[Closed] The Flowers Upside Down

[Desiderio Morandi]

an abandoned farmhouse

morning on the 28th of roalis, 2720

H

e could feel her fingertips digging into his arm slightly, ridged and bumpy with callouses and scars; he could feel the line of her back stiff against him. He stood very still, his ears trained, trying not to squint. The door was a rectangle of light, blurry sunlight-gold and foliage-green. Like a window to another world, though he knew it was only the countryside, which would become sweltering in the Roalis sun.

Every one of his muscles was corded and ready. As if to – to what? To run? He might have laughed aloud at the concept, if he had dared to let out a sound. Sweat beaded on the back of his neck, cold in the rising heat, and he resisted the urge to shiver.

What he should have done was call to the magister. His jaws were clamped tightly shut, as if they had locked around something. What he should have done, at the very least – for propriety’s sake, and for the sake of his reputation – was help the detainee to a seat, first. Somehow, the thought of the magister walking in on this, which had tormented him every step of the way, had vanished; other, stranger thoughts replaced it.

The magister was clairvoyant. She was to be the judge, when the trial came; Morandi had done a great deal of reading on her. She had become a magister, as he recalled, through the innovation of several new scrying methods. Not, then, much of a warder. More a theorist, a writer, than a caster; her field was weak enough.

His head jerked at her whisper. Without the fullness of her voice, she sounded almost like – it was so familiar, and from such a long time ago, that it was almost like hearing the voice of a ghost –

Once her eyes had caught him, there was no looking away. The red had drained from her cheeks, leaving them pale behind her freckles. Her eyes were very wide, still rimmed red with irritation, pupils very small. She was looking at his face, but not into his eyes: out of focus, she was staring somewhere around his chin, a few wisps of red hair drifting in front of her face. The pit in his stomach was lodged in his throat. Of a sudden, his eyes were very wide, too.

Of course, he wanted to say. A promise is a promise, dog or wolf. What kind of man do you think I am?

The words did not come. Quiet, he wanted to snap – she will hear us, do you not understand? (That hardly mattered, now. She was closer and closer by the moment, by the rustling and snapping of the twigs.) Yes, he tried to say, but there was only a small intake of breath.

“I,” he finally managed, I promise…

“There you – gracious, me, Inspector!”

There was a small, plump shadow in the door, leaned heavily upon a cane. Somewhere outside, he could hear a moa scratching its talons. As she came in, the light caught on a thick swirl of white hair. Morandi blinked, squinting; the magister was laughing.

“Oh, come now, you needn’t look at me like that. The two of you look as if you’ve just been from a hell,” Magister Desrouleaux tutted.

“Magister,” the Inspector said sharply, pulling himself as straight as he could with her on his arm. “The detainee was injured,” he added, “and I have only just regained my sight.” He was not sure where Shadow had gone.

“Likewise, Inspector. We spent the night in the coach, I’m afraid, but Mr. Goodwine and I are intact.” The magister came closer, close enough to caprise; the clairvoyant mona met the perceptive, and Morandi forced himself to relax his muscles, to take a deep breath. “Aurelie, dear, look at you – my, my, what you’ve gotten us into,” she breathed. “You’re very fortunate nothing worse came of this.”

The Inspector shut his eyes. He could still feel her hand on his arm, with its scars and calluses.

“At the very least, you needn’t worry now,” she said.

There was a pause.

The words must have been on the tip of his tongue since Graywatch. Whatever else he was, he was utterly and completely sure of this. There was not a doubt in him.

His field flared hot and etheric, and every trace of his headache vanished, replaced by a lovely, dizzying, soaring surge of adrenaline. Without letting go of Aurelie, he began to cast, word by guttural word, a reading spell. Behind them, he heard Shadow begin to growl; he ignored it. He spoke the invocation and reached out until he could feel the soft membrane of Desrouleaux’s mind, could feel it well enough to know something of the shape of it. He worked himself into the cracks of it, face twisting with concentration, then began a maintenance spell. He had interrogated academics before; he had never broken one on purpose.

He stared into her eyes and watched them jolt wide, and he did not blink or look away, because the eyes were half of a perceptivist’s arsenal.

It was a few moments before she gasped. A word of monite – the invocation of a ward – slipped out of her mouth; she broke off. The clairvoyant mona flared etheric, then fizzled, agitated by the brail.

She gasped again, let out a strangled laugh, and dropped, as if her strings had been cut.

