Chapter Text
The click of Elias’ heeled boots echoes off the stone walls as he makes his way down the long hallway. His spine is perfectly straight and his head held high, because the onlookers - there are always watching eyes in the kingdom, even if it was only the eyes of the paintings that lavishly decorated the castle - can not be allowed to see anything but the picture of grace and professionalism.
Elias does not knock on the large doors to the king’s throne room. There is no herald to announce his presence. The Eye already Knows he is there, and he has been summoned, so there’s no point pretending it won’t be expecting him.
The king’s throne isn’t shrouded in darkness, for it and its servants are not so gauche as the Dark is. No, it is not tacky shadows and mist that make it impossible to see the king. It’s a simple trick of too much light, and not any shadow that makes the king a void of Sight that no human, even one blessed by the king can hope to see. There is so much to See and to Know in the king’s hall that within it all you couldn’t hope to Behold the king.
“Jonah,” the Ceaseless Watcher says, and Elias bows, bending at the waist in deference to the king.
“Your Majesty. You summoned?”
“I have a task for you. An unorthodox one, and one that I Know you won’t enjoy. Nevertheless, it must be done.”
“Of course, Your Grace. Anything for the Eye.” Elias’ voice is cool, trained to be devoid of inflection. His mind is blank, and if the Ceaseless Watcher were to turn its focus on his mind, it would see only devotion and servitude.
“The Lonely and I have been discussing an alliance. We have reached an agreement, and have subsequently decided that a marriage between our servants is the perfect opportunity to seal our bond, and to display to the other kingdoms our combined strength.”
Elias does not wonder what the Eye and the Lonely could possibly need with each other. He does not furrow his brow in confusion and ask what two such opposing forces could gain from an alliance. He does not point out that the Lonely, with its isolated share of the continent, does not lend itself to an effective partnership in the slightest. Elias does not do any of those things because he is a trusted servant of the Eye. And while rebellious thoughts were common in peasants and even lowly servants, the right hand of the Eye could not be Seen or Known to have such impudent thoughts. So Elias only nods and asks, “Would you like me to procure a servant for the marriage?”
“No need,” the Beholder replies, “I have decided that you are to be the groom. As my most faithful servant, you are no doubt the perfect choice to display my trust in our alliance.”
Elias does not twist his mouth in surprise. He lets a small smile shine through his impassivity and says, “Of course, Your Majesty. It would be my honor. May I ask who is to be the Lonely’s offering?”
“A prince by the name of Peter Lukas. Heir to the privilege of the Lonely’s right hand.”
“When will we be wed?” Elias toes the line between knowledge seeking and insolence like someone who has walked its tightrope a thousand times. The Eye will not begrudge him for asking questions, for the pursuit of information. But questions that err on the side of rude, that question the Eye’s judgement, can be met with a swift end. Elias has met many a servant who did not know how to stay on the right side of the Beholder and were subsequently Known from the inside out, killing them brutally.
“In a month’s time. It will be held here.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.”
“We have also arranged for a certain…sacrifice in order to secure the alliance. The Lonely has been kind enough to allow the wedding to happen in our country, but they have asked for an exchange. And so, following the wedding, you’ll be spending two years in the Lonely’s islands. To showcase your devotion to the marriage and by extension the alliance.”
Elias keeps his mind smooth and blank, save for a spark of curiosity. “And will I be able to carry out my duties as your servant from the domain of the Lonely?”
“I doubt it. No need to worry, though. I’m sure your Archivist can keep things running for a couple years in your absence. Two years is a small price to pay.”
“Am I to presume that we will be expected to play the part of devoted husbands?” Elias asks.
“You need not playact at romance. But civility and allyship, certainly. You will act as Lukas’ husband in all measures that are public. At the end of the two years, you will still be husband by name, but will not be expected to see each other more often than necessary.”
“Yes, Your Grace. As you wish.”
“Wonderful. Thank you, Jonah. I can always count on your servitude.”
“Certainly, Majesty.” Elias does not ask any more questions, despite the slight burning in his chest to know more. He knows where impudence lies, and knows that his time is up. He accepts the Ceaseless Watcher’s dismissal and calls for the carriage to take him back to the manor he calls home. Rosie bows in deference to him. The driver does not make eye contact, and still Elias Knows that he harbors a deep hatred for the monarchy that he desperately tries to bury. Elias does not begrudge the man. After all, hatred does not mean that he cannot carry out his role. In fact, the best servants of the Eye are the ones that cannot stand their master, yet cannot let go of the drug that is the pursuit of knowledge.
It is a half day's ride from the throne within the Panopticon to Elias’ manor. The path is well trod, and Elias takes in the scenery with familiarity. Rosie sits across from him in the carriage, and when he asks, she passes over a sheaf of papers sent by Gertrude. He looks through them with mild disinterest - he Knows what is on the papers before he even sees them, and he Knows that Gertrude merely sends him these updates out of courtesy. She rarely seeks input from Elias, and Elias is content enough with her work to leave her be for the most part.
Elias’ eyes skim through Gertrude’s looping scrawl and he flicks his eyes up to his secretary. “Yes, Rosie? Something on your mind?”
Rosie opens her mouth and for a split second he Sees her contemplating lying. But she presses onward. “Yes, sir. I was just curious - the Eye hasn’t called you to his throne in quite a while. May I be so bold as to ask what it wanted?”
Elias turns a page on Gertrude’s report. “You may.”
There is a brief uncomfortable pause, and Elias drinks in the apprehension emanating from her. Not quite as good as fear, but a nice morsel to get him through the afternoon. “What did the Eye request of you, sir?”
“The Eye and the Lonely have been setting up an alliance. They are planning to wed two servants in order to symbolize the new bond. I am to be the groom.”
Rosie inhales sharply in surprise. “That’s wonderful, sir. Should I congratulate you on your engagement?”
Elias turns his lips up in a smile. He looks up from his Archivist’s report. “I suppose you should. Thank you.”
“Of course, sir.”
“We will need to make arrangements over the course of the next few weeks. Following the wedding I will be spending an extended amount of time in the Lonely and need to ensure that this kingdom remains under control. I expect Gertrude is capable of doing most of it, however we will still need to make allowances.”
“How long is an ‘extended amount of time?’” Rosie wonders.
“Two years, or so I am told by the Eye. I am…unsure what the amenities in the Lonely will be like. Sparse, I can imagine. And my sphere of influence will be blunted by my distance.”
“We’ll do everything we can to ensure the safety of the kingdom,” Rosie replies, dipping her head slightly. A very small smile curled at the edges of Elias’ lips. She knew the game well by now.
“Yes, we certainly will.”
Dusk has arrived by the time Elias’ manor comes into full view. The setting sun splays across the dull cobblestone and Elias’ boots click again on the stone as he disembarks from the carriage and makes his way to his quarters. He rolls his shoulders and closes his eyes, feeling out for the weight of the Eye. It is present, to be sure, but not nearly so stifling as in the throne room. His thoughts are his own, though his actions are not. Elias draws a bath and disrobes. He settles into the steaming water and sighs, tilting his head back against the clean porcelain. To a watching Eye, he is the picture of serenity and peace.
Internally, Elias’ thoughts rage. They bubble and boil over in a frothing mess; if Elias had any less self control he would be clenching his fists against the tub. As it is, his hands clasp loosely over his chest.
