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Matabar. Book II. Chapter 13 - "The Mother"
🕑 Added 2025-08-25 23:01:01 +0000 UTC“Bless you, Ard,” the Governor-General remarked offhandedly. To anyone unfamiliar with the Fae tongue, the curse had probably sounded like a sneeze or a stifled cough. “Young man, perhaps you should go get some fresh air.”
“I-”
“My colleague can stay,” Captain Mokretsky cut him off, and without any courteous pretenses, he settled into a chair, its legs scraping across the floor. He swept aside the tails of his leather cloak, revealing the hilts of curved daggers and a revolver—the exact same kit that Din Arnson carried. “Perhaps Corporal Egobar, given his unusual biography, might be able to propose a good solution to our problem.”
Not a single muscle twitched on Reish Orman’s face—he didn’t even lift an eyebrow. He took the revelation that the Second Chancery not only knew of Ardi’s arrival, but also of the details of his relationship with Tess, in stride.
“I’ll still go,” Ardan attempted to rise, but immediately, two pairs of stern, hard eyes pinned him in place. Ardi sank back into the chair and added in a resigned tone, “Or I’ll go a bit later... but I’m on leave.”
“No one is asking a two-Star mage to rush headlong into danger in search of an Aean’Hane,” Captain Mokretsky snorted. With his odd little goatee and remarkably small, round head, he looked like a cross between a goat and a falcon.
A brief silence ensued. Reish dispelled it by tapping his pipe rather loudly against an ashtray, then shaking out the burnt tobacco into it.
“Send for Mr. Silad and Mr. Knasski,” he ordered.
“Already done, Governor-General,” Mokretsky replied at once.
Ardan had never heard the surname “Silad” before—it clearly hailed from the Principality of Aradira that had joined the Empire long ago. But the surname “Knasski” was quite familiar to him.
Ilya Knasski was a Grand Magister of War Magic, who had earned his medallion for his research on embedding multiple seals into one spell, thus forming an entire chain of sequences within a single spell. In other words, he had invented something akin to a “belt-fed machine gun” technique, except for battle mages of four Stars and above—provided they had several military accumulators at hand.
Edward Aversky had even mentioned him. Ilya Knasski was, after all, a six-Star mage, one of the most powerful mages in the Empire. Of course, Edward had been sure that, in a one-on-one duel, he would come out on top. Then again, Edward—may the Eternal Angels accept him—had pretty much considered himself the shining beacon of... well, everything one could possibly be a beacon of.
It was no surprise that the Empire had seen to it that such a powerful Star Mage would be present in Shamtur. Not to mention Silad, who likely wouldn’t even be mentioned in the same sentence as a Grand Magister if they weren’t on the same rung of the military hierarchy.
“Within the next day and a half, using the Treasury express train,” Captain Mokretsky continued, “reinforcements will arrive from the Metropolis in the form of Senior Magister Mshisty and his team of mages—they are hunters of Aean’Hane.”
“So the Daggers are confident in their information,” Reish rumbled thoughtfully.
“The Daggers are always confident in their information,” the captain added with a hint of irritation. “Otherwise, they wouldn’t bother passing it on.”
Ardan remained silent. He barely understood why he was even in this office. His one brief encounter with that elf Aean’Hane—who’d wielded the Name of the Subterranean Flame— from half a year ago had clearly shown that, when faced with such an opponent, even all of Ardi’s tricks and cleverness wouldn’t be enough.
“What do the Fatians hope to gain from this?” Reish mused, producing a small steel box from his desk and removing a key from around his neck. Ardan managed to see the several signal medallions in the box, which the general pressed in turn. “The presence of an Aean’Hane at the front will only accelerate... events.”
“That’s why they sent Firstborn, Mr. Orman,” Mokretsky said, spreading his hands out. Ardan noticed out of the corner of his eye that the captain’s entire left forearm was covered in rather ghastly scars. “It gives them plausible deniability. They’ll claim it’s just a group of Firstborn slipping secretly across their lands to enter the Empire and... I don’t know... indulge in acts of vengeance or... whatever else their Foreign Minister can use to cover the Prince’s ass.”
The Governor-General, steepling his fingers, fell silent. Ardan tried to follow Milar’s example and not listen at all. The last thing he needed was to end up having to sign yet another non-disclosure agreement and get roped into something he had neither the desire nor reason to join.
Sleeping Spirits... He now understood why his partner always avoided any extra work with the desperation of a wild animal running from a fire.
“Corporal.”
