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Chapter Text

I

Joshua Rosfield of Rosaria, Dominant of the Phoenix and heir to the ducal throne. Ruler over life and death by divinely ordained birthright. Saviour of the Rosarian people.

A profoundly lonely child.

His mother never tired of telling he was a fussy infant, how he would wail and cry for hours and nothing could pacify him. Caring for him was no easy task: his tantrums would raise his flames and put the fear of the firebird into those who happened to stand near. When the royal nursemaids got too afraid to handle him, some members of the Undying were brought in to care for the child. They would carry their burns as proof of the touch of the divine.

A second point his mother would always emphasize was the number of those who assumed the child would not see his fifth year. He was sickly and weak, and the intense bursts of magic erupting from him were no help to his fragile condition. An Eikon too strong for the mortal body it housed—or more pertinently, a vessel too weak to maintain the flame.

Joshua, of course, remembered little of these early years. His earliest conscious memories were of days and nights spent in bed, the blanket so heavy over him he could barely push it away even when it got hot and suffocating. He remembered foul-tasting remedies and the endless hours of staring into a candle flame as time moved unbearably slow.

Perhaps Father recognised the misery of such stagnation in his son, for when he returned from his conquest of the Northern lands, he brought with him a child two years Joshua’s senior. The girl called Jill was not exactly his sister—Mother made it very clear this was no daughter of hers—but the closest thing he had to a playmate, and a source of companionship and comfort all the same.

And yet, despite their closeness, the two did not share everything with one another. Sometimes Joshua saw Jill watching the Moon and Metia, a faraway look in her eyes. He surmised she was thinking of her homeland, then, a place she had been taken away from and might never be able to return. She would not explain these feelings to him, but Joshua did not think it was wrong of her to hold her tongue…for he had a secret as well.

He did, in fact, have memories of a time before he could grasp the meaning of such things. They were not recollections of people, places, or events: merely an emotion, an instinct, a longing for something he did not even know if he had experienced or merely dreamed, but yearned to find it again all the same.

A flicker of a flame not of the Phoenix.

II

Joshua’s tutor had dozed off at his desk, and the boy had wasted no time slipping away and into the garden—the place most likely to be empty at this hour. He did not want to run into anyone who would report to his mother that he was not where he was supposed to be.

It was a warm, pleasant spring day and many of the flowers carried delicate little buds. It would not be long until one might spot a butterfly. Joshua walked the length of the garden twice, wishing he had Jill to keep him company. He glanced up at the wall, the hustle and bustle of the bailey carrying faintly over. Just on the other side of this wall was a whole another world, and yet the gate remained firmly closed, a more effective obstruction than the tutors and servants Joshua had learned to evade or persuade.

Joshua froze as his eyes spotted something near the smaller side gate. There was someone standing behind the iron bars—not an adult, but a little older than him. The stranger jolted at being spotted and quickly moved out of sight. Joshua started into a run.

“Wait, please don’t–augh!”

He tripped over his feet and fell into the ground, knees and palms scraping painfully against the stone. He pushed himself up and looked at the gate again, relieved to see the stranger was still around, just barely visibly peering at him from behind the stone wall. Joshua crossed the remaining distance at a more controlled pace, ignoring his stinging knees.

“I haven’t seen you before. What’s your name?”

The boy did indeed look older, standing taller than Joshua even as he kept his head low.

“They call me Wyvern.”

“Nice to meet you, Wyvern,” Joshua said politely. “My name is Joshua.”

Wyvern nodded, still keeping his head down. Joshua thought it was not very much fun to talk to someone without being able to see their face, so he stepped closer to the gate and dropped down into a squat to peer at Wyvern from below. He saw a pair of lovely blue eyes, but also something else that gave him pause.

“...Oh. You’re a…”

If Mother had her way, Joshua would never see any Bearers at all, although their handiwork was present all around Rosalith, keeping daily life in the castle on its course. While he was aware of their presence and saw them at work on occasion, he had never actually talked to one before, and was unsure what to say.

Wyvern seemed embarrassed about the discovery, and he dropped on one knee in an attempt to put his head lower than Joshua’s. Joshua tilted his head in consternation.

“Please don’t look down like that. Looking at your eyes makes me happy.”

Wyvern’s breath hitched ever so slightly, but he finally lifted his head, slowly and hesitantly as if he half expected it to lead into a punishment anyway. What he found instead was Joshua’s smile.

“Hello, Wyvern. Nice to meet you,” Joshua said again, as he felt it more appropriate now.

He learned that Wyvern did not work at the castle, but at a weaponsmith in the town. His master was discussing new deliveries for the military and Wyvern, brought along to carry the samples, had been told to get out of sight until the negotiations were done. Joshua was beaming with excitement, wanting to show Wyvern his sword and learn everything about bending metal to one’s will. He was pleased to hear that Wyvern’s magic was fire-aspected.

“I can use fire magic, too. We’re the same,” he said, but Wyvern shook his head.

“Impossible. I could never be the same as you, you are…”

He was cut off by indistinct voices from inside the castle. Joshua grimaced—it was getting late enough that the maids were likely looking for him. He turned to Wyvern.

“I have to go… Can I meet you again?”

“I’m…not sure.”

It was not the answer Joshua had hoped for, but he held onto the possibility like a lifeline.

“I’ll wait for you here, at the same time.”

Spring changed into summer before Joshua saw Wyvern again. He sneaked into the garden as often as he could, spending hours gazing in the direction of the side gate longingly, but the only ones he saw there were other servants or guards going about their duties.

When he finally saw the figure he had been waiting for, his heart did cartwheels in his chest.

“You’re here!”

He dropped the flowers he had been fiddling with and ran to the gate.

“I waited for you,” Joshua said with pride about keeping his promise, but Wyvern’s face became apologetic.

“I’m sorry… My master didn’t bring me to the bailey until today.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Joshua shook his head, trying to think of something that would chase the shadows away from the other’s face. “Oh, let me show you something!”

He hurried back to the spot where he had been sitting and picked up an unfinished flower crown.

“Jill taught me how to make these. I can’t do it nearly as well as she does, but I’m practicing!”

“Jill?”

Joshua told Wyvern how Jill had become a part of his life. All the while, he wrestled with the stems to close the loop in a tidy manner like Jill had shown him again and again. It was much too small to wear on one’s head, but Joshua decided he wanted to do something else instead.

“Hold out your hand, and close your eyes.”

Hesitantly, Wyvern slipped a hand through the gap in the bars, breaching through to the garden side for the first time. He squeezed his eyes closed tightly like he was waiting for something bad to happen, shoulders tense and breath bated. Joshua was trying to ignore his own intense heartbeat as he inched the chain of flowers closer and slipped it over Wyvern’s hand to hang on his wrist like a loose bracelet.

“You can open them now!”

Witnessing the look on Wyvern’s face was a rush that Joshua would chase for many years to come.

As autumn rolled around, Joshua’s health took a turn for the worse. Confined to his bed, his days were spent in a daze as sleep would come and go, while shudders and coughing fits kept him awake at night. He knew from experience that the bad periods could take days or weeks at a time, and he was worried that Wyvern would be waiting for him in vain, thinking he had lost interest in their friendship.

He recruited Jill to watch the gate in his stead, and after a few days she did arrive with the news that she had met him and told him that Joshua would not be able to meet him for a while. The knowledge that his message had been relayed was a weight off Joshua’s chest, and he slept a bit more soundly for the following days—until Jill returned to him with a complicated expression.

“He’s been there almost every day.”

Joshua blinked rapidly, wondering if the fever made him mishear things.

“What?”

“He said he’s worried. I think he’s waiting so he can hear news about you as soon as possible.”

Joshua turned his head to look at the grey sky beyond the window. His entire soul yearned to get up and run outside where Wyvern was so he need not stand alone in the cold air—yet he felt in his body that he could barely make it out of the room before being intercepted, and would likely collapse long before reaching the garden.

“Joshua.”

Jill’s voice returned him back to the moment, and he only now noticed that she held something in her clasped hands.

“What’s that?”

“He gave me something, for you. I haven’t looked at what it is, but…I think he made it himself.”

Joshua was speechless as Jill placed the small item in his hands. It was wrapped in coarse cloth, nothing like the silky handkerchiefs Joshua was used to handling, but he unwrapped the gift like it was the most precious and delicate thing in the world.

On his palm lay a round metal brooch, a simple circle with a clasp at the back. The front side had a figure with a head in the middle and two curved shapes on each side.

Jill craned her head to get a better look.

“Is that…the Phoenix?”

Joshua tossed his comforters on the side, leaping out of bed so quickly that Jill yelped in surprise. Noticing he still had the brooch in his hand, he placed it carefully on his pillow before turning around and beginning to rummage around a chest with various items from his childhood. He found a leather cord with a cheap pendant hanging from it, and tossed the pendant away. Then, he closed his eyes and concentrated.

His feathers used to burst out at random when he used his magic, but he had just become able to conjure them at will. He ignored the tiny specks of light that floated around him and focused on making a single, beautiful down and using his magic to coax the imperceptibly thin barbs to wrap themselves around the cord.

Still sat on the floor, he turned to face Jill’s curious gaze as he held out his creation in his hand, panting slightly from the physical and magical exertion.

“This will be my return gift.”

Not long after that day, an unaccounted for Bearer was found loitering near the gate so a guard was stationed to stand by the gate whenever the bailey was open. After surveying the situation for some days, Jill returned the feather pendant to Joshua with an apologetic expression—even if they managed to lure one of the softer guards away from his post for a time, Wyvern would not be able to come anymore without risking being seen.

