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Chapter Text

Kaveh does not write to his mother frequently. Ever since she moved to Fontaine and began a new life of her own, he never thought it worth troubling her by sending her long letters detailing the mundane trivialities of his life – they would only serve to remind her of the life she had left behind, and that would bring both of them only sorrow. It has been his policy now for several years to only write to her when he had some particularly good news to share, that she might be genuinely pleased to hear about.

Unfortunately, good news has been rare in Kaveh’s life; with the result being, therefore, that he does not write to his mother frequently. He wrote to her upon his graduation, when he secured his first job, when he began his independent practice, and finally when the Palace of Alcarzarzaray was completed; then a long silence ensued when he seriously doubted he’d have anything at all to write about to her ever again.

But luck is rarely so unforgiving, and things look up for people when they least expect it; and finally, two weeks ago, he’d had the chance to write to her and tell her of his victory at the Inter-Darshan Championship. It’s a subject that holds special meaning in both of their hearts, and so he is not surprised to find a long and delighted reply waiting for him at the post office, where he’d requested all mail addressed to his family home to be held.

My dearest Kaveh,

You have no idea how ecstatic I am to hear this news. I’m so terribly proud of you, and I know all your teachers and friends must be feeling the same. You’ve done so well, my little light – not quite so little any more, I know. I wish Baba could have seen you now. He would have been so, so happy.

To tell you the truth, I found out about your victory even before I received your letter. Do you remember the Homayanis? I helped them renovate their family home and built them a summer residence many years ago, when you were still quite small. Mr. Homayani remembered you, and wrote to me almost immediately after you won the Championship. They had a little girl about your age who must be a young woman by now, although I’m not sure if you have met her since.

Kaveh frowns at the letter. He’s vaguely heard of Dunyarzad Homayani in passing; he knows she belongs to one of Sumeru’s wealthiest families, and that she’d also somehow been involved in the recent upheaval that resulted in the Sages being overthrown and Lesser Lord Kusanali’s return to power. Alhaitham had mentioned meeting her at Cyno’s reinstatement banquet. Still, none of this information helps to prepare him for what follows later on in his mother’s letter.

I know this might come as a little bit of a surprise to you, but Mr. Homayani actually wrote to ask me if you would be interested in meeting Dunyarzad, since you are both unmarried and of the same age. He greatly admires you and said several times that “nothing would make me happier than seeing my daughter marry a good and talented young man like your son” – of course, on the condition that the two of you are happy with each other. It was all very flattering, and a little unexpected. Still, the more I thought about it, I felt that it was in fact a very good idea. After all, you have been all alone in Sumeru since I left; it would greatly ease my heart if I knew you had found someone to love and keep you company.

So I hope you will honour his request and go to meet Dunyarzad, if only just once. It would make me so very happy as well.

With love,

Maman.

Kaveh stares at the letter for several long moments, speechless. It’s the first time she’s ever made a suggestion of this sort. The idea of marriage sounds almost absurd to him; something alien that happened in the lives of ordinary people that didn’t carry crippling debt and festering regrets and more projects than they could handle around with them every hour of every day. He’s been so caught up in his work – not to mention short of money – that he hasn’t even been on a date in years, let alone thought of getting married.

But it wouldn’t be quite right to turn down Mr. Homayani’s invitation when he had asked so nicely, and it sounded like his mother was keen that he accept as well.

So the next weekend that comes around, if only to have something to write back about, Kaveh goes to meet Dunyarzad.

He’s pleasantly surprised when he does meet her, on a warm Saturday afternoon at Puspa Cafe. Kaveh had expected her to be reserved and a little snooty, if not outright spoiled, on account of her upbringing. Instead, Dunyarzad is friendly and sweet, and extremely easy to talk to. She’s beautiful, too; with delicate features and soft brown hair and eyes that sparkle whenever she breaks into one of her tinkling laughs.

As they share a plate of Tulumba and chat over cups of dark, fragrant coffee, Kaveh learns that Dunyarzad had suffered from Eleazar since childhood, only recovering when Lesser Lord Kusanali had erased the epidemic from Sumeru upon her return. As a result, she had never had the chance to go out much and make many friends, let alone have any romantic partners.

“And what about you?” she asks, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “I’m sure you must have dated around a little while you were at the Akademiya; or at least, had plenty of admirers lining up to ask you out.”

“Hardly,” Kaveh replies, laughing. “I was usually so preoccupied with studying and projects that I was lucky to find time to eat at all, let alone take people on dates. I suppose not a lot has changed from then to now.”

“And here I thought they were having so much fun up at the Akademiya, and I was always so disappointed about not being able to attend,” Dunyarzad pouts. “Was there really no one you even liked? Maybe had a little crush on?”

“I mean – there might have been, uh, one or two people,” Kaveh replies, rubbing the back of his neck. “I had some friends I was quite close to, but well. Friendships break off. Nothing came out of it.”

Dunyarzad nods. “I understand,” she says, sighing. “I too, had – well, some people I cared quite a bit about, and I thought that maybe things would work out. But they weren’t interested, of course. I guess I was reading too much into it – I do read far too many unrealistic romance novels, after all.”

“I don’t think it’s unrealistic,” Kaveh tells her, smiling wistfully. “Some people find love very easily, and others don’t. It’s all the luck of the draw.”

“So I suppose we are both somewhat unlucky in love,” Dunyarzad says, eyes crinkling as she returns the smile. “I reckon our parents think we’re lonely. Do you think they worry about us?”

“I think they do,” Kaveh sighs. “Hence why we’re both here right now.”

They talk until their cups are drained and the plate wiped clean, and when Dunyarzad asks if Kaveh would like to meet up again, he hesitates and then agrees. After she gets up to go home, Kaveh approaches the counter and tries to pay for the coffee; but the manager tells him with a wink that Dunyazard beat him to it and paid in full before he even stepped into the shop.

I’m so very happy to hear that you’ve met her twice and everything went well. She sounds like such a nice and simple girl from your description. Mr. Homayani wrote to me too, and told me that Dunya greatly enjoyed your company and seems to respect you very much.

I do understand that you’re worried about the finances; I know, sweetheart, Mora is never a stable presence for people in our profession. The thing is, Mr. Homayani seems to understand that very well too. He wrote and told me that he anticipates you’ll be concerned about the money, and that you shouldn’t worry at all: he will take care of everything. He has gifted Dunya a house, and has put away enough savings to comfortably support her and her eventual family for as long as she lives. It’s really too much, and I told him so; but he told me that money would be a small price to pay to ensure himself such a kind and brilliant son-in-law.

I think the best thing to do, if the two of you do end up getting married, would be to sell our old house and add that to your savings along with what you got from Baba. Then, there should be enough to supplement your income and make things a little more equal.

“I’m terribly sorry,” Kaveh tells Dunyarzad, the next time they meet. They’re at Lambad’s tavern, and the food is as mouthwateringly delicious as usual, but all of it seems to turn to sand in Kaveh’s mouth. “I should have told you this right at the start – in fact, I probably should never have agreed to meet you in the first place. You and your family have been far too kind to me. I can’t keep lying to you anymore.”

“Kaveh,” Dunyarzad says, stricken. “What’s wrong? Please tell me.”

“I am completely and utterly broke,” Kaveh confesses. It’s hard to meet her eyes. “More than you think. I used up all of my savings – including my family home – to build the Palace of Alcarzarzaray, and landed myself in debt to boot. Now I barely have enough Mora left to get me through each month, let alone get married on. I don’t even have a place of my own – someone I know is renting me out a room on a pittance. I’m sorry. I should have made this clear from the start.”

“Kaveh,” Dunyarzad says again. She reaches across the table, but Kaveh bows and retracts his hands into his lap.

“I haven’t told many people about this,” he says dejectedly. “I can only humbly ask you to do the same; but it’s completely up to you, really. I’ll write to your family myself, and apologise.”

“Listen to me,” Dunyarzad tells him, a hint of desperation lending an edge to her voice. “I am aware of this. My family knows about this.”

Kaveh feels himself go cold from head to toe. He looks up at her. “What?”

“You’re right that most of Sumeru wouldn’t know about your financial situation at all,” Dunyarzad goes on. “But this kind of news tends to travel in the business community. My father heard all about how Lord Sangemah Bay built the Palace, and that the architect paid out of pocket for most of it and ended up becoming indebted to her. That’s how he first took notice of you. He thinks Lord Sangemah Bay was very unfair in the way she handled the situation.”

Kaveh shakes his head, overwhelmed. “That…makes it even worse. I don’t understand why, if he knew this, he thought it would be a good idea for us to meet.”

“Because he admires you for it,” Dunyarzad replies. “He said it shows you have great strength of character and an unwavering commitment to your ideals, to go into debt to create Sumeru’s most beautiful landmark. My family has always loved the arts, and we know how difficult life has been for artists in this country, especially under the previous sages. He wants to help. You don’t need to worry about the Mora; he’ll take care of everything until you’ve cleared your debt and got back on your feet.”

“I can’t possibly let him,” Kaveh says, steadying himself with a hand on the table as he starts to get to his feet. “That wouldn’t be fair in the slightest. I know he’s only trying to help, but I wouldn’t be able to accept all this in good conscience.”

Dunyarzad reaches out and grabs him by the wrist. Her gaze, when Kaveh looks at her, is burning with dull fire.

“My father has money,” she says, her voice brittle. “What he doesn’t have is the assurance that his only daughter will be happy and cared for after he’s gone, that she won’t be left all alone in this world. If he could buy that with money, he would. Don’t take that away from him purely on account of your pride, Kaveh. Our parents won’t live forever, and the two of us aren’t getting any younger. They just want to see us happy before they’re dead.”

Kaveh falters. He looks at Dunyarzad’s hardened little face and a part of him wonders if what he’s hearing are really just her father’s fears, or if some of them are truthfully her own. But then, he’d be lying if he said some part of him didn’t also share in those fears. Particularly the part of him that has carried around inescapable guilt for more than twenty years, and clenches with dread at the thought of his mother finding out how he’s really been faring in her absence; that part understands exactly what Dunyarzad means, and knows that she is absolutely right.

“Okay,” he says after a long silence, and sighs resignedly as he resumes his seat. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good,” she says, and her expression relaxes back into her usual wistful smile.

It’s impossible to please everyone, or to do the right thing by all accounts. If one person’s peace of mind must be compromised to ensure the happiness of everyone else, then that person might as well be him.

Kaveh cuts back on his spending drastically for the next two months. He turns down fascinating projects he knows he will end up buying the materials for himself, even if doing so breaks his heart. He makes his rent payments to Alhaitham on time, earning him some very memorable looks of astonishment and a few less memorable snide comments. He quits drinking entirely, which actually prompts Alhaitham to question if he’s feeling quite alright – which he is, even if drowning his worries in herbal tea does not feel quite the same. Dunyarzad, whom he meets every weekend, is good company. She has a talent for conversation, a great appreciation for arts and theatre, and a caring soul, all three of which are qualities that Kaveh is hard pressed to find in the people he spends time with on a daily basis. A life together with her seems tolerable, desirable even; in any case, infinitely better than the one he leads currently, lying left and right and living on the favours of people he would rather not receive favours from.

“We’ve been meeting up for quite some time now,” Dunyarzad points out shyly one night as they’re strolling along the bridge of Port Ormos. “Are we really doing this thing, then?”

Kaveh is silent for a while. “We could,” he says finally. “I’ll leave it to you to make that decision. I’ll respect whatever you decide.”

“Then, let’s do it,” she says, and turns to face him. The lights of the port sparkle where they’re reflected in her eyes. “We’re two lonely people drifting along in this world; why don’t we be lonely together?”

Kaveh takes her hand and smiles. “Why not?”

I can’t tell you how happy I am to hear the news, sweetheart. It takes me back to when I first met your father; we were so happy, and so in love. It warms my heart to know you’ve found that same happiness. I know I have no right to speak of this; but for all these years I’ve been here, I’ve thought so much about how lonely you must have been in Sumeru. It’s a relief to know that you’ve finally found someone to look after, and to look after you.

If Baba were here, he would be over the moon and those stars of his. I know we’ll both miss him at the wedding. I miss him every day.

A week later, Kaveh visits Khalid’s shop on Treasures Street and after a good hour of consultation, leaves with a beautiful little ring in a velvet-covered box. It’s not the most expensive one, but it didn’t come cheap either; and in terms of craftsmanship, it has to be one of the best in the shop. It’s fine and delicate, made of thin filigreed gold, with a violet amethyst from Inazuma set in the centre. Khalid agrees to let him pay for it over a year-long instalment plan. When he finally pops the question over a candlelit dinner at the Shapur Hotel, Dunyarzad beams and accepts. The ring looks lovely on her small hand, matching her clothes and the ornaments in her hair perfectly.

A few days later, she invites him home, and Kaveh shakes hands with Mr. Homayani and is given a bone-crushing hug by Mrs. Homayani, who tells him he is the picture of his mother and such a good, well-mannered boy. After the tea and sweets have been cleared away, Dunyarzad leads him to a secluded little summer-house in the mansion gardens, and produces a ring from the pocket of her dress.

“It belonged to my late grandfather,” she says, smiling affectionately. “He would have been so happy to know I lived long enough to be married one day.”

She slides it onto Kaveh’s finger. It’s thick and made of solid gold, and weighs heavy on his hand; much heavier than the one he had given her.

Chapter Text

Month: T-2

Kaveh clears his throat. “By the way,” he says, “I have a little announcement for you guys.”

Three pairs of ears perk up (one rather prominently) and Tighnari, Cyno and Collei turn to face him. It’s a swelteringly hot afternoon in Sumeru, but the shade of the tree canopy and the constantly rippling breeze of the Avidya Forest do a very good job of keeping the heat away. They’ve just finished their customary Sunday lunch and are now lounging about in Tighnari’s hut at Gandharva Ville, in the drowsy and comfortable lull that immediately follows dessert and will inevitably be interrupted by Cyno suggesting a round of TCG to wake them all up. Kaveh takes the opportunity to divert the conversation before this happens.

“New project?” Tighnari asks. “I hear there’s a lot of development coming up in the desert lately.”

“Are you going to become a teetotaller?” Cyno guesses with a note of amusement in his voice, when Kaveh shakes his head no at Tighnari. “I hear you’ve been off the stuff for nearly two months already. Lambad’s starting to miss you.”

“That’s not likely to happen,” Collei giggles. She’s gotten a lot less shy over the years, and Kaveh has to admit that she could tease people as ruthlessly as her guardians when she plucked up the courage to. He’s glad for it, because it means he’s been welcomed into the little circle of people she feels comfortable enough to be herself around. “Ooh, I know! Mr. Kaveh, you’re getting your own TCG card made, aren’t you? It’s about time you did!”

“None of the above.” Kaveh takes off his glove and raises his left hand demurely in front of his face, to show them the gold band on his fourth finger. “I’m getting married.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then the little hut explodes into chaos. The uproar is so great that several wild birds screech and take off into flight outside with a furious rustle. But for once, Tighnari is in no mind to scold them for making a din; he’s on the edge of his seat and is shouting at the top of his lungs along with the rest.

“Oh. My. Archons!” squeals Collei, bouncing up and down in her chair. “That is amazing news! Congratulations, Mr. Kaveh!”

“I can’t believe you waited so long to tell us this!” Cyno exclaims, trying his best to maintain his composure but clearly unable to hide his delight. “This should have been the first thing out of your mouth when you stepped in through the doors!”

“Fucking finally.” Tighnari leans back in his seat, weak from happy laughter, a hand over his face. “I can’t believe I’m finally, finally done with having to listen to you complain your socks off every week. Archons, Kaveh, I’m so happy for you.”

“I didn’t realise I complained about being single that much,” Kaveh replies, rubbing the back of his neck a little bemusedly. “But anyway. Thanks a lot, you guys. I hope you’ll all be able to make it for the wedding.”

“We wouldn’t dream of missing it!” Collei declares, her eyes shining fervently. “Can we help to plan it? I want to pick out the flowers, if you’ll let me!”

“You should have brought Alhaitham along with you today,” Cyno says chidingly. “Now we absolutely have to meet the two of you for dinner tomorrow. How about your place?”

“Oh, right – Alhaitham.” Kaveh claps a hand to his forehead. “Cyno, if you see him at the Akademiya tomorrow, don’t mention this to him, would you? I haven’t told him yet.”

A sudden silence descends upon the little hut. Tighnari falters mid-laugh.

“Told him?” Cyno asks slowly, a wary glint in his eye. “What exactly haven’t you told him?”

