Chapter Text
He was not supposed to have a lesson today. Maman had rushed out the day before, cancelling the next few days, and he had been excited to sit out in the courtyard and read, or wander around the Heart of the Parrish’s market, snipping back and forth with Amber at whatever crossed their minds— at whatever clothing caught their attention, or the used books, most of them poetry.
It was supposed to be the kind of day where Devo did not mention the far away look Amber got when she saw green ribbons or a certain author’s name. He would not mention how her comments stopped being snarky and became mean afterward or, when she was not making comments, she became quiet. He had pried too much when he was younger and she had always dodged the question; at this point, as he grew older, he understood the want for secrets between the two of them.
She never asked why, exactly, he looked upset after some of his lessons, only ever asked if he wanted to head outside, escape the halls of the palace and slip into places where he was not known. In return, he had stopped asking so many questions about the downtrodden look she always seemed to carry around her, one that dissipated only when visited by her family or by Zoox.
Occasionally, if his rants about Maman and Brother Seldom and Benefactor Orlene became harsher, she would bark out a laugh that chased away the look, and that is likely the only reason why he knew it was there in the first place. If he had never seen her without it, perhaps he would have never noticed it.
But he did, and yet he would never question it. It was the unspoken rule that sat between them, one he did not fully understand nor want to follow, but one he had learned to live with.
They were moments he cherished because it was something that only they shared. Neither Seldom nor Maman knew about their looks, and he preferred that.
“Devotion,” Maman called, voice tight, and he automatically straightened, turning away from the window to look at her. “What has your mind so consumed that you cannot pay attention for one day?”
A spark of annoyance that he instinctively set aside lit in his chest as he rest his chin on his hand. “It is a nice day outside, Maman, and you told me yesterday that we would not have lessons for a few days. This morning I woke up to a message that said we were to have our usual lessons. I am,” he scrambled, knowing just how important it is to use the proper words in front of her, “annoyed. I had already made plans for today.”
Maman raised an eyebrow, gloved hands laced in front of her, and he had to resist the urge to flinch away from them. Even from here, he could feel the scratchy texture of the fabric as she fixed his hair or something in his outfit. “And what would those plans be, Devotion? Your messenger friend is out with a letter for Hermine from me, and your other studies are not until tomorrow. What could be so important that you ignore your duties of learning to control your magic?”
He, with a lot of practice, squashed down the annoyance that came with her never thinking of Amber. He never thought down of Maman, but sometimes he wondered if she ever paid attention to him and the people he cared about, if she knew it was Amber who had taught him everything outside of his studies, who let him get into trouble only to drag him out of it.
If she knew it was Amber and Zoox who made him feel alive.
“I was planning to walk around the town, Maman. Get some fresh air, clear the mind. That is important, yes?”
He met her eyes, finally, anger rising high in his chest that he fought to push down.
“You are right, Devotion. Your health is important. It helps tremendously if you take some time for yourself. But plans change, and that is the way of life. Now, if you will—”
“What changed?” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, an edge to them that he always tried to hide in front of his maman. He almost regretted them, knowing a disappointed look would follow, a sigh that was too heavy even as she smiled through it, a change in voice.
She stopped from where she had begun her rhythmic pacing once more. “Pardon?”
Her voice was not different, but something in it sent shivers down his spine and ice in his stomach. Ice that quickly melted as it met the heat of his anger.
“You promised me I would not have any lessons today, and now I do. What changed?” he asked, enunciating the words.
“It is only for one day, Devotion. What is the problem?”
“The problem is I had the day planned out. The problem is I planned to take my time this morning before we wandered around. The problem is—”
“We?” she asked curiously, voice poisonous.
“The problem is,” he continued over her, “is that I am fourteen and cannot choose what to do with my day. I have never been beyond the Heart of the Parrish. I am fourteen and you still choose my clothes!” His hands clenched in his lap as he stared at her, magic crackling between his ribs that he kept barely under control.
The conversation had grown so far out of his control so quickly. It was just a few hours, he should have been quiet, but now that his anger was present, that he took his eyes off of it for a second, it leapt to be released.
There was a pause as they stared at one another, tension so thick, he swore if he tried to swipe his hand through it, his hand would not move. It stood between them, harsh and unwavering.
