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Constantin didn't smile at him when he entered; that was his first hint that something was wrong. Nicolas had approached his cousin's seat, Vasco and Siora murmuring behind him about some form of sea creature the naut had once encountered. He'd been quite enraptured by the tale himself, but then he'd locked eyes with his cousin - so tired he looked, and now so full of sorrow - and his stomach had plummeted. He didn't know what was wrong, only that something was, and his footsteps faltered as he approached the young governor, his companions lapsing into silence behind him as they, too, sensed the change in mood.
The silence was thick in the large room, the air cold and unwelcoming despite the bright, cheery sunlight streaming in from the massive windows.
Finally, Constantin swallowed, face red in the way it always turned when he was holding back great emotion, and spoke.
"There's a letter for you," he told him in a voice uncharacteristically soft. Nicolas felt a chill in his heart even before Constantin continued in a choked voice. "A letter from the desk of my father."
Nicolas felt his eyes and nose burning as he forced back the tears that threatened to prick at his eyes. Kurt watched him with the same intensity as Constantin, as though both men were waiting for him to break down. Petrus stood in the corner, head bowed sorrowfully.
None of them needed to open the letter to know what it contained.
There was only one reason the office of the Prince d'Orsay would write to him a letter that would end its months-long voyage a mere week after their own. Even Vasco and Siora, who knew nothing of what was going on, couldn't fail to notice that something was amiss.
The whole room seemed to be holding its breath, waiting to see what he would do, and he felt his heart pounding in his chest, overwhelmed and panicked.
"I..." His throat closed up as he tried to speak, and he swallowed around the sudden lump, licking his dry lips before continuing. "I want to keep pretending," he admitted finally. "Just for a little longer."
The room released its breath, even though his decision had really only delayed the tension rather than allowing it to abate. Constantin finally smiled at him, one of those smiles that wasn't really a smile, the corners of his lips twitching downwards like they longed to pull down into a frown.
"Whatever you need, my dear cousin," he told him, "we'll all be here when you're ready." His cousin's request having made it clear the topic was no longer to be dwelled on, Constantin took a few moments to compose himself, clearing his throat and trying for another smile before continuing. "Now, what news have you brought me?"
***
That letter was sitting on the desk in de Sardet's apartment, warding off his glares, for another week before he finally felt ready to brave what was inside.
Nicolas put too much work into making himself a comfortable nest on the bed and tucking himself into it, putting it off just a little longer until he no longer had any excuses. He broke the Prince d'Orsay's seal with trembling fingers.
***
"My mother died. Two days after we left the mainland."
It was the news he'd expected, painful as it was, and he felt he needed to let Vasco and Siora know what was happening. Better they hear it from him than somebody else.
Presently the legate was curled up on the sofa in his accommodation, made comfortable with cushions and the blanket Vasco had pulled over his lap when he'd seen how much he was shaking.
"I am so sorry," Siora told him softly, a frown on her face as she shifted uncertainly in her own seat. "I ... I know your pain."
"I knew it was coming," Nicolas admitted, gaze fixed only on a slight fray in the blanket on his lap so he wouldn't have to see their expressions. "She had the malichor. I knew when we left that she would be gone before we even reached the island, but..." he trailed off, swallowing as he blinked back the fresh tears that threatened to spill. "The continent is so far away. It was easier to pretend she might still be alive there."
Now that peaceful illusion had been shattered by one simple letter. So small a thing, an insignificant scrap of paper, yet it reigned so absolute over both his heart and his mind, filling him with a pain he'd never known it was possible to feel. He'd known it was coming, but that did nothing to help him prepare. The fear of loss was nothing in comparison to the experience of it.
The sofa dipped beside him, and he glanced round in surprise to see Vasco, the naut placing a gentle hand on his knee.
"We're here for you, Nicolas," he told him firmly, and the legate found the rare use of his given name reassuring in its way. Vasco tilted his head in Siora's direction. "All of us. Whatever you need, we'll support you."
Nicolas managed a nod, swiping at his eyes as more tears threatened to fall. Siora moved to sit on his other side, and he slipped a hand into both of his companions', grateful for their silent show of support as the fire waned in the hearth.
***
Constantin slipped out of his seat and was before his cousin in two long strides, pulling him into a tight embrace.
"I'm so sorry, my dear cousin," he whispered, voice choked with emotion, and Nicolas hugged him back tightly, burying his face into his shoulder.
The young governor didn't even complain as his fine clothes were wet with tears.
In fact, Nicolas could feel his own shoulder grow damp, his cousin also mourning the loss of the closest thing he had to a parental figure.
He squeezed him a little tighter to him in answer.
***
Black shrouds hung from the governor's palace. From his seat in Orsay square, Nicolas could also see them hanging from the windows of Lady Morange's home, the small embassies of the Bridge Alliance and Thélème, and even a few residential homes.
Most people went about their business as normal, though a few stopped briefly to offer him condolences.
Nicolas was sat on one of the benches in the square, hunched over with his elbows on his knees and his head hanging low. Vasco sat beside him, rubbing firm, soothing circles on his back. What they had was new, fragile and uncertain, and Nicolas could only hope his needs wouldn't serve to break it.
The rubbing on his back paused momentarily just as the legate caught movement at the edge of his vision. He glanced up to see a young girl in a frayed, patched dress loitering a short distance away. She looked to a woman behind her, who gave her an encouraging nod.
This reassured the little girl, and she shyly approached the couple, wide eyes darting between the two men with uncertainty. She paused just a few steps in front of him, the pair regarding each other curiously. Finally, she presented him with, shaking hands, a single white lily.
Nicolas straightened, accepting the flower from her, and she turned and almost fled back to the older woman. Halfway back, the woman raised an eyebrow to her expectantly.
The girl paused and turned back to face him again, expression bashful.
"I'm sorry about yer mumma, mister," she told him nervously.
"Thank you," he replied weakly, managing a small smile for the first time in weeks.
The girl was already gone, skipping back to the other woman and grasping her skirt. The woman offered him a small sympathetic smile of her own as they walked away together.
Nicolas sat up properly, cradling the flower as he curled up against Vasco's side, the naut wrapping an arm securely around his shoulders.
"How are you feeling, Tempest?" As he spoke, he pressed his lips to Nicolas's temple, and the legate pressed a little closer in response.
"I think..." he paused, taking a moment to put his words together in his head. "I think I'll be okay. Eventually. I don't know that it will ever hurt any less, but I think I'll learn to live around it."
Vasco kissed him gently, a tender promise in the gesture.
"We'll be here for you - I'll be here for you," he told him firmly. "No matter what."
"I know." Nicolas smiled at him, this one a little stronger than the last.
For the first time in so very long, there was a spark of hope in his chest - hope that the future would be better.