What good could possibly come of an alliance between them? What bond could possibly be shared between a servant of the Eye and a servant of the Lonely? What in the kings’ goddamned minds makes them think that someone who serves the very fear of being known and someone who in turn serves the fear of being forgotten could get along? Then again, Elias and his future husband’s relationship is gravy. More trivial, perhaps, than any other facet of the arrangement.
Elias has met Peter a few times before. As James. He remembers that Peter was barely a man when they first met at some official function or other. As James, Elias had been invited to more than a few of Simon’s poker games, and had also met Peter there. He was more interesting than any other servant of the Lonely he’d met, but he still possessed that dull grey glaze to his eyes. Elias had not seen Peter in decades, since he’d assumed the role of heir to the king’s right hand. Sequestered himself in the domain of the Lonely, no doubt.
And of course that raises the question of what purpose it serves bringing him to the Lonely? What good could Elias do for the Eye by being on the opposite side of the continent? On a barren island built to isolate people no less. How would he even occupy his time without the constant Knowledge of the people that surrounded him. In the kingdom of the Eye, there’s always someone passing through the hallways or travelling the same road that Elias can feed off of. He doubts the same can be said of the Isles of the Lonely.
Elias tries to Know what the Lonely will be like, what the Lukas prince’s castle could entail. But like most things regarding the Lonely, it is shrouded in enough mist that Elias cannot See through it. He will have to wait until he steps foot on those islands to truly Know. The Lukas family has a similar problem when Elias tries to Behold them, and all he can glean is mistrust and isolation. He internally scoffs at the useless information and makes a note to have Rosie draw up as many texts concerning the Lukas’s from the Archives that she can.
Elias allows himself one sigh through his nose - feigning pleasure rather than indignance - and climbs out of the bath. He wraps himself in a robe and steps into the office bordering his chambers. He peruses the bookshelves and finds the section on the histories of the 13 kingdoms (and another one on the spies of the Web, though that one is dense even for Elias). He pulls the book on the Lonely from the shelf and flips open to the introduction, one given by Mordechai Lukas. The introduction is short, only a page and a half. Skimming it, Elias can already taste the distrust and the revulsion at having their history recorded in such a cut and dry manner. Elias suppresses a wry smile. Even almost two hundred years later, Mordechai has not changed.
It is odd, the presence of a royal family. The kings do not concern themselves with heirs - they are immortal and everlasting, after all. Their right hands are selected from thousands of subjects across their lands, and blessed by the king. There is no concerning family or the right to rule. The closest thing to a royal family besides the Lukas’s are the Fairchilds of the Vast, but even Fairchild is just a name. An adoption in the name of tradition, nothing more.
But the Lukas family…they are another story. Elias has heard rumours of their tactics, the means by which they ensure that the king will choose a member of their family as the next right hand.
With a final flip through the book, Elias sets it on his desk. He will start on it early in the morning. There’s no time to waste. This marriage may be one of symbolism, but Elias refuses to be caught off guard by anything, least of all his future husband.
After all, if they are to be wed, they might as well get to know each other. Or Know, in Elias’ case.
The sun is high in the sky, shadows sparse and faint under its watchful gaze, when the Lukases arrive. Elias stands at the entrance to the castle with his hands clasped behind his back, every vertebrae in his spine stacked neatly on top of each other.
There are only four of them. An older man and presumably his wife, a boy no older than twelve and another man with a shock of snow white hair and a beard trimmed to something that rides the line of scruffy and polished with a strange ease. Peter Lukas has aged quite well it would seem. Elias resists the urge to touch his own clean shaven jaw and casts his mind back to the last time he had grown a beard. It must have been more than fifteen years ago, now. Not since he was an addlepated simpleton in his twenties.
“Prince Lukas,” Elias says to the older man, offering a short nod of his head in passable deference. He knows it is a small slight to acknowledge anyone less than the heir first, however in some cultures it would be worse to ignore the elder. He hedges his bets and decides if Peter is really offended they have time to smooth it over.
“Mr. Bouchard, I presume?”
“You would be correct.”
“Nathaniel Lukas, at your service.” The older man steps off his horse and offers a hand to the woman next to him. “This is my wife, Eva, and my son Conrad.”
Elias smiles like water running smoothly over river rocks. “It’s an honor to make your acquaintance. And an honor to be able to secure such an alliance between our countries. I’ve no doubt it will be most prosperous.”
Nathaniel barely hides a sneer. Elias does not have to Know to be able to tell how much he resents the game of politics. Pity - politics are Elias’ playground, one he knows intimately - but not entirely a surprise. The Lonely - more specifically the Lukas family - seems more inclined to the games that occur in secrecy rather than those that occur in the open with a subtle tilt of the hand to betray the real game.
“And you must be Peter Lukas,” Elias continues, turning his attention to the other man in their party.
“Correct,” Peter replies, extending a stiff hand. Elias grasps it and takes immediate note of the callouses lining the tops of his palms and the whorls of his fingertips. Not merely a purebred royal, then. Peter shakes hard, like it’s his first step to assert dominance over Elias.
“Charmed, I’m sure,” Elias doesn’t let his smile waver in the slightest. He turns his gaze upon Nathaniel and simply says, “If you’ll follow me, I can guide you to your quarters. I’m sure you’ll find them to your liking.” It doesn’t matter if they don’t like it. They’re here on behalf of their king and Elias intends to ensure that their stay was in every possible way controlled by him.
He leads the Lukases through the halls, and relishes in the unease and almost-fear that cloys their senses. Servants of the Lonely are undoubtedly unused to being watched, and there is not a single corridor in these halls unseen by the Eye. And Elias also knows that while they understand they are being watched, they have no idea that their every thought is monitored by his patron in the throne room.
“Your quarters are in the most sanctioned part of the castle there is,” Elias lies, “And you’ll find that the peasants that service the castle are quite adept at, ah, knowing if you are in need of anything. Rest assured, you will want for nothing during your time here.”
“Thank you,” Nathaniel says with a grimace that Elias can’t see over his shoulder but he Knows is there all the same.
“Of course,” Elias grins over his shoulder, a perfect balance between amicable and threatening, “It’s my honor. As newfound allies, we ought to take care of each other, don’t you think?”
“Of course,” Nathaniel replies. Elias says nothing more as they make their way through the long halls towards a wing lined with portraits and murals.
“Nathaniel, I’m sure you and your wife will be perfectly amenable to these chambers. It’s rather modest, but you’ll find it to be perfectly adequate. Plenty of furnishings, and a seperate room for each of you should you need it. And a door that allows access to your son’s quarters.” Elias smiles and feels like a cat with a mouse. He had ensured that the rooms were filled with books and comfortable chairs and all manner of lavish decorations to specifically ensure that they would never feel alone in it. If they were going to be partners in trade, best that the Lukases understand what they were dealing with. The Eye approved, as far as Elias could tell. At the very least it did not bother to stop him - it rarely did.
“Thank you so much,” Eva says, cutting off a reply from her husband, “We cannot overstate our appreciation for your hospitality.”
“As I said, it’s my pleasure, Your Highness.”
The immediate Lukas family shepherds themselves into the rooms. Elias turns and allows himself to fully take in Peter Lukas, his fiance.