Ardan jolted and turned to Mokretsky. “Yes, Captain?”
“I’d like to ask you to meet with Major Mshisty when he arrives at our garrison. I can hand you-”
“Forgive me for interrupting,” Ardi cut in, firm and insistent. “But I’m on leave. I have nothing to do with field operations right now. So I will not be meeting anyone, nor escorting anyone—especially not that. And even if a letter from the Colonel promising me a bonus—even one the size of a year’s salary—were to drop out of the sky and onto my head right now, I’d pretend I didn’t see a thing.”
Ardan nearly ran out of breath. But once his tirade—he was irritated if not quite angry—ended, neither the general nor the captain so much as flinched.
“It was worth a try,” Captain Mokretsky admitted, spreading his hands out in defeat. “You would have been useful as a consultant.”
“No.”
“We could arrange it as a temporary duty assignment-”
“No.”
“I might be able to negotiate-”
“No,” Ardi repeated for the third time. For any Firstborn or Fae, that would have been enough, but humans didn’t know about the “law of three,” so Ardan elaborated: “I am on leave. I’m sure you, Major Mshisty, and the Grand Magister will handle everything just fine. And if you can’t handle it, then I certainly wouldn’t be of any use to you, either.”
Mokretsky’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly and his teeth grated, the noise just barely audible. Ardan had no idea why the captain was so determined to involve him in this, but honestly, he had no intention of digging into the motives of the head of Shamtur’s Cloaks (given the circumstances, there was no doubt Mokretsky held a lofty position).
“Your daughter’s fiancé is quite uncooperative, Mr. Governor-General,” the captain commented, clearly displeased by Ardan’s refusal.
“In that, they are well matched,” Reish responded calmly. “You may go, Ard.”
“Yes, Corporal—if you don’t want to work, then off you go,” Mokretsky added, waving a hand dismissively.
Ardan didn’t waste his breath saying that he wasn’t against work, only that he had a legal and moral right to a well-earned rest. Especially when, just two weeks before, that rest had nearly been cut short in the direst way possible.
“Good day,” Ardi said and, picking up his staff, he stepped out the door.
Walking down the corridor toward the parlor, from which the sounds of a piano were drifting, the young man still couldn’t calm down.
Saboteur teams from Fatia and the Empire regularly slipped into each other’s territory. But saboteurs—even backed by Star Mages—were one thing. An Aean’Hane was something else entirely, and there weren’t many of those left in the world.
Perhaps there were far fewer of them than even six-Star mages.
Could Fatia really have the means, on its own, not only to obtain such a piece on the board, but to send it so easily into the Empire’s most fortified position on the northern frontier?
Was this somehow related to what had happened in Delpas two weeks ago? Did it have anything to do with the death of Grand Magister Aversky, who had been considered the Empire’s primary “magical weapon?” Or was Ardan trying to find a connection where there was none—at least not a direct one?
Or perhaps Fatia really did intend to capitalize on Edward’s death, but indirectly, stirring up unrest and creating problems to make his passing seem more impactful. Or maybe...
Ardan came to a stop in the doorway.
Tess was sitting at the piano. Her posture was perfectly straight, her fiery hair falling freely down her back, her hands fluttering above the keys. Each gentle, graceful touch of her fingertip to an ivory key brought forth a sound. Alone, each note was meaningless and unconnected, but together, they merged into a single, flowing melody—a story so fleeting and subtle that not everyone could perceive it.
Just as one had to learn how to read in order to see more than mere lines and strokes of ink when faced with a book, at some point, one also had to devote a part of their life to music in order to hear the stories, thoughts, experiences, and feelings hidden among the notes and melodies.
Tess was playing about the things she loved—about slow dances that felt more like embraces. About dancing under a summer rain, the raindrops gently brushing against hair and clothing. And doing it somewhere on the cobblestones of the Palace Embankment, when the lights of the Palace of the Kings of the Past would be reflected in puddles, and the few automobiles still passing by at that late hour would end up being the only witnesses to the unhurried movement of two bodies.
She touched the keys one last time, and the music faded. And along with it, the discordant chorus of thoughts in Ardan’s head fell silent.
“How did it go?” Tess asked without turning around, and then added, “I think I could pick out the sound of your footsteps and the tap of your staff among a thousand others.”
Ardi understood this all too well. He would recognize Tess’ heartbeat, the scent of her hair, the sound of her steps, even the feel of her gaze, amidst the densest, loudest crowds of Baliero.
