Chapter 1: Surrender
Chapter Text
In his last moments, as darkness surrounded him, Julius reached into his soul, into the shredded remains of his magic and yanked, as hard as he could. Unravelling time—no, changing it. Removing himself. Altering what he could. Resetting the timeline and giving them a chance for a different future.
*
Yami leant against the solid stone of the tower and watched as his Dark Knights moved into formation, leather skirts of their armour flapping. Yukari’s team conducted a house-by-house search directly below the castle walls, standard procedure for enemy terrain. They moved like predators on the hunt, a defensive shield up as they smashed a door in, scrolls floating by their sides. Within moments, they were out, carrying two bodies. One, they lay on the cobblestones. The other, trussed and bound, was slung between two of the squad
The stupid idiots must’ve decided to fight. Yami sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. He couldn’t entirely blame them. Jack might insist that this was a liberation, not an invasion, but when a squad of foreign soldiers pounded on your door, he doubted it felt like it.
He coughed and spat, the smoke irritating his throat, the acrid taste heavy on his tongue. A few isolated flares of magic popped into the sky in the distance, but they soon disappeared as the last pockets of resistance were overrun by the rebels. In the courtyard below, under the watchful eyes of his army, the final column of Royal Knights lay slumped against one another, faces smeared with ash and lined with exhaustion. He should have been satisfied, should have been celebrating but he felt nothing, like coming in first to discover you were the only one in the race.
“Yo, musclehead.”
Yami didn’t bother looking to see who it was. “Yo, string bean.”
Jack joined him, peering down at their handiwork. “Not bad for four weeks' work.”
Yami grunted and punched Jack’s shoulder. “Your guys weren’t that shit.”
Jack swayed and then cackled, rubbing his arm. “Yours are fuckin’ terrifying.”
Yami shrugged. Terror got results. It confounded your enemy, overwhelmed them, and allowed you to win, get out, and leave someone else to mop up the mess. It was practically the clan motto.
With a grunt, he shoved himself off the wall, taking a last look at the city. He could watch all night, but he was only delaying the inevitable. Ripping it apart was the easy bit; now came the hard part. Now came the bit that he usually left to everyone else. Now came the bit that, if he were being honest, scared him in a way the clarity of war never did. Now comes the part where you’re out of your depth, boy, whispered a voice that sounded just like his Dad. Bullshit, he told it.
Jack smirked. “You ready?”
Yami shot him a dirty look. Jack knew exactly how much Yami was dreading the next few days; Jack and Ichika both. And yet they were shoving him forward with the glee of people who got to eat the jam without paying the consequences. He stomped down the stairs. The consequences, the ones that had them pushing his buttons and his limits, were all on him.
Damn Ryu and his grand plan, damn himself for going along with it, and damn this stupid country for being in such a mess that he, Yami Sukehiro, Lord of Destruction, looked like an actual option.
*
“My beautiful palace, what have you done to my beautiful palace?” The fat man’s dented crown threatened to slip off his rumpled head.
The strange clipped accent of the nobles was different to the lilt of Jack’s rabble, but even so, Yami understood this moron. What a waste of space.
He was still making his mind up about the others. They both stared straight ahead, the redhead’s jaw clenched so tight he might break his teeth with the pressure. The other appeared cold as fresh steel, but the tic under his eye gave him away. At least they understood what had brought them here and what came next, which was more than the fat man could say.
Yami dropped into his seat, tired for the first time in a month. He hated this part. He was sore. His knee ached, he had a cut to his ribs that he should probably take to a medic, but more pressing, he was hungry. His stomach rumbled in sympathy. Why did winning never feel that way once you stepped off the battlefield? He never expressed this to anyone else; his fellow generals would think him stranger than they already did. They loved this bit. He’d heard some of them describe their favourite surrenders in more detail than their wedding days, how that daimyo had cowered, how this warlord had raged, the desperate offers people would put on the table to save face. Yami preferred the clarity of the field. You knew where you were in a battle. It was you vs them, and it was clear which side everyone was on and who the winners and losers were. Off the field, it was anyone’s guess.
“What’s the deal, Ichika? Who’s this fuckin’ idiot?” Having spent a month tearing through the towns and villages of Clover, Yami knew whose side he was on.
Ichika sat in the middle of the table, a frown line creased between her eyebrows, books and neatly labelled documents in front of her. Jack had thrown himself into a chair beside her and had his boots on the table, arms behind his head. Dorothy Unsworth, current Queen of the Witches, snoozed further down, her rumbling snores shushing around the room. She’d already congratulated Yami on their victory, giving him a big hug. Yami looked around his side of the table: it was them. The alliance. The ragtag bundle of foreigners, witches, commoners and peasants who’d brought the Clover Kingdom to her knees.
“The ‘fucking loser’ Sukehiro, would be the king,” Ichika replied in cloverian, drumming her fingers on the table top.
“Ex-king.” Jack was a snake eying up a rodent. “And he’s mine. Remember?” Jack’s focus didn’t waver for a moment. No matter how crazy Jack might allow himself to appear, he was entirely sane. Hard-boiled, yes. Damaged, sure. Mad? No. Jack’s anger burned cold and righteous. You simply needed to appreciate his point of view. And stay on the right side of it.
The red-haired man, Fuegoleon Vermillion, one of Clover’s two great warlords, inhaled, as if to object to Jack’s comment.
“He’s the rightful king of Clover, and you’re a filthy commoner.” The man with the tic got there first, silver-haired and simmering with yoryoku - no, he reminded himself, in Clover they had mana - practically trembling with rage, the emotion pouring through his ki. Nozel Silva, the other warlord.
The guards, the Yamis’ Ryu-appointed personal protection squad, moved as one, hands on their scrolls, their concern as touching as it was unnecessary. The silver-haired man sat back, raising his hands in the air. Not that it mattered. They wouldn’t get anywhere near their grimoires until there was a magic-tight settlement, the consequences of which would make Jack’s threats look like a toddler tantrum.
“We’re willing to discuss terms of surrender,” Fuegoleon spoke up, his voice deep, “His majesty will abdicate the throne in favour of your… chosen candidate” - Yami had several feelings about their chosen candidate - “and in return you will abide by the truce.”
Yami thought that both Ryu and Ichika had lost their minds when they’d suggested the plan to him, but how could you argue with the man who could see everything and your little sister? Certainly not with both at the same time.
Jack swung his legs down, leaning across the table, his crazed grin widening. His look screamed, Come and have a go. “Way I see it, Vermillion” - Jack savoured the word, like it was his plaything - “is that we’ll abide by whatever we want to abide by. We won. You lost. Sucks to be you.”
The silver-haired warlord flushed red. “You traitorous ingrate. You dare stand against your King. Your rightful rulers. Your-”
Jack pulled his mana, the magic bathing the room in green, holding a shimmering blade to the noble’s throat. The phantom magical flames teased the royal’s neck, Nozel’s adam’s apple bobbing close to the edge. “And that, Silva, is how you ended up in this mess in the first place,” Jack cackled.
Ichika coughed. “We have agreed terms,” she announced, tapping the documents in front of them, clearly bored with this conversation.
Yami couldn’t blame her. He was bored too. He wondered if there was any wine in the palace cellars. Or beer. They’d gone through the decent sake in week one, and wine was a rare luxury, but the local drinks weren’t always bad. Most villages had a still up and running, and there was a nomotato moonshine out of Hage you could clean your katana with. He was contemplating whether he could get dinner as well as a drink when his ears pricked up. Marriage contract. Ichika was looking at him expectantly. Shit. He’d been hoping she might forget. He felt he never actually agreed to this part of the deal.
How had he got himself into this? He was just some kid from Goshu with strange yojutsu, a temper and a handy knack for breaking stuff. All he wanted from life was to help Ryu fulfil that dream of his by doing what he was good at, do right by his team, keep an eye out for his kid sister, and have some fun now and again. So how had he got himself made King of some dumb country he’d barely heard of, with weird food and weirder people, and now he was getting married to one of them? Damn Fate, she was a slippery little thing if you took your eyes off her, even if just for a moment.
“I know I promised, Ichika.” Yami leaned over and lowered his voice. “But this is a dumb idea. Why don’t we sort all the big stuff out and leave the marriage bit for later? Maybe in a year. Or two.” Or never, if he had his way and he could figure out an alternative plan.
Ichika turned and glared at him. “We’re not going through this again, Sukehiro.” She seemed to think it was so straightforward. They had support from the commoners and peasants thanks to Jack. They had support from the witches, thanks to Dorothy; therefore, according to Ichika and Dorothy at least, they needed support from the nobles to ‘consolidate our power base’. “You” - and she jabbed a finger at him to make her point - “need a noble wife. It gives you credibility. It lets the noble realm save face. It makes the transfer of power more palatable to those two-“ she jabbed a finger at the warlords “-and makes it easier for you to become king.” That was the other part that Yami wished they could put off for a year, or two, or forever.
“And seeing as I’ll be doing most of the work, it makes it easier for me.” And there it was. The ace up her sleeve. “So quit bitching.” She turned back to the room and smiled across the table at where the fat man was still blubbering about his wallpaper or some shit, and the warlords were taking Yami apart with their eyes.
“As I said, for tonight, I want a simple transfer of power,” Ichika said.
“Not without the marriage accords.” Fuegolon, the hard-nosed fire guy that he was, interrupted her. “What’s to stop you changing your minds - and then he’s in charge,” he jerked a thumb at Jack, who was sharpening an actual blade, Yami noticed, the metallic snick like a finger raised at the room. Yami started to grin and only just stopped himself. Trust Jack to go to the effort of finding a physical weapon purely so that he could sit here and piss on them. Yami’d been in Clover for long enough to understand some of their rules: magical items were one thing. Pulling a weapon told your opponent they weren’t worth your mana. Jack’s smirk was wider than the blade and Yami had to fight back against the urge to laugh.
Hardnose was still yapping - “No. We stood down on the basis that you were here to make this work for everyone. So make it work.”
Yami believed him. You could tell a lot from a general by how they managed a defeat. Some would throw their forces into a meaningless defence when all was lost, for no reason. Others knew when to end it, when to accept their losses, resign the board and stop play.
“Fine.” Ichika turned to Yami and produced more paper. Yeesh, where was she keeping this stuff? Ichika’s introduction to Jack’s paper mages had been the thing of Yami’s nightmares. It seemed like everywhere he turned, someone was clutching a sheet with her seal attached and bossing people around. “Pick one so that we can write it into the damn document and get this done.” She laid four pieces of paper on the table before him.
Yami wished he’d interrupted earlier and insisted on the wine. He’d even take the swill right now.
He picked up the documents and scanned them, starting with the pictures and then the names and details of their birth. His head snapped up almost immediately. “Are you kidding me? They’re babies.” He waved the papers in the air. “You think I’m going to marry a child?”
The warlords couldn’t know what he was saying, but they both sat up, intent.
“They’re thirteen - you don’t have to marry them now. Just agree and we’ll figure it out later,” Ichika said.
That wouldn’t work at all, and she knew it. “I’m twenty-six! They’re babies!”
He turned to the men across the table and enunciated in his best fancy cloverian, “I. Not. Marrying. Babies.”
“You sound like an idiot.” Ichika rolled her eyes, tucking her hands into her sleeves. “You’ve had years to learn this language, Sukehiro, and you still sound like a child. When you’re not sounding like some roughneck infantry grunt, that is.”
“Whatever.” Not his fault Jack’s crew were fun to hang out with.
Fuegoleon sagged into his chair. Nozel released his clenched fist, rubbing his hand over his face.
Shit. These guys honestly thought that Yami might try to marry one of these kids. Nice to know how low their opinion was of him.
He looked at the papers again. Noelle, one of the Silva candidates, was Nozel’s little sister. Well, that explained a lot. Yami would’ve torn the place down if some creepy old dude was trying to marry Ichika against her will. Mimosa, the Vermillion child, was Fuegoleon’s cousin. Frickin’ weirdos. How bad did they think he was?
Yami carefully put the two sheets of paper to one side and turned his attention to the others.
“Oh, fuck no.” He slapped the paper down.
“What now?” Ichika was giving him the full glare now. The one that she gave when she wasn’t getting her way.
Jack peered over to see the sheet and started to laugh.
“I’m not marrying that woman, she’ll eat me alive.” Yami shuddered. It had taken him plus three units to subdue the fire mage long enough to take hostages at Kiten, and even then it’d been Jack who talked her down. Probably by boring her to tears with his political ramblings. Although she’d done a good job of seeming interested and hadn’t burnt Jack’s face off when they’d finally taken her into protection - or whatever they were calling arresting people these days. Jack insisted that she was a mensch and had been visiting her regularly, but there was no way on his scroll that he was going anywhere near that crazy lady.
Hardnose couldn’t speak Hino, Yami knew this, but the redhead was hiding a smirk behind his hand. Yeah, right.
“No crazy sister.” He glared at Fuegoleon, who grinned back at him.
“I’ve got enough already,” Yami muttered to himself in Hino, wincing as Ichika smacked him on the arm with her big book of noble wives, or whatever it was she was using to torture him with today.
Nozel stared at the table.
Yami reached over to pick up the last piece of paper.
“No!” - Ichika got there first and slammed the book on his hand.
“Ow! That hurt.”
“Stop being a big baby.” Ichika waved the paper at him. “You made your choice. You said ‘no’ to all the others, so this is the one.”
There was no way this fourth choice, the unknown one, could be as bad as the other options.
Nozel looked at him with what might have been sympathy, had he not been Lord Yami Sukehiro, the Yami of Clan Yami, warlord and barbarian usurper. Yami’s yoryoku curled, a sense of unease unfurling in his gut.
“I think we should write it up tonight.” Fuegoleon looked suspiciously innocent. Nozel didn’t object, although his ki seemed conflicted. Yami’s neck prickled.
“Write up the marriage, but leave the name blank. I get to meet her first,” he said.
The warlords exchanged glances. “I disagree-” Fuegoleon started.
“He’s getting married,” Ichika interrupted. She stood and placed three fingers on her heart in the Clover symbol of a promise given. “He’s getting married to a noble-born woman from a great house of Clover. On my scroll and my clan, I swear.”
Fuegoleon regarded her for a moment. “Within the next three months.”
“One hundred days,” Ichika countered. Then kicked Yami under the table.
“Remind me who won again?” Yami asked under his breath.
“We need them, Sukehiro. We need them to make this work.”
He got to his feet and slowly, reluctantly, raised three fingers to his chest. “I will get married to a noble-born woman from a great house of Clover within the next hundred days.” A hundred days, three months. What difference did it make? His neck prickled, his gut churned, and every instinct told him to run.
Ichika pushed the accords over the table. “Now, sign.”
Jack filched the final paper from Ichika’s pile while she wasn’t looking. And began to laugh, and laugh, and laugh.
Chapter 2: The Candidate
Chapter Text
Name: Nebra Silva
Age: 22
Mana capacity: High
Intelligence: High
Figure: he was hopeful.
Oh, come on! He wasn’t a saint and might as well have something nice to look at. Ryu had been clear and Ichika more so: the best way to secure a peaceful transition of power was to marry into the existing political infrastructure, use it to shore up their power base, then give the country a future alternative to leadership that wasn’t him. Hence the marriage. Worked every time.
Don’t look at him. He wasn’t making up these dumbass rules.
*
Yami arrived at the Silva mansion the next day at ten am sharp.
At precisely five past, Yami exited the Silva mansion, slamming the door and declaring loudly to the three pigeons sitting on the garden wall that he would never, ever, over his dead body, marry Nebra Silva. That she made Mereoloena Vermillion look like a Hino hausfrau.
He’d turned up on time. He’d even brought flowers.
She’d mocked his accent, scorned his Cloverian, been rude about his looks, called him a barbarian brute three times and intimated that his mother had had close and personal relations with a bear nine months before his birth.
A window shot open above his head, the metal fretwork rattling.
“And another thing, foreigner,” her screech howled from inside the mansion, “If you think I’m marrying someone who thinks that they can buy me with flowers, you can think again!” The roses that his kids had tracked down in the middle of frickin’ winter went flying over his head. Did she know what plant mages were charging for this shit?
“Wouldn’t touch you if my life depended on it, crazy lady!” He yelled back, dignity thrown to the wind.
Wife material? Absolutely no fucking way.
When he told Ichika what had happened, she dropped her head into her hands. “If you won’t take one of the Royals, we’ll just have to go to the High Nobles instead,” she said, her voice muffled. She’d resurfaced, hair messed up, a glint in her eyes. “There has to be some grizzled old border lord who has a daughter he needs rid of.”
When the new list arrived, it was comfortingly small. Seemed that the number of unwed daughters who met Ichika’s standards (wealthy, influential, high nobility, enough mana), Jack’s (politically liberal), and Yami’s (not a child, wouldn’t incinerate him in his sleep) were limited. Dorothy didn’t seem to care as long as her witches stayed out of it, and it appeared that few witch bloodlines bred true in the Clover nobles.
“Any of them with any sense come home. They don’t stick around here,” was Dorothy’s take, although she seemed happy to help Ichika with the shortlist, giggling and making suggestions. Yami spotted Jack rolling his eyes in the background.
“Clover nobles are a bunch of self-obsessed inbred purists,” Jack announced later over beers. “What witch in her right mind would get involved in that? Commoners, well, that’s a different story.” He’d looked smug, as if this was another point to him on the seemingly endless list of ‘why commoners are so much better than nobles’. Yami didn’t bother asking what Jack thought of him. He’d already understood that most of Clover, even Jack’s crew, saw foreigners as something else.
*
Name: Elisabetta, House Bourdain
Age: 26
Mana capacity: medium
Intelligence: medium
Figure: good
Teeth: like one of these weird Clover burial grounds with the higgledy piggledy stones that pointed every direction under the sun. He recoiled. The idea of kissing her made Yami fear for his lips. There had to be something better than this.
Thank you. Next!
*
Name: Lacrima, House Veritude
Age 22
Mana capacity: medium
Intelligence: high
Figure: damp
Two figures Yami assumed must be her parents pushed the girl into the room. She stood in front of him, eyes so puffy he was surprised she could see out of them, tears trickling down her cheeks, snot sliding from her nose. She clutched a puff of lace in one hand, dabbing ineffectively at her face now and again.
“I-I-would be.. so happy… to be your…wife and the future qu- qu- queen-“ she bawled.
Yami offered her his handkerchief, which made her cry harder.
“I’m not marrying a waterworks.” He’d point-blank refused Ichika.
Thank you. Next!
*
Name: Voluptua, House Capet
Age: 25
Mana capacity: low
Intelligence: High
Figure: …
She came sauntering through the door, dark lips pouting as though they were on the brink of a kiss, hips swaying under skirts that whispered as she undulated toward him. She held out her hand, leaning forward, her breasts swelling above her neckline, perilously close to escaping her gown.
Oh, thank you….
“Eyes up,” Ichika hissed from across the room. “Up!”
What the hell was her problem?
Ichika insisted: Next!
*
Name: Valeria, House Vasa
Age 30
Mana capacity: high
Intelligence: medium
Figure: intimidating
Yami peeked at his arms. He’d always thought he did alright but, holy shit, what did she bench press? He felt terribly self-conscious and almost puny.
New requirement: biceps had to be smaller than his.
Ichika slammed the book shut as the Vasa woman left the room, promises to spot Yami at his gym session in the morning ringing in the air.
“What?”
“One left,” Ichika reminded him.
Yami shrugged.
“Or it’s Mereoleona.”
*
Name: Charlotte, House Roselei
Age: 25
Mana capacity: high
Intelligence: high
Figure: remained to be seen
Ichika flicked through her notes. “Says here she was considered the beauty of Clover.”
Yami stifled a yawn and wondered if it was dinner time yet.
Ichika twitched, staring at the door. “Where the hell is she?”
Finally, the door creaked open and Yami roused himself in anticipation of another hearty smack from Ichika’s book of heir-raising horrors, but the head that appeared was a cloud of purple topped by a chirpy hat.
“Yo, Dotty! You secretly some noble now? Come to ask for my hand in marriage?” Yami perked up. You could always count on Dotty for some distraction. Crazy witch.
“You wish, Yami darling.” Dorothy bounced into the room, hair bobbing as she tripped towards the Yami siblings, hugging Ichika and patting Yami on the head. “So…a little bird told me that you were meeting with the Roselei heir.” She sank into a chair and propped her head on one small hand. Her mouth twitched. “How’s that going?”
Yami sighed and crossed his arms. “Spit it out, Dotty.” Dorothy loved nothing more than knowing more than everyone else and delighted in revealing things at the worst possible moments. Ok, maybe not the worst. She usually stepped in when they had time to fix things, just before they went to hell. Like the siege at Nitra. She knew the town had underground rivers; they only needed a couple of water mages to divert enough of the flow to flood the defenders out. Instead she’d watched him and Jack strip down and wade through literal shit to access the sewer grates. He’d stunk like a skunk for two days and still hadn’t forgiven her.
“She might have a problem coming here.” Dorothy twirled a lock of mauve hair around her finger. She brightened, “But we could always go to her?”
“Spill it, Dotty.” Ichika sat beside Yami, crossing her arms too, a mini-version of his scepticism.
“It might be easier to show you, rather than tell you,” Dorothy smiled. “And you’ll like Roselei: it’s pretty! Gorgeous old-Clover mansion. Beautiful gardens. Amazing library.”
“So how come we didn’t target it?” Yami wasn’t falling for Dorothy’s bullshit. Not this time.
“Where is it?” Ichika frowned.
“If this is Clover,” Dorothy drew a circle in the air with her finger. “And this is the capital” - she jabbed a finger in the middle, at the bottom - “And this is where we started the revolution” - she jabbed a finger to the bottom right, the cove where they’d landed the invasion forces. “Then Roselei is right here.” She jabbed a bit further up. Right in the path of the long march they’d taken around the common realm, picking off all major towns on their way.
“And now you mention it?” Once more his neck prickled. Felt like his neck had been on fire since they started this stupid fiasco.
“Roselei’s…different.” Dorothy’s little smirk said that she was enjoying every minute of this. “Like I said, easier to understand if we go there.”
“What would Jack have to say?” Yami wanted Jack’s take on this: the whole thing felt off.
“Ooo, let’s ask him.” Dorothy hopped up and bounded to the door to where Takeshi loomed. “Hello, hello! Yes, you, big scary man. Please could you go and get Jack for us? You know him, the tall stringy one with the massive chip on his shoulder.”
“Takeshi-san, please find out where Jack is and bring him here?” Ichika asked in Hino.
Yami nodded his approval. Five minutes later, Jack slouched into the room.
“You called, my lords.” Jack stuck his leg out and draped his body forward in a mockery of a court bow. When his head came back up, he had a dangerous glint in his eye.
“She called.” Ichika pointed at Dorothy. “She’s got some mad idea about a place called Roselei, and Yami and I want to know why the hell this is the first time we’re hearing about it.” She looked at Jack like it was his fault.
Jack flung himself into one of the armchairs, eyes back to normal, the danger passed. “Dorothy,” he raised his arm for a fist bump. “You are a mensch.” He grinned. “This is too good. So - Charlotte Roselei, eh?” And he cackled. “She’s a looker. I’ll give her that.”
“I was trying to explain that it would be easier to explain Charlotte’s particular situation if we visited Roselei, rather than me trying to talk it through.” Dorothy gazed earnestly at Jack, only letting herself down with an inadvertent giggle. “Our dear siblings seem to think we should have razed the place to the ground on our rampage through Clover.”
Jack hooted, “Yeah right, like that would have achieved anything. If you’re going to Roselei, I’m coming too.” He leaned forward. “And we’re taking Vermillion and Silva with us. From what I hear, I think Ms Roselei will have much to say to her dear royal cousins. It’ll be a lovely engagement gift.” He continued to cackle.
“No time like the present.” Dorothy leapt to her feet. “Yami, dear, can we use your spatial mage?”
Jack glanced out the window where the light was fading, vanishing early at this time of year. “You sure, Dotty? It’s already kind of late.”
“We’ll be fine. An hour for - what’s-his-name, Fin something?” She waited for Yami to answer.
Yami gave her a long look. She knew who Finral was. She’d assigned him, after all. Jack had sulked for hours afterwards, skulking about, flaring those stupid blades of his and muttering about imbalances of power and favouritism. Dorothy had snored through it all, leaving Yami to bear the brunt of the insect’s complaining. No matter. Yami had made sure to lose a few rounds of cards that night. He and Jack had ended the evening stumbling drunk down the streets of wherever-the-fuck-they-were and the affair had resulted in a literal pissing contest, much to the amusement of the lookouts. Yami had been careful to lose that too.
“Finral,” he reminded her.
“So, leave now. Give Finral an hour to recover, and we’ll be home in time for tea.” She trotted to the door again. “Takeshi, dear, would you please run along and fetch Fuegoleon Vermillion and Nozel Silva for us? Thank you.”
Yami looked to Ichika. They weren’t going to get any answers out of these two. And this Charlotte girl was the only name left on the list.
“Takeshi - grab the Clover warlords and tell Finral to meet us in the courtyard. Bring some of the others. Tell them to come prepared. We’re going on a trip.” He was curious about this place now, especially when this was the first time they were hearing of it.
They met outside as the mana-torches flared into life in the darkening dusk. Yami’s breath frosted in front of his face.
“Finral. Open a portal to Roselei.”
Finral started, checked his watch, and did as he was told. Fuegoleon bit back a curse, and Nozel groaned, both flinching away from the portal shimmering in front of the group. But they stepped through, as did the others, emerging into the bright sunlight of a beautiful autumn day.
*
Yami looked around, disoriented by the light and the warmth on his skin. His Dark Knights had already fanned out around the cobbled square, one hand on their scrolls, looking for trouble. He glanced behind him. He could see the dying day in the capital through the closing portal.
“Yo, Finral.“
“Yes, Sir.”
“Where the hell are we?” Yami asked, shielding his eyes from the sun.
“Roselei, like you asked.” Finral craned his neck, checking around him. “Yep. Roselei. Every spatial mage has it tagged. No one wants to end up here after dark by accident.” And he shuddered. “Nice enough place but, you know, every day.” And he shuddered again.
Ichika was a few steps away, side by side with Dorothy, gazing around in admiration.
He started to scan the grid but ended up trying to take it all in. The town burst with flowers; window boxes overflowing with a riot of colours, drooping purple flowers dripping from the houses. Everywhere he looked, flowers and more flowers bloomed. As they walked past a little cafe with tables at the front, past a greengrocers with more fresh fruit and vegetables than he’d seen for days, the people stared, murmurings already rumbling. He spotted a couple of kids running up the hill - racing with news of their arrival, Yami presumed. Was this what Clover should be like? The sickly-sweet picture postcard town held more life in one square than the endless, drab, dusty places they’d conquered. And how come it had escaped everything that had happened in the rest of the country?
Further up the hill, towering over the town, the Manor House spiralled into the air, thin turrets reaching for the sky. The sun shone off the honey-coloured stone of the houses, themselves as much a part of the fortification as the manor itself - nah, who was he kidding? It was a damn castle up there. Solid. Defensible. Entrenched. The smug affluence of the town represented generations of nobility, layers of entitlement building up like sediment at the bottom of a lake. He knew what a Great House meant; they had plenty of the same back home, but seeing it face to face always hit differently. Once bitten, twice shy. He glanced behind him, checking his position, scanning for threats.
“What is this place?” He raised his voice, making sure that Dorothy could hear him.
“Roselei. Like I showed you, Yami dear. It’s right a bit and up a bit. On the hill. Overlooking Clover.” She walked through the arch, the statues standing guard on the first wall impervious as only stone could be. Dorothy continued up the steepening street, Ichika in tow, two of his knights flanking their Lady. Yami glanced back at the valley. Crops were ready for harvest, the fields overflowing. Nothing like the barren winter lands of their invasion: field upon field of withered husks that no one had harvested, left to rot in the ground. A mist seemed to be sitting over the horizon, almost as if a line curved through the middle of the fields, a tangle of green cutting through a small gathering of houses, swooping around the valley and out of sight behind the town. He couldn’t see past the line, his eyes sliding away, the space quivering like the air above a hot spring in summer. It was as if it were one thing here, and beyond was something else. The hair rose on his arms.
And then - striding down the street like she owned it, hair as gold as the sun, mana as rich as the soil, face as stormy as the darkest seas - there was a woman. Yami felt a jolt of recognition, then shook it off. He would swear he’d never met her before. He’d remember someone who looked like that - he’d most definitely remember mana like that, sharp and simmering, with an undercurrent of something ripe and lush with power. His yoryoku rumbled, curling around him; it must be because she was angry and female and coming his way. In Yami’s experience, an enraged female bearing down on him was usually personal, sometimes even deserved. He squared himself, ready to take whatever he’d done to this girl clean on the chin.
She barrelled past him without a second glance.
She halted several paces in front of the royals, drifting at the back of the group, their steps slow and short. Now Yami thought about it, Fuegoleon and Nozel had been trailing behind since they got here; none of the snarky commentary he’d come to expect from the Silva, no well-meaning, unasked-for advice from the big guy that never failed to make Jack grind his teeth. Her hands went to her hips, and Yami didn’t need to reach for her ki to know what she was feeling: every line of her body screamed it loud and clear. Yami looked for the string bean: he was grinning ear to ear, watching this, whatever this was, unfold.
“You cretins.” Her voice might be considered melodious if it weren’t so full of ire. Fuegoleon visibly winced. “I blink. I take my eyes off you for one moment, and you lose the kingdom? Lose the kingdom! What were you thinking? You utter, utter imbeciles.”
Fuegoleon had his arms behind his back, chin in the air, and his ki screamed embarrassment and discomfort. Nozel had his arms crossed, his gaze icy. His ki crawled with guilt. Yami watched, fascinated.
“See what happens when you don’t listen to me? Just because I’m trapped here doesn’t mean I’m not paying attention. You fools.”
She reminded him of the fish wives of his village. Dark-haired, flashing-eyed matriarchs who could caulk a keel, gut a catch, mend a net and send you reeling with a smouldering glance and a wicked smile even as they scolded the men of their clans for their poor judgement and drunken behaviour. Like them, this girl oozed a sense of loose-limbed competence. Like them, she wasn’t holding back. Yami experienced a sudden wash of longing and a need for home.
Jack snuck up beside him, a rustling bag in hand. “Told you she’d appreciate a visit. Roasted broad bean? Local speciality.” They stood side by side, crunching the salty, oily snacks as they watched the royals suffer.
“And it’s not like I didn’t warn you both! Do you even read my letters? My papers?” Her eyes narrowed until they were a dark suspicion of lashes. “Of course you haven’t, you complete pair of dolts.” Her voice crept up octave by octave, her vocal control impressive. “You simpletons. You pathetic excuse for a couple of human beings. Call yourselves men? You’re ridiculous, you’re-“ She descended into language that Yami couldn’t understand, the words heavier and slower than the Clover tongue that he was used to but somehow packing a greater punch. He elbowed Jack.
“Huh? Oh yeah. Local dialect.” Jack continued to crunch. “Roselei’s always been a bit different, even before.” He popped another bean into his mouth. “I never got much traction here - they’re funny about anyone who isn’t local. And after the - you know” - he shrugged - “wasn’t much point.”
“What’re these papers that she’s talking about?” Ichika was looking at the woman with fascination.
“She writes.” Dorothy joined them. “It’s one of the quirks. The people can’t leave, but physical things can. So she writes. To everyone.”
Jack rolled his eyes, nodding.
