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eilonwiiy · 5 years ago

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Though Lovers Be Lost ; a Witchlands one-shot

but I’m still times zones away from who I was the day before we met. you were the first mile where my heart broke a sweat.

- andrea gibson

Summary: Merik Nihar has overcome death, but is it possible to return to the life he once had?

Ships: Safi/Merik

Tags: angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, body image

Word count: 3.8k words

Read on AO3: here

* . * . * . * .

There were disadvantages to being alive.

Merik stood before the Origin Well of Marstok, hands clasped behind his back. The water shimmered with the sky above, stars leagues away now within arms length in the ancient basin. The night air was stifling. Unmoving. Dead.

His witchery was gone.

Merik didn’t know what he expected when he went into the sleeping ice. What was death to a dead man? But here he was alive. Given a second chance. Or was it third?

He ran a hand through his shorn cut hair. Hell-waters, there was so much he didn’t understand.

“There you are.”

Merik’s heart stopped. Swallowing hard, he peered over his shoulder. The sight he saw stole his breath, and beyond his better judgement, he turned to face the woman emerging from the shadows wholly.

A mistake. Noden curse him, even after death he was shown no mercy.

Safiya fon Hasstrel was a domna once more. She wore a traditional Marstoki gown, a single sheer strip of apricot fabric draped and wound around her body as though bewitched itself, leaving her golden arms bare. Her hair had grown since he last saw her, since he caught her in his arms before plummeting to her death deep in a nightmare of lightning and wind, but the sandy waves still hung short by her shoulders. She wore no adornments, save for the glittering threadstone hanging around her neck.

Safi’s blue eyes gazed at him from across the forest clearing.

“Domna.”

The corner of Safi’s lip tipped up. “I was looking for you.”

Merik offered a stiff nod. The hand clasped upon his wrist behind his back dug into skin and bone.

Safi made her way towards him, a smile playing on her lips. The grass beneath her feet rustled against the hem of her dress and Merik was momentarily distracted by the swath of exposed gold the slit in her skirts teased with each step she took, her skin practically glowing in the moonlight. But then his gaze traveled lower and the warmth that bubbled in his abdomen was suddenly doused in icy water.

“What happened to your ankle?”

The question cracked through the night, his voice rough from disuse, and Safi paused her steps, ending on what now Merik realized was a limp. How did he miss it before? She brushed her gown’s fabric out of the way and looked down at the contorted ligament.

“Oh,” she said, the word light, like she’d only just now noticed that her ankle was twisted in such an unnatural way. Scars covered the skin of her foot, crooked and white. She fidgeted with the fabric before rearranging it so that her leg was covered once more. When she faced Merik, she stood a little straighter. Lifted her chin a little higher.

“I broke my foot in Lejna. Well,” -her mouth twisted in a grimace- “the Empress broke my foot. Smashed it with an iron flail while I was running around like a chicken with its head cut off trying to find the right pier. It hurt like hell, and obviously, I didn’t make it, but it was worth it.” Safi flashed Merik a wicked grin. “She’ll never admit it, but I managed to give Her Royal Highness a black eye that day.”

A burning heat filled Merik’s throat. He couldn't tear his eyes away from her ankle.

It was all his fault. He had failed her, just as he had failed everyone else. It didn’t matter that everything worked out in the end. She’d gotten hurt, and he could have stopped it.

Safi’s grin faltered in his silence. She fumbled with her skirts, gave the scarred foot a more careful look, then peered back at Merik, hesitation in her eyes. “Does it… does it look bad?”

Merik stared at her. Blessed Noden, how could she look him in the eyes and ask such a thing? Did she not see the monster he’d become? The black shadows were gone, but he’d seen what stared back at him in the rippled waters of the Well. The Fury. He looked nothing like the prince he’d been when he’d first met her, all scarred skin and protruding bones. Even as fine as the clothes he wore now were, they hung from his starved body. Getting dressed now was a shameful and exhausting process. Every rustle of silk dragged across his skin like a knife. Wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. And Safi-

Hell-waters, she was rutting beautiful. He could barely stand to look at her. He’d forever be haunted by the kiss they’d shared. Her hands on his skin. Her body writhing against his, hungry, desperate for his touch. The thought of it now only made him feel sick to his stomach. Knowing for a few blessed seconds he had been hers… and that they could never go back to that. He was the prince of Nubrevna no more, and the confidence - the arrogance - he’d touted around in everything that he did died along with the crown. He’d never be able to expose himself like that to her again. Not when he looked like this. Even if it was taking every bit of strength he had left to not rush over to her and gather her in his arms. For several long, agonizing weeks, he had thought her to be dead and all he wanted right now was to feel her heartbeat next to his.

Safi was alive.

No, not just alive. She was half of the Cahr Awen.

Merik had never been a believer in his aunt’s stories. It all rang too close to hearsay and religious fanaticism if you asked him. But now, standing beneath the moonlight with nothing but the glow of fireflies to illuminate her path, there could be no doubt that Safiya fon Hasstrel was the legendary light-bringer.

If nothing else, her new place in the world solidified everything he’d come to accept. That he was not needed. Not by Nubrevna. Not by his people. Even in his holiest of quests, he’d brought nothing but destruction to those he cared about.

He would not make that mistake with Safi. She deserved better.

Safi deserved better than a dead man. Someone like the Hell-Bard commander. Or even that big brute of a man, the one they called Zander.

It was too much for him. He turned away from her.

But of course - of course - she couldn’t leave him in peace. He was a fool to believe she would.

“Why won’t you look at me?” she demanded.

Merik said nothing. He heard a huff of air.

“I’ve been looking for you all day.” Frustration laced Safi’s voice, but not enough to hide her concern.

“I...” Merik tried hoarsely. He shook his head at the raw sound, throat bobbing painfully. “I just needed some time alone.”

“Right. Because a year trapped in a mountain wasn’t enough alone time,” Safi muttered. A strained pause passed. “I was worried.”

Merik rolled his lips through his teeth, the dry skin brittle and cracked. “I am sorry, Domna. I did not mean to trouble you.”

“It-” Safi cut herself off. Her lashes fluttered with annoyed impatience. “I wasn’t troubled. I just- goat tits, can’t you just look at me?”

Merik’s jaw clenched and, silently begging Noden for mercy, he granted her her wish. He kept his posture neutral, like a Nubrevnan naval officer at ease, hands still clasped behind his back and feet standing firmly on the ground shoulder length apart.

“Happy, Domna?”

To his surprise, her eyes narrowed at that.

“Stop calling me that. Domna.”

“It’s what you are, is it not?”

“It’s not the title that bothers me.”

“Then, what?” Merik kept his voice devoid of any emotion. Like Safi was just anyone.

As if Safiya fon Hasstrel could be just anyone.

“I see you for who you are,” he continued when she didn’t respond. “If only you’d do me the courtesy.”

Safi’s already narrowed eyes turned into slits. “What does that mean?” she spat.

In an instant Merik knew he’d killed any chance of her leaving him alone. Stupid. He should have kept his mouth shut. But like Safi, he had a problem keeping his rage in line. A low rumble of frustration ripped through his throat and he swung away from her again. Boots stomping, he paced the small clearing, trying to avoid letting loose the fury his witchery no longer could. The ring of cedar trees seemed to be shrinking in on them.

“It doesn’t matter,” he retorted sharply, planting himself by the Origin Well. Exactly where he should have stayed in the first place.

“No, tell me. What did you mean by that?”

Merik shot a glare at her over his shoulder. Quick and fierce. Long enough to see the angry flush of her cheeks, but quick enough that he didn’t have to feel anything. With a harsh exhale, he whipped back to the waters. Even the ripples in the pool couldn’t hide the horror his face had become. He glared right back at the monster.

He needed Safi to understand without him saying the words. He needed her to see as he did now.

Merik breathed in deeply, held it, then let the air out slowly - like he would if he were calling on his witchery. He did this again and again and again until his sunken chest rose and fell like the calm roll of the ocean’s waters after a storm.

He should have been suspicious of the domna’s silence. He wanted more than anything for her to leave him to his misery, but he found himself looking for her over his shoulder anyway.

Merik didn’t need his witchery to feel the shift in the air. Safi’s expression was unnervingly blank. An undercurrent of fear locked him in place.

“What happened to you?” she whispered.

A shiver ran through Merik. His heart quickened against his chest.

Come, come, and find release.

Come, come and face the end.

Merik held her gaze until the words slipped out of him. “I died.”

