Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was a battle he would be unable to win.

As Tiir realized this, he fell back, trying to shield the children with his body. Those two wouldn't die – he wouldn't allow it. Not while he could still fight, not while he was still breathing.

Which wouldn't be for much longer.

He knew it. He knew it, and there was nothing he could do about it. Once again he would fail them, watch helplessly as the ones who had trusted him to protect them were killed – slaughtered like the beasts they were deemed to be.

He clenched his fists: sharp fingernails impacting on skin with enough force to draw blood. The pain didn't matter, though; he barely even felt the countless wounds all over his body, some of which more serious than others. The only thing that interested him was finding a way out of this.

He couldn't just tell the little ones to run. He had tried that before, when he had first noticed the ambush – but he had been too late, too careless, and the enemy had attacked just a moment later, leaving the children frozen in fear. Even if those two were to escape now, Tiir would probably not be able to come find them when this was over, and their chances of surviving on their own were low. They would be stranded in the middle of nowhere, far away from their brethren, and even in the improbable case that an ignorant human willing to help out stumbled upon them, it was all too likely the truth of what they were would be discovered before they even reached the nearest village.

It would spell their doom.

The soldiers, encouraged by his retreat, cautiously stepped closer. He snarled at them like the mindless, bloodthirsty creature they saw in him, and enjoyed the fleeting satisfaction of watching them stumble backwards, some tripping over their own feet in their haste to get away from him.

Their commander wasn't so easily intimidated, though, and neither were his elite fighters. Although they were no longer coming closer, there was no trace of fear visible in their eyes, in the way they carried themselves.

Tiir held the leader's gaze, refusing to flinch as the reality of the situation sunk in. They weren't going to make it. Not he himself, and not the two little ones. He might be able to turn the tables if he were to devour another one of the humans, but doing so would mean leaving the children open to attack – just for a moment, but Tiir knew it would be one moment too long.

He discarded the option.

The woman to the right of the commander, the one whose poisoned needle had struck Tiir while he had been busy dodging the first volley of arrows and rendered him unable to fight effectively, raised her arm, and when her weapon pierced his flesh, he knew that his assessment had been correct – that it was one of those accursed items, infused with a magic he couldn't devour. He almost cried out in pain, but in the end he didn't, wouldn't, and just sank to his knees with a hiss.

The little ones were crying his name, and though he thought he'd managed to yell at them to remain where they were through the pain, he couldn't stop them when they came running instead, grabbing his blood-stained robe. His attempts to pull the hook out from just beneath his shoulders remained without success, and watching as the children placed themselves between him and the half dozen arrows that were pointing at his head, he wanted to howl in despair.

He closed his eyes instead, but when he opened them again, the children were still alive.

Of course. The humans wouldn't shoot. They needed them alive if they wanted to gouge out their eyes and take their powers for themselves.

Tiir hated them – hated them so much it hurt.

The woman in possession of the hook produced one of the abhorrent green crystals from her pocket, and Tiir felt hot panic course through him. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get his legs to work, couldn't even shove the children out of harm's way. He bit his lip, and blinked back tears he would never allow the humans to see. He wouldn't give them that pleasure.

The female magician was looking at Ren. The little boy, who used to be the most timid of the children, was glaring right back at her – brave, stubborn, unyielding. He would be the first.

There was nothing Tiir could do.

“Wait.” The woman, already about to invoke the incantation, halted abruptly and turned to gaze questioningly at her leader, who didn't even seem to notice – instead, he was looking right past her. Staring, Tiir realized.

Had fear gotten the better of him, after all? It had taken him long enough. How foolish humans were, to not recognize a superior predator when faced with one. Tiir would have been amused, if not for the fact that under the given circumstances, the humans hardly had anything to fear from him.

They were no longer the prey.

“Is something the matter, Your Highness?” the female magician asked.

Your Highness... Not Gastark, then. Tiir had seen their king once, briefly, and this wasn't him. Neither was he known to have any children, or close relatives, and Tiir was fairly certain that such a title was only given to members of the royal family in most of the northern regions.

Did that mean there were more countries out hunting down his kin and stealing their eyes? The thought had Tiir shaking – whether with anger or from fear for his brethren, he didn't know.

“I... is this really necessary?” the unknown royal asked, at once the picture of hesitancy. He was young; perhaps younger than Roland's king, even. “They're just children.”

“Don't be fooled, Your Highness,” the female magician said. “They may look like children, but that is not what they are. You've heard the reports, and you saw what it–” her cool gaze went past the little ones and focused on Tiir– “did to Commander Narvsen. The other two are no more human. Think of them as rabid beasts. It is but a mercy to put them down while they are still young.”

Tiir growled. How dare she? Filthy, ignorant human. What other species was there so arrogant that it would not only refuse to acknowledge its own inferiority, but presume to look down on that which could tear it apart in an instant?

“I know that they aren't human. I still don't like the thought of killing them – not when they could be just as useful to us alive. We really can't get rid of only the older one without causing the other two to go out of control?”

“It's highly unlikely, Your Highness,” the woman said. “That's one reason why Gastark merely takes the monsters' Eyes rather than capturing them alive and training them, although it means they can only harness their powers once and with extremely limited control. We might not have been able to learn all the details, but it has been confirmed that making use of a live subject is to be highly discouraged. There are some rumors that Roland attempted such a thing in the past, but if those are true, then it appears the results were nothing to brag about.”

“I see,” the human royal said, sounding thoughtful. “He should be unable to move, correct?”

“Yes. I had not tested this weapon on a bearer of the Cursed Eyes before, but if it didn't work on them, we would know by now. The monster seemed very anxious to defend the offspring.”

“He did, didn't he...” The young royal stepped closer, and Tiir prepared himself. One small opening, that was all he needed. While he was indeed unable to get up, he knew he hadn't lost command over his body entirely. If that human were foolish enough to come into arm's reach...

But he didn't do Tiir that favor. He stopped in a safe distance from him, about a step away from the children. Ren didn't back down, and though Tiir couldn't see his face, he was sure the boy was meeting the enemy's leader with a stubborn glare. Next to him, Karda, who feared humans more than anything else, actually moved forward an inch, determined to protect her family no matter the cost. She had always been rash, but she had never seemed so fierce.

There was a part of Tiir that was touched, proud of the brave children who considered him an older brother; but that part was nothing compared to the anger he felt at himself for not being able to live up to that honor, for having become a burden to them rather than a protector.

The shame brought by the knowledge that he would not be able to prevent their deaths.

“Don't come closer!” Karda yelled. “If you try to hurt Tiir-niichan, we'll kill you!” She was trying very hard to sound menacing, and yet it was painfully obvious that it was an empty threat, that she was scared and didn't know a thing about killing people. Her posture was off, and her voice was trembling.

There were humans that would have overlooked the signs thanks to the mindless fear they harbored for their kind, but not this one. He appeared startled, but certainly not shaken.

The human royal held up his palms in a gesture that was clearly supposed to seem non-threatening. “I'm not trying to hurt him. See? I'm not even holding a sword.” The children exchanged glances, unsure, and the human continued, “If the two of you come without a fight, there will no longer be a reason for anyone to get hurt.”

Tiir's eyes widened. He couldn't mean to...

Oh, but he did. That bastard.

Tiir opened his mouth to tell the little ones not to listen – he wouldn't become the reason they were turned into experiments or weapons for those humans' convenience! –, but then he bit his tongue. There was only the choice between letting them be taken alive and watching them be killed, and though Tiir wasn't sure which was worse, he wouldn't be able to bear the latter.

So he remained silent, and didn't object when the children reluctantly let themselves be taken away by three of the humans – more magicians, most likely –, who gave them a look as if they were the vermin here. When the children glanced over their shoulders in search for reassurance, Tiir forced himself to smile at them – the smile remained plastered onto his face until they had vanished into the darkness of the forest; then his expression quickly turned murderous.

He held the human royal's gaze while he waited for what appeared to be the last remaining mage, the female one, to take his eyes. There was no way the humans would just let him go – he had known that from the start, but he was glad that, at least, the children wouldn't know, and perhaps never find out.

It seemed he had misjudged the enemy in one important regard, though.

The human took another step forward. “I promised that no further harm would befall you, and I'm a man of my word. Your eyes are far more valuable to us where they are. So, I will make you a deal. You surrender and submit yourself to our empire, and in return, I shall ensure that those children are well cared for.”

Tiir felt his fists unclench and clench again. “Why should I trust you?”

The human seemed surprised by his reply – as if he hadn't really expected an intelligible response. After a while, he said, “You may see them – one at a time – and confirm their state yourself.”

Tiir maintained eye-contact for a few moments longer, but in the end, it wasn't even a choice. He lowered his head in a sign of submission, ignoring how every fiber of his being protested the action.

There was a short silence, before the human turned around and declared, “The monster has been subdued!”

Cheers broke out, but Tiir barely heard them.

He had failed them all.

Chapter Text

Aside from a single soldier designated to watch him, the humans didn't pay him much mind as they set up the camp. Some men gawked at him from afar, but they soon lost interest when they realized that he wasn't going to move so much as a finger any time soon. Under different circumstances, Tiir would have at least glared at them, but he was too busy trying not to succumb to the pain to spare anything else much attention.

The hook wasn't so bad – it still hurt, but he'd had worse. Its ability to paralyze and even the fact that it had been used to leash him to a tree like some dog were far more maddening than the injury itself. His ankle, either sprained or fractured, as well as a particularly nasty gash on his back were harder to ignore; but those, too, were bearable. It was the poison that made him feel like his intestines were on fire, that had him all but writhing in agony.

There was no way he would allow himself to scream or even just gasp for air, though, no matter how much of an effort it took. It didn't bother him to be called a monster by the human scum, but he was not going to provide entertainment for his enemies by letting them see the full extent of his suffering. The poison wouldn't kill him – they would have either given him the antidote or taken his eyes by now if they thought it might. He just needed to grit his teeth and wait for its effects to lessen.

But gods, it hurt.

He was so distracted trying not to make a sound that he almost didn't notice the enemy's leader approach him.

The man turned to the soldier – probably a high-ranking officer – standing guard. “Anything I should be aware of?”

“Nothing, Your Highness. The monster hasn't moved – which I suppose isn't very surprising, considering it still has that thing stuck in its shoulder.”

The royal nodded, then glanced at Tiir, who tried for a cold stare, but barely managed to keep his eyes open through the haze.

“He looks miserable.”

The soldier snorted. “I'd look miserable, too, if Lymeia had turned me into her pincushion. I swear that woman gives me the creeps sometimes. So did her teacher, for the matter. Don't get me wrong, Garlon was a great man, but you have to admit: he could be one heck of a mean bastard.”

“Tell me about it. I used to have nightmares about him when I was a child.” The royal stepped closer to Tiir, and this time, if he tried, there was a chance Tiir would be able to grab and devour him before any of the humans had the time to react.

However, he didn't know if he would be able to get rid of the hook even after absorbing a life, and the probability of him being able to find the children after all these hours was low. He had no qualms about risking his own life for even the most minuscule chance at an escape, but he would never endanger his family so carelessly.

“What are you doing, Your Highness?” the soldier asked, sounding alarmed.

“What does it look like? Even if it's the non-lethal version, Lymeia's poison doesn't wear off for at least a day when left alone, and until then, it tends to get worse rather than better. It would be rather cruel to leave him like this.”

“It's just a beast!”

“Well, yes, but have you ever been hit by one of those needles? I wouldn't do that to my dog.”

“You also tried to feed your dog cake under the table all the time when you thought your mother wasn't looking, until you were told that it was not healthy for the animal. You can see why I find the comparison rather worrying. And let's not forget that your dog never went around killing people.”

“No, he just urinated on my sister's favorite dress, and then she went around killing people. That priest from Runa? Yeah, well, Mother actually intended to send him back in dishonor, not in pieces.” The young royal took another step forward, but then paused, eyeing Tiir rather strangely. “You don't bite, do you?” he asked.

“It eats people,” the guard said.

“Good point. Well, my sister bit me once – don't ask –, and she says I taste horrible, so do us both a favor and keep your teeth to yourself, would you? Aside from spouting nonsense and digging his own grave by doing so, the priest from Runa also said that fasting is a delight for the soul! ...You do have a soul, right? Anyway, diets can be healthy!”

“The Heavens help me, my Prince has gone mad.”

“I've always been mad. It runs in the family, but don't tell my mother I said that – it's a state secret.” The prince pulled a flask from his belt and crouched down next to Tiir. “Lymeia is the only one carrying the proper antidote with her,” he explained while opening the small bottle, “but this should dull the poison's effects, if nothing else.” He put the flask to Tiir's mouth.

Tiir turned his head away.

“It's nothing bad. See?” The human took a gulp himself to prove his point. “Just a herbal mixture I have with me in case there are any accidents and Lymeia isn't in a position to take care of them.” He held the bottle out to Tiir again.

This time, Tiir didn't turn from it, but only to fix the man in front of him with an icy glare. “I don't need your pity, human.” He made sure to accentuate the last word in such a way that it would sufficiently convey the sentiment behind it.

“Watch your tongue!” the guard snapped at him, but the prince merely tilted his head to the side.

“You're a stubborn one, aren't you? I could be asleep and I would still be able to tell you're in so much pain you can barely think straight.” He paused. “I could just force it down your throat, you know?” Putting the bottle to Tiir's mouth once more, he waited.

At first, Tiir didn't move, but ultimately, he realized there wasn't any way for him to refuse. The human's threat was very real, and Tiir didn't intend to let himself be humiliated like that.

Slowly, he closed his lips around the opening of the flask. The human tilted the bottle upwards slightly, and Tiir took a reluctant sip of the liquid inside. It didn't taste horrible – somewhat like chamomile, if a little bitter. It wasn't until he had gulped down half the flask's contents that he realized how thirsty he had been. He froze, and then tore his mouth from the bottle so fast as if it had burned him.

How pathetic.

The human didn't bother to mock him, though. “You should be able to breathe more easily within a few minutes. We'll remove the hook once the children have arrived at their designated location – it could take a few days until we get word from there, so if you want something against the pain until then, tell me. Lymeia said you won't die, but I don't know much about the algesia of monsters.”

Tiir remained silent.

“I guess you just want to be left alone, huh? Well, all right. I'll be back later. If there's anything wrong, just let Arsan over there know.” He nodded towards the guard. “We wouldn't want you losing consciousness or worse, right?” This time, the human didn't wait for an answer and simply returned to the camp.

Tiir was glad to be able to go back to focusing on ignoring the pain, but as it turned out, the human had spoken the truth regarding the poison. It wasn't even half an hour before he noticed that the burning sensation had disappeared almost entirely, leaving him weak and tired, but lucid.

He thought that he would actually be able to catch some sleep now if he tried, despite the uncomfortable position he was in, but he didn't test his theory. Too many enemies, not enough incentive. With Ren and Karda in those humans' hands, there was nothing he would be able to accomplish at this instance even if he were fully recovered.

He spent the night wondering if the children were still together, at least, and hoping against hope that they were really unharmed.

*

When morning came, the guards were exchanged. The female magician replaced the soldier, and though he shouldn't have cared, Tiir found that he didn't like it. The soldier had largely ignored him, merely watching him out of the corner of his eyes, but the magician was looking directly at him with cold, despising eyes. It was the kind of gaze the little ones probably had to endure at this moment, wherever they were, and the desire to tear the abominable woman apart was so great that having to suppress it was almost more painful than the poison had been.

Around noon, the prince returned to check up on him as he had said he would.

“Nothing of interest,” the magician standing guard said once asked to give a report. “According to Colonel Arsan, it has been awake all night, but that was to be expected. It's probably waiting for an opportunity to escape. I know you are planning to remove the hook eventually, but if you want my advice, I don't think it is a wise idea. It might decide to cut its losses and abandon the offspring after all.”

Oh yes, Tiir wanted to rip off her head and bathe in her blood. He didn't even particularly feel like eating her.

Who did she think she was to even suggest he would betray his brethren? Only humans turned on their own kind.

“He was willing to die for them – surely he won't suddenly change his mind now.”

“Who knows what a monster thinks? Releasing it would be a risk to every single man and woman here.”

“Well, he's not much use to us bound, is he? If there are any problems, I fully trust that you will be able to take care of them – your abilities are outstanding, after all.” The woman scoffed. “That reminds me...,” the prince continued. “What do we feed him? I suppose there are some prisoners we could spare back home, but to be honest, I'd rather not...”

“Don't be silly. It eats magic, too. There is no need for you to go against your delicate sensibilities.”

“Was that an insult?”

“Yes.” A pause. “Though to be truthful, our information on this matter is limited. We know it uses human flesh and magic to heal itself and increase its power, but it's possible that it requires less... outlandish food aside from that.”

“Huh. Well, only one way to find out, right?” The man turned to Tiir. “Hey! Do you happen to eat non-magical food that doesn't try to run from you screaming, too?

Tiir thought about ignoring the ridiculous human, but it had been a direct question, and he had agreed to cooperate, hadn't he? This would be a foolish thing to endanger the little ones over.

“Yes,” he said, simply. Thinking about it, he wouldn't be much use to the children, anyway, if he starved to death here – it was highly unlikely that he would get to consume any significant amount of magic or human meat in the near future, let alone enough to sustain him.

He was only glad that the metabolism of those who possessed the Iino Doue considerably differed from that of humans and even other bearers of the Divine Eyes, or this whole thing would have been even more degrading.

The human nodded once in acknowledgment and returned his attention to the magician. “I'll go get him something – I don't think any of the soldiers would want to do it.”

“No, really? I wonder why monster feeding duty does not look particularly attractive to most people. I should probably offer, but I know how much my Prince enjoys taking care of his pets.”

“He's not a dog, you know.”

“Oh, good. Colonel Arsan was worried you might not be able to tell the difference, and I was beginning to think that he might be right.”

A soft snort. “I'll be right back.”

“Suit yourself.”

It was only a few minutes before the prince returned, a bowl of soup and a piece of bread in hand.

“Why not get it some of the wine, too?”

The young royal rolled his eyes at the snide comment and went over to Tiir.

Crouching down next to him, the human said, “All right, judging from your reaction last time, I suppose this will be hurting your pride quite a bit, but let's try not to make a big deal out of it. The food is good, at least... even if it won't try to run from you screaming. You get used to it.”

Tiir snorted.

The man stared at him, perplexed. “Was that... a sound of amusement? You've got a sense of humor?”

“Don't flatter yourself, human.”

“But, but... you as good as laughed at my joke! Not even my own sister laughs at my jokes.”

“It's a monster all right,” the female magician said.

Tiir refused to acknowledge the idiocy. After a while, the human dropped his peculiar antics and held the spoon out to him. “It's some sort of mushroom soup. I have no idea what exactly it contains, but the cook did one hell of a job with it, that's for sure.”

Tiir tried the dish, and had to admit that it was true. The last time he'd had something this good had been the evening before...

Tiir shut down that process of thought before it could go any further.

“Is something the matter?” the human asked, and Tiir nearly went for his throat despite being almost entirely incapable of moving. “Whoa,” the prince said when he noticed the look Tiir was giving him. ”The soup can't be that bad, can it?” A short pause. “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing,” Tiir said, barely managing not to growl the word. The human gave him one more confused look, but then he shrugged and went back to his task.

Tiir allowed his captor to feed him the entire contents of the bowl, and didn't even protest eating the bread out of his hand. He just wanted this to be over and done with so that he could mourn his friends in peace.

Once the human had left, Tiir balled his fists. Pueka... he hadn't known her for long, but whenever he hadn't been out looking for more bearers of the Divine Eyes stuck amongst humans, he had spent the evenings with her, cooking for the children. Even though she spoke little, she'd been a very warm person, more concerned about other people's suffering than her own and cautiously excited about the prospect of meeting the rest of their comrades, as well as the opportunity to learn spells she could protect her loved ones with.

She hadn't deserved such a death; none of them had.

And Lafra – kind, selfless, loyal Lafra. He had never been much of a fighter, but in the end, he had died trying to save his family, and the woman he'd loved.

The woman who had been killed anyway.

Tiir closed his eyes. He should have protected her, protected them all, but instead, he had just barely managed to stay alive himself – if not for Ryner, every single one of them would have died that night.

How helpless was he, how weak, that he could not even stop a single human from massacring those dear to him?

It was his fault that they were dead almost as much as it was Gastark's.

“You look awfully down.”

Tiir glanced up, startled, at the human prince who apparently had been gone for only a few minutes.

“Is it because of the children?” the man asked. “I promise they are perfectly safe. As long as you stick to our deal, no one will harm even one hair on their heads, and nothing will be done that would be likely to trigger them.” When Tiir didn't react, he continued, “Or do your wounds hurt? I could take a look at them, if you'd like.”

“Why do you care?” Tiir snapped.

The human shrugged. “I don't like upsetting people... or non-people, I suppose. Seeing you look so desolate makes me feel guilty. I can't let you go, but if there's anything else that might help, I would be more than willing to listen.”

Guilty. He was making a human feel guilty. That certainly was a first.

He really must look pathetic.

“There isn't,” he ground out.

The human regarded him for a moment longer – then he sighed and sat down on the ground next to him. “Man, you really know how to make a guy feel bad about himself. All right, go ahead and wallow in your misery. I won't bother you.”

Tiir just stared at him, stupefied. What was that human doing?

“Your Highness,” the guard said. It seemed the soldier from before had once more traded places with the magician while Tiir had been distracted by his grief. “Please tell me you are not trying to cheer up the monster.”

“I'm not trying to do anything. I just happen to enjoy the great view this spot provides.”

“You can barely make out the encampment from here.”

“Exactly – pure and unadulterated nature wherever I look!”

“Right.”

“Why don't you go and take a break? I'll watch him.” The guard hesitated. “Come on – I promise not to feed him any cake.”

The soldier rolled his eyes at that, but finally relented. When he was gone, the prince stretched languidly and let himself fall backwards onto the soil.

Tiir was... nonplussed. He resisted at first, but as time continued to pass without the human moving or talking, he eventually allowed himself to ask the question that had been lying at the tip of his tongue for what felt like hours, “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like? I'm watching the clouds.”

“The... clouds?” Was this human not going to make any sense?

“Yes.” The man sat up. “See that thick one there, next to the really big tree? It looks like a dragon.”

Tiir could have informed him that there were a lot of thick clouds and 'really big' trees in that direction, but he spotted the one the human was probably talking about easily enough.

It looked nothing like a dragon.

Before he realized what he was doing, he was telling the human so.

“But look! It even has wings!”

“There are animals besides dragons that have wings,” Tiir felt compelled to point out.

“You think it looks like a bird?”

“...No.”

“Then it's a dragon!”

“You're quite simple-minded.”

“Is it just me, or is everyone making fun of me today?”

Becoming aware of what was happening, Tiir clamped his mouth shut: he was not going to have a chat with the enemy about clouds.The human apparently realized this and left not much later, but as he watched him go, Tiir was appalled to find that he actually felt a little better.

Unfortunately, it was not the last he saw of the prince. The man would come by every few hours and talk about inane things, as if Tiir actually cared about which tree he thought looked most impressive or what breed of horse was his favorite. He never replied after that first time when the human had caught him off-guard, but it didn't seem to matter. The man just kept rambling.

Well, Tiir thought bitterly. Humans always did like hearing themselves talk.

The following day, after one of his tirades, the prince suddenly said, “I've been thinking. You are born from humans, right?”

It was an easy enough question to answer. “Yes.”

“Then why do you feed on their flesh? Did you eat your mother, too?”

Tiir could tell that the last part had not been meant seriously, so he just kept silent.

Not surprisingly, the human turned to stare at him. Tiir half-expected him to jump up and cry 'monster!' in disgust – even his own kind sometimes was uncomfortable with the Iino Doue's time of awakening –, but he just grimaced instead. “Whoa. That's... yeah. How old were you?” The human looked rather nauseated, but there was also what seemed to be genuine curiosity in his voice.

Tiir, still not sure whether he was being ordered to talk, decided to play it safe. He didn't have anything to lose from answering – as long as the humans didn't decide that he was too dangerous to keep around, at least, but they already knew that he would devour them if he could. “It was shortly before I would have been... born.”

“Before you were born?” The human seemed more bewildered than disgusted now. “How did you even survive on your own?”

This time, Tiir just shrugged.

The prince looked like something had just occurred to him. “Those children... they don't eat humans, do they?”

“No,” Tiir said, trying not to sound panicked. Stupid. The last thing he needed was the human getting ideas. “They both possess the Alpha Stigma,” he explained as calmly as he could, “not the Iino Doue.”

“Oh.” A pause. “Iino Doue?”

Tiir shot the human a look. “Don't you know anything?”

The prince shrugged. “It's Lymeia who is the expert on these things. She was one of those who infiltrated Gastark, and the only one who came back alive. I suppose her parentage made things easier – her father was from around there, and as you've probably noticed, she's inherited the peach-colored hair. Anyway, she gave a report to my mother, and the Council as well as a few of our magicians have been made aware of what she discovered, but I haven't had the time to concern myself with the details.”

“I see,” Tiir said. At least his captors didn't seem to be on friendly terms with Gastark – he didn't know what he would have done if they were. He hesitated for a moment, then added, “The children aren't a threat to you. They have never killed anyone.”

“I understand. Don't worry, they won't be harmed.”

Tiir closed his eye. The plea behind his words must have been painfully obvious, for the human to not even feel the need to contradict him by bringing up the Alpha Stigma and claiming that the children couldn't be farther from not being a danger to him and his kind. “What are you going to do with them?”

“Nothing. We are detaining them merely to ensure your cooperation. Maybe we could make use of their powers when they are older, but unless my mother decrees otherwise, they won't be forced to undergo any kind of military training at this point.” A grin. “Provided they aren't as horrible worrywarts as you, they'll be just fine.”

Tiir knew he shouldn't believe the words of a human, but he wanted them to be true, and so he allowed himself to relax a little.

His captor smiled, and Tiir once more wondered why the man would even give a damn.

*

On the evening of the next day, the message arrived that the children had indeed reached their destination safely, and the human prince removed the hook like he had said he would. Tiir refused herbs to reduce the pain, and while he couldn't say it was a pleasant experience to have the thing pulled out of him, he was just glad to be finally able to move again. The knowledge that there was nothing physically stopping him any longer from devouring the infuriating half-Gastark woman and annihilating the entire human camp was comforting, if ultimately void.

“You're sure he won't bleed to death?” the prince asked once the weapon was gone from Tiir's flesh, leaving behind a wound that looked worse than it felt.

“Yes,” the magician said. “It just needs some food to regenerate itself. I suggest to wait, though. The soldiers will be anxious enough with an injured monster running around, never mind a healed one, and we need them alert at the very least until we have crossed the border. I'm not planning to depend on an untrained pet for my safety, and I dare say that the rest of the squad would be no more happy with such a decision.”

“I expected as much,” the prince said and turned to Tiir. “Come on. I'll at least take care of your wounds the old-fashioned way.”

Tiir narrowed his eyes. “Don't concern yourself.” Here he was, unrestrained, able to rip apart every single one of them, and instead, he was sitting at the human trash's feet, all but waiting for orders.

Untrained pet indeed.

“You're not getting stubborn again, are you? You obviously need that to get bandaged up.”

“I don't need anything from a lowly human. You have what you wanted, so why don't you just go and mind your own business now?”

The magician favored him with a look of utter disgust. “You should address your master with more respect, monster. We only need one of those brats alive, and we require neither to be in good health.” Her eyes were cold, merciless. “There is only one thing standing between them and Salea's research facilities, and I would advice you to lick that person's boots, not spit on them.”

Tiir felt his blood freeze in his veins. He hated her, wanted to tear her apart, but she was right, and the reality of the situation hit him with full force. Under the given circumstances, his pride wasn't worth anything. He should be groveling. If there was even the slightest chance that it would help the little ones, that was all the reason he needed.

Still kneeling, he lowered his head.

“Lymeia,” the prince said with a sigh. “That was unnecessary.”

“I respectfully disagree.”

The man mumbled something unintelligible and stepped over to him. “Just come,” he said, sounding almost resigned.

This time, Tiir obeyed. Getting up was harder than he had thought it would be, and as he had guessed, putting weight on his ankle was almost impossible. It was humiliating, but he wordlessly hobbled after the man, following him to the small river the camp had been set up next to.

“Sit down,” the human said, gesturing towards a rock that looked relatively dry and clean. Tiir did as he had been bidden. “You could just have said that you injured your foot instead of riling up Lymeia, you know?” When he didn't get a reaction, the prince sighed. “All right, just... tell me where it hurts, will you?”

After having pressed a kerchief to the wound left by the hook and told him to keep it in place, the prince slowly took off Tiir's left shoe and sock, before gently gripping his ankle. Tiir was astonished by the care he exerted, but didn't inquire as to the reason for it.

“Here?” the human asked.

“Yes.”

A nod. “The foot doesn't look good, but I don't think it's broken. Just hold it into the water for now.”

As Tiir changed positions to follow the instruction, the human got up. “All right, on to your shoulder.”

Tiir didn't wait for orders to disrobe, but simply freed his chest. The human cleaned his injuries – first the one on his back, which he took one look at and cursed – with alcohol and the area around them with water taken from the river, and then proceeded to bandage them. Tiir grew more and more surprised at the man's consideration – every time he did something, he would first ask if it would be all right, whether it was to disinfect a wound or touch his captive's neck.

While Tiir wouldn't have said 'no', anyway, after what had transpired not even half an hour ago, he had to admit that the questions made the whole thing much more bearable than it could have been, although he was still far from comfortable: he could ignore the pain of the alcohol coming into contact with his wounds easily enough, but he felt exposed, vulnerable, and having the human's hand on his nape didn't help.

That was where it paused when the last open wound was almost dressed. “What Lymeia said was uncalled for. There is no need for you to feign deference – it actually makes me uneasy when someone hides their true emotions. And I honestly don't feel any desire to bring suffering upon mere children, human or not, so as long as you follow orders when it matters, they are in no danger.” The prince paused. “I'll tell you if you are about to step too far out of line. You won't invite harm upon them by accident.”

“Why?” A single word, spoken so softly it was almost inaudible even to Tiir himself.

“Because,” the human said slowly, as if he was thinking about the answer himself, “it's common decency. You might not be human, but that's no reason to treat you like...”

“A monster?” Tiir supplied, his voice filled with scorn.

“...I suppose. I don't have any interest in making you miserable.” Having said that, the human retracted his hand. “There, done.”

Tiir rotated his shoulder experimentally, and found that despite applying noticeable pressure to the injury itself, the bandage barely inhibited the movement. “You are a healer?”

The human gave a short, startled laugh. “No, but I used to train as one. I'm afraid I didn't get very far, though I suppose it's enough for injuries like these.”

Tiir glanced at the man. “Used to?”

“Yes. When my sister forfeited her right to the throne, it was no longer suitable for me to pursue that kind of occupation – I knew that when I agreed to become Crown Prince. I suppose I really am half-assed about everything I do.” The human didn't seem terribly bothered by this self-assessment. “Well, let me bandage your ankle now and then we can get back to the camp and grab some food. I don't know about you, but I'm starving.”

Tiir pulled his foot from the cool water and let the man do as he pleased. Hunger, at least, was something he could understand, though the kind of hunger he himself was experiencing was a different, darker one. It took all his self-control to not use his Iino Doue to ascertain which part of this human would be the most delectable.

When the last of his injuries had been taken care of, Tiir allowed the human to help him up, though he refused to use him as a crutch like the man had offered. He still didn't understand the concern.

“Wait here,” the prince said once Tiir had sat down next to the tree that he had been chained to before. “I'll get you something.”

“Shouldn't you stay with your soldiers?”

The human looked at him in surprise for a second before shaking his head. “They trust me this much, at least. In fact, they may very well feel safer if I stick with you, and it's not like there's anyone else volunteering. Arsan needs some sleep, and Lymeia would be too tempted to ruin all my hard work by putting the hook right back in. I imagine being around her wouldn't lift your mood, either.”

Tiir just regarded the prince in silence.

“I'll be right back,” the man said and turned.

He was a strange human, Tiir decided as he watched him go. Confusing, and infuriatingly so.

He was aware of the magician watching him out of the shadows of the trees, but decided not to pay her any mind and simply leaned against the broad trunk in his back. He was no longer hurting all over, but he hadn't slept in days, and fatigue was beginning to take its toll.

Maybe he should have gotten some proper rest, after all.

As usual, the human returned after only a few minutes. “Here,” he said, handing Tiir some bread and a bowl filled with black and red berries, while retaining one for himself. “Since the preparations for our departure are almost done, it's fairly plain, but I'm told it's edible.” As he said this, he eyed his own bowl rather sceptically.

The human sat down in front of him, and they ate in silence. The food was acceptable – the bread was hard and the berries a little sour, but Tiir hadn't expected to receive a warm meal from his captors every day, and he doubted he would be offered one again any time soon.

“Do you think you can manage marching until nightfall?”

Tiir wondered what the human would do if he said no, but decided to opt for the most honest answer instead. “I'll try.”

“All right. You'll be staying with me, so if it becomes too much, just say so.”

“And then what?”

A grin. “I won't get Lymeia to carry you, if that's what you're worried about.” When he realized that Tiir was not amused by his joke, the prince said in a more serious tone, “We'll figure something out. Just don't push yourself – it won't help if you make your injuries worse. Your ankle especially will probably not appreciate any strain, but I guess we'll just have to wait and see.”

As it turned out, they didn't have to wait for very long. After barely two hours, Tiir was already more stumbling than walking. Even the worried glances from the soldiers had stopped at one point, and he couldn't even say he was surprised – they would hardly recognize something that dragged itself after their prince like a crippled dog after its master as a threat.

Tiir was past the point of caring, though. It hadn't even been half a day since he had decided that he would swallow his pride and hatred and endure whatever humiliation necessary from these humans, and he wasn't about to change his mind now.

He had something to protect.

After another two hours, the human prince took pity on him. It wasn't dark yet, but it soon would be, and apparently, that was good enough.

“You look dead on your feet,” the man said once the soldiers were busy preparing for the night. He helped Tiir sit down, and though he hadn't asked for the assistance, Tiir didn't protest it. Neither did he refuse the canteen filled with water when it was offered to him. “I forgot that you hadn't slept at all. I thought maybe it was normal for... your kind... at first, but I suppose that's not the case, huh?”

Not sure if the human expected a reply, Tiir said, “No.”

“Then why don't you sleep?”

Tiir gave a measured shrug. “I don't feel like it.”

“Well,” the human said slowly. “I suppose I wouldn't sleep too well, either, if I was surrounded by enemies.” He gave Tiir a contemplating look before asking, “That's the problem, isn't it?”

Tiir regarded him, taking care to keep his face expressionless. “Maybe.”

The human ran a hand through his hair in what appeared to be frustration. “Talking to you feels way too much like pulling teeth, you know?” He shook his head. “All right, let's do it like this: you close your eyes and at least try to get some sleep, and I'll just keep sitting here, making sure Lymeia doesn't stick any needles in you while you rest. I realize that I classify as an enemy, too, but you have my word that I won't so much as poke you while you're out – if that's worth anything.”

It wasn't – or at least, it shouldn't have been. And yet, Tiir found that he felt significantly less on edge with the royal right beside him than with the magician or even the soldier standing several feet away.

He didn't tell the human that, but once the prince had settled down next to him and was staring at the sky – something the man seemed very fond of doing for some reason –, he did close his eyes.

He was asleep before he knew it.

Chapter Text

Tiir's ankle had gotten a lot better over night, and though it was still red and swollen, he wasn't limping nearly as obviously anymore. He felt that a bandage was no longer necessary, but the human insisted, and while the man had claimed that he had nothing to lose from talking back to him, Tiir wasn't going to push him.

They marched from dawn till dusk with only the occasional break for meals and the opportunity to take a few sips of water in peace, and the moon had just appeared on the horizon when they finally set foot on Salean soil. It was a country Tiir had only crossed through once before, and there was only so much he knew about it.

Not that he thought there was much to know. As far as he could tell, it was a fairly mediocre country in every way: located in the North, but barely and often associated with the Central Continent instead. Not so small that it would go down in a war easily, but nowhere near large enough to keep up with Geihlficlant or an unscathed Stohl for long in the case of conflict. It was a fairly wealthy nation, famous for its swift and fearless war horses, though on a battlefield dominated by magicians, they weren't much more than a symbol of prestige.

Salea's magic was average at best, but the country's old-fashioned ways were its greatest strength as well as its biggest weakness. It was said that they had poisons at their disposal that other nations had only heard of in rumors, making them highly valued as a supplier of assassins, and much like was the case in Runa, which they apparently shared some history with, their monarch's authority was absolute, her decisions nearly beyond reproach – at the very least, it was assumed that no one in Salea would challenge their sovereign during a time of crisis or risk a civil war; though of course, humans were too unpredictable and their allegiances too fickle for anyone to be truly sure. As the country held up a strict policy of isolation and had few friends and no formal allies, it was considered backward and potentially hostile even by most humans.

All in all, it was the kind of place Gastark would already have trampled had they believed it to be of any strategic value. Still, it was only a matter of time.

When the camp was set up that night, it was with an air of anticipation. Clearly, the soldiers were all eager to return to their homes.

Their light-heartedness annoyed Tiir, who just felt apprehension.

However, he forgot about his worries for a moment when the prince, true to his word, fired magic at him under the watchful eye of the half-Gastark woman. Tiir had been mildly surprised to learn that he was a mage, but he supposed he should have guessed. Considering how fragile humans were, it made sense that a royal who went into battle would have been trained at least a little in that area. He wasn't a powerful or particularly skilled magician, but after such a long time without nourishment, that hardly mattered. Tiir enjoyed the thrill that always came with feeding, and the healing of his wounds was but a pleasant bonus.

It wasn't enough of a meal to fill him with power or even just to sate him, but it was enough to make him feel alive.

The human prince watched him, looking petrified, and Tiir stopped himself short of shooting him a predatory smile.

Remembering what a magnificently Bad Idea that would be and why, he let the vermillion cross fade from his eyes with some effort, ignoring the deep sense of dissatisfaction that came with doing so, and shutting off the part of him that told him to killdevourkillkillkill the inferior human.

He had expected all kinds of reactions, but of course, the peculiar prince had to defy them all.

Still gazing at him, the human said, “Red suits you.”

It was Tiir's turn to stare. “What?”

Breaking out of his daze, the prince shrugged. “It was the first thing that came to mind. Black hair, pale skin, red eyes – it's like... Snow White or something.”

Tiir choked.

“...That was a really stupid comparison, wasn't it?”

“Yes.” Obviously.

What was wrong with this human?

“I thought so. What would that make me, anyway? The Evil Queen?”

Tiir didn't bother to reply to that, but the female magician chose this point to speak up, “A dwarf.”

The prince looked at her in silence for a moment. “If that was a jab at my height,” he finally said, “let me point out that it is not me who is small, it is you who is a freaking giant.”

“Being a head taller than average hardly makes one a giant.”

“Well, neither does being a head shorter than average make one a dwarf!”

“I respectfully disagree.”

“If you insist to keep using that phrase, at least have the modesty to replace the 'respectfully' with something that is less of a lie.”

“As my Prince wishes: I contemptuously disagree. Now if you are done admiring your pet, Colonel Arsan humbly requests your presence.”

“Arsan? Why?”

“I'm afraid you will have to ask him that yourself.” The prince glanced at Tiir, and the woman added, “I shall look after it for you until you are done.”

The man hesitated. “You're not going to test some freaky new kind of poison on him, are you?”

The woman rolled her eyes. “No, I'm not going to test 'some freaky new kind of poison' on it. You'll get your pet back in one piece.”

“Would you stop calling him that?”

“What else would you have me call it? 'Snow White'?”

“...You won't ever let me live that down, will you?”

“No, I won't. Now shoo, dwarf, to your mines.”

“I'm sure there is a law somewhere against saying that to the Crown Prince.”

“Probably, but I'm the Wicked Witch. The law trembles before my shiny apples.”

“I swear you're creepy when you're drunk.”

“I'm not drunk, I just can't get over the fact that you made that comparison.”

“And I can never tell whether you are being serious or messing with me, so I won't even try. Just... don't do anything strange to him.”

“I won't comment on how that sounded if you get moving now.”

“Right.” The prince pivoted, took two hesitant steps... and then practically fled.

The moment he was out of sight, the woman turned to Tiir.

“Now listen, monster,” she said. Tiir regarded her through narrowed eyes. “My Prince has obviously taking a liking to you, and you have probably noticed that he is reluctant to bring you to heel as he should. However, if you seek to take advantage of his leniency and attempt to harm him in any way, then regardless of how His Highness feels about the matter, I will hunt down those brats and make sure you never again even think about sticking so much as a toe out of line. I won't kill them, but you will wish I had. Is that clear?”

Tiir was livid. Halfway through her speech, he had turned on his Iino Doue, but the magician didn't appear fazed – neither by his eyes themselves nor by the murderous look he was giving her. She was waiting for a reply, and her body language and facial expression declared that she would get one.

Knowing that nothing of what she had said had been empty talk, Tiir was not going to deny it to her. “Yes,” he said, his tone that of a subdued snarl.

“Good boy.” Tiir balled his fists, but let his eyes return to their regular state. “Look at it this way,” the woman continued. “So long as he does not believe it to be strictly necessary for the good of Salea, our Prince wouldn't harm a fly. This means that unless you go out of your way to provoke him, he is much more likely to arrange those little beasts spoiled rotten than have them tortured.

“Of course, our Queen does have no such qualms about removing that which she deems to be a threat to her empire or heir, so if you cast even the slightest doubt on yourself, I will not have to go against orders to make you regret your imprudence.” She gave her words some time to sink in before adding, “See it as an incentive to behave yourself.”

With that last sentence, she stepped away from him, though she continued to watch him with an air of cool detachment. Tiir recognized the dismissal for what it was, and forced down his anger. Keeping the little ones safe was all that mattered.

It was almost an hour after their exchange that the prince returned. He glanced at the female magician, then at Tiir, and breathed what appeared to be an exaggerated sigh of relief. The magician rolled her eyes at him and, shooting a last warning look at Tiir, removed herself.

“You all right?” the prince asked.

“Yes,” Tiir said. Realizing how clipped his tone had been, he added, “I'm fine.”

“Good.” The man sat down next to him. “We'll be arriving at the capital tomorrow. I've discussed the matter with Arsan, and we both believe it best to not have you enter the city before nightfall - your existence isn't public knowledge, and we intend to keep it that way. Gastark might eventually figure out that it was us who got to them, but since only a select number of people are involved in the matter, it should be much harder for them to learn about this. You will remain with Lymeia while the rest of the platoon enters Valasea in the morning, and be brought to the palace towards the end of the day, when the streets begin to empty.”

“What happens then?” Tiir asked, deciding he might as well try to not stumble into this unprepared.

“Well,” the prince said slowly. “First I'll have to convince my mother that the benefits of keeping you alive outweigh the risks. Since she's a very practical sort of person, though, the simple fact that we arrived in Salea without incident might suffice for that – I'm not too worried about that part.

“Next would be the Council. Though its members technically have no right to overrule the sovereign's decisions, our government works as smoothly as it does only because this fact is traditionally treated as nothing more than a formality. Unless we were to suddenly go to war tomorrow, they will want some assurance that you really are under control before giving their consent. The entire thing might lead to me having to attend a whole bunch of conferences, but in the end they will agree. With Gastark and a whole lot of extremely anxious neighboring countries breathing down our neck, they can't afford to pass up this kind of advantage.”

Tiir turned his head to look at the prince. “You're very forthcoming with information.”

The human blinked at him. “I guess,” he said. “But it directly concerns you, doesn't it? I just thought you would want to know that – and how – I'm planning to uphold my part of the agreement.”

“I wasn't complaining,” Tiir said. He dug his fingernails into his palms. “What will be required of me?”

“Nothing much for now, I would assume. You won't have much freedom of movement and will be watched at all times, but it would probably be difficult to put your abilities to test if we don't want to sacrifice an army or two, so not much of that. Locking you up somewhere else would be a waste, not to mention rather pointless, so you'll most likely stay in or near the palace – which means keep your head down around the Council and my mother, don't talk back to anyone, and don't eat things that try to run from you screaming. You can do that, right?”

“Yes.” In fact, it sounded fairly simple. Tiir had expected much worse. “The children?”

“You should be able to see one of the two within a few weeks. I have to clear up the details with my mother first, and probably get the Council's approval, but they have no reason not to give it.”

Tiir inclined his head. He could wait that long, if he had to.

“Do they have names?” the human asked.

“What?”

“The children. Do they have names?”

Tiir hesitated. “Ren and Karda.”

“Karda is the girl?” Tiir nodded cautiously, having no idea where the human could be going with this. “She's quite something,” the prince said. “She was trembling all over, but her voice barely even shook. I almost took her threat seriously there for a second.” After a moment, he added, “You must be very proud of them.”

“What are you getting at?”

“Whoa.” The human held up his hands. “I'm not trying to insinuate anything, so no need to bite off my head... literally. I meant that as I said it: they seemed to care about you very much.”

“That's what families are supposed to be about, isn't it?” Tiir bit out.

“Well, yes, but they are still very brave children for jumping right into the line of fire. Besides, I dare say not all families stick together like that.”

“Human families, maybe. We're not like you. We don't turn our back on our own.”

“Most of us don't, either, you know.”

Tiir snorted.

“Yeah, go ahead and scoff at the lowly human. I refuse to feel insulted.” A pause. “So, they're your kid siblings? Wait, that doesn't really work with your mother...” The human trailed off.

Tiir glanced at him. He had half-thought the man had forgotten about that. “We're not related by blood.”

“But they are your siblings?”

“Yes.”

“Thought so. You definitely act like a big brother... an overprotective, slightly paranoid big brother, but I suppose that's understandable, considering the circumstances.”

Tiir, who had been prepared for a mocking comment, looked at the human in astonishment. “You speak like you have experience,” he remarked after a moment.

“I wish. I have an older sister, which is so much less awesome. Older sisters don't protect you, they are what you need protection from. Either that, or mine is really one of those gruesome, soul-sucking demons they set up wards against in Runa – something I have always suspected, by the way. Did I mention she bit me once?”

“You dislike her?” Tiir asked, bemused.

The prince snorted. “I worship the ground she walks on. I still swear she is a soul-stealing demon in disguise.”

“You enjoy not making any sense, don't you?”

“Maybe a bit. Do you plan to stay up all night again?”

“Does it matter?”

“I'll take that as a yes. Well, I'm not feeling very sleepy, either – not that it makes much of a difference, considering Arsan is busy and Lymeia being strange, and someone has to keep an eye on you. I thought maybe we could do something a bit more fun than staring at trees until sunrise.”

Tiir gave the human a bewildered look. “Like what?”

The prince grinned. “Wait here a second.” He got up and walked over to the encampment, only to return a moment later with a small item in hand. Tiir stared.

“You on?” the human asked, his grin even wider than before.

Tiir just continued to stare at him, utterly dumbfounded.

.

And that was how he ended up playing cards.

With a human.

A human who proved to be downright hopeless at the game. Tiir started out not even knowing the rules, but by the end of the night, he had won thirty games out of thirty-six.

He still didn't know why he had bothered to keep count.

“Damn, you're good,” the prince said when he finally put the pack away at sunup. “I would say you should play against Lymeia some time, but I have this feeling that wouldn't go down well, and not only because she's one heck of a sore loser.” He stood. “So, I suppose that's it for now, huh?”

The man paused, but went on talking when Tiir didn't say anything, “Try not to make Lymeia angry, all right? I know she can be difficult to deal with, but she usually acknowledges it if someone yields.” Another pause. “Well, see you tonight, then.”

With that, the prince left.

Tiir wasn't bothered by his departure at first, but after some time discovered that while he was hardly looking forward to seeing the human again, he had grown used to his presence in the course of the last few days. With him gone and the half-Gastark magician watching his every move, he felt considerably more ill at ease than he had for the largest portion of his captivity.

The woman was a constant reminder of how thin the ice beneath his feet really was and, ironically, of how utterly dependent he was on one human's goodwill. Every despising glance she threw at him, every contemptuous snort she gave was a conscious action meant to put him in his place as much as it was a genuine expression of disgust.

And Tiir wasn't going to pick a fight.

When she looked at him, he averted his gaze. When she made a noise of derision, he turned away. When she taunted him with words, he bowed his head, hiding the hatred in his eyes.

Though he doubted that the prince's assessment was relevant – she might acknowledge a human admitting defeat, but not a monster –, at the moment, she was an enemy he couldn't afford to aggravate.

It was as good an opportunity as any to practice licking boots.

“You've become quite the meek little monster, haven't you?” the magician commented towards the end of the day, when the sky was bathed in the deep red of the setting sun. Almost idly, she approached him. “What, I don't even get a growl anymore? Pity.” He caught the canteen she threw at him without looking up. “Drink this and get going. We're moving.”

Tiir wasn't feeling thirsty, but he took some of the water, anyway, before getting to his feet and holding the item back out to her.

The magician scoffed. “Keep it. I'm not going to put something in my mouth that has been slobbered at by an animal.”

Tiir clenched his fists, but didn't say anything.

The woman smiled at him in mocking satisfaction. “Maybe we'll make a decent pet out of you yet.”

*

They had walked for approximately an hour when the human abruptly came to a halt. Tiir turned to her, but resisted the urge to fix her with a loathing stare and instead looked over her shoulder in an effort to appear neutral.

It required so much concentration that his reaction when she grabbed his wrist was severely belated, and far from impressive. He flinched back, and would probably have landed on his rear if she had let go at that moment.

“You really are pathetic,” the magician informed him. She turned his hand so that the palm was facing upwards, and wrinkled her nose in disgust. Tiir followed her gaze – when he realized that she was looking at the bloody marks left behind by his fingernails, his hands instinctively tensed, but this time, he consciously refrained from balling them to fists.

Instead, he looked away.

The magician snorted and let go. “Wretched creature. Well, I suppose since you have been good, you can have a treat. My Prince would probably like to have you back undamaged.” He barely had the time to process her words before she threw her magic at him. Like the last time he had fed, it wasn't much – a small, controlled attack; but to Tiir, who had been feeling like he was on the verge of starving for days now, it was heaven.

He could have lost himself in the sensation, if he'd had the liberty.

He didn't, though, and so he tore himself away from the bliss and unwillingly turned off his ability. Staring at the human in confusion, he noted that one hand had been on her weapon the whole time, quite likely in case that he attacked her.

It made what she had done even more incomprehensible.

She didn't explain herself any further, though, and merely walked past him. “Heel,” she said with a snap of her fingers, and Tiir caught up to her, too bewildered to even feel fury at her choice of command.

He kept his distance from her, but the road was only so broad, and the human had made it clear that she did not appreciate having him in her back. The sentiment was mutual, and so he wasn't going to walk in front of her, either, if there was no longer any sign that it was what she expected of him.

When they passed the city's gates shortly before they were closed for the night, they did so side by side, their shoulders almost touching, and Tiir didn't think either of them was happy about it.

*

Valasea was not like Tiir had imagined it to be. It was not much more dirty than the average human village, and though its defenses appeared to not have been neglected, it wasn't a suffocating stronghold, either. In fact, the structure of the city's intricate streets and tall bright buildings was eye-catching, and not in a bad way. There were some smaller houses, which aside from their height distinguished themselves from the rest mostly in their coloring: some were darker, a pale gray, while others simply lacked the black wood that made up the other buildings' doors, shutters and sometimes balconies. A few pompous estates and filthy alleys aside, and ignoring the fact that it was inhabited by humans, the scenery was actually a fairly appealing one. This was true even though – or perhaps because – it was obvious that they stuck to the areas that were the least occupied.

Not that Tiir had much of a basis for comparison. He usually avoided large human towns, or really, any human settlements at all, except to feed or pick up other bearers of the Divine Eyes. The latter rarely were to be found in the bigger cities – not alive, anyway –, and when it came to the matter of nourishment, Tiir preferred to simply get the guards outside of the larger towns to supply him with magic. He had no compunction about eating humans, of course, but it was more of a hassle, and it always had something of swallowing cockroaches – they simply disgusted him too much.

As a consequence, he had rarely ever set foot into a capital city.

They arrived at the palace – another tall, bright building that looked less pompous than it could have – after an additional half an hour and several detours, and snuck inside without further delay. Tiir assumed that the majority of the guards that would otherwise have blocked their way had been withdrawn shortly beforehand – either that, or the place's security was as terrible as its prince's aptitude for card games, but he doubted the city would still be standing if that were the case.

The heir to the throne was expecting them in one of the many corridors in the upper realm of the building, and led them to a room even higher up. Tiir quickly learned that Salean architects had a bothersome predilection for spiral staircases.

“The study?” the female magician asked when they stopped in front of an ornate door made of ebony.

The prince shrugged. “The throne room would attract too much attention even at this time of the day, and my mother does have to arrange a Council meeting.” He turned to Tiir. “She just wants to confirm what I told her, so this is only a formality, really. Don't look her in the eyes – that's considered bad etiquette in Salea for everyone except members of the Royal Family and the highest of nobles –, don't speak unless spoken to, and try not to appear like you'd rather be out there killing something. That's pretty much it, and I guess the last one isn't all that important.”

Without giving Tiir time to react, the human returned his attention to the door. He knocked, and after a moment opened it without waiting for verbal permission to do so.

The female magician gave Tiir a none-too-gentle shove, and he entered in front of her.

“Mother,” the prince said once the half-Gastark woman had closed the door behind herself.

The queen, who had been standing motionless behind her desk, acknowledged the greeting with a regal nod, and then immediately turned her attention to Tiir.

As he had been instructed to do, he took care not to look directly into her face as she regarded him, but he had gotten a fair impression of it when he had first entered the room. If he hadn't known she and the prince were related, he wouldn't have guessed.

Where the prince's hair was unruly and of a brown that was closer to blond, the queen's black locks fell in artful curls. Her features were less open, her movements more controlled, and she was almost a head taller than her son.

The air of authority that surrounded her was almost palpable – if he hadn't known she was a human, Tiir would probably have felt compelled to respect her on some level.

“That's the Eye bearer?” she asked.

It was the female magician who answered. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Not quite the hideous creature I imagined.” The queen stepped around her desk, stopping right in front of Tiir and grabbing his chin. “The Iino Doue – show it to me.”

After a brief moment of hesitation, he did. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the magician reaching for her weapon like she had done when letting him devour her magic, but the woman in front of him didn't even blink. Tiir didn't know whether to think her bold or stupid.

The Voice told him to killtearapartkillkillkill the inferior creature on the spot, but he didn't let any of that show on his face.

After what felt like an eternity, the queen released him and returned behind the desk, from which she picked up a small, slender blade without a hilt to idly stroke between her fingers. Turning to her son, she said, “I won't force you to go against your word – you may keep the children, if you wish. However, as valuable a weapon as it could be, an Iino Doue would be too difficult to keep in check in the long-run.” Glancing at the magician with an impassive gaze, she ordered, “Crystallize it.”

Tiir froze, and for a moment, he thought about fighting. If he died, the children's future would be even more uncertain than it already was. He could attack the human in front of him, take her as a hostage, and devour the people in this room once he had been told the little ones' location so that he could get there before anyone else.

However, the only one present both certain to know their exact whereabouts and possibly willing to at least think about negotiating with him was the prince, and Tiir wasn't at all sure about the last part. He wasn't an easy human to predict, and for all he knew, he and his mother were on bad terms, or he could simply be coveting the throne – he was, after all, a human. Tiir would also have to get rid of the half-Gastark magician first if he didn't want to take a huge risk, and he had a feeling that if he did that, he might as well give up on the information he desired right now and abandon the children to save his own skin; which, of course, was completely out of the question.

On the other hand, if he surrendered his life willingly, the humans might be more likely to view the children as useful weapons, and if in the future, an opportunity arose – and if Gastark didn't get to them first –, they might be able to flee and return to their kin one day.

Neither prospect left Tiir feeling less hopeless and enraged than the other, but in the end, he decided that if nothing else, the worst case scenario of the second option was the less terrible one. The little ones might die, but at least they wouldn't be slowly tortured to death for the sake of revenge.

So he forced himself to remain perfectly still when the female magician came to a halt behind him, and even refrained from letting the red fade from his eyes.

“Kneel,” she said, and Tiir allowed her to push him to the floor. Refusing to have a human be the last thing he saw, he kept his gaze firmly on the white tiles. He thought of the children at the Headquarters, who would be waiting in vain for him to return – thought of Ene, and about how he could almost appreciate the fact that he would never have to stand by uselessly and watch her die. It crossed his mind that maybe if he was gone, she would be more careful with her own life for their comrades' sake; but just a heartbeat later he realized how foolish a notion that was, knowing it was for their benefit that she used her powers to such an extent in the first place. He wondered if she had foreseen this, if his death would serve a purpose; if anything at all he had done had served a purpose.

Feeling the cool metal of the hook against his neck, he concluded that the humans were going to immobilize him first just to be safe.

He tensed, gritting his teeth, but didn't move away.

The weapon left his nape, but instead of being rammed into his back a second later, it remained gone. Tiir looked up in confusion, only to discover that the magician was stepping aside.

“That's enough,” the queen said, lowering her hand and calmly gazing at her son. “You have permission to do with him as you see fit.”

“Thank you, Mother,” the prince said, sounding slightly shaken, but not surprised.

“I suggest placing him with a member of the Council. Perhaps Lord Remdra – he would probably appreciate the opportunity to study the Cursed Eyes.”

“Lord Remdra?” the prince asked, apparently not too enthusiastic about the prospect. “What about High Marshal Gareyn?”

The queen shook her head. “High Marshal Gareyn is a busy man and doesn't have the time, nor the means, to ensure the necessary surveillance. Lord Remdra doesn't have his duties, and would certainly support your case in front of the Council in return. I do not believe it would be easy for you to convince any of the other members to take him.”

“In that case, would it be acceptable for me to look after him?”

Tiir glanced at the man in surprise – and for once it seemed he wasn't the only one who hadn't expected this turn of events.

“You?” the queen asked in apparent wonder. “Are you saying you don't have any duties to attend to?”

“This won't interfere with them. I understand that High Marshal Gareyn wouldn't be able to take him to formal events and doesn't have any non-civilian family members that would qualify to provide surveillance in his place, but no one would be surprised if I had gotten myself a bodyguard after that last assassination attempt. It's also unlikely that a spy from Gastark who has seen him before would not only manage to infiltrate the court, but also get close enough to recognize him and then leave this city alive, so it shouldn't be an issue, and if there are any other problems, I should be able to organize someone within the palace to keep an eye on him for a while.”

“That may be so, but are you certain you want to limit yourself like that? You would have to remain with the bearer twenty-four hours a day, and the Council will not be swayed easily. It would be much simpler to leave him with Lord Remdra.”

“I know, but I... just don't like the idea.”

“You 'just don't like the idea'?” There was a faint trace of amusement in the queen's voice, but all in all, she sounded utterly bewildered.

“If I may say so,” the half-Gastark magician spoke up, “it seems the Prince has grown somewhat attached to the creature after spending so much time with it. He probably worries about the extent of Lord Remdra's scientific interest.”

“Is that true?” the queen asked.

“I... yes. Lord Remdra would treat him as an experiment for curiosity's sake alone. It would not benefit our empire, and therefore, I don't believe enabling such a thing to be justifiable.”

“You're too soft,” the queen said, but there was no bite to her words. “Keep him if you wish. Just don't forget that if he becomes a threat, you will have to dispose of him along with the two Alpha Stigma bearers.”

“I'm aware of that,” the prince said. “Thank you.”

“Don't thank me. I will not convince the Council for you.”

“You will give me your support, though?”

“Of course.”

“That's good enough, then.” There was a smile in the man's voice. “May we leave?”

A dismissive wave. “Go ahead. I still have something to discuss with Lymeia.”

The prince lightly touched Tiir's shoulder. “Come on.”

Tiir didn't have to be told that twice. He rose, and followed the man outside.

*

“Sorry about that,” the prince said as they reached the staircase. He was walking in front of Tiir, and now glanced over his shoulder for the first time since they had left the study. “My mother is a very pragmatic woman, but for precisely that reason, she prefers to resolve issues immediately. An asset that could become a liability at any moment isn't worth anything to her. On the bright side, she won't question your priorities after this.”

Tiir clenched his fists. “Wasn't that a bit risky just to test how far you can push me?” He was angry for having been played like that, for not having seen through it... but most of all, he still wasn't completely over the utter desolation he had felt at the thought of having to leave the children behind like that; unprotected, completely at the humans' mercy.

“Not at all. Backing you into a corner and gauging your reaction was the safest thing she could have done. If you had lashed out, it would mean you pose an acute risk to our empire – from the perspective of a sovereign, there wouldn't have been any point in keeping you around. Crystallized, your eyes may not be as efficient a weapon, but they would have been safe to use for a capable magician. Extreme situations can always arise, and we can't afford that kind of unknown variable.”

“What if I had killed her?”

A short silence. “Well, I suppose I can tell you now,” the prince finally said. “You remember that blade my mother held in hand? It's actually a Rule Fragment. Since you've been in contact with Gastark and have first-hand experience with Lymeia's Hook, you probably know more about them than I do, so let's just say it most likely wouldn't have ended well for you if you had reacted differently.” The human shook his head. “I didn't know what exactly my mother was planning beforehand, and I was really worried there for a second. I could practically see you contemplating your options; if you'd made a different decision, I would have ended up breaking quite a few promises.”

Tiir bit back a snarl at the implication. “Wouldn't our agreement have been null and void?” he forced himself to ask.

“Well, yes, but I did tell the children you wouldn't be harmed, either, didn't I? And later I even informed you that my mother would agree to my proposal, so it's my fault this caught you so completely off-guard.”

Tiir took a moment to mull that over. Had he really not expected such a reaction from the woman simply because her son had claimed there wouldn't be? It seemed a laughable idea. He would never just put his trust in a human's words like that. And yet...

The thought that he could be killed upon his arrival had never crossed his mind. Was it because the human had sounded so confident, so earnest?

No, Tiir decided. It was nothing so curious. There simply hadn't been any logical reason for the man to bring him all this way if he would just be disposed of on the spot.

“Besides,” the prince said, “it's not like I wanted to see you get killed.” He threw Tiir a grin. “I rather enjoyed playing cards with you.”

Some minutes later, the human halted in front of yet another dark wooden door, this one slightly less elaborate than the last. “So, here we are.” He paused, suddenly seeming worried, and turned around. “You, uh... don't eat dogs, do you?”

Tiir blinked, taken aback by the seemingly random question. “No.”

“Oh, good.” Another pause. “What about cats?”

Tiir decided that the human was being odd again. “I don't eat cats, either,” he said in a forbearing tone of voice. Maybe that was why this human was such a strange one – he wasn't quite right, up there.

“Oh, er, that's good, then.” The prince turned back and unlocked the door. “Come in.”

However, before either of them could cross the threshold, a large, furry black... thing first threw himself at the prince, and then at Tiir.

While the human, apparently prepared, simply shoved the animal back down and petted it for a few seconds until it moved on to its next target, Tiir had not expected to be literally jumped.

Standing on its hind legs, the thing easily reached up to his shoulders, and Tiir, who stumbled back in surprise, quickly learned that it was as heavy as it looked.

This time, he did land on his rear.

The dog – or at least, Tiir assumed it was a dog, because while he didn't have much experience with them, he'd always thought they weren't supposed to resemble an over-sized floor cloth – happily used the opportunity to lick not only his hands, but also his face and hair.

Finally, Tiir got over his surprise enough to hold the thing off with one arm. He stared at it.

Right behind the dog, the human, who had been looking rather unsure until then, suddenly burst out laughing. It wasn't a sinister or even mocking kind of laugh, but just... amused. Tiir didn't think he'd ever had a human direct that kind of laughter at him before, and it just made him feel more out of his depth.

Soon, the prince was lying on the floor in hysterics. “The... the look on your face,” he said between gasps.

The dog was still trying to get to him with its tongue, so Tiir carefully patted it on the head in an attempt to calm it down. The animal seemed content with that, and after a while went back over to its master, possibly to make sure he wasn't about to suffocate.

The prince had gotten back to his feet, but he was leaning against the wall for support, his shoulders still shaking. “Yes, good dog,” he finally managed.

The animal stepped aside, and the prince walked over to Tiir, holding out his hand.

Tiir looked at it without moving for a moment, before hesitatingly taking it.

“Sorry, Lord Truffles can get a bit over-excited.”

“Lord... Truffles?”

“That's what my mother said. I've since been forbidden to so much as suggest names for any of her potential grandchildren. Yes, that would include my own.”

Tiir couldn't help but think that the human queen probably had the right idea there.

*

“Welcome to my chambers,” the prince said once he had closed the door behind them and lit some candles. “Feel free to make yourself at home.”

Tiir glanced around. It was a relatively large room, but sparingly furnished – a bookshelf, a desk and a chair in one corner, a large pillow and a bowl filled with water that seemed to belong to the dog in the other, and opposite to the door a spacious bed with an open window and what appeared to be an old wooden wardrobe next to it. Aside from that, Tiir could make out some landscape paintings and a similar tapestry. The walls themselves were painted in white just like the ones in the corridors and in the study had been, though the carpeted floor was of a dull brown.

He only noticed the small table next to the door when the prince walked over to it, put a cloth into the basin resting on top of it and finally offered the wet kerchief to Tiir. “Here, in case you want to get cleaned up after your encounter with Lord Truffles.”

Tiir took it with some reluctance, unable to detect the taunt in the human's voice that he knew must be there.

“I wouldn't be able to get another bed in here without attracting unwanted attention, but make yourself comfortable wherever you want.”

Once he was done using it, Tiir put down the cloth on the table it had come from, and silently sat down next to the piece of furniture.

The human blinked at him, then shook his head. “You know,” he said, picking up a blanket and a pillow from the bed, “I'm not that much of a bastard. I do have some spare bedclothes, at least.” He dropped the items in front of Tiir. Something seemed to occur to him, and he hesitated. “Actually,” he said slowly, “I wouldn't mind sharing, if you find the floor to be uncomfortable.”

Tiir glanced up at the human, hand hovering over the blanket he had been about to take. “You're offering to share your bed with a monster?” he asked in a mixture of contempt and bafflement.

“Yeah, some monster you are – defeated by Lord Truffles.” With a snort, the prince locked the door and turned to him. “So?”

“I'm fine,” Tiir said, trying not to wrinkle his nose in disgust. Sleep in the bed of an enemy, a human?

It was a foreign, utterly ludicrous notion.

“Suit yourself.” The prince started to move towards the bed again, but then stopped abruptly and whirled around. “Ah, I remember now!”

Tiir regarded him, bemused. “Remember what?”

The human grinned broadly. “Your name!” he declared. “It was Tiir, right?” Perhaps at Tiir's badly concealed look of surprise, he explained, “I heard the children say it, but it didn't quite register at the time.” He paused. “It was Tiir, wasn't it?”

“Yes,” Tiir said, slowly.

“So,” the human began, a bit less exuberant, “would you mind if I called you that?”

Tiir hadn't expected the man to care about his opinion in the matter, but now that he had been asked, he thought about it. He'd never had a human address him by name. He usually got 'monster', sometimes 'demon' or even 'devil', and he was fine with that. What did the predator care what the prey called him?

However, things had gotten complicated, and being reminded so blatantly of how his comrades were treated by those lowly humans, how they were abandoned and shunned and slaughtered, was so much more difficult when he wasn't allowed to just rip the offenders' heads off.

Besides, there was no real reason why he shouldn't give the human permission to call him by name.

“No,” he said therefore. “I wouldn't mind.”

The prince was grinning once more. Tiir had no idea what had him so excited, but something crossed his mind. “What do you wish me to address you as?”

The human stopped his stupid grinning and looked at him in surprise. “Huh. I hadn't thought about that.” A pause. “In fact, I didn't even introduce myself, did I? The name is Ecylan. Ecylan Elestres, but Ecylan is fine in private, really. In public... take your pick. Can't go wrong with 'Your Highness', I suppose.”

“Ecylan,” Tiir tried, almost without thinking. The name felt strange on his tongue.

“I'm not picky, honestly – but something other than 'human' would be nice. You have this way of saying the word...”

“It's fully intentional, I assure you.”

“I had a feeling it was. Since we'll be spending quite a bit of time with each other in the near future, though, would it hurt to try and be civil? I don't need to be constantly reminded that you'd much rather have me for a snack than converse with me, thank you very much. For some reason, it makes me a bit uneasy.”

“You've got quite the high opinion of yourself. Your brain tissue may look appetizing enough, but I promise you that given the choice, I prefer magic over human trash.”

“My brain tissue looks... I will so forget you ever said that.” The prince shuddered, but then paused. “On the other hand, it's probably the nicest thing I'll ever get to hear from you, isn't it? Maybe I should just take it as a compliment.” The human nodded to himself, and politely told him, “Thank you. I'm sure your brain tissue looks very delicious, too.”

Tiir gaped at him.

“So,” the prince continued, as if he hadn't just proven that he was of questionable sanity at best – no human was supposed to react to Tiir's ability with that kind of indifference. “Magic tastes better than people?”

“It's not about taste,” Tiir said. “It's simply more potent.” He paused. “And less filthy.”

“You really must hate humans a whole lot, if you'd even be willing to abstain from all that delicious brain tissue.”

Tiir narrowed his eyes at the prince. “I do.”

“Why?”

“Why?” Tiir repeated, turning his snarl into a scoff with some effort, but quite certain that his eyes had flashed red there for a second. “You hunt us down like beasts and have the nerve to ask why?”

“Whoa, calm down. I never said I don't understand why I am not your favorite person in the world right now. If I was in your position, I wouldn't like me very much, either. What I'm wondering is what you have against humanity as a whole.”

Tiir made a sound of derision. “You're all the same. There is no difference between you and the rest.” And if there was, it said a lot that his captor, who had threatened his family and used him against them, would easily come out the lesser of two evils.

“How do you know that?”

“Because I've seen it.” Tiir narrowed his eyes. “Because it's the truth.”

“You've taken the time to get to know every human in existence on a personal basis?” the prince asked, eyebrows raised. “I'm impressed.”

“That's hardly necessary.” Because he had encountered enough humans. Because he could hear Heaven's command since before he had taken his first gulp of air. Because he had seen what the lowly human scum did to those of his brethren who couldn't – who devoted themselves to them and got betrayed and betrayed and betrayed again.

Because he no longer doubted that it had been his right to devour the inferior human woman who had conceived him.

“If you say so,” the human replied, sounding fairly underwhelmed by his reasoning. “I think I'm going to catch some sleep now. Anything you need?”

“No,” Tiir said curtly.

“All right. Oh,” the man added as an afterthought, “don't be surprised if cats start climbing through the window. They tend to come and go as they please.”

Tiir watched the prince yawn tiredly and turn around, and wondered – not for the first time – where that human's peculiarity came from.

Chapter Text

Tiir allowed himself a couple hours of sleep, but when he awoke in the middle of the night, he couldn't shake off the feeling of suffocation that had taken a hold of him. He felt uneasy, restless – too much like the caged beast he had become.

He couldn't stop thinking about the children. How close he had come to losing them, to forfeiting not only his own life but also theirs. They would have died without ever truly having lived amongst their own kind.

He wanted to see for himself that they were all right so badly – physically, but also emotionally. They had been hurt enough already. They shouldn't need to endure the cold glares, the ugly laughter. They shouldn't need to listen helplessly as they were called monsters, demons, hideous abominations.

Their wounds had just been beginning to heal, so who did those lowly humans think they were to so nonchalantly tear them open again, as if it was nothing? As if they were nothing?

All that those children had wanted was acceptance, and now so many of them were already dead, the last thing they had heard having been those bastards from Gastark's callous cheering, their cruel mockery.

It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair.

They were superior beings favored by Heaven, so why was he always so powerless? Why couldn't he even protect those dear to him?

If Lafra had been here, he would have had an answer. Lafra had always known what to say to make people feel better, to give them hope – he had been much like Ene in that respect, though instead of calm certainty, his words had radiated sheer faith. Faith in the future, faith in the world, faith even in humans. It wasn't uncommon for bearers of the Divine Eyes to like humans, but to genuinely think that they could change?

There had been a time when Tiir had thought Lafra pitiable for believing in something that could never be; but even though he still didn't understand, even though it had been an impossible dream and his friend's death the final testament to it, he couldn't think of Lafra as someone whose life should be particularly pitied. He had been strong in his own way, with his kind, patient wisdom and heartfelt smiles that seemed to so effortlessly triumph over the sadness and loneliness of his past.

Tiir felt lost without him.

He rose, and soundlessly crossed the room until he stood in front of the window. He would have been wary of the human's reaction if he were to wake up and find him so close, but since the man had offered to sleep in one bed with him, Tiir didn't think he was likely to panic and jump to unreasonable conclusions.

After all, if Tiir had been planning to kill him despite the consequences, he would have done so a long time ago. And if the time came when he could do so without risking his family, he would start with the half-Gastark magician for practical as well as personal reasons.

Tiir gazed past the thick branches of a crooked broad-leaf tree at the gleaming moon, enjoying the breeze and feeling some of the pressure on his chest vanish. He was trapped, but the situation wasn't hopeless. He had retained some freedom of movement. He would use it to find a way to escape this place together with the children, or if that really proved to be impossible, then at least he would make sure it was enough to protect them.

The human seemed willing to make concessions for the moment – surely, Tiir could make use of that. However, he remembered the half-Gastark magician's threat all too well, and he knew he would have to maneuver carefully. For the moment, his goal couldn't be destroying the enemy; he had to concentrate on shielding those closest to his heart.

Even so, he wondered for how long he would be able to preserve the children's lives if he did that. Until the humans determined that they were too dangerous to be useful, after all? Until the children were driven to the point where they lost control over their powers? Until those despicable vermin killed them on a mere whim?

No, he couldn't afford to be too careful, either, Tiir decided. He had to get the children away from the humans soon, or they would be dead anyway. Neither Karda nor Ren would be pushed over the edge easily, but they had been through so much already just in the past few days, and even in the unlikely case that the humans didn't lay a hand on them, they had no reason to not make the children miserable in every other way if they weren't even going to use their powers directly. The chances of the children surviving amongst the enemies of their kind for long were low to begin with – in this situation, they were practically non-existent.

Knowing this, though, didn't change the fact that Tiir had no idea how to find the two of them.

The humans had to have a weakness he could utilize, and of course he could take a guess and try his luck, but he didn't think that was a good idea unless he absolutely had to. He couldn't even begin to imagine how those creatures' minds worked, so if he wanted to figure out what was important enough to them to make them reveal the children's whereabouts, the sensible thing to do would be to investigate the matter properly.

And there was one thing he knew humans valued, almost as much as they feared it – power. If he wanted the odds to be in the children's favor, what he probably needed to know first was what kind of power either the prince or the queen held that they deemed essential.

However, while it made for a good starting point, it wasn't quite as simple as threating to take that power from them once he had identified it. He had little doubt that both the humans were extremely fond of their own worthless lives, but threatening to take those from them was likely to end in the children's deaths regardless – if nothing else, the humans had no reason to assume that Tiir would spare them even if they gave in to his demands. And why would he?

So in the end, it still came down to being careful while he tried to come up with a plan that didn't seem to include the children's deaths as an inevitable outcome.

Tiir contemplated his options until the darkness outside started fading, and – having failed to get any further with his deliberations –, he might have continued to do so until sunrise if not for the small brown creature that suddenly appeared on one of the branches. It stood frozen in mid-step, staring at him with large amber eyes.

Tiir blinked at it, taken aback by the fact that he hadn't noticed it climbing up the tree; but then he smiled and held out his hand. He didn't know what to do with dogs, but he did have some experience with cats. There were a few half-wild ones at the Headquarters and the children adored them, even though they only sometimes allowed themselves to be petted.

The cat mewed quietly and cautiously approached him. After giving his hand a quick sniff, it rubbed its head against his palm and started purring. Tiir scratched its ears.

“Did I surprise you?” he asked softly, and carefully picked the animal up. It immediately clawed at his chest, which was a bit uncomfortable despite the cloth in-between, but since the cat hadn't stopped purring and in fact seemed quite pleased with itself, Tiir didn't mind. He petted it some more, then turned around to set it down on the floor–

– and froze.

The human was sitting upright in the middle of the bed, watching him.

“Do you like cats?”

Tiir relaxed somewhat at the prince's curious tone of voice, and released the cat onto the ground. “Yes,” he answered as he got back up – simply, honestly.

“There are two of them,” the human, whose name meant nothing to Tiir, told him. “This is the female one – her name is Her Majesty. The male is called King.” He snorted. “My sister thought naming them that would be hilarious. They're both hers, by the way.”

Tiir fixed his gaze on the man. He seemed in a good enough mood, considering the topic of their last conversation. “Then why are they with you?”

“Oh, right, you wouldn't know. My sister is no longer staying at the palace. When she gave up her right to the throne, she practically disowned herself. She visits sometimes, though.”

Tiir was somewhat surprised to hear the human talk as if the woman in question had relinquished her claim to the crown willingly, considering humans usually killed each other to gain possession of it; but then again, there was hardly anything humans didn't kill each other over, and fearful creatures that they were, it was by no means unusual for them to give up on something they desired when the alternative would place them in danger. Tiir neither understood nor cared about the specifics of human politics, but even he knew that being the ruler of a country about to engage in warfare with a nation powerful enough to take down Stohl was hardly a guarantee for a long life.

“Why did she give up on the throne?” he queried anyway, partly because it was as good a starting point as any for trying to gather information, but also out of lingering curiosity. He hadn't noted any discord between mother and son, but if he held his sister in as high a regard as he claimed to, the prince should be unhappy if there was bad blood between her and the queen, shouldn't he?

Then again, humans were good at pretending, and lying to their own flesh and blood didn't mean anything to them. It would be easy for them to cover up their discontentment until right before they struck.

“My sister has always been like that,” the prince said, sounding wistful, almost sad. “Strong, determined, driven. Nothing could ever hold her down. She would have made a good queen, but her passion is magic. She wanted to concentrate on her studies and improve Salea's arsenal of spells further. Mother told her there was no need to give up succession for that – that she should just oversee a team of researchers in the future –, but Malyrei is nothing if not stubborn.”

“So you had to give up on becoming a healer instead?”

The prince looked at him in surprise for a moment, before giving a lop-sided smile. “I didn't have to. My sister asked me before she made it official, said she could always find a way to continue doing research on the side. But I'd never been all that serious about becoming a healer, and I... I didn't want to be the thing that ended up blocking her path after all. If I'd asked her to, she would have given up on her plans. I'd never dreamt I could have that kind of power over her. It was... kind of terrifying, to be honest.”

Tiir watched the strange human, whose apparent openness baffled him and whose love for his sister seemed so genuine.

He didn't know what to make of it.

And a human terrified of having power? Now where would you find that? It sounded like a whole new level of cowardice, but then it didn't make sense that the human was even sitting here answering Tiir's questions.

“You didn't pull an all-nighter again, did you?” the human disrupted his musings.

“No,” Tiir said, stepping away from the window. “I only woke up some time ago.”

“Oh. That's good, then, I suppose.” A pause. “The floor really isn't too uncomfortable?”

Tiir couldn't imagine why the human would be so concerned about that. “It's fine.”

“All right, if you're sure,” the prince said, somewhat reluctantly. “I should probably have us brought something to eat. Any preferences?”

Tiir gave him a wry look. “Things that would try to run from me screaming aside, you mean?”

“Well, you did say those weren't among your favorites,” the human retorted with a shrug. “How often do you need to feed on magic, anyway?”

For a split second, Tiir thought about lying. He could use any advantages he could get, and this would be a rather big one. However, even if the prince honestly had no idea at all about the matter, there was no telling what the half-Gastark woman might know, and so Tiir decided to be truthful, “Not often. As long as there are other kinds of food available, being unable to make use of the Iino Doue won't kill me.” Nor for a very long time, at least.

“But it would be painful for you?”

Painful? In the long-run, it would be excruciating.

Tiir clenched his fists. “Yes.”

The prince remained silent for a moment. Then, “Would once a week suffice?”

“What?” Tiir asked, startled.

“Provided you neither get injured nor need to fight, would a small amount once a week be enough to make it bearable?”

“Yes,” Tiir said, slowly.

“Then we'll do that – well, I'll have to speak with my mother first, but it shouldn't be a problem. She as good as gave me full authority in this matter.”

“Aren't you scared of my powers?” Tiir asked. He narrowed his eyes. “Of what I might do?”

“Honestly? If I wasn't so sure that you wouldn't do anything to endanger your siblings, I'd be scared shitless. But even if you killed every single person in this city, news would travel before you'd possibly be able to find them. Only two people in this castle know their whereabouts, and neither is going to reveal them to you – regardless of the circumstances.”

“You seem confident.”

“If I wasn't, I wouldn't have brought you here. And if you believed I was lying, you would have made your move by now, magic or no magic.” The human got up and stretched languidly. “So, food preferences?”

Tiir regarded the man for a moment longer, before finally shrugging. He didn't know a thing about Salean cuisine.

“All right, then. You can wait here, if you want – it will just be a minute. Actually, you could do me a favor and prevent Her Majesty from waking up Lord Truffles. He always wants to go for a walk when he gets up, and if you ask me, it's still way too early for that.”

Tiir resisted the urge to shake his head in wonder. The pets' names really were ridiculous.

*

The food, a traditional, spicy sort of pastry filled with vegetables, had been good – Tiir couldn't deny that, even if it continued to escape him why the human was going to so much trouble to accommodate him. Had things been different, he would have assumed the man was deluding himself into thinking that he could win Tiir over by pretending to care – many of his brethren had been deceived and manipulated by humans, after all, confused as they had been by their upbringing amongst the inferior creatures.

However, there was hardly any need for such an elaborate scheme: Tiir's hands were already sufficiently tied by his loyalty to his family, and the human seemed to realize this. Besides, he had hardly given the man basis to assume that he harbored anything less than the blackest hatred for his kind. There seemed to be no point to his actions.

Still, there had to be a logical reason for the prince's behavior, even if Tiir could not yet see it. He would have to remain alert.

He accompanied the human outside when the dog finally demanded its right, and the fact that he felt like yet another pet on a leash aside, it wasn't so bad. The sun was still not completely up, and they encountered only a few humans in the corridors, all of whom were guards and servants who had no idea who or what he was. If they threw him some curious glances, then Tiir didn't come close enough to notice, making the desire to kill them easy to ignore.

The palace gardens themselves were beautiful, appearing wild and untouched by human hands although Tiir knew that they couldn't possibly be. At their heart, a vast variety of flowers and bushes grew around a small lake whose water was just a little too clear, and some of those plants he had never seen before.

Lafra would have loved it.

Tiir watched the human take off the dog's leash and pick up a large stick for it to retrieve – except that the dog preferred to lie down to gnaw on it several feet away, making the human come after it instead.

Tiir could see the prince rolling his eyes in annoyance at the animal, but he did seem to be enjoying himself, and the scenario was repeated several times before the man suddenly glanced at Tiir, tilting his head as if debating something. After a moment, he held the stick out to him. “Do you want to try?”

Tiir hesitated, but then grasped the piece of wood. He made sure not to touch the human, but as a result put his hand on what must have been the most slimy part of the item.

He grimaced.

The human chuckled. “Yes, my thoughts exactly. Just use Lord Truffles as a towel afterwards. He deserves it.”

Tiir didn't reply, but decided to take the advice. He threw the stick, and watched the animal chase after it with its usual enthusiasm. “Are all dogs this simple?”

The prince made a sound of amusement. “Probably not, but this one certainly is. Give him some food, a pat on the head and something to entertain himself with, and he wouldn't notice even if the world ended around him. He was originally intended as a guard dog, but, well, the only reason the assassin screamed was that Lord Truffles tackled the poor man in an effort to steal his shoes. Apparently, chewing on them was more important than preserving my life.”

Tiir snorted, and bent down to pet the dog. “I think I like him.”

“Oh great, yet another person who has mastered the art of making jabs that don't sound like jabs. Just what I needed.” The prince seemed more entertained by the notion than anything, though.

“I'm a 'person' now?”

The human looked at him, clearly taken aback. “Well,” he said, “I suppose. I mean, I'm still creeped out as heck by the fact that you apparently think my brain tissue looks 'appetizing', but like this, you hardly seem very terrible.” He shrugged. “Kind of difficult to think of you as a monster when you behave less like a spawn of evil than my own sister.”

Tiir narrowed his eyes. “It doesn't bother you that I devoured one of your men?”

“Narvsen?” the prince asked and then scratched the back of his head in a gesture that seemed strangely self-conscious for this situation.

Of course Tiir hadn't expected the human to be heartbroken over the loss of a soldier who, as far as Tiir could tell, had possessed no particular merits – he hadn't appeared to have any understanding of magic, judging by how he hadn't even tried to hurl a spell at the children from afar to divert Tiir's attention, and his movements had been as sluggish as those of any other human. Even so, this was a rather bizarre reaction.

“Well,” the prince finally continued, “I'm not happy about it, but it's not like he and I were close. Not to speak ill of the dead, but he held some beliefs...” The human shook his head. “It's not like I even knew him all that well. He spent most of his time away from the capital and rarely attended official functions. Despite that, he had some influence because his late father was well-respected in the court, and among other things, he used it to force his way into a mission he wasn't supposed to have any part in, for the sole reason that he didn't want to leave the matter in Lymeia's hands – because she's a woman.

“Now, there are countries where such views are common, but Salea is not one of them. It probably didn't even occur to him that he was insulting my mother – his sovereign – to my face when he voiced his concerns. He also wasn't supposed to charge right at you and risk the whole mission for no apparent reason at all. So while I'd much rather have let Lymeia report the matter to my mother and waited for her to handle it in a less bloody fashion, if you had to make a picnic out of one of my subjects... let's just say it could have been worse.”

The human paused, then added, “Besides, I'm actually more bothered by the fact that you've killed civilians than by the knowledge that you consumed someone who attacked you first. I do think your eating habits are disgusting, but then again, so are Lymeia's. Her favorite dish is frog legs from Imperial Nelpha. Frog legs! Thank goodness those are hard to come by around here.”

Tiir could not believe the human had just made that comparison. “Are you serious?” he asked, not even trying to conceal his incredulity.

“Well, it would be kind of hypocritical of me to walk around cursing you for killing your enemies, don't you think?” A short silence as the human once more picked up the stick and threw it for the dog to run after. “I just don't get why you would go after innocents.”

Tiir could have told the prince that there was no such thing as an innocent human, but he knew the man would just claim otherwise – so instead, he said, “You are merely inferior beings.” And then, with a scoff, he asked, “Do you ask yourself whether the cow was innocent every time you eat beef?”

“Actually,” the prince said, “I'm a vegetarian. I don't eat beef... or any meat at all, for the matter.”

Tiir stared at him.

The human chuckled. “Yeah, I get that a lot, though it's actually not that unusual in Salea – it's a bit complicated. Anyway, my rule of thumb is: 'if there's something else available and it looks like it would run from you screaming if it could, don't eat it.' Of course, I still kill when I think it's necessary, and as you know very well, I'm also perfectly willing to play dirty, so I'm really in no position to judge you. I'm just trying to understand where you're coming from.”

“Why?”

“Because,” the prince said, “it's too easy to hate that which you fear, and to fear that which you don't understand.” A pause. “I realize that now.”

Several seconds passed in which Tiir mulled over that reply. Finally, he gave up on trying to make sense of the man, and simply declared, “You're a strange sort of human.”

Next to him, the prince breathed a laugh. “Two compliments in two days? I feel honored. You're a very fascinating kind of person yourself.”

Not knowing what to make of that, Tiir just followed the human back to his chambers in silence

*

“I hate Council meetings.” It was late afternoon when the prince announced this. They hadn't spoken much since their exceedingly peculiar conversation earlier that day – apparently, the human had several dozen reports to go through that had been accumulating during his absence, and Tiir had been content to be left to his musings.

Now, Tiir glanced over to the human, who was standing in front of the opened wardrobe and radiating frustration. “Why is that?”

“For one, more than half of those nobles are god damn difficult to deal with. Also, I hate formal wear – no, actually, it would be more accurate to say formal wear hates me. How the hell do you lace this thing? It's like one of those overly elaborate dresses my sister used to burn, and I fully understand why she did it.”

Tiir gently put down the female cat, who apparently had decided that his lap was a suitable cushion at some point. He rose, and was standing in front of the human a moment later.

The prince blinked at him stupidly, but didn't even flinch when Tiir reached for the laces. Instead, the man just watched in wonder as he tied them and then moved on to the next pair.

When he was done, the human was long since staring at him. “How did you do that?”

“It's not difficult.”

The prince snorted. “Maybe for you.” Looking down on himself, he shook his head. “You have to teach me that some time – I tend to need hours for this kind of thing. Anyway, thank you. I really appreciate it.”

Tiir regarded the man. He'd never been thanked by a human before. Neither had he ever assisted one on a whim, for the matter.

What was he doing?

No, actually, Tiir knew very well what he was doing, and that was the problem. He hadn't done what he had to garner favor, or even to unsettle the human in an act of petty revenge. Rather, he had been testing him.

It was ridiculous. A human was a human, whether he backed away from him in fear and disgust or not. Some were just better at masking their emotions than others.

And yet, there hadn't been anything fake about the way the human's eyes had widened, first in surprise and then in something much too close to awe.

Tiir decided that, if nothing else, he should have been more subtle regarding his motivations.

“You'll be fine, right?” the human asked, looking concerned. “It should be a fairly trivial affair, but I am a bit worried about sending you there with Lymeia, considering...” Running a hand through his hair, the man sighed. “I wish Mother had told me earlier.”

“Would it have made a difference?”