As snow enveloped Rosalith in its quiet embrace, Joshua cried himself to sleep while holding the brooch tightly in his hands.

III

After the ground had thawed and the winds turned milder, the Archduke saw fit to arrange a parade to welcome the advent of spring and to boost the morale of the commonfolk—memories of the recent troubles with the Northern tribes were still fresh and tensions were rising with the Ironblood, as well, so nourishing hope among the populace was paramount.

For this end, the Archduke had a particular idea: the parade would be a rare chance for ordinary Rosiarians to see the Phoenix’s Dominant in the flesh.

The moment Joshua was raised on the chocobo’s back, he wished for nothing more than to be able to get back on stable ground. He had done this before, of course, had been walked around the bailey to get used to being on birdback without anyone to ride with him, exactly for an occasion like this. However, the nervousness bubbling in his belly was making his limbs shake, and suddenly the prospect of falling off seemed much more pertinent than it had been during the practice runs. He was afraid to so much as glance down, the distance between him and the ground so much longer than it seemed looking from below.

“Don’t worry, Your Highness,” the handler reassured him, patting the beautiful white plumage. “Ambrosia is a steady ride, and your Shields will be close by should you need any assistance.”

Joshua gave the handler a tight smile, not daring to open his mouth for fear that he might barf from sheer anxiety.

Father approached him, mounted on his own chocobo, and asked him if everything was alright. Not wishing to cause him concern, Joshua tried to look cheerful.

He could do this. He had to. Else he would prove that Mother was right to keep him inside under lock and key for perpetuity.

Everyone in the procession took their positions, and the bailey gate was opened for them to ride into the streets. The sight that awaited them was so surprising Joshua momentarily forgot about his nervousness—the street was positively packed with people, a sea of curious eyes on him.

The procession moved steadily through the street, people bowing and shouting wishes for the long reign of the Phoenix, while some others tossed blooming roses on the path to pay respects to House Rosfield. Ambrosia was undeterred by the noise, and Joshua felt himself slowly relaxing into the saddle. He spied Father’s easy waves at the crowd, and tried to mimic him to the best of his ability to exude some of the Archduke’s royal charm.

Then, several things happened so quickly that Joshua was hardly able to process them in the heat of the moment. A small, faintly hissing object rolled into the path a few steps ahead. Just as Ambrosia was stepping over it, there was an explosion of aether and black smoke, leaving the air thick and inciting a series of gasps and cries in the crowd. Ambrosia screeched as if a fire had been lit under her tail and bolted —simply leaping over the shields who tried to reach for her reins.

As the chocobo dashed through the narrow streets, the crowd rolled out of the way in confused terror. Joshua hung onto the bird for dear life, trying to pull at the reins to stop her, but Ambrosia was not heeding him. Tears of panic welled up in his eyes, blurring his vision further as his strength began to wane. It would only be a question of time until he became unable to keep himself in the saddle, and at the speed the chocobo was going, the landing would not be gentle.

A shadow appeared overhead, as quick as a bird of prey snatching an unsuspecting target off the ground, and Ambrosia’s tail dipped from the sudden weight. Joshua felt a body settle behind him, thighs gripping the bird’s sides more firmly than he could and hands taking the reins from him, caging him in as to keep him from sliding off. Joshua welcomed the help without question, focusing on getting a better hold of the chocobo’s neck plumage.

Whether it was simply the weight of an additional rider or the stranger’s steady hands steering her to run in a circle rather than speeding ahead, Ambrosia began to calm down into a lazy trot before coming to a halt. Infinitely relieved by the stillness, Joshua slid out of the saddle while allowing the stranger’s hands to support him.

“Are you alright?”

The concerned voice made Joshua’s eyes go wide and he turned around to see that his ears did not deceive: he was looking at Wyvern’s much-missed face.

“It’s you!”

Wyvern looked at him with a warm expression, but then his eyes flicked to the side, having noticed what Joshua himself was starting to realise. People were muttering among themselves, the word Bearer passing their lips in various tones of concern, doubt, and displeasement.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

The angry voice would have caught Joshua’s attention in any case, but the way Wyvern gasped and scooted away from him made a greater impression. A stout, fair-haired man emerged from the crowd, piercing gaze aimed straight at Wyvern, who was now kneeling quietly on the pavement, head bent in a respectful pose.

This, Joshua realised, was Wyvern’s master.

“I told you to stay inside!” the man barked. “And yet I find you making a scene, humiliating me! I’ll show you what you get from playing the fool…”

The man’s hand was raised, and Joshua’s body acted before he even made a conscious decision to do so. Quicker than thought, a blaze-coloured barrier appeared above Wyvern’s head and the furious man fell on his rear from the force the magic repelled him with.

“Don’t hurt him!” Joshua pleaded, neglecting to consider whether such a tone was befitting of the future Archduke. “He…he saved me.”

No one moved for a moment, the crowd staring at the proof of the Phoenix’s might and Joshua too afraid to make another move. The spell was only broken when he realised that Father and the Shields had caught up by now, ordering the people to clear the way.

Just as Joshua looked at the spot where Wyvern had been to take his hand and introduce him to Father, he found no one there. Wyvern had disappeared into the crowd, as had his master.

That evening, Joshua set himself a mission to accomplish, no matter what.

“Father, we must find him.”

“Joshua–”

“He saved me, and that master was going to beat him on the street! There could be terrible things happening to him right at this moment…”

Joshua swallowed the lump that formed in his throat thinking about that aspect of it, determined not to cry while the matter was yet unsettled.

“We’re to improve the conditions of Bearer’s, aren’t we?”

“Taking this young man in will not change the entire realm,” Father shook his head.

Joshua bristled.

“So you would stand by and let a man die on the battlefield just because you could not bring an end to war itself?”

The Archduke’s eyebrow tilted upwards, and he met his son’s determined eyes with a thoughtful expression.

“Your wit has grown,” he praised. “Very well. Let us make an agreement, then.”

By dawn, a Lieutenant was sent out into the city, a bag of royal coin in hand, to inquire all smiths for a Bearer by the name Wyvern.

IV

When he entered his room and saw Wyvern standing by the window, Joshua forgot all sense of propriety. He crossed the distance between them in a few running steps and leapt at him to embrace him tightly.

“You’re here,” he gasped, breathless with sheer relief. “I thought I’d never see you again…”

“I’m sorry,” Wyvern said, carefully returning the embrace. “I…saw His Grace coming and didn’t wish to cause any further alarm.”

“You definitely surprised everyone! How on earth did you do that?”

“When I heard you were going to appear in the parade…I begged my master to take me with him, but he told me to stay and watch the hearth. I couldn’t let my chance pass me by, so I climbed onto the rooftops to avoid being seen. I saw your chocobo go on a rampage and I…”

He paused, searching for the words.

“It was not very well thought out.”

“It was amazing!” Joshua countered. “You just appeared as if from the heavens! It was like Sir Crandall returning from the dead at the last moment to stop Madu’s coup…”

The mention of the story brought an unexpected glint of excitement in Wyvern’s eye.

“Then does that make you Lady Sybil?”

He ruffled Joshua’s hair in a playful gesture that made Joshua giggle breathlessly.

The smallest sound from the door chased the hand away—how Joshua missed it already—and Wyvern stepped aside, taking a respectful distance and bowing his head.

“Is this the boy?”

“Father!”

Joshua beamed at the Archduke, who smiled at him before turning his attention to Wyvern…and stopping at his tracks. Time seemed frozen in place as father looked at Wyvern who looked at the floor, Joshua glancing between them unsure of what to do.

“Boy. I would look at your face,” the Archduke finally spoke in a hollow voice.

The Bearer obeyed, and the two of them surveyed each other’s eyes for a good while. Joshua’s fists grasped at his clothes nervously. He felt like something terrible was about to happen.

“You have done a great service to Rosaria on this day,” Father finally said, regaining his bearings, “and from henceforth the castle is your home. We will find you a suitable post. Only…”

He clasped his hands behind his back, sighing deeply.

“My wife is not amenable to Bearers spending much time in these quarters of the castle. I have explained the matter to her, but I advise you to keep out of her sight when possible.”

Wyvern’s eyes were cast to the floor again.

“...I understand.”

Father bid his goodbye to Joshua and left the room. Watching him leave, Joshua’s hand sought out Wyvern’s sleeve.

“...I won’t let Mother hurt you,” he said, although he trembled at the idea of going against her.

Wyvern only squeezed Joshua’s hand gently in response.

V

Life settled into a new rhythm. It became Wyvern’s principal duty to help with taking care of Ambrosia and the other chocobos. This allowed him to keep out of the upper living quarters where he could draw the Duchess’ ire while allowing him to enter the castle proper without suspicion. Some servants were less than impressed with having a Bearer working alongside them, but none of them dared to protest openly for they knew this one’s master was the Phoenix himself.

Knowing Wyvern was no longer at the mercy of an unkind master and that he was always somewhere nearby should have eased the persistent ache in Joshua’s heart, and in a way it did, truly! Yet still, he often felt as trapped as he had been that day when he had been sick in bed, unable to go meet Wyvern who was waiting at the gate. The deal he had made with Father to bring Wyvern into the castle had involved a promise not to sneak away from his tutors anymore, and what kind of a ducal heir would go back on his word? So, he was bound to sit in his lessons for hours each day. It was not that the learning did not please him, on the contrary, but there were times when he was working on his penmanship next to the window that had a view to a passage to the bailey, and caught sight of Wyvern and Jill from the corner of his eye.

