South of the river lived the actors, the madmen and whores. This was true of the past as it was of the present, even if Southwark had been repaved with tourists, even if it had been coated in the glitz and glamour of the Shard, even if no Elephant was left at Elephant and Castle. They had stumbled out of the vaults underneath Waterloo Station slightly dizzy from the fumes of the spray paint cans working furiously to coat every inch of the walls with yet another work of art; at the edges one could see drunks, a john or two, tourists taking pictures, and skaters trying a new trick. The lights were on, and the few hidden restaurants offering their share of greasy american food and novelty cocktails seemed to beckon the lost souls like them, who had nothing else to do but wander aimlessly through the streets of old London.
A week and a half after their arrival, Aegyr needed no translators. He struck conversation with a rasta who'd been photographing a model, asking the strangest questions with the artlessness of one who's never been challenged about his inquisitiveness. It wasn't the first time, and Ophelia much preferred to hang back to avoid the embarrassment, yet every time what had begun as something awkward would evolve into a rather hearty conversation. Gone was the austere figure who only spoke when it was absolutely needed; his presence commanded no fear anymore, and had adopted a certain air of casualness that would've been difficult to imagine before. When Ophelia had met him in Arqa, it had been painfully obvious to her that he'd treated everyone as underlings; in Byzantium, it seemed like such things did not matter. He still didn't make conversations that went nowhere, he still measured very carefully his words; but he talked with anyone and everyone, and what was more surprising, he could make even the dullest banker in the City speak of poetry and art with the conviction of a drama teacher.
That's what had filled her days with meaning since her return: observing quietly the unravelling of that man, of that stranger who bloomed slowly but surely. She didn't know him, but she liked him better. Yet the tragedy of it all was that the more he dropped his Elysian to speak to her in her native tongue, the more he drank the tea and learnt to cook the curries, the more that she felt a certain disquiet begin to brew inside of her. What would remain of that other world where she had not been invisible when he severed all his connections to it? Would she become invisible to him too?
They walked south of Waterloo, chasing the recommendation of a local pakistani man who had told Aegyr of a specific place where they'd be able to get 'the best biryani in London'. It was as they moved across the Lower Marsh street that they heard a commotion. Aegyr tried to get closer, moved by his curiosity, but Ophelia grabbed him from the arm to stop him.
"Wait, it's better not to get involved," she said. A group of teenagers in an assortment of black Superdry and Nike jackets were having an argument; it started with shouting, a shove here and a push there. Then two of them squared up against one another, and a punch was thrown: the fight had started.
It would've served as a spice to their afternoon activities, the background of yet another day in London where bored teenagers beefed to prove something to themselves, if it hadn't been for someone having brought a knife along with them. The steel blade caught flame under the hazy sun, obscured amidst the grubby hands of a teenager too small to be wielding it so angrily. It proved a point somewhere that it was no fancy thing, a stolen tramontina from someone's pantry; dangerous nonetheless, and potentially a one way ticket into trouble.
Aegyr knew the escalation was in the midst of happening; he shook Ophelia off and ran to the group of kids, who were now all engaged in trying their damnedest to hurt each other. A detail that Ophelia had not learnt about in her captivity was that the Order of the Knights of the Black Sun wasn't merely a name; it wasn't even only about the aether capabilities of its members, who still were forced to train daily to keep up their strength and stamina. The art of fighting was something that they all were meant to be honed in; their leader, more than anyone else.
He disarmed one of the teens, pushing him into the ground. That an adult had appeared seemed to agitate some of them even more, while it made others flee: clearly, they all soon would be in trouble. Those who had remained divided further: there were those who shouted at him to mind his business and let go of their friend, and there were those who tried to come at him. That's what had Ophelia rushing in after him; while every other person filmed the scene or was on the phone with the police, she was afraid things would keep escalating.
She pushed one of the kids aside, throwing him to the floor. "Aegyr, be careful!" she shouted, as she saw something shine in a girl's hand. Before throwing himself towards Aegyr, her friend took the knife she'd been hiding in her coat – but the young pup only had the element of surprise on his side, and perhaps the aimless anger of youth, and this would only get him so far. The older man, clearly not one to mind his reaction to those less experienced than him, went for a punch in the face that knocked him out cold.
"Ah," he gasped, as the last fighter who was still standing rushed towards him. He deflected the knife in time to avoid any serious injury, but it still cut through his hand. Another well-placed kick left the youth on the floor, and Ophelia decided to bark at the rest who were left looking at the scene, unsure about their chances.
