Chapter Text
Micah nodded as if to an acquaintance and swept his gaze back across Sí Penelope as he turned away to climb back onto the dais. She looked away a little too slowly, but he took no apparent notice.
“That must be for me.”
Micah turned and smiled at his mentor. “Does anyone at all drink that besides you?” he asked as he handed over the glass of blue-violet wine.
“Hush, child. If they realise I’ve been using pseudonyms and I’m their only buyer, they could get ideas about extortion.” Casper took a sip. “I suppose it is a bit strong for most palates. So, what have you prepared for the entertainment this evening?”
“Oh, just some dustworks,” Micah said dismissively. “Do you know anything about the Earl of Ryebury’s wedded?”
Casper’s eyes widened as he considered the unexpected question. “She’s unusual, as I recall. Not terribly pleasant all the time, but she could be quite stunningly endearing, when she wanted. Strong mind. And Onfroi does need that, poor man. He had potential, but absolutely no ambition other than to maintain the family’s estates and interests—which he does well enough. They’ve done better since Penelope, however. In fact,” he said, pausing and tapping his lower lip with a finger for a moment, “He recently brought an astounding load of numium to auction. I bought some of it. So she must be doing well with the mines, at least.”
“Ah.”
“I heard you ask to discuss the Earl’s recent work. I wasn’t aware you knew Onfroi, let alone his housemaster.”
“I just met him the other day. You might have seen him, when we were on our way up to the lab.”
“He went up to—? Why?”
“So I could test him,” Micah said quietly.
“What are you testing people for?”
“No, Śe. Just him. For, well, anything.”
Casper stopped and turned to him, frowning. “Well? What did you… Oh. Is he the one?”
Micah looked up at him, catching the unspoken question. “Yes,” he said quietly.
Casper nodded silently and set his arm around Micah’s shoulders absently, strolling them across the length of the dais toward Veronica. “I’ll look into some things,” he said vaguely, but Micah knew the mind behind the apparent vagueness, or drunkenness, or any other act Vedouci Casper might amuse himself by affecting.
He felt a sharp chill on the back of his neck and flinched, glancing back. “How many layers are you wearing this evening?” he asked suddenly.
“Do you like it?” Casper asked, bright and focused again. He stopped and raised his arms, showing off his finery. “It all probably weighs three or four stone. And if you count linings, I believe seven layers.”
“So that was your cooling spell that just hit the back of my neck like an icicle. You might want to adjust that before you get too close to Vronny,” he suggested, reaching back and checking his collar and cravat. “Bit of a shock.”
Casper chuckled. “When you were small, do you remember Vronny tickling your neck?”
Micah shuddered, pulling the collar of his waistcoat closer as well. “And do you remember why she stopped?” he countered.
“Ye-es. I believe she saw Tom try it. What did you do to him again?”
“I slapped him up against the ceiling. When I relaxed a bit, he came down again, but…my control wasn’t all it could have been.”
“I think he spent the night in the infirmary.”
“Two nights.”
Casper grinned. “And tonight you’re going to do the dustworks. Should I worry? Should Tom worry?”
Micah laughed. By now they had reached Vronny and were standing in easy reach as she chatted with one of the ambassadors Micah hadn’t greeted, and barely knew beyond the fact that Vronny had grown up near the man. “You’ve seen me do this enough times, Sé,” Micah reminded Casper. “The worst thing I can imagine happening is forgetting where the dust will fall and coming back in wearing them.”
“Is that all? I call that a failure of imagination,” Casper said, sliding back into his more public persona—jovial, unpredictable, possibly tipsy.
Micah was trying to come up with an answer when he saw Jasper’s grey head working his way back toward him through the crowd. “Although I may just surprise you tonight, with a bit of help.”
Casper followed Micah’s gaze. “We-ell. The man’s a housemaster, so he should at least be able to keep you clean, or clean you up if you mecks it all up.”
“Sé Micah,” Jasper said warily.
Micah turned to him and waved him up, going to meet him. Jasper hesitated, but edged sideways to the stairs and joined him. “I’m going to introduce you, now,” Micah whispered quickly and firmly before either of them could get awkward, “and you’re not going to melt from intimidation.” Micah took his cloak and bag from Jasper while leading him back to the Vedouci.
Casper was just turning away toward Veronica when Micah stopped him. “Sé Casper, this is Jasper, the housemaster to the Earl Onfroi. He’s agreed to assist me with some of my latest research, and with tonight’s entertainment, as well.”
Jasper had opened his mouth for some standard greeting, but he glanced at Micah at the last part. “I…” He blinked, but turned back to Casper as the higher priority. “Good evening, Sé Casper. It’s an honour to meet you.”
“Yes, I know,” Casper said in a kindly tone that took Jasper completely by surprise. Before he could recover, Casper went on. “My complete pig of an heir says you’re unusually gifted. You mustn’t mind him.”
Micah saw Jasper frown at the mismatch of Casper’s words, and considered trying to rescue him, but Jasper wasn’t waiting for help. “I—I’m flattered, but much as I hate to contradict him—”
“Oh, don’t bother,” Casper said, flicking dismissive fingers at Micah. “We don’t take much notice of him anymore. He’s been raised by imbeciles.”
