Chapter Text
When they arrive back in Dol Makjar, their first order of business is to meet with Hal. But they find more than just Halandil Fang. To his great joy, Occtis reunites with Thimble, and reconnects with her traveling party - Kattigan and Teor. To his great misfortune, Occtis also meets Wicander Halovar for the first time. After all they heard about him, between the demons and the ruins of Tannesar, Occtis would have loved to avoid this meeting entirely.
But, somehow, Occtis manages to survive Wicander and his pet demon, Tyranny. She looked ready to claw his eyes out. But she was very friendly with Thimble, which stayed Occtis from responding with equal animosity. Wicander was barely spared from such treatment due to Thimble's rather reluctant support of him.
"Not that bad" isn't the best character endorsement. But it certainly isn't good enough to start throwing spells at him. All that in mind, if Wicander ever gives Occtis a reason, it will be on sight. The daft fool at least seems to understand this much.
Once they get through sharing their horrors and hearing a fair bit of horror from everyone else, Hal pulls aside Occtis and, curiously, Julien. He tells them that a pigeon had arrived just the evening before they knocked on his door. It bore a letter from Lady Aranessa, which Hal believes to be intended for Occtis and Julien specifically.
Occtis shared a confused look with Julien. Hal assured them that he and Bolaire went to great lengths ensuring the letter contained no magical traps. It was a legitimate missive from the Lady of House Royce. Occtis trusts him. He doesn't trust the cramped twist on Hal's mouth. An expert thespian would be able to play it cool, so something has upset him enough to show on his face. That doesn't bode well.
Hal hands over the letter, rolled up in a scroll. Julien lays it out on the table for both of them to read. Strangely, the contents resemble an announcement, like the sort spoken by heralds in a town square. It's written with no exact recipient in mind, probably to account for interference. Yet, Hal knew that it was meant for Julien and Occtis, because the contents clearly concerned both of them.
"Lady Aranessa of House Royce hereby blesses the auspicious and mutually beneficial bethrothal between Lord Julien of House Davinos to Lord Occtis of House Tachonis. With this union, Lady Aranessa wishes to firmly renew the alliance of House Royce with the one true and loyal Lord of House Tachonis."
Then, in hasty script beneath: "Details to follow."
"There's some kind of cipher in the back," Hal tells them. "From what we could tell, Aranessa wants to meet with you."
"...Where?" Julien asks, hoarse as if he's been yelling for hours.
Hal shrugs. "That we couldn't figure out. But we suspect that you could."
Occtis blinks. He no longer needs to. His eyes are stuck in a constant state, neither dry or moist. But somehow, he believes that if he blinks enough, the words on the parchment will change. Surely, he read that wrong somehow. But the words do not change.
He traces each curve of every letter, marks the space between each drafted line. A fury starts to build from the back of his head, where the spine presses against the skull. His scalp feels tight against his cranium, as though his rage has inflated his head like a soap bubble about to pop.
How dare she.
Occtis can barely address the contents of this message. He is far more fixated on the officiousness of it all. Aranessa had written as if this was a foregone conclusion, as if she had any right to speak for him. And Occtis is well familiar with being a pawn on the board. But he is quickly losing his stomach for such treatment. He has already lost so much, why not this as well? At least this loss could prove to be useful.
"Where would she like to meet?"
Julien glances at him, alarm briefly crossing his features. Occtis had let too much of his fury slip through his voice. There's a pause as Julien studies him and Occtis bites his tongue until he tastes blood. Once satisfied that Occtis won't turn into a feral wraith, or whatever horrible possibility had siezed him, Julien taps the letter, specifically the cipher on the back of the parchment.
"There's a warehouse in a nearby village. It belongs to my family, as part of the distribution chain for our wines."
Hal frowns. "How soon will you have to meet her?"
"She took one of the prized steeds, those specially bred to be fleet of hoof."
"Oh. Yes. I know of those. Thjazi once rode one nonstop from the Orchard to here. He arrived within two days."
