☆

She'd seen Hestor. Hestor alive and breathing and roaming the castle. Hestor the Cloudian they all saw that day, sprawled out on the table at the Order. Where they clamored around a white sheet drenched in red.

The horror of his last moments etched onto his face. His whiskers tangled, his eyes too wide, his mouth too relaxed. The dried blood around his hairline. His bronzed skin no longer radiant, the last of his smiles long since having fled his face.

"It can't be," Abby said, her gaze floating up from a stain on the floorboards to connect with Margo's.

She laid on the bed, eyes focused on the ceiling. Moonlight caught in the half-empty stone pendant hung around her neck. To Abby's great relief, the green of the stone didn't look further drained from the last time they'd met. Margo had been careful in choosing when she used her magick, and in doing so, protected what little life force she had left.

Margo hummed, her fingers closing around her pendant, its green coloration momentarily hidden from Abby's view. "Magick," Margo said.

The word was breathy, barely there. Had a breeze appeared in that moment, it may not have found Abby's ears. But she'd heard it, and the tone in which it was uttered, devoid of all Margo's normal effervescence. Even Margo's skin looked changed, ruddier, the normal golden luster Abby always associated with her, gone.

Abby flopped onto the bed beside Margo, arms and legs splayed. Her arm brushed the mouse-woman's and she was surprised by how cold her skin was. "Bad magick?" she asked, hating the way the Aelurian humidity made her sticky despite only wearing a thin Aelurian robe over her nightdress.

Margo nodded. "Isn't it always?" She turned over and peered up at Abby, her expression clouded over. Even her whiskers seemed listless, the proud, long white hairs limp along her upper lip and nose.

She tried to smile, but the attempt faltered, her mouth unable to do anything more than maintain a straight trajectory. A hundred of Margo's smiles bubbled to Abby's mind, but she'd only seen her current expression once - and that'd been when Hestor died.

They relaxed back into silence. The windows were slightly parted and a nice breeze danced into the room, clearing out the ancient and musty smell of the wood and dust in favor of fresher air, scented with flowers and salt. Smoke and spice. Lucy stood beside the window, arms drawn over himself. Abby couldn't make out if he was cold or not; he too, remained draped in shadow. Everyone seemed to be trying to conceal themselves from everyone else.

There was so much pain and grief all gathered in one place. Abby had never been more thankful to have the open widows, or the silence.

"I think Hestor's appearance is connected with Sebbi's poisoning."

Abby's brows raised. "Really?"

Margo nodded, before turning back to face the ceiling. Abby, too, looked up, her mind's eye tracing over every curve made in the arched ceiling. Past Aelurians had been carved in great, expert detail. Belts of gold cinched the waists of luxurious robes. Dozens of bangles encircled long tails. There were bejeweled whiskers, crowns of feathers and flowers. Moons in different phases. Aelurus had a fair share of beauty, underneath its many teeth.

The silence returned. Wind whistled, tussling the edges of the curtains and the tips of Margo's whiskers. It blew some of Abby's hair in front of her eyes. As she reached up to put it back, she noticed Lucy moving toward the bed, his expression hard as stone.

Without speaking a word, he went straight for Margo, scooping the mouse-woman in his arms. He draped her over a shoulder like he would have one of his more expensive coats, the kind with the fur-trim and gold-threaded cuffs.

Margo beat her fists against his back. "Put me down, ugly!" She buried her nails between his shoulder blades.

He yowled, but made no indication of letting her go. Instead, Lucy made for the door, Margo's added weight showing no sign of slowing him down. Each stride was long and fluid, elegant and purposeful. "Sullen doesn't suit you."

Margo huffed, her cheeks a fiery red. A sheen glowed off her, pinks and oranges tinting her skin with the colors of sunset. "Set me down now or I'll turn you into a toad."

Lucy smiled, before replying, "then I'll be the handsomest toad there ever was."

Margo's mouth pulled into a line as Lucy's words seemed to have doused her fire. She sagged over his shoulder, arms crossed and less fidgety. Her earlier fight replaced by a resigned acceptance of her predicament. "Nothing about you has ever been handsome. Your personality least of all."

Lucy chuckled. And though it was a short-lived laugh, one easily swallowed by the cavernous space of Darkmoore's rooms, it was unmistakably earnest.

Lucy placed his hand on the knob now and threw it open. "You sound like the women in Ean."

Margo harrumphed, burying her face against herself. She blushed, all of her a deepening crimson. Blowing a curl back that had fallen in front of her eye, she snorted. "Must be a smart lot then."

