![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
This was for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
au_bigbang, only then LIFE HAPPENED (there was life outside my apartment!) on the day I was supposed to post it. At the very least, I am posting it here, hooray. :B
WITH MUCH LOVE AND GRATITUDE TO![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
enough_space and darknightrain who cheered me on, read it and told me it wasn't terrible, and were generally amazing folks. :(b
The Story of Evil
Tsubasa/Vocaloid fusion -- general spoilers for both all of TRC and the Evil series of Vocaloid songs by mothy (all the way up to Shiro no Musume).
23,678 words
VARIOUS PAIRINGS. The story of a spoiled prince and his lookalike servant.
Part I | Part II | Part III
+++++
Once upon a time, there was a kingdom that existed in the perpetual grasp of winter. Even during the height of midsummer, snow could be found upon the ground, heavy enough to leave clear footprints. And yet, despite this fact of nature, the kingdom did not suffer, for there were plants unique to the countryside that flourished in the snow, and wizards and hedge-witches plied a busy trade, charming greenhouses and other patches of land to make them suitable for farming. This kingdom was called Valeria and was the oldest of the five kingdoms: the one said to be handcrafted by the gods themselves, carved out of diamond and pearl as an example for mankind to emulate.
It is said that, when the world was first created and Valeria was formed out of the primordial ice, the gods who created the world then handed stewardship off to a pair of twins: Luhi, the day and the destroyer, whose bright eyes could see all that needed clearing away and attended to that; and Asi, the night and nurturer, who allowed those injured to rest and recover under his wings, so that they could be strong and tall in his brother's eyes. And so did these twins rule, bringing a long golden age to the world, as humans worked diligently under the eyes of their gods, so as to please their leaders.
Even the gods reach an end to their time, however. The legend states that a jealous Winter, cheated of command of what he saw as his own kingdom, created a woman whom he called Ghala and sent her to beguile the twins. He made her beautiful and tall and graceful, with long pale hair done up in elaborate braids and deep violet-blue eyes in a heart-shaped face. And when Luhi and Asi saw her, they were both entranced, so that for the first time in their lives, they began to compete against each other for her attention; caught up in their struggle, they did not notice Winter creeping in until after he had claimed permanent foothold in the world of humans. Ghala returned to her master's side upon his triumph, leaving the twins to awaken to their shattered kingdom.
And the humans that Luhi and Asi had been guiding and protected set up a great outcry, their terror of the fickleness of their gods reaching the original creators within the cloud-coffins where they slept. Once more they rose, this time to mete out punishment for their carelessness: they were stripped of their true-names, so Luhi was only Day, and Asi was only night; then of their power, so they could only observe as they cleared the skies; then of their stewardship, and the rule of the world was given over solely to humans. To those of Valeria, oldest and wisest in the world, who were well-used to the cruelties of Winter and had guided their fellows through the decline of the reign of Day and Night, a special blessing was given.
So long as Valeria flourishes, the old legends say, so too will the entire world.
+++
Celebrate! Celebrate! ring the church-bells, clear and bright in the early winter morning. The noise startles a flock of snow-birds to life, taking off in a breathless flutter of wings against the blue sky; undisturbed, the bells peal on. Celebrate, for the Queen has given birth! Celebrate the birth of our prince! Rejoice!
In the shadow of an arched hallway, sheltered from the cries of the bells, a minister bends his head together with the midwife, who holds a small bundle on each arm. The minister's lips are pinched together in worry, and the midwife's eyes are downcast upon the infants she bears in her arms. He is a long thin young man with tousled dark hair and half-moon spectacles riding low on his nose, dressed in the heavy blue robes of state, which pool at his feet. She is smaller than him by a head and a half, with a long heavy cascade of dark hair, tied back from her heart-shaped face by ribbons. Despite the cold, beneath her cloak she wears only a thin frock, spattered with blood and worse from the long birth, and sweat beads her clear brow.
"This isn't good," the minister says. Though he doesn't lift his head, he glances around as he speaks--but everything is silent: the King will only come when sent for, once his wife is allowed the time to recover herself and her composure, and the maidservant attending has been sent off for food without being allowed to see the truth of the matter. The queen herself sleeps deeply, having been hazy with pain for the last three hours of the process. "If anyone finds out about this, it'll be bad. The people will riot and we can't afford that right now, not right after the last border-war. If anyone knew--"
"They're so small," the midwife murmurs; her pretty dark eyes are sad. "They can't even see for themselves right now. How could they ..."
The minister starts to raise his hand, as if to touch the fine bones of her cheek, then stops himself. For a moment it hovers, and then he lets it fall. He looks away, his thin shoulders bending up uneasily. "I don't like it," he says. But: twins are a sign of misfortune, he doesn't add, though he knows she can hear those words clearly. It is an old saying for Valeria, stretching beyond any one memory, sustained by a history of disasters and country superstition, that living twins symbolize a test for the family that bears them--a long cold winter of hardship by decree of the gods. There are a hundred different charms to ward off the birth of twins practiced by hedge-witches and registered wizards alike throughout the kingdom, ranging from the benign to the stomach-turning.
The midwife closes her eyes. Her lips press together for a moment. "Their despair will be the glory of the people," she says, and there is an old tired bitterness in her voice. It is an old scar for her, kept alive by an older memory. The minister hesitates again, his hands coming to curl into fists by his side. In her arms, one infant stirs awake but does not cry out, looking curiously at them both with its huge blue eyes.
"Himawari," the minister says; his tone is helpless and afraid. "If you don't--"
She shifts the weight of her burdens, turning to present the bundle tucked into the crook of her right arm. She steps forward and leans until he has no choice but to steady her arm, and then she steps away, forcing him to keep hold of the child. She lifts her chin and meets his gaze steadily. "That one is the elder, by an hour," she says. The wakeful twin is still in her arms, turning its head slowly towards its sleeping twin. "Take him back to Her Majesty's side."
"And what about the other one?" the minister asks softly. He clutches his burden awkwardly, shifting to try and mimic her own careful hold. "What are you--"
"I'll take care of it," she says softly, casting her eyes down again. She hears him draw in a breath as if to protest and quickly speaks to override him, "No, I won't tell you what, or how. I don't want you to know. All right?" She glances up at him through her fallen bangs, then reaches up to brush her fingers lightly over the line of his jaw. He starts a little, his eyes flying wide open, and he looks both very young and very afraid. Somehow, it drags a smile out of her, lingering and sadly fond.
"Take him to see his mother," she murmurs. "Leave the rest to me."
She waits until he goes, unflinching even at the heavy echoing boom of the door to the queen's chamber slamming shut. She looks down at the child she carries, whose blue eyes are not terribly unlike those of the man who has just left her. It's so very small and new, this child's life; if she merely flung it away from her, the hard marble floors could do more than enough damage to the fragile bones and soft organs inside.
"I'm sorry," she whispers to it. She draws the cloak more tightly around her shoulders, tugging the hood up and over her face. She draws the child close to her and makes her silent way down the stairs and out of the palace; the two guards at the gate are far too distracted to notice her leaving. As the bells peal joyfully overhead, she flees the city, and never once does she look back.
+++
On the first day of the Midwinter Festival, a boy arrives at the palace. He is greeted at the gate by a tall man in dark blue, who ushers him quickly inside. The boy is first bathed, then fed, then groomed before he is led to wait outside a set of tall white doors. The man goes inside.
