[Closed] The Flowers Upside Down

[Desiderio Morandi]

an abandoned farmhouse

morning on the 28th of roalis, 2720

N

o questions; no conversation now, at least. Was he disappointed or heartened by the silence? Or by the shield of his glove, through which her hand was only a warm pressure, and the stiff wool of his jacket between them?

It was comforting, at least. For both of them, he imagined; the last thing they needed now was to be distracted by – old memories, by strange and altogether out-of-place feelings. He could not seem to stop hearing it in his head, the taut, strained sound of her voice, the words ungrateful and worse lonely, or the way his own voice had broken. It stood utterly at odds with the neat, comforting armor of his uniform, with her calm practicality and straight-backed composure, even leaning on his arm. Yet he could not stop thinking of it; he had not scrubbed or shaved it away.

There was the ever-present knowledge that they had both set it aside to return to later, a thing he had perhaps never before in his life done. To plan, to… talk. To a…

A friend? Not a friend. But what else were they? They had been, once. It was only that Morandi did not after all have very many friends.

Of course, he knew he would have to be – Desiderio, someday, to Amelie, who would be his wife. And he would have to talk about these sorts of things. The thought was as alien to him as taking his clothes off in front of her.

That – what an altogether inappropriate thought to have, and an even worse comparison to make, considering the circumstances.

And oddly not an entirely accurate one. The prospect of talking to Amelie had felt rather like something he had been roped into, like looking forward to the noose; this – this, he found, as frightened as he was, as alien as it was, he wanted to do.

That was even more disturbing. He promptly put all of it out of his head.

There was, anyway, a moa to steal.

Snap! He raised both of his eyebrows, looking over and down at her. Shadow, who was prancing rather gleefully around the tawny-feathered beast, hesitated at the sound of Aurelie’s voice, but then came trotting over.

An unexpectedly lovely sound. Sterner than he had heard it so far; as much as she had told him, it still took him by surprise. Matron, she had said, with a strange twist to her voice, as if it were very unflattering; he tried not to picture her in the kitchens, and it was not altogether because the image was sad. A bizarre mix of feelings.

Morandi was smiling. Morandi stopped smiling in an instant. “There you are, pup,” he said firmly, “you are learning quite well. Hurte’s stripes, but he knows his mistress, does he not?”

Brusque as his voice was, he could not keep the admiration from it. Pup was now pushing his way between their legs to press himself up against her, with no care at all to him; it would have been infuriating – it certainly made walking no easier – if it were not so…

Morandi cleared his throat, studying the moa. “It –” It. He frowned, uncertain, remembering what she had said. ‘It’ sat ill with him. “She? Seems to – be calming down.”

She was decently-sized, for a moa, though not near large enough for his liking. Its feathers were ruffled, its head swiveled to stare at Shadow, but it did not balk at their approach.

He paused at the moa’s side.

“Ah. Mounting… I – hmph.” Giving her a palm to step in would hardly work, given the state of her ankle. “If you – I could – er. I have helped other – injured officers – onto chroven, in the past. It is quite easy. If you would permit...” He cleared his throat again.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Roalis 28, 2720 - Morning
An Abandoned Farmhouse

Was this how you handled a dog? Or, more to the point, a young banderwolf pup? Aurelie had no idea—she'd never had a pet before. She did think it was likely to be different, ultimately, from keeping scullery maids in line or being in charge of a kitchen station. There was the lack of comprehension of Estuan, for one (although she certainly had her doubts about some of the more rambunctious of the younger ones from time to time). And Shadow had only known her a day—she wasn't sure she had earned the trust that came with such obedience.

Aurelie had once heard, when delivering a meal to a study group, that wolves traveled in family groups, and learned rather early on to obey their mothers and fathers for their survival. Aurelie was certainly not Shadow's mother, nor would she ever be anyone else's, but she thought the principle still applied. Unless, of course, she had wildly misunderstood—but she didn't think so. The groundskeeper had said something similar, albeit in a much more human way.

She held her face and posture stern, although she had no clue or expectation that Shadow understood it. Despite his friendliness around them, Aurelie didn't know how much of his life had been spent alone. (There was a little pang; she felt rather cruel, scolding such a lovely pup, but it was important.) The barking stopped, and she heard him come over to where she and Desiderio both stood.