As the silence continued, his glare wavered, even as Maman only blinked at him, face blank.
It was then that he noticed the dark bags under her eyes, poorly hidden by a thin layer of makeup and magic. Her hands that were clasped in front of her were tense, her thumb rubbing against her knuckles, something that she only did whenever she was stressed.
For a brief moment, concern overtook the anger. She never let herself look this disorderly; she never let herself look this vulnerable. The only one he could even think of who could have possibly seen her like this, was Brother Seldom.
But to showcase it so blatantly? It wasn't right.
“Maman,” he started cautiously, the bite of anger only softened by his concern, “are you—”
“And you should not let anything distract you, Devotion.” She didn't have to raise her voice to be heard over him, not when her words cut through him and took his voice. “You are fourteen and a member of high society, you should never allow anything to have control over you—”
He couldn't stop his scoff, the anger returning quicker than it left. “What, like you? You tell me where to go and when to go. I can not even explore beyond the city, even with Amber who you hired to watch over me. You screen everyone who will ever interact with me. I would call that control, Maman.”
Her face became pinched, an annoyance he had not seen in months mixed with a tiredness that shadowed her every step recently. “I am trying to protect you, Devotion—”
“I don't need protection, Maman!” he yelled. His hands slammed on the table as he stood up, but even that got nothing out of her. “And it is Devo. De- vo. Not Devotion. Why can you not respect that?”
She stared at him as his magic crackled beneath his fingers and his breath became short. Just stared, even after his breath evened out and the desk had fractal patterns where his fingers lay— not deep, but noticeable from its usual varnish.
She stared until he thought she could not stare anymore.
And then she sighed. “This is what I was talking about, Devo,” and the use of his name surprised him out of his anger. “You need more control over yourself, over your anger. You need to calm down.”
“I am calm,” he stated. He knew it was not true, felt his magic crackle down his arms and to the tips of his fingers, felt it settle thickly in his throat, willing his statement to be true. But it just fed into his anger, continuing the cycle of rage that had been building up for as long as he could remember.
She stepped forward, deliberate and strong, the sound of her foot hitting the ground echoing louder than it should. “You are falling into your emotions, Devotion. You are not calm.”
He wrinkled his nose, even as he fought the urge to lean back. It was not often Maman displayed her own use of magic, her own powers. In fact, he could only recall it ever happening twice, and neither were as potent as this.
“I am as calm as I need to be. I am allowed to feel.”
She shook her head. “That may be true, but it is important to not be fueled by them. To feel them and to be them are two different things. Right now, Devotion, you are your anger. It isn’t a good look on you.”
“It is Devo, Maman. And you do not control my anger!”
She was in front of him suddenly, one step by her desk, the next in front of him before he could even blink. The use of magic caused her eyes to glow blue, a faint burning smell of wood, and he jerked back without any thought.
Her hand reached forward, brushing back his hair that had fallen into his face, and he tried to lean back, an innate panic overtaking the anger, an urge to run before he could fight, to flee to safety and never bring this incident up again.
The lace against his face was rough and unyielding and he wanted away. He felt like a child, he felt like he was five and he had just turned the corner too fast and broke a bowl.
He felt like he was in the wrong, and he wanted away.
But no matter how much he wanted to flee, her eyes held him in place. He couldn't even move his own arms to push her back, could hardly breathe, could hardly feel.
It felt like his anger was being sucked away from him, as well as anything else he could be feeling. Concern and panic and frustration drifted away from him, until he felt blank.
“If you were in control,” he heard, however he wasn't sure who was speaking, only that they were words, “you would be able to keep me out, Devotion. You are powerful,” a sigh, “but ruled by anger.”
Something itched against his cheek, but he did not care. “Calm down.”
He breathed—
—and dropped his spoon into the bowl.
It hurt. Anger and worry and panic crashed into him and he could not stop the involuntary gasp, nor the jerking of his hands to his chest.
It hurt, coming back to himself and feeling only intense emotions that blinded his vision with blue. It hurt to think and to feel, and the wave of feeling had him curling over himself, magic crackling and fizzing against every inch of his skin—
“Devo.”
He did not know where he was.
