Chapter Text
Jericho got his first look at Constantine on the stage, and felt a wide smile spread across his face.
Barely three weeks until the end of their Bronze year, and Jericho knew his brother was tempted to end the year with a bang. Not that he was complaining of course – how could you complain when your brother was the first Makar in centuries?
Master North silence the crowd, but it did nothing for Jericho and his friends. All four pairs of eyes scanned the stage, especially eyeing Constantine in the middle. Jericho felt warm bubbles in his chest for his brother, smothering nearly all the anxiety, pride like none he’d felt before. Constantine Madden, the Makar.
North tried, once again, to silence the students. Jericho shushed Declan Novak. “Much louder and even Constantine will hear you,” he whispered in Declan’s ear. The boy laughed, and Jericho’s shoulders relaxed.
“Please,” Declan scoffed as Master North said something about the Second Mage war and all its tragedy. “If he’s going to hear any of us, love, it’s almost certainly going to be you, Jerry.”
“Shut up!”
He could sometimes read Declan’s face like a book, and Declan knew exactly what he was thinking; in no world did Jericho ever not want to hear Declan’s voice. Much to his dismay, what Declan said next was drowned out by a voice much less thrilling.
“The world of Mages rarely has had such occasions since the Second War,” Master North was saying, “and despite our limited resources from Europe, our allyships with Asia and Africa will thrive with this incredible news. May we, on behalf of the Magisterium, introduce our newest fragment of history; Constantine Madden, the Makar of our generation!”
At the word Makar, the entire Assembly – observing from high-up benches, their olive robes more prominent than even the scarlet blazer Constantine had dressed up in – gasped, and started to whisper among themselves. Meanwhile, the students, especially he and the rest of Master Rufus’s kids, cheered louder than Jericho thought possible. Someone must have used air magic to elevate the shouts and encouragements, but Jericho was too focussed on Constantine to pay it much attention.
A big figure came from beside Jericho and wrapped him in a hug, taking the breath out of him. Declan put him down after a moment, his face tinted red. “I can’t do that to Connie, or he’d kill me,” he said. “Give it to him, alright?”
“Like he’d let me hug him?” Jericho pointed out, lightly digging his shoulder into Declan’s arm. He must be at least a head taller than him, but if he stood on the chairs, he could be the tallest out of the five… not that he’s jealous of Declan’s height. Simply observant.
“But a mage without training is a dangerous mage,” Master North said, and the crowd quieted at that, “for we all know the reasons behind the Iron Gates, and if you do not, just pray you do not fail.” He got a few laughs, but not enough. Jericho glanced at Declan and Sarah Novak; they both knew all too well what dangerous mages could do. Her jaw was squared, staring straight ahead at Master North. He could only guess what she was thinking. “Constantine will have not only have the honour to be trained by our own Master Rufus, but by a special guest to the Magisterium – Master Joseph!”
Jericho watched the man on stage, watching his every move. He shook hands with Constantine, and even with Con’s impossibly rigid posture, his eyes sent a clear message to Master Joseph. Jericho had seen the same look several times, minus the smile. It was a “You bother me, and I won’t explain why” look. It was a “I’m going to kill you” look, and Jericho didn’t know who to side with. For one, there was no evident reason to dislike Master Joseph. He was only a new Master for the Magisterium, just another mage in need of a job that didn’t have anything to do with non-mage people.
On the other hand, Jericho knew his brother. He knew that Constantine had always had only two motivators: power and Jericho, he hoped. If anyone threatened his power, even in the light of attempting to teach Constantine about his own magic… it was possible that Master Joseph could have a target on his back without realizing it.
Master Joseph came forward to the stage, clearing his throat. “I am honoured,” he said, his voice deeper than Jericho had thought. “I am honoured to stand before all your beautiful faces. I was, once, a student at this very school, just like you. I suddenly feel the eagerness that I once had to learn. Instead of it being towards magic as a whole, but now an eagerness towards your friend, your brother, your hero, Constantine. Thank you.”
Polite, scattered applause from the Assembly echoed around the room. Several conversations happened at once, between the indistinct conversations of the students and Assembly members, then the loud and laughter-filled conversation between the Masters.
Jericho tried waving at Constantine. He kept laughing politely to everything the adults told him, but too much to be genuine. Jericho huffed, then stood on top of the chair and placed his hands on Declan’s shoulders. “Constantine!” Jericho called. “Con! Con! Constantine! Over here! Con!”
The drink Constantine held suddenly crashed to the floor when he saw his brother waving madly at him. An smooth, forced smile crossed Constantine’s face as he addressed the adults with an excuse for dropping it. Jericho waved his hand higher. He could feel the stares of the other students bore holes into the back of his head like hot bullets, laughter echoing. Constantine shook his head at him.
