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Chapter Text

Essek nurses a glass of plum wine, lingering by the corner of the bar. It is a good spot for him to hide and wait until an acceptable time for him to escape this party. People come and go, but do not often stop to talk to him here, and, importantly, it is far away from the dance floor. It also provides him a fair view of most of the ballroom. From here he can watch the rest of the court schmooze, and dance, and play their petty little games. He’ll need to remain another hour, likely two if he wants to avoid being seen as rude. His mother would have his head for that.

“Well, well, never expected to see you here.” Essek turns his back to the rest of the party to scowl at his brother, tiny hors d’oeuvres plate clutched in one hand and stacked with more food than is really appropriate. “Only you could manage to look so dour at a party, Essek.”

“I am only here because Mother insisted. If I could get out of it I would have.” In spite of his words Verin’s smile only grows. 

“I do not believe that for a moment. Our mother has never been able to make you do a single thing you did not wish to do, and it would not be the first time that she has had to make excuses for your absence at a Festival of Light.” 

Essek resists the urge to roll his eyes, but only just. “So what? You think I am here because I secretly enjoy watching courtiers get sloppily drunk and the light burning my eyes?” Unthinking, Essek glances up to the large, domed stained glass ceiling of the Thelyss ballroom, only to quickly look away, tears pricking the corner of his eyes. 

Verin gives a long, considering hum that doesn’t bode well for Essek, knowing his brother. “No, no, I don’t doubt for a moment that your hatred of parties is genuine.” That shithead grin spreads across his brother’s face as he leans one elbow against the bar. “I just don’t think it’s a coincidence that this will be the first Festival of Light attended by the Dynasty’s newest den.”

Essek’s spine straightens and he has to struggle not to sputter in outrage. “I am not here because of Den Nein.” He wants to say more, something that would strengthen his denial, but he can’t think of anything he can safely add that wouldn’t sound silly or fall flat. 

He has been trying to avoid Den Nein though. To an extent at least. Den Thelyss had been quick to establish a connection with the new ‘Heroes of the Dynasty’, even before they had applied for and been granted den status. Deirta was always eager to establish foreign diplomatic connections, though now that the Nein were their own den whether or not they were a foreign connection was a difficult question to answer. 

Still, Essek had planned to let someone else handle the Nein, and keep as far away as possible in case they should try to pry any further into the beacons. That had only worked for the first week that they were in Rosohna, then the empire wizard with the disconcerting Zemnian accent had been knocking at his office door requesting lessons in Dunamancy. Apparently, Caleb hadn’t wasted any time making connections in the Marble Tomes, and unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, Professor Wacoh had pointed Caleb to Essek. 

Caleb had been dogged in his pursuit of Essek’s help too. He and the Nein had fulfilled every single petty request and errand Essek had thought to send them on, and worse yet they had been so kind to him. Jester with her painted gifts and cloyingly sweet baked goods, Beauregard with her aggressive hospitality, and Caleb with his sad, searching eyes and hungry, brilliant mind. They had invited him to dinner, asked him about himself, listened and cared with such genuineness, like Essek has never experienced before. 

And Essek isn’t an idiot. Maybe he doesn't have the best track record with interpersonal relationships, sure, but he would have to be blind not to see that there is a spark between himself and Caleb. He had certainly noticed the way Caleb watched him; the interest in his magic that never seemed to be just about the magic and always more about the mind that had wrought it. 

Caleb had even accompanied him out at times: to arcana shops for components; bookstores that Essek recommended; and, on one memorable occasion, out to a small restaurant just close enough to the Coronas that Essek had received odd, lingering looks, but not close enough for his presence to cause scandal. 

Essek’s connection to the new, strange members of Den Nein isn’t something that had escaped the notice of the court. He knows there are whispers about him, and about Den Thelyss on the larger scale, and his gambit attaching himself so closely to this upstart den. 

“No?” There’s unhidden mirth sparking in Verin’s eyes now as they dart away to the party behind Essek then back again to his brother. “Well, what would I know? I’m sure you’re just here for the snacks and wine then. Oh,” Verin pushes away from the bar, and out of his slovenly slouch, to pluck the wine glass from Essek’s bewildered fingers. “Don’t worry, I’ll hold this for you.” Verin winks at him, of all things. 

Essek opens his mouth to ask what in the Light has gotten into him, and to demand back his drink, but his thoughts are abruptly ground to a halt, cut off by the low voice behind him. 

“I was hoping I might find you here.” Essek isn’t sure what his face is doing before he manages to get a handle on his reaction, but Verin’s lips have pressed into a thin line of poorly held back laughter. 

His heart is in his throat at the sound, and it only gets worse when he turns. He looks lovely. Essek was already well aware that Caleb cleaned up well, but this is different entirely. He’s never seen the man dressed for a formal occasion. But here he is now, in a black coat that nearly sweeps the floor, the silver embroidery catching the light, and the red and gold lining catching and drawing the eye. It only highlights the well fitted black doublet underneath, asymmetrical neck in accordance with dynasty fashion, and black trousers. Altogether the outfit is sleek and slimming, bringing attention to the breadth of the human’s shoulders and the taper of his waist, and the bright pop of color that is his strange hair. 