The prince seemed affronted by the question. “Of course! At the very least, I would have come along to oversee the whole thing myself. Though I suppose,” he continued after a moment, “it really doesn't matter much. All the tests should be relatively harmless, the ones designed to get a better impression of your regenerative abilities being the only ones that will require physically injuring you. However, if you find that any of the procedures make you overly uncomfortable in spite of that, Lymeia has clear instructions to call everything off until we've had a chance to look for alternatives. There won't be any negative consequences.”

“Why, thank you,” Tiir said, narrowing his eyes. “Are you always this considerate towards your research subjects?”

It was quite satisfying to see the human flinch at his words. “It's not like tha-” the prince began, but then broke off and shook his head. “No, you're right, it is. And I don't expect you to be happy about it, or to forgive me. All I'm asking is that you let Lymeia know if there is something wrong. She may not like you very much, but she does take her duties seriously.” The human took a deep breath. “I know you have every reason to resent her, but just for this, could you... see her as an ally, perhaps?”

What? Tiir almost laughed. “I don't think so.”

“At least try? I promised the children you wouldn't come to any harm. Do it for them?”

Tiir wanted to snarl at the human for daring to bring the little ones into this and trying to manipulate him through them, but the expression on the prince's face gave him pause.

Was the human... pleading with him?

Yes, Tiir decided after another moment. That was exactly what the man was doing.

Tiir didn't understand.

In the end, what he said was, “I'll think about it.”

The human nodded, appearing relieved. “Well,” he said. “Let's go, then.”

A moment later, he walked out of the door, Tiir right behind him. They didn't speak another word.

*

What Tiir learned that evening about the half-Gastark woman was that it was much easier to remember that he wasn't supposed to kill her when she didn't talk.

After more than two hours, she had yet to address him directly – which was an insult all in its own right, but seeing how she had so far refrained from referring to him as a pet as well as from resorting to dog commands, Tiir could content himself with merely ignoring her in turn.

The tests themselves were simple enough – banal, even. Through most of the process, he just had to stand, sometimes sit, in the bland white room without moving and allow the humans to see the Iino Doue when one of the magicians told him to. The injuries inflicted upon him to observe him recover were minor, and while Tiir did find the whole experience to be degrading, it wasn't worse than his first few days as a prisoner had been, and not nearly as painful. He even got to feed, which almost made up for half of it.

What he did find deeply unpleasant was one of the magicians picking at his face and eyes for no discernible reason, but surprisingly, it was the half-Gastark woman who put an end to that very quickly, coolly telling the man that he was supposed to do his job, not 'poke the monster'.

For all that Tiir hated her, the resulting expression on the man's face was amusing. Too bad there wasn't much about him that looked palatable...

“Commander, it's staring at me.”

“So?” the woman asked.

“It's a very worrying kind of stare.”

The half-Gastark magician mock-gasped. “Why, soldier, are you saying it would rather be eating you than following your instructions? Whatever gave you the idea?” The man gulped audibly, and she snorted. “Perhaps you should not put your hands so close to its mouth if its food habits unsettle you so.”

“T-that's, er, very good advice, Commander,” the man said, backing away from Tiir slightly. “Thank you.”

“When Her Majesty asks about the results, I shall inform her that it did not chew on you.”

“Uh...”

“I am telling you to stop being a coward. It's not going to do anything. Of course, if you decide to keep poking around in its eyes like a child in spinach, I might or might not care if it accidentally bites off your arm.”

“Y-yes, ma'am, sorry, ma'am.”

Two of the other three magicians snickered. The third looked torn between amusement and sympathy – Tiir absently noted that she was the only other female in the group.

When they wanted to observe the speed of his movements, Tiir was tempted to place himself right behind the half-Gastark woman just to watch her reaction, but in the end, he decided that the brief enjoyment of throwing her off balance was not worth the risk of ending up with sharp metal between his ribs. He also felt no desire to antagonize her after going to all the trouble of getting her off his case – it seemed they had reached a fragile kind of truce for the moment, and Tiir had an active interest in making it last past this. He hadn't forgotten what she was capable of.

So instead of doing something horrendously stupid for no other reason than to vent his anger, he chose the middle course, appearing behind the man who had seemed to find his eyes so very captivating–

– and smiling at him.

He wasn't the first human who lost control over his bladder as a result.

Tiir wrinkled his nose – no, really not the most appetizing piece of meat – and repeated the process three more times. One of the other two men fell backwards, which was fairly entertaining; the other prepared to cast a spell, before realizing the flaw in his thinking and glaring at Tiir instead. Now this one seemed worth taking a bite...

The second female mage just yelped and backed away from him when he suddenly showed up in front of her, and Tiir quickly lost interest, instead turning to the group's leader.

Keeping his gaze impassive rather than challenging, the Iino Doue no longer visible, he waited.

The half-Gastark magician regarded him in silence for a moment. “Good enough,” she finally announced. “We're done here.”

The rest of the humans looked terribly relieved at that.

Only the man who had glared at Tiir before asked, “Shouldn't we be more thorough?”

“And risk breaking a powerful weapon?” the half-Gastark woman asked. “No. Our orders concerning this matter are very clear. If there is sufficient cause, we may conduct further research in the future, but even then, the monster is to remain largely undamaged.”

“I suppose that makes sense...”

“Of course it does. Are you doubting our Queen's wisdom?”

“Never!” the human male exclaimed with conviction. “So, er, you are taking it back now?”

“Obviously. Unless you wanted to invite it for dinner?”

From behind the half-Gastark magician, Tiir grinned at the man.

“N-not at all, ma'am. Have a pleasant evening!”

A snort. “I'm sure it will be delightful.” The woman glanced at Tiir. “Come.”

It sounded like a dog command, but at least it was better than 'heel'. Tiir obeyed.

He wondered if the human from before, whom he had so kindly assisted in ruining his clothes, would have nightmares about him.

He certainly hoped so.

*

“How was it?”

The prince, who had been going through yet another stack of documents, whirled around in his chair. “W-what?” he stammered.

Tiir gazed at him. It was far from the first time he had made a human nervous, but it was the first time that nervousness didn't have anything to do with fear. “The Council meeting,” he said. “How was it?”

“Horrible, but I didn't expect anything less. I hope I'll have them convinced by the end of the week.” The human paused, then asked, “You're talking to me again?”

“I wasn't aware I was sulking.”

“I wouldn't have put it quite like that, but actually...” Tiir threw the man a look. The human coughed. “Anyway. There's... nothing wrong, is there? You're fine?”

“Perfectly.”

The human gave a sigh of relief. “I'm glad. And you, uh, don't hate me any more than you already did?"

“It hardly makes a difference.” And really, it didn't. Tiir was acutely aware of his status as a prisoner, and had been from the start. Becoming a research subject hadn't been unexpected, and in fact, he had anticipated that it would be quite an unpleasant experience.

The testing as a whole had been far from enjoyable, but he had gotten something out of it, at least, and it definitely hadn't been so terrible that it would have changed anything.

He was still a captive. He still hated humans.

He still required this one to not loathe him more than he already would, and thought him peculiar.

“That's good to hear,” the prince said. “I think.” He tilted his head. “Does everyone of your kind hate humans?”

Tiir narrowed his eyes. He wasn't about to supply the humans with information about his comrades.

On the other hand, the question seemed inconsequenital enough, and Tiir didn't see any harm in answering it. “They should,” he said.

“But they don't?”

“Not those who grow up amongst your kind, not knowing any better and in many cases never even getting the opportunity to learn the truth.”

“Because they die before that?”

“Because they are killed.”

“I see,” the human said, then paused. “Wait. Bearers of the Alpha Stigma are born from humans, right? They don't consume them, and are raised just like no-... human children?”

“Yes.” Tiir wondered what the human's point was.

The prince blinked. “Then how do you know that you're not killing an Alpha Stigma bearer's parents or friends when you attack a human village? That wouldn't ho over well, would it?” A pause. “I guess you can tell if someone is of your kind when you see them... but what if they're just currently not around for some reason?”

Tiir stared at the human. He wasn't capable of recognizing another bearer of the Divine Eyes on sight, specifically, but he could sense when one was near if he paid attention: even when he was preoccupied with feeding, the usually so ardent Voice would fade into a whisper, and if he got close enough – or if there were no humans around to pose a distraction –, it would cease urging him to kill entirely in favor of alerting him to the presence of kin. As a result, Tiir could easily avoid making the fatal mistake of killing his own simply by not attacking children, whose abilities might yet have to awaken.

However, when it came to their loved ones... “It's highly unlikely.”

“But you can't be certain?”

Tiir opened his mouth and closed it again. It was true that he would likely hear about it if one of his comrades was in the vicinity, if nothing else then through rumors circulating amongst the local humans – Tiir didn't mingle with them if he could help it, but being bothersome vermin, they tended to be everywhere. However, some of his kind did manage to escape discovery for a while, and when it came to those who didn't even know about themselves yet...

“No,” he finally said – slowly, wonderingly, as the realization sank in. “No, I can't.”

It was unlikely. The chances were minimal, and he could say with reasonable certainty that it had never happened.

Should he ever make such a blunder, though, the consequences would be grave. However misguided it might be, however painful, those of his kind who gave humans their love did so earnestly and without reservation. After all, that was one reason why most of them died so young.

Killing such a human would equate to hurting his own kind. In the worst case, it would mean causing an Alpha Stigma bearer to lose himself and die as a result.

Having his kin's blood on his hands... it was the last thing Tiir wanted. He didn't think he would be able to bear the guilt.

“You've never considered this?” the human asked – strangely not in a taunting or even amused kind of voice, but in one filled with what appeared to be genuine surprise. A short silence. “You really must hate humans a whole lot.” The man sounded thoughtful now, and a moment later, he got up from his chair to sit down in front of Tiir on the floor. “Is it because of Gastark?”

Tiir forced himself to concentrate on the conversation at hand. He could always sort out his principles later – it wasn't like he would get to devour a human village any time soon. “No,” he said, balling his fists. “It's not just because of Gastark.”

“But you do despise them more than, say, a random farmer passing by?”

“Yes,” Tiir replied instantly, his voice almost a growl. “Gastark will pay.”

“Well, at least we can agree on something. Not that my quarrel with them is quite as personal as yours, I suppose – they have yet to try and invade Salea, but when we attacked you, you were fleeing from them, weren't you? Lymeia told me,” the prince explained before Tiir could ask. “She'd been tracking you for a while. She wasn't close enough to see much, but she did conclude that several bearers were killed in that battle.”

“It always comes back to her, doesn't it?” Tiir bit out, but the venom in his words was not really directed at the prince, or even the magician.

Gastark...

Tiir wanted to tear off their limbs one by one.

“She is one of our finest, after all,” the prince said casually, but he was looking at Tiir in a way that made it quite obvious that he was sensing the mood he was in.

Instead of backing away or otherwise concerning himself with the matter of self-preservation, though, he did the exact opposite. Tiir needed a few seconds to realize that the human's fingertips had stopped just an inch from his shoulder. That was when the man seemed to shake himself, and pulled back his hand.

Tiir fixed him with a disbelieving gaze. Had the human been trying to comfort him?

It was a preposterous thought. Tiir was fairly sure that despite his grief, he had not looked upset so much as murderous. Why would the human even consider touching him under those circumstances?

But the prince still didn't appear fearful, or disgusted, or even pleased; just uncertain.

“You probably don't want my condolences, huh? I'm sorry, I sometimes just don't think before I act. Still, if you want to talk or anything...”

Tiir wondered what the point of this charade was. “There's nothing to talk about,” he bit out. “I want them dead. That's all there is to it.”

“How many of your people did they kill?”

“Too many.”

The human regarded him in silence for a while. “You blame yourself?” Had the man's voice been just a little softer, his expression just a little closer to pity, Tiir wasn't sure he would have managed to not go for his throat.

“What business of yours is it?” he snapped instead, angry at the human's prying, but even more furious at himself for being so transparent.

“None,” the prince admitted easily. “Still, you shouldn't be so hard on yourself. There wasn't anything you could have done.”

“And how, pray tell, would you know that?”

“I've seen enough to know that if there had been, you would have done it.” A pause. “And you did manage to save the children, didn't you?”

“Two of them,” Tiir said, gritting his teeth. “And what a great job I did there.”

“Well, it wasn't exactly a fair fight we engaged you in. And they are safe. Gastark wouldn't even know where to start looking, and we won't hurt them.”

Tiir fixed the human with a cool stare. “Unless I give you a reason to.”

“Are you going to?”

Tiir didn't respond. The answer was obvious.

“See,” the human said. “Perfectly safe.”

“Yes,” Tiir ground out. “And I'm sure they're very happy.”

The prince blinked at him. “They're not rotting away in some prison cell, if that's what you mean. I did make sure they would be treated well. They're probably worried about you, and I'm not saying it's perfect, but they should be all right.”

Tiir felt pathetic for wanting to believe every single word coming out of the human's mouth. “Did you separate them?” he asked, because it was the only one of the questions that were tormenting him he might actually get an answer to.

The human hesitated, but then said, “No. We didn't want to upset them more than necessary - for various reasons.”

“I see,” Tiir said. This, at least, made sense. He was certain Ren and Karda were strong enough to not lose themselves easily, but the humans didn't know that. Their fear of the children was dangerous, but in this case, it might just turn out to be an advantage.

If the humans continued to be cautious, maybe the little ones did have some time before the situation became unbearable.

The prince sighed. “Gods, I'll be glad when this whole Council business is over. Then you can see that they are alright with your own eyes, and I won't have to deal with stuck-up nobles anymore. Most of them aren't so bad by themselves, but as a group they're impossible. I don't know how Mother puts up with them. Thinking about it, maybe it's a good thing my sister has no interest in the throne – she would be way too tempted to have them all executed just so they stop wasting her time.”

Tiir was beginning to believe that woman to be quite the bloodthirsty creature. “Why don't you sick her on Gastark?”

The prince blinked at him, and then burst out laughing. “I like the way you think. And actually, that's exactly what will be happening. Over are the days when Salea's magic was only good for making vainglorious ceremonies even more pompous. She's been doing research for seven years now – Gastark will never know what hit them.”

Tiir was skeptical about that. “Just seven years?”

“Well, obviously other counties have invested a lot more time, historically speaking, but for precisely that reason, quite a few of them have become complacent – just look at Runa! –, and it's not like anyone will expect much from us in that regard. We'll have the element of surprise on our side, and there was already some research under the last two rulers. We also know how to use the advantages we already had efficiently, and did I mention my sister is a genius? Our chances still aren't the best, especially since we lack magicians who can put the weapons she provides to proper use, but we wouldn't be preparing for a war if we thought only casualties could come out of it.”

Tiir still wasn't convinced, but he certainly wouldn't complain about anyone giving Gastark trouble.

On the other hand... “What are the chance that you will end up surrendering, after all?”

“Not high. My mother does not do surrender. Unless, I suppose, the situation was really hopeless.” The human considered him. “You're worried about what would happen to you in such a case,” he concluded. “To the children.”

Tiir narrowed his eyes. “Does it surprise you?”

“No. It's perfectly understandable. But there shouldn't be any need to be concerned – they won't find out about the children. Annoying the Council may be, but they're not traitors. Even if one of them or anyone else involved were to betray Salea, though, they still wouldn't know their whereabouts, and Gastark is hardly going to waste resources on two lone Alpha Stigma bearers. In Valasea, only my mother and I could give up their location, and neither of us has an interest in handing them over to Gastark.”

“So you would dispose of them before anyone could discover them.” Tiir managed not to let rage get the better of him. At the end of the day, it was still better than having them die at the hands of Gastark.

“You really don't think my word is worth much, do you? They'd be brought out of the country, but the person looking after them is quite capable of keeping them alive and away from Gastark. If you can't believe that I take my promises seriously, just assume we'd want to organize a resistance and use them for that purpose... or something. As for you, it wouldn't be our fault if you suddenly went berserk, would it?” The human grinned, then shrugged. “Either way, Salea will not go down easily.”

Tiir wasn't completely satisfied with that answer, but he supposed it was good enough. At the very least, the human didn't have much of a reason to lie to him at this point, and even less of a reason to do Gastark any favors.

“As stimulating as conversing with you is,” the human suddenly said, getting up, “I'm going crazy from sitting around all day. I need to catch some air. Do you mind?”

Tiir was slightly taken aback by the abrupt change of topic, but the prospect of being able to leave the building was an appealing one. Even the testing had been done inside the palace.

“It's the middle of the night,” he pointed out, just to make sure the human realized this.

“All the better! We won't have to worry about anyone seeing you. Even hypothetical spies from Gastark should have better things to do than run around the city at this hour.”

Tiir couldn't argue with that logic. Neither did he want to. He stood, and let the smiling human lead him out of the room.

*

“And this is the temple,” the prince announced. Apparently, his idea of 'catching some air' included giving Tiir a tour through the city.

Tiir, on the other hand, just found it unsettling that he was growing used to the human's oddness.

He took in the building in question. It wasn't as large as the palace, but not much smaller, either. It looked simpler, but paradoxically, that only made it seem more impressive. A long staircase, of an even brighter white than the building itself – or maybe that was just the moonlight shining through the clouds – led up to a half-opened double door.

“What does Salea worship?” Tiir inquired, knowing he was really making conversation for curiosity's sake alone this time, but past the point of caring.

“You'll have to ask our clerics that.” Tiir looked at the human incredulously, and the prince chuckled. “No, really, it's complicated. We used to worship a god similar to Runa's, except that in Salea, the acting ruler was not only considered chosen by that god, but the embodiment of his will – so when King Vendran II decided to get rid of the priests and have his subjects worship the farther north's goddesses instead, no one really knew what to make of it. In the end, the new religion and the ones that followed didn't take hold, but the old one also kept losing influence, and today, we're just a bunch of heretics.” The human winked at him. “Runa recently took it upon themselves to try and save our souls, for old friendship's sake, but, well... soul-sucking demon for a sister and all that.”

At this point, Tiir strongly suspected that human customs made even less sense than humans themselves. “Why would the king back then have done such a thing?”

“There are many stories about that, actually. Some say he did it for his heir, who either would not have been able to inherit the throne or been killed had the King acted in accordance with the holy books. There are also stories about how he did it to win the hand of a woman from a neighboring nation, who refused to become the queen of a country whose priests expected her to bow down to her husband and live a life in his shadow. Other, less romantically inclined people believe he did it because he had gotten tired of having to share his power with the priesthood. And there are many more, if slightly less popular accounts. It was a long time ago, so there are no reliable records.”

Tiir glanced at the human. “What do you think?” he asked, not sure why he cared, but intrigued nonetheless.

The prince tilted his head. “I don't know. Thirst for power seems the most likely cause, but it's also the least appealing one, so...” The human grinned. “Maybe I should just go with my sister's version. It features King Vendran the Drunk and Queen Anabelle the Bloody: 'It all started when, one morning, the High Priest stepped on Queen Anabelle's favorite cat's tail...'”

Tiir snorted.

“You should really meet her some time,” the prince said. “I dare you to tell her to her face that she is 'merely an inferior creature'.”

“She would kill me?” Tiir asked.

The human blinked at him.

And blinked again. “That was a serious question? All right, I think I really make her sound a lot more terrible than she actually is – which should be impossible. She wouldn't kill you. For one, she's neither unstable nor much inclined to go against Mother's orders. Also, red, glowy eyes that can absorb magic? To her, that's better than cats.”

“Absorb magic and devour humans.”

“Was that a threat or were you implying my sister would give a damn? Because I guarantee you that as long as you don't eat her cats, she will love you. And I don't just mean 'think of you as a lovely research subject' love you, but 'ask you to be her new best friend and raise lots of cute little kittens together' love you.”

It was Tiir's turn to blink. “You said she wasn't unstable?”

“Well. Maybe a little, when cats and magic enter the equation.”

Tiir just shook his head. He'd always known humans were bothersome, disgusting creatures at best, but he'd never realized they were this confusing.

*

That night, when they had returned to the palace and the prince was sound asleep in his bed, the second cat decided to make its appearance. It was slightly larger than the female one, its striped fur gray rather than brown, and all in all, it was more skittish than affectionate.

Tiir, who couldn't sleep, anyway, amused himself by trying to coax it into sitting in his lap. It took him the better part of the night, but in the end, he succeeded, and the cat fell asleep against his drawn up legs.

When morning came, the human took one look at him and declared, “You and Malyrei really would get along.”

Tiir's answer consisted of a derisive snort, but he didn't stop petting the cat.

Chapter Text

“Anything in particular you would like for breakfast?”

“No.”

The human raised his eyebrows. “Are you always this unselective? My brain tissue feels insulted.”

Tiir glanced at the man. “You have a very peculiar sense of humor.”

“For a human?”

“No. In general.” Tiir fell silent for a moment, then added, “Don't worry, I'm more picky when it comes to eating human scum.”

The prince snorted. “My self-confidence is rising.”

Tiir smirked at him.

“You know,” the human said, “that expression in this context is kind of creepy. Let's stick to food that won't feel flattered by the attention.” He paused. “Not that my brain tissue is feeling flattered, exactly, but... you get the idea.”

“You're quite the-” Tiir broke off when a sudden wave of nausea hit him.

The prince blinked at him. “What's wrong?”

“Nothi-” Tiir began, but then let his hand fly to his mouth in a reflexive attempt to keep down the contents of his stomach.

“Are you unwell?” the human asked, sounding concerned.

This wasn't good. He was going to vomit.

He didn't want to show such weakness in front of the enemy, and neither did he feel the desire to give the human that convenient a reason to treat him as a disgusting beast.

The prince knelt down next to him. “Can you get up?”

Tiir just shook his head. He had no illusions about what would happen if he moved even an inch now.

The taste inside his mouth was repulsive, but he wasn't going to soil the carpet like some animal. He hadn't fallen that far yet.

He tensed when after several seconds of watching him, the human laid a hand on his shoulder. “Just let it out. I can clean it up later.” When Tiir didn't react, the prince sighed. “You really are stubborn. Wait here.”

It wasn't like Tiir could do anything else.

The human got up, and returned a few minutes later with an emptied dog bowl. Tiir looked at him.

He could not be serious.

“It's the best I could do,” the human said apologetically, putting the item down on the ground. “I don't think you can wait the fifteen minutes the servants would need to get a bucket here.” A short silence. “Come on, it's not so bad. It will be easy to clean, at least.”

Tiir was not about to content himself with that – except that he didn't have a choice. So he just leaned over the bowl, and tried to at least not get himself dirty.

He wouldn't have succeeded, but the human's fingers were suddenly in his face, pushing the hair out of the way. It wasn't as disturbing as having the man's other hand on his back, where it moved in gentle circles.

“All right?” the human inquired softly. “Just tell me if you want me to leave you alone.”

Tiir knew he should have protested at least the second, so very clearly non-clinical touch, but he could barely muster up the energy to care. He threw up two times in a row, and when the human led him over to the bed and told him to lie down, he didn't fight him.

He allowed the prince to use a wet cloth to clean his mouth, too tired to even feel debased anymore.

“There were no poisons involved yesterday, were there?” the human asked.

“No.” Not that Tiir was aware of, at least.

The prince nodded thoughtfully. “I suppose it could be the result of Lymeia's poisoned dart, but that would be a rather belated reaction. It might also have something to do with the Rule Fragment, but I don't think it's happened before. I guess you could just have caught something...” The human raised his hand, but then paused, searching Tiir's face.

When he couldn't find any indication that the gesture would be seen as intrusive, the prince carefully pressed his palm to Tiir's forehead. “It's not a high fever,” he said after a heartbeat, removing his hand. “Would consuming magic help?”

“Maybe,” Tiir said honestly. “Or it might just postpone the illness.”

“Huh. Better sleep it off, then?”

“I suppose.”

The human grinned. “Don't worry, I'm good at looking after sick people. As long as you don't start throwing up half-digested body parts, that is – then I'd join right in.”

Tiir snorted. “It doesn't work like that.”

“That's definitely reassuring.” The prince rose. “Just rest,” he said, pulling up the covers. “I'll get you something to drink.”

He watched the man leave, and for the first time, Tiir thought he truly understood how easy it was to get deceived into believing humans could be anything but a menace.

He didn't like it.

*

“You will continue to go after my kind?”

The human turned to him in what appeared to be surprise. “Why the sudden question?”

Tiir clenched his fists. “Just answer it,” he hissed.

The prince considered him for a moment, then sat down at the edge of the bed. “It's not a simple matter,” he said. “We're not going to become a second Gastark to you. Heck, we've not even gone through with crystallizing any types of Magic Eyes yet, though we're reasonably sure we have the process figured out, and so far we have no plans to. I don't condone going after children, and my mother isn't eager to, either.”

Tiir scoffed, and the human shot him a wry look. “When this whole thing started, all we had were horror stories and reports of you devouring people in the South,” he explained. “And while we're at it, allow me to use this opportunity to simultaneously admit that I was absorbed in foolish prejudices and point out that randomly attacking human villages is not going to improve things for you, except if you are planning to annihilate every human in existence, which could be slightly difficult to pull off.”

Tiir narrowed his eyes at the man, but didn't argue. While he was not going to believe that it generally made a difference what he did or didn't eat – he knew that the fear and hatred humanity held for his kind ran far too deep for that –, it might be true that as far as this particular case went, his actions had endangered his kin.

“Anyway.” The man regarded him, expression turning serious. “We're not planning to go for a massacre, but if we get the chance to capture some more Eye bearers alive...” He shrugged. “It's our country's policy to mind our own business, but with a war at our doorstep, we can't afford to be overly scrupulous. Gastark certainly isn't.”

“I had noticed,” Tiir bit out.

However, he supposed it was good enough, even if he wasn't sure how far he was willing to trust the human's words. Maybe, just maybe, he didn't need to feel like a total fool for no longer desiring this man's slow, painful death.

Perhaps a quick, clean one would do.

“I take it you are feeling better?” the prince asked, apparently not at all undeterred by his less than friendly tone.

“Yes,” Tiir allowed. “Considerably so.” Softly touching the longest strand of his hair, he hesitated, and finally added, “I appreciate your assistance.”

The human seemed astonished for a moment, but then grinned at him. “You're welcome. Consider it payback for saving me from the Evil Laces.”

“I didn't know humans were too stupid to dress themselves,” Tiir remarked without venom.

“They aren't – that's just me.”

Tiir tilted his head. “Are you a subspecies? I didn't think that was possible. What's lower than 'bottom of the ladder'?”

The prince huffed. “It's called being an individual.” A pause. “Wait, I just insulted myself, didn't I?”

“Indeed you did.”

“Damn. Well, oh lofty being with sublime red-glowing eyes, whose defeat at the paws of Lord Truffles the Terrible was a mere fluke, excuse this lowly one's limited intellectual capabilities. Not everyone has the privilege of enjoying brain tissue for dinner all the time.”

Tiir smirked. “We could rectify that...”

“Are you offering to apprentice me in the undervalued art of eating people? That's very sweet of you, but I think I'll have to pass.” The human waved his hand. “Vegetarian and all that.”

“You really are strange.”

“Says the guy who just volunteered to introduce me to the culinary pleasures of brain tissue. How about instead of looking at me like I would look at my breakfast if it suddenly started complaining about the weather, you use the opportunity to get some more rest? With what little sleep you've had these past few days, it's no surprise you ended up sick.”

“Don't you have somewhere to be?”

The human shrugged. “I canceled the party. You could hardly have accompanied me like this, and I'm not leaving you with Lymeia in your current state. I'll still have to attend the Council meeting later, but I've asked Colonel Arsan to look after you then. Obviously he's not as great a conversationalist as I am – ” a grin – “but he won't bother you. I'd say 'just ignore him and pretend he's food on legs', but, uh, no need to give you ideas, so let's leave it at: 'just ignore him'.”

Tiir scoffed – the man in question hadn't even looked all that tasty.

The prince smiled at him, and Tiir decided he might as well follow at least the first part of his advice. He had no intention of being rendered so vulnerable while surrounded by humans ever again.

Resting his head back on the pillow, he watched the royal return to his desk and grab a piece of paper from a stack that had been two times as high the last time Tiir had seen it.

He supposed it wasn't so hard to sleep with a human in the room, after all.

 

*

When the prince left for the Council meeting, Tiir refused his offer to keep occupying the bed. It was bad enough that he had shown weakness in front of one human – he wasn't going to add to that, even if it was just a common soldier who, by himself, hardly posed a threat to him or his own.

He resumed his place next to the door, and listened as the soldier and the prince exchanged a couple of meaningless words before the latter stepped out of the room. Tiir noted that the young royal was treated by several of his subjects with a mixture of what appeared to be genuine respect and the curious sort of tolerant fondness Tiir figured was necessary to voluntarily keep around an overeager dog.

The combination seemed strangely fitting.

The soldier positioned himself almost directly opposite of Tiir, between bed and desk. He didn't sit down on the chair he could have comfortably grabbed from there, though, and instead stood straight with his back to the wall, eyes never leaving Tiir.

Tiir supposed now that he was healed and there was nothing physically barring him from killing every human inside the palace, the soldier no longer felt he could afford being casual about his guard duties.

It would have been annoying in the long-run, but since he would be rid of the man again in a few hours at most, Tiir found himself amused at having the human's undivided attention.

The smile he shot the soldier was not a friendly one.

When at some point, the female cat – Tiir refused to acknowledge the animals' ludicrous names – walked over to him, he picked it up without breaking eye-contact with the soldier. He enjoyed the suspicion he found in the man's gaze, and made it a point to lazily pet the animal until it was half-asleep in his lap, purring contently.

However, he had expected the soldier to be angered or at least annoyed by his smug nonchalance, not shake his head while making a noise that sounded a lot like an incredulous snort.

Tiir attempted to stare the offending human down, and this time, what he got definitely was a snort. “Are all monsters this petty?”

“I wouldn't know,” Tiir said. “Are you?”

“Are you suggesting we are the monsters?” the soldier asked. “Hate to break it to you, but we're not the ones eating people.”

Tiir showed his teeth. “I don't eat people, either.”

“So what are humans, in your opinion?” the soldier wanted to know, a light note of disbelief entering his voice and adding to the scorn that was already there. “Pigs?”

“That's a contradiction of terms, I believe,” Tiir retorted, still smirking. “There may be similarities, but I would hate to insult an undeserving party. Pigs are decidedly less disgusting.”

“You've got quite the mouth on you, haven't you?” the soldier did sound irritated now. Good. “I hope for you that you haven't been talking to His Highness like that, or I will have to teach you some manners.”

Tiir smiled. “You can't touch me.”

“Try me.”

“I thought that's what I was doing.”

They gazed at each other.

Finally, the soldier crossed his arms. “I don't know why Prince Ecylan bothers with you. He must see something in you if he keeps refusing to hand you over to Lord Remdra, but from what I can tell, you're just a wretched monster with an ego.”

“Maybe your prince likes my ego,” Tiir suggested with a sinister grin. “Maybe he enjoys being told that he is but a repulsive creature, lower than a pig. Perhaps, deep down, he knows it's the truth.”

The soldier looked about ready to throttle him now, and it only increased Tiir's mirth.

“Careful,” the man growled.

The implied threat, so very typical, didn't impress Tiir, and he didn't pretend otherwise, relishing the human's helpless anger.

The man was not allowed to harm him, but that wasn't important. What mattered, what made this so perfect, was that there was nothing he could do to those Tiir cherished. It probably hadn't even crossed his mind – he wanted to hurt Tiir, and simple creature that he was, it would never occur to him to do so by proxy. Even if he were to realize that the possibility existed, he lacked the half-Gastark magician's knowledge and efficiency. Asking his queen about the children's location and side-stepping his prince's orders that way was likely something he couldn't even fathom.

With this human, Tiir neither had to watch his every word and action, nor did he have to try and make sense of any highly unusual behavior the man displayed. There were no niceties, no pretenses, no risks involved – short of attacking him, there was nothing Tiir couldn't do.

It felt good.

Although Tiir didn't offer a verbal retort this time and silence fell over them, the hostility inside the room remained almost palpable, and it continued to be until the prince returned. Once he did, the soldier left after speaking some words in private with the other human. Tiir could imagine what those had been about, but he wasn't worried.

The soldier would hardly have gone into detail – humans did have a habit of shooting the messenger, after all –, and the prince already knew that Tiir did not think fondly of his kind. At most, this would lead to the young royal letting his true self show as a result of having been humiliated in front of a subject, and though Tiir was aware that such a thing could end badly, he was beginning to think that it would be more dangerous if the man kept up whatever it was he had been doing so far.

Tiir no longer knew how to act or even what to believe, and it unsettled him; perhaps more than that. He knew the human was trying to manipulate him, but he couldn't see why – for what purpose. He knew the human feared him, detested him, but he couldn't see any of that, either.

It didn't make sense. He had never been bad at reading others, but he couldn't detect any deception. The prince seemed too honest, too open, too friendly, too not human. He was, without doubt, the enemy, but the fact that he did not claim otherwise only added to the confusion. Despite the repugnant method through which he controlled Tiir, he lacked ruthlessness, lacked self-righteousness, lacked scorn. Lacked cruelty.

And even now, when he walked over to Tiir with an expression on his face that made it clear he had heard enough from his subordinate, he looked more tired than angry.

“You've really gone ahead and done it now,” the human said. “Colonel Arsan has connections to three members of the Council out of twelve, not counting my mother and myself, and I have a hard enough time convincing them as it is.” When Tiir just regarded him in silence, the prince asked, “Was there a reason for what you did?”

“None you would care to hear about.”

“Great. Just... great. You realize you won't be able to see the children before this thing with the Council has been sorted out, right?”

Tiir felt his fingernails dig into his palms. “Is that a threat?”

“Shit,” the human said, running a hand through his hair in frustration, “it's not a threat. I'm just saying you're not helping either of us.” He went quiet for an instant, then shook his head and added, “And I'm stressed and overreacting. It's not like Arsan would go behind my back like that. Just... let me calm down for a moment, all right?”

Tiir watched the human step over to the window, where he stuck his head outside to breathe some of the fresh night air. Finally, the man turned around again and sat down at the edge of the bed, from where he eyed Tiir rather wearily.

Tiir waited for the human to speak, but when he did, the words coming out of his mouth were not at all what Tiir had expected. “I'm sorry,” the man said – simply, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “I sort of had a bad evening.”

It wasn't the first time he had apologized to Tiir, and yet, it was the first time it felt like he was doing so for an actual mistake he had made.

Humans weren't supposed to do such a thing – wronging his kind wasn't supposed to mean anything to them.

And shouldn't royalty be more prideful? Humans were obsessed with status and wealth – even if Tiir had been a human, the prince's words hardly warranted an outright admission of guilt by their standards.

In the end, Tiir decided to ignore the man's oddities as always and focus on what was relevant. “What's the matter?”

The prince sighed. “I knew the Council was going to be difficult, but I underestimated Lord Remdra's influence. He views it as a personal insult that he's not allowed to do any research, and now he's claiming I'm making things up as to not lose face and that the real problem is that you're too dangerous and locked up in a dungeon somewhere. Never mind it doesn't make sense – apparently, me having canceled that party today counts as irrefutable evidence.”

“Why not simply prove him wrong, then?” Tiir asked, not seeing the problem.

“Easier said the done,” the prince told him. “There won't be any more festivities in the next ten days, so unless you feel an inexplainable desire to get directly acquainted with the Council, there's a good chance there will be no progress before then.”

“Why not?”

The human blinked at him. “What?”

“Why not bring me along to a Council meeting?”

“I didn't think you would be thrilled.”

“I'm not,” Tiir said. “But I don't mind.”

“Are you sure? The Council will agree eventually one way or the other, and if you went, you'd have to pretend to be...”

“Tame?” Tiir suggested with a scoff.

“I was going for something more along the lines of harmless, but yes, that's what it comes down to.”

“I don't care,” Tiir said flatly. “Guarantee me that I can see the children as soon as your Council has caved in, and I'll be your docile pet in front of them as much you'd like.”

“All right,” the prince said after a moment of contemplating this. “You'll be able to see one of them in the first few days after the Council has given its approval, and the other one not too much later. That was pretty much the plan, anyway. However, the Council meeting won't be pleasant, and should you change your mind before tomorrow evening, let me know.”

The prince got up and stepped closer with a sigh. “If you want this to work, you can't so much as look at those nobles the wrong way, and considering that to the vast majority of them, those children are nothing but potential research subjects, that might prove difficult. They're not exactly subtle about it, either.”

Tiir clenched his fists, but it wasn't like any of that came as a surprise. “What do you want me to do?”

“Aside from not eat them even when they might deserve it?” The human's grin didn't seem forced, but rather... strained. Tiir supposed it was good to know that he wasn't the only one this thing was putting in a decidedly foul mood. “You'll have to kneel next to me. Don't look at any of them directly, and don't let them provoke you. They already have a fair idea of what you're capable of, so it's not a matter of convincing them that you would be dangerous to our enemies, but of making them agree that you don't pose a risk to our empire. All in all, I guess 'tame' describes the impression we're going for pretty well.”

Tiir inclined his head in acknowledgment.

“No longer feeling queasy?” the prince asked in a sudden change of topic.

“I'm fine.” Distantly, Tiir wondered how often he had already assured the human of this in the past few days.

“Good.” The prince grinned – this time, it seemed genuine. “After all, no fun throwing up in front of the Council if there are no half-digested body parts.”

“I still fail to see why you would find me devouring your kind amusing.”

“I thought we had established that I have a twisted sense of humor?” the prince asked. “Besides–” he waved his hand dismissively– “I really only find it amusing in theory.”

Well, of course. Tiir hadn't expected the human to find the Iino Doue anything less than detestable in practice.

But before he could scoff at the unnecessary reminder, the prince tilted his head, and added, “Though I suppose it depends on the circumstances.”

“What? As long as it isn't a civilian, you don't care if I consume members of your species?”

“I might care, but as I've said before, if it was an actual enemy of yours, I could hardly fault you for it.”

“An actual enemy?” Tiir smirked. “That would include you.”

“Well, yes, and you won't find me claiming that it would be morally reprehensible of you to have me for breakfast. However, I will repeat that while my brain tissue might seem 'appetizing', I have it on good authority that I am not worth taking a bite. Never doubt my sister's judgment.” The last sentence was added with a grave nod. “Besides, I'm sure eating something you've conversed with before leads to indigestion – did no one ever tell you not to play with your food?”

“No.”

“Uh... right. Still, my point stands – I would make for a terrible meal. No nutritious value at all.”

“You're an odd human.”

“Does that mean I've graduated from 'strange', or are we talking synonyms?”

Tiir snorted.

“Speaking of food, it probably wouldn't hurt if you didn't eat anything before morning, but do you think you could keep down some soup?”

Tiir wasn't so sure about that; but it didn't matter, anyway. “I'm not hungry,” he said truthfully.

Well, mostly truthfully. There were certain types of food he wouldn't mind at all.

“All right,” the prince said. “I'll just get you some more tea, then.” He smiled. “I hope you're not sick of chamomile yet.”

Tiir didn't reply. He really wished the human would start acting like one.

*

“You shouldn't sleep on the floor when you're ill.”

Tiir just regarded the prince in silence, and the human sighed. “Come on – I'd feel bad. If you don't want to share, you can have the bed for tonight.”

“Are you offering to sleep on the floor?” Tiir asked, trying to sound contemptuous rather than simply disbelieving.

He didn't know much about royals, but he was fairly sure they weren't supposed to put a prisoner's comfort before their own. More importantly, no human was supposed to do so – certainly not when the prisoner was a bearer of the Divine Eyes.

However, the prince seemed determined to defy sense. “I don't mind,” he said with a shrug. “I'm not that much of a spoiled brat.”

Tiir narrowed his eyes. “I don't need your charity.”

“It's not charity,” the human claimed. “Letting someone who's ill sleep on the floor is bad manners, which means I am purely motivated by self-interest. My mother would have my head if she got reason to suspect I slept through even more etiquette lessons than she was aware of.”

Tiir doubted the woman would think it a matter of etiquette in the first place, but after all that had happened, he would feel ridiculous if he continued to argue the issue. He couldn't deny that while he had no problem sleeping on the ground, the bed had been comfortable.

Still, he didn't want to feel like he owed the human something.

“You don't have to move to the floor,” he said blandly. “If you aren't worried about getting sick yourself, that's your problem.”

The prince gave him much too bright a smile. “I'm not,” he declared cheerfully. “There's a good chance it's not contagious, and if it is, I've probably already caught it.”

Tiir snorted. A moment later, he was standing in front of the human, who still refused to exhibit normal behavior. He seemed mildly startled, but didn't get up from his place at the foot of the bed, and in fact barely even leaned back in surprise.

Instead, he tilted his head. “Do you always do that?”

“No,” Tiir said. “Only when I dislike someone.”

The prince laughed. “All right, then. I'll try to get used to it.” Without haste, he rose. “Go ahead and make yourself comfortable. I have to get Lord Truffles some fresh water before I can call it a day.”

Tiir wordlessly stepped aside to let the human through, and after a brief moment of hesitation did as the man had suggested.

No ten minutes later, he was indeed sharing a bed with the prince. Tiir needed a while to make up his mind, but finally decided it felt more surreal than anything. There was enough space between them as to not make him feel cramped, but just knowing the human was there was distracting.

He was used to sleeping alone. Sometimes the children would have nightmares or simply be looking for comfort and ask him to stay with them, and often Ene would be resting just a step away, but this was different.

It was so for many reasons, but the most important one was that he was sharing a bed with a human.

The whole thing was preposterous.

The prince didn't seem similarly concerned, though. While Tiir couldn't help but watch the other man's every move with all the careful attention of a hawk on the hunt, the human soon turned his back to him with a yawn.

Tiir continued to gaze at him – but just when he was beginning to think the prince had fallen asleep already, the man suddenly spoke up, “I can feel you glaring at me. Just tell me you're not admiring the soft, highly palatable texture of my brain.”

Tiir snorted. “You might not be worried about getting sick, but I have no intention of catching whatever it is that you are inflicted by. At this point, nothing about your head looks tempting to me.”

“Are you saying I'm no longer on your snack list, or do you mean to convey that you're eyeing my spleen instead?”

“Wouldn't you like to know.”

The human huffed. “Careful. You know those people who keep pulling on the covers throughout the night while appearing to be asleep, until they are warm and cozy and you are freezing and forever left to wonder whether they did it on purpose? I can be one of those.”

“You'd deny someone who is ill their blanket?” Tiir asked. “I suppose you really can't expect any decency from a human – even from one with a condition.”

“What can I say? I'm evil. Though I resent the notion that my corrupt personality has anything to do with what species I happen to belong to. I've worked very hard to reach this level of depravity.”

“Obviously. Do I need to worry about my pillow, too?”

“That depends. Do I need to worry about my spleen?”

“I'll have to think about it.”

“M-hm. Then until you arrive at a conclusion, please try not to stare a hole into my head. It could ruin the taste, the bedclothes and the day of the poor servant who'd eventually discover the leftovers. I myself wouldn't be too happy about it, either, but I have a feeling that would be the least of your concerns.”

“True,” Tiir said, mostly referring to the last part. He had no idea why the human kept joking about the issue, and even less of an idea why he went along with it, but at the moment, he didn't want to think about that.

Instead, he rolled onto his back, deciding that while he wouldn't leave himself as glaringly wide open for attack as the human had, it was all right to let his guard down a little. It wasn't like he had much to lose by doing so, anyway.

To his surprise, he found that conversing with the prince had left him feeling almost at ease.

“Good night,” the human said, sounding oddly pleased. Tiir didn't bother to reply to him, but a few heartbeats later, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to succumb to the fatigue he had been ignoring for so long.

*

“Just remember,” the human said when they left for the Council meeting, “they have no actual authority over you or the children. Once they've given their approval, the matter is almost completely out of their hands. Whatever they might have to say beyond that is ultimately irrelevant.”

Tiir acknowledged the words in silence. He followed behind the prince – close enough to make himself appear less like a threat and more like he was under the control of a master, but retaining enough of a distance as to not seem disrespectful.

He already hated it.

However, the human had been asking him whether he was certain about attending the meeting all day, and he wasn't about to back out now. Besides, there were things more important than the pride he had already discarded.

He barely allowed himself the time to take in the room in which the meeting was held: it was large, lavishly decorated with tapestries and paintings, and had big windows that were half-covered by midnight blue drapes. There was a long wooden table placed in the center, around which most of the humans were already seated. One end was without a chair, the other was occupied by the queen. The prince sat down next to her, and Tiir knelt down to his left on the claret carpet, head bowed. He ignored the stares, the whispers – they didn't mean anything to him.

It wasn't long until the queen commanded silence and the meeting commenced. From there, Tiir only needed a few minutes to fully understand why the prince disliked the procedures. The nobles were loud, self-important and generally annoying – in short, they were all very much human. Barely a handful seemed at least somewhat reasonable.

Out of the corner of his eye, Tiir could make out a tall, broad-shouldered man on the right side of the table, next to the queen. As far as Tiir could tell, he looked more like a warrior than an aristocrat, and the light coloring of his hair, lighter than that of the prince, did not seem to be common in Salea. He was the only human present who had yet to say a word.

Another man, this one to the left of the prince and right in front of Tiir, appeared to be the warrior's exact opposite. He was slender, dark in hair and eyes, and he talked perhaps more than anyone else at the meeting, though also more coherently. He voiced some concerns – what if the Eye bearer went out of control, what if Gastark realized what was going on and attacked sooner than expected –, but he seemed interested mostly in the possible advantages of the prince's plan. He sounded like a scholar.

Somewhere towards the other end of the table, there was a woman Tiir could not see from his position on the floor who kept agreeing with him, adding several points of her own – the element of surprise the arrangement would give them, the possibility of deterring neighboring countries from going to war with Salea, an opportunity to learn more about the 'Cursed Eyes' – and otherwise elaborating on ideas the scholar only brought up in passing, thus adding them to a very convincing overall argument mostly in favor of the prince's motion.

A third man, whom Tiir could barely see, either, but who seemed to be somewhat older than all the other humans in Tiir's view, kept asking question after question, clearly meaning to shed doubt on the validity of their claims and being fairly successful in doing so. Rather than reason, he used fear to sway the rest of the Council, throwing the words 'monsters', 'beasts' and 'could go mad at any moment' around more than any of the other humans. It wasn't long until Tiir learned that the man was the infamous Lord Remdra, and suddenly, he was genuinely glad to not have gotten stuck with that human. He wasn't sure it was possible to resist the temptation of ripping out his throat.

This impression increased when the man got up abruptly half-way through the meeting, stalked over to him and grabbed his hair, declaring, “He doesn't look like much to me, anyway.”

Tiir suppressed a wince when the noble pulled his head up and forced him to look at him. It wasn't nearly as hard as holding back the hateful snarl and keeping his face devoid of emotion, the gaze with which he met the human's disdainful stare impassive rather than loathing.

For a moment, no one moved. Even the most talkative ones of the humans had gone remarkably quiet. Tiir could practically taste the apprehension, the anticipation.

“Lord Remdra.” The prince's voice cut through the silence like a knife. Tiir had never heard it sound so cold. “Leaving your seat in the middle of the meeting without excusing yourself is an insult to everyone present. This includes your sovereign. May I assume you were merely not thinking, rather than acting in contempt?”

The man released Tiir as if burned, stepping back in a haste and focusing his attention on the prince. “Your Highness! Surely you are not suggesting I would-”

“I'm not suggesting anything,” the prince said, his tone taking on a more neutral quality. “I merely seek to avoid a misunderstanding. You must realize that your behavior is becoming more inappropriate by the day.”

“I-” The noble glanced at the queen as if hoping for her to come to his aid, but when she just gazed back at him in silence, the man reddened and took another step back. “Forgive me, Your Majesty,” a bow, “Your Highness,” another bow, not quite as low, “I meant no disrespect. I am only worried about the potential consequences of placing the creature right at the heart of our empire. I don't doubt your judgment in keeping it alive, but I believe it would be wise to get it out of the city.”

“To one of your research facilities?” The prince was sounding almost friendly now.

“Yes,” the noble answered, surprisingly candid. “I think it would be prudent to study the creatures until we have any concrete use for them.”

“Possibly. However, as you know, several experiments have already been conducted, and since we have reason to assume that Gastark sent people to Runa's capital to threaten their king directly, it's also prudent to have one more weapon at hand which they wouldn't expect to be at our disposal.”

“You say experiments have already been conducted,” a woman farther down the table, one whose voice Tiir had heard before during the meeting but whom he hadn't really taken note of until now, spoke up, “but that's only true for the Iino Doue, isn't it? Shouldn't we also research into the Alpha Stigma?”

Tiir tensed.

“There's no need,” the prince replied smoothly, and Tiir realized that of course he would have expected this question. “The Alpha Stigma is by far the most common of the Cursed Eyes. We already have all the information on it we need – trying to gain more would likely require us to damage the subjects. It wouldn't be worth it. If anything, the Alpha Stigma would be useful in researching magic, but if we decide to go that route, it will be under the supervision of my sister. It's not that I don't trust Lord Remdra,” the royal added mildly, “but I don't think he has much experience with children. We wouldn't want them harmed by accident, would we?”

“Children,” a man scoffed. “They can hardly be called that. I hear those monsters are difficult to kill, and besides, what do we need both of them intact for, anyway?”

“Well,” the woman who had first brought up the topic said in a thoughtful voice, “I suppose we could breed them.”

Tiir almost tore her apart right then and there.

The prince's hand made contact with his shoulder, and his first impulse was to lash out at him; but the touch was brief, unobtrusive – almost hesitant –, and made it easy for Tiir to remember that reacting in anger was not something he could afford at the moment. He told himself that she wasn't worth it, that there was nothing she could do even if she wanted to, and lowered his head again to hide his fury.

He was shaking with rage, but none of the nobles seemed to notice.

The meeting went on in a more disciplined fashion, and when it ended, the Council was as good as won over. The nobles paid their respects to their queen one by one and finally left the room either alone or in pairs, until only the prince, his mother and the warrior were left.

The latter had kept his silence until the last hour of the meeting, when he had started backing up the prince by pointing out additional strategical advantages of his plan, as well as agreeing with the younger man that subjecting the children to military training at this point was more likely to make them volatile than useful. Judging by the way he spoke, he was indeed experienced as a soldier.

The queen had waited even longer to make her opinion known, but in the last minutes of the meeting announced that the risk involved in this was minimal, and that while the enemy couldn't afford to waste even half their resources on them, Gastark was in possession of enough crystals that trying to beat them with their own weapons would be foolish when they clearly had better options.

Tiir still wanted to kill something, but now that the worst of the humans were gone, it was decidedly easier to ignore the urge.

“Thank you for your support, Mother, High Marshal Gareyn,” the prince said, getting up.

“I didn't do anything beyond what I had assured you of,” the queen said. “This is your achievement.”

The high marshal nodded in agreement. “Nothing I said went against my conscience – your reasoning was sound.”

“Mostly,” the queen added meaningfully.

The prince didn't seem bothered. Tiir glanced at him to find that the man was practically beaming. “Still, I couldn't have done it without the both of you.”

The queen snorted, but it didn't sound very scornful. Tiir also noted that she didn't contradict her son.

“There are no problems?” the high marshal asked. Tiir felt the human's gaze on him, but didn't look up again.

“None at all,” the prince told the man cheerfully. “We're getting along perfectly.”

“I'm sure you are,” the queen said, lacing her words with not quite subtle amounts of irony. “Try not to miss next week's ball, at least.”

“Will Lady Livarys be there?” The young royal sounded hopeful.

“Most likely,” the high marshal said. “She's been talking about how much she misses you.”

“Give her my regards, then, and tell her I'm sorry. I've been kind of busy – though I suppose she knows that already.”

“She does, and I will.”

“Do you still have a crush on her?” the queen asked nonchalantly.

“Mother!” the prince exclaimed.

Next to the woman in question, the soldier chuckled.

“It was only a question,” Salea's monarch said. “Now go on. I know you're anxious to get out of here.”

“Thank you.” The young royal cleared his throat. “Have a pleasant evening – Mother, High Marshal.”

After briefly inclining his head, the prince glanced at him, and Tiir rose. He followed the man outside without so much as acknowledging the other two humans' presence.

*

“Are you all right?” the prince asked once they had returned to his chambers. He sounded like he genuinely cared, but also cautious – as if he expected Tiir to not appreciate the concern at all.

He had the right idea.

“Just perfect,” Tiir snapped.

The human cringed. “I'm really sorry about Lord Remdra. And about...”

“Your pathetic excuse for a species as a whole?”

“I'm almost inclined to answer that with 'yes', but let's stick to blaming individuals.” The human paused. “A whole lot of individuals.”

“Well, in that case, let me inform you that I would like to tear a whole lot of individuals to pieces.”

Another cringe. “Understandable. So... even though you did it for your own reasons, thanks for holding back.”

Tiir's reply consisted of a derisive snort.

The prince went on, “And for attending in the first place. It would have taken them forever to come around.”

Tiir just continued to glare at the human.

The prince sighed. “You have every right to be angry. I'll keep my end of the bargain, but I understand if you don't feel like talking to me right now.” He fell silent for a moment, then, in a concerned voice, asked, “Does it still hurt?”

It took Tiir a second to realize that he was talking about the noble from before. He scoffed. “I'm not some fragile human.”

“Right. Well... I won't bother you, then. Lord Truffles can wait another hour for his walk, and there are some more petitions waiting to be read. Feel free to interrupt me any time, though.”

Tiir didn't reply.

The princes' face took on a resigned expression, and with another sigh, he walked over to his desk.

*

Through narrowed eyes, Tiir watched the human pick up a quill and sign yet another one of the papers.

He reminded himself that they were all the same – fearful, savage creatures that were everything they claimed his kind was.

Vermin that needed to be exterminated.

Only that way would his comrades be able to live without being persecuted, and only that way would the children have a happy future to look forward to. There was no peaceful coexistence possible between their races – the reasons were obvious and Salea's Council just one more embodiment of them.

That was all they were: foolish, inferior beings who didn't know their place.

How dare they? They hunted down his kind, talked about the children like they were cattle, and then they claimed they were the monsters?

Tiir hated them, despised them, wanted to rip them limb from limb.

And yet...

And yet, for some reason, he found that even if he had the liberty to tear apart the human in front of him, doing so would not be very satisfying. The man irritated and angered him, but not at all in the same way Gastark or those nobles did. In spite of himself, Tiir was intrigued by him – by the novelty of his peculiar perspective.

He thought that it would be easier to loathe the man if he had objected more when Tiir had let him know what exactly he thought of his people. But the prince hadn't even tried to defend his countrymen, and the fact that he had all but agreed with him kept gnawing at Tiir. That wasn't how a human was supposed to behave.

He also couldn't help but be somewhat impressed by the prince's apparent aptitude for diplomacy. It was obvious that the man had directed the discussion expertly, and ultimately managed to use all opposition to his advantage seemingly without breaking a sweat. Tiir was almost willing to believe that he was capable of keeping his word, and had been from the start. He had furthermore noted that unlike everyone else similarly vocal during the meeting, the prince had never once used the word 'monster' to refer to the children or even Tiir himself.

It didn't mean much, but it made Tiir slightly more inclined to not hold him responsible for the general audacity and ignorance of his kind. He was a human, but whatever the reason, he had yet to conduct himself like one, and for all that Tiir desired to get away from him and his godforsaken country, he didn't even particularly care to see him suffer for his actions. Tiir would kill the man for keeping him from his comrades and trespassing against the children, but if it turned out that the two of them truly weren't being mistreated, he really wouldn't drag it out. There seemed to be no point.

Tiir briefly wondered how things were going at the Headquarters, but he wasn't too concerned about how his comrades there were faring without him – no more than usual. He was an asset to the group, but not vital. It was not much more than pure luck that he had survived this long in the first place, and even if Tiir hated the thought of them putting themselves at risk that way, there were those who could take over his position as the figurehead.

He had faith in the Leader, and though he felt uneasy not being able to aid her and their cause – for not being able to relieve her of her burden even a little –, at the moment, he was more worried about Ren and Karda.

Not much longer and he would be able to see them. Not much longer and he would know how much he was willing to risk to get them away from the humans, and how dearly Salea would have to pay.

And so, Tiir waited.

Chapter Text

“All right, this is awkward,” the prince declared the day after the Council meeting. It was late noon, and they were walking through the palace gardens side by side, the large black dog strolling leisurely behind them. “I don't care if it's just insults or even an ode to my spleen, but at least talk to me. Please?”

Tiir shot the human a cool look, and continued on in silence.

It was better this way – the man was too confusing. Tiir was beginning to believe that the young royal had meant every word he'd said to him so far, but that only made distancing himself from him more important. Either this human was the most shameless liar Tiir had ever met – which wasn't at all improbable, considering that he was a human –, or he was simply insane; a temporary anomaly that needed to be disregarded until it inevitably corrected itself.

Tiir wouldn't allow his beliefs to be shaken. Doubt was a weakness he couldn't afford.

It seemed, though, that the prince wasn't easily deterred. “Come on. There must be something about Salea you would like to know. Things I strictly can't tell you aside, I'll answer whatever questions you might have.”

Tiir tried not to glance at the man as he quickly reassessed the situation. He couldn't deny the appeal of that offer. Though the prince hadn't been overly secretive in the first place, Tiir had carefully avoided showing an interest in anything that was actually relevant – issues concerning the safety of the children excepted. He knew better than to give the humans cause for suspicion.

However, now that the prince was practically asking him to pry, any inquiries he might make that would normally seem suspect to his enemies could easily be interpreted as a mere act of spite. Of course, there was no guarantee he would get an answer regardless, but there was nothing to stop him from trying. An opportunity to test the waters with this low a risk might never come again.

It wasn't much of a dilemma. Ultimately, gathering information was more important than keeping the human at arm's length.

There was quite a bit of knowledge to be gained from this that could prove useful in the future, but the first question which came to mind didn't have a lot to do with that. “The crystal you had,” Tiir said without preamble. “How did you get it?”

He didn't bother to ask where they'd gotten it. The prince had already claimed that Salea had never crystallized any of the Divine Eyes themselves, and there was only one other country capable of doing so – or at least, that was what Tiir hoped.

The prince turned to him, apparently too startled by the nature of Tiir's query to be happy about having gotten the desired reaction. “It wasn't easy,” he finally said. “Gastark's King usually only sends his most trusted, and most capable, people after Eye bearers. Breaking into his residence and simply stealing the crystals from there proved impossible – the risk would have been ridiculous, not that that came as much of a surprise. Turns out, though, that when Gastark goes after a single, isolated Eye bearer, they might use a trusted, but not quite so skilled individual. In other words, someone not in the possession of a Rule Fragment. Lymeia caught up to him at the border and took the crystal he'd been given to cause his target to go out of control. As for the man himself... chances are Gastark will never find the body”

Tiir allowed himself a brief moment to appreciate the death of an enemy of his kind. “The Alpha Stigma bearer?”

“Hopefully long gone when Gastark realized something was off.”

Tiir narrowed his eyes. “She didn't go after them?”

“She didn't even know where to find them. The soldier she'd attacked wasn't very forthcoming with information, for some reason.”

Tiir snorted. He supposed the mage woman hadn't asked him for it nicely, either.

He decided to use the opportunity to get a better grasp on the Salean court's inner workings.

“You seemed close to the high marshal,” he observed, hoping it was as innocuous a way to broach the subject as he'd surmised.

The prince blinked at him. “Yes,” he admitted easily. “I've known him since forever. He's my mother's lover.”

Tiir stared at the human. That wasn't the answer he had expected.

The young royal chuckled. “Sorry, I'm used to people knowing these things.” He tilted his head to the side. “It's not a secret, especially in Valasea and among the upper class. It's not unusual, either. In Salea, marriage has another status than in most other countries, especially when it concerns nobles – it's a way to create a formal alliance first and foremost, the most final sort of partnership, and in some ways, it's more binding than even in Runa.

“Generally, people here don't marry for love or even to simply form connections; they may even spend their entire life with one person and never marry them, or marry someone and openly have intimate relationships outside of that marriage. If the sovereign takes a spouse, it's usually done solely for the good of the country, which will then have not one ruler, but two. Because of the great potential for discord and civil wars, it's not a matter to be taken lightly – my mother trusts the High Marshal, but she doesn't trust the people who would support him. Besides, at the moment, Salea has no need for a king.”

Tiir supposed the whole concept should seem more strange to him, but while intellectually, he knew that this was not how humans usually did things, he'd never mixed with them for long enough to have gotten much of an impression of these matters. To begin with, there was hardly anything humans did that wasn't unfathomable to him.

Intrigued against his better judgment, he asked, “They've been together for long?”

“Since before I was born. In fact, though no one speaks of it in public, he's generally assumed to be my father.”

“Is he?”

The prince shrugged. “I wouldn't know – Mother never said. She might not even be sure herself.”

Tiir blinked at the man. “That doesn't bother you?” He would never claim to understand humans, but if there was one thing about them beyond their vile nature he thought he knew, it was that they were deeply concerned with parentage. They instilled the value they placed on having a 'mother' and a 'father' in many of his comrades, and though Tiir tried to see where his friends who had been lied to for most of their lives were coming from, this was one of the things he could not relate to, no matter how hard he tried. To him, there was something almost funny about how while even those of his comrades who had been raised by humans would often barely bat an eye at the fact that the inferior creatures were nothing but food to him once they had accepted the truth, learning that his 'mother' had been no exception always seemed to come as somewhat of a shock to them. But though it made Tiir want to throw back his head and laugh, most of the time he barely managed to look his friends in the eye as he smiled instead and changed the topic.

The prince hardly slowed his step. “Not particularly. I can't deny I'm curious, but not more than that. In Salea, blood isn't important. A child belongs to the one, or the ones, who raised it – everything else is secondary. Commoners can't hold certain positions in the court, but if they've been adopted by a noble, that rule becomes void as they no longer count as such. I think it used to be similar in Roland, if only on the surface – from what I hear, they still value blood ties more.” The human looked up at the sky. “I like High Marshal Gareyn well enough, but finding out that I share his blood wouldn't make him any more or less of a parent to me.”

Tiir considered this. He supposed it explained how the man had so easily accepted Tiir's relation to the children... rather than made a comment about how monsters apparently live in packs, like Gastark had.

He decided to drop the topic. To begin with, there was hardly anything humans did that wasn't unfathomable to him.

“Who is Lady Livarys?”

The prince coughed. “She's... a friend.” Apparently, he was planning to leave it at that. Tiir kept his gaze fixed on him, making it clear that he was waiting for an actual answer. Finally, the human relented. “She's High Marshal Gareyn's adopted daughter,” he all but sighed. “I first met her when I was twelve. She was almost three years older than me. I kind of... liked her.”

A pause. “Let's just say that I was not very subtle about it – her friends thought it was cute, half the court thought it was hilarious, and after Livarys eventually took pity on me and told me that I was sweet, but that she wasn't interested, my sister repeatedly compared me to a lost puppy. She did so in front of Lymeia, who still calls me that on occasion. Two years ago Livarys and I got reacquainted at a ball, and we've been friends ever since. There – you now know about one of the most embarrassing episodes of my entire life. Congratulations.”

Tiir marveled at how ordinary the story seemed. It felt strange, interacting with a human like this.

And suddenly he was painfully aware that this wasn't how he had wanted the conversation to go; but he forced down his dismay, telling himself that it didn't look like the human would mind further inquiries into what he considered public matters in the future, and that there was nothing else about this worth worrying about.

So he caught the prince's gaze and nodded gravely. “Human mating behavior,” he said with a straight face. “Pitiful business. I wonder if the point is that you'll go extinct all by yourselves eventually.”

Next to him, the human choked and stopped walking. “Yes, I'll go extinct. I hear others of my kind are managing just fine – but thanks for rubbing salt into the wound. I'm sure you are a true ladies' man.” Tiir had no idea what to say to that – he'd never had the time for that kind of thing, or much of an opportunity, or even an interest –, but before he could try to think of an appropriate reply, the prince peered at him. “Then again, with those looks, I wouldn't be surprised. The world just isn't fair.”

...Had the human just told him that he found him attractive?

“What?” the prince asked. “You're allowed to comment on the texture of my brain, but if I voice the obvious, you look at me strangely?” The human paused, and leaned in a little closer. “Wait, are your eyes blue? I thought they were black.”

Tiir blinked at him. “Do you have a point?”

“Not really.” The royal stepped back. “But ugh, even your eyes are pretty. No wonder you won't get off your high horse. I bet you just have to smile at people and they swoon at your feet – or run from you screaming, but that's another matter.”

“Did you honestly just inform me that you consider my eyes to be pretty?”

“Did you honestly tell me that my brain tissue looks 'appetizing'? You have no right to sound so disturbed, really. At least I don't want to eat you.”

Tiir sniffed. “I've since told you that I wouldn't touch your head with a ten foot pole.”

“No, just my spleen. Would you rather I complimented your nose?”

“What?” Tiir swore that if the human thought his nose was pretty, he would do something drastic.

The prince coughed. “Never mind. Let's talk about something that is actually less awkward than persistent silence.” A pause. “So. Do you like chocolate cake?”

Tiir stared at the human, and slowly shook his head in wonder. “Not with a ten foot pole,” he resolved anew.

The prince laughed.

*

For once, the prince wasn't reading official-looking documents while waiting for the Council meeting to begin, but a book. It appeared fairly plain, but whatever it contained, it seemed to be utterly captivating, for the human didn't even notice when his giant wiping cloth of a dog jumped onto the bed and proceeded to drool all over it. Tiir didn't bother to inform him, either – he had resumed sleeping on the floor the previous night, and he intended to keep doing so.

When the prince finally became aware of the animal's ventures, cushion and covers were already sufficiently wet. He scowled at it. “Truffles! Down!”

The creature in question just wagged its tail happily.

“Bad dog,” the human said, but without much emphasis.

“Even your pet thinks you are beneath it,” Tiir couldn't resist saying.

“Lord Truffles also thinks urinating at trees is the highest of activities, so I'm not sure that says much.” The prince got up and gave the dog a shove, and it reluctantly returned to the floor, throwing the human a reproachful look before lying down again, this time to the man's feet.

Tiir snorted.

“You know,” the prince said, returning to the desk and picking the book back up, “I figured Gastark was creepy, but I swear I'll never set foot in that country. Have you ever concerned yourself with their religious beliefs?”

Tiir narrowed his eyes. “Why should I?”

“Because their mythology is kind of nuts and I'm beginning to wonder if that means anything. To start with, they have those goddesses and you'd think they'd be benign since they are about the only deities mentioned anywhere in their religious and historical texts, but at least officially they don't worship them, and then they have stories that would make you assume those goddesses are either not benevolent, or they're just extremely incompetent. I remembered reading one in particular that sent shivers down my spine – recommended to me by, who would have thought, Lymeia, the Queen of Questionable Taste –, and I just found it again. To be fair, I'm sure it's not the original version, and I don't think it's very well-known by the general populace, either, but it still gives me the creeps, especially since it's written somewhat like a fairy tale. Oh, but there's one good thing about it: it involves people getting eaten!”

Tiir gave the man a look.

The prince coughed. “All right, sad attempt at humor, I get it. Anyway, it goes somewhat like this: there was a Black Hero who fought against the entire world, who finally went mad. Therefore, the Goddesses sealed him away far in the South.

“However, in their great wisdom, they had forgotten to consider that there was already someone living in that region: the Lonesome Devil, who was – let me quote –, 'hideous and ever so lonely, so lonely that he seemed to be dying'. The Hero, wanting to get back to fighting against the world and probably smelling delicious brain tissue, asked the Lonesome Devil to let him eat half of his body – because come on, that's a perfectly reasonable request to make! The Lonesome Devil told him to go ahead and that it was no big deal, because the Hero was his first friend ever.” A pause.

“And perhaps also because the Goddesses were assholes,” the human finally added. “My theory was that they simply liked sealing people away in Nowhere and just couldn't keep track of them all, but Malyrei suggested that perhaps they didn't look at hideous things out of principle and therefore had never noticed the guy. She was strangely interested in this considering it doesn't have anything to do with magic – though I guess her idea of entertainment isn't much less bizarre than Lymeia's when it comes down to it. Anyway.

“The devil called All Formulas was split into the Solver of All Formulas and the Weaver of all Formulas, and the latter was devoured by the Black Hero. The Hero went back to happily breaking the world into pieces, but at its core, he found despair, pain, loneliness and Hell itself – 'and darkness and darkness and darkness and darkness'. Realizing that he was going to die before he could destroy the world for good, he begged to have someone bear the pain in his stead. Of course, it was the Lonesome Devil who volunteered, offering the other half of his body, and once the deed was done, he suffered in the Hero's place for all eternity.

“'The Lonesome Devil didn't regret it much at all',” the prince read out, “'because he had made a friend, even if just for a moment. Because he was able to live for his friend, even if just for a moment. The Lonesome Devil is a fool – a fool until the very end.'”

Tiir had no idea what the point of the tale was, but he had to admit, it did make his toes curl.

"What I find most interesting about this, though," the human said, closing the book and setting it down in front of himself, "is that there exist stories originating from the South in Salea's libraries about heroes who fought an army of demons that had been terrorizing humanity. To do this, they used weapons that sound a lot like Rule Fragments. And then there are texts that link the Alpha Stigma to those demons - while others link it to the Lonesome Devil."

Tiir looked at the human sharply.

"It could just be coincidence," the human said with a shrug. "But Gastark's lore also deals with the Rule Fragments, and it is strange how much information they have on the Magic Eyes when pretty much no one else can even tell an Alpha Stigma from an Iino Doue."

"Are you implying the Alpha Stigma is demonic?" Tiir spat.

"I'm not implying anything," the human replied easily. "Even if there was some truth to them, I'm well aware those stories are myths – the demons could just be a metaphor, or the author could have added them to make the story more dramatic. And even if the demons and the Goddesses were both real, and the demons had something to do with the Lonesome Devil, then the Lonesome Devil would be proof that the demons can't be all bad, right? The true villain could as well be the Goddesses... or the Hero, who seems like he might originally have been human. Lymeia even mentioned something about versions like that of the story existing, though I don't quite recall."

Tiir wasn't wholly pleased with the flippant clarification, as the human most certainly had implied that it was somehow difficult to tell the different kinds of Divine Eyes apart from each other, like the issue wasn't that his wretched kind couldn't even be bothered. However, taken aback by the prince's assessment nonetheless, Tiir considered the man's words more carefully. There was probably nothing to be learned from this, whatever truth the stories might once have had already distorted by the humans who had kept them in circulation, but if according to legend, the Alpha Stigma had originally been the power of the existence called Lonesome Devil, then that myth undeed fit all too well as a metaphor, at least. Bearers of the Divine Eyes devoting themselves to humans, being betrayed, having their eyes stolen.

No wonder the tale had left a bad taste in his mouth.

In an instant, he was next to the human, picking up the book.

“You can read?” the prince asked, sounding astonished.

Tiir shot him a glare.

“Ugh, that didn't come out right. Sorry. I just assumed that since you prefer not to get involved with humans... but that was stupid of me, wasn't it? You must have your own schools.”

“We manage,” Tiir returned curtly. They did not have schools (what did the human think, that they had an entire country hidden somewhere?), but they did do their best to give the children an education. Some of his comrades even spent their free time with literature, though Tiir himself tried to avoid anything written by humans – the only non-practical bound texts he had touched before this were fairy tales he had reluctantly read to the children.

He decided the human appeared earnest enough, and turned his attention to the book, which seemed to contain fantastic stories from all over Menoris. Many of them actually were fairly tales, with captured princesses and brave heroes – he even came across one with a talking horse –, and if they were anywhere as grotesque as the one he had just heard, then it wasn't apparent at first glance. It didn't take him long to find the tale from Gastark, and the prince, whose summary turned out to have been fairly accurate, waited patiently while he read over it for himself.

“It's obvious the Black Hero is the villain,” Tiir declared as he put the book back down. His eyes became slits. “For using the Lonesome Devil.”

The human threw him a curious glance. “At the very least, he doesn't sound like a nice kind of guy,” he agreed. “Though it's probably worth remembering that he supposedly went mad before he and the Lonesome Devil even met. And that this story originates from Gastark, which just so happens to be the most northern country – even if they don't worship the Goddeses, they could have wanted to make them look good for propaganda reasons. Provided they even existed in some form, of course, but something about this feels just a bit too real, and then I find it suspicious that even though the Goddesses aren't portrayed in a bad light for sealing the Hero away and were supposedly trying to save the world, they apparently completely overlooked the Lonesome Devil... and how at the same time, the story refers to both him and the Hero as 'monsters'.”

Just who are the real monsters here? Tiir remembered his own words with a sudden chill.

He shook off the memory and snorted. “What did you expect from Gastark?”

“I don't know,” the human said. “Non-religious fanaticism maybe? A bit of variety would be nice, at least. Having theological discussions with that priest from Runa was bad enough.” He fell silent for a moment, then conceded, “Though I suppose that has little to do with the theology part and all to do with the fanaticism part. Still, have you ever tried arguing with one of those people when you have to rely entirely on worldly observations? Salea so needs a state religion again if this goes on.” The human suddenly snapped his fingers. “That's it! Finally, I know what I will do once I become King. I will have another, even more awe-inspiring temple built, in which people shall worship the most magnificent of all beings – the Great Cat. No doubt my sister would volunteer for High Priestess!”

Tiir tried not to stare.

Eventually, he said, “I'm sure Gastark will tremble in fear.”

“They should,” the prince said with a nod. “Anyway,” he went on after a moment, “I'll look into this – the stories might just be stories, after all, but if there's a connection between them and Gastark's interest in the Cursed Eyes, that would be good to know.”

“Divine.”

The human blinked at him. “What?”

“Divine Eyes,” Tiir said sharply. “They're not cursed.”

“Ah. My apologies.” A pause. “Wait, divine? As in...” The human waved his hand elaborately. “Divine?”

Tiir decided to ignore the intelligent phrasing of the question. “Yes,” he said. He wasn't going to say anything more on the matter.

Narrowing his eyes, he waited for the human's mockery.

Once more, the prince blinked at him. “This is part of the 'humans are but inferior creatures' thing, isn't it?” he asked. Then, to Tiir's surprise, he grinned brightly. “Oh, this is perfect! Who needs an almighty cat when there are sublime red-glowing eyes around? Have you ever thought about founding a cult?”

“...What?”

“Come on, it would totally piss Gastark off! And just think about the possibilities – humans all over the continent would become susceptible to your cause. You could create an army of religious fanatics!”

“Are you finally acknowledging your pitiful species' inferiority?” Tiir inquired, managing to sound bland rather than bewildered or amused. “I'm impressed. I didn't believe you capable of that amount of rational thought.”

“No, actually, it's all part of my evil master plan: if you're too busy converting people to eat them, that gives me time to convince you that not only can humans be useful, we're not all assholes, either! I'd still support your cult, though. Maybe we could include cats somewhere.” The human nodded to himself.

Tiir decided the man was just strange, and that there really was no point in trying to figure him out.

“I should probably get going,” the prince said. “You'll be all right?”

“Yes.” That was to say, if the magician kept her mouth shut and minded her own business. Otherwise, the next few hours weren't going to be pleasant.

He would live, though.

“Good,” the human said. “Hopefully, this will be the last one of those meetings.”

Tiir didn't comment, but as far as this matter was concerned, he and the human were in complete agreement. With every day that passed, he was missing the children more, and he had to force himself not to think about them too much – because whenever he did, worry rendered him unable to breathe, and rage he couldn't afford to indulge in made his blood boil.

*

The magician entered just a moment after the prince stepped out of the door – apparently, she had already been waiting. Tiir wasn't surprised.

She sat down at the desk, looking more relaxed than the soldier had, but Tiir wasn't fooled. If the colonel had been a guard dog dutifully following the orders of its master, the half-Gastark woman was a snake ready to strike. Her eyes were trained on him, frosty, unblinking, and her right hand was resting on her belt in a manner that would have seemed casual if not for the accursed weapon placed right next to it.

Tiir seated himself opposite of her on the floor – although he would have preferred to remain standing in the mage woman's presence, the less she viewed him as a threat, the better.

The magician didn't even twitch, and when she kept gazing at him with a face unmoved as that of a stature, Tiir firmly quashed the desire to taunt her like he had the soldier. He knew better than to invoke her wrath.

Instead, he watched the dog, who looked like it desperately wanted to go over and greet the woman, but didn't quite dare. Apparently, there was a human the animal respected, after all.

Tiir suppressed a snort.

When he returned his attention to the magician, he found that the woman had picked up the book the prince had left lying on his desk. “And here I thought he had forgotten about it,” she said, her eyes still fixed on Tiir. “You two didn't happen to have a chat about this, did you?”

Tiir didn't reply, and she nodded, letting the book slide from her hand back onto the desk. “Well, I won't blame you for humoring him. As long as you don't forget your place.”

He resisted the urge to hold her gaze in a wordless challenge, and instead forced himself to glance away.

“Come here,” the human ordered after a moment.

Tiir looked back at her in surprise, but after an instant slowly got up. He approached her not without wariness, but knew that whatever it was she wanted, refusing her would be more dangerous than doing her bidding.

“So,” the magician said when he came to a halt in front of her, “what did you do that Colonel Arsan repeatedly asked me to convince His Highness to get rid of you?”

Tiir froze, then shook himself and narrowed his eyes. “He didn't say?”

“You're not supposed to ask questions, but answer them,” the human informed him coolly.

Tiir regarded her, trying to appear unconcerned although he was trapped and they both knew it. He had no doubt the magician was well aware of what had transpired between him and the soldier – even if the man had been under orders to not speak of the incident, which Tiir wasn't so sure about, he wouldn't have been vague enough in making his request that she wouldn't be able to fill in the blanks.

Tiir inwardly cursed him, the half-Gastark magician and his own carelessness. Why had he even done what he had?

Because he hadn't expected any consequences? He knew better than that. To cover up his weakened state? The man would never have guessed, anyway – and it wouldn't have mattered even if he had. Because mocking the human had given him a sense of normalcy he had desperately needed?

Pathetic.

In the end, he remained silent. There was nothing he could say that wouldn't make things worse.

“Well,” the woman said, “at least you don't have the audacity to try and worm your way out of this.”

She raised her hand, and Tiir tensed.

The magician scoffed. “My Prince asked me to feed you, not skewer you. Closer – I'd hate to burn down the royal chambers.”

Carefully concealing his surprise, Tiir took a step forward.

The human fired her magic at him without further ado, and he was startled by the power behind the spell – it wasn't a great amount, exactly, but enough that being confident it wouldn't destroy any of the furniture in the process of being absorbed required a degree of precision Tiir hadn't expected her to possess, despite everything. She really was a very skilled magician... for a human.

He allowed himself to enjoy the unexpected meal for the duration of a heartbeat and then quickly let the red fade from his eyes. For once, doing so didn't take much willpower – he hadn't run low on energy yet, though he supposed it wouldn't have been much longer with his body still recovering from whatever illness he'd had.

The magician was watching him intently, but Tiir noted that her right hand was still resting next to, not atop of her weapon. It irked him more than he would have thought.

“I hear you conducted yourself perfectly at the Council meeting,” she said, “so I will overlook your insolence this once. Consider yourself warned, though: I don't care what my Prince lets you get away with, you will not disgrace him in front of his subjects.”

Biting his tongue, Tiir inclined his head.

“Glad we have an understanding.” She smiled a small, satisfied smile he would have liked to wipe off her face – preferably by ripping off her head –, and motioned for him to get back to his end of the room.

For once, Tiir was happy to oblige her.

The rest of the evening passed, surprisingly, without incident. The magician went back to feigning indifference to his presence, and Tiir returned the courtesy. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the human amusing herself first by finally acknowledging the dog's presence, and later by half-heartedly petting the female cat when it came in to inspect the visitor.

He knew the magician was watching him just as carefully as he was watching her, but as long as he didn't have to talk to her – or worse, listen to her talking –, he was content to act like she didn't exist.

After what couldn't have been more than three hours, the prince poked his head through the door. “You both still alive?” he asked cautiously.

The magician scoffed. “What do you suppose I did to it – eat it?”

“Well...”

The woman snorted. “You can keep your pets,” she said, getting up. “I have no interest in them whatsoever.” Walking over to the royal who was now closing the door behind himself, she asked, “Did you achieve your goal?”

The prince grinned. “If by that, you mean: 'did the highly venerable members of the Council finally give in and rid me of themselves for at least the next two weeks?', then yes, I achieved my goal all right.”

Tiir pushed down his own anticipation at the news and kept his attention on the humans' conversation with some effort.

“Good,” the mage woman said. “I was afraid I'd have to waste another evening looking after your animals.”

One day, Tiir would kill her.

“Lymeia...,” the prince began, but the magician interrupted him.

“Speaking of pets,” she said. “You do realize your cat is expecting, don't you?”

Tiir blinked.

So did the prince. Then he stared. “What? But... why-- how--”

“I don't really have to explain that to you, do I?” the woman asked dryly. “After more than a year of training as a healer, that would not just be sad, but downright pathetic.”

The young royal spluttered. “I was going to ask 'how do you know?'” he finally managed. “Not how... that!”

“That,” the magician repeated. “Forgive me, Your Highness, but I believe you are not yet old enough to be having this conversation. If you'd excuse me...” She inclined her head, and left without waiting for a reply.

The prince stared at the door she had so nonchalantly shut in his face, mouth agape. “She's... she's...”

“A human?” Tiir suggested helpfully.

“Evil!”

“That's what I said.”

The prince turned to him, finally closing his mouth. “All right,” he agreed after a moment. “She's human, you're impossible, and I'm an individual whose sister's cat is apparently pregnant!” He started pacing. “What do I do?”

“Take a deep breath, realize it's not you who is pregnant but the cat, and calm down?”

The human glared at him.

Tiir smirked at him briefly, but then shifted his attention to the cat who was slowly making its way towards him. He carefully scratched it behind the ears, and curiously watched it climb onto his lap a moment later. Nothing about it seemed different, but then again, it might already have been with young when he had first laid eyes on it.

“No, really,” the human said. “What do I do? When Malyrei finds out, she will go around proclaiming that 'Her Majesty' is pregnant!”

Tiir blinked. “Are you serious?”

“I wish I wasn't,” the prince said. “Once, when Mother was late for a banquet, she went about telling the story of how 'Her Majesty' had been attacked by a vicious dog twice her size. The only reason the whole thing didn't end in a panic was that she wouldn't let anyone leave before she was done, and after ten minutes or so would always finish with, 'and then she chased it off and ate the head of the freshly killed mouse she had been so bravely defending'. Most people drew the right conclusions, the rest... well, I'll admit their faces were hilarious.”

Amused despite himself, Tiir snorted.

The human grinned at him, then apparently caught himself and shook his head. “But I'm forgetting the most important thing – sorry. As promised, I talked to my mother right after the meeting. You'll be able to see one of the children in five days.”

Tiir froze.

He hadn't expected a concrete time-frame just yet, and suddenly, he wasn't sure what he felt anymore.

There was elation, certainly. But his heart was also clenching painfully, worry and fear making it hard to actually be happy about the information he had received.

He had been concerned about the little ones all this time, but he had also allowed the human's words to put his mind at ease more than once. If he had been lied to, if his captor had just been making a fool of him...

“Is something wrong?” the human asked, stepping over to him and looking quite troubled. “Was it something I said?”

Tiir regarded him for a long, drawn-out moment, and finally decided that the man probably wasn't trying to deceive him – putting on such a convincing act once or twice was one thing, doing it non-stop for half a fortnight another.

More importantly, though, it would be completely without sense – no less so than the notion of a human who was almost tolerable. Tiir would find out the truth within days, and even if the human thought he could continue to hide it from him infinitely, Tiir still couldn't see how it would benefit him. Going to such lengths just for the sake of cruelty would be an unnecessarily long-winded approach, and Tiir couldn't imagine why someone who had nothing to gain from it that he couldn't get in a simpler way would be willing to go through with it, why even a human who was foolish enough to think he could make Tiir trust him and hoped to get something out of it would act like this one.

Tiir had never doubted that he could recognize humanity's loathing for his kind from miles away, never mind after spending day after day in its company. He knew perfectly what hatred and resentment looked like, what it meant to wish for someone to suffer, and this wasn't it.

Of course, being a human, the prince's idea of the little ones being 'just fine' was unlikely to have much in common with his, but not for a second had Tiir expected that there would be no damage done. Like this, though, if it turned out that there was something severely wrong with the children and he still couldn't think of a way to safely get them away from the humans, instead of doing something radical that was more likely to get them killed than out of the enemy's reach, maybe he could talk to the man. As difficult as it was for Tiir to comprehend, at least for now the human really didn't seem to want Ren and Karda harmed.

“Nothing's wrong,” Tiir told the prince calmly and went back to petting the by now dozing cat. “I was just thinking.”

“Oh,” the human said, not looking entirely convinced, but quick to return to the original topic of conversation. “The point of rendezvous will be a clearing about two hours from here,” he went on. “We'll depart in the late evening. Aside from me, only Lymeia and one other person will be coming along on our side – perhaps Colonel Arsan, but that's not certain yet.”

Tiir held the human's gaze for a moment longer, then glanced away. “Will I be allowed to speak with them?”

“Of course,” the prince assured him. As what appeared to be an afterthought, he added, “Though I'm afraid I won't be able to give you much privacy.”

Tiir snorted softly. “I didn't expect you to.” Fixing his gaze on the human again, he asked, “What if they let something slip?”

“They're children,” the prince said. “We won't hold them responsible for acting accordingly. There's not much they could let slip to begin with, and while they'll be told not to reveal certain things, it's no big deal even if we should feel they've said too much. The child staying behind will always be brought to a different location beforehand, so at worst, they'd both end up having to resettle. They would still be treated well, but I do believe they are best off where they currently are, so perhaps you could try to avoid talking about geography.” The human winked at him.

“Pretty much everything else is fair game,” the man continued. “They don't know the real name of the person looking after them, and you may as well know she's female. Her occupation isn't at all unusual in Salea, so that's not an issue, either.” He smiled at Tiir. “Just relax and don't worry about that kind of thing too much.”

Easy for the human to say – still, Tiir did feel some of his anxiety dissipate. The prince seemed to have put a lot of thought into the matter, and his considerations appeared to go beyond simply wanting to make sure Tiir would stay put.

He tried to remind himself that he was only setting himself up for betrayal if he believed even a single word out of a human's mouth, but at the same time knew it was already too late for that. If he were to question the man's every action, it would drive him mad.

Gods, he wanted home.

But even if he returned to his comrades, it would never be the same, would it? Lafra was gone, and so were too many others. Tiir was sick of it – disgusted by his own weakness.

“Tiir?”

The sound of his own name startled him, and he looked at the human in surprise. Despite having asked his permission to do so days ago, it was the first time the prince had addressed him this way.

“If there's something the matter, you know you can talk to me, right?” the royal asked with a concerned frown. “I know we can't be friends, but I do care.”

Now that was enough to distract Tiir from his bleak contemplations. He blinked at the human, certain that he hadn't heard correctly. “What?”

“Well,” the prince began slowly, “I know you hate me and all, but I respect how far you're willing to go for your siblings, and I do enjoy conversing with you. Besides,” he added with a grin, “you're the first person to ever compliment my brain tissue. That has to count for something, right?”

Tiir knew he was giving the human the oddest look, but he couldn't have cared less.

“Er,” the prince said, suddenly flustered. “Never mind. I really don't think before I talk. Just... if something is bothering you, even if it's something I wouldn't be able to do anything about, I could at least listen.” A pause. “If you want.”

Tiir took a deep, shaky breath. He wished the human would stop doing this. Why did he have to be so confusing?

Not that he wanted the man to start acting exactly the same as the rest of his kind – as things stood, that would be disastrous –, but couldn't he behave a bit less like... like someone who mattered? Tiir was beginning to feel that attempting to make the royal suffer for his actions would not only be unwise or pointless, but wrong.

It was ridiculous. He was a human. Even if he wasn't unnecessarily cruel, when it came down to it, Tiir and the children were just tools to him. If they ever stopped being useful, he would have them killed in the blink of an eye.

Maybe not all humans enjoyed causing his kind pain, but in the end they still feared them, used them, held them in contempt. In the end, it was still a fact that there could never be peace between their races.

“I don't,” Tiir said sharply, causing the cat to jump and run off with an indignant hiss.

The human flinched, but for once, Tiir couldn't derive any pleasure from the sight. Still, he refused to feel guilty – why should he care about the feelings of the enemy who was holding him captive?

The look of hurt disappeared from the prince's features almost as quickly as it had come, leaving behind an expression that lacked emotion. “I'm sorry,” the man said, strangely formal. “I spoke foolishly. Please forget I said anything.”

The prince turned from him without waiting for a reply, and walked towards his garderobe.

It didn't feel like simply a prematurely ended conversation. Something had shifted in their relationship, and not for the better.

Tiir fought down panic. This was bad. He should just have kept his mouth shut – and now of all times.

But he hadn't thought this, of all things, would be what crossed the line.

“Wait,” he said hurriedly. The prince halted, but instead of facing him, he just looked over his shoulder quizzically.

Tiir forced out the words before they could choke him, “I didn't mean to offend you.”

The prince stared at him in confusion for a moment – then he gave a short, brittle laugh. It was a reaction Tiir found rather unsettling.

Finally, the human turned around. “You're worried you hurt my pride and I'm going to be an ass about it, aren't you? I should have taken more care not to give a wrong impression – again, I apologize. It's not like that. I just realized I wasn't conducting myself appropriately, and that I should keep my distance from now on.”

Tiir bit his tongue – that was exactly what he had been afraid of; or at least, part of it. He wanted the human to stop pretending to care, but he also wanted to be able to discuss the treatment of the children with him. Like this, though, any attempt to do so would hardly get him anywhere – he didn't have anything left to bargain with.

