Andrei

After learning how little I'd been informed about my parents, Riz surprised me in the coming days by unearthing an Endican couple who'd known them personally. The four of us were seated on the common room couches that afternoon. The smell of smoke and burning wood, herbs and Strachan Hocks, and body odor mingling in the air. The sound of fire crackling. Laughter. A feeling of togetherness and levity all around.

The two empaths seated opposite had to have been at least a head taller than my Celestian roommate. They were likely of fair complexion and with thick hair, perhaps blonde or light brown. They may have worn it in weaves or mats, decorated with beads and flowers or feathers. Their eyes would be silver or grey, naturally, and from what I gathered, the pair were around the same age as Rhydian Sinclair.

"They spoke about you all the time," the man said.

"True—especially Kaisa," the woman added. "She was reserved with her emotions, even we had a difficult time getting a read. But when it came to you, she couldn't hide them."

"Why wouldn't they have brought me here instead of to the orphanage?" I asked.

"You were born at Palisade and brought to the orphanage by Councilwoman Faust, not your parents. Going missing from the orphanage at any point afterward would have shined an immediate light in their direction. How old are you now?"

"I've just entered my twentieth year."

"So, they would have died when you were six or seven," the woman picked up where her partner left off. "They were trying to help as many children as they could before exposing themselves, but we know they never intended you to get as far as Palisade."

I'd spent so many years of my life resenting my parents for what I believed was a careless affair. They should have known what would happen to me—the majority of mixed-breeds were not as fortunate as I was. Most were disappeared, or killed, and in some cases, prevented from being born at all. They should have been more careful. But I was wrong. My parents were in love, and as I was learning, they loved me, too. Now, I found myself missing people I'd never met—people I would never have the chance to meet.

"People speak of my mother often, but not as much my father. What was he like?"

"Funny," the couple said in tandem, followed each by a chuckle.

"Funny?" I asked.

"He was light-hearted, didn't take himself too seriously," the man said. "He insisted everybody call him Handy Andy—even put on this ridiculous accent. Real good at fixing things, that's why. He wasn't the best looking, but the ladies loved him."

Handy Andy, I thought, vaguely horrified. Sinclair must never hear this story lest I become Handy Andy the Second.

"He was the only one who could make Kaisa laugh," the woman added.

"People often make it sound as though she was quite cold," I said.

"No, not true. Kaisa was complicated—that's all," she continued. "She had a lot of pressure growing up a successor. And the weight of everything—of what she and your father were doing. She had a big heart, but it was shy."

I understood.

There was a thoughtful lull in the conversation, a moment for everyone to sip their tea.

"If it worked for him, maybe it'll work for me," Riz said finally. "Fizzy Rizzy—what do you all think? Keep it, or send it back to the workshop?"

The Endican couple laughed, and even I'd been unable to suppress a smirk.

In relaying what he'd known of their story, and in introducing me to our new acquaintances, Matteus Rizik had done more to help come to terms with my past than Maryse who, by the way, hadn't relented. Twice weekly therapy sessions, indefinitely, and that afternoon, I was late for our fourth session—as I was about to be reminded.

"If you're going to skip out on our appointments, Andrei, you should do a better job at hiding from me," came a voice from behind. Maryse.

I'd have rolled my eyes if I could.

It wasn't as though I was opposed to therapy. I'm certain Maryse had helped plenty of people, and would go on to help plenty more—but I didn't need therapy. Yes, I'd had the occasional outburst of frustration or anger—who hadn't? She herself once said it was a healthy response in moderation. The only thing unhealthy about my shows of emotion was that they were tied to my elemental ability, and with Riz's help, I was learning to control that better by the day. I didn't need therapy, but I did need her to let me into the laboratory to see Jakob again.

"Let's talk about your friends," Maryse said.

As always, the room smelled of alcohol and vinegar with a lavender twist. The leather chair was still squeaky and uncomfortable.

"What would you like to know about my friends?"

"Tell me about them."

Internalizing a sigh, I began. "There's Michael Reider. We've not always been close, but I consider him a friend nevertheless."

"What's stopped you from getting closer?"

"I don't know—we don't have much in common besides our other friends. But he's a good man, if a bit stubborn."

