The City of Ean. Western Slopes.

☆

FOR EVERY SOUL - human, animal, or otherwise - seeking to rid themselves of unwanted pests, a large boot and a good, swift stomp ought to do the trick.

Unfortunate then, as Abby had not one, but two pests invading her home, that her beloved ivory boots were at the shoesmiths for repairs.

She would have to resort to other means to solve her problem. Magick, her first option, had Margo been there. Temporarily transformed toads were much easier to squash under foot than questionable men. But Margo had been away, studying the realm's magick, and had yet to return.

Brewing a potion or two was then a close second, if only Abby had been further along in her potioneering career. But as a practitioner with merely a permit, the law forbade her from feeding anyone her concoctions.

Fear of explosions, or some such nonsense.

As it was, her options were nonexistent, her patience waning, her need for a good, strong drink overwhelming. Luckily, the teapot was screeching, the water for her tea properly boiled.

With the corner of her apron, she removed the pot from the burner, its copper bottom settling from a dangerous red to a more benign black. Removing a glass jar from the top shelf — her thick, black boots ridding her of the need for a stepping stool — she undid the seal and plopped two rounded spoonfuls of leaves into one of her better teacups, one that had been saved from the destructive hands of Lucy's many exes.

She poured the water over the leaves, filling the cup full. Steam curled up, a faint floral aroma reaching her nose.

"Love!" Abby's neck twitched, her grip around the cup tightening. An ache between her shoulder blades, that had started since dawn, returned. "How unforgivable! Why, there's a hole in my sleeve. Does it not know it clothes a most exquisite king? How dare it. If it were my subject, I'd have it hung from the gallows."

She sighed, swirling the liquid in her cup, watching as it turned an eggy yellow. "Odd way to dry a shirt." 

"Love!" he said again, urgency in his words. He shot up from the sofa, slamming his feet on the ground, his golden eyes piercing as they looked at her. "Please say you'll fix it."

The base of Abby's skull pinched, where what she warranted was her rational mind was pleading with her not to get involved. To ignore Lucy, retire to her room, lock the door, and wait for him to leave. Perhaps read her newest Wizard Kellog book  listing the best binders for beginning potioneers in descending order of potency.

Much against her best interest, though, she gave in. Had her survival been left to instinct alone, she presumed she'd have been dead a long, long time ago.

"Doesn't a king have access to a royal tailor or two?" she asked.

Lucy's brow furrowed. "I have several, in fact."

"Good," she said, returning to her cup. Her tea, having steeped fully, shone a lovely gold, the scent reminding her of a flock of Mirthea. "Have one of them fix it." Sliding a lid off a black cat shaped ceramic — a late birthday gift Alfren had custom-made for her at one of his shops — she dipped a spoon into it and shoveled two heaps of sugar into her cup.

A third scoop came seconds later, after she glimpsed Lucy holding the offending shirtsleeve out in front of him like it was some blighted disease.

"But Love—"

Hefting the cup to her lips, she stared at him over the rim, her words reinforced with finality. "Have someone else do it."

"But—" Lucy got to his feet and with practiced, almost gliding steps, slid beside her, worming his arms over hers in a hug. She breathed out, causing a puff of steam to obscure Lucy's face as he settled his chin on her shoulder. "Reven forbade me from doling out orders he considers trivial."

Cocking her head to the side, she inquired, somewhat sarcastically, "But ordering me around is fine?"

Lucy shrugged, his hold on her tightening. "You're family." He stood at his full height, so like with most of the men in her life, the top of her head barely reached Lucy's collarbone. He dipped forward, strands of golden-blond hair tumbling in front of his eyes, and planted a kiss on her head.

She sighed into her tea, amused at the tiny waves rippling across its surface. "Fine." She exhaled. "I'll mend your shirt."

An onslaught of kisses to her cheeks and nose followed, until her face was wet, as though she'd confronted a spring storm without an umbrella. "You're the best, love," he squealed. Abby glimpsed the same sort of excitement in Lucy he'd shown as a cat whenever she'd given him another bow or an extra piece of chicken.

"Yes, well," she set her cup on the counter, "try not to forget it this time."

"Love." Seriousness filled his voice, making the hairs on Abby's neck stand tall. "No matter how I joke, I'll never forget you. All that you are, and all you do for me." He took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "I might've temporarily forgotten, after...but never again."

She squeezed his hand back and smiled. "I—"

The bell over the doorway shook, its high-pitched trills echoing through the room. Abby and Lucy whirled. Two blurs of color flew in from outside, depositing a dozen bags on Abby's table. Hands, or what Abby thought were hands, tossed piles of paper parcels and blue bottles everywhere. Once all the bags were emptied, the blurs became clear.