The admission hung between them, heavier than the silence. But Safi’s expression never changed. She didn’t flinch. She didn't run. Her storm blue eyes held his, refusing to release him.

“But...” she said slowly, and Merik could hear the questions coming. None of that mattered though. It was best to end this conversation sooner rather than later. Spare her the pain.

He released a resigned sigh. “It’s… complicated. And ultimately, doesn’t matter.”

“Right,” Safi murmured more to herself, nodding over the word. Processing.

Then, her eyes flicked up to meet him.

“You’re right. It doesn’t matter,” she repeated with more conviction. And something else. Had Noden heard his prayers? Was this mercy? Merik felt almost relieved. He didn’t want to talk about this anymore than was necessary and he could feel his resolve cracking.

“You’re here now,” Safi declared, face softening, her lips trembling with the beginnings of a smile.

Merik’s heart sank.

Hope, he realized. That was the something he had heard before. It saturated the air. Poisoned his lungs. Made him believe what she was feeling.

That’s all that matters. She hadn’t said the words, but he heard them. If only that were true.

Suddenly, Safi was striding towards him. Long, determined steps. Until she was standing before him, so close that her soft chest almost brushed against his. He could count every freckle on her nose. Smell the faint sea-salt in her hair, on her skin. Horror spiked through him as her hands lifted into the air, time seeming to slow, reaching for his face like she going to-

“No.”

The word ripped from his throat, a monstrous, terrible thing, as Merik spun on his heel. Blood roared in his ears - almost loud enough to hide the cry of frustration from Safi.

“I don’t understand!”

“That much is obvious, Domna,” Merik snipped and instantly hated himself for it. He needed to get control over himself. But she’d almost touched him. He’d almost let it happen. Almost gave in to his darkest desire.

Monster.

A ripple of disgust rolled through him.

“I don’t know what I did wrong.”

Merik’s head snapped to Safi, and one look at her downturned eyes, her chin dipped low, he knew he was in Noden’s watery hell. He’d thought he’d known it before, been damned to walk the world with one foot in his grave. But that was nothing compared to this. Noden had his trident buried halfway into his heart from the moment Safi entered the clearing and he’d just twisted it the rest of the way.

“You deserve more,” Merik finally forced himself to say, heart squeezing painfully. “And I…” he swallowed, unable to finish the thought. He shook his head once and straightened his spine. “This is for the best.”

“Don’t.” Safi’s voice cut through his like a knife as her eyes snapped up to him. “My whole life men have made decisions for me. Men I cared about. Men I trusted. All in the name of what’s best for me.”

“And I,” Merik ground out, “have spent my whole life seeing what I want to see. I will do that no more. Not to you. I know what I look like. Who I look like.”

“Who-?” Safi’s eyes widened, flickering back and forth over Merik’s face in confusion. “What in Noden’s blighted waters are you talking about?”

Merik barked a single bitter laugh. He’d had enough. It was time to end this. Pull out Noden’s trident and let his heart bleed out. One last death.

“The irony,” he sneered. “A Truthwitch who can’t hear her own lies.”

Hurt flashed across Safi’s face. She gaped at him, stunned, and Merik, ignoring the way his chest felt like it was being ripped open, marched away from her, away from the Origin Well, and disappeared into the trees.

It took Safi all of three seconds to recover, then, she was scrabbling after him. Desperate hands grabbed at his tunic as though to stop him.

Just keep moving.

“Merik, please. I don’t understand.”

“Enough, Domna.”

“Can’t we at least talk?” Safi’s voice grew more and more panicked as she tried to keep up.

“There’s nothing more to be said,” Merik growled. She had no idea how much it was hurting him to let her go. “My face says it all.”

Safi breathed a hysterical laugh. “Do you really think me so shallow? Is that all you think I see?”

“It’s all anyone can see. And you pretending that you can’t is pathetic. I don’t need your lies.”

“Lies?” Safi cried. “Lies?! Merik Nihar you are a sodding cow with balls for brains! Do you want to know what I truly see?”

It was too much. She was too much. Merik finally came to a crashing halt and whirled around, a tornado of fury, seconds away from tearing through the infuriating woman he was so unquestionably in love with, obliterating them both until there was nothing left to salvage.

“Yes, Domna, tell me,” he shouted, voice echoing through the trees. “Tell me! What do you see?”

With the same unbridled ferociousness, two fists gripped the open collar of Merik’s tunic and Safi yanked him to her. Her face hovered barely an inch from his and she thrust her chin into the air forcing him to see nothing but her eyes. They glistened with determination and unshed tears.

“I see a man I once thought was lost to me,” she breathed. Desperation caught in her throat. A sob begging to be wrenched free. “Please, Merik. If you died - if you truly did die - please. Do not make me lose you again.”

A big fat tear escaped the corner of her eye and the storm raging inside Merik reached its final crescendo. He wrenched Safi to him and his lips crashed into hers.

Gone was the ice cold sleep. Gone was the puppeteer. All there was was Safi, and, with her heart thrumming against him, he realized with stunning clarity that this was magic. Kissing Safi was the first three seconds after leaping off a cliff, the moment before your witchery ignites, when you’re falling and there’s nothing but you and the open air.

Release rumbled through his throat, dark like thunder, as his hand buried itself in her hair and he deepened the kiss, surrendering himself to her completely, until the fiery hunger devoured his fear and doubt and burned it all away. Safi sighed into him, her arms trapped against him, hands still gripping his collar. He felt the hard press of her knuckles dig into his chest, almost painful. He welcomed it and the bliss of knowing that she was here with him that came with it.

And then it was over. Lightheaded, Merik leaned forward to brace his forehead against Safi’s, the heat of her blazing on his skin. Moonlight spilled through the leaves painting them in ethereal light, their shared ragged breathing was almost deafening, alone, deep in the woods. Tears clung to Safi’s eyelashes, stained her flushed cheeks. Merik cradled her face in both his hands, his thumbs gently smoothing away the wetness.

“Please don’t cry,” he whispered. “Please.”

She laughed, a watery thing that broke Merik’s heart. “Then stop being a royal ass.”

Merik couldn’t help it - he smiled and kissed her again. Gentle this time. A slow press of his lips to hers.

Many minutes passed before another word was said. The sounds of the forest slowly returned as Merik’s pounding heart settled and his blood hummed with happiness. He watched Safi slowly rolled her lips together. A sign of restlessness. But he continued to absently caress the blush of her cheek, perfectly content with taking inventory of every inch of her face and committing it to memory. The freckles dusting her sandy skin. The moon glittering in her blue eyes. The bump along the bridge of her nose.

Hold on.

Merik traced the slope of Safi’s nose with his index finger and paused at the small protrusion.

“Where did this come from?” he asked. Unlike with the ankle, there wasn’t so much concern in the question as there was exasperation.

Safi pursed her lips, fighting a smirk.

“Well?” he demanded. It was like scolding a child.

“Would you believe, I got into a duel with a pirate queen?”

“You know, Domna, I would.” Merik pulled back slightly - enough so that he was able to give her a once over, but not so much that he had to release her from his embrace. He didn’t plan on doing that any time soon. “Tell me, are there any other new facets to your being that I should be aware of?”

Although the question aired on the side of teasing, Merik’s eyes darkened. He was entirely serious. If she had been hurt in any other way, he wanted to know.

Color rose to Safi’s cheeks under the intensity of his gaze. “None that I can think of. Though,” she murmured, peering coyly at him, “perhaps there’s something I’m forgetting. It may be worth your while to do a more thorough search somewhere more private.”

Merik’s heart skipped a beat. And judging by the smug way Safi’s lips curled, she felt it.

Merik never thought he’d ever feel the scorch of lust ever again after dying. His body was a broken, dead thing to be poked and prodded by Esme’s merciless hands. And yet, blessed heat fanned out deep in his core, melting his defenses from the inside out. Desire was a feeling long since forgotten until now. But however wonderful it felt, he pushed the sensation down. Just the thought of Safi enduring more suffering than what he already knew was enough to snuff out the flame between them.

“I’m serious, Safi.”

Safi tilted her head and let her hands wander up his chest. “So am I.”

A fresh wave of yearning flashed through Merik, more powerful than the one before. There was no uncertainty in her sapphire eyes. He felt his face flush and blinked away, only to become very aware of the silk wrapped over the lovely slope of her shoulder. One tug and he was sure he’d have her bare. It almost frightened him how fast his mind went there, when minutes ago he could barely stand the thought of putting himself in such a vulnerable and intimate position. If he were honest, even in his lust-dazed mind, it still made his stomach queasy.

