Imago Ch6: The Call of the Wilds (Patreon)

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The Glade is quiet. Somewhere, a clock ticks in the distance. 

Astraea reaches out, softly touching the still form across from her.  "... he must have died."

"Maybe."  Lyra’s voice is fading. Drifting in the dark. "...maybe."  

Astraea screws up her face.  “But why not just tell him what he wanted to know? Why would Lyra care if one human found his way into the Wilds?”

The nymph’s expression shifts. Her voice softens, as L comes back to the surface.   “...I don’t think it was about the Wilds, Astraea.”   

The dryad looks carefully away, staring at the middle distance. Nearby, Ian stirs. “So… what now? Keep chasing ghosts?  Try our luck against every mirror til’ one gives and we find a pile of bones?"

“We won’t manage either if he’s dead.” Trystan says. “That sort of place, where a place shouldn’t be…it sounds like the Market. Something powerful needs to rule and sustain it, and the only way in is if they let you.” He shifts in place, bottles jingling. “Without its master, it would have collapsed years ago.”

Ian gives a strangled chuckle.

“Then that’s it, innit.  Probably dead, no way to confirm. Grand.”

L’s antennae droop. “Sorry…” 

Astraea and Ian sit bolt upright.

“Not your fault, mate!”  
“-who knows what would have happened-”
“-I’d have made myself scarce!”
“We can’t have known if-”

“Alright, we get it.”  Neith hisses. Everyone goes silent.

“We’re not at a complete loss, are we?” L says, self-consciously.  The others look at her. Even a few of the cats lean in. “We still haven’t investigated why Lyra left the Grove in the first place.”

Astraea worries at her lip. "L, remember what happened last time? You - "

"- didn’t have me waiting to shut it down." Ian says, easing closer to the barrier. 

"And don’t forget the drink,” Trystan holds up a finger. "The Stag’s Requiem should help numb her panic."

L reaches down and picks up the vial. With one smooth movement, she uncaps it and tips it into her mouth. A slow, calming chill spreads through her.

“Don’t worry, Astraea. I’ll be alright.”

Astraea looks unconvinced, but nods. One by one, they return to their positions.  Astraea sets her eyes on L, exhales slowly, sending a rippling pulse of light through the circle. 

"Don't go right for it.”  She cautions.  “Move in slowly."

L nods and closes her eyes, letting herself drift back. 

It's easy. Just falling into place. 

Just... 
Falling…
Into…

+++

It's cold.

Her lungs burn with it.

She’s breathing hard. There's wet grass under her bare feet. She’s in a wood, but someone's felled one of the trees, leaving behind a smooth stump. There's a ring of moths around the edge, their wings softly waving. 

"Little sisters." She whispers.

The world is filled with a silver light, drawing her eyes up. A great shining sphere hangs over her head, suspended in the dark, surrounded by hundreds of glittering stars far brighter than they should be. She holds up an arm, trying to blot it out, unable to understand. 

Her right sleeve is shredded, the delicate fabric torn right to the seams. Her breathing quickens as she glances down her body. There are bruises along her upper arm, a few scrapes on her side. A gash along her leg, blood already thickening.  All her ornamentation ripped away.

“Wait… how did I…”

Slowly, she begins to wind back her memory.   

She’s running. The trees stand in formation all around in silent judgement. She hears high wind in her pointed ears. Something snaps in the underbrush, moving carelessly. She slips behind an oak. Waits.  

A pair of pale wingless nymphs pass. No… not nymphs. Humans, real humans, the kind Astraea is always going on about.

Farther back. Deeper in. The trees grow taller, canopy thicker, until the pale silver light winks out.

She’s flat on the forest floor now. Breathing out in low shuddering gasps as she pulls herself onto her knees. Tastes her tears as they run down her face.  The blood on her leg flows freely. She’s getting closer.   

Not so far to go.

Behind her, an intense light roars to life. The silhouette of her shadow is so sharp it could cut the earth.

Slowly, she turns to see the source.

