Part of Mirk hoped that Genesis had elected to run off again, that he'd chosen to ignore his pleas to stay still and rest for once and had gone back to relentlessly driving himself onward in search of a way out of the terrible circumstances he and the rest of the Seventh had found themselves in. But it was hard to think, even of something as pressing and constant as that, with the emotions consuming him. It was always worse when his own feelings overwhelmed him. Mirk felt so dizzy, so nauseous from the roiling mixture of dread and humiliation and anger boiling in his gut that he needed to lean hard on his grandfather's staff all the way back to the low-born officers dormitory.

He almost fell flat on his face three times struggling up the steps. The only thing that saved him was the pot he had clutched to his chest with his free arm — he didn't have enough space left in his head to think of exactly how the violets were helping him stay upright, but he was grateful nevertheless. If he'd gone down, Mirk had the feeling he would have stayed that way, until one of the Supply Corps women stumbled over his body while going about her mopping and sent for a healer.

The door to the rooms he shared with Genesis came open at his touch, sparing him the trouble of having to search for his key and argue with the lock. Genesis hadn't disappeared. He wasn't quite where he'd left him — he'd hauled himself out to his sullen armchair in the common room — but he was still mulling over the same book, with the same critical frown on his face, like the grimoire had personally offended him. Mirk stumbled in and slammed the door, the pot of violets tumbling from his hold but not breaking, lurching over to Genesis's chair. The commander glanced over at him: doubtlessly, he'd been intending to say something about not leaving his shoes on the mat, but he must have looked so distraught that even a man as blind to the nuances of smiles and scowls as Genesis knew that'd be a step too far. "Mirk. You appear...unwell."

Mirk swallowed, tried to speak, then swallowed again. It was as if he could feel burning fingers closing around his throat, cutting off his air, silencing his voice. "You never told me about Karin."

Slowly, Genesis closed his book, looking away from Mirk. "...no. I did not."

"Did you?"

"Did...I?"

Something inside Mirk snapped. For a second, his vision went white, and he heard a distant, half-grinding, half-cracking noise. "Did you kill him?"

Genesis replied without hesitation. "No. I had nothing to do with it. And it would not be...my decision to make, even if it had come to that."

Mirk blinked a few times, hard. Genesis was watching him closely, though his focus was on his hands rather than his face. "You swear?"

"I would not lie about that. To you."

Mirk searched his features, calling on everything he knew to read them, all the minute variations in Genesis's strange expressions that he'd brooded over and lingered on countless times in better circumstances. There was no lie there, not even any discomfort or awkwardness that might have indicated some kind of half-truth. There was only a distant weariness, and perhaps something approaching an academic sort of concern.

All the nervous energy flowed out of Mirk in a rush and he slumped down, supporting himself heavily on his grandfather's staff, trying to catch his breath and compose himself. Genesis stiffly withdrew one leg from the ottoman, leaving only the one that'd been sliced open to the bone last night propped up. Genesis gestured to the space left behind. "You would be...well advised to sit."

He staggered over and collapsed down onto it, sitting face to face with Genesis. Only once he was off his feet did Mirk realize how badly he was shaking. He took a few more deep breaths in an attempt to quiet his nerves. It didn't help any. "Why didn't you tell me about it?" Mirk asked Genesis.

"I was told by Emir that you were in no condition to hear it. Initially. And I thought learning of it afterwards would only lead to...further trouble."

"Were you ever going to tell me?"

Genesis thought for a long time, deeply, no longer looking at him. "If the child lived, yes. Perhaps not immediately, but soon enough to attempt to prevent the...damage being reared in that environment could cause."

"I don't even know what I would have done. It's just...I thought..."

"It would have been...complex. Doubtlessly, she would have kept the child on the demonic realm. As...neither you nor I can enter it. Nevertheless. There is little point in conjecture. It’s over."

"I had a son," Mirk said, voice barely rising above a whisper.

"To be precise, the odds are more around five si..." Genesis trailed off, catching some hint in his expression that must have made it clear, even to him, that now wasn't the time for precision and technicalities. Instead, Genesis leaned forward and extended a hand out to Mirk, placing it on his shoulder.

Impulsively, Mirk reached up and grasped it in both of his own, letting the staff clatter to the floor. He drew Genesis's hand down into his lap and clung to it. The static feel of Genesis's chaotic magic still comforted him, somehow. As always. Mirk only became aware of the fact that he'd begun to cry once he'd held on to Genesis for a few minutes, long enough for the calming effect that the commander's magic had on him to take the edge off his own emotions. "I'm sorry, messire," Mirk said. "This all must be very strange to you."

