♔ 𝔑𝔦𝔯𝔞 ♔
Libitina looks the same as the last I saw her. Light eyes that harbour secrets, glinting with the promise of another's downfall. Her blonde hair falls free down to her elbows, pin straight, scattered with braids that are wrapped in metal clasps. Some solid, others fragile and twisted, holding dark black gems against her hair.
I know beneath it lie two curved ears titivated in jewellery, and whatever earrings she wears now skim her shoulders with the end of the tassels. Her entire body in fitted in leather, showing a physique of lean muscle, once that pulses with every slight movement. She still sports the curves of femininity, especially seen in the way she folds her arms to rest beneath her breasts, and fixes her stance to favour her left leg, which lifts her hip somewhat. She looks down on me with lips pulled into that half-hearted smirk, one that is always tied to trouble. One she wears when she does something that she should not. She smiled the same when she sat in Calix's chair during the Solstice, or when she dealt me with a favour after I had caught her rooting through Ezekiel's desk.
The favour I have called on now.
She knows this is trouble. She is the only other, outside the close-knit cohort of beings outside of Abutilon who knows I am alive now, when I should not be. She is in control, despite being stuck in the summoning mark I drew.
"Well, you have looked better." She tells me, eyes skimming my withered frame. "What do you ask of me? To wash you of the vomit down your front?"
Paying no mind to her taunt, instead I look towards the Court House. Zaire has fallen quiet, enough so that it renders me suspicious. I do not have time to embark on a juvenile rapport with Libitina. She may not be aware of the severity of this situation, but I am. I do not look at her as I begin clawing at the dirt on the floor. A small break in the mark, and she can walk across Abutilon grounds and help me.
"I need you to get me away from here." The ground is soft, but I have no luck in tearing the soil away. I muffle a groan of distress, scraping with both of my hands.
Perhaps she sees my panic, for she drops to a crouch, and lays her hand against the barrier between us to steal my attention. "Nira, spare me an explanation. How do you live?"
I shake my head, continuing to tear away at the ground with alacrity. "Not now. You need to get me away from this place." I manage to rip a small chunk of the ground away, splitting the mark and freeing the demon. Libitina curses and does not move.
"Perhaps you should have thought to ask, but I do not have a method to helping you leave." I look to her desperately as she rises, glancing off towards the direction of the Court House.
I almost heave, the stress and anxiety doing little to keep my stomach settled. As I bow over the ground, I let my fingers drag through my hair, pulling it away from my face. "You must – can you fly, or spell? Or even Scere?"
I look up, noticing the odd expression she pins me with. As though she has delved right into my soul and uncovered all of my secrets. It is knowing, and sceptical, and conniving, all at once. "No. I am a demon, and my only skill is in tormenting. I cannot Scere, but I expect you can." She reaches for my arm and drags me from the mark to my feet. She is not delicate, and I am hardly standing before she lets go, leaving me only to fall again.
"Do not lay your hands on me." I snarl at her, bracing myself on my knees. She rolls her eyes.
"Do not expect me to be polite when you chose to summon me while I was in the middle of enjoying some riveting company." She crouches beside me, and with much gentler movements, wraps her palms around my forearms. "Now think, made Fae, of my home, and take me back to him."
"I do not know what your home looks like." I snap, moving to pull away. Her hold does not lessen, and she pins me with a fierce stare. Her composure is in no way as aghast as mine, but I can see it in her face, she is as desperate to get away from this place as I am.
"You don't need to know. You only need to want it." There lies the problem. I know where her home is; the Night Court, within resides Lord Calix. He, who I have no trust for, not after our short few exchanges, and the knowledge of others dislike that poisons this Realm. There is no promise that my arrival there will be met with warm welcome, and every chance that I could be escaping one prison to find myself in another. "You're testing my patience, little huntress, darling." Libitina drawls, fangs flashing through a lethal grimace.
I meet her with a hiss of my own. "I do not trust that there is the asylum I seek."
"Perhaps not. However, I doubt you will find much help anywhere else, and I owe you a favour. I am many things, and a demon of my word is one of them." She tells me. I move to argue, but a thud of noise off in the distance stalls me. Zaire has driven his power into the ground of Abutilon, with frustration it seems, and lashings of the earth rain from the sky, falling upon the tree that has been uprooted and tipped.
"You must have made him quite mad." Libitina taunts, but I see the way her features tighten with anxiousness. She wants to go. Now. As do I.