He stands tall - a full head taller than Elias, which rankles him. He is average, maybe slightly below if he's feeling honest, but it still irks him to a subtle degree whenever he meets a man taller than him. Peter is broad shouldered and strong armed, with hands that do not fidget at his sides in the slightest. His boots are sturdy and heavy, a product of convenience rather than vanity. Elias’ shoes are always polished to perfection, no matter the occasion.
Just on first glance, Elias can tell that they were two very different men. No matter. He smiles and says, “And for you, Prince Lukas-”
“Peter.”
Elias’ jaw clenches for a fraction of a second at the interruption. “I beg your pardon?” He asks, all effortless smiles and guile.
“My name is Peter. You don’t have to call me Prince. In fact, I would insist that you don’t.”
For a brief moment he entertains the idea of calling him Prince Lukas just to spite him. It is, after all, his official title. And they are not here in anything but an official capacity.
But they have ties to maintain. And they are engaged, planned to be wed in just a few days. So Elias cedes, though not without a small internal sneer.
“Of course. Peter. Your chambers are nearby, if you’ll allow me to guide you to them. I had presumed you would want something more…secluded. Some privacy.”
Peter scours Elias’ face, and it’s painfully obvious that the man is trying to understand the game that Elias is playing. Fumbling for the rules, trying to discern the ulterior motive behind Elias’ eyes. But Elias gives no ground and remains a placid smile that oozes insincerity without revealing anything else.
“You presume correctly,” Peter finally replies with hesitation.
“Wonderful! It’s a short distance from here” With that, Elias leads Peter to his quarters.
Peter’s boots clomp against the ground. Elias carefully does not reveal his disdain for the other’s heavy footedness. Instead he stops at the door to Peter’s rooms. He opens it and shows Peter inside, gesturing to the bathroom and the study.
“And here we are. Do let me know if you have a need for anything. I’d be happy to help you.”
“Of course,” Peter says. Peter inspects the books and with that, Elias takes the chance to peer into his mind. Surface level thoughts are simple but intangible, fleeting things that he cannot fully grasp. Beneath that is a layer of fog and mist that shrouds almost everything in Peter Lukas’ mind. He pushes onward and tries to feel his way through. Most people’s minds are like houses, with rooms stored for this and rooms stored for that. There is little definition to Peter Lukas’ mind though, which is odd. It’s not quite so intangible as the mind of the Spiral or the Stranger, but it is foggy, and lacks real definition.
Before Elias can push further, to try and feel out for the walls and corridors of Peter’s head, he finds himself being pushed against the wall. A thick forearm presses to his throat. Elias coughs, and glances up to see Peter looking at him with the utmost disdain. Revulsion and hatred bubble up in his eyes and Elias chokes as he presses harder.
“Listen here, servant of the Eye,” Peter says in a too-calm voice, “We may be in your territory, and we may be playing by your rules for the time being, but don’t ever be so shameless as to try and root around in my head like a pig looking for truffles. You won’t find anything, and I’ll make sure you get lost. So lost you won’t know up from down and all you’ll be able to see is a lighthouse that leads to nowhere. Don’t try it. If you do, there are more ways than one to make your life hell. And soon enough you’ll be living in my castle. Playing by my rules. And when that time comes, I think you’ll find that you don’t want to be on my bad side.”
Elias scoffs as much as a man can scoff when the air is being pressed out of him. He clenches his jaw and hopes the Eye is enjoying the show.
“Got it?” Peter said with raised eyebrows. Elias steeled his gaze and nodded. When Peter released him Elias did not cough in relief. He only straightened his spine and his waistcoat.
“My apologies, Peter. How rude of me.”
Peter’s mouth tightens. “See that it doesn’t happen again.”
“Of course,” Elias says, bowing his head.
“Now get out.”
“I’ll see you at the wedding, dear Peter,” Elias says with a final catlike grin as he steps out the door. Peter shuts it solidly behind him.
Elias rolls his shoulders and keeps his hands at his sides despite the ache in his throat. He coughs once.
The wedding day arrives and Elias dresses himself in the cleanest suit he can find, all made of crisp lines and sharp pinstripes. He knows the emerald pocket square brings out the similar green color in his own eyes. There are hundreds of inhabitants at the castle who have arrived for this wedding, and Elias holds his head high in front of the mirror as he surveys himself.
This is not an opportunity to be wasted.
Rosie accompanies him every step of the way as he treads through the halls, Knowing which guest is staying where and which kingdom they hail from. It’s a special kind of delight to See the servants of even the Stranger laid bare under the watchful gaze of the Eye. It’s a rare opportunity, and Elias savors it.
Rosie gives him a courtesy once over when they stand in front of the doors to the wedding hall. She gives him a smile that she thinks is encouraging. Elias responds with a condescending one. Without another word, the doors open and Elias steps into the fray.
Peter stands at the front, dressed in blue grey. It matches his eyes and contrasts sharply with his hair. Elias does not break eye contact with him as he strides down the carpet in time with the music in the background. Elias Knows the officiant standing atop the small podium is ambitious, and hoping to gain footing among his peers for this honor. Elias levels a smile towards the man, who returns in kind. Clever man.
They walk through the steps of a wedding easily. At least, Elias walks through it easily. He recites the standard vows and listens carefully for Peter’s own vows in return. When they exchange rings, Peter offers Elias a simple silver band. Elias procures a dazzling thing of gold and diamonds and an emerald inlaid. The ends of Peter’s mouth tighten when he sees the ring and Elias’ smile widens.
When they kiss, Peter’s lips are dry. Elias mumbles under his breath, “Use chapstick next time,” without moving his lips and Peter levels his gaze to him in a way that screams of his restraint from rolling his eyes.
“There won’t be a next time.”
“We’re married, Peter, dear. A very public wedding, no less. You will kiss me again eventually and you will apply chapstick beforehand.”
Before Peter can respond, Elias turns to the crowd and smiles. Peter does not smile nearly as dazzlingly as Elias does, but he does wave to the polite clappers. There are no cheers or true happiness. This is, after all, a political arrangement. It is first and foremost a testament to all the new kingdoms of the change in power. A warning.
The reception is another carefully positioned chess piece. A 40 piece orchestra plays in the ballroom, the best hors d'oeuvres are passed around by waiters with stiff spines and nary a smile to be seen. The dinner had been seven courses, with the best imports money can buy. The servants of the Eye spare no expense.
Elias flits among the crowd, going from group to group with careful ease. He steals conversationalists away from their partners in order to slide his hand under any tenuous alliance that could possibly form. He slots himself into a group and spreads just the right rumour, the kind that will continue to pass behind closed doors.
If Elias had an element, this was it.
“Simon, my dear fellow,” Elias says, grabbing two glasses of champagne off a waiter’s tray and passing one to the man in front of him. “You look well! It’s been, what, two years since our last meeting?” Elias pretends to take notice of the man standing next to him, “And Maxwell Rayner! I didn’t see you there. My apologies, I would have gotten you a glass of champagne.”
Maxwell narrows his eyes slightly but accepts the rules of the game and begins to play. “No apology necessary. I don’t take much to champagne, I’m afraid. I prefer something with a little more weight to it.”
