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As he ascends the floors of Caleb’s tower, Essek re-reads the piece of parchment delivered to his door by a feline messenger earlier in the day. Three sentences in Caleb’s neat, slanted hand, short and simple:
I have something I would like to show you. If you are so inclined, meet me outside my chambers later this evening. Do not fill up at dinner. -CW
No matter how many times Essek turns the words over in his head, he can’t discern their meaning. He has theories as to the nature of the summons, suspicions that a mere week ago he would have dismissed as foolish wishful thinking. However he considers himself quite adept at reading people, and it hasn’t been difficult to pick up on the glances that linger a moment too long, the constant close proximity, that ridiculous aerial display while descending through Aeor’s lower levels.
He suspects all things considered he’s been rather obvious, too. The Mighty Nein have melted a fissure in the icy shell of his heart, and feelings long kept tucked away are beginning to seep out, lending a subtext to his words and actions that betray his true sentiments for this group and one of their number in particular. That never used to happen before, and yet now that it has started Essek finds he doesn’t want it to stop.
So when Jester caught on to his hidden, blossoming hope for something of a future with Caleb, he did not deny it. He remained stoic, guarded, as Jester proceeded to have a conversation with Caleb that he only heard one half of, but he did not deny it. He knows what he meant, he is certain Caleb knows, and now Jester knows, if her exaggerated wink in his direction had been any indication. And it’s wonderfully freeing, to be so open and honest, to be rewarded for that honesty because for the first time in his life he is among people who see it as a virtue rather than a shortcoming.
Essek doesn’t want to hide anymore.
He floats through the brass iris leading to the seventh floor, still turning Caleb’s words over in his head. I have something I would like to show you. Do not fill up at dinner. While Essek has his suspicions, he does not have enough specific context to decipher the exact meaning of these phrases. Too many mysteries remain unrevealed to him in this tower, in this spectral extension of Caleb’s heart. Essek hopes some of those mysteries will be answered this evening.
He does not have to wait long. Caleb emerges from the least-decorated of the three doors on this floor and floats out to meet him in the center of the space. Caleb is dressed in the same clothes as earlier, but with the outer layers and fingerless gloves removed, leaving only a simple white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. The hemline is tucked neatly into his well-fitted tan trousers. Essek can see where the chain of the anti-scrying amulet disappears into the neckline of his shirt at his clavicle, and the leather straps of his book holsters nicely frame the lines of his torso. Essek suddenly feels somewhat overdressed (and very warm) in his heavy mantle.
Essek draws his gaze back up to Caleb’s face, not quickly enough for it to go unnoticed that he was staring, but Caleb doesn’t call him out on his wandering eye. Instead, Caleb greets Essek with an amused tilt of his head and a curl of a smile to match. “I see my message piqued your curiosity.”
Essek tilts his head slightly as well and returns the small smile. “It was an effective snare. I am always curious.”
“Likewise, as you know.” The corner of Caleb’s mouth quirks a little, as if he’s thought of a private joke, and Essek recalls his words from before: fucking trouble. Before Essek can think too hard about the implications, Caleb continues, “Well, shall we?” and points a finger upward, providing a hint as to their destination.
Essek nods, and they say Up in unison even though they don’t have to. Essek feels the familiar lightness of the spell take hold and the feeling of delightful whimsy that accompanies it; he will never tire of this.
Essek had thought their destination to be the Beacon Room, but after Caleb utters the Zemnian password that opens the iris to the upper floors, he steps off at the eighth floor and gestures for Essek to follow.
This is the complicated area, Essek remembers from his initial tour. That is all the context Caleb had offered, and the Zemnian wizard does not elaborate as he stops in front of the third door. Placing a hand on the doorknob, he looks back over his shoulder at Essek. He’s still smiling in that mysterious way of his, and yet the familiar sorrow Essek once commented on has returned to Caleb’s eyes, betraying something far deeper. Complicated indeed, Essek thinks.
“I have been thinking of bringing you here since the first Heroes’ Feast. Based on what you told Jester that night, I think you will like this place. I hope I am not wrong.”
Like Essek, Caleb’s words are always carefully chosen, but he is far more direct; the subtext he weaves into his phrasing is deliberate, and he expresses infinitely more with the words that exist only in the negative space of what he says aloud. This place is special to me, he doesn’t say. It must be, to exist on this floor of the tower, guarded by a password in a language only he knows. I’ve decided I want to share it with you.
When Caleb cracks open the door, Essek hears lively music, mingled voices and jovial laughter. Soft yellow light spills out around the gap in the doorframe and the tantalizing scent of cooking meat and baking bread follows, wafting into the hallway.
Don’t fill up at dinner. Heroes’ Feast. The pieces click together in Essek’s mind, and yet his surprise that Caleb has managed to fit an entire restaurant into the tower must show on his face, because Caleb’s smile turns more humble. “It is only an illusion,” he admits. “For the, ah, ambiance. Let me show you.”
Without waiting for Essek to glide forward, Caleb takes his hand and leads him over the threshold. Essek lets him.
Entering the room feels like stepping through a portal. The nine-sided platform of the Tower gives way to a large, open hall with dark wood columns and exposed rafters that run the length of the high ceiling. A massive bar takes up one entire wall, and long, communal tables with wooden benches for seating line the edges of a well-worn dance floor in the center. It reminds Essek of some of the nicer eating establishments in the lively Gallimaufrey district of Rosohna, although the design here is distinctly Zemnian and not inconsistent with the rest of the Tower.
Still leading him by the hand, Caleb takes him past the dance floor, towards the tables at the back of the room. As they move Essek’s eyes flit about the space, trying to take as much in as he can. Along the wall opposite of the bar stands a small, elevated stage, where a quartet plays an upbeat tune. One of the musicians, a dwarf, plays an instrument Essek has never seen before—a metal contraption that seems to make its sound through repeated expansion and contraction of the device while pressing different combinations of buttons. As he plays, he stomps his heel loudly against the wood stage, keeping time with the music while couples on the dance floor twirl to its beat.
Essek’s mantle brushes several of the patrons as they pass, but there is no contact. Part of the illusion, he realizes. The bargoers appear to be townsfolk of simple dress, a mix of humans, halflings, and dwarves consistent with the demographics of the Empire as Essek understands them, but with no notable accoutrements or even very distinguishing features. They make up part of the background and nothing more.
Caleb sits them down at one of the tables, taking the seat across from Essek. From this new vantage point, Essek can see the many nicks in the bartop as well as countless lines of initials graffitied into the edges of the tables. The scent of woodsmoke from the roaring hearth in the corner hovers in the air, blending with the enticing scents emanating from a kitchen somewhere and the sweetness of alcohol on the tongues of the other patrons. Behind the bar, a line of barmaids perform a coordinated dance of weaving between each other to fill tall mugs to the brim with frothy, dark beer from a number of taps.
Essek’s gaze lingers on the surrounding space long enough that he starts to suspect his ogling is beginning to border on rude to his host, but when he refocuses his attention on Caleb he finds the redheaded wizard watching him patiently, curious, as though waiting for his guest’s assessment.
“This is a place that exists in the Empire, isn’t it?” It’s not the first thing Essek meant to say, but it’s the only logical conclusion he can reach from how completely the atmosphere of this place encompasses his senses. Everything feels too real; there is too much detail in every nook and corner of this place for it to have been created solely from Caleb’s imagination.
Caleb nods. “It is something of a cultural landmark in Rexxentrum, not far from the Soltryce Academy.”
