Marquis

  Year 10

  The paintbrush in my hand stills midway through the rendering of a hand, fingers hovering just above the canvas. I consider finishing the line anyway, though my thoughts cannot help but be pulled to the sound of Alexios arriving home.

  The door opens gently as he drifts in, keeping his breathing controlled. It seems as if he has survived a storm tonight. The brush is placed on the table as Alexios comes to stand in front of me. His deep plum cloak is kept on, blood not obvious but still just as present.

  He looks… shaken. That is the only word for it. The contract has not gone poorly. Surely, the Mother would have alerted me of this. Something else must have its claws in him tonight.

  “You are back early,” I say politely. I have learned the matter of tone can matter more to Alexios than the words.

  He nods slowly, crimson eyes still locked on me.

  “He was young,” Alexios murmurs. “He’d just been married. Maybe a few weeks ago. He kept touching his ring as I threatened him.”

  I turn back towards the canvas long enough to cover the paints. When I turn back towards him, he has moved further from me, still not sitting down to rest.

  “The target was not a good man,” I remind him. “The Mother does not choose at random. Well, mostly.”

  “He didn’t seem like a monster though.”

  “Most do not,” I reply.

  Alexios exhales slowly.

  “He begged me to make it quick, but I don’t think it was for himself. It was for his wife.”

  “Did you?”

  “Yes,” he responds quietly.

  I understand enough in this world to recognize that this is not revulsion he feels, though it is a crack along a fault line. As I rise, I step closer to him so that he cannot pretend I am not here in this moment.

  “Alexios, you are not responsible for what he had done. You did what you are simply bound to do.”

  His head drops into his hands. There are questions he does not want to ask yet and doubts he does not recognize to be doubts yet.

  “I know.”

  But knowledge will not soothe him tonight.

  “Bathe,” I tell him. “It seems as though you are carrying more than purely dried blood on you tonight.”

  Alexios does not say another word when he moves towards the hallway leading to our bathing chamber. My attention returns to the painting once again once he is out of sight. The hand on the canvas waits where I left it, fingers appearing as if they are reaching for something just down the hallway.

  --

  Alexios sits on the edge of his bed, bare to the waist as he holds the bard’s urn to his chest. He keeps his head bowed, allowing for his damp hair to fall forward. I stop just outside of the doorway, taking a moment longer than necessary to observe how he has changed. Alexios’s muscles have been earned through motion now rather than being crafted by the Matrons of House Baenre.

  Even drowning in a sea of grief, he remains beautiful. It is not dangerous for me to think this, though I am not sure what it truly means. The thought is placed aside as I step further into the room.

  “It seems the bath has not relieved all of the tension,” I say, keeping my voice gentle as to not startle him.

  My voice causes him to look up at me, eyes swollen and red but clear now. The weeping must have died down in the bath.

  “Would you like to accompany me into town?” I continue.

  Alexios narrows his eyes as his fingers tighten around the urn.

  “It’s a bit late, don’t you think? Do you need to feed again so soon?”

  “That is not the purpose tonight,” I tell him. “Besides, that is rather the point.”

  “Why?”

  I allow myself to smile at him, keeping my hands laced together behind my back.

  “I would like to steal you away from this room for a couple hours,” I answer honestly. “We will return before the city even realizes anything has been disturbed. There is no obligation. I am merely requesting your company.”

  The urn stays pressed against his chest, but he is considering it. He breathes in slowly, then carefully places the urn back on the bedside table.

  “Fine,” he answers shortly, leaning down to leave a kiss on the closing of the urn as if to promise Nykolai he will return.

  I smile softly again, pleased with his acceptance.

  “I would recommend putting on a shirt,” I say. “I would rather not scandalize the guards.”

  “The guards?” I hear him question as I turn to leave and give him privacy. I do not answer him, though I do allow myself another glance at him and the life that grief has not yet managed to extinguish.

  --

  The museum emerges out of the misty shadows of the night as two guards pace slowly around the perimeter. Alexios walks by my side, his attention tracking every step of the guards.

  “They seem thorough,” he whispers. “How are we going to sneak in?”

  “It is as if you have not lived with me for ten years,” I respond. “Watch, my lovely Alexios.”

  Almost silently, we fall in behind the guards as they pass a side entrance We keep our steps measured since timing matters more than speed in this moment. I wait until the precise second their shadows overlap with ours, then I lift my hand idly.

