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It was a bit depressing, Verin mused, that the letter sitting on his desk terrified him more than all the horrors of Bazzoxan.
He hadn’t even opened it, but the envelope said enough on its own- it was the thick, high-quality paper of an official missive from Rosohna, with his name written in dignified, curling script across the front.
It was his mother’s handwriting. Hers, not a servant’s imitating her, because he’d learned to tell the difference before he turned twenty, desperate to understand her, unconsciously cataloguing all of the tiny indicators of her mood that’d indicate if he was about to get a reprimand. And from everything he’d learned…
The letter was a bad sign. There was very little in the world that would have Deirta Thelyss deign to write a letter herself, and all of it was terrifying.
The instinct to open it finally won out over the instinct to pretend it would go away if he didn’t, so he picked it up and worried at it with his fingernail until he could slip out the letter. It was short, and it began with Verin, instead of his title. If the letter had been bad enough, that was even worse.
Verin, his mother had written. Essek is dead.
Verin read it again.
Essek is dead.
Essek is dead.
Essek-
The paper slipped out of his numb fingers, falling silently to his desk, and he stared at it without truly seeing it, heart thudding unsteadily in his chest. It took a long moment before he could bring himself to pick it up again.
Essek is dead. He was killed in an expedition in Eiselcross while traveling with the mercenary group the Mighty Nein. His body was unable to be retrieved.
The funeral will take place in a week. Return home at your earliest convenience.
The paper crinkled between his hands, distorting the words, and Verin slumped over his desk, resting his head on his forearms. There was a curious numbness tingling at the tips of his fingers, the world suddenly feeling distant and fuzzy and unreal.
He couldn’t comprehend it. A world without Essek, a world where he would never come back… it was unthinkable. Impossible, even though he’d known he wasn’t consecuted, even though he’d occasionally wondered, in Essek’s worse moments, if he was going to destroy himself with his research, too hungry for knowledge to remember he was mortal. Even then, he’d never seriously considered the idea that there would ever be a time where he would exist and Essek wouldn’t.
Essek is dead.
Verin stood up without really thinking about it, folding the paper haphazardly and stuffing it into his pocket, and walked towards the door in a daze, leaving his work behind him. He didn’t process the people speaking to him in the hallways, or the route back to his quarters, or anything before he was slumping against the closed door.
He crossed the few steps to his small desk, scattered with the bits of his work that had followed him out of his office and the sparse elements of his morning routine, a mess of pins and ribbons and beads that he hardly ever actually used. He almost fell into the chair, numb and heavy, and glanced at the small mirror on the corner.
More than the hollow look on his face, Verin found himself searching his reflection for Essek. They didn’t look very much alike- Essek had always taken more after the Umavi, fine-boned and delicate even for a drow, cold violet eyes inherited from her and razor-sharp expressions that Verin had never learned. Still, they were brothers in blood as well as soul, and it showed. Verin’s freckles were clearer than Essek’s ever had after so much time under the watery Bazzoxan sun, and his hair fell in loose curls the same way, when it wasn’t braided and when Essek’s had been long.
The longer he searched for resemblance, the more he became conscious of how much he didn’t look like Essek, always prim and collected, unmistakably aristocratic. A far cry from Verin, with his hair braided with only the bare minimum of formality and tied up into a halfhearted knot at the top of his spine, scars scattered across his skin, his clothes and quarters as plain as any other soldier in Bazzoxan.
One of the few times Essek had visited him, a few months after he’d gotten the position, he’d looked so out of place in Verin’s quarters that he’d almost laughed. It’d felt less funny when Essek had made some snide comment about how it was unfitting for a Thelyss, and Verin had snapped something defensive before he could remember to hold his tongue, and it had escalated into one of their stiffly polite fights that left them not speaking for what now felt like far, far too long.
Verin would never fight with his brother again.
His head hit the table with a soft thump, and he stayed there for a few shuddering breaths before he sat up again and pulled his hair out of its bun so aggressively that pins scattered across the ground. He dragged his fingers through his braid until his hair fell loose and disheveled around his shoulders, tangled and in some spots crusted with mud or small spots of blood, and then he set his eyes on the mirror and started to braid.
Mourning braids were thin and elaborate, and Verin’s hands were shaking, too unsteady to make them neat, too unsteady to make them as tight as they needed to be. He’d only made it a few turns into the first braid after repeated restarts when there was a tap on the door.
“Sir?” a voice called.
Verin sighed, recognizing the voice, and let his head fall back against the table. “Come in.”
The door opened to reveal his second in command, arms crossed and hair dyed a fading red-pink pulled into a long braid over their shoulder, the casual way they leaned against the door frame belying the quiet concern on their face. “I hear you rushed out pretty quickly. Everything okay?”
Wordlessly, Verin fished the letter from his pocket and held it out to them, fixing his gaze on the desk.
There was a soft crinkling of paper, and then, “Oh.”
Verin glanced at them through the mirror, and then away. “Sidar, I-”
“I get it,” Sidar interrupted. “Were you… trying to do the braids?”
Verin undid the section of hair he’d done. “Yeah.”
“Want help?”
“Sure.”
Sidar crossed the room to stand behind him and ran their fingers through his hair a few times. “I don’t know Thelyss styles-”
“It’s not… it doesn’t matter,” Verin said. “Just… mourning braids. There’s…”
He waved vaguely at the array of ribbons and beads in Thelyss colors before him, and Sidar studied them for a moment before they began to braid, creating the tight, small braids with more grace than Verin would have been able to.
He closed his eyes, focusing on the sharp, almost-painful tugging of the braids, trying not to think.
Sidar’s hands felt both too much and nothing at all like Essek’s had, when they were kids and Verin had been too impatient to do his own braids neatly, and Essek had forced him to sit and let him fix it, smooth and orderly. Essek had always bitched at him about it, but he didn’t snap at him to stop wiggling or pull too hard when he moved like the maids did. He’d treated Verin’s hair with the same care and delicate precision as his spells, quick and efficient and eternally skilled.
Verin couldn’t have said how much time passed before Sidar tied off the last braid and stepped away. He only came back to the present when he looked in the mirror, taking in the complicated swirl of braids and ribbons, the dark blue beads clinking together when he moved his head.
He stared at his reflection for a long time.
Then, suddenly and forcibly, he straightened his posture and smoothed the expression off of his face, taking a quick, steadying breath before he tucked the Umavi’s letter back in his pocket and stood. “Thank you, Sidar. I have to make arrangements before I return to Rohsona. Please let me know if there’s anything that urgently needs my attention before I go.”