A golden, humming vortex swirls hungrily behind her. It burns straight through her eyes, vibrating her body like the string of an instrument. She can’t help but lean closer, and it takes hold as she does, pulling her inexorably closer to the brilliance.  Every step closer the pressure builds. Inescapable. Crushing. 

She starts to scream.  

She is radiant, illuminated and immolated. Seared until there’s nothing left and the world is stripped away. Darkness banished until all is -

+++

"L!!  L, you're okay, you're okay! You're here!" 

She opens her eyes. There’s a weight on her body and something wet on her forehead. 

"…what…happened?" 



Astraea is on top of her, straddling her, and Ian’s holding her by the wrists over her head. Deep scratches run down the dryad’s face and the sides of her arms, golden blood seeping out like sap. Behind them, Neith hurriedly smashes the remaining crystals.

L sucks in a breath. "Astraea? Did I - Oh God did I - "

"Are you alright?” Astraea’s face softens. She clambers off of L, Ian helping them both up. “You just stopped talking, and then you started screaming and then…”

She trails off, running a hand over her arm. L stares down at the golden liquid caught underneath her nails, her stomach knotting in guilt. Astraea quickly smiles, pushing L’s hands down with her own. 

”...any luck?”

"Not much,”  L says, staring sadly at Astraea’s scrapes.   “Lyra was in the wood, wearing white…she was injured and upset, but when I went deeper, it was just…just a wall of light. I couldn’t get past it. It…pulled at me, made me feel like I was dying.”

“A light vortex?” Astraea pushes aside her hair, thinking. “And no idea who made it, or why, or what the circumstances were?”

L shakes her head.  “It’s just the painful light, and then she’s here. Nothing before.”

Astraea chews her lower lip. Ian kneels down next to her, gingerly offering a damp towel for the cuts. Trystan goes back to polishing his glasses.

L takes a deep breath. 

“... I could go again.”

“NO.”  Astraea and Ian announce in unison. L starts to object, but Ian holds up a hand.

“Mate, what did we really get here? Some contract killer that’s probably dead? A bright light that zaps you anytime you get close? Just more questions, innit?”

L shakes her head. She knows there’s something here, some piece she’s missing.  Some obvious lead she isn’t pursuing. 

“Astraea, before Lyra disappeared…was she acting off?  Did she say or do anything that seemed strange?”

“No.” Astraea says, firmly.  “If anything, things were finally working out. She was starting to make friends. I’d elevated her from concubine, secured her as my consort. My elder Fili said we could even start planning for our trip to the human realm. Then she just…disappeared.”

L closes her eyes, thinking. Listening.

What happened to you, Lyra?

“If there are answers to be found, they’ll be in the Wilds.” She says. The words feel like they formed themselves, but once she’s said them, she knows they’re true. 

“L, what are you suggesting?”  Astraea asks nervously.

L waves her hands in front of her.  “I don’t know that I’m suggesting anything just yet, I just think…” She shifts nervously. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

Astraea knits her brows. “I looked for nearly twenty years and found nothing.  I don’t know how going back now would make any difference.”

But it would.

She hasn’t worked out why or how just yet.

She just knows.

“What say we give it a rest for now, mate?” Ian asks, face creased in worry. “Just for now?”

L breathes out a sigh and nods.  “Alright.”  She concedes.  “For now.”

Ian settles a hand on her shoulder, giving a light, reassuring squeeze. What they’re both saying makes sense. L knows that. But she also knows that something’s been planted, somewhere deep down inside. Some thought, some realisation. 

And all it needs now is time. 



The King's occupation of the Glade ends as abruptly as it began. 

It's impossible to say when the first cats slip away, padding off on their own errands, but there's no hiding it once they start to leave their favourite tables, their favourite chairs, their favourite spots by the fountain. By the time Ian brings Hedrick to investigate, there's only a few stragglers lingering to worry the carp. 

"Congratulations, Hedrick." A small, dry voice echoes from the bartop. The King is perched at the very edge, next to an empty glass. She dabs at her whiskers with a paw. "Your nymph’s house arrest is concluded, and with it, the Glade can reopen." 