Caleb doesn’t elaborate, but Essek doesn’t miss how the other wizard’s gaze flicks away from him for a moment, landing on a table adjacent to the dance floor that is conspicuously empty. A million questions enter Essek’s mind at this peculiar behavior, but he quickly banishes them. Caleb has only ever shared vague intimations about his history, and more often than not grows closed-off and cagey when confronted on the subject directly. This scene is an allowed glance behind a usually locked door, and Essek has no desire to seek more than he’s been given.
Leaning forward on his elbows on the table, he says instead, “Your note said to take only a light supper. Am I to understand the intent is to enjoy a more substantial meal here?”
The question draws Caleb’s attention back to him, and the reminder of their purpose in coming here returns the mysterious smile to his face, pulling him out of his reverie. “Yes, the food is good here, and very representative of Empire cuisine. I wanted to introduce you to some of it, if you’d be interested.”
One of Essek’s white eyebrows lifts delicately, and he reaches across the table to place his hand on Caleb’s forearm. The sensation of wispy hairs brushing his palm catches him by surprise, but it’s not unwelcome. “I am always interested in trying new things.”
All the breath seems to leave Caleb in an instant, and his pupils dilate slightly even though the lighting in the space hasn’t changed. Despite the obvious pleasure written on Caleb’s face, Essek can’t help but notice how he also looks a bit flummoxed, like he hadn’t expected quite such a strong reaction to his words. It isn’t the first time Essek has observed that for how much flirting Caleb likes to do, he’s sometimes surprised when the object of his attention flirts back. It makes for a very fun game.
It takes Caleb a moment to respond, and for a split-second Essek worries maybe he’s come on too strong. But then a calloused hand rests over Essek’s own smooth one, and Caleb leans in as well. “In that case, I hope to introduce you to several new things tonight.”
Essek gives Caleb a promising look from under his white lashes, offering a glimpse of his own pleasure at the exploratory touches and turn of conversation. He gives Caleb’s forearm the smallest of squeezes. “I look forward to it.”
Caleb’s cheeks light up with a blush, and when their gazes meet Essek sees the same promise reflected in his light blue eyes. The tip of Caleb’s index finger begins tracing light patterns on the back of Essek’s hand. Essek recognizes it as the rune for Shocking Grasp, and he feels heat rush to his own cheeks. As much as he doesn’t want to pull back from the field of energy between them that sparks like arcane static, he’s beginning to sweat uncomfortably under his mantle.
With some regret, he pulls his hand back to begin undoing the many clasps that hold the garment in place. He doesn’t miss how Caleb’s eyeline follows his retreating hand then remains fixed in the vicinity of his collarbones as he pulls off the weighty fabric and lays it carefully on the bench beside them. He’s not revealed any skin, just the deep purple and black traveling tunic he wears beneath the mantle, but that doesn’t seem to matter to Caleb, who’s still looking at him like a present unwrapped. Delightful.
Resting his forearms back on the tabletop between them in a way that shows off the lines of his arms and shoulders, Essek tilts his head to the side, setting his many earrings tinkling. “So, what’s on the menu?”
The deceptively casual question snaps Caleb out of his ogling. He sits back in his seat a bit, and Essek can see the work that goes into shifting his attention from the details of Essek’s person back to the task at hand. His flush fades, but Essek is pleased to see it doesn’t dissipate entirely. “Ah, I hope you don’t mind if I order for us both?”
Essek doesn’t, and he indicates as much with an agreeable wave of his hand. “Please, by all means. My palate is at your disposal.”
For a moment Caleb looks as though he might retort to ask what else of Essek’s might be at his disposal, but he doesn’t rise to the bait. Falling back into the safe role of host for the evening, he snaps his fingers, and a calico cat poofs into existence on top of the table. The spectral cat waitstaff of the tower somewhat break the illusion of being in a real Empire drinking establishment, but needs must.
“Lila, could you please bring me a Schnitzel with sides of Spätzle and Rotkohl, and a bowl of Kartoffelsuppe for my companion here? Oh, and two pints of Roggenbier and a basket of pretzels with mustard to start?”
Lila nods her head at every Zemnian food item Caleb lists off in that strange understanding way common to the servants of the tower, then darts away towards one of the cat-sized holes cut into the walls.
Enticed by the promise of food, Essek feels his stomach begin to growl. For how charged the atmosphere had been between them just a moment ago, Essek is genuinely looking forward to this part of the evening too. Leaning forward again, he says conversationally, “I’m sure you know I have absolutely no idea what any of those things are.”
Caleb grins at him. “That is entirely your own fault. Nothing was stopping you from casting Tongues.”
“And why would I use my magical energies for such a task when I have a perfectly capable translator seated before me? Also, have you considered that I might want to be surprised?”
The rapid processing that occurs behind Caleb’s eyes tells Essek in an instant he hadn’t considered that possibility. But Caleb is adept at reading people, and Essek has nothing but genuine interest and curiosity for anything this magnificent wizard has to show him.
Caleb seems to read that in his unguarded expression, and the pleased look Caleb gives him in return feels like a reward. “Then you are in for a treat.”
Essek thinks of the Beacon Room and his bedchambers a mere two floors below with their iridescent grey quartz walls, brass fixtures, and wooden floors the distinctive plum shade of the Vermaloc. When he speaks, the timbre of his voice shifts, the lilt of his accent rounding and softening in a way that betrays the direction of his thoughts towards the gifts Caleb has already given him and the promise of future pleasant surprises. “I have no doubt of that.”
The change in Essek’s tone doesn’t escape Caleb’s notice, if the sudden bob of his Adam’s apple is any indication. The other man unsubtly clears his throat and shifts a little on the bench. The movement brings their knees into contact under the table, and neither of them pull away.
Essek feels a booted toe nudge against his ankle, and the touch coupled with Caleb’s murmured reply of, “Then I shall endeavor not to disappoint you,” does very pleasant things to Essek’s insides.
Just as Essek is considering his next move in their once again escalating game of playful touch and double-entendre, movement out of the corner of his eye catches his attention. He and Caleb both turn to see a line of three cats approaching their table with what must be their drinks and appetizer balanced atop their tails. Regretting the necessary pause, Essek drops the suggestion from his voice and gestures to the arriving cats as he says neutrally, “It appears you will soon have your chance.”
Caleb’s boot brushes a little higher up the side of his calf in promise before the touch leaves entirely. Essek laments the loss, but follows Caleb’s lead in sitting up a little straighter at the table in preparation for receiving their meal.
The cats prove sufficiently distracting, hopping up onto the table one after the other with their easy feline grace. They deposit the basket of what Caleb had called pretzels and two pints of dark beer in front of them. Caleb thanks them by name—Lila, Mitzi, Gretchen—and gives each of them a scritch between the ears. It’s hopelessly endearing, and more than worth the interruption to see the unfettered affection on Caleb’s face when he interacts with them.
When the cats depart and Caleb’s attention reverts back to him, Essek fights down the old familiar urge to school his expression into neutral territory. Instead he lets Caleb catch that he was staring, even as the vulnerability of the naked emotion on his face makes him hyper-aware of how hard his heart is thudding in his chest and how hot the tips of his ears feel suddenly. He vaguely wonders how visible the subtle deeper purple of a drow blush is to the human eye. That’s something he’s never had to think about before, and he surprises himself with the thought that he might want Caleb to notice. And yet it shouldn’t come as a surprise. He’s so tired of hiding.
Spurred on by this realization, Essek leans into his choice. He tips his head in the direction of the retreating cats and says, “They’re cute.” But his eyes never leave Caleb’s, and the upward curl of his lips in a teasing smile he hopes makes it clear he’s not talking about the cats. Or at least not just the cats. They are also very cute, after all.
