Better late than never
I took a drag from my cigarette, the doctor giving me a disapproving look but remaining silent. He probably expected me to start the conversation. Well, he must have expected that.
"I misjudged you," he finally said, breaking the silence when he got tired of waiting.
"It happens to a lot," I shrugged, exhaling smoke.
"I didn't think you'd sent him to me because your whole famiglia was in danger," he continued. "He was an injured boy just out of a coma. Of course, you didn't want to get him into a fight..."
"Indeed," I nodded, taking another drag.
"Ábel... he told me a lot of things. Now I understand why you sent him to me. When his father died, his life lost its purpose. You recognized that and gave him a reason to live. I just want to tell you that I will do my best to help him."
"I did not doubt that," I replied, locking eyes with him. "But you know exactly what it means that I sent you an invitation. Your presence here doesn't give me a clear answer."
A slight smile appeared on the fae's lips. "Can't you read anyone?"
I nodded. "If I didn't ask, you might regret your decision. This is your last chance to change your mind."
"I'm not saying I approve of all your decisions," he said, "but I respect and appreciate your trust in me. Also," he smiled, "I'm beginning to like your sass."
I grinned. "Careful, that almost sounded like a compliment."
His eyes flashed with mild irritation, then he smiled playfully. "Don't tease me, brat."
I lifted my thumb to my heart tracing a circle, then gently touched the tips of my index and middle fingers to the fae's forehead. He touched the area and looked at me quizzically. I smiled at his confusion.
"It is the deepest expression of gratitude among mixed-bloods," I explained. "For Ábel."
"I've never heard of such a thing," he muttered to himself.
"Of course not," I replied. "Like most monsters, we don't often give thanks."
"Welcome to my famiglia and my court," I smiled, which he immediately returned.
"The honor is mine."
When the fae doctor left, Livius finally stepped out of the shadows.
"I am proud of you," he said. "I don't remember seeing anyone who could handle Crimson so well."
He stepped up beside me, and together we watched the wintry estate.
I shrugged. "I just can't stand him."
"Really?" he chuckled. "I thought you two seemed to get on pretty well."
Pretty well? I raised an eyebrow in disbelief, and he started giggling again.
"Your famiglia is much more populous now," he remarked. "But they all respect you and are loyal to you."
I replied with a half smile and lit another cigarette. "You will be surprised. You don't even know everyone yet."
The space around us seemed to narrow for a moment, then widen, and at one point Mazen appeared in his deep blue robe. Livius' eyes narrowed, but he had the good sense to glance at me before trying to fight Mazen. I grinned, taking a drag from my cigarette, leaving the tiny mage to stew in his own juices.
"You're late," I greeted the dark mage.
Mazen threw back his hood, glanced at Livius, and then responded. "I am not late for the coronation, or am I wrong?"
I nodded. Meanwhile, Mazen stepped forward and dropped a present into my hand.
"Your coronation gift," he explained.
"Hm, I suspected I'd get a book," I remarked, squeezing the cigarette between my lips and beginning to unwrap the package.
In my hand, I now held an untitled book containing the coats of arms of kings and royal customs.
"I'll show you where your room is..." I offered to Mazen.
"I'll do it," said Livius suddenly.
I raised an eyebrow.
"You're expected in your room. Don't worry, I'll make sure your... guest reaches his safely," he assured me, then added, "You'll have to wait for my gift until the ceremony. That's the custom."
With that, he was on his way, tactfully leaving us a few minutes to talk.
"The ceremony is in two days," I announced. "Tomorrow, the guests of honor will arrive. You are free to spend the day at your leisure, I only ask that you attend the meals."
"Pardon?"
He seemed surprised and angry at the same time.
"If I don't show off that you are a full member of my court, you will not survive the ceremony," I declared.
He couldn't argue with that, but he didn't seem any calmer after hearing my explanation. I understood—he felt uncomfortable about having to dine with his enemies.
"Their lives are worth more to them than yours, Mazen," I said.
That's obvious, his eyes seemed to say, and I chuckled mirthlessly.
"They won't mess with me, Mazen," I explained. "They know they'll regret it."
That didn't make him seem any more willing. I sighed deeply. "Lunch and dinner it is, then."
"Just dinner," he bargained, and I agreed with a nod.
"Fine, but find me before the ceremony."
He nodded. I could see in his eyes that he still didn't feel at home here and didn't like the idea of going with Livius.
"Relax," I said. "He won't hurt you."
"Not I'm afraid," he said haughtily, "but how can you be so sure?"
"I told you: he doesn't want to be my enemy," I grinned. "Now I have to go. Be good, and don't torture anyone."
I winked and stepped through the balcony door. Livius was standing a few meters away in the hall, leaning against the wall. When I entered, he raised his head and gave me an amused look.
(...)
When Mazen entered the hall, the little mage was alone, waiting and willingly guiding him through the endless labyrinth of corridors.
"I never would have thought you of all people would join his court," said Livius.
Mazen did not reply. He glanced toward the tiny mage, eyed him for a moment, then continued walking.
"I trust Shay's judgment," the Sorcerer Lord began, "but I must say that I have the least confidence in you."
Mazen marched on with a frown on his face.