"The closure’s been murder on the books, yer Majesty." Hedrick mutters - but respectfully. The King ducks her head. 

“We have every faith in your ability to recover.” Her eyes flick to Ian. "Forty days have given Us much to consider. Tell the nymph she's free to walk about if she wishes, though perhaps she should be more judicious in where she chooses to wander." 

Ian stares long at the King. "Is that a threat?”  Ian hesitates before correcting his harsh tone. “...your Ladyship." 

"Tiresome suspicions, Mr. Evans." She arches her back in a long, frustrated stretch. "We've made an arrangement. We are owed a debt. Even if We wished it, We do not have time for petty vendettas. Our standing with your human authorities is still complex. We have made assurances, and had assurances made in exchange."

The King pauses. "But if you threaten Us with your tool of iron again, Mr. Evans, We will have it fed to you piece by piece. Understood?"

"Crystal." Ian gives a sickly smile.

"Excellent." 

The King hops down, her leg lashing out to catch the glass. It almost tips over, but stabilises. She saunters off to the stairs, her tail twitching just above the fog.

 "We do hope your reopening will be a success, Hedrick. Please be assured that We will be in attendance."

"Always an honour." Hedrick says, watching her leave. 

Only after she’s well and gone does he breathe a sigh of relief. "Alright, hopefully we can rekindle some serious business tonight. Ian, give Trystan the good word.  I'll see to the moth." 

"Actually, if it’s all the same, I’d like to be the one to tell L."

Hedrick raises a brow, then scoffs. “Get on, then. I'll be expecting her for mic tests and costuming in an hour or so. Make sure the lass knows she's on stage tonight. We’re open, and we’ll make sure the whole Market knows it!” 

+++

Ian gives a little rap at the hatch.  

The only answer is a faint singsong voice. It travels up and down, growing stronger as it goes. Ian cracks the hatch open, peering in.  

L is sitting at her vanity, Ian's phone held tight between her hands. Eyes closed, her voice trails up and down a set of scales in time with a video she's following. 

"L...?"

"AH!" L yelps.  Her wings fly out and she drops the phone.  Scrambling, she snatches it and presses frantically at the lock screen, accidentally turning it off. "I-Ian! Hi, sorry. I didn't hear you come up!”  

"...mind if I step in?" 

"Yes, of course!"  L’s antennae twitch guiltily.  "Sorry, I know I need to get my own." 

"Ah it’s fine. Keeps me from being glued to it.”  In an easy, practised motion, Ian clambers into the room. “Mum hasn't texted, has she?"

L shakes her head. He shrugs. "Just as well.  Anyway, not why I’m here.  I have an official proclamation from the king."  He sweeps a magnificent bow.  “A veritable missive.”

"Oh, no…"

“Oh yes. You, madam…" Ian stretches out the moment, then pokes her lightly in the nose. "Are free to go. Sentence up. Bond posted."

L blinks, surprised.  "That's it?  Just like that?"

“So she says!”

L looks around the room, half expecting a cat to be lurking in the corner. Something rustles through a discarded jacket, but it's just Neith II fishing around for scraps. "So we're open again?"

“Sure are, you’d better warm up one of those Songs!”  Ian grins, glancing at the scattered artefacts on L’s vanity, each one containing a perfectly preserved piece of music. "Sounds like you’re ahead on that score."

"Actually..." L looks off to the side, then lifts her chin, trying to maintain her composure. "... I was practising… with my own voice." 

"Hold on." Ian says. "You’re teaching yourself how to sing? For real, for real?" 

L breaks eye contact, pulling open a drawer and sweeping her jewellery inside. “J-just tutorials I can find online, whatever that’s worth.”

"Think you might give it a go?” Ian grins. “Try it tonight for a fresh start?” 

"Absolutely not.” L gives her head a horrified shake. “I've only just started!  I still sound awful!”

"Awful my arse. Even if you were, you’ve got that shark cheering you on, no one’s gonna say -  " 

"Cadogan’s going to be there?!”  L squeaks, then jams her hand back into the drawer and grabs a necklace.  “Well, now I'm definitely using a Song!"