Genesis sighed. "I have been told that these things are...important. To most people."

"It...well. It just took me by surprise, that's all. That's what she said she wanted, but I..." Mirk shook his head, hard, refusing to let himself think back to that night, to let the hiss of drizzle on stone replace the comforting static of Genesis's magic ghosting around his shields. "I suppose it doesn't matter now, does it? Why or why not..."

Silence fell between them. But after a long pause, Genesis spoke again. Not to offer comfort, but to tackle the question Mirk had decided would be better left unexamined. "I...do wonder about this. I have been studying Jean-Luc's journal. I believe there may be some explanation there. Not one that is sufficient to explain every aspect, but..." Genesis sighed, his tone taking on a hint of frustration. "It is like searching an...archive with no guide. His observations make no sense to me. Why they are arranged...forward and backwards in time, always...I cannot work on it for as long as is necessary. It gives me..." Genesis trailed off, struggling to put into words what it was about Jean-Luc's narrative that made it impossible for him to apply himself to the translation the way he wanted to, in the same way he could tear through arcane grimoires written in maddening tongues at lighting speed. Instead, he was stuck laboring for hours over a single page of Jean-Luc's memories.

Mirk didn't need words. He'd watched Genesis struggle with it often enough by then, hissing curses under his breath and turning sheet after sheet of mage parchment to dust as he discarded his initial translations and tried for another. And, more importantly, Mirk had seen how much it pained Genesis that he couldn't master the task with ease, and how uneasy that frustration made him. Genesis was hesitant to do anything that made his magic become unruly, that threatened to break his iron control over it. And over himself. Mirk didn't know why, but he had enough material to speculate on, enough to know better than to push. He mustered up the ghost of a smile, squeezing Genesis's hand. "It's fine, messire. You're doing the best you can. And I appreciate that. God only knows how little I'd be able to do on my own."

Genesis's expression only grew darker. "I assume one of these...nobles informed you of what had happened."

He didn’t feel up to the challenge of revisiting the finer details of that afternoon’s meeting. But at the very least, it might help to take his mind off the more personal aspects of it. Mirk nodded as he replied. "Yes, Seigneur Rouzet. Methinks he didn't know...anyway, he was playing with Seigneur d'Aumont then, not me. He just happens to be the only member of the Circle who knows anything about the demonic realm. But other than that, everything went well enough. They all are very interested in me. Well, not in me, but in who I know, if that makes any sense. They were eager to hear more about the K'maneda."

"Are they?" Genesis didn't seem enthused by this news.

"You must know about Black Banner, non? Methinks that's what the English call it..."

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The look of distaste on Genesis's face at the mention of them rivaled that of the Marquise. "I am...aware of them."

"Well, some of the other nobles aren't very happy with the way they've been handling things. They're looking for other options beside them and the guild guards."

"The K'maneda is not...and will never be a tool of the nobility to...oppress their slaves. Mortal or otherwise."

"That's exactly what I thought you'd say..." Mirk shook his head, with a tired laugh. He let go of Genesis's hand, just long enough to wipe away the tears that had rolled down to his chin before they could go even further afield. "But it's not what you're thinking. Not exactly, anyway. One of the members of the Circle runs ships across the Mediterranean. She's looking for men to help guard them."

Genesis didn't like the idea of guarding noble provisions much more than he did that of guarding nobles themselves, judging by the depth of his frown. "We also do not exist to make money for the nobility. Money that they will...no doubt use to further their own interests. Against those of the poor."

"Yes, yes, I know how you feel about it. But think of it from the other side. You're always saying that the commanders won't give the Seventh any contracts that pay well. But a commander can still take on their own contracts independent of the ones the Council hands out as long as it doesn't go against anyone else's, non?"

"...technically."

"Then maybe this will give you all a way to make more dependable money. And make your commander like you a little more. Besides, methinks handling a few pirates would be much less dangerous than the sort of contracts they're always putting you and Niv and the rest on right now. You might even make new friends. Euh, Niv and the rest, I mean, not you," Mirk added, before Genesis could get the wrong idea.

"It is not proper to subsist on...royalist blood money. It is antithetical to our cause."

Mirk smiled, just a little. "Our cause? Or yours? Methinks raising enough money to get the Seventh a better place to live would be worth it. Their building is awful. It's a wonder they're not getting sick more often..."

