Nov 5, 2021
Happy Birthday @evarcana !!!!! Hope that you are having a fabulous day and drinking as much champagne as Ev and Valerius ❤❤❤ Sending loads of love
There's a version without the odd mood lighting below the cut
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Happy Birthday @evarcana !!!!! Hope that you are having a fabulous day and drinking as much champagne as Ev and Valerius ❤❤❤ Sending loads of love
There's a version without the odd mood lighting below the cut
In Too Deep
Ev decides to dive into Vesuvia’s problems again and the tensions run deep.
words: ~2.8k
warnings: minor injuries and alcohol
previous part
notes: This “chapter” was supposed to be something else entirely but too much time has passed from when I first started thinking about it and it evolved on its own. Big thanks @juliandev0rak for letting me make this tiny cameo of Freya!
The last few weeks have been disappointingly uneventful for Ev. The flooding has stopped spreading from the Shopping District and the problem has somehow resolved itself, which is the outcome that most people would find pleasing, but Ev is different from the most for she can never be satisfied with any problem being solved without her input. Of course there are still plenty of other problems in Vesuvia to keep her occupied but at the moment there is nothing she can do about them, mostly because she has been deliberately avoiding the consul.
Their last encounter didn’t end as planned (nor did it end well, for that matter) and save for a few sharp glances and fake pleasantries being exchanged in the palace corridors, the two have been keeping distance from each other ever since. Soon enough Ev’s daily visits to the palace stopped altogether and with this came a break in mutual insults, an unexpected ceasefire, a moment of peace, finally! - yet another outcome that should be pleasing for Ev but no matter what she tries, she just cannot get Valerius out of her head. Even now, when she is sitting in the comfort of her bathtub surrounded by the thick mist of jasmine fragrance.
The hot water is licking her skin and smooth edges of the tub, and every tremble of the light reflection in everchanging folds and ripples somehow reminds Ev of the shaken, lost look on the consul’s face when she lashed out at him. She does not regret it, no, because everything that she said was right and nevertheless there was only one meaning to that look - even if everything had gone according to Ev’s plan, even if for once she could make the consul do as she said, there would have been no fun in winning because in that one brief moment it felt like Valerius had already beaten himself up even before their strange competition started. Even if Ev thought that snarky, obnoxious, overconfident consul was absolutely insufferable, it is this Valerius, worn out and uncertain, the one she first saw in the study on that day and has been catching glimpses of ever since, who she hates even more.
Ev moves a foot and sends tsunami over the gentle glistering ripples, sinking the alchemical globe designed to maintain water temperature. She closes her eyes, lets the air out of her lungs until there is nothing left, and slides down, allowing milky green water to flow over her, hiding her from the echoes of the recent argument which haunts her memory. Under water all the sounds turn inwards, and with the eyes closed Ev cannot tell how deep she has fallen, for all she knows the bottom of the tub may as well be the bottom of the ocean. Think. You need something to keep you busy.
It turns out that without fighting with Valerius she truly doesn’t have much to do in this strange city. Ev now spends her days meticulously organizing her incoming correspondence, greeting Prakran nobles visiting Vesuvia, sampling wines in the bar downstairs and sometimes exploring what is left of the city on her own. How boring. That’s right, being bored to death must be the only reasonable explanation as to why she chooses to think about Valerius in her free time. What happened to him? She flicks images of his face in her head one after another and her heart stutters. She forgot about something. Ev raises her face above water, finally breathing in, and looks around. The steep shores of white ceramic, sunshine pouring in through the window and the ceiling beams high above which could do with some paint. She is back to where she has always been, just floating, completely alone.
She stretches her arm, letting water drip on the painted tiles, and without looking picks a letter from top of the pile set up on the small wooden stool by the bath. Ev smiles at the envelope and with her wet fingers leaving clumsy marks on expensive paper breaks the seal of ivory wax marked with the familiar initials “FIV”. At least she is lucky enough not to pick one of her father’s letters.
“Hello darling,
I still can’t believe that you left sunny Prakra for my shabby hometown. How long has it been already? You have been greatly missed at all the recent soirees! At least by me. Do you remember that annoying client of mine who is a musician? Guess what? He changed his mind… again!”
Ev cackles out loud and as she carries on reading, her eyes light with gentle amusement. Right until she comes to the last paragraph.
“Now, I want to know everything about what you have been up to. You must have drowned yourself in work, you don’t even write to me. What trouble have you been stirring?”
She stares at the question for a long moment, biting on her thumb and then drops the letter on the floor without finishing it. The next long breath that she lets out blurs into a faint growl of frustration at the inevitable as her head disappears under the water. It’s time she attends another court meeting, Ev decides.
***
Valerius is pacing back and forth across the salon periodically shooting angry glances at the parade of palace officials all called in for the emergency meeting. Last night, panicked drunks set fire to the tavern in the South End because they claimed that somebody with bleeding lips and red filled eyes, all characteristic signs of Red Plague, burst in, sobbing and crying for help. Hundreds of terrified people tried to flee the district, when the city watchmen were unable to locate whoever triggered the panic or provide any coherent statement about the situation. Riots beat until dawn, bridges were blocked and the palace guards had to take to canals around the area in narrow boats heavy with weaponry. The whole building burned to the ground and the city’s markets could not open this morning because there is no other way to bring goods in other than waterways. And it wasn’t just the poor and uneducated kind. Valerius was woken up by at least a dozen of messengers sent by the city’s finest families, all asking the same question - is the plague returning and what he, the consul, is going to do to ensure their safety. This cannot be happening. Valerius shakes his head realising that he has been grinding his teeth since the meeting started and tries to consciously relax his grip on the delicate wine glass. A challenge in itself. The absolute worst thing in this situation is that nobody can tell where that red-eyed person is now, or where they appeared from. Bunch of incompetent idiots. Valerius wants to hope that whoever it is, they caught fire together with the tavern last night. Not that he could possibly be that lucky.
“And that’s all you have to report ?! You - ” Valerius turns his wrath to the secretary, who has just finished talking, only to catch him eyeing the door. Looking to escape, you moron? Without thinking, the consul glances at the door too and almost stumbles on the flat ground. Oh please, not you.
