Music is Brotherhood by John Dreamer. Play it!

******

The next morning, Allura greets me by bringing a book down onto my head.

To be fair though, I had intruded upon her privacy at an unholy hour in the morning.

"Constantine!" she gasps as I dodge the heavy tome. With a confused yet irritated glare, she pokes her head out of the doorway, checking that no one's around. One benefit of intruding upon others' privacy during unholy hours is that there's hardly any risk of being caught. Seizing my wrist, she drags me into her room, slamming the door shut and locking it. The locks that I'd broken a while back has been repaired, I note.

"Explain yourself," Allura growls, her voice unnaturally low. It looks like she hastily threw on her robes. Her hair is dishevelled—I realise that it's the first time I've seen her without a wimple—the black sweeping back from an arching eyebrow intimidatingly.

"I just want you to know that Gilbert and I have talked things out," I say. Seems like even wise, level-headed scholars can be extremely irritable during mornings.

Allura's irritation subsides. "Really? And? How did it go?"

"It all went well, just like you said." A smile spreads across the Quinnian's face. "I just want you to be the first—actually, you're the only person to know, but never mind. I just want you to be the first to know that he's forgiven me."

"Excellent." She walks over to a lighted stove in the corner of the room, where a kettle is perched atop it. After dousing the fire with a pail full of water, she pours out two cups of strangely-scented tea. "Here, have some of this." She hands me one of the delicate porcelain pieces.

I stifle a scream, barely managing to latch onto the handle as I take it—it feels as though it's burning into my skin, eating into it, devouring it whole. Yet there's the oddly familiar sensation of an ember emanating warmth in the pit of my stomach, rising up to meet the excruciating heat from the outside.

The moment passes.

I cradle the teacup carefully in my fingers, squinting at the liquid suspiciously. Allura doesn't notice my discomfiture. She's taking small sips of the liquid, staring out from her window, watching the sun throwing a golden canopy over the earth. Deciding to distract myself from that sudden heat wave, I say, "Thank you, Allura."

Without turning back to look at me, she replies, "What for?"

"For being the...counsel of wisdom that I never had." She wheels around to face me. "All my life, no one has ever bothered about my—my emotions." Oh no, my voice is beginning to crack. I take in a deep, shuddering breath. When I regain control over myself, I continue: "You're the very first person who has ever tried to help me solve my problems. And I would just like to...thank you. For everything."

"I was merely doing what a friend would do." Then after a pause, she asks, "You really never had anyone show affection for you before, haven't you?"

I shake my head. Tears brim up in my eyes, and I hastily take a swig out of the teacup to calm myself. It tastes strange, but a good strange. Musky, bitter, with an undeniable fruity tanginess. "I've never drank anything like this before," I comment before taking another sip of the liquid. It feels like the tea is actually helping to soothe my worries away. "What is it?"

"I don't know. It's a special brew from Asa. It has calming properties—just the thing you need."

The Galennus again. Suddenly, I don't want to drown myself in the mind-numbing effects of the tea anymore. "Allura, have you ever found Galennus Asa...odd?"

"Odd in what way?"

Oh, I don't know. Saying things to me as though they were a threat and a warning. Behaving as though he expects something from me. His general aura of menace. It irritates me that Allura is totally blind to his obvious misgivings.

And then, there's a possibility of the physician being Diomedes himself.

I don't know when the idea had first started manifesting itself inside my head. I suppose that it was just there, the nagging feeling that something was wrong with him. It's a wild shot by half, but it's the only plausible theory for now. Besides, didn't Abner tell me that necromancers could wear 'skins'? What if, somehow, the original Galennus Asa had gotten himself killed while he was being stationed in the borders, and Diomedes had decided that his body was an excellent disguise to infiltrate the castle?

I don't relate all this information to Allura just yet. Instead, I make a sudden switch in topic: "Have I told you about skins?"

"Skin?" Her eyes spark with curiosity.

After organising my thoughts, I launch into a narration of my conversation with Abner. When I come to the part about necromantic skins, her eyes widen in understanding.

"You're implying that Asa is really Diomedes in disguise?" she squawks incredulously.

"It's a possibility," I admit. "After all, why was he present when your village was destroyed by the ghosts?"

"He'd been assigned there!" she protests.

