empty thrones (ch1)

[lunecat16]

Title: empty thrones
Rating: Mature
Major Warnings: Body horror, graphic violence, familial abuse, other warnings included in fic
Summary: Reid Musser survives the Carmine Contest, against all odds, though continuing to live comes with its own hard choices to make, about his family, his friends, and how to move forward.

for the sake of preventing spoilers, the summary's gonna be the same for each chapter. sorry gamers

“Is there a world at large? Practice at large?” Wye asked.

“Isn’t there?”

Reid and Wye were walking in the woods together, down a path covered in deep red leaves and other detritus. The trees around them filtered the sunlight that came down, giving the woods a vaguely red tint.

The two of them talked, sharing small anecdotes and the occasional joke. Reid carried the conversation, for the most part. He let the words spill out, and his companion absorbed them with interest.

“You might be thinking of Anima Hysteria or something like that. But Mimeisthai would be my guess. Imitated thing. Like a fancy, or an urban legend. Humans draw a lot of stupid things, come up with random ideas.”

Reid came to a stop, looking at one particular tree. It was burning, an inferno bright enough to hurt his eyes and yet it didn’t. The fire didn’t spread, despite the dry leaves on the forest floor right by it, and the other trees all around.

Lauren’s dead, dying, and dead again body stared back at him.

When she had been executed in the contest, there was a moment when her body angled in a way that faced him, coming back into awareness momentarily and making eye contact before John’s bullets ended her life and forced her demon-tainted familiar out of her again.

“Is this your element, Reid? I wouldn’t have thought.”

“No, but I’m acclimated to so many elements, by now.”

Reid replied to his companion, still facing Lauren’s burning body. Someone next to him was shooting at her—he could hear the bullets. It wasn’t Wye. Wye was gone now, had been gone sometime between the walk and arriving here. He couldn’t go back for him.

His face hurt.

The sound of the man shooting Lauren faded, and the woods felt like they grew smaller. He was left with the crackling of flame, and Lauren’s corpse. He wasn’t able to look away. He felt his mind focus on the whites of her eyes, on her thin bloodless lips, mouth slightly parted open, on the black veins that stood out on her paper-thin skin.

He remained that way for a long time.

—

At some point, Reid was awake. His eye drifted open, and his awareness shifted. The burning tree and the words he spoke in his dream fell away, drifting back into his subconscious. He didn’t have the same fortune with Lauren’s face—he wouldn’t ever forget that expression.

He lay there, taking in the faint sunlight streaming in beside him.

...This wasn’t the arena.

This wasn’t the cabin his father rented, either. His gaze passed over the dark velvet curtains drawn shut over the window next to his bed, and the shelves lining the other side of the room, filled with a mixture of carefully arranged books, trinkets, and travel souvenirs. The room was a very recent and very familiar sight.

He was back at the Blue Heron Institute.

He was also alive, if the pained, burning feeling across his face, and the fainter aching over the rest of his body was any indication. His mind drifted back to the arena, and his last moments there. He wasn’t unmade, that was for certain, and unless this was a particularly miserable afterlife...

I’m out of the contest.

And now he was back in his dorm room, with no clue of what had happened or how he got here.

None of this felt real. The muted light from the window, the silence, except for the faint chirping of some kind of bird outside—it made this whole room feel like a dream. Like he would blink and be back in the cabin, and his father would enter at any moment to ask if he was ready for the day-long walk to the arena.

He didn’t feel happy, either. There was no sudden relief, no exhilirated joy at not being unmade after all. He felt like there was a pit in his stomach, festering with a hollow, empty feeling he couldn’t quite figure out, threatening to well up if he just lay where he was.

He needed to get up. He tried to raise his body, tried to ignore the stabbing pain in his torso when he moved, but the blankets felt heavy. It was like the strength had been drained right out of him, making even lifting sheets an effort. He strained, and the stabbing got worse, and—

It was too much. He fell back onto the bed, his breath coming out in ragged gasps as the pain radiated out over his body, slowly fading away.

Something was wrong. He hit a limit. He wasn’t supposed to feel those limits, because of the training he had. He should have been able to push right past his body’s signal telling him to stop, unless—

He couldn’t lift himself up, but he could pull his arm out from under the covers. He practically jerked the limb out, looking down at it expectantly. His hand was covered in bandages, and—

His heart sank. The dark watercolor staining was still there, set deep. The wraps looked like they were freshly applied, lacking most of the bloodstains from before, but the Abyss had still bled through, fraying the edges and giving them a worn look.

He should have known better. The Abyss was persistent, it lasted. Abyssal wounds were more difficult to heal—practitioners would often resort to excising the flesh around the injury if they wanted it to mend without leaving ugly scars. And that was just for shallow scrapes. When the Abyss truly went deep into the flesh and seeped into the Self?

Not even a miracle could change what he’d become, no matter how much he hoped.

Reid stared up at the ceiling, what was left of his brows creased as he tried to focus on more pertinent matters. As it stood now, he was likely still gainsaid and without the power of the Abyss to prop up his body, or his body was weak from a large payment of Self. Or both. And as it stood, somehow he had been transported from the arena to the Blue Heron, and was currently left nigh-immobile without any information.

Did John win and become Carmine? Did Abrams somehow defeat him, against all odds?

Is my father alive?

He argued that his father should have been the contestant, not him. The Judges seemed to accept his argument. So his father—

Dread set in, and he felt a panicked chill run through his body even though the pain still made it feel like he was burning up. The mental static, the noise, the parts of his thoughts touched by the Abyss, got louder.

He had to get up. He had to find out what happened to his father, because if he hadn’t died, and Reid hadn’t killed him, and it was just setting in that was what he did and he didn’t want to grapple with that fact right now, then his father would have won the contest, and that was also something he didn’t want to think about, and if he didn’t know about his father he didn’t know about Raquel, and he really need his body to fucking cooperate, but too much of him was weak and injured and merely breathing was bad enough, let alone moving—

He wouldn’t call out for help. Not yet. That was just too pathetic.

