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Guess Osvald’s still in there. Partitio leans up against a wall in Conning Creek, watching the townsfolk come and go. Beside him, Ochette shifts from foot to foot, scenting the air. Even so, the rich smell of spit-roasted octopus isn’t enough to distract Partitio from running his lucky silver-leaf coin through his fingers, making it appear and disappear between his gloved knuckles.
It’s a nervous habit. One that Papp tried to school him out of, since it’s the kinda thing that might put customers ill at ease. Truth be told, he’s ill at ease, after everything that’s happened. It’s damn near enough to turn his stomach sour.
“I’m worried about Elena,” Agnea says, softly. “Do you think she’ll wake soon?”
“It’s impossible to tell. The wound Harvey gave her seems to be healing, but given what we’ve learned so far, this may be more of a… spiritual affliction.” Castti turns to Temenos.
“Don’t ask me.” His nonchalant shrug belies a keen interest in the topic. “From what Osvald said, Harvey’s knife bore the influence of the Shadow. But even after Trousseau… and Kaldena… we still don’t know enough about its possible effects.”
Hikari frowns. “Nothing good, I’m sure. But if we’re lucky…”
“If we’re lucky, it’s just a scratch.” Throné melts out of the shadows beside Hikari, having gone to check on Lady Clarissa’s house. “I couldn’t see much, but it looked like she’s just sleeping. Osvald’s with her. We should know more when he comes back.”
More waiting, then. Partitio’s not great at that. Action’s more his style, especially when it comes to his partner: the big, quiet man he’s come to admire, despite the differences between them. (Osvald is good at waiting. That notebook of his keeps him entertained, any time, any place – he’d even read it on that horrible gondola. Hell, he’d been taking gondola notes.)
Partitio Yellowil ain’t that kind of guy. Right now, he’s itchin’ for something to do, or someone to fight: some way to protect his partner’s little girl. But if Castti and Temenos can’t help Elena, Partitio sure can’t. He knows, the hard and heartbreakin’ way, that no amount of leaves can buy good health.
Please, let her be ok, he thinks. He was always taught that the Trader ain’t a deal-maker, despite the name… but he’ll ask this once, just the same.
Maybe someone’s listenin’, because just then, Throné straightens out of her slouch. Partitio follows her gaze to the edge of town. Osvald’s there, sure enough, talking to Clarissa. Partitio can’t make out any of the words… but from the way Osvald’s gesturin’, Partitio can tell that something’s on his mind.
“C’mon! Pops needs us.” Ochette’s tail swishes in the dirt.
“Very well,” Temenos says. He has a way of makin’ himself sound uninterested, but Partitio knows their Hound has caught an intriguing scent.
—
They find Osvald waiting for them, just outside town. He wears a small, thoughtful frown: not the kind that has Partitio worried for Elena, but the kind that has Partitio worried for him.
“Is she ok?” Agnea asks, wringing her hands under her shawl.
“I believe so. Clarissa thinks she just needs rest. I wanted to leave before…”
“Before?”
“Before she wakes, and doesn’t remember me.”
A moment of silence follows. Maybe it’s not surprising that Castti is the one to speak up.
“She’ll remember. It may take time, but… she’s young, yet. She has many years to make new memories with you. With her true father.”
“Yeah!” Partitio puts on his best an’ brightest grin. “She’ll be right as rain before y’know it.”
“I hope you’re right. There’s still so much I fail to understand about all this. What drove Harvey to do it? And what possessed Clarissa to…” Osvald shakes his head.
“What’d she do?” Throné asks. There’s a hint of it-better-be-something-good to her voice: one that has Partitio thinkin’, all over again, that he’d eat his Papp’s lucky hat before he ever crosses their thief.
“She just said something I don’t understand. You recall how I told you about the One True Magic?”
(Hell, he’d showed them. A bunch of Sea Birdkings had tried to ambush them, not far from Conning Creek… and that’s why there’s a fresh hole blown out of the cliff above the ocean, big enough to drive a steam locomotive through. Osvald had stepped forward, with his unconscious daughter still on his shoulder, and had rearranged the whole damn landscape with a single, searing blast of his new spell.
He’d told them, once – back when they were crossing the mountains, just before that whole tragic thing with Crick – that only the Archmage D’Arquest had the power to change the land itself with magic. Near as Partitio can tell, that means Osvald got what Harvey wanted: his life-long study, the One True Magic itself.)
“Yeah,” Partitio says. “Y’ found it, didn’t ya? Your equations finally worked?”
“It was less a matter of my formulae, and more a matter of the source,” Osvald says, shaking his head. “I cannot name the source of this magic, even as it flows through me. Lady Clarissa had an idea, but…”
“Oh!” Ochette laughs. “She smelled nice, too, like she thought something was funny! What’d she say?”
Osvald casts his gaze to the ground. He scratches at his beard with one big, blunt hand. “It’s nothing, surely.”
“Sounds like something to me,“ Throné smirks. “Out with it.”
“She, uh.” Osvald clears his throat. “She said the source of the One True Magic is love. Have you ever heard such a ridiculous thing?”
Partitio glances at the other travelers – who are, unsurprisingly, also glancing at each other, as if nobody wants to break the news. In fact, it takes him a second to catch that they’re all glancin’ at him, and not at Osvald.
Damn. The things he’ll do for his partner.
“Well, y’see. That is. I, er… aw, t’hell with it.” Partitio whips his hat off, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “From what you were sayin’, it came to you when Elena was in danger, yeah? All of a sudden?”
