Archive of Our Own ^beta

Caleb sweeps his eyes over the party, darting from one person to another—all equally well suited for this opulent place. His fingers tug at the sleeves of his robes, the formal outfit like armor for a very different battle than the ones he’s used to. Still, strange as it is, he has to admit that Jester picked the perfect clothing for all of them.

It’s disconcerting, the quiet murmurs and pointed glances. “The Mighty Nein” are on many people’s lips, with a tone of surprise or awe that he’s never expected to hear. He half-smiles as he wonders if the ladies would eye them with such curiosity if they knew about the time Molly stripped bandits of their trousers.

One woman turns to her companion and says, in a tone that’s not quiet enough for a secret, “I heard they saved all of Rexxentrum single-handedly.”

Caleb shrinks under their stares. He’s used to people taking in his dirty clothing, his beard, his arm bandages, and looking away. Used to gazes sliding over him as if he were just a dandelion growing up between two cobblestones. He lets out a sigh of relief when Marion enters the party, drawing all attention away from their handful of beautifully-dressed strangers crashing the gathering.

Caleb slips away from the others, snatching a champagne glass from a passing tray, if only to have something to do with his hands. Across the room, Thane lingers near the Martinet, just far enough apart that they don’t appear to be attending together. He looks too stiff, too alert, to be enjoying the party.

In another life, would he have been standing between the two of them? Brokering this tentative peace on behalf of the Empire, rather than the Dynasty? Would he know, then, what Essek is planning? What they are all planning? The thought makes Caleb’s skin itch.

Caleb feels the room shift as Marion disappears through a door and whispers of the Mighty Nein rise again to people’s lips. He supposes they don’t have anything else to talk about, not with the possibility of a historic peace about to be brokered between the Dynasty and the Empire. He sips nervously at his champagne, keeping an eye out from the shadows.

Yasha’s discomfort is etched in every line of her body as Sharpe hits on her, obvious even from across the room. Caleb smiles as Jester confronts the man, recognizes the motions of a charm spell in the moments before Sharpe goes up to the balcony only to be locked in. It wouldn’t be the Mighty Nein at a party if they didn’t make at least a little trouble.

Caleb relaxes into the shadows, content to watch the trouble unfold. He pops a cheese cube in his mouth as he watches Clay draw Beau into a shadowy alcove and drinks a sip of champagne as Beau returns with wide eyes and twitching hands.

All the while, he keeps an eye on Thane out of the corner of his eye. The man is constantly moving, shifting away from the Mighty Nein as they move about the room. His anxiety is written in every line of his body and it’s a wonder that no one else seems to notice.

“Thane! Lord Thane!” Jester’s voice is impossible to miss, even with the steady chatter of the party. She’s shouting across the room now, waving at him, drawing glances from half the guests. Caleb steps back into the shadows, rolling a piece of obsidian in his hand and leaving an echo in his place.

Thane’s attention focuses on Jester. His face goes awkward as he raises his mostly-untouched champagne flute to show that he’s occupied. As if the drink somehow prevents him from joining them.

Caleb rounds the room quickly, seizing his chance. He sees the tension rise in Thane’s shoulders when he looks away from Jester to where Caleb had been standing. His eyes flicker back and forth, his back straightening as he realizes the form Caleb left behind is only an echo. Thane swallows hard, his eyes searching the rest of the party-goers for him, but it’s too late.

“Are you looking for someone, Lord Thane?” Caleb pitches his voice low and velvet smooth as he steps out of the throng to stand at Thane’s shoulder.

He startles, champagne spilling from his glass and onto the cuff of his black robes. “No. No, no. Not looking for anyone.”

“Are you sure?” Caleb plucks the glass out of his hand and sets it on the table for safe-keeping. “You seemed startled that I wasn’t where you expected.”

“You surprised me, that’s all.” Thane’s smile is a practiced one, too tight and contained to be genuine. His eyes flicker for a breath towards Caleb’s echo, still standing there, but he doesn’t comment on it. “I really must be going—”

“Lord Thane,” Caleb interrupts, in a tone that doesn’t invite further argument, “you’ve been avoiding us all night.”

“I haven’t—” The smile on Thane’s face only gets more strained. “I haven’t been avoiding you.”

“Then stay.” Caleb motions at Thane’s drink with his own. “Why don’t we get to know each other a little better?”

“Oh.” Thane stares at the champagne like it might have turned to poison under Caleb’s touch. “I’m not a very interesting person, I’m afraid.”