“May I have this dance, Herr Thelyss?” Caleb bows, hand over his heart in perfect dynasty decorum. It is like he has been doing this for decades, not a scant few months. 

Essek never would have thought, in all an umavi’s lifetimes, that the filthy man lingering at the back of an empire mercenary group would be able to play at politics, and decorum, and court so well. Well enough to impress Essek. 

Evidently he has been quiet a beat too long, as he feels Verin’s hand settle on his shoulders. “Why, Mr. Widogast, I would be honored.” Essek does not need to look at his brother to know the cheeky smile that is on his face. 

Caleb laughs, good natured and light. He seems so loose and at ease tonight. “I’m afraid I was rather hoping your brother might do me the honor, Taskhand. If he would be so kind.” Caleb’s eyes turn back on him then. 

He almost says no. Essek does not dance, but it is the thought of watching Verin out there on the dance floor, meeting hands with Caleb as they laugh and spin, that has him reaching out to take the offered hand. “I can spare one dance, I suppose.”

Caleb’s grin is bright as he takes Essek’s hand leading him back towards the dancefloor. “How generous of you, Shadowhand.” 

“I have been known to have my benevolent moods. You are just lucky you caught me in one.” Essek gives him a wry, teasing look prompting a quiet chuckle from Caleb. 

“Then I am very fortunate indeed.” There is a sincerity to Caleb’s words under the joking flavor of their conversation that has Essek suck in a quiet breath to calm his nervous heart. 

The music is light and playful, and Essek swallows down the wave of nausea as he floats out onto the floor. He does not dance at these sorts of things as a rule, hasn’t since before he entered his first century. Now here he is, and all because of some human with eyes like a sky too painful to look at and hair the most exotic and arresting shade of red. Essek doesn’t dare look to see if it’s true, but he feels like there are eyes on him everywhere. He resists the urge to shudder under the sensation. 

Caleb raises a hand and Essek meets him, pressed palm to palm. He can feel Caleb’s heat even through their gloves. Essek is exceptionally relieved that Caleb has deigned to wear them for the night. Convincing the Nein of their necessity in polite society had been something of an uphill battle. He can’t imagine pressing a gloved hand to Caleb’s bare hand here, in front of half of the Bright Queen’s court. 

His gloves are a fine, thin black leather. Beautiful and appropriate, and also very Caleb. They present a lovely contrast against the white of Essek’s own linen gloves. Essek finds himself mesmerized at the sight as they turn around each other. His hands are so much bigger than Essek’s: broad, thick human hands. 

Caleb’s eyes are fixed on his face when Essek finally looks at him. The weight of his gaze feels like it could drown him. 

“You look lovely tonight.” Caleb’s voice is so soft, like he doesn’t dare speak louder than these hushed tones or it might shatter this delicate moment around them. “You always dress so well, I did not think you could top yourself, but you have obviously proven me wrong.” 

“You are a shameless flatterer, Widogast.” Their hands separate and they turn, moving a handful of paces away before coming back together. 

Essek feels like he is being pulled back to Caleb’s side, to his hand, by gravity itself. A force that tugs at the center of his chest that Essek is helpless to resist. 

“You clean up very well yourself, but that is something that you have already proven, isn’t it? Still, you look exceptionally captivating tonight.” 

The moment he says it Essek wishes he could cram the words back into his mouth. It’s too bold, too forward a compliment, borderline crass even. He is showing too much of his own hand and he knows it. Only, Caleb’s answering grin is wide and real, and there is a pink dusting to his cheeks as he ducks his head bashfully. Maybe it is fine for Essek to feel a bit of a fool if it prompts a smile like that from Caleb.  

“You know, this feels a little like cheating.” Caleb’s smile is playful and teasing as he nods his head to the bottom of Essek’s mantel, where it just drifts over the floor, and where underneath Essek’s feet rest several inches off the ground. 

Essek scoffs, giving in to the immaturity to roll his eyes. He is picking up poor habits from this mercenary den. “You just wish for the chance to lord your height over me. If I did not know that you were considered tall for humans I would say you were projecting, and all too glad to find a race of people shorter than yourself.” 

Caleb laughs, his eyes sparkling in the sun that shines in so relentlessly from the many windows. It makes him look so much more vibrant, so much more colorful. Essek wonders if he is relishing in the Festival of Light; if the eternal twilight of Roshona bothers him. Essek has never thought to ask before now, before seeing the way the sun catches in his hair and sets it aflame. 

“Perhaps I just find you to be an intriguing contradiction of a man. You are so powerful, so intelligent. You cut a very intimidating figure. It makes it all the more endearing to remember that you only come a little above my shoulder.” 