“Oh, of course. Yes, I do recall many parties you hosted where you drank one too many glasses of that god awful ship varnish you call whiskey, if you’ll pardon my bluntness,” Elias fakes a laugh and directs it towards Simon, including him in the joke. Simon chuckles and Maxwell joins in, albeit with a twitch of his nose that betrays his true disdain. “But at any rate, how are you?”
“Doing well, old chap,” Simon says, “Just business as usual in the Vast. And yourself?”
“The same for me as well, aside from the obvious change,” Elias gestures to the wedding hall with his glass.
“Yes, I admit I was surprised to hear of this development. You and Peter were the last people I expected to marry,” Simon raises an eyebrow, and they both know they are not talking about romance.
“Mm, I find that the people you least expect it from are the people who work the best together. Friends and lovers come from unlikely places on occasion.” Elias takes a sip of his champagne.
Simon raises his chin. “Indeed.”
“Where is your husband now?” Maxwell asks, and Elias thanks the years of training for the way he holds back an eye roll at the sniveling man butting in.
“Around, I’m quite sure. He has his own friends to talk with.” Elias does a quick scan of the crowd and briefly wonders where Peter is. It is then that the Eye slips him the information - the image of Peter pressed into a small storage cupboard with his hand pressed into his mouth to stifle his heavy breathing - and Elias blinks for a fraction of a second longer than he normally does, the only indication of his frustration. Of course his husband, servant of the Lonely, is overwhelmed by crowds.
“Does he really?” Maxwell asks, “I wasn’t aware servants of the Lonely had friends.”
“I’m certain, Mr. Rayner, that you’ll find there are a great many things about this world that you do not know. If you’ll excuse me, I think I see Mikaele, and I’ve been meaning to have a chat with him all night.” With that, Elias slips away from the two men. A less than graceful exit, but his new priority must be locating his husband. It wouldn’t do for his partner to not be seen at the reception.
Elias trades out his mostly empty champagne for a glass of water and makes an exit out of the halls without anyone except the paintings the wiser. The Eye directs him to Peter’s location, and he finds himself standing in front of the small storage closet door. He allows himself one sigh through his nose before pushing open the door. He does not linger in the doorway and closes the door behind him quickly, lest someone see him in such an odd position. The Eye would know about this, but it had directed him here in the first place. No one else could be allowed to spread the rumour of Elias sneaking into a supply closet halfway through his own party.
“What the hell, ” Elias seethes, “are you doing in here?”
There is absolutely no light in this storage closet. It’s completely dark and not to mention cramped. Even in the castle of the Eye, the Buried and the Dark could not be completely kept at bay. It is through Elias’ Knowledge that he is aware of Peter slumped against the wall, timing his breathing to a certain rhythm.
“I’m trying,” Peter fumes, “to resist the urge to hang myself over the amount of people in there.”
“Oh, get over yourself,” Elias rolls his eyes, “It’s not going to kill you to be the center of attention for once in your life.”
“Oh, easy for you to say. You probably get off on the amount of eyes on you back there.”
“Don’t be so vulgar,” Elias reprimands sharply.
There is a beat of silence and Peter exhales slowly. “Just give me two minutes. And then I’ll go back to being the star of the show, a morsel for your voyeuristic patron to feast on.”
“You’re so dramatic. For a servant of the Lonely you really do know how to play things up.”
“I’m not playing things up.”
Elias doesn’t bother responding with any of the quips or sharp retorts in the back of his throat. Instead he lets the moment pass and then says, “I brought you some water.”
Peter reaches out and Elias passes him the glass. He Sees Peter tilt the glass and drain it all in one swallow. Elias waits out the remainder of the two minutes in silence, less out of courtesy and more out of a lack of interest in opening the door for another argument.
“Alright,” Elias says when the time is up, “Come on, Mr. Antisocial.”
“Asocial.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m not antisocial. I’m asocial. There’s a difference.”
“Obviously, I know that,” Elias rolls his eyes in the darkness again. “It’s unimportant.” Peter shrugs. “Either way, we need to make our way back to the party. We can’t both be absent.”
“Why not?”
Elias doesn’t dignify such a stupid question with a response. “Come along. It’s only a few more hours. After this you can come back to my rooms and we can get drunk.”
Peter chuckles. “Isn’t it our rooms now that we’re married?”
“It’s not like you’ll be staying in them for more than a few nights. We leave for your castle soon.”
“Fair.”
“Doesn’t matter. We can get tipsy and talk shit about all the terrible people attending our wedding. It’ll be great fun.”
“Sure,” Peter says, and with that he stands, knees popping with the effort. Elias takes a brief second to Know that there is no one in the halls who will see them. He opens the door and together they head back to the ballroom, towards the chatter and the connivery. Peter’s shoulders grow tenser by the step.
“People will think we stepped out for a quickie,” Elias says. A wry smile twitches at Peter’s lips. The first hint of a smile he’d ever seen on his husband.
“Better than thinking I had a panic attack in a broom cupboard.”
Despite himself, Elias chuckles. He loops an arm around Peter’s elbow and they step through a side door. A few stray pairs of eyes glance their way and he knows that there will be talk of it later tonight. But it will be idle gossip, non damaging for either of their reputations.
By the time the party has come to an end, it is past midnight. Guests slink into their rooms, some alone and some accompanied by a bed partner. Elias leads his bed partner to his rooms, where two bottles of red wine wait on the desk. Elias sits on the mahogany, swirling the wine in his glass. Peter pours himself half a glass and occupies the armchair nearby.
They talk for hours, blistering remarks coming to mind for every person they can think of. Elias Knows all the attendees, and he skips the ones that were unremarkable. Even then, he provides a scathing comment about how absolutely forgettable one “Gabriel” was.
Peter seems content for the most part to let Elias do the bulk of the talking. He listens with increasingly slouched posture and Elias too, finds himself relaxing. He rants and raves and finds himself learning that Peter knew Simon, that they’d been the closest thing a person can have to a friend when you serve the Lonely.
“So how did you meet, then?” Elias crossed his legs and took another sip of wine. The two bottles had shrunk down to two-thirds of a bottle, and Elias was just on the right end of tipsy.
“Funeral. That’s how you meet people, in the Lonely. Only time anyone comes together for anything. Except maybe a wedding. Even then,” Peter gestured to the castle, “It’s only the necessary family members.”
“So what, he came to a funeral and you said howdy-do and became fast friends?”
“Yes, and we went down to the pub, got blackout drunk and gambled away my inheritance,” Peter leveled a flat stare at Elias, who scoffed at the hyperbole, “No. He comforted me, oddly enough. When my father died. I was just a child, hadn’t quite mastered the ability the Lonely gives you to keep your feelings muted. Everyone else at the funeral was either a servant of the Lonely or they didn’t know him. No real tears were shed.”
Elias hummed, a spark in his chest flaring at the knowledge Peter was readily offering to him. He took another sip. “But you cried?”
“Mm,” Peter hummed, tilted his head up and to the sky as if the corner of the room would tell him what to say, “No, I didn’t cry. But I was…sad. Simon saw me and came over to help.”
“Wouldn’t he also have been a child?” Elias knows that Simon was not. He had seen the age gap between Simon and Peter for himself decades ago as James Wright, the past right hand of the Eye. But Peter didn’t need to know that.
