Chapter Text
The first time they met, big fluffy snowflakes were falling from the darkening sky.
It covered the world in a white blanket; everything from the small houses to the high castle walls towering above them. Happy voices echoed through the still evening, dancing through the air around a group of children playing in the snow outside their home. Marco, the oldest of them, was on his knees rolling a growing ball across the ground, planning to make it the base of a snowman. He had just pressed it into place when another boy appeared seemingly from nowhere.
‘Oh!’ the boy sounded, eyes lit up with excitement from seeing what Marco and his siblings were doing. ‘Can I join too?’
The youngest children, the six-year-old twins Macy and Milo, nodded eagerly before proceeding with their messy snow angels, their laughter loud and unashamed. The middle one, Maria, neither welcomed nor told him to leave. She just gazed out from under her long bangs with cautious eyes, waiting.
Giving his sister a quick glance, Marco rose to his feet and turned to face the stranger. Even from this distance he could tell that the blond boy was better dressed than either of them; the dark colour of his cloak glimmered clean and beautiful in the faint light from the windows, and its fur made sure he stayed warm. His age was harder to tell, but he at least looked younger than Marco. Not much, perhaps, but enough to make it peculiar to see him there alone. Even Marco wasn’t allowed to go too far away on his own.
The boy stepped closer, his eyes darting from the squealing twins to the silent girl by the snowman-to-be and finally back to Marco. He frowned a little, but his expression was otherwise open as he asked again with a tilt of his head if it was all right.
Marco brushed his uncertainty aside and smiled. It was just another child; nothing to worry about. ‘Sure!’ he beamed, waving the stranger closer, and the boy leapt forward eagerly. ‘You can help with the next snow ball!’
Time passed by unnoticed while the children played. With combined strength they managed to build the snowman so high it matched Marco’s height, and celebrated their victory with a snow war as great as the epic battles the minstrels sung about during festivals.
But their laughter was cut short by a sudden roar coming from what sounded like the castle wall itself. The wall was built thick and strong and sound barely ever travelled over it, so the screaming person must be somewhere on this side, still hidden from view.
‘For the sake of the Gods, come forth immediately!’ The order was soon followed by the woman commanding it, her plump form appearing from the white fog as she struggled with her skirts through the deep snow.
The boy froze where he sat beside Marco. ‘Shit.’
Marco looked from him to the approaching woman, bemused. He had no idea who she was, or why she was charging towards them at such a furious speed. But there was no time for him to ask, even less to get a straight answer.
‘This is outrageous!’ she bellowed as she came closer, her eyes taking in the scene. Both Marco and the boy quickly rose to their feet, and when the woman sent the twins a furious glare, they leapt up like they’d been burned and ran to Marco’s side. He waved them behind him; their tiny hands clutched his clothes as they peeked around his legs at the angry ogre stomping through their best snow angels.
The woman reached out, almost as if she intended to hit someone. Marco reeled back, making sure he stayed between her and the twins. But she had no interest in either him or his siblings. Her hand grabbed hold of the other boy’s elbow, tugging him hard away from the group.
‘Ouch, that hurts!’ he complained and tried to shove her off him. But her fingers held him in an iron grip, her nostrils flaring as she dragged him back the way she had come, ignoring his protests.
‘Unacceptable! Absolutely unacceptable behaviour from a son of your family! I’ve been searching for you for hours. You ought to be happy the lord’s still out of the city, but your mother is fuming, let me assure you—’
By the time the boy tore himself free and stepped back towards them, Marco was staring with mouth hanging open, hardly believing his ears. It was… it was the prince. He knew there were three of them and had seen the two older ones a few brief times when they rode through the city with the duke. Their younger brother, though? He was nothing more than a name.
The prince glared at the woman, his earlier bright smile replaced by a defiant scowl. ‘You have no right to force me to come with you! I’m not done playing here yet, and will stay until I choose to leave.’
‘It is not suitable for a prince to play with the filth!’ the woman hissed and sent the group such a fierce stare Marco backed away, pushing his siblings along behind him. Maria had scrambled up from the shadow of the snowman, now hiding by Marco’s shoulder instead.
‘They’re my friends!’