Something must have registered on his face, because Safi’s playful smile faded. Merik felt her left hand twitch, warm against him - and then, it was gone. He could scarcely breathe as he watched her carefully raise herself to his scarred cheek. Her eyes never left him, watching for any sign of discomfort or unwant, hand hovering inches away from his face.

This time Merik stayed where he was, resisting the urge to pull away. He could do this. His grip tightened on her waist in anticipation and he closed his eyes, heart pounding against his chest, in his ears, overwhelming all other senses.

There was no stopping the sharp hiss of breath when skin met skin. Safi’s touch, like his witchery, was a ghost of what should have been there. He could barely feel it, most of the nerves on that side of his face burned away in the explosion that killed him.

Grief he couldn’t explain throbbed at the base of his throat. A burning sensation that spread behind his eyes. He cracked them open and his chest expanded painfully at the sight of Safi’s eyes. They were the color of the sky - and he was falling headlong into it.

Merik expelled the air that he’d been holding and let himself lean into her phantom touch.

Maybe it didn’t matter that he couldn’t feel her. Maybe knowing mattered more than feeling. Knowing that it was Safi touching him. Standing in his arms, warm and alive, looking at him like he was the only thing that existed.

Besides, he did feel it. In his heart.

“I thought you weren’t that type of girl,” Merik murmured huskily when he found his voice again.

“I’m not,” Safi murmured back, her thumb still stroking the ridged skin just below his eye. “But I’m also not the same girl you met in Venaza.”

“Nor am I the same man.” Merik’s forehead dropped to her’s. He pressed his eyes shut like he was praying to Noden for help. A shaky breath rattled his chest and he felt the tear that fell from his undamaged eye. “Safi, there’s so much I still need to tell you. I wasn’t lying when I said it was complicated."

“Then tell me,” she urged him kindly. “I want to know everything.” She paused. “Is that something you think you can do?”

Merik nodded numbly, overcome with emotion. He kept his downturned gaze anchored to the hand on his chest covering his heart.

“Ok,” whispered Safi before falling into silence. Then: “Can I at least kiss you one more time before you do?”

Merik answered her with a searing kiss, and a whisper of a breeze rustled through the trees, carrying a promise of hope.

#the witchlands #witchlands #safiya fon hasstrel #merik nihar #safik #safi x merik #otp: eye of the storm #truthwitch #windwitch #sightwitch #bloodwitch #my fic #mine

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lseultdetmidenzi · 5 years ago

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never forget that aeduan knows the nubrevnan four-step because evrane forced him to.

#imagine all the things evrane forced him to do in his childhood #aeduan #bloodwitch #truthwitch #windwitch #the witchlands #susan dennard #evrane #i love their brotp

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aetherbitch · 5 years ago

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At least two of the Nubrevnan gods where originally paladins during Eridysi’s time. Bastien (The Fury), who is obviously Cullen and Lady Baile who’s current reincarnation is Stix.

Side note: Bastien and Lady Baile were Heart-Threads in Dysi’s time..

I gotta be honest, thinking about Stix and Cullen together make me cringe. I think that’s on purpose though to show how the paladins change through their iterations and how Heart-Threads are not fated.

#just recording observations #sightwitch #bloodwitch #stix #cullen #the witchlands

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orynthslibrarian-blog · 6 years ago

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Crackpot Witchlands Theories

Bloodwitch spoilers (actually spoilers for the whole series really) follow under the line so read at my crackpot theories at your own risk :) AND LEMME KNOW WHAT Y’ALL THINK. I really and truly need to procrastinate studying for finals right now so interaction really welcomed <3

I’m rereading the series after reading Bloodwitch, and I’m trying to wrap my head around how the hell the Cahr Awen fit into the world of the Paladins. So first, I’m going to set out the relevant facts from the books.

Here’s what we know about the Cahr Awen:

Every single pair has been an Aetherwitch and a Voidwitch

They’re the only ones (as far as we know) who can reach the center of the Origin Wells

There’s an estimate of 60 pairs, but only Memory Records for 40 pairs

The last pair was about 600 years prior to the present day of the story

The Carawen monks were created to protect, defend, and support the Cahr Awen. Their symbol is... “the rook and tree”!

Here’s some of what we know about the Paladins:

The Paladins were very much alive and in power 1000 years prior to the present day (re: the timeline in Sightwitch)

They’re reincarnated, and there’s a strong inference that each reincarnation remembers their past lives, and has access to their past lives. Something about that fight changed the nature of how magic works in the Witchlands (since the reincarnated Paladins don’t remember their lives, and since that’s when the Wells sprung)

The element Paladins have full control of their respective element. I’m going to go ahead and write out who in the present day has been confirmed and who most likely is a Paladin.

Kullen (Air) who was Bastien/The Fury and is confirmed

Stix (Water) who is confirmed and was most likely Baile based on her connection to the under-city & the weird moment with Baile’s eyes

Dirdra/Owl (Earth) who is not confirmed, but we can make a very strong inference she is one as well based on her sudden knowledge of the doors which also suggests she was Saria who helped Eridysi with the doors

We don’t know what power the Rook King had, but I’m about to go into that in my theories. We just know that he’s one of the 6 rebel Paladins. And he has a pet Rook. And he was able to interact with Iseult.

OK THEORY TIME:

The Cahr Awen were two of the Paladins - there’s no way for the timelines to work out otherwise. That wasn’t all that clear to me until...

The Rook King was the Voidwitch half of the Cahr Awen.

His pet Rook has been making himself available to numerous characters (Ryber, Aeduan, & Safi) but the Rook King himself only ever showed up in Iseult’s dreams. If Paladins can access their past lives, then it’s reasonable to assume that Iseult’s past life was the Rook King, who is a confirmed Paladin. And Iseult’s power comes from the Void. I realize it hasn’t actually been confirmed yet, but we can very much assume that at least Iseult is 1/2 of the legendary pair.

Also the fact that the symbol of the Carawen monastery includes a “rook” which I highly doubt is a coincidence. The Rook King most likely established the Carawens himself - him and whoever stands for the “tree” bit.

The Rook King was probably the Paladin who “betrayed” the others. He’s notably missing in Eridysi’s journal entry. His Aetherwitch half was probably one of the Exalted Ones. And b/c they’re a pair, his half was able to convince him or use him somehow to get the information about the Rebel Paladins. And the two set up the Carawens not to support the Cahr Awen, but to protect future reincarnations from the vengeance of the awake rebel Paladins.

Habim, Matthew, and Eron are “awake” Paladins: Habim (fire), Matthew (aether), and we don’t know about Eron. Actually, Eron’s a weird situation. He used to have some sort of witchery, and then he became a Hell-Bard so he’s technically dead, and therefore, no longer a Paladin. But I’d venture a guess these three guys “woke up”, are heavily invested in Safi because they can sense she’s the Aetherwitch of the Cahr Awen. And if my theory about the Aetherwitch half being an Exalted One is correct, then this would all work together because those three are also Exalted ones. Their super schemes to take down the empires is to take back their own land and power. Would also explain why they randomly visited the Sightwitch convent - to find the hidden doorways, duh!

Also these people as other Paladins:

There’s also a strong inference that Noden - the Nubrevnan God - is a Paladin since the temple in Lovats has him standing between Lady Baile and The Fury, two confirmed Paladins. We just don’t know what his particular power and/or present-day identity is.

Corlant (Void) who Aeduan knows to have grown up with Ragnor since they’re both from the same tribe. Grown up with - not just from the same tribe. Ragnor was very much an adult and not with his tribe when he entered into the sleeping ice. Corlant is referencing his past life who knew Ragnor, not the current one.

This is less a theory and more or less confirmed in Sightwitch but wasn’t explicitly clear: Something is happening to Sirmaya (the source of all Witchlands magic) - presumably, Esme’s Cleaving is corrupting the magic somehow resulting in dead wells. The Cahr Awen can heal wells... they can probably heal Sirmaya as well.

#witchlands #bloodwitch #sightwitch #rook king #susan dennard #aeduan #baeduan #iseult #safi #cahr awen #carawen #witchland theories #truthwitch #windwitch #the witchlands

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unlikely-allies · 5 years ago

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3.5/5

Sightwitch is told through the diary entries of Ryber and Eridysi. The two perspectives from the Sightwitches serve to provide a backstory for the events of the Witchlands series. After reading Sightwitch, it is clear that the troubles facing Iz, Safi, and the other main characters have been building for centuries. These events are much more involved and much more important than any of the characters in the series know. Ancient forces are working to fulfill the prophecy of an eight-year-old child. A prophecy that was first voiced before the Witchlands were even established.