With the efficiency of splinter getting in a fingertip, Ev walks in straight into the salon, pausing only briefly to give an apologetic bow to the court. Sure, pretend that you have manners, as if you did not turn up late and interrupted the acting ruler of Vesuvia. Valerius grunts and turns away to show just how unimpressed he is but still registers her taking a seat further back, casually slouching down in the sofa with her chin resting on the palm of her hand and eyes firmly fixed on him. It’s an arrogant power pose she has perfected, obviously for no other reason than to torment him.
Thinking about just how much chaos one day is capable of bringing, Valerius raises his glass and takes an extended sip seeking salvation in the familiar taste. Nothing goes according to plan today including this ridiculous meeting, but at least it keeps him from second guessing his own decisions, something that he has been doing alarmingly lots recently.
Pleased with his new found calmness, Valerius decides to turn his focus back to the meeting and finally establish some order but before he can even start, a wave of hand from the far back distracts him from what he was going to say. What now?!
Looking extremely pleased that she caught his attention so quickly, Ev points her finger at Valerius, or rather at his wine glass, he realises before he can remark on the rudeness of this motion. The painted fingers then quickly dip into a paper bag, which seems to appear out of nowhere, and produce some small black object out of it, which Ev presents to him in an offering gesture. Valerius’s eyes meet Ev’s: are you serious? This is clearly a rhythoric question because the thing she is holding is an olive.
Everything around Valerius is turning into a fucking circus and its not even midday yet.
He raises his own finger, points at the door and enunciates the word crispy: “Out!”. At this point, he thinks he would do and say just about anything if it would mean getting on Ev’s nerves just as much as she gets on his. Under speculative gazes of everybody in the room, Ev sits up a bit straighter but the corners of her lips curl as she puts the olive in her mouth, still looking at Valerius. Damned vixen.
The consul clears his throat. “None of this suggests that the plague is returning, you all are - ”
”Why on earth would anybody be seeking help in a tavern? Not in a clinic or a temple? Do we know what time they turned up?” Ev interrupts squinting at the papers of the secretary sitting in front of her.
The pressure within Valerius overcomes the desire for the order. “How is it even relevant?! And why are you still here?!”, he shouts at Ev.
“Just asking,” she murmurs before she takes another olive and begins eating it a little aggressively. Good.
The consul’s throat is raw from shouting but he makes an effort to keep his tone razor sharp. “Everything needs to be in order for my meeting with the Firentian ambassador this evening. You hear me?!”
Valerius has been looking forward to it: fine wines and fine company, this is the least of what he deserves.
“Yes but my lord, I am afraid you are to be addressing the citizens at the Town Square this evening,” the secretary mutters in a shaky voice and clutches his papers closer.
“I am WHAT?!”
The glass shutters. The contents splash onto Valerius’s shirt giving the impression a stab wound to his heart. A few shards of glass fall on the floor but the wide jagged edge of the remains is stuck in the flash. For a second, all Valerius can think of is the burning pain in his palm. Then he notices faces of shock around him. Lots of blood, lots of pain. He can feel the panic building up in his chest. In one fluid motion, the consul drops the glass and heads to the door, his rage winning over if only to cover up for the reality.
***
Valerius rounds the corner and tries his best not to look down at his tightly balled fist throbbing with pain. For the sake of salvaging any semblance of decorum, if anything, and not having to explain himself to any accidental passerby in the busy palace. The thought of holding a conversation alone in this moment -
“Wait a minute!”
He curses under his breath. Who could have thought that she, out of all people, would decide to run after him. The consul purposefully doubles his strides wishing for mercy.
“Sure, I will just have to follow your blood trail in this case!”, Ev shouts from behind him. Then he hears a particular rushed set of footsteps and the wash of perfumed air which comes with it and tells himself not to turn. He is the picture of composure and dignity, as always, and if he manages to gracefully ignore this mad woman for long enough, there is a chance that the nuisance will disappear with minimal damage.
Too late. “Where are you going? Are you going to get your hand bandaged?” The woman’s head peeks from behind his shoulder. She looks way more annoyed than he expected.
“No, I am going to get another drink. Not like it should be any concern of yours.”
“Let me see your hand,” Ev says, offering hers.
“What for? Some witchy palmistry? You’ll pardon me,” the consul says without slowing down his strides, “if experience suggests I would be wise to meet any proposals from you with utmost caution. I shall also remind you that you have already concluded that the quality of my leadership is somewhat dismal.” Yes, he is still bitter about their last argument. “I am not interested in whatever else you might have to say about me.” Valerius knows it is petty of him, but at this moment he couldn't care less, and besides he likes riling her up.
“Oh please, as if you were not strong enough to take it,” Ev responds in a surprisingly matter-of-fact tone.
As if you know me. “Wait, what?” Valerius stops and looks down at Ev.
She does not even raise her eyes to him, ignoring the question completely, as if this strangest admission was nothing. But Valerius does not need to see her eyes, he already knows that they are big, dark, overly expressive and generously lashed under fine eyebrows. For this reason he really doesn't like when she stares at him. And yet he learned that from the right distance, when her focus is on something else, this woman can be quite pleasant to look at. Just like now.
The consul flicks his attention abruptly away from Ev’s non-ugliness and notices that she is in fact too occupied tracing down the invisible lines with her finger on the palm of her left hand. Is she… writing down something? He tries to decipher the writing, following the tiny strokes but these do not look like any of the letters Valerius recognises. “You are deeply weird, witch,” he says, watching her with a frown.
“Right,” Ev hums. Then she rubs her hands together like she has just come in from some kind of snow blizzard, her cheeks touched with pink adding to the effect. The next moment, before Valerius can react, something unexpected happens - Ev’s hands, impossibly warm, are cupping his fist.
“What are you - ?” He remembers himself and automatically jerks his hand away meeting some momentary resistance.
“It should stop bleeding now. Look.”
Still confused t, Valerius opens his palm. All the blood has dried out and stuck to the skin in rusty patches and there is a thin stroke of the dark scab across his palm. The stinking pain is gone, replaced by twingles of warmth. How - ?
Again without warning, Ev reaches out to him and slides both her palms along his. Valerius registers briefly the heat of her skin, though more gentle than a moment ago, and how small those palms are in comparison with his own before she turns his hand to her and purses her lips. She is inspecting the cut, handling his hand like it’s an injured dove. It is impossible to move away when somebody is holding your hand like this. She presses around the wound gently, fussing and frowning. Valerius is utterly mesmerised.
