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Instinctual fear comes with darkness. Of course human beings, nothing more than animals on hind legs, fear the shadows. When you can't see past the night, who knows what lies behind it? How unknown. How frightening.
Jax isn't superstitious like his friends are. Ribbit is fearmongering more than anything, driving even him to paranoia with her bewitching tales, but that, in combination with Kaufmo's unusual withdrawal... It's difficult to deny the influence. The what-ifs of supernatural whispers.
So he puts his right shoe on first. When he's cooking eggs over a campfire, he crushes the shells into fine powder to join the cinders.
It's not that he fears the devil, demons, or ghouls. Jax lacks protection to them. He doesn't care. He denies the church and their aid, practically equivalent to murder in their eyes, he doesn't engrave crosses into his bread, and he doesn't kneel at his bedside with flurries of prayers. Nothing makes him want to kneel to any god, even animalistic fear.
What he fears is being proven wrong.
What if he did slip up one day? Salt not thrown over the shoulder when spilled, stirring a pot the wrong direction. He could point out a clock was off, and then nothing else would be right again, and the careful balance of the world would be shaken.
Jax has dealt with the consequences of his own actions, far before he even knew he had the choice to be better. His roots were ripped up and he barely batted an eye. Back then, he didn't have someone to protect. Someone to rely upon.
Someone he needed more desperately than breathing.
In broad daylight, a pale disc of full moon adjacent to the neon sun, Jax feels something is wrong. A prickle of cold sweat that glides down his spine. Hairs that raise on his shoulders.
Jax almost feels the need to cry out his reservations to anyone that could hear, just to feel validated. Even if it'd ruin the bright summer day with his nonsense. It's probably just paranoia, he reasons instead. The heat of the palace getting to him. A thick smog of lingering stress, seeing as it's a Friday and he already entered the week exhausted, forlorn. It's just all of the little things piling up.
He says nothing to no-one. Nothing important, at the very least.
"I can't wait for the festivities to really kick up," sighs Ragatha, at their chosen bench. He'd joined her for lunch to take off the edge. Now she's on a little tangent about future plans, ideals, sappy feelings about the city she thinks of her own. He was sick of it as soon as he sat down "There's nothing better than the night market, but I did hear that there's going to be fairs in other towns soon. Maybe we should all go out and see one someday."
Jax twists his fork through a starchy baked potato. His assessment of the group has been ever repeating, as if a new face would form from mist, and drown every worry he's ever had. Zooble gives him a hard look. Ragatha is all doe eyed, waiting for his response. Why him? Jax isn't interested in whatever any village is doing. He might go out on a limb and say he hopes Queenie denies their pledges, and nobody has any fun at all.
He strangles that thought away. Slanting his eyes at Ragatha, who brightens at his attention. "Leave the entire palace up for grabs, too, then?" Her face falls quickly. "Who needs monarchs, at that rate. Might as well dress the king and queen in their fanciest robes and take them with us. Robbed blind and killed, probably."
"I think it'd be fun," Zooble's intervention is placed so well, that Jax isn't satisfied by any argumentative bliss. That outlet was gone as soon as they stuck their head in. Ragatha gives them a big, shiny smile. His eye roll is venomous. "The city is nice, but it's been the same old, same old, you know? Five years of this... Something new seems due."
"That's just what I was thinking," Ragatha says, pleased.
Jax scrapes his fork against the plate and leans back in his chair. Very performative, earning more than a few glares from other groups of seated nobles. Boo, who cares about your manners.
He's not gotten any of his fun, and now he's solely focused on what feels like a ticking clock rattling in his mind. Counting up to what? Or was it counting down? His foot rattles the floorboards underneath, a squeak-squeak-thump that earns him even more ire.
Ragatha trails off mid sentence to give him a strained look. Smile, all teeth, like she's being held at sword point by an invisible force. To stay polite. He picks up what she's annoyed by quite quickly- the noise is getting to him, too- but he realizes he doesn't care. Unless she says it to his face. Yells it at him, maybe.