Caleb’s hands linger when they part to turn once more, and when their hands join again, Caleb pulls him in until there can only be a handspan of space between them. Closer than the dance warrants, by far. It only lasts a second, but it takes the air from Essek’s lungs all the same. 

Essek’s eyes dart to the crowd around them, nervous about whose eyes might be on them. He spots the Mighty Nein first, of course he does, they stand out starkly. Beauregard is twirling Jester around the dance floor with a complete disregard for the dance already occurring. As Jester spins the diaphanous pink fabric of her dress spins out with her, buffeting other dancers. Essek wonders if it is an empire dance they are doing, or if Jester is simply dancing however the music may move her. 

Veth, Caduceus, and Yasha are all playing wallflower at the edge of the room. Essek has a moment to be surprised that Veth is joining them for a moment before he realizes they are stationed right next to the desert table. Veth is also watching him and Caleb with a laser focus that has Essek’s eyes quickly and nervously darting away.

He had to smother a smile when he turned his head to find that Verin seemed to have dragged Fjord, of all people, onto the dance floor. Essek watches his brother laugh as Fjord trips over himself trying to follow Verin as he takes the lead. Fjord seems to be taking it all in good humor though, smiling between what Essek is sure are muttered curses. 

“I will let you in on a little secret.” Essek sends Caleb a conspiratorial look. “You are much better off dancing with me like this, as I, quite tragically, have two left feet. Then you would be stuck with a dancing partner like my brother.” Essek nods his head to Verin and Fjord. Caleb covers his mouth with a gloved hand to cover a snort. It’s unfairly charming. 

There are other eyes on them too. Courtiers, nobles, and important military and cultural figures line the edge of the dance floor watching, and Essek cannot be sure how many of them are watching him and Caleb specifically, but he doubts it is zero. Essek is rather notoriously a wallflower the rare times he can be bullied into attending these sort of events, and now not only is he dancing, but with Caleb Widogast of Den Nein. 

Still, he does not catch sight of his mother, and that is the important thing. She is likely entertaining in the gardens with the other umavis and nobles of the higher dens under the harsh light of the sun. Essek does not care to think what she would have to say about this. 

“I think I would still appreciate having you for a partner, clumsiness and all.” Light, if that sentence didn’t carry much more weight with it than a conversation about dancing should. “Besides, it sounds like your legs are simply out of practice. Maybe I could talk you into letting me take you out to a dance hall sometimes.” 

“Are you very fond of dancing then, Caleb Widogast?” Essek let the name linger on his tongue, enjoying the feel of it, the weight of it in his mouth. It is a good name, musical almost. It would be a fitting name to go down in the dynasty history books. An empire man who swept into the Kryn Dynasty and turned everything Essek had known on its head. 

“I am. I spent much of my boyhood in the dancehalls of Rexxentrum. There are few better ways to spend a night than with a stein of beer, a jaunty tune, and a handsome dance partner.” The look Caleb gives him is long and lingering. “Maybe I could even teach you an empire waltz or two.”

“I suppose I would not be opposed.” Caleb’s gaze is as captivating as ever, arresting even. Essek is almost convinced that the only thing that keeps him moving through the dance is Caleb’s gentle, guiding hands on his. “You are much better at dynasty formal dances than I expected. May I ask where you learned it?” 

Caleb’s expression turns cheeky, but the expression falls away to confusion after a moment. “You do not know? I had assumed that you had a hand in it.” Essek is frowning himself now, perplexed. “An attendant of Den Thelyss came to our house. He said that in light of the festival coming up they had taken it upon themselves to hire a dance instructor.”

That made sense, Essek supposed. An easy and effective way to curry favor from the new and deceptively influential den. Not to mention ensuring the Nein did not make fools of themselves too terribly. It was one thing to be eccentric, another entirely to be anti-social. The dynasty could only handle so much individuality from these foreigners. 

“I’m sure the Nein had a fun time with that. The poor tutor was suitably traumatized I imagine.” 

“Ah, you misunderstand.” Caleb shook his head. The song was beginning to come to a close. There were only a few turns left. “The lessons were not for the Mighty Nein. I was told they were specifically for myself. That did not stop the rest of the Nein from sitting in, of course, but—” Caleb pauses a moment, taking in whatever Essek’s face must be doing. “You really didn’t know? I had assumed you orchestrated the whole thing.” 

Essek can’t respond to him, can hardly think. The lessons had only been meant for Caleb? Why? It could only have been his mother, but what did she mean by it all? 

Caleb thought it had been from him though. No wonder the man had been so blatant in his flirtations tonight. He had thought Essek had essentially requested this dance ahead of time in only the most blatant and obvious of ways. Oh. That was it, wasn’t it? Why ensure Caleb would know how to dance if you did not intend for him to dance? 

Essek took a moment to consider how this all must look. Really look. He had spent decades building up a reputation as cold and aloof until this new den was established and their wizard sought him out for tutelage, and Essek had agreed. That was notable enough, but he had allowed the entirety of Den Nein unprecedentedly close to him. He had dined at their home. 

