ELBK00 | Perception | Chapter 08 - Caged Fox (Patreon)

EL | Perception | Chapter 08 - Caged Fox - Nathaniel

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“What will you do with him now?” Achaicus asked with forced civility, but irritation narrowed his eyes. 

We were walking two abreast through the upper halls and destination bound for the meeting hall where I would have to clear his name for my murder. His hair was tied in a short ponytail secured by a ribbon wrapped around several times to shorten its length, while his clothes were freshly pressed and severe. His shoulder pads were pointed enough to be a hazard, even with his hands clasped behind his back. Not that I could complain, we were purposefully dressed the same only in differing colours. He in black with deep crimson accents, and I in navy blue with gold.

“As our agreement states, he is mine under my control to do with what I like,” I reminded him curtly.

Achaicus had not been impressed to see me carry ‘Mercurisson’ from the forest into the castle. The Vanir were enemies of the Fae and the spawn of Mercury was just as vile as the rest… I remembered when I shared that same ideation. Before I had ever met Eiríkr, and even for some time after, how savage I thought him to be and how wrong he had proven me. The worn, exhausted version I had carried to relative safety didn’t seem all that different. 

He had clung to me when we passed through the gates, and tucked his face into the side of my neck to avoid Achaicus’s glare. Now he was resting, but guards had been stationed en masse around the room, into the hallways and on the ground outside. If he tried to escape, there would be nowhere for him to go.

“Then what is it that you plan to do with him? He cannot be allowed to remain,” Achaicus continued with a sneer.

“He won’t cause any problems.”

“If he is caught without supervision, I will have him executed on the spot, and you for treason,” he warned, lowering his voice.

“Gladly,” I agreed. 

My brother narrowed his eyes, but said nothing more as the double doors into the hall opened upon our arrival. The room beyond was as grand as I remembered. Tall arching ceiling, an indoor balcony overlooking the space below, and a long Turkish carpet leading to the podium in the center of the room. All matters of importance were tended to here, votes, high council meetings, hearings, and on occasion, executions. Fae nobility crowded every space bar the walkway, they filled the theater stands and spilled over the balcony to get a look at us.  

We strode down the carpet in purposeful synchronization, ignoring the hush of shocked gasps and quiet murmurs, the ‘lost’ twin had returned. Public spectacle was the intention. Achaicus and I took our seats facing the crowd as Lord Alajos, a thin Fae man with the golden eyes of an owl, stood. He was a law maker. One of those responsible for the judgement that had been passed to cut my brother’s hair when he was accused of murder, now he looked considerably pale. 

The man of older years stared at me as if I were a ghost walking, his lips pressed into a dry line of understanding marred by disbelief. He avoided the venomous look my brother shot him as he sat, and cleared his throat to find his voice, “Lord Nathaniel, it seems the presumption of your death was premature.” 

“So it would seem,” I agreed, sedate in my delivery, “I believe my disappearance has caused some confusion.”

Alajos nodded, his fast eyes examining me from head to foot for signs of deceit before he continued, “Might we hear the truth of what happened from your own account?”

“Certainly,” I crossed my foot over my knee, and folded my arms, “As anyone with intelligence above that of a dog's might have known that Lazarus Klein was a cruel man, leader and father. While many of you were ignoring these facts to better serve yourselves, my brother and I were children trying to survive. When all those around us failed to view us as anything more than cute entertainment, we would escape into the woods to play.”

A quiet ripple of whispers passed through the onlookers, fans fluttered, both agreement and denial. I had forgotten how deeply I loathed the ethereal courts. Each of them would simultaneously condemn our father’s behavior and claim to have no idea of what I was saying. Hatred churned my stomach into knots. I wanted them to know how responsible I held each of them for what we went through, but it would have been more useful to shout into the wind and I continued without wasting my breath on the accusations.

“This is what we had done on the ill fated day in question. My brother and I ventured too far into the woods, it grew dark, and we became lost. We were set upon by a griffin, it separated us, and I fell off an embankment in the chaos. When I awoke, I was alone. It was day break and although I tried for hours to find my way back it was simply hopeless…” I trailed off as if I had to think before delivering the next part, “…Slowly I began to think that I was trying too hard to find my way back for nothing… and I turned my back on the idea. Living among humans wasn’t difficult compared to facing Lazarus’s wrath.” 

