Child of Darkness

[Luned]

They made it. Flint was a bit perplexed when Luned led him to the nicer side of town not far from the museum, seemingly deeper into the city they aimed to flee. But, when she took him down a side street and rapped on a shabby old door, he knew why.

It took several long, trying minutes, but after a few more knocks, it creaked open at the whim of a short, voluptuous woman, rubbing her eyes in her bedtime negligée. "Took you long enough," she yawned, moving aside for them to step in. She didn't seem particularly concerned about their mutilated states, and rather more about what that might do to her meticulously clean home. "Keep those muddy boots off the carpets," she commanded sharply as they entered, apparently more alert than she appeared.

The disheveled pair shuffled into the room, an extravagant space with luxuriously upholstered furniture in jewel tones that could have made their eyes bleed after the dreary monochrome of Ettermire. It suited the fairy princess well, her inhumanly vibrant gold hair matching the metallic threading of the pillows on her oversized bed perfectly. It took every ounce of Flint's willpower not to just stumble over and pass out on the inviting down comforter right then.

"Thank you, Ags," Luned sighed in relief. "Do you think you could drop us at the library? I know it wasn't part of the deal, but––"

"It's really nothing, dearie. I'll even do you one better." She glanced between the pair, winked at Luned with one mismatched eye, and when she reopened the door, it led into another bedroom instead of the street. The scribe's, to be precise, and everything was just how she left it. It was a modest but cozy niche carved out of the old stone building, bed made up tidily in the corner, an old desk nearly invisible under stacks of books and papers and projects that were also littered across the floor in a labyrinth of scrolls and paints and inks. Late morning sun shone warmly through the transparent curtains, parted just enough to give a glimpse of azure sky.

Luned stepped in and relaxed as the comfort of the familiar wash over her. "Thanks, but… when did I ever invite you up here?" she asked the fairy with a surprised glance over her shoulder. Agnie answered with a mischievous shrug and Cheshire grin, then swiftly closed the door behind them.

Flint visibly decompressed, feeling safe in knowing he was finally far from the clutches of the Skinner. "Where…?"

"Radasanth. Welcome home."

---

Treatment of Flint's infection was long and arduous, requiring several visits from Luned's doctor friend, along with several drainings. These events were distressful for all involved, and the scribe wasn't quite sure if it was a good or bad thing that tapping the ocean of pus stored in the man's shoulder was significantly easier to bear after the horrors of their fateful adventure.

But he was a trooper, and within a couple days he was out of bed and exploring parts of the vast library in short bouts. This time Luned found him sitting in his room with a small stack of reading, an atlas opened to Akashima on the table in the sun as he gradually sipped a strong herbal tea he didn't particularly like. Dr. Petru had prescribed it, and as Luned dutifully brewed it every eight hours, he begrudgingly obliged. He was wrapped not unlike a mummy in the amount of bandages he wore, visible under his open collar as he lounged in a comfortable leather armchair with his book. He wished, perhaps not as halfheartedly as he thought, that he could get used to this.

"It occurred to me," she said, stepping up to him, "That I don't actually know anything about you. We haven't been properly introduced."

Now that they were finally out of impending danger, Flint was able to find enough humor in himself to crack a hint of a smile. "I suppose not."

Luned leaned against the arm of his chair and offered him her hand, careful that he wouldn't have to strain his healing shoulder. "I'm Luned Bleddyn, scribe from Radasanth. I have a thing for old books, my favorite color's blue, and I recently discovered that I might have a phobia of rats."

The man accepted her hand with a firm, business-like shake. "Flint Skovik, security and acquisitions, Salvar. And yeah, I'd have to say the same." As if the rat king took offense to that, a sharp pain suddenly stabbed at his shoulder, having moved his arm just enough to aggravate the injury.

At this point Luned knew him well enough to notice when it was bothering him, and he couldn't tell if it irked him or not that she was so keen at finding whispers of weakness in his stoic countenance. "I can get some niphena from––"

"No, I'm fine," Flint declined, figuring now that he was out of the woods, he would do just fine without measly painkillers. This unexpected vacation –– a novel thing, really –– was more than enough to see him well again.

"Suit yourself." The scribe stepped over to the open window and perched on the sill, one hand running over the flowers in the box hanging just outside. She picked a couple dry leaves off one spindly plant and let them flutter away, a cool breeze stirring the room Flint would call home until he was well enough to leave –– or, rather, when Luned allowed him, insisting that he stay for proper medical care. For some reason he didn't argue and, when he considered why he hadn't, he realized the past couple days holed up in the cozy living quarters of the library reminded him of what memories he had of home. That thought disturbed him and his brow furrowed, Luned immediately catching his vexed look. "Don't tell me you don't like Corone already," she teased.

He shook his head. "Just thinking about my own country." This time it was Luned who was visibly vexed at the thought of something, and he turned the concern back on her. "Apparently it's you who doesn't like Salvar."

The light mood turned as Luned looked down at her hands, her thumb running along the lines of her left palm. The sun caught the red and gold highlights in her loose, dark hair, giving her a halo of warmth, but the stitches on her neck and face caught the light as well. There would most certainly be scars when they finished healing. "I never did tell you why I needed Swaysong, did I?"

Flint shook his head again.

"I'm wanted in Salvar for three murders. Oh… and witchcraft."

The man caught himself as his jaw dropped, his stoicism swiftly restored after a brief lapse of astonishment. "Did you really…?"

The scribe could have argued semantics, but it really didn't matter. She nodded, still avoiding eye contact as she stared at her lap. "If I had Swaysong, I could undo it. I went to Ettermire planning to do just that, but you know how that went."

There was the nagging guilt again. Before Flint could reply something sheepish, however, she continued.

"It's probably for the best. I've had a lot of time to think and I realized it was all for the wrong reasons, anyway. I wasn't doing it for them, they weren't good people… I was doing it because it had changed me." Luned leaned her forehead against the frame of the window, still paying meticulous attention to her hands and not Flint. She seemed to be curling in on herself as she let it all out in one uninvited deluge of secrets. "When I realized how stupid that goal was, I thought I could fix Ezura and Helethra's life instead. But you know what I felt when I saw Ezura die? Disappointment. What kind of human emotion is that? No sympathy, no sorrow, just… disappointment. For myself. Because it ruined my desperate attempt to revalidate my sorry existence."

Flint wasn't used to emotional conversations and found himself severely lacking in the knowing-what-to-say department, so he merely sat in speechless silence as she rambled on.

"Even if I could bring Ezura and Helethra back together, their family would still be broken. Even if I erased everything that happened in Salvar, I would still be broken. I'd still do stupid things like this to reclaim some part of myself that I'll never get back." Luned looked to Flint with an apologetic little smile, knowing she'd likely just made him very uncomfortable with information he probably didn't care about, but even so, it was better than trying to describe her mistakes to the morally righteous people she usually surrounded herself with. That wasn't a slight against Flint, either. "I'm done kidding myself, though."

With that, Luned stood up, stretched, and in an effort to change the subject, stole Flint's half-finished cup of tea off the table. "This must be cold, isn't it? I'll go get some warm for you." It felt good to get everything off her chest, and though she rather felt in need of a hug, too, she figured she'd forego further awkwardness for her poor friend's sake.