Darkmoore Palace, Aelurus

☆

ABBY PACED the corridor beside the castle's gardens, the crescent moon of Lucy's parentage depositing pools of golden moonlight at her feet. 

Aside from the plotting – the back-stabbing, the assassination attempts and successes, coordinated coups, and barely-thwarted genocide of the Cloudians – Aelurus was a beautiful place.

No matter how many times she visited, it never failed to stop her in her tracks; the moon enveloped the sky, radiating warmth into an otherwise dark place; the water trickling down the fountains glowed a soft blue, having been mined deep where the last of Aelurus's magick remained; the Ni' elle ah trees found in every jungle of Aelurus and decorating most of the castle grounds, didn't just cast shadows, they were shadows molded into familiar shapes – spindly, twisting branches, full, fluttering flowers, and spiky, six-pointed leaves that made the fluffiest canopies Abby had ever seen. If ever there existed a tree-version of Crum's hair, the Ni' elle ah's canopies were it.

But Abby hadn't the time, nor the mind, to give Aelurus its praise, no matter how well-deserved. Instead of looking out into the gardens, she kept her gaze on the floor, her arms crossed over her as she paced. A mixture of fear, doubt and worry, settled in her chest, the concoction of terrible emotions, hers alone to bear.

Crum leaned against a pillar, not the same one he had cowered behind when they'd first met Axion, but it was similar – a large, dark block of obsidian, gouged as though several pairs of claws had been run down its length.

Considering where they were, and that while Aelurians might have hated the comparison between themselves and Exulian cats, the parallels were hard to ignore so maybe, just maybe, this pillar, and the hundreds more like it bearing the brunt of Darkmoore, had been a scratching post.

When Sebbi had ruled, that very well could have been a possibility; there was a noticeable absence of drapes and dusty antiques perched on windowsills and pedestals begging to be knocked over, so scratching up a pillar in frustration or annoyance seemed plausible.

She could see it. Sebbi, stalking the same corridor late at night, annoyed from a day filled with meetings and Reven lectures. He'd make sure he was alone, the castle staff long retired, Reven hunched over a book, or scribbling furiously at another lesson plan to grate Sebbi's ears with. After ensuring no one could witness what he was about to do, Sebbi would silently mosey up to the pillar, claws extended, and, with a satisfying scrape, drag them down the stone. He'd do that again and again, until he'd felt better. And all the while he'd be grinning, his tail swishing in pleasure. Come morning, when the castle staff stumbled upon his ruined column, and word reached his ears, Abby knew that smile of his would have broadened.

He had always liked being destructive, but he had loved witnessing people's reactions to his destruction. He'd made it a point to perch on the rafters in the large hall of the Tells's Estate, watching with cool, gold eyes Reynhold complaining about the tattered drapes.

And when Mrs. Seiver stormed into her father's office, a mauled clump of seedlings grasped in her hand, their roots wriggling like tiny white worms, Sebbi would be on one of the veranda chairs, basking more in his triumph than that day's sun.

He had been like her – mischievous, and restless. Had she known how to approach him then and close the distance between them, they could have had so much fun together– sneaking around late at night, getting fat in the larder, digging up the turnips in Mrs. Seiver's garden – because no one, animal or human, enjoyed the wretched vegetable. They could have hung out in the grove and spent hours watching the ships dock and disembark from the port.

Her heart tightened. Back then, Abby thought her time with the people she loved was unlimited. Whenever she needed them, they'd be there, always. How naïve. Time was fickle, and cruel, and, more often than not, it was never enough.

"You keep pacing like that, you'll wear a rut in the castle's floor." Abby turned her head up. She had assumed Crum would address her, having grown bored and intolerant of the silence, but instead, it was Axion, who stepped out from a shadow, and strode toward her, a wax parcel in hand. Crusty, hunks of bread peeked through the wrapping, as did a glistening piece of bright pink meat. "Granted," he continued, his stars twinkling, "it's not as nice as my castle's floor, but it would be a shame to ruin it further."