“That I’m getting married,” Kaveh grimaces. “I wanted to tell him myself – I suppose I do want him at the wedding after all, you know – but I didn’t get a chance yet. You know what it’s like, trying to have a conversation with him.”

Now the silence is palpable. It’s so still that the buzzing of crickets can be heard outside the hut. Just as it’s starting to get uncomfortable, Cyno and Collei open their mouths simultaneously; but then Tighnari shoots them an incredibly furious look across the table, quelling them both into silence. Tighnari then plasters on a sunny smile, in terrifying contrast to his previous expression, and leans towards Kaveh.

“Right,” he says smoothly. “Don’t worry, we won’t tell him a word. Now then. Kaveh, you still haven’t told us whom you’re getting married to.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” Kaveh says. “It’s Dunyarzad Homayani. You know, Nilou’s friend. You met her at your reinstatement banquet, Cyno.”

“A gir–?” begins Collei, incredulously, but she trails off with a squeak as Tighnari glares at her again.

“Ah, yes, I know Dunyarzad,” Cyno interrupts loudly. “I had no idea that the two of you were…so close.”

“We weren’t, actually,” Kaveh replies. “We were sort of set up by our parents. My mother did some work for the Homayanis when I was a kid, and they’ve been friends ever since. Dunyarzad and I only met a few months ago, but we hit it off pretty well and now, here we are.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Tighnari says brightly. “I’ve heard from Cyno that she’s a very good person. You should bring her over to meet us sometime.”

“She really is,” Kaveh says, and sighs as he smiles. “A little too good for me, if I’m being completely honest.”

Tighnari waves Kaveh goodbye and closes the wooden door of the hut carefully. The moment it clicks into place, he whirls around and makes a furious zipping-lips gesture at Cyno and Collei, both of whom shut their open mouths with a snap.

“Not a word,” he hisses. “What if he hears us? Give it ten minutes, until he’s well out of Gandharva Ville.”

Cyno and Collei sit in silence, looking as if they’d been forced to swallow slimes, for ten long minutes; the moment Tighnari nods in acquiescence, they simultaneously burst forth.

“This doesn’t make any sense! I don’t understand it! Why would he get married to some random girl he only just met? I really thought it was going to be Mr. Al–”

“You can’t convince me that he really means to go through with it. Tighnari, as his friends, we need to get to the bottom of this.”

“Look, I get it, I’m as surprised as you are,” Tighnari says tiredly, shielding his ears from the onslaught of noise. “But realistically speaking, what can we do about it? Should we even do anything about it? Kaveh’s made his decision, and he seems happy.”

“Of course he’s not happy!” protests Collei. “Didn’t you see his face? He’s being forced into an arranged marriage!”

“No one’s forcing him into anything, they were just introduced to each other,” Tighnari replies, exasperated. “And for your information, Collei, arranged marriages are still very common in Sumeru. They’re not the kind of pre-Archonic atrocity you seem to think they are.”

“But Mr. Kaveh is a romantic,” Collei retorts, stubborn. “I’m sure no one like that wants an arranged marriage. He would have wanted to marry for love.”

“You’ve been reading far too many of those Inazuman light novels,” Tighnari tells her.

“I can’t help but agree with Collei that this is not what Kaveh really wants,” Cyno cuts in, crossing his arms. “What about Alhaitham? How do you think he feels about all this?”

“What has he got to do with anything?” Tighnari asks.

Cyno rolls his eyes. “Tighnari. Come on. I know you’re not being serious. That man has been in love with Kaveh since they were in the Akademiya together. You know this. I know this. Even Collei knows this. I’d be surprised if half of Sumeru City, from Lambad to Lord Sangemah Bay, didn’t know this.”

“Look, I – I don’t know, he’ll have to get over it,” Tighnari sighs, a hand over his face. “But listen to me, both of you. Kaveh’s not a child. He’s a smart man, and he can make his own decisions. He must have had his reasons – I mean, for example, the Homayanis are wealthy, and we know Kaveh is hard up –”

“Mr. Kaveh would never marry someone for their money,” Collei declares, defiantly.

“My point is, the three of us have no right to question his decision,” Tighnari continues. “If we try to intervene, we might end up doing more harm than good. Whatever both of you say, Kaveh seems happy, and Archons know that man deserves a little happiness in his life. None of us are going to do a single thing that could ruin that for him. Are we clear?”

Cyno huffs a sigh, frowning. Collei nods sulkily.

“What we will do,” Tighnari adds, “is help him plan the wedding, and keep an eye on him – and everyone else – and make sure that he really is happy with his decision. If it looks like something’s wrong, we’ll put a stop to it. Are you two in?”

“Yes,” Cyno says immediately.

“Me too,” Collei adds, perking up.

Week: T-7

“Hey. Are you even listening to me? I said I have something to talk to you about.”

“Fire away,” Alhaitham says unconcernedly, turning a page. “I’m listening.”

Kaveh sighs. This is probably as attentive an audience as he’s likely to get. He opens his mouth to begin and then finds that for some reason, he can’t get the words out.

“I’m – I’m moving out soon.”

Alhaitham, Archons curse him, doesn’t even look up from his book. Instead, the corner of his mouth quirks upward into a smirk, as if he’s heard this threat from Kaveh so many times that it doesn’t even faze him anymore. “Is that so? Someone else willing to rent you out a place? Or has our master architect finally got around to designing a mansion for himself?”

“None of the above,” Kaveh retorts, annoyed. “I’m getting married. I’m moving out to go and live with my wife.”

Now Alhaitham looks up. He doesn’t even look surprised. Instead, he raises an eyebrow and gives Kaveh a look of pure skepticism.

“Wife?”

“Not you, too,” Kaveh sighs, closing his eyes. “Yes, Alhaitham, I’m getting married. To Dunyarzad Homayani, whom I believe you’ve met. My mother is friends with the Homayanis, and they set us up. For your information, since you wanted to know where I’ve been going on the weekends for a few months now, it was usually to meet her.”

Alhaitham stares at him, as if he’s only just realised that Kaveh’s being completely serious. His expression is vaguely unsettling; Kaveh almost wishes he was still wearing that smirk, because this new look does not suit his face at all and it’s making Kaveh uncomfortable to boot. The silence drags on for far too long.

“Why are you telling me this?” Alhaitham asks, finally.

Kaveh grits his teeth. Really? “I actually have no idea myself. The wedding’s in two months. You’re invited. Come if possible. And if it’s not too much of a dent in your schedule, be my best man. You’ll have to stay for the whole event if you do, so no pressure to accept, really.”

Now Alhaitham looks utterly lost. Kaveh hasn’t seen that expression on his face in years; he thinks the last and only time he saw it was that night in the House of Daena back when they were students, right after Kaveh told him something entirely unforgivable and then the two of them didn’t speak to each other for eight whole years. There’s no good reason for him to look like that right now.

“You want me,” Alhaitham repeats slowly, “to be your best man?”

Kaveh sighs. He’s been doing that a lot lately. “Yes, Alhaitham, I do. Believe it or not, I’m thankful for everything you’ve done for me, and I would appreciate it if you could be there for me one last time at my wedding. And as far as frien– I mean, people go, you’re – you’re – I guess you’re the person I spend the most time with, at any rate.”

“What about Cyno or Tighnari?” Alhaitham asks.

Are you serious? I’ve known you for more than ten fucking years, Kaveh thinks furiously. And regardless of whatever happened between us, we were once best friends – an inseparable pair that no one could come in between. We know each other inside out and bring out the worst and best of each other like two mirrored souls, and you’re asking me what about Cyno or Tighnari?

Instead, what he says is, “Is that your answer? Should I ask one of them, then?”

“No,” Alhaitham replies, a little too quickly. “Merely a hypothetical. Since you said you wanted me to do it, I’ll do it. It’s the least I can do now that you’re finally moving out of my house.”

“Right,” Kaveh snaps, getting to his feet. “Thanks. That settles it, then. We’re going to the Grand Bazaar tomorrow to shop for tailors. You’d better come as well.”

“Kaveh,” Alhaitham calls from the couch, just as Kaveh is about to head into his own room. He turns around. “What?”

“Congratulations,” Alhaitham says. “Dunyarzad Homayani is a good woman. I don’t know her very well myself, but the Traveller does, and they have many good things to say about her. I’m very happy for you.”

He doesn’t look happy at all.

Chapter Text

Week: T-5

“Right, that decides it,” says Tighnari, marking off another item on his clipboard with a flourish. “So Lambad’s Tavern will handle the catering, and Cyno will be the point of contact. Next, music. As we discussed, we’ll be hiring the Zubayr Theater –”

“Oh, that reminds me,” Dunyarzad pipes up. “We should probably inform them as soon as possible. The troupe needs time to prepare, and we need to ensure that their schedule is free that week.”

“Okay,” says Tighnari, making a note. “Since you’re friends with Nilou, I’ll put you down as our point of contact, but feel free to ask someone else if you find yourself too busy. Next, the security plan.”

“That’s mine,” Dehya calls, raising a hand. “I can ask a few of my brothers from other guilds to help us out. I’ll get discounts, too.”

“Dehya, make sure you don’t go to any trouble yourself,” Dunyarzad tells her warningly. “I asked you to be my maid of honour, not my bodyguard, remember.”

“Don’t worry, milady,” Dehya winks. “I swear I won’t do a single thing save for sitting by your side and looking pretty.”

They’re all gathered in the living room of the Homayanis’ city house, just a block down the street from where Kaveh and Alhaitham live. Tighnari is perched on the arm of Cyno’s chair, rifling through sheaves of paper pinned to his clipboard with Archons knew what written on them. Collei sits cross-legged on the other arm, quiet for the most part and shooting Kaveh suspicious looks every now and then, for some reason. Kaveh and Dunyarzad sit together on one of the long divans, and opposite them Dehya lounges across the other divan with her arm around a beautiful girl from the desert who had been introduced to Kaveh as Candace. Alhaitham occupies the remaining armchair, nose buried in a book and apparently completely impervious to the conversation around him.

“So security is also sorted – Dehya, make sure you give me the details of how many personnel will be coming and what their expected costs will be, so I can factor that into the budget.”

“That should depend on the number of guests attending,” Dunyarzad says, frowning. “Which reminds me, Kaveh, you still need to confirm your guest list with us.”

“Ah,” Kaveh says, grinning awkwardly. “Right. I haven’t actually thought about it, but I guess I could give you a number – I mean, whom am I even going to invite, apart from you guys and my mother? Put it down as twenty for now, Tighnari.”

“Kaveh, you can’t invite twenty people,” Dunyarzad replies, scandalised. “That wouldn’t be fair. My parents’ business contacts add up to two hundred and fifty on their own. Add in our extended family and my tutors, and we’ll have at least three hundred from my side.”

Kaveh reels a little. “There’s no way I can invite that many people,” he begins to say, sweating.

“Why not?” asks Dunyarzad. “What about your Akademiya lecturers? Your classmates? Seniors and juniors? What about your parents’ scholar friends, you should write to your mother and ask!”

“I haven’t really kept in touch with most of them,” he replies, massaging his temples. “I mean, I could invite a few lecturers and some friends, and maybe a couple of clients I had good relations with, but honestly, I don’t know if it’s worth the expense –”

“Stop worrying about the cost, would you?” Dunyarzad scolds, giving him a light smack on the shoulder. “I’ve told you, everything’s taken care of! Tighnari, please put the number of Kaveh’s guests down as one hundred. I’ll be sure to fill up the list and get it to you by the end of the week.”

“One hundred guests for Kaveh,” Tighnari says as he scribbles furiously on his clipboard. “I’ll help him brainstorm some people to invite. Don’t worry, he’s far more popular than he thinks he is.”

“Let’s discuss this later,” Kaveh says hastily, face heated. “Tighnari, what’s next on the agenda?”

“Next,” says Tighnari, turning over a page, “is the officiant. We need an impartial individual to witness the signing of the marriage contract; ideally they should be of high seniority and social standing, but more importantly, someone that both of you respect.”

“I think we should ask Kaveh’s trigonometry lecturer from the Akademiya,” Cyno pipes up. “He would be the best fit for the role.”

“Sure, but why?” asks Kaveh. “I haven’t really kept in touch with him since I finished his class in my first year. Wouldn’t it be better to ask a lecturer I worked with on a project?”

“No,” replies Cyno, deadpan. “I think your trigonometry lecturer would be the most familiar with sines.”

Nearly everyone in the room shudders. Collei chokes on her cup of tea. Tighnari shoots Cyno his most withering of looks before turning back to his clipboard.

“As I was saying,” he says pointedly, “an officiant. Does anyone have any helpful suggestions?”

“In Aaru Village, it is usually Uncle Anpu who officiates weddings, as the village chief,” says Candace. “Do the people of Sumeru City have a similar custom? I’m sure the Homayanis would like to have someone important take up the role.”

“You could try inviting the current Grand Sage, if you have the connections,” suggests Tighnari. “It’s a customary choice for most upper-class families of Sumeru. Traditionally, another option would be to ask the Scribe, but that’s not possible in this case, since he happens to be in the wedding party. I also highly doubt the Scribe has accepted any such invitations for the past six or so years, so I suspect that tradition is somewhat dying out.”

“Speaking of which, you’ve been terribly quiet,” Dehya puts in, leaning over Candace to punch Alhaitham in the shoulder. He lifts his eyes from his book and flips a switch on his earpiece. “Nothing to add? No cutting criticism of how we’re going about this all wrong?”

“I’m sorry,” Alhaitham says, expressionless. “I’m not very good at planning things. Please, keep going.”

Kaveh splutters. “Really? And who was it, pray, that apparently orchestrated an entire coup-d’etat to overthrow the Sages and rescue our Archon less than a year ago? But when it comes to my wedding, you’re not very good at planning?”

“I’m no good at planning weddings,” Alhaitham retorts, flatly. “I’ve never even been to one. I have nothing to contribute.”

“No one’s asking you to plan the wedding, we’ve done most of that already,” Tighnari says, exasperated. “We’re just trying to think of a possible officiant. Are there any colleagues of yours at the Akademiya you can ask?”

“I doubt you’d want any of the Mahamata bearing witness to anything of importance, let alone your marriage contract,” Alhaitham replies. “I could ask Nahida, though. I’m sure she could spare the time, and she’s more than happy to partake in this sort of thing.”

“Nahida?” Kaveh asks, aghast. “As in, Lesser Lord Kusanali? The Dendro Archon?”

“The very one,” says Alhaitham. “Now that I think about it, she does still owe me a favour for forcing me to serve as the Acting Grand Sage for three months. I’ll ask her when I see her at work tomorrow.”

“You’ll really ask Lesser Lord Kusanali to officiate at our wedding?” Dunyarzad repeats, her voice faint. “I – I can’t even believe that’s actually possible. Thank you so, so much for doing that for us.”

“No need to thank me,” Alhaitham says, going back to his book. “I’ll take it that that suffices as my contribution to the planning.”

The room lapses into silence. Kaveh bristles, but says nothing. Tighnari sighs in resignment.

“Alright, fine, that will do,” he says. “Next up. Colour scheme and decorations – no, don’t say it, I will accept absolutely any answer other than green.”

“For Archons’ fucking sake,” Kaveh groans later that evening, sitting down on the end of the couch and wringing his hands. “Say something, would you? I’ve been pulling my hair out for the past half an hour, and not once have you offered me one of your unsolicited pieces of advice that you usually so love to dispense. What’s the matter with you today?”

“I don’t know what advice you’re expecting me to give that you can’t think up by yourself,” Alhaitham says. He’s still reading the same book he’d been reading at the meeting, which is unusual because a book of that size shouldn’t take him more than a couple of hours. “If the size of Dunyarzad’s guest list bothers you, talk to Dunyarzad. Why are you inflicting it on me?”

“Four hundred people,” Kaveh mutters, getting back to his feet and throwing his hands up in despair. “Four hundred fucking plates of food. Do you know how much Lambad charges for catering these days, Alhaitham? Eight thousand Mora a plate. I can’t even begin –”

“Why are you so upset about it, if you aren’t the one paying for it?” asks Alhaitham.

“That’s exactly why I’m upset about it, don’t you see?” Kaveh retorts, anguished. “Do you think I want to be lunching a hundred of my lecturers and friends on Mr. Homayani’s dime? Then at the same time, I can’t ask them to reduce their own guests to balance out mine – it’s their daughter’s wedding, damn it, they have a right to invite as many people as they please!”

“I don’t think Mr. Homayani will have a problem with paying for anything that you ask him for,” replies Alhaitham in a bored voice. “I’m sure he’s ready to pull out all the stops; who wouldn’t, when their daughter is to be married to Sumeru’s foremost architect, the Inter-Darshan Champion, our one and only Light of the Kshahrewar?”