"He knew that no one would approve of his decision, and he might be made a fool... yet he chose you," the tiny mage continued, "You have no idea how much this means."
Mazen looked at the tiny mage for the first time since they had met. "You won't fool me," he said. "It's not Shaytan you're worried about at all. It's that you won't be able to influence him because I'll be by his side. I will stand behind him, and I will be the one to lift him to the top or catch his body if he falls to the dust."
"Don't be so sure of that," grinned Livius. "Shaytan and I have more than an alliance. We share a master, so we are brothers."
"You overestimate me, Sorcerer Lord. You would not have it any easier without my presence, I assure you," Mazen said. "I hold my King in high esteem. He has no need of you, and like me, he knows that."
"You are indeed loyal to him," observed Livius.
Mazen nodded.
"I wonder how he does it?" the little mage wondered. "What's so special about him that he's followed by all sorts of people? What is it about him that makes kings fear him and therefore tolerate his impudence, even though their power and experience are far greater than his? Tell me, Mazen... if I were to open up his skull or crack open his chest, would I find the answer?"
Mazen only glanced at the other mage's face at the end of the last sentence.
"You feel it too," Mazen declared, and the Sorcerer Lord nodded.
"I felt it the first time I met him," said Livius. "Do you know what it is that makes all my cunning plans fail the moment I meet him?"
"I have no idea."
Livius smiled. "I thought so."
Mazen didn't know exactly when or where it happened–and he didn't yet understand why. Perhaps it was when the boy's limp body fell into his arms, and he looked up at him. His eyes met that impossible blue gaze, which held so much emotion. Pain, hope, and some softness he'd never seen before. He felt he had to say it would be all right. He had to reassure him.
Maybe it was when he pulled the chair up next to him and they had breakfast together for the first time–maybe it was when he stole that little piece of fried egg. Mazen had shaken his head in disapproval at the time, but he couldn't deny that he liked his cheeky, defiant nature–there was something highly amusing and exciting about it.
It might also have been the moment he'd done the first spell in front of him, and Mazen saw that rapturous spark in his eyes. But it could also have happened when he began to follow him everywhere, and Mazen slowly became so used to his presence that, when he wasn't with him, he wondered where he was. In any case, before he could even notice it, it had happened, and by the time he noticed the change in himself, it was too late to stop it.
Mazen was not happy about this change, but after a while, he accepted it. He simply realized that he couldn't help it, and the more he was with him, the more complicated the cavalcade in his mind became. He started avoiding him but realized that he missed his company.
He had become a completely insoluble problem in his life–Mazen simply couldn't decide what to do with him. At some point, Mazen's world suddenly turned upside down, and for one fateful moment, he thought he would do anything to protect him. When he glanced up at him with those pained eyes, something in Mazen's soul split, and before he knew it, he was in a murderous rage, tormenting the woman who was responsible for his suffering.
Then Mazen realized his feelings and left, leaving the woman in charge of him. He had to be alone and think through this dangerous feeling–the feeling that he had to protect him. He was horrified at the mere thought that he, Mazen, the darkest mage alive, could feel such a thing–so he banished the problem to the edge of his consciousness so that he would never have to deal with it again.
Then Shaytan betrayed him. Mazen didn't want to admit to himself that beyond the frustrated anger and sense of humiliation, there was an unnerving longing for him to explain, and make everything go back to normal–even though he knew that nothing could ever be the same again.
Though it was unnecessary both times, as Mazen was a skilled dark mage, the boy saved him the second time. Mazen was almost disgusted with himself for getting his hopes up. Hope is not for dark mages at all.
They stood face to face, but still, the boy did not attack. For some reason, neither did Mazen. Then the battle began after all, and when his consciousness was forcibly ripped from his body, Mazen knew that this time it was all over. He was determined to kill him and forget even the memory of his own weakness.
When the boy uttered that cursed name, their battle was truly over–and the battle with the twins began. It was then that Mazen saw the boy for what he really was–the monster who had recognized the twins' weakness in an instant and finished them off with one decisive blow.
Mazen watched the demon, frozen. The silver-haired beast in the bloody clothes as he raised his head and grinned. Mazen just couldn't associate this monster with the boy in his memories–it was then that he understood that the other had no intention of killing him.
Mazen thought it was all a lie and that the boy would enslave him. When they met again, and Mazen was ready to finish him off with a swift attack, his hand froze at the last moment, as if a paralyzing curse had been cast. Because Mazen believed him, he knew his words were all true. He would not enslave him.
In the end, everything happened just as the fortune teller had said. He was indeed defeated–by his own treacherous heart. But for some reason, Mazen didn't regret it. Of course, he deluded himself that he was merely curious to see what this cheeky kid would do in the future–he wouldn't even admit to himself the satisfaction of seeing it with his own eyes.
"Here's your room," Liv's voice interrupted his musings.
Mazen opened it, stepped in, and without another word, slammed the door behind him before Livius could speak again.
"Good night, then," said the tiny mage to the door.
Livius wondered how Shay had found his way into the stone-cold heart of that mage. Then, realizing that it was probably the same way he had found his way to his own, he chuckled amusedly. Others might have thought that Shay had used Mazen to win the throne. But Livius thought that Shaytan was actually using the throne to win Mazen over.