It has the desired effect. Caleb’s pretty blush returns, and it takes him several seconds to formulate a response. When he finds his words, he says, “Ah, ja , they are. Don’t let them hear you say it, though, or you will seduce them all away from me.”
“Is that so? I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Essek would be content to exchange banter with Caleb all evening, but his stomach has other ideas. It reminds him of its emptiness with a persistent ripple distracting enough to make him do something about it. “I also don’t want to insult them by not enjoying what they’ve prepared for us. May I?” he asks, gesturing to the food and drink before them.
Caleb gives an encouraging wave of his hand. “Of course, go ahead. I didn’t realize you were waiting.”
Essek hadn’t been waiting so much as thoroughly engrossed by his dinner companion, but he’ll let Caleb think he simply has good manners. The beer is more familiar territory than the odd twists of thick bread, so Essek reaches for that first.
Caleb does the same and holds his tankard up to clink with Essek’s with an exclamation of, “Prost!”
None of the traditional Dynasty sayings like, ‘To her everlasting brightness, Leylas Kryn!' or 'Blessed light upon this great bounty!' taste quite right in Essek’s mouth, so instead he makes a try at repeating back the Zemnian word, and Caleb’s look of pleased surprise is worth the absolute butchery he’s sure his accent made of the pronunciation. Still, he’s satisfied with himself as he raises the drink to his lips. The beer is crisp and distinctly bitter, but not in a way he finds unpleasant. It carries a yeasty finish with traces of a dry spice he can’t immediately place.
Lowering his tankard, he runs his tongue over the foam lingering on his upper lip, not missing how Caleb’s eyes track the movement. “It’s good,” he says, “and quite a complex flavor. I can’t say we have anything like it in the Dynasty.”
“I would be very surprised if you had—rye beer is very distinctly Zemnian, as are pretzels.”
Caleb gestures to the basket between them, taking one of the twists in his fingers and pulling off a portion of it to reveal a thick doughy inside. He hands this piece to Essek and then pulls off another for himself. He dunks one end in one of the small cups of mustard and takes a bite. Essek copies his movements, grateful for the demonstration of how to properly eat it. The soft dough is pleasantly chewy, and the combination of flecks of salt and tangy, grainy mustard accompany it quite well.
When his first piece is gone, Essek eagerly reaches back into the basket for more, and between the two of them they finish off three whole pretzels by the time the rest of their meal arrives.
They make room on the table for the parade of cats to come through with their deliveries—Lila and Mitzi return, along with a larger one Caleb calls Bruno. They set down a hefty dinner plate for Caleb and a large bowl of creamy soup with chunks of root vegetables and sliced sausages before Essek, along with the appropriate cutlery wrapped in cloth napkins. Essek joins Caleb in giving them scritches before they dart away.
When they turn their attention to the food, Essek notices Caleb regards everything laid out before them with the same look as when he was trying to describe his Zemnian dishes to Jester at the Heroes’ Feast, and when he inexplicably smelled his mother’s apple tarts in the caverns of Aeor: the fondness of memory, laced with the familiar pain he carries with him. Caleb’s use of the word ‘complicated’ to describe this place returns to Essek’s mind. He wants to help Caleb with this, to provide comfort in some way, but Caleb has not asked him for that. So he doesn’t.
Feeling once again a coward, Essek redirects his focus from Caleb’s hidden struggles to a much simpler subject: the bowl of soup before him. Steam wafts up into his face, teasing him with the scents of potato, parsley, carrots, and bacon. It smells wonderful, and he tells Caleb so.
Caleb pauses halfway through unrolling his cutlery to give Essek a smile that falls a bit short of his eyes. Once again he gestures for Essek to start and says, “Guten appetit.”
The cognates for that Zemnian phrase are obvious enough. When the first spoonful of soup passes Essek’s lips, he thinks Caleb couldn’t have ordered more perfectly for him. Between the bits of sausage, a touch of cream, and the small pieces of thickly-cut bacon, the soup is rich, decadent even. And yet even among the robust flavors of the meats, the large chunks of carrot and potato still allow the flavors of the root vegetables to shine through. He even catches hints of the celery and onion that must make up part of the base.
As he eats, Essek feels the soup warm him, clinging to his insides in a way he can only describe as comforting. Cozy, even. Without thinking, he tears off another chunk of pretzel and swirls the end in his bowl with his fingers until the dough comes away heavy with the creamy broth. He pops the sodden piece of bread into his mouth and delights at the combined textures and flavors.
It’s as he’s licking errant droplets of soup from his fingers following his experiment with the pretzel that he notices Caleb has abandoned his own meal to watch him. Essek immediately grows self-conscious and reaches for his napkin, wiping his hands delicately with the cloth. When he dares to glance up again, to his surprise, Caleb doesn’t look horrified by the complete disappearance of Essek’s table manners (which is fine, Essek feels horrified enough for the both of them). Instead the look Caleb gives him is amused. And fond.
Relieved that Caleb didn’t simply get up and walk away from the table in disgust, Essek isn’t sure what to do with the soft cast in Caleb’s eyes in light of his undignified behavior. He dabs at the corner of his lips with his napkin before smoothing it across his lap. “The soup is...delicious,” he says lamely.
Also to Essek’s great relief, Caleb doesn’t laugh at him. There isn’t any judgment in Caleb’s voice when he speaks, either. “I am glad you like it. It is called Kartoffelsuppe, which just means ‘potato soup’. There are many Zemnian soups with more exotic flavors, like pork blood or cow’s liver, but I thought you might prefer something a bit more, ah... humble. ”
He says ‘humble’ in that way Essek has come to understand means he is referring to himself, with that self-deprecating tone as if his existence on Exandria is some great joke of the gods. With the scant little knowledge he possesses of Caleb’s history, Essek doesn’t quite catch the implication, and he doesn’t dare pry; he’s never been brave enough to test the fragile thread of trust held between them. Caleb will either choose to share, or he won’t, and Essek respects his decision either way.
All Essek can do is meet Caleb where he is. The Zemnian wizard’s fingers have started flexing and twitching nervously against the tabletop, and Essek lays his hand back atop them. “I assure you, I am very much enjoying it. Truly, the Umavi would be appalled if she had witnessed the complete collapse of my table manners a moment ago.”
That draws a laugh from Caleb, and the nervous tic against Essek’s palm settles. Then Caleb shifts his hand and brushes his fingertips against Essek’s, resuming the earlier dance from when they first sat down.
“Well, she isn’t here, so you can be as unrefined as you wish. You’ve traveled with us long enough, you should know we have no standards to speak of.”
With a laugh, Essek agrees, “True enough.” Feeling bold and deciding to take Caleb’s words at face value, Essek reaches across the table to pick up Caleb’s discarded fork. “So you would not mind if I tried some of your meal? I have to admit I’m quite curious what Zemnian foods you’ve chosen for yourself.”
Caleb’s answer is to push his plate to the center of the table. “By all means. So long as you let me explain what each item is.”
“I would expect nothing less.”
“Well, I will do my best to meet your high expectations. Now—” Caleb leans forward in his seat and points to each of the items on the plate in turn.
The main dish, which Caleb calls Schnitzel, is what he had eaten at the Heroes’ Feast, and Essek learns it is pork, tenderized then breaded and cooked in hot oil. Caleb hands the knife over to Essek so he can cut off a piece for himself, which he does with gusto. The crispy breading crunches satisfyingly between his teeth, and the garnishes of parsley and lemon provide a touch of contrasting lightness to the rich, savory flavor of the meat. It’s indulgent and hearty, a good choice for their feast of everyone’s most comforting foods while they’d laid in wait for the Tomb Takers.