“...Yes, sir,” Sidar said, after only a brief hesitation.
Verin stood, brushing his new braids back over his shoulders, and left his quarters, heading back towards his office. As he passed through the common areas, all of the soldiers went quiet, staring at him.
“Sir?” one asked. “What…”
Verin clasped his hands behind his back, feeling suddenly uncomfortable under the attention, though he rarely had before. “I’ll need to return to Rohsona soon, so if there’s anything you need that isn’t something actively on fire, take it to Sidar instead of me. Anything urgent I should know about now?”
None of them spoke for a long moment. Eventually, one of the younger soldiers started to ask, “Sir, who-”
“Shut up,” his friend hissed, elbowing him in the ribs. His cheeks flushed dark, and he fell silent.
Verin offered his best attempt at a smile. “Well. Be good for Sidar, don’t do anything stupid, leave the fun stuff for when I get back.”
There was a chorus of murmured affirmatives, and Verin found abruptly that he wanted to be anywhere else. He turned on his heel and walked out, ignoring the smattering of whispers behind him.
Sidar watched him go, brow furrowed. Verin ignored them.
The beads in his hair clicked as he walked away.
Their ancestral home was brutally quiet.
It wasn’t empty, far from it- Den Thelyss was older than the Dynasty, and there were dozens of soul-siblings and cousins and relatives he wasn’t quite sure how he was related to dipping in and out of the halls. But Essek wasn’t there.
Essek wasn’t there, and it made him feel every year he’d been alive and yet terribly, terribly young.
He ended up in their childhood bedroom, sitting on the floor with his head tipped back against Essek’s bed. It had been a long time since they’d slept in here- they’d been moved to separate rooms when Essek was sixteen and Verin was eight, and even that several years after the Umavi had suggested it. By then, Essek had been flourishing in his arcane tutoring, more occupied with the precise shape of somatic components and the innovations he was already beginning to create than with his little brother.
Still, this room was the room where he’d watched Essek braid his hair, where he’d listened to the shouting of his fights with their parents through the floor, where Essek had let him crawl into his bed with nightmares even though their mother disapproved. It had been before Essek had gone cold, and before Verin had been old enough to really understand the tension simmering between his brother and their parents, too young to notice the fissures hidden just under the surface.
This bedroom, with its child-sized beds and dusty curtains, was the last place he could remember that held no legacy but pure, uncomplicated love between him and Essek. The last place before Essek had retreated behind the same cool mask the Umavi wore, before Verin had spent too many evenings pushing food listlessly around his plate and trying not to listen to the clipped, barbed words thrown across the table, before Essek rejected consecution and cut his hair and their father died, killed by the same position Verin had taken up a few decades later.
It all seemed so far away, now. Like what he thought memories from another life must be like.
Someday, that’s all Essek would be. Someday, Verin’s body wouldn’t share any blood with his brother’s, and all that would be left of him would be blurred memories, the teenaged ghost that haunted this room that Verin could almost see, smiling at him with the same soft, cocky grin that he hadn’t seen in decades.
That version of Essek was gone, even more so than the prodigy or the Shadowhand or the Umavi’s oft-favored son. The Essek that had rambled at him about arcane equations and kept a light in their room all night while he tranced so that Verin would feel safe and had shielded him from their mother’s frosty disapproval until he was old enough to handle it, the Essek who taught him the names of all the plants in the garden and every constellation in the sky, who could be gentle and awkward and playful at times, was gone. He was gone, and Verin was perhaps the only person who remembered him. The only living proof that once, to someone, Essek Thelyss had been an older brother.
Someday, centuries from now, Verin would be alive and everything of Essek would be gone.
Suddenly, Verin realized he was crying.
He hadn’t cried in years, perhaps decades, and the sobs fell from him now in fits and starts, hitching and sticking in his chest and burning as they were dragged out of him. It hurt, and he only realized he was curling forwards when water dripped onto his pants, leaving damp spots on his pale mourning clothes.
Verin curled his fingers into the rug, into a scorch mark mostly hidden under Essek’s bed that he’d made when Verin had distracted him mid-spell, and wished he could be angry, or cold, or anything but this.
Instead, he hugged his knees to his chest and for the first time in a century, Verin cried for his brother.
When he could breathe again, Verin touched his tongue to his lips where they tasted of salt, but didn’t bother to dry his face. Instead, he curled one of the braids around his fingers, smoothing his thumb over the blue bead at its end.
He heard the door open, and then a whisper of silk. Verin looked up to see the Umavi, resplendent in a stark white dress, her mourning braids neat and orderly and perfect. She didn’t say anything as her eyes swept across the room, and then onto Verin.
He couldn’t find the energy to rise, so instead he just touched his fingers to his brow and said, “Umavi.”
“Verin,” she replied.
For a while, there was silence.
“How did he die?” Verin rasped eventually, against his better judgement.
“Lost to Eiselcross,” she answered. “I’m told he attempted a research expedition into Aeor with the Mighty Nein’s mage, who returned without him.”
“The Mighty Nein?” Verin asked. The name was familiar- he’d heard of them when the Laughing Hand was released, and in his mother’s letter, and from Essek, just once.
“The Empire mercenaries who returned the beacons,” the Umavi said, her tone growing impatient the more questions he asked. “Essek was tasked with shepherding them, and was apparently drawn into their… escapades.”
The Umavi smiled, tiny and bitter, with a sharp, nearly inaudible huff. It was the same face and sound she’d made thousands of times before, forever the harbinger of disappointment, scolding, disapproval.
“Foolish child,” she said, hands clasped primly before her. “He should have known better.”
“Don’t,” Verin mumbled under his breath, instinctively.
The Umavi arched one perfect white eyebrow. “What was that?”
“Nothing,” Verin said, returning his gaze to the floor between his feet. “I’m sorry, Umavi.”
Essek had visited him only once in the past five years, shortly before he’d gone to Eiselcross. It had been brief, and unprompted, and Essek had only stayed long enough to have a drink and help shift some rubble, but he had been different; quieter, and twitchy, but seemingly more settled, steady and unexpectedly friendly. It had been… surprising, but welcome, to not fight with his brother.
Essek had offhandedly mentioned the Mighty Nein, though he gave little specifics. It was the only time Verin thought he had genuinely smiled, though it was tinged with sadness, as his smiles always were.