They locked eyes and Ardan smiled. A moment later, Tess sprang up from the piano and practically flew into his arms—even literally. She ran over and threw herself at him through the air, her arms looping around his neck; Ardi barely managed to catch his future bride around the waist.
Without a thought for the fact that someone might walk into the parlor at any moment, she pressed her lips to his. And so they spun. The toes of her shoes rested atop his feet. Her arms twined around his neck. They twirled in a dance whose music no one else could hear, locked in a kiss whose meaning no one else could understand.
Ardi felt her heart beating joyfully, and realized that his own was pounding in time with it.
Once, when he’d been little, he hadn’t been able to understand why his great-grandfather had described the feelings of lovers in such painstaking detail in his stories. To young Ardi, it had seemed silly, incomprehensible and dull.
Now, a decade later, he understood those stories far better.
When your face is ceaselessly whipped by the winds of fate (as the ballad of Marenir sang about), when your back is bowed beneath the weight of responsibility, and your hands tremble as you try to hold on to a life that’s falling to pieces between your fingers—then a long embrace, the heartbeat of your beloved, a soft look, and a warm kiss can mend and heal if not everything, then almost everything. For a man and woman both.
“Ahem,” came a sound from behind them.
Tess and Ardi reluctantly stepped apart to a distance that conformed to propriety. The moment they noticed who was standing in the doorway, Tess’ face flushed red with embarrassment—something Ardan had never seen on her before. Tess, whose rather complex character combined incredible gentleness with an equally-frightening temper at times, had never been prone to bashfulness.
Truth be told, at that moment, the young man was honestly tempted to reach into the shadows beneath the piano and slip under a Twilight Veil.
Standing in the doorway was Tess’ mother: Adelaide Orman.
“Tess, dear, our esteemed guest, Polina Erkerovsky, has had some trouble ironing her vest on her own,” Adelaide said in an even—one might’ve even said cold—tone. “Would you please show the poor girl how to use an iron? Their servants won’t arrive until this evening.”
Well, of course. It would hardly be expected for a duke’s daughter to know how to iron.
“Yes, Mother,” Tess murmured, inclining her head. She cast Ardan a furtively-happy glance and left the parlor.
“Mrs. Orman,” Ardan said, bowing as politely as possible. He was about to take his leave like his fiancée, but an unexpectedly authoritative, stern voice stopped him in his tracks—this was a tone that brooked not only no objections, but not even the thought of an objection.
It became a bit clearer how someone like Reish Orman and someone like Adelaide had ended up together. Tess had mentioned her mother’s maiden name only once, long ago, and Ardi couldn’t recall it, but now he understood the pairing better.
“I would be glad if you kept me company, Mr. Egobar,” Adelaide said as she walked past him and gathered her skirt to sit down at the dining table. “The tea is probably cold by now, but to be honest, I like it cold. Especially in summer.”
Everyone in the house, including the Governor-General, addressed him as “Ard.” Only Adelaide had foregone his first name and was using his surname instead…
“Of course, Mrs. Orman,” Ardan replied, bowing once more. Setting his staff aside again, he took a seat across from Adelaide.
She poured the amber liquid into some porcelain cups—not the precious, outrageously expensive import from Lan’Duo’Ha, but an Imperial make. It was still not cheap, but perfectly within reach for even people of modest means.
No sooner had she set the teapot back on its stand than she said, “I was categorically opposed to this.” Tess’ mother didn’t even touch her drink. “I was, and I remain opposed to it.”
“Mrs. Orman, I-”
“Tess had a wonderful match in Lord Liran,” Adelaide cut off his attempt to protest. “He showed interest in her for several years and promised to take Tess to the Azure Sea after the wedding. As far away as possible from both the capital and from Shamtur.”
Ardan froze. It seemed like he had been mistaken about Reish and Duke Erkerovsky. It wasn’t the Governor-General who had tried to arrange for Tess to be taken out of Shamtur after all.
As far as Ardan could remember, Liran was the name of that not-particularly-bright gentleman whom the Sidhe of the Burning Dawn had cursed when he had been posing as an ice cream seller.
“Alas, Lord Liran, for some reason no one can discern, has been unable to speak for several months now,” Adelaide went on, not taking her gaze off Ardan’s face—but notably, she was looking not into his eyes, but at the spot between his brows. It was a trick people had used in the past to avoid falling prey to the Witch’s Gaze. “I’ll be honest, Mr. Egobar. I was fiercely opposed to your engagement. But Reish, for all his strengths, is far too soft when it comes to our children.”
