Chapter Text
Sabriel's door rattled in the muted darkness of her room, the shifting air causing the light of her candle to flicker.
She certainly could be using magical lanterns in here, but she preferred the soft wavering light of the small flame. The lack of air of course meant that candles ordinarily shouldn't burn in the Fade, but since it's what she expected to happen, the Fade was feeding off her imagined desires and—
The door rattled again, louder. Something was trying to get in.
She slowly rose from her desk, pulling her ritual dagger to her hand with a sweep of magic.
"Who's there?"
It seemed a foolish question, as if an assailant would announce themselves. However, her allies would, so a lack of answer was an answer in and of itself.
"Door! Won't! Open!"
She paused for a moment. The voice sounded like Lucanis but…not quite?
Hurrying to the door, she slowly cracked it open, coming face-to-face with what should have been Lucanis, but the purple in his eyes told her otherwise.
"Spite…?" Holstering her dagger, she pulled the door open wider, worry slowly spreading through her body. "You didn't—"
"Lucanis is asleep."
She breathed a quiet sigh of relief. "You could sense the anxiety, hm?"
The spirit sniffed a few times. "Anxiety. Fear. Ripples of relief. You don't want to hurt us. You don't think we'll hurt you." He paused, looking confused. "You're afraid we'll get hurt."
Sabriel grabbed Spite's—Lucanis's? Hand and pulled them inside her room, softly closing the door behind her.
"Yes, I am afraid. For both of you." She leaned her back against the door, gazing at the possessed man in front of her. "Lucanis himself said you don't want to be like this either, right?"
"Yes! I want! To leave!"
She nodded. "And it's not fair to put all the blame on you when neither of you asked for this." She tilted her head. "Though, I think we're all a little confused about what you mean when you say you want to leave."
"Trapped! He promised! Escape! But we're still here!"
Sabriel chewed on a thumbnail, trying to think over what Spite could possibly mean. Rook and the others had tried asking questions multiple times and had gotten no clear answers. She had assumed it was because they were viewing Spite as more of a threat than a being with his own desires and feelings, but it was also notoriously difficult to communicate with spirits. They liked to talk in riddles and figments of speech, half-finished thoughts and images.
This current situation was also unique, as spirits were unaccustomed to being bound to physical bodies. The spirits that possessed corpses in the Necropolis at least had free reign of their limbs and surroundings, but Spite didn't even have that unless Lucanis was asleep, or potentially unconscious?
She furrowed her brow in frustration. There really was no clear path forward, but maybe there was something else she could do.
"I'm…I'll be honest Spite, I'm not quite sure what you mean by escaping but—"
"Locked doors! Prison! Trapped! He won't leave!" The spirit snarled angrily.
"Prison? Like…the Ossuary?" Sabriel hadn't been there when they had broken Lucanis out from the Venatori lab, but she had gotten a couple of the details from Bellara. "You're not in the Ossuary anymore. This is—"
"He promised. We had! A deal!"
She sighed. Maybe the enchantments keeping the Ossuary under the water were similar to the feel of the Fade in the Lighthouse? Or was it just that Spite was tired of being stuck in a body?
He had started pacing her room in agitation, muttering repeatedly to himself about their deal.
Lucanis likely wouldn't shed any more light on the situation, if previous experiences were anything to go by. He clearly didn't even want to acknowledge the problem.
But maybe helping him see Spite as another living being could help them bridge…whatever this gap was?
Resolving to get Lucanis to talk to her the next time he was awake and around, she put her hands on her hips. "Well, I can't help you escape right now, but exhausting Lucanis by expending all this energy isn't going to help either of you. Maybe you and I can sit and talk for a bit?"
Spite stopped pacing abruptly, staring at her with the purple voids in Lucanis's eyes. "Talk?"
She offered a smile. "Maybe I can tell you stories about the Necropolis. The ways that some of the spirits use bodies there. Maybe that can help?"
"Like Curiosity?"
