Fennrin was reeling. He’d let anger and pain distract him so much that for a second he lost his hold on Oretski. He’d completely forgotten the man had been there. And the kapetan had immediately used his lapse of concentration to defeat him.

How was he going to explain this to Daryan? The man already had enough to worry about without adding two Orinovo agents into the mix. He could lie, of course, to put his mind at ease, but he didn’t want to lie to Daryan, ever.

Fennrin sighed as he got up, wincing as pain flared through his back. Some part of him felt happy about this, happy that he was feeling at least a part of Ainreth must have been going through right now, but that though just made his stomach twist.

At least this hadn’t been a complete waste. He knew where the protestors were hiding, or at least one of the places. Fennrin nodded to himself as he melted away into a nearby shadow, heading back to the palace.

He was fully intending to slip past everyone and appear only once he located Daryan. However, he couldn’t help but pause when, while passing the line of guards blocking the path to the palace, he overhead a familiar voice.

“I want to talk to Fennrin. Tell him that if he refuses to come see me he is a coward.”

It was Petre. Fennrin studied their angry expression, their determination. He had a feeling he knew what they wanted to talk about. And they had been on friendly terms enough in the past to make Fennrin feel like he owed them this talk.

The guard was explaining to Petre with a rather tired tone that Fennrin didn’t have time and that he wasn’t at the palace currently, but Fennrin ended that by appearing right next to the guard.

“Petre,” said Fennrin, feeling horribly awkward. He found it hard to face the anger in their eyes.

“Good. Finally,” Petre grumbled, jerking their head off to the side. “We need to talk. Now.”

Fennrin nodded even though he yearned to disappear. This was going to be unpleasant. But he already knew what Petre was going to say, anyway.

He just needed to get through this. He could leave any time if he decided Petre was being unreasonable anyway.

They walked to a connecting street, a quiet, thankfully empty space, away from prying eyes.

“So what did you—”

Fennrin cried out as Petre’s fist collided with his jaw hard, making him stumble and gasp. He held his injured cheek, pain stabbing through his whole face. He could feel the metal tang of blood in his mouth, but instead of focusing on any of that, he was staring at Petre in shock.

“That’s for hurting Ain!” Petre yelled at him, punching him again on the other side. Fennrin managed to partly block that strike, but it still made him fall to on knee and groan in pain.

“And that’s for actively helping Varilik whip him!” Petre screamed at him even louder, now looking down at him. And pointing a dagger at Fennrin’s throat. “Do anything like this again, and I will kill you. Do you understand?!”

All Fennrin could do was stare up at them, so shocked by all of this, in pain both physical and emotional, his eyes glassy from tears. This was not at all what he’d been expecting after all.

With one last hateful glare, Petre turned around and stormed away, leaving Fennrin to collapse on the floor, still clutching his throbbing face.

The blood in his mouth was gathering too fast, making him feel nautious. Fennrin spat it out, his eyes widening when a molar came out flying with it.

Fennrin picked it up, studying the tooth with horror, his stomach knotting itself both from that and his general urge to vomit. Petre had much more strength to their fists than he would have ever guessed.

He sat there for a moment, shaken and in pain. He could already feel his cheek swelling from losing a tooth, his mouth still filling with blood that made him feel sicker.

He didn’t know what Daryan would say at the sight of him like this, but hopefully he’d simply give him a remedy and not ask too many questions. Despite everything, Fennrin didn’t want Petre to be punished. Their punishment would be more severe than Ainreth’s had been, and Fennrin didn’t want that.

He spat out some blood and then turned into a shadow again. It was easier to move that way, and he also didn’t want anyone to see him right now.

He didn’t reappear until he found Daryan. He and the other Courtiers were in the main meeting room, arguing over their next step, but Fennrin didn’t mind. He just melded into Daryan’s shadow, waiting. The pain was duller like this, and Daryan’s shadow was always somehow comforting.

Fennrin had stayed in it a few times before without telling Daryan. It somehow seemed too embarrassing.

“This situation is out of control. And the news has spread all over Lys-Akkaria now. People are protesting everywhere,” said the Arbiter, for once actually sounding concerned rather than their usual level of annoyed. “You really sundered this up, Daryan.”

“Was I supposed to let Ainreth not be punished?” Daryan argued back while the Bulwark rubbed her eyes with one hand, as if they’d had this exchanged at least twenty times.

The Patron was saying nothing, but her usually guarded expression was gone, replaced by a worried frown as she clutched the Bulwark’s hand with her own.

“What Ainreth did was…regrettable,” said Tysalin, sighing heavily. “I am still doubtful of the story you and Fennrin have given us, though. Why would he try to kill you?”

“Are you doubting my word, Tysalin?” Daryan blinked at her. “Word has it that you were talking to Ainreth just before the incident. What do you have to say about that?”