I beg that the nausea settle for me to focus, that the ache of power in my chest stay dormant for a short while longer. Over and over in my head, I repeat the name of the place I wish to travel to. I tell myself that I wish to go there, that I need to Scere now. Nothing happens, if the dull thud of my head is to be discounted. I still feel Libitina's hands gripping my forearms and refuse to be met with the sensation of tingling, prickling pain.
"Whenever you're ready." The demon goads, and I fist my hands to hold from punching her. I think it over and over, the voice of my consciousness whiney with plea, a desperation that trembles my whole body. Nothing comes, and I feel the bubbling of a frustrated groan rise to my throat. My head pounds under the strain, forcing my body to commit to something I am not even sure it can do. Forcing it to submit to new power that it is unprepared for, that is too wild and untrained for it to manage.
I'm failing, and it will be my downfall. Libitina's too. My mouth parts, dry and filled with a horrid taste, a mix between blood and bile. I prepare to tell her I cannot do this, that there must be another way, but as my eyes flick open, a voice calls my name, laced with recognition.
"Daenira!" Zaire shouts, and before my name completely parts from his tongue, my body buckles with that fleeting agony once more, my senses extinguished until there is nothing but pain, and then nothing but the weight of exhaustion.
Libitina drops her hold of me, panting herself, and I crumble to the floor. My eyes close, the light around me only worsening the pain in my head. My back still throbs with residual pain, and my stomach clenches around nothing, as though prepared to vomit once more. I do not even know for certain if we have made it to safety, away from Zaire's clutches. Yet, there is a difference here that inclines me to hope. The air smells different. Less heavy with the scent of foliage, but more moist and earthy. The ground is harder, unlike the grass I knelt on before, but gritty dirt. I cannot bare to collect myself to see if such is true.
Still breathless, Libitina speaks. "Could have taken us a little further, but I suppose this will do." I pant, pushing myself to my hands and knees.
"Where are we?" I ask her.
"Right on the boarder of the Night Court."
♔
Scering drained me. The events of the past hour too. My body is heavy with exhaustion, so much so, that Libitina had to alleviate my weight, wrapping an arm under my own so she could all but drag me.
The term 'safety' I have come to deem subjective. In the familiarity, Libitina has calmed, and though she grunts and complains at the extent she has to go to aid me, it seems that some of the tension has unravelled from within her. I however, though safe now in the way that I have escaped Zaire, am not met with the same comfort. I still feel on edge, cautious, as though I should not be here.
That feeling could be far more to do with my concern. My worry. I fret over the words of Zaire, replaying what he spoke of Sloan over and over in my head. I have no idea what has come of her, if she was as wounded as he insinuated – or worse. Cenred was away, with no idea what he is due to return to. Zaire in a fit of fury, having watched me escape him. The court grounds and foyer now site of destruction. Ezekiel too – though I detest what part he played in Zaire's scheme; I cannot stop myself from thinking of him. Is he safe? Where was he, if not at the Court House? Will both of them be told the truth of what came of Sloan? I almost sob as I consider her fate.
"Can you walk?" Libitina queries, coming to a standstill.
I straighten my body, despite the ache of its resistance. My self-inflicted wounds when trapped in that room had healed in minutes. Why now was it taking so long? Even the scabs upon my hands still leak with blood. Beside me, Libitina notices me observe them, gloved a deep, sticky red.
"You're starved. Your body may be a feat of immeasurable capability now, but if you continue to put it under such strain, it will be worth no more than that frail little human thing that was once yours." She tells me bluntly, pulling her arm away. I sway, a movement that causes her to shoot out a hand to steady me, and I right myself after a moment.
I take a long breath. "I can walk." She scoffs with disbelief, keeping her hand firmly wrapped around my forearm. She leads, taking me in a direction that is likely familiar to her.
The dirt gravel path has transformed, evolving into gravel, slicing between two expanses of neat cut grass. The development only leads me to one conclusion. We're approaching Court grounds, among which the Court House will sit.
Two rows of trimmed hedges rise from the ground, funnelling inward to create a narrow pathway, in which there is only one direction. The gravel path continues on, crunching beneath our feet as we walk, the only noise between that of our deep breathing. It seems Libitina is still as much affected by the Scering as I. Still, for her own sake or mine, she holds me tight, matching my pace rather than setting her own.
