Archive of Our Own ^beta

Mystacor

Several weeks after Princess C’yara's abduction  

When someone dies of hypothermia, there is a point at which they stop feeling the cold. They become hot. Feverishly deceptively hot. So hot that people shed their clothing as blood rushes to their limbs.

Last year, Gideon had helped Dr. Lenio with a hypothermic patient. A scout assigned to the far caves found in an ice rimed tunnel. The other scouts told them that her coat was found neatly folded with her boots on top. The rest of her clothing was dropped onto the ground in a trail that led to her inert body,

When they brought her in, she was dead. Gideon was convinced of it. Cold, Pulseless. He thought their resuscitation efforts were merely proving to her family that everything that could be done had been tried.

The old man had saved her using slow warming spells, heated IV’s and something like bottled lightning to restart her heart.

Afterwards Lenio explained what happened. “Paradoxical undressing” he called it, that feeling of sudden heat.

He also told Gideon of seemingly impossible revivals of hypothermic patients,  people who appeared completely beyond hope pulled back from the edge.

He’d finished his teaching with, “Remember this: You’re not dead until you’re warm and dead.”

A law of the universe.

However, he never told Gideon how long freezing takes. He never mentioned how much it hurt.

Gideon had not gotten to the point of getting warm again. When he’d been freezing to death he’d only felt cold.

Well, terrified and cold.

Now he wasn’t cold.

Terrified? Yes. He was still terrified.

There was no other way he could feel. He was in Mysta-fucking-cor!

The woman, the sorceress, had brought him here.

He’d learned about Mystacor in his geography classes. A place where sorcerers and healers were educated. He had always wanted to go there. To study there.

An impossible dream now. It was a duchy with allegiance to Bright Moon.

That alone was enough to terrify him. His parents had tried to betray Halfmoon to the Horde. Even if Bright Moon knew nothing about Halfmoon, they would still not look kindly on him, the last scion of a noble house of treachery.

Given his involvement, it was almost fitting that he should die cold and alone, miserably waiting for the end on a snowy ledge. He wanted to be dead, but his traitorous body refused to cool down fast enough to give him an easy death.

Furious, he had sought the local ley lines. They were strangely inverted, drawing power up toward a peculiar cloud mass instead of down into the earth. It didn’t matter. He tapped them anyway.

The raw, unmoderated power scorched through his augmented channels. Agony burning through him like when his father had widened those channels. Carrying pieces of him away like water overflowing its banks. 

Instinctively he redirected the power through his hands, down and out.

Blue lightning flashed. Perhaps his father would have thought he was powerful enough now. That thought seemed to give the magic even more fuel.

His blast hit the side of the mountain and with a deep, earthshattering rumble, snow and rock exploded into an avalanche, taking half the ledge he stood on with it.

He cringed back in terror, covering his head, hiding like a mewling kitten until the rumbling stopped, leaving an uncanny silence.

Then she materialized in a shower of sparkles, a defensive sigil held ready in her hand.

An Etherian sorceress.

For a long moment she stared, and he waited for the sigil to fly, for the end.

It didn’t come. Instead, her expression softened. Then she smiled.

Smiled!

“You know, young man, that happens to be my favorite ravine. Is there a reason you decided to blow a hole in the side?”

The way she spoke reminded him of the amused tone he’d heard Princess Lyra use with tiny Princess C’yara. “My heart, was that you swiping at the Seneschal’s ankles with your claws?”

His own mother had never spoken to him like that. He would have given his tail and both ears for her to say something with amusement and warmth instead of the never-ending disappointment.

“Why not?” He shouted. Or he tried to, voice grating painfully across vocal cords that were like dried leather. “I’m angry and it was there.” He gesticulated wildly at the ravine.

“They left me here to die.” A ragged breath as he choked down the threatened sobs. “I-I-I did what they asked, but it was never enough.”

“I didn’t betray them, and we’re not ruling Halfmoon. The Horde isn’t singing our praises. They’re gone, and they left me here to die.”

The words tumbled out like the avalanche tore down the mountainside.

“They took everything that matters away, and they made me get them out. So why not leave me to freeze, forgotten and meaningless - just like their coup?”

The sobs were no longer ‘threatening’ though he didn’t have enough water in his body to create tears. Without him noticing, the sorceress came two steps closer. Almost close enough to touch him.

“What did they think was going to happen? The people would gleefully surrender and they could somehow face down Princess Lyra and her sisters? They have the Spirit Ember! They have an army! All my stupid parents had was the Horde and their stupid plan!”

The last came out as a wail. He wasn’t even shivering anymore. Distantly he remembered that Dr. Lenio said that was a bad sign.

The sorceress probably came to watch him die. That’s what his parents told him Etherian sorcerers would do if they caught him.

