the right words, or where the agent failed to see Uraya’s tells.
Uraya’s claws drum restlessly against the haft of their staff. ‘That is everything I can share. I apologise for my, um, jitteriness. I was a bit thrown to be quizzed by the Lens, and more thrown that they were asking about you, so–'
They break off, the drumming quickening. What they’re really saying, of course, is why is the Lens investigating you, but they cannot say it. Even when it’s only the two of them alone.
This, Essek thinks tiredly, is why his bond with Uraya was never enough to break him out of his isolation. It’s why his care for Verin was never enough either. His friend and his brother always mattered to him, and they matter still, but they cannot speak truly openly to each other. It took Beau’s bluntness and Caduceus’s warmth and Jester’s– everything –to teach Essek what real, open conversation was like. To teach him honestly, and vulnerability to go with it.
‘I understand,’ he says. ‘It has been a difficult time, I suppose. The Dynasty has suffered much. Suspicions are high, and the Lens has nothing to lose by caution.’
‘Mm,’ Uraya says, which means I know a deflection when I hear one, Essek. They’re still steadily meeting his gaze, and–oh.
Their face is full of pain. Of what Essek can only describe as pre-emptive mourning. It is a look that says, I’ve heard the rumours flitting about Rosohna of a double agent, a traitor. I know what the Lens has been investigating of late. I know you are a man with access and ambition. I know what you might be capable of, if you only had the motivation. It's the look of someone ready to lose a friend, whether to an executioner’s blade, or to the realisation that perhaps that friendship was a lie.
Well. If nothing else, Essek can ensure they don’t continue under such a misbelief. He leans forward, and looks steadily into Uraya’s eyes. ‘Uraya, I am grateful–very grateful indeed–that you took the risk of sharing this with me. I know this was not safe for you to do, and it will not be forgotten. I owe you a great favour.’ One he’ll likely have no chance to repay, but all the same. ‘And I am sorry for what was almost done to you. Whatever suspicions the Lens holds about me… it should not have brought such treatment upon you. You deserve better.’ From them, and from me. ‘You are a good friend.’
Uraya’s eyes close, stay shut for a few seconds, then open again and lock onto his. ‘As are you.’ They straighten their robes and reach for the door again. ‘Whatever is going on… be careful.’
‘Uraya.’ The question Essek wishes to ask is a foolish one, but if this is the last full conversation he ever holds with them, he does not care. He cannot bear centuries not knowing. ‘What do you believe? About the Lens’s suspicions?’
This silences them for a long time, but at last they breathe in hard and say, ‘Either they are mistaken, or they are correct. If the latter is the case…’ Their jaw clenches, and for a half-second, the look they give Essek is hard. Then it resolves once again into simple pain. ‘Then I am still glad I acted to protect a friend. As he protected me.’
Essek cannot speak, but that doesn’t matter, because he has no words to say. So he presses his lips hard together and bows his head. Breathes in and out. When he looks up, Uraya is gazing steadily at him, a sad smile on their face.
‘Be well, Essek,’ they say. Which is a farewell, of course.
They reach once again for the door. And Essek says nothing to stop them, so in a moment the door closes behind them, and they’re gone.
Essek bows his head. For a moment, he can think of nothing but the finality of Uraya’s last words to him. Then he shakes himself, and runs their words through his mind again.
So, Uraya did not come by their suspicions from rumours in the corridors of the Bastion. No, the Dynasty’s suspicions are advanced enough that the Lens are actively interrogating Essek’s acquaintances; a risky move, and one that they would only perform if they were already closing a net. Essek’s throat grows tight as he thinks of agents marching into Verin’s office in Bazzoxan, but–no. No thinking of Verin or of anything back in the Dynasty. The urgent issue is that it is most definitely time to leave.
Which still feels viciously selfish, and yet... Uraya wanted it. Be well, they told him, as if they knew that soon they wouldn’t see him again. They were glad they warned him, even if he had betrayed the Dynasty, because then Essek could get to safety. Uraya wanted him to leave. Uraya wanted him to live.
The Mighty Nein wanting him to live is no surprise, not anymore. But Essek has not bared his core to Uraya. He hasn’t fought a would-be god with them, or helped them face an Assembly member who wanted them dead. He has never poured out heartfelt speeches about how much they have changed him.
But he has invited them to share meals with them. He’s studied alongside them and valued their opinions. Laughed with them, discussed their shared interests, attempted a few jokes. He’s brought a goblin-sized chair into his office and asked their opinions of almost everything he’s done over the past nine months. To be truthful, Essek knows more about Uraya’s life, past and passions than he knows about Yasha’s or Fjord’s.
