Fractured Magic: Chapter Twenty-Seven

Fractured Magic is a fantasy webserial about political and personal accountability, ghosts both figurative and literal, and a pair of estranged friends who act like they’ve gone through the world’s messiest divorce.

The words of the Magistrate’s letter swam before Leandros’ eyes. Over the course of the morning, he’d read it four separate times. Each time had made him progressively angrier.

“We are aware of your past with Mr. Hallisey,” the delicate, slanted script read. “Though he will be accompanying your team to Illyon, he is to be considered an enemy of Unity and treated as such. If you would like our continued support in this matter with your uncle, we advise you to keep your contact with Hallisey limited. Your most humble and obedient servant, Diomis.”

With a heavy sigh, Leandros ran his good hand through his hair. The other was currently set in a brace, an accursed contraption that prevented him from trying to open or close it. Not that he would try, if given the chance. The physician’s threat of permanent immobility frightened him more than he let on, and he was already dealing with more world-shattering news than he could handle.

How had his life changed so much in a week? Illyon had been only one week ago. His uncle had been taken from him one week ago. When he closed his eyes, he could still vividly picture the woman who took him, from the crimson glow that pulsed beneath her skin to the magic that coiled around her. He couldn’t stop her alone. He couldn’t stop her without Unity, and now Roman’s presence here might ruin everything.

A week and a day ago, Leandros would have said that Roman, alive, was all he wanted and all he would ever wish for. Miraculously, that wish had been granted, but now all he wanted was Roman out of his life again. He stared dully at his manila folder full of Unity protocols and policies, this latest thinly-veiled threat from the Magistrates sitting on top of it. Saving his uncle, the man who’d been there for him when no one else had, took priority over someone who’d faked his own death and let Leandros take the blame.

So why couldn’t he get Roman out of his head?

Snarling, he pushed back from his desk and hurled the folder across the room. Papers flew and fluttered everywhere, blanketing the guest room in black and white. Leandros’ anger settled with the last of them, leaving him tired. The thought of picking up each page single-handedly was too much, so instead of trying, he grabbed his coat from the bed and hurried out of the room.

He nearly collided with Roman in the hallway.

Their rooms were next to each other in Gareth’s modest flat, so it wasn’t exactly a surprise to see him. It was, in fact, what Leandros had been trying to avoid by holing himself up in his room to begin with. But while it wasn’t a surprise, Leandros wasn’t prepared for it, either—let alone for finding Roman so close. In this narrow hallway, Leandros could count every one of Roman’s dark eyelashes.

On the surface, Roman hadn’t changed in the decades they’d been apart. He’d cut his hair, yes, but he still spoke the same, acted the same, dressed the same. He hadn’t even aged, as far as Leandros could tell, but despite all of that, Leandros couldn’t shake the feeling that something was monumentally different.

Roman was the first to take a step back, and Leandros wondered what he had done to make Roman stay away in the first place. Roman laughed, a tense, uncomfortable sound, and said, “Sorry.”

“No, that was my fault,” Leandros said. He cleared his throat. “But as long as we’re apologizing, I’d like to apologize for my behavior yesterday.”

Roman stared at him, stunned. “Leandros, you…you really don’t have to.” An awkward silence threatened to settle between them until Roman added, “How’s your arm?”

“Fine, thank you,” Leandros said, keeping it short. He was in a tremendous amount of pain, actually, but he hadn’t wanted his mind addled by more laudanum. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Wait.” Roman caught Leandros’ good arm when the alfar turned to leave, stopping him. Leandros made a half-hearted attempt to tug it free, but unsurprisingly, Roman wouldn’t even budge.

Leandros knew this stranger well, though. “What is it? Do you want to check the stitches yourself?” he asked.

Sure enough, Roman wrinkled his nose and dropped Leandros’ arm. “Stop that.”

“Stop what? What do you want, Roman? There’s nothing more to be said between us; you made that clear yesterday.” And the Magistrates had made it even clearer today.

“I didn’t mean—”

They were both so wrapped up in each other that neither noticed Gareth’s arrival. When he called to them from down the hall, his voice made them both jump. “There you are! Just the pair I wanted to see!”