"Fuck off, you pricks," she shouted, pushing one of the girls to the floor. "Who the fuck do you think you are?"
It wasn't a minute later that the police had finally arrived, rushing in their green vests with their tasers held high. They descended on them and on the teenagers still left in the scene when they realized none of them were wielding knives anymore. "He's injured!" Ophelia told them as a constable asked her if she could get up. She heard them call an ambulance, and she took a deep breath.
"Please let me stay close by, he's still learning English," she asked the police officer who was escorting her back to the police van. The woman reassured her, and told one of her partners to bring Aegyr with them. "Don't worry," she said, "we'll bring him here."
Contrary to her, who could feel the tension continue to build up as she imagined the bureaucracy of what was to follow, Aegyr seemed to be perfectly calm. His steely eyes seemed to observe all that was going on with a detached curiosity, as if he regarded the whole thing slightly amusing. He answered the police's questions with ease, never adding more than what was necessary. At some point the officer next to Ophelia seemed to forget she was there at all and wandered off.
"You may find this cumbersome," she said, walking closer to the Elysian.
"It's perfectly reasonable," he answered. The officer next to them had taken out a first aid kit and had helped him bandage his hand while they waited for the ambulance to arrive. "It is quite interesting that your city watch gets involved in petty fights like these."
"No one else will," Ophelia bit her lip. "What you did was very courageous."
He cocked his head, "is there no one to teach these children? They didn't look like street urchins."
"Oh, perhaps they could be considered so… they have a home, maybe a family or parents, but who knows where they are."
An officer came to take pictures of Aegyr's injuries and take their statements. Ophelia was sort of forgotten after that: she noticed that her name and contact details had been jumbled into an unrecognizable mess in the man's handwriting, and that Aegyr's name had been noted down as Ofelos. Even the NHS first responders seemed to struggle with what to call him, and after giving him a dose of painkillers and assessing there was no need for stitches, the same name was slipped in their goodbyes.
When they managed to make it back home two hours later, the whole thing just simmered in the back of her mind. "Did you notice, perhaps, that they kept calling you by the wrong name?" she asked him as they sat in front of the TV, waiting for the food she'd ordered.
"I did, but I assumed that perhaps, my accent was confusing to them."
"It wasn't – and not only that, but my name and contact details were all but squiggles in their notes. Yours were crisp – if wrong."
Aegyr was evidently confused. Ophelia pressed on, "it is as I said before: this city, this world does not want me here. I am invisible to everyone."
He reached out with his bandaged hand, lightly touching her face with his fingers. "All the better for me, then. I will keep you all to myself."
There was no playfulness in his voice: he meant it. The bell rang and she stood up abruptly to get it – a rush to the door that had nothing to do with the delivery man being kept waiting for too long. Standing in the hallway with a bag of chinese food in her arms, she thought the apartment felt too small with two people living in it.
The knife attack had no impact whatsoever in Aegyr's perception of London. If anything, it had made him more interested in the work of the police; given that his trade would be closest to a mix between them and the military, it came as no surprise. After learning about police academies, Ophelia naturally popped the question:
"Do you want to become a police officer?"
Aegyr looked surprised by the question, as if its answer was too evident for it to exist at all. "It's only natural, isn't it?"
It hit her then; it had been a whisper, something that she hadn't really paid any attention to, but that still hung in the back of her mind. What was natural was that a decision would had to be made at some point about what should happen next: to pursue a life in London or to find a way back into that other world once again. She hadn't quite thought about it, but it seemed like both had made up their mind already.
"Do you want to remain here?"
His eyes pierced hers. "I do," he said simply, and Ophelia felt like it would be too much to ask why, but she nevertheless braved the question.
"Lygeum…" he said of that other Earth, "awaits me eagerly with its chains. If Byzantium truly is the promised land, and I believe it is, then I would be a fool to scorn her gifts."
"Do you not miss Elysium? Your office, your land? Your children?"
"I… did not want them," Aegyr said matter-of-factly. "None of it. Perhaps I would've been content to remain there, ignorant of this other life with all its opportunities… but should I go back, I will destroy it all. The thought of them is so odious to me now."
Ophelia closed her eyes and sighed. "Very well," she said. "That's your decision to make. I will leave all this for you; the place I am denied on Earth is yours to have."