Ryber found her way to the Sightwitch Convent when she was four years old. She is the only child to have found the Convent without guidance, and who demanded that she be allowed to stay. Ryber is a stickler for the rules and proudly upholds them during her 13 years as an acolyte. Serving sisters, acolytes like Ryber, study in the hopes of one day being Summoned. When a sister is Summoned they are brought into the mountain where Sirmaya, a goddess, bestows the gift of Sight on the acolyte. One they are gifted with Sight, the girl becomes a Sightwitch Sister.

Sightwitches are not born, they are made. They must be chosen to receive their witchery, and Ryber has been patiently waiting for a long time. Ryber’s friend Tanzi is chosen to enter the mountain but does not return after the standard two-day period. Other acolytes are Summoned, and like Tanzi they do not return from inside the mountain. Four days after Tanzi was summoned, Ryber is the only one of the 14 original acolytes left. Soon Sightwitch Sisters are called into the mountain, something that typically doesn’t happen until the Sisters have grown old. Sightwitches do not believe in death, they believe that when the time comes they are Summoned and join Sirmaya in the mountain where they “sleep”. Twenty-two days after Tanzi was summoned, Ryber is the only Sister not called into the mountain. Ryber is the last Sightwitch, though she still has not been given the Sight.

After 42 days of solitude, Ryber ventures into the mountain to find her sisters. Ryber comes across Eridysi’s diary and through it we are shown the first days of the Sightwitches that existed during the time of the Paladins. The 12 Paladins were the only beings with magic. There were two Paladins for each element and when they died they were reincarnated. Eventually, six of the Paladins turned on the others and the Sightwitches were brought in to assist Paladins working against the aggressors. Eridysi had a different type of Sight than her sisters, one tied to her Taro cards that allowed her to use them to see the future. Eridysi was working with the six Paladins and the Rook King to create doorways in the mountain that would allow them to travel to different areas under the nose of the aggressing Paladins. Eridysi comes to take two sisters as her wards, Lisbet and Cora. She falls in love with their father and becomes pregnant with a boy just prior to Lisbet delivering the prophecy.

In the mountain, Ryber comes across a lost Nubrevnan captain who can’t remember who he is or how he got there. In their journey through the mountain, Ryber and the Nubrevnan develop a companionship and Ryber begins to believe that the captain may be important to whatever is happening with her sisters. When Ryber finally finds the Sightwitches, they are being magically encased in ice and forced to sleep. Tanzi uses her last breaths to warn Ryber against joining them. Tanzi alludes to the return of the Paladins and that Ryber must help save the sisters, and the Witchlands, from the outside. Some of the Paladins already walk amongst the Witchlands, the Nubrevnan man included, and the prophecy delivered during Eridysi’s time will soon come to pass.

The first page of Sightwitch is a letter from Ryber to Kullen. It is attached to a copy of the 12 Paladins and a Sightwitch diary, both meant to help Kullen remember. I believe this indicates that the book was given to Kullen prior to the events of Truthwitch. Sightwitch clarifies a lot of the events that take place in the main series. It also puts emphasis and importance on the characters and the struggles that they are facing. Sightwitch provides additional background for the character of the Fury, Rook King, and Eridysi’s Lament, the prophecy that is merely believed to be a song and that is alluded to frequently in the series. Sightwitch seems to up the stakes of the series and gives the reader an understanding that puts the series on a completely different level. For lovers of the Witchlands series, Sightwitch is a must-read.

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staciasotar · 6 years ago

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The Nubrevnan royal family

#the witchlands #truthwitch #windwitch #sightwitch #merik nihar #vivia nihar #serafin nihar #jana nihar #witchlandsedit #my edit #i finally watched the royal wedding lol #got a lil inspired

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wildbeautifuldreamer · 6 years ago

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Witchlands Theories

Okay major major spoilers for anyone who isn’t caught up.

I don’t know if it clicked with anyone else or if I was the only one waaaay behind on this,

“On the right stood Lady Baile, patron saint of change, seasons, and crossroads. Noden’s right hand they called her, and the lamp’s fire shimmered across golden wheat in her left hand, a silver trout in right. Her skin was painted like a night sky, black with pinpricks of white, while the fox-shaped mask across her face shone blue.” - Windwitch p. 38

“Bastien said as we went around the table with our various updates. For once, he had removed the mask he always wore... the Six took their leave. All except Lady Baile....She glanced toward the door, where I noticed a masked figure waited in the tunnel outside. ‘Sometimes we fall in love with those who have been beside us all along.’ Ah. So my suspicions regarding those two Paladins were true.” - Sightwitch pp. 128 - 130

“The patron saint of justice, of vengeance, of rage. The Fury.... Bald, scarred, and hulking, the saint of all things broken bore only the name of his true nature. His one calling. He brought justice to the wronged and punishment to the wicked, while Lady Baile was as beautiful as life itself, the Fury was more grotesque than even the Hagfishes...” - Windwitch pp. 38 & 39

Okay great, so now if everyone realized it, cool. But can I just fangirl the heck out right now? Lady Baile the Saint and Lady Baile the Paladin are the same person.

She who is Noden’s right hand, and her lover, Bastien is the left. To prove that I give you this:

“Back when I had a different name. Back before I became the saint you call the Fury.”... Kullen smiled. A heartbreaking familiar smile. “Hello, old friend,” he said. “Have you missed me?” - Windwitch pp. 296 &297

Kullen laughed. “Yet only in death, could they understand life. And only in life, will they change the world.” He tapped his head, that unnatural grin spreading all the wider. A smile that didn’t reach his dead, dead eyes. “The Fury’s memories were always here, Merik. I just had to die to unlock them.”...”I made this city, and so I will destroy it too.”....”Your sister might think she has won, but I will simply break the dam on my own. This city will be returned to its rightful ruler one way or another.” - Windwitch pp.336 & 337

I am SCREECHING. Okay. Now that I’ve got that out of the way. What in the blooming piss-pies. So Kullen was Bastien as a Paladin in his past life. At least that’s what I’m getting.

I’ve been going rounds and rounds in my head. Was it the Rook King that betrayed them? That was what I was betting on. It seemed like it when Lisbet was trying to convince them to go into the cave:

The Rook King--the one to whom I had given the Paladin-blade for safekeeping--was nowhere in sight....”We can hide in the tomb, but once this battle is over, we will leave.” “But it won’t end. He’s betrayed them all, don’t you see?... Tell her, Da...” ...”I cannot abandon my king.” “Yet you can abandon me? And the girls?” His eyes averted. “No. I...” Then he wilted into me, his forehead resting against mine. “We cannot walk away from this, Dysi. Someone betrayed us.” - Sightwitch pp. 217 -219

So that’s what I thought made it clear that the Rook King betrayed everyone--Side note, did he turn into The Rook? It would make sense why he wanted so badly to save Kullen than. Anyway, that’s my side theory that the Paladins are tied to the origin wells and the animals. However this is going to be another post-- or was it another Paladin? Then the whole thing with Bastien/Kullen. This doesn’t make things any easier. What role does Bastien play in this? At least we know why he’s depicted as, erm, haunting as he is.

“The Six were losing... while fire engulfed Bastien. Baile was pined by swords to the wall...” - Sightwitch p. 218

Did he somehow survive the ravaging long enough that he then went out to unleash his fury on the world? On the other Paladins?

“Six turned on six and made themselves kings, One turned on five, and stole everything.” - Sightwitch p. 165

“The Paladins we locked away will one day walk among us. Vengeance will be theirs, in a fury unchecked, for their power was never ours to claim. Yet only in death, could they understand life. And only in life, will they change the world.” - Sightwitch p. 211

Well Kullen/Bastien certainly has a fury unchecked as he runs around talking about the city that he built and how it’s his to control. Which then makes me question which six turned on six? Who were the Exalted ones? I was so sure that it was Bastien who Kullen is, but it almost makes me wonder that if the two Wind Paladins are tied together somehow. Or I’m overthinking things like normal. I know we haven’t gotten to hear more about the other Paladins, Rhian, Midne, Saria. I’m mostly intrigued by Baile, Bastien, and the Rook King (also why in the blazes doesn’t he get his own name? Especially when his name is King...) yet again which six turned on six? Which one stole everything? I know in one of the drawings Ryber is wondering if Kullen was the Paladin to turn on everyone (Sightwtich, p. 227).