His voice was firm, too, when he spoke—Aurelie had almost forgotten he was there, really, in her haste to bring Shadow to order. There was something in it she didn't know how to read, but made warmth rise to her face anyway. Hearing her speak so must be strange—to think of her with any sort of authority at all, dubious and limited as it was. If she didn't know better, she would have thought that his awkwardness was admiration. Oh, bells and chimes—but she had warned him, hadn't she?

"M-Mistress? Oh, I don't know about that." Shadow was now attempting to press as much of his not inconsiderable bulk against her as he could, reassuring Aurelie that he held no hard feelings for her scolding. It was making it difficult to stay balanced, as he had chosen to wedge himself between her and Desiderio. Perhaps not the most—she ought not to encourage him to do so things like this, she thought absently. Aurelie smiled anyway, protesting only in form.

"But he certainly is smart. Clever enough to be cute to get back into my good graces." Petting him and leaning on Desiderio simultaneously was something of a difficult proposition; she tried, and stumbled a little, laughing to herself. "No more of that now, hmm? We have—a ways to go, and we'll never make it if you're trying to play with the poor... girl."

Desiderio had decided it was so, and Aurelie had to trust him. Aurelie didn't know what to make of the correction—she hoped it wasn't because of the nonsense she'd said earlier. That was only her feeling, she wanted to say, it hardly... But maybe that wasn't it at all, and she needn't be so arrogant as to think otherwise.

They made their way over to the moa, with no further squawking or barks. That was encouraging. Bad enough to steal the poor creature; they didn't need to distress her as well. Here, they paused, and Aurelie realized she hadn't the first idea of how they were going to practically accomplish either mounting or riding. She hadn't gotten that far with her imagining. The more he spoke on it, the more Aurelie realized the process was likely to be—awkward. More awkward than leaning on him to support her ankle.

Bells and chimes.

"Oh! Oh, of course... I hadn't quite thought about... Ah. T-thank you." Just like helping an injured officer, she told herself. Exactly the same.

It was not, in fact, the same—at least not to her. They managed, although not without a considerable amount of faintly alarmed squeaking on her part. (Yet another habit she did wish she could get over. It made her sound like a mouse.) And absolutely with a lot of—Gracious Lady, but he was certainly... The life of an Inspector must offer one a great need and opportunity to take one's exercise.

Aurelie tried to put that thought out of her mind. Truly! There just was precious little chance of that when Desiderio came to sit behind her. As he had to, what with the need to... direct the moa where she ought to go. Aurelie certainly couldn't do it. For an absurd moment, she thought maybe it was best if they walked after all. There wasn't a visible inch of her that didn't feel furiously scarlet.

She was sitting between his knees, her skirt rucked up rather awkwardly, her back not quite pressed up against him. It would be, if she let herself lean back at all. There was not, in fact, a lot of space on the back of a moa.

"Y-You'll have to... to keep an eye on Shadow. Uhm. To make sure he. Follows us. Ahem." Not that he needed to be told this, but Aurelie felt she ought to say something and it was all she could think of. "You really do work out a lot" didn't seem in any way even remotely appropriate, after all.

This was going to be a terribly long ride, she could tell already. Aurelie prayed she would survive.

[Desiderio Morandi]

an abandoned farmhouse

morning on the 28th of roalis, 2720

A

urelie had sounded uncertain, or at the very least surprised at his choice to call the moa a ‘she’. Looking at the bird now, Morandi could not tell one way or another; he was no expert on beasts, much less birds. Much less moa. He paid a moment’s heed to the coloring and the length of the feathers before submitting to the pointlessness of the endeavour. It was a bird, he told himself, watching it tilt its head strangely to regard him with one glassy, vague eye, and scratch in the dirt with its knobbly talons. When did it ever matter to him whether a bird or a dog was a ‘he’ or a ‘she’? (It had, once.)

Shadow had sat down with a thump and was watching them curiously.

He cleared his throat again, utterly impassive and stony in spite of the flush in his cheeks. “Naturally,” he said sharply.

It was, of course, never a simple and straightforward operation, and least of all when the person in question was a civilian. A civilian: that was quite all he was thinking about. Certainly not the queer emptiness of the air around her, the lack of caprise, of which he could not but be sharply aware, this close.

