Chapter Text
You were never going to get that sticky feeling out of your mouth. For the past week, you have had a goblet in hand every evening, and the taste of fermented fruit on your lips.
The Ambassadors voiced their plans to leave on the morrow, and for each day, you bore a growing fatigue. The evening celebrations in combination with your morning duties as priestess had resulted in an unconquerable ache behind your eyes at all times. The moments you did find rest were either slumped against a statue before the morning service, or in the pews before the evening feasts.
Ever since Parcel and Letra discovered where your chambers were, the twins sought you out at any and every opportunity.
Your typical place of refuge now failed in serving its purpose. It was more than once you were tempted to seek out the hidden gem that was Hector’s library, consequences be damned.
Despite your griping, you could not deny how delightful it was having friends again. It reminded you of your girlhood in the cenobium, surrounded by those like-minded enough to care about you. Parcel and Letra were intrigued by your religion and your passions, but the frequency of their presence was an ever vexing constant.
A part of you missed the peaceful days where your companionship was strictly limited to a barking Swift and whatever poor animal she attempted to catch.
With your quarters now unguarded from infiltration, your only respite was the chapel.
Despite their curiosity of the faith, neither of them dared venture inside the cozy sanctuary, despite your frequent reassurances. They could not possibly make a worse impression on your gods than Hector.
But you were not about to pressure an unwilling soul into a house of divinity, regardless of what His Majesty desired. If the allure of your presence and conversation were not enough to tempt them inside, then you would gladly take the moments of escape.
As of this very moment, you were as far from the peace of the chapel as you could be. You polished off another goblet in your hand, head ringing, and wincing at the pain shooting up your legs.
These shoes were made to decorate your feet, not to cushion their steps after multiple hours of dancing. A more durable form of footwear would be unseemly if worn at court, and you strove to have a perfect appearance, if nothing else.
The room was a dull roar of laughter and song. You would count the throng of bodies if your mind could focus for more than a handful of moments.
You longed for a small room of candles and the silent, protective watch of your deities.
Your one mercy, to your great astonishment, was the King’s Wizard himself. The Great Hall was crowded with courtiers in their finest garments, all trapping heat like a clay chiminea. You would be pouring sweat if not for his control over the temperature, just mild enough to be comfortable in an otherwise sweltering room. He was here, but a cursory head swivel around the room did not reveal his presence.
Leave it to him to keep his word. He was wise to stay hidden.
“Priestess!” The vowels in your title were sung in lovely lilt, saccharine sweet. Your heart flew into your mouth.
Parcel bounded over to you, two goblets of wine in his bejeweled hands. Heads and shoulders dipped in respect as he pranced past. You greeted him by title, returning his courtesy in kind. A spike of pain shot through you as you shifted your weight.
He scoffed at your response, reproaching you for the unnecessary formality.
“What is a lovely thing like you doing holding an empty glass?” He pried the just finished cup from your gloved hand, replacing its presence with a full one. It could not be heavier than a small stone, yet you felt the weight of the scarlet substance pulling you through the floor.
You looked at it the way the maids looked at Swift when she tracked mud into the castle.
“Where is your sister?” you inquired mildly. The duo were rare to separate.
“Off trying to make your king see reason. Cheers!” he clicked the rim of his drink against yours, making strong eye contact. You return the gesture and down a sip of the alcohol.
Your stomach roiled. The rich red burning down your throat sloshed inside your unhappy innards. A bitter aftertaste coated your teeth, and the pang behind your eyes worsened.
You tried to peer over the crowd to the thrones at the front of the room. The king was nowhere to be found, and the queen was overseeing the floor in his absence. The edges of the room were blurred, but that golden crown was unmistakable. Your eyes settled into a stray corner, attempting to focus, but to no avail.
Strange.
“Where is your sister, again?” you asked, swaying. You sniffed at your cup, taking another paltry sip. The burn was stronger going down. Where did he even get this vintage?
Parcel leaned to the side to match your eyeline. An empty throne and a busy queen. “Oh, she’s not here, Priestess. She’s…entertaining him,” he hummed knowingly, lifting his fragrant glass to you.
You blinked, a little too intoxicated to comprehend his meaning. What could be more entertaining than a party held to celebrate one’s presence? Did these ambassadors not know the lengths the castle went to for these events?
You smiled, pretending to understand him, “Ah, yes. Is this a cultural custom? Entertaining?”
His smile was blurry, like seeing a sliver of the moon from underwater.
“Why, Priestess,” he stepped closer into your space, towering over you, “if I did not know your character, I would think you were teasing me.”
