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"There was a dog in there," said Illuga. "A shaggy old dog. I reckon you've met her, though you've probably never taken to her."
"Admittedly, I am struggling to see how Annelise matters here," said Flins.
"Well, she doesn't, really. I think she was the only one who was happy to see me." The nascent dusk was a gentle blue, and below them, clanging and clattering, Nasha Town was poised on the brink of revelry. Illuga had a reservation for the night at the Flagship and although he didn't particularly feel like drinking, he wanted a drink. Quietly, he added, "The old man would've been better off sending someone else."
"You do yourself small credit," Flins murmured. "Our Starshyna has great trust in you. Even he—hmm—isn't altogether keen towards meetings with representatives of the Voynich Guild, even when the Curatorium is involved, so I've heard."
"It wasn't that."
"What was it, then?"
"They kept referring to me," said Illuga. "They directed questions towards me and looked my way for approval or opinion before even so much as glancing towards Captain Sousi." Illuga was a fine warrior, though not one to boast, and he did his damndest to be a good captain, but when it came to matters of funding, the purported eloquence which Flins was so insistent of fell short and more often than not Sousi, his senior in all manners, had had to butt in over his fumbling. Much to some nauseating shame, Illuga was not nearly as familiar with the apparatus of Nasha Town as he ought've been. He was upset with Nikita (the petulance of which he was fully aware) for ignoring aches along an old leg wound for far too long, but he was frustrated with himself more than anything.
"Captain Sousi is a good and honorable man," Flins said. "For some time now, he has shouldered the burden of overseeing the vast majority of our contingents on the southern islands. It is a great testament to his character that he will be able to weather perceived slights from a perhaps callous guild member within a conference which lasted not even a full afternoon. It cannot be helped that you are a stand-in for Nikita, and thus Piramida."
"I know," said Illuga. He was somewhat dehydrated and his voice was rasping.
"I understood that you would. I cannot help but voice matters of the forthright heart."
Illuga laughed, though it was more of a cough. "Undoubtedly, sir." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Flins smile. "I saw you, you know. Before I went into the meeting."
"Oh? Wherefore, pray tell?"
"As I said—just before I was about to go in. You were in the marketplace, heading the other way."
"Is that so?"
"Yes," said Illuga, twisting towards him. Is that so strange? The men say you have a thousand eyes, Sir Flins, and that you watch through the birds. He hadn't even been prying. It had been no small relief, the possibility that he might be able to catch Flins afterwards, given that he didn't flee human society before Illuga could at least wave. But he seemed thoughtful—or was just posturing—but there was a certain downwards quirk of his mouth which told otherwise. He was curious as to whether Flins was even aware of it.
"Only because I was looking for you, is all."
"You're flattering me," Illuga said flatly.
Flins tilted his head, as if to say, Maybe so. "Will you be dining alone tonight?"
"That was the plan, unless I ran into a close colleague, which I have." He grinned at him. ("Ah, now you flatter me, my lord," Flins replied, alight with mirth) "Though truth told, we came all this way, and I have no idea how to get to the Flagship from here."
"May I walk you there?"
"As you were hoping, I presume." Illuga stood and rolled his shoulders, grimacing at the cracks. He held out a hand, and Flins grasped it. He rose.
✧
He disdains the practice of courting; a relationship ought to develop of itself, or not at all. Of course he has no wish to marry (and plenty have informed him that he never should). When revelation strikes, it is at the shore: The sunlight feels nice today, does it not; Sir Flins (as always), you're pulling my leg, I've not once seen as much as a ray peek through the clouds; and he cannot say—pure honesty would teeter their intricate rapport, pure dishonesty would render his tongue rotten—that he is more keen towards the night, and could survive entire ages in darkness alone, but Illuga does bring the dawn with him, and it is pleasant on his skin, feather-light. His lips part and his tongue twitches and he tastes salt on the air and the chill of frostlamp blooms. Illuga's expression is of familiar, somewhat wearied disbelief, a smile tugging at the sides of his mouth. The circles under his eyes have deepened and his cheeks are bitten red by the rimed wind of mid-autumn.
Flins, Illuga says. Words are dust behind his teeth. Are you well?