However, I’m wondering if we were looking at this wrong. What if the Rook King had always been playing two sides to confuse the Exalted Ones, and he was supposed to betray the Six who were making the underground cities, and he did, but he also betrayed those who were supposed to kill the Paladins forever by taking the sword away, hence “stole everything?” So instead they trapped those Paladins in the mountain of Simraya

Going back to the Paladins of the same element might be tied, why to the Nubrevnans is Lady Baile whom everyone loves and adores the same woman who Baile’s Slaughter is sacrificed to?

“Three rules has she,” Kahinga sang, shuffling her cards, “Our Lady of the Seas. No whistlings when a storm’s in sight. Six-fingered cats will ward off mice. And always, always stay the night for Baile’s Slaughter Ring.” - Windwitch, p. 220

ALSO are the other rules important? I feel like they might be. Just like how each Sightwitch Sister rule was important in a way that we weren’t expecting.

Anyways it’s late here. I’ve spent far too much time on this post. Remind me that I need to do another on Magic/the Paladins/Cleaving next.

I’d love to hear thoughts, view points, etc.

@whydoyoucareaboutmyusername @youlovemeade @write-the-stars

And as always this world and all the quotes belong to @stdennard who makes my creative brain think, go into overdrive, and shut down.

#Witchlanders #witchlands #threadwitch #sightwitch #truthwitch #witchlands theories #head thoughts #Baile #Kullen #the Paladins #Bastien #Eridysi #Yes I should be doing homework #Yes I have work tomorrow and it's almost bed time #Yes I told myself that I'd only take like half an hour off between my evening class and starting homework #No I don't have that paper done for tomorrow #Why did I decide that grad school and work were good ideas? Obviously I just want to write fan theories anyway #Anyone want to finish my lectures for Health Policy tomorrow? I'll keep writing theories and making witchlands aesthetics if you do

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stdennard · 6 years ago

Note

Not sure if you can answer this (if it's spoilers or not) but what was the Nubrevnan royal family name before the Nihars married into it?

Wait and see. ;)

It’s complicated, and there’s a story there.

#truthwitch #windwitch #sightwitch #bloodwitch #witchlands #witchlanders

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gilded-moon · 4 years ago

Note

Headcanons for game nights with the nubrevnans

Merik- He is so competitive. Merik will play so hard even though Evrane or Stix beat his ass every time. He refuses to talk about the time he and Vivia played monopoly as per their agreement.

Kullen- He’s too nice to do well. He just likes having fun with everyone.

Vivia- She doesn’t try to beat anyone except Merik. She normally succeeds in that. She made an agreement with Merik never to mention the time they played uno together. It did not end well.

Stix- Ruthless to everyone except Vivia. Stix loves beating Merik because she thinks his angry face is funny.

Cam- He doesn’t get into the games like everyone else. Cam plays for fun although he does pretty good because of his gut.

Evrane- Vicious. She will crush everyone and no one can beat her. She prefers to watch though in case someone (Merik) does something stupid after getting mad about the game.

I’m sorry I take forever to answer these. I love them, I’m just slow at this stuff 😂

#the witchlands #moon answers

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eilonwiiy · 5 years ago

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Bookends ; a Witchlands AU

Chapter 2

A night at the Cleaved Man turns both Safi and Iseult's worlds upside down after an explosive confrontation with an uptight Nubrevnan and an unexpected romantic gesture from a close friend...

Summary: Iseult det Midenzi never expected to go to a top university, so when her mother falls ill and she is forced to drop out to make ends meet, life has never seemed so unfair. But when she starts working at the local library and is unexpectedly assigned in the Children’s Room, a certain monosyllabic man and his thrice-damned demon child start showing up and Iseult begins to wonder if the threads of fate have a plan for her after all.

Previous chapters: 1

Ships: Iseult/Aeduan, Safi/Merik, and more… stay tuned!

Tags: modern AU, college setting, family, friendship, humor, fluff, slow-burn, romance, eventual smut

Read on AO3: here

Tag list: (please let me know if you’d like to be added!) @lseultdetmidenzi

* . * . * . * .

There was a certain art to it, Iseult had to admit. Bartending, that is.

Safi darted every which way behind the bar, hands reaching for bottles and canisters without thought and pouring liquids and syrups of all colors into an endless supply of glasses at breakneck speed. Just when Iseult thought the place had reached its peak hour, a fresh wave of college kids invaded the counter. Iseult wasn’t sure how a place as cramped as The Cleaved Man managed to pack so many bodies. For a bar as ancient as it was, she supposed being forced to get up close and personal with eligible strangers was half its appeal.

Not for Iseult though. She isolated herself on her usual perch at the very end of the bar by the swinging half-door that led behind the counter, still wearing the outfit she wore at the library: a thick black knitted sweater, matching jeans, and laced-up boots. No one bothered her, save for one unfortunate soul at the beginning of the night. He looked relatively harmless - if you could call a salmon pink polo shirt and khakis shorts in mid-winter harmless. But that didn’t stop Iseult from squeezing a lemon slice in his eyes when he wouldn’t take a hint that she wasn’t interested.

When he had turned to Safi, face dripping wet and eyes stinging red, clearly expecting to see some sort of reprimand dished out, she only shrugged.

“That’s what they’re for,” she said and plopped a fresh slice into the drink she’d just finished mixing and offered it pointedly to a girl on his other side. “Good luck out there,” she told her.

The girl grinned and raised her glass to Safi in thanks, turning to leave, but not without giving the open-mouthed guy a meaningful look.

After that, the evening was considerably less exciting. For Iseult, at least. For everyone else, the night was just getting started.

Walking into the Cleaved Man, you could easily expect its raucous crowd to break out into a sea shanty at the drop of a hat. It was like stepping into one of Iseult’s beloved swashbuckling tales, with its musty smell, fat wooden tables, and rickety benches. There were even giant beer barrels tucked into the tight space’s dark corners serving as makeshift seating that Safi swore were older than the bar’s current owner. Ornate, wooden chandeliers hung from iron chains, strewn with strings of white lights, a nice modern touch that doused the room in a soft, golden glow. While swarms of college kids hovered around the bar, smaller, more intimate parties clustered together in cozy booths, each with a single candle flickering bright upon the table, illuminating the smiles and laughter of their occupants. Only a few diamond checkered stained glass windows lining the front of house offered the passersby a small glimpse of the merriment contained within.

Iseult appreciated the fantasy of it. There was something romantically atmospheric to it. In a historic sort of way, if that was possible. If it weren’t for the thrumming music and the mounting inebriation pressing in on all sides of her, she would have loved to come here with a book and simply read.

“How are those limes coming, Iz?” Safi called over the music, not looking up from the glass she was shooting Sprite into.

“I’m almost -” Iseult began, but Safi was already there, sweeping whatever slices she had off the cutting board into a tin bucket and hurrying away, “-done.” She speared another lime and got back to chopping.

Friday nights were one of the busiest nights of the week, but they became even busier when you were working for two - as Safi was tonight. She wasn’t technically alone. But Stix seemed more interested in picking up girls than serving drinks.

Whereas Safi was a whirlwind of frantic energy, Stacia “Stix” Sotar leaned completely at ease against the counter at the other end of the bar. Across from her a girl with badly dyed red hair spoke animatedly, eating maraschino cherries from a glass and wearing a dollar store tiara. She was clearly the matriarch of her group, as the rest of her friends - overly made up for a night at the Cleaved Man - stood adoringly around her, sipping their drinks and bursting into fits of laughter more often than was believable. The birthday girl’s heavily painted eyes never left Stix, and Iseult had lost count of how many times her hand consciously fingered the bedazzled sash advertising “21 and HOT, buy me a SHOT” draped across her generous chest.

Well, Stix had clearly seen to the shot. What service.

Iseult’s attention lingered a moment longer before sparing a glance to the rest of the bar. The evening was definitely in full swing. People had long since moved onto their second or third drink, graduating to shots and plates stacked high with wings or cheesy nachos. At the eye of the impending storm, Iseult spotted a familiar face that could not have looked more out of place.

Lounging languorously in sky blue, Leopold shuffled a deck of cards at one of the small round tables in the center of the room. Keeping him company were his roommates Lev, Zander, and - much to Iseult’s displeasure - Chiseled Cheater. It shouldn’t have bothered her as much as it did. They lived together after all; he had as much right to hang out with them as anyone else. Still...