Stunned silence greeted my false confession, before Alajos spoke, “... Why did you only return now?” 

“I didn’t ‘return’, I was ‘found’ by Markos Bellerose. He appealed to my better judgment and convinced me to return with the news of the Vanir attacks. I didn’t know the situation was as bad as it was, and knowing my father had died, I returned for my brother. Frankly, I was shocked to learn that Achaicus had been punished for my ‘death’ without evidence. You owe him an apology,” I spoke directly to Alajos and he wilted. 

Quiet leeched through the room like poison until at last he found his voice again, “... The court will need time to discuss your account-”

“Is it required that I sit here for the entirety of that time?” I interrupted before he could finish. 

The man gathered the papers in front of him and straightened them twice as he tried to articulate.

“Then I will take my leave,” I stood, “My brother is a good leader and a dignified man, yet every one of you is delighted in his punishment. None of you deserve to be saved.”

No one dared stop me, but I felt nauseous leaving. I wasn’t worried about being disbelieved, no one would assume me capable of lying so entirely. Lies aren’t impossible, but they take a toll. Someone with lesser magic might not have been able to stack so many on top of one another like that, or known to include hard truths within the lies to lessen the bite. I loosened my collar and stopped by the window next to a potted plant. 

Footsteps joined me a moment later and I glanced up to find Achaicus. He hovered with an expression of simultaneous hatred and uncertainty. “What?” I muttered, running a hand back through my hair as I straightened, “Did they decide already?”

“No, I…” he trailed off, unable or unwilling to explain, before redirecting, “You’re an impressive liar.”

“Practiced,” I muttered.

“…Were there any parts that weren’t a lie?”

Cautionary warning leveled my voice, “Which part do you want to know about?”

“You hate the Ethereal Court?” he clarified, sensing my apprehension.

“Is there any reason I shouldn’t?” 

Achaicus made a small sound of annoyance and shifted his weight, “No. I suppose not,” he stated bluntly, “I also came to tell you that I will have a meeting with Mercurison the moment he awakens. There are many things he must tell us if he wishes to live.”

“Of course,” I lied without compunction. He wasn’t going to be the first person to speak to my Vanir.

*** 

The room Achaicus had assigned me was the one ‘I’ had once resided in as a boy. It remained frozen from the day of my ‘disappearance’ with all manner of trinkets exactly as they had once been, although now covered in dust. The collection was smaller than what I had gathered into adulthood, and I was surprised to recognize some of the pieces. Silk tapestries given by my father, crystals stolen, collected and bought, blown glass figures and hanging mobiles. 

I’d used the simple gathering spell Eiríkr once taught me to remove the dust, and thrown away the moth-eaten garments in the closet. The bed was the same as always with familiar carved mahogany pillars supporting the sheer fabric canopy. Dim oil lamps mounted to the walls glowed with gentle wavering flame, and I pulled the heavier night curtain closed now that I had returned. 

My Vanir had lost consciousness before we’d reached the room. He lay asleep for days under thick covers, resting undisturbed for the first time in so long I dared not hazard a guess. I’d left a jug of water with a glass of water already poured, and a note for him in case he woke while I was gone, but they remained untouched. I checked on him briefly before beginning to shrug off my coat.

After the public announcement, I had collected a large platter of food from the kitchen, and new clothes for both Eiríkr and I from the seamstresses. The clothes he wore were dirty from being outdoors but cleaner than they should have been for someone living in a four mile radius of wilderness. He also had no injuries other than the bruises and scrapes sustained fighting me. Another abnormality, I thought.

I finished readying myself for rest, and sat carefully on the edge of the bed beside Eiríkr. His cheeks were faintly warmer than they should have been, and sweat beaded along his hairline. Too warm under such thick blankets? I folded back one layer of blanket from him, and turned to grab a damp face towel off the tray on my side of the bed. Brushing the loose strands of hair from his face I dabbed his forehead with the cloth, he was curled so tightly, no wonder he was warm…

His eyes fluttered open while I was chastising him in my mind, and I froze in place under the gaze of his wide blue eyes. For a moment neither of us moved. He stared at me, unblinking, unbreathing and then slowly, like butter melting off a plate, moved back. He dripped off the edge of the bed without looking away, taking most of the sheets with him.