“Don’t look at me like this.” Those same steady brown eyes catch his. “I don’t remember how to heal it completely, and you are - ”, Ev stops herself and frowns. Lost in her own thoughts, she gives Valerius his hand back and turns away. “You should still bandage it,” she says, waving her hand in his general direction. “It seems like the glass went in deep, the wound can still open.” Her tone is different from the usual and Valerius cannot pin what it is.
Unsure what to do, Valerius looks at his hand again. “Are you sure you have not done more harm than good?”, he asks. Him not turning his back on her straight away should surely suffice for a thank you.
“I don’t know,” Ev shrugs her shoulders and folds her arms. “Get it bandaged. I could recommend the ointment for the scar. It’s alchemical and terribly effective,” she emphasises. “But honestly I think you should leave it as it is, as a reminder not to behave like an idiot next time.”
Valerius immediately regrets showing any kind of gratitude. “Mind who you are calling an idiot,” he huffs off and takes a long overdue step to leave.
Ev follows. “What is bothering you?”
“Besides you?”
“Yes.”
Here come the girls
Isolde and @evarcana's Ev have joined @timmys-and-scribbles absolutely gorgeous Starlit Ball! This was so much fun to do, there is nothing I like more than drawing pretty dresses and the theme and style is delightful ❤
Do Me a Little Favour
In which everybody is trying to make a deal.
words: 2,3k
warnings: scorpios alcohol
notes: I have complicated relationship with this one and I think it shows in the end that I just had enough of it. Previous part.
The thing about fighting with Valerius, Ev thinks, is that she never truly wins. That’s what is so deceptive about it all. The moment she thinks that she has won, something reminds her that she hasn’t. It’s nothing but win and then lose, lose, lose...
“…did you lose your mind?! What new brand of idiocy is this?!” Valerius’s voice echoes inside Ev’s head and she winces in pain. She only slept for two hours. As soon as she came home last night, she started working on this plan, and quickly became so obsessed with it, she couldn’t bring herself to stop improving and revising it. She eventually dozed off on the couch, but her dreams were so restless and strange, filled with dozens of reports she still tried to read despite the warm distracting whisper, right against the back of her ear, belonging to the voice she wished she did not recognise, that when Ev trembled awake she refused to allow herself to close eyes again, even for a moment.
Her proposal, carefully planned to take only a single sheet of paper to appear as discreet and simple as possible, now lays on the consul’s desk and, judging by how things stand, will soon face its end and get torn to shreds. Ev feels sorry for this poor paper, and even more so for herself. She rubs her temple lightly and looks up at Valerius. Those wistful eyes and soothing voice from the carriage ride last night are long gone now. The consul clenches his jaw, and lifts his wine glass carefully, like it is taking every ounce of control he has to not use it for violent means. And there she was, thinking that they could finally be civil.
Ev crosses her arms. “I think you are missing the point here. Did you forget that you owe me? You have already agreed,” she says.
“I didn’t agree to this,” Valerius looks down at the paper in front of him so angrily, Ev can only wonder how it does not set on fire. “You have no right.”
“I have your word.”
His face twitches slightly and something like hope rises in Ev’s chest. Appealing to the man's pride might be just the only way to manage him. She holds her breath while Valerius slowly takes a sip of wine, considering, but then his attention returns to her and the knife-sharp expression of derision on his face alone is enough to kill all her expectations. “As if you were worthy of my word.”
“Ouch.” Ev thinks that if she makes it sound sarcastic, he won’t know that she is serious.
The consul’s brows slant in strong disapproval. “Do you turn everything that you do into one of your deranged jokes?”, he asks. If Ev thought that it did not sting that much a moment ago, it surely does now. It’s like school all over again: she is being scolded and the worst part is that whatever protests she might have would little to no leverage thanks to her own recent behaviour. Ev drops her eyes to where her foot has started angrily tapping the leg of the desk. What else can she do in this absurd situation? “Pray tell,” Valerius continues, “what shall I expect next? Will you perhaps challenge me to a game of chess and put being acting ruler of Vesuvia for a day at stake?!”
This makes Ev’s eyes snap back to his. What a tremendous idea. Valerius would have to do everything she says, including treating her with some basic respect. She leans forward, chin in hand, “Imagine how hard I will make you work after you lose.”
“In your dreams,” he says stiffly after a pause and a faint throat-clearing rasp.
Not my bloody dreams. Ev bites her lip and retreats back in her chair, her every movement trailed by what she can only describe as the consul’s death stare. Now that she thinks about it, she has never seen Valerius smile, let alone laugh at her jokes. Not like she would want him to. What an asshole.
For as frequently as she wants to smack Valerius, Ev can’t forget what she is here for and decides to resort to diplomacy. “Look,” she sighs, “in the grand scheme of things this is nothing. You still have control over the city, I am only asking you to do something about the flooding spreading from the Shopping District to the Center City because Prakran trade guild is right on the border of two. If it wasn’t for my constant reassurances they would have already packed and left, they just can’t continue repairing the property, it will literally sink at this rate.” Diplomacy and some mild exaggeration. “Here -,” she reaches to gently point at the particular paragraph of her proposal, “I am not an expert but I think this should work for the time being.”
This time it looks like Valerius is actually studying the paper. “How long have you been planning this? You didn’t discuss anything with me,” he says frowning.
“Would you have listened?”
“No.”
Ev exhales, long and slow, because she has to physically stop herself from growling. She will treat herself to it later, when she is alone. One last attempt. She looks at Valerius’s unfazed, blank face and tries to see past it, where that soft expression and kind but sad eyes hide in the golden lamp glow wrapped in the darkness of the night. “This is really just a small favour, consul,” she says and gives him her best smile, which comes to her surprisingly easy - swing of perfect fans of eyelashes, genuine contact flaring in the bright eyes and lips lifted in an easy curve, bringing delicious colour to the apples of her cheeks, “- please.”
A loud bang almost makes Ev jump out of her own skin. Valerius has just slammed both his hands on the table. “You call running a city a small favour?!” He looks like he is one second away from going stark-raving insane. Ev knows the feeling all too well.
“What did you think I would ask you?!”, she lashes back at him, “Take me out for dinner? Find me a good tailor? Another city tour?!” Ev breaks to take a breath and to move a strand of hair out of her face, and glares at Valerius standing behind the desk. Suddenly, the consul seems to be unable to decide what is worse, eye contact or none. If anything he looks confused. Ev can spot a faint wash of brighter colour on his cheekbones. Oh. Valerius is embarrassed as hell. It’s so ridiculous that it only makes her angrier. Before she knows it, she jumps out of her chair and her palms land on the desk with another bang, “I have one problem in this life and it’s your damned inability to make rational decisions!”