He’d changed with those mercenaries, subtly but truly, more than he had in nearly a century before. He had been different, closer to the brother Verin had thought gone forever, and he’d almost dared to hope that…
“I don’t understand,” he whispered.
Even without looking up, he could feel the Umavi’s heavy, oppressive gaze, the same familiar sensation of being judged and found wanting.
There was a shuffle of silk, and then a cool touch on his chin as his mother tilted his head up to face her, her dress spreading out around her like a pool of starlight, the white paint around her eyes visible from so close. Essek’s eyes.
He had always looked so much like her.
“You’re not a child, Verin,” the Umavi said softly. “Wallowing is beneath you.”
He met her violet gaze and for a moment, he hated her more deeply than he ever had before.
“Yes, Mother.”
She pursed her lips as she inspected him a moment longer, and brushed a tear from his cheek in a mockery of comfort. He closed his eyes, unable to meet her gaze, and felt more than heard her stand and step away.
The door clicked shut behind her. Neither of them said goodbye.
He lasted less than six hours before the house and the silence and the Umavi grew to be too much.
It wasn’t hard to slip out using one of the old passageways he’d used as a kid, letting him out into a secluded area of the garden, one of the few that could conceivably be called wild, and climbing up the ancient tree there to hop over the wall. It probably wasn’t necessary- it was unlikely the Umavi would stop him from walking out the front door, really- but it felt like his skin was crawling the longer he stayed on her property, under her watch. She’d know anyway, she always did, but at least he could pretend he wasn’t being watched.
He stuffed his hands in his pockets and kept his head down, walking without any real conception of where he was going. The Firmaments were quiet and near-empty, and there was no one to see him as he wandered, braids pinned up behind his head and hood up to cover them, hiding the patterns and beading.
There was an odd golden light spilling over the cobblestones at his feet, and he looked up to find the source only to find himself blinking spots out of his vision at the sight.
He hadn’t known about the tree, but it took him only seconds to put the pieces together. This was the home of the Mighty Nein. Essek’s friends.
Verin stared up at the glittering lights for a long moment, until his eyes started to water. Then he turned away, something starting to swirl in his chest. He wasn’t sure if it was anger or gratitude or just more heavy grief.
From here, he could just barely see the tops of Essek’s towers peeking out over other buildings, and he turned towards them, pace quickening. It was hardly a long trip, and he ignored the gate in favor of climbing over the fence in a few easy movements. For such a rich neighborhood, it was laughably easy to bypass the security.
He realized belatedly as he approached that it was almost certainly locked, and he almost faltered, but set his hand on the doorknob anyway. As soon as he did, there was a rush of what could only be his brother’s magic, almost questioning. When it disappeared, the lock clicked.
The wards- it had to be. But Verin had never imagined that he’d be among the people Essek’s wards would admit, or that anyone would be. When they were younger, maybe, but even then Essek hadn’t trusted him with his things.
Verin turned the handle, and the door opened quietly, revealing the darkened interior. It was full of the meticulous neatness that Verin had despised as a child, and went to great efforts to ruin as a teenager.
…That was yet another reason he was shocked that Essek's wards let him in. Essek’s concerns about Verin messing with his belongings weren’t entirely unfounded.
The compulsive neatness made the discrepancies in the space even more obvious, and Verin realized immediately both that someone who was not his brother had been inside by the faint points of messiness and that any personal belongings- of which there were few in this room, he remembered from the scant few times he’d been inside- were gone. It made him uneasy, but there weren’t signs of a struggle yet, at least.
Verin headed up the narrow stairs and tried one of the doors, and it, too, opened after a brief rush of magic. He walked across the bridge, sparing a moment to gaze out at the tree standing prominently on the horizon, and entered Essek’s bedroom.
Here, it was even more obvious that something had happened- there were conspicuous gaps on the bookshelves, for one thing, where many of the books had been removed. When he went through the room more carefully, the feeling of wrongness grew- most of Essek’s expensive jewelry was still there, along with his mantle, but there were gaps that he thought must have contained what little practical clothing he owned, assuming that Essek still organized his things the way he had for decades, and there was nothing sentimental at all in the room. Essek may have been cold, but his bedroom wasn’t normally quite so impersonal.
Verin debated with himself over it for a while, but eventually he did end up taking a few things- a hairpiece that had been Essek’s favorite before he cut his hair short, one of the beginners’ books on dunamancy that he’d briefly attempted to teach Verin with a century ago, a bundle of parchment that proved to contain notes far above Verin’s level of arcane knowledge- in Common, oddly, and with notes and adjustments in unfamiliar handwriting.
Essek was dead. It was better Verin took the things he’d left behind than their mother, or one of his colleagues.
Verin sat in Essek’s trancing chair, thumb running over the delicate lines of the hairpiece, and once again considered the idea that he didn’t know his brother at all.
It made sense- after all, they hadn’t been genuinely close for decades. Still, Verin had gotten used to assuming that he understood Essek in a way that no one else in the world did- he knew how he acted, his inclinations and frustrations and priorities, the things that set him off and the ways to get him to lighten up for a moment, even in his smug, competitive way. He wasn’t close to Essek, they didn’t spend time together, but he knew him. Essek was predictable if nothing else- in most things, he acted exactly the same as he had a century ago.
Running off with a mage from the Empire and getting himself killed didn’t fit into that pattern. The Essek that had visited him for the final time didn’t fit into that pattern, either.
Somehow, this all came back to the Mighty Nein. Somehow, subtly, Essek had changed, and the only variable was the same group of mercenaries that had affected his country so profoundly. And they- or their mage, at least- were the last people to see Essek alive.
Verin sat in his brother’s silent bedroom, and as he sank into his trance, he began to plan.
It only occurred to Verin that he hadn’t lived in Rohsona in at least a decade and things might not be exactly the same when he’d already arrived at the Conservatory, and he spent an awkward hour skulking outside before the door opened and he saw the distinctive blue-white flash of hair and silk he was waiting for.
“Imlae,” he called, and she startled, looking over to him.
“Verin?” she asked, and walked over to him, shuffling the bag over her shoulder awkwardly. “What are you doing here?”
Verin pushed back his hood, and Imlae’s eyes went wide as she noticed his braids, a tentative hand reaching up before she dropped it again, hesitant.
“Oh, Verin,” she said, hushed.
“I need your help,” he admitted. “It’s…”
“Your brother,” she murmured, when he trailed off.
Verin nodded.
“Come with me,” she said, and he followed obediently, back into the Conservatory and into a cramped room that he belatedly realized was her office, predictably cluttered.
“What happened?” Imlae asked.
