[Closed] The Light You Used to Bring

[Desiderio Morandi]

an abandoned farmhouse

evening on the 27th of roalis, 2720

H

e would never hear that sound again. He tried not to think about it, all through the meal. He tried to drown it in the scrape and clink of the battered forks, the tough breaking or chewing of the tack or jerky, the quiet, homely sounds of the three of them eating. But it came back to his mind, again and again: regardless of how this went, regardless of what should happen, he would never hear her laughter again. And he was only just beginning to hear what was familiar in it, and to learn what was not.

He should have been offended, that she had laughed at him at all. But all he could think of was that he should never hear that sound again.

He was not her friend, Inspector Morandi reminded himself. He was not anyone to her. Nor did she have any idea just how seemingly mad he had gone – and he planned to keep it that way. Easier for the both of them; easier for all of them.

All but one, he supposed. He tried to imagine talking to the magister about finding a home for pup. He dismissed the thought, feeling rather foolish.

It was a coarse, human sort of dog, a threadbare mutt, by his estimation. Perhaps, if they left it there, he could come back for it. Perhaps he could find a home for it himself. Perhaps – there was too much perhaps, and not enough certainty. There had not been enough certainty to outweigh all the perhaps all day. What had happened to him? Morandi did not like this feeling, this out-of-control feeling; even in the direst emergencies of his life, in the past, he had conducted himself with the utmost discipline and organization.

When she replied, he was grateful at least to have something else on which to focus. She seemed surprised, once again. Silently he waited for her to answer.

He grunted, nodding, though he knew she could not see. “Less pain is good,” he said matter-of-factly.

No scrap, this time. Her tone was more hesitant; that terribly Anaxi phrase again – bells and chimes – almost brought a quirk to his lip. Almost. It did not, in the end. He scowled more deeply.

“There is no pain for me. In that, you are correct.” Pup was scarfing something else down; his brow furrowed, momentarily distracted. What had she given him this time? Of her own food? “You need to keep your strength up,” he said suddenly, sharply, “more so than the dog,” over the enthusiastic, slobbery noises.

Pup whined softly, for all the world as if he heard.

Morandi snorted. “There is no pain, but I can see nothing. No impressions. No – light.” And if the pain wore off but the blindness did not–? Another, more agitated snort. “If it does not wear off by the time we are found, I am certain the physicians at Brunnhold will be able to do something. I shall do everything in my power to see that they do.”

Blind. The thought was almost dizzying. What would Amelie–? The Beauvilliers had signed up to marry their daughter to an ambitious, accomplished officer of the Seventen, one with a bright future. Would they call off the engagement? His future, all his plans, in an instant –

He frowned, suddenly uncomfortably aware of who it was that sat across from him. “It is good that the dog found us this place, at least. And good that it is Roalis. It seems as though we shall be staying the night.” Cold, no more or less matter-of-fact than he had been, despite the growing uncertainty he felt.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Roalis 27, 2720 - Evening
An Abandoned Farmhouse

Aurelie had almost made the mistake of relaxing again, after hearing that confirmation that the pain had stopped entirely for Desiderio. Almost—then he spoke again, sharp-edged as ever, and she gave a guilty start. How did he know...? Oh, of course. The dog wasn't precisely a quiet eater; his enthusiasm certainly carried over the otherwise near-silence of the house. Aurelie flushed in what she knew without seeing it was a bright red, and she was grateful once again that neither of them could see each other.

"But he's so—" Aurelie started to protest, then snapped her mouth shut. She didn't think he would understand or agree. She made some quiet noise of dissatisfaction in the back of her throat, but she didn't argue any further. She also pointedly did not apologize, even though one was pressing on the backs of her teeth. The dog whined, and she unclenched, smiling.

"Good." She meant to sound just as matter-of-fact as he did, but she wasn't quite as good at it. Sentiment kept creeping in where she didn't want it. She was glad. There was hope, then, that the rest of it wasn't permanent either. If it was just the pain that eased, and not the—if their sight was never— No pain was certainly nothing to be upset about.

She still frowned when he confirmed that the blindness was as complete as it had been. Aurelie's was, but she expected that. However bitterly expressed, her sentiment was sincere. She fully expected that any effects would be strongest on herself, and if limited in duration for him... That didn't mean they were for her. The pain was a perfectly good example; she didn't know how badly Desiderio's eyes had hurt to start, but they didn't hurt anymore. Hers... Well. She deserved it, she supposed. It was her fault, if not her will.