Peter scoffed. “I’m not that old, Elias. I know the hair makes it look that way, but come on.”
“Well, how old are you?” Elias asked, and hoped that Peter hadn’t cottoned on to the leading questions, to the way Elias devoured answers like they were delicacies. If he couldn’t Know Peter, he could at least know him.
“49. Thereabouts. It’s been a while since I actually counted how old I was, so I suppose there’s margin for error.”
Elias hummed and took another sip of wine in place of a reply. Peter did the same. “Aren’t you going to ask me how old I am?” He said after a pause.
Peter made a little noise that mixed humor and annoyance. Something like exasperation. “I don’t care how old you are. I don’t care about you at all, to be quite frank. And unlike you so clearly are, I am not such a nosy gossip that I need to ask so many prying questions.” Peter raised an eyebrow and Elias scowled.
“Fine then. Excuse me for being conversational.”
Peter barked out an unamused chortle. “Don’t pretend that you asked me if I had cried at my father’s funeral out of politeness.”
“Even so,” Elias sniped, “No need to be rude.”
Peter didn’t reply but Elias could tell he wasn’t impressed. He didn’t Know, which was unfortunate. He would have really liked to Know Peter from inside and out, to See what bits and pieces of trauma held together a servant of the Lonely. He’d only ever met a handful of them, and they’d all been so dreadfully dull. At least Peter was interesting. At least he displayed human traits every now and then.
“I always wonder why someone so tasteful as Simon would hang out with such an oaf as Maxwell,” Elias says, in lieu of silence.
“Why do you detest Maxwell so much?” Peter asks, and Elias almost laughs at such a ridiculous question.
“He’s a servant of the Dark,” Elias says, because really that speaks for itself, “Come on, Peter. What an absolutely inane and loathsome thing to be a servant to. It’s a child’s fear, really.”
“And you’re saying the fear of being watched can’t also be a child’s fear?” Peter says with raised eyebrows. He stands and pours himself another glass of wine. When Elias gestures with his own glass Peter tops him off. Peter doesn’t go back to the couch when he’s finished, he just leans against the desk at Elias’ side.
“Obviously not, but there’s a difference. People aren’t scared of the Dark, they’re scared of what’s in the Dark. And what’s in the Dark is a servant of the Flesh, or the Hunt, or hell, even the Spiral. The Dark isn’t really a fear, it’s just an extension line to a different fear. A means to an end. It’s tacky.”
“But by that logic aren’t most of our patrons an extension of the End? After all, you’re not afraid of the Desolation so much as you’re afraid of dying at the hands of it.”
Elias pauses, taking it into consideration. “I suppose so. But I’ve never really cared for the Desolation either. It and the Slaughter can be so…singleminded. There’s no nuance, no tact. There’s no endgame, it’s just violence for the sake of it.”
“It’s always servants of the Eye,” Peter says with a wry smirk.
“Pardon?”
“You people always think you’re better than everyone else. Always think that your brand of manipulation is the best, that you have the most tried and true tactics to really draw out fear, that no other fear can compare to the Eye. It’s really quite irritating.”
“Oh and I suppose the Lonely is a master of manipulation as well.”
“The Lonely is all about the long con,” Peter said, his eyes truly lighting up for the first time, “I’m not sure it’s something you can really understand. There’s so many ways to make someone feel lonely. For example, waiting rooms. You’d think that in a room full of people, you couldn’t possibly feel alone. But waiting rooms are delicious ,” Peter grinned and Elias couldn’t help but cock his head, faint amusement brimming along with his curiousity, “Everyone is so wrapped up in their own world, their own problems. Whatever they’re waiting for, they never stop to consider what everyone else in the room is waiting for. And so it leaves everyone with their own unique brand of isolation. Or take, for example, talking. Did you know that you can make someone feel dreadfully lonely just by talking at them? Going on and on, never breaking in your stream of consciousness so that they never get a word in edgewise? And then suddenly, your conversation partner has never felt so alone. They’re not a participant in the discussion, they’re an object. A sounding board. It’s delightful.”
Elias hummed in contemplation. “Interesting.”
“Your patron isn’t the only one who knows how to play a fear out, to string someone along until they’re gasping for air and just waiting for you to finally end it all.”
“Yes, there is something absolutely marvelous at the ability to ‘string someone along,’ as you said. Starting small, with a little odd feeling of being watched here and an overlong stare from a passerby there. Building and building until your victim just wants to die to escape the feeling.”
Peter grinned, catlike. “Exactly. You know, I didn’t think the Lonely and the Eye would have much in common at all.”
“Neither did I, I must confess,” Elias turns his head and offers a dry smile to Peter, who raises his glass in a little toast. Elias clinks and they both drink.
“So how do you,” Peter begins and then lowers his voice, “how do you deal with it?”
“The Eye can still hear you, you know,” Elias says with a bemused smile, “Just because you whisper doesn’t mean it doesn’t Know.”
Peter rolls his eyes. “See, that’s what I mean. You’ve got an all-seeing Eye glaring down at you 24/7, no privacy and no boundaries. How do you live with it?”
“The same way you live in complete isolation, devoid of any meaningful connections in your life,” Elias replies, and Peter twists his mouth in thought, “It’s not like it’s a one sided relationship, me and the Eye. I do things for it and it grants me favor. I’d say it’s rather mutually beneficial.”
Peter wrinkles his nose. “Maybe.” With that, Peter sets down his empty glass and inspects the wine bottle. He drinks the last of the dregs straight from its mouth, grinning at Elias’ gag of offense.
“Aren’t you a prince? Lord have mercy on you.”
“You’re such a snob. So superior because you know the ins and outs of table manners. I spend the better part of my life on a ship. Manners are tertiary at best on my list of priorities.”
Elias huffs, and in one long swallow finishes his glass as well. “Coming to bed soon? I was going to have a bath but I don’t think the heat would sit right at the moment.”
“I don’t have any of my things,” Peter protests.
“I had the servants bring them up. No need to worry, dear husband. And my bed is plenty big enough. You won’t have to worry about the forbidden act of touching a man in bed. I would hate to see what the Lonely thought of that.”
Peter scoffs, and Elias is beginning to know the sound well. “You know nothing about the Lonely, clearly.”
Elias steps over to his closet and throws a smile over his shoulder. “Enlighten me.”
Peter laughs. “Not a chance, nosy.”
“Nosy is a word reserved for my assistant,” Elias replies, and selects a robe for Peter to wear.
“And so what should I call you when you’re being a gossipy prick?”
“Just that, I believe would do,” Elias hands Peter the robe and stalks off to the bathroom to change. He doesn’t miss the sound of Peter’s small chuckle though.
They sleep, and they don’t touch. By the time Elias wakes, Peter is already out of bed. It’s fine by him.
The Tundra is a mass of steel and cargo boxes. Frost covers the hull despite it being late spring in the south. Two or three sailors wander the deck aimlessly, trudging along. Nobody talks to each other. They don’t even look at each other. The ship creaks and groans in the water, and the sound only adds to the muted mood.
“A bit boring, isn’t it?” Elias asks, standing next to Peter at the helm.
“Lonely,” Peter corrects with a grin. Elias rests his tongue in his cheek to prevent an answering smile and doesn’t deign to respond to that.
