Chapter Text
It had been a long twenty four hours. This time yesterday he’d been unaware of the case that now lay on his desk. Unaware of his soulmate’s identity. Toying with his fountain pen, brow furrowed, Neuvillette stared at the documents before him. The chime of the clock had one ear twitching, and the knock on the door had him clearing his throat. Ah, his appointment. Callas.
“Come in.”
The door clicked shut, and he studied his guest in silence. Callas Caspar looked tired, but that was to be expected. He had a five-year-old daughter. Miss Navia was nearly six, her birthday sometime in late December. It was bound to be a grand affair - young Navia was well-loved, and never lacked for anything. Unfortunately, not all children were so lucky. To be cared for like that.
“Monsieur Neuvillette, I admit this is a surprise,” The man’s voice was even. “I wasn’t expecting a summons from the Chief Justice himself. I trust it to be important if it was such a thing? Is it something that requires my personal opinion, or does it involve the Spina? I cannot recall my organisation operating outside Fontaine law, and Poisson is functioning smoothly. Is it not?”
“Rest assured, Monsieur, this does not involve Poisson. The town has flourished under your jurisdiction. No, rather,” A pause, and his fingers twitched. “Rather, I ask for the Spina di Rosula’s aid in an investigation. A new case crossed my desk last night, and it is not something the Marechaussee Phantom can handle alone. Not when the Gardes are soon due for an audit.”
A blond brow arched. “You seek the Spina’s assistance, Chief Justice?” Polite as he was, Callas couldn’t hide his disbelief as well as he thought. “You, personally? If I may ask, what case requires you to investigate personally, with the aid of the Phantom? What case would have you summoning me, knowing as you do we at the Spina are … adept at finding loopholes in the law.”
Neuvillette closed his eyes. Swallowed. All too aware of the rain tapping against the window. He knew, and that was precisely why he’d asked. As an organisation, Spina di Rosula was far too valuable an asset to Fontaine. He would, however, pretend he hadn’t heard anything. He reserved judgements for the courtroom, after all, and the courtroom alone. It was only right.
“I’m aware, Monsieur Caspar,” A blink, and he gestured to the documents on his desk. “As for the kind of case, take a look. In this, my notes are yours to peruse. I do not have another appointment until 11 o’clock, which given my schedule, should tell you the severity. A young man brought it to my attention, complete with gathered evidence and his personal testimony.”
“...He testified?” Callas’ visible eye sharpened, the colour a brighter blue. “Monsieur, what -”
“A trafficking ring,” Neuvillette replied flatly. “He charges his foster parents with multiple accounts of murder, as well as numerous other crimes you’ll find listed. A child trafficking ring, gone undetected. My hands are bound in a way that the Spina is not. I will not let a child die on my watch. He placed his trust in me. I refuse to fail him. As such, this is a case that cannot wait.”
“The young man, how old is he?” Neuvillette’s ear flicked at the change in tone. There, the steel of Spina di Rosula’s president. “Do you have a description? I’ll task my people with keeping an eye on him. Provided, of course, that is part of what you wish for me to do. Otherwise, I’ll go through these documents and see if I cannot find something of value. A lead or two for you.”
“You have my gratitude,” And he was grateful. Truly. “If asked to describe him? I would say he’s quite small for his age - at first glance, I thought him a year or two younger than he is - with black and grey hair. Pale blue eyes, with a bandaged right arm. Aged fourteen; goes by Wriothesley. An orphan who ended up in Fontaine’s foster system by unfortunate chance. Innocent in this.”
“...Fourteen, you said? Good gods.” A deep breath. “He’s just a kid. Not ten years older than my Navia. That’s too young to be witness to such a crime. Too young to be providing testimony like this. A child trafficking ring; embedded in the Court’s foster system. How dare they. He should be off causing mischief as kids do, not fearing for his life. Studying, not bringing evidence forward.”
There was also the fact Wriothesley was his soulmate, but Neuvillette wasn’t going to offer that. It was a secret, a stance he knew Wriothesley shared. They’d had some time to discuss that last night, while going over the plan. Frankly, it was a relief. To be on the same page as someone else like this. For now, it was between them and the Melusines. Not even Lady Furina knew.
