Sat December 5, 2074 11:24 pm: 88 Wilkins Ave.-- Camden, Pleasantview
Kvornan rubbed his nose with the heel of his hand and waited. Each stroke of the dial tone increased his anxiety. Two rings. Leaving a message would not be the safest practice. Four. This was the last call that the Mindelsohns' landline would ever make. Their service was scheduled to be cut at precisely midnight. Kvornan began to pace the kitchen slowly. Six rings.
"I'm sorry! I'd only just stepped out." Tara sounded somewhat breathless, as though she had been running. Little time had passed since he last heard her voice-- a few measly weeks-- but even the language that she spoke seemed to belong to separate era. Thoughts of her sly grin and warm violet eyes were part and partial to a time labeled before in Kvornan's memory. He cleared his throat.
"Are you alone?" He regretted the necessity of asking. It was not the most personal of hellos.
"Yes, of course. How is everything?" Kvornan let go of the phone, holding it between his ear and his shoulder. He might have started his monologue with the occupation of Ermengarde's psyche or the discovery of that peculiar Jack creature or Elise in all of her resilience. He might have even told her about Imina, over the phone and at a distance, like a coward. But some unknowable force within him wanted to keep the conversation as expedient as it was sterile.
"It's a bit complicated. I'll explain when I get home," he said.
"Which will be when?" Kvornan sat down on edge of the kitchen counter.
"Two weeks. Less, maybe. I just thought I'd call to check in. Am I cleared for arrival?"
"Your home is always here for you. And the children?" He rubbed his jawline, momentarily losing himself in the thought of her nude body, the curvature of her back as it faced him, their legs entwined. No matter how many times he told himself that she understood just what she was committing to, it still felt so unjust.
"I'm bringing the children with me. I miss you, Tara." She clicked her tongue at him.
"You don't mean that but I appreciate the gesture," she said.
"Honestly." He dropped down from the counter and took the phone in hand. He did miss her, but not as profoundly as she deserved.
"Shall I see you soon, then?" Kvornan nodded as though she were standing right in front of him.
"Yes, soon." Silence. Kvornan was holding his breath. He didn't know what he was waiting for her to say.
"God go with you, then." There was a soft click and the line went dead. Kvornan stood for a moment with the receiver still up to his ear. The electric hum of the refrigerator cut into the static night air. Hers had been too empty of a goodbye in their language, one that simply affirmed the separation of their paths and promised nothing of the future. Kvornan pressed the power button on the receiver and watched the condensation collect on the corners of the window panes.
February 1, 1987 9:34 am: Ethelden Palace-- Amhurst, Veronaville (Eighty-Seven Years earlier)
"Keep still, horrible boy." Jennail tilted his chin upwards. Her fingertips were soft and cool against his skin. Painting was one of the many mundane activities that Kvornan now held sacred by virtue of Jennail's involvement. She had more dexterity in her hands than what her magic could accomplish, making the chore a time-consuming one. Kvornan had grown to cherish it as an opportunity to feel her touch, to steal glances at her while she concentrated on his eyes, to be reprimanded for fidgeting. Sometimes he even requested that she paint his face at home, in Pleasantview, where he would only have to wash afterwards. But this morning, Kvornan was too distracted by the circumstance of their visit to enjoy the process of getting ready.
"Agni Hummel, Magus to the Sheut. I may never get over this, Nai." Kvornan tried to shake his head in disbelief but his wife struck him under the chin with the side of her brush.
"Can't you just be happy for him?" Kvornan frowned, somewhat affronted.
"I am happy! I'm just shocked, is all. Ag used to get himself into more trouble than any of us." Jennail blended the pigment beneath his right eye with her thumb.
"Only because his honesty made it difficult for him to hide his mischief. Close your eyes." Kvornan screwed his eyes shut and Jennail giggled. "Not so tight, stupid." Kvornan relaxed.
"He's only nineteen. Who gets inducted at nineteen?" Jennail held his hair away from his face and worked above his brow line.
"You're beginning to sound jealous," she said. Kvornan fiddled with cuffs of his sleeves.
"Maybe I am a little," he admitted. Jennail stopped painting. Kvornan realized too late what he had implied. His eyelids fluttered open.