Now Den Nein is invited to Umavi Thelyss’s Festival of Light Ball, and the moment Caleb arrives the first thing he does, before he can even make introductions around, is to head straight for Essek to ask for a dance. Essek feel so stupid, so foolish. Now it all seems so glaringly obvious how it all must look, and suddenly Essek can feel the eyes of every single person in the room on himself and Caleb as the music fades out. Every courtier, every politician, watching and gossiping behind gloves hands. 

What must they think of him? His mother has apparently seen enough to come to the assumption that Caleb is courting him, or could at least, has even made moves to encourage that. One of their hands is still pressed together in the last moments of the dance, and Essek should step away, should move, but he feels frozen to the spot. He stares at the contrast of their gloves, and where he once felt fascinated now Essek can only feel an invisible clawing hand at his throat. 

What is he doing? Had he not tried so hard to keep his distance from the Nein, from Caleb? But he was weak and he was selfish, and he had allowed himself to be worn down. Now here Caleb was watching him with hopeful eyes and handling him with the most gentle of care, but he had no idea the kind of poison Essek’s heart beat with underneath it all. And these gawkers, these onlookers, they didn’t understand either. They would titter on about the Thelyss scion, young and in love, murmur about his haughty attitude and cold demeanor being tempered. As if he was a moorbounder to be tempered, not an accomplished scholar deserving of their respect. 

How could they, how could anyone possibly understand? How could they understand how wrong it all was when no one knew? Knew what he had done, knew the kind of person that he was, knew the lie that he continued to live. 

“Essek,” Caleb’s face was pinched and concerned. Essek realized it wasn’t the first time he had called his name. “Is something wrong, mein Freund ?” 

That seems to snap him out of it. At least Essek feels slightly more in his body now as he floats a step back, achingly aware of the way sweat drips down his back, the way there is a tremble to his legs even though they are not touching the ground, the way his stomach is in knots and he feels like he might be sick. 

“I’m sorry. I have to go.” He can hardly believe he’s able to get the words out around the growing tightness in his throat. 

Essek needs to end this though. He realizes it with stunning clarity as he turns fleeing the already empty dance floor, feeling the heavy weight of the rooms’ eyes on him. He must cut his connection with Den Nein now before they can get any closer to him. It’s not just about protecting his own secrets anymore. It’s knowing that Essek can’t stomach the thought of looking in Caleb’s eyes again, knowing the kind of regard that man holds for him, and knowing that Essek is not the man Caleb thinks him to be. He can not do it. 

The press of bodies, as he pushes his way through the crowd, is overwhelming. They begin to move out of his way, but not fast enough. It feels as though they are closing in on all sides, and then there is a hand around his wrist, and Essek can feel the kiss of skin warmed leather against a sliver of exposed skin. 

“Essek, wait,” Caleb’s brow is furrowed and his eyes are dark and troubled. Essek is the one that put that expression on his face. “Is something wrong, we can—” 

“I need to leave. I cannot do this.” Essek cuts him off. “I can’t do this anymore. It isn’t—” Essek cuts himself off this time. He feels like his knees are going to give out from under him, like he might burst into tears, and he can’t do that here. He needs to leave this place. The weight of the eyes on him is going to crush him if he stays. That becomes the only thought he can grasp on with any solidity as he teleports from the ballroom. 

Essek lands in the front room of his tower, dropping his teleport to stand on his own shaky legs. His breath is coming hard. He thinks of the hurt and confusion that had flitted across Caleb’s face in those last seconds as he had teleported away, and he reminds himself it is better this way. He must break his ties with the Nein before they can be forged any stronger. He will not lead them, lead Caleb, along with the thought that is, that he, can be what they wish of him. 

Essek lifts one trembling hand to brush the hair back from his face only to pause, staring down at violet skin. His glove is missing, slipped off in the transport. He spares a moment to think of Caleb standing there, in the center of the ballroom, single white glove in hand, confused and hurt, before the tears begin to slip down his cheeks. 

Chapter Text

It had almost been a fortnight since the Light Day Festival when his mother extended him an invitation for tea at the Thelyss estate, and Essek had begun to feel a tentative, frantic sort of hope that this conversation may actually never happen. But of course Deirta couldn’t let his spectacle go without comment.

He’d appeared at court once and made two trips to the conservatory in that time, and both times he had felt the suffocating press of curious eyes. Multiple couriers had brought him messages and letters from Caleb and the rest of Den Nein. Essek had sent them all back unopened. He didn’t have the courage to face their hurt. The couple Sendings from Jester had been a special kind of hell to quietly wait out, while Jester’s voice, sad and sympathetic, told him how sad Caleb was and begged for some kind of response. But Essek had none to give.

The Thelyss gardens were an expansive, beautiful thing with paths of smooth worn vermaloc wood cutting through flower beds to create the shape of the Luxon, all converging into the center, a large dodecahedron shaped clearing filled with plum and black velvet cushions. The colors of Den Thelyss.