The two of them were rarely idle, usually carrying things this way and that, or walking with purpose on their way to perform their duties. As political hostage and Bearer, they certainly had plenty of limitations placed on their movements in the castle, but they were much freer to occupy their time together than Joshua, who was so rarely able to shake Mother’s eyes from his back. Although he was happy that his two closest friends got along and were able to support each other, it was at times like these, watching their forms distorted by the window glass, when something cold gripped at his heart.

A voice deep inside, pleading to not be left alone.

Due to these developments, Joshua had made it his mission to gain permission to go to the bailey, particularly with the pretense of going to see Ambrosia—building rapport with one’s steed was something Father encouraged in him, in any case. In truth, he should have always requested someone suitable to accompany him, but he saw no point to that: after all, he would be accompanied by Wyvern as soon as he got there!

One day on his way to the stables, Joshua noticed people gathered around the training ring. Curious, he went closer, and to his amazement he saw Wyvern inside the ring, a blunt training sword in hand!

Joshua nearly cried out, afraid that Wyvern was being attacked, but his breath was stolen away by the grace in which the Bearer moved, sidestepping his opponent’s moves while going in with attacks of his own, quickly disarming the taller, older youth. The men in the sidelines let out surprised murmurs.

“Is that the fucking stablehand Bearer?” one soldier asked, incredulity in his voice.

“Sure is,” another replied. “Some of the new recruits challenged him in hopes of an easy punching bag, so imagine their surprise when they got their arses handed to them!”

During this exchange, the next opponent had stepped into the ring. Joshua was completely entranced by now, his heart beating intensely in his chest as he watched Wyvern make quick work of this one, as well, ending the fight by literally sweeping the other off his feet by buckling his knees with his weapon. Guffaws of laughter and even some cheers erupted from the crowd.

Judging this to be enough cajoling for the day, the Lord Commander barked orders for the men to wrap up the training and get back to their other tasks. Then he approached Wyvern and exchanged some words with him. The Bearer listened attentively until he caught sight of Joshua in his peripheral vision, jolting in visible surprise.

“Your…Your Highness!”

Commander Murdoch turned around as well, although his expression was more amicable than shocked. He gave a pleasant greeting to Joshua and dismissed Wyvern with an unbothered air. The youth bowed stiffly and walked to the fence, where Joshua was shifting his feet expectantly.

“What brings you here?” Wyvern asked as he tried to wipe sweat off his brow with the back of his gloved hand.

“I wanted to see you! Oh, hold on…” Joshua pulled an embroidered handkerchief from his coat pocket. “This should help!”

Over the next moments, Wyvern tried to argue that he could hardly soil such a precious item, while Joshua insisted that he had too many to begin with.

Privately, Joshua was happy that the one he had with him today was not Jill’s handiwork.

They made their way to the stables, which Joshua was pleased to find quiet at this time of the day. Witnessing Wyvern’s prowess in the ring had brought an idea to Joshua, and he did not need any outside ears to listen in. He waited until they were in Ambrosia’s pen, Wyvern standing on the other side of the bird and scratching at the top of her beak.

Joshua braced his hands against Ambrosia’s side as if to steady himself for the words he wanted to get out.

“You know…there is a tournament soon. To decide on who will become the Phoenix’s First Shield.”

Wyvern said nothing, but the sound of his body shifting told Joshua that he was listening.

“The First Shield is the foremost protector of the Dominant. The closest, the most important person at his side…at my side.”

Joshua gripped the white feathers with as much care as he was able as he whispered his true intentions.

“I want it to be you.”

“You cannot seriously expect me to suffer such an indignity!”

Mother’s exclamation seethed with fury and indignation, causing Joshua to shiver in his hiding place even though her ire was not directed at him, but rather her husband.

“It is no indignity to you—and Joshua himself wishes to see him participate.”

“A Bearer, a Bearer in the duchy tournament? We’ll be the laughingstocks of nations across the realm,” she seethed. “Joshua is a child who does not understand what he asks for. I was already against that mongrel being brought into the castle…”

Father’s voice cut off her bitter lamentations.

“Wyvern proved himself to have what it takes to act when he stepped in during the parade, and he shows promise in combat skill. We seek the most capable man to keep Joshua safe—is it not appropriate that we allow equal opportunity to participate for those who desire?”

She laughed, the sound cold and sharp.

“Shall we accept beastmen and wild animals to join in as well, then? Perhaps fetch a goblin or two from the marshes to try their luck?”

“Ana…”

The Archduke’s tone was a warning. Mother, too, could recognise that, and only responded with a dignified sniff of her nose as her husband spoke again.

“You are concerned over Joshua’s safety after what happened during the parade. I am, too. And for this reason, we must allow for unconventional means in order to reach the best result.”

Joshua covered his mouth with his hands to mask his shaky exhale of relief. Father was on Wyvern’s side—everything would surely be alright.

When the day of the tournament finally dawned, Joshua was so nervous he would have preferred to relive taking to the streets atop Ambrosia a hundred times over. All participants of the tournament lined up to greet the Phoenix Dominant and pledge to fight for his honour, and each soldier seemed more intimidating than the last—many of them towered over Wyvern, their rough exteriors speaking to the experience their superior years held.

And yet, the youngest candidate by far did not falter. When his turn came, he looked upon Joshua with a solemn expression, delivering his vows without the slightest tremor in his voice, and took the knee with gravitas that caused even the snickers in the crowd to grow quiet.

The afternoon stretched on in a series of hair-raising matches, but Joshua found it difficult to follow the fights where Wyvern was not in the ring. The young Bearer attracted attention from others, as well: when he was matched against older, more experienced Shields, he made use of his speed and nimble footwork, while with more hotblooded opponents he worked strategically to trap them in a difficult position. Whenever he claimed victory, the audience seemed impressed but hesitant to cheer openly.

The most challenging match yet was against one Sir Alaric, dubbed the Minotaur Killer after a particularly well known feat that had gained him many a tankard of ale in Rosalith’s taverns. At nineteen years old, he had the advantage in height and weight without having yet relinquished the stamina and agility of youth. Wyvern fought fiercely, forced on the back foot several times yet always managing to keep the fight ongoing. A prolonged battle was to his detriment, but his opponent had seen his tactics in earlier matches, and knew better than to fall for Wyvern’s feints.

When a risky maneuver left Wyvern open for a counterattack, Sir Alaric did not hesitate. He sidestepped the Bearer’s attack and swung his own sword instead. Wyvern’s sword arm was too low to reach for a block in time, but his unarmed hand rose to meet the blade.

A spark of flame erupted from his palm, and Joshua’s breath was stolen away. He had never seen Wyvern’s flames before.

Sir Alaric dropped his weapon, hands shielding his face from the flames.

“No magic! No magic!” he cried, stumbling away as Wyvern’s blaze disappeared as quickly as it had formed. The referee called for the combatants to halt, bidding them to approach the royal stands.

“One of the combatants has violated the rules of the tournament,” the referee explained needlessly. “Your Grace, how is he to be dealt with?”

Shouting could be heard from the audience, much of it calling for Wyvern to be disqualified and punished. Mother leaned back in her seat with deep contentment, while Joshua’s grip on the armrests of his chair grew white-knuckled. The brief flash of flame had been to him like a drop of water to a man dying of thirst, and he wanted nothing more than to see it again. But he had to hold his tongue or he would risk everything.

“What say you to your transgression?”

Wyvern jolted at being suddenly addressed by the Archduke himself, quickly lowering his head in reverence.

“Your Grace, I regret my loss of self-control. Yet it was always my intention in joining this tournament to fight as I would fight for the Phoenix—making use of any means necessary.”

Joshua’s head spun to the side to look at Father, but the Archduke did not acknowledge him. The entire company waited for the decision with bated breath.

“It is plain that this tournament is to be fought without the use of magic, and rules must be obeyed,” Father said after a lengthy silence. A scream nearly tore free from Joshua’s throat, but the Archduke was not done.

“However, those of us who have fought against beast or man know that in a true battle of life or death, the victor is ever the one with the stronger will to persevere. Sir Alaric’s injuries are to be healed, and then we arrange a rematch.”

The decision naturally was in Wyvern’s favour in the sense that he was not disqualified, but it certainly did not mean the Archduke went easy on him. Wyvern was forced to fight two more matches in a short time frame before returning to the ring to meet with Sir Alaric again, who had had a chance to replenish his strength. As the two bowed at each other before beginning their second match, Sir Alaric said something to his opponent—the words were indistinct, but his expression suggested it was nothing pleasant.

Joshua gripped at the hem of his coat, singing black spots on it as he flinched by instinct whenever Wyvern barely avoided a fateful swing. The Bearer was breathing in raspy heaves, blood trickling down his chin after an opponent’s sword pommel had split his lip, visibly favouring one leg and half-blind from the burst blood vessel flooding red in his eye. And yet, he refused to go down.

Later, people would say his endurance was not that of man, that it reminded them of an Akashic—possessed, undeterred by injury of fatigue. But when the match was ongoing in the ring, the crowd was deathly silent.

Only when the tip of Wyvern’s sword was hovering over Sir Alaric’s throat, the other’s sword clattering on the ground, did the people of Rosalith explode in raucous cheers for the Bearer’s victory.