"Nai--"
"Do you ever wish that we had never done it? That you could have finished out your studies and I had married some banker like everyone expected us to?" Kvornan stood. He removed the brush and palette from her hands, tossing them haphazardly onto the bed. Jennail was watching him with a heaviness that he never knew that she possessed.
How long had she been harboring this secret worry? And how could she? Kvornan wrapped his arms around her, kissing the bare tip of her nose. He ran his palms down her tightly corseted back. What more, what else could he have wanted from life than this woman? Than their son? Kvornan shook his head.
"This is the best and only dream that I have ever had for myself." It was an assertion of truth that tensed his shoulders like an oath. Jennail pulled him towards her by the back of his neck. He was hers to command, always.
Mon, November 23, 2074 1:10 pm: Ethelden Palace- Amhurst, Veronaville
"Good grief! I certainly hope that you don't plan on going to temple dressed like that. Your brother will have hysterics." Devi splashed water in Amunet's direction, her eyes flashing in a way that was as predatory as it was playful. Warm vapors washed over Amunet's body as she stepped forward through the doorway, making the fine hair on her arms prickle. She ran her palms down sides of her skirt, nervously flattening the hoary feathers that decked her hips.
"No Your Majesty, of course not. I'll be dressed," she murmured. In truth, Amunet had not even bothered to change her clothes from the evening before. The better part of her morning had been spent pacing the ladies' tearoom, clutching her throat and arguing with herself. For days, she hadn't eaten. She'd barely slept. She couldn't be certain that she would attend temple services at all, let alone properly dressed. Something was plaguing her and there was only one person who could help. But he was terrifying.
"I have a sneaking suspicion that Magus Rodin has much bigger concerns than what his sister wears to temple," Maya remarked dully, twirling a lock of her long black hair around her finger.
"Increasingly bigger," Zephyr mouthed, using her hands to create a domed arch over her stomach. The ladies all exchanged wicked smiles and knowing glances but they made no further innuendo. Amunet bit her lip and lowered her eyes. She had not forgotten the scandal involving her brother and Imina Brylowe but somehow what had seemed to be of all-consuming importance last week was now rendered trivial.
"Is something wrong, Amunet? You look a bit flushed." Amunet turned her attention to Tara who was standing near the fireplace, wearing the shapeless gown that fae women only adorned for prayer. She sounded genuinely concerned. Amunet crossed and uncrossed her arms over her chest. She was more grateful for Tara's tenderness than she had ever been but all of the gratefulness in the world did nothing for her fear. If anything, it made her feel strangely indebted to Tara and all the more uncomfortable for it.
Devi raised a large bottle of lavender oil from the edge of the bath without the usage of her hands. It floated through the air, towards the center of the bath and collided with the chandelier as it tipped forward to empty its contents. The room was filled with the chime of crystal.
"I'm fine. It's just the moisture in the air," Amunet lied. Tara stared at her wordlessly, inscrutably. Perhaps she knew first hand what Amunet was experiencing. The fatigue. The confusion. The dread. The vague and discomfiting longing. Amunet tapped her fingertips over her lace choker, fighting back tears. "May I speak with you in private for a moment, Your Majesty," she asked.
"Of course, dear," Tara whispered, smiling weakly. Her eyes spoke only pity and Amunet, who had never before felt pitiable, pushed her hair back from her face with more force than the task required.
Tara passed by Amunet, briskly leading the way out. In the hall, she peered into the door of the nearest dressing room and finding it unoccupied, entered with Amunet in tow.
"Now you may tell me what's troubling you," Tara said, gently taking Amunet by the fingers. Amunet closed her eyes and exhaled. She had practiced her request under her breath in the tearoom but she needn't have. It was simple enough. The explanation that followed would prove more difficult.
"I need to speak with Mahadeva," she said. Tara eyed her curiously.
"Mahadeva is away from the palace and might not return for several weeks. Why? Is it urgent?" Amunet's heart sank. She had not anticipated that. As far as she knew, the Sheut rarely left the palace grounds. Amunet stepped closer to Tara, the soft leather soles of her slippers making a rough, abrasive sound against the cement tiles.
"If I show you something, you must swear never to tell a soul. No one but Mahadeva," Amunet breathed. Tara sucked her teeth, evidently put-off by the fact that Amunet would presume to make such a request of her. But she nodded in agreement all the same. Amunet unhooked her choker.