She felt him grab her shoulders roughly, and she opened her eyes in surprise. "Stay with me," he begged. There was a wild look in his face. "This is your place too. You belong here."
She shook her head. "I… there's nothing for me here. I have no future."
"You have me. We can build our future together… And even if the rest of the world forgets your name, I will call you until I am unable to speak."
Her silence was the only compassion she afforded him. He panicked, and desperately searched for her lips, for any stretch of skin he could land his mouth on to try and argue with his body what he could not with his words. It was a lost cause and they both knew it; she held him as she would a child, giving him the comfort of a goodbye that had yet to happen. The nights became longer; he demanded more of her, almost petulantly, making a last ditched effort to convince her to stay. But her heart had never been with him, and much less on that city. In the wake of their lovemaking, their silence failed miserably to hide what she'd warned him about before: that he would be nothing more than a distraction.
And throughout it all, somehow, they had both convinced themselves that a way would be found to go back. And they were proven right the night Ophelia snuck back into the disused Underground station she'd left from before. Her heart had been stuck in her throat the entire time as she retraced her steps from many months before; she didn't quite expect to find anything, but also knew that she'd crumble if the crusty old station offered her nothing.
Elation took a hold of her when set foot in the tunnel. Unlike before, the signs made themselves manifest to let her know that she was welcomed: an echo of voices could be heard emerging from nowhere, and within them she recognised Calliope calling her name. It would've been quite the phantasmagorical experience, had her nerves not destroyed any semblance of sanity she had left: she found it soothing, like a balm had been applied over her soul. She very reluctantly had to peel herself away from that moment of happiness, to emerge back into the surface – where Aegyr was waiting for her.
"It's there," she breathed, latching onto the man excitedly. "It's still there. The entrance, the portal, whatever it is…"
It was clear that the glint in her eyes and the sheer joy in her features was breaking the man's heart. "I will do anything," he promised, "I will be anything if you stay."
"You're already free!" she countered, "but I'm not. And I won't find my freedom here."
"How will you find it there?" the sadness had turned into frustration. "The Emperor is waiting for you; the moment you arrive back, you will be imprisoned in Sophia."
"I don't have competent Lord Scipio to escort me there anymore. I can simply slip away," she laughed. "Unless, of course, you have second thoughts."
"There is nothing for me there."
"And there's nothing for me here, either," Ophelia shrugged, and turned around. She was about to spare him a last glance, when she was enveloped in a hug from behind. "You will find happiness here, Aegyr," she said as she leaned on him. "You don't need me; you never did."
She turned around, and kissed him one last time. Those icy blue eyes melted at last, showing the raw emotions behind that facade that had finally managed to crumble away. The man she left now was certainly not the man that had jumped with her into oblivion; it was not the man that had imprisoned her in Arqa, or that had haunted the halls of that manor in Aurelia. If things had been different, if perhaps he had braved going back to Lygeum with her, perhaps she could've fallen for him. There was a deep tenderness in him, one that had been almost snuffed out by years of repression. Those who had sought to take advantage of him had coveted him as an object; the great tragedy of it all was that at some point he'd begun to see himself in the same way, too. And it was clear that she'd sparked something in him for many reasons: she was indifferent to his position, she was sitting in a higher station; she could make him anew only because she didn't need anything from him.
She'd enjoyed her time with him in London. But she had also learnt that deep within he had a certain lazy disposition, and he would always prefer the world taking care of his affairs for him: he had let Elysium guide his hand, his marriages, his path, and now he would let Byzantium take care of it. It had never occurred to him that he could simply go back and rebel; he just didn't have it in him. And this, she knew, would mean they could never walk the same path.
And so she left him in that dark corner where a bunch of nitrous oxide canisters lay about, venturing into the depths of earthy London to get back to her own adventure. She heard the echoes of the voices she was familiar with, and went back once again to descend into total darkness – a familiar feeling, which this time, knowing what it was about, seemed more comforting that anything else.
As she began to walk towards the set of stairs that had led her to Caudiceum, she wondered if she'd find herself in that same grove. Perhaps she was being presumptuous: if she let her imagination roam free, she could see herself arriving a number of years in the past or in the future, perhaps somewhere in Lygeum she hadn't been to before. "Trust the process," she said to herself, before surrendering to nothingness.
