[Closed] Walls I Cannot Climb

[Desiderio Morandi]

outside the good pan

morning on the 29th of roalis, 2720

M

orandi was not sure how he was meant to feel about any of this. When it came to situations he knew how to deal with – by training or experience – washing a young bander wolf with Aurelie Steerpike and two human children in an alleyway, in his socks no less, was quite out of his repertoire. If he had felt embarrassed at their whispers, he had no real space to process it.

Nor could he even begin to understand how he felt at the sight, coming out of the washroom, of Ginny nestled up next to Aurelie. Morandi knew that it hurt in a way that made him feel weak and wanting at once; that was all he knew. That it reminded him of something he had wanted very badly once, and had given up so long ago that it seemed almost cruel to feel it again now.

Nor Peter’s cautious approach – cautious even without him present – which seemed horribly wrong, as wrong as the thought of Aurelie in the midst of the spell circles. Wrong, and yet reasonable, some cool part of his mind told him. Reasonable in the way everything else was unreasonable – reasonable in the way he seemed to have become unreasonable, illogical, himself.

Nor his stumbling question, and the wince across Aurelie’s face.

What he felt then was very unpleasant. It made him grit his jaw hard, and it was difficult to hold his field indectal. More so when she replied, simple and soft and honest; and then –

Peter looked at him, his eyes widening slightly. He looked sharply away. Morandi’s eyes moved to Aurelie, who had broken off at the mention of his name; her hands were folded in front of her, fingers tightly interlaced, head down so that he could see little of her eyes underneath her fringe. Her shoulders were not straight.

It was a different sort of image. He had felt briefly, strangely, as if this were something they were facing together. Now, it felt to him as if all the weight were on her shoulders. The scars stood out strongly on her paled knuckles.

“What hurts?” asked Ginny, frowning up at Peter and then Aurelie.

“Don’t worry, Ginny,” Peter said. He had been scratching behind Shadow’s ears, but his hand came away then.

“What hurts?”

Both children jumped and looked over when Morandi’s field brushed over them. It was no less tight at the edges, but it was no longer shifted or flexed; it was simply tense and heavy, strong and rigidly-organized. As if Ginny had forgotten earlier, she shrank back slightly. Peter’s jaw was squared, and he did not move.

Morandi crouched with his armful of towels, passing one to Aurelie silently. Peter was staring at him; he looked up, met Peter’s eye for a moment – before Peter looked away from his eyes, stubborn.

He extended a handtowel, smudged a little at the edge by Shadow’s nose earlier. Peter did not take it; he muttered, “I’m not frightened.” He was slightly pale.

Morandi blinked, remembering the tears streaming down his cheeks, the distinct feeling of thorns piercing his eyes. “I was afraid, as one is of many things,” he admitted, even harsher with the difficulty of the admission. “I am no longer.” He threw a towel over Shadow, beginning to dry his thick fur. “There was pain, and then we recovered.” He looked up once and met Aurelie’s eye. “There are other things which are much more frightening.”

He thought of the magister's silhouette in the doorway, and of the steamship bound for Brunnhold. He thought of locking the handcuffs around a strange woman's wrists thoughtlessly. It had taken so long once he knew, even; he might have willingly given her up. He thought of asking questions that nobody would answer as a boy, and of an empty space that everyone had begun simply to ignore.

Peter looked down at Shadow, frowning. “We won’t tell,” he said after a long time. “Ginny, I know you’ll want to tell mum all about the puppy, but you won’t tell, will you?”

“But –”

“Ginny,” plead Peter.

“I won’t,” mumbled Ginny.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Roalis 29, 2720 - Afternoon
The Good Pan Bakery

Oh, shouldn't she tell Ginny too? The girl had been nestled up so comfortably against Aurelie's side, petting Shadow happily. She didn't know what Aurelie was, or else didn't understand. The honesty she had wrung out of herself for Peter was harder to find for Ginny. The idea of those wide, dark eyes looking at her with the caution—the fear—that she saw on her brother's face was too much to bear. She would break under the weight of it.