It would come out eventually but only when they deemed it appropriate. Not before. They knew; that was enough. Standing, Neuvillette tidied his bottles of water, trying to decide between the Dragonspine or Cider Lake bottles. Callas always humoured him. He’d never declined a glass, anyway. As for Neuvillette himself? He needed something refreshing. To clear his mind.
Help him focus. Keep him from worrying about Wriothesley. Leaving the glass of Cider Lake water on the table, Neuvillette deliberately let the sound of Callas’ note-taking fade to the background. For what it was worth, he knew the man kept his word. So it was best to leave him be. In the meantime, however, Neuvillette had important research of his own to undertake.
On constellations, and Cerberus, in particular. The memory of Wriothesley’s ears and tail was too strong. As was the impression of yellow roses when he’d last seen young Navia. She left a trail of them behind her when she walked, sunny and bright. It had almost hurt his eyes to look at. Wriothesley’s extra appendages made him easier to read. To understand. Emotive as they were.
They were also, as he’d discovered, as soft as they’d looked. It had been lovely this morning to walk into his office and find Wriothesley asleep on the couch. He’d barely stirred when Neuvillette had checked on him, just grumbled and rolled over. Gone back to sleep. Which, if he understood Wriothesley’s history correctly, was a show of trust he’d rightly treasure. It meant he felt safe.
Wriothesley knew he wouldn’t harm him.
How strange to be trusted implicitly.
Oh, he knew Fontainians placed their belief in the Iudex, but it meant more when it was his soulmate. Wriothesley had been through too much for his young age. What should’ve been a safe haven instead turned out to more resemble hell. Now then, he’d left his texts on Fontaine’s stars on this shelf - ah, here. He needed to check. For his own peace of mind, if nothing else.
There was little doubt, of course - he was rarely wrong in matters relating to the constellations - but in his experience, being certain always helped. Carrying the texts to his desk, he glanced over at his guest, and bit back a chuckle. Callas had the documents spread out on the table, brow furrowed; his sleeves rolled up. His notebook? Full of precise, albeit scribbled, shorthand.
It was almost a shame he wasn’t a Garde. Almost. He was an excellent investigator. Would’ve made a good detective in the Marechaussee Phantom. But it was for that reason Callas wasn’t. The Spina di Rosula flourished in the niche it had carved for itself. As a result, Poisson did too. Most of the people who lived in the town either worked for, or had worked for, the organisation.
“Do you have any more thoughts, Monsieur Caspar? About the case and those involved?”
Callas startled, fingers flexing around his pen, but nodded after a moment’s pause. Neuvillette regarded him, one hand resting on the top of his gathered texts, and felt his ear twitch. Hmm. If he didn’t know better, he’d say the Spina’s president looked moments away from pacing. Clearly, the topic of this investigation weighed on him. And yet - his mind flashed back to the night prior.
To the way Wriothesley’s shoulders settled under the cloak of expectations he carried. Callas, too, didn’t seem to be encumbered by the weight of his new knowledge. Perhaps he’d been more right than he’d known, to tell Wriothesley to go to Poisson in an emergency. Because studying the man before him, he caught a glimpse of what Wriothesley could one day be.
A leader.
“The couple listed as the young man’s foster parents -” Callas rubbed the bridge of his nose. “They’re not exactly unknown. Quite the opposite. My guess is that they’re the ringleaders of the operation. Using their public benevolence as a front. In the meantime, I’ll get some of my men to investigate some of the other names. Though I must ask, Monsieur …there is a plan, yes?”
He allowed himself a smile at the question. “There is, yes. Young Wriothesley insisted, quite firmly, that he help where he could. To that end, he offered himself up as bait. He will appear in court in the latter half of the month for assaulting a Garde. He broke someone’s nose, and confessed quite easily. I can ascertain that. His appearance is merely a ruse, however.”
