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Always together.

When the darkness had succumbed to light, and Lucy first glimpsed the world, a pair of golden eyes had stared back at him - inquisitive, investigative, unsure. He knew immediately then, opposite him, swaddled in cloth and mewing, lay one half of his whole.

Leaving a world that hated them behind, left by those that loved them, crying and screaming as rain pelted them, as the storm scared them, as lightning lashed the sky, and the ground shook.

They were together. Always.

Cradled in Abby's arms. Feeling safety for the first time since their birth. Nestled in the folds of her dress while a fire crackled in the kitchen hearth. Her voice soothing their fears, her fingers rubbing away the cold and the loneliness, the numbness, imbuing them with a warmth they'd thought was lost forever.

Together.

Weathering every storm, overcoming each argument, fending off the constant danger, and protecting what they loved, Sebbi and Lucy had achieved it all because they'd been together. And now Sebbi was poisoned.

Attacked by the same people he fought to rule over justly. And Lucy knew, and had to accept, they couldn't conquer death together. If his brother slipped away in the coming days, if his heart stopped and he took his last breath, that was it. A finality Lucy couldn't charm, or talk away would befall them.

And he'd be left behind. An emptied half a human being struggling to be whole.

Lucy's fingers slipped out of Abby's hand, his skin cooling immediately without her warmth. In the space left by her touch, he felt his emptiness spread. It grew fingers and threatened to close around his throat. It burrowed into his bones and permeated the air around them.

He tried to toss a smile her way, one that conveyed he would be okay, but he couldn't summon it to the surface. Instead, he avoided her gaze, thrust his hands into his pockets and took a few steps back.

"Lu-lucy--" Abby's mouth was one continuous worry line, her eyes pleading with him to be alright. Her arm hung in the same space it had been in when she'd held his hand, fingers stretched, an open invitation for him to return, for them to face this together.

He whirled around, a tornado of hair whipped into a frenzy before his eyes. Without a sound, he left her in his wake, knowing he'd disappoint her again. But what was one more to add to the list?

His footsteps echoed down the empty hallway, punctuating his thoughts with hollow authority.

Sebbi was poisoned. Sebbi might die. The idiot who never told them how bad it was. The idiot who ruled so Lucy wouldn't have to. And Lucy, the idiot who burdened his brother with a responsibility never meant for Sebbi's shoulders, all so he could flirt his way through Ean.

He found himself in the shop's small kitchen, staring at a stone basin stained with plant matter and the dripping green slime of one of Abby's alchemic failures. The sway of an overhead light caught in a glass cabinet full of cups and dishes.

Lucy throw the door open and shuffled aside the glasses until his skin brushed against the smooth, curved neck of a bottle. He withdrew the wine.

A drink would help. The burn of the alcohol would soothe his nerves, settle his stomach and silence his mind. Worrisome thoughts would drown in a sea of fermented sweetness. With each sip, he'd focus on the now and keep tomorrow at bay.

He put the mouth of the bottle to his lips, dug his teeth into the cork and yanked. With a pop, the bottle opened, a small frothy plum drizzle raining down the sides of the glass and onto his fingertips.

The first swig was bliss. Always together? We haven't been together in years and we've gotten along just fine. Why would anything change now? Even if he did di--

The second sip burned. Heat flooded his cheeks. It should have been me. Me on the throne. Me poisoned. Me facing my destiny head-on and unafraid.

The third and fourth did nothing to relieve his mouth of its dryness, or dissolve the lump of guilt lodged in his throat.

Wine bottle in hand, Lucy went for the door and slipped outside. 

The shop had a wrap-around porch big enough for a box of planters Abby kept full with half-dead plants and creeping vines. Warped wooden slats creaked under his feet. He leaned against the railing, thick and slimy with moss, and stared into the inky darkness. A smattering of light posts dimpled the ground with blue. Slivers of moonlight cut rigid angles along rooftops and over cobbled streets.

"It's no balcony." Lucy forced the words through his teeth as he held the bottle to his chest like it was something steady, something secure. A buoy capable of keeping him afloat.