His face itched. He could not bring his hand up to itch it.
He was shaking.
He was sitting.
There was a hand on his shoulder that only added to the pain, and a voice that called out in a distant worry.
There were too many sounds and smells and feelings and thoughts and emotions, and it hurt.
Where was he and how did he get here? He was just— where had he been previously? With Maman? That sounded right, but why would he lose time?
“Devo, guppy, at least shake your head.”
There were steps and a snarled response before it went silent.
Why was he so angry? He did not want to be angry. Not this angry. He wanted to curl underneath a tree and read a book. Or take a nap. He did not know which.
The hand had moved from his shoulder to his cheek, and he opened his eyes into a squint, a blurred shape he would know anywhere crouching in front of him.
His face did not itch anymore, but it still hurt. It took everything to fight through the raw, fierce emotions and lean away from Amber’s hand.
The hand retreated quickly, an inhale so acute he did not think it could count as a breath accompanying it. “Okay, yeah, take your time.”
He closed his eyes once more. He wanted to scream. Or cry. Anything that would stop the buildup of emotions in his chest, anything to dispel them and stop his shaking. He would do anything to unclench his jaw, for the magic to stop tap-dancing across his skin. He wanted to be in control again.
He didn’t know how long he sat there, only that he kept his eyes closed until he could breathe without pain, until his magic settled low in his throat; it was ready to spring into action if need be, but it was not dancing through him.
Emotions, he knew, were not meant to be suppressed. They were strong and raged like winds, and it was not wise to bottle the winds. He knew how to keep them hidden from people until he could express them, but he did not like the feeling of keeping them in his chest. Everything became tense and it was unpleasant.
If he kept them restrained, there was a time they would all bubble over, and he did not like that.
It left him drained.
He slowly opened his eyes, wincing at the bright sunlight that made its way through his window, and slowly looked around.
He was in his room, bare as it could be. His door was left ajar, which he never did, and Amber was still crouched in front of him. The desk that had replaced his table from when he was younger had two meals on it, some kind of spiced porridge, he knew. It was his favourite.
“Back to reality, guppy?” Amber asked, voice a whisper. It did not hold any of the pity or sympathy he would have expected from anyone else, just her usual smirk, and he could not have been any more glad about that.
He glanced around the room once more. “What…time is it?” he asked. Some part of him was surprised that his voice came out so steady, not when he felt like he had been scraped raw.
Amber’s eyebrows furrowed. “You just got out of your lesson with Guidance a while ago. You were quiet, so I suggested we get an early lunch.” There was a pause as Devo processed the information, slow in his tired brain, and Amber just stared. “What did she do?”
Devo’s nose wrinkled as he tried to think. He remembered the fight, hazy and just out of reach. He knew he yelled at Maman, he knew she was upset with him. He knew she told him to calm down, but—
The flash of anger was brief, no tinder for him to ignite it with. Maman was charming, everyone knew that. She knew what to say and how to say it, knew how to smile and talk and everything that was always difficult for him.
People usually forgot that she had just as much magic as he did, that she was teaching him everything he knew.
“Stars damn her. She— Guidance— spelled me.” He said it numbly, a dull sense of fear taking the words even though all he wanted was that anger. He wanted to be angry at her, wanted to yell and scream and head to her office and start another fight because that anger felt safer than fear, than the betrayal that cloaked his revelation.
He knew she had magic, witnessed it in almost every lesson. It was something as intrinsic to her as it was to him, and some part of him believed she would never use it on him unless it was an emergency.
But instead of that anger, because he was tired and anger felt so far away, he was left with that dull sense of betrayal and fear.
Amber sat back on her heels, a quirk of her lips, looking almost amused. Which did not make sense because everytime he brought up his lessons with Maman, she always looked uncomfortable.
“Amber,” he whispered, her face becoming more serious again, “she made me blank. I did not— I do not like it.”
He did not watch her expression, instead leaning his head against the back of his chair and closing his eyes.
It was not as if Maman had not made him mad before, but this felt…more. And he felt like he could not do anything against it, to show her that he did not like it.
“Well,” Amber said, and he could hear her knees pop as she stood, her hands brushing against her trousers, “do somethin’ about it.”