Micah shook his head slowly, sighing. Casper was being his usual ridiculous self, but at least he wasn’t making any comments about Micah’s social life. “Now, Sé, that’s not entirely true,” Micah said calmly. “Druhy Veronica has done the best she could in spite of the imbeciles. And there have been rather a lot of those.”
“Of course,” Casper said, nodding formally at Micah. “I stand corrected. And you, Jasper—any idiots in your background?”
Jasper was fighting not to smile, finally understanding the tone of the exchange and adjusting to it, when it clearly wasn’t what he’d expected. He glanced away, taking a deep breath before looking the Vedouci straight in the eye, his face suddenly as serious as either of them. “My parents were all right, but there were a lot of goats. It’s been a steady decline ever since, though.”
“Goats, you say? You come from privilege, then. Onfroi would never aspire so high as a goat shed. The man has his faults, but he knows his limits.”
“And yourself, Sé?” Jasper prompted, folding his arms, squaring his stance as if preparing for a long story. “You come from goats, as well?”
“Sweet mecks, no. My father was a great mage. I actually come from a long line of fabled mages, and it’s thought some of them first discovered and began mapping the holes that have grown into today’s system of portals.”
“Oh!” Jasper blinked in surprise, clearly caught between moods and not sure what to do now that the banter had been dropped.
Before Jasper could even glance at Micah, however, Casper went on. “That was my father’s side. On my mother’s side, it’s all pigeons.”
Jasper’s lips worked for a moment, then he spluttered and turned away, laughing helplessly.
Micah sighed and shook his head at Casper, who was grinning innocently, and Veronica turned at the sound of laughter. “Casper, my love, have you broken him? What have I told you about breaking your guests?”
“That you find it scandalous and that I shouldn’t do it,” Casper answered easily without a trace of guilt. “But I know it’s only envy.”
Micah set his hand on Jasper’s shoulder as Veronica came to join them, smiling as she swatted at the Vedouci’s arm. “Ow,” Casper announced formally, as if it were the dustiest family ritual.
“He isn’t always like this. Sometimes he’s much worse, but not always,” Micah told Jasper as he turned back, still grinning. “In spite of himself, he actually is a great magician and a wise man.”
“He could be,” Veronica cut in, wrapping her hands around Casper’s arm. “But I wouldn’t hold out any hope to ever see it,” she added, turning to Jasper. “Jasper, housemaster of Onfroi, isn’t it?”
“I am, Sí Druhy,” Jasper said, bowing only from the neck, but with enough sincerity to make her blush. “I’ve been conscripted by Sí Micah to help him with…something.”
“Sounds unsafe. I hope you told him no,” Veronica said.
“I haven’t agreed or refused yet,” Jasper answered, turning to Micah. “So, will I find out first or is it a surprise?”
Micah realised they were all looking at him now, and that his face was probably the brightest red it had ever been, but he couldn’t make a sound. He wasn’t even sure he was breathing. Sí? Had Jasper really called him Sí?
Veronica rescued him. “He won’t have seen the dustworks before, so you’ll have to show him where to stand. I believe Stralucitor Raza has offered to show us some of his works first, and according to the miniature butler in my ear, he’s ready to begin.” Veronica gave her head a little shake and brushed her fingers over her ear. “It’s been very helpful tonight, but my word, sometimes I wonder if it was wise for Tom to teach him that trick. I think he delights in disconcerting me.” She glanced around as though looking for Briggs.
“It would be my pleasure to convey your displeasure,” Jasper said a little too hopefully.
Micah snorted, breaking himself out of his panic. “No,” he said firmly. “Before everyone I know breaks down into bickering children, Jasper, come with me. And you two, stop toying with the staff and guests, and pretend you’re adults with a modicum of dignity.” He took Jasper’s arm and led him back to the stairs, grinning at the sound of Casper’s laughter behind them.
“Festering cankers, that was the Vedouci,” Jasper murmured. “The actual Vedouci of Kuzul. I just asked him if his parents were goats. I don’t know if I can walk.”
Micah pulled him down the stairs and glanced back. “You’re the housemaster of an Earl. You have a houseful of squalling boys to control. Focus on what you’re feeding them next Tuesday, and walk faster. We need to go down two levels to get to the terrace. There’s a portal down the hall we can use.”
“Will I have a chance to figure out what’s happening before I ruin anything?” Jasper asked carefully.
Micah looked back at him, grinning again. “Don’t worry. You really don’t have to do much. I just said that to cover why you were carrying my things.”
“Oh good,” Jasper sighed.
They’d rounded the front of the dais and were heading for a corner of the room that was miraculously free of people. “There’s a door here,” he told Jasper, not sure if he’d be able to see it or not.
“Yep, got it.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know if—”
“It isn’t a magic door, is it?”
Micah smiled. “Ah, no. But there is a distraction on it. Staff entrance.”
“Well that makes it doubly visible. I’m staff, and null.”
They were well within the boundaries of the spell by then, but Micah looked around just in case. “Don’t say that so freely. What if someone heard?”