  Both guards falter mid-step, one reaching for the wall while the other exhales and simply sits down. They slide against the stone wall as they drift into sleep. I lower my hand and Alexios stops, staring down at the men as their breathing evens out. One even begins snoring softly.

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  “Touch can be rather… inefficient at times,” I answer mildly. “It would be rather gauche of me anyway.”

  He looks positively impressed, taking a moment to appreciate my precision.

  “You barely had to even raise your hand though,” he exclaims.

  It would not do to decline his praise, so I accept it and allow myself the satisfaction. My palm presses against the lock on the door as I step towards it and it gives way with a soft click.

  “Just as compliant as the guards,” Alexios chuckles.

  “Shall we?” I question, holding out my arm for him to take. To my surprise, he does.

  We slip inside rather casually now and the door closes behind us with a slow thud. Moonlight slips through the windows, casting the polished floors in glistening reflections. Alexios slows almost immediately and his attention drifts carefully from piece to piece. Portraits of nobles line the first hall while landscapes of ruined cities unfold further on.

  But after some time, my gaze no longer rests on the paintings. I am far too busy observing Alexios as we wander past a collection of marble busts.

  “Have you ever had any interest in the arts?” I ask him.

  “I… don’t know,” he admits after a few moments. “I wasn’t really allowed to. The Matrons of House Baenre didn’t really see much use in it. Anything that wasn’t useful to them was forbidden.”

  There is no plea for sympathy in his words. It is kept merely as a statement. I look at the drow before me, eyes drifting to his mouth in an unbidden way. A painter would likely have ruined himself trying to capture his lips on canvas.

  I look away before the thought becomes something else altogether. We continue on, side by side. When I glance at Alexios now, I sense something loosening in him. His grief remains, sharp as ever, but now he has discovered curiosity in its simplest form.

  Soon enough, we stop again, though it is without me meaning to now. The figures in the painting before us have been painted with devotion, caught in a moment of grace.

  “I have always loved this one,” I speak quietly. “The painter showed it to me himself when it was unfinished. He had concerns about the light and movements of the bodies.”

  Alexios leans in to study the canvas before turning towards me in surprise.

  “You…” he stops, then corrects himself. “Oh, right. You’re… very old.”

  I chuckle softly.

  “Old enough to have known him,” I admit. “Old enough to have loved him as well.”

  His crimson eyes widen.

  “You were in love with the artist?”

  “Deeply.”

  Alexios glances at the painting once more and if I must bet on something, it would be that he is admiring it in a different way now.

  “What about Phaedra?” he asks carefully.

  “We were separated at the time,” I answer, stepping closer to him. “We do that occasionally.”

  “Why?”

  I look back at the painting.

  “Sometimes, Phaedra and I disagree on how to care for the Mother and the Father. Caution is key to their survival. They must be preserved and watched. Her beliefs… well, they tend to differ. Love between immortals is complicated, Alexios. Oftentimes, it requires space to keep from becoming creatures we would not recognize.”

  Alexios nods slowly, taking in my words with great care.

  “That makes sense,” he says eventually. “Still sounds complicated.”

  “It is,” I admit. “But love does not need to end. From time to time, it simply steps back so that it can continue to exist without further damage in the time ahead.”

  Alexios is quiet for a long moment, but in time, we move on. The next hall holds a collection of smaller works. He stops often before moving to a different angle as though the artwork in front of him might reveal more.

  “Is this gold leaf?” he asks curiously. “It’s… beautiful.”

  “Yes,” I answer, smiling. “It is rather expensive and impractical, however. Likely trying to impress themselves rather than someone else.”

  He moves on to the next painting which shows figures dissolving like mist at the edges.

  “The faces look… blurry in this one. Is it damaged or is it intentional?”

  “Intentional,” I answer confidently. “To invoke emotion rather than likeness. Do you like it?”

  He hums thoughtfully, considering his answer for a few moments.

  “Yes,” Alexios says finally. “Some of the figures seem lonely… but not sad.”

  As we continue through the museum, his questions come easily now. Some questions are kept simple, such as one about brushstrokes. But others require deeper focus. He asks why certain gods are painted in particular ways while others are not. Just as before, I find myself focusing on him rather than the art around us.

  Each question is made from curiosity, not idle wonder meant to take up awkward moments of silence. There is something unreasonably beautiful about his curiosity being allowed to exist without the punishment of the Baenre Matrons or even the Mother herself.