‘Friends?’ She said it with a harsh laugh, shaking her head at the prince’s ridiculous suggestion. ‘That is absurd. What means of witchcraft have they performed to lure Your Highness to that conclusion?’
The prince opened his mouth to protest, but then stopped himself and turned his head to stare at them with wide eyes.
Cold dread seeped through Marco’s bones. He clasped his fingers around two trembling hands, holding them tight as he backed away again. No, no, not that. Anything but that—
‘They look awfully guilty,’ the woman pointed out and warded off evil with a frenetic gesture of her hand.
The prince frowned, considering, before facing towards her again. ‘I chose to come here by my own will. No one has bewitched me.’
‘That’s exactly what the spell would have made you think, Highness. The only way to prove me wrong is to come along back to the castle this instant. Otherwise, I’m forced to tell the guards about these devil’s children lurking so close to our walls.’
Marco couldn’t speak. His mouth was dry from fear, and the panic building in his chest threatened to explode any second. All he was able to do was stare back at the prince with pleading eyes, hoping he understood how important it was that he left now without further fuss. It took a long moment before the boy finally sighed in surrender, broke his eye contact with Marco and glared at the woman as he stomped in her direction. He only briefly glanced back, mumbling something that might have been a goodbye or an apology or maybe nothing at all.
When the odd pair went back to where they had come from, the prince refusing to step any closer to the court woman, the children stirred behind Marco’s stiff back. A moment later their mother’s voice called from the house, urging them to join her and father at the table. The twins managed with some struggle to get their fingers free from Marco’s cold grip, and then eagerly ran toward the door standing ajar, already back in their usual good mood.
Marco turned slowly and met Maria’s solemn eyes. She understood in a way the twins didn’t and he could tell that she was scared, despite her expressionless face. He wanted to reassure her, but he was still too shaken himself to get any words out.
‘Children!’ their mother called again, her thin figure appearing in the light of the doorway. ‘Come now!’
They shivered and hurried inside, away from the surrounding darkness.
When their parents heard of what had happened, they were concerned but told their children not to worry. Witchcraft was a serious crime and dangerous to be accused of, but despite the harsh laws people weren’t executed without a proper trial. At least not in this city.
Their words settled Maria into security, and she was eager to wolf down her part of the food. But it took days before Marco could shake off the unease. The rest of the family thought they were all safe, but he knew that if he was ever to be brought to that kind of trial, innocence wouldn’t free him.
Afraid to worry his parents, Marco remained silent about the matter. He had kept it to himself for five months already and had no intention to tell anyone unless he was forced to. Luck was on his side this time, for no police appeared on their door step to either question or arrest him.
And as days became weeks, and weeks brought them deeper into the coldest months of winter, his secret stayed hidden in the dark of starless nights.
* * *
A layer of newly fallen snow graced the ground, so thin the grass and crumbled leaves still were visible underneath it. The sky had a greyish white colour, like the ceiling of a dome without edges and not even the tiniest crack of blue. Wind was brief, the naked tree branches still like in the paintings decorating the great halls. It was the beginning of winter, two years after their first meeting, and Prince Jean was stomping across the courtyard, cursing vibrantly under his breath.
He had already thrown away the practice sword, hoping the sight of it so carelessly left in a bush would anger his fencing master enough to tell his father. It had been a while since they last argued, and he wouldn’t say no to an excuse to scream in the face of the man who’d sired him, but now only spoke to him if he had any complaints.
Jean kicked at a frozen sunflower sticking up from the ground, wishing nothing else than for a chance to get away. He felt trapped, the endless grey above not even broken off by passing birds. Nothing. This place was like a prison, and the wall did nothing but make him more frustrated. Winter was the worst season of them all; the snow isolated him inside the castle for five months with no way to escape the life he loathed.
He was a season away from his fifteenth birthday. So close to the age his older brothers had been when they were first accepted into the Council, and yet so far from the maturity needed to achieve such a position. At least according to his father. Not that Jean cared. He didn’t want to be kept inside every light hour of the day and had told his father as much when the topic was last brought up.
He wasn’t Alden, or Erick, and definitely not Lord Kirschtein. Unfortunately, anything else was unacceptable.