It was a few moments before he curled the spell; when he did, a little blood trickled from his nose, cold and iron-smelling. “Oh, my gods,” he gasped, then: “Aurelie,” his voice breaking.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Roalis 28, 2720 - Morning
An Abandoned Farmhouse

Why had she bothered to whisper? The magister was coming, whether she spoke aloud or not. They weren't—weren't playing sardines, or some other children's game where if they were very still and quiet they wouldn't be found. Any moment now Desiderio would call out to her, and that would be that. All Aurelie wanted was to know, before that happened, that Shadow would be safe and loved. As much as anyone could promise either thing.

He didn't answer her for a moment that stretched out into an eternity. Oh, she wanted to beg—please promise this to me. She just needed to hear the words from his mouth, to fold up the sound of them and carry with her. To hold in all that was to come, so she knew that there was at least that much.

He did not promise. He might have started to. "I", she heard, and then—and then there was Magister Desrouleaux. Aurelie felt her face fall. She smoothed it out as quickly as she could, but not quickly enough, she thought, for him not to have seen it. She couldn't hear Shadow around them. Nor, she realized, did she hear the magister shout. Not about that, anyway. Where had he gone?

She felt paralyzed, paper-thin. And no spangle or ribbon for her, she thought, delirious. The magister was laughing; Aurelie felt ashamed of herself again. There was no strength to hold herself up; she wished she'd at least made it to the chair before the magister had come. As it was, she had to lean rather heavily against Desiderio to keep herself from collapsing. He had not let her go.

The detainee. Ah. She had thought she was used to it. But every time it struck her anew; it hit her worse now than it had yet so far. Softened, perhaps, by waking up to the sound of her name. This, she reminded herself, this was how it was. Not whatever she had allowed herself to imagine in fitful moments. That is what she was; not a friend, and not even Aurelie. The detainee. And still he had not let her go.

She had expected—hoped, rather—to be largely ignored. But she wasn't so lucky; the magister addressed her, clucking her tongue over the state they were both in. Aurelie clenched her jaw, trying to keep her face placid. Fortunate! Yes, she wanted to say, that is truly the word for this entire situation. Fortunate. She was shocked by the unkindness in her heart then; Aurelie ducked her head rather than answer. She didn't like not knowing if she was still being looked at.

Shadow. Where was Shadow? Any moment, Desiderio would—she didn't know. But she felt him relax as the magister came closer.

“At the very least, you needn’t worry now." No. She supposed she did not. Aurelie shut her eyes.

Only to have them snap open again after a brief pause. There was a change in the air, a heat—and Desiderio's voice, growling out a spell. To do what? To whom? Panic choked her; from behind them she heard Shadow's growl. It didn't stop Desiderio's casting in the least. With her right there, still on his arm—it was strange, terrifying. Not like when he had cast on her before, and she knew what he was going to do. Not like when he had cast in the shop, either, and she had been on the other side of a door. All of her hair stood on end.

What was he doing? She wanted to ask, but when she opened her mouth, her voice was so thin as to make no sound at all. For a terrifying moment she had thought it was her—that he thought he needed to... But it wasn't, not in any way she could notice, and she didn't understand. The magister started to speak, and was cut off.

The magister.

Was he casting on the magister? But why? The sound of her laugh sent a chill down Aurelie's spine that cut through the Roalis heat. There was a thud, and nothing more from the magister. Aurelie was dizzy. The spell ended moments after that.

And Desiderio still had not let her go.

His voice broke over her name. She felt the world tilt. Shadow, she realized, was still near—his growl had turned to a whine. He nudged at the back of her leg. What had just happened? The hot, fizzy feeling was draining out of the air, and still she did not know. Aurelie twisted. Her heart was in her throat, or else in her stomach. If it could be in both places at once, then that's what it was doing.

"Des," she said, strangled. (And he had said her name, when she thought he never would again, when she...) "Desiderio, what have you done?" Her hand trembled, and she did her best to steady it. She thought she might be sick.

What was going on?

[Desiderio Morandi]

an abandoned farmhouse

morning on the 28th of roalis, 2720

F

or a few moments, there was only exultation.

He breathed it, warm and wonderful; he felt himself glowing with it. It was as if he had closed a circle, curling the spell, and he felt as powerful as he ever did. That was a proper cast, well-laid-out and perfectly enunciated. He had commanded the mona with skill, respect, and nothing less than complete certainty.

Des, came a strangled voice at his elbow, and it jolted through him, tethering him back to the ground. His mind jarred; it was like being struck with an electrical charge. She was twisting around under his arm and looking up, now somewhere past him. He looked at her, dumbfounded. Her skin, which had been pale, now looked a little greenish at the edges.

