Pomolin was the continent’s most northern country and routinely prepared for a long snowy winter. The few boutiques Mahala was familiar with were decorated with fur coats and insulating cotton dresses. So Luck walked past them to a department store with readymade summer dresses being on sale due to overstock — far more appropriate for across the southern sea to Kalkoku.
Luck had her choose a few light, breathable outfits for her new upcoming life.
She caught him staring at a mannequin dressed in a knockoff from her own wardrobe; a high-collar coat with factory-stitched fabric dragonflies instead of hand-embroidered jewelled ones.
“I’m glad you didn’t bring me one of those,” she said with a bitter laugh.
Luck continued to stare at the coat. “You haven't worn yours in a while. I’m surprised they still made a copy.”
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“I’m surprised you noticed…” Mahala said. “None of the homunculi ever commented on my clothes.”
“We are trained to notice details.”
“Is that how you knew my size?”
Luck reeled from her, eyes wider than usual. “My Lady?”
Mahala crossed her arms and tried to look prim. “For the clothes you got me?” They both knew what she really meant.
He cleared his throat and looked away. “...I guessed.”
He then deliberately faced a wall while she picked up additional underwear.
They also filled a trunk with various supplies for her trip; toiletries, shoes, towels, maps, a second hand watch. Each time he purchased another item, the reality of her leaving the country weighed heavier with the luggage.
“I believe this should suffice,” he said.
“You missed one of the most valuable items on a long trip,” she tutted.
“...a multitool?”
“Entertainment, Luck. I’ll be on the sea for days. You don’t expect me to just sit on my hands and do nothing for the entire voyage?”
Luck said nothing.
“Granted, I’m sure there will be a few leisure activities on board, but I’ll have to also make my own recreation,” she said.
Luck still said nothing.
“I mean, what do you do when you have free time?” she asked.
He thought for a moment. “I eat, clean my weapons, do my laundry, check my supplies–”
“That’s work.”
“My life is my work,” Luck said, puffing his chest a little. “My life only has meaning through serving as Tibalt Kinderum’s homunculus. I know nothing else, I was created for nothing else.”
“But you do remember your life before being a homunculus,” she reminded him.
Luck’s face darkened, his brow furrowed. “...I did nothing productive back then.”
“Hobbies don’t have to be. It’s just something you enjoy.”
“Then what are your hobbies, my lady?”
Mahala began counting off on her hand. “Piano, reading, tennis, having tea with Adelei…” She trailed off, a twinge of pain in her heart as she remembered her promise to her friend.
Luck pointed past her. “There is a bookstore.”
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
‘Bookstore’ was a loose word for the museum of secondhand books Mahala stepped into. Every shelf and flat surface was covered in worn books, even the floor, leaving only a narrow strip of walkway to navigate the labyrinth. The musk of old paper and mothballs followed after their creaking footsteps.
A bored old man nodded off behind the desk, not even stirring with a bell by the door announcing the arrival of guests.
“I’m guessing I won’t find any current travel brochures,” Mahala said to herself.
She wasn’t really disappointed, the store reminded her of Sister Zvie’s room. Her fingers traced the spines, passing The Kings of Pomolin, Law of Nothos, Borders of Blood: the Pomolish-Shiran war, Medean Invasion - Rise of the Elklords, Myths of Magi, Kalkokuin Economics. She picked up the last two books.
“The Magus of Prayer has very few chapters,” she said, rifling through Myths of Magi. “They managed to stay unassuming.”
“Not all of Tibalt Kinderum’s memory banks are passed onto us, to save on time and resources. Does this mean the homuculi’s memories are deliberately incomplete, or incorrect?” Luck murmured.
Mahala hesitated. Her heart ached and the word, “Incomplete,” spilled out of her mouth before she could think it over.
“I beg your pardon?” Luck said.
Mahala sank her head into the book. “I may… have been told by Tibalt Kinderum… that he had left out a few memories… to keep some secrets within the magi.”
He seized her shoulder and whipped her around so they were facing each other.
“Why?” he demanded. “Did he not trust us?”
“I don’t know!” Mahala said, jerking away from him. “Sweet devils, don’t surprise me like that!”