"I hope so," she murmured with another thoughtful frown. "I imagine it would be—difficult to... For you to... To do your job. Without being able t-to... see." Oh, chimes. She should have kept that to herself. Her concern was nothing he wanted, remember?

Ah, well. He would just have to suffer it for now. Eventually, they would be found, and Desiderio could go back to forgetting they'd ever been friends. She simply didn't know how to stop. Inspector Morandi had snuffed out any plans she had started to make, when he tracked her down—he could tolerate her concern in recompense.

Desiderio went on. Unrelentingly so. Staying the night, he said. As if that were nothing, as if that was fine. "Staying the night," she repeated, stiffly, feeling stupid. Of course they were staying the night. Where would they go? Nobody had found them all day—certainly they weren't likely to do so in the next few hours.

Maybe it was fine. Aurelie certainly was used to—she wasn't really a person, she knew. Not enough to be a friend, certainly not enough for that bland statement to give anyone any sort of pause. That anyone had ever thought of her as a young woman at all was just a—an odd fluke, and this was a very different sort of situation. Aurelie chewed on a corner of her mouth.

"Y-yes. It is rather. He's very smart," Aurelie added, trying to distract herself from her own one-sided awkwardness. It was his fault, she thought desperately, for touching her face like he had. She would be fine, if he hadn't done that.

At least there were two beds, she consoled herself. That was something. The second was—small, even for her, but that was fine. Better than the floor, at least. That seemed safe enough to say out loud. "G-Good, too, that, ah. Neither of us should have to sleep on the floor. I think. Er. I would, of course, if... Hmm."

No, that had not been safe to say at all. Honestly, what had made her think it was? Hubris, she supposed. She should have known she could take something so... so normal, and really... Elevate it. Lady preserve.

[Desiderio Morandi]

an abandoned farmhouse

evening on the 27th of roalis, 2720

P

up was very thin. More than thin – he was practically skin and bone, and his fur was damnably matted, besides. He felt a tug of concern, and then of guilt.

Inspector Morandi was no stranger to concern, and even less to guilt; but if one permitted oneself to drown in it, one got absolutely nowhere. His city, Vienda, and all cities were full of scraggly mutts. There was one he had often seen on his patrols in Fly-Ash, before he had been promoted: a spotted little thing, friendly in spite of the squalor, which he had fed nearly every round. He did not like to think of him, or wonder what had become of him, after he had stopped seeing him. There were many such abrupt and pointless endings in life, which left one feeling empty-handed and weak to too many questions one ought not ask.

Perhaps –

Too much perhaps. The Inspector’s career was not built on perhaps. He could construct a dozen fantasies, if he liked, of himself going about and searching for a home for pup; the truth was, he would return to the farmhouse, if he could even find it, and find nothing. And pup would be yet another emptiness to paint over until he could sleep at night once again.

Best not to go looking. Best not to hold on; best not to hope, and best not to grow too close.

His jaw tightened. “Difficult,” he said through his teeth. Best not, he thought, a mantra or a march: best not, best not, best not… “yes. Impossible, I do not know.” He could not picture the expression on her face; he heard it in her voice again, that concern. Thought. Of him. Why? She knew – she knew what he must do –

A deep breath.

“Pointless to think of, for now. I daresay they shall be able to do something for us at Brunnhold, at least. Provided this does not wear off before tomorrow morning. No doubt it will.” Best not hold onto hope, he thought bitterly, as if he might choke on his own mantra. This was not hope, he told himself; this was merely practicality.

And her? Among the Everine at best, and blind too. Would it even matter? He thought of the Everine from his years at Brunnhold, a line of them moving slowly across the courtyard, faces hidden behind veils, fingers demurely interlaced.

His fingers curled into a fist on the table. He blinked his eyes; there was no reason for them to be damp. They burned anyway.

Her voice was stiff, when she went on; he cleared his throat once and well, blinking a few times, rubbing the wetness from his eyes. Yes, staying the night, to add insult to injury. One night, perhaps two. Who knew?