"And how did he so conveniently find you? If I remember correctly, you said that your whole village was destroyed. I assume that every single structure in the area was completely reduced to rubble. Most likely you were buried under some debris, no? So how did he manage to miraculously find you, well and alive? By some divine power bestowed upon him from the Pietists?"

"That's true, but—"

"Allura, please, think about it."

She grows quiet, a panic-stricken look on her face. I count two whole minutes before she finally speaks. "I—I don't know." With a fierce glare, she adds, "You expect me to accuse the person who gave me a second chance at life of being the most powerful necromancer to ever walk Gaiatea?"

"No, I don't," I reply in what I hope to be a soothing tone. "However, the most likely suspect is him so far."

"Couldn't the hints have pointed to someone else?" She's on the verge of despairing; I've no idea that the Galennus means so much to her.

"I don't know either," I confess. "However, I was hoping that by telling you about Abner, we could solve the mystery together."

Another profound silence from the Quinnian. "I'll help you. Pst. Galen forgive me, but I will help you. I cannot guarantee that I will totally objective if everything should truly point towards Asa every time, though." Her voice is hoarse with heartbreak.

I respond with an inclination of the head. "Thank you, Allura."

"You're welcome," she replies, though not without bitterness.

I walk towards the door, unlocking it and peeking my head out to watch for any signs of life. Nothing stirs in the atmosphere. Just to be sure, I close my eyes and tug on the shadows, willing them to reveal the expanse of the quarters to me. Fortunately, whatever activities going on seem to be taking place on the other side of the area, far away from where we are. If anyone spied me exiting the Quinnian's room at this time of the day, Pietists protect me from the gossip bound to circulate like wildfire among the castle denizens.

I take a step out of the door frame, and then pause for a brief moment. "Allura, I also think that you should tell Gilbert the truth about yourself," I say, swivelling my head to look over my shoulder. "He'll be happy to know that his cousin is alive and well." She doesn't respond.

Only then do I exit the Quinnians' chambers.

******

An awkward silence strains the atmosphere. Something foreign has temporarily wedged itself into the camaraderie that had developed between Gilbert, Allura and I. We sit together in the decrepit little room, sifting through the books on necromancy like usual. But instead of the comfortable silence that has become so dear to me, unspoken words are left hanging in the air.

I can't stand it anymore. I snap my book shut, eyes flitting over Gilbert and Allura's bowed heads. They're not cousins by blood. However, they still have some sort of kinship—they deserve to know what had happened to the other a long time ago. Two months before, I wouldn't even entertain the idea of being in this position, to be the go-between. I'm bolder now, far more comfortable with responsibilities.

"Allura, Gilbert." My voice, timid and weak, calls the attention of my companions. Their eyes hold some sort of weariness in them. "I—I...You two know my secrets," I say, tone still unsure and reluctant. I take in a deep breath. You can do it, Constantine. You're not the Champion of Pst. Bronicus for no reason.

"And since you two know that I'm actually disguising as a boy, I don't see why we shouldn't lay all of our secrets onto the table." The confidence in my voice grows; bluntness is the only way to deal with this situation.

Gilbert and Allura stare at me, reeling in shock. Then their eyes slide towards each other. Recognition flickers across their expressions; they finally realise that the other is hiding a past as dark as their own.

They throw their heads back in laughter.

"Oh, thank the Pietists for you, Constantine," says Gilbert, managing to keep his giggling fits under control. "The tension was so thick, I was sure I was going to go mad at any moment. Seven Heavens, if you had asked me to dance on a tavern table wearing a noblewoman's finery, I think I would have done it!"

By contrast, the Quinnian smiles weakly after she contains her excitement. "Gilbert has described it perfectly, I think," she says. "So, who shall go first?"

It's only after quite a bit of squabbling that Allura comes out as the victor. She narrates her story to Gilbert with a stoic mask, yet she still can't hide the rippling waves of hurt and sorrow beneath it. We listen to her in rapt attention, completely absorbed by her close encounter with Diomedes and her rescue by Galennus Asa, to how she managed to climb the ranks as a Quinnian. She finishes off by exposing the hideous mark on her left forearm, the spidery dark limbs as gruesome as ever. Gilbert emits a gasp.