“To lure out the real criminals,” A disbelieving chuckle. “I’ll give him this: he’s good. If he was any older, I’d be half tempted to offer him a job with the Spina. Of the latest batch, only Silver is left. Partially because Navia took a shine to him. She keeps stealing his sunglasses, poor kid. Thankfully, it gives Melus a bit of breathing room to genuinely do his job. Not just babysit.”
“Wriothesley is quite confident in his abilities,” Neuvillette added with a sigh. “I would not be surprised if he manages to slip more information to a Melusine or two. It took great courage to bring the evidence he did, something he did at great risk to himself. He did not hesitate to offer testimony - in fact, asked if he could. As much trust he places in me, I leave with him in turn.”
Callas’ brows practically disappeared into his hairline, and Neuvillette knew why. The Iudex was famous for his impartiality. Him voicing trust in someone, however small, was a big deal. He found it preposterous, frankly. If he didn’t trust others, he wouldn’t be in the position he was. Rather, he regarded everyone equally - as deserving to be heard. Listened to. Especially in court.
“He must have made quite the impression, to garner such a thing. Then again, it’s not everyday a case like this crosses your desk, so I imagine it’s warranted.” A shrug. “Regardless, it’s not my business. That is between you, Chief Justice, and this apparently remarkable young man. Makes me feel old - I wasn’t half as clever as him at fourteen. Wonders never cease, I suppose.”
A hum. The conversation lapsed as Callas returned his attention to the documents, and Neuvillette to his texts on astrology. Flipping the topmost book open, he sighed. Now to the matter at hand - research. On Fontaine’s constellations, and Cerberus in particular. He refused to lie: it disquieted him. Made him uneasy. Cerberus’ presence felt all too much like an omen.
A bad omen. A portent, a warning of things to come. And with it, the feeling that, no matter what he did, Wriothesley would make his way to Meropide. Even if it wasn’t the result of a trial. A guilty verdict. If that came to pass, Neuvillette would not stop him. Fate in Teyvat was most tricky to circumvent. It was something Lady Furina battled with, given the ever-looming prophecy.
Ah, the entry he’d been looking for. Cerberus. ‘A many-headed canine, attributed to being the guardian of the underworld in legends from a world beyond Teyvat. Most commonly depicted with three heads. A form of hellhound. One charged by a god of that world with guarding the gate so that the souls of the dead did not escape into the land of the living. Said to have glowing eyes.’
Inhaling sharply, Neuvillette stared at the passage. Dread rising in him like the tide, he marked the entry with a bookmark, before reaching for his catalyst. Flipping past pages of white ink, he felt a whine build in his chest. A whine he only successfully hid because his office door opened with a high-pitched creak of protest. A metallic complaint from a drink cart followed after it.
Ears flicking rapidly, Neuvillette snapped his catalyst shut. Rain, again, on his windows. Curses. But he knew a peace offering when he saw one. This was Furina apologising for earlier this morning in her own way. After all, she was the most familiar with him - apart from the Melusines, of course. She knew his tastes in food. It was at least bound to cater to those specifics.
Very well. He'd humour her - even if this was probably one of her experimental creations.
It couldn’t hurt.
“I brought snacks, Monsieur!” And with the cart came Sedene. Her timing? Impeccable as ever. “Tea for Monsieur Callas, and some snacks for each of you! Macarons for your guest, and some fruit tartlets for you, inspired by Mondstadt cuisine. Lady Furina insisted on them, in fact. She’s still trying to find desserts you’ll eat, even if she has to make them herself. Or so she said.”
“If I could get something to carry the macarons back in, that might be better,” Callas admitted. “I intend on enjoying them, don’t misunderstand - it’s just that Navia would be awfully cross if I didn’t return with something for her. So I thought I might share. She does love them. That, and I’ve gotten into the somewhat unfortunate habit of returning home with little gifts for her.”
“Oh, of course!” A delighted smile. “That shouldn’t be a problem, Monsieur Callas. Not at all.”
“Thank you, Miss Sedene. You make the Chief Justice proud, no doubt, with your diligence.”