"That is fast..." Occtis murmurs. All for the better, he supposes. Aranessa has a lot to answer for, with a stunt such as this.
Julien shifts, placing a hand on the pommel of his rapier, as if sensing Occtis's uncharitable thoughts to his liege lord. Occtis sneers at him then spins on his heel and marches out the door. No one stops him.
Unfortunately, he cannot leave the house. It had been quite an undertaking to arrive here completely unremarked. So Occtis settles for finding an empty room and locking himself inside. From there, he grabs the thickest cushion available (the pillow from a nearby bed), then he screams and screams and screams into it. At least this way, he can remember to breathe.
⚔️🪦⚔️
It's an order. The letter is clearly an order. There's no other way to interpret that. His liege lady has given him an order. He is to marry. He is to become Lord Consort to a Tachonis.
Julien doesn't watch where he's going. Inevitably, he literally runs into someone. He doesn't see their face. He doesn't recognize their voice. He doesn't care. He shoves them away, snarling. The telltale tone of placation sings through the air like an arrow in flight. The words miss but the concern hits him in the throat. He pulls back his arm and punches them in the stomach, no warning, no lead up. Just blam.
A lot of things happen very fast after that. He vaguely remembers the irritating buzz of pixie wings, right next to his ear. Coincidentally, he now has a tear stretching down the curve of his ear as if someone tried to slice it clean off. They didn't succeed but Julien bled like a stuck pig. Blood stained the collar of his shirt, smeared across the creases of his palms, and even a drop or two found itself on the floor.
At some point, somebody restrained him. Unfortunately, it was not in the fun way. They locked him in the attic, with all the rust and the mold. When the Hold Person and Command double whammy finally wore off, Julien is far too tired to cause even petty property damage. He simply sits with his rage, nursing it like a fine vintage.
The night passes. The day dawns. Aranessa must be close by. The Royce steeds have unrivaled speed and stamina. Truly, it's a wonder that there's so few of them, all things considered. Julien runs a hand down his face.
As Halandil would say, it's showtime.
It would be easier for everyone involved if Julien and Occtis left together. But such an idea is absurd to the point of being a farce. Julien leaves first, with Bolaire and Murray at his side, holding a spell at the ready.
In the harsher light of day, Julien has resigned himself to the truth. If the message is Aranessa's will, then he must enact it. Such is the duty of a vassal house. But she has to know the hurt this would inflict on him. She has to. And yet, she made the order regardless. That stings.
Between Bolaire and Murray, they have the proper arcane workings to slip out the city discreetly. From there, it's a short ride to the warehouse, during which, to his great misfortune, Murray starts to speak with him.
"Y'know... I've been thinking about that letter... And it makes sense..."
Julien scoffs. "And what, pray tell, did you discern? A common-born like you?"
He hears Murray's famed bejeweled teeth clink together as the woman clenches her jaw. "Yeah, well... I don't need fancy titles in a fucked up family to play chess. And the good Lady Royce is playing 3D chess right now."
"So then, out with it. You're a wizard, right? Your type simply looooves to show off your vaunted intellect. It's just about the only thing you have of worth."
"What would you know about the value of intellect? Seeing as you don't have two braincells worth rubbing together. "
"The coping mechanism of the depraved and the deprived."
Murray fixes her eyeliner with a deft swipe of her pinkie finger.
"Enough," Bolaire cuts in, flicking his wrist in an undoubtedly arcane manner. "Honestly, Murray... You knew that he would be difficult. That wasn't even a particularly inspired taunt."
"Ugh. I was just going to give him a little demonstration. It would've worn off eventually."
Bolaire rolls his eyes then turns to Julien. He's a queer creature, this Curator of the Archanade.
"What Murray meant to explain is that Lady Royce is mimicking our moves. She seeks to divide and conquer. If she can prop up Occtis as a viable alternate to the current leadership, she could invoke a civil war amongst a rival faction."
"And she intends to do so through a marriage?"