It was as if there was still a static charge in the air. Wisps of red floated about her head. Abruptly, he could feel her hand trembling against his arm. Blind. She had been – he –

Desiderio, she said this time, and it was like another pin to the earth. What had he done?

Dazed, he spoke before he could even think about what he was saying. “I have removed myself from your case as commissioner,” he blurted out, as cold and staccato as ever.

A few seconds’ silence, and he let out a choked noise.

“The – she…” He squinted through his glasses; the magister was a blurry shape on the floor, her skirts spread out, her white hair slipping out of its bun. “She is not dead,” he said. “Her mind – I –” A vivid impression, then: almost an image. The surreal feeling of deja vu one always had after pushing oneself into someone else’s mind; he swallowed dryly and tried to ignore the turning of his stomach.

Ancient law, he thought again. But he could feel Aurelie’s hand, just steadying itself; the room seemed to spin. She deserved to know, did she not? It might have been horrifying, but had she not told him once that the dark frightened her more than anything?

He could scarcely think. He was certainly not thinking clearly. “I cast a spell to read her,” he went on, matter-of-fact as if he were issuing orders, held together by little more than the rhythm of his own voice. “And then I hindered her ability to maintain her mental stability. A maintenance spell. Her own counterspell brailed for this reason – I do not know which of the two rendered her unconscious.”

Had he said so much? The insects seemed suddenly terribly loud. His headache was beginning to creep back; he could hear Shadow whining, and he looked down to see him nudging at Aurelie’s leg with his nose.

He blinked back up at Aurelie’s blurry face, no less pale than it had been. She looked – rather worse than she had. He had borne more of her weight since the magister had appeared. Now, she seemed even more startled; he was not sure which had been the more frightening.

“She should recover – in time. Sooner than later. Unwise to stay here long. I do not know if she will remember this.” He felt like a bowstring pulled taut and released; he felt as if he were still vibrating with energy, as if he could not yet tell whether he would snap. He was surprised to find himself as straight-backed and rigidly tense as ever.

His lips came apart, but no sound came out. He had forgotten what he had intended to say. He licked his lips and tasted blood. He wanted to wipe it away, but he found himself worried – with an absurd sort of intensity – that he would get it on her. It was all very impolite.

He shivered; he shivered again. “I apologize,” came his voice, muffled by the ringing in his ears. “That must have been startling.”

Why had he – what had the plan been?

He was sure there must have been one. Inspector Morandi planned everything meticulously; his wedding, which was meticulously-arranged and would be perfectly executed in just two months’ time, was a testament to this. As was his career.

And he thought he rather owed it to her to have a plan. But he was standing there like a statue or a tin soldier recently excised from a fish – or a very stupid man, frankly, which he was usually not – and he could not think of what the plan had been.

His bag was on the table. And Aurelie was leaning on him rather heavily. That seemed a good next step. If he could get to the table.

Perhaps if they simply – went, he would figure it out eventually. “I am… ah… I feel ill. If I – we shall sit. Does this – shall we sit?”

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Roalis 28, 2720 - Morning
An Abandoned Farmhouse

Removed himself from her case. As commissioner. Aurelie had no idea what to say to that—her mouth fell open, like she was some kind of ginger goldfish. Her mind spun. Surely she had heard him incorrectly. There were a few heartbeats of silence.

The magister was not dead. "Oh good," she said faintly. That hadn't actually entered her mind—being blind was incredibly stressful in this moment. As it was, she had no idea why he thought to reassure of this. The silence, she thought, and the... The sound of a body hitting the floor.

She had never yet heard this man sound so unsure of himself as he did then. Aurelie had no idea what that meant. Her mind? She hadn't expected so thorough an explanation; frankly, she only understood about half of it with any certainty. She listened, she wanted to say, but she wasn't supposed to. That only taught one so much.

But it was enough of a picture, she thought. He had cast, and done—something—and either her own efforts to stop him or the effect of the spell itself had rendered her unconscious. Which would have been the sound of... Yes. That did rather explain a lot.

Except for, of course, why he had done any of it.

That was probably the more relevant question, and it hadn't been the one she had asked. Aurelie nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Not knowing what to say. She ought to reassure Shadow, she thought faintly. But if she let go of Desiderio's arm, she thought she would fall to the floor just as easily as the magister had done.

"I see. Yes, ah. Staying here too long does. Seem. Hmm." Aurelie frowned, trying to think. This didn't make any sense. He had been so determined to see her back to Brunnhold just last night. Within the week, he'd said. This seemed rather counter-productive.

(Should she be more concerned with the magister on the floor? She supposed she was, in a vague sort of way. She trusted Desiderio wasn't lying to her that the magister would recover, and that was enough. She couldn't think much beyond that, anyway.)

