In the halls of the Stellar Church:
"Onion is beginning to suspect."
"Let him. He would be unable to prevent himself from interfering, if he knew the truth."
"It doesn't seem right, hiding things from him."
"He and Apricot knew the risks when they decided to have children despite our warnings. Now we can no longer think of them. It is the good of the world that we must consider."
"And so for that, Onion and his family must suffer?" A sigh. "They will never forgive us, for this."
"Forgiveness on this scale is unimportant. If this goes badly, the future will never forgive us."
"Should we warn the children?"
"Of what? The danger isn't something they can fight or prevent. Best to let fate run its course. They are already being drawn back together. The Shichuuten call to one another."
"There is Kinjyu involved. A foolish, vain Sorcerer."
"He will be dealt with appropriately. Do not fear."
"That, old friend, is exactly what I am afraid of."
Carunirian was receiving guests, the servants told Oparu when he arrived. Which meant that he'd either just finished his evening entertainment, or he hadn't yet begun. He never permitted interruptions when he was otherwise involved. Oparu sighed, thanking Kami for small favors and suppressing his agitation so that the servant---a nondescript old man---would not see it. It was important to maintain appearances in front of commoners.
The old man conducted him through the corridors of Carunirian's newly-finished palace, and Oparu looked around appreciatively. Fine wood, sculpted balustrades, elegant wall-murals and tapestries... Carunirian had excellent taste. The man was a consummate artist. He licked his lips, wondering whether Carunirian was feeling creative now, and felt a sharp tension in his groin, which he suppressed. There would be time for pleasure later.
The doors to Carunirian's bedroom were opened by the servants as he approached, and Oparu gasped, looking around in amazement. The chamber was huge, its ceiling so far away as to be almost lost in shadow. Its circular walls were alternately decorated in panels depicting various carnal scenes and unbelievably long multipaneled windows; day or night, the chamber would be bathed in light. It was dominated by a single piece of furniture---a huge, perfectly circular, drape-enshrouded bed.
The drapes had been drawn back for the time being, and Carunirian was here, lounging across it and propped on a number of satin pillows which had apparently been brought for that sole purpose. The blond Sorcerer was naked and relaxed, his long hair spread over the pillows, one arm thrown across his eyes, a small smile playing across his thin lips. Just finished, then.
Oparu looked around, noting that the chamber was immaculate. Ah, but of course---Carunirian's servants were particularly skilled at removing bloodstains.
"Oparu." Carunirian's voice was low and purring, and Oparu could hear the lazy satisfaction in his voice. "Did you come to watch again? You're a little late this evening. Give me a little while, though." He lowered his arm, opening silver eyes to watch Oparu with a languid smile. "I always enjoy performing for an appreciative audience."
Oparu shivered, feeling himself flush and trying very hard not to remember other evenings spent in Carunirian's bedchambers, other pleasures.
"Have you heard about Lady Torumarin?"
"No. You can see I've been busy. What of her?"
"Lord Sefiru sent me a communication; his lands border Meento City. He says she was murdered. Burned to death, along with her whole palace. Magic fire, that burned through stone like wood, and didn't spread to the rest of the city. Only a handful of the servants got out alive. They said the person that killed her was him. That boy. The one from the school."
"Oh, that." Carunirian yawned. "Yes, I'd heard that he was still alive. And not a happy fellow, from what I understand."
Oparu stared at him, in shock. "He's hell-bent on vengeance, is what he is, Carunirian! And he's a Mage... Lord Mizu's protege... Carunirian, he's hunting us down. Enmarido is dead, Perido is dead, now Torumarin--- that means we're next!"
"Us and Topaza, yes." Carunirian rolled over and reached for the tray standing beside the bed where a bowl of strawberries sat, in cream. He picked up one and ate it, licking his lips in relish.
Oparu could only continue to stare, speechless. Carunirian glanced at him obliquely, and smiled.
"Relax, Oparu. I heard about the boy---whose name is Marron Glaces, by the way---weeks ago. Don't worry about it. He'll be taken care of."