Jean was rounding the east part of the castle at furious speed when he had to slow down not to run straight into Shadis having a heated conversation with a group of commoners. Well, the heat steamed mostly from the former captain; the man in front of him looked more pleading than angry, desperation making him bolder. Jean caught a few loose words from the discussion, ‘not enough time’ and ‘food for the children’ among them. He sighed. Shortage of food for the people was another reason to hate this season. Cursed snow.
‘You have a son that can do his part of the work!’ Shadis said with his intimidating voice, pointing straight at the tall boy standing behind the man. The boy’s shoulders tensed and a trace of guilt passed quickly across his face. There was a girl too, standing close to the boy; by the look of their dark hair, they were probably siblings.
Jean stopped abruptly. He was still far enough away to be able to slip by behind Shadis without being noticed, but the sight of the siblings sent a thrill of familiarity through him. Moving a bit closer, eyes squinting to see them better, he grew more and more certain he had met them before.
‘Both my son and daughter have helped, but we are not enough people to pull this off in time,’ the children’s father explained. ‘Not since both the other blacksmith and the apprentice were arrested last month—’
‘You are pushing your luck coming here after having those criminals in your house!’
‘I swear, sir, we did not know they were cursed!’
Jean’s tentative memories clicked into place. Of course! It had to be them. He couldn’t stop the smile creeping through his sour mood. As silently as he could manage, he stepped closer, tilting his head in hopes to catch the boy’s eyes without drawing Shadis’ attention to himself. The sister saw him first, tugged at her brother’s arm and then nodded in his direction.
Their eyes locked and the dark-haired boy started in surprise. The girl frowned a little, matching her brother’s uncertainty. But when Jean offered them another grin, they both smiled back shyly.
The girl leaned in closer and the taller boy tilted his head to let her whisper something in his ear. Jean tried to read their expressions to guess what she said, but nothing in them gave anything away.
‘…please, either push back the deadline or find me more workers,’ the father concluded. Judging by his unimpressed face, Shadis wasn’t any more convinced than he had been when the discussion started.
‘This is your problem to solve, not mine,’ he announced. ‘It ought to teach you a lesson before you hire more scum. It is very simple, Master Bodt; either you deliver what is commissioned on time, or the job will be handed to another, more professional blacksmith. Now leave before I set the guards on you!’
Shadis turned even before he had finished the sentence, then stopped dead when his eyes fell on Jean standing a few paces away. ‘Your Highness,’ he caught himself and bowed swiftly, the gesture a natural part of him after so many years in service at the court. ‘I did not see you, Prince Jean. Forgive me.’
Jean gave a short nod, well aware that it was nothing but courteous manners. Unless he proved himself as worthy as his brothers, Shadis and others like him wouldn’t hold much more real respect for him than they did for the commoners just sent back home to starve. Those commoners, on the other hand, all three bent their heads with no trace of mockery. What was there instead was fear.
Jean never liked being feared.
He took a moment to collect himself, straightened his back and raised his chin higher, though Shadis still remained two intimidating heads above him. ‘I overheard something about starving children,’ he said, purposely phrasing it to annoy the court man. ‘I must be mistaken, but it seemed as if you just turned your back on that. Surely I am wrong?’
Shadis clenched his fists, forcing himself to keep the anger away from his voice. ‘I assure Your Highness, it is not at all that serious. Once you are part of the Council you will learn how often people complain about nothing.’
Jean repressed the urge to snap back at the insult; losing his head wasn’t what he’d had in mind for this. Instead, he turned to the man in need of help. ‘What is this about?’
The blacksmith looked from Jean to Shadis and back again, uncertainty written all over his face. Finally he focused on the prince, despite the strangeness of addressing a child younger than his own son with his problems, prince or not.
‘My lord,’ he said, ‘my men and I have been working on a big commission for the court since weeks back, but as they both were arrested and taken away last month I will not be able to get it all done in time… and then we will not get paid. Sir, I have a family to feed, my children—’ He made a gesture to the two behind him, ‘—and two younger back home as well as my wife. We cannot afford to lose this job. We barely make it as it is...’
Jean looked past the man at the children, now noticing their worn clothes and how they both shivered in the cold, despite hugging themselves tightly. It made him feel self-conscious with his own warm cloak and belly full of food.
‘There must be something we can do about that,’ Jean said, glancing at Shadis to see his angry expression deepen. ‘The least thing would be to make sure you have food while working on the commission.’