Caleb bites back the laugh that bubbles in the back of his throat, allowing a smile instead. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

“Why don’t you tell me about yourself?” Thane picks up the glass but he doesn’t drink. “I’ve heard many tales about the Mighty Nein but I can’t imagine they’re all true.”

“I assure you, they are,” Caleb says, not wanting to know what other people are saying about them. Besides, it’s not like he needs to recount the things they’ve done to Essek. “Tell me, how do you know the Martinet?”

Thane shifts his glass to his other hand. “We run in the same circles.”

“Must be some interesting circles.”

“I’m never bored, when it comes to them.”

“And your role to play in all this?” Caleb raises his free hand, motioning in the general direction of the docks and the fleet of ships waiting to launch for peace.

“As I said before, I’m only here to meet with some friends and help with preparations for the journey. I will not be joining you.”

“What a pity.”

“It’s for the best.” Thane fakes a wince, the tremble in it giving him away. “I’m not much for ships. Seasickness.”

“And yet you live so near the sea.”

“I am often called—” Thane looks up, over Caleb’s shoulder, and the tension rises around his jaw. His eyes dart to the side, searching for an escape route.

Caleb glances back, spotting Nott as she vanishes into thin air. His mind casts for any excuse to keep Thane here, to keep him from running away again, and lands on the music. He offers Thane a hand, blocking him as he starts to take a step. “Shall we dance?”

“Uh—” Thane hesitates, staring down at Caleb’s hand like it might turn into a snake. “I don’t—I’m afraid I can’t dance.”

“I can.” Caleb stares him down without blinking. The ground feels like it’s rocking beneath his feet as he tries not to remember the last time he danced—in Jester’s arms, thinking of Astrid. That night feels like it was lifetimes ago, like it belongs more to his echo in the shadows than to him. “Jester is a wonderful dancer. I can see if she’d like—”

Thane’s hand is in his before he can finish the sentence. “One dance.”

Caleb smirks as he leads Thane to the floor. The stage is still being set for the Ruby’s performance, the woman herself nowhere to be seen. The sourceless music is a gentle waltz, a comforting sound in the backdrop of many conversations and an easy beat to pick up for those dancing. Caleb finds himself humming along as he turns into Thane’s space, resting his hand on the man’s lower back.

He startles, just a bit, before relaxing into the touch.

Caleb expects a dissonance between the illusion and Essek’s true form, but the differences are only slight. His clothing isn’t quite as sleek as the silk robes would imply but Caleb doubts anyone would notice without being aware of the illusion.

“Trust me,” Caleb says, and Thane’s eyes meet his. There’s a question in them that makes Caleb’s stomach tremble, one that doesn’t belong at all to Thane’s facade.  “Follow my lead.”

Thane rests a hand on Caleb’s shoulder in the moment before they begin to dance. It’s not graceful by any means, at least not at first. Thane’s back is stiff as a board and his feet stutter through the steps. Caleb wonders with a suppressed laugh what it would be like if he were floating.

“Relax,” Caleb suggests, as Thane yanks his head up from staring at his feet. “You’re doing fine.”

“I haven’t had many opportunities to dance.” Thane’s hand flutters in Caleb’s, like he might let go. Caleb steers them into an abrupt spin, glancing over Thane’s shoulder. Jester is watching the two of them with an oddly wide smile on her face.

Caleb can only hope she isn’t about to send Essek a message. He takes a deep breath as they stop spinning. The room keeps moving around them. “I hope you find more.”

“I hope so too.” When Caleb glances over, Thane’s staring down at his hand where it rests on Caleb’s shoulder.

Caleb relaxes into the dance, marveling at the way Essek’s body doesn’t radiate quite the same warmth as a human—or a tiefling. What might it feel like to push beneath the drow’s robes, to feel bare skin against his hands, his lips, his chest? Caleb scowls at himself for the thought while Thane’s eyes are busy darting around the room.

Essek is betraying them. Depending on how the night goes, they may not be able to allow him to see the sunrise.

“Tell me, Lord Thane,” Caleb says, drawing the man’s attention away from the whereabouts of the rest of the Mighty Nein, “will we see you again, after the negotiations?”

“I don’t know.” Thane stumbles over a sideways step. “My work has me traveling often.”

“What is it you do?”

“I’m a minor lord here.”

“Yes.” Caleb laughs and Thane’s eyes flicker down to his mouth. “I know.”

“I’m often called upon to meet with other lords.” Thane looks away again and Caleb longs to know if drow are capable of blushing.  