Tara placed a hand on Amunet's shoulder. She pulled back the choker to have a better look at the bandage on Amunet's neck and the abrasion underneath the bandage. When Tara pulled away, she straightened her posture imperiously.
"When did this happen?" The princess's tone was solemn and business-like but she could not disguise the shock that flitted across her face.
"Last Wednesday, I believe. Do you think that Mahadeva might know one of his kind who would go after a fae?" Tara shrugged at the question.
"He rarely speaks about that part of his life. I don't know what he knows about 'his kind', as you say." Amunet rubbed her bare arms, wondering whether she had unintentionally stumbled upon a point of contention between Tara and her consort.
"Is he very secretive," Amunet asked. Tara shook her head slowly.
"No, not secretive. Just ashamed, I think." There was a pause during which Tara peered at the wall, losing herself in thought. "What were you doing when all of this happened? Do you remember at all?"
"I don't remember anything after our crochet circle Tuesday night."
"And the next thing that you recall after the crochet circle?" Amunet placed a hand on her forehead as if to physically extract her past from therein. 
"Well I woke-up Thursday morning at the Seven Towers Hotel in Kings Contrivance. My dress was torn at the hem and my neck was wrapped in surgical gauze. I had a terrible headache. I went to check out at the front desk and the clerk had a note that had been left for me. It was unsigned."
"Did the clerk see the person who left it?"
"No. And she didn't really know when it had been left either." Tara held out her hand, rapidly opening and closing her palm.
"Show me."
Amunet reached into her bodice and pulled out the letter, less-than-gracefully rearranging her bust. She carefully smoothed the creases on the paper before handing it to Tara, feeling as though she were entrusting Tara with something precious. Tara flipped the page over, studying the paper as much as she did the writing upon it.
"What does this mean, 'as per your request'," Tara asked, frowning.
"I don't know. I can't even imagine."
"And come to think of it, how does a vampire take down a fully grown fae?" Amunet winced. She had almost been anticipating that question. Tara probably thought she'd given herself over to the vampire willingly. Sometimes even Amunet interpreted the note that way.
"I have to assume that it wasn't an ordinary vampire," Amunet said, looking to Tara uneasily. Tara clasped the note between two fingers.
"This is not Mahadeva's handwriting," she replied.
"Of course not! I would never dream of accusing him. I only meant that there had to be something unusual about the one that attacked me." Amunet raised her arms in a gesture of surrender. Tara took Amunet by the wrists and pressed the note into the flat of her hand.
"In any case, hold on to this. If there is a vampire bold enough to take a fae for a victim then he won't stay in hiding for long. We may need this letter to help identify him. Now tell me this- Whose name was on the bill for your hotel room?"
"Mine. He used my credit card." Tara smiled complacently.
"We'll find him before he tries something like this again. Until then, you are not to leave the palace grounds. This vampire might still be a danger to you." Amunet nodded in silence. Tara took her first step towards the door and Amunet grabbed her arm.
"Wait." A hazy image was starting to take shape in her mind, brought on by nothing. "I do remember something. Water. Salt water. The sea." Amunet turned her gaze upwards to meet Tara's. Underdeveloped images were surfacing, bloated and barely recognizable. "He had hair the color of ashes."
Sat, November 14, 2074 6:47 am: Ethelden Palace- Amhurst,Veronaville
Kvornan ran his fingers down Tara's spine while she stared at the bedpost, her thoughts far away and growing more distant. The fluid rhythm of his caresses had almost succeeded in lulling her back to sleep when he stopped and gently tugged on the ends of her hair.
"It's just occurred to me that I've never seen you awake before noon," he teased. Tara yawned. 
"I've never actually been awake before noon." She glanced over his shoulder at the windows. "So that's what a sunrise looks like? Now my life is complete," she grumbled. Kvornan shot her a toothy grin, his silver eyes glittering with the light of dawn. Tara shoved him playfully at the center of his chest. "You have no right to be so uncharacteristically cheerful this early in the morning," she remarked. Kvornan kissed her shoulder.
"You give me something to be cheerful about," he said simply. Tara turned over onto her back, taking his hand in hers. She kissed each of his fingertips in turn, wondering what it was that blanched his skin to the color marble and what purpose it served.