‘Your Highness, I do not think—’
‘What, Shadis? There is plenty of food to go around here, surely something can be spared for those who need it.’ Before the court man had a chance to disagree, Jean made the decision himself. ‘This family is to be given enough to last until they are paid for their work. See that it is done.’
‘Prince Jean, this is not how we handle things like these,’ Shadis hissed through clenched teeth.
‘See that it is done,’ Jean repeated, giving the taller man a stern glare, daring him to disobey an order. Then he turned towards the blacksmith again, both him and his children watching them with wary eyes. ‘I will make sure this is arranged,’ Jean said, giving the family a content smile. ‘You can go home for now.’
Master Bodt didn’t look convinced, eyes trailing back to Shadis’s furious face even as he bowed his head and said, ’We cannot thank Your Highness enough.’
Jean let the victorious smile spread wider across his face as he looked at the former captain. Even if Levi didn’t complain to his father about the sword, Shadis was certain to make sure Jean got properly scolded for giving away food for free.
‘The lord will not approve of this,’ he muttered when he stepped up to Jean’s side.
Jean just glared back at him. ‘Tell me something new.’
The court man huffed and then stormed away in the direction of the entrance hall. Jean glanced after him before turning back towards the courtyard, finding that the family were almost by the wall already. Jean ran after them and reached the gate just in time to grab hold of the boy’s elbow and pull him back.
The startled boy turned with wide confused eyes, and Jean lost both words and breath as the closer view of his face burned itself into his memory. Freckles covered his cold, rosy cheeks, and the concerned, brown, beautiful eyes were framed by long dark lashes blinking away small snowflakes caught on them. Jean remembered him, true, but no details. How he could have forgotten anything about this face was beyond him now. He stood there staring, fingers still curled into the sleeve of the taller boy’s clothes, for what might have been minutes, hours, years — or maybe just a few seconds.
‘What do I call you?’ he asked once his voice worked again, the question a bare whisper, only meant for the boy in front of him.
‘Marco?’ the man called from the other side of the gate, and Jean crashed back into reality. He stood in the gateway between his prison and the world he wanted, holding back a stranger from leaving and earning suspicious squints from the guards. The boy — Marco — looked quickly to his concerned father and sister before once again locking his eyes with Jean’s.
‘Marco, my lord,’ he mumbled, answering the question himself even though he didn’t have to.
‘Marco ... I—I’m Jean.’ The words were out before he could stop them and he winced at himself for stating the obvious.
A shy smile tugged at Marco’s lips, but it wasn’t teasing. It was kind. Understanding. ‘I know.’
One of the guards gave them a pointed cough, and Marco stepped away, his arm slipping out of Jean’s fingers. He bowed his head quickly, still backing out of the gate. ‘My lord,’ he said again, glancing up to meet Jean’s eyes one last time before he returned to his father and sister.
Jean watched them disappear around the small houses built closest to the wall, not stepping back inside until he got another cough from the guard.
Dust of snow swirled in the air. It was usually enough to make him moody, but now he didn’t notice it anymore. His thoughts were already far away, chasing vague dreams hiding in the corners of his small smile.
* * *
Winter might be isolating, but there were ways around everything, and Marco soon discovered that Prince Jean made it his business that year to find each of them. He was beyond surprised, and a bit concerned, when the prince appeared on their doorstep one day, the air crisp and clear, and sky icy blue above.
‘I’m taking a walk through the city today, do you want to come with me?’ Jean asked as soon as Marco opened the door, not even starting with a greeting. His eager face fell just as fast when Marco didn’t respond with the same enthusiasm.
‘I… I don’t think that is a good idea, Your Highness.’ Marco frowned at him and closed the door a little to make sure his body covered Jean in case someone else passed by behind him. He wasn’t sure why it should be kept a secret, but something about the prince’s presence there felt so personal he didn’t want his parents or siblings to interfere.
At the same time, he was afraid. He didn’t dare think about what would happen if anyone from the castle found Jean there again, and that fear was stronger than the fluttering wings in his chest. Marco remained silent a moment longer, uncertain how to ask the prince to leave without offending him. ‘We are… not really suitable for your company, my lord.’
Jean scowled at him. ‘I don’t care,’ he said, shuddering a little from standing still in the cold. ‘And don’t call me that. I have a name.’