He missed the conversations he and Sebbi had on balconies. Back before they'd known of their royal lineage, they'd always ended up holding court on one, whether on the one attached to Abby's room, or one of several jutting from Darkmoore Castle.

On balconies, they discarded their differences and came together. Resloving disputes, remembering what mattered most to them. The brothers dealt with what the world had thrown them.

Always together.

Lucy bit down on his lip, his fingers tightening like a noose around the bottle. Sebbi's been poisoned. Sebbi's suffering alone. Sebbi could, quite possibly, die.

As a cable car ambled by, headed north, the passenger port window exuding a natural yellow glow, Lucy took a deep gulp of his wine. Burgundy liquid dribbled down his chin and onto his shirt. Yet another stain he wouldn't be able to get out.

"It's cold tonight." Her presence perfumed the air with lilies. The kind found hardy around Mirea, that could grow in caves and on the cliffside. That recovered after being trampled, and that could wait out a drought until the rainy season fell upon them again. The kind that kept living.

Abby stood in the doorway, a ratty wool shawl draped over her shoulders. Flickers of red and orange danced across her skin. Must have turned a lantern on somewhere.

Lucy dug his nails into the rotting wood of the railing. "How's the potato sack?"

"Referring to Crum?"

Lucy nodded before gulping down more of his wine.

A slight smile tugged at the corners of Abby's lips and she moved out of the doorframe. She took a seat near Lucy's feet, legs dangled over the porch steps. "He's still out. Kit helped me drag him downstairs and toss him onto the couch."

"And how does a cat help move a full-grown man?" Lucy eyed her from behind the bottle. The glass softened her edges, made her look dreamlike. He didn't like the idea of her not really being there.

"You know," Abby spread her arms wide, her shawl hanging off her like laundry on the line, "Kit grew big. Aelurian big. Probably could have moved Crum all on his own, but I insisted."

"Of course you did." He smirked. "You always help, even though I remember a time when you used every excuse you could think of not to do chores."

She harrumphed and closed her arms as a breeze passed between them. The lanterns affixed to the lampposts along the street rocked on rusted chains. "Those were chores. When you're a kid, chores are meant to be ignored."

He snorted. "And where is our guest now?"

"Making tea." Lucy eyed her. "He insisted. Don't think it's something I foisted upon him."

Lucy toasted her with the bottle, taking another deep sip, before saying, "Why I would never think you capable, love." The alcohol warmed his stomach and sloshed around his head. The world went fuzzy, and through his haze, he managed to smile. It was thin and frail. And the wind's kiss could have blown it from his face, but he'd smiled. And that was more than he could do minutes ago.

"So..."

"So..." Lucy dragged a finger along the bottle.

"Wine?" she asked. He jerked the bottle skyward. Abby leaned back, palms pressed into the porch slats, gaze hinged on the sky. "Let's see, who could have gifted such a thing to you? An admirer obviously so...Cordelia? Or Larkspur? Maybe Mya at Cardroy's Uniform press?"

"I bought it." Abby's eyebrows shot into her hairline as she tipped forward, like a cup about to take a dive off the high shelf. Before her disbelief shattered her into a thousand pieces, Lucy added hurriedly, "What? I can buy things myself."

"With money?"

"Yes," he placed the bottle on the railing and took his seat beside her, "with money."

"But I've never seen you do a day's work in your life!" She stroked her chin. Suddenly, her eyes narrowed.  "Unless, you're engaging in something illegal?"

He shook his head, hair falling in front of his eyes. "It's nothing as nefarious as you're thinking. I do deliveries for Rosalie."

"The baker's daughter?"

"Yes," he sighed, "that Rosalie."

"But I thought you--"

Reaching up, he ran his fingers through her hair and she relaxed into him, nestling her head into his neck.

"She's just a friend."

Abby snorted. "Bet she feeds you," her breath tickled his skin, "and that's the reason why you don't flirt with her."