“That's what I should have done from the beginning,” the prince continued, and Tiir balled his fists. “It's not fair of me to expect you to act like I'm anything but the one keeping you prisoner, away from your family, your people. I didn't even realize how arrogant I was being.”

...Wait, what?

The human was giving him a lop-sided smile now. “Of course, whenever you feel like commenting on my intestines, feel free to do so. I'd be delighted.”

All right, that was it. Tiir would never understand this human. “Don't you think that if talking to you bothered me, I wouldn't have?”

The prince stared at him. “Well, I just thought...”

Tiir narrowed his eyes. “That I was trying to curry favor?”

“What? No – nothing like that!” The human looked positively horrified by the assumption. “I just... I don't know what I thought, all right? You're obviously not walking on eggshells around me, but I'm not sure you'd tell me to piss off and go bother someone else, either. Clearly, you're worried about setting me off – and who wouldn't be?” Raking a hand through unruly locks in frustration, the man declared, “This whole situation is just so fucked up.”

Tiir regarded him.

So that was the problem? The human had trouble reading him?

Tiir wanted to laugh at the irony.

“In that case,” he said instead, moving in front of the human in an instant, “explain yourself.” His voice was almost a hiss. “Tell me why I shouldn't expect you to change your mind at any moment. Despite all your pretty words, at the end of the day, we're just monsters to you, aren't we? Monsters who devour lives, monsters who could go out of control any second, monsters who might be useful now but won't be forever. Why bother feigning concern when we both know you can hardly wait to wash your hands of us?”

The prince was staring at him with wide eyes, and Tiir was already beginning to wonder if he might have frozen in fear, after all, when the man's expression suddenly changed. “You're wrong,” he said, the soft tone of his voice a sharp contrast to the way Tiir had addressed him. “I don't think of you as monsters. I never should have – believing rumors and myths without question isn't what I was raised to do. It's true that I'm using you, but that's because I believe it's necessary for the sake of my country. I'm not proud of it, but there's no going back now, and if it's for Salea, for my loved ones and my people, I'm willing to go this far.”

“You think your people care who rules them that much?” Tiir scoffed. “They'd probably prefer Gastark over a war that is likely to get them all killed.”

“They wouldn't,” the prince said, calmly and without hesitation. “Maybe if my mother backed down willingly, but she won't, and neither will I. Not from Gastark.”

“Isn't that just an excuse?” Tiir asked, not even trying to hide the scorn in his voice. “What does Gastark matter to you?”

The prince gave him a wry smile. “They matter – because they are willing to sacrifice too much. Even if their intentions turned out to be as noble as they claim, someone who starts war after war, who conducts the kind of experiments Lymeia believes would have been necessary to learn about the Magic Eyes in such detail, who creates crystal after crystal when it's so obvious you suffer just like humans do, is not someone I will ever let lay hands on this country if I can help it.

“I know Gastark's King is hailed as a hero by his people, and I'll admit he doesn't sound like a bad ruler by most standards, but even if it turns out to be true that he's not just interested in conquest, I wonder what he could be thinking. A king willing to kill his heart and wade through a sea of blood to reach his goal might be able to create peace, but he won't be able to maintain it – because those who witness his actions will always remember that if push came to shove, he would sacrifice them, and their friends, and their families, and everything they care about in an instant. The idea of serving something bigger than oneself can support a soldier in battle, but it will never be enough replace people's every day lives. That's what I believe.”

It sounded nice, and like something that had been spoken in earnest. It also sounded like the foolish belief of a foolish human who failed to consider that killing each other to achieve their goals was all his abominable kind ever did.

Perhaps because he hadn't managed to keep his lips from twisting in disdain, before Tiir could decide whether he wanted to bother pointing out something that was so obvious, the prince added, “Though I guess Lymeia might be right and that's just a fancy way of saying that I don't like his methods and don't trust him, so if you're asking why I think a war is preferable to trying our luck with him, the simplest answer would probably be that Salea is not Gastark. Someone from such a vastly different culture shouldn't presume to subject us to his laws – like that could ever be a good thing rather than a disaster. Just breaking with minor traditions tends to be a very delicate matter this country that can get people killed; the last thing we need is outside interference in the form of conquest.” The human crossed his arms, and holding Tiir's gaze finished, “Whatever way you look at it, Gastark's King can't have Salea because at the end of the day, this country and its people wouldn't mean anything to him.”

Well, Tiir thought as he stared right back at the human, perhaps the man had thought about the issue for more than three seconds before deciding to throw so many of his own kind's lives away.

And though it was still foolish, still proof of how despicable humans were that they would kill each other over their arbitrary rules and customs, Tiir had to admit he wasn't unimpressed by the man's reasoning, or entirely unaffected by the conviction behind his words. From a human's standpoint, perhaps he was doing what was necessary to protect his own.

Still...

“We're not your people, though,” Tiir said, “so why would you care?”

“You may not be my people, but you're still people. Why wouldn't I care?”

“We don't even belong to the same species.”

“So?” the human returned glibly. “I don't care about blood, so why should I care about whether someone has red-glowing eyes?”

“Or about whether someone could crush you in a heartbeat?” Tiir asked.

Strangely enough, this seemed to amuse the prince. “A whole lot of people could crush me in a heartbeat,” he informed him, “and I'll take a guess and say that the vast majority of them does not have red-glowing eyes. My sister certainly doesn't.” A snort. “Not that it stopped her from trying to eat me.”

Tiir narrowed his eyes. “Would you take this seriously?” he all but snarled.

“I am taking this seriously,” the human retorted. “What I'm trying to say is: I'm not afraid of your powers.”

“Then you're a fool.”

“Am I? Fear can be useful, but I don't think there is anything particularly desirable about falling into a state of terror every time I encounter something that could hurt me. I'd never be able to set a foot outside this room again. I don't fear your powers, and I certainly don't fear those children. I don't want you killed, or hate you, or even am indifferent to you.”

The prince smiled at him, but it looked more like a grimace. “And yet, when it comes down to it, I'm just one more asshole human hunting you down because of your eyes. I suppose I'm no better than Gastark in this regard. Still, I won't go back on my word, since no matter how much I love this country, there are lines I'm not willing to cross – because that's not the kind of person I want to be, or the kind of king I would want to become. In fact, if the only way I saw to advance Salea's interests involved breaking my word and killing children who aren't hurting anyone, I'd take that to mean I'm probably not the kind of person this country needs in the first place.”

Tiir considered the human. He sounded convincing. In fact, he almost made sense, which was as off-putting as it was persuasive. Just for an instant, Tiir found himself enthralled by the prince's words, wanting not only to believe them, but to keep listening to them in hopes of finally figuring out the peculiar creature in front of him.

But the moment passed, and all that remained was the feeling of wary acceptance.

He stepped back, and decided that if only for the sake of his own sanity, he would content himself with the human's explanation for now.

Once more, the prince smiled at him, but although it looked a bit more heartfelt this time, his expression still seemed pained. Tiir could have told the man that he detested him nowhere as much as he detested Gastark, but he didn't see why he should bother. There was nothing he detested as much as he did Gastark – it didn't erase the truth behind the royal's self-deprecating statement: he was no better than Gastark, because he was a human, and that was a fact no amount of pretty words was going to change.

“Does it matter to you which one of the children you see first?” the prince asked suddenly.

Tiir blinked at him. He hadn't even thought about that.

Did it? A part of him believed that Karda would be fairing better – they were both strong children, but Ren wouldn't take well to being shunned; he was too outgoing for that, too eager for others' approval. The humans might be careful not to cause the children lasting physical injuries, but for Ren, just being met with scorn could have similar effects. Karda was the more confident, practical one out of the two, and probably the kind of person less likely to succumb to despair while she had someone other than herself to look out for – but she was still a child, and it was impossible to tell how she would take having to live through so many catastrophes in such a short period of time, when she had only just been beginning to recover from the cruelties of her old life. And she was surrounded by humans, whose mere presence would be enough to terrify her.

Therefore, what Tiir eventually said was, “No, it doesn't.”

If he was honest with himself, he was much too glad to be able to speak those words in good conscience – he didn't want to feel like he was putting one child over the other, or to make a decision only to find out later that he had been horribly wrong.

His own selfishness repulsed him, but he couldn't help it. He already couldn't forgive himself for having failed to protect them once.

Twice.

“All right,” the prince said. “I'll leave that part to other people, then.” He tilted his head. “Anything else that would need clearing up?”

When Tiir remained silent, the man nodded. “Just ask if you have any questions.”

He turned around again, and this time, Tiir didn't stop him.

Chapter Text

Tiir discovered that now that he had something definite to look forward to, time was passing painfully slowly. He couldn't think about anything but his kin, and for once, the human prince didn't make any effort to divert his attention. As he had said he would, the man was acting more distant, and though he was being neither unfriendly nor cold, the changes in his behavior were obvious. Tiir suspected engaging him in any sort of meaningless conversation would still have been easy enough, but he felt no desire to put that theory to test, and three days went by with them barely speaking a word to each other.

In the night of the fourth, as he gazed at the moonless sky, Tiir found himself wondering how things would have gone had Lafra not died the way he had. Would Pueka have made it through, as well? Or would Lafra just have had to watch her be killed?

And if they had both lived, would he himself have been thinking more clearly and not charged meaninglessly at an enemy who so obviously had the advantage, focusing on getting his comrades to safety right away instead? But it would have been impossible at that juncture – Gastark had still had the upper-hand then, and even if Tiir had managed to escape with the children, he would have had to leave behind Lafra and Pueka just as he had Ryner.

He couldn't imagine what had happened to make the tides turn in the end. He'd noted that another human had joined the battle on their side – the silver-haired one, whose presence he had barely registered until that point. But what should his intervention have mattered? It had just been a human.

Then again, a treacherous part of him whispered, so were Gastark.

He didn't understand. Humans were supposed to be weak, fragile, only talk and lacking anything to back it up with. Like the king from Roland had been – thinking he could defeat him with his paltry battle strategies, claiming that he didn't see Ryner as a monster, when he had already stabbed the man who'd viewed him as a friend in the back and spelled Tiir's victory himself.

It was easy to see why one should never trust a human, but it was harder to remain confident in the superiority of one's abilities when they proved to not be enough over and over again.

Gastark had those items – Rule Fragments, they were called? –, but a handful of fancy weapons wielded by arrogant humans should never have been enough to turn prey into predator and predator into prey. And that swordswoman who had been with Ryner had managed to hold her own against them still, hadn't she? Tiir wondered who she was, to be that capable a fighter without even resorting to the use of magic.

Most likely, she was just some soldier from Roland, but Tiir had never seen a human relying solely on physical ability pose that formidable an opponent. He wondered if, had she had a little more room for movement during their fight in Estabul, and had he been a bit lower on energy, she could have become dangerous to him.

Perhaps if he had underestimated her...

No, he decided firmly. In the end, she would still have been no match for him, and as for Gastark – their time was running out.

But although Tiir couldn't wait to make them pay for every single one of their atrocities in blood, deep down, he knew that it would never be enough. It wouldn't bring back the ones they had already lost, and it wouldn't heal the wounds of those left behind – the ones who'd had to watch helplessly as their loved ones' eyes were gouged out right in front of them. If every single one of those deaths was forever etched into Tiir's memory, then how much more horrifying must witnessing such a thing have been for the children?

He knew he should be glad that Lafra, at least, had not died in such a manner, but instead, he found himself wishing that he could turn back time and try again. Even if the situation had been hopeless, even if Gastark might very well just have ended up getting their hands one more Ebra Crypt, Tiir would have given anything for but the smallest chance to save his friend. Of course, it was a foolish sentiment – if he hadn't wanted his comrades to die, he should have been more alert, more prepared, less weak.

Lafra had always been there for him, and when it had mattered most, Tiir had failed him.

Sharply turning from the window, Tiir strode towards the other end of the room, only realizing when he came face to face with the prince that he hadn't been paying the slightest bit of attention to his surroundings.

“Is something the matter?” the human asked. However, before Tiir could think of an appropriate reply to dismiss the prince's curiosity with, the man's eyes suddenly widened, and he took a small, hesitant step forward. “Are you crying?”

Tiir looked at the human in confusion, but then the sensation of cool wetness on his cheek finally registered, and he touched a hand to it in disbelief.

“What's wrong?” the prince went on, his resolution to not pry into his business anymore apparently forgotten. He was staring at Tiir in such open bewilderment and concern that it would have been endearing, had the man not been a human and his jailor.

Later, Tiir would decide that it was that ridiculous expression that made him react the way he did. In that instant, there was no anger towards himself for having been so negligent, and no panic at having his weakness exposed by the enemy – he just felt numb.

And so the millions of things he could have said to the human to deflect the question died on their way to his throat while he stood frozen, his hand resting motionless on treacherously wet skin as he let incredulity engulf him. He hadn't cried when his comrades had been slaughtered before his very eyes, when he had been helpless to save them, and he hadn't cried afterwards, when he'd had to leave their remains behind to rot because there had been no time.

He hadn't shed a single tear after the last attack by Gastark, and not after the one before that, and not after any of his failures before. Crying was useless, when he could instead be making plans to avenge his friends and ensure that he would not make the same mistakes again. Crying was for those who deserved the comfort.

So why couldn't he stop?

The human reached out his hand cautiously, but halted short of making contact with the cloth of Tiir's robe.

Tiir expected him to pull back like he had the last time, but at first, he didn't even move. Then, visibly fighting off his hesitancy, the man said, “I'm really bad at this kind of thing, so if I'm just intruding upon your personal space – which I probably am –, just... bite me, all right?”

Despite the attempt at humor, the words came out rather shaky, and Tiir realized why a few seconds later, when the human tentatively wrapped an arm around him and hugged him.

Hugged him.

Tiir was too dumbfounded to even feel shock.

He stiffened, but neither recoiled in anger like he should have nor leaned into the embrace like he was tempted to. Instead, he simply allowed the prince to hold him, telling himself that this way, at least, the human would be unable to see his face. The tears were still flowing.

A small eternity seemed to pass before they finally subsided, and only then did Tiir push the prince away – not roughly, but not with any gentleness, either. A part of him still expected to find scorn on the man's features, revulsion and mocking amusement, but the human looked even more uncertain than Tiir felt, and the fury and self-loathing that had been threatening to rise within him dissipated.

“I'm sorry,” the prince blurted out after a moment. “That was stupid, wasn't it? I might even be at fault for-” He broke off. “I just... didn't know what else to do.” Bowing his head, he repeated, “I'm sorry.”

Had someone told Tiir only weeks ago that the there would come a time when a human tried to comfort him, Tiir would have laughed in their face. Had that someone furthermore claimed that Tiir wouldn't devour the unlucky thing on the spot but let it, and that the human would not only come to regret his actions but have both the mind and the time to apologize for them, Tiir wouldn't have stopped laughing for the next half an hour at least, even if it had been the Leader herself making the prediction.

However, as it was, he only looked at the human in silence for a moment before shaking his head in what little disbelief he had left to spare. “Strange creature,” he declared, glad to discover that his voice came out almost every bit as clear and impassive as he had intended it to.

The words got him a smile from the human. “Let me guess,” the man said, “compared to 'human', 'creature' is flattering?”

“Of course.”

The prince laughed, and just like that, all lingering tension fled.

It really was odd. Tiir knew he should be more mortified at having let a human's touch console him, and more ashamed of having shown such vulnerability in front of one in the first place, but somehow, he just couldn't find it in himself to be particularly irked.

“Care for some tea?” the prince asked, still smiling.

Then again, Tiir mused, maybe it wasn't so absurd. He didn't have anything to lose from this that mattered – nothing but his pride, if he had any left at all, and with the prince acting the way he did, it was hard to worry about that. The man was too earnest, too amiable, too unguarded. It made Tiir heedless of his own defenses, and the more he thought about it, the less it bothered him. As long as he remembered that despite all the peculiarities, he was dealing with a human and the enemy, he should be fine, and those weren't facts he would forget about easily.

“I wouldn't mind,” he said therefore, and even sat down next to the prince on the bed once the beverages arrived and the man offered.

He then proceeded to eye the basket in the human's lap rather suspiciously. When the prince noticed, he grinned. “It's not going to jump you, you know,” he said and held it out to him.

Keeping his face expressionless, Tiir regarded the box's contents. “I didn't realize this falls under 'tea' in Salea,” he remarked.

“Ah, caught me,” the prince said. “I just felt like something sweet, and since you didn't eat dinner, I thought perhaps you'd be interested, as well.” It was such an obvious half-truth that Tiir didn't even feel like calling the human out on it.

To think that his captor was concerned over him skipping one puny meal...

However, Tiir supposed he could indulge him. He hadn't been hungry then, but that was already changing, and this didn't look so bad.

After a brief moment of hesitation, he grasped one of the pastries. Despite the icing and the fruits, it wasn't all that sticky, and after giving it one last assessing look, Tiir took a small, cautious bite. So far, though the regular meals tended to be a bit more spicy than he was used to, the palace's cuisine had proven to be adequate, but he wasn't going to put any faith in humans, and that included their culinary skills.

As it turned out, though, he needn't have concerned himself this time, either. The pastry's taste was in no way inferior to its appearance.

Tiir refused to admit that much out loud, but the human was watching him expectantly, and he felt compelled to say something.

“It's acceptable,” he allowed magnanimously.

The prince seemed happy with that. “Well,” the man said after a moment, sipping on his tea with a smile, “I suppose it can't compare to brain tissue.”

Tiir snorted. “You'll never stop bringing that up, will you?”

“Nope,” the human said cheerfully. “So, what does magic taste like?”

Tiir turned his head and blinked at the royal. “What?”

“Is that an odd question?” the prince asked, cocking his head. “I've been wondering for a while now. You said it's not because of the taste that you prefer it, but it does have a taste, doesn't it?”

“Yes,” Tiir said slowly, pondering the matter. It certainly was an odd question – one no one had asked him quite like this before, and one he wasn't sure he could answer. “It's hard to explain,” he finally began. “It does have a taste, but it's not comparable to eating this.” He lifted what was left of his pastry slightly. “It's more... potent, encompassing.” He paused, searching for the word best suited to describe the sensation. “Exhilarating.”

The prince was hanging on to his every word. “It's similar with eating humans?” he inquired, his tone no different from before.

“Yes,” Tiir replied curtly.

“Hmm,” the royal made thoughtfully, returning his attention to his tea. When he looked up again, he was grinning. “Sounds like I'm missing out on something, after all.”

Tiir glanced at him. “Yes,” he said dryly, “it's called sanity.”

“Eating humans would make me sane?”

“You ask that while giving me this hopeful a look and call me smirking at you 'creepy'?”

“What,” the prince countered, “you lust after my spleen, but the thought of me embracing cannibalism weirds you out?”

“Not at all.” Tiir ignored table manners in favor of demonstratively licking his fingers clean. “You could start with the magician.”

“Lymeia? Well, she does keep making fun of me...” The prince gave a smile that even Tiir had to admit was devious, before shaking his head theatrically. “Alas, that wouldn't end well. She's yet another person who could 'crush me in a heartbeat'. Come to think about it, Malyrei would also be rather cross with me.”

“Your sister?” Tiir asked, confused.

“M-hm,” the prince said. “She and Lymeia have known each other for more than a decade now. I'd say they're friends, but Lymeia will admit to no such thing, and I'm not enough of a masochist to insist. Still, they haven't killed each other yet, and I'm reasonably sure Malyrei is the only person who can make Lymeia smile – in a way that doesn't have people all around scrambling for cover or attempting to strangle her, I mean.”

Tiir snorted. He wondered if this bit of information would turn out to be useful in the future, but he wasn't very hopeful. He had guessed already that her country's rulers would be some sort of weak point of the magician's, but with things being as they were, he had no desire to find out just how flimsy a human's idea of 'loyalty' really was.

Then again, it wasn't like he had expected to gain leverage so easily. The prince wasn't terribly secretive, but he clearly wasn't a fool, either – not in that sense, at least.

“You miss your sister?” Tiir asked, because it was hard not to pick up on the fact that the man barely talked about anything else.

The human appeared startled for a moment, but then shrugged. “She is family, after all. It's been four years since she left the palace, but it doesn't feel like it – perhaps because she used to come by fairly regularly until recently. It's... lonely, without her.”

Tiir watched the human curiously. “I didn't get the impression you lacked people willing to keep you company.”

The prince quirked his lips. “I don't, do I?” He stared at the wall across the room. “Still, it's not the same. Mother has her hands full ruling the country, and High Marshal Gareyn pours almost as much effort into aiding her – what little free-time he has, he spends with his daughter. I'm pretty sure Livarys would meet with me more often if I asked her to, but she has her own life outside the palace and I wouldn't dream of interfering with it. To Colonel Arsan, I'm his Prince first and foremost, and Lymeia only just returned after spending two years in an enemy nation – she's never been sociable, but right now, she may as well be a hermit. There are some others, but no one I could exactly invite for tea.”

The human shot Tiir a crooked smile. “So you see,” he said, “I don't dislike having you around at all. And that's why I thought I should back off – I have a bad habit of latching onto people, it seems.”

Tiir didn't reply immediately – he was able to think of a number of cutting remarks he could make in response to the man's words, but discovered that he didn't feel like it. Loneliness was something he could understand, though he found it difficult to believe that the human did, even if just to such a small degree.

And yet, it fit into the picture eerily well. While it was still a mystery why the human would focus his attention on Tiir when he had a whole country full of members of his own species to pick from, the prince's behavior clearly went beyond what the man could have passed off as 'common decency'.

Tiir had thought that maybe he was just bored, but if that were the case, there was nothing stopping him from assigning a guard to watch his captive and doing something productive with his time. Even if he had scruples about placing Tiir at the mercy of some depraved noble, a concern that would be difficult enough to fathom, there was no reason why he shouldn't even try to make other, more temporary arrangements; he was obviously capable of controlling at least some of his subjects. That he hadn't done so even once out of anything less than pure necessity was quite telling.

So that was it what the human had meant when he had said the situation was 'fucked up'. He was being friendly in the truest sense of the word, but even if Tiir hadn't been what he was, it was a pathetic attempt at forging a relationship that was doomed to failure; because when it came down to it, the prince would still be the enemy and Tiir his prisoner, and conflicting interests ensured that ulterior motives would always be at play. Even if the most important differences between them did not exist, neither of them would ever be able to simply take the other's words and actions at face value.

Peculiarly, though, what the prince seemed to fear was not that Tiir would feign complaisance and attempt to use him by exploiting his weakness in turn, but that Tiir would feel compelled to go along with his oddities so as not to put the children at risk. Could a human really be this naive?

No, Tiir decided, not naive. Undaunted. The prince seemed entirely confident that Tiir would not be able to get the better of him any time soon, which, Tiir had to admit, was probably an assessment that was not so much arrogant as it was realistic. The ground they were currently standing on was severely uneven, and it was clear who was in the position of power. Since he wasn't distracted by mindless fear, the human was aware of this, and could afford to be considerate.

Tiir didn't think that made him any less strange, as he wasn't supposed to care about being considerate in the first place or even possess that sort of confidence, but it did make him a little less of an enigma.

So then, Tiir wondered as he regarded the royal, who was waiting for him to say something and looking more anxious by the second. Did he want the human to leave him alone?

The man had made it sufficiently clear by now that Tiir would not be placing the children in any immediate danger if he refused to encourage his outlandish whims, so the obvious answer should be yes. The probability that he would be able to manipulate the human was practically non-existent; it was humans who deceived and used others, and even one as odd as this one was unlikely to allow himself to be beaten at his own game.

Even if he did, the half-Gastark magician would likely catch on before Tiir's efforts could get him anywhere, and if that happened, it would be over. He wouldn't wager the children's lives like that. He supposed holding the prince's interest wasn't a bad idea in the long-run regardless, but the risk of rousing the mage woman's suspicion by doing so was still high enough to cancel out the potential advantages.

At this point, Tiir had nothing to gain from adhering to the human's wishes; and yet, he found that he couldn't honestly tell the man that he saw him as nothing more than a nuisance.

The truth was, with the exception of a few rare instances mostly at the beginning of his captivity, he had never felt pressured to engage in parley with the human. Not seldom, he had done so for practical reasons, certainly, but even then, he hadn't loathed it. Instead, the human had intrigued him, amused him, even, and although his presence and behavior continued to unsettle him, the man had never disregarded the boundaries Tiir had set up between them. In a way, it would be easy to get rid of him; perhaps too easy.

And perhaps... perhaps they weren't so different in this regard. Tiir disliked being by himself, but though he missed his comrades – Ene, the children, …Lafra –, he wasn't feeling lonely. That particular brand of emptiness and resentment, of bitterness and desolation, had remained almost entirely absent. Walking amongst humans had always come with a sense of isolation so strong that they may as well not have existed – or perhaps if they hadn't, he would have felt less solitary –, but with this one, there was no such thing. It was not the same as what it was like to be with his own kind, definitely, but it was... something.

Tiir wanted to understand what it was that made this human so different.

“You're not bothering me,” he finally said. Then, out of principle, added, “Much.”

The worry on the human's face instantly vanished. “That's good to know,” the man said, once more smiling. “Still,” he continued after a moment, his expression becoming less jovial, “if I ever do, just say so, all right? I don't want to make you uncomfortable.”

Tiir shot the human a look of annoyance. “You're hardly going to chat me to death.”

“True,” the prince admitted with an easy grin. “But I've been told my pointless ramblings drive people insane on occasion.”

Now why didn't that surprise Tiir?

“Fine,” he relented with a scoff. “I promise to warn you before I snap and eat you in your sleep.”

The human beamed at him. “Thank you, I appreciate it! Waking up without my spleen would be mildly disconcerting.” The last sentence was accompanied by an emphasizing nod.

Tiir tilted his head. “It could be worse: waking up without your brain would result in no one being able to tell the difference.”

The prince snorted into his tea in a very un-princelike manner. “Yes, and I'd be terribly embarrassed – except I'd be dead.” A pause. “Lymeia would probably just comment on how I'd gotten a head shorter. Think I could haunt her?”

“Who knows? I don't see why you would want to, though.”

“Point. It's one thing to have her making fun of me while I'm alive, but I'd at least like to retain some dignity in death.” The human turned to him with a grin. “Perhaps I'd haunt you.”

“You think I wouldn't make fun of you?”

“That would be rather ungrateful of you, don't you think? After I made for such a nice meal...”

Tiir glanced at the man. “Thank you for reminding me why I will be staying away from your head.”

“You're welcome! Though... speaking of meals...”

Tiir lowered the mug he had been about to drink from and returned his gaze to the human, who was looking rather troubled again. “Yes?” he asked tersely.

“Ah, it's not...,” the prince began hurriedly, waving his free hand. “I just wanted to ask if things went all right with Lymeia last time. It was somewhat of an afterthought, since you had been sick and all, and Lymeia would have had my head if I'd just done it myself later; but I keep thinking I should have at least told you beforehand.”

Tiir relaxed. He could have guessed that the man was just being strange again.

He allowed himself a moment to think about his answer.

“A warning would have been nice,” he finally said, opting for honesty, “but I'm not going to complain.”

The human nodded. “You'll get one next time. I'm afraid my mind was already on the Council meeting then.”

Tiir didn't comment, but wasn't at all unhappy with that assurance.

They drank the rest of their tea in silence. When they were done, the prince got up and gestured for Tiir to hand him the empty cup. “Do you plan to sleep on the floor again?” he asked, and Tiir froze in the middle of pulling back his arm.

He had been planning on sleeping on the floor. He had been, but now that he actually thought about it, nothing about the prospect seemed appealing.

It wasn't that it was hardly the most comfortable way to spend the night. He'd slept in less pleasant places, and not just while he had been stuck in a camp full of humans less than two weeks ago. It wasn't even that twice already, he had awoken with a giant, furry black head inches from his face, breathing at him and leading Tiir to conclude that not only did dogs seem to be much more stupid than cats, they also smelled much more badly.

No, it was nothing so simple, because then he could have easily brought himself to let out the “yes” that was lying at the tip of his tongue.

The truth was... the truth was, it was a lot harder to keep his mind from wandering when he was lying alone in the dark with nothing to do but think, and right now, he wasn't sure he would be able to keep himself together if that happened.

He had already let a human physically comfort him – clearly, there was something wrong with him. The mere fact that the man's presence continued to make him feel less cold, less hopeless, less alone was ludicrous.

Was he really this weak? A human showed him a little kindness, and he came crawling like a starved dog?

Pathetic.

On the other hand...

On the other hand, what was the worst that could happen? Those you didn't trust couldn't betray you, and it was a little late to be worrying about losing face. Perhaps the human wouldn't even think much of it if he took him up on his offer, but he certainly would if he witnessed Tiir having some sort of breakdown.

If nothing else, having the human right next to him would be a constant reminder of why he needed to remain focused.

“I don't care either way,” he lied, hoping he hadn't misjudged the man in front of him.

He needn't have worried. “Then stay?” the prince asked immediately, and didn't even sound like he had seen right through him, but like he wanted Tiir to remain close.

It made Tiir feel ridiculous for having bothered to put on an act. Still, he shrugged, and said, “All right.”

The human gave him a bright smile that made Tiir feel even more ridiculous and placed the drained tea cups along with a not-quite empty basket on the bedside table. He even went so far as to get Tiir his bedclothes from across the room.

Tiir didn't thank him, but this time, when they had lain down and Tiir found that facing the human wasn't the most comfortable position to sleep in, he didn't hesitate before turning onto his back.

He allowed himself to relax and close his eyes, and though he didn't fall asleep right away, the sense of grief and loss was no longer overwhelming.

For now, that had to be enough.

Chapter Text

When morning came, Tiir was glad to discover that he had regained his composure. But although he could no longer feel his command over himself slipping away, he was only mildly disgusted by the behavior he had exhibited the night before, and continued to find the human's antics to be not much of a bother. It was, perhaps, more unsettling than the incident itself had been.

As for the human, the man was back to his usual odd self, and maybe even more exuberant than he had been in the beginning. He didn't ask again what the matter had been, but to make up for that, it seemed he was determined to ask everything else.

Tiir, feeling generous, decided to humor him, and before the sun was fully up, he had already informed the man that yes, he had slept comfortably, and that no, he wouldn't mind having fruits and sweet bread for breakfast; that yes, he did find the over-sized floor cloth of a dog entertaining enough, and that no, unlike the human, he didn't feel any desire to fight with it for possession of a slimy piece of wood; that yes, he did like the color black – before smirking meaningfully and adding that he did prefer red –, and that no, he could not talk to cats – no, not even telepathically.

Tiir sniffed. He was fairly sure the man had just been trying to be funny with those last two questions, but he wouldn't have bet on it. Humans were hardly rational creatures to begin with, and this one in particular couldn't very well be considered to be of sound mind by any standards.

“Aren't you bored?” the prince went on with his inquiries when, after they had returned from walking the dog, Tiir resumed his usual seat next to the door.

Tiir gave the man a wry look. “What would you suggest I do to pass my time? Peek through the keyhole and admire the brain tissue of random servants?”

The prince laughed and plopped down on the chair he had dragged over from in front of his desk. “Well, that would be one option, I suppose; though I was thinking more along the lines of playing cards or reading a book.”

“I'm not interested in books written by humans.”

The royal rolled his eyes at that, before grinning suddenly. “But you're interested in playing cards?”

“With you? Playing against myself would be more of a challenge.”

The prince huffed. “I did manage to beat you a few times.”

“Six. Out of thirty-six.”

The human blinked at him. “You counted?”

Tiir glanced away. “It's not like I had anything better to do.”

“Aw, come on, I wasn't that bad.” Tiir returned his gaze to the prince, only to discover that the man was smiling stupidly.

Because Tiir had deigned to keep count? Didn't that human have anything more important to worry about?

“But seriously,” the man continued, “even if it was written by a human, reading a book should be more entertaining than staring at walls – just by a margin, I'm sure, but still. Not all of us produce creepy not-fairy tales, either.”

When Tiir didn't reply, the prince tilted his head to one side. “Since you specifically said you're not interested in books written by humans, does that mean there are ones composed by bearers of the Divine Eyes?”

Tiir froze as an emotion he couldn't have named coursed through him. “Divine Eyes?” he asked darkly. He had never expected to hear those words spoken by a human, bar maybe in contempt. “I thought you were denying your wretched species' inferiority.”

“I am,” the human told him cheerfully, “but only until you found that cult.” When Tiir just narrowed his eyes at him, the man dropped his grin.

“I may not agree with the ideology behind the term,” the prince began, “but it's certainly not my place to tell you what you should call yourselves.” A small smile found its way back to the man's features. “Besides, it definitely sounds nicer than 'Cursed Eyes'.”

“But you think it's less fitting,” Tiir said, and at the same time wondered why he was even bothering to make such a statement. There were things that went without saying, and this was most assuredly one of them.

And yet the human seemed to consider his words. “I don't know,” the young royal finally said. “I can't imagine having those eyes is always fun, even – no, especially – for the bearer. Even without all the prejudices, the Alpha Stigma in particular seems to come with a very clear downside. On the other hand, I can't deny there are advantages to it – the ability to see through and replicate all magic instantly? My sister would marry a priest from Runa for that. And then forget he even exists, but that's just better for everyone involved.”

“Your point is?”

“My point is... if you feel the benefits so clearly outweigh the drawbacks, I'll just have to believe you, because I wouldn't know what it's like.”

It was a surprisingly diplomatic approach, but Tiir wasn't going to content himself with that. “What about you, then? Do these eyes –” he let the mark of the Iino Doue glow red, and was disappointed that the human didn't do more than blink in surprise– ”disgust you, or do they just make you feel like the insignificant worm you are?” When the human didn't reply immediately, he gave a sinister grin. “You really do look delicious.”

The prince stared at him – and then, to Tiir's ire, burst out laughing. “That,” the man gasped, “sounded like an incredibly horrible pick up line.”

“What?” Tiir asked, appalled. Not only was the royal not taking him seriously again, the mere suggestion that he would ever proposition a human was revolting.

His feelings on the matter must have shown on his face, because the prince just laughed harder. It took the man several minutes to fight down his amusement to the point where he would no longer dissolve into giggles every time he opened his mouth. “Don't worry,” he finally said, still grinning, “I wouldn't dare presume you'd lower yourself like that. Though it does make me wonder... don't you get into all sorts of hilarious situations? Like, someone goes 'come on, no reason to eat me alive!', stops, looks at you, ...”

Tiir narrowed his eyes. “Most people don't find my powers amusing.”

“Right.” The prince shifted. “I think knowing you're looking right at my intestines or whatever is making me kind of silly.” A pause. “So yes, I do find the Iino Doue somewhat unsettling. But it doesn't make me feel like an 'insignificant worm' or 'merely an inferior creature'.” The human tilted his head, gazing at his eyes in further contemplation of the issue. “It doesn't disgust me, either,” he finally said and quirked his lips. “After all, I still think red suits you.”

Tiir shook his head, his eyes fading back to their regular color almost without his assistance. “You're mad.”

“So people keep insisting,” the prince said. “But I don't see why you should be the only one allowed to like red.”

Tiir snorted softly. “And you're proving my point by missing it.”

The human just grinned at him, and Tiir finally broke eye contact.

“I don't think there are,” he said after a moment. The prince seemed confused by the sudden change of topic, and Tiir clarified, “Books written by bearers of the Divine Eyes.” He fell silent for a while, carefully debating his next words. When he continued, he was very much aware of the thinly veiled curiosity the human was watching him with, “Our group used to be scattered all across the continent because that made it easier to collect our friends and avoid detection at the same time–“ It was a half-truth: they'd always had the Headquarters to go back to even then, but he thought it wiser to not mention that, and to leave it to the human's imagination how exactly it was that they were gathering now –, “so I wouldn't know what everyone did during most of the day, but I haven't heard about anyone working on a book. Even if someone was, they probably wouldn't have had the time to finish it.” Not to mention most of them were awfully young.

“Right, I suppose you would have other things to worry about.” The prince cocked his head, looking thoughtful. “Is that how Gastark managed to acquire so many crystals in such a short time? They caught you off-guard, and it took you until now to organize yourselves?”

“We weren't doing anything to draw attention to ourselves,” Tiir snapped. “How should we have known lowly humans would sniff us out, let alone have the gall to meddle with us?”

The human nodded in understanding. “I guess,” he said pensively, “that might be the biggest problem with regular isolationism, as well. It's easy to forget that there's a world out there, and that people come up with all sorts of crazy ideas.”

It was a statement that would have sounded condescending, had it not been made by someone who really had no room to talk. “If that's the case, then why is Salea still standing?”

The prince smiled slightly. “Historically speaking? Pure luck, but then again, is there a country for which that isn't true? Still, Salea has pulled some stunts...” The man shook his head. “Over time, though, we've found ways to make things work. We're no longer isolating ourselves completely. As you most likely know, we're infamous for our vast knowledge on poisons, and we guard it as jealously as other countries guard their magic. If Salea falls, other countries' most influential people will have a lot more trouble finding capable assassins in the case of an emergency. By only accepting certain types of targets, we ensure that the leading forces of surrounding kingdoms see us as an asset rather than a threat.

“However, they would still attack us if they thought it would be an easy win – unfortunately for them, what started out as an assassins' guild has become a complex network of people you don't want to mess with. I don't want to mess with them, despite holding some sway with them due to my position. We've had no war in over two decades because the last country that started something with us lost devastatingly – right after a vast portion of their most prominent figures mysteriously dropped dead after dinner.”

The prince paused, then went on, “It was a risky move; other countries felt threatened enough that they discussed forming an alliance to crush us. However, since we're not exactly known for our fearsome magicians, neither Stohl nor Geihlficlant could be bothered – to begin with, we're way too close to both their territories for either of them to have been happy had the other invaded our country –, and everyone else eventually decided that they'd rather continue enjoying their food with a relative peace of mind. It probably helped that Salea hasn't started a war for well over a century – we're there, but no one really gives a damn.” The human scratched his head. “I think most believe we have religious reasons for keeping to ourselves, which was true at one point but hasn't been for a while now, and that we occasionally burn foreigners on the stake. That one was always mostly a rumor, but no need to dissuade anyone from the notion, I suppose.”

Tiir snorted. “What are your reasons, then?” he inquired. He had been wondering about that for some time – clearly, Salea was not all it was made out to be. As far as human settlements went, Valasea didn't seem any more uncivilized than the rest.

“What are your reasons?” the human retorted, but before Tiir could snap at him that that was different, the man smiled as if he knew exactly what Tiir was thinking and said, “It's really as simple as not wanting to stick our noses into others' business. Having official allies would mean having to clean up their messes in addition to our own – but if it's just us, we at least have a realistic chance to try and prevent any major blunders. We've sacrificed much for that.”

The prince turned to the window, gazing into the distance. “However, as a result, we could spend our resources on advancing our country, and didn't have to conform to other nations' ways. Salea isn't perfect by any means, but our traditions, though hard to break and sometimes ridiculous, aren't as restrictive as they could be; many of them actually work well for us. The government is stable, education and medical care are available to most, and trade commences despite other countries' reservations regarding us. The people are happy – or when they're not, discontentments can usually be solved without bloodshed and to everyone's relative satisfaction.” A pause. “It would have been nice if things could have remained as they were.”

Tiir ignored the uncomfortable feeling those words stirred within him and asked, “What makes you so sure Gastark will attack you?”

The human returned his attention to Tiir. “You really don't concern yourself much with human politics, do you?” he asked with a lop-sided smile. “It's widely suspected that Gastark plans to take over the whole Northern Continent, perhaps even all of Menoris, which Lymeia says is what it looks like. Certainly there have been strange things going on all the way down to Roland. They might not be in a hurry to take out Salea, but eventually, they will try - and other countries Gastark is threatening are already striving to expand their territories. It's not a question of whether there will be a war or not, but of how many there will be and when.”

Tiir didn't reply right away. The information didn't surprise him: he had heard the rumors and assessed that they were probably true, but he had indeed seen no reason to concern himself with the affairs of humans. It made no difference to him for what purpose Gastark gouged his comrades' eyes out, all that mattered was that they did.

Finally, he asked, “If you know that, then why haven't you started any wars yourself yet?”

“I'd like to say 'because it would go against our impeccable morals',” the prince said with a small grin that Tiir quickly answered with a derisive snort, “but what it comes down to is that we just don't see the point. A war would weaken us as well as the country we'd be fighting, and in the end, there wouldn't be much to gain unless at least a year passed before Gastark's attack, which is doubtful. We no longer have a workable system for speedily integrating other nations into our own. Besides, the current situation calls for desperate measures for many countries, whereas thanks to our spies, we've had time to prepare – not a lot, but since we have the option, it's much more sensible to keep searching for Rule Fragments and make enemies only where it really helps us.” As he said the last part, the man looked at Tiir meaningfully.

“We're also working on an anti-Gastark alliance,” the human continued after a few seconds, “but no country is particularly willing to trust another with things being as they are, so we're not getting our hopes up. If we're attacked by our neighbors, we'll cut the enemy down quickly and efficiently, and without worrying much about the methods.”

“Why don't you just assassinate Gastark's king?”

“Probably for much the same reason you haven't,” the prince said. “It's not easy to get to him.”

“But you tried?” Tiir asked. He knew very well that the human's claim was true – after all, he had thought of hunting his enemies down like they hunted down his kin to give them a taste of their own deplorable ways. In the end, though, he had heeded Ene's warning. It had taken him all of his will-power to turn back when he had been just steps away from the accursed human who had brought so much suffering upon his kind – who had the audacity to use their eyes for his own petty purposes while proclaiming that they were the monsters that needed to disappear; even as his underlings slaughtered child after child and laughed in delight at the bloodbath they caused.

Had Tiir believed that he had even the slightest chance of killing the man, he wouldn't have cared that both the king himself and at least one of his subordinates had been aware of his presence; his own life would have been a small price to pay for vengeance, let alone the chance to weaken Gastark.

“Lymeia did,” the prince said. “But she aborted that part of the operation before she could be discovered and decided that getting the information she'd acquired back to Salea was more important than a suicide mission with barely any hope of success. Since Gastark used to be a fairly insignificant nation, we hadn't planted the necessary people there, so poisoning anyone of importance is pretty much out of the question, never mind the King. As for less subtle means, he's too well protected, and there's not even any guarantee that killing him would be enough to make Gastark put their plans for expansion on hold – though Lymeia says it would be a likely outcome.”

“I see,” Tiir said, and meant it.

It made sense – in fact, it was pretty much what he had anticipated. As foolish as humans were, they would hardly miss an opportunity to kill each other. Their relentless pursuit of senseless violence and power was the one thing about them that could be trusted.

“You said you're not looking to make unnecessary enemies,” he shifted the topic after a moment, “but you seem to be on bad terms with Runa. Your sister killed an emissary of theirs, no?”

“You're interested in that?” the prince asked. “Well, I suppose I mentioned it on more than one occasion. Yes, she did, and I'll admit it wasn't the most diplomatic thing to do. However, by then we already had reason to suspect that Runa had been brought under the control of Gastark, which meant they would have become an enemy either way. And politically, it honestly wasn't such a bad move: the guy had been making slights at our country's customs for months, and then he added to that by insulting the Queen in front of the whole court. Few nations would tolerate that kind of behavior, and while killing him might have been a bit over the top, it was one way to ensure that we would not be seen as weak, which could easily be fatal with the current state of affairs.”

Tiir hummed. “So to save your own hide, you'll turn on your own kind in an instant. Well, I didn't expect anything else.”

The human rolled his eyes at him. “Don't you think you're oversimplifying the matter a little?” he asked, and if he was seriously offended, he didn't show it. “It was purely my sister's decision to kill the man in question, not mine or my mother's. But even so, he was no friend of ours, either. I understand that someone belonging to 'your kind' is a big deal to you, and I respect that, but there are a whole lot of humans running around I don't want to have anything to do with, and I don't consider them my anything.” The prince eyed him speculatively. “Have you ever been to Runa?”

“Yes.”

“All right, let me reword that: have you ever significantly interacted with the human population of Runa aside from consuming them or their magic, and if not, are you at least familiar with their customs?”

“No to the first question, 'barely' to the latter. As you seem to have realized already, I don't care what humans do when they're amongst each other. You can wipe yourselves out for all I care.”

“But it would be such a pity for all that delicious brain tissue to go to waste,” the prince said mournfully. When Tiir scoffed at him, the human shot him a grin. “Well,” the man said, “you probably know that they believe in an all-mighty, infallible god, right?”

“Yes,” Tiir said, voice dripping with derision. Some infallible god that would be: making a world that favored humans, and creating a race doomed to be shunned by them – hated, persecuted, betrayed and ultimately killed. A race of people who could only cry helplessly as they sought the fault within themselves.

Deigning to elaborate, Tiir added, “And that they believe the Divine Eyes to mark their possessors as demons whom their god will punish in his righteous anger. I don't think I need to know more – seems to me they are the same as any other humans.”

“Yes,” the human said, and by now, Tiir knew him well enough to not be surprised that he was ignoring the last part in favor of getting to the argument he was trying to make with less of a hassle. “However, it's not just bearers of the Divine Eyes they consider an abomination,” the man began. “They have very strict rules guiding all forms of social interaction, and if they're broken, the consequences are not pleasant – talk about burning people on a stake. I can't remember if it was their previous King or the one before, but he and his priests decided people weren't following the 'true spirit' of their god's words. Maybe they thought our countries didn't have enough history in common already? So while before there was significant leeway, now their religion will tell you exactly what to do with your life, down to whom you can love, how much you can love them and in what way, whom you must pity and whom you must seek to destroy. If you can't adhere to their Holy Scriptures' teachings – or rather, their priests' interpretation of them –, you'd better put all your effort into becoming a fantastic liar.”

“Shouldn't be too hard for a human,” Tiir threw in.

“You know,” the prince said with another roll of his eyes, “I think I liked it better when you were complimenting my inner organs.” Shaking his head, the man continued, “But while getting burned on the stake isn't fun, the question of how many people can or can't avoid it doesn't need to be answered to get to the crux of the matter: if Runa is anything like Salea was, then its laws make a vast portion of its people miserable.

“Even when they grow up with those rules, even if they never falter in their faith and manage to find a way to live with the restrictions placed upon them – which I imagine would be hard, since many of those rules outright contradict each other –, people will never be free to make their own choices even about the most basic of matters. Influential priests and noblemen might be able to largely do as they please, but the rest of the population lacks options, more so than in many other countries, and aside from commoners, women are one group largely regarded with contempt, which is one thing our late visitor felt the need to make very clear. And it's not just Runa – as I'm sure you know, every nation has people aside from bearers of the Divine Eyes who aren't treated as well as others.”

The human looked away for a second. “Salea, too,” he admitted, “though I would like to think it's not comparable to Runa's situation. Anyway, those people may not have it as bad as you, but in many cases they still have it bad, and if you want to blame me for not being particularly fond of a bunch of spiritual leaders who would consider my sister scum for daring to have opinions of her own and being disinclined to shut up about them, go ahead. Just do me the favor of never telling Malyrei she 'turned on her own kind' by killing one of them, because her relationship with Runa is sort of complicated and on a good day, she'd go off to set something on fire.”

The prince paused. “I wouldn't have raised a hand against the man myself, seeing how I was the one he picked the least fights with and the ones he kept insulting were perfectly capable of drawing the line, but to be honest, part of me found seeing that priest's head roll rather satisfying.”

“I didn't think you had it in you,” Tiir scoffed, but he couldn't even feel triumphant at having the prince admit to the love for violence so typical for humans, as he had to concede that it would be rather hypocritical in this context. He quickly moved on to attacking the part of the man's speech he could react to with resentment freely, “But if you want me to pity a bunch of human weaklings for the stupidity of their own kind, you'll have to excuse me. They still are a lot better off than they deserve –“ he noticed the human's eyes hardening, but he just narrowed his in turn and continued – “you all are, and unless there comes a point where they get hunted down and killed for existing by the ones they grew up with, I really don't see much of a basis for comparison in the first place.”

Tiir had expected the prince's expression to keep darkening as Tiir went on, but for some bizarre reason he was sure he would never be able to fathom, his words seemed to have the exact opposite effect, and when he finished speaking, the human was already shaking his head again in half-hearted exasperation.

Finally, the prince sighed softly. “Look,” he said, raking a hand through unruly locks, “I'm not saying it's the same thing. I'm not even saying it's at all on the same scale – I think I'm pretty much the last person who should try and judge that. But if your people were in a slightly less precarious position, would you satisfy yourself with that? Would you shut up and roll over if instead of being seen as monsters that need to be exterminated, bearers of the Divine Eyes were taught from birth to submit to humans, and praised as long as they served humans faithfully? If they were told to stand back and let others make the decisions for them, with the expectation that they should be happy, even grateful for it? That they're lesser, but that it's all right as long as they do as they're told?”

The mere thought made Tiir's blood boil – humans already used his kind whenever they weren't trying to kill them, and often they even had the audacity to try and do both at the same time, so it wasn't a hard scenario to imagine. He bit back a snarl at the last second, and at the same time realized that he had lost this part of the argument. “No,” he admitted, and glanced away.

He wondered when it had become so difficult to hold the human's gaze.

In the corner of his vision, he could see the prince quirking his lips at him. “Thought so,” the man said. “You're definitely right about one thing, though: humans harm other humans. I'm not denying that. However, consequentially, there are also humans who are being harmed by other humans, and who could relate to your position. And yes, at least some of them, if they could, would probably harm other humans, too – but can you say for sure that their reasons for doing so would always be worse than yours?”

Tiir bit his lip – he wanted to snap at the man in front of him, tell him that of course he could, that it was different, but in his anger he couldn't think of any argument other than that it just was, and he he knew the infuriating prince would not accept that. He seemed fiercely determined to ignore the fact that humans were humans, existences completely separate from and unlike bearers of the Divine Eyes.

Tiir would never understand him – had he just kept refusing to acknowledge his wretched species' inferiority, it would have been annoying, but by no means incomprehensible. After all, part of what made humans the savage, detestable creatures they were was their arrogance. Thinking themselves as at the top of the food chain was only natural for them.

However, this one seemed intent on denying everything, acting like the only thing that set them apart were circumstances and the abilities Tiir's kind possessed, and as if even those didn't particularly matter. He was completely insane, and how was one supposed to argue with a madman?

Yes, Tiir told himself, that was all he was. A single madman, alone in his warped views and bound to abandon them as time went on. Because any other explanation was too ridiculous, too absurd, too distressing. Even knowing that everything the human said was meaningless, much too often, the words went past Tiir's defenses, and they cut deep. Much deeper than Tiir would have thought possible, into a part of him he had tried his hardest to forget. And all the doubts that lay buried there, dark and ugly and utterly terrifying, threatened to rise and seek the light of day once more.

“There are so many of us that there is bound to be conflict,” the prince continued, “but that doesn't mean that we stab each other in the back at every turn. Some humans are like that, no doubt about it, but certainly not all of us.” A shrug. “Betraying people isn't that great a hobby, and neither is fighting them to the death, wouldn't you say?”

“I would,” Tiir said, “but what would I know about the way your wretched minds work?”

“Apparently enough to enlighten me on the issue,” the human retorted with obvious sarcasm. He appeared rather put out, and for a moment, Tiir wondered if it would really be such a good idea to keep being so very vocal about his opinions. After all, he really didn't need the man against him, especially now.

In the end, though, he decided that if the human could joke about Tiir wanting to eat his brain (which was no longer true, of course – as he'd told the man several times now, Tiir wouldn't actually touch the thing even if he were starving), he would be unlikely to lose his temper over this. In fact, now that he thought about it, the prince seemed more frustrated than anything.

“It's not my fault you lack common sense,” he informed the human therefore. “You haven't seen what I've seen,” he went on, narrowing his eyes. “Don't waste your time trying to convince me you're anything more than savage beasts, for you'd be hard-pressed to find a bearer of the Divine Eyes who hasn't been betrayed by your kind.”

The human proved that he was completely out of his wits when his features once more softened at that, and although saying that Tiir wanted to rip his throat out when he noticed would have been an overstatement, it wouldn't have been much of one.

“Does that include you?” the man asked.

“It's different with the Iino Doue,” Tiir replied curtly. And then there was always the Will Heim, but Tiir wasn't going to offer up any information on his comrades' abilities the humans might not yet possess. “That hardly changes anything, though.”

The prince regarded him for a moment. “No, I guess it doesn't,” he finally agreed. “I suppose we'll just have to go with a stalemate in that case. You have your reasons for believing what you do, but having spent my entire life surrounded by humans and being one myself, I do dare presume to know at least something about the way we think.”

Tiir snorted audibly, but left it at that. He wasn't eager to argue the issue – he never had been. When a bearer of the Divine Eyes couldn't accept the truth, he waited until they were ready. There was no point trying to explain something with words that could so easily be observed, and Tiir didn't want to hurt his comrades, even if he couldn't help but think that liking humans was more painful to them than anything he said ever could be.

In this case, though, there wasn't even a reason to say anything at all. If the human wanted to delude himself, then what was the harm in that? As long as he didn't have to hear about it, Tiir couldn't care less what the man thought – even if circumstances made it hard to remember that sometimes.

“Well,” the human said, getting up and stretching languidly, “if you're not interested in playing cards, I think I'll go back to bed for now.” Another thing Tiir was getting uncomfortably used to was the man's ability to drop and unpleasant topic and move right on to another subject like there had been no discord in the first place. “It's still early, and I'd rather not end up marching through the night half-asleep – Lymeia would have way too much fun with that. Just wake me if you get bored, though.”

Tiir didn't say anything to that, just watched the human with an impassive face, and after a few seconds, the prince turned, knowing better by now than to waste his time waiting for an answer that wasn't going to come. Tiir was in no mood to be polite, and neither did he feel like making a jab that he knew wouldn't be taken seriously. He needed time to sort out his thoughts, and if the human wanted to go back to sleep, that suited him just fine.

He waited until he was reasonably certain that the prince wasn't going to change his mind and get back up any time soon before allowing himself to relax. Being in constant proximity to the human no longer had him feeling as incessantly on edge, but that didn't mean he was entirely comfortable with it. For one, no matter how much he valued being with his comrades, he had always had ample time to himself – whether he wanted to or not. Even if he found his jailor bearable, his current living arrangements took some getting used to.

More importantly, though, the man in question was just so damn confusing – as if it wasn't bad enough that he was a human. Just when Tiir had decided that he could live with the man's oddities, the annoying creature took it a step farther, trying to convince Tiir that he was not just a momentary exception to the rule, and that humans were more than simply vermin. Actually, the man had spouted such nonsense before, but it had been easy to ignore his outrageous claims then.

So why wasn't it now?

A likely possibility, Tiir mused, was that the whole situation just made it too easy to be fooled – spending so much time with the human and listening to his inane chatter several hours a day had to to take its toll on one's mental capacities. There wasn't even any use trying to do something about it, because even if he succeeded in putting his defenses back up, maintaining them would require so much focus and energy that in the long-run, it would only make him less efficient.

If that was how it was, then it would be an extremely frustrating situation, but one Tiir could deal with: if the reason for his dismay was simply temporary weakness caused by unfortunate circumstances, then that would be annoying and rather pitiful, but it would pass. There would be no real meaning to the deep sense of disconcertment, the nagging doubt.

The alternative was far less comforting, and in fact almost unthinkable. If the root of the problem could not be found in some emotional instability caused by the unsavory situation he had so suddenly found himself in – something that would go away if he either gave it enough time or got the hell away from this abominable human country –, then it would mean he was starting to genuinely consider the mad human's point of view, and he was not going to go there, never again.

So what if humans made each other miserable? That was hardly news, and it had nothing to do with Tiir, unless they decided to do him a favor and annihilate themselves in the process. And what of it if some of them had good reason not to think fondly of their own kind? It didn't mean they weren't just as bad as the ones they despised, though if they lacked opportunity, they might be better at hiding it – perhaps even from themselves.

What did any of that matter to Tiir? Nothing. Nothing at all, just like he and his comrades were nothing to them. If humans wanted to hate them, despise them, hunt them down and slaughter them like beasts, then Tiir would hate, despise and hunt them down in turn. He would watch their blood soak the earth with a smile as he ripped off their heads and devoured them, as he tore their bodies to shreds and erased the entire damned existence from the face of the continent.

And what did it matter to him that it would be difficult to get rid of them all? He just had to start somewhere, and then he could go from there.

However, he couldn't help but remember earlier conversations he'd had with the prince, whose words now made painfully obvious what, deep down, Tiir had always known: getting rid of humans entirely was not an option. And not just because they reproduced with the speed of the vermin they were, but also because too many of his comrades would never agree to such a strategy – Ene would gently admonish him, Lafra, if he had still been alive, would have given him that sad look of his that always made Tiir's heart clench for reasons he couldn't explain, and then there was that fool who had decided to remain amongst humans.

Most definitely, Ryner would not appreciate Tiir getting rid of the humans he liked so much – provided he was still alive by then. After all, a bearer of the Divine Eyes staying with the enemy could only lead to suffering, and when it came to the Alpha Stigma, the end result was clear.

The humans would plunge Ryner into despair, destroy him, and Tiir had no idea why he would choose such a fate when he knew that there were other options. He had already been betrayed, hadn't he? Why go through that again? That day, Gastark had been losing; after the battle, Ryner could have caught up to them had he tried, though Tiir hadn't expected him to – and seeing how things had turned out, perhaps it was better that he hadn't.

And Tiir couldn't deny that the human prince had made one more valid point in this regard: if he continued to do as he pleased, Tiir could not, with absolute certainty, say that he wouldn't end up making a fatal mistake one day that would result in harming his kin. He maintained that directly killing a bearer of the Divine Eyes by accident was easy to avoid by taking some basic precautions, but when it came to hurting humans a bearer of the Divine Eyes cared about, there was no way of making absolutely sure. As much as it was not a likely outcome of his actions so long as he was careful, it was a possible one, and considering what the consequences would be, that alone was enough to give him pause.

However, if getting rid of humans once and for all wasn't possible, then what was he supposed to do? Stand back and watch as his comrades were treated like dirt and, ultimately, killed? He could not, would not do that.

Pushing down the familiar feelings of helplessness and rage, Tiir wrapped his arms around himself and closed his eyes, reminding himself that all this wasn't important at the moment. What mattered for now was keeping Ren and Karda safe – it wasn't like he could do much about anything else the way he was.

And yet, even as he told himself this, he felt an unease take root that didn't have anything to do with his current predicament.

*

“Arsan will be coming, after all,” the prince announced as he put down the letter a servant had presented him with a few minutes earlier. The man who had delivered it had not set foot inside the room and been gone mere minutes after the prince had opened the door to him – Tiir hadn't even gotten a glimpse of him, which suited him just fine. The less humans he had to lay eye upon, the better. It was bad enough that he'd had to hear the man's voice: he had sounded young and shy and excessively polite, and listening to him talk had grated on Tiir's nerves for reasons he could barely grasp himself – in the end, though, it came down to the fact that he was a human, and that listening to the prattle of humans was always a waste of time at best.

However, Tiir's satisfaction when the servant took off again so quickly was admittedly not entirely reasonable. After all, there was one human still present, and this one talked enough for an entire army all by himself. It shouldn't matter whose ramblings out of the two he had to tolerate.

It did, though, and Tiir didn't even dwell on it anymore. In a way, it made sense that a mad human would be more of a conversationalist than a sane one: it wasn't like there was room for anything but improvement in a species that lived at the very limits of depravity.

“I'd hoped he'd be too busy with military matters,” the prince continued, “but I guess I should have known better, considering how insistent he was. You don't suppose you could try to get along with him, do you? It would really make things easier.”

No, Tiir certainly did not suppose so, but he didn't even see how the human could believe it would matter in the first place. “What?” he scoffed. “You think if I play nice, he'll just forget our difference in opinion?” He smiled an ugly smile. “Or perhaps you want me to apologize? Crawl a little and pretend I've learned my lesson?”

The human winced. “That's not what I meant.” He took a deep breath. “Look, I realize you don't like Colonel Arsan.” Studying Tiir's face, the prince amended, “At all. And I get that he hasn't given you reason to, either. However, he's not a bad guy. He's just... worried. If you don't go out of your way to get into fights with him, he'll let the whole thing drop soon enough.”

“And I would care what he does because...?”

“Well, I could say that casually making enemies tends to be more trouble than it's worth, but honestly?” The prince sighed. “I happen to like Arsan. I don't want things between him and me to get complicated, but if it goes on like this, that's exactly what's going to happen – so I'm asking you a favor.”

Tiir gave the human a blank look. “You could just order me.”

“I wouldn't,” the prince said, and Tiir wasn't even surprised by the promptness of his response, or the certainty behind it. “I don't expect you to believe me. I haven't exactly done anything that would make me deserving of your trust. However, this is one of those lines I'm not willing to cross: I'm not going to try and dictate your actions for my personal convenience. That would be low – even lower than what I'm doing already is. I'm really just asking this of you, and I won't think any differently of you if you refuse. After all, you have every reason to.” A pause, followed by a tentative smile. “Besides, Arsan's not the only one I would rather get along with.”

Tiir made sure to keep his face expressionless. It wasn't that he didn't believe the man – in fact, the whole problem was that he did.

If only he knew whether it was really the human who was mad, or he himself for falling for his act. But whether it was just a passing fancy or a sign of his own deteriorating sanity, Tiir didn't want the human to hurt his relationship with the man in question on his behalf. However little Tiir trusted him on a larger scale, he couldn't deny that the prince was shielding him and the children from his own people, and making sacrifices to do so. He might change his mind at any moment, and he might be the reason they were in need of his goodwill in the first place, but that didn't change the fact that any other human would not have been this kind.

Yes, kind. It kept gnawing at Tiir: he'd almost come to accept that the strange human was not cruel, or even particularly ruthless, but kind? A human wasn't supposed to be kind – actually, a human wasn't supposed to be anything but a hateful, savage creature, but Tiir could see how some might not be quite as bad as others. They would likely have died out already otherwise. A human who possessed compassion, though? Now if that wasn't a ludicrous notion, then Tiir didn't know what was.

He couldn't acknowledge it, but neither could he close his eyes to it any longer. Not after the last night.

“I'm not making any promises,” he finally said, and the way the human's smile immediately turned brilliant in response made him feel sick. Everything about this was wrong.

Manipulative: that was what the human was. The only thing surprising about it was that he didn't even seem to realize it.

Tiir wanted to believe that he was just faking it, that every word and every smile were calculated, but because he no longer could, he was at a loss as what to do. He had only ever learned two ways of interacting with humans: ignoring them, and killing them. The latter was out of the question in this case, and as for ignoring the man, Tiir had been doing badly at that from the beginning.

“If you consider it, that's more than enough already,” the prince told him cheerfully, and then, apparently determined to make this as disturbing as possible, flashed him another smile. It wasn't as bright as the first one, but it was warmer, softer, and that just made it worse. “Thank you.”

Tiir glanced away, no longer even trying to hide his discomfort.

There was a short silence, before the human said, “Can I ask you something?”

Tiir focused his gaze on the man again, if only to give him an incredulous look. “I was under the impression that you've been throwing inane queries at me since before I got out of bed.”

A rueful grin. “Sorry. Am I annoying you?”

“I think we've been over that,” Tiir said and crossed his arms. “Ask.”

The prince hesitated for a moment, then leaned forwards in his chair slightly, regarding him. “Does Lymeia bother you?”

Tiir narrowed his eyes. “What kind of question is that?”

“A genuine one?” the human offered. “I mean, I realize you dislike her, but does she... get to you?” When Tiir just kept looking at him, face empty of emotion, the prince sighed and explained, “I'm asking because I'm used to Lymeia being, well, Lymeia. I don't usually think much of it and I prefer not to get involved. However, since this situation is a bit different, I'm wondering if I should talk to her. I know she can be,” a pause, “harsh.”

Taken aback by the human's words, Tiir did his best to not let it show. “What?” he scoffed. “You want to ask her to play nice, too? Somehow, I don't think that's going to work.”

“Well, she certainly wouldn't be thrilled about it,” the prince conceded, “but if I explained to her that I don't think her behavior in this matter is appropriate, she'd probably tone down on the insults, at least.”

Oh yes, Tiir was sure that would go over really well for him. “Don't bother,” he said. “Just don't try to convince me that she's not so 'bad', either, because even for you, that would be a whole new level of derangement.”

The human shook his head. “Lymeia is... complicated,” he said. “Arsan's worried and reacting badly because of it, but I won't claim the same is true for her. Maybe it was in the beginning, and maybe it still plays into it, but I know her well enough to be able to tell when she's deliberately being an asshole. If it helps, though, it's not just you she treats like that. Few people can stand her, and she can stand even fewer.”

“But you like her,” Tiir observed, not sure how he felt about that, even though it should be all the same to him.

“I like her,” the prince confirmed. “She's been around for almost as long as I can remember, and she does have her good points.”

Tiir snorted. “Like what?”

“Well,” the royal said and tilted his head, either missing or not caring about the fact that it had been a rhetorical question, “for one, she's honest. She won't pretend to give a damn about you and then stab you in the back – for someone who specializes in infiltration, that's a pretty amazing trait to have.” Tiir thought it would be a pretty amazing trait to have for any human, but he was fairly sure that if he were to say that much out loud, it would just earn him another eye-roll from the man in front of him. “She's also a good teacher – all I know about poisons and half of what I know about medical plants, I've learned from her.”

The prince fell silent for a moment. “It's easy for her to pick up new spells,” he finally continued, “but she tends to have a harder time refining them and prefers bringing a few to perfection over having a bit of everything at hand – despite that, she actually has the patience to listen to Malyrei rambling on about magical theory regarding everything and nothing.”

A fond smile flashed across the human's features. “You would look more impressed at that if you knew my sister: she can go on about a single curse for hours, if she finds the curse interesting enough. There are other things about Lymeia I appreciate, like her dry, if somewhat scary sense of humor, but to really understand, you'd have to get to know her yourself. I'm not going to deny she has a nasty side to her, but she's not unscrupulous. She's not– ” the prince hesitated, but then visibly shook himself, and taking a deep breath, finished– “Gastark.”

Tiir clenched his fists. “You will have to excuse me for failing to see the difference.”

For once, the prince didn't argue with him, but just gave a nod of acknowledgment. Tiir felt himself relax slightly. Yes, he could live with the man's delusions, if only he kept them to himself.

“I suppose we should get going,” the human said.

Instead of replying, Tiir rose, ignoring the tightening in his stomach. There was no use getting worked up over all the things that could be wrong with the children – he would just have to wait and see.

“Here.” The prince, who had also gotten up, tossed him a nondescript brown bundle. Tiir unfolded it, and raised his brows at the man.

“I'm sorry if it offends your impeccable sense of style,” the prince told him with a half-smile, “but it's not dark enough yet that just wearing black would do the trick.”

Tiir returned his gaze to the cloth in his hands. The cloak wasn't so bad. A bit wide for his tastes, and the fabric was much softer than he was used to, but that hardly bothered him.

The hat, on the other hand...

His obvious skepticism drew a laugh from the prince. “Come on. I'll have to wear one, too – at least you won't be the only one looking stupid.”

“And that's supposed to be inconspicuous how?”

“Well,” the prince said, “hats like these were considered fashionable until not too long ago, and a lot of nobles and wealthy merchants still wear them on occasion.” A shrug. “They're not going to catch anyone's eye.”

Tiir snorted. “Humans. Not an ounce of dignity.” He did put on the hat, though.

“Hey, at least this isn't Runa. Over there, we would probably have ended up dressing up as mage soldiers or otherwise high-ranking priests – the conspicuous headgear would have been the least of it.”

Wrapping the cloak around himself, Tiir scoffed. “As I said – humans.”

“One more reason to become a cult leader: you could tell everyone what they should wear.”

“Dressing up a pig won't teach it how to use a fork.”

“No,” the prince replied cheerfully, “but with a bit of effort, it will become housebroken pretty quickly, and then you can teach it to roll over and chase its own tail on command!”

Tiir gave the human a disbelieving look. “I have no intention of becoming a pig farmer,” he finally said, voice dry.

“That's good, because training them to do tricks is not usually what farmers do with their pigs, so I wouldn't exactly be making progress. Given the right circumstances, though, pigs make for very entertaining and affectionate pets.”

“They stink, look hideous when eating, and are generally savage,” Tiir pointed out.

“Actually, pigs are very clean, sociable animals, and look adorable when eating treats out of your hand.”

“This analogy just became extremely disturbing.”

The prince snorted a laugh. “Really? Personally, I'd rather you try to feed me treats than eat my spleen, but we could always compromise and share some good old pie instead.”

Tiir wrinkled his nose. “The longer I listen to you, the more convinced do I become that even your spleen would give me food poisoning.”

The human grinned. “So pie it is?”

“Ask me again when we get back.” The reply had been meant to be casual – almost automatic and devoid of any meaning; but before the last syllable had even left his mouth fully, Tiir was already wondering whether that was really all there was to it.

Something flickered in the human's gaze, but it was gone before Tiir could make anything of it. “As you wish,” he said, lips curving into an amiable smile. “Shall we, then?”

Chapter Text

“Do you sneak out of your own palace often?” Tiir asked as he watched the human climb down from the branches of a particularly tall tree onto a particularly worn down part of the wall.

He supposed he shouldn't have expected that they would just walk out of the front door. The last time they had left the castle, it had been many hours after sunset, during a period when the palace had been quiet and the streets empty; but even then, it had been a fairly secretive endeavor. Now, with the evening reluctant to make way for the night that would follow and the last rays of sunlight bathing the land in a peculiar shade of red, the main gate was probably out of the question. Tiir knew little about Salean court life, but seeing how humans were self-important, vexatious creatures, it seemed reasonable to assume that the palace's front yard would be bustling with activity for a while longer.

However, the prince's alternative of choice was still most curious. Tiir followed his antics with morbid fascination. The man was obviously confident in what he was doing, and he seemed sure-footed enough, but he was still just a human, and not a particularly skillful one at that. One wrong step, one small miscalculation, and he would be all but guaranteed to break his neck.

Well, Tiir amended, he wasn't in any danger in this instant, because Tiir wouldn't need half a second to intervene and letting the prince fall to his death was hardly an option; but this clearly wasn't the first time the young royal was doing this. He didn't appear the slightest bit nervous, and Tiir didn't think it was just because he was completely and irredeemably insane, which meant he probably had generous amounts of experience to draw from.

“You'd be surprised,” the human confirmed his suspicions when his feet touched the wall, a grin in his voice. “Are you coming?”

He had barely closed his mouth when Tiir was already standing next to him.

The young royal didn't even blink. “Show-off,” he said simply.

“It's not my fault humans are useless at anything but causing trouble.”

With a good-natured roll of his eyes, the prince turned towards the meadow that lay beyond the palace walls. Following his gaze, Tiir could see where this was going, and if he hadn't already known that the man was mad, this would have been a dead giveaway: the only thing at all within the human's reach on this side of the wall was yet another tree, but this one was smaller, slimmer, and it stood several feet from the wall.

“You're intending to jump?”

“Why does it sound like you're asking if I've lost the last few of my marbles? It's not the first time I'm doing this.”

“Remind me how that is supposed to make you appear less insane.”

“It's not like I usually have much to lose,” the human defended himself, causing Tiir to look at him incredulously. The prince blinked. “You don't think I'm risking my life climbing trees, do you?”

“You're a human,” Tiir reminded him, just in case he had forgotten.

“That doesn't mean I'm made of porcelain,” the prince retorted, and had the nerve to sound utterly baffled. “I know I'm not terribly proficient in magic, but cushioning a fall is something even I can pull off without much trouble.”

It was Tiir's turn to blink. He hadn't considered that – whether because it was hard to remember that the man was a mage at all or because it was easy to forget that even humans could use magic purposefully to an extent, he wasn't sure.

“Of course,” the prince continued with a snort, “considering my level of skill, the only course of action less subtle would be to launch a bunch of fireworks, so I do have an active interest in not messing this up.”

Tiir was slightly amused to realize that the man wasn't taking his powers into account at all. Despite his inexplicable insistence on treating the Iino Doue as nothing too much out of the ordinary, he completely failed to see how it could apply to a situation like this.

It was more entertaining than it was insulting, and Tiir found that he preferred it this way – he wasn't any more eager to risk drawing undue attention than the young royal and would make sure the man wouldn't have to resort to the use of magic to prevent himself from snapping his neck, but thinking about it, he would have been irked if that had been expected of him. He wasn't a lap-dog, and the human would do well to remember that.

As it turned out, the prince didn't require any assistance, landing safely on one of the tree's less sickly branches and quickly making his way down to the ground from there. Tiir was almost impressed – he hadn't taken the human for one of the more athletic ones.

“I'm sort of amazed I didn't lose the hat,” the man noted when Tiir arrived next to him, putting a hand to the ridiculous headgear in question as if to make sure it was still positioned correctly.

Tiir snorted. “It's too ugly to get lost.”

“True,” the prince agreed and let his hand sink.

“Now what?”

“Now,” the human said, sounding quite chipper, “we walk down to the city, and then...” He turned to Tiir with a grin. “Have you ever ridden in a carriage?”

*

The answer, of course, was no: Tiir had never ridden in a carriage, and had never imagined that he would. He was, after all, not a human, and had no need to concern himself with the most primitive of their inventions. Lazy, inferior creatures that they were, it was not surprising that they relied on even simpler animals to try and make up for the most glaring of their deficiencies; Tiir, who easily surpassed the best of their horses in speed and endurance, only held scorn for the means by which they traveled.

He had informed the prince of this, if not in so many words, and not only had the man seemed entirely unaffected by his contempt – Tiir was getting used to that –, he had tilted his head to one side, regarded him curiously, and asked, “Does that mean you've never ridden a horse, either?”

Tiir's unmoved reply of “Why would I?” had been met with an aggravating mixture of incomprehension, amazement and something annoyingly akin to pity. Tiir had spent the whole way to the city reminding the human of what he was, pointing out repeatedly that a horse would not be of any use to him, but in fact slow him down.

Eventually, the human had given up on trying to come up with examples of when knowing how to ride a horse could still be useful – which would have been exactly what Tiir had been aiming for, if the man had simply dropped the topic with that. He hadn't, though. “But it's fun!” the human had whined at him instead. Whined at him.

Tiir had stared, blinked, stared for a bit longer, and finally decided that there really was no reasoning with a madman and that he would be better off not wasting his time trying.

They had arrived at the foot of the hill soon after, and now, as they made their way through the city, Tiir decided that he preferred Valasea as it lay in the dead of night. He did not care for the crowded streets, the bustling noise, the stench of humans that filled the air. He thought of how easy it would be to put an end to all of these things, and could hardly believe how oblivious the creatures around him were to not realize this. Humans were such fragile, cumbersome existences.

For a while, they followed a wide road that Tiir assumed ultimately led to the market place. He didn't need to pay attention to the humans who passed them to know that some of them were more wealthy than others – merchants, perhaps, or nobles. They often wore more colorful clothes than the rest, making them harder to ignore. He also spotted some soldiers, several carts and carriages, and even a few horses with riders on top of them, though the latter were rare enough that they caused some heads to turn. As for the prince and Tiir himself, neither of them drew any looks – despite the ridiculous getup.

Eventually, they entered into a side-street. It was not as spacious as the road they had come from, or as occupied, but it wasn't narrow, either, and humans were still all around them. Carriages were lined up on both sides, and Tiir followed the prince to one of the more fancy ones. It was painted in silver and gold, with deep red curtains covering the windows and two large gray horses waiting patiently in a dark leather harness.

Standing in front of the richly adorned vehicle, with carriages that looked even more expensive just steps away from him, it hit Tiir all over again how ludicrous this was. All these humans, their tasteless pomposity and effortless artifice... how had he ever been able to stand being in their presence for even a second? How could they not recognize on sight that he wasn't one of them? How could even one of them pretend they were not completely different beings that bore no resemblance to each other? He did not understand them – their beliefs, their customs, the utmost complacency in which they lived their lives: none of those meant anything to Tiir. And yet here he was, trying to pass for one of them while playing nice with their future ruler.

No wonder he was losing his mind.

Tiir didn't pay attention to the coachman until he noticed the man glaring at him – then he realized it was the soldier he was supposed to get along with. He still had no idea how the prince thought that was supposed to work, but refraining from intentionally antagonizing the man should be easy enough, at least. If the temptation became too great, he only needed to remind himself that the half-Gastark magician would not take kindly to any liberties he took in the matter.

Mere seconds after arriving at this conclusion, Tiir realized he wouldn't need to do even that much, because she would surely not miss any opportunities to refresh his memory herself: when he entered the carriage at the prince's indication, the woman was already in it. It shouldn't have come as a surprise, but it did, for some reason, and Tiir almost froze mid-motion when he ducked through the door and came face to face with her.

He caught himself quickly enough, though, and hurriedly lowered his head an additional inch before sitting down on the one of the two cushioned benches she wasn't occupying. Being in her line of view wasn't much better than being in immediate proximity to her, especially when the distance between them was still so laughable, but at least he would be able to watch her just as she would be watching him. Not that he expected her to attack him with the prince so close, and not that there was anything he could do about it even if she did, but he wasn't eager to turn his back to her all the same.

The look on the woman's face as she regarded him was cool, almost bored, which Tiir took as a good sign – he had an inkling her expression would have been a more contemptuous one if she had any new complaints about him, and that was something he really didn't need right now. He reminded himself that she couldn't possibly know about his slip-up the night before, and turned his head to pretend the curtains to his right were of particular interest to him.

The prince sat down next to him, directly opposite of the magician, who inclined her head in greeting. “Your Highness,” she said, finally taking her eyes off Tiir, though there was no doubt they would be back on him the moment he so much as shifted in his seat.

“Lymeia,” the royal returned as the carriage began to move, sounding genuinely pleased to see the woman. Well, wasn't that sweet: humans getting along like a bunch of sharks on the hunt.

Even as he thought this, Tiir knew he was being petty. The prince liked whom he liked, and though the half-Gastark woman was an arrogant piece of filth even compared to others of her kind, it wasn't as if Tiir wasn't profiting from his jailor's poor social taste. If the man's idea of desirable company included someone who, under normal circumstances, would sooner make a meal of him than listen to a single word he had to say, then surely enjoying the presence of someone who was actually interested in his continued survival couldn't be considered at all odd. It wasn't the prince's fault that he had no sense whatsoever.

Besides, he had offered to take Tiir's side against the magician, and that was already more than Tiir would have expected. No matter how strange the human was, there was no doubt that accommodating Tiir was ultimately nowhere so important to him as keeping that woman happy: if he honestly cared about others, then of course he would put his own first, and if he didn't, then he would still want to make sure the mage remained loyal. In fact, giving Tiir's feelings any consideration at all seemed completely absurd if only the second scenario were to apply, which was why for his own peace of mind, he would go with the first one until he figured out what game the human could possibly be playing.

“We're not late, are we?” the prince asked. “It's been a while since I last had to get out of the palace unnoticed.”

“No, you're right on time,” the magician replied, then continued in the same dry tone, “And I should certainly hope so. If I were to find you've been touring the city with the current state of affairs, then with all due respect, Your Highness, I would fry your ass.”

The prince made a noise somewhere between a gag and a cough. “Er,” he said. “Just to make sure for, you know, future references: what constitutes 'touring', exactly?”

Out of the corner of his vision, Tiir could see the magician narrow her eyes. “You do not mean to tell me that you have wandered the streets of Valasea recently, do you? Unprotected?” The prince didn't reply, but something must have shown on his face, or maybe the half-Gastark woman thought his silence was answer enough, because her next question was, “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“Well,” the royal said, hesitating, “I wouldn't exactly call it unprotected.”

The magician's face went blank. “You went down to the city in secret,” she said in a tone that matched her expression. “With it.” She only glanced at Tiir for the fraction of a second, but he wouldn't have been able to miss the coldness in her gaze if he'd tried. He almost flinched – why couldn't the prince have kept his mouth shut?

He forced himself to remain calm: she couldn't very well blame him for this, could she? She kept going on about how he was not to forget his position, and surely telling his jailor what to do – or not to do – would count as doing exactly that. So no matter how much she would doubtlessly like to, she couldn't pin this on Tiir.

Oh, who was he kidding? She could do whatever the hell she wanted.

“It's not that much of a secret – we didn't climb any walls, so I think it's safe to assume Mother knows,” the prince said. He did sound penitent, but a note of irritation entered his voice when he added, “And would you stop with this 'it' business already?”

The magician raised her brows. “Even that bothers you now? Maybe Colonel Arsan was right.”

This time, Tiir did flinch.

“I'm not confusing him with my dog”, the royal said, and Tiir realized he had no idea that the soldier had asked the woman to make sure Tiir would be disposed of.

So the mage's words had not been meant as a warning towards her future monarch, but as a thinly veiled threat against Tiir. He had no idea whether that was a comparatively good thing or a disaster in the making. He wished the prince would just shut up.

“No, clearly you aren't,” the magician conceded, her voice deceptively calm. “I don't remember you ever objecting to me calling your dog a 'pet'.”

“Would you please just drop it?” the prince returned, clearly frustrated now, though he still didn't sound angry so much as pained. “You know I hate arguing with you.”

If that was true, then why had he brought this up at all, when Tiir had clearly told him there was no need? The prince would have been doing them all a favor by keeping silent. And what had given him the idea in the first place that Tiir would care what his kind had to say about him?

Maybe the man was just projecting his own oddities onto others – he seemed the type to be discomfited if he were to learn his dinner thought badly about him.

Stupid human.

But was it Tiir's imagination, or had the magician's face lost some of its hardness? However, her tone remained neutral as she said, “Everyone hates arguing with me. It's the basic human desire to not get verbally torn to shreds.”

“Almost everyone,” the prince corrected after a moment. And was that amusement in his voice? Tiir risked a quick glance, and discovered that indeed, there was a small smile on the man's lips.

The female magician snorted. “No, everyone. Your sister prefers to call it 'debating'.”

“Right. I remember when you 'debated' whether researching poisons or magic was the more valuable pastime. Wasn't there hair-pulling involved?”

“Yes, and I assure you I never touched hers.”

“Ouch.”

“I might have punched her in the face, though.”

“...Why is everyone I know so violent?”

“'Is', as in present tense, Your Highness? That was almost ten years ago. I am fairly certain the only things whose physical well-being the Princess is threatening these days are books.”

“There's a priest from Runa who'd like to disagree,” the prince retorted blithely, “but he's sort of dead and doesn't feel very talkative.”

“Enemies of Salea don't count,” the mage woman said simply.

“All right, so my sister's been promoted to saint. What about you, then – I admit I've never seen you punch anyone that I remember, but sure you're not hiding a private torture chamber in your cellar?”

“Sneak out of the palace again and you'll find out.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Me? Threaten the Crown Prince? Your Highness, I am deeply hurt by this imputation! Never in my life have I gone against royalty.”

The prince tried to cover up his laugh with a cough and failed. “All right. No more unauthorized trips to the city, I get it.”

“It's not actually a laughing matter,” the magician said, at once back to her usual coolness, “but as long as we're clear.”

“We are.” A pause, then, more softly, “You don't need to worry.”

The magician scoffed. “You think I'm going to just sit around and worry? Obviously I've been gone for too long if you're confusing me with Colonel Arsan now. I will know if you repeat your foolishness, and I will have you dragged back before you can say 'unnecessary risk'. You might want to keep that in mind.”

Peripherally, Tiir could see the royal wince. “Do you have to go all Guild on me?”

“Apparently so. Even if it wasn't my responsibility as head of security, someone has to make sure you don't get yourself killed, and I have no intention of crossing my fingers and leaving things up to a badly-trained guard dog.”

“Would you stop-”

The mage woman held up a hand, cutting the prince off. “I am pretending to be talking about the actual dog. Don't expect me to make more of an effort than this, because I won't.”

“Why do you have to go out of your way to be an ass?”

“You ask me that after all these years? That's cute.” The woman waved her arm in a quick, abortive motion – perhaps the prince had been on the verge of saying something further on the subject. Probably. “Do you think I'm hurting its feelings? This might have slipped your notice, but humans are food to it. Do you believe it would go around depopulating whole villages if it cared what we think about it? If anything I say bothers it, then only because it can't tear my head from my shoulders in response.”

Tiir had to give her credit for at least possessing some insight. Too bad the same couldn't be said for the prince, who Tiir was sure would get him in serious trouble any moment now, if he hadn't already. The magician hadn't even glanced at Tiir, but that didn't mean she wasn't holding him responsible for her future ruler's ridiculous stubbornness in the matter. He could only guess what she'd do in retaliation if she decided Tiir had instigated this, but he did know it wasn't him she would go after, and he wanted nothing more than to jump from his seat and knock the human next to him unconscious before he could say anything more – except that doing such a thing would have been severely counterproductive.

However, he belatedly realized he must have had some visible reaction, because the prince turned to him with a startled look on his face, and Tiir stared right back at him, suddenly feeling very much like a deer that had come face to face with the hunter; only it wasn't the human in front of him who made panic surge within him, but the instinctive knowledge that the magician's gaze had followed that of the prince and was now resting on him, as well.

After a long, drawn out moment, the prince turned back to the magician, and, to Tiir's surprise, only said, “I suppose.”

The magician also took her gaze off Tiir at that, returning her attention to her fellow human. She looked like she couldn't decide whether to be disgusted or amused, and maybe that was why in the end, she didn't say anything more on the subject.

The humans' conversation moved on to less dangerous topics after that, and Tiir, feeling much too relieved by this development, soon stopped listening. However, he couldn't help but notice that the prince was acting rather strange – stranger than usual –, and the covert glances he kept casting in Tiir's direction were mildly disconcerting.

As they progressed towards their destination, Tiir wished there were no fabrics blocking his view. He wasn't particularly upset about missing out on the scenery, no matter how much he loathed being cooped up all day inside the human palace, but he wanted to know where exactly it was they were headed to, and to be able to guess how much longer they would be on the move based on more than the vague time frame he had been given days earlier, without any explanation of whether it was two hours it would take to reach the clearing by foot, or if the human had already been talking about riding in this thing then.

Tiir wondered if the prince had failed to clear that up intentionally. He had thought the curtains were merely intended to keep anyone from peeking inside the carriage and realizing that something was off, but now that he thought about it, it was just as likely that the humans didn't want him to know any of the details of this little road trip.

He could hardly blame them. Under no circumstances would he endanger Ren and Karda needlessly, but with their fate resting in the hands of humans, their future was already far from secure. Less than a week ago, Tiir had still been focused on getting them out of the enemy's grasp as soon as possible, even if it had meant taking some tremendous chances. He wasn't as frantic to take action anymore, and he was willing to try other, less risky angles first, but strange or not, he wasn't going to rely on a human and his word, either. He would lie low for now and try not to think about any of the worst case scenarios that might await him, but if they reached the meeting point and he couldn't bear what he saw, he wouldn't hesitate to devise a plan to get the little ones to safety within days, prudence be damned.

It was, however, not a decision he wanted to make. If it came down to it, he knew he would plead with the prince first, and if he thought there was a point, he would even beg the mage woman to intervene, though he had no doubt she would much sooner make the situation worse than improve it. He hated feeling like this – cornered and useless, when it should be the human scum trembling in the face of their own helplessness.

Although he had been planning to keep track of time, when the carriage finally came to a halt, Tiir couldn't even have said whether they had been traveling for closer to two hours or one, distracted by his worries as he had been. A twisted mirth rose within him, all the way up to his throat, and he barely held back laughter. Another failure – wasn't that funny?

He stepped out of the carriage, after the prince and before the magician, and looked around. The stone road they had been following ended right where they stood, and faded into a narrow trail that Tiir could barely make out in the dim light of the slender moon. They stood at the outskirts of a thick forest, with the trail leading deeper into the woods.

“I'll be going on ahead,” the half-Gastark woman told the prince, not sparing Tiir or even the soldier so much as a glance, and not waiting for permission from her future monarch, either. Already she had started walking. “Don't cause any trouble.” Though the remark could have passed as casual and directed at the prince, there was an edge underlying the woman's voice that suggested otherwise.

If the prince noticed, he didn't show it. “I won't,” he assured her, sounding quite cheery.

The magician's only reaction consisted of an unimpressed snort as she disappeared between the trees.

Under any other circumstances, Tiir would have been glad to see her go, but for once, her departure only increased his agitation. He didn't want her anywhere near either of the children, and he certainly did not want her arriving at the meeting point before the rest of their little group.

It didn't help that the prince was still giving him strange looks, undoubtedly thinking he was being subtle about it. Tiir wanted to snap at him that he really wasn't, and that he should just come out and say already what it was that was on his mind before Tiir decided eating him in his sleep might not be such a bad idea after all.

What was most aggravating about the human's behavior was that Tiir couldn't even begin to guess what it was about: he might be wondering if dissecting Tiir would be a good idea, or he could just be trying to figure out whether Tiir was bored, and the sad thing was that Tiir actually believed the latter possibility to be the less unlikely one out of the two.

It was unnerving.

Compared to that, the unmistakable suspicion with which the soldier was watching him was almost refreshing. With this human, at least, he knew exactly where he stood.

“Well, let's go,” the prince said a while later, when the soldier had returned from getting the carriage off the road to a slightly more inconspicuous location.

Tiir wordlessly fell into step beside the royal. The soldier, predictably, chose to walk behind them, but he wasn't the half-Gastark woman, and there was enough of a distance that Tiir wasn't particularly bothered.

Too bad he couldn't say the same thing about the way the prince kept glancing at him. However, just when he was about to throw caution to the wind and demand that the human explain himself, the prince spoke up, “Say...”

“What?” Tiir hadn't meant for it to come out as a snarl, but he was angry and annoyed and the human was really trying his patience.

The prince blinked at him. “What's wrong?”

