Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

They found him in March, the cold nipping at their heels like the baying of wolves. Ten months after he disappeared. Nine months after Alanna found out. 

Gary stood at George’s back in the dark, damp hallway, Raoul behind him with Ercole and Marek. The mage they brought, a man named Harailt of Aili, crouched before them, his Gift spun out around him as he tried to unweave the wards left on the iron door blocking their path. George had wanted to bring Zia instead, a hedgewitch from his court, but her Gift was no match for Roger’s, even dead. Harailt was Carthaki trained and a friend of Myles. He was both powerful and trustworthy. 

George didn’t have Alanna’s goddess-given ability to see magic, but he didn’t have to. He could feel the wards on the cell door. They tasted like rot to his Sight, like mold. Like something alive left too long in this place. It didn’t bode well for what they’d find beyond it. 

They held their breaths as Harailt worked. This was it, really. Their last chance. Nine months of searching turned up nothing for either George or Myles. Even with all their connections, Thom had seemingly vanished from The City of the Gods without a trace. And with Roger of Conté three months in the ground and the crown closing in, there was little hope for his co-conspirators to keep Thom alive. 

It took a long time before Harailt sat back. He wavered, his clothing damp with sweat, and George steadied him with a hand on his shoulder. The magic in the air settled back into him. 

“It’s done,” Harailt said, wiping his nose on his arm. It bled. 

“Are you okay?” 

Harailt shrugged. “I will be.”

George exchanged spots with Harailt. He didn’t often pray—the gods' attention rarely worked in his favour—but crouching before the cell that may or may not hold Thom of Trebond, it felt prudent. He closed his eyes and sent a prayer to the Mother Goddess for the twin of Her champion, and then took out his lock picks. 

The lock was almost laughably easy after Roger’s wards were gone. Opening the door was easier. Its hinges didn’t even creak.

Beyond was a small, box-like cell shrouded in darkness. It smelled of urine and sickness, of fear, misery, and death. George was reminded of the sick houses during the Sweating Sickness, when the poorest of his people died in droves with no one to care for them. He felt as helpless now as he did then. 

He stepped into the room, his fingers numb from the cold. Gary passed him the lantern but it illuminated little, like the darkness swallowed the light. His usually quiet footsteps were loud in the silence, loud like the beat of his own heart and blood rushing in his ears. 

One step, two, and the light threw shadows over a pitiful straw mattress in the corner. Pale limbs too thin to be anything but starved; a shock of bright red hair so familiar George saw it in his dreams. 

“Thom,” he whispered, and then all but dove to the mattress’ side. He didn’t care about whatever unseemly liquids dampened his clothes as he kneeled, hands hovering. All that mattered was the man before him.

Thom lay curled beneath a threadbare blanket, perfectly still. His hair was matted, his limbs mottled pale and purple. George reached out, mind split between despair and hope. They couldn’t be too late, he couldn’t already be dead.

George found Thom’s wrist and held it. His hands were cold and clammy, cold as stone, cold as a grave. But he still had a pulse, light and thready, beating like a lifeline, like a hand reaching up from frozen water. 

“Marek, healer, now,” George ordered, not looking away from Thom. “Raoul, go with him. Tell the soldiers we’ve got him.”

They would take the castle. George hadn’t killed any of the servants they came across—most just let themselves be bound without a fight—but that would change. The Lord and Lady would hang for this. George would make sure of it.

He pushed down his building fury as he held Thom’s clammy hand between his own, trying to massage warmth back into it. 

“Thom,” he said, his voice soft. “Thom my lad, come on. It’s George. You know me. We’ve got you, you’re safe now.”

It took a few tries, but eventually, Thom shifted, his breath catching in his throat before he let out a quiet, pained groan that morphed into a deep, chesty cough. 

“Okay, it’s okay, that’s it,” George said, putting a bracing hand on Thom’s shoulder as he continued coughing and coughing. It tore from his chest in a way George knew wasn’t a good sign. “Come on now, Thom. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

Thom’s breathing grew heavier and pained as the episode faded. His hand twitched in George’s but did nothing more.

There was a brief flash of purple eyes before they closed again, and Thom let out a whimper as he hid his face in the sodden mattress. George put the pieces together quickly. The darkness, the lantern. How long had it been since Thom last saw light? 

“Gary, take the light,” he called back, “and pass me your water.”

Gary was quick. The light went out and the cell was left only dimly illuminated by the glowing sconces in the hallway. George could barely see, but it was enough. 

He accepted the waterskin from Gary, who lingered, and reached up to brush Thom’s cheek. Fever boiled beneath Thom's skin. It felt like all the heat from his extremities were centered there. George cursed. He’d wager anything that if he listened closely enough, he’d hear the crackling of pneumonia in Thom’s lungs. Marek had better hurry up.

“I’ve got some water, lad. You need to drink.”

It took some coaxing. George lifted Thom’s head just enough that he wouldn’t choke. He managed a few sips, which was better than nothing, but they were interrupted by Thom’s struggling breaths. George lowered him down carefully as Thom gasped.

“Here,” Gary said, pulling off his jacket. He laid it over Thom and took his other hand, copying George’s movements. “I’m Gary,” he told Thom in an equally soft voice. “I’m sure Alanna wrote to you about me in her letters. I’m a friend. We’ve been looking for you.”

A pause, and then, “Alanna?” Thom’s voice was quiet, barely a whisper; wrecked from the coughs tearing his throat or something worse. Given Thom’s state, it could be either. 

George and Gary exchanged a look. It was the first response they’d gotten from Thom. 

“Yes,” George said. “Alanna. She’ll be glad you’re okay.” Although ‘okay’ was debatable. “She hasn’t stopped looking for you, and neither have we. We’ll bring you back to Corus to see her. How’s that?”

In truth, it would take a little longer than a quick trip to Corus. Alanna was in the desert. Myles and Jon convinced her to leave in hopes the rumours would circulate more easily in her absence; that somebody might slip up and mention a lead. 

It didn’t work, of course. In the end, it was Alexander of Tirragen who told Gary the names of those most loyal to Roger. Myles didn’t know about three of them. That was all they needed. Three noble houses; two within a day’s ride. Only one that could potentially hold a mage. 

“You know, Alanna told us the story of how she fell through the ice as a child,” Gary said, leaving out that it was because she’d fallen through it a second time only a few months prior. “That must have been terrifying for you, but she also told us about how you sat with her afterwards, when she was bundled with blankets in front of the fire. The two of you drank hot chocolate while you helped warm her up.”

Talking about Alanna was a good idea. Thom probably missed her just as much as she missed him. George’s chest ached at the thought of Thom down here, hurt and alone and longing for his sister. 

“My favourite story is about how the two of you drove away your father’s would-be courter,” George said. He moved onto gently rubbing Thom’s arm. “Making her think the castle was haunted was clever.”

There were dozens of stories Alanna told them about her childhood alongside Thom. Of hiking trips with Coram and magic lessons with Maude. How he forged his father’s handwriting to get copies of books that were still hidden under his bed in Trebond. 

They repeated them now, hoping to ground Thom with memories of his past, of his life before this dark little cell. George didn’t know if it helped. Thom was silent but for his struggling breaths and painful coughs, still but for the tremors that racked his body. Even Gary’s warm coat didn’t seem to help, but George put that up to the fever. 

“Here,” Harailt said, stumbling a little as he entered the cell. Gary made a move to help him, but he shook his head. “It’s just mage-fatigue, but I’m not so drained I can’t help.” He held out a large piece of amber.

George took it and could feel the warmth radiating from it. He nodded in thanks to Harailt. It wasn’t as good as bricks warmed by fire, but it was something. He tucked it next to Thom, beneath the blanket and coat.

The healer they brought, Kuri Taylor, a friend of George's mother, finally arrived with Marek some time later. They’d made her wait with the soldiers despite her consternation. This raid was unofficial. If they were caught without evidence of treason, the nobility in their group would likely be stripped of their titles. The rest of them would hang. It was safer to leave Kuri away from here until she was needed, even if it delayed her reaching Thom. George didn’t regret the decision, but he wished he could have done more in the meantime.

Gary moved to allow Kuri space to work and Marek nodded to him. 

“Fightin’s not quite over, if ye wanna join ‘em.”

Gary lingered, glancing at Thom in the dim light, but left with his sword in hand. He’d bash some heads in for this, George knew. George himself could relate, but he refused to let anger consume him right now. Thom needed someone familiar at his side, someone to advocate for him in Alanna’s stead. 

“I’ll need more light,” Kuri said. She didn’t question the lack of it now. 

“It hurts him.”

“We’ll have to cover his eyes then. I can’t work with what I can’t see.”

She was right, of course, but George still gritted his teeth. He didn’t want to be the cause of more fear or pain. 

“Did you hear that, Thom?” he said. “We’ll cover your eyes so it doesn’t hurt, but we need more light.” He ran his fingers through Thom’s hair, finger-combing what he could and ignoring whatever unspeakable things might be in it. He’d touched worse during his time in the Lower City, after all.

Thom let out a high wheeze. It wasn’t quite an agreement, but they didn’t have much of a choice. 

Kuri folded a length of cloth and George used it to cover Thom’s eyes. When she summoned her light, bright enough to illuminate the cracks in the walls, Thom let out a pained whimper and pressed closer to George, hiding his face against George’s side. 

It was a subconscious movement, George knew, but he still swallowed dryly and positioned himself to better shield Thom from the light. He nodded to Kuri. 

She took Thom’s hand in hers and closed her eyes. A moment later, Thom tensed, his breath catching which triggered more coughing. George put a hand on Thom’s shoulder to brace him. Thankfully this round was blessed short. 

Kuri let out a breath and cursed before releasing Thom.

“Kuri?” George asked, an edge to his voice. 

“Marek, my bag please,” she said. Then, to George, “He’s fighting me. It’ll waste too much power fighting back. I got a general picture and that’ll have to be enough. I’ll leave the magic to the palace healers. Help me get him up—it’ll ease his breathing.”

They shifted Thom until George took most of his weight, letting Thom lean heavily against his chest with his head on George’s shoulder. George could see pressure sores on Thom’s side. He must have been lying there for a while.

There were a lot of reasons somebody fought healing magic—whether they knew they were doing it or not—but Thom was raised by a healer the same as George was. He should have known better. Being kept here by Roger of Conté meant the reasons he did it were probably ugly. 

Marek put Kuri’s healer’s-bag down next to her and stayed by as an extra set of hands. It was probably a good thing seeing as George’s de-facto job was holding Thom and trying to comfort him, however impossible that seemed. 

“I’m not sure how lucid he is,” Kuri said. “He’s got one wretched fever and he’s struggling to breathe, and mages—something happens when they’re pushed too far.”

George knew that. He closed his eyes and sent out another prayer, this one to any god listening. “He recognized his sister’s name, at least,” he said. 

“That’s a good sign then.”

She explained what she was doing in a quiet voice before she uncovered Thom’s leg. The skin was mottled, the same as his arms, but what drew George’s attention was the ugly wound there, raised and red-rimmed, leaking pus and blood after the gods knew how long.

“Rat bite?” George asked. 

Kuri made an affirmative noise. “Recent too. Only a few days old. We might get lucky, then.”

She worked quickly and efficiently, cleaning it as best she could. George kept up a steady stream of calming words as Thom’s breath got heavier and more pained. He didn’t kick or struggle, even when Kuri spread a salve across the wound that George knew from experience stung something fierce. 

That changed when Kuri took hold of his ankle and flexed it. George felt Thom’s entire body go rigid and the sound he made—something between a cry and a groan—turned into another sharp coughing fit, this one worse than the last. 

George rubbed Thom’s back, hoping it would help, but it seemed to have no effect. Kuri cursed and dug through her mage-kit. “I need hot water,” she snapped to Marek, who took off running. It took long minutes for it to arrive. George held Thom upright while Kuri put a hand on Thom’s shuddering chest, her Gift flowing through him despite what she’d said not long before. It looked difficult from the sweat on Kuri’s brow, and by the time Marek finally arrived with a kettle, Thom was limp and breathing unsteadily. George comforted himself by focusing on Thom’s too hot breaths against his shoulder and feeling Thom’s pulse with a hand wrapped around his wrist. 

Kuri shoved a metal tin at Marek. “Two scoops into the water,” she told him. She turned her attention back to Thom’s leg.

“It was broken, badly by my guess, and healed wrong. They’ll have to re-break the bones to set them properly if he’s ever to walk on it again.”

Gods above. George gritted his teeth but didn’t get to reply before Marek was there, fragrant tea in hand. 

Kuri forced it down Thom’s throat while George held him, almost choking him with it, but George didn’t dare tell her to stop. It was obvious how ill Thom was, how desperately he was in need of a skilled healer, and George trusted Kuri Taylor almost as much as he trusted his own mother. 

By the time the tea was gone, George wasn’t sure whether or not Thom was still lucid. He hoped he wasn’t; that there could be some reprieve from the agony, but he could still feel the trembling of Thom’s body against his own. 

There were a lot of smaller wounds, too. Kuri sliced through the thin, stained tunic Thom wore as his only piece of clothing to see what was beneath. He was covered in more sores that came from lack of movement and living in squalor, and there were wounds that hadn’t healed properly despite how old they must have been. Kuri muttered something about malnutrition, but she needn’t have. George knew the signs well enough, just as he knew the frailness of Thom’s limbs and his mottled skin. 

The pressure sores on Thom’s side were bad. More than one was festering, which wasn’t a surprise. The conditions must have been at least marginally better when Roger was alive, or George doubted Thom would have survived this long.

The scars were the worst to see. Heavy lines across Thom’s pallid skin from what could only have been a blade, as well as thick and ropey ones from lashes. His back was a mess of it, his wrists and ankles not much better. They must have bound him long enough for the chafing to break skin. Probably more than once. 

Thom stayed pressed close against George as Kuri worked, cleaning and covering each wound. George pretended not to notice the growing dampness on his clothes from what could only have been tears. There was little he could do but keep up his litany of soothing words. They felt like ash on George’s tongue. He never handled helplessness well. 

“He needs to drink as much of this as he can. It’ll help with the infections until we get to Corus,” Kuri said, pulling out a glass bottle of translucent pink liquid. George felt the magic of it through his Sight. “I’ve got something for pain too, but it’s likely to knock him out, so he needs to drink this first.”

She didn’t seem as concerned with it as she did the tea, since she didn’t make Thom finish it. After only a quarter, Kuri stopped them, worried that any more would risk him being sick. 

“You said you had something for pain?” George asked. He stayed carefully still with Thom slumped against him. At least his breathing seemed a little easier than before, for all it was still raspy and painful. 

Kuri dug in her bag until she pulled out a metal case. Inside were several small, glass vials. She removed one and broke the wax seal before pouring half its amber coloured contents onto the ground. If it was what George thought it was, that was akin to pouring out gold. 

Of course, considering this was a favour to both him and the crown, Kuri would recuperate the cost several dozen times over.

“The full dose will be too strong for him right now,” Kuri said when she saw him eyeing her. “I’d rather not risk killing him after all you did to find him.” She handed it over, and then said to Thom, “It might make you sleepy, but don’t fight it. George will look after you and make sure you get back to your sister.”

Thom’s hand twitched again, like he wanted to respond but couldn’t. He swallowed the contents of the vial when George tipped it against his cracked lips.

And then they waited. George felt Thom’s body go limp and his breath evened out into something a little steadier. It was difficult to tell if he was truly asleep since George wasn’t sure how awake he was in the first place, but the pain seemed to lessen. George would take it. He’d take just about anything right now, as long as it meant Thom was better off than when they found him. 

They piled Kuri’s cloak and Gary’s coat on top of him, but didn’t shift Thom from his mostly upright position, too worried about his lungs. 

Marek left to check their status. With Thom as stable as they could get him, it was time to go.

“See if you can find any blankets,” Kuri called after him. “It’s cold as the Winter Crone’s tits down here.”

When Marek was out of earshot, she lowered her voice. 

“Are you alright, lad?” she asked. 

“I’m trying not to think about it,” George replied honestly. She’d known George for as long as she’d known his mother; he wouldn’t disrespect her by lying. He held Thom’s hand in his, brushing his thumb over Thom’s knuckles. “Will he recover?”

Kuri hesitated. “I can’t say,” she admitted. “All I’m doing is first aid. The palace healers will have a better idea once they take a good look at him, but it depends on what’s going on deeper than I can see. Pneumonia is difficult to beat at the best of times, and his is severe. It’ll be harder with the malnutrition, but I can’t tell much more than that. I do know that whatever happens, he’ll be better off there then here. You’ve done a good job so far, George.”

George took a deep breath and nodded. It wasn’t often that he felt so unsettled or needed reassurance, but seeing Thom like this, like a child’s doll left abandoned in the street, was difficult in a way he didn’t expect.

It was more than just being fond of Alanna. Looking for Thom was always more than that. George had ferried letters between the twins for years. He’d shared the odd one with Thom himself. And Thom looked so young, so frail in the way Alanna never did even as that wee country lad who first arrived in Corus, and that ached.

Gary and Marek reappeared not long after. They carried blankets, both expensive cotton and soft wool.

“Raoul has the nobles well in hand,” Gary said. “He’s going to stay a bit longer to make sure things are settled before coming back. They’re sending down some men with a stretcher now.”

George nodded as Kuri took the blankets. They knew Raoul probably wouldn’t return with them immediately. This sort of thing was difficult for all of them, and they only needed one knight to explain things. Besides, while all Alanna’s friends were furious about this, mild-mannered Gary was more likely than not to beat somebody bloody. Surprisingly, it was Raoul who knew how to handle his temper—as long as he was sober.

The four of them were careful as they wrapped Thom in the fresh blankets. It was cold enough outside that they’d need them, and the cool celler couldn't be good for him. The warmed chunk of amber Harailt gave them would come in handy. 

A group of soldiers carried Thom out of the celler on a stretcher. Those they passed stopped. Some bowed. It was never outright stated what they were here for, but they all knew in the way soldiers always did. Most of them were friends with Coram or Alanna, and that was enough for them to want Thom back alive. 

They took a covered wagon to Corus. George sat in the back with Thom and Kuri, the wood cushioned by scavenged blankets and pillows. Marek and Ercole rode a little behind with Gary in front. Soldiers flanked them, although they’d left most of them behind to clean up the mess they’d left with Raoul and Harailt.

Thom slept beneath layers of blankets and Kuri’s medicine, propped up by pillows to ease the strain on his fluid-filled lungs. George kept hold of his hand beneath the blankets, feeling his pulse and vainly hoping that it would provide Thom some comfort. 

Corus was less than a day away and they rode through the night to reach it. None of them relaxed even as they passed the city gates and began the trip up the long, winding roads to the palace. They wouldn’t until they handed Thom over to the healers, and perhaps not even then. 

Marek and Ercole split off just before they reached the palace. The original plan was for George to be on horseback and do the same, but he couldn’t bear to leave Thom just yet. Nobody objected. 

Myles must have been watching for their arrival because they weren’t stopped at the palace gates and healers descended upon them when they finally did. George didn’t know Duke Baird personally, but he recognized the man as the first to Thom’s side. His opinion of the healer raised several notches when Duke Baird turned to Kuri, uncaring of her status as a city healer instead of university of Mithran trained. She accompanied them inside as she explained what she knew of Thom's condition.

And then they were gone. The soldiers lingered before they too left, each having already been sworn to secrecy. It wouldn’t take long for news to get out anyway. Everybody knew about the Lioness’ missing twin.

Stefan took the horses, his expression grim. George was about to leave himself when Gary came to his side. 

“Come on,” Gary said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Marek said he can handle things for now.”

George raised an eyebrow. “He didn’t say such a thing to me.”

“Probably because he knew you’d refuse and then get nothing done anyway.”

Which, fair, but also, fuck you too, Marek. 

They headed for Gary’s rooms. There, George watched as Gary dug out an expensive bottle of whiskey. 

“Celebrate or consolation?” George asked. 

Gary shrugged. “Either. Both. Figured it’d be good in any case.”

They settled on the floor and passed the bottle between them, not bothering with cups. Neither of them spoke for a long time.

Jon joined them eventually, slipping into the room after a quiet knock. He stopped when he saw them. Then he joined them on the floor. Gary passed the bottle.

“How was it?” Jon asked after taking a drink. 

Gary glanced at George before answering. “Bad.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“You two okay?”

George reached for the bottle. “We’re fine. When are you leaving to tell Alanna?” he asked. Not his cleanest diversion, he had to admit, but neither Jon or Gary pointed it out.

“I’m riding out to meet Raoul and head south as soon as Duke Baird gives us news,” Jon said. “Father sent out another contingent of soldiers out as soon as you returned, so Raoul should be free to leave. We’ll be about two weeks each way.”

“Probably for the best, that,” George said.

They looked at him. He shrugged. “It might be better for him if she were here, but I don’t think she could handle seeing it. So if you’re about to tell me we should’ve sent for her earlier, you’re wrong. She’d be distraught, which I don’t think would help him anyway.”

Jonathan cursed in a very unprincely way. It was a point of pride for George that the heir to the throne knew how to swear like that. 

“You’re right,” Jon said. “Black God take it all but you’re right."

“Somebody’s got to be here for Thom though,” Gary pointed out. “We can’t just rescue him from- from being tortured and then leave him alone until Alanna gets back.”

That was the issue, wasn’t it? George had a duty to his people; he couldn’t just drop that just to wait at Thom’s bedside. Jonathan and Raoul were going to get Alanna, and Myles was busy dealing with the fallout of this.

Jon must have had the same thought. They both looked at Gary.

“You’re joking,” Gary said flatly.

“Congratulations, Gary,” George said, raising the bottle, “you’re officially on Thom Protection Duty.”

The humour felt necessary. George was pretty sure if he didn’t laugh, he’d punch something until his hands bled. Gary and Jon looked like they felt similarly. 

Ten months. Thom was missing for ten months. Seven of those were spent with Gary and Jon unknowing of Roger’s treachery. If it was George, well, he’d dig up Roger’s corpse just to stab him all over again. 

Jon didn’t stay long. “I need to pack,” he said. He did look genuinely regretful, so George didn’t hold it against him. 

George and Gary nodded goodbye. In the ensuing silence, Gary put his head on his hands. 

“Do you think he was down there this whole time?” he asked, his voice slightly muffled. 

“Probably.”

“It was so dark and cold. I can’t imagine-” Gary paused. “I still picture it when I close my eyes. What it must have been like. What Roger must have done to him.”

George thought of the scars, thin and raised, thick and ropey. The broken bones. Those were just the physical wounds. Roger’s specialty was magic, enchantments and mind affecting spells. “It’s better not to think about it,” he said.

“Somebody has to," Gary said.

“Leave that to the healers. It’s their job to figure out what to do next, not ours.” 

George knew that wasn’t much of a comfort. The healers would do what they could, but a lot relied on Thom. Kuri wasn’t lying when she said odd things happened when mages were tortured. 

A mage’s will—a powerful mage like Thom even more so—was indomitable. It had to be to control their Gift. When it broke, so too did their control over their magic; it lashed out. If their Gift was bound, like any experienced torturer holding a mage would ensure it was, like Roger certainly did, it lashed in; burning a mage up from the inside out. It was better not to think about what that meant. 

“I’ll write to their village healer with word,” George said. “She might visit, she might not. She loves him, but it might be better she isn’t here. There’s some things a lad doesn’t want the woman who raised him to see, and Maude is close enough to that for the twins.”

Gary already knew the story of George’s first meeting with Maude following the trip to The City of the Gods with Alanna and the realization Thom wasn’t there, that he'd disappeared after passing the first part of his Mastery; Alanna’s despair-driven hope she’d find Thom at Trebond. They didn’t, of course, just like they knew, deep down that they wouldn’t. There was only Maude and Coram with no sign of Thom. Never any sign of Thom. 

Time passed. A knock sounded on the door, heavy and frantic. Gary answered it. 

It wasn’t a healer coming to deliver bad news. 

“Gary,” Alexander of Tirragen said. George wasn't in line of sight, but he recognized the voice, if not its frantic tone. “Is it true? Did they find him?”

“Alex-”

“I didn’t know,” Alex said, breathless and pleading. “Gary I promise you, I didn’t know. I never would have-”

It rang true to George’s Sight. 

“I know you didn’t,” Gary said, trying to sound soothing. It was the same voice he’d used on Thom just hours before, soft and coaxing. “I trust you Alex; I told you as much. I know you weren’t involved.”

“I didn’t know any of it. He never told me. I was angry with Jon, yes, but I never-” 

“Alex, breathe. It’s okay. Why don’t you come in?”

“I can’t, I have to go-”

“Alex-”

“They think I knew! Jon and Myles. Maybe even Raoul and Alan- Alanna. Everybody thinks I was part of it, of this, but I wasn’t. I wouldn’t have.”

“I know, Alex.”

Alex took a deep, shuddering breath. “I can’t stay here.”

“Where will you go?” Gary asked.

“I don’t know. Home, probably.”

Hill Country. Tirragen. 

Gary sighed. “Just- take care of yourself, okay? I’ll talk to the others. We know you didn’t have any part in this.”

There was a shuffle of clothing and unsteady breaths, then retreating footsteps. Gary closed the door and turned, his eyes already red-rimmed. 

George silently held up the bottle. “He was truthful,” he said.

“I know that,” Gary snapped. He grabbed the bottle. “What a wretched day.”

It was hours later that they finally received news. George dozed, his head tipped back against the stone wall, while Gary sharpened an increasing number of weapons. The life of a knight involved a truly astonishing number of sharp objects. All George bothered with were knives. 

“His Grace Duke Baird wants to speak to you, my Lord,” a young woman said, curtsying to Gary. She might have been an apprentice, but it was more likely she was just a maid. Contrary to common belief (Jon), George didn’t know everybody in the palace by sight. 