"Never said I didn't flirt with her," he flicked her forehead, "just that I haven't dated her." Lucy's arms wrapped around Abby, his touch gentle, barely there. He was glad she let him hug her. He needed something to hold on to as their conversation lulled and the hum of the city filled their ears.

While Ean's citizens might have slept, its machinery never did. Several cable cars whizzed past, rounding bends with calculated precision and zigzagging toward the other districts in blinding speed. Smoke stacks wheezed their chemical-laden smoke into the air, adding to the city's already impenetrable smog. Beneath, the rhythmic pulsing of Ean's army of drills signified their continued hunt for Mirea's most valuable, and only naturally magickal resource - Ly'ren stone.

"Lucy--"

When he turned to face her, she looked at him with such ferocity, he turned away. Pulled an 'Abby' and casted his gaze downward, his uncomfortability too much for him to deal with head-on.

He knew what was on her tongue, and he didn't want to hear it. Lucy had come out here to drink himself into a stupor, not to listen to the very truth he was desperately avoiding.

What did it matter, though? Why did she want him to confront the truth now? It would be there tomorrow for him to deal with while he nursed a headache. At least then, it wouldn't demand all his attention, it wouldn't threaten to devour him. So, why not delay that inevitability?

Fingers slightly trembling, Lucy reached for the wine and brought it into his chest.

Abby frowned and sat straight as he took a deep gulp. Her hands clenched her shawl. "You're trying to forget."

"I'm thirsty," he hefted the bottle in front of his face, burgundy liquid sloshing around inside, "So I decided to have a drink."

"Of wine? Alone and at night? After finding out..."

"Lots of people have drinks for pleasure, love. It's not always about burying your miseries at the bottom of a bottle."

Abby's gaze drifted toward the half-empty bottle. Then, she dared to look at the sky like she could see beyond the curtain of smoke and smog, and glimpse the stars. She folded in on herself, pulled her knees into her chest and wrapped her arms around them protectively. Lucy braced.

"When dad drank," Abby started slowly, her voice low, her gaze darting around, too afraid to settle on any one thing, "with someone, he was all smiles and giggles. It was sociable and he got real pleasure from it," the corner of her lip quirked upward, "when dad drank because his thoughts had wandered back to mom," she abandoned her smile here, her bottom lip trembling instead, "his face went dark and hard. His eyes distant. Like he was seeing into the past, trying to fix what he couldn't." Finally, she stared at Lucy. "You don't look like you're having a good time."

He hefted the bottle overhead before taking another gulp, desperate for a change of topic. "Why'd you let me drag you here?" He casted her a sideways glance. "It's dark and miserable." He craned his neck skyward, where nothing but a smooth grayness stretched as far as the eye could see.

Abby opened and closed her mouth a few times before settling on her answer. "I never minded where we went." She smiled.

Lucy raised an eyebrow. "Really?" He tapped his finger along the bottle's long neck. "That's hard to believe. I forced you to come here," just like I forced my brother to be king, "There's not a lick of greenery."

"There's some." She pointed to her planters dappling the yard.

"That doesn't count," he nudged her in the side, "you grew those."

"I found a bright spot." Abby turned, grabbed his hand and held his gaze. "After everything, I was eager to leave —so eager I felt I couldn't run away fast enough — that I would have gladly gone with you anywhere. I couldn't remain in that place where I felt only darkness."

Lucy snorted derisively. "From one dark place to another." He waved his hand overhead. "Sounds awful."

"Ean may be dark and all about gears and rigid order and technological advances. The people here might stare too hard at the ground for fear they'll trip over something that's not there instead of looking up and imagining what can be, but even in the darkest places, there're always bright spots." She glanced back at the sky, blond hair tumbling down her back. "You just have to find them, and then when you do, do everything you can to cherish them."

Unable to fight the impulse, Lucy, too,  stared up at the sky. Not because he cared an iota about glimpsing the stars or the full moon, but because he wanted to see the world like Abby did. He wanted to have the strength that allowed her to hold on to hope, to be like the Mirean lily, to be someone who lived.