"Your Highness," he says. He is a man aged more by years than by care, for though his back is still ramrod straight and his small eyes clear, lines cut their way through his square face, and the white at his temples spreads about the space of two fingers. Though he has served the royal family for years, he once hailed from the kingdom furthest south from Valeria--the desert kingdom of Clow--and he dresses appropriately, more heavily than any other man in the king's high court. His name, as presented in the record-keeper's book, is Honorable Right Minister, Fei Wang Reed.
"Your Highness," he says again, his voice still even. "Your new manservant has been appointed."
The prince of Valeria is a young man--barely more than a boy at this point in his life--with long lean limbs and the careless grace that comes from years of training. He lounges, now, in an ornate chair--not quite on par with the white-crystal splendor of the royal throne, but an impressive one nevertheless, carved from a single block of white jade with deep blue cushions stitched with silver thread--his legs dangling carelessly off one arm. He does not look up at Fei Wang's words, preoccupied with cleaning his nails with a small pearl-handled knife. "Very well," he says. "He won't be boring like the last one, right? Ahh, he was so stiff! No fun at all!" Now he looks up, peeking coyly through his lowered lashes. "You found someone better, right?"
Fei Wang's expression does not change, clear and neutral as glass. "This one is about your age, Highness," he says. "Both the steward and I think he will be well-suited to you."
"Wonderful!" Easily as a cat, the prince sits up. He flips the blade and tucks it back into his long layered sleeve--blue and white and deep violet, the colors of Valerian royalty. He steeples his long fingers and leans forward. "Bring him in at once, then! I want to see him."
The minister bows and goes to the door. He speaks quietly for a few moments, then opens it wide enough for the boy to step through. Like the prince, he is also tall and lean, though there is a thinness to him that is more about hunger and hard work instead of training; like the prince, he has eyes that are large and bright blue, and his hair is a pale cream-blond; like the prince, he is light-footed and thin-lipped and point-nosed, and it is not unlike looking into a mirror.
"Your Highness," Fei Wang says, as the boy bows low with the impeccable manners of the lifelong servant, "may I present to you my own sister's son, Fay Flourite. He is a magician by trade."
"And your servant by choice," Fay says, smoothly as if the line had been rehearsed. He keeps his head low, one hand over his heart, just short of dropping to his knees. "As long as you'll have me, Your Highness, I will be yours to command."
Prince Yuui of Valeria sits up straighter in his chair; his posture is more tense than it has been in the long months since his mother's death. He stares at Fay's bowed head for long minutes, his fingers now laced together and trembling with the force of his grip. Finally, though, he gets up out of the chair, nearly tripping over his robes as he throws himself forward; Fay gives a startled sound as the prince bowls into him, fingers pinching at his cheeks, smoothing through his hair, tugging at the poor rough cut of his clothes.
"Eh, how wonderful!" Yuui says, bright-eyed and grinning. He frames Fay's face with both of his hands, looking into the other boy's eyes for a moment, then nods. "You look just like me, that's really amazing!"
"Amazing?" Fay falters, leaning back a little; he looks a little like a snowshoe rabbit, ready to bolt. Even Fei Wang seems startled by the proclamation. The prince's hands continue to wander, feeling out the bony shape of shoulders, the sweep of long thin arms. "Your Highness, we look--"
"It's all right," Yuui says. He loops his arms around Fay's thin shoulders and leans until their cheeks are pressed together, nuzzling like some great oversized cat. "It's all right, I'll make it be all right. It has to be, look at you!" He thrusts himself backwards, both hands on Fay's shoulders, looking him over. "It's like looking into a mirror. Look, here and here ..." He reaches up and touches his fingertips to Fay's cheekbone, thoughtful. "Ah, are you even real?"
"Your Highness?" Fay blinks. He glances at Fei Wang, whose expression has smoothed out again into careful neutrality. "It's fine if you'd rather not have me, with how we look ..."
"If I say it's fine, it's fine," Yuui says, with careless confidence. It is not such an arrogant thing: it is a lifetime of privilege distilled into a phrase; this is the confidence of the First Prince of Valeria. "Ah, look, you're taller than me, how unfair, Fay-puff~"
"Fay-puff?" Fay repeats weakly, but he merely staggers as the prince leans on him, hesitatingly settling his own hands on the other boy's narrow hips to help keep them both balanced. Yuui laughs aloud, bright and clear, and waves to Fei Wang merrily, never letting go of his new servant.
"I like this one," he says. "I like him, I'll keep him. Sometimes, even you have good taste!"
Fei Wang bows low, the movement graceful and seamless. "I live to serve the Valeria family," he says. A smile touches his lips. "I hope you will continue to find him and his work satisfactory, in the years to come."
+++
The Midwinter Festival is a lavish spectacle in Valeria, and in recent years it has become an even greater ceremony, with how the day proper corresponds to the birth of the First Prince. The entire city is decked out in streamers of blue and violet, stitched with the crest of the royal family: two spread wings crowning a wide-mouthed goblet. All business beyond performance and and food grinds to a halt as people are obliged to take the time for the holy days as well as the prince's birth-day. The more fantastic a display, the better, and the best are invited to perform in the royal palace itself, for the delight of Prince Yuui.
Fay finds the whole thing rather overwhelming, really; his own birthday--a few weeks past Midwinter Day--has always been a quiet affair his entire life, between him and his mother and an afternoon free of chores. In good years, she would scrape together enough to buy a small orange-creme cake, but those instances slowly became fewer and fewer still, until there had been nothing--not even enough on days that weren't a special occasion. If one were to ask, Fay would say that he had come to the capitol to seek employment so that he would have money to send back to his mother in the country. This is not entirely untrue, but he is also terribly curious about the prince who demands such high taxes on top of his other tributes when he lives in such a fantastic palace, dressed so warmly and finely that if not for the heavier snow on the ground, he would never know it was winter.
On his second day as the prince's manservant--his first night sleeping at the foot of his master's bed--Fay is awoken by a puppy-like weight that burrows against his back, and hands on his shoulders, shaking. "Fay, Fay, wake up! This is an order from your prince, Fayfay, you're absolutely forbidden from making me upset! Wake up, there's something I want to show you."
Fay rolls over, muttering and heavy-eyed, and finds himself nose-to-nose with Prince Yuui. "--Your Highness?"
"Aha! You listened after all!" Yuui sits back, eyes sparkling. He is dressed in simple off-white silk today: flowing sleeves and pants that seem better-suited for the hot sands of Clow, though the palace's temperature always remains pleasantly warm. Tucked in the crook of one arm is a bundle of cloth, which the prince thrusts forward, expectant. "Put this on, and let's go."
Startled, Fay fumbles the bundle for a moment; in his hands, it unfurls outwards and unveils itself as a matching outfit to the prince's, in smoke-gray as opposed to pale cream. "Your Highness!"
"It should fit you," the prince says, cocking his head to one side. "It's a little too big for me."
He can't help but gape a little. The cloth slides against his fingers like water, and he thinks, dazed, that he has never held anything so expensive in his life, let alone been presented with it. "That's not it," he says slowly. "Your Highness, as your servant, I can't--"
"Of course you can," the prince cuts him off. "You're my servant, right? Therefore, you should be dressed to match! If you don't like the color, Fay-chu, we'll get you something better. Later, though. Come on! Get dressed, let's go!"
"Your Highness, you don't understand--"
Prince Yuui tsks and holds up a hand, waggling it under Fay's nose. "I understand that I have given you an order," he says solemnly, though there is a glint in his blue eyes. "You had better listen. I am your prince, after all."