“I don’t know,” Verin said. “The Umavi told me that he was lost on an expedition in Eiselcross, but I still don’t even understand what he was doing there when he lived in Rohsona all our lives and I don’t think I’ve ever known him to do something dangerous. Essek wouldn’t just go get himself killed like that.”
“So what do you want me to do?” Imlae asked, leaning back against the desk. “He and I weren’t close, and I’m no detective. I’m happy to help, but…”
Verin shrugged helplessly. “The only thing I know is that Essek was in charge of the Empire mercenaries that returned the beacon, and their mage was the last person to see him alive. They have to have something to do with this.”
“What are you asking me?” Imlae asked. “To scry on them? Find out where they are?”
“If you can,” Verin said. “I just- I need to know what happened. More than the Umavi will say, at least.”
Imlae held his gaze for a long moment, then sighed. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thank you,” Verin said, clasping her hand. “I- thank you.”
“I’m not doing this for him,” she said, bluntly but not harshly. “You know that, right? I’m doing this because I don’t want to see you get yourself killed over this.”
“I know.”
Imlae sighed. “Just don’t… There’s people who have done more for you than Essek ever has or ever would, and they still need you.”
“It’s not about that,” Verin said. “It’s… He’s my brother.”
“I know,” she said. “Which is why I’m not trying to talk you out of it. But think about how much you’re willing to throw away for an asshole like him.”
Verin looked away.
“Thanks, Imlae,” he said. “I owe you one.”
She sighed, and patted his shoulder. “I’ll let you know when I find something. Just sit tight until then, and don’t do anything stupid.”
“I’ll do my best,” Verin said, with a grin that felt strained and disingenuous, and put his hood back up. Imlae didn’t say anything as he left.
It was raining when he stepped out of the Conservatory, the stars blotted out by clouds, and for a moment he just stood there, rain pattering against his cloak and splashing his boots where puddles had already begun to form. He could hear the bustle of the Conservatory behind him, and the sounds of Rohsona before him, the same as they’d been for a hundred years.
He’d been born in this city, learned to fight in this city, mourned his father in this city. He hadn’t expected to die in Rohsona, but he’d always expected Essek to.
For the second time in as many days, Verin sat down and started to cry.
Somehow, he hadn’t realized until now how exhausted he was, after a restless trance in his brother’s home and already far too long spent in a city where he couldn’t help but see Essek’s ghost around every corner. He’d spent decades trying to stay as far from Rohsona as possible. Now, he couldn’t decide whether or not he regretted it.
He wasn’t a stranger to grief. But at least when his father died, he’d had the consolation of knowing he’d come back.
And at least when his soldiers died, he’d had the comfort of knowing he wasn’t the only person who would miss them.
There were footsteps beside him, and he startled, hurriedly trying to pull himself together. He looked up to find a goblin standing beside him, their hair in mourning braids, gazing out over Rohsona.
“Excuse me?” Verin asked.
“Are you Verin Thelyss?”
“...Yes,” he said, cautiously. “Why?”
For the first time, they cracked a smile. “So you’re the little brother, then.”
“...What?”
“I knew Essek,” they said. “Knowing him, I was probably one of the only people he considered a friend.”
“He wasn’t so bad,” Verin murmured. “Not like people think.”
“You’re right,” they agreed. “He was a difficult bastard, but he was a good friend, when he could get his head out of his ass.”
Verin turned to look at them fully, and they smiled, a sad, not-quite-bitter thing. “Uraya Hythenos,” they said. “I worked under your brother at the Vurmas outpost, among other things.”
“You were with him in Eiselcross?” Verin asked, sitting up straight. “You- Was he- What…”
He trailed off helplessly. Uraya sighed, and sat on the step beside him, uncaring of the damp stone.
“He was different,” they admitted. “Dedicated to his job, of course, and surprisingly friendly towards the crew, but… he always seemed a bit distracted. Twitchy and secretive- more than usual, I mean- and he was a bit… fatalistic. Like he knew he was going to…”
They trailed off into horrified silence at the same moment nausea rose in Verin’s throat, and for a moment they just stared at each other.
“No,” Verin said finally. “No, he wouldn’t. It’s- he couldn’t have-”
Uraya stared into the middle distance, fiddling with one of their braids.
“It’s Essek,” Verin said helplessly. “Essek never cared about anything as much as he did himself. He wouldn’t.”
“I don’t know,” Uraya said quietly. “I don’t know.”
Verin buried his head in his knees, strangely disconnected from the feeling of freezing water dripping down the back of his neck, dampening his hair and his shirt.
“I should’ve done better,” he said, muffled by the fabric.
There was a scuffling of shoes against wet stone as Uraya stood. They rested a small hand on his shoulder, then dropped it.
“You’re always welcome if you want somewhere else to stay,” they said quietly, and walked away. Out of the corner of his eye, Verin watched them go.
He stayed there long after he started to shiver.
It was four days- four long, quiet days, full of avoiding his relatives and sitting in silence in Essek’s towers and wandering through the streets of Rohsona like a ghost- before he heard from Imlae.
“Verin,” her voice said. “Found what you wanted. Come meet me in my office.”
Verin blinked, and realized that he hadn’t spoken in hours when he rasped, “I’m on my way.”
He took a last look around at Essek’s empty, silent living room, then stood, running his thumb over the hairpiece in his pocket.
It was a short trip from Essek’s home to the Conservatory- after all, that had been part of the appeal when he chose the location. Imlae’s office door was shut, but she opened it when he knocked, an unusually serious look on her face.
“Close the door,” she said. He did.
Imlae sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You always ask for the hard things, Verin.”
“Did you find something?” Verin asked, a strange desperation clawing at his throat.
“Yeah, I found your mage,” Imlae said dryly. “He’s in Rexxentrum, working for their Soltryce Academy. In the heart of the Empire.”
“Did you learn anything about what happened?” Verin asked. “About Essek?”
Imlae sighed, a pinched resignation on her face. “No. The only way you’re gonna learn anything from this mage…”
“Is if I go find him,” Verin murmured.
“Verin,” Imlae said. “You don’t owe Essek this. You don’t have to do this.”
He thought of the last time he’d seen his brother, sad and quiet and bound for the frozen hell he’d die in. Of the Essek Uraya had described, and how that last visit had almost certainly been a goodbye, and how Essek had gone to Eiselcross never planning to return. Of his brother’s body, forever lying in the snow.
“Yeah,” he said, quietly. “I do.”