“They’d misunderstand. They always do.” Jasper followed him through the door and into a cool, wide hallway beyond, the walls gleaming white stone and the floor dark, chocolatey wood with a deep violet carpet. “This is the most glamourous staff corridor I’ve ever seen,” he said, staring around as Micah hurried him along.
“This is the Foldings, remember. The only reason for a cramped hallway here is if someone wanted it cramped. There’s no space limitations if you connect things with portals.”
“So all of this has been built just since you’ve been heir?”
“What? No!” Micah hurried them down to the last doorway. “I just…sort of…rediscovered and refined how to create the older, more permanent ones. The castle is thousands of years old. Well, parts of it are.” He opened the door with his cloak over his arm and waved Jasper forward with the floating leather sack. “This is one of the old portals, and we’ve established that you can use them.” Jasper glanced aside as he passed through, and Micah followed. “Do you even feel anything different?”
Jasper shook his head, turning to look back at the doorway and walk backwards a few steps. “That was a portal?”
“Yes. But it works by… pressing together the locations themselves rather than moving the person passing through, so proves nothing about your nullness.”
“You should just accept it, you know.” But Jasper was smiling as he said it.
“We’re cutting through here, then onto the terrace outside the next room."
Jasper spun around and did as he was told, his grey hair and pale hands floating through the dark room ahead of Micah, his black clothing disappearing in the shadows. Micah winced, finding himself digging his fingernails into the leather straps of the bag, trying not to think about what he would see if the fine clothing actually did disappear.
Jasper found the doors in the next room and hesitated, glancing back. “This is a terrace?”
“Oh, shut up,” Micah sighed, waving him on again. He followed Jasper out through double glass doors onto the flat roof of one of the larger dining rooms. A wide private balcony, with beautiful mosaic tiled flooring and an ornate stone parapet encircling the edge. Micah passed Jasper, leaving him to explore on his own for the moment. Backing away from the building, Micah crossed to the middle of the open area, stopping when he could just see the tops of the windows of the ballroom. He squatted down and moved a step closer to the edge, then set the strap of the leather bag on the ground and knelt on it before spreading out the red cloak and swinging it around his shoulders.
“And all of this is Foldings?” Jasper called to him.
Micah turned while tying the ribbons down the front of his cloak. Jasper was staring at the towering heights of the city rising beyond the castle. “No. What you’re looking at is some of the most expensive housing in Lunule. This part of the castle is only a few public rooms—offices, ballroom, dining rooms, a section of living quarters. Casper has what he calls his ‘show lab’ here. It has so many protections on it that it’s almost impossible to work in, but he uses it if someone needs a demonstration.”
Jasper came back over as Micah spoke, still staring around him with childlike wonder. “And you live like this, and think all these ridiculous things are normal. You’ve got a castle in the middle of a city on stilts.”
“I will clearly have to give you a proper tour,” Micah said, unable to keep from smiling at Jasper’s awe.
“Right.” Jasper clapped his hands and rubbed them together, turning back to Micah. “Give me something to do.”
Micah’s eyebrow went up all on its own, and he hoped the evening shadows hid his blush.
“Put that eyebrow back where it belongs or I will tear it right off your face,” Jasper said, grinning behind a pointed finger. “Dustworks. Apparently they require protective gear?” He pointed to the cloak.
Micah glanced down involuntarily. “They shouldn’t. Not as such. This is just in case the residue drifts on the way down. The mechanics themselves are very simple—blasting handfuls of dust into the air and shaping them into images. The artistry is in the control of the air currents and the balance of the colours. Which is what the bag is used for—controlling the air pressure, giving me a constant supply.”
“Okay, but…where’s the dust?”
In response, Micah turned to right the bag, revealing what looked like a row of widely-spaced studs around the bottom. Using his fingernails, he pulled on one of the studs, which opened a drawer wider and deeper than should have fit.
“What, some kind of miniature portal?” Jasper asked, on the edge of disbelief.
Micah looked up at him in surprise. “Yes. Have you seen this done before?”
Jasper shook his head. “Nup. Just seemed logical. If you can do it with a castle to make it infinitely big, then you can do it with a drawer, or a mountain, if you’ve got the resources.”
Or a mountain… Micah slowly sagged forward over the bag. “Oh. Ohhh. Jasper. Do you know you’re a genius?”
Grinning involuntarily, Jasper glanced at him, clearly trying to keep his attention on the drawer. “If I were a genius, pretty sure I’d know, wouldn’t I?”
“No one’s perfect,” Micah said faintly, turning and staring at him. “The castle’s portals predate any records of how they were made. I rediscovered how to make permanent ones. I’ve also made tunable portals. Using them to make storage more convenient was just a quirk, a minor by-product. But doing it on a geographical scale…do you realise the impact that could have?”
“You really hadn’t realised that?”
“We’ve used them for shipping. But…mining, trains through mountains—”
“Yeah, but there’d be military implications,” Jasper interrupted. “I’d think you’d want to be careful how far you let that go.”