Caleb leans in, close enough for his lips to touch Thane’s ear. He wonders what it would be like to do it, to trace the true shape of his drow-pointed ear. Thane shivers beneath his hands at the feel of his breath. “For a man who lies so often,” Caleb says, “you’re actually quite terrible at it, Essek.”

Essek’s entire body goes steel-stiff as his feet come to an abrupt halt. Caleb tightens his grip, intending to prevent him from making an easy escape. “Caleb.”

“Come with me, quietly, and I won’t make a scene.” Caleb does touch Essek, then, brushing his lips along the hollow of his throat. “No one will look twice at us. I only want to talk.”

Caleb feels the spell in the twitch of Essek’s hand against his jacket. He pushes down with the hand on Essek’s shoulder and speaks a counterspell for good measure. “Please.”

Essek almost slumps with the force of his nod. “Lead the way.”

The Ruby of the Sea makes her grand entrance in that moment, drawing the room’s attention but causing Caleb to feel like a salmon swimming upstream trying to move against the flood of the crowd. He weaves his way through the crowd, his hand on Essek’s sleeve his only reassurance that the drow is still with him. He tries to survey the room for his friends but they’re nowhere to be seen. A low clamor of excitement rises in the room as everyone starts to gather around the stage.

There isn’t much room for privacy in the courtyard. He could break open a door but he doubts even the Ruby could distract everyone enough not to notice the noise. The balconies are no less open and, besides, one of them is already taken. He leads Essek into a tight alcove as far away from the stage as possible.

“In here,” Caleb says, pausing at the entrance. Essek hesitates before stepping inside first. Caleb turns his back on the courtyard, shielding them from view with his body. He knows perfectly well that he can’t keep Essek here, not if the wizard truly wants to leave.

“How did you know?” Essek asks, his voice resigned in a way that rasps against his throat.

“I saw you talking to the Martinet.” Caleb crosses his arms over his chest. “I saw you.”

“But the wards—ah.” Essek’s mouth twists and his eyes slip closed, exasperated. “Your cat.”

“Yes,” Caleb hisses. “My cat.” He snaps his fingers and Frumpkin is there, peering around the corner with lamp-bright eyes.

“If you saw that, then you know what I’ve done.” Essek avoids looking into his eyes, staring down at Frumpkin instead. “What more is there to talk about?”

Caleb takes a step closer, lowering his voice. “I want you to look me in the eye and give me a reason to trust you or—party or not, scene or not—I will kill you.”

Essek looks up and his lips part like he might laugh at that. Caleb thinks he catches a glimpse of Essek’s ethereal blue beneath the green of Thane’s eyes. “None of you were part of the plan. Most of all you, Caleb Widogast.”

Caleb bristles. It wasn’t part of the plan to return the dodecahedron to the Bright Queen. It wasn’t part of the plan to make a home in Xhorhas. It wasn’t part of the plan to come to care for Essek, but here he stands, desperate for an explanation for all this, for some justification for this betrayal. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“This exchange is the culmination of years of planning, of careful calculation. My plans were in motion long before you came to Xhorhas. No amount of research could’ve prepared me for you, a wizard of the Empire, standing in my Queen’s throne room and offering her a beacon.”

“You’re not the first person to suggest that the Mighty Nein threw a wrench in your plans.”

“No.” Essek laughs and it’s too loud in their enclosed space. “I’m sure you hear that all the time.”

Caleb takes a step closer and Essek’s fingers twitch through the first motion of a spell before he stops himself. “What do you want now?”

“I want this to be over,” Essek says, and the sharp intake of breath suggests that he hasn’t allowed himself to consider that before now. “I never want to see these people again.”

“What do you have planned for the exchange?’

“Nothing.” Essek stares at him, like that should be obvious. “I want the exchange to go off without a hitch, the beacon returned to the Dynasty, and the prisoners exchanged unharmed. I want the war to be over.”

“You do?”

“Of course.”

Caleb narrows his eyes but there’s no hint of a lie on Essek’s face. “If that’s true, then why are you here?”

“Knowledge. The Empire still has a beacon and they’ve promised to pass along anything they learn. Imagine the possibilities, Caleb. Imagine what we could learn.”

A shudder passes down Caleb’s spine at the thought. “Do you think that’s wise?”

“I’ve never claimed to be wise.”

Caleb wants to run to the Martinet, wants to demand the whereabouts of the Empire’s other beacon, but he holds himself in place. There’ll be time to worry about it and the research being conducted later, after he’s finished with Essek, after the negotiations. “And where do we fit in with all of this, now?”