Gary looked back at George in question, and he nodded. He really shouldn’t still be here, but Marek was right. George had to see for himself that Thom was okay—or, as close as he could be, given the situation—for himself or he’d never get anything done. It was too easy to picture Thom lying there, to imagine him dead. 

George had seen friends die before, some in even worse states than they’d found Thom. But it was different, knowing Thom was trapped alone in that cell for so long. Most deaths, even those caued by torture, didn’t last for ten months. The captivity was an extra level of cruelty. 

They were taken to a cluttered office next to the infirmary where Duke Baird waited for them. It didn’t seem to be used for anything but piles of unfinished documentation. 

Duke Baird looked tired, the kind only mages could be. A glance at the cup of orange coloured tea on the desk proved it. George’s mother drank the same when she overextended herself but still had more to do.

Duke Baird eyed George cautiously but didn’t ask who he was. Myles or Kuri must have told him ahead of time. Probably both. 

The introductions were quick. If Duke Baird knew George’s profession, or how he knew the twins, he didn’t say. For his own part, George only introduced himself as their friend. 

“He’s stable,” Duke Baird said, sitting across from them. His shoulders were slumped, as if he couldn’t keep himself entirely professional.

George felt a knot in his chest loosen at the news. 

“I sense a ‘but’ coming,” Gary said, and Duke Baird sighed. 

“But his fever is high and the pneumonia is a concern. We’re watching him closely because these things can change very quickly. Even if he overcomes the pneumonia, he’ll have a long recovery ahead of him. We treated his infections, so they should clear up soon, but we’re worried about his leg. The bones didn’t heal right, which means we’ll need to re-break them and set them, properly several time, but it will be too much of a strain on his body to do it now. If we can’t fix it, we may have to take more drastic measures. He’s been starved, which further complicates things. It means we don’t have much energy to work with in terms of healing. That seems to be a more recent development, at least. He probably received appropriate food for the majority of his… captivity.”

George clenched his hands into fists. So, most of the worst was recent, which meant it happened after Roger's dead. Roger wanted Thom alive. It wasn’t surprising, but it still made him a mix of ill and furious. 

“There are older injuries as well,” Duke Baird said, and George’s gaze snapped to his face. It was carefully nuetral. “When somebody is healed, there are markers left behind. The mage’s ability, the type of injury, and the number of times a person has been magically healed all impact on how obvious these markers are, as well as how likely the injury is to cause issues later. Roger was not a particularly skilled healer, but he must have employed one.”

“What do you mean?” Gary asked, his voice tense. 

Duke Baird hesitated. “Sir Myles told me the two of you should know the extent of this, so I will tell you that I’ve seen men tortured before. I know what it looks like, and I know what to look for afterwards. Lord Thom- he doesn’t show many of these injuries at first glance. His leg is the worst. But he does upon looking deeper. Additional broken bones, dislocated joints and damaged soft tissue. Feet and hands that were broken or crushed. Damage to his lungs consistent with drowning even before the pneumonia. Burns the branch like lightning, likely caused by magic. Not all of them received magical healing, and there’s no way of knowing how those that were will affect him, but these injuries would have been severe. He would have been in a significant amount of pain for some time. He probably still is.”

George closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He remembered Thom’s hand twitching in his. They had to have been healed because neither one looked mangled, but by how much? 

Next to him, Gary cursed. 

“You said he’s stable?” George asked. He was surprised at how much his voice shook. 

“He is,” Duke Baird said. “He’s still asleep, and we’ll keep it so on and off for at least the next few days while we fight the fever and try to drain the fluid from his lungs. We need him conscious enough to swallow liquids without choking, but letting him rest as comfortably as possible is imperative right now, and it will help with any distress or pain he might be in. He’s received more magical healing in the last year than the average knight does in several, so we need to be careful not to overdo it. We’re fighting both against an increasing resistance to healing magic and his own Gift.”

“Can we see him?” Gary asked before George could. 

Duke Baird agreed. He led them through the infirmary to a small hallway of private rooms beyond, places where the sickest people who couldn’t be cared for in their own rooms stayed, and opened a door. 

It was dim inside. The curtains were drawn and a low lamp flickered in the corner, keeping it darker than was normal. 

Thom slept in a small bed, his bandaged hands resting on his stomach. More bandages dotted one of his arms, covering sores. 

“It’s a precaution to help with the pain and ensure everything continues healing properly,” Duke Baird said. He must have seen George eyeing Thom’s hands, remembering holding them and wondering if that was a mistake, if he caused even more pain. “We’re concerned about episodic swelling, but they aren’t broken anymore.”

Thom did look a bit better, at least. His skin was free of dirt and grime, and somebody shaved the sparse beard only an eighteen-year-old could grow. It looked like they even washed and brushed his hair until it was no longer a matted mess. That must have taken hours.

He still looked small; frail. Too pale with the same purple-grey bruises and mottled skin. Thin like bones. 

George approached silently and listened to Thom’s breathing. It seemed to come easier. He picked up a wrapped hand, limp but finally warm, and cradled it.

Duke Baird excused himself; Gary lingered. 

Eventually, George looked up at him. 

“You’ll take care of him until Alanna gets back?” he asked.

Gary nodded, his eyes not meeting Thom’s face, shadowed even in sleep. 

Chapter Text

Gary quickly became more familiar with the infirmary than he ever wanted to be. Even his bout with the Sweating Sickness wasn’t as bad as this—he’d only been sick for a few days before recovering enough to return to his own rooms. Thom wasn’t so lucky. 

The first few days were bad. Thom’s breaths were harsh, his coughs hacking. Gary was forced to agree with George and Jon—it was a blessing Alanna wasn’t there to see it. Thom was too far gone in the throes of fever to have recognized her presence anyway, so all it would have done was upset her. Better she be gone for the worst of it, even if she’d be furious they didn’t send for her at the first sign of his trail. That was something for Jon and Raoul to deal with. Well, mostly Jon. 

Healers came and went with tinctures and poultices and spells, fighting an uphill battle against infections, pneumonia, and Thom’s general weakness. Thom didn’t react to their presence any more than he did Gary’s, which, similar to Alanna being gone, was probably for the best. They kept his hands bound in bandages, something Duke Baird swore was only a precaution, but Gary knew enough about how this went to guess why. Torture wasn’t pretty, and healing could only fix so much. 

Nobody needed to tell him how Thom was doing. It was easy to see how much the healers were fighting for every inch they took, pulling Thom back from the Peaceful Realms step by step. How much longer would he have survived if they hadn’t found him? A few days? Maybe a week?

Being in the unfortunate position of as one of the few Alanna trusted still in the palace, Gary became a point of contact. Even Myles came and went, gathering information and tracking down those involved who evaded their capture. Gary overheard the healers’ quiet conversations about what they supposed happened to Thom during those long months. He tried to put it out of his mind, but it was too easy to remember that dark, dank cell. The way it smelled, how death grew on its walls like moss. 

Gary fought in Drell Valley. He’d seen war, seen men die in droves during the chaos of battle. His blade had felled more than one in his time and he would continue to do so. But even the worst days as a knight were nothing like walking into that grave of a cell and carrying Thom back out. It felt like the Black God lived in its corners, waiting to take Thom from that place. Gary was still surprised the Black God didn’t. 

Thom’s sleep was restless and feverish. He didn’t quite toss and turn—he was probably too weak to do even that—but Gary could see his eyes moving under his lids and hear his breath, light and too quick. Sometimes the healers could ease Thom’s distress with magic, but they wanted to avoid casting more on Thom than they had to, and the focus was on clearing his lungs. It left Gary frustrated that he couldn’t do more. 

He mentioned as much to George when, upon returning from dinner two days after they rescued Thom, he found George sitting at Thom’s bedside. The room was kept in its perpetual dimness and fewer healers were staffed in the evening. Gary supposed it was easier for George to sneak in then. 

George cradled Thom’s hand between his as he listened to Gary’s update. “I’ll talk to my Ma. I’m sure she knows something that can help. She always made sure I never had bad dreams as a lad.” 

His face never left Thom’s sleeping form. Gary wondered if he even noticed how tender he was being, each touch soft and careful. It was clear George’s feelings for Alanna weren’t the only reason he cared about Thom. 

(Feelings which were painfully obvious, really. George made no attempt at hiding how he felt about Alanna, and while Gary would never admit it out loud, he did question Alanna’s taste. He loved Jon, but Gary would be the first to admit that his cousin would never sit by Thom’s bedside the way George did. Jon cared about Thom because Thom was Alanna’s brother; nothing more.)

“It would be good if she could, especially if it doesn’t involve casting spells on him,” Gary said. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back against the wall he stood against. Sometimes it was easier not to look. “The healers don’t want to use magic unless they have to, but we can’t just let him suffer.”

“We’ll figure something out.”

They’d have to, wouldn’t they? 

It was a little awkward trying to comfort Thom. Gary didn’t know him like George did. Alanna never mentioned her brother much, which, in hindsight, was probably because she avoided talking about herself whenever she could. An unfortunate side effect of hiding her sex for eight years, although the impact of her reveal was less satisfying than Gary would have liked. All he remembered—all any of them remembered, really—was Roger of Conté bleeding out beneath her blade as Alanna frantically demanded to know where her brother was, begging his corpse for answers until long after his heart stopped bearing. Roger died silently. 

Still, Gary tried. He held Thom’s hand the way George did, pretending he knew how when his own hands had caused nothing but violence in the last decade. Eventually, he begged a cloth and bowl of water from the healers to wipe the sweat from Thom’s face. Gary didn’t make a good nursemaid but by the gods he tried.

He spent the rest of the time reading through his ever-growing collection of books he half thought he’d never get around to. It turned out being stuck at somebody’s bedside was good for one’s intellectual growth. He avoided the books recommended by Alex, his friend’s distress and absence still too raw to touch those particular volumes, but Gary didn’t hurt for other material. Even if he did somehow run out, he could borrow any number of books from his father.

When George next visited, he brought a palm-sized burlap bag. It smelled of flowers. 

“Ma said to put it under his pillow,” George said. “It’s hedgewitchery so I doubt the healers here would practice it. It won’t get rid of the dreams, but it should help.”

“I’ll let Duke Baird know,” Gary said, pocketing the packet. “He’ll probably want to look at it, and I’d rather the healers not discover it under Thom’s pillow without Baird’s permission.”

George didn’t seem upset about that; he probably expected Gary’s course of action anyway.

While George lingered, they talked about their mutual friends, about Thom, about how things were in the palace and in the court. Through it all, George just looked tired, his expression drawn as he sat next to Thom. 

Was George sleeping? The answer was easy. None of them were, not since since they finally got a lead on Thom’s location. Since before that, even, when they first realized Thom was missing. 

Gary knew he wasn’t getting much better sleep now that they found him. If anything, it was worse. He closed his eyes and saw that little cell, smelling of sickness and fear and bodily fluids Gary didn’t want to think about. It wasn’t that finding Thom was particularly traumatizing, it was just that the situation they found him in was the type of horrible that glued itself to Gary’s mind like an image set in paint. He imagined it would be worse for Thom. 

How did somebody even recover from that? How did they move forward? There were no easy answers, no matter how badly Gary wished there were.

It was early in the morning and Gary made his way through the infirmary to Thom’s bedroom. By now, Thom’s eyes would have adjusted to the scant light even beneath his closed lids, but Baird decided to keep it dim for the sake of his rest anyway. At least it meant Thom wouldn’t have to sit in the dark for long upon waking. He might not have been quite ready for the morning sun, but it would be far better than that cell of pure darkness. 

Gary waved to one of the healers as he passed, a pretty woman a year his junior. She was married, but she smiled back anyhow—friendly, not flirtatious. 

He moved on, feeling rather like part of the scenery. Most of his day was spent here, keeping watch. He arrived after his morning training and left for meals, but it still meant several trips to the infirmary per day, each one becoming a more and more familiar presence. 

Thom’s wounds were healing well. Even the bite on his leg was clearing up without sign of further issue, something they were all thankful for. Even his pneumonia was almost gone although Duke Baird was concerned that Thom wasn’t using his Gift to heal himself. 

At least his dreams settled. They owed George’s mother for that, and Gary swore to himself he’d send her the most beautiful flowers he could find as thanks. He would buy her something else but he had a feeling she’d refuse anything too nice. With George as a son, Mistress Cooper could have all the finery in the world, but from what Gary knew of her—they’d never met, but he’d heard from Alanna and Jon—she refused it. So, flowers. Or maybe something valuable for healers? He’d have to ask Baird. 

Gary opened Thom’s door and slipped into the room, deep in thought. He was halfway the chair kept perpetually next to the bed when he looked up to find a pair of unsettlingly familiar purple eyes on him. 

He froze. Thom looked weary; exhausted but lucid. It was a stark change from the preceding days of fever when the most anybody could get out of him was a few deep, painful coughs, incoherent mumbles, and the ability to coax warm (and presumably magically enhanced) soup and tea down his throat. 

“Oh, you’re awake,” Gary said dumbly. He paused, not really sure what to say. 

Thom didn’t react, but his gaze was unwavering. Gary swallowed dryly beneath the intensity of it. 

Rambling it was, then.

“I’m not sure if you remember, but I’m Gary, one of Alanna’s friends,” Gary pressed on. “If nobody’s told you, you’re in Corus. The palace’s infirmary, specifically. Alanna’s not here yet, but she will be.” There, that was all the pertinent information, right?

Silence. Thom closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It triggered a fit of coughing although even that sounded better than it once did.

“I can get a healer.” He probably should anyway. “Are you in pain?” A pause. “Thirsty?”

That got a response. Thom cracked open his eyes. He looked so tired but he gave a slight nod, and as awkward as the situation was, Gary was flooded with relief at the prospect of being useful . 

He filled a cup of water from a pitcher the healers left in the room. Dehydration was apparently a real concern when somebody was unconscious for several days, so if they could be roused just enough to drink, the healers did it as often as possible. 

Cup in hand, Gary took a deep breath. 

“I’ll help you, if that’s okay?” 

Thom had seemed okay with touch when they found him but he was fairly out of it then and it was mainly George doing it. 

When Thom gave another of those slight nods, Gary held the cup to Thom’s lips. Thom raised a trembling hand to touch it, as if to take it for himself but lacking the strength. 

He finished half the cup before pulling away. Gary let him.

“Baird will want to know you’re awake,” Gary said. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

Thom only closed his eyes. 

Gary was, of course, unceremoniously kicked from the room as Duke Baird did his examination. He could hear Baird’s muffled voice through the wood, calm and gentle, but for once didn’t try to eavesdrop. Instead, he tried to find relief in the fact Thom was awake. It was good news. If only Alanna wasn’t still weeks away. 

He straightened when Duke Baird left the room, looking troubled. That was never a good sign. 

“Well?” Gary asked. 

Duke Baird nodded in the direction of the empty hallway, away from the door. Gary followed. 

“Did he speak to you at all?” Duke Baird asked, his voice low. 

“No. He just nodded or stayed quiet.”

Duke Baird hummed. 

“He did say Alanna’s name, though,” Gary said. “Back when we found him. I think it’s all he’s said.”

“So he is capable of it,” Duke Baird said. “But he isn’t speaking now.”

“Is that bad?” It sounded bad. Gary wasn’t totally useless with this sort of thing. He’d known men who went mute after the worst battles, after watching their friends be murdered or after doing horrible things themselves. More than one picked The Black God’s Option. Privately, Gary couldn’t blame them. Mithros, keep Thom from picking that path. Alanna would never survive it.

“It isn’t good. There may be some damage to his mind that prevents it, or he could be choosing not to. There’s no way of knowing right now. All we can do is wait and see.”

It seemed all they could ever do was wait and see. They’d been waiting for ten months to find him, and now they have to continue to see how he came out of it. It was frustrating to never be able to do anything. 

Gary returned to Thom’s room. He was asleep again, as he would probably be on and off for some time. His fever had lessened but not quite broken and his body needed to heal. The healers kept a couple pillows behind him to keep him propped up a little even though the crackling in his lungs had all but dissipated.

Whenever Thom did wake, healers plied him with soup, tea, and strongly scented tinctures. Eventually they’d make the swap to solid foods, but soup was easier to stomach—Duke Baird’s words, not Gary’s. So Gary did exactly what he had for the last few days and pulled open a book. It was a bit of a strain to constantly read in a dimly lit room, but he did well enough. 

He was halfway through a chapter on the ancient battle of Meropis in what would be modern day Carthak when the room’s door opened and George slipped inside. 

“How is he?” George asked. Stress lined his features, but it softened when he looked at Thom sleeping calmly. 

“He woke up earlier and he’s been in and out ever since, but he still isn’t saying anything.”

Something seemed to untense in George at the news. He nodded and went to Thom’s side. There, he brushed Thom’s overgrown red hair from his face. Gary pretended not to notice him checking Thom’s fever as he did. Who knew George could be so mothering? But then, he was raised by a healer, and without Alanna, Gary supposed somebody needed to step up. Somebody who knew Thom needed to care. It was more than Gary or any of the healers could offer. 

“Thom, lad, wake up a moment,” George said, his voice low. 

It took much less time for Thom to wake now than it had in the cell. Gary figured that was a good sign. 

Thom stirred with a grimace and fluttering eyes. He coughed weakly; nothing like the drawn-out episodes of near suffocation from previous days. George sat back on the edge of the bed, keeping a steadying hand on Thom’s arm. Gary didn’t know if it was more to comfort Thom or himself. 

“There you are,” George said as Thom focused on him. “Do you know who I am?” 

There was a pause before Thom nodded and stared down at his hands, limp and bandaged in his lap. He seemed lost, like he didn’t know what he should be doing or how he should react. 

Gary felt just as unsure and he didn’t spend ten months being tortured. He had no idea how he would feel in Thom’s situation. 

“You feeling up to a chat?” George asked. “It’s okay if you just listen, but I figure there’s a lot you’re confused about.” 

Ten months was a long time to miss. Alanna was knighted in that time, her shield based on notes and sketches George found in Thom’s room in the cloisters. A lioness, a last gift to his twin, as far as any of them knew. That hadn’t helped with Alanna’s grief, but she used the shield all the same. 

Did he know they searched for him? How long and desperately before Gary finally begged Alex for anything that could help, and Alex answered? 

Gary still had to talk to Myles about that; make sure Myles knew Alex had nothing to do with it. 

“I’ll go find you something to eat,” Gary said, standing. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be there as George broke down what happened over the last almost-year into bite sized pieces, as if the whole of Alanna’s grief and fear could be encompassed within a few minutes of speech. Even more, he wasn’t sure he wanted to see Thom’s reaction to it. He’d get the synopsis from George if there was anything the healers ought to know, but otherwise, it seemed a conversation better had in privacy. Something shared between family members, or as close to one as George was. 

It was the second time that day Gary stepped out to let somebody else talk to Thom, which was sort of a relief. He felt helpless and a little stir-crazy, unsure of what to do next. He’d already read through a good chunk of his bookshelf. But with Thom awake and looking marginally less as fragile as when they first found him, Gary could probably scale back his time spent there.

He tracked down a healer to enquire about food. It was almost dinner time for the nobility, and so after they assured him they’d be along with something shortly, he headed for dinner himself. 

Queen Lianne and King Roald weren’t in attendance today, which marked dinner as a far more casual affair. Gary sat with his parents and ate in silence, listening to the ladies a table over gossiping about an affair between a married lord and his chamberlain. His male chamberlain. Scandalous. 

When he finally returned, George was gone. Thom sat on the bed, staring straight ahead. He’d gotten another pillow from somewhere and he wrapped his arms around it, holding it to his chest. 

“Are you okay?” Gary asked, taking a step into the room. 

Thom said nothing, but he took a shuddering breath and looked away, hiding his face. He was trembling. 

Gary almost reached out but paused. He wasn’t sure if it would be welcome right now. 

“Do you want to be left alone?” he asked. He didn’t expect a response—he wasn’t sure what he’d do if he didn’t—but to his surprise, Thom shook his head. 

Gary only hesitated for a moment. He didn’t know what Thom needed; he wasn’t Alanna, or George who seemed to have a secret Thom-whispering sixth sense. He wasn’t even Jon, the one who’d kept Alanna’s secret all through her squireship. He was just Gary, and Gary only really had one skill: talking. 

So he sat in the chair just far enough away to not feel threatening, leaned back in faux casualness and said, “Do you want to hear about Lord Methian’s affair with Lady Annelise? She’s a widow twenty years his senior. Her son is only a year younger than him!”

Over the next hour Gary gave a crash course in the political structure at court and the various scandals the players were involved in—sans Roger, of course. He was pretty sure Thom stopped listening at some point, but the talking too seemed to help, so Gary kept it up. There was a lot of gossip at court, from scandals to small regional politics. He only knew a small portion of it compared to somebody like Myles, but that small portion added up to a lot over the last decade, and Gary was always learning more from the maids he traded pastries for gossip with. 

He only stopped talking when Thom looked less like he was about to start crying and more like all he wanted to do was sleep, but Gary still hesitated. 

“I’ll let you rest now, if you’ll be okay?” he said. 

Thom’s arms tightened on the pillow he held, but he nodded. He curled onto his side, the one not covered in healing sores, and closed his eyes.

“I’ll be back tomorrow, yeah?” Gary said. “I’ll tell you more about the rumours of Lord Abric’s parentage.”

Then he left. Something hollow in his chest followed him back to his rooms that night.

“Gary,” Queen Lianne called after him, her voice carrying down the hall. Gary stopped on his way to visit Thom and turned. 

She dressed relatively simply in a pale yellow day dress. The fabric made it look like she floated as she walked and the morning sun brought out the sparkle of jewels and embroidered gold thread embedded within it. 

“Aunty Lianne,” Gary greeted with a bow instead of using a more formal title. They were almost in private with only two of her ladies around. He shared a quick, chaste smile with Lady Cythera who stood at the queen’s side. Lianne smiled, the crows feet at the corner of her eyes crinkling. It was nice to see. She didn’t have much reason to smile recently. 

“I was wondering if you might accompany me for a time,” she said. “I find myself lacking the company of my boys of late, with you busy and Jonathan gone.”

Gary flushed. “Of course, Aunty,” he said, taking Lianne’s hand and pressing a light kiss to it. 

Thom would have to wait. He might even enjoy some time alone after having Gary, George, and every healer in the palace hovering. 

He took Lianne’s arm in his, both for propriety and also to help her should she need to lean on him. While her ailing health was no secret, there was no reason to draw attention to it. She was doing better after Roger’s death, but Duke Baird said there was no undoing the damage done. Gary supposed she was like Thom that way. 

“Where to, your Majesty?” he asked. 

“The library, I believe. I have some books I’m in search of.”

“So it’s less the desire for my company and more the desire of my height and strength?” Gary asked.

Lianne only laughed, her voice almost musical to him. His chest tightened fondly. Gary loved his aunt and he was always glad to see her happy. 

She dismissed her ladies to their own activities and they headed to the palace library. It wasn’t as large as the collections in educational institutions, but they still kept a number of rare volumes, several of which were stored in a more selective library in the royal wing. Roger’s numerous books were there as well, at least for now. Nobody wanted much to do with them just yet.

Lianne toured him around the shelves, having him collect several books on a variety of strange topics. Some of them were mundane, others magical. Gary piled them on a table for now, although he raised an eyebrow at each one. Deep sea creatures, Immortals, and Scanran ecology?  He couldn’t imagine a use for such obscure topics. 

“Your father recommended several of these,” Lianne said as she pulled another thick volume from a lower shelf. “We hope to find something to catch our guest’s interest.”

It took a moment for Gary to put it together. “These are for Thom? ”

Lianne glanced over her shoulder at him as she added the book to the stack. 

“I recall Jonathan mentioning he liked reading,” she said, which made sense considering Thom had been on his way to becoming the youngest Mithran Master in history before Roger, but-

“When did you and Jon talk about Thom?”

“I asked about him when I learned he was missing. I wanted to know what sort of boy could threaten my nephew so greatly.”

Oh. Gary never really thought much about what his aunt and uncle thought about Thom’s disappearance. They, like the rest of the court, only found out the day Alanna killed Roger. King Roald allowed them soldiers to raid the castle Thom was held at if they managed to find proof—an unfortunate political necessity—but Gary didn’t know anything else.

“What did Jon?” he asked. 

Lianne paused with her hand resting on the topmost leather-bound book. 

“That Lord Thom is young and prideful. That he’s clever and secretive and likely doesn’t trust easily. His father never cared for him, but he loves his sister dearly, perhaps more than himself given that Roger didn’t know Sir Alanna is a girl until their duel.”

Gary’s thoughts froze. He never thought of that.

Thom was in Roger’s grasp for seven months before Roger finally died. He underwent nameless horrors during that time. At least some of that must have been to extract information about Alanna.

It was horrifying to think about. Gary knew an unfortunate amount about torture, an education gained from what he learned being friends with George’s rogues and his ethics class explaining why the Chivalric Code existed in the first place. He wasn’t sure he could go through half of what Thom likely did without turning on his loved ones, even if it only made the pain stop for a moment. And yet, Roger knew nothing of Alanna’s secrets. Thom never spoke of them. 

“How is he doing?” Lianne asked, unaware of the blood rushing in Gary’s ears and he re-evaluated his previous perceptions of Thom. “Duke Baird said he’s awake and I know you’ve been sitting with him. It’s very kind of you.”

“Alanna wouldn’t want him to be alone,” Gary said automatically, his thoughts snapping back to the topic at hand. “He’s been quiet. Distant, I think. Duke Baird said it could be any number of things, but George—a friend of ours, the one who worked with Myles to find him—thinks we should wait until Alanna gets back before making any assumptions. He might be different with her.” Gary hesitated before admitting, “I think he’s struggling. I don’t know him at all but he’s like- he’s like a ghost. I talk when I can and it seems to help. He doesn’t really care what about but I’ve been going through every court scandal I can think of since I started page training.”