Your mouth twitched downward. Gods, between your feet, your head, and your stomach, you did not know which felt more up-ended. What vintage did he bring you? Surely, the kitchen attendants would not present a sour bottle to the guests.
Parcel’s face materialized far too close to you. He smelled of the sickly wine and…the winter daphne?
“You look a bit flushed, darling. Could it be that my presence intoxicates you that much?” He went to playfully hover his ringed hand against your bare forehead. Your heart raced.
“Wait—!” The touch was gentle, lingering. You nearly vomited on the marble floors.
Inebriated, and far too late to stop him, you were abruptly yanked into his mind channels by the presence of the cool digits against your skin. His thoughts bubbled to the surface in a jagged current of malevolence and irritation. Forsooth, why? The repressed anger cut against your own consciousness like scrubbing sand, though he seemed unaware of your alarm emanating from inside his own head.
Pray that the dosage was correct. I can’t have any more complications tonight.
Well, I’d rather fuck up the dosage here than with the king. Then again, only a fool would fail to concoct a fatal dose, Letra. If you cannot get the old blackguard to understand why we need to eradicate these magic wielders, then kill the despot and replace him with someone who will actually see reason.
His perspective pivoted to your sallow face. From his eyes, you were witness to your own vacant expression. Your mouth pinched downward in unease. You looked ill, but Parcel’s opinion differered.
Oh, you look so beautiful when flushed with poison, little dove. I’d have loved to fuck the heresy out of you.
Perhaps it’s not too late for that.
The betrayal of your once friend thinking such heinous thoughts about you, the outright deception rattled your sense of self. You struggled to maintain your balance. It would have been kinder if he had cut your ears off.
Parcel’s hand retreated, and his horrific thoughts fled with it. No, no! The room spun, and everyone’s faces melted into a horrifying kaleidoscope of color.
Just what did he put in your drink? What unholy acts was Letra doing to His Majesty?
Lips pursed in faux pity, Parcel took your arm, setting your drink aside. Your trembling hands offered no resistance, and your eyes wavered over the floor as you tried to regain your bearings.
“I’m beginning to think you might have overindulged, darling. Perhaps we should adjourn.”
Overindulged? He poisoned you! And Letra was planning to do the same with the king!
As he guided you across the floor, the crowd parted, all too absorbed in their own conversations to notice your pleading glances and pained grimaces. Parcel’s careful hand pulled you away from any hope of saving yourself.
Please, anyone!
Your throat attempted a weak noise, whether it be out of pain or frustration, you did not know. Regardless, no one could hear you against the lively hum of celebration. You were a crumpled petal caught adrift in the flow of a raging river, helpless to fight against its pull.
Parcel dragged you to your quarters, the walk there a mindless trudge where you failed to flee his unforgiving grasp. A tired soul, a poisoned body, and aching feet made for poor listeners to a panicked mind. You prayed for strength.
From the way his hand had ventured from your arm to down your waist, you understood that your safety was all but evaporating from your grasp.
The door to your quarters swung closed behind you with an ominous thud that rang out through the room.
“Alone at last, little dove,” he hummed, shuffling you both into your bed chamber. A fine layer of dust had gathered on your multitude of belongings. Neglected stacks of trunks and boxes towered over the two of you as he forced your tormented form upon the counterpane.
“No,” you whimpered, pulling at his unforgiving hands. The betrayer disregarded your weak gestures.
“Oh, I know, I know. I also find it disagreeably warm in here. It is not a wonder you prefer that drafty little chapel. Here, let’s get you out of these gloves.”
A watery wail erupted from your mouth. You flinched as his disgusting fingers made contact with your bare skin. The touch burned like sulfur as his mind channels cleaved open, pulling you asunder.
To be the first to feel this maiden’s flesh. Hopefully she has enough strength in her to struggle. It is always so delicious when they fight.
Bile attempted to climb up your throat as revulsion pulsated within. You were not as lucky as last time to hide your presence from him. It took all but a moment to realize he was not alone in his own mind. Your talent crackled as fear bled into his expression. Hate flooded his consciousness, choking his mind channels as he realized who you were, and what you could do. He yanked his defiling hand away, sealing your fate, and his mind channels, shut.
“You,” he snarled, and the transformation the vitriol had on his face was frightening. This man who was once your friend had become a stranger, “I thought it was that black-veiled churl running about, but it was you!”
You rose on shaking elbows, attempting to scramble backwards from him, screaming as he clawed at you.
“I had my suspicions, but maybe I should thank you for providing me proof!” He grabbed at your dress, pulling the bodice with enough force to rend the glittering material. The white disintegrated like the fragile membrane of an egg shell, leaving your bare legs to flail against his assault.
“And what better way is there to show my gratitude?” he spat, clenching his teeth in a grotesque mimicry of his usual charming smile.