Abby hurried to her feet to get in line behind them. "They're not," she said, Lucy and Margo blinking as though they'd forgotten she existed. A niggling pain struck Abby in the gut. Chalking the feeling up to indigestion, she continued. "They only come to that conclusion after dating him. You're the first one to pre-emptively recognize Lucy's awfulness."

Margo smiled. Lucy frowned. "How unfair. Making fun of me, when it was I who was--"

"Just trying to make Margo feel better?" A delicate blush, like a stroke of an artist's brush, swept over his cheeks.

He paid her no mind, choosing instead to clear his throat as the three of them stumbled into the hallway. Their sudden appearance, coupled with the appearance of the prisoner, made the guards take up arms.

"You mistake my intention, Love," Lucy said, finally acknowledging that he had, in fact, heard Abby's words, many seconds after she'd spoken them. "I simply couldn't stand it anymore. You know how much I hate being in one place for too long."

"You-your highness," one of the guards stammered. He scampered to place himself in front of Lucy, his fist thrust against his chest in a rigid salute Abby guessed was required of all military when dealing with royalty. The hollow ring of metal on metal echoed in the hall. "My orders forbid the prisoner from leaving." He straightened, the stub of his ginger-orange tail sweeping against the floor. "We are to engage if-"

Next to him, the other guard wrapped trembling fingers over the hilt of his sword. One of his fangs dug deep into his lower lip. His mouth was pulled into a line, his gaze a battle of conflict.

Lucy pushed past both of them. "I've taken the prisoner into my custody," he turned, staring the orange-furred guard in his face, "do you understand?" The guard nodded while the other relaxed his hold on his weapon.

"Good."

He whipped around and began stalking down the corridor, Margo sticking out her tongue at the guards as they shared horrified expressions. In seconds, Abby, Lucy and Margo were rounding a bend safely away from prying eyes and overhearing ears.

"You know," Abby said, stroking her chin as the trio made for Sebbi's quarters. "I think you could stomach staying in one place for a long time." Lucy cocked an eyebrow. "It'd just have to be the right place."

"I've found that place," he replied instantaneously. "And it's by your side, Love."

Abby nodded. But the niggling pain returned. She placed her hands over her stomach as though doing so would stifle whatever feeling insisted upon setting up shop inside her.

"What's your plan?" Margo asked, twirling a whisker around her thumb.

Abby blinked as if brought back from a daze.

The skin between Lucy's eyebrows pinched together. "Not much of a plan, really. See my idiot brother. Relay what you just told us. Get him to rescind that stupid order to have you executed..." Margo bristled. Her shoulders shot up into her ears like she was mimicking a turtle frantic to return to its shell. "Sorry," Lucy added, tightening his grip around her waist. "You know that won't happen, right?"

A playful smile curled Margo's lips. "Of course not. I wasn't about to let it happen, anyway." She puffed out her chest and stuck out her chin. "I'll have you know, I was planning on escaping, and would have, had you not shown up."

"And it is best to conduct such plan crafting behind floor-length curtains?"

She slapped Lucy's back. He winced before going back to a more relaxed posture. "I panicked when I heard the door."

"Right, and I--"

Lucy froze.

"Hey--" Margo started twisting, angling herself to better see his face. "Why'd you--"

He clamped a hand over her mouth. "Love?"

Abby drew in a slow breath. "Yes?"

"You see it too?"

She nodded, her hands clammy, eyes glued to the opposite end of the corridor. A smattering of shadows swayed along the wall, moving when the lit torch opposite them flickered. All writhing together except for one, who broke free of the others, stretching its form across the wall. A spindly shadow hunching forward. It shuddered and then jutted parts of itself outward. It took on the appearance of limbs, much to Abby's horror.

Margo's eyes widened. "--adespo--"

"Hm?" Lucy glanced down at Margo. The mouse-woman struggled against the hand that blanketed her mouth. Lucy bristled as she emptied a mouthful of air against his fingers. 

Within seconds, he freed her mouth. "Shadespore," she whisper-yelled.

"Shadespore?"

"Yes." The shadow started to move, lumbering on thick legs of undulating darkness. Margo shirked off Lucy's touch and jumped to the ground. Her arms and hands strained at her sides, her radiance a burning cloud of crimson. "Hey!" She screamed, her whiskers twitching. "You! You ugly night stain!"

The shadow stopped. Then, its bulk spat out a smaller mass, connected by wisps of black. It looked like a head thought it lacked features. Margo snarled as the head produced something like smoke that poured from a crescent-shaped gash.

"Was it you?" she growled. "Were you Hestor?"

The crescent-like gash curved upward before the main mass took off down the hall. It ran along the walls, the bottom portion of it cresting and falling like waves as it skirted the stone archways. Before it could round a corner, Margo was on its heels, barreling down the hallway.