Micah interlaced his fingers across the top of his head. “Of course, yes,” he said faintly. “Sweet Nellie, Jasper. I can’t…” He trailed off, his brain leaping about like a crazed animal in a cage, unable to finish a thought before another one struck. Treaties for trade, but also invading another world; surgery but also killing, shipping was already in place but it also enabled criminals to escape; it could balance a lot of inequalities but could also enable exploitation.
Jasper finally reached down and pushed on Micah’s chin, and he came back to the present with a start, swallowing as he realised how dry his mouth was and how long it must have hung open.
“I beg your pardon. That was— Someday. I need to get to work here.”
Jasper straightened and stepped back. “Right. Anything you need from me?”
Micah was plucking a series of small leather-wrapped bundles out of the drawer, arranging them in order on the ground beside his knee. “It will depend on which way the wind is moving when I start. If it won’t strike us, I’d like you to hand me the next one as I go, and gather up the wraps as I drop them.”
“Doesn’t sound too complicated.”
“It won’t be.” Micah smiled, a whole trail of bundles beside him on the ground. He fished one last bundle out of the drawer, bigger than the rest, before closing it and switching the bag to his left side. Then he lay back on the ground, rolling the generous hood of his cloak under his head as a pillow. “Get comfortable,” he added with a glance at Jasper.
He picked up the first leather bundle and untwisted it carefully, spreading the paper-thin material in the palm of his left hand. He took a pinch of the dust inside and held it before his lips, then blew through his fingers. A faint plume of yellow rose above him and drifted towards his feet before he let it dissipate.
“They’re never going to see that from up there, are they?” Jasper asked.
Micah looked up to where Jasper stood over him, his hands on his hips, his head back as he watched the dust fall. Even from this angle, even upside-down, Micah had to fight the urge to gasp at Jasper’s face. It seemed completely unfair that one face should get everything so completely right. “No, I’m just checking the light and the air currents. Not much of a breeze tonight, so I won’t have to counter any drift.”
“If that one small drawer at the bottom holds all the dust, then what’s in the rest of the bag, and why does it float?”
“The rest of the bag is very tightly compressed air—the blast to carry them high enough and wide enough to be seen by the crowd. We used to have to provide that force as well as the fine control to move the dust into the picture. Ellie—our master engineer—helped me come up with the bag. It’s a complex layering of reinforcement charms, and allows me more freedom to concentrate on the images.”
“So…” Jasper turned and looked up at the windows again, and out into the twilight in front of them. “That bag must be under a lot of pressure.”
Micah smiled. “Then it’s a good thing I’m here to take care of it,” Micah told him. “Really, now, sit. I promise not to turn you pink.”
Jasper stared at him, then blinked and snorted. “Yeah, better not,” he muttered, trying not to smile as he dropped to sit beside Micah’s head.
“I will make it up to you, I swear. I do feel bad about it.”
Jasper shrugged. “Well. The clothing shortage was helped out by your loan, for which I thank you, and the fact that the luggage turned up early.”
“I really haven’t been much beyond trouble for you, have I?” Micah said quietly, carefully gathering another pinch of dust in his fingers. “I’m sorry about that.”
“Nah, don’t worry.” The warmth in his tone made Micah hesitate and look up at him again. Jasper noticed, but took it as doubt. “No, really. Just…bad luck. And, well…” He ran his hand down his chest, taking in the shirt and waistcoat. “You’ve more than made up for it.”
“Well.” Micah puffed the dust into the air above them, where it glittered for a moment. He swirled his finger experimentally, watching the colour respond. He heard Jasper make a surprised, pleased noise in the back of his throat, and felt himself blushing yet again. Fuck… There was no use trying to mask it with a spell, either, when the one person he wanted to hide it from would most likely see straight through it. “I couldn’t have you turn up at the gala looking like a pauper. Or left home as punishment.”
“No, that’s not how she works,” Jasper said, fiddling with one of the dust bundles. “She knew I’d been here, so she made damn sure I came along. If she knew what contacts I’d made, she’d happily make use of ’em. If I’d made a fool of myself, she’d wipe the floor with me and enjoy my shame.”
Micah stared at him, his hand stilled in the act of preparing another pinch. “You’d…be…shamed?”
Jasper looked at him. “Yeah, you know. If someone caught me shorting someone in the market, or cocking up a spell, she’d tell you how very sorry the Earl’s household were, and if there’s anything she could do to make it up…” He trailed off and waved his hand. “That sort.”
Micah looked away and took a deep breath, this time sending the plume of yellow spiraling high into the air above them, roiling and twisting like an elaborate, exotic feather. “It’s the children I feel sorry for,” he said finally.
Jasper darted a startled look at him, and laughed. “Oh, you don’t know the half of it. But they’ll be all right. Penelope’s never had much interest in children. Especially not her own, lucky little things.”
Micah let himself smile. “Well, cheerful as this has been, time to get down to business.” He cupped his fist in front of his mouth and whispered, “Casper, I can start.”
“Aye,” came Casper’s voice in his ear, and a moment later, Micah heard shutters being opened above them.