Only… now the sorceress was touching him, her hand falling gently on his shoulder. She knelt down next to him on the cold stone and wrapped a warm blanket she conjured around him. A few whispered incantations and the air around them warmed.

A bottle came from somewhere, she pressed it into his hand and helped him raise it to his lips. “Sip slowly, okay?”

The water was warm, not hot and tasted of minerals.

“You need the moisture. You can cry as much as you need to when I get you home, I promise. But I won’t have you crying yourself sick on this tiny little shelf of rock.”

Again she smiled, that note of gentle humor back in her voice. “We magicians must have our standards!”

Her hand rubbed his back, and he felt her diagnostic spells silently brushing against him, discreet and easy.

Just like Lenio.

“Now then, I’m sure you’ll remember to tell me your name when you’re not grieving and angry and freezing to death, but I am Castaspella of Mystacor, and I think it’s high time we got you off this rock and somewhere safe, don’t you?”

He wished he could say he passed out. He wished he could say that it was biological necessity that caused it, but no. He had collapsed in her arms because hers was the first kind voice he’d heard since they fled the night of the coup.

Careful and kind like Lenio, he could only think that she must be a healer.

“Come along,” she whispered an incantation and picked him up in her arms as though he were a kitten. Had his own mother ever carried him like this? If she had, he didn’t remember.

He would have struggled; She shouldn’t be carrying him like this!

She shook her head as she felt his muscles tense. “Don’t move. You'll send cold blood to your heart. I don’t know how resistant your people are to heart arrhythmia.”

Definitely a healer.

The world dissolved into sparkles and they appeared in a warm room. “These are my personal apartments and there are no safer places on Etheria for you.”

His memory got fuzzy after that. He was so tired and so cold. There was a girl there too. Possibly the sorceress’s apprentice? The sorceress had called to her. Told her to put warming charms on the bed in the guest room.

When the sorceress set him on the bed, she gently explained everything she was doing. It reminded him so much of the old doctor he had started to cry.

She hadn’t even scolded him for it, rather she stopped what she was doing. “I’m sorry,” she had said. “You have frostbite in your hands, feet and ears. Your cheeks and your tail are frostnipped.”

Frostbite he’d heard of, but frostnip?

That couldn’t be a real thing. He wanted to ask, but he stayed quiet. This wasn’t Lenio. Questions would probably annoy her.

“I know it sounds strange, but hurting is good. It means the nerves are still alive. But there’s no need to put you through agony. I’ll put a stronger numbing spell on them. All right?.”

It would be less embarrassing to let her think his tears were from the physical pain of defrosting, so he nodded.

“Let me know if it starts to hurt again.” It had been so long since he’d been warm that he’d almost forgotten what it felt like. She had absolutely no business being so kind to him.

At some point he’d fallen asleep, but he couldn’t say when. Maybe she’d put a sleep charm on him or maybe he was just that tired.

Next thing he was aware of was the morning light that peaked around blue velvet drapes.

Looking around, he verified that he wasn’t in a cell. That his mind hadn't conjured a comforting illusion.

He knew it couldn’t be, he wasn’t that imaginative.

Obviously a guest room with little in the way of personal effects, but the bedcovers were rich and heavy, the weight grounding. The furnishings were richly carved wood. Deep blue carpets were laid down over polished hardwood. Tapestries hung on the walls of stone and crystal.

He wondered what he should do. Getting out of bed was out of the question. His hands and feet were bandaged. Each separate finger was expertly wrapped in soft cloth so the blisters wouldn’t stick together. He moved the blanket and saw his toes had been treated the same.

A knock at the door made him jump. His parents had never bothered to knock on his door. The one time he’d asked his mother to knock she had flown into a rage, accusing him of hiding things from her. Telling him that it was her home and she’d go where she pleased.

His throat was too tight to answer, but the door swung open anyway.

“Good morning, young sir.” An Etherian, a man with furless pink skin and white hair wheeled a cart into the room. His smile looked friendly enough, but Gideon did not have a lot of practice reading Etherian faces. Without ears, all their expressions seemed flat and deceptive.

“Forgive the intrusion.” He had an apron over what looked like a servant’s uniform. “But it is important that we keep an eye on you while you’re healing.”

He put the cart under the window and picked up tray.

“They sent you breakfast up from the kitchens.” He placed it across Gideon’s lap and took the cover away to reveal a breakfast of meat and eggs. Gideon had not seen food like this in weeks.

“Thank you.” Gideon hoped the man heard him because he could not make his voice obey him.

The food smelled good, but he had no appetite. He had not felt hungry since his parents had fled Halfmoon with him in tow.

No. Since before that. But he didn’t want to think about that now.