"Taken care of?" Oparu found his palms suddenly wringing with sweat; he rubbed them together uneasily. "Carunirian... he killed six of us in one attack, three years ago. Topaza thinks he'd only been a Mage for a few hours, at that point. Now he's at his full power, and if he's half as strong as Mizu was, the three of us aren't enough to stand against him. And Topaza's not likely to ally with us again, anyway."
"I know that." Carunirian lifted the bowl and held it out toward Oparu, smiling. "Have one?"
"Oh, dear gods, Carunirian---" Oparu stormed over to him and swatted the bowl from his hand, glowering down at him. "You're not taking me seriously!"
Carunirian raised a graceful eyebrow, sighing. A servant materialized from behind a drape to clean up the mess. "I am taking you perfectly seriously, my dear Lord Oparu. You seem to have not heard me. I have made preparations. I do not intend to die at this vengeful young fool's hands. And we know very well that I'm the one he wants most, since I was the one who fucked his beloved to death. Ne?"
Oparu stared down at him, thrown. "But... but where does that leave me?" he asked, panic resurging. "What if he comes for me before he comes for you?"
Carunirian laid back on his cushions with a languorous shrug, folding his arms beneath his head. The servant disappeared for a moment and returned with a new bowl of fruit and cream, placed it on the tray, and made himself unobtrusive again. Carunirian reached for it, putting a slice of peach in his mouth without looking; he smiled as he chewed. "Our young friend has been delightfully creative in the punishments he's been doling out. I'd suggest you lay very low, Oparu-san. Unless you want to do more than watch, for a change."
Oparu glared at him, and Carunirian picked up the bowl, holding it out to him. "Have some?"
He wasn't drunk yet.
Damn.
Gateau signaled the bartender for another round and ignored Kei's disapproving gaze. He was perfectly aware that Kei thought he was drinking too much. He was also perfectly aware that he didn't care, and Kei could go to hell if he thought his glares and sulks would stop Gateau from getting himself thoroughly inebriated tonight.
He needed the relief of oblivion, just for a little while. He was tired of being miserable, and there were only two things that could make him forget his pain for a time. One was enough alcohol to kill a lesser man. The other he intended to get from Kei later tonight, if Kei and certain body parts were still willing.
"You're going to develop a frightful beer gut one day, did you know that?"
"Like hell. You'll help me work it off." He leered at the other man, and was rewarded with a flush that was visible even in the dim light, a slight smile, and rolling eyes.
"Hentai." Kei sighed and looked around, one finger toying with the rim of the drink he was nursing. "I think we met in this bar. Or maybe it was another. I can't remember. They all look alike."
"It was this one." Gateau lifted his mug and gulped several swallows. "Has the rooms upstairs. The ones you can rent by the hour. Remember?"
"Ah, yes." Kei looked sour. "Quite a romantic rendezvous, that one. A bed that was only clean by the loosest definition, the smell of liquor and piss and puke coming in through the window..."
"You hollered my name. I don't think you cared about the smell."
Kei blushed again, his eyes flicking over Gateau in a way that Gateau knew well. He smiled to himself and gulped another few swallows.
The draft had spread a pleasantly warm feeling through him. He decided that his body parts were definitely still willing, and signaled the bartender for the bill. Kei frowned at him. "Oi. I'm not done."
"Yes, you are. You've been screwing around with that one drink for the past hour." The bartender came over, and Gateau slipped him a larger coin than was necessary. "Upstairs. A clean room. For three hours." He glanced at Kei, who stared at him in surprise and dawning delight, and he smirked. "Make that all night."
The bartender rolled his eyes, but turned and pulled a key off a peg, setting it down. Kei scooped it up and simpered at the bartender. "Well, it is cold outside." He threw Gateau a teasing look, and Gateau chuckled, downing the last of his beer.
As if overhearing Kei, a sudden gust of that cold air made itself felt on the back of his neck, blasting in as the door of the cozy taproom was opened. Gateau frowned and looked around, hearing complaints from the other tavern patrons, and his eyes made out a slim, nondescript figure just within the doorway, still shedding flakes of snow. A woman, plain even through the cloak and hood she'd used to enshroud herself.
He watched her for a moment, something about the quick, furtive way she glanced around holding his attention.
Kei glanced at him idly, then at the woman; he shrugged and downed the last of his own drink. "Barfly."