"...nevertheless."

"Well. it’s something to think about, messire," Mirk said. "There was more, though...they wanted to know more about the English mage nobility too. Do you happen to know any of them? I did have a nice talk the other day with Comrade Commander Margaret..."

“I know that they are as…worthless as the French.”

Mirk supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised by that response. He should have known better than to try to get into arguing with Genesis about the nobles when they were both in a mood. “Well, anyways, they want to know more about them. Though I didn’t learn much else about Seigneur d’Aumont while I was there. I hope that’s not disappointing for everyone. He did seem a little uncomfortable with the talk of the K’maneda. And I saw something on Er-Izat’s collar…”

“Yes?”

“The same symbol that Monsieur Am-Hazek saw on Monsieur Am-Gulat’s was there as well. The cross with the rose.”

Genesis debated this for a time, some of his disapproval fading as he sunk into his thoughts. “It is insufficient to determine whether your godmother’s suspicions are correct. They could have both simply…purchased them from the same individual. Who is not necessarily d’Aumont.”

“I’ll try harder to find out more next time.” Mirk slumped even further at the thought of it, shaking his head. “They want me to come back. They’d never put me on the Circle formally, methinks, though most of them aren’t fond of the Grand Master of the earth mages’ guild, and the head of the healers is devoted to the Church, but, for right now…I suppose I know the right people. I’m convenient.”

“I…see.”

Mirk worried at his lip, trying and failing at not getting mired in thoughts of facing the other nobles again, with no support beyond his own wits and Seigneur Feulaine’s tentative offers of encouragement. “This is all getting to be a little too much for me. I really hadn’t been planning on all of this. Honestly, I liked things much better when I was just a healer that no one thought twice about.”

“There is nothing preventing you from returning to that life. Your path forward is…your own.”

“I can’t go back. It would be easier for me, but it wouldn’t help anyone else. I have my family to think of. And everyone here. I know I’m not very powerful, but I’d like to think I could help the djinn and everyone in the Seventh a little. And you.”

Judging by the slight crease between his eyebrows, Mirk’s offer must have surprised Genesis. “You are…under no obligation to me.”

Again, Mirk did his best to smile, to reassure Genesis. “It’s not an obligation. I want to. Even if it is hard. Anyway, maybe we can talk about it another time, messire? I know it’s only half six, but methinks it’d be better if I went to bed early. I’m not feeling terribly well. Do you mind?”

“You don’t need my permission to sleep. And you are the one…detaining me. As it were.”

It was only then that Mirk realized that he was still clinging to Genesis’s hand. He released it with a startled laugh, the heat instantly rising to his cheeks. “Oh, I’m sorry, messire. I just…I forgot…”

The commander waved the hand he’d just let go of dismissively, picking up his book again. “It is of little importance.”

"Still. I know you don't like that sort of thing."

Genesis spoke slowly from behind his book, as if he was choosing his words with even more care than he usually did, the pauses scattered among them drawn out to treble length. "You were...unwell. I am not incapable of...learning your...customs. If some manner of...touch...is the appropriate gesture to make in this...situation, then I believe it would be...unkind of me to refuse."

His words were a small thing, in light of everything else that had happened, in comparison to the nightmare of managing the Montignys and the news of Karin's child. But it buoyed Mirk's mood nevertheless, filling him with a sudden relief that made it easier for him to regain his feet than he'd been anticipating. Genesis really did care for him, in his own, strange way. It was just a matter of learning to spot how he decided to show it. Though some small, dark voice in the back of Mirk's mind muttered comments about him taking advantage of the commander's goodwill, he did his best to ignore it. "Then I should leave you to your work. You do still need to rest, after all. Maybe it's for the best that you decided to come out here instead of staying in bed..."

"Perhaps...when you are improved...you could consider repairing the floor."

Midway to picking up the staff, which had rolled off against the bookcases, Mirk paused. "Euh...what?"

"The floor."

Mirk snatched up the staff, then considered his shoes. He'd forgotten to take them off on the mat, true, but he didn't think there was anything on them that could have marred Genesis's perfect floors. Out of undue caution, Mirk lifted one and peeked at its underside. The trip through the City back and forth to the mage quarter and his time at Mademoiselle Polignac's had done nothing to them. They were as pristine as they had been when they'd been delivered weeks ago by the runner from the cobbler the Nasiri twins favored. "I'm afraid I don't understand, messire..."