Aurelie felt him shiver before he spoke again—to apologize. It was the most absurd thing. Startling, he said. Aurelie made a choked sound that might have been a laugh. Startling! That was putting it rather mildly. If that was startling, these past few days had been—moderately unpleasant.

"Ah, n-no. Well. Er. That's all right." Aurelie blinked. It wasn't, in fact, all right, but also it had already happened and. What was she supposed to do? What were either of them supposed to do? Now, in the next few minutes, the next few hours?

Sit, that's what. Aurelie nodded again, trying to sort her thoughts. Sitting seemed like a wonderful idea. The best idea possible for now, at least. "Yes," she agreed, her voice surprisingly steady. "Yes I think... I think sitting down would be a very good idea."

He helped her those last few steps to a chair, and she sat down more heavily than she meant to. Shadow followed her, and tried to—well from the way her chair shifted, it felt like he was trying to wedge himself underneath. She didn't think he would fit. A bander pup, she thought; that was somehow the least odd thing yet today. And they hadn't even had breakfast.

"I think we ought to eat something, if you think... If we have the time before... before the magister recovers." she said abruptly, too dazed to be anything less than straightforward. Eating seemed like as best a next step as any. Being hungry would hardly help anything. "And then I think we ought to... "

Ought to what? Aurelie had no idea. What did one do, in a situation like this? I've never been in this sort of predicament, she wanted to say. I have been a very dull fugitive. Somehow, she doubted he would find that funny right now. She wasn't even sure she would mean it as a joke. "W-We're... not going to. Er. To Brunnhold then." That was about as close as she could come to asking the question she really wanted to: why?

[Desiderio Morandi]

an abandoned farmhouse

morning on the 28th of roalis, 2720

S

he had seemed to agree. For the most part. Her voice was very quiet; Morandi was uncertain if this was because it was actually quiet, or because it was muffled by his own tinnitus. Likely, he reasoned, a mixture of both. That was, after all, Branwyn’s Law: clues seldom ever pointed to a single easy cause, perpetrator, event. That was why a good detective never leapt to conclusions, and pursued even the most seemingly-irrelevant circumstances. Which of the circumstances are relevant? one of his old mentors in the green used to drill him, to which –

What in Hurte’s name was he even thinking about?

He was aware on some level that it was he who had helped Aurelie to the table, but it felt like the reverse. Or perhaps his legs, solid and secure in their training, had led the both of them there. Regardless, he was grateful. And she had agreed, very clearly and steadily, that sitting down was a good idea.

And so he sat down himself. Strange, but it was still difficult to align the distances as he remembered them – blind – with how he saw them. He was beginning to adjust to his surroundings, but only just; it was like being in a new place, and yet everything he touched was familiar to his fingertips, to his limbs.

She, of course, was still blind. He watched her for a moment, too dazed to think of propriety. Her blue dress was rumpled; he noticed another stain on the skirt, and a tear in the hem. Her eyes still had that distant, intense look.

“Eat,” he repeated numbly. “We have time. Yes.” Ma'am, he had almost said. His brow furrowed. One of his hands was balled into a fist on the table; he relaxed it, and took a deep breath. “A very good idea,” he said, cold and matter-of-fact.

In lieu of orders, her practical, thoughtful tone was just fine. In fact, it was rather like taking orders; it was something to hold onto.

Shadow, the poor pup, was trying to cram his not-insubstantial bulk underneath Aurelie’s chair. It might have been comical, were he inclined at the moment to comedy. He was not; he felt oddly sad instead, remembering the way that pup had growled while he was casting. Startled, he must have been. Frightened, still? Of him?

No. No use in thinking of that. No use in thinking of a great deal of things.

Ought to? He paused, his hand midway to the rations, to listen. He supposed he himself should have known what they – ought to do. Or at least, what he ought to do. Was it he, or was it they?

Aurelie stammered again, then: Brunnhold. His teeth clenched suddenly. That – again, it pinned him to the ground, and all of the separate pieces floating in his head, which had broken apart minutes ago, began to float back together. One thing at a time.

“No,” he said. “We are not.” He took out the last of the jerky, then. “We can certainly make these rations last, even with a bander pup’s appetite, until we are back in Old Rose Harbor. There is someone there? Anyone you can trust? Someone must have been an informant; we knew where to find you. We have informants nearly everywhere.” His voice was still harsh; he could not seem to help it. He set a portion of jerky and tack near her on the table. “But your bakery. You –”

The bakery which he, only last night, had threatened.