Scritch, scritch, scritch.

I wondered where she kept her notes, and exactly how much information about everyone at the lair was stored in this room.

"So, Michael—who else?"

"Feargus Finlay—they say he was killed in Endica. We'd grown closer over the past months. As friends, but also as colleagues. Learning of his death was difficult."

"Finlay," Maryse repeated. "Huh. That indeed would have been difficult. But I noticed you said, 'they say he was killed,' and not, 'he was killed.' Why is that?"

Scritch, scritch, scritch.

"Because there are some who don't believe it—that there must have been a misunderstanding, or that he's faked his death."

"Do you think that's true?"

"I don't know."

"Sentiments like that are dangerous without evidence, Andrei. Those still in denial could unwittingly prolong your grief."

"I'm perfectly capable of moving through my grief while simultaneously entertaining the possibility that he may not really be dead."

"Not many would be able to. What makes you think you can?"

"Because, despite what some would have me believe, I'm a rather well-adjusted individual."

Maryse's chair squeaked. She had stopped writing.

"Michael, Feargus—is that everyone?"

"There's Adeline Blanchett."

"The Blanchett?"

"Yes, the Councilwoman's daughter."

Scritch, scritch, scritch again, otherwise Maryse fell silent. I didn't know the Delphi's entire history, but I did know Maryse had been brought to the lair as a child, before ever stepping foot on the isle of Palisade. She wouldn't have known the Councilwoman personally, but she would have no doubt heard the stories.

"She is spirited and capable, and with her, there's been no difficulty in finding topics to discuss," I continued. "We became fast friends."

"I see you around with Matteus Rizik," Maryse said.

"Naturally," I replied. "We knew each other before, are roommates, and have become close."

"That's a well-rounded friend group you have there—that's good."

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

Scritch, scritch, scritch.

I wasn't sure where she was headed with this exercise, but I nodded. "They're all wonderful, but this friend group, as you say, wouldn't exist without Rhian Sinclair."

"Rhydian's kid?"

The Delphi had, once more, stopped taking notes.

"Yes. She's my… girlfriend, I suppose."

Maryse's chair squeaked, and after a deep inhale, her breathing grew more rapid.

"You suppose?"

"In many ways we are more than that, and in some ways less."

"Less? How so?"

"We've never made anything official—I'm not even certain how that works."

"I see," Maryse said softly. "And more?"

"She's my best friend. I've been in love with her for years."

Silence followed, teetering on awkward.

"And she feels the same?"

"Yes," I said.

"Has she told you?" she asked.

"In so many words."

"I see," Maryse repeated, barely audible.

"She introduced me to the above friend group. Some directly, some by proxy, but either way, it's likely I wouldn't know any of them without her."

Scritch, scritch, scritch.

"So no friends of your own, then?" Maryse asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Friends that you yourself have made through circumstance, or happenstance, or shared interests."

"Why does that matter?"

"We could be friends," she said quickly—too quickly, in fact.

"Isn't there a line drawn at making friends with your patients? At the church, I didn't bond on a personal level with my confessors."

Maryse's chair squeaked. Heat radiated from her body, her breaths still quick.

"Honestly, I don't think you need to see me anymore anyway, Andrei. You've been through a lot and have overcome much, but you're right—you've found ways to cope, and your mind is rational—no signs of depression, delusion, or mania."

"Fantastic," I said.

"So, consider this our last session." A breeze when Maryse stood from the squeaky chair. "And I was thinking we could spend some time together later?"

I'd been propositioned often enough in my days at the church that I knew intimately what it felt like. I was unimpressed.

"You're coming on to me—now? After I've just finished telling you I'm hopelessly in love with somebody else?"

"I think you should consider your options, that's all."

"And I think this is highly unethical—not to mention extremely uncomfortable." I stood from the squeaky chair and made my way toward the curtain.

"I'll take you to see Jakob again."

I paused in front of the curtain, thoughtful for a time. I did need to see Jakob again, but I would find another way. I didn't bother turning to face her for what I was about to say next.

With confidence, I embodied Rhian Sinclair when I said with sincerity, "Piss off, Maryse."