"What hurts?" she asked, innocent in her confusion. Aurelie's mouth couldn't seem to open. Her voice had gone off somewhere beyond her own reach. Peter stopped petting Shadow then, an act that confused the dog and pushed a needle into her heart.

"W-well..." Peter cut her off, but Ginny was undeterred. Given how awkward and even mean Desiderio had been to the children before, and how afraid they both were of him, feeling his field brush over them all shouldn't have been anything like a relief. Somehow, it was. It felt different than it had; she was more and more starting to realize that she could tell, in a dim sort of way, even if she couldn't have said what those differences were. Familiar. Aurelie picked up her head and turned to look at him as he approached again, towel in hand. She wondered if she looked nearly as desperate as she felt.

"Thank you," she mumbled as she took a towel, trying to keep her voice bright and even but failing utterly. She ought to be more used to this by now! She ought to be more... She needed to be... Better, she supposed. Stronger, more able to withstand this sort of thing. She would, after all, have to live like this going forward. Telling people who didn't know, if she had to—there was no blue uniform to do it for her.

Despite his approach, Peter didn't take the towel Desiderio offered him. She could hardly blame the boy, but it broke her heart just a little more. Aurelie was looking at Desiderio, searching his face for something, when Peter spoke again. Poor, brave Peter. Aurelie wanted to tell him that he ought to be, at the same time as she very desperately wished it to be true that he wasn't. Ginny was still leaning towards her brother.

Desiderio blinked, and he—

That, somehow, hurt her more than Peter's reaction had, and in a very different way. He had been afraid? Not disgusted or angry or disappointed, but afraid? Of her, of...? And she had proven him right. Her hurt quickly tangled up with another feeling, altogether larger and more dangerous. She had the towel he had handed her clutched in her hands but she didn't move, not just yet. We, he said, and it was the loveliest and most frightening thing she had ever heard.

She didn't think that was at all what Desiderio meant, but she wondered. What scared him more than she did, then? She could think of many things for herself. Wasn't it those things that had driven her to leave Brunnhold in the first place? Another question to save for another time.

"It's all right to be frightened," she added softly, and she didn't know who she was addressing. "I was. Terribly so. I only hope— Ah. Well." Aurelie caught herself and looked down. She had no right to ask for friendship any more than she did silence. She busied herself with drying Shadow, who had started to whine at all the attention being taken off of him, while she waited for Peter to... to decide, she supposed.

When he did, she felt her eyes prickle with warmth. He didn't have to do that. There was no reason he should. He didn't know her, not really. "Thank you, Peter," she offered, stunned but warm. "I— I would never ask..." She broke off, troubled.

"And thank you, too, Ginny. I know it's hard. Perhaps you can play with Shadow sometimes, hmm? He will need a lot of exercise. I think he likes you very much; it would be good for him to have friends to play with, too." She smiled encouragingly. She couldn't, and didn't, expect perfect secrecy from Ginny. She was only a little girl, after all. But she did hope that it would give her a little time to figure out... All that she needed to. Whatever that was.

Aurelie picked up the discarded towel and held it out to both children hopefully. "Shall we?"

[Desiderio Morandi]

outside the good pan

morning on the 29th of roalis, 2720

H

e knew fear even now. It was written into every line of him, even if he no longer felt on the edge of doing something drastic. He had stepped back from it, but it was still there, a sheer drop to Hurte knew where. Of a great many things.

It’s all right to be frightened, Aurelie reassured the children, and Morandi could not help but hear it himself, watching her face more raptly than perhaps he should have. I was. Terribly so.

Of herself? Morandi had wondered sometimes abstractly how it would feel. With a chill creeping along his very bones, he was beginning to think he might – But that was an unspeakable thought.

He studied her when she looked down. When Peter agreed not to tell, he saw a little gleaming redness about her eyes, and he looked away toward Shadow.

“I want to play with Shadow!” agreed Ginny enthusiastically, her tiny voice too loud in the quiet alleyway for Morandi’s comfort.