He froze. All right, she had said. “It is not all right,” he said suddenly. “Hurte’s grace and beauty. Brunnhold. No. We are not going to Brunnhold. Circle damn me, we are not.”

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Roalise 28, 2720 - Morning
An Abandoned Farmhouse

Desiderio didn't sound at all well, Aurelie noticed now that she was seated. Well, he had said that he felt ill—she had not quite processed that at the time, given everything else, and she felt guilty about that now. Aurelie wished again that she could see him. If there were any clues to the severity to be seen, she had no eyes to see them.

At least he would eat something. Aurelie hadn't meant to sound so—so bossy, when she said it. But it really was the best next step, by her estimation. They needed their wits about them, both of them, and it didn't seem like either of them did. Nobody ever did anything better on an empty stomach. So, eating. She had expected him to be cross with her, for being rude. He certainly didn't sound pleased, but when did Inspector Morandi sound pleased about anything?

Shadow had given up trying to fit under her chair. Instead, she could hear him pacing around. The poor thing—if anyone was startled, it was Shadow. He didn't have the benefit of even half an understanding of Desiderio's explanation, either. She stuck her hand down for him, waiting patiently for him to come to her so that she could pet him. She hoped he wasn't too frightened of Des now. After all, he was...

Oh. Well, she wasn't so certain... Aurelie wasn't so certain of anything. Were they going back to Brunnhold? That seemed rather remote, on the list of possibilities. She had asked more clearly than she'd thought possible. Her whole head felt like it was filled with bees. Or one of those fizzy lemonades, shaken up. The marble still rattling around. It was a very odd feeling.

No. We are not.

Some tight ball of anxiety that she hadn't know she was carrying so heavily unraveled in her heart. No, he said. No. She still didn't understand why. He didn't tell her that. What he did say was—practical, and straightforward. Aurelie held on to that, frowning thoughtfully. She wasn't sure how long the journey would take if they were on foot—it hadn't been but a few hours by carriage, but she knew...

There was still the sound of a moa scratching outside. Aurelie was distracted by that, almost enough to miss the rest of what he said. An informant. Her blood ran cold; she shivered before she could stop herself. Who...? Not Cass; Aurelie refused to entertain the thought. If she'd wanted to turn her in, there were easier ways of doing it. And that got her nowhere—Aurelie couldn't imagine the law looking kindly on someone who had let a... an... an escaped passive stay in their home, for weeks. Given her wages.

And more importantly, nothing about the woman made Aurelie think that was in her character. Perhaps she was wrong, but she refused to entertain the possibility. The kindness she had seen was real. It had to be. Aurelie didn't know who it was, but... Her mouth twisted. She wasn't precisely difficult to spot. No matter what clothes she put on, Aurelie wasn't stupid—she hardly passed for human. She looked too much like what she ought to have been for that.

But did she trust Desiderio, to lead him back to Cass? He had just threatened her last night, after all. Aurelie chewed on her lip. It wasn't her own fate she was gambling now. Inspector Morandi had not been kind to her. Was not her friend. She tried to hold that man in her head, to weigh him more heavily than the child she had known. More than the absent-minded swipe of a thumb on her cheek, of the promise to keep Shadow's name. She failed. Alioe's light preserve her, she failed. She could only pray she wasn't wrong in believing there was the friend she had loved in there after all.

Aurelie hadn't said anything, not yet. She heard the sound of something being set near her—rations, she thought. She was still chewing on what to say when Desiderio spoke again. Not going to Brunnhold. Aurelie's head jerked up sharply. He had said so before, but not so... Aurelie didn't know. There was something different in his voice. It gave her a little more confidence, straightened out her spine. She wasn't wrong about Cass, and she... she wasn't wrong about Desiderio. She hoped.

"The bakery... I trust the owner. She's... She's a good person." Aurelie said this firmly; there was not a single waver or hint of doubt in her voice. Aurelie drew a deep breath before continuing. "I don't know who the... the... i-informant might be. But it isn't... It's not her. She wouldn't... We could go back there. I think."

"We." The word was funny on her tongue; thrilling, too. Aurelie took some of what had been set in front of her and put it in her mouth, chewing while she thought. Automatically, some of the jerky was dropped on the floor for Shadow. For a moment she was silent, just thinking and slowly chewing. Then hesitantly, softly, she spoke again.

"T-Thank you. I don't—you don't have to... To tell me why, or... B-But thank you, Des." Oh, she did sound wretched. Soft and broken up. But she felt soft, and broken up, and wretched besides. So to sound it was the least of her problems, really. Not going to Brunnhold. And then, even softer: "Are you sure...?"

