Niccolette curled the spell, and Uzoji had felt that the mona were a little sluggish in the air around her, slow and hesitant to respond. He wondered what, exactly, she had been doing in the ship – if she had been casting already tonight. She’d failed one spell already that evening, outside, and her first quantitative spell had been an utter disaster; he wondered.
Niccolette finger-combed her hair back from her face, and watched Collingwood, expressionless, as he coughed up what seemed like the better part of his lungs into the bowl, tears rolling down his cheeks. Uzoji winced, sympathetically, but held, coughing only once in sympathy.
Collingwood opened his eyes, and did his best to breathe, looking more than a little uncomfortable, and claimed his dignity once more.
“I think it best to do the spell again,” Niccolette said, nonchalantly, looking at Collingwood. “When you are ready, of course,” she shrugged.
When Collingwood gave his consent, Niccolette would begin to cast again. Uzoji felt the mona swirl in the air around her – swirl, and begin to heat, and then gutter out like a candle’s fickle flame. She curled the spell, but it was obvious to him – likely to Collingwood as well – that the spell would not work, long before she had finished it. Nothing happened.
“Beloved,” Uzoji began, very gently, his gaze lingering on the trickle of blood seeping slowly from one of Niccolette’s nostrils.
“Shut up!” Niccolette snapped. “Not one godsdamned word – “ she turned and pushed past Rowland and Aiden both – it was not hard, Uzoji noted, as neither seemed terribly interested in staying in her path – and fled the room, the door slamming shut behind her.
Uzoji held there briefly, and bowed politely to Collingwood. “Give us a moment, please,” he said with an easy smile, and followed Niccolette out into the hallway. Perhaps, he thought, it was for the best; no one in the room looked in the least easy. Niccolette’s field must be rather difficult for a human to bear, he supposed, particularly when etheric. Normally he wasn’t quite so concerned about whether they found it comfortable; the humans who tended to join airship crews were, generally, more comfortable than the average around heavy-casting galdori.
Uzoji went out into the hallway, and followed Niccolette down it, slowly. She had gone back – not out to the floor, but the other way, down to the end of the hallway where a small, dusty window let in a little bit of light, the rain splattering steadily against it. Her hands were knotted in her dress, and she was shaking, and he could see tears trickling down her cheeks in the faint light.
“My shores and tide,” Uzoji whispered. “Why are you crying?” He reached for her, gently, and held not quite touching her, to see if she would twist away. She did not – she turned into him, instead, and grabbed hold, and he felt her shaking against his chest, her head tucked down and her face pressed into the place where his shoulder met his neck, beneath the collar of his jacket.
Uzoji held her close, and stroked her back gently with his hand, and Niccolette cried against him.
“I am fine, beloved,” Uzoji whispered. “I am fine.”
Niccolette sobbed, breathless, but her hands tightened further in his shirt, and he understood. He did not speak again, but he let her cry it out, pressing a soft kiss to her dark hair.
Niccolette sniffled, shaking, and pulled away, slowly, looking at him. She tried to smile, and failed, but the upset had smoothed from her field, and he thought the irritation of it against his skin was less. She grimaced, and wiped at the smear of blood she’d left behind on his shirt.
Uzoji grinned, and twitched his jacket to cover it, and pressed his lips to hers, without the faintest indication that he could taste the nosebleed.
“I’ll wear it with pride,” he promised.
Niccolette laughed, wetly, and her shoulders trembled. He offered her a handkerchief, and she took it, sniffled, and wiped clear her nose – patted her eyes dry, and leaned against him with a little sigh.
“Well,” Uzoji said, softly.
Niccolette sighed. “What is there to say?” She pushed her hair back up and out of her face.
“More than you’d like to, I think,” Uzoji said, tangling his fingers in hers. He lifted their hands to his lips, and kissed her knuckles, softly.
Niccolette’s eyes lingered on his hand. She took it – in both of hers, and turned it over, tracing her fingers over the scarring in the light. “I came so close to losing you,” she whispered. “I did not know it would be so hard, coming to do this again,” she was shaking slightly, trembling like the fragile thing she wasn’t.
Uzoji nodded, slowly. “Can you do it?” He asked, and did not pull his hand away. He was not ashamed of the scarring, and he flexed his fingers, lightly, not making any attempt to hide it.
“Can I – ” Niccolette’s head snapped up, and her eyes flared in the dim, and then she caught herself, and she scowled, and let go of his hand to shove at him lightly. “Of course I can,” she snapped.
Uzoji grinned. “It’s all right if it’s hard, beloved. There’s no need to push yourself. I’d rather have you healthy than all the aetherium in the world,” he stroked her cheek, gently.
Niccolette nuzzled a little into his hand, and sighed. “I do not think we are leaving at dawn,” she told him.
“I know,” Uzoji kissed her cheek, her forehead – her lips, softly, once more, until she sighed a little, and curled closer against him. He grinned. “Any better?”
Niccolette made a little humph sort of noise, but she was grinning too. “I shall go to torture Collingwood again,” she said, almost cheerfully. “I think perhaps I have one more spell in me.”
Uzoji let her back into the office, and followed behind.
Niccolette glanced around, once, and then back at Collingwood, and she lifted her chin with the full strength of her considerable dignity, for all the world as if her upper lip were not smeared with blood, and her eyes no more red-rimmed than they had been before. “One last try,” she said, and Uzoji knew it as her form of an apology. There was nothing yielding or hesitant in her tone, though, and she fixed her gaze firmly on Collingwood, as if daring him to argue.
Niccolette held on grimly through the spell, her monite as careful and deliberate as ever. This time – her field seemed to trembled – but the spell caught, and it held, and energy streamed from her into Collingwood once more. If the air went steaming hot around them – if blood began to stream from Niccolette’s nose again – she curled the spell without issue, and she grinned, and pressed another of Uzoji’s handkerchiefs to her nose.
Uzoji could not imagine her more beautiful.