VI

By all accounts, the Ceremony of the Blessing should have given Joshua plenty of reason to be nervous. And yet, standing on the steps of the throne room, the eyes of the entire court upon him, his mind was calm. He hardly noticed the people around him, paying no mind to even Father’s proud smile or Mother’s tight-lipped displeasement. The room faded into irrelevancy, leaving behind only the youth before him. All that mattered was right here.

When Wyvern kneeled, Joshua raised the sword and tapped him on each shoulder, then on the crown of his head. Joshua could sense Wyvern’s own magic reacting to the connection, yawning and emerging closer to the surface like a curious animal. It was usually so well hidden, as if tucked somewhere deep within, that Joshua had not even realised it was there before he had witnessed it during the tournament. Now, it was so easy to pick up on—distinct in its smoky, crackling quality compared to the Phoenix’s bright, clear flare.

Willing himself to focus, Joshua placed a hand upon his heart and summoned the Blessing from within like he had been taught. The Phoenix answered his call easily, a piece of the Eikon curling in his closed fist, and Joshua paused for a heartbeat.

After the tournament, some ill tongues had suggested that the Blessing would not work correctly on a Bearer. Adding magic upon magic—it would surely cause an overflow of aether and activate the crystal’s curse. Knowing this talk originated from those who simply were unhappy about the result of the event, Joshua had vehemently refused to give it any attention, but he could not help the smallest whisper of doubt creeping into his mind.

“Aren’t you afraid?” he had asked Wyvern on the eve of the ceremony.

“No, I’m not.”

“...Why?”

Wyvern was quiet for a moment before answering.

“I think…that I have come this far because you willed it.” He reached into his shirt and pulled out the shimmering feather, still attached to the worn leather cord that Joshua had gifted him. “I’ve felt your flames, and I do not think the Phoenix would do me harm…for neither would you.”

It was with those words ringing in his ears that Joshua held his hand out and poured the Blessing into his chosen champion, the First Shield of his lifetime. The fire enveloped Wyvern in a circle of protective light, and he did not scream from pain nor turn into stone like the rumours had claimed he would. The Phoenix’s flame did not overpower Wyvern’s own, but embraced it, merged with it, combined like two distinct flavours melting on one’s tongue.

Wyvern raised his head to meet Joshua’s gaze, and gave a small, barely perceptible wink.

See? I told you so.

Joshua beamed at him in return.

VII

Two figures descended the stone steps into a chamber below the throne room. The crypt, where the earthly remains of the Rosfield family lay.

“Here is my grandfather,” Joshua said as he gestured towards a winged figure who bore a sword in one hand and extended another as if offering a blessing upon those who stood before him. “He was the Phoenix before me. I suppose Father’s place will be here…and mine next to him.”

Wyvern followed Joshua’s eyes towards the space left next to the winged statue.

“Not for many years yet, I pray.”

Joshua repaid the kind words with an easy smile before moving on—it was not the grand statues that they had come for.

In a more secluded corner of the crypt, there were smaller graves and memorials dedicated to less illustrious branches of the family. Among them was a simple stone decorated with little else but a carving of a rose alongside the name: Clive Rosfield.

“Did you know my parents had a child before me? He passed when I was just a baby…Mother doesn’t want to speak of him so I never could ask what happened to him.”

Joshua knelt and placed a small bundle of flowers he had pilfered from the garden at the foot of the stone. From behind, he could hear Wyvern’s quiet voice.

“...Yes, I knew.”

The unexpected truth made his heart skip a beat out of joy—Mother had conditioned the entire court to act as if Clive Rosfield never existed, and it felt wonderful to have him acknowledged by another. That he was not just a name on a silent stone, but a human child who had lived on this land.

“Before I found this stone, I always felt like I shouldn’t have been born alone. I felt so lonely…but now I understand. I should have been the second son.”

Wyvern knelt down beside him, head gently bowed to pay respects to the dead.

“Your brother…I’m sure he looks down upon you with great pride. And even though he cannot be here with you,” he placed a hand on the gravestone, “as your First Shield, I vow to protect you in his stead. Forevermore.”

Chapter Text

VIII

If meeting Wyvern was the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to Joshua, surely making him his First Shield was a close second. He was among the first people Joshua met in the morning, and among the last to leave him in the evening. While he did not accompany Joshua everywhere—notably, he asked to be excused in situations where the presence of the Duchess could be expected—things were much different from when they only had stolen moments through the bars of the garden gate or in the stables.

Having learned of Wyvern’s love for tales and shared his own favourites to great mutual delight, Joshua set out to look for stories about Bearers. They tended to have a quiet existence in the edges of the narrative, implied in the warm hearths and fresh produce mentioned offhand as a matter of course without ever bringing attention to those who provided such comforts. Sometimes, they became tools for furthering the plot, revealing crucial information overheard by eavesdropping, allowing the hero to escape by showing him a secret passage, or betraying their master out of cowardice or for revenge. Usually, the most honourable end for a Bearer character was to die serving their master. Joshua had no desire to introduce such tales to Wyvern.

He shared his woes with Jill, who pursed her lips thoughtfully, chin propped against her hand.

“Well, you haven’t explored all the shelves yet, right? There could be some lesser known tales you’re missing.”

She was right, of course. Tucked around a corner in the grand library, there was a line of tall shelves. Most of them contained old, dusty archival documents that no one took interest in, but one section had a collection of books whose backs were intriguing shades of crimson and purple, made ever the more fascinating by how they were placed so deliberately out of reach.

Jill kept watch while Joshua got a ladder and journeyed to peruse those mysterious volumes. He worked quickly, only allowing a cursory glance at each to check they were not just more map collections or horticultural indices, and replaced the ones he took with decoy volumes so the gap in the shelf would not be so obvious from afar. He very nearly lost his footing and fell when he heard Jill strike a conversation with the head librarian, her stalling buying just enough time for Joshua to scramble down, hide his finds under a table, and shift the ladder to a less incriminating spot. Moving the books to his room for clandestine reading by firelight came later.

His new stash of books proved disappointing in some aspects while…thought-provoking in others. When Bearers appeared in these stories, they were indeed often playing somewhat different roles than what his other books had cast them in. There were tales of lords buying beautiful concubines, travellers boasting the most scandalous adventures away from the eyes of those who knew them, and some…imaginative stories from times of old when civilization had yet to grasp the Twins in the harness of propriety. Joshua encountered many new words he did not always understand the meaning of, and suspected it would not be fruitful to ask his tutors to explain them to him. He tried his luck with Jill a couple of times, but she told him she did not know—yet the way she delicately folded her hands on her lap as she said it made him not completely take her at her word.

These were still not the types of books he was looking for to share with Wyvern.

A small handful captured his attention unlike the others. In particular, he read a story of a priestess who fell in love with her brother, who had been separated from the family at birth due to him being a Bearer. They only learned of their shared blood too late, and their feelings were too deep to be disturbed by the discovery. Yet, at the end of the story, she received a vision from her god that revealed she was carrying his child and the child would come to bear the brand, as well. In despair, she picked up a dagger and plunged it into her abdomen while he was still asleep at her side, ignorant of the tragedy taking place within reach. By the time he woke, she was already beyond saving, so he slit both of their throats as an act of mercy and penance, lamenting the cursed love that had brought them such misfortune.

Joshua frowned. He flipped back to the earlier page, which had a large illustration of the couple asleep in each other’s arms in the moonlight, before the first light of dawn brought the vision to the priestess. He did not understand why she was so terrified of delivering a child with magic, when she evidently thought her lover no less worthy for his brand. It felt illogical, a sudden and needlessly gruesome plot twist going against the entire crux of the narrative. As if the author had changed their mind about the story they wanted to write overnight.

He stared at the illustration, following the inked lines with his eyes again and again. Why had the artist chosen to represent the couple in this way, souls and bodies bared as they shared in each other’s warmth, their expressions of peaceful bliss, if their ultimate fate was to be so terrible?

After deciding he had found all the answers that were to be found on the pages of the books, Joshua found a time when the library would be deserted for returning the forbidden volumes to their place. He had given Wyvern a late estimate of when he would be finished with a meeting with Mother so he would have a moment to return the books before his First would pick him up. The mission went without a hitch, books back on the shelf and no witnesses to ask difficult questions. On his way out of the library, a small snore nearly spooked Joshua into a semiprime.

He sneaked beside the shelves towards the sound and, to his great surprise, found Wyvern sitting at a lone table in a hidden corner of the library, hands crossed across his chest and his head bent down at an angle that, together with his deep breathing, suggested he was soundly asleep. The afternoon sun was flowing in through the window, creating a warm spot perfect for an impromptu nap.

Joshua moved as quietly as he could, slipping into the chair opposite Wyvern's. To his great delight, the First Shield did not rouse.

Putting his elbows on the table and leaning his head on his hands, it occurred to Joshua that this was the first time he had come across Wyvern like this, with his guard so profoundly down. His First was usually so aware of his surroundings, ever mindful of the space and everything in it that it seemed nigh impossible to sneak up on him—an admirable trait for one responsible for his master’s protection, but also a likely necessity for one many would treat as less than a man. It pleased Joshua to find that Wyvern had found a place where he could be this vulnerable…thank the Founder it was Joshua who found him, though. Not only because he could have been berated for slacking off, but also because Joshua enjoyed thinking that this sight was for him alone.

During his time in the duchy’s care, Wyvern had grown quite a bit. He was a man’s height now, and had gained muscle beyond his lean strength as a tradesman’s Bearer. His features had matured, jawline and the curve of his nose gaining a more pronounced shape. The beginnings of a stubble suited him, too—it was not much at the present, but Joshua thought it made him look more…rugged.