That brought out a ghost of a smile, but it fell quickly as Lianne nodded. “I hope Sir Alanna returns swiftly and that her arrival brings him comfort. Do tell me if he needs anything? I regret that he was in Roger’s hands for so long while the rest of us were none the wiser.”

“There was a spell,” Gary argued, as he was used to doing. Jon blamed himself for not seeing through Roger’s machinations too. His own father was distraught. 

She gave him a thin smile. “Perhaps for the others, but I was the target of a different spell. It gave me the ability to see what he was doing had I cared to look.”

“You loved him,” Gary said softly. He covered her soft hand with his own. “We all did. You can’t blame yourself for trusting your own nephew.” 

“And yet look at the result.” Lianne sighed. “I didn’t intend to have this conversation, but I know something of what it is like to be a victim of Roger’s schemes. Please pass on my regards to Lord Thom with the books. I hope there’s something to his tastes. If it seems like there’s a topic of interest, we’ll pull more on it. It will take some looking but I think we might even have some books on the old Peregrine ships somewhere, although they lack the specifics in how they worked.”

Gary swallowed dryly but nodded. “I will.”

He left the books with one of the library servants long enough to walk Lianne back to her ladies-in-waiting. Lady Gwynnen and Lady Vasilla were quick to receive her, and Gary caught snippets of court gossip about one of the noble ladies. He almost stayed to try and weasel out more information, but he thought Queen Lianne was onto something with the books. 

The stack was unfortunately large. Gary grumbled as he carried it, half wishing he still had a squire to force into helping him, but none of them had taken another squire. They probably shouldn’t have immediately taken one in the first place, and it felt wrong to do it again with everything so uncertain. 

He wished Alex still had Geoffrey. Maybe he could subtly mention a visit to Tirragen. Alex could probably use a friend and Geoffrey wasn’t too fond of the palace at the moment anyway. 

One of the healers opened the door to Thom’s room for him and Gary nodded in thanks. 

The first thing he noticed was how much brighter it was. The curtains were open, revealing a sight of Corus below. A sea of buildings with thousands of unseen people going about their lives. 

The next thing he noticed was how enthralled Thom seemed by it, sitting up and staring through the glass panes even from the bed. It made Gary wonder how long it’d been since Thom last saw the sun. Judging by his skin, so pale it was almost translucent, it had probably been a while. 

“Hey,” Gary said, breaking whatever enchantment had befallen Thom. 

Thom tensed, his eyes snapping to Gary and then narrowing warily at the books. He followed Gary’s movements as he put them on the table next to the bed. 

“My father and aunt have endeavoured to find you something to read,” he said. “I’m pretty sure they picked the oddest topics they could think of in hopes of finding something you’d be interested in.” He picked up the topmost book. “I hope you like the idea of reading about Kyprish writing systems or- light and paraphotic phenomena? What does that even mean ?”

Thom immediately held out a trembling hand and Gary passed the book over. It was heavy, but Thom managed it. He set it in his lap and ran his fingers gently over the leather cover like the book was something precious, a treasure. Gary watched as he slowly opened it to the inner cover, and then to the first page. The old writing in a deft hand fit into lines of swoops and curls. 

He didn’t do anything, just stared at the page. After a moment, he took a shaking breath and nodded to Gary. He closed the book but kept it in his lap, holding onto it like he didn’t want to let it go. 

Midway through his explanation of yet another piece of courtly gossip, Gary was interrupted by a knock on the door. He paused and Thom even opened his eyes.

Well, it was good to know Thom was somewhat paying attention. Not that Gary could blame him with that new cast over his leg, the bones rebroken and properly set. Duke Baird was optimistic he’d be able to walk on it eventually. Gary wasn’t sure whether Thom was just too tired to focus on his stack of books, or if the situation was enough to hurdle him back in time. Hopefully the warmth of the sunlit bedroom and the sound of Gary’s voice was enough to keep him present. 

The door opened just enough for Duke Baird to glance in.

“Ah, good,” he said, and opened it wider to reveal two women. 

“Queen Lianne?” Gary asked, standing. He glanced between his aunt and Lady Cythera who held a banquet of flowers in a beautiful, crystalline vase. 

Queen Lianne seemed to be having a good day today. Her dark hair fell in loose curls from beneath a veil pinned over them. It looked nice with her blue dress. Lady Cythera, meanwhile, looked stunning in a beautiful-blush coloured gown. 

“Sir Gareth,” Queen Lianne greeted with a nod of her head. “I just ran into your father. He’s been meaning to send for you; I believe he has a task of some kind for you.”

Gary recognized the thinly veiled dismissal for what it was. His eyes narrowed. Lianne was plotting something, he could see it, but Cythera smiled at him just so, as if silently saying play along.

There were worse things to do, but Gary had no idea what they could be planning. He felt a little bad leaving Thom to it, whatever it was. 

“I’ll see him right away,” he said and glanced back at Thom. To his credit, Thom didn’t seem awestruck by the sight of Queen Lianne or Lady Cythera. He didn’t seem like he even cared they were there. But then, he did spend time at the convent, didn’t he? Thom would have been surrounded by pretty girls for at least a few years.

“You’re Lord Thom, aren’t you?” Lady Cythera asked, stepping forward. “I hope you don’t mind our interruption, but we brought these for you.” She held up the flowers. “It should make the room a little more lively.”

Gary left the room, sharing a meaningful look with Duke Baird who shrugged and made himself scarce. Coward. 

When Gary reached his father’s office, he found his father deep in piles of paperwork. 

“So,” Gary began, entering the room and throwing himself into the cushioned seat across from Gareth’s desk, “whose idea was it?”

His father didn’t even bother looking up. “If you’re referring to the Lord of Trebond, that was all your aunt. Now help me go through this.” Gareth motioned to a stack of correspondence. 

Reluctantly, Gary did so.

“What’s her plan?” he asked, picking up the first of the papers and skimming it. Winter reserve reports from southern Tortall. Nothing abnormal.

“I believe she and Lady Cythera just want to sit with him.”

“But why?”

Gary put the letter into the stack of ‘unimportant’ documents and picked up another.

Gareth was quiet for a moment. 

“She wants to help him,” Gareth said. “Roger-” he said the name like it was painful. “He made her feel helpless; weak. My sister is neither of those things. I think she looks at Lord Thom and sees somebody else he hurt, somebody she can help.”

That made sense. Even Gary could see some similarity between them. Arguably, among those who survived, Thom and Lianne were probably those Roger did the most damage to. And maybe Alex, but Gary wasn’t quite ready to think about that yet.

He didn’t say much else as he continued helping his father sort the piles of paperwork. It made it quicker. 

“You need more clerks,” he muttered, putting a fief's request for additional troops into the important pile.

Gareth sighed. “I do, don’t I?”

He stayed until the next bell. An hour was probably long enough to leave Thom abandoned to noble women, even those Gary liked. Hopefully it wasn’t too hard on him. Although, if it was, Lianne was unlikely to return. She was good at that sort of thing.

When Gary returned, he found Queen Lianne and Lady Cythera seated next to the window in quiet conversation as they embroidered. Thom sat half curled in bed, his broken leg stretched out while his other helped balance one of the books. He looked better than when Gary left, more present and less pained. 

“Welcome back,” Queen Lianne greeted. Her eyes flicked to Thom who looked up from his book just long enough to see Gary before returning to it, unbothered. Her smile was bright, triumphant. 

Chapter Text

Thom didn’t know how he felt about his- his rescue. He didn’t know how he felt about much of anything, really. 

It was a blur, snapshots of agony so potent it coloured the memories a deep red, like a stained glass window, like paint splashed across a canvas. Like Roger of Conté’s laugh echoing in his ears and Thom choking on his own blood. But Roger was dead—killed by Alanna, apparently. Thom took some satisfaction in that. 

I’m here and you’re nothing but a bloated corpse.  

George was there when they found him, Thom remembered that, at least. Soft words and soft hands and hacking coughs that rattled Thom’s body. Black spots in his vision as consciousness held on by a thread. He’d been half convinced he finally died. He was still half convinced he did.

And then he was here, bones set and injuries bandaged, healing magic coursing through his veins alongside medication they fed him to dull the pain just enough to think. It didn’t disappear completely—it couldn’t—but that was okay. Pain was familiar, now, a constant companion. Thom was used to its presence; for a long time, he clung to it. At least the pain, the agony so bright it blinded him even in the darkness, was a reminder he was alive, even if sometimes he wished he wasn’t. 

But it was different here. Different in a room lit by warm sunlight, with soft sheets and the muffled sound of the healers drifting through the walls. Different from that cell. Different from Roger. Different, different, different . Thom clung to that with fingernails like claws, dragging himself out of the depths until he could breathe the sweet spring air.

He wanted Alanna. The longing was so intense it ached more than broken ribs; so deep he felt it with every beat of his heart. He was dizzy with it, the desire to crawl into his sister’s arms and never leave, to curl so close he could forget himself in her warmth, in her Gift so similar to his own that he was still too afraid to touch. Afraid to reach out and find it gone, locked behind the magic of a man who took pleasure watching Thom break; in seeing how long he would last and how long Roger could keep him on the edge. 

The answer, it turned out, was longer than Roger lived. 

But Alanna wasn’t here, and as much as Thom wanted her, as much as it hurt to breathe without her near, he was grateful. He didn’t want her to see him like this; didn’t want her to know the things that happened, the things Roger did. Thom wouldn’t let Roger break Alanna through him. He hated himself for still wanting her when he knew it would only hurt.

So he sat curled in the bed, making himself small, harder to hurt. The books beneath his fingers were old, worn leather covers and delicate pages of swooping writings scribed by weathered hands generations before his birth. 

Ships and ocean currents and the way the stars seemed to move as the world did. Old maps of Tortall and the lands around it, his family’s fief marked on each one. Trebond was old, older than even the Conté family. It existed when Tortall was but an infant country, small and wavering. Thom wished he could make himself care more about it, but even now, he felt nothing but numbness. He wondered who cared for the fief in his absence. Coram, probably. 

 LMost weren’t of his particular interest, but Thom read them anyway, simply because he could. He relished in it, the freedom to read, to see the sun and the sky, to hear sounds other than his own breathing or sobs.

It felt like the books were the only thing keeping him together. Sometimes, when he was alone at night, he hugged a book to his chest and told himself not to cry, that he was free now and crying would do nothing for him. He wasted enough tears in that little dark cell full of misery and cloying death. Roger would get no more from him. 

But it was hard, oh so hard, when his dreams were haunted by memories he couldn’t quite grasp. When the loneliness that dug its way into his soul made itself known. It reminded him what he was. 

Worthless. Alone. Unloved . Funny, it always sounded like Roger in Thom’s head, like his taunting laughter that made Thom want to rip off his own skin if only he’d be free of it. 

George and Gary helped. They were there, they’d seen, and as humiliating as that was it meant they understood ; he didn’t have to explain. George was gentle, his voice low and deep and kind. Sometimes he held Thom’s perpetually cold hands (nerve damage Duke Baird said) in his, warming them just a little, and Thom was too desperate, too weak to pull away. Too pathetic to do anything but curl into a ball and clench his teeth against the pain or the memories or his own body panicking for some reason he didn’t understand. 

Gary’s help was different. George was steadfast, a rock, something warm and familiar that Thom could clutch to remind himself not to drown. But Gary chased away the loneliness nonetheless. He sat at Thom’s bedside and talked about anything and everything. Thom had never met somebody so able to fill the silences. He might have been annoyed, once, but not now, not when Thom was so desperate to remember where he was. Gary was careful and clever, too, and knew when silence was better. He balanced the two like spinning plates. 

It ached to know Gary and George were only there for Alanna’s sake, but Thom was weak, was wanting and he would take the comfort he could get. He would grasp it in hands and refuse to let go until they pried it from his fingers. 

He didn’t understand Queen Lianne, but she helped in her own odd way. He supposed he should be more reverent of her, his queen, but she never seemed to expect that from him. She always smiled so softly and said she hoped he was well, asking if he minded her presence. And then she just sat. Often, one or two of her ladies accompanied her and worked on some small project just as quietly. It was… comfortable to be in the presence of others again; with those who expected nothing from him but welcomed him all the same. It wasn’t at all like at the convent, when the girls would gather together to snicker at his passing.  

Besides, she brought the books.

When he could stomach more than broth, Queen Lianne brought him pastries from the kitchen. She and her ladies filled his room with flowers, which George took great pleasure in reorganizing. 

It was peaceful, almost. Almost enough to ignore the pain Duke Baird’s medicines couldn’t quite take away. Almost enough to quell the memories, at least when they were present. Almost enough to let Thom ignore the humiliation burning deep inside him, a steady flame.

Next to him, Gary chatted with Lady Cythera of Elden. Thom remembered her, vaguely, from his time in the convent. She was nice enough, but that didn’t explain why she was here. It didn’t explain why any of them were. But it helped to have other people close, even if it made his skin crawl, even if he wanted to hide away and never be seen again. He welcomed the reminder he was not there anymore, that Roger did not take everything, did not strip him bare and leave him rotting. 

“What do you think, Thom?” Cythera asked, all grace and kindness, looking at him like she might a poor, abused dog. Thom supposed that wasn’t too far off from the truth. 

He’d made the mistake of speaking, once, of telling Gary he didn’t have to be here. To his credit, Gary was only shocked to hear him for a moment before he snorted and said, “And be murdered by your sister for leaving you alone? Pass.”

But Lady Cythera took that as her personal challenge to convince him to talk more. Each time he gave in, she became more determined. 

He debated on keeping silent, just like he had for Roger those long, long months, (he’d never betray Alanna, never. He’d die first. He’d bite out his own tongue; he’d endure everything, everything , but he’d never give Roger his sister’s secrets), but Thom was tired. So tired of fighting, of keeping silent against pain and horrors and Roger’s magic twisting in his mind until the agony bloated out everything but the hurt. Besides, Cythera was kind; coaxing, never angry when he refused, and Thom was so weak after so long being strong.

“What?” he asked, his voice a rasp. It still hurt to speak, but not as much. 

“About Prince Jonathan and your sister,” she said. “Rumour is he’s going to ask her to marry him.”

Weeks after Thom’s rescue? Before Alanna had even seen him? Thom snorted and went back to reading about trees so tall they could touch the clouds. People lived in them, on platforms held high above the ground. 

Alanna would never marry Jonathan. Time may have passed since Roger took him, but Thom still knew that. Besides, Alanna would make a horrid queen. It was far too boring for her tastes. 

“Told you,” Gary said, smug. 

“You're his cousin, shouldn’t you be on his side?”

“That’s exactly why I’m not, Lady Cythera.“

Thom rolled his eyes. If they were going to flirt, couldn’t they do it elsewhere? 

There was a knock on the door. Thom looked up as Gary and Cythera fell silent. Queen Lianne floated into the room.

He would have bowed to her as Gary and Lady Cythera did, but he was bed bound with broken bones and torn muscles, so he settled for including his head and looking down, which seemed to be enough.

“Lord Thom, may I sit? I find myself in need of some quiet in a place nobody will think to look.”

Thom only ever shrugged at her request, which Queen Lianne took as a yes.

And then she sat next to the window with her lady-in-waiting, Lady Vasilla. Lady Cythera joined her, and Gary excused himself as long as Thom would be okay with them. 

Their quiet chatter filled the space like Gary and Cythera’s did, chasing away the shadows. Thom didn’t bother looking at what they were doing. Knitting or embroidery or sometimes playing cards. Thom didn’t understand why they did it here, but he didn’t care to puzzle it out. He was so tired of thinking. 

The book spoke of autumn. Of the leaves turning the colour of sunsets. How the sun shone through them onto the platforms people built their homes in, the air always a little chillier than the ground a hundred feet below but warmer than the tips of the trees, four-hundred feet higher. 

To live in such a place, to see the colours and feel the wind, the magic of it all. It made Thom ache with want. The City of the Gods was too far north for an autumn like that, and Thom wouldn’t have cared either way when he was there. But now he longed for it, just as he longed for the world outside his window. The trees, the city. All the things denied to him. He wanted to gorge himself on it, even if he hated it after. He wanted to know he hated it, to remember what hating something was like. 

“How are you doing?” Queen Lianne asked, and Thom snapped back into reality. They were alone, the afternoon sun having shifted through the sky. It covered his hands, now, and the book about the trees beneath it. Warm.

He swallowed dryly. He’d lost himself in thought. It happened, sometimes. More since Roger took him. Time passed in a blink, Thom half outside his body as it did. Sometimes he was aware of it, something he wasn’t. 

Queen Lianne was still looking at him, her expression soft. It reminded him a little of Maude, but just barely. Maude’s concern always shifted to frustration.

“I’m-” Thom started. He paused. “I’m surviving, your Majesty.”

“Sometimes surviving is all we can do.”

He supposed she would know. 

George told him of Roger’s plot. Of the poppets stowed in a magical bag, of Queen Lianne’s wax figure left beneath a fountain. A clever wasting spell. If Thom knew, if he’d had his Gift, he could have countered it. That was why Roger ensured he couldn’t. He spent ten months in that cell because Roger feared what Thom could do. There was pride in that, if nothing else.

Myles of Olau stood in Thom’s room. His sister’s favourite teacher; one of the people who devoted time and energy to finding Thom for her sake. 

Thom appreciated it, he truly did, but it took little time for him to decide that he did not like Myles. He liked him even less now, bearing down with questions Thom didn’t want to answer.

“How many other people were involved in your captivity?” he asked not unkindly. It still made Thom’s skin crawl. “Do you know who they were? Names, descriptions, pieces of conversation that may help identify them.”

“I wasn’t exactly paying attention,” Thom snapped. His voice was still raspy, still painful. 

He should have stayed silent; shouldn’t have spoken to Gary, shouldn’t have let Queen Lianne and Lady Cythera pull words from his lips. He should have bit his tongue like with Roger, should have fought better, longer, harder-

George’s hand tightened on his shoulder, warm and grounding. Thom didn’t know why George was here, but he was grateful. George was a reminder he wasn’t alone, wasn’t locked deep beneath the ground with no hope of freedom, wishing for a merciful death before Roger found time to return from Corus to the eternity of Thom’s cell. Days and weeks had passed between visits, and Thom was given nothing but food and water in the darkness. Nobody ever spoke to him without Roger there. 

Myles sighed, frustrated. 

“You don’t know anything? Not even how many?” 

Was there disbelief in that frustration? Suspicion? Did he think Thom was lying? That he wanted this?

“It was dark,” Thom said through gritted teeth. It felt weak even to his own ears, but it was true, it was true .

It was always dark there. Always so dark. Hands on him as he was blinded, dragging him to another room, to Roger, to tubs of water or chairs with screws and hammers and wood-

He couldn’t bear the darkness now. His room was perpetually lit either by sunlight or the soft glow of lanterns, even while he slept. Thom clung to the light like a moth.

Myles’ voice attempted softness. It sounded too similar to Roger’s cooing tones, too similar to false promises of relief. “I understand this is difficult, and I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important, but I need something to go off of. Did they have any particular skills? What sort of things did they do to you?”

Why don’t you tell me a little about Alan and we can stop, hm?

Thom shivered. Drowning. He remembered the drowning. Being held beneath the water until he ran out of air and brought back up for just a moment, just long enough to breath. He remembered his bones breaking beneath their tools, crushed or snapped and left useless. Necrotizing tissue scraped from wounds left untreated until the infection would have spread and killed him otherwise. Roger’s laughter as lightning coursed through Thom’s body, muscles contracting, heart spasming, agony burning through his limbs-

Sometimes he still heard Roger laughing. He heard him laughing now.

His breath caught in his throat at the memories. They were too close, lurking, buzzing beneath his skin like flies over a rotting corpse. He was fairly sure he was about to vomit. 

“That’s enough,” George said, his voice hard like ice or iron. 

“George-” Myles started. 

“I’m here to advocate on his behalf. That was the agreement. Well, I’m advocating.”

“We need information.”

“Find it elsewhere. You have the nobles who did this, don’t you?”

It was a stalemate. Thom was only vaguely aware of it as he tried to steady his breath, as he tried to forget the sound of Roger’s laughter, the agony flaring up in his bad leg, how it felt to gasp for breath and get nothing but lungfuls of water.

He felt similarly now, like he was drowning with no water in sight. 

George was sturdy against his side. Thom fell into that, curled against George like he used to with Alanna as a child and tried to remember how to breathe. He was dizzy, the room spinning, but George wrapped an arm more securely around him, mindful of Thom’s injuries, pulling him closer.

“He’s gone,” George said after some indeterminable amount of time. “It’s okay, you don’t have to talk about it.”

Thom didn’t know how to say he couldn’t. His voice was trapped by the water in his lungs, by weeks and months of pain. 

His entire body trembled despite George’s hold and Thom’s eyes burned. He’d cried so much in that place, wept from pain or loneliness. He thought maybe he had finally run out of tears. 

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Thom was supposed to become the youngest master in the history of the Mithran Order. He was supposed to come to Corus, protect the king on Alanna’s behalf, do great things! 

Instead, he sat shaking against his sister’s probably-lover, unable to think of the ten months he spent in Roger’s hands without breaking into pieces like a delicate porcelain doll. Instead, George held Thom’s hair back as he vomited up what little food he’d managed that morning. Instead, he couldn’t walk, his leg unable to hold any weight as they broke and re-broken the bones to set them each in the right place.

Roger ruined him. Took his pride and twisted it until Thom begged, pleaded for any stay, any relief from the torment. Whatever he’d been before Roger took him was dead; buried beneath the stones of his cell, decaying in the base of that water trough. It was burned out of him by Roger’s magic coursing through his limbs, scraped by Thom’s own hands as he made himself smaller and smaller in hopes it would leave Roger satisfied, but it never did. Only Thom’s death would do that, only breaking the fragile hold on his magic and burning him up from the inside until he was nothing but a smoking husk. 

It could have happened time and time again, when Thom’s will, his determination, was nothing but a thread. It would have been so easy to just give up, and oh how he wanted to. But that involved giving Roger the satisfaction of breaking him, of standing over his corpse. Thom wasn’t above begging, but he was above that. 

George passed him a cup of water when he was finished throwing up. It did little to help to taste, the acidic burn in his throat, but Thom was grateful nonetheless. He was arguably more grateful that he could hold the small clay cup on his own. Being too weak to feed himself was a special kind of humiliation, but at least Thom was aware enough of himself to be humiliated. 

He groaned and closed his eyes, pretending he didn’t notice or care how he still slumped against George. At least he knew George would never speak of this, not even to Alanna. 

Thom used to hate being touched, before. He still mostly did now, with the memories of pain lurking so close to the surface, but there was something about George. Maybe it was because he’d known George longer than anyone else in Corus. Maybe it was because George was there; he saw. It didn’t matter which, only that his presence was a comfort, and Thom was weak enough to take all he could get.  

He didn’t talk much after that; didn’t do much of anything, really. Thom just slept, or pretended to. He stayed curled in bed, staring at the sun shining through the window and measuring his breaths to mimic sleep.

Oh people certainly tried to get his attention. Gary and Lady Cythera, George, even Queen Lianne. But the thought of talking to them, of pretending he was supposed to be here, that he was accepted for any reason other than pity or the love of his sister made him feel sick. It was easier to close his eyes and shut the world out, to let time move in glimpses and jumps like he had for months. Easier to exist without living. Or maybe he was living without existing. It didn’t matter either way.

The only thing he couldn’t give up were the books. They were too much of a treasure after so long without. Queen Lianne brought new ones she thought he might like and Thom would curl up next to a lantern to read when no one was around to see. He was pretty sure Queen Lianne knew, but she didn’t say anything; just kept bringing the old books. The smell reminded him of late hours in the cloisters spent the same way, studying magic and esoteric topics after dark. The candles and lanterns here were nicer. Sometimes they were scented instead of plain wax. 

Time moved oddly. Thom had no grasp of it after so long in the darkness and it wasn’t something he’d relearned yet. Even the days and nights or regular meals did little to help.

He didn’t even realize how much time had passed since they found him until he heard his door open and the sound of heavy boots. He ignored them, facing away from the door. And then-

“Thom?” Strangled, heartbroken and hopeful. Alanna. 

He pushed himself up so quickly the room spun and spots danced across his vision, but it didn’t matter because his eyes found her immediately and his breath caught in his throat. 

There she was, standing in the doorway of his room like she was too shocked to move. Her hair was the same bright red as his own, her eyes the same purple, but everything else was different. Her height, her build. She was so different than Thom remembered, but also so much the same. 

Thom didn’t need to say anything. He barely had to reach out to her before she barrelled across the room and threw her arms around him, choking on a sob. 

“ Thom,” she said again, holding him close. She was still dressed in her travel clothes. She must have come here as soon as she arrived. There was comfort in that, in knowing Thom mattered more to her than anything else. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry. I should have been here.”

He said nothing but gripped her back and buried his face in her shoulder. He didn’t want to cry, hadn’t cried since they found him. Not during long nights when he woke shaking from dreams Eleni Cooper’s magic qouldn’t quell, not even when Myles of Olau made the memories scratch at the inside of his skin, but he couldn’t help it. His eyes burned until he was crying too, slowly dampening her wool cloak. 

Alanna. Alanna.  

It felt like something missing clicked back into place, like she drew the broken parts of him together into the palm of her hand. 

He felt movement nearby before a sturdy hand found his shoulder, somehow still familiar even after all this time.

“It’s okay, lad. We’re here.”

Coram.

In that moment, whatever dislike Thom once had of Coram disappeared completely. He hadn’t felt the same animosity from his childhood in years anyway, but anything lingering evaporated. All that mattered was they were here and Thom wasn’t alone, he wasn’t there.