Yami cleared his throat. “This is great n’all, and I am very much enjoying that” - he gestured to where the girl - woman? - now had Fuegoleon’s ear pinched delicately between her fingers, the colour draining from his face - “but can we just meet this wife-lady and get out of here.” The place gave him the creeps. It was beautiful, yet everyone’s ki jittered, laced with something that felt like both fear and excitement.
Jack and Dorothy both turned to look at him. Dorothy gurgled. Jack let out an odd snort. They howled with laughter. Jack got a bean stuck in his throat, and Dorothy had to pound him on the back, but he couldn’t stop giggling, even as his face turned red.
“That’s- that’s-“ Jack gasped when he could breathe again, waving an arm toward the harpy.
“Yami.” Ichika broke in. “That’s her. That’s Charlotte Roselei.”
Bullshit.
“Can’t be. She’s not over twenty if she’s a day.” Yami insisted, relieved. That was what he was feeling, right? Relief?
The woman had moved on from Fuegoleon and was now nose-to-nose with Nozel. Unlike his royal cousin, Nozel appeared to be standing up for himself, answering back and giving as good as he got. Yami found himself cheering on the stuck-up prig. There was a sudden blast of mana, and a tangle of roses erupted out of nowhere, twining around Nozel. The royal yelped, and Yami realised the stems were coated in vicious-looking thorns, now pressing into Nozel’s skin.
“Oooaaaah,” Jack hunched. “That’s gotta sting. I almost feel sorry for his royal stuck-up-ness.”
“Eighteen. She looks eighteen.” Dorothy said.
“I read the bio. Charlotte Roselei is twenty-five.” Yami clung to this fact like a lifeline in a storm as he watched Fuegoleon attempt to placate her.
“She is twenty-five. As in, it’s been twenty-five years since she was born. She’s also eighteen. Because today is her eighteenth birthday.”
Yami gave up and looked at Ichika, who appeared as bewildered as he was.
“Best if she explains herself. No one ever got anywhere except the middle of a briar patch trying to put words in Charlotte Roselei’s mouth.” She glanced at Yami. “Metaphorically speaking, of course. Deep down, she’s a complete sweetheart.” Jack nearly choked on another bean. Dorothy stood on tip-toe and waved. “Charlotte. Cooee! Charlotte! I brought you a birthday present!”
The roses around Nozel dissipated, dumping him on the floor. She brushed past, ignoring the royal, and marched directly up to Dorothy, the storm clouds on her face closing in once more.
Charlotte surveyed the group, her narrowed eyes taking them in one at a time. She started with the Knights, tracking from their armour to their scrolls, robes, and daggers. She paused briefly on Jack, accompanied by a small huff, and then moved into Ichika. Yami found himself holding his breath as the two women surveyed each other. Another small huff. And then it was his turn. Yami almost flinched as her bright blue eyes pinned him down, scrutinising him as if he were one of Jack’s beloved bugs. The piercing gaze felt oddly familiar: cold and evaluating, full of challenging questions. It took him a few seconds to work it out: it was the same stare the old daimyo’s generals had given him when he was a kid, and his dad had dumped him on them. The same stare he used to get a lot before his reputation got around. It was the stare of an enemy, calculating their attack.
She looked deep into his eyes and slowly, deliberately, wrinkled her nose as if she’d smelled something bad.
The sensible voice in his head, which sounded like Ryu, told him she was doing it to get a rise out of him. It suggested that he should let the insult pass, pointed out that retaliation wouldn’t serve his objectives, and observed that he was smarter than this.
Fuck it. Like he ever listened to that voice. Yami drew himself up, glowered and curled his lip back at the girl. Accords be damned - he should pull his scroll and raze the place. It would be worth it to wipe that haughty look off her face.
A faint smirk flickered over her face before she spoke. “What is this, Dorothy? Are we to bend the knee and swear allegiance to your new friends like the rest of Clover?” She pulled her lips back, baring perfect white teeth. “Well, stranger? Are you coming to invade us next?”
Yami’s neck tingled with the sensation of being watched, and he casually ran his eyes around his periphery. On a rooftop, silhouetted against the dropping sun, a woman leant against a garret window. Further up the street, a plump girl with her elbows on the balcony railings fixated on their group. She wore a bright blue mantle - almost like the robe that the Clover Royal Knights wore to show their brigade alliance, but Yami wasn’t aware of any squad with that colouring: only the flame-red of the Vermillions and the shiny silver-grey of the Silvas. Another flash of blue caught his eye behind them; another teenage girl stood with the royals. To his right, Takeshi remained motionless except for his eyes, darting back and forth between the two in his vision and the Charlotte girl. Yami shifted his feet, loosening his limbs, feeling the weight of his katana and the reassuring presence of his scroll on his other hip.
He was about to answer when Dorothy inserted herself between them, the feather in her hat tickling his nose. Yami realised how close he’d been to the briar mage.
“Don’t open your present too soon, Charlotte, you’ll spoil the surprise,” she said.
“You walked into my town, my home, flaunting this in my face?” She flicked her fingers at him, at Jack, at the knights. “It’s already spoiled, Dorothy.”
It was Fuegoleon who spoke next, stepping forward into their little group. “Charlotte.” He rubbed his hand over his face. “Please. I know you’re frustrated.” She outright sneered this time. “But we’re here to ask for your help.”
Her incredulity was almost funny. “I will never help them.”
“Not them, Charlotte. Us,” - and he gestured to himself and Nozel - “we’re asking Charlotte. We’re asking for your help.”
She breathed, her chest rising and falling, her face an inscrutable mask. Her ki- the funny thing was, Yami couldn’t work out what her ki was saying. It seemed contradictory, like she was saying one thing and thinking something completely different, as though she was at war with herself.
“I’m listening.” She finally spoke. She’d clasped her hands together in front of her. She would have looked at ease except he was close enough to see how tightly she held herself, the white ridges on her knuckles, her nails rough and gnawed. Looked like little Miss Perfect wasn’t so perfect after all.
Fuegoleon glanced at Dorothy, and when she simply smiled back at him, he sighed. “Maybe not here, in the street?”
“I have no secrets from my people.” Charlotte tossed the silly little plait hanging in her hair. “And anyway, are you sure you have time for us to find a nice quiet nook somewhere?” Her tone was both bitter and mocking. Fuegoleon glanced at the lengthening shadows, Nozel up to where the sun had already cleared the gables of the houses, the light dimming in the street.
“Fine.” Fuegoleon took a deep breath and leapt in. Yami had to focus to keep up with the flow of words. “They’re here to offer you a proposal. When we signed the surrender, we insisted on another seat at the table - an ally on the council. Someone in their inner circle to ensure a peaceful transition.” Yami continued his visual sweep and checked in on her position; she appeared to be listening intently. “Someone to look after our people. Someone to be a symbol, an emblem of cooperation and healing.” The big guy paused. “We want you to be that ally.”
Her eyes widened, and she blinked, her mouth parting. Yami could have sworn that the stern, narrowed gaze softened momentarily.
“We want you to be Clover’s new Queen.”
“Queen? Wait, but-“ Then she went pale as porcelain and just as rapidly flushed red as the flowers in the window boxes. “You want me to be what?” She hummed with tension. “What the hell did you agree to? Don’t you dare try to dress this up like it’s some kind of prize. You decided to marry me off to some muscle-bound demon-spawned bully who just carved up my country? Who” - and she stalked toward Fuegoleon, taut, her golden hair a halo around her face - “who would come up with some stupid, hare-brained scheme like that? What made you think that I would even consider something like that?”
Demon-spawned bully, huh? Guess you could change the country, but the people stayed the same. Yami rolled his shoulders as surreptitiously as possible, knowing his katana and scroll were in place. He checked on the position of the three blue-clad women again, wondering, not for the first time, how his allies - because, like it or not, the Royals were their allies right now - seemed to be a whole different level of crazy, provoking the bear in its den. He shifted his weight forward, preparing to strike.
“You did,” Fuegoleon said.
Yami stopped short.
“What?” She spat the word like an insult.
“You came up with the scheme. It’s why we thought you’d consider it. It was your idea.”
Chapter 3: Screaming into the Void
Chapter Text
With the lamps lit, and the hearth, the room that the alliance had adopted as their unofficial hangout transformed from the draughty hall that was previously a waiting room for petitioners, into something cosy, its roughness hidden in the soft light. More importantly, it was central, hadn’t sustained any damage, and was big enough for everyone without the same squabbles over space they’d had on the road. Jack had found a sofa somewhere that nearly fit him and dragged it in. Dorothy had produced a pink velvet chaise and added fluffy cushions to cover a dubious-looking stain. Yami had discovered a bashed-up, ugly, out-of-place armchair in the barracks and added it to the chaos. Even Fuegoleon had contributed: a wide table with burn marks pocked across its French polish had appeared last week.
“She wrote it three years ago.” Ichika flipped through pages of the document that Fuegoleon had dropped off from his chambers, sitting in her preferred spot on the floor, speaking in Hino. On the other side of the room Fuegoleon made a good show of concentrating on his own paperwork, his gaze sliding over to Ichika every now and again, lingering on the papers in her lap. “No wonder she was so mad at them. She told them what was going to happen. It’s our entire invasion plan, Sukehiro. There are a few differences, but it’s nearly identical to what we agreed with Ryu, and again with Jack and Dorothy.”
Ichika turned back to the document and switched back to Cloverian. “There’s even a section here on Jack” - at this Jack stopped playing with his blades and looked up - “and the threat that he represents to the political order and” - and here Ichika’s voice rose with excitement - “a list of some basic improvements that could be made to the governance and infrastructure of the country. Like bringing back the magic knight squads and opening them up to everyone again. Funding local schools. Using social mobility and inclusion as a valve to diffuse societal tension.” Ichika let out a little yelp of excitement. “She’s written an entire fucking plan for the next five years that we are going to use to fix this stupid fucking country.” And she slammed the booklet down, slapping her hand down on top of it and beaming at him, radiating satisfaction.
“What did she say about me?” Jack peered over.
“Five-year plan, Jack!” Ichika beamed.
“Yeah, yeah, what about me?” Jack swiped the pamphlet and began to flick through the neatly written pages, skimming line by line.
“So you did like my present, then?” Dorothy trotted into the room, followed by the quiet pink-haired witch, who flitted around like Dorothy’s shadow, her cat hissing whenever anyone approached.
“I thought Sukehiro was her birthday present?” Ichika refused to be distracted. Yami thought she was going too far. She’d read a scribble dragged out of Fuegoleon’s private stash, and now she was happily wrapping him up, trimming him with a bow and handing him over to a stranger? He wasn’t interested in being or receiving any present where the angry blonde girl was concerned, thank you very much.
Dorothy shrugged. “It’s her birthday every day. She’ll get over it.”
“Yeah. Let’s talk about that.” Yami glowered at Dorothy, who’d made herself scarce as soon as they returned, now curled up on her chaise like the pink-haired witch’s little cat. “Let’s talk about your prime candidate for Queen” - Yami tugged his mouth around the strange word, having decided it was better than the even stranger word of ‘wife’- “who lives in some weird town in the middle of nowhere where everyone’s afraid to stay after dark. What’s the deal, Dotty? How’s that supposed to work?”
“That’s right! Cursed! Laid by one of the best of my predecessor’s curse mages.” Dorothy beamed. “It was such a good job. Well woven, got right into her very being. We still study the hex work today - such precision and the transmutation of the soul was just-“ Dorothy kissed her fingers.
Yami blinked. He’d expected her to say that her royal prickliness didn’t leave the cutesy town because noble ladies didn’t shift themselves for the likes of him, but- cursed? The tiny hairs on the back of his neck rose, as his yoryoku rumbled and goosebumps shivered down his arms. He shifted in his seat. He’d agreed to be shackled to a woman because they needed a queen, not some cursed girl stuck out in the boonies. He tried to catch Ichika’s eye, but she was engrossed in Dorothy’s chatter.
“She was determined to break it. It was like watching a butterfly trying to escape a jar. Poor woman had no chance. But isn’t it great for us?” Dorothy gave a happy sigh. “Aside from the big brain and killer political instincts, she’s everything you wanted. All that nobility, all that mana.” She dreamily rested her head on her chin. “She’s perfect.” She cast a quick look at Yami. “And she has biceps smaller than yours, is over twenty” - Yami snorted - “and won’t kill you in your sleep.”
“Yeah, but only ‘cause apparently I can’t stay after dark!” Yami said, still trying to get his sister’s attention. He could feel the cold steel of a trap bristling around him.
“Oh, stop your moaning.” Dorothy brushed him off.
Ichika sat up, paper scattering across the floor. “You planned this all along!”
Dorothy smiled.
“You suggested all those terrible girls, knowing we’d end up here.” Ichika was properly upset. She hated being played, and Dorothy, Yami had to admit, had played them both.
“She won’t agree. She hates me.” Yami said. He leant in closer to Ichika, making sure that Fuegoleon and Nozel couldn’t hear. “Why don’t we just stop all this, go back to the Royals and explain? Buy us some more time to find someone else. They know her. They’ll understand.”
Dorothy interrupted, “She hates most men. Thinks they’re jabbering time wasters who don’t get things done - long story - so she was going to hate you anyway. The whole ‘you invaded my country’ thing, well, that’s just annoying.” Dorothy sat up, her gaze now intent and focused on Yami. “But she’s dying out there - dying in a backwater, watching a load of incompetents mess up her beloved homeland, and you, my dear muscular friend, just offered her the chance for a seat at the table. The opportunity to have her voice heard, make a difference, and serve again.” Dorothy grinned. “You, to a woman who’s spent the last seven years screaming into the void trying to make a difference, are the best damn thing that’s ever happened to Charlotte Roselei.”
Yami looked to his sister for backup, but the cold steel in Ichika’s eyes told him all he needed to know.
“I know what you think, but we need her, Yami.” Ichika looked at him, using his title, not just his name, her eyes deadly serious. “We need someone who knows the systems and the culture and understands how to make things change without setting the world on fire.”
The Ryu-voice in his head piped up, soothing and sensible. Yami had just conquered her country, and Yami would feel the same if something like this happened to Hino. Except he wouldn’t because he wouldn’t let something like this happen to Hino, duh. But Ryu-in-his-head kept going. He, Yami, was the bigger person here. The conqueror. The winner. She was a sheltered little rich girl. She was probably just nervous or something.
Yami sighed to himself. Ok, maybe he was being too harsh on Little Miss Prickly Briars. He had to admit, the royals could be annoying - he’d been tempted to smack Nozel once or twice, too. But the way she’d looked at him like he was a bug, the way she deliberately baited him- His yoryoku rumbled, and his hands itched just thinking about her. A smaller, but persistent, voice in the back of his head pointed out that the briaring Nozel had received didn’t look like the action of a timid little rich girl. Yami told it to shut up. It wasn’t helping.
He groaned. “Fine. I’ll go and see her tomorrow.” He wasn’t committing to anything more until he’d at least talked to her.
“That’s the spirit, Yami!” Dorothy patted him on the arm. “You two are very alike, you know? You might even get along.”
Yeah, right. Yami lay in bed that night not thinking about her. This was a problem for tomorrow, something future Yami could deal with. He shifted over in the narrow cot, the frame creaking as he thumped down into the thin mattress. He punched the pillow, jabbed it under his head. He’d met plenty like this Charlotte girl back home, dark eyes sneering at him. He bet she’d been cosseted and pampered like a little princess since the day she’d been born. She’d’ve grown up surrounded by adoring admirers, cooing over how pretty she was, how clever, how perfect. And then, oh no, a curse. Doomed to sit around all day in a cutesy little town, eating bonbons or whatever she did, while the rest of Clover was sucked dry by a bunch of grasping nobles and a King too stupid to notice. Yami shifted again, the bed-springs moaning. Dorothy could bang on all she liked about Little Miss Prickly wanting to make a difference, but as far as Yami could see, all she was doing was firing off orders at people and telling them where they’d gone wrong.
And that temper. It was most likely a fit of childish pique at not getting her way. Yeah, life must’ve been tough for little Miss Prickly. If she knew what his childhood had been like, she’d go running for the hills. She’d probably never even seen a weapon, let alone held one. Meanwhile, his first memories were of learning how to take a hit, the sweaty smack of landing face down in the dirt, again and again and again. It was hard to respect someone who’d earned nothing in life, who’d never had to fight for something they believed in.
He chuckled into the dark of his room, savouring how she’d gaped when Fuegolon called her out, trapped by her own words.
Then the cold drizzle of reality came trickling in, seeping through his seams, a chill settling into his bones. He’d promised. He’d promised the warlords, he’d promised Ichika, he’d promised Ryu and a warrior never broke his word. He had a mission to fulfil, orders to follow: this was bigger than him, bigger than any of them. They had a country to rebuild, and she, more than anyone else they’d considered, was likely up to the task ahead.
He groaned to himself as the cold steel of the trap snapped shut. He had to win her over. Just another battle in a drawn out war. He’d put on his best clothes, his most impervious attitude and call on her. He’d get it done. He always did. But whatever Dorothy said, it was clear to him that they were nothing alike - nothing alike at all.
*
He was on the beach, pebbles digging into the soles of his feet, the heartbeat of the waves a counterpoint to the crying of the gulls. He crunched toward the shoreline, then onto the sand, the dark grey sky merging into the darker ocean so that the world was beige and grey and more grey. A figure appeared down the shore, back to him, light hair whipping in the breeze coming off the waves.
He needed to get to her, but no matter the steps he took or the distance he seemed to cover, she remained distant. There was danger of some kind, a nagging sense of something coming, a threat, a warning that needed to be shared. He picked up his pace, the sand grasping and grabbing with every move forward, his breath loud and wet in his ears. He tried to run but staggered, almost falling, and knew that if he fell he wouldn’t be able to pull himself up again, not alone like this. He tried to call out but the wind stole the words away. She turned her head, the outline of a face blurred against the sky. Then she was there. Right in front of him. Arms reached out to hold him, to help him, and he reached, desperate for their embrace. As her arms closed around him, holding him up, he was home.
*
Yami jolted awake, sweating, his heart pounding as if he’d gone ten rounds in the training ring. His legs tangled in the sheets, the dream still tangled in his mind. It was the same, had been the same every few nights since they got here. At first he’d thought that the woman was Ichika, but after a few days he realised that the hair was all wrong, and she was too tall and her face, while indistinct, was too sharp to be Ichika’s. When he tried to recall her features, his chest ached with a lingering sense of loss that didn’t make any sense.
He shook his head, trying to dislodge the traces of the dream from his mind, his narrow room blanketed in bleary-eyed light. He guessed it was nearly sunrise. He could try to get back to sleep - he should try to get back to sleep - but he’d spent too many nights staring at the ceiling, waiting for dawn.
The floor bit with cold, his feet catching on the rough stone as he went to the bathroom. The hum of sleeping bodies surrounded him as he padded down the corridor, past doors both closed and left ajar; not everyone liked the claustrophobic privacy of the small rooms.
He thought back to his dream. Maybe it wasn’t just his imagination - perhaps it was a sign? What if fate were playing her usual tricks on him, damn her? What if - and Yami knew that he was being stupid now, but he was tired and his mind was clumsy and if he couldn’t get away with it now, when would he ever - what if the woman in the dream meant something? Yami sank onto the cold porcelain, settling himself in. Oh, who was he kidding? Anyway, he’d let that go the moment he’d left Hino. He could just hear Yosuga, telling him he was an idiot, that he didn’t need to do this. Bullshit. Orders were orders, and this wasn’t even an order. Ryu had asked. Fuckin’ asked. He was locked into this now and no weird dream was going to make him change his mind.
*
Yami stepped through the portal and bit back a curse, vines and thorns snapping around his legs, pinning him in place. Yami sensed Finral appear behind him and heard a yelp. He hoped the kid had enough sense to stand still.
Shinichi and Yukari were frozen ahead, their bodies writhing with vicious-looking greenery. The wide open grin that usually hung around Shinichi’s face was gone, his eyes wide as the briars crawled over his armour, powerless to do anything, his weapons and his scroll trapped, just like his arms. Yukari was taking it with her usual calm, eyes darting, on the hunt for any opportunity. roaming.
The scent of summer roses hung heavy in the air; Yami reached out with his yoryoku to sense the flow of mana. It was unwavering, the same simmering power and ripeness he remembered from before. The roses weren’t leaving any time soon.
“I’ve been thinking, stranger.” Charlotte leant against the fountain in the middle of the square, her hair bound back, accentuating the stubborn set of her jaw.
“Sounds dangerous.” He gave her a bland smile. “Don’t push yourself too hard, Princess.”
Her pristine dress was gone, replaced by black body armour that shimmered when he looked at it out of the corner of his eye, most likely reinforced with mana. The rest of her clothing had a well-used look that suggested ease of movement and protection. It hugged parts of her body in a way he’d have appreciated on any other woman, in any other situation. A tiny tingle ran across his neck. If he hadn’t known she was some noble daughter of a grand house, he might have thought it was a uniform. The hairs on his arms rose.
She smiled and visibly tightened the vine around Shinichi’s neck.
“Sheesh, prickly little thing, aren’t you?” Yami counted to ten different ways he could take her down. She wasn’t a threat like that. Couldn’t be. She was the sort of threat that lived in a palace, guarded by hordes of brothers and cousins and pinched-lipped aunties looking down their noses. So why were all of his senses trying to tell him something else?
“I’ve been thinking,” she repeated, loosening the briar.
Not a sadist, not that he’d had her marked as cruel for the sake of it. It didn’t sit with her writing at all, all that stuff about making things better for everyone, making things better for Clover. He’d sat up last night and ploughed through some of it. She had issues with the treatment of women which seemed to be central to her moaning, but having met the King and some of his moron friends, he figured she might have a point.
“You want me to be your Queen, correct?” she said.
Sure. Let’s go with that.
“In which case, I should treat you like every other man who’s come to make his case for my hand in marriage.” She tossed her silly little plait thing over her shoulder. “Don’t you agree?” She tilted her chin up, her hair reflecting the morning sun. Her right hand hovered over her grimoire holder.
Yami shrugged. His hands twitched. She was so full of herself. Was she comparing him to a long list of suitors, planning to make him stand in line? Did she remember what he was here for, why they’d come to her? Did she even care?
Yami’s tingles started up again, skittering up and down his back, his skin twitching. The tingles that appeared in the quiet lull when the gentle creaking of armour and the distant shouting of infantry sergeants filled his ears. The tingles that preceded the metallic tang of adrenaline flooding his mouth. The tingles that told him that he was still alive, on the edge of battle. Yami slowed his breath, relaxed his eyes, and scanned the square, marking the women's positions and noting the signature feel of their affinities. He widened his stance.
Her smile sharpened. “Wonderful. Then you understand the rules.” And with a flick of the hilt in her hand, she threw the Dark Knights at him like bowling balls at a set of skittles, the three of them sent sprawling in the dust.
Her shadow loomed over them. “You want me, come get me. Areas marked are out of bounds, no spatial mage allowed. You do want to be able to go running home with your tail between your legs, after all.” In a whirl of briars, she and her gang of girls vanished into the town before he could pick himself up off the floor.
Yami lay on his back in the dirt in his best courting clothes and let the laughter rumble through his body. Silly little girl. What the hell was she playing at? Didn’t she know who he was and what he was capable of? Her and her pinch-lipped scorn. He was going to thrash her. His yoryoku thrummed at the thought.
“Boss, she wants to fight us - in there?” Yukari was already on her feet, dusting herself off. “We could hurt someone - we might damage the pretty little town.” Yukari’s eyes devoured the cafe, the colourful square, the well-fed, happy people.
“How can you damage a town that resets itself every night?” It was like a birthday gift and a festival all wrapped into one. Yami could taste victory already.
“We should go back to the barracks,” Shinichi said. “Get back-up. Three against six when they know the terrain - I don’t like the odds.”
Yami snorted. Yeah, no. He wasn’t running anywhere. He looked around, registering his surroundings for the first time now that the immediate threat was gone. They’d hung bunting around, flags flapping in the breeze. The cafe and the tavern up the road overflowed with customers. People gathered on balconies and terraces, pointing and laughing, drinks in their hands. The air hummed with festivity and fun.
She was using him as entertainment. He’d come to pay a civilised morning call, and she was using him as a carnival sideshow. Unbelievable.
“Finral. Go put yourself in that cafe there. We’ll see you later.” He glared at Finral, hoping the kid remembered his instructions. Finral, for his part, shot off, scarcely waiting for Yami to stop speaking. The air misted as he passed into the cafe.
Yami grunted. Someone was running a shield spell around the safe zones. No need to pull any punches then. He drew his katana, his scroll unfurled and ready, and cricked his neck, his bones cracking and popping. A smile stretched across his face, the familiar buzz building, yoryoku flooding his skin. Time to take Little Miss Prickly down a peg or two.
Chapter Text
The morning had been a game of cat and mouse. The sun, creeping through the sky, was high above their heads, the shadows short and intense on the ground. He’d been the cat: chasing flashes of blue cloaks through the pretty cobbled streets, sniffing out trails of rose-scented mana, showing his claws. He poured his yoryoku into slash after slash, leaving honey-coloured dust in his wake. After the fourth - or was it fifth? - push with nothing to show for it except a trail of destruction, he felt a tug at his arm.
“Sir?” A frown creased Yukari’s forehead, dust and sweat blurred on her face. “How’re your reserves holding up?”
Yami exhaled, testing the edges of his yoryoku. It had, when he was younger, seemed like an endless pit. As a teenager, it had felt like something he might drown in. Today, he could see to the bottom: he’d burnt through way more than he’d realised.
Yami leant on his katana, wiping his forehead with his arm. “She’s messing with us, isn’t she?” His buzz was long gone, the joy he got from using his magic now a fuzz coating his tongue and a heaviness at the base of his skull.
Yukari nodded. “They have all the time in the world, and the longer we fight…”
The more Miss Prickly and her girls learnt about their yojutsu. The more he exhausted himself chasing shadows.
Yami glanced up and cursed. There, behind the roof line, the curvy girl hovered, her wings spread wide, catching the current. Their eyes in the sky.
‘If you want me, come get me’? He should’ve guessed. Noble lady like her would never be direct; she’d talk around in riddles, making vague comments that left him more confused than where he’d started. A nagging feeling caught at him. Had she deliberately riled him up this morning, hoping he’d rush in without thinking?
Fuck.
His old training instructor would be laughing himself stupid if he could see Yami now.
‘Why do we move in units of three?’ The grizzled old fart loved to lord it over the recruits.
A hand shot into the air. There was always one.
‘Attack, defence and recovery,’ the kid preened.
‘Is that what you think?’ the old git purred. ‘What about you?’ And he’d picked on the next and the next and the next, until the confidence dribbled out of them, until they stood frozen, stammering, unsure of these strange new rules where they were no longer in charge.
Yami didn’t like any of them, high-ranking sons and daughters all. They’d already had a good laugh at his scruffy clothes and his strange-looking scroll. But he hated the old geezer more.
‘What about you, kijin boy?’ Hatred glowed bright in the old man’s eyes.
Yami stared right back. The only reason he was there was because the generals wanted rid of him, not because he had anything left to learn. Yami had understood this particular lesson before he could scrawl his first kanji. Units of three were efficient. If one mage fell, the others could get them out. If two of the unit fell, you ran. You are all fallible, you are all replaceable, you are all expendable. It was fate, they said, how it was meant to be.
The light in the old man’s eyes flared, and he spat on the ground. ‘One hundred push-ups for kijin boy’s mistake,’ he’d ordered, smirking as the other recruits glared at Yami.
Looking back, Yami didn’t care about the push-ups. He’d deserved them. He’d been young and stupid.
“Change of tactics,” he told Yukari and Shinichi, putting his scroll away. Riling him up? Forcing mistakes? Two could play at that game.
*
Yami crept down the lane, rolling his feet to avoid making any sound, picking his way through their earlier debris. The sun was at its warmest, the afternoon light bathing them in golden tones. The flowers in the window boxes they passed wilted, thirsting for water.
The Manor House rose on his left. Behind him, Yukari prowled, her shield yojutsu locked tight around them. Shinichi’s binding yojutsu whispered a light refrain, just out of hearing, tying them closer together, helping them move as one.
The clicking sound of a rock hitting another came from ahead. Yami froze, slowly extending a hand so the others could see. He waved two fingers right, then three fingers left. Yukari and Shinichi drifted into position, their footsteps lighter than air.
If they messed this up, he’d have to cry parley or chase them around until sunset. Shinichi was right. On paper, he had nothing: they were outnumbered, on unfamiliar ground, and these women weren’t a group of court ladies on a day out. But he wasn’t losing; he didn’t lose. He was Yami. Head of the clan. General of Hino. One of the Ryuzen Eight. This is what he did. This is what he was.
He dug his heels into the middle of the lane, hand on his katana, ready to strike. His other hand signalled the count. Three, two, one-
They cast together. As his shadowstrike revealed the women’s positions, Yukari’s kessel spell slammed down around them, locking into place, creating an enclosed bubble.
As he'd thought, Miss Prickly had positioned herself at the back of her formation, exploiting her range. She was clever; it was the clever thing to do. Except now she was cut off from the rest of them. Sharp curses and yelps echoed off the shield as Shinichi’s binding yojutsu grabbed Charlotte’s team, the magical bond snapping into place, fixing them to the cobbled street, trapping them like bugs in tree sap.
Charlotte’s answering howl sent shivers down Yami’s spine. A barrage of briars smashed into the shield spell. Thorns screamed over the barrier in a high-pitched wail. Shinichi winced.
“You got this?” Yami asked Yukari, not taking his eyes off the women ahead.
“Yes, sir.” Strain laced Yukari’s voice, her yoryoku pumping into the shield.
Yami grunted, ducking as a rain of stones thudded around them.
“Can’t. cover. you. sir.” Yukari bit each word off, drawing shaking breaths in between.
Yami yanked the next hail of rock missiles away before they could land, dumping them in black hole, then pressed on, toward Shinichi and the hidden women who were his targets.
Sweat trickled down Shinichi’s neck, his upper lip curled into a snarl. He twitched and flinched with each attack on his spell. Yami gripped Shinichi’s shoulder as he strode past, then shot forward.
Yami burst around the corner, bringing his tanto high. Two women stared, two mouths open in surprise. A blunt jab of yojutsu sent the taller girl boneless to the ground. The smaller blonde tried to cover her teammate. A rapid jab to the back of the neck, and she crumpled. Yami caught her on the way down, easing her onto the floor, checking them both before moving on.
A choked snarl from above distracted him. Yami glanced up, two bright blue eyes locked onto him. Oh hey, Miss Prickly. You want in here? He waved and watched fury blossom in her eyes, her face mottled red. He grinned; she bared her teeth. Yami chuckled. Good luck with that-
Oof-
He slammed against the wall, shooting pain lanced through his side. He lurched to his feet, shaking his head, but it was too late. His assailant scrambled back out of range, her bare feet scrabbling on the cobbles.
Yami gritted his teeth. Smart kid. Her boots sat several meters away, unlaced, still glued to the floor.
Her grimoire glowed, a heavy storm of buzzing descending around her. The swarm swept past Yami, and then Shinichi was down, cowering, his arms crossed over his head against the onslaught of the bees.
Yami coiled, ready to throw himself at the stocky girl, when the little silver-haired woman, the one who’d been hovering at the back, her mana so slight she barely registered as a threat, threw something at Yukari. The glowing globe exploded on impact, light silvery plumes enveloping his lieutenant. One breath and Yukari bent double, clutching at her throat. Two, and she dropped to her knees, nails clawing at her chest. Three, and she collapsed.