She seemed awkward at best, edging around it, and frightened at worst. He was silent. It was his job, he reminded himself, to make his charge feel safe. Safe!

His brow furrowed. Sleep on the floor? If? If what? If – if there were only one –

He stiffened; he felt heat prickling in his cheeks. “In fact,” he snapped before he could stop himself, “it would be my duty, and indeed my pleasure, to sleep on the floor.” He barely realized what he had said until it was out of his mouth. Pup, below, whimpered.

He ran a hand along the edge of his jaw. His skin was very hot to the touch. His hand dropped to his lap, and he took a deep breath.

“It was my plan to suggest you take the larger of the beds, in any case. The other is a child’s bed; it is altogether unsuitable.” His eyes widened slightly, but there was no point in thinking too terribly hard about that. He went on, staccato, “Besides, there is nothing worse for a turned ankle than a cramped bed. And I plan to sleep sitting up, in any case; I am a very light sleeper, and I shall hear any movement.”

There was a sound as of pup lapping at her hand again.

He frowned, still quite flushed. “The blankets are rather… tattered. If you should… my jacket, I mean to say.” He could not seem to put the words in coherent order.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Roalis 27, 2720 - Evening
An Abandoned Farmhouse

Pointless to think of, indeed. Aurelie couldn't help but like that stiff-voiced sort of optimism. Not truly optimism, really, but she did agree. Best not to worry too much about problems until they were in front of you, if possible. Only when you knew the shape of them could you begin to set about them.

Problems like how night had fallen, and they ought to sleep sometime. Oh, bells and chimes, why was this so hideously awkward? There was no reason for it to be. He was the officer in charge of her escort back to—to Brunnhold. A fact of which he had reminded her, under no uncertain terms, multiple times. What had he called her before? The detainee. Aurelie held onto that, or tried to at any rate. The success of the venture was slightly dubious.

Offering to sleep on the floor, she knew, had been strange and perhaps unnecessary. Aurelie had only said it because she... Oh, Lady's Gracious Hours, she didn't know why. Because sometimes she opened her mouth, and anything she meant to say got twisted and confused into utter nonsense. Like that. Still, he didn't have to—

Actually, Aurelie found it sort of difficult to focus on the tone of what he said. She flinched and the dog whined, which was the only thing that stopped her from bursting into strange, strangled laughter. His duty and pleasure to take the floor? Maybe he was making fun of her. Nothing about him, then or now, suggested to her that Desiderio Morandi was the sort of man who would say something to mock even someone like her. Not out of kindness, she thought with a twist, but he was so very dour. Aurelie's mouth opened; she shut it, forcibly and audibly.

He went on, and Aurelie regretted ever speaking even more. Lady preserve her, why would he do something like that? Aurelie found she was too embarrassed to argue. He was right, in any case. The smaller of the two was for a child, and it wouldn't be terribly healthful for her ankle. She felt his thumb on her cheek again; Aurelie clamped her hands together to keep from touching her face. "A-ah, well. That's good. Er. I mean you don't have to... It would be all right if..."

The dog was there, as he always was, licking her hands. Bless him. That tongue at least interrupted her train of thought long enough for her to attempt to pick up her scattered wits. Calm down, she told herself sternly. It's only sleeping. They were not, after all, a young lady and a young man. Also, Desiderio had a... a fiancée. Inspector Morandi did, and it didn't matter to the detainee one bit.

She had picked up some of her wits, she thought. One or two, surely, if one thought of wits as buttons spilled all across the floor. Or spools of thread, perhaps—regardless of metaphor, she had begun to gather them together. If he had just stopped there, and given her enough time to—perhaps she would have finished, and everything would have been fine. Unfortunately, Desiderio spoke again. About taking his jacket.

"O-Oh. I, ah, thank you. Er." No, no! That wasn't what she meant to say at all. That sounded an awful lot like acceptance, and she didn't want to... She didn't want his jacket. The warmth had moved out to consume her whole face and the tips of her ears. Perhaps she would spontaneously combust—except no, she wouldn't, she knew what her diablerie was now, and fire was not involved in any way. Nor was Vita likely to open up and swallow her whole.

