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“… Mr. Faust?”
Faust pauses at the voice, looking up warily. “Riquet,” he acknowledges. “Is something wrong?”
Riquet shakes his head, but the slight frown doesn’t dissipate. “Could… could I speak with you?”
Faust closes his eyes. He’d really hoped to keep avoiding this conversation. “What do you need?” he says, because Faust is good at recognizing when he’s been defeated.
Riquet shuffles across the carpet and sits down on the couch across from Faust. Faust sets down the papers he’d been marking and crosses his arms.
“Are…” Riquet frowns. “You’re Mr. Faust.”
“That’s my name,” Faust agrees.
The frown on Riquet’s face only deepens. “You’re the Holy Wizard Faust,” he says. Somehow, he seems more sure of this than before.
Faust grimaces. “No.”
Riquet fixes him with a disbelieving look that he almost wilts under. But Faust won’t be cowed by a teenager.
“Mr. Figaro told me you were originally from Central. And you’re the right age, and you look just like the paintings…”
Faust finally breaks eye contact. Jesus, he hopes Shylock has enough stock to get him through the night. Or just kill him on the spot. Either would do. “What do you know about the Central Revolution?” Faust says.
Riquet looks caught off-guard. “Arthur’s ancestor and – um, and Saint Faust – fought to establish a kingdom where humans could live peacefully. But Saint Faust’s wizard troops resented the humans, and after they’d finally won, the wizards turned against the humans. Saint Faust was the only one who remained loyal. He protected the humans, and the magical exertion turned him to stone.”
Faust feels like his insides have been scooped out. He’d always – wondered, how Alec and the others had spun it, what happened during those terrible last days of the rebellion. “That’s not what happened,” he says before he can think better of it.
Riquet blinks at him. And – Faust really doesn’t want to explain. He doesn’t, but–
Faust can’t stand the thought that Riquet – and every other child born in Central for the past four hundred years – believes that Bianca and Leno and everyone else had been traitors. He can’t bear to let it go uncorrected.
“… What do you mean? Mr. Faust?”
Faust takes a shaky breath. “That’s not how it happened,” he says.
Riquet is looking at him expectantly. Faust mutters his spell, soundproofing the room. “I’ll only tell you this once, so listen closely.
“It wasn’t the wizards who turned against the humans. Alec Granvelle and his men turned on the wizards they’d fought alongside, broken bread with. Even I couldn’t tell you what sparked his paranoia, but he was sure that – that they would turn on him. That they were too dangerous to be allowed to live freely.
“The Faust of that time didn’t ‘give his life to protect humans.’ Alec Granvelle had him burnt at the stake for the crime of being born a wizard, along with all the wizards foolish enough to trust in his judgement.”
“……You’re lying.”
Faust looks up sharply, angrily, but his anger dissipates as soon as he sees Riquet.
The kid is shaking like a leaf, arms wrapped around himself protectively. There are tears in his eyes. “You’re– that can’t be– you have to be lying.”
Faust feels himself soften against his will. “This is why I didn’t want to talk to you about this,” he mutters.
“I’m supposed to be just like you,” Riquet says. “They told me he– he’d want me to follow in his footsteps– to serve humans. That’s what wizards are meant for, so–”
Oh, Faust is no good at this. “Riquet,” he says, as gently as he possibly can. He reaches out a hand, tentative, and lets it hang in the air between them when Riquet jerks away. “Riquet, listen to me. ”
Riquet shakes his head wildly, squeezing his eyes shut. “No,” he says, somewhat nonsensically. “You’re being cruel. Why are you being so cruel?”
Faust lets this hang in the air for a long moment, unsure what to say. His chest hurts. This teenager – this child, younger than Faust’s students – has been deeply hurt, with Faust’s own name as the weapon. The thought makes him feel sick, grates harshly against his brain. But what can he do? Riquet can’t be forced to realize that the way he grew up was wrong. It won’t go well for anyone. Faust knows that.
He lets his hand drop. “Riquet,” he says again, “look at me, please?”
Slowly, slowly, Riquet unfolds a tiny bit. He peeks out at Faust from under the curtain of his hair. They watch each other for a long time – Riquet’s face flushed with anger and tears, Faust at a complete loss for anything to say that won’t make the situation worse.
Eventually Riquet says, “... Are you going to apologize?”
Faust blinks. “For what?”
“For telling such mean lies,” Riquet says seriously.
And maybe Faust should just apologize. Riquet is clearly not ready to know this; maybe it would be better if Faust simply agreed that he lied. But… it’s not like that’s the only problem, here. Even if everything Riquet had been told was the truth, Faust as he is now is antithetical to the saint Riquet wants him to be. There’s no way out of this conversation that doesn’t shatter the kid’s world, at least a little bit.
“... I didn’t lie,” Faust says, looking away. “I’ll apologize for having this conversation with you. I should have kept quiet. But nothing I’ve said was a lie.”
Riquet stares at Faust, open-mouthed. Obviously he wasn’t expecting Faust to double down. There’s a deep, terrible sense of foreboding building in Faust’s chest as Riquet stands.
“I don’t know what to do,” Riquet says quietly, voice edged with tears. “I don’t know what’s right. I– I love the people at the church. They took care of me, and raised me. They were so kind to me. But… when I think about not being able to eat Nero’s cooking, or play with Mitile, or go on missions with everyone, I don’t want that. Doesn’t that make me selfish? Doesn’t that mean I’ve already become–”
“Riquet.” Faust stands, too, takes a cautious step towards Riquet. “You’re a child. It’s natural for you to have friends, and eat warm food, and experience new things.”
Riquet shakes his head. “No. No, that’s not… If that’s true, then why…?”
Faust reaches out towards Riquet again. The boy doesn’t flinch away this time; Faust carefully sets it on his shoulder. “Eventually,” Faust says quietly, “your way of seeing the world will shatter. I’m not saying this because of anything about you – as wizards, we live long enough that it’s nearly impossible to avoid, no matter who you are. And I don’t know if that’s now. It’s not for me to decide. But when it happens… I hope you’ll allow the people here to help you figure out what sort of world you want to build in its place.”
“I don’t want to,” Riquet says, burying his face in his hands. He’s so young. Faust almost can't bear it. “It hurts. I don’t want to.”
“That’s okay,” Faust says. “It's okay if you're not ready yet. You have time.”
Riquet says, “... Then, what should I...”
“I think Nero’s probably finishing dinner around now. Are you hungry?”
“... Yes. I’m hungry.”
Faust smiles. “Then for now, let’s eat.”