Rosalind

Out of all the places Rosalind might spend an afternoon, the Magnus-Monroe estate had been the least likely on the list. Despite their family’s prominent position in the coven, Rosalind Bloodswell avoided social niceties and unnecessary dramatics like they were contagious. They accomplished this by having as little to do with anyone as possible. Maybe there had been a coven member or two they’d had closer relationships with than the rest in the past, but at the present moment Rosalind was entirely free to do whatever they wanted as long as they could sneak away from their over-protective mother quietly enough.

Marcus’ invitation to his family’s famous library had caught them entirely by surprise. Really, his approaching them at all had been shocking; since he’d returned from school five years prior, the two of them had maybe five conversations all together. They had always wanted to get to know him better, but between his attention being always pulled in the entirely opposite direction and their mother’s tendency to meddle, Rosalind had stayed far away. Developing a friendship with the Thorneheart Heir Apparent’s fiancé was fertile soil for meddling and if she found out her Heir had been invited back she would have lost her mind. But she didn’t know, and what she didn’t know Rosalind would be more than happy to continue to keep from her. 

The memory of Marcus’ warm hand shaking theirs made the magic in their fingers tingle as they stepped down from the carriage. His smile flashed through their mind, and they smothered the image for the third time this morning. It didn’t matter what Rosalind might feel or how long they’d felt it, Marcus was solidly off limits and not just because of the newly announced engagement. Other, more substantial reasons included Marcus’ general wariness of magic, the lack of shared interests between the two of them, and the man’s famously exclusive interest in men. His being engaged to Frigga was laughable, really, because Marcus’ fiancée wasn’t interested in men at all, Rosalind was absolutely certain. They’d known as much ever since they’d caught her staring after Artemis Cromwell several years back. Since then, her behaviour had only solidified the conclusion, especially her removed behaviour towards Marcus. The two of them were genuine friends, but Rosalind saw him trying to earn her affections in all sorts of sweet ways that were entirely in vain as the woman either did not notice them or did not care.

The tips of their ears warmed with the thought as they ascended the steps to the home. The butler greeted them at the door, and the walk from the foyer to the library helped them calm. Maybe they had a soft spot for Marcus, but it was none of their business if Frigga and that servant from her home were involved or if she was marrying Marcus for position. They didn’t care what Frigga did, they didn’t care what anyone did, and nobody cared about what they did either which was how it ought to be.

So Rosalind didn’t feel guilty about visiting Marcus for a private visit. They wore their standard black from head-to-toe, though it would be a lie if they said they didn’t wear their more fitted suit for the visit or that they hadn’t put more thought into what jewelry they’d picked out. For formal visits, Rosalind usually opted for their family’s signature scarlet, but today they’d picked out an amethyst necklace as a respectful nod to the family they were visiting. It was ornate when fully displayed, but the witch tucked it into their collar in lieu of a tie so only a fraction of it showed. It was the kind of detail they thought Marcus might enjoy, ever-so-slightly feminine to contrast the masculine cut of their jacket. While they didn’t usually care what anyone thought of them, it never hurt to make a good impression, especially because…

Because nothing, just because.

They were shown to the library by the butler who informed them that Marcus would be in shortly with a monotonous tone that rivalled his blanched complexion for hue. He then retreated with surprising speed leaving Rosalind to look around. Vaulted ceilings, walls lined with shelves filled with thousands of books, a classical bronze sculpture placed to the side of an ornately assembled fireplace. One of the walls was comprised of windows from edge to edge allowing the light to dance on the sparkling marble floor tiles that caused their footsteps to echo as they passed by shelves. There was so many rows of book shelves down the room that it took a full minute to reach their end. Dotted around the space were gorgeous black tables and plush couches to recline on, and at the very end of the room was a beautiful grand piano, black with ivory keys. Rosalind swept over to it and touched a key softly. E flat. Their finger slid over it and then down to its natural neighbour as they savoured the smooth feeling of the key against their fingertip. It had been a long time since they’d played, opting instead to focus on dance and magic, but the ringing note struck a chord in their heart; maybe they’d make a point to play a bit more.

Rosalind looked out the windows that overlooked the back of the house. They’d spent time in this mansion, mostly in the ballrooms, but had never visited the extensive gardens. It was a shame, the park was beautifully manicured and filled with walkways and bushes and all sorts of flora. There was a few open spaces for recreational sport or something, and was that a waterfall? Rosalind decided they wouldn’t mind exploring back there, though there was no guarantee Marcus would even invite them back.