The one thing that Ev cannot deny is that, even when he is furious, the consul is still fascinating to look at, especially now that she knows that it is not the only emotion he is capable of. The tensing jaw makes all his features sharper and intriguing darkness takes over the golden taupe of his eyes. It makes maintaining the withering glare just a little bit harder, because she has to try not to notice. Ev wished he would look away first so she could let her eyes drop to his mouth for a second but he does not. They both just stare at each other from the opposite sides of the desk, unable to move. Energy and anger seem to have sucked out all the air from the space between them. Ev hears the drum of pulse in her own ears racing uncomfortably fast and her breaths turn so desperate she can feel her lips going dry.
A knock on the door, followed by another.
“Enter!” Valerius barks, his eyes still fixed on Ev’s.
The door opens slowly and the palace chamberlain and a young woman with fiery red hair appear from another side. Judging by the sheepish look on their faces, they have been standing there long enough to hear the shouting.
“I apologise for interrupting,” the chamberlain starts.
“No need,” Valerius raises his hand, cutting him short, “our Prakran guest is already leaving.”
“Actually,” Ev interjects and slides her elbows down on the desk, stretching, and casually rests her chin in the palm, “I am not.”
“Right, forgive me, I wanted to introduce the new maid who will be attending to the Countess,” visibly confused the chamberlain gestures to the young woman who has been watching them with avid interest.
The redhead gives a discreet curtsy, “Pleasure to meet you, my name is Portia.”
Ev returns it with a small wave. “Ev Panopolis, emissary of the Prakran royal family. Congratulations on your appointment, and good luck. You will need it in this place.” She gives Valerius a side-eye. He glances back, almost amused.
Valerius turns to the chamberlain with a bored, irritated expression. “Shall you really disturb me with such a trivial matter?” He is clearly not in the mood for pleasantries.
“My sincere apologies again.” The chamberlain bows hurriedly and rushes Portia to leave.
Once the door closes, Ev turns to Valerius. “Well, aren’t you just great at first impressions?”
“Talk about yourself. What was that just now?” Valerius pinches the bridge of his nose and glances at Ev, still stretched over the desk. “Get off my desk!”
Ev reluctantly flops back down into her chair and rubs her temples again, “Listen we both have our ends of the bargain to keep. You either do it or you don’t.” She can feel her patience running out. It’s painful. “I will go work on my review then, and trust me, your name will be repeated so many times, people will complain.”
“Yes. Well. As if I cared.” Valerius picks up his glass and walks to the window. “Now, I believe that we are done with this conversation.”
“You did care yesterday,” Ev reminds him but the consul does not react. She pushes on. “Shall I also mention your peculiar relationship with the late count? That will go nicely with the matrimonial drama in the play.” Apparently she is a professional blackmailer now. This is what Valerius does to her. “Intimate trust and that sort of thing,” she adds meaningfully.
Valerius turns so red, Ev has to give his wine glass a concerned glance. Is it some new strong stuff?
“How do you -“
“That’s what happens when I have nothing better to do. Ignore me for another two weeks and I will know what you eat for breakfast.” She is either completely losing her wits or finally getting somewhere with this insufferable man. Probably both.
“ - Come up with this nonsense.” Valerius’s face has defaulted back to grave and serious. “I suggest you find a more - ” he pauses for effect, “- dignified way to spend your free time than listening to the commoners gossiping in the kitchens.”
“Sure”, Ev says gamely - if the consul does not consider her worthy of his word, whatever she says next is not going to hurt him, “but will it still be kitchen rumours if it comes from me? You are not particularly popular with the citizens, and - ”
“Why do you even care?” Valerius interrupts.
Ev is left with no choice but to play it cool now. “About what?”
Valerius frowns but does not respond, instead he gets back to his desk and lifts the paper with Ev’s proposal, “this.”
“That’s the point, consul,” she narrows her eyes. “I don’t. But you clearly are not fit to rule the city, or your court. Nobody is doing anything!”
“Don’t you think that it’s not up to you to judge? Remind me, how long ago did you arrive?”
“Oh not this again!” Ev is no longer able to contain herself in the chair so she gets up and steps behind it, her hands firmly grabbing the wooden back. “I don’t understand what the problem is. The city is flooding. I offer you a plan. You can’t listen. Do you have any better ideas ? How else are you going to solve this problem?!”
“Don’t talk to me like I am sitting here doing nothing!” the consul shouts and jerks his hand, making the wine fly over the edge of the glass in raging wave of red.
“Whatever you are doing is not enough!” Ev shouts back without thinking. When she looks at Valerius’s face again, he looks shaken. In that moment she knows that she is never going to hear those stories about Vesuvia from him again and the realisation breaks something inside of her with a painful snap.
***
It’s the middle of the night and the world is spinning around Valerius as he restlessly moves in his bed, shuddering and gasping, sheets sticking to his skin and tangling his limbs. The last bottle was definitely a mistake, especially because it did nothing to silence the voice in his head. How else are you going to solve it? You are not fit to rule, not enough... He is twirling through endless loops, that is why Valerius is not sure where the reality ends and his nightmare starts.
Crimson red chambers. A stranger. He has seen him before.
“Well, well, well, what do we have here? A problem?” Consul, would you like me to solve it?”, the stranger asks.
“I didn’t ask for your help.”
“Oh, but you did. I heard it from the deepest part of your heart.”
“You misunderstood”
“Impossible!” the stranger waves his hand. “Look at you, so tired, too tired to deal with it all yourself. As a consul, you should know that sometimes the best solution is to delegate,” he smiles knowingly and gets closer. “I’ll handle this, you just need to say a word.”
I See the Moon
Oh when you are looking at the sun
Ev wears some very impractical shoes and learns that she does not know the city quite as well as she thought.
characters: the usual cast of Ev and consul Valerius
words: 2,4k
warnings: none!
notes: I wanted to write something short and sweet to act as a placeholder between the previous part and what is coming next, but I think I got a bit too emotionally attached in the process. The title is from “Be the One” by Dua Lipa and I will leave it open for interpretations.
Darkness strikes Ev’s eyes as she steps out of the theatre doors and for a moment she is completely lost in time and space, staring at her surroundings as if seeing everything for the first time - the disorientation which comes with returning to reality after the magic of the theatre wears off.