And too – too kind, he was beginning to realize. Too close to something inside him which hurt, for which he had never found an adequate name and had never wanted to. He tried to imagine himself and Aurelie and Peter – still mistrustful, hesitant – and little Ginny, running after Shadow in a field. He did not know how any of them fit together; even Ginny was still frightened of him, if not of Aurelie, and she would be, when she was old enough to understand.

And when, and how? It was almost too much to hope that Peter would keep his word, or that Ginny would be capable of it. And then when word spread like a wildfire to one of Chevreau’s sources?

And what of him? All of those felt like distant concerns. Absurdly, the worst of them was the sharp tug in the middle of him when he looked up and over at Aurelie’s face, at her warm smile to Ginny, It would be good for him to have friends to play with, too.

How very badly he wanted to reach out and touch her hand, especially with that look on her face, knowing what risks she took. That was something he could never do; he was mortified at himself for the urge.

Ginny took the towel with a giggle, without even hesitating. Morandi watched, stone-faced, though something warmed in his heart, as Peter reached out too. “All right, Miss Aurelie,” he said, frowning.

The children stayed beside Aurelie, for the most part; Peter’s eyes were never less than watchful. He himself did not snap or snarl: he was silent as they finished drying Shadow together, all in the midst of his perceptive mona.

“Fluffy,” giggled Ginny.

When they finished, Shadow’s fur seemed to have even more volume than it had before, and the cloths were all covered in fur. The alleyway smelled distinctly of wet dog.

Ginny’s eyes were watchful again as he came to his feet. “We ought to go,” said Peter, scratching the back of his neck. “C’mon, Ginny – oh, Gin, your dress…”

Ginny, whose arms were wrapped tightly around Shadow, shook her head once. But then, reluctantly, she came away, back to her brother’s side, giving Morandi a wide berth. He picked up his basket.

Morandi moved for the laundry tub again, remembering – without knowing why – that they had planned to bring more water up for the dishes. A little hair had slipped loose from his tail and tickled his cheek. Conscious of being alone with Aurelie once more, he could not seem to look up; he felt something which was not quite shame and not quite regret, remembering the sharpness of her frown when she had first called him down.

“I’ll see you again, Miss Aurelie,” Peter said, starting toward the entrance of the alleyway, where a coach had just rattled by.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Roalis 29, 2720 - Afternoon
The Good Pan Bakery

Ginny's enthusiasm filled the whole of the alleyway, bouncing off the walls and back to them louder and brighter than it ought to have been. Aurelie thought they might be attracting rather a lot of attention—she had seen movement at a back window, but only for a moment, a flick of a cheerful calico curtain. Aurelie could find no room in her heart to dim even the smallest measure of Ginny's joy.

She would enjoy it, as long as it was there for her to enjoy. One day, Ginny might better understand. Selfish of her, but Aurelie wanted to hold on to it as long as she could. (And the troupe of working children who came to the back door every night, those poor orphans? When would they see, when would they understand? When would everyone know, would everyone turn away, understanding at last what was broken in her?)

Ginny, of course, took the towel Aurelie held in one outstretched hand without any hesitation at all. She had expected that, but it lit a warmth inside her all the same. It was Peter she watched then, frowning in consideration. Only for a moment—he took it too, in the end, although his eyes were no less wary and he smiled not at all. Aurelie thought she might be smiling enough for the both of them.

For all three—Desiderio wasn't smiling either, of course. It was astonishing how dour he could stay as they surrounded Shadow in fluffy towels to dry him as much as they could. The silence seemed (and this was perhaps wishful thinking on Aurelie's part) less angry than it had been. Peter and Ginny both stayed by Aurelie's side; not once did they move towards Desiderio. It made her sad in some way that she couldn't give name to and was frightened to try.

"He is very fluffy," Aurelie agreed when they had finished. "And handsome. Aren't you, my darling?" It was true—he had been a large-looking pup before, with his fur matted down and dirty. Now he seemed even bigger than he had, and all of it in fluffy striped fur.

Aurelie was pleased that not only did he no longer smell as if he had rolled in something rotten—or several somethings—but underneath of the general scent of wet dog, the violet of her soap came through. Aurelie set the fur-covered towel to one side and took his canine face in both of her hands, beaming. He licked her cheek; unfortunately, no amount of baths could do anything for his breath.