"Tara, may we talk seriously for a moment?" She laid his hand down on the bed, giving over her full attention.
"Do you know what you're getting yourself into? And be honest with me." His eyes were searching. Had he just asked about whether she'd considered her own well-being? Did that mean he actually gave a damn?
"Yes, I think I can handle a misanthropic recluse who cares more for paint than people," she said with a shrug. Kvornan slipped his arm around her back and kissed her hair.
"I thought we were being serious," he said evenly. Tara rolled her eyes.
"I never agreed to that." Kvornan responded with a chastising look but she resolutely held his gaze. Tara would not be undermined by anyone, not even in small measures. If she wanted to be sarcastic then that was her privilege. She was the daughter of gods and kings. "Anyway," she continued. "I was being serious if a bit reductive. If I'm still here, it's because I'm willing to fight to keep you." Kvornan's lips narrowed to a thin line.
"'To fix me,' you mean," he corrected. Tara shook her head slowly.
"That... Has never even occurred to me."
"Hasn't it?" Tara sighed noisily.
"Kvornan, is this really worth discussing? You aren't interested in anything other than just passing the time of day with me and-"
"When have I ever given you that impression?"
"I don't know. Always? You're an insufferable bastard to me unless you're bored or horny or some combination of the two." Kvornan winced as though he had been struck. He brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers.
"I'll spend at least the next twenty-two years making it up to you," he whispered. There was something in his tone that arrested and aged her within the stretch of just a few seconds. Part of her wanted to laugh her childish, breathless laugh and suggest that he repay her in sexual favors. But a still greater part of her wanted to sit in silence, savoring the idea that maybe he was done with attempts to be rid of her. He pulled her in closer and their lips met briefly. "I just need to know that you're willing to make a potentially enormous mistake."
Tara smiled wearily. She now knew him well enough as a man not to be frightened by him as a monster or even awed by him as a deity. If she were going to make an enormous mistake, then now would be the time. The risks involved in spending her life with him were as unpredictable as they were innumerable. But there was no walking away. This was her singular purpose.
"You know, when I was a little girl, I used to stand underneath your balcony for hours on end in all kinds of weather?"
"Yes, I did know as a matter of fact. I thought of you as the sort of problem that would go away if I just ignored it." Tara felt a twinge for her thirteen-year-old self.
"I suspected as much," she grumbled.
"But then you got older and prettier and infinitely more difficult to ignore." Kvornan shifted his weight, tipping her back onto the bed.
"Don't even think about it! I'm much too tired," Tara laughed. Kvornan wrapped his legs around her until he was straddling her. He gently lowered his body on top of hers. His hair smelled like incense and for an instant, Tara was transported back to a long forgotten day from her childhood when he had found her in the kitchens looking for cakes before afternoon prayer. Wordlessly, he'd scooped her up and carried her to the temple over his shoulder. She remembered thinking that he was stronger than her father and less fun than the priests. It was the most amount of interaction that the two of them would have for another fifteen years.
"Spend the day with me," he said, rubbing the tip of his nose against hers. Tara squirmed playfully.
"I'll do whatever you want just let me go to sleep!"
"That simple, is it?" He dragged his fingertips down the side of her torso, where he knew her to be ticklish and she squealed. The sensation made her eyes brim over with tears. "I'll let you sleep but on one condition."
"Anything!"
"When you wake up, I want you to fix me."
Tues, November 10, 2074 1:05 am: Ethelden Palace- Amhurst, Veronaville
Kvornan froze, listening to the feather-light approach of Tara's slippered feet. Lately, he was becoming more accustomed to that sound than he should have liked to be. He allowed her visits at first because she was the only creature in all of existence bold enough to make them. But as time progressed, he began to worry that their relationship was inviting catastrophe. He would need to push her away.
Tara opened the door without knocking. Ordinarily, their ritual would begin with him chastising her about walking in on him in that way but tonight, he kept silent. Such admonitions were worse than useless.
As she drew nearer, he was finding it increasingly difficult to focus on his work. She had a scent that was rich and warm and deep like the forest floor thawing in early spring. It had driven him to distraction on more than one occasion. Tara stood by and watched him paint for a moment before speaking.