  “I never thought I’d care about things like this,” he admits to me.

  I smile to myself as I follow him, leaving the museum as quietly as we entered it. With the guards still asleep, we walk without much urgency. I guide Alexios towards the river the divides the city. His forearms rest of the stone barrier overlooking the water.

  “Thank you,” he says after a few minutes of silence. “For showing me the artwork, I mean. It felt more like living and less like… taking or surviving.”

  “You are most welcome,” I answer, bowing my head politely. “And thank you for accompanying me.”

  Alexios turns towards me and without meaning to, my attention moves to his mouth… yet again.

  “Come with me,” I say.

  “Where?”

  A small smile is offered to him.

  “Just… follow tonight, Alexios.”

  We leave the river overlook and take a narrow stone path down towards the water. At the edge of a dock rests a skiff. I gesture for him to come closer as I steady it with one hand.

  “Sit,” I add. “Watch the sky.”

  He lowers himself hesitantly into the seat, his uncertainty absolute, then tilts his head back as instructed. I push us off as the skiff glides quietly into the current of the river, allowing it to do most of the work. Stars scatter almost carelessly above us.

  “Even now, I never thought I’d see the sky like this.”

  I angle the skiff again.

  “Still not used to it?” I ask.

  Alexios shakes his head as the true wonder of the star-filled sky washes onto his face. The river carries us forward slowly and I am left content to see Alexios breathe without fear tonight. He lies back and folds his hands over his stomach, keeping his eyes fixed on the sky.

  I consider what it might be like to kiss him in this soft moment. To press my lips to his and feel his wonder turn towards me instead of the stars. The moment feels far too tender to not lean into intimate thoughts.

  If circumstances were different and time had been far kinder to either of us…

  Alexios would have made a remarkable companion.

  I do not mean in place of Phaedra. No one could ever replace her.

  But alongside her.

  Before I can temper the thought, my mind wanders to what it might be like to receive their love freely and to be caught between them, fiercely wanted and craved by each.

  No.

  Alexios is not to be considered.

  Ever.

  He is not yours. He is never to be yours.

  My shoulders straighten as my attention moves back to guiding us along the river before the admiration attempts to become what others would call longing. His thoughts reach my regardless.

  “Nykky would have loved this,” he thinks. “I bet Marquis would have liked him.”

  I continue guiding the skiff gently, careful not to pull him from his gentle dreams.

  --

  Our home is far too quiet when we return, signaling that Phaedra is likely still out hunting. Alexios lingers next to the doorway as if he is not ready to exchange the bright sky for ceilings.

  “I think I’m going to trance now,” he speaks softly. “But… would you stay with me for a bit? The company has been a welcome change from whatever is going on in my mind.”

  “Of course,” I reply.

  He chooses the couch instead of his bed tonight, arranging himself as his eyes begin to close. I take the chair opposite of him, keeping far enough not to intrude, though I cannot help but allow myself the smallest indulgence.

  “You appeared far more relaxed than usual,” I say nonchalantly.

  “The boat helped,” he says.

  “I meant more than that,” I tell him, smirking to myself.

  “You have an eye for finding nice things.”

  “Not everyone seems to appreciate them,” I add. “Some do not even notice when nice things are sitting right in front of them.”

  “It seems like you do,” he whispers, wearily.

  I watch his posture loosen and his broad shoulders sink further into the cushion. If he notices the liaison in my voice, he gives no clear sign, not even in his thoughts. I try once more, just to be certain of… something.

  “If you ever long for something, you need only ask. Do you understand, Alexios?”

  But there is no response. Alexios has finally fallen into his trance, not a spark of awareness appearing. He simply does not hear the invitation at all.

  Did I not make myself clear?

  You made yourself clear, I think to her. I am not requesting to turn him into my fledgling.

  Then what are you attempting to do, Marquis?

  To the Mother’s dismay, I do not have an answer for her tonight. Am I far too curious about Alexios for my own good? It is certainly possible.

  I lean back in the chair, letting the playful moment pass harmlessly between us. There is something quite… endearing about how little he anticipates being wanted by me in this very moment.

  There is no doubt that Phaedra will be home shortly, but perhaps a moment such as keeping watch over the man who asked me to stay, knowing fully that he enjoys my presence, is intimacy enough.