“Verin…” Imlae’s expression wasn’t quite pleading- he didn’t think she’d ever begged for anything- but there was a badly-hidden fear in her eyes.
Verin couldn’t quite bring himself to care.
“Are you going to help me?” he asked.
“Damn it all,” Imlae muttered. “Yes, Light save both our souls, I’ll help you.”
She picked up a bag off her desk and reached inside. The first thing she pulled out was a wrapped tube of parchment- a spell scroll.
“This is Disguise Self,” she said. “You’re going to be in the most populated city in the Dwendalian Empire, under the nose of the king and the Cerberus Assembly. You’ll have an hour of this, and no more.”
Verin nodded. She put it back in the bag, and pulled out a glossy black tablet, no more than an inch and a half long.
“This is your escape route,” she said. “Crush this in your hand, and it’ll bring you straight back here. And don’t lose it, because it’s fucking expensive.”
“Understood,” Verin said.
“There’s also a couple of healing potions in there, and some gold,” she said. “Not that either will do you much good, but, you know. Might as well.”
She held out the bag. He took it.
“Thank you,” he said. “Truly. And I’m sorry.”
Imlae sighed. “I know.”
She held out an open palm, and an image flickered to life, the face of a human with red hair. “This is Caleb Widogast. He’s who you’re looking for.”
Verin took her hand, disrupting the illusion, and squeezed it. Then he let go.
“I’ll aim for a bit outside the city,” she said, hands raised in preparation. “Truthfully, I have no idea where you’ll end up.”
He nodded silently, and watched as her hands traced out somatic components he vaguely recognized, and then his vision failed for a moment. When it cleared, he was standing under a cloudy sky, pale with the sun behind it, standing in a grimy cobblestone alley.
Verin took a careful glance around, drawing his hood further down over his face. No one was around, and he pulled the scroll from the bag, letting the magic cover his skin, his hair, his eyes, everything that would be a death sentence here.
It occurred to him then that he didn’t know where to start.
Rexxentrum was a big city, he knew, and he didn’t even know where the Soltryce Academy was. Quietly cursing himself for his own stupidity, he stepped out onto the street, trying not to flinch at the dim sunlight or the human faces he could see surrounding him.
Over the buildings, he could see pale walls, looming over the city, and above that, just the tips of towers peeking above.
When in doubt, follow the money.
Verin started to walk, hands in his pockets, and headed in that direction, listening to the sounds of the city as he went. It was similar to Rohsona, which he supposed shouldn’t have surprised him, only he could hear the sounds of Common and other languages he didn’t recognize, starkly unfamiliar.
It took him longer than he would have liked to reach the edge of the inner walls, and he could see guards in Dwendalian Empire uniforms patrolling along the edge. He grimaced.
He ducked out of the guards’ sight and climbed up one of the nearby buildings as quietly as he could, peering over the wall to find a place where an alley backed right up against it. It wasn’t hard to find, and Verin took a deep breath, considering how stupid he was really going to be.
Best not to think about it.
He climbed back down and waited, watching the guards. When there was a brief gap as two stopped to talk to each other, he darted to the wall, summoned his echo on the other side, and switched.
As soon as his feet hit the ground again, he dispelled it with a quick snap of his fingers, and looked around. Thankfully, there was no one immediately nearby, and no commotion from the other side of the wall.
Verin took a breath and kept moving.
It was difficult to tell where he was going in a completely unfamiliar city, but he kept a wide berth from the castle and began to make his way clockwise around the city, avoiding eye contact with the few wealthy Dwendalians he passed.
Ahead of him, he could see the city give way to broader green lawns, dotted with benches and small trees, framing buildings far larger than the others he’d seen. On the pathways and benches and sprawled across the grass, Verin could see people, and though he had little experience with judging human ages, they looked young.
He lingered just within view, watching the kids from afar. On one bench, two of them seemed to be walking through a spell slowly; on another, a smaller human with hair the color of gold stood on the arm rest, arms out for balance as they wobbled. A reddish tiefling wrapped their tail around their ankle and yanked, and distantly the sound of laughter filled the air.
There was an odd sense of melancholy as he watched them- Rohsona had few children, populated by drow as it was, and even those that were there were generally kept in their Den homes most of the time, until they were fit for polite society. Verin hadn’t seen kids like these, enthusiastic and young, since he was one.
He was so distracted that he almost missed the man walking down the path away from the school, red hair dull in the weak sun and coat, bizarrely, cut in a distinctively Xhorhasian style. When one of the kids went running over, though, he was jolted back to reality, watching as he bent over to look at something cupped in their hands.
Caleb Widogast patted the student’s shoulder with an approving look on his face, then kept walking, heading towards the wall. Verin trailed him at a distance, every footstep feeling too loud even as he moved as quietly as he knew how.
Widogast had a quiet word to the guard at the small gate, and Verin hesitated. He could use his echo to cross over again, but it was riskier, with the wide gulf around the whole wall, and if he lost Widogast-
Before he could second-guess himself, Verin dredged up the noble bearing that had been drilled into him as a child and followed, nodding to the guard once and not waiting for an acknowledgement before he kept walking. He could feel their gaze on his back, but they didn’t say anything, and he kept going after Widogast, following his winding path through the streets.
In a shadowed alley between two buildings, Widogast crouched as a shape moved towards him- a cat, Verin realized belatedly, a cat with white paws and a happy twitch to its nose as it approached. Widogast pulled something from his pocket and held it out for the cat to eat, and something welled up in Verin’s chest. He wasn’t sure whether it was grief or rage or something entirely else.
As the cat trotted away, Verin could feel his disguise fade, and Widogast stood up, dusting off his hands. Before he could take a step, Verin found himself scuffing his foot on the ground, deliberately audible.
Widogast went still.
“I assume you are not here to kill me, seeing as you have not already done so,” he said, voice carrying the same accent Verin had been hearing since his arrival.
“I haven’t decided yet,” Verin said, managing a half smile despite himself. It dropped quickly.
Widogast turned around, and raised an eyebrow. “You must be very desperate, to have come this far.”
For a moment, they just watched each other.
“What happened to my brother, Widogast,” Verin said finally, and it came out strangled and breathless.
A flurry of emotion fluttered over Widogast’s face before it settled on understanding. “You’re Verin Thelyss.”
“You were the last person to see him alive,” Verin said, hands clenching uselessly into fists. “My brother is dead, and I want to know why.”
Silently, Widogast watched him. Then he turned away, back in the direction he’d been walking.
“Come with me,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll explain, but not here.”