The door opened again, and Rosalind heard Marcus speaking with someone. “And! Maybe we could get some of those little, uh, what were those things that were at the party the other day?”

“The hors d’oeuvres, sir?” said the unforgettably bland voice of the butler.

“Yeah! Please, if we’ve got those, I don’t know what the options are but like, any of them would be great! I skipped lunch, so.”

“Of course.”

“Thank you Jenkins, my favouritest of butlers!”

The butler, who Rosalind had now learned was very appropriately named Jenkins, left and shut the door behind him. Marcus was in quite the outfit, tightly fitted slacks and lavender button-down with a loose, sheer shift on top that Rosalind was pretty sure was intended to be worn by women. His long, golden hair was tucked into a loose braid that streamed down his back, and were those? Did the man have flowers in his hair? It was darling and suited him, but Rosalind was used to seeing the man wearing more formal attire and had expected as such. Had they over-dressed?

Marcus turned from the door and spun around, seeking out his guest. He spotted Rosalind near the piano and waved enthusiastically. “I’m so glad you came!” he called as he began to skip over to them.

Rosalind’s ears warmed once more with a very different emotion. How should they behave in this scenario? Marcus was clearly not going to be as formal as Rosalind had predicted, but they weren’t sure how familiar to act. They’d wait to see what Marcus did because they didn’t trust themself and didn’t want to offend him. “It’s quite the trove,” they replied softly, scrutinizing their tone for any hint of the awkwardness they felt, “the rumours don’t do it justice.”

Marcus sidled up close to Rosalind, leaning easily on the piano. “Do you play? My mother tried to encourage me to and put me in lessons for a year, but I never had the discipline for it.” He wistfully looked at the beautiful instrument and their hand still lingering at its keys.

They retreated their hand and shoved it into a pocket to fiddle with the ring they’d forgotten was in it. “I did learn, but I haven’t played lately,” Rosalind answered. “I’ve been focussing on my magical practice.”

He hummed tensely. “All witches are like that, huh?” Marcus sighed as he sat on the piano bench, smiling joylessly up at them.

Rosalind blinked, continuing to fidget. “What…do you mean?”

“Always focussed on magic and never on anything, you know, fun.” He raised a brow and quirked his lip playfully.

“You’re not wrong,” they replied. Their ears’ warmth crept onto the back of their neck as a minuscule smile escaped onto Rosalind’s lips. But as Marcus’ teasing smirk evolved into a satisfied, genuine grin, Rosalind didn’t smother the reaction. “But magic can be fun too.”

“Oh yeah?” He was challenging them. Rosalind was curious to see what Marcus expected of them, so they made him scoot over on the bench and sat beside him. It was closer than Rosalind let anyone get to them normally, but what was the harm? No need to be weird about their shoulders brushing or how astonishingly wonderful he smelled like some kind of hormone-addled teenager.

But Rosalind would be weird about it to themself.

They brought their hands to the keys and focussed a small bit of magical energy into their fingers. The tips glowed with a faint red light that might only be seen if a person was looking for it. Before they played, they glanced up to Marcus who was skeptically waiting, challenging Rosalind to prove him wrong, and they decided that they would prove him wrong utterly. They played a short, lively tune before taking their hands off the keys which continued playing without their participation, a soft red light dancing across the keys playing in their stead.

“That must come in handy at parties!” Marcus gasped softly before he shot up from his seat, bounded around to their other side, and proffered his hand with a small bow. “May I have this dance, Mx Bloodswell?” he asked with a perfect grin and a flutter of painted lashes.

They stared at the hand, too flustered to respond immediately. Rosalind wasn’t self-conscious about their own dancing ability or their ability to maintain a spell and dance at the same time, that sort of thing was simple. They also were not bothered about being near an attractive man when they didn’t know him well, but Rosalind was known for being hard to read or get close to and they’d done it intentionally; they put up walls to protect themself from unnecessary drama and their own tendency to commit faux-pas, and this man was just waltzing right past them, like they didn’t exist at all.

But there was no harm in a single dance. What were they, prepubescent?

Rosalind allowed Marcus to lead and spelled the piano to play something more appropriate. It was pleasant dancing with someone who knew what he was doing. Most of the other coven members trained for a year or less and then moved on to other interests, but Rosalind had found freedom in it and had stayed with the discipline. Marcus had too, apparently, or maybe he just danced so much at parties that the frequency led to skill?