You jumped, but not quickly enough. He lunged for you, slamming his ringed fist into your abdomen. Your stomach rebelled at the hit, spewing the partially digested, poisoned wine onto his fine doublet.
He screamed in disgust, looking down at himself. You clambered to your feet. You needed to leave before he decided to repay you for the unintentioned slight.
“Leaving so soon, whore?” his hand shot out like a viper, curling around your guimple, snatching the sacred covering from your head. You shed the garment, along with several chunks of your hair, as he scrambled to grab you.
You did not pause to even breathe, running for the door, knocking stacks of dusty books, boxes, and clutter into the path behind you. Anything to impede his reach. Anything to build the distance between his vengeful hands and you. He shouted his frustration, but you did not dare turn back.>
You stumbled out the door, your hair flying behind you like a banner of surrender.
Your stomach heaved in agony, clamping down on its own emptiness. Your head pounded, flames dancing behind your eyes. You continue to run, not even pausing while you gag at the acrid taste on your tongue and the shame of having your hair uncovered in public.
The torches flew past in a glowing line of light while your feet screamed at you to stop. Your stomach screamed at you to stop. Your soul puppeteered your legs without conscious thought. You knew to stop meant violence.
If the king died tonight, you would be hunted down like a dog. You could not stop.
The halls were empty. The celebrations were still in full effect as the attendants still dutifully maintained the carefully curated atmosphere within the distance of the Great Hall to the kitchens. It was too far from you. Keep running.
You did not register where you are going, only that it needed to be away.
There was no one to stop you from blindly lurching through an exit door, the hinges whining as you threw your entire weight into prying it open. The cold air hit like thousands of needles across your uncovered skin and hair. You did not stop, fleeing further from the stone walls and into winter’s hold.
The icy wind stung your damp eyes and the wet tracts down your cheeks. The snow melted under your footsteps, the icy sludge sullying your slippers and cutting into your feet. Shallow breaths left your lungs in shaky clouds, each one a struggle as you staggered toward the tree line.
Keep going. Get away. Run away.
Deadened branches like splayed hands welcomed you into the frozen woods. Your lungs fought to expand as the frosty air stripped your body of moisture. Your bare legs tremored under the force of keeping you going, but still shakingly power you between the trunks at full speed. What remained of your dress glittered like the scales of a minnow under the winter stars.
The snow was deeper here, treacherous, pulling at your feet with every hastened step. Icy gouges were left in your wake as your bare legs took the brunt of the cold. A brown shape interrupted the intermittent rows of grey trunks and the white ground. It was small, sloping like a little hill, with a bumpy texture.
It pulled your attention, just for a moment, but slow enough for something vicious to snag your ankle. You plummeted to the ground, faster than you could register stopping, landing with a shriek. Your ears rang at the jarring change in position, and for a petrifying moment, you feared Parcel had captured you.
Through disoriented eyes and a headache strong enough to split your skull, you shifted to peer at what had ensnared your ankle. It felt like hundreds of teeth burrowing into the sinew. But the two paralleled arcs bracketing your ankle did not belong to any animal. Blood seeped from the growing wound like syrup from a spile, painting the embroidery of your ruined slippers a dingy red.
The fox trap. The one Swift found at the beginning of the season, when you left your basket of forageables. The broken basket was what caught your attention!
You tried to reach downward, to pry the painful mechanism from digging any further into the bone of your fragile joint. Your hands, numb from the cold, and slippery from the blood, were useless, only succeeding in flaying your skin wider. You tried to dig for the chain, the cold of the metal stinging what little you could feel in your palms. You pulled, but the dry ground gave no quarter to your efforts.
Weakened from your fight with Parcel, with one glove and a thin, shredded gown, the ice not only seeped into your skin, but into your resolve.
No one knew you were out here.
You yanked at the chain again.
Give up, girl.
You pulled again, scrapping the frigid skin off your shaking grip. You grit your teeth as the chain rattled. It did not move.
You were too weak.
You leaned back, using your weight to try and yank the unyielding piece of metal out of the ground, crying out. The pain splintered and your wound leaked crimson droplets on the untouched snow.
It would be over soon.
Your grip loosened, and your tired back landed upon the gentle cushion of the snow-covered earth. Snowflakes fell in fat clumps in their graceful downward dance upon your uncovered hair. It was like the stars were diving to the earth to greet you. A voice, distant as the coming morning, whispered a celestine promise inside your thoughts.
Sleep, little shepherd, we will carry you home.