He loosened the cord at the neck of the sack and tilted it into position, and tipped the rest of the little pile of gold powder over the neck of the bag, where the escaping air caught it and drove it aloft. He controlled it carefully until it had reached the height of the windows above, then burst it outwards in a swirling, glittering blast of light, something that would definitely catch the attention of anyone inside. In response, he heard the windows and doors opening, and the appreciative noises of the crowd above. He glanced at Jasper, who was still staring up in awe. “If it isn’t too distracting, I really would appreciate it if you could hand me the bundles. The goal is to—”
“Mm! No, right, sure!”
“—make it as seamless as possible,” Micah went on, barely faltering. Jasper passed him the next, and he looked down. “Ah, let me… could you also—?”
Jasper glanced at Micah’s left hand on the bag, but already had the bundle untwisted and held it out hesitantly. “On your palm? On your chest?”
Micah glanced around, evaluating options. “Chest would be ideal, then I can—”
“Yeah, and I can slide it in over your head if I…” Jasper skooched himself over until he was directly behind Micah’s head. “Look, how about…”
Micah felt a gentle touch on either side of his head and startled. Jasper seemed to take the movement as assent and slid forward, lifting Micah’s hood onto his crossed ankles before guiding Micah’s head back down. “There we go, you can see what you’re doing and what I’m doing, and I can reach. Good?”
“Perfect,” Micah said. His voice was steady, but his grip on the bag was starting to hurt, goose flesh ran down his neck and up over his scalp, and only a fierce punch of magic steadied his free hand. “Here we go.”
He had never foreseen this particular need for the bag, but if he had had to blow the dust himself tonight, no one would have been able to distinguish the shaky, jittery splashes he would have sent up. He started to reach for the flattened leather scrap on his chest, and Jasper guided his hand to it.
Oh, fucking mecks…
Micah took a deep breath and closed his eyes, quickly rerunning the images he’d planned for the evening, then slipped his fingers under the leather and guided it to the neck of the bag.
The first few were simple—round bursts of colour that spread into expanding, shifting hues, abstract designs to let people’s eyes adjust to the dark, the angle, the idea. It had been some years since Casper had done dustworks for a gala, and this year there were more new faces than ever before. He vividly remembered the first time he’d seen them, and how long it had taken him to accept what he was seeing: powder smearing across the black sky like a brilliant, visible liquid.
By the time he had worked all of the abstract ones, he’d settled down to the job and was focused again, barely aware of the hands sliding past his cheeks, delivering each new parcel of dust. He lost himself in the smooth rhythm that developed between them, only a small part of his mind registering Jasper’s laughs, gasps, and other sounds of appreciation. He wiped the sky view with a series of vivid, single-colour displays, magenta to chartreuse to orange and ending with a slow, high spread of sky-blue. He sent it far and wide, holding it in place, not letting it fall, and then he snapped the next up with a few quick, hard puffs of air from the bag, sending up silver and gold bursts that rose up through the blue and seemed to fall into the sky, becoming stars. Before the blue faded, he waved his hands in a great, wide, arch, and everything glittered black. It had been difficult finding a way to make black glow against a night sky, but the eerie, indigo waves always drew delighted, shocked gasps, and the crowd in the ballroom were no more appreciative than Jasper, who let his fingers fall gently against Micah’s face for just a moment, he was so startled.
The sweeping change to silver and then white spread both up and down above them, lasting long enough for Jasper to catch up again. “Fast as you can without spilling, now,” Micah said, concentrating on drawing out the change. Jasper had the next open on his chest in plenty of time, and from then on, he replaced them as soon as Micah raised them, keeping him supplied no matter how fast Micah moved. The scene appeared as Micah worked: a flower garden, trees that grew and bloomed and faded to autumn colours before disappearing. A stream washed the garden away, and fish replaced the flowers, moving across the sky above them before bursting into multi-coloured octopuses, wiggling their tentacles as they faded. Then there was a mountain, its summit erupting into smoke, then fire, then flowers of colour.
Micah realised gradually what it felt like: in a way, Jasper was helping him juggle. Only he never needed to catch anything, as Jasper whisked the empty wrappers away as soon as Micah released them.
Micah wiped the sky with a bright smear of colour, holding it up, letting it drift and melt together, growing brighter as the blackness disappeared. Then he snapped his fingers together and pulled his hand down, abruptly removing all remaining colour and leaving a clear, black sky overhead for a moment.
He heard a building wash of applause from above and ignored it, tipping the last dust up over the bag and sending it whooshing into the air in a smoky grey fountain before drawing the colours apart, fixing the grey into whorls, pulling the pinkish-grey into a face, brightening the blue of the eyes, then rotating the violet into place until Vedouci Casper’s face smiled down at them all over a raised glass.
The sudden roar of laughter and applause from above brought him back into the moment, and he could hear Casper shouting something he couldn’t make out. He sounded happy, and there was no sharp comment in his ear, so Micah finally allowed himself to relax, letting out his breath in a long, slow sigh.
“That was marvelous!” Jasper said, reaching down to shake Micah’s shoulders briefly. “Ah, Micah, that was… that was amazing. I’m stunned. I don’t know… Just amazing.”
Micah grinned up at him, relieved that Jasper was still watching whatever dust was still falling from the sky. “You were amazingly helpful. If anyone ever says juggling isn’t a useful skill, please punch them with my compliments.”