Thirsty was another matter. He felt as parched as the dust in the library. A red fruit juice and some hot drink he didn’t recognize sat next to the plates. He was so thirsty, he quaffed the juice right away. He wasn’t sure about the tea. Or was it a tisane? He sniffed it. Tisane. Chamomile? Lemon balm. Catnip. All herbs Lenio said were calming. Someone wanted him to be calm.

If there was some poison in the tisane he couldn’t smell it. Not that there would be much point to poisoning him, they probably wanted information. Anyway, it was hot. He probably would drink a whole beaker of arsenic right now if it was hot.

Next to the tea cup was honey. He had never had honey before. His mother said it was too expensive to waste on children. He had noted that Princess C’yara ate it.

That had earned him a slap. “Maybe, when you are heir to the throne, you won’t be such a spoiled brat!”

It felt transgressive, as he clumsily took the spoon with his wrapped fingers and added a huge golden dollop to the tisane, the same way he’d seen Princess Lyra do with the little Princess’s apple cider.

It went down very quickly as some deep core of chill gave way to the hot liquid, and there was more in the pot.

The servant puttered about the room, folding blankets that were on a couch next to the bed.

The sorceress had slept there. He had woken up a few times to see her.

That this was a guest room in her apartment marked the sorceress as an important healer. Possibly even the court physician. That made him feel better. A little. She was kind because it was her job.

The servant noted that his tea cup was empty. “Would you care for more, young sir?”

Gideon nodded.

The man seemed pleased with that answer and poured. While he did so, he talked. “I’m called Jerick, young sir. I am told you should be in bed for the next few days at least. So, I am at your service. If you have a need for anything you may call me with the bell.” He indicated a little bell on the side table. “It’s enchanted. If you ring the bell and call out, I’ll hear it through this.” He pointed to an ornate necklace that had the crest of Mystacor on it.

Why was the man treating him like a noble? They couldn’t have any idea who he was. Cautiously he nodded.

“Her Grace wishes me to tell you that she has some pressing appointments this morning, but that she will see you within the hour.” The servant said it cheerfully, like he did not understand what he was saying.

Perhaps he didn’t, but Gideon did.

His parent’s magic that bound his tongue was weakening, he could feel it. After the sorceress had warmed him and gotten him to drink some restorative potions, she had questioned him gently for a few minutes and worked subtle magics on him as she did. He felt her, the diagnostic spells tracing the tendrils of dark magic, probing them, testing their strength. She pulled on one or two of the shallow ones, weakening them. There were others that ran deep that she didn’t touch.

It hadn’t hurt. Not that much anyway. So, he held his tongue about it. That was what his mother had always told him to do when she had bespelled him and this was far less painful.

But soon the Duchess was going to come in and interrogate him. The Mad Duchess of Mystacor. Humans with magic all went mad, his parents had told him. After his interactions with Shadow Weaver, he was inclined to believe it.

The sorceress who had saved him didn’t seem mad. Perhaps healers were different? On the other hand she had said that was her favorite ravine.

It didn’t matter. The Duchess would want to know what he was doing on that ledge. She would truth-spell him and she wouldn’t be like the healer who had so carefully begun unravelling the binding around his thoughts and his words. The enchantments his father put on him would fall to pieces in one fell rush and he would go mad from the backlash.

A strange sound emanated from under the bed. The servant turned to stare at Gideon and then his eyes widened. His scent spiked with something. Alarm? Anger? The man’s scent notes were so strange that Gideon couldn’t tell.

“Miss Ariel?” The man opened the door and called out. “Could you come look at our guest?”

“Coming!” The girl from last night came in, red hair pulled up into a tail on the back of her head, wearing what were probably her pajamas. Her cheerful expression fell as she took him in.

“You cold?” she asked, carefully.

Cold? Why was she asking that?

Then he realized; the strange sound was the bedstead shaking with the force of his trembling.

He shook his head and wrapped his arms around himself as though that would stop them,

“Okay.” She held her hands at shoulder level as if to show she was unarmed. “Can I come over there?”

She was talking to him like he was a wild animal. Of course. Someone must have found out who he was.

He nodded, resigned. The few precious hours of peace he’d had outside of Lenio’s presence were over.

The girl turned, “Jerick, will you tell mom that our friend Akrash here is awake and he might need her?”

The servant bowed slightly. “Of course, Miss Ariel.”

“Akrash?” Gideon finally choked out.

“So you can talk.” The girl sat cross-legged on the couch beside the bed. “I was worried!”

She smiled brightly, relieved.

“My mom didn’t know what to call you. She says it’s the name for a type of large snow cat in one of the languages she knows.” She tilted her head almost the same way her mother did. “It literally means, ‘Noble Beauty’ if you want to split hairs. Apparently they thought snow cats were both noble and beautiful. If you don’t like it, you can tell me what you prefer to be called.”

Oh. So, they didn’t know. He was still waiting for the axe to fall.