Your soul fought it, your mind fought it, but your body gave every concession, exhaustion pouring into you with every desperate inhale. When your eyes closed, the pain evaporated. Time bled into itself, the cold unweaving from your senses like a spool of thread. Rest was a loyal friend you had not encountered in ages, waiting for you to come back.
There, on the frozen earth, sheltered underneath the gnarled branches of snowcapped trees, the serrated steel of the fox trap was an entire world away. The burning emptiness in your stomach, the pounding behind your eyes, and the numbing cold climbing up your hands and injured ankle all faded away.
For the briefest of moments, you detected the sounds of snow crunching under fast footsteps. You dismissed it. Under the thrall of sleep, the world was a snowflake on the wind, here and gone in but a moment. You chose to rest.
That was, until two scalding hands wrenched you from your peaceful slumber and straight into dilating caverns of someone’s frantic mind channels.
No no no no no no no.
Little shepherd, this cannot be. This is all my fault!
May the hells take whomever did this to you. May the hells take me for letting this happen!
Who set this trap for you?!
The thoughts were multitudinous, ranging from worry to rage, each one jumping over the next in a thunderous cacophony of terror. You would shout if you had the strength.
But as you traipsed through this frenzied mind, you knew these were not the hands of one who sought to hurt you.
The hands, warm as a living furnace, infused heat throughout your entire body, starting with your center and permeating outward toward the tips of your frozen fingers. Snowflakes singed into vapor upon your bare skin.
Even if the stranger did not touch you with palms too warm and familiar to belong to anyone but him, the taste of sweet magic in the air would have immediately named your savior as Hector.
Tears brimmed at your creased eyes, lashes dusted with snowflakes.
Of course he would be the one to see you like this. Half-dressed, and hair tussled about, shame was written on every inch of uncovered skin. Had you not sunk low enough in his consideration?
You caught an image of yourself flashing in his mind. Wading through the honey-thick worry, you could witness the stillness of your body, the frigid temperature of your skin, and the gruesome sight of your injured ankle. All of which produced a muddied anguish to rise to the surface.
None of that anguish belonged to you. The steady stream of heat from his hands ameliorated the worst of frayed spikes of cold and pain. Did seeing you like this affect him so?
Identifying emotions in a person’s mind channels was a fundamental aspect of your talent, one of the first things you learned how to do, but you still struggled to identify the sheer adoration and respect he encircled you with. Through the powerful ravines of his mind, the tenderness and regard for your person was an ever-powerful constant, a path familiar and well worn from frequent travel.
This, this, was what Hector thought of you?!
All this time, three seasons, mistaking his demeanor for haughty superiority, only to discover that he harbored you in the highest position of his esteem?
His feelings, that which he placed a tangible border against the rest of the world, you had now permeated. Infiltrating behind that impenetrable veil with as much effort as a single breath, and he all but welcomed you with an unquestioning ardor.
You tried to open your mouth, to plead with him, but speaking as you were now was attempting to bottle mist. Why would he keep such distance if he showed such deference to you?
He noticed your exertion, but failed to identify its cause, choosing to thumb at a tear that had escaped your devastated eyes. You caught his apprehension at such a forward gesture, followed by the distress at you being up upset at all.
One two three four five six seven eight.
Steady. Even. Good, we may make it through this, yet.
Save your strength, little shepherd. If your gods will not deign to save you, then I will.
You almost laughed at him, mustering a weak smile instead. Who did he think sent him?
You allowed him his small sacrilege, drifting in the warmth of his talent, only to startle at the feeling of a warm, slobbering tongue over your still face.
An additional consciousness brushed yours, inelegantly pushing a vibrant and indistinguishable joyreliefjoy from their overbrimming mind.
Swift hovered above your prone form, panting her hot breath in your damp face, tail wagging with the force of a summer hurricane. Dearest friend, how glad you were to know she was here.
She huddled close to you, lying down on the snowy earth, the warmth of her fur against your side.
You were caught between her delight in finding you, and Hector’s thrumming panic as he attempted to find the most painless avenue for prying the fox trap from your shattered joint. His trepidation was almost tangible despite him not voicing it out loud.
You attempted to push further into his mind, wrapping his consciousness in the care he bestowed upon you. If you just had the strength to speak!
Hector…
Pain lanced through your attempted connection. The fox trap’s abrupt adjustment shooting pain up your leg, causing you to cry out.
Your throat jerked with an overwhelmed whimper, your closest physical attempt to reach out to your savior.
Swift emitted a similar noise, huddling closer. A rapid feeling of her stress struck a percussive rhythm against your consciousness.
“I’m sorry—I’m sorry! I need to pry this off. I know it hurts, but I’ll go as quickly as I can,” he spoke, for the first time since he encountered you that night. His voice was a high, mournful sound, so unlike the performance of his usual, mysterious demeanor. A second glance within his mind confirmed his self-hatred for adding to your pain, despite it being the only way to get you out of this situation.
