Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The others gravitated to the hotel’s small pub space long before Asellus found the presence of mind to leave her room. Her group had claimed a large round table in the corner, to give themselves as much space and privacy as possible. The night was young; few customers sat under the hanging lamps at the bar or at the wobbly tables. And Koorong was the rare city where the loose handful of humans and mystics that were Asellus’ travelling companions could move about without so much as a second glance from passerby. The barmaids were used to stranger and more colorful characters, and cared little unless their tips were lacking.

The bass-heavy music pounding from the jukebox masked her footsteps, and Lute was the first to notice her as she slowly approached their table. “Hey,” he drawled, setting his ale mug on the table and raising his other hand in the air to greet her. He nudged an empty chair out from its resting place with a foot. “How you holding up?”

Asellus pulled back the empty chair between Emilia and Lute. “I’m okay,” she lied, settling uncomfortably in the worn chair with a ramrod-straight spine and casting another quick glance around the room. Old habits die hard; one never knew when an adversary might suddenly spring from nowhere. “Thanks for waiting for me.”

Emilia, who was sipping a cocktail, touched Asellus’ shoulder briefly with her free hand. Next to Emilia, Rouge offered a small smile in greeting. Her human friends seemed to have a better understanding of her grief than the others and she was grateful for that. “What are you guys doing?” Asellus asked.

“Waiting for you to join us. I was wondering if I’d have to drink for both of us.” On the other side of the table, Zozma was leaning back so far in his chair that only the back legs touched the floor. A mug and a plate with a mess of bones sat before him. He gestured to the pile of chicken wings in the center of the table. “Try these. They’re not bad for human food.”

“Maybe later,” Asellus murmured. An alert waitress appeared at her side with such swiftness that Asellus would have thought her another teleporting mystic if she hadn’t seen her march across the room.

“Something to drink, hon?” she asked, setting a cocktail napkin and plate in front of Asellus. She cleared the plate containing Zozma’s poultry graveyard from the table and set a clean replacement in front of him.

“Water,” Asellus answered to Zozma’s disapproving snort.

“Okay.” The waitress smiled at Asellus over the dirty plate she held in one hand. “Anyone else need anything?”

“I’m good,” Emilia replied as Silence shook his head. Rouge, whose wineglass was half full, also declined.

“I need a refill, and this guy does too,” Zozma pointed at Lute. “I know you won’t let me drink alone.”

Lute’s smile crinkled his entire face. “Can you bring us an order of nachos too?” He asked the waitress, who nodded without bothering to write anything down.

“Sure, hon,” the waitress assured them both, and then tilted her head toward the scowling presence in the corner. “Anything for him?”

When no response came, she turned back to the table with a smile. “All right, water-two-ales-and-an-order-of-nachos. Be out in a jiff!”

When their waitress departed, Emilia turned to Lute with a frown. “Are you paying for all of this?”

It was Zozma who answered her with a smirk, “They could be persuaded not to charge us.”

“Don’t you dare!” Emilia retorted immediately, setting her glass down on the table with more force than necessary. The tiny paper umbrella adorning her beverage tumbled out and rolled lazily in a half-circle. “My friend is a waitress. It’s a tough job! And you should see what she does to dine-and-dashers.”

In his seat between Rouge and Zozma, Silence raised one eyebrow, commanding Zozma’s attention before he could reply. He lifted his badge halfway out of a coat pocket, so that four accusatory letters were visible.

“Oh, I forgot,” Zozma groaned, lacing both hands behind his spiky head and leaning farther back in his seat, rear chair legs squeaking in protest. “You all invited the fun police.”

“I remember all of us agreeing that we wanted to attract as little attention as possible.” It was Rouge who spoke up. “I think that what you have in mind would go against that.” Neon signs hanging on the walls painted his pale hair pink and yellow, and glinted against the medallion that he wore. Although he’d admitted when they met in Luminous that he was “new to working with others,” Rouge had proven to be not a hothouse orchid, but a calm voice of reason in Asellus’ wanderings.

“I—“ Asellus began, then swallowed, wishing the waitress would hurry up and bring her the water she’d ordered. The words she wanted to speak weighed heavy in her throat, yet they could not be contained any more than she could will herself to stop breathing. She knew that this was the logical conclusion to the long, meandering path she’d begun the moment she ran from Facinaturu.

“I wanted to tell you all something.” She paused again for a breath.