The tines of Essek’s fork follow Caleb’s pointing finger next to a small pile of lumpy noodles sprinkled with grated cheese and black pepper. This is the elusive Spätzle, and Caleb calls the lumps dumplings, rather than noodles. “As you can see, it’s a bit hard to describe, ja?” Caleb says. “But it’s one of my favorites.”
The last item is a soggy and magenta-colored vegetable that turns the bordering Spätzle a shocking pink. When Caleb gestures to this he says, “This is more of an acquired taste. It’s Rotkohl, or red cabbage simmered in red wine, vinegar, and spices.”
Essek dutifully tries each item in kind. The cabbage proves to be his favorite, as it reminds him the most of some elements of Dynasty cuisine. He could have easily eaten all of it if not for his awareness that this would be extremely rude. As if he weren’t already behaving quite scandalously by eating Caleb’s food off of Caleb’s plate using Caleb’s own fork.
Idly, he wonders what his mother’s reaction would be at the sight of her elder son shamelessly eating off the plate of an Empire human, and he takes private pleasure at the kerfuffle he imagines would ensue. He thinks Jester and her strange sometimes-archfey-and-sometimes-weasel patron would be very proud of him for invoking such a scene. He hears Jester’s voice in his head and can picture the exaggerated waggle of her eyebrows as she tells Umavi Dierta Thelyss to her face while seated in her dining room, “That’s not all of Caleb’s he plans on eating, you know~”
Essek has to cover his mouth with the hand that had been over Caleb’s to stifle the snort of laughter that threatens to escape at the thought. He feels heat rush to his ears and cheeks, feeling so on fire surely it’s impossible Caleb won’t notice. Light above, what has gotten into me?
Caleb only looks curiously at him, his head tilted as though Essek is an interesting puzzle he’s looking to solve. “Is everything okay? You looked like you went to another plane for a second. Surely the Rotkohl is not that terrible.”
Essek shakes his head, still trying to get himself under control. He can only provide Caleb with a filtered version of his daydream. While he enjoys veiled flirtation, he could never be gauche enough to say out loud anything like he imagines would spill so easily from Jester’s mouth. Or Beau’s. Or Veth’s. Or from most of the Mighty Nein, if he’s being honest. No matter how much he does truly want to take a bite out of the handsome wizard seated across from him.
“No, the cabbage is wonderful. I apologize for my outburst. It turns out being unrefined feels quite liberating, and it’s difficult to reconcile with how I would be expected to behave at home, at the Thelyss estate. Humorously so.”
Essek punctuates his explanation by reaching out again with Caleb’s fork and lifting another small amount of the cabbage onto the tines. He places the mouthful daintily between his lips, and once he has chewed and swallowed says, “I hope you can work out for yourself which one I prefer.”
The unspoken question fades from Caleb’s blue gaze, replaced by a genuine smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes. “I think I can make an educated guess. And I hope you will listen to me when I tell you you don’t have to worry about what your mother or the rest of your Den think about any of this. They are half a world away.”
Essek turns the fork over in his hands a few times as he considers. “That is true. It’s not so much that I’m worried about it, more that the lens of Den politics has been my only perspective for the many long years of my life up until just a few months ago, and I’m finding century-old habits are, ah, somewhat hard to break.”
Caleb looks contemplative for a moment, then takes the fork from Essek’s hand and sets it to the side. With the utensil out of the way, he lays his hand on Essek’s forearm. “Maybe it’s like changing lenses on a telescope. The view is blurry at first, but with enough time and patience to adjust the focus just right, the points of light come together to reveal all the fine details.”
Taking a long swig of beer seems a far better idea than meeting Caleb’s eyes. To his tankard Essek says, “Perhaps I will not like all the fine details I see.”
“Understandable. However, you do have to be able to see the flaws in order to fix them. An outside perspective can help with that, too. I personally hope for more opportunities to see Essek Thelyss through the lens of the Mighty Nein.”
Despite how it makes him lift with hope, Essek chooses to ignore the hint in Caleb’s words. Obfuscate, hide, deflect. Discarding these tools for the sake of flirting is one thing, but when he’s feeling vulnerable they’re still the ones he reaches for first to protect himself. From inevitable disappointment. From hurt. From heartbreak. “I can’t decide if that is poignant, or just cheesy.”
Caleb laughs. “Can it not be both? It is the truth, regardless. The metaphor might be clumsy, but you do have an opportunity to reshape yourself in a new image, and you have the most likable band of chucklefucks this side of Exandria to help you. At the very least, you can always count on us to call you out on your shit if you start to slide.”
“Hmm, perhaps there is some truth in what you say.” Essek is only referring to the ‘likable band of chucklefucks’ part, but Caleb doesn’t need to know that. As for the rest of it, Essek doesn’t think the bottom of his tankard will hold any answers, but it’s worth a try. Setting the empty drinking vessel down again, he says, “Thank you, Caleb.”
Caleb shrugs a shoulder. “From one fuck-up to another, don’t mention it.”
Essek’s first instinct is to refute this insinuation, to insist Caleb is anything but a fuck-up in his eyes, but he thinks better of it. Caleb wears his sins like his own mantle of spikes, and Essek has acquired enough experience with the weight of deep-seated guilt to know that attempting to lighten the load only has the inverse reaction of making the burden that much heavier.
The moment stretches long between them, falling into a companionable silence when neither of them know how to continue the conversation, having danced so close to the topic of redemption and the uncertain future required for such a possibility. There are too many words to say on that subject, and at the same time not enough. The two of them are both gems with flaws in their cuts, and Essek has to admit to himself he doesn’t know Caleb’s particular pattern of refractions quite as well as he’d like to think he does. So he doesn’t know quite where they stand on that outside the walls of the tower, only where he wants to be. So he takes what he can, while he can.
He revels in the comfortable, grounding feeling that radiates out from everywhere he and Caleb are touching. None of this should feel as good as it does: not the feeling of Caleb’s thumb rubbing gentle circles just below his elbow, nor his belly full of delicious food or the soft sway of the quieter, slower music playing from the stage. For his whole life Essek has drawn away from anyone seeking to forge any sort of deep, real relationship with him, but with Caleb he thinks he finally understands the desire. The bond growing between them feels inevitable, like this is the only way their essences can exist in combination. And perhaps in this particular timeline it is. Selfishly, he hopes it is.
The feeling of Caleb’s hand coming to rest over his where he’s still touching Caleb’s forearm draws Essek out of his thoughts. He’s about to apologize for allowing his mind to wander but Caleb breaks the silence first.
“Essek, do you know how to waltz?”
Belatedly, Essek realizes while he’d been lost in thought he’d been listening to the melody playing in the background, and he’d been tapping out the familiar 1-2-3, 1-2-3 rhythm of it with his fingertips against Caleb’s arm. Shit.
“No,” he says, emphatic. It may be the most obvious falsehood he’s ever told, and Caleb isn’t fooled for a minute.
“I thought so,” Caleb says, voice rich with triumph, and clasps Essek’s fingers tightly in his own as he stands up from the table. “Essek Thelyss, may I have this dance?”
Weak. That’s what Essek is. He is so completely weak for this man that he acquiesces, rising from the table with an exaggerated huff of annoyance to at least let Caleb know he’s not happy about it. “If you insist.”
“I do insist. Now come.”
Essek glides around the table, then mostly lets Caleb tow him by the hand the rest of the way to the dance floor. When they arrive, Caleb places a hand at the small of Essek’s back, which with Essek’s boots several inches off the ground ends up being about level with Caleb’s ribs. Caleb seems to recognize the obvious problem and looks up at him. Seeing the human’s frustration with the situation, Essek can’t help but feel rather pleased with himself.