Leandros had long since lost control of his expression. He didn’t know what it was doing when he turned to his host, but whatever it was made Gareth stop short. “Erm,” he said while Leandros struggled to school it into something neutral. “My apologies, am I interrupting something?”

“Did you need something, Gareth?” Roman asked, tactfully deflecting the question. Leandros wasn’t tactful; he would have simply lied and told Gareth no.

“Only in that I have good news I needed to share. Isobel found an excellent candidate for Prince Nochdvor’s guard. Whenever you’re finished here, come downstairs and she’ll tell you more about them.”

With a shared, lingering look and not another word spoken between them, Roman and Leandros followed Gareth down to the sitting room, where Isobel waited. Since yesterday, the bloody sheets had been cleared off the couch and all evidence of the previous day’s events cleaned away. Isobel sat right where Leandros had been stitched up, now stitching her own embroidery.

“Mrs. Ranulf,” Leandros said when she looked up. He bowed formally, at the waist, showing deference as he would in Alfheimr to someone of his status or higher. “I would like to apologize for any shameful behavior I exhibited yesterday and thank you and your husband again for your hospitality. I know my intrusion was sudden.”

Isobel snorted. “You were ambushed and given nearly enough medication to down a horse, Your Highness. Even if your behavior was shameful, I wouldn’t hold it against you. There’s no need to worry,” Isobel assured him.

Leandros nodded and straightened again, though he could feel the tips of his ears heating up from sheer humiliation. Truthfully, he couldn’t remember much of what happened after the physician had left. Changing the subject, he said, “Mr. Ranulf mentioned you found a potential guard for me?”

“Yes, a friend of Ofelia’s governess,” Isobel said, sounding pleased with herself. “I told her she’d be accompanying you to Illyon, but I think the rest should come from you. You should pay her a visit—and take Mr. Hallisey with you. For your safety, of course.”

Leandros felt like a child again, his nanny forcing him and Rheamaren to play in the gardens to get them out of the house. This was a “get along and give us some peace” outing, and Isobel barely even attempted to disguise it. “I’m afraid I’m very busy today,” he said icily. “I’ll have to visit her another time.”

Roman shot him a wounded look, but Isobel just smiled. “I thought you might say that, which is why I prepared a bribe.”

“I beg your pardon?” Leandros asked, certain he’d misheard. Instead of repeating herself, Isobel retrieved a thick envelope from the table beside her and offered it up to him. Leandros took it reluctantly, but when he peered inside, his breath caught. The envelope contained four booklets, each with dramatic and salacious illustrations on their covers. Penny dreadfuls, and not just any penny dreadfuls: issues of The Carmine Brooch, his current favorite. He recognized the issue on top as the one that had just released yesterday, but the others…He looked up. Beside Isobel, Gareth grinned like a child playing a trick.

“These haven’t even been published yet,” Leandros said.

“What hasn’t?” Roman asked, trying to see over Leandros’ shoulder. Leandros elbowed him away.

“Let’s say that the publisher owes me a favor,” Isobel said with an enigmatic smile. Surprising Leandros, she quickly snatched the envelope back. “You only get this if you go with Roman to meet Wyndie’s friend.”

Leandros was speechless. Even his nanny had allowed him more dignity. Studying his face, Roman said, “I don’t think he’s ever been spoken to this way in his life, Isobel.”

“I’m sure he’ll adjust to it,” Isobel said.

“Do I get a bribe, too?” Roman asked.

“Your bribe is that if you go, you may continue to enjoy our generous hospitality.”

“But you’re letting Leandros do that, too!”

“And Prince Nochdvor offered to contribute to expenses, unlike a certain someone I could name. Not that we’d hear of it, but it’s the thought that counts.” Isobel added, “I don’t care if you are Egil, Roman. You’re not Alfheimr royalty.”

Leandros allowed himself a small smirk. Seeing Roman receive equal treatment soothed his wounded pride. “We’ll make it quick, then,” he said. “What’s the address?”

Leandros regretted agreeing to this as soon as he stepped outside. Rain beat heavily on the cobblestone streets, washing them clean. While Leandros tested the temperature of it with just his good hand, Roman stepped right out into the street, laughed, and lifted his own so that rain pooled on his palms. When he turned back to Leandros, his smile was wide. “It’s not too late to ask the Ranulfs for the use of their carriage, if you don’t want to get wet.”