Neuvillette, meanwhile? Studying the offered snacks in silence. Furina must have commandeered use of the kitchens again. She liked baking when the mood struck her. Cooking was something she enjoyed as well, but she did it less often. Something of a shame, in his opinion. She made excellent pasta dishes. The amount of sauce? Perfect. As for these fruits -
Sunsettias in Mond were sweeter, less acidic than other countries’. The apples there were the best in Teyvat. Grown with care. The valberries? Tart, but not unpleasant. Judging by the smell? She’d acquired some imported Zaytun peaches too. Promising. Fruit jam tartlets. Sunsettia and valberry, apple, and Zaytun peach. One each to try. Bite-sized; full of Furina’s signature flair.
Gently taking the tray of tartlets from Sedene, Neuvillette examined them with a critical eye. It would only be polite, no? Lifting a brow, he popped one into his mouth, and bit back a trill of delight. What an unexpected surprise. The apple jam wasn’t too sweet, flavoured with just a touch of cinnamon. The pastry? Buttery. Melted in his mouth. A perfectly light dessert.
Furina would be pleased with her success, no doubt. He would have to tell her. Snacks aside, he quickly returned to work, and after confirming a few more details with Callas about the case? About Wriothesley? Saw him out of the Palais. He knew the man would keep his word, and as such, the case was in good hands. Not to say he’d be sitting idle, either. Of course not.
Rhemia slipped into his office shortly after a quarter to one, and he felt himself straighten at the sight of the papers she carried. He’d suspected this - it had been half the reason he’d sent Rhemia instead one of her sisters, and yet . More information, mere hours after he’d last seen Wriothesley? His soulmate didn't miss an opportunity, did he? The thought made him smile.
“Please, tell me what you have for me, Rhemia.”
♡●♡○♡●♡○♡●♡
Here it was, then. His personal hell. Standing next to Rhemia, Wriothesley stared up at the building before him. Eyes narrowed, he took a breath, and listened. His senses had always been sharp, his hearing especially so. His siblings called him ‘little wolf’ for a reason. Let’s see. No adult voices - his foster parents must be out. Good. Meant he could proceed with the plan, then.
Lifting a hand, he knocked. The silence, so thick one could cut it, broke when the door opened, and a handful of his siblings tumbled out into the empty street. Wide-eyed. Excited. Multiple pairs of eyes snapped between him and the nearby Melusine, and he chuckled, smile wry. Yes, good thing his parents weren’t home. Because he saw several others peeking out at the commotion.
“Big brother, you’re back! And you’re okay!”
A blur of movement, and thin arms wrapped around his waist, two of his younger sisters clinging to him for dear life. In tears. Of course he caught them, it was instinct. What? As if he wouldn’t. They were his sisters, blood or not. Humming, he let his fingers card through dark hair, feeling the way they trembled. Something had happened - something big. He didn’t like this. But -
“Amelie, Marie, breathe .” A pause. “What’s wrong? Take a deep breath for me, tell me what happened. Miss Rhemia here was just dropping me home, nothing else, I promise . If you’d like, she can stay for a bit: I’m sure she has the time. She’s on holiday, after all. And she’s quite nice, nowhere as scary as Maman and Pere tell us Melusines are. I’m your brother, would I lie to you?”
A sniffle. Marie shook her head. “N-no, big brother. You’re our wolf, you wouldn’t lie. You swore.”
“Exactly. Now, let’s go inside, shall we? You know our parents hate it when we leave the door open. Amelie, sweetheart, go roundup our siblings, would you? We have a guest. Better be on our best behaviour, hmm? As the eldest and Pere’s junior, it’s my job to look after you, so if that means doing a headcount, I’ll do it. Maman gets so cross when one of us wanders off. C’mon.”
Glancing behind him, he gestured for Rhemia to follow him, and, with a grunt, picked up his sister. At six, she really was getting too heavy for him to do so, but who cared? Hushed whispers and stares followed Rhemia inside, but his siblings wouldn’t breathe a word of this to their parents. They were very good at keeping secrets. But that pervasive wrongness clung to him.