On top of it all, she felt... It was sweet, she thought, and unnecessary. The night air wasn't as warm as it would be come Yaris, but it was warm enough she was in no serious danger of anything beyond discomfort and a poor night's sleep. She'd weathered worse, she thought. I don't think your fiancée would want you offering your jacket as a blanket to strange young women, she wanted to joke, but it died on her tongue. Too many departures from reality to work, even as a joke.

"P-please, you don't... Don't..." 'Don't be kind to me, if it's only in these strange fits and starts?' Like she would say that. Then she really would have to combust, spontaneous or otherwise. "Don't put yourself out on my account, I... I mean, thank you, er. I appreciate... I'll be f-fine."

Close enough. In fact, far better than if she'd gotten any closer.

[Desiderio Morandi]

an abandoned farmhouse

evening on the 27th of roalis, 2720

A

ny movement, he rather wanted to insist, any movement, I shall hear, not only banderwolves’ or thieves’. It was on the tip of his tongue, twice as sharp and harsh as anything else he had said. You had best not think of slipping away, he wanted to insist, as if he might drown the offer of the jacket in threats. It was just, he told himself, not kind or sentimental. It ran both ways. She was his charge; all of this was only natural. But the words stuck for once, and seemingly he could not force anything out of his throat. Especially as she stuttered again in surprise.

Thank you, she said. He grunted again, nodding once sharply. No retractions, he thought satisfiedly. A simple, easy transaction. He had offered his jacket, as any officer responsible for a detainee in an emergency might, and she had accepted. It was only a jacket. Separated from his person, it might have belonged to any officer of the Seventen.

What rankled worse, in a way he did not wish to look directly at, was that, It would be all right if… That continual insistence that he should take the larger bed, or the larger share of the food. As if it were only natural.

‘Used to going without.’ Certainly she meant in her time as a fugitive. That was the only possible explanation. That, indeed, made the most sense: that was why the reclamation of an escaped passive was so important. Out of the cold, the struggle, and back to safety, where she would be provided for properly. If that were false, Morandi thought, then why did four out of the six kingdoms gate their passive children? He had been a foolish boy, asking foolish questions; no one else had been asking them, except for those progressives in the SPE, and only the most radical of them would dare suggest…

The worst part was that he could picture it. Aurelie – the detainee, in her loose blue dress, dirty now, limbs folded and cramped in a child’s bed. It was hardly appropriate. It was – wrong.

Only because the bed was too small, he told himself, and her ankle should throb terribly all night, and possibly worsen. Not because of anything else.

It was all horribly wrong. The pleasant etheric lull long gone from his field, his head had started up its incessant ache again; he could hardly think through it.

P-Please, came her voice again, and he nearly jumped. His throat was still constricted; he cleared it. Nonsense, he nearly snapped. But he forced himself still, his hands on his knees, and forced himself to listen as she wound quietly through the rest.

He could not quite tell if it was reluctant agreement or a gentle refusal. The latter, he supposed.

“I should hardly be putting myself out,” he replied. His voice still sounded to him cold and dismissive; he could scarce seem to do anything else with it.

The whole prospect likely mortified her. My uniform jacket will not bite you, he wanted to say suddenly, or snap at you. I might be incapable of doing otherwise, but my dress uniform is quite docile.

He had always been shivering, when they were children; he ran rather hot, now. He thought to say something of the latter sort, then thought it terribly inappropriate. “I rather like the chill,” he barked instead. “Bracing. Stimulating. It will keep me alert. As is fitting.”

That was insipid.

He ran his hand along his jaw, which was still furiously warm and getting warmer. He had half a mind to shed his jacket then and there; she could hardly see him, and – but no, he would soon have to help her to the bed. Help her. To the – bed. On account of her ankle. Soon.

“Well. Hmph,” he grunted. An impasse. The dog let out a soft, impatient whuff. “It would be my pleasure.” He winced. Had he needed to say that word again? “Unless – it – should make you uncomfortable. That would defeat the entire purpose. I cannot order you to take it, in any case. Hardly practical. As much as I would like to insist.”

Hurte tear him with Her teeth! He sat very stiffly, his fingertips digging into his knees.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Roalis 27, 2720 - Evening
An Abandoned Farmhouse

Desiderio's voice, coming after her torrent of nonsense, was coolly dismissive. He was not, she thought desperately, saying he wouldn't give her the jacket. Rather it sounded as if he would not take no for an answer. Aurelie found herself helplessly tongue-tied. She couldn't seem to push back any more directly than she had done. For what reason could she refuse, with his insistence? Somehow she thought the ones on the tip of her tongue weren't acceptable to say aloud.