And if they enjoyed Marcus’ warm hand on their waist? They decided not to acknowledge that.

When the song finished, Marcus applauded Rosalind’s magical music before gesturing to the shelves with a nod. “Come on, I have something to show you.”

He led them to a bookshelf a few lanes in, and Marcus knelt to look at a lower ledge, his long fingers tracing the spines as he searched. Rosalind looked at a few of the nearby titles, finding they were in a very specific section: spirits, mediums, fae, and necromancy, all things their own family was famous for. No wonder he’d brought them here, though why the man had been in this section in the first place was a mystery. After a moment, Marcus pulled a journal from the shelf and handed it up to them. “I found this a week ago and I wondered if you might want to take a look at it.”

Rosalind’s brow furrowed as they squinted to make out the words on its spine. The text was extremely faded and in a language Rosalind was barely proficient in. Without a word they turned to walk to the window, and in the afternoon’s light the faded golden symbols shone. Opening it, they were greeted with a date from over a hundred years prior. For being over a hundred years old, it was in excellent condition. Rosalind flipped through the pages, but it only took a few to recognize exactly who had hand-written the tome. They turned to Marcus who had followed them into the light. “You…You just found this?” Rosalind asked flabbergasted.

Marcus nodded. “Yeah, I was looking for something else but this caught my eye. I’ve no idea what it’s about, though, do you?”

Rosalind looked back at the book and reverently ran a hand over the open page. “I can read most of it, though… It’s quite old. This is my great-grandmother’s book, the grandmother my mother named me after.”

“Oh, really? Her name was Rosalind? Seems like a weird name for an immigrant to have, it’s an Ozelean name isn’t it?”

They hesitated, still looking through the pages delicately. “No, that name was her spouse’s.” They glanced apprehensively at Marcus before training their eyes back on the book.

He floundered. While Rosalind didn’t have negative feelings towards the name their parents had given them, it didn’t suit them and hadn’t since they were small. Marcus confusion evidenced as such, and he hadn’t been the first to forget entirely that they hadn’t always been Rosalind.

“Oh! Yes, right, duh,” Marcus exclaimed with a wince. “I totally blanked. Right, because your mother sometimes talks about her…grandmother?” he asked cautiously.

Rosalind looked back to the man and another smirk escaped. “Yes.”

“Yeah, how she came here from… Hyuugata, right? The Takato family, I think?”

“Takada, that was her family name before she married into the Bloodswell family… She must have written this book when she was quite young, then. I wonder,” they flipped through the pages towards the front of the book, looking for some kind of historical event by which they might judge the tome’s country of origin. “I think this was written before the family moved here just under a hundred years ago.”

“That’s amazing! I had no idea that it was that old, I just sort of assumed it was someone’s notebook that got left here.”

They chuckled breathily as they closed the journal and offered it back to their host. “It’s incredibly valuable, Marcus. We have translations of most of it, but…”

Marcus looked at the journal with a raised brow but did not take it back. “Your family should have this one, though, don’t you think?”

Rosalind looked up from the book at Marcus’ face. He was in earnest, he was genuine, he was beautiful. Fuck, they really needed to get a grip if they wanted to leave with their self-respect intact. Rosalind steeled themself against that thought. It meant the world that Marcus was offering them such a valuable keepsake, he probably didn’t even understand how precious it was to their family. “Are you certain?” Marcus nodded with enthusiasm. He gently pushed their hands holding the book away, and Rosalind held the book to their chest that was aflutter from the brief brush of hands. “Thank you, Marcus, that’s incredibly generous.”

“It’s your family’s, you guys should have it. I’m just returning it, if you think about it. Sorry it’s so overdue!”

Damn this man was sweet, a fact they had already been painfully aware of for years. At parties he always ensured everyone who wanted to dance had gotten to and consistently made sure to learn the names of any servant attending him. Rosalind couldn’t count the number of times they’d observed his generosity over the years; in particular they remembered his sending extra hands to their home during the period of mourning following their father’s death. They also recalled when he’d volunteered to act as mediator during the nasty dispute between Mildred Crestfall and Edna Downspire a year ago; his charity and sympathy had been key to resolving the issue before it inevitably devolved into a pointless and possibly harmful duel. Marcus’ philanthropic nature was well-known throughout Honeyshore, a trait he’d inherited directly from his father and Rosalind respected both men for it.