Gateau shook his head, frowning to himself. He watched as the woman slipped through the room, keeping to the shadows when she could. She reached the bar, and they both heard her soft question to the bartender.
"I'm looking for someone. A Sorcerer Hunter. By the name of Gateau Mocha."
Kei glanced at him and lifted an eyebrow. Gateau frowned again and raised his mug, nodding slightly at the bartender, who casually glanced around the room and met his eyes along the way. The bartender shrugged and jerked an indifferent thumb toward Gateau, and the woman turned, startled, to face them. Kei swiveled around in his chair to eye her disdainfully.
"Sumimasen," she said, bowing---an slight incline of the head, Gateau noted. As if she were merely being polite to a social inferior. "I didn't realize I would find you here. My contact told me that people here might point me in the direction of your home."
"Or Kei's home," Gateau corrected mildly, gesturing at Kei, who inclined his head back at her with only the faintest hint of sardony. "What can I do for you...?" He waited for her name and she tensed, darting a look around.
"My name's not important."
Gateau sighed and leaned his elbow on the counter, his head propped on his fist. "Not to you, I suppose. Where I come from, if you want to do business with someone, you show them basic courtesy first."
She narrowed eyes at him for a long moment, then finally sighed and pulled back the hood. If she hadn't been wearing pancake makeup, she might have been a handsome woman---on the fading side of youth, perhaps, but not unattractive. But Gateau frowned, shrewdly noting where the makeup was heaviest, and suddenly understood.
"So," he said. "What need does a Sorcerer have of a Sorcerer Hunter?"
Kei smirked; he'd seen through her disguise as well. The woman looked momentarily flustered, and then she sighed and squared her shoulders. "I... I come from the territory north of here. My husband rules that land. He doesn't know I'm here." She swallowed, trying to maintain her dignity, and said quietly, "My name is Merrine Topaza. My husband is Rimon Topaza."
Gateau felt something colder than a wintry gust move through him. Kei glanced toward him, frowning slightly, but Gateau forced himself to smile, stifling his anger for the moment. "Ah. And what would one of the former members of the Conclave want with a man who'd sooner see him dead than talk to him?"
She paled a little, sensing his anger, but set her jaw. "I was told you might feel that way. But this was the only solution I could think of. There's someone trying to kill my husband, you see---"
"Good for him."
She faltered for only a moment. "He's been killing all of the remaining members of the Conclave, and I think my husband might be next. Rimon, he---he has a family. He's well-liked by his people. He's served his time."
"And?" Gateau scowled at her. "His family didn't stop him from joining in the crime that killed one of my friends, three years ago. His people don't know he's a rat bastard who tried to kill a bunch of children. His punishment was a slap on the wrist. Should I care that somebody's out to get him?"
She flushed, growing angry. "You of all people should care. My husband has many friends among the Sorcerers' Council. Many people are angry over these... incidents. They don't like for Sorcerers to be killed..."
Kei yawned. "Oh, right, sets a bad example, might give the commoners ideas, ne? Why is it that Sorcerers always think that no magic means no brains?" She glared at him, furious at his temerity. Kei smiled languorously back, and Gateau snorted. If nothing else, Kei was an expert at pushing buttons.
"There's a lot of talk in the Council over this," she said, hotly. "People are saying that if Mamu can't control the commoners, then the treaty is invalid. They're saying maybe it should be discarded, and the government with it, and maybe the Sorcerers should be the ones making the rules. You know what that means, if it happens. I should think you'd want to prevent a war." She reached into a fold of her cloak, hesitated, and then thrust out a pouch that jingled faintly; it weighed her hand down. "I can make it worth your while."
Gateau regarded the pouch for a moment, making no move to take it, and then looked at the woman, wondering if she knew just how much of an insult she'd just given. He felt his lip curl in disgust.
"I'm not an assassin. I don't kill for money. Talk to the men in the corner; they're in the guild and will give you your money's worth." He turned around on his stool, turning his back on her, and Kei followed his lead and did the same. There was a frustrated silence behind him for a long moment, and then she sighed.
"I had an idea you'd react that way. That's why I brought you this." There was a step behind him, and then her hand slipped between them to deposit a porcelain disc on the bartop before him. Gateau clenched his teeth and prepared to tell the woman where she could shove her money and her mission. Then the disc caught his attention. He frowned, picked it up, and examined it.