Abby's gaze dropped to the black boots that suddenly felt too tight on her feet. Her ivory shoes had still been in the shoesmiths, as they needed proper threading, that could only be found in Triad, to mend the hole Abby had worn in the toe. Without them, she felt naked, and found her courage waning more than usual.

Not that she had been some sort of valiant, selfless hero, but in her ivory shoes she felt near indestructible. She had fended off her classmate's insults and outran the worst moments of her life with them on her feet. But now, she had on a pair of shoes that didn't feel sturdy enough for the journey that awaited them.

Axion plopped onto a bench and undid his sandwich's wrapping. Doing so, prompted his shadow to separate from his body; it dripped down the walls, congealing at his feet. The shadow grew, much like a beast's stomach after a prosperous hunt, spikes shooting from the main bulk into makeshift limbs. A pair of red eyes gleamed in the dark. Chryn stood fully-formed and diligently at their king's side.

"I can't just do nothing," Abby said, returning to her mindless pacing.

The Shadow King shrugged, then, eyes flashing dangerously bright, he patted his thigh. "Come on, have a seat."

Crum shot up from the pillar, confusion in his eyes as his gaze flickered between Abby and Axion.

The Shadow King's words made her stop dead in her tracks, more annoyed than surprised as there was an eighty-five percent chance, at all times, that Axion was going to do or say something stupid (that being a very kind assessment). "Excuse me?"

He patted his thigh again. "Don't leave me waitin', love." He'd changed his manner of speaking, swapping formality and his general confusion with language, specifically human language, with a kind of playful accented abandon.

"Are you drunk?" offered Crum, giving voice to the very thought bouncing around in Abby's head. She turned to him, flashing an agreeing smile, one he reciprocated with an overexaggerated eye roll.

In that moment, and with one flutter of his long lashes, he'd encapsulated perfectly Abby's growing attitude to the situation playing out before her. To think, they'd been at odds for so long, only to do and think and speak as the other. Idiocy had a great way of bringing folks together.

Axion shook his head. "Not yet." He turned to Chryn and muttered, "You have filled my chambers here with light brews, yes?"

"It issss as you requesssted, my lord," hissed Chryn. They gave a bob of its massive head.

He grinned, before turning back to face them. "I have the capabilities of remedying that, Vic. Shall we retire to my rooms and get, as you hemma say, inebriated off our arses?"

The nerve at the base of Abby's skull exploded, black spots running victory laps across her vision. "Axion—" she said his name slowly, purposefully, to ensure she held his attention and because, honestly, she couldn't believe what she was about to ask, "were you inviting me to sit on your lap?"

With a grin as wide as his head, he patted his thigh again. "An open invitation, one still standing." Asteroids spread like freckles across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. He took a bite of his sandwich, humming with joy as he did so.

"Why would you—"

Abby waved at Crum to stop. If she could spare someone else the mental exhaust from dealing with Axion's personality, then she would. A sacrifice, she hoped would be remembered fondly. And maybe it'd be enough to earn her a ballad, sung in taverns the Eridan over. She took a cautious step toward him. "Why—"

"Oh, for the moon--" Axion set his sandwich beside him and sighed. "Is it not customary?" He shot Chryn a sideways glance. "I think I'll need a drink. A bottle of Dusk, please."

Chryn wobbled its compliance before slinking up the castle's walls and disappearing into one of the upper floors.

"I'll have you know," he continued, his fingers playing with the pale blue flowers decorating his jacket lapel, "I've witnessed quite a few of your hemma males offering their laps."

As far as Abby knew, that wasn't typical human behavior. Offering a chair was customary, giving up one's seat in a crowded space to someone in need of it, a noble pursuit often not seen as such, but when did men offer their laps—

"And where did you witness this behavior?" Crum's voice was monotone and snotty, the old sailor warning of "tempting the gods," coming to Abby's mind. Although Axion was less a dangerous god and more a nonsensical shadow with a strange obsession for sandwiches.