They swallowed an emotion that was dangerously close to affection and looked back at the shelves. “If it’s alright with you, I wouldn’t mind taking another look through that section.”

Marcus followed Rosalind through the library’s shelves for a few minutes before Jenkins brought in the tea and hors d’oeuvres. Marcus led them to the coffee table near the hearth where a pair of armchairs and a plush couch surrounded it. He asked some questions about the book and its contents which Rosalind found endearing considering he was as competent in magic as he was interested. They tried to keep their answers on the topic brief, but it really was difficult because Marcus then asked about their personal work which could be complex. In a way, his lack of knowledge about magic was a relief; it meant they didn’t have to perform the role of Gifted Arcane Intellectual the way they usually did when speaking on the subject. The way he looked at them with unguarded enthusiasm and listened without interrupting made Rosalind lower their guard, which was entirely alien to them. His openness and lighthearted energy helped them feel comfortable expressing themself without feeling the need to act a certain way, and it had been a very long time since Rosalind had encountered anyone capable of doing so. They were still reserved and quiet, but they found themself laughing and teasing more than they would ever dare with anyone else, much more than they ever had with him before.

They made sure to ask after their host’s interests, and the man was delighted to talk for a full twenty minutes about his recent favourite volume of poetry. Rosalind wasn’t talented in creative pursuits outside of dance, but they allowed Marcus to read some of his favourite poems for them and it was delightful to listen to him speak; Marcus had a lovely reading voice, it sounded like singing the way he spoke. They were sure they could listen to him read for hours, and Rosalind couldn’t think of a better use of their time this or any afternoon.

By the time Rosalind was meant to leave, they had been invited to stay for dinner. They wished they could accept the offer but didn’t. The last thing they wanted was their mother knowing where they were and if she received a message informing her they would be eating with the Magnus-Monroes, Rosalind knew without the slightest hint of doubt that it would be the beginning of the end for this friendship as well as their own dignity. She’d engineer some way to get at Sapphire Thorneheart through their friendship with her Heir Apparent’s fiancé, and Rosalind wanted nothing to do with their mother’s unhealthy obsession so it was with a heavy heart they left on schedule. To their euphoric, relieved surprise, Marcus insisted they visit again soon. Rosalind had neither the fortitude nor desire to refuse him, so they promised to do so.

A promise they kept six times over the next two weeks.

Razi

When Sapphire had summoned Razi a week ago, the lady was sharper than she usually was. Not that she was ever anything other than sharp, but Razi sensed a particularly irritable vibe that made her skin goose bump. There was no reason for the boss to be so cold other than her barely suspect relationship with Frigga, but there wasn’t any way Sapphire could have found out, not that Razi could think of. Aside from the walks, of which there had only been one this week, there wasn’t much to see and very few people had even hinted at suspecting anything improper beyond a light-hearted jab. Gertrude wasn’t likely to blab, the woman knew what it could mean for Razi if the boss ever found out. Doris clearly had her suspicions, but would she say something to Sapphire about them? She wouldn’t if she knew what was good for her, and while the woman might be an annoying busybody, she wasn’t stupid or malicious. It was possible other staff members were making assumptions because Razi’s love of pretty girls wasn’t exactly a secret, but that would all be rumour, hear-say, and Sapphire wouldn’t do something like punish Razi without so much as speaking with her first, right? She was more likely to pull Razi into the office and interrogate her than act on mere gossip.

She’d been switched to overnight shifts with no warning for reasons beyond her comprehension. Something about her moon sign aligning? At least working overnights was a nice change of pace and the quiet kitchen made prepping the next morning’s bread a wonderfully peaceful experience. Another upside was that she even snagged some one-on-one with Frigga whenever the woman had a rough time sleeping. Razi began bringing her a night-time tea before bed to try and help with her restlessness and maybe to make up for the time lost to wedding planning or the witch’s suddenly increased syllabus. If Razi had spent a full twenty-minutes in her room bringing the heiress her tea, it would have just been so she didn’t have to make a second trip to retrieve the dishes. No other reason, honest, she always wore the same lip glass as Frigga these days. Alright, maybe they had snuck a kiss or two, though who could say?

