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Dorian does as he is asked.
Dariax is content to keep an eye on Opal as she stood stock still on the road, staring up at Ruidus. Her illusions did nothing to hide the countenance the circlet bestowed on her. The few travelers they see on the road give them a wide berth, staring at the woman with black goop rolling in thick blobs down the sides of her face. Dariax stands beside her, leaning on his spear. He engages anyone who dares stare at Opal longer than a second or two in conversation, which only hurries them along.
“You’re scouting for a cave,” Cyrus asks.
Dorian pulls his gaze from Opal and settles it on his brother.
“Seems safer than a city right now,” he says. “And I really don’t think bringing Opal around people is the best idea.”
Cyrus cocks an eyebrow. He was always able to see right through Dorian.
“Was that all Orym said?”
Dorian’s cheeks flush purple, so there’s no point in lying.
“He said to lay low until he called back.”
He does not tell his brother that Orym said he missed him, nor does Dorian say that he felt a pang of disappointment when the stone went quiet.
He’s being foolish. The messages over the last few days had been the most they spoke since Dorian had to flee with Cyrus. It feels like it was building to something. Something that Dorian is sure he isn’t just imagining.
Dorian blinks and finds his brother watching him with a bemused look.
“If you don’t say something to him next time you talk, I’m stealing that stone and doing it for you.”
Dorian’s cheeks go maroon as he pokes his brother in the chest.
“I don’t care if the world ends. I’ll find you in the hells and end you.”
Cyrus throws his head back and cackles. He bops the bun on the top of Dorian’s head before joining Dariax. Dorian composes himself with a deep breath, willing the color from his cheeks.
“Fy’ra,” he asks as he approaches the fire genasi. “You and Mor don’t mind scouting for a cave to hole up in?”
“Of course not,” she says. “Morrighan has said she knows of secret caches the Kymal gangs use. She is confident the gangs will be hiding in their casinos back in the city. We will find the most suitable one, and then come back for you.”
“Thanks,” he says with a smile. He ducks his head, trying to steady his breath. A knuckle under his chin guides his head back up.
“Let’s not lose heart,” Fy’ra says. She presses a kiss to his forehead. “I can see what weighs on you. We’ll get through this together.”
“Yes, yes, of course we will,” Dorian says with a strained smile. “We’ll be right here.”
Fy’ra clasps his shoulder before nodding to Morrighan. The lagomore gives a quick wave before she chases after Fy’ra into the woods
Dorian rolls his shoulders, feeling the tension gathering in a tight knot between them. He imagines strong fingers kneading the muscle, smoothing the fabric of his cape and tangling in his hair. He looks back towards the road in time to see Cyrus nudge Dariax with his elbow. They both look back to Dorian with knowing grins. Crossing his arms, Dorian turns away. He wonders when he stopped being able to hide his feelings from others. He can’t find it in himself to be too ruffled by the loss.
“Opal,” Cyrus asks. He gently prods her shoulder, hoping for a reaction. “Opal, can we try and get out of the road?”
She still doesn’t respond. Opal’s head is tilted to the sky, staring up at the faint red sphere in the sky. The shadows of the tree grow darker with each passing minute. Dorian tries not to look, but he catches a glint of light off spider silk from the corner of his eye. He hasn’t heard the Spider Queen for months, but he’s sure he can feel her skittering in the shadows. He tries to keep an eye on Opal as though she’ll fade into shadow, never to be seen again. He’s not alone in his concern. Dariax has been casting looks over his shoulder at the tree. He moves himself between Opal and the tree before showing Cyrus how to make his biceps look bigger when crossing his arms.
Dorian pulls out his lute and settles onto the blanket of their makeshift camp on the roadside. He begins to play, something soothing he used to play for his mother. He loses himself in the music and the soft conversation. Finishing a song, he looks to the road. He startles when he finds Opal staring right at him. His brother and Dariax haven’t noticed; Cyrus is deeply engrossed in a story Dariax is telling.
Standing, Dorian steps towards Opal, but her expression darkens. He freezes, trying to ignore the sudden feeling that there is something very large looming behind him.
Dorian isn’t sure if its his voice or Lolth’s tittering in his mind, but a quiet refrain of your fault beats in tune with his pounding heart.
Opal blinks after a moment, her attention pulled over Dorian’s shoulder.
“Fy’ra and Mor are back,” she says before looking back up to the red moon. A thick rope of black goop oozes down the right side of her face. The tree above her rustles in the wind and hundreds of spider webs flicker in the sunlight.