Desiderio stood, and it felt as if some spell had broken. Ginny turned wary, although it took her a stubborn moment to unwrap her skinny arms from around Shadow's neck. Shadow stood too, turning to look at Desiderio. Aurelie remained as she was—she wanted to wait until Peter and Ginny had left before struggling to her feet. If they hadn't noticed her ankle, and she didn't think they had, she certainly didn't want to draw attention to it now.

"All right," she agreed, voice bright. There was only the faintest trace of sadness at the corners of her mouth and in her eyes. She wasn't sure if he really would, not in the same way as he once had. "See you again later Peter, Ginny." Shadow barked at their backs as the headed towards the mouth of the alleyway and into the busy street beyond. "Shadow will be waiting too!" she called after them. Ginny turned to wave—at the puppy, Aurelie thought. She didn't mind at all.

Both children turned the corner and disappeared. Aurelie was suddenly strongly aware that it was only the two of them again. It was not entirely the flustered, fluttery sort of awareness it had been before. She looked up at him—it wasn't entirely not that, either. Some of his hair had slipped loose of the tail he'd tied it in; she had the most overwhelming urge to tuck it back. Aurelie folded her hands, tight.

"Ah, if you'd like to empty that... Hmm. We can leave the towels for later, I suppose. And the dishes, we can... Ah..." Aurelie trailed off, feeling more than a little stupid. Was that really what she wanted to say—to talk about dishes and laundry?

"And, ah. Thank you, Des, for—for trying, with the..." She broke off with a little frown, her cheeks warm. Bells and chimes she sounded more than half a fool, didn't she? "Perhaps we ought to head back inside...?"

[Desiderio Morandi]

outside the good pan

morning on the 29th of roalis, 2720

H

e had almost smiled – almost – to see Aurelie with Shadow’s face in both of her hands, grinning as he licked her cheek. Again it was almost like the impression of something too bright to look at; he busied himself with the towels and the laundry tub as the children went off, looking nowhere in particular, and staunchly pushed down the feelings that bubbled up in him. Especially at my darling, though he had heard her call Shadow this – and many other things – many times over the last few days. It always seemed to make him feel as weak as the first time he had ever heard those words on her lips.

Not that he was any longer altogether sure what constituted weakness. Not after –

Alone with her in the alleyway, he found it even harder to look over. He did, once, as she came to her feet; it was too late to offer her his hand, and he kept an eye on her ankle, feeling oddly fretful.

She was looking at him, he could tell. As the distant echo of the childrens’ footsteps and Ginny’s laughter clattered softly down the alleyway, he took hold on either side of the tub again, preparing to heft it up. In the corner of his eye, he could see with distinct clarity her hands – folded over her middle, the knuckles white again, picking out the shapes of her scars.

Her voice startled him more than it should have. More than any of this should have. It was soft; the muscles of his back went taut anyway, and he froze on the laundry tub.

Only for a moment. Swallowing a sudden tightness in his throat, he picked up the laundry tub. It was much lighter now. As he did, Aurelie trailed off. He had not expected her to speak of towels and dishes; he supposed it was only natural.

Or not. And, ah. He stopped, turning toward the still-open door to the washroom. For – for trying, she was saying. He glanced over his shoulder, then glanced back; there was a small frown on her face, and her cheeks were pinked.

His throat was tighter now. He inclined his head, nodded once – firmly. His head was spinning; he could not seem to respond to thanks. “Wait here,” he said instead of anything else, simple and terse.

He emptied out the tub, then came back dutifully, still frowning as if it were carved into stone on his face. He offered her his arm wordlessly, still unable to think of anything to say. Most of the tension had gone out of his field; more went as they began to climb up the stairs, as slowly as they had climbed down them. As ever, he was careful and watchful of her ankle, and Shadow followed, though they had to whistle at him once or twice to keep him from investigating further up the alleyway.

There was something sobering about being inside, the door shut behind.

“Sit, please,” he began again, brusquely as ever. “If you wish, I shall refill the tub again and bring it back up. For the dishes.”