Axion stood at one end of the table, in yet another, oddly put together outfit. He wore a powder blue blouse, with satin ribbon ties for the collar and cuffs. He'd paired his shirt with a floor-length pastel green and floral duster. His trousers were a matching green. Black leather riding gloves fit snugly over his hands and bandages had been wound tightly around his face and neck, covering any exposed skin.

After all, if he was to pass as human in Ean, he couldn't have his stars shining wherever he went. Though the bandages weren't any better. He might have looked like a human, but a very suspicious one undoubtedly. Eyebrows were sure to raise wherever he went.

Abby had insisted he stay inside, but Axion did what he wanted. And what he wanted when he'd shadow-stepped into her room this morning minutes after Lucy's interruption were sandwiches.

At least half her table was filled with mounds of paper-wrapped, localized variations on the popular meat, cheese, bread combination. And on the other half of the table...

Her gaze drifted across it. Afternoon light reflected on dozens of dark glass bottles. Their long, curved necks sticking into the air like a forest of bare trees.

A small boy, around eleven in appearance, scurried around the table counting each bottle. His hair was gray, his eyes a deep blue.

"They're all here, your highness," the child said. When he turned to face Lucy, his chest and cheeks swelled with pride.

Lucy strode over to him, his mouth a full grin, and furrowed the boy's hair. "Well done, Kit."

Kit didn't need to have his tail for Abby to know it would be swishing with pleasure. She, however, was not pleased. Anything but, in fact.

Storming over to Lucy, she smacked him on the arm. "You sent Kit on an errand to get you wine?"

Lucy looked taken aback, his one arm raised awkwardly in the air, his finger grazing the cork of one of his bottles. "Who else but an errand boy runs errands?"

She smacked him again, harder. A strained hiss came from Lucy. "He's not an errand boy. He's a guard, your guard. And he's little, young and doesn't know the city. What if he got lost?"

Lucy motioned toward Kit, who had sat on a chair, legs tucked underneath him in a very cat-like way. He stared nervously down at his hands, the tips of his human ears slightly drooped. "Someone would have found him."

"That's not good either," snapped Abby. "Kit could have been injured or kidnapped."

A shock of cold, like being dunked in ice water, came over her. Her entire body shivered, her teeth rattled, her train of thought lost to the cold. Axion's hands were on her shoulders, his touch, even with gloves, glacial.

"Kit's returned with narry a bruise or scrape." Kit's head snapped up. He shot Abby a gap-toothed grin. "Come. Abby." He bowed politely at Lucy. "Your Royal furriness, eat with me." He motioned at his sandwich boon. "Enjoy the best this meager realm has to offer."

Abby glowered. "Meager realm?"

Lucy snorted, arms folded over himself. "The best it has to offer?" He shook his head. "Fraid not, shade boy. Aside from the women and wine, and Abby of course, the best Mirea has to offer is—"

"—fish stew," she finished.

Beaming, Lucy nodded her way. "My thoughts exactly."

Shrugging, Axion plopped down beside Kit, grabbed a sandwich and began undoing the wax paper. "Fine," a few stars blinked brightly underneath his bandages, "more for me, then." Kicking up his shoes, he continued to unwrap his sandwich.

"You can't eat alone." Lucy scooted up beside him, grabbung a bottle of wine. Using his teeth, he popped the cork.

"You're not eating," came Axion.

Lucy shook his head before taking a swig of wine. "No. But who's to say we can't eat and drink together?"

At this, Axion leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table. "No one tells us to do anything. We're kings." He raised his sandwich. Lucy raised his bottle and they tapped both together.

Abby, scrambling to get her cup, snatched it off the counter, and hoisting it in the air, finished the toast. "To idiots!"

"Love?"

"Abby?"

Lucy brought the bottle back to the table. "Was that supposed to be a joke, Love? You know, you've never been very good at—"

For the second time that day, the bell above her door trilled. The three of them stood in silence as the door peeled back and Crum ambled in.

He hung his jacket up on a peg beside the door before turning around and taking in the sight. "Lucy," he said, flatly.

Lucy swiped his hair out of his eyes and smirked. "That's King Lucy to you, Vic."

Vicrum ignored him. "Axion."

Axion straightened in his chair. "That's Shadow King Axion to you."

Vicrum's expression worsened. It looked like he'd taken one of Abby's kicks to his crotch. Being around two idiots probably caused similar levels of pain.

"Crum," she said cheerily, setting her cup down and walking straight to him. "Thank the gods." Grabbing his shirtsleeve, she pulled him toward her workshop in the back.

"What's going on? Why's everyone here?" He dug his heels into the floorboards, stopping her from dragging him away. "Does another animal realm need saving?"

She shook her head. "No animal worlds this time."

"Then what?"

"I need saving." She huffed, nodding back toward the kitchen. "From them."

Without any further questioning, Crum let Abby lead him away.

*

Abby's workshop was little more than a shed. Slatted walls, a flat roof. A lone lightbulb hanging from an exposed wire lighting the entire place. A workbench sat under the sole window, covered in colorful potions, dirt-filled pots and plants in various stages of decay.