“She spoke,” Dariax exclaims. He moves to stand in front of Opal, taking her hands.
“Sorry to worry you,” she says, not sounding like herself at all. “Feeling a bit weird.”
“Ted still with us,” the dwarf asks.
“Yes,” Opal nods. “She’s here.”
Dorian wants to ask follow up questions, but he was given a task. He’s got to protect this side of the family.
“Found something perfect,” Morrighan says. She jerks a thumb over her shoulder. “Pretty far off the main path, but close to a river. If we’re careful, we can probably help ourselves to the provisions in there too.”
Fy’ra nods.
“There were no recent footprints,” she says. “With the solstice so close, I doubt anyone will be traveling into the woods. We should be safe.”
“These places usually have a bug out door. We can make a hasty retreat if we need to.”
“That’s wonderful,” Dorian says with a smile. “Let’s get going, then.”
He waves Cyrus over, and they begin to pack up camp. Dariax tugs Opal off the road, and she finally follows. As she passes, Dorian can feel the air cool around him. He shivers, not missing the amused tug at the corner of her mouth.
***
The walk to the hidden cache is uneventful. Fy’ra leads them, and Dorian takes up the rear. Cyrus looks like he wants to argue briefly about the placement but keeps quiet when he sees the looks on Dorian’s face. Instead, he squeezes his younger brother’s shoulder before following after Opal.
Dorian can’t seem to shake the feeling that there is something lumbering behind them. The presence looms in his mind. He doesn’t dare look back. He’s too worried he might actually see something.
They arrive at the cave. Morrighan pulls back a shrub and points to the craggy entrance, hidden in the shade of a large tree. Each of the Crown Keepers climbs down, eagerly swallowed by the dark. Dorian pauses before he descends. His hand slips into his pocket, gripping the sending stone so tight it hurts. He looks down into the inky blackness of the cave and sees Opal staring back at him. Her eyes shine in the darkness like a predator’s.
Dorian hasn’t forgotten his broken promise to the Spider Queen. Being far from her circlet, he tried not to dwell on the consequences. Now that he’s back and Lolth seems closer than ever because of the solstice, he can’t shake the paranoia. Lolth has a champion now; maybe not the one she wants, but a warm body nonetheless.
A god isn’t going to forget an oath broken.
Shivering at the ghost of a caress across his shoulders, Dorian steels himself before following the group down.
They spend the day scouting every inch of the cave. Morrighan finds the a secondary exit point, and they set up their camp close to it as is comfortable. With torches lit and provisions harvested from the crates, the Crown Keepers settle in to pass the solstice.
“Cards,” Dariax asks as he holds up a well-loved deck.
“I only know how to play Jrusar Gin,” Cyrus says. “Used to play it with the Corsairs.”
“You will have to show me any game you have,” Fy’ra says. “I do not know how to play.”
“I’ll teach ya the right way,” Dariax says, trying to bridge the cards as he shuffles. The cards fly every where.
“I’m very curious what you think the right way is,” Morrighan laughs. She picks up a few of the cards and hands the back to the dwarf.
“How to win no matter what,” Dariax smiles.
“Oh,” Cyrus says. “How to cheat?”
Dariax taps the side of his nose and straightens his deck.
“This should be good,” Mor says. She plops down, sitting cross legged, and watches eagerly as Dariax deals the cards. They play through a few hands before she stops them. “That is not the way to cheat.”
“What are you talking about,” Dariax asks incredulously. “This works every time!”
Fy’ra cocks an eye brow at him.
“Well, most of the time.”
Mor shoves him aside and grabs the cards.
“I’ll show you how to actually cheat and not get caught.”
Dorian laughs from his perch atop some larger crates. He watches his friends, trying not to worry about the others half a world away. He lets his thoughts dip to his parents and the Silken Squall. He wonders if the magic and power of the solstice would affect the floating city. He tries not to fret about them. His parents are well prepared and smart. Surely they knew this was coming. And if they didn’t, he can’t do anything about it now.
He laughs at himself. He barely worries for his parents, his blood family, but when he lets his thoughts stray back to Bells Hells, his stomach twists with worry.
You know why that is.
Dorian flinches at the voice in his mind. He blinks and suddenly Opal is standing before him. The rest of the cavern has gone impossibly dark. No light permeates this space.
“The others—”
“Playing trivial games,” she says. “Nothing like what we are playing.”
“We’re playing a game?”
Opal chuckles, sounding nothing like herself. Opal laughs loudly and without abandon. This is quiet and cruel.