He was tempted to scream, however, though screaming felt even less wise.

As restless and panicked as he felt, he tried to stay still. Slow, deep breaths...the wheezing that came out made him sound like a dying animal, but it helped to slow his heartbeat some. He lay like that for a few minutes, trying not to think too hard about anything.

The sheets were still comfortable, at least, even if the comfort was somewhat marred by his bandages and the injuries beneath them. The old church could be cold, especially in the winter months when he had first come to the Blue Heron, so he’d taken it upon himself to request a similar bed to one he’d slept in at one of his more luxurious travel destinations. It was a little large for a dorm bed, but the mattress had the right amount of give, and the down pillows…

He closed his eye, and tried to focus on the softness of sheets, of how he could finally sink into them and rest. Rest, wait until some of his strength returned, and then try again.

It had been so easy to drift in and out of consciousness when he was first injured, partly due to the painkillers, but mostly because of the full-body exhaustion. He didn’t feel tired anymore, he lost that part of himself, but maybe his body needed rest enough to let him fall asleep.

He hoped his body still needed rest. He couldn’t be that far gone.

A few minutes passed, as he fended off restless thought after restless thought. He felt as if he might finally fall asleep when he suddenly heard something breaking the silence.

Muffled voices outside. Faint. Multiple people.

His eye shot open, and he focused his gaze on the door to his room. He couldn’t make out any words, not yet, but they sounded close. They weren’t leaving, either—if anything, they were getting closer, hovering right outside.

A thought came to him, of seeing the door open and his father walking in, wearing carmine-colored clothes and looking no worse for wear.

That thought terrified him enough to try and get up for the third time.

“I’m—” He started, and then paused.

When he made a declaration to the spirits, for extra momentum or a push to his practice, he would use his family name.

As a Musser, I won’t be felled by your tricks. As a Musser, I have a right to your implement.

He wasn’t a Musser anymore. He would have been of the Mussers, but he didn’t know if he was even that.

It felt wrong to use the Musser name. It wasn’t his.

Nothing was his.

The conversation outside got louder. He could make out individuals—a man, a woman’s voice, a younger girl…

She sounded like Raquel, and that was enough motivation to make him try again.

“...I’m made of sterner stuff than this.” He uttered quietly. It was a weak declaration, vague, but he felt it to be true. He had strength, and volition, enough to have kept himself together in the Abyss. Gainsaid or not, he wasn’t weak enough to let bedsheets defeat him.

Whether the spirits actually listened, or his own determination was acting as a placebo, he found it easier to move this time. He placed a hand on his nightstand to help steady himself, and slowly rose up, fighting past the pain.

He was weak and defenseless, so he opened the nightstand drawer, reaching past one of his personal notebooks and for a letter opener. He kept it by his bedside because a couple of his potential marriage candidates preferred letters to email, and he felt there was something a touch more romantic to reading the letters with a cup of evening tea, or by light of the window instead of at his desk on the opposite side of the room.

For now, the letter opener was acceptable for self-defense. He got a hold of it just as the door to his room opened.

Wye was there, midway through gesturing to invite someone else in. He met Reid’s gaze as he turned to look inside the room, and looked surprised.

There was no Raquel. Instead there was a girl with straight black hair next to Wye, who looked much less fazed. Daniella Rowsome—the daughter of the only family currently attending the Blue Heron with a direct connection to Abyssal practices.

Zed and Nicolette stood off to the side of the doorway, behind Wye, their expressions twisted with horror and pity. Tanner stood behind Daniella, keeping a distance, his expression lacking any of the pity the other two had.

Daniella’s eyes went dark with Sight, and she let out a small exhalation. “Whoo-wee.”

Her voice was hardly anything like Raquel’s. He felt ashamed for mixing them up so easily, even if all girls’ voices tended to sound the same from a distance.

“Wye?” Nicolette’s tone was accusatory as her voice rose. She looked at Reid, but she wasn’t trying to make eye contact—almost like she was trying not to acknowledge him, as her gaze fell over his injuries instead.

“You already know, Musser took him to the Abyss to train for the contest.” Wye replied as if repeating a statement he’d had to repeat too many times already.

“There’s training, and then there’s...this.” Zed spoke up, angry.

Nicolette sounded angrier. “You were there in the cabin, you saw this, and not once did it occur to you to say this wasn’t okay? To do something?”

They were talking past him, like he wasn’t even awake to reply. They were pitying him, and that made Reid think of the same disgusted pity Abrams had shown him, and how much he hated that. It occurred to him that he wasn’t wearing a shirt either, just the bandages.

Open. Exposed. Weak.

One of the most important principles in coup and claim was control. To know where you stood, and take the reins over that standing and direct encounters in the way you wanted. To be the underdog and use that status to make your victories matter more, to have a claim to something and keep an iron grip on that claim.

He had no control here. His own classmates were looking at him like he was either a tragedy or a sideshow, and he couldn’t figure out why half of them were even here. Daniella wasn’t even a senior student, she had no reason to be in this part of the school. That feeling of helplessness was stirring up angrier thoughts. Enough to give him more momentum, as he gripped a bedsheet with his free hand and started to stand, using the nightstand to steady himself and covering the lower half of his body with the sheet. He stared at the group, challenging them.

“Whoa there, hold on Reid—” Wye held up his hands, gesturing for him to stop.

Reid’s motions felt unsteady, and he felt like he could barely hold his weight up, but the group wasn’t talking past him anymore. They looked nervous now, almost afraid, and that was feeding the darker parts of himself.

Daniella just raised an eyebrow. “Jeez. You didn’t bind him or anything?”

“He’s not Other, he didn’t try to murder us the second he got back to the cabin—Want to uh, put away the knife Reid?”

Reid used his Sight, scanning the room and everyone outside it, just in case. If there was something wrong, like all of this being an illusion or someone carrying a hidden, powerful weapon, then he’d want to stay armed.