Caleb tugs on Essek’s hand, trying to pull him down. “None of that. On your feet, Essek. You’re not getting out of this so easily.”
Essek sticks out his chin, no doubt looking every bit the spoiled noble son of Dierta Thelyss so many tried to make him out to be for so long. “One benefit of creating the expectation of floating everywhere,” he says haughtily, “is that it got me out of participating in the ghastly ritual of ballroom dances. I haven’t done this in decades. ”
Another tug at his hand. “I can see that. You must have been so intimidating, hovering at the edge of the room and threatening murder with your eyes at anyone who tried to approach.”
“ Indeed. It’s astonishing how people think twice when you give the impression you could crush them like a bug.”
Nevertheless, Essek drops his hover spell, letting his feet touch the wood floor. Because Caleb asked him to, and with every moment in Caleb’s company he grows increasingly convinced there isn’t anything he would deny this man. The pride of victory is a good look on Caleb, which only further confirms this observation.
Caleb’s hand exerts a slight pressure at the small of his back; the heat of him presses through the silk tunic to the base of Essek’s spine. Placing his free hand on Caleb’s shoulder and finding the same warmth beneath the thin fabric of Caleb’s loose shirt, Essek rapidly has to try and remember why he thought this was such a terrible idea.
Once they’re in the proper position, Caleb gives his hand a squeeze and says, “As far as I’m concerned, the fact that you can only makes the prospect that much more alluring.”
Before Essek can even begin to process that, Caleb continues, “Now come, waltz with me. I think you’ll find the basics never truly leave you.”
Caleb gives a gentle push with the hand clasping Essek’s own, and Essek instinctively follows, stepping back and to the left as Caleb steps forward and right, their movements far more coordinated than Essek would have expected.
A smug grin twists the corners of Caleb’s lips as he steps again, and Essek scowls up at him even as he again follows in reverse. “Sometimes I hate it when you’re right.”
Caleb’s blue eyes sparkle again, but Essek isn’t ready to let him have the last word. He halts them abruptly, and reverses the positions of their hands, moving Caleb’s arm around his waist to rest on his shoulder instead, and pressing his palm to the small of Caleb’s back. Chin tilted up in defiance, he declares, “However I am used to leading.”
Caleb’s smile only widens. “That’s fine,” he says, and when they begin again at the top of the next measure he reverses direction effortlessly, letting Essek take the lead as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “I go both ways.” And he winks .
Essek’s fragile façade of annoyance breaks, and a burst of genuine laughter escapes him before he can stop it. This man, by the Light. “You are terrible,” he manages to say, voice full of mirth.
At the sight of Caleb looking so satisfied before him, his earlier troubles seemingly far away for the moment, Essek drops all semblance of pretense and lets himself enjoy this. He takes stock of the way Caleb’s auburn hair shines copper in the soft light, how his wiry muscles shift beneath Essek’s hands with his movements, how the scents of charcoal and ink cling to his hands. Essek greedily fetters all of it into his heart, where it can play on a dunamantic loop long after this moment ends. Caleb throws him off his axis, and Essek lets himself tilt.
“I only go the one way, I’m afraid,” he retorts, and oh that little admission was worth it for how prettily Caleb’s eyes widen in pleased surprise. Emboldened, Essek smirks, showing a hint of fang, and tightens his hold on Caleb’s waist. “But I’m damn good at it.”
The apples of Caleb’s cheeks turn a lovely shade of pink at that, and Essek doesn’t give him a single moment to recover. With a sweep of his arm, he begins to lead Caleb in the most elegant Kryn waltz he knows, his steps light, airy, and perfectly in-time with the music that’s about as far removed from a Dynasty string ensemble as it’s possible to be.
Caleb knows the fundamental movements of the waltz well enough that they don’t immediately step all over each other. Essek keeps the pattern simple, but every once in a while throws in a uniquely Kryn flourish to give Caleb a challenge. Caleb’s eyes spark with energy each time, and Essek can see his brain working to recognize and follow his cues. They make some missteps, apologizing for bumped shoulders and stepped-on toes, but these moments grow fewer after several rotations around the dance floor.
Essek feels something of a thrill at how he’s managed to turn the tables, having put Caleb on his back foot both literally and figuratively. However when he looks at Caleb all he sees in the other man’s face is delight. It throws him for a second, his mind whirring as he processes this new information. Apart from when they’d completed the spell to return Veth to her body, he doesn’t know if he’s ever seen Caleb look so happy. And this feels different from the rush of adrenaline from their accomplishment that day. Essek doesn’t know what this is, just that it makes him glad he didn’t turn down Caleb’s request to dance, if his saying yes could lead to this moment.
The pessimistic (no, not pessimistic, rational ) part of Essek’s brain knows Caleb’s current happiness could be from visiting this place that’s so special to him, or from the nostalgic meal, or even from the alcohol they’ve consumed. But the selfish part of him wants to believe it’s because of him. That his company and the deepening connection between them can bring out this side of Caleb.
Essek wishes it, because that might mean hope exists for this. For them. If two fractured, damned wizards can find these rare, precious moments of joy amongst the endless darkness that at times threatens to consume them, perhaps Essek is not all venom and Caleb is not all self-sacrifice. Perhaps one day he might even begin to like the person he sees in the mirror. And if he can help do that for Caleb, too, then. Well. Essek can’t imagine a possibility more perfect. Perhaps that is what Caleb meant by seeing him through the lens of the Mighty Nein. He’s still not sure it’s possible, but by the Light he wants to try. He’s promised to keep Caleb from skirting too close to the dark side of ambition, and should he be lucky enough to have the opportunity, he wants to create moments like this for Caleb too.
He also doesn’t want to waste any more time. At the end of the song, he lifts the arm holding Caleb’s hand as a cue for Caleb to spin under it. The height difference between them makes it a little tricky, but Essek successfully twirls Caleb out and back in again. When they come back together, Caleb doesn’t say anything, just gives his hand a squeeze, and they hold together for a beat when the song ends.
The next one begins a moment later and its tempo is notably slower, meant for closer dancing than Essek’s ever participated in. His instinct is to pull away, but Caleb leans into him, drawing their bodies closer until the scruff of the taller man’s jaw brushes Essek’s temple. Essek can feel the quick thud of Caleb’s pulse where they’re pressed together and see the faint sweat sheen peeking out from the collar of his shirt.
Caleb takes the lead this time, guiding them in an easy repeating series of steps that has them rotating in small circles on the dance floor, their movements a gentle sway rather than a true dance. He doesn’t speak, just guides Essek through the motions to the beat of the song. Essek feels the puff of Caleb’s breathing against his hair, and he takes a few near-silent deep breaths to try and calm the rapid thump-thump-thump of his own heart, which he doesn’t think is just from the exertion of the waltz.
Unsure what the sudden shift in Caleb’s body language implies, Essek remains quiet. Meanwhile his mind goes to war with itself over two conflicting hopes: one wishing Caleb would say something to reveal the answer to this new mystery, and the other hoping this moment could never end. He preoccupies himself instead with taking in as many details as he can from this new vantage point—mapping the patterns of freckles that spill down the column of Caleb’s neck and run along the top of his shoulder, committing to memory how the unique scent of Caleb’s skin blends with the herbal soap stocked in the tower’s bedchambers.
When Caleb finally speaks, he pulls Essek out of his thoughts on how he is at just the right natural height to lay his head on Caleb’s shoulder if he wanted. It’s a tempting idea, and a bold one. Essek does a quick measure of the pros and cons and the respective consequences of each action and decides against it.