As though hearing her thought, Leopold turned in Iseult’s direction and met her gaze. His face lit up and he flashed her a criminally stunning smile, burning like a beacon amidst the sweat and alcohol swirling around him. He immediately beckoned for her to join them. She shook her head.

Why? he mouthed.

Iseult skewered a lime and held it up.

Leopold’s lips pursed, accentuating their natural pink plushness. His finger tapped the table, and with a quick word to his companions, he tossed the cards down with a little more flourish than was necessary and slipped away. As he made his way towards Iseult, he moved through the crowd like a snake, disturbing no one and going unnoticed. Well, not completely unnoticed. A fair amount of heads turned to catch more than a periphery glimpse of his deliciously carved cheekbones and silky waves of strawberry blonde hair.

“Was that lime a metaphor for what you’re going to do to me for sharing a drink with Caden?” he drawled, sidling up to Iseult. “Or have we seriously fallen to such a level of co-dependence that our dear Safi can no longer do her job without pawning some of the load off onto you?”

Iseult sliced into a particularly juicy lime and let the satisfying squelch answer for her. Leopold shook his head with an amused chuckle, and before Iseult could protest, he plucked a slice from the cutting board and popped it into his mouth.

“Mmm what a sweet death it will be,” he said in between suckles. If it had been anyone else, Iseult would have been disgusted by such an obnoxious display - and in a public place no less. But Leopold had a way of making even the grossest practices seem sophisticated. Sensuous, even.

“Limes are bitter,” Iseult corrected.

“Not with you at the end of the knife.”

Iseult looked at him. He licked a runaway trail of juice from his thumb, far too invested in the lime to notice Iseult staring. His lips were red and wet, glistening obscenely under the halo of stringed lights hovering above him. She couldn’t help it; her face warmed.

But when he tossed the lime into the open garbage can behind the counter, it was like he’d said nothing.

“Do I need to call social services?” he pressed in a mock whisper that was sure to reach Safi’s ears. “Is she keeping you here against your will?”

“Ha-ha,” Safi interjected, slapping a towel onto the counter and wiping it down. Leopold lurched back as she made a pass near him.

“Watch the sleeves, love,” he chastised with a small, but noticeable pout that only made Iseult stare at his lips again.

“Oh Polly, you wouldn’t be you if you weren’t fussing over your designer shirt of the day, but you came to the wrong place if you expected to not be spilt on at least twice.”

Leopold gave a disdainful huff. “Tell me about it,” he muttered, scrutinizing a spot on his shirt that was only visible to him. After a moment, he clicked his tongue and abandoned the fabric with a note of disgust. “I’d be at Arlenni’s Loop if it weren’t for the company - which brings me back to my original question. Are you going to keep poor Iseult here shackled to you all night or are going to let her actually enjoy herself?”

“She’s keeping me company. What could be more fun than that?”

Iseult kept her gaze downcast, suddenly needing to cut each lime slice with exact precision.

Leopold turned away from Safi like she hadn’t said anything. “You should join us. We were just about to start a game of-”

“We don’t need to play any more games with your lot, thank you,” Safi cut in, brandishing her rag and earning an affronted glare from Leopold.

“Excuse me, since when does ‘Iseult’ mean ‘we’? And what exactly do you mean by “my lot”?”

“You know exactly what I mean.” Safi gave the table he’d just left a withering glare. Leopold followed it over his shoulder, then turned back to her, frowning.

“For Noden’s sake, Safi. This is overdoing it - even for you.” He watched her, waiting for a response, but she said nothing, attention trained on the row of glasses she was now wiping dry. When it was clear she wasn’t going to concede, he breathed an impatient sigh, then, designer sleeves and all, leaned against the counter and drew himself closer to Safi. Understanding softened his expression, but his lips twitched.

“Now, love,” he began delicately, “I know you fancied yourself his girlfriend-”

“I did not!” Safi barked, slamming a glass onto the counter and sending water droplets flying. She glared at Leopold, eyes blazing. “He stole our apartment, Leopold!”

Leopold was entirely unaffected, despite his shirt was now spattered shirt. He simply drew away from the counter, straightening and crossing his arms. “Oh boo-hoo, Safiya. So you let slip to a guy you made-out with that you found the perfect off-campus apartment and he swooped in and snagged it for himself. That hardly makes him a thief.”

“It’s how he got the information that matters,” Iseult intervened, feeling that she had let the two childhood friends’ bickering go on long enough. Safi nodded fervently in agreement.

Leopold clucked his tongue in distaste. “Oh stop that. A lot of things happened at Vaness’ end-of-the-year party, but you being taken advantage of was not one of them. Call him an asshole if you must, but don’t turn him into something he isn’t.”

Iseult’s heart lurched at the mention of Vaness’ infamous end-of-the-year party, but she swallowed it down. “He took advantage of her feelings.”

“We all do at one point or another in our lives, whether we mean to or not,” Leopold said, giving her an almost pitying look. “Heartbreak, dished out or taken, is an unfortunate side effect of having feelings.”

Iseult’s nose twitched. What her mother would have had to say about that. But even as she looked into Leopold’s sparkling sea green eyes, she couldn’t help but feel a trail of unease crawl up her spine.

“Why does it even matter?” he pressed on. There was a strained edge to his voice as he ran a distracted hand through his perfectly coiffed hair. “I saved the day and now you have an open invitation to our place at my behest and can torture Caden with your presence til the end of your days.”

This part was true at least. Leopold had swooped in and snagged the fourth room Caden, Lev, and Zander needed to fill. And he had used his status to forgo any scrupulous tenant screenings and ensure the landlord’s lease papers were signed before anyone could do anything to stop it. It had been brilliant, actually. And he had done it all on his own.

“What am I supposed to do?” Leopold looked imploringly between Safi and Iseult. “Not talk to them?”

Safi sniffed and raised her chin in the air. “That would be preferable, yes.”

Leopold stared at her. “You are impossible,” he declared finally, to which Safi merely shrugged. Annoyance flickered across his face and he ran his hand through his hair again, cursing under his breath, “At least you got a good lay out of it.”

“What??” Safi sputtered, eyes blown wide with panic and darting between Leopold and Iseult. “We didn’t- did he tell you that?! ”

“No,” Leopold admitted sounding equally unamused. “That was wishful thinking on my part.”

The two of them glared at each other, neither one looking happy with the other. For a second, Iseult thought Safi would throw something at him. Her dirty rag perhaps. Or a bar glass. That would be a first. But instead, her expression frosted over and she hefted the plastic bin of newly washed glasses against her hip. They clinked noisily against each other.

“Go away, Polly. Or you’ll have more than a stain on your shirt to cry about.” She regarded Leopold cooly, then strode away, leaving him and Iseult alone.

Iseult shifted in her seat and situated herself back over her cutting board. “I’d take her advice seriously. Those bar guns shoot surprisingly far. I’ve seen them in action.”

“If it means getting a drink…” Leopold trailed off, and to Iseult’s surprise, he drew up an empty stool seemingly out of thin air and plopped himself down next to her. He leaned into her conspiratorially. “What are the odds of her making me a drink that isn’t laced with strychnine? Should I go bother Stix?”

Iseult glanced across the bar. Stix was still working her magic on the “birthday bitch” as she’d overheard one of her loud friends dub her. Her obnoxious red curls bounced as threw her head back and let out a shriek of laughter at something hilarious Stix apparently said. Iseult noticed Safi roll her eyes in irritation as she tried to take the order of a big burly guy towering behind the group.

“You’d have to be a girl to get her attention,” she muttered, reaching for a lemon.

Leopold frowned, eyeing the group with mild interest. “Surely I’m as pretty as one, wouldn’t you say?” He drew himself back, so that his form was on full display for Iseult. He grinned and gave her an optimistic sort of look that brought out his natural boyish charm. “Couldn’t hurt to give it a shot. Especially if it means avoiding my untimely death.”

Iseult didn’t respond. That prospect didn’t sound so bad right now. Leopold seemed to have read her mind because after a moment of awkward silence, he reached out and covered the hand holding her knife with his.

“Iseult," he said softly, and Iseult’s hand twitched under his. He paused. "I didn’t mean what I said. Safi means more to me than… well, anyone. I’d never do anything to intentionally upset her. I love her.”

His voice was pitched low so that only Iseult could hear him, but every word rang true and clear. She slowly turned to look at him and something in his face relaxed when her eyes met his. He was so close to her she could see the little flecks of blue in his them bloom with every blink. The strands of red in his lashes. He licked his lips... and she hated herself for looking there too.

