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The Son of Laughter was not laughing as he followed certain members of his husband’s family down from the spire the sky ship had attached itself to.
He could have come on his own of course, but it was polite-like to accept an invitation rather than barging in, and he had been invited so politely.
Akuava’a had asked him to come check up on his godson after the poor man’s magical heart attack, and so here Vou’a was. Vou’a watched Cliopher - and he was very much Cliopher here, not Kip - closely as they walked, assessing how his husband’s boy was bearing up under having all the weight of the government unexpectedly fall upon him. Cliopher looked tired.
Tovo’s boy showed them all to his apartments, and Vou’a whistled lowly in appreciation, careful not to wake up little Dora where she was still snoozing on her grandmother's shoulder. Vou’a was given his own room and he settled himself appreciatively in to wait for a better time to go take a look-see around. The room had a quite nice feather bed, and a very fancy bath that Vou’a thought his husband would rather appreciate should he ever get it into his mind to come.
When it was darker out and the distant noises had died away, Vou’a stepped out of the room he had been given, humming to himself, and made his way out of the apartments intended for the Lord Magus of Zunidh. A few hallways and a staircase later, Vou’a hummed to himself as he considered the nice strong young men guarding the door.
Vou’a amused himself pretending to parade ostentatiously up to the door before these unseeing guards and then slipping though the physical and magical barriers unhindered. He wandered about the Imperial Apartments, hmming and ooohing and aaahing over magnificent art that was a mere backdrop to everything. He made a little game of forcing himself to guess a piece’s origin before he peered into its past to confirm. He was rather good at the game, if he did say so himself.
And there was no rush.
Vou’a, Iki, the Son of Laughter, God of Mysteries had very little right to interfere here. If Akuava’a’s boy were truly ill, he would not be so ill that he would die this night. And if he were so ill that he would die this night, then Vou’a’s presence would not stop such, and such would not happen until Vou’a was there to hold his hand and guide him into the dark, into the sky, into the underworld, into whichever afterlife or non-existence he had attuned himself to over the course of his life.
Eventually, Vou’a had looked his fill for the moment, and he set his wandering feet on the path to the Emperor’s bedchamber.
Akuava’a’s boy lay alone and lonely in the expanse of his bed, like a grey pearl among the cream folds of his perfectly arranged sheets.
Vou’a hissed in through his teeth as he considered him, and he shook his head as he considered the state of the man, his heart shattered and held far from him. Children always did such foolish things, and in all honesty, adults were not truly much better. Holding his heart distant might have saved Akuava’a’s boy, but it was such a risk. He’d already almost lost his heart once, falling from the Moon’s high tower and into the sea of stars. He’d known enough to grab his heart when he’d seen it, and Vou’a had hoped that the shock of almost losing it would make him work to take it back in. No such luck.
Still. If it hadn’t killed him yet, it wasn’t going to any time soon. He was weak and wan, but he would recover physically.
Vou’a pronounced himself satisfied.
Oh, he’ll flit around some more, perhaps duck in when Akuava’a’s boy was awake to see how he performed in his own environment (Vou’a had cackled gleefully watching him tell off the Moon), but his task was done.
Vou’a would see what harmless mischief he could get up to with permission to be here. Harmless mischief, it would not do to be impolite about abusing the invitation he had been given.