[P] I give you my love before preaching or law;

[Marisol]

deep calleth unto deep

Marisol tries not to notice the way Asterion smiles when she says blessing, like it’s some kind of inside joke. Like she’s not totally serious. There are so many decades of proof that she must be buried somewhere—Cleopatra’s notes, old leather bound tomes hiding in their library, Cicero for that matter—and even the evidence they do have points to a blessing so powerful it’s worth killing for. A sigma of all Vespera’s power and all the favors She might have bestowed on them, if they were decent enough to ask for it. They cannot afford to throw that all away. (And if Asterion doesn’t appreciate whatever magic clings to that shield, well, there is still some use for all of them in a thicker kind of skin.)

“If you approve,” she responds quietly, “Then the Unit and I may visit Solterra, do what we can. At least if we can spare the bodies.” The image of Susurro flashes through her head, the carpet of outspread wings, the undue graves, the belly-rolled headstones, and her eyes close briefly. There aren’t many of them to waste in the first place; Senna and Elif, god bless them, hardly count for cadets. She sighs and rubs her cheek against her shoulder, trying to scratch an itch that won’t quite subside, and there is a moment as her vision blurs that the office is calm-silent and Marisol thinks they might have found peace.

The room smells of dust and stale sunlight, of cinnamon and warm black tea; Marisol almost wishes that they wouldn’t talk at all. She is exhausted. Even the thought of another long-winded conversation has her heartbeat slowing. She hasn’t really been able to sleep since the first clue showed up—there’s far too much noise, far too many complications, and every time she closes her eyes she thinks of something else to worry about. The questions never stop. Maybe if Asterion were here, she could sleep more soundly. Maybe if he kept watch she would feel comfortable enough to really doze off for the first time in days. Maybe if he stayed—

When he speaks, Marisol thinks she might be dying.

The salt, the blood, the growing pains are getting to her. Or the sleep deprivation is finally kicking in. She must be hallucinating. Regent. Her teeth are crowding her mouth even more so than usual, every sharp point digging into her lips and tongue. Each breath feels tighter and tighter, and in the moment that Marisol’s eyes meet Asterion’s—slate gaze blown comically wide with shock—she’s not sure the oxygen is doing its job at all. She tries hard to steel her expression, though she can’t quite tell if it’s working. How long has he been waiting to ask? How little had she expected to hear it? Sometimes Marisol thinks she is hardly even Terrastellan for her cold heart and sharp eyes. Wouldn’t Israfel, Rhone, Florentine, be better than she?

Marisol inhales sharply, leans back just a little. Her heart clenches like a fist. Oh, Asterion… the softness of his eyes, the quiet curl of his lips still makes her think of a child, and yet he is hardly a boy-king anymore. He has seen too much for anyone to retain with complete innocence. And Marisol knows first hand what he has been through, what they have been through together; he has always done his best as Dusk’s ruler, never mind his unique capacity at times to irk her. Would she be failing him, if she said no?

Would she be proving Amaroq right?

“I…” For the first time, Marisol wishes her office were more cluttered. She could use something to hide behind. The blood is rising in her cheeks, and she’s almost sure it’s managed to push through the darkness of her skin. “I’ve been told the only straight line for the living is from one duty to the next. If you’re—absurd enough still to trust me—“ And here she smiles, just a little, so he knows she’s not entirely serious. “Then I suppose that makes it my duty to accept.” 

She measures out a careful, deep inhale. “It would be a privilege, Asterion. But—how does this work, how do I start? I do not know how well I’d do. I have not been anything but Commander in…”

Forever. 

“Years.”

---

<3

aimless | kokovi