It sounded like a challenge, so Leandros joined Roman in the downpour. It was bitingly cold, colder than Leandros’ quick test had prepared him for, and he wrinkled his nose at it, making Roman laugh again. “Wait here,” he said, disappearing inside and returning a moment later with a black umbrella. After opening it, he passed it off to Leandros. “You really don’t want your bandage getting wet.”

Gingerly, wordlessly, Leandros accepted it.

The passersby—not that there were many, in this downpour—paid them little mind, and Leandros ached with how much he missed this part of being with Roman. In Roman’s presence, he was never Prince Nochdvor or Your Highness. When it was just the two of them, he could be simply Leandros, and Roman knew everything that meant, all the struggles and baggage it entailed. He was able to exist as just another person in the world, one with a dear friend at his side.

Well. Not so dear anymore.

“Let’s go,” he said, not giving Roman a chance to reply.

The address Isobel gave them, as it turned out, belonged to one of those ladies’ boarding houses that had been making the news lately, known for their strict rules but affordable rents. A pair of young women in university uniforms exited the brick building as Roman and Leandros climbed the front steps, both giggling when Leandros met their eyes. Beside him, Roman grinned and called, “Good morning!”

“Good morning, sirs,” one of them called back, her smile shy but distinctly interested. Annoyance flickered inside Leandros, but he tamped it down and opened the door for Roman before Roman could flirt more.

Inside, a short foyer led to a tidy lobby decorated with vases of flowers. Leandros wiped his feet on the mat before crossing to the front desk, where an alfar woman with slitted yellow eyes and wrinkles around her mouth sat. Her expression soured when she noticed Roman dripping puddles on her carpet, and Leandros saw where the lines had come from. “Can I help you gentlemen?”

“I apologize for my colleague’s state. We’re here to speak with a Ms. Theodosia Fairfax.”

The woman arched a thick eyebrow. “This is a ladies-only establishment, I’m afraid. There are no men permitted past this point before visiting hours. You’ll have to come back this afternoon.”

“Ah,” Leandros said. Isobel certainly hadn’t mentioned this.

“If I don’t quite consider myself a man, can I go in?” Roman asked. His curls were plastered to his forehead, his white shirt to his chest, and Leandros couldn’t bear to look at him for more than a few seconds at a time.

The woman pursed her lips. “Are you a lady?”

Roman laughed. “No.”

“Then no. I don’t know what sort of company Ms. Fairfax is keeping, but if you or she have any problems with our rules—”

“We mean no trouble, I assure you,” Leandros said. Like he’d done with Isobel, he dipped into a formal bow. “I’m Prince Leandros Nochdvor of Alfheimr, son of Lorens Nochdvor and nephew to the king. I’m happy to provide identification if you’d like to see it. I’ll only be in town two more days and wished to speak with Ms. Fairfax on a matter of business, but if this is inconvenient for you, I’ll rearrange my schedule so I can return during your visiting hours.”

“Wait,” the woman said when Leandros turned to leave. She’d straightened up during his introduction, nervously smoothing her skirt and tucking her hair behind her pointed ears. She glanced at the rain out the window and pursed her lips. “While the rules are quite firm, they only apply to the main house and not the front parlor. It’s not our standard practice, but you can wait there while I give Ms. Fairfax a call.”

“That would be wonderful, thank you,” Leandros said. When the woman smiled, he didn’t bother smiling back. He’d learned that outside Alfheimr, people’s expectations of him varied drastically before and after finding out who he was. Before, they expected assimilation. They expected him to behave like them. After, they wanted the perfect picture of an Alfheimr alfar: the more aloof and unreadable, the better.

“It’s just through those doors,” she said, gesturing. As she turned away, she murmured, “Goodness. A prince, in my boardinghouse.”

The parlor was a wide, comfortable room large enough to seat upwards of a dozen. Today, though, four women played cards and another sat on a sofa and read, but the place was otherwise empty. They had their pick of seating, and Roman chose a private table at the back, away from the women who were now whispering and casting curious glances their way.

A faintly floral smell filled the air. It stuck in Leandros’ nostrils and threatened to give him a headache.