Fay almost finds it within himself to protest again, then stops himself and turns, presenting the prince with his back. The tips of his ears feel hot and uncomfortable as he struggles out of his rough nightshirt and replaces it with the silk top. It feels cool and alien and weightless; if not for the brush of material against his skin, he would have guessed himself naked. As it is, he knows he's blushing terribly, hands fumbling and catching on his loose sleeves. The prince, on the other hand, seems terribly pleased, crossing his arms and giving Fay a slow once-over before nodding.
"Perfect," he says. "Ah, this is wonderful, you have no idea! Come on!" And he catches Fay's wrist with one hand, his grip firm and sure, and he tugs Fay into a half-trot behind him. "I've always wanted someone else to see this."
Together they slip through the long echoing halls of the royal palace, which are nearly empty; judging by the horizon beyond the windows, which are still mostly dark blue just barely beginning to shade towards pink, it is still terribly early, and beyond a few sentries at various doors, they encounter no one. The prince seems to think the entire thing is a game, pressing himself up against the walls and dragging Fay with him whenever a guard passes; the smile on his face never wavers. A few times, he admonishes for silence with a finger against his own lips, though neither of them say a word as they weave and feint their way through the castle.
Eventually, they reach a single heavy door, fashioned out of ebony wood and carved with flowering vines and flying birds; the latch is made of polished brass. The prince lets go of Fay's hand to unhook the mechanism, then leans his thin shoulder against it, pushing until the door gives with a low, rumbling groan.
"This way," he whispers, when there is enough room for them to slip through. He holds out his hand instead of grabbing, this time, and Fay accepts it.
On the other side of the door is a long, winding series of narrow steps, carved from stone and softened by a thin, dark blue carpet. It seems to stretch up into forever, but just as Fay's lungs began to hitch with the effort, they reach another door--the exact twin to the one at the bottom of the stairs--which gives with a softer creak at the touch of Prince Yuui's hand.
The door opens to the outside, and Fay flinches automatically at the sudden burst of cold, his hand almost pulling free of the prince's as he does. His teeth chatter protest as he is dragged further out, cringing up onto his toes at the icy stone beneath his feet.
"Look," the prince says, his voice breathless. "Fay, Fay-chin, Fay-roo, Fayfay, look up."
It takes a moment to force himself to uncurl from his instinctive huddle against the cold, but Fay does as he is told.
He sees the stars.
There are thousands of them, in different formations than he remembers from his childhood, and they seem so close that he could reach his hand up and brush against the glittering masses. His breath catches in his throat, and he can only turn slowly, entranced by the view.
"Your Highness," he says finally, his voice also soft, nearly overwhelmed. "This ..."
"This is my spot," the prince says. He lets go of Fay's hand and spins away, all his long limbs thrown out wide, as if he could embrace the stars overhead. "This is where my mother used to take me. I'm showing you, because you are my mirror, and a mirror keeps all secrets. All right?" He stops abruptly, arms still outstretched. He looks young and bright-eyed, like Fay's own reflection had, once upon a time. Other than the lines care has etched around Fay's mouth and eyes, they could be twins. In that moment, he feels less like an interloper stumbling upon something private and more like he is being shown something he has always known and merely forgotten for a time.
"All right," he says. He looks back up to the stars, sprinkled like a handful of casually tossed diamonds, and he says, "I will never betray your secrets, my lord, no matter what."
"Haha, of course you wouldn't," Prince Yuui says. "I told you, I have no secrets from myself." He walks back, making shooing gestures with his hands to usher Fay back inside; he casts one last fond glance over his shoulder before closing the door again. "So, if you ever can't find me--or if I ever can't find you, this will be the place to look. All right?"
They head down the stairs, Fay preceding the prince. "All right," he says. It takes little effort to get the door open again, and the prince is careful to lock it behind them before they return to his chambers. By the time they do, the horizon-line is beginning to shade into rose-pink and warm lavender, and the prince tells Fay that he wants his finest robes prepared for the day; they are receiving special guests later in the day, and he must (he says, with a cheerful wink and a toss of his hair) look his absolute best.
The wardrobe is full of even more expensive things than the thin silk Fay wears; his fingers feel almost numbed from all that softness. When he slips into his own uniform--plain and practical homespun, barely touched up by a mage-weaver's skills--it is with a definite sense of relief. He can get used to this, he thinks; he will get used to it, and he thinks that perhaps serving the whims of the Spoiled Prince will not be quite as terrible as he fears.
+++
"Your Highness," says Fei Wang, "these papers require your immediate attention."
Prince Yuui only shrugs, occupied with his hands and the small glowing cat of light that he has spun between his fingers. "Everything requires my immediate attention," he sighs. "Everyone is utterly convinced that their petition is the most dire, the most terrible, ahhhh, it's terrible! Please, prince, listen to what we have to say!" He kicks his legs a few times, spreading his fingers so that his creation can bat at his fingers. "It's terrible! It's my birthday, can't they give me some peace?"
"It's about the celebrations," Fei Wang says. His tone is mild. "We're over budget; we can't afford the parade for your actual birthday."
"Ehh?" The prince sits up at that; the light-cat disappears. His jaw sets and his mouth twists into the beginnings of a pout. "That can't be right--there has to be a parade! There must be money somewhere!"
"This year has been a poor one for harvests," says Fei Wang. "We've exhausted our coffers for the time being."
The prince sighs loudly and throws himself back in his chair, kicking his legs again, petulant. "Well, I don't see how it's a problem," he says. "If it's money we need, we can just add it to taxes."
"Your Highness?"
"If there isn't enough money, tax it from the people," the prince repeats. "It's for a good cause! Everyone likes parades, don't they? They make everyone happy--it's money well-spent!" He flaps an arm, frowning earnestly as he does. "Who can begrudge something like that? Do it, Fei Wang."
The Honorable Right Minister bows his head. He puts a hand over his heart. "As my prince wishes," he says. His expression is one of pleasant neutrality, the beginnings of a smile sitting on the corners of his mouth. Prince Yuui sinks lower in his seat at the sight, lacing his fingers together and scowling. "Then, Your Highness, if there is nothing else?"
"Tell Fay to bring me a snack," the prince says. He sinks so low in his fine chair that his shoulders nearly touch the seat; his chin rests on his chest and his laced fingers rest on his belly. "I'm hungry."
"As you wish," says Fei Wang, then, "I take it you have found him ... satisfactory, so far?"
The prince sighs, hard enough to puff out his cheeks. He says, "He's funny. He's interesting. But it hasn't even been a week and I haven't made up my mind yet. So go tell him to bring me something to eat, and I will think about it!"
Fei Wang bows again, low enough that his sleeves brush the floor, and he sweeps out of the audience chamber. He walks with slow purpose, pausing only briefly to say to a small alcove: "The prince wishes to take his tea early today. See to it," before continuing on his way. Behind him, he can hear the boy-servant scrambling to move as ordered, and he allows himself the luxury of a smirk, here where he cannot be seen. Even when he is followed, it does not quite remove the spring from his step.
"He will not listen," he says, pleased by the sound of that phrase. "You lost his ear long ago. Give it up and accept that fact."
"I will not," says his younger shadow. "Not as long as you're here."
"You're a foolish child," Fei Wang says. He does not speed up, nor does he slow down, and the smirk on his face never tempers itself. "Just like him. You cannot stop the revolution."
"Nothing is set in stone," the younger man says. "You can break up an entire army with a single well-placed action."
Fei Wang stops at that and turns. His heavy brows draw together, and though he does not frown, his smile becomes strained. "You sound like her, now."
His opponent meets his gaze, now utterly serene. He is a man aged by circumstance, myopic mismatched eyes behind steel-framed glasses (for necessity rather than vanity, unlike so many of Valeria's mage-spoiled elite), face and body thin and careworn. He dresses all in black, rather than the dark blue of years before, with a butterfly embroidered on each shoulder. He does not smile or blink. "Do I? I wonder if there isn't a reason for that."