“Oh, no. That was nothing. This was all you.” Jasper glanced down at him. “I don’t want to hear that you do this sort of thing every day, mind,” he said suddenly, trying to be serious. “There’s no excuse. That was…fucking marvelous.”
Micah had to look away, laughing a bit himself now. “Thank you. I’m glad you enjoyed it and weren’t too distracted—”
“Listen, I will count grains of sand, I will number them and hand them to you while turning somersaults if that’s what it takes to see that. But that must be… I mean, even for you, that must be amazingly difficult.”
“It took time to learn, but once you get a few of the knacks down, it really isn’t complex. It helps that it’s fairly impossible to die while doing it,” he admitted.
“Good to know.”
Micah patted across his chest with his free hand, finding nothing. “Where have you—?”
“Here,” Jasper handed him a solid bundle of the leather. “Tucked ’em under my leg to keep ’em out of the way.”
“Cheers.” Micah sat up, trying to hide his disappointment as he pulled away and heard Jasper get to his feet behind him. Micah dragged the bag with him, stuffing the empty wrappers into the drawer at the bottom before knotting the laces at the top again. “I can’t tell—have I got it all over me?” he asked, trying to shift a few folds of his cloak to look for shadows.
“Nah, it all fell miles away, out over the edge of the balcony. You’re fine.”
“Sure?”
“Absolutely. Here.” Jasper reached down and helped Micah to his feet. “See, nothing falling off, no smears, you’re fine.”
“That might be a first, as well.” Micah took a step or two closer to the edge, still not seeing any of the dust as he began loosening the ties of his cloak.
“Wait, Micah? Is it supposed to look like that?” Jasper asked suddenly.
Micah looked back and followed Jasper’s gaze back to the bag, which was shifting oddly. He tipped it toward him hastily and steadied it to see a crack had appeared in the leather. “No, it is not,” he said. He ran his fingers across the crack, feeling a stretching in the charm he’d used to reinforce the leather. He tried to rejoin the edges, but they were pulling apart unnaturally hard. He grabbed for the edges of the charm instead, his fingers making grasping motions over the tear, and just managed to snatch them before they separated completely. Something more than the stored air was pushing on them. Unwilling to take any chances on unleashing a storm, he poured energy into knitting the edges together, pulling on both sides at once and reweaving furiously.
“I think…I’ve got it,” he said through clenched teeth, finally knotting everything together. It wasn’t neat, but it would hold until he got the bag up to the lab and examined it within the protection spells there.
“Oh, whoa, whoa…” Jasper said, making a quick grab for the neck of the bag.
Too late, Micah realised that while he’d been distracted by the tear, whatever had made it had switched to cutting the seal on the top of the bag. Jasper made a grab for it, but the bag was already flapping open, the force of the release pulling it out of Micah’s hands.
They both instinctively fell back, throwing their arms up in front of their faces.
“What can I do?” Jasper asked, raising his voice as the wind began to howl out of the bag.
“I don’t know!” Micah quickly pulled his hood up and tried to retie the ribbons on his cloak. The hood kept falling back, and he had to turn his back to get everything secured. Jasper put a bracing hand on his shoulder to steady him.
When Micah turned around, the bag had stopped against the edge of the patio, caught against the low stone wall. The neck was being forced open wider all the time. Micah flung out a sweep of power, trying to throw up a bubble of protection around himself and Jasper. Something vicious, invisible, and lightning fast snapped across his magic as it formed, disrupting the spell, dissipating it before it could even take hold.
“Are you doing that?” Micah asked quickly.
Jasper shook his head. “All I’m doing is trying to keep us on our feet and figure out what to do to help.”
Micah grabbed hold of Jasper’s bare hand and tried to focus. Jasper looked down, startled, but held on just as hard, staring back. Micah tried to concentrate on the magic around them, looking for a source. The magic was fast becoming a huge, tangled, layered mass, some of it the shreds of the compression, strengthening, and reinforcement spells from the bag, whipping free as they tore from their moorings, some of it dark, spiky, other. He couldn’t figure out where it was coming from. It couldn’t be Jasper putting out that amount of magic, not without showing any sign of the effort. The man was simply waiting and watching with no sign of discomfort, no response to the power around them.
Micah shook his head, shifting his grasp on Jasper’s hand. “Someone’s interfering,” Micah said shortly, and turned away.
The wind was growing stronger. By this time, Micah had to lean forward into the wind just to keep his balance. The dark red cloak was whipping behind him in the gale, dragging him back. He tugged it further up his arms, shook his face free of his loose cravat and tried to center his mind. He had to focus, grounding his feet against the roof, wrapping around himself the pulling strength of a grispius vine. He envisioned and pulled forth a shade much, much larger than the plant in the lab, and rooted it firm to the roof. He dug his feet in under it and let it pull him tight against the stone. He glanced over his shoulder, ready to do the same for Jasper, but the man had already found a safe foothold, braced against one of the ornate marble benches.
The moment Micah was secure, he started reaching out, finding the ends of the the loose spells.