When Joshua was younger, it had happened on a couple occasions that he had fallen asleep outside his room, whether due to a spell of poor health or simple stubbornness to recognise he was getting too tired. He had a vague recollection of being carried by Wyvern, and had woken up from his bed hours later, safely tucked in but alone. Looking at Wyvern’s sleeping face now, Joshua wondered what it would be like if his First had stayed, just once. He remembered a story in one of the top shelf books, about a knight and his squire spending a night in a cave to shelter from the rain. Removing their wet clothes and huddling together for warmth, surrounded only by the wilderness as the sounds of the downpour hid them from the world…

Joshua shifted on his seat, pressing a palm between his legs to stave off the discomfort in his breeches. He had been told to expect certain…unpredictability of his body as he reached what the physickers called his ‘delicate years’, but ultimately had been left to fend for himself when it came to the details. With a deep breath, he laid his eyes on the ceiling and began to soundlessly recite the ancestral genealogy of the Seven High Houses to himself, hoping that Wyvern would continue to sleep until the flush had faded from Joshua’s face.

IX

Soon after his thirteenth nameday, Joshua began to “grow like a sprout of whisperweed” as the Mistress of the Wardrobe put it, and needed his clothes replaced at a more rapid pace than he was used to. As a child, his mother had made his clothing choices for him, but now he was slowly beginning to gain more leeway when it came to his appearance. Whenever he had new things commissioned for himself, he often slipped in a request for something in a similar style for his First, finding the thrill of the action intoxicating once he realised this was an option available to him. The simple motivation of wanting to give joy to another was still present, but beneath it lay a desire to make their connection plain even for those who had not the eyes to see Joshua’s flame burning within the man. To make it clear that Wyvern was special.

Wyvern would often implore his liege not to be so wasteful when his old garments would do just as well, but Joshua waved his concerns away.

“They’ll…they’ll think I am overstepping my station,” Wyvern protested with an embarrassed tinge on his cheeks.

Joshua scoffed.

“And is not your station one blessed by the Phoenix, rightfully won before the eyes of all?”

With such words, Wyvern would always relent eventually, bowing his head and accepting the gifts Joshua had prepared for him. This continued for a season or three, until one miserably dreary autumn day.

Joshua heard Wyvern’s footsteps approaching long before he reached the room Joshua had been reading in. Closing his book, he turned towards the doorway with a smile, but his excitement crumbled into a cold shock when he saw the ugly bruise on Wyvern’s face—thankfully on the side that was not marred by the brand. Joshua stood quickly and closed the distance between them.

“Who did this?” he whispered, reaching out to gingerly touch the mark. Wyvern jolted slightly, but did not shy away.

“Merely an accident during training.”

“They are in the habit of striking the face these days? I think not.”

His First was a terrible liar—the way his eyes shifted after the words was a dead giveaway.

“Tell me,” Joshua demanded.

“It is of no consequence.”

The words were resolute, and Joshua understood Wyvern had no intention of revealing the identities of those who had mistreated him. Truly, he was too noble for his own good.

Faltering under the scrutinising gaze of his master, Wyvern shifted his feet and Joshua’s sharp eye picked out something at his hip. The belt Joshua had presented to his First not more than a fortnight ago was hanging in its rightful place, but there was new stitching on the side, as if the material had once snapped and then mended anew.

Joshua raised his face with a question on his lips, but Wyvern quickly amending his posture to hide the stitch with his cape was answer enough. It was not terribly difficult now to piece together a continuum of events leading up to the bruise. Frustrated tears welling up in his eyes, Joshua moved to cradle the face of his First in both of his hands.

“Would that I could remove this brand, to make people treat you with the dignity you deserve.”

Wyvern leaned into his touch, eyes closed as if absorbing strength from the mere contact.

“Serving at your side is the highest honour I could be bestowed. All else…is just noise.”

In the end, Joshua did not swear gift-giving off entirely. He decided on less conspicuous items that Wyvern could use without attracting overdue attention or envy from others.

One cold morning in the late winter, the future Archduke awoke with an idea. It was so early that the maid had not come for him yet, but Joshua got up, shuddering at the cold air as he emerged from his warm bed, and made for the small writing desk by the window.

When Joshua penned the request, he did so confidently and without hesitation. By the time he handed the letter over to the Mistress of Wardrobe, there was a small disquieting clench in his belly, a prophecy of things to come. Over the period of waiting for his decree to be fulfilled, the nervousness grew to an extent that Father gave him an odd look at dinner once or twice, but thankfully did not comment on it.

Joshua knew his will had been done when Wyvern appeared before his room as usual, but this time his face was as red as a Bomb moments before exploding. Joshua’s heartbeat rabbited out of control as his mind was filled with questions. From his reaction, Wyvern must have realised where the new item originated from—had the realisation pleased him? Did he approve of the quality? Was he wearing it right now? Even as he burned with curiosity, Joshua could not bring himself to ask. Not only because it would have been wildly inappropriate, but because Joshua had learned he could not quite trust his voice these days. He might fling himself out of the window and fly away if he embarrassed himself by warbling incoherently in front of the person he admired the most—in addition to Father, of course.

They stared at each other for a time, red-faced and flustered, before wordlessly deciding to move on with their day and leave the matter unaddressed. It was left to Joshua’s imagination to envision Wyvern’s reaction to the undershirt that Joshua had commissioned for him, with an embroidered Phoenix blessing over the heart.

X

Joshua could not find Wyvern.

This was a most unexpected state of affairs, as usually his First was ever in his line of sight when he needed him, and at least a simple call of his name would summon him were he occupied with something or other in an adjacent room. But now…Joshua stood at the deserted hallway without a clue as to where to find the man.

He did not wish to make a scene of it, lest his mother hear and complain that the First Shield was not taking his responsibilities seriously. If Wyvern was not where Joshua expected him to be, there surely was a reason for it.

Joshua walked through the castle, keeping a brisk pace but making sure to look calm and greet everyone he met with appropriate politeness despite the worry creeping into his heart. Wyvern was not in his own room or Joshua’s quarters, not in the library nor in the passageways the Shields frequented during their rounds. Joshua went outside with the intention to check the stables and the training grounds next, but found an unexpected ally to aid in his quest.

“Torgal! Come on boy, here.”

The hound happily trotted over to Joshua, wagging his tail to receive the greeting pets.

“I’m looking for Wyvern. Do you know where he could be?”

A twitch of an ear followed by a bark. Torgal truly was a magnificent animal for how expressive he could be.

“I knew I could count on you. Lead the way, then!”

With another answering bark, Torgal pattered confidently away, at times stopping to look back so he could check Joshua was still following. They skirted around the bailey…but not towards the training grounds but rather to the back of the castle.

What on earth could Wyvern be doing here, Joshua wondered, but decided not to question Torgal’s nose. A couple of Bearers he came across seemed similarly mystified as to what the future Archduke was doing there accompanied only by a hound, but ultimately seemed to decide it was not their place to intervene.

Torgal eventually stopped in front of the door of the castle’s granary and barked at Joshua expectantly. He opened the latch of the door and the dog slipped inside, quickly making his way up the steep stairs that led to the upper level. Joshua followed at a slower pace, listening to the familiar voice scolding the animal.

“Torgal, where did you come from? You’re not supposed to be here on your own…”

“There you are, ”Joshua said as he peeked his head from under the upper level floorboards. Wyvern blinked at him in complete confusion, then looking like he had suddenly realised something.

“Is…is it that late already…? I apologise, Your Highness, I thought I would be on time to meet you–”

“I’m sorry, Joshua. I asked him to come here.”

Joshua climbed fully up and then took a proper look at the other person in the attic. Any potential thoughts of jealousy at finding Wyvern and Jill alone in such a secluded spot evaporated before they even began. The way she was looking would have sent Mother into another rant about her supposed ‘savagery’: she was sitting on the attic floor with her legs spread out haphazardly, hay caught on her dress, and her eyes were puffy and red.

“Has something happened?”

Joshua sat on the floor next to her, his wool coat no doubt catching straws as well, and placed a hand on hers. She bit her lip before speaking.

“Do you remember…The Feast of the Flame?”

Of course he did. The event nearly drove him into a wreck with how many names and faces he had to memorise in order to greet them correctly as they paid their respects to the Phoenix. A grand ball had been held in the castle, and Joshua had had a bitter battle of wills with Mother regarding the matter of Wyvern accompanying him during the festivities. To Joshua’s great disappointment, Father had taken her view as well, explaining that some guests would have less tolerant views about Bearers in the midst of the noblest of the realm. On another occasion, some shaking of prejudices might be appropriate, but the duchy needed funds and the powerful houses of the realm had to be persuaded to provide. Uncle Byron’s coffers alone could not arm the entire nation.

“At the party, Lord Whitehaven, he…took an interest in me,” Jill explained. “I tried to shake him off my trail several times during the night, but in the end…he cornered me in a quiet spot, trying to push me behind the curtain to…”

She shook her head.

“I managed to punch him in the jaw and make my escape. So much time already passed that I thought that was the end of it, until…”

“Until…?” Joshua prompted, squeezing her hand gently.

“Until I heard today that he has sent the Archduke a proposal for my hand in marriage.”

Joshua stared at her.

“Why…How does that follow…?”

“I suppose he thinks it a challenge, of a sort. ‘Taming the northerner princess’,” she wrinkled her nose. “He’s the type of nobleman who thinks he has the right to take anything his heart desires without heeding the wills of those below him.”