“Akrash… is… fine.” He tasted the word on his tongue.

Noble Beauty. A name for a cat that thrived in the cold.

It was better than Gideon. Gideon was the name of some stupid ancestor his parents admired, which probably meant he had been a terrible person.

The words made his throat hurt. Cold, maybe. Or the magic. Or the rule, only speak when spoken to, and then weeks of not being spoken to outside barked orders, felt packed into his chest.

Even without a truth spell, everything was going to come spilling out the moment he opened his mouth.

“Okay.” The girl’s smile didn’t change, but she asked, “Do you know where you are?”

“Mystacor? Right?”

Now her smile dazzled. “Yep!”
An outer door opened, then closed.
Akrash, (just for now, until someone told him he couldn’t be) tensed. It couldn’t be the duchess he told himself. The servant would announce her, wouldn’t he? It had to be the girl’s mother.

Were they going to heal him up enough so the interrogation wouldn’t kill him? Is that why the sorceress had so gently begun disentangling the enchantments from his mind?

A little knock.

“Come in!” yelled the girl.

Akrash flinched. The girl saw it and something complicated passed across her face, but she didn’t say anything.
The door opened and the sorceress smiled as she swept gracefully across the room.

Not the duchess. The reprieve made Akrash almost sick.

“Well,” the sorceress said. “You look better.” She sat next to the girl, rather than looming over him and Akrash was grateful. There would be plenty of time for people to loom later.

“How are you feeling, dear one?”

“I… “ the endearment directed towards him felt strange. Not unwelcome, but… she seemed to mean it. She wouldn’t when she found out who… what he was.

“I’m better?” He didn’t mean for it to sound like a question.

“Good.” She sat back on the little couch, smoothing her skirt and casually put her arm around the girl’s shoulders. “I see you’ve met Ariel.”

Trying not to nervously unsheathe his claws into the blanket, he nodded. He wanted the duchess to get here so he could find out how he was to be punished. Waiting always made it worse.

Thinking of the duchess, of interrogation, and then probably being sent back out to die on the ledge, made him shake again. Shadow Weaver told him the leader of Mystacor was a skilled torturer.

Maybe he was just as weak as his parents said.

Some unspoken communication passed between mother and daughter.

“Akrash?” The girl waited until he met her eyes. “Are you… scared of us?”

What kind of question was that? What was wrong with her? He knew what he should say, what his parents would tell him to say. But he had nothing but the truth.

“Yes.” The word emerged as a squeak.

The two didn't laugh or say any of the things he braced for. They stared at him soberly. The girl nodded as though he'd somehow become legible to her.

“You’re very wise.” The sorceress held his eyes. “I think if it were me, I'd be out of my mind with fear.” She leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. “It’s all right if you don’t believe us yet, but you are safe here.” She sat back. “Is there someone we can contact for you? Family? Friends?”

Akrash shook his head slowly. There was only one person who might possibly care and he was beyond reach.

The sorceress did not reply, simply taking that in. “All right.” She flicked her eyes down at the food on the tray.

Heat spread over him as he realized he had not even touched it, but she did not comment.

“Shall I send down to the kitchen for more juice for you?” was all she asked.

“If you’re done with your tray, I can take it,” the girl said cheerily.

“I’m… done,” he admitted, hoping he wasn’t in trouble for wasting food.

The girl grinned and carried the tray to the cart. But once she set it down, she lifted his untouched breakfast and the napkin-wrapped spoon. For a terrible moment, he thought she might try to feed him.

She didn’t.

She brought it back and sat down beside the sorceress, casually unfolding the napkin and laying it across her knees.

How could she? Akrash stared, frozen. Right in front of the sorceress? Eating leftover food, from his plate. A breach of etiquette like that would have earned him a beating. At least.

Cold, familiar panic coiled in his gut. The sickening wait for the punishment he knew must follow. His eyes darted to the sorceress, searching for the first flicker of fury.

“What?” the girl asked, one corner of her mouth quirking up, eyes bright with mischief. “I didn’t call for mine yet. And this is already here.”

That wasn’t the point! The point was order. The point was knowing what the punishment would be so you could brace for it.

The sorceress merely smiled, indulgent and untroubled, as the girl ate, while he sat in stunned silence.

“Your Grace?” The white-haired servant had reappeared at the door. “The Council has sent the report on the ley-line disturbance at the western ravine.”

The title hung in the air.

Akrash went cold. Colder than the ledge, colder than death. A sound between a whimper and a choked breath escaped him. His vision tunnelled.

The sorceress turned her head, like it was nothing. “Yes, thank you. Tell them that we’ll convene this afternoon.” She turned back.

Your Grace? The kind healer. The woman who slept on his couch. The sorceress who spoke like Lenio.

She was the Mad Duchess of Mystacor?