Ian chuckles and shrugs.  “Suit yourself.  I just came to give the heads up.  Hedrick wants you on stage in an hour.”

"Thanks for letting me know. It’ll be good to get back out there, at least.”  She sits back, imagining it. The crowd, the rush…the necklace slips from her fingers, and she leans back, thinking. Remembering how it used to be, not so very long ago. Ian’s idly flicking through her outfits.  L smiles at him, watching the fluid movements of his arms, the way his back curves as he turns. 

“You know…”  She starts, tentatively.  “I haven’t moved into your space. Guess it’s kind of your phone’s space now, actually.” 

Ian looks to the corner and nods thoughtfully. He ambles over, kneels down and unplugs the charger. L’s antennae curl in sudden alarm.

"Oh - I d-didn't mean ‘clean it up' - "

He does a double take, cutting off a laugh. "Oh I'm not - it’s not that. It’s just…we both deserve our own space. You need somewhere to find yourself after the day starts pulling at you.  And besides," He steps a little closer to her. L’s antennae twitch, taking in the faint, indefinite spice of fae spirits clinging to him. "This way you can invite me in." 

Her ears have turned bright red as she looks up to him, meeting his warm brown eyes. There’s a faint dusting of stubble on his cheeks. She can imagine how rough it might feel. “Y-yeah?”

“Yeah.”  He says, strong and certain.

“In that case…” L turns, almost tentatively, and holds the necklace in place. “...could you give me a hand with this clasp?" 

She can feel it tug softly as Ian takes the ends. L waits until she’s sure he has it before letting go. She pauses, feeling it move as he adjusts it, then -  

"Do you… really think I could perform using my own voice?"

The clasp snaps shut.  "’Course I do. I wouldn't play games about something like that." Ian’s hands hesitate on her shoulder. "Would you ever consider singing… just for me?" 

“After I've practised?"  L smiles shyly. "Maybe.” 

In a blink, her wings flicker and she's scrambling down the ladder, her face glowing bright red.

"Hey, L!" He calls after her. 

She pauses, halfway to the catwalk. Ian’s smiling down at her through the hatch. 

"Tomorrow, let's head up to the city to get you a phone of your own, yeah? Then you can practise whenever you like."

L smiles back up. Nods. And bolts.

Neith II nips a little at Ian’s leg, looking up at him curiously. He looks down at her, still grinning. 

"Don' worry, Neith. She'll flutter back.”  He shakes his head, turning to climb down himself. “She always does."



Weeks pass in a blur. The Glade is packed to the rafters every night, as if to make up for the month of closure. More than once, Ian and Trystan have to do double duty as bouncers. By the time L has another day to herself, the snows of winter have come and gone. Most of her days she spends performing, practising, or passed out. But she never stops thinking about that seed of an idea. 

And, eventually, it does what all well-tended seeds do.

It takes time, but she finally manages to arrange the perfect moment to talk about it. They're standing in front of a row of shops in the fashion district. Neith’s half-distracted by a nearby cloud of lurking pixies, Ian’s reading off the bewildering array of signs, and Astraea…

Astraea’s intently watching L.

"So what's the big meetup about, mate?" Ian asks, turning around and refocusing. "I think we all have half an idea, but don't keep us in suspense."

“Guess I was a little obvious.” L draws herself up, meeting Ian’s gaze. “It’s about the Wilds.”

Her stomach sinks as she sees how his expression freezes.

“Yup, that sounds about right.”  Ian lets out a nervous laugh as Astraea’s eyes go wide and unfocused, falling to the ground. Behind her, Neith’s suddenly lost interest in the pixies. “Think we all knew this was coming.”

“Oh, good. So we’re on the same page?”  L offers, trying to break the tension with a smile. It isn’t returned. 

“Why?”  Ian asks.

L shifts nervously in place.  “Where else am I going to look?”

“Who says you’ve got to go looking? The only real threat we know of is your mate ‘Mister Bookkeeper’. The rest, well,”  Ian gestures.  “Backstory, yeah?”