Thom couldn’t help it. He let out a sob to match his sister’s, loud and desperate that ripped from his lungs. It was the type of tears he hadn’t shed since he was a child, before he learned to cry quietly, that being loud only ever made things worse. But Alanna was here. She would protect him, and Coram would protect them both. 

“Shhh,” Alanna said although she didn’t sound any better. Thom could feel her dampening his hair as she cried against it. “Shhh, you’ll make yourself sick.”

It didn’t matter. Thom couldn’t have stopped even if he wanted to. He held onto her and let out months worth of fear and loneliness, let himself cry and cry until it felt like he would drown in his own tears. He cried until he couldn’t anymore, until he gagged and coughed and his tears turned to nothing but loose tracks against his cheeks.

Coram rubbed his trembling back as Thom’s ragged nails dug into Alanna’s clothes but neither of them complained. Alanna whispered things Thom could barely hear into his hair, about how she missed him, how she loved him, how desperately she looked for him. 

Eventually, Thom slumped against her, exhausted. His head ached and he kept it hidden in her shoulder, like maybe if he pressed close enough he could forget himself and only think of her. Of the smells of campfire and spring, of her strength as she held him just as fiercely as he hugged her. The feeling of her Gift deep below her skin, pulsing in time with her heartbeat, in time with the ember stone she still wore around her neck. In time with his own Gift, hidden so far away Thom was too scared to touch it. 

“Why don’t I go get us settled?” Coram said. His voice sounded distinctly wet. “You can stay here.”

Alanna nodded. When Coram left, she shifted enough to reach one hand down to pull at the laces of her boots until she could kick them off. It was difficult, but she didn’t seem keen on letting Thom go any time soon. That done, she began stripping her layers. Thom had to let her go for that. He took the opportunity to breathe. The room spun around him, watery and unreal, but Alanna was the centre of his universe and he focused on her even when he couldn’t on anything else. 

She gathered him against her again, this time clad in only a simple tunic and leggings. 

“Come on,” she whispered, sniffling. She hadn’t really stopped crying either.

She shifted until she sat against the headboard of his bed and pressed him down until Thom curled against her side. The bed wasn’t really big enough for both of them, but they would make do. 

Her hands were gentle as she ran them through his hair, combing out the tangles that appeared after days without brushing. George usually insisted on running a comb through his hair every few days, and Lady Cythera did if George didn’t, but he hadn’t wanted to be touched recently, even by them. 

“I’m here,” Alanna said. “It’s okay, Thom. I’m here now. You can rest.”

He didn’t want to. He wanted to cling to her, to keep her, to keep this moment frozen in time. It would hurt otherwise, the way everything hurt, eventually. But he was so exhausted, fatigue dragging at his soul, and crying certainly hadn’t helped. 

“Sleep,” Alanna said with a brush of her Gift. It was enough, in part because of how tired Thom was, and in part because it was her’s. 

Chapter Text

“Coram has you settled in?” George asked quietly, wary of waking Thom. Alanna was grateful, it’d taken more than she expected to coax him to sleep, having to resort to a touch of magic despite how exhausted he obviously was.

She sat on his bed, Thom’s head in her lap as he curled around her like a question mark. His sleep was deep and peaceful which, according to Duke Baird, had been something of a struggle. She supposed she had George and Eleni to thank for what had already been done to help with that. The charm to ward against bad dreams beneath Thom’s pillow was powerful, although she suspected Faithful was helping from where he slept on the foot of the bed. Her cat refused to confirm or deny when she asked. 

“He said he was going to but I haven’t gone to check,” Alanna replied, combing her fingers through Thom’s hair. It was clean, at least. He was well cared for in her absence. It was a cold consolation. She should have been here. 

She could feel his broken body beneath her fingertips as her Gift skimmed across the surface of his skin. Duke Baird warned her it was bad, she even expected it to be, but suspecting was different from knowing and knowing was different from seeing. At least his leg would bear weight when fully healed. Duke Baird said that was far better than when he first arrived. Everything about him was better, healing, albeit slowly. It frightened her to think of how bad it must have been before. Alanna hated herself for the small part that was grateful she didn’t have to see it.

George gripped her chin and tilted her head up to meet his hazel eyes. She realized she was trembling.

“He’s okay, lass,” George said softly. “It might not seem it, but he is. He’s getting better.”

“We could have lost him,” she said. “I did lose him.”

“And we found him.”

“Duke Baird said he’s gotten worse recently; that he stopped talking.”

A dark look passed over George’s features. “Yes, well, back steps are bound to happen. That particular incident won’t be repeating itself, don’t you worry about that.” He let go of her and leaned back in the chair. “He’s a strong one. Resilient. He wouldn’t have lasted this long otherwise. We’ll see him through the other side of this, whatever that looks like.”

Alanna felt a surge of gratefulness. Her eyes burned and she tried her best to blink away the tears. She’d already cried more than once today. 

“Thank you for looking after him,” she whispered. 

George shook his head like it was nothing spectacular, like sneaking into the palace as the most wanted man in Corus to visit her injured brother was nothing out of the ordinary. 

“I didn’t do it for you, Alanna. Don’t misunderstand, I would have, but I did it for him first.” He looked at Thom’s sleeping form with open affection Alanna rarely saw directed at her brother, even from Maude and Coram. 

Oh , she thought, her heart fluttering. He actually cares about Thom . And that was enough to finally make her cry again. She had wanted—hoped—Thom would find people when he came to Corus, but that was before everything. To know George was looking out for him now for Thom’s sake instead of her own was a relief she wasn’t entirely sure how to express.

“Thank you,” she said again, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. Her chest ached. 

“Gary will want to talk to you too,” George said. He put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed it, grounding. “He’s been here for most of it. We figured somebody should stick around. He was the best choice even if Jon and Raoul weren’t gone. I think him and Lady Cythera have been flirting over Thom’s bed.”

That made Alanna laugh. “Oh I bet he loved that,” she said with a wobbly smile.

“When he could drag his attention away from the books the queen brought at least,” George replied. He sat back on the edge of Thom’s bed. “I hear Her Majesty has brings him books on all sorts of topics when she spends time here with her ladies.” He nodded to a small table and chairs set up in the corner by the window. Alanna could imagine it in another room occupied by noble ladies in their pretty dresses. It was difficult to think of that being here. 

“I didn’t know Queen Lianne visited.”

“Aye. Often, too. It seems she’s taken quite a shine to our Thom. Gary thinks she’s worried he’s lonely.”

Our Thom.  

“I’ll have to thank her too.”

George didn’t stay long after that. He pressed a kiss to the crown of her hair before slipping out, and Alanna took deep breaths to calm her fluttering heart. She wasn’t sure she could express to George how grateful she was for everything. She didn’t know how to thank anybody involved for what they did. 

When Jon and Raoul arrived at The Bloody Hawk tribe, Alanna had feared the worst. Ali Muktahb knew Jon would find his way to them, but he couldn’t say what news—if any—Jon brought. The relief she’d felt upon hearing they found Thom was immense, almost enough to drown out her anger that they’d waited to tell her. 

Raoul had explained in tense, halting words what happened. How it was Alex who gave them the last piece of the puzzle, how George and Myles planned everything, the risk George and his rogues took while the crown soldiers waited for word. They couldn’t say much about Thom himself, but Alanna had ridden to Corus with the knowledge her brother was alive and in the care of Duke Baird.

She was sure Coram was fussing in his own way but he knew Thom too well to linger. Thom didn’t take well to feeling suffocated or pitied. 

It must be hard for him to spend so much time trapped in this room with people coming and going, unable to do anything himself. She was sort of amazed he hadn’t lashed out in frustration at anybody, but perhaps that was just a reason to be concerned. Her stomach twisted at the thought. There was no way of knowing how he felt until he told her and Alanna wasn’t sure how to broach the subject. Emotions weren’t something she was good at, and she knew Thom felt similarly. 

Gods, what a mess. The old anger, fear, and heartbreak flooded forward as she looked down at her brother. Alanna wished she could kill Roger again; maybe that would help the anger that gnawed inside her chest, slowly boiling with nowhere to go.

Thom wasn’t using his Gift. Duke Baird pulled her aside in the hallway the day after she arrived to tell her as much. He didn’t use it to supplement his healing, something Duke Baird had expected. Even mages with no talent for healing would use it without realizing when they were hurt, but Thom didn’t . It wasn’t a good sign.

Alanna didn’t know how to bring it up. She hadn’t talked to Thom about his captivity at all, carefully avoiding the topic whenever possible. She knew she would have to eventually but Thom was clearly avoiding it just as adamantly.

She watched him as he sat curled in a chair by the window. He wasn’t allowed to walk without assistance and had to keep pressure off of his bad leg, but Thom jumped at the chance to get out of bed. Now, he sat in the sun, a large book balancing on the armrest.

Alanna tried to look busy but there wasn’t much for her to do. She had never excelled at sitting still. Duke Baird offered her refuge by letting her help in the infirmary over the last few days. She was sure she would have gone mad if she had to sit in that room for much longer and had no idea how Thom did it. But, then, maybe he’d grown used to it. Ten months locked in the same place, a cell smaller than this room, would drive anybody mad if they didn’t learn how to cope with boredom. Alanna wasn’t sure she wouldn’t have fallen into madness herself. 

Thom wasn’t fine by any means, but Alanna realized with an pang in her heart that she didn’t know him well enough to know what had changed. He was certainly quieter than he’d been in their childhood; more withdrawn, but how much of that was because of Roger and how much was because of his time in the cloisters? There was no way to know; it was frustrating. Thom was her brother, her twin, how could he be such a stranger to her? They’d shared letters often enough, but that was different. She had no idea how he acted. No idea what was normal.

She swallowed by a frustrated sigh and turned back to the half-written letter before her. It was to Alex, a thank-you for helping them find her brother. He probably didn’t want to hear from her, but it felt important. She needed him to know she didn’t blame him; she knew he didn’t know what Roger was doing. She’d known that even before George confirmed it was the truth. 

She wasn’t sure he would even read it. According to Geoffrey’s sparse letters to Gary, Alex refused to read anything his friends sent him. He was, as Geoffrey put it, not doing well. Glancing at Thom, she figured Alex wasn’t the only one.

Damnit. Alanna gritted her teeth. She couldn’t sit here for much longer. It was probably the longest she’d sat still since she became a squire and left behind classroom lessons. 

“Thom?” she said. 

“Hm?” He didn’t look up.

“I’m going to take a walk. Will you be okay on your own for a bit? Coram will drop by soon.”

He bristled like a cat but didn’t look at her. 

“I don’t need to be under constant watch you know,” he said, staring a hole into the page before him. “I’m fine on my own.”

Are you? She wanted to ask but held her tongue. The last thing she wanted was an argument, and Thom was so temperamental. He would switch from sullen and quiet to angry at a moment’s notice.

That was new, apparently. Duke Baird said it was good Thom wasn’t repressing all of his emotions, but Alanna worried it meant she was making Thom worse. 

She left the room and let go of a breath and didn’t realize she was holding. Faithful stayed asleep in the sun next to Thom. It was a relief to be free of the unspoken tension between them, the guilt like a red-iron poker in her stomach. 

Thom was hurt; she should be there, she should want to be there. And she did! But she also couldn’t look at him without wanting to hit something really, really hard. Preferably Roger’s face. 

She rolled her shoulders to loosen them and nodded to Duke Baird on the way out. With Alex, Geoffrey, Raoul, and Jon away from the palace, it left her bereft of sparring partners. Even Douglas and Sacherall were on border duty, so Alanna turned to the last of her friends for help quelling the nervous energy in her limbs.

“You’re going to kill me,” Gary bemoaned as she guided him to the training yard. 

“I’m just keeping your skills sharp.”

“You’re mad is what you are,” but he didn’t deny her. Maybe Gary needed this just as much as she did. 

The training yard was empty this time of day. They did a light jog to warm up before stretching in companionable silence. Then they armoured up in padding and picked up their blunted training swords. 

Sparring was different from a real fight. On the battlefield or in a duel, the goal was to hurt or be hurt. Spars lacked the same spike of adrenaline, the fight or flight that drove her to new heights, but they were also more fun. She knew neither of them would walk away with more than just bruises, and Alanna wasn’t sure she was capable of inflicting more than that just now. 

“Hey, Gary,” she asked as she blocked one of his strikes. He raised an eyebrow in question but didn’t falter in his attack pattern, despite how uncommon it was for her to talk during a fight. 

“Yes?”

“What was it like when you found him? Raoul couldn’t tell me much.”

There was no need to explain who he was. 

That did make Gary hesitate, although Alanna didn’t take advantage of the hole in his defenses. She wanted an answer and she was sure this was the only time she would be brave enough to ask. Things felt easier with a sword in her hand. 

“It was bad,” Gary said after a long moment. He shifted on his feet and lunged, getting back into the spar as he spoke. “It was dark and cold, and‐ I’ve seen a lot of things, Alanna, but I’ve never seen anything like that.”

Her heart pounded in her chest. “What do you mean?”

He cringed. “Some questions are better left unanswered.”

Alanna felt a flare of anger, the bone-cold fury that haunted her every step, dragging her fear behind it like a ball and chain. Spending time in the desert may have banked her fire, but it didn’t extinguish it. Seeing Thom only made it roar back to life. 

She moved quickly, taking a half step into Gary’s space and slamming herself into him. It wouldn’t usually have an effect but Gary’s centre of gravity wasn’t as firm as it usually was. She only threw him off balance for a moment, but that moment was enough. 

“He’s my brother,” she snapped, her practice sword held to Gary’s throat. “He’s my twin and he’s hurting but he won’t tell me anything.” Her voice cracked, high and desperate, and her eyes burned. She pulled back, cursing. 

“Alanna,” Gary said, reaching for her. She sniffled and looked up. Suddenly, he looked haunted. 

“I still have nightmares about it,” he admitted. “It’s stupid, I know. It didn’t even happen to me. But I close my eyes and I see it. I remember sitting with Roger at dinner and imagine Thom, cold and alone, left in the darkness for the rats while I laughed with his torturer. Thinking about how we found him- it was really, really bad, and it only got worse after they questioned the lord and lady about what happened, about the things Roger did. We torture criminals and even thinking about that makes me feel sick now. It reminds me just what people are capable of.”

“Tell me,” she begged. 

Gary looked down. He didn’t skip over details the way Raoul did. Instead, he described the fief, the pathway to the dungeon hidden by illusion magic. How it took Harailt of Aili two hours to undo Roger’s wards even with Roger three months dead and his spells weakened. The craggy cell that smelled of sickness and urine, the darkness that stuck to their skin like something physical. The way Thom looked, how he weighed as much as a skeleton. He told her of the long, pneumonia-filled days that followed as Thom slipped in and out of consciousness, how he begged for her when his fever burned dangerously high and they couldn’t calm him. What the fief’s nobility and servants told them after the fact, spurred on by Harailt of Aili’s truth spells. 

By the time he finished, they were sitting on the edge of the training grounds, their backs resting against the cold stone of the palace. Alanna held her head in her hands trying to disguise her tears from any potential onlookers. She knew Gary wasn’t fooled. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s awful, I know.”

“It’s my fault.”

“It isn’t,” Gary told her. “It was Roger. He did that. He hurt Thom, he hurt Jon and Alex and aunty Lianne.”

“Alex?” she asked, looking up just enough to see Gary shrug and look away. 

“I’m not positive. He hasn’t said anything, but he was closest to Roger. If anybody else was hurt, I’m sure it was Alex.”

He had a point. 

“Gods,” Alanna said. She tightened her grip on her arms until she would probably have bruises tomorrow.

“Everybody blames themself over this,” Gary said, “even Lianne. My father is devastated over not noticing. The King won’t even visit Thom since he looks so much like Roger and he's worried it will be upsetting. Alex was distraught and I’m pretty sure Jon almost broke his hand punching a wall in private. Roger hid the truth from anybody who could help, and you uncovered that. You killed him before he could hurt anyone else, and who knows what he had in store for Thom? You saved him.”

“Alex and George saved him,” she corrected. 

“Yes, okay, fine, you all saved him, but that’s my point. Roger hurt him, Alanna, and Roger is dead.”

“I wish he wasn’t,” she said. “I wish I could kill him again.”

Gary sighed. “Yeah, you’re not alone there but I’m pretty sure you’ll have to get in line behind George. It would be pretty cathartic though.”

They were quiet for a while after that. Alanna took comfort in the companionship. It was less tense than sitting with Thom. 

“Am I a bad sister?” she asked suddenly. The thought sat heavy in her chest, familiar. She had considered the question before.

“I wouldn’t know,” Gary said. “I don’t have siblings.”

The fact he didn’t deny it outright settled something in her, although Alanna didn’t know why. Maybe it was because she wouldn’t have believed him if he did. 

“I do know you can’t be a worse sister than the rest of us were friends,” Gary added. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. “Are you going to talk to Thom about his Gift?”

“Baird told you?”

“Yeah, it was decided I’d act as next-of-kin until you got here.”

She already knew that, of course, but the feeling of gratefulness she’d felt towards Gary and George welled up until she wanted to cry again. 

“I will,” she choked out. “Thank you for looking after him.”

Gary smiled; it was weak but genuine. 

“I don’t mind. My aunt and her ladies visit him often. They’re good company.”

Alanna still needed to ask about that. It seemed odd to her that Queen Lianne would take such interest in Thom, but something else was more pressing. She raised an eyebrow. 

“And is Lady Cythera of Elden good company?”

She had the immense pleasure of watching Gary turn bright red.

Alanna.

Alanna woke with a start, her hand already reaching for the dagger she kept hidden beneath her pillow. The room was dark but she could still see the glint of Faithful’s purple eyes as the cat stood over her. 

Get up , Faithful said. It’s Thom. 

She cursed and pulled away from the dagger. Alanna rolled out of bed, lighting the candles with a flick of her magic in their direction. 

I’ll get Coram , Faithful said. He jumped down from the bed and disappeared through Alanna’s open bedroom door. She didn’t question how he made it into her rooms. 

She scrambled for her clothing and dressed as quickly as she could, pulling on a pair of trousers and a linen shirt. Her shoes took the longest and Alanna was glad for the silk slippers she had instead of her boots. 

Within moments, she was tearing out of her rooms at a run. They put her close to the infirmary, something she was endlessly grateful for. It made the multiple trips to and from her brother’s room each day much easier, as did sending for her in case of emergencies. 

Healers crowded Thom’s room. Alanna shoved passed them, her chest heaving with panic. She could hear Thom’s cries and found several healers pinning him to the bed while he struggled to free himself. Duke Baird leaned over him, trying to rouse him.

He’s trapped in a nightmare, Faithful said, suddenly appearing at Alanna’s feet. Coram is on his way.

Alanna didn’t think. She pressed forward until she could push Duke Baird out of the way. He went easily with an expression of relief. 

Thom’s skin was sheened with sweat. He was asleep even as he twisted in the healers’ hands. Alanna’s anger at seeing him held down turned cold at the sight of deep gouges on his arms and his bloody fingernails. 

“Thom,” she called. He didn’t respond, just let out a pained whimper. 

She reached for his wrists where the healers kept them pinned to his side. They let her take them, and Alanna sent a jolt of magic into him, pushing back against the nightmare’s hold.

With Thom so lost in his memories, magic probably would have done more harm than good from anyone else, but Alanna’s power was different. She pressed all the things she couldn’t say into it. 

I’m sorry this happened. I’m sorry Roger took you, that he hurt you. I’m sorry it took so long to find you. I should have been there. I love you, I don’t know how to live without you. I’m sorry I don’t know how to fix this.

Thom’s eyes snapped open with a gasp so loud it filled the anxious air. His eyes were wide, his breaths coming in short gasps. Alanna couldn’t remember ever seeing him so terrified. 

He threw himself at her with a sob. Everybody else backed away as Alanna rocked with the force of it. Thom clawed at her clothes as if trying to reach deeper inside her and Alanna wrapped her arms around him, her fingers curling in the back of his hair to pull him close. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m here “

He shook his head. “It’s not, it’s not Alanna. I’m so sorry. I can’t stay here, please don’t make me stay here. I’m sorry-'' he kept going, rambling incoherently despite Alanna’s best attempts at calming him. She couldn’t even convince him to drink the potion Duke Baird brought to help calm him down.

“Breathe,” Alanna said, rocking them both back and forth. “Breathe, Thom. You’re safe, I have you.” It felt like a lie.

She looked up at Duke Baird who waited cautiously next to Coram. The other healers had filtered out when they realized they weren’t needed. 

“What happened?” she asked. 

Duke Baird shook his head with a frown. “I’m not certain,” he said. “A nightmare turning into a flashback, maybe, or some sort of manifestation of his Gift. Possibly sone mix of multiple causes.”

So nothing Alanna could fix. In her arms Thom kept mumbling through his tears, apologizing and saying he needed to leave. Alanna wasn’t sure he even knew where he was. 

“Does he have to stay here?” she asked. 

“Not as long as somebody is with him,” Baird said. “And he needs to keep weight off his leg.”

Alanna nodded. That, she could do. 

“Coram, come help me,” she called, and then to Thom, quieter, “okay, okay we’re going to go somewhere else, alright? It’s okay, just work with us here.”

It took some maneuvering to get Thom standing. He slumped between her and Coram’s hold, his arms thrown over their shoulders. They guided him slowly from the room and into the infirmary proper. From there, they retraced Alanna’s frantic steps to her bedroom. Thom spoke all the while, apologizing about things Alanna wasn’t sure he could even remember. It didn’t matter, all that did was getting him somewhere safe. 

In her rooms, Alanna had Coram help deposit Thom onto the oversized bed. The candles still burned and Alanna didn’t snuff them out even as she conjured a brighter light. 

“Coram, the medical kid,” she said. He grabbed it from its perpetual spot in her bags along with a pitcher of water.

“Come on, Thom, focus on me,” she said as she dampened a rag. She was careful are she cleaned the blood from his arms and hands. The scratches were deep, made in a state of pure panic, but they weren’t so severe as to need stitches. 

When she finished she wrapped bandages around his arms, just to keep them clean. She would heal them tomorrow when she had more focus. 

She stood and Thom reached out, grabbing her wrist in an almost bruising grip. His eyes were wild but held surprising clarity. 

“I didn’t tell him anything,” he said. “I never told him anything about you.”

Alanna didn’t need to ask who he was. She felt sick.

“I know,” she said, reaching forward to stroke Thom’s hair in an attempt to calm him. “I know you didn’t, it’s okay.”

“I wouldn’t let him hurt you.”

She swallowed dryly. “I know. I trust you more than anyone else. I’m just- I’m so sorry I let this happen.” 

Alanna shook herself. Now wasn’t the time. She sniffled. 

“Sleep, Thom,” she said, just like the first day she arrived. She let her magic wash over him in a wave, carrying him away to a hopefully dreamless sleep. 

Faithful hopped up on the bed. 

Are you alright?  

She rubbed an arm across her eyes. 

“No,” she admitted. “I don’t know what I’m doing and I don’t know how to help him.”

You and Coram are helping by being here.

“It doesn’t feel like enough.”

“It’ll have to be, lass,” Coram said, coming into the room. He looked at Thom; his expression was grieved. 

They had spoken a lot about Thom since Alanna earned her shield and Coram came from Trebond. About his guilt for the way he treated Thom as a boy, about how he wished things had been different. She wished she could help them both.

“I’m not used to not being able to do anything,” Alanna said sitting on the edge of the bed. 

“I know. But you're doing what you can and that’ll have to be enough.”

Was it, though?

Sleep , Faithful said . He’ll want you close. I’ll guard his dreams.  

Alanna nodded. She crawled into the other side of the bed and curled up close to her brother, just like they did as children. His breathing was deep and steady and Alanna twined her fingers through his, holding him close. 

“I love you,” she whispered, “and I’m sorry.”

Like that, she slept. 

Talking to Queen Lianne, Alanna decided, was even worse than talking to Thom.

She sat in one of the palace’s day rooms feeling immensely out of place in her rough tunic and hose. Across from her in a beautiful lace-covered dress was Queen Lianne. A spread of tea and cakes covered the mosaic-topped table between them. Alanna had already eaten four of the delicate sweets to give herself something to focus on that wasn’t Queen Lianne’s poise and grace. 

“It’s good to finally be able to speak to you,” Queen Lianne said. “I regret knowing you so little when you’re so important to my son.”

Alanna bit the inside of her mouth. She didn’t really want to tell Jon’s mother that they were having an argument. 

“Me as well, your Majesty,” she said.

Queen Lianne smiled softly. “Please, just Lianne is fine when we’re in private. You’re close enough to my son and nephew that it feels appropriate. Besides, your brother already does.”

Alanna sometimes forgot Gary was the queen’s nephew. It was easy to think of him as just Jon’s cousin, but nephew to the monarchs? That was a bit much, especially when she’d seen Gary so drunk he had to stay at George’s room in the Dove rather than risk walking home. Going shot for shot against the rogues was always a bad idea. 

The reminder of Thom’s relationship with the queen made Alanna reach for her tea again. She didn’t know what to think of it—Thom hardly seemed the type to befriend, well, anybody, let alone people of such high standing. He never cared about that sort of thing, but there he was, spending time with Queen Lianne and her ladies-in-waiting. Alanna was pretty sure he was currently in the garden with Gary, Lady Cythera, and Lady Roanna. 

“Then I am honoured, Lianne. Please, call me Alanna,” Alanna said, dipping her head. 

“How is your brother doing?” Lianne asked. 

Alanna hesitated, staring at her tea. She considered lying, but it felt wrong to lie to her queen. She did swear her fealty to the crown. 

She gulped down her tea. Eleni’s lessons in ladyness did nothing to help her here. 

“I’m honestly not sure,” she admitted. “He’s doing well in some aspects but not so much in others. But, um. The books help, I think.”