✧
It had been the dream of their founder, the torchforger Solovei, that Nod-Krai was to be an Elysium: whether that had come to fruition or not depended on who you asked and if the Wild Hunt had recently reared its head. If one were to ask Illuga, he would affirm that he held true to his oath, and he might've also added—in close company—that it was an Elysium for history. All manners of stories and legend washed ashore in the land of exiles, secretive, forbidden, cached, unbound and untethered by border, and mora, save for the booksellers. Due to the influence of the Scions, it was common knowledge there that the people of the furthest reaches of antiquity beheld three moons. A scrollmonger had told Illuga that before that, in the past of pasts, there were no moons at all, and the sea moved to the heartbeat of the Lord of all Waters, may She return to grace us once more.
Flins, well-aware of this predilection, had gotten Illuga a book for it. It—a volume regarding the old court of Snezhnaya—sat now on the table between them. Illuga tapping a finger almost unthinkingly on the bright blue cover. "I hope this didn't cost an awful lot."
"Any gift for you is worthwhile, my lord, even if it asks for more than the fabled treasure of Reed Miller himself," Flins said solemnly.
"But it must've come out of pocket," said Illuga.
"I did pay out of pocket," said Flins.
Illuga said, "Sir—while I am grateful for this gift, you spend your wage on alcohol and fine gems—" ("And coins," Flins added) "—And I fear becoming an addition to this list. But I am quite grateful, truly. I wish—I fear that I've not the time to read it."
"The night is young," Flins offered.
Illuga snorted. "My night will have run its due course once I get to my room."
"I suppose so," said Flins.
They'd ordered nothing to eat—Illuga hadn't, anyways—because he had no appetite; he'd half-expected a sly remark from Flins, but none had came. There had barely been any room left in the Flagship, and they'd been lucky to find a table near the back which had been avoided largely because it was missing half a leg, but it was sequestered enough that they didn't have to speak over the din. Flins had insisted on taking the seat on the most unbalanced side, and he was all but squeezed into the veritable corner of the building itself. Illuga's shoulder was pressed uncomfortably into the metal wall. He was broad, and Flins was tall, and the table was small enough that their legs were practically interlocked, which certainly did a lot to lift his spirits—though he had to keep this to himself—but as he pulled the book into his lap, he suddenly felt quite bad: he brought supplies to Flins all of the time, but never a proper gift.
"I know this is out of the blue, but have other Lightkeepers ever celebrated your birthday?"
"If so, I have never attended the event."
"Is it close?"
"It's today," Flins said.
Illuga gaped at him. "It is not! Why didn't you say anything?"
"Why, I have been told I come across as rather subtle," Flins drawled, and Illuga sputtered a laugh, "But in all seriousness, my lord, a day is a day is a day. I only speak for myself, of course. When you have, ah—" (Lived as long as I have, Illuga finished silently) " —Seen enough of the world, the date of one's birth becomes increasingly moot."
"Well, I feel terrible," said Illuga. "I would've gotten you something. I can't believe you're gifting me on your birthday. What do you want?"
"A good question," Flins said. "Direct and to the point. As you did mention, I spend enough mora on the objects of my particular liking, so I will not ask for gems, coins, or alcohol, though the spirits of Nod-Krai tend to fall below my standards—I drink mostly to drink."
"I could order something from up north."
Flins waved a hand. "Now I am the one to chide about mora spent, my lord—it would be far too expensive. Besides, I could just as easily prefer Mondstadt wine."
"You don't," said Illuga.
"I don't," said Flins. They looked at each other and burst out laughing. It was a real laugh, from Flins—the first time Illuga had heard it, Flins had been trying to teach him to dance, and it had been so rough a bark that it seemed to rattle the loose stones of the ruins—and Illuga's heart trilled in his throat. He was wan as the grave, and devastatingly handsome, and his twilit hair had fallen over his shadowed gaze. Do you sleep, Sir Flins? I should like to sleep with you. Even unspoken, it was so corny that Illuga nearly began coughing again.
"Ah…" Flins rubbed his eyes with his palm, and laughed again, a breath of a laugh. "The wines and ciders of the fair south are commendable indeed. But no, I do not prefer it. Did you not order anything from the bar?" He peered around Illuga's shoulders. "Right, the throngs. Likely we are forgotten, and I am loathe in this case to insist on remembrance."
"That's why I didn't order anything from the bar," said Illuga. "I'm fine just talking to you. The subject has changed greatly, sir—what do you want?" A glass shattered behind him, and someone started hooting and hollering at the top of their lungs.
"Oh my," said Flins.
"Flins," Illuga said.