"It hardly matters. She has no influence here, and neither do you. If the prince finds you've snuck back into the palace, he'll be quite upset. You do remember what happened last time, don't you?"
"Even if you shouted for the guards right now," the young man says, "they wouldn't find me in time."
"Only licensed wizards may practice cloaking spells, and all such things are forbidden within the royal palace," Fei Wang purrs. "Will you add high treason to your list of crimes?"
"The stones have already been set into motion," the young man says, as shadows unfurl and spread into a pool around his feet. They curl around his legs, pulling him slowly down, and he raises his chin so as to keep eye-contact with Fei Wang. "You, of all people, should know better than to believe that you know without doubt where they'll fall."
Fei Wang lifts a hand just as the other man drops completely out of sight. For a moment he remains poised, staring hard before he pivots in a whirl of dark blue robes and strides off, and he does not look back as the echo of his own footsteps recedes.
+++
The preparations for Midwinter Night are the grandest Fay has ever seen in his life: the already-impressive ballroom of the palace transforms as he watches, draped with banners of silver and varying shades of blue, the ends emblazoned with the Valeria crest. The kitchen brings out delicate ice statues that reach up to Fay's hip and taller--dragons with their serpentine bodies coiled and powerful, unicorns caught in mid-step with delicate hooves raised, and fierce snowhawks, stretched in exact balance with their wings spread wide--and Fay cannot stop himself from gawking at each. Food comes next, tables and tables of dainty finger-snacks in all colors of the rainbow and of more variety and quantity than he has ever seen in his entire life. None of the other servants share his awe; one snaps at him to actually do work rather than simply stand and gawk uselessly. Ostensibly Fay is there to oversee that things are to the prince's liking, but he feels more than a little overwhelmed by the entire spectacle. Any questions he asks are tersely ignored, and eventually he drifts to the side of the room, tugging at the sleeves of his too-new outfit: dark blue embroidered with silver at the hems and the royal crest stitched over his heart.
"It marks you as the prince's own," his uncle had told him, at the fitting. "It shows you have more power than any other servant in the palace. There will be those who resent your influence, but they are merely yapping dogs. Ignore them or crush them, as you see fit."
He does not feel powerful nor influential right now: he feels lost and more than a little afraid. The servants come together like some sort of magical machine, honed to absolute efficiency from years of practice, and he is the one piece that does not quite fit anywhere. He drifts towards a wall, careful to avoid getting in anyone's way, then tucks himself onto the edge of a windowsill, wedged into the corner so he can just watch. Five servants, tall grown men each, come staggering out under the weight of a fountain that looks like it's been carved from solid gold: a stylized sun embraced by a crescent moon set by a scattered cascade of thumbnail-sized diamonds. This is set in the center of the room, and then a sixth--a small tawny-haired girl--stretches up onto her toes to affix a glowing silver ball into the air above the fountain. None of the other servants even seem to notice, but Fay leans forward, sliding from his perch, fascinated in spite of himself.
An old hedge-witch had lived in his old village, a wizened elderly creature whose tangled white hair had dragged on the ground behind her, who had always smelled of lavender and burnt grass. Fay had seen the witch perform magic only once--a small parlor-trick with firefly sparks to prove that she could--and the image has never left him, in all the years since. Now he can't look away from the little silver ball, and his fingertips itch with the desire to touch.
"It's pretty, don't you think?" a girl says, and he starts to realize that it's the one who placed the spelled globe in place. She stands next to him, the top of her head scarcely coming to his shoulder, wrapped snugly in so many layers of furs that she looks almost round. A clip set with a pearl wing pins her hair back from her eyes, and a sapphire like a single teardrop hangs around her throat, resting outside of her clothes. Her eyes are huge and clear green, and they light up with her smile. "You like it?"
He blinks at her for a moment, surprised at being addressed, then flushes. "It's, yes," he mumbles. "It's very pretty."
"Ah, I'm glad!" She beams, and her smile is more brilliant than her spell. "I worked very hard on that one. The prince himself praised it!"
Fay licks dry lips. "He did?"
"Mmm." The girl smiles again, more gently this time. She lays a hand on her chest, covering the sapphire she wears. "My mother used to serve the old king. When my parents died--the prince sent for me. He said if I could impress him, he'd employ me, and he'd make sure I'd never want for anything." She lifts her head and looks at the silver ball. "I showed him what light could do to his fountains, and he was so happy. So here I am! --Ah, and I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude. I'm Sakura." She holds out a hand, and it is small and slim and white, more delicate than any woman's he's ever known.
He ducks his head, blushing harder. "... Fay," he mumbles, and takes her hand. He's not sure what he's supposed to do--should he kneel, should he kiss it? if she's Prince Yuui's employed magician and he's his manservant, does he outrank her or not, and either way, isn't that the polite thing to do?--but Sakura squeezes his hand warmly and turns their clasp into a handshake. She is the brightest thing in the entire room, he thinks, even brighter than the silver globe of light that is powered by her magic, and Fay can't look away from her smile.
"It's very nice to meet you, Fay," she says. Her eyes drift to the symbol on his breast. "Oh, you're also--"
"I'm new," he blurts. He can feel the tips of his ears going red. "I mean, it's only been a week, I don't, I'm not--"
Sakura's expression softens. She reaches for his other hand and folds them both gently between hers and squeezes again. "It's all right," she says. "It's all very strange when you're new, isn't it? I know what it's like. But it'll be all right. You'll get used to it, and you'll get more comfortable with it. I promise."
Her expression is gentle and earnest, and she is so utterly genuine that Fay can't help but smile a little in response. "I'll try my best," he says softly, and that makes her smile grow even more. "I want to do my best."
"Of course you do," she says. "And I'll help you. If there's anything you need--ah, my rooms are in the west tower--here," she reaches into her hair and undoes a small jeweled butterfly clip, hidden near the shell-curve of her ear. This she presses into his hand, curling her fingers over his to close them. "If you ever have to find me, hold this in your hand and think of me. It will lead you to where I am."
Fay gapes for a moment. "Are--you're sure? This is expensive, I can't, you--"
"It's a very easy spell," Sakura assures him. "It was one of the first that Mama taught me." Her expression goes sweetly wistful for a moment, seeing through the busy bustling room and into something long past. "And when I was new, all I wanted was for someone to help me out. So now that I can, I'm going to." For a moment she hesitates, then peeks up at him through her lashes. "Is that selfish?"
"No! No, not at all," he says, waving his free hand nervously. "It's very generous of you, Miss Sakura. I'm grateful." He takes the clip, and under her wide-eyed gaze, he clips it to his lapel, nearly hidden by folds of cloth, and gives her a tentative smile.
She laughs, clapping her hands. "Very pretty," she says. "It suits your eyes, Fay-san! Please don't be afraid to call on me any time."
"Oi!" someone shouts from the other side of the room. There is a cluster of white-robed people from the kitchen gathered around a particularly elaborate ice statue--the twins Day and Night, their hands outstretched and not quite touching; even from a distance, their mournful expressions can be clearly seen. "Magician! Some support here!"
"Ah, yes! Right away!" Sakura smiles at Fay, squeezing his hand one last time, and then she goes, light-footed and quick as a little bird: even the hem of her cloak flies out behind her, like the impression of spread wings. He watches her go, his fingers tingling and face warm, and in spite of himself, his fingers drift up to touch the butterfly pinned near his throat.