“Will your uncle be travelling with us?” Elias wonders. He has not seen Nathaniel and his wife since the wedding a few days ago.
“Yes, but you won’t have to worry about them. They’ll keep to themselves.”
“Wonderful. And what do you and the crew do to occupy yourselves on such journeys?”
Peter huffs. “So many questions, Elias. So many questions. Do you ever just wait to see how things play out?”
“Often,” Elias replies, “But I happen to have a very useful source of information on this. I might as well put it to good use.”
“It? I don’t even get a ‘him?’”
Elias holds back a smile thanks to years of training his face to do exactly what he wants it to do. “Keep supplying me with knowledge and I’ll see what I can do about an upgrade.”
“Not likely, servant of the Eye.”
“And yet you keep doing it. So generous of you.”
Peter huffs once again. “You’re an arse, you know that?”
“I’ve been told that many times, yes.”
Peter sighs, long suffering tinged with annoyance. “Shall I show you to the captain’s cabin?”
There is a moment where Elias considers his independence, and the possibility of insisting that he can find his own way. In the end, his curiosity wins out - it always does.
“Lead the way,” Elias replies, and with that, Peter descends into the belly of the ship.
“You never answered my question,” Elias starts again, “What do you and-”
“Elias,” Peter says with a dangerous lightness to his tone, “If you keep asking questions, I’ll throw you overboard or skewer you on a pike. Do not test me.”
“So tactless,” Elias tuts, and Peter doesn’t reply to that.
Peter’s cabin is small and cramped. Isolated, one might say. A small closet tucked in one corner, a bed shoved against a wall, and a desk against the remaining corner in the room. Elias could walk two paces from the closet to the desk.
“My belongings-”
“Stored elsewhere on the ship. Tadeas, my first mate, can help you find them if you need anything. But, I’m sure you’ll be able to figure most things out yourself.”
Elias resists the urge to sigh in annoyance. He is an esteemed servant of the Eye, and Peter a prince of the most wealthy family in the continent. Surely it would not have killed him to afford the two of them some decent accommodations. A private bath would certainly be nice.
But - Elias reminds himself - Peter lives to make people uncomfortable. And he supposes he had taken pain to see that Peter was placed in rooms designed to make him miserable. Probably fair that the favor was returned. It doesn’t mean he has to like it.
“And will we be sleeping on the same bed? Rather small, don’t you think?”
Elias turns back to the doorway and nobody is there.
The voyage is painful. In most senses of the word. The cold nips at Elias’ fingers and through the still-polished leather of his boots. The constant wind gives him a headache. He finds himself bored half to death on the ship. He had brought no books, no paperwork, no tax forms, budget reports or even newspapers to keep him informed and knowledgeable. The crew does not interact and most are wiped so clean by the Lonely that there is hardly anything to See or Know about them.
Elias also does not see Peter. He comes to bed after Elias falls asleep, and is out of bed by the time he wakes up. He leaves no trace, not a pair of trousers on the floor nor a wrinkled bed sheet. The only reason Elias knows Peter is sleeping in his room at all was because every morning, Elias wakes up and rolls over. And every morning, the smell of sea salt kicks up in the sheets.
He manages to track down Tadeas a few days after being out to sea. It’s a lot of goose chasing, a lot of following trails of “I think he went down to the kitchens” and “He was going to check in with the captain on something, right?” It’s really quite beneath Elias, but it wasn’t like he had anything else to do.
Tadeas is slim and tall, sporting a high and tight cut of dark brown hair. He stands at full attention, which Elias can respect. He approaches the other man, looking out into the dull grey waves.
“Tadeas, am I correct?”
Tadeas’ shoulders tense ever so slightly. “Yes, sir.” His words are clipped, as if the tail ends of them have been cut neatly by a pair of scissors.
“And you are the first mate?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Wonderful,” Elias smiles, directing it at full force to Tadeas. “I am Elias Bouchard. Peter’s husband.”
“He mentioned you.”
“Did he? I’m flattered.”
“Yes, sir.”
“So tell me, Tadeas,” Elias leans over the railing of the ship, a measured movement, “We are about to sail into the Lonely. Any advice you have to offer me?”
There is a brief pause. “I’m not sure what advice someone like you could not simply Know, Mr. Bouchard.”
Clever boy. Very well. Elias can play that game as well. “Of course. But sometimes all the books in the world cannot offer you the simple advice of a seasoned veteran. You probably know more than anyone else on the ship besides Peter how the Lonely operates.”
Tadeas hums in a mix between contemplation and skepticism. “Was there something in particular you were curious about?”
“They say that every member of the Lukas family has an island of their own. Is that true?”
“I believe so, sir. Peter, at least, has his own island.”
Elias wonders if there are people that inhabit the island. If the crew ever go off the ship to experience hard earth under their feet. If they’re allowed that. He sets the question aside for now. “And the current right hand of the Lonely, that would be Ana Lukas?”
Tadeas hesitates, as if unsure if he could answer that. But it’s not like it’s uncommon knowledge, and eventually the first mate must realize how inconsequential the information is, all things considered. “Yes, sir.”
“And then Peter is the heir. And of course, there’s Prince Nathaniel and his family.”
“...Yes, sir.”
“I can only imagine how busy Ana must keep herself, if she was unable to attend the marriage of her own son. Sending her brother in her place, who is only in line for the honor of right hand in a formal sense. Rather strange.”
Tadeas hesitates for longer this time. “I suppose so, sir.”
“But then again, I wonder if absentee mothering is part of the Lonely culture. Perhaps it is just normal. Was your mother absent, if I may be so bold?” Elias turns his head to Tadeas and raises his eyebrows.
Tadeas swallows. “I, uh, I’m afraid I do not remember my mother, if I had one. Sir.”
Elias hums in faux sympathy. “A pity. A father?”
“You are…very forward, sir.”
“What a polite way of saying ‘fuck off.’” Elias turns back to the ocean, “Forgive me for my bluntness. I only ask in my endeavors to learn more about my husband and by extension, his crew. You understand, I’m sure.”
“Of course, sir. Was there anything else you needed?”
Elias briefly weighs the benefits of Knowing Tadeas, placing him under the Beholder’s gaze until he falls apart babbling and sobbing. Ultimately, Elias is smart enough to recognize that he is to some degree at Peter’s mercy. And it would be such an inconvenience to his husband to have to find another first mate.
So Elias contents himself by turning around and pinning Tadeas where he stands with a stare. He does not turn his gaze to the man so hard as to genuinely hurt him. But he does grab a few things off the top of Tadeas’ head, resurfaced by Elias’ words. He tucks them away for safekeeping and smiles to charm.
“Not at the moment. You’ve been delightfully helpful.”
Elias struts away, confident and sleek. On his way back to Peter’s cabin, he spots Conrad. The young boy peers out from behind a door. A small streak of white already graces his chestnut brown hair.
Perhaps emboldened, Elias decides to See Conrad. He has no doubt that a Lukas - even such a young one - will be difficult to See. So he just reaches for whatever is lying around in the rooms and corridors of Conrad’s mind.
He Knows that Conrad sometimes looks up at the stars and practically aches with desire. With the need to occupy the lonely and blank space between each star, and the fervent wish to one day be truly alone in the universe.