Everything, was what Tiir wanted to snap at him, but he bit his tongue and just kept walking.

“Did I do something?” the human asked stupidly. When Tiir didn't reply, he fell silent for a few seconds, then ventured, “I know I was sort of ignoring you, but I thought you wouldn't feel much like talking around Lymeia. Was I wrong?”

Oh, gods, could the human just stop being ridiculous for once? What made him think that Tiir would give a damn if he'd rather talk to members of his own species than him? The sentiment certainly was mutual.

“No,” he said, trying – and failing – to keep the irritation out of his voice, “you weren't wrong.”

“Then why...,” the prince began, but trailed off, clearly unsure as to how to proceed.

Watching him fumble for words just increased Tiir's ire. “It's fine,” he ground out. “You were going to ask me something?”

“Right,” the prince said, but continued to hesitate. Had Tiir ever thought of him as not too much of an annoyance? Now that was proof that he was losing his mind right there. “I...-,” the human finally started to speak again, then broke off once more and shook his head, only to go in a much more determined voice, “Why are you so jumpy around Lymeia?”

Tiir almost stopped walking at the question. “I thought we'd established that I hate her with the passion of a thousand burning suns,” he managed.

“Yes, I get that part,” the prince returned, “which is why I didn't think it odd that you seem rather tense around her. But this just now? It was like you were one step away from turning into a nervous wreck.”

Tiir bristled at being referred to as a 'nervous wreck' – by a human no less! –, but the problem was that he knew exactly what the man was talking about. Still, he tried to appear unconcerned and contemptuous as he said, “Are you imagining things now?”

Of course, the annoying human just had to choose the worst moment to be perceptive for a change. “Did she do something to you?”

“No,” Tiir said tersely. “She hasn't done anything.” Yet.

“Really? Because if she has, I will talk to her, and I'll go to my mother and ask her to order Lymeia to lay off if I have to.”

Tiir felt his blood run cold.

He did not want to see the magician's reaction to being told off by the prince, and he most certainly didn't want the human queen involved in the matter. Short of giving in to to temptation and attacking someone, it seemed like the fastest way to get the children harmed.

“Don't,” he bit out. “Just... don't.” The prince didn't exactly look convinced at that, so he added, “I swear she's not laid a finger on me.”

“No, that's not exactly her style,” the royal said, suddenly thoughtful. “Did she threaten you?”

Tiir winced. “She didn't do anything, all right?” he snapped at the man, and though he tried to sound annoyed rather than panicked, he didn't need to see the look on the human's face to know that he could hardly have done a worse job at it. “Just drop it.” When it didn't seem like the prince was going to, Tiir added, “Please.”

It was almost physically painful to speak the word.

The prince stared at him in what would be best described as shock, and for a moment, Tiir was sure he would let go of the topic even less now. But then the human's expression changed, and in a quiet voice, he said, “All right.”

As silence fell over them once more, Tiir returned his attention to the road ahead, certain as ever that this human was impossible to understand but not really giving a damn. He wondered how much later than the magician they would arrive at the clearing. No less than half an hour, probably. They were walking painfully slowly, and even without that, the woman had a headstart of at least fifteen minutes.

He knew much of his unease was probably unfounded. This was hardly the kind of situation the vile creature would choose to make her move: she was too cunning for that. She obviously wanted to minimize conflict with her country's future ruler, who, for whatever reasons, was unlikely to tolerate any independent action she took in regards to the children. Tiir actually didn't doubt that the prince would reprimand the magician if he found out about her interference, although he was sure that the only effect his words would have was to make the woman more irate and, consequentially, more dangerous.

He did appreciate the sentiment – having the prince willing to speak up in defense of the children certainly made their position less precarious, just so long as Tiir could keep him from doing so at the wrong time. So no, he didn't think the magician would actually do visible damage under these circumstances. He still didn't want her anywhere near his family, and definitely not when no one would be there to stop her if she did decide to hurt the ones he loved.

Scratch that – Tiir didn't want any human around those he cherished, and the fact that he had no choice but to accept otherwise, that there was nothing he could do but hope that the children were only slightly traumatized, was maddening.

“Tiir?” the human suddenly addressed him again, startling him out of his thoughts. When Tiir glanced at him reluctantly, the prince said, in a tone almost as soft as when he had agreed to stop talking about the magician, “I promise they're all right.”

Apparently, Tiir wasn't very good at hiding his feelings.

He didn't have a reply for the human, so he didn't try to give him one. What was there to say? 'I believe you'? Even if he did find the prince's continued claims reassuring, that would have been an outright lie. 'I don't believe you'? More honest, but still not very accurate. He didn't think the prince was deliberately lying to him about this – not really. 'Thanks for trying but could you just shut up now'? Well, he supposed that might work, but why waste words when keeping quiet would also do the job?

Silence, it seemed, was a hint the human was able to take.

They didn't exchange words for the rest of the way.

*

The area around the clearing was crawling with humans. His current company excepted, they were hidden by trees and darkness, but Tiir knew they were there. The prince wasn't even trying to be subtle about their presence, exchanging a meaningful look with the soldier at the almost inaudible noise of a twig snapping, and from time to time glancing uneasily past the trees.

Tiir wondered what their purpose was. It couldn't just be to deter him from doing something they would find highly inconvenient – even humans must be able to realize that if Tiir was thinking about abandoning one child for the other, mere numbers weren't going to stop him, and they couldn't all possess Rule Fragments. If they did, he doubted they would have to worry about Gastark. Maybe poisoned darts? Tiir didn't put it past the fatuous creatures to believe he would fall for the same trick twice.

The clearing itself was largely empty. As they stepped closer, Tiir could make out the half-Gastark woman awaiting them in the center of the meadow – just the sight of her made Tiir want to kill something. Several feet from her stood a single male: his attention was clearly focused on Tiir, but Tiir himself didn't recognize him, and didn't waste much time speculating about what his role might be in this, either, because he quickly noticed the child standing next to the man.

It was Ren.

The boy looked uncertain and worried, but not terrified, and when Tiir couldn't detect anything in his posture that would indicate an injury, he felt some of the tension drain out of him.

It did nothing to diminish the instinctive desire to grab the child and get him as far away from the humans as possible, but it made it easier to remain positioned at the prince's side instead, waiting. The royal and the mage woman conversed briefly – hushed, but not in such low voices that Tiir wouldn't have been able to overhear had he cared to.

He didn't.

At last the magician stepped back, and the prince nodded towards the unknown human, who in response leaned down to Ren and said something to him.

The boy hesitated for less than a second before he came running.

Tiir remained rooted to the spot, stupefied, but when Ren flung his arms around his waist, Tiir bent down to return the embrace almost automatically. He felt his breath hitch and swallowed with some effort, but couldn't get a single word out of his mouth.

He was aware that his shoulders were trembling subtly, and finally gave up attempting to speak or even move for fear that if he did, he would truly cave in. He didn't care anymore at this point about showing weakness to the enemy – there was nothing left for him to hide –, but he couldn't let the children know how worried he had been, how powerless. They needed him to be strong.

Suddenly Ren was crying, the sound tearing Tiir's heart apart like no human weapon ever could, and he didn't know what to do. For the first time, he wasn't able to tell the child he was holding that it would be all right, that he would fight with all he had to keep those who would harm him away, because it would be a lie – he could try to protect the boy in front of him, but only while continuing to leave him at the mercy of humans for who knew how much longer.

In Tiir's mind, it was the worst kind of betrayal.

But then Ren called out his name, and Tiir realized that the boy had not been crying from pain or fear, but relief. Relief that Tiir was all right.

He wanted to laugh.

He only noticed that all his carefully maintained self-control had crumbled to nothing when he found himself kneeling on the ground, hugging the child with a desperation he had never meant for anyone to see, least of all someone he had sworn to protect.

His shoulders were still shaking, though, and he had no idea how to make them stop, or how to reassure Ren, who was clinging to him as if he was afraid Tiir would disappear if he loosened his hold even a little.

Tiir himself didn't cry, but not due to any conscious effort he was making. Maybe it was habit – he always held himself together in front of the children as well as he could, and betweens Gastark and the countless other humans who had hurt and betrayed his comrades, he had a lot of practice –, or perhaps it was simply his nature. Crying had never come easily to him, and he still had no idea what had happened that previous night.

At last, Tiir forced himself to break the embrace, putting his hands on Ren's shoulders and gently urging the boy to move back a little, which he reluctantly did. He did seem unharmed, and the haunted look Tiir remembered all to well from when he had first found him had not returned to his eyes. He supposed if it had, Ren would not have reacted like this upon seeing him – but he had needed to be sure.

He hadn't realized how afraid he had been to find the children crushed, their spirits shattered; this time maybe beyond a point where he could still help them recover.

“Are you all right?” Tiir asked the boy, knowing it was a stupid question, but unable to think of a better one.

Ren nodded. He was no longer crying, but only barely, and so it didn't come as a surprise that it was a while before he answered with actual words. “Yes,” he finally said. “I'm fine. Karda is, too,” he added after a moment and sniffed. “You're not hurt?”

Tiir carefully ignored the impulse to hug the boy again. “No,” he said. “I'm not hurt.”

“Really?” Ren asked. “You promise?” He looked a little doubtful, but Tiir could hear the hope in his voice, and his heart clenched painfully.

“I promise,” he said.

Ren gazed at him long and hard, as if he was trying to find the truth beneath his words the way he might look past the flashiness of a spell to determine its structure. Then he nodded, and sniffed once more. “Good,” he said, visibly struggling not to burst into tears again.

Tiir smiled at him – not the fake-smile he had given the children the last time in a pathetic attempt to do something for them, but a heartfelt, relieved smile he hardly had to put any effort into maintaining. “It's all right,” he told the boy and gently patted his head, using his free hand to return the embrace he immediately found himself in again.

As he waited for Ren's sobs to subside, Tiir cautiously inspected his surroundings, paying attention to the humans for the first time since his eyes had fallen on the boy. He was pleased to find that the half-Gastark magician was a good distance from them, maybe not even within hearing range. The soldier stood a little closer, but still far enough from them that ignoring him was easy enough; and the man who Tiir assumed had escorted Ren to this place hadn't moved from his position several strides from them.

Only the prince had remained close – Tiir didn't need to turn around to know the young royal was no two steps away, and he was in fact determined to not so much as glance in the man's direction. He could at least pretend they weren't surrounded by enemies.

Of course, he should have taken into account the fact that just because he was content to ignore the human's presence, it didn't mean that Ren would be. Tiir wasn't sure whether he had done something to alarm the boy, but the first thing Ren did when he had stopped crying and calmed down enough to raise his face from Tiir's robe was to peer at the prince.

It was obvious that he hadn't noticed the human before – or at least, not really. Now that he had, he was visibly unsettled.

It was only natural. The man might not have been very menacing in appearance, but he was a human, and if Ren recognized him, then that just made it worse: after all, their last encounter had ended with the prince separating the children from Tiir – and before that, he had been not much more than a breath away from ordering them all killed.

Tiir couldn't find words to explain that this human was the least of their worries, not when he himself only half-believed it, and not when he, too, remembered that night all too vividly. It was yet another failure on a long list, if so far less fatal than others had been, and it was one more reminder that humans would never change.

He wouldn't endeavor to alleviate Ren's fears with false assurances, with more promises he couldn't keep. Both of the children, all of his comrades, had been lied to too often already. Tiir wouldn't add to that, even if in situations like this, it would be much too easy to tell himself that it was for their own sake.

Instead, he tried to distract the boy, and perhaps lay some of his own fears to rest in the process. “You've not been hurt?”

As he had hoped, Ren tore his gaze from the human at that, and fiercely shook his head. Tiir watched carefully for signs that he had been intimidated into denying the truth, but couldn't detect any: Ren was looking him straight in the eye, and though he had been clearly uneasy just a second ago, he didn't seem particularly frightened.

“No,” the boy said, and his voice, too, sounded earnest. Tiir relaxed a little – Ren might not wear his heart on his sleeve all the time, and he would certainly put an effort into deceiving him if the humans used the right threats, but he wasn't this good an actor. Tiir was fairly sure of that. “Well,” Ren continued with a small frown, “one of the bad men called me a bad name, so Karda threw a rock at him and he tried to hit her. So then I bit him and he tried to hit me, but he got yelled at and after he only gave us funny looks all the time.” The child's frown deepened. “He still wasn't very nice, though.”

He wouldn't be very alive, either, if Tiir ever got his hands on him. Filth.

He took care not to let his anger show, though: bloody vengeance was always very satisfying, but not a prospect that tended to comfort children. Tiir had learned that early.

“No, I'm sure he wasn't,” he said therefore in a soft voice, and smoothed down Ren's hair. “You did well.”

Ren beamed at him, and Tiir wondered if it was really such a good idea to praise him for doing something that could easily have resulted in his death. However, he had been defending Karda, and her actions, while reckless, were also understandable. Tiir could imagine all too well the kind of thing that vile human had said to Ren, and of course Karda would have felt the need to do something about it. Tiir wouldn't have expected her to go so far as to not only risk drawing the man's attention herself, but to actually attack him, considering how afraid she was of his kind, but it was not hard to see why she'd done it. The human might not have been hurting Ren physically, but Karda, like Ren, bore the Alpha Stigma. She knew very well that the words of humans could kill just as easily as their swords and spells.

Tiir wasn't going to tell the children not to look out for each other – that would be cruel as well as pointless.

Besides, at the moment, Tiir was just glad to see that Ren could still smile this freely. “What happened then?” he asked, but tensed as soon as the question had left his mouth. That had been much too general an inquiry. He didn't want the humans to think he was trying to gather information about the children's whereabouts.

But the prince didn't intervene, and Tiir finally decided that the human couldn't possibly believe him to be that foolish.

Ren, oblivious to Tiir's moment of unease, said, “The bad men went away after they brought us to the Horse Lady.”

“The... Horse Lady?”

“Yes.” Ren nodded happily. “She has lots of horses, and she's nice. I even got to ride one!” Tiir blinked, but before he could ask about that, the boy's face fell. “Karda doesn't like her, though. She says she's too nice. How can someone be too nice?”

What was Tiir supposed to say to that? Ren had been betrayed by humans more than once, but somehow the concept of elaborate deception managed to remain entirely alien to him. Well, Tiir supposed the humans who had hurt Ren had at no point been overly subtle about their intentions, but even so, Tiir would never not marvel – it was, perhaps, especially obvious in those who had grown up not knowing the truth about humans, but it was something the younger bearers of the Divine Eyes all shared.

And Tiir found himself wanting to preserve it. He did not wish for them to know what a wretched place the world was, did not want to have to tell them that their enemies were too numerous for them to ever be truly safe or that the humans so many of them had been raised amongst would forever hate them – that the only reason they might not show it was that they planned to use them first.

Maybe this time, he didn't have to say it. Maybe he shouldn't say it. Ren would have to stay with those humans for who knew how much longer, no matter what he thought about them. Telling him that they all despised him would likely do more harm than good. Tiir had no desire to help put him in a position where he would inevitably end up betrayed, but such a sentiment wasn't worth leaving Ren to cope in an environment where he would feel constantly unsafe. The humans probably wouldn't do anything to risk the children losing themselves, and if they did, then simply doubting their sincerity was not going to keep the little ones safe.

However, the problem was that Tiir didn't trust himself anymore. Was he really thinking of the children? Or, perhaps, was he just trying to make things easier for himself? These days, not doing something he was unsure about seemed so much less daunting than doing it. He realized that it was irrational, that no matter what happened, it would be his responsibility, but knowing this only made him more reluctant to take action.

He missed Ene. He missed just being with her, but he also missed her guidance. Unlike him, she--

“Tiir-niichan?”

Tiir broke out of his musings and returned his attention to Ren, who was looking at him rather worriedly. “Sorry,” he told the boy. “I was just thinking about something.”

Ren put his hands to his hips. “You shouldn't daydream when someone is talking to you,” he informed Tiir sternly. “It's not polite!”

Tiir stared at him for a moment, and finally gave a startled laugh. “Yes, you're right. I'm really sorry. Will you forgive me?”

“Well,” Ren said and scrunched up his nose, “all right. But only because it's you.”

Tiir chuckled, tousling the boy's hair. “That's very kind of you.”

Ren giggled, but then suddenly sobered and looked at him seriously. “Are they being mean to you?” Gnawing at his lower lip, the boy added, “Karda said the humans would be mean to you.”

Tiir smiled at him. “No one's being mean to me,” he assured him, and thought that it was mostly true. The prince was hardly 'mean' – just annoying. The soldier wasn't much of anything except pathetic. The half-Gastark magician was a detestable piece of filth even for a human, but 'mean' wasn't exactly the word that came to mind there. As for the rest of their enemies – the queen, the council, that whole damn human country –, Tiir hadn't been seeing much of them, for all that he wanted to watch them choke to death on their own blood; so he concluded that they didn't count.

He knew Ren wouldn't see it quite like this, but since at least for now, Tiir only really had to put up with one of those humans, and since that human was not mean to the point it was painful – namely, as not mean as someone who'd taken you and your loved ones prisoner and was using you as a means to an end could possibly be –, Tiir decided that it still wasn't a lie.

Even so, Ren didn't look convinced. “Are you sure? They don't seem very nice. Like,” the boy once more gazed past Tiir, but this time, instead of appearing frightened of the prince watching them, he pointed an accusing finger at him, “he was mean to you last time, and now he's just standing there! Doesn't he know it's rude to overhear other people's conversations? And he looks stupid and his hair is funny.”

The human in question made a sound that was an odd cross between a suppressed laugh and an indignant snort, and it occurred to Tiir that his was a perfect opportunity to set Ren at ease somewhat. And if it was at the expense of an exceptionally irritating human, well, Tiir wasn't going to complain.

With a straight face and the right amount of pity in his voice, he explained, “That's because he's a very funny sort of human without any common sense. He thinks people should dress up their pigs and talk to their food. It's actually very sad.”

“Oh.” Ren's expression immediately shifted to one of sympathy. “I'm sorry,” he told the human sincerely. “I hope you get better soon.”

The prince fell prey to a short but violent coughing fit at that. “Thank you,” he finally managed, still sounding rather choked.

Tiir smirked.

Ren turned back to him. “I think he has a cold, too,” the boy assessed.

“Poor thing. This is why you should always eat your carrots.”

Ren nodded seriously, and Tiir thought that he may have found an actual use for a human, after all.

His amusement faded, leaving behind only a soft smile as he once more stroked Ren's head. “You're eating well?”

“Yes,” the boy chirped immediately. “Miss Lendra is really very nice. She even makes us cookies!” As what was clearly an afterthought, he added, “Vegetables, too.”

Tiir tilted his head slightly. “She's the 'Horse Lady'?”

Ren nodded. “She says she's no good at baking, and the cookies sometimes look a little funny, but they always taste nice. Even Karda says so.” Tiir was glad enough to learn that the children weren't starving, so hearing that they were having cookies came as quite the surprise. It would have made him suspicious, but Ren seemed so much at ease talking about this that it was hard to doubt his words.

And the boy went on, “She said she could show us how to help make them, but I told her I'd rather learn how to ride a horse – and she said yes!” Ren beamed. “Karda didn't want to, but she likes horses, too, so maybe when I know how to ride one I can show her.”

So the humans were giving the little ones cookies and... riding lessons?

Tiir finally couldn't help but turn his head to stare at the prince.

The man gave him a small, soft smile that really didn't help to make all of this any less bizarre, and the feeling that rose in Tiir's chest wasn't just relief this time, but wasn't quite gratitude, either. If he had to give it a name, he would have called it amazement, but that still wasn't it; not only.

He tore his gaze from the human and focused on Ren again. The boy appeared somewhat confused by Tiir's momentary distraction, but when Tiir smiled at him, he immediately answered with a bright grin of his own.

“That sounds like a good idea,” Tiir told him. “I'm sure she'll be happy.”

And while he would have said more on the matter had he not been worried about wasting precious time that he meant to spend listening to what was on Ren's mind, he really did think so. Karda probably wouldn't take well to a human trying to teach her anything, which was probably why she had declined in the first place, but Ren was a completely different matter, and on some level, the boy understood this. Even if it turned out that Karda honestly wasn't interested in learning how to ride, she'd appreciate the offer.

Tiir had to admit, though, that he was a bit nonplussed by Ren's enthusiasm. As he had informed the prince earlier, he had no idea what was supposed to be so appealing about riding horses. He had always thought it was a human thing, since they were such sluggish, lazy creatures, but looking at the boy before him, he didn't think it was just that Ren hadn't yet learned any spells to speed up his movements and otherwise lacked access to faster means of transportation.

Maybe it was the horses? Most of the children did like animals. However, Tiir just didn't see how sitting on top of one could be so much more interesting than petting or watching it.

Well, he wasn't going to complain. There were a lot of things Tiir didn't understand about his comrades – it didn't matter to him, as long as they were happy.

“Yes,” Ren agreed eagerly, “I'll study extra hard! I already know how to hold the reins and that you always need to make sure the horse can see you before you go near and how to give Dancer treats. She's a girl-horse and really old – at first I didn't like her because she's so small and slept all the time and Miss Lendra said she's the only one I can ride because the others aren't used to children.” He made a face, then grinned again. “But it's all right now – she's a really nice horse!”

Come to think of it, riding probably wasn't the safest past-time for a child. Ren did know a spell or two that would help him avoid serious injury, as did Karda, since Pueka had made sure all the children knew some basic magic. However, that would only go so far in keeping them safe, and so Tiir suddenly found the idea of them being around horses a bit unsettling.

He didn't think the humans would risk the children breaking their necks, though, not over something like this, and at least the horse Ren was talking about didn't sound very dangerous, so Tiir wasn't going to ruin this for the children by expressing anything less than happiness at the idea of them having something to do they actually enjoyed despite being prisoners.

He said, “I'm glad. I'm sure you'll do great.”

Behind him, the prince discreetly cleared his throat, and Tiir's gut clenched painfully. They'd been given much more time than Tiir had expected when he'd first heard that he would be able to talk with the little ones, but it still wasn't enough.

He didn't think anything short of the children's freedom could ever be “enough”.

Still, he smiled at Ren. “Say hello to Karda from me,” he told him, gently brushing a strand of hair out of Ren's face. “And to Dancer, too.”

Instantly, the boy grabbed the sleeve of his robe. “Don't leave,” he pleaded, and Tiir's heart broke just a little.

“It's all right,” he tried to comfort him. “I'll be fine, and you're having fun at the Horse Lady's, right?

“It would be a lot more fun with you!” Ren countered, tearing up. “Don't leave,” he repeated, clinging to his arm even more tightly. “I don't want you to leave.”

Almost without thinking, Tiir hugged the boy, closing his eyes for just an instant as he did so. Then he abruptly let go and got up. “I'm sorry.”

He walked past the prince, who looked so regretful and hesitant that Tiir wanted to kill him.

It was terrifyingly tempting. Attack the prince, use him to get to the rest of the humans, and kill them all – every single one of them. He would lose Karda, but Ren, at least, would be safe. If he didn't act while he had the chance, they might both end up dead eventually.

But of course, he couldn't do it, hadn't even been able to when Gastark had been killing everyone around him and he could have known, had he allowed himself to stop and think about it, that the logical thing to do was to run and take with him whoever he could grab – that unless a miracle occurred, he wouldn't be able to save anyone by staying to fight.

How could he sacrifice even one of them? How could he betray his family as the humans had betrayed them? The mere thought sickened him.

Even with Ryner, who had told him to run and by then almost certainly no longer been in immediate danger, Tiir couldn't forgive himself for having left him.

And now he was again walking away from family, leaving someone he should have kept safe with humans because there was no option less terrible available to him. Because he was weak, and could only fail the ones he loved.

“Wait!”

At the sound of Ren's voice, Tiir stopped walking – because what else could he do? –, but he didn't turn around. He merely stood there, knowing that nothing good could come out of prolonging this, and yet believing that he should at least listen to what Ren had to say. He owed him that much, at least. And if it hurt, well, what of it? It was what he deserved for not being able to protect them – for not being able to protect anyone at all.

Ren didn't continue speaking immediately, though. Instead, Tiir could hear him run towards him, and when the boy came to a halt a few seconds later, Tiir did turn to face him, after all.

However, it wasn't him Ren was looking at. “You!” the boy exclaimed, once more pointing at the prince. “I changed my mind – I don't care if you're funny, if you're mean to Tiir-niichan, I'll beat you up!”

Tiir's astonishment was soon replaced by a warm feeling spreading through his chest as he took in the serious look on Ren's face, and he actually had to prevent his lips from twitching when he noticed that the prince was trying to come up with an intelligent reply and failing.

Eventually, the human did break out of his stupor. “Well,” he said, “I don't like getting beaten up very much, so I guess I'll have to be extra nice from now on.”

Ren let his arm sink at that, slightly mollified, but still seeming skeptical. “Really?” he asked.

“Really,” the prince confirmed, putting a hand to his chest to convey sincerity. “I don't like getting beaten up at all. I don't like being mean, either, so I'll definitely be on my best behavior!”

The human who'd presumably brought Ren to the clearing had drawn near during the conversation and, though he stood a respectful distance from his prince, was clearly waiting for it to end. Ren glanced at him briefly – Tiir couldn't tell whether it was a scared or just a mildly uneasy glance, but if the way Ren promptly went back to ignoring the man and calmly considering the prince's words was any indication, he didn't feel that he was in danger.

“All right,” Ren finally said. “You better not be lying, though!”

The prince gave the tiniest smile. “I'm not.”

Apparently satisfied with that, Ren turned to Tiir. “Don't let any of the other humans be mean to you, either,” he told him, obviously trying very hard not to cry again. “And if they are, tell me and I'll beat them up for you, too!”

This time, Tiir did allow his lips to curve. “Thank you,” he said, but carefully avoided making any promises. “Take care.”

Ren sniffed one last time and nodded, apparently not trusting himself to speak but nonetheless returning Tiir's smile – then he pivoted and hurried over to the man waiting close by. He only turned around once.

As Tiir watched him go, he couldn't have said if it was sadness or fear or even happiness he was feeling. Whatever it was, though, it was better than the gnawing uncertainty of the past few days, and not even comparable to the despair that had gripped him when he had first been separated from the children. This had gone over much better than Tiir would have dared to hope even at his most optimistic.

While the situation was still far from ideal, the children seemed to be not only unharmed, but content – Ren more so than Karda, and of course neither of them would believe that nothing was amiss, but Tiir had been prepared for so much worse than the two of them worrying about him and Karda being moderately anxious around a single human woman who sounded like she had yet to hurt either of the children. In the long-run, they would never be safe amongst the enemies of their kind, but...

Perhaps they would be fine for a while longer.

Chapter Text

Tiir didn't pay much attention to the humans on the way back to the carriage, his mind still on the children and the question of what the things he'd learned meant.

Time, certainly. As far as Tiir was concerned, he couldn't get the children away from the humans fast enough, but now more than ever, there was no point in doing something reckless. From what he could tell – and he doubted his own judgment in this, but there wasn't anything he could do about that –, it wasn't necessary to rush. Ren had seemed as well as Tiir thought possible under the circumstances; better, even. It was hard for him to believe what he had seen and heard, but he didn't know how the humans could have deceived him.

Ren hadn't appeared intimidated in the slightest while talking, and Tiir trusted him to be able to roughly estimate Karda's state of mind, as well – he was a sensitive child, acutely conscious of others' feelings, and if he wasn't overly worried about her, that went a long way in putting Tiir's mind at ease. Naturally she would be tense and wary of the human she was stuck with, but Tiir believed it unlikely that it was more than that; at least for now.

He hoped the children would be fine at least until he had seen Karda, after which the humans might have less of a reason to keep them unharmed. It depended on when Tiir would be able to check on them again – when, not if, because the humans would be well-advised to not assume finding the children well once was enough to make him willing to simply take their word for it infinitely.

Considering the matter more carefully, though, there was no guarantee that the children would be safe for even that long. As the half-Gastark magician had pointed out all those days ago, the humans didn't need them to be unharmed to be able to hold their lives over Tiir's head. He supposed the humans understood that with both the children alive and happy and seemingly safe, Tiir had less to win and more to lose by attempting to free them or defying the humans in other ways, but that was hardly an assurance.

Unfortunately, even if it turned out that he had all the time in the world at his disposal, at this point he was only able to think of one way to try and get the children out of the humans' grasp, and it wasn't at all a desirable course of action. If the prince had a weakness Tiir might be able to use, it would be his sister. Provided Tiir could determine her whereabouts and take her hostage, perhaps he could make the human tell him the children's location and get them to safety – much more likely, though, he would fail and cause their deaths instead; either because the prince was serious about not revealing the information under any circumstances or because yet again, someone Tiir hadn't expected would turn out to be in the possession of a Rule Fragment – someone around the woman, or she herself. Still, he could try; try, like he always did. Tiir remembered gut-wrenching screams and the sound of crying, the nauseating smell of blood – his comrades' blood –, and flinched from the thought.

Or he could do nothing. Sit back, wait, and do nothing at all except the humans' bidding. But even then, what would he be waiting for? A perfect opportunity that was unlikely to ever come? He could conceive of an event that had the potential to cause such chaos that Tiir would be able to utilize it with minimal risk, but although it was probably inevitable, he wasn't desperate enough to hope for it. Whatever happened to him and the children, Gastark expanding their territory was by no means the preferable option. Even if Tiir were able to save Ren and Karda as well as himself in the ensuing confusion, Gastark would become an even greater threat to them: the more land they had, the easier it became for them to find and kill bearers of the Divine Eyes; and the less they had to worry about other humans fighting wars against them, the more bold they would become.

Tiir wasn't sure how much of a difference it would ordinarily make for them to conquer just one more country, but Salea was in the possession of at least two Rule Fragments – quite possibly more, if they believed they stood any chance at all in the war they were preparing for. Tiir didn't want to think about how much more efficient Gastark's slaughtering of his comrades would become if they got their hands on even one of those weapons.

So in the end, what Tiir had gained was the choice between gambling the children's lives on a mad human's incomprehensible emotional ties to his kin, and trying to to keep the little ones safe by relying on said mad human's questionable kindness instead, knowing that if he did the latter, Ren and Karda might live the days until Tiir found a way to safely free them in happiness... or they might die, with him standing by and letting it happen. 'Stuck between a rock and a hard place' didn't even cut it.

Tiir followed the prince into the carriage, the female mage in his back. With their sitting arrangements the same as earlier, Tiir glanced sideways at the young royal: the man was looking ahead, not seeming to notice his gaze on him. The same probably couldn't be said for the half-Gastark magician, but for once, Tiir didn't particularly care.

The prince hadn't tried to talk to him again after Ren had been taken away. Tiir had absently watched him speak with some of the humans who had been standing guard within the woods – two females and one male, from what Tiir gathered; it had been kind of hard to tell from that distance and with barely any light, and he hadn't been interested in taking a closer look. In retrospect, he wondered what that had been about – if it'd had anything to do with Ren –, but at the time, it had barely registered, just like the prince's continued silence around him hadn't caught his attention.

Thinking about it now, it was obvious that the human had been holding back. He was much too talkative for Tiir to believe he simply hadn't had a single word to say. Empty reassurances, meaningless apologies... even just a stupid inquiry as to whether Tiir was all right were the least Tiir would have expected. He thought that of all the human's peculiarities, his chattiness was the least surprising one, because while usually not quite like this, wasn't it what humans always did? Fabricate justifications for their actions, feign regret – pity –, and ramble on endlessly if not about the greatness of what they were doing, then about the heavy burden they had to bear for the sake of the world, 'heavy burden' meaning the slaughtering of children and 'the world', of course, meaning humans; and not even that, seeing how humans did a better job at killing each other than all bearers of the Divine Eyes combined ever could.

It was their nature to create lies: lies to make it possible for them to live together despite their savagery, lies to hide the frailty of their relations, lies to establish their superiority and distinguish themselves from rabid animals; lies to make themselves feel better about their pathetic existences and mindless cruelty.

That the prince would let such a perfect opportunity to present himself as sympathetic pass was far more astounding to Tiir than anything the man could have said – as if he cared more about Tiir's feelings than about appearing to care about them.

Turning his head to stare at the curtains inches from his face, Tiir bit his lip. It wasn't that he doubted the sincerity of the man's intentions... not if he was honest with himself. But an insane human was still a human, and humans were fickle and irrational. They would smile at each other one moment and kill each other the next; they would talk about peace and go to war to achieve it; they would tremble in fear at the possibility of his comrades losing control over their powers and then torment them until they did. How could Tiir allow the children's future to become dependent on such a being?

And even if he were to believe that the prince wouldn't change his mind about them, if push came to shove, the human would still sacrifice them for the sake of his own kind – his family, his country. Tiir had no illusions about that; could almost understand it, in a way. It was quite possible that such a situation wouldn't come to pass, because Tiir couldn't see how the children's deaths would be particularly useful to the humans even if they did gouge out their eyes, but then there was still the issue of power. The prince could only protect the children so long as the rest of the humans permitted it. He wouldn't be able to control the half-Gastark magician, let alone the queen. Tiir didn't think the man would fight his sister, either, if she decided that she wanted to study the Divine Eyes.

Tiir couldn't, wouldn't, put any faith in a human, and he felt like whatever choice he made, it would turn out to be the wrong one.

He was startled out of his thoughts when he heard the prince's voice next to him. “I'll have to deal with the Guild soon, won't I?”

Clearly, the man was addressing the half-Gastark magician – and as Tiir had come to expect, her reply came at once, “That would be advisable, yes. It's the Guild's nature to be patient, but that's because they use the time to prepare to strike. Once they express an interest in the topic, it will already be too late. Right now you still have information they desire.”

“You really think they'll be able to figure it out on their own?”

“Not everything, maybe,” the mage woman conceded. “Enough that negotiating with them will become difficult, though? I have no doubt. It would be foolish to allow yourself to be placed at a disadvantage merely to delay the inevitable.”

“I know,” the prince said, sounding distinctly unhappy. “And I realize putting this off won't accomplish anything. I just... I really don't like dealing with them.”

“I'm aware of that.” The half-Gastark magician's tone had lost what little inflection it previously contained. “It's understandable.”

“I don't mean-”

The woman laughed. “You're not hurting my feelings, Your Highness. I don't particularly enjoy dealing with them, either.”

“You don't particularly enjoy dealing with anyone,” the prince returned wryly; however, Tiir thought he detected relief underneath the obvious humor.

“True. Though of course, it is my utmost pleasure to be of service to Your Highness.”

“Sure.” The prince fell silent for a while. “The new Bard...,” he finally began, the amusement banished from his voice. “You don't like her, do you?” There was another silence, and then the prince chuckled. “All right: you like her even less than you usually like people, is what I meant to say. But it's true, isn't it?”

For once, the magician's reply didn't come immediately. “It's not that I dislike her,” she said eventually. “I just prefer dealing with people that are easier for me to read. I left shortly after the previous Bard's dismissal and I can't say I'm as familiar with her successor as I would like. At this point, she's still too much of an unknown variable for my tastes.”

“Well, Malyrei seems to be quite fond of her.”

“Forgive my insolence, Your Highness, but the Princess is fond of everything likely to cause havoc, from an ill-tempered cat that somehow found its way into a Council meeting to Emaridas' Theory of the Elements.”

“Emaridas? Wasn't that the magician who blew himself up trying to get a horse to breathe fire?”

“Indeed he was. He started out with plants, however, and recorded the experiments in great detail. The results were quite unremarkable, but that didn't seem to discourage him.” A pause. “I hear he was especially interested in rosebushes.”

“...Are you saying that time Malyrei almost burned down the palace gardens was not an accident?”

“Oh, I'm sure it was an accident. Unless you saw any roses growing mouths and spitting fire?”

“No, I don't think I did, but then again, I was busy bawling. Looking back, I'm surprised Malyrei never set me on fire. Or herself, for the matter. No wonder Mother rarely let her out of her sight back then.”

The mage woman hummed in agreement, but didn't say anything more on the topic. The prince attempted to pull her into another conversation, this time about things as inconsequential as the weather and the condition of the horses pulling the carriage, but her curt, matter-of-fact replies made it clear she wasn't interested, and quiet soon fell again.

Tiir doubted the humans would manage to shut up for long now that the prince had regained his talkativeness, but appreciated the momentary silence nonetheless. It made it easier to try and make sense of what he had heard.

The Guild... the prince had mentioned that term before. Tiir surmised it was what Salea's assassins were called by those of their own country. However, the human had told him before that the group in question had started out as an assassins' guild – so was there something more to it he needed to know about? And what did bards have to do with anything?

Tiir found himself annoyed. Humans never could just say what they meant, could they? They always had to complicate things; hide the truth beneath layers upon layers of insinuations and deceptions.

Tiir was fairly sure at this point that there was a connection between the half-Gastark woman and this country's assassins, though. It made sense: she seemed to specialize in poisons at least as much as in magic, and Tiir had no doubt that if such a thing was possible, she enjoyed killing even more than the average human. No, Tiir wasn't surprised by this at all.

What did worry him was that this 'Guild' had come up now, of all times. Was it something that might affect the children?

It crossed his mind that the humans could be planning to use the little ones as assassins, and the thought had him seething. But when he stopped to consider the matter more carefully, he realized there were some gaping holes in that theory. If those were the humans' intentions and the prince had been trying to hide them from Tiir, then why would he bring the topic up now? Why would he even feel the need to keep Tiir in the dark in the first place? Unless the humans planned to have the children do their dirty work for them right now, it would hardly be news to Tiir that the they weren't going to be left alone by their captors forever. Whatever the humans thought of him, he liked to believe he at least had made it very clear that he was neither trusting nor naive.

Come to think of it, though, he clearly remembered the prince speaking of the children not right away having to undergo military training, and only so long as the queen was willing to allow the delay. Were Salea's assassins a part of the military? Could he have assumed that Tiir knew this and would already have drawn the right conclusions?

It was certainly the kind of callous reasoning Tiir would expect from a human.

Until that moment, Tiir's left hand had been resting comfortably on the bench he was seated on. Now, without thinking, he pressed down on the flat surface so forcefully as if to grasp it, only catching himself when he felt the wood splinter beneath his fingernails.

He took a deep breath to calm himself. It didn't matter. The Guild, whatever it was, hadn't sounded like an immediate concern of the humans'. At the very least, Tiir had some more weeks to prepare, and if the children were about to be trained as assassins, then that at least took care of the question as to how he should proceed.

For now, he would wait. Once he was back in the prince's chambers, he could confront the human without having to worry about the half-Gastark magician – and when he had the answers he needed, he would make his decision.

*

To Tiir's ire, it turned out to be a while before he found himself alone with the prince again. When they returned to the palace, the first thing the man did was seek out the queen to give her a report. With a quick glance at Tiir, he asked the mage woman to accompany him, and Tiir was left to follow the remaining human – the soldier – back to the prince's quarters to wait for them.

After Tiir had fought off the dog, who for some reason seemed to prefer him to the soldier as a target for its antics, he seated himself on his usual spot on the floor. The human positioned himself opposite of him, but ignored the nearby chair and remained standing, and Tiir was strongly reminded of the last time they had been stuck in this room together. He refrained from picking up where he had left off, though – not so much for the prince's benefit as because he wasn't in the mood to mock the human in front of him; any human.

He wanted to kill.

But he couldn't, couldn't afford to even think about it, and so he endeavored to forget that the man was even there, trying to find something intriguing in the way the dog eagerly lapped the water from its bowl.

It wasn't as appalling a picture as he had somehow assumed it would be; perhaps because he usually didn't pay much attention to the dog and the only thing he had noticed about it drinking before was the way it would slobber all over the floor afterwards. Tiir would still much rather observe the cats, but they weren't to be seen anywhere, and the dog was still more interesting than anything else in the room by far.

Tiir wondered what would happen when the cat had her young – the dog couldn't be kept in the same room then, could it? It mostly seemed to ignore the older cats, but that was probably because they could fight back. From what he heard, dogs and cats didn't exactly get along, and it made sense – they were too different.

So would the dog stay elsewhere then, at least for a while? Or would the cats perhaps raise their young outside?

Tiir watched the dog trot across the room and lie down so close to him that he could have stroked its back without even leaning forward, and decided that he was honestly curious. He was tempted to reach out and pet the animal, but suddenly exceedingly aware of the human's presence once more, he suppressed the impulse and folded his arms instead.

At least the soldier didn't seem intent on starting anything, either. Tiir felt calmer now, but not so much that speaking to a human had become any less undesirable. He did want answers, of course, and if he could only get those from the prince, then so be it, but he didn't think he would be very good at making nice right now if he tried, and letting himself be lured into toying with the soldier would be unwise for manifold reasons. He could restrain himself from physically attacking the human, certainly, but that was about as far as his self-control extended at the moment. Tiir had no doubt that if he allowed himself to be drawn into a confrontation with the man, it would get to the point where the half-Gastark magician would hear all about it, and he didn't think she would just repeat her warning from the last time.

He couldn't risk that.

When the other humans finally returned after what must have been more than half an hour, Tiir was almost relieved, especially since he had an inkling the mage woman wouldn't stay for long – and indeed, after reminding the prince one last time to refrain from foolish behavior in the future, she told the soldier to meet with her in the morrow and then excused herself. Tiir pretended not to notice her gaze on him as she turned to leave the room.

The soldier, on the other hand, needed more time to remove himself: he didn't take the prince up on his offer of getting him something to drink, but he did answer the young royal's questions about how he was doing and when he would be back in the palace next time, the former in excruciating detail.

It was dreadfully banal, to say the least. In fact, it seriously tested what little patience Tiir had left – he didn't want to have to listen as the soldier rambled on about what his subordinates were doing, what plans he had with his retired parents for his day off, and how great the spellwork of some woman he was together with supposedly was. He didn't want to hear anything about humans and what a great time they were having; how they paired up and grew old and passed their time with music or gossip or drinking games while those who mattered were killed and tortured and to be considered lucky if they made it past the age of six.

They had everything. They had everything, and they couldn't even appreciate it – always complaining, always wanting more, always blaming his comrades for what little misfortunes they did experience when in truth, they brought all of their insignificant inconveniences upon themselves through their bottomless greed. And his comrades? They couldn't even comprehend what it was like to live without fear, without having to hide, without being ashamed of not being despicable vermin.

So humans thought they were terrified of their eyes? They didn't even know what the word meant.

But Tiir was happy to teach them.

The soldier departed another half an hour later, and once the door was closed and long overdue silence fell over the room, Tiir raised his eyes from the soundly sleeping dog to the awake but somewhat tired-looking prince. The human noticed almost immediately, turning to meet his gaze.

“Sorry,” the man said and moved away from the door. Tiir wasn't sure what he was apologizing for, but didn't care enough to ask. “Are you all right?”

Tiir thought that the human was awfully predictable. “No,” he replied tersely and had planned to leave it at that, but went on anyway, his voice acid. “No, I'm not 'all right'. Nothing's all right. Stop pretending it possibly could be.”

The prince winced, but appeared neither surprised nor hurt by his words. “I'm sorry,” he said again in a softer voice, and this time didn't add anything more.

Tiir drew a deep breath. “What's the Guild?”

The human seemed taken aback by the question, but answered readily enough. “It's what used to be known as Salea's assassins' guild,” he confirmed Tiir's suspicions. “I've brought them up before – something about me not wanting to mess with them, I think? Though it's actually a bit more complicated than that. They were an assassins' guild merely in the old days, when the nation still adhered to the original faith. Today, they're more like... a second, independent military, I guess you could say. Their main purpose is gathering information. They also handle assassinations, of course, but what they pride themselves with most is their wide-spread network of spies.” The human fell silent and looked at Tiir quizzically, clearly failing to understand why he would be interested.

Tiir fought down his anger. Did the human think him too much of a fool to make the connection, or did he really believe that Tiir would already have known what he planned to do with the little ones?

There was only one way to find out. “So,” he hissed and carefully watched the human's face, “what do they have to do with the children?”

The human just blinked at him, his expression entirely stupid, and Tiir really, really wanted to hurt him. The human seemed to notice, and in a voice Tiir couldn't quite read replied, “What do you think?”

Tiir could have choked him for having the nerve to just answer with a question of his own like that, but then the prince went on talking, and Tiir realized that it hadn't truly been a counter question.

“They don't have anything to do with the children,” the man said, and Tiir tensed at the obvious lie. But before he had the time for anything more, the human continued, “Not directly, anyway. But they're the most reliable people we have for ensuring the children's safety when escorting them from one location to another. They'll want to know what tonight was about, so the Bard – that is, the head of the Guild – will have to be informed of what is going on sooner rather than later. It's nothing to be concerned about, though. They just like to know what's going on.”

Tiir studied the human's expression carefully, but couldn't find anything indicating deceit. Not that that meant much. “You seemed concerned enough.”

The human fidgeted. “It's not that I'm concerned, exactly. They just... make me nervous.” When Tiir merely kept looking at him in silence, the man elaborated, “They're not very... friendly... to outsiders. And they're fairly influential. They don't interfere with the government as long as no one in it seriously messes up, but the downside is that this goes both ways – if we want their assistance in a matter, we have a lot of convincing to do. We got them to give us some of their best people this time without offering up a good reason for our request, but they'll expect us to make up for that.”

The human was quiet for a moment, then took another step forward. “Your siblings won't be negatively affected, though,” he said. “I promise.”

Tiir dug his fingers into his knees hard enough to hurt. The prince's words added up nicely with the humans' conversation in the carriage earlier, and it seemed indeed illogical to assume that they would even have brought the matter up in that context if it was something Tiir wasn't supposed to know about; but if this Guild was really so powerful, how could the prince be sure that he would be able to keep his promise even if he wanted to?

Or were those assassins perhaps not that influential?

Tiir considered this. He had to admit that he had yet to catch the human willfully lying to him. Sometimes it even seemed as if the prince was going out of his way to be truthful, like when he had conceded that despite whatever else he thought he believed, he did find the Iino Doue disquieting. It made no sense to Tiir that the human wouldn't just choose one story and stick with it, but since he was insane as well as a human, Tiir supposed some inconsistencies in his thinking were to be expected. His claims that the children were well also appeared to have been based on truth so far, and Tiir remembered him saying during the Council meeting that trying to use the children for military purposes at this point was out of the question, as he was aware that it would make it harder for them to maintain control over their powers.

So the human probably did think he was speaking the truth in this matter, and the question was if he was correctly assessing the situation. After all, the prince also seemed to believe that he would be helping Tiir if he reprimanded the half-Gastark magician, rather than making things a hundred times worse – and that was one of the less spectacular of his delusions.

On the other hand, those assassins couldn't be more influential than Salea's Council, could they? And the prince had managed to keep those humans in check. Perhaps it wasn't such a leap of faith to assume that as long as he wanted to, the man was capable of sparing the children the worst, provided neither the queen nor the half-Gastark magician had other ideas.

However, that just meant Tiir was back to his original dilemma.

How much longer until the insane human stopped being insane? How much longer until any of the other humans that were in the position to cause the children harm would do so, be it out of carelessness or because they had enough of trying to hide their vile natures?

And it was only a matter of time, Tiir knew that. Yet still, the more he thought about it, the more foolish the idea of threatening the prince through his sister seemed. Even if the humans didn't manage to catch him off-guard with some hidden weapon, even if the prince would give up the children's location for his sister's life on the abysmal chance that Tiir wouldn't just kill her anyway, humans were fragile, and unreasonable at that. There had been a few human mages who had panicked in the face of the Iino Doue to the point where they'd killed themselves with a hastily thrown spell gone wrong. Perhaps they'd still been learning to cast it correctly, or perhaps humans really were that mindless in their fear. In any case, trying to hold a human magician hostage who was frivolous enough to experiment with spells on a whim and set things on fire in the process was probably a bad idea. Fond of her or not, Tiir didn't think the prince would care that much to have back the woman's corpse.

The only alternative, however...

Tiir shivered. Could he even do it? He hadn't been stuck in this place for two weeks yet and already he felt like he was losing it. It was no wonder so many of his comrades got deceived – even knowing that nothing about humans was genuine, that nothing they might offer could ever last, there was a part of him that kept trying to figure out what they could possibly be thinking, as if they needed motivations for their actions that went beyond mere viciousness.

Sometimes he caught himself thinking that it made no sense for the prince to change his mind about the children over night any more than it made sense for him to be trying to trick Tiir – as if that mattered; as if humans would require a reason to betray bearers of the Divine Eyes and weren't capable of turning on even their own in an instant. He was willing to concede that he'd never heard about humans going to such great length to deceive someone when they didn't have anything to gain from it, so it was quite likely that the prince was in fact just mad, but his resulting kindness was also a false one, no less fragile than anything else about humans, and Tiir would do well to remember that.

And if the ludicrous directions his mind kept going weren't bad enough, there were times when the desire to kill was so strong it was almost overwhelming. He could all but feel the bones breaking under his hands then, the flesh tearing beneath his fingertips – the blood filling his mouth: warm and intoxicating and infinitely repulsive.

He wasn't sure how much longer he would be able to take it.

Refraining from killing the humans wasn't the problem – he could manage that, if the children's lives depended on it. Even showing deference to the half-Gastark magician wasn't so hard knowing what she would do if he ever slipped up. It was being around those who didn't seem like a threat Tiir couldn't stand – the soldier, who made for such a perfect target for his anger except that he had much more dangerous humans behind him, and the prince, who for now didn't appear to mind open displays of the contempt Tiir held for him and his kind, but who would tire of them quickly enough if Tiir took that as an invitation to forget minding his words.

And out of those two human, the young royal standing before him, face earnest and worried and willing Tiir to believe him, was by far the worst. The illusion of tolerance, of acceptance, made Tiir's skin crawl.

This was why humans disgusted him so much. They couldn't just be hateful and greedy for power – no, they had to go around acting like they were people with a conscience and compassion and loved ones, so that his comrades would hesitate to deal with them as they should be dealt with and, if they grew up amongst them, almost inevitably come to accept the inferior creatures' judgment of them. It wouldn't be so hard to undo the damage the humans caused to his friends if those despicable vermin would just come out and admit that they themselves were the monsters, if not through words then at least by being honest in their actions. But they didn't, and they never would, because they were arrogant cowards who couldn't live without pretending to believe their own fabrications.

Tiir would not be pulled into their endless webs of lies, no matter how artfully they spun them or how difficult they were for him to detect.

However, he supposed that didn't preclude using their deceptions for his own ends. If there was a chance that one of them was mad enough to be unable to distinguish lies from truth entirely, then in this situation, it was probably best to play along until the prince either revealed his true colors and whatever subterfuge he was engaging in or got cured of his delusions and returned to normal. Tiir was almost sure by now that it would be the latter, and while it was possible that it would happen over night or even from one second to the next – you never knew with humans –, he was cautiously hopeful that it would be a more gradual process; and even when it reached its end, it was possible that the human would maintain that he had nothing to gain by harming the children at this point. If so, Tiir might have months before he had to make a move. He didn't want to think about what spending that long a period as a prisoner would mean, but at least it would give him time to prepare and Ren and Karda a small chance to help Tiir free them... somehow.

It still wasn't much of a plan, but it was the best he could come up with. He wanted to believe that if they really did have that much time, eventually Ene would be able to send someone to get Ren and Karda home; but finding out their location if they were staying in a remote area they themselves didn't know anything about would be nearly impossible even for those of their comrades who possessed the Ebra Crypt – and that was only the first step.

Taking them back safely would be similarly difficult. With Tiir gone and Gastark breathing down their necks, his friends might not be able to afford sending anyone out for long if they didn't want to leave the Headquarters vulnerable, and the humans they'd have to get through to take back Ren and Karda might be prepared for an attack and end up killing either the children or whoever came to their rescue. Tiir was also fairly certain that at least for now, Gastark was a much greater threat to their kind than Salea, and he didn't think Ene had any plans of fighting two enemies at the same time; especially when she could instead let their enemies fight each other.

Perhaps there was even a point to his being here, something Ene had foreseen. Tiir wondered if he could do something worthwhile with the hand he had been dealt – if he helped these humans, it would at the very least be an annoyance to Gastark. Even if Salea lost in the end, Tiir might not only be buying Ren and Karda valuable time, but also helping to distract the most dangerous enemy from his comrades.

Holding on to that thought, Tiir decided he would at least have to give it a shot. If he moved to free the children and died trying, he wouldn't have accomplished anything for anyone at all; but if he stayed put, the children's chances of survival would be no worse, perhaps better, and he might well be useful to the rest of their comrades. As long as Ren and Karda were content and it seemed unlikely that they were in any immediate danger, and so long as Salea did not seem about to follow in Gastark's footsteps, he would do what the humans wanted of him. There wasn't any sense in wondering if he could do it – he would simply have to.

The prince was still waiting for a reply, though he no longer looked quite so solemn: he was gnawing at his lower lip, a concerned frown creasing his forehead.

“I'll take your word for it for now,” Tiir told him – as if he had a choice. Then he lowered his voice, “However, if you're lying--”

His threat was lost when the human smiled at him, relief written all over his face and not seeming distraught in the slightest. “I'm not lying. I'm not going to claim I'll never lie to you, because that might be overly optimistic considering the circumstances, but you have my word I won't tell you that the children are fine when I have reason to assume that they aren't, or lie to you about our intentions regarding them. You probably won't believe me anyway, but I will keep this promise.”

Tiir's lips crooked into a humorless smile. “You're right, I don't believe you. You want to tell me that you would be honest about this, even if you were ordered to lie, even if you knew telling the truth would lead to your death as well as that of countless people you claim to care about? I'm not that naive.”

“My mother wouldn't order me to go back on my word,” the prince said without missing a beat. When Tiir only snorted in response, the human continued in a more subdued voice, “You're right, I wouldn't be honest at the cost of innocent people's lives. But the only way for me to lose all leverage against you would be if both the children died, and in the unlikely case that happened, you wouldn't be of much use to us anymore.” The human looked away. “I wouldn't lie to you. I'd just have you killed.”

Tiir blinked at the straightforward admittance. Intrigued, he asked, “Even when you could still benefit from my powers?”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation to the answer, though the prince was still not looking him in the eye. “Anything else would be too-- risky.” The human stumbled over the last word, giving the impression that he had wanted to say something else, but Tiir didn't care about what he might be omitting. The details of the human's reasoning couldn't have mattered less to him.

If the man was speaking the truth – and Tiir once again couldn't see the point in a lie, unless the human just wanted to make him feel better that badly, which was by no means less absurd than the alternative –, that would make things easier. As long as he was alive, he could be sure the children were as well; or at least one of them, but even then, he would be aware of the situation, since the human had no reason to deceive him about it.

...Did he?

“All right,” Tiir finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I believe you.”

The human's smile seemed more reluctant than usual, but no less genuine. This time, it was Tiir who looked away.

He felt like he was going to be sick again.

*

When hours later, the female cat appeared on the window-sill, refusing to come inside but eager to be petted, Tiir didn't quite manage a smile, but he was happy to indulge the animal. He scratched it behind the ears and under its chin, and was disappointed when after several minutes of leaning into his touches and purring contently, it suddenly lost interest and was off again almost before he could blink.

“You're still awake?”

Tiir retracted his hand from the window frame and turned to the human.

He took in the man's disheveled hair, the way he was holding the covers with one hand and supporting himself with the other, and thought back to the first night he'd spent here. It appeared the human was a light sleeper.

Instead of giving the obvious answer or explaining himself, Tiir said, “I didn't mean to disturb you.”

“It's fine,” the prince told him. “I'm not even sure it was you who woke me up.” He fell silent for a while, then, in completely matter-of-fact voice, said, “I'm not all that tired anymore, but would you prefer I go back to sleep?”

He really was a strange human. He had gone to bed not long after their last conversation, but uncharacteristically hadn't questioned Tiir when he had made no move to do the same – and now this.

Tiir tried not be touched by the prince's attempts at being considerate, or the way the human had kept looking at him all evening – like he was worried about Tiir, and not about what would happen if he decided he had enough of playing the humans' game.

He wasn't used to this... humans acting like they cared. Oh, he knew that they did, had seen the results with his own eyes often enough, but he had never been on the receiving end of their treachery. It was the result of the advantage the Iino Doue had over all other types of the Divine Eyes: not only did Tiir know the truth about humans just as surely as he knew that he needed to eat to survive, the pathetic creatures wouldn't even bother to try and convince him otherwise. To them, he was the worst kind of monster – feeding on them like even they wouldn't feed on each other in their illusion of camaraderie, devouring what they would call his mother as his first act in this world they believed to be theirs and theirs alone. They could barely stand to look at him, let alone fake any sort of kinship. If they knew what he was and weren't trembling in fear, they were trying to kill him.

Safe for the swordswoman who had been too busy fighting Gastark in the end to pay him any mind, this was the first time he had encountered one failing to observe this most basic behavioral pattern.

And though it was clear to Tiir that the human in question was different only because there was something wrong with him, it was distressing that he had no idea what it was.

Why this human?

He tried to think of something aside from his behavior that distinguished the prince from the humans Tiir usually dealt with, but couldn't come up with anything that would have served as an explanation. Tiir was well aware that the man was of higher social status than the humans he came across most of the time, but wealth and origin were such very human concerns that no one with the tiniest bit of sense would ever consider them relevant unless the inferior creatures had poisoned their minds first. And even if he'd rarely had the displeasure of meeting them in person, Tiir was more than familiar enough with human royalty and the orders they gave to know better than to waste time contemplating such a possibility for even a second.

Tiir supposed the prince was younger than the majority of humans he tended to run into, but not by much, and it wasn't like he hadn't witnessed even human children tormenting his comrades.

Maybe it was just that the royal had hit his head in a very unfortunate and very improbable manner recently, but you'd think the other humans would be a bit more worried about the state of his brain if that were the case.

Not that Tiir had been able to see anything wrong with his brain, either...

“It's your room, isn't it?” Tiir replied at last. “Do what you want.”

“I'm afraid I can't. “ It was already bright enough outside that Tiir could make out the ghost of a smile on the human's face. “It would hardly be good etiquette.“

“I don't think anything about taking someone prisoner and holding children hostage could be considered good etiquette,” Tiir said scathingly.

The human's smile vanished, and Tiir bit is tongue, bitterness turning into frustration.

He had done it again – already. This was not how he would keep the children safe.

He hesitated, but decided that he might as well try to turn this around. If he couldn't even manage to hold a civil conversation with the prince, he would be better off quitting now and taking his chances at rescuing the children through brute force, before his lack of self-control dug all of their graves. “Though I understand it's a common form of human interaction?” He didn't quite manage to keep his tone light and devoid of scorn, but neither did the words come out particularly hostile.

The human blinked. “Taking prisoners?” he asked. “Well, I guess you could say that, what with it happening on a daily basis. It's to be expected, though, isn't it?”

Tiir smiled wryly. “Indeed.”

“Come on, that's not fair. I admit situations comparable to this one aren't nearly as rare as I'd like to claim, but what do you suggest we do with, say, dangerous criminals – ask them nicely to stop disrupting order? That doesn't usually work.”

Tiir snorted contemptuously. Of course it wouldn't work. They were humans.

He didn't think he would be able to act as though he did not despise them, even if he didn't need to fool anyone and only take care to not insult the prince. If that was what it took to protect the little ones from harm in the long-run, they were already doomed. Sooner or later, he would slip up – worse, he couldn't even bring himself to talk to the human without mocking him in the first place. The man just made it so easy...

Tiir had to admit, though, the young royal didn't seem quick to annoy. Looking at the human more carefully, he appeared perfectly untroubled – intrigued, even. As if Tiir hadn't spent half a day lashing out at him. As if there weren't only a handful of things Tiir would rather do than tear all of his filthy kind's throats out.

Maybe it would suffice to back off when the human showed signs of being displeased? After all, Tiir had barely censored himself around him so far and at most, the prince had frowned at him once or twice. He didn't appear to find Tiir views enraging so much as exasperating, and he certainly hadn't done anything indicating that his patience was dwindling.

He really was an odd human, whatever it was that was wrong with him. Tiir thought that maybe he could manage to not snap at him again, at least.

“How do your people handle these things, then?” the prince asked. “Moral transgressions, I mean.”

“We don't have your habit of massacring each other,” Tiir reminded him, and barely held back from wrinkling his nose in disdain.

“Yes, you mentioned that,” the prince said, considering. “Does that mean you never harm each other? Ever?”

The human's apparent interest made Tiir wonder. Was he trying to catch Tiir lying – to prove him wrong somehow? Or was he just being peculiar, like when he had inquired about the taste of magic and the literary endeavors of Tiir's comrades?

Either way, Tiir doubted the man would find his answer satisfactory. “There are many kinds of 'harm',” he allowed, for honesty's sake. “But that's right – not ever. Not like you do, and not on purpose.”

The prince tilted his head, but didn't reply, and Tiir wasn't at all surprised to see him speechless for once. How could a human possibly wrap his head around the fact that not everyone was an abhorrent waste of air, when the depravity of his own species was all he had ever known? How could a human even hope to understand the tiniest thing about his comrades?

Tiir supposed it would lessen the man's astonishment to know just how many of the people they were talking about were children, but that was just the way of humans: explain away and belittle everything that did not make sense to them, reject it, and cling to their distorted view of reality right until the very end. Tiir had no inclination to encourage such behavior, and more importantly, he had no wish to reveal how young – how vulnerable – most bearers of the Divine Eyes really were. He didn't know about the other humans, suspected that they must at least have some idea, but this one seemed to overestimate his comrades' numbers and strength, and Tiir was content to let him keep on doing so.

“So,” the prince finally spoke up again, “you think that humans hurting each other is part of what makes us 'inferior beings'?” There was no anger in his voice still, no disgust or ridicule – just curiosity.

“Yes.”

“Because it's detestable to turn on your own kind?”

Tiir narrowed his eyes. “Naturally.”

“So if humans never voluntarily did any damage to one another and only harmed bearers of the Divine Eyes, we would no longer be beneath you?” Tiir didn't think he would ever get used to a human referring to his kind this way. And in this context, it felt utterly wrong.

He clenched his fists. “Of course not,” he said, angry enough that he failed to prevent his eyes from flashing red for a moment. Was the human asking foolish questions on purpose? “You would still lack our powers,” he pointed out the obvious, his tone once more acid; but this time, it was deliberate. He had forgotten the human's audacity – there was no way he would be able to not snap at him like this. “You would still be persecuting children.”

The human hummed, appearing perfectly calm at being confronted with Tiir's Eyes despite his distaste for them. “So being powerful is another thing that makes you superior?” he asked. “Does that mean bearers of the Iino Doue are above bearers of the Alpha Stigma?”

“Of course not,” Tiir repeated, this time in a hiss. The marks in his eyes were steadily glowing now, but he didn't care to do anything about it. Only a human could ask such a question. The sheer ignorance of it. “I told you, we're not like y-” he began, but then became aware that the human was smiling and broke off abruptly. The red did not fade from his eyes as the realization sank in that the he human was toying with him. How very typical – he should have seen this coming.

He should have, but he hadn't, and he felt like a fool. To think that he had forgotten what he was dealing with, even for just a second...

However, the human's next words weren't what he had expected, and they tore him from this train of thought. “I know,” the man said mildly, softly. “I didn't get the impression you were that kind of person. But I don't understand the importance you place on power then. Or at least, I thought that was how you meant it. Perhaps...” He trailed off, thoughtful.

Tiir didn't wait for him to resume talking. “Of course you don't understand,” he told him, his voice no less scornful than before although the Iino Doue was no longer visible in his gaze. “That's why you're inferior beings. Because you know nothing except how to betray and kill, and how to torment children who never did anything to you.”

“Right,” the human said, not quite angrily but with evident sarcasm, “we're all the same and that makes us evil; but when you go around killing people who never did anything to you, that's just the natural state of things. And if some pesky human were to witness your little feast and decide the world would be better off without your kind, well that would be just an unfair generalization.”

Tiir stilled.

“How dare you,” he said in a low voice. “How dare you lowly human filth pretend it's the same thing? Are you saying it's our own fault? Or, perhaps, that if only the Iino Doue didn't exist, the rest of those children wouldn't have to suffer?” Tiir knew that there was no truth in such a claim, that humans hated and feared the Alpha Stigma almost as much and even without that would still want to use his comrades for their powers, but just for a moment, he was disgusted with himself, and he wanted to snap the human's neck for it.

While talking, he had taken a step towards his enemy. Shaking with fury, he went on, “Don't compare me to you scum. I have never used someone I swore to protect, or killed someone I called family. I have never told someone I loved them only to stab them in the back.”

The human was staring at him, mouth hanging open, and his face had lost much of its color, which owing to the Iino Doue was obvious to Tiir even in this dim light. He was afraid, as he should be.

How dare he...

The human took his time collecting himself, which was satisfying, in a way, but did little to soothe Tiir's ire. “I'm sorry,” the man finally blurted out, and Tiir couldn't believe the despicable creature thought Tiir would give a damn. “I shouldn't have... I didn't mean--” The human broke off, and haltingly finished, his voice barely audible, “I wasn't trying to say that it would be better if you didn't exist.” And suddenly he didn't look terrified at all, but simply aghast, and Tiir couldn't have said if it was residual fear or shock that made his voice unsteady, and if he had even been scared in the first place.

He recoiled.

The human's words made no sense; they had nothing to do with what Tiir had been getting at, so why would he fixate on a mere side note and reword it like this? Why had he reacted so noticeably if not because of fear?

This wasn't how it was supposed to be.

“Then what did you mean?” Tiir asked quietly.

The human seemed relieved – whether by the question or because Tiir's eyes had returned to a calm blue once more, Tiir had no idea. But whichever it was, it was clear that the prince was weighing his words carefully. “I don't believe it's the same thing for you to hate humans as the other way around,” he said at last. “Not anymore. Or that if you had never killed a human using the Iino Doue, your people would suffer less. I don't think it's that simple, and I understand that you don't have any reason to think highly of my kind. And it's true it was a thoughtless comparison – I'm sorry to have made. Just... killing innocent people. I believe that's the same thing. And that by doing so, nothing will change.”

“Change?” Tiir repeated. “There's nothing to change. You – humans always do the same thing. Forgetting that won't achieve anything.”

There was a pause. “Then why do you fight?” the human finally asked, in a voice that was strangely soft. “If humans can't change, and you can't kill us all, then what could ever be made better by getting rid of Gastark?”

Tiir's fingernails dug into his palms. He knew that there would always be humans, and that his comrades would always despair before their senseless cruelty, but he fought because even though he did not believe in the world, he believed in Ene.

Had he not had any secrets to keep, he would still not have known how to explain this to a human. They were too different. It would be meaningless to even try.

In the end, he settled for the other part of the truth, the one so self-evident he wouldn't have thought it needed to be put into words, “Right now, Gastark is the biggest threat. We were getting by just fine before they came along; once they are gone, I assure you we'll manage.”

“Maybe,” the prince said, still in that odd tone. “But your people will continue to be hunted – to be killed, won't they? It just seems... sad, to think that that's how it always will be, that there's nothing to be done. And I don't even know them. Isn't it... painful... for you to think that way? To believe you'll always be hated?”

The human's words made Tiir want to retch, but his gaze was worse. He actually did look sad. Sad for Tiir, sad for his comrades – sad for the bearers of the Divine Eyes. It was unexpected and it was insulting and it was completely and utterly bizarre.

“Keep you pity,” Tiir hissed.

“I'm sorry. I probably come off as condescending, not even really understanding your position and talking like this. I don't mean to be, but...” The human trailed off, and looked away.

No longer caught by his gaze, Tiir felt a lot more able to form a suitable retort. “It doesn't matter how 'sad' you think it is,” he said, contemptuous. “It's the truth, and it won't change simply because you wish for it. I know it must be hard for you to wrap your conceited little human mind around, but not everyone can have whatever they want just because they desire it.”

The human cringed, but turned his head to look at him again. “Even so. I don't think there's no room for change – if nothing else, I know we're not all the same. I'm doing a terrible job proving that, I'm sure, but... at the very least, it's still true that I don't dislike you, or those children, or your eyes.”

The human had barely closed his mouth when Tiir had moved in front to him. He could no longer stand it – this creature's foolishness, its lies, its delusions... whichever it was, it ended here. He reached out his hand and slowly, deliberately, wrapped it around the human's throat.

The prince's eyes widened, and though he neither screamed nor tried to get away, this time, there was no doubt that the look on his face was one of fear.

Tiir didn't apply any pressure to the human's windpipe, though it would have been easy, so very easy, to crush it completely. Instead, he let the Iino Doue glow in the darkness like a warning and asked, “Care to repeat that?”

For the duration of several heartbeats, there was no reply, not even a twitch, as the human stared at him in what could only be described as utter shock.

Then something changed in his expression – it happened too fast for Tiir to be able to understand what was going on; one moment the human was still frozen in terror, the next he was raising his arm. When Tiir realized he wasn't going to futilely try prying the fingers off his throat, that he looked too composed for that – like he knew Tiir wasn't actually trying to kill him or he would already be dead –, there was an instant when he thought the human was going to strike him.

It didn't worry him, and in a way, he had expected it – however lenient the prince might have been up till now, Tiir had crossed a line with this, and he knew it. If he wanted to continue doing the humans' bidding afterwards, he would have some serious damage control to do... grovel, certainly, and suffer whatever the prince chose to deal out in retaliation, as long as he could convince him to leave the little ones out of it.

However, even though it made complete sense, he felt astonishment at the notion of the human – this human – hitting him, so much that he almost jumped back in surprise. And he probably would have, if his own hand hadn't still been clasping the human's throat, reminding him that he had a point to make. Now that he would have to pay the price for his impulsiveness, he might as well see this through, and so he waited for a stinging cheek to tell him to let the human go or else.

It never came. Instead, just as slowly and deliberately as Tiir had wrapped his hand around his throat, the human's fist closed around Tiir's bangs and tugged lightly. “Stop it,” the man said, his tone not even that of an order, let alone a threat.

Tiir didn't 'stop', precisely, but he did loosen his grip in confusion; just a fraction, but it was enough that the human could have easily shaken it off had he tried. Rather than doing any such thing, however, the human only kept gazing at him.

It wasn't a look Tiir could read. Not angry, but not fearful, either. Not cold. Not despising. Nothing appropriate for this situation at all. Expectant, maybe, or searching?

All he knew was that beneath his hand, the human's pulse didn't feel nearly as calm as the man's expression suggested, but that didn't tell him much except that the human knew how fragile he was – that Tiir had killed countless like him in a matter of seconds and not even bothered to glance at the corpses unless with the intention to feed.

Tiir didn't know how to react, and he was almost relieved when the human spoke up again. “All right,” the man said, still not moving, “unless you really are about to kill me and this is just some very extended, very awkward form of torture intended as an appetizer, could you please let go of my throat? It makes me a bit nervous for some reason.”

“Ah,” Tiir said with an immediate smirk, “so you are afraid of the Iino Doue, after all.”

“Seriously?” the human asked, removing his hand from Tiir's hair. “Seriously? You are going to hold up my negative reaction to you grabbing my throat as proof that I-- what? Fear your eyes? Detest you? I don't know about you, but I don't usually find people going for my vital areas very reassuring. Especially when I know they detest me. So if you want to keep looking at me with the Iino Doue because my brain tissue is just that mesmerizing, suit yourself, but no touching the food without asking if you aren't even going to eat it, yes? That's just impolite.”

Tiir blinked at the human.

And blinked again.

Finally, he released him.

“Much better,” the human said, rubbing his throat. He took several slow, deep breaths before he returned his attention to Tiir. “So, I take it you haven't changed your mind about our agreement?”

Tiir tensed. “No,” he said. “I haven't. As long as you don't harm the children over this.”

The human raised his eyebrows. “So if I don't follow that condition, you will... what?”

It occurred to Tiir that all but threatening the human a second time, if this time just with words, might not have been the best course of action right after attacking him, especially when he wasn't prepared to follow through except in the most extreme case. He bit his tongue and let the glow in his eyes fade. “This won't happen again,” he told the human instead of answering. “Do with me what you want. Just don't touch them.” And then, because it had worked before and because he couldn't think of anything more substantial to try and salvage this, he added, “Please.”

He had guessed, hoped, it would be a good start, but he had expected he would have a lot more begging to do before this was over. Even if the prince hadn't cared for the idea of hurting the children until now, Tiir had attacked him, frightened him, and humans were nothing if not dangerous when frightened. It was their very nature to react to fear with cruelty, and if Tiir had remembered in time just how extreme their response to being reminded of their own insignificance could be, he would not have done what he had.

That was why it startled him when the human's features immediately softened. “I'm not going to hurt them,” the man said and got up.

Tiir took an involuntary step back. Just one, though, because there was nowhere to run and no need to, either. He could deal with pain, and whatever the human came up with, he wasn't intending to harm the children, which was all that mattered. It meant that though the risk had been greater than Tiir had stopped to consider, this would be worth it. Afterwards, surely the human would cease going on about how he didn't hate Tiir and didn't hate his eyes and didn't want him to be uncomfortable. Afterwards, surely Tiir would have proof that he was like any other human and remember the danger he presented vividly enough to also remember holding his tongue. To not be drawn into stupid, pointless conversations that could only end badly.

Bitter satisfaction welling up inside him, he braced himself. Finally, the charade would be over – and if there was something like regret stirring inside him, then that was just proof that he had acted correctly, that this game had gone on for much too long and needed to end.

Instead of making his move, though, the human gave him the strangest look. “What do you think I'm about to do?”

“You would like me to guess?” Tiir asked, in a tone that reflected how little patience he had for the petty mind games of humans.

If possible, the human's expression got even stranger at that. “You... I'm not going to hurt you.” He sounded half incredulous, half... something.

It was then that Tiir realized that he was being regarded with consternation.

As he tried to process this, the human went on, “That's what you meant by 'do with you what I want''? I didn't think-... why would I-... there wouldn't even be a point!”

Tiir stared at the human, wondering if he was simply dense. “Of course there would be a point. You were afraid, weren't you? You must hate me all the more for making you so. Surely you desire revenge?”

The human opened his mouth as if to reply, then closed it again. He sat back down. “The only accurate part of that statement,” he said at last, almost cautiously, “is that you did, in fact, scare the shit out of me. Even if I did hate you for that, though – which I don't –, I wouldn't just go ahead and punch you, or whatever it is you thought I was going to do. Those etiquette lessons I mentioned that dictate it's rude to let a sick person sleep on the floor? I'm pretty sure not going around hitting people I don't like was covered in them when I was three.”

Tiir didn't move. He knew he was missing something, because the idea that the human would do nothing at all in retaliation was absurd.

When it came to him what angle he had failed to consider, he almost forgot to breathe.

Of course. How could he have overlooked this?

He had been a fool.

He forced the words out, certain he did not want to hear the answer even as he'd formulated the question in his mind, “Are you going to tell your queen of what I did?”

However, the human looked thoughtful for only a second before shaking his head. “No, I don't believe that would be a good idea. Let's just pretend nothing happened.” When Tiir stared at him, disbelieving, waiting for the trap to spring shut, the human continued, “I shouldn't have pushed you, especially with all that's been going on, and besides, there's not much to tell. Just do me the favor of never actually choking me.”

“That's it?”

“Well, I suppose I'd appreciate it if you didn't do that again?” The fact that the human made it a question just had Tiir stare harder.

He waited for the prince to say something more, just in case there was a double-meaning to his words, an implication somewhere he had missed, but when nothing came, he slowly relaxed his stance. “I don't understand you,” he said.

The human gave him a brilliant smile. “Then would you like to try?”

Chapter Text

Tiir did, in fact, not want to try understanding a human. Nothing good could come of it.

However, if he was going to remain captive for an undefined amount of time, with nothing to guarantee Ren and Karda's safety but a human's word, then it seemed he didn't have much of a choice. He needed to know what it was that drove the man's desire to be cordial, and in the same vein, what it would take for him to turn on them.

It could have been simple enough. Tiir had considered already that the human might be less cruel than most of his kind, but no different from them in any other way. It would have made sense, to a point, and Tiir could have accepted that the prince was not particularly vicious – quick to smile and joke and even offer comfort despite what Tiir was, but not more than that. As the other humans never tired of reminding him: the man was friendly even to a useless guard dog. It didn't cost him anything to be indulgent towards that which he deemed beneath him. He hadn't been particularly unkind to Tiir even when he had still been happy to call him a monster and quite clearly viewed him as such, hadn't wanted to kill the children even when he hadn't so much blinked at his people referring to them as “beasts” and worse.

Back then, the half-Gastark woman had told Tiir that the prince wouldn't harm a fly without cause, and Tiir was coming to understand she'd meant that quite literally. The young royal was used to having his life protected and his needs met in abundance – he could afford to throw scraps to even the most insignificant insect beneath his feet. In retrospect, Tiir wouldn't have been surprised to find that he had so little experience with being afraid that he simply lacked the sense to recognize the danger Tiir posed to him.

Now, though, that explanation had lost all plausibility. Whatever else was true about him, for a moment, the human had been terrified of him, and still he hadn't changed his behavior in the hours since, hadn't so much as struck him in anger.

And even before that, Tiir had known it wasn't as simple as the prince confusing him with an animal to be domesticated – no matter what the other humans claimed or what Tiir himself would like to believe.

The prince wasn't just carelessly nice to him, didn't just try to subtly push Tiir into doing what he wanted. For all that the man liked to talk, he also listened: he appeared to genuinely care about Tiir's opinions, and wasn't prone to dismissing his words out of hand as a human ought to. He had dropped the term 'Cursed Eyes' from his vocabulary as easily as he had left Tiir alone when he had sought quiet, and if Tiir could have told himself before that the man was motivated merely by a bored noble's fleeting curiosity for an exotic beast, then that, too, no longer seemed feasible after this morning's events.

If a beast attacked you, no matter how interesting it was or how little damage it ultimately did, you punished the transgression – if not out of anger, then to make sure it wouldn't take such liberties again. It might decide to test its limits further otherwise, and possibly the damage would not be so little then. You did not shrug the incident off and hoped the monster would be reasonable about it.

Tiir realized he had expected the human to view him something like that. He had been prepared for fury, for violence. At the very least, the man should have threatened him.

Tiir had thought no reaction of the human's to his attack could surprise him, but now he knew that hadn't been true at all. He had not considered the possibility of there being not much of a reaction at all. And disconcertingly, before he had taken the time to think about it, he also hadn't considered how easily his actions could have ruined everything. He had not heeded that the logical, the natural thing for a human to do upon being provoked was to deal out his very worst. He had thought... Tiir didn't know what he had thought. That he could get the man to show his true colors without any risk to the little ones, somehow.

It had been a foolish notion, one that paired with his momentary slip in control could have easily ended in disaster, but it also revealed something about Tiir that was extremely disquieting all by itself. A part of him really did believe the prince to be basically harmless – that while he was largely unpredictable and might well lose his patience with Tiir eventually, the man would not wish to harm the children.

The fact that it might even be true had Tiir at a loss.

Of course, he didn't think for a moment the prince would put the children's well-being ahead of his own interests, but he seemed to honestly bear no ill-will towards them, and Tiir had an inkling he would react with guilt if they were unhappy, let alone hurt. While he did not trust the human, this much was hard to dispute. If the man wanted them to suffer, even if he merely didn't care enough to extend them his protection, Tiir had no illusions about what would be happening to Ren and Karda – he had witnessed it often enough, and for those he hadn't been able to save in time, a quick death would have been much kinder –, but instead the prince was going to so much trouble to ensure they were content that Tiir had a hard time seeing him lash out at them over anything short of a physical injury caused by Tiir to either the prince himself or someone under his protection.

It wasn't right. He was a human. He should want them hurt, or at the very least, he shouldn't mind if they were.

There was no scheme at work that Tiir could see, yet at the same time, it would be careless beyond measure to assume the prince posed no immediate danger just because that was how it appeared to be. He was still a human.

Tiir saw no other option than to try and understand.

He waited until the prince took a break from reading before approaching him. The desk had emptied considerably in the last few days, and Tiir was almost sure the royal was already through with the petitions he'd began signing after his return to his country – but servants kept bringing new documents, and while fewer in numbers, the human seemed to be spending more time on them individually.

When the prince lay down on the bed to stare at the ceiling, Tiir sat down next to him. The human seemed surprised, but not unpleasantly so, and fixed his gaze on him curiously. Tiir should have expected a very different reaction considering it hadn't been half a day since he had attacked and threatened to kill the man and they had barely spoken since, but the truth was that he would have been more startled had the prince flinched from him. “Is reading those things all you ever do?” he inquired mildly.

The human smiled at him. “It certainly feels that way, doesn't it? But no, normally there aren't that many of them – and when there are, my mother takes care of part of them while I do something else useful. I prefer getting some fresh air in between tasks, at least.”

“Then why don't you this time?” But before the human could reply, Tiir realized what the obvious answer was. “Ah. It's because of me, isn't it? Can't have your secret weapon wandering the halls, attracting attention.”

“Well, kind of,” the prince confirmed, only slightly reluctantly. “It's not so much a 'can't' as a 'won't', though. It should be fine as long as we don't go down to the city, and there's plenty to do inside the palace – but not anything I imagine you'd care for. Most people I'd end up talking to have no idea who you are, so it would be bit odd if you only stood silently in the background, and I'd rather not make you interact with them.”

Tiir smirked. “Afraid I might get hungry?”

“Nah, I'm sure we could find something more savory for you to eat,” the human returned easily. “Something unlikely to scream your ears off, even. I just have doubts you'd feel inclined to be civil to anyone around here. No use ruining your mood or that of whoever'd piss you off by existing.”

“How very thoughtful of you,” Tiir said, and his tone wasn't entirely mocking. The prince's assumption was quite accurate.

However, he could have asked Tiir instead of jumping to conclusions.

The last thing he wanted was to suffer the presence of more humans, certainly, but he also had no desire to remain stuck inside this room forever. Walking the dog a few times a day made for a welcome change of scenery, but it was by no means enough to put Tiir in the position of being able to appreciate the relative comfort he otherwise enjoyed. Rather than relaxing, it felt stifling.

He considered this for a moment, and at last decided that it would probably be best to be candid with the human. Even if nothing came of it, Tiir would like to have at least tried. “I suppose it did not cross your mind that being locked up all the time might also do little to lighten my mood?”

The prince blinked. “Oh,” he said and sat up. “You'd like to get out more?”

Tiir looked away. “I wouldn't object,” he said slowly, a hint of acid seeping into his voice, “but I assure you I can do without.” He caught the human's gaze again. “I'm not a dog that needs to be walked.”

“Of course not,” the prince agreed without missing a beat. “But if it means getting to leave this room more often, you'd be fine being approached by humans with no clue what's going on and refraining from being openly hostile to them?”

Tiir hesitated. “Yes,” he decided at last. Then added, “Within limits.”

The prince nodded. “Sorry, I shouldn't have just assumed--” he began, contrite, but then immediately brightened. “This will be easy to fix, though! What would you like to do?”

Tiir stared at the human, not having expected to do anything but follow him around while the man did 'something else useful', and having no idea what he himself would opt to pass his time with if given the choice. He just wanted to be able to move around, to not feel so useless and trapped.

The prince didn't take long to realize his mistake. “I''m rushing you, aren't I? Of course you wouldn't really know what to do around here.” He smiled at Tiir apologetically. “Let's see... work-wise, I think I'll stick to reading reports and petitions for now, since the alternatives tend to involve a lot of talking with Lymeia or High Marshal Gareyn or the people who wrote the petitions and that would be much too messy right now, but we can just do something for fun. The palace gardens would be an option, if you're not tired of them already – the advantage would be that even without Lord Truffles around threatening to jump them, most of the people we'd meet on the way wouldn't be too interested in making conversation. The downside is that several Council members including Lord Remdra are still around, and some of them quite like the palace gardens.”

Tiir narrowed his eyes. “And you only think to mention that now?”

“They're always empty in the mornings and after sunset,” the prince explained, unruffled, “and they get cleared out at noon or whenever else I'm expected to take Lord Truffles there. That way, no one but the occasional unlucky guard falls prey to his antics.” The man smiled, then considered him more carefully. “I take it you'd rather not risk running into anyone who might be, ah... interested in you?”

Tiir smiled in such a way that it was more a show of teeth. “Unless you'd allow me to rip out first their tongue and then their heart and shove both down their throat, that assumption would be correct.”

The prince made a face. “You've thought about that a lot, haven't you?”

“Oh no,” Tiir assured him, smile widening. “I've always pictured it much, much slower, but I'd rather not waste any effort on worthless scum.”

The human winced ever so slightly. “All right, not the palace gardens. It's likely we'd find them empty, but yeah, let's not take the chance.” He fell silent for a moment, before continuing, “There are some quiet places in the main yard, if you'd prefer – the guards might talk to us, but probably no one else. Or if you'd be all right with staying in the building, we could just look around a bit; there are only so many places the Council has access to. I guess the library's out, except if you just would like to sit around elsewhere for a change... oh, I could show you the stables!” The human beamed at him, instantly taken with the idea. “The animals belonging to guests are kept separately, so there shouldn't be anyone but the handlers around. I know you're not interested in horseback riding, but taking a look should be fine, right?”

The prince's tone was that of someone trying to contain his excitement and failing, and Tiir found himself reluctantly amused by his enthusiasm. It was like the man hadn't even heard Tiir say that he wished for the bloody and agonized death of the members of his wretched little human Council, but clearly he had and just deemed visiting horses more important.

And as it stood, Tiir wasn't uninterested. He knew even less about horses than he did about dogs, and while normally he wouldn't have cared to change that, if Ren and Karda were spending as much time with the creatures as it sounded, he would like to get an impression of what they were dealing with. Primarily to ascertain that the children were safe from that angle, at least, but also because he would like to have some idea of how they spent their time. There might be little he could do to protect them, but this was his opportunity to make sure that when he saw Karda, he would be able to imagine the things she told him more vividly; and perhaps, if there was the time, he could tell her a small tale in return to reassure her he really was all right, in which case one about horses seemed the perfect choice.

Tiir suddenly became aware that for the first time sine they had been taken, he could think of the children without raw fear gripping him, and maybe because of that, he no longer managed to summon fury in response to the humans' treatment of them – instead, there was a hollow ache that made him want to curl up in bed and stay there just as much as it made him want to go outside and do something to try and shake the feeling off. He didn't want to sleep, didn't think he even could, but just for a while, he wanted for the world to leave him alone, for everything to just go away.

He was despicable. Weak and selfish and so very useless--

“Uh, we don't have to go to the stables,” the human's voice tore him from his thoughts. The man was looking at him with wide eyes, his tone distinctly worried, and Tiir realized he must have failed to conceal his feelings again. When had he gotten so careless? “We could just... do something else? There's a really nice place the cats often-”

“The stables are fine,” Tiir interrupted.

“Are you sure? If you dislike horses-”

“If I disliked horses,” Tiir began slowly, stressing each word, “I would have said so. Your puny human mind may be fragile, but I don't believe my hypothetical distaste for horses would be the thing to finally break it.” He managed a wry smile. “Not that it would make much of a difference.”

The human tentatively returned his smile. “Right. Sorry. I just-- never mind. Want to go right now?”

“If it's all the same to you.”

“Sure,” the prince said and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “Just let me get Truffles his dinner first – lest the cats show up again and steal it from him.”

It took a good twenty minutes for a servant to bring a tray carrying rice, a slab of barely cooked meat and small amounts of green vegetables. There were no eggs this time, but there had been before, and looking at the food, Tiir still found it hard to believe that the human didn't have some trouble distinguishing between animals and people, after all... or at least, between humans and other animals. The first time he had paid attention to what the dog was being fed, he had scoffed at the self-important ridiculousness of humans, but the prince had simply smiled at him and informed him that eggs and rice were quite healthy for dogs.

The human had then gone on to explain that he was simply adhering to one of Salea's more peculiar traditions, albeit one that didn't go too far back. Apparently, some decades ago a bunch of nobles had realized commoners often used different things to replace the meat in their dogs' diets with to save money, and being humans with even more easy lives than the rest of their kind, they then got it into their heads to have their staff cook elaborate menus for their own animals. Some things had turned out to be more beneficial choices than others for the pets' well-being, and while the trend had eventually died down again, ideally Salea's palace was supposed to be extravagant but not wasteful, and so there existed a parchment in the kitchens dictating which foods pets of the royal family could receive the leftovers of and in what combination, so that the cooks could simply take their pick from it according to what was most convenient for them. The prince had admitted he wasn't quite sure about the necessity of the vegetables, but since they didn't do any notable harm and the dog liked them, he just went with the custom as was expected of him. It seemed learning that he could have well killed his dog by feeding it cake had led to the human becoming quite interested in the subject, though the incident must have occurred years ago.

Tiir still thought it was hardly practical and far from 'not wasteful', and it was most definitely an expression of the usual pretentiousness of humans that the wealthiest of them would take something the others did out of necessity and turn it into a mere pastime, but at least he could understand what the prince's reasoning in the matter was.

Now if only the same were true for anything else the man did.

*

The stables were located towards the center of the court yard, near the outer wall. Tiir had imagined a barn, but he should have known better. Those were humans he was dealing with, ones that all but fed a dog from a golden plate. Of course they would not put their horses in a barn.

Or, well, technically it might count as a barn. It did, after all, contain farm animals. What it looked like, however, was a small palace all in its own right. It was made of rich brown wood, adorned with black gems and carvings of winged horses with their riders, and had it been just a little bit taller, Tiir wouldn't have been surprised to find spiral staircases inside. Only the window shutters and the large double-door were of a lighter brown and bare of any decoration that he could see, and as if to make up for the lack of ornamentation, the latter was flanked by obsidian statues of rearing horses that towered far above anyone passing through. Probably because there was neither wind nor rain, both door and shutters stood wide open.

Tiir let the prince enter first only in part to maintain appearances. There would be more humans awaiting, and despite having agreed to put up with them if he had to, Tiir wasn't eager to come face to face with them, let alone have the pathetic things talk to him like he was one of them. He stayed as far behind as he could without making his disgust glaringly obvious.

It proved to be a wise decision, as they didn't even manage to get close to any of the animals before they were greeted by the stablehands, who seemed delighted to see the prince. Luckily, there were only four of them, which Tiir suspected had something to do with the fact that more than half of the stalls he could make out were empty, and three of those humans had the sense to go back to their tasks as soon as they had paid their respects to their future ruler. Though clearly curious about Tiir, they restricted themselves to a polite nod in his direction as they excused themselves, and Tiir thought he managed to return the gesture without looking like he had bitten on something foul.

The horse handler who stayed behind, however, was going to be a problem. It was one of the two males: tall, with long muscled arms that would be just right for a little snack in between meals, and a round face whose flesh looked very tender. The stablehand radiated an enthusiasm guaranteed to irritate as he chatted away at the prince. Despite the difference in height, Tiir surmised the two humans were around the same age. Their bones would have lost most of their softness already, but the meat was still high quality for something with so little power.

Absently, Tiir realized he hadn't eaten properly in a while now, and he hoped the humans would fire magic at him again soon, because while he had not yet passed the point where hunger became a serious imposition, it was a bit hard to concentrate like this.

He did immediately focus when the stableman looked over the prince's shoulder to study him, though. “I heard you'd been assigned a bodyguard – is that why you haven't been dropping by lately? Well, I guess it'd be hard to find someone qualified and trustworthy.” Then, for the first time addressing Tiir even though he hadn't taken his eyes off him while talking, “Are you a soldier? I don't think I've seen you around. What's your name?”

Before Tiir could decide if it would be suspicious not to answer that question when it was just a servant asking, the man's eyes widened and he took a hasty step back. Tiir watched in bemusement, as he was sure he hadn't given in to the temptation of calling on his powers to check just how delectable the creature's flesh would be.

“Shit, you're not Guild, are you?” The oddly distressed human turned to the prince. “Please tell me he's not Guild. I'm not supposed to talk to anyone who's Guild. Is it true they'll kill you if you find out their real name? Because in that case I take back my question and gods couldn't you have warned me?”

“Uh,” the prince said. “I don't think it's true. How would anyone find out their real names in the first place? Also, he's not Guild and I promise he won't eat you.”

Tiir stared at the royal. Had that been a joke?

The prince turned to him and grinned, answering that question. Of course it had been a joke.

A particularly silly one. Tiir crossed his arms, but diplomatically refrained from snorting contemptuously.

“Oh,” the horse-handler said, cautiously coming closer again and looking mildly embarrassed. “Yeah, sure. Sorry. It's just, you know, Guild. So what's your name? I'm Yalyst, by the way.”

Tiir let his gaze slide from the prince to the other human, and decided that there was no harm in throwing him a bone. “Tiir.”

“Tiir?” the human repeated. “That's a strange name – no offense. What village are you from?”

“He's not from Salea, actually,” the prince interjected. “We thought it would be better to hire an outsider with the current political climate, and since we had dealings in the South anyway...”

Trust a human to lie through his teeth without even batting an eyelash.

The stableman considered this. “Runa, then?”

“I'm afraid that's classified,” the prince returned.

The stableman shot the royal a confused look, but then his expression cleared. “Right, he probably still has family there, doesn't he?” He brought his gaze to Tiir again. “Wouldn't want to endanger anyone, of course – sorry. I was just curious, you know? It's not often you see a new face around here.”

Tiir noticed how the prince let the man draw his own conclusions, and wondered whether he was squeamish about lying, after all, or if it was only that he was concerned with increasing his story's plausibility.

“I understand,” Tiir said, tone as neutral as he could manage.

The stableman waited a beat, but when nothing more was forthcoming, he returned his attention to the royal with a shrug. “So how have you been?”

“Fine. Things have been a bit complicated lately, but I can't complain. Aside from some disputes with the Council, I've been entirely well.” The prince broke into a grin. “But now I'm going to be even better. I've been missing the horses.”

The stableman pursed his lips. “Just the horses?”

The prince laughed. “You too. Who else do you think would discuss breeding prospects with me? I asked Malyrei about her opinion on one of the mares in my last letter – now she wants to know why I thought she could even tell them apart and if I still believe that the fastest ones have magic and can fly.”

“Oh, I remember that!” The stablehand caught Tiir off-guard by fixing his gaze on him and smiling widely. “He'd talk to the horses for hours trying to convince them to let him in on their secret, and we were all giggling, but no one wanted to ruin his fun, and so my parents and everyone else just went on and on about how adorable it was after he'd left. Every. Time.”

“Yes, rub it in my face. I could have sworn you joined me in my folly more than once.”

“Ah, but that's because it wouldn't have been proper to correct a prince, now would it? I was practically living with those horses – of course I knew better.”

“You tried getting one to fly over the palace walls.”

The stableman coughed. “A temporary lapse in judgment.”

“U-huh.”

“You were a bad influence,” the stableman defended. “So do you want to see the horses or are we just going to keep standing here?”

The prince's lips twitched. “Lead the way.”

“Your wish is my command,” the stableman said, but Tiir didn't need to be very familiar with Salean customs to able to tell that his bow was a little too deep and much too flourished to be considered a show of deference.

As they made their way to the back of the building, the prince stopped at every occupied stall to pat the animal inside. He might have been past the age where he tried to hold conversations with horses, but clearly he still talked to them like he sometimes did to his dog, and Tiir had no doubt he knew them all by name – if they had one, but probably also if they didn't.

At last they arrived at the final row of boxes, constructed against the building's furthest wall. They were wider than the others and had some space between them. Though they all looked like they were being used, with straw covering the floor and hay and water next to an open window, only the one in the left corner presently held a horse. The prince went straight to it.

While the other animals' reaction to the human had varied from friendly curiosity to indifference, this one appeared elated. It rushed forward with two large strides and stuck its head through the opening in the bars, making a soft, vibrating sound as it did so.

The prince smiled, petting its nose.”I hope you won't be disappointed when you notice that I forgot to bring you treats.” As if in reply, the horse, a tall creature whose coat was an even mix of black and brown, started sniffing the man's shirt. “Damn.” The young royal glanced over his shoulder. “I don't suppose you have any apples left?”

“Nope,” the stableman said. “And no seeds or carrots will be incoming before nightfall. I'm afraid she'll hate you forever.”

“No, I think she'll just eat my sleeves,” the prince countered, lightly pushing the animal's head away to prevent it from doing exactly that. “There's a big pile of hay right behind you, you know,” he informed it, but the horse just went for his clothes again. The human sighed and let it chew on them.

“Now this is just pitiful,” the stableman commented. “The new bridles are outside waiting for someone to put them back together, so I might as well go fetch them and get some greens while I'm at it.”

The prince smiled. “I'll come with you – just give me a moment.”

“Oh no you won't. I don't know if you've heard, but one of the yearlings has decided that all other horses are evil. If you leave your lady again without even having fed her, chances are she'll call for you and I'll spend the next half an hour calming down a colt who's frightened of his own shadow. It's even less fun than it sounds.”

The prince's hand didn't pause in stroking the horse's throat as he turned around. “Which yearling?”

“The gift from Lady Aleriena. Bay with a white snout?”

“The one who had an inexplicable fear of hair ornaments? Yeah, I remember him. I didn't think he was particularly skittish otherwise, though. A bit of a loner, maybe, for a horse, but he fit in well enough. Did something happen?”

“Wish I knew. I just came in one day and he was panicking because the horse in the stall next to his was looking at him – nothing more, just standing there and watching the ruckus he was making. There was a storm the night before, so maybe that's got something to do with it, but no one saw anything. We put him next to an empty box and thought he'd calm down eventually, but no such luck. It's fine as long as the other horses are mostly silent, but whenever one gets excited or nervous about something it's a nightmare. We were thinking about leaving him out on the pastures for now, but that won't take care of the problem and keeping him in isolation even for a short while wouldn't be right. He relishes attention – just not from other horses. Doesn't get enough of it as it is.”

“So one of the trainers will take him?”

A nod. “It's a bit early and doesn't really fit into anybody's schedule, but it can't go on like this. Better one person working some extra hours than all of us.”

“He has the best timing, doesn't he? It will be forever before we can safely bring anyone new into the palace, even if it was a relatively well-known trainer.”

“Ugh, I hate assassins,” the stableman said. “And Gastark. Can't they take their great aspirations elsewhere? Like to their own damn country?” He sniffed disdainfully. “I hear they don't even have decent dressage horses.”

“Yes, I'm sure they lose sleep over that.” The prince seemed vaguely amused.

The other human huffed. “They would if they had any sense,” he declared and turned to Tiir. “Want to help me carry?”

Tiir blinked.

The stableman, apparently taking his surprise at being addresses as a mere lack of comprehension, explained, “The bridles. I just oiled them and still have to put them back together. There are a lot of them, but they're right outside, so it's not like you'd be leaving His Highness to fend for himself or anything.”

Tiir suppressed the inevitable surge of disgust that came with the idea of voluntarily assisting a human in any fashion. What the creature wanted of him was hardly a big deal. He would have to learn to tolerate his enemies if he was going to make the best of his situation, and besides, it was a chance to get a few rare minutes away from the prince without having to deal with a much more immediately dangerous human instead.

What he wondered was if he was allowed to stray that far from his minder.

He focused his attention on the prince, and found that the human was carefully watching him in turn. The look on his face wasn't one of suspicion or even deliberation, however, but of curiosity – and perhaps apprehension. The question his eyes posed was clear.

Tiir's answer was a languid shrug. When the prince made no move to intervene, he turned from him to the other human. “I don't mind.”

The stableman grinned. “Great. Come on!”

Tiir quickly moved to follow the man, less irritated by the presence of the royal than by that of others of his kind, but eager to get away from the confusing human for a while regardless. He only glanced back once – but when he did, he almost stopped walking. Already, the prince had his back to them again, apparently completely immersed in petting the horse and not at all concerned about what Tiir might do once he escaped his supervision.

Granted, there weren't a lot of things Tiir could do at present that would prove inconvenient for the humans even if he were left to his own devices, not unless he wanted to cause incomparable harm to his own, and it wasn't like he could so much as leave his unsuspecting overseer's sight without it getting back to the prince sooner or later, but he would have expected a little more reluctance on the man's part in letting him go nonetheless. Especially now, when he had just reminded the prince of what he was capable of. Tiir had taken the human to have only limited faith in the idea that Tiir would restrain himself around a mere servant, who unlike the royal did not serve as a shield for Ren and Karda, and wouldn't be valued highly by either the Council or the queen.

Except the prince would be well aware by this point that Tiir was not a fool – nor a beast incapable of thinking more than two seconds ahead. Tiir would not repeat that grave a mistake, and however unwise his previous actions had been, they had not been uncondonable. He had been very careful not to actually hurt the prince; though Tiir had fully expected to pay a price, the children's lives hadn't featured into it. He had realized too late that if he'd miscalculated just by a margin, they could be badly hurt, but even then he had been almost certain that his defiance was too inconsequential and he himself too valuable to the humans for them to sacrifice even one of their hostages.

This was different. Tiir had nothing to gain from hurting the human walking in front of him except the satisfaction of killing him and the sweet taste of his flesh, and giving in to those desires would be nothing short of disastrous. Though humans generally didn't even pretend to care about those beneath their station, his captors would see him preying on one of them as proof that they could not contain him, and if humans hated one thing, it was power they had no control over. The prince, on the other hand, might not care about Tiir doing as he pleased under different circumstances, but Tiir understood now that one sure way, perhaps the only sure way, to turn the young royal against him was to cause damage to someone under his protection.

Tiir couldn't afford that, and so it wasn't all that strange, on second thought, that the prince wasn't too worried about what he might do. And Tiir hoped that was all there was to it, because the alternative was too disturbing to even consider.

If the cost weren't so great, Tiir wouldn't hesitate to devour the creature in front of him. The prince would have to be supremely naive to think otherwise. If he could, Tiir would kill the stableman, and the other servants, and the queen and her Council, and he would destroy everything the prince held dear. He would not care if the mad human cursed or begged him or if he cried--

But despite himself, Tiir winced at the image, and perhaps he would repay the prince's relative kindness by killing him first.

“You don't talk much, do you?” the stableman's voice cut into his thoughts. As he had done two or three times before already, the man had just stopped at one of the occupied boxes to quickly add more hay. When Tiir didn't reply, the human continued, “Well, that's fine. I just hope you don't mind me chattering. I'm horrid with prolonged silence. But then, so's Ecylan – sorry, His Highness. He must be chewing your ear off.”

Tiir found that particular figure of speech more amusing than he should.

“Well,” the human went on, “just interrupt me if you want to get a word in. If I'd known His Highness would visit, I'd have gotten off my ass and taken care of all the gear yesterday, but after the saddles it seemed like such a bother. The weather's been so good lately no one was in a hurry – and such a fine morning to be reading sappy poetry under a tree on the pastures, too.” A pause. “Ugh, I make myself sound like a total bum, don't I? I swear I'm not. I'm just a bit behind with things, is all. 's not like I could have known His Highness would come by. He hadn't shown his face here in a month – Dragon was getting real moody.”

“Dragon?”

“You saw him pet her back there.”

“Your prince,” Tiir said without inflection, “has a horse named 'Dragon'.”

The human threw him a curious glance at the first words, but then brought his gaze back to the way ahead with a snort. “You did notice he has a dog named 'Lord Truffles', yes?”

Point; though from what little he understood about humans, Tiir would have expected a prince of Salea to be more concerned with the dignity of his horse than with that of his dog.

Although he supposed 'Dragon' wasn't as bad as any name involving 'Lord' or 'Truffles'...

“It used to be short for 'Dragon Slayer'. You should ask him abut it.”

Tiir would never cease to be annoyed by the talkativeness of humans, but it was easier to endure when the only reason for it was the creatures mistaking him for one of their own wretched kind. He'd always hated being in a situation where he couldn't just kill them on the spot for making such a grievous error, but it was better than having to listen to their taunts, their insults to his comrades. It was also better, he had learned, than having one prattle on like this when the human in question knew exactly who he was talking to.

The being in front of him, on the other hand, was little more than food waiting to be eaten. A reasonably tasty treat for something so lacking in power, but ultimately of no consequence. If he couldn't have a bite, it was only natural to ignore it. The difference to tuning out a vendor's chatter when buying food for a comrade during travels was merely the time frame, and the increased difficulty in reminding himself of who he was doing this for. It would be so much easier if Ren and Karda were here, but then, there wouldn't be any need to play the humans' games in the first place if they were.

The hardest thing was not knowing for how much longer they would be protected, but he couldn't very well ask the prince if he was always this mild-tempered and what would happen if he stopped, or if he thought his sister's interest in the Alpha Stigma was great enough that she'd insist on making time to torture children even with a war looming over her country.

There was, however, Tiir realized suddenly, someone he could ask, if not in so many words.

He narrowed his eyes as he looked at the human before him in a whole new light. The man knew nothing of Tiir's true nature, had no reason to lie to him about something he would consider trivial, and he seemed more than willing to give out information.

Tiir couldn't let such a perfect opportunity pass him by – especially since he had no idea if it would ever come again. If the prince had something to hide, then he might already have realized his mistake.

“You know him well?” Tiir inquired when they stepped into the sunlight, taking care to make the question sound casual.

The human glances over his shoulder. “You could say that,” he replied after a beat. “Better than I ought to, in any case.”

“Ought to?”

“Well, you know, nobles mixing with servants and all that? Of course you're not from Salea, but I thought it was pretty much the same everywhere when it comes to this. Though I guess the rules here are pretty strict...”

“You could get in trouble?” Tiir asked, wondering why the human would even be telling him about it in that case.

“Oh, no, not me,” the stableman said, sounding almost amused. “I'm not the one who's had lessons on proper behavior since before I could count to ten. I could follow the Prince around all day and it would just be treated as him making me – not that anyone thinks he seriously would, but since he technically could and I wouldn't be able to follow him around if he didn't let me, he'd be the one to get blamed. I'd like to know how often Her Majesty's given him an ear full about our relationship already, but he never says anything; just stops coming for a while, and he also does that when he's busy. Hard to tell the difference when it's not one of the more obvious cases.”

Tiir had to admit he hadn't expected that. “He keeps meeting with you even though your queen has forbidden it?”

“Not forbidden it, precisely. She's quite tolerant in the matter, really – if she didn't want him to come here, he wouldn't be able to. I waited years for the other shoe to drop, but she never did tell the guards to keep him away. Guess it's because we pretty much grew up together; for a good while we were the only children around the same age in the palace. So everyone knows he shouldn't associate with me so closely, but at the same time they tolerate it as a bit of a special case. To a point.”

“You have strange rules.” What Tiir really meant was that humans and their arbitrary social distinctions were pathetic, but of course he couldn't put it exactly like that.

The stableman turned his head to raise his eyebrows at him. “Not Runa after all, huh?” he asked. “Not that I'm going to pry. I realize outsiders tend to think our fixation on maintaining tradition is silly, and I do think it's a good thing our customs have begun to become less rigid, but many have some sense behind them. Even this one, I have to admit, annoying as it is. Protecting a servant is harder than protecting a noble, for one – I can't deny I'm a convenient target for someone trying to hurt the Prince.”

This perked Tiir's interest. “They could use you against him?” Maybe the prince's sister, not very sensible even for a human and important enough to his captors that if they possessed any more Rule Fragments, she was amongst those most likely to wield one, was a horrendous choice for a potential hostage, but a servant was different. Tiir had told the prince that he was willing to believe him for now, and this held true – more so than when he had spoken the words last night, even –, but that was because he had no choice. He was not foolish enough to trust a human, and if the young royal or any of the other humans changed their minds, he needed to have an option left that could spare the children harm. Even if it promised little success, as a last resort it was better than nothing.

Because humans would inevitably betray you, and Tiir could not imagine passively waiting for it to happen, knowing that when it did, he would be unprepared – unprepared, even though he had seen it coming from the start. Humans could scorn him, could draw his blood, could even tear his family from him, but what should never, ever be possible was for them to double-cross him. It was not in his nature.

“Not really,” the stableman answered his question without turning around – and missed the way Tiir's expression twisted at this.

The human quit talking for a while when they came to a halt in front of what looked like the individual parts of more than a dozen bridles, spread across a wooden table that was positioned right next to the palace wall. Tiny hooks were worked into the stone of the latter, and more pieces of gear were hanging from them. Luckily, the stableman didn't ask Tiir's help in putting them back together and simply got to work.

Tiir used the time to school his expression, and to unclench his fists. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath.

He had known this. He had known blackmailing the humans was not a viable option, or he would already have tried it. Even as a last resort, even with an easier target, it was a laughable hope. He had ascertained that Ren and Karda were as well as they could be under the circumstances, that he had not been double-crossed yet. He needed to stop grasping for straws and return to gathering information with all due care.

He had failed the two and there was no excuse for that, but there was still a chance for them to be happy.

“I like Ecylan a great deal,” the stableman finally went on, “and it's definitely mutual, but he knows his duties. He probably wouldn't be swayed if an enemy wanted anything big in exchange for my life, and if he were, there'd still be Her Majesty to make sure he did what's best for the country. Someone could try, though. Or they could off me just to make a point. I'm not too worried about the possibility, but it exists.”

“So he's putting you in danger by coming here?” This surprised Tiir, though it really shouldn't. The selfishness of humans was nothing warranting astonishment.

The stableman grimaced. “Don't say it like that around him, all right? We had this really long discussion about how I get to take my own risks, but I'm not sure it's completely sunken in. He wouldn't disappear for weeks if it had, seeing how much he loves the horses. I don't think Her Majesty usually bans him from coming for more than a few days.”

“Couldn't he just come and not talk to you?”

The stableman snorted. “He could, and I wager he's tried, but he's not very good at it. It's like he doesn't know how not to be friendly with people he likes, so he'll just vanish from the face of the continent instead of pulling back like a normal person. Royals – they're all nuts.”

“All of them?” Tiir asked, thrilled at the opening. “How so?”

“Oh, well, not Her Majesty, I guess – she's, you know. Her Majesty. But have you met the Princess?”

Tiir carefully contained his excitement. The conversation was going exactly where he wanted it to. “Not yet, but I've heard her mentioned a few times. She studies magic?”

“It's like she breathes it”, the human said. “She didn't come to the stables often even before she moved out. She knows how to ride, of course, and she's decent at it, but it's like... she doesn't really see the horses. Or people. She'll seem every bit as friendly as Ecylan and you'll think she's listening to you, but then in the middle of the conversation her face will light up and she'll run off with barely a word to write down the groundwork for a new spell or whatever it is mages do, forgetting all about you, and you'll realize that this is what it looks like when she's truly interested, when she gives a damn about something.”

Tiir felt a trickle of cold inside his stomach. “Your prince said she was... not easy to be around, but he seemed to care about her. She's only interested in magic?” If even another human felt the need to note that she held no concern for others, that was bad. Tiir had hoped that maybe the prince could talk her out of whatever cruelties might cross her mind when she heard about the children, but if it was like this...

“Magic, and cats, and some people. I don't know her that well, but that's the way I see it.” The human studied him. “I don't know what you've been told about her, but I don't think you need to worry. She's not nasty or anything. I hear most nobles find her a bit annoying and she's played rude tricks on some of them, but she's always nice to the servants. She's easily distracted, but it's not like she completely doesn't care about people. When she hurts someone's feelings by suddenly running off I don't think she does it on purpose – to the recipient's great chagrin, her apologies if she notices tend to end with 'I'm sorry, what was your name again?', but as far as I can tell, they're sincere.”

That, on the other hand, didn't sound as bad as Tiir had feared. Of course a human wouldn't care about anyone but herself, but if the woman was concerned enough about appearances to apologize to someone of lower status than her, she might be made to stay away from the children. Tiir supposed it also explained why the prince liked her so much – she must be a good actress.

The question that remained was: were all the oddities Tiir had witnessed recently really not just a symptom of this particular talent running in the family?

Tiir could still not see what the prince could possibly gain from putting so much effort into tricking him, and even for a human, it didn't make sense that he would manage to do it so flawlessly, to never even fail to prevent the contempt from seeping into his voice or gaze; but neither did it seem feasible that he should be different from all the rest of his kind in anything that mattered.

He had to be concealing something. Tiir already knew the prince could be uncaring – could overlook Tiir having devoured one of his people because he hadn't personally liked the man, and could find pleasure in one of his own kind's death if it was someone who had looked down on his family.

What Tiir needed to find for everything to make at least a little sense was that the young royal could be uncaring for reasons Tiir could not understand. That his flashes of callousness were not an expression of loyalty to those he cared about, but evidence for a cruel, vicious streak that had yet to show itself. And if there was such a thing, then who would know better than someone who had spent what sounded like most of his life at the prince's mercy?

Surely there was something distinctly human about the royal.

“You said the potential danger to you was one reason your prince gets reprimanded for associating with you,” Tiir began carefully. “But there's more to it, isn't there? And he must agree with some of those other reasons if he avoids you so often still.” He tilted his head to convey innocent curiosity. “Doesn't it complicate your relationship that he sees you as beneath him?”

The stableman looked up from a half-finished bridle and raised his eyebrows. “You've not been his bodyguard for long, have you? I mean, yeah, sometimes he'll go all annoying noble on me, but it's more the 'let me not tell you stuff or not talk to you at all for your own good and not bother to ask your opinion on the matter' kind of annoying noble than the 'look how much better than you I am' kind of annoying noble. I can deal with it. Besides, that's a very uncharitable interpretation of Salean customs you've picked.”

“Oh? What else am I to make of your entire nobility being discouraged from engaging with those like you? You can't mean to tell me masters befriending servants was a common occurrence in Salea at one point until it got to dangerous for the servants? No, of course not – your nobles wouldn't have cared about the fate of those they looked down on.”

“The way you say that, you could think Salea is the only country that distinguishes between nobles and commoners,” the stableman noted with a frown and sat down on the table before going back to fiddling with a mouthpiece. “Maybe people are a lot more laid back about servants having personal ties to their masters in other countries than I thought, but I probably like Salea's idea about this better either way. I don't know what it's like where you come from, but you have to understand, back in the day, noble men bedding commoner women, especially servants, was a big problem. People in Salea used to care about bloodlines almost as much as people in Runa, so of course you'd want to avoid a bastard taking over a noble house, not to mention the throne. Unmarried women were careful about being seen alone with men and having children out of wedlock, but a servant couldn't very well refuse her master, let alone her king, now could she?

“No one in Salea cares much about blood relations anymore, of course, but the core issue remains, so I don't mind the tradition grew and survived to this extent. I wouldn't be concerned if it was Ecylan, but you can bet if I was working for some random noble family and one of them was interested in me that way, or in any way at all if they're obnoxious enough, I would want them to stay far away from me. I don't know if you've noticed, but even when they don't mean any harm, nobles tend to have this sense of entitlement that would make anything else extremely uncomfortable at best. Better have them risk social exclusion if they're seen paying too much attention to you.”

Tiir's first reaction to the human's lecture was annoyance – hearing about the history of silly human customs was not his idea of time well spent. Next was the dark pleasure of having humans prove their depravity yet again – it was ridiculous how many lies they needed to keep themselves from treating even each other like beasts, how they spun layer upon layer of falsehood merely to be able to endure the company of their own kind. 'Lineage', 'rank', 'etiquette' – if they weren't such savage creatures, none of those concepts would be necessary. Politeness was largely something to be learned, Tiir would give them this much, but that humans required threats and laws to prevent themselves from tormenting and killing their own was all you needed to know about them.

Finally, a less glaring implication of what the human had said registered, and Tiir blinked. “Wouldn't be concerned if it was--” he repeated. “But you're a man.”

Now, while it was true that Tiir only knew so much about any such matters because they held no meaning for his own life and rarely played too big a role in those of his usually much younger comrades' beyond some blushing and teasing, he was not so sheltered that he had never heard of men falling in love with or bedding other men. He wasn't sure what to think of it – one the one hand, if even most humans thought something was outrageous and depraved, then that possibly said something. On the other hand, and more compellingly, humans had many strange views on what was an atrocity and what counted as perfectly acceptable behavior, so Tiir wasn't about to defer to their judgment in anything. He supposed ultimately, he viewed someone developing those sorts of feelings for those of their own gender the same as he did anything else – as long as it was only a human matter, it could hold no worth, but if his comrades did it and were happy, that was all he could hope for.

However, he had thought that the topic was taboo to humans; not as much as speaking of the Divine Eyes was, of course, but taboo nonetheless.

Was he missing something?

The stableman sighed. “I will never get outsiders,” he said in a long-suffering tone, and Tiir bristled at being compared to humans so casually. “I explain that nobles not keeping their distance from people like me can be a very bad thing, and that is what gives you pause? It was just an example. I only know of one person Ecylan's ever had that kind of interest in and yes, she's a woman, and I happen to be male, and as I mentioned female servants were the ones most likely to have that problem with men of higher rank, but my point is that Ecylan is about as dangerous as a puppy and I have the luxury of knowing it, so I wouldn't be concerned even if he was pining for me. I'm not sure he could do subtle even now, but he definitely can do decent human being and that's enough for me. The same can't be said for everyone, though, and even when it comes to Ecylan, I wager at least some of the servants here would be uneasy if he kept seeking them out for whatever reason. It's hard to take someone seeming nice at face value if that person could easily make your life hell, yeah?”

Tiir found that particular assertion of the human's rather ironic.

He also thought that the man's original problem could be easily avoided by not dividing your own kind into masters and servants in the first place, but of course a human would not be able to grasp that. “So your prince is never... unkind?”

The stableman peered at him. Slowly, he put down the last unfinished bridle. “What are you asking, exactly?”

Tiir held the human's gaze as he carefully considered his next words, trying to draw the answer if not from the man's words, then from his expression. “Does he ever cause harm out of anger,” he began at last, “or feign friendliness only to take revenge for a slight later?” Even as he spoke, Tiir couldn't help but feel that it was too specific an inquiry, but time was running out and if the stableman was already sensing that something was off, then a bit of candor might be just right to get what he was after.

“You've insulted him?” the human asked him, sounding more curious than anything. It was both a dismayingly accurate and bizarrely oblivious conclusion.

“Something like that.”

The human raised his eyebrows. “What did he say?”

There were a myriad of answers to that: that he did not resent Tiir's animosity, that he believed Tiir's anger to be at least partly justified, that he did not hate Tiir for his eyes, that he thought there was something funny about Tiir devouring his kind, that he would rather Tiir refrain from choking him in earnest. Since Tiir wasn't certain which 'insult' of his the prince would consider the most significant, and because the stableman could not learn of what he was, he had to choose a reply that captured the essence of the prince's behavior but revealed little more.

He briefly let his gaze sweep over the bridles lying on the table, before returning his attention to the human. “That it didn't matter,” he said succinctly, but failed to keep the frustration out of his tone.

“Then why would he lie?” the human asked rhetorically, and he sounded so reasonable that Tiir wanted to break his neck.

“I don't know!” he snapped.

The human startled, and Tiir turned away, instantly regretting his outburst. If he caused the staff to become nosy, or frightened them, then the prince wouldn't be the only one of his captors to hear about it, and Tiir had no wish for that.

“Why do I have the feeling there's a lot more going on here than a rude comment about His Highness' taste in dog names?” the stableman mused and Tiir dug his fingernails into his elbows, but otherwise didn't move. He was aware of the human getting up and stepping forward, but didn't connect the dots quickly enough to avoid the hand that suddenly clasped his shoulder.

Tiir froze, suppressing the instinct to throw the audacious human head first into the wall, and then forcing himself to not resort to the next best option of moving away faster than the creature could blink.

To his relief, the human immediately let go again. “Hey,” the man said, almost gently. “I have no clue what's going on, but I'm sure Ecylan isn't out to get you. He's not the vindictive sort. But if he does anything to upset you, you can come to me, yeah? I'll whack him on the head for you and tell him he's making an ass of himself.”

The man seemed to be waiting for a response, but Tiir just stared. What was it with humans in this place offering to rebuke other humans on his behalf?

At least this one didn't know the truth about him, but even so, Tiir couldn't see what the man could possibly have to gain from promising him assistance. Was this yet another part of the games that humans played – like talking about peace while they started a war or assuring a child of their love right until they turned around and informed the military that they had a dangerous monster in their house that needed to be disposed of?

But even if it was just for the sake of appearance, it would be foolish of the stableman to volunteer in this manner if he wasn't willing to follow through, as Tiir could easily ask that of him, and if the man did what he had said he would, he might hope for Tiir's gratitude, but that should matter little to him. Not when he had little reason to believe that Tiir would ever be in a position to aid or hinder him, and not when he had the prince's favor to lose.

It made no sense. Humans made no sense.

Tiir shook himself. “I see,” he began, determined to dispel the stableman's strange mood and get the creature to step away from him. “You tame your nobles the same way you do your horses.”

It was a ridiculous statement that felt too much like making smalltalk with his dinner, but it had the desired effect. The human backed off, unable to conceal his grin even as he widened his eyes and exclaimed, “Why, what a vile accusation. I would never whack a horse on the head!”

Tiir allowed his lips to curve, because he wanted to be certain the human would not get any more strange ideas, and because when it came down to it, the man's jest had been an insult to another human – Tiir could appreciate that.

Once the stableman had reassembled the last of the bridles, he used it to demonstrate to Tiir how to correctly carry it, and when it dawned on him that Tiir had never handled horse-gear before, not even while putting it on an animal, he seemed appalled, promptly beginning to explain what all the individual parts were called. Tiir's interest in the matter was minimal, but he listened anyway, just in case it ever came up with the children.

Tiir was mildly surprised to learn that the bridles weren't interchangeable and that each horse had one all to itself, but when he thought about it, it seemed obvious that there would be differences – the horses were all on the tall side, but they still varied somewhat in size, and probably also in other relevant features. What he found more fascinating was that the human appeared to know exactly which of the already fitted bridles belonged to which horse and only needed seconds to hang them up outside the respective stalls.

As they could only take so many of the bridles at once if they didn't want them to get tangled, they had to go back once to fetch the rest, and then another time because the human had forgotten to get greens for the prince's mare over explaining horse-gear. Only too late did Tiir realize that he could easily have left the chatty stableman to his own devices and returned to the royal ahead of him.

The prince himself had barely paid them any mind when they'd hung up the bridles, but when they finally came to a halt next to him, the young royal greeted them with a happy smile. He was still stroking his horse's neck like it was the most enjoyable activity in the world, and like it was all he had been concerned with this whole while.

And Tiir couldn't breathe, hating the human for the fearful and vicious nature of his kind, and hating him for not being fearful and vicious himself. Hating the human for being selfish like all humans were, and hating him for being kind.

Hating him for not showing the slightest bit of unease about what Tiir might have been up to, when Tiir was supposed to be nothing but a monster to him, the stuff of nightmares – something to be kept on a tight leash if you were going to make use of it because no matter the circumstances, a bloodthirsty beast was not to be trusted.

Having thanked the stableman and finally stepped away from the horse to take the greens from the other human, the prince turned to Tiir with another carefree smile. “Would you like to try feeding her?”

Most of all, Tiir hated him because he was no longer sure he did.

He wanted to turn around and leave, to get away from everything and forget the last weeks had ever happened; to kill the humans that would block his path until it was littered with corpses and angry confusion was replaced by calm once more.

Instead, he held out his hand and let the beaming prince drop dandelions in it, and wondered if he had been brought so low that he would even hesitate to snap the creature's spine.

Chapter Text

“So did you like the horses?” It was less than half an hour past supper that the prince asked him this, though honestly, Tiir hadn't expected him to wait even that long. The human was obviously enamored with the horses, and he and Tiir had almost returned too late from the stables to still be able to walk the dog undisturbed.

“I didn't dislike them,” Tiir returned noncommittally. To himself, he thought that he might prefer horses to dogs, but that they definitely couldn't compete with cats.

The prince snorted at the uninformative reply. He was sitting on the floor, the dog's head in his lap and a brush in hand – though every time he attempted to put the item to its intended use, no matter how gently he kept the strokes, the animal would start whining pitifully and lick the back of its master's hand as if it was in grievous pain. Needless to say, the human hadn't gotten very far in his ministrations yet.

As for Tiir, he watched the spectacle from his place on the upper end of the bed, where he leaned comfortably on the cushion he had propped against the wall and pretended he wasn't thinking about how sweet the human's blood would taste, or about how disturbing it was that he didn't believe he would be able to eat any part of the creature without throwing up afterwards. He told himself that it was only normal to be repulsed by food when something about it was obviously off, but as far as reassurances went, it was an empty one. There wasn't just something wrong with the human – Tiir, too, wasn't as he should be.

Maybe the human's strange ailment had been contagious, after all.

“Well that's a relief,” the prince said as he tried to coax the dog into lying back down. “And here I was worried they were really humans in disguise.”

Tiir crossed his arms. “While there is hardly anything as loathsome as your wretched kind, there are things I dislike besides humans.”

“Like what?” The words sounded like a challenge, but then the prince glanced up at him, and he looked genuinely curious.

“Like inane questions,” Tiir told him snidely, but when the prince appeared entirely undeterred, Tiir trained his eyes on the wall and considered his answer more carefully.

“Storms,” he said at last, because the thunder and howling wind would frighten so many of the little ones. “The cold.” Because when his comrades managed to escape from the humans on their own, freezing to death was one of the biggest dangers they faced. “Fairy tales where a being that isn't a human becomes one at the end.” Because he could stand the ones about princesses and noble heroes if they made the children happy, but once, when he hadn't yet known much about taking care of others at all, he had picked a story at random and it had turned out to be about a despised monster being changed into a human, and hadn't that been fun.

Not wanting to dwell on the memory, he smirked at the human. “Hunger.”

“Is that supposed to be a hint?” the prince wanted to know. “Because it's not been quite a week yet, but I'm sure it could be arranged. Just... I'd have to get Lymeia. She seems very serious about me not throwing any spells at you.”

If Tiir hadn't been in a hurry to feed before, this made him want to put it off another week. But he knew that would be a bad idea: not only was it always possible he would need his powers to keep the children safe – one way or the other –, but almost as importantly, being around humans while unable to kill them was hard enough as it was; there was no reason to put his self-control to test when one wrong word could cost him everything.

“I'm not sure if it's you she's worried about or my magical aptitude, to be honest,” the prince went on, oblivious to his discomfort. “Maybe she's confusing me with Malyrei and thinks I'd choose the most potentially destructive spell just because I can, only since I'm not Malyrei I'd screw up the aim and bring down the ceiling?” A pause. “I'd probably manage to not end up dead, so she'd just laugh at me and keep the brick that crushed my arm as a souvenir, but perhaps she's concerned about Lord Truffles?”

Tiir couldn't discern how much of that was meant as a joke, but he was about to inform the human that he would gladly make sure the dog didn't come to any harm, when the image of a crumbling ceiling became that of a building coming apart as beasts of lightning slammed through its walls and roof, and the words got stuck halfway to his throat.

For a moment, he could hear the children's screams, feel the utter dread as he turned around, already too late to see their faces one last time – because he had been standing with his back to them, foolishly thinking he could protect them. He hadn't even managed to catch a final glimpse of them before their deaths, let alone throw himself between them and danger. He had just stood by and let it happen, weak and sluggish like a human, and now they would never know what it was like to live without being persecuted, without being hated.

Even the happy memories those children had made amongst their own kind had been tainted in the end, because that was what humans did. They killed and destroyed and they weren't satisfied until they had ruined everything. They claimed that what they were aiming for with their cruelty was to be rid of his comrades and the danger they supposedly meant to humans, but even that was a lie. They didn't want merely to live without the presence of bearers of the Divine Eyes, they wanted to crush and tear apart his friends, to kill them, and they weren't going to let that pleasure be taken from them without a fight. The simple truth was that the humans thought his comrades shouldn't be permitted to live, not anywhere. That was why normally they didn't even care to know the difference between the Iino Doue and the Ebra Crypt – the desire to protect their own was not what drove them, merely an excuse.

And that was why those children had been slaughtered in their very home, the only real one they had ever known, and why when Tiir had finally managed to replace desolation with rage and get moving, he had done so only to find himself staring at the dead body of the person who had been his friend for longer than almost anyone else.

Tiir had lost many comrades over the years, but he couldn't recall it ever having felt so unreal. Later it had occurred to him that in addition to a friend, Lafra had also been a constant. He had always been there, though Tiir had never dwelt on that, or on the possibility that this might one day change. It hadn't been like with Ene, who would on occasion say something to remind Tiir of the possibility of her own early death; of the fact that she seemed to have all but accepted it as an inevitable outcome of what they were doing, making him hate himself, because what if she had already seen that he would fail her no matter what route they took – because he was that weak, that despicable, even if she was too kind to think that of him?

Lafra had been different. Tiir had known, of course, that it would be dangerous for his friend to leave the Headquarters and embark on a mission so far from home, that he could die, but despite everything, although he should have known better, it had felt like a distant possibility – like no matter what, Lafra would be protected and if only one of them made it out alive, it wouldn't be Tiir.

He bit down laughter. He never did learn, did he? Those who deserved to live the most always died first, and though his protection could buy them time and comfort them for a while, it would inevitably turn out to be worthless in the end. Without Ene there to guide him, he could do nothing but watch over his friends the best he could and hope every day it wasn't the one when he finally slipped up and doomed them all. This situation was no different: there was little room for maneuvering, for doing anything but trying to make it last for as long as possible. Once the humans were done using them, once even the oddest one of them had enough of playing nice--

Having all but forgotten his presence, Tiir flinched when the prince laid a hand on his shoulder. He had no idea when the human had gotten so close or for how long he must have been tuning out the creature's words, but neither did he care. “Don't touch me,” he hissed.

The human backed away hastily, almost as if frightened, except he didn't look frightened.

“Spare me your concern,” Tiir said. “It disgusts me.”

To Tiir's chagrin, the prince didn't waver. “I can leave you alone if you want,” he said evenly. “But I'll still be concerned.”

“Do you have a death wish?”

“You know, that threat was a lot more effective with your hand around my throat.”

Tiir smiled as he would at overconfident prey. “That could be rectified.” He grabbed the human's wrist, pleased when the creature cringed ever so slightly. “I wonder what you would do if I chose to repeat last time's performance. Ask me to 'stop it' again? Or perhaps not even that? After all, it should relieve your concern if toying with the idea of choking you makes me feel better.”

He just wanted to push until the worry on the human's face gave way to a more natural sentiment, and be it for just an instant, but the prince wouldn't even grant him that small a respite. He shrugged, and if something in his expression changed, it was that the uncertainty in his gaze became something closer to sadness. “I wouldn't hurt the children, if that's what you mean... or you.” An ironic twist of his lips. “So if you think that would help, go ahead.”

And because Tiir couldn't stand the thought of the human pitying him, pitying him enough to say this, he did. In a movement so fast that the man didn't even have time to gasp in surprise, uncaring of what a waste of energy it was, he threw the prince down on the bed and curled his hand around his throat and let the Iino Doue show in his eyes, and he had no idea what kind of reaction he was trying for, or if he was trying for one at all.

Somewhere along the way, the human's pulse had quickened, but it was nowhere near as fast as it had been the last time, and he hadn't lost that revolting look on his face. Slowly, Tiir let the glow in his eyes fade.

“I hate you,” he said.

The human smiled, but for once, it wasn't a cheerful smile. “I know.”

“I could kill you.”

“I know.”

“You're despicable.”

“Yes.”

“I hate you,” Tiir repeated, and to his horror, it came out as a sob.

The prince's eyes widened, right before his wry, self-deprecating expression melted into one that was merely regretful. With a deliberate lack of haste, he stretched out his arm in an echo of the events of this morning and very carefully, as if he was afraid of frightening Tiir, brushed back Tiir's bangs. “I'm sorry,” he said.

Nothing would have been easier than to pull away from the touch, to retreat to the other side of the room as he would if he had any sense left at all, but instead, Tiir closed his eyes and didn't move. He wanted his comrades, he wanted Ene. But right then, perhaps most of all he didn't want to be alone.

Tiir let go of the human's throat and lowered his head to the man's chest, and he didn't cry, and he didn't shake, but he was tired, and this truly was surrender. If all of this was just a game to the prince, then Tiir had lost spectacularly, because he still couldn't see it, and even if he did, there was nothing he could do about it.

Allowing hesitant fingers to card through his hair, not resenting the gesture and not waiting for it to be aborted and replaced by mocking laughter, it hit Tiir that he really didn't think the human was toying with him. And it terrified him all over again, because whether or not the prince betrayed him, it would mean Tiir had been wrong about something so basic as the trustworthiness of a human, and where would that leave him?

*

“I'm not a dog,” Tiir said at last, when he was sure his voice wouldn't crack or tremble.

The human instantly snatched his hand back. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean-”

Tiir slowly sat up. “Stop apologizing.” He watched the human close his mouth and bite his lip, doubtless to keep himself from doing exactly that, and sighed. “I know you didn't,” he conceded, and suddenly speaking felt exhausting.

“Oh. Good. I... could you tell me what I should do, maybe, or, you know, not do? It's fine if you don't want to explain what's wrong aside from, well, the obvious, of course, but I just... do you need more space or is there some other problem I could help with or... or is it me, perhaps? I know Mother made this sound like the only option, but I could talk to her again. Maybe there's a way High Marshal Gareyn could do it, after all, or if not someone else who wouldn't hurt you – Lord Ameres, maybe, or Lady Kyramien, if they decide to stay in the capital.”

Tiir stilled. “Is that what you want?”

“No,” the prince said hastily. “Gods, no. I just want you to know that if you absolutely can't stand being around me, there are other options, and that I'd still make sure Lord Remdra and those who sympathize with him stay away from you. I hope I've not been that insufferable, but I... I keep saying things that upset you, and I know some of my habits tend to be irritating even to people who don't hate humans, and-”

“So do you really think another human would irritate me less?”

“I... I guess not.”

“Of course, if you'd rather be rid of me-”

“No, that's not it at all!”

Tiir kept his face blank. “Are you sure? For how long are you willing to keep this up? If you're going to grow tired of housing a monster, I'd rather you do it now so we can both stop wasting our time.”

The prince started to shake his head fervently, then stopped. “Does the possibility bother you that much?”

“Why should it?” Tiir deflected. “At least I would no longer be in danger of being hugged or petted.”

The human winced. “I'm sorry, that was out of line. You're not going to end up stuck with someone else if you don't want to, but I can promise to not do that again. Should I try not to touch you at all or-”

“You're not even going to question that, are you?”

“Question it?” the prince asked, uncomprehending.

“I could have pushed you away, or slapped away your hand, or simply moved back.” The words tasted foul on Tiir's tongue. “I didn't.”

“Well, you had a lot on your mind, so that's not strange, is it? And I probably startled you. I was at a bit of a loss at the time... both times, really, but that's not much of an excuse. I should just have asked before getting in your face – literally –, and I thought I was helping, at the time, but I didn't bother making sure and obviously you hated it. I'm not going to call into question how you feel about something, if that's what you mean, especially when that something was me being incredibly rude at best.”

“I didn't, though.”

“What?”

“I didn't hate it. I don't hate you. That's what's wrong. I-” Tiir broke off, well aware that the human was staring at him, but unable to find words to explain himself with and no longer feeling the desire to do so, either. Why had he even opened his mouth?

“Oh,” the prince said, understanding dawning on his face. “Oh. So the problem isn't that I'm an asshole, it's... the opposite?”

Tiir drove his fingernails into the bedding. “The problem,” he forced out, “is that you're human.”

“Well, I guess that's one way to look at it,” the prince responded with a small, ironic smile and paused. “I have no idea how to react to this. I'd say I'm happy to hear that – stupidly so, really –, but that's selfish, isn't it? This is clearly not a good thing in your book.”

Tiir closed his eyes. “By all means,” he said, “be selfish.” At least something would be normal.

“Well, then, I'm really glad the not-hating thing is mutual and perhaps now I can stop worrying so much about whether I'm annoying you. That would be nice.”

Tiir looked at the human, at once exasperated. “I thought I'd made it clear I'm perfectly capable of telling you to shut up before I accidentally eat you.”

“Yes, and knowing that was reassuring, but seriously, how do you not annoy someone who hates your guts and still be personable? It's a real dilemma! You might have noticed, but I'm terrible at that whole distant politeness thing outside of official functions that come with a clear set of rules for such matters. When I try elsewhere it's just awkward.”

“Yes,” Tiir said. “I did indeed notice.” He wished he had the human's problems.

“So,” the prince began. “I just shouldn't touch you out of the blue? Like, uh, before and just now?”

Tiir exhaled slowly. “The second was fine,” he admitted, because the human seemed honest, and while it was disquieting, he didn't want to be the one to hide behind lies. “Just don't do it when I'm-” he grasped for a phrasing that wouldn't reveal more than he was willing to even so- “not paying attention.”

The prince nodded solemnly. “I won't. Anything else?”

Well, they might as well get this out of the way now. “Stop agitating the mage woman.”

The human blinked in obvious surprise. “I won't keep arguing with Lymeia if it bothers you so much,” he returned at last, “but, Tiir... whatever she said to you, she's not as much of a danger to you as you probably believe. I mean, I wouldn't advise you to threaten to strangle her, but she's not seriously sitting around waiting for an excuse to torture people, either. Just don't kill or maim anyone and perhaps don't comment on her brain tissue and it should be fine.”

“Thank you,” Tiir said sarcastically, “but I'd rather not take the chance.”

The prince was staring at him again. “You're really scared of her, aren't you?” Tiir clenched his fists, but didn't deny it, and the human shook his head. “Fine, I won't pick any fights with her over this. But if she does anything else to upset you, let me know, all right? I'm not going to intervene if you don't want me to, but we could at least talk about it.”

Talking, Tiir thought snidely, was apparently the human's solution for everything.

However, all things considered, he supposed it was a gracious offer. Not one Tiir was likely to make use of, but thoughtful, and so he didn't throw it back in the human's face right away. “I'll keep that in mind,” he responded instead.

The prince smiled tentatively, but then stopped, a frown creasing his brow. “This,” he said slowly, “wasn't about her, though, was it?”

Tiir glanced away. “No, it wasn't.”

The prince was clearly reassured by his reply, but when Tiir focused his gaze on him again, there was something about the human's demeanor that made him anticipate another question of the sort.

Instead, though, the man shook himself, and said, “Good. Otherwise I'd be pretty disturbed, to be honest.” He paused. “So we should probably continue this when we've both had a good rest, but after this morning, I think I really need to say... you do know I would never hit you, right? I'd thought I made that clear now, but then, before I got out of bed today I thought it wouldn't even need clearing up in the first place, so I'd rather just ask even if it's weird.”

“Never?” Tiir repeated. “You can't honestly expect me to believe that.” He managed a menacing smile. “What if I made threatening your life a habit?”

The prince raised his eyebrows at him. “Oh, I don't know... but I guess I could always talk to you? I hear it's what you usually do when you're not happy with someone's behavior.”

Tiir narrowed his eyes. “I don't think that applies when that someone is one fist clench away from choking you.”

“That's because most of the time, when someone is threatening to choke you, you're not holding their family hostage and know very well that if they were going to hurt you, they almost certainly already would have,” the human said. “Look, if you were going to scare the shit out of me every day now, I probably wouldn't put up with that, and maybe if you took me by surprise, I would fight back and hit you without thinking, but what you can count on is that I'm not going to do anything to you after the fact except maybe ask you what the hell you were thinking, all right? And unless I believe there is a big underlying problem I can't deal with, I'm not going to tell my mother, either. Or Lymeia. This situation hasn't been entirely easy for me, but I have no doubt compared to you I'm having the time of my life, so I'm not going to even be angry even if you do something like grab my throat and threaten me. Just don't do anything I can't justify keeping from my mother and perhaps try to talk to me if there's a problem before flinging me around, and from my side we don't have a problem.”

Tiir silently absorbed this. He wasn't surprised, not by this point, but neither had he expected the human's tolerance to extend quite so far.

“What about the children?” he finally asked.

The prince blinked at him. “What about them?” he repeated, then grimaced. “I really hope you're not asking if I would hit them, because then I clearly didn't make any sense and should probably just leave it at a 'no' this time.”

Tiir made a sound of annoyance and looked away. “Not you,” he said impatiently. “The human they're with – would she hit them?” And he knew it was a foolish question, because he was well aware that that was what humans did – that they would hit even their own children and would most certainly not have any reservations about striking a bearer of the Divine Eyes.

Normally.

“No,” the prince said after a moment. “No, I really don't think so. When I said no one would harm them, I meant that very much literally.”

Tiir turned to look at the human again, wondering if he had been understood correctly. He knew the children probably weren't being tortured, but... “Not even to 'discipline' them?” he asked, his eyes becoming slits. “That's what you humans do, isn't it? 'Discipline' your children by hitting them?”

“You really always come across the right humans, don't you?” the prince asked, and it didn't sound sarcastic or even exasperated, but there definitely was a sigh in his voice. “I think it mostly depends on local customs and some other factors. In Salea hitting a child is something you're not supposed to do pretty much ever. The law is a bit vague on that point, so the upper-class didn't really adhere to the idea until some decades ago, and even now, if nobles in raising their children are seen relying on physical forms of discipline considered light, they're not automatically in trouble for that; but it doesn't count as acceptable behavior, and anything more than that would have consequences even for someone as influential as Lord Remdra. So it's not a common occurrence and I wouldn't be surprised if even many of the more zealous Council members would be reluctant to strike your siblings in anger if anyone could find out about it. No matter what they think about them, it would look bad.”

“One of your mages certainly didn't seem to believe so.”

“Yes,” the prince said, avoiding his eyes ever so briefly. “That was my mistake. I should have been more careful about whom I sent with them. I didn't think--” He shook his head. “But if he's still stationed near the children, he won't be for much longer, and he won't think of trying anything like that again – Lymeia will make sure of that.”

“The half-Gastark magician?” Tiir asked in surprise.

The human gave him an odd look and he realized he hadn't referred to her like that out loud before; but the prince didn't comment and instead said, “Yes. This is the kind of thing she's supposed to hear all about, and if there's one thing she hates, it's people who can't follow simple orders. She was pretty pissed when I confirmed that no one in the guy's squad had bothered to report the incident, so I really wouldn't want to trade places with any of them right now.” He paused. “But there shouldn't have been an incident in the first place, and I'm sorry.”

Tiir didn't reply. He couldn't forgive the human's actions, any of them, but he couldn't summon anger in response this time regardless. He had never expected an enemy to do better. He had never expected from an enemy that he would even try.

“Will you sleep in the bed?” the human asked at last.

Tiir shrugged, aware that the prince would take it as a yes but honestly not caring either way.

“Tiir?” the human said when he had blown out the lights and lain down next to him. “I truly am sorry.”

And Tiir knew that he wasn't just talking about the mage's attack on Ren and Karda anymore, and he also knew that it wasn't a lie.

And like all that humans might say or do, it could still never mean anything, never change anything, even though it did.

*

The day that followed, Tiir couldn't find it in himself to care about much of anything.

He tried to make himself, tried to go back to attempting to learn more about his enemies, but it all seemed so pointless. A selfish, disgusting part of him thought that it would have been easier had he found the little ones in such a state that he would have had to try and get them away from the humans immediately, even without any leverage. Almost certainly he would have failed, but he would have done all he could for them, and if he'd survived, afterwards he could have returned to the Headquarters to watch over the rest of his comrades. Ren and Karda would have died, and he would never have forgiven himself for that, but it might have been for the best. Everything he was told him that it was foolish to think the two of them weren't already lost, and every vein in his body screamed at him that there were others in need of protection that he had to think about – ones for whom there was still hope.

But he had seen Ren, held him, and if he hadn't been able to accept that he and Karda were as good as dead before, then he certainly wasn't now. Ren had been very much alive – not just surviving, but alive. Tiir's actions wouldn't be what changed that; not if he could help it.

There were no means by which he could free the children safely, though, and that meant any escape plans he might make at this juncture would be useless at best and detrimental to the children's well-being at worst. From the looks of it, there were few ways in which their position could improve, but so many in which it could become worse.

It was ironic. He had dreaded finding Ren and Karda hurt, but now that it seemed that they weren't, weren't even in any immediate danger that he could tell, he didn't know what to do.

Or no, that wasn't right. He knew exactly what to do: absolutely nothing. If he wanted Ren and Karda to live, if he wanted them to remain unharmed, he had to do absolutely nothing until either the children's situation changed or the enemy wanted something of him. And it was maddening – that he had to defer to the lowly human filth and hope that they wouldn't do what they did best, what they always did.

But he had no choice, and so he would trust just one of them. And if there was anything normal at all about the prince, then sooner or later Tiir would end up betrayed, but what did it matter? It made no difference what he believed, or whom, because there wasn't anything he could do to begin with. It was laughable that he had ever attempted to fool himself into thinking he had options, however bleak, aside from accepting that due to his failures, if not their lives, then at least Ren and Karda's freedom was lost.

No, it really wasn't a choice at all.

The prince left him largely alone for most of the day, which Tiir was grateful for even though he couldn't be grateful for much else. The man did ask him if he wanted to go outside again, but when Tiir shook his head wordlessly, he left it at that and made no further inquiries of the kind. There was still the dog to walk, but Tiir pretended to be indifferent to visiting the palace gardens even as he wished he was back inside, sitting on the bed or at the window, doing nothing. He did pet the cats when they demanded his attention, but so absently that he wasn't surprised when they soon wandered off to find something else to entertain them. When the sun began to set as he and the human got back from their third and longest walk that day and returned to the prince's chambers, already there was little Tiir would have rather done than gone back to sleep, but he had rested well enough the night before, and he wasn't tired, not really.

So he waited, until inevitably the prince sat down next to him on the window sill and cautiously said, “Hey.”

Tiir didn't even glance at him. “What?”

He could sense the human shifting uneasily. “You've barely eaten.”

“I'm not hungry.”

“Not at all?”

“You can keep your spleen, if that's what you're asking.”

“No, I meant...” The prince stopped and sighed. “Come on, you're obviously upset.”

“I didn't say I wasn't.” After a heartbeat, he added, “I don't want to talk about it.”

There was a long silence. “Look, we don't need to talk, but I'm getting really worried here. If I leave you be now, will you be better tomorrow? The day after?”

Tiir didn't answer.

Another silence. The prince exhaled slowly. “At least eat something.”

It occurred to Tiir how absurd this was. It was usually him who tried to coax others into taking proper care of themselves, not the other way around, and here was a human encouraging him to eat something.

He gave a strangled laugh.

“What?” the prince asked.

Tiir shook his head, but finally turned to look at the man. He seemed bewildered, and perhaps a little unsettled.

“Tomorrow,” Tiir said.

It took the prince a second to comprehend, then relief washed over his features. “Fair enough, I suppose. But drink some more water, maybe?” When Tiir didn't reply immediately, he went on, “Tea? Juice? Anything?” A pause. Then, suspiciously, “What?”

“You're terrible at being a human.”

“Thanks?” the prince returned. “Though I'd appreciate it if you weren't being terrible at keeping yourself hydrated. It's unhealthy.”

Tiir snorted.

“So,” the human went on. “Water?”

“Whatever pleases you.” Tiir narrowed his eyes. “After all, I wouldn't want you to 'force it down my throat'.” He kept his voice toneless, but from the prince's reaction, he may as well have screamed at him.

The man stammered an apology and started to get up.

Tiir looked away. “I didn't mean it,” he said. “Water is fine.”

So the prince paused to smile at him, if a bit hesitantly, then got up anyway to fetch him the offered beverage, and when Tiir emptied the cup within minutes despite not feeling thirsty, it certainly wasn't because he felt bad about hurting the human's feelings.

“There's a ball in a few days,” the prince said when Tiir had returned the piece of tableware to him.

“I remember.”

“I really should go, but if you'd rather stay here, I probably could find someone who's not Lymeia to keep you company.”

Tiir blinked, taken aback. “Wouldn't your Council be concerned?”

The prince shrugged. “Possibly, but at this point it doesn't matter – it's not so big a deal that they'd be justified asking too many questions. What's more important is that the Council members who stuck around will be at the ball.”

Tiir kept himself from grimacing. He should have seen that coming.

And it remained true that he wasn't eager to run into those humans unless it was to kill them; but it wasn't like they were any different from the rest of their kind – Tiir had seen hundreds like them, thousands, and he could ignore them for a few hours if he had to. They were nothing out of the ordinary, and certainly nothing he required protection from. Did the prince really think anything his wretched kin said to Tiir could surprise him, or hurt him?

He scoffed. “You don't need to coddle me.”

The prince stared at him. “Coddle you?”

“I told you before: I'm not fragile. It won't kill me if you don't constantly go out of your way to make sure I'm comfortable.”

“I know it won't kill you,” the prince acknowledged and bit his lip. “But that's not the same as being all right, is it?”

Tiir froze. “I'm fine,” he said. And at the human's doubtful look continued, “As long as the children are safe, I'm as fine as possible under these circumstances. I don't care about anything else.”

The human's expression turned mildly disbelieving. “You do realize that telling me you don't care about your own well-being is not going to make me want to nag you less, right?”

“Don't twist my words.”

“Is that what I'm doing? You'd obviously do pretty much anything to keep your siblings safe, but you don't seem to hold back on your own account at all. I mean, you attacked me, and you expected me to do who knows what to you, and all right, you didn't look happy about it, but you weren't about to speak a single word of protest, either, were you? You were just going to-- wait for it to be over.”

Tiir's lips curled. “What, you think I would beg a human to spare me? That I should if I cared?” He shook his head, still smiling darkly. “I'm no fool. I know I would be no use to the children dead. But you weren't going to kill me, and I heal quickly, in case you forgot. I was hardly going to throw myself at your feet and whimper.”

The human made a face. “I'm not sure I'd be less freaked out if you'd done that, anyway. You could have said something in your defense, though.”

“It didn't seem important.”

“You realize you're proving my poi-”

“Besides,” Tiir interrupted, “I didn't think you would listen.” His gaze slid to the side. “I wasn't sure you'd even agree to leave the children alone.” He took a deep breath, and went on with painful honesty, “I was just glad they wouldn't pay for my mistake.” Again.

The prince stared at him. “This,” he said finally, “is probably a bad time to ask if I can hug you, right?”

“What?”

“Thought so.”

It was Tiir's turn to stare. “I don't care what you do, if only you made sense.”

The prince peered at him. “Does that mean you wouldn't mind?”

“I...” Tiir broke off, not sure how to proceed. He had no idea how the human had gotten it into his head to hug him this time, but obviously that was what he was going to do if Tiir let him. And Tiir didn't mind, precisely, but it was still an odd concept for him that a human would want to do any such thing, and then there was the fact that whatever it was the prince was thinking, Tiir had a feeling he didn't want to encourage him in it. He didn't need comfort, or sympathy. “As I said,” he tried at last, “I don't care what you do so long as you don't touch me when I'm not paying attention.”

The human hesitated for little more than a second before wrapping his arms around him. Tiir went rigid for about the same amount of time, then relaxed, though he didn't quite manage to lose the stiffness in his shoulders.

“I'm sorry I let you believe I would hurt the children, even if it was just for a moment,” the prince told him next to his ear. “I should have made myself clear right away.”

Tiir snorted incredulously. “I attacked you.”

The prince shook his head. “It doesn't matter. This entire situation is a mess and I don't know how to fix it, but I promise I'll always listen.”

Tiir tried to laugh, but it came out rather weak. “Are you sure you can keep all those promises you make?”

“Very sure.”

Tiir snorted softly, but leaned forward for an instant. “All right. I'll keep it in mind.” He moved back again, and the human immediately released his hold on him and straightened. “I'll be fine,” Tiir said. “Just give me today.” At the earnest look on the human's face, he paused.

Turning away, he added, “And maybe tomorrow.”

“Of course,” the prince assured him quickly. “Take your time. I was worried – still am, really –, but I don't mean to push. Just let me know if you need anything.”

“I will,” Tiir said without glancing at the man.

When the prince had returned to his desk, Tiir focused on the scenery outside the window maybe for the first time that day. The sky was clear, the sun about to set. There was a faint smell of lavender.

Nothing about this was right, but then, nothing ever had been. It was silly to sit around moping because a human was being nice to him, of all things.

It didn't matter how it had happened, or if it would last. For now, it was real, and whether or not it was a betrayal waiting to happen, it was the truth that there wasn't anything Tiir could do about it. And if the children were going to be hurt, then being stabbed in the back by the prince wouldn't make it any worse.

He was no one to Tiir. Like any other human, there wasn't anything he could do to Tiir that would hurt him.

He just needed some time to remind himself.

Chapter Text

“Is this really necessary?”

“Well, of course. You really can't go to the ball wearing black, believe me.”

“No, I mean-” Tiir threw a meaningful look at the woman flitting around him. The human woman. He stood completely still, not knowing what to do if not make the creature leave him alone. “Is this necessary?”

The prince rolled his eyes. “No, I'm doing this for entertainment. I thought, well, if he doesn't want to ride any horses, he can just get his measurements taken instead – we'll have so much fun!”

“I wouldn't put it past you.” Tiir tried to sound disdainful, but couldn't help the edge that crept into his voice. He had agreed to this, but that didn't mean he had to like it. He could do without human filth touching him.

It didn't help that he was still avoiding having to be anywhere near the half-Gastark magician, meaning he hadn't eaten for much longer than he was comfortable with. He knew he would have to talk about that with the prince before the ball. Being amidst so many of his enemies and unable to do anything to them would be bad enough while sated; in his current state, he didn't know if he could stand it. Even faced with just the tailor woman, the urge to get away from her warred with the desire to kill her, and neither could compare to the need to devour her.

At least when it came to the prince, Tiir was used to his presence, and didn't think of him as just another piece of meat getting ahead of itself. He didn't know what he thought of the royal, precisely, but a convenient meal wasn't what came to mind most of the time. Being around him wasn't difficult – not for that reason.

It didn't mean Tiir was going to make a habit of tolerating arrogant prey.

Still, he let the tailor do her work, not so much as twitching unless he was asked to move. It wasn't like she seemed to be taking her time, or as if she was more irritating than any other human. At least she wasn't trying to chat with him – that was something. And if Tiir was honest, she wasn't even impolite; it wasn't the way she touched him he took issue with. She didn't do anything like grab his arms and measure their length without asking permission, as he had half-expected she would... though he might still have preferred that to having to communicate with her at all.

He just didn't want her near him in the fist place. And so he quietly went along with whatever she asked of him, figuring the less he got in her way, the sooner this would be over.

If the woman noticed the tension in his every muscle, she didn't let it on; but Tiir was fairly sure the prince had when the man started talking about everything and nothing – like that could distract Tiir from the fact that there was a human walking all over his personal space. If there had at least been a point to it, other than humoring a bunch of pretentious tidbits and their nonsensical customs. What did Tiir care how well clothes he wasn't even going to wear regularly fit?

“Are there any colors you'd prefer?” the tailor asked when she had taken his waist length and the prince had gone quiet for a moment – probably to get some air into his lungs. How a human could go on and on about unimportant nonsense to him like that and not even throw in an insult, Tiir would never know.

At the human woman in front of him, he mutely shook his head.

“Mh,” she made, quickly looking him up and down before returning to her task. “Nothing too bright, I don't think. His Highness said something simple?” Clearly she was only asking to be polite and didn't expect him to contradict that. “Fuchsia would have been interesting, but I'm leaning towards cooler colors. Turquoise or indigo, maybe.”

The moment she was done, he brought as much distance between her and himself as possible without waving his discomfort in her face. Only then did he offer a curt, “Thank you”.

“Yes, thank you, Veimera,” the prince joined in from behind him. Tiir knew he was smiling amiably.

“It's my pleasure, Your Highness,” the woman replied with a quick bow, her hair falling forward despite the loose braid it was tied into. “I'll try to have them ready by tomorrow.”

“I appreciate it. I'm really sorry about the short notice.”

At that, the tailor laughed. “You forget who you are talking to. So long as you don't take on the habit of waiting until the night before a ball to reveal to me that you are planning on wearing the same dress for the fourth time in a row, I shall consider myself blessed.”

“She did that?” the prince inquired, sounding amused.

“Oh yes – more than once, I am afraid. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No, that would be all. Thank you.”

This time accepting the offered gratitude without comment, the woman gave a bow noticeably deeper than the last and, with a short nod to Tiir, made her exit.

Tiir followed her with his gaze, now wondering how the prince knew her. The man addressed many of the servants who showed up in his quarters by name, so Tiir wasn't surprised that he was aware of who she was on a general level, but it didn't sound like that was all. Had the person she'd mentioned been the previous heir to the throne, or some other woman the prince was familiar with? Probably not the queen. Maybe that daughter of the high marshal's?

When he turned to the prince, the man was already looking at him. Tiir knew what he was going to say before he opened his mouth. “Are you all right?”

Instead of replying, Tiir gave him a look.

The prince's expression went from worried to sheepish. “Sorry. It's just... you really don't like being around humans, do you?”

“I can't imagine what gave you that idea.”

The young royal huffed. “What I meant,” he said, “is that I didn't realize just standing there for a few minutes would bother you this much.” A pause. Then, cautiously, “You seemed fine with Yalyst.”

“That was different.” It had been outside, for one, and less invasive, and it had not felt so terribly pointless, because even if he hadn't gotten much of what he'd been after, at least it had meant not being stuck inside this room. “Besides,” Tiir went on, and couldn't help watching for the human's reaction, “I wasn't as hungry then.”

“Hungry? But you just a-... oh.” The prince's startlement didn't last long, and he peered at Tiir. “It's that bad? Why didn't you say anything?” He glanced at the floor between them, then up again. “Am I making it worse? Should I back off?” Though he had begun rambling, he didn't sound very worried.

Tiir shook his head. “It's just... agitating. You're not making it worse.” Not so much that it was worth mentioning, in any case. “Although I'd rather you didn't try hugging me right now,” he finished drolly.

Though really, you never knew with this human.

The prince's lips curved into a somewhat self-conscious smile. “Sure, I'll refrain.” A heartbeat of silence. “Should I get in touch with Lymeia, then – ask her to drop by as soon as possible? I don't assume waiting until after the ball would be a good idea.”

“I'd manage,” Tiir said. At the human's incredulous look, he amended, “If I had to. But yes, I'd rather not.” He only hesitated for a moment before adding, “Thank you.”

The prince's response was a soft smile.

As the human went to grab a quill to follow his own suggestion, Tiir made his way to the window to see if he couldn't locate one of the cats. They seldom showed their face during the day, but sometimes they would pop up around noon to take a nap on or near the window still and let themselves be pampered while they were at it. The female had a habit of arriving during mealtime, and Tiir had taken to feeding it small bits of cheese and egg, and occasionally slices of meat he saved for it from the dog's breakfast – to the prince's great amusement.

For once, though, it appeared that both cats were off exploring, with no intention to drop by for a treat or some attention. Tiir hadn't really expected to find them sitting close by when they hadn't shown themselves all day, but it was still disappointing.

He kept looking for them until a servant had been given the note to pass to the mage woman, then he switched to observing the prince, who by then had returned to his desk and rested his chin in his hand to stare at a small stack of paper. Now he tilted his head to look at Tiir. “So, what do we do while we wait?”

“Oh, no work to do?” It wasn't much of a question, though, and Tiir smirked as he asked it. The human's eyes had all but glazed over when taking in the documents.

The prince grimaced. “No, definitely not. I need a break. No offense, but spending two days doing nothing but reading and signing these made me want to throw them into the next best fire place and knock myself out with the table. I'm glad we're back to talking with each other.” The man stopped. “We are, aren't we?”

“Yes.”

“Great.” The prince sat up in his chair. “We do have some more things to discuss regarding the ball, but we'd probably be better off doing that later in peace. So, what do you say? We could try to teach Lord Truffles to bark on command.”

Tiir blinked. “What for?”

“To see if we can?” the human offered.

Tiir snorted. “You must be dreadfully bored.”

“Aren't you?”

“Yes.” Tiir stepped over to the prince and, glancing at the dog lying next to its bowl half-asleep, asked, “How do you go about teaching a dog that, then?” And if he sounded curious, well. It wasn't like he had much opportunity to learn about dogs performing tricks under normal circumstances, and it was certainly a topic that might interest the children.

The human was obviously taken aback by his readiness to go along with his silly idea of a pastime, but grinned anyway. “Well, for starters, we should get him his favorite toy.” Tiir blinked as the human opened the desk's uppermost drawer to take out a small plush rabbit.

“Is there a reason you keep it there?”

“Of course. Truffles loves this thing, but the same was true for the previous one. And the one before. Can't leave him alone with any object that wasn't made to be chewed on. Right, Truffles?” The prince raised his voice at the last part, and the dog glanced at him – first lazily, but as soon as its eyes fell on the toy, the animal's ears perked and it lifted its head. A short wave of the human's hand, and the dog came running.

“No,” the prince said when the dog tried to get to the toy by jumping in his lap. “Sit.” The dog hesitated. “Sit,” the human repeated, a little more sternly, and the dog did, eyes never leaving the plush rabbit. “Good dog.”

The dog licked its lips.

The prince caught Tiir's eyes. “So actually I have no idea what I'm doing, because the last time I tried this it obviously didn't work or we'd have to find us some other entertainment, but the idea is to make him eager to figure out what he has to do to get the toy, and when he can't and starts barking out of frustration, we praise him and give it to him. After a while we add a cue just before he starts barking. I was going to go with just 'bark', but if you're more creative than me, go ahead – it doesn't matter as long as it's short enough that we can hope he makes the connection this time. Though to be fair, I'm not too good with timing the cue, so that might be part of the problem.”

“I believe the last thing 'Lord Truffles' needs in his life is more creativity,” Tiir said. He tilted his head. “So what you're saying is when you're bored, you steal your dog's toy, taunt it with it, and wait for it to get upset? And you want to convince me humans aren't depraved and pathetic? You make a very entertaining case, I'll give you that. Do go on.”

“Hey, if you're going to make this into a study of human behavior, you should have warned me beforehand. I could at least have stolen a pig somewhere.” A pause. “Though when you put it like that, it does make me sound pretty mean.”

“Don't worry,“ Tiir said, “you're doing very well for a human already. It's not your fault you're so pitiful – I'm sure you hold back from taking candy from babies, at least.” He reached out to pat the man's head in further condescension, then froze.

Staring at his hand atop the human's hair, Tiir wished he hadn't done that. The gesture felt too intimate, too familiar.

And the prince must think him quite the hypocrite for asking the man to not touch him out of the blue only to turn around and do exactly that to someone who had carefully heeded his request. Tiir couldn't even blame the prince if he was frightened, considering he didn't exactly have a history of initiating friendly touch with him, let alone any other human.

He pulled back his arm and, not sure if he should apologize or move away or both, let his gaze sink to the human's face.

He was met with a wide-eyed look. Tiir had expected that; what he wasn't prepared for was the lurch in his stomach.

He was about to say something, anything, to explain himself when the prince blinked slowly, his expression melting into something that certainly couldn't be described as 'frightened'.

Tiir wasn't sure if it that was a good thing, though, because at least he was used to humans trembling before him. He would have been happy to go his entire life without having one smile shyly at him, however.

Tiir was less in a hurry to say something now, but at a greater loss as to what it should be.

The prince seemed rather confused by his behavior. After a while, he cocked his head and said, “So is this me not being the one feeling awkward for a change? I didn't mind, though, if that helps.”

Breaking out of his stupor, Tiir threw the man a curious glance. “You don't even think it was rude?”

“Well, I guess, but I've not exactly been any better about this kind of thing, so it wouldn't have occurred to me to complain.” The prince shrugged. “As I said, it's fine with me.”

Tiir considered this, perplexed, but able to see the human's point. In any case, it was good to know how the man felt about Tiir initiating physical contact – but right after he thought this, Tiir chided himself for slipping into habit yet again. Normally it was important knowledge how the people around him felt about being touched, but not this time. Not with a human.

He wasn't planning to repeat this incident.

His gaze slid to the dog, who was still sitting, albeit restlessly, and back to the prince. “I think I'm just going to watch.”

The prince looked vaguely disappointed, but didn't press and promptly proceeded to do what he had described. At first the dog once more tried to get the toy by jumping into the man's lap and grabbing it, but when the item was always pulled out of its reach again, it soon started whining and then barking.

It crossed Tiir's mind that the dog, for all its fervor, was really a gentle creature. Right before going for the toy, there was always a moment of hesitation, and it didn't take Tiir long to figure out that it was slowing down so as to not bite the human's fingers. He could still see why the prince tried to keep it away from people during walks – it was huge and could easily hurt one of the palace's guards or servants by catching them off-guard and throwing them to the ground like it once had Tiir; humans were so terribly fragile. And easily scared, too; probably some would faint or soil themselves just because they saw it coming at them.

The prince's assertion that he was bad at timing the command proved true. It was pitiful, if amusing, to watch, and after a while Tiir decided to help him out after all. Unlike the human, he was perceptive enough that nine times out of ten, he anticipated correctly that the dog was about to bark. At first he still left praising it to the human, but when the animal seemed confused by this division of tasks, Tiir tried throwing the toy in his place. After the third time, he even added a “good dog” and a scratch behind the ears, which the dog misinterpreted as an invitation to press a stuffed animal soaked in drool into his face. Tiir flung the thing away carelessly, and it landed next to the door, under the table with the water basin. Unfortunately, the dog, not very bright and focused entirely on what it took as another game of fetch, ran after it and crashed right into the piece of furniture.

Tiir moved quickly, but not quite quickly enough. He managed to catch the basin before it could land on either dog or ground and shatter, and even the table remained mostly upright leaning against him, but from the waist down, the already-spilled water was soaking into his clothes.

He turned to the prince, who looked as shocked as the dog that had fled to its master's side. Tiir and the human stared at each other.

Then the royal threw himself down on the bed laughing.

Tiir shook his head, only mildly exasperated. The dog, meanwhile, as if exhausted from the scare it had suffered, trotted off to curl up on its pillow – though not without first throwing Tiir and the prince an accusing look each.

Tiir took some of the kerchiefs that had been lying atop the table and were now spread out on the ground, and made to dry both himself and the floor.

When a minute later, the half-Gastark magician entered the room without warning, he was still busy cleaning up the worst of the mess, and the prince hadn't yet quite managed to get his amusement back under control.

The moment the woman walked through the door, Tiir froze, and for a moment, he could see the royal try very hard to compose himself and look serious; but then he raised his eyes to the mage woman's face, and something about her expression apparently set him off all over again.

To his credit, the prince's second fit of laughter only lasted a few seconds, but Tiir was no longer in the mood to appreciate that. Nothing about this situation was funny.

“I'm not even going to ask,” the half-Gastark woman said at last, stepping past Tiir without sparing him another glance. “Perhaps next time I shall knock.”

“That would be the polite thing to do,” the royal informed her.

“It would? My, so that's why people always assume I do not care for them. Someone should have told me.”

The prince rolled his eyes. “Thanks for coming.”

“I live to serve. However, I commend you for not doing anything foolish. When there was no word from you yesterday, either, I was beginning to wonder if I'd failed to make myself clear.”

“You haven't,” the prince said.

“That's very fortunate. You may run along, then – since I'm already here, I'm sure Her Majesty would appreciate a visit from you.”

The prince looked uncomfortable only for a moment before smoothly saying, “I think I'll just see her at the ball.”

“Oh?” Tiir didn't need to see the mage woman's face to know that her nonchalant tone was deceptive. “It didn't seem like you were busy.”

“I was taking a break, but there's still a bunch of paperwork to go through,” the prince said with a vague wave towards his desk. “If you believe it's urgent, I can drop by my mother's study after.”

It was almost a credible excuse, but if even Tiir could tell that the man was keeping his gaze carefully fixed on the half-Gastark magician, then she herself also would. The prince was too predictable for the way he didn't so much as glance in Tiir's direction to not be a dead giveaway.

And indeed, the mage woman did not sound amused when she said, “And I'm sure you'll call Colonel Arsan from his duties because you could not possibly keep me from mine. Or perhaps the High Marshal?” There was a pause during which the prince shifted guiltily. “In that case, Your Highness, may I suggest the kitchen staff? We could be sure they won't intimidate your pet – why, it could even have a snack while it waits! I don't mind if it feeds itself. Just say the word and I'll be off.”

The prince winced. “Come on, that's not fair.”

“Of course, I apologize, Your Highness. Do tell me more about your paperwork.”

“So I don't need to read through it right now – I'd still rather go later. If Arsan is busy, I can just wait until tomorrow-”

“The Guild is getting impatient,” the woman interrupted. “Your sister has written about an incident with her research you might want to know about. And apparently, we're going to have guests by the time this mess with the New Moon Ball is sorted out – I suppose they thought ensuring security during but a small festivity was too simple a task for someone of my wondrous talent. At least they have the courtesy to arrive a day late, but 'tomorrow' would still not be early enough for you to inform yourself. Most likely Her Majesty will be busy preparing by then.”

“Wait, guests? As in, from outside Valasea?”

“From outside the country.”

“And Mother was going to let them attend the ball?”

“Her Majesty”- there was nothing respectful about the way the mage spoke the title- “sees it fit to let them stay in the palace.”

“What? But why?”

“Well, I did suggest an alternative, but your mother had concerns about the propriety of setting the Princess of Runa up at the nearest tavern. I admit there might not have been room for all of her attendants.”

“Wait, what? But isn't Runa-”

“Currently under the control of Gastark? Almost certainly. Their story is that their princess, following the counsel of her concerned advisors, escaped and, after being turned away by Geihlficlant, chose Salea as her refuge.”

“Does that make sense, though? Gastark is practically around the corner, and it's not like Runa and Salea are on the best terms right now. Why wouldn't she have picked a country further south?”

“In theory it's not that far-fetched. It probably wasn't a smart move of her to leave Runa, but provided she was frightened and her advisors pressured her, it's plausible. They might hope their King's position will be strengthened with his sole heir out of Gastark's reach. Of course, others would have nothing to gain from shielding the powerless princess of a powerless country, but everything to lose if Gastark takes offense. Even if someone was willing, I hear she has some of her clerics escorting her – you don't expect them to assure her of the good moral character of unbelievers, do you? At least Geihlficlant could be said to be simply ignorant of their god's teachings and their might would have made any risk worth it. Her entourage are probably not looking favorably on Salea, either, but she might have been counting on already having a foot in here.”

“Why would she-” The prince stopped. “Oh.” He sat up straighter. “Will Malyrei come by, then?”

“You will have to ask Her Majesty that.” The magician's tone was final.

The prince hesitated, clearly tempted to do as the mage wanted and seek out his mother for further information; then his gaze slid to Tiir. “I don't think-” he began, but Tiir quickly shook his head at him, and the man fell silent again, his conflict obvious.

Tiir wished he would just listen. How much clearer did he need to make it that he didn't need to be protected?

“I'm sure your pet can clean up after itself without you there to praise it,” the mage said in an undertone.

The cloth in Tiir's hand crumpled as he thought about how nice it would be to just tear out her throat.

But because he couldn't, he glared at the prince instead, hoping to convey that he was not helping.

And maybe the young royal finally got the message, because after a moment, he turned back to the magician and stood. “All right,” he said, though he didn't sound happy. “I'll go. Just... don't be an ass.”

“Never, Your Highness,” the woman said.

The prince shot her an unamused look as he passed her.

Tiir, meanwhile, averted his gaze, hoping to make it unmistakably clear that he did not want the man to address him, or defend him, or pay him any mind at all in the presence of the mage.

He could tell that the royal was taking his time as he made his way to the door, but if he was waiting for Tiir to change his mind and stop him, he was disappointed.

Once he'd gone, Tiir reluctantly looked up at the half-Gastark magician, not surprised to find the woman already watching him.

“By all means,” she said, “don't let me stop you from completing this most important task. I don't understand Lord Remdra's fixation on your other abilities when it's so hard to find capable cleaning personnel.”

Tiir wordlessly let go of the kerchief and sat up.

The mage smiled. “Now. Are you trying to gain my Prince's sympathy by cowering every time I glance at you?”

Tiir had fully expected the woman to blame him for her future ruler's actions – to accuse him of carelessly letting the royal put himself in jeopardy by leaving the palace in secret, even of trying to manipulate him and pitting him against her on purpose in some way. Still her question took him aback. The idea that he would have a human pity him for any reason was too absurd. To begin with, he had never assumed the sentiment of humans was worth anything.

He didn't have time to be perplexed, however. Bizarre as it might have been, the magician's train of thought was a dangerous one. “No”, he told her stiffly. When she didn't react, he added, “Do I look like a fool to you?”

“You have a bad habit of responding to questions with questions. If you want to convince me – and believe me, you do –, I advise you to try again.”

Tiir bit his tongue. If he let his anger guide his words now, he would have done better to not send the royal away. “You've made it very clear that your prince's opinion of me is of little concern to you,” he said, almost evenly. “Even if you hadn't, there is no point for my kind in gambling on the sympathy of humans. I'm not naive, so you don't have to worry.”

“For the sake of your brats, let's hope that you aren't. Because if my Prince were to try and protect them from me, he would find that he is a hundred years too early to keep me from my target. Ah, but maybe it would be a useful lesson for him, too.”

“Don't.”

“I'm not quite clear on this,” the magician said. “Was there an 'or else' in that or are you begging?”

There was only one correct answer to that. Tiir swallowed his revulsion. “Please don't.”

The mage held his gaze without speaking for a long while. “Let's say you're smart enough not to cross me,” she began at last, folding her arms. “Am I to assume, then, that you're so delicate I can't even reprimand you without having to expect another unsightly display that will trouble His Highness? Because, what – you can't help it?”

Tiir balled his fists. “It won't happen again.”

“Are you sure? I'm not here to have you waste my time with empty platitudes. So think about your answer very carefully: will or won't you repeat your indiscretion?”

Tiir hesitated.

Choosing either reply seemed like a bad idea, and he wondered if that was the point. If he answered negatively, she would be able to use the slightest mistake on his part to make him into a liar in the future, and probably she wouldn't have to settle for something too subtle: he was scared of what she could do, and he didn't know how to act as if he wasn't – not if his goal was to avoid angering her.

Proclaiming his inability to adhere to her wishes, on the other hand, would be no different from refusing her. It wasn't an option.

But he had to say something, and so eventually, staring at his fingers digging into the carpet, he ground out, “I don't plan to.”

“But you're not certain,” the mage surmised. “That's very inconvenient. Maybe I need to put more effort into getting my point across.”

Tiir looked up at her, alarmed.

The human rolled her eyes. “You're quite dramatic. Come here.”

Tiir did, ill at ease even as he inferred from the poise of her arm that like the last time she had given this command, she was intending to cast a spell for him to consume. Still he moved smoothly and, not wanting to invite further prompting, immediately came close enough that the magic barely had time to manifest before being absorbed.

In the first rush of power, all he could think about was how much he would enjoy killing the human in front of him – taking her magic and then using it to turn her into just another mess in need of cleaning up. What did she think she was to order him about, to disdain him as something beneath her? All it took was this trivial a spell from her and he could use its power to kill her a hundred time over – no, even half-starving, she was no match for him. Human filth. Vermin. He should rip her to pieces, rip them all to pieces, and have a feast while he was at it. The Voice remained in the back of his mind, but he could hear it whispering to him, urging him: to kill, to devour, to rid his comrades of another enemy – to do what he had come into this world doing.

It wasn't enough to drown out the fear, however, and the temptation to actually follow through lasted mere seconds, if it had ever been more than a hollow fantasy at all.

“Sit,” the magician said to him, as simply as the prince had ordered the dog; unlike the dog, Tiir obeyed immediately, falling to his knees at her feet.

This was what he had become – everything he had never wanted to be, never thought he could be, because, after all, he knew his enemies for what they were and would never fall for their ploys.

How naive he had been. There was no escaping humans. They were weak and selfish and vile, but the world belonged to them. He was not someone who could change that – not like Ene. And Ene wasn't here, and so all he could do was grovel before the vermin who tormented and slaughtered his kind. That was how worthless he was.

“To make this clear,” the mage said, “from the start I did not want you here. I've seen what you are capable of and I don't have time to hold your leash and train you, and if I still suspected that was necessary, I would already have had you removed as has been suggested to me not only by Colonel Arsan. My failure to comply with their wishes does not mean I am pleased with His Highness' interest in you, but I'll concede that you may have your uses, and if we must keep you alive, we might as well not risk Lord Remdra's ilk interfering with them. In simple terms, this means that so long as you behave like a good little monster, I'm willing to leave my prince to his fun. If you distract me from my work by being difficult, you will do so only once, but otherwise your brats are of little concern to me. Do you follow me?”

Tiir bit his tongue. “Yes.”

“It was perhaps my mistake to leave you to figure out the details of what is expected of you for yourself. The crows know I don't harbor any illusions about the likelihood of my Prince setting you clear limits beyond the glaringly obviously. So I will give you the conditions you will observe if you want me to continue to let you brats be, and afterwards perhaps you can cease your theatrics. You may ask questions, but if in the future you break these rules, any of them, you will find I'm not forgiving, or squeamish.“

The woman paused, and Tiir wondered is she was waiting for a reply, but just when he was about to give one, she resumed talking. All the while, her eyes never left Tiir's. “You will act so as to not trouble the Royal House. You will obey their orders, and the last thing you will do is give those who would side with Lord Remdra just cause to criticize Her Majesty's decision. Under no circumstances do I want to hear about you speaking out of turn in the presence of anyone aligned with the Council, or have you flaunting the fact that you would love nothing more than to maul them, though I'm sure they can guess. Since this is in your best interest to begin with, I don't expect it to be a problem.”

This time when she fell silent, Tiir was sure she was waiting for a response. “It's not.”

“You'll also refrain from showing contempt for your betters in front of anyone else. This is a matter of degree. Since you're posing as His Highness' bodyguard, no one will expect you to be entirely formal around him – that would seem out of the ordinary, and I doubt His Highness would be pleased. But there will be no repeat of the incident with Colonel Arsan, and I trust you have the sense to make sure there won't be any more complaints getting back to me.

“As for what you will do. I don't require you to always accurately judge whether any given idea of His Highness' is a good one, but for the record, there will be no more trips down to the city unless explicitly permitted by Her Majesty or me. With anything else, just keep in mind I'll hold you responsible for whatever harm may befall His Highness. For example,” she drawled, “if he breaks an arm, you'll be lucky if I break yours and not both your brats'. Understood?”

Tiir forced himself to relax his hands when he felt blood trickle down his palms onto the floor. “How do you expect me to keep your prince from doing whatever he wants?”

“Cowering seems to work terrifically for you, wouldn't you say?” the mage returned, her lips curving mockingly. When Tiir didn't reply, she went on, “But if you learn beforehand that His Highness plans to do something foolish and you don't think you'll be able to dissuade him, you may inform me – I'm sure you can find a way to do so without having to leave His Highness' view. Have one of the servants send for me if you must. And if I'm not available, taking the matter to Colonel Arsan or High Marshal Gareyn or even Her Majesty is an option. They all can make sure His Higness is reined in.”

Tiir stared at her. “You want me to spy on him?” Only after he'd spoken the words did he realize he was uncomfortable with the prospect for the most bizarre reasons.

“Quite dramatic indeed. I doubt His Highness will be offended, but you can tell him if it makes you feel better. Perhaps it'll be enough to ensure his caution – I'm not expecting any more outrageous behavior for the time-being, but as the war progresses, there's no telling what he might get into his head.“ A brief pause. “Oh, and if he must ride his horse, do make sure he doesn't go further than the pastures.”

The question of who was looking after whose animals here came to mind, but Tiir wisely kept his mouth shut.

He exhaled. “So if I follow all this, you will leave the children alone?”

The mage tilted her head to one side ever so slightly. “Well, I'm not going to ignore any blatant offenses that may not have been covered by this – even a badly trained dog should know better than to bite its owner. But essentially, yes.”

“That still leaves a lot to your personal judgment,” Tiir said, and then winced because of course it did. It wasn't like the human cared about being fair.

He almost expected her to laugh at him, and he certainly was prepared for the human reacting with irritation to such a foolish comment, but she only smiled, slow and unperturbed. “Yes. And the more useful you turn out to be, the less inclined I'll find myself to do anything that might compromise that. Who knows, maybe if I'm convinced Cursed Eye bearers make for worthwhile pets, I'll see to it that Lord Remdra and those who sympathize with him are kept out of this operation for good.”

“I thought your Council had already decided,” Tiir said, voice tight.

“On the matter of you and two Alpha Stigma bearers who make for valuable hostages, certainly. You don't think Salea is going to stop there, do you? Gastark is constantly searching for more crystals to harvest; we're going to interfere with them, and all that's been decided with any surety at this point is that we're going to leave the targets alive.”

Tiir didn't move. Cold washed over him and he couldn't breathe.

He had never expected Salea to follow a policy of leaving his comrades be, and the prince had openly admitted that his country's interest in the Divine Eyes hadn't abated, just changed shape; even so, Tiir had treated the matter as a concern for the far-off future. He had let himself be distracted by his anger and his grief and his worry for Ren and Karda. At the back of his mind, there had always been the possibility that the two of them were already beyond saving and that he would end up dealing with Salea as he would with Gastark: if he had managed he would have destroyed them, and if he'd failed, they would at least have thought twice about going after his comrades again – or so he had told himself.

But even without these things occupying his thoughts, he realized he might not have expected Salea to start some kind of organized hunt for his friends, and be it just because it would mean risking open confrontation with Gastark. Now, however, it sounded like they were willing to do exactly that. In the face of his more immediate problems, he had pushed the knowledge of the humans' aims aside, and as a result, he hadn't really thought about what it could mean if they went through with their plans.

It dawned on him now that that might have been a fatal mistake.

But then, what could he have done? Risked everything by trying to take back Ren when he'd had the opportunity, abandoning Karda in the process? Sacrificed both of them to ensure that he himself would be able to return to Ene's side and help her keep the rest of their friends safe? Even if he had been able to bring himself to cause the deaths of two people he was sworn to protect for the sake of all the others of their comrades Salea might hurt in the future, it would never even have been as simple as Ren and Karda losing their lives. Humans resented being defied too much for that, resented them too much for that.

Perhaps in the greater scheme of things, his unwillingness to abandon those two was also weakness, because how many other children was he dooming to suffer at the hands of these humans as a result? But leaving without so much as making his enemies pay had never been an option, would only make them bolder in the future, and he didn't even know if he could cause Salea significant damage or if attempting to do so would end just like all the other times when his enemy had been in the possession of Rule Fragments – or if it would even be a good thing should he try and prevail, when doing so would mean removing one of Gastark's very few obstacles for them.

Knowing he would not move to stop them even now did nothing to make the prospect of Salea hunting down his comrades any less terrifying. That they would not kill his brethren outright meant little.

The half-Gastark magician was watching him with an unreadable expression. “You must have realized this.”

Tiir didn't acknowledge her. He tried to take deep breaths to calm himself, but felt like he was barely getting air into his lungs.

“You're terribly pathetic,” the human said. “You should view it as convenient for you, really. You're not very effective at stealing Cursed Eye brats away from humans or none of us would even have this problem. How many do you manage to take in one piece when Gastark doesn't interfere – a third? A fifth? And now your lot can't even come out of their hole without risking death. I assure you most of those brats' fates will be much improved for our intervening. After all, even if our much esteemed researchers snatched some of them up, all we'd have to do for that to hold true is refrain from killing or excessively torturing the rest.”

Tiir wanted to crush her more with every word she spoke, but when she stopped and he thought about it, his rage fell to nothing in the face of the truth. What she was saying was little more than what he already knew: that because he was weak, he had let Gastark take his comrades' eyes. That because he had run from them like a dog with its tail between its legs, the humans had committed the same atrocities again... and again and again, with no end in sight. That Tiir could do nothing, was good for nothing, and that because of his failures, countless of his comrades would continue to suffer.

Even when they were right in front of him, Tiir could not protect them, and most bearers of the Divine Eyes lost their lives to the greed and fear of humans long before he or any of their friends could even get to them; especially now, especially this far north on the continent. Could Salea's involvement really make things worse?

And wasn't it true that, if they were successful, they would almost certainly take many children who would otherwise have been killed, if not by Gastark then by whatever other humans they'd have the misfortune to find themselves amongst?

Even if it was only at the whims of humans to whom they were nothing but tools, even if it meant they would be despised.... Tiir wanted his friends to live.

He wondered if that was selfish.

“If I am useful to you,” he began slowly, barely preventing the words from getting stuck in his throat, “none of them will be made into experiments?”

“That's a bit of a stretch,” the mage said. “But if we judge them to be worth the trouble, we'll go out of our way to ensure there will be no significant harm done, physical or otherwise. There are more advantageous sources of obedience than fear, and it would be a shame to have to put down a valuable beast because someone damaged it to the point where it can no longer fulfill its purpose – people do get carried away.” The woman's lips curled in what might have been disgust or might have been amusement; possibly it was both.

Tiir should have had to fight down fury, should have been one hairbreadth away from tearing her apart, but instead, he just felt cold. “Keep them unharmed,” he said, voice quiet, “and I'll do whatever you want.”

“Conditions? Really?”

Tiir stared at his fists, rigid. He knew he had no room to make demands, and that the human knew it, too. He could not fight Salea. But no more than he was able to abandon Ren and Karda or carelessly risk easing Gastark's way down the continent was it possible for him to accept Salea doing with those of his kind they managed to take captive as they pleased. Tiir had no idea how efficient the humans would be at hunting down and imprisoning his comrades, but probably they would be successful in at least some cases. And if Tiir didn't protect his friends, then who would?

But they didn't even need him to keep them safe yet and he was already failing them, and as the silence dragged on and he tensely waited for the half-Gastark magician to resume speaking, it became clear to him that once she pushed, he would take back his words and follow her commands to the letter anyway, because he could not live with the consequences if he didn't. And he would hate himself for it, knowing it was just a more roundabout way of being responsible for his brethren's deaths.

Why was it always like this? Why did humans always have to meddle with them? Why couldn't they just disappear?

He was painfully aware that this was as bad a time to get caught up in useless feelings as there could be, but trying to shake off the hopelessness gripping him didn't work. Never before had he been subject to the whims of humans like this, and even so, it was nothing new. Always, always bearers of the Divine Eyes were trapped between the conflicting interests of humans, and none of those interests ever meant anything but suffering for them. The humans would kill them or they would destroy them in slower, more insidious ways, and if they couldn't be stopped, they would continue doing so forever.

Obviously Tiir couldn't stop them.

He wondered how many would die at the hands of Salea. He wondered how many of those deaths would be quick.

He wondered why they had even been born if humans were just going to use them and throw them away.

“I can see my Prince will whine to me all day about having upset his pet. Is barking and cowering all you ever do?” The magician paused. “Look at me.”

Tiir forced himself to raise his head.

He expected to find annoyance on the human's face, but though there could be no doubt she was anything but pleased, her gaze was calculating.

“It would be easy for me to deter Lord Remdra,” she said. “A suggestion here, a string pulled there. But you're asking me to get into a dispute with the Guild. They'll have their own stakes in this, and while Her Majesty will be able to keep two brats from them, and maybe three or five, at some point, they will no longer be content having their interests pushed aside, and when that happens...” The human let the words hang in the air. “If they can show that their actions would benefit Salea, an impending war won't provide just cause for denying them a monster or two for study.” The woman fell silent for a moment.

Tiir thought he might throw up at her feet.

“I could negotiate with them,” the mage continued, slow and deliberate. “It might even work. But it would take time and preparation and unlike His Highness, I don't have the leisure to invest in pets on a whim. However, for something so pathetic, you kept Gastark busy enough, I'll give you that – so perhaps you have more uses than those of a barely-contained attack dog? Learn to control yourself and fix that erratic temper of yours, and when you decide to focus on damaging Gastark instead of your general loathing of humankind, I'll see about working to minimize whatever you think might distract you.”

Tiir stared at her. Then he shook himself and narrowed his gaze. “You want me to pretend you're different from Gastark?”

The woman laughed. “Ah, but we are,” she said. “You still have your eyes, haven't you?”

“As if you wouldn't have taken them already if you thought it would win you this war.”

“If I thought it would win us this war,” the mage said, “I would go out on the street and slit the throat of every other passerby. It's not going to, though, so there they are, running merrily about.”

“Humans,” Tiir hissed, unable to keep his disgust at their willingness to stab each other in the back entirely to himself.

“If you want to theorize about human nature, do find yourself a philosopher. I have no interest in how you justify your food habits, or your entire existence. I only care about how much of an asset you are to this country. So you can at least stop acting like I am about to go find and torture your brats for no reason at all. As for keeping them unharmed, I have nothing to add. So long as you behave yourself, I'm willing to humor His Highness insofar as it doesn't interfere with my work. If you want me to spend any significant amount of time advocating for the lenient treatment of monsters, however, I expect more than the barest minimum of obedience.”

“What exactly do you want me to do?”

The human gestured for him to stand. “Show you're more committed to taking out Gastark than to your own vanity,” she said when he did. “You're behaving like a cornered animal and while I'm sure that's close enough to the truth, it's tedious. You no longer have the luxury of not caring what humans think of you. Naturally there will be no more growling and snapping, and if you're wise, you'll go well beyond that in working to make sure people won't get sick of you. You can start by getting Colonel Arsan to support His Highness' judgment of your lot, instead of merely tolerating it. It might come in handy, and it would go a long way in convincing me you can control yourself.”

The human's haughtiness disgusted Tiir – that she would lecture him, talk like he was merely being petty, when her kind had done more than enough to deserve every shred of loathing.

But he let relief wash away anger. He could live with her demands – they weren't outrageous, were almost common sense in this situation. Only the specifics weren't very realistic. He debated whether he should speak. “It's not going to work,” he said at last.

“Oh? Why is that?”

“Because,” Tiir said, “your colonel won't be so easily appeased.”

“I never said it would be easy,” the mage said. “But you might find yourself surprised. At least make the effort before whining to me about it.” She didn't seem displeased by his objection so much as bored, but Tiir decided it was better not to push.

He could make the effort like she wanted. As long as he did, surely he would be able to buy enough time to find a better way to convince the woman of his usefulness. “As you wish.”

The human appeared satisfied with that. She moved her hand as though to dismiss him, then thought better of it. “One more thing. You will tell us all you know about Gastark.”

Tiir stilled. “Just Gastark.” He didn't phrase it as a question, because no matter what the humans thought, there wasn't one.

The magician didn't roll her eyes, but it was a near thing. “No one is going to waste any time trying to get you to turn on your fellow monsters. That's the only allowance we will make, however. You will be thorough in answering whatever questions Her Majesty has otherwise.”

“When?”

“Not until after the ball. And that's all the advance notice you'll get – be grateful I bothered.”

Tiir bit his tongue and bowed his head, face carefully blank.

The human smiled. “You're learning.” She walked over to the shelf and picked out a small book, purposeful but without haste. “You can go back to cleaning floors or whatever else monsters do to entertain themselves,” she said, as if the way she kept her back turned to him wasn't as clear a dismissal as there could be. “His Highness should return soon and we wouldn't want him to think I was being mean to you.”

Tiir stiffened at the obvious mockery of Ren's words, but when the woman said nothing more on the matter moved to follow her instruction. Halfway through the room, he paused. “What am I to tell him if he asks about this?”

The human shrugged lazily, and actually sat down on the desk, ignoring the chair right in front of it. She narrowly avoided crumpling the documents around her. “Use your own discretion. He'll get upset if you say too much or too little, so find a balance. As long as you don't think you can use my Prince to hide from me, you'll probably not dig your own grave by answering his questions.” She said it casually, taking her gaze off him and starting to flip through her book before she had even finished speaking.

Tiir went to pick up the kerchiefs he had left lying on the floor. He put the ones that might still be usable back beside the bowl and the rest behind it, then sat down next to the door as usual to wait for the prince.

For a while he continued to keep an eye on the half-Gastark magician, but she no longer seemed to pay him any mind, not so much as glancing up at him from whatever it was she was reading. Just like that, she had disregarded him as a threat. Not entirely, not independent from any future developments, but she had given her final warnings and decided that he would probably heed them.

Tiir should have been glad for the mage's lack of interest in him, and he was, mostly – but it was also grating to be so easily written off as of no further concern. Aside from as a tool, she had viewed him as something that could kill her in the blink of a an eye before, a double-edged sword that might always turn against her, and it had been somewhat of a consolation to think that however low the humans brought him, they would still be wary of him, forced to acknowledge that if he was a dangerous beast, then they were but sheep before him. Now it was like he didn't warrant so much as a second glance from his enemies. The notion was hard enough to stomach when he was severely injured – but he was perfectly fine, had just consumed moderately powerful magic even, and even so, more than ever before, he felt like nothing but a pet at the vermin's beck and call.

He wondered how much of the mage woman's seeming indifference was carefully calculated, intended to have this kind of effect on him – but the realization that she was probably acting with a particular goal in mind even in her seeming carelessness was only so comforting, because before today she wouldn't have dared.

Yet it was also true that her disinterest let him breathe that much easier. He could not fight her and he could not entreat her, but he could stay out of her way. He could observe her rules, and he would be glad to tell these humans all about Gastark, except for the part where it meant talking to them. He had no idea what he was supposed to do about that colonel, because the mage woman must really not know the specifics of their little conversation if she thought the man would just forget about it, but with a bit of luck Tiir wouldn't have the chance to speak to him again any time soon, in which case he might be able to come up with something else in the meantime to sway the magician with. She was straightforward, Tiir would give her that, and so focused on her aims that he might actually believe going out out of her way to make things difficult for him was very low on her list of priorities.

A knock on the door startled him. At first he thought the prince had returned, but when the door wasn't opened from the outside after a moment, it became much more likely that it was a servant. The mage woman must have concluded the same thing – for an instant Tiir thought she was going to simply ignore the disturbance, but then she put down her book and went over to the door.

“Well, that's not who I expected.”

“Miss Lymeia.” It was a feminine voice, tinged with surprise.

“Lady Livarys. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I'm sorry, I should have let someone know I was coming. Is this a bad time?”

“Yes, in fact. His Highness is currently with the Queen. I suppose you could wait for him here...” The mage did not sound pleased with the prospect.

“No, that's all right, I can always come back later. It would be very kind if you could just let him know that I'm visiting my father and will be staying for some hours, and that he is welcome to send for me or join us if he's got the time, whatever would be more convenient.”

“I'll relay the message. Is that all?”

There was a pause. “May I ask you some questions of a more, ah, political nature? My father is supposed to fill me in on he broader points and help me brush up on Runan etiquette, but diplomacy isn't his area of expertise.”

“And you think it's mine?” The half-Gastark woman's tone had changed from one of barely veiled displeasure to one of amusement.

“I think you wouldn't let anyone take up residency in the palace without knowing everything about them that could possibly be relevant.”

“Ah, fact-based flattery. Very charming, but don't exhaust yourself. I'll answer your questions if I think it will benefit you in your task. Just get to the point.”

The woman outside the door didn't let herself be asked twice. “The Runan Princess.... Princess Miru, is it? How big is her entourage? What kind of people does she have with her? Are they all under her command, or do they command her? Why do they all have to stay in the palace? It shouldn't be much of a slight by Runan standards to only permit a handful of her personal servants and an attendant of rank to remain with her, should it?”

The mage took a moment longer to answer than seemed ordinary. Tiir wondered if it was because she was annoyed by the wave of questions or, perhaps, because she thought the other woman's zeal entertaining, but when she spoke, her voice suggested neither. “From what we've been able to gather, she has seven people with her. Five servants, four of them female. Two members of the priesthood. The priests would hold significant authority, but officially defer to her – whether they really do is still in question. We could take three of her servants from her and put one of the priests out on the street without appearing terribly barbaric, but it's much easier to keep an eye on them this way. As they won't be able to freely move about the premises, they should have little opportunity to cause problems for us.” Dryly, the woman added, “Unless, of course, the girl's servants are really highly skilled assassins, in which case any casualties will be on Her Majesty and Princess Malyrei's heads, not mine.”

“Do you think that's likely?”

“I think it's likely enough that we should follow Geihlficlant's example and send the girl on her way, but alas, the person in this court willing to oppose our royal guest's staunchest advocate has yet to be found.”

“Yes, I'd heard Princess Malyrei has declared herself to have a personal interest in this. Princess Miru must have left quite the impression on her. Did she say anything to you about what she's like?”

There was a short pause. “Sheltered. Somewhat meek. A picture of propriety when left to her own devices, if Her Highness' assessment of that is to be trusted, the only notable exception being surprisingly frequent secret trips to the library to read forbidden material – harmless things, though. Abandoned religious scriptures and silly novels about the unholy love between ladies and their knights. Her Highness seemed to find them very amusing, and Princess Miru was apparently quite willing to let herself be incited to further mischief. I'm afraid they may be well-matched – I shudder to think what will happen if Princess Malyrei decides to take her under her wing.”

“I see. But they're not--”

“Crows, no. She merely finds the girl endearing.”

“It must have been at least three years since her visit to Runa. How can she be so sure their princess can be trusted?”

“By fancying herself a great judge of character, I should think. But it's true that it would be very odd if Princess Miru herself turned out to be an assassin or spy.”

“Because she's a noble lady of Runa. Yes, I understand, it would be outrageous – nothing her father or their clerics are likely to have orchestrated, or tolerated. But since they are no longer in charge of the country, would it be impossible for Gastark to use her that way?”

“If they did and she managed to make a fool of us all with barely any training, Salea would deserve to vanish off the map. It's far more probable she would hide a spy or assassin among her attendants, or even more likely, harbor one or several unknowingly. However, may I suggest you worry about your own duties and leave me to mine?”

“I'm sorry, that was rude of me. I didn't mean to appear to doubt your competence. But my task includes keeping out an eye for danger as well, and there's so much at stake and I'm left with so little time to prepare... oh, but I'm babbling, aren't I?” There was a pause. “And a little ridiculous. I would have been sent to you directly if my father or Her Majesty thought it was necessary. I'm so sorry. It seems I imposed on you for no good reason.”

“I did not expect the day would come when someone realized it. But considering I've not shut the door in your face already, I can't say you're worse than anyone else. For now I will convey your message, and if in a day or two you still believe it to be helpful, I shall consider giving you some of my time before our guests arrive.”

“Really? I mean, thank you! That would be amazing.”

“It's not a favor,” the mage said disdainfully. “I'm just doing my job. And if you decide to come to me again, do make sure to do so prepared. I'm not here to count foreign princesses' attendants for you.”

“I understand.” The visitor's voice was no longer filled with excitement, though it remained light and even. There was the rustling of clothes. “Thank you again. I wish you a good afternoon.”

The half-Gastark woman shut the door without replying, and crossed the room to return to her book with no more than the barest glance in Tiir's direction.

He stomped out the spark of anger before it could burn him.

Chapter Text

It wasn't until half an hour later that the prince returned.

The moment he stepped into the room, the mage woman said, “I'm told it's rude not to knock.” The whole time, she hadn't looked up even once from whatever she was reading; now she casually snapped the book shut as she focused her attention on her future ruler. “You took longer than expected.”

“Seems someone forgot to tell me my mother was in a meeting,” the prince said, as close to angry as Tiir'd ever seen him in regards to the mage woman.

“I didn't? It must have slipped my mind. I humbly apologize for my carelessness.”

“Don't give me that bullshi--” The prince cut himself off. He turned to Tiir, then back to the female mage. He hesitated.

The half-Gastark magician smiled. “Yes, better not upset your pet again. You will find I have been entirely lenient with it. But you're not doing it any favors by letting it forget its place. It should be prepared to lick the dirt off Lord Remdra's shoes if need be. What are you going to do if the Guild demands to take a look at it, as I have no doubt they will? You may think you can keep them away, and it might even be true, but you'd be a fool to. If you want them and the Council to agree to leave you in charge of all matters pertaining to Cursed Eye bearers, rather than have them put aside their differences and join hands to thwart you in the future, you need them to believe that you have a good idea of how to train the creatures.”

The mage woman put down the book and stood. “Pamper it all you want privately, let it talk back to you and have it play with horses and blissfully oblivious servants – what, did you think I wouldn't know? –, you can even let it get away with not even pretending to be grateful for your trouble, I don't care. But if someone, anyone of influence at all, tells it to jump through hoops for their amusement, I want it to do so without a single word of protest, until they tell it it can stop, and if they say, 'good monster', I want it to say, 'thank you'.”

“That's disgusting.”

“That's the price you'll have to pay if you want to continue feeling morally superior to Gastark. You may be pleased with having convinced the Council to not gouge the monsters' eyes out, but if you underestimate them, you will find that there are worse things than a slightly messy but quick death – and your pet knows it.”

“What did you say to him?” The prince's outrage on his behalf made Tiir uneasy, but at least he didn't think the mage woman would hold him responsible for it – for now. He tried not to tense.

“Nothing that isn't true. But really, do you think it needs me to explain how it is that our not outright killing its fellow monster does not guarantee them a better fate?“

“The Council agreed-”

“That your pet is a powerful weapon, that it will not operate without the right leverage, that the Alpha Stigma is too volatile to take any risks in that regard and that we should aim to surpass Gastark's approach. None of this is a guarantee that the Council will side with you in the future on what precisely this new approach should be. Not if your solution seems lacking, and certainly not if the Guild does not take you seriously because you insist on treating monsters like kittens. Dealing with the Cursed Eyes always has been their department.”

There was a long silence. “Do you enjoy this?” the prince asked. “Talking about them like they are nothing but tools right in front of them, expecting them to obey your every whim?”

The mage woman crossed her arms. “In case you forgot, Your Highness, my original suggestion was that we kill them – as swiftly as possible, like any other opponent. I did not plan to talk in front of them at all, let alone to them. It was you who wanted to use them this way, to keep them like pets.”

The prince flinched. “I.... That's not...”

The female magician's voice lost some of its coldness. “This is hardly cruel. So long as we tread carefully with the Guild, their interest will only ever be in a few of the monster, which I will see about, and if your pet can bend, I won't need to break it. But it can not be fragile, any more than it can flaunt its arrogance, or think it won't regret acting out. Don't step between it and anyone who would offer a reminder.”

Not awaiting a reply and still ignoring Tiir's presence entirely, the mage woman made her way to the door. Just before stepping out, she turned back to the prince, who hadn't moved. “I am to tell you that the Lady Livarys has been looking for you. She says to send for her, or join her and the High Marshal, whichever you prefer.”

“What?” The young royal whirled around, but before he could say anything more, the door had already been closed.

The prince stared at it for a while, before releasing a deep breath and turning to Tiir, who simply gazed back at him. “I... sorry, I shouldn't have... are you all right?”

“She just talked.”

“That's not really an answer,” the prince said, though something in his features relaxed. He walked over to Tiir, ignoring the dog following at his heels, and slowly sat down on the floor in front of Tiir. “What did she want?”

“Nothing.” He didn't wait for the prince to look at him in disbelief before correcting himself, “Nothing of consequence. I'm hardly falling apart, am I? So it shouldn't matter.”

“Tiir, please.”

Tiir took a deep breath. He really wasn't in the mood for this.

When he spoke, he picked his words carefully. “She wanted to make sure I know where I stand. It was a warning, nothing more – a clear one, but as she told you, little more than a reminder. If I'm not upset, why should you be?“

“She had no right.”

Tiir chuckled, but there was no humor in it. “She has all the right any human has ever needed.”

The prince shook his head, but Tiir didn't think it was in disagreement. “That doesn't make it better.”

“No, it doesn't,” Tiir said. “But it makes it entirely ordinary. And it's not like nothing good came of it. At least I know what she wants now.”

“And that's...?”

Tiir gave the man a sharp look. “To not have me instigate you into fighting with her, for one.”

“She's doing that all by herself!” the human burst out, then stopped. “That's what she thinks? She's really blaming you for my reaction to her being an asshole to you?”

“You certainly didn't seem to mind so much before,” he said snidely, and immediately regretted bringing that up. “No, don't – I don't care what you have to say about it. I'm not angry, but neither am I going to forget. It's not surprising that she would be suspicious. And it's no longer an issue for now, so just try to avoid antagonizing her in relation to me and it will be fine.”

“I... yes, all right. What else?”

Tiir shrugged. “She said she would hold me responsible for any harm you might come to, so I would appreciate you not taking foolish risks in the future.” It left a bad taste in his mouth that even now, he was following the mage woman's orders.

“Oh gods, this is still about the sneaking into the city thing, isn't it? What does she think you should have done about it if I'd insisted – gone to get my mother?”

Tiir just looked at the prince.

“What? Is she serious? I'm not four!” The human raked his fingers through his hair in frustration, then shook his head. “All right, whatever, I wasn't planning to repeat that excursion, so who cares if she treats me like a toddler. What more? Lymeia can't have had me delayed just to say that much.”

“She was more elaborate about it,” Tiir said, feigning nonchalance. “But that was about it. Don't you have somewhere to be?”

The prince opened his mouth, then closed it again. “I really would like to see Livarys,” he said after a moment.

“Nothing's stopping you.”

“After how upset you've been about Lymeia this entire time, I'm not convinced you're fine.” A suspicious frown. “You're not just trying to get me off your back, are you?”

Tiir's lips curved mockingly. “But whatever would I do without your prying concern?” He dropped his smile. “I can manage being around another human or two – that's all you need to know. Go see that woman, or have her come here, I don't care. I'll play nice and pretend I don't want to crush her skull.”

“Yes, that so makes me think it's a good idea to have you around people right now. Why not go on a bit more about how you'd like to kill someone I care about. No-- no, I take it back. You don't need to make a point. Gods.”

“Maybe instead of inviting me to share things you don't want to hear, you might consider minding your own business?”

“All right, so Lymeia pissed you off big time. Good to know.” The prince stood, and paced the room. Tiir watched him, not particularly concerned, though unable to enjoy the much desired quiet, as he knew it wouldn't last long. If he was unlucky, the human wouldn't leave him alone about this for the rest of the day. He wondered what he would have to do to get the man to understand that his meddling wasn't wanted. Maybe yet again threaten to kill him – it should certainly get it across to him that Tiir was serious.

Tiir suppressed a snort. It would quickly grow exhausting if every time he wanted the human to understand that he didn't feel like talking about something, he had to turn to attempts at intimidation.

Attempts at intimidation he knew would fall flat anyway. If anything, the prince would take them as a sign of desperation and let the matter go out of pity for him. And while it was evidently too late to do anything about the fact that he had a human feeling sorry for him, he at least didn't want to be reminded.

So even if it no longer meant a foolish risk, resorting to threats was not an option. But he simply didn't want to have any kind of conversation right now, least of all this one, and he would go to some lengths to make that clear. If it came down to it, Tiir could come up with a lot more ways in which he would like to kill this or that human, and nothing would be easier than going into more detail.

“Fine,” the prince said suddenly, startling Tiir. He returned his attention to the human, and found that the man had stopped some feet from him, arms folded in front of his chest. “How about this. I'll let Livarys and High Marshal Gareyn know we'll go see them in an hour. It'd be a bit rude to ask her to come here. Then we'll have tea and maybe something warm to eat. If you're still feeling up to it then, and provided it fits into both their schedules, we'll go and I'll introduce you to Livarys, and you'll try to think about things other than how it's a shame you won't get to murder her. In return I'll try my best to hold back from bugging you to death by asking you about Lymeia every other minute. Would that work for you?”

This wasn't what Tiir had expected. “You'll drop the subject?”

The prince grimaced. “For now. I really don't mean to be annoying, I just... I know how good Lymeia is at messing with people. And I just an hour ago realized this is about much more than just her being an asshole, and maybe I'm overreacting, but I don't have a good feeling about leaving this be. So, I'll probably keep waiting for you to actually tell me what exactly's going on. But I'm not going to haunt you with questions until you do. Does that sound all right?”

Tiir hadn't known how much he had expected this to turn into an argument until he felt the painful tautness of his muscles ease at the human's declaration. “I can live with it.”

The prince smiled. “Does that also go for what I said before? I mean, I could ask Livarys to just come by if you'd at least like to avoid the High Marshal. It would be rude, but not that much, considering she already offered. I could--”

“No,” Tiir said. “Don't bother.”

The human hesitated, but after a moment nodded. “Then food?”

“Just tea.” And before the prince could do more than look worried again, Tiir treated him to a blank stare – because this was bizarre –, and said,“I already ate.”

“Oh. Right.” The human gave a sheepish grin, seemed to consider the matter for a moment, and finally proceeded to ask Tiir which type of tea he was feeling most inclined towards.

Tiir sighed. He might almost have preferred an argument.

*

“Ecylan!” They had just entered the room when the woman whose voice Tiir recognized from when she had spoken with the half-Gastark magician jumped up from her seat at an elaborate wooden table. Tiir stood back as she hurried over to the prince and hugged him, effectively cutting off the man's attempt at a more formal greeting towards her and her father. The latter had not risen from his chair, and was following the proceedings with evident amusement.

Tiir pushed away the thought that well, at least there was quite a bit of tender meat on the woman, and surely the high marshal would also make for a delicious meal--

“Livarys,” the prince said happily, returning the embrace. He seemed only a little surprised by the exuberant welcome. “It's good to see you.”

The woman moved back and took the prince's hands. “I was worried you wouldn't have time to come when Lady Lymeia told me where you were.”

The prince laughed. “Don't let her hear you call her that.”

The high marshal's daughter smiled, wide and a little bit sly. “My, never.” She let go of the young royal's hands and turned to Tiir. “Hello. I don't believe we have been introduced.”

The prince coughed once as he looked between them, but other than that managed to not appear uncomfortable as he said, “Livarys, this is Tiir, who's making sure I don't end up on some assassins' blade any time soon. Tiir, this is Livarys, High Marshal Gareyn's daughter. She likes cats, so I'm sure you'll get along!”

Tiir restrained himself from giving the man a thoroughly unimpressed look.

The still smiling human woman walked over to him and performed what was obviously a formal gesture of greeting, though Tiir was unfamiliar with it. Moving the lower part of her dress sideways and barely bending her left leg, she inclined her head. “Tiir. It's a pleasure to meet you.”

It occurred to Tiir that he knew next to nothing about Salean etiquette, and had no idea what the correct way to respond would be. He quickly glanced at the prince, who smiled at him like there was no reason to worry about messing this up, but Tiir wasn't convinced. Offending this woman was one thing, clearly she didn't know about him and with a bit of luck she never would, so she herself hardly posed a threat. He didn't really worry about the prince getting angry on her behalf, either. However, when it came to her father...

Tiir pointedly did not look at the high marshal, but he was well aware it would take just one word from the man to the half-Gastark magician to do unpredictable harm. No, not even that. Even without knowing anything, the woman in front of him might mention something to the loathsome mage.

But after an initial flash of panic, Tiir realized no one halfway sensible would expect him to be cognizant of Salean court manners, only to not be what they would consider obviously disrespectful. It might mean he would have to more closely acquaint himself with this country's customs soon, but for now he should be fine so long as he acted as if he cared about being polite to this human.

So he dipped his head, a bit lower than she had, and murmured, “Lady Livarys.” A false show of deference was better – easier – than having to pretend to be happy to meet a human.

Tiir couldn't tell if the woman thought his greeting an appropriate one; nothing about her demeanor changed, which might be a good sign or simply mean her warm welcome had been falsehood from the start. “I hope I didn't inconvenience you,” she said. “Please, have a seat.” With a glance she included the prince in her last statement.

So Tiir ended up sitting at a table with three humans chatting merrily to each other, and that wasn't even the most surreal part of the experience. No, the most absurd moment was when after he had taken his seat and been about to focus on carefully avoiding looking at anyone or anything in particular for the rest of the evening, the oblivious human woman across from him held out a plate and asked if he wanted a cookie.

He tried very hard not to stare at her, or glance at the other humans. He knew they were watching him: one in the manner of someone who had concerns about him deciding that no, he'd rather have that arm instead, and the other like someone who was doing his best to look solemn while only steely self-control kept him from throwing himself onto the ground laughing.

Tiir couldn't decide which of the two was more unhelpful.

He shook himself, hesitated. Then very gingerly took one of the cookies. “Thank you,” he managed, and hoped that it came out more polite and less baffled than it sounded to his own ears. He pointedly did not look at the woman, or the other humans, and to distract from this and signal that he was neither interested in pointless chatter nor about to kill anyone started nibbling at his cookie.

Heavens kill him now.

“So,” the prince said after a long moment, and somehow managed to keep his voice mostly free of amusement. “How have you been?”

“Fine,” the high marshal's daughter said, and Tiir could tell she was smiling again, even though he did not look up from his cookie – he didn't plan to look up from or finish it for however long this would take. He had known sitting by as humans with varying degrees of knowledge of him spent quality time with each other would be loathsome and taxing, even dangerous, and it was all of that, but more than anything, he felt out of place.

The cookie tasted like chocolate and strawberries and Tiir would have rather chewed on mud.

“I spent the last weeks running all over the city, but now I'm finally done” the woman continued. “Actually, you should hold the petition in hand in a week or so. After speaking to the necessary people, I only need to decide now on how to best implement the changes without disturbing the system. I'm thinking about asking Nariei for her opinion at the ball, since I couldn't familiarize myself with all the laws that might be relevant. It should go over smoothly, though. I've even won over a few of the more influential nobles. Ah, but not too many from the Council – most just grudgingly implied that they wouldn't throw up a fuss.”

“That's amazing,” the prince said, his tone rather close to awed.

The woman laughed lightly. “Not at all. I've had a lot of time, and quite a few people who helped.”

“Still, I don't think anyone else could have done it. Not in less than a few decades.”

“I do believe that's an exaggeration, but thank you. It's true I expected to take some years longer.”

“Probably you would have,” the high marshal interjected, “if you'd listened to people and adhered to a proper sleeping schedule, among other things.” He sounded mildly disapproving, but more... happy and proud.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” the man's daughter returned, her tone one of false innocence.

“Ugh, Livarys,” the prince said, “I thought you had by now accepted the fact that people need sleep!”

“I'm sorry, after you and others kept repeating this claim, I went to Princess Malyrei and inquired about it, because being able to appreciate the beauty of cats like no other, she is clearly a very wise and noble person. And she informed me the human need for sleep is in fact little but a myth. She also said something about how three hours can perhaps be considered mandatory since it is not advisable to pass out from exhaustion next to a magical trap, but I didn't quite catch that part.”

There was a long silence. “I hate everything,” the prince finally said.

The other humans laughed.

“Don't worry,” the woman said, still sounding amused, “I'm looking forward to making up for all the sleep I've missed these past years. I'm just waiting for the situation with Runa to wind down a little and then I'll disappear in bed for a week. Or a month.”

Next to Tiir, the prince leaned forward. “You're going to stick around for this Runa business?” He sounded surprised.

“It's about time I started to actively participate in politics, and I've gotten rather good at handling people. It's a decent opportunity to make myself useful.”

“Sweetheart,” the high marshal said with a long-suffering sigh, “you have already more than made yourself useful.”

“Not in court, I haven't. And this is different – Gastark might be involved. What use will any social reform be to this country if it gets obliterated? I'm not having all my hard work ruined because some lucky assassin manages to get into the palace and kills everyone!”

“Well,” the prince said, voice filled with ill-suppressed laughter, “it's good we know your priorities.”

“Ah, well,” the noblewoman said. “How about someone else talks about themselves now? I'm sure I've made enough of a bad first impression for a day.”

“I would,” the prince said, “but I'm afraid I can't keep up. I've checked and signed a lot of official documents and... managed to get into an argument with Lymeia? Is that an achievement?”

Tiir tried not to wince.

“An argument?” the high marshal's daughter asked. “You're fighting?”

“Well, no, it's more like... I'm fighting and she's rolling her eyes at my perceived childishness? Yeah. So if you see her and she says anything, don't pay her any mind.”

Tiir only realized the last part had been directed at the high marshal when the man spoke up. “That sounds very ominous.”

“It's not,” the prince returned, a bit too hastily. “Just. I never know what she will say to you and Mother behind my back. And Malyrei, I guess, but Malyrei won't give me hour-long lectures or send spies after me. Yes, I remember that.”

“And I remember a little boy getting lost in unsavory parts of the city and almost getting trampled by a horse,” the high marshal said. “What have you done this time?”

“Nothing! Gods, I can't even vaguely complain about her without you taking her side. This is so unfair.”

“Maybe if you didn't have a track record of forcing Lymeia to jump in and save your neck...” The high marshal trailed of meaningfully.

“Can everyone stop going on about me sneaking out of the palace already! I haven't gotten myself into trouble that way in years.”

“In fifteen months, to be exact. We're very proud of you.” The high marshal's voice was flat. “Or how about that time you invited an assassin into your room?”

“Excuse me, there was a party, I thought she was a minor noble I just hadn't met before who got lost!”

“And accidentally wandered up the stairs, without noticing.”

“She could have been looking for the refreshing room!”

“In your quarters.”

“She said she was thirsty!”

The high marshal's daughter interrupted the conversation by breaking into giggles. “Oh my. You forgot to tell me that part of the story – I thought she'd at least pretended to be a new servant. What did Miss Lymeia have to say to that after she so heroically swooped to your rescue?”

“That I'm an embarrassment to the royal house and would follow shady street vendors into dark alleys if they claimed to have a puppy in need of a home hidden there. She also told me to 'stop hyperventilating, it's just a shallow stab wound, there's no need for dramatics' and when I'd calmed down – not thanks to her help, I want to stress –, she asked me what I was thinking to let myself be almost killed by an amateur. ...What are you writing down?”

“'Always ask assassins for their credentials first',” the noblewoman said. “I'm sorry, I know you are quarreling with her, but I can't let advice from such an admirable lady pass me by.”

“You're terrible.”

A laugh. “So, what are you disagreeing over?”

Unfortunately, Tiir had just given up dragging out eating that cookie. He contemplated grabbing another one, even though he had concerns about being able to keep it down if this line of conversation went on.

He didn't think the prince would ever learn to keep his mouth shut. At least this time he wasn't putting Tiir in a more dangerous position than he already was in.

Probably.

“Ah, you know, just the usual – her being an asshole to people and the like. I just wanted the High Marshal to know if she says anything, it's probably bullshit. How about we talk about something less unpleasant?”

The noblewoman hummed. “Like the New Moon Ball?”

“Yes,” the prince agreed, clearly happy with the change of topic.

Tiir, vaguely sharing the sentiment, slowly took another cookie, and told himself that this situation was merely abhorrent, not awkward on top of that.

“I'm looking forward to it,” the high marshal's daughter said. “It feels like ages since I last attended a large social gathering. You're going to be there, as well, aren't you? Will it be your first festivity at court?”

When Tiir realized she was addressing him, he had already made the mistake on biting into that second cookie. It was only a small piece that momentarily got lodged in his throat, but the coughs he dissolved into were violent enough that if he hadn't had everyone's attention as soon as the woman had abruptly decided to include him into the conversation, he sure did now. He didn't bother to check if the high marshal was looking at him, but the prince, being predictable, took to lightly patting his back and asking if he was all right almost immediately, and the high marshal's daughter went from startled silence to profusely apologizing to pouring him a cup of tea in a matter of seconds.

Tiir only took it because he wanted to be left alone by all of them – and to stop coughing.

“I'm so sorry,” the woman said, again, when Tiir's throat had mostly recovered and she retook her seat. “I should have waited until you had finished eating.”

“It's fine,” Tiir said. But of course that wasn't going to shut her up.

“That's kind of you to say. And please, don't think my manners are usually this bad. I'm afraid I'm a bit absent-minded today.”

She smiled at him, and Tiir would have had to come up with a reply if the prince hadn't chosen that point to reinsert himself into the conversation. “Because of the thing with Runa's Princess?” the man asked. Tiir wasn't sure if he was purposefully coming to his aid or just so happening to draw attention away from Tiir as a result of his genuine curiosity in the matter, but was grateful either way.

He also decided to leave the cookies be.

“Princess Miru” the noblewoman said. “Yes. It makes me uneasy. We don't know anything about the people she has with her. I was just talking with Father about this – we might be able to look into the background of the clerics, but her attendants could all be trained assassins and spies and unless they did us the favor and slipped up, we'd never know.”

“That is,” the high marshal said, “if they had Princess Miru's backing. If they didn't and we could be sure of that, it'd be enough to keep an eye on the ones she can't vouch for.”

“But we can't be sure,” the prince said, and sighed.

“No,” the noblewoman agreed. “But Princess Malyrei thinks we can mostly be. But I don't know...”

“Do you think your sister's judgment in this is reliable?” the high marshal asked.

“I... have no idea. I never asked her about-- about Runa.”

At the prince's sudden hesitancy, Tiir glanced at the man. He looked decidedly unhappy.

“Never?” the high marshal's daughter repeated. “Why?”

“Well, I mean, I guess I asked when she came back last time. But she didn't really answer and I gave up because she got all weird about it – you know, changed the topic, pretended she hadn't heard me. She only talked about Runa's magic in any detail. I don't remember what it was like when she first got here, but it occurred to me she'd barely ever brought Runa up when I was present, which is why I thought it best to lay off. So I know she likes Princess Miru and likes Runa's magic, but if you want someone to tell you how objective they think she's being, you'd be better off going to Mother or Lymeia about it.”

“Ah,” the noblewoman said. “I see, but that's too bad. I already asked Miss Lymeia earlier and Father spoke with Her Majesty about it as soon as Princess Malyrei got involved.”

“Unfortunately, your mother's tendency to be cryptic when she doesn't want to discuss a matter can be irksome,” the high marshal informed the prince, who smiled.

“You mean infuriating.”

“Yes,” the high marshal agreed, “very.”

“And Miss Lymeia was...,” the noblewoman began and paused. “Ah.”

“Vehemently disagreeing with the principle of the matter?” the prince offered.

“Essentially. It's not that I blame her for advocating caution, but she probably would have said the same thing whether the chance of Princess Miru and her attendants posing a serious threat to this country was one in ten or one in a hundred. It makes it a bit hard to tell how concerned I should be.”

“Well, Mother probably wouldn't listen to Malyrei if she thought it was a very dangerous idea? So that's something. And Lymeia didn't seem that pissed.”

“Her Majesty also has been able to convince the Council members who informally objected,” the high marshal conceded.

“Am I the last to learn of this?” the prince asked.

“Your mother thought you had other things to worry about and didn't need to know before the matter was settled,” the high marshal told him. When the prince huffed, the older man smiled and inquired, “Would you have disagreed with Malyrei?”

“Well, no,” the prince admitted and made a face. “I'm good at telling myself she knows what she's doing. But I would still have liked to know!”

The high marshal chuckled. “I'll be sure to let Her Majesty know.”

“Ugh,” the prince said. “You're terrible, too.”

The other humans laughed, and Tiir watched the three of them as they proceeded to chat and joke with each other.

Fitting with the impression Tiir had gotten of him at the Council meeting he'd had the displeasure to witness, the high marshal was the least talkative. He would make the occasional comment and temporarily let himself be drawn into the conversation when the other humans addressed him, but otherwise let his daughter and the prince dominate the discussion. Tiir wasn't sure how wary he should be of him. Now that the humans were busy talking to each other, the man was mostly acting as if Tiir wasn't there, and compared to the other Council members, he didn't seem too concerned about Tiir's presence in Salea or its capital. Though he'd shown and expressed some concern, for now he appeared content to go along with the prince's ideas, and if he shared the half-Gastark magician's sentiment in the matter, he was doing a good job at hiding it.

But Tiir didn't trust that he wasn't just biding his time – letting the prince think he was siding with him, but detesting to so much as have to breathe the same air as Tiir and awaiting a convenient time to retaliate. Or if not, almost certainly his tolerance was conditioned on the queen's, and on Tiir not stepping so much as a toe out of line. In the same vein, if Tiir incurred this man's wrath, the half-Gastark mage's reaction might be a lesser concern than that of Salea's monarch. In light of this, it was a relief that at least so far there were no signs of that.

Though then, Tiir thought with a twist of his lips and no small amount of left-over mortification, nearly suffocating on a cookie had probably not made him appear particularly menacing.

When it came to the man's daughter, Tiir decided probably it was true that he didn't have to worry about her. She didn't know about him, and more than anything, she was... polite. As the humans talked among themselves, sometimes she would glance at him and smile when he caught it, and to his annoyance, Tiir could see her intention. She didn't want him to feel excluded from the conversation, but understood from Tiir's behavior – and possibly the prince's – that he did not wish to be talked to, and therefore made no further such attempt.

Tiir found her presence about as bearable as the prince could realistically have hoped for, and as for not thinking about killing her, the truth was that Tiir's earlier anger had been short-lived. Even if he were to try to summon it on purpose now, he didn't think he would succeed, and not for the first time, he wished the young royal was less kind – Tiir could not hold on to his fury in the face of such genuine concern and care, had never needed to, and in its wake, a heavy weariness remained that Tiir had no idea what to do with.

But feeling this way was safer than being angry, and if he could get used to it, perhaps it wasn't such a bad thing. He didn't think he would ever learn how to endear himself to humans, didn't think he could bring himself to try, but he could do this – suffer their presence in silence, not needlessly aggravate them, and count himself lucky if they did not disturb him in turn. For Ren and Karda, for his comrades... to get back at Gastark, it was worth it.

After a while, when he felt confident the humans weren't going to pay attention to him again any time soon, he amused himself by trying to figure out whether it was true that the prince still did have a crush on the high marshal's daughter.

The young royal talked with her very animatedly, and listened to her with rapt attention. Whatever feelings he had for her, it was obvious at one glance that they weren't superficial – not that Tiir had expected them to be, with what he knew of the prince and how he'd spoken of the woman. Clearly the man admired her, and the affinity between the two of them was palpable. As they talked, they exchanged warm smiles and casual touches with great frequency.

But whether the closeness their behavior implied also suggested romantic interest, on either side, was hard for Tiir to tell. If so, he would have expected them to be less comfortable with having the high marshal witness what would then be little else than romantic overtures. Only in a few instances throughout the conversation had the prince displayed what could be said to be shyness, the most notable having been when the conversation returned to the topic of the upcoming ball and the noblewoman asked him to share the first dance with her. The woman herself hadn't appeared bashful about making the inquiry at all.

Not knowing much about Salea's social norms, Tiir didn't get very far in his guesswork before the humans reluctantly called an end to their get-together, but suspected he would have more than enough time to decipher the precise nature of the humans' relationship in the future. And while he didn't think it would be particularly useful information, it was a way to pass time, and to keep his attention focused on the humans without resenting every minute of it.

“I'm sorry,” the noblewoman told the prince as they stood, “I still have things to discuss with my Father before he has to get back to his duties. But probably I'll come to the palace tomorrow, as well, and then stay for a few days – I could come by your quarters before the ball and we could go together?”

“That would be great,” the young royal said with a grin.

The noblewoman smiled and went around the table to hug the prince goodbye.

When they were done, she turned to Tiir, lips still curved, and repeated the gesture she had made to him in greeting. “It was nice meeting you. I hope I didn't leave too bad an impression.”

Tiir bowed his head, hesitated. Then murmured a polite, “Not at all.”

Behind the woman, the prince bid a farewell to the high marshal that could be counted as casual, but was a fair way from a hug. As if noticing Tiir's eyes on him, the military man looked up in the middle of wishing the prince a good evening. Tiir quickly lowered his gaze and bowed his head to this human, too, and was glad when the high marshal returned his attention to the prince without reacting further.

*

“That was really uncomfortable for you, wasn't it.”

“Whatever gave you the idea?”

The prince rolled his eyes. They walked down the stairs in silence.

“But it was all right?” the prince finally asked. “As in... not horrible?”

Tiir snorted. “About as pleasant as it's going to get. I'll live.”

Unlocking the door to his room, the prince made a thoughtful noise. “You were worried about offending High Marshal Gareyn, weren't you?”

Tiir stilled. Then he crossed the doorstep without replying, dodging the dog's enthusiastic welcome and leaving the prince to deal with it.

Pleased to spot the male cat at the foot of the bed, he sat down beside it and carefully lifted it into his lap. He had yet to manage carrying it from one point of the room to another without it bolting half-way, but when it came to letting itself be picked up from the ground, it didn't seem prone to objections. “So what if I was?”

The prince sighed and joined him on the bed. Gently rubbing the cat's ears, he said “Look, I understand you being concerned about it, especially after whatever 'warning' Lymeia gave you, but it's not likely to happen. High Marshal Gareyn probably couldn't care less what you do so long as it's not dangerous to anyone.”

Tiir pinned the prince with his gaze. “I'm not gambling the children's lives on 'probably'.” Then he looked back down at the cat and added, bitterly, “If I can help it, that is.”

“Tiir. They'll be fine. Not even Lymeia would try to hurt them because you simply looked at her the wrong way, all right?”

Tiir let the man lay a hand on his shoulder, but didn't reply.

After a moment, the prince tried again. “Come on,” he said, switching to a slightly more cheerful tone, “it wouldn't make sense for Lymeia or the High Marshal to look for excuses to hurt you or your family. Even if they wanted to and had no moral qualms, it's not like they have a lot of time to spare. Also, they must realize at this point that if they did any such thing, I might never talk to them again. They won't take that lightly. So you can relax a little.”

“Maybe,” Tiir said, but didn't look at the human.

But if nothing else, the prince was persistent. “Besides, Livarys likes you, so now if High Marshal Gareyn did anything to give you grief, I could just complain to her about it and she'd tell him off for us!”

“Oh yes, I'm sure she thought me entirely charming.”

“You have a very dignified way of almost choking on bakery products?” the prince offered.

Tiir glared at him.

The young royal laughed, though his amusement soon faded into a soft smile. “But she's nice, isn't she?”

“You don't honestly expect me to agree, do you?”

“No, but I thought you should get the chance to. Because she is.”

Tiir scoffed.

“Ah, well, she'll convince you. So, would you like to discuss ballroom etiquette now? Because it could get a bit weird if you don't know the basics. But if you've had enough excitement for the day, that's also fine; tomorrow should still be early enough. Just not after – that would be cutting it a bit close. ”

Tiir rested his hand between the purring cat's shoulder blades. “Better get it out of the way now.”

The prince, who had been scratching the cat's chin, nodded and drew back. “Thankfully it's not a big deal this time, since you're new to court. If you attend any more festivities in the future, that's when it'll get problematic. Usually it's considered extremely rude for anyone at a ball to not participate in at least one dance – if it's hosted by one of the higher-ranking noble families or at the palace, toward the end there's even a dance reserved for the servants tending the event. Only Lymeia can get away with being in the room the whole time and at no point agreeing to dance with anyone – but that's just because most people are smart enough to not volunteer to find out what happens if you disturb her in her duties.”

With a sudden grin, the young royal added, “But sometimes when there are no likely security issues and Mother is feeling particularly evil, she will offer her a dance and even Lymeia is not so contemptuous of etiquette as to refuse. Anyway, just stick by me and if anyone approaches you with an invitation to dance, say not being from here, you're not familiar with the dances yet. Be as unspecific at possible, but really, there shouldn't be an issue.”

Tiir stared at the human. “What, everyone at these things just walks up to strangers and tries to get them to dance with them?”

The prince laughed lightly. “Well, not usually, it's actually considered a bit forward if there wasn't a introduction through someone else previously. So with a bit of luck no one will bother you. But, well, if someone's just standing around more or less by themselves and in addition to that happens to be very pretty--”

“Are you serious.”

“It's the curse of good looks. My deepest sympathies.”

Tiir gave the human a look.

“What, it's not my fault you're pretty.”

“It's your country, so if the humans in it start acting strange, that's your responsibility. My food does not usually go around complimenting my nose.”

“Well, provided I was busy running from you screaming, I probably wouldn't be thinking about it, either. If you'd attended some balls before, you'd see it has little to do with me or Salea.”

Tiir smirked. “Who says I've not been to any other balls?”

There was a long silence. “I hope,” the prince finally said, “you're messing with me. And I don't even want to know. Thank you for for being totally disturbing.”

“I try.”

The prince huffed and crossed his arms. “All right, so, for future reference: it's very rude to show up at any festivity just to eat. Especially if it's a ball.” Ignoring Tiir's snort, the man continued, “But since we're already at the topic-” and here he treated Tiir to a supremely reproachful look- “there'll be actual snacks served. It's considered ill-mannered to eat a lot from the same dish in the same hour or take the last piece or helping from anything, but otherwise have fun.”

Tiir carefully moved a finger over the fur on the one of the cat's front paws that wasn't tugged away under the animal, thinking that he was unlikely to touch any of the food the prince spoke of, but not feeling the need to voice this.

“There's also a variety of beverages,” the prince went on. “Wine being the most popular. Nothing to really keep in mind there except to always return the glass to a servant instead of putting it down – though, well, don't get drunk?”

Tiir sniffed, not even deigning to look up from the cat. “Don't lump me with lowly humans. You can keep your wine.”

“You have a grudge against wine?” the young royal asked, incredulous.

“No, I think alcohol is something for inferior beings to play around with. Your kind can afford to cloud their minds and dull their reflexes – it doesn't make much of a difference, anyway.”

“Huh. Oh well, I don't think you'd be a funny drunk, anyway, so that's probably for the best.” A pause. “No, wait, it's definitely for the best. Even if you were a funny drunk, you'd probably start making jokes about people's intestines or something, and after the first few times it would go from creepily amusing to just creepy really quick.”

Tiir gave the human a sidelong glance. “So what do you do when you're drunk?” he asked, now actually a little curios even as his lips curved mockingly. “Make up more horrible names for your pets?”

The prince smiled in the fashion of someone amused despite himself. “That'd actually be sort of great. But no, alas, I'm a mopey drunk – it's terrible. Once I went on a rant about how I couldn't get Malyrei to care about my favorite book and started crying. So let's hope none of the nobles showing up will urge me to drink more than a few glasses or I already apologize for whining to you about how it's an injustice there's no chocolate cake at the ball or whatever. But I don't plan to actually get drunk as opposed to moderately intoxicated at most, so hopefully I won't start sobbing about it afterwards!”

Tiir stared. He had seen drunk humans act particularly slow-minded and senseless, and in many cases even more uncivilized and violent than usual. But this just sounded... no, not even pathetic.

Just ridiculous.

“Why would you even drink wine at all then?” he demanded of the human. Because it hadn't quite sounded like the man was obliged to, and even if he was, he didn't seem particularly upset by it.

“Because it's fun, of course.”

“You think sobbing about cake is fun,” Tiir said, and if he sounded like the human had just revealed himself to be a bizarre creature that spoke a language beyond his understanding, no one could blame him.

“Well, it doesn't always happen... and I guess I don't only get mopey. It's just the most embarrassing thing I tend to do. Also the most funny thing – after I've had a handful of weeks to live it down, that is.”

Tiir looked at the man for a moment longer, then shook his head and went back to petting the cat. “Well, try to control yourself. You're already embarrassing enough as it is.”

“Thank you,” the prince said with emphasis. “How about we get back to ballroom etiquette?” Without waiting for Tiir to reply, he went on, “So, basically the only thing you'll have to do is greet people if they greet you first. Since as my bodyguard you're not technically a guest, I won't have to introduce you to people unbidden, though some may ask who you are until word has gotten around and rumors have been confirmed. Anyway, let them address you first. Afterwards, how to correctly respond depends on the type of greeting. You did fine with Livarys, actually – if someone greets you like that, just dip your head and respond with somethings reasonably polite, and use their name while you do so. But it's unlikely anyone else will use that form of greeting, so-”

“Why?”

The prince paused. “Well,” he began after a moment, “it's a very traditional greeting. Most people don't use it anymore regardless of the occasion. But also, ah-- it's a greeting or farewell performed by noblewomen that denotes equal standing to whoever it's directed at.”

Tiir looked up from the by now dozing cat and raised his eyebrows. “If that's the case, how did it make sense for her to use it?”

“Technically speaking, it didn't. It's Livarys' way of saying she lived half her life as a commoner and couldn't care less about social ranks. That, and she really likes courtly traditions that fell out of fashion decades ago.”

So the odd human enjoyed the company of other humans with senseless peculiarities. Tiir was neither surprised nor impressed. “Clearly, humans have too much time to waste.”

But the prince just smiled. “Maybe. Though Livarys probably wouldn't if she had a normal human sleeping schedule. And I thought she'd gotten better about it!”

Tiir hummed. “What is she so busy with, anyway?”

"Well," the prince said slowly. "It's a bit of a long story." Tiir waited patiently as the human appeared to deliberate the matter, after all he'd already heard not inclined to object even to a more long-winded explanation. "All right, so you know how she's adopted? She wasn't too happy with how that worked. The system behind it, I mean." Tiir glanced at the prince questioningly, and the man elaborated, "It can be ridiculously easy for nobles and some wealthy merchants to take in a child, and until not too long ago the child didn't get any say in the matter. Legally that's still the case, and there's little support in place for poorer people who want to keep their children but have trouble caring for them due to circumstances. And there are some other issues."

“She didn't want to be adopted?” Tiir asked curiously.

The prince shook his head. “No, it's not that personal. Or no, it is, but not in that sense. Her blood-mother died in an epidemic despite access to medical care and she's happy with where she ended up after. But when people try to use that to silence her, she'll tell them how her mother had to give up another child because she was not well at the time – mentally. And how she couldn't get the child back when she could finally leave the house again. Livarys knows lots of people with stories like that, and she almost got adopted in the beginning by some unpleasant people. So when she found herself in the position of having lots of time and money, she decided to do something with it to help others.”

A pause. “And she's damn good at it, too – the system was already changing, but if you ask me, she sped up the process by the better portion of a century. More than half the influential people who come from an at all similar background have rallied behind her and even the Council's carving in on the issue. So think about her what you will, but she's one of the kindest and most amazing people I've ever met.”

“Is she now.” Tiir's lips twisted into a smile that was neither friendly nor amused, his eyes flickering red. “So what has she done for bearers of the Divine Eyes?”

The prince opened his mouth, and closed it again. “That's a valid criticism,” he said after a heartbeat. “But most people don't even really know anything about what's going on.”

Tiir laughed mirthlessly. “Oh please. They know – they just agree with it.

The prince, of course, was quick to defend his fellow humans. “Most don't even think about it!”

“Then you're saying they don't care,” Tiir returned, eyes narrowing. “Your kind persecutes and slaughters us whenever possible and even your 'nicest' so called friends can't be bothered. Because what's another dead monster to them, isn't that right?”

“That's,” the human whispered, but broke off and looked away.

Tiir didn't give him time to recover and continue that line of conversation. “About greetings... you were saying?”

After a moment, the prince cleared his throat. “Just bow your head and either don't say anything or repeat their name with the appropriate form of address– or if it's a Council member, you should bow at the waist, but unless they're glowering at you it's probably not important.”

“And I would know what the appropriate from of address is... how?”

“Oh, right.” The prince laughed, the sound both self-conscious and relieved. “If anyone comes up to you, I'll take care of the introductions and give you their proper title, but the correct form of address is almost always 'lady' or 'lord'. What's important is what comes after – if they're introduced to you with their full name, it's their first name that should follow. If it's just their family name, then that's what comes after the regular 'lady' or 'lord', as they're the head of their house. I can give you a list of the exceptions, but really, no one is going to get offended if you don't have this down after just a few weeks at court.”

“Except for the high marshal, this is the correct way to address all the members of your Council?”

“Yes, if you don't count my mother – and me, I guess.”

“Then that's fine. I'll memorize the exceptions some other time.”

The prince nodded. “My mother is 'Your Majesty' of course. Bow the first time she looks at you that evening, don't meet her eyes, and if for some reason we get separated, which should not happen, but you never know, just go to her and stay in her line of sight. You don't even have to speak to her so long as it's clear she's taken notice. Or if somehow that's not an option, stick with Livarys or anyone else who could vouch for you – just in case Lord Remdra or one of his supporters tries to stir something up.”

“A witness that I didn't confuse the snacks with each other?” Tiir gave the human an ugly grin. “I must say I'll be tempted.”

The prince, this time undisturbed by his comment, patted him on the shoulder. “Believe me, the cooked and baked stuff will be better. But if for some reason you disagree, we can always go outside to catch some air – I'd even offer to show you where the magic traps at the outer wall are, but I don't think Mother would be impressed.”

Tiir snorted, and with a casual movement of his shoulders shrugged off the prince's hand. “I'll keep it in mind.”

The young royal smiled, then hummed thoughtfully. “What else? It'd be best if you could treat the Council members like you don't have an issue with them at all, regardless of how they behave. Just brush them off as respectfully as possible and let me jump in.”

“Fine.”

“I think that's about it. And don't worry about making a faux pas, it's not a big deal. The Council would embarrass themselves if they made an issue out of nothing, and I can guarantee you Lymeia won't care if you mix up the name of some noble or another, all right?”

“Would you stop bringing her up?”

Clearly noticing the tightness in Tiir voice, the prince easily acquiesced.

Tiir didn't glance at him again. Concentrating on petting the cat, he tried to not be too glum about this. He wasn't looking forward to what was, at best, spending an evening mingling with his food, but at least he had an idea of what he was getting himself into.

He had told the prince he didn't need him to hide behind, and he would prove it. When they were not an immediate danger to his friends, what should being trapped in a mass of humans matter to him?

Chapter Text

The day of the ball arrived quickly. Too quickly, if Tiir was honest, but then, even months wouldn't have been enough for him to shake off his discomfort.

He hadn't gotten used to the clothes the tailor had made for him at all, and staring at the mirror on the inside of the door of the prince's wardrobe, he still felt every bit as ridiculous as he had the previous evening when he had first tried them on. Perhaps it was true that by the humans' standards and in light of the occasion, they weren't conspicuous, but to him, they looked pompous enough. Made of light blue velvet, both shirt and pants had red flowers embroidered onto them in an intricate spiral pattern. The laces that could be found all over the upper piece of clothing were kept in the same color as the stitchery, and Tiir's shoes and the better part of his hands were hidden under fluffy frills.

Unsurprisingly, the prince's outfit of choice was even more gaudy. Made of red brocade, it included gold thread, a belt decorated with small but doubtless expensive gems, and heeled boots. The man had put the dog in an adjourning room to forestall any accidents with the fabric and kept a close eye on the window in case the cats decided to pay an early visit, in which case Tiir didn't put it past him to run from them.

The prince also spent a good twenty minutes painting his face, though the result was mostly subtle, safe for the kohl framing his eyes. Tiir was glad it didn't even seem to cross the man's mind that perhaps Tiir should do the same.

Finally, the daughter of the high marshal's arrived, which the prince was much too chipper about. She and the prince embraced before she'd even fully stepped into the room; then she walked past the other human and smiled at Tiir.

“Tiir,” she said. “I bid you a good evening.” Along with the words, she offered the same traditional gesture of greeting as the last time.

As he had done then, Tiir inclined his head in turn, though this time the movement was less tense. No matter how laughable his clothes or how absurd the situation, at least this exchange was probably safe. “Lady Livarys. I wish you the same.” It was easy to tell lies to a human, and even easier when he didn't feel particularly strongly about a subject.

Of course, it was a rare occasion that the mere thought of telling a human niceties didn't make him want to swallow his own tongue.

“Thank you,” the noblewoman said pleasantly and redirected her attention to the prince. “You look good.”

A smile. “So do you. I think this is the first time I see you wearing purple to a ball.”

“I wanted to try something new.” She spun around once, long dark hair almost grazing the other human's face. “So you like it?”

“It's stunning.”

The woman hid her laugh behind an ornate fan that matched her dress. “My, how kind of you to say so.”

Tiir wondered how long she had taken to get ready. For the prince it had been an hour, but her get-up spoke of an attention for detail the prince's lacked. It wasn't just the fan, or the earrings, or the piece of jewelry even Tiir could tell was expensive adorning her throat. Her hair alone had colorful threads and ribbons in the shape of flowers tied into it that must have taken someone the better part of the afternoon to place there. Meanwhile, as far as Tiir could tell, her face was not made up any more elaborately than the prince's, safe for her lips, which were painted the exact same shade of brown her skin was. But that still meant she would have spent a good deal of time on cosmetics, as well.

It irritated Tiir that if it wasn't for Gastark, these humans' biggest problem would be finding a bracelet to go with their eyes.

“Then do we head out?” the prince asked. Unsurprisingly, he was still smiling.

“I'm ready,” the noblewoman returned and glanced at Tiir, who in response stepped forward.

He trailed behind them as they left the room, and kept his distance all the way to the site of the ball.

*

In front of the ballroom, servants dressed in pale pinks and greens hurried about, welcoming the guests and attaching white blossoms up to the size of a palm to their wear.

Tiir endured the intrusion grudgingly, not failing to throw the prince an annoyed look. In his ramblings about etiquette, it wouldn't have hurt the man to make a mention of this. Tiir did not appreciate his prey fiddling at him.

The prince, himself already sporting a white rose over his heart, caught his gaze and smiled apologetically.

They went on through the door, the daughter of the high marshal's a step behind the prince and Tiir two steps behind them both. The room they entered was spacious, but already humans were everywhere – like a herd of cattle they stood about together, doing nothing of consequence, filling the air with their noise and stench. Neither the tranquil sound of flutes nor the sweet, heavy fragrance of perfumes could mask their repulsiveness.

There was no dancing yet, and the crowd easily parted before them.

They crossed the parquet floor at the center of the room, heading straight to where looking every bit as aloof as the last time Tiir had seen her, Salea's queen stood surrounded by a variety of courtiers.

“Mother,” the prince said, sounding happy to see the woman.

The queen waved off an especially elaborately dressed woman who had been trying to get her attention and turned around. “Ecylan,” she acknowledged, so casually as if she had known the exact moment he would arrive. Her gaze went past her son, and Tiir bowed low, ignoring the way his stomach had clenched.

There was a heartbeat of silence.

“And Lady Livarys,” the queen said then, and Tiir exhaled silently. “It's been a while since the court last had the pleasure of your presence.”

The woman in question bowed formally. “The pleasure is mine, Your Majesty. I thank you for your generous welcome.”

“It's still early,” Salea's monarch said,” but if the two of you want to open the dance, you may do so.”

The prince and his companion glanced at each other.

“We would be pleased,” the high marshal's daughter declared.

“Then go on.” The queen turned to one of the servants standing just close enough to be within easy earshot. “Inform the orchestra.”

The man bowed and hurried off, while prince and noblewoman removed themselves more slowly. Tiir followed them, raising his head only when he was no longer facing Salea's sovereign.

“Would you wait here?” the prince asked him once they'd arrived at the edge of a quickly emptying area in the middle of the room.

Tiir halted and nodded, not seeing the point in replying further.

He watched the prince bow and offer his hand to his companion, who took it with a smile, and together they walked to the center of the parquet floor they now had at their liberty. The flutes stopped playing, then started again, though this time a variety of other instruments joined in, creating a delicate, fluttery tune.

Tiir's eyes followed the pair as they performed a series of fluid movements that must have been practiced a hundred times; nonetheless, a look at the humans' faces made it unmistakable that they were enjoying themselves. The music picked up in pace as time went on, leading to more and more twists and turns during the dance, particularly on the noblewoman's part, and though she made no sound, her open mouth gave the impression of someone who was about to laugh joyfully. As for the prince, his lips were stretched into a wide smile, and the look with which he regarded his dance partner was one of blatant adoration.

Tiir glanced away. Without his fury to focus on, seeing humans this happy, this carefree... it simply stung.

The rest of the humans were standing around the pair, watching appreciatively, or respectfully, not so much as murmuring amongst themselves. Tiir was glad to stand in the front and not in their midst, as even like this, their proximity was like bugs creeping across his body, and although he kept himself carefully in check, a part of him hungered for their blood.

He attempted to distract himself from this by taking in his broader surroundings. The humans were a mass of vibrant colors, everything from bright yellow to a rich pink. Silver chandeliers hung from the ceiling, surrounded with some space in-between by garlands of white flowers similar to the ones adorning everyone's clothes. Further flowers were arranged in the form of bouquets throughout the room, and the hall's left wall was almost entirely a window, through which even from where he was standing, Tiir could glimpse past the humans at the dark night sky.

He would have given much to be on the other side of the glass.

At last the music stopped, and Tiir returned his attention to the prince and his companion just in time to see the two part and bow to each other. Tiir thought that the colors of their clothes clashed somewhat.

They walked back over to him, once again smiling, and the woman said, “I hope you weren't bored waiting.”

“Not at all,” Tiir returned blandly.

As many of the humans who'd been standing about started flooding past them onto the dance floor, bowing their heads to their prince as they passed him and in some cases murmuring courtesies, the high marshal's daughter waved for Tiir and the young royal to follow her past the masses to the large window. Tiir was surprised to find that it was raining, and relieved that in this part of the hall the humans around them were standing four paces away at the least, and busy sipping on wine or indulging in delicate cakes either by themselves or in pairs.

“We have about five minutes before people decide they've been sufficiently polite for the evening and are now justified in coming after me to chat my ears off,” the prince said.

The noblewoman laughed behind her fan. “Then we should make the most of those five minutes. How about you tell me about your pregnant cat?”

“How do you even know about that?”

“I have my sources,” the woman said mysteriously.

“Well, I hope Malyrei doesn't have the same sources or the Mouse Incident will pale in comparison to whatever she comes up with.”

“Don't worry, no one who likes the court to be orderly would tell her earlier than necessary. But is the tiny queen well?”

“I think so,” the prince said. “I hear she's all but taken up residency in the stables these past days. Hopefully she's not planning to have her young there – it'd make it hard to look after them in case anything was wrong. I've already had to trouble Yalyst to keep an eye on her.”

The noblewoman hummed. “If you need any more help, let me know. I could probably stay in the palace and take care of King for a few days if he gets in the way.”

The prince beamed. “That would probably be helpful.”

“I just hope he still likes me.”

“Most likely. Only Majesty takes it personally when you stay away for too long – usually.”

“That almost fills me with confi-- ah, and it's begun. Don't turn around, Lord Remdra is approaching you and it doesn't look like he's planning to wait for us to finish talking. Is he usually this discourteous? “

Tiir froze.

Before he could fully process the situation, the man in question already called, in a deceptively friendly voice, “Ah, Your Highness! There you are.”

The prince grimaced, then quickly schooled his features and turned around. “Lord Remdra. What a surprise. I thought you preferred conversing with my mother.”

“Your Highness must be joking. How could I not come greet you on an occasion such as this?” There was an undercurrent to the male noble's voice that told Tiir he was being looked at. And though he would have liked nothing more than to keep staring at the darkness outside and pretend this loathsome creature did not exist anywhere in his presence, it would have been too much of a breach of etiquette as to not draw attention.

So he, too, turned around, for once glad to bow his head to a human, because he didn't think he could have kept pure loathing from taking over his expression.

“I'm happy to have received your greeting, then,” the prince said, his tone also one of false geniality. “I hope you will enjoy yourself.”

Since it was obvious even to Tiir, the abhorrent noble must have recognized the dismissal for what it was, and simply chosen to ignore it. “The ball has just begun and already people are whispering about your new bodyguard, speculating that he must be from outside the capital, perhaps even from outside Salea. Anyone can tell he does not belong here. Are you certain the Lady Livarys should keep such lowly company?”

There was a moment of silence as the prince stared at the man, perhaps surprised by his forwardness.

Then there was a light snap, and all three men turned to the woman being discussed, who had closed her fan and was now smiling at the councilman. “I thank you for your concern,” she said sweetly, “but I'm afraid the company I keep is no one's business but my own. It pains me that in your eagerness to defend me, you have been most unkind to a fellow guest, and I think I shall excuse myself.” She inclined her head and turned to Tiir. “Since His Lordship seems to take objection to your presence, would you be so gracious as to accompany me so he can speak with the Prince unoffended by it?”

Tiir had a clear idea how he wanted to reply, but glanced at the prince, unsure. Only when he received a nod did he murmur his agreement.

He was uneasy following the noblewoman away from the two other humans, but not as uneasy as he would have been remaining with them. The way the councilman's jaw set and his face reddened at their departure lauded his decision a wise one. At best the male noble had intended to spend a good part of the evening mocking him, at worst his aim had be to provoke him into doing something ill-considered. Either way, staying would have made it too easy for any of the more dangerous humans present to find fault with him.

His only concern was that he'd rather not leave the prince's sight. He was supposed to be guarding the man from danger – in the eyes of the other humans present, but also in truth. However safe this festivity might be, and Tiir wasn't sure it was very safe at all, he could not afford risking any mistakes. If the young royal were to be harmed even slightly, Tiir could lose everything.

Luckily, the noblewoman didn't move far from where the prince was doubtless still being talked at by the councilman – though far enough that there was little chance of overhearing them even should they raise their voices, which Tiir didn't think was likely to happen regardless of how agitated they were.

A servant stopped between them and held out a plate laden with various sweets, from which the high marshal's daughter accepted a cake glazed with honey. “I'm so sorry,” she said as soon as the servant had hurried off again. “I don't know what he was thinking.”

Having an all too good idea of what the man she was referring to had been thinking, Tiir forced himself not to look in his direction. “It's all right.”

“I really don't remember him being this rude. At least he should know better than to come to me with his prejudices. And to try and ruin your evening--”

“It's fine,” Tiir said, this time with some more emphasis, as he had no desire to listen to the human prattle on about things she didn't understand.

“Yes, of course. I apologize, I'm afraid I got carried away. I hope my interference did not trouble you?” The woman's voice was no longer angry and indignant now, but filled with concern.

Tiir wished humans would stop acting strangely around him. Even not knowing the truth about him, what did she care about Tiir's opinion? Just as the stableman the prince was close to had no reason to assume offering Tiir his assistance could benefit him, there was nothing this woman could possibly want from him.

Tiir wondered if she just liked thinking of herself as generous.

...Enough to anger a noble probably more powerful than her, however? Unless she thought herself far superior to him, that wouldn't exactly be normal human behavior, either.

“No,” Tiir said at last, shaking himself. It was nothing. There was no point trying to comprehend the creatures, when they themselves probably hardly knew what they were doing. All he needed to know was that which was obvious.

Even so, the noblewoman had done him a considerable favor, whatever whim had prompted her to it, and on the surface, she had been nothing but gracious to him. Tiir did not like feeling ill-mannered.

“Thank you,” he added after a heartbeat, quietly, and even though her actions meant nothing – probably had an ulterior motive and definitely would be regretted by her the instant she found out what he was –, with one exception, it was perhaps the most genuine gratitude he had ever expressed to a human.

Appearing happy and relieved in equal measure, the woman smiled at him. “It was the least I could do.”

They stood in silence for a while as the noble finished her cake and Tiir pretended to be busy fiddling with the flower at his shirt – an apple blossom. From time to time, he glanced covertly at the prince, telling himself it was only to make sure the young royal was all right and not because it made him feel less uneasy to know he wasn't stuck in so unpleasant an environment all by himself.

“Do you know their significance?”

Tiir's attention snapped back to the high marshal's daughter, who was cleaning her hands with a damp cloth that she must have been given by another one of the servants. Tiir found it unsettling that he hadn't noticed one more human coming so close.

He followed the noblewoman's gaze to the flower whose petals he was holding between his fingers, and retracted his hand. “No.”

The human in front of him smiled and took a step toward the window. “Because there's no moonlight,” she said, “they are meant to be a substitute. It's believed they bring luck. The servants pick the exact type of flower someone receives at random or according to their fancy, and they are supposed to indicate a desirable trait of their wearer's as well as bring them a specific kind of fortune. For example,” she turned back to Tiir and gestured to the grand blossom adorning her own dress, “the camellia stands for integrity, boldness or loyalty. When it comes to bringing fortune, it has two opposing meanings: a steady, long life, or an existence that is glorious, but ephemeral.” She put the kerchief she'd been holding on a passing servant's empty tray, and finished brightly, “Let's hope it's auguring the former in this case.”

Curious against his better judgment now, and thinking it was at least something to focus on that didn't make his skin crawl, Tiir asked, “What about the apple blossom?”

“Ah,” the human said, re-opening her fan now that she had her hands free again. “The apple blossom symbolizes familial warmth, sagacity and-- well.” She raised her fan to her mouth, trying not to giggle but failing, and Tiir wondered if that was why she'd opened it again in the fist place.

“What?” he asked.

“I-- ah, it's just--” The giggles she let out this time were less bashful. “I think some of the servants might have allowed themselves a jest at your expense, because this looks a lot like a deliberate compliment.” She lowered her fan and explained, now in a calm voice but still with amusement dancing in her eyes, “A long time ago, apple blossoms were worn as wreaths by young women who had just reached marriageable age. Because of this, they can also refer to soft, delicate beauty.”

Tiir stared at the noble, trying to determine whether she was serious or if perhaps the prince had put her up to this.

To his ire, she seemed perfectly earnest.

“Are you telling me,” he said, “I am wearing the equivalent of some h—servant's written judgment that I am pretty?”

The noblewoman didn't bother lifting her fan this time as she laughed. “It could be a coincidence. I just wouldn't bet on it if I didn't want to lose money. Ah, but in terms of bringing luck the apple blossom's meaning is less peculiar. It's supposed to avert illnesses and injuries from those wearing it and their loved ones.”

Well, at least one part of the humans' superstition wasn't irritating.

Glancing in the prince's direction, Tiir couldn't help asking, “What do roses represent?”

A smile. “Gentleness, splendor. A future filled with joy and venturesome endeavors.”

Tiir considered all this, and decided that humans must be really bored. “Does everyone here know the flowers' meanings?”

The woman shook her head. “Most just know a few, and over the course of the ball ask the servants about whatever flower they or their friends are wearing. I'm just especially fond of-”

“Livarys!”

The noble in question turned in the direction of the dance floor, and Tiir followed her gaze to where a scrawny-looking woman dressed entirely in yellow was quickly approaching them. Her hair was adorned by small bright pearls that could mean she was especially wealthy or especially vain. Probably both.

“Nariei,” the high marshal's daughter said. She sounded surprised, but a smile was already appearing on her face. “I was going to try and find you later.”

“Well, you were too slow,” the newcomer informed her with a grin. Only then did she seem to notice Tiir. A strange expression crossed her face – Tiir couldn't quite place it, but it was safe to say that she wasn't pleased to see him. “I'm sorry, did I interrupt something?”

“No, we were just talking about flowers. This is Tiir, His Highness' bodyguard.” She turned to him. “Tiir, this is the Marquise Nariei Remdra, daughter of Duchess Vanerys Remdra.” The human paused for just a moment, then added, “Lord Remdra's oldest niece.”

Tiir didn't quite manage keep from stiffening, or to school his features as he quickly bowed his head, and after a moment it occurred to him he had also forgotten to say something senselessly polite.

The marquise glanced between him and her fellow noblewoman. Looked to where the prince and her relative were still engaged in parley. Then, in an exasperated voice, asked, “What did my uncle do this time? He's not trying to badger his His Highness into giving him permission to drown puppies for some obscure magic experiment of his, is he? Because if so, let's pretend I don't know him – forever.”

Tiir kept his face carefully blank. How nice that this human would have reservations about seeing his comrades killed if they were dogs.

But she didn't seem to know about him, and he wondered what that odd glance had been about. Certainly she hadn't been happy to find him with her acquaintance. Had her uncle made a vague comment, perhaps?

In that case, though, she should hardly have looked so puzzled at Tiir's reaction... unless this was all an act.

There was nothing Tiir didn't resent about being amongst humans, but having to second-guess everything he saw or heard was an especially loathsome part of it.

“No, nothing of the sort... I should hope.” The high marshal's daughter also cast a look in the direction of the man being discussed, probably like Tiir wondering what he and the prince were talking about. “He merely didn't seem in a gracious mood.”

“What is this, polite vagueness? Well, fine, I won't ask, but-” She focused on Tiir- “don't think I have anything to do with it. I see my uncle maybe three times a month and two of those we spend arguing about my chosen field of study. Apparently, aspiring to be a judge isn't good enough if I could be researching how to better stab people with air instead!”

Tiir hoped she wasn't expecting him to reply, because even if he'd wanted to, he wouldn't have known what to say.

Luckily the other noblewoman used the opportunity to ask the marquise about her studies, directing her attention away from Tiir. They chatted about inconsequential things for a while, and Tiir was already half-tuning out their words when the marquise revealed that she'd sought out her fellow noblewoman for a specific reason, catching Tiir's attention with her obvious reluctance to say as much.

“Oh,” the high marshal's daughter said and blinked. “What is it?”

The marquise squirmed every so subtly. “Well-- I wanted to ask--” She hesitated.

And was interrupted by the prince, who had evidently managed to shake off the obnoxious councilman at last.

The young royal coughed politely, and the marquise snapped her mouth shut and turned. “Your Highness,” she said and bowed smoothly, the only thing hinting at her abashment her suddenly reddened cheeks.

“Lady Nariei,” the prince returned, inclining his head slightly. He didn't seem concerned about her presence, though he did look at Tiir and the high marshal's daughter questioningly, probably catching on to the fact that the marquise had been about to say something of significance.

Finally the marquise had the other two humans' expectant gaze on her, and even Tiir couldn't deny some curiosity.

The human at the receiving end of all this attention, on the other hand, looked like she wanted nothing more than to slowly back away, and just couldn't find a courteous way of doing so.

Noticing this, the high marshal's daughter was quick to intervene. “Ah, have you tried the cakes yet?” she asked her fellow humans, and though the deliberate change of topic itself was inelegant and obvious, her tone of voice was perfectly casual.

“Oh, for the love of-” the marquise said. She looked at Tiir, then, longer, at the prince, and seemed to come to decision. “So in this company this is a little mortifying, but what the hell.” She pivoted, took a step forward toward the high marshal's daughter, and bowed gallantly. “Would you grant me the pleasure of this dance?” she asked. She kept her arm outstretched, not quite rising.

“Ah,” the high marshal's daughter made and brought her fan to her mouth in apparent surprise. Then she lowered it, smiling, and put her free hand into that of the marquise. “I would be delighted.” To Tiir and the prince she said, “Please excuse us.”

“Of course,” the prince returned, and nodded at the marquise when she gave a small bow before taking her leave along with the other woman.

When they were gone, the prince's polite demeanor fell from him as he turned to Tiir and huffed. “'A little mortifying'? 'In this company'? I was twelve. Can people just let it go.”

Tiir blinked.

Catching his confusion, the prince explained, “That was a very specific way of asking someone for a dance.” He crossed his arms and made a face. “She was saying it's awkward for her to make a pass at Livarys because of me. And I guess also because of you? Anyway, I just want people to stop bringing up my childhood crush. Is that too much to ask?”

Tiir looked at the human blankly for a moment, then to where the two women had disappeared in the crowd.

So that had been... a romantic advance?

Suddenly the unhappy expression on the marquise's face upon finding him with the target of her interest took on a whole new meaning. Certainly, it would explain why it had looked like nothing the glares he was used to receiving from his enemies.

Tiir tried to wrap his head around the idea that a human might have been worried he had been flirting with one of her kind.

He failed, and stared after them in pure disbelief.

“Oh, well,” the prince said, “at least Lady Nariei is gone. I'd rather not have Lord Remdra come back to keep an eye on his niece.”

Tiir tore his gaze away from the humans crowded around the dance floor to look at the prince. “What did he want?”

“Talk about horses, apparently.” The prince paused to take a glass of wine from a tray carried by a servant. Tiir hid a grimace at his choice of drink. “Oh, and he asked about Malyrei, but since I have no idea when she plans to be here, that was a very short line of conversation.”

“About your sister? Because they both study magic?”

“Probably. It's funny, they can't talk with each other like normal people without one of them – usually Lord Remdra – storming off after five minutes in a huff, but if it's about magic, they manage to hold hour-long discussions about the advantages and disadvantages of basing a defensive spell on water and glare away everyone who interrupts.”

It made Tiir uneasy to hear that two of the humans most dangerous to him under present circumstances got along so well, given the right incentive; but he decided not to worry about it for now, aware it would be pointless with barely any information. It would also be as bad a time to get worked up about it as could be.

To distract himself, and because he was honestly curious, he asked, “So you don't mind that woman potentially getting together with someone else?” He didn't even mention it being another woman, having gathered at this point that in Salea, such a detail was hardly scandalous.

The prince gaped at him. “Not you, too! I was twelve, all right. Livarys and I are friends, end of story.”

Tiir shrugged. “You did keep gazing at her like... what did your sister call it? A lovesick puppy? Don't blame me for being observant.”

“A lost puppy,” the prince corrected. He looked quite aghast, and Tiir was enjoying this a bit too much. “And I did no such thing!”

Tiir just hummed non-committally.

“Ugh, you're--” But the prince was interrupted when a colorfully dressed noblewoman approached him – as it turned out to ask about his opinion on the weather and the rise in silk prices.

And as if the other guests had just waited for someone to make the first move, more and more humans gathered around the prince from there. In a matter of minutes, half a dozen finely-dressed men and women had joined the conversation. Not much later, another two dozen stood around them, openly or covertly listening in.

Tiir by then had, as inconspicuously as possible, moved behind the prince, a position from which he could keep an eye on most of the gathering humans and should be able to easily intervene were someone to attack the young royal. Thankfully, none of the nobles paid any attention to him.

Even so, there was an unpleasant sensation taking a hold of him, like ants crawling beneath his skin.

The humans' conversation quickly moved on from silk prices to taxes – a topic the prince carefully did not comment on – and, finally, to Gastark. Tiir concentrated on keeping his face and hands relaxed, knowing at the same time he could do nothing to keep the tension from seeping into his shoulders.

Among the humans, wild speculations flew.

“You don't think they would send a merchant as a spy, do you?”

“I hear they sent a cook into Runa's court who--”

“No, no, it was a scribe.”

“I heard it was a musician.”

“Your Highness, today's orchestra...”

“Is the same as last time's,” the prince said, promptly but calmly, “and entirely trustworthy, Lord Enares, I assure you.”

“Yes, of course. But...”

“The were all born in Valasea and surrounding towns,” an elderly noblewoman interjected. “My granddaughter's friend plays one of the flutes. Very sweet child. And has a clever head on him, too. I can't believe he'd miss it if one of his colleagues was plotting his country's downfall.”

“Well...”

“I for one am more worried about the servants,” another, younger woman spoke up. “Not those of the palace, of course,” she added quickly, offering the prince a smile. “But some people insisted on bringing their own. I can't help but wonder...”

“Lymeia checked them all personally,” the prince assured her. “There's no cause for concern. I only hope everyone is managing their own households adequately.”

“Of course,” the woman said – haughtily, or perhaps just confidently. The difference was small, with humans. “We nobles will do our part to protect this country.”

“But Gastark's magic is so powerful,” a man cut in, his worried voice barely above a whisper. “Can we not... can we not reason with them?”

Tiir carefully did not narrow his eyes at him.

“I can't believe I am hearing this,” the woman who'd just spoken of protecting her country said immediately. “Do you think they'd agree to just leave us alone? And follow through?”

“Well, we could... we could offer them money. And our support. It would be easier for them than going to war with us.”

“You talk like we've already lost,” another man grunted.

Almost simultaneously, the woman who'd already expressed her displeasure exclaimed, “Damn right it would be easier for them! You want us to just toss our country at their feet. We have Her Majesty and Princess Malyrei, not to mention the Guild. We can easily make them regret the day they ever laid eyes on the Central Continent, if it comes to that!” Then she paused and her face became very, very red as she slowly turned to look at the prince. “A-and we have Your Highness, of course,” she added belatedly.

“That's all right,” the prince said, no doubt with an easy smile. “It's true that warfare isn't exactly my specialty.”

Some of the nobles laughed nervously, and several proceeded to heap compliments on the prince, particularly the woman who'd originally made the faux-pas. The prince gracefully accepted the senseless flattery, but was clearly relieved when he'd endured it for long enough that he could ask a passing noblewoman for a dance without appearing to flee, or to have taken grave offense. It was subtle: a suspiciously slow exhale, a change in the way he held himself when he laughed, a tone of voice that was just a little bit lighter. Tiir didn't think anyone else noticed, though they must have realized the prince, like they themselves, had been put into an awkward position by the course of the conversation.

Again Tiir stood by as the prince moved onto the dance floor. The woman he was with this time was older than his original companion by at least a decade. She wore an elaborate red and yellow dress, and a constant polite smile, which was reflected on the prince's features.

Tiir refrained from making a face at the usual artifice of humans, and tried to ignore that he was once again standing in-midst a sea of enemies – if this time with more of a distance between himself and them, as the area around those dancing had cleared considerably, many of the humans now crowding around the queen at the other end of the room. He let his gaze wander in search for something else to focus on. It landed on the high marshal's daughter and her flashily-dressed companion, who, evidently, were still dancing. These two seemed to be genuinely enjoying themselves, as far as you could ever tell with humans. They laughed a lot, and whispered to each other, and had eyes for little going on around them.

Aside from their get-up, they didn't stand out much. There were others dancing in a similarly intimate fashion, including another pair of women, these ones much older, and two men whose age ranged somewhere in-between.

The music picked up, and several of the humans standing about grabbed the hands of someone they'd been talking to and pulled them to join the dance, laughing.

Tiir would have liked to be anywhere else.

“So you're His Highness' bodyguard, huh?”

Tiir stiffened, and slowly turned his head to find a man looking some years older than the prince watching him with blatant curiosity. He was every bit as extravagantly dressed as most of the humans: clad in dark blues and pale greens embroidered with silver thread, sleek black hair arranged in a complicated braid, and a fan decorated with orange and blue flowers in hand. Tiir would not have noticed him in a crowd, but something about the man set him immediately on edge.