Part I | Part II | Part III
au_bigbang, only then LIFE HAPPENED (there was life outside my apartment!) on the day I was supposed to post it. At the very least, I am posting it here, hooray. :BWITH MUCH LOVE AND GRATITUDE TO
enough_space and darknightrain who cheered me on, read it and told me it wasn't terrible, and were generally amazing folks. :(bThe Story of Evil
Tsubasa/Vocaloid fusion -- general spoilers for both all of TRC and the Evil series of Vocaloid songs by mothy (all the way up to Shiro no Musume).
23,678 words
VARIOUS PAIRINGS. The story of a spoiled prince and his lookalike servant.
Part I | Part II | Part III
+++++
Once upon a time, there was a kingdom that existed in the perpetual grasp of winter. Even during the height of midsummer, snow could be found upon the ground, heavy enough to leave clear footprints. And yet, despite this fact of nature, the kingdom did not suffer, for there were plants unique to the countryside that flourished in the snow, and wizards and hedge-witches plied a busy trade, charming greenhouses and other patches of land to make them suitable for farming. This kingdom was called Valeria and was the oldest of the five kingdoms: the one said to be handcrafted by the gods themselves, carved out of diamond and pearl as an example for mankind to emulate.
It is said that, when the world was first created and Valeria was formed out of the primordial ice, the gods who created the world then handed stewardship off to a pair of twins: Luhi, the day and the destroyer, whose bright eyes could see all that needed clearing away and attended to that; and Asi, the night and nurturer, who allowed those injured to rest and recover under his wings, so that they could be strong and tall in his brother's eyes. And so did these twins rule, bringing a long golden age to the world, as humans worked diligently under the eyes of their gods, so as to please their leaders.
Even the gods reach an end to their time, however. The legend states that a jealous Winter, cheated of command of what he saw as his own kingdom, created a woman whom he called Ghala and sent her to beguile the twins. He made her beautiful and tall and graceful, with long pale hair done up in elaborate braids and deep violet-blue eyes in a heart-shaped face. And when Luhi and Asi saw her, they were both entranced, so that for the first time in their lives, they began to compete against each other for her attention; caught up in their struggle, they did not notice Winter creeping in until after he had claimed permanent foothold in the world of humans. Ghala returned to her master's side upon his triumph, leaving the twins to awaken to their shattered kingdom.
And the humans that Luhi and Asi had been guiding and protected set up a great outcry, their terror of the fickleness of their gods reaching the original creators within the cloud-coffins where they slept. Once more they rose, this time to mete out punishment for their carelessness: they were stripped of their true-names, so Luhi was only Day, and Asi was only night; then of their power, so they could only observe as they cleared the skies; then of their stewardship, and the rule of the world was given over solely to humans. To those of Valeria, oldest and wisest in the world, who were well-used to the cruelties of Winter and had guided their fellows through the decline of the reign of Day and Night, a special blessing was given.
So long as Valeria flourishes, the old legends say, so too will the entire world.
+++
Celebrate! Celebrate! ring the church-bells, clear and bright in the early winter morning. The noise startles a flock of snow-birds to life, taking off in a breathless flutter of wings against the blue sky; undisturbed, the bells peal on. Celebrate, for the Queen has given birth! Celebrate the birth of our prince! Rejoice!
In the shadow of an arched hallway, sheltered from the cries of the bells, a minister bends his head together with the midwife, who holds a small bundle on each arm. The minister's lips are pinched together in worry, and the midwife's eyes are downcast upon the infants she bears in her arms. He is a long thin young man with tousled dark hair and half-moon spectacles riding low on his nose, dressed in the heavy blue robes of state, which pool at his feet. She is smaller than him by a head and a half, with a long heavy cascade of dark hair, tied back from her heart-shaped face by ribbons. Despite the cold, beneath her cloak she wears only a thin frock, spattered with blood and worse from the long birth, and sweat beads her clear brow.
"This isn't good," the minister says. Though he doesn't lift his head, he glances around as he speaks--but everything is silent: the King will only come when sent for, once his wife is allowed the time to recover herself and her composure, and the maidservant attending has been sent off for food without being allowed to see the truth of the matter. The queen herself sleeps deeply, having been hazy with pain for the last three hours of the process. "If anyone finds out about this, it'll be bad. The people will riot and we can't afford that right now, not right after the last border-war. If anyone knew--"
"They're so small," the midwife murmurs; her pretty dark eyes are sad. "They can't even see for themselves right now. How could they ..."
The minister starts to raise his hand, as if to touch the fine bones of her cheek, then stops himself. For a moment it hovers, and then he lets it fall. He looks away, his thin shoulders bending up uneasily. "I don't like it," he says. But: twins are a sign of misfortune, he doesn't add, though he knows she can hear those words clearly. It is an old saying for Valeria, stretching beyond any one memory, sustained by a history of disasters and country superstition, that living twins symbolize a test for the family that bears them--a long cold winter of hardship by decree of the gods. There are a hundred different charms to ward off the birth of twins practiced by hedge-witches and registered wizards alike throughout the kingdom, ranging from the benign to the stomach-turning.
The midwife closes her eyes. Her lips press together for a moment. "Their despair will be the glory of the people," she says, and there is an old tired bitterness in her voice. It is an old scar for her, kept alive by an older memory. The minister hesitates again, his hands coming to curl into fists by his side. In her arms, one infant stirs awake but does not cry out, looking curiously at them both with its huge blue eyes.
"Himawari," the minister says; his tone is helpless and afraid. "If you don't--"
She shifts the weight of her burdens, turning to present the bundle tucked into the crook of her right arm. She steps forward and leans until he has no choice but to steady her arm, and then she steps away, forcing him to keep hold of the child. She lifts her chin and meets his gaze steadily. "That one is the elder, by an hour," she says. The wakeful twin is still in her arms, turning its head slowly towards its sleeping twin. "Take him back to Her Majesty's side."
"And what about the other one?" the minister asks softly. He clutches his burden awkwardly, shifting to try and mimic her own careful hold. "What are you--"
"I'll take care of it," she says softly, casting her eyes down again. She hears him draw in a breath as if to protest and quickly speaks to override him, "No, I won't tell you what, or how. I don't want you to know. All right?" She glances up at him through her fallen bangs, then reaches up to brush her fingers lightly over the line of his jaw. He starts a little, his eyes flying wide open, and he looks both very young and very afraid. Somehow, it drags a smile out of her, lingering and sadly fond.
"Take him to see his mother," she murmurs. "Leave the rest to me."
She waits until he goes, unflinching even at the heavy echoing boom of the door to the queen's chamber slamming shut. She looks down at the child she carries, whose blue eyes are not terribly unlike those of the man who has just left her. It's so very small and new, this child's life; if she merely flung it away from her, the hard marble floors could do more than enough damage to the fragile bones and soft organs inside.
"I'm sorry," she whispers to it. She draws the cloak more tightly around her shoulders, tugging the hood up and over her face. She draws the child close to her and makes her silent way down the stairs and out of the palace; the two guards at the gate are far too distracted to notice her leaving. As the bells peal joyfully overhead, she flees the city, and never once does she look back.
+++
On the first day of the Midwinter Festival, a boy arrives at the palace. He is greeted at the gate by a tall man in dark blue, who ushers him quickly inside. The boy is first bathed, then fed, then groomed before he is led to wait outside a set of tall white doors. The man goes inside.
