Chapter Text
Nadia sprawls across her chaise lounge, breathing in her tea’s licorice-scented steam while Julian describes the blend. "It's the best I know for a sore throat, without being horribly unpleasant, that is."
Nadia thanks him, glad for that caveat, as the tickle in her throat only comes from that morning's speech. He remains standing beside her, looking concerned anyway. Ordinarily, she won’t let others fuss over her. But ever since naming Julian as her court physician, she's found herself calling for him during strained or idle moments. And what else is it appropriate to summon a physician for beyond a headache or other malady? It won’t do to compromise his new position with accusations of biased appointments.
They are alone now, however, and his comfort matters more. She swings her legs off the chaise lounge and pats its velvet cushion. "Have a drink, Doctor."
"I couldn't," he murmurs, but he sits. He tucks his long legs awkwardly out of her way while he pours himself a cup. "You were marvelous this morning, Countess. The crowd held onto your every word."
That’s hard to believe. Portia holds the people's attention better, but they deserve to hear from their countess. "As long as they trust in our efforts for clean water, I suppose that's all that matters."
"With all due respect, they believe in you, and you can accomplish that and more."
Unlike the now-distance crowds, his faith at her side can’t be dismissed. "We can. We have quite the team assembled."
"Of course, Milady. We'll support you however we can."
His infectious smile has no cure. This is why she keeps calling for him, even when not in need of his service. Her finger traces the rim of her cup.
"You may call me Nadia, you know. You did when we were friends before, did you not?"
She can almost see a vision playing out as he reacts to new memories, a stage performance of expressions crossing his face. He rubs his temples. "That's right. You asked me to after that, uh, night in the fountain."
She remembers the question, if not the whole night. If only Asra weren’t traveling with his love, the group could make fresher memories—not that she begrudges him the well-earned vacation. "I figured the three of us had little left to hide."
He matches her arched brow. She sips her tea, thinking of how untrue that turned out to be.
Lucio's wing's has sat abandoned since the investigation. It only shows up in Nadia’s nightmares, where a shadow swallows hers and crumbles into ash. She itches to throw out every portrait and gaudy bauble, to hang so many lights that nothing can hide, but there's no time. She refuses to prioritize his memory, even erasing it, over helping the city.
That is, until she spends an afternoon tensing up next to a statue in the library, leading Julian to comment on it. "Awful-looking thing, isn't it? Is that supposed to be a goat or a naked mole rat?"
She manages a smile. "I hadn't noticed it." But she had, and she becomes aware of Julian drumming his fingers as he eyes not only the statue, but also the hidden entrance to the underground dungeon. Scrubbing the palace of old demons no longer seems like an ill use of time.
She enlists Julian to help remove and, when possible, burn the contents of Lucio's wing. Gaudy clothing, sloppy documents, half-shredded curtains. She clutches her forehead. That’s right; he destroyed their belongings whenever she ‘deigned’ to pay attention to Asra and Julian rather than him. As if they weren’t the ones asking after her health and subjects she cared about.
While hurling the curtains might be therapeutic, she drops them into the fire without letting sparks fly or otherwise creating an impressive display. They aren’t worth it.
The crackle satisfies her nonetheless. When the fire bleaches Julian’s face, she leads him away to discuss options for new furniture.
The basement dungeon proves more of an ordeal. "I understand if you don't want to go,” she tells him. “I can have those further removed from the situation deal with it."
"Don't be silly. I'm the court physician. If there's something down there that could—that could make anyone sick, or any dangerous tools, I'm the first one who should examine them."
Ultimately, they enter alone. They descend through tunnels as ominous as she could expect. The rock feels unstable under her heels, which clack sharply without an echo. The path seems to stretch to the center of the earth.
Instead, they find ground in front of a lift. Nadia narrows her eyes at the plaque's warning. "Honestly, did my former court have nothing better to do than be dramatic?"
That seems like it could elicit a self-deprecating quip, but Julian is silent and as white as his new uniform. It's usually a good color on him, making him look crisp and slightly less washed out. It doesn't help now.
The protective gear they don hides his pallor. Once suited up, Nadia enters the beetle-shaped key into the lock.
"Wait, Nadia, I should—"
The door swings open. She steps onto the metal platform. "That warning is all theatrics, and my palace is not a stage. Are you coming?"
He stands still, the mask hiding his usual reactions from view, before stumbling after her. She pulls the lever, and with a metallic screech, they fall.
Even with the mask, the rotten stench assaults her. It's not so disgusting as the leather straps buckled to the table or the cages stacked against the walls. Frayed straps and dented bars document final resistance.
Nadia waits for memories of the dungeon to resurface. None do.
"I have truly never been here," she says. "So many atrocities beneath my very floors, while I slept in ignorance."
Beside her, Julian doesn't move, other than his quivering arms crossed over his chest. There's no point in asking if he's all right. Determined to get this over with, she strides toward a table laden with tools. Some are stained, the others somehow eerier in their pristineness, leaving a mystery as to what had to be cleansed.