-
Like one who finally emerged from the depths of the sea to take a much needed breath of air, her lungs took in the fresh smell of morning dew. It wasn't a grove she was laying in, but a field; and it wasn't night time, which meant that there were no stars in the sky to come greet her back. The sun was rising lazily over the horizon, bathing her and the entire field in a peachy rose glow.
She laughed. There was no real reason for it; nothing funny had crossed her mind. It was, perhaps, the feeling of relief, the tension that had built up over the last two weeks finally being released. She had feared, oh so much so that she hadn't even uttered it out loud, that she'd be stuck again in London; and now she knew, with a certainty that had nothing rational to it, that she would never see the city again in her life.
This time there were no galloping warriors to surprise her; only someone's dog, who ran to her as soon as he spotted her prone figure. A black labrador, a dumb young pup who thought he'd just discovered another play mate. He showered her with licks; he barked happily when she stood up, trying to fend off the hyperactive canine.
Figuring the time was as good as any to call back her aether, she fished a ball from the ground, turning earth into rubber, and threw it as far as she was able to. The dog shoot out like an arrow, tongue lolling out of its muzzle as he ran for it.
"Good boy," Ophelia said between laughs, as the dog brought its prize back.
"Lazio!" she heard a voice in the distance, and turned to the left to see a woman making her way towards them. "Come here, boy!"
Ophelia knew the language was familiar: Elysian. "Morning!" she called, following Lazio to meet with his owner. "I seem to have lost my way. Would you mind telling me where I am?"
"Oh dear, what a rough night you must have spent!" the woman seemed to be only slightly older than her, but already her mannerisms were more in line with what Ophelia would call middle aged. "You are in the hamlet of Sibari. I imagine you're making your way towards Sophia, isn't it? You're only four days away."
Some of her displeasure must've been revealed in her face, as the other woman decided to comment on what she thought Ophelia might be thinking: "Oh! Do not worry, traveller," she tried to comfort her, "you are not missing much. I'm sure you must have heard about the Mystae."
"Has something happened?"
"Oh, for how long have you been wandering? It must've been the talk of every tavern and every inn in the empire; still continues to be so. Her highness Lady Byzantinos disappeared, and the Mystae has been postponed until she's found."
Ophelia feigned shock. "She disappeared? How could that be?"
"It's not quite clear, traveller, the hows and the whos; one hears all sorts. Me, I am of the mind that there's some truth to the story that she walked into the fog one night, back into Byzantium."
"Oh no," Ophelia said with the air of a stepmother in a soap opera, "that's terrible news! I bet the Knights must be quite busy then, searching for her."
"They are, they are. I've seen them passing by the main road there," the woman pointed to the edge of the field, where a hedge obscured the path beyond. "It's all quite mad, between them and the nobles, they're all running around like headless chickens!"
Ophelia figured then that it'd be better for her to go in the opposite direction. "Say, I am more keen in seeing the lovely views of the country than of travelling speedily. Would that road be my only path to the nearest destination?"
If the woman thought her question strange, she didn't show it. Instead, she pointed westwards. In the distance, a line of trees could be seen emerging. "Amongst the folk here, there's a path through the commons, it goes in that direction. It slips into a valley, and goes around the lake, but it will take you further away from Sophia, and into the town of Kythera."
"Ah, that sounds delightful," this time the intention was genuine. Ophelia smiled at the woman, gave her thanks and wished her a good day. Behind she left a happy dog and a slightly confused matron, who undoubtedly would tell everyone at the tavern of the strange encounter she'd just had.
Reaching the line of trees took her about twenty minutes, and finding enough cover for her to change out of her London clothes into the Elysian robes she'd brought in her backpack took her another ten. Although a sign of an empire she felt no lost love for, the texture of the fabric welcomed her back, drawing a sigh of relief when it slid over her skin. This time she'd crossed the world with everything she had brought with her: when she'd left the home, she'd packed quite a few bits and pieces she hoped to make use of. So she stuffed her old clothes inside the bag, and only kept her sneakers on: there was no need to resent modern comforts when the alternative were flat sandals.
As the morning shifted into noon the air became alive with the sparkle of the sun's rays trying to make their way through the thick foliage of the pines. The breeze smelt fragrant, and there was a slight bite to it, a certain humidity that presaged the advent of winter. Amidst the evergreen the ash trees had turned into a violent red, the same shade of Phobos' hair. She wondered how he was faring; if he'd got over her, if he'd had any success in the Kushite kingdom. Had the news about her reached his ears? Did he think of her as a traitor for having given in so easily? Did he regret ever saving her in Iberia, of not killing her in Caudiceum?