“Akrash?” The voice came from a million miles away.

Everything Shadow Weaver had ever told him, everything he had overheard from his parents rushed to the front of his mind.

She was a monster. Unhinged. Furious. Cruel. Driven mad by her human sorcery.

Dark eyebrows knitted. “Akrash?” Voice low as she reached out with one hand.

He backed away, cowering against the headboard. He couldn’t help it. Was she toying with him? He’d known this couldn’t last.

The woman sat back and held his eyes. “It’s all right. No one is going to hurt you.”

“No?” he gasped. “W-Why did you bring me here? Why didn’t you leave me on the ledge?”

“I took you from the ledge because you were in danger. I brought you here because you were hurt.” The sorceress… The Duchess told him.

“When you feel better, if you want to leave, you can.” She paused, “But you don’t have to.”

He didn’t know what he wanted. The room was too small, there wasn’t enough air. Desperately his eyes darted around the room, looking for an escape route. There was nowhere to go. He was as defenseless here as he was on the mountain.

“Please, can you just look at me, dear one?”

He forced his eyes back to her face. She didn’t look angry, but his father never did. Shadow Weaver was at her most terrifying when she used that terrible gentle tone.

“I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to, but I’m worried about you making yourself sick.” Her dark eyes were wide and earnest and Akrash wanted to believe her. So badly.

“Can you just breathe with me?” The Duchess put her hand on her chest.

“Like this.”

She closed her mouth and took a deep breath through her nose. “Hold it. And then breathe out.” She blew out through her mouth.

He pressed his hand to his heart and tried to sync his breathing up with hers. Lenio had taught him something like this once.

“Yes. That’s right,” she encouraged.

The black spots cleared from his vision and he felt less like the world was ending.

Except it had.

Everything he’d ever known was gone. Princess C’yara had been taken by the Horde. The Kings were dead. Or so he understood from his parent’s whispers. Not just the kings. Who knew how many people were dead because of his parents?

Because of him.

Halfmoon stood, but he would never see it again. He was in Mystacor. Having a panic attack in front of a Duchess.

The whole weight of it fell onto his head. Even as his breathing normalized, he couldn’t keep the tears at bay and he sobbed. The woman conjured a handkerchief and gave it to him so he could wipe his face.

He was so weak.

For the longest time none of them spoke.

Finally, “Are you running from the Horde?” the girl asked softly.

Was he? His parents wanted to be part of the Horde. But he didn’t.

She seemed to take his silence as a “yes.”

“I got away from them too.” She waved one hand and sparks came from it. “They were going to send me to the Dark Temple.” She leaned into the woman sitting beside her. “Mom found me in the Whispering Wood. She saved me.”

Saved her? From the Dark Temple? From Shadow Weaver?

His parents wanted him to study in the Dark Temple. To “reach his full potential." He had never been strong enough for them. His parents had forced the channels that carried his magic as wide as they could with spells he was sure had come from the Horde’s dark sorceress.

“Th-they made me…” He couldn’t speak. His throat felt like he had swallowed broken glass and more tears came.

“Don’t,” the Duchess said softly. “Don’t say anything until we get those enchantments taken care of. I’d like to work on them some more when you’ve had rest. Not now.” She smiled and put her arm around Ariel. “I need to leave again soon, but is it all right if Ariel stays with you?”

He nodded.

“I’ll get them to send up some more juice. Do you think you could manage soup? Or perhaps more tisane?”

He shrugged, suddenly desperately tired. His eyes slipped closed.

“Akrash?” That was the girl. She sounded worried.

“Don’t worry,” the Duchess said. “He’s dealing with a lot. It’s normal for him to sleep a lot right now.”

Opening his eyes with an effort he saw that she still smiled. He couldn’t make any sense of her scent signals.

“Come along, Akrash. Lie down.”

He did as he was told, and, oh, how good it felt.

He had been exhausted, cold. His parents had dragged him from the city in what was essentially his pajamas. He had been freezing for weeks or maybe months and the blankets were heavy and warm.

The Duchess pulled the blankets over him.

It had been three days since they brought him in, and Akrash had told them neither his given name, nor his family name. Her mother had told her what Akrash said after he took out the cliff over the Western Ravine. Rambling, she’d said, about the Horde and a coup.

He seemed to fear being punished for their transgressions.

A trip from his bed to the bathroom exhausted him and his fingers were still clumsy in their dressings. Getting over hypothermia was no joke.

Castaspella was still sleeping on the couch in his room. Ariel took her books in to study in the afternoon, and Jerick was there in the morning. Between the three of them, they made sure Akrash wasn’t ever alone.

Ariel stared at the magicat as he slept, musing about the mysteries he represented. She’d never seen one before, but she’d read about them. There were very few left after the Horde had burned their forests.