“Not now, Jericho,” he mouthed.
Feeling Jericho’s grip loosen, Declan turned around and helped him off the chair. “We can talk to him later,” he said. He was about to pat Jericho’s back, then seemed to pause mid-air, and draw himself away.
Master North dismissed the students, but he didn’t let Constantine leave. He locked eyes with him, and Jericho tried to silently send all of his pride towards his brother but was only met with a shake of the head and a small frown. Jericho huffed.
“Is he ignoring you again?” Declan asked, seeming to have a change of heart as to how he’d approach him about it. “Or is he trying to get you pissed? Ooh, I’ve got an idea – maybe he’s succeeded in both.”
“I don’t know what he’s trying to do, but it’s weird,” Jericho said. He wasn’t in much of a mood for Declan’s jokes, even if he could feel himself give a small smile. “He was really eager to get on stage and ‘show the world what real magic looks like,’ as he said. I don’t know if he knew about Master Joseph.”
“He’ll tell us,” he said confidently.
“Right, because Constantine-fucking-Madden tells us everything,” Jericho said, rolling his eyes. Alastair muttered something about language, making both the boys laugh.
As the crowd in the hallways dispersed, making it easier for Jericho, Declan, Sarah, and Alastair to walk to their dorm, the louder the four became. Jokes, laughs, and teasing became louder than their own thoughts. As they stumbled into the dorm, wide smiles, and playful glares all around, the silence of the large room came to a shock.
Master Rufus, and more importantly, Constantine.
“Hi!” said Jericho. “You did amazing, Con. You looked like you’d been doing that sort of thing-- that performing— for years.”
“Thought I should get used to it,” Constantine said. “Who wouldn’t want to see the youngest Makar in a century?”
“You’re full of yourself,” Sarah snapped, shoving his shoulder. She’d perfected a perfect mix of a glare and a smile; he wasn’t quite sure which was more terrifying. Her sharp dark hair resembled a knife point, much like the blade she carried in her pocket from her mother. “I know we’re Greek,” she’d told him once, “but naming her knife ‘Apollo’ is laying it on thick.” Declan, on the other hand – and apparently never passing an opportunity to be an adorable jerk – said that if he were to name a blade, he'd name it “Knifey; like a wifey, but a knife.” It’s safe to say he will never say the word “wifey” again.
“A crowd of people gathering just to show him how much they appreciate and respect his power? I can’t at all see how that’d give him a swollen head,” Alastair said sarcastically. Sarah laughed.
“You cannot afford to lose your touch on reality due to your new power, Makar,” Master Rufus said, raising an eyebrow. Constantine snapped into a formal stance, a sudden change from his previous nonchalant demeanour. “You must continue to study; especially when you’ll be missing class time to train with Master Joseph—”
“What?” Jericho cried.
“Connie gets to skip out?” Declan exclaimed at the same time.
Rufus held up a hand, silencing them immediately. “It is not my choice, but the Assembly’s,” he said. “If it were up to me, we would be all learning about chaos magic and what it means to be a Makar. The Assembly has decided that Master Joseph’s education is too valuable, possibly too expensive, to train all five of you.”
Jericho thought that, out of all, this was the strangest decision on the Assembly’s part. You would think that Master Joseph would want to carry his teaching and studies with more that one student; that’s what Jericho assumed he’d be paid for. He understood the occasional private lesson for focus and more intense magic, but Master Joseph taking him out of class felt like it was taking this whole “Makar” thing too far. What was the point of learning about chaos-magic if no one else could know about it, either?
Unless Master Joseph had an ulterior motive?
No. Jericho shook his head. His brother’s paranoid ramblings must be sinking into his brain or something. He checked Declan and Sarah’s faces, and just by the amount of suspicion on Declan and the disapproving stare of Sarah’s told him enough. He was overreacting, but it was okay to be sceptical. There truly was no reason to suspect a teacher for simply wanting private lessons. Right?
…
“Que pensez-vous d’à-propos Master Joseph?”
“I don’t speak French, Declan.”
“It’s your fault you didn’t take French Immersion ‘till grade six,” Declan said with a shrug, falling on to his bed. Jericho followed him into his room, the door automatically shutting behind him. “Or your mom’s fault. Are there magic schools for little legacy kids? Little fire mages running around the playground all day?”
“My dad’s in control of what Con and I do, knucklehead,” he said, not putting any bite into it. “As for Master Joseph, I haven’t got a clue. I don’t know if I trust him around Constantine. I can’t tell.” He thought of Master Joseph on the stage, announcing just how eager and honoured he was to be introduced once again to the school. He didn’t like how Joseph announced Constantine’s positions towards various people, as if he knew Con as well. As if Joseph were his brother, not him.