The forest floor began to descend, and the path the woman had suggested snaked down the depression, amidst jagged rock. The corpses of fallen trees had been mostly cleared away from the path, sometimes offering some sort of seating upon which the weary hiker could rest. She spurned them all, knowing she'd take her break when she reached the shore of the lake. As she spotted the edge of the tree line and the glittering surface of the water, she heard the sound of galloping behind her.
There was an urgency to it that struck a chord within her: it awoke an instinctual fear. It was like the sound of an incoming storm, the rage of a tornado that had not yet hit. It was coming for her. Without looking back, she began to run – she had no idea where she could hide, how she could make her escape but in her panicked mind the lake emerged as a friend, and she searched for it. When she tripped on a rock her body was lifted into the air as her mind just sought to propel her forward, away and into some sort of safety.
The Knights were on her tail; she knew it, the woman had told them.
She half ran, half flew into the air, and then she was finally on the shore. The lake expanded to the feet of the mountains that encircled the valley, reflecting their jagged peaks. She stepped on them as she ran into the water, her sneakers never quite managing to sink. She went further and further, feet half sliding over the surface of the lake, until she heard the exasperated neigh of a single horse who could not follow.
And then – someone's hand closed around her arm, and she was thrown backwards into someone's chest.
She caught sight of a blond strand of hair. "Orion," she said tentatively before turning around, eyes wide with surprise.
He hugged her tightly. "You're back," he said, hiding his face in the crook of her neck. "Where did you go? I feared you were…"
"I somehow ended back in Byzantium," Ophelia tried to comfort the man, patting him on the head. "But how did you know where to find me…?"
"I was on my way to Aurelia when I happened upon an alewife who had just met a very strange woman…"
Ophelia stepped away from him, alarmed. "Are the Knights with you?"
"They are not," Orion looked behind to the single horse that waited for him at the shore. "Fear not, I told her to keep her tale to herself."
"I'm not going to Sophia," Ophelia narrowed her eyes at the man, clearly distrustful of his presence. "You will not stop me."
Orion held up his hands. "Fair! Fair! I don't wish to take you there if you don't wish to go."
Ophelia wasn't convinced. "I'm warning you!"
"I consider myself warned," Orion smiled cheekily at her. "Now, would you enjoy a chat over the waters like this, or would you rather we sit at the shore and enjoy the sunlight?"
She looked down, catching a glimpse of both of their reflections. "I suppose it is a rather uncomfortable place to be chatting about," she conceded.
They made their way back to the shore – Ophelia hung behind the entire time, half expecting a contingent of Knights to emerge from the trees the moment she came closer. But nothing happened, and it was just the two of them sitting by the lake, bathing in the warm glow of the autumnal sun. She noticed that Orion wasn't wearing the dark blue robes of the Order of the Knights, choosing instead an olive and blue ensemble richly embroidered with silver thread. The moment that the realization hit her that it must have been his civilian attire all sort of thoughts began to brew in her mind. She didn't know much about his family, didn't even know his surname; she wondered where he came from, if it was anything like Aegyr and his tragic tale with the multiple wives.
"How did you cross into Byzantium?" he asked, openly fascinated. "I hadn't thought it possible that one could travel from here to there…"
"Getting there was just as mysterious as coming here," Ophelia shrugged. "I was helping my maid Calliope, who had been about to fall into the cliffs at Domusprimum, which caused me to fall in her stead. Aegyr jumped after me, and we both fell… it all went black, and the next thing we knew, we were in London, about eight months after I'd left."
"Lord Scipio crossed into Byzantium?"
"Yes," Ophelia smiled softly. "And he took to it, as well! But I found it as detestable as before, so I decided to come back."
To say that Orion was shocked was an understatement. "Lord Scipio… decided to stay?" Ophelia nodded. "Well… that is unexpected. As much as everything else, perhaps… I would've thought him far too stuck in his own ways to welcome the changes a new world would require of him."
"I think it allowed to distance himself from certain things he hadn't been able to examine before," Ophelia explained. "Of course, a new environment tends to transform us into unexpected versions of ourselves. We are put to the test, and we either flourish through, or suffer for it. He certainly changed significantly in those two weeks; but if it makes you feel at ease, I think it was for the better. He was a far more agreeable person when I left him."
"And you? Why come back?" Orion gave her a lopsided smile. "I thought you'd take your chance to escape from the Emperor."