He closed the distance again, hands searching to grip her again. “Please, my lady, what did he tell you?”
Mahala bit her lip.
“My lady, this may be important. We are still unsure how the apprentice magus fit into all this,” he urged.
“H-He told me in confidence, Luck.”
“My lady–”
“Drop it!” she snapped. She tasted smoke and she feared burning the entire bookstore down. She slapped a hand over her mouth and withdrew, her back hitting the shelves.
Luck jerked back from her, his large frame shrinking. “Apologies. I was out of line. This is above my clearance for certain.” He rubbed a hand over his face and strung himself to his full height again, regaining composure. “I won’t ask further.”
Mahala wished the shelves would suck her into the gap between the books. She couldn’t bring herself to look at the way his face crumpled in pain. Her heart twinged again, and she nearly blurted out everything she knew. But she didn’t. Her fear of Tibalt Kinderum distrusting her outweighed her guilt this time.
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I’m meant to be the Lady of Pomolin.
This was not a conflict she knew how to fix right now.
“I want to go back now,” she whispered behind her palms.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
They exited the department store with the trunk full, though Luck hefted it with ease. She stared at it, hearing its weight creak against the handles. He really is going through with this.
“After this… you said you want to go back to the homunculi. Are you going to tell them about the missing memory banks?” Mahala blurted out.
“I don’t know yet.”
“You’re going to get into trouble with them for helping me,” she said desperately.
“They are my family, so I have to go back to them. If they deem I should be punished, then so be it,” he said.
“What about your family before—” Mahala stopped as she remembered.
Luck seemed unfazed, staring straight ahead.
Above them, the street lamps were decorated with green banners and the Lord Protector’s mask. Mahala hid her face further in her hat. “At best, you are court-martialed, at worst, father finally scraps you.”
“I have nowhere else to go, my lady. Nowhere I want to go.”
Mahala caught his sleeve. “Th-This isn’t some attempt to guilt me for leaving you behind, is it?”
Luck still did not meet her eyes. “I never assumed I held that level of significance to the Lady.”
Is that why he’s doing this?
It clicked for Mahala, a hiss of rage escaping as steam through her lips, her wyrm scraping its claws inside her lungs. His guilt was self-directed and pitiful, no longer satisfying to Mahala. He didn’t deserve sympathy when it was his fault. The next thing she knew, she’d yanked him hard so he faced her.
“Significance!?” she snarled. “You’re my bodyguard; you’ve been by my side for all this time, and you think you mean nothing to me?” Mahala dragged him closer, heat spilling from her pores. “I’m fucking pissed off only because I care about you! I thought you did too, and then you fucking lured me with fireworks and stabbed me. You stabbed me when I needed you to protect me you- you motherFUCK—!”
Luck’s hand went over her mouth. It did not stop the scandalised gasp from the pedestrians.
As eyes flitted over them, Luck started pushing Mahala into the nearest alley. She squawked in protest, but his arms were latched around her in a vice grip.
Usually she would have no chance to overpower him, but the wyrm seeped into her muscles. She wrestled off one of his arms.
“Please stop drawing in crowds,” Luck hissed.
“You stop this self-pitying bullshit! So what if you’re not all Tibalt Kinderum? He wasn’t born a magus! None of them are!” she said.
Luck tried to regain his hold on her. “I—”
“I don’t care! All that mattered was that I felt safe with you! I wanted you to save me! How do you not get that?!” she shrieked.
Luck finally caught her wrists and pressed her against the wall. The trunk hit the ground with a heavy thump. her shades clattering next to her feet. He loomed over her, closer than he had any right to be.
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“Lady Mahala, stop,” he growled. The chitin plates folded back, revealing his cockroach mouth, twitching mandibles and maxillae and all. “You’re losing control again.”
Mahala said nothing. Some of the homunculi were more easy-going about it, but Luck had never opened his face plates in front of her. He noticed her staring and leapt back, hand to his face, shame overriding all else. The mandibles collapsed in itself and the plates shuttered over them.
His face twitched. “Two constables on the way, just around the corner.” With that, he quickly scooped up the dropped items from the ground. One hand on Mahala’s shoulder and they teleported to the roof easy as breathing.