Lucy's gaze darted between the hallway and Abby. "Did our Miss Puffs just insult a shadow?"

Abby shrugged before she pressed her heels into the cold tile of the castle floor. "No time like the present to find out."

With that, she pushed off, sending her robes fluttering behind her as she broke into a sprint. Her footfalls echoed in the hall. Lucy screamed her name. Then, she heard his clumsy, staggered footsteps adding to her own. She smiled back at him, managing between breaths, to say, "Just like old times, yeah?"

Lucy frowned, the first drop of sweat running down his chin.

They veered right, bolting past Sebbi's room. Abby's bare feet felt on fire as with each step they came down hard on the floor. Lucy groaned when he could afford to spend the energy. Tears hung in the corners of his eyes.

Ahead, Abby glimpsed Margo's sandaled foot. It disappeared, headed west. Abby followed, the fire in her legs an inferno as she pushed herself to her limits. Pain spread out from her chest, the humidity making it harder for her to replenish her breath.

Shadespore. Margo had called that creature a shadespore. The word pulled on a memory Abby couldn't fully recall to the surface of her mind.

After rounding another corner, Abby spied Margo. The mouse-woman was still. Abby slowed her pace. She turned to check on Lucy's progress; he was nowhere to be seen. The shadow squirmed at Margo's feet.

Abby approached slowly, watching as the shadespore wriggled its mass, spears of inky darkness jutting from it in all directions. It had shed its human-like bulk in favor of a more severe shape, all hard angles and spikes.

"Margo," she said, between huffs to regain her breath, "did you stop it with--"

Margo shook her head.

Abby sidled up to Margo, shoulder to shoulder with her. She blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. Not sure if what she was seeing was real.

There, sitting on the shadow as though it were a common piece of furniture, was a human-ish creature. He cocked his head up, looking at them like they were expected guests, eyes shimmering like full moons. A smile parted black lips to reveal two rows of white pearlite teeth.

The figure tugged at a ruffled sleeve of light pink silk that peeked from beneath the hem of a beautifully tailored royal blue coat. What skin wasn't hidden beneath impeccable dress was a glossy, night-sky black. Strange dots of light pulsed along his skin, flaring to life and dying, arching over his body like falling stars. With a long, elegant finger, he pointed at the shadespore underneath him. It continued to squirm and wriggle, stretching, retracting, clawing along the ground in every effort to escape.

"Forgive me," the figure said, his voice low and sweet, like darkened honey, "were you chasing after Geoff?"

He moved to get off the shadespore, the navy trousers he wore tightening around muscular thighs. Abby thrust out her hands to stop him mid-squat. "No-no. You're fine."

Smiling, he set himself back down; the shadespore flattening under his weight. "Good," he said. "Old Geoff here's got some explaining to do."

He glowered at the shadespore whose wriggling had diminished into an occasional twitch here and there. Perhaps it sensed the futility of its struggling.

Margo and Abby exchanged glances. "Excuse me," she said, timidly. "Who are you?"

The figure extended his smile until it cut across the entire lower half of his head. "I'll tell you," he said, eyes narrowed. To his left, a shadow of tree branches spread across the ground like an ink spill. Never letting his gaze leave Abby and Margo, he extended his arm, the ruffles of his shirtsleeve brushing against the floor as, with two fingers, he plucked it off the ground. "When you tell me who you are."

The shadow hung limp between his fingers as he raised it in front of himself. The skin on Abby's arms prickled. The hairs on her neck stood on edge. She felt itchy, like she'd been crammed back into one of her worst lace dresses. Only one other time had she felt this sensation before - the first time she'd come to Aelurus, when its magick had threatened to overwhelm her.

The figure laid the shadow out at his feet. Then, with the toe of the most exquisite loafers Abby had ever seen save for Crum's choice of fancy, impractical and overpriced footwear, he tapped the edge of the shadow. It doubled in size, tripled. Expanding over itself in hurried waves of darkness.

In one fluid motion, he had a hand on Geoff, picking the shadespore up by a gruff of black that roiled off his back. Without looking at what he was doing, he chucked Geoff into the shadow pool. The shadespore cracked wide open, an inky smoke pouring from its wound before disappearing.

Having done whatever it was the figure meant to do, he reached down, picked up the shadow and flung it back in the direction of the tree it'd been attached to. It scurried across the floor and beneath the arched wall to reattach itself. It remained short, refusing to spread even as the moonlight goaded other shadows to elongate as though fearful of the stranger who'd manipulated it.

"Well," the figure said, outstretching his hand. More stars dazzled across the rigid mounds of his knuckles. "Shall we make with the pleasantries now?"