"W-well then." Hardly putting himself out, he said. Aurelie didn't want to close her eyes, because she would think of how he had been as a boy—sickly, prone to fits of of shivering. Among other things. She didn't have to close her eyes, it turned out; she couldn't see what was in front of her with them open, so there was nothing to stop her mind from imagining the boy he had been instead of the man he was.

Aurelie didn't know quite what to do with the rest of it. He liked the chill? If she didn't know better, she would think he were just as embarrassed as she was, filling the air with nonsense to make up for it. But that didn't make any sense. Aurelie knew why she was so flustered, and it clearly didn't apply to Desiderio. A rebuke, maybe, for the note of concern that had made it through her voice. Yes, she was certain that was it. Had to be.

Still, it was a very strange thing to say.

There was a quiet that lay between them a moment. For the life of her, Aurelie couldn't think of how to fill it. Her mind was unfortunately and entirely focused on the jacket. Her hands had stopped their petting of the dog; he huffed at her. Desiderio broke the silence, in the end.

"N-No, it... Nn." Aurelie had quite automatically attempted to say it wouldn't make her uncomfortable at all. That was so patently untrue. It just felt rude to... She couldn't tell if Desiderio was trying to be harsh or kind. He was singularly baffling, she was finding. No matter how close they'd been as children, that didn't seem to help her at all now. He could, in fact, order her to take it. He had ordered her to to do many things already; taking his jacket wasn't particularly different in that respect.

Aurelie drew in a deep breath, as slowly and quietly as she could. Which was neither in particular, it seemed. "I... No, it's all right, I won't be uncomf... I mean, rather, I was just trying to say that... " Aurelie shook her head, trying to clear it. Why was this so hard? Why did she keep wanting to imagine kindness from a friend when there was none?

She was not a person, she reminded herself fiercely. She was a duty, maybe; the detainee. There was no reason to read in kindness, or friendship, or anything else her foolish heart wanted to find. "Thank you, Desiderio." Her voice wavered on his name; she wanted to crawl into a pit and never come back out.

Where, she thought desperately, was he going to be, then? Sleeping—sitting up, apparently. Aurelie couldn't quite imagine it of the child. She could do it easily if she thought of the man she had seen over the last week, though. Stiff as the braid on his dress uniform's jacket. Too easily—thinking of the jacket again, her mind helpfully reminded her he would be without it entirely. Thin linen, she thought unhelpfully. Her fingertip burned.

"W-What do you think we should call the dog?" she squeaked out, in a desperate attempt to think about anything else than Desiderio in his undershirt. "F-For now, I mean. Since we're... It just seems... Calling him 'the dog' is a bit..." Aurelie trailed off, feeling silly. Why would Desiderio want to name the dog? More importantly, why did she think he would want to discuss it with her?

"I was, ah, thinking something like... Shadow, or... B-because he follows us around like... I'm not much better at names than I was when we were... Uhm. I'm not good at it."

[Desiderio Morandi]

an abandoned farmhouse

evening on the 27th of roalis, 2720

D

amn him, he had only made it worse.

Twice, she began to say that she would not be uncomfortable; twice, she trailed off, the latter time halfway through the word. He forced his hands to relax against his knees, two of his fingers twitching, tapping twice, then holding still. He breathed in and out, deeply and evenly. His head throbbed.

Thank you, Desiderio, she said, and left it there.

She had used his first name many times in the last day. There had been no deterring her then. It had stopped surprising him – he had rather resigned himself to it – or so he had thought.

What was different about this time? The slightest, strangest waver in her voice? This time he heard it anew, and it felt as though it scraped the topmost layer of him away and left his nerves vulnerable to the open air. Not a child’s lisping attempt, but not Bastian, either; five soft, thoughtful Anaxi syllables. He felt that hard lump rise up again in his throat. He folded his hands together, now, his middle fingertip resting comfortably upon his engagement ring. The metal was uncomfortably cool.

He let out another sharp noise of agreement. He could not bring himself to say anything to her thanks, once again.

A part of him held onto the desperate hope that the magister’s voice would come ringing in over the sound of the crickets at any moment. Or that he would begin to see lights, dull grey shapes, anything.