Nor the shape of her, which, in lieu of caprise, was strongly present in his awareness. He had helped her to her feet and taken her weight before, but now, he found himself with a steadying hand on her back – which was as surprisingly firm and toned as he remembered. Like the scars on her hands, it left him wondering; it was harder and harder not to chase those thoughts, to imagine the routine of her work, to imagine what had shaped her.

The same, he supposed, feeling self-conscious and sad, as he had been shaped, in the last ten years.

He was conscious, too, of the curve of her hips, which had previously been swallowed up by her baggy dress. He should not have been surprised by it; she was, after all – he was unsettled.

It was a reminder of how unseemly all this was. She had looked every bit a young woman in the market; without knowing her, human or wick or galdor, he would have at least known that. There was something beyond unsettling about the magister’s manner, and about the sight of her drowned in a blue dress of a style that might have been worn by a girl. It was undignified and – cruel.

She seemed flustered; there were a great deal of surprised squeaks, which he put down to his lack of grace and his less-than-gentle handling. He tried very hard to be tactful with the placement of his hands. Morandi might not have been known for his elegance, but he was certainly known for his professionalism. He fretted once at a particularly alarmed noise as he caught her underneath the arm.

Keeping an eye on her ankle, all the same, was enough of a distraction. As he helped her the rest of the way up, he had little attention to spare for anything else; he found himself wholly absorbed in the task, his brow furrowed, tutting and moving carefully.

Soon enough he had mounted, too. He had thought to offer to walk, at first. She was stiff, her skirt bunched up awkwardly between them. Unseemly, he thought again. He could see very well over the top of her head, but he had to reach around her for the reins, and he was conscious of the redness of her ears in the corner of his eye. There was sweat beading underneath his high collar.

He had hesitated; now, up on the moa’s back, feeling the bird sway underneath him, he felt an itching in his scars. It was, if nothing else, a distraction from – everything else.

“Ah – yes.” He glanced over his shoulder, feeling a pang. Of course he would have to keep an eye out himself. Shadow, at least, seemed unconcerned; he had gotten to his paws and was starting to trot ahead. “I shall,” he said firmly, as firmly as he had made every other promise. “But – he is quite intelligent, as you say. And I do not think that he shall desert you.”

Carefully, trying to loosen his posture, he gave the moa a gentle squeeze with his calves. As if on cue, the beast took a step forward, and he swallowed a lump.

“There, there, passerotta,” he murmured, his voice tight with anxiety. He scarcely realized what he had said – to the moa – until he had said it; his face was blazingly hot, and he was gripping the reins rather tightly. He cleared his throat, gritting his teeth.

A few more swaying steps and they had begun to emerge from the foliage. He could see the path not so far off, blessedly, a narrow country road; pup was surging toward it already, impatient, barking and making the moa skittish.

“Perhaps you should – speak to him,” Morandi said matter-of-factly, “as we go, nonetheless. It seems to calm him.”

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Roalis 28, 2720 - Midday
On the Road

Aurelie couldn't remember the last time she had spent so much time so near to someone's field. Not since she was a child, surely—most of her time was spent with Nurse, who of course had nothing there at all. Even then, only when her sister and parents were home. Or, she thought with a pang, Desiderio.

It had been different then. Somehow, it had been. Aurelie couldn't put her finger on how, even accounting for how it had been hardly a field at all to start. Just the tickle of an eddle, and then... Aurelie didn't know how to feel about it. This close, inappropriately close, she felt simply surrounded by the feeling. Her skin itched, and it was nice, and she didn't want it to be either thing.

The emptiness of her—did it bother him? No, not emptiness... But Desiderio didn't know that. He never would. There was simply no reason for him to. That, too, made her feel strangely self-conscious. As if she needed more reason to! There was enough of that simply in sitting here in front of him with her skirts hitched up and his arms to either side of her. If she relaxed, she would lean into him. The thought was... She wasn't going to picture it. Absolutely not.

Think of the ride, she told herself. There was plenty to think about there. As a child, Aurelie had lessons. Those lessons were quickly abandoned; she was a timid thing, and the unpredictability had unsettled her. She could scarely remember them now. Or what about it had seemed so unpleasant; she thought she rather liked it, other than how her ankle jostled lightly with each step.

Desiderio didn't seem particularly comfortable himself. Well, he had told her he wasn't overly-fond. And having her sitting there, where a sudden move might make her bump into him? That, she thought, couldn't be any more pleasant. She would simply have to do her best not to—to touch him, as much as possible. The moa took a step forward, and she heard Desiderio above her.