"Your Highness," he says. He is a man aged more by years than by care, for though his back is still ramrod straight and his small eyes clear, lines cut their way through his square face, and the white at his temples spreads about the space of two fingers. Though he has served the royal family for years, he once hailed from the kingdom furthest south from Valeria--the desert kingdom of Clow--and he dresses appropriately, more heavily than any other man in the king's high court. His name, as presented in the record-keeper's book, is Honorable Right Minister, Fei Wang Reed.
"Your Highness," he says again, his voice still even. "Your new manservant has been appointed."
The prince of Valeria is a young man--barely more than a boy at this point in his life--with long lean limbs and the careless grace that comes from years of training. He lounges, now, in an ornate chair--not quite on par with the white-crystal splendor of the royal throne, but an impressive one nevertheless, carved from a single block of white jade with deep blue cushions stitched with silver thread--his legs dangling carelessly off one arm. He does not look up at Fei Wang's words, preoccupied with cleaning his nails with a small pearl-handled knife. "Very well," he says. "He won't be boring like the last one, right? Ahh, he was so stiff! No fun at all!" Now he looks up, peeking coyly through his lowered lashes. "You found someone better, right?"
Fei Wang's expression does not change, clear and neutral as glass. "This one is about your age, Highness," he says. "Both the steward and I think he will be well-suited to you."
"Wonderful!" Easily as a cat, the prince sits up. He flips the blade and tucks it back into his long layered sleeve--blue and white and deep violet, the colors of Valerian royalty. He steeples his long fingers and leans forward. "Bring him in at once, then! I want to see him."
The minister bows and goes to the door. He speaks quietly for a few moments, then opens it wide enough for the boy to step through. Like the prince, he is also tall and lean, though there is a thinness to him that is more about hunger and hard work instead of training; like the prince, he has eyes that are large and bright blue, and his hair is a pale cream-blond; like the prince, he is light-footed and thin-lipped and point-nosed, and it is not unlike looking into a mirror.
"Your Highness," Fei Wang says, as the boy bows low with the impeccable manners of the lifelong servant, "may I present to you my own sister's son, Fay Flourite. He is a magician by trade."
"And your servant by choice," Fay says, smoothly as if the line had been rehearsed. He keeps his head low, one hand over his heart, just short of dropping to his knees. "As long as you'll have me, Your Highness, I will be yours to command."
Prince Yuui of Valeria sits up straighter in his chair; his posture is more tense than it has been in the long months since his mother's death. He stares at Fay's bowed head for long minutes, his fingers now laced together and trembling with the force of his grip. Finally, though, he gets up out of the chair, nearly tripping over his robes as he throws himself forward; Fay gives a startled sound as the prince bowls into him, fingers pinching at his cheeks, smoothing through his hair, tugging at the poor rough cut of his clothes.
"Eh, how wonderful!" Yuui says, bright-eyed and grinning. He frames Fay's face with both of his hands, looking into the other boy's eyes for a moment, then nods. "You look just like me, that's really amazing!"
"Amazing?" Fay falters, leaning back a little; he looks a little like a snowshoe rabbit, ready to bolt. Even Fei Wang seems startled by the proclamation. The prince's hands continue to wander, feeling out the bony shape of shoulders, the sweep of long thin arms. "Your Highness, we look--"
"It's all right," Yuui says. He loops his arms around Fay's thin shoulders and leans until their cheeks are pressed together, nuzzling like some great oversized cat. "It's all right, I'll make it be all right. It has to be, look at you!" He thrusts himself backwards, both hands on Fay's shoulders, looking him over. "It's like looking into a mirror. Look, here and here ..." He reaches up and touches his fingertips to Fay's cheekbone, thoughtful. "Ah, are you even real?"
"Your Highness?" Fay blinks. He glances at Fei Wang, whose expression has smoothed out again into careful neutrality. "It's fine if you'd rather not have me, with how we look ..."
"If I say it's fine, it's fine," Yuui says, with careless confidence. It is not such an arrogant thing: it is a lifetime of privilege distilled into a phrase; this is the confidence of the First Prince of Valeria. "Ah, look, you're taller than me, how unfair, Fay-puff~"
"Fay-puff?" Fay repeats weakly, but he merely staggers as the prince leans on him, hesitatingly settling his own hands on the other boy's narrow hips to help keep them both balanced. Yuui laughs aloud, bright and clear, and waves to Fei Wang merrily, never letting go of his new servant.
"I like this one," he says. "I like him, I'll keep him. Sometimes, even you have good taste!"
Fei Wang bows low, the movement graceful and seamless. "I live to serve the Valeria family," he says. A smile touches his lips. "I hope you will continue to find him and his work satisfactory, in the years to come."
+++
The Midwinter Festival is a lavish spectacle in Valeria, and in recent years it has become an even greater ceremony, with how the day proper corresponds to the birth of the First Prince. The entire city is decked out in streamers of blue and violet, stitched with the crest of the royal family: two spread wings crowning a wide-mouthed goblet. All business beyond performance and and food grinds to a halt as people are obliged to take the time for the holy days as well as the prince's birth-day. The more fantastic a display, the better, and the best are invited to perform in the royal palace itself, for the delight of Prince Yuui.
Fay finds the whole thing rather overwhelming, really; his own birthday--a few weeks past Midwinter Day--has always been a quiet affair his entire life, between him and his mother and an afternoon free of chores. In good years, she would scrape together enough to buy a small orange-creme cake, but those instances slowly became fewer and fewer still, until there had been nothing--not even enough on days that weren't a special occasion. If one were to ask, Fay would say that he had come to the capitol to seek employment so that he would have money to send back to his mother in the country. This is not entirely untrue, but he is also terribly curious about the prince who demands such high taxes on top of his other tributes when he lives in such a fantastic palace, dressed so warmly and finely that if not for the heavier snow on the ground, he would never know it was winter.
On his second day as the prince's manservant--his first night sleeping at the foot of his master's bed--Fay is awoken by a puppy-like weight that burrows against his back, and hands on his shoulders, shaking. "Fay, Fay, wake up! This is an order from your prince, Fayfay, you're absolutely forbidden from making me upset! Wake up, there's something I want to show you."
Fay rolls over, muttering and heavy-eyed, and finds himself nose-to-nose with Prince Yuui. "--Your Highness?"
"Aha! You listened after all!" Yuui sits back, eyes sparkling. He is dressed in simple off-white silk today: flowing sleeves and pants that seem better-suited for the hot sands of Clow, though the palace's temperature always remains pleasantly warm. Tucked in the crook of one arm is a bundle of cloth, which the prince thrusts forward, expectant. "Put this on, and let's go."
Startled, Fay fumbles the bundle for a moment; in his hands, it unfurls outwards and unveils itself as a matching outfit to the prince's, in smoke-gray as opposed to pale cream. "Your Highness!"
"It should fit you," the prince says, cocking his head to one side. "It's a little too big for me."
He can't help but gape a little. The cloth slides against his fingers like water, and he thinks, dazed, that he has never held anything so expensive in his life, let alone been presented with it. "That's not it," he says slowly. "Your Highness, as your servant, I can't--"
"Of course you can," the prince cuts him off. "You're my servant, right? Therefore, you should be dressed to match! If you don't like the color, Fay-chu, we'll get you something better. Later, though. Come on! Get dressed, let's go!"
"Your Highness, you don't understand--"
Prince Yuui tsks and holds up a hand, waggling it under Fay's nose. "I understand that I have given you an order," he says solemnly, though there is a glint in his blue eyes. "You had better listen. I am your prince, after all."
