Riven was mummified. Before he could step one foot into the hospital where Rose and Glaven lay, he’d been sterilized everywhere. He’d been forced to gurgle some abhorrent liquid to clean his breath. His head was covered in some transparent bag, and his hands and legs were stuffed into similar ones. He’d asked for a wheelchair because surely they weren’t expecting him to walk around like this? Request denied. Riven had needed at least ten times as long as normal to reach Rose’s room on the second floor in Providence’s largest hospital.

He paused at the doorway, blinking away sudden moistness in his eyes. Rose as up, her back resting against a pillow. She faced him from the little book she was reading when his shadow fell across the room. “Riven! I was wondering when you’d be back.”

Riven stepped inside, then turned to softly shut the door, more to hide his face from her than for any actual need for privacy. Blinking wasn’t working, so he furiously dabbed at his eyes with his fingers.

“Hey, Riven.” She snapped her fingers, and the sound made him whip around. “Come sit beside me, you idiot.”

His eyes still felt wet, but Riven smiled and complied. They always kept a chair for visitors beside the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Never been better.”

“Seriously.”

Rose’s mouth quirked downf like the time had come to take her mandatory dosage of awful medicine. “I’m fine, Riven.” She raised one hand, the one that had no marks or injuries, and clenched the fist, muscles visibly tautening on her forearm. “See, nothing to worry about.”

Riven didn’t reply. Couldn’t, even had he wanted to. How could she be fine when she still wore that silly hospital gown? When her left arm fully encased in bandages and a cast, when where her right eye should have been was headwrap of white gauze covering up all her hair and half her face, stained red and yellow in front of the eye socket? “How can you be fine when—”

She placed her uninjured hand on his, giving his fingers a tight squeeze. “Remember what Mother used to say all the time?”

“She used to say a lot of things.”

“Have faith.”

Have faith. Hadn’t Mother said something similar in her last letter, the one Riven had brought with him from Norreston? Which reminded him, he needed to send her a letter soon. So much had happened. But then, how much could he tell her if he didn’t want to make her worry overmuch? What a headache. “I remember.”

“I remember too. Too much really.” She looked away and out the window, where the sun was slowly setting, shading the city with a burnished hue. “Remember how Father wouldn’t let us get out of that villa at all? Or let anyone in? We’d play hide and seek and literally never find each other. And damn, Glaven used to get into so many fights with everyone at school. He’d come home bloody and dirty, and Mother would hide him away just so Father wouldn’t see.”

“And you got all the lessons. Piano, violin, flute, sewing, cotillion, fencing, and I’m forgetting so many others.”

“Hey.” She looked back at him again, a light dancing in her dark eyes. “You got lessons too. You swim better than me, and ride better too. Did you bring your violin here?”

Riven shook his head. “I just did the required ones. You kept excelling in everything in a matter of weeks then jumping to the next until you graduated school.” His smile faltered a little. “And then you became an Essentier.”

“And now you are too.” She smiled at him. “Congratulations, little brother.”

Riven smiled, flushing a little. It didn’t feel right. There was nothing to celebrate. He’d give it away without a second’s thought if it meant Rose would be all right. And Glaven too.

“I want to know about your Defining Act, Riven,” Rose said. “Was it during the fight with the Deadmage?”

“No. Not exactly. I’m not totally sure.” That was a lie, and he didn’t want to have to lie about the crystal. But he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to talk about it, now that Father was involved too. “What was yours? Come to think of it, what’s your Essence?”

“Orbit. I can make nearby objects orbit me in any way I want. But the Defining Act… that’s a tough one. I don’t think I had one, honestly.”

“Wait. Don’t all Essentiers need a Defining Act?”

“No. But I guess, I can’t expect you to know this.” She leaned back, taking a sip of water from her glass and smacking her lips together. “Defining Acts fall under the greater umbrella of the Mortal Acts. An instantaneous moment that grants you access to your Essence is called a Defining Act, often signified by a time of great change, upheaval, hardship, and so on. But that’s only one way of getting unlocking your Essence. Others have Impersonal Acts, Abstract Acts, and Identity Acts—which is what happened to me. It wasn’t one single moment. More like, little things that built up over time and one day, I could suddenly use my Essence.”