Axion huffed and threw his arms down at his sides. "At one of your inns. A reputable place, I assure you. Very few barfights broke out the night I was there. A man offered a scantily-clad, lovely woman his lap, though there was ample seating elsewhere. A gesture," his eyes flicked to Abby, his lips pursed, "she appreciated. Was on his lap within seconds." Abby's eyebrows raised. "Giggled too."

"Axion—"

"You," he said, his stars darkening as did his voice, "did not giggle."

"If Abby's going to sit on anyone's lap, it'll be mine."

Lucy strode down the corridor, his walk brisk, Reven at his heels, the smaller Aelurian unable to keep up with the pace his king had set. A tactic Abby knew Lucy was doing on purpose. Run them down, and they're less likely to run their mouths off at you.

Not a very successful one, given all the times she'd spent running Mimi ragged to stave off her lectures. If anything, it had given Mimi a reinvigorated sense of purpose to get through to Abby, resulting in discussions that lasted from sun up to sun down.

Abby frowned. "I'm not sitting on any laps. Not ever."

Lucy's whiskers curled, mimicking his smile, the bangles wound around his tail jingling together with every swipe of the ground. He waltzed over to her, swinging a large Aelurian arm over her head and pulling her into a hug. His body heat made her feel like she stood inside a furnace, a nice change from the blistering winds sweeping through the archways.

She perked up at his presence, eagerly asking the question that'd been on her mind. "Anything?"

His eyes dimmed and he shook his head.

"Margo was supposed to be here three days ago."

She had tried to keep her spirits up. The first night, Abby had made excuses. This had been Margo they were talking about. And Margo was capable of getting obsessed whenever something piqued her interest. She was also easily distracted.

Maybe wherever she went had a Wizard Kellog Emporium filled with limited editioned, autographed books, and his cornflower blue potioning set, of which only 400 had been made and which Abby had tried relentlessly, exhausting all her connections, to obtain to no avail.

No one would fault Margo for being a little late. Besides, she was a wizardess, and though Abby knew while she had to be frugal with what was left of her magick, she was still capable of wielding it to fend off any danger. Margo, fairy-but-not-quite Margo, would be fine.

After not appearing the second and third days, Abby had thought there'd been a hiccup in Margo's plans. A ferry delayed. An extra day spent at an inn due to a storm.

But as the fifth and sixth days ebbed and flowed, Abby had found it harder to make up excuses, and near impossible to believe in their probability.

At the very least, if Margo was delayed, she'd have said something. Sent a note, contacted them magickally. But there'd been silence, and that had spoken the loudest.

Now, Abby was certain - something had happened to Margo. Out there, in the Eridan, by herself. She'd gotten mixed up in trouble, uncovered a plot, found inescapable danger. The horrible possibilities were endless, and loomed large over Abby's heart.

She frowned, her fingers tensing around the fabric of her shirt.

"Abby—" Lucy looked down kindly upon her.

"You don't know where she went?"

He shook his head, the moonlight catching in his glossy black fur. "She wanted to investigate something she'd read—" of course, thought Abby, "in Sissenis."

Her eyebrow raised. "Sissenis?"

"Reptilian kingdom, sort of. Creatures there have all the fundamentals - legs, arms, intimate bits. Forked tongues, too. And tons of scales." He shrugged, picking at a rogue thread on his royal cloak. "Perpetually of the dried skin variety, flakes everywhere, that is until the species sheds. Communal event, big celebration. Very popular with the locals—"

She settled her palm on Lucy's chest, and pressed lightly, a gentle signal for him to stop. Lucy always rambled to avoid touching on a more serious subject. "What is it?"