Fuck. Yami, driven by training and instinct to track the biggest threat on the field, hunted for Charlotte. There she was, in mid-air, her vines wreathed around her, looking like some ancient battle god bent on retribution. Her briars twitched and thrashed, mana pouring off her. They locked eyes, dark yojutsu roiling around him in some twisted mimicry of her power. And so he saw the exact moment she realised. The instant her eyes sharpened in understanding. The second her frustration died, replaced by something cold, hard and deliberate.
The shield was down.
If it had been just him, he’d’ve let loose. Tapped into the depths of his power and unleashed hell. Dug deep. Pushed through. Taken her punches and traded them for the win.
Except it wasn’t just him.
‘One hundred push-ups for kijin boy’s mistake,’ came the voice from the past.
Behind him, Yukari choked, light foam at her mouth. Shinichi’s binding refrain had become a whimper. Before Yami’s brain could catch up, before he’d made the conscious choice, before he could yell at them to shake it off and get it done, to surpass their limits, his body was already moving.
He reached Yukari just before the wave of briars hit. Green spears grabbed him, dragging him down. They snarled around his knees, thorns digging in their claws. He tumbled to the floor, struggling to free his blade, using his body to shield Yukari from the worst of the attack. He cast black hole, the spell wrestling with the vines, but the vines clung on, stubborn, digging their thorns deeper. With an agonising wrench that made his vision go dark and his head swim, Yami freed his katana and forced himself to his feet, attacking the briars.
“Shinichi, move out!” Yami put every ounce of authority he could muster into the order. Shin had better be able to move himself; Yami couldn’t keep the briars off and drag him out at the same time.
Shinichi stumbled to his feet, lurching toward Yami, as the bees buzzed above their heads, trying to avoid the twitching greenery littering the street. Yami lifted Yukari’s shaking body onto his back. Not a moment too soon. There she was. Little Miss Prickly - Charlotte - stalking down the lane towards them.
He flinched as a vine spear thrust toward him, his side flaring in protest as he chopped it back. The street shook, dust hanging in the air like a haze. Even as they backed away, he kept laying down stroke after stroke of dark yojutsu, slicing through the briars, until the vines were gone.
But then, instead of renewing her attack, Charlotte stood in the middle of the lane. She looked at him, at the three of them, in the strangest way, a crinkle creasing her forehead. What the hell was she waiting for? He must make a sorry sight: Yukari hanging off his back, his free arm around Shinichi. This was her chance. He’d felt her fury from the start. Hell, she’d been mad at him before she even met him. All she had to do was get a briar around his neck and, by the unspoken rules of their twisted little game, he’d be finished. Sent back to the capital with nothing to show for his efforts, her refusal ringing in his ears.
Well, whatever it was, he wasn't going to hang around to find out. You snooze, you lose, Princess. Yami took the opening, pulling on his yoryoku and unleashing chaos, a wild web of dark destruction to hold her back and make her think twice. He retreated, Yukari on his back, Shinichi on his arm, stopping every few streets to check behind and make sure she wasn’t following.
*
The sun was dipping in the sky, cool air settling in as Yami staggered back into the square. Yukari’s armour dug into his back and his arm ached from dragging Shinichi along. Yukari shivered, her armour digging in, her body fighting the effects of the poison.
Shinichi’s left arm hung uselessly at his side, his face swollen with bee stings, his right hand barely able to manage his scroll. Yami’s head pounded, and his ribs ached. His skin itched with bloody scratches, welts rubbing against his clothes; what was left of them, anyway.
He’d lost. A tight band wrapped its way around his chest. He didn’t lose. The smell of the training mat at home smacked him in the face. The stares of the generals, the sneers of his training masters and the other recruits. The delight from Ryu every time he reported another province conquered, another part of Hino brought back from the brink. He was the protector of Goshu, protector of Hino, and Ryu’s most feared general. He won. That’s what he was. Without it he was just-
Yami shook his head. He didn’t give a shit about all that stuff, he told himself. Neither did Ryu. No matter what the court whispered behind his back.
Good-natured cheers and clapping echoed off the buildings, the bonhomie of a home crowd applauding a plucky, but ultimately unsuccessful, visiting team.
“Guess we lost, then.” Finral ambled up, half a sandwich in his hand.
Yami bit back a snarl. He wrestled his yoryoku down, pinning it before it could explode out and hurt the kid. “I’m not down.” Yami eased Yukari off his back, settling her next to Shinichi. “I’m not done. I’m just taking a break.” Yukari and Shinichi huddled on the floor. Forget his big words, his team needed a recovery mage as soon as possible.
“Yeah. Sure.” Finral laughed at him, a bead of sweat on his temple. Usually, Yami would find the whole thing amusing, too. It was a basically training skirmish, for scrolls’ sake. He didn’t send his people into things they couldn’t handle. He’d tell the team to suck it up, laugh it off, take the learnings and move on. So why did this feel less like a loss and more like a failure?
Charlotte appeared, accompanied by one of her friends: the short silver-haired one who’d thrown, like a little kid with a ball, the poison that had taken down Yukari. A chorus of cheers broke out, and she waved, smiling at the crowd.
“Do you yield?” Charlotte waited outside of the range of his katana.
Yami had known coming in that she had a decent supply of mana; he hadn’t known she knew how to use it. She’d had training and was potentially even a knight. She had to be. There was no other explanation. He wiped his arm over the scratches on his face, still painful although they were already scabbing over.
He could fight back, but he thought of how Fuegoleon had handled the surrender at the capital. Yami wanted to win, but the thing he was supposed to be winning was her. He tamped his yoryoku down.
“I yield.” He clenched his fist at his side, hiding it from the others. The only thing worse than being beaten, the only thing worse than losing, would be for her to know how much it grated on him.
She nodded, shrugging one shoulder, her expression impassive, as if this were to be expected.
“For today,” he added. Lose a battle, win the war. No chance he was crying parley, not to her. No way. She looked surprised. Even eager. He dismissed it as a trick of the light.
The other blue-cloaked mage was already crouched down next to Yukari. “Sorry about that. Packs a punch, huh?” And she produced a vial of clear liquid from the bandolier strung around her chest. “This’ll sort you right out.”
Yukari shook her head, shivering against Shinichi, her teeth rattling.
“Here.” Yami held out his hand to take the vial, but, to his surprise, someone else got there first.
“Let me.” Charlotte took the vial and sipped a little. “Safe, see.” She pulled a face. “Tastes horrible though.”
Charlotte crouched next to Yukari and helped her lift the vial to her mouth, tipping it down. The result was almost immediate: Yukari’s shaking slowed, and the colour returned to her face and lips. She eased herself upright.
“Tsu, where’s your antihistamine?” Charlotte was peering at Shinichi’s arm and hand.
“This one’s topical.” The silvery-haired girl told the knight, showing him a small bottle and a pipette.
“Huh?” Yami asked.
“Oh, sorry. It goes on the skin,” the little silver-haired mage - Tsu - explained.
Yami repeated it in Hino, not sure how much Shin could take in right now.
“Here, let me.” Tsu dripped a few drops onto Shinichi’s skin where the swelling was at its worst. He groaned in relief, the swellings diminishing under their eyes.
Tsu laughed. “Trust me, I know. Kalpia’s bees have stung all of us plenty of times.” She turned to Yami. “I have an ointment for the scratches, too.”
“Nah, I’m-“
“Like I said, trust me.” She produced a small pot from a pouch. “Not my first time dealing with Charlotte’s briars either. They’ll get infected. She’s venomous, don’t you know?” She tempered her declaration with a cheeky grin. “In the nicest possible way, of course,” Tsu continued.
Yami recognised the look she gave Miss Prickly, tolerant and humouring: it was the same look his team gave him when they thought he was being dense. Charlotte grumbled under her breath, but even that felt like a well-worn exchange that had lost its edges over time. So Little Miss Prickly had a heart buried somewhere underneath all that laced-up piss and vinegar. Who knew?
He felt the weight of a gaze; she was watching him.
“Well, I guess we’ll be seeing you, then,” Yami said. “Meet you here? Say, in three days?” Three days were good. Three days should be enough to get the team up and about again and come up with a plan.
“High noon, old man?” She flicked her little plait back, chin tilted in the air.
Yami bit back an unexpected laugh. “Sure.” He'd be back, and he'd be prepared next time. Propping Shinichi on one arm, the other around Yukari, he nodded at Finral to open a portal and take them home.
*
“Ok, report.” They were in the hospital wing, where Owen, the old King’s physician, was taking a look at his team. So far, the doc hadn’t consulted his grimoire, recommending rest and fluids and making admiring noises about the Roselei recovery mage.
“I haven’t seen Tsugae’s work for years,” Owen muttered. “Same approach, but she’s figured out how to imbue her mana and distil it. Guess she didn’t have much choice.”
Yami was much more interested in what Finral had to say now that he was sure Shinichi and Yukari were ok.
Finral had been the third Clovan to join, after Magna and Luck. He’d sat there like a confused child, his arms wrapped around his grimoire, when Yami had sat him down and given him the talk. Yes, Finral had been assigned to the Dark Knights, but that didn’t mean anything; he got to choose. He had to choose; Yami didn’t work with people who didn’t want to be there. And if he changed his mind, that was ok, too. Up to him. Finral had sat, and listened, and he’d not left yet.
“Spit it out, kid.”
“Guess that didn’t work out how you expected, huh?” Finral scratched his head.
Yami had expected painful silences over tea, thinly veiled insults, and the hope of a rapid retreat as early as possible. He’d expected to have to call again and again until she got bored and worn down and signed on the dotted line just to get him out of her house, her town, her life. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d got what he wanted because of his sheer stubborn refusal to give in.
Except he’d messed up. Miss Prickly’d got the drop on him. There was that moment as the shield fell, when time had stopped, when the world had fallen still, and they’d stared at each other. In that moment, she had been-
He shook his head. Snap out of it, Sukehiro. Unexpected, that's what she'd been. She’d blindsided him. His fault. He’d gone in with incorrect assumptions and lousy intel; that was his problem; time to regroup, reset - and then, and only then, retaliate. Except he couldn’t get the image of her crouched over Yukari out of his mind; how she’d knelt in the dirt and stroked Yukari’s head while her breathing slowed and her colour returned.
“Well, the people all seem happy enough,” Finral continued. “They were excited by the match. Apparently, it’s been a while since anyone dropped in to try to court her, so they were hyped up. And they said you did well; sounds like most of the others didn’t last more than five minutes.” Yami nodded along as Finral spoke. Finral was smart and good at ingratiating himself with people; they’d planned his role well. “They were surprised she brought her team out with her. Seems she normally works alone.” Finral gave him a sidelong glance. “Guess she pegged you as a threat.”
What was that supposed to mean?
“So, we’re going back again?” Finral asked.
“Yeah. Same brief. Keep your eyes and ears open, see what the locals might spill. Anything you can tease out on the curse, anything on her - what makes her tick. What she likes, what she hates. You know. The normal stuff.” Standard procedure when dealing with an unknown opponent. Yami needed to get under her skin, understand her from the inside out, predict her moves, and uncover her weaknesses.
“Oh! Yes. Of course.” Finral chirped up at this. “You want to know more about her.” He stood up tall and saluted his boss. “You can count on me, Yami, I’m the man for the job! I’ll find out everything there is to know about Charlotte Roselei.” Finral leant forward. “I’m a great wingman, you know. Should the occasion arise. I’m very popular with the ladies. Very discreet.” Finral winked and nodded, tapping his nose.
Yami bit back a laugh. Trust the starry-eyed kid to see the best in everyone, even him. He’d sooner take a battalion against that woman - but maybe Finral had a point. He needed an angle. Something he could exploit. Perhaps a couple of the kids weren’t a bad idea. Maybe she’d be distracted by their age and that they were from Clover?
He looked up to find Owen staring at him, arms folded over his chest.
“You’re up next,” Owen said.
Yami tried to object; he’d gone with basic injuries like these for days back home. Owen and Finral ignored his protests. Not one, but two, interfering mages pushed him into the cloud of healing magic.
Finral kept smiling and gave Yami a thumbs up as the spell closed in. Yami sighed as he leaned back into the magic. He needed to know more about her. Needed to take her apart, figure her out. Finral had done well on the ground, but if he wanted to avoid another humiliating defeat, Yami needed more. And he knew exactly where to get it.
Notes:
To my fellow fight skippers, I’m so sorry. An earlier draft of this avoided all fight scenes but the story decided that it needed some and so…
All the spells that Yami uses are from canon (or canon adjacent), but I tried to remove most spell names for the sake of pacing.
A tanto is a Japanese dagger, traditionally carried with a katana for close-quarters fighting.
Chapter 5: Affairs of Honour
Chapter Text
When they’d first concluded the surrender, Yami had inherited a palatial suite of rooms, apparently suited to his new station, complete with antechambers for his antechambers. He’d been there once, sat listening to the silence, then left immediately. Nice bed, though. After a few days of pointed comments just within earshot, he’d suggested Tomoe, Yukari, and the rest of the Onna-musha move in while he took himself back to the hard, narrow cots of the barracks. He told himself it was infinitely more comfortable that way. He wasn’t entirely wrong.
To a stranger, the guard room smelled of unwashed socks, curing leather and assorted remnants of used crockery that no one could be bothered to take back to the kitchen. To Yami, who’d been on campaign for his entire adult life, it smelled like every barracks he’d ever inhabited. Barracks meant his people, and his people meant home.
A card game was in full flow as a fireball exploded overhead.
“That’s cheating!” Magna glared at the ceiling through his glasses. A flicker of lightning crackled overhead along with a giggle.
Takeshi grunted as Tomoe grabbed another chair and he dealt Yami in. Yami chucked some coins in the middle without looking at his cards and glanced around the table. Someone here could help him. He just needed to work out who.
“Magna, you playing?” It was pointless asking Luck - he couldn’t sit still long enough.
“Yeah, in a minute. Once I’ve taken out this loser.” Yami’s neck singed as another fireball hurtled over his head. It would take Magna longer than a minute to put down the lightning mage. They’d been the first Clover kids to start hanging out with the Dark Knights. Luck was one of the few who hadn’t been scared of the foreign warriors in the early days. He’d challenged the human mountain that was Takeshi to a duel on sight, and the others had found this so funny that they’d encouraged the kid to keep coming back. Magna had tagged along a few days later, insisting that he, as Luck’s friend, be included too; thank you. And then they never left.
Yami considered his cards and his other options. Takeshi slapped down a few thousand-yul coins. On his left, Tomoe carefully set down a matching bet, eyes following Takeshi, flushing when he gave her an approving nod, which Takeshi somehow missed. Again. The two of them were complete idiots. More to the point, they knew less than he did about Roselei and were no good to him in this case.
Play rolled around to Gauche, who added his yul to the pot.
Ichika had called it early release for good behaviour and applied it to anyone with decent enough mana who agreed to serve the alliance. Jack’s crew called it solidarity against the oppressor and welcomed them with open arms and judgmental eyes. Gauche called it a lucky break and ran away on the first night. Luckily for Gauche, the Watch dragged him back to Ichika, not Jack, and as soon as she learned about his family situation, she did her Ichika thing. Gauche might be an asshole at times, but as long as his sister was safe and cared for, Gauche was his through and through. Gauche was a noble. Gauche was a local. Gauche might have some answers for him.
Yami toyed with his cards, keeping his tone light and casual. “What do you know about this woman, Charlotte Roselei?”
Gauche’s head shot up, his eye going wide, as though he’d been hit with one of Luck’s poorly aimed - at least that's what Luck always said - strikes. “Cursed.” Gauche spat on the floor. Tomoe pulled a face and shifted away from the strange foreigner and his dirty customs. Gauche tapped three fingers on his forehead, then touched them to his mouth and heart. Yami had seen that all too often in the last month, overtly at first and now mostly behind his back. Jack explained that it invoked Clover’s faith, hope, and love to ward off evil from the mind, the mouth, and the heart. Yami thought it was just a nicer way to tell him and his to fuck off.
“I’m not going there. I won’t risk it. What if I get trapped and can’t see Marie?” Gauche’s voice rose as he threw his cards down, revealing his hand, the other knights muttering and cursing at the ruined game. “I will not let my sister near that place.” And like Finral had earlier, Gauche shuddered.
Yami stayed quiet, waiting for more.
“Everyone knows about the Roselei curse.” Gauche hunkered down, face pale.
“I don’t.” Yami propped his chin on his hand, not taking his eyes off the man.
“Not that I care, or I’d ever do what you tell me to do, but do you promise I never have to go there?”
Yami almost felt sorry for the guy. “Promise.” He tapped three fingers to his chest.
Gauche exhaled, some colour returning to his cheeks. “Like I said, everyone knows about the Roselei curse. It’s a Clover legend. A few years ago, a curse mage put a powerful spell on House Roselei. I don’t know, and I don’t care, why. The heir - Lady Charlotte - declares that she’ll beat the curse, and everyone’s all impressed until her eighteenth birthday rolls around and, boom!” Gauche pounded the table, making the drinks slop and Tomoe jump. “The curse descends on the Lady and everyone in the town. Anyone caught in it is trapped. Frozen in time forever. Doomed.” Gauche shrugged. “That’s it. That’s all I know - no one in their right mind goes to Roselei. No one even likes to admit it exists.”
“Isn’t that where Yami-sama went this afternoon?” Tomoe asked Takeshi in Hino, “The Roselei place?”
Takeshi nodded, eyes on Yami. Tomoe paled, her eyes wide.
“Yeah, and we’re all fine.” Yami pointed out. “Don’t sweat it.”
Luck appeared at the table. “I heard that a wicked witch runs it. I heard that she eats children for breakfast and bathes in their blood to stay forever young. I heard that if you look her in the eyes, it’s like a giant whirlpool that pulls you down, and you can never leave. I heard that if you annoy her, she wraps you in her briars and squeezes you until your ribs crack and your eyes pop out of your skull. I heard-“
“Luck, that’s all rubbish and you know it.” Magna interrupted. “Everyone knows that if you visit Roselei, you get to live forever.” He nodded. “‘S true. My Auntie Sheila’s Danny - he’s her youngest and a bit strange - tried to find it but couldn’t get anywhere near. No one knows the way anymore. Easiest way is if you have a spatial portal. Finral will know more.” And with that, they bounded off.
Yami’d already grilled Finral. He’d gone pale when he talked about not staying in Roselei after dark.
“Finral!” Yami bellowed, not bothering to get up. Takeshi gave him a reproachful look, rubbing his ear.
“Lord Yami, sir?” Finral stuck his head around the door.
“Get over here, Finral. You got anything to add?”
“Congratulations?” Finral’s eyes shone, and he pulled a notebook out of his pocket. “On your betrothal.”
The assorted Clovans in the company stopped, frozen, as they stared at Finral, and then back at Yami.
“Charlotte Roselei.” Gauche made the sign again and spat.
“Hey!” She might be condescending and insolent, but Yami wasn’t having people being spat on. Not on his floor. He slammed his fist on the table, the glasses rattling. “Enough!” And anyway, they weren’t betrothed. ‘If you want me, come get me.‘ Not yet.
Finral consulted his book. “Charlotte Roselei, only daughter of House Roselei, which makes her the Heir. It’s an old House, specialised in plant magic. You know - crops and orchards and flowers and things.” Yami pricked up his ears. Plant Mages, especially those who grew crops, were worth their mass in mana to the alliance. “Former member of the Blue Rose Knights,” Finral continued, glancing up at Yami, “- one of the old brigades -” he flipped through the pages. “There's not much else. Jack said that they destroyed all the records when they shut down the chapter houses, otherwise we could have pulled her stats.”
Yami stared at Finral. One of the old brigades? “Could you have told me about this before she nearly ripped my head off?” Finral shrugged. As soon as they’d fought, it had become obvious she’d been some sort of military, but, really? A hint would’ve been nice.
Yami leaned back, thinking about the strange line through the fields, the warm autumn day and the odd woman at the heart of it. The stuck up noble, the howling banshee and the woman who got down in the dirt to help her opponent. Rumours and hearsay, folktales and bedtime terrors, all tangled up in a heap.
That night, when the dream came, he fought it: the woman was a figment of his imagination, she didn’t exist, and he wanted her gone. Fate wasn’t on his side, never had been. Whatever this was, it wasn’t for him. He didn’t want it, didn’t need it. When he woke, his eyes were gritty and his room smelled like salt air and sand dunes.
*
Luck stumbled out of the portal holding Magna’s tunic, eyes glued to the floor.
“Holy shit, this place is so cool!” Magna said, stopping to look around. Luck smacked into his back, wrapping both hands into the loose fabric of Magna’s tunic.
“Hey, Luck, we made it to Roselei. Guess we’re immortals now.” Magna puffed his chest out.
“You’re kidding me.” The water mage from three days ago - Selena, Charlotte had called her - looked them up and down. “The rematch is with a couple of kids?” She laughed. “Gal’s been insisting this was going to be tough. We’re going to wipe the floor with you.”
“We’d be three kids. Only Yami says Finral can’t join in case he gets injured and we can’t get home,” Magna said.
Finral was very disappointed about this. He waved from his cafe table, where he’d already ordered a decaf coffee and a piece of cake.
“And the knights,” muttered Luck, refusing to look up.
“Yeah, and Takeshi and Tomoe. And Yami-sama. We’re going to destroy you ladies.” Magna’s optimism appeared well-placed. Similar units had taken down entire towns during the invasion, but most had been filled with hungry, angry people more interested in food than fighting, which couldn’t be said of Charlotte or her friends.
Selena exchanged glances with the blonde mage beside her. “Five of you. Thanks, kid.” She turned to the town and yelled, “They’re fielding five. And Lord Yami’s playing.”
“We’re not playing. This is serious,” Magna said. “We’ve been training for days.”
Luck finally put his head up. “Not playing?”
Yami stifled a groan and glared at Magna. Giving away secrets like that. Idiot. “We’re playing, Luck. I mean, yeah, we’re playing but it’s also training and“ - Oh, fuck it - “Just blast anyone wearing a blue robe.”
Luck considered this. “I heard she’s so beautiful that one look can make you go mad.” He jerked his head down to the floor again.
Who could have guessed that Charlotte Roselei would be the only thing in Clover that Luck was scared of? Yami gestured to Magna: You, you deal with this.
Magna curled his fingers around Luck’s, detangling him, holding his hand tight. “We got this, Luck. It’s gonna be fun. Right?” Luck peered up at Magna through his heavy fringe, his manic smile faltering for a moment.
Yami nodded, “Yeah, kid, the only mad you need to watch out for is the irritated sort. Which is gonna look like a tonne of briars headed your way. Anyway, you both focus on the others, like we practiced. She’s my problem.” He touched his fingers to his katana hilt. Confound, overwhelm, win. It was the Yami way.
*
Magna and Luck plunged into the alleyways of the town, their whoops carried back on the light breeze. Takeshi and Tomoe moved out, covering one another, their first objective to take out the wing mage. Yami waited in the square. The long hand of the clock was already on the one, five minutes past noon. He hadn’t sensed her mana, no trailing scent of roses in the air. Where the hell was she? The square was quieter today; there were a few people in the tavern, but many more bustling around, going about their daily lives, as if people had better things to do than watch another rout. He kicked at a rock, booting it at the fountain. How was he supposed to defeat her if she didn’t bloody well show up?
He tugged at his robe. At least he wasn’t wrapped up like a fool today, boiling in the midday sun. He should probably thank her for destroying his formal gear: it gave him the excuse to wear training gear, the loose kimono and hakama a natural fit, the sun warm on his exposed chest. It was kinda nice hanging out in the square. If he squinted, he could almost be waiting for Yosuga. Full Metal Maniac was always late, too.
Her footsteps announced her arrival. That and a rumble from his yoryoku, buzzing against his skin.
“What time d’you call this?” Yami demanded. She was back in uniform, but her hair was loose around her shoulders, and her grimoire remained packed away.
“I wasn’t sure- I didn’t think you’d turn up.” She was coiled tight, locked up like a scroll without a mage, staring at him. She wrenched her eyes up to his face. “Anyway.” She shook her head ever so slightly, then folded her arms, mirroring his pose, back straight. “I came to say that we don’t have to do this. If you don’t want to.” She remained rigid, parade-ground ready. “I might have been brought to understand that I perhaps overreacted the other day, and that my team had it under control.” She raised her chin, eyes darting over in the direction the others had taken, then back to him.
Yami nearly laughed out loud. “You think I’m going to back out over a couple of scratches?” Did she think she could avoid him by changing the rules of the game?
She shrugged. “It’s not really fair, is it? It’s my town, my turf. You’re never going to win with that sort of disadvantage, and I thought-“
Whoa whoa whoa. Never going to what? He took two steps closer. “Scared, Miss Prickly?”
The narrowed gaze returned. “Hardly, stranger. May I remind you what happened last time?”
“You had twice the numbers!”
“Which you knew when you engaged!” Her hands went to her hips. “What are you looking to prove? That you’re a tough guy? I’ve read the reports. I got the message.” She dismissed him with a wave of her hand.
“I’m not trying to prove anything. I don’t have anything to prove to you. This was your idea, remember?” Her and her ‘I should treat you like every other man’ bullshit. He was nothing like the fawning nobles Jack had described.
Charlotte flushed.
He’d spent a lot of time thinking about her over the last three days. Charlotte’s greatest weapon, he’d concluded, painfully early this morning, wasn’t her mana or her briars. Neither was it her temper, nor that stubborn streak. It was her brain. Whatever he did, he had to keep her distracted, off balance; he had to stop her thinking. It was a good strategy, he reasoned. He’d stolen it from her.
“Now I think about it, you’re right,” Yami said.
She blinked.
“Injuring me like that. In a training skirmish. Unforgivable behaviour for a magic knight.” Thank you, Finral, for that snippet of information.
Charlotte inhaled sharply. Yami held up a hand to silence her and continued, “I demand satisfaction.”
She looked blankly at him, brows drawn together.
“You’ve insulted my honour and I demand satisfaction,” Yami repeated, slowly. Yami’d never issued a formal challenge before. When he got pissed off, people were usually already running out the door. It was surprisingly fun; maybe he should stomp around demanding satisfaction more often?
“Insulted your what?” She raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t realise you had any.”
Yami ignored her. “Clover rules, Hino rules, whatever. We work it out, you vs me. Without involving those idiots.” Yami waved towards the howls, yells and crashes coming from the west side of town, blasts of lightning lost in the bright sunshine. It was no different to her challenge, just with a few more rules thrown in and limited to the two of them. “But I’ll tell you what, when I win, maybe I’ll take pity on you and agree to make you my Queen after all.”
“I’d like to see you try!” she snapped.
Gotcha.
“So, we’re on?” Yami asked.
She wavered, her fists clenching and relaxing, her ki fluctuating. Yami wasn’t sure if she was looking for an excuse to say no or an excuse to say yes.
She glanced around the square. “There’re too many people here. Come on.” She strode down one of the narrow streets that branched out, lined with small terraced houses nestled shoulder to shoulder, each building part of the skeleton of the town. Yami snatched glances as she drove them on, catching glimpses of her people behind doors, through windows, framed by the ever-present flowers. She nodded to those they passed; they smiled back at her, and stared at him, open and curious, a strange buzz that he couldn’t quite identify threaded through their ki.
Yami matched her pace, the solid thud of his footsteps a counterpoint to her sharp staccato. Their path curved, following the main defensive wall, its ramparts jutting out at regular intervals; she ticked the rules off on her fingers. “Fixed combat zone. We start on the count of five. All spells allowed.“ Yami nodded. So far, so familiar. “How will I know when you’re ready to cower in defeat?” she asked, tossing her little plait again.
“When you‘ve had enough, Princess, just let me know. I’ll let you yield,” he replied.
She snorted. They veered off to the right, onto a smallish lane leading up the hill. It was quiet, the only sounds the distant yelling of the others and the faint echo of their footsteps, the soft hum of activity from the main square occasionally drifting over carried on the breeze. The doors were a rainbow leading down the street, the bright colours echoing the flowers in the window boxes. Everything was closed up, shut tight despite the pleasant day, the houses empty of any evidence of human habitation. What they were about to do to the sleepy little street was a shame, but it would have forgotten them by tomorrow.
Charlotte was busy pacing out markers. It seemed pointless to him. You could call it what you liked, but as soon as things got going, it would inevitably descend into yojutsu-fuelled chaos until one of them caved, just like sparring with Ginnojomorifuyu back home.
Charlotte finished pacing and surveyed her handiwork, nodding to herself, a hint of pride colouring her ki. Yami hid a smile. He guessed this was her first official duel, knight to knight.
She drew her grimoire, a rich blue glow bathing her pale skin. A soft smile appeared on her lips as the book fluttered open its pages.
“So, I suppose we count now?” she said, eyes gleaming.
“Guess so.” Yami felt a similar smile advancing onto his face, the euphoric rush of using his magic flooding his body, his fingertips tingling. His scroll trailed black wisps of yojutsu.
‘-If you want me, come get me.’ Her voice in his head.
Be careful what you wish for, Princess. They stood back to back in the middle of the lane. His heart pounded, a drumbeat in his chest.
‘-We need this, Yami.’ Ichika and Fuegoleon reminded him.
“One.” The tap of her boot hit the ground as the count rang out, her voice clear and confident. The reek of flowers and distant shrieks hung in the air.
“Two.” Tingles ran up and down his spine.
“Three.“ A cold, tight fist gripped his guts.
“Four.“ The sun too hot on his clammy skin.
‘-Don’t fuck it up.’ Thanks, Jack.
“Five.” He stopped thinking. He threw himself to the left, briars slamming into the stones where he’d stood not seconds before. He grunted, hitting the cobbles, tucking and rolling, unleashing a wide blast, diving forward, closing the distance between them, muscles burning with the burst of speed. Her briars lashed around the lane, her mana humming. No matter. He was already inside her defences.
He wrapped his hand around her throat. Exhilaration surged over his bones.
A faint rustle was his only warning, a single briar coiling around his neck, tickling his ear. It squeezed, wire-tight.
Stalemate.
He could feel her swallow, feel the pounding of her pulse under his thumb. Her skin was almost translucent compared to his, her throat delicate under his touch.
He leant forward, the noose contracting around his neck. His nose almost brushed against hers, her exhale warm on his skin. The musky scent of old myrrh surrounded him.
“What was that, Princess? Never going to win, am I?”
She trembled, the tiniest shiver, and he had to remind himself why he was here, only aware of how close she was and how much she hated him; her answering hiss a cold breeze tickling his skin.
Yami forced a chuckle, releasing her throat. The briar slackened and vanished. He stepped away, as did she.
The bright street faded to grey, and the background hum of the town vanished. It was him and it was her, in blaring, saturated colour. A deadly light glowed in her narrowed eyes, like he was the only thing in her world, too.
He could feel her, her magic so dense it was almost visible to the naked eye. The space between them crackled, like being in the path of a lightning storm. Tendrils of his jojutsu crept towards her, lapping at her feet.
A light twitch of a hand was her only tell. Her briars erupted towards him, plants and ornaments caught in the crossfire tumbling to the ground in a series of metallic explosions. She advanced, crunching through the wreckage, boots drenched in dust.
He retreated, using just enough magic to keep her briars at bay. A few steps. A few steps more. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. He hefted his katana, his grip sweaty on the leather.