Lianne hummed. “Yes, Baird and Gary said something similar.” She looked at her own tea, frowning, 

The silence was awkward. Alanna didn’t think it was possible to sit in awkward silence with a monarch, but here she was. It was sort of funny in a terrible, twisted way. She had known Gary and Jon since her first day of page training yet had no idea how to interact with their family, especially the women. Not for the first time, Alanna cursed her awkwardness and her lack of practice actually speaking to noble ladies. 

Great Mother this was horrible. Alanna shifted in her seat and then tried to still herself. 

“He hasn’t been using his Gift,” she blurted out just to fill the oppressive silence. 

Lianne looked up. “Yes, I’d heard that. He has been doing much better since you arrived, but Baird worries his Gift is an obstacle he has yet to overcome. He won’t speak of it, of course. He doesn’t talk about what happened to anyone.”

Alanna sighed in frustration. “I know. He keeps changing the topic when I bring it up. I’m not sure how to help him.”

The corner of Lianne’s mouth twitched upwards. 

“You’re a good sister, Alanna,” she said. “No, don’t deny it. You were searching for him the whole time he was gone.” She paused. “I believe I owe you an apology. Roger… dealing with him shouldn’t have fallen on your shoulders. I’m sorry we didn’t see what he was sooner, and that it took so long to find your brother.” 

Alanna swallowed dryly and looked away. “It was my duty, your majesty,” she said. “There is no need to apologize for that.” As for not finding Thom sooner, that wasn’t Lianne’s fault. It wasn’t anyone’s, really. Anyone but the people involved, at least.

“You went above what was expected of a page and squire to save my son,” Lianne told her. “If you cannot accept my apologies, then at least accept my thanks. I am in your debt.”

“Is that why you’re helping Thom?” Alanna blurted out. Then she froze. She didn’t mean to say that out loud. “I am so sorry your Majesty. I didn’t mean to question-”

“Lianne.”

“I- pardon?”

“Call me Lianne,” Lianne reminded her. “Please, calm yourself, I took no offense.”

Alanna took a deep breath. 

“To answer your question—whether or not you meant to ask it—no, that isn’t why I’m helping your brother. I’m fond of him for other reasons.”

“And what are those?” Alanna hazarded. 

Lianne didn’t speak for a moment. She gazed out the window at the rose gardens spread out before them. King Roald had them planted for her the year they married. 

“I think I understand him more than most do,” Lianne finally said. “I understand some of what it was like to be made weak beneath Roger’s power.”

Oh. 

“The wasting spell,” Alanna said. She could still see its influence even if it was broken. Lianne was still too frail, too thin. It was better than it had been when Alanna was knighted, but she could too easily see Lianne’s collarbones in the space left open by her dress and the thinness of her wrists. Thom looked a little like that too, weak and starved and so, so tired. 

“It took its toll,” Lianne said softly. “I will never be as I was, something I am growing to accept. Your brother is much the same. Roger left scars that will never fade.”

Scars in more ways than one. 

“You help him more than you realized,” Lianne continued. “He was more distant before, lost. It’s like you brought him back and anchored him here.”

“I can’t stay forever,” Alanna said softly. It was a worry she hadn’t yet voiced and she didn’t know why she told Lianne now. “I have responsibilities. Jonathan is covering them for now, but how can I return? How can I leave Thom? It was hard enough to leave him just after I arrived to bathe and dress.”

“Conflicting duties is something I am deeply familiar with,” Lianne said. She lifted her tea delicately and took a sip. Then she met Alanna’s eyes. “In this case, I do believe it will work itself out. Your brother is independent, even now. There will soon come a time when he doesn’t need you here as much as he needs you in his thoughts.”

Alanna closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She had certainly drawn strength from his memory even during her Ordeal, but would that be enough?

“I don’t know how to help with his Gift. I feel like I’m the only one who can, and I can’t leave before that,” she said.

“I’m not Gifted,” Lianne said, “but maybe he only needs to relearn it, like walking after being bedridden for so long, or playing an instrument. There are skills that atrophy without use but come back with practice.”

Relearn it? That... was actually a good idea.

“I- that actually helps a lot. Thank you, your Majesty,” Alanna said. 

“Lianne.”

Alanna actually laughed. 

“Thank you, Lianne.”

It would be nice to have her as a mother-in-law, Alanna thought, even if she wasn’t sure about Jonathan’s proposal. At least he understood she couldn’t make a decision like that now, not when everything was such a mess. Still, even if she refused Jon, she decided she liked Queen Lianne.

“Take a deep breath,” Alanna said, following the words with a deep breath of her own. Thom sat across from her, their hands intertwined, and did the same. 

They were in the garden. Thom liked it here. He never passed up the ability to sit in the sun and feel the breeze. Before, Thom would have preferred somewhere quiet and indoors like a library. It twisted in Alanna’s chest to know it was because he went so long without it. 

She managed to cajole him into meditating with her like Maude did when they were children. It was like Queen Lianne said—maybe Thom just had to relearn the feeling of his Gift. He’d refused, at first, but he reluctantly agreed when Alanna proposed doing it in Queen Lianne’s private gardens. 

Walking was still difficult for him. His leg was almost fully healed, but Duke Baird wanted him to stay off it for a but longer, so he moved around with the help of crutches and sometimes other people. Alanna suspected she would be gone by the time he was fully back on his feet and she ached to think of leaving him, but Duke Baird pulled her side and confirmed what she had been worrying about herself. It would hinder him if she hovered too long. 

They breathed in time with each other and Alanna watched through her lashes as Thom slowly untensed from his perpetual state of anxiety. He never spoke of it, but Alanna knew he didn’t like the dark, didn’t like not being able to see the sky or the door being locked. He was jumpy, skittish in a way he never had been growing up. She wasn’t sure that would ever go away.

She drew on her Gift during her next breath and let it travel along the length of her arms to pool in their joined hands. Thom jolted back at the feeling but Alanna kept her grip on him.

“Don’t let go,” she said. “Just breathe and let yourself feel it.”

It said something about Thom’s determination that he clenched his jaw and forced himself to breathe. He didn’t touch the magic gathered between them, but that was okay. They would get to that. 

Her magic stayed where it was, like a bowl of rippling water. It swelled with her breath, tides in an ocean, and she let herself be drawn along with it. She held out a hand through her magic and let it tentatively reach for Thom. There was a long moment before he accepted it, and Alanna’s magic slowly snaked up his arms. 

When they were children, Maude taught them to control their power by having them turn it into a ball to toss back and forth. They had to work to keep it stable as their magic changed hands, passing control from one to the other. Thom was always better at it. Now, Alanna did something similar. She let Thom take control of her Gift and push it back to her. It was more like rolling a ball than throwing it. Her magic trailed up and down their arms. Thom lent no power of his own, but even working with hers was a start. Honestly, it was more than Alanna thought they’d get to, given how Thom reacted, but magic was a part of him as much as she was; he couldn’t give that up. Besides, Alanna knew he associated her magic with safety. 

They didn’t do it for long. Thom still tired easily and working with magic after so long was bound to tire him out. She pulled her magic back and let it return fully beneath her skin before she opened her eyes.

“You did well,” she said.

Thom rolled his eyes. 

“Don’t patronize me, sister dear, I know I’m pathetic.”

Alanna sighed. “Stop. You’re trying, and that means a lot.”

Thom obviously didn’t believe her but Alanna decided not to press.

“Come on, I’ll help you back inside.”

He shook his head and tilted his face toward the sun. “Not just yet.”

They ended up laying on the grass. Thom’s head was pillowed in Alanna’s lap as she practiced braiding and unbraiding his hair. Her apprentices back in the desert would be proud. His hair wasn’t particularly long—just passed his shoulders—but it was longer than hers. 

“I wish I had a book,” Thom muttered sleepily.

“There’s still books in the palace you haven’t read yet?”

Thom laughed and Alanna paused. She didn’t realize how much she had grown to miss that sound in their years apart. It was deeper than his childhood giggle, but it was still familiar to make it hard to breathe. 

“Thom?” she said. 

“Hm?”

Alanna swallowed. “I’m going to have to leave soon.”

There was a pause and then, “I know.” He didn’t sound disappointed. Alanna didn’t know if that made it better or worse. 

Thom twisted around until he could look at her. His expression was open, raw. 

“It’s okay,” he told her, reaching for her hand. 

Alanna shook her head, her eyes burning. It wasn’t, it wasn’t okay. She shouldn’t have left in the first place and she shouldn’t leave again. 

Thom sighed. He rolled to lay directly next to her, shoulder to shoulder, and Alanna slipped her hand in his.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice choking. 

Thom didn’t say anything. He stared up at the blue sky, the white clouds, the birds in the trees. 

“You know, when Roger... the worst days weren’t even the most painful,” he started. “Those were horrible, of course, but eventually there was a sort of relief to them, because at least it meant I wasn’t alone.”

“Thom…”

“I spent weeks completely isolated. They left food for me but never spoke, even when I begged them to. It was just endless silence and darkness. Just me. Those days were the worst.”

She squeezed his hand, not wanting to interrupt. Thom never talked about what it was like. 

“I spent so long wishing for you, and when I finally saw you, it felt like some sort of dream. But you’re here, and that’s how I know I’ll be okay even when you leave. You’ve left a dozen people to look after me, even if there are days I think it would be easier if you didn’t. I’m pretty sure Gary would pick the lock to any door I tried hiding behind if he thought he had reason to worry.”

Alanna gave a watery laugh. “He would, he really likes you.”

“Only the gods know why,” Thom muttered. “Really, George teaching him how to pick locks was definitely a mistake.”

“Not if you used magic to ward your rooms.”

“Oh, hush I’m trying to be genuine for once.” He squeezed her hand. “My point is, it’s okay. I needed you and you were here, and now you can rest assured that your friends will continue doing it in your place, just like they did at first.”

She sniffled. 

“I should have been here,” she said. 

“Oh Alanna,” Thom said, craning his neck so he could rest it on her shoulder, “you were. I kept you with me every moment. I don’t think I could have survived if I did.”

That finally made her cry, which made Thom cry in turn, and Alanna wrapped her arms around him to hold him close. It was sort of awkward to do so while lying on the grass but Alanna didn’t care. 

“I love you,” she said into his hair. 

“I love you too, so go have your adventures. I’ll be okay but you return.”

Chapter Text

Lianne stood in the suite assessing the furniture and decor. She knew its newest occupant wouldn’t care much about it—Thom would just be glad to be free from the infirmary—but Lianne still wanted it to be nice for him; comfortable. He’d spent so long in that dark cell Gary reluctantly told her about and then in the infirmary. She wanted him to have a place that could be his.

It was a lovely room once held by a friend of King Jasson’s, now too old to make the trip to court. He agreed when Lianne wrote to him asking if he would be willing to give up his rooms for somebody else, so long as they put his belongings aside for his heir to look through after he died. She wondered vaguely what he had hidden in them he didn’t want his son to see while he was alive. Probably proof of an affair, but such things were for Myles to worry about, not her. 

The room was on the ground floor of the palace, so it wouldn’t be too difficult for Thom to reach the library or the dining room. Lianne suspected he wouldn’t much care about the latter, but the former would hopefully serve to entice him out of his room. She worried about him isolating himself after being released. A few weeks was more than enough time to learn that Thom wasn’t the type to ask for help even if he needed it.

One of the parts she was most fond of in this room was the view. Large, multi-paned windows looked out over a more secluded section of the rose garden which was only just beginning to bloom. Shrubs covered enough of the window to keep people from glancing in, but they were short enough that standing in front of it Lianne could see the white stone pathways, hawthorn trees, and the fountain with its crystalline water. The sun shone into the room for most of the day, illuminating it with natural light, and when the window was open, the wind carried in the roses’ scent. 

They’d positioned a plush chair next to the heavy drapes. Cythera was the one who pointed out that Thom liked reading in the sun and suggested they put something there for him. Roanna knitted a blanket she left folded over the edge to keep him warm if any cool air drifted through the windows.

Bookshelves lined the walls, half filled with Thom’s scant belongings sent from The City of the Gods and books that mysteriously appeared overnight. Myles had shrugged and told her not to worry about it when she asked, which Lianne took to mean it was probably the work of Thom’s friend George—who was also apparently a friend of Gary, Jon, and the rest of that group. They were very careful not to speak about him with her, which only made Lianne roll her eyes. She may not have known him on sight, but Lianne knew exactly who George Cooper was. The King of the Rogue was just as well known to Tortall’s monarchy as they were to him. Besides, it had only taken one interaction in the hallway outside Thom’s room to get confirmation. George made no attempt at hiding who he was from her. Lianne only laughed.

She didn’t ask how they met. Myles would have kept a close eye on the situation and interceded if it was dangerous. Besides, she was sure none of the boys would tell her the truth anyway. Well, Thom might, if only because he didn’t seem to like Jonathan—and wasn’t that surprising—but Lianne would let their secrets lie. 

The maids had scrubbed the room from top to bottom before they moved the furniture inside. Each piece Lianne and her ladies picked by hand. She felt a little bad for the poor chamberlain, but he was a mild-mannered man who was happy to help with their project. Some furnishings belonged to Trebond anyway, although they hadn’t been used since the late Lord and Lady were last at court more than twenty years ago. Lianne barely remembered them beyond Gareth complaining about Lord Alan, then a squire. Marinie had been kind, if a little too outspoken for most people’s taste. Lianne had liked that about her. 

“Well, I think we’re about finished here,” Cythera said, her hands on her hips as she stood next to Lianne. “Vasilla will be sad she doesn’t have this to work on anymore. I’m sure she spent hours comparing colour swatches for different fabrics.”

“She did wonderfully,” Lianne said, eyeing the curtains. They were a lovely shade of cream that helped to brighten the entire room. Vasilla did well choosing lighter neutral tones and accenting them with dark woods and occasional bright fabrics. “I almost feel bad to drag her away from fussing over the finishing touches. I’m sure she could continue for another week.”

Cythera laughed. “Probably two. We’ll have to find another project to turn her to. Lady Roanna as well, although I’m sure she’ll be knitting things for Lord Thom for the next year.”

Lianne smiled. “Gary will be happy not to be on the receiving end for once.” He and Jonathan both had enough sweaters to last them a lifetime, but Lianne’s sister-in-law always enjoyed knitting over embroidery. 

Cythera paused, her expression turning serious. “If I may speak freely, your Majesty?” she asked. 

Lianne nodded her ascent. She had never required silent obedience from her ladies-in-waiting and wasn’t about to start now. 

“I believe we might need to find a new project for you as well,” Cythera told her. “Having something to do has been good for you.”

Baird had said the same thing. There were pieces of Lianne that Roger broke and those pieces could never be fixed, but she was doing better after his death and the breaking of the curse. Focusing on Thom, actually being able to do something, helped even more. 

It still hurt to think about her beloved nephew as a traitor. It seemed to her that the man who did this—who tried to kill her, who tried to kill Jonathan and his squire, who tortured Thom of Trebond—was a different person from the boy she watched grow into a man. Oh how she had loved Roger like her own child. His betrayal was as painful as a blade between her ribs, but she grieved for him nonetheless; grieved for the memory of who she thought he was. 

She wished Thom had never been hurt, but selfishly it felt a comfort to see another person Roger had hurt. She wasn’t Roger’s only victim, she wasn’t the only one broken into pieces that would never reform into what they were before. Lianne hated herself for feeling that way. She shouldn’t find solace in the pain of another, of a boy younger than her own son, but sometimes she couldn’t help it. 

Sometimes, she thought Thom felt the same, the relief of not being alone, of being near somebody who understood. Lianne suspected that was why Thom seemed to enjoy Gary and George’s comfort—they were there, they’d seen ; he didn’t have to explain. 

Cythera was right. Setting up this bedroom, visiting Thom in the infirmary, it helped. It gave Lianne something to focus on, a task she could complete instead of the nebulous concerns that constantly pressed on her and Roald’s shoulders as the monarchy. 

There were children starving to death in her streets, begging for anything they could get just a short ride from the Palace. They were hidden from view because they were distasteful, and it was so easy to forget about them, but Lianne never did. She couldn’t help them, not really. She could give them food today but that would not help them tomorrow. They would still starve, still die. The solution was in policy, in the slow, careful dance of politics. But Thom, Thom was here. She could make a tangible difference instead of weighing decisions in hopes it would fix systematic problems. 

She didn’t respond to Cythera although she knew she didn’t have to. Some of her ladies were too clever for their own good.

Thom moved into the room three days later. As far as Lianne could tell, he liked them. 

She was there when Alanna helped him there. As frusteatingly independent as Thom was proving to be, he almost always chose his sister’s help over using the crutches Duke Baird provided. Lianne suspected they pained him to use, but Thom refused to admit as much. He was as stubborn as his sister when he wanted to be.

He hesitated at the door, his eyes casting over the space. Alanna kept his arm over her shoulders and held his waist, keeping him steady. 

Lianne didn’t know her son’s former squire well. They had bounded a little in the weeks Alanna had been at the palace visiting her brother, but there was still something stilted between them. Lianne suspected it was Jonathan. His absence lurked between them and Lianne bit her tongue to keep from asking about him, about them. They—she and Roald—had given their tentative blessing for marriage, but Lianne advised him against asking Alanna now. It was too much or a torrid time; better to wait until things settled. She wasn’t sure whether Jonathan listened to her advice. 

Thom stepped further into the room with Alanna. He ran his hand along one of the tapestries hanging on the wall. It depicted an ancient battle between mankind and the Immortals. The chamberlain found it stored with the other Trebond furnishing. 

“There’s a lot of books,” Alanna said, eyeing the space critically.

“Some were gifts from your friend in the city,” Lianne said, keeping her voice light to avoid giving away what she knew about George Cooper.

“They’re probably vulgar then,” Thom muttered.

“Thom!” Alanna gasped, scolding. 

Lianne hid a laugh behind her hand.

“I’ll leave you two to settle in,” she said, smiling. “Thom, please know that you’re always welcome to visit my ladies and I.”

It was quite the honor to invite somebody—a man especially—into her personal space. Usually only her ladies-in-waiting, her family, and a select few maids were allowed in, but as long as her ladies were present it wouldn’t set off a scandal, and Lianne wanted him to have somewhere to go.

The honor was not lost on Alanna. She looked at Lianne with wide eyes before she smiled softly and nudged Thom.

“Oh. Thank you,” Thom said, but he was distracted by the large open windows and the sun shining through them.

As expected, Thom spent a lot of time in his rooms. He saw his sister off alongside Alanna’s friends in a tearful parting, but that was the longest he allowed himself in public. Most of his day spent basking in the sun next to the window. Sometimes he was reading when Lianne visited. Other times he was asleep, curled up in the chair and savouring the warmth. He reluctantly admitted he liked the sun, liked being able to see the sky and feel the fresh air coming through the open windows. 

Cythera privately called him a cat more than once. Gary said he was certainly as fickle as one.

Maybe Lianne would take him riding in a few months, when the height of summer caused everybody to move outdoors. Even if he wasn’t comfortable on a horse she was sure they could manage it. Gary was quite the teacher, after all.

Cythera often accompanied her when they visited and though Thom rarely engaged in conversation, he never seemed irritated by their presence. Lianne hoped it helped keep away the loneliness he would never admit to. 

The weeks passed slowly. Lianne watched Thom recover by inches and half steps, doing a little better each time she saw him. She, meanwhile, spent days in her rooms when she was too exhausted to put up a show of proper elegance. It was better than it had been, at least, but it seemed her recovery from Roger’s spell had plateaued. 

Gary and Cythera became closer and closer. Roanna was pleased—she liked Cythera. Elden wasn’t the most powerful house, but Roanna was more than happy to allow a love match for her son. Lianne felt similarly. Her own marriage was one of love, although being born of fief Naxen certainly helped get the late King Jasson to agree. Besides, Cythera would make a lovely niece. 

Even with summer in full swing, Thom was still a ghost in the palace. He visited the library often enough that the librarians and many of the scholars knew him, but he never spoke to them. Baird made a point to visit him to check on his health since Thom never went himself. He was quiet, a shadow. Lianne worried about him even when Gary tried to assure her otherwise. 

“He’s okay, auntie,” Gary told her over tea. He paused. “Well, relatively.”

She raised a delicate eyebrow. 

Gary hesitated and then sighed, putting down his teacup. “He keeps to himself but George says that’s normal. He doesn’t talk about anything that happened, which I guess is concerning, but we’re not Alanna, so.” He shrugged.

Lianne took a sip of her tea, thinking. Duke Baird had expressed similar concerns when she asked. He worried Thom wasn’t relying on others for support, something Baird felt was necessary. Community was important.

“I don’t think he’s been sleeping well,” Gary admitted. “He always seems tired when I see him, but I mean I can’t blame him. I don’t think I’d ever be able to sleep again after what he went through. I know George usually drags him into debates about random topics. Sometimes he asks Thom for advice. I don’t think he needs it but it gets Thom talking.”

“Advice about what?” Lianne asked, and despite the serious conversation she took some amusement in watching Gary go white at his misstep. She almost took pity on him and told him she already knew who George was, but held her tongue. 

Maybe she should speak to George. He once told her she could reach him through the stable boy, Stefan Groomsman, something Lianne was sure would give the poor boy a heart attack. Perhaps she would send Cythera with a message. 

She had a meeting of the Council of Lords later, so Lianne excused herself from her nephew to prepare. Roanna planned to accompany her, which was a relief. At least she wouldn’t be alone in the stifling June heat listening to the lords bicker over trade routes and tariffs. 

It was something she should have paid more attention to like she used to. Lianne had a skill for mediating conflict and her suggestions carried as much weight as Roald’s did. There was a reason she was one of his closest unofficial advisors. 

Now, Gareth held that position. Thinking through the fog of her mind was too difficult most days, and even when it wasn’t, Lianne didn’t have enough background information to understand the conflict. Her appearance at the meetings was only to reassure the nobility of her health, something that was important to the stability of Tortall. Too many didn’t believe Roald could rule without her.

Tibor of Eldrone—in a rare appearance of Eldrone at court, even if he was only heir to the fief—argued for ownership of fishing rights along the River Olorun, something currently held by fief Tirragen. Roald withheld judgement seeing as fief Tirragen had no attending representative. Unsurprising, given the recent death of the Lord of Tirragen and the ascension of his son Alexander to the position.  

Lianne still had her reservations about Alexander. He was Roger’s former squire, but she also remembered how close he had been with Jonathan and Gary in their page years. She knew it was him who helped find Thom and led to the arrest of several of Roger’s co-conspirators for treason. It was difficult not to wonder after him. Gary still wrote to him but as far as Lianne knew, he had yet to respond. She would have asked Myles about him, but he had a distinct dislike of Hill Country, something she reluctantly understood. They were historically a troublesome area--every rebellion fought in Tortall was fought in Hill Country. 

Finally, when the meeting broke for a late luncheon, Lianne took her chance to excuse herself without causing a scandal. Roald squeezed her arm before she left and Roanna accompanied her out. 

“That was suffocating,” Roanna said. Lianne only nodded. She didn’t have the energy to chat, but that was fine. Gary inherited his ability to fill silences from his mother. 

They reached her private rooms and it felt like a weight had been lifted from Lianne’s shoulders. She relaxed, glad to be out of public view. She would change into a more understated gown with help of her sister-in-law and then join her ladies in the sitting room, chatting and crafting over tea and treats until she was refreshed enough to make it through dinner. She’d been attending more often, but she found herself wishing it was less of a formal affair. It was exhausting to put on a show every evening.

“Come,” Roanna said, taking Lianne’s arm and drawing her from her thoughts. 

She followed Roanna into her private rooms. Her ladies-in-waiting were seated around the large sitting room, as she expected, but they were oddly quiet.

Her ladies were all well-bred. They were never loud or disrespectful, but casual chatter was commonplace—welcome, even—so the whispered conversations were unusual.

The window was open, and the summer breeze made the curtains dance. Her ladies were dressed for the weather in pale colours rather than the rich tones fashionable in colder months. 

“Your Majesty,” Cythera said in a whisper just loud enough to carry, curtsying alongside the rest of the women. She continued before Lianne could reply, something that would be considered disrespectful in public. “I know you aren’t feeling well today but we didn’t want to turn him away. Besides, he seemed like he needed company.”

Lianne didn’t know what Cythera meant until she motioned to one of the sofas near the window. It took Lianne a moment to recognize Thom’s shock of red hair. He was curled up, fast asleep. His head rested on one of carefully embroidered pillows, and somebody had carefully tucked a blanket around him. He looked as exhausted as Lianne felt, just like Gary said. Lianne’s heart softened at the open expression on his face. 

“He didn’t seem well,” Gwynnen added. “Sort of distant, so we sat him down and gave him tea. Eventually he fell asleep.”

“Did anybody call for Duke Baird?” Lianne asked.

The ladies shook their heads. 

“We considered it, but he seemed fine physically, and we didn’t want to disturb him,” Cythera said. “We can send for his Grace now, if you’d like.”

Lianne left Roanna’s side and drifted across the room. Gently she held a hand against Thom’s forehead the way she did for Jonathan when he was little. Thom shifted at the touch but didn’t wake. He wasn’t feverish.

“Let him be, then,” Lianne said, straightening. She smiled at her ladies. “Thank you for looking after him.”

That earned her another series of curtsies and smiles in return. Most of the women went back to their work and quiet conversations. Lianne motioned for Cythera to join her and Roanna in her private rooms.

They followed obediently. Roanna went to the wardrobe and drew out one of Lianne’s more casual summer dresses.

“Your Majesty,” Cythera repeated with another curtsy.

“No need for such formality, Cythera,” Lianne reminded her. “I’m not upset. You did the right thing welcoming Lord Thom here. I did invite him, and I’m sure it took great bravery for him to come.” Or desperation, which seemed more likely. Lianne didn’t say as much but she could tell Roanna and Cythera agreed. 