Yes, it would probably have been foolish to expect anything else. This was a field nurse from the time of the Fatian Massacre who had dragged wounded soldiers out of trenches under a hail of artillery fire. She had married a cavalry officer, thereby giving up her chance to leave the front. She had even given birth to and raised six children here in Shamtur—she simply could not be anyone other than who she was.
Adelaide was one of those people whom life, through the process of tempering, had made hard and unyielding—because otherwise, they could not have survived. And clearly, Adelaide did not want the same fate to befall Tess. A mother would obviously want her daughter to preserve the softness and warmth that Adelaide herself had been denied for so many years.
It wasn’t like she lacked for family love or kindness, but her manner could easily seem like something else to people who didn’t understand what life was like in places such as Shamtur or Evergale. It might appear despotic, domineering, even tyrannical.
Ardan had spent enough time in Evergale. He knew what it meant to “survive from winter to winter.” In that sense, Shamtur was not much different.
Perhaps that was yet another reason why he and Tess understood each other so well. And at the same time, it was another reason for why Adelaide was having this conversation with him now.
“I didn’t want my daughter to relive my fate or tie her life to a military man. I tried to protect her from that. Maybe I made a mistake by allowing her to go to the Metropolis and devote herself to music,” Adelaide said, her voice firm and each word enunciated as crisply as a soldier’s boot on parade. “I hoped that if things didn’t work out with Lord Liran, then she would meet someone more suited to a calm, steady life there. Maybe an accountant or a lawyer, or at least a common engineer or factory worker. Someone with a backbone, but without those eyes of yours.”
“Mrs. Orman, your husband has already-”
“Said what men say to each other,” Adelaide interrupted him, clearly intent on saying her piece before allowing Ardan a word—Tess must have inherited that exact trait from her. “Which means that what you heard was a very surface-level judgment. When the issue is feelings rather than logic, listening to men is pointless. You have to watch them. Watch their eyes.” Adelaide’s gaze flicked up to meet Ardan’s. “You have the same eyes, Mr. Egobar, as Reish, as my older sons, as all the soldiers I’ve bandaged in my time. Those are a killer’s eyes. And I did not want, and do not want, my daughter to be bound in marriage to a killer.”
At last, she fell silent and lifted her cup to her lips. Ardan didn’t know what to say or do.
“Of course, like any wise mother and woman, I supported my daughter and I tried my best to show her, with my demeanor, that she has the right to build her life as she sees fit,” Adelaide continued, setting her teacup back down. “And I hope this conversation stays between us, Mr. Egobar.”
Apparently, no other response was required from him.
“Of course, Mrs. Orman,” Ardan answered quietly.
He wasn’t happy about what he’d just heard, but Adelaide was Tess’ mother. She had carried Tess beneath her heart. She had nursed her, raised her, and she had every right to her own opinion and her own vision for her child’s future—even if that vision differed from what Tess and Ardan wanted.
“It seems like some cruel irony of the Eternal Angels,” Adelaide sighed, turning aside. In profile, if she were younger, she could have been Tess’ twin; the resemblance sent a faint chill through Ardan. “I wanted to shield her from everything I had to live through myself, but in the end... In the end, sitting at my table is a Firstborn half-blood. An employee of the Second Chancery. A Star Mage. And on top of that, a direct descendant of the Right Hand of the Dark Lord. By the Face of Light, could my wish have resulted in a reality more perverse than the one I see before me now?”
Adelaide likely didn’t believe in the Tavsers’ ideology; she was simply listing all the facts in front of her. Ardan took no offense to that. In general, he never did—that was the first thing his forest friends and mentors had taught him how to avoid: taking offense.
“The only thing I can thank you for, Mr. Egobar, is that you’re not trying to argue with me—because, by the Eternal Angels, I wouldn’t be able to stand it and I’d throw you out of my house this instant, even if Tess wouldn’t speak to me for years afterwards.”
“Of course, Mrs. Orman,” Ardan replied.
He understood her. Perhaps even more so than Adelaide could imagine. If Erti brought home someone who was in the same situation as Ardan, he would do everything possible to... to ensure it never even got to that point.
He’d want a different life for his brother. Not the one he himself led.
Adelaide took another sip of tea and this time, she looked Ardan directly in the eye so deeply and unflinchingly that she almost brought the Witch’s Gaze upon herself. She clearly wanted to leave him without a shred of doubt about the truth of her words.