“Would you stop?” Kaveh wails, sinking to his knees with his head in his hands. “Do you think I want to be hearing all that? I don’t live up to any of it. I’m nearly thirty and I haven’t a Mora to my name, and I’m getting married to the first girl my mother introduced me to because if I don’t, I’ll be alone for the rest of my life.”

Alhaitham snorts. “I don’t think Dunyarzad would be very happy to hear that.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Kaveh sniffs, miserably. “She’s the sweetest girl to ever exist. I just don’t know if I’m good enough for her. Her family’s paying for the entire wedding, and I don’t even have enough on hand to buy the mirror and the fucking candlesticks.”

Alhaitham shuts his book with a snap. If Kaveh had been looking at him, he would have noticed a flash of rare anger in his eyes; but it passed as quickly as it came, and when Kaveh turned to face him, he looked as apathetic as ever.

“You keep asking yourself this,” Alhaitham says in response to Kaveh’s questioning face. “Why not try thinking about it in the reverse? Is Dunyarzad Homayani good enough for you, Kaveh?”

“What would be the point of asking that?” Kaveh asks, half-laughing. “Of course she is. What could she possibly be lacking?”

“Well, she’s nice, and rich, and well-mannered, and pretty,” Alhaitham recites, sounding like he didn’t set much store by any of those things. “And by the average standards of Sumeru, she’s intelligent. But can she keep up with you? If you ask for her opinion on a paper you read recently, can she give one? If some client offends your artistic sensibilities, can you complain about it to her in a way she understands? If you try to debate philosophy with her when you’re so drunk you can hardly stand, can she play along?”

“What in Teyvat are you going on about?” Kaveh asks him, bewildered. “Is that the sort of thing you think married couples talk about?”

“I’m hardly the best person to ask about how married couples behave,” Alhaitham says. He gets to his feet and starts to head in the direction of his room. “I’m sure you’re a more reliable source than I am.”

Kaveh swallows. Indeed, Alhaitham is far more correct than he’d like to admit; he remembers very vividly that his parents’ conversations often revolved around their studies and academic interests, keeping each other on their toes with their passionate debates and cathartic breakthroughs. But they’d also had so much else to talk about; regular things, like theatre shows and food and mutual friends and their son – why couldn’t it be the same for him?

“I don’t think it matters that much,” Kaveh says, finally. “Only you would set so much store by academic ability as a measure of someone’s worth.”

“I’m not doing anything of the sort,” Alhaitham replies without turning around. “I’m merely trying to show you that there are a variety of metrics by which a person can be assessed, and that there’s no good consensus on their relative importance. If you didn’t keep trying to measure your own worth in terms of your wealth, maybe you’d realise that you do in fact score quite highly on a number of other yardsticks.”

Kaveh blinks. He tilts his head in surprise. “You – was that a compliment?”

“Interpret it as you wish,” Alhaitham says, and shuts the door behind him with a little more force than is necessary.

Week: T-4

“To be honest, even I wanted a smaller wedding,” Dunyarzad says, laughing. “I just didn’t have the guts to tell Papa that I don’t want to invite all of his stuffy business contacts. But now that you’re the one asking, he’ll agree in no time.”

“If you say so,” Kaveh sighs, relieved. “Let’s make it one hundred in total. Sixty from your side, and forty from mine.”

“Sounds perfect,” Dunyarzad replies. “With one hundred people, we won’t even need such a large hall anymore. What if we move the wedding to the gardens beside the city gates? I’ve always wanted to have a garden wedding.”

“That would be lovely,” Kaveh agrees. “After all, weddings should be about what the couple wants, don’t you think? We should have the freedom to choose a location that we like best, and invite only the people that we want to be there.”

“Mm-hm,” Dunyazad says, nodding. “You’re sure that’s why you wanted less guests, right? It’s not because of some other reason?”

“Of course not,” Kaveh says, laughing awkwardly. “What other reason would there be?”

“I don’t know,” Dunyarzad replies, winking at him. “Maybe so that you don’t inconvenience too many people if you decide to run away the night before and call off the wedding, or something of the sort, you know.”

“Why would you say something like that?” Kaveh asks, stricken.

There’s a silence. Then Dunyarzad’s face crumples, and she buries her face in her hands. “I’m sorry,” she says, muffled. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. That was a horrible thing to say, I know. It just sort of slipped out.”

“It’s okay,” Kaveh says gently. He puts an arm around her and rubs soothing circles into her shoulder. “I know you didn’t mean it. It’s okay.”

Dunyarzad raises her head, dabbing at the corner of her eyes with the corner of her shawl. “Thanks for not taking offence,” she says with a watery laugh. “Sometimes I’ll make the occasional awful joke, and you’ll just have to laugh along with me at them. I promise I will try to stop them as best as I can.”

Kaveh waits patiently as she regains her composure. She takes a deep breath and continues, “Sometimes, I still have this irrational fear that anyone I get close to will leave me behind, and walk away without a second glance. I know it’s unfair of me to think that about you.”

Kaveh pulls her close, aware of a sudden sharp pang in his own chest. “It’s okay,” he murmurs. “I know how it feels. It’ll take time, but you’ll feel better eventually.”

Dunyarzad laces her fingers in between his and gives his hand a squeeze. “Of course you know. I’m sorry.”

They sit in silence for a moment or two, before Dunyarzad finally disentangles her hand and picks up the list and pen she’d placed on her lap. “So, your guest list,” she says, trying to bring her voice back to normal. “Give me the names of the friends you’re inviting, so we can start writing the cards. Are you going to invite that girl, by the way?”

“What girl?” Kaveh asks.

Dunyarzad smiles gently at him. “The girl you told me about,” she says. “The friend, you know. Whom things didn’t work out with.”

“Ah,” says Kaveh. “I, uh – don’t add them to the guest list, anyway.”

“Are you no longer even friends?” Dunyarzad asks him.

Kaveh smiles wryly. “I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t think it’s fair to expect them to want to be friends, the way that I handled things. They hurt me pretty badly, I suppose, but I hurt them back – and I don’t think I’ve ever made up for it.”

Dunyarzad nods sympathetically. “So, not friends.”

“I mean, it’s not like we’re on completely bad terms, either,” Kaveh sighs. He runs a hand through his hair. “But I don’t think you could call us friends. Archons, I have no idea what we even are.”

Week: T-3

Kaveh visits Khalid’s shop again to purchase the mirror and candlesticks for his sofreh aghd. He’s saved up quite a bit of Mora, but he still isn’t sure that he’ll have enough to buy a good set once he’d paid this month’s instalment on the engagement ring. In the worst case scenario, he supposes he’ll have to convince Khalid to hold it for him for a week, and try asking his latest client for an advance payment.

To his great surprise, when he enters the shop, Khalid beams and produces a handsome lacquer box from beneath the counter. “Ah, Mr. Kaveh! I was told you’d be coming to pick this up.”

Kaveh lifts the lid of the box. Inside, resting on a bed of fine satin, is a mirror set in a silver frame and a pair of three-pronged silver candelabras. They’re heavy and intricately carved, and the quality of the craftsmanship unmatched. It must have cost a small fortune.

“Where did this come from?” Kaveh asks him, bewildered. “Who paid for this?”

Khalid shrugs. “It was purchased by postal order to be received by Mr. Kaveh. The sender was unnamed. Perhaps, an early wedding gift.”

Chapter Text

Hour: T-12

“How’s the warzone?” asks Tighnari, looking up from the bundles of mint he’s been meticulously shredding into evenly-sized bits.

Cyno grimaces. “Those Kshahrewar researchers are absolutely plastered. They’ve been hogging the spincrystal machine for nearly an hour now, and the music just keeps getting worse and worse. Why did we invite them again?”

“Kaveh said he got quite close with them during some field project back in their Akademiya days,” Tighnari says, sighing. “Something about him having rescued them from a collapsing tomb in the desert.”

“Should have just let them perish,” Cyno mutters darkly.

“How’s Kaveh doing?” Tighnari asks. “I hope you’ve been keeping an eye on his drinks. We can’t have him hungover in the morning tomorrow.”

“I think he’s thinking the same,” replies Cyno. “He hasn’t even finished his first glass. I saw him talking with the traveller just now, so he’s in good hands.”

Much to everyone’s delight, the traveller and Paimon had unexpectedly shown up in Sumeru City that morning, seemingly materialising out of thin air. They’d been regretful about not being able to make it for the wedding the next day (“A friend of ours is to be guillotined tomorrow in Fontaine, so we need to be there in time to rescue them”), but had agreed to attend the pre-festivities the night before. The traveller was now chatting with Kaveh while they sipped on one of Tighnari’s homemade mojitos, whereas Paimon had opted instead to attend the bachelorette party at the Homayanis’ city residence down the street, where the choice of food and drink were apparently far superior. Hopefully she would not have to be fished out from the bottom of one of the many delectable punch bowls later on that night.

“Alhaitham, by the way, is reading,” Cyno adds. “In the middle of the living room. With his earpieces on. While chaos erupts around him.”

Tighnari pinches the bridge of his nose. “Let him be. Honestly, we should be thankful he even let us host the party at his place. I wasn’t expecting him to offer it up at all.”

“Perhaps he thought it would save him the trouble of having to carry Kaveh back,” Cyno suggests.

“I think he’s just trying to do something nice for Mr. Kaveh,” Collei pipes up tremulously, from where she’s perched on a stool behind the kitchen counter, squeezing fresh limes into a jug. “It can’t be easy to watch all this.”

“Collei, why are you even here?” Tighnari asks her tiredly. “You should be next door with the girls. This is supposed to be a bachelor party.”

“Please, Master, this really isn’t the kind of roaring party you think it is,” Collei replies, rolling her eyes. “You guys are way too old for that. You’re having cocktails, for Archons’ sake.”

“Not for long,” Tighnari warns. He reaches down to pull out two bottles of Snezhnayan firewater that had been stashed beneath the kitchen counter. “You won’t want to be around when these are opened, trust me.”

“I did try going next door,” Collei says, pouting. “But everyone’s so chatty there, and I don’t have anything to do.”

“You’re just here because you want to be in on the gossip,” Cyno points out. “Go and get your henna done by Madam Faruzan, she’s a dab hand. See, I even got some for myself.”

He holds up his hands to show an amused Collei the intricate geometric patterns on his palms. Just then, Kaveh skids into the kitchen, breathless. “Ice! Do you guys have any ice?”

“Here you go,” Tighnari says, handing him a pitcher of ice cubes. “That’s the last of it though, and I was saving it for the firewater. What do you need it for? Did someone bring drinks from outside?”

“Drinks? Oh, no, one of the researchers fell over and brought a bookshelf down on top of himself,” Kaveh explains. “Alhaitham cleared up the books and left the man lying there on the floor. I swear, he’s getting worse every day.”

Tighnari sighs and plants his hands on his hips as Kaveh rushes out of the kitchen. “That’s it, I’m taking a break. I’m going to go join the party while I still can. Collei, hop across and bring us some ice from next door, please. Ask Layla to make you some if you can’t find any.”

“Fine,” Collei says sulkily, sliding off her seat. As she shuts the kitchen door behind her, Cyno leans closer to Tighnari and peels his hair gently away from his face, as though he were parting a curtain.

“You look worried,” he observes.

Tighnari sighs. “I am worried. I know it’s quite literally the night before, but I’m still having second thoughts. Convince me we’re doing the right thing by letting this happen, Cyno.”

“We’ve talked long and hard about this with Kaveh, and he was firm in his decision,” Cyno reminds him, patiently. “Last week, we decided together with Collei that we would leave it be. You yourself were the one to say it – if we know Kaveh is happy, then it is time for us to stop interfering.”

“I know,” Tighnari says, running a hand over his face. “I’m not going back on my word, I promise. It’s just that – the thing with Kaveh is that he’s such a good liar. He’s all smiles and good cheer when you’re face to face with him, but no one ever really knows what’s going on inside his head. I wouldn’t have ever known he was capable of hiding it so well, if it hadn’t been for that entire Alcarzarzaray fiasco.”

“If he is in fact lying to us, even as his closest friends, then that is also a choice he made that we must respect,” Cyno tells him sagely. “We can’t interrogate him like a suspect. Rest, Tighnari. You’ve done more than enough.”

“I will,” Tighnari says, leaning sideways to rest his head against Cyno’s. “ I’m worried about Alhaitham, as well. I know he’s been acting the same as always, but this can’t humanly be easy for him. We’re his friends too, after all.”

“I am also worried about him,” Cyno says gravely, “but not in quite the same way that you are. I find it almost strange that he has been so cooperative. I keep expecting him to try and disrupt the proceedings, to somehow put a stop to the wedding before it happens.”

“Do you really think he would do that?” Tighnari asks, raising his head to look anxiously at Cyno. “But surely, he cares too much about Kaveh to upset him like that. I thought you had come to trust him by now.”

“I do want to trust him,” Cyno says heavily. “I can only hope that you’re right. But I’ve worked with him, and I can tell you one thing I know about him that holds true above all else: he pretends to be lazy, and he acts unconcerned, but in the end he is a man that will stop at nothing to get exactly what he wants.”

“Wanting for material objects and abstract concepts is very different from wanting for a person,” Tighnari says wisely. “Inanimate things cannot be hurt by the act of being wanted.”

Cyno raises his eyebrows. “Very poetic. Your words, or from a classic?”

“It’s from one of Collei’s light novels,” Tighnari says, ruefully. “I’ll admit that I read them sometimes. But truthfully, many of them aren’t half bad.”

Cyno looks at him fondly. “You’ve worked hard. Go outside and have a drink with the rest. I’ll take over the mixing for now.”

“Thanks,” Tighnari says, giving him a light peck on the cheek before he turns to go. “Don’t pulverise the mint. Make sure the pieces are bite-sized, or they’ll lose their flavour before you put them in the drink.”

“Not to worry,” says Cyno, thoughtfully testing the blade of the knife with his fingertip. “I will be sure to have all of it in mint condition.”

Collei doesn’t get very far into the Homayanis’ house. She takes her shoes off in the verandah and is about to head into the living room when Candace puts an arm around her shoulders and gently steers her back into the entryway, accompanied by Madam Faruzan.

“Uh-oh,” Collei says. “Bad time?”

Candace smiles ruefully. “A little bit, yes.”

They sit down together on the doorstep. Collei tries to twist around and peer into the living room, but all she can see through the half-open doorway is an anxious Nilou, hovering in the corner of the room like she’s unsure of whether to stay or go. She hears Dehya’s voice, loud and alarmed.

“Milady – Dunyarzad – listen to me, you’re just tired. You don’t mean any of that. Come on, let’s get you to bed. What you need is some rest.”

“I’m not tired.” Dunyarzad’s voice is broken, muffled. “I’m not sick, Dehya. I mean every word of what I say. I don’t need your advice, or your pity.”

“I’m not pitying you,” Dehya says desperately. “I’m just worried about you.”

“Don’t be,” Dunyarzad snaps. “Why should you be? I’m happy, I have everything I want, I’m getting married tomorrow – if I’m fool enough to cry despite all that, that’s just proof of my own weakness, isn’t it? Nothing for you to worry yourself about.”

Collei is shocked. She hasn’t ever heard Dunyarzad sound so harsh and bitter before. Next to her, Faruzan makes a rueful tutting noise.

“Regrettable,” she says, with an air of disappointment. “All this trouble, over nothing at all. I thought that the world must have progressed in the last hundred years, but I find that young people nowadays are much the same as they used to be; still so foolish, still so backwards. If only they could all take a class or two with me in the Haravatat; then perhaps they would know to speak their minds without beating around the bush.”

“I wonder if it’s a good idea for me to be here,” Candace says, looking back at the living room with a wistful smile. “Dunyarzad has been ever so sweet to me, but she always looks so pained whenever I’m around. I don’t want to cause any trouble.”

“Nonsense,” Faruzan scoffs. “You’ve done nothing wrong. None of you have. Dunyarzad doesn’t resent you; she resents herself, the poor child. She’ll be alright, you wait and see.”

The voices behind the door had lowered into murmurs; Collei hears Nilou speaking in a soothing voice, repeating something over and over again.

“It doesn’t matter,” Dunyarzad says tiredly. “I keep telling the both of you, it’s nothing. I have no reason to be unhappy. Leave me alone, and I’ll be fine.”

