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He had grown indifferent to the sting in his knuckles. The throbbing ache in his wrists. After a while, it all just started to numb into a dull buzz he can distract himself from. He hated being this way. He hated feeling angry. Scott muttered a quick apology to the little bird perched on one of the lower branches, her feet already starting to frost over. He wanted to bring her into the dumpling shop, where she could warm up by the cooking pots. But she would probably die before he got there. So he said sorry. And he got away from her.
He’d been staying in Thawdale ever since they got Jibble back to the academy. He hadn’t seen Pyro since his visit before…all of this, and maybe that was for the best. Scott didn’t want to hurt Pyro, not any more than he already was. He was doing the noble thing, he’d told himself. The loyal thing. What a Stalwart would do. So then why does it hurt so much to think about?
In the time since he left, a few people have come to try and see him. He would always hide out until they gave up and left. Mages don’t look up.
The flurry persisted. Scott gave up on trying to make it go away. He’d been busying himself by working in the fields, punching trees, wandering Kindling, having a drink. Rinse and repeat. Day by day. But task number one had been getting a little more difficult every time he completed task number two. If he sprained something, he wouldn’t know. The bruises may have been getting darker, but what was he supposed to do? Ask Nurse Violet for a checkup? Freeze her in the process?
Scott was in the fields now, gathering cotton seeds for more oil. This was at least one constant. Even as his life freezes over by the brush of his hands, he’d always be making fried dumplings. He was so in his own head that he didn’t hear the footfalls of someone behind him, so it was too late when Osteon’s smooth voice cut through the howling blizzard wind in his ears.
“Good, I was hoping you hadn’t seen me yet. Wouldn’t want you to run away again.”
Scott whipped around and backed up instinctually. His eyes fell to their shoes. Leather boots. Kind, but not enough to make him want to get closer. There was a tremor in Osteon’s stance. She was still freezing.
“You should…take a step back,” Scott mumbled. And Osteon, damn that knight, folded their hands behind their back and stepped toward Scott. In turn, Scott took another step back. It was a troubling dance between the two, back and forward, and back again. Scott felt his foot slip off the edge of the farm, and he waved his arms to keep his balance. Osteon’s eyebrows raised and he put a hand out, before retracting it when Scott found his footing again. He jumped around Osteon, trampling some of his wheat in the process.
“I am here to tell you we have a date for the trial,” Osteon called out. Scott halted in his tracks.
“...We do?”
“Yes, this Thursday.”
“Ah.” It was only a few days away. Scott felt his chest tighten when he looked back at Osteon, watching their shivering. “I…are you sure I’m…d-do you think that I should even be in the courtroom? Maybe–I don’t know, maybe I can…maybe I can get someone else to speak for me, or…?”
Osteon’s face remained impassive as always. “You will be there, Scott. It’s a royal trial, so…”
“Right,” Scott sighed. “Maybe I should stay at the back of the courtroom, or go above it, like on my ice path?”
Osteon hummed. “I’ll figure it out. Just make sure you show up.” Osteon lingered for a second, looking Scott up and down. Her eyes narrowed. “And I suggest you get those hands seen to. They look awful.”
As they left, brushing past Scott, he checked his hands. The visit was so sudden, he hadn’t had the time to put his gloves on. Osteon was right; his knuckles were raw and bleeding (again), the skin a mottled dark purple. His wrists were red and swollen from the constant punching, and working, and not caring about how it felt. He winced, suddenly feeling the ache return. But he couldn’t do much in the way of getting it treated. Whenever it happened in Tegrith, a doctor or his mother would fix him up. The first time it happened, when he was thirteen, even Pyro got a roll of bandages and wrapped him up.
But Pyro’s not here anymore.
Scott perished the thought before his mind could escalate. He turned back to the fields to continue gathering seeds. He thought the surprise visits would end there. He thought he wouldn’t be caught off guard again.
It was Legs next.
Legs, much like Osteon, couldn’t be less hesitant to approach. The iron mage was next to Scott before he could even register there was another person.
“Legs!” Scott exclaimed, backing into the wall.
Legs gave him a half-smile, but there was worry in his eyes. “Hey, Scott. Whatcha doing?”
“Uh–just making oil, to…” his voice trailed off as the wind returned, filling his mind with a raging storm. His gaze drifted to the side, sight growing fuzzy at the edges. That’d been happening a lot recently.
“Scott?” Legs called out, clearing away the storm.
Scott’s head snapped up. “Mm…what, sorry?”
“You were saying something?”