Now it was the Bulwark’s turn to blink in shock. “How do you—”

“Okay, enough,” the Patron cut in, glaring at Daryan. “We are dealing with a crisis. We will not be fighting among ourselves. Understand?”

A few begrudging mutters of agreement followed.

“Good.” The Patron huffed. “Now, solutions.”

The Bulwark sighed. She and the Patron were still holding hands, matching gold rings on their fingers. Before meeting them both, Fennrin had had no idea they were married.

“We do not have enough guards to control the entirety of Lys-Akkaria. We don’t even have enough to make sure no more riots happen in Kyr-Toryl,” said Tysalin, humming sadly. “I think we will have to call our soldiers home.”

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Daryan leaned forward on the table between them. There was a map of Orinovo and Lys-Akkaria on it. Fennrin couldn’t see up there from his spot on the floor, but it was always there. He could picture it.

“If we pull soldiers from Orinovo, we will lose everything we have conquered so far.”

“And if we keep things as they are, we might lose Lys-Akkaria too,” the Arbiter snarked. “Or maybe you could step down, Daryan. I think that would calm people down a bit.”

Fennrin couldn’t help but get angry at that. Daryan was the best Herald they could ask for. And he had been doing it so well for decades. Who would they put in his stead?

This wasn’t a solution. And it seemed Daryan agreed because he scoffed.

“It would anger the half that does support the war, me, and the Court in general. There is no solution that will please everyone,” Daryan said, sighing.

“That’s democracy for you,” the Arbiter said, snorting.

Daryan sighed. “So all of you think that calling our soldiers home to guard the streets is a good idea?”

The Arbiter shrugged. “I certainly have no better ideas. We’ll just have to wait until the outrage dies down. And this will let us avoid people killing each other.”

Daryan said nothing, but Fennrin could tell he was upset. But Fennrin himself agreed with the other Courtiers. This was likely the best course of action they could reasonably take.

“I would call for the ones not guarding anything we cannot afford to lose. Perhaps half of our army,” the Patron added, looking at the Bulwark, who nodded.

“We can call for more aid if it is necessary. But I agree, yes.”

The Arbiter grinned, though they didn’t look all that pleased at all. It seemed to Fennrin as though they only supported this to spite Daryan, which was hardly a good thing to do.

“All right. Tysa and I will draft a new proclamation immediately. We will meet you back here in, say, an hour.”

And with that the Arbiter was already leaving the room, followed by the Bulwark. Even though she sighed as she stepped out of the room, the brief sight of her face that Fennrin had caught betrayed that she was quite happy with this.

But that wasn’t surprising. The Bulwark had been more on Ain’s side the entire time than the war’s. A rather strange thing given that Tysalin was the leader of the army.

Daryan shook his head, nodding at the Patron as he too left the room. Fennrin let himself be carried within his shadow, waiting for Daryan to go somewhere where Fennrin could return to his physical form again.

The opportunity offered itself quite soon as Daryan walked into his office and closed the door with a tad bit too much force, sighing heavily. Fennrin grimaced at his lover’s frustration, deciding now was the perfect time to turn back into his usual form and hug him from behind.

Daryan flinched a little, but he relaxed very quickly, turning around to hug Fennrin back.

“Ah, my darling, you surprised me.”

Fennrin smiled, even though it made his lip sting horribly. He felt fairly awful all around, his pain returning in full force. Petre punching him must have split his lip and he’d not even noticed over the agony of his tooth missing.

Fennrin carefully pushed his tongue against the hole where it used to be, wincing in pain and disgust.

“Oh, by the moon, what happened to you, my love?” asked Daryan in alarm as he pulled away, his hand gently pressed against Fennrin’s no doubt purpling cheek.

Fennrin hung his head. “I…I was unsuccessful in capturing the spies. I’m sorry.”

Daryan shook his head, pulling him along by an arm to the cabinet where he kept his remedies. It always fascinated Fennrin how many vials and salves there were, and even more so how it was possible that Daryan could tell which one was which.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” he asked worriedly as he rummaged around the cabinet.

Fennrin shook his head, grimacing at the inescapable taste of blood. It was so, so disgusting. “No, they….” He sighed again, feeling like an utter failure. “One of them knew how to make me angry. How to get to me. I…let my anger control me, distract me. And for a moment I lost control over the shadow of the other one.”

“And they hit you,” Daryan finished for him, turning around with a tonic and a salve, his eyes full of worry. Fennrin hated lying to Daryan, even like this, but he tried to push that aside and enjoy being doted on.

“Well, yes.” Fennrin winced when Daryan started to smear some salve onto his cheek. “They threw me into a wall as well. If you could look at my back later, too.”

“Of course, my dear,” Daryan said with a sad frown on his face as he finished with the salve on one side, moving on to Fennrin’s other cheek. “How did they manage this, though?”