Eiríkr landed on the floor on the opposite side of the bed with a soft thud, and I peered over the edge after him. Gone. He’d abandoned the sheets and rolled under the bed. “... There’s no need for that,” I commented softly.

No response came, and after a long moment I reluctantly lifted the bedskirt on my side to look. He had wedged himself between the assortment of miscellaneous items crowding the space, and the underside of the mattress. His breath rate was uneven, short inhales and ragged exhales through chattering teeth as he glared back at me.

“You can’t stay under there…”

Eiríkr didn’t answer, nor even blink.

“I’ve brought you food.”

Steadfast in his stubbornness, he made no move and I resigned myself to the fight it would be to drag him out. 

“You understand that if you don’t come out of your own volition, I will have to make you?”

“… What do you want from me?” he hissed at last. 

“For you to come out and eat,” I suggested.

His expression twisted into a scowl, “And you think I would believe that, not Achaicus?”

I dropped the skirting and walked around to the other side to get him, “My name is Nathaniel,” I corrected.

He squirmed away as best he could when I reached for him, but the clutter blocked his escape. “Wait- … Please…” Eiríkr begged breathlessly as I dragged him across the floor from under the bed. He was too exhausted to fight it, but trembled with fatigue and panic all the same.

“You’re fine, relax,” I mumbled, despondent and unable to decide whether or not I was peeved for having to do this.

We came to a halt in the middle of the floor and I crouched beside him. “Don’t fight me,” I warned, but he didn’t answer. 

I brushed the back of my fingers against his temple, pushing back the sweat damped hair to lay my palm against his forehead, feverish still. Was I going to have to take him to Markos? Eiríkr turned away from my touch, fixing his attention across the room with dulled focus and a shaky sigh, as if giving up. He was limp again, lifeless like cooked spaghetti left in water too long.

“Eiríkr,” I tried, bemused at his listlessness. Was he going to do this every time?

“Just get it over with…”

“Pardon?”

“Whatever this is, whichever trick, whatever you have planned, just do what you’re going to do. Waiting is boring.”

I snorted softly to myself, and tugged on a lock of his hair, “You’re so dramatic. What do you think I’m going to do?”

When he didn’t answer I reached over him to tilt his face back toward me, “I’m not going to hurt you…”

His lifeless expression didn’t change. Something in him was deeply hurt and looking into his eyes was like looking into an abyss. Even my Eiríkr, the boy raised at the mercy of his father’s passive cruelty, wasn’t as broken as this hollow Vanir laying as if he were dead on the floor. I moved my hand away and he blinked involuntarily as he fought the urge to flinch. It was the same pitiful wince of helplessness I’d felt when Lazarus raised his hand to me as a child and I knew what it meant.

Resisting the surge of irritation I felt for all my not knowing how or why he came to be like this, I stepped around him to collect the plate of food and glass of water for him. “Sit up,” it came out as more of an order than I’d intended.

Eiríkr made no sign that he’d so much as heard the instruction, and I set the food aside to lift him into a seated position against the bed. He gave no resistance, and when I held the lip of the glass to his mouth, he likewise made no effort. “Drink,” I instructed, tilting the glass until water trickled out.

The few drops rolled down his chin and he turned away. I could command he drink, but bodily commands like that carry a certain level of risk for mishaps. “Stop being petulant, it’s just water.”

“Is it?” he asked drearily, unconvinced. 

To prove the point, I drank two mouthfuls myself and offered it back to him. With a deep inhale he resigned himself to it, and took the glass. Clutching the glass as if he thought I might try to take it from him before he was finished, he emptied it in three enormous gulps. 

“Slower-” I realized too late. 

He coughed, and vomited the water back into my lap. It drenched us and the rug with surprising efficiency, astonishing how far a glass of water can spread. A span of stunned quiet followed before Eiríkr burst into tight, manic laughter. His eyes filled with tears and he sobbed through choked giggles, covering his face with his hands. How long had it been since he’d eaten or drank anything?

I reached up for the cloth, and dabbed us dry before pouring another, smaller, glass for him. “Try again, slower…” I warned, I wasn’t going to let him hold the glass this time.

“Why..?” he whispered, his voice was hoarse with strain.

“That’s a question for later…” I murmured.

How could I explain who I was? Or who he was to me?

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