Osvald nods. “Yes. At that moment, it was as if time stopped. I wanted nothing more than to protect her, though I had no way to do so. And then… a great power rose within me. A new Source, the likes of which I have never felt. It was a perfect match for my equations.”
A small, quiet sound, not unlike a snigger, rose from Temenos’ general direction. Half a second later, a grunt – not unlike the sound of Throné's elbow driving into a certain Inquisitor’s gut – followed it.
Osvald didn’t seem to notice. “Harvey called his Shadow the One True Magic, too. But it was no match for the might that filled me in that moment.”
“Well, partner… that sure does sound like it could be love. Since it showed up when you were guardin’ Elena, an’ all.”
Osvald shakes his head again. “I’m not sure I understand. She is my daughter, yes… but ever since childhood, others have told me I have a cold and empty heart.”
That’s right: Osvald often insists that he doesn’t understand love. Partitio thinks this is more an issue of namin’ and less of an issue of feelin’, because Partitio has never once heard him gripe about his lost station, or his fortune, or his home. Not even his life’s work, his precious research. Osvald says Harvey took everything from me, and he means Harvey took Rita and Elena.
(It’s no surprise that the One True Magic chose him. Partitio sees how much he cares for his family and friends, even as he insists that doing so is only logical. It echoes in the way he gets melancholic when he smells goulash, and flies into a rage whenever anyone harms a child. It rhymes with the way he is, as Ochette puts it, “everybody’s pops”: always lookin’ after all seven of them, from the far corner, over the top of his current book.)
Temenos coughs. “I would be glad to judge whoever called you heartless, Professor.” His voice is as light as always, but there’s a hint of an edge to it. “You spent five years trapped in frozen purgatory, dreaming only of vengeance. Once free, you pursued that goal for another year with us, allowing nothing to stop you – not pain, not the Shadow itself, nor its fell creatures. We all witnessed your resolve. And we all watched as you threw that grim path to the wayside at the first glimpse of your daughter, alive. A lesser person might’ve succumbed to rage and hatred, even then, but you only thought of her.”
“Hmph.”
Temenos smirks. “Hmph if you will, Osvald. I still say that your actions have been those of a wise and big-hearted soul. Verily, the source of your power is none other than the Sacred Flame itself. Which is, assuredly, love… or something like that.”
“He’s right,” Throné says. “I’ve seen you around kids. Remember last time we visited the Garden? All those little Snakes, lining up to try and pick your pockets? Don’t think I didn’t notice you filling them with candy that morning, either. Trust me when I tell you: that shit can’t be faked.”
“That was simply logical,” Osvald mutters. “I merely wished to give them a chance to practice their vocation.”
“Ah. Were the piggyback rides also logical?“ Hikari asks.
Osvald glances away. “Of course. I had the power to bring them happiness, so I did. ‘S as simple as that.”
“That’s because love is logical,” Ochette says. “Love brings living things together. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned on this journey, it’s that we’re stronger together. Beastlings, humans, animals… even monsters run in packs! It’s our instinct.”
“Quite so,” Temenos says, hiding a smile behind his hand.
“A natural-sciences approach,” Osvald mutters. “Interesting. I always wondered why I was so strongly drawn to Rita. She was warm and kind to me, despite my nature, and I suppose… that lit the same warmth in my own breast. I found myself wanting to see more of her smile. Her laugh. Her dancing. We made a study of each other, together as one. And then, when Elena was born, and I held her for the first time…”
He sighs: a long, drawn-out sound. “She was our treasure. The brightest part of my life. I wanted to give her the world.”
“You just did, Professor. You gave her the Dawn. Another tomorrow. It’s the one prize no one can steal… as long as we keep her safe.” Throné's arms are crossed; her posture casual, yet ready.
“We will. I swear it. We must find the people behind this – Harvey’s friends – and put them down.” Osvald’s voice is a growl.
Ochette leaps up, swiping at the air. “Gauuuu! That’s the spirit! There’s no prey we can’t catch together!”
—
Later, amidst the dust of the road, Osvald falls into step beside Throné and Partitio.
“You ok?” Throné asks. At Osvald’s sideways glance, she shrugs. “Not about Elena. About Harvey. You had him marked, but it sounds like he offed himself? Just thought it might be bugging you.”
Osvald snorts. “Not at all. He met a fitting end. Alephan has no use for foolish scholars.”
“Ha! You guys say that, too?” Her grin could cut glass. “We say ‘Aeber hates fuck-ups’”.
This wrings a rare snort of laughter out of Osvald. “Indeed.”
“Y’ said his own damn book blew him up, or somethin’ like that?” Partitio asks.
“Yes. Well. Speaking strictly unscientifically…” Osvald pauses. “It looked like it dragged him straight down to Hell.”
Partitio gives a low whistle. “Hoo-ee. If that ain’t somethin’”.
“It’s strange, though. Now that I think of it… I’d give anything to hear him try to explain all of this. He was the only friend I ever had, apart from Rita. My only friend…” Osvald’s voice fades. “I suppose I never had a friend, did I?”
“Hey, now. That ain’t true.” Partitio claps his partner on the shoulder, pulling him in close. Osvald surprises him by leaning into it. His breath, the warm bulk of his arm, the scratch of his beard against Partitio’s temple: it’s all right there, closer than ever. “You got seven friends.”
“So I do.” Osvald’s voice is low and warm.
“My, aren’t you two cozy!”
“Shut up, Temenos,” Osvald mutters.
Even so, he gives Partitio’s shoulder one last squeeze before he pulls away.