The Inspector wanted to wake up. He felt as if he were dreaming. He wanted to wake up, before he fell too deeply asleep.

He was not a dreamer; he had not been since he was a boy. He had had help at Anastou, after, with the intensity of memory and association, and with the nightmares. (There was no shame in it, and least of all in Florne; Anaxi were more than a little squeamish where concerned that sort of perceptivism.) But in the last few days, he had dreamt up all sorts of strange things, things that had no business in his mind.

“Hnn?” He nearly jerked at the sound of her voice. It was very high and thin; his brow furrowed. She sounded, upon the contrary, deeply uncomfortable. He had given her more grief with the offer of the jacket, he supposed, than with a hundred nights of shivering. Why had he not been able simply to let it go--?

Call the dog–?

No. He found himself gritting his teeth, pushing more unwanted, strange feelings from his mind.

“It would be,” he began, no-nonsense, “unwise –”

He broke off, brow furrowing more deeply.

“Shadow,” he repeated after her, after a moment, swallowing tightly.

When we were children, she had almost said. Deep breaths. In, and then out. She trailed off, catching herself, and he felt something almost like sadness. Or was it? He did not know.

Pup whimpered rather needily.

He thought absurdly of a book that he had read for the first time as a boy, later, after he had gone to Anastou. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world… “It seems a fitting name,” he said despite himself, stilted. “He is like your shadow. Rather - eager. For a stray.”

(We were rather equally bad at it, were we not? he almost wanted to ask, morbidly, painfully. He could remember with a horrid vividness struggling to come up with names for their swaddled-stuffed-hingle children and their five or six hypothetical dogs. A strangely lovely sort of struggle.)

“It is useful,” he went on sharply, shrugging his shoulders slightly. “To have something to call him. More useful if he knows his name.”

His heart was thudding in his throat, so loudly he could scarce hear. No, he thought, he would not. It would be worse, when the time came. Worse for all of them.

Then: “Shadow,” he said in a good, strong voice, testing the name in the air, listening carefully for pup.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Roalis 27, 2720 - Evening
An Abandoned Farmhouse

Desiderio, she'd said again. Kept saying, over and over, stubbornly. Aurelie tried not to think about why, but she couldn't help but think it was because she didn't know if she'd ever get to say it again in her whole life. She hadn't, all these years, not even to herself. Maybe once or twice, as a child—in the throes of dreams, or nightmares, when she'd called out to all manner of people who couldn't and would never hear her. That had been a long time ago; she'd gotten over the habit rather quickly.

This time he didn't tell her not to, and she couldn't tell if that made it better or worse.

She didn't want to think about that. She didn't want to think about sleeping under his stiff ceremonial jacket, she didn't want to think about—the lack of it, on him. She didn't want to think about what she should call him, or how often she would get to. Aurelie didn't want to think about much of anything at all, but she had to think about something. The dog's name, she thought, was a safe enough subject.

Sure, she had—stumbled. On saying it. Unable to keep herself from thinking of a different time, with... a different person. But that wasn't the focus of the statement, so she thought it was... Oh, bells and chimes. It wasn't all right, but it was all she could think to say. They couldn't simply sit there in the silence and the dark until they gave up and went to sleep. That wasn't going to help anybody, least of all herself. And Desiderio certainly didn't seem keen to pick conversation topics either, so they'd have to make do with what she could think of on her own.

Maybe he felt the same, or at least similarly enough. Desiderio had started to shut the conversation down, as she had expected. But he stopped, and instead just repeated the name. Aurelie felt her face warm. It was the sort of name a child would think of, she knew that. He was welcome to suggest another one! Aurelie didn't know what to make of the tone of his voice, so she tried not to make anything of it at all.

"Y-yes, well, it. Er. I couldn't think of a... You're welcome to—oh." She stopped, caught off-guard. A fitting name. Aurelie couldn't squash down the pleasure that bloomed, a little vine, in her heart. She would have been just as happy if anyone said they liked the name. Surely. It was just nice to feel like she had done something right for once, even something as silly as pick a name for a dog that she couldn't keep. "He... He is, isn't he?"