Is that enough? Essek thinks, and then, well, apparently it was enough for them.
And as he tries to process that thought, he jolts as Jester’s voice returns.
‘Okay, so, Caleb’s on his way. I told him what’s going on. He says he’ll be with you super fast.’ Another pause, while, presumably, Fjord holds up three fingers and Jester hums and haws. ‘Also, we love you!’
It’s a few moments before Essek remembers that he can, and should, respond. ‘Caleb is on his way here? Not alone, surely. That is... not a safe journey. I will be glad to see him, of course, but–’
He feels the arcane tether between himself and Jester snap. It’s rare for him to forget to count his words in a Sending, but–Caleb is coming to Vurmas. For Essek.
Stirred into restlessness, Essek rises and drifts a circle around his quarters. Caleb is on his way. To do–what? Is he afraid that Essek will hand himself over to the Aurora Watch without a friend to restrain him? Is he concerned that Essek is on the verge of a breakdown–a justified concern, given Essek’s current state? Does he wish to protect Essek, should the Dynasty come for him? Or is this simply a desire to be here, to be with Essek in his distress?
Once, Essek would have dismissed such a thought. He does not dismiss it now. The Nein have declared him to be one of them, and he saw just what the Nein will do for their own when Kingsley opened his eyes in the heart of Cognouza. And besides, if Uraya thinks Essek is worth risking for, it is no surprise that Caleb thinks the same.
Still. It’s a lot, Caleb– Caleb– coming here.
Essek raises one hand, halfway ready to cast Sending to the man in question, to ask if he really intends to come. But a voice enters his head before he can. A lower, slower voice, this time, and one that makes Essek’s insides flip.
‘ Hallo, Essek. I’m in the north–a little off-target, but unhurt. I’ll be with you tomorrow morning. Run if you need to. I’ll meet you.’
Twenty-five words exactly. Essek smiles.
‘You will be a welcome sight, Caleb. Stay safe. Eiselcross is unforgiving. And… thank you.’
He waits, but no further messages come. But in the renewed silence, the sound of his own breathing is not quite so loud, nor so unsteady.
All right. Tomorrow morning, he will speak with Caleb. And knowing that allows Essek to think with reason rather than panic, and remember that he should rest. It’s unlikely that anything dangerous will happen between now and Caleb’s arrival; possible, but unlikely. He should prepare to leave and take his trance. Then he can face whatever is to come in a much better state: well-rested, and with Caleb here.
Essek hovers for a minute in stillness. He resists the urge to brush his fingers over his forehead, his cheek.
Then he packs his things. He does his rounds of the outpost. He takes his trance, four hours of beautifully numbed thoughts. And then he waits for Caleb to come.
Caleb does not keep him waiting long. That isn’t a surprise; Caleb predicted that he could reach Essek by the morning, and his brain is more reliable at measuring time than any chronurgic device. It’s three hours past dawn when one of the Aurora Watch knocks and says that Essek has a visitor.
‘Send him in,’ Essek says, and a flicker of surprise passes over the guard’s face. Visitors should be received in the Vurmas office, not in Essek’s own quarters. But meeting Caleb in the office would mean finding some reason to send away the invisible guards, and Essek doesn’t care to go through that charade. It’s not as if he has anything to lose by acting suspiciously now. Besides, if he meets Caleb in private, he will not need to feign any aloofness or conceal any pleasure upon seeing him.
So the guard goes, and Essek waits, and at last there's another rap on his office door. ‘Come in,’ Essek says, and Caleb does.
He's in disguise, wisely, as a fur-clad half-elf. He could pass easily for a hireling like this, and, more importantly, he does not look like an Empire mage visiting a man suspected of collaborating with the Empire. But he drops the illusion as soon as the door closes–and there he is. After nine months without seeing Caleb or hearing his voice beyond twenty-five word snippets, there he is. Essek’s breath fully settles for the first time since Uraya returned.
Time has wrought its changes. Caleb’s a little less thin, Essek notes with pleasure, his body clearly under less strain now that he no longer spends his days in regular combat. His hair has grown a little more, and Essek doesn’t think he’s imagining that there’s less heaviness in his eyes. But he is very much the same Caleb, with the same fleeting, quiet smile.
‘ Hallo ,’ he says. ‘Sorry it took me a little while to get here. It's good to see you.’
Essek smiles back at him. ‘You as well, Caleb Widogast.’