‘I—I’m sorry… Prince Jean.’
Jean rolled his eyes and sighed. ‘We’ll have to work on that,’ he muttered, then made a wide gesture with his arms. ‘I just want to exist without guards and nannies and teachers constantly breathing down my neck. I’ve wanted to see the city for so long, but… I don’t know my way around. So I thought, maybe you could help… I don’t know anyone else.’
Marco almost pointed out that Jean didn’t know him either, but caught himself and shut his mouth again. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure no mischievous eight-year-olds were sneaking up on him having a very unorthodox conversation with a prince on the run from his duties. But the hall behind him was empty.
‘I could order you to,’ Jean said. The words formed a cold fist clenching Marco’s stomach, and when Jean saw his alarmed face, he quickly added, ‘But I mean, I won’t. I don’t want that. I’m just asking.’
Marco chewed on his lip, not realising he did so until he noticed how Jean’s eyes zeroed in on his mouth. Embarrassed, he stopped. ‘I can’t… I’m sorry. I have work.’
Jean blinked and looked back up to meet Marco’s eyes. ‘O-oh… right. Of course.’
This had to be the end of it. Marco should simply excuse himself and close the door and hope for everyone’s safety that the prince wouldn’t come back. But the very thought of not seeing Jean again made him… sad. Unreasonably so. It was ridiculous to feel that way and he should push away from it instead of venturing further while he still had the chance. Jean was a prince. There would come nothing good from this.
Yet he found himself saying, ‘We can decide another day, though. If Your Highness wants to?’ and the way Jean’s face lit up again made all future distress worth it.
The long winter passed like that. They walked the streets of the city, old ones that Marco knew well, and new they discovered together. They watched the bustling life of the marketplaces, and the stillness of the starlit night sky spread like a blanket over the world. Marco learned that Jean loved the stars, how endless the universe was. How tiny and insignificant it made everyone, most of all himself. Marco didn’t quite understand that; he wanted to be important, to be needed, to be able to change things for the better. But as he silently watched how happy it made Jean to be part of the masses, he wondered if it was different for someone forced into such a position by their birth. Maybe then it was a relief to be nothing but another drop in the vastness of the ocean.
A month from Jean’s fifteenth birthday, when other parts of the country were blooming in spring, their highland city still lay under its deep cover of snow. Jean suggested they should venture outside into the forest, and when Marco objected he used his upcoming celebration as an argument. ‘I only wish one thing, Marco,’ he said, ‘and that's for you to follow me out there today.’
Marco sighed, knowing he was being too nice, but at the same time not caring. He didn’t have the means to give Jean anything else, and it was of more importance to him than it probably should to be able to do at least one thing the prince asked of him.
The weather was much the same as it had been when Jean first knocked on their door; blue sky clear and sun shining through the cold, crisp air. A beautiful day.
They followed the riverbanks through the white landscape, tree branches heavy with snow and the mountains sharp against the bright sky. The warm light reflected in the thick river ice made it look like a golden path through the heavens.
Marco kept himself on land, cautiously eyeing the ice when Jean slid farther out on it. ‘We should keep on the side,’ he said, but Jean just waved his concern away. ‘Jean, you shouldn’t—’
‘Marcooo,’ the prince whined. ‘It’sfine.’
‘But what if it breaks?’ Marco insisted, still not stepping away from the safety of the bank.
‘It won’t. Come on now, I’ll race you to the other side!’ Jean set off across the broad frozen river, swaying and chuckling as his feet and flailing arms tried to hold him upright as he moved.
Marco stepped out slowly on the ice, careful and tense not to let himself lose his balance. It might be as thick as Jean claimed, but the thought of the deep water underneath still made Marco’s stomach churn. Looking up at Jean skidding in the middle of the river, he wondered if princes were taught how to swim, and if that skill would be of any use if the water was so cold their limbs froze within seconds.
‘Jean…’ he tried again, earning only a dismissive wave in reply.
Snow and ice glittered in the sun, and winter birds were singing among the trees. Everything was so peaceful, and yet Marco’s unease only grew stronger with each tentative step he took. The anxiety building in his chest was familiar, and the memories of what it might cause made him even more nervous. He couldn’t allow himself to lose control, not here. Definitely not here.
