Swallowing Flies

Under different circumstances, Dove would have been proud of herself for managing Gloria across the city on her own. The old pony seemed to have finally accepted the ungainly halfling atop her back, and riding had gotten easier for Dove in these past few hours. But as it was, Dove only had room in her mind for one thing —
 
Dominic alone in a cell.
 
Just before delving into the tunnels after Solomon, that noble-hearted bastard had told her she could stop running away from life, and could instead start running towards it. And now with Frost, Nicole, and even Solomon gone – with Dove feeling freer than she ever had in her life – she discovered that all she wanted to run towards was… Dominic. Trapped, alone, tortured, beyond her reach. Maybe gone forever, because of her.
 
Dove’s Green Lady had granted her the ability to speak to him through a mourning dove, appropriately enough. With the nauseating, expanded vision of her new bird eyes, she could perceive far too many details to the side and even a bit behind her. In comparison to Dove’s enlarged periphery, poor Dominic looked so small in front of her, despite the bird’s low perspective. As they talked, he had seemed disoriented, broken, keeping close to the little fire he’d conjured like it was the only thing keeping him sane. She knew how his magic worked. How much of his blood had he spilled to keep the fire going? And what had they done to make him so afraid of losing it?
 
Suffice it to say, she was no longer conflicted about killing the Shadowbys.
 
The plan was for Nicholas to stage a coup at Dominic’s trial, while Dove and Elinor took care of the remaining royal family within Shadowby castle. Leaving Dominic’s rescue to someone else — even someone as magically powerful as Nicholas — made Dove’s stomach churn, but her skills were needed elsewhere. Taking down the entire family at once might be their only chance, and her knack for stealth and connection to the serving class made her invaluable inside the castle. She just hoped that Nicholas would do as she advised and not reveal her role in the plan, or Dom would certainly come after her, right back into the belly of the beast. Noble-hearted bastard.
 
Goddesses, he made her so mad. Where was his sense of self-preservation? And why must they play this game, of taking turns eclipsing the other’s mayhem until the entire country is in ruins? Dove killed Frost, so Dominic killed Prince Solomon, so now Dove aimed for the entire Shadowby line. It reminded her of the children’s fable the nuns used to tell at Merciful Hands: the foolish old witch who swallowed a fly. Crazy woman kept swallowing larger and larger animals, whose wriggling, terrified bodies could be seen moving under the witch’s skin. What happened to her? Didn’t she explode and die in the end?
 
Dove desperately wanted to see Dominic again before one or both of them died, too. Because, sure, he was infuriating sometimes. But also, he made her feel safe, and seen, and cared for. She felt at home with him, and had never told him that. There was an opportunity, in the cell as she stared up at him through disconcerting bird eyes. She knew it might be her last chance. And yet, she could not speak the words. After everything, she was still a coward, through and through.
 
It was just that — she wanted to do it right. To sit him down and finally tell him everything. With her own body, her own face, her own eyes, where they could see each other properly. He deserved that much. Hell, she deserved it, too. (Besides, one more minute inside of that bird brain would have made her puke for certain. Not exactly romantic.)
 
Dove’s thoughts were interrupted when Gloria rounded the flowery Blumett hedges, revealing Elinor and Dahlia stretched out on the lawn some distance away. They appeared to be flipping through the Sterling’s spell book together. Dove watched as Dahlia took Elinor’s hand. Picture perfect in the early-morning Blumett gardens, the two noble ladies intertwined fingers with a comfortable familiarity.
 
Nicholas’s words came to mind, from hours before. “It could be my last night alive,” he’d said, “and I want to spend it in the arms of the man I love.” Nicholas was with Gale. Elinor was with Dahlia. Dove was happy for them.
 
But Dominic was alone in a cell.
 
The urge to flee prickled up her spine, a sudden desire to ride Gloria out of there and run from her loneliness like always. The thought was tempting — it was so easy to just run — but then, Elinor noticed Dove’s arrival. The Sterling woman smiled and waved a sort of clunky hello with the hand that still held her spell book.
 
In that moment, while Dove looked at her lady, the ending of the fable suddenly came to her. The old witch didn’t, as a matter of fact, explode and die. Dove had forgotten that another character always appeared just before disaster struck: a calm, wise mage who extracted all the animals from the witch’s belly, chiding her a little for her foolishness. The nuns’ gruesome storytelling had always spooked young Alidove, but in this moment, the tale filled grown-up Dove with a newfound hope. She would not be alone. At her back was Elinor Sterling: the most accomplished woman in the gentry, the most talented wizard that Regencia had to offer, the smartest person Dove knew. Elinor, of course, would be their calm, wise storybook mage. If anyone could extract Dominic from this mess, it was her.
 