“He’s right, lolly.” Neith says. “No reason to push your luck. You don’t need me to tell you how digging up the past can get.”  

L nods, then nods again. “Yes, alright.  And for what it’s worth, I have thought about letting it lie. I’m not having nightmares anymore, maybe Lyra got across what she felt she needed to. I’m busy, the King’s not breathing down my neck. Everything’s grand.   And yet…”  She looks at her hands, running her thumb over the mark on her wrist.   “I… feel like I can't move forward.”

“And if poking your nose somewhere gets your bones ground for bread?”  Neith snaps. “Will that get your mind off it?”

“Have you told your parents?”  Ian asks.

“I haven’t decided yet.”  L says. “I wanted to ask you something first.”   

“Mate…?”

L looks shyly up at Ian from under her hair.   “...I want all of you to come with.”

Ian flinches. “With you? To the Wilds?” He doesn’t even try to hide the excited flicker in his eyes as L nods. “Open with that, mate! Just lead off with it!”

“At least try and keep your trousers on.” Neith mutters, turning away. Ian snorts. 

“You can’t ruin this, we’re going to fairyland. Just because you’re from there - “ 

“I’m not.” She says, shooting him a venomous look. “And I’m not bloody stupid enough to treat the Wilds like a picnic outing.” Her glare softens, replaced by something uneasy and thoughtful. “...if…Lady Astraea wants me to escort her back home, though…” 

"I could introduce you three as bodyguards.”  Astraea offers half-heartedly. Her eyes are on the mossy stones at their feet, and there’s a faint catch in her voice. “But…everyone will be suspicious. Th-there will be many questions."

"But there's an easy way around most of them, isn’t there?" L waves a hand at herself. "I mean...no one's going to believe I'm a bodyguard."

Neith gives an acrid snort. L chooses to accept it as agreement.  "And a bodyguard isn't going to have access to the things that Lyra did. There’s people she must have known, places she’d been.”

“Hang on.” Ian eyes her warily. “Just where’s this going?” 

“I’ll…”  L shifts uncomfortably. “... return as Lyra.”

There’s a brief, awful silence. 

"Could have saved a lot of trouble and not pushed us in the pool the first time, lolly." Neith says, sweetly. 

“No.” Astraea says, her voice cracking. The moss at her feet withers, crumbling into dust. “Absolutely not.”

L carefully reaches out, touching Astraea on the arm. She sucks in a breath and jolts, her eyes refocusing. L nods in understanding. “Ian? Neith? Could we get a minute?”

Neith narrows her eyes. “Absolutely not - hey!” 

Ian already has his arm looped in hers, pulling her away backwards as he tosses L a wink.  “Come on, my turn for questions. What’s a dryad bodyguard wear, anyway? Do I need a jacket like yours?” 

Neith’s reply is energetic, even if the exact words are lost around the corner. L stifles a grin, then turns back to Astraea. She’s hovering closer, her glow winking anxiously as she finds her voice.

" Y-you could be a guard if you wanted! O-or... maybe a scribe? Translator?"

"Are those things nymphs would do at your Grove?" L asks gently. Astraea falls silent, her gaze dropping away, and L nods again. It’s what she expected. "Okay. Then what would I need to fit in there?"

"L, you can't-" Astraea starts, then bites at her lower lip. "You don't know what it's like. What I'd have to d-... what I'd be expected to do to you."

"No, I don't." L glancesdown at her wrist. The illuminated letters don't shine as conspicuously under the Market's 'outdoor' light, but it still picks them out in lurid detail. " - but if you don’t tell me, I'm going to find out in other ways. And I’d rather hear it from you so…please. Let's just talk."

Astraea keeps her eyes averted, but glances down the street until she sees something.   "There."

The sign she points at reads Nympha Freno in a gilded, glowing script.

+++

Despite being situated in a crowded Market street, the Nympha Freno is surprisingly airy inside. A crisp, humid breeze wafts through the space, drifting out of a shifting mural of glowing forest painted over the back wall. The rafters above are made of living branches, entwined and budding; tiny rivulets of light course through their leaves. 

