Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Not so fast, Aryan!” The baker’s voice tugs him firmly back into the reality of the bustling marketplace. The Apprentice stops so abruptly that a jumble of siblings who’d been jostling around behind him took turns bumping into his back. Four different ash-brown heads looked up at him and splurted out half-hearted apologies before the whirlwind moved along. Aryan moved out of the busy pathway, heading towards the laughing baker. “You enjoy this too much.” He huffed with a smile, which was returned twofold. “Someone has to enjoy the show. Now, can I interest you in a fresh loaf of pumpkin bread? You know you and Asra always get first dibs when you’re about.”

Aryan’s brows twitched together before he reached into his belt bag and pulled out a fistful of assorted oddities, deciding to keep his pity party about being left behind yet again to himself. He ran a slender finger through the pile in his palm, nudging aside the mundane and arcane alike and plucked pieces from it here and there with no discernible logic. Soon he had two large freshwater pearls and a brightly coloured dried lizard’s tail separated from the rest. Then the apprentice shot the baker a wink and added a small roll of strangely warm cord. “For always keeping us in mind.” He smirked. The baker happily accepted the payment and sent the apprentice on his way with a wrapped loaf.

The rest of Aryan’s shopping went smoothly. Sans a few missing herbs, but he had resigned himself to simply going out that night after closing up the shop to forage them himself. He made it back only slightly weary and flipped the hand painted sign back to ‘open’ for the last few hours of the day. It went by slowly, the young magician doing his best to hide his melancholy and help customers with a smile. Luckily only one asked for a reading. He could feel his energy was weaker than normal, and that scraping it together to offer a proper reading took much more focus and effort than it normally did. He waved the hopeful suitor goodbye as they left. The cards had good news for them and Aryan wordlessly thanked the powers that be for not giving him any bad news to impart.

The apprentice then put together a few mismatched jars and a bag before crossing the threshold. A twinge of something prickled at his neck as he locked the door. HIs hand froze on the key as he cast his energy out in an attempt to catch the feeling. Or the thing responsible for it. But the tendrils of magic found nothing. Reeling it back, he made a point of adding extra wards to the shop this time. The prickling sense of unease followed him to the forest, and a mounting frustration at the uncertainty of it formed in his chest. He was too tired. Too emotional. Longing for Asra too much to focus on whether it’s his mind playing tricks on him or a tangible threat. Eventually, the possible risk gnawed at him enough that he decided to take action. Casting his magic out again, but this time just far enough to create a shimmery cocoon around him. It wasn't much, but just enough for him to slip behind and pull himself into the branches of a nearby tree without being sensed or seen. He waited, letting the shroud around him dissipate in hopes of recouping some of the spells cost and saving what stamina he had left.

Aryan barely had time to settle against the moss-splattered bark before the crunching of heavy footsteps tore into the quiet. A massive figure. A sickly pale fur cloak draped across broad yet bony shoulders. Their stomps accompanied by the clank and jingle of metal shifting and knocking against itself. They stopped just where Aryan’s presence would have been interrupted by his spell. As they turned, Aryan could make out a goat-like mask. The mouth twisted into a grotesque and seemingly permanent grimacing smirk. Both proud and pained, arrogant and agonised. Ruby-red eyes glowed in the dark. The thing, as Aryan began to suspect it was a thing, looked around and huffed in frustration.

Its breaths were gargling, like bile or blood or phlegm was choking its windpipe. Aryan pressed himself even closer against the branch he’d perched in. A terribly timed sense of light-headedness grew as he forced his breaths to be shallow and quiet. In a desperate attempt to give himself a window to escape, he twitched his hand out towards the dark forest and sent just enough magic to loudly rustle a shrub. The behemoth immediately quirked its head at the sound, ears flicking and moving to zero in. It was then that Aryan concluded, an acidic taste climbing up his throat, that he had stumbled upon something truly foul. Or been stumbled upon.

There was no cloak and no mask. The large clawed hands and cloven feet now visible left no question. The creature started up its lumbering pace once more as it followed after the noise. Aryan gave it a few seconds. A deep breath, then, extending his power to the last, placed a muffling spell on his boots. He staggered a bit on the drop from the branch, barely muffling a cry when his ankle turned sharply. The hazy nausea of overexerting his magic clashed with the ugly spike of pain and nearly disoriented him. A disadvantage his short distraction wouldn't have afforded him. His legs are launched him forward less than a breath later. Head pounding, Aryan fought to maintain both his balance and the muffling spell. Just a bit longer. Once he broke free from the forest's edge the magic slipped from his grasp. It sputtered out like thread spilling off of a spindle rather than his usual controlled release.

Black spots swam in his vision and holding it any longer would have seen him face down in the field. When he reached the edge of Vesuvia, he harshly slammed his shoulder into the corner of a wall turning into an alleyway too quickly. He hissed through his teeth but barely slowed. Even though his crazed backwards glances showed no evidence of being followed. He wouldn’t feel safe until he’d made it back to the shop. Aryan could’ve cried when he skidded a turn onto the familiar street. His hands shook and fumbled with the keys, scraping across the keyhole one less time than would have made him mad with desperation before it finally caught. His vision was blurred by the growing and knee-buckling pain behind his eyes as the pain in his ankle leaked molten and angry up his leg. The key shuddered in his grip as he turned the lock and heard its heavy click. Aryan shoved his uninjured shoulder against the wood to force the door open and slammed it closed behind him in less than three seconds. Mentally, he apologised to his neighbours as he set to feverishly locking and latching everything he could. For a second he thought to ward it for good measure, but his mind shrieked at the idea of trying to reach for more magic. Instead, he stumbled over to the plush couch in the back room and collapsed into the cushions.

His shoulder throbbed angrily. His legs burned and his heart felt as though it had skipped and staggered on a few too many beats to be healthy. He could barely see or think through the tears flooding his eyes and the mounting pressure in his skull. Only one thought broke through the haze before his pain and adrenaline crash dragged him into sleep.

What had he been running from?

Chapter Text

He awoke surrounded by plush furs and a pleasant smell. Tea? It wafted ad rolled over him, nearly lulling him back to sleep. A figure at the door woke him right back up. He jerked back, residual panic sparking to life and a small cry breaking from his lips as his forgotten bruised shoulder made itself known again. But, as his sleepy vision cleared and he saw the person rushing towards him was crowned with fluffy white hair and draped in cotton, his heart calmed. Asra placed the tray on the bedside table. The cups on it rattled as steaming tea sploshed over their lips. The magician paid it no mind. He knelt on the bed, knee dipping into the mattress. No time was wasted as he leaned forward and enveloped Aryan in his arms.

Asra cooed and stroked down his back, careful to keep any weight off of his hurt shoulder. He subtly moved his fingers to Aryan’s neck. The pulse against his fingers was fluttering. "Shh, you’re safe. Nothing will harm you." Asra spoke to him softly, grabbing a blanket to wrap around Aryan. He rocked the man in his arms, not stopping his diligent consoling until he felt the breaths against his collarbone slow. He risked pulling back slightly, ducking his head to meet Aryan’s gaze. "What happened? When I got back last night… I could feel it everywhere. Shards of panic flung out all over the city. Followed it back here and-" he took Aryan’s hand and held it to his cheek. "I didn’t even know the door had that many locks." Asra turned his head to kiss at the palm by his face, sealing another at his wrist. Aryan tried not to draw attention to it. He savoured the gesture in silence.

"I- I don’t know. I was running, I had to run. And then-" Aryan frowned. He clawed through his mind, but he couldn’t remember what had sent him into such a panic.

"I was in the forest, we’d run out of- it doesn’t matter. But then I was running back here." The panic he’d felt was turning into frustration. How could he not remember what had him flying through the streets like a madman? All but fearing for his life. The fear still branded into his chest. Yet, if he couldn't even remember it, how bad could it have been? "I can’t believe I got spooked so badly. Must’ve been more tired that I thought." He muttered. Asra gave him a soft smile, fingers smoothing over Aryan’s brows and relaxing the tensed muscles. His magic, cool and refreshing as an oasis pool, washed over them. Not casting a spell on his feelings, Asra had sworn very seriously to never do that. Instead he merely let his feelings flow across them. Calm, tired but well rested the night before. Asra felt a twinge of guilt for hiding his panic and suspicion from Aryan. But he couldn’t risk it. He eased Aryan into a sitting position, propping up colourful mismatched pillows behind his back. He took the tray and laid it upon his lap. Passing a palm over the cups, herbal-smelling steam once again began lazily twirling into the air.

"Let’s have some tea and get you back to sleep, it’s not even light yet. I’ll handle the shop today. I’m still restless from traveling." Aryan took one look at Asra’s face and realised he wouldn’t stand a chance arguing. He sipped his tea with an acquiescing smile curling his lips.

Once they were done, Asra fussed him back into a position that wouldn’t hurt his shoulder. Despite protests, Asra insisted on packing a compress on it infused with his magic to help it heal. Since he’d seemingly struck the building with the momentum of a raging bull, it would take a while to fully heal even with magical aid. A sickly purple bruise, tinged with greens and yellows, spanned across the skin. When Asra had finally been satisfied with his tucking in, he kissed Aryan’s forehead. A gentle grip caught his hand as he turned to leave. He hummed in question. "Pumpkin bread, top right cabinet. Don’t let it go to waste." Aryan mumbled, already half-taken by sleep.

"Of course, thank you." Asra stroked the back of Aryan’s hand with his thumb before gently pulling away.

When Asra made it back downstairs to the shop he began absent-mindedly getting things ready for the day. Work would help him stay on track, not spiral. Hoping to the Arcane Divine that the foul presence lingering just on Aryan's tail leading out of the forest were coincidental. Hoping that his certainty it was no coincidence at all was his fear talking. He started shifting through bottles and hanging bushels of herbs. He took stock quietly. Mentally counting. His hands trembled. He scowled at them. Then, perhaps in retaliation, he lost his grip on a jar and it shattered on the stone floor. Dried ground herbs flew everywhere behind the counter. He cursed under his breath. So much for distracting himself. Asra waved a hand, gathering and separating the glass and herbs into two piles. The herbs were thrown in with the snoozing hearth salamander. It would be a nice treat for him, and the shop would smell crisp and fragrant. The glass he tossed into their waste bin, not even bothering to lazily fly it through the air or create a dancing gecko as was his custom.

The magician sighed. Leaning his weight onto the shop counter and drooping his head between his shoulders. A knock sounded at the door. Something plucked at the back of his mind, an insistent scratching at the nape of his neck. Trouble? Faust’s voice spoke in his mind. I don’t know. Go upstairs, make sure Aryan stays in bed. Asra answered. He squared his shoulders, wrapping himself in the authority and implied danger of a magician as skilled as he was. The knock came again before he opened it.

Even shrouded in a hood, there was no mistaking the Countess Nadia.

Chapter Text

Asra’s chest drew tight. He knew this day would come. But not now. It was too soon. Aryan’s experience and his panic suddenly made sense. Asra had run out of time. The pendulum of fate was starting to swing back towards him.

"Countess." He kept his tone respectful but decidedly neutral. Her eyes widened slightly in surprise. Asra had to hold back his smirk. Did she think she was being subtle? Her version of a worn inconspicuous cloak was still finer than most would ever own in their lifetime.

"So you know who I am. Well then, Magician Asra, let us not waste time. I require your abilities on a rather delicate personal matter." She spoke quietly but with no less dignity than if she were commanding a room. When Asra didn’t invite her in, she looked meaningfully past his shoulder.

Asra’s hand which held the door handle clenched painfully. Maybe If he didn’t let her in? He could send her on her way, make up some excuse and whisk Aryan far away. It was a wide world, there were cities everywhere. They could be safe and happy and-

"Magician." Her tone was less friendly now. She stepped forward with purpose, her imposition forcing Asra to step aside lest she slam into him.

“I’m not sure I can be of any assistance to you, Countess. My services are much too simple for anything you could require enough to seek me out before even the sun has joined us." Asra bowed, putting on a perfectly believable air of a humble citizen. Nadia turned from scrutinising the store to it’s owner. Her face softened, now that she no longer had to intimidate her way inside. Though it remained poised.

"As I understand it, you’re much more powerful than you let on. I’d prefer we skip the airs." Asra sighed, standing at his full height. Nadia still stood slightly taller, but they were seemingly evenly matched in confidence. The dance floor had just become considerably more equal. A dark corner of Asra’s brain posed an alternative; What was her bureaucratic power over one city against his command over the very fabric of the worlds? Countess or not, what could she truly do to stop him from refusing her and leaving? The magician quickly tucked the thought away. Such measures weren’t necessary. Yet.

"Be that as it may. I make no guarantees that I can, or will be willing, to help you. As I’m sure you can understand, there are certain areas of magic that are best left alone." Not that he didn't know how to do them. He walked behind the counter, perched behind it like a leopard in a tree. This was his home, his realm as much as the major Arcana had theirs. As much as he didn’t want to hurt Nadia, he found himself thinking more strategically than anything else. To protect Aryan, he would do anything. He had done anything. It could not be allowed to be for nothing. And while Nadia was a countess outside of these walls, within them she was nothing but a strong will dressed in fine silks. Easily torn apart and vanished.

She seemingly recognised this as well. Gaze and posture relaxing to be more amiable. "I understand." She started. "I’m sure you’ll agree that my dilemma will not ask anything untoward of you. No doubt you remember the murder of Coun-" A thud sounded from upstairs.

Asra’s spike of anxiety immediately shot through the invisible cord between he and Faust. Alright. Wanted book. Stay in bed. No thumbs. Safe. She reassured him. He’d become comfortable understanding her strangely paced speech. And learned to supplement it with her emotions. Calm. Aryan was fine. He sent his gratitude back to her.

Nadia, however, was not privy to the exchange. She was, despite her intelligence and general respect, an aristocrat raised as royalty. Thus, a certain air of entitlement occasionally got the better of her. She cocked a brow and moved to the door which lead upstairs. It slammed shut in front of her, a breath away from her nose and firmly over the line of propriety. The indignant look in her eye sputtered out when it met the shards of violent purple in Asra’s gaze.

“The upper rooms are strictly off-limits to the public.”

Countess Nadia was very rarely decreed to. And when it did happen, she was more than prone to carrying on regardless. But her skin felt electric. Despite being indoors, she felt as though a lightning bolt were poised above her head. Taking aim.

“Of course. My mistake.” She traipsed back toward the counter and noted the magician easing considerably. It was time to bring forth what she had come here for.

“I believe doctor Julian Devorak to be in Vesuvia. Sightings from my informants have placed his likeness in the less savoury districts on multiple occasions these past few weeks. I’m eager to finally bring justice to heel and disperse the cloud of unease his murderous plot left over us all.”

She paused, perhaps for a gasp, an indignant cry, any sort of reaction. But the magician just kept watching her with a look she couldn’t quite discern. So the countess continued.

“I will be holding a masquerade this year. In honour of my husband’s passing, a show of jubilance and hope. I would also have it be the stage where his murderer is put to eternal rest, along with the doubts and fears of the citizens.” She had planned a long pause to allow him time to formulate a response. But again, the magician denied her her strategy.

“No.” He answered calmly yet with a certainty as though he were reminding her that water was wet. “I’m afraid I cannot help. Not only are you asking for something that calls for abilities better found in a detective or guard captain, but the reward of which will be the death of a man. Who, so far as I’m aware, you have never satisfyingly proven to be guilty with anything other than circumstance.”

The magician walked back around from his counter, leaving no barrier between himself and the countess. Then he continued, stepping forward as he spoke.

“You forget, esteemed Countess, that I number among Vesuvia’s citizens. The doubts you speak of? They number among my own. I am happy to serve you and Vesuvia in almost any way, as I’m sure your informants will assure you. But this matter, at least so far as it concerns my apprentice and I, is yours alone to deal with.” He had walked her backwards to the shop’s entrance. Of course, he knew that Julian wasn’t responsible for the Count’s death. Though his memories were vague and he harboured no more softness for the doctor, he knew he was no murderer.

The shop’s door opened with a flick of Asra’s wrist. Though clearly irritated that she had been denied, Nadia was aware her hands were tied when it came to forcing anything out of the magician. If she antagonised him, she would surely lose in the court of public opinion. Her standing was already shaky, being seen as little more than a foreign trophy wife by some and directly responsible for plotting Lucio’s death by others. Asra, however, was near universally loved. She would have to find another way.

Stepping out into the night air, Nadia refused to pull her cloak tighter against the chill. She tensed her jaw as the discomfort of biting wind washed over her. She had failed. She didn’t deserve the comfort. But as her attendants brought the street carriage from around the corner a new idea formed in her mind.

And three weeks later, when Asra once again left in search of some unspecified mystic artefact? She put it into motion.

Chapter Text

Aryan busied himself cleaning up the shop. He felt much calmer with Asra being gone this time. He’d assured him that this trip would be a quick one, only a few days. And that once this one was done, he wouldn’t have to leave for many months. Aryan caught himself smiling tenderly at the shelves he was reorganising and restocking. He straightened his mouth with a flush spreading across his ears. Thankfully, the only other being around was the hearth Salamander. Lovingly named Sparky after a rather disastrous sneezing fit, he had been securely sworn to secrecy with promised of the occasional firefly treat.

And so there was no reason for him to feel uneasy as when the bell above the front door chimed its announcement of a new customer.

The explosion of bright orange curls bounces and tumbled over each other in excitement as the owner of them sent him a radiant smile.

“Aryan the Magician?” She said, half question and half statement.

Aryan nodded, swallowing down his usual correction that he was only an apprentice after Asra had once again reinforced that he was a magician in his own right by now and had been for a while.

“I am he, what can I do for you today?” He asked, and walked to take his place behind the counter. The spill of curls framed a splatter of freckles which in turn lay around a sparkling pair of blue eyes. They bounced from him, to the assortment of goods behind the glass of the counter, to the shelves overflowing behind him, and back to Aryan.

“Actually, it’s what I can do for you!” She chirped, jostling the basket balanced on her hip and dropping it in the process and huffing as the peaches within rolled across the floor. Aryan immediately swung around the counter to help gather them again. The woman smiled at him, basket and its contents now safely on the floor.

“It seems you ended up helping me anyways!” She laughed a clear, playful laugh. Her hand, now unblocked by the basket, slipped into her skirt pocket and rummaged before retrieving a surprisingly uncreased envelope. Aryan spied the looping script as it’s gold ink caught the light and the wax seal is a rich plum contrast to the pale cream paper. Then it was being held out to him and he recognised the looping script was in fact his name.

His hand was cautious as he took it. It didn’t seem to match the woman who’d handed it to him.

“That’s just a formality! The Countess Nadia requests your presence for an audience this evening-” She smiled apologetically at the panic that showed up on Aryan’s face. The light coming from inside the window was already leaning dangerously toward late afternoon. “I’m sorry for the short notice, I was meant to come by earlier but I found these beautiful peaches and- well… sorry.”

She patted his shoulder, reached into her basket and took two of the admittedly beautiful peaches from it before placing them in his free hand. She winked as she stood up, basket once again added to the cargo of shopping about her.

“For the road.” She said before she walking to the shop’s exit.

Leaving Aryan on the floor. It took a few moments for the feeling in his legs to return enough for him to get up from his knees and shakily walk to the front door. It was technically too early to close. But, the day had been a good one and if Asra wasn’t there he didn’t get a vote. The door locked, the sign flipped. The letter stared at him from the polished glass counter.

Aryan broke the seal and read it. There was nothing new besides what the woman had told him, though it took many more words to say the same. It did, however, break him from his stupor. The walk to the Palace was not a short one and he would still need to pack some basic supplies. After all, neither the letter or its deliverer had specified what exactly the Countess needed from him.

So, with as much professional calm as he could muster, he packed a bag with everything he could think of for most of the services they offered.

“Where is…” Aryan hummed to himself. Had Asra used the book last? He usually left books in the back room’s bookshelf. The Apprentice had just stepped past the drapery when a bottle fell in the shop’s main room. Then another. And another. And a loud thud followed by hushed whispers and what sounded suspiciously like someone slamming into the wooden chest of drawers. The next few whispers were definitely curses.

Aryan rose. Then the room around him glowed amber as fire snaked up his arm, poised like a snake at his palm to strike as he entered the main room.

The thief may have cut an imposing figure if he weren’t sprawled on the floor. A dark coat flung around him in a way that made it seem to be both aggressor and victim in the fall. Strangest of all was the plague mask hiding his face. The flame on Aryan’s arm flared up upon seeing it. Something about the uncaring disks of glass reflecting him back at himself made him uneasy.

“Well-”

“Who are you?”

Both men spoke at once.

“A curious citizen. An old friend. A customer.” The thief offered three identities as he stood. “And who might you be? I was told this was the witch’s lair, as it were. But you…”

The plague mask tilted.

Aryan huffed, indignant that a trespasser had the gall to question him in his own shop. Perhaps it was the bizarre situation that pushed him to answer.

“Aryan. Asra’s apprentice.” He hadn’t lied. Yes, he was some fully fledged version of a magician, amnesia aside. And yes he was more to Asra than his apprentice. But the title felt like home. It felt true, and so it was.

“And you, are intruding.” The serpentine flame licked a tendril of fire at mask’s beak. Its owner, appropriately, made a squawking noise as he stumbled backwards. He tore the mask from his face instinctually.

“You’ve got bite, Asra’s Apprentice.”

The smile that greeted Aryan was a crooked, handsome one. Deep red curls laid upon skin like bloodstains on a tablecloth. His eyes were sharp, pantomiming something that might have looked like malicious intent to someone who had never seen it before.