They had neither of them been terribly good at it. She hadn't even named Henrietta; that had been Nurse, who had a cousin by that name and thought it was nicely pleasing for a stuffed hingle to have a name that also began with the letter "H". They'd done it rather a lot, the naming, struggling along with all their imagined children and dogs and... Aurelie blinked again and wished she had a bit of thread on her. She settled for trying to tighten a bit of her skirts around her finger, instead. It didn't work nearly as well.

It is useful, he said. Aurelie nodded, relieved. Practicality she could understand. Practicality wasn't sentiment, which she both longed for and was afraid of. She wasn't sure if the dog would understand that this was his name, though. Perhaps he'd had a different name, before. Aurelie thought of the smaller bed, the one for a child, and her heart ached. A different life, with people who had loved him. Perhaps.

Desiderio's voice carried much better now than it had when they were children. Certainly more—authoritatively. Aurelie heard him call for the dog—for Shadow—and it was such a strange feeling. Shadow turned to the sound with a curious kind of huff, but remained where he was at Aurelie's side.

"It might take a few tries," she offered. "If he had a different name before..." She turned to Shadow, trying to direct her voice very deliberately in his direction. "Isn't that right, Shadow?"

This time he barked, happily and with enthusiasm. Aurelie laughed, delighted. "See? I think he's got it now. Go on, try again."

[Desiderio Morandi]

an abandoned farmhouse

evening on the 27th of roalis, 2720

W

elcome to – what? Suggest one of his own? Another wash of prickling across his face, though this time, blessedly, it did not last so long. To sit here together, suggesting names for pup back and forth. As if they were children. As if either of them were the children they had been. As if she were not a fugitive, and he were not – who he was, what he was, to her now. Apart from absurd, it seemed to him more cruel than anything he might have done yet. A sort of strange playing, when she had nowhere else to go, and may well have been a prisoner – no, he thought absently, that was wrong; it was hardly as if she were being taken to prison… – and on the morrow would surely be…

Blast it! By Her fearful symmetry. Would he let his feelings get in the way of his job during the trial, as well? Afterward? Would he be humiliated, when the magister learned that he had been fraternizing with the passive? And what shape would those rumors take, indeed?

Her voice came back, tentative. She sounded almost pleased. He twisted the ring on his finger; then his hands came apart, clasping his knees. He breathed in and out evenly, remembering his training.

It was more a relief, then, than a disappointment, when pup did not bark or come. It was not, he thought dryly, a children’s story. Shadow was not pup’s name, likely, if pup had ever had one.

As if she knew what he had been thinking, she spoke again. He frowned, brow furrowing; he shifted, uncomfortable. It would have been silent, except for the light creaking of the chair underneath him. He cleared his throat sharply. A few more seconds, and she went on, this time clear and well-enunciated, with the sort of warm edge that told him she was speaking to the dog – one that he could never begin to manage.

And right on its heels, Shadow barked.

Pup, he reminded himself. The dog. Beauty and damnation, he was playing with fire. If you tame me…

That laugh shot across all his thoughts. (How many more times, whispered a part of him he had thought long stifled, would he ever hear it? One? Two? Would this be the last, after all? And who would hear it after him? The Everine? Would she laugh very much, in the Church of the Moon?)

Go on, the detainee said warmly, with that laugh still in her voice, try again.

It had been better – safer – listening to her. As if through a glass window. Invisible to her, blind as she was, and distracted by the dog. Like a glimpse of what it might be like were she alone with pup, and knew nothing of him. He could almost picture her in the market, nearly a stranger to him then, an embroidered shawl draped around her shoulders, playing with a stray. A woman he might have drawn, had he not been looking for her, the wind tugging ripples through her skirt, one hand outstretched. He could almost picture pup, but not quite.

Only she was not alone, and she knew it; and she had turned to him.

He felt for just a fraction of a moment like a sickly boy invited to play, shy and afraid rather than – everything else that he was. Not by the girl who had been his closest friend, but by another, stranger person, who knew nothing of him, of whom he knew nothing. There, again, the lump in his throat.

And worse, Inspector Morandi wanted very badly to play with them.

“Shadow,” he said again, firm and sharp, as he might have called the name of a recruit. He waited, breath absurdly bated.

Pup gave another excited yip.