"I don't belong in Byzantium," Ophelia said simply. "It's easier to fight one person than the entire universe. To wake up every day hating where I am, reminding myself of the place I want to be in, all to avoid one man? What an insufferable idea. Which reminds me..."
She decided to make use of her inventory at last. She opened her bag, and retrieved a bar of Cadbury's chocolate. "I took some bits and pieces from London with me. If you help me escape from the Emperor, I shall give you this."
She held the bar up to him, and he eyed her with interest, sniggering at her proposal. "It's hard to tempt me with the unknown, your highness."
"It's sweet, and it melts in your mouth. You will never know anything quite like this."
"Hmm, I can think of other sweet things that I'd rather melt in my mouth," he said suggestively. Ophelia blushed, and swatted his arm in indignation.
"Be serious!"
"I am," Orion's half lidded stare sent a jolt down her spine. What had she missed? "I am yet to recover from the shock of thinking you were dead. I would appreciate some comfort, so if you want me to help you, gift us a kiss."
Ophelia spluttered, taken aback. "W-where is this coming from? I'd have thought Elysians..."
"I'm not very Elysian, aren't I?" Orion shrugged before he tapped his lips. "One must give as much as they take. A Byzantine's kiss is certainly worth the trouble of hiding the most wanted woman in the empire, isn't it?"
Heat pooled in Ophelia's cheeks. "Only a kiss – nothing more," she said, but before she knew it she was lying on her back and Orion had climbed on top of her, both of his hands at the sides of her head. She was about to protest when his lips covered hers. He did nothing more – just as she'd asked, but he did take full license to explore her mouth with a patience someone would've deemed almost saintly.
He moved away only slightly so – Ophelia opened her eyes, staring into his warm brown eyes and thinking she would melt in their heat. When had he begun yearning for her like that? Had she been that blind to his advances, or had he been hidden by Aegyr's shadow?
She didn't want to ask. "Was it comforting?"
"No," he replied honestly. "It was addictive. But I'll wait for the next bargain."
"Until then," Ophelia opened the chocolate bar, broke a piece and offered it to him. He opened his mouth, and there was a moment of hesitation before she sighed and fed it to him. His eyes went wide after a few seconds.
"How strange, so smooth, so rich… It is not sticky like honey, but it's just as sweet. How do you call this?"
"Chocolate. There's all kinds, as well! Some of them might have spices added; you can also melt it in milk and have it hot during winter, as a drink."
He asked her for the bar, then broke another piece. "Say 'ah'," he asked as he held the piece for her. Ophelia shook her head. "How cruel!" he complained, pouting. "I am only enjoying that this is possible. For two weeks I thought you dead, I was miserable; I could barely eat…"
Ophelia ate the chocolate from his fingers just to silence him. He smiled, clearly proud of himself for his win. "Let us begin our escape then," he proposed, getting up. "You will have to tell me all about your little trip with Lord Scipio in Byzantium."
They took off with the sun shining on their faces, and arrived at their first destination with the sun dying at the sole of their feet. They'd walked around the lake, into the trees, and across the valley; they'd come across villagers going about their daily routine, walked through fields where the cattle watched them curiously as they passed by. It was rural in a way that was familiar to Ophelia, who'd only rarely had visited the countryside in England.
She'd told him some bits and pieces of her past two weeks; he threaded skilfully through her tale by plucking details with opportune questions, sometimes taking care not to ask after certain subjects. She wondered if this was out of consideration or if he truly wanted to evade the topic altogether. When she told him Aegyr and her had shared a room, he didn't dig any further into it; he did, however, ask her at some point:
"I may be presumptuous for saying this, but I was of the impression you had more affection for Lord Scipio than you let on. Did it ever occur to you to stay with him?"
"No," Ophelia shrugged. "There was no reason for me to even think about it as a possibility."
"Poor Lord Scipio. He was rather taken by you."
Ophelia looked away, uncomfortable. "I would be lying if I said I didn't hold any affection for him. But it seems like everyone's got so many conditions attached to them…"
"Oh?"
She didn't respond initially. It was a tortured answer, one that had to be coaxed out by Orion with another question; her voice was small, unsure when it spoke. Certain things end up locked inside someone's heart for a while, and it feels strange to see them out in the open for someone else to dissect. "I guess time runs different here, in a way. With Phobos a similar thing happened: perhaps a spark of something would leave us chasing after one another, and this would grow. I would think of what lay beyond, we would imagine a future after everything was said and done… but then I'd have to make a choice, and this choice in both cases was always to either stay and weather through a place and time I hated, or walk away. And I don't think either of them fully understood that if I stayed with them I would be sacrificing myself; and my love for the two was never strong enough to merit doing such thing."