His magic had been… altered. Augmented. Ariel felt it like a wrong note in a silent room — a sense of violation in the way his power rested in him. Castaspella had confirmed it with a somber nod. “The channels were widened,” she’d said. “Forcibly.”

It must have hurt horribly.

She had heard that Shadow Weaver did this to Champions. That was the fate that would have awaited her if she had not escaped.

Somehow he’d drawn from the local ley lines, and everyone in Mystacor with any sensitivity at all had felt the power draw. Castaspella had gone out alone, and Ariel had been terrified until she’d appeared in the front room.

“Ariel! Will you put some warming charms on the bed in the guest room?”

She’d done that and then stayed to help. The clothes they had taken from his almost-frozen body were in rags.

Expensive rags. Pure shimmer silk.

His hands were soft. Untouched by labor or combat. A noble’s hands. His speech, when it came, was layered and precise, the product of tutors and libraries, not survival.

He was the fallen nobility of an ancient burned forest, not a half-savage escaped slave like the creature she remembered being.

Every time he woke, he seemed to need to reorient himself to the idea that he wasn’t going to be tortured or sent back out to die in the cold.

No one could blame him. It had taken Ariel months to understand that she was not going to be thrown out at the first opportunity. She couldn’t even read when Castaspella found her. Akrash, on the other hand, was already skilled at sorcery.

He still wouldn’t eat. That made sense. Ariel remembered how hard it had been to learn to eat anything but ration bars.

They made sure that he always had juice, or tisane, or broth available, and he would drink. It wasn’t an emergency yet. But she wished there was something she could do.

The magicat made a noise in his sleep, a little trill almost like a cat. And then a low rumble.

He was purring.

Breath froze in Ariel’s chest. The books said nothing about purring. They listed war-cries, hunting strategies, the syntax and cadence of their spell-chants. They described trade goods and etiquette. They chronicled battle-magic and noble lineages, the public face of a people.

But this... this seemed private, secret. A sound of trust so profound it had survived the end of his world.

Surreptitiously, she lifted her tablet. Her mother needed to see this. Healing needed to be recorded, not just wounds.

As worried as she was, Castaspella knew better than to comment on the fact Akrash hadn’t eaten solid food in a week. She had the kitchen supplement his juices, broths, and tisanes with the nutrients the texts on magicats prescribed.

But it wasn’t sustainable. As a healer, it alarmed her. As a duchess responsible for this living puzzle, it created a critical vulnerability. As a mother, it broke her heart.

He wasn’t being picky or stubborn. He was a frightened creature trying to map the invisible rules of a new environment. She was certain that withholding food had been a punishment in his world. To press him would be to become an enforcer in a game he alone was playing.

He had recovered enough for her to tell him he could get out of bed that morning. He had taken it as an imperative. Jerick reported that Akrash had politely asked for a tutorial on the facilities. Then, shamefaced, he had asked if the man could help him dress.

Although he'd asked because his fingers were still stiff from frostbite, Akrash was accustomed to servants, that was clear.

Now he sat at her dinner table, posture so perfectly rigid he seemed less like a guest and more like a statue carved from sheer anxiety. The short journey from her library where he had installed himself for the day to the table had left a faint tremor in the hand resting on the linen cloth. His claws flexed minutely in what Casta read as a pure, instinctive fear response.

Jerick set a tureen of soup down and began to serve. Castaspella watched Akrash’s eyes. They tracked Jerick’s movements with the silent, desperate focus of a cryptographer breaking a code. He was memorizing the liturgy of this strange new temple.

And with each soft “please” and “thank you” he offered, Castaspella heard the impeccable, desperate politeness of someone who believes his life depends on the whims of those who hold power over him. It was survival. Heartbreaking and razor-sharp.

Served, he waited, watching Ariel out of the corner of his eyes, and picked up the spoon only after she did. He stirred the soup more than he ate it, but Casta considered every mouthful a triumph.

“How did you enjoy the library, Akrash?” she asked, conversationally.

He jumped as if struck, his body convulsing with a shock so pure it sent his water glass skittering across the linen. He looked up, his cat eyes showing white all the way around.

“That’s all right.” The terror in his gaze made her want to cry and she hurried to reassure him. “No harm done.”

“That’s right, young sir.” Jerick mopped the table quickly and gave Akrash an encouraging smile. “No harm at all.”

Akrash nodded jerkily. Conceding, but not believing. He was a frozen statue again, waiting for the delayed sentence.

Then Ariel put one elbow on the table and slurped her soup from her spoon.

For a moment, Casta was puzzled. Ariel was sensitive about her table manners. She’d worked so hard to learn them…

Oh.

The understanding clicked into place with a warmth that nearly brought tears to Castaspella’s eyes.

“Ariel, dear,” Casta said, her voice laced with a gentle, performative reproach she knew her daughter would understand. “Sit up straight.”