He lurches after her. "Wait, please don't touch anything! It could be infected," he says.
"Is that not what the gloves are for?" Nonetheless, she stays her hand. "I promise not to be careless. By all means, you're the expert."
Mumbling under his breath, he inspects metal instruments before collecting them in containers etched with protective spells. They continue their sweep of the room. Despite her desire to learn, she only asks Julian necessary questions. He already looks like he wants to put himself in a container of Valdemar's tools.
When the surfaces have been dealt with, Julian approaches a pit in the corner. He pulls a lever beside it with a trembling hand.
Nothing surfaces. Nadia pokes her head over what could be a dry well. "It's empty."
"Of course," he mutters. "Of course, the beetles are gone." He removes his mask, pitches over the pit, and vomits.
When he's done, he remains clutching the edge. She crouches to rub his back, trying not to think about how the space will require even more scrubbing.
"I am sorry, Julian."
"I'm sorry," he echoes. "I'm so sorry." He repeats it like a mantra. Unsure of how else to help, she keeps a hand between his shoulder blades.
"I think we've seen enough," she says, rising. Rather than help Julian banish his demons, she may have plunged him among their ghosts. When he wobbles to his feet, she offers support, which he's slow to accept. He apologizes again as he leans into her.
"There's one more place I should look," he says. Despite everything, he seems determined. She nods in respect.
He directs them to one of the rooms along the side. The 'office' might as well be a prison cell, but his books and trinkets make it slightly cozier. He scoops up a quill holder and cradles it against his chest.
"Pasha gave this to me when we were young, when I said I wanted to learn to write. I thought—I thought I'd lost it." He sounds ready to cry, the vulnerability contrasting with the mask he put back on. A seed of tenderness plants in Nadia's chest.
"She will be glad you have it," she says. Realizing her mask hides her smile, she pats his elbow. He scoops up the rest of his belongings and scans the empty cell.
"I was locked in here, the night of the fire," he says. She waits for elaboration. Instead, he takes out an implement and breaks the lock on the door. "Excuse the property damage," he says, for once not sounding sorry. She isn't, either.
As the days pass in the library, Julian stops looking over his shoulder, and Nadia can focus on their projects. Aisha and Salim’s refreshing competency helps. Their bond only strengthens their effectiveness, as each brings their own specialties to solutions, and without fail one catches what the other misses.
"You just want to see if you can build that," Aisha says in challenge to one of Salim's diagrams. "Aren't there less complicated ways to move water?"
"Guilty as charged." He smiles at her before catching Nadia's eye. "Er, sorry, Countess. I suppose that was a waste of time."
"Hey, I'd want to see it," Julian says. "It would make a fun ride, with some modifications." As if seeking Nadia’s approval, he directs this to her, though his grin betrays the joke.
"The next time I create a festival committee, you'll both be appointed,” she says. “If we could please continue?"
Salim sets aside his diagrams to return to their map. As they lean over it, his shoulder brushes Aisha's. They never make a spectacle of their love, but they constantly inhabit the same space, like it's as casual as sharing air. On the other side of the table, Nadia stands apart from Julian, the distance as tangible as the wooden table her hands twist upon. Even those less clumsy than him give her a wide berth for fear of accidentally touching a countess.
"What do you think, Countess?" Julian asks. He still addresses her as such in others' company, to her current chagrin. She tries to focus. Luckily, after her memory loss, she practiced pretending to understand. She taps a finger near the map while she studies the messy shape he drew around a district.
"Yes, I believe that is a good place to start, if our magicians agree," she says.
Rather than returning to the map, Julian studies her. "Do you need a break?"
Covering up a moment of distraction shouldn't be difficult. Lucio certainly paid so little attention to her wellbeing that it would never have mattered. Then again, whereas he cared for nothing but himself, Julian cares for everyone except himself.
Not that there’s a need to compare them.
"Do you?" she counters. "I'm quite all right."
Nonetheless, a break arrives in the form of Portia bearing refreshments. Trays of snacks and beverages float around her like loyal pets, carrying more than she could have. They all exclaim at the sight, even Aisha and Salim, making Nadia think this is the first time Portia has pulled off levitation. Knowing her, she practiced in private to impress them. Though her dedication isn’t news, Nadia beams at her right hand nonetheless.
Julian beams even brighter. Nadia expected him to be antsy about his sister practicing magic, but despite his initial concern, he's constantly bragging about her talents. I knew she had it in her to be a world-class magician all along, he tells anyone who will listen.
Just as the trays arrive at the table, one wobbles. Portia gasps, breaking her concentration. She manages to catch one; Nadia grabs a second, saving its contents from spilling onto the floor; and Julian knocks against her as he dives for the third.
Both Devoraks apologize at once. "I finally had it, too," Portia groans, prompting Aisha and Salim to soothe her. With that role taken, Julian seems momentarily at a loss. He pats Nadia's elbow where he bumped her.
"Did I hurt you?" he asks.
He didn't, but some part of her wants to request an examination. She banishes the idea. It hardly seems fair.