[Desiderio Morandi]

an abandoned farmhouse

morning on the 28th of roalis, 2720

A

urelie was very quiet, for what seemed a long time.

Thinking, he supposed. Weighing things. Weighing him? He would not have blamed her. He supposed he should be thinking himself, but there were so many things to think about, he did not know where to start. It was easier not to think at all. It was his training that reached for the tack and the jerky, that took stock of the rations now that he could see them – that was already thinking of the fastest and safest route back into the city, and potentially to wherever she was staying, to whomever it was she was staying with.

A good person, Aurelie said, when she finally spoke again. Morandi nodded once, grunting sharply; that was it, then. If Aurelie said that this woman was trustworthy, then what else was there to do but trust her?

A good person, some shred of him that was still able to think, thought: a good person who had harbored a fugitive. And if they had found her there, at the bakery?

He had a sudden vivid imagining of it – of stepping into a bakery, flanked by Clerisseau’s men, interrupting the warm smells of bread and the busy kitchens with sharp orders and sharper monite. Would he have hesitated to interrogate the owner, or anyone else with her? No.

He thought of the haberdasher suddenly; more – he thought of how she must have been in the back room, just behind the thin, rickety door, listening to him bend the man to his will. It had been right, at the time. He had been utterly sure. He felt a crawling up the back of his neck. How must it have seemed to her? She had not recognized him at all; he had seen the look on her face when Tanqueray had said his name. And so it must have been – must have been –

He had seen himself before in the minds of others, in the course of interrogation. It had been frightening, the first few times; he knew to expect it, now. It was no different, he told himself. It was no different when it was –

Aurelie went on. He glanced back up at her, tried to hold his focus. She was sitting very straightly now; there was only a little stutter, on informant.

‘We’, she said.

In all of his plans, he was a sort of detached, distant presence. Like looking through a window. It was not that he pictured Aurelie going back alone; it was simply that he was not picturing himself at all in the equation. Or the logistical problems he would introduce.

His brow furrowed, and he glanced down. In the corner of his eye, he watched her drop a little jerky for pup, matter-of-fact and unthinking.

When she spoke again after eating a little, it was with none of the blunt matter-of-factness he craved so terribly right now. It was soft, softer than he could bear. It made him think of the other side of things, the side that he was pointedly not thinking about. The why.

Are you sure…? she asked, even more softly.

“I am always sure,” he bit off firmly. The thank you sank inside him; he could not seem to answer, could not seem to do anything with it. He cleared his throat, looking down. “Thank me when you are safe,” he said. “If we are caught, I daresay – I have done nothing to improve your prospects.”

He frowned more deeply down at the dark green, gold-embroidered fabric of his pants, suddenly struck with another awful practicality.

“Hurte's teeth, I am like a sore thumb,” he muttered. He had a spare uniform, at least, in his bag, which was not covered with gold braid.

But this woman, how would she take to Aurelie’s accompaniment by a Seventen?

And she had told him he did not have to tell her why. Did he not owe it to her? But – he hardly knew – he could hardly think…

“I will not have them prod at you and put you under a spyglass, at Brunnhold. Nor do I wish for you to become accustomed,” another sharp staccato, “again, to going without. My duty was the safety of my charge. It does not seem to me that you will be safe there. It – did not – ten years ago.”

His voice broke. He could not seem to think of anything else to say, and there was a prickling heat in his cheeks. Instead of speaking more, he tore off a bite of jerky and chewed.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Roalis 28, 2720 - Morning
An Abandoned Farmhouse

It was a bold claim she was making with that "we". Claiming that Cass would just—that she wouldn't be putting her employer and roommate in too tough a position. And for Desiderio? Did he even want to be—Aurelie had said it without thinking, that "we". Assuming that he was coming too, wherever it was she ended up.

It would be all right if he didn't want to. All of this could just be... He could just see her off, she supposed. Help her back home. But then what? Aurelie shifted uncomfortably. Whatever his reasons had been, he had assaulted a magister on her behalf. That wouldn't simply go away. Even if she never knew his purpose for doing so, Aurelie felt as if she ought to at least take him into account with her planning. Such as it was.

But did he want her to? She thought of the ring on his finger, and guilt gnawed at her heart. It was all well and good for her to do all of this, but he... He had a life, and...

Always sure, he said, and his voice was firm. A tone that allowed for no argument, least of all from her. Aurelie wondered what that was like, to always be sure. Aurelie was so very rarely sure of anything. It was just that she also rarely had much choice beyond sticking with the decisions she had made. Aurelie nodded, then hazarded a small smile.

