Chapter Text
Things hadn’t been dull at the High Court of Lear for a long time.
Music and parties, lessons and swordplay, dresses of fine silk and silver, dances that ceased to end, even as the sun began to rise. All of it cascaded around him in a warping circle, everlasting in its rising splay for attention. That was the beauty of the High Court. Everything was so dazzlingly dreadful, reaching out desperately to catch your eyes, so desperate in it’s attempt to wow you that it nearly left you blind.
Caz could never tire of it.
“Come on, Castor,” Kelby huffed, trying to push Caz away from the party. His cousin was seven, only three years younger than Caz himself, and he was already missing when Kel was too shy to do more than hide behind his mother’s skirts. “I’m bored.”
Caz looked at Kelby. He was all curly golden hair and hazel eyes, his chubby cheeks pulled into a pout. He would not let his little cousin ruin the night. So, he felt little remorse as he shoved his cousin's face away. “Go away, Kel. Find someone else to bother!”
It was the first party he had properly been allowed to attend that he wouldn’t spend stitched to his mother’s side. The only catch was that he had to bring Kelby along, but he wasn’t going to let the little rascal ruin his night. He was going to find something exciting, preferably without Kelby sticking his nose in Caz’s business.
“Helliad said–” Kelby began far too loudly, voice a shrill whine as he clutched at Caz’s arm.
“Get off me,” Caz hissed, ushering Kelby towards the edges of the party. There, the people had cleared out beneath the ballroom’s terraces, and he found a little peace. “You’re acting like a little brat.”
Kelby’s eyes narrowed, his little face pinched in dismay, hands balled up at his sides. “Hellie said you can’t call me names anymore.”
“Hellie isn’t here right now!” Caz exclaimed, scowling. He would not be playing nurse to Kelby while all the fun slipped right through his fingers.
In front of Caz, Kelby’s eyes widened as they caught on something behind him, and Caz felt his face pale, fearing he already knew who it was before he turned. “Who says I’m not here?”
Caz whipped around, balking as he glanced from Kelby’s obvious frown to his sister.
Hellie looked at him pointedly, hands on her hips. On the best of days, Hellie was a menace, but tonight, she looked especially unruly. Four years older and mean, her untameable curls were a deceptive halo around her head, raven like the rest of the Varren’s, her steel sword cut across her waist and hanging threateningly from her hip. Helliad Varren did not go anywhere without it, even to a party in the king’s ballroom. “What’s this I hear you speaking of, Caz?”
“Nothing, nothing at all!” he smiled with too many teeth, tossing an arm over Kelby’s shoulders. He tried not to cringe too hard when Kelby merely squirmed beneath the action. “I was simply telling my dear cousin how upset I was that you ditched us.”
She raised a brow. “Right.”
Kelby gave Hellie a pleading look. “Caz is being mean.”
Hellie scowled, grabbing both of their arms and dragging them across the ballroom. “Stay with me, I do not have time to deal with this.”
The hall arched overhead. Everything was stringing white pillars and arching windows. Across the balconies, people ate and drank, leaning over the railings to laugh at people in the crowd. To the back of the room, there sat the dais. Above it, the ceiling arced into a dome, a mosaic painted of people and clouds and love and touch. Heaven above a king.
There sat King Astrifer, a man bigger than life or death. He was a large, bearded man, wearing deep blue robes and silver jewelry over his doublet. His ringed fingers drummed against the arm of the throne. His golden eyes were drunk with mirth, his lips quirked. As always, his crown sat atop his head, closer to heaven than any part of him.
Next to him was his father, Romulus Varren, and Feror Csaba. Romulus was at the king’s left hand, as the Harker of the Church always was. Staight nosed and stiff, his hard, steel gray eyes stared out at the crowd, mouth in a grim line as he ran a hair through perfectly styled black hair. The resemblance to his children was uncanny. It was something Hellie never ceased to complain about.
General Feror Csaba was a large, boasting character with a hacking laugh and a wicked grip on his sword. More beast than man, he was Argenti born but had served Astrifer and the Evadnes for nearly thirty years. He was born to stand behind a king, in front of an army.