A few myopic street lanterns glimmer faintly and the moon, pitched extraordinarily high, is covered by the ragged organza of thin clouds and barely available to light the streets below. Passing groups of people turn into clusters of dark silhouettes, and Ev watches the collars being lifted and scarfs wrapped tighter, as the theatregoers hide themselves from the wind moist with the cool evening dew and disappear into the shadows, leaving only trails of soft footsteps and animated chatter behind them. It is this time of the year when night falls suddenly and way quicker than anyone anticipates.
The impatient tug on Ev’s arm cuts through the hazy darkness. “Are you going to let me leave or what?!” Valerius sounds desperate in his exasperation.
“Just a moment and you are free.” Still watching the dark street, Ev reaches for her bag and throws a pair of flat pointy mules decorated with golden beads and tassels on the ground in front of her. Using Valerius’s arm for support, she lifts one leg to untie the ribbons on her ankle. Somebody behind them helpfully holds the theatre door open, letting the light out, and they both stare at Ev’s bright red toenails as she steps out of her shoes. Ev frowns to herself and curls her toes - it is hard to be an intimidating opponent when you wear a cute sparkly little ring on your fourth toe, when she feels another tug and catches her breath in surprise, losing her balance. The arm slips from under her hand causing her to immediately crash into Valerius. Well, no chance of looking like a menace now. At least Valerius can’t run away, she thinks, because her entire face is smashed into his chest. “So impatient,” Ev rolls her eyes and tucks her heels in the bag.
Valerius hurries to brush off something invisible from his coat and then looks down at Ev’s feet with cynical interest, “Going on a hike?”
She contemplates telling that it took her a very detoured walk from the palace and four nervous circles around the Town Square to finally burn all that destructive energy her body generated in their morning argument, and that right now she is dying to rub her sore ankles, but decides against it. After all, wounded animals are easy prey. “Looks like it,” Ev says, shifting her weight from one foot to another. She scans the road once again and clicks her tongue. There is a carriage pulling away, two people inside, and another one rolling on towards the theatre, the coachman already waving to somebody, but most of the theatre crowd chooses to walk. They all must be locals, or heading to the closest tavern, Ev realises.
“Don’t tell me, -” Valerius’s voice says and Ev looks up, surprised that he is still standing there, “you don’t have a carriage because you were hoping to find a date to continue the night. You shall forgive me for ruining this little plan of yours.” His words are dripping with distaste.
She realises that Valerius must have been following her eyeline. The nervous lough blasts out of her but she manages to catch it and it turns to sound like a cough. A lucky guess on his part? Or did he take inspiration from his own plans? Ev refuses to think about the whole theatre fiasco. The sinking feeling in her chest has started and she puts her hands on her hips in annoyance. “I thought there would be carriages waiting,” she manages to say.
Valerius arches his brow in response, “...how pathetic.” Ev gives him her best withering look and turns away.
The last carriage departs with the din of wheels hitting the worn edges of the stones. Valerius’s eyes are still set on Ev’s face and his brow begins to crease slowly. He is clearly deliberating something but Ev cannot see it. She is watching clouds moving slowly across the moon. “Where do you live?”, he finally asks.
“By the Town Square,” Ev responds automatically, squinting at the sky above her.
“Not in the Heart District?” It sounds like a genuine question at first but the edge of his mouth lifts in a wry grin. “Didn’t you say I wasn’t the only one with the money here?”
“Too close to you,” she smirks back, “the urge of leaving a dead fish by your gate at least weekly would be -,” she leans in closer, turning her voice into syrupy sweet hush, “- irresistible”. This is getting weird. “Anyway,” Ev hurriedly looks behind her shoulder at the theatre doors, “I think it is going to rain later. Have a good night,” the words come in a flat orderly row, she is already concerned with something else, “I will see whether the theatre director can fetch me a carriage.”
“My carriage is waiting down the road.”
“Mm good,” Ev mutters to herself but then the realisation hits and she turns to the consul, eyes wide. “Are you offering me a lift home?” A ‘thank you’ sign lights inside her head but she crashes it with a wave of suspicion. It’s Valerius out of all people. He has no reason to offer her a ride in his carriage besides plotting to murder her and then ditch the body somewhere in the forest. Ev gives him a hard stare.
Valerius breaks the staring game first - his eyes flash with the new unidentified emotion before he regains his usual dismissive look. “Not home,” he snorts, “to the Town Square,this should suffice for a favour.”
“No no, hold on,” Ev raises her hand in protest. “I haven’t asked you anything yet, and hospitality is not a favour.”
“What hospitality are you talking about?”
“You repeat that it is your city all the time! Technically, I am still a guest.” Inside her head Ev is thanking all the available gods for her ability to just keep talking, regardless of whether it makes sense or not, because she definitely has not processed what happened yet.
“Yes, well, just keep your mouth shut,” Valerius says and walks off without a backward glance, his back soon disappearing in the darkness of the narrow lane.
Ev’s eyes follow his path and then she throws another look at the theatre building. The light in one of its rounded windows goes down. She watches the emptying street and feels the goose bumps scatter her forearms. The air is beginning to chill. She looks down at her feet. Ev decides that the consul is the kind of man who would rather pay somebody if he wanted to get rid of her than being involved himself and for the second time this evening she rushes after Valerius. This is so weird.
She is about to call him out to slow down because the sound of duck feet that her ‘emergency’ shoes make is getting on her nerves when she hears a loud thud and a curse. In the darkness of the path Ev is not sure how close Valerius is to her but she knows that he stumbled and it makes her giggle in delight. She stretches her hand out glancing at the strips of warm candlelight coming from the gaps in the window shutters and the ivory glare of the moon. A small globe of light, the size of a plum, forms above her hand. Its light is delicate and warm, as if filtered through the frosted glass, but bright enough to fill the space between the two of them.
The consul straightens up quickly, “Why -”
“I don’t know about you but I like my toes all intact,” Ev walks over to him. “It’s only a small trick, here,” she raises her hand and the light gets brighter, “you can touch it, it’s not hot.”
Valerius takes a step back, looking at the ball of light suspiciously. “You are full of tricks, aren’t you?” he says.