However, nothing looked out of the ordinary with his cursory check, so he slowly placed the letter opener on his nightstand, and pushed it away.

Wye let out a sigh of relief.

“Can ya talk?” Daniella asked. She had a particular drawl to her voice, likely due to the Rowsomes being a rural family. It sounded out of place among most of the Blue Heron students, at least those of any decent caliber.

“Yes, I can speak,” he rasped. He settled down, sitting on the side of his bed, because standing was getting to be too much.

Nicolette and Zed exchanged concerned glances. He glared at them.

“I’m going to get Ray. He wanted to see you when you were awake,” Zed said, backing away and exiting the conversation.

Wye looked back at Tanner, who had been looking on with vague, horrified interest.

“Why don’t you be useful and get Raquel?” Wye asked, smiling.

Tanner frowned slightly, but his tone was light and close to joking as he replied. “Bossing me around outside of work, too? Yeah, sure, I’ll find her.”

Raquel is alive.

A small, but welcome relief.

Tanner looked back at Reid, furrowing his brows. “Good to see you? Glad you’re...alive.” He seemed to settle on, letting the awkward reply hang for a moment before leaving.

Wye and the others stood at the doorway, quiet, a little bit less of a crowd. It didn’t feel any less voyeuristic, but he could ease up, if only slightly.

“What happened?” His voice came out smaller than he expected, now that he didn’t need to be defensive.

“There’s a lot of ways to answer that question,” Wye said. “Mind if we come in?”

“Oh. Right.” He started to gesture, but remembered that Rowsome was still there, using her Sight without much restraint. He glanced at her, then back to Wye, a questioning expression on his face.

It seemed to take the other man a few moments to understand what he was asking. “She’s fine, I invited her. I wanted someone who knew the Abyss to look at you, and the rest of their family’s a little busy right now, given the current state of things.”

The current state?

That bothered him. Wye taking longer than an instant to read his expression was also bothering him.

“Come in,” he said anyway, pushing aside that feeling.

It hit him, after he replied, that of course Wye couldn’t read his face when it was almost completely covered. He felt blood rush to his face in embarrassment, grateful that at least Wye couldn’t see...whatever that blush looked like, underneath the bandages.

Wye immediately stepped in, sitting down in one of the two chairs at the far side of the room, across from the bed. There was a small table between them, for holding beverages or a book. Blackhorne and Drowne used the seats, mainly when he discussed strategy with them, or they were otherwise standing by.

Remembering Drowne’s face made him all too aware of the constant throbbing pain he felt where his face had been raked against glass. Remembering the lack of connections to the two Others, almost like missing limbs, even if they were never his limbs in the first place, made the hollow pit in his stomach feel worse.

Daniella stood by his desk, and he was tempted to ask her to take off her shoes instead of tracking mud over his room, but he held back his tongue. Nicolette remained at the doorway, though she shut the door slightly to keep curious eyes from peeking in, like Tanner had presumably tried. She didn’t look happy, but she rarely did.

“I think we should be asking you that first. You went in, and then—”

“I can’t say,” Reid replied, the response almost immediate. “Sworn to secrecy.”

He hadn’t been told he was, he hadn’t gotten any prophetic dream messages, but that was how it had worked for the other subordinates, and he just had a sense, deep in him. Almost instinctual. He wouldn’t be surprised if the Judges had made it that way for everyone.

Wye frowned. “I thought we’d get some answers. Your father vanished, partway through the challenge, and after a few minutes the Aurum carried you out and dumped you on us. You were in, uh, a pretty bad shape.”

“Did John win?” Reid asked.

“The gunman? No, he didn’t.”

“Oh.” The disappointment, and the sadness that crept into his expression, seemed to catch Wye and Nicolette off-guard.

Nicolette sighed. “Charles won the contest, partly because your father let him enter it. Did you...speak to John?”

“Can’t say. But...I think I wanted him to win. He deserved it.”

Nicolette looked at Wye, who looked back at Nicolette and shrugged. They didn’t seem to know what to say.

Reid wasn’t sure what to say to them either.

Sorry, you wanted to talk to the Musser son, but it’s just me, and I feel very lost, and very, very hurt.

“You’ve got a pretty good head on you, considering how bad you’ve got it,” Daniella said, interrupting the heavy silence.

“‘How bad’?” Reid turned to her, the defensive, annoyed tone in his voice returning.

Daniella put a hand to her chin. “The last time I saw someone tainted this much was Uncle Daryl. He got stuck on a delve, and it took two days too long to get him out. We tried what we could, but...had to keep him locked in the back shed until Pa had enough and got out the shotgun.”

Reid’s eye widened.

“You’re not chomping at the bit, so we probably don’t have to, but just in case…”

“We are not putting my friend out to pasture,” Wye said.

“Ha.” Daniella let out a small laugh, but her face and tone of voice remained neutral, affectless. Reid couldn’t help but feel a twinge of annoyance at that. For all she was going on about his poor condition, he wouldn’t be surprised if the Abyss left its own marks on her. Hypocrite.

She was also distracting them from more important matters. Matters that he noticed they were all trying to avoid.

“Is my father…?”

“He’s dead,” Nicolette said, “or in a state that left his familiars freed.”

Reid didn’t have words. He did, technically, but they weren’t able to be said, and he didn’t want to say them. He knew what the outcome might be when he made his appeal, just like how he knew he would either succeed or die when he entered the arena, but neither of the implications really hit him until later. Until now, in the former’s case.

His father was dead. Gone.

Unmade.

“Charles ended up becoming the Carmine Exile, so the prevailing story is that he brought Musser into the contest and killed him with some trick up his sleeve, whatever let him win the contest despite being forsworn,” Wye elaborated.

Reid nodded, because he felt like saying anything would accidentally give away too much.