Fay almost finds it within himself to protest again, then stops himself and turns, presenting the prince with his back. The tips of his ears feel hot and uncomfortable as he struggles out of his rough nightshirt and replaces it with the silk top. It feels cool and alien and weightless; if not for the brush of material against his skin, he would have guessed himself naked. As it is, he knows he's blushing terribly, hands fumbling and catching on his loose sleeves. The prince, on the other hand, seems terribly pleased, crossing his arms and giving Fay a slow once-over before nodding.
"Perfect," he says. "Ah, this is wonderful, you have no idea! Come on!" And he catches Fay's wrist with one hand, his grip firm and sure, and he tugs Fay into a half-trot behind him. "I've always wanted someone else to see this."
Together they slip through the long echoing halls of the royal palace, which are nearly empty; judging by the horizon beyond the windows, which are still mostly dark blue just barely beginning to shade towards pink, it is still terribly early, and beyond a few sentries at various doors, they encounter no one. The prince seems to think the entire thing is a game, pressing himself up against the walls and dragging Fay with him whenever a guard passes; the smile on his face never wavers. A few times, he admonishes for silence with a finger against his own lips, though neither of them say a word as they weave and feint their way through the castle.
Eventually, they reach a single heavy door, fashioned out of ebony wood and carved with flowering vines and flying birds; the latch is made of polished brass. The prince lets go of Fay's hand to unhook the mechanism, then leans his thin shoulder against it, pushing until the door gives with a low, rumbling groan.
"This way," he whispers, when there is enough room for them to slip through. He holds out his hand instead of grabbing, this time, and Fay accepts it.
On the other side of the door is a long, winding series of narrow steps, carved from stone and softened by a thin, dark blue carpet. It seems to stretch up into forever, but just as Fay's lungs began to hitch with the effort, they reach another door--the exact twin to the one at the bottom of the stairs--which gives with a softer creak at the touch of Prince Yuui's hand.
The door opens to the outside, and Fay flinches automatically at the sudden burst of cold, his hand almost pulling free of the prince's as he does. His teeth chatter protest as he is dragged further out, cringing up onto his toes at the icy stone beneath his feet.
"Look," the prince says, his voice breathless. "Fay, Fay-chin, Fay-roo, Fayfay, look up."
It takes a moment to force himself to uncurl from his instinctive huddle against the cold, but Fay does as he is told.
He sees the stars.
There are thousands of them, in different formations than he remembers from his childhood, and they seem so close that he could reach his hand up and brush against the glittering masses. His breath catches in his throat, and he can only turn slowly, entranced by the view.
"Your Highness," he says finally, his voice also soft, nearly overwhelmed. "This ..."
"This is my spot," the prince says. He lets go of Fay's hand and spins away, all his long limbs thrown out wide, as if he could embrace the stars overhead. "This is where my mother used to take me. I'm showing you, because you are my mirror, and a mirror keeps all secrets. All right?" He stops abruptly, arms still outstretched. He looks young and bright-eyed, like Fay's own reflection had, once upon a time. Other than the lines care has etched around Fay's mouth and eyes, they could be twins. In that moment, he feels less like an interloper stumbling upon something private and more like he is being shown something he has always known and merely forgotten for a time.
"All right," he says. He looks back up to the stars, sprinkled like a handful of casually tossed diamonds, and he says, "I will never betray your secrets, my lord, no matter what."
"Haha, of course you wouldn't," Prince Yuui says. "I told you, I have no secrets from myself." He walks back, making shooing gestures with his hands to usher Fay back inside; he casts one last fond glance over his shoulder before closing the door again. "So, if you ever can't find me--or if I ever can't find you, this will be the place to look. All right?"
They head down the stairs, Fay preceding the prince. "All right," he says. It takes little effort to get the door open again, and the prince is careful to lock it behind them before they return to his chambers. By the time they do, the horizon-line is beginning to shade into rose-pink and warm lavender, and the prince tells Fay that he wants his finest robes prepared for the day; they are receiving special guests later in the day, and he must (he says, with a cheerful wink and a toss of his hair) look his absolute best.
The wardrobe is full of even more expensive things than the thin silk Fay wears; his fingers feel almost numbed from all that softness. When he slips into his own uniform--plain and practical homespun, barely touched up by a mage-weaver's skills--it is with a definite sense of relief. He can get used to this, he thinks; he will get used to it, and he thinks that perhaps serving the whims of the Spoiled Prince will not be quite as terrible as he fears.
+++
"Your Highness," says Fei Wang, "these papers require your immediate attention."
Prince Yuui only shrugs, occupied with his hands and the small glowing cat of light that he has spun between his fingers. "Everything requires my immediate attention," he sighs. "Everyone is utterly convinced that their petition is the most dire, the most terrible, ahhhh, it's terrible! Please, prince, listen to what we have to say!" He kicks his legs a few times, spreading his fingers so that his creation can bat at his fingers. "It's terrible! It's my birthday, can't they give me some peace?"
"It's about the celebrations," Fei Wang says. His tone is mild. "We're over budget; we can't afford the parade for your actual birthday."
"Ehh?" The prince sits up at that; the light-cat disappears. His jaw sets and his mouth twists into the beginnings of a pout. "That can't be right--there has to be a parade! There must be money somewhere!"
"This year has been a poor one for harvests," says Fei Wang. "We've exhausted our coffers for the time being."
The prince sighs loudly and throws himself back in his chair, kicking his legs again, petulant. "Well, I don't see how it's a problem," he says. "If it's money we need, we can just add it to taxes."
"Your Highness?"
"If there isn't enough money, tax it from the people," the prince repeats. "It's for a good cause! Everyone likes parades, don't they? They make everyone happy--it's money well-spent!" He flaps an arm, frowning earnestly as he does. "Who can begrudge something like that? Do it, Fei Wang."
The Honorable Right Minister bows his head. He puts a hand over his heart. "As my prince wishes," he says. His expression is one of pleasant neutrality, the beginnings of a smile sitting on the corners of his mouth. Prince Yuui sinks lower in his seat at the sight, lacing his fingers together and scowling. "Then, Your Highness, if there is nothing else?"
"Tell Fay to bring me a snack," the prince says. He sinks so low in his fine chair that his shoulders nearly touch the seat; his chin rests on his chest and his laced fingers rest on his belly. "I'm hungry."
"As you wish," says Fei Wang, then, "I take it you have found him ... satisfactory, so far?"
The prince sighs, hard enough to puff out his cheeks. He says, "He's funny. He's interesting. But it hasn't even been a week and I haven't made up my mind yet. So go tell him to bring me something to eat, and I will think about it!"
Fei Wang bows again, low enough that his sleeves brush the floor, and he sweeps out of the audience chamber. He walks with slow purpose, pausing only briefly to say to a small alcove: "The prince wishes to take his tea early today. See to it," before continuing on his way. Behind him, he can hear the boy-servant scrambling to move as ordered, and he allows himself the luxury of a smirk, here where he cannot be seen. Even when he is followed, it does not quite remove the spring from his step.
"He will not listen," he says, pleased by the sound of that phrase. "You lost his ear long ago. Give it up and accept that fact."
"I will not," says his younger shadow. "Not as long as you're here."
"You're a foolish child," Fei Wang says. He does not speed up, nor does he slow down, and the smirk on his face never tempers itself. "Just like him. You cannot stop the revolution."
"Nothing is set in stone," the younger man says. "You can break up an entire army with a single well-placed action."
Fei Wang stops at that and turns. His heavy brows draw together, and though he does not frown, his smile becomes strained. "You sound like her, now."
His opponent meets his gaze, now utterly serene. He is a man aged by circumstance, myopic mismatched eyes behind steel-framed glasses (for necessity rather than vanity, unlike so many of Valeria's mage-spoiled elite), face and body thin and careworn. He dresses all in black, rather than the dark blue of years before, with a butterfly embroidered on each shoulder. He does not smile or blink. "Do I? I wonder if there isn't a reason for that."