Riven didn’t say anything for a while and they were content to sit in silence. There wasn’t much in the room to distract him, sadly. Just her bed, a small table with a drawer underneath, and the chair he sat on. The conversation was still in volatile territory, and he needed to get it out. Outside, the Septillion sun was sinking, and everything was gold, trapped in amber, as though Father’s eyes had conquered the world. Father’s, Glaven’s, and Riven’s. But not Rose.

“What will happen to Glaven if he dies?” Riven asked, heart jerking at the twist his words brought on Rose’s face.

“He won’t die, Riven,” she said. “If he does, then there will be a funeral. A wake maybe. I—I’m not sure, mostly because that bastard doesn’t know how to die.”

She tried for an easy grin, and if Riven was a good brother, he’d take the olive branch and drop it. He was a terrible brother though. Rose and Glaven wouldn’t be in the hospital if he’d been a good brother. “I meant, he’d turn into a Deathless. But… what kind?”

“What?”

“You… don’t know?”

“What in the Chasm are you talking about, Riven?”

He swallowed. Could the Deadmage have been lying, or was it some secret knowledge even Rose was unaware of? She was looking intently at him, sitting up ruler-straight. Well, he’d tipped himself over the edge. No way to stop the fall now.

Taking a deep breath, Riven told her everything the Deadmage had mentioned during the fight.

“That can’t be true,” Rose whispered.

“So you don’t know.”

“I’ve never heard of any such thing. I’ve seen dead Essentier bodies, and no Deathless I’ve ever faced has looked like an Essentier I knew. It can’t—”

Can’t. No, Rose wasn’t one to simply state can’t. She’d investigate even the smallest hint of something she had no idea about, not stopping until she’d gotten to the bottom of the matter. That’s likely why she was involved with the Sept research.

“Rose, I need to know about your research,” Riven said. “Haven’t you ever thought it’d be great if we could take it further in the medicinal direction?”

“What are you talking about?” Her eyes were far away, as though he had torn the ground from beneath her.

“Sept can be used to heal, right? Maybe if more research was carried on its healing properties, we could find a way to cure Mother.”

“Mother… I don’t think she can be cured magically like that. If anything, Sept might make it worse for her.”

Riven frowned. “What do you mean?”

Rose grimaced, and her free hand gripped the sheets tight for a second. For a second, her eyes shifted away from Riven and his frown grew deeper. Rose only did that when she was lying. “That’s not how I know it to work. We can still try though. Once I’m out of here.”

Riven swallowed. Stupid. So stupid of him. He was stressing her out with his idiotic talk about the Deadmage and Mother’s illness. “No rush. Get better, and rest. Take your time.”

She peered at him, then leaned back. Another few moments of companionable silence. A medicer dropped in a while later, announcing that Riven had expended his visiting time and had to leave. Rose tried to shoo the man away, but Riven stopped her.

“I need to get ready for the Monastical anyway,” he said. “Rest up and get well, Rose.”

“Monastical.” Rose smiled. “Knowing Father, you’d definitely better get ready. And soon.”

Riven embraced her, careful of her injuries. Enclosed in this silly hospital gown and half-buried in blankets, she seemed small to him, reduced by her injuries to much less than what she normally was. But he enjoyed the warmth and the intimacy. The last hug he’d given—to Mother—had been weak. Soft. Frightening. Not so now.

Rose placed her free hand on his back, giving a few, light, elder-sisterly pats. Calm and reassuring of better times. Promising strength and resilience.

“Take care, little brother,” she whispered. “The world isn’t easy out there when you’re an Essentier.”

Riven left, waving as he passed out of her room. His departing smile was a little forced. For all that Rose was trying to be nice and helpful, she didn’t believe Mother would survive.

He took a moment to orient himself. Left was the exit. Left the way downstairs then outside, and onto the Monastical after that. But he went right. Damn it, but he had brotherly duties.