She paused, glaring at her lap in visible disgust. Joshua turned her words around in his head, trying to see if he had missed anything in the picture.

“Has Father discussed the proposal with you?”

“No, I just overheard the Duchess talking about the…benefits of having a husband to look after my interests. I…I am a hostage, after all. His Grace has no need to ask for my opinion.”

“But– you must tell him!” Joshua exclaimed, rising higher on his knees in agitation. “He would not force you to take a man who would mistreat you.”

She looked at him for a while, the look in her eyes somehow at once gentle and ever so slightly amused, like there were words hiding behind her pearly teeth she chose to keep hidden.

Wyvern shrugged, one hand still petting Torgal.

“I told her the same thing.”

A companionable silence settled around the trio for a moment.

“I’ll speak with Father this evening, and–” Joshua promised, but Jill cut him off.

“No, I’ll do it myself. I shouldn’t wish to give the impression I approached you with demands. And then…for better or worse, we’ll know.”

The next day found Joshua and Wyvern standing outside the door behind which lay the Archduke’s personal study. Joshua paced back and forth, muttering unintelligible phrases to himself as he thrummed his fingers against his arms—perhaps devising new counterarguments to bring into the fray should the conversation on the other side of the door reach an undesirable conclusion. Wyvern stood relatively still, the calm demeanour only betrayed by the stiffness of his jaw and the way his eyes darted to the door and away from it.

Both froze in place when the door finally creaked open. Jill exited while turning around to give one more polite bow to the Archduke before pressing the door closed. She took a deep breath and then turned to look at Joshua and Wyvern.

She smiled and nodded.

XI

After bidding goodnight to the other participants of the banquet, Joshua had a hard time keeping himself from skipping with joy on his way to his chambers. The day had been a great success—his oratory skill and strategic capabilities had impressed many at the council negotiations during the day, and the evening’s celebration had also been ample with opportunities to speak with the right people and to make sure they heard him say the right things. Father had been pleased as well, even hinting privately that they should decide on the timing of Joshua’s official coronation soon. He was nearly seventeen, after all, finally reaching an age where he was being taken more seriously as an adult.

The successes of the day were only half the reason for his excitement. He had formulated a plan for the night as well, and it had much to do with the man currently trailing behind him. It was not a mere whim—he had thought of this for a long while, perhaps ever since he had finally accepted what the confusing feelings Wyvern roused him truly meant. For so long he had danced around the topic, pushed the proverbial envelope and observed the reactions he elicited with great satisfaction. He had hesitated to take the final step for fear that he would be brushed aside but now, he had a feeling victory would finally be within reach. Tonight, his mind was ringing with the cry of the Phoenix as evidence of the feast ran in his blood. He felt like he could do anything.

Just as he approached the spot where Wyvern usually bade goodnight to him, he turned towards the First Shield. The shift made him sway just a bit on his feet, but he managed to catch himself against the wall like he meant to do it all along.

“Oh…I have just remembered,” he said, his tone very convincing if he dared to give himself such credit. “I gave my attendant leave to have time off tonight. I may need some…assistance.”

Joshua pointed vaguely at his clothes. Wyvern blinked briefly, but regained his composure in a heartbeat.

“Of course.”

Wyvern had not entered Joshua’s bedchamber at nighttime since one of those times he had carried a sleeping child to bed. This time, Joshua was determined to stay firmly awake for what was to come.

He entered the room first, taking off his gloves and some other easily removable items while allowing Wyvern time to look around and acclimate to the space. There were some things that had been moved or newly acquired since Wyvern’s last visit, and Joshua smiled to himself knowing that the other would likely notice them even in the low light. Wyvern simply was attentive when it came to such things.

Joshua glanced at his First over his shoulder, his expression the very picture of regularity.

“Could you unclasp this for me?”

Wyvern acquiesced easily, opening the clasps on the back of the heavy crimson robe with dexterity that was truly commendable considering he was wearing his combat gloves. Joshua enjoyed the shiver down his spine at his First’s touch, sighing pleasantly at being released. As he expected, the robe fell from his narrow shoulders, revealing the thin undershirt that had grown sheer with sweat.

“By the Founder, these outfits get so unbearably hot…”

He pulled at the lacing of his shirt to give himself more air, but also with the knowledge it would make the fabric cling to him in a way that was quite provocative. He turned around and smiled at Wyvern. In truth, the heat may not be entirely blamed on the thick clothes.

“I can’t get you out of my mind. This whole evening, I worried I might speak your name instead of Lord this or Lady that.”

Joshua stepped out of the rumpled mess the robe had made at his feet, putting a hand against Wyvern’s cheek—a familiar and safe gesture, but now ridden with new intention. He felt delirious, mind bombarded with flashes of the numerous seductions he had imagined night after night alone in his bed. His very blood was singing from the imminence of fulfilment, his eyes keenly searching for the next move, his next chance to advance.

Inspiration came to Joshua in an unexpected form…and he pulled his hand away momentarily to unclasp one of his earcuffs, the ones adorned by Rosaria’s symbol. Fingers deft despite the circumstances, he was quick to attach the cuff in Wyvern’s ear instead, on the left side.

Wyvern stood without flinching, but his widening eyes and staggering breath betrayed his surprise. Joshua admired his masterpiece with a look so reverent one would think him the supplicant and the knight his object of divine worship.

“We are a pair now,” he said in a tone of quiet awe. “Remarkable…you look as if you were meant to carry this all along.”

Wyvern’s hand rose to intercept Joshua’s, which had been tracing the shell of his ear, brushing against black hair on its way.

“Please, Your Highness. This is…improper.”

“Who says that?” Joshua’s honeyed smile endured, and he placed his free hand on Wyvern’s generous chest. “In this room, this moment…no one is watching.”

He let one side of the undershirt fall off his shoulder, knowing it made a show of his smooth skin and allowed a taller man like Wyvern a glimpse of his torso. It was hardly comparable to the training the Shields underwent, but Joshua had not shirked his swordplay lessons.

Wyvern squeezed his eyes closed, swallowing thickly.

“Please…please don’t make me do this.”

His voice was a hoarse choke, a barely-there whisper pleaded into the air—yet it was enough to cause the flames of Joshua’s passion to fizzle into bitter black smoke.

Wyvern’s body was tense, his brow furrowed, his jaw set, his heartbeat quickened. This was not a man merely playing coy, playing a game. This was genuine reluctance.

He’s the type of nobleman who thinks he has the right to take anything his heart desires without heeding the wills of those below him.

How could he not see it before?

Joshua pulled his hand away from Wyvern as quickly as possible, self-consciously lifting his shirt to cover himself up again. His cheeks were burning with not his earlier arousal, but terrible shame.

“I…I apologise. You are free to leave.”

He turned his back so as to not have to face Wyvern, who addressed him in a tone of worry, but also that of palpable relief that only confirmed his worst fears.

“Your Highness?”

Joshua heard the First taking a step closer, but he raised a hand to stop him without turning around.

“....It’s quite alright. I can undress myself now, so…please, you may retire for the night. It has been a long day.”

A silence stretched uncomfortably, but finally the sound of bending leather suggested Wyvern gave a bow.

“Please rest well, Your Highness.”

There was a small clink of metal against the bedside table before the sound of retreating footsteps, a truth that Joshua dared not witness with his eyes: an earcuff left behind.

Only after the door had closed behind Wyvern did Joshua let his tears fall. He kicked off his shoes and fell onto his bed without bothering with the rest of his clothes, wrapping his arms around himself as if it could help contain the heartbreak that was threatening to rip him apart from within.

He felt like a child, a foolish child who had built up expectations of mutual feelings, completely unable to grasp the position of the other person involved. A Bearer could hardly go against the wishes of his master, let alone the Archduke apparent and Dominant of the Phoenix. It was ludicrous to think Wyvern could exhibit his free will without fearing consequence, especially when Joshua had been so bold about his advances. Had he been uneasy all this time, ready to shoulder his fate like he had shouldered the beatings and the cruel words the world had hurled at him? How had he felt, forced to stand there and listen to Joshua allude to them as two halves of a whole, when reality was so obscenely stacked in his favour?

Joshua felt sick.

The next morning, he made sure to face Wyvern with a smile.

“I fear the wine did not agree with me, after all. My apologies for allowing you to witness such unbecoming conduct.”

The First gave him an uneasy frown.

“It is no matter. But…are you certain you’re alright?”

“You underestimate me,” Joshua said with put-upon confidence to hide his trembling heart. “I am the Phoenix, after all, and my father’s son. I cannot embarrass my house by falling in the face of a simple hangover.”

From then on, Joshua made sure to maintain a warm, yet appropriate relationship with his First Shield. He sought the other’s company frequently, but did not reach for the surreptitious touches or heated gazes he had indulged in before. He prioritized clothes he could handle on his own, summoning a different servant to help whenever he needed it so as to not put Wyvern in an awkward position. Above all, he wanted to show he valued Wyvern in a great many aspects besides his attractive side, that there need be no rupture between them due to the other’s reluctance to fall into bed with him.

Living by Wyvern’s side without being able to love him like he longed to was suffering…and yet, proving himself unworthy of his First’s trust by foisting himself upon him would have been infinitely worse.