Ariel complied instantly with a cheerful smile. “Oh. Right.”

Casta watched Akrash’s frozen profile. His ears, which had been pinned flat, came forward. Just a bit. A tiny, seismic shift in the landscape of his fear.

He did not look at Ariel. But he picked up his spoon again. And this time, he took a sip of soup. It was a small thing, but it was something.

“So.” She wanted to bring him out of his head before he could wind himself up again. “What did you think of my private library?”

When he looked at her a flicker of something passed behind his eyes. “That’s your private library?”

Casta nodded happily, “Yes. There is a public library and archive here, but that’s downstairs. I can take you down there in a few days, if you like.”

“Really?” The word had an eager note to it. “I’ve never seen so many Etherian books. I was looking at some of your healing texts.”

“The palace library in Halfmoon doesn’t have that many, but Dr. Lenio always… “ he stopped and swallowed. He’d been doing this all week, cutting himself off when he got near something painful.

He looked down, his ears and tail both drooped.

When it became clear he wasn’t going to say anything else, Casta finally told him, “Please, feel free to borrow anything you find in there.”

“May I?” That flicker of life behind his eyes again 

“Of course.”

Sensing that Akrash might need to have less attention on him now, she began asking Ariel about her day and how her classes were going.

Throughout the conversation, Akrash listened carefully. As Ariel talked about her current difficulty with ley line theory, he timidly said, “I-I might be able to help you with that. I’m good at ley lines.”

Ariel grinned. “I bet! Isn’t that what took out the Western Ravine? You need to show me how you did that!”

Casta rolled her eyes theatrically. “Only if you both use the combat training grounds.”

Akrash’s eyes darted between the two of them, looking for hidden threats. Apparently finding none, he nodded. “Yes, ma’am”

Casta nearly cheered. It was progress, however incremental.

Gideon stared at the mirror, at the gray stripes that resembled his father. He had his mother’s eyes.

He didn’t like being reminded of Gideon. He liked thinking of himself as Akrash. Gideon was a useless failure. Akrash was… someone else.

But Akrash was not the one who stared out of the mirror.

He wanted to smash it, but it wasn’t the mirror's fault. And he would not, under any circumstances, wreck Casta’s things.

Aside from the fact that he didn’t want to hurt her feelings, she might revoke his library privileges.

Jerick knocked on the door to let him know breakfast was served. In Castaspella’s home, food appeared like clockwork. A given, not a reward or a test. No one watched him eat, crouching in wait for him to breach some protocol or other.

There was a small kitchenette that always had snacks, and Ariel had told him he could just walk in and take something.

Other than that, no one seemed to care whether or not he ate.

No, that wasn’t true.

He could see Castaspella’s concern, but she did not say anything. Although last night she had asked if he had any special favorites.

He wasn’t trying to be difficult. A profound, weary apathy had settled into his bones. The most fragrant soup tasted like ash; the softest bread turned to grit in his mouth.

He wanted to be grateful. And he was, fiercely so, for the care, but he didn’t know how to explain himself.

The world seemed dark to his eyes. As though nothing would ever be good again. Now that his body no longer hurt, now that he was mostly healed, he didn’t know what to do with himself.

The library offered distraction, and that helped, but nothing seemed worth it.

Ariel kept trying to talk to him. He helped her with her ley lines homework, until it became obvious she was just saying she needed the help. She was a far better sorcerer than he was.

Sometimes when he woke up, he found himself crying. Not for any particular reason, just that merely being conscious was a burden. His dreams, even when quick with nightmares, seemed better than the waking world.

He went back to bed. He couldn’t face the inevitable disappointment on their faces.

A little while later another knock.

“Akrash?”

“I’m here.” He didn’t even turn over in bed.

Castaspella came in with a glass of juice and set it on the side table. “I have to go, dear one.”

She came around to the other side of the bed. He squeezed his eyes shut.

“Jerick is here, if you want company. Ariel will be back after lunch.”

He nodded, his eyes still shut, tears leaking from them. A soft hand petted his ears, and then she was gone.

He must have fallen back to sleep. The light had moved when he next woke up. Someone was knocking on his door.

“Hey, Akrash!”

It was Ariel.

“What?” he hissed, angry. He had stopped guarding his tongue with her and she had been on the receiving end of his sarcasm more than once.

“I have your lunch.”

He didn’t want lunch. He didn’t want anything. With a growl he stood up and yanked the door open.

Ariel stood with a smug smile. Floating between her two hands was a sphere of water and inside the sphere, a fish with iridescent scales. Inside the bubble it darted and circled.

This wasn’t like the fish in the dark lake. Magic emanated from it and its blue eyes shone with intelligence.

“What is that?” he asked, confused.

“Lunch!” The girl had the audacity to chuckle smugly. “I heard cats like fish.”