"It hardly matters. She has no influence here, and neither do you. If the prince finds you've snuck back into the palace, he'll be quite upset. You do remember what happened last time, don't you?"
"Even if you shouted for the guards right now," the young man says, "they wouldn't find me in time."
"Only licensed wizards may practice cloaking spells, and all such things are forbidden within the royal palace," Fei Wang purrs. "Will you add high treason to your list of crimes?"
"The stones have already been set into motion," the young man says, as shadows unfurl and spread into a pool around his feet. They curl around his legs, pulling him slowly down, and he raises his chin so as to keep eye-contact with Fei Wang. "You, of all people, should know better than to believe that you know without doubt where they'll fall."
Fei Wang lifts a hand just as the other man drops completely out of sight. For a moment he remains poised, staring hard before he pivots in a whirl of dark blue robes and strides off, and he does not look back as the echo of his own footsteps recedes.
+++
The preparations for Midwinter Night are the grandest Fay has ever seen in his life: the already-impressive ballroom of the palace transforms as he watches, draped with banners of silver and varying shades of blue, the ends emblazoned with the Valeria crest. The kitchen brings out delicate ice statues that reach up to Fay's hip and taller--dragons with their serpentine bodies coiled and powerful, unicorns caught in mid-step with delicate hooves raised, and fierce snowhawks, stretched in exact balance with their wings spread wide--and Fay cannot stop himself from gawking at each. Food comes next, tables and tables of dainty finger-snacks in all colors of the rainbow and of more variety and quantity than he has ever seen in his entire life. None of the other servants share his awe; one snaps at him to actually do work rather than simply stand and gawk uselessly. Ostensibly Fay is there to oversee that things are to the prince's liking, but he feels more than a little overwhelmed by the entire spectacle. Any questions he asks are tersely ignored, and eventually he drifts to the side of the room, tugging at the sleeves of his too-new outfit: dark blue embroidered with silver at the hems and the royal crest stitched over his heart.
"It marks you as the prince's own," his uncle had told him, at the fitting. "It shows you have more power than any other servant in the palace. There will be those who resent your influence, but they are merely yapping dogs. Ignore them or crush them, as you see fit."
He does not feel powerful nor influential right now: he feels lost and more than a little afraid. The servants come together like some sort of magical machine, honed to absolute efficiency from years of practice, and he is the one piece that does not quite fit anywhere. He drifts towards a wall, careful to avoid getting in anyone's way, then tucks himself onto the edge of a windowsill, wedged into the corner so he can just watch. Five servants, tall grown men each, come staggering out under the weight of a fountain that looks like it's been carved from solid gold: a stylized sun embraced by a crescent moon set by a scattered cascade of thumbnail-sized diamonds. This is set in the center of the room, and then a sixth--a small tawny-haired girl--stretches up onto her toes to affix a glowing silver ball into the air above the fountain. None of the other servants even seem to notice, but Fay leans forward, sliding from his perch, fascinated in spite of himself.
An old hedge-witch had lived in his old village, a wizened elderly creature whose tangled white hair had dragged on the ground behind her, who had always smelled of lavender and burnt grass. Fay had seen the witch perform magic only once--a small parlor-trick with firefly sparks to prove that she could--and the image has never left him, in all the years since. Now he can't look away from the little silver ball, and his fingertips itch with the desire to touch.
"It's pretty, don't you think?" a girl says, and he starts to realize that it's the one who placed the spelled globe in place. She stands next to him, the top of her head scarcely coming to his shoulder, wrapped snugly in so many layers of furs that she looks almost round. A clip set with a pearl wing pins her hair back from her eyes, and a sapphire like a single teardrop hangs around her throat, resting outside of her clothes. Her eyes are huge and clear green, and they light up with her smile. "You like it?"
He blinks at her for a moment, surprised at being addressed, then flushes. "It's, yes," he mumbles. "It's very pretty."
"Ah, I'm glad!" She beams, and her smile is more brilliant than her spell. "I worked very hard on that one. The prince himself praised it!"
Fay licks dry lips. "He did?"
"Mmm." The girl smiles again, more gently this time. She lays a hand on her chest, covering the sapphire she wears. "My mother used to serve the old king. When my parents died--the prince sent for me. He said if I could impress him, he'd employ me, and he'd make sure I'd never want for anything." She lifts her head and looks at the silver ball. "I showed him what light could do to his fountains, and he was so happy. So here I am! --Ah, and I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude. I'm Sakura." She holds out a hand, and it is small and slim and white, more delicate than any woman's he's ever known.
He ducks his head, blushing harder. "... Fay," he mumbles, and takes her hand. He's not sure what he's supposed to do--should he kneel, should he kiss it? if she's Prince Yuui's employed magician and he's his manservant, does he outrank her or not, and either way, isn't that the polite thing to do?--but Sakura squeezes his hand warmly and turns their clasp into a handshake. She is the brightest thing in the entire room, he thinks, even brighter than the silver globe of light that is powered by her magic, and Fay can't look away from her smile.
"It's very nice to meet you, Fay," she says. Her eyes drift to the symbol on his breast. "Oh, you're also--"
"I'm new," he blurts. He can feel the tips of his ears going red. "I mean, it's only been a week, I don't, I'm not--"
Sakura's expression softens. She reaches for his other hand and folds them both gently between hers and squeezes again. "It's all right," she says. "It's all very strange when you're new, isn't it? I know what it's like. But it'll be all right. You'll get used to it, and you'll get more comfortable with it. I promise."
Her expression is gentle and earnest, and she is so utterly genuine that Fay can't help but smile a little in response. "I'll try my best," he says softly, and that makes her smile grow even more. "I want to do my best."
"Of course you do," she says. "And I'll help you. If there's anything you need--ah, my rooms are in the west tower--here," she reaches into her hair and undoes a small jeweled butterfly clip, hidden near the shell-curve of her ear. This she presses into his hand, curling her fingers over his to close them. "If you ever have to find me, hold this in your hand and think of me. It will lead you to where I am."
Fay gapes for a moment. "Are--you're sure? This is expensive, I can't, you--"
"It's a very easy spell," Sakura assures him. "It was one of the first that Mama taught me." Her expression goes sweetly wistful for a moment, seeing through the busy bustling room and into something long past. "And when I was new, all I wanted was for someone to help me out. So now that I can, I'm going to." For a moment she hesitates, then peeks up at him through her lashes. "Is that selfish?"
"No! No, not at all," he says, waving his free hand nervously. "It's very generous of you, Miss Sakura. I'm grateful." He takes the clip, and under her wide-eyed gaze, he clips it to his lapel, nearly hidden by folds of cloth, and gives her a tentative smile.
She laughs, clapping her hands. "Very pretty," she says. "It suits your eyes, Fay-san! Please don't be afraid to call on me any time."
"Oi!" someone shouts from the other side of the room. There is a cluster of white-robed people from the kitchen gathered around a particularly elaborate ice statue--the twins Day and Night, their hands outstretched and not quite touching; even from a distance, their mournful expressions can be clearly seen. "Magician! Some support here!"
"Ah, yes! Right away!" Sakura smiles at Fay, squeezing his hand one last time, and then she goes, light-footed and quick as a little bird: even the hem of her cloak flies out behind her, like the impression of spread wings. He watches her go, his fingers tingling and face warm, and in spite of himself, his fingers drift up to touch the butterfly pinned near his throat.
Tags: