Chapter 15: Power

Aesind scheduled a last-minute private breakfast with Mister Reeves this morning, so Emrys found himself at a rather awkward, silent table not long after dawn today. The suitors sat in their usual seats. They traded jealous, suspicious looks amongst themselves. They tried to share these looks with Emrys, but he kept to himself and looked back with the sort of vague disinterest Aesind has perfected. At least the food was delicious as usual.

After the uncomfortable breakfast, Emrys went looking for Ash. They declared themselves unfortunately unavailable -- they're going out beyond the garden walls for more vigorous exercise and hunting. Green about it, Emrys sighed loudly at the announcement. He still hasn't been allowed anything more intense than a brisk walk around the garden. Without Archimedes here to practice their swordplay, he's forbidden from even practicing his forms. Doctor Illala cited something about having no level head around to keep him from hurting himself again.

On the one hand, it makes sense. On the other, Emrys is losing his fucking mind. What he wouldn't give to run through the trees like a wild thing...

Aesind is completely booked today. Emrys has been sitting on the brief, unpleasant conversation with Reeves since yesterday afternoon. He sorted his thoughts out with Ash, but there's been no opportunity to have even a couple minutes with Aesind to talk. There certainly won't be any time today, unless Aesind decides to stay up extremely late and bother Emrys long past midnight.

Archimedes is entirely absent, of course. Aesind is unavailable by necessity. Ash is off gallivanting in the wilderness, and Emrys...

He isn't sure what to do with himself. He knows the grounds and the manor well enough to wander about by himself, but with no direction, he finds himself bored quickly. Too quickly. Like a caged beast, he prowls back and forth on the balcony overseeing the terrace beneath a cloudy sky. The air is thick with the threat of rain, but none falls. The storm has been building since early this morning, and it's only gotten more and more oppressive, pushing down on every living thing beneath the gray. Humidity aside, it's still better to be out here in the open than locked behind closed doors.

He's got the sketchbook from Aesind, but the idea of sitting still and doodling is worse than this pacing. If he weren't still nursing his shoulder, he could practice with his bow. It's been an age since he's been able to draw it. Emrys's hands itch for the tension of the string, the whisper-twang of release, the distant thud of an arrow meeting its target. The hard calluses on his fingertips and palms are still there, but every day, they soften.

As it is, he's forbidden to even pick the bow up, let alone draw it. It sits lonely in the free-standing closet in his room alongside his hardened-leather quiver full of arrows he isn't allowed to shoot. The string is loosened for storage, and he isn't sure he'd be able to pull it taut enough to even draw the damn thing.

Damned shoulder. He's out of the brace today, but he'll likely have to wear it tomorrow. The weather is making the joint stiff and achy, and he should probably be wearing it right now. Just the idea of being trussed up and bound together makes him feel like he's going to combust. So he's left it off, and he'll deal with those consequences later.

Emrys pauses in his relentless pacing to brace both hands on the stone railing at the edge of the balcony. He growls upwards at the sky as though it's the impending rain's fault he's in this situation.

If his brothers were here, he'd have his hands full ensuring they weren't getting into trouble. Or, at the very least, that they weren't getting into more trouble than they could handle. There's never a dull moment with any of them. It's quiet, maddening moments like these that Emrys misses their inane commentary and endless prodding.

He could blame them for this, then. With them around growing up, he never had to plan for boredom, just endless play and responsibility and activity and planning. Now, here, he doesn't know how to do it. He longs for their company.

Of course, he'll never admit that to their faces. Maybe he can allude to it in his next letter to home in a way that won't lead to relentless taunting for the rest of his life.

Emrys peers upwards. The sun hasn't even reached its peak yet.

He sighs. Emrys rolls his head back and forth to stretch out his neck, then flexes his shoulders. The right one is stiff, and the joint pulls wrong, making him wince. It's a sharp stab of pain that reminds him precisely how limited he is right now. It's getting better, but it'll never be exactly the same again. He'll definitely need the brace tomorrow after all. If he can stomach it, maybe he'll even put it on before lunch.

He's made his peace with it, for the most part. It's easier to accept when he isn't clawing at the walls. Most days, Emrys knows he's lucky that he can use the arm at all, particularly considering it was almost entirely off his body by the time he arrived at the manor. Truthfully, he should have lost it with how damaged the tendons and joint were. It should've killed him by the blood loss alone, stranded as they were in the wilderness. Good fortune led Archimedes to him just in time.

This stiffness is just another challenge. It's something to strategize around and accommodate. He can't change it, so he may as well embrace it and plan for it.

If only he could pick up his bow and test which arm he ought to shoot with in the future...

He glares out toward the gardens. Emrys decides that he's going to blame this entire thing on Mister Reeves. If not for his insistence on several private meetings with Aesind at all hours, Emrys and his gracious host would be spending a pleasant morning together.

Then again, it's probably for the best. Reeves was right about one thing: Emrys has been getting too attached to Aesind, especially recently. Having Ash around helps. They're a good distraction and a better companion. Not having them to soak up time otherwise spent idle is downright painful.

He would write a letter to his family asking for work to do, but all he'd get in return is yet another reprimand. His parents have been hounding him to take a vacation for years. Which isn't exactly fair, he has taken vacations. He's gone on solo trips to visit other towns and cities, even going as far as the coast to see the ocean.

It isn't his fault he gets antsy when he's got nothing to do. It also isn't his fault when he overhears conversation about monsters in the area causing problems for the local population. And it also isn't his fault when he's the only qualified hunter for miles and he's willing to help out for little more than a thanks and a meal. No, for that, he can readily blame his parents.

Emrys sighs. He runs a hand over his face. He really should get another hobby or something.

"Excuse me."

Surprised, Emrys glances over his uninjured shoulder. The question of how he missed someone approaching him is immediately answered. Mister Rischer loiters just inside the open glass doors. His casual suit (collared shirt left partly unbuttoned, simple dark brown trousers) is immaculately pressed, as always.

"Would you mind if I joined you, Mister Symmonet?" Rischer asks. His hands are tucked into his pockets, and his posture is relatively casual, but there's something in his expression that sets Emrys on edge. As if sensing his reluctance, Rischer adds, "I would simply like to ask you a few questions."

"Sure," Emrys replies, keeping his puzzlement to himself. It isn't like he's doing anything else today. This guy may end up being entertaining, if not at least diverting.

Rischer marches to the banister, staring out past it to the garden beyond. Emrys hasn't gotten to see much of the guy outside sightings from afar or in passing when Rischer is using his time with Aesind. Based on what Emrys has heard, Rischer isn't so bad. Aesind mentioned off-hand a few days ago that if they met at a party and got to chatting, he might actually enjoy Rischer's company. As it is, though, the man is far too taken up by the act of courtship to be much more than an awkward half-flirt.

Now, with a quick once-over this close, Emrys can glean a bit more. Rischer's bearing is straight and proud. He walks at a neat clip, and Emrys wouldn't be surprised to find him with his hands folded primly at the small of his back. The cut and coif of his dark hair, the shine of his very particular boots, and the miserly gleam in his eye are dead giveaways. What he's heard from Aesind matches perfectly with his appearance.

This is no officer who barks orders from the safety of an office a hundred miles away from the conflict. Rischer is a soldier, one who has seen real combat. Trained by government programs for the defense of the land, they're what Emrys might have been if not for his clan's existence. In years past, they fought against rival armies for the glory of their respective regions; now, these soldiers mostly follow government contracts to defend borders and otherwise keep the peace. Many of them in the Golden Valley are working to suppress ghoul activity and protect larger settlements from the creatures.

Emrys can respect a real fighter.

"What can I do for you, Mister Rischer?" Emrys asks, setting the elbow of his uninjured arm against the stone banister. He leans to the side. His posture remains carefully casual, but he remains alert to any impending issue.

Rischer's expression remains closed, reticent. He aims his thousand-yard stare out toward the gardens despite Emrys facing him directly. In an even voice, he says, "You have been here for quite some time, is that right, Mister Symmonet?"

"I suppose," Emrys replies slowly. In comparison to the suitors, he's been here much longer than most. None of them have stayed longer than two weeks while Emrys has been in recovery. From Aesind's accounts, a scarce few have managed to obtain the privilege of being invited for much more than that.

"I am curious," Rischer says, still not looking in Emrys's direction. "You spend a significant amount of time with Lord Consort Aesind. What are your intentions?"

Emrys blinks. "What?"

Rischer's eyes roll up and to the side toward Emrys in a cold stare that finally betrays some emotion. The irritation there might be intended to intimidate Emrys in some way. As it is, it doesn't do much more than confuse him.

"What are your intentions in spending such a large amount of time with him?" Rischer asks as though to a child.

"I'm not sure it's any of your business," Emrys replies crisply, stones sinking in his stomach. Ash figuring him out makes sense. Reeves already poked at him yesterday, and now this guy? What crime did Emrys commit that warrants this much punishment? He shoots a brief glare at the sky.

"It is my business," the suitor says. He turns bodily toward Emrys, and though his posture remains loose enough for a soldier, the change alerts Emrys to the musculature of the man. If he chose, he could do real harm, especially with Emrys's arm out of commission. "I am courting him, and as such, I have a right to know my competition. The other gentlemen here are equally concerned about your interference in our efforts."

Typical grunt soldier, Emrys muses through his annoyance. No tact whatsoever.

"Ah," Emrys says widely with a slow nod. "And so you come as representative of all of you. I hadn't realized you were so... allied. Or so concerned, as you put it."

Rischer frowns. "Are you or are you not here to court them?"

"Obviously not." Emrys gestures to his arm. "I was injured, and I was rescued by Ar-- His Lordship in the woods. I'm still recovering. Hence, I'm still here." He quirks an eyebrow at Rischer. "Surely you've heard all this from Lord Consort Aesind, if you've been so curious and concerned about it."

"Oh, we've all heard the story." The frown transforms into a truly impressive sneer. "I simply wish to make it clear that you are unworthy of the attention you command, Mister Symmonet."

"And here I thought the only thing you wanted was to ask me a few questions," Emrys says, choking his temper down. He manages, just barely, to keep his voice level. He channels a combination of the best of Aesind's acts and his brother Westrys, the most formidable diplomat they have despite his youth. A deep breath in and out cools the fire in his chest. It's a good thing he's had a bit of practice in the last day. "Mister Rischer, rest assured that I am not courting anyone. Lord Consort Aesind and I are friends, nothing more. You and your fellow suitors have nothing to fear from me."

Rischer nods carefully. He glances about, then takes a single step closer to Emrys that has every muscle in Emrys's body tensing in preparation. His shoulder twinges. It's all so similar to how Reeves approached him yesterday -- the probing, the accusations, the aggression.

Rischer says, "That is reassuring. I may suggest, then, that you stay out of our way for the remainder of your recovery period. It would likely be in your best interest, given your state of injury."

"Are you threatening me, Mister Rischer?" Emrys asks in a soft tone that does nothing to soften the danger in the question.

"I wouldn't dare," Rischer lies, clear as day. The flash of his eyes and the grim set to his already-drawn mouth are more than enough of a sign. "Though you should know, I am well aware of your family's specialties. And the things your family lacks. Magical talent, for one." Rischer raises one hand, swirling his fingers in the air. The sharp scent of magic ripples through the air like dry, rainless lightning building in the atmosphere. Sparks flash between his fingers to match. "You may wish to heed my warnings."

Emrys's expression darkens as he watches Rischer play with the trapped lightning in his hand. It's the same as Reeves's threat, but again with less tact and subtlety. Is Emrys really such a danger to them? Quietly, he says, "You aren't worried about Aesind finding out about this threat of yours?"

"No," Rischer replies, eyes narrowing at the lack of honorific ahead of the Lord Consort's name. He flicks a tiny ball of energy off the balcony where it fizzles with a near-silent pop. More blue-white flashes zip between his fingertips. "I doubt you would have the capacity or nerve to report any of this to him."

"You underestimate my nerves, Rischer."

"And you, Symmonet, underestimate my willingness to do what's necessary."

Emrys raises his chin. He didn't dare to test Reeves with how frightened Aesind has been of him, but this guy seems like fair game. "Oh, I believe you. I just don't give a shit about your threats. I'm not going to end my friendship with Aesind because you're an insecure twat."

Rischer doesn't bother with a comeback. The lightning dancing around his fingertips intensifies, curling into a concentrated ball at rapid speeds. Emrys's pupils dilate at the sight. He could dodge, but gods know what Rischer is capable of; it may not be enough. And with his arm injured as it is, he can't afford to hit the ground wrong.

There's no time to think of a better idea. Nothing for it. Emrys raises his good arm over his face and grits his teeth against the impending impact.

"Enough!"

The word crackles through the air, punctuated by a crisp snapping of fingers. Emrys lowers his arm to find Rischer not only frozen but a full two feet off the ground. His hand hovers in the air, halfway outstretched in Emrys's direction and no longer sparkling with magic. His eyes are wide with shock, mouth twisted in fury. The clothes he wears move in the slight breeze, but the rest of him appears to be entirely immobile.

Emrys tears his attention from the frozen man to the open doorway. Aesind's hand falls back to his side. He saunters out onto the balcony far too casually. His emerald eyes blaze bright with anger -- and physically, too, with the magic he's channeling.