"If that love had been strong, then, would you have stayed back? Or gone with the Phrygian prince?"
Ophelia opened her mouth to answer yes, of course – but realized she wasn't quite sure about that. "I'd always assumed so… but I am finding out that perhaps, I'm not so romantic as I had thought. But I can imagine trying harder to make it work, at least."
She decided she'd monopolized the conversation long enough. "What about yourself? What has love taught you?"
It was long overdue that she break through the mystery that had been the praetorian. They'd travelled together, always sharing thoughts about the world but never quite getting personal – at least on his side. She thought perhaps that she'd find some reticence on his end, but he had no qualms about opening up to her.
"I've never been in love, I don't think," Orion said. "I've had passing fancies, folks I enjoyed spending time with, much like you have done… but I never quite imagined committing to them."
"Aren't you supposed to… marry young and have many children?"
"My position afforded me all the excuses I needed to avoid the games of the marriage market," Orion smiled disarmingly. "As I spent most of my time on the road, there was seldom any need or occasion for me to appear amidst the glitz and pomp of the social elite."
"So no wives, no children?"
He laughed. "Oh, I'm a rascal, your highness. Do not think I would ever be so virginal – I made many women my wives for a night or two, and left many children behind me. But, in my defence, I made sure they were all taken care of."
"Does it not feel sad to leave them behind?"
"The Elysian in me thinks that there's a purpose to everything. I know the moment I embrace someone what their role should be; and I don't think there was any point in forcing anything to happen which shouldn't have happened. If they had any other expectations, they were fools for thinking so – and there is little use in agonizing over someone else's foolishness."
Orion regarded her with a contemplative gaze. "Your situation with the Phrygian and Lord Scipio is the prime example that just because you were brought together with someone at some point in time doesn't necessarily mean it was fated to be. Their stations in life and yours were completely different; the way you see the world is completely different to theirs. They're fools for not seeing that so clearly."
The conversation veered off into more practical matters after that as they made their way into town. A question had to be begged if Orion would make the same mistake the other two had made, but Ophelia didn't quite feel like forcing that conversation right then and there.
The town was but a handful of houses, a temple and two inns, set about a four-way crossroads. It seemed like there was a good traffic of pilgrims still, enough that their arrival didn't raise any eyebrows. They were subjected to the same politely inquisitive staring that any other passer would experience in little commuter towns like that, and written off as two Elysian nobles who probably were out doing something slightly eccentric. It was the quality of their robes and the self-assured way in which Orion carried himself that set them apart, and also provided them with a certain degree of privacy: commoners in Elysium knew not to dig too deep into the matters of the aristocracy.
This divide went so deep, it conditioned their behaviour that much, that no one came close to speak to them. As Orion dealt with the innkeeper, Ophelia realized that no one had spoken to them before being spoken to first; no one met their eyes, and seemed to actively avoid looking in their general direction. It was as if they were convinced they were meant to walk in different worlds. It made her feel a little lonely, and all the more desperate to leave the Empire.
They were given a special set of rooms reserved for the occasional visit from the Baron on whose land the town was in. There was a separate kitchen and stables, and a second entrance they could use to avoid mixing with the regular crowd. Staff was rushed in to prepare a meal and tend to Orion's horse; when they walked up to the set of rooms in the second floor they found two maids furiously trying to dust off the surfaces.
"No need ladies," Orion said as he used his aether to freshen up the room and light the candles that hung from the chandelier. "It'll be quicker if we take care of it."
The two maids jumped at seeing his power in display; their eyes went wide with both amazement and fear, before they remembered the etiquette they'd been taught from birth. They offered them a silent bow of their heads before rushing out of the room.
Orion caught sight of Ophelia's scowl. "The people in Elysium," she answered when he asked her what had caused her discontentment, "they're trapped in this illusion that our differences should separate us. That because we're perceived as nobles, that they can't talk with us, sit with us, look at us. It feels like they believe that they're inferior, and for what? Because we can do some tricks? Beyond all that we all love, fight, have fun, die the same way."