Somewhere, on some other plane of existence, all the blood drained from his face and went to his stomach, settling there in a chill, leaden weight. When the woman spoke again, her voice was distant, but he heard every word clearly, despite the fact that he was unable to take his eyes from the disc.
"That portrait was made from a description. Given three days ago by one of the survivors of a fire in the city of Meento. Rimon told me who he was, and I thought you would know him. Especially since he's supposed to be dead."
Gateau's hand shook. Kei looked at him oddly, sudden suspicion in his eyes, but Gateau barely noticed it; he stared at the image in silence. It was Marron, all right. The description had been accurate, and the artist had reproduced the face well. It was the face that Gateau had seen over and over again, a thousand nights in five thousand dreams. Alive. Alive.
Gateau swallowed hard and forced himself to speak, his voice thick. "Where?"
There was triumph in Merrine Topaza's voice when she spoke; she knew she'd won. "Meento was the last sighting. No one knows where he is now; it's just him and one other person, traveling together---a pale-haired woman." She paused. "But there are only three members of the Conclave left, and one of them is my husband. I don't know where your friend is now, but I know where he'll be. You can come to our citadel and wait for him. If you agree to protect my husband."
He turned, swiftly, to glare at her, and she smiled. Kei looked from one to the other, scowling now.
"It's not like I've got much of a choice," Gateau growled finally. "I'll be there tomorrow."
Kei stared at him, and the woman bowed again, another patronizing incline of the head. "I thought you'd reconsider," she said smugly. "I'll tell our armsmen to expect you." Turning on her heel and pulling up the hood, she exited the tavern.
As soon as the door closed, Kei was on his hand, prying at his fingers. He scowled, irrationally loathe to open his hand, but finally sighed and did so, trying to brace himself inwardly for the confrontation he knew was going to come. He couldn't. He didn't have the resources to muster right now to handle Kei's temper.
But Kei was surprisingly silent. He gazed at the disc for a long while; when he finally spoke, his voice was contemplative. "So that's what he looks like. Doesn't look as much like me as I expected." Gateau said nothing, and Kei looked up at him, examining his face for a moment. "I'm going with you, you realize."
"No."
"You can't stop me. If you leave without me, I'll be on a horse right behind you as soon as I can buy one."
"You've never been further than the next town. You're an actor, for Kami's sake. Not a fighter."
"You're not going to fight him."
He turned and looked at Kei, surprise mingling unpleasantly with guilt. Kei watched him, his expression candid and calm---not fooling Gateau one whit. There was too much tension in Kei's jaw, too much anger glittering in those green eyes, for Gateau to think that Kei was taking this well.
"I'm going to find out what I can, Kei," he replied at length, as honestly as he could. He took a deep breath and spoke as much to himself as to his lover. "It may not be him. A coincidence like this isn't too likely, but that doesn't rule out some kind of trick."
"You don't think it's a trick." Ah, the anger was peeking around the mask now; Kei was modulating his voice the way he did when he was on stage, so as to project emotions he didn't feel. Like calmness.
"I don't know what to think, right now," Gateau admitted. He leaned on the bartop, putting his face in his hands for a moment and taking a deep steadying breath. He felt weak and dizzy, as if someone had picked him up and shaken him. "I can't think, Kei. I know this wasn't something you wanted to hear."
Kei laughed, once, harshly. "That's an understatement. When I think of---" He cut himself off, sharply, curtailing words he'd later be unable to retract. He laughed again instead, more bitterly. "I'm coming with you, Gateau Mocha, and you know full well you can't stop me. If I'm going to be dumped for him, I want to face him full on, and find out what kind of man you could still love after he let you think he was dead for three years."
Gateau flinched, lowering his hands to the countertop and bowing his head. Kei fell silent again, sighing. "Well. There goes my chance of getting laid tonight."
"Kei, I---" Kei cut him off, signaling curtly to the bartender and handing back the key; the man scowled, but put Gateau's coin back on the counter. Then Kei turned to look at him. Gateau frowned. His lover's face was tightly controlled, but Gateau knew him too well; the shadows of hurt were in his eyes. He had seen those shadows too often to mistake them.