"And you've hid this for over five years?" The very same reaction I had when I'd first saw the mark.

Allura nods. "It was difficult, but I managed. However, the curse has worsened recently, and I—I'd nearly come to the point of despairing." She looks ready to burst into tears. Not from sorrow though—it's from relief. "Thank you, Constantine, Gilbert, for sharing this burden with me. I hadn't realised how tired I was, suffering from this secret alone. That is, until Constantine found out by accident."

I smile at the memory. "It's rather hard to not notice a tentacle crawling out from under your sleeve."

"True," she replies amiably.

"I'm actually curious about the tentacle," interjects Gilbert. "Forgive me for being so intrusive, but it's the only bit of necromancy we have so far that might give us a clue to Diomedes' true power."

We don't immediately answer that statement. I've never thought about that. Gilbert is right—Allura's curse could be a clue to Diomedes's power, somehow. Only, to examine the curse, Allura must take the risk of transforming...No, the risk is too great. I shake my head mutely.

"It'd never occurred to me that we may learn more about necromancy through my curse," Allura admits with reluctance. "But if the two of you want to learn about it, I would have to transform. I'd hate to think what I might do when I'm not in control of my mind."

"We're Champions of War, Allura," Gilbert insists. "You can trust us to take care of ourselves."

"You have no idea what the curse turns me into."

Gilbert cowers a little, but his eyes still reflect a little dissension. So I decide to step in: "Gilbert, I've seen it. Even briefly, it's terrifying. It's simply too much of a gamble."

Gilbert sinks into his seat unhappily. "Oh, all right then."

I clear my throat, trying to ease the tension slowly returning into the atmosphere. "Gilbert, would you like to share your story with us?"

He grudgingly launches into the story that he told me last night, eventually relaxing into a steady, drumming rhythm. Once more, I find it hard to breathe—guilt is overwhelming me despite the fact that we came clean last night. He even somehow manages to interweave my story with his, telling of how fate had played a hand in our lives, even as infants.

When he finishes, disappointment tinges Allura's face. "Allura, what's wrong?" I ask.

She shrugs her shoulders nonchalantly. "It's silly, really. I...I just feel disappointed that I've lost the only relative who actually knows me." An embarrassed smile plays at her lips.

"We're still cousins, Allura," Gilbert says readily. His hand twitches as though he wants to give the scholar a soldierly clap on the shoulder. "Just not by blood."

"I suppose so." Some of the disappointment leaves her shoulders, making them look lighter and much more carefree.

It feels like a blanket was smothering us earlier, suffocating us with its sickly presence. Now, the blanket has been lifted, giving us a singular clarity that we hadn't been able to see in each other before. It's almost as though at this moment, here and now, everyone can see each other to the core of their souls, to be able to discern the gift of truth in the other.

We've been untangled from the web of lies we have weaved around ourselves, and it feels...magnificent, to not have barriers between us anymore—barriers that have previously barred us from truly bonding with each other.

Barriers I never thought that I would come to despise.

"If only we had revealed our secrets a long time ago, then we wouldn't be so wary of each other!" Gilbert exclaims, echoing my thoughts. "And we could have spent these past two months actually making progress about theories on Diomedes and the prophecy, instead of hoarding all knowledge to ourselves."

"Speaking of Diomedes, he's coming around tomorrow, right?" asks Allura.

Gilbert and I nod our heads simultaneously. The king met us earlier in the morning about him, actually. Although King Terrell knew that we decided to reject Diomedes' proposal, he wanted to know if we planned to take any action while he was exposed.

"No, Your Majesty," I refused stoutly. "The last time we tried to attack him, he overwhelmed us—badly."

"But he wouldn't be expecting you to attack this time, no?" countered the king.

"True, sire. However, I think it'd be best to conserve our energies this time," said Gilbert, coming to my rescue. "He'd just overwhelm us if we attack, and he might not be so merciful this time."

King Terrell gave in reluctantly.

When Allura asks us if we intended to try and kill Diomedes tomorrow, we relate our conversation with King Terrell. She heaves a sigh, relived. "Thank the Pietists that you two aren't rash. The only way to kill Diomedes would be to find his skin," Allura says.

