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 letter swam before Leandros’ eyes. Over the course of the morning, he’d read it four separate times. It had made him angrier each time.

“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. If you would like our continued support in this matter with your uncle, we advise you to keep your contact with him 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 even 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 dealing with enough foundation-shaking news at the moment than to try to process that, too.

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 magma 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 might ruin everything.

A week and a day ago, Leandros would have said that all he wanted was Roman, back from the dead. Somehow, miraculously, he’d gotten that wish, but now he just wanted Roman gone again. He stared dully at a bulging manila folder full of Unity protocols and policies, this latest thinly-veiled threat from the Magistrates sitting on top of it. Now, all Leandros wanted was to save his uncle, the man who’d been there for him when no one else had. When even Roman had abandoned him.

He pushed back from his desk and, with a snarl, hurled the folder across the room. Papers flew and fluttered everywhere, blanketing the small guest room in black and white. Leandros’ anger settled with the loose pages, leaving him tired. Just tired. The thought of picking up each one 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 small 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. Despite all that, Leandros couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed. Something monumental.

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. “I’d also like to apologize for my behavior yesterday.”

Roman stared at him, stunned. “Leandros, you…You really don’t have to apologize.” 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? Want to check the stitches yourself?”

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.”

“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.

Isobel waited for them in the sitting room. 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 he entered the room, bowing formally. “I would like to apologize for any shameful behavior I exhibited yesterday and thank you and your husband again for your hospitality.”

Isobel snorted. “You were ambushed and given nearly enough medication to down a horse. 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 the 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 didn’t tell her much, just that she’d be accompanying you to Illyon. I think the rest should come from you, Your Highness. You should pay her a visit—and Mr. Hallisey should accompany 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. “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. Isobel handed him a thick envelope; when Leandros peered inside, his breath caught. It contained four booklets, each with dramatic and salacious illustrations on the covers. Penny dreadfuls, and not just any penny dreadfuls: issues of The Carmine Brooch, his favorite story. He recognized the booklet on top as being the issue 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. Before Leandros could ask any questions, she 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, “You’ve broken him, Isobel. I don’t think he’s ever been spoken to that way in his life.”

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

“Do I get a bribe, too?” Roman asked.

“Your bribe is that you get to 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. What’s the address?”

Leandros regretted agreeing to this as soon as he stepped outside. The rain beat heavily on the cobblestone streets, washing them clean. Roman stepped right out into it, laughed, and lifted his hands 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 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 had expected. He wrinkled his nose, making Roman laugh again. “Wait,” he said, disappearing back inside and returning a moment later with an umbrella far too finely made to belong to him. He opened it, then passed it off to Leandros. “You really don’t want your bandage getting wet.”

The passersby—not that there were many, in this rain—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, he was simply Leandros. 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 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 on the mat before crossing to the front desk, where an older alfar woman sat. Her expression soured when she noticed Roman dripping puddles on her carpet behind him. “Can I help you gentlemen?” she asked.

“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. There are no men permitted past this point after visiting hours.”

“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 am 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 wished to speak with Ms. Fairfax on a matter of business only, but if it would be an inconvenience to do so now, I’ll return during your visiting hours.”

“Wait,” the woman said when Leandros turned to leave. She’d stood up straighter during his introduction, nervously smoothing her skirt and tucking her hair behind her pointed ears, and now she glanced at the rain out the window. “While the rules are quite firm, they only apply to the main house. It’s not our standard practice, but we have a parlor here on the first floor I can show you to 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.

“Goodness,” the woman murmured to herself while she led them through a side door. “A prince, in my boardinghouse.”

Parlor was understating the room she led them to; it was a wide, comfortable room large enough to sit upwards of a dozen. Four women played cards at a table by the window and another sat on a sofa and read, but the place was otherwise empty. Roman and Leandros were led to a private table toward the back, and then the woman to excused herself to call Ms. Fairfax.

“Clever,” Roman said, once they’d settled at the table. “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 woman returned, 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 attempting to sneak guests in, and I had no idea Ms. Fairfax had such important friends.

The word important made Leandros’ expression 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.

“Thank you very much, sir. 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 neat 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 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. Sorry for 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, “Sorry, 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. “She seems strict.”

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

“Where are you from?”

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

“I know it,” Roman said, not even flinching at the word Histrios. Leandros, who’d stiffened at the name, wondered how he could be so nonchalant.

He cleared his throat. “Before we get to business, Ms. Fairfax, I have a question for you: exactly how old are you?”

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

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

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, obviously, so I know why you’d be going to Illyon. I’m just…not sure where I fit in.”