Glaven’s room was on the opposite side of the floor from Rose’s. His door was closed but not locked. Riven knocked for propriety’s sake, and maybe for some foolish hope that Glaven would arise from his slumber just to berate Riven for disturbing him. No such luck. Inside the room, his brother still lay flat on his bed, unmoving and lost to the world.

Riven hesitated at the doorstep. What was the point of going inside? It wasn’t like there was any change from the last time Riven had been here. Wasn’t like he had anything to say the arrogant arse. Wasn’t like Riven had to show he cared.

So he turned on his heels and left. The Monastical awaited, where what Riven had to do was perfectly clear.

#

Sombre was the mood a Monastical normally evoked for one who was incapacitated to the point of being unable to participate in life. Not so with the Monastical for Glaven.

Father had spared no expenses for his little showing. The large Haven built like a giant dome—behind which Riven had fought his first Deadmage—housed the function, and the windows displayed a wide vista of the burnt and scorched ground, blackened stumps like benches for the ones who didn’t have space to sit within. Not that anyone could use them for seats. A Septfall had started, tiny pieces of Sept raining down all over the area like the sprinkling of first winter snows, and light though it was, no one wanted to get caught outside if it turned into a storm.

Contrary to the darkness outside, it was light and airy inside. Chandeliers hung from the high, hemispheric ceiling of the main hall, and more modern electric lamps line the walls closer to the floor, making the cream walls appear golden.

When Father had let it known that there was to be a Monastical, the whole of Providence Demesne had tried to show up. Even now, after many of the hopeful attendees had been told that space was limited and reserved for special guests, they crammed into the Haven. Riven had taken a stroll to get a sense of the numbers, and had rapidly returned. It had been obviously too many since the Septfall ensured they couldn’t let anyone stay outside without shelter.

Ridiculous. All because the richer folk were supposed to attend. Couldn’t ignore the Monastical of the Invigilator’s sone after, though the politics went both ways. Father couldn’t risk offending them by letting the designated spaces get filled up by people who were here first.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Viriya asked.

Riven stared down from the gallery. Up here, only the select few got to ensconce themselves while the rest all milled about on the floor of the main hall. “Father.”

“I can’t even see him.”

“Neither can I. Might be easier down there though.”

“That’s a stupid idea.”

Riven scowled at her, which was a mistake. Now he couldn’t look away. She dressed up for the occasion, and Riven had to admit he had imagined some variant of her Essentier uniform to come into play. Instead, she wore a black dress with white lacework, the white-trimmed skirt reaching just below her knees. No sleeves, but her gauzy gloves extended all the way to her shoulders. Her hair fell in lazy ringlets pinned by a beryl-adorned comb, and she’d even put on light makeup. Viriya looked like she’d stepped out of a painting, one that was too priceless to be hung up and displayed for all to see.

He tore his eyes from her. “That’s the only reason I’m here.”

She sighed, facing the packed hall . “Yes.”

Riven maintained a respectful distance between them. Much as he disliked the preferential treatment the ones on the gallery got, thank the Scions he wasn’t pressed right up against Viriya. “You know, we’re together an awful lot. I just… worry that some people might get the wrong implication.”

“…yes.”

He frowned at her. She was still staring down at the packed hall. “Am I overthinking this?”

“Yes.”

“Is that all you have to say.”

Her eyes flickered to him for a second, green as the beryl in her hair, and her lips quirked in her barely-there smile. “Yes?”

Riven’s lips tried to draw into a smile as well, but he held them back. What was there to smile about? He pulled himself from the railing, and made to walk towards the stairs. “I’m going now. Unless you want to throw me off. I’ll be fine since there’s so many people to land on.”

“You should wear suits more often. You look good.”

Riven felt a flush creep up his neck, the heat clouding his thoughts. “Look who’s talking.”

Viriya blinked. “What kind of a backwards compliment is that?”

Riven made haste towards the stairs before he could embarrass himself any further. Too many people crowded the landing, and the mixture of their low babble and heady perfumes assaulted his senses with the force of battering rams. Riven needed to be free. Chasm, if this was bad, what would it be like downstairs in the press of so many more?

“Hey, Riven.” Rio waved at him from halfway down the stairs. “Where’ve you been lurking? I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Riven scowled again. Crap. If he’d known Rio would be here, he’d have used the staircase on the other end, however farther away it might have been. He turned. Why wouldn’t Rio take a hint and leave him alone? The sheer audacity of him to pretend like he had done no wrong. Like he hadn’t left Riven for dead against the Deathless at the Consulate.

“Hey, I’m taking to you.”

Rio grabbed Riven’s shoulder when he reached the top of the staircase again. His fists clenched. Chasm, what wouldn’t give to surrender to the urge to whirl around fast enough that Rio fell back. That’d teach him to grab Riven like that.

“What do you want?” Riven asked through gritted teeth.

“You can’t just run away like that, Riven.”

Riven whirled. Rio was besuited in a dark blazer with a tie the colour of red wine. It clashed oddly with his earring and nose pin. “Running away. Don’t talk, Rio. You don’t even know the meaning of running away.”

“I explained at your father’s office, didn’t I? I had to go, Riven. You think I’d still be here, any of us would still be here, if the Arnish delegation had been in an even worse shape? Scions forbid, if they were wiped out? Vedel Arn would have declared war. We’d be gearing up for rationing and conscription, not praying for the brave sacrifice of your brother.”

“Oh, so you’re a hero now? You coddled a handful of children into not starting a pointless fight, so you’re absolved of all blame?”

Rio sighed and stepped back. People took surreptitious pot-shot glances at them, and Rio stared at each of them pointedly until they looked away and didn’t dare turn their head again. “Looks like there’s no reasoning with you Riven. What do you want?”

“I want an apology. I want to know why you decided your little act of heroism was more important than helping me with the Deadmage?”

That grin Rio always held on to turned nasty. He stepped in close again, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper, a flash of lurid violet flaming in his pale eyes. “And will you explain to me why you ratted to everyone about the Sept crystal? Will you tell me where it is, so I can keep it secret since you’re doing an abysmal job of it?”

Riven swallowed, suddenly cold all over. He stared into Rio’s eyes, angrier than he’d ever seen them, and there was nothing he could reply with. Rio was right after all. Riven had told Father about the Sept crystal, and he’d even intended to reveal its existence to Viriya and Rose. But how did Rio know? Who could’ve— “It was Father, wasn’t it?”

“Why don’t you go and find out? That’s what you were about to do, weren’t you?”

Riven turned and barrelled down the stairs before he could start spitting curses at Rio. Damn, traitorous bastard. Sure, Riven might have done the betraying first, but Rio couldn’t have known about it before he’d left Riven for dead, could he? What was his relationship with Father?

Downstairs was as much a mess as he feared it’d be. The Monast’s sermon was loud here, the acoustics of the hall making sure Riven heard the prayers even this far back from the front.

“If there was ever a time we must band together, my fellow supplicants, it is now,” the bald old man said. “One of our nearest and dearest has fallen, and now he lies in that edge between life and death. Too young, torn from his greatest years on this mortal plane, he deserves not such a fate. He has sacrificed himself to keep us all safe. It befalls us then, to pray. To beseech. To send our wishes up to the almighty Scions above. So raise your hands…”

The Monast stood behind a large stone altar, standing on white stone steps with a wide platform behind him bearing an array of paintings of the Scions and the Chosen, and one lone photograph of Glaven. Riven had seen his brother often enough, so the paintings drew him in. The Scions were depicted as constellations in the sky with nebulas of swirling colours twisting around them, and several figures were on their knees in supplication on the ground. Not any random figures though. Some wore brilliant armour in shades of white, black, gold, red or silver, others were wreathed in cloaks ranging from every style and make from shimmering iridescence to deepest ink, and some even wore more modern dresses and suits. What a strange collection of people.

Riven strayed to the walls, and kept himself from staring at those who watched him as he passed by. Rows upon rows of benches had been laid out all over the floor, people sitting side by side ready to offer their heartfelt thoughts and prayers for Glaven, the poor bastard.