The weight of what had just passed was beginning to settle over him.

The line of his lips, stiff and brittle, broke. “I do not believe that I would have cast upon them,” he said, staring hard at one precise spot on the wall above the stove. “The human children. I do not know – what has become of my restraint.”

His head was up; he had not looked at Aurelie since the alleyway. Far from blushing, his face was somewhat drained. “You are very good with children,” he added, sounding mechanical, though he felt anything but.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Roalis 29, 2720 - Afternoon
The Good Pan Bakery

Curious, how now that they were alone Desiderio wouldn't look at her at all. He had been before, hadn't he? Aurelie thought he had been, anyway—she had looked up more than once to find his eyes on her. Before Peter and Ginny had come over, before they had left again.

If there was a path back to the ease they had as children, Aurelie couldn't seem to find it. She wasn't so stupid to think they could simply pick up as if nothing had changed, but she felt... It was as if she kept getting close to finding the way forward, only to be proven wrong and the path only led her more or less to where she had started. Desiderio not looking at her, and her feeling just the slightest bit lonely. That was unfair and absurd, yet she felt it all the same.

Had she insulted him, or upset him, with her thanks? It was a clumsy thing to say. "For trying"? Bells and chimes. She had only meant—she was hurt in some oddly personal way that it had seemed to require so much effort, but she... He had been so... Aurelie felt her heart skip thinking about him asking Peter to take care for her sake. Of course, her being found would create problems for him too, but Aurelie wouldn't be so cruel as to think it was out of selfish considerations alone that he had asked.

Whatever her intentions, whatever his feelings, Desiderio had merely picked up the washtub and asked her to wait. Aurelie waited, obedient out of habit as much as desire. (Where else would she go?) She studied his back as he dumped the dirty wash water into the street, listening to it slosh over stone and down into the drain some ways towards the main road. His hair was slipping a big more.

(She had the briefest image of asking him to let her tie it back for him, wondering what... His hair had been long then, too; she rather liked it now, although as a child she couldn't remember having any opinion in particular. Certainly it wasn't in fashion, as far as she could tell without the opportunity to be much of a follower of such things, but she did think it looked rather well on him. That was yet another thing to not mention; he hardly needed her opinion, anyway.)

When he turned back to her there was a frown still on his face. And yet he held out his arm without a word, and Aurelie took it in the same manner. She hadn't the first idea of what to say. She was upset, but it was one thing to feel it and another to bring up the subject now. She was less angry now than she was worried—worried about what he might do, and what it might mean for both of them afterwards.

Up was certainly more difficult than down; it took a great deal of her concentration and Desiderio's support to manage the trick of it. The hot, upsetting feeling in the air eased with every step they climbed. Though they moved slowly, stopping to call for Shadow no less than two times, eventually they reached the top and went back inside.

The door clicked shut, and now she had very little excuse not to talk about all that she knew they must. Aurelie released Desiderio's arm slowly, moving to sit. "Ah, you're right... When you get a chance, we should... Thank you." She fell silent again, and she hadn't moved to sit. Merely taken her weight off of his arm. Aurelie looked at his face, at his hard, strong profile, and she still had no idea how to begin.

Desiderio did; he didn't look at her, eyes fixed on something she couldn't see. Aurelie frowned, concerned. Shadow had pushed by them both and was occupying himself with investigating all possible corners of the room. He was showing a particular interest in the couch where Desiderio had been sleeping the night before.

Would he not have? "I don't like that it was in question," she confessed, her voice quiet and aching. She couldn't look away from him. The longer she looked the more she saw—he looked not at all well. Whatever else she felt, he was still her friend and she didn't want him to come to harm or be in pain.

The comment about the children surprised her into blushing again. Now she had to look away, overcome with a silly sort of shyness. Somewhere in it, she felt that familiar kind of heartbreak. "O-Oh, well I... I don't think I'm so... I like them. Children. Generally speaking I mean, but Peter and Ginny are... They're lovely, both of them." Aurelie moved to sit now, tucking her hair behind her ears and finding it was still wet and just the slightest bit soapy. She ought to wash her face again. She refused to look down at her dress just yet.