“But,” he resumed cautiously, “I’m tired of her getting on my case for this. It’s not fair. I haven’t done anything wrong, and look... I know you would face Noden and his Hagfishes before admitting it, but I think you know that Safi needs to let this go. If not for my sake, then for hers.”

Iseult blinked. No one knew her better than Safi… which was why she was so stunned with how close Leopold came to hitting the truth. But it was like he said, she’d take on Noden and his Hagfishes before admitting Safi was wrong.

Leopold squeezed her hand in understanding and let go. Iseult immediately pulled it into her lap, only then realizing how warm it had felt under his. She clasped her other hand and fidgeted with the silver ring around her index finger.

Leopold hopped off his stool and brushed his hands on the front of his pants, as though he’d dirtied himself through the mere act of sitting. He pointed to Iseult’s half-empty glass. “Do you need another juice box?”

Iseult grabbed the drink out from under the scrutiny of his finger and took a defensive sip from her straw. It had a watery taste to it, all the ice cubes nearly melted to nothing. “No, I’m good.”

The corner of Leopold’s mouth curved up and the dimple on his cheek became a winking star. “Yes, you are,” he purred, backing away into the crowd, “So very, very good.”

And then he was gone. Iseult gaped at the spot, not sure of what had just happened, and turned in a daze to the end of the bar where Stix stood. Sure enough, Leopold reappeared, slipping smoothly between closely pressed together shoulders and then leaning against the bar without taking any notice of the half dozen or so faces gawking at him for so blatantly cutting the line. Or maybe he simply didn’t care. Even Birthday Bitch was looking at him like she couldn’t believe he was real as his lips moved with ease. That is, until Stix started laughing at something he’d said. A true, genuine sound.

The girl didn’t like that.

With a scandalized look at the pair, she swiped her drink off the counter and took a pouty sip as she hobbled off her stool. Leopold gracefully took her place without sparing the girl a glance, and even had the audacity to plop a maraschino cherry in his mouth. Iseult saw Birthday Bitch peek over her shoulder a couple times to see if Stix had noticed she’d left.

She didn’t. Not even a little, judging by the pen and napkin she was sliding Leopold’s way.

“Unbelievable,” muttered Safi, joining Iseult and watching Leopold scribble what could only be his name and number onto the napkin.

“Admit it, you’re impressed,” Iseult said. Safi only let out a mirthless laugh and turned her back on them just in time to miss Leopold slide the napkin back to Stix with a wink before disappearing back into the crowd. She grabbed a lemon slice and shoved it in her mouth.

“He even got her to work,” Iseult added, ignoring the loud noises coming from Safi’s passionate assault on her lemon and nodding over her shoulder to where Stix was miraculously making a round of drinks. “He’ll have you groveling at his feet by midnight.”

Safi swiped another lemon slice and made to shove it in Iseult’s mouth. Iseult dodged the attack, and when Safi tried again, Iseult only scrunched her face and ducked a second time. As childish as it was, it set both girls to laughing, a welcome sound to Iseult’s ears after such a long night. Safi and Leopold bickered all the time, but she hated to see her so wound up over something so inconsequential as Chiseled Cheater. Her friend didn’t wear hurt as well as she thought she did.

Safi finally stuffed the lemon into her own mouth. “At least I can take a break now,” she said grudgingly, though her expression remained at ease. She swung her hair over her shoulder and stole a glance at Stix. “Who do you think it’s for?”

Iseult wasn’t sure if she meant the drinks or the napkin Leopold slipped Stix. She decided on the napkin. “Stix, of course.”

“Please, he’s not that good,” Safi muttered distantly as her eyes scanned the bar. “My vote is for the birthday bazongas over there.”

“Safi.”

“What? They’re huge!” Safi made an emphatic, and entirely unnecessary, gesture with her hands. “Don’t tell me you didn’t notice!”

Iseult’s nose twitched, but didn’t say anything.

“See,” insisted Safi with with all the maturity of a five-year-old. “And trust me, if we noticed, Polly definitely noticed.”

Something needled Iseult’s chest. “You don’t know what kind of girl he likes.”

Safi opened her mouth to comment, but a tray of drinks magically appearing interrupted them.

“Special delivery,” trilled Stix, lifting a glass off the tray balanced on her hand and placing it in front of Iseult. Her braided white hair was piled high on top of her head and up close, Iseult could see blue and silver beads woven into the tightly wound strands.

“I didn’t order anything,” she said automatically, eyeing the colorful concoction like she didn’t know what it was.

Other people might have been put off by Iseult’s inflectionless voice, but Stix only smiled, showing off the gap between her two front teeth.

“You can thank Prince Charming over there,” she said, with a nod and a wink. Both Iseult and Safi’s heads spun to where she gestured, but somehow Iseult already knew who she’d find.

Gold waves rippled under the lights as Leopold tipped his head back and shook with laughter. The deck of taro cards was back in his hands and he was in the process of dealing a round to Lev, Zander, and Chiseled Cheater, the cards flying from his long, delicate fingers and sliding across the table. Dumbly, Iseult turned back to beverage sitting in front of her and inspected it. It was like a sunset in a cup, all orange, yellow, and red bleeding brilliantly together. She didn’t reach for it, though, to give it taste.

Iseult eyes slid to the napkin set beside beside it and she noticed there was something scrawled on it. She peeled it off the bar and slowly held it up to read. Her heart was pounding. Why was her heart pounding? Stasis, Iseult. Stasis.

Iseult looked up from the napkin and back at Leopold. He wasn’t even watching to see what her reaction would be. In fact, the only person distracted from their card game was Chiseled Cheater, and he definitely wasn’t looking at Iseult.

Even from afar, Iseult could see the small line that wormed between Caden’s brows whenever she caught him looking at Safi. He was in the middle of drinking his beer when his gaze strayed to her, the bottle hovering briefly over his lips before he indulged in another long swig and turned away.

Unfortunately for Iseult, Safi wasn’t paying attention to him. The only thing she was gawking at was the fruity monolith standing between them.

“You’re right,” Safi declared breaking the silence. “I don’t know what kind of girl he likes.”

Iseult said nothing. She picked up the glass, set it down next to her cranberry juice, wiped away the ring of condensation it had left behind, and returned to her knife and lemon like the drink had been a figment of their imagination.

Of course, Iseult knew never in a million years would Safi leave it at that.

“So when did this happen?”

A surprise spurt of lemon juice shot into Iseult’s eye, but she willed it not to blink through the stinging pain. Stasis, Iseult. Stasis in your fingers and in your toes. “Nothing is happening.”

“Uh, this very loud drink begs to differ.”

“Well, drink it and then it’ll shut up.”

“I’m not drinking your love juice.”

Iseult’s breath hitched in disgust. “Please don’t call it that.”

“Well, what else am I supposed to call it?” Safi asked, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “You won’t tell me what it is!”

“It’s nothing,” Iseult replied evenly, blank expression betraying nothing. Because it was nothing. There was no way Leopold had feelings for her. They were strictly friends. That was it.

Safi snorted when she told her just that. “Right. And I’m the queen of Cartorra.”

“That explains it then,” a voice called.

Both Safi and Iseult looked around to see who had spoken. It was difficult with the bar crowded as it was. Then, a young Nubrevnan man sitting a couple seats away wearing a crisp white shirt unbuttoned dangerously low leaned forward and cocked his head.

“Why you can’t be bothered to serve your subjects,” he elaborated, acknowledging the people on either side of him with a curt nod before drawing back to Safi.

Safi and Iseult shared a look, one that confirmed the unspoken: this guy was an ass.

The corners of Safi’s quirked and she turned back, slow and purposefully, to the man. “Can I help you?”

The flat of the man’s hand slapped the table. “Now she hears me!” he exclaimed in mock surprise to the crowd, playing them for a response and flashing a good-natured smile despite his antagonizing demeanor being anything but. Annoyance fluttered in Iseult’s chest as people laughed. Drunk people were so easily amused.

“Excuse me?” Safi shot back.

A man - no, scratch that - a giant standing behind the seated Nubrevnan leaned down to speak loudly next to his ear. “May have spoken too soon, Cap.”

More people laughed, but Iseult only mentally rolled her eyes. Cap? As in captain? Oh yeah. This guy was definitely a douche.