“Trust in Elinor’s plan,” Dove muttered to herself. Then, thinking also of the numerous times Nicholas’s quick-thinking sorcery got them out of a bind, she added, “Trust in Nicholas’s magic.” She repeated these words under her breath a few times, feeling the confidence they bolstered within her. “Trust in Elinor’s plan. Trust in Nicholas’s magic. Dominic will not die today.”
 
Directing Gloria up to the couple, Dove couldn’t help but notice a difference about her ladyship, an ease she wasn’t used to seeing in the woman’s posture. Upon closer inspection, there also appeared to be some runic marks poking out from under Elinor’s unbuttoned collar. Surely not tattoos?
 
“Woah, Elinor. Something about you just seems so cool,” Dove couldn’t help but tease. “Wait. Is that a hickey? Okay, yeah, you’re definitely cooler. Hi ho, Lady Dahlia.” She gave a nod to the fellow red-head, who returned a happy nod of her own.
 
With a good-humored eye-roll, Elinor shut the spell book. Surprisingly, she did not scold Dove for her uncouth jokes. “Hello, Dove. Were you able to have a productive night?”
 
The halfling awkwardly slipped off her pony, landing at about eye level with the seated humans. She sat down and took a steadying breath, determined to sound calm about her update. “My, er, Patron helped me speak with Dominic. He is alive, and he knows Nick will be coming for him. He has his whispering stone back, too.” She successfully swallowed the lump in her throat, and continued. “A message has been sent to Berig, so we can count on him being there. And I think I somehow won the Vaneforges over. Which by the way, have you met Bernard’s sister? She’s a delight.”
 
“I haven’t had the pleasure, no. Great work, though, Dove.”
 
“I’m curious about your night too, but a little afraid to ask…” Dove raised her brows suggestively at the pair. In response, Dahlia rested her chin on Elinor’s shoulder and gave a cheeky grin.
 
“Oh, hush,” Elinor groaned, yet she didn’t even blush at the implication. Yes, there was a sort of happy confidence about her that Dove thought suited her well. “I received confirmation from the Bouldertons and the Blumetts on their support in today’s proceedings.”
 
Dahlia chimed in, “Oh, you barely even had to ask, darling. You know our family has your back, always.”
 
Elinor sighed. “I still can’t help but feel you should be less forthcoming with your support. We could all very well be executed for treason today.”
 
“They’d have to get through me first.” Dahlia gently touched Elinor’s nose. “Besides, that’s later. This moment is perfectly lovely, and I won’t have it spoiled by your worrying.” Yielding, Elinor pressed smiling lips to the top of Dahlia’s head.
 
The Lady Blumett was right, though. It was lovely here, despite everything. Daybreak had begun to warm the well-tended gardens, and birdsong filled the air in response to the morning light. Dove had her eyes closed, trying to identify flowers by their heavenly scents, when a familiar buzzing sound approached them. One particularly large bumblebee flew in and landed on Dove’s shoulder. “Helllooooobzzzzzz,” the furry thing droned, almost dreamily.
 
Dove blinked in delight. “Honey! What are you doing out here?”
 
Honey nuzzled against Dove’s cheek while Elinor answered for her. “Dahlia suggested she join us inside the castle. She may come in handy, don’t you think?”
 
“Oh, my sweet Honey,” Dove cooed, scratching her little friend’s head with one finger. “Would you like to help us overthrow the government today?”
 
“Soundzzzzzzz fun,” Honey buzzed. Her fluffy yellow body glowed in the most charming way under the light of the morning sun. Dove breathed in deeply, savoring this moment of peace her friends had carved out amidst the chaos. Her heart ached, and her whole body felt heavy. Rest, it seemed to say, as if recognizing this as the last time she would feel such safety.
 
Dove’s eyelids drooped. “How long do we have before it’s time?”
 
“We presume the trial will begin in an hour or so,” Elinor murmured into Dahlia’s hair.
 
“Perfect. Just long enough for a little nap.” The tired halfling reclined on the absurdly soft grass, cupping her bumblebee buddy in one careful hand. “Honey, snuggle up. You can be my pillow.”
 
Nearby, Gloria began to graze. Dahlia hummed a soft tune, weaving her melody around the chirps of nearby songbirds. Honey’s fuzzy body tickled Dove’s nose as the bee settled down next to her face. In this impossible little haven, Dove almost felt… serene. Happy, even. As long as she didn’t think about Nicholas and Berig staging a coup, or Elinor and herself striding directly into a den of monsters. As long as she didn’t think about what could happen to Dominic. For just a moment, in the eye of the storm, she could pretend that everything would be alright.
 
“Trust in Elinor’s plan,” she mumbled to herself. “Trust in Nicholas’s magic.”
 
Before she knew it, she was asleep. Blessedly, she dreamed pleasant dreams, of lavender fields, of mourning dove calls, of the man she loved lying safe in her arms.