“Most of his familiars scattered, but I’m helping those who didn't find their original practitioners. Is that going to be a problem?” Nicolette asked, and it was clear she wouldn’t stop what she was doing regardless of his response.

He didn’t care.

“No. No, it won’t be. That’s—”

Lauren’s last words to John came to him.

“You’re very kind. I didn’t expect that.”

“That’s kind of you,” he settled on.

Nicolette and Wye shared that strange look with each other again. Worried.

It edged too close to pity for his liking.

Nicolette quickly glanced outside the doorway, and then turned back to look at him, brow furrowed. “Right. I just wanted to know if there would be a conflict, but if that’s...not happening, I’ll be on my way.”

“Looks like you can take down all of those countermeasures,” Wye joked, the sly smile not leaving his face even as Nicolette shot him a dirty look.

She left the room, and some of the tension left with it. Daniella’s presence still left him on edge, especially because he had to stay still and hold the bedsheets over his more private members rather than try to put something on over himself. He wasn’t sure she cared, considering her family’s lack of decor, but he cared about a woman from outside the family seeing that.

It was almost okay, though. Wye was here, and Wye had that sort of easy-going confidence that could make any situation feel less stressful than it actually was.

“How long have I been out?” He asked.

“About three days,” Wye said. “You lost a lot of blood. With your injuries, the Abyss-hardening, the power loss...I did some readings, the outcomes were iffy, so I brought Daniella in for a second opinion.”

Reid nodded. A responsible move, one that he couldn’t really be mad about, as much as he disliked having the Rowsome girl in his room. Injuries to the Self, to one’s personal power and influence, were just as grievous as physical wounds. A gainsaying and a sacrifice of that personal power meant there wasn’t much Reid in him.

He didn’t feel like there was much Musser in him either, anymore. Without that, he felt like was very little of him regardless of how much blood he shed.

“Are you hungry? Thirsty?” Daniella asked.

Reid paused, looking down at his bandaged chest. He mentally sifted through his feelings, trying to pick out something past his swirling thoughts—the uncomfortable hollow feeling, the frustration and restlessness, the pain…

No luck.

“No, I don’t feel either.”

He could see Wye frown, wringing his hands uneasily.

“Mm. What can you feel?” Daniella started to lean back on his desk, but stopped when he glared at her. She was welcome to come in, not make herself at home.

“I know exhaustion was discarded. Not pain, and my mind—I’ve held onto that, I can still feel, still—”

I can still cry.

He took a deep breath, keeping himself from saying too much. Was he sad? He wasn’t sure. He was feeling a lot of things right now.

Daniella used her Sight, as if giving him one last look-over, before shrugging. “If you say so. From what I know, you’ll want to try and hold onto the little things at least. Those slip away before you know it if the Abyss can get a chance. And eat. It’s one of those...What did Durocher call them?”

“Precipices. That window between restoring your Self as it was, or letting Other forces influence you and take hold.”

“Yeah. Those.” She nodded. “Um, I’m guessing you know what to do? Like with the bracelets and all?”

“Yes, I know how to make basic Self barometers, along with centering mantras, and other rituals of definition...” He said, trying to keep how fed up he was with the incredibly fundamental line of conversation slip out. He left out the fact that he wasn’t sure if he could still use the ones he already had, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to see what they would tell him.

“Okay, jeez. Don’t have to be pissy about it,” Daniella huffed, looking over at Wye. “You sure you needed me?”

“Pretty certain. It wasn’t guaranteed that Reid would still have his wits about him, after all. I’d say you’re doing a fine job.”

“I guess?” Daniella’s brow furrowed as she tilted her head, considering his reply. “Sorry I can’t offer much more. Dean’s more into the family business than me, but he’s not exactly around, the way things are.”

There it was again. The current state of things, the way things were.

“What ‘way’, exactly?” Reid asked, hesitant.

“That would be the current state Ontario’s in, after Abrams took the throne.”

A voice, neither Daniella nor Wye's, came from the doorway. Reid turned to see Raymond’s figure standing just outside it, taking up most of the space. The rest was occupied by Raquel and Tanner, standing just behind him.

“Sorry I’m late, Raquel was in the middle of one of those Durocher lectures.” Tanner grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck. There were some classes of Durocher’s where leaving partway through wasn’t an easy option, not because she discouraged it, but because it wasn’t safe to stand, or talk, or make any sudden movements.

Raquel looked restless, trying to subtly maneuver around Raymond and into the room, but failing both on the subtlety and the actual attempt to push past him.

“It’s fine,” Wye said, giving a lazy, dismissal wave with his hand. “Have anything else to say, Daniella?”

The Rowsome girl shook her head. “Nope. Am I done here?”

“Yeah. Go talk to Scobie—I think she’s still here.”

Daniella nodded, the girl’s dark eyes lighting up more than Reid had thought possible, and she went out of the room. Raymond stepped aside to make room for her, and as Daniella left, Raquel took the opportunity to weave her way past both of them and into his room, standing by the free chair next to Wye.

She hadn’t gotten permission to enter, and she was being disruptive when the adults were talking, but Reid couldn’t bring himself to admonish her. He was annoyed, especially since she was staring at him with eyes as wide as dinner plates, had the countenance of a really pitiful-looking puppy, and wasn’t actually saying anything, or doing anything other than awkwardly standing there. But she was alive and here, and that relief far outweighed his irritation.

Raymond watched Daniella depart before turning back to face the room. “I hope your current accommodations are enough. We don’t have medical staff, so I’ve enlisted a couple of Others in my employ to handle your care.”

Raymond cut an imposing figure, but Reid never thought of him as particularly strong or authoritative, unlike his father or Alexander Belanger. He always seemed to be weighed down by the power he carried with him, in a way that hurt more than it impressed or intimidated. He seemed especially haggard now—he must have been, to have tried to deflect the conversation this poorly.

“I don’t care about that right now. What’s the current state of things? What’s going on?” Reid asked, a hurriedness and sort of desperate tone slipping into his questions. If he could get up, he might have even grabbed the man by the coat and started shaking him.