“If anything happens to Tess, Mr. Egobar, know that I will never forgive you,” she said, her brows knitting into a deep furrow. “And I will do everything in my power and then some to punish you. I will commit any crime. Any villainy. Any deceit. Anything at all. But I will make sure that for the rest of your life, you will be praying to your Sleeping Spirits to take you away from the living hell I will put you through. Is that clear?”
“Perfectly clear, Mrs. Orman.”
Adelaide nodded.
She rose from her seat, but did not yet take a step away.
“In this world, nature, in its utter foolishness, has decreed that men decide everything. And Reish gave you his blessing. But know that you do not have my blessing and never will. Know that you, Mr. Egobar, have stolen a peaceful life and a happy future from my daughter. You’ve doomed her to endless sleepless nights and nightmares in which she’ll be burying you over and over. You’ve doomed her to tears and bitterness. And that is your decision alone. Your whim. And your male weakness in the face of love—a love you would have forsaken if you were stronger. And if you had, I would have thanked you. Thanked you for finding the strength to give up your love for the life of the one you love. But men are incapable of that. They never have been and never will be. And so I curse the day, Mr. Egobar, that I let my daughter go to the capital. And I curse the day your life’s path crossed Tess’ even more.”
And with that, she left.
Ardan remained sitting at the table. He looked down at the tea in his cup, where his face was reflected—but not his eyes, for those were the same color as the liquid, blending into it, seemingly trapped in the thin porcelain. It was fragile. One clumsy touch, one wrong move, and the cup would shatter.
Strangely, Ardan found a commonality between the tea in the cup and his bond with Tess. He just couldn’t quite discern what exactly connected those two things.
Skusty would have said that his “bald friend” wasn’t listening to the underside of the world around him closely enough.
“Maybe that’s true,” Ardan whispered softly, not entirely sure whether he was agreeing with his own thoughts or with Adelaide Orman’s words.
***
They strolled through the noisy, dusty streets of Shamtur, eating ice cream and laughing at who knows what. They were simply laughing at something the way only lovers can. They were still carefree for now, not yet weighed down by day-to-day life and all those things that, for the time being, were only shuffling awkwardly at the doorstep of their lives, begging to be let in and promising not to become a pesky guest who overstays their welcome.
“And here,” Tess chirped brightly, pointing to a café near the central square, “is where I first thought about singing in public rather than just at home when guests came over.”
People frequently greeted them. Or rather, they greeted her. Shamtur might’ve been considered a relatively small city, but it still had over a million inhabitants, so it felt a bit strange to Ardi when he saw just how many people knew his companion. On the other hand, she was the governor’s eldest daughter—and a singer to boot.
There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, as luck would have it, so Ardi—who was wearing his green summer cloak—kept steering his fiancée toward the ice cream vendors. A year ago, in the caravan, he’d thought Thea Emergold’s public stunt—openly flouting the law by refusing to wear part of her official regalia—was utter foolishness, and now he found himself beginning to understand her. All it took was finding himself in a similar situation.
“It’s astonishing,” Ardan remarked, studying the passersby. They carried on casual conversations, ducked into bakeries, lingered at newspaper kiosks, browsed theater posters and announcements for festivals and street performances—the sort of summer pastimes the Empire was known for. “Just a few kilometers away is the front line; in the past five days, I’ve heard artillery fire several times, and yet the people... The people look as if they were walking along some Central District street in the Metropolis.”
Tess was still smiling, only now it was a touch more wistful, her expression dimming slightly. Ardi realized he’d struck a nerve.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said.
“You didn’t upset me at all!” Tess hurried to reassure him. “It’s something everyone who didn’t grow up here points out—that in Shamtur, people have gotten used to war. You know, when people say you can get used to anything, it sounds unbelievable. But then you come here and realize that yes, you really can.”
Getting used to war... The very thought sent a chill marching neatly down Ardi’s spine. It was much like the soldiers who were at that moment filing across the street in formation while a traffic officer held up several omnibuses, automobiles, and mounted cavalrymen in Imperial uniforms.
A remarkable place, Shamtur.
It was a city where civilians lived hand in hand with the military. The everyday bustle of city life coexisted with the reek of gunpowder here.
War...
Ardan still couldn’t shake the words of Davenport, of Boris, of Bazhen, and all the things that the newspapers had written, and everything Ardan’s own eyes had seen.
War...
It sounded like something unbelievable, almost as illusory and fictional as his great-grandfather’s tales. Because, truth be told, that word—empty and without any real meaning behind it—had come to him from exactly those tales.