Conrad frowns and makes a small sound of fear at the feeling of Elias shuffling around in his head. He slams the doors and brings fog rolling in. Elias simply smiles at the child and continues on down the hallways, ignoring the faint wisp of fog trailing around his ankles.
He stays up late that night, energized by the small morsel of fear he fed on. It was not much, but it was sustainable. Elias lays in bed and pretends to sleep, waiting for the moment when Peter will slip into bed.
Peter is quiet when he finally comes in. Elias hears him unlace his boots and the low murmur of him shucking off his shirt. He resists his curiosity, the urge to turn around and stare at him undressing. To maybe catch a glimpse of his bare skin. But Elias holds fast, waiting for the right moment.
It isn’t until Peter’s weight sinks into the mattress and Elias feels the shift of the covers that he says, “Peter.”
He hears a sharp intake of breath, and nothing. Elias turns to see Peter staring with wide eyes, his silhouette in the dark growing blurry, almost staticky. Without thinking, Elias reaches out and grabs Peter’s bicep. His skin is cold, and feels a bit like tissue paper in his hand. One wrong move and he would crumple and fade.
“Don’t.”
Peter’s eyes shift from that wide eyed alarm back into guarded steadiness. He becomes less translucent, heavier in the palm of Elias’ hand. Elias lets go. “Why are you still up?”
“I waited for you,” Elias admits with a one-shouldered shrug, “I was curious what you’ve been up to. And to scold you for leaving me alone on this ship. It’s been boring."
“I’m sure you found ways to keep yourself amused,” Peter says, turning onto his back. Elias stays on his side, facing him. Despite the small size of the bed, there is still a good handful of inches separating the two of them. Elias makes no effort to bridge the gap.
“Not really. Everyone’s so washed by the Lonely that when I try to Know them it’s just mist.”
“Would it kill you to get to know people the old fashioned way?”
“You know, I think it would,” Elias says with a slight smile. Peter huffs and his lips twitch.
“Tadeas told me you tried to Know him.”
“Oh, come on, Peter,” Elias scoffs, “I barely even touched him. Just took some things to keep me entertained.”
Peter turns his head and glares at Elias, who offers only a pleasant smile. “You’re insufferable.”
“I’ve been told.”
“Don’t damage my crew. They’re a pain to replace.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Elias softens his smile into something simpering and sticky sweet.
Peter turns his head back to stare at the ceiling. They lay in silence for a bit before Elias asks, “So what have you been doing? What do you normally do on the Tundra ?”
Peter sighs, though it’s more pleasant than anything else. “Bask. Enjoy the blissful nothingness of it all. Isn’t it so beautiful?”
Elias does not understand but he also knows that as a servant to a fear he also does understand. The delectable thrill of power coursing through your veins at the smell of fear, overwhelming like drugs in the air. And like a secondhand smoke, Elias can feel the lingering effects off of Peter, wafting through the air and making it just the slightest bit charged.
“It sounds lonely,” Elias says, but this time it’s a peace offering, not a disdainful reduction. Peter turns his head and grins.
“It is.”
The rest of the trip passes in dull monotony. Elias feels his connection to the Eye grow weaker with every passing day as they travel farther north. Sometimes he shivers under the warmth of the blankets. He can still feel it, quietly but firmly asking for more. More answers, more power, more control. But over time, the requests become just that. Requests.
He doesn’t know how to feel about it. It makes his skin crawl and his stomach turn and Elias waits with a growing sense of dread for them to arrive at their destination. He has no idea what awaits him, and it makes everything in his body revile at the thought that he patiently leans over the railing of the Tundra like a lamb going to an altar.
Peter’s castle is not visible from the small port that the Tundra docks in. Hardly anything is visible from the port, really. Elias thinks he can make out a small village nearby, but he cannot see any buildings in it. Come to think of it, nor can Elias See any people in it. His throat works up a bit and he pushes it aside. Later. There will be time later.
For now, there are appearances to maintain. Elias is dressed in a suit blacker than a new moon sky, and a waistcoat sporting such a deep purple that it almost blends in with the suit.
Peter stands next to Elias, watching as the crew works to make sure they dock safely.
“I don’t see your castle,” Elias says.
“You won’t see my castle until you are staring directly at the walls. And anyway, it’s a good hour and a half ride up north.”
The crew touts everything off the ship with a practiced skill, and Elias simply watches. He snaps when two of them handle his wardrobe with anything less than the utmost care. Peter doesn’t intervene.
“The village there…are there people?” Elias asks.
“You don’t Know?”
Elias resists the urge to curse in annoyance. Obviously he didn’t Know, but Peter didn’t need to know that. He casts about for a plausible excuse.
“Why bother when I have a pretty face to tell me?”
Peter side-eyes Elias, who simply waits. After a moment Peter relents and says, “The village has people, yes. It’s self-sustaining, but the Tundra brings in imports every now and then.”
Once all the crew depart off the ship with the cargo, Peter leads Elias to a small set of carriages. They are manned by someone who doesn’t make eye contact, and Elias is just able to catch the wisp of a thought about a dog named Jack before it floats away.
“Is that Tadeas in the carriage behind us?” Elias twists to see out the back of the carriage and sure enough, the first mate climbs into the other carriage. All the other crew members had filed away in the direction of the village. “Does he live in your castle?”
“No. He has a small estate of his own. Perks of being my first mate. He lives about half an hour south of my castle, so he takes my procession up with us. He’ll break off to go home and see his family before long.”
“His family?” Elias’ eyes went wide and he felt the pit of his stomach gnawing at him for knowledge.
“I see your interaction with him didn’t reveal everything.”
“I wasn’t exactly looking for a spouse and kids nestled in all that fog. I didn’t even know that servants of the Lonely could have families.”
Peter looks at Elias like he’s never seen a more stupid man, and then pointedly glances at his left hand. “Really?”
Elias scoffs. “That’s different. And you know it.”
“Still. How do you think I was born?” Elias waits, and eventually Peter continues. “It helps that he’s not entirely a true servant. He is much like your own assistant, bound to the Eye but not blessed by it. Even so, the Lonely doesn’t prevent its servants from marrying or having children. Some people find that it actually strengthens their connection to the Lonely.”
“Really?” Elias didn’t resist the urge to wrinkle his nose. “Why?”
“Do you think that the Lonely can be so easily beat just by the simple act of companionship? It’s not enough to swear your life to someone. You have to understand them to really stave the Lonely off from them. And how many people really know each other? Most people, it’s just an idealized version of reality waiting to be burst. It’s hard to beat the loneliness that stems from marital problems. And for my crew members, having a partner feeds into the loneliness on the Tundra. As well as back here. Those poor people, waiting for their loved one to come back,” Peter said wistfully, and Elias felt a chill run down his spine.
“Does the Tundra go out to sea often?”
“Oh, yes. I suppose you could say it is my happy place.”
Elias huffed derisively. “So I suppose you will be out of your castle more often than not then?”
“You would be correct. I’ll try to stop in and make sure you haven’t died every now and then,” Elias hums in faux gratitude at that and Peter continues, “You’re too bound to the Eye for the Lonely to fully take you. Don’t worry.”