"Skins?" Confusion plastered all over Gilbert's expression. Of course, I never told him about the skin. I assume that Allura already knows about this beforehand, since she had researched the books down in the scrinaius with a voracious desperation.

Before I can do it, Allura starts explaining the concept of skins to Gilbert. "A 'skin' is a necromantic term, a disguise of sorts for a necromancer. By using their magic, they're able to duplicate the appearance of a deceased person, and 'wear' it like it's their own skin," she rattles off naturally. "The fresher the body, the better the appearance. Some skilled necromancers can maintain the disguise for more than a decade, though the average span of a usable skin is about two years, if it's used regularly."

"Oh." Gilbert looks slightly uncomfortable at the casual discussion of necromancy, despite the fact that two of his companions have their separate affiliations with the art. "Is there any way we can tell if there's a necromancer beneath the skin?"

"It depends on the necromancer's own level of skill, but if he or she is performing necromancy while still wearing the skin, the disguise will eventually corrode and wear off. More so if high level spells are performed."

A frown mars Gilbert's otherwise smooth forehead. "So, there's basically no way for us to know who is the necromancer wearing the skin?"

Allura seems to hesitate. This piques my interest—what is the real hint that will give the necromancer away? "A necromancer will be unable to hide his or her true self during the night, as it is in the shadows when a necromancer's power is most volatile yet ferocious. Unless they take some kind of concoction to counter the transformation, the skin will temporarily melt away."

"It sounds like your condition," I remark. A fierce blush creeps up Allura's neck.

"I know. It's horrible really, being so similar to those imbeciles." The pure, unfiltered venom in her voice shocks me and Gilbert. I've never seen the Quinnian so agitated before. "If only that accursed Diomedes hadn't chosen my village, I—I wouldn't be living like this."

Angrily, with monstrous strength, she rips the layers of her left sleeve open, baring the mark to the world. Tears freely stream down the scholar's cheeks; it takes all of my self-control to not reach over and wipe them away. I remind myself that she probably wouldn't appreciate pity.

"Allura," says Gilbert with tenderness, "if—no, when we find Diomedes and kill him, we'll find a way to help you break this curse. We're in this with you, necromancer's curse or no."

It takes a while, but Allura finally calms down and scrubs her tears off. "Well now, I think the two of you can't do anything for the time being," she resumes in a flat tone. "We'll have to continue to monitor the activities of the castle dwellers, especially those in a higher-ranked position. And we'll have to pray that by the time we find out who Diomedes is disguising as, it won't be too late for all of us."

"Agreed." Granted, this isn't not exactly a plan. Still, it's better than nothing.

"So for now, we'll just keep observing all castle denizens," Gilbert concludes. The Quinnian and I give solemn nods. "Should we leave now? The bell has already tolled six times, in case you two didn't notice. I would like to look at the tentacle. However, I don't think Allura will quite appreciate it if she knew that I was withholding the fact that sunset is upon us."

"Ah." Allura gets up quickly, hurrying to get away. "Shall we, then?"

We exit the House of Knowledge without another word. As Gilbert and I are about to separate from the Quinnian in the outer ring, she pulls us in and whispers into our ears, "Whatever has been spoken in the Royal Library will remain there. Do not discuss our arrangements outside—walls might have ears."

With that, she pushes us away and scurries towards the safety of her chambers. My fellow Champion and I head towards the opposite direction. "So, what do you think?" he asks.

"Of what?"

"Of everything that has just happened."

I ponder on this for a moment. I cast my face upwards, facing Heaven, the dwelling of the Pietists—is Pst. Bronicus truly watching over me during every single moment, like Abner had said? The sky looks entrancing; hues of red and orange clash with each other, with the occasional golden flash streaking across the vast, open space. The ground is solid beneath my boots, not sinking, not muddy. After a minute's worth of silence, I finally come up with an answer to his question.

"I think it's a sign that we're going to pull through this war."

******

A/N: Everything is as it should be...for now. Barriers are down, no more secrets kept - looks like Constantine, Gilbert and Allura are well on their way to being real friends. Please remember to vote, comment, share and recommend!

Dedicated to youdontsay_16. Your witty comments never fail to leave a grin on my face. But despite the fact that you're such a lovely reader, I don't think I'm quite ready to give up my evilness just yet.

Pietist - A deity in the world of Gaiatea.