Knowing that the group’s full attention was now on her, she used it to fuel her courage and began again. “I’m not going to run and hide any longer. I’m tired of being on edge all the time and waiting to see who’s going to come after me next. I’m going to take the fight to them and I’m going to make them stop.”

Her words brought the entire table to life. Silence’s eyes widened, uncharacteristically dramatic, as Zozma exclaimed “About time!” Lute and Rouge erupted into chatter at the same time, their voices melding into each other and becoming indistinguishable over the hubbub.

Emilia found Asellus’ right hand, which had formed a determined fist, and gave it a squeeze. “I’m proud of you,” she whispered into her ear.

“Well then,” Lute began, when the commotion had died down somewhat, “I guess you’re gonna need someone to play at your victory party.” He motioned to the instrument that shared his name, strapped to his side like always.

“And you’re going to need someone to dance at your party,” Zozma added. He stared directly at the human across the table with a sudden dazzling smile. “How about it, Blondie? You’ll dance with me, right?”

“Ummm.” Emilia had grown familiar enough with mystics to resist Zozma’s blatant attempt at manipulation. She managed to keep her own annoyance front-and-center. “Help her win first. Then maybe we’ll talk about it.”

The glowering shadow standing in the corner of the room, far enough from the impromptu gathering to make his participation deniable, yet close enough to constantly surveil it, chose the moment to remind others of his presence. “This is mystic business. Humans should stay out of it.”

Ignoring him, Zozma dropped his attempt at “persuasion” and went for the kill shot. “I’m just saying that you can’t mourn forever. It’s not good for you.”

Emilia, who had chosen that moment to take another sip of her drink, fought hard against her instinct to spit it out in shock.

Lute turned to Zozma with a rare frown on his face. “Slow your roll.”

“That was uncalled for,” remarked Rouge, adding his own reproach to the pile.

Silence, who had pulled a small notepad out of another pocket, pushed his snifter aside to scribble something. The argument stopped when he held it up for all to see. I have no desire to return to that place, it read in a looping, intricate script.

“That’s understandable.” Rouge was the first to react, reaching for his wineglass and closing his eyes briefly. “Sometimes there are places we don’t wish to return to. I can’t fault you for that.”

Silence placed his notepad on the table and continued writing. If an IRPO agent infiltrates the Chateau, it is a violation of the treaty. Mystics could then attack human regions. We must avoid that. I also need to return to headquarters and tell them that they were fed faulty information on Omble.

“Yes, do that.” Emilia, still on edge from Zozma’s unwanted “advice,” turned to Silence with unmasked irritation. “And when you do, remind your friends at IRPO that they haven’t found Ren’s killer yet. What are they waiting for?”

Silence touched two fingers to his forehead in a brief salute, a gesture that could have been meant either to show respect for a fallen colleague or to dismiss Emilia’s criticism.

In another life, Asellus might have been touched by the outpouring of support from her companions. Instead, she wanted them to distance themselves. Didn’t they know what was good for them?

“The rest of you need to know something too,” she began, and once more the table’s full attention was on her. When had she been able to command an audience like this before? She might have had the presence of mind to feel jittery, were the stakes not so high. “This isn’t like all those others that we fought. This person, Orlouge, he’s…he’s a big deal.”

Asellus kicked herself mentally for downplaying the threat, and tried again. “I mean, he has an army at his control, and he’s a mystic lord. Which means he might be the most powerful mystic in the world. If you come with me, you might not make it back.”

The image of snow-white petals, spiral curls, and a soft smile chose that particular moment to assault her, and Asellus shut her eyes lest they give way to more tears. She thought she’d spent them all. “I want him to leave me alone and let me live whatever my life is now in peace. I want to tell him that people aren’t his playthings. I want justice for her—for White Rose. And I don’t want to lose anyone else because of him.”

Asellus met Lute’s eyes first, then Emilia’s, then Rouge’s. The three humans had become her companions by chance and random encounter. They were all untouched by the supernatural, just as she once was: so alive, so full of passion and drive to see their own journeys through to the end. So fragile. She could not put them in such danger, could not ask this of them. “So please…wait for me, if you want. But I can’t let you do this with me. Because if you face him and die it will be my fault.”

Her warning delivered, Asellus touched both hands to her temples as if to ward off a headache. She could count on Ildon to help her scare them off, she knew.