He squinted his eyes open, barely looking up at her. “What?”
She stood over him, something proud on her face. “Tell her that.”
He blinked at her. “I cannot.”
She scoffed, and Devo could not help the glare he aimed at her, annoyance fierce in him. “Guidance is—” he stopped, dread pooling low in his gut. He— it was Maman. She was always Maman, always would be Maman. Amber did not understand that, and he knew she would not be able to understand it. “She is my maman, Amber. I can not just tell her she made me feel…bad. That is not how it works.”
Amber’s eyebrows raised. She did not understand. He knew she did not understand. He has seen her with her father, saw how flippant she was, how she argued with him, or laughed at and refused to listen to him. And yet he had laughed and grinned and ruffled her hair and it made him jealous and yet he knew he could never have the same.
She could not understand.
“O-kay,” she said, drawing out the word. “Cut your hair, then.”
“What?”
She grinned despite his confusion. “You can’t, and won’t, actively go against her, right? Then cut your hair.”
He lifted his head from the chair, sitting up straighter, the spark of confusion dancing among the ashes of the previous, failed emotions. “I cannot, Amber.”
“Why not?” she asked. Her grin didn’t die as she questioned him.
“It is— I—” he stuttered. He could not think of a reason why he should not, he realised, as he scrambled for an explanation. In fact, it almost felt like he had just been automatically denying it, not even taking a chance to think of it.
Had he ever been able to do anything with his hair? Guidance loved to do his hair personally, braiding it in intricate styles to keep it out of his face or pinning it up with bejeweled clips. She always made him presentable for an audience of zero. It was never loose or down or even just shoved out of the way.
He frowned. Amber always braided her own hair, sometimes wrapping the green ribbon she always wore around her wrist in it. Brother Seldom’s was cut neat and short, barely brushing his shoulders, always styled. Zoox’s hair was always pushed back or pulled back into a rushed ponytail.
And Maman’s hair was always casual, always sophisticated but casual and pulled back in the same styles she did his in. He had never had control over his hair because, just like everything else, Guidance controlled it.
Slowly, as if the words were being ripped from him, he said, “I do not think I know how.”
Amber scoffed, not the scoff that meant she was upset, but the teasing scoff, when she thought he was being stupid. “It doesn’t have to look nice. It just gotta be…you.”
“I— I do not think I know who that is, Amber.” And it was true. Maman guided his every movement, and when they were not dictated by her, Brother Seldom was there. And if not he, then it was Benefactor Orlene. And if nobody was there, he was usually content in following Amber or Zoox around, eager to talk about what he had been reading.
Despite being allowed to rant about lessons or the books he had been reading, despite leading the way through the market when he and Amber snuck out, despite hiding the gifts Zoox gifted them so Maman would not know what he had, he always felt like he was following. He always felt as if someone was in more control of his life than he was.
“I do,” Amber said, cutting through his thoughts. He looked up, surprised to find that softness on her face that she sometimes got, that rare softness that appeared whenever she was caught in her thoughts for too long. “You like frogs and causin’ trouble and making clothes. You love the trinkets that Zoox makes or finds or is gifted because he refuses money so you hide them so Guidance doesn’t find ‘em.” Amber licked her lips, something Devo knew she did when she was unsure of what to say next.
“You know who yer not? Guidance.”
Devo ducked his head. He could feel his heartbeat in his fingers, a mix of shame of relief filling him. It was nice to hear, even if it did not feel right. “That may be true, Amber, but I am her son.”
It felt more like an excuse than a reason, a fact. It felt futile to argue against Amber, but he did not know how to express to her that she was wrong.
Maman raised him, is raising him. She gave him a home and friends and knowledge and taught him about magic.
She said he was supposed to be important.
He was her son and it was all he knew.
“Just because she's your mother,” Amber said, frustration threaded through her voice that automatically had him wrinkling his nose, prepared to argue, “doesn't mean you belong to her.”
He stared at her, words on the tip of his tongue dissipating into mist. His mind stilled as he processed her words.
There was no conscious thought, no eureka moment that he could pinpoint. It just felt like something slotted into place, something he had been missing that he did not even understand. A view that had always been blocked by a curtain that he had never even thought to open because he had never known life without it.