Deirta was already waiting there for him when he arrived. She was seated before the carven stone table in flowing robes of umavi white and Thelyss plum, hair elaborately coiffed and braided down her back, face serene and waiting.

“Essek, thank you for joining me.”

“My apologies for my tardiness, Umavi.” Essek said as he took his seat across from her. The only acknowledgment of his apology was a tacit nod of her head as she began serving tea.

“Your brother had been worried about you.” The heavy smell of cardamon filled Essek’s nose, reminding him of afternoons after Luxon service at this very table with a book poorly hidden in his lap while his mother socialized.

“I didn’t mean to worry him.”

Deirta’s look was unamused and unimpressed. “You’ve been avoiding him.” That was true. Verin had sent him two letters since his disappearing act, and had even tried showing up at his towers. Not that it had done him much good. He’d finally left after some ten minutes sitting at Essek’s gate. “You have been avoiding everyone.”

“I have simply been preoccupied.” It was a weak defense and they both knew it.

“And is that what caused you to leave the Light festival so abruptly?” Right to the heart of it then.

For all that Essek had dreaded and anticipated that question he had no good response prepared, so instead he asked a question of his own that had been plaguing him.

“Why did you provide Den Nein with dance lessons?”

There was the ever so faint hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth. “I didn’t provide lessons for the Den.”

Essek resisted the unseemly urge to show his teeth. “For Caleb then.”

“Because, if the man is going to court you I would rather he didn’t make a fool of himself or Den Thelyss in doing so.” So that was it? They were saying the quiet part out loud now. Fine, if Deirta was going to be uncharacteristically forthright then Essek would be too.

“You would really approve of an empire human from a newly founded den courting me?”

His mother’s mouth pursed into a displeased line. “It isn’t ideal, of course. There are a plethora of better matches that I would prefer for you. That Tasithar boy for one—“

“He was a cad.” Essek’s mouth cut in before his brain could rein it in.

“A cad who was willing to put up with quite a lot from you.” She raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

“Only because he wanted the Thelyss name.”

“Of course, dear. That is how most marriages work, especially in your first life when you are still establishing yourself and connections.” Deirta heaved a sigh, the irritation melting from her expression. “This Caleb Widogast is not ideal, but his regard for you is obvious and genuine, as is your interest in him. It would be foolish of me to pass up the opportunity presented here considering your position.” She waved her hand with a sense of superiority that grated on Essek, always had; it made him want to push limits, test boundaries. 

“My position as what?” Essek asked, snappish and flushed from hearing his feelings declared out loud so matter of factly. “An unmarriageable churl?”

Deirta’s face went tight and unamused. “Your position,” she corrected, stern and hard, “attempting to avoid the suspicions of Leylas and the Aurora Watch.”

It was like the ground disappeared under him. Essek’s head swam and his heart pounded, and he could only sit there struck dumb and silent.

“What—“ he stuttered out.

“Do not do me the dishonor of lying right to my face. My gardens are warded for private conversations, and this is a matter that has gone undiscussed long enough.”

“You know,” Essek’s voice cracked around the words; Deirta’s face unexpectedly softened into something sad and sympathetic.

“My darling light, did you really think I would never know? That I would not guess at the truth.” Her gloved hands reached for his across the table, and for a moment Essek imagined them locking around his wrists, harsh and holding like manacles. But her hands merely wrapped around his, guiding them to the fine bone china cup before him. “Drink, you look as though you may fall over.”

His hands shook lifting the cup, but the warm taste of cardamom and honey unknotted his stomach and brought some warmth back into his numb fingers.

“I don’t—“ The fine porcelain clattered unseemly against the saucer as trembling hands sat it back down. “You’re not mad at me?” It was such a silly question, whispered through wobbling lips, so juvenile and unfitting for the fraught and complex situation they found themselves in.

“Of course I’m mad at you, Essek,” she snapped. “I am angry, and hurt, and disappointed, and a thousand other conflicting things. But you are my son. The breadth of an Umavi’s experience grants perfect clarity, but losing my child to the executioner's block is an experience I refuse to learn from.”

Essek ducked his head, lost for words. What could he say to that? I’m sorry? Trite and superfluous. I got in over my head? Obvious. I shouldn’t have done it? Objectively true. I regret it? Not true, and Essek wasn’t going to lie to his mother here and now.

“I don’t understand.” Essek spoke finally, breaking the silence, as his mind began to backtrack, unspooling the thread of their conversation. “What does Caleb and Den Nein have to do with any of this?”

If Deirta minded the change in topic, she didn’t show it.

“You’ve cultivated quite the reputation of cold pragmatism. An impressive image for one so early in their first life. It has served you well in court and in your studies, but it stands in sharp contrast with your more recent erratic and nervous behavior. The panic is making you sloppy.”

Essek scowled down at his teacup, oddly shamefaced under the weight of Deirta’s brutally true statements. He should have been handling it better, should have been better at saving face. He had been before: before the Nein’s arrival and return of the Beacon, before the Assembly had turned quite so sour, before Caleb had drawn him inexorably into his orbit with that intense quiet gravity.