Once the rest of the staff went home , Razi returned to the kitchen and checked the bulletin board to see the notes for the following day: the Honeywood family’s employee was going to drop off a new shipment, so Razi needed to rotate the cupboard. Easy enough. Razi thought to use up some of the honey they already had. Honeyed bread was always a hit, and wasn’t it one of Frigga’s favourites? Or maybe it was Lelands? Or both? Regardless, it would make someone happy and free up space for the next morning. Less to rotate and more bread was a win-win in her opinion.

By the time the kitchen’s clock struck midnight, Razi was elbows-deep in her dough and her front was covered in flour. The usual. She was the only soul awake unless one of the magical siblings was having sleeping issues that night. With the rising stress of the looming wedding and initiation ceremony, Frigga was having more nightmares recently. Maybe she would be down sometime. Razi hated that her stolen time relied on Frigga having bad dreams, but she always made sure that Frigga was smiling before she returned to bed.

As she covered the dough to let it rest, Razi heard a creaking sound from the floor above, the unmistakeable pat-pat of young feet. Sounded like Leland was sleepwalking again; the kitchen was directly beneath the family’s private chambers, and there were a few squeaky floorboards that were strategically left un-repaired for this very reason. She took up a torch and set off to look for the young boy. After climbing the main staircase, Razi peered down the hall where the bedrooms were and sure enough, his door was ajar. She shook her head and turned to find him. Couldn’t have gone far. The rest of the doors down that hallway were closed, so Razi set off towards the only other rooms on the floor, the office and library. She looked down the second hallway to see the library door ajar. Why was it open? The office door was open too for no apparent reason, which meant Leland could have gone into either room.

When she peered into the library, her heart stopped. Razi wasn’t alone, but it wasn’t a small boy she’d found. A pair of larger figures, probably men, were hunched over the small, locking cabinet in the far corner of the room by the door joining the library to the office. That hutch contained some old documents and was off limits to anyone except the family. The arcane information there was exclusive, and much of the magic contained within was developed by some of the Thorneheart family’s founding members over a hundred years ago. If there was a book someone was going to break in for, it’d be in that vault.

Holding her breath, Razi slid back out of sight of the library’s door and quietly put her torch in a nearby sconce. She wasn’t sure what the best course of action was in a situation like this, but she had to act quickly whatever she did. Razi took a deep, calming breath, slowing her heart’s pounding pulse to refocus. Leland was the priority, the burglars were secondary. She snuck past to the office’s door to see if he was there but found the room empty. It meant he was likely in the library with those thugs.

She would try to scare them off and hopefully do so loud enough to wake Leland up. What if these guys already got to him? She looked down the hall and saw there was an unlit torch in another nearby sconce. Razi grabbed it as quietly as she could and snuck in using the shelves as cover. Because the door was already open, her entry did not grab the men’s attention; they seemed incredibly involved in their search as they poured over different books and papers that were sorted into neat piles all over the floor. Weird. They didn’t seem like common thieves looking for a payday but more like they were searching for something specific.

As Razi crept around the library’s perimeter, her eyes swept through the aisles. No Leland, had he just disappeared into thin air? As she circled the room, she came up to a shelf near the intruders and saw a window with a rope draped over its sill. That was obviously how they got in. From here Razi saw that the door to Sapphire’s office from the library was open too. So that wasn’t great. They had either already been through the office or would hit it next. 

As she crept a bit closer, the two robbers started to replace documents into the hutch as they argued about what they would be taking, hissing at each other to hurry up. These guys seemed really bad at their job if they weren’t looking out for each other. New to the lifestyle, perhaps? Both backs were turned her way, and luckily Razi was a great shot.

She flung the torch and it bashed into one of the robber’s heads, and he fell to the floor with a thud and a crack of his temple. The torch crashed to the floor too as the other robber whipped around to see the attack’s origin. Seeing Razi, he sprung to his feet, grabbed a dagger from his boot, and sized Razi up. 

“If ya needed t’ return a book,” Razi taunted, “y’coulda just waited till the mornin’. Would’ve waived the late fee an’ everythin’!” Hopefully the yelling would wake Leland, wherever the fuck he was. Razi’s eyes flitted around the room in search of him but only for a half-heartbeat at a time, she couldn’t let this guy out of her sight.

The thief looked like he was about to run when a rustling sounded from behind him in the office. Without hesitation, the burglar launched his dagger in that direction and Razi’s world screeched to a halt as a shriek, louder than any she had ever heard, came from the office; Leland crumpled to the floor.