He was her son, but he had never wanted to be her.
And he could not think of anything to say.
Amber somehow knew, a victorious glint entering her eyes. If it was about anything else, he knew she would be gloating by now, smirking at him with no hint of remorse and only laughing when he would complain.
They stayed there for a moment, staring at one another, before Devo felt himself flush in embarrassment as what she said before finally processed. “You know I make clothes?”
Amber rolled her eyes. “Well, ‘course I do. You’re not smooth, y’know.” She lifted her hand, ruffling his hair, not caring about the strands that fell out of today’s braid. “We should deal with this,” she said, tugging on the end of his braid.
He swatted at her hand, smiling for what felt like the first time that day. “I will get the scissors.”
They argued over who should actually cut his hair for an hour.
Amber insisted she should because it would be easier for someone else to cut his hair than for him to cut it himself.
He did not want her anywhere near his hair with scissors. He had seen how she had drawn a line before, and whilst he could not fault her, there was no way he was letting her near his hair.
It devolved into them actually wrestling over the scissors, Amber swearing at him and Devo cackling. He knew she was going easy on him, knew he could be on the ground in less than half a minute if Amber truly desired, but they were both having fun.
And it was when Devo was holding the scissors above his head, using the extra few inches he had grown taller than Amber against her, and Amber looking like she was about to tackle him, that Brother Seldom walked in.
Devo felt his blood freeze as he blinked at Maman’s best friend, another one of his tutors, someone who he never truly knew was on his side or not, and fear took him.
He watched, frozen, as one of Brother Seldom’s eyebrows rose as he walked into the room, the door shutting behind him.
Amber was the first to react, glare switching to Brother Seldom, though she loosened up, becoming all the easy confidence that Devo wished he had.
“Whatever it looks like,” she said, crossing her arms, “it ain't it.”
Brother Seldom glanced at her, before locking eyes with Devo.
Devo straightened, hands going behind his back. It was likely Brother Seldom had already seen the scissors, but there was a small chance that he had not.
He really hoped he had not seen them. He did not know what he would say if he asked about them, did not know if he could lie to him or not.
Brother Seldom just watched him with a faint regard, a searching look to his stare that made Devo’s heart rate pick up and made him want to run, but he forced himself to hold still, to hold Seldom's eyes even if he wanted to cry and look away.
Finally, Seldom held out a gloved hand. “Give me the scissors and sit down, Devo.”
He blinked at him, surprise washing through him. “What?” he asked, even as he moved to follow the orders. Except these orders were not said in the sharp tongue he used when Devo was about to do something foolish and get himself hurt.
Devo stiffened as Brother Seldom moved behind him, hands landing on his shoulders for a moment, the scissors glinting in the light. “What style, Devo?”
This time, Devo could hear a bit of impatience in his voice. It did not stop another incredulous, “What?”, echoed by Amber.
Brother Seldom sighed, but Devo could not even begin to feel the disappointment that should follow that ‘I have repeated this seven times, Devo' sigh. He just felt…confused.
“While I understand your frustration at…Guidance, I presume, you cannot go around looking like a shaved baboon. What style were you aiming for?”
Devo turned in his chair to face Brother Seldom, confused and grateful and a whole mix of emotions he still didn't quite feel— too much that turned into nothing.
He did not know what he wanted. He did not want anything long that Guidance could pin up, did not want anything too short. He did not know the names of styles or how to accurately describe them.
He shrugged, feeling helpless. “I don't know…short? Maman likes to mess with it and put it up and I do not want that. But I also like to mess with my hair so maybe not too short? I—” he cut himself off and huffed, frustration building.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Brother Seldom purse his lips in thought; Amber leant against a wall, watching the entire exchange.
He could not read her at the moment, only that she was watching them and that always made him feel safe.
It was silent for a moment and Devo was about to just wave it off. There was too much time to deliberate on his decision, too many things he could decide on and maybe it would just be simpler to continue on as they had been.
He had been mouthing off to Maman, so maybe it was just a lesson he needed to learn.
“I think I know what you mean,” Brother Seldom said, cutting through his thoughts. He paused, meeting Devo’s eyes, but not forcing him to hold the eye contact. “Do you trust me, Devo?”