He opened his hands wide, grasping for the strands of energy that had been holding the bag together and were now shifting around him in a maelstrom, their wildly thrashing ends impossible to distinguish from one another. Somewhere among them was the darker magic, a strand of something alien and perverse, set there to pull things apart and sever his careful net of charms from their source.
If a spell was cut loose it usually dissipated, but these were still partially attached, tethered at one end to the wild, compressed winds spilling from the bag.
Tangled magic spun around him, fierce and dangerous. He could try to unhook all the spells, but the wind, once free, might do far greater damage. He couldn’t risk it. Someone could be blown to their death. No, he’d have sift through carefully and find the source. Somewhere in this mass was the strand of disruption, and he would have to find it before he could decide how to deal with it. He threw out a loop of power like a lasso, gathering together as many strands as he could and dragging them down. He concentrated, feeling how the mass of energy reacted, watching how they moved, choosing which to untangle, unhook, or secure.
Jasper stumbled back a step, his arms up to protect his face. He didn’t understand what was happening, and it was terrifying. Magic had never affected him before, and now suddenly something had changed and he was about to be blown off a roof in the tallest city ever built. His clothes and hair were being flapped and tugged around him, and he could feel not only the sting of dust and sand being driven against him, but the sharp chill of the wind itself against his skin.
He watched as Micah’s hands dove through the air, his fingers twisting, teasing invisible details, turning and grasping. He stroked the gale and sifted through invisible objects, one fist clenched as his other fingers plucked and nudged. The grace of the movements was mesmerising, but Jasper was disturbed by the way Micah kept his head down. It was clear that he’d closed his eyes and was concentrating fiercely on the magic, but the vine that had appeared and flattened over Micah’s feet seemed to coming loose from the roof itself in the screaming force of the wind.
The decision was made before he’d realised there was one to make, and he pushed himself forward, one hand holding his shirt tight around his neck. He had to lean hard, fighting for every step, but made it to Micah’s side and crouched down in front of him, turning his back to the gale and grabbing hold of Micah’s legs, putting all his weight on the man’s feet. The blasts were strengthening, and he cowered close during the first. When it eased, he shifted quickly, digging his heels in behind Micah, his hands around the backs of Micah’s thighs, and he leaned back as far as he could, counterbalancing Micah with his own weight and muscle.
The shock was wearing off and Jasper had a task to focus on. He risked a look over his shoulder, trying to keep his eyes open, but the dust and dirt of the terrace stung his cheek and temple. He turned away, grimly aware that Micah could not.
Micah felt the chaos fighting back, his grip on the loose magic unnatural, every spell determined to break free. His muscles were screaming at him, demanding he spare a bit of his attention for the physical world again. He checked in, thankful to realise he’d remained upright. He opened his eyes a little, and the first thing he saw was brown eyes peering up at him. He nearly fell over, but something tightened around his legs, and he realised what was happening: Jasper was holding on to him. Strong hands grasped the backs of his thighs, and he was straddling Jasper’s torso while Jasper leaned back in front of him. Micah felt his face flash to red all at once, horribly aware of the position they were in, what he suddenly wished it was, and what it wasn’t.
Jasper shook his head briefly. “Go on, finish it. I’ve got you.”
“You don’t—”
To Micah’s shock, Jasper actually growled at him, and Micah flinched back in surprise. His cloak, shaking free of the last of his holding spell, thundered up behind him, dragging him off balance and making him wobble, suddenly dizzy. He was thankful when Jasper steadied him once again. He managed to turn a wail of distress into a determined snarl. He couldn’t move without losing control of the magic, so he gritted his teeth and closed his eyes again. Jasper’s fingers dug into his thighs, and Micah had to force his mind to back down, away from the awareness of such a beautiful man so close to his privates, which were beginning to fight their own battle. He was ready to sob with the unfairness of it all.
He clenched his hands, trying to think. He couldn’t hold many more and even clamping down with all his strength, he was barely keeping hold of the bundle in his hands. He could hold himself and the bundle together or he could try to retrieve the bag, but not both. And even holding himself together might be a problem soon with Jasper’s hands where they were, and his face…
Jasper. Jasper, who was holding him down. Jasper, who was there to help him.
He drew his hold tighter, as tight as he could, ducking his head. “Bag,” he growled through his teeth.
“What?” Jasper called.
Micah could feel him stretching closer. “Need the bag!” he repeated, his teeth still clenched.
“Can you magic yourself to the roof?”
Micah nodded, gritting his teeth.
Jasper’s grip shifted as he rose, and as his weight left Micah’s feet, Micah staggered. He crouched lower, trying to bind himself to the tiled floor by sheer force of will, unable to think, unable to imagine something more concrete, unable to wrap the magic into a holdable spell. Trying to hold himself with sheer force was almost impossible, the binding was weak; if he lost concentration for a moment, it would burst free again. Tired as he was, he would probably be blown off the roof without Jasper’s solid weight.
As if to underline this, Micah slid back a little, his cloak dragging him upwards, his boots slipping on the stone. He went down on one knee, pulling his hands in, knowing he could do no more with the magic until Jasper returned either to hold him down, or to bring the bag. It was becoming difficult to breathe, and the thought came to him that perhaps Jasper hadn’t let go so much as been blown away, and might even now be lying at the foot of the castle, bruised and broken. His fingers twitched and another gust slipped free, driving dirt and sand against his exposed skin. “Jasper!” he bellowed.