“There is an easier explanation for your change in behavior,” Deirta continued, “one the court would be more ready to accept than being fooled by a soul barely into their second century, and that is that the Shadowhand, under all the ice, is just as susceptible to feelings and finds himself young and in love.”

Essek gaped, dumbfounded, his cup settling back on his saucer with an ugly click of porcelain. “You want the court to think I am a fool.” There was a tight anger forming in his chest. “You acknowledge my reputation relies on the perception of my implacability. They would see me as stupid, and young, and foolish.” Essek spit, his mind locked on the panic that had gripped him during the festival when he had felt so many bemused and scornful eyes turn to him.

“You are young, and you are foolish,” she countered harshly. “The dynasty would see a reserved young man falling into unexpected love. They would condescend your show of softer emotions for a time, but some ten years from now you will be known as the same cold, inexorable man, just one with a soft spot for his joined den.”

He imagined it for a moment; a day in court or the conservatory finished and returning to dinner at the Nein’s table with Caleb beside him.

It would all be a lie.

Essek pushed himself away from the table, restless energy taking him to his feet. “No. No, absolutely not! Caleb deserves better than a relationship predicated on my prevarication. He deserves better than the lies of a man like me.”

“Essek, sit down.” His mother’s measured voice brooked no argument.

He returned to his cushion, petulant and chastised, his knees tucked to his chest under his robes, and cloak drawn tight around him like a blanket. He felt knocked off center and unsure in a way he didn’t know how to deal with.

“I suppose I should be grateful. This is the closest I’ve seen you come to feeling guilt or shame for your actions.” Her words were cutting even if her tone was not. “It seems this den is a better fit for you than even I thought.”

“They’ve opened my eyes to many things. I can’t use them more than I already have.”

“I assume that was the reason for your hasty departure then?”

Essek nodded.

“Well, that leaves us rather at an impasse, hmm?” Deirta took a dainty sip from her cup, face considering.

They sat in silence, listening to the chitter of bats and the quiet bubble of the garden’s distant fountains. Essek’s thoughts chased themselves in circles through his brain. He kept stumbling back to the same conclusion.

“I need to tell them the truth.”

“Absolutely not.” Deirta’s eyes were carved from stone, but Essek didn’t flinch.

“I can’t use them without their knowledge.”

“You don’t seem to grasp the stakes here. This is not just about you. You don’t get to fall on your sword to oppose your guilt. If Den Nein turned you in, that scrutiny turns on all of Den Thelyss. You stole a beacon from Bazzoxan. Do you really think the Lens would not turn their attention on your brother?”

“Verin had nothing to do with any of my actions!” Essek counter, quick and frantic, his heart freezing at the very thought. He couldn’t allow his brother to assume any culpability.

“Do you really think the Lens would believe that? Your guilt would turn their eyes on all of the den.”

“I still can’t do it.” Essek’s words came out choked. “I can’t use them like that. I couldn’t keep it up.”

Deirta was quiet for a moment, watching him carefully. “Then we shall reevaluate and reassess.”

Chapter Text

Essek shot awake to the feeling of his wards being broken. He was stumbling off his chaise and into a casual house robe he’d left draped over a chair in moments. It was only the alarm at his front gate that had been set off, the wards guarding his tower as yet remained untouched, but Essek would be a fool to expect that to last.

His mind raced.Even with the knowledge that Deirta knew what he had done, Essek was rather certain that the Aurora Watch couldn’t come for him without there being some sort of forewarning from his mother. Da’leth on the other hand… Had he finally decided Essek was a loose end that needed tying up? Imperial Volstruckers were nothing to scoff at, learning of  Caleb’s origins had only reinforced this point.

Caleb might not have been the strongest of wizards, but he had a creativity to his casting and a steel to his nerves that assured Essek he would be formidable in a fight.

Essek gripped his arcane focus in a deathly tight grip, an incantation sitting on the tip of his tongue. He floated, cautious and careful, into the hallway outside his bed chambers. There was no sound, nor any other sign plain to Essek’s straining senses of any intruders.

“Essek!” The shout startled him enough to have him spinning on his heels, singeing one of the vermalock doors with a misplaced magic missile. “It’s Jester! We wanted to see you and we’re waiting outside your tower until you come down. Caleb thinks we maybe broke the gate… Sorry!”

There was a rush of relief followed by frustration and an all new sort of panic. Essek stepped through the seldom occupied guest room— past the now faintly smoking door— to peer out the window looking out onto the courtyard. Sure enough, a peak between the drawn curtains revealed the whole of Den Nein gathered around his front door, the gate left sitting open.

“Jester,” Essek spoke eventually before the spell could fade. “I’m afraid I’m terribly busy with work today, and I don’t have time to meet with you.”

He could see her cock her head as his message came through, turn to say something to the rest of her Den before, “that’s okay! We can wait.” Just like that, she took a seat on his front steps. Essek scowled, letting the spell fade unanswered, as more of the Nein settled in.