Father was near the head of the large gathering, wearing a rich suit of black satin and just where Riven had expected him to be. He needed to get to Father, but how? Bad enough he’d been breaking everyone’s concentration as the only person still on his feet downstairs besides the Monast, physically disrupting by pulling Father didn’t sound like a good idea.

So he inserted himself between Father and the man sitting beside him.

“What in the—” the man spluttered.

“Apologies sir, please excuse me.” Riven squeezed between them. No easy feat, given the man was more a walrus and Father wasn’t exactly slim and trim as he used to be. Had to be all that sitting. “All the seats behind where taken and this was the only one available.”

The man stared around, and Riven noted his irritation giving way to glumness. It was as Riven said, the whole hall was packed. He turned to glare back anyway, but Riven had already started mouthing the prayers and following along. The man was about to say something, but then he caught sight of Father and subsided.

“Can we talk, Father?” Riven asked.

Father didn’t reply. His eyes were closed, hands clasped above his bowed head in penitence. And it took a while, so Riven had to play along, pretending that this sermon was important and would help Glaven get back on his feet as quickly as possible. Only when the Monast had concluded the first art and had granted everyone a contemplative pause, did Father deign to look at Riven.

“Why are you bothering me now, Riven?” he asked.

“You said to bother you today, didn’t you?”

“Let me rephrase, what are you here to bother me about, Riven?”

“Too many things. But no worries, I have a list of priorities and we’ll go down one by one. Firstly, did you tell Rio about the Sept crystal?”

“Yes. What of it?”

“Why?”

“That is none of your concern. Don’t waste your breath and my time with your endless curiosity and nosiness.”

“So you do have something going on with Rio,” Riven said. Father didn’t say anything to that. Fine. If that line was blocked off, then Riven had other matters. “Secondly, what about the Sept research, Father? I still need to get in on it.”

“You have other duties for now. As I told Viriya, these are desperate times.” Father glanced at him, amber eyes catching the light. “Priorities, as you said. Until they are completed, I cannot bother with all this Sept researching nonsense, and neither can anyone else.”

“So you cannot be bothered about Mother?”

“Don’t conflate the two, Riven. Guilt trips are another waste of time.”

“It wouldn’t be if you could feel guilt. But you’re too cold and remorseless for that.”

Father didn’t reply again. And why would he? Riven had ended the conversation with his suppositions, and he wasn’t one to rise at bait.

“Do you even care about what happens to Mother, Father?” Riven asked.

“I care about my whole family,” Father said, after a while. “It’s disheartening you find the need to ask.”

“When was the last time you sent her a letter, then?”

“We’ve corresponded.”

“And how is she?”

“The same as ever.”

“You don’t know,” Riven whispered. Father was about to say something, but Riven bowled over him. “You don’t care. You’re fine cloistering yourself in Providence and letting everyone else rot. This whole thing with the Monastical, is it even really about Glaven? How is praying supposed to help him wake up?”

Father stayed silent, looking ahead at the wide podium built for this Monastical. On Riven’s other side, the walrus man was clearly doing his best to fail at pretending not to eavesdrop on their conversation. Riven was about to ask him for his humble opinion on matters when Father spoke.

“If I know one thing Riven,” he said. “It is that your mother gave you the specific advice to have faith. Even if you intend to disregard that, I can assure you that your dreams of using Sept to find a cure are childish. Don’t you think I’ve exhausted all avenues to cure my own wife?”

“You don’t do a good job of showing it.”

“I am done with this conversation. You will need to step up with your brother and sister now incapacitated. As my only active child, you have a great duty towards Providence Demesne and to Resplend.”

“Duty to my country, but not to my family?”

“You will assume your duty as an Essentier under my command starting tomorrow. Viriya will let you know about the details. That will be all.”

Riven said nothing more. The Monast had climbed back to his regular position, his bald pate shining under the light, readying to continue his sermon and lead them all in prayer. There was no point continuing this stupid argument with Father.

So he bent his head along with everyone else and prayed. Damnit, if no one else listened, maybe the Scions would.