"There's been no sign of her. Leaving Sissenis, or arriving, for that matter." His lips drooped, his whiskers, tail and ears, following suit.

"Do you think she lied?"

He shook his head. "Miss Puffs might be a lot of things, but she's no liar. She just didn't tell me everything." His fingers clenched into a fist at his side. "She's not the most honest. With her work, or herself."

"Sounds like someone I know."

Lucy feigned hurt. "Makes sense. A woman in Ean told me I'd love no one as much as I'd love myself—"

In the sky, clouds blocked out the moon. The ground rumbled and reared up, cracks splintering out around them. Lucy grabbed for Abby, pulling her into his chest. Crum hung onto a nearby pillar, a sinkhole opening up beneath his feet. Axion stood, casually brushing sandwich crumbs off his lapel, all but three of his stars dark.

He stared out in the gloom, as if he could make out something they couldn't.

"What's happening?" Abby looped her arms over Lucy's neck. "A tremor?"

She wasn't unfamiliar with them – they happened occasionally in Laos, in the beginnings of spring. But those had been small fissures, upsetting the roads or Laos's cobbled streets. Nothing a few hours of repairs couldn't straighten out. But this, this felt like the whole world beneath the castle was crumbling.

Lucy shook his head.

Then, in front of them, the world split apart, two figures emerging from the portal.

The ground stopped and they were thrown forward. Abby's palms and knees scraped against the ground, tearing flesh.

She felt the rush of blood down her skin and winced at the throbbing pain. But she got to her feet hurriedly. The figure before her was short, and thin. With a bushy mane of black curls. She breathed a sigh of relief when she realized Margo had returned.

"You're alive." She started toward the mouse wizardess, but stopped. Margo's gaze was on Axion, a snarl on her face, a poisonous green woven through her radiance. Abby looked between them, and then, the other stranger appeared behind Axion. A large, furred arm hooked around his neck, and lifted him off the ground. Abby gaped at the pair of green eyes that had often haunted her nightmares.

"Hemma," Calleighdia spat. Her gaze turned on Lucy. "Mutt." She snarled, the muscle in her arm bulging as she tightened her grip on Axion. He sputtered, dark liquid rushing from his mouth and staining his collar.

"P-put him down!"

At the sound of her voice, Margo spun around. Her eyes were narrowed, her fingers curled into claws. "No." Her gaze slithered across the way to Axion. With a growl, she addressed him, venom woven in her words. "You knew. This entire time."

His eyes widened, and all his stars blinked, before settling into a warm, autumn glow. He raised his arms. "It is as you say," he spat. Calleighdia gave a hoarse chuckle and threw him to the ground.

Margo stormed toward him. "And did you know what would happen?"

He sat back on his heels, and straightened his shirt cuffs. "Does it matter?" His eyes darted around, lingering on the cracked garden paths, the upturned ground, the trees destroyed and left to die on their sides. He chuckled. "You've already decided my guilt."

Taking a fistful of his collar, she forced Axion to look at her. "This is no laughing matter."

"No," he said, coolly. "It's anything but, mouse-wizardess. But before we get down to such messy business, let me congratulate you on such a dramatic entrance. Allied with an enemy, considered deceased, no less. Truly, we live in magickal times."

She snarled, pushing him away. "You withheld information, condemning the realms to die."

"It was no easy choice, I assure you," he said, straightening his tie, "it was either that, or watch my home die." Slowly, he got to his feet, wiping large clumps of dirt off his trousers.

"Then where is it?" Her gaze narrowed.

A blackhole erupted on Axion's face, threatening to absorb all his features into its abyss. "Where's what?"

Margo's fingers twitched, and she glowed with the power of magick. Abby's head throbbed, the pressure of it all mounting behind her temples.

Margo took a menacing step forward, arms outstretched, columns of flame in each palm, going wider, rising higher. "The Dusk Stag. Where is it?"

Axion broke out into a smile. "And here I thought you'd never ask."