True to his word, the serrated edges clamping down on your ankle departed with a strained grunt of effort. Hector never left you untethered, a gentle, bare hand higher on your ungloved wrist throughout the entire process.
The sting of the trap abated, though the ache of the gaping wound still remained, dripping rubies onto the bolt of red velvet already across the snow. Your ankle would no doubt need cautery and a visit to the healer for intensive restructuring. A mulberry-black bruise was already settling in.
You tried to reach through his mind channels again, communicating what you knew had to be done. If he trembled, then you would give him the strength he needed.
Hector…with your hands, I need you seal my injury.
He glanced down at you, the black veil shifting as his head turned. He had you completely in his eye-line. You tried not to signal your embarrassment through your connection. Your appearance was the worst it had ever been.
You pressed forward, like sinking your hands in bread dough. Hector, largely unfamiliar with your talent may startle at your presence inside the most sacred of spaces: his mind.
You registered the moment it clicked for him, how he was “hearing” you, and what you were asking him to do.
To his credit, he adjusted quickly.
Little shepherd, I do not want to hurt you, but I feel that no matter what I try, that is what happens.
Still too weak to speak, you pushed your own method of comfort towards him, intertwining your thoughts to his, settling his nerves and giving him confidence. Swift was an unintentional benefactor of your effects, as her head rested against yours.
I trust you. I know you do not wish me harm. I am so glad you are here...
Please, Hector…
A memory, one he treasured, bubbled to the surface, you followed the current to an alcove in the castle gardens. In the fall, you had held him close and soothed his nerves while he was helpless with panic. He found the similarities between this situation and that one, and deeply regretted his behavior toward you not 12 hours later.
A flash of your church, the room lit by hundreds of candles, and a regret so powerful it could have swallowed you whole.
The thought had a fresh deluge pour from your eyes. Your teeth clamped together as you bit down on a sob. You were so vicious to him in the chapel, what choice did he have but to respond in kind?
My deepest apologies, Hector. I did not understand…please forgive me.
His dismay was sharp against your sorrow, like he could not contain his disbelief within the bounds of his consciousness. The memory dissipated like wisps of smoke.
You were uncertain if the guilt was radiating from you or from Hector.
What are you sorry for, shepherd? What could you ever be sorry for?
The deep, restrained urge to wrap you in his arms was one you were witness to. He immediately strangled the thought, cutting it off before it could form into something coherent. He would hurt you if he acted on impulse.
But he would be hurting you, regardless. Cautery, without anything to numb you, would be agonizing.
You registered that his talent exceeded far greater than what you initially speculated, reaching hot enough to melt your bones if he so chose. So he could seal your wound closed without any tools.
Hector kept his left hand upon your bare leg, the warm texture of his skin radiating through every fiber within you. You tried not to let your mind betray your thoughts at the intimate touch. His right, he hovered above you, hot enough to distort the air around it in blurry waves.
The apprehension knocked through his mind like a caged animal. The fresh snow, vivid as redcurrants, would gladly accept your blood as your injuries worsened until the entire forest floor was red. You felt the decision solidify in his mind. He knew what must be done.
Don’t look, shepherd.
May your gods forgive me for this.
You obliged, even withdrawing your own viewpoint through his eyes.
And the pain struck.
An inhuman noise split the air, shrill enough to echo through the stalwart trees. Your body, submerged in a sea of white-hot blades, stiffened like a board against your will. All sensation narrowed to your ankle, and the sickening crackle as your skin cooked under the heat of Hector’s hand.
Swift, alarmed at your reaction, and the bout of pain that bled over into her own consciousness, had fled your side and your talent, tucking her tail between her legs as she ducked behind a nearby evergreen. She whined in a sympathetic harmony that was quickly drowned out by your own desperate screaming.
Hector’s own mind channels had twisted themselves into a panicked ball, and though he attempted to send declarations through to you, they were lost as you failed to comprehend anything that was not the sizzling agony around your ankle that radiated mercilessly outward.
Your skin freezing and burning all within one night.
The gods wept.
The torment powering through you is exemplified by Hector’s sorrow at hurting you. The barest hint of light, deep within his mind channels, was the rejoicing of his neared proximity, and his ability to help.
And then his hand was gone. The absence of heat left little choice for the winter chill to climb forth, sinking into your clammy skin.
The pain abated like a low tide, still there, but fading to the point where you did not have to fight for coherency. Small whimpers escaped your mouth with each exhale.