Caleb’s words are soft against the shell of Essek’s ear, and the last hints of the playful teasing from earlier fade back into Caleb’s usual quiet gravitas. “You are very good at this. To be honest, I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect bringing you here tonight.”
Essek senses the shift in mood immediately. While he can’t see Caleb’s face, from the other wizard’s tone he’d be willing to bet Caleb’s easy smile from just a few moments ago has faded. Afraid this closeness might not last, Essek lets himself enjoy the warmth and intimacy of the embrace for a moment before plucking at the hanging implication in Caleb’s words. He keeps his tone light and playful, offering a smooth route back to the effortless banter of before if Caleb wishes it. “You mean you didn’t expect to engage in a, ah, cross-cultural exchange?”
Essek feels Caleb’s deep chuckle. “That was fully my intention. But a lot of this is for my own indulgence, and I wasn’t sure how you would react. Thank you for having an open mind, and for humoring me with it all.”
So not banter then. There is so much to unpack in what Caleb has just told him, but Essek’s brain stutters to a halt when Caleb’s cheek finds the soft curls of his coif, as if drawn there with a magnet. Warm, chapped lips brush his hairline, fleeting like the tickle of a butterfly’s wing, and Caleb whispers, “This feels like a dream that will fade away come morning.”
The brief touch warms Essek all over, and feelings he’s been trying to hold at bay for both their sakes roar to life deep inside him. He doesn’t want to hold back any more. Not when Caleb thinks by going along with all of this that Essek is merely humoring him, like he doesn’t believe Essek could also want all of this and more. Caleb deserves better than that, because this is no small gift he’s given tonight. He’s taken one of the broken pieces of himself from behind the guarded walls of his heart and put it on display in the form of this lovingly-crafted facsimile of a memory. Though Essek thinks his own heart cold and small in comparison to Caleb’s full one, he wants to give a piece of it in return all the same. He lets his graceful steps slow to a stop, causing Caleb to cease his movements as well.
Even though they’ve stopped dancing, Caleb doesn’t let go, and Essek doesn’t want him to.
Essek lowers his arms from the waltz position, but only so he can wrap them both around Caleb’s waist instead, keeping him close. He leans back from the embrace just enough so that he can meet Caleb’s eyes, and any loss of warmth is quickly replaced by this new contact between them.
“If it were a dream, I would alter the fabric of time itself so it would never have to end.”
For a moment Caleb just looks at him, lips slightly parted in disbelief and a look of soft wonder in his eyes. Then he says, voice rough with sudden emotion, “I hope you know, the fact that you can only makes the prospect that much more alluring.”
It turns out Essek doesn’t have to break reality, because time slows all on its own when Caleb kisses him.
None of Essek’s many imaginings of this moment hold a candle to the real feeling of Caleb’s soft lips against his. The first touch is tentative, like Caleb still thinks this could be a dream he’s about to wake up from. Essek curls his fingers into the straps of Caleb’s book holsters and pulls hard to draw Caleb’s lips more firmly against his own, confirming yes this is real and yes he wants this too. So much. Caleb sighs against his lips, a release of hope and longing and relief that Essek also feels acutely. Then Caleb kisses back in earnest, parting his lips to deepen it, and Essek lets himself float away.
When they eventually pull back for air, Essek notices the lights have dimmed, and the illusory patrons that filled the space have faded back into the ether. Even the music has quieted, so that it plays only faintly in the background. When…?
The answer to his unspoken question comes in the form of Caleb’s voice, muffled somewhat as he dips his head to press a row of kisses up Essek’s jawline. “I may have lost focus on some of the details of the illusion.”
Essek chuckles at that. He doubts he would have been able to keep concentration on such a multi-faceted and interwoven creation under such distracting circumstances, either. “It was a remarkable display.” He cups the sides of Caleb’s face in both hands and draws him back up again. Pressing their foreheads together, Essek says, “You are remarkable, Caleb.” And kisses him again.
Essek kisses Caleb with everything he has, wanting to convey everything he feels for this man. Caleb must know how deeply he cares, that he’ll never stop caring because Caleb is the first person he’s felt this way about in his long, miserable life. He wonders vaguely if Caleb feels the same, if how Caleb holds him is any indication. They cling to each other, mouths coming together again and again, each searching for possibilities in the other once thought long-lost.
It isn’t enough. Essek longs to be even closer. Without pulling away, he reactivates his hover, floating up a few inches to ease the angle between them. One of Caleb’s hands works its way into his undercut, nails scratching pleasantly at the short hairs there. With his other arm wrapped around Essek’s waist, Caleb takes advantage of the new absence of gravity to pull their bodies flush together. Feet already off the floor and momentum pulling him forward, there’s nowhere for Essek’s legs to go but around Caleb’s waist. A lick of desire coils low in Essek’s belly at the move, and he lets Caleb know his pleasure with a low moan that Caleb eagerly swallows. An equally pleased sound escapes Caleb’s throat when Essek squeezes the taller man’s hips with his thighs, his spell allowing him to hang on without the burden of Caleb having to carry his weight.
Essek follows Caleb’s earlier lead and lowers his mouth to Caleb’s strong jaw, working his way back slowly to the human’s curved ear. The way Caleb lets his eyes fall shut and tilts his head to the side to give Essek more room to work fills the drow with a heady sense of power. “You know, Caleb,” he murmurs, letting one of his fangs catch the soft lobe of Caleb’s ear as he speaks.
For a moment a breathy gasp followed by a delightful shiver is Caleb’s only response, but eventually he finds his words. “Mm, yeah, what is it?”
“Here in the tower, there don’t have to be any more barriers between us. Not if we don’t want there to be.”
Caleb’s eyes flutter back open at that, and he works his hands beneath Essek’s tunic, running his fingers up and down over the silk undershirt beneath. “I don’t want there to be.”
Essek’s hand cups Caleb’s jaw, and he brushes the pad of his thumb over Caleb’s lips. “I was hoping you’d say that. ...Would you care to join me in my quarters for a nightcap?”
The look Caleb gives him is equal parts longing and hungry. “I would love nothing more.”
A trace of a rune against the bumps of Essek’s spine, a murmured incantation against Essek’s lips, and they leave the empty dance hall behind.
----------
Much later, Essek rests half-reclined against the padded headboard in his bedchambers, the fingers of one hand combing gently through the long strands of Caleb’s mussed hair where the other man lays sprawled across his chest. Caleb’s eyes are closed; he seems close to drifting off. Essek wishes he could do the same, but the events of the evening keep replaying in his mind, preventing him from finding rest.
He can’t say he’s surprised they’ve ended up in his bed. It had only been a matter of time before the thread growing steadily tauter and tauter between them finally snapped. What he hadn’t expected was for an evening of dinner and dancing in a Zemnian bar to be what provided the final tug. That part of it still doesn’t make sense to him; he can’t wrap his head around why Caleb chose to bring him there, to a dance hall he’d never seen, in the heart of a nation where he is not welcome. He has no idea what his presence in such a space could contribute for Caleb, and when he searches for the connective thread across time and memory that will tie everything together, he comes up with nothing.
Caleb stirs beneath his hand, and Essek realizes the depth of his thoughts caused his fingers to still in Caleb’s hair. “Oh sorry, did I wake you?”
Caleb’s stubble scratches faintly against Essek’s skin as he shakes his head. “No, but I can tell you’re thinking too hard. Is something wrong, schatz?”
The Zemnian endearment is new, and something Essek could all too easily get used to. “No, nothing wrong.”