Raymond looked taken aback, and before he could reply Tanner spoke up in his stead. “The mass gainsayings, mostly.”

Reid stared at Tanner, confused, struggling to find any good way to respond to what he said. The other man sounded far too casual for what sounded like the beginning of the Exile’s attack on practitioner society. At the same time, compared to the apocalyptic images he was conjuring in the back of his mind, gainsaying almost felt…small, in comparison.

“It’s been bad.” Wye said. “Some practitioners are losing their power only for enemies to show up on their doorstep soon after. He’s gone after the kids here—Talia had a nightmare a couple days ago. We haven’t been hit yet, I’d like to say Alexander trained us to watch our words well enough—”

“Unless he wanted us to slip up,” Tanner interrupted him, and Reid could sense a hint of bitterness in his voice.

“Unless he did, but either way, I feel like I’m on the metaphorical chopping block, you know? Even Raymond’s gainsaid.”

Reid used his Sight to confirm, and sure enough, the man had a weaker air about him than he usually did.

Wye continued, letting out a sigh. “A few families are going home; the Rowsomes have too many enemies to risk staying in the region, and others can retreat to Lordship territories. We’re, ah, a little short-staffed, especially with…”

“With my father dead?” Reid was blunt, maybe a little too blunt, as he could see Raquel almost wince at his remark.

It wasn’t as if avoiding the topic would change anything. This was their reality now. She had to get used to it.

He had to get used to it.

“Yeah.”

Raymond took advantage of the lull in the conversation to bring the attention back to him. “I wanted to speak with you about that, Reid. I hate that I have to, after what you’ve been through, but it’s important.”

“Is this about the guy who showed up yesterday?” Tanner asked. He was still hovering behind Raymond, now leaning into the room just a little more, as if testing a metaphorical boundary.

“Yes, but this is a conversation I’d like to have with Raquel, Reid, and Wye.” Raymond said.

Tanner raised an eyebrow at Wye, who just smiled at him in return.

“I went with Musser to Kennet.” Wye spoke as if his statement was self-explanatory, and after a moment of him and Tanner staring each other down, Tanner rolled his eyes, throwing up his hands in a mock surrender.

“Fine, I’m out,” he said. “Reid, I…”

Tanner stared at him, frowning. Reid could see the expression in his eyes shift from that sharp, detached curiosity to something almost apologetic, regretful even.

“...Sorry. Maybe later, when you’re better?” Tanner said, letting that be his last words as he backed away and opened the door to his room across the hall, entering it and shutting the door behind him.

I’m not sure I’ll ever be better. Reid thought, but he didn’t want to say that—didn’t want to give the spirits any ideas. That wouldn’t stop Tanner from trying to dig up the information anyway. Reid knew Tanner was the type of person to want to be involved in things. It was part of what led him to join Alexander’s circle in the first place, and later betray the man so he could become involved in respectable echelons of practitioner society. It was only a matter of time before he brought it up again.

Raymond waited a few moments, probably to be certain that no other interruptions would bother them, before turning back to Reid.

“You can tell me,” he rasped, making eye contact with the man.

Raymond nodded, and then stepped into the room, fully closing the door behind him. Raquel finally sat down, though she didn’t look any less tense. Even Wye looked ill at ease. The atmosphere felt a little more like it had when Reid first woke up—heavy, and charged with a dreadful anticipation.

“Your uncle Elijah visited yesterday.”

As Raymond spoke, Reid noticed that he tried to give his statement a firm edge, as if to drive home how serious his words were.

He didn't need to—Raymond could have off-handedly mentioned his uncle, and Reid still would have felt dread. Elijah was the closest of his father's brothers, deeply involved in the family affairs, and they were very much cut from the same cloth.

He restrained himself from reacting outwardly, though his hands gripped the bed he was sitting on more tightly.

“He settled the matter of your father’s possessions, as his brother and second-in-command in most family affairs. His claim was solid, and the office was cleared out. If there’s anything you wanted, you would have to request it from him.” Raymond said, clearly dissatisfied with the outcome.

Maybe a couple of weeks ago he would have been more outraged, like he should have been outraged that the Belanger girl was helping his father’s familiars. Now he couldn’t bring himself to feel angry or betrayed. Uncle Elijah’s actions were expected. He wanted the first pick of his father’s things before the rest of the family descended on them like vultures.

Maybe he was just saving his anger for the real reason for his uncle's visit. He wouldn't have come to the school just to pick up items—the family had people for that, or even Others.

“There’s more, isn’t there?” He asked, after an awkward moment of waiting for Raymond to continue before deciding he needed to prompt the man. Reid could see the older man’s obvious reluctance, even with those ridiculous shades covering his eyes.

“Elijah requested that we return you to the family for treatment. I asked him to wait for you to wake up, so you could choose what you wanted."

Reid looked down, and his gaze ended up settling on his hand. If he relaxed, became a little less tense, would his hand start shaking? There was too much left unsaid in Raymond’s words.

Treatment could mean many things, but he doubted Elijah was concerned about his recovery. He had a sense that Raymond knew this as well, if he had actually resisted surrendering him.

“I’m sorry if that’s a disappointment,” Raymond said.

Reid shook his head. “And Raquel?”

He looked up at Raquel. She looked uncomfortable, uncertain, and couldn’t hold that eye contact for long before looking away. She seemed to be ready to open her mouth after a short delay, but Raymond spoke up for her.

“Raquel is staying here for now.”

Reid’s brow furrowed. That couldn’t have been the end of it. Just leaving him and Raquel at the institute, when the family was left without its head? They would want answers. Even if they were only of the Mussers now, his uncle wouldn’t want them left to their own devices.

He looked back at Raquel again. This time she met his gaze, and a wordless understanding passed between them.