The proprietor moves to greet them as soon as the door opens - a dark, powerfully-built woman in sheer, light grey garments. They do nothing to cover the shimmering beetle wings folded against her back, or the hard carapace over her second set of arms She bows low, smiling serenely.

"The Nympha Freno is honoured to host a dryad of Xylia. If my Lady wishes I am happy to display the functionality of any of the devices on myself."

"Oh!" L's wings flip open, then close again. It’s the first time she’s met a nymph besides Trystan.  "H-hello. No, sorry, we're just browsing."

The shopkeep blinks, startled, then turns to address Astraea.  "I see that you have brought your Kept. Would my Lady prefer to examine the devices on her instead?" 

Astraea sputters awkwardly. "Of ... of course. Thank you." 

"Is there any other way that I may serve you?" 

"We'll be alright, thanks."  Astraea says. 

The shopkeeper bows a second time, and disappears into the woodwork.

“So…” L starts, watching her go. “I’m guessing that wasn’t a case of selective deafness?”

"Nymphs don't really... speak for themselves.” Astraea explains. “The shopkeep didn't mind, but if we were in Xylia and you’d interrupted a dryad…”

Astraea trails off, then starts to drift through the aisles.  L follows a step or two behind, examining the items as they go. There are linen and silk garments of every type, all white. Gold and copper and silver chains glittering along the walls. 

And most of all, more than anything, there are masks. 

Astraea pauses to examine one that looks like a tangle of golden ferns, and L sidles up next to her.  

"Should we see if this one fits?" L offers. 

Astraea reaches out and takes hold of her hand, her face twisting. She looks like she’s going to be ill. 

 “Astraea…?”

L helps the dryad move away, giving her hand an encouraging squeeze.  “Talk to me.”

"If we go to the Wilds, you will be… I’ll have to…”  Astraea tries, struggling for a moment before her shoulders droop.

“In many ways, my people see nymphs the way you think of Neith II. You are cute, but must be cared for, and definitely trained. I do not believe all of this was born from malevolent intent. But the outcome is.  Or it is to me."

L nods. It’s difficult to hear, but she has to listen.  She waits, long enough that she thinks maybe that’s all Astraea is going to say, before Astraea cuts a hard look to the front of the store.

"I am... not well regarded in my Grove. A third tier dryad, youngest of the sprouts, I’m largely considered a child myself. Many of the things that I have done and the protections I offered to Lyra were only granted as a sort of childish indulgence. I don't know if I will be able to protect you there now.  I will do everything in my power, but I… things could be…”

Her voice breaks and she turns away.

"Is that how things were with you and Lyra?" L asks softly.  “Did you treat her like a pet?”

Astraea’s voice is barely a whisper.  "There were times it couldn't be avoided. Ceremonies, celebrations…I did my best to protect her..."

She looks sideways at L, shamefaced. 

"We always planned to escape to Annwyn together."

L regards the mask, goosebumps rippling up her arm. She remembers how the unfolding struts had felt settling over her mouth back in Spencer's manor, the wild terror the cold metal had sparked. Not all of it had been her own, strictly speaking. It's easy to imagine why.

"We're going to find out why she went alone." L says, quietly.  “Surely you still want to know. You more than anyone.”

Astraea walks up next to her, follows her gaze to the mask, her voice fluttering and fragile. "Spencer Harcourt... when... he tried to keep you...I am so afraid that you will think of me like that.”  Astraea swallows. “And, L… isn’t this what you wanted?  Me to see you as you are now, not as Lyra?”

L’s wings ruffle. “Well… yes… but…”

“I know how easy it would be for you to…hate me. I don’t want you to, but I know.” Her voice hardens, but it’s still brittle, still questioning. “And to do this, you’d be putting yourself in my hands, after…everything. Do you really trust me with that? Aren’t you afraid of what I might do?” 

L shifts, staring at the mask. The soft lighting plays over its polished surface. “...of course I’m afraid.” She says, not taking her eyes from it. “We’d be going right where you wanted me to. I know how easy it would…”  

Something inside her twists, makes her ill. 