No, he sounded very uncomfortable. His voice was tight with it. And still, there was something about—oh, but she was hopeless. Aurelie had never thought she had any strong feelings on the Bastian accent in particular, but she liked his. She liked the accent of Caroult, she corrected herself; that she liked it because it reminded her of him wasn't worth contemplating. Still—passerotta. Aurelie couldn't help but smile.

"Does it? I'll have to, then." Aurelie was dubious. But she could hear Shadow (blessedly following along) barking excitedly. Their mount didn't seem to find it as charming as Aurelie did. She was, in fact, distinctly skittish—it was making it very difficult for Aurelie to hold herself away from Desiderio. "Shadow! What are you doing, lovely? Be a good boy and leave the poor moa alone."

Talking to Shadow as they went—Aurelie wasn't sure, quite, what to say to him. She couldn't see him, after all, or hold him from up here. She could hear him rustling around, over the scratching of moa feet. Perhaps if she just spoke in general, that would... be sufficient. Which meant, then, she ought to talk to Desiderio.

"This is, ah. I haven't been near a moa, I think, since riding lessons as a girl." What did one talk about? She had offered, she wanted to talk more like they had been at the well. But it was so hard to bring anything up like that when she was so blazingly conscious of the warmth of Desiderio at her back, to her sides. Conscious of all of him; she felt surrounded, and it wasn't entirely unpleasant. "It's, uhm. Different."

"I'm sorry," she said after a brief, awkward pause. "I, uhm. I don't know what to talk about. Not very well-socialized, with the... Ah. Hmm. Well, you don't have to talk to me about anything, if you wouldn't like. D-Don't feel obligated, of course, I just thought I ought to... It would be nice if... Oh, bells and chimes."

Why was this so difficult? It didn't used to be. Yet here she was, a hair's breadth away from talking about the weather. As if to a stranger. Which, she thought with another wave of aching, she supposed he was to her now. Sometimes she forgot; it would be best if she didn't. For him, and for herself as well.

[Desiderio Morandi]

an abandoned farmhouse

morning on the 28th of roalis, 2720

A

urelie sat very straightly in spite of the moa’s swaying, which prevented her from leaning back into him. When she called out to pup, he felt the soft vibration of her voice as much as he heard it. Lovely and good boy, gentle but quite firm indeed, he thought he might have felt in his very bones.

Surely enough, Shadow bounded back, trotting alongside the bird instead. Morandi did not care to look down and see; whenever he did, he felt a strange tilting in his head, and a lurch in his chest. As if he had to catch himself and throw up his arms in anticipation of claws.

He swallowed tightly, keeping his chin up. The moa was stabler now, at least, if no less uncomfortable with pup’s mere presence.

He stiffened a little more when Aurelie spoke again. As a girl, she said, and he frowned slightly, trying to picture the Aurelie he had known on a moa.

Different, she said. He nodded, unsure what to say. Then –

“Hmph.” He had not meant for that to sound harsh, either. Only, between directing the moa – and he was terribly conscious of her shoulders almost constantly touching his upper arms – and everything else – “I mean to say, do not apologize,” he repeated, matter-of-fact to hide the tightness in his throat.

Not very well-socialized, with the… He shut his eyes briefly as direct sunlight fell over both of them.

The what? he wanted to demand again, like a hound on a scent. Tell me, tell me everything, you must –

When they were safe, she had said at the well. They would not be for some time yet. He still had to find quiet back roads back to Old Rose Harbor, and then find their way to the bakery. And however that conversation would go, he did not think she fancied her erstwhile arresting officer interrogating her about Brunnhold while veritably wrapped around her – whoever else he had been to her once.

What would they – talk about? All the way back? More sweat was beading on the back of his neck. He was very conscious of how warm and solid and small she was, all three at once.

They had thoughtlessly held each other as children, but he scarce remembered it. It had been strange at first, he remembered, to have a friend who was a girl; but it had begun to matter less and less, until finally it mattered not at all.

It mattered, now, and that he was sure of. Palpably. Since he had thought of it, he could not seem to chase the image of her leaning back into him from his mind; he could not seem to stop wondering what it would feel like, and the imagining, if he permitted it, almost brought a pleasant…

He bit down hard on his tongue.