Made him itch. Amelie and Marie were only two of three. They were triplets, not twins. Where was their sister? Where was Felicia? He kept a smile on his face, but he knew it didn’t reach his eyes. Thankfully, none of them could tell. Except their guest, that is. Rhemia no longer looked relaxed, something different about the shift in her expression. Work mode, if he had to guess.
Taking a breath, he gave himself a shake and busied himself playing host. They didn’t have much to offer a guest - guests weren’t something they had - but he could at least offer her a glass of water. Perhaps a tour, if they had time. His parents were out, and he hadn’t yet asked his siblings when they’d be returning. All a gamble, but one he had to take. Like he had last night.
His siblings crowded around the kitchen table, peppering Rhemia with questions about Melusines, and he leaned against the sink. Mentally keeping count. One, two, three, four - two of his brothers were missing. Okay. Now, his sisters. Amelie and Marie made two, three, four, five. No sign of Felicia. She was unaccounted for. Thankfully, the kids were distracted by their guest.
Positively awed by the information Rhemia shared with them. It helped him mask his panic. Shit. Shit, shit, shit . Oh, he felt sick. Feeling a tug on his shirt, he looked down. Marie. One hand curled tight around something. Crouching to meet her eyes, he brushed away her tears. Hazel eyes searched his own, before she hesitantly held out the object in a silent plea for help.
Felicia’s bracelet. “...I found it under her pillow.” A sniffle. “She doesn’t … big brother, please.”
“I know, Mar-mar. I know.” A deep breath. “I’ll find your sister, I promise. Now, I need you to tell me some things. Can you do that for me? You’re being very brave. Maman and Pere took two of our brothers out, yes? Did they say when they’d be back? …And after you’d answered that, can you tell me when you last saw Felicia? You know I was sick yesterday, so everything’s a bit fuzzy.”
(A lie. He hadn’t been sick. But what she didn’t know couldn’t hurt her.)
Marie blinked. Hummed. “They did. Midday, I think? Amiee ‘n’ I last saw Sis after dinner last night. We were playing hide and seek with some of our brothers. Maybe she fell asleep after she hid? I know she took her bracelet off then, so it didn’t get lost. But I don’t like this. She always comes to breakfast. Always. Brother, she didn’t do anything bad. What if she’s hurt? She’s my baby sister.”
His only response was to hug her. He wished he had the answers to soothe her, but he didn’t. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the conch madeleine he’d stashed there. Unwrapped it and pressed it into her hands, a finger to his lips. Ruffled her hair and sent her on her way with a smile. If Felicia had ‘disappeared’ - he sank into a chair at the table with a groan.
Looking up when a paw covered his, he swallowed. Stared at Rhemia, her mint-green eyes solemn. Blinked, and pushed his chair back. No. He had to check. There were places to hide in this house, he knew that. Maybe she was in one of those? Instructing another of his siblings to keep watch over Amelie and Marie, he gave his Melusine guest a smile. Crooked as it was.
“Would you like a tour, Miss Rhemia? It’s nothing fancy, but perhaps it would give you a break. My siblings are a handful, I apologise. But from what you told me, you have a lot of sisters yourself. You must be used to noise. And wearing many hats, as you put it earlier. Thank you for being so patient with them. They don’t get out much, you see, so they have a lot of energy. All of them.”
The more information he gave Rhemia the better, but right now, his priority was Felicia. Melusine on his heels, he did indeed give her a tour. Perfunctory at best, but still. Stopping only when faced with his parents’ office, he squeezed his eyes shut. Unlocked the door. Stepped in. A muffled noise, almost a squeak, as he did so, and he scanned the room. There.
Hiding under the desk. Felicia. Brown eyes stared at him, red-rimmed, as she clapped a hand over her mouth. Oh, thank the gods, she wasn’t hurt. One step, another, then he was on his knees, arms outstretched in the offer of a hug. How long had she been locked in here? All night? The door had been locked when he snuck out. Poor thing. She looked exhausted; half asleep.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. You’re safe now. It’s just me. C’mon, you’re okay. I have hugs, and your sisters are very worried about you, Felicia. You don’t have to stay here if you don’t want to, love. I promise. I’m no liar, am I? Easy does it, Cia. The office isn’t safe for you - what if something fell? Come out from under the desk, then we can find you something to eat. That’s it, good girl.”