The sky bled thick bleak smoke from industrial farms burning sea-oil which powered the entire town. Mahala’s breath came out in thick black clouds mixed with cinders. The sky had been so clear in the mountains that for a single moment, Mahala nearly missed the view from Pelebris.
Her wyrm yawned back to sleep, and so the shame seeped in.
Of course I poison any sky I’m under.
“Did you even like me, Luck?” the words fell leaden out of her mouth.
Luck froze. “I beg your pardon?”
Why would he anymore?
She sniffled and rubbed her nose. “Nevermind.” She winced at the word. “I-It doesn’t matter anymore… Just take me back to the hotel, I’m tired.”
Luck stopped, her shades in hand, seemingly searching her face for something.
Eventually he said, “If you didn’t choose me, I would be dead. I… I was unsure where to place myself with you.” He looked at the shades in his hand, moving to put them on her face, but he put them in her hand instead. “For most of us, our closest bonds are found within our brotherhood. I… was honoured to be in your service.”
“Honoured?” Mahala echoed weakly.
He gripped her shoulders, the shades forgotten. “Happy. I was happy to be with you, Lady Mahala. If that’s even allowed. If this isn’t over the Golden Sea.” He inhaled sharply, his shoulders tense and hands slightly shaking. “Even after everything that happened, the results of my failure, by some miracle… you are still you.”
“I am not still me,” she said in shaking breaths. “Ever since the wyrm, I've been so angry all the time. So angry that I... I scare myself!”
“Anger is a normal emotion,” Luck replied.
Mahala wasn’t sure if she laughed or cried. “I can’t. I can’t. I- I’m the Lady of Pomolin. I have to be… th-the perfect Lady.” She enunciated each word though they tasted of nothing. “If I’m not, I’m nothing but…” Dusk.
“Who were you, before you were the Lady of Pomolin?” Luck asked.
The question nearly made her throw up.
“I recall that you were a war orphan from Redvol, before the town closed down? And that you had candied fruit there,” he said. “Do you miss your home?”
Her shoulders curled forward and her chest caved in. The wyrm writhed, twisting her veins, her stomach, her thoughts.
“No,” she squeaked. That’s a lie Father told.
There was a pause as Luck looked her over. His hands slid off her, and to the trunk. He checked it once over to make sure it was still intact.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked,” he said. “Let’s return to the hotel.”
Mahala’s lip trembled, heaving through the sickening breaths. “Y-You told me about your past before a homunculus… y-you deserve to know something about me before…”
“You owe me nothing, my lady,” he interjected. “It is quite the other way round.”
He touched her arm, his eyes locked to where to teleport them.
I owe you a lot. She wanted to say. Her throat closed but she fought through it. “I’m sor–”
They teleported to the street nearby, stealing her words from her. His hand touched the small of her back and guided her forward, once again her hawkish escort.
She wished she could read his face, see where he looked with his black eyes, what muscles were pulling under the half-mask. She forgot about everything else but the way his eyes wrinkled into a smile and that he may never show that to her again.
She grabbed his arm. “I’m sorry!”
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Luck startled, his brow wrinkling. “My lady?”
“I’m sorry,” she hiccuped, her wyrm heavy on her chest. “Please don’t hate me. I’m sorry I yelled and called you names.” Unlucky, fucking Unlucky- “I didn’t mean any of it. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Tibalt Kinderum.” He’d been kind to her, Tibalt had. He’d done- he became- because of her-
This wasn’t how a proper apology was meant to be. She couldn’t even do that properly, and it made her wail all the more.
“I’m sorry I’m such a mess — f-for being this pathetic,” she continued. “Please don’t hate me.” I thought you did when you stabbed me. “I don’t want Tibalt Kinderum to hate me either. I know that’s selfish. I am selfish. I want to be the perfect Lady again. B- But without my father’s name, I-I… I-I’m…”
He clasped her hand in his. “You’d still be my lady,” he said, with all the gravitas of the Magus of Time himself. Or maybe it was just him. Whoever he’d been.
Mahala’s heart stopped.
She stood, dumbfounded, uncertain how to respond.
Luck cleared his throat, filling in the awkward lull he created. “We should go. You are probably tired.”
She let him walk her back to the hotel, and they didn’t say another word.