"Through a reaffirmation of the alliance between Royce and Tachonis, specifically. This way, Occtis won't just be some mouthy, little runt. He will be a mouthy, little runt with genuine firepower at hand."
Julien's hands clench into fists. "Then why didn't she explain herself before making such a pronouncement. If I had known her intent..."
"Would it have mattered?" Bolaire tilts his head. "Your lady gave you an order. You would have obeyed regardless. So, she skipped a step. It wouldn't have changed anything for you."
Several words bubble up Julien's throat. Every reason for his disquiet feels too private to share. So he bites his tongue and looks away from the curator.
Somewhere to his side, Murray groans. "Oh come on! Of course, she had to tell you this way before checking in with you. We are walking a tight rope over a viper's nest. We gotta take steps with confidence that we will follow through. Or we will fall."
"To translate, the lady wrote the message like an announcement to make the arrangement seem like a foregone conclusion, not a plan that can be interfered with. This way, if the letter fell into the wrong hands, they will conclude that the alliance is effectively in motion. It draws lines in the sand. Us versus them. At which point, the other Houses will start picking teams. And with Royce announcing to all and sundry that the Tachonis may be weakened by some sort of internal divide, it swings the favor to their camp, as though they have gotten ahead in this most dangerous game that we're all playing."
That makes too much sense and Julien hates Bolaire for it.
"But why me? She had to know... how I would feel about all this... The Tachonis massacred my House, Primus murdered my father, and she would have me marry his scion??"
"Probably because Occtis knows you," Murray answers. "She probably figured that she would have a better chance at convincing Occtis to cooperate if she engaged him to someone he knew."
"I have also made it well known that I hate the boy."
"Better the devil you know than the devil you don't," Bolaire says airily. "At least, you both know where you stand with each other. Isn't that nice?"
"Yes, I know the boy, and so I am certain he will never agree to this. Lady Aranessa has made a fool of her House given his inevitable rejection of this bethrothal."
"Well, ain't that what yer good for, Sir Julien?" Murray fires back with a braying cackle. "Even I've heard that you're not too picky with your paramours. Maybe it's not just that you're known to Occtis, maybe it's also 'cuz she expects you to seduce him."
"Wonderful. Blatant prostitution. My station can only go up from here."
"In which case all the Sundered Houses are whores, given this has no difference between any other arranged marriage," Bolaire cuts in. "And you have to know that, so cease this little pity party of yours. It's unbecoming."
"I've known a whore or two myself, some of my best friends work the oldest career known to Araman. Just lie back and think of House Royce. You'll be in the clear."
"And the boy's a virgin. He won't last long which should quicken the chore, I imagine."
Julien raises an eyebrow. "He's also dead. So I can't imagine that we can consummate this marriage in any way."
"When there's a hole, there's a way." Murray grins at him.
Julien scowls at her. "Must you be so crass?"
"Hey, you're the one who brought up blatant prostitution."
Before Julien could snipe back, Bolaire holds up a hand. They freeze, falling silent. Up ahead, there's a contingent of armed men. Julien can't see any crest or heraldry but their armor and weaponry are well kept. They're either noble knights or well-funded mercenaries, neither of which bode well.
Murray and Bolaire work together to reweave whatever spellcraft hid them during their exit from Dol Makjar. Then, they sneak forward and no one speaks again. All for the best, perhaps even a blessing in disguise, since they reach the warehouse without any further complications.
A pristine, white mare is hidden among the trees behind the warehouse. The sight soothes something inside Julien. Aranessa is near. She is alive. He tries to reignite his rage. But relief resembles a rising tide, slowly washing over him.
When they enter the warehouse office, they find her seated at the desk. The dying light of day shrouds her in warm shadows, like a mourning veil. She has gotten remarkably thin. Her collarbones jut against her skin the way roots bulge under the dry, cracked earth. Black, heavy bags hang from beneath her eyes as oily, unruly locks stick to her brow and the nape of her neck. She does not look well at all. But she is whole.