Off to the side, creeping up the houses, crawling along the lane, briars slithered toward him. Sneaky things. Thinking he wouldn’t notice.
One final step, and it was time; Yami cast. She was already twisting away, anticipating his strike and preparing her counter. Except he wasn’t aiming at her. He wasn’t even aiming at the vines.
He was aiming at the building next to her.
It was a lot less prepared than she was.
**
Chapter 6: Do You Yield?
Chapter Text
He coughed, hacking as he tried to shield his mouth and nose from the settling debris and rubble. It was quiet aside from his sputters; her mana was still there, rolled into a tight little ball buried in the pile of masonry. He wiped the sweat off his head and took a slug of water from his canteen. Aside from their confrontation a few days ago, he couldn’t remember when a single mage had given him this much of a headache.
“Do you yield?” It was a good thing that they hadn’t tried to take Roselei on their long march. Crazy girl.
There was a tremor in her mana: she was most likely testing to see if she could break out, but he wasn’t making the same mistake he made before, playing fair. He had an idea of where she was and picked his way across the rubble, sitting on a large chunk of what used to be a windowsill that should be roughly above her head. The mana shoved again; the rocks underneath him tremoured, then died down.
“All you have to do is yield.” He wouldn’t put it past her to sit in there and sulk all day, forcing him to leave at nightfall. He could bring the rest of the building down as an incentive, but…
Blasts of water continued to boom in the distance, busts of drizzle settling the remaining puffs of dust. Magna was likely out of mana by now. If Charlotte’s team were smart, they’d have put their stone mage against Luck, blocking and earthing his attacks. At least the flappy wing girl should be an easy target for Takeshi and Tomoe: they wouldn’t let themselves be picked off and separated like Magna and Luck had. He’d warned them to watch out for the bee lady and Tsugae, but they were on their own now; they’d have to figure it out.
He clanged on a metal pipe sticking out of the rubble. “Yo. You gotta choice here, Miss Prickly. You can yield, and I help you get out, or I leave you here and go track down your friends.”
There was a long silence and some more bursts of mana. He basked in the sun, anticipating the sweet, sweet inevitability of her surrender. Her team were her weakness. She had no choice, and she knew it.
A muffled voice came from somewhere under his bum. “Yield.”
“What was that?” He savoured the moment, imagining how she must be feeling, having to say the exact words he had just three days ago.
“I yield.” It was distant, but clear.
He heaved a few rocks away before using Black Hole pulling the stone and dirt aside, revealing a cocoon of greenery covered with broken and tattered blue roses.
“Hey.” He tugged at the vines, cursing as the thorns sliced his hand, before using his katana. “Miss Prickly?” The briars gave way, dumping her on the ground, a trickle of blood smudged under her nose as she coughed. She was pale, her golden hair dull with dust, and her eyes rimmed with red. “Charlotte? You ok?”
“You dropped a building on me.” She ground the words out.
“No other way you were going to stay down.” He hadn’t intended to hurt her.
“Well, it’s a preposterous way to fight,” she grizzled as she clambered to her feet, ignoring his outstretched hand. He released a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding; Miss Prickly was doing just fine.
A shriek echoed from within the town, and she coiled, poised for action.
“Uh huh.” Yami grabbed her wrist. “We agreed. You go play, I go play. Let them have fun by themselves. You can’t run after them every time something happens, you know.”
She locked up for a moment, rigid under his hand. Her mana swirled; he could sense it gathering under her skin. Then she seemed to come to a decision. Her muscles relaxed, her tension easing. She lowered herself onto a large chunk of stone, placing her hands in her lap, her back a straight line against the crumbling building. “I don’t run. Mother says a lady always comports herself in a manner befitting her station. I merely moved with expediency.”
Yami snorted. In that case, he’d recently watched her attempt to expedite her briars through two of his most intimidating knights. He eased himself down beside her, prepared to pounce if she made any sudden moves.
He tugged the blue mantle around her shoulders. “So. Warrior, huh?” She seemed smaller in defeat, her eyes hunting the sky.
“Magic Knight. Blue Roses.” Her face softened as she absently stroked the robe, then hardened once more. “They were disbanded like the other squads, absorbed into the Royal brigades when the King executed the Wizard King.”
Yami wiggled into the wall, picking a few rogue stones from under his bottom. “Yeah, I heard about that. He had some idea that things here needed to change, and they went after him for it.”
She sighed. “I was already shut up here by then. The official reports said that he went rogue and was put down. So I suspect you’re not wrong. They announced that they were making the squads more accountable, then moved them under Royal control. The captains resigned or got reassigned. There were rumours that some defected, but maybe they just disappeared.” She frowned. “Or ran. Then the king’s friends started getting into positions of power. They said that the Magic Parliament would be replaced with something better, but never said with what.” She fiddled with a little bracelet around her wrist. “May I ask you something?”
He grunted.
“What prompted your actions? Why here? Why now?” She looked down at him through thick lashes, “Why us?”
What was it Ryu had said?
“It was a tinderbox,” Yami said. Charlotte went quiet as he started to speak. “Clover was going to implode or be invaded. My shogun, Ryuya, said he needed you intact and stable. So here we are.”
Yami hadn’t understood what Ryu had meant when he said that things were going on in the world that needed Clover, when he said that a number of things that needed to happen hadn’t occurred for some reason, but that this should set them right. Yami knew what he needed to deliver. He wasn’t interested in planning and thinking and all that leadership bullshit. Just point him at the fight and let him do his job; that’s what he was here for.
“You were clever with the invasion. Clever, and careful.” She spoke quietly, and there was a question in her voice. Yami got the impression that this wasn’t simply a conversation, that she was testing him in some way, which didn’t seem fair given that he’d just been kind enough to dig her out from underneath a pile of rubble.
Yami snorted. “You met Jack? Tall, lanky? Sharper than broken glass? You think he’d be ok with a bunch of foreigners rampaging through the countryside?”
“You rampaged through the noble houses willingly enough,” Charlotte gave one of her little huffs.
“We liberated” - Jack’s favourite word - “countless towns from a system that was more about draining them than serving them. You know how many nobles we found in the common realm? In their ancestral homes?” Yami waved his fingers at her. “Less than this. A few families who stayed for their own reasons” - Finral and his brother came to mind - “everyone else just holed up in the capital, hid behind those royal knights of yours and waited for us to get bored of pillaging villages and move along.” He leant into the building, ignoring the dust-itch on his back. “They had no idea what we wanted.”
She laughed. It was so unexpected that it caught him by surprise. He hadn’t thought her capable of it. Hidden insults, sure. Scathing comments, yes. Peals of golden laughter, not so much. He shifted in his uncomfortable seat, wary all of a sudden.
“Of course they did.” She smiled down at him from her perch.
“Huh?”
“Fuegoleon and Nozel. They knew what you wanted. Why else do you think it was so easy?” Charlotte said.
“Easy? It wasn’t easy!” he replied. He’d been there - she hadn’t.
“It was easy! You practically walked into the capital. I read the reports. The knights spent more time fighting fires than fighting you,” she said.
Yami frowned. No, they’d won a decisive victory. Hadn’t they?
“We offered them a good deal. Generous terms,” he said. The lack of resistance resulted from careful planning and an overwhelming offensive. Nothing else.
“I know, I read them too. All subjects become full citizens of the shogunate with full rights and privileges.” She leaned back on the wall next to him, and he became aware of how close she was. “It was a smart thing to do.”
He could feel her warmth, sense the pulse in her throat, the rise and fall of her breath, the smokey-myrrh scent of her magic now interwoven with earthier tones of dirt and sweat. His palms itched, something awakening deep in his belly. Foreign bully he reminded himself, that's what she thought of him. Even if she was surprisingly pleasant now that they were talking.
“You didn’t just offer them good terms, you know. You offered them hope,” Charlotte said. Then she wrinkled her nose and huffed. She looked ridiculous, her pretty face scrunched up like she didn’t care what she looked like. “And now you’re screwed.”
“Hey! It’s not that bad!” He took it all back. She wasn’t pleasant at all.
She huffed again. “Yes, it is. Aren’t you listening to those advisors of yours? You have no time. The nobles are already plotting, the commoners are getting restless, and you’re running out of goodwill. And the only thing stopping a Diamond invasion is the winter. If Heart decides you’re a threat, well.” - a trickle of dust dislodged down his back as she shrugged, her back still against the wall - “Your only lucky break is that Spade doesn’t seem interested. Otherwise you wouldn’t last the month. Idiot.”
And there she went, ruining their nice moment with that spiky tongue of hers. Idiot indeed! He had a plan - at least Ichika, Ryu, Jack, and Dorothy must do. He might not know the details, but he was only there to be the muscle, the threat, the bogeyman if the nobles didn’t behave. That’s what they wanted from him; that, and they wanted him to bring her in.
She was who they really wanted, he decided: Ichika’s insistence that they needed her, Dorothy banging on about how perfect she was and Jack - Jack not saying anything about them putting a noblewoman on the damn throne. Jack pulling him aside to say she was a good choice. He thought about Fuegoloen’s endless suggestions and how quickly he’d brought them her paper. Like he’d read it before and knew exactly what was inside. How Nozel had said absolutely nothing. No snark. No moaning about inferior houses and discourteous women. Just some helpful advice. Yami felt a heavy stone settling in his stomach.
Across town, there was a sudden eruption, a mana explosion ripping through the air as a tower of earth spiralled up and up into a mountain of earth, complete with trees and streams. A wind whipped around the structure, shaking the greenery and slamming a circling winged creature into the hillside. Charlotte made a little noise, her fingers clutching the band on her wrist. Yami grunted. Takeshi was under pressure then. He winced as the mountain settled and knocked into one of the castle turrets, sending it tumbling slowly to the ground. “Sorry.” He muttered.
She pulled her knees up to her chest and watched her home collapse.
Yami reached over and impulsively tugged on the bracelet, noticing it was soaked in mana.
“What the-“ she yanked her arm away like he’d burnt her.
Within moments, yells and cursing drifted in the air, and four blue-mantled knights exploded into their alleyway. A cloud of bees swarmed toward them like the breaking edge of a storm, buzzing so loudly he saw but couldn’t hear the wall of water crashing down the lanes toward their position. The remaining stones around them rose, poised in mid-air. The heavy flapping of wings sent dust flying into his eyes.
“The fuck-“ he spluttered.
Charlotte was on her feet, arms out, her briars already wrapping around him, making a cage to keep the bees at bay. “False alarm! Stop! Stop!”
One heartbeat.
Two heartbeats.
Peering through the briar cocoon she’d wrapped him in, he could hear water lapping. Once the angry swarming had gentled into buzzing, Charlotte let the briars dissipate. The bees swirled in gentle circles, a few settling on the surviving window boxes down the alleyway.
A solid thud and flappy wing girl’s shadow loomed over them, her face streaked with dirt, hair and wings looking worse for wear. “Really, Charlotte?” she said.
“Sorry, Puli.” Charlotte looked down at her hands. Yami waited for her to throw the blame his way; it had been his doing, after all.
Takeshi, Tomoe, Magna and Luck appeared, surrounding the sleepy street that had just, Yami noticed, become a convenient little kill zone.
Galgaria slumped to the floor, stones crashing down around them. “You scared us!”
Selena patted Galgaria’s head, eyes on Charlotte. “She’s just nervous,” Selena said.
Charlotte’s head snapped up, and she glared at her friend. Squadmate? Subordinate? Yami wasn’t clear on their relationship.
“Do you yield?” Takeshi demanded from his position on the roof.
Really? The guy couldn’t manage a ‘please’ or a ‘thank you’ despite Ichika’s constant nagging about adapting to the locals. Still, he busted out ‘Do you yield?’ in a heartbeat?
The Roses startled as if they hadn’t noticed the fight was over.
“Yeah, sure. Whatever.” Kalpia waved them off, the soft humming of her bees peaking into an irritated buzz. Takeshi swore and leapt back as a couple got too curious. She stalked off, glaring back at Charlotte now and again. Selena grimaced and followed, Puli and Galgaria on her heels.
“Sorry,” Charlotte said.
He frowned at her, wondering why she’d taken the blame for him.
“I’d be more impressed if you’d done it deliberately,” she added, and flopped back next to him.
“We yield,” she yelled up at the sky. Luck and Magna whooped and began a victory dance. Charlotte harumphed, scowling, then turned to consider him with an odd look in her narrowed eyes.
“Come on," she said.
*
Chapter 7: Terms & Conditions
Chapter Text
Charlotte dumped a selection of food onto a plate and shoved it at him. Lunch was a heaped serving from a large kitchen in the castle, eaten at long wooden benches, plates piled high. Magna and Luck were already on thirds, silent as they shovelled food into their mouths, Luck’s knuckles white as he gripped his plate as if it might be snatched away at any moment. Yami kept an eye on him. It didn’t look like he was remembering to chew. The Blue Roses were further down, and from the way the salt cellar and the pepper pot were surrounded by a glass of water, some peas, and half a carrot, it looked like they were going over the fight. Takeshi and Tomoe observed and occasionally said something in Hino, gestured or moved something around.
Miss Prickly picked at her food, not taking her eyes off him. She cleared her throat.
“So,” she said.
He stuffed another mouthful in before putting down his fork. He missed proper cutlery.
“What do you want from me?” she asked, her face flushing slightly pink, glancing down at her plate. The question hung in the air.
Yami chewed slowly, giving himself time to think. He knew how Ichika would handle this with her plans and documents, and he’d seen Jack talk the leaves off the trees, but he wasn’t Ichika, and he wasn’t Jack, and he could only be himself.
“I think,” he said, trying to speak carefully, not wanting to startle her or push her away again or fuck this up. “I think it’s more about what you want. We need you to join us, to help run the kingdom. Like Hardnose said.”
Charlotte looked confused, then comprehension flooded her face. “Fuegoleon?”
Yami nodded. Who else would he mean? “So I guess you get to name your terms. What do you want?”
She went quiet. “No one’s ever asked me that before.” She fiddled with her napkin. When she looked at him, it was accusatory. “You’re not what I was expecting.”
He snorted in agreement.
She moved food around her plate, building piles and knocking them down. “Everything I read suggested… well. Not this.”
Yami figured. It had taken all of Ryu’s powers of persuasion to get him recognised back home, his power undisputed, but something that the fashionable court would prefer stayed somewhere else. Ichika and Yosuga were the court face of the Eight, and even Ginnojomorifuyu was acceptable enough if you’d never seen her fight. But Yami? Not Yami. They looked at Yami like he might start clawing the hangings or shedding on the furniture.
“I suppose I don’t have much choice, do I? I help you, or it’s Diamond come spring.” Charlotte said.
Yami shrugged, focusing on his food again. She wasn’t wrong.
“I suppose you didn’t get much choice either,” she continued.
He looked up to find her looking at him. The same direct stare from earlier. Like she was weighing him up. He waited for the usual bristling from his yoryoku when someone fronted up to him, but it remained curled under his skin, drifting, which was a first. Maybe it was sick? Could yoryoku get sick? He had no idea. He laid down his fork, unsure how to respond and watched Takeshi crush one of the peas into the salt shaker, only to have his hand smacked by one of the Blue Roses.
“I want” - there was a tug at the corner of her mouth, and she repeated the phrase, as if it were strange to her and she needed practice to get it right - “I want a seat at the table. I want them to listen to me, not shut me out. And none of that business of decisions being made over drinks at the tavern. We make them together.”
He nodded. Seemed fair.
“I want.” She took a deep breath. “I want my voice to matter. I want to be able to make a difference.”
“And the-“ and she blushed again, “the marriage.” She paused and gathered herself, sitting upright and squaring her shoulders. “Mother said…” and she flinched. Ever so slightly. More of a shiver. She turned an even deeper shade of red, her hands clasped in her lap. “What would your expectations be around the requirements of the marriage?”
Ah. He subdued the urge to pat her head and reassure her that he wasn’t some monster. “Political. The marriage. I’d expect you to be Clover’s queen, on the ruling council, at the helm. Frankly, I’m not planning to be around that much.” That’s what she wanted to hear, wasn’t it? Yes, we need to get married, but you don’t have to actually deal with me. “It’s more like a business deal,” he said. Wasn’t that how it usually worked for nobles? It’s what Ichika had said she would expect. “You can do your thing and I’ll do mine. I won’t get in your way.” He ignored the familiar bitterness that rose in the back of his throat. Wasn’t like it would be any different back home.
For a brief moment he imagined a world where this was a real marriage to someone he loved and who loved him back, like it would have been in the village. Before he became clan leader, then general, then one of the Ryuzen eight. Taking off his boots, hearing about her day. Inside jokes and smiles that were just for him. Her golden hair splayed across the pillow and the touch of her hands in the dark. His breath caught in his throat.
Bah! Rubbish! He shook himself. He was acting like a mewling teenager. He didn’t care about the marriage. He’d imagined some faceless noble who’d be as disinterested in him as he was in her, thrilled to be given the keys to the kingdom. When it came down to it, Miss Prickly would be delighted to get rid of him, and he of her. He shoved the moping boy in his head out of the door and slammed it behind him.
She gave him a quick look and nodded, her colour still high. “Ok. Agreed.” She smiled at him like a lightning strike breaking through the storm clouds, sudden, illuminating, and gone too soon.
He rubbed his hands on his hakama. Come on, man, grow up and get a grip. This was the right thing to do. For Clover, for Hino, for everyone, if Ryu were to be believed.
“But how’s this going to work? I can’t leave; I can’t go anywhere.” She began to play with her napkin again, folding it one way, then another. He watched her fingers pinch sharp edges, flex and fold, wend and weft, turn and turn about. His palms twitched again, with an urge to still her fidgeting, take her hands in his and calm her nerves.
“Then we come to you. Me and Jack, and Dorothy, the Royals and Ichika. Must be plenty of places where we can sit down and sort shit out.” And every meeting was going to either start or end with lunch. The food! It was the first time he’d felt full since landing, his body tired of standardised rations.
He grinned at her. “Relax, Prickly Princess. You’re in. That’s enough. We’ll figure the rest out as we go along.”
She nodded back, colouring once more for some reason. She turned serious again. “I want things to be better this time around.”
He nodded. Today had been a surprise. A good surprise. She was onboard, and it turned out she wasn’t a complete nightmare. They would sort the country out, and everything would be great. Ryu and Ichika would be happy, and he could return to being just simple ole Yami again and leave all this complicated politics stuff to someone else. Fixed by spring festival. Piece of cake.
*
“Utter rubbish.” Charlotte threw her pen down, her clipped tones projecting clearly around the room.
“Common sense.” Nozel glared across the table.
“Everyone who agrees with Charlotte, raise your hand.” Fuegoleon sounded weary, and they’d only been at this for a few days.
Jack's hand shot into the air, Fuegoleon’s inching up to shoulder height. Dorothy mumbled in her sleep, and her hand slowly levitated. Nozel went icy quiet again. Yami sighed to himself. If they weren’t careful, this was gonna be a problem. He caught Hardnose’s glance, flicking to Nozel and back to him. Yeah, yeah. He knew.
“Abstain,” Ichika announced. He and Ichika had decided to leave the Clovans to make their choices for the most part, holding back for the things that they cared about. The things on the list.
Charlotte didn’t even look up. “Of course, funding would need to be managed locally in line with the village chiefs.”
Jack opened his mouth to speak but shut it with an audible snap, rubbing his leg. Ichika’s hand reappeared on the table while Jack gave her the evil eye. Nozel appeared mollified, his ki calming.
Yami wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take. He was the Lord of Destruction, for scroll’s sake, not the Lord of Patch It Up and Make It Work. He’d seen today’s agenda. Know what was on it? Regional taxation and funding models. He understood they were important, but could they be important without him? And just, you know, happen? His eyes itched, and he wanted more coffee. The dream that kept waking him up and messing with his beauty sleep was coming more frequently now, every other night at least. It didn’t help that the mysterious figure had started to sharpen into focus. He grabbed the thought and shoved it away. Stupid dream serving up utter bullshit. Not what she wanted. Not what he wanted. Not part of the plan.
His gaze drifted to the window where a dozy bumblebee seemed as desperate to escape as he was, battering itself against the glass again and again. He got up to let it out. He rubbed the grittiness from his eyes. There must be something more vital for him to do, something more interesting.
Jack rapped on the table. “Time we stopped avoiding the elephant in the room.”
Their collective ki spiked, and Yami closed the window quietly, not wanting to call any attention to himself.
“The coronation and royal wedding.” Jack flung the words into the conversation, right on target.
Oh crap, not this again.
“We need a moment to bring the country together, a moment of celebration for everyone,” Fuegoelon said. They nodded along, all of them, even Charlotte. Even Ichika. Traitor. Why was it that the only thing they ever agreed on as a collective was him doing stuff he didn’t want to do?
“And we need it soon.” Fuegoleon continued.
Yami had promised three months, and the days were ticking past.
“So - over to you, Charlotte.” Fuegoleon turned to her. “Your town. Your wedding. Your coronation.”
“And there’s the elephant,” Jack said.
Charlotte flushed. Yami quashed an urge to punch Jack in the face. Yami might be socially inept at times, but even he knew that you didn’t go around comparing people to large lumbering animals.
“Jack, it’s not like we have a choice,” Ichika said. “And you were the one moaning about how all ceremonies only ever happened in the capital. You wanted somewhere in the common realm.”
“Love the location. Gorgeous. Shame it shows our weakness and starts people asking all sorts of questions - like why we’re crowning someone who might live forever. ‘Cause that worked so well in the past.” He looked at Dorothy, who twitched in her sleep. “And what happens next? Royal Wedding this year; next few years, Royal Baby. Oh no, wait.” And he leant back, folding his arms, his limbs looking even more out of place in a normal-size chair than they usually did. “What about the heir? What comes next?”
Charlotte remained silent, her expression impassive, but her ki roiled. Jack was about to get a briar smackdown if he wasn’t more tactful.
“We knew this coming in, and I still believe in our choice,” Fuegoleon said.
“And I’m not saying that I don’t, but we have a problem and pretending that it doesn’t exist won’t make it go away. When are you lot going to get your heads around that? It’s how you ended up in this mess in the first place,” said Jack.
And with that, they were back at each other’s throats again.
“So let’s fix the problem.” Yami had never understood why people felt the need to talk round and round rather than just do the damn thing. He could spend a few days figuring this out, and then they could move on. Job done. Now he came to think of it, he could form a team and execute it like any other campaign objective. It was the perfect excuse to be here, but away from all this crap. He could run his own meetings, ones that clashed with this one. He mentally patted himself on the back. This was the best idea he’d ever had.
Charlotte’s head snapped up. “Fix the problem?” A tendril of green snuck up out of her blouse, winding around her throat and into her hair. Yami caught her eye and pointedly scratched his neck. She flinched, the vine dissipating. Come on, Prickly Princess, get it together.
“Yeah. Break the curse. Get you out of here.” Get him out of this damn room.
She gaped at him, as did the rest of the table.
“I’m not saying we move the wedding, though.” One of the main reasons he still came to these meetings, apart from ensuring that they didn’t kill each other, was the food. A wedding feast was not something to be entrusted to the mess hall at the palace.
“So, foreigner, you’re just going to, what - break the curse?” Nozel said, lip curling.
Yami shrugged. Sure, why not?
“You don’t think that I’ve tried?” Her voice cracked like a whip. No vines, but she was gripping her pen like a knife.
Sheesh, he was only trying to help.
“You don’t think that I’ve tried everything? What, you think I’ve sat here doing nothing? Since I was eleven?” Charlotte’s scorn was palpable.
“Maybe a fresh pair of eyes…” Dorothy mused, blinking the sleep from her eyes, hand on her chin.
“An additional perspective might help,” Fuegoleon wouldn’t look at Charlotte.
Her chair screeched in protest, Charlotte already halfway to the door. She stopped in front of Yami. “You think I want this, don’t you? You think I’ve chosen this?” Disgust poured from her, her ki as clear as a summer lake. Disgust and anger and a cloud of hatred and regret and guilt. “Or do you think I’m so incompetent that I can’t possibly fix this myself? No. You’re worse,” she hissed, sibilant. “You think I need someone to rescue me. You think I need a big, strong, man to rescue me.”
Dorothy gave a little humph at that.
“Go on then. Be my guest. Break my curse. See if you can do a better job.” She slammed the door on her way out, the pictures on the wall rattling.
Ichika was giving him a look. The whole damn table was giving him a look.
“What?” he demanded.
She replied in Hino. “Sometimes, Sukehiro, you are the most dense and tactless person I’ve ever met.”
Hang on. He’d offered to help; he’d offered up his time and energy to help them out of a mess, and this was their response? He looked around. All of them. All of them were staring at him with that ‘Oh Yami, what have you done now?’ look. Fuck that. His yoryoku rumbled. He could’ve stayed home, made them send Yosuga instead, if he wanted to be treated like this. Well, forget them. He was gonna break this curse, and then she’d be grateful, then they’d all be grateful. One hundred days - three months, right? More like two now. But he had this. He’d show them. Telling him what he could and couldn’t do. He glared right back and tapped three fingers to his chest. Promise made. When he slammed the door behind him, he heard something heavy crashing to the floor, glass smashing. Ha! Serve them right.
*
Chapter 8: The Cursebreakers
Chapter Text
Finral was calling it Cursebreakers Central, but, stupid name aside, it was a nice enough room near the kitchens, and it caught the afternoon sun. When Yami walked in, Finral was deep in conversation with Magna and Luck, explaining something involving a lot of arm waving and hand gestures. From the mutters, Yami had a horrible feeling that there might be a secret password, possibly even a handshake. Fucks sake, Finral. What did he think this was? Fun? Breaking this curse was serious, country-protecting, save-the-world business. At least, that’s what Yami had explained to Ichika when he’d eventually found her in her strange little hole of an office. It was the reason he couldn’t come to any more council meetings. Such a pity, but what could he do? She’d stalked off, slamming the door behind her.
More people crowded into the sunny room, new faces from other teams sent to help. Sent to report back was what they meant, but Yami didn’t care. There was the pink-haired witch who followed Dorothy like a shadow, her cat on her shoulder, along with the worries of the world. A tall, masked man with a shock of red hair who sauntered in like he owned the place, the green sash that denoted Common Alliance slung around his skinny shoulders. Tch. Another tall man, taller than Yami, was trying to take up less space than his lanky form allowed. His tailored clothes and black-marked face shrieked villain, but his ki fluttered nervously. Dorothy had mentioned something about Clover’s premier curse expert, and this guy fit the bill.
Yami did a quick head count. He could do worse. He could do better, too. There were no highly trained Dark Knights here, but years in the military had taught him one thing: you used what you were given, and you didn’t complain. He was going to fix this for her. Whether she liked it or not.
He was about to yell at them all to shut up start the meeting when the door creaked open, and to his surprise, one of the last people in the world he’d expected to see walked in. He should’ve guessed.
“Hey, Puli. You here to help out, too?” Yami asked.
The woman didn’t meet his eye; she just nodded and looked around the crowded room.
“Let’s get you a chair,” Yami said, but Finral was already fussing around, moving the lanky, creepy guy so that he was between Dorothy’s pink-haired witch and Puli. The weird, mask-faced guy that Jack had sent sat on the dresser at the back of the room, and Puli settled herself in the open seat, smiling a quick thank you around the room. Her glance stopped at the curse mage. Dammit, Finral. The guy gave him the creeps, and Finral put Charlotte’s little spy right next to him. Yami believed that you shouldn’t judge a scroll by its box, but he was open to being wrong about things now and again. The curse mage made the hair on Yami’s neck stand up like a cat in an electrical storm.
“Hello, Gordon.” Puli’s smile softened, and her face turned rosy as she dropped her eyes to the table.
Yami dropped into his seat and pummelled the table with his fist. “Right, round the room - operation: break the Roselei curse. What do you know? What can you bring to the mission? You’re up first, Pulster.” He leant back, chair creaking.
Puli stared at him, eyes wide.
“Share what you know,” Yami encouraged her.
She glanced around the room, elbows tight to her ribs. “Um.”
“You what?” Magna peered over the table, then looked at Yami. “I can’t hear her.”
Yami wanted to throttle him. And her. He couldn’t make this any easier if he tried.
Puli cleared her throat, her hands poised in front of her diaphragm, then slumped. “I don’t think I should.” She sat back.
Gordon mumbled something at her.
“Oh, no one understood until the next morning when we all woke up, and it was just the same,” she replied, gazing up at the freaky guy.
He mumbled something else.
“Charlotte was still alive, so we thought maybe the curse had misfired? Then we all started realising that this was it. It was the curse, and we were all caught in it.” Puli looked down. “It wasn’t fun when everyone figured it wouldn’t change. And Charlotte.” Puli shuddered. “She blamed herself - still blames herself. We’ve all accepted it now, so it’s not so bad. But that first year.” Puli stared down at the table.
“If you know the curse was going to activate, why’d you stay?” The pinky-haired witch asked, curious, Finral and Jack’s guy also leaning in.
The curvy mage hunkered down in her chair and sighed. “The idea that she wouldn’t be able to beat it was just silly. Charlotte always succeeded at whatever she set out to do. She always won, was always so competent, so together. She told us not to come and refused to let us stay in the house, but we came to Roselei anyway, as we had faith in her. We insisted.” A bitter smile pulled at Puli’s mouth. “Lots of the people in town were the same.” Puli drew a little heart on the table with her finger. “When we went to ask for leave, our Captain said we were being naive. Guess she was right.”
“What happened?” Pinky asked, stroking the cat snoozing on her lap.
“Yeah, and why didn’t you do something, try to stop it?” Finral added.
“Ha! Like I said - we were in town. No one was with Charlotte. From what she can remember, her magic spiralled out of control, her briars exploded out of her - none of us could get near. You’ve seen Charlotte in action, yes? Looks ok, doesn’t it, being wrapped in some nice flowers? Just some thorns, it’s not so bad?” Puli turned to look at him. “Well, it’s awful.
“It’s like a hundred ropes are wrapping around you, hugging you, and you think it’s all fine. And you push one or two away, but they just keep coming. They’re squeezing tighter and tighter” - Puli held out her fists, squeezing them white - “and, whatever you do, more and more pile on until you realise that you can’t stop them. But it doesn’t matter - they’re just silly, pretty plants, right? Not real magic. Then you realise you can’t move, and that’s when the thorns start digging in.” Puli made claws with her hands, digging them into the flesh of her arm. “Little nips at first, but they drive in deeper, digging through your clothes, into your flesh. If you move, they bury deeper, and it feels like they’re trying to rip your skin open. So you stop struggling, and the bites burn, but that doesn’t bother you because now the vines are so tight you’re struggling to breathe. You’re gasping, trying to get any air you can. The briars are squeezing, harder and harder, black spots appear, and you’re fighting back, but it hurts, it burns, and you realise that next comes the breaking. And then, just before you pass out, as you flail and grasp and pray to the Great Spirits that someone will rescue you, flowers bloom around you and, as you lose consciousness, all you can smell is the sickly sweet scent of roses.” Puli choked back a retching sound. “And it’s your best friend doing it to you, and she’s completely out of control.” Puli trembled. Gordon poured her a glass of water, which she clutched in both hands. She sipped, staring at the table.
Yami glanced around the room. Dorothy’s pink-haired witch had a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide. Magna had his lips pinched together like he might be sick. The silence wrapped around them as crushing as any of Charlotte’s vines.