He could have just said her name, and she would understand as well. They weren’t close, but they grew up together, and they were family. The family’s accounts and understanding took priority over most others, so it was better to confer with another Musser, most of the time. Even if that Musser was Raquel.

“He expects to see us in ten days, when the family and close allies will convene to discuss his passing.” Raquel said, keeping her voice surprisingly level. “They’re being careful with planning, because of the Carmine and—because this happened so suddenly—”

Her composure didn’t last for long. She wasn’t crying, but she sounded like she was more at a loss for words, looking at him as if begging for the answers to questions that weighed heavily on her mind.

He couldn’t answer them yet. Depending on the question, he might not have been able to answer at all.

Instead, he nodded at her, and a faint disgust rose up in his throat as he responded. “He’s not giving up, then. You’re just delaying the confrontation and giving him less to think about for the next few days.”

“Is that how you view it?” Raymond asked.

“The only choices we get are the ones the family wants for us. Uncle Elijah wouldn’t just agree to your request.” Reid shot back his bitter answer, and the room fell quiet.

Raymond and Wye both gave him that confused, worried look again. He wondered what they thought was the problem this time. Concern that the Abyss had clouded over his mind with vengeance and anger? Concern that the Exile had done something to him? With Raymond, he couldn’t help but feel angry at the man, but with Wye—

Wye had exchanged looks with Nicolette before. Reid couldn’t help but feel like his friend was more concerned about how he had changed, more than any outside influence, and that worried him.

He was friends with a Reid who happily lived for his family. If he didn’t have the family anymore—

Raymond finally sighed, interrupting the silence and breaking Reid’s train of thought. “I wish I could tell you that wasn’t the case. If you’re well enough to see him in ten days, you can make your choice then. Just remember Reid, you’re still a Blue Heron student. Our resources are open to you.”

“Okay.”

Resources, but not direct protection. Too many risks for that.

He left those thoughts unsaid. There were too many attending families allied with the Mussers, too many who didn’t want to risk drawing their ire, especially Raymond himself. The offer felt hollow, and he knew it wouldn’t matter when it came to true safety or assistance.

“However, we’re also left without a headmaster. In this climate, with your father being the third this summer…I’m not sure how we’re going to recover.” Raymond frowned, the stress lines on his face becoming even more prominent. “I need to know whatever you can tell me.”

Reid took a deep, rattling breath before replying. “I can’t talk about what happened inside the contest.”

“I had a feeling that was the case.” Raymond looked down at his phone, brow furrowed, as if searching for something. “Can you tell me if the Kennet practitioners or Others were involved in his death?”

Reid thought back to the arena. The contest was still clear in his mind, almost more real than the scene currently playing out in his room. He thought of Abrams, and the man’s inaudible words that interrupted the Sable. He thought of the bullets John and the other Dogs fired shortly before he fell unconscious, soaked in a pool of his own blood.

Was that involvement? Maybe. But they weren’t responsible for his father’s death. They didn’t bring him into the contest, not really.

“They’re not responsible,” he finally answered.

“What about Charles Abrams?”

“I’m not sure he was. I don’t think I can say more.”

Raymond stared at him, and Reid stared back. The man looked troubled, and Reid felt oddly small, being scrutinized by him. Like he was a child back in boarding school again, explaining why he wasn’t going home for holiday break to a teacher, but rather getting ahead in his studies. Like there was something wrong with his explanation, or with him.

He didn’t like that. The moment ended quickly, at least, with Raymond frowning and looking back towards the door. “I’ll mention what you’ve said to Durocher and the other staff in our discussions. If there’s anything else you can think of or remember to tell us, let me know.”

Reid nodded. He doubted there was much more to say. Wye and Raquel knew more about his father’s last moments than he did, now that he thought of it.

Even stranger to think of it as his last moments.

Raymond took a couple steps towards the door, before pausing and turning back around. “I’ve already spoken to Raquel, but if there’s anything you need to ask or need help with, Reid, you’re free to contact me. I can’t guarantee a perfect answer, but neither of you have to go through this alone.”

The man’s words sounded genuine, and his face looked oddly pained. He had lost his only son, hadn’t he? Reid wondered how much of Raymond’s words were born out of the expectation that they’d be grieving similarly.

Raquel didn’t react overtly, but Reid could see the gears turning in her head. There was a part of him disturbed by the idea that Raquel had already been spoken to, likely interviewed. No one else was there to watch over her, to see what kind of questions she had been asked or what information she shared.

He’d have to trust that Raquel hadn’t been interrogated or capitulated under pressure or anything of the sort, and that was very difficult to do, with Raquel being…Raquel.

On his end, he wasn’t sure he wanted anything out of Raymond that the man could actually do. Nothing concerning his family at least, but—

“There is one thing,” he said, just before Raymond left his room. “Could you find a certain name for me?”

“I can try. Is this a person? An Other?”

Reid glanced towards the chairs, currently occupied by Wye and Raquel, as his expression darkened. He hadn’t been thinking of it before Raymond mentioned Others, but if he wanted, he could find Blackhorne again, couldn’t he? Drowne was out of the question, but Blackhorne had answered his summons.

He wasn’t sure he could stand the idea of even seeing Blackhorne again, though. The thought made him feel ill, and amidst every other emotion swirling in him he wasn’t sure why, exactly. Guilt? Bad memories? Anger?

“Reid?”

The sudden interruption made him realize he’d been silent for a good minute or so.

Right. He had something more important to focus on.

“It’s a family—The Snyders. I think they’re divine practitioners. They never attended the Blue Heron, but they should be in Ontario,” Reid said, his voice halting as he tried to dredge up details Lauren mentioned.

Somehow, it was easier than sorting out his thoughts on any of the current events in front of him.

“I think I remember Alexander mentioning them once or twice,” Wye spoke up, leaning back in his seat. “One of those families where it’d be too much effort to build bridges even if we needed them.”

“Because they hated Alexander,” Reid said, not even bothering to make his statement a question.