“But you’re clearly upset about something,” Dehya protests. “Look, nothing’s set in stone. We can still change things, postpone –”

Dunyarzad laughs, short and vicious. “Change things? Really? You want to stop me getting married, Dehya? Why? It’s not enough for you to leave my side, but no one else can ever take your place, either?”

The voices raise in pitch. Collei shifts from side to side uncomfortably. “I just came over to get some ice,” she murmurs, miserably. “I’ll be on my way.”

“Go round the back,” Candace says, giving her a reassuring pat. “Layla and Paimon are in the kitchen. They’ll give you some.”

“Thank you,” says Collei, getting to her feet. “I do hope everything will turn out okay.”

“Everything will be fine,” Faruzan tells her. “These things happen. Don’t you worry your little head. Make sure those young men don’t drink too much next door, because Madam Faruzan will not be quite as gentle with them if they cause any trouble.”

Hour: T-10

The traveller holds the door half-open with a firm hand and peers outside with a look of deep skepticism. “What are you doing here, –”

“Hat Guy,” says the Wanderer, pointedly.

“...Hat Guy,” the traveller acquiesces. “But why are you here?”

“Why can’t I be?” the Wanderer asks, putting on a terribly wounded expression. He extracts a letter from the inside of his robes and waves it at the traveller. “I was invited!”

“But you don’t like parties,” says the traveller suspiciously, “and I can’t think of any good reason why you’d want to attend this particular one. Did Nahida send you?”

The Wanderer snorts. “Traveller, you can’t seriously believe that the Dendro Archon has nothing better to do than poke her nose into the personal lives of her subjects. Guarding the contestants of the Inter-Darshan Championship is one thing. Sending spies into her citizens’ bachelor parties is quite another. Believe it or not, I’m here for myself.”

“Is that Hat Guy?” Kaveh calls, running into the entryway. “Oh good, you made it! Come in, come in.”

“You invited him?” the traveller asks, opening the door.

“Yes, of course, we were fellow contestants at the Inter-Darshan Championship, weren’t we?” Kaveh says, escorting the Wanderer in. “Make yourself comfortable. Can I get you a drink?”

“Don’t worry about drinks; just a cup of tea would do, if you have some,” the Wanderer says pleasantly. “I can’t stay for long, I’m afraid. Just dropping by to pass on my congratulations, and to say hello to my coworker.”

“Coworker?” Tighnari asks, turning around from the table where he’d been playing a round of TCG against Cyno.

“Indeed,” says the Wanderer delicately, stepping over a couple of researchers sprawled drunkenly across the living room floor as he picks his way to an empty chair. “We are both forced to perform soul-crushing administrative work for our archon on a regular basis, even if we aren’t exactly the chummiest of workplace friends. By the way, I’m quite impressed. Neither of us are very fond of other people at the best of times, but reading at a party? Even I care a little more for common social graces than that, I’m sure.”

“Somehow, I find it very difficult to imagine that you came all the way here just to speak with me,” Alhaitham says, not looking up from his book. “What are you really doing here?”

“Let’s all be nice,” Kaveh interjects, beaming rather threateningly. “Let me go and get the tea.”

He departs for the kitchen. The Wanderer waits until the door swings shut behind him, and then laughs into the silence. “Well. Not that I care very much either way, but I’m surprised that all of you let this get so far. I’d prefer not to know, but this farce of a wedding has been the talk of the town lately, so I hear all about it whether I like to or not.”

“Not sure what you mean by that,” Cyno says. His eyes glint threateningly. “I hope for your own sake that it isn’t anything unpleasant.”

“Especially you,” the Wanderer goes on, as if he hadn’t heard Cyno. He turns towards Alhaitham. “I thought that if anyone were to put a stop to all the fun, it would be the Scribe. Isn’t that what you do, going around foiling other people’s plans where you have something to be gained from it?”

Tighnari sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Kaveh really didn’t think the guest list for this party through, did he?”

“This conversation is nonsensical,” Alhaitham says, turning a page pointedly. “I have no idea why I’m being expected to sabotage my roommate’s wedding, nor what personal gain I’m supposed to receive by doing so.”

“Well, I’m going off the limited instances when I’ve had the pleasure of working with you,” the Wanderer says. “The last time we collaborated, I recall that you interrogated a band of thugs with no small amount of vitriol, right after I had just finished having some fun with them myself. I was quite surprised to see you putting in so much legwork; that is, until I pieced it together and realised everything was on behalf of your so-called room –”

“This is all very engrossing,” Alhaitham says, cutting him off smoothly just as Kaveh re-entered the room with a tray. “Nevertheless, I’m sure this discussion can wait for a better time. Cup of tea?”

“Don’t worry,” the Wanderer replies, laughing sardonically. “I must say, it’s very amusing to watch you so afraid to speak your mind, for a change. Anyway, I should be going. My interest in this sort of thing is hardly enough to warrant the amount of time I’ve spent here already.”

“Please, feel free,” Alhaitham says coolly. “Don’t let us keep you.”

“Oh, you’re going already?” Kaveh asks. “But I just brought the tea!”

“Not to worry,” replies the Wanderer, picking up the cup and draining it. “I won’t impose upon you any longer. Congratulations on your marriage, Light of the Kshahrewar. Ignorance is bliss, they say – and seeing how happy you look, I can only assume that the saying is entirely true.”

“Wow,” says Kaveh, blinking. “Isn’t that a little uncalled for?”

“Oh, where are my manners,” the Wanderer says, halfway to the door. “I nearly forgot. Your wedding gift.”

He slides a thin white envelope from beneath his hat and tosses it casually at Alhaitham, who catches it between two fingers and eyes it suspiciously. It looks for all the world like an innocuous envelope of Mora, but it doesn’t seem to weigh quite enough – perhaps a cheque?

“Hang on,” Kaveh calls after his retreating back. “Why give it to him? Isn’t it supposed to be for me?”

“And see it all spent before the wedding even begins?” the Wanderer replies, laughing as he opens the front door. “Might as well give it to someone who can hold on to it for more than a couple of hours, don’t you think?”

Chapter Text

Hour: T-6

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

A couple of hours ago, the party had finally ended. The guests had departed one by one, the unconscious ones unceremoniously dragged out and handed over to their companions to be safely deposited home, and Tighnari had left to spend the night at Cyno’s, promising to be back early the next day. Finally, it had just been Kaveh and Alhaitham left; they had cleaned up the living room in silence, bid each other goodnight and disappeared into their respective bedrooms, the way they had done night after night for so long that it was a little surreal to imagine that there could be any different way of ending the day.

For once, Kaveh had washed up and gotten into bed immediately, intent on getting as many hours’ worth of sleep as he could. And yet, well fed and exhausted as he was, sleep had evaded him. There was something strangely haunting about staring at the blank walls stripped of his paintings and blueprints; of seeing the clean outlines of the dresser and desk in the darkness, uncluttered with his things. So finally, after two hours of tossing and turning and trying to get to sleep for the last time in this familiar bed, he had given up on the struggle and wandered outside to make himself a cup of tea.

However, a faint gleam of light at the entryway had caught the corner of his eye. When Kaveh stepped out to investigate, he had found Alhaitham at the door, fully dressed and pulling on his boots by candlelight.

“For a walk,” Alhaitham replies. He’d been caught off guard when Kaveh had confronted him in the entryway, but was now putting up a valiant effort to appear indifferently casual, even if Kaveh could tell that he was anything but. “Go to bed, Kaveh. You need to be up early tomorrow.”

“And so do you!” Kaveh says, indignant. “What do you mean by going for a walk at this hour? It’s nearly three. How will you wake up at six, if you don’t get any sleep?”

“I’ll be fine,” Alhaitham says. “I won’t be long.”

“You really take me for a fool, don’t you?” Kaveh asks. “You should have come up with a better excuse, if you were going to go to all the trouble of sneaking around by candlelight. I may be many things, Alhaitham, but I’m not as fucking stupid as you think I am.”

There’s a long silence. Alhaitham sighs and gets to his feet. “Look, it’s nothing to worry about. I’ll return soon. Don’t wait up for me, just go back to bed.”

“I won’t wait up for you,” Kaveh says, and his voice breaks like shattering glass – embarrassing and obvious, before he can stop it. “Because I won’t get any sleep if I do, will I? You’re not coming back tonight.”

Alhaitham stares. “What?”

“You won’t be coming for the wedding, will you?” Kaveh says, quietly. “I should have known. Although I expected that you’d have the decency to tell me to my face, instead of sneaking out of your own house in the middle of the night.”

“I don’t know what I’ve said or done to give you that impression,” Alhaitham says, coldly. “I’ll explain later where I’m going, but I will be back. I have no reason not to return.”

Kaveh huffs a laugh. He leans against the wall, rubbing a tired hand across his face.

“You do,” he whispers, miserably. “You have a problem with it, don’t you? With all of this. With the wedding. Don’t think for one moment that I haven’t noticed how strangely you’ve been acting.”

“You’re imagining things,” Alhaitham says. “Whatever behaviours you decide to make up in your head and project on to me, I cannot be held responsible for.”

“You’re not a good liar,” Kaveh tells him. “Maybe other people think you are, but you’ve never been able to fool me – not for one second. You’ve been acting off ever since I told you about the wedding. You’re hiding something, and it shows in your face. I thought you’d be happy for me, but you weren’t. You pretended to be. It’s not like you to pretend.”

“It’s almost like you want me to admit to something,” Alhaitham says, voice hard. “What is it, exactly, that you want me to say?”

Kaveh feels a lump form in his throat. It hurts – he has no idea why what Alhaitham said hurts, but all he knows is that something or the other was bound to hurt him at some point, and he’d simply been putting it off for as long as he could. He’d tried to convince himself that it was too late now for anything to happen, and that he’d successfully warded it off altogether. He should have just stayed in bed.

“Nothing,” he manages to say. “I just want you to tell me what’s wrong. Why you disapprove. I want you to be honest with me.”

“There’s nothing wrong,” Alhaitham replies. “I don’t disapprove. What right have I to disapprove of your decisions?”

“You have the right,” Kaveh protests. “I’m asking you for your opinion – entreating you, begging you even. You always tell me what you think of everything I do, whether I ask you to or not. Why can’t you tell me what you honestly think about my getting married?”

“This isn’t like telling you how much you should drink or how you should spend your money,” Alhaitham says. He turns towards the door. “We’re adults, Kaveh. When it comes to important decisions like these, we make our own, and others have little right or reason to interfere.”

“You’re wrong,” Kaveh tells him. He feels tears spring to his eyes, and blinks them away, angrily. “Do you know why I keep listening to your advice, no matter how unnecessary or infuriating it is? It’s because we’re friends, and I know you mean well. Friends ought to give each other advice; they need to hold each other back from making the wrong decision. Friends have that right, Alhaitham.”

Alhaitham pauses, his hand on the door handle. He starts to turn to face Kaveh, and then stops halfway as though he thought better of it. The little of his face that Kaveh can see looks strained.

“Is that so?” he asks, quietly. “Because the last time I tried to offer my honest opinion on your decisions, you told me that you regretted our friendship altogether. You’ll forgive me, then, if I wasn’t aware that I had regained that right.”

Kaveh feels his breath catch in his throat. “Alhaitham?”

But Alhaitham opens the door and lets himself out, letting a sharp gust of wind into the house that puts out the candle. He shuts the door with a click. Kaveh stands in the darkness for a second or two, feeling hot tears spill out and run down his cheeks; then he curses and dives for the bowl of keys on the side-table by the door, ready to dash outside and give chase.

But instead of closing around his key, his fingers grasp aimlessly at empty air.

“Archons fucking dammit – that bastard took my keys!”

Kaveh lets himself out anyway.

First, he goes back into the kitchen and hunts for the last bottle of firewater that had been left unopened and that Tighnari had forgotten to take with him. Then he heads to the entryway, bottle in hand, and lets himself out. The front door shuts with a soft click, locking itself automatically and leaving him with no way back in. Kaveh sits down on the front steps and shivers, regretting for a moment that he hadn’t thought to bring out a jacket to shield him from the cold night air. He uncorks the bottle and takes a swig to warm himself up, instead. It scalds his throat and chest on the way down.

It hurts.

Kaveh draws his knees up to his chest and buries his head in his arms. He doesn’t believe for one moment that Alhaitham wouldn’t return, that he would stand him up without a best man on his wedding day. That was the sort of thing that Kaveh might do – not Alhaitham, who for all his shortcomings, was rock-solid and dependable to a fault. The entire argument had been pointless – a ridiculous ruse, just to prod whatever emotions Kaveh knew were simmering beneath Alhaitham’s surface and see if they would bubble over, take a form that Kaveh could understand. And that hadn’t even happened. He’d accomplished nothing, except apparently reopening an old wound afresh and locking himself out of the house for no good reason.

And perhaps Alhaitham wouldn’t return from wherever he had gone off to, after all. Even if he had originally planned to come back, perhaps Kaveh’s outburst would make him think better of it…

…well, he has to come back eventually, at some point. This was his house, and all his belongings were here. And so Kaveh would wait, for as long as he had to; perhaps hours, days, weeks if Alhaitham felt like going off to Fontaine with nothing but the clothes on his back; however long it took him to come home, Kaveh would wait for him.

Nothing makes sense. Nothing Kaveh feels or does makes any sense, least of all to him. He wishes he could blame the twisting pain in his chest or the stray tears that keep spilling down his cheeks on alcohol; but the awful truth is that he’s only had a single cocktail today, and he’s in fact completely sober. He gulps down the firewater in burning swigs, wishing that drunkenness would come along and claim him faster, give him an excuse for his behaviour. Perhaps if he was sufficiently wasted come morning, that would be enough reason to cancel –

No. No, that was a terrible thought, one that was irresponsible and foolish and selfish above all others. Everything had been planned: the food and drink paid for, the decorations hung up, the guests invited. The ship that was due to bring his mother from Fontaine must have docked at Port Ormos several hours ago, and she must be halfway to the city in a sleeper carriage by now. What good would come out of backing out of a happy marriage, for nothing but a ghost of a feeling that he should have known to let go of before it consumed him so painfully?

“Kaveh?”

Kaveh lifts his head. Dunyarzad is standing in front of him, holding a cloak wrapped tightly around herself and gazing at him worriedly.

“Dunya,” he breathes. “What’s wrong? Why are you out here at this time?”

“I went for a walk,” she says, and sits down next to him. “I should be asking you the same. Are you alright? You look terrible.”

“Does everybody like to go for walks at ungodly hours of the night?” asks Kaveh, laughing mirthlessly. “How strange. Alhaitham went off on a walk as well, and he took my keys, the rat bastard. Hence why I’ve been locked out here with no way to get back in.”

“I see,” says Dunyarzad, though it really shouldn’t have explained why Kaveh was locked outside the house and not inside. “Do you want to come over to my place? It’s cold out here.”

“No,” says Kaveh, sniffing. He can feel the alcohol starting to get to him now, making his vision swim vaguely at the edges and loosening his tongue. “I’ll stay here. You go in, don’t wait out in the cold.”

“I’ll wait with you,” Dunyarzad says, and she unwraps her cloak to drape it over both of their shoulders. “I don’t want to go home alone, either.”

The street is silent save for the buzzing of crickets, hiding amongst the vegetation that springs from every unpaved crack in Sumeru City, spilling forth from the moss-lined trunk of the Great Tree. Overhead, the stars twinkle in a velvety blue sky. Kaveh takes another swig of firewater and lets out a noise somewhere in between a sob and a hiccough.

“I hate that bastard so much,” he declares into the night, leaning his head against Dunyarzad’s shoulder. “I just want to hear him say it; I want to know what his fucking problem is. I’m not even surprised that he has a problem with my getting married; at this point, it’s a given that he’ll never be happy with anything I do or say, how I choose to live my life. What I want to know is why he won’t tell me. He never shuts up about what he thinks normally, not in front of me. Makes me feel like a fucking stranger.”

Dunyarzad sighs. She rests her elbow against Kaveh’s back and runs a gentle hand through his hair. “Maybe it’s not something that is easy to hear. Perhaps he is trying to spare your feelings.”

“Spare my feelings,” Kaveh repeats, choking out another vicious laugh. “Have I mentioned that I hate it when he does that? It’s pathetic, is what it is. Do you know what he did recently?”

“No,” says Dunyarzad.

“He bought the mirror and candlesticks for our sofreh aghd,” Kaveh says, sadly. “I was saving up for it for months, and the bastard went and spent a third of his paycheck on it in one go. Not that he would feel it, mind you. And then, and then he tries to pretend it wasn’t him, just to spare my fucking feelings.”

“Did he really?” asks Dunyarzad, surprised.