There were two voices behind the curtain to our room—Riz's of course, and another unfamiliar masculine voice. From what I could gather, he was sharing a story about a tumultuous embark ride during which there had been a violent storm.

I stepped through the curtain and lofted a hand.

Whoever our visitor was, he'd brought an earthy scent to the room.

"Drei, this is Markus Lund."

My continued training with Riz had been paying off, and I was beginning to feel more comfortable sensing where there were objects obstructing the airflow in a given space. When there were people involved, the heat radiated from their bodies. That said, I identified two truths relatively quickly: Riz was seated on the bed, and our guest—both wider and taller than the Celestian—was seated on the chair.

I turned in his direction and stepped forward, offering my hand.

"Andrei," I said. "Pleased to meet you, and I'm sorry for interrupting your story."

The Endican shook my hand. His blood ran hot.

"You should be more sorry you missed it," Riz went on to say. "It was a classic tale of Nav's Not Ready, but the Assembly Sends Him or Her Out to Sea Anyway and Everybody Almost Dies."

Markus chuckled.

"Did that happen often?" I asked.

"Yeah," Markus replied.

"All the time," Riz said.

"Did you two know each other at Palisade?"

The air warped and fanned around Riz. He was nodding. "Small world, right?"

"I just got back from some business in Endica yesterday," Markus explained.

The state of affairs in Endica was grim last I'd heard. There'd been ongoing tension, though the source of the conflict remained a mystery to most. I'd once asked Commander Reider for information, having once been deployed to the north, but he was tight lipped.

"Has the fighting stopped?" I asked, moving toward the wall to lean.

"Not even close," Markus said.

"But why?"

"The gist? The Endican don't want to send our kids to Palisade anymore. They say the institution's archaic and cruel, and that we could just as easily raise our own young Partisans to serve good causes. Without their influence."

"A worthy fight," I said.

"Yeah—a principled fight, but it's futile. The Assembly won't let up. They have nothing to lose when they can breed and raise their own Endican-blooded babies at Palisade, ones who'd never know anything but Palisade. They claim to have been doing, 'a mercy,' letting Partisans grow up in-territory. Until they build a nursery spire at Palisade—and it's only a matter of time—they'll keep reminding my people who's in charge."

"Pretty shitty," Riz added.

I nodded. Pretty shitty, indeed. "Councilwoman Hall—how does she feel about the Assembly committing virtual genocide against her own people?"

"Councilwoman Hall can't do anything to stop it—not directly. Not without getting herself ousted and killed. She can do more for us sitting in that seat."

I recalled the day I took my vows before the Assembly. The day she'd read my heart and felt my pain firsthand. She'd been moved, and I remember being surprised that she hadn't become desensitized to it all. My story was no more traumatic than any other Partisan who'd been taken from their parents as a baby—arguably worse, as a child. Now, I wondered if she was thinking not only about me, but about us all—that the tears in her eyes and the trembles in her hands weren't caused only by sadness, but also by fury.

"Anyway," Riz said, "back to keeping it light—how was your session?"

"Maryse said I no longer have to see her."

"That's great," Riz replied.

"They had me do therapy, too," Markus said. "I'd never even thought about killing myself before, but we started our sessions, and I thought—well, that'd be one way out."

I snickered and Riz howled.

"She came on to me."

"She what?!" the duo spoke synchronously.

Shifting my weight against the wall, I shrugged. "She even tried to bribe me—said she'd take me to see Jakob again."

"Wait, who's Jakob?" Markus asked.

A breeze and a squeak when Riz shifted on the bed, turning to face Markus. "One of the Anima they keep in those cages in that lab—you seen it?"

"Yeah, it's fucking sick if you ask me," the empath replied. "The emotions in that room—I could barely stand it when they took me on my tour."

"They're basically monsters, though," Riz said.

"Yeah, well—they were people first, and the pain they carry, it's the pain from their past. From before. Either way, nobody deserves to be locked in a box their whole damned lives—and for them, it could be a literal eternity."

"I hadn't thought about it that way," Riz replied. "That is pretty fucked up."

Having spent more than half a decade in a similar box, I could attest. And if Maryse was no longer going to help me help Jakob, I'd just identified two other people who would.

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