Jean had abandoned his one-man race and now skated around in wide uneven circles waiting for Marco to catch up. Sometimes he watched Marco’s slow progress, urging him on, but Marco didn’t hear him. His eyes were staring at the ice below his feet, his mind elsewhere.
It had gotten easier back home when another blacksmith was finally found and hired, and the heavy pressure on his father’s shoulders lessened somewhat. Marco’s help was still needed, though, but he wasn’t always able to be as much assistance as he wanted. When he spent too much time in the heat of the smithy, it built up pressure in his chest he didn’t know how to control. More than one fiery accident had been triggered by this stress. The first time it revealed his long kept secret to his parents; the latest to the new blacksmith. But they were lucky, for Reiner didn’t hesitate before he swore not to tell anyone. After that, the man made sure to take over in time when he noticed the signs of Marco’s discomfort, sending him away before another accident happened.
But there was no heat out here. It was cold, freezing. The only fire within miles was the one catching and spreading inside Marco’s chest. He stared at the ice, sensing it break despite how thick it was, and in a sudden alarmed moment, he realised his fear might be what caused it.
‘Um… Jean…’ He managed to tear his eyes from the ground to search for the prince, but he was too far away to have heard. ‘Jean!’
It happened so fast Marco’s yell drowned in the loud roar of the ice breaking beneath their feet. Jean turned with a wide-eyed stare over his shoulder, shock and disbelief screaming from his pale face. His gaze found Marco’s, the panic visibly growing when he realised how far apart they were; he staggered backwards on the slippery surface to get away from the lightning-like cracks, but he was too slow, far too slow.
Marco didn’t have time to think. His body moved of its own accord, using all his might to get himself to Jean’s side before either of them fell into the water. He did so just in time, grabbed hold of Jean’s clothes and pushed away from the danger with such force Jean lost his balance. Marco staggered to a halt a few paces away from him, so exhausted he too almost fell over.
With some difficulty, and gritting his teeth around a string of curses, Jean managed to get back on his feet. When Marco looked up, he saw that the prince’s left ankle was bent a little strangely.
‘Jean!’ Marco forced himself to steady, taking the steps that separated them. ‘Jean, are you—’
He stopped dead and silent in front of the other boy. Jean stared at the smoking holes in his cloak, the edges still glowing and spreading wider as the cloth fell away in ashes. With frenetic arms he tore it off himself before the fire caught in his other clothes as well, and threw it away from him. Bewildered and panting he looked up at Marco, who still stood frozen in place, and Jean’s eyes widened when he saw the steam rising from Marco’s outstretched hands. As the pieces of the puzzle fell together in his head, his confusion was replaced by fear.
Marco could barely breathe. ‘Jean,’ he pleaded, taking another step towards him but stopped again when the prince threw up his own hands between them, leaning back.
‘No, no! Stay away—keep away from me!’ Jean backed too fast for his injured ankle to hold him up and he fell again. The sharp ice tore his knee bloody and he hissed in pain through his teeth. It didn’t stop him though; he kept pushing away on his back, dragging the injured leg over the ice. His lips were trembling as they moved around the soundless words that followed; dangerous accusations Marco had just proved to be true, to be deserved.
Jean knew now. The lord and lady would find out, the city police and the church — they all would know, and Marco had nothing else to await than being arrested and executed for crimes he committed by simply existing.
Think about the risks! His father’s voice echoed in his head, tight with anger and fear. It was a fragment of a memory from when the blacksmith had opened the door and found the prince waiting for his son outside their house. The naive and spoiled child who had promised them food they never got; the lying, selfish noble he never understood why Marco was so quick to defend.
What if he finds out about you? His mother tried to sound stern but her worry shone through far too visible for that to succeed. He’d turn you in before you could blink!
No, it’s not only about you, Marco! What do you think will happen to your siblings if the police finds out about you?
They can’t be trusted, people who sit back on their treasures while others starve in front of them.
You can’t trust him.
But Marco had trusted him. Not completely, no, but he’d let his guard fall more each time they met, and now he stood shaking in front of Jean, smoke still trailing from his trembling hands and his life line laid out between them ready to be cut short if Jean decided to use the knife he’d been given. Marco wanted so badly to trust him now. But the look of utter horror on Jean’s face made even the smallest hope for understanding quickly slip through his fingers.