“Different?” he said sharply, stepping awkwardly over the apologies and the polite offers. “Is that so?” Talk, he thought, talk!

The swaying of the moa brought them close; he felt her shoulderblades brush his chest, and he felt a wisp of hair drift across his chin.

There was a rather scandalous scene of this nature in The Highwayman and the Duchess of Absolon, in which Delfina’s then-kidnapper and soon-to-be-secret-lover fled the castle with her on moaback, and no few number of improper thoughts had entered Delfina’s mind while cradled in his arms.

Gracious Hurte! Well, the authoress must certainly never have been in any comparable situation – poor Aurelie.

At least, he thought bitterly and sadly, the two of them were both accustomed to discomfort of one sort or another.

He cleared his throat, but all that came out was a choked noise. “As a boy,” he said, a little too loudly, “I learned to ride a horse. They are more popular in Bastia, in the country, where they are ridden during hunts.”

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Roalis 28, 2720 - Midday
On the Road

Don't apologize, was it? Desiderio joined the increasingly long list of people informing her that she ought to do that less. Aurelie didn't know quite what to make of it; it always made her want to apologize for her apologizing. He didn't sound much like he cared either way, really. But she could sort of feel him shift behind her, while still managing not to touch her. He had lifted her so carefully up here in the first place, too—professional, Aurelie thought. To the last.

Some part of her thought it would be easier if he just let his arms touch her shoulders. Like it didn't matter, which it didn't—shouldn't. Couldn't possibly. It mattered if she were a young woman, which she refused to think she was to him. If she allowed herself to think she was, she might think of all that this implied, and she would simply perish right there in his arms.

No, not "in his arms"! Aurelie was, in fact, in his arms in a very technical sense, but not like... not like that. The bird swayed beneath them, and she felt his chest skim the back of her shoulders. That didn't help in the slightest. Either the sun was beaming directly on her face, personally, or she was blushing again. Chimes, you'd think eventually—eventually—she would get over it and stop being so flustered over every little thing. Life just seemed to be very keen on finding new "little things" for her to experience. Like this. This was absolutely... Absolutely nothing.

"Oh, uhm, yes. W-well, I'm a bit, ah, bigger than I was then." Did that joke sound as absolutely awful to Desiderio as it did to her? She dared not think about that too long. "And, uhm, I was only permitted to sit, ah, to the... With my skirts and so on... Father tried to teach me."

He had been so crushed when Aurelie didn't take to it—she was fairly certain he'd had dreams of them riding together. He rode with Mother and Ana, of course. So it didn't matter terribly much if she didn't enjoy it. Still, she'd been more sad that she didn't like it because of him than any real desire she had to participate. Aurelie let her hand drift, for just a moment, to her neck.

Above her, Desiderio made some sort of choked noise. His voice, terribly loud considering how close she was, was a physical thing as much as it was auditory. As a boy—in Bastia, before she knew him. Aurelie never did tired of hearing about it; it sounded so strange to her, accustomed to the flat countryside where Briarwood Hall was nestled.

Had he already told her about the horses? She couldn't recall. She'd been so young then, and one's childhood wasn't nearly as interesting when you were still living in it. "Horses?" There was genuine curiosity in her voice; if she just focused on conversation, perhaps she could survive this trip after all.

"We don't ride horses much in Anaxas," Aurelie added, uselessly. He already knew this, of course he already knew it. She just filled the air with inane chatter whenever given the opportunity, evidently. "Did you, ah... I can't imagine you—uhm. At that age, I mean to say, I couldn't have... Did you ever go? Hunting?"

As soon as she finished the question, Aurelie heard a bark from Shadow, off to the side and a bit further away than she was expecting. Despite the distance, it must have startled their poor moa, who reared back just enough for Aurelie to lose her balance. She gave a startled kind of cry, and fell back to close whatever small gap there was between herself and Desiderio. Hard, too; it couldn't have been comfortable.

"Shadow! Oh, Des, are you all—I'm sorry, I was startled..." She righted herself, quickly and gracelessly; the whole of her back felt warm. The season, she told herself. The air was just warm, and... Bells and chimes.

[Desiderio Morandi]

an abandoned farmhouse

morning on the 28th of roalis, 2720

F

ather, she had said. In such close quarters, he could not but feel her shift, and see her hand move as if to touch her collarbone. Plucking nervously at her collar, or perhaps touching a necklace, the Inspector thought.