"I'm going home. You can sit there and brood for the rest of the night if you want, or you can come back with me and get some rest. I know you'll want to start out early in the morning." He rose, gracefully and with dignity, and pulled on his cloak. Gateau looked at him, noting how slowly Kei pulled his cloak on, and belatedly guessed that there was a correct response.
"I'm coming," he said, standing himself. Kei flashed him a quick look that mingled consternation, anxiety, and gratitude all at once. Then the mask slipped back into place.
"Fine," was all he said, and he turned to stalk toward the door. Gateau followed him out of the tavern, silent all the way back to Kei's apartment in the theater district. The wind chilled him to the bone, but he barely felt it. To his surprise, he was not plagued by thoughts and questions as he walked. He truly could think of nothing.
When they got back to the apartment, Kei ran a warm bath for him, then undressed him and guided him into it. He let himself be manipulated because he knew it comforted Kei to pamper him. He closed his eyes and kept thinking of nothing as Kei bathed him, then oiled his hands and massaged his shoulders gently.
When the massage became caresses, he didn't protest. When Kei pulled him out of the tub and into the bedroom, he followed willingly.
They made love. Gateau was snarled at and clawed and bitten and even pummeled once or twice, and he made no response except to seek out the places Kei loved to have touched. Even when Kei pulled his hair and cursed him, he was gentle. Only when Kei was limp and exhausted, half gasping and half sobbing with his release, did Gateau stop. They lay quietly together for the rest of the night, entangled in one another, not sleeping.
It was the only apology either of them could bear to make.
Heartbeats.
His own? No. Too slow. Too perfectly regular. Too deep.
Marron drifted through darkness, and the sound of that inhuman heart surrounded him.
He stopped. Before him, the darkness lit for a moment, illuminating a single spot. Zeii's corpse, strung on Carunirian's death-frame. Broken. Violated. He turned his face away.
[Look.]
I can't.
[Look. The dead must be honored.]
He looked and fought back the tears that suddenly threatened, the pain that suddenly twisted, deep in his gut. It swelled, devouring. He curled into a knot, trembling and fighting desperately to keep it from overwhelming him, losing the battle.
Something caught him. Injected coolness into his veins, wrapped him in calm; a moment later the pain was gone. No. Not gone. Never gone. But subdued. Restrained within, where he kept it always, channeled so it could serve as fuel and not consume him instead.
Thank you.
[Pain for pain. Blood for blood.]
Yes, I know.
[Remember it.]
I... remember.
But he ached. The coolness was emptiness, the calm was emotionlessness, and against his will parts of him remembered what it meant to feel, to be whole. To be touched in more than a superficial way. Would he ever have that again? Zeii had promised him that he would.
[I have everything you need.]
Another touch, this one physical---or as physical as anything could be, here on the dream-plane. Hands enfolded him, drew him close. He leaned against solid clothing and muscle and bone, a narrow chest. Wiry arms braced him, thin hands rested on his back. Because it was something close to the comfort he craved, he relaxed and let himself be held. Because it was all he had, he welcomed the contact.
But the flesh that pressed against his was cold.
Marron sat up sharply, coming fully awake in an instant. A moment later he relaxed, feeling the lingering chill loosen its grip. He looked around, seeing the canvas walls of their tent and Mirufi slumbering beside him. Outside, one of the horses whickered softly, then fell silent.
Sighing, he lay back on the blankets, gazing up at the ceiling of the tent and berating himself silently for letting his guard down. Usually the dreams didn't trouble him if he was very tired. Most of the time, the day's journey was enough to exhaust him sufficiently. When that failed, Mirufi was always obliging. Tonight neither seemed to have been enough to keep the images at bay.
Stress, he told himself, clinically. The last few missions have been difficult.
Yes. It had taken a great deal of effort to hold Lady Torumarin's mind intact while she had burned to death.
He swallowed back bitterness and set his jaw, sternly quelling the small voice that, as always, raised objections within him. Pain for pain. That was the only way. Each one of Zeii's killers needed to suffer as badly as he had. It had to be done.
Blood for blood.
Taking a deep breath, Marron began his nightly meditation, and concentrated this time on his plans for Lord Topaza.
**End Ch. 11