A good question," Flins repeated. "Yet, paradoxically, it remains vague. We may still be talking of my birthday, but the phrasing also prods at the greatest desires of one's heart, so to speak. I want to see you, which is to say, I want for your survival and good health. I want (and here, the phrasing sounds quite crude, although this falls on my shoulders) more bones for my puzzles—the most recent one, a skirmish in the shadow of that colossus on Paha Isle, is woefully unfinished. So let's settle on that, then. I would like bones."
There was more shouting within the crowd. Illuga realized his mouth was hanging open a bit, and he licked his lips. They were shockingly dry. Sir Flins, I actually wanted balm. Whenever he got back to Piramida, a poultice of mandragora leaves would work just fine. He said, "Bones, then. Fossils are just as well, right? There's some in your other ones."
"I am also quite partial to fossils," said Flins.
Illuga nodded. The rocks along the coastline beneath Piramida were known to host ancient fish and beasts. He would just have to find the tools to crack them open. If I have the time. I will make time for this, he thought, firmly.
"Forgive me," said Flins suddenly, "But I could have sworn that I saw you earlier in the market of Nasha Town, ahead of me. I cannot say I am greatly troubled, but I am at a loss as to who else it could've been. They had your hair, earring, jacket—even your walk."
"My distant relative, the one with all the wealth," Illuga suggested. "You're seeing things, begging pardon. A changeling."
"Perhaps, perhaps, and definitely not," Flins said.
"You just said you wanted to see me, sir. Could you have merely envisioned me?"
"I would never merely envision you," Flins said grandly, and Illuga was laughing again. His mind was buzzing, without a single drop of spirits—maybe it was the proximity between them, though they had sat close enough on the hillside earlier—maybe it was that the relief of catching Flins in the crawling streets of Nasha Town after that awful meeting and the chill of the offices was a little more than mere relief. There was a thrill to encountering Flins outside of his natural habitat; he had yet to do it in Piramida. He didn't even mind the obvious, oversteeped flattery— "You say such things," he said.
"I do," said Flins, smiling.
✧
He had disregarded the conceptualization of desire. He has acknowledged attraction, certainly, when he first took up spear in the name of the Pale Star, so it may be more apt to say that—at present—he has caught himself unawares. Thoughts scatter through his mind, bright and quick as lightning, the impression lasting behind his eyes. He has lived in isolation, and likes it that way, and yet he looks forward to Illuga's returning, the way his colleagues might rejoice at the sight of the sun, or one might wait and watch as their lover's ship docks after a great and long parting; and Illuga has carved his mark into the cemetery as well: there are foodstuffs in the makeshift pantry (cleared shelves and rearranged books, Illuga's insistence) for Illuga's benefit as much as his supposed own, and there is even a bed down there (also Illuga's insistence), but Illuga likes to cook; he cooks for those who he holds in his heart. Illuga ought to be with the living, not in the company of the dead, and those who keep company with them—and he is not so vain to assume that emotion is reciprocated. Certainly he must have suitors. He is handsome, brave, and kind, bearing a capacity for love such that his chosen may be sated beyond the grave. His own ashen heart, it seems, is kindled once more, and begging for Illuga's audience and regard; though of course he has never been so obvious.
It reoccurs to him, then, how he has lived for less than half of his life.
None of this is doing anything for his current predicament, which is his cock lying flaccid in his palm. There are other ways to pleasure himself (though these he had also ignored; he really never thinks about it) within the lantern, but because he has found himself aching for mortal soul and flesh, it seems fair enough that he ought to address it in kind. He has already spat in his palm: the gesture seemed cruel and crude, but the only oils on hand are for his spear (necessary) and what Illuga uses for meals (which would also be crude). All he needs now is to move.
It occurs to him, quite foolishly, that he could always go back to sleep in his tomb. The thought is banished as soon as it comes. He was awoken by the Lightkeepers, and he has taken their oath and creed unto himself. It is likely, too, that Illuga would miss him.
He sighs. He grasps his cock and begins to move, up and down.
He closes his eyes.
Illuga swims into view. Illuga, by the shore, bitten by the cold, ashen hair tousled in the wind, the light of his blue flame glinting off his earring. He is warm—a golden flame, burning over the mists. His lips are chapped. He thinks bitterly of taking dead skin between his teeth and peeling it away, soothing with his tongue. He thinks of the sweat on his roughened hands, and the scars adorning his arms. His laugh, almost breathless. He is good with his hands, a deft dealer at cards; his instincts are more than well-earned. He likes to watch them at work, fascinated by the motion of his knuckles. He likes everything about Illuga—the ire, which he fights so hard to bury; his persistent curiosity. He has been dealt a harder hand in life than most. What he would do, to bring him to pleasure.