Caleb steps forward, and there's a half-second where Essek thinks Caleb might hug him. And Essek isn't opposed to the idea, exactly. Physical contact has always been a little easier to accept and process coming from Caleb. And Essek’s body has not forgotten the quiet feeling of Caleb’s arms around him in the Blooming Grove. How safe and how very not-alone he was in that moment.
But he’s not sure he’s in a state to deal with that much touch right now, he’s relieved when instead Caleb takes hold of his forearm and squeezes gently. Easier to cope with does not stop the flinch instinct from kicking in, an instinct that Essek has to devote all his focus to suppressing. Light, he hopes he becomes used to this someday.
‘Please, do sit down,’ Essek says. ‘I've no cocoa to offer, I'm afraid, but at least you can settle yourself out of the cold.’
‘Thank you,’ Caleb says, and takes a seat. ‘How are you holding up?’
‘About as well as can be expected, I think. I have been preparing for this for some time, of course, but experiencing it is… unpleasant.’
Caleb nods slowly. ‘I don’t think anyone can ever really be prepared for a hammer like this to fall. You are sure that your home is... aware?’
‘Not aware, perhaps, but certainly turning a focused eye in my direction.’ Essek twists a finger into the chain that holds his divination-warding amulet. ‘I no longer feel safe remaining here, at least.’
‘So this is it, then? You are planning to leave for good?’
Essek studies every inflection of Caleb's voice, but he can make out no disapproval. It’s not a judgement, just a question. ‘I have some locations I can teleport to, yes. It is that or wait for them to come for me, and while I–I cannot exactly justify running, I have no wish to be taken back to Rosohna in chains, to face a cell and an axe.’
Caleb frowns and leans forward. ‘Jester mentioned that you were… I think her words were, “Essek’s being stupid and feeling bad about trying to not die.” You feel that you do not deserve to get away?’
They have a very strange relationship, Essek thinks, in which they can transition so quickly and naturally from pleasantries to do you believe you deserve to die for your crimes? ‘I told you once before that I did not feel I could argue if the Dynasty came for me. I have had nine months since then to consider, and I… I think I am resolved to run. But I know what I have done. I know how many are dead on both sides, and I acknowledge my share in the responsibility for them all.’ His mouth is dry; he licks it with a drier tongue and looks away. ‘But I cannot escape the thought that if I flee, everything I have just said to you stops being true. How can I say that I accept responsibility if, when my deeds catch up to me, I run?’
Caleb regards Essek for so long that Essek wonders if he's going to respond at all. But he does. ‘You know that will change nothing. For you to be punished as your people would want.’
There is a certain kind of pained intensity that Caleb's voice sometimes possesses. The first time Essek heard it was in the hold of the Mighty Nein's ship. He hears it again now, and it makes his skin shiver as it did then. ‘I… practically, no. There is no undoing my deeds – not through that method, at least.’ By another, perhaps, through a stone circle within Aeor, but not by an executioner's sword. ‘But…’
Essek hesitates. Then he wonders why he is hesitating. If there is any living being he can air these thoughts to, it is Caleb. ‘Considering what you and Beauregard have been doing since last we met, is there not something to be said for bringing justice to those who have held power, and abused it? There are many within the Dynasty, I am sure, who would feel a sense of…’ Essek purses his lips, searching for the right word in Common. ‘Closure. If they knew the one largely responsible for the war had been identified and… given justice.’
A stillness comes over Caleb’s face, and Essek immediately regrets his allusion to Ikithon. He knows so little, still, about what that man did to put the shadows into Caleb’s eyes. It’s foolish, tactless, to bring up matters he does not fully understand.
But Caleb only shakes his head. ‘Of course I want to see my old teacher rot in a pit. But you are not him. If we had not dealt with him–if you had not helped us deal with him–he would have spoken more poison, burned more people. He was not going to change that. Being a serpent served him and his desires too well. But you have already done so much, so much, to try to leave things better. What is done by taking away your chance to do more?’
And oh, Light, Essek wants to listen. To believe him. He swallows and looks at the floor.
‘Essek, remember what I told you. Be kind to yourself. If you can’t trust your own reasons for running, then trust your friends. We want you living and safe. We feel you are right to run.’ The corner of Caleb’s mouth twitches up. ‘We are not the Mighty Acht.’
‘True enough,’ Essek says, and manages to smile. It’s strange to think that there are people in the world who wouldn’t feel complete without him. But he saw the proof yesterday, when Uraya risked themself to protect him. And more proof is here, in how Caleb carried himself halfway across the world just to be with Essek now.