Hellie ducked down, watching her brother and cousin writhe beneath her iron grip. Quietly, she hissed to them, “We are to stand beside father on the dais. If you embarrass the family or the king, I’m going to kill you both myself.”
Caz nodded and Kelby squeaked out a meek agreement as they took their places next to their father at the side of the dais.
Caz knew, dimly, that they were gathering to greet the arrival of a new court member. They had to have been important, for them to be waiting like so.
Up on the dais, the ballroom was spread out before him, in all it’s crowded glory. The tiled details on the floor that Caz so adored were covered with the pattering of heeled shoes and flowing skirts, people flocking together like curiously feathered birds. A group of men carrying wooden instruments plucked and bowed strings that let out a melody that hummed through the room. A song for a king was nothing less than special, and the sound rang in his ears, pleasant and warm.
Astrifer’s fingers tapped an incessant pattern against the arm of his throne, resting his chin in one hand, expression bitter as he glanced at Romulus. “Do you have any idea where my son is, Rome?”
Romulus frowned at the mention of the prince. “I informed the young Prince of where he is supposed to be tonight, your Grace.”
“I do not think you informed him well enough, Rome,” Astrifer scowled.
“He should be here,” Caz’s father insisted.
“I fear should be and is are two entirely different concepts that you seem to fail to grasp,” Astrifer said pointedly. “My son needs to be here, now.”
“Of course, my liege,” Romulus said drily, straightening. “I’ll find him at –”
Caz’s father was interrupted by a loud belch, and all on the dais watched as Prince Burlyn stumbled out of the dancing crowd, swaying slightly as he held up his drink. He had been a dashing boy, and was even more so as a man. He shared the dark hair of his father, and when one looked for traces of the mother lost to the courts in his face, you would find none. Some said that he had the looks of Astrifer, with half the charm.
Caz couldn’t help but laugh at the accusation.
Now he stood before them, smiling carelessly as he sauntered up the dais to take his place next to Astrifer. He leaned over to give the king a kiss on the cheek before straightening.
“I apologize if I’m late,” he drawled. “But I don’t entirely see the importance of this.”
“That’s because you are a child,” Romulus hissed, and Astifer sat back, clearly weary of the constant incessant banter between his advisor and son.
“Oh, you know nothing, Varren,” Burlyn waved him away. “But that is all right; it is why you are merely a lord, not a king.”
Astrifer’s mouth quirked, biting through his irritation. “My son, I’m afraid you are no king either.”
Burlyn's mouth curled into something heinous as he crossed his arms and sipped his drink.
At the back of the hall, the great oak doors swayed open to allow two guests to enter; a young man with dark skin and a dashing smile, armour clad and gleaming, as well as a boy who couldn’t have been more than Caz’s age. He looked small next to the man, a fleeting nervous energy to him. Caz watched the boy straighten, putting on a face.
They came up through the crowd, and both the boy and the man bowed in front of the dais.
The boy had brown skin, lighter than the man’s, and wore clothes of finery, though not distinctly Learish. White and gold, almost robelike that tied around his waist and fell down his legs. He wore a golden circlet as well, and Caz wondered if he was royalty.
“My king,” the man spoke, still kneeling. In the corner of Caz’s eye, he saw Csaba seizing the man up, and knew that this was not just any nobleman, but a soldier. “My name is Hastur Nari. I have escorted the Phirre’s nephew from Zentrifen, per his orders. Upon your stewardship, we come bearing various Zentri fabrics and delicacies that are surely fit to your liking.”
Astrifer nodded thoughtfully, peering down at the pair. “You both may rise. Lear is very gracious to have an ambassador of Zentrifen.” This part he aimed at the boy, who stood now. The Phirre’s nephew. Astrifer raised a brow. “Well, boy? Anything to add?”
He held his head up, the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. When he spoke, his words were clipped slightly with an accent. “Nothing Hastur Nari has not already said for me.”
Astrifer ceased then, smiling fondly as he sat back in his throne. He was no longer tapping his fingers.
He waved a hand to the surroundings. “The High Court is yours to squander, if you wish.”