"Let me guess, even lousy old me is one of your bright spots?"

"You," she squeezed his hand and smiled. "Duh. And Sebbi. Crum. The Mayweathers. Bright spots every one of you." Turning to face him again, she took a deep breath. "How could I focus on the dark, when I've got so many people illuminating my life?" She paused and looked down. "Sebbi's not dead. And that's a bright spot among all this."

Lucy thumped her gently on the head. "And you," Abby gaped, "you're a bright spot, too."

My bright spot.

And it was true. Abby anchored him to the world when he tried to escape it. She forced him to face the truth, when he'd desperately tried to turn away. And she glowed brightly, hotly, banishing the shadows that gathered in the corners of his mind. Abby gave him hope. Always.

"Sebbi was," his brother's name felt heavy and loaded on his tongue, but Abby's warmth helped dislodge the guilt stuck in his throat, "poisoned because of me."

Abby shook her head. "No," her hand lanced the space between them, and this time it was her flicking him with fingers as swift as mountain hares, "that's stupid. Don't think like that."

Lucy gulped, his gaze drifting downward. "But I--"

"My mother chose to birth me. She knew it was dangerous, but she wanted me in this world. Sebbi chose to rule Aelurus because he wanted you in this world," she pointed at the porch, the wood bowing to the pressure, "beside me."

"Abby..." Lucy reached out, fingers about to touch her hair when behind them, the front door flew open.

An enormous Aelurian, fully-formed with dripping fangs, bobtail and thick grey fur squeezed his bulk through the hole. "Forgive me, Highness," Kit placed a hand across his chest and bowed, "but the human is up and he's--" From behind, Lucy and Abby heard a blood-curdling scream. The weight lessened on his shoulders, Lucy stood, though he wobbled, what with the wine coursing through his system. "--frantic. Perhaps suffering a lapse of the mind. Hemma are of feeble constitution, are they not?"

The world rocking like a boat on an angered sea, Lucy staggered onto his tiptoes, and clamped a hand around Kit's shoulder, half for balance and half so they could have privacy. Abby grumbled as she shot to her feet and stared into the house.

"I hear there's tea?" Lucy asked Kit.

The cat-man stiffened. "A whole pot, your highness."

"Good," Lucy released he, falling back on his heels. "We'll need it. It's going to be a long night."

More screams came from inside the house, between coughs and sneezing bouts.

Resigned to deal with the panicked potato sack before he woke the entire city, Abby sighed and shuffled back into the house. Kit made to follow, but Lucy placed an arm out to stop him. His head throbbed.

The Aelurian turned, his forehead fur furrowed. "Your highness?" 

"Kit," Lucy leaned against the doorframe, not trusting his alcohol-soaked body to keep him upright, "My brother, did you see him?" Kit nodded. "And...and what did he look like?"

The cat-man's lips pulled taut. Shadows swooped across his face. Lucy's chest constricted. He shouldn't have asked.

"I will not lie to your highness," Kit's ears twitched, "I've never seen such sickness take hold of an Aelurian since the days of the plague. Sweating, shaking. Ensconced in delirium." Each word Kit said threatened to extinguish any of Lucy's remaining hope. "The healers herbs helped. Brought him clarity." Kit's tail swished side to side. "In those moments, he whispered your name, your highness." Lucy's eyes went wide. "And the hemma girl's." He bowed again. "Forgive me for speaking beyond my rank, but I believe that provided him comfort."

So Sebbi had his bright spots, even in Aelurus.

Another screamed permeated the dark, followed by a whispered, "Yes, some cats can brew tea. It's not the devil's work!"

Lucy found himself grinning as he pushed himself away from the doorframe. Abby would always be a constant bright spot.

"Your highness?"

"Let's help her deal with the panicked potato sack, shall we?" Wobbling from his inebriation, Lucy sauntered in the house, his steps less heavy and damning.

Sebbi wouldn't die. He was a survivor; they all were. And they'd be together, always.