"You must be so mad at me, Sir Julien..." She says in lieu of a greeting.
And just like that, he unravels. All the tension tightening his spine vanishes like salt in water. He shakes his head.
"No... No, I understand... You schemed as all good Lords and Ladies do. I cannot begrudge you for doing your job..."
For some odd reason, this causes tears to film over her eyes. She valiantly bites back a sob.
A low whistle punctures the air.
"Hot damn. You need to teach us your ways, Lady. It took four guys to bring this asshole down. You said nine words and he rolls over, just like that." Murray snaps her fingers.
Aranessa blinks. "I beg your finest pardon. Have we met?"
"Nope. I can't say that we have. I'm the Bursar at the Pentevral, which you've likely never been to. The name's Murray Mag'nesson."
"Of the Mag'nesson Gems and Jewelry?"
"Yeeeeeep. Just another old pal of your husband, bless his soul."
"Somehow, I'm not surprised."
"My Lady Aranessa, it is good to make your acquaintance once more." Bolaire strides forward and bows with flourish.
"That mask... Oh, yes. I recognize you. One of the Archanade curators?"
"I'm flattered to know that I left such a memorable impression." Bolaire winks.
Aranessa offers the tiniest smile back. "And I suppose that you were also associated with Thjazi?"
"More Thimble, than Thjazi..."
The strain in his voice piques Julien's curiousity. Someone else not charmed by Thjazi? Why didn't he simply say so? They could've discussed their mutual hatred on the way here. It would've exponentially improved the trip.
Aranessa reads between the lines and her smile grows ever so slightly. "My late husband was... He was not as charming as he thought himself to be."
Bolaire tilts his head. "And yet, you married him."
"I prefer sincerity over charm."
Murray elbows Julien. "You hear that? Boy, you never had a chance."
Julien scowls at her. "What are you talking about? Why are you still here? Leave."
Aranessa clears her throat and Julien winces.
Murray snorts, rolling her eyes and waving a dismissive hand. "I've heard worse from better people. Believe me. I've got more important things to do than crash this little engagement party."
"Then by all means," Julien snarls. "Why don't you attend to these important things?"
"And miss the drama?" Murray smirks at him.
"As a patron of the theatre, no one enjoys a good bit of drama more than me," Bolaire chimes in. "But I sense that we've overstayed our welcome."
"Aww c'mon, Bolaire. Don't be such a fuddy duddy."
"And don't push it, Murray."
The dwarven wizard scowls but holds her tongue, which is far more impressive than any of her arcane work.
Aranessa offers them a lovely farewell, thanking both for looking after Julien. She speaks as if he was some babe in need of cosseting. It's a true testament of his willpower that he doesn't protest this insult to his character.
Then finally, Murray and Bolaire leave them alone. Of course, they're not truly gone. They simply left the office to inspect the wares. Julien magnanimously allowed them to pick whatever vintage catches their eyes. Bolaire scoffed at that, as if Telmora isn't the premier vinter in all of Pasitar. At least, Murray seemed pleased, so perhaps there's hope for her crude sensibilities.
"Your mother and sister send their regards," Aranessa tells him.
Julien nods, sinking into the seat across from her. "They are well?"
"As they could be..."
"And mother? She knows?"
"Yes. She... She suspected as much. The fae bond gave her a little hint when it vanished."
"Right. Of course."
Aranessa lays a gentle hand over his knuckles. She rubs her thumb over the various scars. "It occurs to me that you've yet to properly grieve."
Julien shakes his head. "No. I've shed my tears."
"There is no limit, you know. Cry as much as you need to."
"I have," Julien tells her, perhaps a bit more firmly than he intended.
Aranessa's mouth purses. Her eyes dig through his expression, searching for answers. Julien lets her, of course. He would never keep secrets from Nessa, not when it truly mattered.
"The Tachonis... We captured a couple of their commanding officers. They offered such a disjointed account of their plans. Did they really mean to summon a celestial?"
"Yes, born from the body of the very boy you seek to bethrothe me with."