“I sometimes wonder, if you did force that change… if she wouldn’t come back after all.   If whatever I am now would just…disappear, and all that would be left would be her.”

Astraea whispers.  "Do you think I’m capable of that?"

L’s fists clench.  “We’re each trying to look past it, aren’t we? What happened back then?” She breathes out a quick, bitter laugh. “If only there was some way to make sure. Swearing on your voice, or - “  

Astraea shakes her head, her eyes clouding.  "Swearing on one's voice is to keep secrets. You swear to only tell certain things to certain people. What you would need is an assurance of my intent."

Astraea places L's hand over her heart, letting her feel the rhythm. A slow, quiet pulse, in time with her glow. "There... can you feel that...?"

L nods, confusion on her face,  “Astraea, hold on. What are you - ” 

Astraea draws in a slow breath. "May my heart that beats within, and light that burns without, and all my faculties render themselves unto eternal silence, should I not answer you truly." 

L can feel a surge of power from the dryad, washing over her hand, commanding her focus. Astraea's eyes glow warm, and she can feel the pull of them, the soft music of her light. She can’t bring herself to blink.

"Ask anything you like." Astraea whispers. 

L tilts her head, breathing in slowly. The air smells like a forest in springtime.   "I…”   She shakes her head.  “No. I don't need to. I probably didn’t before, I definitely don’t now."

Astraea blinks away tears, relief dancing on the edge of her face. "W-well, I have to answer some question. I won't be freed until I do."

L's lips quirk into a light smile. "...what’s a tea I can make you?"

“I…”  she starts, thinks.   “... raspberry hibiscus?”

L grins.  “I’ll put the kettle on tonight.”

Astraea laughs and nods, wiping at her eyes.  The strange glow fades, taking the tension with it. L lowers her arm slowly. 

"S-sorry, I didn't mean for you to do that. I didn't know you could." Her wings flick up and down, almost a shrug. "There's a lot I don't know."

"...did I mess up again?" Astraea looks sheepish. "There is so much that I also do not know."

“Sounds like we can teach each other." L smiles. Gently, she lifts the mask off the wall and turns to Astraea. “Will you help me try this on?”

Astraea nods, placing her hands over L’s and helping her slip the mask over her face. The metal frame feels cool against her skin. She shivers, then relaxes, focusing on the dryad’s softly shining eyes. 

"Ready?" Astraea asks.

"Ready." L answers.

And Astraea clicks the button.

+++

“Let us know when you’re feeling peckish.” Neith says. They’re outside an armoury, with Ian gazing in through the store window, picturing what he’s calling his ‘bodyguard look’. The waiting has definitely done nothing for her patience. “Lady Astraea can hand you a few seeds, and - “

"I only need to look the part!” L snaps back. “All we need is a glamour, Neith!”

"You'd have better luck the other way." Neith looks smugly down at her. "Can't just magic up a glamour any time you feel like it. They're specific, lolly, and you need something from whoever you're going to look like. A lock of hair's traditional, but you could make do with, oh, a finger if you're not fond of them. Toenail clipping if you're not fancy. But unless someone's got a piece of the moth..."

She trails off, realising she’s suddenly lost her audience’s attention.  

"Astraea...?" L asks, hopefully. "You wouldn't happen to..."

"W-what makes you think I'd keep one of Lyra's fingers?" Astraea chokes out. 

L shakes her head frantically. "Hair! No, I meant a lock of hair!"

The edge of Astraea's mouth twitches. 

And then she grins. "Got you! Did I do it? That's a joke, right?"

L stares, utterly dumbfounded. "It...is, actually." 

"No, I know it's usually hair." Astraea sweats, twirling her own self consciously. Tugging at her jacket, she reaches in and pulls out a leaf-shaped locket. "It's just... it's the last piece I have of her." 

She says, opening it. Inside is a small braid of silver hair. L fidgets uncomfortably, staring down at the lock. It looks so much like her own. 

"...you can't get it back, can you?"

She shakes her head. "It's destroyed to synthesise the glamour." 

"So then do it." Ian says, bluntly. "Bit of a creepy keepsake, anyway."