“Don't even make me start on what you are full of.” She bunches her hand in a fist and the light sphere drops down but, before hitting the ground, it bounces back in the air like a small ball and splits into a dozen of smaller lights, startling Valerius. They hover in the air along the path similar to a garland of lanterns as they walk in silence until the lane ends, opening to the canal, and Ev asks, “Is it your carriage there?”
***
The servant opens the carriage door and much to Ev’s astonishment, Valerius waits for her to get in first. She gives him a confused look but complies. There is no evening chill inside and the cushioned seats are invitingly soft, so Ev’s immediately decides that regardless of what is going to happen it was a good idea not to walk home. Valerius takes a seat opposite her and reaches to unbutton his coat and pull his long loose braid from under the collar. His head rolls gently to the side and Ev sees a couple of inches of the neck, soft lines and the glowing skin. She feels her cheeks beginning to heat, suddenly remembering the warmth and the bitter almond fragrance she breathed in every time she got too close to the man, and gods did she get too close tonight.
This is about as far from the real world as Ev can imagine. The carriage is small and the little triangle of her beaded slipper somehow ended up between the consul’s leather boots. If she was to stretch her leg, the bareskin on the side her foot would brush along his shin. They have never sat this close together. Ev thinks about the old lady from the theatre. How would she feel if she knew that she was the only thin barrier stopping them from recognising each other and fully succumbing to the mutual hostility, claiming at least half of the theatre as casualties in the process. This could have been a disaster.
Ev looks at Valerius again and tries to understand how could she not recognise these features straight away. The signature crease between the dark brows and the sulky mouth. Valerius sits in silence, and his eyes are definitely not the ones she knows. They are so wistful and lonely, and so golden under the lamp light, Ev has to look away.
She puts a hand under her chin and leans to the window. A fine mist of rain has started to grit on the glass, and behind the sparks of its tiny drops - a bridge arches over the canal’s silver curve, both ends of which are clipped by infinity, which, in the dim light of the early night, is only ten feet away. The backdrop is all in flashes of the lit windows and the black outlines of pointed rooftops, round cupolas and slender towers, all together resembling a crown adorned by a single grand jewel of the moon, burning bright white. Then, the skyline and even the moon gets momentarily obscured by the huge wall, deprived of any lights, looking ghostly in the tempered gloom.
“That massive rounded building, what is it?” Ev is surprised with herself for striking a conversation.
“Have you not seen it before?”
“No, I have not really been to this part of the city,” she says, turning to Valerius, “What is it? A hippodrome?”
“It's the coliseum. The count’s favourite place,” he gives a chuckle which sounds bitter. “The man loved... performances.”
“What kind of performances?” Ev asks, watching his mouth twisting in distaste. Something about his look makes her frown.
“Gladiators. Bloodshed which lacked any order or purpose besides the count’s own entertainment,” Valerius rubs the bridge of his nose and glances to the window. Ev cannot tell whether he is looking at the moon or the looming coliseum, considering something. “But it’s not what this place was intended for,” he pauses. He turns back to Ev and the expression in his eyes is softer. “It was built before Lucio became a count, although it was slightly less grand back then. The rituals and ceremonies were conducted there during the festivities and the previous count used to reenact scenes of the famous battles there, using the actors. It brought the whole city together. Nobody wants to remember those days anymore.”
Ev feels a weird tremble inside and she is not sure what has caused it until she realises that it is a strange, unusual affection in his voice. She crosses her arms and seats back to contain the feeling. It’s so freaking strange to talk to him when his face is not a mask of boredom. “Did you use to come to watch?” she asks.
“Only when I had to. As if I would mix myself with the roaring crowd of plebeians. Besides, it was terribly distatestful and the smell inside was disgusting.” His mouth tightens, and a strange shadow clouds his expression this time. “Pointless waste of human life.”
“Oh,” is all Ev can manage. She cannot stop staring at Valerius. There is some kindness beneath this asshole facade, human decency, fairness even. It is not the perspective that she has been prepared for. “I meant before that,” she adds faintly.
“Yes I did, when I was much younger.”
“I cannot believe I have never heard of it.”
“Did you do any research before you came here?” The consul is back to his dismissive tone.
“Honestly? I had other things to worry about.” Ev turns back to the window, suddenly unable to look at him anymore.
She hears an irritated snort from Valerius but then, after a brief silence, he starts talking again, and it is not about Ev’s inadequacy. He talks about the canals named after constellations, traditions which Vesuvia used to have, and what you could find in the city before the plague. His voice is calm and steady, and has this velvet quality to it, which fits the night perfectly. Ev closes her eyes and thinks that maybe if she asked Valerius, as that favour she got from him, to continue his stories sitting by her bedside, she would finally be able to fall asleep before the sunrise.
Wine and affection 💕 Ev x Valerius
I was blessed with the commission from incredibly talented @miel-1411 . Thank you again for being so kind and patient <3
I mean, just look how beautiful it is 😭😭😭 I look at all the details, the light and the shades.... and seriously want to cry.
Taking it out on you
Ev attends the court meeting only to learn that sometimes the second impressions are just as bad as the first ones.
characters: Ev Panopolis, consul Valerius and brief appearance of Volta
words: ~3k
warnings: alcohol (as expected)
notes: On some point I gave up on the idea of Ev being the apprentice, as she just does not have this "MC energy". So this is an introduction to her story, because there is no better way to celebrate the 1 year anniversary of this blog than to remember that a very long time ago I used to write fanfiction.
It has been almost a month already. Almost a month since she came to Vesuvia, almost a month since she was told that her services were not required here. The thought makes Ev frown, but she keeps a quick pace, the sound of her impatient steps on the marble floor echoing through the palace corridor.
It is just before eleven o’clock, and the last of crisp morning sun pours over the rich mauve of lustrous silk drapes and the gold leaf of intricately carved murals, drawing out the warm scent of orange blossom and beeswax from the polished panels of precious wood. Vesuvian palace is exactly what she was promised - a great wonder, and yet Ev doubts it could give any lesser impression while the backdrop to its striking opulence is the city torn apart by disease and grief.
There are no servants or visitors in sight, and Ev’s only company in this seemingly endless corridor are paintings on the walls, depicting what she can only guess are some of the proud moments of Vesuvian history - people and places so foreign to her.
She does simple math in her head: two months and two days ago she was marching down the corridor of a very different palace, eager to be on time for the meeting with Crown Princess Nafizah despite the quite literal last minute notice, and not knowing yet that she was about to hear details of this so-called diplomatic mission.
