Chapter Five Beauty Rest #2
“We don’t know exactly, but who isn’t as important as where.” Saeldian paused to let the curiosity unfold but couldn’t hold their grin. They’d risen on their toes with the news. “We’re supposed to return it to a domain in the Feywild!”
“Oh! You’re coming here.” His expression went bright with a surprised smile. “Do you know yet which domain?”
“We haven’t been informed,” Saeldian said. “I suppose the client will tell us when we have the gem. What we don’t know, we can’t say.”
“True. The Feywild, though.” Osalor kept smiling. “That’s an interesting place to finish the job. What exactly did your employer say about the domain? Perhaps there’s a clue you missed.”
“She only said a small domain in the Feywild. And then there’s the name of the spell gem, of course.” Saeldian wrinkled their nose.
“They can’t expect you to return a tacky spell gem all on your own. They’ll have to tell you something after you succeed.”
“You’re right, of course,” Saeldian said. “But since I’ll be in the Feywild, perhaps I could come join you for a visit? If everything goes well.”
The feeling of being near enough to touch through the mirror diminished. “If everything goes well, you’d be better off stepping out of the Feywild the second you deliver the prize.”
He didn’t want to see them.
Saeldian didn’t let the sting in their eyes become tears. Saeldian did not cry like a needy, burdensome child. Saeldian was clever. Saeldian knew how to hear what people didn’t say. Saeldian understood exactly what Osalor meant, so they pulled themself together.
Osalor didn’t want to lose Saeldian, and that meant Saeldian needed to be safe and smart. An archfey could handle thieves inside their domain as they pleased. And the danger that had forged Saeldian and Osalor together still lurked there.
Osalor had never said so, but Saeldian was sure that the amulet Saeldian always wore had been stolen all those years ago.
There was no reason to assume that theft had been forgiven.
It would be better for Saeldian to quit the Feywild the moment the job was done.
That was prudent. It was sensible. Sentimentality was for marks and fools.
But behind Osalor, the glass house’s leaf-shaped panes glimmered.
Beyond the panes so large and clear they were nearly invisible was Osalor’s garden, bordered with apple trees that never stopped blooming, white star jasmine nestled beneath, and moon-white roses trained over archways.
They could only imagine the smell in the air, as they always did whenever they used the mirror to talk to each other, just as they imagined walking with Osalor in the heart of that garden, sparkling with fireflies all around them.
It would be safer for them to do the job and leave. It would be safer for Osalor. He had hung the amulet around their neck, promising that its power would keep them safe, and it would be poor repayment to bring whatever revenge Saeldian would drag behind them for a social call.
“You’re right, of course,” Saeldian said. They couldn’t visit. That should have been obvious from the beginning. “Do you think taking the job is unwise?”
“It’s risky,” Osalor said. “What is the payment?”
“Simply gold dragons,” Saeldian said. “A staggering sum of gold dragons.”
“Gold wins many arguments,” Osalor said. “But you’re smart, and I trained you well. No point in walking away from all that coin.”
Saeldian let their belly rest against the wall of stays holding the bodice of their Goldenight ensemble in place. “Do you have any advice for finding a particular domain?”
Osalor lifted his hand, exactly as if he were lifting Saeldian’s chin.
Saeldian returned to their disciplined posture.
Someone else wouldn’t have seen Saeldian’s lapse, but Osalor noticed.
He always did. “There are a lot of domains. Some aren’t much bigger than a hut.
And in every one of them is an archfey whose word and will is the law.
Be kind to everyone you meet. It may not be immediately obvious who the ruler is on sight. And be careful with your power.”
“I always am.”
“But you wanted to know where to begin,” Osalor said. “Eightbridge—dated name; it’s full of bridges now—is a quilt of domains that make a city in all but name. It’s the best place to start looking.”
“How will I find it?”
“By your need to find it,” Osalor said. “The Feywild will give you what you want from it. So, need Eightbridge, which you will know by the crooked spire that rises as tall as any tower in your Waterdeep, shining with weaveglass.”
He held out his hand, and a slender glass spire, leaning at an angle, rose above the rooftops of buildings made from far humbler stuff.
Saeldian planted it in their memory, remembering it rising above the horizon and growing larger with every step closer.
Saeldian remembered a place they had never been, looking forward to the friendly bustle and fine food and how simple it was to get there.
Osalor let the spire vanish when Saeldian nodded and smiled at him.