She sighs, shaking her head. "... They were scared, Julien. Their armies were hastened to act, and given little guidance. I saw their diminishing morale, not just among the footsoldiers. I saw bitter generals who lost good men for no good reason. We need allies."
"So we would ally ourselves with the very men who sought to tear us down?"
"They killed my brother!"
Aranessa tightens her hold on his hand, nails digging into the thin skin between his knuckles. Julien flinches, his mouth clicking shut. Silence stretches between them like a tightrope pulled taught. He looks away first.
"My condolences."
"I do not wish to shame you into submission. I want to make clear that you are not the only one who lost family. And if we do not wish to lose any more, we must swallow our fury. Our House never relied on might and full-frontal power. We are of the Fae. Think of it less like a forfeit and more like a fine trick, a clever little joke on the Tachonis."
"... Perhaps. But it won't work, Nessa. The boy... Occtis... What we learned... It defies description."
For the first time, a shred of doubt crosses her fine features. "... What happened in Tannesar?"
As if on cue, footsteps echo down the hall. Julien leaps to his feet, one hand on his rapier. Until he lays his eyes on an ally, he must presume the worst. Seconds yield to the rabbit-racing pulse in his ears as the footsteps get louder, closer. Then the door swings open, revealing the pinched visage of Vaelus, with Thaisha at her side. Between them, trapped in their overlapping shadows, Occtis Tachonis looks dead.
"My young Lord Tachonis," Aranessa greets him.
The air hurts to breathe as frost crawls across the wood grains and the glass panes of every surface in the room. Shadows spread like crawling, scratching fingers as whispers slide through the floorboards and wall panels. They want to come inside. Please let them in. Please let them in.
"Occtis, really?! Really. You're really gonna pull this stunt. Again. First, the druids - now, Nessa? Nessa! Didn't you like Nessa???"
Thaisha's voice snaps Julien back into himself. Fear had taken root in the base of his skull, drowning his thoughts with the animal instinct to flee or to fight. His rapier is no longer in its scabbard, sitting at the ready in his hand. He keeps it there as he watches Occtis and Thaisha.
It's almost dejá vu. They had this exact fight in Tannesar. But clearly, they had not said everything that needed to be said.
"What is your fucking problem??" Thaisha asks, getting between him and the rest of the room.
Occtis looks at her, an eerie green glowing from within twin, sunken sockets. "You're supposed to be a wisewoman. Can't you tell?"
Thaisha inhales hard.
Vaelus steps forward. "You have to admit, Occtis. Your behavior is concerning."
"Of course, it's concerning. I'm upset! Everyone has a vested interested in screwing me over!"
"Who is everyone??" Thaisha snaps back. "Last I checked, your family is the only problem you've ever had. No one here is attacking you!"
"Then stop looking at me like I'm about to!"
"Stop acting like you're about to!"
"Do you think maybe you're not the only person that deserves to have a fucking panicked response?"
"Am I not allowed to be defensive of my sister?"
"Look." Occtis squeezes his eyes shut, clenching his jaw.
With the absence of his terrible gaze, Julien rediscovers his ability to breathe. At his side, Aranessa shifts and he feels a bony, clammy hand clutch onto his elbow. He flexes his arm in an approximation of a comforting squeeze.
Her plan was going to fail and she is finding out in the worst way possible.
Occtis clears his throat. "...If you need me to be a calm, obedient son and not jump on her ass about this, I can't. My family was going to use me like a spell component. Now, she's going to use me like a political pawn. Everyone always wants to use me. So I'm sorry if I'm not acting with perfect fucking grace, okay?"
And there's the final nail in that coffin.
Thaisha clicks her tongue. "I have never asked for your obedience!"
"And I never wanted to be your son!"
Thaisha flinches as if struck. Occtis pants, despite no longer needing to breathe. Then he opens his eyes. The ghostly glow is gone, replaced with an all too human, all too familiar rage. Julien has seen that in too many reflections.
