asterion,
For once Asterion doesn’t think on how strange it is to find himself here, closed up in an office of wood and walls of stone, pouring over a book whose pages once belonged something alive. The king is intent, and curious, and for the moment shares none of his Commander’s nervousness - perhaps he is too ignorant for it. He had never considered, before Novus, that lack of knowledge might sometimes be a gift.
But then she says Everything, and he can see the flicker in her eyes like lightning far out across the sea.
“A blessing,” he echoes softly, and though he can’t help the arch of one brow he says nothing more. They have never seen quite eye to eye on the court’s patron goddess (an understatement), though some days he feels that’s for the best. Someone ought to be pious, and the Dusk King knows by now that it will never be him.
He leans back at the turning of the page, takes a long sip of tea that courses warm down his throat like a little piece of sunlight or summer. In silence he listens to her counsel, all thoughts he’s had himself, gathering like stormclouds. Asterion knows what lion prowls the desert, how it paces ever nearer their door; perhaps, as he’d confessed to Israfel, he should have acted already. Neutrality was no excuse against such horrors as the rumors from Solterra spoke of, much less the sins acted on Denocte.
“You’re right, Commander.” There is an edge to his voice, a hardness he can’t keep out when he thinks of the former Crow, the silver King. “I trust you, Theodosia and Israfel can see to it we’re as prepared as we can be, whatever comes. And in the meantime…we should be smuggling in supplies, if we can. Or smuggling out the suffering.” His sigh, then, speaks more eloquently than his words; of his worry, of his frustration, of the anger that is slowly, slowly, coming to the surface like some monster shouldering up from the seabed. “I’ll help search. And when it is found, then…well, you and I will talk of war.” It is not so hard as he thought it might be, to hold her gaze then.
And that is well, for Asterion is not finished. “That is not all Terrastella is in need of. For too long we’ve been without upper ranks. Marisol…there is no one I trust more to protect and serve this court than you. Even when your opinions go against my own.” The shadow of a grin crosses his mouth, then, there and gone again like a magician’s trick. “Maybe especially then. Would you serve Terrastella as her Regent? You could keep your title as Commander, and delegate your duties as you see fit.” He doesn’t dare to think, as he watches her expression then as though he’s studying the dark waters of divining bowl; he barely dares to breathe. The king had come today with that question waiting in him like a locked box, even guessing at the change in her. And maybe it would be too much - maybe he should be easier on her, after all that had happened -
“I understand,” he adds, voice soft again, curling gentle as the steam from the tea. “if you need some time. But it is as you say. Novus will not wait for us to prepare, and I owe it to make sure the court will survive in good hands, come what may.” And if he thinks of Raum then, and the secret in his heart (I could kill him, my magic is strong enough, I could end this) it does not show.
king of dusk.
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