That – that, he had not thought about in over a year.

He had not seen her older sister, of course, and though Mother must have heard, she had not told him. Amelie moved in quite a different set – not old money, the Beauvilliers – but he had heard it from her, when it had happened last Bethas. A passing comment: Terribly sad, she had said, is it not, Desiderio? At the time, he had thought he should be grateful that no one connected him with them any longer. Instead, he had felt something he could not put a name to, covered up with numbness. He had been unbearably frustrated the next day, he remembered, with the littlest things at work. As if with no cause.

He could not quite picture Mr. Steerpike. He remembered an adult, blending into the other Anaxi adults of that strange era in his boyhood. Had he had a mustache? Freckles? He remembered a suit. He had not often seen the man.

Horses? she was asking. Startled, he glanced down, and then was immediately, sharply aware of her once again.

Too much so to respond rightaway. She went on instead, and he frowned. He was grateful, at least, that she was talking more; he did not know what he would do when it was his turn to speak. But as she went on, his frown grew deeper.

I can’t imagine you –

At that age, I mean to say, I couldn’t have…

At the question, he opened his mouth.

“Damnation!” He felt the moa’s talons skid; his heart lurched, and he felt a spur of panic. And then Aurelie, all of her, falling against his chest –

All Morandi could think was that the moa was going over; all he could think was of scrambling, flogging legs and feathers, or of the coach turning over, Circle preserve. Without thinking, one fist still clutching the reins, he caught her with both arms around her. He prepared to slip his feet from the stirrups and let go and roll.

Then she was saying his name, her name for him, and the moa was stable. He let go as she began to right herself, both of them clumsy. He had slipped a little himself; he felt rumpled, bunched skirts against his thigh, and righted himself abruptly.

He put a hand on her left shoulder to steady her, idly but gently, then remembered abruptly he had heard once – that was where they –

He let out a sharp grunt. “Of course.” He took the reins again.

But he was blinking out at – the Arova, he realized, and up it, the still very distant shapes of buildings, grey in the dawn. That was what Shadow had barked at. He was standing on the edge, where the path spilled over into the greenery, far down to another footpath along the river bank.

“The river,” he said, momentarily breathless. If only she could see it, he thought, with an awful twist in his stomach. He might have stopped, some very strange part of him whispered, to draw it, for – for when she inevitably regained her sight. What on Vita was he thinking? “I – ah… I suppose we are going in the right direction,” he said more matter-of-factly. “I can see the city.”

Now that the ringing in his ears had quieted, he could hear the river rushing, too. The path was beginning to slope down; the moa was now finding her footing, stepping down toward the river.

“Once,” he said after a moment, remembering himself. “I went hunting once. No – not as a boy. I thought it rather brutal then.” The words tasted almost ironic in his mouth. He cleared his throat again, went on past it very quickly: “I went home from Anastou as a young man. To Caroult. In the spring, the last year we had the – estate. Uncle Giovanni took a hart.”

He was quiet for a moment, oddly disturbed. He remembered it in strange bursts of foliage and frost-dusted undergrowth, hooves, his thighs aching from a day on horseback. Uncle Giovanni looking like a twenty-third century tapestry. He had drawn Aunt Cecilia with her falcon.

“You. Ah. Forgive me. Are you comfortable?” Her skirts still seemed oddly-bunched between them where she had fallen; he was still burning with embarrassment, and the tips of her ears were rather red.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Roalis 28, 2720 - Midday
On the Road

There was a flurry of movement when the moa reared back. Aurelie had squeaked out in surprise as she fell; Desiderio swore above her. Then, very suddenly, both of his arms were around her. She forgot to breathe. Worse, she thought she felt completely, ridiculously—safe. As if nothing truly terrible could happen in that moment, because the both of them were there.

That was more foolish even than she usually was. When she could breath again, when her mind started back up and she tried to right herself, she knew this. Something truly terrible had very nearly happened because Desiderio was there. So why had that thought been so strong? Sometimes Aurelie felt as if she lacked any kind of self-preservation instinct at all.

The moa settled out beneath them; she had only been scared a moment. They had both unbalanced themselves—in their seats, of course—and Desiderio shifted behind her. The bulk of her skirts were against his leg until he did so. Aurelie's heart was still trying to escape her breast.