The thief bolted out the way he’d come leaving his accomplice, but fuck that guy. Razi rushed to the injured boy’s side. He was squirting blood and screaming in pain and shock as the dagger fell from his shoulder to the tile. This was exactly what Razi had feared would happen, and now it had. She held Leland and grabbed a nearby blanket to apply pressure to the gushing wound. She prayed it wasn’t an artery, but it was so much that it might have been.

Footsteps rapidly approached from the hallway and then another scream, this time from Frigga who rushed to her brother’s side. “Leland! Leland, oh my gods! What’s going on?”

“There was a break in, Leland startled ‘em.” Razi’s voice was strained from putting as much pressure on the wound as she could. “Th’ guy fuckin’ threw ‘is knife without even lookin’."

Frigga placed her pale, shaking hands over Razi’s and channeled her magic through the blanket. “Oh my gods, that’s deep,” she gasped. Her blue haze intensified until it was a beacon, lighting the office up like a lighthouse, and the witch strained with effort.

More people joined them, and Razi tried to explain while Frigga acted as life support. As soon as the two of them managed to slow the bleeding, Leland was taken to the infirmary; the poor boy had fainted and was incredibly weak. Frigga stayed beside her brother as he was taken away, leaving Razi to be questioned by the guard captain who arrived on the scene shortly after. She told him as much as she could, but there wasn’t a lot to say; she was so shaken up that events had blurred in her memory. She would never forget that scream though. The soul-chilling scream of a terrified eight-year-old child bleeding into the carpet was going to haunt her nightmares, she was sure.

Once released, Razi stumbled back to her room. She didn’t even feel her feet moving, nor did she feel the night’s chill that was making her shiver. It was a good thing she’d had plenty of practice getting to her room in altered states of mind, she’d walked these halls intoxicated more times than she could count. She felt almost as if she were drunk; she was tired, her mind was hazy and panicked, and the only thing on her mind now was how she needed to tear off her boots and get sloshed for real.

Which was exactly what she did the moment she got in. She kicked off her boots, threw her keys on the hook by the door, and found that brandy she’d been saving for a special occasion. Maybe this wasn’t a promotion or some kind of celebration, but to say the event wasn’t an occasion would be a lie. Maybe it was a celebration, a celebration of the night she didn’t die and maybe saved a kid from dying. Hopefully. Razi grabbed the nearest glass, a brown ceramic mug with a tiny chip on the lip not large enough to warrant throwing out, and filled it halfway. She was tempted to forgo the cup, but Razi didn’t really feel like adding alcohol poisoning to the list of terrible things that happened tonight.

She sipped at the mug as she sunk to sit on her bed, her feet still on the floor, and she stared at the stone wall across from her. The brew was good, sweet with a bit of a zing, and Razi wished she was in the mood to enjoy it. As it was, she could only sip at it and stare at the wall for some undetermined amount of time, far past when the alcohol hit her blood stream. The familiar, obscuring veil settled over her and chased away the remaining adrenaline. She was exhausted, she should try and get some sleep, but Razi dreaded it.

She refilled her glass once, finished that one, and was halfway through her third when there was a quiet knock at the door. Probably Gert or the authorities again. Hopefully they weren’t here to arrest her on suspicion of being an accomplice. Razi stood and had to lean on the door handle to remain upright. Regardless of who it was, she was trying to wallow in self-pity and wasn’t happy for the interruption. 

But when she opened the door and found Frigga, she changed her mind. Razi blinked sluggishly and stuttered, “Frigg, ‘ay.”

Frigga was in the same nightdress as before but had her navy silk dressing gown on top now. Her eyes were reddened and puffy from crying and she was much paler than usual. She peered into the room before whispering, “Can I come in? I have Gertrude coming with some breakfast tea in a few minutes.”

Still leaning heavily on the door, Razi let her in and shut it behind them. “Leland gon’ be alrigh’?” she asked, only slightly slurring.

Frigga rested her hand on the bed frame’s hardwood foot. “Yes, the doctor told us about half an hour ago. He lost a lot of blood, but he should fully recover.”

Razi sank back onto her bed and flopped down on her back. “I’m so fuckin’ glad,” she said, covering her face with an arm, “I thought… thought ‘e was ‘1urt so much worse.” A tear leaked from her eye as relief washed over her chest like an ocean wave.