“Yes,” he said immediately. He did not know if he meant it, but he had not gone running off to Maman like Orlene would have, so maybe he did think he could trust Brother Seldom. He knew how to help, and he was prepared to help them with his hair. He was always helpful.
He trusted him, even if he did not always know how to trust people.
“Then sit forward. It will be fine.”
And he did. It was silent for a moment as Brother Seldom pulled out the ribbons wrapped into his braid, and then pulled his braid out, making sure to brush it.
It was all done steadily, and there was something soothing about it that had Devo closing his eyes. He did not know when, only that he was surprised to open them when Brother Seldom began to speak.
“You will do great things, Devo,” Brother Seldom said, punctuating his words with a snip. His hands were quick and precise, moving to the next lock almost immediately. “But people do not become great by always obeying others. You do not have to listen to everything we say— you should not listen to everything we say, especially as you grow older. You need to explore and learn to become yourself, or you will never come into your potential.
“And that is something Guidance and I have never quite seen eye to eye on.” His voice was steady, holding Devo captive with every word he spoke. It was different from the sing-song tones of Guidance that everyone respected, or the harsh, clipped tones of Orlene that demanded the attention of the room.
Seldom’s voice was made of old wisdom and promises, strong and steady and willing to speak truths that people were not always ready to hear.
And yet he only felt kindness, a compassion he had always been granted. And he felt guilty, for a moment, that he was not sure to trust Brother Seldom when, his entire life, he has only ever known trust from him.
Seldom stepped back after a moment more, the room falling silent. His head felt light, and he reached up to touch the ends of his hair that barely brushed his shoulders.
It was not long enough to put up into one of Maman’s intricate braids, and it was still long enough to wrap his fingers in when he needed to think. He loved it.
Seldom was saying something, and he could hear Amber responding, but it was drowned out by the giddiness of having his hair cut.
Devo had not known that he even wanted to, but now that it was done, it felt like the best thing that could have happened. It felt like a sense of freedom he did not know he had wanted, let alone needed.
And he liked it. He had not seen what it had looked like, but he knew it would look nice, even if the only reason was because he liked it.
He did not hear the door open, or register the fact that Amber straightened, something she never did unless she was confronting someone.
He did not notice the fact that the room seemed to get colder, or the tense silence that accompanied the person entering the room.
He only touched the ends of his hair, grinning. It felt…nice. Nicer than he ever expected it to.
He felt real; he felt real in a way that he had not known he had not felt before.
“What is going on here?”
Devo froze at Maman’s voice, fear and anger flooding through him and alighting his magic in a way he did not realise was possible.
He turned, slowly, to see her standing at the doorway. Her face was open, yet he could see the lines around her eyes tighten.
But the way her eyes were wider than normal, the way she scanned the room, he knew she was also surprised, and despite the fear that flooded through him, he felt a surge of delight as well.
His actions caused her to look like that. He caused her to look surprised, something that rarely happened.
He had not expected to feel proud of it, and some part of him felt guilt at the slight horror in her eyes.
But for once, he did not feel like he was being controlled. Frozen, yes, but not controlled.
They were all silent for a moment, staring at one another. Guidance pursed her lips as the disappointment took over her face, and though he felt small, he did not feel the need to apologise or hide.
“You cut your hair,” she said into the silence of the room, and it carried that same disappointment, but with something else laced through.
He almost laughed when he realised it was disbelief.
Devo held his head high, his hair just barely brushing the tops of his shoulders. So many words sat on the tip of his tongue, so many different things he could say.
And he wanted to say them all.
Before he could say anything, though, Brother Seldom set a hand on Devo’s shoulder as he walked towards Guidance. “No, Guidance, I cut Devo’s hair. I need to talk to you.”
They stared at one another. Seldom stared at Guidance with cool indifference, a surety on his face that Devo only ever saw in lessons, and Maman held a defiance she rarely ever wore.
Finally, Guidance spoke, the single word clipped and sharp, “Fine.”
She turned on her heel, walking away with her head held up high, and Seldom turned to him, a small grin on his face, and a mischievous light dancing in his eyes. “I’ll be keeping her busy for a few days. Go enjoy your freedom, Devo.”