One of their parents must’ve left the door unlocked, and not checked before locking it after dinner. More than that, though, he was concerned about what she might’ve heard . This was one of the rooms they weren’t exactly allowed in. For good reason. It was an office, full of paperwork. Ledgers and other documents. Evidence . Once he had his sister in his arms, he left. Quickly.
How scary her experience must have been for a six-year-old. Again, she was a triplet . One of three. Not to be separated from them. Accident or not, he knew this crossed the line. No kid should be locked up like that. Watching Amelie and Marie curl up under the covers beside her, he quietly shut the door. Kept one hand firmly on the door handle. He felt like cursing, but didn’t dare.
Rhemia’s tail flicked in the silence. “...Young monsieur. What can I do to help?”
“Help me get them out of here,” His free hand curled into a fist. “Please, Rhemia. I know I’m asking a lot of you, given you’re currently not on duty, but they’re just kids. Little girls. I will likely be punished for three of my siblings disappearing - especially as they’re a package deal, but they’re six. They have their whole lives ahead of them. You saw them, they were terrified.”
They didn’t have long to pull this off, but it was possible. At Rhemia’s nod, he walked her through his idea. Them disappearing to safety was far better than them ‘disappearing’ as his foster parents liked them to. Office window? Open. Papers? Scattered, some missing. The triplets? Nowhere to be found. Safe with Rhemia. But to his foster parents, they’d be untraceable.
As they should be. More importantly, it just looked like negligence on their part. A door unlocked, paperwork lost to the wind, the triplets having escaped through an open window. They were kids. Kids were curious, and the triplets were rarely apart. Where one went, the other two followed. Good thing they’d finished when they had, though, because not ten minutes afterwards?
Footsteps.
Familiar footsteps. Squinting at the change in light and feeling his head throb, Wriothesley blinked up at his foster parents. Pocketing his carving knife, he tossed the stick he’d idly been tearing apart, and stood. Glancing down the street, he sighed as he saw no sign of anything else. Scrunching his nose, he blinked as a sneeze escaped. Oh, c’mon. Was he really getting sick?
He’d just been faking it yesterday, though. Probably had to do with last night’s poor weather. Served him right, though. Groaning, he waved to his two younger brothers and bowed to his foster parents. The very image of an obedient child. His father’s junior. They expected nothing but the best of him, after all. Good manners included. Now? All he needed to do was be just that.
“Mother. Father. Welcome back. …I apologise for my absence from breakfast; I’m still quite ill.”
His mother sniffed, the sound haughty, and brushed past him without a word. He’d expected as much. His father, too, said nothing and Wriothesley herded his two younger brothers inside after them. It had been nice of Rhemia to buy him some food on the way home, he didn’t know when he would’ve eaten otherwise. His foster parents had a house full of kids. And as the eldest - well.
That often meant only eating what he really needed to. The fish and chips Rhemia had bought him this morning? The closest he’d had to a full meal in months. His foster parents preferred to take his younger siblings on outings - they ate better than he did. It was okay, though. He made do. A collection of odd jobs here and there when they sent him out on errands. All for a little Mora.
Sometimes new things to learn, and a morsel of food if he got lucky. Closing the door behind him, he stretched. Sighed. Before throwing himself into the housework. Nothing he didn’t know how to do. He had plenty of practice. A lot of cleaning and cooking while his foster parents played at benevolence. Again. With his younger siblings this time. Joy of all joys that was. …Not.
Laundry, then the kitchen. Weather in Fontaine could be temperamental, and he wanted the sheets to dry. Dodging siblings with practised ease as he did so, he kept one eye on the sky. No threat of rain yet. Not in this part of the Court, anyway. The menial labour kept him focused on the present; his thoughts in one place. Not on the triplets, any Melusines, or the Iudex.