Caleb’s expectant silence lets Essek know he isn’t getting off the hook that easily. Except he doesn’t know how exactly to share everything that’s on his mind. After some consideration, he leads with, “I was thinking about the dance hall. I can tell it is precious to you, and the import of that isn’t lost on me.”
For a moment Essek thinks it must have been the wrong thing to say, that he shouldn’t have broached the subject at all, because a hint of Caleb’s familiar pain returns to his eyes. He tilts his head to press a kiss to Essek’s bare pectoral, but when he settles back with his cheek against Essek’s skin his focus is far away, lost in middle distance.
“Memory is a funny thing. Every room on that floor is a part of me, echoes of my past that will always live within me, for better or worse. The dance hall in particular is bittersweet. I have good memories there from a lifetime ago, and for a long time I mourned the loss of what was. But happy times are meant to be cherished, not preserved in glass like a museum meant for me to torture myself with. Traveling with the Nein has helped me see that.”
Essek isn’t quite sure he follows the logic of Caleb’s explanation, but he appreciates the glimpse into Caleb’s thoughts all the same. “You didn’t have to share it with me, although I’m glad you did.”
Caleb must pick up on Essek’s unspoken question of why, because he says, “It may sound silly, but when you said your favorite food was simple soup, it resonated with me. It reminded me of the dishes I grew up eating in my homeland. We already have so much in common, and I thought this could be one more thing I could share with you that you might appreciate. I want to live my life making as many happy memories with the people who matter to me as I can, and it’s about time I stopped letting my past hinder me from that.
“It’s a struggle sometimes. I’m sure you noticed at times it wasn’t necessarily easy for me to be there. But the idea kept coming back to me, and I wanted to try.”
Essek knows from many hours observing the Nein that Caleb cares deeply, loves deeply, but nothing could have prepared him for what it feels like to be the target of that care. Caleb’s words hit him like a sledgehammer, and his heart staggers from the blow. I want you to be in my life, Caleb has told him. You matter to me.
Gods . Essek wants all of that too. After everything he’s been through with the Nein, he doesn’t know how he can possibly return to his old life of hiding from his bad decisions alone, with them on the other end of the continent instead of by his side. Without Caleb at his side. The mere thought threatens to overwhelm him, and he shoves it away, locking it in a chest in his mind to face later. (Or never, with any luck.) Instead he clings to the hope Caleb has given him, that they might want the same thing and once Caleb makes his peace with the world that wronged him it doesn’t have to mean goodbye for them.
He struggles to translate his complicated feelings into words. He’s spent so long hiding behind fabrications and half-truths that he finds he no longer knows how to bare his heart, knowing Caleb could turn him down outright and fearing the pain that would cause him.
“It was an honor to be there with you, Caleb. I do appreciate it, more than you can know.”
A tense silence meets Essek’s words, as if Caleb is trying to determine if Essek has more to say, or if those two sentences of empty sentiment represent the extent of Essek’s feelings.
Essek immediately chides himself for his inadequacy, his inability to give Caleb the same directness that seems to come so easily to the other man. You fool. Tell him something real, something that will make him understand you feel the same.
“That’s not all,” he says quickly, trying to salvage the moment. “It’s difficult to put into words. Perhaps it would be easier if I showed you?”
Before he can overthink it, he conjures in his mind the image of the place most special to him in his life, somewhere he wishes he could share like Caleb has done for him. He waves his free hand and a scattering of spectral geometric shapes appears in the air before them. He plucks at threads of possibility in the air like the invisible strings of a harp, and the shapes begin to move, joining together piece by piece until they form the shimmering exterior of the Marble Tomes Conservatory.
“I have a place like your dance hall, too. You’ve been inside the Conservatory, but you haven’t truly seen it.”
With another ripple of his fingers, he magnifies the illusion so the full exterior falls away, leaving only the front of the building. Next he manipulates the perspective of this view, changing it to eye level so he can create the movement of walking up the forty shallow steps to approach the stone double doors, as if they were really about to enter the building in Rosohna.
Essek knows he has Caleb’s attention from how the other man sits up to get a better look at the illusion. While Essek already misses Caleb’s warm weight atop him and the feel of Caleb’s hair between his fingers, having his other hand free grants him more capability in his casting.
With both hands now he swirls tendrils of grey mist in the air, and the Conservatory’s floor-to-ceiling glass windows illuminate with golden light occasionally interrupted by flashes of amber and emerald. The stone double doors open on their own before Caleb’s eyes, and like turning the page in a book, Essek wipes the image of the building entrance away.
The crystalline geometric shapes scatter into entropy then quickly converge again as if pulled back together by gravity, reassembling to form a new image, this time the beginning of the entrance hall. The grand foyer rises before them, its marble floors and pillars cast in familiar emerald light from the massive beacon chandelier directly above. Essek moves the view forward, past the semi-circle front desk, the multitude of hallways branching off from the center, and all the masterworks of painting and sculpture decorating the space.
At the end of the entrance hall instead of progressing through to the courtyard, the illusion lifts straight up through the ceiling like an elevator. The image of the foyer dissolves, the abstract shapes recombining once again in a new configuration—narrow hallways lit with sconces giving off green-gold light and lined with Vermaloc doors as far as the eye can see. The view continues moving up without pause, past one, two, three floors like this, all the same.
"Offices," Essek explains simply, and with a distracted wave of his hand scatters this image to create yet another new shape.
The floors holding the offices give way to an expanse—the next floor is one massive room. The four walls framing the interior courtyard are replaced by sheer glass, allowing a floor-to-ceiling view straight through the gap created by the courtyard all the way to the exterior walls of the building on all sides, in addition to looking down on the blooming gardens lit with floating orbs of colored light below.
Even more impressive, however, are the rows of stacks on this floor. Carved from slabs of grey quartz, they begin about ten feet from the glass interior walls and run all the way to the far walls. The gap between the shelves and the glass serves as the walkway between the rows, and the view of the illusion follows this path, revealing the floor to be a gently ascending ramp that spirals all the way around the courtyard. Keeping the glass overlook on the right and the stacks to the left, one floor of identical shelves gives way to another, and then another, and yet another after that.
As the perspective of the illusion keeps ascending, spiraling around and around the many floors crammed full of bookshelves, Essek darts his gaze away from focusing on maintaining its shape to catch Caleb’s reaction. He knows Caleb can't have ever seen anything like this before, because the Conservatory boasts the only spiraling library in Exandria. He isn’t disappointed. Caleb looks as if he’s holding his breath, his eyes impossibly wide as he takes in what he’s seeing.
“The Ascending Halls,” Essek tells him, with a reverence he himself genuinely feels. “You’re looking at all of the records and knowledge accumulated by the Dynasty since the Calamity.”
Essek hears Caleb’s awed exhale, sees his fingers clench in the bed sheets beneath him followed by his bottom lip disappearing between his teeth. Caleb’s visible hunger for knowledge isn’t that different from his look of arousal, Essek realizes. It pleases him deeply that he’s been able to become intimately familiar with both.
“ I know, ” he says, in complete understanding. “But wait, there’s more.”
“More? Essek, how can there possibly —”
“Hush, mele elemmiire, and let me show you.”
The spiraling floors of tomes vanish, replaced by another single room—the top floor of the central building. This floor holds more crystalline shelves full of thick books, but they aren’t packed together in tight rows like below. Here they’re broken up periodically by clusters of desks and even some comfortable couches. A glass domed ceiling covers the entirety of the space. Each pane is a pentagon, and the pattern they form together evokes the sense that the entire library exists inside a beacon. Silver light from an artificially large full moon set amongst the familiar Rosohna starscape floods the space, setting the white marble floors and grey quartz shelves sparkling.