"They're just afraid, your highness, and how could they not be?" Orion held up his hand, and a blue flame lit up at the end of his fingers. "Would you sit and talk with a storm, with a raging volcano, or the plague? Would you not rather avoid them altogether, hoping that they will leave you alone if you do so?"
"But we are not a storm, or a volcano, or death. We're humans, like them."
"When your whims are capable of making or destroying entire towns, when a single flicker of anger in your eyes can conjure the freezing cold of the underworld, can you call yourself human, at all?" Orion laughed. "You are not in Byzantium anymore, your highness. Here, you are a different type of existence."
Ophelia's scowl had only deepened, but this didn't deter the praetorian. "Regardless of how you want to perceive yourself, they will always think of you this way," he said. "And it's better that they fear you than they be foolish enough to think they can control you."
She didn't concede his point, but also didn't bother arguing it any further. She went to her room, prepared it for the night and went about refreshing herself: the first bath when she arrived somewhere new felt almost ritualistic, as if she was washing off the remains of the previous location. Off she scrubbed London's sooth. Rose water and scented oils removed Aegyr's touch from her skin, and as she emerged from the bath, she truly felt like she'd come back and the previous two weeks had been nothing but a hazy dream.
They ate together, then at her insistence played a few rounds of a card game Orion had taught her on their trip to Elysium. She'd developed a knack for it, and enjoyed seeing the other's frustration at seeing his student besting the master in such a short span of time.
She retired to bed after the yawning had become unbearable, but as she slipped the covers over her body the sleepiness washed away. She was left wide awake, turning around as she tried to find something to entertain her mind with until she could fall asleep. At some point she grabbed a shawl and sat in front of the window, watching as the wind picked up and began to play figures with the trees outside.
And then, she heard steps outside her door; it opened, and Orion slipped in. "I heard you were still awake," he said as she turned around. His skin glistened in the moonlight, and he was barefoot, wearing only a toga wrapped around his midsection. It was strange to see him with his hair down, wavy blond locks falling around his shoulders like a shawl.
"All my fatigue left me," Ophelia said. "I don't know why."
He walked up to her, blocking the window from her view and resting his hands on either side of the armrests of the chair she was sitting in. "If you're bored, I can think of another game to play."
Ophelia frowned. "I said one kiss – no more than that."
"It's not a bargain – it's an invitation."
Ophelia used her aether to push him back, ever so gently, and stood up. He wasn't as tall as Phobos, or even Aegyr, but she still had to look up to reach his eyes when she stood so close to him. "What has got into you? Why do you seek me so intently all of the sudden?"
"That I did not do it before wasn't because I didn't want to," he replied matter-of-factly. "But how can a man approach a woman when there's so many flies about? It will make him look like shit."
She laughed at his choice of phrase. He continued. "But now that you're a fugitive and not the apple of Lord Scipio's eyes, I think I ought to take my chance to be a bit naughtier."
"You will make me your wife for a night or two?" Ophelia, amused at the memory of their earlier conversation, decided to play his game for a bit. He smirked at her lip.
"For you I can spare a week or two if you so desire."
Ophelia put some distance between the two. "I let Aegyr into my bed the night we arrived in Byzantium on the condition that he accept that I would use him; I didn't promise him affection, or even satisfaction, and I did as I wanted. I don't see why I should take you under different terms, if you're willing."
"How cruel," Orion pouted, but he didn't seem discouraged. "But if you warn you won't betray, is it?"
He took a step forward and grabbed her chin, using his index finger to caress the line of her jaw. "I was hoping I could offer you something different. You see, perhaps, you could let me use you instead. I will offer you complete freedom; all those second thoughts and all those conditions that worry you so much will not exist. Let my hand guide yours, put yourself at my mercy, and I will give you the freedom to experience the greatest heights without any worry."
There was a moment of silence. Ophelia was trying to untangle the meaning behind his words, and she slowly came to the realization of what he was offering. "Your daring ways never cease to amaze me," she said. "How bold of you to propose this at this time. Don't you think I might want to sleep alone for a bit?"
"You think I'm bold?" the finger slid next to her mouth. "Why, I think you haven't seen your reflection in a long time, your highness. There's a hunger in your eyes that would scare the lesser man; I know you, and I know you're always seeking to explore what's unknown to you. And now that you're back where you belong, you must be itching for the next adventure."
He dropped his hand and stepped back. Looking down below, his hair fell to cover part of his face. "I'll leave now; you may think about my words for a few days if you want."