He stared down at Jean’s injured leg. It wasn’t bleeding much, but the ankle was clearly strained, and Jean winched each time he tried to move it (away, away, away from Marco), teeth clenched in pain. He was in no state to stop Marco if he simply tried to leave. Marco could run for it, hurry home and tell his family and make sure they all got away to safety before Jean had a chance to send the guards on them.
But he might not be able to get back on his own at all. Even if he did manage to walk, the cloak was burnt, and he was already shaking from the cold. Marco couldn’t just leave him there.
He couldn’t just…
He couldn’t.
‘Please,’ he whispered, tears finally flooding over and rushing down his cheeks. ‘Please don’t tell anyone, I beg of you…’ Marco sagged to his knees, hugging himself tightly and hid his shaking hands inside the cloak. ‘I swear I would never hurt anyone… I don’t use it, I didn’t mean for this to happen… I—I…’
He thought about his family. Maria and the twins and their hardworking parents. They’d be punished too, because you inherited the curse through blood and if he had it, it must have come from somewhere. Even if they were allowed to live, people would be too scared and disgusted to make any business with them. It had been hard enough after the arrest of his father’s workers last autumn.
‘Please, my lord, I will do anything, just… just p-please don’t…’
Marco didn’t notice how Jean got up on his feet and limped back to where Marco was sobbing on the ground, nor how he managed to sit down again with an ugly grimace twisting his face from trying to move without hurting too much. And then Jean was pulling at Marco’s wrists, silent but determined to get his hands out from the way he’d curled his arms around his stomach. He pulled off the burnt gloves, revealing Marco’s bleeding fingers.
‘It hurts you holding back,’ he stated. ‘You have to learn to control it, not… try to keep it locked inside of you.’
‘Wh-what?’
‘Or it will explode when you least want it to.’
Marco stared at Jean through the tears with his mouth hanging open, hardly believing his ears. He wasn’t quite sure what was going on — all he knew was that Jean was beside him again, touching him, and not backing away in disgust or fear.
Jean looked down, his eyes back on Marco’s hands. ‘I’m sorry I panicked,’ he mumbled, removing his own gloves to better be able to peel the cloth off Marco’s burns. ‘I didn’t mean…’ He fell silent, chewing on his lower lip, before meeting Marco’s gaze again. ‘You don’t have to do anything. I’m not telling anyone.’
Such immense relief replaced the panic that Marco burst into new tears. Too overwhelmed to stop himself he leaned into Jean, his sobbed ‘Thank you’s muffled by Jean’s shoulder. Jean wrapped his arm around him and patted his back reassuringly, murmuring apologies until Marco regained enough of his composure to straighten up again.
He wiped the tears from his cheeks and looked down at Jean’s bleeding knee. ‘I’m sorry about your leg.’
‘Yes, well, I would be at the bottom of the river right now if it wasn’t for you so…’ Jean laughed dryly. ‘I think I can manage.’
Marco glanced towards the broken ice, shameful and aware of the truth, but not daring to tell Jean about his thoughts. ‘I can fix some of it,’ he said instead, careful. Jean gave him a sceptical look, fear flashing by in his eyes. But it was all right to be scared. Marco had been too — still was. Terrified. But he knew he could manage what he had just offered. ‘It’s the only thing I really know how to do,’ he explained and held his bloody palms up for Jean to see. ‘I’ve had a lot of practise.’
Jean still looked unsure, but his expression changed to amazement when Marco’s hands healed before their eyes. Gaping, he ran his fingers over the skin, opening and closing his mouth around soundless words. ‘Incredible’ he finally whispered.
Marco nodded and sighed. ‘I just wish I knew how to turn all the destruction I cause into something like this instead, but I… I don’t.’
Jean patted Marco’s shoulder with a reassuring squeeze. ‘You’ll get there.’ He moved his leg slightly, frowning down at it as he considered if he dared to let Marco use the magic on him too. Then finally he met Marco’s waiting eyes again and gave a short nod.
Marco pressed gentle fingers to the knee, concentrating to focus the energy he had left on the task at hand. It was different from healing his own skin, but the cut was shallow and knitted together without problems.