"You don't spend much time around them." Aurelie looked back up at Desiderio again, then gestured to the other chair. He really ought to sit down himself. "I, er. I hope that isn't... I don't mean to be rude, but... Ah. It just seems... to perhaps be the case."

[Desiderio Morandi]

outside the good pan

morning on the 29th of roalis, 2720

T

here was a space after she thanked him again. He still could not bear to look down, and so he kept staring fixedly at the table. Shadow was snuffling at the couch, nosing the linens he had carefully folded out of shape, rumpling and wrinkling them. Aurelie took her weight from his arm, and he breathed in and out very deeply, his posture still immaculate.

If he had expected her to say nothing, she said something after all. And if he had expected it to strike him like a slap, it did not. There was a small frown on her face still, and the weight of her eyes on his face was not accusing. Disappointed, perhaps. Worried.

It was almost worse than accusing. He might have liked to be reprimanded, backhanded, warned; he might have liked a commanding officer’s stern reproach. Or even a matron’s. What Aurelie said was precisely what he felt, and it was a very painful echo.

She flushed slightly, looking away at his question.

I like them, she said at last, after a few more hesitant fragments. He looked over at her finally, but she was already moving carefully for the table; he watched her tuck a few strands of hair behind one red-tipped ear. It was still wet, glossy and coppery. As was her dress in great patches.

When she looked up at him, gesturing, he looked back down at the table and swallowed tightly.

“That is not rude,” he said, moving – reluctantly, mechanically – to sit opposite her. It would have been easier to focus on going down and refilling the laundry tub. “I do not,” Morandi said after a moment. “Spend much time around them. I have not had the opportunity. They –” He stopped. “I do not know how to speak to them,” he admitted.

He had imagined she might grow up to be fond of children, but they had been silly children themselves then, full up with fantasies they did not understand.

He understood now what it might mean, to have a child and then in ten years give one up. He understood now very well why one tended to see more of one’s nanny and governesses than one’s mother and father, if they were wise.

How could he say such a thing? They frighten me. They make me feel things better left buried.

And you? How can they not for you? he wanted to ask.

“I do not any more than you,” he said instead, looking up finally to meet her eye, “like that it was in question.” For a moment he wanted to thank her for saying so aloud; he realized now what a token of trust it was. The fist on the table – which he had not realized was so tight – loosened, fingers uncurling.

There was a soft hiss and thump of Shadow dragging the blankets off the couch.

Morandi looked over, his brow furrowing, a disapproving frown tugging at his lips. But then he looked back, arrested by the way the light caught one green eye.

He swallowed, then confessed, “I could not calm myself,” lifting his chin, his fingers curling again.

Something peeled away; he studied her face, the streak of suds still on her cheek.

“I have come to rely somewhat heavily on sorcery,” he admitted, the word sorcery hard as if he were pulling a tooth from his very mouth. “And force,” he added less tightly. “And quite neither of those things are needed with children.”

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Roalis 29, 2720 - Afternoon
The Good Pan Bakery

Desiderio mechanically to take the seat she gestured to, like someone had wound him up with a great key. Not of his own will, she thought, which was absurd. What other will moved him than his own? He certainly didn't have to listen to her.

Aurelie thought, too, of the story of the stuffed rabbit. Particularly of the Skin Horse telling the little rabbit how nursery magic could make them Real, forever and always.

"It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept.

That part she had always found rather nice; for some reason thinking of it now only made her sad.

He did sit though, looking down at the tabletop. His fist clenched very tightly. Aurelie nearly smiled at the admission—she had rather noticed. She didn't think she had any particular skill with it—she merely liked them, and listening when they spoke to her. In many ways, children were much easier to speak to than adults. She hadn't thought so when she was one, of course. Then again, the only other child she really ever got to speak to was Desiderio—she had more opportunity to practice since.

"You'll learn," she said gently. Aurelie lifted her eyes off of the fist he had curled onto the table, and the gleaming metal band around his finger. "When you need to." The second the words left her lips she regretted them. Who was she to speak on the subject with such authority? It wasn't as if she—she had no experience with the subject, and she never would. She fell silent.