“Behind you!”
Micah whirled round, his arms tangling in his cloak which was now trying to lift up and over his head. “Bag!”
“Got it,” Jasper shouted. “What—?”
“Hold it open,” Micah ordered, and with a flumpf, his cloak slid up and over his head, leaving him feeling like an inside-out parasol. He slid blindly forward, trying to keep his body in place while dragging the magic with him. The fierce pulling of his cloak lifted his hands, and he squeezed his eyes shut, ducking his head and curling inward. The tangle of magic in his grip was more snarled than ever now. He was running out of strength and wouldn’t be able to separate it properly so he began crushing it tight, coating it with a thin shield and wrapping it again, containing the pressure as well as he could as a temporary measure before he turned to the serious work of herding it back into the sack.
It would be close, but he could make it work if he could push hard enough. The gale picked up again, ripping at the bag in Jasper’s hands. Micah could feel it, the darker magic. Someone was trying to sabotage this final effort. He focused on the tangle he still held. Starting at one end of it, feeling the way it moved, the thickening and thinning. He was all too aware of the drain even this short pause was on his resources. Balancing carefully, he drew all his power together, and began flicking strands of the tangle into the bag, thinning it, paying attention to what each one was.
He nearly missed it. A tiny thread now, possibly just one of many. But it was right here in his hand, fighting desperately to dissipate into nothingness. He hauled it back, yanking hard, then flinging it clear as though cracking a whip. It snapped free of the tangle, separate now, unable to wreak more damage. The bundle in his hands quieted a little and he concentrated, keeping the single terrible spell aloft. he began to turn them, slowly reeling them in, wrapping them into two tight little bundles. The storm drew tighter around him, intensifying as it was dragged in, shrinking its area.
Something happened then. It felt as if some other power had seized hold of the whole mass, and was spinning it around, tugging wildly at his grip, escalating the storm, expanding the reach of its disturbance. He felt the wind catch and start to spin, whipping around after the threads, caught up with the magic, and for a brief moment his feet actually left the ground. His cloak was dragging him upwards. The fucking cloak. He could hear Jasper shouting but he had no strength left to hold himself down, his cloak down. It was taking all this power to hold onto the jerking, howling spells in his hands. He snarled and leaned his head back, trying to slip the thing over his head with a wild shake. It caught on his nose, wrenching his head around. He was almost a full foot off the ground, his already-weak binding spell reaching its absolute limits. With a growl he got his teeth under the ribbons tying the cloak on, used a little jolt of magic to give them an edge and ripped clean through the ties.
He dropped instantly, crashing to the tile. Completely disoriented, he went down on one knee. “Jasper!” he called desperately.
“Here—augh!” To his surprise, Jasper’s voice was still in front of him.
“Bring it close!”
“I’m—trying. I can’t…”
Micah squinted through tight eyelids. Jasper was indeed in front of him, but the wind was now somehow between them, driving them apart. Jasper was tilted forward at a ridiculous angle, held up by the straining bulk of the sack. He held the neck of it open with both hands, his entire body pushing forward behind it.
Micah’s body ached with the force of it, and he was grunting with effort, but he managed to push himself up and get one foot ahead. He thought he could hear Jasper’s voice, but with every push, the force became stronger. Everything seemed to be flapping and tugging at him. He pushed again, moving another step closer. He could hear Jasper clearly now, crying out as he tried to push forward. Micah spread his feet wide and managed another step, but something was cutting into his upper arms, and it was beyond bruising. His neck was being stung and strangled, and breathing was an effort. The only way to get air back out of him was to shout, and he did.
He gave the bundle of spells a shove, but it pushed back—he only had one thread of the foreign force in hand and someone was still determined that they fail. He yanked on the one he held, concentrating full force on its source. A faint ripple tugged in the direction of the courtyard above. He reached out, as far up and close to the center of the ripple as he could, drew a ring around it, and snapped it taut--an intangible garroting. It would cause the source a small amount of pain, and that would have to be enough, for now. For a moment the force slackened, the storm quietened.
Rapidly losing balance, strength, and composure, Micah pushed everything he held toward the bag, and gave up all efforts to keep his physical self together. The bundle in his hands slid into the mouth and quickly he dragged the storm in. Sharp pain flashed across his arms, but it was working. As they passed through the mouth the yanking lessened, giving him just enough relief to push again, one last flash of effort.
His ears still roared with it, and he and Jasper were both shouting as the final spell slipped inside, the evening falling silent as the roar died. The silence was so loud. Micah opened his eyes even as he fell forward.
Jasper caught him with a hand against his shoulder, shoving him upright and hauling on the ties at the neck of the bag, winching it shut in time to catch Micah as he staggered again. “I’ve got you,” he rasped.
Micah sighed and relaxed all at once, his knees giving out. Jasper lowered him to the ground. “Keep the bag close,” he whispered weakly.
“Don’t you worry,” Jasper said softly, and Micah felt skin on his forehead. “It’s over.”