Back then it sounded straightforward enough. Prakra couldn’t ignore the news of Count Lucio's tragic death, not least because that meant Princess Nadia, the youngest daughter of the Prakran royal family, was left widowed and with the daunting task of handling the red plague epidemic in Vesuvia all on her own. Any ruler could do with an extra pair of hands and any country could benefit from the alliance with Prakra, especially in times of crisis like this. And it would have stayed straightforward if only the discovery of Countess Nadia’s mysterious illness and the unexpected, unreasonable, outrageous hostility of Vesuvian court did not bring this crisis to the whole new, now personal, level.
In theory, Ev did not have to deal with any of that. She could use the excuse that it was only appropriate to deliver such unsettling news about Nadia in person, go back and forget everything that happened in this palace like one of those unpleasantly bizarre dreams you get after a night of drinking. But Vesuvia was still the city Prakra cared about, Nadia’s city, and as far as Ev knew none of the people who came to be in charge of it were appointed by her. Prakran diplomatic presence was perhaps the only way to look after Nadia’s interests until she woke up. Even if Ev had no actual power over the court, returning to Prakra without accomplishing at least something felt like a failure, and failure has never been an option for Ev. With that in mind, she pressed the seal with enough force to imprint Prakran royal crest on the desk and not just on the drop of red wax marking the envelope, and stayed.
Now, after a month of living in the city, she has learned to see that there is more to her new role than just misfortunes. Her relocation allowance is generous, her new place is nicer than what she had in Prakra and she is getting rather used to the convenience of the wine shop next door. Even if parts of it are foreign and unwelcoming, Ev feels at ease in Vesuvia. The tension in her body relaxes, and she thinks maybe this palace can eventually get used to her too, but the thought faints away as soon as she sees the salon door. Ev presses a pile of papers closer to her chest and tells herself that she can think about everything else another time - the court meeting is about to start.
She pushes the door open but immediately freezes on the spot stricken by the gagging wave of nausea - nails dirty with soil and blood, sickly sweet buttercream pastries and rustle of feathers covered in mud. It is no more than a faint impression but even through the fogged mind Ev recognises the feeling - it is vestige, the afterimage of magic. She has felt it before, many times and in many different forms but never has it made her feel physically sick. What is even more unusual is that such a revolting sensation is coming from the palace quarters. One would expect tingles of bubbles from the charmed fountains of never ending sparkling wine or at least the impression of whispers, premium tea, treacle and bitter ambition from the walls which have been magically given ears, and not... whatever this is. Ev draws a deep breath, pushing down into her diaphragm and looks around the room. The salon is not set up for the court meeting, instead there is a tray of food and stacks of empty plates towering on almost every flat surface. Her eyes stop on greasy remains looking terribly out of place on the delicate porcelain plate and she unconsciously covers her mouth. Maybe she is mistaken after all - it is the strange smell of food and not some kind of creepy magic, and, more importantly, maybe this is not the salon she was looking for.
Before Ev gets a chance to mentally blame the chamberlain for giving her the wrong directions, a tiny figure appears from behind the chair. The white cornette is instantly recognisable and Ev is about to ask procurator Volta whether she is here for the court meeting too when she sees that behind the commotion of dark robes Volta is frantically trying to push the whole roast rack of lamb down her mouth. Dear gods. Somewhat unsurprisingly, one of the bones appears to be stuck. Clearly having not expected to have an audience, the procurator widens her eyes at Ev in a mixture of terror and shame. Unable to speak, after a few incoherent squeaks, she throws her tiny hands in the air helplessly, spattering herself with gravy and gestures to the open French doors leading to the balcony. Without giving it too much thought, Ev gives Volta a quick nod and takes an opportunity to escape the awkwardness of the scene.
Wrapped in the soft shade of the balcony, consul Valerius is casually leaning back in the chair, with the usual glass of wine in his hand. Even before she reaches the doors, Ev sets her eyes on his face. The consul is looking away, his face carved and unmovable, the tight knot of dark eyebrows making him look ireful and disgruntled, like one of those statues of stern gods she saw growing up in Zadith. Her next step lands much quieter and then, there steps in, Ev stops and stands very still wondering what thoughts could possibly bring this storm to Valerius’s face. Sun would suit him much more, she thinks, her eyes curiously trailing down the golden glints of his hair.
A loud snort catches Ev off guard and she realises that Valerius is now facing her, looking considerably more displeased than before, no doubt because of her. That’s more like it. How could she forget that this man is the very cause of her problems.
“Could I please have some of your time, consul?” she asks, heading straight towards him. Greetings seem excessive, they didn’t necessarily part on friendly terms last time.
“I didn't expect to see you here again.”
Ev allows herself a smirk. “I know.” I am not here to do what you expect from me. She stops inches away from his chair looking down at him, apparently enjoying the close proximity which, considering their formal relationship and the consul’s well known bad temper, could be regarded as both highly inappropriate and potentially reckless. But Valerius only turns away, more interested in his drink than in her.
“I have been studying the treasury records,” she continues, searching his face for any kind of reaction. His lips curl up in a sneer as he takes a sip of wine, but his eyes are still firmly fixed on the horizon. Ev follows his gaze expecting to see some radical change to the surrounding landscape, but there is only faint outline of the city roofs behind the lush green of the palace's vast grounds, - no columns of smoke, no ominous looking storm clouds gathering in the distance, nothing that could possibly be more interesting than her. Whatever. “Your tax system - ,” she hands Valerius neatly arranged papers, which he completely ignores,“- it is not working.”
“Vesuvian tax system remained largely unchanged for the last two generations, this is how these matters are handled traditionally,” says Valerius, once again denying Ev courtesy of eye contact.
Ev’s mouth twists at the sound of the last words. Too worried the conservative mindset might be contagious, she quickly withdraws her hand and takes a step back.
“I trust you understand that sometimes one should focus on what works, and not what is traditional,” she says, doing her best to disguise the growing irritation. “You don’t attract nearly as much foreign trade as you used to.”
What comes next is a very profound, uncomfortable silence. Ev sighs.
“Consul, you had plague in the city, people died,” her voice is louder now, “lots of people died”, and the irritation is obvious. “And Vesuvia cannot exist without its people. Somebody needs to bring food from the farmlands, make clothes, teach children, attend to the sick. Yes, in the past you could always import whatever you did not have but now people are scared to come because of the plague. You -”, she pauses in anticipation noticing Valerius shifting in his seat, but he only reaches for the bottle to top up his glass, “- you need to do something to make it attractive for them again. Lower the customs, lift the taxes for people whose skills you need, sell empty real estate cheap. There is plenty all around the city!”