She knew also that White Rose would have followed her. She would have fretted, as she frequently did, about disobeying her lord, her obligation to the one who’d bestowed upon her a new name and new life warring against her affection for the one he’d charged her to protect. How cruel had Asellus been to force her to make that choice in the first place?

No one spoke at first. Asellus felt vulnerable in a way that she hadn’t before, not even after the dismal triumph over the Labyrinth.

After a measured pause to give her words the weight they deserved, Rouge ran a hand through his forever-mussed hair and broke the silence. “I can’t say that I know how you feel right now,” he began, choosing his words very carefully. “You have been through a lot.”

Asellus removed her hands from her head to favor him with a wan smile.

“But I would like to go with you,” Rouge proceeded. “You helped me find two magic gifts, and I will do what I can to help you too. And…” His dark eyes lit up with the enthusiasm of a child about to unwrap a toy during a birthday party. “You’re going to Facinaturu. I’d like to learn more about mystic magic at its source.”

“Humans can never master mystic magic,” Ildon scoffed from his post in the corner. He glared at Rouge over the dark feathers on his collar. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Maybe so,” Rouge allowed with a thoughtful look on his face that suggested he didn’t necessarily agree that it was settled fact, “but that’s all right. Knowledge of all kinds of magic is what I seek.”

“Didn’t you hear me?” Asellus turned to him in an instant, incensed. Her chair squeaked indignantly on the floor. “I just asked you to stay here!”

“I heard you,” Zozma broke in. He was no longer leaning back in his chair. Instead, he rested one elbow on the table, fist supporting his chin. He looked first to Asellus, then to Rouge in a deliberate sideways glance that suggested he found the exchange intriguing. “But it I was going to have it out with the ruler of Facinaturu, I’d want Mage Boy here on my team. I don’t know any other humans that can summon meteors when they fight. Hell, I don’t know any mystics who can either.”

Rouge looked surprised at the unexpected compliment, then offered a polite smile. “Thank you,” he said.

Unmollified, Asellus opened her mouth to protest again, when Emilia interrupted from her left.

“I don’t want the guy wearing star pasties to get a bigger head than he already has—“ Emilia waved at Zozma without looking at him, missing the smirk on his face, “—and I think hell must be frozen over, because I agree with him. And I’m going too. Just listen for a minute.”

Emilia held a hand up to stop Asellus from interrupting, and continued. “You already told me that I was better off not knowing you. That was in Trinity Base when we escaped a predator together. Remember?” Emilia frowned; the circumstances of their meeting were not something that she enjoyed rehashing. “Another guy who thought he could collect women for his own twisted pleasures. You’re seeing the pattern here, right?”

“That was different,” Asellus muttered, cheeks blushing violet at the thought of the gaggle of dancing girls at Trinity Base. “That was—“

“And,” she continued, cutting Asellus off, determined to say her piece, “I lost someone I care about too. I watched him die, right in front of me. I know what it feels like, wanting revenge. And it would make me very, very happy to help you get it.” Her blue eyes lit with determination; she slammed the table in front of herself loud enough to make Lute jump.

“But Emilia,” Asellus began, trying to calm her own racing thoughts enough to sort through Emilia’s history, “I thought there was someone that you were going after. Isn’t that why you joined your—your—Groupius?”

Emilia nodded. “It was. I thought I could find the killer if I worked with them. And instead they tricked me and shipped me out to a pervert against my wishes. Maybe I’ll go back to them after this, and maybe I won’t.”

Emilia’s expression darkened. “Maybe I’ll just go after Ren’s killer on my own. I haven’t decided yet. But I’m definitely going to give their leader a piece of my mind, because I am sick of these men who think they can use people any way they want. And if you want to come with me when I do it, I won’t say no. Because we’re more alike than you realize.”

Asellus turned this over in her head. Here were Emilia, strong and confident, and Rouge, the quiet force of nature, offering their hands in friendship and understanding. It was a new feeling, to be accepted and supported by humans like this. Perhaps it made her selfish, but she found herself wanting more. It might help the hole in her heart hurt a little less.

“I’ll go with you too,” Lute offered, brushing an unruly shock of hair out of his face. “Sounds like you need all the help you can get. Stop trying to push us away.”

The pleasant, warm feeling growing inside Asellus turned to ice as a singular encounter from the recent past played in her mind, unbidden: her aunt, hair now stark white and back stooped ever-so-slightly, backing away from her in slow, horrified steps. “You’re either a ghost or a mystic playing a horrible trick on me. Asellus is dead!”