Suddenly, Declan stood in front of him, waving his hands in front of his face. “Hey, Jerry? What’s up? Where’d you go? Constantine isn’t your entire personality, you know. You can worry about yourself.”
“What’s to worry about?” Jericho felt his face grow hot at Declan’s nickname. To distract himself from his own many answers to his half-hearted question, he turned to Declan’s many things and straightened various nick-nacks and hats; whatever in reach that was a mess. He wondered if it concerned the others that he knew where Declan’s belongings were tucked away and tried not to think about what that could mean.
“Nothing much,” he said sarcastically, “just us being boyfriends.”
Boyfriends. Why did that word give him so much happiness and so much dread at the same time? “Oh, right,” he replied, meeting Declan with much less enthusiasm, “I forgot. Such a small thing to remember, huh?”
“We’re going to do something about it,” Declan promised.
“About us? Or Master Joseph?”
“I think the conversation about Master Joseph can happen later,” Declan said with a small shrug. Of course, only Declan could shrug off the straight-forward conversation and leap directly into the much harder, complex one. “But either it’s tell people and be out, all while facing a shit-ton of shit from the entire world…”
“The others might be a little more open minded,” Jericho pointed out, sitting beside him on the bed. This time, Declan rested his hand on Jericho’s, the warmth spreading up his arm.
“Look who’s a little ray of sunshine,” he teased, poking his arm. “You’re right. It’s either that, and only really have the support of our friends, or stay hidden and tell no one. Un ou deux, one or two. None of it’s perfect, but they’re our options.”
Jericho hummed, thinking. “Maybe it’s not so black and white,” he said. Declan shuffled closer. He felt like he could count every single one of Declan’s many freckles, and it made his voice halter. “We could— I mean, we could tell our friends and keep it a secret from the rest of them.”
Declan looked him in the eyes. “What are you going to do about Connie?”
“And you, about Sarah.”
“She’ll support us,” he said immediately. “I know she will.”
Jericho smiled at the cave ceiling. The big chandelier coming down seemed dimmer than usual, but it was probably his mood. “Yeah, probably.”
Then, Declan asked something even more outlandish: “Jerry, are you okay?”
“What?”
“Just listen to me,” Declan said, desperation creeping into his voice. It barely sounded like Declan at all. He furrowed his brow. “I know you’ve been so busy with Con and supporting him, and I’m really happy for both of you. But we’ve barely had time to do anything together, especially with you and him skipping class because he needs to go to some sort of meeting or something. Again, I’m glad you’re there to support him, and it’ll only get better once Master Joseph starts teaching him… I guess all I’m saying is that I hope we can find time so that we can just do whatever we want, without having to worry about Constantine or anyone else. Just what our pretty, pretty futures will be, and what plot we’re going to own, what course we’ll take at the Collegium. That’s my dream, Jericho. I just want us to be able to be together.”
Jericho’s mouth felt like sandpaper. “Oh, Declan,” he whispered with a sigh. “I hear you. I just wish you’d told me sooner, and I would have found time. I’ll— I’ll find something, I promise.” If he could find time away from Constantine, that is. Con, Con, Con, it’s all he could think about. It reminded him vaguely of having a crush on Declan, but instead of being in awe of how a perfect human being could ever have been born, he was now wondering how someone so powerful could be born – plus, who and how they’d use it. “If there’s a half-hour, fifteen minutes, whatever, I’ll come and get you. Or I’ll make you tag along, even if Master Rufus hates it. I’ll do what I can. I promise.”
“I don’t want you to use all your time for me, Jerry. I want to know you like me just as much as I love you. Just find something that works with your schedule where I’m not… a pass time, or a burden.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Jericho gripped his hand, facing his boyfriend. “You know what? Scratch what I said. I’ll find one day, an entire day, where we run away and only see us. Just like your dream. And we can do it again and again, until we’re put into an old mage’s home, and we live happily ever after. Okay?”
Declan’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “That works for me,” he said softly. He leaned forward, and Jericho kissed him. He didn’t know just how to tell Declan how much he loved him. He did, he really did, love Declan just as much as Declan loves him. He knew that, and he wanted to show Declan just as much. One day, he might. But today is not that day; today is the day they figure it out.
On the walk down to the Refectory, they continued their conversation on Master Joseph, tagging behind the rest of the Magisterium’s students. After hearing Jericho’s thoughts, he said, “I don’t think he’s a bad person, but if anyone’s gonna try and control Connie’s power… he’s got a sniper over his shoulder, sent from an enemy he was teaching.” He made an exaggerated show of making a silhouette of a gun and shooting the floor in front of him.