Scott gave him a blank look, trying to recall what he was talking about. What was he just talking about? Surely it couldn’t have left his memory that quickly. He wracked his brain for an answer. It came in the form of a sizzling cooking pot. “Oh, yeah, uh. I was just making cotton seed oil to fry dumplings.” He looked back at the other two, still uncomfortable with how close Legs was standing. “What are you doing here?”
“Just…checking in,” Legs said. “No one’s seen you. Not since the corrupted Academy, and Jibble.”
Scott flinched. “Yeah. I-I’m sorry. I just—you know why.”
“I know...Well, unfortunately, you can’t just disappear and expect nobody to worry. It might actually do you some good to talk to people, you know.”
A snowflake drifted past Scott’s face. “Wouldn’t do you lot any good. Not if I actively harm you by being near.”
Legs sighed and shook his head. “Well, you’re gonna be at the trial, right?” He looked around, then leaned in. “Project Village?” He whispered conspiratorily.
“Of course,” Scott nodded. “I owe it to Pyro. Plus, should anything go awry…”
“We can iron out the details later,” Legs assured him. “But right now I just wanted to make sure you were doing alright.”
Scott looked away, watching the cotton seeds burn in the cooking pot. He forgot those were still on. Where was his head these days? “I’ll be alright. Once Pyro is found innocent and released.”
“Yeah…And he will be! Amber told me that they had next to no evidence on him, so there shouldn’t even be a case to argue.”
Amber. Scott hadn’t spoken to her since the Queen…And she seemed to be avoiding him on Monday. Maybe she was mad at him. She probably deserved to be mad at him. He just hoped he could make it up to her one day. Scott hummed in response to Legs.
“Aaand speaking of Amber…” Legs shielded his face from the sun to check its position. “I promised her I’d meet her in the greenhouse today, so I should probably get moving.” He glanced at Scott apologetically. “You gonna be okay if I leave?”
Scott nodded, and saw his friend back out to the caravan, making sure to point him away from the Hitting Trees.
Wednesday was…exhausting, if Scott were to pick a word for it. Duke Foltrum was a tiring man to be around sober, much less after a bottle of rum and an hour of sleep. He knew all the right buttons to press, and Scott found himself drawing his sword more often than he even realized. At least the Duke wasn’t immune to the cold. He took some enjoyment in watching the small man shiver and back away.
But they just kept bumping into each other. And that was the most annoying part. He was half-worried he’d see Foltrum again at the mouth of the cave, after talking out the plan with Legs, Michela, and Megii.
He needed a drink. Or another tree.
He wanted to use Michela's ice wine as an excuse to grab a bottle or six of brandy for himself. But the light steps behind him made him jump. Amber stood there, hands behind her back, a tiny, shy grin on her face.
“Hi, Scott!” Her voice was high-pitched, unsure of herself. Scott closed the chest, and led her to the cave, where it was safer for the both of them.
It was a good talk. At least it was confirmation that she wasn’t mad at him. Actually, maybe the reason she was avoiding him was because she thought he was mad at her? Which is absurd. Scott could never be mad at Amber for this, she didn’t do anything wrong. And now she knows the plan for if Pyro’s verdict is guilty. And she knows his plan for if that plan goes haywire.
And now…the Duke again.
Scott had caught a glimpse of Amber running off while he spoke with Foltrum, glad that she wasn’t going to force herself to stay for his sake. He followed the Duke to the docks after a while, making sure to keep close behind. To give him a little chill on the way out. He was crashing by the end of it. Could barely keep his eyes open to throw back the whiskey he pilfered from the chest.
And that was the last he saw of Duke Foltrum.
The last.
The…last…
Scott awoke in the middle of the night to rustling and the clink of glass bottles below him. He woke up mad; it was probably the most sleep he’d had in days, just to be interrupted a few hours in. And he had a sixth sense for who was sneaking around downstairs. His hand felt around for Frostbite, before he halted. Right, not the best idea. With a groan, Scott got out of bed and descended the lattice to find Foltrum writing in his notepad next to the torchlight.
Scott rubbed his eye, letting a sigh escape his nose. “Duke,” he said, lowering his voice even though there was no one to wake up.
The Duke looked up from his writing and closed the book. “Oh, you’re still here?” He opened another chest, rifling through its contents.
Scott’s eyebrows furrowed. Excuse me? “Yes, I’m still here. I’ve been sleeping here tonight. Making sure nobody breaks in. Because this place is closed for the night. Which means you leave and let me go to bed.”
The Duke was indifferent. “Oh, you can go to bed,” he responded flippantly. “Just pretend I’m not here.” He looked up to see the icy scowl on Scott’s face, and grinned. “Oh, dear,” he cooed, voice dripping with false sympathy. “Can we get a smile on that face? You look awful when you’re tired. Have you been sleeping well, actually?”