“I wasn’t,” Elias sniffs. His stomach is still rolling over in itself as he tries to reach for the pull of the Eye and finds a fraction of his original power. The mist that fills Elias’ lungs and clogs every neuron in these people’s brains makes it difficult. He has no idea what he’s lost and what he still retains so far from the Eye’s influence and so deep in the Lonely’s domain.
Elias does not reveal any of these weaknesses to Peter. He knows they will be used against him. Instead he lets them lapse into comfortable silence. Tadeas splits from the party and it isn’t long after that when Peter’s castle finally comes into view.
It is a monolith, a gigantic construction of stone and spires. It is bigger than any one person could possibly need. Elias lets himself gawk openly at the thing, counting the different towers and windows. He can see Peter watching him out of the corner of his eye but does not bother to compose himself. Awe is a form of flattery, after all. How could he be upset by that?
The carriages pull them from the stables and Peter escorts Elias into the castle proper. When Elias glances back at the people unloading the carriage, he sees no one.
As soon as he steps into the halls of Peter’s castle, Elias can feel the already dwindling power of the Eye fade even further. There are wisps of vapor tucked into every corner and where there should be rays of light streaming from the windows there are only trails of fog.
Peter continues to lead them through the halls and he doesn’t say anything. Elias drinks it all in, hungry eyes roving over every inch of the place. There are very few portraits - very few sets of eyes - in the painting lining the walls. Most of it is seascapes and a few broken lighthouses.
There is one painting at the end of a hall that Elias can’t help but stop and stare at it. He can feel Peter’s discomfort at Elias’ perusal of the thing and so he intentionally studies it closer. It’s a painting of a bird, a delicate white dove nestled in what looks like a shoebox. A pretty red cashmere scarf is wrapped around it. The bird gazes soulfully at Elias, who cocks his head in curiosity. The black eyes that stare back at him hold no malice, no judgement and no questions. It feels odd and a little wrong, to see a pair of eyes on a painting that aren’t Knowing him. Just watching him.
Peter clears his throat and Elias startles out of his brief moment of contemplation. He turns on his heels and walks back the way they came. Peter doesn’t ask any questions.
After Peter tours him through a few more halls, Elias finds a question sitting on his tongue again. “Where are the servants?” A castle this big could not have survived without teams of staff to service the place, and Elias should have seen some by now.
“The castle repairs and maintains itself,” Peter explains, “A gift from the Lonely. You will never see a maid, nor a butler or chef walk these halls. It will only ever be you.”
“But there are servants that care for the castle? I just can’t see them.”
Peter hums in contemplation for a small moment. “No, I don’t think so. I’m not sure how to explain it to someone who doesn’t understand how my patron operates. Think of it a bit like…hm. Have you ever had experiences with dissociation?”
Elias nods. The original Elias had been fond of the kinds of drugs that made you space out, coming into and back out of reality in waves. He hadn’t done it since he’d repossessed the original Elias’ body, but he still could remember the feelings and experiences of them.
“It’s a bit like that,” Peter explains, “If you think about it hard enough, you can remember a time when you had wanted something, or when you had left the sheets unmade or spilled coffee on the carpets. If you really try you might also remember thinking about what needed to be done and how. But you will not remember exactly how the messes you made were cleaned or how your wishes were granted. It will just…be.”
Elias nods, still a bit confused. But there are plenty of aspects involved with the Eye that nobody else can hope to understand. And he knows how it feels to try and explain that kind of near-omniscient knowledge to someone who doesn’t have that awareness. So he just makes a noise in the back of his throat like he understands.
“My - our -” Peter’s tongue trips over the word our like it’s a step up he wasn’t expecting and just barely catches himself from falling flat over from it, “rooms are up ahead. With the lateness in the day, I thought we could eat a small meal and head off to bed. We can resume the tour at a later date. Or you can see it yourself. I’m off to Tadeas’ early next morning to discuss some things with him and then I leave for the Tundra the day after that.”
“You won’t stay around to let me get oriented?” Elias doesn’t quite know how to feel about the prospects of Peter leaving. On the one hand, he wants nothing more than to be left in peace for a few days to fully take stock of his powers and his general state of mind. A lot has happened in the last few weeks, and Elias hasn’t been able to truly process it all.
On the other hand, it’s incredibly rude of Peter to leave a guest after just a few hours entertaining him. Not that Peter has ever been the paragon of manners and etiquette.
“Duty calls, Elias. I’m sure you’ll get used to it.”
“No need to worry, Peter. I lived plenty of my life without you and I expect I’ll do just fine.”
Peter doesn’t reply to that. He simply opens the door to a dining hall. There is room for half a dozen tables, with room for comfort. All that stands in the center of it now is a simple but elegant wooden table.
Peter sits at one end and Elias sits at the other end. It feels right, like the myriad of other chairs open were a test. The table is just a bit too long to encourage comfortable conversation, but still small enough that they can hear each other without raising their voices.
It feels like a long, slow blink and then food is in front of him. Elias feels his lips twitch in confusion. He casts his mind back to moments ago and remembers having a conversation with Peter, though the details are hazy. Something about…something. There’s a disconnect there.
“You see what I mean?” Peter says, apparently picking up on Elias’ wonder. Elias swallows, and pushes any traces of apprehension deep in the pit of his stomach. Later. He glances back down at his food and the smell of pork, green beans and fresh bread are too enticing to resist. A glass of red wine stands next to it. Elias reaches out and takes a sip, glad for the relief of his actions feeling grounded. At least this isn’t fuzzy around the edges.
After that the conversation is normal. Elias asks inane questions about the castle, the village infrastructure, and the scenery. He only finds that when he looks down at his empty plate and realizes that he wants a second serving, that things again blur. And then Elias finds food in front of him again. He can feel Peter’s stare, watching him intently. He does not know whether to feel comforted by the familiar feeling of being watched or angry at the idea that someone is watching him while he is at anything less than his strongest.
In any case, the dinner progresses without further incident. They make their way up to the rooms, where Elias finds all his belongings have been stored in one room or another. The decorations are sparse, and personalization is few and far between. Elias looks through all of the rooms, eyes roving over the study, the closet, the bathroom and finally the bedroom.
“Is that a weapons collection?” Elias asks, and Knows the answer. He Knows that Peter has collected knives and swords from across the continent, paying exorbitant prices for anything that might catch his eye. He Knows that this collection is one of the few things Peter is genuinely sentimental about.
It feels good to Know things still, to have a thrill of power run down his spine, however inconsequential the information genuinely is. He looks over his shoulder and Peter’s gaze is ever so slightly guarded.
“Yes, it is. I would advise not touching it. They’re kept extremely sharp.” Peter’s words are laced with double meaning, and Elias picks up on it, recognizing the game of veiled threats.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Elias simpers, “We wouldn’t want anyone to get hurt.”
Peter hums in skeptical assent. They change into bed clothes with rigid unfamiliarity. Elias insists on the bathroom first, which Peter has to visibly restrain himself from commenting on. He takes a luxurious amount of time, just to spite his husband.
The bed is big, when Elias finally claims a side and lies in it. It is so big to feel impersonal, which he supposes is rather the point. When Peter lies next to him, he cannot feel the bed dip with his weight. When Elias shifts, the mattress compensates for it without rippling.
Neither of them say goodnight.
In the morning, Elias is alone.