“Agreed, he’s not bad,” Jericho said. “He’s just in a tricky position. Anybody who thinks they train Con is mistaken; teach, sure. But we all know how well Con gets a long with any teacher who doesn’t immediately see him for all his glamour and intelligence is immediately thrown into a fight that’s impossible for anyone else to win.” He rubbed his temples, taking a deep breath. “Constantine is better than this, I just know he is. Maybe he’ll behave in front of Joseph.”
“Spoken like a true older twin,” Declan said. “Have you been taking tips from me?”
“No, I’ve just always been the better twin.”
“Oh, is that so?” Jericho nearly jumped out of his skin when Constantine practically came out of thin air. “And where is the black stone on your bracelet?”
“What does that have to do with anything?” Declan asked.
“I don’t have to be a Makar to be better than you,” he said with a laugh. “I’m just kidding, anyways. Just don’t start thinking that just because you have dark magic, you’re the better twin. That’s my job.”
“Look at who’s going to be so, so wrong,” Constantine said with a warm smile. “I mean, I think Mom’s going to notice a Makar before she remembers which one of us is older.”
“That’s low,” he said, frowning. The Madden brother’s relationship with Eliza Madden wasn’t a secret, sure, but it didn’t mean that Constantine must bring that mess up whenever he could.
“There’s higher fruit to pick, my friend,” Declan agreed, sitting beside Jericho with a tray full of his favourite lichen and a separate one of Jericho’s favourite, and an empty tray for Constantine. “Speaking of fruit, did you see the apples Master Rufus is handing out to Iron Years? Actual apples. You’d think he’d be all rough and tough with them like he was to our poor souls, but no! A complete change in heart.” He sighed. “Connie—”
“Don’t call me that.”
“—I think your influence as a Makar has softened up the Masters. What do you think?”
Constantine smiled, the sort of smile that said, “I’m going to say something awful, but you can’t tell anyone, or I’ll find and share the deepest secret you’ve ever had and make sure your future boss hears about it.” It was a smile that made Jericho want to give a quick warning to Declan, but it was too late.
“The Masters better be soft,” he said with a faux-sweetness. “If not, there’s always someone in power that can change that.” Constantine glanced at his hands, then began to eat with a new self-satisfied smile.
“What the fuck does that even mean?” Declan laughed, knee jamming into the table. “God forbit, is there a dull moment with you, Connie? Jerry, get your brother in check.” He, too, turned to his food, but with such an amused expression, he may as well as just finished reciting his favourite joke (which, of course, Jericho has memorized – but is much too afraid to say it out loud in front of the Masters. He wasn’t quite sure about the Masters’ view on sex jokes and was not willing to find out.)
Then the unexpected happened, and Master Joseph came up from behind Constantine and patted his back. Constantine’s jaw stiffened. “It’s a pleasure to meet you without the crowd,” he said. Jericho and Declan exchanged glances. “Of course, aside from your friends. Can I assume you are Declan Novak, and… my God, are you Jericho Madden?”
“That he is,” Declan said. Something in his voice sounded almost rehearsed, as if he’d said something similar before. “No offense, sir, but we should get to the library. I’m sure we’ll see you later.” Jericho followed him out into the halls, and they waited for Constantine.
Declan kept his unreadable, flat demeanor until he showed up. “What did that scam want?” He said with the barest of laughs. “A refund for having to train you?”
Constantine kept a bored expression. Jericho knew he should say something – to keep from another fight between them – but he stood, paralyzed. Maybe it was something about having the two people you feared the most putting on such forced faces, but it put him off.
“Not a refund,” Constantine said smoothly, walking past them. “He told me he was interested in who, exactly, was in the Makar’s apprentice group. I don’t think he approves.”
“Who spit in his lichen?” Declan muttered. “Ass.”
“You said I was a sunshine, now who’s being a storm cloud?” Jericho nudged him. Declan flinched. “Let’s head back. I had more than enough to eat, and we both had a long day.” They didn’t, really. Half the day was cancelled for their group to get ready for the announcement of Constantine’s being a Makar – as if he couldn’t shut up about it.
He waited for Declan to correct him with a joke, but it never came. They made their way back to their dorm, the silence even worse than the eyes that had poured holes into the back of his head that afternoon. Just as the entered the room, Jericho felt his blood run cold.
Constantine sat on the couch, a dark shadow in his hands. He stared down at it, as smile cracking his sharp features. He shot out his hands, and the shadow covered the chandelier above them, and plunged the room into darkness.
All this was without training, and he was already making fun with his powers… it posed Jericho’s thoughts once again; Master Joseph may be there to teach Constantine, but there was no way he was going to do anything to take away his power. Never.