A slimy texture against your tear-stained face revealed Swift’s returned presence. Her attempts at comfort accompanied the almost maternal protection she felt towards you. She did not like smelling your burned flesh, communicating droplets of stress in between her constant current of love and relief.
She did not lie down again at your side, cleaving your connection when she finished distributing her kisses. Instead, she jumped toward the treeline, ready to guard you from any creature that may lurk too close. She had not yet realized that the danger lurked in the castle, not the quiet of the wood.
You chanced a glimpse through Hector’s eyes. The cautery scar was a vivid scarlet around the edges of the sealed wound. It was in the shape of a large hand, circling your ankle. You could no longer see the ivory bone peaking beneath the torn sinew, and though the cold wind created an unpleasant chaff against the throbbing burns, you were relieved that it was over.
You did not realize you were trembling, until Hector gently laid a comforting palm against your bare leg, the uninjured one. Worry flooded the connection between you. You evaporated it with a glance, sending gratitude as a better suited replacement.
I could live for a thousand years, and it would still not be enough time to repay the thanks I owe you, Hector…
He was rattled by your transferred feelings and the angry, hand-shaped mark he left on your skin, forever. Chatter like birdsong flitted around and around inside his mind channels.
What…what do I say to her? What could I say to her?
Does she not know there is no limit to the things I would do for her?
Wait. She is in here. She can hear me!
He thundered a horrified, harmless expletive from inside his head. Amusement danced between you.
Ever noble, Wizard. I lament that it has taken me this long to know you as you are now.
A hopeless coward? A craven churl? A spineless, impulsive, reprehensible…
One two three four five six seven eight.
Hector continued to litter dozens of potential insults at himself between you two, his panic rising with each disparaging slight. It stunned you to learn how little he thought of himself, even in the wake of saving your life.
You dispersed his spiral of self-affronts like flicking water from your hand. None of that, Wizard.
As fond as you are of calling me this, I am surprised that you had never thought of giving the title to yourself.
Confusion surged through his mind channels, he did not know what you referred to. A gentle affection shimmered through your joined thoughts, like sunlight on still waters.
You summoned your strength. Around the smile of your bloodless mouth, the indebted words were no louder than a breath, despite your best effort.
“Shepherd,” your throat crackled around the word.
His abashment crested dramatically, though he did not remove his hands from your skin. He shuffled, diffident, at the realization that you had learned of the secret, affectionate title he whispered endearments toward within his own mind. You would hold him if you had the strength.
Do not shy away from me now, Hector...
A shiver clamped down upon you, seizing you to your cold bones. You wince at the violent movement. Hector, a stalwart defense against the elements could not guard you against your own fragile body.
We need to bring you back to the castle. I can’t keep you warm enough to stay out here and…and the healer needs to see your ankle.
A frisson of alarm careened through you. Your hair! You could not let anyone see your hair uncovered. You refused. The shame of it would swallow you whole. A solution was needed.
Do you happen to wear a coat?
No, no, there was no time. I heard the door slam, and saw you flee outside. I…recruited the dog to help find you.
Why does she need a coat?
She should be warm enough if I carry her inside. She cannot possibly walk, any pressure now could snap the entire joint off.
What if she never wants me to touch her again?
My touch, an eternal brand, scorched into her skin. There is no place for me but the hells.
One two three four five six seven eight.
You redirect his thoughts, another mental flick of the hand.
My…my hair. I can’t let anyone see.
It’s against my sect’s order to reveal it in public. I cannot be seen like this…
Hector smothered a thought before it had the chance to race down his mind channels to you. He then shoved it deep, deep within himself. The self-loathing and closely attended panic followed suit.
Even then, his efforts of hiding were like a spring violet trying to shrink from the sun, silly and otiose. You would illuminate through any shadow he could possibly cast, and encourage him to bloom by the tender light of your talent. You pulled the thought forth with little persuasion.
My veil…would that…be enough?
In the whirlwind of the winter’s evening, you had felt the might of Hector's rage and the turbulence of his alarm. As overwhelming as his mind channels were, they were far cry from the abrasive consciousness of Parcel.
The mental construction of Hector’s thoughts were almost like your chapel. It was a shelter for your presence and sublime in its comfort, but when considering the prospect of removing his unyielding shield against the world, his mind became unrecognizable.
It felt as if you were standing at the edge of a great precipice, and far, far beneath you, plunged the unmitigated vitriol that Hector held in regards to his appearance. Withheld from you, and the highest of pedals he placed you upon.
You refrained from speculating on what could create such an opinion of oneself.
Hector mustered the most measured thought he had attempted since you granted yourself entrance into his mind.
I am frightened of what you may think of me upon viewing my face.