Verin spent barely a second wondering if he was being led into a trap before he decided he no longer cared, and followed him.
Their destination was a small house with planters by the front steps, and Widogast waved Verin forward as he unlocked the door, holding the door for him. Verin followed.
It was unexpectedly domestic- there was a cat dozing on the countertop, potted plants dotted around the space, dishes drying in the kitchen. Widogast took off his bag and removed a lanyard from around his neck, hanging it on a peg by the front door.
“One moment,” he said to Verin, who grit his teeth against a protest.
“Caleb?” a voice called from up the stairs. A familiar voice. “Are you talking to some…”
For a moment, they just stared at each other.
Essek looked different. He wasn’t wearing anything like his mantle, just a loose silk shirt, and his hair was longer, the shaved parts beginning to get fuzzy and the rest left to curl wildly and fall in his face. His feet were on the ground, and there was a look on his face that Verin had never seen before, and he was standing in this house, real, alive, staring at him like Verin was the one who had come back from the dead.
“Verin,” Essek said softly, descending the last few steps and coming to stand mere feet before him. “You…”
He trailed off.
Verin opened his mouth, and found he had nothing to say. Instead, he lurched forward, and he saw Widogast preparing a spell out of the corner of his eye but he ignored him entirely, and dragged Essek into a hug that was hard enough to bruise.
“Ow,” Essek choked out. “Verin, I do still need to breathe-”
“You absolute asshole,” Verin said against his shoulder, holding back the feeling that he was once again about to cry.
Essek went quiet. Then, slowly, his hands came to rest on Verin’s back, light but steady.
Eventually, Essek shoved him until he let go, and grimaced. “I suppose I have some explaining to do, then.”
“Yes, you dick,” Verin said. “What did you do?”
Essek didn’t answer. Instead, he took one of Verin’s braids between two fingers, inspecting it with a distant look on his face.
“Is this for me?” he asked.
“It’s not like any of my other loved ones have gone off and gotten themselves killed recently.”
Essek’s face did something unreadable, and he let go and headed towards the small seating area Verin only now noticed, selecting a chair near the window and tucking his feet under him. Verin sat across from him, and watched as the cat leaped off of the counter to pad over and drape itself along the back of Essek’s chair.
“Mother told me you were dead,” Verin said finally.
“As far as the Umavi Thelyss knows, I am dead,” Essek replied. “Assuming all has gone to plan.”
“You… faked your death?” Verin asked, baffled. “Why? Even if you wanted to leave, you didn’t have to-”
“I stole the beacons,” Essek interrupted.
Verin stared at him. “...What?”
“I stole the beacons and gave them to the Cerberus Assembly.”
For a moment, all Verin could do was stare.
“You started the war,” he said.
“Yes.”
Verin stared at him.
The war had never reached Bazzoxan, or Rohsona; both were too far east to be in danger, and Bazzoxan too small. They’d still felt the effects, in every lacking shipment of supplies, every group of too-new soldiers he was sent, every time they begged for help and no one came.
“Why?” Verin asked, nearly pleading.
Essek looked down, rolling the hem of a lopsided quilt between his fingertips.
“Because I was selfish,” he said quietly. “Because I knew that war would come eventually, and I used that as an excuse. I thought it would finally give me the chance to study the beacons, to prove I was right, and if I could do that then nothing else mattered.”
The more Verin thought about it, the more it made an awful kind of sense. Decades of screaming matches with their parents, of only the most perfunctory of worship, of a smug kind of superiority that had first frightened and then irritated Verin. Of course he would- it seemed almost obvious.
“People died,” Verin said, unnecessarily.
“I know.”
“My soldiers died,” Verin said, more quietly. “All of the experienced soldiers were at the front lines, and I got all the new recruits, fresh-faced soldiers who hadn’t been in the Watch for even a year. I think I lost more people within a month of arrival than I ever have before.”
“I know,” Essek said, sounding genuinely regretful. “And I’m sorry for the part I played in that, truly. You’d be well within your rights to go straight to the Bright Queen and turn me in, and maybe that would be justice for their deaths.”
Verin tried to imagine it. His proud brother, bound and bloody, in front of the entire court. His brother, in the Dungeon of Penance, hands crushed and chained, gagged and helpless. Essek left Denless and honorless, a disgrace, a failed experiment.
“I can’t do that,” he said.
Essek smiled, and it was a tiny bitter thing. “Why not?”
There were a thousand things Verin could have said to that, but the one that came out when he spoke was “Es, until you walked in here I thought you’d killed yourself.”
Essek went still.
“...What?” he asked.
“You came to see me for the first time in years so you could say goodbye,” Verin said quietly. “Uraya said you were acting like you were going to die while you were at Vurmas. I didn’t know why you went to Eiselcross at all. It just… didn’t seem to me like you could have gone into Aeor ever expecting to come back.”
Essek stared at him, something like horror in his eyes. Then he buried his face in his hands.
“Light, I’m sorry, Verin,” he said, muffled. “I swear, I never meant… Uraya’s not wrong, but it was because I was afraid that the Assembly would send people after me or my treason would be discovered. I never meant for you to think that.”
“I knew that I gave up on us having a relationship like when we were kids, and then this happened,” Verin said. “I thought-”
“Ver,” Essek breathed. Verin kept going.
“I can’t turn you in, Essek,” he said. “Because I have already thought I killed you once, and I’ve spent every day since then hating myself for it. I’m not losing you again.”
“Okay,” Essek murmured. “I… okay.”
They went silent for a while, and Verin watched him, silently cataloging every difference. His freckles had reappeared, he noticed, nearly as prevalent as Verin’s now. Perhaps they would be more so, with time, if he was living in the Empire.
“Are you happy here?” Verin asked. Essek smiled, a soft unfamiliar thing that answered Verin’s question before he even spoke.
“I think so,” Essek said. “I’m starting to be, at least.”
Verin laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “This is- Light, this is insane. You’re living in the capital city of the Empire.”
Essek grinned, flashing a bit of teeth. “I wouldn’t believe it either, were I not living it.”
“Seems like an odd choice if you’re worried about the Assembly,” Verin commented. “Why not go to… I don’t know, Marquet? Somewhere not right under their noses?”
“Caleb’s here,” Essek said simply. “And besides, I’m careful. I can’t be scried on, I don’t leave the house much, and when I do I’ve got this.”