A waiting game then. Very well. Essek would not be smoked out of his home like a spider. With eerie precision Caduceus’s eyes turned up to his tower and to the window where Essek stood. He waved. Essek jumped back, away from the glass, much too late for it to matter.

Essek moved downstairs, made tea, reheated the mushroom rice his valet, Ruzal, had left the night before for his breakfast. They went cold on the table as he paced.

He glanced out the windows of the downstairs drawing room to find the Nein still there. Jester and Caleb were bent over a worn book he couldn’t make out. Caduceus and Yasha were poking about in his garden beds. Caduceus pointed at the gently glowing versos mushrooms, and Essek watched Yasha pull one out of the ground and put it in her mouth. He was fairly certain versos mushrooms weren’t edible. Fjord and Beauregard were doing push ups side by side; Fjord coated in a layer of sweat and Beau with Veth standing on her back shouting something down at Fjord he couldn’t hear.

Essek picked a book from his library, taking a seat by the fire. He read for all of fifteen minutes, before a bright blue bat flew into the glass of his library window with a dull thud and fell out of sight. Essek closed the drapes, traded books, and sat down again. He read the same two pages for the next five minutes before giving up and retreating to his laboratory.

Any experimentation done right now would be a wash, but there were solutions that could be prepared, reagents that needed diluting, tasks that could be relegated to muscle memory. He got on well for almost twenty minutes before there was a truly ear piercing cry. It sounded as though a […] had been loosed on his steps. The vial in Essek’s hand slipped from his startled, slackened grip to shatter on the tiled floor. A quick prestidigitation took care of the broken glass and a handy jar of baking soda neutralized the acid.

He wasn’t sure what he expected to see when he looked out the window, but it wasn’t Yasha holding a giant bone harp on her knee and Caduceus bringing what looked uncomfortably like a small skull to his lips to make that awful noise again. There was a group of about three drow loitering at his open front gate to watch the spectacle. He could see Brasias Mirriam bring a silk gloved hand up to cover her mouth as she leaned over to whisper to her companion.

Panic shot up his spin and gripped his heart. The court hadn’t even begun to quiet their whisperings about his scene at the festival ball. The whole of Den Nein loitering outside his towers performing some kind of terrible serenade was only going to escalate the scandal in unsalvageable ways.

Essek took the stairs two at a time down to the ground floor. In the time it took for him to open his front door, two more had joined the crowd of gawkers. Light, what must they think of him? The moment the door opened Jester was springing to her feet, Essek’s name on her smiling lips.

“Inside. Now.” Essek cut her off before she could get the words out.

The Nein were quick to hop to their feet shuffling past him inside. They were too far away, but Essek could almost swear he heard his audience tittering before the door shut with a thud. He resisted the urge to let his head fall against the door, if only because of the weight of the eyes on his back.

“So,” Beau finally broke the silence. “You done trying to ignore us now?”

Essek turned to face them with a scowl, suddenly infuriated with the audacity of these strange foreigners. They came into this country, into his world, with little care for propriety and its political machinations. That was all well and good for them. They floated above it all, nothing seemed to stick to them no matter how oddly they behaved. Essek didn’t have that luxury, however. He lived in the world of politics and consequences the Nein avoided. When they dragged him into their antics it earned him laughs, whispers, and a damaged reputation.

“Is there something you actually needed of me? Or have you simply come to test my patience?”

“Oh Essek, please don’t be mad at us. We were getting really worried cause you wouldn’t talk to us or anything. And then Verin showed up at the Xhorhaus like ‘what’s going on with Essek? Why’s he being so much weirder than normal?’ So then we got really, really worried.”

Verin. Of course his sunblind younger brother had a hand in this.

“So your solution was to break the warding of my gate and cause a spectacle on my steps until I was forced to let you in or face scandal?” Essek raised a cold, sharp brow.

“If we did something to upset you we just wanted to apologize—“ Fjord spoke up trying to smooth the situation over, but Essek cut him off, having none of it.

“I told you that I was too busy to meet today, and you all decided to ignore my wishes.” Jester winced, her pretty face twisting into a sad pout, but Essek wrapped his anger around him like a protective cloak.

It occurred to Essek how ridiculous he must look just then: bare, ungloved hands; his hair loose of wax, only a light creme to hold his curls in place; he was wearing an unadorned, casual robe; and had only a pair of house slippers on his feet. His appearance was a silly thing to feel embarrassed about when Den Nein was again poking their collective noses into his business, but the human standing in his entry hall— whom Essek couldn’t bring himself to look at right now— made him hyper aware of every detail.

“Please leave. I have things I need to accomplish today. Please.”

The silence was loud. Den Nein exchanged glances without speaking. Jester flashed wide eyes at Fjord and Beau rested a heavy hand on Caleb’s shoulder.