"Ian!”  L hisses. He shrugs, and she shakes her head, turning back to the dryad.  "It's okay, Astraea. We can figure something else out."

Astraea looks at the lock, takes it tenderly in her hands. "I miss her scent, you know.  Sometimes, when I'm around L, I can sort of remember it. But it's not the same. This used to be so close to her, but with time, it's..." 

Astraea tenderly closes the locket, then presses it into L’s hands. "Before I change my mind." 

L takes it, holding it close. "Thank you." She bows her head. Something stirs at the back of her mind, and she smiles. "If it helps, she'd be grateful."



"Just how is anyone supposed to fight like this?" 

Neith twists and stretches back and forth. She's purchased a heavy quilted shirt covered in overlapping plates of oxidised copper. They scrape and rattle with every movement. 

"Imagine trying to slip up on something." She mutters. "Are you sure this is what they wear in the Groves, mistress? I haven't been had?"

"Well, the side protections are really important to guard your liver." Astraea says, all her attention on the back room where L has gone to change. She’s dressed herself in long dark flowing robes. "Ian, how do they suit you?"

Ian stretches his arms in both directions, feeling out the plates. "I dunno Neith. Could do worse if you want your bones un-ground. Even so, could you give me a month or so to train up?" 

"Don't worry, gumdrop." Neith mutters. "Just stay behind me and catch this bloody thing when I throw it away, you'll be fine."

"What happened to calling me 'Ian'?" He asks with a sidelong smile. 

"Right now, you're more of a gumdrop."

"Yeah, and right now you're more of a joint-eater."

Neith bares her teeth in something that might be a smile. "You do keep going back to that well, gumdrop. Why don't you try something a little more creative? You know, I can help with that..."

Astraea tugs quietly at her hair, ignoring the squabbling, sitting and waiting for that door to open and for someone she hasn't seen for over twenty-five years to step out like it was only yesterday.

 After all, isn't that why she came here? Isn't the potential promise that the most important person in her life might walk right back into it the reason she's done all this, gone through all this? She's nearly died. She's humiliated herself. She's hurt people. All to find her flutterfly and see her again, even if it was just one more time. 

So why is every drop of ichor in her dreading that door opening? She swallows and holds the amulet in both her hands, clutched between her knees as they bounce up and down with worry. She can feel the hollow centre of it, and that makes her ache worse than she's ever felt. 

Like she's lost her all over again.

"Oh. Is it a new show tonight? Some sort of comedy duo act?" The King's voice drifts up from the mist. There's a flash of movement, and she leaps up onto the chair across from Astraea, arranging her paws like a posed statue. Astraea almost tumbles from her seat in surprise, the amulet falling from nerveless fingers. The King watches it bounce with mild amusement. 

"Tell Hedrick it could use polish, but I see the potential. Hello, Lady Astraea. We - " She's cut off by the sound of running feet as Madeline scampers down the stairs, her eyes wide. The King blinks at her. " - We have slipped inside past dear Madeline to speak to the nymph. She is in, is she not?"

"Your Majesty...!" Astraea says, hurriedly scooping up the locket. "The nymph.... I mean L... she's-"

"I am." 

No one had heard the door to the back open. She's standing just inside the room, her wings half-raised, just enough to stir the gauzy white outfit she's clothed in. One hand holds the bronze frame of a deactivated mask. The other toys with a bright silver choker, as if checking to make sure it's still there.

Her two talons drift restlessly in front of her. Her deep yellow eyes focus on the King. 

"If you'd like to speak to me, now's as good a time as any, your Majesty." L says, Lyra's voice crackling from her lips.

"I'm listening."


 
Today's chapter was CHONKY! We're kicking into gear what the rest of our little story is though, so well worth it.

Poor Astraea. I know I'm biased but I feel so much for her this chapter. L too, the little bean. It's nice to be seeing Ian being willing to messaround with Neith though :3

Please join us in two week's for the next Chapter: The Price to be Paid, set to post Friday May 10th at 12p EST!

And thanks for stopping by!
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