His face was charming. And entirely familiar.

It was pasted, in various shades of faded ink, across the city on wanted posters which listed crimes so numerous they neared fantastical to all be pinned to one man.

“Where is he?” The wanted man urged. He swung his gaze around the store, not hiding the disappointment in it when it returned to Aryan,

“Away.” Aryan stated firmly. “A good thing too, he’s less kind to thieves than I am.”

“A thief?” The man said, incredulous. He walked to retrieve his mask, dusting it with a palm. “I was once-” thick brows furrowed. “I need a reading. I suppose you’ll have to do.”

He made his way to the back room in what would have been a catlike swagger if his long legs weren’t so reminiscent of stilts and he of a fawn still half learning to navigate them.

Aryan was, vaguely, aware that time was running out for his arrival at the palace to be timely. But curiosity curled about him, gave him a grin that would suit beautifully to a pair of purple eyes. And he followed.

The man had arranged himself somewhat awkwardly upon the plush seating. The table was too low to accommodate his legs beneath it and forced him into something of a lounging sprawl.

“Go on, no need to be shy on my account.” His voice purred. Though Aryan caught the sincerity beneath the bravado.

“I don’t have your name.” He said, idly shuffling the deck in his hands.

The trespasser-turned-client started. Storm grey eyes wide.

“Do you need it?” He balked.

Aryan arched an eyebrow in a way he knew made him look imperious and stern. The poorly concealed shifting of the man opposite him assured it had the desired effect. The blush, however-

“If you want your reading to be worth anything. Or for me to do it at all. I won’t call upon the Arcana for such a waste of time.” Aryan began to turn back towards the draped doorway when the man spluttered.

“Julian! You can- you can call me Julian.” He seemed shy at the second utterance. He even moreso when Aryan took his place opposite him, looking like he were the king of the small room with its plush, worn cushions.

The Apprentice began to shuffle in earnest now, eyes boring into the man opposite him and turning his name over in his mind. He sent magic out across him and could have sworn the man was aware when he blushed violently at the first touch of it. Cards swipped and flicked in his hands, between his fingers, until one sent a bolt up his arm and he flicked it sharply to the table where it revealed it’s face.

Death stared up at them. Its whispers began swirling in Aryan’s mind when he was yanked from concentration by harsh guffawing.

People rarely laughed at the card. Though, he supposed they also rarely broke into magician’s shops and smooth-talked their way into being read rather than roasted.

“Death-” The hair on the left side of his face shifted with his laughter and revealed the rest of his eyepatch, hinted at previously only by the cord cutting across his forehead. The man gulped in a breath. “Not likely Death want’s anything to do with me. We have a somewhat strained relationship.”

Gathering his long limbs, mask, and coat, Julian stood and shoved past the curtains separating the back room from the main floor.

“Wait- That’s not-” Aryan called as he retrieved Death, the card once again cold. He stumbled to follow after the other man.

“Look, I appreciate it, but it seems like not even a master of the arcane can save a doomed wretch like me.” His tone was sardonic, but a softness and something that looked eerily close to genuine concern replaced his smirk.

“You seem kind, all things considered. So I’ll give you a warning nobody bothered to give me: When your Master returns for you, and he will, if he’s already trained you to be useful to him. Don’t be so quick to trust his words. Come find me if you don’t want to fall victim to his lies.”

Aryan would have laughed. But the grey eyes watching him seemed solemn as the grave and made a stone settle in his stomach. Then they’re once again hidden behind the red lenses of the plague mask.

Apparently not entirely drained of dramatics, Julian flares his coat out before sweeping out the front door which slams closed behind him. Only then does the cold breeze raise goosebumps on Aryan’s arms. The window. Ostensibly the manner of entry.

Aryan can allow himself only a moment of bewilderment before closing it, warding it, and grabbing his prepared bag before leaving and locking up the shop. Perhaps three wards past reasonable caution, but the day brought no shortage of strange tidings and he preferred to not tempt it.

The walk to the palace lasted long enough for him to arrive just within the window of propriety for an early evening summons. His anxiety and befuddlement at the day's events sped his legs to a pumping pace. Aryan hoped he wouldn't end up needing that book from the back room. The guards allowed him painless entry upon seeing the plum-sealed letter and inspecting in it a manner that seemed slightly too cursory.

An odd sense of foreboding nipped at his heels as he walked to the main doors.