"My p-prospects are... Well. I appreciate the... the sentiment, really. No m-matter what happens." Was that too much? She didn't know. It was still hard to think. But at the very least they had settled that much. They would go back to the bakery, and she would... they would merely have to proceed from there. Silently, she apologized to Cass. She would have to make it up to her somehow. Aurelie was bringing a whole host of problems to her doorstep.

What if there were too many of them? She couldn't rule that idea out. Cass was kind, and as good a person as Aurelie had ever known. But there were limits to even her kindness, surely. Showing up on her doorstep not only after having been arrested but with her arresting officer in tow was certainly pushing those limits. Not to mention Shadow! Although he was such a sweet thing, she didn't think Cass would mind him.

Aurelie lost herself in those thoughts, her tentative smile slipping into a thoughtful frown. She started chewing on a nail; as soon as she realized what she was doing she jerked her hand away from her mouth and put some jerky in it instead. Desiderio had said nothing else, not yet. She had expected another silent meal, honestly.

She had not expected the explanation that came tumbling out, knife-edged and precise. Aurelie went very still, listening to him. At least the outside of her was still. Her heart was lurching and turning over inside of her ribcage. Do not cry! she scolded herself fiercely. This wasn't the time. Just because she had become overly given to weeping of late didn't mean she could do so now, of all times!

But while she did't cry, not really, she couldn't keep her face from twisting. Ten years ago? Truly, all this time, he'd...? Aurelie didn't know what to make of it. His voice broke, and her breath caught in her throat. What was she supposed to say?

Part of her was angry; if he'd thought so, then why...? Why try to take her back at all? Ana didn't think it was safe for her either, and yet both of them had been content for all this time to just... To leave her there to... The anger flared up and died; she couldn't sustain it for very long. Aurelie had thought it was safest for a very long time. How could she be angry with her sister, with Desiderio, because they thought the same?

Aurelie swallowed, then took a breath. She felt—untethered. She had only just started to convince herself that Desiderio truly didn't care about her anymore. And here he was, sitting across the table from her, telling her that he had assaulted a magister because he didn't think she would be safe. Because his duty was to the safety of his charge, she reminded herself; the charge in question only happened to be her.

I would be very safe, she wanted to say, in a very specific definition of the concept. "I thought I would be, or else why would... Why would I have been—" Aurelie broke off, her voice cracking. She shook her head. Now wasn't the time for this, either. "I was wrong. And you— I—"

What she really wanted, she thought absurdly, was his hand. Her fingers twitched. She very nearly held it out. But she didn't think he would take it, and the idea of being right was too hard just now. Instead she put her hand under the table and waited for Shadow to come to her, so she could pet him instead.

"We should wash, at least a little," she said after clearing her throat. Focus on the practicalities. Worry about the rest later. "I don't think we'll get too far looking like... like we've come from some kind of hell." Especially when it felt as if a hell was what she'd only narrowly avoided. Or was in the process of avoiding—Desiderio was correct, of course. They were far from safe now.

[Desiderio Morandi]

an abandoned farmhouse

morning on the 28th of roalis, 2720

S

he nodded, then – smiled.

At him, this time. Uncannily so. This one was not a laughing smile like the ones she gave Shadow. His eyes were coming more into focus now, terrible focus, and so he could see the details: her warm green eyes with a peculiar sort of sadness he did not remember from when they were children; the way it tugged at the smudge on her cheek.

He blinked, looking down at his hands on the table. She could not see him; it was safe, at least, not to look back at her. For all she knew, he was as stiff as ever, staring at her sternly, as if he were made of stone or metal.

And so – it was hardly as if she were smiling at him. It was a sort of grim, tentative smile; it was a smile one mustered up to offer the hardships ahead.

Grim prospects either way.

That small frown, and the way her eyes went down – that was familiar, painfully so. He was rapt for a moment, watching her chew her fingernails – that he did not remember – until she jerked her hand away.

Her breath caught when his voice broke. He had watched her face twist; even in the corner of his eye, he could not miss it. This, now, was a truly unfamiliar expression. He had to look. He was not sure what to make of the lines that it made on her face; he felt strangely as if he should not look, at the same time that he felt he could not look away.

I thought I would be, she said finally, and his lips came apart. He blinked. Then: I was wrong.

And you – He glanced down, catching a twitch of her fingers. For a moment, for just a moment, he almost wanted – as if they were children; it had been so easy when he was small – when he had felt so close, and not so very far away –

He shut his eyes against a fresh well of heat. Unfair as it was, he was horribly thankful she could not see him. She should hardly want his hand; even if he had not been a stranger, he was her arresting officer. He had been on the verge of – he could scarcely think of it. As horrifying as it had been, what he had just done, the alternative, what he had been about to do...