The giant flashed Safi what Iseult assumed must have been a smile, though it twisted unnaturally across his pale face. Iseult discreetly nudged the bucket of freshly cut lemon slices towards Safi, but she waved her off, not taking her eyes off the man sitting in front of her. Though, Iseult didn’t miss the nearly indistinguishable nod letting her know she knew it was there in case she decided to change tactics. Now all she had to do was sit back and enjoy the show.

“Are you going to order anything or not?” Safi asked in a bored voice.

He made a show of considering it. “I don’t know,” he mused loftily, resting his well-tanned arms on the counter. He leaned forward. “What are the odds of getting our drinks within this calendar year?”

“Slim,” Safi replied automatically. She approached the counter, meeting his advance with a little extra swing in her hips, a lioness hunting her prey. “But how would you even know?” she added as she planted herself in front of him. Her hands swept deftly over the burnished wood counter, arms stretching long on either side of her until she was taking as much space as possible. “You clearly don’t own a calendar. Did you not notice that it’s January? Or do you not know how a button works?”

Much to Iseult’s satisfaction, the man flushed. He glared at Safi. “I know how a button works.”

“So you’re just stupid, then” she retorted. A murmur of amusement rippled through the crowd, music to Safi’s ears, and she stood a little taller. Her mouth twisted as she gave him a cursory look. “Why even bother putting on a shirt if you’re just going to wear it like -” she gestured vaguely to his exposed chest “-that?”

The giant’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you saying he should take it off?” He turned to the crowd as he suggested it, opening the heavy-handed question to everyone. He knew what he was doing. The bar immediately erupted into cheers. The space was so small that even people who weren’t close enough to know what was going on hollered their support, clapped their hands, pumped their fists into the air - anything for a chance at a flash of nudity.

The giant circled the spot where he stood, towering over the crowd and nodding his approval. “The people have spoken!” he declared over the noise and the bar responded with another enthusiastic cat call of approval. The giant’s smile grew bigger and more terrifying. He clapped his friend on the shoulder and gave him a friendly jostle.

But the man merely shrugged him off and sank lower into the bar, keeping his gaze downturned. Several strands of his dark swept back hair fell across his forehead, but weren’t long enough to hide the crimson flush from earlier that had deepened on his bronze cheeks. Then, without warning, his rich brown eyes fluttered back up to Safi and he looked nothing like he had moments ago. Now he looked shy. Handsome .

Iseult couldn’t see Safi’s face, but she knew. She knew all it took was one look and Safi would melt. She had learned that the hard way with Chiseled Cheater.

But Chiseled Cheater had never looked at Safi like this. Chiseled Cheater was a practiced player. He tossed around charming smiles and easy jokes, dished out compliments in heaps, lured young women into shadowed corners with promises and heady kisses - and through it all, his mask never fell out of place.

Not this Nubrevnan, though. In his silence, he was completely bare to Safi.

But a second later, whoever had been sitting before Safi - looking at her like maybe he’d wished they could start over - was gone. The young man’s brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed with a keen sharpness.

“I know you,” he murmured, almost to himself, scrutinizing Safi like he was seeing her clearly for the very first time. Safi opened her mouth to object, but he barreled through her protests. “Yeah,” he said with more confidence, and suddenly his eyes were on Iseult who, up until that point, had gone unnoticed by the Nubrevnan. He wagged a stiff finger from her to Safi. “I recognize you! You’re the Breakfast Bandits!”

“What?” Safi snapped at the same time Iseult blurted incredulously, “They call us the Breakfast Bandits?”

The man crossed his arms triumphantly, rolling his broad shoulders as he leaned back on his stool. The gesture pulled his shirt open even wider, exposing a generous amount of his muscled chest. Clearly, his modesty had been short-lived.

Safi mirrored his pose. “So what if we are?”

Whatever amusement the man had gained from messing with Safi vanished. His tone turned serious. “You’re stealing food.”

Safi gave a disbelieving laugh. “I’d hardly call it stealing. Not when we’re paying thousands to go their precious little school.”

Iseult pressed her lips together. It probably wasn’t worth mentioning that Safi had a fully-paid scholarship or that she’d dropped out five months ago.

“Besides,” Safi spurred on, “where do you think all that leftover food goes at the end of the day? In the garbage. We were just taking what would have been thrown away.”

Strangely, this seemed to anger the Nubrevnan even more. “That food doesn’t get thrown away,” he gritted out. “That food is divided and delivered to local homeless shelters.”

“Oh? And how would you know that?”

“Because I’m the one who does it.”

The space between them dropped dead. Iseult could practically feel Safi’s stunned shock pulsing off her. Somewhere overhead, Lizzo cried about great men.

“You-” Safi stammered, reminding Iseult of her own cursed stutter.

“Me and my crew,” the man explained, scowl deepening. There was no triumph in his voice this time. “We divy what’s left over at the end of the night, load it up in my truck, and deliver it to shelters here and in neighboring cities. Every day. We usually finish up around 2 in the morning.”

It was a first. Safi was at a loss for words.

Still scowling, the Nubrevnan shook his head and rose up from his stool. Standing, he was a full head taller than Safi. He glared down at her, his eyes searching her face. Despite the obvious contempt pulsing off him, it was almost like he was hoping she would say something.

But she didn’t.

He breathed in deeply, struggling to remain in control of his emotions, and his nostrils flared. “You may think it’s just one hash brown,” he finally uttered in a low voice, “that you’re entitled to it. But to someone who hasn’t eaten in a week, it’s the difference between life and death.”

Again, Safi said nothing. Iseult noticed that the giant was no longer smiling. In fact, no one was smiling. And the longer the Nubrevnan glared at Safi, the more fed up with he seemed to become, until finally he succumbed to his anger and ripped his jacket off his stool. A violent movement that made Safi flinch.

“You can forget about those drinks, domna,” he announced as he punched his arms through the coat sleeves. He didn’t look at her. He simply flicked up his jacket collar and spun away on his heel. People stepped out of his way as he marched towards the front entrance in long, determined strides. The giant and the rest of his crew followed in his wake.

However, when he reached the door, his hand hesitated on the handle. His head turned half a centimeter, then froze. Like he had to actively stop himself from turning to look back. But his gaze slid to Safi anyway, two dark moorings along the brim of his jacket collar. For a second, Iseult thought she caught another glimpse of that shy young man from earlier, but before she could decide if what she’d seen was real or not, he yanked open the door and stormed out into the night.

Safi stood motionless, staring after him long after the door slammed shut. Iseult ransacked her brain for something to say, anything... but nothing came. It appeared that the Nubrevnan had not only taken Safi’s voice, but Iseult’s as well.

The rest of the night passed in silence between them. Safi went about serving customers and making drinks, though with none of her previous vigor. She navigated the bar on autopilot, any exchange made subdued. Iseult recognized the faraway look in her eyes. It was the same one she wore whenever she was preoccupied with thoughts of her Uncle Eron. The notion that the words from this complete stranger could have the same effect on Safi as one of Uncle Eron’s drunk debauckles made something in Iseult’s chest worry into a knot.

When the last tankard was hung and the final table wiped clean, Iseult followed Safi and the happy jingle of keys that signaled it was time to go home. Bundled up in a dark wool coat and thick scarf, Iseult held open the door for Safi as Stix switched off the lights and filed after her.

At some point during the night, it must have started to snow. A light dusting of white covered the sidewalk and the cars parked along the street, and lazy, slow-falling snowflakes floated down from the starless sky as the three of them stood outside the Cleaved Man. After tugging the door handle and making sure it was securely locked, Stix zipped up her leather jacket and happily wished Safi and Iseult goodnight, setting off downtown. Her night was apparently just getting started.

The sound of Stix’s boots hitting pavement echoed in the distance and Safi and Iseult turned to face each other. For a moment they just stared at each other, both looking as tired as the other one felt. Everywhere else on their block had closed up for the evening, and after a night spent in the Cleaved Man where the noise never stopped, the street sounded unnaturally quiet.

“Home?” Safi finally asked. It felt like forever since Iseult had heard her voice. Big, chunky snowflakes clung to her knitted beanie.

Iseult nodded. “Home.”

As one, the girls turned, linked arms, and set off in the direction of their apartment, leaving a trail of footprints along the snow covered sidewalk.

It wasn’t until Iseult was lying in bed that she realized she never did see Leopold again.

#the witchlands #witchlands #baesult #iseult det midenzi #aeduan #safiya fon hasstrel #merik nihar #safik #stix sotar #kullen ikray #caden fitz grieg #truthwitch #bookends #mine #my fics

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