Fennrin sighed, swallowing thickly. “Well, it turns out the spies were…Neven Oretski and Yarima Anarova.”

Daryan’s eyes went wide. “That….” He cleared his throat, putting the salve away. “Are you certain?” He shook his head before Fennrin could respond. “No, of course you are. Who else could have fought with someone as powerful as you?”

Fennrin sighed again, taking the tonic from Daryan when offered. “I’m very sorry for letting them escape.”

“It’s okay, Fenn, I know you did your best. Though it would have been very advantageous to capture them. I am simply shocked that the queen is this brazen to send her best soldier and her daughter to Kyr-Toryl in the first place. Brazen, or desperate.”

“They must have flown here using their windwalking,” Fennrin said, remembering watching them fly off. “They were planning on taking Ainreth. I do not know how to prevent them from returning and simply trying again.”

“That’s alright, dear,” Daryan leaned in to kiss his forehead. “Do not worry about that. Just drink the tonic. And do keep it in your mouth for a few minutes. It will help there, too. I assume there was bleeding.”

Fennrin grimaced as his tongue once again brushed over the empty spot where his tooth used to be. He didn’t think it was bleeding anymore, but it certainly tasted that way. “Yes. I…lost a tooth.”

Daryan pulled him close, hugging him. Fennrin melted into it as he hugged back, so eager for comfort after what had happened. He hated to admit it, but what Petre had said had really gotten to him. That hate in their eyes—it reminded him of the hate he’d seen his whole life when people found out what he was.

“My poor Fenn,” Daryan said, stroking a hand through his hair as he sighs. “I have some bad news for you as well. But we will talk about that later, hm?”

“I listened in on the meeting. Apologies,” Fennrin said, looking away. But Daryan just chuckled a bit.

“Ah, no, that’s all right. At least I do not have to catch you up on it.”

Fennrin nodded, pouring the vial of healing tonic into his mouth and keeping it there. Unlike Petre’s, Daryan’s tonics tended to taste quite pleasant, and this one was no different, reminding Fennrin of honey.

“Now let me take a look at your back,” Daryan said, leading Fennrin to the chairs by the table in the middle of the room.

Fennrin took a deep breath through his nose. Today had been awful so far, but being with Daryan was soothing a lot of it.

Once Daryan was done putting salve on his bruised back, and Fennrin had swallowed the tonic, his mouth already feeling a bit better pain-wise if nothing else, Daryan got up.

“I made something for you. I keep forgetting to give it to you,” he said with an apologetic smile, going over to a different cabinet to retrieve whatever it was.

Fennrin sat up, watching with curiosity, though he also felt like a bad partner. “Oh, you do not have to give me gifts all the time. I…I never have anything for you.”

Daryan just narrowed his eyes at him for a moment before continuing to search the cabinet, pulling out a small, nearly flat paper box. “Please, Fenn, I like giving you gifts, and I expect nothing in return. We’ve talked about this.”

Fennrin hung his head. “I know. I just feel like I should—”

“Love isn’t a transaction,” Daryan told him firmly as he sat down next to him again. “Not to mention that I have quite a bit more money for materials then you. And the skills to make things from them.”

Fennrin knew that wasn’t a criticism, but he sighed anyway. He needed to learn to make things with his shadows. He could literally make any material any shape he wanted, accounting for how brittle it was. Surely he could work with that.

“Anyway.” Daryan kissed his forehead, presenting Fennrin with the box. Fennrin took it, studying it. There was a heart on the lid, made up of small, black flower petals.

“Black dahlia. One of my favorites,” Daryan explained. “It symbolizes love and trust. I felt it was fitting for how I feel about you.”

Fennrin ran his finger over the petals, fascinated that such symbolism was attached to something so dark. He was curious what other surprising symbolism was attached to other flowers. “It’s beautiful.”

Daryan smiled, nuzzling Fennrin’s temple with his nose. Fennrin smiled back at him, opening the box, blinking when he saw a beautiful woven bracelet with very small purple blossoms on it.

“Do you like it?” Daryan asked. “It will never wilt.”

“I….” Fennrin picked the bracelet up, immediately putting it on his wrist, smiling at it even as he struggled with the metal clasp.

“Let me,” Daryan said with a smile in his voice as he helped Fennrin close the bracelet around his wrist. It fit perfectly. “Beautiful.”

“It is,” Fennrin agreed, looking at it closely. The thin vines it was made of swirled in an intricate pattern. He felt as though he could follow it with his eyes forever.

“Not as beautiful as you, though.”

Fennrin couldn’t even react before Daryan was kissing him. And he was immediately kissing back, his fingers running over the bracelet.

He was so loved. Despite everything, it really made him feel like everything would be okay.