“Charlotte had been my friend for two years, and I’d seen what her briars could do, but when they’re clamped around you, smothering you, and you can’t breathe, and the thorns are digging in deeper and deeper - then you realise how terrifying she is, what she turned her magic into.” Puli breathed, her soft inhale and exhale filling the room.
When she spoke again, her voice was bright and brittle. “The next day, when we all woke up, we tried to cut through the barrier, but it's impenetrable - even the sharpest tools can’t pierce the stems. A few days later, someone on the outside must have noticed and persuaded a spatial mage to check in on us. We tried to leave via the portal, but walked straight through like they weren’t there. We tried everything we could think of - everything, but we can’t leave. It’s why we’re so dependent on the spatial community,” - she smiled at Finral - “for contact with the outside world.” She shrugged. “At least the curse only activated once - I don’t know what we’d do if that repeated every day. As it is, we wake up every morning, and everything’s exactly the same.”
No one said anything. No one moved.
Puli looked down at her hands and spoke softly. “It’s always September, and it’s always a beautiful autumn day. I hate autumn. I’d give anything to see a daffodil again. Or eat an ice cone fresh from the block. We track the dates, and Charlotte does her best, pretends that the festivals are real, and puts up garlands, but they don’t stay, and the weather’s always wrong, and the food’s always the same,” Puli sighed. “I hate autumn almost as much as I hate the smell of roses. I’d even take the doldrums of February for a change. Anything but stupid autumn.”
Yami cleared his throat. “Thank you, Puli.” He nodded at Finral to go next, unable to trust himself to say any more. Fuck. No wonder Charlotte was so obsessed with her team and so protective of her people. There was a monster at the heart of Roselei: it was tall and blonde and had a face like the changing sky. He folded his arms across his chest. The simple smashing violence of a fight was something he understood, but this slow curdling of sympathy was something new and left him feeling raw and exposed; he didn’t like it.
“Hi, I’m Finral. Um. I don’t know anything about the curse, but I know that we spatial mages can’t portal in after dark. And that’s it. Nothing more from me. No more curses here.” He looked at the pink-haired witch, a charming smile on his lips.
“Vanessa.” The witch waved at the others around the table. “I don’t know about curses either, but I know about cages. I was trapped in a cage for the longest time, until Queen Dorothy freed me.” She looked at Puli. “If there is anything that I can do, anything in my power that will help to release you, then I will.” The cat, previously snoozing on her lap, stalked down the table to rub itself against Puli’s hand.
“Thank you.” Puli stroked the cat as it purred under her fingers.
Vanessa nodded in return. Where was the shy, quiet shadow now? Yami’s curiosity tingled.
Jack’s weird masked guy waved from the back of the room. “Hey. Zora. Alliance, out of Senta. No clue about curses or cages or portals or any of that shit. But I got other skills.” And he leaned back against the wall, smirking.
“Yeah?” Yami eyed the kid. Trust Jack to send them some mouthy punk with grand ideas and an ego the size of the lanky beanpole himself.
“Yeah.” Zora met him, look for look. Then smiled, his sharp teeth cutting a swathe across his masked face. “Let’s just say that my track record in hunting down information is good. And setting traps to capture said information is better. And dealing with corrupt individuals with that information is even better than that.”
He must be one of Jack’s recon specialists who ran the surveillance ops - picked the targets and kept the troops clear of any nasty surprises on the ground. Trust Jack indeed: if he’d handed over one of his precious intel operatives to help, Yami owed him a drink and maybe an apology. Well, getting one out of two wasn’t bad.
A mumbling came from Gordon.
“What did he say?” muttered Finral.
“Gordon, sweetie. Slow down and speak up. Just like we practised.” Vanessa patted his hand, earning herself a hard look from Puli.
“I’m Gordon.” His air of concentration was impressive. “Of House Agrippa, a house with generations of curse mages. We know all the major curses in Clover. The curse that must not be named, the curse on House Legolant and, of course, the Roselei curse.”
Yami checked in on Puli, who was cuddling Pinky’s cat; her ears were red, and her ki was bopping all over the place.
“I would appreciate the opportunity to examine the curse at close proximity. To see and observe the keystone, in particular.” He gazed at Puli.
Puli went very still. “What keystone?” Then she squeezed her lips shut like she’d said something she wasn’t supposed to.
Gordon mumbled and looked at Vanessa. “He says ‘the one that tethers and powers the curse, the one that’s draining Lady Charlotte’s mana’.”
“I heard. Gordon’s come here a few times over the years. I can understand him.” Puli said. “But I don’t know anything about a keystone. Or know what one is.” Her face turned red as her ears, and she was obviously lying.
Vanessa listened again. “He says that ‘a curse this powerful needs a conduit, and that it must be somewhere in Roselei.’” Vanessa shrugged. “He’s surprised that it’s not better known.”
Finral stuck his hand in the air and looked expectantly at Yami. What was this, school? Yami waved at him to continue.
“What’s a keystone? And what does it do?” Finral asked.
Gordon took a deep breath. “A keystone anchors a curse binding and channels the energy needed to maintain the spell. The curse and the keystone are the very best of friends, their love and companionship feeding one another. When a curse breaks, the keystone never forgets its companion, the attachment never truly rent asunder. Some of the most powerful magic stones are former keystones, originally powered by curse magic, retaining the power accumulated over time.” He pulled a terrifying face that might have been an attempt at a smile. “As well as draining the mana of the host, the keystone feeds on the forbidden magic of the curse spell, binding the mana of our world to the power of the other world, a tie of true affinity, unbelievably powerful. It’s why high-level curses are nearly impossible to break.”
Yami’s ears pricked up. “What do you mean, nearly impossible?”
Gordon’s lips pulled back again to reveal tombstone teeth in a rictus grin. “The strongest curses have break clauses: ways to break the spell. It keeps them supple and alive. In their absence, like a man separated from his friends, you could cast the strongest curse in the world, but it will become hard and brittle until it snaps under the weight of its power. All the best curses have a break clause; we need to work together to discover what it is.”
Finral raised his hand again, interrupting his note-taking. “Like true love’s kiss?”
Gordon nodded. “Or an impossible quest.”
“Or a deflection. Did any new structures or weird totems appear? Was there a mirror that tried to talk to anyone? Or an animal that started to follow Charlotte around?” Zora asked Puli, who looked confused.
“Or a potion. We should look at potions.” Vanessa said, waving her hand in the air.
These were all great ideas. Yami beamed at his team. At this rate, they’d have this curse broken by next week, let alone two months, no problem. “Hey, you guys got anything to add?” Yami turned to Magna and Luck.
His idiots shook their heads, mute for once.
“So, find the keystone and work out the break clause,” Zora said, rubbing his hands together.
A babble broke out around the table as everyone started putting forward their idea of where the keystone might be. Puli sat mute, staring at the table as ideas and plans flew around her.
When they packed up at the end of the meeting, Yami caught Zora’s eye. The lanky weirdo hung back while Yami went to make a new friend.
“Yo, Gordo.” He clapped the tall guy on the back. “You got a minute?”
“I would be deeply honoured to help you, Lord Yami. Thank you for the opportunity to be here today. To be able to assist such a noble cause and to make new acquaintances.”
Right.
Puli hovered at the door and shot Yami a dirty look before stomping down the corridor. Soon, it was just him, Gordon, and Zora left.
“This keystone. Think you could find it?”
Gordon shook his head. “Keystones are usually highly guarded, stored in mana-tight rooms that only certain people can enter. No one would risk losing their keystone; it would be like losing your grimoire.“ He looked more horrifying as he pulled a face.
OK. “Anything else that might stand out about these rooms?”
“They’re often below ground.” Gordon offered. “The earth helps mute the mana.” He shifted his feet. “I’m sorry. That’s all I have. Lady Charlotte is my friend. I want to help. My family - Lady Charlotte has been asking for their assistance for years.” He looked embarrassed. Yami guessed that the conversation hadn’t gone so well. “I would do anything to help my friends escape this terrible situation.”
Yami threw an arm around his skinny shoulders. “Well, now you’re offering, Gordon, there is something you could do.”
A shy smile creased across Gordon’s face. “There is?”
“Uh-huh. You’re the expert here. Why don’t you interview a few people? Get their stories about the curse. See if they have any theories about how to break it?”
Gordon nodded slowly. “Yes, like a study.”
“Exactly.” Yami nodded along. “Maybe start with the young woman from Prickly’s team who was here today.”
Gordon brightened. “You mean, Puli? Do you think she’d be happy to talk to me?”
“Gordon, I promise you she’ll be happy to talk to you. And maybe find out if there’s anything that we missed. You know, if there’s anything that she forgot to mention.”
Gordon nodded again. “Of course, Lord Yami. I would be delighted to spend time with my friend, Puli.”
Yami glanced at Zora as Gordon rushed out of the room, chasing after Puli.
“You clear?” Yami asked.
“Crystal.” Zora made a little salute. “Poke around the castle. Start in the cellars. Get you a list of locked rooms and doors in what two days? Nice work on the lover birds by the way.”
“Dunno what you mean.”
Zora chortled, whistling as he strolled off, hands stuffed in his pockets.
Two days was a reasonable timeframe, but there had to be a way to speed this up. Her face, screwed up with fury, popped into his mind. Yami sighed to himself and scratched his neck. If he wanted information quickly, there was only one place to go - back to the source.
*
Chapter 9: Nothing Fades, Nothing Sours
Chapter Text
He needed to give Zora time to work, but Dorothy was nagging him and he had to get answers out of Miss Prickly sometime soon. When he portalled into the square the following day, Yami took a deep breath, the smells of the garden and the earth had a crisp edge to the air that hinted at changes to come. The scent of autumn usually meant the end of the campaign season and a return to the capital or the village before the winter snow. Now it meant a tingle down his back and a tightness in his chest that came with being ready for anything.
Anything was sitting on the fountain, wearing a skirt and blouse, no training gear in sight. She stood as soon as he appeared.
“Where the hell have you been?” she said.
“Nice to see you too, Charlotte. How’s your day? Any plans? I’m great, thanks for asking.” Yami kept walking. He wasn’t ready for this yet. Anyway, he had places to go and witches to see.
“We don’t have time for that!” She came right up into his space. Voluntarily. He nearly stumbled. “Don’t you know what they’ve done? Sneaky, underhand, wretched-“ the steam was practically coming out of her ears - “interfering, backstabbing-“
“Yeah, yeah. I get it. Cut to the chase, Prickles.” What did she have her knickers in a twist about this time?
“It’s-“ she stumbled over the words. “They’ve-“
She touched his arm, her fingers cold, and he waited for her grumbling to continue. She held on, the tiniest amount of pressure, the slightest tremor, a hint of anxiety escaping her irritation. What had they done now? If bloody Jack had been goading her again, he’d be having words.
She inhaled and blurted it out in a rush. “They want us to meet with a wedding planner.” She said the words like other people said things like ‘international crime lord’ or ‘homicidal maniac’.
His breath exploded out of him. “Ok. Well, just meet with the wedding planner and tell them what you want, and it’ll be done.” For fucks sake, Prickles; he’d thought it was something serious.
“Me? Why me? You meet with the damn wedding planner and tell him what you want.” She placed herself in his path, body-blocking him.
“I don’t know - I don’t care.” Yami stepped around her, determined not to be drawn into something so trivial. He could just imagine the Dark Knights‘ reaction; most of them, the samurai in particular, only followed him because he was the best, and he was the best because he terrified the life out of them, and everyone else in Hino, too. Wedding planning did not fit with his tough guy image. So, no. Not happening.
“And you think I do?” Her voice cracked.
“Oh, come on, you must have an idea. Like fluffy dresses that you drew as a kid or some shit.” Even Ichika had gone through a wedding phase, drawing pictures of uchikake, forcing him to play groom while her dolls married them. He shuddered just thinking about the no-expense-spared, imaginary tea party that had followed.
Charlotte looked blankly at him. “I drew armour. When I was a child, I drew my own armour.” Her eyes went all misty and far away. “It was designed to withstand anything. With a rune display to deflect malignant attacks and mana reinforcement patterns worked into the design.” She twirled her fingers, demonstrating.
“Well… crap. But- you were always going to get married at some point, weren’t you?” She was a noble, wasn’t she? So marriages were a business deal, brokered and documented within an inch of their fluffy dresses. “Didn’t you make any plans?”
She shrugged. “Mother.”
Yami scratched his neck. She looked up at him. He sighed, resigning himself to the loss of another day. “Let’s just do whatever they want us to do. Seeing as you don’t care, and I don’t know what a Clover wedding looks like. We’ll just let them pick.”
She nodded, eyes not leaving his face.
“Together?” he asked, already knowing the answer and kicking himself for it.
She nodded again, but he could see she’d relaxed a little, her expression softer, her hands clasped rather than clutched.
Ok, cool. As they walked up the hill, side by side, he shoved the image of his Dark Knights smirking at him out of his mind. He could take some time out; Charlotte needed him. Dorothy could wait. He ignored the prickling on his neck that said that Dorothy’s little pink paws were all over this. And that there was no such thing as coincidence. But hey, he’d conquered half of Hino by the time he was twenty; he could cope with a wedding planner. And anyone who mocked him would get an instant transfer to the shittiest postings from here to Heart. He braced himself. I mean, how bad could it be?
*
“I pulled every string I have at my disposal” - Dorothy’s eyes flickered to Vanessa, whose cat seemed very tired today - “to get him here. He has a waiting list that goes on for years. He might be young but he is an aesthetic genius and the arbiter of taste and beauty in Clover. He is the single person who will decide whether this wedding is a success or a failure.” She fixed them both with an intent stare. Yami caught a glimpse of the real Dorothy, the Witch Queen who’d taken down her predecessor in a magical battle that, Jack said, had lit up the skies for a week. “Do. Not. Embarrass. Me.” She reverted to her usual chirpy self in a flash, as if the mask hadn’t fallen. “And don’t forget to have fun, guys! You only get married once, after all!”
Yami swallowed, his mouth dry.
The wedding planner drifted into the room in a cloud of cherry blossoms and floated up to Charlotte, kissing her hand and declaring, “Beautiful.” He air-kissed Dorothy, their cheeks as far from one another as the flanks of a well-executed formation, and gazed around in approval, nodding.
Yami braced himself. The wonder-kid’s gaze snagged on him.
“Oh.” Kirsch Vermillion’s face was a study as he surveyed Yami from his scuffed boots to his butchered hair (‘A pair of scissors is just two blades. I’m good with blades,’ Jack had said. Yeah, right.)
“Overly muscular. Manly. And yet - boyish.” He paused, sensing something unseen. “Strange mana. But enough of it.” He pursed his lips. “Unusual. Yes, unusual. Unusual, I can work with.”
Yami blinked.
“I’m thinking an ode to the nature of time. The unusual nature of time,” he added, glancing at Yami. “Yes! We’ll highlight the ephemeral nature of human life and love against the solid beat of history, the permanence of the institution of marriage, the monarchy and Clover.” He paused as if waiting for something.
Dorothy burst into applause. “Gorgeous! We love it!” She elbowed Vanessa, who jumped and then started clapping along.
Yami shot Charlotte a look and rolled his eyes at her. She sat next to him on the sofa, her arms and legs casually arranged, but her body radiating raw tension like a new recruit before battle. Her narrowed eyes tracked Kirsch as he moved around the room. Yami almost felt sorry for the guy.
“I have mood boards,” Kirsch announced. He clapped his hands, the Blue Roses and Takeshi stumbling in, burdened with large canvas-covered boards adorned with fabric swatches, paint stripes and pictures of everything from a lone tree on a hillside to a waterfall. Yami had no idea what any of it meant, and from her muted ki and the slight furrow in her brow, he guessed that Charlotte didn’t either.
Kirsch struck a pose in the middle of the room, surrounded by his vision. “I envisage a spring wedding, April to be precise.”
Yami snorted under his breath. He had two senior royals and a magic-clad surrender that said it would be April or heads would roll. Most likely his. And if this whole gamble failed then it seemed like everyone else’s on the council would too, reports from the borders talking about an early thaw and movement on the Diamond side. Jack said the villages nearest the border were sending increasingly demanding messages. They needed reinforcements - local ones please, not those scary foreigners. They needed the council to hurry up and get Parliament up and running again, to bring back the Magic Knight squads - and that, according to Fuegoleon, was resting on the wedding. The nobles refused to hand over their cash without assurances that they weren’t going to be left with just Yami, planted on a tin-pot throne with a dented crown on his head. The idea of sitting there by himself- Dammit, he needed Charlotte out of here.
The boy-genius was wafting an arm at the mood boards and around the room, jabbering away. Takeshi glowered at Yami from behind the nearest board, but Yami ignored him. If he was dumb enough to get swept up in all this bullshit, he deserved it. Yami wasn’t bailing him out. The Roses were oohing and ahhing at everything that spilled from Kirsch’s mouth. Puli squeaked at one point, nearly dropping her board; the sofa cushions behind him shifting as Charlotte shuddered.
He muttered out of the corner of his mouth. “Hold on, Prickles. Can’t be long now. How much can anyone say about a single wedding?” She cast him a sidelong look and appeared unconvinced.
She was right. It turned out that the answer was quite a lot.
Yami jerked awake when a sharp elbow drove into his stomach; he figured she was aiming for his kidney.
Kirsch stood in front of them, regarding Charlotte. She had pushed herself as far back as she could go into the sofa, dug into the upholstery as if seeking a wall against which to place her back, somewhere to make her final stand. Her entire body tensed, and Yami was close enough to sense the mana swirling under her skin. It was Nozel and the briars all over again.
Yami prodded her in the ribs making her jump. “Together,” he muttered, reminding her. She stared at him for a moment, then nodded back. Yami released his breath.
Kirsch scrutinised Yami, looking him up and down like a disappointed mother, then paced away, to where Dorothy perched across the room watching everything with amused beady eyes.
Puli appeared with the tea tray. She’d clearly been demoted from board duty. “Did you want-”
“Oh!” Charlotte let out an exclamation, staring into her cup.
“Did Puli forget the strainer again?” Selena asked from across the room.
“No.” Charlotte remained fixated on her cup.
“What is it, Charlotte?” Puli peered over into the cup and stopped. “It’s- it’s the milk, it's gone off.” Puli stared as Charlotte was doing.
“That’s impossible,” Selena said.
They were all being ridiculous. “Guess someone left it out too long.” So the milk had gone off, icky curdled bits floating around in the tea. Good news for him - he might finally get a decent cup of tea without the nasty cow juice Charlotte insisted on dumping in every chance she got. He forced himself to choke it down when he had to. Jack, though. Yami shuddered internally. Jack added two spoons of sugar every. single. time. Grim.
“No. It’s impossible,” repeated Selena, her voice muffled by her board. “It can’t go off, Yami. We’re in Roselei, and in Roselei nothing ever changes. Nothing can. Nothing rots, nothing fades, nothing sours. It just is.”
Puli sniffed at the milk. “It’s only just on the turn,” she said, staring at Charlotte now, eyes wide. Charlotte went quiet, transfixed by her cup of tea, pink spreading across her cheeks. Being embarrassed by serving some off milk seemed strange to him, but Clover customs remained a mystery.
“It's Roselei. Nothing ever changes; everything stays the same,” Selena repeated.
Yami was about to point out that this clearly wasn’t true when Kirsch reappeared. Kirsch glanced down at Yami’s tea, his face clearing, lighting up.
“Black!” Kirsch’s eyes glowed. “So unexpected. So daring. So unusual. You, my dear future monarch, will be dressed in black.”
Finally, something sensible. Black was cool. Yami was down with that.
“But you- you will be a vision.” Kirsch turned to Charlotte and narrowed his eyes, all business now, the posturing vanishing. “He will represent everything new, the changing world. They will see him coming and be fearful for the future. You will represent the established order, the status quo, the hand that tamed the beast. They will look at you and see continuity and stability. They will see hope in the new world.” Kirsch’s mouth settled into a grim line. “I will make this wedding scream a message of Clover strong and united, to our allies, and to our enemies. I will not let my family down. And it will be beautiful.”
Yami saw the family resemblance to Fuegoleon now, hard noses all.
Kirsch turned back to the room, poise and posturing returning. “Thank the great spirits of Clover that I am a genius. No one else, no one,” he said to Dorothy, who was nodding along, “could pull off anything like I’m suggesting in just two months. But, lucky for you, I am here. We’ll simply have to make it work. Witch girl,” - he waved at Vanessa - “Come prepared. There will be fittings! Lots and lots of fittings!”
Charlotte opened her mouth as if to protest, but Kirsch had already pulled her to her feet and prodded her.
“Ow! What are you- hey!” She slapped his hand away, face red. “Don’t you dare touch me.”
Yami waited for the explosion. Kirsch was an idiot if he thought she’d let him get away with this, but Charlotte merely sat there, eyes screaming. Well. If Kirsch dragged him about and prodded him like that he wasn’t standing for it. Yami took another glance at Charlotte’s pinched face. Yeah. If Kirsch prodded him like that he was going down, Dorothy or no Dorothy.
“Witch girl!” Vanessa appeared at Kirsch’s side. “I need muslins of these by the end of the day.” And he waved over another lackey toting sheaves of paper. He looked Charlotte up and down, “And then we’ll be able to start working out what we can fix and what is, regrettably, unfixable.” Kirsch scrutinised her, a slow, critical once over but wasn’t stupid enough to prod her again. “Something more elegant would be preferable” - Charlotte looked outraged - “But,” Kirsch shrugged, “it is the true artist who perseveres and triumphs even in adversity. I will make it work, as I must.”
Charlotte turned scarlet and crossed her arms across her chest, throwing herself back into the delicate sofa. Yami bit back a laugh, regarding her from behind his teacup, waiting to see what she’d do next. He had to give it to Miss Prickly - she could be a pain but she was never boring. Charlotte’s eyes darted around, fixing on the large French doors on the opposite side of the room, leading to the terrace.
Yami put down his tea ready to grab her if she made a sudden break for it. “Don’t you dare make a run for it, Prickles. Or I’m coming too,” he muttered near her ear, her hair tickling his nose.
“I can defeat them.” She muttered back, leaning toward him, glaring briars at Kirsch as he swept around the room, Dorothy in tow, hanging off Kirsch’s every word. “I can definitely defeat him.” Her eyes narrowed into dark slashes. Yami didn’t disagree.
Vanessa’s little cat padded up and sat at their feet. “Miaow.” It declared, its little red eyes focused on her. It batted Charlotte’s feet until she picked it up and dumped it on his lap.
“Think you might have missed your window.” Mana rolled off the little cat; Yami had some private suspicions about what Pinky and the cat might be doing for their royal boss.
Vanessa hustled up, clutching a measuring tape, grimoire glowing. “I’m sorry about that,” she murmured, “but it’s worse if you fight it. Better to give in and let it wash over you.” She glanced back at Dorothy as she said this, quickly looking away when the Witch Queen caught her eye.
Charlotte gave Vanessa a hard stare, and Yami smothered another smile. Hadn’t the young witch realised that his Prickly Princess was about as familiar with ‘not fighting it’ and ‘giving in’ as she was with fancy weddings? He’d only known the woman a few weeks, and it was as plain as the writing on his scroll to him. He scratched the cat under its chin until it started to purr.
“If I could take some quick measurements? I'll be quick, I promise.”
Charlotte got to her feet and shuffled forward until she was clear of the sofa, holding out her arms like a small child waiting to be dressed, her mouth turned down in a mulish pout. Vanessa rapidly wrapped and released the cord from various parts of Charlotte’s body, making notes in a little book. “And don’t listen to Kirsch, he doesn’t care about people, only about the lines of the fabric. It’s not personal. I think that you have a very nice body.” As she wrapped the cord around Charlotte’s back, Vanessa snuck Yami a knowing glance.
Yami choked on his tea. What the hell was Vanessa playing at? He could feel his ears burning.
Charlotte was sneaking glances over to the French doors again, her face aflame. Time to get her out of here before she insulted Dotty’s fancy wedding friend and Dorothy’s inner witch surfaced.
Vanessa stood up from her final measurements and stretched out her back, her cat giving a purrup, clambering off Yami’s lap and padding over to his mistress. “All done.”
“It’s been a blast, but Prickles and I have important monarch stuff to do. Gotta go.” He grabbed Charlotte’s hand, patted Dorothy on the head, and ignored Takeshi’s silent plea. “Hey, Pinky, walk us out, would ya?”
Charlotte fled as soon as they left the room, her face still red. Yami suspected she might be off to sabotage the fancy-pants Vermillion, but who was he to complain? Or maybe she was on the hunt for the mysterious milk-monster who was ruining her precious cups of tea. His lips curled into a smile watching her go. Idiot.
“Hey, kid.” Yami said, regarding the pink-haired witch. “You good? Seemed a lot of fetching and carrying and stuff Boy Genius has got you doing. You ok with that? Thought you had a lot on your plate already running around after that Queen of yours.” Now that he was paying attention, it looked like Pinky was as tired as her cat.
Vanessa scooped the cat off the floor, where it was winding around her legs, and held him to her chest.
“Hey. You’re friends with Finral, right?” It was none of his business, really; she was one of Dorothy’s after all, but she was also a cursebreaker and one of his people, kinda, at least for now.
She nodded.
“Then you know where to find me - find us. You're always welcome if you need a break or somewhere to hang out.”
Vanessa's eyes widened.
“No pressure. Offer’s open if you want it; it’s up to you. Figured you might want to escape from all that” - he jerked his thumb towards the salon - “for a bit. Your choice.” He folded his arms. “Okay?”
Vanessa nodded again, clearing her throat. “Thank you.”
Yami clapped her on the shoulder. Nice girl. Tough gig working for Boy Genius and her Royal Sleepiness but she’d work it out. He slipped out the door into the gardens, the mid-afternoon sun a warming brazier at his back. He avoided the rose garden, heading past the box hedging towards the old part of the house. It was the oldest part of Roselei, filled with tight corners, ancient flagstones and so many possibilities. He had a few clear hours before heading home, he’d do some snooping of his own. He whistled tunelessly as he strode down the avenue; he had two leads and some suspicions to figure out.
*
Chapter 10: Romancing the Stone
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Yami threw the door open, the delicate gilt carvings trembling as they impacted against the wall. The Royal Palace hadn’t been designed to withstand one Yami, let alone two. Just as well they’d left the rest of the clan at home. The aunties alone would have this place turned inside out in less than a day. Vanessa stepped delicately around him, ignoring the mess, Finral on her tail. Jack was lounging with Dorothy, a half-played game of chess sitting between Ichika and Fuegoleon. They all looked up at him, startled.
“You’re back early.” Dorothy leant her chin on the back of the sofa, eyes on him.
“Your little operation was a bust then?” Jack unfurled his legs, smirking.
“Not exactly.” Yami sauntered over to the table. Zora was going to need some space to work. “You guys heard of a keystone?”
Fuegoleon sucked his breath. “Wait, you think…”
“Gordon” - Yami nodded to Dorothy. She’d come up with the goods with him for sure - “reckons there has to be for a curse that powerful.”
“I knew it!” Dorothy smacked the cushion next to her. “She’s been holding out on me all these years.”
“We think it’s in the castle. Zora’s been hunting it down for me.”
Fuegolon nodded, his face serious. “That’s a serious heft of magic, Yami. If the wrong person gets their hands on something like a curse stone, and figures out how to wield it-”
“I’m not looking to wield it-”
“I didn’t say that you were-”
“I’m trying to break this stupid curse so that we can get her out of that pokey town and get her back here, where she belongs. If the stone is powering the curse, surely we just break the stone and-” Yami gestured, making a boom motion with his hands. “Right?”
Fuegoleon and Dorothy shrugged and looked at each other.
“At this point, Yami, dear, you’re the expert,” Dorothy said, nestling into the sofa. She looked like she couldn’t care less, but her ki was buzzing.
Jack was so excited that he was practically bouncing. “I was raised on stories of magic beans and magic geese and magic houses and magic stones.” He bubbled over with glee. “And now I get to be in one.”
Fuegoleon came over to Yami, speaking in low tones. “Are you sure about this? Are we pushing her too far, too hard?”
Ichika overheard. “What choice do we have?” She looked tired, purple shadows under her eyes. “You know better than them” - she nodded at Dorothy and Jack - “how things are going. Just think what it would mean if we broke the curse. The impact at home would be huge - and abroad…” She and Fuegoleon exchanged a look. Yami understood. They made this work, or it was Diamond once the snows melted.
They’d heard stories of Diamond and its famed mountains even in Hino. Golden nuggets the size of your fist lazing in the riverbeds, just waiting to be picked up. Mines heavy with diamonds and emeralds and every precious metal under the sun. Would set you up for life if you could make it out of the land-locked, barren wastes, full of bandits and brigands only too happy to relieve any lucky prospector of their takings. And if they didn’t get you, the famed shining generals would. All the riches in the world, and most of the ordinary people would trade it all for a koku of rice, which Clover was in no state to spare right now. Yami sighed. Another problem for future Yami. Or future Charlotte. She’d written a plan for Clover; maybe she could figure out Diamond, too?
Zora appeared, his arms filled with rolls of paper.
Jack clapped his hands together. “Let’s see what you found, Ideale.”
With Fuegoleon’s help, they rolled the papers back, detailed images of Roselei appearing on the table.
“I snuck these out of Roselei, they’re the original blueprints of the house. This section” - Zora gestured - “is relatively modern. The foundations are solid but well mapped. If we hunted through the royal library, we’d probably find a copy there as well.”
Fuegoleon and Jack peered at the detail. Yami’s brain had already suggested ten ways to decimate the building, either alone or in a team. The hillside placement was tricky, but with a decent squad of long-range mages or a few sneaky up-close demolition specialists, even a fortress like Roselei could be conjured into rubble given enough time and power.
“This is where we should concentrate our efforts.” Zora tapped a blank area under the body of the oldest part of the house. “No way those foundations don’t go deep.”
Fuegoleon nodded. “There’s a staircase here and here that go down further than this floor. Nozel might remember more: we visited as children and played hide and seek. There was a cubby here that we used a lot. And storerooms down here. Does she post a guard?”
Zora nodded. “One of them is always nearby. She has a couple of older retainers who use the kitchens here, but there’s at least one Rose around and about whenever I go by. They have a rota.” He smirked and produced another piece of paper from his pocket.
Jack cackled and pounded Zora on the back. “Bet they didn’t even see you coming.” Jack’s gloating made Yami’s jaw ache. They were all in this together, weren’t they? One vision for Clover and all that. Charlotte and her team had trained well against frontal attacks. He might need to have words with them about keeping an eye on their backs.
Zora caught Yami’s look of disapproval. “We needed it,” he muttered, glancing up, not at his boss, but at Yami, for some reason. “We need to know who’s on rota so that we can work out a distraction.”
The kid wasn’t wrong. Yami took the sheet and tapped on a name. “Here. Tomorrow afternoon.”
“She won’t just walk away, you know.” Zora pointed out.
“I don’t need her to leave, I just need her to be preoccupied.” Yami looked at the corner where an oblivious Gordon had his nose in a book. “And I have an idea on how we can do that.”
*
The manor house was quiet, the Blue Roses mostly out on their afternoon patrol, the older couple who haunted the kitchens taking a break before dinner. Yami had come, as planned, from the town, having watched Charlotte stride away with her team before looping back up to the house. Zora had snuck in through the gardens. Vanessa and Finral - he had no idea how they’d got here, but as long as they were unseen, it made no difference. They gathered in an alcove off the corridor that ran from the large, well-lit rooms that Charlotte normally used to the small, dim cubbys of the older part of the house. The doorways were low: he had to remember to duck, and the floor was slippery from the passage of centuries of slippered feet.