XII

The years had taken a heavy toll on the land of Rosaria. The Blight continued its deadly march, and the remaining land had been troubled by intermittent wars. One such conflict had claimed Father’s life, and Joshua had been crowned Archduke before his nineteenth nameday—not too young to take up the mantle, but unable to seek counsel from his father during his first steps of actual ruling like he had expected. Mother had already defected to Sanbreque sometime prior, and into the arms of the Emperor. Even Jill had left Rosalith soon after she had, to the amazement of all, awakened as the Dominant of Shiva. Accompanied by Torgal, she was seeking the scattered remainders of the Northern tribes to unite them again, this time to work together with Rosaria. A steadfast friend, she kept frequent contact with Joshua through letters and stolases.

Throughout the tumultuous times, Wyvern stood by Joshua’s side as the sole constant, the unwavering pillar he steadied himself against when his steps stumbled. Wyvern was by him when he had to receive news of lost men that he personally had sent to battle, when he collapsed from exhaustion after overusing the Phoenix’s fire, when he read out the funerary rites for Father, dressed in the emotionless hollow of formality to keep from crumbling into helplessness.

In the privacy of the ducal quarters, Wyvern wept with Joshua so distraughtly one would think it was his own parent put to his final rest.

Now past his twentieth year, the Archduke prayed the times ahead would be easier. He had just received word of a decisive victory at Mt. Drustanus, meaning hope for a more stable peace with the Iron Kingdom was finally in sight. He deflated in his chair, letting out a bone-deep sigh.

“Your Grace…?”

Joshua offered a reassuring smile as he handed the coded letter for Wyvern to read—the First Shield was naturally privy to all their secret ciphers. After reading the letter, he met Joshua’s eyes with understanding dawning on his face. Joshua spoke,

“Care to accompany me for a stroll in the garden?”

It was long past the time for the flowers, winter soon ready to announce its arrival, but Joshua always enjoyed his time walking the familiar paths, observing the weather and the state of the castle. He noted that some of the roof tiles on the lower levels were looking somewhat loose and could use fixing before they got rainfall inside the rooms. He was just about to mention the fact to Wyvern when he noticed the other had a hand on the pommel of his weapon, brow furrowed.

“Stay close,” Wyvern said under his breath. “I have a bad feeling.”

As soon as he finished speaking, three figures emerged from the shadows. They were armed men wearing the insignia of Rosaria, but something about them was off. With so many men on the war front, the guards of the castle had been cut to a minimum, yet Joshua did not recognise these men.

“State your names and posts,” Wyvern called out to them while subtly inching Joshua towards the door of the castle proper.

“Our names are no concern of yours,” one of the men replied. When they stepped into daylight, Joshua could see they all bore the brand. A flash of sunlight reflected from steel as the men drew their blades.

“We’ll only stay until we’ve fulfilled our task.”

Wyvern bared his teeth at the response, continuing to fall back towards the door. When Joshua was finally close enough to pull the door open, Wyvern pushed him inside with a roughness quite unlike him.

“Find Sir Wade,” he ordered in a low voice before slamming the door closed.

Joshua felt a surge of aether from the other side, and a tentative push of the door confirmed that Wyvern had used his magic to melt the iron hinges so as to put a more substantial obstacle between Joshua and the assailants. But something was…off. The men had not made any attempt to stop him from leaving. If this was a coup, letting him run free and alert the entire castle was not the most advisable strategy.

Unless it was a ploy to isolate the real target.

The unmistakable sounds of battle carried through the heavy door. Joshua considered his options—he could certainly blast the door open with his fire, but he might risk harming Wyvern. After a few heartbeats, he turned around and ran upstairs.

While his feet carried him to higher ground, his mind raced to connect the details he had observed in the courtyard. How had unfamiliar Bearers found Rosarian uniforms to wear, and known the routes to access the castle unnoticed? Had not the blond ringleader had a Sanbrequois note in his speech? And most of all…who would endeavour to attack the First Shield instead of the Archduke?

Joshua dearly wished he was wrong, but he could not help perceiving signs of Mother’s cruel hand in the scheme.

By the time Joshua made it to the balcony, the battle had moved further into the garden. The attackers were clearly no strangers to combat, but the First was ferocious as ever, holding his own against a trio of would-be assassins and making masterful use of steel and flame alike. Wyvern had ever been reluctant to use his own, innate fire despite Joshua’s oft repeated assurances that he thought it quite beautiful. Yet in this hour of need, he reached for it in equal measure as the Phoenix, weaving an inferno of blaze around himself.

There was little time for Joshua to admire the display, as he caught movement in the periphery of his vision. There was another man at the top of the bailey wall, hiding behind one of the spires bordering the gate. It was nigh impossible to spot him from the garden, as only Joshua’s higher vantage point gave him an advantage. The deviousness of the plan struck Joshua in the full as he watched the fourth man nock an arrow and take aim at Wyvern.

Quicker than thought, the Phoenix shifted from the balcony into the garden below.

Still airborne, Joshua conjured a ward, but it was too late to repel the arrow. The point pierced his extended palm and plunged just below his right clavicle. He reached for the Phoenix before he could even process the pain, but the flames flickered and swayed, denying him the instant relief of healing. Cracking one eye open, he saw a faint blue shimmer on the shaft—dusted crystal to suppress aether. It was nowhere strong enough to cut off his connection to his Eikon completely, but it certainly would slow him down.

The arrow was meant to kill a man who carried a piece of the Phoenix within, after all. An ordinary shot to the heart could not be trusted to finish the job.

From behind Joshua came a roar that resembled his name. The courtyard erupted in a new chaos: a half dozen Shields barged into the garden through the bailey gate, this time their faces and voices immediately familiar. The archer’s body fell onto the ground with a thud, while the three remaining attackers swore aloud, frantically seeking for their exit.

Joshua sank to his knees, hand still stretched out awkwardly to follow the line of the arrow. Wyvern was at his side before he even hit the ground, supporting his body and casting a fire spell on the arrow to snap it in two to allow his arm to give up the strained position. Joshua tried to ask if it was Wyvern who had shouted his name—surely he had never done that before!—but it seemed that his body took the First Shield’s presence as a sign that there was no more danger for him, the tension leaving him as darkness took over.

When Joshua came to, he was in his bed as expected. But unlike all those times in his boyhood, now Wyvern was at his side, blue eyes gleaming with worry.

“Thank the Founder,” he choked as he pressed Joshua’s left hand against his forehead.

“You are unharmed?” Joshua rasped, and the remark brought a sharp edge to Wyvern’s gaze.

“Aye, but only on account of your recklessness. What manner of a fool is a master who puts himself at risk to protect his knight?”

“And what of a knight who calls his master a fool?”

Joshua had used his way with words to disarm his First many a time, but it seemed mere wit was not enough to chase the distress away from Wyvern’s face. He opted for sincerity instead.

“...You would have been hurt.”

“A shield exists to be dented and discarded,” Wyvern countered.

“You are no mere tool or thing,” Joshua shook his head gently, taking a more assertive tone. “You are precious to me, and I will not relinquish you so easily. I am aware my true feelings would be akin to a burden to you, and I do not ask you to bear it. But I’ll not stand to refrain from protecting you, as you protect me in turn.”

Silence stretched out between them for a long moment.

“Your Grace… There is something I must tell you—should have, long ago.”

“Wyvern…?”

The conversation having taken a sudden turn, Joshua was no longer able to foresee its end. Wyvern’s face was conflicted as he waged an internal war with himself even as he spoke.

“I thought it better that the truth stay hidden, but when I saw your blood spill on the paving today, I couldn’t help but think I would lose you without you ever knowing…”

His voice trailed off and his head was lowered as if the very thought brought him unimaginable pain. Joshua squeezed his hand in sympathy, quietly offering support as his own heart waited anxiously for the words that his First was trying to let out.

Eventually, Wyvern raised his face to look Joshua in the eyes, a new conviction shining through.

“Before my branding, I went by a different name. I was born Clive Rosfield, eldest son of Elwin Rosfield. I’m…your brother.”

XIII

The very same day Archduchess Anabella delivered her firstborn into the world, she began to arrange the appropriate testing to determine whether the child was the Dominant of Phoenix. Scholars and astrologers of various schools gathered, each conducting their own experiment.

“We are all in agreement,” the eldest of the group announced while the rest nodded sagely behind him. “The child is possessed of a great magical ability, certainly worthy of housing an Eikon within.”

For Anabella, it was a day of triumph—and yet, there was one more thing that needed to happen.

Five years passed as she awaited the final sign of her victory, the awakening of the Eikon within her son. She became heavy with child again, and bore a second son. This time, she made no haste to call for the mandatory testing, for it would surely be nothing but a formality—her firstborn was already the saviour, and there could be no other.

The infant was no more than a day old when it came ablaze with the flames of the Phoenix.

That day upended everything in the lives of the family. It turned Joshua from little more than an accident into the greatest treasure of the nation, a beacon of hope. It also turned Clive’s magic from a promise of greatness into a shameful trait, vile treachery to cheat his way into a life of luxury. The Duchess refused to see her son, forbade everyone from even speaking of him, for it could not be known that the womb that had borne the Phoenix could have harboured a Bearer .

Clive understood little of the reasoning. He only knew that due to some grave mistake on his part, he was replaced by the new child and Father hugged him tightly before sending him away with a group of soldiers bound for Eastpool. He was given a brand, a name, and an order to speak to no soul of where he came from. The master Father had appointed for him was an elderly man who did in truth raise him more a son than a slave, allowing him to continue to study his letters and indulging his love for tales, even encouraging him to learn swordsmanship from the garrison so he did not only need to resort to his magic to defend himself in the world that was not predisposed to treat him kindly.