Maybe it would have succeeded when he set a hand carefully on her shoulder, if he had picked the other shoulder. He paused, and it weighted her down like a stone. Could he feel it under his hand, through the sleeve of her hateful blue dress? That curl of dark ink, that proof that whatever she might pretend to be, she could never be anything other than what she was.

"G-Good," she managed. He had taken the reins again, and wasn't touching her any longer. That was good, too.

Aurelie had been about to ask what the fuss had been, if he could tell. But she thought she knew, when Desiderio said breathlessly, "The river." Oh, she wanted to see it when he sounded like that. Describe it to me, she almost asked, almost begged. She'd seen the Arova before, of course, but there was just something in his voice... Aurelie didn't ask, and he went on matter-of-fact as always.

"T-That's a... a relief?" Somehow she had never considered they could be going in the wrong direction. She had simply trusted him to get them there. To want to get them there, and not change his mind halfway and march her right back to Brunnhold or Graywatch or... It would have been easy, and she never would have known. She had just trusted that he wouldn't.

He had, after all, given his word.

Aurelie's muscles adjusted without her thinking to the downward slope of the path. After a moment, Desiderio spoke. You thought it was brutal then? And now?

Aurelie thought she knew the answer.

She had meant to be making conversation, to fill the time, but that stoppered up all the words she might have said as effectively as if her mouth was sewn shut. Maybe Desiderio felt the same, or maybe he just preferred silence—she hadn't actually asked if he wanted to talk to her on the way. Inconsiderate—too late now. Perhaps she would let them be quiet then...? Oh, she didn't know what she was meant to do at all! She hadn't the experience, really.

"It's fine," she answered automatically, without thinking of how that sounded. Well, she wasn't comfortable. She hadn't expected to be, though. The saddle was not designed for two, and while she was small even for her kind, Desiderio certainly wasn't. Not on any dimension, a traitorous part of herself reminded her. They didn't quite fit, and Aurelie couldn't help but feel a little sorry for the moa. Needs must, she supposed, but still.

"I, uhm. There's not much to be done about it, I think—er. Don't, ah, worry about it. I'm comfortable enough. Are you...? I'm not, ah, too...?" Aurelie shifted about; her skirt was sort of awkwardly bunched up between them, which she thought might be bothering him. She did her best to fix it, although the primary method at her disposal was just sort of wriggling around. She didn't think it was particularly effective, but she tried.

[Desiderio Morandi]

an abandoned farmhouse

morning on the 28th of roalis, 2720

H

e supposed it was a relief.

The distant grey tops of the buildings had disappeared now in the foliage; it had been a brief glimpse, as they had come out by the slope down to the riverbank. Now, again, they might well have been going in any direction, and the air smelled of the tangled damp roots coming up out of the water, of fish and the river. Of sweat, too, and moa.

He had not considered it further, other than that if they were going in the wrong direction, he would find out eventually and right them. He had a compass; he was not sure why he had not used it. Hurte, but he was not thinking straight. About anything.

He felt her adjust to the slope; he did himself, remembering taking the horse through the mountain pass, though clumsy with the moa’s broad back and her in front of him. Shadow was prancing ahead, too fascinated by the glossy wings of a dragonfly now, now the splash of a fish in the water, to bark much.

She had said nothing, after he had spoken. He might have pretended he had not spoken, lulled as he was by the sway of the moa and the desperate ignoring of everything else; might have. He remembered the echoing thunk, and breathing into his gloves against the cold, worried without direction or cause. He remembered laughter, and candles around Uncle Giovanni's sumptuous dining table.

He tried to read her silence. He thought he knew some of what was in it; he felt strange, numb.

It’s fine, she said first, with the casual tone of instinct. He supposed it had been a rather stupid question, one to fill the silence more than anything; there was not a chance that she was comfortable, or would be before the ride was over. He expected more silence; when she went on, the furrow of his brow deepened.

He stiffened uncomfortably, face still burning, when she shifted. Too – what? Her skirts were still bunched; he thought perhaps he might have fixed it himself, if not for the bounds of propriety.

Why did she care how comfortable he was? It was hardly as if – she was clearly in the most uncomfortable –

“Hmm – no. Ah.” It is I, rather, who am ‘too’ – a few things. He cleared his throat, wishing rather fervently that she would stop trying to fix the problem. “Thank you. Aurelie. I mean to say, I am comfortable enough also. I am – forgive me.”