"Mmm. Sort of. Manfred's a bit of a special case, but he's not terribly unusual."
She pulled her desk chair over to the side of her bed and placed him in it before grabbing her journal and settling onto the bed.
"Let's start with the minor undead…"
~~
After what felt like an eternity, Spite's energy seemed to flag. She didn't think spirits could tire, but perhaps his possession was too much strain on Lucanis's body for him to maintain for an extended period of time.
As Lucanis's eyes began to droop, the purple light slowly fading from them, Sabriel stood up to catch him before his sleeping body hit the ground.
Honestly, she was a bit impressed he was still asleep. He was usually so on edge and easily awoken when Spite was sleepwalking. Given the way he cared for himself though, perhaps his body had simply had enough for a while.
She settled him on the ground, with a few of her spare pillows and blankets around him so hopefully the position wouldn't hurt his neck or back too much. Ideally, she would get him back to his own room so he wouldn't wake up somewhere unfamiliar but she wasn't nearly strong enough to carry him all the way back to the kitchen.
Exhausted but unwilling to stop her vigil in case he woke up and demanded an explanation, she settled back at her desk and cracked open one of her botany texts. Perhaps she could at least take advantage of the extra time awake and identify some of the plants she'd seen in Arlathan.
Lucanis awoke with a start.
He was surrounded by the scent of herbs and incense, and he was laying on something hard—clearly not his cot.
He sat up abruptly, ready to strike out, when he heard a loud, breathy "Oh!"
Once his eyes processed what he was looking at, he found himself face-to-face with Sabriel Ingellvar— the other necromancer Rook had seen fit to recruit for the team.
Unlike Emmrich, this one wasn't quite as nosy or intrusive, but she seemed to have a soft spot for Spite and a bleeding heart in general.
He wasn't sure what to make of her still. The skull staring at him from across the room was not helping him in that regard.
"You're awake!" She smiled brightly. She seemed…relieved? "Sorry, I'm sure the new surroundings were a bit startling."
"What am I doing here?" He didn't want to chat. His head hurt and his throat was dry, so his voice came out even rougher than usual.
A guilty look flickered across her face. "Well…Spite kind of…sleepwalked here…"
He sighed angrily. He should have guessed. She probably didn't wake him up because she preferred to talk to Spite anyway. He felt his stomach turn at the thought.
It must have shown on his face, because she started stammering, "He didn't have any…pernicious motives! He seemed…agitated? And I-I just thought…if I talked to him he'd be more likely to stay here! And not…you know…try to escape through the Vi'Revas…" She continued to babble as he stared at her, "And I was going to try to um. Carry you back? To the kitchen? But you're honestly pretty dense for such an acrobatic fighter and I didn't think you'd want everyone seeing me drag you through the Lighthouse and if you had woken up it would have been even harder to explain—"
He held up his hand and she closed her mouth so quickly he heard her teeth click together.
"Sabriel is nice. Doesn't want to hurt you. Hurt us."
Spite sounded almost…offended? Was she actually managing to befriend the demon?
It was too much information for him after he had just woken up. His head throbbed and he hissed under his breath, rubbing the bridge of his nose against the pain.
He heard Sabriel hum discontentedly. "You don't sleep enough, you know."
"I do not need a lecture from you."
"If you'd just offer Spite a little bit of understanding, you might be able to—"
"Enough." He pushed to his feet, staggering only a little at the suddenness of movement. Sabriel moved to help steady him but he pulled back.
He tried to ignore the pang of guilt at the flash of hurt in her eyes.
"I'm sorry. For intruding on your space. It won't happen again."
He made for the door as quickly as he could. He needed to go make coffee.
"I don't mind if it does." Her voice stopped him as he laid a hand on the door handle. "You're welcome any time you need help. Even if you don't want to admit it."
He glanced over his shoulder. She wasn't looking at him— she was staring at her hands on her desk, a sad smile on her face.
He turned back to the door and pulled it open just enough to slip out.
He really didn't know what to make of Sabriel Ingellvar.