"That was unnecessary..." Vaelus murmurs.
Occtis shakes his head, carding a hand through his hair. "L-L-Let's put all the cards on the table, and just tell me... What do you want from me?"
"What do you want from me? You don't want me to be your mother, fine. Then what is it? What do you want me to do?"
Her voice is low and soft in a way that calls Julien's spine to attention. But Occtis does not fear the way mortal men do. He does not balk, stubbornly meeting Thaisha's gaze, like a tomcat prepared to scrap over territory.
"I made the choice to come back, yes. But you asked that of me. You asked! Now, I'm back and you can't..." Occtis bites his tongue here, twisting his expression into a sneer. "... Maybe you are my mother, because I'm only capable of disappointing you."
Thaisha barks out a laugh, dreadfully unimpressed. "Don't act as if you aren't also resentful. That is at least one thing we can both agree on... We find each other equally disappointing..."
Despite the tension and the drama of it all, that sense of dejá vu returns stronger, meatier. But Julien does not think of Tannesar. He thinks of Palazzo Davinos, of an ornate and heavy gauntlet to match an equally ornate disappointment.
Occtis wrinkles his nose, finally turning away from Thaisha, looking towards Aranessa.
"I wish to be left alone. That's all I came here to say. Leave me out of your games. I'm done."
Occtis spins on his heel, about to stride out the door. Aranessa leaps to her feet, fully crashing into Julien as she does. He absorbs the unintentional blow, using the contact to subtly stabilize her stance.
"Wait! Occtis, please!"
Julien is prepared for her plea to fall on deaf ears. But Occtis surprises him. The boy stops in his tracks. Just a minute ago, he walked into the room, as if Death itself approached. Now, studying his back, his narrow shoulders and hunched spine, he looks like a truant schoolboy, caught clear outside the classroom.
Aranessa swallows, steadying herself with a breathe. "I don't know what happened while I was gone. I sent that missive with full recognition of my audacity. I was way out of line. But if you would let me explain-"
"Do I get to have a choice in the matter?" Occtis cuts through her speech.
Julien politely stifles the urge to crack him across the face for such disrespect.
Aranessa moves past the slight with aplomb. "Yes."
That gets Occtis to fully face her. Shock is written plain across his features.
"But the missive, if it was intercepted, your House... Isn't your House in desperate need of allies?" He asks, bluntly.
"Obviously. And so does yours."
"Am I to believe that you would extend your hand to a scion of the House that brought yours low?"
"I am extending it to the only ally that remained loyal to the Pact between Sundered Houses. My Lord Tachonis, you did not murder the General Raimond Davinos. You did not launch an attack on the Golden Orchard. You did not kill my brother."
Thaisha gasps as Vaelus winces.
"Tachonis troops broke upon the walls of my House. They sought glory and left without their dignity. Such dissatisfaction should be rewarded."
Occtis tilts his head, like an all too clever corvid assessing a curious bauble. "I would be a poor reward."
"We can fix that."
"And what do I get from all of this? Why should I exert myself further?"
"So, you can prevent another Tertia."
The whole room turns to Julien. Oh. He said that. Glancing at Aranessa, there is such hope in her eyes for this mad gambit of hers. So Julien does as a loyal knight does.
"You have nephews and nieces, surely. Child cousins waiting in the wings? Consider the alternative. We can fall apart separately, or we can hang on together. What say you, my Lord Tachonis?" He spits the name and title the way a viper spits venom.
For whatever reason, the strange abomination of a boy smirks. It vanishes in the next second, but Julien saw. His blood boils, as his belly tightens, as if he's standing on the edge of a cliff, looking down, down, down...
"Nessa..." Thaisha speaks up. But then she glances at Occtis and says not another word.
Occtis snorts softly, wringing his hands. He looks around the room as if he could discover cosmic secrets in the stack of invoices or shipment logs. When at last, nothing could keep his eye, he faces Aranessa straight on.
"In the words of the late Dame Seremai, the world is mad. Let us be madder still."