Crum eyed the messy workspace, then her. "You've been busy."

She nodded, leaning against her bench.

He took a step closer. "Have you been sleeping?" His gaze flickered over to the maps of the Eridan she'd requested be pulled from Aelurus's archives to help locate Sebbi.

"Here and there."

His footfalls were soft as he crossed the room to stand at her side. "Abs—"

"I know, I know." She turned away from him, her hands clutching the hem of her apron. She avoided looking at the maps. "It hasn't been just that. Lucy and Axion visit me every day practically. And when they can't make it, it's Chryn or Kit. Reven, if Lucy can manage it. And something always comes up. Mending clothes, tracking down obscure potions and books. Endless trips to the market and—"

A gentle hand fell on her shoulder.

"It never ends."

Crum nodded. "I knew those idiots could be needy, but I never thought they'd run you ragged. Especially Lucy. I'd think he'd love you too much to burden you like this."

Abby spun, Crum's hand flying off her. "You're right," she growled. Her fingers opened and closed as she processed Crum's words. Lucy might take advantage of her, but he valued her well-being above all else. And Axion never struck her as particularly friendly, but his presence, as of late had been a constant one. Hunching her shoulders, she narrowed her eyes, training them on the light spilling through the kitchen's windows.

"If I'm right, why do you seem so angry?"

"Because they've been doing this on purpose." Ripping a satchel off the floor, she proceeded to fill it with potions and books. "All this time." She marched around her workshop taking what she needed from the shelves.

"All this time what?"

Flinging the now bulging satchel over her arm, she stormed from the room, not bothering to answer Crum's question.

Back in the kitchen, Axion and Lucy were happily exchanging stories. Abby came in at the tail end of Lucy's pant story, and how they'd been thrown back in his face.

And rightfully so, Abby thought, her fingers strangling the bag's strap. Her feet rapped against the floor.

Lucy's eyes greeted hers, his gaze cordial, loving. "Off to the markets again?"

Heat rushed to her cheeks. She shook her head.

"Then where—"

"I'm off to find Sebbi," she yelled, quieting every voice in the house. Lucy stiffened, exchanging a quick glance with Axion. "It's been six months since we've known he's alive. Six months," her voice rose, as did her anger, "I had planned to go look for him, but you convinced me not to." Her accusation was evident. "And then you," her gaze darted to Axion, "needed my help. Again and again, something always came up."

The two kings once again exchanged glances.

Abby moved to the door. "You two have been keeping me here. Keeping me from finding Sebbi." Her voice broke, her shoulders slumping as her fingers grazed the doorknob. "Why?" By the time she asked, her voice was little more than a whisper.

Lucy rose. "Because it's dangerous."

"And what about the past four years hasn't been dangerous? Or were all those corpses just figments of my imagination?"

"Love—"

"So what if it's dangerous? He's worth it."

"I know." Lucy reached out, brushing her shoulder, but she moved away, spurning his touch.

"Do you?" she sneered, venom coiling around her words. "Because maybe you don't think that. Maybe you don't want Sebbi found."

Pain flickered across Lucy's face. "Why wouldn't I want him back? He's my brother."

"He's a threat to your crown. What do you think will happen when the Aelurians realize the king they immortalized wasn't really dead? Will they stick with you, a pretender?"

"Abby—" Crum tugged her sleeve. He shook his head. She hadn't realized he'd even been in the room. Gods. Her breaths raged, her face red from anger and irritation. Where he stood, Lucy had gone as pale as milk.

"I love Sebbi as much as I love you." Lucy didn't bother with eye contact. "I'd do anything for either of you."

She didn't need him to tell her that; she knew it. But she'd just been so tired and frustrated and had taken it all out on him.

Slowly, she exhaled, gaze dropping to the floor. "You're right," her tongue felt cracked and dry like desert sand, her chest, both too empty and too heavy, "You would never think something like that. I'm sorry." She went to take his hand and was surprised when he let her. Worse, he flashed her a tight smile.

"You don't even know where to look for Sebbi. You had no concrete plans. He's probably in another realm, or a place we don't even know about. There's no telling what could have happened. We just wanted to keep you safe." She nodded along, even as each of Lucy's words, his and Axion's outpouring of concern for her, twisted like a dagger to her chest.

"You're right."

"I believe the Cloudian Ambassador," added Axion, "is to be back at Darkmoore soon. Within the week. Why not ask her about Sebbi's whereabouts? Gods know she proved useful last time."

"You're right," Abby conceded, slumping down beside Axion. "I'll wait for Margo to return."

"Then we'll go after Sebbi." Abby glanced back at Lucy, his gaze unfocused, his hole-ridden sleeve no longer a concern as it flapped around his wrist.

"Yeah," she said, chest constricting. "Then we'll go."