“Of course, we are, little wayward prince.”
“What are you doing to her,” he asks because he knows that this is not his friend. This is Lolth watching him with shimmering, onyx eyes.
“She’s still here. Poor girl needed a rest. She’s with her sister.”
“Are you lying?”
She pulls back, a hand on her chest. “I have never lied to you. Can you say the same, Brontë?”
Dorian wonders briefly how often people find themselves annoyed with a god on a personal level.
“I wasn’t lying.”
“And yet here I am, not any nearer to the person you promised me.”
“You didn’t give me enough time.”
“And now you may be out of that precious resource.”
“W-what?”
“The ants are looking beyond the anthill again,” she says. “Staring at the sky, thinking they know better. It’s thrilling, really. I’m looking forward to coming home again. It’s been so long since I’ve felt the soil of Exandria beneath my feet.”
“But the divine gate—”
Lolth shrugs.
“May not survive the solstice.”
It’s like she’s in his head, knowing what he’s thinking. Dorian reaches for the sending stone in his pocket, and Lolth’s iron grip encircles his wrist, stopping him.
“He knows.”
“How do you know that,” Dorian hisses.
“He may have been outside of my reach, but I keep an eye on each of my Crown Keepers.”
“Leave him alone!”
Lolth rolls her eyes.
“You’re all just so predictable. ‘Don’t hurt him!’ and ‘Stay away from her!’ Many of the gods have their eyes on the Bells Hells, and they aren’t as tolerant of insignificant failures scolding them as I am.”
He tugs at his wrist, but her hold remains firm.
“He and his little group are charging right into the heart of the event,” Lolth says. She leans in peering up at him as black ichor oozes down her face. “And here you are, hiding underground, waiting for the others to fix the world’s problems.”
“I would have gone if I had a way,” Dorian insists. “If I—”
“Perhaps if he really wanted you there, he would have called sooner,” Lolth shrugs. “No matter. He doesn’t have to think of you if you’re out of the way.”
“That’s not…”
“Don’t you think you should be doing all you can to help from where you are?”
“I’m doing what he asked of me.”
“Hmm.”
Dorian knows he shouldn’t go down that spiral of self-loathing and guilt. He can’t help himself.
“What would you have me do?”
“I just think that if you are looking at a potential future where the divine gate is torn asunder and the gods are permitted to walk the earth again, you may want to do all you can to earn their favor.”
“And if I don’t want their favor?”
“I look forward to what that may look like,” Lolth says, smiling wide and dangerous.
Dorian desperately wishes that Orym was here. He would know what to do.
“You speak as though Poska won’t survive.”
“Please,” Lolth says, releasing his wrist. “We both know you have no desire to face Poska. You run from your problems. You ran from your family, you ran from me, you ran from Jrusar.”
Dorian looks into Opal’s onyx eyes, straight to the soul of Lolth.
“I told you that if I knew it would save them, I would do anything.”
“So, what will you do,” Lolth asks, her voice low and all too familiar. “Orym and Fearne and the rest rush towards what could very well be their doom. What will you do to save them? Or, if we’re being honest with ourselves, what will you do to save him?”
Dorian just stares at her.
“You have a think about it,” she says. She takes his face in her hands, smudging his cheeks with ooze. “But every second you dither, he runs closer to ruin.”
She skitters back, unnatural and wrong, and the darkness swallows him. He startles awake, pressed uncomfortable against the crates. The woodgrain feels rough against his cheek. The others are sleeping, Opal among them. Fy’ra is beside her, a protective arm guiding Opal’s head to her shoulder. The circlet presses into Fy’ra skin, but she doesn’t seem bothered by it.
Dorian tries not to read into that.
Cyrus catches his eye, speaking in that silent way of siblings, and asks with his eyes if Dorian is alright. He must have volunteered for first watch. With an unconvincing nod, Dorian slides off his uncomfortable perch and pulls his bedroll from his pack. He can feel his brother watching him. The eyes make him uncomfortable. He steals a glance back at Opal, just to make sure she’s still asleep. He expects her eyes to pop open, but she makes no move.
“You looked spooked,” Cyrus says as Dorian approaches.
“Had an odd dream.”
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
Dorian quirks up an eye brow.
Cyrus shrugs.
“You’re not nearly as good of a liar as you think you are, Dor.”
“I guess I got used to people not calling me on it.”
“People don’t want to pry,” Cyrus says. He thinks for a moment before speaking again. “Well, most people.”