Though the Court House lingers in the distance, we first pass through a turning circle. The gravel spreads, still held within the hedges, to surround a large well that sits central. There is no bucket hanging from the metal bar, nor frayed string that suggests there ever was. The only time I have ever seen such is when the well was empty, beyond its use. I doubt very much that there will be anything sat at the bottom on this one.
It has been here for a long while. The stone has been invaded with dark ivy, small flowers of plums and crimson blooming at its base. In just a few more years, the well will hardly be distinguishable at all, swallowed by the touch of the aggressive foliage. We pass it, not leaving much time to linger, once more funnelling down a narrowed pathway.
This one is shorter, soon expanding completely to cover the ground before the entry way. It is a feat of stunning masonry, rounded stones cemented to create a grand arch. Much like the well, it has poorly fought against the wildlife that ravages it. From the ground, dark poisonous green stretches, ivy mottled with drapes of moss. Here, it is so thick that the smell of fresh foliage permeates the air, an earthy scent, not floral like the pollen of flowers. To much of my surprise, it reminds me of home – the woodlands – after a night of heavy rain, or just before a brewing storm hit.
It should be miserable. It looks haggard and unkept, but there is some sort of unbridled beauty to it. Even the darkness of the colour, which seems to only deepen as the sun begins to sink, does not seem as haunting as it should.
We take the stairs, passing through the archway and walking between the walls beside either of us. Inside is not much better kept. The cracks of the stone floor now home moss, some places where it has stretched beyond the confines. Ivy crawls on the inner wall too, having fought its way through the cement, or wrapped itself over the very top of the wall, where there is no roof to limit its access. Thick ropes of vine are also suspended from the ceiling, the breeze enough to have them sway somewhat.
Though the sun has begun to drop towards the horizon, enough light still floods through the arches of what were once windows, but now sit pane-less. It illuminates the corridor and alerts it to be something more than an overgrown mess. The deep emeralds and sage flare with vibrancy, making it so much brighter, in a way I have never witnessed. It instils life within this place, life which is thriving and unrelenting, incapable of being stopped. Then, as though starved of everything it needs to survive, it stops. Cut off at the doors, which stand proud and pristine, untouched by the wild plants.
We needn't stop. Sensing our presence, the doors open without sound. They show us into the foyer, this place cast in deep shadows as though the walls and windows reflect the sun rather than drink it in. It is huge, echoing our footsteps as we tap across the white flooring of polished tiles. There are windows – large arched ones framing stained glass that do little more than set a glow among the shows. It is nothing like the life which absorbs the Court grounds. In here, in warns danger.
Compared to Abutilon, the foyer is closed off. Doors run along either wall, possibly leading to other rooms and corridors. It is in no way as open plan, and as I try to gather my bearings, that sickening sense of claustrophobia settles within me once more. I tell myself I am not trapped. That should I wish to leave, the door is behind me, and that I am freer now than I ever was in that small box room. Though my heart still beats fast, my breaths seem steadier.
Before us, a white marble staircase, braced with black iron railing, twisted into spectacularly ornate designs. They seem brighter than the rest of this place, glinting the light from the candle lit chandelier above our heads. Though the framework of it is black too, tiny white gems are suspended from it, a sight richer than I could have ever dreamed.
"Come." Libitina orders me, tugging firmer on my arm. I look forward once more. The stairs are run in a carpet of deep purple, reaching up two flights. The iron railings stretch outwards after the first flight, surrounding overlooking balconies that disappear off behind doors. We ascend them, and continue on, up the second flight.
It is then, I decide, that this is not a foyer at all. The complexity of its design, the sheer size, and it's isolation. No, it is more than a foyer. The giveaway, perhaps, what resides at the top of the stairs. The stairs cease, levelling out to a single rounded platform, which the railing encircles. First, there are two stone pillars, on top of which sit stone wyverns. Sculptures that are smaller than the true beasts, with their inner wings extended to form something of an arch.
It is clear, though his title is nothing more than Lord, he thinks himself something much more. Calix considers himself a King, maybe not of this Realm, but of this Court. It could not be more glaringly obvious, because positioned between the wyvern's wings is a high back throne, formed of black metal and studded velvet cushioning the same deep purple as the carpet.
Sat upon it, relaxed in a way that oozes righteousness, the High Lord of the Night Court.
———
Make way for the members of The Court Of Night.