He only wishes he understood entirely why. Why Uraya and Jester and Caleb should all feel so strongly about his survival, when he is who he is. Yes, he has shared some pleasant times with Uraya, but if he flees, they will share no more. Yes, he and Caleb are… close, in ways that Essek does not currently have the mental energy to wrap his brain around. But he can never fit into Caleb’s life in the way the rest of the Nein do. He cannot so much as set foot (well, set float) in Caleb’s homeland without a Disguise Self spell and a great deal of risk. He has so little to give, so little for others to want.
Yet they want him, all the same.
Perhaps, for now, Essek must simply accept that they do, and figure out the why later. Ordering his tangle of feelings about all this might best be done with some distance from the Dynasty behind him, and with his friends to help.
‘I… I will leave, yes,’ he says. ‘I have some ideas for places where the Dynasty might not think to look for me. As for what I’ll do once I’m away, I’m not certain.’
‘Well, I have a suggestion, if you are interested.’ Caleb twists his fingers into his scarf. ‘I have been considering before—for months, really, ever since we were in Aeor, that I would very much like to return there. And I would be very glad for company. I would be glad for your company.’
Essek’s lips part, but he finds that he can’t speak. So it is probably a good thing that Caleb goes on. ‘There is so much there that we never got the time to really dig into. And you and I are both very different people to the two who first met in Rosohna, but one thing is not different: I am still a big learner. There's so much there I want to learn. So much knowledge that’s been hidden away down there for so many ages. And the worst parts of my home are hungry for it. The Assembly is plundering freely, and I—I would want, if we can, to get some of that knowledge away from their hands, and to give it to the Cobalt Soul. To people who will ensure that it is shared. And it would be safer and—and more enjoyable, I think, if you would be interested in accompanying me. And—’
His fiddling with his scarf has become a little frenzied. ‘And there is still one mystery in particular that I think we were both interested in having a discussion about. The circle that we discovered, that… incomplete device. Eventually. If you’re interested.’ He tugs at his scarf once more, then looks up at Essek. ‘I know being chased by mage-killing sex monsters is not your ideal day-to-day, but… what do you think?’
For a second or two, Essek can do nothing except stare at him. He eventually gathers enough clarity of mind to say, 'I still don’t see the evidence for those creatures having been at all sexual in nature.’
‘Well, who are you and I to question Veth's and Beauregard's judgement? But sex monsters or no, I would like to do this with you, Essek. You can get some distance from your home, somewhere I don’t think they would risk chasing you. You can have time to think about your next steps. And we can be the biggest possible nerds in a ruin full of history and magic together. If you want to.’
If Essek wants to.
If he wants to, he can go into Aeor with Caleb, away from the Dynasty’s clutches. He can turn the stones of that magnificent place and uncover what it holds. Drink in its knowledge, and for once have no one to order him to be sated–and yet have Caleb to check him if his curiosity should give way again to greed. Spend weeks, months, doing nothing but learning.
He could return to the Temporal Dock, and—well. It’s unwise, perhaps, to follow that thought too far at present, when he has no time to truly reflect upon it. But the possibility is there. The chance of creating a world where he doesn’t have to carry this aching weight of regret. It’s a dangerously beautiful thought.
And Caleb. Caleb is equally curious about that stone circle, and what it might give the two of them. Essek does not know the reasons behind Caleb’s interest in altering his past, but he’s sure it is tangled up with Trent, with the silhouettes that Veth conjured outside the Clays’ burning home. And Caleb is asking Essek to be at his side as he faces that.
If Essek wants to, he could be with Caleb, alone, for weeks. Caleb, who has held Essek’s face and kissed his forehead, his cheek. They could try to understand each other further, learn each other as they learn Aeor’s magic.
There is a gravity that has pulled them together many times. It pulled Caleb’s lips to Essek’s forehead, and Essek’s hands to Caleb’s arms when a tower collapsed upon him. It pulled Caleb to Eiselcross to be at Essek’s side as his life as the Shadowhand dies.
Now, it could pull them together into Aeor. Where, perhaps, they might start to learn the shape of that gravity, and what it’s drawing them toward.
And where Essek could, of course, be dismembered by a Frost Salamander—but even in the most terrifying moments of his last visit to Aeor, even when he was an inch from death, Essek can’t ever recall feeling quite so alive as he did then.
He could be dead in the Dynasty. Or he could be alive again in the heart of Aeor, with Caleb.
Essek looks at Caleb, and he smiles. ‘I can think of nothing else I’d rather do.’