Would they still be friends when he had a family of his own? Aurelie hoped they would be; the image of hearing from him, even rarely, to know how his life was going when he left her to go live it again, was a sweet one. It was laced with pain, too; the kind of heavy, well-worn pain she'd felt just this past winter, when the graduation ceremonies had ended. Sharper, perhaps, but she gathered it up and held it just the same.

Desiderio looked at her when he spoke again; Aurelie fought the urge to look away. What a wretched feeling this was! She wanted to— She felt as if she ought to... She had said it first, hadn't she? Yet having him agree with her made her want to cry. Her eyes were bright, but they remained dry. It wasn't all sadness—there was relief mixed up in it that made it all so much worse. His fingers uncurled on the tabletop; Aurelie tried not to think about the expression on her face. She held Desiderio's eyes until he looked away to Shadow.

Shadow, who was making rather a mess of Desiderio's neatly-folded linens. "Shadow! You silly boy, what are you doing?" She ought to be cross, Aurelie knew. Her voice was rather stern, but she couldn't be properly angry. He looked so happy with himself for having done it. "Darling, stop that."

Shadow looked at her and whined, but he left off his chaos. For now—she had no doubt he'd be back to it soon enough. At least he was clean, and she didn't think he'd done any more damage than disarray. Aurelie took her eyes off the dog when Desiderio continued, catching his fingers curling again out of the corner of her eye. He was studying her face when she turned to look.

Aurelie frowned, all the little hairs on the back of her neck coming to a stand when he said sorcery. Tight as anything—well, he wasn't to speak of it around her kind, generally. Force he spoke of with less tension. "I see," she said, feeling mechanical herself. "No, they are not." The frown didn't leave her face.

Aurelie looked across the table, studying him right back now. Force, he'd said, and sorcery. Making the distinction—Aurelie thought of the haberdasher, and she wasn't sure that was a fair one to make. Her breath was shallow, like there was less air in the room than there had been before.

Neither of those were needed with children—and just who were they needed for? Her? Old men, whose only crime was trying to be kind to her...? The magister, which frightened her in a very different way? Aurelie didn't want to know which he thought it was. She needed to, however, if they were to... She didn't wish to be in the dark, even when she didn't like what she saw.

"When," she asked after a sharp intake of breath, "are they needed? Often?" She lifted her chin and tried to stay steady, but she knew there was a shaking in her hands that betrayed her.

[Desiderio Morandi]

outside the good pan

morning on the 29th of roalis, 2720

S

hadow’s head went up, ears pricked, his tail suddenly wagging with double force – thumping against the worn legs of the sofa. The tension loosened from Aurelie’s face for just a moment, despite the sternness of her voice.

When he needed to? Morandi was rattled by the statement. When should he need to now? She had spoken thoughtlessly, perhaps. That did not seem right, but he could think of no other explanation. Thinking of that, of the sheer drop he had suddenly carved into his life, was no good; he began to feel the panic rising like a distant wave, and he pushed it out of his mind. Aurelie was looking back at him regardless, now, a small frown creasing her face.

Her voice was not stern now in the same way as when she had reproached Shadow. Nor did she stammer in the least.

He could not find the pulse of it, why he found her manner so different now. She was looking at him, truly looking at him, not with that strange skittishness of the last morning, nor with a flush in her cheeks; the sort of looking she was doing was interminably but certainly different.

He did not see the swift rise and fall of her breath until she spoke again. Or the slight tremor of her hands on the tabletop; his eyes flicked down without meaning to – as if even now they could not keep themselves from gathering evidence – then back up toward her face, which she had lifted slightly, her small, pointed chin raised very much as it had been in the marketplace.

“As often as necessary,” he replied without thinking, clipped and cold, “to maintain public safety and defend the natural order.”

It was a stock phrase, and one he had spoken countless times. It rolled off his tongue easily now – perhaps more easily than it should have, given the circumstances. After it did, he stopped; he stiffened in Elwes’ loose shirt, the embroidered cuff colorful in the corner of his eye.