It might have been the fact that even though he was not hungry, he knew immediately that the human in front of him would make quite the meal. The probability that he was just an ordinary noble wasn't particularly high.

“Ah, I'm sorry for being rude,” the man said with a bright smile. “These formal events are just so boring, I can't help jumping at the chance to talk to someone intriguing. My name is Cleydres Vanrien. Might I inquire yours?”

Tiir, certain that he did not want to engage in parley with this human, but also very much aware that he would be better off not offending anyone, delayed by glancing at the prince. He was, after all, supposed to ensure the young royal's safety.

It was, sadly, not a good excuse to remain silent infinitely. “Surely my name is of no consequence to you,” he said at last, quietly.

And his reply of choice was perhaps... not polite, exactly; but as far as brushing off chatty prey went, it was a more than civil approach.

Too civil, apparently, because the human laughed. “My, aren't we humble! Well, then, mysterious stranger, I can see you're very absorbed in your duty, but isn't it dreadfully dull to just follow around His Highness all evening, watching him have all the fun? You could at least make eyes at some pretty noblewomen and have them lining up to drag you to join the Prince on the dance floor. Has no lady caught your eye yet?”

The talkative humans always were the worst. Tiir carefully did not wrinkle his nose as he answered with a curt, “No.”

“Oh? Well, that's a shame – I could dance with you, if you so wished!” And the human actually batted his eyelashes at him.

Tiir still didn't wrinkle his nose, but he did take a small step to the left, away from the man. And though his face remained mostly blank, Tiir was very much disturbed, because this was his food.

He looked between the very forward tidbit and the prince, but the former was smiling radiantly at him, waiting for an answer, and the latter barely threw a look now and then in Tiir's direction and was currently focused on something his dance partner was saying.

Intervention came from an unlikely angle.

“Cleydres.” Tiir froze, and slowly turned his head to look at the half-Gastark magician, who walked straight past him to stand in front of the man she'd addressed. She crossed her arms, and her voice was ice. “I wasn't aware the Guild had business here.”

A shiver ran up Tiir's spine.

The male human... the Guild member laughed again, the joyful sound in itself a mockery as he clapped his hands. “Ah, the formidable Lymeia! It's been so long. How has life been treating you? There's no business, though. Why, never! I was just passing by, talking to people, sticking my nose in others' affairs for my personal amusement, you know how it goes, and suddenly I was mere steps away from His Highness' infamous new bodyguard and I was so curious... it's dreadfully difficult getting information from the palace these days, you understand.”

“I will relay the message to Her Majesty,” the half-Gastark magician said without inflection. “Leave.”

“Aw, but I wanted to dance! You're just no fun.” The man's conversational partner didn't reply, or move, and after a moment, he sighed dramatically. “All right, all right. I shall see you soon, then!” He turned from the mage woman to Tiir, a grin on his face. “Another time, yes?” He waved cheerfully, not paying any heed to Tiir's still deliberately blank expression or the dozen of his fellow humans who had taken note something of significance was occurring and were watching the spectacle from a small distance, no doubt wondering what the source of the dispute was.

Among the humans whose attention had been drawn was the prince, who'd either excused himself from his dance partner to see what was going on or had parted with her as a matter of course when the music had changed some time during the last minute. He slowly walked over to Tiir and the mage woman, joining them in watching the cause of the disturbance slipping through the crowd with a bounce in his step. “What in the-”

“I warned you,” the half-Gastark magician interrupted him. “Now do refrain from turning this into any more of a scene. Act like nothing's happened. I will go see if I can get a private word with Her Majesty.” She left in the opposite direction of the man she'd chased off.

However, she'd barely stepped away from them when there was a loud bang, and everyone whirled around to the source of the noise.

The double-door to the ballroom had been thrown wide open. In the door frame, there stood a woman whose put-up hair and thin blue dress were dripping water all over the floor. She held her head high, however, not seeming to care about her messy appearance. The shorter hair and and less fancy clothes of the person in her arms were just as wet – this one wasn't moving.

“I'm sorry to interrupt,” the woman in the doorway announced in the silence that had fallen over the hall, not sounding sorry at all. “But I need the royal physicians.”

After a long moment in which no one even breathed audibly, whispers broke out.

“Someone put a leash on her.” Tiir's head snapped to the half-Gastark magician who was suddenly standing right next to the prince again, looking decidedly unamused.

The queen was making her way through the crowd at a steady pace, people all but jumping out of her way in their haste to make sure not to hinder her step.

Finally, she stopped in front of the newcomer, and simply asked, “All of them?” Her voice effortlessly carried through the once again silent ballroom.

“Well,” the woman in the doorway said, a hint of abashment for the first time entering her manner, “maybe two?”

The queen nodded, and the servant standing closest to her immediately hurried to her side and then, when he'd received his instructions, out of the room.

The two women who had everyone's eyes on them gazed at each other.

“I didn't mean to crash your ball?” the human in the doorway finally offered.

“Of course you didn't.” The queen sounded like she saw some humor in the situation, but also like perhaps she felt a headache coming. ”Who is this?”

“Actually, I'm not so sure... Princess Miru's attendant... maybe? Princess Miru's waiting right outside, so I'm sure she'll be able to clear that right up!”

“This country is doomed,” the half-Gastark mage said just loud enough that the prince and Tiir were bound to hear her over the whispers erupting once more. “The royal line is made up of fools.”

“Well,” the prince said slowly, not taking his eyes off the spectacle. “I'm sure there's a good explanation for this that doesn't involve any Runan priests having had their heads sliced off. Probably.”

Tiir had a sinking feeling this was going to be a long night.

Chapter Text

“I'm so sorry for the trouble,” the Princess of Runa said. Her voice was soft and from time to time she shifted nervously, only to catch herself mid-motion and straighten her shoulders. It didn't make her look any more confident.

She wouldn't even make a worthwhile snack, Tiir thought absently as the prince assured her it was all right and asked her to wait for his mother to arrive before telling them more of what had happened. Soft flesh, certainly, but so little of it – and probably she wouldn't even put up a fight.

She seemed entirely unremarkable, and Tiir's attention was quickly drawn to the unconscious woman lying on the bed behind her. If the humans' worries proved true and one of the two was dangerous due to physical or magical ability, it would be this one. Not counting the half-Gastark magician, from all the humans in the room – the prince, the two physicians, the Princess of Runa, her injured attendant as well as another servant of hers –, if he found himself needing to feed on one of them, he would go after her. Even half-dead as she must be, everything he was told him she would make for a more worthwhile meal than most. He couldn't assess what about her made this so, couldn't even determine whether her strength was above that of a reasonably skilled soldier in her state and without being able to make full use of the Iino Doue and take a look, but she was not simply a servant, he could tell this much.

She had been cut by a sword – badly, but it would probably have been all right without the infection that had developed. Bandits near Geihlficlant had attacked their group and she had jumped in front of her princess to take the blow in her stead, or so the royal in question claimed. Tiir thought it more likely the injured woman had been engaged fully in whatever fight had taken place.

Though then, who ever knew with humans. If she was an assassin or spy and the Runan princess was unaware of it as his captors had hypothesized, she might just have let herself be injured without defending herself to keep her cover, thinking the probability of her own death and that of anyone else vital to her plans low enough to make the risk acceptable.

She was young for an even remotely powerful human, though – the prince's age maybe, or not more than a few years older. And for a woman of Runa, Tiir thought her hair was very short, though he had never been to their capital, so perhaps the custom was different there. For servants, anyway, as Runa's princess did far from share her hair style.

That was actually probable. It would be supremely careless to pick an assassin or spy who could not even blend in to that extent. They could at least have dyed her hair to make it stand out a little less – it was nearly scarlet, not a common coloring in Runa, or many other countries.

“Your Highness,” the female physician said as she ended a diagnostic spell and silently waved her colleague to her side from where he'd been preparing supplies. “Please excuse my forwardness, but this is no way to work. It would be appreciated if everyone not assisting with the treatment left now.”

“I-- yes, of course,” the prince said. “I'm sorry. We'll wait outside.”

The Princess of Runa looked between the two. “Please,” she said, “is there anything I can do to help? This... this is my fault.”

The female physician gave her a sympathetic look, but said, sternly, “The most helpful thing you can do is leave us to our work, Your Highness.”

“I understand,” the woman in question said. Her voice was small, and in the end, she was still the last to leave the room.

“Lady Avarestres and Lord Laryden are among the best in their field,” the prince attempted to reassure her as they waited outside for the queen's arrival. “I'm sure your attendant will be fine.”

The Princess of Runa slowly turned away from the door the male healer had shut behind her as soon as she'd stepped through. “Yes. Yes, I'm sure.” She smiled. “We are grateful for your country's generous help.” The formality of her words was diminished by her trembling hands and drenched appearance.

Probably she was freezing and exhausted. She had barely taken the time to ask the Salean Queen's permission before running after the physicians her attendant had been handed over to. The queen had been content to let her, probably because having all three of the unexpected Runan arrivals in one place made it easier to have someone keep an eye on them while she called a proper end to the ball and talked to her daughter.

“Your Highness,” the foreign princess' remaining attendant said. “You should change your attire and rest.” His tone was imploring.

“It's all right, Larun. I'll rest later.”

“But... Your Highness...”

“We shouldn't be any more rude than we've already been. And I need to know that Ki-- that Kiena will be all right.” The Princess of Runa once more smiled at the prince. “Please excuse my servant. It's been a long journey and he's been understandably anxious.”

“Of course. I'm sure my mother will be here any moment and it won't be long until you can retire. Maybe I should go back in and fetch you a blanket, though.”

“No, please don't disturb them. It's not necessary.”

Not long after the woman finished speaking, Salea's queen rounded the corner, followed by her daughter and four female servants – one of the latter hurried over to Runa's princess as soon as the small procession came to a halt and helped her into a thick fur coat.

The Princess of Runa thanked her and quickly stepped forward to sink into a low bow. “Your Majesty.” Her attendant from her own country mirrored the gesture, and after several seconds stepped back without rising.

“Mother,” the prince said formally. Then, a pleased note entering his voice, “Malyrei.”

Out of the corner of his eyes, Tiir saw the half-Gastark magician perform two subsequent bows, the second directed at Salea's princess and not as low as that to the queen. He quickly followed her example, hoping to avoid drawing attention to himself.

Between one bow and the next, he rose just in time to catch Salea's princess waving at her brother.

“Princess Miru,” the queen said. “You are welcome in Salea as a friend and guest. Your quarters are being prepared and people have been sent to meet the rest of your entourage to ensure their safe arrival. Naturally you will be able to warm up and enjoy refreshments while you wait, but first I'm afraid I must trouble you with an inquiry into the circumstances that led to your early arrival.”

“Of course. I regret having inconvenienced you and your court so gravely, and I thank you for your gracious welcome. The least I can do is explain myself.” Runa's princess paused, her uncertainty once more becoming obvious. “I don't know where to start, though.”

“How about the confrontation that caused this,” the queen suggested, motioning towards the treatment room.

“Well,” Runa's princess said, slowly. “We were in Geihlficlant, on our way back, and I-- we were passing through the woods. It didn't seem dangerous and I... I was disappointed with how the situation had turned out. Larun here tried to cheer me up by showing me some flowers. We took Kiena so it wouldn't be improper and found an opportunity to sneak away. We thought we'd be back before anyone really worried and it would be all right. It... it wasn't supposed to be dangerous. I was just picking a pretty blue flower I'd never seen before when we were attacked. I screamed and tried to run, but one of the brigands jumped into my path. And then Kiena was in front of me and she tried to hold him off, and he stabbed her. Luckily my people had heard my screams and arrived at the scene before anyone was killed, but then...”

The Princess of Runa shook her head. “She was fine at first. Hurt, but we saw to the wound and bandaged it and she could walk for a while if she had to... and then it just slowly got worse, instead of better. The wound kept reopening. She felt tired a lot and sometimes could barely get up. Then there was the fever. She insisted she was fine, but we'd not even reached Valasea when she lost consciousness. She woke up a few times, but... it was clear she needed a healer. A very good one. And if we had to throw etiquette and pride out the window to make sure she got one in time, so be it.” Her gaze turned steely. “Some members of my entourage did not agree, and so we went on ahead.”

“That's very admirable,” the queen said. “And that's how you ended up in front of the palace gates in the pouring rain, yelling at the guards that as the Princess of Runa, you demand to be let in immediately – right up until my daughter arrived at the scene half an hour later?”

“I'm so sorry,” Runa's princess said quickly, her face growing crimson. “I was panicking. If I offended you or Princess Malyrei--”

The queen chuckled softly. “Not at all. I apologize for teasing you. And I'm not sure you could offend my daughter if you tried. Please, get some rest. We can discuss anything further in the morning.”

“But my attendant-”

“Won't recover any faster with you standing in front of the door. Eat something, take a warm bath. Perhaps lie down in a regular guest room until your chambers are ready. Since most of your own servants aren't with you, I will assign you these four. Do you need a physician to check on you, as well?”

“N-no, I'm all right. I will retire for the night, then. Thank you.”

The prince's sister stepped forward and grasped her fellow princess' hand. “We'll let you know if anything big about Kiena's condition changes,” she said, perhaps because it was obvious the other woman did not want to go anywhere. Then, more exuberantly, “I'll drop by in the morning. We can have breakfast together, like in old times!”

That got a smile out of Runa's princess. She nodded at the prince's sister and, after bowing her head to both queen and prince, left, the servants following behind her.

When she was gone, the half-Gastark magician said, “She's lying.”

The queen hummed in agreement. “The question is about what.”

Salea's princess shrugged. “Nothing terrible. She's a good kid. More importantly...” She skipped forward and slumped an arm around the prince's shoulder. “Cute little brother! How is it going? I hear your sweetheart just promised herself to another. Alas, it was bound to happen. They've been making eyes at each other since that birthday gala with the dancing pony. Ohhh, and you're all prettied up. Since the ball is over now, does that mean I get to mess up your hair?” And without waiting for an answer, she did.

The prince batted her hand away, but he was laughing. “Malyrei!”

“Oh, oh, and you made a friend, that's so adorable!” She let go of the prince and, to Tiir's horror, hurried over to him. It was all he could do not to slowly back away. “I've heard all about you. Well, except for your name, because Lymeia's very rude and gets hung up on weird details. What is your name?”

Tiir was not looking at the prince for help. He was not.

And so he forced himself to fix his eyes on the human in front of him. “Tiir,” he managed. Was this woman sure she had heard 'all' about him?

“Tiir – that's a cute name. Very nice to meet you. Also you have nice hair. I approve of you as my little brother's new friend.”

“Malyrei, are you drunk?” the prince asked.

The woman in question, to Tiir's immense relief, went back over to the prince and once more put an arm around him. “Mildly intoxicated!” she declared, quite proudly.

“Dear gods,” the half-Gastark magician said.

“Don't worry,” the prince's sister immediately told her. “Your hair is still the nicest!” Then she looked at Tiir very seriously and said, “You should never pull it, though. Never.”

“Your Majesty,” the half-Gastark magician said, “may I suggest we leave the children be and talk somewhere privately?”

“Hey!” the prince exclaimed. “Am I included in that statement? That's not fair. I'm not the one who's drunk!”

“Mildly intoxicated,” the man's sister corrected in a sing-song voice.

“No, you're the one the drunk person is attached to.”

“I don't know,” the queen said pensively. “This is rather entertaining.”

“Your Majesty.”

“Ah,” the queen said. “I suppose it would be wise. Ecylan, make sure your sister stays out of trouble.”

“This is so unfair,” the prince said, but didn't otherwise object.

When the queen and the half-Gastark mage were gone, the prince turned to his sister with a huff. “Please tell me how you managed to get drunk after five minutes at the ball. The ball you'd already crashed.”

“Well,” the woman said, stilling hanging on to her brother and seeming happy to launch into the tale. “I wasn't really planning to drop by today. You know I hate court events. I was at the Ekalestra estate, celebrating with Rinvei and some others from the team. You heard about our success, yes? Half the credit goes to her, by the way. So we were celebrating and I may have had a glass of wine or two. Or four. That's when I decided it'd be a good idea to surprise everyone. Otherwise I'd only have shown up tomorrow when Miru was supposed to – but seems we both had other ideas, so it turned out for the best!” She paused. “I'm really not that drunk, though. I just don't want to stand around hypothesizing about whether my friend is a devious spy. Besides, politics! You should be glad I got us out of them.”

The prince closed his eyes and rubbed his temple. “Mildly intoxicated, huh?”

“It's good that you agree. So, what do we do now? I could say hello to the cats. How are they?”

“Probably hiding out in the stables unless the servants closed the window only after they were both back inside, which I doubt. Let's just wait for them in the warm and dry until the rain stops, please.”

“Aw, but I'm already soaked. I could just--”

“U-huh,” the prince said. “Who just made sure I have to stay with you?”

“Damn. Oh, but you could-”

“No.”

“But-”

“No.”

“You're mean.” And because having to watch the humans' antics apparently wasn't bad enough, the woman once again turned to Tiir. “He's a horrible little brother,” she informed him. “It's because he doesn't get lai-”

“In the name of all the gods, Malyrei!”

“Well, it's true. Me and Rinvei, on the other hand-”

The prince freed himself from his sister's grasp and spun around. “Stop talking!” It came out as more of a squeak than a yell, however.

Salea's princess paused. “You're right, that was inappropriate.” Then she put a hand on her brother's shoulder and said, gravely, “But no, honestly, I'm so sorry your sweetheart found someone else.”

“I was twelve! Why do people keep bringing it up? Nothing sad happened to me today! Nothing! And for the record, it is none of your business whether or not I get laid!”

There was a clattering sound, and the three of them turned their heads to see a servant girl hastily picking up the empty tray she'd dropped.

Salea's princess threw back her head and laughed.

*

“I told you she was a soul-sucking demon,” the prince said. They were back in the man's chambers, waiting for the human's sister to return from a few doors down the hall, where she was getting a change of dress as per the prince's insistence.

Tiir didn't reply. He was too busy thinking about where he should place himself. Sitting down on the chair or next to the prince on the bed was out of the question – he wouldn't do it with the half-Gastark magician in the room, and he also wouldn't with someone there whose so-called scientific interest in the Divine Eyes might surpass that of the worst members of Salea's Council.

But if he sat down in his usual spot on the other end of the room instead, the prince might grab his chair and come over to him again, and that wouldn't give any better of an impression. Should he explain himself to the prince? Tell him he wanted to be left alone?

But then, what if the prince ended up doing something unnecessary on his behalf again as a result? Or if the woman walked in and simply didn't appreciate him sitting next to the door?

“Tiir?” the prince asked.

Tiir shook himself. “I was just lost in thought,” he said, not quite a lie, and sat down where he stood.

The prince gave him a strange look. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes.” This should be fine. It would be easy for the prince to talk to him, but it would be hard for the man's sister to construct his position as threatening or presumptuous, what with it being literally to the prince's feet. However, maybe he should move away from the bed a little--

The door was thrown open. “Did you know know Vendestra is expecting her second grandchild?” Salea's princess asked as she let the door fall shut again. She strode up to the prince. “I feel like it was yesterday her daughter found that arrowsmith of hers. What was his name? Nelos? Crelos? What was her name, for the matter? Well, anyway, Vendestra asked me to ask Mother to as soon as possible give her some time off to help her daughter, since it's a difficult pregnancy. Remind me, would you? You know I forget these things and also I am drunk.”

“I thought it was 'mildly intoxicated'?”

“No, I changed my mind, I'm drunk. I interrupted her two times by breaking into giggles for no reason.”

“Sounds rude.”

“It was.” Salea's princess turned her attention away from her brother and blinked at Tiir as if noticing him for the first time. “What are you doing on the floor?”

The muscles of Tiir's neck were so taut it was painful. He didn't know what he was supposed to do. Did she want him to stand?

At least the half-Gastark magician was clear in her demands.

When he didn't reply, Salea's princess turned back to her brother. “You don't make him sit on the floor, do you?”

“Of course not!”

“Oh, all right, then.” The woman plopped down on the bed to her brother's right, a good deal away from Tiir. “Well, make sure you don't end up with a backache,” she told Tiir casually. “Or a leg cramp. I hate leg cramps. Oh, do you even have to worry about those?” And suddenly she was leaning across the prince, studying Tiir with an eager expression on her face that did not bode well. “Do you heal constantly or only after you eat? What is it like to eat magic? Is there a difference depending on what kind of spell it is, or is it only the strength that matters? Can I see your ey-”

The prince pushed her back. “Malyrei! I thought you were trying to not be rude.”

Tiir winced, knowing all too well how easily the prince defending him could backfire. He took some solace in the fact that the man sounded more exasperated than worried or angry. Maybe this wasn't a very dangerous situation.

Or maybe the prince was just not aware of the stakes.

“Point.” The woman sat up normally again. “Never mind me,” she told Tiir. “Plenty of time to make a nuisance of myself when I'm sober again.” And then she proceeded to chatter away at the prince about some acquaintance of hers she had run into while waiting for the queen to formally end the ball.

When the conversation progressed without the woman paying any more attention to him, Tiir slowly began to relax. He supposed at least she'd answered the question of whether she actually knew about the Iino Doue.

Well, he hadn't really doubted that she did, despite her strange behavior. He couldn't imagine what any of the humans would have said to her about him without reference to what he was – except perhaps the prince, who he knew hadn't spoken to his sister in person in some time. And if he had written to her these past few weeks at all, Tiir didn't think he would have been mentioned. Hoped so, anyway.

He covertly watched the older royal interact with the prince. Though the man acted put-upon, it was clear he was pleased with her presence. He smiled and laughed a lot and didn't seem to mind in the slightest that she kept alternating between roughly throwing an arm around him and mussing up his previously carefully-combed hair.

Going by just appearances, meanwhile, her relation to the prince was no more obvious than the queen's, to whom she looked more similar, but only somewhat. Her hair was dark like her mother's, but not as long, and it lacked any signs of curls or waves – though the fact that it was wet might feature into that. She was also taller than the prince, perhaps the height of their mother.

And like her mother, evidently she was used to having her way. Despite her light-hearted manner, Tiir knew most humans would do well to steer clear of her. The fact alone that Tiir's presence did not visibly trouble her was a testament to her confidence, and Tiir didn't think it was just the usual human arrogance that was at play.

To Tiir, she was perhaps the most dangerous human in her country. She had ties to and interests in common with the Council members who had called for the children to be used and tortured, and she had the ability to influence every human in this place from the half-Gastark magician to the prince. It had taken her all of five minutes to bring up her scientific proclivities.

Tiir needed to make sure she would stay away from the children. Long after the woman had retired to her own chambers and the prince had fallen asleep, Tiir was still thinking about how to direct her interest away from his family, or at the very least make sure not to cause it to get worse.

*

Salea's princess returned early the next morning. “Hey there,” she said, walking into the room after the barest of knocks.

Tiir stilled, but reluctantly resumed petting the cat in his lap when it kept pushing its head against his hand. He kept his head bowed.

Across from him, the prince slowly sat up in his bed. They had returned from walking the dog less than fifteen minutes ago, and the young royal had meant to catch some additional sleep. “Weren't you going to join Princess Miru for breakfast?”

“When I was in Runa, Miru always slept in. I don't think that's changed, but I've sent a servant to inform her that her attendant already looks a little better. If she gets up early, she'll probably think to let me know.” The woman came to a halt in front of her brother. “Anyway, you should probably get ready. Lymeia'll be here any moment to drag you off to talk to Mother and Lady Livarys. Gareyn and half the Council will probably also be there. Have fun.”

The prince groaned. “About Princess Miru?”

“M-hm. I'll keep well away since I promised Mother not to smack anyone. Can I borrow your comb? If I go on walking around like this someone will probably scream at me.”

“Sure.”

As Salea's princess moved in front of the mirror to bring her hair into a state that was acceptable by the humans' arbitrary standards, the prince caught Tiir's eye. Tiir fought down a grimace, knowing exactly what the man was thinking and not disagreeing with him – but no matter how much he desired to not be anywhere near the humans who were requiring the prince's presence, there wasn't a choice.

“Are you both going?” the woman asked, and Tiir startled, because he didn't think she'd even glanced at him since her arrival.

He looked up reflexively, and found that she wasn't now, either. She seemed focused entirely on a tangled strand that had gotten stuck in the comb.

The prince looked at Tiir, then at his sister. “I suppose so. I don't think it's the best idea, but-”

“Is Lord Remdra giving you trouble?”

“Yes, actually. Did you hear about how the Council meetings last time went?”

“Not really, but I had Lord Remdra sending his friends over to whine to me about it. 'It is a unique opportunity'. 'The potential!' 'Surely you understand why we must make an appeal.' Excuse me? Last year he still wanted me banned from court for accidentally throwing cake in his face.”

“He tried to get you to side with him?” the prince asked, sounding quite perturbed, but not as alarmed as Tiir felt.

Salea's princess gave a careless wave of her hand. “He'll let it go eventually. But maybe you should keep your friend away from him for a while.”

“That'd probably be a good idea, but someone has to stay with him and Arsan won't be in the palace before noon.”

“What about Lymeia?”

“I'd... rather not ask her.”

“Huh. Well, I could stay until you're back. It's not like I have anything to do except wait for Miru to get out of bed. If she asks for me before you're done, I could just take him along.”

“I...” The prince looked uncertain. “Would that be all right?” he asked Tiir after a moment.

And although Tiir didn't know which option he dreaded more, he wasn't going to defy the man's sister and whatever plans she might have that led her to even make this offer. “Of course,” he forced out, tone and expression carefully blank.

From the prince's face, he knew Tiir wasn't being honest, but probably being at a loss as to what else he could do, he accepted the answer and hurriedly got ready to meet with the other humans. “Sorry,” he said to Tiir before slipping out of the door.

Salea's princess continued working on her hair for another few minutes, then gave an exaggerated sigh and threw the comb into her brother's bed, where it landed half-beneath the pillow. “I'll just put it up again later,” she said and turned around to Tiir, who ignored the lurch in his stomach. “Oh, you have King!” she exclaimed happily and strode over.

The human hunched down in front of him and petted the cat, and Tiir sat very still.

“Who is a good kitty?” the woman asked her pet. “Yes, who is a good kitty? Ah, he's so adorable! Look at the little paws.”

Tiir was... quite certain that hadn't been an order, but just in case, he obeyed anyway. To begin with, he wasn't sure what else he should gaze at. Probably like with the queen, he was expected to not look this human in the eye; and though he'd have liked nothing better to stare at the nearest wall and pretend she didn't exist, while she was talking to him, it probably wasn't a much less blatantly disrespectful option. The cat seemed a safe alternative.

“Oh, you wore something else yesterday, didn't you?” the human asked unnecessarily. “This suits you better. But aren't you worried it'll get mangled by cat claws?”

“No,” Tiir said. He couldn't possibly imagine where she was going with this.

She peered at him. “You're not very talkative, are you?”

Tiir bit his tongue. “I apologize.” What did she want?

“You can look at me when you talk to me, you know.”

Tiir raised his gaze from the cat to follow the instruction, because what else could he do?

The human squinted at him. “Look to the left,” she said after a moment. Tiir did. “Look to the right.” Was she testing him or was there a deeper reason for this?

But whatever this was, Tiir would not let her find fault with him. He had knelt to these humans at their bidding, had let them grab his hair and prod his eyes and insult his comrades to his face. Whatever this one wanted, if it was what it took to keep the children safe, she could have it.

“Oh my god,” the woman said. “You're just doing what I say.” Tiir stared at her, only to find her staring right back at him. He averted his gaze again. “This is terrible,” the human went on. “If told you to jump out the window and dance on a tree, would you listen?” Tiir was very glad she didn't pause there to wait for an answer. “You shouldn't listen. I'm the least responsible person in this palace.”

Slowly, Tiir returned his gaze to her face. He narrowed his eyes at her. “This is what you want, isn't it? For me to obey you?”

“Why would I want people to obey me? It's the worst. It means I have to be considerate of them. Terribly considerate. They won't even tell me if I ruined their evening plans by setting a corridor under water by accident. I mean, I should have guessed, someone had to stay and clean it up, of course, but there was this spell I was working on and I didn't think-- well, anyway, please don't just do what I say. Sooner or later it will end badly – I'm not so good with people.”

Tiir eyed her warily. This felt uncomfortably like it had with the prince in the beginning – only at least then he'd had a vague idea of what he was dealing with; or thought he did, anyway. Although it made sense to assume the woman was toying with him, what objective she could possibly be pursuing with such an act was a mystery to him.

“You're not this stiff with Ecylan, are you? Am I that intimidating?” The human gazed down her own arm like she might find an answer there. “Well,” she said after a pause and looked at Tiir again, “I'm not going to carve out your or anyone else's eyes, and I'm not gonna stab them for research purposes, either, if that's what you're worried about. Is it? Because apparently Lord Remdra and some other people seem to think that's right up my alley, but I'm actually not so fond of human experimentation. Where did I get that reputation?”

“'Human'?” Tiir echoed, and couldn't help the loathing smile creeping onto his lips. “We're not human.”

“People experimentation, then,” the human said, undeterred. “And little kids? Seriously? I can barely deal with children crying for no reason – why would I torture them? This is why spells are better than people. They make sense.” She stood. “Do you really like to sit on the floor? Because it's not very comfortable talking like this as far as I'm concerned – and I don't want to yell across the room to have a conversation. You could just take King and have a seat on the bed instead. Or at least the chair.” She paused. “For the record, this isn't an order, either.” And she went over to the bed.

Tiir barely hesitated before following her. For all the lies coming out of her mouth, clearly this was something she wanted him to do. He expected the cat to jump out of his arms before he reached his destination, but it only climbed up to his throat and nuzzled his chin. He gingerly sat down on the foot of the bed with it, while the prince's sister watched him from some feet away, where she was playing with the comb she'd thrown on the sheets earlier.

“I like that you're a cat person,” the human announced after a while. “What was your name again... Tiir?”

“Yes.”

“Ha, I remembered! Well, it is a cute name. And you're interesting.” Tiir was sure he couldn't even begin to fathom this human's definition of 'cute', but at least the last part made sense. Now if only she cut to the chase.

As if to give him his wish, she continued, “I am still curious about the Iino Doue. Can I see?”

So Tiir let the vermilion cross appear in his eyes, and didn't move as the human leaned forward with an expression on her face that could best be described as delighted. “So,” she said. “Is absorbing a fire- and a water-based spell the same, if they have equal power behind them? Do they feel different? Taste different?”

But before Tiir could reply, or even think about replying, the human's keen expression vanished and she said, “I'm being impolite again, aren't I. Sorry. I just get excited over magic – and all that's got to do with magic, really. But never mind, I can always pester you with personal questions when we've reached the stage where you no longer look at me like I'm gonna eat you.” And then she giggled at her own joke, and Tiir decided that yes, he could see the relation the prince. “Oh, but you don't mind talking about cats, do you? Do you get along with King better or with Her Majesty? I mean, I adore them both, but Majesty's just so good at holding grudges, it's a little scary. One time I tried a spell on her – don't look like that, it was a completely harmless spell! – and she got a little wet, and she gave me the cold shoulder for a month. It was a complete overreaction.” Tiir didn't think so in the slightest, but was wise enough to not offer his opinion. “So, which one is your favorite?”

“I don't know,” Tiir said. In truth, he was sure he liked both of the cats equally.

“Oh well, that's also fine. King really seems to like you. I've not seen him use many people as a bed. Did he try to bring you dead rodents yet? Because it's only a matter of time. Oh, have you heard the story of when he sat a mouse loose in the Council chamber?”

When Tiir slowly shook his head, the human immediately launched into a tale involving a broken door latch, inattentive servants and screaming nobles.

The one good thing about chatty humans, Tiir thought, wast that once they got enamored with the sound of their own voice, they no longer expected him to contribute anything to the conversation.

And as far as the ravings of humans went, the princess' monologue was one of the less terrible ones. Tiir didn't have to pretend to not be disgusted with her every word, and could focus on feigning interest in the details of the episode she was relaying, and the one she began to describe after.

She stuck to the topic of cats, and though guessing at her true motives continued to make his stomach churn and his throat tighten, it was a much less unpleasant way of spending the morning than Tiir had anticipated.

*

Or so he told himself, when half an hour later, he was standing next to a large table loaded with a variety of dishes and trying to find an excuse to not sit down as he had been bidden.

He found none, and took a seat across of Salea's princess. The Princess of Runa, meanwhile, watched the two of them with a slightly uncertain, but mostly curious gaze.

As she had said she would, the prince's sister had made him come along to her breakfast engagement as soon as Runa's princess had sent word. She hadn't wasted much time explaining his presence, either. “This is Tiir, my brother's bodyguard,” she had told her acquaintance. “Since Ecylan's with Mother and he's interesting, I've kidnapped him.”

Runa's princess had accepted this assertion with surprising grace. Tiir had a feeling she was used to similar antics from her fellow royal.

Some of her servants had looked like they wanted to object to his being there, but in the end had simply bowed and accompanied them to the dining hall in silence.

Thankfully, the humans didn't try to include him in their conversation – though from her seat next to the prince's sister, Runa's princess sometimes smiled politely at him. Tiir pretended to be focused on his plate.

The two royals talked about a variety of topics, from whether Runa's princess was satisfied with the chambers assigned to her to how some relative of hers had been these past few years. Eventually, the prince's sister suggested they go to the royal library, to which Runa's princess happily agreed.

“You don't mind, do you?” Salea's princess asked Tiir, for the first time addressing him since inquiring what kind of tea he wanted – to which he'd carefully replied that whatever she picked would be all right.

His reply now was no more heartfelt. “No, that's fine.”

Unlike the prince would have done, his sister did not give him a skeptical look or press the issue. And why would she? Tiir's comfort meant little to her.

Ironically, Tiir found her lack of concern for him quite relaxing – it was easy to deal with and at the very least, it was honest.

The palace's library was on the ground floor, near the path that led to the palace gardens, and it was vast. Runa's princess all but ran inside when her servants opened the door, then whirled back around to smile at her fellow royal. Her face was alight with pleasure.

Salea's princess laughed as her acquaintance hurried from bookshelf to bookshelf, so excited as if she had found a great treasure.

The prince's sister waved Tiir over, who had been lagging behind. He caught up to her with a few quick steps.

In a lowered voice, Salea's princess told him, “You can look around, if you want. Or join us. It's up to you. Just stay inside the room and make sure in the end all the books are back in the right place.” A pause. “Come to me if you need anything.”

Tiir looked at her for a long moment, then inclined his head.

“You have to stop doing that,” the prince's sister said, but there was no emphasis behind it, and she soon stepped past him to go after her companion.

Tiir stayed within their line of sight because there was no reason to take risks, but otherwise he kept his distance. For a while he just stood there and watched them whispering and laughing at this book or that book, but though they didn't even glance at him for the most part, he knew just staring at them or some random point in the room was more likely to draw attention in the long-run than pretending to actually be interested in any of the texts around him.

So he began inspecting the shelves. The books seemed to be organized by the names of their authors, and covered a wide range of topics from history and philosophy to mathematics and economics. Tiir spotted one about general magical theory, and another one about farming, and several dozen with obscure titles that told him nothing about their contents.

Tiir began picking up every other book with an interesting title to see what it was about. “The Cry of the Chicken” was, strangely enough, a romantic tale about a famous musician and a novice soldier. As Tiir flipped through the pages, the exact plot as well as the origin of the title remained a mystery to him, but there were some colorful illustrations that got a more general point across, and Tiir quickly put the book back to where he'd found it. “Seven Well-Guarded Secrets” turned out to be a cooking book, which he looked through a little more carefully, but really, why would anyone make such tiny portions for dinner?

Tiir was just examining “Growing in Virtue”, an old, barely readable text about childrearing, when the prince entered the room.

“Malyrei, Princess Miru. Do you mind if I borrow my bodyguard for a minute?”

The Princess of Runa laid her book down on the table in front of her and rose from her chair. “Prince Ecylan. Of course.”

The man's sister, meanwhile, didn't even glance over her shoulder at him, just offered him a vague wave as she turned a page.

The prince didn't seem bothered by her blatant disinterest. Turning fully to Runa's princess, he said, “Sorry to disturb you,” and after a quick bow of his head went over to Tiir, who put back the book he'd just been about to close, anyway, and followed him through several rows of shelves.

When the prince finally stopped and turned to him, Tiir had already eliminated any trace of worry from his face.

“I'll have to leave the palace for some hours,” the prince said, getting to the point surprisingly quickly. “Will you be all right if you stay here with Malyrei?”

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing. Well, nothing that can't be fixed.” At Tiir's unimpressed look, the man smiled and promised, “I'll tell you later. Lymeia will be with me, so it'll be fine. I just need to know my sister won't drive you up the wall in the meantime.”

Tiir looked in the direction of the woman in question, though there were a good number of bookshelves blocking his sight. “She won't.”

And it might even be true, at least for now. She hardly seemed to care about what he did. She also didn't appear to expect him to talk to her, or to her... friend. For all the danger she ultimately posed to him and his comrades, if it was just following her around, then that was turning out to be surprisingly easy.

The prince smiled again, this time more reluctantly. “I know I joked a lot about her being evil, but she's really not. She can be overwhelming and slightly tactless, though. Don't be afraid to tell her off – or well, I understand if you'd rather not, but she doesn't always notice when she's... inconsiderate.”

“I'll manage,” Tiir said, thinking it droll that the man expected his sister to see nothing wrong with Tiir criticizing her behavior, and to even change it in response – for the better, that was.

Not that he could blame the prince for being gullible. The woman was a good actor, he had to give her that.

The prince sighed. “I guess that's good enough.” He slowly placed a hand on Tiir's shoulder. “See you tonight.”

“Don't get yourself killed.”

The prince blinked at him, then let go of his shoulder with a laugh. “I won't, don't worry,” he said as he made to return to the two women. He sounded strangely happy, and half-way down the aisle, he turned around and actually added, “Thank you!” before all but skipping away.

Tiir opened and closed his mouth again. Of course he didn't want the prince to get himself killed – he was the only thing in this country Tiir could count on to keep Ren and Karda even remotely safe.

Somehow, he didn't think the human had taken it quite like that, though.

He stared after the man a moment longer, feeling entirely uncomfortable with that realization. Then he shook himself and followed him.

To be sure to be able to observe Salea's princess' reaction when she heard of Tiir's prolonged stay by her side, he positioned himself awkwardly close to the humans as they talked. He expected her to either be annoyed and only agree to know the prince in her debt, or to have plans that would make her pleased with this development. Either way, he would like to be prepared.

Not for a second did he believe Salea's princess would be obvious about what she thought of her brother's plans, of course, and so he watched her very carefully while the man spoke. To his great chagrin, however, she reacted with about as much evident interest to the prince's request as she had to his arrival. Not looking up from her book, she waved her arm dismissively and murmured, “Sure.”

Runa's princess, on the other hand, was standing again, and she wished the man a good day, oblivious to the significance of her fellow princess agreeing to 'keep Tiir company'.

To pretend to be doing something other than listening in on the humans, and to feel less ridiculous and out of place, Tiir returned to going through whatever books nearby looked somewhat intriguing. He found one about cat behavior, and continued flipping through it even after the prince had left.

“Oh, that's a good book.” Tiir snapped his head up only to find that yes, the prince's sister had put aside her own reading material and was talking to him. “You should sit down with us and read it properly. Or not, but you'd be missing out.”

Tiir exhaled slowly. “Thank you,” he said and made his way to sit down on the seat she was indicating.

He proceeded to stare down at the pages of the book that now lay on the table in front of him, not taking in a single word.

To his relief, Salea's princess didn't seem to notice – or if she did, she didn't comment. All her attention seemed to be back on her own text. Across from her, the Princess of Runa showed no more interest in her surroundings.

After a while, Tiir relaxed somewhat and actually started reading the book, if not very carefully. He continued to be uncomfortable with the proximity to the two humans – however, as far as he could tell, they were paying him no more attention than they had before. It was quite possible the prince's sister had acted on nothing more sinister than a whim in calling him over, and looking at her brow furrowed in concentration, he wouldn't have been surprised to learn she had forgotten he existed for the moment.

Which was a good thing also for more mundane reasons, as he ended up spending quite a lot of time on the chapters about cat gestation and newborn kittens.

They left the library at noon. Runa's princess had an engagement with her clerics and the intention to visit her supposed attendant afterwards, though from what Tiir understood, the injured woman was still barely awake. Salea's princess, meanwhile, didn't seem to have any plans at all, and ended up wandering the palace for a while with no particular aim in mind that Tiir could discern.

It was fine. Most of the humans made it a point to stay out of Salea's princess' way, and Tiir didn't mind walking around like this – without having to talk to anyone, and without having any of his enemies watching him too closely. The prince's sister barely spoke to him the entire time, appearing lost in thought, except when she spotted a servant now and then she seemed to know better than the others, and asked them about gossip on this or that noble.

Tiir was happy to keep his distance. If anything about the behavior of Salea's princess particularly bothered him, it was that he didn't for a second trust it to remain this harmless.

And it wasn't long until she proved him right – though not at all in the way he had expected. “We should go to the market,” she declared out of nowhere.

Tiir stopped walking. “Why?”

The prince's sister turned around to him. “Why not?”

Tiir didn't think the woman would be pleased if he sounded like he was arguing with her, but her counter question had seemed perfectly untroubled, as did the expression on her face. So he averted his gaze and said, very carefully, “I'm not sure I'm permitted.”

And it was risky opposing her even in such a small way, especially since he was as good as questioning her authority over him, no matter how rightly. However, if he kept quiet and later found out that just as with her brother, he wasn't supposed to follow her off palace grounds, he could only imagine what the consequences would be. And if she so much as sprained a finger...

“Huh,” the human said. “Well, I could go ask Mother.” She paused and considered him, putting Tiir on edge with the intensity of her scrutiny. “But you don't want me to,” she then concluded. “You don't want to go to the market at all.”

Tiir didn't move.

“I'm not going to make you,” the woman said. “But why are you so-- Lymeia didn't say you were--” She broke off, frustrated. Then she finished, bluntly, “Why are you afraid of me?”

Tiir stared at her. Was she mocking him?

“No, I understand the gist of it,” the human corrected herself, as if guessing part of his thoughts. “You're not here because you want to be, after all. But you're also afraid of me, in particular. Why is that?” He didn't reply, and after a while she began, slowly, “You really do think like Lord Remdra, don't you. That I'd want to take you apart like an interesting spell – and perhaps do the same with an Alpha Stigma bearer, or two.”

Again she studied him, and though Tiir tried to school his expression, he might as well not have bothered. Even if he'd not failed so spectacularly at it, the way his every muscle froze and his breathing quickened would have given him away.

“Come with me,” the human said after a while and started walking again.

It was an unnecessary order, and the tone of it unsettled Tiir. Clearly she had arrived at a decision about something, which in this context couldn't mean anything good.

But because there wasn't anything else he could do, he resumed following her as she made her way down the corridor, her strides this time purposeful.

She led him into a small isolated room in the upper realm of the building. There were books and pieces of paper everywhere, and she cautioned him not to step on any of them.

“Sit down,” she said, gesturing to one of several chairs arranged around a small wooden table – the only pieces of furniture in the room aside from some bookshelves, and none of them particularly looked like they belonged into a luxurious palace.

Tiir obeyed wordlessly. He could guess the general direction this was going, but he wondered how the human was planning to avoid blood getting on her texts.

Well, there weren't many on or near the table, and perhaps they weren't that important. Or perhaps the woman's ideas didn't require her to make a mess.

The human sat down across from him and rested her chin in the palm of her hand. “Do I even want to know what you're thinking?” She squinted at him. “Wouldn't you agree my brother'd be beyond cross with me if I did anything to you?”

Tiir hesitated, trying to figure out what she was trying for. An assurance that she would get away with this? He said, blandly, “He wouldn't be able to tell.”

The human blinked at him. “But you could just let him know.” She sounded honestly baffled, and Tiir could see how the prince would fall for her act.

“I'm not so foolish.”

The woman sat up straight and looked at him until he looked away. “So what you intend to do,” she began, “is anything I say, in the hopes I'll be satisfied with that and not join forces with Lord Remdra. Or get too interested in the Alpha Stigma?”

Tiir continued to avoid her eyes. “Leave them be,” he said, so softly he didn't think the words could be mistaken for a demand. But she was a human and there was no telling what she might read into even an incautious glance of his, and he quickly added, “Why bother with children when this is so much easier?”

There was a long, tense silence. “My god,” the human finally said. “This is really messed up, you know that?” She got up. “Wait here, don't move.” She went to the door, but then paused and turned around. “Whatever you think I'm going to do, you're probably wrong, so don't worry.” And then she was gone.

Tiir couldn't decide if she was trying to fool him with her last line or was simply taunting him, underestimating his understanding of human depravity. Perhaps she had accounted for both interpretations and didn't care which way he took her statement.

Or perhaps, Tiir amended when she returned some minutes later, it was he who had underestimated her ingenuity.

He stared at her, suddenly not at all sure where this was heading towards.

“I wasn't certain I had any left,” the human said as she put down the plate in front of him. “They're from yesterday and crumbled a bit on the way, but they're still almost as good as they were when they came out of the oven. Rinvei made them, so they're really good – unless you hate honey cakes, you should have some!”

Tiir looked down at the plate, half baffled, half suspicious.

Salea's princess watched him for a few seconds, then took one of the cakes herself, seemingly at random, and ate it while retaking her seat. “See,” she said then, “there's nothing wrong with them.” She leaned over the table and grabbed another.

Though they were nothing alike in looks, in her manner, she really did remind him of the prince.

The cakes could still be drugged or poisoned, with her simply knowing which ones were the exceptions, but if that was the case, he wouldn't be able to do anything about it, anyway. So he hesitantly took one and did as he'd been bidden, wondering what game it was this human was playing.

When she didn't speak after he'd eaten the first cake, he took another, and another. On a different occasion he would probably have agreed they were delicious, but with his stomach in a tight knot, it was impossible to enjoy them. What was the woman waiting for? For whatever was in these cakes to take effect? He hated this, hated humans. The cakes tasted like ashes compared to the sweetness filling his mouth with this woman's blood would bring.

He flinched at the sound of her voice. “I'm not sure my plan of making you feel better with cakes succeeded. I should just have gone for magic, but I don't have permission, so I figured it was a worse idea than just taking off for the market place.” A pause. “All right, this is terrible, I wasn't kidding when I said I'm not so good with people. Did you just eat the cakes because I said you should? Because that was not the point. Please tell me you at least won't get sick from them.”

Tiir shook his head, more in confusion than in negation. What did she think, that like a dog, he would get ill if he was fed sweets?

“Is that a no you won't get sick, or a no you won't tell me you won't get sick? Because you look this close to retching.”

“I'm fine,” Tiir said, and could not believe he was assuring yet another one of his captors of this. Though in this case, at least he could safely assume what she was worried about was that he might manage to vomit on an expensive book of hers.

“Sweetheart, you're so far from fine I don't know where to start.” Tiir startled at the term of endearment. It was a stark contrast to the human's dry tone. “My god,” she went on after a moment. “All right, listen. Clearly your faith in my moral integrity is non-existent. That's fine, I understand, no hard feelings. Perhaps it'll help if we just stick to simple facts and logic, then.”

Tiir eyed her warily as she leaned forward and held up a finger rather close to his face. “First,” she said, “this is not my secret torture chamber where I cut people open to satisfy my scholarly curiosity. This is where I go, and I know this must be very hard to deduce, to read, and make notes, and do other things that don't involve vivisection. We're here because it's a good place to talk undisturbed, the emphasis being on 'talk'. I would have invited you to my chambers, but-” She made a gesture that was part shrug, part wave of her hand- “spells.”

“Now,” the woman went on and folded her hands beneath her chin, “I'm interested in your eyes. I'm not going to deny that and apparently, my reputation as a person obsessed with magic precedes me in an entirely unflattering fashion there. But even if I had no compunctions about experimenting on people, it'd be a very crude way to go about this. For one, this would be a terrible place to conduct any kind of worthwhile research into the Iino Doue the way you're suggesting – I would need to join forces with Lord Remdra, and make a lot of people very upset with me. Including myself, because I have tried working with him before. Much equipment was destroyed, little progress was made. I'd just be making my own life difficult.”

Salea's princess paused and helped herself to another one of the cakes. “I mean, you've met the man,” she continued with her mouth full. “Do we seem like we'd get along?”

Tiir was going to merely tell her what she obviously wanted to hear, but when his eyes darted to her face for an instant, he found that more than anything, she looked curious as to what his answer would be. There was only one other human who, knowing what Tiir was, had ever waited for him to speak with this kind of expression on his face, and the realization threw Tiir – enough that he actually spent a moment thinking about the question.

This woman was... noisy, and brash, and apparently not too interested in what anyone around her did so long as it had nothing to do with magic. Or, he supposed, cats. And perhaps it was all some elaborate sort of game, but even then, Tiir could not imagine the nobleman in question behaving the same. He enjoyed manipulating his fellow humans, and, Tiir thought, enjoyed some of them knowing that he did – certainly he wanted the prince to be aware of what he was orchestrating, and probably also Salea's queen. In the typical self-important fashion of humans, he took pride in his machinations.

If Salea's princess was toying with those around her in a comparable manner, however, she did not want them to know. Almost certainly, the one person in this palace the arrogant councilman would not ever bother wasting niceties on was Tiir; while this woman would sit next to him and tell him anecdotes about cats and give him cakes.

If she thought of him the same way the councilman did and still managed to behave like this, she was not only dangerous. She was terrifying.

When Tiir said, “No,” therefore, he was being entirely honest. No, he could not imagine this woman getting along with the noble in question. She was something else, something the councilman could no more grasp than Tiir was able to, and naturally, that would not endear them to each other. However similar their goals might be, in their temperament, they were nothing alike.

Tiir knew which one of the two he would rather deal with. Unfortunately, he didn't have a choice in the matter.

Salea's princess smiled. “Good,” she said, pleased. “Most importantly, though, my priority are spells. Harming so much as a hair on an Alpha Stigma bearer's head is the last thing I'd do with my research in mind. How irrational do people even get?” She shook her head. “You see how even if I was not opposed to torturing children for other reasons that should be self-evident, it would make no sense for me to do so in this case, right?”

Tiir narrowed his eyes at the woman. “Yes,” he said, and he did see, but he wasn't at all sure the same could be true for a human. They were not reasonable creatures, by any stretch of the word.

“Mind you,” Salea's princess said, “Lord Remdra cares about other things, so none of you should be anywhere near him, if you ask me, but you probably don't need me to tell you that. He won't find any backing, though – well, not unless someone does something really stupid. And even then, I could still fight him over who gets to do research involving the Alpha Stigma; and I'd win, because people know which of us cares more about practical considerations and who is more likely to get distracted by abstract scientific possibilities.” She paused. “So actually, maybe I'm not the least responsible person in this palace, after all. Now that's an odd thought. Anyway, right now, out of the three of you, Lord Remdra is most dangerous to you. And since apparently you have a very dubious sense of self-preservation, he would just have to make the right kind of idle threat and he'd have you. Well, that's not disturbing at all. Are you thirsty, by the way?”

Tiir blinked at the abrupt change of topic. “No,” he said – which wasn't entirely true, but also not quite a lie. He felt almost as little like drinking something as he did like eating more of the cakes right then.

“All right, but just come out and tell me if that changes. I forget these things.” The human regarded him pensively. “There's little you won't do to get into my good graces, isn't there?”

Tiir bowed his head in reply, trying to ignore his apprehension as he realized that she was going to get to her point, after all.

“Well, all right then,” the woman said. “I hereby make your well-being my responsibility, since it is very much important to whatever devious plans you think I have. If anyone so much as puts a scratch on you, I demand to know. Also, you better practice speaking freely around me, since you'll see a lot more of me around and formalities irritate me. I am not above throwing a pillow at your head and messing up your hair.”

Tiir snapped up his head and stared at her. “What?”

“Oh, well, that's a start, I suppose,” the human said. “And I'm very sorry, but I'm going to let Ecylan know exactly what you told me earlier. I do hope you don't have a habit of keeping things like that from him.”

Tiir froze. “I don't,” he said, hastily. “Don't tell him.”

“Gods,” the human murmured and put a hand to her temple, closing her eyes ever so briefly. “All right, why?”

Tiir shook his head, unable to find words to explain himself with that were not more likely to incur her ire than convince her. “It won't happen again.”

“Look – Tiir. I can either tell my brother or my mother. Which do you prefer?”

Tiir clenched his fists, then forced them to relax again and looked away. “Your brother,” he said, quietly.

“Then that's settled. Come on, he's not going to be angry.” A pause. “Is he?”

Tiir laughed bitterly. “No.”

It would be easier to bear.

The woman gave him a strange look, but didn't inquire further into the matter.

Soon after, the human returned to her reading, and she left Tiir largely alone until evening, when it occurred to her that she'd forgotten dinner, as well as to drink anything – or to offer Tiir something to drink once more, which for some reason she seemed most bothered by. When she asked Tiir why he hadn't said anything and he insisted he hadn't been hungry or thirsty, she rubbed her temple and only murmured, “This is terrible” before taking him directly down to the main kitchen.

Not much later, as he stared down at the warm stew and bread and tea that had been placed before him on her behest, before she had even eaten herself, Tiir hoped, rather pettily, that his suspicion was right and he was giving her a headache; she certainly was giving him one.

Chapter Text

“He did what,” the prince said, and Tiir winced.

“Essentially tell me to go ahead and dissect him,” Salea's princess returned, her back to both Tiir and her brother as she fiddled with her hair in front of the mirror much like she had in the morning. “And that you wouldn't find out. I'm sorry to say, you two have a lot of things to work through.”

The prince moved his horrified gaze from her to Tiir and, after a moment, asked, “What were you thinking?”

Tiir didn't even try to come up with a reply – whatever he said was bound to either sound even worse to the prince than his sister's matter-of-fact revelation or offend the woman because he would be as good as accusing her of being ridiculous in even bringing this to the prince's attention. Most likely, any answer he might end up giving would succeed in making the situation worse in not just one, but both of these ways.

“That I consider him some interesting thing for study, apparently,” Salea's princess replied for him, clearly having no such concerns. “Well, I can't blame him. I love my team, but I wouldn't trust half of them with him. People get weird about the Magic Eyes.” She twirled a strand of her hair around her finger and tore it out. “Damn, why is my hair in knots again? I even combed it today!”

The prince returned his attention to his sister with a suspicious frown. “Did you spend all day asking him questions about his eyes?”

“Excuse me?” The woman stopped picking at the ends of her hair and finally turned to face her brother. “I will have you know I was perfectly polite! I mean, I might have forgotten to feed him-”

“You what,” the prince said.

“Oh, shut up, you know I forget these things! At least I didn't leave him with anyone he thought would cut him open and play unscrupulous scientist with his innards!” The woman's outburst unsettled Tiir mainly because he knew it would unsettle the prince.

The man in question had gone pale. “But-- why would he--”

Salea's princess wasn't done. “And when I told him I would tell you, that's the closest to panicked I've seen him – why is that?”

“I... don't know?” The prince looked shocked, and also rather lost. He glanced at Tiir, no doubt wondering what he'd done wrong.

It did not make Tiir feel guilty.

Salea's princess stepped over to her brother and squinted at him. “You do treat him like a person, don't you?”

“Of course!” the prince exclaimed, and Tiir hated him just a little for not knowing when to keep his mouth shut.

He told himself that the prince's assertion couldn't entirely surprise the woman, that surely the half-Gastark mage had been displeased enough by the prince's behavior towards him that she would have already told Salea's princess all about it. He didn't know if that made this less or more dangerous, but at least it was unlikely she would storm off after the confrontation sure to follow and do something to harm the children, in her anger caring little about how valuable they might otherwise be to her.

“And you give him decent food and don't make him sit on the floor or forbid him from talking?”

“What? How isn't all of that included already in treating someone like a person? I told you-”

The woman cut her brother off by ruffling his hair. “Well, I had to make sure,” she told him, and Tiir blinked, no less taken aback by her sudden cheer than the prince. “People do get weird about the Magic Eyes. And your friend's behavior has been somewhat disturbing.” She glanced at Tiir. “No offense.”

“All right,” the prince said, “I'm not sure I understand entirely what's going on. Do I need to be worried? About more than the obvious, that is. Have you at least eaten something by now – both of you?”

The woman made a dismissive gesture. “It was just a late dinner. But yes, you should definitely be worried. I mean – Tiir, come here.” Tiir cautiously approached her. Salea's princess did not look happy. “See this? He just does what I tell him to. This is terrible! What do I do?”

Tiir felt very much out of his depth.

The prince looked uneasy, but after a while said, his tone rather cross, “Well, you could start by not ordering him around.”

“I tried! But he- Ecylan, he thinks if he breathes too loud around me, I'll do who knows what. You know this-- you know people aren't my forte. You should have warned me!”

“Well, how should I have known!”

“Then Lymeia should have warned me. Come on, he can't be more scared of me than of Lymeia, I refuse to believe that. Please tell me you aren't.”

Tiir shifted when she turned her gaze on him, but didn't look away, since unlike the half-Gastark magician, it seemed to irritate her when he did. However, he didn't speak. What did she want him to tell her? That at least with the other mage woman, he knew roughly where he stood? Surely not.

But he also didn't see why she should want him to lie about this, or how he could possibly make the lie convincing enough to not come off as mere insolence.

Salea's princess focused her attention on her brother again with an almost pained expression. “See what I mean?”

“All right,” the prince said, clearly trying to appear calm, but not completely succeeding, “how about-- Tiir, can I talk to you for a moment? Malyrei, do you mind?”

“I'm stealing your comb,” the man's sister declared in reply and strode out of the room.

When the door had fallen shut behind her, the prince turned to Tiir and drew a deep breath. “All right,” he repeated, slowly. “Can we talk about this?”

“About what?” Tiir asked, attempting flippancy.

The prince gave him a look, and Tiir glanced away.

“How about we start with what made you think my sister was going to dissect you,” the prince suggested.

Tiir snorted softly. Was the young royal really asking him this? “She's a human, she researches magic, she thinks our eyes are interesting. What else am I going to assume?”

The prince shook his head. He seemed appalled, and Tiir thought he must be the most naïve human there was. “Fine,” the man began at last, “let's say that's a reasonable conclusion to draw. You thought I'd leave you alone with someone who'd do that to you?”

The young royal sounded less incredulous than hurt, and Tiir found himself once more avoiding his gaze. “Not intentionally,” he offered, hoping it would at least prevent any misunderstandings.

The prince exhaled audibly. “Well, that's something, I guess. But I don't understand – why would you want to keep this from me? The way Malyrei told it, you'd think me finding out is worse in your mind than her-- actually hurting you.”

“Because of this,” Tiir hissed, suddenly angry. He was sick of this, sick of constantly having to watch himself. “I don't need you to fuss over me. What do you think your darling sister will do if you get into fights with her over me? What your queen will do? If you keep acting like this, the other humans will realize just how very concerned you are for me, and do you think they will be pleased? Already I've been warned not to have you pity me, like the mere notion doesn't make me want to vomit. If this one, too-”

“Tiir,” the wide-eyed human interrupted him. He gingerly placed a hand on Tiir's upper arm. Tiir stiffened, but let him. “No one is going to hurt the children because I'm against you being tortured. Least of all my sister. Did you miss the part where she would have thrown me out my own room if I'd said I don't let you use the furniture like a person?”

Tiir shook off the human's hand. “Don't be naïve.”

“So why do you think she acts like she's decidedly in favor of not treating you like a scientific experiment?”

“I don't know!”

The prince sighed. “But you're convinced she's just pretending.”

The man's tone irked Tiir. “Of course I am,” he said, eyes narrowed. “For us – for the bearers of the Divine Eyes – that's the only kindness we can expect from a human.”

The prince winced. “I'm sorry,” he said in a subdued voice, and stepped away from Tiir.

Tiir resisted the ridiculous urge to grab his wrist and stop him. Instead he said, softly and trying not to stumble over the words, “Isn't it enough that I don't expect the same from you?”

As soon as he finished speaking, he regretted it. It was an admission that went against his entire being, and making it out loud felt like a betrayal – a betrayal of himself, the denial of a truth he had known from the second he had come into this world. He felt like this was the moment where his own foolishness should slap him in the face. If the human threw back his head now and laughed at how gullible Tiir was, Tiir deserved nothing better.

But of course the prince did no such thing. The human froze for a moment, then slowly broke into a smile that was both shy and pleased – and though Tiir only then felt like he could breathe again, he was not surprised.

Which one of them was the naïve one, really? With every shred of his being, down to the last drop of his blood, Tiir should know that humans were the enemy, and could never be anything more. That they were vicious and treacherous and that trusting them only meant leaving them with the quickest means to destroy you. If his fellow bearers of the Iino Doue could see him now, they would be appalled – appalled, and probably scared, because this should not be possible, and there was only one way it could end.

“I don't know if it's enough,” the prince said, “but it means a lot to me. And I promise-- I won't disappoint you.” He paused, looking at Tiir like he was considering something. “I care a lot about you, you know that, right? This isn't just-- I wouldn't want you hurt no matter what, but I worry about you like I would about Yalyst, or Livarys. I don't want you to think you're only a responsibility to me, or someone I feel guilty towards.” The human glanced away for a moment, then directed his gaze to Tiir again with a tentative smile. “I'm sorry if it makes me more annoying.”

This time, it was Tiir who stepped back. “I don't understand you,” he said. “What could you possibly want with me? I hate your kind, I would kill you all if I could. Care about me? What have I ever done for you? What would I ever do for you, if I had a choice?”

“But caring about someone isn't just about what they would do for you, is it?” The prince's smile had turned sad. “Not even for humans.”

“So what is it about for you, then? That I'd love to kill those around you? That I'd enjoy the taste of your blood? That if I had met you in any other situation, if you had lived to tell the tale, it would only have been because you were beneath my notice?” Tiir laughed. “What is there to care about, for a human, in a bearer of the Iino Doue?”

The prince didn't reply immediately. Instead, he moved forward, and after a moment of hesitation, gingerly brushed back Tiir's bangs. “That you're kind,” he said. “And fun, and brave. And well, I'm sure your brain tissue is delicious.” The man grinned and let his hand sink. “The whole eating people thing might distract from it a bit at first, but really, you're a very likable person.”

Tiir flinched. “Kind? I'm not kind. To you, I-”

“No, you're not kind to humans,” the prince cut him off, matter-of-factly. “But then, we're not kind to you, are we? So we can't expect you to be. You're right – why should you make the first move? Why should you have to risk it? And yet, I've almost killed you, am imprisoning you and keeping you from the ones you love, and you say that you don't hate me. That you don't expect the worst from me, despite everything. And when you say something that hurts me, even if it's warranted, you feel bad about it. So what have you done for me? You don't hate me, for one – I think that's already pretty generous.”

Tiir swallowed and tore his gaze from the human's. “I want to hate you,” he said, not looking at the man's face. “You make it very difficult.”

The prince laughed, and it was not a happy sound. “You're my prisoner and you think it's difficult to hate me. Tiir, I don't think you understand how-” he broke off and shook his head, a hand in front of his face.

“What are you-- are you crying?”

“I'm not crying,” the prince said, and it was a pathetic lie if Tiir had ever heard one.

What was he supposed to do? “I'm not trying very hard to hate you,” he said, hurriedly. “I'm not-- I don't--” But the prince just cried harder.

After a while, because he was at a loss, Tiir tentatively put a hand on the man's shoulder. The prince made a noise that was half laugh, half sob, but didn't pull away, and so Tiir just patted him awkwardly, waiting for him to stop weeping.

*

“What did you have to leave the palace for?” Tiir broke the silence after the prince seemed to have calmed down. Not sure what he had done to upset the man, it seemed a safe topic to switch to.

The prince, however, grimaced. “This seems like such a bad time to talk about it.” He rubbed his forehead and moved away from Tiir, making his way to the bed. “I'm sorry for crying, by the way.”

Tiir snorted.

The prince shot him a smile. “Do you want to sit?” Tiir hesitated, then seated himself next to the man. “All right, so, me leaving the palace today. Please don't assume anything horrible when I say this. I went to start negotiations with the Guild.”

Tiir looked at the man sharply. “Negotiations?”

The prince nodded. “About... everything, really. Lymeia and Mother thought it wasn't a good sign to have the Bard's right hand show up at the ball and that we shouldn't delay any longer. It's going pretty well so far, though – don't worry.”

Tiir narrowed his eyes. “What does 'pretty well' mean to you, exactly?”

Clearly it was the right question to ask, because the prince looked uncomfortable, if not surprised. “Well,” he said. “The children-- Ren and Karda should be safe from them. Are,” he corrected quickly as Tiir's expression shifted. “They are safe from them. I'm not completely precluding the possibility of them trying to obtain some leeway there, but they wouldn't get anywhere and they know it. They'd do it out of principle, if at all. Even Lymeia agrees, so I'm not just being optimistic.”

The prince made a face. “It went very much like Lymeia predicted, honestly. The main part of what we're discussing with them is where this should go from here. And I'm still pissed at her – of course I am –, but gods am I glad to have her on my side. First the Bard let us wait around for hours and then she was just being really creepy, and guess out of Lymeia and me, which one managed to not look like they wanted to run and hide the whole time.” A pause. “Actually Lymeia was also being pretty creepy. Anyway, the only big problem we have so far is that one of the things she was right about is that they want to see you before even considering relinquishing any say they might have in what Salea should do about the bearers of the Divine Eyes in the future.”

Tiir relaxed a little. If them wanting to see him was truly the greatest problem Salea's Guild posed to them at the moment, he could live with that. “It's fine.”

“No, I really don't think-”

“Ecylan, it's fine,” he snapped, and they stared at each other.

The prince... Ecylan opened his mouth and closed it again. Finally he said, quietly, “You don't understand. This is the Guild. I can't-- I can't control them, or force them to tell me whatever it is they want with you. I couldn't even properly sanction them if they-- If I agree to this--”

“If you can't control them,” Tiir said, “that's just one more reason to accept their terms. I can kneel to them. I can do what they want. Whatever it is, I will heal. I can bear it, but I can't-- let me protect those I need to protect. Please.”

Ecylan shook his head, but he looked pained, and Tiir knew he was not going to deny him this.

And Tiir could still not wrap his head around the idea that a human wanted to keep him safe and would be sad if he was harmed, but even so, he believed it. Because he was foolish. Because he did not know what else to believe.

Because he did not like seeing Ecylan cry, and there was no longer any use pretending he meant nothing to Tiir.

*

“It's a wise decision.”

Ecylan did not glare at the half-Gastark magician, but it was obvious that he wanted to. “Of course you would say that.”

“Someone has to behave like a rational human being about this, after all.”

“Ugh, why are you so-”

“Now, now,” Salea's princess interrupted just as Tiir tensed in anticipation of Ecylan doing something ill-advised yet again. “We're all here in pursuit of a common goal, aren't we? How about we sit down and have some tea while we discuss-”

“Crows, she's trying to be sensible. This is painful to watch.”

“Lymeia, I swear I will empty this pot over your head.”

“Do try.” However, despite her words and the contemptuous smile curling her lips, the half-Gastark mage sat down at the table next to the other woman.

“You too, Tiir,” Salea's princess said with a nod towards the chair across from her, next to Ecylan's. “Sit down, please.”

Tiir looked between her and the half-Gastark magician. He expected the latter to contradict her fellow mage's order, or at the very least, to make a comment about inviting animals to the table. Instead, she didn't even spare Tiir a glance, looking entirely indifferent to the matter.

Whether or not she truly was, Tiir decided she wouldn't approve if he ignored the other human's command. In that case, he would displease them both if he remained standing, and so slowly, he pulled back the indicated chair and took a seat.

“Great,” Salea's princess said. “Now, smoothing things over with the Guild and at the same time preventing them from doing terrible things to Tiir here. While having Tiir not so much as defy a single order of theirs because that could go very wrong. Lymeia, what do you say?”

“I say this is a waste of time. It should simply do as it is told. They can't do a lot of damage in a single day.”

Salea's princess moved her attention to Tiir. “Please excuse how incredibly rude she is.” She turned back to her fellow mage, eyes narrowed. “They can do enough, though. I agree with Ecylan, you're being an asshole.”

“That's my job,” the half-Gastark magician said, unconcerned. “What do you want me to tell you? I can stay close during and check in on your pet once in a while to make sure it's still in one piece, but whatever I find, it's not going to want me to interfere. In this, the Guild is not to be crossed.”

“Then what can we do?” Ecylan asked.

The half-Gastark magician shrugged. “Emphasize the royal house's interest in its well-being. Based on practical considerations, of course. Your position as heir to the throne is already precarious enough – you can't afford to appear weak in front of the Guild, of all people. I don't need to remind you what will happen if they judge you unsuited to the crown.”

“That's unlikely to happen, though,” Salea's princess threw in.

“It's not worth risking over a badly trained pet,” the half-Gastark magician said, disdainfully.

Salea's princess shot up from her chair. “What in the name of all the saints is your prob-”

“Besides,” the other woman interrupted her, keeping her eyes trained on the prince. “You want the Guild to delegate all matters pertaining to Cursed Eye bearers to you. The last thing you want to do is give the impression you're confusing monsters with puppies.” A pause. “Even if you are.”

“All right,” Salea's princess said, slowly sitting back down. “What about me, then? I'm a person so obsessed with magic I stepped out the line of succession. Also, I'm very good at what I do. I get to be a bit eccentric, wouldn't you say?”

Everyone stared at her.

“Malyrei,” Ecylan said. “You already are eccentric.” The man's sister stuck her tongue out at him, but then they both turned to the half-Gastark magician, hopeful.

The woman in question looked like she was biting on something sour. “It could work,” she conceded after a moment. “The Guild rather respects your expertise and you don't have anything to lose.” She gave her fellow mage a cold look. “Except their esteem.”

“That's fine!” Salea's princess declared cheerfully. “And anyway, the Bard likes me.”

“She likes toying with you,” the half-Gastark woman said.

Salea's princess waved her hand. “Same thing.” A pause. “What? She's pretty. She can toy with me all she-”

“Malyrei!” Ecylan exclaimed.

The man's sister laughed. “Oh please, we've just talked talked about magic once or twice. No inappropriate details to tell you even if I wanted to.”

“Well, that's good to know, because she is creepy.”

“How so?” Salea's princess asked, sounding curious.

“How so?” Ecylan echoed, disbelieving. “How about the way she talks and the way she smiles and I swear that was blood in her hair.”

“I thought she had a nice smile,” Salea's princess said, like she hadn't heard the rest.

“Blood,” Ecylan repeated. “In her hair.”

“Can the both of you stop wasting my time with trivial arguments yet,” the half-Gastark magician said.

“How is someone deliberately appearing to a meeting with me with blood in her hair trivial?”

Salea's princess, meanwhile, gave her fellow mage woman a sidelong glance. “Like you are one to talk,” she said. She leaned forward conspiratorially and whispered to her brother and Tiir, non-too-quietly, “She thinks Gastark's King is hot.”

Tiir tried very hard not to stare.

Next to him, Ecylan choked on air.

The woman being discussed, meanwhile, seemed entirely unimpressed. “I believe the word I used was 'charismatic'.”

Salea's princess waved her hand. “Details, details.” Then, to her brother and Tiir again, “It's nearly the highest compliment she deals out. Come on, it's funny.”

Tiir and Ecylan looked at each other, and Tiir was reasonably sure they were thinking the same thing.

Ecylan turned back to his sister. “Not really.” He paused. “Also, that was disturbing and I hate you.”

“Why does no one have a sense of humor?”

“I wonder,” the half-Gastark magician said. “Now, if you'll excuse me...” She made to stand up, but Salea's princess caught her by the arm.

“Come on, we're not done yet! For one, there are those rumors-”

The half-Gastark magician looked at the other woman sharply. “We will not discuss them here.”

Tiir glanced between the humans, wary.

“What rumors?” Ecylan asked.

“They are of no concern to you.”

“Lymeia, next time he goes to negotiate with the Guild, he's going to find out anyway, don't you think?”

“Perhaps. But the matter will already have been dealt with then.”

“What the hell is going on?”

“If you won't tell him, I will. Come on, he's not ten!”

Ecylan huffed. “Well, I'm glad someone finally noticed.”

The half-Gastark magician treated the prince to a cool stare. Finally, she crossed her arms. “Colonel Arsan should still be at the palace. Have someone get him so you can send your pet out of the room and we can talk.”

“Why-” the prince started.

“It's fine,” Tiir cut in before the man could do or say anything more damaging. His voice was soft, but Ecylan fell silent immediately.

“Well, if it keeps this up, at least the Guild might believe it's well-trained. Of course, it shouldn't quite so freely interrupt you then, but I'm sure it won't make that thoughtless a blunder in front of anyone who might misunderstand.”

Tiir bowed his head, accepting the reproach without protest even as his fingernails dug into his knees.

“Lymeia,” Salea's princess said. “He's a person, not a dog.”

“And I would care why?”

“He hardly chose to be here. He doesn't need to put up with your horseshit on top of everything.”

“Oh please. It can have whole villages for dinner – it can survive without me coddling it. His Highness is doing quite enough of that.”

“Treating someone like a person is not 'coddling them'.”

“No,” the half-Gastark magician agreed. “Which makes me inclined to believe His Highness is instead confusing something that would annihilate this place in a heartbeat if it was afforded the opportunity with a domesticated animal.” She looked at the prince. “Or do you usually keep the company of mass murderers?”

“I keep your company,” Ecylan said.

“Ouch,” Salea's princess commented.

“The difference,” the half-Gastark woman said, “lies in who I kill, and for whom.” She smiled. “If you were anyone else, I wouldn't advise you to turn your back to me, either.”

“I am done with this,” Salea's princess declared. “I'm taking Tiir to Arsan and you two stay here. Lymeia, behave. Also, Ecylan, don't try to assume moral high ground you don't have – without Lymeia doing her job under Mother's orders for the sake of the country you help rule you'd be long dead and you know it.”

Ecylan made a frustrated angry noise, but didn't say anything. After a moment, he glanced at Tiir.

Tiir offered him a subtle nod to assure him that this was fine and rose shortly after the man's sister did. At her beckoning, he followed her out of the room.

*

“Don't mind Lymeia,” Salea's princess said as they descended the stairs to the lower area of the palace. “She's more bark than bite. Well, as long as you don't do something really stupid – like pull her hair. I swear, I did it once and never again. Also there was that time I braided a ribbon into it.” A dramatic shudder. “But since I doubt you plan to do anything so foolish, you should be safe. I'm sorry she talks to you like that, though.”

The human didn't turn around to him as she spoke and kept walking at a steady pace.

Tiir knew he should say something, but he didn't know what. He had not thought she'd be like this – couldn't begin to fathom what 'this' even was. What was there for her to gain by acting as though he was anything but a convenient research subject for her?

It must be something of significance for her to take matters as far as she was doing, but Tiir couldn't imagine what that should be, and it unsettled him. It could not be something as simple as her brother's regard she was after – she already had that, and whatever image she wanted him to have of her, she needn't go to such lengths to secure it, needn't put up so flawless an act for Tiir in order to cultivate it.

In particular, it made no sense that she should suggest lowering her standing in the eyes of other powerful humans for the sake of something she already firmly had. Whatever complaints he might otherwise have about her, it was obvious at a glance that Ecylan adored this woman.

“Are you all right?” Salea's princess asked, this time turning her head to look at him as she spoke.

“Yes,” Tiir said, not missing a beat. Then, after a moment, added, “Thank you.” He wasn't quite sure what he was expressing gratitude for, but was content letting the human take her pick.

The woman caught his gaze. “If you ever need help with anything, let me know – you shouldn't have to be so worried all the time. Some people here do care about your and those kids' well-being.”

Tiir snorted before he could think better of it, then froze. But the human only shot him a look of surprise before actually smiling at him and continuing on her path without comment.

“Arsan's quarters are down this corridor,” the woman informed him when she finally halted. “He's not in them often, but this is about the right time of the day to catch him there. Well, or it should be, if nothing's changed. Otherwise we'll just have to keep looking.” She turned to Tiir. “You don't mind Arsan, do you?”

Tiir averted his gaze. “No.”

Salea's princess considered him. “If you do, that's fine. I can figure something out.”

Tiir exhaled slowly. “I don't particularly mind.”

The human regarded him a moment longer. “All right, then,” she said at last. “Come on.”

As it turned out, the soldier was indeed in his room, and clearly taken aback by his princess' presence in front of is door. Then his eyes fell on Tiir, and a disgruntled expression flickered over his features before he returned his attention to his fellow human. “Your Highness.” He bowed his head. “What can I do for you?”

“Arsan, nice to see you! Can I leave Tiir here with you for a bit?”

“...Tiir?”

“Really? I expect this kind of rudeness from Lymeia, but you, too? What have you even been calling him until now? No, I don't want to know, just stop, don't be an ass.”

“Your Highness--”

Out of the corner of his eyes, Tiir saw Salea's princess glaring at the man. “This might take a while. I don't want to come back and find he's not eaten dinner, or stood around the whole time, or sat on the floor like some kind of dog.”

Tiir shifted uneasily. He didn't know why she should play her role to this extent.

“Your Highness,” the soldier began again, this time more hesitantly. “Don't you think this is a bit excessive?”

“You think not letting him starve is excessive?” Salea's princess asked, her voice angry and incredulous.

“Of course not. But, Your Highness, no matter what your brother might believe, it's a monster. Surely you realize that. I'm not saying you should hand it over to Lord Remdra, but treating it so much like a human--”

“Oh my god. Come on, Tiir, we're leaving.” And she actually grabbed his hand and started pulling him after her.

Tiir froze for the barest of moments, then reluctantly allowed himself to be dragged after her.

“Your Highness!” the soldier called behind them, but Salea's princess ignored him. Only when they'd rounded the corner into an empty corridor did she stop walking.

She let go of his hand and turned around. “Sorry.”

Tiir eyed her warily.

“I didn't think he'd be this bad,” the human said. “I have no idea what to do now, to be honest. I have to get back to Ecylan and Lymeia, but clearly Arsan's not an option. Just give me a moment to figure something out.”

Tiir did, but judging from the way the woman was biting her lip with a frustrated look on her face, she wouldn't come up with a solution any time soon.

Reluctantly, Tiir spoke up. “Don't mind me. It's fine.”

“That kind of behavior is not 'fine', Tiir.” She looked about ready to get into an argument with him about the issue.

This was just bizarre.

He thought about how he would handle the situation if it was Ecylan expressing concern. “He's not going to do anything to harm me,” he tried. “And I doubt he would go against your orders at all.”

The human narrowed her eyes. “That doesn't mean you should have to deal with him,” she said, but didn't contradict him.

For once, Tiir was careful to hold her gaze. “I would just like to get this over with, if that's all right with you.”

She didn't reply for a long while. At last, she asked, “You're sure?”

“Yes.”

A sigh, and the woman's stance relaxed. “Fine. One word from you and I'll have his head, though. Uh. Not literally. The things I have to clarify these days.”

Once again not knowing how to respond, Tiir simply followed her back to where they'd just come from. Not for the life of him could he figure out what she might be thinking.

Too bad, of course, that his life wasn't the only one at stake.

Unsurprisingly, the soldier had returned to his quarters by the time they arrived, but he opened the door the moment Salea's princess knocked. “Your Highness,” he said, carefully.

“I do need to leave Tiir with you, but what I told you holds. He's not some thing. I'm sorry to disturb you during your break, but you're going to treat him like a person, and if you don't you'll have me to answer to.”

“Your Highness, it-- he,” the soldier amended quickly at his superior's glare, “won't appreciate your concern. You know I'll do as you wish, and I don't mean to offend you, but this isn't just about him not being human. I understand His Highness' efforts on behalf of the Alpha Stigma bearers, I really do. They're harmless when properly contained, children. It's true they can't help what they are, and to see them hurt unnecessarily would leave a bad taste in my mouth, as well.”

The man's gaze swept to Tiir, who was keeping the scorn and loathing off his face with some difficulty. “But to this one, I am no more a person than he is to me. Perhaps less so. I don't think we're more to it than food under the best of circumstances, and I don't know how your brother can stand sleeping in the same room as i-- him. He's forgetting what he's dealing with, and frankly, I'd hoped you would have a word with him about that.”

Tiir glanced at Salea's princess, more agitated than he cared to admit, because he could not deny the truth in the soldier's words. It would be the most natural thing for Ecylan to find him repulsive. Even if he was not malicious, even if he did not hate Tiir for being a bearer of the Divine Eyes alone, he knew what he was capable of, what he had done a thousand times and would do again with no remorse.

Surely if Ecylan had any sense, he would want nothing to do with Tiir.

And Tiir found that even though he didn't feel guilty about having killed and consumed humans the way he had and never would, he regretted that his actions had affect Ecylan, the way he thought of him. It was not the same as how he regretted the same within his comrades, but he didn't know if it was better or worse, and that in itself was disturbing.

“Arsan,” Salea's Princess said, and paused.

And though Tiir could not help being worried about what she would say next, because there was no point for her in denying an obvious truth, he was curious for the same reason. Would she drop her act, or at least part of it? Or if she didn't, what lie could she even come up with that would not sound entirely ludicrous to even the most gullible?

“I'm not going to,” the woman said at last. “I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not. Ecylan's no longer a child, and you-- we all don't get to use bearers of the Magic Eyes and then claim they're the ones who're wrong, or dangerous. You may not like Tiir and he might not like you, either, but since he's the one who's stuck here against his will, it's your responsibility to not be an asshole about it.”

A short silence. “So, I'm leaving him with you,” she finished. “Don't make me regret trusting you this much.” She turned to Tiir. “Hopefully we won't take too long, but I can't promise anything.”

Tiir inclined his head, grateful for the excuse to not look at her. Of course her words were empty, nothing but pretty pretense. But even so...

He could not believe she would go this far.

After her little speech she made her exit swiftly, and Tiir and the soldier were left to deal with each other.

Remembering the half-Gastark magician's warning all too clear, Tiir avoided looking at the man directly.

“Well,” the human said after a while, his voice far from pleased. “Come in.”

He stepped aside, and Tiir reluctantly entered the soldier's room.

He didn't take the time to look around. There were few places he wanted to be in less, and if it were safe, he would gladly have pretended to be somewhere else altogether. But of course, he could not risk offending this human – should in fact worry about undoing some of the damage he had already done in that regard.

The mere idea revolted him.

Standing motionless in the middle of the room, Tiir stared at the sparingly adorned wall ahead of him as he considered his options. As he moved his gaze further to the right, it lingered on the large closed window located there, then on the red-leaved potted plant in front of it.

For the children's sake, Tiir needed the half-Gastark magician to no longer think of him as too volatile to be truly useful, and she had pointed him in the general direction of the path he needed to take if that was his aim. But he had burned bridges without realizing it – if it had ever been possible to convince this man he had been cowed so thoroughly into submission as to have been rendered harmless, that time had passed.

But he could do his best in putting on a show, perhaps soothe the man's hurt ego in the process, and hope the half-Gastark mage would satisfy herself with the attempt.

He would need to make this good.

Tiir turned around to look at the soldier, and did not glance away or blink as he slowly proceeded to make his way over. The man tensed, hand moving to where he would normally carry his sword, but wasn't at the moment – as if it could have afforded him any protection had Tiir been planning to crush his throat or rip off his head.

Tiir waited until he was but an arm's reach from the soldier, then, his movements as deliberate as when he'd approached the human and his gaze still not leaving the man's face, sank to his knees in front of him. He allowed himself a moment to take in the shock on the human's features before bowing his head.

“The last time we spoke I forgot my place,” he said quietly. “I apologize. It won't happen again.”

As he waited for the human to react in a way that went beyond staring at him, Tiir told himself that this was his choice, a small price to pay for making his brethren just a little safer and certainly preferable to groveling before the loathsome mage woman. No matter the man's reaction, so long as she heard about it, it should prove to her Tiir's willingness to heed even the more outrageous of her demands.

What she would do with that proof was another matter, but at the very least, Tiir could not afford the humans believing they needed to come up with more creative ways to keep him in line.

That this man apparently held sway with several influential nobles was just another reason this was necessary, not worth getting worked up about.

Even so, Tiir resented it with every fiber of his being.

The human took his time responding, and surprised Tiir when he did. “Did Lymeia put you up to this?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Tiir admitted after a beat.

He wondered if the human found that more or less satisfying than Tiir acting on his own. Probably the former. To begin with, the man would likely have distrusted Tiir's sudden change of heart otherwise.

He could hear the soldier shift. “And how did she convince you?” he asked, his tone giving away nothing.

Tiir curled his fists, but otherwise did not so much as twitch. “Isn't it obvious?” As he spoke, he remembered the half-Gastark magician's annoyance at his answering with a question to a question, adding to the thinly-veiled rancor in his voice.

“Well,” the soldier said after a moment, sounding gruff. “Since I really do not want Princess Malyrei coming after me, you better get up. I don't want to imagine what she'd do if she walked in right now, though I'm sure you'd find it amusing.”

'Amusing' was the last adjective Tiir would have ascribed to the woman, but he refrained from pointing this out to the human. Instead, he glanced up at the man, trying to gauge his mood. From his words and tone, he would have guessed at annoyed, but surprisingly, he looked more uncomfortable than anything.

Tiir barely managed to keep his lips from curling in distaste. There were no bounds to the cowardice of humans.

He rose and stepped back, when he would have loved nothing better than to see what it'd take to send this human running.

“You still think you're better than us, don't you?” the human asked.

This time Tiir could not prevent the sardonic smile from passing his lips, even as he had the sense to keep his mouth firmly shut.

“Yes,” the human said in his stead, obviously irked, “I'm sure you won't be forgetting what you believe to be 'your place'.”

Once again Tiir remained silent, knowing it would be answer enough even as he took care to keep any further emotions off his face.

“The gods know how you got the Princess on your side,” the soldier said, “I would have expected her to show a little more caution where her brother is concerned. But don't fool yourself – if you cause His Highness grief, she'll be the first to make you sorry.”

Tiir appreciated how he didn't even have to speak for the human's frustration to increase. That he had little desire to do what the man claimed to be worried about was nothing his enemy needed to know.

Or, well. It occurred to Tiir that with how far he had already gone, it was fatuous to provoke the human now, however subtly. Even so...

He shook himself, and said, softly, “I'll keep that in mind.”

The human narrowed his eyes at him, clearly trying to find the mockery behind his words.

Tiir knew that feeling.

“Well,” the soldier said when he finally gave up, clearly everything but happy. “Sit down, will you. Her Highness was very clear about what she thinks of you remaining standing.” Tiir inclined his head the barest inch before making to seat himself by the wall furthest from his enemy, but was interrupted by the human, “She was even clearer about what she thinks about you sitting on the floor. Use the couch, or a chair.”

Tiir blinked and turned back around to the man, who was glaring at him as if to challenge him to respond with something less than polite.

Instead, Tiir hovered for a moment, and then wordlessly picked the couch, because unlike the alternatives, it did not put him into the immediate vicinity of the soldier.

Still, this was just uncomfortable.

The human seemed to think so, too, and he continued glowering at Tiir.

Tiir finally averted his gaze.

“I don't know what you're thinking,” the soldier said after a while.

“Well, of course.” Tiir tried, and failed, to keep the taunt out of his voice as his eyes once more met those of the soldier. “Since I'm not human.”

“I'm not sure that's the only reason.”

“Of course it is.” Tiir allowed himself the tiniest twist of his lips. “I never know what your kind is thinking, either.”

“Like you never know what pigs are thinking?”

“Just so.”

The soldier's expression darkened, and Tiir almost made a face at his own inability to control himself. “I apologize,” he said, the words tasting foul.

“You don't know what's good for you, do you. It's a wonder you survived facing the Council.”

Tiir decided to do the smart thing and just not say anything from now on.

But of course the human could not leave well enough alone. “If you're so concerned about the Alpha Stigma bearers, then why do you provoke those keeping them out of harm's way? I remember what you said about His Highness, and clearly you've not changed your tune. Aren't you worried he'll decide you're not worth the trouble and leave them to their fate?” Knowing letting his fury show would do him no good, Tiir bit his tongue, but apparently determined to get a response, the human added, “Well?”

“Ah, but is your prince so petty?” Tiir returned, in a tone as neutral as he could manage.

“He's certainly not unlikely to decide you're not worth the trouble,” the human said instead of answering.

“That's fine.”

“I hope you're not counting on Princess Malyrei protecting you instead, because--”

The scoff had escaped Tiir before he could catch himself. “Rest assured I have no such lofty expectations.”

The human narrowed his eyes. “As much as His Highness does not agree with Lord Remdra, do you think he'll want to be around someone all day every day who thinks of him as 'lower than a pig'?”

“What do you wish me to tell you? That I'll be sorry when your prince tires of me? Or, perhaps, that I've changed my mind about him since we last spoke? Would you believe it? I'm trying not to provoke you, but you seem determined to make it difficult. Or is that your goal, perhaps? To be able to tell your fellow humans the monster's still not learned its place? But it seems like quite a waste of effort – whatever you tell them I said or did, they will believe you, regardless of the truth, no?”

“Are you saying I'd stoop so low as to lie to Lymeia and His Highness just to get rid of you?”

“Ah, I see.” Tiir wondered how worried he should be. If the soldier told his fellow humans what Tiir'd said so far... well, it wouldn't reflect all that well on him, but of course Ecylan wouldn't care, and as for the half-Gastark magician, perhaps as a start it would be enough for her that he'd come as far as he had in acting subservient to the man?

But she had specifically warned him against not reining in his tongue.

Tiir suppressed a wince.