“How long has he been here?” she asked when she was dressed. Roanna helped do up the ties around her sleeves while Cythera did the ones around her bodice.

“About an hour,” Cythera said. “He came just before the last bell.”

Lianne nodded and smoothed a hand over her dress. The fabric was much thinner than the one she wore previously and was made up fewer layers. 

“We’ll ensure he eats when he wakes up,” she said. 

She joined her ladies in the sitting room and picked up her half finished embroidery. 

The atmosphere was nice. Her ladies whispered to each other and giggled. They snacked on cakes and drank tea. 

Cythera painted. Gwynnen and Florence read. Some embroidered alongside Lianne while Roanna knitted. Two played chess although Lianne couldn’t tell who was winning. Vasilla would usually play the harp but she restrained, practicing theory instead. 

Cythera dropped a piece of cake on her dress and cursed in a way that would have been shocking were it heard in public, going beet red when she realized. She must be spending too much time around Gary. To Lianne’s pleasure, everybody laughed, the older ladies more restrained but amused nonetheless. It was to the sound of laughter that Thom finally stirred. 

The room went quiet as he shifted until Lianne waved for them to pick up where they left off. Vasilla helped Cythera clean the icing off her skirt and started giggling, which made Cythera start giggling in turn, although they both kept watch out of the corners of their eyes. It made sense, they were the youngest of Lianne’s ladies and the closest in age both to Thom and to each other. 

Thom blinked his eyes open against the sunlight, squinting.

Lianne placed a teacup on the table next to him. “When you’re ready,” she said. 

He sat up with a start and gripped the back of the sofa to keep from swaying. He looked around the room with narrowed eyes. 

“You’re in my rooms,” Lianne said quietly, sitting next to him. 

He paled but nodded. She nudged the tea cup towards him if only to have something to hold. 

“I’m glad you came,” she said. “I’m sure Florence has been meaning to teach you embroidery.”

Thom made a face at that. Lianne laughed and he seemed to relax at the sound.

She lowered her voice even more. “Are you alright?” 

He hesitated, his eyes darting around the room. 

Cythera and Vasilla finally finished dabbing away the icing before it could stain. They still giggled. Everybody else pretended they couldn’t hear Lianne’s quiet conversation. They wouldn’t repeat anything, but Lianne would send them away if it would help. 

“Yes,” he said. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the sofa, taking deep breaths. “I’m feeling better.”

“I’m glad,” she told him, smiling softly. Then she paused. “Does the sound of other people help?” she asked.

Thom blinked open his eyes and flushed. It was the same shade Alanna did during their short conversations and as equally as endearing. Even if Alanna didn’t marry Jonathan, Lianne wasn’t sure she would be able to stop seeing the twins as important to her.

He muttered a half-answer about disliking the quiet but Lianne understood what he didn’t say. He had spent so long in the silence. Of course being around others would help, especially if he felt safe around them.

Lianne reached forward and steadied his shaking hands as they held the teacup. “You’re always welcome here, Thom,” she said. “You need no excuse. We’ll gladly have you.”

He came around more often after that. It was slow at first but his presence grew familiar as summer began its lazy movement towards autumn.

They never convinced him to join them for dinner in the dining room, but Lianne understood. She herself only attended half the time anyway. The other half, she often found herself in his with a few of her ladies. It was a way to ensure he ate, even if he only picked up his food.

Jonathan returned to Corus as the heat grew more intense. He was moody and withdrawn in the way Lianne knew meant things hadn’t worked out with Alanna. His stiff interactions with Thom furthered that suspicion, one Thom echoed.

“She refused,” Thom said one day after tea. He’d grown to speak candidly with her as time passed, uncaring of noble propriety. It was a little refreshing, even if she had to warn him about his dislike of Jonathan. “I don’t know when he asked, but she refused.”

“Oh?” Lianne asked. “Everybody was so sure they were in love.”

He shrugged. “I’m sure they were, but my sister as queen? Never. She didn’t pretend to be a boy for eight years only to pin herself down as the queen. Although I have to say, I’m not a fan of Princess Josiane.”

“You haven’t even met her.”

“Cythera doesn’t like her.” 

Princess Josiane of the Copper Isles was both beautiful and a good match politically. Jonathan was fond of her, enough to miss Lianne’s private dinners in favour of entertaining her. Lianne sighed. It turned into a cough that caught in her throat and she put down her teacup with a harsh clatter. She hunched over, gasping, but it didn’t help. These episodes were becoming increasingly common, but it was the first she’d had in front of Thom.

When she regained her breath, Thom was next to her. He had a hand on her shoulder and Lianne vaguely recognized the feeling of magic, tentative and weak. Thom still wasn’t comfortable using it often.

“You should see Duke Baird,” Thom said seriously, pulling his hand back. “You’re feverish too.”

“I thought you couldn’t heal,” Lianne said instead to give herself another moment.

Thom made a face. “I was trained by a healer. I can manage the basics even if I’ve no talent for it like my sister.” He stood then, stepping away. Lianne tried to catch him but he was too quick, even with his bad leg. 

“Thom,” she called. He ignored her, of course.

He limped to the door and pulled it open to find the servant waiting outside in case they needed anything. 

“Call for Duke Baird,” Thom ordered before slamming the door. He paused there for a moment, keeping his hands on the door and breathing deeply. 

As well as Lianne liked to think she knew him, there were still times she couldn’t fathom what was going through his head.

“You’re about to cause a panic,” she told him.

“Perhaps we should panic.” 

“It’s only a cough, and it’s already passed.”

“Coughs can be a sign of opportunistic infections,” Thom said like he was reading from a book. He returned to the table but he wasn’t as relaxed as before and twisted the edge of his sleeve in his fingers, a nervous habit that betrayed his calm facade. “Don’t let Jonathan marry Princess Josiane. She’s probably mad, and if she isn’t, her children will be.”

There wasn’t much to say after that. Thom poured Lianne more tea and ensured she drank it while they waited for Duke Baird. She tried not to feel irritated—she knew she would have done the same thing if it were him—but she felt suffocated by her constant illness and everybody’s hovering. 

Thom left when Duke Baird arrived and Lianne was ushered into bed to rest. She remained there for three days, too weak to get up. Her ladies sat around her room working quietly, ensuring she wasn’t alone unless she or Roald sent them away. Not even Jonathan officially had the power to dismiss them, although many left when he visited anyway. 

“Mother,” Jonathan said, holding her hand. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine, dear,” she told him with a weary smile. “How are you?”

Jonathan told her of the goings on at court. He gave her his most charming smile as he spoke about Delia of Eldorne and Princess Josiane of the Copper Isles. Lianne tried to put what Thom said out of her mind. He had just been upset and was surprisingly defensive of her and her family, even if his mutual dislike of Jonathan was obvious. 

Eventually, Jonathan left to attend dinner. Lianne sent her ladies with him. They could attend in her stead, and it would reassure the court that she wasn’t deathly ill. It was only a small relapse. 

(Privately, Lianne was afraid it wasn’t. She was afraid of becoming sick again, of seeing Roald waste away alongside her.)

She expected to spend a few hours alone, but she was wrong.

Thom slipped into her room as easily as the ghost he sometimes seemed to be. He looked tired, his expression drawn, but he wasn’t distant like he sometimes was. Lianne was glad of it. She worried when he seemed to slip away, only half aware of where was or what he did when he came back. It was getting better, at least; Thom was getting better. 

“Your Majesty,” Thom said, bowing. It was a little awkward with the limp his injuries left behind.. Baird wasn’t sure it would ever go away. Thom was condemned to live with the scars of his torture, just as Lianne was condemned to live with the ones Roger left behind in her.

He came to her side and sat on the edge of her bed, just as Jonathan did. It was highly inappropriate for anybody but her family to do so, but after the long months since Thom’s rescue, Lianne viewed him more and more as one of her own. Gary would certainly agree, given how often Thom found his way to her nephew’s rooms when the silence became too much to bear. 

After so many months visiting him while bed bound, it felt wrong for him to do it for her, like a mirror casting the wrong image.

Chapter Text

“Are you Thom of Trebond?” 

Thom looked up. It was unusual for anybody to bother him in the library. Those who frequented it enough to recognize him knew he didn’t welcome conversation. It was the entire reason he felt comfortable reading there. 

A young woman stood at his table, her hands folded delicately in front of her dress and her brown hair pinned up fashionably. Cythera had started a trend by wearing it like that a few weeks prior. She seemed vaguely familiar. He scowled. 

“Why do you want to know?” he asked. 

She smiled. It was the type of smile men would have fallen for, had Thom cared about that sort of thing. Unfortunately for her, he didn’t.

“I wanted to introduce myself,” she said, curtsying. “My name is Delia of Eldorne.”

Oh, that was why she was familiar. Their time in the convent had overlapped although he never bothered interacting with her. She was beautiful enough that Gwynnen called her as ‘Cythera’s Rival’ when neither was around, but he supposed that had changed with the arrival of Princess Josiane. Personally, Thom would prefer the prince marry this Eldorne girl over the mad princess. Princess Josiane was unlikely to make a stable queen, but Jonathan was notorious for thinking with his breeches over his brain. 

If Delia of Eldorne was here to take pity on him like some of the other court ladies who sought him out, Thom was going to turn her into a toad. Permanently. 

Oh, look how gracious I am, trying to make friends with the cripple.

His closeness to Queen Lianne didn’t help matters. That and the court’s knowledge of his time with Roger made him a prime target for enterprising ladies wanting a husband—weak, highly favoured by the crown, and lord a powerful fief. Only his relation to Alanna kept him from being widely considered as eligible as Gary, thank the gods for that. 

He didn’t like it when people recognized him. It was why he didn’t eat in the dining hall even when Queen Lianne was well enough to attend. He was a source of endless gossip, both because of his time in Roger’s grasp and because of his sister. Always in the shadow of her accomplishments, even now. 

“Come to gawk?” he asked Lady Delia. He meant it to come out biting, but he just sounded tired. 

“Oh! No, not at all, I just wanted to chat,” she said. She sat at his table despite not being invited. Thom’s scowl deepened. “I love magic even if I’m not Gifted myself. I used to beg the sisters at the convent to let me sit in on classes.”

“And that involves me how?”

Delia shrugged but her smile remained. “I heard you were youngest mage in history to pass the written exam for Mastery of the Mithran Light. Is that true?”

He had almost been more. It was the written portion that caught Roger’s attention; Thom had been too young, and Roger had been desperate. He tried not to think about how much that stung. If not for Roger, Thom would have completed his practical exam; he would have been the youngest Master of the Mithran Light.

Thom clenched his hands into fists, his bad leg suddenly aching. 

“I would rather not talk about it,” he replied stiffly, barely restraining himself from snapping at her. He wouldn’t bother if they were in private, but he didn’t want to draw anybody else’s attention. That didn’t stop his nerves from fraying the longer this interaction went on.

“Of course, I’m so sorry,” Delia said sounding properly chastised. “My I ask just one question? I’ll be quick, I promise.”

Thom closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Answering her would probably we the quickest way to finish this conversation. 

“What?” he asked.

“Is there a time limit between when the two exams must be taken? If you were to do the practical exam now, for example, could you still become a master?”

His eyes snapped open. He hadn’t really thought about it despite the unopened letter(s) from Master Si-cham piled on his desk. Those probably held the answer, but he didn’t know if he wanted them to. He didn’t know what he wanted in general, now. That was something else Roger took—Thom’s certainty of his own desires. 

“I don’t know,” he told her. “Is that all? I would like to get back to my reading.”

Delia stood and curtsied. “Of course, I’m so sorry again for interrupting,” she said, and then left without waiting for a response. 

Thom stared after her for a long moment before returning to his book. Something about the interaction unsettled him, although he didn’t know what. Maybe he just wasn’t used to talking to people who weren’t Gary, George, Queen Lianne, or her ladies-in-waiting.

Maybe it was his Gift trying to force open the small gap in the door he’d allowed it to slither through. He knew it wanted to be free in its entirety, to fill every inch of his broken body, to knit back damaged flesh and torn muscle in a way not even Duke Baird’s healing could. But with it would come the dreams, would come glimpses of the future, of things that could have been but never would. Thom didn’t want to see that future, he didn’t want to feel the power in his veins. 

He couldn’t focus on his book. His skin was buzzing like insects dancing across it and his bones ached like crashing waves. After a while, he gave up. Thom packed up the few belongings he brought and limped out of the library, gritting his teeth against the pain. It had been a good day. Now he had to support himself against the wall. It was humiliating. 

There were only a few things Thom could do when he felt like this. He could retreat to his room and sit in the sun, feeling the fresh air flowing through the window, but sometimes that wasn’t enough. Sometimes the sound of Roger’s laughter in his mind was too much, and Thom would do anything to drown it out.

It was those times he found himself at somebody’s door. He used to feel embarrassed about it. Sometimes, he still did. But Gary and Lianne were kind and forever understanding. Lianne and her ladies let him be. They let him exist without bothering him, while Gary filled the space with chatter, dragging Thom into meaningless conversation. It was different, but sometimes he needed one over the other. One to remind him there were other people in the world, and the other to remind him he still existed within it. 

Today, Thom went to Gary.

They had a sort of routine after so long. Gary opened the door to see Thom and whatever plans he had for the day rearranged as he ushered Thom inside. Thom didn’t even bother apologizing anymore.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Gary asked when they were seated with a cup of peach twilsey. The sun shone through the open window, the late summer heat almost stifling now that Thom wasn’t distracted by books.

Did he? The words felt trapped in Thom’s chest, keeping him forever silent. Even if he could speak, did he want to? There was a reason Thom only told Alanna the minimum; hadn’t told anyone everything Roger did to him. Some truths were better left buried, even beneath his ribs. 

Thom shook his head. 

That wasn’t the last time Thom saw Delia of Eldorne. She appeared often, although not enough to be suspicious. Thom was suspicious anyway.

“If you did something grand enough, do you think they would grant you your mastery?” she asked one day as summer turned to autumn. The equinox was only a couple of weeks away. 

“Maybe,” Thom said. He tried his best to ignore her but she kept pestering him until he answered. The choice was humouring her or hiding in his rooms, and Thom wouldn’t hide from her, not after everything. Delia was just a woman, not even a mage. She couldn’t hurt him. At worst, she annoyed him.

“What sort of thing do you think you would have to do? It would need to be something to make them see how powerful you are.” She looked at him attentively. It made Thom’s skin crawl.

He refused to tell her he wasn’t that powerful anymore. His Gift was hidden too deep inside himself for that. He doubted he could pass the mastery exam without letting it free, something he didn’t plan to do any time soon. Maybe eventually, but not yet.

“I don’t know,” he said, exasperated. “Are you done? I have things to do.”

Delia gave him the same smile she always did when she pushed too hard and he snapped back in frustration or anxiety. She excused herself with the grace of a princess despite being nothing but a half-noble Hill Country barbarian. 

He glared after her when she left, and it was with a start that Thom realized he hated her. He hated Delia of Eldorne, and wasn’t that novel? Thom didn’t think he was capable of that anymore. He thought Roger had taken it all, just like Alanna took all his love.

(But that wasn’t true either, was it? There was George and Gary and Queen Lianne and Cythera and the other ladies-

It wasn’t the same as Alanna, it couldn’t be, but it was something.)

The library felt too quiet, even with other people milling about. It felt like they were watching him, silent and judging. 

Thom went to Queen Lianne this time. Gary was busy and George was away in Port Caynn, so Thom couldn’t even ask from him via Stefan—not that he would, but it was annoying to lose the option. George hadn’t been happy when he told Thom he was leaving. Thom didn’t ask, but he suspected it involved internal issues in the Court of the Rogue. He doubted George would tell him even if he did ask.

Queen Lianne was ill again. Thom hoped visiting would help her mood, even if he couldn’t understand why she was so fond of him. It was different than being raised by Maude. Lianne asked questions and actually listened to the answers; she never got angry or snappy like Maude did. Well, as long as Thom kept from disparaging her son, no matter how much Prince Jonathan deserved it. At least the feeling was mutual—Jonathan hated him just as much.

She was asleep when he arrived, so Thom was ensconced between the fluffy skirts of the Queen’s ladies as they pulled him into their company. Their clothing was still lightly coloured, the ladies holding onto the last vestige of summer before autumn brought its darker tones to match the growing nights.

“Are you okay?” Cythera asked when they were settled. She pulled him close to her and let him rest his head against her shoulder. Thom closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of her perfume. It smelled like roses and something sweet, like the cakes from The City of the Gods. 

Thom didn’t reply and Cythera didn’t press. He probably could have slept like that—the nightmares had been worse lately, and he was utterly exhausted—but Cythera shifted, apologetically explaining her shoulder was falling asleep. She offered to let Thom lie down, either alone on the sofa or with her lap as a pillow, but Thom refused. Better to be awake anyway. He pulled away and accepted the half-finished embroidery Vasilla shoved into his hands. It gave him something to do, at least, even if it was uglier than any of the ladies’ work.

He sat quietly for a time, listening to their subdued chatter. Some of it was important—the political climate, the new High Priestess of the Black God’s temple, Princess Josiane—but a lot was meaningless. Even the important pieces weren’t impactful to him. 

“How is her Majesty?” Thom whispered to Cythera. He watched the flicker in her expression before she masked it.

“Not well,” she admitted just as quietly. She twisted the gold bracelet adorning her wrist round and round. Her book sat open on her lap but Thom knew it was only for show. She wasn’t reading it. “Duke Baird is worried; so is the king. Nobody has said anything because they don’t want people to panic, but they think Duke Roger’s spell may have done more damage than they initially thought. The curse is broken, but she’s still weakening.”

It felt like a punch in his gut.

“Do they think she’s going to die?” he asked. It didn’t feel like him speaking.

“Duke Baird is doing all he can,” Cythera told him. She put a steadying hand on his shoulder but Thom barely felt it through the buzzing in his mind. “He’s been talking to scholars in Carthak; even the head of their healing department.”

Thom closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to quell the nausea rising in his stomach. He was surprised at the intensity of his own reaction. It felt as if somebody told him Alanna might be dying.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Cythera said, squeezing his shoulder. “She’ll be alright Thom.”

He nodded, mostly because he wanted to be free of Cythera’s attention. 

“How are things with Gary?” he asked despite not particularly caring at the moment. It was usually a mix of amusing and frustrating to watch them dance around their obvious affection for each other, but right now, Thom couldn’t bring himself to do anything but try to ignore the sound of Roger’s laughter, the feeling of hands around his throat. Suffocating, drowning. 

Cythera blushed, but it didn’t do much to ease her obvious concern ovrr him. She didn’t press, though; she never did. Instead she began to haltingly explain how her last interaction with Gary went. 

“And you aren’t courting?” Florence asked, her attention apparently drawn by the topic of conversation. “Come on Cythera, this is getting ridiculous.”

“Oh, are we talking about how hopeless Cyth and Gary are?” Vasilla asked, hiding her smile behind her embroidery.

Cythera groaned and hid her face in her hands. The others laughed, teasing her good-naturedly. Thom didn’t take part. He breathed, focusing on the flowers in the room, on Cythera and Florence’s perfumes, on the feeling of his silken robes on his skin. The chatter helped, even if it wasn’t quite enough to ground him. 

Nothing would ever be enough, would it? Thom would never be free of the chains Roger wielded onto his soul. He would forever be trapped in that room, drowning in darkness and pain and grief. 

Alanna was in Port Caynn. 

Thom held George’s letter in his trembling hands. Everything hurt today, even his teeth. Pain pulsed through him, reminding him of every broken bone and laceration. 

George invited Thom to join them. It might be nice, he said, to be in Port Caynn, to visit the sea. 

Thom had never seen the sea. 

But that would involve leaving, involve travelling, something Thom wasn’t keen to do even if Port Caynn wasn’t far. He could make it there in half a day if he took a carriage. Longer if he took a boat, but boats were less bouncy than carriages.

He considered it. It would be nice to see Alanna again, to show her and Coram they didn’t have to worry about him. He’d recovered a lot in the seven months since they first found him; even more in the three since Alanna and Coram returned to the desert. And being away from the palace might be nice. Delia of Eldorne was increasingly becoming something of a nuisance, constantly pressing him about this and that. She even went as far as to visit his rooms, once, telling him he should do something to prove himself. Thom snapped that he did prove himself and look where that got him. Even worse, Cythera said people were starting to think they were courting . It would be good to be as far away from Delia of Eldorne as possible.

“I think you should go,” Gary said as he leaned back in his chair. “Get out of here and experience the world.”

“I’m not sure I want to experience the world,” Thom said gloomily. 

Gary shrugged. “You don’t want to travel to Galla and visit that supposed forest with trees so tall people live in them?”

Thom would like that, but that wasn’t Port Caynn. 

“Baby steps,” Gary said. 

“I’m not sure I want to be around George and Alanna now that Alanna isn’t with the prince,” Thom said with a sigh. 

“Okay, see, now that’s a fair reason. Gods they’ll be intolerable, poor Coram. George must be so cocky about to too. Not with you, but certainly with the rest of us. It’s probably for the best that he’s in Port Caynn or I’m sure he and Jonathan would get into a fight, which George would win, obviously.”

“Isn’t Jonathan your cousin? Shouldn’t you be supporting him?”

“Absolutely not. George would pummel him into the ground.”

Thom actually laughed. The sound startled him. Gary looked pleased with himself but Thom’s myrth quickly faded. 

“Do you really think I should go?” he asked. He felt ridiculous being so anxious about it, but the only place Thom had willingly travelled was from Trebond to The City of the Gods. 

“I do,” Gary said. He was serious, his teasing tone fading. “I think it would be good for you to get out of here for a while. Give yourself a break from everything and come back before the weather turns too cold for Alanna to stay. It’s worse on the port.”

Alanna would probably return to the desert by winter, so he wouldn’t be gone too long. Samhain was less than a week away—he’d be back long before midwinter.

“I- I’ll think about it,” Thom said.

He left Gary’s room feeling like he was lugging Roger’s corpse behind him. 

Queen Lianne gave him a wane smile and told him the same thing when he visited her, but that didn’t help his decision. 

Lianne didn’t look well. She was pale and frail, her hands bony like they were the first time they met. She was still beautiful, picturesque like a painting, but the rouge on her cheeks and lips wasn’t enough to rid her of her sickly complection. 

He didn’t want to leave her. It was another surprise. Thom only ever cared for his Gift and his sister, but here he was, his Gift locked away and considering passing up the opportunity to see Alanna to stay with the queen. The queen. It was mad to care about her. 

But Lianne reached out a cold hand to cup his cheek. 

“You should visit for sister,” she said. “I know Jonathan is devastated by their falling out and I can’t imagine Sir Alanna feels any differently.”

“Did Jonathan say something?” he asked. “He seems fine to me.”

“No, but I’m his mother. I know when my baby is hurting.”

There was a weight to her words as she looked at Thom meaningfully. He didn’t have the energy to read into it, but he understood her surface intent. Alanna was hurting as well, and him being there would help. Thom suspected George would be able to help more, but he reluctantly agreed to visit them. He told them that he wanted a room as far away from where they were sleeping as possible when he wrote that he would come.

He planned to leave three days before Samhain. Marek would accompany him. Thom vaguely remembered him. 

That didn’t happen.

Early in the morning Thom was set to leave for Port Caynn, Queen Lianne took a drastic turn for the worse.

He was roused from his sleep by Gary’s frantic knocking. His rooms were always well-lit by magical light, even when he slept, but that only meant Thom could see the worry in Gary’s features.  

His bones ached with the growing cold but he followed Gary through the twisting hallways. He did his best to ignore his mounting anxieties, both about the shadowed corners from the lanterns burning low and the queen’s health.

Gary said nothing. Thom tried to tell himself she would be fine, but he didn’t really believe it. He knew Roger would never let them go.  

When they arrived in Queen Lianne’s rooms, it was chaos. Several of her ladies-in-waiting were in the sitting room speaking in low voices. Thom spotted Sir Gareth with Lady Roanna with a few other nobles. 

He ended up sitting with Cythera and a few of the other younger ladies-in-waiting. None of them were properly dressed. Thom and Gary probably shouldn’t be here, unmarried as they were and around equally as unmarried women, but Thom had no interest in such things and propriety caved before extenuating circumstances. They would have to return to their rooms to dress properly before the sun rose; what could be forgiven during the dark hours of the night would not receive that same leeway at dawn.

All they could tell him was that Lianne’s illness had worsened. She had been feverish the last few days, he knew that, but now she was too weak to even drink. 

The wait was awful. Thom didn’t think to ask why they sent for him and nobody volunteered the information. Instead he sat in silence while a few of the others made valiant attempts at normal conversation. It didn’t work. 

When it became clear no news would come, the group dispersed. Some went back to sleep while others carried out their daily activities. Thom dressed in the expensive clothes Lianne and her ladies bought for him and pulled tight hose over his bad leg. It was a suggestion from Duke Baird. The pressure helped ward off pain. He wrote a short missive to George and Alanna, apologizing for having to delay his visit; he didn’t want to leave until he knew what was going on. Stefan would get it to Marek. 

Queen Lianne’s rooms were quieter when he returned. Only a handful of the lower ranked ladies stayed in attendance. The others were covering the queen’s daily duties. Meetings and luncheons had to be rearranged and nobles placated. Duke Gareth was presumably doing the same for King Roald and probably dragged Gary into helping. Thom couldn’t imagine accepting such a role, it. seemed horrible to him. Why anybody would willingly subject themselves to politics was beyond him. Thom always felt true power laid elsewhere, not amongst the petty games he saw at the convent and court.

“Weren’t you leaving today?” Vasilla asked as time ticked on.

Thom only shrugged. 

It was a few hours later when Duke Baird and Lady Wilina finally left the queen’s bedchambers, followed by several other healers. Duke Baird looked exhausted. He’d probably been up all night. 