Yet in his kindness, the master failed to account for the event of his unexpected passing. His daughter, eager to sell her father’s possessions to buy a house in Port Isolde with her fiancé and escape the encroaching Blight, was quick to hand Clive over to the first travelling merchant willing to take on a Bearer child. Had she known of the provenance of the child, she would surely have at least asked a higher price.

What followed was a series of difficult years being passed from owner to owner until Clive eventually found himself back in Rosalith, his new master a smith who needed someone to keep his furnace hot and run errands for him. Clive would often climb on top of the roof at sunrise and look at the castle, thinking of the family he had left behind.

When the opportunity to enter within the outer walls finally presented itself and his master told him to stay out of anyone’s way, Clive did not settle on sitting quietly in some secluded corner like he should have. He could not help being curious about the castle that still haunted the edges of his memories, full of blurred and incomplete pictures that had nevertheless been reality for him once. Skirting carefully past the adults who did not bother to pay attention to a wandering Bearer, he found his way to the garden, only to be stopped by the closed gate. Looking at the balcony, he tried to remember the rooms that lay beyond the window panes, but could not be sure of the order anymore.

Then, a familiar tug of aether.

It took a moment to place it, the warmth that seemed to touch him at his very core. Where, where had he felt it before?

The answer came when he saw a child roaming along the garden paths. It may have been possible to guess the boy’s identity from his fine clothing and apparent age, but there was no need for any of that—from the aether alone, it was clear this child was the Phoenix, the brother that Clive had only seen once before they had been separated. A fleeting moment that he had never been able to forget since.

He was not sure what he had expected to feel if he were ever to see Joshua again. Envy, perhaps, towards the child who had inadvertently driven him from his home. Sorrow for a brother he never had the opportunity to know…or shame for simply existing in the vicinity of one so brilliant, when he was nothing but a failure. Yet somehow, the emotion that overtook him against his better judgment was an inexplicable longing to be closer to Joshua, drinking in his attention like a parched man stranded in the Velkroy craves water.

Closer, becoming his friend, his servant, his confidante. The fire in Clive’s blood burned for the brilliance of the Phoenix’s flame, and emboldened by his hubris, he accepted Joshua’s plea for him to join the tournament and compete to receive the Blessing. To be placed at Joshua’s feet, bearing his mark as a brand of deliverance instead of damnation. To douse himself in blood that Joshua may walk unblemished and unburdened. This should have been his highest call, and yet…

Closer.

How could his fire still not be satisfied?

Closer…

What more could he possibly ask for?

Closer!

The first time he awoke from a dream of embracing Joshua in a way that crossed every line of allegiance and brotherhood alike, Clive was terrified to close his eyes for a fortnight.

XIV

Joshua’s mind raced, all the new pieces of information pouring in as he struggled to put them all into place.

“But…then, did Father and…Mother…?”

“Father knew, from the day he saw me back at the castle. We decided against revealing my identity, because then my presence in the castle could have been taken as…favoritism on Father’s part. No matter what…I couldn’t risk being forced to leave your side again.”

He gave Joshua a gentle, sad smile.

“As for Mother…she never looked at me closely enough to be able to tell. Or…perhaps a part of her knew, deep down, but she chose to avert her eyes.”

It was too late for such questions now, either way.

Wyvern—no, Clive —clasped Joshua’s hand again, but now only held it between them, a plea and an anchor at once.

“I wish I could have spared your honourable brother’s name from this treachery…but now you know the truth of it. And that’s why…no matter what feelings exist between us, they cannot be fulfilled.”

Clive lay Joshua’s hand quickly on the bed, bowing in deference to place himself at the mercy of his liege— his brother. Joshua stared at the mess of black hair, his entire world realigning itself with the revelation he had just received. And yet, one word had brought all other thoughts into a sudden halt.

“Us…?”

He reached out to urge Clive to raise his head.

“You said…’no matter what feelings exist between us’. Can it be…that you hold an affection for me after all?”

Clive’s shoulders jolted and his mouth opened as if to deny the accusation…but the red creeping to his face and the shine in his eyes were quicker to speak.

“Did…did you not hear what I just said…?” he muttered, only glancing Joshua’s way before casting his eyes down again.

“Oh, Clive,” Joshua laughed, and it was such a freeing sensation. He felt lighter than he had in years, almost as if he could take flight without resorting to an ounce of the Phoenix’s power.

“Do you think such a thing matters to me? I never cared about your brand nor your rank, only fearing my love would violate your will. Now you tell me that not only has my long lost brother come back to me from beyond the grave, but that my love is returned? What reason have I for discontent?”

It was his turn to bring Clive’s hands to his lips, kissing them softly.

“My blood or not, my heart has belonged to you since I was a boy. Clive…if you truly do not wish to accept it, look me in the eyes and say so here and now. We will be brothers and nothing more, and never speak of this matter again. But speak true, for my sake.”

For but a heartbeat, they sat with their eyes locked. Joshua’s heart trembled when Clive pulled his hands away but burst into a song of joy when those hands cradled Joshua’s face instead, pulling him closer as Clive finally claimed his lips, out of his own volition.

Joshua’s hands snaked to Clive’s shoulders, one reaching to the back of his neck and the other anchoring him as he leaned ever closer. Clive was devouring him, kissing his mouth and neck and eyelids over and over again like a man who fervently wished to have three mouths to do it all at once.

“Your Grace…”

“Clive, my name…please…”

“Joshua …”

Oh, the intimate address was even more thrilling than he had dared to dream. How many years earlier could they have been here, had Joshua only known the true reason behind Clive’s resistance to his advances?

Although Joshua had not spoken aloud, it seemed that his First’s thoughts were moving in similar ways.

“You were driving me insane,” Clive grunted hoarsely between kisses, “relentlessly stoking the fire I so desperately tried to keep in control. But I couldn’t make you mar yourself with my shame when you didn’t know …”

Joshua decided he had had quite enough of his upstanding Shield speaking ill of their bond. He tugged at the hair in the back of his brother’s head hard enough to make the other hiss and climbed onto his lap, the glow of aether rising giving him an otherworldly air.

“What, pray tell, could hold the power to shame me? I am the Phoenix, am I not?”

“Ruler over life and death,” Clive agreed without hesitation. His eyes had gone hazy and his breathing was heavy as he watched Joshua reward him with a pleased smile and a gentler tug of his hair.

“Correct. In my eyes, there is no wrongdoing here. And now…I would see the depth of your devotion.”

XV

Lord Rosfield,

I will freely admit that it was a surprise to receive your missive. In my position, one rarely has their counsel sought by heads of state, and certainly not in matters of this particular nature.

It is my pleasure to confirm that the hypothesis you posit is correct. The version that you describe first appeared in a reprint more than two hundred years after the original publication, wherein the story indeed did not end in the deaths of the priestess and her Bearer lover. The university library is lamentably disinclined to carry volumes that some would consider to be of frivolous and reprobate quality, but I have enclosed an excerpt of the copy from my personal collection. In addition, I have taken the liberty to attach a list of other suppressed or altered tales concerning Bearers, should you wish to inquire upon them in more detail.

It is a long-held belief of mine that control of knowledge and imagination is a tool as strong as a shackle and chain. The work of your lordship and your late father has not gone unnoticed across the realm, and I am much heartened to gain an ally in not only the pursuit of the truth of our shared history, but also the dissemination of it to those without means to seek it out themselves.

I look forward to our continued correspondence.

Vivian Ninetales
Professor, Kanver University

XVI

“Clive.”

“Joshua?”

“I’ve received a most intriguing letter from Jill. She has met a healer who can remove brands—without the death of the Bearer.”

Clive stopped on his tracks, frowning deeply.

“That's…impossible.”

“That was my first assumption, as well, and so I did not speak of it when I encountered such rumours. But I had the Undying conduct some queries, and what Jill writes confirms their reports. Men and women who have undergone the operation now walk the land free of their brands.”

“Joshua…why are you saying all this?”

“Why? I am asking if you wish to be rid of the mark forced upon you all those years ago. Should you wish for it, we can establish a connection with this healer…Lady Tarja, as she is called.”

He rose and placed the letter in Clive’s hands.

“Alas, according to the reports, the procedure is far from simple and it causes a great deal of pain. But with the power of the Phoenix…”

“Pain holds no fear for me,” Clive said immediately.

Joshua should have expected as much of his brave Shield.

“Then…you wish for me to request her services?”

Clive was quiet for a while, bringing a hand to stroke his brand absentmindedly.

“I will not undertake the operation.”

Joshua’s eyes had already been searching his desk for a suitable parchment to begin his letter to Lady Tarja without delay, but now they spun back to Clive in open surprise.

“Are…are you certain?”

“For many years, I would have jumped at the chance, thinking this brand robbed me of all I could be. But you found me, and plucked me out of the darkness without a care for what I was, and made me yours. You gave me back my name, and my reason to exist in this life. We are building a world where Bearers and men may one day be equals—what better way to show that than to have a man with a branded face stand proudly by your side?”

After he finished, Clive paused as if a new thought had just occurred to him.

“Unless…unless you will it?”

“Brother,” Joshua said, cradling his brother’s branded cheek. His index finger brushed against the earcuff that Clive had once rejected, now worn day and night. “There is no part of you that I would see changed. If this is what you wish for, it will be so. Whatever the future may bring, I remain by your side—forevermore.”

Clive took Joshua’s hand in his and kissed the back of the palm before leaning forward and claiming his brother’s lips as well.

Loyalty and love, each burning with equal brilliance.

“Forevermore.”