“Yeah,” Kaveh spits bitterly. “Last week, when I tried to make my rent payment, he shrugged it off and said, ‘I’m waiving your rent this month. Couldn’t think of what to get you, so this will have to do.’ Yeah, right. Scribe of the Akademiya, let his friend of ten long years keep a measly twenty thousand Mora he shouldn’t have to pay him in the first place, as a wedding gift? He’s turning into a worse and worse liar by the day.”

Dunyarzard can’t help but laugh. She pats Kaveh affectionately on the head. “Aren’t we all,” she says, wistfully. “I lied when I told you that I came out here on a walk. I came out here because I was upset and lonely, and I couldn’t fall asleep. But perhaps you couldn’t tell.”

“I could tell,” Kaveh murmurs, fumbling for her hand and taking it. His eyes are starting to burn, whether from exhaustion or emotion he doesn’t know. “Don’t be upset, Dunya. I won’t walk away from you, or leave you behind. Neither of us will ever have to be lonely again.”

“Do you mean that?” Dunyarzad asks, squeezing his hand. It’s a good thing Kaveh’s eyes are starting to close, because it would not have done him any favours to see how sadly she was gazing at him. “You’re still plannng to marry me, come morning?”

“I’ll marry you,” Kaveh promises, sleepily. “After that piece of Haravatat shit gets back here with my keys.”

Dunyarzad giggles. “Then, we might be in for a very long wait,” she says, and reaches over to tuck the cloak more securely around them both. “Pass me the firewater.”

Chapter Text

Hour: T-5.5

“Hey, look who it is,” Dehya calls, setting down her glass. “What are you doing up and about so late? Shouldn’t you be off getting your beauty sleep?”

“I could ask you the same,” Alhaitham replies, pausing in his tracks to glance over at where Dehya is sitting alone at a table, half hidden in the dimly lit exterior of Lambad’s Tavern. “Was your party so inadequate that you were compelled to come out here in the middle of the night for more drinks?”

“You know a little bit of fruit punch couldn’t make me feel a thing,” Dehya says, grinning. “You look like you could use a drink yourself. Care to join me?”

“Thanks, but not tonight,” says Alhaitham. “There’s a few things I need to do first. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Dehya looks him up and down. Alhaitham’s tone is casual, but his posture is tense and his eyes distant. The way his right hand rests unconsciously on the hilt of his sword, strapped to his waist, confirms her suspicions.

“Something’s up, isn’t it?” she asks. “Anyone needing to be taken care of?”

An imperceptible smirk plays in the corner of Alhaitham’s mouth. “You can tell?”

“Merc’s instinct,” she replies, shrugging. “Either way, do you need a hand? Probably a better use of my time than sitting here and having another drink.”

Alhaitham turns to her and purses his lips, considering. Then he makes an abrupt turn and heads towards her, crossing the distance between the street and the tavern in long strides and coming to a stop at her table.

“Alright,” he says, taking the seat opposite her. “Trust me, I’m quite confident I can handle things on my own. But I suppose it won’t hurt to let you know.”

“Always helps to have a friend back you up,” Dehya tells him with a wink. “Especially if that friend is me.”

“Wow, so Hat Guy really wasn’t kidding,” Dehya breathes. “These guys are definitely up to no good.”

She’s crouching behind the broad roots of an Adhigama tree, peering out behind the thick trunk to try and get a good look at the small group that have set up camp a few dozen yards away along the riverbank. It’s not uncommon to run into bands of Treasure Hoarders and rogue Eremites this close to the city, camping out on the outskirts and waiting for an opportune moment to try their luck. This group, however, don’t strike her as petty thieves. They huddle around the campfire, conversing in low tones and occasionally laughing vindictively in a way that makes her blood run cold. There are no Sumpter Beasts tethered nearby, no boxes and bundles of stolen goods – just a small, shabby tent and little equipment in sight, save for the silver weapon in each man’s hand, glinting menacingly in the firelight. There’s something unmistakable hanging in the air, one that Dehya knows intimately and loathes – the foul, heavy scent of bloodlust.

“There’s less of them than I thought,” Alhaitham says, under his breath. He’s pressed up against the cliffside next to her, one hand gripping his sword as he too sizes up the group. “These are the last remnants of a small faction of Deshret’s Relics, who managed to escape when Dakan Al-Ahmar decimated them. They have little resources, and fewer men. Their singular motivation is revenge – which I assume they’re prepared to get even at the cost of their lives.”

“And they can hardly take revenge on Dakan Al-Ahmar themselves, since they’ve been disbanded,” Dehya finishes. “So they target the next best thing – the people that have funded them.”

“Precisely,” says Alhaitham. “They must have gotten their hands on one of Dakan Al-Ahmar’s ledgers, and found Mr. Homayani’s name in it.”

Dehya snarls. “Mr. Homayani’s a good man, but he’s a fool. He had no idea how much trouble he was getting into, sending supplies to Dakan Al-Ahmar without knowing what they were up to. And now their enemies are planning to kill him – on his daughter’s wedding day too, the fucking bastards.”

“They probably chose tomorrow since it’s the easiest way to get close enough,” Alhaitham muses. “I assume they planned on infiltrating the wedding and blending in with the crowd. Good thing we found out about this now, because we would all have been too preoccupied tomorrow to notice the threat.”

“Yeah, speaking of which,” Dehya says, turning to him, “How did Hat Guy even pick up on intel like this, in the first place?”

Alhaitham shrugs. “Don’t ask me how he found out. He hangs around all over the city, so I suppose he hears things every now and then.”

“You’re sure this isn’t some kind of prank he’s trying to pull, right?” Dehya asks, narrowing her eyes. “I’m just curious as to why he bothered to come all the way and tell you about this. He didn’t seem like the sort of guy to give a shit.”

“I doubt he would have anything to gain from passing me false information,” Alhaitham replies. “I’m inclined to believe he told us out of genuine concern. He’s a strange man, but he has never struck me as ill-intentioned.”

“Nice of him,” Dehya says, huffing a soft laugh. “And he sure knew the right person to tell.”

Over at the campfire, the men seem to have concluded their discussion. One by one, they begin to get to their feet, preparing to turn in for the night. Dehya curls her fists and flexes her wrists.

“I can take them out on my own, you know,” she tells Alhaitham. “Not sure I need a feeble scholar backing me up.”

“I may not be of much help, but I’ll save you time,” he replies. “The quicker we get this done with, the sooner we can get home.”

“In a hurry, are you?” Dehya asks, huffing a laugh. “Alright then, I’ll let you watch my back.”

She gets to her feet, pulling back her shoulders and revelling in the satisfying burn of her muscles as she warms up, readying for combat. She crosses the distance along the riverbank in silent, catlike strides, Alhaitham falling into step by her side. As they approach the campsite, one of the men spot them and alerts the others with a sharp cry; in seconds, they’re all on their feet, blades in hand. Although they’re few in number, up close she can see that they’re skilled warriors – the scars across their bodies and the murderous glint in their eyes are proof of the fact.

“Flame-Mane,” one of the Relics snarls. “We’ve heard of you. You were with Dakan Al-Ahmar the day they took down our people. Thought you’d come back to finish us off, did you?”

Dehya laughed, scornfully. “You’re mistaken if you think I have nothing better to do than hunt down the worthless leftovers of Deshret’s Relics,” she says. “I’m here because there’s a wedding to be held not far from here tomorrow, and I’ve heard you’re planning to crash it. Can’t let that happen on my watch.”

“This has nothing to do with you,” the man says. “Leave us alone, and only those who had it coming will die.”

“It has everything to do with us,” comes Alhaitham’s voice, clear and composed by Dehya’s side. “Do you really think that no one at the wedding will be affected if you assassinate the father of the bride? What could possibly have convinced you that that was a fair bargaining point?”

“Who the fuck are you?” another man calls from the back of the group. “Stay out of this. The Akademiya has no place interfering in our business.”

Dehya laughs. “You don’t get it, do you?” she scoffs. “We don’t care what scores you have to settle. We’re here to make sure you don’t show your faces at the wedding tomorrow. You wanna hurt the people we love, you’ll have to go through us first.”

“Enough talk,” the first Relics member spits. The air rings with the scrape of metal on metal as all the men level their spears in unison. “Get rid of them.”

“You started it,” Dehya cries, feeling her vision blaze as her trusty claymore materialises in her hands, weighty and familiar. Next to her, she hears the metallic shing of a sword being unsheathed. “Let’s burn this shit, Alhaitham!”

She raises her claymore to shoulder height and swings, taking out two of the men with the flat of her blade as they lunge at her. Another darts at her from the back, and she kicks him in the chest hard enough to send him flying a few feet away. Given her own way, she wouldn’t have bothered to spare their lives; but the wedding was hours away, and they couldn’t really afford the unpleasant aftermath. With a sweep of her claymore, she sets the grass ablaze in a circle around her, scattering the Relics as they desperately try to avoid the spreading flames.

Alhaitham zips about in a barely-visible flicker of green light, fueling the flames and swinging at the men with a ferocity that she hadn’t thought him capable of. One of the men he had felled desperately throws a knife at him, which barely misses his head and leaves a thin graze along his left cheek, dripping scarlet. Dehya clicks her tongue, exasperated. “Be a little careful, would you! How are you supposed to look good tomorrow if you go and scratch up your pretty face?”

“I highly doubt anyone at the wedding is going to be paying attention to my face,” he remarks, dryly. “On your right.”

Dehya swings with her claymore, not even bothering to look, and knocks her attacker clean off his feet. Alhaitham disappears in a flash of light and fells two men in a single strike, rematerialising next to her with a sword in one hand and a glowing green blade in the other. She backs up against him, both taking a moment to catch their breath. They’d done well – nearly all the men were out for the count, weapons broken and scattered across the grass.

All except for the first Relics member that had threatened them, battered and bleeding but nevertheless on his feet, backing away with his blade drawn. He raises a small object to shoulder height – Dehya has never seen it before, but she’s almost certain that it’s some kind of handmade explosive.

“Don’t move!” the man shouts, wildly. “Move and I’ll blow this whole place to Celestia. You’ll come down with us!”

“What’s your plan?” Dehya mutters, fist clenching around the handle of her greatsword.

“Diversion,” Alhaitham says. His eyes dart from side to side, and Dehya can almost hear the gears in his brain whirring. “I can –”

But before he can finish his sentence, there’s a sudden soft noise; then a shower of water descends upon the man, pattering down in glistening raindrops and soaking him from head to foot.

“Rain?” he gasps. He casts a bewildered look at Dehya and Alhaitham, standing not ten feet away from him and yet completely dry. “But – how?”

Then the sky lights up in violet, and a bolt of lightning strikes the earth near the man’s feet; he screams and drops the grenade, which rolls into the river and settles among the reeds, sodden and worthless. The man drops to his knees, twitching and groaning from the aftershocks. Two sharp zwings sound in quick succession, and two figures descend onto the plain, driving their weapons into the ground to absorb the impact of the plunge. Then Cyno and Candace are walking towards them, polearms held aloft.

Cyno raises a hand, and violet ribbons shoot in all directions, crackling with electricity. They wrap around the men lying sprawled on the grass and draw them together, binding them against the trunk of the nearby Adhigama tree. His eyes glint like steel. “So this is what you were up to. I should have known.”

“You followed me here, didn’t you?” Alhaitham asks, crossing his arms.

“I did,” Cyno agrees. “I won’t deny it. I saw you leaving your house earlier and my curiosity was aroused, so I followed at a safe distance to see where you would go.”

Alhaitham huffs a quiet laugh. “Well, now you know. Did you have any suspicions that I would go elsewhere?”

“If at any point I did, they were unfounded,” Cyno says, gravely. “What exactly happened?”

“This lot are remnants of Deshret’s Relics, the Eremite brigade that used to terrorise the desert up until some months ago,” Dehya explains. “They were planning to assassinate Mr. Homayani as revenge for funding Dakan Al-Ahmar, who caused their downfall. Hat Guy came to know of their plan, and passed the information to Alhaitham so we could stop them in time.”

“If I remember correctly, Mr. Homayani was acquitted of all charges since he was unaware of the true recipient of the supplies he was sending over,” Cyno says with a frown. He throws a glance towards the bound-up Relics. “Thank you for handling this. I will take over from here, and take this lot into custody.”

“You two should go back and get some rest,” Candace adds, smiling. “I can help with the interrogation. After all,” she adds, her amber eye glinting dangerously, “Deshret’s Relics have caused a great deal of trouble for Aaru Village in the past. I’m not very inclined to go easy on them.”

“Sorry for disappearing on you,” Dehya says, sheepishly. “I slipped out for a drink. I thought you’d see my note.”

“I did, but I still thought I’d come out and look for you,” Candace says, gently hooking a hand under Dehya’s chin. “That’s when I ran into Cyno, who told me that the two of you had gone off somewhere. I was worried that you’d get involved in something dangerous, so I followed.”

Alhaitham clears his throat. “Thanks for offering to take over,” he says. “If we’re not needed here any more, I’m going home. I took both sets of keys to stop Kaveh from following me, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he still managed to lock himself out in my absence.”

“Wow,” Dehya exclaims, shaking her head. “Did you seriously lock him in the house? This guy’s a tyrant.”

“You should go back, too,” Candace says, nudging her. “Go and get some sleep, and check on Dunyarzad as well. Be assured, Cyno and I will take care of the rest.”

Hour: T-5

“Don’t worry so much,” Dehya says. “It’s just a scratch. It’s not going to show.”

“You can never tell with Kaveh,” Alhaitham replies. He’s wiping fastidiously at the cut on his face, checking his reflection in a little Dendro-infused mirror of his own conjuring that hovered in the air before them as they walked. “He wouldn’t know whether it was dark or light outside, but you can trust him to notice the strangest details of little importance.”

“As you say,” Dehya says, leaning over and taking the opportunity to check her own hair in the mirror. “Anyways. Where’s my payment, then?”

“Payment?” Alhaitham asks, stopping short as they reach a bend in the street, a few dozen yards away from the Homayanis’ house.

Dehya plants her hands on her hips. “Did you think you could engage my services for free? I’m a merc, Alhaitham. My minimum rate is for two hours, but I’ll be nice and cut it in half for you.”

“I don’t exactly recall engaging your services,” Alhaitham replies, unfazed. “In fact, I believe it was you that offered to help in the first place. And I believe that soliciting services without an upfront contract is against the regulations for mercenaries in this city.”

“Alright, relax,” Dehya laughs, shoving him. “I’m joking, I never wanted any payment. I joined you as a maid-of-honour, not as a mercenary.”

“I’m aware,” Alhaitham says, giving her the smallest of smiles in response. “You joined me because you care about Lady Dunyarzad. That’s also why I didn’t think twice about accepting your help.”

“You’re right about that,” Dehya says, casting an affectionate look up the street. “She’s no longer my employer, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t my family. I wish she knew just how much I still cared.”

“I’m sure she knows,” Alhaitham says, seriously. “But let’s not speak of this tomorrow. There’s no need to worry either of them.”

“Not a word,” Dehya agrees. “My lips are sealed.”

Alhaitham nods in acknowledgement and turns to head further up the street. Dehya watches him go, and then calls out. “By the way.”

Alhaitham stops. “Yeah?”

Dehya shrugs, grimacing. “You always have an opinion on things, so this time I’ll ask for it,” she says. “Something’s been bothering me, which is…do you really think Kaveh and Dunyarzad are in love with each other?”

“That’s really not my area of expertise,” Alhaitham says, flatly. “Try asking someone else.”

Dehya snorts. “Sure. Why did I even ask?”

Alhaitham sighs. “I will tell you my opinion, since you asked for it,” he says, his expression softening. “Which is that I don’t think it really matters. You know Dunyarzad best, so I won’t speak on her behalf – but I believe this marriage is the best thing for Kaveh, regardless of whether he is or isn’t in love.”

Dehya raises an eyebrow. “You think so?”

“I do,” Alhaitham tells her. “While the Homayanis won’t pay off his debts, the financial security they provide will be a great burden off his back while he rebuilds his savings and gets back on his feet. Secondly, Kaveh is someone that thrives in mutual caring and companionship. He’s never happier than when he has the chance to look after someone, and with how little regard he has for his own wellbeing, he requires constant minding himself. Being married will fulfil both of these needs, and have the added benefit of ensuring someone’s always by his side. He’s far too prone to wallowing in misery when he’s left alone for too long.”

Dehya gives him a long look. “And according to you, he doesn’t have any of those things already?”