Everybody stood at his entrance, bowing and curtsying as was proper. Cythera steadied Thom’s bad side and helped him with a subtle hand under his elbow. She was surprisingly strong. 

Duke Baird barely noticed them but Lady Wilina raised a hand, a signal they could relax. One of the healers stayed but the rest retreated, probably to their beds after what must have been a difficult night. The sitting room was left in tense silence, each person wondering what that meant about the status of Queen Lianne’s illness. Their answer came from the appearance of a head of black hair and eyes so blue they always made Thom feel ill from Lianne's bedroom.

Jonathan didn’t look well, which was to be expected given the situation. His eyes scanned the room before they landed on Thom and something blazed in them, angry and desperate. He walked directly to where Thom stood sandwiched between Cythera and Vasilla. Thom felt both women tense. 

“Can you help her?” Jonathan asked. It came out less a question and more a demand.

The room turned deathly silent, the air heavy like a tomb. Like Thom’s tomb. 

Thom swallowed dryly. He felt dizzy, his head spinning. Jonathan always reminded him of Roger, and right now, with that look of barely hidden desperation so familiar Thom knew it in his bones, the resemblance was uncanny. Distantly, he wondered if Jonathan knew that.

Everybody was watching him. Somewhere, Roger laughed. 

Oh. He was going to faint, wasn’t he?

“No,” he said with a voice that didn’t feel like his own. Cythera’s hand tightened but even that was numbed. “I’m not a healer. That’s- that’s Alanna.”

“You can’t do anything?” Jonathan snapped. “What use are you?”

“Jonathan!” Cythera said.  

“I’m not,” Thom said. They all looked at him. “I’m not useful. I can’t do anything, I'm sorry.”

He couldn’t do anything in that cell when Roger stood over his shivering form, and he couldn't now when Lianne was sick.

“Gods above Jonathan-” somebody said. It felt like they were underwater. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t- I didn’t mean it. It’s just my mother-”

Somebody lowered Thom back onto the sofa and positioned his head between his knees. They kept a hand on her shoulder, steadying him. Gods, he was going to throw up. 

After his episode, Thom avoided the queens’ rooms. He paced his own, biting his nails until they bled.

Maybe he should have gone to Port Caynn. He was about as useful here as he would be there. Worse, here people worried about him almost as much as they did Lianne.

The entire palace was full of sickening tension. Thom could feel it through the stone as if the walls themselves were holding their breath.

His breaking point came the next night in the form of Delia of Eldrone. 

It was late on the eve of Samhain, the sun long since having set. There was power in the air. Thom wasn’t asleep—he’d barely been able to since Gary woke him, only snatching glimpses between the nightmares; the impending Day of Power agitated him more, his magic writhing where he locked it away. Tomorrow was a day for spellwork, and Samhain always called to him more than any other.

Delia knocked quietly. Thom would have ignored her but she pleaded entry. When he saw her, he paused. 

She looked bad, worried and dishevelled, and already wore a black mourning gown. It was very unlike the Delia he knew. 

“I heard about Queen Lianne,” she said. 

“You and the entire palace,” Thom snapped. Delia didn’t flinch. 

“What if you could save her?”

“I’m no healer.”

“No, but your sister saved Prince Jonathan, didn’t she? She brought him back from the dead.”

Thom stilled. “How do you know that?”

Delia shrugged. “People talk. I never believed the rumour that Sir Myles told her what to do.”

He shook his head. “She didn’t bring him back from the dead, and I can’t replicated what she did.”

Alanna was gods’ touched, the Chosen of the Mother Goddess Herself. She was a talented healer full of power and potential. What was Thom compared to her? Nothing but failed sorcerer.

“Maybe not, but perhaps you could do something else,” Delia said. Her dress slipped a little to reveal her milky shoulder. Thom looked away. 

“There isn’t.”

“There is. The healers think this is because of Duke Roger, don’t they?” she said. Thom flinched at the name. “They think it’s his spell that caused it. Well, what if they’re right? What if she is still affected? It’s possible, isn’t it? If the spell was strong enough?”

In theory, yes. But they’d destroyed the poppet Roger was using as a conduit. Unless he had some sort of backup, a fail safe, but that should have faded with his death. A person's natural life force eventually broke down enchantments and curses on their person when nothing kept the magic powered. Having any spells last beyond the caster's death required careful steps taken beforehand, and even those usually needed to be refreshed.

“You could bring Roger back,” Delia suggested. 

Thom’s attention snapped to her. His heart pounded in his chest. “Excuse me?”

“Roger could undo whatever the spell left behind without harming her more. That’s how magic works. Finding and breaking a working is easy enough for the caster. It’s much harder for somebody else, and Queen Lianne is already so frail," she said.

Shock, sickness, and panic coursed through him. 

“You want me to bring Roger back from the dead? That’s impossible,” Thom said, his breathing too quick.

“Are you sure?” Delia pressed, her voice sultry as she stepped further into his space. “You were almost the youngest Master of the Mithran light in history; if anybody could do it, you could. You can prove yourself to them, to everybody. You can prove yourself to Roger, keep him in your thrall, and save the queen.” 

She stood so close to him they were almost touching, her eyes gazing into his. 

“You could do it, Trebond,” she whispered. “It’s almost Samhain. You could perform miracles and save the kingdom.”

Thom sort of wanted to vomit on her dress. 

“Leave me,” he snapped.

“Master Thom-” The title tore across his skin. 

“Leave me!” He threw something, he didn’t know what. It shattered against the wall. 

He was alone. 

Even if she was right, Thom couldn’t bring back Roger; he couldn’t, but maybe she was still onto something. 

If it was a lingering enchantment, maybe he could break it. He was more familiar with Roger’s Gift than anyone else, after all. Maybe he could find something the others couldn’t.

It was a desperate hope, but Thom had to hold onto something. Even if Lianne survived this bout of illness, how long until she contracted another and another? 

Samhain dawned. Thom spent the day feverishly going over the library’s meagre collection of relevant volumes. When that failed, he got Gary’s help breaking into Roger’s old belongings. Thom’s hands trembled as he took the books. 

“Don’t ask,” he told Gary, and Gary didn’t. 

Just before the sun set, Thom headed to the queen’s rooms. 

He tried to make himself look smaller, more pathetic and pitiable. It wasn’t hard. 

Prince Jonathan and King Roald sat at Lianne’s bedside. Thom hated feeling lesser than them, just like he did Roger for so long, but there were more important things than Thom’s pride. Besides, it wasn't not like he had much left anyway.

“Could I have some time alone with her?” he asked, keeping his eyes downcast. His voice trembled and while Thom didn’t do it purposefully, it did add to the effect.

A quick glance at King Roald’s grieving expression showed it softening into something quieter. Even Jonathan didn’t seem as antagonistic as usual. It was foolish, really. If Thom meant Queen Lianne harm, this would be the perfect time to strike. But, then, he’d had more than one opportunity for that already, didn’t he?

“Please?” he added. “I just want to- if this is- I never got to meet my mother. She died when I was born.”

He let the meaning hang in the air, licking the taste of iron off his cracked lips. 

Let them think he wanted to say goodbye, that he viewed Queen Lianne like the mother he never had. 

“Of course,” King Roald said softly. “We should make an appearance at supper anyway.” Even as he said it, it was obvious he didn’t want to leave her. 

Suddenly, Thom understood why killing Lianne had been part of Roger’s plans. King Roald really couldn’t rule without her, could he? He couldn’t live without her. In the very least, he’d abdicate in favour of his heir, no matter if that heir was Jonathan or Roger. 

Jonathan didn’t look at him as they passed. Thom almost thought he'd be ignored entirely, but Jonathan paused in the doorway. 

“I’m sorry, for before,” Jonathan said without turning around. He sounded tired; his posture slumped. “Look after her.”

Thom swallowed dryly. “I will,” he promised and hoped he wouldn’t break it.

The door closed, leaving Thom alone with Queen Lianne. A healer remained outside in case anything changed, and Thom wondered how long they would give him privacy before checking on her. He wasn’t royalty, they didn’t answer to him, and this work was too dangerous to risk interruption. 

He waited a moment, just to be sure King Roald and Prince Jonathan wouldn’t return. Then he pressed his fingers to the door and took a deep breath. He focused inwards to that trickle of power inside him. He gathered the string of his Gift in his hands like winding a ball of Lady Roanna’s yarn.

Even with his eyes closed and the wood between them, it was easy to find the healer. Their Gift drew Thom’s attention like a lighthouse on a clear night. He cast out his ball of power and let it turn to sand that sprinkled over them, unnoticed even by their own magic. Few healers learned the defensive magics Thom practiced against, and even if they did, his Gift was good at being unnoticed. He’d trained it to be. 

He felt the spell land on them like freshly fallen snow and knew when they slumped in their chair a moment later, fast asleep.

Thom pulled away from the door. His heart hammered in his chest and his breathing was too loud. It was the most powerful spell he’d cast in over a year, and after so long it felt like rain in the desert. It was exhilarating. 

The next part he could do even without the crushed herbs he drew from his pocket, but Thom didn’t trust himself to hold the ward through the end of this. He wasn’t sure expected to survive.

He sprinkled the herbs in front of the door and let his power seep into them, weaving a subtle ward nobody would feel unless they were looking for it. It would take some time to break through, which was exactly what he needed. 

With that finished, Thom took a deep breath. He looked back to Queen Lianne, pale but breathing on the bed, and hesitated. Duke Baird said she might survive this, but how long could she be chased by Roger’s spectre, one foot already in the Peaceful Realms? No, she might survive this, but not much more. Thom refused to allow that, not after everything. 

He reached into his pocket for a second pouch he prepared, this one filled with vervain, and ran his fingers over the rich velvet. Once, he had questioned Maude’s attempt at Seeing—the gods did not take kindly to those who tried to use magic they had not been given—but now, he understood. Sometimes there was no better option. Sometimes it was worth the risk. 

The hearth burned nearby in an attempt to help Lianne sweat out the fever. Thom hesitated for only a moment before he threw the packet into it, just like Alanna did eight years before during the Sweating Sickness. Unlike his sister, Thom did not kneel before the flames. 

He searched inside himself, half afraid he would only find the trickle of Gift he used earlier, that when he reached for more, it would disappear like a wisp of smoke, but deep down he found the door of magic inside himself. Thom took a deep, trembling breath and threw it open. 

His Gift flooded out like a tidal wave and Thom wavered. He had to catch himself on the mantlepiece of the hearth as the full power of his Gift sang in him, making his knees feel weak. The melody of it reached all the way down to his bones. It was hard to breathe, but he did, and, somehow, Thom redirected the storm of power inside him into the fire. It blazed purple, the colour so intense it made everything else seem drab in comparison. Then, floating in the swirl of his Gift, he said the words that would call the Greater Powers’ attention to him. It was a formality only. Thom was certain they were already watching. Well, those who weren’t watching Alanna, at least. 

He searched for every drop of power inside himself and gathered it in his chest. When he found he needed more, he reached deeper still, all the way to the thread that connected him to Alanna. 

Sorry, sister, he thought and pulled. 

It was dizzying. Thom almost forgot the spell in the way the power buzzed through him, around him, how it seemed to shape the world into something different. 

The spell was old, and used primarily by women. Maude taught it to them more for Alanna’s sake, but Thom didn’t feel particularly attached to Mithros. Besides, his sister was the Mother Goddess’ own champion and his queen was a devout follower. It felt right. 

“Dark Goddess, Great Mother, show me the way. Open the gates to me. Guide me, Mother of mountains and mares, Mother of daughters and sons-”

He paused. Despite the power of the spell burning his on tongue there was nothing, there was no spark of recognition or response. Thom’s face twisted. 

“You owe me,” he whispered darkly. There was nothing reverent about his voice. His hands shook in a mix of helplessness and anger, an old fury he’d almost forgotten. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair. His voice rose. “I won’t allow this, do you hear me? You all owe me this much. You used my sister as your tool in your crusade against Roger. You threw us into his path and left me with nothing; no way to protect myself. I have always been an acceptable casualty in Alanna’s fate. Fine, I’ve accepted that, but you will give me this. You will give me her. Too much has been taken from me. You owe me. ”

Thom didn’t know what he expected to happen. Probably nothing. The gods weren’t known for their fairness nor their willingness to take orders from the likes of mortals. Better men than him died everyday and the gods cared little. Better men than him prayed for miracles and found none. Why would he be any different? 

Maybe it was Alanna’s influence, because it seemed he was. The fire cracked like thunder so loud it shook the windows. His skin turned the colour of his Gift as the fire leapt from the hearth to his arms. It didn’t hurt, nor did it consume the fabric covering them. 

A voice spoke and Thom screamed. It echoed in his mind, vibrating his skull. 

You make many demands, my child, It--She--said. She sounded like a pack of baying wolves, like the grinding of mountains as they slowly moved over eternities of time. 

Thom gritted his teeth. He tasted blood. 

“You owe me,” he repeated. 

The Mother Goddess said nothing and Thom let out a hysterical laugh. His eyes burned but the gods didn’t remove their favour. 

He stumbled to Lianne’s bedside, gasping and half blind. Somehow, she slept through the commotion, which was a bad sign but probably for the best.

“I won’t let them take you,” he said, and threw the power of the gods into her.

The fire burned inside him, inside her, and for a moment, Thom forgot where one started and the other began. He was splintered, fragments of himself burning away the weakness inside Lianne, strengthening her where Duke Baird’s magic couldn’t. 

It worked, like holding a torch to cobwebs, but something remained. A glitter of magic, so thin it might as well have been spider silk. Somehow it was immune to even the flame of the gods. 

And oh but Thom recognized it, recognized this thinnest of threads that still remained hooked in Lianne’s heart just as surely as his own. It was the touch of Roger’s Gift, starved by death and impossible to see without this gods-given power, but not gone. Thom doubted he would have even noticed it had he not been so intimately familiar with its power, with how it felt to be bound by it, tormented by it, tortured.  

Thom followed the thread, looking for weaknesses. The world around him fell away. He could no longer hear the crackling hearth or Lianne’s ragged breaths. There was nothing but this last vestige of Roger, impossible as it was. Thom followed it until he was no longer within his body, no longer within Lianne’s. He was the magic of his Gift travelling along a wire into some place both familiar and not. 

It was a well of writhing blackness, both full and empty. It was everything and it was nothing nothing and it made Thom’s head splinter and ache, like looking through a kaleidoscope for too long. It pulsed around him like a living thing, a beating heart or breathing lungs.

Thom knew where he was. It was the edge of the Peaceful Realms, the place between Life and Death. It was here that the thread of Roger’s Gift led.

Thom paused, more power than person, but he was still mortal enough to feel fear. He remembered what Delia told him, what she so desperately wanted. In hindsight, it was obvious. Appeal to his pride, and when that didn’t work, his desperation. 

Had Thom not spent ten months tortured by Roger, it might have even worked. 

“He isn’t dead, is he?” he asked the gods he knew were listening. 

“No,” a different voice said. This one was softer, less painful, but no less divine. It was as familiar as this place and Thom knew it instantly, recognized It from the times he had laid half dead in thay cell, begging his own heart to stop beating. This voice had been there, had brushed his hair from his feverish forehead and whispered, not yet.

He swallowed dryly. He didn’t know how it was possible, but of course Roger wasn’t dead, not really. How could Thom ever think to be free of him?

“He is only a man,” this second voice said. “And all men die the way everything dies, eventually.”

So it was in the oldest of writings. When the world finally ended, when the creatures of the three realms were gone and the other gods faded to nothing, only three would remain: Mithros, god of the sun, Uusoae, goddess of chaos, and The Black God, the god of death. As the last star blinked out and the sky became endless darkness, The Black God would take His siblings hands and guide them into Death alongside Him, and so Father Universe and Mother Flame could remake the world anew.

Everything died eventually, even the gods. Even Roger.

“Can I defeat him?” Thom asked The Black God.

“She will die if you do not.”

That wasn’t an answer, but it was, because Thom would not let Queen Lianne die.

Roger had taken too much from him. Thom would not let him take her, one of the few people in his life to show him unwavering kindness. He would not let Roger destroy what Thom built for himself, with George’s reassuring presence and Gary’s chatter, with Lianne’s warmth and Cythera’s quiet conversation.

He was never one for righteous indignation—that was always more Alanna’s thing—but perhaps they were more alike than they thought, because as he stood in this place between places, thinking of all Roger had taken from him, all the things Roger continued to take, Thom burned.

Roger was nothing but a fragment of himself. There was none of the poise and power Thom recognized, nothing of the man who once towered over him. Oh, Roger still sneered when he saw Thom and Thom’s heart still pounded against his chest, but Roger was only half alive, and that meant he was already half dead. 

“I should have known it would be you,” Roger said cruelly. “Are there truly so few capable sorcerers in Corus? Well, I suppose I would hardly count you as capable, so it must be worse than I thought.”

“I’m only here for one reason,” Thom said lowly, ignoring Roger’s attempt to get a rise. He was proud of how his voice didn’t shake.

Roger actually looked surprised, then he laughed, and how Thom hated that laugh. It rattled inside his head, reminding him of countless agonies, of prayers through blood-covered lips to please just let it end. 

“The queen? My dear aunt is as good as dead already.”

Thom’s eyes burned with fire and magic. “You’ll take her over my corpse,” he growled, his face twisting.

For a moment he saw himself through Roger’s eyes, that barely eighteen-year-old boy, angry and so, so frightened. Roger underestimated him. That would prove his undoing. 

Thom smiled. It was joyless. “Of course, if I do fail, I’ll make sure my sister comes for you next.”

That got the reaction he was hoping for. The condescending expression disappeared from Roger’s face, replaced with a fury Thom had only ever seen after Alanna thwarted his schemes. It was always satisfying, no matter how much Roger made him pay for his sister’s interference.

The fire inside Thom was hungry the way it had always been hungry. He was long starved, had eaten himself up from the inside out with his insatiable desire to know, with his anger and jealousy for all the things he didn’t have. But here was Roger, Roger who had everything, who had power and knowledge the likes of which Thom could only dream of, and had thrown it all away. For what? To be king? A king was only a man.

“And you called me pathetic," he said.

Roger howled a barely human sound and threw his strength at Thom. The world shifted and trembled as Roger called upon it, morphing to fit his needs and lash out. 

Agony sparked up Thon’s arms as he raised them in defense and called upon his own power. He wasn’t quite fast enough and blood welled up from slashes in his robes.

“I will kill you, little mage, and then the queen,” Roger snarled. “Then I’ll puppet your corpse and use it to butcher your whore of a sister!”

Thom grinned. “Alanna would turn us both to dust.”

When Roger lashed out again, Thom was ready. He may not have dwelt in this place like Roger had, but he'd certainly bordered it, spent weeks and months halfway into the Peaceful Realms.

He called up a shield, one glittering with twisting violet and gold. It was the one he’d meant to enchant for Alanna, the one George made a mundane version of from the notes Thom left behind. A lioness rampant. 

Roger raged when his attack was blocked. Not the methodical rage Thom was used to, the one that preempted the worst of Roger’s careful cruelties. No, this was erratic. Even his power felt different as it wracked across Thom’s flesh, desperate and clawing. 

“You’re trapped here, aren’t you?” Thom said with dawning realization. He felt giddy. “It’s been nine months and you’ve been trapped here all along. That’s a bit ironic, isn’t it?” He couldn’t help the delight that swelled in his chest. 

“I will return to the land of the living and when I do I will bring it to ruin!” Roger shouted.

Nine months; that was almost as long as he had Thom. As far as cells went, this place wasn’t too bad. It wasn’t cold or putrid or rat-infested. Roger wouldn’t be tortured to death. Thom could walk away now and leave Roger here for an eternity to rot, to wither away to nothing until he couldn’t even remember his own name. It was nothing less than Roger deserved, the perfect vengeance, but if Thom left now, Queen Lianne would die. 

Over my dead body, he thought.

This time, it was Thom’s turn. He let his power take shape, edged like a sword. Roger batted it away as easily as a bug but Thom only returned stronger. 

All around them shapes and colours swirled, attack into defense into attack. Thom lost track of everything but the rhythm of the magic coursing through his veins, the way he wove his power around him. It came as easily as breathing, like this space between breathed with him, for him. He was untouchable even as he stood in bloodied robes. Roger couldn’t have this; Roger couldn’t take it. 

“I broke you!” Roger screamed. “I watched you snivel and beg for mercy. I broke your bones and listened to you scream yourself hoarse. You’re nothing, do you hear me? Nothing! Just an idiot boy playing at power.”

“Oh, you broke me,” Thom replied. “You shattered me so thoroughly I don’t think anybody will ever be able to put me back together. But that’s the thing about shards, isn’t it? They cut. You destroyed me Roger, but by the gods, I will drag you down with me.”

The memories of his time spent in Roger’s grasp were always hovering just below the surface. They haunted Thom’s dreams and waking hours alike. He grabbed them easily, shaping them to give them physical form. Every wound, every bruise and cut and drop of blood spilled was painted across Thom’s body, a metaphysical score kept even for those wounds he could no longer remember. Endless agony.

Roger thought this nothingness was torment? He didn’t know torment. He didn’t know what it was like to spend an eternity in pain and cold, suffering alone in the dank, forgotten places of the world.

That was okay; Thom would show him. 

He hid behind his sister’s shield until he was ready, until he was sure every ragged piece of him that Roger broke was gathered in his hands. The memories cut as deeply into his skin as if he was holding shattered glass, but Thom accepted the collateral damage. Pain was a type of power in itself and Thom had much of it to give. 

When he left the cover of Alanna’s shield, Roger unleashed a wave of energy. It buckled as it roared towards him, but Thom only embraced it. He stepped into the pain and the darkness even as it tore at him. When it passed, because all things passed, Thom held a ball of blood red power in his hands, a mix of his memories tainted with Roger. 

He would never be free of Roger’s grasp, but that was okay. Thom would use that same connection against him 

“Why don’t I save my sister the trouble of killing us?” Thom asked almost casually. “I’ll do it for her.”

He looked up and met Roger’s eyes, purple verus blue, and he smiled. This time, it wasn’t Roger laughing.

“Rot,” Thom whispered and let the power in his hands explode.

Chapter Text

Come back to Corus.

The note written in Gary’s familiar hand arrived via Stefan’s bird just before dawn. It needn’t have. George and Coram were already packed and ready to leave; only waiting for Alanna to wake. 

She had wanted to leave yesterday after the sudden, draining wave of lethargy that could have only been caused by Thom, but Coram and George narrowly convinced her to stay until morning. She couldn't have kept up with their hard pace to Corus and they would have been forced to stop anyways. 

While she slept, George poured over the sparse incoming information and cursed Thom’s name six ways for doing whatever this was now instead of when they were in Corus to do damage control. Of course he had to do something probably immensely reckless when George, Alanna, and Coram were all away, because why wouldn’t he? Both he and his sister would personally make George’s hair turn grey before he was thirty, a feat the entire combined Court of the Rogue couldn’t accomplish if they tried. 

Dammit. Dammit dammit dammit. 

Alanna rose with the sun, as usual, and they barely waited long enough to eat before saddling their horses. 

There wasn’t much to say. They rode hard. Alanna was anxious and snappy all the while and only Faithful snippily reminding her it wasn’t any of their faults Corus was half a day's ride from Port Caynn calmed her. 

In too many ways it felt like that awful ride from The City of the Gods to Trebond, hoping they’d find Thom safe at his fief. Like then, George did his best not to let his own concern show. Alanna needed him and Coram to keep her steady. 

George let out a sigh of relief when Corus was in sight and had to hold himself back from turning directly towards the Dove to find out what was going on. Those he left in charge of Corus—people whose loyalty he trusted undoubtedly—probably spent the morning and whole of last night gathering information.

Instead, they pushed onwards to the Palace. Whatever happened, it involved Thom, which meant the palace was the best place to be. 

At least it wasn’t busy the day after Samhain, although evidence of the festivities remained. The ashes of bonfires had yet to be cleared away and broken bottles lined the streets of Market District. A few drunks were just rousing despite the late hour. Further into the city, offerings left to those in the Peaceful Realms remained. The Temple to the Black God was still decorated for the god’s most holy day. 

When they finally reached the Palace, Stefan met them to take their horses. He must have been waiting. 

“Infirmary,” Stefan said. “I don’t know anything else.”

It saved them the time of questioning him, but George hated how Alanna looked like she was going to cry. 

All they knew was what Thom had written days before—Queen Lianne was ill and he was delaying his trip until she recovered. Then the drain of Alanna’s Gift.

George knew the way to the infirmary just as well as Alanna did. After the long months Thom spent there, George had hoped it would be a long time before he returned. He knew Alanna and Coram felt similarly.

The infirmary was strangely empty. George didn’t immediately recognize those working, which meant the highest ranked healers were elsewhere. He was about to question who he assumed was an apprentice when he was interrupted. 

“Alanna?” Gary asked, drawing their collective attention. He stood just outside an open door, his hand still on the doorknob and half pulling it closed. His shoulders slumped with relief at the sight of them.

George looked him over with a critical eye. He’d seen Gary in some rough situations before, but this was different than drinking away his sorrows or hungover after staying too late at the Dove the night before. It was closer to those first few haunting days after they found Thom. Gary looked just as exhausted now as he did then. Even his hair was a mess. 

“Gary!” Alanna said. “What happened? Where’s Thom? Is he okay?”

“Whoa, hey,” Gary said, pulling away from the door to step toward her. “It’s alright Alanna. He’s okay.”

“What happened?”

“He saved my mother,” a new voice said.

Jon appeared from the room behind Gary to lean against the doorframe. He lingered there for a moment, tense, before he consciously forced himself to relax and pressed forward to join his cousin. George narrowed his eyes. 

“He’s asleep right now,” Jon said. “Duke Baird told us not to wake him. Apparently Thom has the worst case of mage-fatigue he’s seen since the Sweating Sickness. Sound familiar?”