Jean inhaled sharply through his nose at the sensation. Marco hesitated to make sure he was all right; it shouldn’t hurt too much, at least according to his sister, but it still was a peculiar feeling. Despite this, Jean looked on with curious eyes, and once it was done he brushed his fingers over the tiny mark left where the magic had done its wonder. He squinted to see better, but seemed none the wiser.
‘It’s the Sign of Eri,’ Marco told him, referring to the Goddess of Medicine. ‘I heard a priest once who claimed people like me taint the signs of the Gods to mock them. I don’t know about anyone else, but I’ve never meant for any signs to appear. They just do.’
A moment of silence passed between them. Jean scowled, but said nothing to clarify why. Instead he bent his healed knee a little and winced at his ankle.
Marco bit his lip. ‘If it’s sprained I don’t think I can fix it,’ he said moving closer to the foot. ‘Maybe it would be better to let the priests do their job.’
‘I trust you.’
There was no hesitation before the words came out, and Marco’s eyes snapped back up to meet Jean’s, finding his gaze steady, certain. ‘I…’ he started, then bent his neck to hide the blush spreading over his cheeks. ‘Thank you. I—I appreciate that, but it’s just... I’m not sure what I’m doing when it comes to this. I don’t want to make it worse.’
Jean glared at his foot, but didn’t push it. ‘I can barely walk though…’
‘You can lean on me. And… oh!’ Marco got up on his feet, pulling the cloak off himself in the same movement, and gave it to Jean. ‘Take this.’
‘What? No, Marco—’
‘I ruined yours. It’s the least I can do, all right? And you’re injured, you have to keep warm.’
‘It’s not that bad,’ Jean muttered, but shivering as he was he still wrapped it over his shoulders before forcing himself back up on his feet.
Marco stood ready, holding out his hands to steady him. Once his arm rested over Marco’s shoulders, and Marco’s was secured around his waist, they took a few trying steps towards the closest bank, opposite the one they had come from.
Their sides pressed together from shoulders to thighs, and Marco couldn’t help but notice how Jean fell more into him each time they moved. He scolded himself for thinking about it, and tried hard to focus on something else, but that proved to be impossible. Especially when Jean looked up at him again. He was still scowling, brow creased in annoyance to cover the pain. But his eyes alone were enough to steal the air from Marco’s lungs, and Marco desperately hoped he couldn’t read his mind.
They were so close.
Jean stared back at him for a moment before quickly turning away. ‘Anyway, ehh,’ he said, watching the ground ahead instead as they continued their unsteady walk. ‘It was Levi who — my fencing master, I mean — he said that thing about learning to control it. I guess he did so in case I was hiding any magical abilities, but since I wasn’t he didn’t say much more about it. He seemed to know what he’s talking about, although I’ve never seen any signs of him being cursed— err… eh… I—I mean, it’s called that, I don’t think—’
‘It’s a lot like a curse, though,’ Marco said, smiling a little despite himself. He leaned them to the side to stop Jean from stumbling over a branch sticking out of the snow. ‘At least with these laws making it so.’
Jean hummed in understanding. ‘What I mean to say is that he might be able to help.’
‘You mean you’d tell him?’ Marco tried not to be afraid. But the idea was terrifying, and despite his best efforts to hide it, Jean read the truth from his face.
‘Not outright, I wouldn’t!’ He frowned and stopped, turning so he faced Marco directly when he added, ‘You can trust me too, Marco. I’m not going to put you in any danger.’
Yet again his parents’ words echoed in his head, and even though Marco understood that their concern was valid after hundreds of years of nobility mistreating the people, he also knew they weren’t always right. They weren’t right when they predicted rain on his eleventh birthday, or claimed that a strange foreign food they’d tasted on the marketplace never would be popular in their household.
And they weren’t right about Jean.
So he nodded, slowly at first but then more certain. When he looked up and Jean smiled at him, the warmth that spread in his chest was nothing like the heat from earlier. This made him calm.
‘Funny how you turned out to be a witch after all,’ Jean said, smile turning into a smirk. ‘Or… well, maybe not funny…’
Part of Marco wanted nothing else than to run away from those words, but instead he found himself laughing; a light, soaring sound that joined the warmth inside him and pushed the last traces of fear away.
It would be all right.