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The sound of a distant voice guided Frankenstein toward a manor in the woods. He headed for the opposite side of the building to enter unseen, of course, but when he’d heard proof someone was here, why was this place so empty?
The clothing was also proof someone lived here, he thought, shrugging on a shirt.
The first time he met the manor’s sole inhabitant, the noble was focused on the issue of his shirt.
A short while later, he heard the singing again, and let it guide him to a room with its windows flung open to the night sky. It was the same noble singing, and when Frankenstein next realized what he was doing he’d been hypnotized by the beauty of the noble’s voice for some time. He had no idea how long he’d been standing there, just listening.
When the noble stopped and turned to him, looking ethereal and troubled he’d cursed himself for letting a noble catch him off guard. Of course his voice was beautiful, nobles could sound however they liked!
“That shirt… You’re still wearing my shirt.” The noble sounded embarrassed. It was a rather mundane concern for a siren. What was this variety of noble’s role in mythology? A muse, the source of legends of singing angels?
Nobles were as far from angelic as they were from divine.
The noble was always singing by that window of his. He did literally nothing else bar putting on a different shirt in the early morning. A human would need to at least wash himself and the shirts. Although there were many who didn’t do that, with his disease research suppressed by the Union.
The singing was a distraction during his spars with Ragar.
“Sir Cadis Etrama di Raizel is a beautiful singer,” Ragar said after one of those spars, noticing Frankenstein glancing in the direction of the manor.
“I’m sure he’s had dozens of human lifetimes if not more to practice in.” That and while the sounds were beautiful there was little feeling to them.
Well. That wasn’t fair. There was a sense of suppressed feeling to them, a noble reserve… or more than that?
Raizel’s breakfast and lunch went mainly to feed the birds, once Frankenstein gave him permission to do what he liked with the food Frankenstein gave him. The morning chorus audible from the manor was quite enchanting between the birds’ mating calls in the spring and Raizel’s attempts to harmonize with them.
Now that he’d had more time to puzzle out his host, Raizel’s song sounded more animated, more alive when there were birds to sing with. It was a pleasant change from the melancholy that often crept in. That trace of sadness was depressing and a reason to visit Raizel frequently, or at least at meal and snacktimes, to give him something to hear besides his own voice and distract him from whatever kept sucking the life out of him.
Most of the clan leaders had visited by the end of Frankenstein’s first year at the manor – more proof that Cadis Etrama di Raizel was someone important. It was a matter of pride not to ask at this point, to figure it out himself. It would be embarrassing if he let slip his guess that his host was comparable to the Lord in rank and power and it turned out the guests were only concerned with Raizel because they came to listen to his singing.
Only one of the clan leaders had sung along with Raizel, and Frankenstein hesitated to call what Krasis Bluster did singing. Nobles might give themselves pleasant voices, but the ability to carry a tune wasn’t so easy to cheat into existence, it seemed.
Frankenstein had winced the entire time he was eavesdropping on them, and he would have wondered if Krasis knew he was spying on the clan leaders with Raizel and intended to make him suffer for it if it weren’t for the fact Krasis, even on such short acquaintance, clearly had the subtlety of a brick to the head.
Raizel paid just as much attention to the birds as he did to the clan leaders: he took staring at both and singing for them very seriously, and would even crumble up pieces of his favorite tarts – or push them across the table to his guest, if Frankenstein didn’t hurry to bring refreshments for a visiting clan leader. The kitchen was too far away to eavesdrop from, although without carpets or tapestries Raizel’s singing could resound through the house nicely, if Frankenstein kept all the inside doors open.
Which he did, even the door to his lab if he was inside it. A pause in Raizel’s singing as a guest greeted him would alert Frankenstein to their presence in the very unlikely event he missed detecting an approaching noble.
Come to think of it, no one weaker than the clan leaders had come to listen to Raizel’s singing. Was it a privilege reserved for the clan leaders (in which case as a human Frankenstein was definitely going to partake) or was it a matter of Raizel’s rank?
“As the Lord decreed I, Krasis Bluster, have come to sing alongside you!” The noble’s voice was overcome with emotion at fulfilling the Lord’s order.
Maybe Raizel could have made the duet sound good, with that voice of his, if he had any experience with duets other than attempting to harmonize with the birds, Frankenstein thought, wincing and hurrying to bring refreshments because politeness dictated that the clan leader would have to stop singing in order to partake.
So, the Lord had ordered a clan leader to come to Raizel’s manor? Intriguing. Still, Raizel seemed cheerful when other nobles were here, so it didn’t necessarily have anything to do with Frankenstein.
“If you like his singing so much, why don’t you ever sing along?” Frankenstein asked Ragar after their next sparring session.
“Sing along?” Ragar seemed unaware of the concept, but curious.
“Krasis Bluster does, and the Lord sent him to Cadis Etrama di Raizel for the purpose of singing along with him.”
“The Lord did?” Ragar took this very seriously, it seemed. “If the Lord thinks the clan leaders should sing with Cadis Etrama di Raizel, then I should.”
