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When water comes to a boil, it happens slowly. You can wait and wait and wait, and the surface will remain unchanged. You may turn your back on it then, for only a few seconds, and return to find it bubbling and roiling.
When water comes to a boil, it happens slowly. And then it happens all at once.
The same can be said for your anger. You hardly even notice it at first, the weak undercurrent of rage that has started to seep into your veins. Your friends are gathered around Beau and Caleb, all flitting hands and anxious eyes. Their gazes dart around at each other before pausing over the dark corners of your bedroom, searching for a culprit they cannot see. Their voices are low whispers; a type of hurried speech that you can’t make out over the sudden ringing in your ears.
Your fingers curl as you ball your hands into fists, and your arms nearly tremble with the strength of your grip. Your nails dig into skin until it stings.
You are like boiling water. It happens all at once.
You turn quickly and nearly stumble with the force of it. The slow creep of rage is now a coursing kind of fury. You take three strides towards the door, hardly hearing the sudden shout of your name.
Your hand closes on the handle just as you feel someone – Fjord, likely – grasp at your shoulders.
“Yasha, stop,” he grunts, and he’s grown stronger since you met him but he is still no match for you. You shake him off.
“Let me go.” Your voice is cold; a thin veil over the burning ferocity of your rage.
“No-” Fjord grabs you again, jumping onto your back, and then you feel Veth latch her little body around one of your legs, “-you can’t just storm out, for all we know it’s exactly what he wants. He might’ve set this whole thing up by giving them that book-”
“Yasha, we’ll get him-” Veth is saying as her chin bumps against your knee. Any other day, this would be adorably cute. “-We’ll get him and we’ll make him pay but you can’t go charging in like this.”
Veth talking you down from a rash course of action. Who would’ve thought?
You roll your shoulders in an attempt to shake Fjord off you again. He hangs on, so you bring your hands up to his wrists, which he has tried to lock around your neck. It isn’t hard to curl your fingers around his slender forearms and squeeze. You hear him wince behind you. You pull, forcing his hands off you before you let him go. He drops to the ground, stumbles, and lands ass-first on the floor.
Veth is a nuisance but you figure that by the time you extricate her from your limbs, the others will have restrained you again. So, you simply reach for the handle and yank the door open. It will probably make for a comical sight: a halfling woman grappling your leg as you search the tower for the purple-skinned bastard, but at this point, you don’t care.
You don’t get a chance to make it through the door. Suddenly, you are frozen in place by an invisible barrier, as though you were petrified. Veth seems unaffected. When she sees that you aren’t going anywhere, she lets go of your leg and closes the bedroom door.
Jester speaks from somewhere behind you.
“I’m sorry, Yasha. You can’t.” Her voice is small and meek. Beneath the roiling heat of your anger, you feel your heart ache. “It only lasts a minute. Please don’t make me cast it again.”
You face the door for the entire minute, unable to turn and see your friends. They don’t speak much behind you. They are all waiting to see what you’ll do when the spell ends.
The funny thing about anger is that it doesn’t tend to linger. It requires action: the swing of a blade or the crash of a fist. Anger can be a fire, but without action, it is only embers and ash.
The minute passes. You feel the spell end and your body released. You slump a bit, catching yourself on the door and letting out a heavy sigh. Your fury has subsided, as it always does when there is no outlet to sustain it.
And then, unbidden, you feel a hand on the small of your back. You turn slowly and see Beau standing before you.
“Come on,” she murmurs. She doesn’t quite meet your gaze. Her eyes linger somewhere near your throat. “Come back here and let’s figure this out. Together.” She turns and doesn’t wait to see if you’ll follow, but you do. You do.
You sit with the group and you let them talk it over. Beau shows the red eye tattoo with a shaking hand. After stripping naked in a rush, Caleb has covered up by throwing a cloak around his shoulders, relieved to have found only one ugly brand on his arm.
The ensuing conversation is one you know you should probably pay attention to, but you can’t bring yourself to tune in. Your mind wanders – well, it rushes, really – leaving the bedroom and finding the Tombtakers’ quarters. You envision Lucien in his bed, unsleeping and smirking. You imagine wrapping your fingers around his throat and forcing yourself to squeeze. He looks like your friend, but he’s not. He’s not.
What has he done to Beau?
You curse your past leniency. You chastise yourself for your patience and your hope and your surprisingly soft nature. Soft for your friends, and those that you’ve lost. But Lucien is not Mollymauk. He wears his face and he shares his arrogance, but your old friend would never have been capable of this. You had let things slide, let his hideous nature go unfettered as you struggled to come to terms with the return of his body. But to see what he’s done to Caleb and Beau, to see his malice made material...
You grind your teeth. You force yourself to stay put, seated in this circle as your friends discuss your next move, but slowly, surely, like a pot set on a stove, the temperature within you rises.
Slowly, slowly. Then all at once.
You are about to burst with the force of your rage when a hand falls gently on your shoulder. It startles you out of your fury. You turn. It’s Caduceus.
He doesn’t say anything, just rests his heavy hand on your shoulder and gives you a knowing look. A soothing, warm feeling seems to emanate from his hand into your body. It flows into your chest, coils down your spine, and eventually even reaches so far as the tips of your toes.