“Yeah.” Wye frowned, looking a little put-off by his directness. “Their contact info should be somewhere in our—my notes.”

He turned to look at Raymond, as if making some sort of offer, but Raymond shook his head. “No need, I should be able to find them more quickly. Besides, there’s a couple of calls I’d like you to make.”

Wye nodded. Reid was tempted to ask about the calls, but it sounded like something related to school administration, and those weren’t his matters to pry into as a student. Strange to think that Wye was a part of the faculty, in a way, but he did teach a few augury classes in between work.

“I can send the Snyder family’s contact information when I find it,” Raymond said. “Is that all?”

“That’s all.”

Raymond stood at the doorway, and stared at him with that same scrutinizing gaze as before. “...Alright. Reid, like I said before, if there’s anything you need—issues with the Others treating you, or anything else—let me know.”

Reid gave him a curt nod, and Raymond exited the room. It felt as if some of the tension had been let out with his departure, but with that Reid couldn’t help but feel drained, even more than he already was. The discussion, the hollow platitudes…all that really mattered was that he’d be able to get in touch with the Snyder family.

He couldn’t speak of the contest’s events. He couldn’t speak of the gravity of Lauren’s sacrifice, of everything she’d endured. That made his blood boil, and made him angry enough to feel like he was adding a little more fuel to the Abyssal parts of himself. But he wanted her to have closure. Maybe her parents knew she left for Kennet, and they’d understand why he was calling. Maybe they could fill in the blanks enough that he could tell others about her without breaking oaths.

She deserved that. She deserved so much more than that, but it was a start.

Wye stretched in his chair, and got up, walking towards the doorway. “I should get started on those calls. Maybe do a couple of readings. Are you two going to be alright if I leave?”

“We’ll manage,” Reid said, barely restraining himself from sighing. He wasn’t a child. He didn’t need supervision.

“If you say so.” Wye gave him a slight smile. “Before I go, are you sure there’s nothing else you can share?”

Reid couldn’t help but compare the slight upturn of his lips to the Aurum’s resting expression. Vague interest, amusement, knowing something he wasn’t saying out loud…Normally, he would go along with the flow of conversation, maybe with a casual denial or something of the sort. Wye wasn’t a person he felt nervous around, ordinarily. Now, however, the question felt just a little too targeted.

Wye and Raquel had both gone to Kennet. They had seen him at his lowest point after that fateful night, and had seen him at an even lower point than that—they were seeing it right now, even. If there was anyone to trust with what he saw in the Abyss, it would probably be them.

Even so, he couldn’t extend that trust.

“Nothing for now,” he said.

“Not even a dramatic vision you had on the way to the contest? No cryptic dreams while you were unconscious?”

“You were in my dream, actually,” he replied, after a couple moments of thought. It took some effort, but he could have sworn that some part of his dream involved a conversation with his friend.

Wye raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Should I be flattered?”

“No. It was more like a nightmare. Too indistinct to be more than that,” Reid said, shaking his head.

“Ah.” Wye frowned. “Well, it was worth asking. I’ll leave you be for now. The Aurum never said how long your gainsaying would last, but I hope it wears off soon. It’s tough, seeing you like this.”

“He didn’t bother telling you?” Reid asked, frustration simmering in his voice.

“No, he said he’d leave you in our care,” Wye said. “We tried to ask what happened, but that obviously went nowhere.”

“I see.”

“Yeah. Anyway, see you?”

Reid nodded. “Goodbye, Wye.”

The other man left the room, leaving him, Raquel, and a heavy silence. Raquel’s gaze moved over to him, but when she made eye contact, she looked down and away. With the other distractions out of the way, Reid could finally pay attention to her. An untrained eye wouldn’t be able to notice anything out of the ordinary, but her hair was done up and pushed out of her face with a simple ponytail, and her shirt didn’t quite match with the navy riding pants she was wearing. An easy, convenient hairstyle and an imperfect outfit.

She wasn’t doing well at all. They were taught to be infallible and especially to look the part, and she was falling short in little but obvious ways.

Not that he could blame her, given the circumstances. For once, she was doing better than him.

In the quiet his weakness of body felt more prominent, or maybe he was just noticing how much he was straining himself just to sit up partially out of bed. His back wanted to sag, and his legs felt heavy hanging off the bed, like they would drag him down to the floor with them.

The only other one here was Raquel, so he didn’t need to care about how he’d look if he moved, at least. He shifted position, bringing his legs back under the blankets and letting his back rest against the myriad pillows.

Better. He was still hurt and powerless, but that was better. He took a deep breath, and his eye focused on Raquel, who had turned her head away when he moved, though he could still see that she looked bothered.

Even in the hospital, after he had lost everything, she still looked at him.

I’m in such a poor state that even she can’t bear it.

The thought echoed in his head as he stared down at his own bandaged hands. His bandaged, tainted hands that still stung with the cuts and scrapes he’d gotten down in the Abyss.

The silence continued for quite some time. It was a heavy weight, dispelled only by his ragged breathing or an occasional sigh from Raquel.

“When Uncle Elijah came here, he asked me to return to the rest of the family.”

Reid almost hadn’t realized she started speaking. His gaze focused on her, and he turned his head slightly. She was holding her hands in her lap, occasionally wringing them as she spoke.

“I told him that—I wanted to stay here. I said I could look after you.” Raquel stumbled over her words at first, but her voice soon became clearer, louder. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she had rehearsed what she was going to say in her head during the earlier silence.

Reid’s eye widened. He didn’t realize she was asked to return.

“That’s a mark against you, in their eyes,” he said, continuing when Raquel didn’t speak up to counter his statement. “You’ll have less trust with the family, less chances to—”

“I know, Reid,” Raquel shot back. She took a deep breath, and spoke again, this time much quieter. “I know. But you’re family too.”