"Aesind," Emrys breathes, straightening his posture. Mortified heat races across his face. "I apologize for the commotion."

"No need." Aesind gives Emrys a tight smile. "I know you're not to blame." His annoyed gaze flicks back to Rischer. He gives a subtle wave of the hand. "I suggest you apologize, Mister Rischer."

The man's mouth twitches, then clicks shut. He shoots Aesind a venomous look out of the corner of his eye, unable to do much more than that. His voice is strained as he hisses, "You heard what he said to me. I don't owe him anything."

Aesind rolls his eyes. "Please, Mister Rischer, don't think I'm a fool. I heard your threats, and I saw you raising that spell from the start. Does it really take you that long to summon a simple ball of lightning?" Aesind snaps his fingers again, and a sizable bundle of energy begins to crackle between his forefinger and thumb. It must be twice the size of Rischer's. "Pitiful, really. I'll suggest once again that you apologize to Mister Symmonet."

Rischer's face purples with indignation. And perhaps with effort, considering the way his fingertips twitch and tremble. He can't so much as raise a bit of magic to counter Aesind's spell. To hold him effortlessly like this while also summoning even a small amount of controlled lightning is more than a feat. Emrys watches the crackling magic dissipate with wondering eyes.

The jilted suitor makes a series of choked, offended noises. It isn't clear whether this soldier has ever been so readily handled, hoisted by invisible fists at the lapels by a pretty, delicate slip of a man.

"I see you continue to refuse," Aesind says as though he's discussing the weather. His glowing eyes slide back to Emrys, a smirk playing about his lips. "How far do you suppose I could throw him, Emrys?"

Emrys splutters with a surprised laugh. A hot flush prickles around his ears. He's never been more attracted to anyone in his life. "I -- well, I suppose there's only one way to find out."

"Indeed," Aesind hums. He raises his hand again and twirls one finger in the air slowly.

Rischer begins to spin at the same rate, rising a few inches further off the ground like a screw coming loose. Panic shoots through the captive man. He struggles harder against the magic restraining him. His voice, so even and cool before, cracks with fear as he exclaims, "No! No, no!"

"I will give you one more chance, Rischer," Aesind declares. "Apologize before I decide to test your flight skills."

The terrified suitor heaves half a sob. He babbles a series of noises that appear to be pathetic apologies. After a few moments of pensive thought, Aesind releases the spell, and the man tumbles to the ground in a heap.

"Good enough," Aesind says, hands on hips. "Gather your things and go. I never want to see you or your folk ever again."

Rischer scrambles to his feet and scurries off, tail firmly between his legs. Aesind and Emrys watch him go with varying levels of awe and relief. As Aesind turns back toward him, no longer glowing or furious, Emrys goes slack against the banister.

"I am sorry," Emrys says earnestly. "I lost my temper. I should never have risen to his bait."

Aesind waves a hand in the air dismissively. "Ah, it's alright. I was seeking a reason to get rid of that one, anyways." He walks forward the rest of the way to lay both arms on the stone banister beside Emrys. "Are you alright? He didn't harm you?"

"I'm fine. No harm done." Emrys considers the pretty, extraordinarily powerful man at his side. "That was incredible. How did you manage to hold him like that for so long?"

"Oh, that?" Aesind finally smiles. He sets his chin in one palm. "It's a party trick, nothing more. I caught him by surprise, is all, and his background makes him rather predictable. I'd hoped for a bit more of a challenge, since it's been many years since I've had a proper duel, but alas." He sighs dramatically. "No such luck."

The casual dismissal of his incredible power is dizzying. If that's what constitutes a party trick for Aesind, what would be a grand gesture? Emrys's tongue has tied itself into a large knot. Words struggle to arrange themselves in a cohesive order in his mind.

Sensing the difficulty, Aesind's smile widens into a toothy grin. "Would you like to see something more impressive?"

"More impressive?" Emrys repeats incredulously. Perhaps he can blame his breathlessness on the shock of the entire encounter. "I'm not sure I can handle something bigger than whatever the hell that just was."

"Oh, you can manage." A mischievous twinkle enters Aesind's eye. "After all, I'm all warmed up now. It would be a shame to waste all this energy I've got. Come to the ballroom with me, I'll show you something I think you'll really enjoy. We can have lunch afterwards."

Oh, gods. There are countless things Emrys would enjoy seeing, and none of them are likely to be true.

"Sure," Emrys replies, cursing silently at the croak in his voice. He clears his throat and gestures to the doors. "Lead the way."