He is aware, beyond the increased motion of his wrist, that his cock as more than stirred. It did not take long. He is aware that, for some, this might be a little embarrassing.
He thinks about it: he tries to imagine them in other places: a roughshod room in Nasha Town, a secluded corner in the Palestar court, away from prying eyes. He comes back to the lighthouse. They are—where he is now, in the library-cellar underground; Or maybe my tomb, he thinks, but he would find that macabre—not on the bench: it would disturb the ghosts. He would kiss his hand, his arm; he would kiss his neck: he itches to bury his mouth there. He thinks of burying it in his crotch, and it is as though a dam breaks. He is bent over, tearing ragged breath in and out of his throat—panting—overcome: Illuga is too nice to grab his hair, and Flins would have to take his hand himself, and place it on the back of his head, so he might buck into his mouth; that he might worry wiry hair between his teeth, spread his fingers (ungloved) through it, lave his tongue upon his core and drink of him; and Illuga, Illuga, flushed, chest (still clothed—) rising, falling, rising, hair sticking to his forehead, hand over mouth, palm bitten hard; Flins hears himself say, hoarsely, There is no one else here—I wish to hear you—
Pleasure is heady. He spends on the floor with an unelegant noise, and he remains there, bowed in the chair, vision swimming. Later, he cleans up his mess with the lantern.
✧
Exhaustion caught up to Illuga when it began hurting to speak at all. Flins, forever the gentleman, walked him to his room.
"I just realized," rasped Illuga, at the door, "That despite my protests on the matter, I never even wished you a happy birthday."
"The night is young," said Flins, and then added, "My apologies," when Illuga, laughing, coughed.
"It's fine. I just need water. You're proven right—this is your big moment, sir."
"I am happy to spend it with you," Flins said softly. Illuga regarded him—his lightless golden gaze, sharp cheeks, his scent—cinders and salt, and the crispness of falling snow. Now that they were out of the bar, the overwhelming scent of beer and booze was gone. He's talking about his birthday, he thought, and shook his head, smiling.
"Goodnight, sir."
Flins bade him goodnight, bowing, and swept away. Illuga closed the door and stared at it for a good minute before veering towards the nightstand, grabbing the jug of water and drinking straight from it. The walls hummed with the low and constant sound of kuuvahki. He was grateful to fall asleep to it tonight, instead of lying awake listening for howls and low whimpers and the crackle of flame within the earth and upon the air, but he missed his Orioles; there were stirrings in the wretched mountains beneath the eye of Kipumaki, and there was talk of his team in particular being sent out; he was glad to have seen Flins.
His was one of the smaller rooms which the Flagship had to offer. He shrugged his jacket off and wrapped it around the book and lay them on the chair in the corner and kicked off his boots and stumbled into bed. He lay awake, still, and closed his eyes in hopes of sleep rushing over him; some minutes later, he wrenched the blanket off and sat up and swore at nothing really in particular. He should have stayed with Flins; all the stress and frustration of earlier had slipped away in his presence. I should have stayed with Flins, he thought again, and then rubbed his eyes as the implication whispered, as it always did. He could have. He had earned Flins' great trust and had learned to sift through the layers of flowers which Flins spoke—though it still stung, sometimes—and he could've made it sting further: he could have squandered it all in one moment.
Lying back down, Illuga slipped his hand into his pants and began to palm himself. Although the ache was building, and his breath starting to catch, it was a futile endeavor. He rarely jacked off—rarely ever thought about it—rarely ever completed it, really—because, he thought wearily, there was no time: he had all the rest of the night; he was too tired; he had stayed up talking with Flins. There was too much—there was always too much, and he was barely enough. He thought, sometimes, that the debt he owed his mother could catch up at any minute, and his shoulders would tense. They were almost always tense. Something terrible is going to happen. Engraved in the back of his mind.
It didn't change anything. He poured what remained in the jug over his hand and wiped it off on a towel and slept on his side.
His dreams were fitful and dark, full of smoke.
✧
He stands at the unfathomable threshold between hall and room, and the words are in the back of his tangible throat: Please allow me in—I would speak your name from my lips—I would curl at the foot of your bed—I would lay with you in the heat and sweat of love—I would stand in the corner and not speak a single word, if only to be in your company. He says, Goodnight—I will be at the lighthouse, as always, if you wish to stop by.