As for how long it took his parents to notice the triplets’ disappearance? He had his answer sooner than later. Mid-way through cutting the vegetables for dinner, he halted. Forced himself to relax as he registered his father’s presence. Twirling the knife between his fingers, he set it aside and turned to meet dark blue eyes. As usual, there was no trace of warmth. Nothing. Not one.
Folding his arms behind his back, he regarded the man in silence.
“...Stray, as my junior, it is your responsibility to look after the little ones. Your mother completed the headcount before dinner, and noticed three of your sisters were nowhere to be found. The triplets, have you seen them? Amelie, Marie and Felicia? The others said they hadn’t seen Amelie and Marie since this morning, and Felicia since last night. If you haven’t seen them -”
“I haven’t, sir,” Lie, lie, lie. He was lying through his teeth, as had his siblings. “I saw them yesterday, but as you’re aware, I’m sick, so - I did hear some noise late last night around midnight, when I got water, but that’s it. Unless … I recall a draft under the office door? I found it unusual. Has the madam checked there? Perhaps one of you left the door open by accident?”
At last, emotion on his foster father’s face. A hint of alarm; a hint of panic. Masking his own reaction with a bow, Wriothesley listened as the man hurried off, and snuck a glance at the clock. Half past four in the afternoon. Good gods, nightfall couldn’t come soon enough. Humming softly, he returned his focus to the dinner preparations. This, he could do. It was comforting.
Dinner came and went, and with it? His foster parents’ panic. They’d checked the office, of course, and had soon written off the triplets as a lost cause. As their mistake. Much to his surprise, he hadn’t landed in hot water. Then again, he was genuinely sick, as he’d discovered. His head was killing him, but that was better than his foster parents. So he couldn’t complain.
Sneezing again, he groaned and leaned back on his bed. Watching the closed wooden door, he shook his head. Silly of him to be wistful over a key and a lock, but he was. His bed was nowhere as nice as that couch, either. Redoing the bandages on his arm, he looked around the room. Silent - all of his brothers were sound asleep. Except him. He was too restless to follow suit.
This time last night - ah. He shouldn’t think of that. Not the warmth of the blankets, the scent of the tea, none of it. It had been wonderful, almost dream-like, and that was the way it should stay. He especially shouldn’t think of the candlelight. The lamplight, catching on lilac eyes. On white hair, a waterfall like no other. Long-fingered hands, cool to the touch. That? Asking for trouble.
Gods help him, he was in a predicament this time, wasn’t he? He was blushing, he knew that. Ridiculous. Swallowing back a curse, he buried his face in his hands. Out of everyone it could ever be, his soulmate was the Iudex. The Chief Justice of Fontaine . One hell of a secret to be entangled in - one he felt most unworthy of. The world sure liked a laugh at his expense, huh?
The Chief Justice was the most important man in the entire country, and what was he?
Just an orphan. A foster kid. One all caught in a case, no less. What could he ever hope to be, to stand next to someone like that? He glanced at the bulletin boards every and now then; snuck a peek at The Steambird over his foster father’s shoulder. A whole lot of nonsense, mostly. But a lot of attention was paid to Lady Furina. To the Iudex. Both of them were very public figures.
Heaving a sigh, he curled up under the covers. Ah, he’d never sleep at the rate he was going. Thinking himself in circles. The sooner he slept, the sooner he’d recover from his cold. The sooner morning would arrive, and with it? A very official letter. Summoning him for his court date in a few weeks. His safety net. One his foster parents had to heed. The law was the law.
Blinking, he stared at the door, and hid a yawn. He hoped Rhemia hadn’t run into trouble with the triplets. More than that, he hoped the triplets were now safe, wherever they’d ended up. That would have to be enough. Besides, he trusted Rhemia. The Melusines had only ever been kind to him. More than he could say for humans. A little sad? Maybe. He was used to it, though.
First, sleep. Then the all-important letter tomorrow morning. Complete with its fancy wax seal.