“Sorry if our concern bothered you then,” Caduceus said, finally breaking the silence. His tone was kind, but it held chastisement. He’d made his own disapproval of Essek’s dismissal very clear. The passive aggression made Essek’s teeth grind, but he bit his tongue as the Nein shuffled out the door after their cleric.

“I’m sorry if we made you look bad.” Caleb’s words seemed to suck the air from his lungs. He had lingered behind the group. “The Nein are an unconventional Den to say the least. I’m sure our reputation is… particular.”

“Caleb,” Essek trailed off, no other words coming to him. He didn’t know what to say to that. What could he say to that?

“I can’t give you back the lessons you provided, and while it wasn’t a gift, it seems right to return this to you.”

Caleb reached into his pocket pulling out a single white linen glove, and Essek felt like he might be sick. He could only watch, wholly separate from his body as Caleb took his bare wrist, tucking Essek’s missing glove into his empty hand. Then his warm hands were gone, leaving Essek there cold and struck dumb as Caleb walked out.

He’d talked of gifts and returned his glove to him. Apparently Den Nein, or at least Caleb, was better versed in dynasty culture than originally thought if he’d known that to return a gift was the end of any suit. It put Caleb’s actions in a new light, a more deliberate one. Essek laid his glove on the side board and wandered back up to his library.

It’s two days later that the wards around his tower crumbled all at once to dust, leaving a taste of ash in Essek’s mouth as he coughed around a mouthful of tea. This was getting ridiculous. He blotted drops of moisture from his notes with the edge of his robe before the ink could run, throwing it all back on his desk in a huff. Somewhere in his rage it occurred to Essek that this might be his chance to fix things with Den Nein if he could only keep his emotions under control. The way Caleb had left had sat heavy and wrong in his mind. Essek had turned the interaction over and over again in his head. But that voice of reason was drowned out by Essek’s infuriation that the Nein would violate his privacy like this again, and so soon.

He could feel it in the broken remains of his wards, like fingerprints or footsteps, that his intruders were in the library. Essek took off. He rounded the corner to his private library, words of censor ready on his tongue, but there was no Nein, no Caleb. It took him a long moment to spot the lone figure trailing a long, encroaching finger along the spines of his bookshelves. It felt more like a trespass than his uninvited presence. 

“Ah, Essek, so good of you to join me. You have quite the collection here.” Da’leth’s smile was smug and self-satisfied.

Essek’s lips pressed into a thin line, if just to resist the urge to be sick. “Martinet, I assume there is a reason you’ve broken into my home.”

Ludinus fingered a volume of post reformation poetry that had been in the Thelyss library for hundreds of years before he was gifted it by his mother for his new towers.

“No need to be cross with me, Essek. You were the one who stopped responding to my missives.” 

“Most would take that as something of a sign.” For a fraction of a second, the Martinet’s smile became a brittle thing. 

“You do not get to just wash your hands of me, Shadowhand. If you didn’t have the spine for this, you shouldn't have come to me in the first place.”

Essek resisted the urge to grind his teeth, a voice like his mother’s in his ear telling him he was going to leave himself flat-fanged if he kept on. “What do you want, Da’leth?”

Da’leth left his place by the bookshelves to lower himself into Essek’s chair. The snub left Essek feeling small, still standing in the doorway, while the Martinet sat undaunted and unintimidated in Essek’s own home. It was a feeling that had before only been conjured by his mother or a select few of the Umavi.

“I wanted to speak to you about the Mighty Nein.” Ice settled in Essek’s veins. “They’ve set down quite the roots here in the city,” Da’leth paused, smile cloying and false, “pun unintended. It doesn’t seem to have stopped them from continuing to pry into Assembly affairs. But, rumor has it, you seem to have become particularly close with the group.”

“Speak plainly, Da’leth. I have little patience for your games.” It was a fight to keep his voice sardonic and unimpressed, and from his smirk Ludinus seemed to sense that.

“Ah, the impatience of youth.” Essek ground his teeth. “Speak to your little friends, convince them to stop looking into the beacons.”

“You’ve met the Nein. Do you really think they will just do as they are told?”

“I don’t care how you get your results. I’m coming to you first because I thought you might have some special insight. If you think you won’t see any progress I will just have to resort to my own, slightly cruder, methods.” Da’leth’s grin was oily slick.

“This is a threat.” Essek said, refusing to play the game of politics Ludinus wanted. There was something powerful and disarming in calling things as they were; the Mighty Nein had shown him that. It seemed to work. Ludinus’s grin shifted to a grimace for just a moment,lips thinning and hands flexing in his lap as his eyes narrowed. 

“Take it as whatever you wish, Mr. Thelyss, but know this is your last chance before I take matters into my own hands.” Just like that he was gone, a pop, the smell of ozone lingering as he teleported, leaving Essek alone and at a loss once again. 

If his talk with his mother had done anything to put him at ease, allowed him to feel not so alone, as though recourse was at all an option, then Ludinus’s visit had made him feel more alone than ever. 

With trembling hands Essek lowered himself into his chair, Da’leth’s heat still warming the seat, and wondered with misery where this left him now.