You narrow your eyes at him. He shrugs, removes his hand, and turns away. You think you see him nod slightly. You hate it, but you do feel better somehow.
Eventually, the discussion comes to a close and the group decides to resume their long rest in the hopes of recuperating at least some of their strength. You’ll all be exhausted tomorrow but it wouldn’t hurt to try to get some sleep. Beau, Jester, and Veth all clamber back into your bed, and Caduceus settles himself on the floor with his back against the wall, preparing to take watch.
You almost settle back against the door you’d been sleeping on when suddenly, you think better of it. You get up and walk over to Caduceus, picking your way around Caleb and Fjord where they lay on the floor. You crouch down next to your Firbolg friend.
“You should sleep,” you whisper. Your voice sounds like it belongs to a different body.
“I’ll be fine,” Caduceus replies levelly, unbothered by the tension that you radiate.
“You’re a spellcaster. You need your rest.”
“I recover quickly.”
“We need you at full strength,” you continue, insistent.
Caduceus looks at you, his gaze solemn, before he replies, “I don’t think it will matter whether I have all my spells or not. What happened here tonight is beyond me.”
Perceptive motherfucker. You fall back from your heels and sit on the floor. Slumping forward, you drop your head in your hands. “What are we going to do?”
Caduceus leans forward. “For starters, you’re going to sleep.”
“I can’t,” you whisper. You think that if you spend even two minutes alone with your thoughts, you’ll be storming out into the tower before Caduceus or Jester can even think to cast Hold Person on you again.
“You can and you will,” Caduceus replies easily.
“How can you say that?”
“Because nothing that happened tonight will have changed by the morning.” You look up at him, wondering how he manages to be so calm amidst such complications. He smiles at you. “Sleep.”
You turn away from Caduceus and look toward the bed. Beau is hidden between Jester and Veth, but being the tallest of the three, you can easily make out the shape of her legs sticking out toward the foot of the bed. Normally, the sight of Beau in your bed would set your stomach aflutter and your heart aflame. Now, you feel nothing but a sickness in your gut.
“What if-?”
Before you can finish, Caduceus lays a hand on your wrist. “Sleep.”
You turn back to look at him and, against all the instincts that urge you to give in to your fury, you nod. You settle yourself down next to Caduceus and rest your back against the wall. Before you close your eyes, you look toward the bed again. Beau’s asleep. You’re glad. She needs the rest. You want more than anything to protect her.
You sigh. You try to sleep. Eventually, you do. It isn’t exactly restful, but it is dreamless, and for that you are immensely grateful.
Morning comes with a flurry of activity. There is an air of urgency with which your friends gather themselves, and before long they are ready to file out of your bedroom. Fjord and Caleb lead the way, preparing to meet whatever this new situation may bring. Caduceus follows, then Jester and Veth, and you are making to follow her when someone tugs at your arm.
You turn. Beau is standing there, looking down at her fingers wrapped loosely around your wrist. You hear a loud cough from the doorway. Beau looks around you and waves dismissively at who you assume is Veth.
“We’ll catch up in a minute,” Beau tells her, and you hear a thoughtful hum before the door clicks shut behind you.
It’s silent for a moment. Beau doesn’t meet your gaze but you can’t pull your eyes off of her. You look over her face and her slender shoulders before trailing your gaze down to her hand. Her other hand. The one that she’s been hiding all morning, trying not to let anyone get a good look.
“So this is... not what I expected,” Beau says suddenly.
“No,” you whisper, not knowing what else to say.
Beau reaches into her coat and pulls out a sash dyed Cobalt Soul blue. She begins wrapping it around her newly-marked hand.
“Let me.” You reach for her hand. She lets you take it, watching with downcast eyes as you hold her hand palm up, weaving the sash around like the knuckle-wrap of a pit fighter. When you’re done, you tie it off as best you can and survey your handiwork.
“It suits you,” you murmur, hoping to find levity in the bleakness of the morning.
Beau flexes her hand, curling it into a fist. “So, you have experience with cults. Any ideas?”
You curl your fingers around her hand, holding it in the space between the two of you and fighting off the sudden urge to pull her closer. “I’ve found that brutally mutilating their leaders usually helps."
Despite the gravity of the situation, Beau cracks a smile. It’s short-lived though, and her shoulders slump suddenly. She lets out a heavy sigh and then, to your surprise, she crumples forward. She presses her forehead to your sternum. You realize, as you take a shaky breath, that this is the closest you two have ever been.
You let your chin drop so that it rests on top of Beau’s head. You feel her breath come in shallow puffs against your chest. Before you realize what you’re doing, you’ve wrapped your arms around her back. You’re holding her against you, not forcefully, but faithfully, as though nothing other than Beau herself would have the power to make you let go.
The silence lingers but neither of you seem to mind. You are suspended in a moment that feels outside of time, and you think you could happily stay here until the end of your days. Still, your friends will be waiting for the two of you, and you’ll need to face this nightmare eventually.
Before pulling away, you press your lips to her hair. You feel her tremble slightly against you. It makes your arms press tighter, pulling her into your chest.
“I’m going to protect you,” you whisper.
And you will. You will.