Deep down Ev knows that none of these is going to work long term, but she doesn't care - she wants to do something and she wants to do it now.
Yet, nothing changes. She is still standing there, and he is still looking away. Ev would prefer him to disagree, start arguing with her - anything really, as long as it breaks this silence.
“Fine! If you don’t feel like changing this traditional system of yours, even temporarily, at least fix your mistakes.” Ev starts chaotically flipping through the papers searching for the one she needs, which would be a much easier task, if she was less flurried and if Valerius offered her a seat. She wonders whether he is now watching her, sneering at her struggle. “Your approved accounts, here,” this time she brusquely puts the paper in front of Valerius’s face blocking his view, “your numbers do not even add up! ”
For a split second she sees something on his face - a twitch, a flick of rage, and thinks that she has gone too far. But his question comes out in a calm, almost disinterested tone: “What makes you think that somebody like you is even qualified to check the city’s budget approved by the esteemed procurator Volta?”
A moment passes before Ev is able to break from staring at Valerius in disbelief. She glances to the salon where, judging by the sound, Volta has freed her mouth only to move to the next dish. Seriously? Perhaps she should be impressed that he managed to say it with the straight face.
And then there is a chilling sensation at the pit of Ev’s stomach. She asks herself what is going on here? What is this city under the reign of a person who questions everything and everyone except the obvious mistake in the accounts? And what is she - ? Angry, she reminds herself, is what she is, and throws a look at Valerius, who is taking another sip from his glass as in triumph. You don’t need to be qualified, you just need to have common sense. And you, Valerius, either don’t have it or you were not even bothered to look at what your court approves.
She pictures him lazily drinking wine, legs on the desk, his shirt unbuttoned, while completely ignoring his state duties. The image is irritating and yet not entirely unpleasant.
“We both know that I come from a family of alchemists and merchants. Trust me, I know how to count,” she says with a smile. It sounded right in her head, a ridiculous answer to the ridiculous question.
“I thought that during our last meeting you said that you had nothing to do with your witchcraft family.” A perfectly raised eyebrow, and that infuriating smirk.
Ev opens her mouth in protest but gives up quickly. Those were her exact words after all, save for the witchcraft part.
She begins to pace around the balcony avoiding looking at Valerius as much as possible. The consul clearly has a way of getting on her nerves, and she needs all her concentration if she wants to explain what exactly will happen to this goddamn city if they carry on with this approved budget.
“Think about the consequences for the people if this mistake is not corrected!” she shouts, her voice much louder than she would like it to be, and quickly turns to Valerius expecting a blowback. But the pale eyes are looking down, studying something on the floor, or on the edge of the fabric of her long sleeve, she really can’t tell. Oh gods, he is not even paying attention.
***
Valerius has firmly decided that he is not going to pay any attention.
The time of plague was exhausting: the palace suddenly full of people of all kinds and intentions promising to find a cure, pleas for help on the streets which he could not escape even behind the doors of the most expensive carriages, the count who was growing more desperate everyday and the white smoke of the Lazaret carried by the sea breeze towards the city, the memory of which still haunts him. And now there is the Satrinavas’ new pet here having an audacity to talk about his city’s problems - the problems which, out of all people, he should know the most about, he is the consul after all, and a Vesuvian.
Vesuvia he inherited is haggard and sad, and on top of that an enormous responsibility. The last thing he needs is a stranger questioning his authority, as if the incompetent court and the city demanding their beloved countess back have not been tiresome enough. Valerius lets out a short, barely audible sigh. He just wants this farce to be over so he can go back to thinking.
But the witch is not planning to stop, if anything she seems to be enjoying it. Look at her. Absorbed by herself and her ludicrous ideas, she is loud and talks too much with her hands. Her dress keeps slipping down the shoulder draping around the soft curve of a half barred breast every time she does one of these unnecessary, overconfident gestures. Valerius has absolutely no idea whether this is deliberate or she is simply unaware of the indecency which keeps drawing his eyes.
He tries to distract himself by taking a drink of wine only to discover that his glass, just like the air around him, is full of this loud perfume of hers. Harsh cinnamon, incense and patchouli, very much alike their owner, have no concept of the personal space ruining the perfect balance of his red. The wine is not helping. He catches himself looking at the shoulder again. In fact, absolutely useless. He sets his unfinished glass aside on the small table. Valerius has had enough.
***
“Enough!” Valerius shouts. His voice is suddenly deep and rather forceful and Ev hates that it has the desired effect on her. She stops and looks at him. “You were not invited to the court meeting.” The consul’s face looks awfully angry now.
Ev narrows her eyes. “And what exactly are you doing at your court meeting?”
“That should not be a concern of the Prakran subject”, Valerius says, his words dripping with poison, “or whoever you are.”
“I am a diplomatic emissary -,” she does not get a chance to finish.
“Leave!”
Ev wants to scream and protest, but even she knows better than to yell at somebody who outranked her. She draws a breath. One, two, three. All right.
“I only came to give you the papers”, she says coldly, her eyes still locked on his, and leans forward to place the documents on the table. “But I am taking this away, one should work without the distraction of wine.”
With these words Ev snatches the glass from the table, turns away and heads toward the exit as fast as she can without breaking into running. She does not want to look like she is scared that Valerius will grab her by the arm. If anything she is slightly disappointed that he doesn’t.
“My regards to the court,” she raises her hand and waves the glass in the air without looking back. Behind her there is a sound of paper being torn apart.
***
Ev only slows down when she reaches the main staircase.
Suddenly feeling very tired, she leans against the handrail. Again, what is she doing here? Why did she need to turn up in person when she could send a letter? Ev closes her eyes and rubs her fingers together as if feeling for answers in the whorls of her own skin, and remembers about the glass in her hand. Another bad decision. It would have been wiser to take the bottle.
She raises the glass to her lips and breathes in the wine. It’s pleasant. Perhaps she would prefer its company to the boring palace affairs too. Ev twists the glass in her hand, eying the smooth rim before drawing one long sip. It leaves a blush mark of her lips firmly planted on the surface which she studies for a few seconds. “You better be as angry as I am now”, she says to the dark liquid at the bottom of the glass.
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