Shadow came thumping over, flopped at Aurelie’s feet, and let out a soft whine. He thought of something Mr. Whitmore had said once about a hound that had been on the estate only briefly. Something about the judgment and responsibility of a groundskeeper, and hounds which could never be made suitable for…

Aurelie’s hands were shaking slightly, and yet she was watching him very closely.

He still had not, and did not now, look away from her eyes. Perceptivist at heart, he had barely blinked. “I – it –” As steely and composed as his gaze and his field and his posture were, he stumbled. “I d-do – I do not know,” he blurted out, to his own surprise.

Three days ago, the detainee asking him a question like this would have been unheard-of. If he had shown anything of this to the Inspector of three days ago, the man would have laughed and called him worse than a traitor. Now, the only response he could think of was, To keep you safe.

“I am trained to speak and to act without hesitation or doubt,” he said, as if he had not just demonstrated this. “This is perhaps now the opposite of safe.” The words came out in a rush; his heart turned over. He blinked finally, glancing down at her hands, worry breaking across his face in a wince.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Roalis 29, 2720 - Afternoon
The Good Pan Bakery

Desiderio didn't look away from her when she asked the question, as Aurelie herself might have done. The intensity of his gold-eyed gaze put her in mind of Ana; the comparison did nothing to soothe the tremble she was trying so hard to keep under control.

They were similar, she realized with a start, more than just in the color of their eyes or the way in which they stared at her unblinking. (A remote part of her had the idleness to wonder if that was because of the shared nature of their sorcery, and if Ana would need glasses, as well—or if she did already, but was too vain to wear them.) Her sister certainly smiled more than Desiderio did, but her smiling face said nothing more of the state of her heart than did Desiderio's frowns. They both had an air of complete and utter control. They both had been, at one time, her entire world.

And they both terrified her, utterly and completely. Aurelie felt a certain degree of color drain out of her face as he looked at her and declared that he was willing and able to use force "as often as necessary". As if he had said the phrase so many times before, he hardly needed to consider it.

The most wretched thing was that she thought she understood. In a terrible way, she understood. Hadn't that been what she'd thought of all her years in Brunnhold? That it was right, because it kept everyone safe? Even now, she didn't know how to reconcile her dread of those red walls with the very real fear of what those like her could do. Wasn't it worth it, some traitor voice whispered to her, to hurt a few people in small ways if it prevented tragedy?

Shadow came over to flop at her feet, whining sweetly for her attention. Aurelie wanted very badly to look at him, to run her hands through his soft, now-clean fur and to feel a little better that way. She simply couldn't break away from Desiderio's eyes, hoping to find something to make any of this make sense in a way she knew what to do with.

The strangest thing happened as she kept looking at him—Desiderio spoke again, and he stumbled. He looked every inch the Inspector she had met in the market, that stranger who had run her down like a coursing hound, but his voice... Aurelie had put her hand out halfway into the distance between them before she caught herself. She could go no further; neither, it seemed, could she pull her hand back.

"I'm not sure either," she confessed, frowning. He looked away at last, down to her hands. She kept them still; the trembling hadn't subsided. "What is safe. I—" Aurelie broke off, swallowing.

"It certainly attracts attention." Aurelie thought again of the market. The scarred man was looking for you. She held back a shiver, but couldn't keep the pit from opening up in the bottom of her heart. "Which I don't think... I suppose I don't really... You could have hurt them, and I— That terrifies me."

The last she said so quietly she might not have said it at all, if she hadn't felt her lips move to form the words. She felt no better for having made the confession; if anything, it made her feel worse. How could she be afraid of her oldest friend? How could she not be of the man in charge of her recapture? Even Shadow's tail thumping on the leg of her chair didn't take any of that way.

What a strange conversation to be having here at Cass' kitchen table. With the window open to a warm Roalis breeze, sunshine slanting in pleasantly. Like a painting of ordinary life, if one ignored the subjects. Aurelie blinked. "All of this terrifies me. I haven't the faintest idea what I'm doing. I only—I don't want anyone to be hurt. Including you."