Hastur Nari bowed his head. “Thank you, my king. The Phirre will send his appreciations shortly.”
This boy had been in the High Court for mere moments, and Caz could have sworn he said more words to the king in that short time than Caz had ever spoken to Astrifer in his entire life. He thought that perhaps, this child, no older than he, may have been more important than he thought.
As soon as it had begun, it was over, and Caz watched curiously as the strange pair turned away, figures swallowed by the crowd.
Once excused, Hellie pulled Caz and Kelby away from the dais and the king, their father, and the general began speaking in hushed tones. Even the prince seemed slightly estranged from the conversation, stiffly standing beside them with his arms crossed, a frown pulling at his lips.
While Caz had been spending most of his time off to the side trying to sate Kelby, the party had come alive. All around him, he listened to the sounds of musicsons plucking and strings and keys, a fine tune that splayed along the glittering tones of a harp. Candles lit and flickered on the walls, a thousand stars cradled in wax. The sounds of heals clicking against the hard floor, the sounds of people laughing, of drinking and dancing and fun. What was it like for someone who lived in the lesser courts, to know that all of this was happening in the center of Lear while they were not even able to catch so much as a glance?
“Who was that boy?” Caz asked as Hellie brought them to a stop. He knew that she was looking for her dearest friend, Elowen, who had been harder and harder to find these days at revels. Her sister was courting the prince himself, and her attention was most saut after. Hellie was distracted as she answered, scanning the crowds. “That was the king of Zentrifen’s nephew. I believe his name is Paris Zarnika.”
“He didn’t say his uncle was a king,” Caz pointed out, and tugged on Hellie’s dress when she didn’t look at him. “He said he was a phirre.”
“A phirre is like a king,” Hellie answered, finally looking at him. “You’ll learn about it in your classes.”
“Why did he get such an entrance,” Kelby muttered, crossing his arms. “I didn’t get that when I came.”
“That’s because you aren’t important, Kel,” Caz said fondly, and Hellie smacked him upside the head. “Hey! You can’t hit me when I don’t have my sword!”
“You can barely use it anyways,” Hellie taunted, dragged Kelby over to her side. She looked down at their cousin. “Caz is being mean.”
“Caz is always mean.”
“I am not!”
Just when Caz was beginning to think that their bickering was going to be ceaseless, someone was calling from behind, “Castor!”
The voice was girlish and sweet, but Caz knew better than anyone than to say that to Viracocha Sulkan’s face. Girlish, she may let slide. Sweet, however? Caz would have been as good as dead.
Dead or not, Caz was just glad someone was saving him from his family.
Caz turned to find Lady Viracocha Sulkan beaming at him as she walked up, red dress swishing at her waist. He had known her longer than he had not, having lessons together in the willogrove near the palace since she had arrived from Tacay. She stuck out like a sore thumb in Court, being the only darker skinned girl in the king mother, Lillian’s, care.
But it was nothing that had ever touched Vira.
She had always been very pretty, young face carved with big brown eyes and freckles that danced around her bronzed skin. Caz would have said she looked beautiful, if he didn’t think the compliment would end with Vira jammed her heel over his toes. Caz still had much more dancing to do tonight, thank you very much.
She rushed to him, clutching his hands in her lacy gloves. Hellie raised her brows at the action.
“Castor,” she said again. “Would you care to dance with me?”
“Oh, he thought you would never ask,” Hellie grinned, pushing forward a little.
Caz scowled at Hellie as she snickered. “Ignore her.”
Vira just laughed, tugging him along as a new song began to putter out from the strings in the corner. “Come on, the music’s begun.”
And they danced like nothing mattered. Because then, nothing really did. Everything else dimmed to a fine point before he met Paris. After he had not known him for all those years, Caz would wonder how he had ever lived the first ten years of his life without knowing Paris Zarnika. How dull, how useless everything had seemed before he came along. How easy everything was.
But he would’ve traded every moment if it meant another second with Paris. He’d give up an hour, a day, a decade, if it meant he could look at Paris and say, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I let us fall apart.
But he didn’t know Paris yet, and so he danced, and danced, and danced.