"I honor the divinity within you, Kvornan Sheut of Proximus Deus." They never addressed one another so formally and he wondered what caprice had brought that on.
"And I yours but I regret to inform you that I have neither the time nor the desire to play games with children tonight." Tara snorted incredulously.
"I should have thought that you had nothing but time."
"Time and tedious company, it would seem. What do you want, Daughter of Oberon?"
Kvornan shot a glance at her over his shoulder and immediately wished that he hadn't. He was in an unusually stubborn mood and her cleverness wouldn't sway him. He had already fed that night and her scent would likewise do little. But her beauty was as formidable as ever. He fought back the urge to touch her.
"Sef says that you haven't eaten anything in six days. Or at least nothing that the rest of us would count as food," she said.
"What is Sef now? My nanny? I'm fasting this month."
"How very pious of you."
"It isn't piety. It's penance."
"May I ask what for?"
"No, you may not."
"Would you at least look at me when I'm speaking to you?"
"Don't you have anything better to do, Princess?"
Rampant waves of disappointment undulated from her body and washed over his. He tossed his brush and palette noisily to the floor, knowing that the under painting was now officially postponed. Tara laid her hands on his bare shoulders and spun him about.
"Have I done something wrong," she asked, wiping the blood from his lips with her sleeve. Her gentleness put him in an awkward position. Damn her. This would be the final straw in disarming him.
"No, it isn't you. Listen, Tara- You shouldn't be here. I am an abomination and not just by the grace of my unconventional appetite." Tara gave his shoulders a quick squeeze.
"Have I ever judged you?" It was true that she hadn't. Kvornan met her gaze. There was concern in her iridescent eyes that did not pity. She knew better than to pity. For months, he'd been telling himself that her innocence prevented her from truly understanding (and consequently reviling) him but now he wasn't quite so certain. Perhaps she was harboring an affection that was utterly devoid of conditions.
"That's even worse," he whispered. Tara placed her hands on his back. Kvornan wondered at what point had it become acceptable for the two of them to stand so close to one another, with her chest loosely pressed against his. It was a miracle that he had never lost control and sank his teeth into her. He ran his fingers down her spine, finding that her dress was adorned with some sort of ridged pattern. Kvornan pulled away from her before she noticed his immediate and unanticipated arousal.
Tara moved over to the windows and peered outward at the early morning. Kvornan took a seat on the bench behind her and stared at the floor, trying to will away his erection.
"You've been to see Elise, haven't you?" Kvornan was startled by her question.
"What makes you say that?"
"The fasting. I couldn't think of another sin that would warrant it." Kvornan leaned forward.
"If you must know, then yes. I spoke with her. I've been channeling her while she sleeps. But I probably won't do it again. She has a tendency to want to recreate the House in her dreams and it attracts certain entities that I'd rather not encounter."
"What you did is forbidden, Kvornan."
"And well I know it but I intend to be a part of her life." Tara folded her arms over her chest and shook her head. She was vaguely angry. He watched her shift her center of gravity from one foot to the next. Her long velvet gown floated away from her body, suggesting an enticingly round set of hips. Kvornan rose from his chair. Screw it.
"I know that you mean well by her," she said quietly.
"Ultimately, I'm going to have to disagree with you, Princess. I do not mean well. My motives are purely selfish. I'm finding it increasingly difficult to live without the person that I live for."
Kvornan inched closer to her, losing himself her in scent. God but she was intoxicating.
"Moreover," he said. "It is entirely unfair that any and every manner of wretch is free to encounter her while I am expected to keep a discreet distance." He wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder. "This won't be the end of the world," he promised.
"You can't really guarantee that," she countered. "You're a danger to her." Kvornan was stung.
"You don't really believe that, do you?" Tara shrugged.
"I believe you love her too much to let her go when the time comes."
Kvornan sighed. He no longer wished to discuss their vague and ominous future.
"Let's talk about something else," he suggested.
"Like what?" Kvornan grinned and took her hands. He delivered a strong jolt of energy through her body, mingling his light with hers. Tara's cheeks grew hot from bashfulness.
"You aren't terribly hungry at the moment, are you," he asked. "Because I imagine that the two of us will be heavily occupied through breakfast and sound asleep through lunch."