“That was clever,” Roman said, once they’d settled. “Using your name to get her to help, I mean.”

Leandros shrugged. Maybe it was clever, but it felt like cheating.

They sat in uncomfortable silence until the alfar woman arrived, giving them—Leandros—a nervous curtsy. “Ms. Fairfax is on her way down. I’m very sorry for my cold reception earlier, Your Highness. I’ve had some issues recently with the ladies sneaking guests in, and I had no idea Ms. Fairfax had such important friends.”

The word important made Leandros’ mood darken, and Roman quickly jumped in. “This is a lovely room, Ms…?”

“Taylor,” the woman supplied.

“Ms. Taylor,” Roman repeated, giving her one of his most charming smiles.

“You’re very kind, sir, thank you. If this place had not been left to me, I like to think I would have made an excellent interior designer. Oh, but can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee? I think we may have some biscuits from—”

“Why don’t you let me take care of my own guests, Ms. Taylor?” a soft voice asked. The woman who stepped up to join their group wasn’t what Leandros would’ve expected of a prospective guard. She was nearly as tall as him, but slender, with a neatly pressed dress and stark white gloves. Her brown hair was perfectly curled, done up in a loose pompadour with artful locks left down to frame her face.

“There you are,” Ms. Taylor tutted. “You shouldn’t keep a prince waiting, dear.”

“I wouldn’t have, if I’d known he was coming!” the girl protested. She turned bright green eyes on Leandros as she sized him up—only, she didn’t do it in the way Leandros was used to. Instead of looking at him, she looked at the space around him. Only when she was satisfied with that did she meet his eyes. “Theodosia Fairfax, at your service, but my friends call me Thea. I am sorry about the wait.”

Leandros stood. “There was hardly any wait to speak of,” he said. He turned to pull a chair out for her but forgot about his injured hand until the last moment. Quickly tucking it behind his back, he pulled the chair out single-handedly, instead. If Thea noticed, she was kind enough not to comment.

“Roman Hallisey,” Roman said, holding a hand out.

Thea shook it with a smile. “Pleasure. That’ll be all, Ms. Taylor. I believe His Highness would like to speak with me privately.” Once the older woman was gone, Thea leaned in and whispered, “And sorry to you, Mr. Hallisey. I know you wanted to take her up on her offer of biscuits, but if I’d followed her out to fetch them I would’ve been scolded something fierce.”

Roman blinked, evidently surprised, then smiled. “I can do without,” he whispered back. Back at a normal volume, he said, “She seems strict.”

“She means well, and she really does care about her residents. She has a very strong sense of propriety, but she was also the only one who agreed to take me in when I first got here. I’m very grateful.”

“Where are you from?”

“Tanisos, a little port not far from Histrios,” Thea said, smiling.

“I know it,” Roman said. He didn’t so much as flinch at the word Histrios. Leandros, who’d stiffened, wondered how he could be so nonchalant. Roman being beside him, alive, didn’t stop the familiar wave of grief that crashed over Leandros at the name. Suddenly having Roman back didn’t save him from drowning.

He cleared his throat. “I have a question as well, Ms. Fairfax, before we get to business. Exactly how old are you?”

“Twenty-five,” Thea said, drawing herself up taller.

Leandros looked at Roman. “Is that supposed to be a lot?”

Roman raised an eyebrow. “You’re asking me?”

“It’s enough,” Thea said. “At least enough to—well, what would you need me for, exactly? I spoke with Mrs. Ranulf on the phone, but she didn’t tell me much. I’ve been keeping up with the news, of course, so I do know what’s been happening with your—well. I’m just not sure where I fit in. My condolences, by the way.”

Leandros wasn’t sure where this odd girl fit in, either.

“There are people who are unhappy with how Unity and Alfheimr are going about rescuing the king,” Roman explained, “And there are people within Unity who are unhappy with how Leandros is going about it, specifically. Someone hurt him yesterday, and we’re not convinced they won’t try again, so we’re looking for a guard to stay by his side.”

“Oh,” Thea breathed.

“Just know going into it that you’ll need to be able to act quickly. Leandros loves cuddling up to his enemies, these days, so you might not get much warning.”