“The doctor said you saved his life.” Frigga’s voice was soft and shaky.

Razi glanced at her nightstand where her half-finished brandy sat. “Tea sounds great, Frigg,” she noted, “but ‘ve been int’ somethin’ bit stronger already.” 

“I know,” Frigga hummed as she took up the glass. She took a sip, grimaced, and then passed it back to Razi who sat back up. 

She drained the glass but didn’t put it down. She should, her hands felt heavy and clumsy, but it was already chipped so she really didn’t care. “I thought ‘e was dying, I thought I was gonna see ‘im die. Fuck.” She hid her face in her hands again and smooshed her eyes in an attempt to prevent tears from escaping. If Razi started crying she wouldn’t stop, and she didn’t want to rely on Frigga for comfort, not when she probably needed comforting herself.

Frigga grabbed the bottle from the nightstand, sat on the bed next to Razi, and poured another drink. “Are you alright?” she asked as she handed Razi the cup.

Razi laughed and shook her head, regretting it almost immediately. The world swooned and she nearly with it. “Nah.” Razi looked at the mug and decided she should probably stop. She had one last sip and then passed it to Frigga. “I already ‘ad a couple, you take th’ res’. Anythin’ out of th’ shitty goon?”

Frigga took a sip at the brandy, grimaced, and then took a larger gulp before answering. “He said he’ll cooperate, but apparently he doesn’t know much.” She placed a hand on Razi’s back to lightly rub it and Razi placed a hand on Frigga’s knee. “He wasn’t going to until my aunt started threatening him.”

Razi snorted. “Are those rumours true?”

“Which ones?”

“Th’ pigs bring ‘er in when they got folk tha’ don’ wan’ talk? They say she’s creative.”

Frigga shrugged. “I don’t know, but I don’t think she’d tell me if she did.” 

Another knock at the door announced the tea’s arrival. Razi moved to get it, but Frigga placed a hand on her shoulder before setting the mug on the bedside table and opening the door. “Thank you, Gertrude,” Frigga murmured, “I appreciate it.” Something about the way Frigga said that hinted at a prior conversation. Razi could guess but she didn’t want to.

Gertrude placed the tea tray on the nearby low table by the stove. “The watchmen are combing the library at the moment,” she said clinically. “Looking for more evidence, I expect.”

“Have you heard anything new?” Frigga asked as Gertrude started fixing two cups of tea.

The woman hummed. “The man’s a local, I think he’s a cousin of Joseph Steward’s, or maybe his brother? Anyway, I heard him yelling that he doesn’t know who hired him.” She passed Frigga the first cup and saucer before continuing. “Apparently he was getting his orders from some kind of magic book.”

“A receptacle book?”

“Most likely. Anyway, he was told to burn it and all other correspondence before the job tonight.” She brought the second cup of tea to the bed and set it on the table beside it, staring down at Razi with a look that was fifty percent compassion and fifty percent judgement. “You alright, Wood?” she asked flatly.

Razi rolled her eyes. “What d’you think, ol’ lady? Better now I know Leland isn’t fuckin’ dead.”

She expected some sort of reproof but didn’t receive one. “I’m relieved for that too,” she said wistfully. “Get some rest, I’ve got breakfast duty tomorrow. Better yet, have tomorrow, Wood.”

Razi peeked up at Gertrude with narrow eyes. “Wha’?”

The woman nodded towards the brandy mug. “I expect you’ll need it,” she said tersely, and this time the judgement did seep into her tone. She turned back to Frigga. “Do you need anything else, Miss Thorneheart?”

Frigga’s brief smile didn’t reach her eyes. “No, thank you. Good night, Gertrude,” she said, and it wasn’t a pleasantry but a command.

Gertrude curtsied and hesitantly left, pointedly not looking at Razi again. Frigga shut the door behind her with a sigh. “She tried to lecture me earlier,” she murmured as she leaned on the door. Razi grumbled and glanced heavily at the cup of tea next to the half-finished mug of brandy. Her guest returned to her side, sliding onto the bed next to her, and took hold of her hand. “I’m so glad you’re safe,” she breathed as she leaned her head on Razi’s shoulder.

For the rest of the night, neither Frigga nor Razi spoke or looked at the other. They merely sat together hand in hand, finding comfort in their lover’s presence. The pot of tea went cold as the brandy put them to sleep, resting in each other’s arms.