Without lifting his eyes from his reading, Genesis made a vague gesture at where Mirk had been standing before he'd collapsed onto the ottoman. Mirk drew closer once more to try to puzzle out what the commander was getting at. They weren't easy to see in the dim lights Genesis favored, even once he’d put up proper ones rather than forcing Mirk to depend on the singular blue-green magelight above the door to be able to navigate the room, but he was able to glimpse the edges of them when he tilted his head in just the right angle. A fine network of cracks in the floor, radiating out from the spot where he'd been standing when he'd asked Genesis about the dead child.

He was at a loss for words. But he scraped some up anyway, as he scuffed at the cracks with the toe of his shoe. "It...I did that?"

"Yes. Thus, you should be capable of repairing it."

Mirk sighed, muttering to himself as he backtracked to the door to take off his shoes. "...that's the second time today..."

"The second?"

"This time wasn't as bad. I wrecked poor Mademoiselle Polignac's sunroom with the last one. Well. Sort of. I had a little help, I suppose," Mirk said, picking up the pot of violets he'd dropped beside the door. In retrospect, it was odd that it hadn't shattered when he'd dropped it. But it was just as whole as it had been when Madame Polignac had met him with it at her front door, pressing it into his hands with a murmured aside about the violets seeming to have taken a liking to him. He'd tried to refuse them, insisting that it was too much in light of all the damage he’d caused, but she'd only smiled her quiet, enigmatic smile at him and continued to press them into his arms. With another cryptic aside about much preferring Mirk's mode of gardening to her own.

Genesis sighed. "Be more clear. If you will."

"Your spell to help the Montignys was very good, it worked perfectly on that big rune the healers wrote about. But the spell...euh...grew? In between when they sent their notes and I saw them. I had to give it a little push to break the binding at the end. But I also broke Mademoiselle Polignac's sunroom. Everything was fine when I started, but by the end...well. The plants got a little excited."

At the mention of plants, Genesis cast a wary glance at the pot of violets in Mirk's hands. "I don’t favor indoor plants."

"Mademoiselle Polignac insisted. And I couldn't really say no, since I wrecked her garden, could I? I'll try to find a place for it at the infirmary. Maybe up by Uncle Henri and the children? Methinks it wouldn't do well here anyway, since there aren't any windows..."

As he spoke, Mirk studied the violets in the pot. They were still in full bloom, the blossoms thick and vibrant, almost glowing in comparison to the masses of fuzzy dark green leaves that spilled over the edges of the pot. He couldn't keep himself from taking one of the leaves between his fingers and rubbing at it. They had a pleasant texture, better even than the finest quality velvet. It was the only sign that magic had touched the flowers — whereas the other plants in Mademoiselle Polignac's solarium had doubled or tripled in size, the violets seemed content enough in their original pot. Though there was an odd feeling of restlessness about the plant that Mirk wasn't accustomed to feeling in growing things, something closer to the stirring of a cat that couldn't find just the right position to curl up in.

"You would be well advised to work on your control," Genesis said, as he returned to his reading. "I doubt everyone will be as charitable as this...Polignac individual."

"Yes, you're right, of course. Well. Is there somewhere I should put them for now? Maybe in the bath...that cleans itself, sort of..."

"No," Genesis replied, flatly. "Leave it on the table. I would prefer not to let it...get ideas alone in the dark."

Mirk didn't understand what Genesis meant by that. But he complied nevertheless, after hanging up his good cloak beside the door and making sure his shoes were square on the mat. Exhaustion was beginning to overwhelm him again, now that his emotions had settled and he was within the safety provided by Genesis's chaotic aura. He didn't feel good about any of it, not what he'd seen in the Montigny men's nightmares, or what had happened at the Circle after, but at least it was over and done with. And Genesis hadn't betrayed his trust, not like he'd feared.

Fortunately, Mirk had anticipated that it was going to be a tiring day. He'd stolen a bottle of brandy from the infirmary in preparation, leaving it behind in his work bag, the one thing he was certain Genesis wouldn't get it into his head to tidy in search of something productive to do while lying about their shared quarters. It wasn't the best quality liquor, but it was better than most of the drink the infirmary kept on hand. After having a few measures, Mirk was certain he'd be able to stop worrying and get some rest. It was self-indulgent, the sort of thing that Genesis would frown over and make some terse comment about, but that wasn't going to stop Mirk. Not that evening.

He'd earned it.