Zora gave a thumbs-up. Yami slid round the corner, Vanessa and Finral right behind. Gordon had been delighted at the suggestion that he show his friend Puli his collection of hexes and cure-alls. Yami dreaded to think, but the curvy Rose had happily settled herself down next to Gordon in the scullery. Luck was in position across the way. Yami checked his wrist for the thin bracelet of thread, still impressed. So simple, so clever: two tugs meant watch out. Three for abort.
“Follow me.” Zora walked them past silent still rooms, laundry rooms, cold storage, a butler’s pantry. All essential for the day-to-day activities of a great house; all lying empty and useless. Through a room hemmed in by dressers, crowded with crockery. Through a shabby, unassuming door that looked more like the opening of a cupboard, a set of stairs curved down. Yami couldn’t imagine Nozel sneaking down here to play hide and seek, but then Yami couldn’t imagine Nozel either being a child or playing at anything for that matter.
They followed Zora down, Yami tugging at the loose collar of his juban. He’d always hated tight spaces, came of being too damn big for most of them, and this place was making him feel - breathy. The walls were heavy and tight, the weight of the mansion over his head, bearing down. Not a minute too soon, the stairs ended in a cramped room that held a single door, Zora pouring mana into a number of traps he’d clearly prepared, the arrays lighting up as he worked his way through them. Yami had seen many of the patterns before: lock-picking spells, spells for inviting things in, spells to force entry. He focused on his breath, hoping no one noticed how he was sweating, gripping tight on his fear, refusing to let it tell him what to do. He wasn’t just Yami Sukehiro, child of the tribe; he was Yami, leader of his clan, feared and despised, ruthless and brutal. A Yami couldn’t be scared of a few pounds of rock over his head.
The lock clicked, and the door swung inwards. The jolt of power from the open door slammed into Yami, rocking him on his feet. He could see the others flinching back likewise.
Rippling light flowed over the walls of the circular room, emanating from a single source. The power was stronger here, so heavy Yami could almost taste it. He could have picked it out of a crowd, out of any amount of people; it was lush and ripe, sharp and twisted through with darkness. It was her, but pulsing with something else, something that felt like his Dark Yojutsu. He reached out to touch it and yanked his hand back, hissing and wincing as mana jolted up his arm.
The others were staring slack-jawed at the stone. A milky marbled thing, tiny really, like a small rock or a big pebble and yet…
Finral cleared his throat. “So. What’s the plan? We’re going to just, break the thing?”
“How’re you planning to get close enough for that?” Vanessa drifted her hand close to the shield, her threads shrivelling on contact.
Zora looked at Yami. “Can’t you…” And he waved an arm as if to say, Get in there, sort it out, stop messing around.
Yami muttered under his breath, extending his yojutsu. Just like Dorothy had said, the hex work was extraordinary. Then another thought occurred to Yami, one that twisted him inside. If the stone broke - when the stone broke, what would happen to Charlotte? Would breaking the stone free her, or shatter her into pieces? He breathed in, and out, the centuries of rocks over his head pressing down again. It would be fine. They’d figure this out way before it came to that.
His dark yojutsu drifted around the shield, his yoryoku buzzing like the whining vibrations of the village weather vane when a typhoon was brewing out at sea. Each contact sent his nerve endings skittering, gritting his teeth, his hair standing on end, the static making his clothes stick to his skin.
“Urgh.” This was no good. “It’s solid.” Not impenetrable - he could, through the interference, sense areas where the magic felt weaker. Areas where his dark yojutsu could, if he willed it, potentially break through for a moment, but it wouldn’t hold. Not long enough to get the stone out.
He felt a sharp tug on his wrist - one, two.
“Time to go.” Yami cast one last glance back at the glowing shield. Maybe it wasn’t a bad thing that the curse-spell protected the stone so well. Charlotte might be annoying as hell - prickly, defensive and stubborn as a rock - but nothing that she did would make him do anything to hurt her. They hustled back up the stairs, Zora wiping all traces of his traps as they went.
As they snuck down the corridor, past the open door to the scullery, Yami risked a quick glance. Puli had her arms wrapped around the curse mage’s neck in a firm grip, her mouth locked onto his in a kiss, Gordon’s arms loosely and somewhat awkwardly draped around her.
“Nice one, Gordon,” Zora muttered, peeking over Yami’s shoulder.
Yami thought Zora might be giving credit where credit wasn’t due. Puli was a determined woman, even if she had strange taste. Heh. If someone could fancy Gordon that much, maybe there was hope for the rest of them, too.
They were nearly out of the old passageways, about to cross into the newer part of the house with its large windows and graceful proportions, when voices bubbled through the window. Clipped vowels and high-pitched chatter. Shit. Finral and Vanessa, leading the way, froze. The voices carried past the front of the house, headed towards the main door.
What do we do? Finral, mouthed silently.
Vanessa elbowed him. “Portal,” she whispered.
“I can’t - it only works in the square.” Finral hissed back, then frowned at Vanessa. “Wait, you thought I was making you walk up the hill for fun?” he said at his usual volume.
“Shhhhh!” all three of them hissed, Vanessa slapping a hand to Finral’s mouth. Zora checked the corridor for movement.
“No!” Vanessa whispered. “I thought he,” and she jerked a thumb at Yami, “was making us walk up the hill for fun.”
Zora sniggered, and it was his turn to feel the glare.
Yami rolled his eyes and gestured back down the corridor, palm flat, fingers pointing out their direction. This was no big deal. They could creep past the scullery and go out through the garden door. He sent a quick thank you to the universe for the sneaking around he’d done the other day. Zora acknowledged the order with an eye roll and a nod, but Finral and Vanessa looked blank. Vanessa tilted her head, looking like a little bird.
Dammit. What the hell was Takeshi teaching these kids? He mentally added basic hand gestures to their training regime. Pinky would need to come along too.
A theatrical whisper slid up the corridor from the scullery, followed by the sound of furniture moving and footsteps, the echoes bouncing around the hallway.
“…Charlotte will be back any moment, and I’m not sure you should be here…” Puli’s whisper was subtle as a storm.
Shit. Yami had forgotten about the lovebirds. Puli and Gordon blocked one exit, Miss Prickly and her girls, the other.
Charlotte’s clipped tones grew louder, Kalpia’s lower commoner drawl, sounding like Jack, mixing in. They must be in the hall.
“…I’ll check on Puli, tell her we picked up some apples…” Footsteps approached.
Yami jabbed a finger at the three of them, then at the window. Zora flipped up the metal catch and pushed it open as wide as possible. He wiggled his skinny frame through the gap and peered out.
“Shit, that’s a big drop,” he muttered, vanishing, a thud and stream of muttered curses confirming he’d hit the shrubbery below.
Finral and Vanessa scurried over. “I’ll lower you with my threads if you catch me,” Vanessa shoved Finral toward the casement, “but you-“ She looked at Yami. He knew. No way he was fitting through that gap.
He gave Vanessa a thumbs up, tapping his wrist to warn them, then strode toward the main hall. If he were doing this, he should get a move on and buy as much time as possible.
“..oh!” Charlotte skidded to a halt, nearly bumping into him. Yami leant against the stone archway, hoping his bulk was enough to block the sight of Finral being manhandled out of the window.
“What’re you doing here?” Charlotte asked, a light pink blush spreading across her cheeks.
“Waiting for you. Thought we should talk. Where’ve you been?” He mock frowned. “I’ve been here ages.”
“Oh, I, I’m…” She twisted a strand of hair around her fingers. “We’ve been on patrol.” They stood there awkwardly. She smelled good, like apples and roses and sunshine.
“Anything to report?” He asked. There was never anything to report. Like Puli said, it was Roselei. Nothing changed here. Yami would have asked her why she bothered with her patrols, except he already knew. Her brigade might have been disbanded and thrown to the winds, but Charlotte was a Magic Knight first and always, and she was doing what a knight would do. She patrolled. She checked in. She kicked the shit out of annoying foreigners who messed with her country.
A muffled banging, followed by a thud, caught Charlotte’s attention. “What was that?” She started to push past him.
“Probably just Puli, anyway, I need to ask you something.” Yami slung his arm around her shoulders, feeling her tense under his touch. Quick, man, think! What would Charlotte really care about? “About setting up the Magic Knights again. You know. Like you said in your paper-thing.” He steered them back to the main hall, aiming for the salon.
Her shoulders slowly relaxed, softening under his arm.
“You think we could? So soon?” The longing in her voice was unmistakable.
“Sure.” Yami had no idea, but if she wanted it this much, he’d just have to bully the others until they came round.
“Do you think-“ Charlotte was interrupted by a loud bang.
“Puli?” She wiggled out of Yami’s arm and strode back to the arch, a frown of concern on her face.
A flushed and flustered Puli appeared, her hair messy and gaze distracted. “Charlotte! Hello! How are you? All’s well.” Yami heard the metallic creak of a window frame and a thud. Puli linked her arm into Charlotte’s and pulled her back towards Yami, away from the corridor and its suspicious noises. “Tell me all about the patrol,” Puli trilled. “Oh, hello Yami,” she frowned. “When did you get here?”
Yami waved her question away. “Anyway, Princess. Think about it for me, yeah?”
“Think about what?” Puli asked.
“Yami thinks he can get the Roses set back up again,” Charlotte explained.
Puli squealed, her wings bursting into life, and dove forward to hug him. “That’s amazing! Do the others know?” she demanded. Yami couldn’t answer, his face smothered by the explosion of feathers.
“We only just-“ Charlotte began, but Puli was already dashing away, an odd hop, skip and flap speeding her through the hall.
“Oh, drat,” Charlotte muttered. “She knows she’s not supposed to have her wings out indoors.” Charlotte smiled, her entire body softening as she watched Puli depart. “We have to figure it out now." A shadow flitted across her face. "I owe it to them.”
Yami spat the final stray afterfeathers out of his mouth only to find himself under scrutiny once more.
“You’re doing it again,” she complained, folding her arms and tapping her foot restlessly on the flagstones.
“Doing what?” She was a mystery to him. One minute, she was a fluffy mess talking about her girlie gang; the next, the hard-eyed fish wife was back.
“Being nice.” She glared. “Stop laughing at me. You didn’t answer me before, either. Why are you being so nice to me?” She drew herself up to her full height, her bun giving her a few extra inches. “I’m not going to suddenly fall in line with whatever crazy plan you have, just because you’re being nice.”
Yami didn’t have the heart to tell her that his crazy plans were, in fact, Ichika’s crazy plans, and were based on her crazy plans. And what did she mean by nice? People called him many things. Nice had never been one of them.
“Yeah. I figured there was some stuff we needed to talk about. Without curious ears.” The high-pitched chatter of the Roses bounced around the hall. He scratched his neck. “I figured Puli coming to the meeting was a good sign.”
She huffed. “Mother said if you leave men to their own devices, they’ll only mess things up.” Her royal prickliness looked at him like she was daring him to disagree.
“I’ll come back tomorrow. When it’s quieter," Yami said
Charlotte inhaled as if she were about to object when something crashed in the distance, sounding expensive, pulling her attention away.
“Yami?” she called as he walked towards the heavy front door. He turned, waiting for her to continue, the rich autumn sunlight spilling through the hall turning her hair into a golden halo. Add Puli’s wings and she’d look like one of those angel pictures in the new Church they had here. Little did they know. Angelic face, soul of a kami.
“Never mind.” She twisted her skirts in her hands. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”
“Sure.” Yami waved a hand, backing out of the door, as she rolled her eyes at him and gestured him away. He smiled to himself as he headed down the hill. He should get a move on. He sniffed. It smelled like smoke, and stew and the depths of autumn. His stomach rumbled, and he quickened his pace. Time to go home. See what chaos had kicked off in his absence. Catch up with Ichika. Grab a beer with Jack.
A lone brown leaf spun through the air, falling gently to the ground.
Notes:
So, I'm clearly not going to get this done in 14 chapters, as I'd hoped. Just can't seem to get to those longer chapter lengths, so more, shorter chapters it is.
Also, I've done some tidying of the earlier chapters to trim some info dumps but hopefully no one will notice :-).
Thank you to anyone who's reading and enjoying and forgiving the lurches.
Chapter 11: Red Roses
Chapter Text
Yami’s world had shrunk steadily over the last few months, from the vast spaces of battalion headquarters to the tight rolling confines of the fleet, then the war camps. Yeah, there were different fields, a different town every other day, but by the end of the campaign they’d started to blur into one another, and he was damned if he could tell the difference. Now, his world consisted of only two places: the palace and Roselei. And here, in the palace, it seemed like the same thing happened every day.
He yawned as he plodded down the stairs to what he secretly thought of as the boring bit, tucked away in the southwest huddle. By the time he turned into the dead-end where Ichika and Fuegoleon hid out all day, grease and sugar had soaked through the paper bag in his hand.
Ichika slumped over a map of Clover covered in different coloured markers: a crowd of black around the capital, a scattering of red and silver-grey across some of the bigger towns and a flurry of yellow in the plateaus of Diamond. A cluster of blue, just six pins, sat off to her right, up a bit from the coast, on a hillside overlooking the valley.
She glanced up and sniffed. Yami presented the bag with a bow and a smile for his little sister.
“You are the best.” Ichika leant back against the desk, making happy noises as she bit into what Charlotte called a 'vehniswasuree' and what Ichika called ‘one of the few good things about this dumbass country’.
”Tough day?” Yami shoved a few of the piles of paperwork on the sideboard out of his way.
Ichika grunted, her mouth full of icing and flaky pastry. She waved a hand at the map.
Yeah. He figured. If it wasn’t that, it was something else.
She swallowed and took a sip of water. “Had two more noble groups in today. They’re demanding an audience with the future Queen.”
Yami grinned. “Cool. Can I watch?”
“Tch!” Ichika spattered crumbs onto the floor and glared at him. “You two are as bad as each other.” Ichika took another bite.
He watched the flakes fall. Another point to Roselei. No cleaning. Ever. Leave the dirty dishes, chuck your clothes in a corner and hey! Pristine again by the next day. Yami could get used to that.
”Sukehiro?” She cleared her throat of crumbs. “Do our orders still stand?”
“Yeah.” He didn’t bother to hide his irritation. He never did.
It had started around two weeks in. Around about when he and Jack had stopped snarling and started drinking. The repeated question, as if she were worried he might change his mind. What did she think he was going to say? Nah, I decided to ditch Ryu’s master plan, send the world to hell, and cause the destruction of the known universe.
Ichika nodded and wiped her hands, crumpling the paper bag into a ball and throwing it into the bin.
“Sukehiro?”
“Yeah?” Now what?
“The wedding meeting the other day.“ Ichika picked up one of the papers on the desk behind her and fiddled with it. “Dorothy said you and Lady Charlotte were getting on at last.” Ichika stared down. “She said you looked cosy. Like a real married couple. She was happy about it.” Ichika dropped the paper and wandered back to her map, picking at the set of tiny blue pins, removing one, considering it and then jabbing it back into place with a single vicious stab. ”Takeshi said you held her hand.“ Ichika’s ears went pink.
He frowned. Cosy? Really? “Our orders still stand, Ichika.”
Ichika let out a gust of a sigh, and her smile almost reached her eyes. She started stacking papers and gathering her things. “I know that- I just wanted to check, you know?”
Pfft. If she’d seen how Charlotte had recoiled under his arm today, she’d laugh at herself. Maybe he had his little moments in the privacy of his head, but he knew who Charlotte was, who he was, and how this ended. And he was ok with that. He’d made his peace months ago. It was nice that Little Miss Prickly was turning into a comrade, but he knew where the limits were. The look on her face back when they’d talked about the marriage over lunch. Hah! If only Ichika knew.
“Ichika, you know you’re the only woman in my life.” He smothered her in a hug.
“Gerroff.” Ichika shoved him away, but the happy little smile grew, and her ki settled. “You’re such a liar.” She started stacking papers and gathering her things.
“Hahahaha.” He was too loud for this small room. “You’re breaking my heart here, kiddo.” He punched her lightly on the arm. “No stress, ok? We’re just friends, that’s all.”
Ichika‘s hands became still, resting on her papers. “Friends?”
Yami shrugged. “Yeah. I guess.” He chuckled. “She even said I was being nice.” He scratched his neck. “She’s ok, underneath all the crap, y’know. You’d like her. Stubborn and irritable. Like someone else I know.” He grinned at Ichika. “You should stick around after the meetings someday - say hi. Get some sun. Get out of this dingy box.” Yami wrinkled his nose at the view of a charming stone wall around five paces from Ichika’s desk.
“Yeah.” Ichika’s ki damped down, and she looked at him in the oddest way. “Maybe I’ll do that.”
Yami took himself off back down the world’s most boring corridor, thinking about his next move. He was on the edge of solving this curse thing; he could feel it in his bones. If he could dispel the shield… fuck it. He was going back tomorrow. Time he and Miss Prickly had a proper chat.
*
The garden was quiet, with a few rustles and bird calls but no other humans around; the rich, pollen-pine scent of greenery overwhelming. Yami had never noticed it before, how much green had a smell.
He loped up to the front of the house and was about to knock when half of the heavy oak door slid open. There she was, dressed in her uniform with a canteen in hand, her hair loose around her shoulders, and her eyes a thousand miles away. She flinched when she noticed him.
“Hello. You’re back.” Charlotte’s eyes crept to his, and he found himself smiling back at her. She gestured with her canteen. “I was on my way to train.”
She dropped her gaze and walked past, glancing back as her feet crunched on the gravel path that led around the house. Yami trailed behind; from anyone else, it would be a dismissal; from Charlotte, that little glance was a handwritten invitation.
He whistled as they approached the set of well-kept mana-nets that marked out her personal training grounds. “Not bad, Princess.” It made Yosuga’s place look basic. Great House, haughty noble, he reminded himself.
Dark clouds rolled in, and the light faded from her face. “It was a gift. For my birthday.” He could kick himself. She opened up the gate, then glanced back, peeking up through her lashes. “Would you care to join me?” It sounded careless, a throwaway comment, but her ki said something different.
“Thought you’d never ask. What’s your poison?”
“I was planning to warm up, then run some drills? Maybe a round of sparring?” She paused, appraising him out of the corner of her eye. “Perhaps you could cast a few of the spells you used when we fought.”
He laughed. There was something adorable in how sneaky she thought she was being and how terrible she was at it. “Sure.” She gave him a smug little smile, prepping her grimoire. Charlotte had a hundred smiles, he’d discovered. He’d begun to catalogue them. This was smile number fifteen, the I’m-getting-what-I-want-without-them-realising-it-was-me smile. He’d seen it a lot after meetings. He didn’t think anyone else had noticed.
“Tell you what, I’ll cut you a deal. One attack spell in return for a question answered.” He grinned. “You’ll have figured me out in no time.”
She shot him a quick sideways glance, then turned her back on him, making him laugh out loud. Yeah, Prickles, you were that obvious.
They each started moving through their forms, carefully pulling their mana in the space. He’d trained with Jack before, and her forms were similar, but Jack’s had gaps, spaces where his fellow mages would slot in. Charlotte’s had none; her forms were designed for solo attack and defence. Like his.
“Where’s your style from?” he asked, pausing his warm-up to watch her work through her flow. Her mana thrummed, a single line of tension in a constant feedback loop flowing from her to her briars, amplified by her grimoire and back again. Everything in perfect balance, everything under perfect control. She made it look as easy as breathing, each strand of energy in harmony with the others, like a battle formation coming together: a steady drumbeat that held everything in step.
“Partly from the Roses but mostly from here.” She gestured around, the faint glow from her mana hard to see in the morning light. “Quirky - Sister Quercus, our combat trainer - used to get angry with me. I was never very good at staying in formation. Too much ingrained mana-memory.”
“Yeah. And it’s annoying, constantly pulling your punches so everyone else can keep up.”
“Yes! How did you- oh.”
“Think it’s why I got elected clan leader. They said it was because I was the strongest, but I reckon they were just sick of me messing up the game plan.” And because, at that point, his Dad was dead, Ichika was too young, and there was no one else. He hefted his katana. “Ready?”
She nodded, focused, her brows contracting. His yojutsu slammed into her briars, forcing her backwards, her feet tearing scuff marks into the turf. She paused for a moment, breathing heavily, bent over, a hand holding her side.
She threw him a look, muttering under her breath, traces of some of the earthier words he’d learned from Jack’s crew catching his attention. He bit back another smile, shaking his head. Every time he thought he had her neatly packaged into a box, she did something else unexpected, and he had to start all over again.
“My turn.” He braced himself. He was here for answers; he’d avoided this for too long. The quickest way from A to B was a straight line. He’d been thinking about the damn curse stone all night, and he kept hitting the same brick wall: break the stone, break the curse, break the girl? It would explain why Little Miss Stubborn Streak hadn’t managed to set herself free.
“Tell me about your curse.”
Charlotte froze.
“If it’s too much for you, maybe we stop.” He started to roll up his scroll, making a big show of putting it away, waiting for her to cave and give him what he wanted or for the fire to snap in her eyes and the venom to spill from her lips. Same same. C’mon, Prickles, let’s get to the bottom of this.
He was about to push again when he caught a glimpse of her face. Her chin was up, refusing to look at him, her mouth a thin line scrunched tight, jaw clenched. She was blinking rapidly, one hand gripped into a white-knuckled fist, her body coiled tight. A cold trickle drizzled down his back. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. Hadn’t known he could. He scrambled for something to say that might dig him out of this mess, that might bring her back, and then she spoke so quietly he nearly missed it.
“Did you know I used to have red roses?” She stared out of the training nets at the flower beds beyond where roses of all colours fluttered like flags at a tournament.
He shook his head.
“They were beautiful. Soft. You could bury yourself in them.” She looked up at him, and he could see her younger self peeking out of her unguarded expression, a gentle joy radiating from her. “I made them for anyone who asked. They made every day smell like summer.” Her expression darkened, mouth twisting. “I was so eager to please back then. Mother said that if I was a good girl and did as I was told, I would get my roses back someday.”
Yami raised an eyebrow at this and won a wry smile in response.
“After the curse, I made them into something else.” Her eyes hardened. ”I made myself into something else.” Charlotte kicked at the ground, dislodging a divot of earth waiting to be trodden back into the neat turf of the nets. “I’m not looking to please you.”
Yami rubbed absently at his arm, a light scoring of tiny scars still visible if you knew where to look. He wasn’t expecting her to.
“Your blue roses are pretty,” Yami said, watching her fidget.
“What about you? What happened when your mana came in?” she asked.
His Dad whisked him out of the village faster than you could say ambition. Taken him to get his scroll, thrown him into the arms of the generals, and walked away cackling about the clan’s honour and how things were lookin’ up. Yami didn’t remember too much about that week, but the look on Ichika’s face when she realised he was leaving her was burned into his brain. “I trained,” Yami replied.
Charlotte snorted, then considered him, really looked in that way that she did, her eyes searching his eyes, his scroll, his face, looking for something. He held still, a raw recruit under inspection.
She let out a sigh and closed her eyes. “Mother had spent so long talking about becoming a young lady, about the changes I would be going through, I’d thought it was that.” She pulled a face. “Until they told me, I thought it was normal... I thought that everyone was going through the same thing. It was only when my parents sat me down to explain that I realised that it was just me.
“Then I turned eighteen, and my briars-“ She stopped and rubbed at her chest. “I wasn’t strong enough. I didn’t work hard enough.” Her lips pinched shut. “I lost control. So now my House, my people, are doomed to live the same day again and again for all eternity.“ Her hand curled into a fist. ”And it’s my magic that’s keeping us here. I’m the curse. I’m the cage.”
They stood in silence for a moment. Yami cleared his throat. This training kit was something else. He stared at the etchings on the netting. Out of the corner of his eye he watched her wipe furiously at her face behind the golden curtain of her hair. He examined the rune craft until her chin came up, her fingers combing her hair back over her shoulders, the stray strands swept up and commanded into position.
She gestured at his sword and squared herself, chin in the air. “Again,” she demanded. He could try to find the words to say that he was sorry, that he understood what it felt like to be alone and scared and out of control, but she didn’t want his words.
He sank into attack position. She nodded, bring it. The challenge hummed in his veins, reflected in her eyes. There it was. There was the fire he’d been looking for, that direct, penetrating gaze daring him on.
Her briars lashed out early, grabbing his blade near the hilt, snaring the spell before it gained momentum. He stumbled, his yojutsu jerked off-balance. The strike hit, and she fell with a hard thud, but she was up again, snapping and dusty, a counter-attack primed and ready.
“See, told you you’d figure it out.” Yami gave her the second-best thing he had to offer: a compliment. She huffed back at him, hand on her side, but her eyes softened, a tiny curl playing at the corner of her mouth.
His turn. He might not have many more questions left if she kept learning at this pace. He needed this. She needed this. Fuck it. He took a deep breath. “What happens if we break the keystone?”
The air stilled, the moment of silence before the lightning struck. She snapped her grimoire shut. “Get out.”
He held up both hands in a sign of peace. “Just listen, will ya?”
“When Puli told me about your silly group, I should have known. And I suppose that man skulking around is one of yours as well?” Her eyes held accusation and a sliver of hurt in their depths.
In this moment, he wanted to lie to her so badly. He nodded.
Charlotte narrowed her glare, her prickly majesty in her full suspicious and demanding glory. “Stay away from that… thing. It’s evil. It doesn’t just channel the curse - in many ways, like me, it is the curse.”
Yami ran through what he knew about her. “We need to look at everything. You know. What might work. What won’t. Then we can rule some stuff out. So let’s at least rule it out.”
She regarded him for a moment. “No.” With a swish of her skirts, she marched out of the nets, the gate clanging shut behind her.
Yami listened to the wind in the trees, that heavy green stuffing up his senses so he could barely breathe. He couldn’t believe it. Every time he tried to help, she ran.
He followed, slamming the gate shut with such force that it shook the nets, scaring the nearby birds into the air, their indignant cawing slicing through the quiet afternoon. You didn’t give up on people. No matter what. You didn’t walk out like that. He caught up with her a few paces down the path, grabbing her arm and pulling her to a stop.
“Oi! Wait! Wait, I said.” He was pinned by her stare and removed his hand from her arm, his handprint remaining a moment longer, outlined in white, then fading to red. “You wanted this! Look, I get that it’s your curse and all and that you’ve done your best, but we’ve a crack team here. Experts from across Clover, here for you. So why do you keep pushing them away? Why is it so damn hard for you to accept them? To let them help?” Yami tried to keep his frustration out of his voice, but the look on her face said he’d failed.
She opened the distance between them, backing away. “You turn up here and tell me that I’m not serious about this? Fresh off the boat, and you think you can storm in here and save the day? Well, I don’t. And I don’t like not knowing what the price will be. Be honest, Yami, what’s this going to cost me?”
Yami didn’t understand the question. Why would this cost her anything?
She scoffed. “There’s always a price; someone has to pay it.” Her gaze hardened. “You know this.”
Yami stared at her; he had no idea what she was talking about. “I’m trying to help you.”
A furrow wrinkled her forehead. “But why? What are you getting out of this?” Her body screamed fight. “Why are you doing this? Why do you keep coming back?” She slumped and spoke in a smaller voice. “Why are you still being so nice to me?”
Why did he want to help her? He wouldn’t usually bother; he’d normally make this someone else’s problem. So why did he care?
Yami picked his people carefully. In the middle of the noise and heat of battle, when everything depended on split-second decisions and every choice could end it all, he needed to know who he was standing next to. He needed to know who they really were, deep down. That moment when push had come to shove, and both were long gone. When the dull ache at the bottom of his skull was a screaming pain, and just the thought of calling up more yojutsu made his body shudder and bile rise in his throat. When bare-knuckled willpower was the only thing holding the line.
He thought back to the week his Dad had hustled him out and everything that had happened since. Bad shit had happened to her, and rather than huddle in a corner and wait for the world to save her, she’d made up her own rules. Changed her magic, remade herself. Charlotte had taken everything expected of her, ripped it up, and spat on it. There were maybe ten people in the world Yami would trust next to him in the lineup, and she’d become one of them.
“Because you’re one of the toughest people I know,” Yami replied.
Charlotte wrinkled her forehead. “Is that a good thing?”
Yami burst out laughing. “Yeah. Means I got your back.”
She became so still that he reached for her ki to check if she was okay.
“You’ve ’got my back’?” she said.
Yami shrugged. “Yeah.”
“But- but I don’t- what-” she stumbled and fell over her words. “You can’t go around deciding things like that all by yourself. You should ask first!” Her voice rose, high-pitched and breathless.
“That’s not how it works, idiot,” he said.
She looked at him for a long moment and smiled a new smile. Smile number twenty-five, Yami decided. Soft and hesitant, like it wasn’t sure it believed it should be a smile just yet.
Then it faded, clouds scudding across her face.
“You’re a fool.” The storm shutters came slamming down.
“Hang on a-“
“Didn’t you listen? Didn’t Puli tell you what happens to the people who ‘have my back’? Didn’t she tell you what I did?” Charlotte approached, closing the distance between them, taut, nostrils flaring, her mana sharp and ready.
There was a look in her eyes that he’d never seen on her before. Something that made his muscles freeze, a voice from his childhood whispering at him - stay still. Don’t let the monster see you. For the first time in forever, something that felt like fear crept through his body like a slow-growing vine.
She advanced. He swallowed and told himself he was fearless.
She searched for something, looking deep into his eyes. “What if I’m supposed to be here? What if I’m something so terrible, the universe decided it was better that I was locked up, not let loose with everyone else?” She had golden flecks hidden amongst the blue. “What if I deserve this?” Her voice cracked across the training grounds.
“Ha.” The noise burst out, involuntary.
Her eyes narrowed.
“Hahahaha.” Yami sucked air deep down into his lungs. “BWAHAHAHAHA.” His laugh boomed around the trees, sending the birds scattering once more.
Yami wiped his eyes. “Nah.” He dismissed her with a wave of his arm. “You’re not that weak. Snap out of it, Prickly Princess. When did you get all mopey?”
“Snap out…” she let out a frustrated growl. “You’re unbelievable.”
“You’re stronger than that.” He shrugged. “And smarter. What kinda bullshit is that? You’re telling me you were so awful as a kid you deserved this level of curse?” He flapped his hand around. “Nah. You don’t got the chops for it. A little hex, maybe. Bet you were one of those annoying girls with their hands in the air who knew all the answers” - Charlotte gave a little hiss, which he ignored - “but this? I don’t buy it.”
Charlotte stared at him and clenched her fists.
“Not enough imagination for that level of villain. You couldn’t even manage to draw your own wedding dress!”
“I drew armour!”
“Exactly. You’re telling me the kind of kid who dreams of being a knight, who dreams of going on adventures and helping people, that that kid deserves to be cursed?”
She gaped at him. “You great- oaf.”
“Makes me think you’re not even trying to break this thing.”
Charlotte threw her hands in the air. “Not trying? You- urgh! You have no idea. To break my curse, you’d have to-” She took a deep shaking inhale, gripping her hands into fists, fighting to spit something out, screwing up her face like she’d tasted something nasty. ”I’d have to-“ She paused, a slick sheen of sweat appearing on her forehead as she struggled for breath.
She stopped, shoulders deflating, all her fire draining away.
“Take my word on it. You don’t want this. You don’t want-” she broke off and sucked in a trembling breath. “Just leave it alone. Leave this whole stupid business alone.”
She strode away, refusing to look back.
He breathed in the thick, soothing green, his yoryoku calming, his heart rate coming down. Shit. He shrugged off the uncomfortable feeling of having walked in someone else’s shoes only to find them more ill-fitting and painful than expected.
It had been worth pushing her; of course, it had. How ridiculous was she? Deserving the curse. What the hell went on in that brain of hers? He tried to forget how she'd been trembling when he’d caught her arm as if something were worrying her so badly she couldn’t hold it in. He glanced up the path, tracing the crunch of her boots.
Nah. She didn’t worry. He packed up his concerns and put them away. Not Miss Prickly. She was too tough for that; she wouldn’t break, no matter what he threw at her. Anyway, worrying about stuff was dumb. All it did was make you suffer twice. It was dumb, and she wasn’t.
But her eyes. He stood and stared long after there was nothing left to see. Like hell was he leaving this alone.
*
Chapter 12: Buried
Chapter Text
Yami had woken to find a note from Roselei tucked under his door, asking to meet. She had something to tell him, asked him to come as soon as he could. His fingers stumbled over the ties of his clothes, fumbling knots and creases. He left his hair, running his hand through it. It might be vital information about breaking the keystone.
He shook his head trying to dispel the dream-fug that clouded his brain. The mysterious figure was now obvious, which meant that he must be some special kind of crazy. He needed a few rounds in the gym with Takeshi or Jack. See if one of them could knock some sense into him. He could ask Charlotte; she’d be more than willing, but thinking about her briars only resurfaced the memory of her throat under his hand, the way heat radiated from her body, and the damned golden silk that was her hair. That little smile that had vanished so quickly. Special kind of crazy, indeed. What the hell was wrong with him?
Finral moaned when Yami shook him awake, wasting precious moments by insisting he needed to go to the bathroom first, brush his teeth, put his clothes on.
Charlotte was waiting by the fountain again: in the middle of the town square of her home, utterly alone.
“Hello.” She looked the same as always, but her collar was turned up, her shirt wasn’t fully tucked in, and the top of one of her boots was slipping down. On anyone else Yami would have written it off as a rushed morning; on her, it jarred. If she went around like this, someone would notice something was bugging her, and she’d hate that. It was only when she stiffened that he realised that he was absentmindedly resetting her collar, like he would’ve done for Ichika when she was smaller, his fingers grazing the light fabric of her shirt.
Her fingers traced the collar where his hand had been, two pink spots on her cheeks. “I- I need to show you something,” she said. “In case you don’t believe that I’m taking this seriously.“ She glanced down and took a deep breath. “Everything you said yesterday.” She hesitated, then held out her hand. “You might want to change your mind when we’re through. You might change your mind when you see who I really am.“
She had no smiles to catalogue today, just a deep furrow between her eyebrows. He could fix that; prod her out of her funk. Just as soon as she’d shown him whatever was bugging her so much.
They walked through the honey-stone passages of the lanes. The alleyways were narrow here, not like the streets near the main square, starved of light by the shadow of the castle and the hill it was built upon. The houses crowded in, drunkenly leaning against each other. She stopped outside a red door and knocked.
An older woman answered, her face breaking into a smile. “Lady Charlotte.” They embraced.
“Is he sleeping?”
The woman nodded. “Tsugae dropped off the poppy this morning, on time as always.” She nodded at him. “Lord Yami.” She inspected him out of the corner of her eye. Like the other inhabitants of Roselei he’d met, her ki pulsed with excitement and hope and a sense that they were waiting for him to prove - something.
They passed through a small kitchen, the smell of tea in the air, a half-finished blanket flung over a chair by the fire, and the flowers that Yami had come to expect overflowing a mismatch of vases throughout the room.
Through the low doorway, the next room was dark, a bed occupying the bulk of the space. His eyes adjusted to the dim light. Bottles and jars waited on the bedside table. A chair was drawn up by the bed, a book lying spine-up on the cushion. Stuttered breath rasped in the background. The acrid smell of sweat mixed with the sweet sticky scent of poppy, and for a moment, he was years away, in a field hospital, biting down on a scream and praying the medics got to him soon.
Charlotte focused on the misshapen lump in the bed, her mouth tight. “We dose him as soon as he wakes. Otherwise…” Charlotte trailed off.
Yami didn’t want to think of the otherwise. The body in the bed mumbled, then settled, thankfully still caught in the haze. The old woman patted the figure, the lines on her face creasing deeper. Seven years. Seven years of waking every morning, knowing what the day would bring. For seven years, the old lady had watched the person she loved not die.
Charlotte gave nothing away, but Yami knew her well enough now to know that she was looking at herself in the mirror and calling herself a monster. He wanted to shake her until her teeth rattled, try to get some sense into her.
“Thank you.” She hugged the woman at the doorway. “I’ll be back again tomorrow.”
They walked the lanes.
“Charlotte-“ he began. The crease on her forehead was back, deeper now.
She lengthened her stride, turning her head away, driving them through the alleys, nodding to the few people they passed.
“Here.”
It was a shop front, mannequins in the window displaying clothes, bolts of fabric tucked behind. The door shut, the sign declaring it was ‘closed’, even though the sun was high. She knocked, a sharp rap that echoed off the walls. The window boxes were full of the same damn flowers as everywhere else, but the soil was cracking open, the leaves drooping. She knocked again.
A shuffling and muttering came from inside, and the door was yanked open, revealing a young girl, with tangled hair. The sour smell of unwashed body trickled by.
She might be around twelve or thirteen; her face still held the curves of childhood, although he could see the outline of what she was growing into, the hint of the woman she would become already there. She was at that stage when everything was at odds with itself, the child and the adult locked in some kind of clumsy dance. He’d been away a lot the year that Ichika had started to transform: he’d rolled back into the village in the autumn, fresh from his latest victory, expecting to be greeted by his little sister, and had instead been confronted by a chimera: one moment the sweet child that he remembered, the next a Fury who thought everything was his fault. It had been a long winter and a painful spring.
“What do you want?” Snarly Hair gripped onto the door, ready to slam it in their faces. Interesting. The first person in this weird town who didn’t worship and adore her prickly highness.
Charlotte sighed, as though she’d been expecting this. “Could he” - Charlotte gestured toward him - “come in?”
The grip on the door eased a little, but the girl’s eyes were as hard as the lintel above their heads. Her grip tightened, as if to shut them out, but Charlotte wedged the door open with her foot.
“Tell him what I did to you.”
There was a long pause before the girl replied. “He can come in. But not you. Not while I’m alive. Which I suppose means ever.” And she pulled the door open by a few more inches and glowered at Charlotte as he squeezed himself through the gap.
It was just like the other cottage except there were no flowers on the table, no lunch on the stove, no kettle on the fire, no half-finished work on the chair. Nowhere in Roselei could possibly feel neglected, and yet…
The girl sat at the table, and he copied her, pulling out a reassuringly solid-looking chair. She bristled. She was like his waifs and strays, the familiar anger that was easier to own than facing what lay underneath.
“I’m Yami.” He held out his name like a peace offering.
“Heather.” The girl snapped her jaws around it, baring her teeth.
“Where are your parents?”
“They went visiting for the day.”
They-? Oh.
“How old are you?” Heather asked.
“Twenty-six.”
“Want to guess how old I am?”
Twelve-ish, he guessed. She looked like a child, but it wasn’t a child who stared back at him, sneering. Twelve, plus seven. Nineteen. Shit, she was the same age as Ichika. He searched for signs that a neighbour had stepped up. That a relative had come round. But it was a silent kitchen, inhabited by a surly, unwashed child, and he knew what that meant.
She smiled, a vicious little smirk. “Still want to know where my parents are?” The woman-child looked out at him.
This was Roselei. Where nothing faded and nothing changed. Time wouldn’t heal anything. It was pain and poppy and a lonely girl in an empty house until the clocks stopped ticking - and maybe beyond. If Dorothy was right about the power channelled through that stone, it could be forever.
When he stepped back into the tidy street, Charlotte was nowhere to be seen. She’d run away again. Stupid, guilty girl. He couldn’t find it in himself to be mad at her anymore.
The manor house echoed in its emptiness. The knights were likely out on patrol; she might be with them. He glanced outside; he had a couple of hours before sunset. He could afford to sit here and wait it out.
He looked around curiously; he’d never hung around the hall before. He’d always been on his way somewhere or managing something or looking for one of his brats who’d gone wandering (or dragging them away from the scene of the crime). There was a picture hanging halfway up the staircase; in it, a woman in acres of fabric lay draped across one of the spindly sofas in the salon that he dreaded breaking, a man’s hand on her shoulder, a pretty smiling blonde child at her knee. He automatically catalogued it: Smile number one. Hello, friend. Unguarded and innocent.
Charlotte had been eighteen, just a kid still, and a noble at that. So where were all the fawning maids, the housekeeper, the butler? Yami couldn’t move at the palace but he fell over some lackey trying to tie his shirt or spoon-feed him breakfast or whatever else they did. Aside from her friends and the older couple in the kitchens, where were her people? Where was her family?
“Yami.”
He startled. He’d been so absorbed he hadn’t heard her approach or sensed her ki. Although that was becoming harder and harder lately. He’d had such a good grip on it at the beginning, but now - now it jumped all over the place, sliding out of his grasp at every turn.
She stood in the shadows of the great staircase, looking everywhere except at him, playing with the skinny cotton bracelet on her wrist. “I wanted you to know. The curse. I’m trying.” And she paused as if she had something else to say, finally looking him in the eye. “I’m really trying.”
“Charlotte, where are your parents?”
A sharp gasp of breath escaped her, and she bit her lip so hard she might draw blood. It was the first time he’d seen her lose control of the mask. When she eventually spoke, she was remote and matter-of-fact, as if she were delivering her daily report. Like all this had happened to someone else, seven rivers and seven mountains away.
“Mother said that the countryside was bad for her complexion. She preferred the city. She said she felt alive there, that she could be free. And Father-“ She shrugged.
He’d lost a parent, and he’d had a rubbish one, but the idea that they’d just leave was… How could you have a kid and then decide that you couldn’t be bothered any more? Their child had been battling some weird, dangerous magic, and they left her to face it alone. A surge of anger ran through his veins, his yoryoku rumbling, demanding to be released, to rage, to smite. He focused on the rise and fall of his breath, the rustle of his clothes against his skin, and the feeling of the ground under his feet.
She brushed it off, raising a single shoulder. “They were smart. Unlike my sisters.”
“Do they visit?” There were no brothers or blood sisters, just her adopted family in blue.
“No. They’re gone now. They chose their friends unwisely and said the wrong things to the wrong people at the wrong time. When it happened, I couldn’t get to them. There was nothing I could do.” The arms crossed again, but he’d already understood that this didn’t mean ‘go away’ or ‘I’m thinking’ like Jack or Ichika. It meant that she was holding herself together.
“I’m sorry. I’ll stop pushing this whole curse thing. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.” He didn’t mean to make her feel like he was accusing her of something.
“No! No. Just because I can’t fix things, maybe- maybe someone else can.” And she gave him this look that could have been desperate or hopeful or filled with despair, or maybe something in the middle of all three.
“Maybe if you come back tomorrow….” She cleared her throat and braced herself. Her voice became distant, and small. “Will you be coming back tomorrow?”
He should never have gone along with this. He wanted a nice, clean marriage of convenience, not this hot mess. He wasn’t the guy for this. Ryu, or Fuegoleon, they should be here. They loved helping people, picking them up and dusting them off. They knew how to make things better, the right words to say. He wasn’t built for this. He was built to smash and slice and cut things down to size.
But they weren’t here, and he was. He reached out, his hand on her head. Of course he’d come back tomorrow. He’d come back tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that. He didn’t run. He didn’t leave people behind.
Liar, whispered Ichika’s voice in his head.
Charlotte closed her eyes for a moment, leaning into him. They stood in the hall, his hand on her hair. He couldn’t do this. It wasn’t part of his mission. It wasn’t part of Ryu’s grand plan. Ichika would kill him.
She roused herself and retreated, her cheeks pink. “So, tomorrow?”
He nodded, something catching in his throat.
*
He scuffed his feet, dragging them toward the square - until they scrunched onto something. Leaves cluttered the otherwise tidy road. The one he’d stepped on had been dried and withered and was now crushed into tiny pieces. The others were shot through with red and orange. The view of the valley opened out ahead - it must be stunning here in deep autumn. Like the hills back home that looked like they were on fire three weeks of the year. In the square, surrounded by the early-autumn yellows and greens of the other trees, was a single flame-red tree, the wind stealing its leaves as they fell. A group of people had gathered around; they fell silent as he approached.
“It’s so pretty.” Finral appeared at his elbow. “I hadn’t noticed this one before.”
“Yeah. It’s beautiful.” He agreed absently, not thinking about the tree. Had it been this colour before? He supposed it must have been.
The Roseleis stayed quiet, exchanging glances.
Chapter 13: The Mirror Crack’d
Chapter Text
Chapter 13: The Mirror Crack’d
The box tucked under his arm jabbed him in the rib cage for the third time. He shifted it again, trying to escape its dead weight. The smart thing to do with a heavy box would be to take the main road, the most direct path to the house. Instead, he turned left into the lanes. After everything that had happened, he supposed they should talk, but every time he thought about what he might say, his throat dried up. He’d tried to shut it out, trusting that he’d be able to figure it out in the moment. But the thought pestered him, like he owed it money.
The lanes widened into streets as he entered the artisan district. Gates replaced narrow doors, some standing open, revealing courtyards open to the sky. He stuck his head into one: three people sat weaving, the bright colours of the thread merged with their shining grimoires. In the next, an earth mage worked clay into mad shapes. Everything they made would vanish overnight, and yet they kept trying. He kinda liked that about them. One courtyard struck him as being especially pretty, blue cornflowers overflowing the planters. He stopped to admire them. They reminded him of a frank, assessing gaze.
Flowers. He’d bring her flowers - women liked flowers, didn’t they? Roselei overflowed with flowers, and her magic created them, so she must like flowers.
He knocked on the open gate, not seeing anyone in the yard.
A man appeared, his smock spattered with paint. “Lord Yami, welcome.” His ki broadcast the same as all the Roseleis, that weird mix of fear, hope and excitement as if he were waiting for something. Yami battled a flash of irritation. He was working on it. He’d promised her, hadn’t he? He’d crack the damn curse; just as soon as he’d figured out how. The man continued smiling at him, “How may I be of service?”
“I thought maybe I would bring Charlotte some flowers, and yours are pretty.“ Yami scratched the back of his neck. Now that he explained himself, it sounded really dumb. “You know what, thanks, man, but I’ve got this.” He turned to leave, hefting his box once more.
“A posy! Yes, yes.” The man’s ki surged, and he hustled over and began to select flowers from the pots, inspecting each bloom before snipping it with a small pair of scissors hanging from his belt. Many of the Roseleis carried these, and the scissors and the window boxes and the cut flowers in the houses all fell into place. “When I courted my wife, I brought a posy every day for a week. Each said something different, of course.” He smiled at Yami. “Getting the message right is most of the effort.”
Yami nodded like he knew what the man was talking about.
“Here. Cornflowers were always my favourite. Can’t go wrong with those in a posy.”
“Thanks, man.” Yami looked at the fragile blooms in his hand. He just liked the colour.
“Mlle Foucard up the street has some glads in bloom. Not something most people would put in a posy, but then, my lady isn’t most people.” The man clapped him on the shoulder.
Another street, another gate, a rainbow of blossoms spilling out of the boxes. Mlle Foucard, or at least he assumed that it was her, beamed when she saw the flowers in his hand.
“Did Sebastian send you up here? Clever man.” She bustled around snipping at flowers, inspecting the petals just as the man had done. “Now, what colour did you want?”
“Umm.”
Understanding flooded her face. “Of course. You’re not from round here.” When a Roselei said it, it didn’t smart in the same way that it did back in Clover. Here, Jack was as much a foreigner as he was. Ask any one of the Roselei and they’d tell you straight: there was here, and there was everywhere else; full of strangers, and not to be trusted. “What are you trying to say to her?”
Yami’s hand itched. If he knew that he’d be saying it, not skulking around town nicking flowers from people’s gardens.
She gave him a long, considering look. “We’ll do a mix. Red, yellow, orange. And some thyme. And you’ll definitely need some myrtle. Can’t have a posy without myrtle.” She flashed a quick smile. “Florence is in the green door just over the way. She can help you. But be quick - they need to be in water at this time of day.”
He mumbled a thank you and set off once more.
By the time he arrived at Charlotte’s front door, his arms ached. He dumped the box on the stone steps and stretched. Sap stuck to his hand, and the flowers lurched all over the place, no matter how many times he prodded them upright. The different shapes and sizes of the petals jarred, and the colours clashed; orange and red next to greeny-blue and yellow, like a colour-crazed five-year-old had thrown it together. He’d better fix it before she saw it, otherwise she’d laugh him out of town. Again. One of the cornflowers flopped over, its stem bruised from his sweaty hand.
The flower guys better not be stitching him up. For all he knew, he might be offering her some deadly insult. Or, like Nebra, she might throw them back in his face.
Charlotte tumbled out the door. “Where have you been- oh.” Her gaze dropped to his hand, and her ki spiked, a sudden jagged lurch. She snatched her hand back. “Those are pretty.”
Crap. He’d better just front it out. “I brought you these?” He thrust them toward her.
She took the posy from him, her fingers brushing against his. She cradled it and touched the petals one by one, her fingers tracing a pattern around the bouquet, a slight hum escaping her. Her mouth curled into a smile, and a warm buzz fluttered in his belly.
She did that thing where she set her shoulders. Yami stopped himself from grinning; it would only annoy her. What was she psyching herself up to do? He bet it was saying thank you. Come on, Prickles. Spit it out. Say thank you for the nice flowers.
She came closer, so close he could see the loose strands of hair that had worked their way out of her bun sticking to her neck, and smell her perfume, clashing with the scent of the posy. She placed a hand on his shoulder, moved onto her tiptoes, then brushed her lips against his, swift and chaste. She peeked up at him, her face flushing. “Thank you for the flowers.”
She whipped around and scuttled into the house.
He slumped against the stone column of the porch. He should follow her, but his legs refused to obey.
What the fuck was that? The clan’s attempt to marry him off might have been a disaster, but there were enough pretty girls who flocked around looking for a bit of fun; he’d been kissed by plenty of them and kissed just as many back. But this-
She was nothing like any of them; neither the grand ladies nor the more willing types. If she went walking in the gardens of Ryu’s castle, hair up to show the curve of her delicate neck, swathed in silks, she’d be surrounded by admirers in moments. A surge of jealousy smacked into him like a wave, a nasty riptide that threatened to pull him off his feet.
Fuck. When did this happen? When had Little Miss Prickly with her spikes and huffs and blushes snuck into his heart and made herself at home there? A cold scrape of dread crept down his back. Now what was he supposed to do? He stood there, reeling from one little kiss. Oh yeah, she was nothing like the women at home, with their knowing eyes and plans of attack. She was so much more dangerous than that.
Tea was brewing by the time he made it into the drawing room, the bitter steam something normal. Puli flapped and flustered over the tray.
“It’s happened again.” She held the milk jug in both hands, her nose wrinkling. “That’s the third time this week. And it’s all the milk in the house this time, not just in the little pots.” She stalked off muttering to herself about inconsiderate people doing things that they weren’t expected to and causing chaos, glaring back at him every so often. Some poor bastard was about to get an earful.
Charlotte fussed with her posy, now in a large glass vase on the table, a blush still on her cheeks. “It’s ok. I know you don’t mean it. I won’t take it the wrong way.” She fiddled with the bracelet again. She glanced out of the window. In the garden, Selena and Galgaria were strolling, holding hands. Galgaria glanced up at Selena every now and again until she threw her arms around Selena and buried her face in Selena’s neck.
Charlotte cleared her throat and turned back to him. “I’m not what you’d call lovable.”
Yami stepped closer, trying to find the words. He wasn’t making promises; he just wanted to make her feel better. “I think you’re lovable.” He reached out, tugged on her silly little plait.
The air grew thick between them. She smelled of posy and myrrh, and his fingers itched to trace a line from her plait, down her jaw, across her neck and to her heart.
What was wrong with him? He squirmed, wrong-footed and off-balance. He had to put a stop to this before it went too far. “Your sisters think you’re lovable.”
She moved away, a half step that could be a mile.
“Thanks.” Her tone was dry, amused even, but she kept her distance, and he should be grateful for that.
Well, it was now or never, he supposed. “I got you something else, too.” Yami placed the box on the table, pretending not to notice the marks where he’d held on too tight. “Back home, it’s traditional for a groom to give his bride a gift. There’s usually a big ceremony and stuff, but that didn’t seem like your style.”
“A present. For me?” Another smile tugged at her mouth. Number seventy-six. Mine-all-mine. She ran fingers over the paper and tried to lift it.
“Heavy.” She looked at him as if he’d be giving her a clue. She’d be shaking it in a minute, like a kid on their birthday.
“Prickles, just open the damn box.” She could be smiling about him like that.
She fumbled the ribbon and tore the paper, clawing and ripping, then opened the case like a treasure chest. Inside the box, nestled in velvet, sat a set of armour: breast and back plate, gauntlets, greaves. Yami rolled out his shoulder. He’d be paying for this tomorrow; he could already feel it. Bloody thing weighed a tonne.
“It’s reinforced with mana: here and here.” Yami pointed out, watching her face. “I got your measurements from Vanessa, so it should fit, but the straps can be adjusted.”
Yami had discovered a thousand different tells from watching her so closely these last weeks. Her breath quickened, her fingers curled, and she kept blinking. She stroked the breastplate with a tentative finger.
“You can thank me later.” He should leave, give her space and time to process. He was turning to go when she collided into him, arms wrapping around his back, pinning him to her. She buried her face in his neck, her breath hot on his skin, her body soft in all the best places.
And just as suddenly, she vanished.
“I’m sorry about that.” She shifted her feet. “If I misunderstood. If I crossed a line.” She twisted her hands in front of her. “I love it. It’s perfect. I love-“ she blushed. “I love it.” She repeated, blushing once more.
“I think you’re lovable.” He repeated, his voice coming out all cracked and warped. He had to tell her. He couldn’t tell her. Oh fuck, what had he done?
The ground shuddered. The world spun, like his head. The tea tray rattled and water sloshed in a glass. Charlotte’s posy vase teetered and fell, smashing on the floor. Stems and blossoms scattered on the ground.
“Charlotte-“ he grabbed onto her and held her tight, covering her head and neck with his arm, waiting for the quake to pass.
The chandelier shook, crystals shuddering, tinkling, building into a fever pitch. If it came down, they were done for. He searched the room for a safer space, a table, a large piece of furniture, but everything was elegant and graceful and no bloody use at all. Her arms wrapped around him, her hand buried in his hair as they clung onto each other.
The beams above them creaked, dust falling from the ceiling. The very bones of the castle and the town rattled, shook, and whipped into a frenzy like a tree in a storm. The mirror over the mantlepiece cracked from side to side, a ripping noise that sounded like the fabric of the world tearing in two.
What if this was it, if this was the end? Not how he thought he’d go. Images of his life in Hino tumbled through his mind; his sister, his clan, his few friends. They seemed dull and faded. Then, Clover, in bright technicolour, the heady dash through the realms, the kids who looked at him like he had all the answers, his growing fear that he’d gone about this all wrong, the crushing weight of his mission, and her.
He glanced at the roof, dust burning in his eyes, covering her with his body. A fire lit in his belly, yoryoku pulsing in his veins. Going down now, going out here, wasn’t an option. He made ready to cast something, anything, power flooding to his fingertips - then it stopped, as suddenly as it had begun.
Silence. No cawing birds, no rustling leaves, no voices or clattering. Not even the sound of the wind teasing through the chimney. All he could hear was his pounding heart, her shaking breath. His yoryoku released back into his body, and he slumped as the heat drained from his limbs.
“Prickly Queen? You good?” His hands were full of her. They’d be shaking as badly as his voice if they hadn't been.
“What just happened?” Her hands laced into his hair, her arm cradling his back. She didn’t seem to want to move. He certainly didn’t. When he pulled out of their embrace to look at her, she seemed dazed, her eyes unfocused, her skin pale.
A twinge of fear settled in his stomach. He ran his hands over her head, limbs, watching for any wincing that suggested harm, checking for blood. Nothing. She stayed docile and quiet. A cold hand squeezed around his heart. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.
“I’m fine.” She swayed. “Really, I’m fine. I just feel…odd.” He helped her to the sofa where she sank, lying her head down, curling up on herself. “I’m not done - just give me a minute. ‘S ok. I’m not done.” She slurred her words, her body slumping. Her eyes went white, rolling back in her head, and she was out cold, her chest still rising and falling, her eyelids twitching. Her hands made little spasms every now and again, tiny blooms appearing and vanishing. Shit. He needed a medic but didn’t dare leave her. Dammit, Finral. Where are you when I need you?
Wait. Yami hooked a finger into her little bracelet and tugged. After what felt like forever, footsteps clattered outside, and the doors thrust open.
“Charlotte? Oh my.” Puli’s hair was a mess, but she seemed fine.
“She needs a medic.” Yami remained on his knees, stroking the hair back from Charlotte’s face. Her pulse ran away under his fingers, her breath grazed the back of his hand.
Galgaria and Selena appeared. “Charlotte!” “Oh no.”
“Tsu’s in town. What should we do?” Puli hovered over Charlotte, wringing her hands, tears forming in her eyes. “We talked about this! About what might happen. What do we do? Oh! This is terrible!”
“Calm down, Puli.” Galgaria patted her shoulder. “Tsu said it would probably hit her harder than anyone else. That we’d all be disoriented for a while, but that she might have a more extreme reaction. We monitor her breathing and let her body do its thing. It's only natural, after all.”
Yami’s yoryoku growled. “Hey! Why aren’t you doing anything?” and he turned back to Charlotte, checking her vitals as if it would solve everything, his fingers brushing her mouth, her throat. Her breathing steadied, her pulse calmed. Colour seeped back into her cheeks. She looked like she was asleep. Dammit, she was asleep. The little twitches of her hands continued, like a puppy chasing squirrels in its dreams, petals appearing and fluttering away.
His hands shook. He sank to the floor. Damn it, Prickles. He could only take so much of this.
“Everyone else ok?”
Galgaria nodded. “The tremors have been getting worse these last few days. Those and the other signs. We figured something might happen.” And a smile cracked her face as she threw herself at Yami, pulling him into a hug. “You did it. Oh, great spirits of clover, you actually did it.”
Yami patted her on the back. What had he got himself into now?
Puli snuffled, tears running down her face as she hugged Selena. “It’s over. I can go home. Lele - we can go home!”
“Has anyone tested it yet?” Selena held the sobbing Puli, her knuckles tight, like Puli might fly away. “What if it’s only partly broken?”
“Kalpia went to check the line, see if the briars are still there. Oh spirits,” Galgaria wiped her face, “I didn’t think, I me I hoped but-“ and she and Puli looked at him with great big smiles and shining eyes.
Yami checked Charlotte’s pulse again, smoothing the hair off her face. What the actual fuck was going on right now, and why was he the only person still worrying about Charlotte? “Shouldn’t we be-“
“Tsu’ll be here soon - once she’s checked in on the town. But Charlotte looks fine to me.” Galgaria slumped to the floor. “What’re you going to do first?” she asked Selena.
“Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?” Yami could feel his irritation building, his yoryoku starting to rise.
“It’s gone!” Kalpia burst through the doors. “It’s completely gone. No barrier, no briars, no nothing. Just a line where one side is autumn, and the other is early spring - and even that’s fading. We reckon it’s moving up to the castle. Some of the others are already down there taking measurements. But it’s gone! The curse is gone!” And she screamed and grabbed Selena, jumping up and down.
They’d broken the curse? That meant-
Yami leapt to his feet. “You”- he jabbed a finger at Kalpia -“wait here for Tsu, keep an eye on her.” He unfurled his scroll -“you two on me. Move!”
Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he gave them credit for listening, but mostly he ran, pounding through the corridors of the castle like a very devil was after him.
Dammit Jack! Stupid, reckless idiot. Charging in without thinking things through. Breaking stones and breaking curses without so much as a warning. What if he’d broken Charlotte? Yami was gonna kill him. He raced down the stairs, two at a time, stumbling. He burst into the small room - no more light pouring out the door, no flickering mana shield.
And yet - no crumbling remains, no devastation. No Jack. Only a small stone, tiny really, not even a pebble, sparkling and pulsing. It looked like the keystone, he guessed. But it didn’t feel like it, the torrent of power gone. He picked it up and put it in his pocket, just in case.
The voices of the Roses echoed off the walls as they ambled down the stairs. ‘Move’ seemed to be a word that they struggled with. Selena inspected the room.
“Did you need us for something?” She didn’t seem in the least bit shocked or surprised.
“Oh look, just like we thought.” Puli put her hands on her hips and nodded. “Charlotte’ll be happy. She can move the fancy wine back down here again.”
“The stone-“ Yami did his damndest to get a grip on the situation.
“Oh, it probably vanished when the curse broke.” Selena shrugged. “Anyway, who cares? It’s just some stone now. Come on - we’re missing the party! I want to see everyone before it sinks in and people decide they have somewhere else to be.”
She sprinted back up the stairs, Puli fluttering in her wake. Yami put his hand in his pocket. It wasn’t just a stone; he could feel the mana inside it like a deep well that went on and on, down and down into the dark. It didn’t make any sense. What the hell had just happened? If the stone was still here, and still flooded with power, then how had the curse broken?
*
The mana woke her. The mana and the petals tickling her nose. The trickle of power she’d coaxed and banked and grown over the years bloomed in her veins, the vines lush with power, pushing against her, asking to come out to play. Petals. Oh! She sat up, head swimming for a moment, a rush of darkness that blurred her vision. Petals covered her in a sea of rich blue; she drowned in petals. Spirits, she hoped no one had seen. To be seeping mana at her age was, well. You just didn’t. A flick of her wrist and the petals vanished, mana still bubbling at her fingertips. She summoned her briars, curious to see what would happen. Within a second, the room transformed, vines covering the floor, climbing the walls, roses dripping down from the cornices and the chandelier. The barrier in her mind still loomed, a calcified lump sitting between her and the full meltwater flood of her birth power, but the heavy drain that sat in the back of her skull had gone.
“Oh good, you’re awake.” Her heart stuttered. The big, loud idiot wore a smile that made her stomach flip. Her thoughts flashed back to what they’d been talking about just a few hours ago. Wait - how long had she been asleep? She looked out the window at the setting sun, the clock hidden behind creepers and leaves.
“Yeah, time’s been catching up pretty quickly.” Yami sauntered over. “Kalpia reckons we’ll be in spring before we know it. It’s causing havoc with the plants. Everyone’s harvesting what they can as quickly as possible. Flowers and fruit and everything.” He perched on the edge of the sofa where she lay, and she realised she’d taken over all the cushions. “No, you’re good. Relax. Tsu says you need to take it easy, let your body catch up with itself.” Yami inspected the room. “Guess you were figuring that out, huh?” A booming laugh. Another goofy grin.