“If he feels that he doesn’t, he doesn’t,” says Alhaitham. “The way Kaveh’s mind works is a mystery, but I like to think that I’m better at deciphering it than most. Goodnight, Dehya. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Dehya watches him go, shaking her head in disbelief. When he’s out of earshot, she huffs a quiet laugh and starts walking up the street herself, heading in the direction of the Homayanis’ house.

“Dunyarzad and Kaveh, you two really are the same,” she says to herself, sighing. “You have no idea how fucking loved you guys are.”

Hour: T-2

Kaveh wakes up slowly, feeling more rested than he’d felt in a while. There’s a dream still clouding the forefront of his mind – it’s a good one, for a change – but it fades away before Kaveh can gather its pieces, leaving him with nothing but a vague sense of warmth.

The smell and texture of the bedding tells him that he’s in his own bed, in Alhaitham’s home. He opens his eyes, and catches sight of a half-full glass of water on the nightstand next to him, placed beside an empty medicine envelope. So Alhaitham had come home last night and carried him in, given him something to ward off the hangover and tucked him into bed. Something about this tugs at Kaveh’s chest, but not unpleasantly; it loosens a tight knot that he hadn’t known had been there, and eases his breathing.

There’s a soft rattling noise, and Tighnari appears in his field of vision, bearing a tray that he sets down on the nightstand.

“Good morning,” he says, cheerfully. “We let you sleep in for an extra hour. It’s seven – but don’t worry,” he adds quickly, as Kaveh bolts upright in bed, alarmed, “you’ll make it in time. Eat breakfast quickly, and go wash up. I’ll send in someone to help you get dressed.”

Once Tighnari leaves, Kaveh forces down two slices of toast from the stack, downs the mug of coffee, and heads for the bathroom. He goes through the routine – brushing his teeth in the bath, shaking his hair dry in lieu of wiping it – like it’s another client meeting he’s late for. When he returns to his room, he finds he’s not alone. There’s a figure standing by the window, silhouetted in the sunlight and turning to face him when he comes in.

It’s Alhaitham. Kaveh has hardly ever seen him in formal wear, owing to his extreme aversion to any kind of event that requires it; so he can hardly be blamed if he has forgotten what a striking figure Alhaitham cuts in a suit, midnight black and paired with a high-collared shirt. There’s a silken tie of deep teal, the same shade as his eyes, around his neck; a dozen glittering silver charms dangle off the tails of his coat, an emerald mirror set in each one. There’s a Sumeru rose in his buttonhole, and his hair is slicked down, bangs tucked neatly behind his ears – which are visible for once, his customary earpieces nowhere in sight.

Before Kaveh can get a word in, Alhaitham opens his mouth. “Kaveh, I apologise.”

Kaveh gazes back at him, stunned. “What for?”

“For arguing with you yesterday,” Alhaitham says, clear and steady. “It was uncalled for. I didn’t mean –”

“Alhaitham.” Kaveh closes his eyes, exhaling with a huff. “It’s okay.”

“But I –”

“Do you hear me?” Kaveh asks, walking forward until he’s face to face with the man, inches between them. “It doesn’t matter. It’s all in the past. It’s okay.”

There’s a thin white scar beneath Alhaitham’s left cheekbone. Kaveh nearly raises a hand to thumb it, and then remembers himself at the last second and gestures to the same spot on his own face, instead. “Were you fighting? Was there trouble?”

Alhaitham looks taken aback. “Just a little. Some petty criminals occupying the wedding venue. They’ve been taken care of. There’s no need to be concerned.”

“Okay,” Kaveh says. On any other day he’d have had more questions to ask, but he finds that today he simply cannot muster the headspace. “If you say it’s taken care of, it is. I trust you.”

Alhaitham gazes at him for a moment before his expression shifts into one more familiar. “Your hair’s still wet. You’ll ruin your clothes if you put them on now. Sit down.”

Kaveh unwraps the towel from his waist and sits down on the edge of his bed in his underwear. Alhaitham takes the towel from his hands and begins to dry Kaveh’s hair in rhythmic, repetitive motions. Kaveh closes his eyes, letting himself be shaken back and forth, and smiles to himself.

What a day, he thinks. What a day, of all days possible, to finally realise that he is in love.

Love, to Kaveh, has always come hand-in-hand with loss. He only ever seems to realise that he loves something when he is on the cusp of losing it, or it has slipped through his fingers already – his father, his mother, his once-best friend, his ideal of a home. Perhaps it was because he kept forgetting how love really felt. He’d always imagined love to be something grand and romantic; he forgot all too easily that to love something was to smile in its presence, to fall asleep in its grasp.

If only these moments of clarity would dawn on Kaveh sooner – but then, he’d always been late to everything.

“Done,” Alhaitham says, pulling the towel off Kaveh’s head and stepping away. “Get dressed.”

Kaveh gets to his feet and crosses the room to the other side of his bed, where his clothes had been laid out for him, freshly pressed. He puts them on carefully, piece by piece. The high-necked white shirt, thin pintucks running down the front. The white trousers. The crimson waistband, embroidered in fine gold thread with an intricate pattern of Kaveh’s own design. The crimson tie to match. The cream-coloured jacket, with broad lapels and scarlet beads set in gold lining the tails. He slips on his shoes and goes to sit down in front of the mirror.

“You’re doing my hair?” he asks skeptically, as Alhaitham picks up the brush.

“We don’t have a choice,” Alhaitham says, dryly. “We’re short on time.”

“Fine,” Kaveh grumbles, rolling his eyes. “Try to make it look decent.”

Alhaitham doesn’t respond, but instead begins to brush out his hair. His touch is gentle – far more than Kaveh had expected, careful and deliberate. Kaveh wants nothing more than to close his eyes and revel in it. But to do so would be meaningless, and they’re running out of time; so he busies himself instead with the henna eyeshadow and the kohl, and the jewellery boxes laid out on the dresser.

He opens one box, containing a pair of gold earrings inlaid with rubies, and a collar-clasp to match. They had belonged to his father, and were one of the few precious things Kaveh had kept with him when he’d sold off his family home and all that it held. He fastens the collar and puts the earrings in, as Alhaitham puts down the brush and begins to braid his hair.

Kaveh watches, mesmerised, as Alhaitham completes one long braid down his left and methodically repeats the action down the right. He gathers up Kaveh’s hair, letting the braids tastefully frame his face, and twists it into an elegant knot at the back of his head, securing it with the red pins that Kaveh pokes haphazardly into his hair on a daily basis. If he’d known Alhaitham was so good at doing other people’s hair, he’d have asked him to do it for him every day. Not that he would have agreed.

The thoughts do not seem to go away. They nag at Kaveh’s heart and gnaw at its edges, but he ignores the twinging and focuses on keeping his smile steady in the mirror. He’s past the point of being allowed to change his mind. Even if it could be argued that the money and the guests and the efforts put into the wedding didn’t matter, he’d still made a promise to Dunyarzad – there’s no way he would go back on his word, not on something like this. The Homayanis were waiting. His mother was waiting. He doesn’t think he has it in him to make so many people unhappy on a whim.

Besides, he thinks, of what use is it to love someone that did not love him back? Alhaitham keeps what he loves. If he, too, loved Kaveh, then he wouldn’t braid his hair in preparation to give him away; he’d hold on to Kaveh and ask him to stay, convince him effortlessly to let him braid his hair every day.

“I said I’m done,” Alhaitham says, raising his voice a little, and Kaveh jumps. “Turn around.”

Kaveh stands up and turns to face him. Alhaitham looks through the things on the side-table and retrieves a single Padisarah, which he carefully pins to Kaveh’s lapel, scrunching up his brows in concentration. Kaveh tears his eyes away from his face and looks down at the Padisarah instead. It looks nothing like the Padisarahs that grow in the city gardens, or the sprawling meadows of Sumeru’s countryside. The petals are a vibrant, striking colour somewhere in between bright pink and rich violet. Kaveh doesn’t think he’s ever seen a colour quite like that before.

“From the traveller,” Alhaitham says, smoothing down Kaveh’s lapel with a final pat. “Dunyarzad has the same flowers in her bouquet.”

“How do I look?” Kaveh asks, turning around to examine himself in the mirror.

The corner of Alhaitham’s mouth quirks upwards. “Acceptable.”

Kaveh catches sight of his smile in the mirror and wonders, do you really not love me? Would you look that way at a man you didn’t love? But their conversation from the night before resounds in his head, and Kaveh knows the truth already – whatever residual affections Alhaitham may harbour, he would choose not to give into them. Loving Kaveh had hurt him before, and would likely hurt him again. Alhaitham was a pragmatic man, and in what world would he make a choice that exposed himself to the risk of pain?

It was time Kaveh learned to respect his way of life; perhaps even start practising it, with the new beginning of his own less than two hours from now. If Alhaitham could make choices to preserve his own happiness, then so could Kaveh make choices to keep what mattered to him intact.

At any rate, it’s time he moves out of this house.

“Thank you,” Kaveh tells him, sincerely. “For doing my hair. Being my best man. For everything.”

He half-expects to hear Alhaitham ask him to repeat it. But he doesn’t, and merely nods. “Don’t mention it.”

“Oh, and before I forget,” Kaveh says, clicking his fingers abruptly, “I have something for you, too. Give me a second.”

He opens the dresser drawer and reaches deep inside, right into the back where he’d hidden it. He retrieves a narrow black box and opens it to reveal a pair of small, metallic black buds, a silver wire attached to the end of each. Alhaitham gazes at them, surprised. “What are these?”

Kaveh picks up the buds, one in each hand, and presses them into Alhaitham’s ears; first into the left, then into the right. He tucks the thin silver wires behind each earlobe, securing the buds firmly in place. They’re subtle and discreet, and match with his suit. “Noise-cancelling earbuds. The wedding will be crowded, and it’s sure to be loud.”

He presses the switch on the right earbud that activates the noise-cancellation, and raises up on his toes to lean in close to Alhaitham’s ear, where his face can’t be seen.

“I’ll miss you,” he whispers. He has enough faith in his invention to know he will go unheard.

He turns the setting off and draws back. Alhaitham gazes at him, and parts his lips to say something; but Kaveh cuts him off with a smile, bright and sincere. Now his thanks are given. They can part on good terms, end the last ten or so years of awkward coexistence and bruising old wounds. They can finally move on independent of each other; each happy, whatever that meant to them.

Alhaitham closes his mouth and his expression shutters. He looks back at Kaveh, face blank but some uncharacteristic emotion roiling in his eyes. Should they shake hands? Hug? Instead, Kaveh settles for ruffling the top of Alhaitham’s head; it doesn’t take long to tug free that one lock of hair that never seems to stay down for long, the easiest way to pick him out in a crowd. It’s stubborn and unafraid to stick out, much like the man himself; maybe even a little cute.

“There,” Kaveh says, hoping his smile can mask the way his chin trembles. “Now you look a little more like yourself.”

“Kaveh,” Alhaitham says, his voice suddenly tight with urgency.

There’s a soft knock on the door. “Kaveh, are you ready?” Tighnari’s voice issues from behind it. “Your mum’s here to see you.”

Alhaitham jerks away like he’s been electrocuted. Kaveh hastily smooths down his hair, straightens his tie, and fixes his expression.

“Come on,” he says, catching Alhaitham by the cuff and dragging him outside without a backward glance. “Time to go.”

Chapter Text

Hour: T-1

Kaveh takes a deep breath before he opens the door and steps out into the hallway.

He stops short at the sight of his mother. She’s changed significantly since the last time he saw her – at her own wedding, nearly fifteen years ago. The roots of her hair are beginning to fade to white, and thin lines have set into her face; but even in age she is as graceful as Kaveh remembers, tastefully clad in a Fontainian formal gown. Even her impeccable poise, however, doesn’t hide the tears that rapidly begin to pool in her eyes the moment she catches sight of him.

“Kaveh,” she murmurs. “You –”

“Oh, no, Maman, don’t cry,” Kaveh pleads, crossing the distance between them in quick strides and enveloping her into a tight embrace. He tucks his chin into the crook of her shoulder, horribly conscious of a knot in the pit of his stomach that only grows tighter as he feels his mother tremble slightly in his arms. Had he made her upset? Was it that he reminded her too much of –

“Look at me, I’m being so silly,” his mother says, giving a shaky little laugh as she gently detaches herself from Kaveh’s arms. She places her hands on his shoulders and steps back to look at him. Her eyes are still wet, but her smile is achingly, familiarly warm. “Kaveh, sweetheart, you look so handsome. I just can’t believe how much you’ve grown.”

Kaveh thinks he might be the one to start crying if this keeps up. He wipes her tears away with his thumbs and changes the subject. “I’m glad you made it just in time, Maman. I hope the carriage ride wasn’t too tiring.”

“Oh, it was alright,” she says, sighing and shaking her head wearily. “I just wish I had been able to get here sooner. Getting the paperwork through the authorities has been such a nightmare. I nearly thought they wouldn’t issue me with an entry permit in time.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Kaveh says. “I know things are bad in Fontaine right now. I’m just glad you were able to come.”

“Thank you for helping him with everything,” his mother says, leaning around Kaveh to address Tighnari and Alhaitham, standing silently behind him in the hallway. Her chin trembles slightly and her voice wavers when she speaks next. “And thank you for - for looking after him. All this time.”

“Don’t mention it,” Tighnari says, smiling awkwardly.

Alhaitham nods in quiet acknowledgement. “Madam Faranak, I don’t mean to rush you, but we have less than an hour before the wedding starts. Perhaps we should start making our way to the venue.”

“Yes – yes, we should,” says Kaveh’s mother, hastily letting go of Kaveh’s shoulders and fussing over his lapels instead. “It wouldn’t do to be late, after all.”

The little group departs together from Alhaitham’s home not five minutes later. As Kaveh passes the side-table by the door in the entryway, he has a sudden absurd urge to reach out and grab the spare key from the bowl. Instead, however, he shoves his hands in his pockets, smiles to himself, and huffs a resigned sigh.

They arrive at the gardens fifteen minutes later. The sun is bright, but unusually mild for a Sumeru morning; there’s a gentle breeze running through the trees, tempering the heat even further. The area chosen for the ceremony is located atop a small hill to the right of the city gates, overlooking the river. In front of the large sofreh spread at one end of the hilltop are rows and rows of gilded chairs, now occupied by a sea of guests. The air is thick with chatter and lively music; the latter courtesy of the Zubayr Theatre troupe, who sit to a side of the sofreh with their instruments. Kaveh spots Nilou in the front, and Madam Faruzan fussing over the items arranged on the spread. Tighnari squeezes Kaveh’s arm in farewell and leaves the group, making his way over to sit beside Cyno and Collei.

“Maman, Mr. and Mrs. Homayani are in the front,” Kaveh says, pointing them out to his mother. “They’ve been waiting to meet you.”

Kaveh’s mother looks him over worriedly. “Will you be alright? Shouldn’t I wait with you?”

“I’ll be fine!” Kaveh hisses, pushing her towards the crowd. “Alhaitham is here, anyway. Go talk to them!”

Not long after Kaveh’s mother has left, there’s a soft rustling noise behind Kaveh and a girl in a white dress materialises from nothing at his elbow, emerging with a little shower of leaves. He yelps in surprise and jumps about a foot into the air.

Alhaitham rolls his eyes. “Relax. Hello, Nahida.”

“Good morning, Alhaitham,” says the little girl – Lesser Lord Kusanali, or rather, Nahida – with a wink. “And good morning, Kaveh. Although, it’s technically not the first time I’m seeing you this morning. I took the liberty of visiting both you and Dunyarzad earlier, although you probably don’t remember.”

“You did?” Kaveh asks warily. He thinks back to the gap in his memories that started shortly after Dunyarzad had joined him on the steps of Alhaitham’s house, when he’d been miserable and embarrassingly drunk – sweet Archons, not then, surely –

Nahida giggles. “Don’t worry, I didn’t come in person. I sneaked into your dream. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Oh,” says Kaveh, relieved. So that was where that strangely comforting dream had come from; unfortunately, there’s hardly anything left of it in his memory. “I’m terribly sorry, but I don’t seem to remember it at all.”

“I think that’s quite normal,” Nahida says, nodding thoughtfully. “But I’m sure you remember the important parts. I think our little chat helped you to clear up a lot of your thoughts, am I right?”

Kaveh pauses mid-breath. “Uh, I –”

Nahida smiles. “I heard what you had to say,” she says, gently. “So I won’t burden you with my advice again. But please remember this, Kaveh; I only have one wish, and that is for you, like the rest of my people, to be happy – whatever that means to you.”

Nahida turns away from him and stands on her tiptoes, peering curiously at the sofreh spread. “It’s nearly time, isn’t it? Perhaps I should go and take up my post at the officiant’s seat.”