The view of the illusion pans across this space for a moment before focusing in on an unassuming wooden doorway in one corner. The real version requires a password to open, but this door opens with a wave of Essek's hand, revealing a spiral staircase that extends both down to the ground floor and further up. This is the twin of the tower containing Dr. Waccoh's study, and while Essek could have led Caleb to the base of this tower from the courtyard, the Ascending Halls and the Atrium in all their splendor are far more impressive.
The vision continues up the spiral stairs past several more doors similar to the one they just passed through to get here. Up, up, and up farther still into the heights of the tower, until finally the movement stops on a landing before one of the many nondescript doors.
Faced with this threshold, Essek hesitates. So far he has had no trouble weaving his remembrance of the physical space into the spell to share with Caleb, but beyond this doorway the recollections grow more personal. The familiar fear of being seen flares to life within him, but he forces it down. Giving Caleb this peek inside his heart is the whole point of this exercise, and if he runs from it now all his effort will be for naught.
Without another thought, he scatters the spectral pieces and then once again plucks at the unseen threads of possibility to rebuild them into the shape of what lies beyond the door. A simple sitting room, with a loveseat and a squishy armchair facing a crackling hearth. To either side of the fireplace bookshelves built into the wall reach to the ceiling.
The far wall beyond the seating area holds a magnificent multi-paned window that looks out over Rosohna. The height of this room is matched only by the Lucid Bastion and the spires of some of the larger Luxon cathedrals. The city is a sea of twinkling lights far below. Thousands of them flicker like fireflies in various shades of green, blue, purple, and gold. Coupled with the canopy of stars above, the lights seem to go on forever. Facing this incredible view is an expansive desk that fits two chairs easily with enough space to easily spread out study materials between.
“These are living quarters for the scholars-in-residence. My quarters from when I was a student, to be exact.”
Essek can feel Caleb’s eyes on him, and he swallows, suddenly hyper-aware of how dry his throat is becoming and how fast his heart is racing. But he presses on. If he doesn’t get this part out now, he never will.
“These rooms are designed to be big enough for two. Many, many pairs of drow scholars have shared them over the centuries, living and working together in these spaces with the common goals of discovery and advancement of our people.
“Sometimes the close proximity was only to enhance the efficiency of the joint research and the relationship between the researchers remained only professional, but more often when kindred souls are in such close contact for so long, a deeper bond would form.
“I never shared my rooms with anyone while I was there, but…”
Another deep breath. He closes his eyes. Within the illusion, the form of a man begins to take shape. A man with long loose red hair sits in one of the chairs at the desk, a snow-white cat draped around his shoulders like a scarf. He gets up and stretches his arms lazily over his head before turning away from the window, heading for a closed door that leads further into the chambers.
The view of the illusion follows over the man’s shoulder as he enters a circular bedchamber with a single large four-poster bed. He turns his gaze to the side of the room, to a massive bay window and a second figure curled up in its window seat with a book in his lap. This second figure is a male drow with short white hair curled elegantly to one side. His many silver earrings catch the light each time he flicks a finger to turn the page.
The first man continues to stand in the doorway for a moment, just watching. Then he says something that doesn’t come through the illusion, but succeeds in getting the drow’s attention. The other man smiles, says something in return, and beckons the auburn-haired man over with a curl of his finger.
He makes room on the window seat for the man to join him, snuggling close once they’re both comfortable. As the man wraps an arm around him and drops a kiss to his temple, the drow’s eyes shine up at him full of affection.
The idea of sharing the apartment from his post-graduate days with Caleb is a silly, impossible fantasy of his, and yet the thought of it has kept him from trancing on more than one lonely night. He wants all the time he can possibly have with Caleb, and they would have had countless hours of it tucked away at the top of the Conservatory, studying and inventing magic together with the rest of the city and the rest of the world far, far beneath them.
It’s a very nice thought, one of the nicest Essek keeps tucked away in his most private heart, and now he’s brought it out to share with Caleb. The raw vulnerability of it makes him shiver with nerves, and the familiar instinct to hide, to flee itches beneath his skin. Idly, he wonders if this is how Caleb felt when he’d first opened the door to the dance hall so many hours ago.
He’s done running. Even if the versions of themselves tucked away in his illusory tower can’t exist in this timeline, perhaps there is one where they can. And perhaps the versions of Essek and Caleb in this timeline can share something similar, if under very different circumstances. At the very least, after everything Caleb shared tonight he deserves to see what Essek has privately wished for in return.
Essek finds the courage to risk a look at Caleb. The other man’s eyes are still on the illusion, on the domestic scene of the pair curled up reading together with spectral Frumpkin now at their feet. Only the maelstrom of emotions behind Caleb’s eyes reveals how affected he is by what Essek has shown him.
Caleb says nothing for a long moment. Then he shifts closer on the bed, until he’s right up in Essek’s space. Quill-calloused fingers tip Essek’s chin upward, and Caleb leans in, pressing their foreheads together.
“I spent so long wondering if we wanted the same thing. If it could be possible.”
Essek takes Caleb’s hand in his own and intertwines their fingers. “And let me guess. Once you’d deduced it was possible, you spent the next however long telling yourself you could never deserve it.”
Caleb laughs a little at that, confirming Essek’s deduction. He raises their intertwined hands to his lips and presses a kiss to Essek’s knuckles. “We’re quite the pair, aren’t we?”
Before Essek can answer, Caleb lets go of his hand, but only to move to Essek’s side so they’re both resting against the luxurious padded headboard. Then he wraps his arm around Essek’s shoulders, in mimicry of the illusory scene.
It takes Essek a moment to process all that is happening. Then he curls into Caleb’s side and rests his head on the offered shoulder like his imagined counterpart had done. Exactly like the many times he has pictured this moment.
“Indeed.” He tilts his head to look at the illusion, gesturing to the scene repeating on a loop before them and now made reality. “So what do we do with this information?”
Caleb hums, and Essek feels a press of lips against his temple, another wish of his fulfilled.
“I think,” Caleb says, “tomorrow I’ll teach you this spell so we can spend the night in the tower of the Conservatory. The day after that, we cast Widogast’s Transmogrification and free you from your death sentence. Then some day after that we hunt down Ikithon and cut out his cancer from the Empire. And some day after that, we return to Aeor and read every scattered scrap of paper we missed the first time. And then when all that is done, we see where life takes us next.”
The word we has never sounded so good to Essek’s ears. Neither has us. “That is quite the list, but I agree with everything on it. May I add one more item?”
“Of course.”
Essek is grateful for their current position, as what he has to say is far more easily told to the junction of Caleb’s neck and shoulder. “When we were dancing earlier, I had the thought that if I continued walking this path, growing and learning and being better with you, then someday maybe, just maybe, we could find happiness in each other. I’d thought it the selfish, impossible wish of a damned fool. But you give me the strength to believe I could be so much more than what I am.
“You asked me to find my better self, so here he is, asking you to grant him that chance.”
“Oh, Essek,” comes the soft, Zemnian-tilted Common somewhere in the vicinity of Essek’s ear. Then Caleb moves again, sitting them both up so they are once again face-to-face. “You don’t have to ask me for what you’ve already earned.”
It will take time for all of Essek’s doubts to fall away, for him to start to believe in himself as much as Caleb seems to believe in him. But he’s willing to put in the work. Because for the first time, he thinks there may be enough time for that. And the reward is the opportunity to keep creating moments like this with Caleb, flickers of happiness they can share for however long their time together lasts. Memories with people who matter to him. Essek thinks there’s nothing else in this world that could sound so grand.