“Come along then,” Frankenstein told him.
Later, he smirked to himself as he prepared dinner, listening to the music echoing through the halls to him. Ragar was completely unpracticed, but that could be fixed.
When Frankenstein gave Ragar singing lessons he also had Raizel’s full attention, the noble singer hanging on his every word. So, Raizel was entirely self-taught. He’d thought so. A better grasp of musical theory could only help his improvising.
And Raizel did seem to make use of the lessons, using new techniques immediately and not forgetting them.
Teaching was something Frankenstein was very fond of, so why not indulge? It gave him even better music to listen to, and it wasn’t as though Raizel could subjugate humanity by stealing these techniques. Siren or no Siren.
There certainly was something birdlike about Raizel. Not only that he seemed to feel a kinship with them, from how much he fed them, but the shifts of his head, his intent look… Or was it only that most of the time the birds were his only companionship, so he’d picked up their mannerisms?
Frankenstein scattered a handful of crumbs outside Raizel’s window so Raizel didn’t break up his breakfast to give it all to the birds. The cacophony that broke out wasn’t especially musical.
He smiled, saying, “Good morning,” as he bustled about neatening up. He could sense Urokai and Zarga approaching, and Urokai with his suspicions was always an amusing visitor.
Raizel nodded and said, “Good morning.”
Frankenstein’s eyes widened a little in surprise, but he covered it quickly. So, his campaign to get Raizel to use words as well as song was advancing, he thought as the song resumed.
“A contract,” he thought. “Can I really make a contract with him?” Bind his soul to that caged songbird… or bind Raizel to him in turn? Take Raizel with him whenever he finally dug out the traitors and left Lukedonia, have that gentle, unselfish companionship in the world the Union had turned dark and full of treachery.
Sensing an unfamiliar clan leader, he reminded himself that treachery awaited him here in the land of the nobles as well.
Song, in the darkness. He felt himself lifted from it by the power of the song, into the clear air.
“Frankenstein, Awaken.”
Frankenstein flung himself up, finding himself in a bed, not his own, with Gejutel and Ragar there?
They assured him that he hadn’t harmed Raizel, but something in how they acted seemed off.
Blood. His gentle songbird was bleeding from the mouth.
He grabbed Raizel’s hand before he could wipe it away.
“A contract allows the Bonded to use the other’s healing powers,” he said, taking a drop of that precious blood with his own finger. “Cadis Etrama di Raizel, would you permit me to make a contract with you?”
“It is not necessary, Frankenstein.” Raizel wiped away what was left of the blood as he shook his head.
“I don’t care,” Frankenstein said. “Do you want a contract with me?” No, that wasn’t what one should ask Raizel, who never considered his own welfare but was too giving for his own good. “I wish to make a contract with you. Is that acceptable?”
“I consent, Frankenstein.” Raizel bowed his head gracefully, and Frankenstein licked the blood off his finger before Raizel could change his mind, hoping his copies of noble powers were close enough to allow him to be the one to make the Contract.
Strong, Raizel was strong! He’d known he was, but this much? And yet Raizel yielded, allowing the contract, and Frankenstein let out a relieved breath, because if Raizel hadn’t gone along with it he could have easily fought off the contract, or even broken the part of Frankenstein that had reached out to bind the two of them together.
Frankenstein felt himself wrap around Raizel carefully, as carefully as his gentle songbird deserved.
“What I wanted most of all was to keep you by my side,” he thought, and let it flow through the link, coursing through Raizel and warming him. “Are you feeling better now?” he asked aloud, taking a step closer and tangling his fingers in a few strands of Raizel’s hair. It felt so natural, as though they were already that close in soul, so it was only right to touch in body as well.
Raizel nodded, blushing softly, and as Frankenstein gazed at him dotingly soft notes fell from his lips. What he was feeling was utterly transparent and Frankenstein was utterly besotted. How had it taken him this long to realize that he was in love with his gentle songbird? Because for so long he couldn’t afford to think of love or any other weakness?
Had he really just thought of love as a weakness? The Union thought that way, if he’d loved anyone that person would have been in incredible danger, but Raizel was, though a gentle soul who wouldn’t harm a fly, more powerful than even the noble clan leaders. His beak and talons were as sharp as his call was beautiful.
Was that why no one had dared attack Frankenstein here? They didn’t want to risk angering Raizel? Because Raizel would be angry if someone harmed Frankenstein, and now Raizel was making little angry noises, and now distressed peeps at the thought that Frankenstein might be hurt, that someone might attack him, and it was so, so very adorable Frankenstein could hardly stand it.
“Siren,” he said, and kissed Raizel’s forehead. “Luring me with my heart’s desire.”
A place to rest. Someone who cared who would be safe.
“Sing for me,” he said. “Let me hear your voice.” Calling for him, singing for his sake and his sake alone.
Raizel nodded, glad to have something he could do for Frankenstein, and that voice was raised in song.