Dorian knows exactly who he’s talking about.
“Do you think they’re okay?’
“Who? Mom and dad?”
Dorian nods.
“If they knew about all this, they didn’t say anything to me,” Cyrus says. “But I doubt there wouldn’t be a plan. The family has survived for generations. I’m sure there’s plans in place for this kind of thing.”
Not for the first time, Dorian wishes he held the belief in their parents that his brother does. He knows its because his parents always believed in Cyrus, so why would his older brother doubt them?
“I just…I just hope they’re okay.”
“They’re worried, I’m sure,” Cyrus says. It cuts, but he doesn’t mean it to. “But they’ll be okay.”
Dorian sits beside his brother, trying and failing not to lean into his shoulder. At least he knows that Cyrus is relatively safe. Or as safe as someone can be in the presence of a friend maybe possessed by a Betrayer God.
Dorian sighs.
“Do you think we should be doing something?”
“I thought Orym told you to get to safety.”
Dorian nods.
“He did, but when do I listen to what people tell me to do?”
“You listen to him,” Cyrus says, bemused. “More than anyone else I’ve seen.”
He laughs at the flush across his brother’s cheeks.
“Nothing wrong with liking someone, Dor.”
Dorian doesn’t bother getting into the complicated tangle that is his feeling for Orym. Cyrus never felt the yoke of expectation from their family. He always seemed to embrace it. He also found it easy to fall in love with people. Any potential suitor presented to him left Cyrus dreamy-eyed and fawning. Dorian never understood it. He had taken the opposite tactic. He closed himself off. Love wasn’t an option. Whoever he was matched with would not be his choice. Traveling out in the world let his heart unfurl. He first felt it with Dariax. That warmth settled into friendship. He felt it again sitting among the blossoming trees of Zephrah. It still lingers in his chest.
“Seems like a foolish thing to care about right now.”
“So dramatic.”
“I am a traveling bard.”
“You were dramatic long before that.”
“Fair point,” Dorian huffs. He stares out at the cave. “I just…I just feel so helpless.”
Cyrus stared at the side of his brother’s face, quiet and contemplative in a way he often isn’t.
“I don’t know much about your relationship with Orym, but he clearly cares about you. And if he does and he’s worth a damn, he knows that if you could have been there, you would be. So he wants you to do the next best thing. He wants you to be safe so he doesn’t have to worry.”
“But—”
“You need to let yourself be loved,” Cyrus says. “Let people in more often. You carry too much on your own. Always did.”
“That’s not—”
Cyrus cuffs him.
“It’s me, Dorian. I know we’ve only gotten close in the last few weeks, but I do still know you.”
Dorian exhales a shaking breath, his eyes prickling. Cyrus snakes an arm around his shoulders and pulls him close.
“This is the best we can do right now. We can keep ourselves safe, keep an eye on Opal, and make sure we survive whatever is coming so you all can go run off and play heroes again.”
He pauses, studying his brother for a moment.
“You need to be okay, Dorian,” Cyrus says. “Not just for Orym—though you two definitely need to talk once this is done— but for me too.”
Dorian lets his head fall to his brother’s shoulder. He thinks about the Spider Queen, and how if he denies her again, there isn’t much he can do.
“I’ll do the best I can.”
Cyrus bobs his head once.
“And that means staying down here until this is over.”
“Yeah,” Dorian affirms.
“Good. Get some sleep,” Cyrus suggests. “I have a few new ways of cheating at cards, and I want to see if you notice either of them.”
“Well, now that you’ve told me you’ll be cheating, I’ll definitely be able to tell.”
Cyrus grins wide.
“I’ve cheated literally every single time we’ve played cards, and you haven’t noticed yet.”
Dorian playfully shoves at him as Cyrus bops the bun on his younger brother’s head.
“Bed,” Cyrus says. “I’ll give you a shove when it’s your watch.”
Though he’s pretty sure he won’t be able to fall back asleep, Dorian does try to lie down for a bit. His eyes drift up to the cave entrance, but the foliage prevents a clear sight line to the sky. His gaze is pulled back to Opal, but she never stirs. His mind refuses to quiet, and before he realizes what he’s doing, Dorian has the sending stone lifted to his lips. He doesn’t speak, remembering that the stones have already been used for the day. Instead, he settles on his side. He pillows his head on his arm and holds the stone tightly over his heart. He imagines Orym is doing and hopes that when they speak again he is brave enough to express his feelings.
Dorian falls asleep like that; with the promise of the future kept alive in his heart.