He could have the head of a boar and you would place the sweetest of kisses upon his pouting snout. Hector disregarded your thoughts with disapproval, sparking like a flint strike; he did not believe you.
Not all of us are so delightful to the eyes, little shepherd.
A thought, glittering like the facet of a gem, depicted how you appeared to him, fiercesome and resplendent and otherworldly. He felt like he was getting away with something each time you allowed him to speak to you.
Do you truly think me so shallow?
A lengthy pause, one interspersed with silent, falling snowflakes. You waited patiently for his internal reply. He exhaled, closing his shaking fists.
No.
I think of you as human.
Before you could blink, the palms keeping your consciousness so entwined with his were abruptly snipped. You startled at the departure of his heavenly hands on your skin, the chill of the air that wasted no time in invading the space he once occupied.
You opened your mouth. To plead for his return? To apologize for reaching too far into his mind? To beg that he not leave you here? Neither of you would know, for though your consciousness were separated, the amazement was all but written on your face.
His veil, the safeguard against all who would ridicule and derogate and jeer, is drawn from his face, like a black tide retreating from shoreline.
He had curls.
They clustered together, creating the appearance not dissimilar to a little rain cloud. The color was so deep a black, if it were not for the falling snow embellishing his head in a halo, you were certain his hair would have blended in with the night sky.
His expression was that of fright, but restrained; he wanted to believe you. The faith he had in you left you breathless.
“If…if you allow yourself the trust in me to solder your wounds, knowing it would hurt, then I can trust you t-to see me,” he murmured in that downy tone, whisper soft and so rare to hear.
And see you did.
His features were a deep, romantic bronze, matching the shade of his powerful hands. With strong brows and wide, downturned eyes. His mouth, ridiculously plush, was anchored in a downward arch, worry stretching the corners.
The face of the King’s Wizard. The expression of devotion was the most beautiful thing you had ever bore witness to.
He leaned toward you, veil in hand. Your face felt as if it could match the temperature of his hands. With a gentle sweeping motion, he gathered the black material around your head, tucking the strands of your hair inside. He was delicate as he worked, methodical. You could feel the bump of a small knot just below your right ear as he tied off the corners to prevent any tendrils from escaping. He is careful to prevent any contact with your skin, but managed to hide all of your hair inside. His shield became yours. A selfless offering.
“I have to touch you to carry you inside, shepherd.”
Still too weak to answer verbally, you nodded, attempting to reach for him. He reaches before you could make it too far.
With one hand tucked under your unclothed knees, and the other against your back, he lifted you with a huff of effort.
You are held close, head tucked against a warm, sturdy shoulder. The chill in the air evaporated to steam as he began making his way toward the castle, the snow melting to nothing by his footsteps.
Your breaths still came in white puffs. Through his mind channels, you saw that he was counting the distance between them. You saw his worry about your injury, your health, about venturing inside the castle, but has accepted that there is no other option for your survival.
“What is the name of your dog?” he asked, leaning his newly revealed face beside your ear.
Your face burned at his proximity. You could not have fathomed being this close to him, talking to him, three seasons ago.
Swift.
He called her in a gentle tone, encouraging her to follow.
She wasted little time in bounding up to him, panting and at the ready to heed any task asked of her. She pranced in his melted footsteps, letting loose a few playful barks, occasionally trying to bump her narrow head against your dangling, uninjured foot.
You smiled at her antics. How like her to be ready to play in any weather. Hector did not share her jubilation.
“How did you come to be trapped outside?” he asked you, lines carved deep between his worried brows. You felt, more than heard, his words as they resounded through his chest, soothing you to the marrow of your bones.
The answer to that question brought forth a dark feeling that immediately burrowed its way through your chest, hollowing out your soul.
Parcel, he…he poisoned my wine and then tried to force himself upon me. I believe he and Letra have plotted to kill the king, if they have not already.
Hector almost stumbled, his horror washing over his mind channels quite abruptly. Speaking what happened aloud felt not unlike a blade being pulled from an open wound.
He tore my clothes, and gave chase when I ran from him. I worry the king may be dead because of me.
He tried to snuff the alarm resounding inside, to not let most of the incoherent distress slip through, but his thoughts were a maelstrom that even he could not suppress.
This is not your fault, little shepherd. None of this is your fault.
His attempts to soothe were not just for you. He was desperate for a semblance of control over himself. It was like watching a man try to wrestle a raging river.
A stray thought that could not be strangled slithered through. A vicious image, elegant faces made gaunt and gaping by a slow suffocation, black frostbite scars on stiff, ringed hands, and skin boiling from bone.
He chastised himself when you flinched.
Don’t think about such things. She does not need to relive such violence through my eyes as well as her own.