Leandros wasn’t, either.

“There are people who are…unhappy with how Unity and Alfheimr are going about rescuing the king, and there are people within Unity who are unhappy with how Leandros is going about it, specifically,” Roman explained. “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. That someone will need to be good in a crisis and able to act quickly, because Leandros loves cuddling up to his enemies, these days.”

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 now why I was recommended to you,” Thea said brightly. “I’m rosanin. Because of my gift, I can always 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, smiling. 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 wishes him harm. It seems silly, but it’s an important distinction. I see the emotion, not the action, but 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,” Thea explained, blushing faintly, “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. 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, 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 sometimes 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,” Thea said. She eyed Leandros. “Are you sure you want to know? Some people don’t take it well.”

“I am, and I can.”

“You have a lot of emotions jumbled together. More than I’ve ever seen from a single person, actually. They’re mostly shades of anger—at yourself, more than at anyone else.”

“I see,” he 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.” Before Leandros or Roman could comment on that, she quickly corrected, “Sorry! I’m sorry. That was rude. Please don’t fire me; I could really use this job.”

Despite himself, Leandros smiled. “We haven’t hired you yet, technically.”

“This will be very dangerous. Do you understand that?” Roman asked.

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

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

Thea’s eyes went comically wide. “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.”

As Roman and Leandros walked back to the Ranulfs’ flat together, Roman said, “She’ll be fun to have around.”

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

Roman sighed and studied him, his expression somber. He was soaked through again, all because he’d refused Leandros’ offer to share the umbrella. He’d claimed it was to give Leandros’ injury space, to make sure Leandros could fully cover his wounded arm, but Leandros wondered if Roman simply didn’t care to be close to him. “You’ve changed,” Roman said. It was a biting accusation. A condemnation.

Leandros stopped walking. Water poured off the umbrella, acting as a barrier between himself and Roman. “If I have, it’s your fault.”

“I know.” Roman bit his lip, then added, “I never meant for you to think—”

“Oh, you didn’t?” Leandros asked, turning on him. “You know that the rest of the world thinks I killed you, don’t you? You know that my best friend was shot before my eyes and then I had to take the blame for it? You understand that?”

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

“Don’t. I don’t want excuses,” Leandros said, cutting him off. Thea had been right about shades of anger, and this simmering left in the wake of another abandonment and betrayal—sat closest to his heart. He was more than just the anger, though. He was determined to be more, so he sighed and extended his injured hand, just enough for the water to fall on his fingertips. He only felt the cold in three of them; he could see the raindrops hitting the other two, but he felt nothing. He sighed. “It’s been sixty years, Roman. Have you been alone all this time?”

“What?” Roman asked, thrown by Leandros’ sudden change in tone. His dark eyes darted up from where he’d been watching Leandros’ hand, widening briefly in surprise. All that honesty vanished in an instant, though, replaced by a coy smile. “Why? Would you be jealous if I said no?”

“I’d be worried about you if you said yes. You’ve never handled loneliness well.”

Leandros 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; his Roman had died in Histrios.

When this Roman smiled, it was a pained imitation of the smile Leandros knew, an act put on for everyone else’s benefit. When this Roman laughed, it was only a shadow of the real Roman’s laugh, a mockery of Leandros’ favorite sound in the world. When this Roman thought no one was looking, his eyes were dim, his thoughts distant. 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 that avoidance was an answer in and of itself.

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

This time, Roman’s eyes went comically wide. “How did you—ugh, Gareth.” He flushed and ran a hand through his hair, mussing up his curls. “Our time together was so short. 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. “Well,” he sniffed. “She was too young for you, anyway.”

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

The moment Roman uttered the words, they both knew this 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—in Leandros’, anyway. He couldn’t claim to guess at Roman’s thoughts, anymore.

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. I’ll work with you on this journey, but only because I must.”

Roman recoiled like he’d been struck, his expression twisting with pain before it settled into hurt. Leandros didn’t let himself see it; without another word, he walked away and left Roman standing alone in the rain.

We're ALMOST TO THE END!! After this, two more chapters until Volume I is complete! Reminder to FOLLOW THE KICKSTARTER if you haven't already, because it's going live as soon as the last FM chapter is posted!

If you’d like to support the story, the best thing you can do is share it with others. You can also support the author with a one-time tip, or get perks in one of two membership tiers:

$2/month - Receive a behind-the-scenes newsletter that includes character art, exclusive content and updates, writing advice, and more.
$5/month - In addition to the above newsletter, receive chapters one week early.