“Lute, no!” Asellus protested with a vehemence that surprised even her. “You can’t go.”

Lute cocked his head and stared at her. “Why’s that?”

“Because you have a family.” Asellus fought to slow the words that wanted to tumble out of her mouth. “You have a mother who cares about you.”

“That’s debatable,” he muttered.

“You’re all she has. And if something happens to you,” she continued, “she’ll be left alone. And she’ll never know what happened. Every night she’ll go to bed wondering if you’re really dead or if she’ll ever see you again. And then one day she’ll just…stop. She’ll give up, but she’ll never have closure.”

Asellus returned Lute’s stare with eyes that traitorously threatened to give way to tears yet again. She couldn’t let that happen, though. She must make him understand. “Do you really want that? Do you really want that for me? Knowing that I broke another old woman’s heart? That I destroyed yet another family?”

“Asellus…” Lute’s voice trailed off and his eyes wandered to something in the distance, considering. “This means a lot to you, huh?”

“It does,” she continued, closing her eyes against the storm inside. “You have something that I wish I did. Don’t take it for granted.”

“Ah, dammit…” Lute stopped for a long swallow of his ale, then set the mug down with a sigh. “I really do want to help. But it seems like I’m just stressing you out.”

“It’s not you,” Asellus assured him, palms resting in her lap. “I’m grateful for all the help you gave me.”

“Well, I don’t want you to choke up during your duel of destiny because you’re worried about me.” Lute picked up his mug again, but held it in the air and stared at it as though he were looking for an answer.

“So if it means that much to you…tell you what. I still want to play for your victory party,” he began, and hurried to beat her to the punch when he saw her gear up to object again. “But I’m counting on you to come back for it. And here’s what I’m gonna do. You have folks in Shrike, right? If it’s okay with you, I’ll go pay them a visit and tell them you’re okay. I don’t know if they’re gonna believe me or not—I hear you didn’t have much luck with that yourself. But I’ll try. And hey, if they don’t believe me, I’m used to getting kicked out of places. It won’t bother me any.”

“Lute…” Touched, Asellus favored him with a small smile. “Thank you for that. I mean it.” The scruffy-looking musician had a strange way of working his way into other people’s lives, of listening to their problems with a sympathetic ear. Whether it was his unassuming appearance, easy smile, or something else entirely, Lute had a knack for putting people at ease. If there was any way for a layperson to get through to Asellus’ aunt, Lute would be able to find it.

“You won’t be able to beat Orlouge without me. You know that, right?” Zozma resumed leaning back in his chair. “Other than him, I’m the most powerful. That ‘army’ you’re worried about isn’t going to be a problem when I’m there.”

Ildon’s arms remained folded and expression unchanged as he turned his body to face the group. “I’ll escort you a little longer. There is,” Asellus did not miss the ever-so-slight pause between words as he sought the correct ones to convey urgency without giving too much of himself away, “something that I need to check on.”

“Thank you, Zozma. Thank you, Ildon,” Asellus offered. They would put little value on her thanks, she knew, but human courtesy demanded it. She knew very little of Zozma’s history in Facinaturu, but could tell that he felt no inner conflict about going against Orlouge. Yet she doubted very much that he’d choose to support her so openly unless he stood to somehow gain from doing so.

Ildon, on the other hand, had seemed unshakeable in his allegiance to the Charm Lord. Since his surprise reappearance, he remained a distant shadow on guard for threats, and offered little in the way of conversation. His obvious reluctance to be with her in the first place made her wonder what exactly Rastaban said to him to get him to do so, and she suspected that he’d consider the job done and take his leave once they arrived at Facinaturu.

“Guess I’m counting on you guys too then.” Lute raised his mug in the air, toasting them all at once. “It’s gonna feel awful lonely without you. Come back safe, you hear?”

The waitress reappeared then, doling out fresh mugs of ale, and she placed a glass of water in front of Asellus, who grabbed it immediately. The glass was wet with condensation and refreshingly cold. The waitress deftly shuffled some of the existing tableware around to make room for Lute’s nachos and a new stack of plates for sharing.

Though she focused on not getting in the waitress’ way as she rearranged their table, out of the corner of her eye Asellus saw Silence considering her with a sidelong glance. She looked at him directly, eyebrows raised in a query. He shook his head, mouth and eyes both turned slightly downward, and turned away in favor of his snifter.