Leandros scowled at him. “Oh, is that what I’m doing? At least if they stab me through the heart, it won’t be when my back is turned.”

Roman winced.

“Wow. Mrs. Ranulf wasn’t joking about you two,” Thea said.

“What does that mean?” Roman asked.

“Oh,” Thea said, eyes wide. “Nothing.”

Leandros pinched the bridge of his nose. He took a deep, steadying breath. “Do you have any sort of fighting experience, Ms. Fairfax?”

“Not at all, but I understand why I was recommended to you,” Thea said brightly. “I’m rosanin. With my gift, I can read people’s intentions. If they’re acting out of greed or righteousness, love or hatred, I can tell.”

“How?” Roman asked, eyes wide.

“Everyone in the world has an aura—a sort of glow around them that only I can see. Depending on the emotion, the color, texture, and brightness vary. It’s hard to interpret, sometimes, but I’m very good.”

“That’s how you knew I wanted the biscuits,” Roman guessed. Cutting to the core of it, he asked, “And you could tell if someone wanted to harm Leandros?”

“Sort of. I can tell if someone might harm him. It seems silly, but it’s an important distinction. I see the emotion and not the action, but in order for me to see it, it must be tied to an action. You opened your mouth to answer Ms. Taylor’s offer, and I saw that you wanted something. I also saw a bit of hunger, and guessing your thoughts from there wasn’t difficult. Another good example is love. If you loved me but weren’t doing anything about it, I wouldn’t see anything. But as soon as you held the door for me or gave me a gift or even looked at me out of the corner of your eye, I could see the golden glow” Thea explained. “So if someone approaches Prince Nochdvor with malice, I’ll know and be able to warn you.”

Leandros and Roman shared a look. Without a word exchanged between them, they were in agreement: she was perfect. The Enforcers were trained to be able to spot dangerous individuals, but Thea wasn’t dangerous. “What if someone wants to hurt me because they love someone who told them to?” Leandros asked.

“People are made up of more than one feeling at a time. It’s what makes us people, messy as it is. I’d see both the love and the ill wishes.”

Leandros nodded. Curious, he asked, “What do you see when you look at me?”

“Um. Are you sure you want to know? Some people don’t take it well.”

“I am, and I can.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Thea said. She eyed Leandros. “You have a lot of emotions jumbled together, more than I’ve ever seen from a single person. They’re mostly shades of anger—at yourself, more than at anyone else.”

“Ah,” Leandros said, as calmly as he could manage. Feeling Roman’s eyes on him, he gestured vaguely at Roman with his braced hand. “And him? Selfishness? Cowardice? Apathy?”

“Mostly guilt.” Thea squinted at Roman, and Roman crossed his arms in front of his chest as if that might stop her from seeing. “Everything is strangely muted with him, so it’s hard to tell. I don’t know! I thought you wanted a guard, not a couple’s counselor.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she quickly corrected, “Sorry! I’m sorry. That was rude. Please don’t fire me; I really need this job.”

Despite himself, Leandros smiled. “We haven’t even hired you yet, technically. This will be dangerous. Do you understand that?”

“Before I answer, how much is the pay?”

“I can offer you fifty triems before departure and another fifty upon our return to Gallonten—or Alfheim, as the case may be,” Leandros said.

Thea’s eyes went comically wide. She nodded so hard a new lock of hair fell to hang in her face. “Yes, yes. Danger understood,” she said with a slow-spreading smile. “Did I mention that Danger happens to be my middle name? I can sign waivers to prove it. And a contract, too.”

Roman stifled a laugh.

“I’m sure you’ll have to, knowing our Unity Coordinator,” Leandros said. “But don’t accept until I’ve told you all the details.”

“Well, I’m all ears,” Thea said, clasping her hands together on the table and looking every part the dutiful student. “Oh! But first, let me get us some of those biscuits.”

After briefing Leandros’ new guard, Roman and Leandros walked back to the Ranulfs’ flat together, sharing Leandros’ umbrella. “She’ll be fun to have around,” Roman said.

“A fine sentiment,” Leandros replied, “But I don’t have time these days for fun.”