“I didn’t expect you to be here.”

“And yet.” Caleb reaches out, captures Essek’s sleeve between two fingers. “Here I am.”

Essek’s face softens. “There’s no reason I can give for you to trust me again, Caleb. I don’t deserve it.”

“I used to believe that too.” Caleb dares a glance over his shoulder, his eyes landing on Jester. She’s standing on a chair as she searches the crowd for someone—him, probably, or Thane. She continues to spin in circles, not spotting them tucked away. “The others—they have a way of getting under your skin. They make me want to be better.”

“You’re a good man, Caleb, but it’s too late for me.”

“That’s not true,” Caleb says, and he’s not sure if he’s referring to being a good man, it being too late for Essek, or both. He cups Essek’s face in his palm. Beneath the rounder face of the illusion, he can feel Essek’s narrow features and high cheekbones, the cool softness of his skin. Essek doesn’t resist as Caleb guides his head down and places a kiss on his forehead. “Maybe you and I are both damned, but we can choose to do something and leave it better than it was before.”

The breath leaves Essek’s lungs, warm against the inside of Caleb’s wrist. “I don’t know how to do that.”

Caleb smiles, not pulling his hand away. “Come back to the Ball Eater with me. You can explain all of it to us.”

“I’m sorry, the Ball Eater?”

Caleb bites back both a sigh and a laugh. “That’s not important right now.”

“Is that your ship?”

“Yes.”

“Of course it is.” Essek tries to shake his head but Caleb’s hand is still against his skin. He only really succeeds in nuzzling against his palm. “If I do this, I’ll be placing you all in terrible danger.”

“We’re always in danger, Essek. You say that you want the negotiations to succeed, the war to end. If you don’t tell us what’s going on, we might fuck up the plan without knowing it.”

“Fine. Show me to this—Ball Eater.” Essek cringes as he moves as if to push out of the alcove but Caleb stays still, holding him in place with his weight. An urgency coils in his gut, keeping him pressed to Essek’s body even when his mind demands that he back up, let him go. Essek is a traitor after all. He shouldn’t still care about him, not like this.

He does, though. He does care.

“One more thing first.” Caleb lifts Essek’s chin with his thumb and presses a kiss against his lips. It’s strange, aiming with an illusion, but once his eyes are closed, there’s only Essek’s lips parting in surprise beneath his own.

He tastes like expensive champagne.

Essek’s hands stay limp at his sides but his lips respond, his head tilting for a better angle. It’s tentative, almost gentle, about as awkward as their earlier dance. Caleb’s heart races in his chest and he can only hope that this isn’t another mistake in his long line of them.

In those rare moments when he imagined kissing Essek, he’d pictured it happening over a book. Essek would look up at him over some spell and the two of them would come together without a word. It would be a soft thing, both sudden and not sudden at all, the culmination of many a magical study session.

This kiss feels as much like an ending as a beginning. Caleb wants it to last forever, wants to push into Essek until the pain and distrust melts away. He wants to forget the grief and betrayal storming inside of him, the idea that this man—their friend—could’ve been the traitor all along.

Caleb pushes closer, his tongue tracing Essek’s bottom lip. Part of his mind wonders, absently, if Essek is aware of any dunamantic spells to stop time for a bit. Essek’s lips are tense beneath his touch, like he’s waiting for a blow. Caleb’s tongue swipes again, the tip pressing against the seam of Essek’s lips.

Essek surrenders, his mouth opening for Caleb’s tongue to slip inside. Underneath the bubble of champagne is a taste entirely unique. Caleb seeks it out, longing to find a name for it. Essek’s lips vibrate beneath his in the softest of moans and Caleb wants nothing more to see the Shadowhand entirely unraveled.

Applause breaks across the party carrying on without them, thunderous, pierced with cheers and whistles and requests for an encore. They’ll need to hurry, if they want to escape the party unnoticed. Caleb pulls away, his lips too warm.

“It’s up to you,” he says, “if that was our last kiss.”

Essek’s staring down at his mouth. If Caleb didn’t know any better, he’d swear that Thane’s illusory lips are a little bit swollen. “I don’t deserve you.”

“I don’t deserve anything.” Caleb lets his hands slide away from Essek at last, missing the feeling of silk and skin beneath his fingers. He peeks out from the alcove, eyes landing on Jester and Nott searching for him. Clay’s behind them, teetering on his tip-toes like he’s not easily the largest person in the room. “Come on, before my friends send out a search party.”