Scott’s eyes narrowed. “Kinda hard, when my best friend is sitting injured in prison.”
Foltrum gave a shake, buzzing from his lips in an overexaggerated show of freezing. “Well, at least he’s not cold! Quite hot, actually. And talking crazy. Might be a fever, now that I think of it.” He shrugged. “Better hope it’s not, for your sake.”
Scott took a deep breath, fingers curling into tight fists. It made his hands pulse, and he couldn’t stop himself from wincing. Which, of course, Foltrum latched on to.
“Something with your hands, Ice Boy?”
“Nothing that concerns you.”
“I only asked if you were alright. Those bruises don’t look too pretty. Looks like you broke your wrists.”
“It is nothing that concerns you,” Scott repeated.
Foltrum’s grin widened. “Right. Nothing that concerns me at all. ‘Cause you see, Ice Boy, the health of you and your…” he glanced up, where Aurora was peering at the two from the loft. She chirruped, her blue eyes illuminated by the moonlight. He grimaced. “...Uh, cohort, is not something I particularly care about. Dragon Riders are not a people I particularly care about. All your…haughty attitudes and your way of dealing with problems by throwing your magic or your punches–” at that, the Duke seized Scott by the wrist, squeezing the joint with a sadistic glee in his eyes. “Though I’m sure you could have gathered all that from your visit today, with your friend. The prisoner. The accused. Convicted.”
Scott ripped his hand away, sucking a breath through his teeth. Aurora spat indignantly, some of the scales along her body raising in defense.
“This place is closed for the night,” Scott said again. “You’re trespassing right now, Duke.”
Foltrum took a deep breath, and let it out with a smile. “Ah, Duke. Isn’t that a great word? It’ll be King Foltrum next. Titles are such a…noble thing. A grand thing that attaches to your name to make people think, ‘wow, he’s so cool and better than us’. It’s to my knowledge that even you have a title, Ice Boy. What is it again? You’re not a Sir, like that dark-haired broody mage, the Scorned.” He pulled out his notepad and started to flip through the pages.
“Yes, the Queen bestowed titles on both me and Amber,” Scott replied. This finally gave the Duke pause.
“The fairy has a title, too? Is Her Majesty just giving those things out these days?” he muttered. He shook his head. “Now, I asked you a question. What is your title again?”
“It’s—It’s Stalwart.”
“Stalwart,” Foltrum echoed breathily. “Now that is some title. Stalwart. Strong. Dependable. Isn’t the true definition loyal?”
“Uh, I think so. That’s what—that’s what the Queen said.”
“Loyal and dependable.” Foltrum finished what he was writing. He looked back up at Scott, a glint in his eye. “Hm,” he hummed, a tiny laugh. “Sorta like a dog.”
This time, when Scott clenched his fists, his nails accidentally broke the skin in his palms. Little beads of blood grew from his fingertips, seeping into the spaces between. The Duke seemed delighted. He closed his book.
“Right then. I’ll leave you to it, pup.” Foltrum left the brewery, shoulder knocking into Scott on his way. Just to be sure he actually left this time, Scott watched him board the boat from the second floor window.
His chest tightened, stealing the breath from his lungs. His shoulders heaved as the anger pooled inside him, deep in his stomach, which squirmed from the nerves and the growing quantity of alcohol bottles he finished. Aurora chirped hesitantly, but the roar of wind in his ears was too strong, this time accompanied by the ringing he had gotten used to. He let out a yell and wheeled around to punch the closest thing, putting branching cracks in Pyro’s wall.
Scott was seething. He stared at his knuckles, blood welling and dripping down the back of his hand, the winds dulling into a breeze. His ears still rung. His head still pounded. A soft force pushed itself against his leg and he looked down to see Aurora watching him inquisitively. She chittered, clicked her teeth at him, and stood on her hind legs to paw at his knee.
He sighed and scooped her up, bouncing her gently. She gave his knuckles a tentative sniff and, though he could barely feel it, started licking the blood off him. Scott leaned forward and pressed a light kiss to the back of her head, before taking her to the bed. She settled in immediately, burying her nose in her tail like she always did, and closed her eyes. Soon, her snores were the only thing in Scott’s head.
He wouldn’t be going back to sleep that night. If anyone else came by, while he was asleep…and of course, it was nearly dawn anyway. Just in about four hours.
The trial was tomorrow. Today? Whatever. Scott knew how this was going to turn out. And it wasn’t with him losing his best friend.