She disappears in another little shower of leaves. Kaveh tries absent-mindedly to catch one in his palm, but they melt away faster than the fading fragments of his dreams.

T = 0

When the Zubayr Theatre troupe halt their medley of popular songs and start to strike up a rousing ritual tune, Alhaitham walks Kaveh up to the midpoint of the aisle, where his mother is waiting for him. They part ways in silence. Alhaitham circles the back of the crowd and goes to stand in the area reserved for the wedding party, while Kaveh’s mother takes his arm and guides him to sit before the sofreh.

Kaveh takes a seat on the right side of the low couch, uncomfortably aware that nearly a hundred pairs of eyes are suddenly trained on him. To distract himself, he observes the items set out on the spread, his artist’s eye committing the details to memory; there are trays of flatbread and bowls of fruits and nuts, arrays of spices and jars of sugar, and a basket of pretty, gilt-painted eggs. The large, ornate silver mirror stands in the centre of the spread, lit on either side by the candlesticks. Kaveh gazes at his reflection in the mirror and adjusts his smile.

A sudden hush descends upon the crowd. The air grows thick with the scent of incense, carried in by Nilou and Dehya, who plant the sticks in pitchers placed on the sofreh. When the hazy smoke clears away, Kaveh sees Dunyarzad in the centre of the aisle, closely surrounded by her parents. Mrs. Homayani lifts the veil over Dunyarzad’s face and embraces her; then Mr. Homayani hugs her too, and pulls the veil gently back down.

They guide Dunyarzad to the front, where she takes a seat beside Kaveh. She looks ethereal, and smells heavenly; the pink-violet Padisarahs in her hands add a bright splash of colour to her elegant white gown, whose long train pools at her feet like the tail of a mermaid. Kaveh can just make out the outline of her face beneath the translucent veil. He shoots her an encouraging smile, but she keeps her head down and her gaze firmly fixed on the sofreh in front of her, not so much as glancing in his direction.

“Nervous?” he whispers, taking her hand.

“Yes,” she says in a tight voice, and detaches her hand to clasp tightly at her bouquet.

Dehya and Nilou hoist the ceremonial canopy above Kaveh and Dunyarzad’s heads, with Candace and Faruzan joining in to hold it up at the back. Nahida steps up to the officiant’s stand and clears her throat lightly, as the music stops and the guests fall silent.

“It is my greatest pleasure to be here today to witness the union of two beloved children of Sumeru,” she says. “Please join me in bestowing your blessings upon the couple, for a fulfilling and happy married life.”

She opens the text placed on the stand and begins to read from it. It sounds like a poem, or perhaps a prayer; her childish voice lifts and lowers around strange words in some ancient language that Kaveh does not understand. Perhaps – Kaveh catches himself before he can look to where he knows someone that might understand the words is standing, in the furthest corner at the back of the wedding party. He instead looks over at Tighnari, who is smiling, and Cyno, who is serious-faced. Next to them, Collei squirms in her seat, discomfort showing clearly in her face. Kaveh frowns. Is the crowd troubling her?

Nahida brings her recitation to a close, her voice lingering sweetly on the final note before subsiding into silence. She then turns to Kaveh and Dunyarzad, and with a flick of her wrist, a parchment contract appears on the sofreh in front of them, complete with a pair of emerald feather quills.

“I will now obtain the consent of the two parties, and witness the signing of the marriage contract,” she says. “First, I will inquire of the groom, Kaveh: does he consent to the marriage?”

Kaveh looks up. His eyes flicker to his mother’s face at the front of the crowd; there are tears in her eyes again, and her shoulders tremble silently. Next to her, Mrs. Homayani is quietly crying as well. He skims over the sea of faces, lingering for a moment on Tighnari’s encouraging smile. He looks at himself in the silver mirror, and then his gaze is drawn to the edge of the crowd, searching for silver hair; for a single stubborn lock sticking out above the heads of everyone else.

It’s gone. It’s nowhere to be found.

“I do,” Kaveh says, closing his eyes and bowing. “The groom consents to the marriage.”

He reaches for a quill and solemnly signs his side of the contract with his name. The writing glows green when he has finished, sealing his word in place.

“Very well,” says Nahida. “Next, I inquire of the bride, Dunyarzad: does she consent to the marriage?”

Dunyarzad remains silent. A titter rises up among the guests; this is a crowd-favourite ritual, when the bride will tease her groom by withholding her consent until the question is repeated three times. Kaveh smiles awkwardly, trying to muster up the energy to remain enthusiastic even as an unexplainable weight settles inside his chest, making him feel heavy and tired all of a sudden.

Finally, Nilou breaks the silence, calling out gaily: “The bride cannot consent, because she has gone outside to pick flowers!”

“Is that so? Well, I hope she’s come back, because I’m going to ask again,” Nahida replies, above the laughter of the guests. “Does our bride, the lovely Dunyarzad, consent to the marriage?”

Once again, Dunyarzad does not say a word. She clasps her bouquet and stares determinedly at the sofreh spread in front of her, shoulders tensed. The silence drags on for a while longer before Faruzan calls out from the back, “The bride cannot consent, because she has gone outside to spend time with her beloved friends!”

The tension breaks again, and Nilou and Dehya exchange grins. Kaveh sighs, debating the merits of pulling his handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe down his forehead; would the guests think he was playing his part a bit too earnestly? The laughing dies down, and a hush descends on the crowd as Nahida clears her throat.

“I will ask her one last time,” she says, gently. “Does our bride, Dunyarzad, consent to the marriage?”

The murmuring of the crowd rises to a fever pitch as they prepare to break into cheers. In the very front of the crowd, Collei grimaces like she’s about to cry. Kaveh swallows. Next to him, Dunyarzad takes a deep breath, and –

“The bride cannot consent to the marriage,” she blurts out. “Because the bride does not want to marry the groom.”

“...absolutely certain?” Nahida is asking. The smile has vanished from her face, and she is completely solemn.

“Sweetheart, what are you saying?” Mrs. Homayani asks. She sounds faint, her voice quavering.

Kaveh blinks. His ears are still ringing, his insides not completely settled from the shock. He glances dazedly sideways at Dunyarzad, and sees that she’s taken her veil off. Her eyes are full of tears.

“Mama, Papa, I’m sorry,” she says, tightly. “I know this is the worst time to say this…I should have said something long before, but I never had the courage. I meant to keep quiet, but – this was my last chance, and I knew I had to take it.”

“Dunyarzad, what’s the matter?” Mr. Homayani asks, and Kaveh feels like his insides have been freshly doused in ice at the sight of his face. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Papa, I’m sorry,” Dunyarzad says again. Her voice shakes a little, but when Kaveh turns to look at her, he finds that her jaw is set, her expression quietly unapologetic. “I lied to you. When you asked me if this marriage would make me happy, and I said yes, I lied – I was never happy, not one bit. I don’t want to marry Kaveh, Papa. I wouldn’t be happy.”

An agitated murmur breaks out among the crowd. Mr. Homayani runs a hand through his hair, looking thoroughly overwhelmed. “Archons, Dunyarzad, I don’t know what you mean.”

Dunyarzad reaches out and takes Kaveh’s hand. He numbly grasps hers back. “Kaveh has been nothing but kind and sweet to me,” she says. “He’s been a wonderful friend. But I can’t love him, because – he’s a man, and I have never in my life been able to love a man.”

Kaveh gazes at her, stunned. Dunyarzad takes a deep breath and goes on.

“I have only ever been in love once,” she says, her voice breaking. “And it didn’t come to anything, because the woman I loved didn’t love me back – not in the way I wanted her to, anyway. But it was enough to know what love is truly supposed to feel like. And I was stupid – I thought I would never find it again, and so I resigned myself to the idea of marriage, to a life of simple companionship – but without any love.”

Kaveh is vaguely aware of the restless muttering of the crowd, but he focuses on Dunyarzad’s face and her words, holding her hand tightly in his grip while she speaks. Her face suddenly breaks into a small smile, and then she gives a watery laugh.

“I’m such a fool,” she says. “I haven’t even been out of Sumeru, let alone seen the world; I’ve spent twenty-seven years of my life shut in my room because of my Eleazar. I can count the number of people I’m close to on the fingers of my hand. Why did I think that I only had one shot at love? Why would I give myself such a small chance at a happy life, when I’ve only just begun to live?”

“Sweetheart,” Mrs. Homayani says. She sounds heartbroken. “We…we never even knew.”

“Mama and Papa, I should have been honest with you,” Dunyarzad says, raising her head to look at them earnestly. “You arranged all this in the hope that I would be happy, and I simply thought I should go along with it; it never occurred to me that I’d be hurting you by hiding how I truly felt. You didn’t look after me all those years, keep me alive and save me from the brink of death more times than I can count, for me to live a half-life once it’s all over. If all you wanted was for me to be happy, then let me stay true to myself.”

She turns to look at Kaveh and her eyes crinkle as she smiles, squeezing his hand.

“Some people think it is noble to sacrifice their own happiness to please those that they love,” she says, quietly. “But they don’t consider that in the process, they’re breaking the hearts of others that only want them to be free. How do we pick and choose whom to hurt? Maybe what we really should do is focus on our own happiness; and the happiness of those that really love us will follow.”

She turns to Nahida and bows. “Lesser Lord Kusanali, I can’t be dishonest in your presence; so please, accept this as my answer.”

“Mine too,” Kaveh says, dazedly. “I know I consented to the marriage before, but now, I wish to retract my consent. With your permission, Lesser Lord Kusanali, I request that the marriage contract be voided.”

The buzzing of the crowd rises sharply. Kaveh hears a faint gasp, almost certainly from his mother, but for some reason he can’t even think of searching the crowd to see her face. There’s only a single thought on his mind, a rapidly growing conviction in his chest that feels similar to the revelation he’d had this morning; only its intensity was now multiplied tenfold. Dunyarzad’s words had stirred something within him, and now all he can think of is the realisation that is suddenly shockingly clear in his head; that he’d been picking and choosing, that his misguided sacrifice had only managed to make a mess, and maybe that was why –

How could he? How could he have wilfully blinded himself to the hurt he’d caused? How could he have been so blind as to not recognise his own nature when it had been reflected right back at him?

Nahida doesn’t exactly smile, but the warmth and relief in her eyes is so great that she may well have been beaming from ear to ear. “Then, if that is the wish of both the bride and the groom, I hereby declare the marriage contract voided.”

“Mr. Homayani,” Kaveh says, bowing to the man and trying to maintain his composure despite the blood thundering in his ears. “Dunyarzad is right. She was brave enough to tell you what I could not. I, too, agreed to this marriage out of desperation, out of misguidedness, and out of a foolish misconception that I could have made all of you happy regardless of whether the two of us were or not. It was never my intention to embarrass you. I’m deeply, utterly sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused.”

He takes a deep breath and steels himself before he can change his mind. “If there is one thing my experiences have taught me, it is that money can always be earned back if I work hard enough; but there is no reversing the consequences of my choices. I will take responsibility for all the expenses of this wedding, and I will pay back every cent that it cost.”

“So will I,” Dunyarzad exclaims. “The expenses aren’t just Kaveh’s to bear; they’re my burden as much as they are his. I’ve been tutored throughout my life. I can work, I can take up a trade, I can help you with the business, Papa – there’s no reason why I can’t pull my own weight – ”

“This isn’t about the money,” Mr. Homayani interrupts, dragging a hand across his face. He sounds tense, exhausted. “The money is nothing to me. It’s just –”

“Thank the Archons you’ve told us,” Mrs. Homayani sobs, suddenly. “I can’t believe we’ve just – let all of this happen, let everything get so far, and we never knew that you two were so unhappy. What were the both of you thinking?”

Dunyarzad’s face crumples at the sight of her mother’s tears. Kaveh squeezes her hand like his life depends on it. Mr. Homayani massages his temples wearily, but he finally heaves an exhausted sigh, and opens up his arms.

“It’s alright,” he says. “I’m just relieved that you told us, before it was too late. Come, Dunya.”

Kaveh lets go of Dunyarzad’s hand, and she runs into her father’s waiting arms with a little sob.

As if on cue, the rest of the wedding reception breaks into chaos. Dimly, Kaveh becomes aware that the canopy has been set down, and Nilou and Dehya are rushing to Dunyarzad’s side. Tighnari and Cyno are on their feet, trying to push their way through the rows of seats. As Kaveh stands up from the couch, the adrenaline drains from his system and is replaced by a new, somewhat familiar sensation that washes over him in an instant and makes him feel vaguely weak at the knees. There are a pair of voices resounding in his skull, one of them that says:

Sweet Celestia. It’s chaos. What have I done?

And another, much more insistent one that overpowers the first, saying:

Where is he? Where in Archon’s name did he go?

“Maman,” he gasps, as something collides with him and he registers that it's his mother, burying her face in his shoulder and gripping the back of his suit like a lifeline. “Maman, I’m sorry, I should have –”

“Stop saying you’re sorry,” his mother says, pulling back to look Kaveh in the face. She looks frantic, tearful. “I’m the one who should apologise, not you. I took your word for granted – I wondered if you were lying, if you really were happy about all this, but I chose to ignore my instincts and go along with it as if nothing was wrong. I didn’t do enough, I didn’t talk to you – I nearly let you – and all for my sake, what have I ever done for you that deserved –”

“Maman, deep breaths,” Kaveh says, pulling her back into his embrace and running a soothing hand up and down her back. The action is familiar, almost automatic. While his mother’s ragged breathing slows down, Kaveh feels his own inner turmoil subside. Suddenly he finds himself caring less about the ruined wedding, about the gossip that was sure to start spreading, about the worries and anxieties of everyone else, his mother included. He feels simultaneously so tired – tired of the weight of expectations that he’d been labouring under for as long as he can remember – and so free, like a bird whose trapped wings had unexpectedly come unfurled. Dunyarzad’s words echo in his head; focus on your own happiness, and the happiness of those that really love you will follow.

Kaveh detaches himself from his mother’s grasp as she calms down, his touch gentle but his intention firm. Her gaze, as she looks up at him, is full of remorse; she suddenly looks small and fragile, older than she should be.

“I never had any right to try and arrange a marriage for you,” she says, sadly. “After all, I let you grow up all on your own. I don’t even know who it is that you truly love.”

“One day,” Kaveh tells her, “I will have you meet him, properly this time.”

Then he leaves her and rushes to the front of the sofreh, scanning the crowd.

There’s no good way out. The gardens teem with people as the guests spread out across the grass; some gathering in small knots to discuss what had happened, some wandering around in confusion, no doubt wondering if the food would still be served. Kaveh spots Cyno at the border, trying to herd some of the guests back into their seats. Tighnari is trapped in the midst of a cluster of old ladies, presumably some of Dunyarzad’s tutors; they’re asking him insistent questions, and he seems unable to get away. He waves desperately at Kaveh, signalling at him to leave before the guests descend upon him as well. Kaveh scans the perimeter. There’s no way he can make his way to the city gates without being spotted, unless –

There’s a loud hiss from somewhere to his right. “Mr. Kaveh! Over here!”

Kaveh whirls around. Collei beckons to him frantically, half hidden behind one of the giant roots of the Great Tree, spilling out from beyond the city’s boundary wall to the gardens below. Kaveh rushes to her side, weaving in and out of the wedding decor to try and make himself as inconspicuous as possible.

“Mr. Kaveh, you have to climb up this root and get into the city,” Collei tells him, eyes wide and determined. “It’s the only way out, or you’ll be spotted.”

“You can’t be serious,” Kaveh cries incredulously, looking up at the root. He glances back at the wedding venue, shaking his head. “But – but I can’t leave you guys here to deal with this mess, not when –”

“Don’t worry about any of that!” Collei cuts him off. “We’ll handle everything! Don’t you see, Master and Cyno have already gotten most of the crowd under control. The food will be here soon, and Miss Nilou will begin her dance performance, and then everyone will forget about it in no time!”

“But,” Kaveh protests, even as every instinct in his body screams at him to scale the tree and escape, “It won’t be that easy, surely –”

“This is Sumeru!” Collei exclaims, shrilly. “Do you really think people here need a reason to eat and drink and have fun? Just forget about the wedding, and get going! Don’t keep him waiting!”

“Collei,” Kaveh says, slowly, “how did you know I was going to –”

“Mr. Kaveh, please don’t ever tell Master that I said this,” says Collei, thoroughly exasperated, “but it’s really. F-fucking. Obvious. Please, just go.”