Lunch? Was she out of her mind? This creature was beautiful! Its scales refracted light like cut crystal. It whipped back and forth in its sphere, eyeing him almost imperiously, irritated rather than frightened.

“But… what kind of fish is it?”

“A silverfin, from the Starlight Courtyard. They live in the ponds and canals.”

“He’s not lunch!” Akrash burst out, taking the sphere into his own hands. “What is wrong with you?” The fish needed more water than that. It wouldn’t have enough oxygen.

“It’s okay, Leonard,” he told the fish. The name floated up from his subconscious and it seemed right.

“We’ll fix it.” He summoned water from the surrounding air, rich with oxygen. That would keep it for a while.

“I need a tank!”

“A tank?” Ariel blinked. Akrash wasn’t sure why she looked so surprised. Obviously she knew you couldn’t eat this kind of fish.

“Yes! A fish tank! Something big and glass that can hold water!” The words charged with an urgency he hadn't felt in weeks. The gray fog in his mind was gone, burned away by a single, clear objective. “Can you find something like that?”

“Sure. Maybe. Probably,” she affirmed and turned on her heel. “I’ll be right back.”

Akrash took the fish and its water to the bathroom, settling it gently in the tub.

“The spell should hold until your tank gets here, but in case it doesn’t, you’re safe, okay?”

That spell would hold. He knew it would, but he didn’t want to take chances. And he didn’t want Leonard to be afraid.

Thinking quickly, he raced down to Casta’s library, his bare feet making no sound on the wooden floors. He’d seen a whole section on the Star Courtyard’s ponds and the denizens thereof.

The book was where he remembered it. “Aha!” Care and Feeding of Silverfins.

He pelted back to his room.

Ariel had returned with a big square tank that she set on the floor. “Okay. Now what?”

The book told him how much water Leonard would need, what kind of food, what sort of plants. The tank was big enough, but…

“Ah, would, erm, Her Grace get upset if I modified the walls a little?”

Ariel lifted an eyebrow. “I think mom would probably be fine.”

The emphasis on the word was strange, but Akrash didn’t think about it. “Where is she? I better ask!”

“She’s in her office this part of the day.”

“Can you call her?”

Ariel nodded and left the room.

Akrash backed up and looked at the walls. On his desk was a book with maps of Mystacor’s towers. Quickly he leafed through and found the floor he was on and its relationship to the ponds.

“She says that’s fine!” Ariel was back. “What are you planning on doing?”

Akrash smiled. The expression felt strange, as though the muscles had forgotten how. “Watch!”

Shaping glass was easy, it took hardly any power, just concentration and finesse. Akrash had always been good at helping Lenio with the glass needed to brew medicines.

Shortly the square tank was an almost perfect sphere with the top open. The stone wall was a little harder, but not much.

Carefully Akrash pushed the sphere into the wall, embedding it so that half the sphere pushed out.

Now began the difficult part. Shaping a channel that led to one of the Star Courtyard canals.

For the whole afternoon, he shaped the stone, using all the spells for stoneshaping he knew.

At last the careful construction was finished. He asked Ariel for more glass and shaped them into pipes that lined the channels.

When it was done, he canceled the spell that kept the water back and it gently rose into the tank. Plugging it into the canals meant that the water would circulate.

Then he went to the bathroom and got Leonard, settling him carefully into the tank.

“I went and got some silverfin food from the ponds.” Ariel came in with a small canister and gave it to him.

“Thank you!” He took it from her and sprinkled some into the tank. “How’s that?” he asked Leonard.

It was probably his imagination, but Leonard seemed pleased as he whisked around twice, flicking his tail.

“Now if you want to go swim with your friends you can, okay?” Akrash pressed his hand to the glass and Leonard butted his nose against the glass where his palm rested. “But this way you can also come visit me. I’d really like that.”

“Oh my. This is amazing!”

Akrash turned to see Casta standing there beaming.

“Beautiful!” She crossed the floor to look with wide eyes at Leonard. Slowly she pressed her hand against the sphere. “Just beautiful.”

Her arm draped loosely over Akrash’s shoulder, tightening when he relaxed into her side.

Taking her hand away from the sphere, she conjured a small glowing blue crystal from somewhere. She held it in her flat palm. “May I?”

Akrash wasn’t sure what she meant, but he nodded, curious what she was doing.

The crystal floated from her hand to the tank, submerging into the water without a splash, lighting the tank from within.
Leonard circled the tank happily then came back to stare at them.

“Hey, Akrash?” Ariel came in and Casta draped her other arm over the girl. “Do you want a cookie?”

Absent-mindedly, Akrash took the cookie and munched on it as he admired Leonard and his own handiwork.

He didn’t see Casta and Ariel’s delighted smiles as they watched him.