“One more thing. Your power may be different here than you’re used to.
Be careful. You may find your spells are stronger, or weaker, but certainly stranger than they are in Faer?n.
But if you wind up in trouble beyond trouble, call on me. ”
If they were in trouble. Saeldian touched the amulet resting under their midnight finery. “But if that happens and I have to run to you, what if the archfey—”
“Is more powerful than I am? Then we run, my dear. We run straight to whichever of my friends is more powerful than they are. If you don’t need my rescue, call on me when you’re finished so I know you’re safe.”
“I will.”
Osalor’s posture softened. He swayed toward them. “But it has been a long time since we met, hasn’t it? Very well. Once this is all over and you’re well free, we’ll find a safe way to have a visit at last.”
At last. Saeldian would walk through Osalor’s garden beside him, play lanceboard at the same board he used, and see him again for the first time since they were a child.
Osalor had no idea how much their pact had done for them.
How he had given Saeldian safety, and power, and he never asked them for a single thing outside of the pact.
“I can’t wait,” Saeldian said, and Osalor’s smile stayed steady even as the mirror’s spell faded.
Saeldian gave themself a few minutes to let the feeling of being just a tiny bit disappointing fade.
Osalor had to know how hard Saeldian tried to fill the potential he saw in them.
He saw the improvement. Osalor noticed the tiniest things others never saw, since they weren’t so finely tuned to the ideal.
“Good enough” was all it took to please nearly everyone.
Saeldian lifted their head and opened their bedroom door, braced for Kell’s presence.
“You look so pretty!”
Verity burst out of the smaller library the moment Saeldian took two steps into the hall. She grabbed Saeldian’s hand and hared off to the stairwell, and Saeldian hiked up their hem and hurried beside her.
“Are we late for dinner?”
“Almost. I like it when you make that beard! It makes your makeup even prettier. I want a beard too.”
“Do you want to learn the illusion?”
“Yeah!” Verity clomped on the floor as if she still had the hooves family legend swore they once had before they turned to the god Lathander in service.
“Have you been trying the concentration drill Wisdom taught you to feel the Weave?”
“It doesn’t work. You have to be still! And you can’t think thoughts! How do you stop thinking thoughts?”
Saeldian hid a smile. “You have to forget to think thoughts.”
“I tried,” Verity complained.
“We’ll try again together when I’m back, all right? It’s not easy. You have to work hard.”
“Okay,” Verity said, and went upstairs rather than down.
“Why are we going up?”
“Dad needs you. He and Wisdom loaned Lorzok and Kell their garb, but—”
“It doesn’t fit exactly right?”
“Yeah! And you can fix it, like you fixed all Jubilee’s old dresses so they fit me.”
Saeldian let Verity drag them along to the library—which had very few books, since they were too precious to risk under the roof.
Bastion sat next to his desk, which was heaped with fabric scraps and boxes filled with the odds and ends of sewing.
Lorzok was wearing Bastion’s dress ensemble, and his shiny brown hair was freshly braided with charms and glittering foil coins.
“I helped,” Verity said. “I got to pick the next charm to braid in.”
“Verity was a great help,” Lorzok said. “She was the one who decided that the coins should be tied to the ends.”
“Because I’m smart,” Verity said. “I have to help in the kitchen.”
She stampeded out the door and back to the stairs.
“I hear you’re the expert,” Lorzok said. “Saer Bastion and I are close in size. We figured out how to fix the trousers already.”
“You look very good,” Saeldian said, ostentatiously sizing up his morning-blue doublet, snug breeches, and ribbons with coins laddered up the outside seams. “You need longer sleeves.”
Lorzok held out his hands so Saeldian could pull on his pristine white shirt cuffs.
A pile of fine lawn shirts, soft with many washings, lay folded nearby.
The top one had a section with no mendings, so Saeldian cut it up before taking the scissors to Lorzok’s sleeves.
A quick mending cantrip later and even Saeldian couldn’t tell where the extra part had been put in.
Lorzok inspected the fine lace on his cuffs. “That’s so much better. Thank you.”
“Lorzok, you said you were interested in my books,” Bastion said. “Did you want to borrow one?”
“I’d like to look, at least,” Lorzok said. “Do you have any Tenebrux Morrow?”
“By those windows there.”
“One moment, before you get lost in a book,” Saeldian said. “Is the back of the doublet all right? Can you dance?”