But that wasn’t the case for everyone. Not everyone found the word devoid of flesh and substance like he did. There were those like Arkar, like Reish Orman, like Milar, Alexander Ursky, and many others, for whom war was associated with...
Ardi didn’t want to think about it. At least not now. Not when the sun was shining overhead, a berry ice cream was in his right hand, and his fiancée’s hand was resting on his left arm.
Five days had passed since he’d had that difficult conversation with Reish Orman, and the equally-heavy one with Reish’s wife, Adelaide. And it had been just as many days since the city had received the report about the group of Fatian saboteurs.
But life continued on. Ardan spent his evenings and nights in the room allotted to him. During the day, he and Tess went on walks. Sometimes, they had breakfast or lunch with her family, who—including Adelaide and Asilar—no longer showed any overt hostility toward him. Though, honestly speaking, “hostility” was too strong of a word for their entirely understandable feelings. It was more like a quiet disapproval. A denial.
Still, they strove to maintain a polite façade. Not for Ardan’s sake, of course, but for their daughter’s and sister’s. Because they loved her dearly. Ardi recognized that feeling—they shared it—and because of that, he felt no awkwardness or difficulty when exchanging the occasional polite words with them.
“Ardi.”
“Yes, Tess?”
“I’m guessing my father said something odd to you, didn’t he?” Tess lifted her clear green eyes toward him. “Something about how we ought to move farther away from Arkar and his... friends?”
He has no idea—and neither do you—who holds a stake in the new Baliero Concert Hall, Ardan thought to himself, realizing that he still lacked the nerve to tell Tess about the Dandy and the concert hall, even after everything Adelaide had said.
Maybe her mother was right? Maybe Ardan had been foolish to think he could shield Tess from the Dandy in order to ensure that her desire to perform and sing would never intersect with the dark side of capital life. On the other hand, he had to at least try. And if it didn’t work out, he would tell her everything—he’d promised himself that. Just not now... a little later...
“So he did say something,” Tess sighed, interpreting Ardan’s pensive silence as confirmation. “Ardi, listen, I know you like it there, so I wouldn’t mind if we keep living there after the wedding. It is convenient, after all. There’s a tram stop nearby, my atelier is close, the Grand University is not far either, and it’s basically the city center.”
Ardan knew that if he agreed right now, they really would continue living there despite all of Reish’s “threats.” And that was exactly why he answered with the truth. The truth he hadn’t allowed himself to admit before the beginning of this summer.
“I like anywhere you are, Tess,” Ardi said calmly and sincerely, with all the gentle simplicity that a half-human raised by beasts could manage.
Ignoring the disapproving glances of the passersby, she leaned her cheek against his shoulder.
“I feel the same way, dear.”
Ardan nearly stumbled. It was the first time Tess had called him that. He’d only ever heard such words from other people who’d been addressing their spouses.
“Sorry, I-”
“Dear,” Ardi repeated, testing the word on his tongue, rolling it around as if tasting it. “Sounds strange, doesn’t it?”
“Maybe,” Tess shrugged, “but sweet. Kind of cozy, actually.”
“Yes... probably... dear. I’ll have to get used to it.”
“If you don’t like it, I don’t have to call you that,” Tess offered.
Ardi realized that he did like it. He wanted to hear that word again and again. And Tess understood that without him needing to say a thing.
For a time, they walked in silence, their lips busy stretching into utterly foolish smiles tinged with shy awkwardness. The metal tips of her heels rang on the pavement, and Ardi tapped his staff in time with them. He had long since learned to hold his staff and eat an ice cream with the same hand—something that invariably drew muffled snickers from onlookers. Equally well, Ardan had learned not to pay the slightest bit of attention to such things.
“The atelier.”
“What about it?” Tess frowned.
“Do you plan to keep working there even after your concerts begin?”
Tess gave another little shrug.
“No one knows whether they’ll be successful or not, Ardi,” she said. “And I’m not saying this to fish for one of your compliments about my—how did you put it—talent. It’s just that, until I know for certain that the concerts at Baliero aren’t just a one-time fluke, I won’t quit working for Mrs. Okladov.”
It sounded perfectly logical. Almost too logical. But then, that might’ve been another reason he and Tess got along so well—he liked her way of thinking. It made sense to him.
“I’ll still try to find us a place somewhere in the center of town.”
“Ardi! The prices there are insane! We wouldn’t even be able to afford your little room at Arkar’s if he charged a fair rent. Our current apartment is at least seventy exes a month!”