Reid didn’t know how to respond. Raquel didn’t sound caring with those words, she sounded lonely and desperate—apparently enough to have rejected a chance to advance in the family’s standing, to maybe put herself in a dangerous position, in exchange for…

In exchange for what, exactly? Him? When she wouldn’t be in this position if it weren’t for his choices? When the ‘guidance’ he gave would have led her to become like him?

“I’m a poor excuse for family, Raquel. When did I do anything other than push you to fit into their mold?” Reid said.

His cousin frowned, remaining silent.

“Did I do anything other than cut you down?” He asked, raising his voice.

The Mussers aren’t a family where cutting one person down elevates another. He remembered telling Raquel those words, he remembered believing in them wholeheartedly.

What a farce.

Raquel opened her mouth to speak, and then closed it, furrowing her brow.

He waited, glaring at her, daring her to come up with a suitable response.

“I don’t want to lose ev—” Raquel started, and then stopped, as if catching herself from giving the wrong answer. “I—I would be losing more than you if I went back.”

She hadn’t answered his question. Maybe that was a good thing. At least she hadn’t tied herself to him solely out of some misplaced sense of responsibility or family.

Reid’s expression relaxed, at least as much as he could relax it, and he looked down. He didn’t know if he still looked like he was glaring. He hadn’t looked in a mirror since he trained in the Abyss—all he knew was the pain that shot through him with even the smallest gestures.

Small blessings, really. Regardless, even as he tried to not look angry at Raquel, he still felt disappointed. This felt like it was only postponing her eventual transfer to another part of the family, maybe this time with less freedom than she would have had before.

“The forsworn, Charles…”

Reid’s gaze flicked back towards Raquel upon hearing her voice.

“The faerie working with him made a deal with uncle. If Charles acted against him, then the faerie would have to serve him for life.”

“And that’s why my father agreed to help?” He asked.

Raquel nodded.

“And you don’t believe Abrams would have broken that agreement?”

“I don’t know, but everyone else was panicking like he wouldn’t have and—I think I believe them.”

Raquel’s voice was firm, almost certain. Her eyes met his, searching for any indication of an answer, or a clue towards one, but it wasn’t as if she needed either.

She knew.

And if she knew, Wye was certain to have figured it out as well.

“I can’t give you the answers you want,” he said.

“I know.”

“Okay.”

He leaned back, and another bout of silence settled between them. His gaze wandered to the narrow rays of afternoon sunlight coming in from the window. They were even narrower now, tinted with a more golden-orange shade, signifying that the sun had just begun to set outside, or at least draw close to the horizon. He glanced back at Raquel a couple of times. Brief glances, but enough to see that she looked uncomfortable.

The darker part of him felt satisfied by that. He wasn’t sure if the Abyss-touched part of himself wanted her to be scared of him and leave, or if those feelings were because he knew she would be better off if she left. Maybe it was both. Maybe it was neither, and there was some other reason he didn’t have the insight to figure out.

Her demeanor was starting to make him feel restless, at this rate.

He sighed. “Do you want to look after me, Raquel?”

“...No,” she replied after a good minute or so of consideration, frowning.

“Then don’t. I’m sure Raymond’s aides are sufficient, and I’ll be in a better position when I’m not gainsaid.”

He expected his cousin to look relieved, but she looked more troubled than before, somehow.

“Are you sure?” She asked.

“Yes.”

“You didn’t hit your head in the arena, or—”

“Raquel.”

He stared at her, meeting her eyes, and he very much hoped she could see he was frowning in his expression. He seemed to have gotten the message across, at least, as she stopped talking, though she didn’t look any less confused, or lost.

“Okay,” she said, getting up out of the chair. She looked at him, as if expecting some additional comment, or as if she was waiting for him to say something that he would have said before the contest, something more like the Reid she knew.

He didn’t have any of that for her. He probably could have said something, demanded she bring him dinner, but he didn’t want to eat right now, even though he knew he should.

“Bye, Reid.”

“Goodbye, Raquel.”

She left, closing the door behind her. He slumped down further in his bed the instant the door was closed. He felt as if he might have actually regained the ability to feel tired just from talking to her—Or talking to everyone, really.

He couldn’t satisfy any of them. He couldn’t answer any of the questions that mattered. The gunman who had maybe been the first person to tell him why he felt so lost in the contest, the first who he actually listened to, hadn’t become the Carmine. His family, once a support that held him up, felt like a great shadow looming over him, threatening him.

At least I’m alive. At least I have—

Reid stopped at that thought. His gaze fell on the shelves of trinkets and magical items he’d collected over the years. They were items he took from others, items he took because he thought they’d be of use to the family, or they were things he’d been given by the family. The books in his possession were very much the same.

He looked around the room, at the arrangement of the chairs, of the desk. A memory surfaced, of one of the few times he had stayed at his father’s estate. There had been multiple study rooms and offices, but there was one his father often used. It was larger than his dorm room, but the rough placement of the furniture? The general aesthetic?

It was the same.

He didn’t have Wye, who expected a very different Reid. He didn’t have Raquel, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to have her, if that would hurt her chances in the long run. And now his own room, a temporary dorm room that wasn’t even his anyway, was another reminder of how much of his life wasn’t his own.

How was he supposed to pick up the pieces, to get some semblance of a life, if he had nothing to start with?

He felt a familiar sting as his eyes watered. He shut his eyes and shifted position in his bed, trying to shut out the image of his room, trying to keep tears from coming out, because he was already in enough pain.

Sleep took him before he even realized it, and his thoughts drifted off into uneasy dreams and bloodsoaked nightmares.

Comments

[sunlit_skycat]

Welp, turns out there's consequences to getting that much Abyss in you. Wonder how that's going to shake out, if Reid now enjoys making other people afraid/upset/unsettled. There's a lot of different ways to do that.

Musser dying this early on is going to change a lot. No Lordship land grabs across the region, no Kennet invasion, which means that both Charles and Kennet are less opposed by outside forces. Did Musser get nommed by the Hungry Choir during the Carmine Contest?