He twisted a ring on his finger, one of the few remaining pieces of jewelry, and his form suddenly changed into a brown-skinned elf with pale gold hair, shorter and silkier than his own. His features were like Verin was looking at his brother through a murky mirror; there was a passing resemblance, the same familiar expressions on a face with just a bit of similarity, like a painting of Essek based only on a description.
Verin whistled. “Neat trick.”
“Thanks,” Essek said, and twisted the ring again, his features reverting just as quickly to his own. “Beauregard pulled a number of strings to acquire it for me.”
Verin didn’t comment on the casual familiarity with which he said the name, comfortable and affectionate. He didn’t comment on the smile on Essek’s face when Widogast returned, two mismatched teacups in his hands.
“Thank you, Caleb,” Essek said quietly, thin mage’s fingers brushing together deliberately as he took it. Verin accepted his warily, and gave it a cautious sniff.
“Is this one of your concoctions?” Verin asked. “Because I do not trust your taste.”
Essek looked offended. “For the record, not everything I made was bad,” he said. “And no, it’s from a friend’s garden.”
He waited until Verin was mid-sip to add, casually, “Well, from his cemetery technically, but they’re the same thing.”
Verin choked. “Pardon?”
“That’s from the Siegmar family line, I’m told,” Essek said. “They tend to grow a rather sweet and floral tea. Personally, I prefer the Merlinds, but really anything Caduceus sends will be good.”
Verin stared at him for a moment, mouth still full of tea, as he processed that. Eventually, he swallowed, shaking his head in quiet disbelief.
“I don’t think I saw you change so much in a century as you have in a year,” he said. “How did this even- what happened, Essek? What changed?”
Essek traced the rim of his cup, gaze going thoughtful and distant.
“The Mighty Nein happened,” he said with a smile. “I was planning to keep an eye on them after they returned the beacon, but they were… they’re impossible not to like, and I found myself wanting… I didn’t want them to be disappointed in me, and I knew they would be, after all the war has done to them. And when they saw someone able to change in me, I started to believe them, and- I’m happier being Essek of Den Nein than I ever was as the Shadowhand.”
Verin suppressed the instinctive childish jealousy that rose at that, and tried to find something to say.
“I didn’t think I’d ever see you let someone change you,” he said at last, trying to hide the hint of bitterness in his voice.
Essek was quiet for a while.
“Do you know I’ve seen Caleb die?” he asked eventually.
“I… no,” Verin said. “When? How?”
“I suppose you never heard about Cognouza,” Essek realized aloud. “It was… the short version is we went to the Astral Sea to stop a wannabe god from returning a city made of flesh to Exandria.”
“...You’re going to have to elaborate,” Verin said, after a few seconds of stupefied silence.
Essek actually laughed at that, eyeteeth flashing in a way that would’ve made the Umavi hiss a reprimand. “Later. But… it was a difficult battle, and it was very lucky that the Nein have two talented clerics. And I watched Caleb die.”
Verin looked over to where Widogast had disappeared, quiet and unassuming.
“I’m sorry,” he said, for lack of anything else to say.
Essek smiled bitterly down at his cup at that. “Even if he never walks into danger again, even if he only ever stays at home with me, I am still going to watch him die. Assuming that the Dynasty doesn’t discover me and drag me back home to be executed, I will live for centuries more. Caleb will live for fifty, perhaps sixty. If we’re lucky.”
Verin said nothing.
“I do not have time to stay the same,” Essek said softly. “When they discovered my crimes, and I was forced to reckon with the idea that I would lose them- I couldn’t bear it, Verin. At home, loss is… abstract. Even Father will return. And I suppose I didn’t have anyone I could change for, before them.”
Verin looked down at his tea, swirling gently, the color of blood. A gift from someone his brother loved, one of the names he didn’t know, but felt as though he should. If Essek was still his brother.
“You had me,” Verin said, barely audible.
Essek looked away. Then, steely but sorrowful, he met Verin’s gaze again.
“We both know I took you for granted,” Essek said, almost gently, somehow. “I am- sorry, Verin, truly, that I was not better to you. I know it’s far too late to make up for it, but I hope you at least believe me on that.”
“Would you?” Verin asked. “If it wasn’t? Too late, I mean.”
“Yes,” Essek said, seemingly startling them both with his lack of hesitation. “I…”
“Then do it,” Verin rasped. Essek stilled, gaze flicking up to stare at him, eyes wide.
“I can’t change the past,” Essek murmured. “I can’t… I’m done with hiding from the things I’ve done.”
“Bullshit,” Verin said, more emphatically than he’d intended. “You still can’t stand not being perfect on the first try, Essek.”
Essek’s expression shuttered. Verin took a deep breath and tried to settle himself.
“I never stopped wanting to be your brother, Essek,” he said quietly. “I gave up on you because I thought you gave up on me. Maybe you did, maybe you didn’t, maybe I shouldn’t have, but- Es, if you’d tried-”
Essek curled further into the chair, hugging the cup of tea and pulling his knees up to his chest, a wounded look on his face. Verin didn’t meet his eyes.
A century ago, when he’d been a child trapped in their mother’s house, he would’ve given anything for the power to crack Essek’s mask, to get past his cold exterior and hurt him the way he could hurt Verin. Now, trying not to look at Essek looking at him, he wished he could give it back.
“What do you want me to do, Verin?” Essek asked at last, the unevenness of his voice drawn back under his careful veneer of calm. “Tell me what you want.”
“I want you to try now,” Verin said. “If you regret not doing better then do better now.”
“I refuse to get you killed,” Essek said, sharp and flat.
“And it’s fine to make me think I got you killed?” Verin retorted, and bit his tongue, looking away.
Essek’s breath shook, almost hidden by the shifting of fabric as he moved, and Verin stared determinedly down at his lap, pulling the hairpiece he was still carrying from his pocket to fidget with, tracing the delicate lines.
They sat in silence for a while.
“Is that mine?” Essek asked at last. Verin nodded without looking up.
There was the clink of a mug being set down, and the disgruntled mrrowl of a displaced cat, followed by Essek’s murmured apology, and the softest of laughs under his breath as the sound changed to a purr.
Inexplicably, against his will, Verin’s eyes stung.
“Verin,” his brother said, just as soft. “Would you let me braid your hair?”
The question hung between them for a long breath.
“I can’t take out the mourning braids if you want to keep up your ruse,” he said, finally.
It wasn’t a no, and a moment later he heard footsteps- footsteps- and felt Essek’s tentative fingers in his hair. At first, he just traced over the thin braids, gentle and considering.