Seventy-five, to be precise. After all, Markov Canal was practically the heart of the city. Not geographically, of course—that honor belonged to the Palace of the Kings of the Past—but it was the de facto center.
“You don’t believe in me?” Ardi teased, but Tess responded to his playful challenge in deadly earnest.
“It’s because I do believe in you that I’m worried! Are you going to be racing around the city with Milar again?”
“I’m not planning to leave the Chancery just yet. And no—I have a different plan.”
Tess sighed and averted her eyes.
“Just don’t take on even more risk than usual, please.”
Ardan honestly wasn’t sure if it was even possible to “risk more than usual” in his line of work. It seemed like he was always pushing that limit. But Tess didn’t need to know that. Quite the opposite.
“I’m working on a few designs that I hope will interest the Spell Market,” he explained. “And I’ll also try selling some of the salves and potions Atta’nha taught me how to make.”
“But doesn’t serving in the Black House forbid you from doing other business?” Tess asked, a little surprised.
“It does,” Ardan nodded. “But as long as I’m still officially a student at the Grand University, any money I make can be classed as outside funding for my education.”
Tess gave him a conspiratorial smile.
“Clever… Why am I not surprised, dear, that Star Mages found yet another way to make their lives easier?”
The young man didn’t clarify that this exception applied to more than just students. For instance, if, after graduation, Ardan filed a notice with the Mage Guild that he was conducting research, then once again, any commercial activity would be justified by the need to fund his studies.
On the one hand, according to Bazhen, it wasn’t hard to abuse that law; on the other hand, without it, Star Mages would have fled government service like the plague.
“Gotta keep up our image as pampered rich folk somehow,” Ardi chimed in.
Tess laughed. She probably knew better than anyone that the stereotype about the cushy lives of Star Mages—especially graduates of the Grand University—was just that: a stereotype.
“Then tell me, what will this dream home of ours be like?” She asked.
Ardan scratched the back of his head awkwardly with his staff.
“An apartment.”
“That’s what I meant,” she said with a grin.
Ardi suspected Tess was being a touch coy now.
“I’m thinking...” The young man pretended to deliberate. “Windows overlooking the embankment.”
“And a spacious kitchen,” the girl added, “because whenever we cook together, you big beanpole, I’m constantly afraid the chandelier will come crashing down, or you’ll knock into the cabinet and make all the dishes fall out.”
“I only did that once!” Ardi protested.
“By my recollection, it was at least three times,” Tess laughed, then after a moment, she added softly, “And a bedroom... with a sturdy bed.”
First Tess’ cheeks started burning crimson, and then Ardan’s did as well. They really had broken the bed. But only because it hadn’t been put together all that well to begin with—Tess had bought it at a deep discount straight from a carpentry workshop. And judging by the fastenings (unreinforced by any brackets, with just a few screws), the bed had likely been thrown together by apprentices after hours from leftover materials, then sold off cheap.
Of course, knowing that didn’t make the situation any less comical or, ahem, suggestive.
“And an entryway,” Ardi murmured dreamily. “But I’ll assemble it myself. Otherwise, there are always problems—too few hooks, or the hanger rod falls down, or the shoe rack shelves aren’t deep enough, or-”
She gave him a tiny, playful elbow in the side.
“And maybe you’ll take it a little easier on yourself, Ardi-the-wizard?”
Laughing children raced past them, clutching crisp exes in their hands—apparently, they’d been sent on an errand to the nearest grocery store by their parents.
Tess watched them with a soft smile and a thoughtful gaze.
Ardi recalled his mother’s words.
“And a nursery,” Tess whispered, oh so softly. “Let’s have a bright nursery. Someday.”
Ardan felt her grip tighten on his forearm.
“Tess, I-”
“I know, Ardi. Because you have Matabar blood in you, we might have trouble...” Tess turned away from the children and fixed her eyes somewhere among the top floors of the buildings. “But there are couples who make it work, right? I read up on it... They say that reproductive medicine for mixed marriages has come a long way nowadays.”
Yes, it truly had advanced—but only for those Firstborn species that Star Science had studied at least somewhat. Which certainly couldn’t be said of the Matabar.
On the other hand, Hector and Shaia had had no problems whatsoever. Maybe that was why Ardi didn’t reply; he just turned briefly to watch the laughing children as well.
A bright nursery? That... would be nice, wouldn’t it?
***
Ardi watched Shamtur’s platform receding behind them. Tess’ relatives were seeing off their dear red-haired beauty, waving their hands and handkerchiefs. Their faces shone with smiles full of happiness and a touch of gentle sadness at the inevitable parting.