An investigation, he thought. Inspector Morandi would – conduct an investigation. Into Brunnhold; into all of it. There would be a trial. There would be – he would interrogate anyone that he had to. His word carried no small weight with men of standing, unlike those fools in the SPE. He had already rooted out corruption and insurrection in the capital. Justice would prevail.

Then – conduct an investigation with what power?

His eyes came into focus on the ring, glinting on his finger. His stomach turned over. Another hairline crack in the dam. He felt himself on the edge of a cliff.

Aurelie cleared her throat, and his eyes snapped up.

“No,” he replied, grateful again to have something less abstract to think about. “No. I daresay we shall not.”

He ran a hand absently along his jaw, feeling it prickle against his fingertips where there was no scarring. Damnably annoying, but there was a razor and a handmirror in his bag. He would have shaved by now on any regular morning; he would feel a great deal more like himself when he had.

“There is… a well,” and he paused, suddenly awkward. “We can – take turns. I shall – keep watch. For any others,” he said swiftly, coloring, “or wolves. I would – I should not…”

Something less abstract, but no less strange. Think, he snapped at himself. Something useful.

He had never had to think of this before. It had always been rather the point that he should be noticed; even out of his uniform, he was taken for a Seventen off-duty. He thought of her in the market, too.

It was hardly as if either of them was inconspicuous, even out of their respective uniforms; between her hair and stature, and his eyes and field… But it seemed a good starting place. “I have only a spare uniform in my bag. But… we did not,” he scratched his jaw, frowning, “search for clothing yesterday.”

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Roalis 28, 2720 - Morning
An Abandoned Farmhouse

Surreal. All of this was surreal, and had been the whole time. In all her wild imaginings, she would never have put herself here at this table, in this house, having this conversation. While Shadow licked her hand, whining a little for more corned beef. Poor Shadow; she wasn't sure how long it would take them to get back on foot, so it was probably best not to. In her heart, she vowed to give him all the more... dog-appropriate tinned meats he could want.

The only reason she knew it was absolutely and firmly reality was the fact that they were both filthy, and her eyes hurt, and so did many other parts of her from sleeping fitfully on a mattress that had been abandoned to the elements. She had never minded being covered in flour or anything else from the kitchen, but there was a distinct difference between not yet having washed up and... this.

Aurelie nodded; she remembered the well from yesterday. It would be—unpleasant, she thought, and cold. And difficult for her to manage, without being able to see herself. She hadn't thought much of the statement, not really, but the awkwardness in Desiderio's voice was also rather grounding. She hadn't meant—oh, bells and chimes. Of course he'd need to be nearby, as only one of them could see anything. Could see... Her face was warm.

What was she thinking? This was a rather awkward situation, but not... Needs must, she told herself firmly. And she really didn't want to be this grubby a moment longer, if she could help it. Besides, as she had no clothes to change into, she rather thought... Aurelie bit her lip.

"You wouldn't... Oh! I, er. Well it wouldn't be... Ah. T-Thank you. For—yes. Although, we do have Shadow, so the wolves are... are here already, so it's just... Er." Oh, that was very helpful! What a wonderful addition to the situation she'd made. Aurelie bit the inside of her cheek now, trying to keep herself in check. That she had any spare mind or energy to be absurd was encouraging, she supposed, if not helpful. Aurelie stopped talking.

Desiderio went on though. Aurelie hadn't considered either the matter of clothing; she thought of his jacket on the bed and decided not to consider it any more. She wasn't sure that there was any clothing to be found. Considering the state of the mattress and the blankets on it... Well, it was worth a look. Better to check just in case—the dress she was wearing wasn't a Brunnhold uniform, but it certainly wasn't inconspicuous.

"That's... Ah! There might be something, if you wanted to look...?" She allowed a little hope and apology both to creep into her voice. She didn't think she would be much use with the search. The uselessness prickled at her; it had been easier when they were both similarly impaired. Once again, she reminded herself she'd just have to get used to it. It only seemed strange now. She would adjust.

This was all very strange, and getting rather—the practical considerations were piling up, one after another. I had prepared less well when I left Brunnhold, she had the strangest urge to say. Just took the clothes on her back and a few important things—her sewing kit, Ana's dress. Her book of children's stories with...

"I don't suppose you have soap, er, in that bag of yours?" Think of the things that were in front of her. Not drawings tucked carefully inside of books, drawings that she had always thought would be the only piece of her friend she would have for the whole rest of her life. Aurelie wasn't entirely convinced that wasn't true, even now. Soap was a much, much easier topic.