“You see?” the human echoed. “I don't know what you're thinking, but I'm not trying to goad you – though the gods know you'd be the last in a position to criticize me for it. I just want you to be very clear that it's in your best interest to not make His Highness' life difficult. More difficult than you're already making it by having him keep you around, but I can't say anyone else savory is volunteering.”

Tiir couldn't tell if the human was speaking the truth. From what he knew of the man, he supposed it was possible. Elaborates schemes did not seem to be his forte. And Tiir had to admit if the soldier wanted to try and push him into doing something foolish, there were simpler ways.

Amused despite himself, Tiir asked, “It matters if they're 'savory'?”

The human crossed his arms. “Well, I'm not saying to throw you to the wolves. No doubt His Highness would be troubled, not to mention the Alpha Stigma bearers.”

“You'd be worried about them finding out?” Tiir allowed his lips to twist into a smile. “Your security must be very sloppy.”

“Are you trying to do whatever Lymeia told you to do or are you trying to get into a fight?”

Tiir dropped his smile and looked away.

There was a short silence. “I can see why she's worried about your ability to hold yourself in check.”

Tiir kept his eyes carefully trained on a potted plant on the man's window sill.

“Well, it's a step up from you deliberately antagonizing me, I suppose,” the human said after a while. “I take it at this point you at least try not to insult His Highness to his face?”

“I have no wish to turn your prince against me,” Tiir said, still not looking at the soldier.

“That's not what I asked.”

Tiir shot the man a covet look, trying to determine how much of Tiir's private interactions with the prince he would label insulting and how likely it was that he would learn of them in the future. Being accused of lying then wouldn't do.

“I'm attempting to be civil,” he tried at last.

“But not succeeding?”

This question was easier to answer. “Not always,” he said, and though the honesty of the words did not sit well with him, the human would never have believed him had he claimed otherwise.

“Well, I guess that's all I could expect,” the soldier said, almost grudgingly. “So you want to convince me to do what, tell Lymeia you apologized and I accepted? Give His Highness my approval? What precisely were you trying to achieve by kneeling to me? Other than getting me in more trouble with Her Highness, that is.”

Tiir was glaring at the man before he could think better of it. “I'm not trying to achieve anything except do as I've been told. Excuse me for-” He caught himself, and bit his tongue.

The human did not look amused. “So what is it you've been told, exactly?”

Tiir glanced away and didn't answer.

He doubted the half-Gastark magician would mind if he did, as it would be much more Tiir's problem than hers if doing so were to result in angering the soldier further, but just to be safe, he'd rather not. Besides, he had no idea what he even could say. The most truthful ways to answer were also the ones most likely to sound to the human like Tiir had been attempting to manipulate him.

Which wasn't surprising, considering Tiir was fairly sure playing to the human's natural arrogance counted as doing exactly that. Of course, more than about pacifying the man, Tiir was concerned about satisfying the half-Gastark magician, but admitting this would possibly be even more insolent than anything he had said in the last twenty minutes.

“Should I ask Lymeia instead?” the human wanted to know, a note of annoyance entering his tone.

Tiir tensed. “As you said, she's concerned about my ability to control myself,” he said, reluctantly and hoping to keep his voice free of the loathing he held for these humans. “So in light of my behavior last time, she encouraged me to to use this opportunity to demonstrate that I can.”

There was a pause. “You're doing a terrible job, you realize that?”

“Well, I apologize that you find my attempts at groveling to be lacking,” Tiir all but hissed at the human, then caught himself. “Just tell me what you want me to do. I'm not very good at minding my tongue, yes, but I can learn, and I can keep my mouth shut. I can kneel, or I can not kneel, or I can do whatever else you wish. Is that not enough?”

The soldier looked at him for a long while without speaking, then slowly shook his head. “I only want you to not make His Highness' life more difficult than necessary.”

Tiir barely kept himself from narrowing his eyes at the man. Surely that wasn't all. If Tiir were to return to mocking the colonel himself, for one, he had no doubt the human would be enraged.

But it wasn't Tiir's place to question him. Not if he wanted his comrades to perhaps be just a little safer. So he followed his own words and bit his tongue and bowed his head.

He wished the human would content himself with this and leave him alone. He wished he could rip out the pest's throat.

“Whatever you're afraid Lymeia might do, I don't plan on saying anything that would cause her to. I don't care if you have trouble keeping your thoughts to yourself, so long as you do not upset His Highness.”

Tiir raised his gaze again, perplexed and skeptical in equal measure, and some of it must have shown on his face, because the human crossed his arms and said, almost defensively, “Instead of apologizing to me, how about you apologize to His Highness. I'm sure you've given him a lot more reason to appreciate it.”

Tiir had not expected this, and a snort escaped him before he could stop himself.

The human narrowed his eyes at him. “What?”

'Nothing' was what Tiir wanted to say, but the suspicion evident in the man's voice and features told him that would not suffice. Honesty was the only solution he could think of. “Your wish was for me not to upset your prince, wasn't it? So I believe I should refrain.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

Tiir shrugged. “Just that your prince finds strange things upsetting.“

“Like you insulting him?” the human asked, rather sarcastically.

“Like me not talking to him, or not drinking enough, or not seeming entirely cheerful,” Tiir said after a moment. Revealing this much shouldn't be a problem, seeing how the half-Gastark magician was already well aware of Ecylan's concern for him and the soldier himself was bound to find out sooner or later, if he didn't have an idea already. “Apologizing to him for being trouble would hardly go over well. But of course, my opinion is quite worthless to you, isn't it. So if you insist--”

“You've got the sharpest tongue, haven't you,” the soldier said, and to Tiir's ire sounded like he wanted to roll his eyes. “I've not insisted yet, so how about you save the snappishness for after I reply.” He paused, then continued, in an incredulous tone of voice, “So what, you upset His Highness not by insulting him, but by moping around all day?”

Tiir bristled. “Hardly,” he said, and managed to not sound entirely as furious as he felt.

There was a pause. “Well this is just rich,” the human said then, and Tiir really, really wanted to kill him. “Forget I said anything. No wonder Her Highness was visibly contemplating throwing a very nasty spell at me. I'm going to let you mope in peace.”

Tiir opened his mouth to respond with something ill-advised, then closed it again and simply went back to staring at the potted plant. He was not going to let himself be provoked by so trivial a mockery. And to think the creature had called him petty.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the human taking a stack of paper out of his bedside drawer and proceeding to sift through it. Finally he put some of it back inside the drawer, sat down on the nearest chair, and started reading through the remaining documents. Now and then he glanced at Tiir, but that was the extent of the attention the human continued to pay him.

Tiir relaxed a little. This was familiar, and he was getting quite adapt at ignoring hostile humans, so long as they didn't force him to interact with them. All he had to do was wait quietly until Ecylan and the two mage women were done with their conversation.

That he could think of little but how much he wanted to be somewhere else while he did wasn't worth getting wound up about.

Unfortunately, it didn't help that the only other thought he managed to focus on for any significant amount of time was the question of what it was those humans were discussing that required Tiir to not be present. He cautiously decided it was unlike that it was about the children. If there was something wrong with them, surely Salea's princess would not have heard about it in rumors. Besides, she had almost brought the topic up in front of Tiir even after the half-Gastark woman's warning, and she hadn't seemed concerned about it.

Perhaps it had something to do with Gastark, then. In that case, it might not be better than there being anything wrong with Ren and Karda, and Tiir found himself more uneasy with every second he thought about it.

A quarter of an hour passed, then another one, and Tiir was feeling restless. What was taking the humans so long? Did their prolonged absence indicate the gravity of the matter they were discussing, or were they simply arguing over petty matters as humans were prone to?

Or perhaps Ecylan had decided to use the opportunity to catch up with his sister without Tiir being around to disturb them.

Tiir glanced at the human he was stuck with in the meantime. The soldier still seemed busy reading, but Tiir wasn't entirely sure he wasn't just pretending so as to have an excuse to not pay any further attention to him. After all, Tiir himself would have been quite glad to be able to do the same.

The human looked up at him, and Tiir quickly averted his gaze.

“Bored?” the soldier asked.

“Not at all.”

The human raised his eyebrows at him, but went back to reading without saying anything further.

No ten minutes later, however, the soldier put down the documents and focused his attention on Tiir again. “Well. I'm supposed to make sure you eat dinner.”

“I'm not hungry.”

The human glowered at him. “You're not just saying that to be contrary, are you.”

Tiir sniffed. “Hardly.”

“Fine. You explain that to Her Highness, then.”

Tiir almost grimaced. Justifying his lack of appetite to Salea's princess was among the things he least felt like doing, but it was indeed not unlikely it would come to that, whether the soldier brought the subject up or she herself did. Tiir was tempted to take back his words and simply force himself to eat, but he didn't know what he should say, or whether he would even be able to make himself finish a meal.

Inadvertently, his gaze was drawn to a bowl of fruit on the human's bedside table. If it was just an apple or orange, he supposed that would be all right, and he would have eaten something – surely no one would question that.

Much, he amended, thinking of Ecylan. For his sister's act, however, it shouldn't matter whether Tiir just ate an apple or a warm meal.

Not that Tiir could be entirely certain, with how the woman had behaved so far. What could she possible be thinking--

“Fruit?” the soldier asked. His tone was no longer one of irritation, but quite calm, if slightly baffled.

“I--” Tiir began, caught off-guard.

Before he could think of something intelligent to say, the soldier walked over to the bowl, grabbed it, and finally held it out to Tiir, who blinked.

After a moment, he slowly took the closest apple. “Thank you,” he said routinely, because he had manners.

The human, who was watching him with an expression that was hard to read, opened his mouth, but unsurprisingly – and thankfully – did not respond with 'you're welcome'. Instead he simply shut it again and wordlessly returned the bowl to its former place before sitting back down. He did not pick up the documents again, however.

Tiir had never felt so uncomfortable eating an apple.

He hadn't quite finished when there was a knock at the door. As he had hoped, but not expected, it was not Salea's princess who entered a moment later, but her brother.

“Your Highness,” the soldier said, and sounded more surprised than Tiir was.

“Arsan,” Ecylan returned. “Thanks for letting Tiir stay. I'm afraid we're in a bit of a hurry, though.”

“Of course,” the soldier said, and before he'd finished speaking Tiir already stood.

“I'll drop by properly some other time,” the prince promised.

“Don't trouble yourself.”

As Tiir arrived next to him, Ecylan offered him a smile that was only a little too shaky to sit well with him.

Despite having doubts he would be able to find out even the slightest thing about what was going on, Tiir was impatient to get back to the prince's quarters to try. Even so, he took the time to incline his head to the other human present before following Ecylan out of the room. He could at least end this on a respectful note.

No matter how little the man in question deserved anything resembling respect from him.

As he left, Tiir glanced at the piece of fruit he still held in and – what remained of it –, and made a face. Even the apple had tasted sour.

Chapter Text

“Were there any problems with Arsan?” Ecylan wanted to know as they walked down the corridor that led to his quarters.

“Why do you ask?”

“Well,” the prince said, somewhat hesitantly. “Malyrei seemed... quite upset with him.”

Of course she had. Could none of the humans mind their own business?

“There weren't any problems.”

The look Ecylan gave him over his shoulder was more than doubtful.

Tiir's own expression remained blank as he added, “Surely you didn't expect us to magically become fond of each other?”

“Well, no, but--” the prince paused as he reached into his pocket for the key to his room, then proceeded to open the door. He would probably have continued his sentence after he was done, if not for the dog almost throwing him off his feet.

Tiir quickly went to pet the animal before it could do the same to him. As it did more often than not, the dog contented itself with this and after a while trotted back into the room, tail still wagging.

“It's not that I thought you'd suddenly start liking one another,” Ecylan resumed the conversation before Tiir could think of a good way to change the subject. “But I didn't expect Arsan to say or do anything to piss my sister off that badly, either. What did he do?”

“Nothing,” Tiir said. And before Ecylan got the chance to verbally express his evident disbelief at his reply continued, “Nothing that should be surprising, least of all to you. You should know the last thing he considers me is a person – and for some reason, your sister seems bothered by this kind of attitude.” Seems being an important qualifier. Tiir's lips curled. “I certainly was neither surprised nor outraged. So could we talk about more important things, perhaps?”

Ecylan bit his lip. “I didn't realize--” he broke off, shook his head. “I'm sorry. But yes, we should probably talk about something else.”

Tiir gave the human a sharp look. He had not expected the prince to agree with him so easily. Or to reveal to him anything about what he had discussed with his sister and the half-Gastark magician. But that was what he was getting at, wasn't it?

Ecylan took a deep breath. That was not reassuring.

“The thing I spoke about with Malyrei and Lymeia,” the human said. “I should tell you, but I don't know how--” He broke off, fidgeting and looking everything but happy.

It had been a while since Tiir'd felt a serious desire to hurt the man, but at this very moment, he certainly did. “Yes?” he asked, gritting his teeth.

“This is-- it's not something that can be helped, even if it's true. It will just--” Ecylan hesitated. “Upset you.”

Tiir laughed, a bitter and twisted sound. “I'm already upset.”

The prince looked away, then nodded. “Yes, of course.” There was just the briefest pause this time. “As I'm sure you know, Stohl is essentially part of Gastark now. It's not entirely under their control yet, but it will be any day now. Some nobles... there's been a rumor spread during the ball that Stohl has done what Lord Remdra would like to and researched the Magic Eyes. That the subjects of this research are still there, alive.” The human did not manage to hold Tiir's gaze. “For now, anyway.”

The blood in Tiir's veins had become ice. “How credible are these rumors, exactly?”

Ecylan still did not look at him, and Tiir wanted to scream. “Stohl has gone beyond the usual magic research in recent times,” the man said. “And they've always been very--” He broke off, worried his lip. “The Guild has people keeping an eye on some of their projects and what we do know is that their spies have consulted with a handful of trusted nobles about their findings. It's not... impossible one of them got carried away after a glass of wine too many and leaked something.” A pause. Then, reluctantly, “And very likely, considering the Guild's movements since.”

Tiir slowly drew in air. It was just a rumor. There was a chance it had no truth to it. Even with how many children they did not manage to safe, surely he or his friends would have heard something of this if it were true. Even if it might not have been going on for long yet, even if they were too few in numbers to be anywhere as effective at detecting their comrades in time as they'd like and sometimes had no means by which to figure out their precise whereabouts...

Tiir shook himself. He could not afford to lose his head over a rumor, and if it was more than that, then panicking would be even more detrimental to the situation.

He dug his nails into the fabric of his sleeves and took care to keep his voice even. “So what now?”

“Nothing,” the prince said after a beat, and then winced, whether at his own reply or because even though he was still avoiding Tiir's gaze, he would be able to gauge the expression on Tiir's face. “There's nothing we can do,” he tried to explain. “The Guild will want to prevent any bearers of the Divine Eyes falling into Gastark's hands, of course, but their methods... if we tried to interfere, though, whether we had them contact their operatives or sent someone there ourselves-- we would never make it in time.” A pause. “I'm sorry.”

Tiir only took a split second to consider his options. “What if you could?” he asked. And added, at the human's confused look, “Make it in time.”

“I-- what do you mean?”

Even though he had already made his decision, Tiir found himself hesitating. Up until now, he had been careful to not risk the humans finding anything out about the Iino Doue they might not already know. However much he had come to like Ecylan, trust him even, they both had those who owned their loyalty first. It would not do to increase Salea's interest in any of the Divine Eyes, or enable them to better guard themselves against them.

But Tiir had no idea if they already knew this, and if they didn't, it was still not a secret he could let any of his comrades cost their lives. To be used by humans, and then killed, without ever even learning who the real monsters were in this equation... it was too cruel.

“I could get us there in a tenth of the time-- or anyone else you'd like me to take in your stead,” he added, because of course Salea's crown prince would not walk into danger for Tiir's or Tiir's comrades' sake, would not be allowed to even if he himself'd be willing.

Ecylan stared at him for a long moment. “Tiir, that's-- I don't think--”

“Or was that just an excuse?

“Of course not,” Ecylan said immediately, almost indignantly, though his expression was more pained than anything. “But how do you imagine this would work? If I went with you, not only would the entire Council be talking about it, but the Guild, as well. And that is if I managed to obtain my mother's permission. If anyone else went... who'd that even be? Lymeia?” The prince's tone had turned slightly hysterical. “I think not. And Malyrei-- that'd be worse than me going. If anything happened... Salea needs her. I can't ask her to just walk into Gastark territory.”

“Not to save the lives of a bunch of monsters.”

“Tiir, that's not fair!”

“Isn't it?”

“I can't save save everyone. Or even most people. I'm not sure I'm even any help in keeping this country from being trampled by a foreign army.”

“I'm not asking you to save everyone,” Tiir said. “Or most people.” His lips twisted. “I'm asking you to help me save these ones. Children, most likely. Abandoned by those they called their families, perhaps even handed over to their country's army by them – for a reward, or to save their own worthless skins. And now your country wants to kill them so Gastark can't?” Tiir laughed. “Oh, but it has nothing to do with you, since you can't save everyone.”

The prince looked ashamed, as he should. Not that Tiir'd usually expect a human to have the necessary self-awareness.

“We don't even know if they exist,” Ecylan tried, even as his voice betrayed his lack of conviction in his own argument.

“But you think they do.”

Ecylan looked away once again. “Yes.”

“So will you allow them to be murdered?”

The young royal was silent for a very long time. Tiir once again told himself it would not be helpful to panic, or lose his temper; it never had done him any good when it came to saving those he loved. Even so, it was impossible to remain calm. He could not bear having to stand by helplessly, again, as his comrades were slaughtered by humans. He could not bear learning that Ecylan was content to let it happen, that that was all his 'kindness' amounted to. If that were the case, then Tiir did not think he cared if the human's words up until now had been genuine – what use were good intentions, if they could be cast aside the moment they became inconvenient?

But even so, Tiir did not know what he was asking the man to do. The humans would not let him out of their sight, he realized that much. It didn't leave a lot of options.

“No,” Ecylan said, and Tiir snapped his attention back to him. “No. I don't know how--” He broke off, finally met Tiir's gaze. “But I'll try. I'm sorry for... but let's not waste any more time.”

Tiir's relief at the young royal's change of heart was short lived. As he wordlessly followed him back out the door, the dog watching them leave in unhappy confusion, he abruptly wondered if there had even been a point arguing. After all, it was true the man could only ever try. There was no use if none of those around him would listen.

*

They found the queen in the throne room. At the prince's request, she sent away the people outside awaiting an audience, and told everyone already inside to leave the hall – everyone except the half-Gastark mage, to Tiir's chagrin.

Ecylan's sister was nowhere to been seen, and aside from servants, there were only two wealthy looking humans and what appeared to be half a dozen guards passing the prince and Tiir on their way.

“Perhaps I should speak with them by myself,” Ecylan said when it was just the two of them in that end of the hall, without taking his eyes off the queen, who was sitting languidly on the silver and golden throne a good hundred paces away. In front of her stood the loathsome mage, arms crossed and doubtless already in a terrible mood.

Tiir did not think any of this was a good idea.

But the alternative was even worse, and so at least he knew that whatever happened, it would be near impossible to regret having made this attempt.

“Would you wait here?” Ecylan asked.

“Yes,” Tiir said, and stepped off the black and purple carpet leading to the throne, onto blank white marble.

Tiir's gaze remained fixed on Ecylan's back until the man arrived on the stairs leading up to the throne, then, reluctantly, Tiir got ready to pretend to not be concerned with the humans' conversation. Of course he would not fool anyone, least of all himself, but there was no need to agitate his enemies further by making his already obvious interest in the subject they would be discussing harder for them to ignore.

Feigning disinterest was made easier by the fact that from where he was standing, it was near impossible to read the humans' expressions, let alone listen to their debate. Stealing a glance now and then, Tiir could tell not much more than that the mage woman was displeased, which was neither a surprising nor a particularly helpful piece of information.

So he waited, carefully not thinking about all the ways this could go wrong. Instead, he reminded himself of why he could not have made a different choice. He could not stand by and let children who had already been betrayed and used by humans be put down like animals that had gotten inconvenient to keep around. There was no alternative to what he was attempting, and failure was not an option.

The problem was that the humans would not see it like that.

Tiir twitched when the prince called his name, but made his way over without delay. He kept his head lowered – already he would be viewed as presumptuous; there was no need to make it worse.

Approaching the humans, Tiir felt strangely detached. All of this was too bizarre, to unreal. Never in a million years would he have pictured himself asking humans for anything – because he despised them, and even if he didn't, any request he might make of them could only be thrown back in his face, achieving nothing but a show of weakness certain to embolden his enemies further.

However, his weakness had already been revealed, was proven by his very presence in this country – even by his continued existence. If the alternative was accepting the senseless death of just one more child, he would rather cling to the words of humans. He would rather beg them.

He could not watch anymore of his brethren die.

Tiir stopped in front of the stairs leading up to the throne and knelt, because he did not know Salea's protocol for this, but not being human, no one would fault him for showing more than the usual amount of deference.

“You may rise,” the queen said, her tone giving no indication that she was pleased with or surprised by the action, or cared about it at all.

Tiir stood. He thought it might be proper to thank her for the permission to do so, but didn't believe he could have kept the venom out of his voice even now, so he bit his tongue and bowed his head.

“It's not often I am asked to send my heir into enemy territory for others' personal reasons,” the woman said, her voice still not giving away any emotion. There was a pause. “Am I wrong to assume it was you who asked this of him?”

“Mother--” Ecylan started, but the queen gestured with her hand, and he fell silent.

Tiir opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. He had not expected Ecylan to ask to accompany him personally, though of course he should have. It was a foolish way of going about this, but then, the alternatives would have been similarly ludicrous.

“No,” Tiir said at last. “You're not wrong”

“That's not strictly t--”

“Ecylan,” the queen said. And then, to Tiir, “This is not a request I wish to grant. It's a venture bound to leave political complications in its wake even if everything goes smoothly. However,” she went on before Tiir could do more than forget to draw in air for a second, “since my son insists, I will permit the two of you to leave. If he comes to any harm, you will bear the consequences. I presume this is acceptable?”

Tiir swallowed. “Yes.” After a beat he forced out, “Thank you.”

“There is, however, a condition,” the woman went on, and Tiir tensed. “Lymeia could give you some areas in Stohl the Guild has been active in recently. With luck, you would be able to find what you're looking for. But it'd hardly be an effective approach, and stumbling into the Guild's operations and possibly mistaking any of theirs for the enemy – or being mistaken by them for the enemy – is not something I'm willing to chance happening. I'm allowing you to leave for Stohl, but not to interfere with the Guild at will. I'm also not allowing you to wander the country at your leisure considering the situation. If you want to have any hope of success, you will have to obtain your information directly from the Guild. Do you think you can do that?”

The prince, at whom the question was obviously directed, shifted uncomfortably, before saying, “Yes.”

“Good,” Salea's queen said. “Lymeia, if you would assist--”

“I will have no part in this,” the half-Gastark mage said, speaking up for the first time since Tiir had approached.

Tiir thought it was a particularly rude refusal considering whom she was speaking to. Even so, he got the impression Salea's queen herself wasn't bothered by it, nor taken by surprise.

She only sighed. “Will you at least arrange the meeting?”

The mage woman took her time replying. “As my liege wishes,” she said at last. Her tone did not match her words.

She stepped down from the dais and moved past Tiir without so much as a glance in his direction. Even so, Tiir had no doubt it was him she blamed for this.

He would have to deal with the consequences, but now was not the time to worry about that.

As soon as the half-Gastark mage had left, large double door falling closed behind her, Salea's queen returned her attention to her son. “This will take a while. Find Malyrei and have him stay with her for now – I'd like to talk to you.”

“I...,” Ecylan began, then trailed off as he seemed to think better of whatever objection he'd been about to make. “Yes, Mother.”

Tiir was only slightly less tense following the man out of the hall than he had been entering it. On the one hand, Tiir had expected this to go much worse – but at the same time, it seemed to him that this had gone a little too well, and he was beginning to think that the battle had not even been half won yet. Unlike Salea's monarch, its Guild would hardly be inclined to do the prince personal favors. In fact, if the queen knew they would never go along with his plans, letting the final decision rest with them while not personally getting in the way of Ecylan's intentions would be a convenient way to deny his request without inviting a conflict over it.

Even so, he couldn't help but hope.

*

With Salea's princess, luck, at least, seemed to be on Tiir's side. She was with her Runan acquaintance and had little opportunity to ask Tiir questions. For the benefit of their Runan guest, Ecylan made something up about how he felt it would be discourteous to leave Tiir by himself when this private conversation between him and the queen might take hours. The Princess of Runa did not question this, though she did throw Tiir a curious glance at the explanation – before quickly looking away again when their eyes met.

Tiir, meanwhile, only hoped he would not be stuck with the princesses for actual hours. The children imprisoned by Stohl probably did not have much time left. Either Gastark would find them or, more likely, the assassins Salea already had near them would act to prevent that. For the children, the outcome would be the same.

He waited impatiently for the humans to finish their talks and preparations, equally irked and set at ease by the fact that the two women he had to put up with until then were oblivious to the proceedings. Well, probably not Salea's princess. Tiir assumed she could guess the gist of what this was about. Even so, she could not without courting unwanted questions ask Tiir about the details in private, and she gave no indication of wanting to. He appreciated being left alone when all he could do was prevent himself from pacing, but could not help but wonder what she thought of this, or would think of this in the future.

Even when after little more than an hour her brother returned together with the half-Gastark mage, Salea's princess barely blinked in surprise, and let them leave without comment.

Tiir followed the humans off palace grounds into a carriage looking much more plain than the last one Tiir'd been made to enter. This time, the driver wasn't anyone he recognized.

“I hope you know what you're doing,” the mage woman said when the horses started moving.

“I'll manage,” Ecylan said.

“Well that's rich, considering you barely managed to put whole sentences together in front of the Bard.”

“It's not the Bard we're dealing with this time, though.” A pause. Then, somewhat apprehensively, “Is it?”

“Oh no, getting the Bard to personally see anyone on this short a notice is impossible even if it's a member of the royal house who wishes to speak with her. So there's no need to be concerned about that. Of course, I would argue the alternative is worse.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Your Highness, who else is there in the Guild who could possibly have the authority to reveal the details of one of their operations to you and sanction you interfering with it?”

“Her second in command?” Ecylan guessed after a moment.

“Yes,” the mage woman confirmed and folded her arms. “Cleydres. Good luck getting anything useful out of him.”

“He's that bad?”

“He is currently at the Fiyedra estate, enjoying himself when we have a war on the horizon and classified information being leaked, and has been since the ball. But then, at least it's unlikely he would greet you with blood in his hair, so you might find him the preferable option.”

“Well, that's a good start?”

The half-Gastark woman snorted. “Certainly, just don't expect him to care about your request. At least the Bard would pretend to take you seriously.”

Ecylan sighed. “And you really won't at least come along?”

“I will gladly leave this to you and your pet, Your Highness.” The woman still did not glance at Tiir, but the way she emphasized 'pet' conveyed her displeasure every bit as clearly as if she had glared at him. “Enjoy yourselves. I will wait right here in this carriage to escort you back to the palace. Or, of course, return there by myself to inform Her Majesty of your success.” Her tone held a clear implication of how likely she thought that particular outcome.

Tiir tried not to worry about it. This became harder when he shot a covert glance at Ecylan and found the man looking quite unsettled.

Ironically, for a moment he resented the human for so honestly displaying his emotions.

*

“My, Your Highness, what a wonderful surprise. Well, or it would be, if Lymeia hadn't spoiled it. Like she does most things. Terrible temper, that one.”

Tiir had recognized the – spy? Assassin? – from the ball by name when it had been mentioned earlier in the carriage, and was therefore not taken aback finding himself in the presence of this particular human again. Ecylan had mentioned the man's importance to his organization in passing before, too, so it wasn't like Tiir'd had less than half an hour to process that piece of information, either.

Even so, first threads of anxiety slithered down his spine. Surely by now, the man knew what he was. Surely he would not have been pleased to learn of it after asking Tiir for a dance, of all things – even if it had only been in hopes of loosening Tiir's tongue. At best he would find it amusing, like one might find requesting a dance from a dog amusing. At worst... if he was resentful enough, every word Ecylan might say to him would be a waste of time from the start.

Not that the man seemed resentful, any more than he had seemed to have an ulterior motive when he had approached Tiir and struck up a conversation. He was sitting at a small marble table, a glass bowl in front of him, and casually picked out one of the grapes it held to eat, then another one. His hair was not in a braid this time, but hanging loosely, and his black and dark blue clothes were less luxurious than the ones he had worn at the ball, though Tiir had little doubt he could still have attended court events in them without raising too many eyebrows.

His unconcerned demeanor did not set Tiir at ease. An assassin he might or might not be, but Tiir was sure about the spy part. And a human even more skilled at deception than most of his kind... Tiir would have given much to not have to deal with him.

The same was probably true for Ecylan, who had yet to get a word out since they'd been brought to this room by one of the estate's servants.

“I hope you'll pardon me for not standing on ceremony,” the spy said with a deceptively friendly smile as he took yet another grape. “It'd just be such a hassle to get up in the middle of eating.”

“Please excuse him, Your Highness.” For the first time Tiir shifted his attention to the human standing next to the Guild member, with only half an arm's length distance between them – the noble this house belonged to, or perhaps it was an older member of his family who owned the estate. “He has no manners.”

The man certainly looked young to be the head of this household – about the spy's age, which meant only some years older than Ecylan; perhaps he had half a decade on the prince, or perhaps a bit more. Tiir didn't usually have cause to try and give an estimate for a human's age beyond the obvious. He also didn't have a habit of bothering to remember the faces of most humans he ran into even now, but despite this, he doubted he had seen this man at the ball. His thick long hair was the color of copper and would have stood out at Salea's court.

“That's all right,” Ecylan said, and Tiir wasn't entirely sure whether or not he realized his implied agreement could easily be taken as a jab by the party being discussed.

“I feel so wronged,” the Guild member said, rather dramatically, and swept aside the bowl. He propped his elbow on the table, rested his chin in his palm and smiled at the prince. “All right, Your Highness, what is it I can do for you?”

Ecylan glanced at the red-haired noble, uneasy and not very subtle. “Shouldn't we discuss this in private?”

“Oh, but this is much more fun! Let's see how well we can talk around this matter. It'll be like a game.”

“A game involving highly classified information?” Ecylan asked, his tone not at all amused. “And I suppose whoever reveals a state secret first loses?”

The Guild member laughed. “Just so! Ah, don't be like that. Lord Kyrel would not speak of anything he might learn. Because then I'd have to kill him, and that'd be such a shame.”

Trust a human to talk about killing his own kind in the same tone he might employ to chat about the weather.

The noble whose potential demise had become the topic of conversation looked almost as displeased as the prince. “I don't know why I keep you around.”

The assassin smiled and tilted his head to one side. “Why, because I'm very charming, of course.” Then, to the prince, “Well?”

Tiir stood close enough to Ecylan to notice him taking a deep breath before replying. “If you'll take responsibility, I don't see a reason for further delay.”

“That's what I thought,” the Guild member said, with irritating cheer. “Ah, but perhaps you should sit down first. I feel so rude being the only one seated.”

“That's because you are,” the noble informed him.

The assassin just smiled.

After a moment, Ecylan sat down in the chair across the Guild member. Tiir took a few steps to position himself behind the prince again, but made sure to keep himself a little to the man's right
and therefore not directly in the assassin's line of sight.

The noble, to the assassin's right, also remained standing.

“So,” the assassin said. “I understand it's a certain location you want from me?”

“And the Guild's consent, yes.”

“Ah. But see, there's a point I'm not quite clear on yet. Why should the Guild consent?”

Tiir tried not to tense.

“Is there a reason why the Guild shouldn't?” Ecylan asked instead of answering.

The assassin tilted his head as if considering, then smiled. “No, I don't believe so. Even if you got yourself killed in Stohl, the throne still has an heir, does it not? Of course, if you got yourself captured, now that would be a problem.”

“I'd hardly go around announcing my identity to people, so that won't be an issue.”

“Yes, I suppose it won't, then.” A pause. “But if anything did go wrong, I would have to take the blame. The Bard is so unpleasant when angry. She's terribly displeased already, you see. It's what happens when you entrust important information to nobles. They just have no idea how to keep their mouths shut. I don't know why we allow them to handle political affairs.” The assassin paused again and threw a winning smile at the noble standing next to him. “No offense, darling.”

“Yes, why can't we just have murderers for hire running this country,” the man in question said. “It would be such an improvement.”

“You say the sweetest things, but let's not bore His Highness with our pillow talk. My point was, I believe we've done the royal family enough favors recently. Wouldn't you agree, Your Highness?”

Instead of replying, Ecylan asked, “So what do you want?”

The assassin laughed, and Tiir wished he could kill him. “Nothing I believe you could give me, Your Highness.”

“So you're saying we've wasted our trip here?” Clearly Ecylan was trying for a calm tone, but he didn't achieve it. It was obvious that like Tiir, he was furious the human in front of him was treating the lives of bearers of the Divine Eyes as a joke. Unlike Tiir, he probably wasn't picturing his conversational partner's blood splattered all across the small room.

“Why, I wasn't saying that at all. I was just pointing out that since at best, the potential advantages and disadvantages for this country that could come from what you're planning even out, there's no reason for me to help you at all. And to be quite honest, I don't particularly feel like it, either! Now, if it was a favor for someone else, though...” The assassin tilted his head upwards a little and smiled at Tiir.

“I'm not sure what you're getting at,” Ecylan said, echoing Tiir's own thoughts.

The assassin was still smiling, albeit now at the prince. “I'm pointing out that I like your bodyguard more than I do you,” he said blithely. “You wouldn't mind me speaking with him alone for a bit, would you?”

“In fact, I think I would,” Ecylan returned, his voice cool.

Had the prince but glanced in his direction, Tiir would have shaken his head at him, subtly reminding him that while he appreciated the sentiment, Tiir's own safety was not a priority. But Ecylan didn't, and Tiir could only clench his fists to keep himself from choosing a less delicate approach and grabbing the man's shoulder.

The Guild member seemed amused. “My, Your Highness, I'm asking for a conversation, not his hand in marriage. Surely you can spare him for a moment? I assure you there are no assassins in this house.” A laugh. “Well, except for me, that is.”

“No, I really don't think--”

“It will be fine, Your Highness.” Tiir kept his voice soft, but even so, he knew interrupting Ecylan was not the best idea. If he wasn't so certain the man would only get more adamant in his refusal otherwise, he wouldn't have risked it.

After all, like the half-Gastark mage, Tiir had no doubt the assassin across the table would not deem it Tiir's place to inject himself into the conversation, let alone interrupt those considered his betters.

Hopefully, though, giving the human what he wanted would make up for this breach of etiquette.

Certainly if the Guild member took issue with Tiir's forwardness, he did a good job at covering up his displeasure. He smiled at Tiir again, and then at Ecylan. “See, even your bodyguard isn't concerned about your safety if he leaves your side here! There shouldn't be any problem then, no?”

Ecylan turned to look at Tiir, and distress was written all over his face for an instant as he opened his mouth. And closed it again.

Finally, he composed himself. “Ten minutes,” he said.

“Fifteen,” the assassin shot back.

The briefest of hesitations. “All right.”

“That's enough time to show you the gardens,” the noble who'd been silent for a while noted. “If Your Highness would care to take a look?”

Ecylan's gaze slid to Tiir again, who pointedly averted his eyes and stared at a random spot on the table, close to the fruit bowl.

Ecylan returned his attention to the noble. “Yes, thank you,” he said and got up. “Fifteen minutes,” he reminded the assassin, before letting the noble lead him out of the room.

When he put his mind to it, the prince wasn't so bad at hiding his emotions, after all. Tiir was fairly sure he was not much less anxious about this than Tiir himself, if for different reasons – but in the end, he'd not made a fuss about it. Whether because they could not afford to draw this out or because he was conscious of how every sign of concern for Tiir would in the long run only cause problems, Tiir didn't know, but either way, he was glad of it.

Now he just needed to figure out what this other human wanted, and how to get him to give them what they had come here for.

Surely it couldn't be so difficult, considering there clearly was something he wanted. Unless, of course, he had only sent Ecylan out because it amused him, like everything seemed to do. It wouldn't surprise Tiir if what this human intended to do now was nothing more than to taunt him.

With anything else, though, Tiir could work. Somehow.

“Why don't you have a seat?” the assassin asked once they were alone, gesturing to the chair Ecylan had left empty.

Warily, Tiir followed the suggestion. The human in front of him was still smiling, and still that told Tiir nothing about his mood, or his intentions. He didn't try to glean anything more helpful from the man's expression, and instead averted his gaze.

“Ah, I'm afraid I didn't make the best second impression,” the assassin said. “And perhaps not the best first one, either? I assure you I wasn't trying to make your life more difficult. That would go only for His Highness! I've still not caught your name yet.”

Tiir wasn't sure why the human would care, or pretend to care, but in this, there was no point questioning his motives. “It's Tiir,” he said instead, quietly. And then, reluctantly, “Tiir Rumibul.”

“Tiir,” the human repeated, as if tasting the name. “And here I was wondering if it was something embarrassing with how uninterested you seemed in giving it. But it's quite lovely.”

Tiir couldn't even begin to form a response to that.

Luckily, there was no need to. “I'm very pleased to meet you,” the human went on, emphasizing the 'very' in a way that made Tiir uncomfortable. “It's too bad we have so little time to chat. But I don't suppose you're in the mood to, anyway. Nasty business, this Stohl thing. I assume you approve of His Highness's wish to interfere?”

Tiir didn't think there was anything to say to that except, “Yes.”

“Enough to pay a price?”

“Yes.”

“What, you're not even going to ask what kind of price? You can look at me, you know.”

Tiir slid his gaze to the human, who was watching him with open curiosity. “If it's just me who's affected, I don't particularly care.”

“Is that so,” the human said. He was smiling again. “Then there won't be a problem. Say, is it true the royal house's cat is pregnant?”

Thrown by the sudden change of topic, Tiir ended up staring at the assassin.

Before he could formulate a reply, the human went on, “This is the only kind of interesting information we get from there most of the time. Mind you, we have a decent number of spies stationed there, as much effort as that took. The problem is that Lymeia is aware of so many of them. As I said, she spoils everyone's fun. When she went to Gastark, we thought that'd be the last we'd seen of her, but alas.” The human laughed. “No, actually she's quite the asset to this country, I just don't want to have to deal with her. But really, kittens? A bit irresponsible, if you ask me.”

Tiir was having some trouble following the man's monologue. Was this going somewhere, or was he just rambling? He wished humans weren't so fond of hearing themselves talk.

“Would you say you and His Highness are getting along?” the assassin asked, with barely a pause between the seemingly very different subjects of conversation.

Tiir wondered what kind of information the man might be hoping to extract from Tiir's answer. “Does it matter?” he asked, carefully.

Tiir was well aware that like the half-Gastark mage, the human across from him would not be happy about having a question of his answered with another question, but as Tiir had concerns regarding the safety of any more straightforward reply, he couldn't see a way around it.

“Of course it does,” the human said, tone deceptively light. Tiir wondered if it had been the best idea to send Ecylan away. He didn't know how to handle this, so what if he ended up doing more harm than good?

The assassin sighed. “This is no fun. I'm actually just trying to satisfy my curiosity. There's no need to be so tense. Ah well. I only have my own terrible timing to blame for that, no? Let's stick with business this time, then. I'm actually not at all opposed to helping you out, if His Highness will agree to some self-explanatory conditions. But I can't be seen handing out free favors out of the goodness of my heart – can you imagine the hit my reputation'd take? So I'm going to have something of you.”

Tiir was glad this was getting somewhere at last, though also apprehensive. While he could handle pain, he knew if he was hurt, or agreed to let himself be hurt in the future, Ecylan would make a fuss about it. Especially if it was going to be the latter, that was going to be a problem. Tiir was hardly in the position to decide which human did or didn't get to do what to him. But surely the man in front of him was under no illusions in that regard. Tiir eyed him warily.

With a bright smile, the human leaned forward. “At the next ball, dance with me.”

“What.” The word escaped Tiir before he had time to think about it. It was more an expression of confusion and disbelief than a question, but the human decided to take it as one.

“When there is another ball at court,” the man said, quite cheerfully, “accept my invitation to dance.”

“Why?” Though Tiir knew questioning the human's demands was not a very helpful thing to do, he couldn't stop himself.

The assassin was still smiling. “Because you're interesting. And quite beautiful. I can't say I approached you last time for entirely personal reasons, but I was hoping for that dance.”

“But you--” The human did know what Tiir was, wasn't he?

“Yes?” the man across from him asked, looking vaguely curious.

Tiir decided there was no point talking circles around this, or ignoring the matter and risking an unpleasant surprise later, however unlikely. “You're aware, aren't you?”

The human blinked once, then smiled again. “Of your eyes?”

“Yes.”

“M-hm, entirely aware. I wasn't last time, but it didn't come as too much of a surprise, either. And I have been paying attention to recent developments.”

That, unfortunately, didn't clear up anything at all. It took Tiir a moment before he thought to wipe the bewilderment from his expression, and even then, he was still unable to think of anything intelligent to say.

“I even heard you made a meal out of Lord Narvsen when you got caught,” the human went on pleasantly. “A great service to this country. I think I might have somewhat of a crush. Say, did h--” He was interrupted by the sound of the door being opened. “Ah, it's too bad. Let's talk more next time, yes? I take it we have an agreement?”

Somehow, Tiir managed to find his voice. “We do.”

“Perfect,” the assassin said, beaming.

“What kind of agreement?” Ecylan asked as he approached, suspicion apparent in his voice. The red-haired noble walked behind him.

“Wouldn't you like to know,” the assassin more sung than said. And then, to Tiir, “Don't tell him.” The tone was still playful, but Tiir had no doubt it it wasn't an accident that the human had phrased it as an order.

“Don't tell me what?” Ecylan asked, suspicion mixing with worry and anger.

The assassin laughed. “I assure you it has nothing to do with you, so what need would there be for you to know? Don't you think it'd be better to focus on the original purpose of your visit?”

“No,” Ecylan said to Tiir's chagrin, though not surprise. “I think I really do need to know.”

“My, my, Your Highness, no offense, but don't you think you're being a bit nosy. This is hardly any of your--”

“Cleydres,” the red-haired noble interrupted. “This is a bit much blatant disrespect, wouldn't you say? I can't imagine the Bard would be happy to hear about it.”

“Let me worry about the Bard,” the assassin said, but his smile had slipped. After a moment, he made a face. “I don't know why you side with him. But fine, ruin my fun. I so apologize for my rudeness, Your Highness.” There was a clear implication in his tone that he was most certainly not actually sorry. “Dear Tiir can tell you all about our little chat once we're done. I promise no souls or firstborns were traded. Can we get back to business now?”

Ecylan did not look happy, so when he opened his mouth to almost certainly refuse, Tiir quickly spoke up. “Your Highness, it's fine.”

Ecylan snapped his mouth shut and turned to Tiir. He hesitated.

Tiir glanced at the assassin, who was watching them with evident interest. Instead of waiting for Ecylan to make up his mind, he rose from his chair and stepped aside, resuming his former position.

Thankfully it wasn't long until Ecylan took the cue and once more sat down across from the other human in Tiir's stead.

“Business, then,” Ecylan said, focusing his attention on the man in front of him.

“I'll give you what you want,” the assassin said, “but there's two conditions.”

“Which ones?”

The assassin held up a finger. “First, there's one of our operatives involved who may not come to harm under any circumstances. Of course, I'd rather you managed to avoid doing damage to any of ours, but if you hurt this person in particular, my wrath will be nothing compared to that of the Bard.”

“All right,” Ecylan said. “Will you give us their description?”

“Yes. I won't give you descriptions of of the others, though, since there's a good chance they've already left. Now, the second condition is very simple.” The assassin leaned forward, a smile returning to his face. “Anyone else you find in that place needs to die.”

Ecylan did't reply for a long time. “Everyone?”

“Everyone,” the assassin confirmed. “Safe the ones you're going there for, of course.”

“Of course,” Ecylan echoed, voice hollow.

Tiir's gut tightened. It was one thing that Ecylan was willing to accompany Tiir on a rescue attempt that was not without risks and negotiate with the other humans on his behalf. That was already more than Tiir would ever have seen coming until very recently. To ask him to take part in the killing of his own kind for Tiir's though, and to this extent... he wouldn't need to do any of it himself, but he would have to condone it, to outright sanction it. Maybe – certainly – another human would still have been able to fool himself into feeling that none of the blood was on his hands, but then, no other human would have been sitting here on his behalf in the first place.

“We can't have anyone seeing the both of you there and then just walking away. Ah, Your Highness, are you feeling ill? There's really no need, you know. They're all terribly unpleasant people.” The assassin looked at Tiir. “I wish I could see you kill them,” he said.

Tiir silently stared back at the man. There really wasn't anything he could say to that.

At least it was true that even by the prince's standards, probably none of the humans that would die were innocent. Even so, they would end up dead whether they decided to fight or run or beg for mercy, and while that suited Tiir just fine, he knew to someone like Ecylan, it would not be an easy thing to stomach. Especially when he had to have a part in it, when he could not just look the other way and pretend Tiir had acted entirely on his own, as Tiir would have expected a human to, even one as abnormal as this one.

In fact, if it had been up to Tiir, he would not have stopped to so much ask Ecylan's opinion and simply killed every human they encountered in that place, before the man could even think about how uncomfortable exactly he was with that idea. He thought it was foolish of the assassin to do it this way, when he could have simply informed Tiir of this requirement when they'd been alone, but then, possibly he found it more entertaining this way, and it wasn't like he had a vested interest in the outcome of this negotiation.

“All right,” Ecylan said. Tiir wasn't sure if he, too, was ignoring the assassin's last remark, or if it simply hadn't registered, but he was too startled to ponder this. He wasn't sure he had expected the man to ultimately give up on the idea of aiding Tiir over this, but at the very least, he had expected him to waste a lot of time trying to change this condition, or to simply stall.

But even though he had agreed surprisingly fast, the decision had obviously not been easy for the prince. Looking at him, under different circumstances Tiir would have wondered if the man was coming down with a cold. His face had lost some color and he sounded slightly hoarse. “I assume that's all?”

“Indeed it is. Well, all that concerns you,” the assassin said, and Tiir wondered why it was that the man enjoyed taunting Ecylan so. Considering how he'd talked to his noble acquaintance, it might really simply be his idea of fun, though he couldn't even begin to fathom how having Tiir agree to dance with him might feature into that. Did he just find the idea amusing?

“If after we leave here I find whatever 'agreement' you made with Tiir is out of line,” Ecylan said, apparently having recovered, “you can consider it void.”

The assassin laughed. “My, I should hope not. Of course, should you object for personal reasons, do let me know. I would hate to have a part in Your Highness being forced to face another, ah. Private disappointment.”

Ecylan looked puzzled for about a second, then schooled his expression. He didn't reply.

After an instance, the assassin reached into his pocket, no longer radiating amusement quite so obviously. “Here.” He slid a folded piece of paper across the table.

Ecylan unfurled it, revealing a slightly crumpled map. Several locations were marked with a black dot.

“The correct one is this,” the assassin said, reaching over the table and pointing at the dot closes to him. It was to the far right of the map's center, near what appeared to be the depiction of a lake and encircled by symbols that most likely represented trees.

“What about the others?” Ecylan asked.

“Very beautiful landscape – feel free to drop by them.”

“You'd already prepared this?” There was an undertone in the prince's voice that might have been suspicion, or simply incredulity.

“Why, of course. I aim to please,” the Guild member said, amusement dancing in his eyes. “One of you, in any case. I even made this.” The man procured another piece of paper from inside his coat. This time he unfolded it himself before handing it to Ecylan. It was much smaller than the map, and looked like a list. “This is how you should recognize the person you're supposed to watch out for. It leaves less room for error than making you memorize the description, no? Though just to be safe, better burn it before you arrive at your destination.”

Glancing over Ecylan's shoulder, Tiir skimmed through the items on the list. The human in question was of small build, slender, with mid-length black hair that tended to be tied in the back. There was a detailed account of this spy's facial features and also something about their manner and preferred choice of clothing. Apparently, they were likely to wear a cloak of some sort, and--

Getting the sudden sense that he was being watched, Tiir looked up from the paper with a start.

The assassin met his gaze with a slow smile. “Yes, I suppose it would be more important for you to read this than His Highness.” There was a pause, and then the human focused his attention on the prince again. “Her name is Entiell, and no doubt she'll recognize you. That should make things easier. Normally she answers to no one but the Bard, but I'm sure she'll be happy to make an exception for Your Highness.” His eyes locked with Tiir's again. “Good luck.”

“Thank you,” Ecylan said, a bit more forcefully than probably appropriate, and rose.

The assassin's lips curved again, but he didn't reply, simply watching the prince.

From behind them, the noble said, “Please allow me to show you out.” Whether it was a normal and expected gesture of politeness among the humans or an attempt to diffuse some of the palpable tension, Tiir didn't know.

If it was the latter, the man's success was meager. Ecylan turned to him and nodded, but his movements were stiff.

Walking behind the two of them on the way out, Tiir resisted the urge to glance over his shoulder to get a final look at the assassin, who had remained seated. There was no use confirming what he already knew: that the man was entirely too pleased with himself, either following them with his gaze even now or having shifted his attention wholly elsewhere now that he had gotten what he wanted.

It sat everything but well with Tiir that he had no idea what that even was, however. Clearly the man got unfathomable enjoyment out of riling up Ecylan, or his fellow humans in general, but that did not explain how he had acted towards Tiir. Was it part of a more elaborate sort of plot, or was it merely a game to him? Either could be dangerous, but the former would almost certainly bode ill, while the latter might affect no one but Tiir himself. If this was only going to lead to ridicule, then it wasn't much of a price to pay at all.

He wondered, though, if Ecylan would see it the same way.

Chapter Text

There was no sound except the rustling of grass as they walked through the open field that lay behind the gates of Valasea. In the distance Tiir could make out birds, crows or ravens, foraging the ground for seeds or insects, and above them, the sky was turning orange, the sun's light slowly dimming.

They hadn't spoken much since finishing negotiations with the assassin. Without a doubt, one reason for this was that there hadn't been much of an opportunity for idle chatter, let alone a meaningful conversation among themselves. First there had been the noble leading them out of the house, then a servant escorting them back to the carriage, and finally the half-Gastark magician, who had listened to the news of their success with an expression that would have betrayed nothing, if not for the coldness creeping into her eyes. Whatever Tiir and Ecylan might have to say to each other, none of it would be the sort of talk meant to be overheard by any of the other humans.

However, the lack of privacy aside, Tiir didn't think either of them was feeling much like speaking to the other, or anyone else available for the matter. Tiir himself was anxious to get to Stohl, worry about what he would find there eating away at him, and the prospect of stopping to discuss anything else was wholly unappealing. Ecylan, meanwhile, had an uncharacteristic air of gloom about him ever since they'd left the noble's estate and, for once, seemed averse to speaking so much as a single unnecessary word.

Whether Ecylan's bad mood stemmed from the assassin's earlier taunts or the knowledge that he would soon be taking part in the slaughter of his own kind or both, Tiir could only guess, though he was sure he would find out soon enough. The prince was not the most accomplished at keeping his mouth shut.

Tiir glanced at Ecylan, gaze lingering on the dark leather bag he was carrying across his shoulders. The man had taken it with him from the carriage when they had exited it at the edge of the city. Tiir didn't think Ecylan'd had it with him when they left the palace, so he assumed it had been brought out beforehand by a servant. Whatever was inside it, he hoped it meant they would be able to focus on their main objective and not get side-tracked by quests for basic necessities. Until his comrades were no longer in immediate danger, at least. So long as they succeeded in that, the trip back was bound to be much longer than getting there would be when it was just the two of them, and Tiir doubted whatever provisions Ecylan might be carrying would be enough for the man himself and however many other people they would be taking back with them. The bag wasn't small, but it wasn't enormous, either.

Tiir would have offered to take it from the man, seeing how being a human, his physical strength wasn't exactly impressive, even if so far he didn't appear to be having any problems. However, in case they got attacked, it would be inconvenient to have to worry about a bag containing vital items, and it would slow Tiir down, however marginally. It would do so regardless of whether he kept in on him during battles or took a moment to place it on the ground or return it to the prince.

While Tiir himself wasn't carrying anything, he was wearing a cloak again to decrease the chance of anyone who posed a threat recognizing him, which was also a little bothersome, but a precaution he couldn't afford to forgo. They were, after all, entering a country that was currently being taken over by Gastark, and would seek out a location that would be of high interest to their common enemies should they learn about it. Focused on his friends' precarious situation and the fact that time was not on their side, Tiir himself would not have stopped to consider this, but Ecylan or one of the other humans had, and the prince had taken the item of clothing out from below one of the carriage's seats along with the bag and then handed it to him.

This time the cloak was gray and had a hood attached to it. It was also made from a rougher material than its predecessor, perhaps a testament to the hurry in which it had been selected. Hopefully along with the killing of any direct witnesses to what they were about to do, it would be enough to not draw dangerous attention.

Somewhere towards the center of the field, Ecylan stopped and turned to him. “So how exactly is this going to work?”

Tiir considered him. “You just have to take my hand, and let me hold onto you.”

“That's all?”

“Well, it'd be easier if you fired some magic at me first, but if that's going to be a problem, I can manage.”

Ecylan snorted. “I don't think even Lymeia could blame me for shooting spells at you during this trip. When we run into trouble, I'd rather you weren't fighting at a fraction of your strength, thank you very much.”

Ecylan's magic was exactly as he remembered it – satisfying to devour, but not extraordinary in any way. It took a second and third spell before Tiir decided it was enough to both travel most of the distance to Stohl easily and have enough energy in reserve that running into trouble along the way shouldn't be a concern.

Still, Tiir preferred the prince's magic to the half-Gastark woman's by far, since what good was even the most filling, most artfully prepared meal if it left you with an aftertaste like rotten fruit?

“We'll have to make several stops,” Tiir said. “And my control over where we'll come down isn't perfect.”

“Meaning...?”

“If I run low on energy while we're above a lake, that would be troublesome.”

“Are you serious?”

Tiir shrugged. He should notice in time if he needed more magic, so as long as there was the opportunity to feed, it shouldn't come to that. But he'd rather have the human prepared for such an eventuality. A lake, of course, would still be better than a town, or some other place crawling with humans.

“I really hope you won't, then,” Ecylan said. “Because I don't have much of a change of clothes on me.”

“I doubt it'll be a problem.” Tiir paused, then added, “But I also can't guarantee no one will take notice.”

A look of unease appeared on Ecylan's face. After a moment, he ventured, “Please tell me heading right into a confrontation with Gastark is very unlikely?”

“It is,” Tiir said, even as he wondered what the prince would do if he were to claim differently. Call this off? Go through with it anyway, regretting having asked?

And though he believed himself to be speaking the truth, there was a nagging sliver of doubt. When it came down to it, he didn't know how Gastark had found them last time. There were a number of possibilities, most of which didn't apply to this situation. Even so, there was no way to be sure. And then there was always a chance of Gastark already having heard of Stohl's experiments, and also being there searching for Tiir's comrades.

The only thing Gastark could be trusted with was showing up when he least expected it to kill those he cared about.

Ecylan exhaled. “Well, that's reassuring.” He chuckled, a wry sound lacking humor. “At least them having practically won that war already means we won't be in much danger of getting crushed by a Rule Fragment.”

Tiir shook off his own dark thoughts and held out his hand. Ecylan reached for it, then just before making contact hesitated. Tiir wasn't surprised he was apprehensive, only that he wasn't more so. At the very least, he would have expected him to ask what precisely was going to happen.

However, Ecylan didn't do that even now, perhaps conscious of the fact that their – the children's – time was still at risk of running out; or maybe he thought that the answer to such a question didn't matter, since there was no feasible alternative to this. Possibly he'd decided that he'd rather not know beforehand if this was going to be unpleasant in some way.

Or maybe, it crossed Tiir's mind as Ecylan finally grasped his hand, firm grip belying his previous trepidation, there was above all a considerable amount of trust involved.

Tiir intertwined his fingers with the human's, and together they left the field and the country of Salea behind.

x x x

Tiir required two more spells before they arrived in Stohl, and another one soon after that. They kept going until they were only about an hour's walk from their destination, then decided to wait out the night. Under normal circumstances, making their move before dawn would have been the preferred option, but knowing there was one human among their enemies they couldn't afford to let come to any harm and needed to be able to distinguish from the rest, Tiir doubted the dark would make things easier for them. It would also make it harder to ensure not a single one of their targets got away.

Besides, the magic Ecylan had cast at him combined with the unfamiliar manner of traveling had taken their toll on the man, and though he didn't complain, it was obvious he was tired. Since Tiir had no idea what they would find at the location the assassin had pointed them to, he would rather Ecylan was well capable of firing more spells at him during the battle almost sure to ensue, and of defending himself at least somewhat in case of an emergency.

Of course, if they later learned the couple of hours Tiir had been willing to sacrifice to prudence had to his comrades meant the difference between life and death, this would prove to have been an unforgivable mistake; but right then, the risk seemed lower than that of just waltzing in there right away, with Ecylan dead on his feet and Tiir himself worried about unwittingly doing something Salea's Guild would later have those he loved pay for, to the point where it would be difficult for him to concentrate on the situation at hand. And then there was the fact that once they had freed his comrades, they would do best to get as far away from there as quickly as possible, in which case Ecylan's exhaustion would be even more of a liability.

No, it was much better to wait.

Despite believing this and having been the one to suggest using what remained of the night to rest, Tiir was still bursting with the need to keep moving, unable to shake off the feeling that what he should be doing was helping his kin – the notion that even stopping to weigh his options was something not unlike betrayal.

Tiir had never been one for patience when his loved ones were being hurt.

He had also never been terribly successful at keeping them safe.

Tiir realized he had started pacing, and stopped. He turned to Ecylan, who was sitting a few feet from him on the ground, rummaging through his bag. “We should get moving as soon as the sun starts to come out. It's enough if you get some sleep. I'll keep watch.”

Ecylan paused in what he'd been doing and looked up at him. “But--”

“Going without sleep, even if it was for a few days, is much less of a problem for me than it is for you.” When he could see the prince wasn't convinced, he added, careful to make his tone less unkind than his words, “I'm more worried about you being tired and getting in the way than about missing an opportunity for rest.”

As Tiir had hoped, Ecylan's expression turned contrite, and after a moment, he conceded. “All right,” he said, if reluctantly. There was a pause. “Can we talk first, though?”

“About what?” Tiir asked, but thought he had a good idea of what the answer would be already.

“Earlier at the Fiyedra estate. What was it Cleydres wanted from you?”

Tiir had known this was coming. It would be a relief to get it out of the way.

“Nothing important,” he said. And resigned himself to having to go into more detail than that when he saw the look Ecylan was giving him. “He--” Tiir began, then cut himself off. He felt silly having to say this, and resentful, because of course the assassin would have some reason for his odd demand, but Tiir could not yet see it, or even make meaningful speculations about it.

“He?” Ecylan prompted, seeming alarmed. Clearly, he had misunderstood Tiir's hesitance.

“He wants me to dance with him,” Tiir bit out, not wanting to drag this out any further.

The prince's reaction did not surprise him. After all, Tiir's own had not been very different.

“He what,” the man said, in the tone of someone who thought he'd heard correctly, except surely he could not have, because then he might as well have been told there were three moons in the sky.

Tiir repeated his words, and added, “I don't know what he's planning, but it's hardly something to get upset about for now.” He did not mention that he himself was, in fact, upset.

There was nothing more tiring, and little more dangerous, than the games of humans.

“Well, did he say anything about why he'd want that?” Ecylan asked when he recovered, and he didn't appear much less concerned than he'd been originally.

Tiir considered the question, and grimaced. Certainly the human in question had given him a reason for picking the terms he had, only it had been an obviously false one that was even more ridiculous than his demand itself.

“Tiir, what did he say?”

“Nothing.”

“Clearly that's not--”

“He said that I'm 'interesting'.”

“That's all?”

Tiir wrinkled his nose. “No.”

“Then--”

“Ecylan, he wasn't being serious.”

That made the man go silent, though only for a moment. “But it can't hurt to tell me, right?”

Tiir repressed a sigh. “Just go to sleep.”

At first he though Ecylan would argue, but then the man's shoulders slumped, and he nodded. Tiir watched him resume going through his bag and pull out a small blanket, and hoped things in the morning would go just as smoothly as ending this conversation had.

x x x

The research facility was a low, brittle looking building located in a small clearing. From a distance, it could have been mistaken for a ruin, and for a breathless moment, Tiir considered the possibility that they had been tricked, merely led on a wild goose chase. However, this fear was quickly squashed as they got closer – Tiir had barely instructed Ecylan to walk some steps behind him when he passed through the first magic trap. Power coursed through him like a river rushing towards a cliff. There was no time to savor the sensation, but Tiir was at once aware of how much he had missed this – the excess of power, the knowledge that he would put it to good use.

A second magic trap, and a third. Each of them would have been lethal to a human, and Tiir was certain that if he just kept walking around the building, he would be treated to a feast, regardless of whether any of his enemies decided to confront him.

But of course he was not here for pleasure, and so he just kept walking towards the building's entrance. There were two more traps, and then when he started wondering whether that had been all the ones in his path, he saw people running towards him.

No, not people. Humans. He smiled – how long had it been, since he'd last snapped the vermin's necks and flung aside their lifeless bodies?

There were five of them, firing spells at him at the same time. Tiir stood for a moment absorbing them, and then before the humans could take a breath and begin the incantations anew or – if they were smarter – turn around and run from him in fear, started dispatching them one by one. The first one died without making a sound. The second made a noise that might have been the beginning of a scream, before Tiir tore out his throat with his hand. The third and fourth tried to flee back inside; Tiir caught them easily, first one, then the other. The last one did scream.

Just as Tiir dropped the corpse, lazily licking blood from his hand, a handful more humans rushed at him. To his surprise, and mild disappointment, these ones had learned better from their fellow soldiers' example and did not bother with spells. They came at him with swords and in one case a dagger, but they were no more successful in their attempts at killing him than their colleagues had been.

When only two were left, lying heavily injured on the ground because Tiir had carelessly thrown them aside, he paused in front of one of them. Small, with hair that was tied back in a braid. But there was no cloak, and hair and eye color did not match, either. This was not the human he needed to spare. So he broke the vermin's neck, and then that of the remaining one.

Tiir spotted another human at the entrance of the building, trying to rush back inside. He made to get rid of that one, too, but then after the first step stopped. He wanted to kill the filth, kill them all, for believing themselves above his kind. For having hurt his comrades.

But before he could do that, he had to make sure--

Quickly, Tiir turned around, his eyes immediately finding Ecylan. He looked unharmed. Of course. Tiir had been careful to not let get any enemies or spells past himself. It hadn't been wise to leave the prince standing there without so much as word, though, when there were still magic traps nearby. It was a good thing the man'd had the sense not to move.

Or perhaps, Tiir realized as he stepped closer to the young royal, it hadn't had anything to do with sense at all. Ecylan was staring at him, and the expression on his face was...

The expression on his face was one of horror.

Tiir halted when he realized this, and when he resumed walking, Ecylan shifted in what Tiir recognized instantly as an aborted step backwards.

Tiir's stomach twisted.

He moved a little closer, then stopped again. He couldn't deal with this right now, didn't want to deal with it. What had he been thinking? He should have left Ecylan further behind, should have asked him to let him do this alone. He would have been able to handle the Salean assassin they had yet to encounter on his own, somehow, and he should have gambled on there being enough magic in this place for him to consume even without Ecylan's assistance. Not that he would have even needed any, to fight off those pests.

There was no advantage to having the prince here with him, none at all, and now he had to fix this, because there was no time and because he did not want Ecylan to look at him like this. He needed to reassure him, to remind him that to Ecylan, he was not a threat. But that was a ludicrous notion, because he had just killed a dozen of the man's kind in a matter of seconds, filth he would after this never spare another thought. Their blood was still staining his clothes and hair, and if he'd met Ecylan under different circumstances, he would have seen no reason to not wipe out his existence just as offhandedly. Tiir knew this, and so did Ecylan.

Making a human not afraid of him was certainly not a part of Tiir's skill set.

“Ecylan--” he began, but broke off. Trying to use his words to put the man at ease seemed more foolish by the second, because words could not erase this; could not erase what he was. Even when it came to his comrades, if he could help it and stopped to think about it, Tiir did not kill like this in front of them; unless it were other bearers of the Iino Doue who were with him, or if not then at least those who possessed the Will Heim. Not because he was worried about any of his friends considering him a danger to themselves – they all could see it, the difference between themselves and humans, though they may disagree about the meaning of it –, but because he knew he would make them sad, or cause them to have more nightmares, or disgust them.

In this case, though... there was a difference between Ecylan and other humans, but Tiir could not say what it was, and Ecylan himself would not acknowledge such a thing existed in the first place. And without a doubt, it was not the kind of difference that just months ago would have stopped Tiir from ending the prince's life just as quickly as he had those soldiers'.

“We--” Ecylan cleared his throat. “We shouldn't be just standing here.”

“We shouldn't,” Tiir said, but hesitated.

After a moment, Ecylan frowned. “You're not hurt, are you?”

The question startled a laugh out of Tiir. “From what? Their magic or their sluggish sword attacks?”

“Just making sure,” Ecylan said, crossing his arms as he started walking.

Tiir resumed his position in front of the prince, but his steps were slow. “Perhaps you should wait here.”

Ecylan snorted, the sound both surprised and amused. “I don't think so.”

For some heartbeats, Tiir was quiet. “You don't want to see this.”

It was the prince's turn to take his time to reply. “That's true,” he said at last, “but hiding from it out here won't make it go away. Besides, what if you need help with anything?”

“Help,” Tiir repeated.

“Don't be rude, I'm not totally useless, you know.” Ecylan sounded very much miffed and not at all terrified.

Tiir felt like he'd not been able to get entirely enough air into his lungs the past few minutes and only now that he could breathe properly again was able to tell the difference.

“No, only about half. Or maybe three quarters?”

“I don't believe this,” Ecylan said. His voice took on a faint quality at the end, and Tiir glanced over his shoulder to see the prince step over a corpse. His face had lost some color, but he gave no other indication that he was uneasy, and did not let his gaze wander to any of the other bodies lying around.

Tiir tactfully did not comment.

The entrance to the building had been left undefended. Even the door stood wide open. Tiir told Ecylan to wait a little before following him inside just in case, and stepped over the threshold.

The walls of the corridor he found himself in were made of stone, with torches attached to them here and there. There were no other sources of light, and had he not been making use of the Iino Doue, Tiir would barely have been able to see his own hand in front of his face for much of the way.

At the end of the corridor, there was a wooden door. This one had been locked, and secured in other ways. Tiir rested his hand against it, and with a flash, the spell that would easily have maimed a human upon coming into contact with it fizzled out of existence, its power absorbed by Tiir. The door itself, he simply ripped out of its angles.

As he tossed it aside, a voice coming from the room that lay behind it hissed, “What idiot put a spell on it?”

In retrospect, that comment should have cautioned him.

The first two of the more than a dozen humans he spotted scattered throughout the room died as easily as had the others , but when he went after a group of three huddled in a far corner like frightened rabbits, a sudden sharp pain in his shoulder gave him pause. He turned around just before he would have reached them, pulling out the knife as he scanned his surroundings for the offender.

There was a rustling of clothes behind him that Tiir attributed to the small group of humans that stood pressed against the wall there shaking in fear, or perhaps, if they managed to gather enough of their wits for it, shifting their weight as they prepared to bolt. As they were just a bunch of cowardly humans, he didn't spare them another thought

That was his first mistake.

Pain exploded in his back and gut. The swords easily slid back out of him as he half-stepped, half-stumbled forward, before quickly retreating to the center of the room.

He fell to his knees, coughing blood, but even though he could already feel the damage beginning to heal, he did not patiently wait where he was for however many seconds or minutes it might take for the process to finish. Instead, he jumped back to the humans who had caused the injuries, who'd had the audacity to lure him into a trap, and began to consume them.

That was his second mistake.

He could vaguely sense spells taking form around the room, but they didn't concern him. If the humans wanted to act foolish, as humans were prone to, that suited him just fine.

But no magic hit him, and the spells did not vanish. Finally, when he''d finished feeding, he turned around, not worried, but puzzled and impatient to finish this.

Another throwing knife came at him, but it was easily evaded. The same was true for the next two. Then things became strange. He was not as fast as he should have been. As he kept moving, avoiding more knives and a variety of other, more harmless objects that continued to come flying at him from different directions, he could feel his power depleting more rapidly than it was supposed to. His limbs felt heavy, and there was a burning sensation on his skin, in his organs and muscles. His wounds from the swords had healed, but the new, less serious ones caused by the knives he had become sloppy at dodging didn't, weren't even beginning to. It was as if there was no air for him to fill his lungs with – only there was air, and there was oxygen, but what was missing was...

“It's working!” someone yelled, relief and excitement equally obvious in the feminine voice.

“Can we kill it like this?” This human, too, sounded relieved, but worry dominated his tone.

“No, someone will have to go over there and cut its throat.” The relief had vanished from the woman's tone, replaced by unhappy apprehension.

“But it can still attack us, right?”

It was just two of the humans talking.

“Yes, so whoever does it better not mess up. I'm not planning to die here.”

“Well, why don't you do it, then?” a third voice piped up.

“Because I'm a scientist, not a soldier.” The feminine voice again. “If you want me to take a blade to it, you better kill or sedate it first.”

“In case you didn't notice, all the guards are dead.”

“But not everyone who's had some weapon training. So which one of you wants to do the honors?”

There was a tense silence.

The attacks on Tiir had stopped, and as the humans were busy bickering, Tiir stated making his way towards the two enemies closest to him. They were standing next too each other, both holding a sword in a grip so tight as if their life depended on it. A laughable notion, considering their weapons were just that, and they remained only human.

Only Tiir was moving at the pace of a human himself – and not of a healthy one, either, but of one with a mortal wound. He was not dying, but he might as well be. That he felt like he was slowly suffocating was the least of his problems. He could not fight like this, might grow even weaker as time passed, and unless he consumed one of the humans surrounding him and did so soon, it wouldn't be hard for them to kill him at all.

Disbelief was the only thing he was able to feel right then.

“Watch out!” one of his enemies yelled. Tiir suspected it was a needless warning, since even as they were arguing, he doubted any of the humans could have not realized his intentions the moment he started walking. Though despite this, it had taken several precious seconds for any of them to call out – so perhaps they had not expected him to be able to move, or maybe they all had been rendered immobile by fear.

When Tiir arrived in front of his targets, both of them raised their swords defensively, but still the humans were little more than frightened livestock that had been backed into a corner and were now trying to thwart their predator in a near mindless panic. Their ingenuity and boldness could only go so far.

Incredulity and shock left Tiir as soon as they had come as he grabbed the first human's arm and ripped it out of its socket. The man fell to the ground and screamed, and Tiir enjoyed the sound even as the other human's sword buried itself in his shoulder.

The pain and impending loss of blood were bigger problems than they should have been.

How unexpected, how clever of the humans to do this, to find a way to drain life itself from the air. To design spells that took up so much energy that the very potential for magic was temporarily robbed from the area from which they manifested. Instead of casting spells at Tiir like the utter fools he had taken them for, they had used them to rob him of the most basic sustenance. Had he seen it coming, he could have used his reserves more wisely, could easily have come out ahead of this regardless, but even so...

This was the most dangerous kind of spell Tiir had ever encountered, the kind Gastark would easily kill hundreds of their own kind to get their hands on, because it would mean being able to slaughter Tiir's comrades so much more effortlessly. For making such a thing possible, for making it so that Tiir had one more human weapon to worry about, Tiir could not wait to make these humans pay. Even if they had done nothing else to harm his kin, even if the creation of this spell had been a fluke and he weren't bound to kill them all anyway, he would gladly have made this trip just to tear them all apart.

He consumed the arm, a pathetic morsel not able to do more than heal some of the damage to his shoulder, and switched his attention to the human whose blade was still piercing him. He gripped the man's wrist with one hand, but then stopped.

With a start, he realized he wouldn't be able to tear off another human limb. With the wound in his shoulder and the lack of any sustenance at all, even that much strength was now more than he possessed.

He hesitated, then with as much speed as he could muster – which wasn't much speed at all, but for this, it was enough – he leaned forward and buried his teeth in the human's jugular. The man screamed and struggled and Tiir paid him no heed.

“Shit,” one of his remaining enemies said. “Shit.”

“Do something!” The words were a shrill scream.

“Fuck, I'm not... I'm not getting anywhere near it.”

“Don't stop casting the spells!”

“Shit. Vien, can't you use one of your knives to--”

“I've run out of them.” This one's tone wasn't as frantic as that of the other humans.

“Are you shitting me?”

“What the fuck do we-- wait, didn't Dieros keep a-- give me a minute.”

“I don't think we have a minute. Fuck, is it eating his throat or sucking his blood, I can't tell.”

“I think it's both.”

A moment after that observation had been made, there was the sound of someone retching.

Usually, Tiir would have been annoyed, both at the humans' pathetic conduct in general and the fact that eating did not become more enjoyable when someone in the vicinity was vomiting. It was one reason he preferred his food to put up a fight – the ones who froze or tried to flee were also the ones most likely to lose control over their bodily functions.

However, in this instance, Tiir hardly cared. His focus remained on his meal, which had stopped struggling a good while ago and lost consciousness not much later. The human would die any second now, after which he wouldn't be of anywhere near as much use anymore. Tiir intended to get as much out of this meal as possible before that happened.

Even feeding was more difficult in his current state than he was used to, though. Absorbing magic wouldn't have been a problem, he doubted the process would have been any different from normal, but with his strength almost reduced to that of a human, consuming his enemies' flesh suddenly cost time and effort.

Not long after the human stopped breathing, Tiir let what remained of his body slide to the ground and reached for the man whose arm he'd devoured before. Tiir hadn't paid him much attention, but apparently he'd passed out quickly after losing his limb, as it didn't look like he'd moved much from the spot where he'd fallen.

The arrow hit Tiir before his fingers made contact with the human's shoulder. The pain wasn't much compared to the last time his opponents had used bows against him, though the impact was more forceful than he remembered. He swayed.

“Ha! Take that, monster.”

“You idiot, you need to shoot it in the spine or neck or something, not just wherever!”

Tiir attempted to grab the unconscious human again, but another arrow interrupted him. While the first one had landed just beneath his ribs, this one buried itself in his thigh.

“What did I just say!”

“Well, 'scuse me for not being a professional monster hunter! And Dieros's the crossbow nut, not me, 'cept he's dead, so I'm trying here, all right?”

“Well, try again and this time aim for the spine. It works with deer--”

“Does that thing look like a deer to you? 'cause if so I want for breakfast whatever you had.”

“Just do it!”

Tiir wondered if under the circumstances, it would truly be as easy for them to kill him as they thought, and decided that it really could be. Perhaps if he was willing to spend all his energy on it, he could evade the next arrow, but after that it would be over. Alternatively, he could move just enough to have the arrow hit another body part than intended, which would work better to draw this out, but still far from turn the battle around. Unless he came up with something soon, Tiir realized that he might already have lost.

If he was killed, he wondered what would happen to Ren and Karda.

He pushed the thought away. After having survived Gastark, it would be ludicrous to die like this. Surely there was a way out, if only he could find it.

He turned around, if for no other reason than to give his enemy pause as he would have to settle for a different target than Tiir's spine.

The man with the crossbow startled and quickly raised his weapon. As Tiir had hoped, however, he hesitated. “Where do I shoot it?”

“I don't know, try the heart? Just make sure it stays over there!”

The human holding the crossbow made to follow the advice. If his aim wasn't off, Tiir wasn't sure he'd be able to survive this, and even if he did, there would be nothing stopping the humans from finishing the job once he was incapacitated.

All because he'd stumbled right into their trap like a fool.

Suddenly, bright blue light shone into the room, and a sound like an explosion came from just outside the empty door frame. One of the humans surrounding Tiir yelped, and the man in front of him actually dropped the crossbow in shock.

“What the hell was that?”

“Maybe a rat triggered one of the traps again?” one of the humans volunteered, sounding more hopeful than convinced.

“Don't stop the spells, Vien and I will take a look. That was definitely magic, so if it brought a friend, it'd have to be an Alpha Stigma at the most. Everyone else just worry about killing this one.”

The woman who'd spoken and the one who'd thrown the knives left, and Tiir couldn't even appreciate having two enemies less to worry about. For one, the human with the crossbow had of course remained behind and was already picking the weapon back up. Even more importantly, Tiir didn't know what Ecylan was trying to do, and he doubted the man himself did. The last thing Tiir needed was the prince getting himself killed in an ill-considered bid to aid him.

It was unlikely Ecylan would be able to achieve more than buy him a few seconds, and even if he somehow managed to take out some of their enemies, Tiir probably would already be dead by then, unless the aim of the human across from him turned out to be entirely terrible.

“Shit,” the man in question said, not for the first time.

“What?”

“It broke.”

Well, Tiir amended, or unless the humans' only effective way of killing him got compromised.

“Are you-- can you repair it?”

“I don't think so. Shit, what do we-- shit!”

Tiir did not need to glance at the man to know what his final forceful exclamation was about, and he didn't need to be sparing the rest of his enemies any particular attention to be certain they shared his sentiment, even though they kept silent. They all were transfixed as Tiir did what he had been waiting to do and devoured the man who had been lying passed out at his feet.

As he finished, feeling much better than expected after the meager meal, it occurred to Tiir that his enemies' magic might have weakened significantly over time. As they had said themselves, they weren't soldiers, and the spell they were using against him wasn't exactly a standard one, considering he'd never even heard of it. And then there was the fact that they were only humans. It wouldn't be surprising if they were tired already.

It only took him minutes to kill and consume half of them, causing the remaining ones to finally abandon their spell-casting and try something else. Their new tactics ranged from attempting to hide behind a bookshelf to running frantically towards the door frame their colleagues had disappeared through minutes earlier.

Two out of four attempted the latter. Tiir grabbed one of them by the shoulder, ready to snap his neck, but stopped.

Just past the doorless threshold to the room were the humans who'd stepped out to investigate. One of the women hung back behind the other, looking at Tiir and the blood on the floor with an expression that almost suggested disinterest. The other was holding a dagger to Ecylan's throat.

“If you even twitch, I'm going to kill your friend before you can get to me,” the human with the dagger said. This one looked more anxious, and angry, than her companion.

Tiir didn't move.

This was bad. Their enemies knew he would kill them all the moment he was able to, so they had nothing to lose.

His hand still on the shoulder of the human he'd stopped from running, he fixed his gaze on Ecylan. Without a doubt the man was aware of the gravity of the situation. He kept himself very still, and even with the considerable distance between them Tiir couldn't have missed the fear in his expression. Ironically, it was probably the first time Tiir had ever seen the prince truly afraid for his life – for longer than a second or two, anyway.

Possibly even more obvious than Ecylan's fear, though, was his frustration – with himself for having gotten caught, or for not being able to escape now that he had been.

Tiir was glad the man wasn't frozen in terror, though he wasn't sure that'd help their situation any.

“Let him go,” he said, voice low.

“So you can go back to slaughtering us?” the woman holding Ecylan hostage returned without missing a beat, though there was a tremor in the words. “Hardly.”

“If you don't release him, I'll do more than slaughter you.”

The human flinched, but made no move to lower her dagger. “If you don't want your friend to die, you'll leave.”

Tiir laughed. “Do you think I'm a fool? All you're doing is put off the inevitable. Just die quietly.”

“Remind me to make fun of your diplomatic skills later,” Ecylan said, a hint of amusement in his his otherwise strained voice.

“Shut up,” the woman with the dagger said, applying additional pressure to the weapon. Ecylan hissed as a thin trail of blood tickled down his throat.

Tiir was surprised at the extent of the fury the sight sparked within him. His grip tightened on the shoulder of the human he'd been about to devour, causing the man to jerk and emit a pained noise. “I'm done negotiating with livestock,” Tiir said. “If you don't want me to rip this one apart inch by inch and then do the same to you, you'll let him go.”

“You're not even denying we're all going to die the moment I comply. Do you really think I'm going to sign my own death warrant?”

Pushing down his anger, Tiir managed a smirk. “All right, then: let him go and you can all just walk walk away.” He didn't even try to be convincing, since no human with half their wits about them would ever have believed him.

“Do you think you're funny? You filthy abominations shouldn't exist in the first place. If I'm going to die, I'm at least going to take one of you with me. Leave now or I'll cut this one's throat.”

As Tiir had half-suspected, the human was mistaking Ecylan for another bearer of the Divine Eyes. It was an odd idea, but the only one that from a human's standpoint would make sense. After all, what would possess one of theirs to work together with a monster killing his kind?

Tiir was almost amused picturing their enemies' reaction to learning the truth, but the flicker of humor faded quickly as his thoughts raced, attempting to figure out how to prevent this from ending with Ecylan bleeding out on the floor.

Clearing up the misconception would not get them anywhere, as the humans would never believe them, and even if they did, it wasn't as if they had compunctions about killing their own kind even under normal circumstances. Ecylan, too, seemed to be aware of this, as he didn't make an attempt to correct the woman himself.

Part of Tiir felt gratified by the prince's silence. As strategically useless as it would have been, it would have been easy, natural, for Ecylan to speak up. What human would want to be associated with Tiir's kind? Probably it would offend most of them more than being dismissed by Tiir as no better than cattle.

Was telling the truth strategically useless, though? Tiir paused. Perhaps it would be a way to stall, long enough for Tiir to regain some more of his power now that he could feed again from the air around him. With a bit of luck, he would manage to rip off the enemy's arm before she even had the time to blink, and once Ecylan was safe--

The expression on the woman's face shifted, and Tiir leaped forward, already knowing that he wouldn't make it in time to prevent the dagger slicing into Ecylan's flesh. The minuscule chance he'd had to find a way out of this vanished the moment he let his enemy make the first move. Blank terror seized him, and couldn't tell how much of it was because of what the prince's death would mean for Ren and Karda and what part of it was because he did not want Ecylan to die.

The woman about to slit Ecylan's throat jerked, dagger falling out of her hand. It clattered at her feet. Her face showed surprise and dawning horror, then she fell forward on the ground as Ecylan dodged out of the way.

For a moment, no one moved or made a sound.

Surprisingly, it was the human who until just an instant ago had been in Tiir's grasp who was the one to break the silence. “Why?”

The human who'd literally stabbed her colleague in the back looked down at the corpse thoughtfully, seemingly indifferent to her surroundings. Finally, she glanced up. “It was never you I worked for.”

The man her reply had been directed at simply stared at her.

The woman retrieved her own dagger from the corpse and looked at Tiir. She was small, with dark hair that was tied back in a braid, and while she wasn't wearing a cloak, there was no doubt as to her identity.

The Salean spy turned away from Tiir and swept her gaze over Ecylan. “Are you uninjured aside from the shallow cut and scrapes?”

“Yes,” Ecylan said after a moment, managing to not sound as overwhelmed as he'd looked until she'd addressed him.

The spy nodded. “What are your intentions?”

Ecylan hesitated for only an instant. “To kill them. And to s-- secure the Magic Eye bearers.”

Another nod, this one just a little slower. Then the woman tilted her head slightly in the direction of the very few of the humans actually working for Stohl that were still alive and largely unharmed, if petrified. “Should I kill them?”

“I-- you've worked with them, haven't you?”

The spy shrugged. “It doesn't matter. I knew from the start I might be ordered to take their lives.”

“Well,” Ecylan said after a moment. “It's not like I have any objections... but it's not necessary. I...” He looked at Tiir. “I don't think Tiir would mind.”

Now that was an understatement.

The woman followed Ecylan's gaze, but only briefly, then she returned her attention to the prince. She inclined her head. “I thank you for your concern.” She strode past Ecylan and Tiir, towards the man Tiir had wanted to make a meal of.

“Vien--” the man said, eyes wide.

The woman he'd mistaken for an ally stabbed him in the heart before he could think to run, let alone defend himself.

When their remaining enemies exchanged looks and then collectively scrambled towards the still intact door on the other end of the room, Tiir decided to take the opportunity to break each of their necks – to speed things up, and because he had been looking forward to killing them. However, he forwent consuming them.

He walked back to Ecylan and the Guild woman with none of the speed with which he'd gone after the two humans he'd just killed. Before he'd entirely finished making his way back, Ecylan threw a spell at him. The feeling of power flowing into him was so stark a contrast to what it had been like to be caught in the magicians' trap that he couldn't help but halt his steps for a moment. The last of his wounds healed, but in comparison, he barely noticed; he was accustomed to physical injuries, but not to being cut off from his most elementary source of nourishment.

When he arrived at the prince's side, the man said, “Are you all right?”

Tiir could not help staring at him in disbelief. “Am I all right?”

Ecylan's lips curved, and while he appeared self-conscious, it was clear he disagreed with the notion that his concern couldn't have been more misplaced. “Well, I'm pretty sure you were in some trouble there too, and I don't just mean after I got caught.”

The man winced a little at his own words towards the end of the sentence and paused, his smile vanishing for an instant; when it returned, it had become wry. “It's why I thought it might be good to try for a distraction, but I didn't think I'd do much good just charging in. So I, well. Just cast a random flashy spell from as far away as I could while still being sure it'd have the desired effect. I didn't know what was going on, but I hoped just them not paying attention for a moment would be enough for you to turn things around. If I'd known I'd get caught anyway, I would have gone for a more direct approach.”

“A more direct approach?” Tiir repeated. “What you should have done is stayed away.”

Another wince. “Sorry. I didn't mean to make things worse.”

“You almost got killed.”

Ecylan appeared startled by the vehemency in Tiir's voice. As Tiir was a little taken aback by it himself, he couldn't blame him.

“I... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to put you in that position.”

“The position where I would have had to watch you bleed to death or the position where the same or something worse would almost certainly have been done to Karda and Ren?”

Ecylan stared at him, then repeated, more softly, “I'm sorry.”

“Next time just leave me,” Tiir said, unwilling to reveal to the man that his diversion might in fact have saved his life, as it might give him ideas. After all, humans always jumped at a chance to overestimate themselves.

“Tiir, I couldn't--”

“Ecylan, this isn't just about your life.” Though even if that had been the case, Tiir thought it would have been bad enough. “Next time either leave me or make sure you're not there to begin with.”

At being reminded again of the fact that Ren and Karda's lives had been hanging in the balance along with his own, the prince looked chagrined. Finally he said, “All right.” He swallowed, and repeated, “All right, I will.” His tone was subdued and Tiir didn't doubt he meant the words, but he wasn't sure he trusted him to stop and remember them if they found themselves in a similar situation again in the future.

Tiir had almost forgotten the Guild woman's presence until she walked past them. Only then did it occur to him that this might not have been the best time to have this conversation. He shifted uneasily, fists clenching, but it was too late to do anything about it. If she'd been of less importance, he would probably have killed her to make sure they wouldn't have to deal with any repercussions, provided Ecylan was willing to report to her organization that she'd been killed during battle; but given the value those in charge clearly placed on her, most likely they would investigate or simply not care about their explanation to begin with, and so Tiir didn't have any doubts getting rid of her would be by far the more damning course of action.

The spy stopped and looked over her shoulder. “Will you follow me?” She glanced at Tiir once, but the majority of her attention was focused on Ecylan.

“Yes, of course,” the prince said and after a beat started walking. Tiir kept himself half a step behind him, though it took him a great deal of self-control.

From the spy's behavior, it seemed very likely the bearers of the Divine Eyes held prisoner in this place were still alive and not in danger of dying any moment; but that didn't necessarily make getting to them less urgent, and besides, Tiir did not trust this woman one bit. If it was up to him, he would simply rush past her and search for his comrades on his own.

Unfortunately, it wasn't up to him, and so he curled his fingers into his palms and silently followed after the humans.

“You have the Bard's permission to be here?” the spy said without turning her head or slowing her pace. From her tone, she could have been asking Ecylan about whether he'd enjoyed his breakfast this morning.

“Her representative's,” Ecylan returned without missing a beat as they followed her down a steep set of stairs. “We only recently heard about this place and it wasn't possible to get a hold of the Bard herself so quickly.”

The woman didn't reply to this, just kept walking, so it was impossible to tell what she thought of this explanation. Not that Tiir particularly cared.

The corridor awaiting them at the end of the stairs looked more inviting than the one at the entrance, with smooth dark wooden walls and a floor made of ornate stone in a lighter color. This part of the building appeared like an ordinary living space, which knowing what kind of facility it really was made it feel eerie. They passed several doors, but not a single living soul.

“Is there no one working here left?” Ecylan asked at last.

“Some of the head researchers are hiding in a barricaded room,” the spy said. “They'll still be there when we're done. A few people are watching the cells, they probably don't know what's happened. Everyone else is dead.”

“I see,” Ecylan said after a moment. “How long have you been here? Working here, I mean.”

The woman glanced over her shoulder, but didn't reply.

“Ah, I'm sorry, I just wondered...”

“A while,” the spy said, uninformatively. She stopped in front of another set of stairs. “Down these are the cells. Should I deal with the remaining hostiles, or will you?”

She turned to Tiir.

Tiir stared back at her, not having expected the human to ask him this.

Then he shook himself. This was not the time to be surprised. It was also not the time to guess at the woman's motives, or attempt to play her games. “I will,” he said simply.

The spy showed no signs of being dissatisfied with his choice or the decisiveness of his reply. Without another word, she handed him a key, which he took cautiously – then she simply stepped aside, literally getting out of his way.

It was all the permission Tiir needed – he hurried to find his comrades, barely sparing the woman and Ecylan another thought.