Roman stopped. When Leandros kept going, so, too, did the circle of protection his umbrella gave off. It left Roman standing in the pouring rain, frowning after his once-friend. “Leandros,” he called, waiting until Leandros had also stopped to say, “You’ve changed.”

Leandros didn’t turn to face him right away, watching water run over the cobblestone instead. A bitter smile rose to his lips. With just him and Roman out here, alone, he saw no need to restrain it. “If I have,” he said, turning, “It’s your fault.”

Roman bit his lip. “I never meant for you to think—”

Leandros crossed to him in two long strides. “Oh, you didn’t? You know that the rest of the world thinks I killed you, Roman, don’t you? You understand that my best friend was shot before my eyes and I had to take the blame for it?”

Roman fell back a step, eyes wide. “I—”

“Don’t. I don’t want excuses,” Leandros said, cutting him off. He didn’t let Roman slip away, closing the distance between them with another step forward. Thea had been right about shades of anger, and this—this simmering in the wake of another abandonment and betrayal—sat closest to his heart. It threatened to boil over, so Leandros lowered the umbrella, plunging himself into the freezing rain. He was more than just the anger. He was determined to be more.

“It’s been sixty years, Roman,” Leandros continued, softly. He searched Roman’s face. “Have you been alone all this time?”

Roman was clearly thrown by the sudden change in Leandros, his dark eyes briefly widening. “What?” he asked. That vulnerability was gone in an instant, though, replaced by a coy smile. “Why? Would you be jealous if I said no?”

It was meant to push him away, to stoke the anger, but Leandros only shook his head. “I’d be worried if you said yes. You’ve never done well with loneliness.”

Roman’s lips parted in surprise. Raindrops dripped off his curls and ran down his cheeks, and Leandros raised the umbrella again, ensuring they were both under it. He’d figured out what had been bothering him about Roman, the monumental change that he hadn’t been able to see: this person before him was a ghost, after all. This was never his Roman. Leandros could only assume his Roman really had died in Histrios.

When this Roman smiled, it was a pained imitation of the smile Leandros knew, an act put on for the benefit of everyone around him. When this Roman laughed, it was only an echo of the real Roman’s, of Leandros’ favorite sound in the world. When this Roman thought no one was looking, his eyes were dim. He reminded Leandros of the Roman he’d seem during their first meeting: distant, defeated, empty.

Roman was right here, but it didn’t ease the grief that had long settled in Leandros’ heart. Roman was right here, but Leandros still mourned him.

Roman looked left and right, as if he was planning an escape. “After everything I—You—” His expression crumpled. “Can’t you go back to hating me?”

“Is that really what you want?” Leandros asked.

“It would be easier,” Roman replied. While Leandros agreed, that wasn’t an answer. Roman also hadn’t answered Leandros’ earlier question about being alone, and with Roman, that avoidance was an answer in and of itself.

“What about that girl—the actress?” Leandros asked.

Roman’s eyes widened again. “How did you—ugh, Gareth.” He flushed and ran a hand through his hair, mussing up his curls and shaking water everywhere. “My time with her was short, even for a normal human’s standards. She was great, but I think we both just wanted to stave off the loneliness. It was never…more than that. At least, not for me.”

Leandros looked away. If he continued to look at Roman while standing so close, he might do something foolish. “Well,” he sniffed. “She was too young for you, anyway.”

Caught by surprise, Roman laughed. It still wasn’t quite the laugh Leandros remembered, but it was closer. “You know that you’d be too young for me too, then, right?”

The moment Roman uttered the words, they both knew they had been a mistake. It had been sixty years since Histrios, but the last words Leandros had said to Roman were still branded in both of their minds. This came uncomfortably close to addressing them, and Leandros stiffened. Roman flushed further. “I didn’t mean—”

But Leandros held a hand to stop him. His pride stung, his anger burned, and he couldn’t stop the words that came out of his mouth next: “I can assure you, Roman, that I haven’t the slightest interest in being your friend, let alone anything more.”

Roman recoiled like he’d been struck, his expression twisting with pain before settling into hurt. “Leandros—”

“Don’t,” Leandros said, already backing away, banishing Roman back to the rain. He turned to leave. “Don’t try to be my friend again, not now. If you ever cared about me, just let me mourn in peace.”

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