She gives Kaveh a leg up; he scrambles on to the slippery, mossy green root, clinging on to the crevices in the bark for dear life, and then scales it as fast as he can.

Chapter Text

Prior to this day, Kaveh would never have thought himself capable of scaling a tree so quickly.

He only registers what he’s done when he reaches the top of the giant root and pulls himself over the wall onto the city street, startling a nearby textile vendor. His first instinct is to run for Lambad’s Tavern, just a few blocks away at the bottom of the road.

Just as Collei had said, they were about to bring in the wedding spread. What appears to be the tavern’s entire staff is gathered at the entrance, rolling out endless carts stacked with biryani and tahchin, shawarmas and meatballs, and platters of Lambad Fish Rolls. Kaveh nearly collides with a vat of butter chicken being wheeled out by a waiter as he bursts through the doors. A cursory scan of the tavern tells him that Alhaitham isn’t there; not on the first floor, at least. Kaveh doubles over and gasps for breath while the waiter gapes at him in stunned silence.

“Where,” Kaveh manages to get out.

“Mr. Kaveh, are we late?” the waiter asks, panicked. “We’re just about to bring out the food!”

“Not the food,” Kaveh wheezes. “Have you seen –”

“Son!” calls out a booming voice, and Kaveh turns to see Lambad waving at him from behind the bar, brandishing a recently wiped glass in his hand. He points the glass in the direction of Treasures Street, uphill from the tavern. “Saw him heading that way.”

“Thank you, boss!” Kaveh gasps gratefully, getting to his feet and breaking into a run again.

Kaveh sprints up Treasures Street; past the entrance to the Grand Bazaar, past the alchemist’s, past the Padisarah patch that Kaveh had thrown up into that first night Alhaitham had taken him home from the tavern, what felt like an eternity ago. He dashes past the gutter-ledge where he’d sat and cried right after, while Alhaitham waited patiently for him to finish, and past the uneven patch of paving over which he’d tripped and fallen that night, too drunk and emotionally overcome to walk with any semblance of stability. Kaveh doesn’t remember much of what happened after that, whether he’d eventually gotten to his feet or whether Alhaitham had carried him the rest of the way; what mattered is that the next morning he’d woken up in Alhaitham’s spare room for the first time, hungover and frustrated, but finally, undeniably, not alone.

You’re such a fool, Kaveh thinks, gritting his teeth as he charges up the familiar route that had changed the trajectory of his life a couple of years ago, and that he and Alhaitham had traversed together more times than he could count. You absolute moron, you thought you would sacrifice your own happiness because you thought this would be better for me – why would you do such a thing? Why would you do the kind of stupid thing that I would do?

Kaveh can feel the sweat beginning to soak into his shirt. His hair is coming undone, and he has no doubt in his mind that he looks an absolute mess; but he doesn’t stop running at top speed until he’s reached the familiar landing high up on the street where Alhaitham’s – their – home is.

Selflessness doesn’t suit you, Kaveh thinks desperately as he marches up to the house. You should have been as selfish as you usually are. Please, always be selfish, because at least one of us has to be.

“Alhaitham!” Kaveh hollers, banging on the door with both fists. “Open up, I don’t have my keys! I know you’re in there!”

There’s no response. Either the man is holing up inside and pretending not to hear, or – Kaveh shakes his head, frowning. He doesn’t have his keys. Alhaitham wouldn’t go somewhere where Kaveh was unable to reach him – not on a day like this.

“Oh, no, no, no,” Kaveh groans, dragging himself off the doorstep and breaking into an uphill run once more. “You bastard. I regret the day you ever learned how to teleport.”

There’s a number of places Alhaitham likes to seek refuge in when he’s troubled. It’s a testament to how well Kaveh knows him that he’s aware of most of these places, especially since most other people wouldn’t even guess that Alhaitham was capable of experiencing an excess of emotion. This time, Kaveh is almost certain of where he can find him. He sprints up the street until he reaches the Akademiya and weaves through the crowds of students milling about, calling hasty apologies as they jump, startled, out of his way. He enters through the main doors and skirts around the fountain in the central Atrium; instead of making straight for the House of Daena, he heads for a smaller door to the right, and keeps running uphill.

“There you are,” Kaveh pants, doubling over and holding on to one of the pillars for support.

Alhaitham is seated on the narrow stone bench running along the inside of the summerhouse, directly opposite from Kaveh. This summerhouse had been a favourite haunt of theirs back in their Akademiya days, located at the highest point of Razan Garden, secluded from the crowd and offering a spectacular view of Sumeru, stretched out beneath them all the way up to the Mawtiyima Forest. Alhaitham sits sideways on the bench with his knees drawn up at an angle, an elbow resting on the outer railing and his face turned away from Kaveh, gazing out at the view. He doesn’t respond.

“Alhaitham?” Kaveh tries again.

He doesn’t stir. Belatedly, Kaveh remembers the noise-cancelling earbuds.

Kaveh steps into the summerhouse, quietly; he makes to approach Alhaitham from the front, and then changes his mind and circles behind him instead, staying out of his line of sight. When he’s close enough, he reaches out and places a hand on the other man’s shoulder.

Alhaitham startles. He had clearly not heard Kaveh come in, because a hand flies to the noise-cancellation button on his earbuds and turns it off. Even then, he doesn’t turn to face Kaveh.

“Ah,” he says, and Kaveh’s heart twists at how shaky his voice sounds. “Is the ceremony over already? I’m sorry – I seem to have miscalculated how long it would take.”

“Alhaitham,” Kaveh begins to say.

Alhaitham clears his throat. “There was nothing for me to do during the ceremony itself, so I stepped out for a break – but has it finished? If you needed me and I wasn’t around, I apologise. Let me know what I can do to make up for it.”

“Alhaitham,” Kaveh says, raising his voice. “The wedding’s off. It’s over. It’s not happening.”

Alhaitham freezes.

“Off?”

“We called it off,” Kaveh tells him. “We – well, to be honest, Dunyarzad was the one who started it. But then I realised the truth of what she was saying, and I called it off myself. She knocked some sense into me, that girl – Archons, if it weren’t for her,” Kaveh exhales, shuddering, “I’d have been married by now.”

Alhaitham says nothing. On impulse, Kaveh rests his chin on the top of his head; he places his elbows on Alhaitham’s shoulders and squeezes his eyes shut, burying his face in soft hair and letting relief course through his body in waves, pulse after pulse of mind-numbing gratitude for the fact that he’s allowed to be here, that he’s free to hold Alhaitham so close to him, inhibitions and regrets blown away with the breeze.

“I was a fool,” Kaveh says, muffled into Alhaitham’s hair. “I agreed to this marriage to make my mother happy, even as it was breaking me in half inside – as if she were the only person in this world that mattered, as if my choices could only hurt myself and no one else.”

Alhaitham remains silent. Kaveh grits his teeth. “And you,” he chokes, digging his elbows into Alhaitham’s shoulders in righteous anger, “What made you stupid enough to do the same? To hide your feelings for me, to act like none of this mattered to you at all? Was it for my sake? Why didn’t you try and stop me, you fool?”

Kaveh hears Alhaitham’s breath hitch. “Why,” he says, after a moment, “would I try and hold you back from what we all believed was the best thing that could possibly happen to you?”

“The best thing?” Kaveh cries, incredulous. “Alhaitham, you knew I never loved Dunyarzad. You knew it was you that I cared for all along. How could you possibly think that I would have been happy in this marriage?”

“Because you chose it, Kaveh,” Alhaitham retorts, and his voice breaks ever so slightly even as he raises it. “Even if I know what you need better than you yourself do, and I intervene in your choices to make sure those needs are met, what am I to do when the choice in question is between myself and someone else? How do you expect me to offer an impartial opinion?”

“To hell with partiality,” Kaveh exclaims, feeling a lump begin to burn in his throat. “Who cares about what I chose? You should have been unfair. You should have held on to me, never let me go.”

“You’re not a prize to be coveted, Kaveh,” Alhaitham tells him. “You’re not something I should fight for or compete against others for, as if you’re an inanimate thing with no will of your own. I wanted you to choose me – if you did not, then I would never have kept you by any other means.”

Kaveh falls silent. He lets the tears slide quietly down his face, soaking into Alhaitham’s hair.

“I choose you,” he says. “I made a lot of mistakes, and made a mess in the process; but just this once, I will choose my own happiness – and by that, I mean I choose you.”

“I have never had to make a choice,” Alhaitham replies, quietly.

A strong gust ripples through the leaves of the Great Tree; at this height, the sound of the wind is loud enough to drown out most other noises, including those of Kaveh’s quiet sobs, muffled into Alhaitham’s hair. The breeze rips the fragile little flowers from the tops of the neighbouring trees, sending them showering across Razan Garden like rainfall. When the sound of the breeze subsides, Kaveh presses a kiss to the top of his junior’s head.

“Won’t you turn around?” he pleads.

Alhaitham hesitates. “No,” he says, finally.

Instead, Kaveh brings his hands to cup Alhaitham’s face from behind. His cheeks are damp. Kaveh traces the sticky trails of long-dried tears with the tips of his fingers, catching wetness off the tips of thick lashes with his thumbs.

Kaveh presses another kiss to the crown of his head. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I made you cry. Tell me how this foolish senior can ever make it up to you.”

For a moment or two, there is silence. Then, with a motion so swift that Kaveh barely has time to marvel at his agility and strength, Alhaitham turns around and grabs him – one hand on Kaveh’s wrist, the other arm around his back – and pulls him onto his lap, taking his own feet off the bench. Alhaitham winds a hand in Kaveh’s hair, gripping the back of his head, and pulls him in for a kiss.

Kaveh lets himself be kissed for a solid second before he opens his own mouth and pushes back, wriggling his arms free to hook one around Alhaitham’s neck, gripping his shoulder firmly with the other. He closes his eyes and kisses hungrily, tongue tracing the outline of Alhaitham’s mouth before letting itself in and entangling with Alhaitham’s in delight. Alhaitham tastes like coffee from the morning, like the mint-flavoured mouthwash in their shared bathroom, like the sunsettia-flavoured lip balm he had stolen from Kaveh this morning for what he must have thought would be the last time, like some other, unknown taste that Kaveh now identifies to be uniquely Alhaitham’s – he tastes like home, like the sweetest thing Kaveh has ever tasted. Kaveh feels moisture where their cheeks meet and he doesn’t know whether the tears belong to himself, or them both, and it doesn’t matter anymore because there is no longer any line to cross where the two of them are concerned; they’re one, like they were meant to be since the first time they met, like they should have been all those years ago if they hadn’t been so stupid.

When his lungs are so starved of air that he starts to feel lightheaded, Kaveh breaks the kiss with a gasp. He pulls back until the thin string of saliva connecting them snaps and takes a long look at Alhaitham – his Alhaitham, inches away from his face and holding Kaveh on his lap.

“Marry me,” he says simply. “Marry me, Haitham.”

Alhaitham’s eyes widen.

“Don’t you think,” he replies, after a beat of silence, “that you should at least buy me a drink first?”

Another deafening gust of wind ripples through the leaves of the Great Tree, catching at their hair and sending fallen leaves spiralling across the gardens. Kaveh buries his head in Alhaitham’s shoulder and half-laughs, half-cries, feeling Alhaitham press kisses into the side of his head, the shape of his mouth against Kaveh’s scalp telling him that he’s smiling.

“Haven’t the two of us had enough drinks together for a lifetime?” Kaveh asks him.

“Yet, as I recall,” Alhaitham says against Kaveh’s ear, “you never paid for any of them.”

“You are an insolent, irrepressible, unbearable junior,” Kaveh complains, hammering his fist weakly against Alhaitham’s chest. “Won’t you even give your senior the dignity of an answer? After asking such an important question of you?”

Alhaitham is quiet. The seconds drag on – almost for too long. Kaveh opens his eyes to find Alhaitham unpinning the Padisarah from his lapel, brows drawn close together in concentration as he undoes the pin one-handed. He holds the Padisarah by the stem and tucks it behind Kaveh’s ear, gently pushing back the strands of blond hair.

“Yes,” he says finally, and he smiles at Kaveh like he’s a Padisarah himself; like Kaveh is a pretty, otherworldly flower that he’s had the rare fortune to behold.

Kaveh kisses him again. This time, the kiss lasts longer; Kaveh’s hand slides beneath Alhaitham’s jacket and explores across his chest, immediately frustrated by the lack of bare skin within easy reach. His fingers yank impatiently at the shirt buttons, at which Alhaitham grins into the kiss, amused, and slides his own hands under the back of Kaveh’s jacket, grasping at the tucked-in shirt and attempting to pull it free of Kaveh’s belt. Kaveh turns around and smacks him. Alhaitham chases his face as he ducks away, planting kisses at the corners of Kaveh’s mouth, enfolding Kaveh tightly in his arms as he leans against him.

“Be decent,” Kaveh scolds him. “We are in public. What if some student comes along and finds us?”

“Perhaps my senior should be setting an example,” Alhaitham replies demurely, although there’s a wickedly teasing glint in his eyes. “I’m not the one who started it.”

“Enough, you,” Kaveh says, giving his hand another light smack. He slides off Alhaitham’s lap and gets to his feet, delight and giddiness energising him like a swig of good wine. He clasps Alhaitham’s wrist. “Come on, look at this view!”

He clambers over the railing of the summerhouse, stepping out into the gardens. Alhaitham steps over the railing with ease, and follows him out onto the grass; together they look out at the stunning view of Sumeru, falling away below them for as far as they can see.

Kaveh wraps his arms around Alhaitham’s waist and pulls him close. “I feel so free,” he confesses. “The wedding is in absolute chaos and I know there’ll be hell to pay – although I have the feeling the Homayanis weren’t too upset about it, really – but somehow, I can’t seem to think about any of that. Right now, right here, I can only think about you; and how lucky I am to have lost you so many times and still somehow have found you every time again.”

“You’re not lucky,” Alhaitham tells him. “I am simply easy to find.”

Kaveh snorts. “What lies! The rest of the Akademiya complains constantly that the Scribe is never to be found where he's supposed to be."

"Correction," Alhaitham says. "I am easy to find when I want to be found. Or rather, when you are the one looking."

Kaveh kisses him again. He has to stand on his toes to cross the annoying few inches between his height and Alhaitham’s; but suddenly, he feels arms wrap tight around his thighs and he's being lifted into the air, his viewpoint rising until he's well above Alhaitham's line of sight.

Kaveh clings to Alhaitham's neck and lets out a small scream. "Put me down, you bastard! If you lose your balance, the railing won’t be high enough to stop us both going over the edge!"

"I'm far away from the railing," Alhaitham says innocently, taking a few steps back for good measure. "Stop panicking and continue with what you were doing."

Kaveh leans in to kiss him just as the wind starts blowing again. He tightens his grip on Alhaitham's collar, no longer out of fear but simply a desire to be closer, to make up for all the years he's wanted to hold him like this and foregone the chance to. Something brushes against his nose and he opens his eyes; but the sight he's met with is so stunning that he forgets to close them again, and he breaks away from the kiss in spite of himself, eyes widening in surprise.

"Alhaitham," he breathes. "Look. Look up."

Alhaitham opens his eyes, and the two of them are met with the sight of thousands of small flowers and flower petals, caught by the wind and spiralling around them, so thickly spread that they very nearly obscure the view in front of them. The flowers come to rest everywhere; on the grass, on the mossy trunk of the Great Tree, on the roof of the summerhouse, and on the two of them.

Kaveh twists in Alhaitham’s hold and is met by the sight of his junior as he’s never seen him before. Alhaitham’s expression is softened and dazed, his eyes wide and lips slightly parted in wonder. The morning sun lights up his face and sparkles a little on the edges of the dry tear-trails that still stain it; there’s a petal caught in his hair and another trapped in the wire of the earbud that Kaveh had made him.

“It’s for us,” Kaveh tells him. “Our gol baroon. Flower rain.”

Every time the wind blows in Sumeru, it engages the Dendro Archon’s creations in a lively dance; it sweeps up leaves and flowers and floating seeds and perhaps even the odd butterfly, and sends them spiralling across the nation like some sentient swarm, blanketing the streets and forests alike with its leftovers. It’s a common occurrence, so much that most people wouldn’t even look up for a second glance; and if you asked if it was blowing for someone in particular, any child could tell you no, that the whirling of leaves and petals belonged to everyone.

But high atop the Great Tree at this very moment, an architect and a scribe (a man and his mirror, a lover and his beloved) stand – or rather, one of them stands, and holds the other high in his arms – and contrary to all rationality and sensibility, they wholeheartedly believe that the flower rain falls for them, and for them alone.