“I’m sorry,” Essek said, quietly, sincerely. “I am. For a lot of things, and for making you think I was dead. It was… I thought it was the best option.”
Verin took a breath, head rising, and Essek said quickly, “Please let me finish.”
Verin nodded. Essek twisted one of the braids around his finger, touching the beads with his thumb.
“Truthfully, I didn’t know what to do,” he said. “When I gave the beacons away I was- young, and cocky, and I overestimated the kindness of the Assembly and my own ability to lie. I wasn’t thinking about the long term. I was just thinking about proving I was right, and then I wouldn’t have to avoid punishment. I don’t know. It was stupid.”
Essek gathered the braids in his hands and split them into sections, the motion familiar enough to identify even without sight. “And then when I needed to hide from both the Dynasty and the Assembly, I knew that they wouldn’t leave loose ends. The Bright Queen doesn’t do that, and Da’leth definitely doesn’t. So I could let myself be assassinated or arrested for treason, which the Nein were rather vehemently against, or…”
Verin closed his eyes as Essek’s fingers turned through his hair, the only sound besides his voice the clacking of the beads as he continued, “I could… die on my own terms, as it were. And I thought about you, Verin, I promise, you were the person I most regretted leaving behind, but if I was found out for treason- it would reflect on you more than anyone. Even the Umavi.”
“I would rather have a brother than a reputation.”
“I know,” Essek said. “And I could have told you before I left, but I thought it’d be safer if you couldn’t be implicated, even wrongly. That way the shock would be real, when you found out.”
“I get… I understand why you did it,” Verin said. “And I don’t blame you. If you want to hear me say I forgive you, then yes, I forgive you. But that still doesn’t tell me what you’re going to do now.”
Essek was silent, pulling the braids at his temples back. Verin watched absently as the cat leapt delicately from the back of the chair to the seat, stretched, and curled up again, and tried to collect his words.
“You’re happy now,” he said at last. “You’ve got your friends and your home and you left behind everything that you hated, and if you want me to still be your brother in that then I’d be honored. But if you don’t, just- just tell me, because I’ve spent way too long trying to reach out to you when you won’t give anything back.”
“I understand,” Essek said eventually. “I… I know. You’re right, again.”
“I’m sorry, what was that?” Verin asked innocently. Essek thumped him lightly on the back of the head.
“Don’t be cocky,” Essek grumbled. “I know, Verin. I don’t see a way to do it without putting your life in danger, but- you’re my brother. Always.”
He held out a hand. Verin gave him the hairpiece, feeling strangely bereft without it in his hand as it’d been for most of the week.
Essek wound a few of his braids around and through it, nestling it securely in the design he’d created, and stepped back to study his handiwork. Verin found himself trying not to fidget, trying not to feel like he was ten years old again.
Eventually, Essek crossed back in front of him and held up his hand, the other flashing through somatic motions faster than Verin could track them. Hovering over his palm, a miniature image of the back of Verin’s hair appeared.
Verin leaned closer, trying to make out the pattern. It was difficult to see with the translucent nature of Essek’s illusion and the way his braids were becoming slightly frizzy with time, so he almost didn’t recognize the pattern- especially not on his own hair, put there by Essek’s hands.
He’d been half-expecting the same braids he’d worn as a child, even though it had been decades since Essek had braided his hair and he’d long since outgrown them. Instead, it was a pattern he recognized from the times he’d been forced to appear in court- a warrior’s braid, more elaborate than the kind he’d worn as a trainee or a standard member of the Aurora Watch.
Other than the small twists marking him as a child of his Umavi, it was the braid their father had worn. The braid Verin had technically been permitted since he was made Taskhand, but had spent more than a decade trying to feel like he’d earned. He’d worn it only once before, at his official promotion.
“Essek,” he said, and then realized he didn’t know what he was going to say.
Essek closed his hand around the image, dismissing it, and returned to his chair, scratching the cat behind the ears. It opened golden eyes, purred, and stretched, rolling over far enough that Essek could sit in the empty space left on the chair.
“I never imagined you as a cat person,” Verin commented, watching as it rested its head on Essek’s knee and went straight back to sleep.
“He’s Caleb’s, really,” Essek explained. “But we get along alright.”
They fell into silence for a while, drinking the last of their tea, and Verin toyed with the end of his new braid, watching his brother quietly.
It still felt… impossible, if he thought about it too hard. Even as a child, Essek hadn’t been warm, and certainly not carefree- even then, he’d been learning to follow in the Umavi’s footsteps, twisting the world to his will with his usual vicious efficiency. And now…
“I’m glad you’re happy,” he said.
Essek glanced up and grinned, flashing teeth again- a far cry from his polite, restrained court smile. “I am. I ought to introduce you to the rest of the Nein someday, I think you’d like them.”
“Hey.” Verin slid down in his chair until he could reach out and poke Essek’s knee with his foot. “You’re gonna hate me saying it, but I’m proud of you.”
Predictably, Essek’s nose wrinkled. Verin laughed.
“You are aware I’m still a war criminal,” Essek said primly, steadfastly ignoring Verin’s repeated tapping at his knee.
“I know,” Verin said. “Which is fucked up, don’t get me wrong. But you got out in the end.”
“You could, too, if you wanted.”
Verin smiled, but he shook his head. “If I thought there was someone competent to take over Bazzoxan…”
Essek conceded with a dip of his head. “Well, if you get sick of the Umavi, our door is open to you.”
Verin arched an eyebrow. “Our?”
Essek’s cheeks purpled, the tips of his ears twitching. “Shut up.”
“Eloquent,” Verin said dryly, and, regretfully, stood.
“Going somewhere?” Essek asked.
“Well, I wouldn’t want to be late to your funeral,” Verin said airily, rummaging through his bag for the tablet Imlae had given him. “And I dread the Umavi’s reaction if both of her sons vanish.”
Essek huffed under his breath as he stood, crossing the room to set a hand on Verin’s wrist. “Good luck.”
“Thanks, I’ll need it,” Verin said.
“And I’ll figure out a way for us to talk more,” Essek promised. “Without getting one of us killed.”
“I’d like that,” Verin said, a little softer, and drew him into another hug. Then, unable to resist the temptation, he dragged his hand through Essek’s hair, making it stand up at odd angles.
“Little shit,” Essek said, pulling away and trying fruitlessly to get his hair out of his eyes.
“That’s me,” Verin agreed. “See you, Essek.”
As he crushed the stone into glittering black dust in his hand, the last thing he heard before the teleportation took him away was Essek’s laughter.