Ardan and Tess hadn’t crossed paths with Duke Erkerovsky and his daughter again, which had been expected. Nor had they seen Reish or Tess’ older brothers, either—they had been far too busy dealing with the saboteurs.
In fact, Ardi had barely interacted with his fiancée’s family at all. Instead, he’d tried to stay out of Tess’ way, giving her the chance to breathe in the atmosphere of home to her heart’s content, to laugh herself silly with her sisters, to hug her brothers as much as she liked.
Now, heading back to the capital, they had once again found refuge in a first-class carriage, one heavy with the scent of wealth and expensive perfume.
While Tess pressed close to the window to wave her goodbyes to her family—her nose nearly against the glass, much as Ardi himself had done on the trip here—the young man was saying farewell to this strange city.
In the past few days, he hadn’t managed to pin down exactly what impression Shamtur had left on him, but that it had left an impression was beyond doubt. It was a strange place, living side by side with unending war, and yet breathing in freedom and savoring the peace—illusive though it might’ve been.
Once again, they passed endless lines of trenches, fortifications, watchtowers, artillery embankments, and other things Ardan would rather not see or think about. He had never been one of those boys fascinated by soldiers and sabers and everything else that such things entailed.
War and battles did not interest Ardi. And he sincerely hoped that, for the rest of his days, that feeling would remain mutual.
Tess stepped behind the wooden divider of their compartment to change. She hadn’t wanted to ruin the dress Shaia had sewn for her, so she’d decided to wear something less, as she’d put it, “near and dear to her heart.”
Ardi watched the outline of his fiancée’s form flicker between the panels. He rose to his feet. The train was already a respectful distance from the station; the door conveniently locked from the inside; and for the past week, every time he’d embraced Tess, there had been several layers of clothing between them. Judging by how she had fallen still, wearing nothing but the thin silk of her slip, she was only-
There was a knock at the door.
Ardan whirled toward it. It was still too early for the conductor to come by, offering them dinner.
“Hope I’m not intruding,” a familiar, rasping voice said.
“You are, actually,” Ardi answered without much hope. “I’m on leave.”
“I know, Corporal. But we need your knowledge and skills regarding the Witch’s Gaze.”
Ardi turned toward the divider to apologize, but Tess was already dressed and stepping out. She gave him a gentle smile, touched his cheek lightly, brushed a kiss across his lips, and nodded. Without a single word, Tess’ gaze said it all: Go.
Could Adelaide really have been so right about what her mother’s heart had foretold for her daughter?
Ardan opened the compartment door and found himself face to face with the scarred, weather-beaten visage of Senior Magister Mshisty.
“We’re bringing a valuable and extremely tight-lipped bit of cargo with us to the capital, Corporal,” Mshisty wheezed, picking at his teeth with a toothpick. “We need you to get it talking.”
“I’m on leave.”
“Uh-huh.” Clenching the toothpick in one corner of his mouth, Mshisty slipped his single hand into an inner pocket and pulled out a paper bearing an official seal. “This is a direct order. From the Head of the Second Chancery himself. Any further objections?”
Ardan shook his head glumly.
Arguing with an order from the Head of the Second Chancery? Defying the Emperor’s will? What an awfully strange way to commit suicide.
Ardi turned to Tess and said quietly, “I’ll be back soon.”
“All right,” she replied and, as always, added, “I’ll be waiting.”
Mshisty tipped his hat. “Miss Orman.”
Tess just nodded.
The door closed, and Ardi looked once more at the trenches flickering past outside the window.
Sometimes, the plans one has for life and life itself hold radically different views of the future.
Comments
Andrew Simpson
Maybe Tess's childhood imaginary friend can also show up to spit on Ard's face and call him a piece of shit. That would really bring it all together 🙃 Also the gall of the mom to be like "I'm about to shit all over you and my daughter's decision, and make it very clear that I hate you and will never not hate you, but be a homie and don't tell her about it". You don't really get that luxury when you're just being an asshole. Her dad's talk felt less... Hostile, and I think it'd be reasonable for Ard to not tell tess what that was, but if I was Tess I would be livid if my spouse kept that shit from me.
DagNabItAll
Really fooled me, I thought for sure he would stumble onto the saboteurs or something
tristan howard
I'm hindsight it seems the dagger was doing Ardi a favour, unwitting or not. I highly doubtt he will be paid extra for his work this time. What y'all think?
Val
Some people in the comments need to learn about etiquette.