The curse had broken. It was like her brain had only just caught up. They’d been in the middle of the room - she’d just hugged him, for goodness' sake, her cheeks reddening at the thought - and something inside her had cracked. The world had ended. And he’d wrapped himself around her like she was something breakable. She was the tough one, the capable one, the one who thrived under pressure. She made the hard choices, shouldered the responsibility, did the dirty work to keep their hands clean. No one ever thought she was breakable. This infuriating man, who asked her what she wanted, who tried, however mangled and ill-conceived, to help. Who kept coming back. Who refused to leave, no matter how mean or spiky or prickly she behaved. He’d brought her a posy - not some blowsy bunch of flowers, a proper posy. This man - the world tried to end, and he held her like she was something precious.
Charlotte leaned towards him. Her heart beat hard as her vines rustled and whispered in her ears. He licked his lips, the small action sending a trickle of heat spooling through her belly.
“Oh, fantastic, you’re awake.” Puli’s voice cut through, yanking her back to her senses. They jerked apart; his skin flushed, eyes dark. She had an irrational urge to briar Puli out of the room and wind her vines around the door handle so tightly it’d take them days to cut through. Yami muttered under his breath.
Puli nudged the vines with her foot. “Oooo, did you get more of your power back? Can I see?”
More footsteps clipped into the room. “Guys, come on! The whole town’s out. We’re setting off fireworks!” Kalpia inspected her. “Charlotte, stop messing about, you need to come now, everyone’s asking for you.” She came over to the sofa. “Actually, forget that. You need to tidy your hair; you look like a mess.”
Charlotte instinctively put a hand to her hair, as the heat of his body pulled away, the moment gone. Come on, Charlotte, fix yourself up. Mother said it was important to lead visibly and loudly, especially in troubled times. The sofa shifted as he stood up, leaving a gaping hole and a dent in the upholstery.
“Come on, Prickly Queen. Let’s go check on your people.” He held out a hand, helping her up, his eyes bright with laughter. He leaned closer. “You do need a comb first, though.”
She swatted him. As if he looked any better. She’d just survived the end of the world, she’d just survived her curse. Her legs gave way, the cushion whooshing as she plunked into it.
“The curse is gone.” She said it out loud, but she was really talking to herself. “Oh great spirits, the curse is gone.”
She placed her hands to her cheeks, dampness building in her eyes. The curse was gone. This thing that controlled her entire life for so long- She could leave. A thrill shot through her. She could walk out of this cage, and she never had to look back. She could have something different, something new. She touched her hand to her chest, feeling her heartbeat. She glanced at him, looking down at her with a look of concern on his face.
“You sure you’re good, Prickles?” His forehead creased. “Maybe you should take it easy for a few days.”
Like hell, she would. “Yami, I’m good. No, I’m perfect.” And she smiled as her stolen heart kept a steady beat.
*
Finral took his hands off his legs, pushing himself upright, staggering.
“Are you sure?” Puli was the last of the Roses waiting to be portalled home.
Finral waved a hand. “All great.” He plastered on a smile, sweat trickling down his temple. He took two more deep breaths. Charlotte glanced at Yami, hoping he’d step in before they pushed Finral too far, but he stood implacable in the entryway.
“Any time this year would be good. I’ve got nothin’ on.” Yami folded his arms.
Unbelievable. The poor man was clearly on his last legs, and all Yami was doing was pushing and pushing. Charlotte tutted under her breath.
Yami raised an eyebrow. “Problem, Prickles?” The irritation vanished. “Hey, you need to go anywhere? We can wait?” His voice softened.
Charlotte rubbed her arms, the air brisk and biting, the sun long gone. “No, I’m staying here this evening, thank you.” Where was she supposed to go? The world sat at her fingertips, and she had no one to visit and nothing to see. After her initial rush of excitement about leaving, she’d thought about where she might go. She’d asked Finral about the Blue Rose base, but he’d never heard of it. It was probably something else now, or crumbling into gentle decay; her squad lost to myth and legend in just seven small years. She didn’t have any other family. And there was nothing for her in the capital. Not yet. Going somewhere new to be surrounded by strangers, purely for the sake of it, seemed silly. And scary, a little voice said. But there would be plenty of time for that; she had time for everything now, and there was so much to do. So she’d stay here for now, like she always had. Anyway, Finral could only do so much, and Puli had been so patient; it was obvious all she wanted to do was get home to see her family again. She had nieces to meet who’d never been allowed to visit.
“Ok. Last portal out.” Finral visibly pulled himself together. “Capital, here we come.” A pained expression darted over him. “Might be best if everyone prepares to run.”
Yami made a scoffing noise in the back of his throat, and Charlotte glared at him. Couldn’t he see how hard the poor man was trying? She’d be the first to admit that she could be occasionally unreasonable with her expectations and requests, but this was extreme.
Yami glanced over at her, and all thoughts of raising her concern vanished as she gazed into his eyes, partly hidden in the moonlight. Her skin prickled, her vines calling out to be set free. Her hand lay heavy on her chest. It was strange; it didn’t feel any different. You wanted this, you hoped for this. She had, but now she felt the weight of it in a way that she hadn’t considered when they’d talked about it, her and her girls. She’d wanted to break the curse. She wanted him. And yet-
Mother said that all choices had consequences. This should have been an end; an end to the curse, to the guilt, to everything that she faced head-on, every day. She’d thought it was going to feel like freedom. So what was she missing?
“See you tomorrow then?” He asked. He looked like he might say something else, then moved away and turned to Puli. “Ready?”
The portal flared into life, the three remaining knights leaping through. It flickered and disappeared.
Charlotte stood outside the house and stared after them. Strains of some ongoing parties drifted on the wind, but most of Roselei had already exhausted itself. When she got so cold she couldn’t feel her hands anymore, she turned and went inside, into the dark and silence. No shrieks or arguments, no chattering or giggling. No lurking strangers hunting out her secrets. Just her, and her echoing footsteps.
*
Chapter 14: The Aftermath
Chapter Text
Charlotte sat on the floor in the salon and let the silence wrap itself around her. She’d drifted through the mansion, her arms hugged to her sides hunting for something, not that she knew what it was, and ended up here; peering through the gloom at the lumps and bumps of furniture in all the wrong places, the edge of the sofa digging into her back, everything draped in an absence so heavy she could feel it pulling her down.
On her own, hidden in the dark, she could finally think. The curse had broken. Oh, spirits. Her stomach whirled, and her cheeks burned hot enough to warm her freezing hands. A soft fluttering thing she thought she’d killed, buried alive under years of anger and pride, crushed by her determination that they wouldn’t win, unfurled its wings in her chest. A bubble of laughter burst out and rang out across the silent house. The curse had broken, joy fizzed through her veins, and she had absolutely no idea what to do next.
Sitting here wasn’t getting her anywhere. She leapt to her feet and paced the halls until she found herself in the library, surrounded by books she’d read a hundred times, maps so out of date they belonged in a museum. The hearth lay ready to light, but she’d never been very good at getting it to catch, so she picked up her grandmother’s faded shawl and pulled it tight around her shoulders. Goosebumps prickled her skin as she huddled into her father’s cracked old leather armchair, under the watchful eye of his portrait.
I’ve done everything you wanted, she told the man in the painting. He gazed down, chin high, ice in his eyes. ’You have a responsibility to your House, Charlotte.’ He’d never dreamed she could marry this high. She sighed. He’d never dream she could stoop so low. Fighting was for the brute masses. The Knights were rabble. Foreigners were nothing at all.
She wasn’t stupid enough to think that he was the only one who felt like that. She’d be leaving Roselei, going back to the capital for the first time in years. Did she think it had really changed? Had they really changed?
Her first night at the Roses, she’d stood outside the common room, sand from the examination floor still crusted under her nails, Captain’s lecture echoing in her belly. The heavy oak door stood ajar, the grain smooth against her fingers from generations of Roses, warmth spilling out, along with a swell of girlish noise. Beeswax and sandalwood, and an undertone of stew. She was coming home; all those years of striving and wanting it so badly it almost burned her tongue. She’d smoothed her skirts and pushed the door open.
As Charlotte advanced into the room, the girls nearest the entrance swivelled, their eyes boring into her, their easy chatter failing as she approached each group, blinking out like starlight. She looked for an opening, but every chair was full. By the time she reached the noticeboard, murmurs caught at the edges of her hearing; a rustling whisper, a gasp, the sound of a blunted giggle, stifled in someone’s hand. She held her head high, lips pressed together in a defiant line, all her hope, all her wanting, shrivelled into the palm of her hand. When she retreated, room assignment in hand, the door swung shut behind her, and the murmurs turned into a roar.
She could just imagine what those girls were saying about her now, what they were saying about Yami. She’d found her place at the Roses eventually, but they hadn’t made it easy for her and her gang of losers. A surge of hatred ran through her.
Her fingers traced the tassels of the shawl. She’d spent the last seven years in a cage. No - she’d spent her life in a cage. Well, what if she was tired of it? Her heart began to beat faster. Tired of feeling trapped. Tired of the whispers and giggles and all the things she couldn’t fix because they were a part of her, and to erase them would be to erase herself.
She threw the shawl down, paced out of the library, needing to do something, to go somewhere. Her feet led her to the old part of the house, the butler’s pantry and the spiral stairs. The room at the bottom was smaller than she remembered - at the time, it had seemed like the nearest thing to a dungeon that she had, and the best place to throw something she wanted to forget. Her fingertips traced the stone, cold and damp to the touch. She shivered. Strange to think the stone was gone, never to come back. She touched the barrier in her mind, dipped her hand into the flow of her mana. Strange to think it was hers again, after all this time.
If only she could take the whispers and throw them in here. Take the curse and everything it had done to her and her people, and bury it, too. Its weight, the size of a mountain, had hung heavy on her shoulders for so long. You became stronger, she reminded herself. She’d made a promise to her parents, and she’d sacrificed everything for it. She’d taken her weaknesses; her failure, her doubts, the soft fluttering thing in her chest, and pinned them down behind a fortress of briars, training her thorns to keep everyone away.
Then he crashed into her life, this man, this oafish, annoying, bossy man, who didn’t run when she showed him who she was and what she was capable of. He made the mountain feel like a rock, a stone, a grain of sand. But where did that leave her? She’d remade herself to defeat a curse that he’d brushed away with the touch of his hand.
She closed her eyes. It’s all you ever wanted, she told herself firmly. The curse was gone; she’d have a life, a crown, a seat at the table. But it wasn’t enough. She knew what she was supposed to want; she had responsibilities to her House, her people, her country, her squad. But all she could feel was his breath on her cheek, his touch on her arm, her shoulder, her back. Warmth flooded through her, pooling in her belly, and she ached for it. A laugh across a room, a hand in hers. That look in his eyes. Oh, it had all seemed so simple when she’d woken up from her trance, but now, in the middle of the night, her demons were on her shoulders, telling her she was a fool. That she was wanting things again.
And she was smarter now, harder. At fifteen, she’d been so focused on herself she hadn’t considered what their reaction might be. What did he want? Did he want her? Or was he just like all the others? The carrion crows who emerged as she reached marriageable age, after her lineage, her mana and a pretty face to decorate their arm. He said he wanted a political marriage; was that what this was? Politics? He’d given her armour, just like she’d dreamed, but was that all he saw, a fellow knight who had his back? He’d given her a posy and said she was loveable - a posy he couldn’t possibly understand, loveable because her sisters said so. He loves me, he loves me not; round and round and round it goes. She trudged back up the spiral stairs, tracing the stone with her fingers, the rock gritty to the touch.
She could ask him, of course. She huffed to herself, a plume of air puffing in front of her face. She could just imagine Mother’s face - a lady propositioning a man? It simply wasn’t done. But why not? He’d asked her first, hadn’t he? And what was the worst that could happen? That he might not like her back? That he might whisper and giggle about her? That she might feel like a fool? Really, Charlotte?
She stood in the great hall, her chuckle echoing off the beams. Seven and a half years ago, right here, the worst had already happened. What could Yami Sukehiro do to her, what could Clover do to her, that hadn’t already been done? She could wait here for seven more years, letting fate decide for her, or she could make her own decisions. What to do next became crystal clear.
She was Charlotte Roselei, her curse had broken, and she didn’t let things happen to her. Not anymore.
She whirled into action, grabbed a cloak, a broom, visited the hot houses, and took to the sky. Doubt gripped her just as she gripped the broom. Did she have any idea what she was doing? But once she was over the trees, the stars greeted her like old friends and night air sliced into her lungs, fresh and clear. She set her broom to the capital and flew.
*
Yami sank into his armchair. The late-night hum of the castle wrapped around him like a too-thin blanket failing to keep his mind at bay. He lay his head back, but instead of sleep, thoughts rushed in. The brush of her lips on his. Her smile cutting like a weapon: mine-all-mine. His words: I think you’re lovable. The world shaking, nowhere solid to turn, terror twisting around his bones. The naked trust in her eyes when he sat next to her on the sofa, as she leaned towards him, and the effort it took not to shatter it, not to tell her everything.
He groaned under his breath. What the hell had he been thinking? He was so fucked.
He shifted, the chair creaking in protest. It didn’t help. The loop started again, the smell of summer roses tangled in his brain, a low ache snarling up his gut. What was he supposed to do now?
The door squeaked open behind him. He reckoned there weren’t many things that could make this moment any worse, but the familiar ki of one of them marched into the rec room.
“Yami?”
If he kept his eyes closed, maybe she’d think he was asleep?
“Sukehiro, I can read ki as well as you can, and I know you’re lying.”
Yami dragged one eye open. She’d never shut up if he didn’t.
She bowed, crisp and precise, a perfect formal bow. “Big brother, I apologise. I doubted you.”
He snorted. She looked like an idiot.
“I thought that you had become distracted, that you’d lost sight of our mission.”
Returning upright, the impish glint he knew well returned, and Ichika squealed. Flung her arms around him, as fierce as she could be in the confines of the chair. “You did it!”
Yami managed to free a hand and patted her on the back. She flung herself into Jack’s battered sofa, her ki buzzing with excitement. It made his teeth ache.
“You broke the curse! This is brilliant,” Ichika clasped his hand. “We’ll get the wedding done, put her on the throne, then we’re done. It’s over.” She glowed. “It’s finally over. We can leave this stupid place and go home.” He hadn’t seen her this happy in months.
“Maybe we just see how it goes?”
Ichika laughed at him. “They’ll be fine, Sukehiro. When did you get so soft? If we go straight after the wedding, we’ll be home in time for summer. We could go back to the village - swim, fish. It’ll be just like it used to be before you left.”
Her expression softened, becoming almost childlike. It hit like a punch to the gut. He’d been thinking it would be more like a year, maybe two. Enough time to settle the council, make sure things were going to plan. He hadn’t really thought about it; he’d been too busy thinking about how to get Charlotte out of that dumb town.
“We should tell them the truth.” He could deal with the council; it wasn't like Nozel or the others would be bothered, not once they’d explained, but he had to tell Charlotte something before he made anything any worse. She might get mad at him for it, but he’d take a few scratches if it made her feel better.
“Not yet,” Ichika insisted. “Fuegoleon says they’re talking to Houses who’ve never come to the table before,” she sniggered, a little gloating sound. “They’re so terrified of you, they’ll do anything he asks. Jack’s thrilled. He’s getting everything he wanted.” She glanced up at Yami. “You make it sound like we deceived them.” She paused, and her voice softened. “Sukehiro, do you really think they’re going to care?“ Ichika nudged him. “They’re all getting exactly what they wanted. And once the marriage is sealed and the coronation done, we’ll get what we want too.”
They’d always wanted the same thing, him and Ichika. Always.
Ichika looked at him, smile fading. “Sukehiro. I want to go home.”
Yami inhaled to say that they would be, just not right now, but she cut him down.
“I hate it here.” She waited for the blow to strike, then continued. “This isn’t what we do. We’re the tough guys. The rock and the hard place. We don’t do this babysitting crap - that’s for someone else to pick up.” She glanced at Dorothy’s stupid chaise thing, glared at it like it had done her wrong.
”I don’t have what you do. I haven’t made a home for myself here, like you have.” She turned back to him, eyes too big in a face too pale that hadn’t seen enough sunlight in far too long, he realised with a stab of guilt. ”I’ve been too busy trying to stop everything from falling apart, and I’m tired.” Her shoulders slumped. “You called all the shots. When’s it my turn, Sukehiro?”
Her face crumpled, and in an instant, Yami was back in the village, his dad marching him away, and Ichika screaming and crying, held back by two of the aunties. ‘Don’t leave me. You promised, Sukehiro. Don’t leave me!’ He closed his hands into tight fists. He had promised, and he’d never abandon his little sister ever again.
Ichika touched his arm, bringing him back to himself. She observed him, then huffed a laugh. “It’s ok, Sukehiro. You should be proud. Four months - that’s all it took.”
Yami grunted. Proud of what? He’d come in, did what he did, took all the glory. Big fucking deal.
”Come on,” she turned, restless again, probably bored with his bullshit. “You should have a drink with the unit, share the good news.”
She wasn’t wrong. He should be with the Dark Knights, cracking open the last case of sake and listening to their wild stories, and telling his own. Another province annexed. Another stone laid in the wall against some future threat only Ryu could see.
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll catch up.” Yami made himself smile. “Gimme a minute.”
“Ryuya’s gonna be so happy.” Ichika beamed. She patted him on the arm. “He would never have sent you here if he didn’t think you could handle this.” Ichika marched out as rapidly as she’d arrived.
He leaned back into the chair again. If Ichika had one good point, it was that he could handle this. He blamed the flowers. Those damn flowers and their stupid secret language. They looked weird, smelled nice, and he’d thought Charlotte would like them, that was all. He groaned out loud again. He was so so fucked.
The flowers and the curse, falling apart when he’d least expected it, that’s what caused the chaos, like the aftermath of a big battle when everyone was drunk on being alive and did things they’d never normally do. Maybe Charlotte had been swept along by the moment, like he had. Because there was no way someone like her would be into someone like him. And there was no way he’d lead someone on like that, pretending to care for them, then leaving them in the lurch. It was all a big misunderstanding, it had to be. They’d both got carried away. Because if it wasn’t, and they hadn’t, and if she meant it, and if he meant it too… He shook his head.
His hand crept into his pocket. It was a funny little thing. He glanced around the room, then took it out, holding it up to the mana-light. Strange swirling patterns, twisted with shadow, swum onto the walls. Its surface felt cold and perfectly smooth to the touch, tiny veins sitting just beneath the milky surface. He extended his power towards it, and as his yoryoku caressed its smooth surface, he felt himself falling down, down, down into a deep, dark well, roiling with mana, lush and ripe with a thorny edge that scraped against his yojutsu and made his breath catch. Longing as sharp as a blade sliced into him. When he pulled his yoryoku away, it resisted, tugging against him.
He should give it back. Of course he would. He’d let her get settled, then he’d give her back the stone that felt like her. Let it go, let her go. He slapped his yoryoku down, stuffed the stone in his pocket, before he got any other ideas. Like how he might take it home, a tiny reminder of her.
He rubbed his hand over his face. Snap out of it, man. He knew what he needed to do. He’d promised Ichika all along that their orders still stood. Anyway, he'd read Charlotte’s writing, and there were things in there he’d never heard of, all these ideas and concepts, social contracts and economic leverage. She clearly didn’t need him. And she shouldn’t want him. Who wanted some arsehole guy who broke shit then ran away when the going got tough? Who wanted the guy who invaded your country? Who wanted the guy who chose his sister over you? He snorted. She deserved the guy who could give her everything.
He covered his face with his hands, his throat suddenly dry. Fuck.
Maybe he couldn’t tell Charlotte that they were leaving, but he could make sure this was a whole lot easier for her. He owed her that. Maybe she’d already come to her senses, but just in case she hadn’t, he wasn’t going to let her make the sort of mistake that had his name all over it. When he saw her, he was going to tell her the truth: he’d tell her that he cared about her, that he wanted to be friends. And, hey, she might be thrilled about it. If she had any sense, she would be. Like Fuegoleon said, he was here to scare the living shit out of Clover, but she was going to do the real work. And when a hit of time had gone by, he’d get the hell out of the way so that she could rule in peace, and by then she’d be happy to see him go. It was just like playing cards; all he needed to do was remember to fold before he lost everything. Or worse, before she did.
He shoved himself out of the chair, out of the door. Scrolls, he needed a drink.
Underpowered mana lights hummed down the corridor, flickering from blue to pink to yellow and green and back again, like walking through a fucking rainbow. Left led to the guard room; to Takeshi’s bass and Shin’s baritone carrying a tune about walking by the shore, but the thought of celebrating felt like sand in his throat. Didn’t they know there was that cluster of yellow in Diamond to worry about? Didn’t they know there was a group of kids in the barracks who didn’t know hand signals yet?
Left led to his sister, his sworn knights, and home. Right led to the courtyard, the barracks, and a buzz of chaotic chatter in a language that wasn’t his.
He touched one of the lights, blasted it with dark magic. A chain reaction shot down the line, each colour plunging into black, before reigniting, stark bright light exposing the cracks and stains behind him.
Fuck it. He wasn’t in the mood. He turned right.
*
It was still the middle of the night, the sky missing that grey back light that heralded dawn, and Charlotte’s hands were cold, despite the gloves, and her bottom ached, unaccustomed to hours on a broom. She must look a sight, she thought, smoothing her hair with her hand, as a bewildered sentry showed her the door to Yami’s rooms, which were apparently in the old barracks.
“He’s a grumpy one, miss. Are you sure?” The boy needed a good meal and a better tailor, but at least his boots fit, so they must be doing something right.
“I’m sure.”
The main guard room was neat and cosy in the dim light from the embers banked in the fireplace, a single mana light burning. Crockery teetered in perilous towers, clothes hung drying in a corner, next to a rack of polished steel. A man sat on the sofa, a game of solitaire laid out in front of him, his red hair catching the light. He took one look at her, at what she was holding, and jerked his head.
“Third door on the left.“
She nodded her thanks and began her careful way across the dim room.
“Good to see you, ma’am,” he added.
She scoffed. Ma’am. Like she was her mother. Or the Captain.
The barracks slept, only the soft rustle of shuffling cards from the guard room, and a few rumbling snores. Her heart thumped so loudly she felt sure she might wake them all. She swallowed. Tugged at her cloak strings. Her fingers traced the left wall as she counted the doors. It had all seemed so simple back at Roselei - but what if he wasn’t happy to see her? What if she’d got this all wrong? What if he only meant what he said? Deep inside her soul, the soft, fragile thing that had snuck past her careful defences and made itself at home, fluttered. Her knees trembled as her fingertips skated over door two. Be brave, Charlotte.
Her fingers stopped at door three. The quiet of the barracks threatened to choke her. The petals of the posy shook. This was a stupid idea. It was the middle of the spirits-damned night, and she was lurking outside a man’s room, clutching a posy. Betrothal be damned. Mother would lock her in her room for a week. Captain wouldn’t be much better.
She knocked. Knocked again. Muffled cursing and banging filtered through the door, then warm lamp-light spilled out, blocked by the outline of a large man, hair rumpled, a blanket loosely wrapped around his waist. He smelled like the soil after spring rain, every tousled, sleepy-eyed, irritated inch of him.
“What the hell time of night-“
She closed her mouth around the sounds that threatened to escape. Then she remembered how to breathe. It was all she could do not to step forward and touch him - but that wasn’t what she was here for.
“Charlotte.” His bluster drained away. His face was in shadow, but she had his attention.
“We need to talk,” she blurted out. The knot in her stomach exploded into a riot of butterflies. Beyond his shoulder, his bed - his bed - was as messy as his hair.
“Here.” He waved her in. “Just. Gimme a minute.” He grabbed a few items from a drawer with one hand and vanished into the dark corridor.
She propped her broom against the chest and channelled more mana into the lamps. The rest of the room was so tidy that without the rumpled sheets and the katana centred on top of the dresser, she might have thought it unoccupied. As though whoever lived here were just passing through and had somewhere better to be. She trailed her fingers over the dresser, where his hands must touch every day. She bit her lip. Hard. Focus, Charlotte. You want more than that.
When he reappeared, he’d swapped his blanket for loose trousers, his bare chest covered with one of the jackets he liked to wear.
He stood just inside the door, his hands in his pockets. “Bit keen, even for you, isn’t it, Prickles? You know it’s still the middle of the night?” He grinned at her, then glanced down at what she was holding, and he tensed.
A warning prickled down her spine. Something in the way he held himself had her scanning the room for threats.
“But yeah, a chat. That’d be good.” He scratched his neck, looking everywhere except at her. “So. About today…”
Despite her layers, goosebumps prickled her arms.
Her hand gripped the posy. Her heart beat in her ears. She had to tell him. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out; air locked in her lungs, poisoning her. Come on, Charlotte. He was supposed to be looking at her like he had before, all shining grey eyes and heated intent. Instead, his gaze settled on her posy and for a brief moment, he became someone else. She’d seen him furious, worried, howling with laughter, and a dozen emotions in between, but he owned every one. His feelings were big, brash and unapologetic. This flash of melancholy didn’t suit him at all.
He met her eyes, his expression blank. He gestured at the jumble of bright red flowers. “Looks a bit like the one I got you. Messed that up, didn’t I?” He chortled, but although his eyes crinkled as they always did when he laughed, the light inside didn’t change. Usually, his eye colour reminded her of a thundercloud or the scraping steel of a sword. Today they were flat and murky. “Foreign brute, remember?” She did. She flushed. ”I thought it was just a bunch of flowers.”
What was he saying? A wave of dizziness ran over her. Where were her words when she needed them the most? She should be standing for this, facing it head-on, but her legs were shaking so badly now. She sank onto the bed.
He fiddled with his hands. “Sheesh. I could’ve said anything. Should put a warning on those things, huh?”
He hovered in front of her for a moment, then sat next to her on the bed, the mattress sinking, forcing her to brace against his gravitational pull.
“So, er. What’s this one say?” He poked the petals. “Be nice or I’ll chuck you in the lake?” He guffawed, jabbing his elbow into her ribs. But he wasn’t looking at her. Why wasn’t he looking at her?
His laughter tailed off. His hands rubbed at the loose trousers covering his knees. He cleared his throat. “You know I respect you, Charlotte. If I brought you a flower-thing, it should have said that. Y’know. Respect.”
Respect.
He cleared his throat again. “Because you’re cool, y’know. Behind all those prickly bits. Feels like you’ve got my back. Comrade.” He slapped her on the back. Then froze and pulled his hands back onto his lap. “It should have said that, too.”
Comrade.
She knew the words, and she didn’t, their meaning lost in the buzz in her mind. For the second time in twenty-four hours, something she thought was solid ground shifted under her.
“Yeah, so. Maybe I should get you a new one. One that says it properly. Y’know. That we’re friends. In this together. Not whatever the last one said.” If she hadn’t been so close, she wouldn’t have seen how pink his ears turned.
The soft, fragile thing inside her, made of hope and star-lit dreams, cried out, battered itself against her, demanding she find a way to fix this. He looked at her. Finally looked at her, his eyes still murky: where previously there had been heat, now there was just calm resolve with a hint of panic. She’d seen enough of that over the years to recognise it in a second. He was sitting next to her, and instead of leaning in to kiss her, he was talking about respect and friendship and panicking inside. An icy hand plunged into her chest and squeezed her heart until it froze.
She heard herself make a noise that could be agreement.
She took a breath, forced it past the ice and the soft, keening thing in her chest. “I apologise for the late-night call.” She struggled to her feet, her limbs dragging like moving through water. “I was a little enthusiastic. Excited to get started with, you know, everything.” She made a vague gesture. “I’ll leave you to your sleep.” Charlotte twisted her fingers into her skirt. Do not cry. Not here. Not now.
Tension flooded out of his body. Panic turned to relief. She knew that look, too. “You could stay? Hang out?” He sounded hopeful.
She watched herself reach up, take her cloak, and take her broom. “I’d better go. Busy day tomorrow.” She reached for the door handle, amazed at how still and sure her hand appeared. “Good night, Yami.”
“G’night, Prickles.” Something in his tone tugged at her, but she daredn’t stop.
The night air cut to the bone.
“Hey.” He called from the doorway. “One thing I’ve been thinking about - the curse. I thought breaking the keystone would break the curse, only-" She turned to find him frowning at her. “I don’t get it. What broke the curse?”
She held it tight to her chest, the little creature made of glances and smiles; all their together, all their tomorrow.
“I did.” She raised her chin, wary. Did he know any different?
His face cracked in two, and in three long strides, she was enfolded. “Good for you, Prickles. Knew you had it in you,” he rumbled in her ear.
She drowned in the smell of grass and green shoots and new beginnings. She let herself sink into him. Just this once. He shifted around her, his arms tightening as he took some of her weight, his head leaning into hers, his hand curling around her neck.
Ok, Roselei. Enough. She tapped out, detangling herself. “See you later, Yami.” If she didn’t leave now, she’d betray herself.
“Wait. Your flowers.”
“Keep them.” She shrugged. “They’ll remind you. To be nice-” she glanced back - “or I’ll chuck you in the lake.”
His chuckle echoed across the empty courtyard. His gaze lay heavy on her back as she walked away. There. She’d been brave and she’d said it. Or as near to it as she ever would. How had she got it all so wrong? She hadn’t imagined it - had she? A horrible feeling grew inside. What if she had? Was she so desperate, so hopeful, that she’d taken all those things he said and did, and convinced herself they were love? She could have sworn…Heat prickled behind her eyes. He just didn’t feel the same, that was all. Nothing she could do about that. She kept her eyes forward, refusing to be caught looking back. She turned into the covered walkway that led back to the main buildings.
The soft, fragile thing in her chest gave a soft cry and began to crumble. She wanted it to stay. She wanted it to stay so badly. She didn’t want to go back to how it was before, her heart as trapped as she was.
She sent a prayer through the rock, into the soil, to the Great Spirit of the Earth, patron of all plant mages and ground-types. If she peeked around the corner and he’d gone, it was dead. Done. She would accept it and move on. If she peeked and he was still there - maybe there was a chance. A small sliver of hope that he might change his mind. Not now. Or next week, but over time. People could change over time, even when it was standing still.
She crouched down, taking herself below the eyeline, and peered around the corner.
A flurry of butterflies churned in her stomach. He was still there, still looking in her direction, but his shoulders slumped, and he was rolling something around in his hand. She peered closer, but it was too far, too dark and too small to see. A quirk of the night air caught his huffed sigh and mutter of “fuck it”, making them as clear as if he were standing next to her. He dragged his feet back into the barracks, warm light spilling out, "You ok, boss?" from the redhead and then darkness once more.
What did that mean? Charlotte dragged her feet into the castle to find somewhere to wait for the sunrise, too tired, too worn to fly home now. Sleep - well, that was something else.
hawktuahdemure on Chapter 13 Sun 13 Jul 2025 10:18PM UTC
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ThisHopeIsADangerousThing on Chapter 13 Mon 14 Jul 2025 07:38AM UTC
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hawktuahdemure on Chapter 13 Wed 20 Aug 2025 11:00PM UTC
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ThisHopeIsADangerousThing on Chapter 13 Sun 07 Sep 2025 02:08PM UTC
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SkyAzphel on Chapter 13 Mon 14 Jul 2025 07:54PM UTC
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ThisHopeIsADangerousThing on Chapter 13 Tue 15 Jul 2025 03:31PM UTC
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Drones_of_Innocence on Chapter 14 Sat 06 Sep 2025 08:59PM UTC
Last Edited Sun 07 Sep 2025 07:19AM UTC
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ThisHopeIsADangerousThing on Chapter 14 Sun 07 Sep 2025 02:14PM UTC
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