The riverside was almost calm. It was surreal. The hum of the insects was rather loud. “We shall dismount soon enough,” he went on, thinking aloud. “Outside of – the city – we had best find someplace to cross. To avoid Redwine and Graywatch. Your – bakery, where…?”

He could only think about what it all meant, the pup rambling about at some distance, the coppery red head a few inches from his chin, in fits and starts.

The effort of scanning the riverbank furtively for movement, for signs of settlement, took up the rest of his mind. What might have been hope for reprieve was now breathless fear. The words in monite for a priority spell were already on the tip of his tongue; the further they went down the Arova, the closer to the city they got, the more likely he was to have to use them. He caught a glimpse of a post in the water, a tangled net half-submerged, and felt his heart lurch. Long-abandoned, but…

What was he doing?

When they got to the bakery, if they got there – what did he think would happen? His starched collar bit into his neck; it felt like a noose. Aurelie had had to trust him so far, no doubt.

And when she did not? When it was his turn to trust?

All he knew, now, was – “It is – likely – unwise,” he said, more quietly. “To speak too much, after all. If we are overheard –” His throat tightened.

At whose mercy would he be? He had not often had to trust. Not anyone. He had always been in control.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Roalis 28, 2720 - Midday
On the Road

There was no way for her to settle her skirts without her sight. At least, no way that didn't run the risk of accidentally touching Desiderio—there was no even remotely acceptable place in proximity for her to do so, either. Best leave it, then. He did say he was comfortable enough. Aurelie thought with something that wasn't quite sadness that though this was a particularly unique situation in the details, they were neither of them likely unused to bearing discomfort. She stopped her fidgeting.

"There's... There's nothing to forgive." The words rang heavy and a little false; all the same, Aurelie thought them to be true. "As long as you're—comfortable enough, then... Then I am, too."

Perhaps silence wouldn't have been so bad after all. She could hear very little but the creaking of the saddle beneath them and the slow steps of the moa. Sometimes she could hear Shadow, but he would come back as if checking on them and then ramble off again. She had to trust, too, that Desiderio would tell her if he wandered too far so that she could call him back. It was almost soothing, despite how stiffly she held herself and the burning in her face.

Idly she wondered that she wouldn't end up with a sunburn by the end of the day; they traveled in and out of shady areas. A hat would have been nice. There wasn't much she could do for the freckling, but she did hate the way sunburns itched as they healed. A breeze would skim over the water from time to time and wrap around them, just pleasant enough to make her aware of her discomfort.

"Dismount? Oh, yes." Aurelie frowned in thought, trying to focus on the planning and not on what came after that. It would be best to leave the moa before they got into the city proper, it was true. The sight of a Seventen officer in uniform—Aurelie felt it, stiff and important beneath her hands and at her back—with a rather rumpled-looking woman riding double on a moa... Well, she was starting to realized that the denizens of the Rose ignored quite a lot on a regular basis, but that seemed like a bit much. Even without Shadow in tow.

"The bakery..." Aurelie hesitated. Only a moment, she thought, but she did. Then she shook it off; she had trusted him this far. She would simply have to trust him a little more. If her trust should be misplaced... That was a problem to solve when it happened. Too vast and deep to contemplate now. "I-It's the Good Pan, in Castle Hill. ...I'm afraid we'll have a ways to go, even..." Aurelie trailed off.

Desiderio spoke again, quietly, voice taut. She heard the sounds of no one else; for all she could tell, they were alone on the road. They wouldn't be forever; there was no chance of that. "You're saved then, from my attempts at thinking of suitable topics." Aurelie smiled, although she wasn't sure he was looking at her face. After a moment, the smile fell away. "You're right, though."

How would she get them there? Desiderio would have to... help her. She could see no landmarks, and hardly knew the names of streets yet. When the streets even had names. There were plenty enough that didn't, in a city this size, that had been here this long. Built up, she thought, over the centuries—a city on the bay, looking out beyond Anaxas.

Who was she bringing back? The Inspector, or her friend? Would she have even been able to tell the difference?

Trust, she thought again. Was she right? Or would she prove wrong in the end...? She had no way to know—nobody to tell her, no judgement to rely on beyond her own. They fell into silence, the buzzing of the insects in the Roalis afternoon telling her nothing at all.