Not even her gods could keep those insolent ambassadors safe once they’re in my grasp.
Focus! Focus on the castle, on getting her to the healers quarters. Melt the snow in my path and steady my steps.
One two three…one two three four five six seven eight.
If her gods did not want a heretic around their most cherished of appointees, they would not throw danger her way and beg me to pick up the pieces.
You had difficulty breathing around your affection you felt in that moment.
Bold of you say such things whilst I am in your arms, Hector.
He startled.
Can you read all of my thoughts whilst my hands are on you?
You smiled weakly, flitting your eyes up to that dear, dear face. One you attempted to memorize, one that you would take great joy in knowing for the rest of your days, should he allow it.
As chaotic as your mind is, I can only catch a few.
It is not too dissimilar from trying to discern the words from multiple conversations at once. I can catch a phrase or two, but not everything is coherent.
That appeared to soothe him. A pity you would disrupt that tranquility, attempting to reclaim the space it had once occupied in his mind.
That being said. I need you to speak plainly for the next question I ask you.
Hector gathered himself, hushing his thoughts like the wind carries away a cricket song. He did not stop walking, though you feel his heart race under his doublet.
Why did you let me think you despised me?
A dozen, a hundred thoughts at once, like pebbles tumbling in a stream. You did not acknowledge any of them. None of them were worth your effort to discern until he chose which of the few he wanted to speak.
Upon looking back at this moment, you wished you would have held your breath. For everything you knew about him would have changed, irrevocably.
“From the minute I saw you I knew you were…of a more refined quality than I could ever hope to be. We are both talented, but that is where our similarities end. What could I have to offer someone of your station? You’re…everything I find lacking in myself, and my affections for you soon became all-consuming. It was something that spiraled out of my control faster than I could allow,” he blinked slowly, keeping his gaze tucked away from you. It did not stop you from trying to drink him in, both his appearance and his words.
“You were a threat to my peace, my sense of normality. You undo me. Even now, I count the pace of your heart, the measure of your breath, and I find I cannot stop the habit any more than I can stop my own thoughts,” he continued, laughing humorlessly.
“I had thought that enough distance between us would erase this deranged want to be close to you, but it has become clear to me that your presence will haunt me until I draw my last breath. Maybe even after, if your gods would allow me to follow your soul when our days end,” he spoke with finality, like this was a forgone conclusion he had long since accepted; that he was destined to love you from afar, forbidden from your touch and fully convinced that any attempts to erode the false barrier between you both would ruin everything.
How lonely he must have been. How stupid you were to have allowed it. You should have chased after him when he left the library, ran him down like the feral bitch you were and saved both of you all of this grief.
Shepherds protect their flock, you should have known him to be someone to shelter rather than a threat to snap your teeth at.
Hector skirted you both along the sandstone walls of the castle, careful to keep out of view of the embraces and windows above. There was a side entrance ahead, something discreet. He thawed the handle with ease, smoke wisps rising into the air from where his palm makes contact.
Hector struggled to open the door, but would not hear of your suggestion for him to set you down. A secret part of you was grateful, you do not think retrieving you from the ground would be particularly graceful.
I heard that, little shepherd.
The door opens with a dramatic creak. You both winced as the hinges groan at the effort.
Swift darted in first, none the wiser to the nervous humans who tread carefully upon the stone floors. Hector used his talent to silence his tread, creating a density in air, not unlike a summer’s day before it rains.
…clever…
Your thoughts…they are quieter.
Were they?
You considered your heavy eyelids and the ease you felt in the safety of his embrace. The warmth of his hands after the death grip of winter, the spent blood on virgin snow, the slow, persistent throb of your ankle. Your body was in debt and sleep was the currency due.
The evening's events have been…most tiresome.
Despite the physical weight of your body he had carried for a significant distance, his posture stiffened further, like a knot tangling in on itself.
We’ll head for the healer’s quarters first.
I trust you at your word, but you will forgive me if my paranoia has not fully abated.
Do not fall asleep until they see you.
For one who waxed poetic regarding the disparaged gap in your positions at court, Hector had no qualms with barking orders at you.
But as masterfully as he could command the air, he could not dispel the pull of sleep, gentle as a lover, pulling you down.
You want it noted you tried to fight it.
Shepherd!
He broke into a run down the empty hallway, full speed toward the fragrant room with the one who might fully heal you.
Not even the ever vibrant storm of Hector’s thoughts could resurface you from the tantalizing world of dreams.
Would it be considered greedy to want to dream of his face?
Stay awake!
I cannot lose you now, not when…
Your gods give me but a moment of you in my arms, and then punish me for the joy I took in it.
Stay awake!
Shep—!