His implication was clear: the time Alanna saved Jon’s life and slept for three days.

“I think you two had better start at the beginning,” George said lowly.

When Gary walked into Queen Lianne’s room after dinner and found Thom collapsed on the floor, he was sure it was going to be the worst day of his life. Worse even than watching Alanna run Roger through and then beg and plead over his corpse for her brother, her clothes soaked in blood, until Coram pulled her away. 

He had been sure in that first, horrible moment, that Thom was dead, that he’d taken the Black God’s Option and sought relief; that losing Lianne was too painful to bear. 

Cythera screamed. Gary still couldn’t be sure he didn’t.

Now, days later, as Gary crowded into Thom’s bedroom to listen to the recollection of what happened, he felt just as cold. 

Roger wasn’t dead. Roger wasn’t dead.  

At least, not before Thom followed that last twisting thread of magic to the border between realms and proceeded to beat him into oblivion—Gary’s words, not Thom’s.

Gary didn’t know what to think. At least he wasn’t alone in that. Lianne, somehow, looked the least surprised, and Gary wondered if she somehow knew what Thom said was true. 

“That type of magic is heretical,” Roald said. He looked pained. Even after all of this Gary knew his uncle still struggled to view Roger as the monster he was.

“I doubt Roger cared,” Gareth, Gary’s father, replied tensely. “We’ll have to investigate to make sure he’s truly gone.”

Thom nodded. Of all of them, he looked the most tired. He leaned half-slumped against Alanna, a position he’d progressively fallen into the longer the conversation went on. It wasn’t surprising. According to Duke Baird, Thom drained his entire vast reservoir of magic and that of his sister, and apparently still had to rely on magic lent by the gods. But that power had to be repaid, and so Thom had done little more than eat and sleep since Samhain.

Gary tried not to worry about that. He let Alanna and Coram fuss over Thom, who was too tired to do anything but acquiesce. There were other pressing matters to attend to that they need have no part in, like Thom’s theory of some plot involving Delia of Eldorne trying to convince a powerful mage to resurrect Roger, which was hopefully impossible now, but they still needed proof of collusion. That would fall to Myles and Gareth, but Gary and George would almost certainly help once George finished up with whatever issues he was having in the Court of the Rogue. 

“I’ll try looking into it to see if I can find out how he did it,” Thom said, rubbing his eyes. “I’m sure his books have something I can work off of.”

From the chair at Thom’s bedside, Lianne squeezed his hand. “Later. Rest for now,” she said, which was a bit hypocritical in Gary’s opinion. She shouldn’t be up and active either, but there was no stopping her from being here. 

“I’ll ask Harailt of Aili to start. He may have heard of something like this in Carthak,” Myles added cautiously. He was always careful when talking to Thom now, something Gary was privately grateful for. They didn’t need a repeat of last time. 

Roald helped Lianne to her feet and were the first to leave the room. The others followed. Gary lingered outside the bedroom door, glancing back with a raised eyebrow to see Jon standing awkwardly next to Alanna and Thom. 

As far as Gary knew, the last time Alanna and Jon spoke was when she turned down his proposal in the desert.  

“I’m not sure I can ever repay you for what you did to help my mother,” Jon said quietly. “But if there’s anything you want, I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you get it.”

Thom snorted. “You can stop trying to bed my sister for a start.”

“Thom!” Alanna snapped although it came out more like a shriek. 

Gary pressed his hand over his mouth to keep from laughing. Unfortunately, it meant he missed whatever Jon said in reply, but Gary was fine with that. He already knew far too much about Jon’s sex life.

He snuck away before they spotted him eavesdropping and ran into Cythera and his father in the hallway. They turned when he appeared. 

“What’s so funny?” Gareth asked. 

“Thom is talking to Jon,” Gary said, which was answer enough in itself, really. The two had politely ignored each other prior to this. 

“Do we need somebody to intervene?” Gareth asked, sounding genuinely concerned. 

Gary shrugged. “Alanna’s there.”

“That’s even worse,” Cythera said with a rueful smile. Gary winked. He’d tell her what was said in private; he could already imagine her laughter.

Gareth only sighed the long-suffering sound of a training master used to the bickering between boys. Well, and Alanna. 

“Come, we have much to discuss,” Gareth said, starting down the hallway.

Cythera and Gary followed him to his study. Inside, Gareth closed the door and pressed a hand against it, muttering a spell. Probably against eavesdropping. Then, he turned.

“Would you be opposed to staying in Naxen with your aunt and her ladies for the next few months?” Gareth asked. 

“Uh,” Gary started. He blinked in surprise. “No, not at all, but why?”

“The King, Baird, and I think it would be good to get Lianne away from court for a while once she’s well enough to travel. Somewhere she can relax. Baird and his family will accompany them, as will your mother, of course. Roald agrees it would be best while we deal with… complications.”

“But Thom-”

“Will of course be invited,” Cythera finished, her head tilted to the side in thought. “I think perhaps he should get away too. Somewhere that isn’t his childhood home, the City of the Gods, or Corus.” 

That would probably be for the best. Gary suspected things were about to become a bit of a mess here, with a potential coup to halt and an apparent post-mortem assassination attempt. Thom would be at the center of gossip for the latter, and even Myles could only do so much to stop it.

Gary might have felt jealous of all the intrigue that was bound to play out in his absence, but honestly, he suspected wherever Thom was would be far more interesting. It was never a dull moment when either of the twins were around. 

But also, Gary sort of hoped to see Thom settle away from court. It would be nice if he wasn’t so tense all the time, and as large and powerful of a fief Naxen was, it paled in comparison to life at court—even for a recluse. 

Gary looked at Cythera and met her pretty eyes. 

“I hope you’re prepared for how many books we’ll need to bring,” he said. 

Alanna watched as Thom packed his bags. He moved slowly, still limping slightly in a way Duke Baird was fairly sure would never go away, but he managed well enough on his own. Besides, he snapped at her the last time she offered to help, which led to a round of bickering about petty things until Coram was forced to break it up. It was almost nostalgic.

“You’ll be alright, won’t you?”  she asked. 

“I can’t be much worse than this time last year,” he said, facing away from her as he folded clothes. 

This time last year he was still being tortured by Roger. Alanna clenched her hands into fists. 

He was better, closer to what Alanna remembered from their childhood and letters. Different, of course, because they’d both grown, but more recognizable as her brother. He was healthier too, no longer drawn and pallid. Even the mage-fatigue had faded over the last weeks. 

But still, she worried. 

Thom sighed. He turned around to look at her and Alanna couldn’t help but stare at the discolouration on his arms. The splotches imitated where the gashes of Roger’s magic struck him. They were white, like old scars, but still glowed faintly orange when she held her ember-stone; one last thing Roger left behind, one last mark on her brother’s body that would never fade. But Thom seemed proud of these ones. He didn’t try to cover them like he did his other scars.

“Listen to me.” Thom said. He reached out for her and took her hand in his. “I swear to you, I will be fine. The worst that could happen is a bad day, and then what? I’ll have Gary and Cythera and Lady Roanna there to fuss over me plenty, snd then I’ll feel better the next day, or maybe the day after that.”

“But-” she started. She was trembling. 

He kissed her forehead. “Roger is dead. You did the hard part; I only killed what was left. You aren’t abandoning me now, just like you didn’t when you went back to the desert, or when we went our separate ways as children.”

“When did you get so wise?” Alanna asked, wiping her eyes on her sleeve.

Thom smirked. “Sometime between being tortured by Roger and killing him.”

“That isn’t funny!” she snapped, aghast. Thom only laughed.

“It kind of is. Laugh or cry, dear sister. At least George thinks I’m funny.”

:No accounting for taste,: Faithful said, jumping up to stand on the chair next to Alanna. 

Thom shrugged. “Tell that to my sister, although he is a step up from Jonathan. Do you want my blessing? You can have my blessing if you marry the thief.”

“I can’t believe you,” Alanna groaned, covering her face with her free hand. “I’m here worrying about you and you’re making fun of me.”

“All the more reason to believe me when I tell you I’ll be fine. I’ve survived far worse than a few months at Naxen. It honestly sounds refreshing at this point. So go ahead, sister mine.” Thom squeezed her hand. “Go have your adventures and come back to tell me about them.”

She sniffled. “I won’t be gone long, and neither will you.”

“I’m not sure I believe that,” Thom told her, smiling. It was nice to see him happy. “It’s a big world.”

“You’re the worst, did you know that?”

“You’re welcome to take Gary as a sibling instead. He said Roanna and Lianne already claimed me anyway, so we might as well swap at this point.”

Alanna gave a watery laugh. He was right, this wasn’t like when they seperated as children, or even when she became a page and he went to the convent. Thom had people to rely on now, it wasn’t just her.

She stood and pulled him into a hug. Thom only tensed for a moment before returning it. 

“I love you,” she said. 

He slumped into her a little. 

“I love you too.”

Naxen was beautiful. 

It was years since Lianne last visited, too sickly and too busy to make the trip since Jonathan was just a boy. She had almost forgotten what it looked like to see the snow dusting the lake, sparkling in the sunlight. 

Midwinter in Corus was a sight to behold. Lianne already missed it, but the extravagance was different from the simple joys of the more rural areas, even a fief like Naxen. 

Here, children played openly. They ate syrup drizzled over fresh snow rolled onto sticks and drank apple cider with no fear of harm. They had treats and foods and feasts. 

Other fiefs weren’t so lucky, but Lianne tried to put that out of her mind, if only for a little while. 

Several of her ladies were skating on the lake, most notably Lady Cythera, officially the future Lady of Naxen now that Gary finally proposed. Lianne privately suspected Roanna sat him down and told him to just ask, the worst Cythera could do is say no; her father had already expressed interest in a union. 

Lianne herself was seated under a pavilion next to the lake with Roanna. Lavish furs decorated the chairs and a brazier helped ward off the chill. A pitcher of mulled wine magically enchanted to keep warm rested on a table between them with a series of winter cakes.

She turned at the sound of crunching snow and smiled to see Lady Vasilla towing Thom towards the pavilion. It seemed the girl finally managed to pull him away from his books. 

Vasilla dipped into a curtsy. Her skates hung over her shoulders. When Lianne motioned approval, she sat on the edge of the pavilion and began putting them on. 

“Are you sure you won’t join us Thom?” she asked, looking up at him and fluttering her eyelashes just so. 

Thom snorted, ever immune to a lady’s charms. It was good fun at this point, teasing him when they knew he was one of the few men who wouldn’t fall for them or demand more than they were willing to give. That said, more than one would be willing to give quite a lot if Thom was ever so inclined.

“Absolutely not,” he said. “It’s enough you dragged me out here. I’d probably break another bone trying to skate. You do have fun though.”

Vasilla made a show of disappointment but didn’t press. A few missteps aside, the group were good at not pushing Thom too hard when he was adamant or uncomfortable.

Lianne waited until Vasilla finished putting on her skates and glided out to meet the others. There was a series of disappointed sounds and waves in Thom’s direction, but nothing more than that. 

“Not interested in skating?” Lianne asked.

“My sister has fallen through the ice twice.”

“Ah. Yes, I think I remember that now. The second time was last year, wasn’t it? Jonathan pulled her out.”

Thom hummed. He huddled in his thick winter layers. 

“Personally, I don’t blame you,” Roanna said. “I’m far too old for that sort of thing. Come, sit with us.'

She beckoned Thom over to one of the fur covered chairs. When he sat, she poured him a mug of mulled cider. Thom cradled it in his hands, not taking off his mittens despite sitting next to the fire. The flames danced off his hair, somehow making it look even more orange than usual, but  it also highlighted the bags beneath his eyes. He wasn't sleeping again.

“How are you feeling today?” Lianne asked.

He made a face at the question but answered honestly. She always felt honoured by his trust when he did.

“I don’t like the cold, or how quickly it gets dark. Maybe next year I’ll follow my sister’s lead and go to the desert for the winter.”

“You could certainly make a scandal in Persopolis if you wanted,” Roanna said. “Your sister is quite well known among the Bazhir there.”

The Black City. Another of Roger’s assassination attempts against Jonathan. Another Alanna thwarted. Lianne’s chest clenched at the memory just as it did at the thought of Thom leaving, but she would not keep him bound to her side anymore than she did Jonathan or Gary. 

“We will of course support you wherever you wish to go,” Lianne said. 

He shrugged and looked back out at the people on the lake. “I’m not fond of travel, and it isn’t so bad here, the cold aside," he said.

It was March. The last dredges winter still clung to Naxen, but spring was well on its way. Thom should probably feel relieved by that. He missed the sun’s warmth and the scent of flowers on breezes that didn’t chill him to the bone. 

Instead, he laid in bed, unable to grasp it. He was feverish, his body’s response to the stress that kept him awake for days, stress that made it difficult to eat without being sick. Not even Duke Baird’s magic could give him much relief since there was no root cause to heal. Just Thom and his broken pieces, the jagged shards of glass he used to cut Roger apart. 

The others visited. It reminded him so much of this time last year. Gary and Cythera with their quiet conversations, the rustle of Lianne’s skirts, Vasilla’s humming, Roanna’s knitting. It was both familiar and different, a reality Thom could reach out and grasp, could hold in his hands and tell himself look, look at the life you built for yourself. Look at these people who care.  

He tried, but Thom was never good at telling himself much. He heard too much of Roger whispering in his ears, too much of the memories keeping him hostage.

A year. It had been a whole year. So why did it still feel like nothing changed?

“This isn’t unusual,” Duke Baird said. Thom wasn’t sure who he was talking to, curled up as he was—him or Lianne. Maybe even Roanna or Gary if they were around. “We see it in soldiers, sometimes. The anniversary gets to them, especially the first year, but it will pass.”

Thom wasn’t so sure. 

The nightmares never really went away, nor did his aversion to darkness, but it was worse recently. He’d been forced to keep all the scounces lit in his bedroom instead of just a lamp, and he had to rely on magic to sleep more than a few hours. He was exhausted and in pain, his body aching. 

“This will pass,” Duke Baird repeated. 

And it did, slowly. 

A week after the anniversary of his rescue, Thom sat by the window in his room in the Naxen estate. He was wrapped in blankets while the fire burned high, keeping the room nearly stifling with heat. The window was cracked open to allow in the fresh breeze. He wished the sun felt warmer. 

“Thom?” Gary said from the doorway. 

He turned away from the view of children playing in the puddles and half melted snow to look at his friend. Gary leaned against the doorframe looking worried but attempting to be casual. It was a familiar expression.

“Are you feeling up to visitors?” Gary asked.

Thom’s eyebrows furrowed. Visitors, not company like Gary would usually say if he or one of the others wanted to sit with him. So somebody else, then. Somebody new. 

“If it’s Jonathan or Myles, tell them I’m having a breakdown,” he said flatly.

Gary laughed. “No, much worse, I’m afraid,” he said. He opened Thom’s door wider and beckoned somebody in.

Thom glared at Gary for the lack of warning. He should have been able to get properly dressed and meet whoever it was in the day room. Not that he wanted to, but the choice would have been nice. 

The annoyance fled as soon as Thom’s visitor stepped into the room, bringing the sound of static in Thom’s ears. He paled, his breath catching.

“Yeah,” Gary muttered, “that’s about what I was expecting.”

“I’m sorry to cause you distress, Lord Thom,” Master Si-cham, Head of The Order of the Mithran Light and Thom's former teacher, said. 

He looked exactly as Thom remembered, old but proud in his red and gold robes.

“Master Si-cham,” Thom said, sitting up straighter. He was tangled in blankets and there was no way to gracefully extract himself. It was difficult to speak. “What are you doing here?” 

The corner of Master Si-cham’s mouth twitched upwards. 

“I came to speak with you. May I join you? Please, stay seated.” Master Si-cham glanced pointedly at the other chair next to the fire, currently unoccupied. 

Thom swallowed dryly. “Of course,” he said. Really, what he wanted was for Master Si-cham to leave, to disappear back to The City of the Gods and let Thom forget that part of his past.

The last time Thom saw Master Si-cham was the day before Roger took him. They’d had yet another argument over Thom’s Gift and Mastery. Master Si-cham wanted him to collaborate more with the others, to share what he knew. Thom thought they were jealous and wanted to steal his power. Now, with the benefit of hindsight, Thom wasn’t sure what to think. He’d never gotten along with Si-cham, but the man was the most indulgent of Thom’s teachers, and the only one who ever bothered with him even before the reveal of his power. 

Master Si-cham sat with the same grace as Queen Lianne. It was a hysterical thought and Thom wished he could tell Gary, even as a whisper in his mind—a power Thom had but rarely used—but Gary was already gone. Traitor.

“You seem well,” Si-cham began.

Thom had only gotten out of bed yesterday. He’d changed clothes but that was it. He hadn’t even bathed. 

“I’ve been better,” Thom said flatly.

“So I’ve heard, but you’re still better than I dared to hope. My apologies for coming during a difficult time. I came as soon as the passes opened enough for travel," Si-cham said.

Thom shrugged.

Si-cham paused for a moment. “You never responded to my letters.”

“I never read them,” Thom admitted, not caring about being rude. Si-cham nodded sagely, as if that was the answer he expected, and Thom gritted his teeth. “What are you doing here, then?” he demanded. "Upset at being ignored?"

“I came, foremost, to apologize,” Si-cham said. It struck Thom like a blow. “We at the cloisters failed you greatly, both in your studies and your safety. We were unable to teach you properly and challenge you where you needed it. I’m sorry you learned such lessons in the cruelest ways, and that we did not prevent it. We knew how dangerous Roger of Conté could be, even if we didn’t realize his interest in you. We should have taken more precautions. For that, Thom of Trebond, and for the way you were treated by some of the Masters of my order, I give you the deepest of apologies.” He bowed deeply even while seated.

Thom didn’t know what to say. “That wasn’t your fault,” he said beyond a lump in his throat. “I hid things, and nobody could stop Roger. You can’t blame yourself for that.”

“Thank you, but I am a teacher as well as a mage. Both protecting and properly instructing you were well within my purview and power. I failed at that, and I will face my god with that knowledge. For you, I only hoped to bring some peace after your struggles. We should have done more," Si-cham told him.

“I-” Thom started. His eyes burned but he didn’t know why. He scrubbed his face on his sleeve, trying to force away tears. “Thank you,” he managed to say.

Master Si-cham gave him a moment to collect himself,  looking away to give a semblance of privacy. When Thom caught his breath, Si-cham continued.  

“There is also the matter of your Mastery,” Master Si-cham said. “You passed the written portion, far exceeding any expectation. The initial delay in your practical portion was only because the Masters were unsure of how to properly challenge you.”

Thom said nothing. He wasn’t even sure he was breathing. 

“You have since proven yourself more capable than anyone thought possible. Given the extenuating circumstances and personal commendations from several respected mages, Thom of Trebond, it is truly my honour to award you with your Mastery.” 

Si-cham pulled a scroll from the sleeve of his robe and held it towards him. Thom reached out with a trembling hand.

The parchment was rough but high quality, just as the golden ribbon around it was. He could feel the protective magic cast on the scroll, ensuring its safety and that it couldn’t be altered or replicated. Thom breathed deeply and opened it. 

“Congratulations, Master Thom,” Si-cham said, sounding proud. “You are now officially a Master of the Mithran Light.”

“Who?” Thom croaked, his throat closing as his eyes blurred reading his name written in formal script. 

He wasn’t sure Si-cham would understand what he was asking, but of course Si-cham did. “We received letters of commendation from a former priestess of the Mother Goddess and well-known healer in Corus, Eleni Cooper; Chief Healer of the Royal Palace, Duke Baird of Queenscove; Duke Gareth of Naxen; Master of the University of Carthak, Harailt of Aili; the First Daughter of the Temple of the Mother Goddess in Corus; the Head Priestess of the Temple of the Black God in Corus; Prince Jonathan IV of Conté; and King Roald V of Conté.”

Thom didn’t even know the priestesses in Corus, but more than that, this meant people had written The City of the Gods on his behalf—a lot of people. It also meant Delia of Eldrone had been right about doing something to prove himself. Too bad this didn’t suit her needs. Thom saved Queen Lianne, killed Roger, and became a Master. 

Thom paused for a moment. He did the math, remembering what he’d read about his order and the famous people in it. Then he laughed. 

He was the youngest Master of the Mithran Light by two weeks.

“Her most Royal Highness, Princess Thayet jian Wilima of Sarain, Duchess of Camau and Thanhyien,” the herald called over the dying den of noise. “Sir Alanna of Trebond and Olau, Knight of the Realm of Tortall. Buriram Tourakom of the K’miri Hau Ma.”

Thom watched as Alanna appeared with the Sarain princess on her arm, the princess' bodyguard following close behind. His sister looked lovely in her lengthened tunic of their fief’s colours, and Thom knew enough about fashion from his friends to know Princess Thayet was dressed impeccably. He supposed she would finally distract the men at court from their disappointment about Cythera and Gary’s engagement. It would not, however, soothe the ladies who hoped to marry Jonathan. One look at the prince and Thom could tell he was already smitten. With any luck, Princess Princess Thayet jian Wilima would be better than Princess Josiane.

It was not lost on Thom, who was of course already aware of King Roald’s plans for the evening, that Princess Thayet was introduced to Jonathan, not Roald. The same went for Alanna when she dropped to one knee and pledged herself to the crown, revealing the Dominion Jewel. 

Thom had already spent several days studying the jewel and was amazed at its power, even if he wasn’t sure he trusted Jonathan with it. He knew what Roger would have done with such a thing, and some powers were too great for mortal hands. But Alanna trusted Jonathan, and so Thom would defer to her judgement. He knew his own was flawed—Jonathan looked too much like Roger; some of their mannerisms were too similar for him to remain objective.

King Roald planned to announce his abdication of the throne tonight. That alone wouldn’t have been enough to drag Thom out of his rooms, but seeing the faces of the nobles who doubted Alanna was certainly enough to deal with the discomfort he felt in crowds.

Alanna, Buri, and Princess Thayet stepped away from Jonathan, their presentation officially complete. Queen Lianne immediately went to embrace Princess Thayet and Thom watched the princess’ reaction with interest. If he recalled correctly, she’d lost her own mother not long ago, and Lianne always had a child-shaped hole in her heart. He was proof enough of that.

His attention lasted until Alanna caught his eye over the crowd. She smiled and he returned it. They did it, her a knight--Jonathan's future Champion even--and him a Master sorcerer; most impressive of all, they’d only just turned twenty. 

He turned his attention elsewhere. Cythera and Vasilla spoke quietly behind him. It was unusual for somebody, especially a man, to sit with the queen’s ladies, but Thom was halfway to being a lady-in-waiting himself. It was too bad Alanna had all the talent for cross dressing.

“Oh, Gary will be so pleased,” Cythera said, nodding to the side. 

Thom followed her gaze halfway across the room. He saw two men, one with brown hair and dressed in the colours of Fief Meron; the other was shorter, tanned skin and dark haired.

“That’s Geoffrey of Meron and Alexander of Tirragen,” she whispered, but Thom didn’t need her to tell him. He recognized Alexander from description alone, and if that wasn’t enough, the bubble of space surrounding him would be. It seemed Alexander was still a pariah at court, made worse by the arrest of Delia of Eldrone and Ralon—formerly of Malven—for treason. Two Hill Country nobles plotting to overthrow the crown didn’t look good for the third, especially when that third was so closely connected to Duke Roger.

Thom waited until the banquet truly began to slip away unnoticed. It wasn’t unusual—his friends certainly didn’t expect him to stay long after Alanna appeared. And he wouldn’t, he only had one thing to do first. 

“Alexander of Tirragen?” Thom asked the man standing stiffly at the edge of the room. He empathized with the discomfort. 

Alexander turned. He visibly paled at the sight of Thom, his eyes widening, and he tightened his hold on his empty wine glass like it was a sword.

“I see you know who I am,” Thom said. He leaned against the wall next to Alexander to help support his weight—he was tired after staying up too late with Alanna and George.

“I do,” Alexander said carefully. His trembling hand betrayed his calm facade and Thom watched as his expression broke. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know. If I did I would have-”

Oh, Thom thought, another person Roger broke.

“I know,” Thom cut him off. “I know you didn’t have any part in what Roger did to me. Trust me, if you did, I would have known. He was quite fond of gloating.” It was easier to talk about now, with some time and distance. He still hadn’t told anybody all of it, but maybe one day. He lightened his tone. “I actually came to thank you for not leaving me to die in a rotting cell.”

Alexander choked and Thom couldn’t help the slight upward twitch of his mouth. It was a bad habit to enjoy making people uncomfortable.

“You know, you should join Queen Lianne and I for tea sometime,” Thom said. “We can compare notes.”

Alexander only stared at him. Thom let himself soften.

“It helps,” he said quietly enough to not be overheard, “to talk to people who understand what he was like, both charming and horrible all at once. I don’t extend that invitation lightly—I’m not known for enjoying company—but if you ever need to talk, I’m easy to find.”

Thom watched Alexander's slow, bewildered nod and knew no knock would come to his door. Alexander was far too guilt-ridden for that. He wondered if it was Roger who caused it, or if Roger merely preyed on what was already there. It was fine either way—it took Thom time too, and Alexander had as much time as he needed now. 

Maybe when the people Roger hurt gathered enough of their broken shards, they could finally put them all to rest. 

“Attention, his Royal Majesty King Roald V,” the herald called out and everybody turned as King Roald stood, Jonathan at his side. 

“Well, that’s my cue,” Thom said. “It was good to meet you.”

He slipped away before Alexander could respond and left the ballroom just as King Roald announced his abdication. Cythera would tell him how it went later. For now, there was a book waiting for him, and beyond that, he had to think about how best to approach the situation. Perhaps he should invite Gary to tea with Lianne tomorrow. They could talk about how to help Alexander.