It was an utterly ridiculous sound! Not quite a bark. He was positively certain now that this was no fully-grown dog; he had never heard a fully-grown dog make a sound so silly. He felt a smile tugging on the muscles of his face, quite against his will.

It was wrong, he realized all of the sudden. All of it was wrong. Unjust, if not – evil. He was the commissioner on her case, not her friend. And now what was he doing, what had he done –

“It would be wise to settle ourselves for the night,” he said coldly, pushing himself to his feet on the table. “It has been a long day. I should think it is growing quite late. Are you ready?”

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Roalis 27, 2720 - Evening
An Abandoned Farmhouse

Aurelie waited, expectant, for Desiderio to try again. The smile hovered on her face, safely out of sight. Shadow had caught on to his name so quickly! She was proud of him, despite having nothing at all to do with it, not really.

Maybe Desiderio could take him. Aurelie found that picture strangely comforting. She knew she couldn't take care of Shadow, but someone could. Shadow seemed like a very sweet dog, if sillier than she would have expected for a full-grown animal. Clever, too. A good... a good family pet. Aurelie swallowed against a burning in her chest. For Desiderio, she thought very carefully, and his fiancee. The family he would... surely have.

Shadow, he said again, in that same commanding tone he'd used before. Not angry, though, she thought. Just quite firm; a voice used to being listened to and obeyed. She was reminded, suddenly, of the way he'd addressed the younger officers when they'd... When he'd... It was an unpleasant memory; she didn't want to indulge in it now. Now, she was focused on Shadow. Surely, surely if they'd named him, Desiderio would at least... find him somewhere to go, not just leave him here, alone?

Wouldn't he?

Shadow made a sound that wasn't a bark, not really; it was all together much more ridiculous. Aurelie laughed again, and clapped her hands on her knees lightly. A very silly dog, but so clever! He'd picked it up so quickly. Oh, she did wish she had something to give him, a treat of some kind. Petting would have to do. That she did happily, scratching behind his ears and feeling all his thick fur. A clever, clever boy—how could anyone have left him behind in the first place?

Aurelie opened her mouth, face turned in the general direction of Desiderio's voice. To ask him if he might not consider taking the dog, after all. It did hurt a little, to have named him and to know that they would part—and part soon, she thought regretfully—but what was one more ache among a hundred? Worth it, if someone would take him in, give him a home.

Her mouth snapped shut when Desiderio stood. His voice was—well. Not colder, or more... Aurelie had just thought that he would be happy, too, if Shadow responded to the name they'd given him. Why else had he gone along with it, then?

She didn't understand what she had done wrong this time, she really didn't. But there must have been something, or else he had just remembered who it was he was talking to besides the dog. Yes, she thought with a twist, that was likely it. It was only Aurelie who seemed to forget so often.

"Y-Yes, I... I suppose so." She couldn't keep the disappointment out of her voice; she hardly even tried. "It has been... eventful." Aurelie blinked, and then blinked again several more times. Late or early, she could hardly tell. So she supposed it also hardly mattered. His footsteps approached, and—Aurelie realized with a start that she had stopped being so very aware of his field. What a strange thing to realize.

Aurelie took his arm when he offered it, carefully as ever, and came to a stand. Shadow stood with her, true to his name. As they crossed the room, Aurelie found herself mixing in annoyance with her sadness. She didn't understand why he was doing this—everything would seem fine for a moment, and then suddenly he would snap back, like he was angry with her. Was it really so terrible, she wanted to demand, to just—speak with her, a little bit, like they used to?

They would never get another chance, not ever again. Didn't that mean anything at all?

"Thank you," she murmured again, when they crossed the short distance to the bed. Shadow jumped up ahead of her; there was a lot of terrible creaking from the frame and squeaking from the springs. Aurelie released Desiderio's arm and sat carefully on the edge. She tried not to think about how filthy the mattress had to be, after all this time. Shadow didn't seem to mind, at least. He came over and licked her face, which was conveniently at his level now. It was vile, and he smelled awful; she couldn't contain her delight.

She felt suddenly emboldened by his boisterous, cheerful presence. Aurelie turned to the general direction she thought Desiderio must still be in. "Would you take care of him? Shadow I mean. After... He shouldn't be here all alone." Aurelie hesitated, and then continued in as steady a voice as she could manage. "He seems like he would make a good family dog. For you. Or.... or someone."