Evidently, nobody else is bothered by the strange, electric air he senses, because she doesn't rise to the bait. Before a storm. He's hovering in the place where lightning will strike- right onto the castle. Jax doesn't know why nobody else points it out. It feels so obvious to him.
Then again, he's not pointing it out either.
"Okay," Zooble stands with a grunt, or maybe it was a grunt of annoyance directed at the younger. "Just because Pomni's not here, doesn't mean you have to throw tantrums."
He stills, gives a wide eyed, slack mouthed look over both his shoulders. It elicits the right amount of annoyance from them, undercut with something fond. Jax smirks. "What. Me? C'mon, I'm the picture of angelic."
One of Queenie's retainers gives him a look akin to a snarling wolf, lip pulled back and nose wrinkled impossibly. Jax waves. Zooble leans over the table to yank him upright.
"See you, Ragatha. We're gonna do some paperwork."
Now Jax is snarling, attempting to twist out of their clawed hand. Futile, since he honestly preferred the most boring thing on earth to watching Ragatha and Zooble flirt in front of him. The marshal smiles after the two of them. Mostly Zooble. How kind.
He pulls his arm free once they enter the hallway. A congregation of servants rush around, to tend to the needs of the royals in the room left behind, infinite demands of pudding and second courses. Jax crosses his arms and blindly follows his companion. He figures they know what they're doing. He's focused on peering through the flood of people, each darkened doorway and stairwell. His ears start to twitch violently, as instead of a familiar call of his name, he just hears boots, clinking silverware, frantic whispers, apologies when the busy bodies skirts too close to each other.
He pinches at the space between his eyebrows. Just another day. Jax would love to do nothing but collapse in his bed like an obedient old hound, but it's barely past noon, and he has duties to tend to as well. It's quite unusual for them to see each other much throughout the day. Jax wrings his fingers together.
Zooble sends him a backward glance that he barely catches. They come to a stop, slowly, but he's so preoccupied that he runs up into them, causing a clink of fur against plastic to break the thrum of noise. Jax mutters something, that even he doesn't know the contents of. He receives an empty stare.
Then, their eyebrow twists down, a searching look that passes through every muscle in their face. Jax smells something warm from a servant's tray. Reflected from the window they stand at is even more faceless entities, threading together into a sea of movement.
"...I wonder where Gangle is," is Zooble's dully placed attempt at sympathy. Jax almost bites their hand off for it
"Maybe the servants mistook her as twine and roasted her with the pig."
In the usual manner, they'd get into a fight about that off-color comment. Zooble would always lose. They'd huff and groan about it, but Jax figures that they do it on purpose- no matter how strange of a motivation. Maybe they thought he was bad at losing. They'd be right.
Either way, Zooble doesn't fall to that usual song and dance now, which heavily offputs him.
Why is everything wrong today?
First, Pomni was sent into the city to deal with errands, like some sort of delivery girl, as opposed to her usual post of defending the monarchs. Second, Queenie summoned Ribbit to her quarters. Unusual, Jax thought that they didn't have much in terms of secrets to talk about with each other- just a queen and her retainer. Third, Kinger was nowhere to be found. Not an awfully big concern, as he was known to do just that, but everything piled up into a heap, rotting with something foul underneath.
With all that laid out, Jax felt ever closer to sprinting out into the town square and screaming.
"Isn't it strange to you," Jax starts, stops. Recalibrates, tucking against a crooked tapestry and rubbing his face. His palms feel sweaty. He's watched uneasily by his companion, who seems all the more intrigued by the state of him. The honesty. "Nothing's going bad today, but nothing's going right. That must mean something. Doesn't it?"
Zooble is smart enough to blockade him from the hallway proper, drop their voice quieter to be drowned out by the activity. Their eyes flick across his face once, and then remain fixed on his.
"Is that why you're in a mood? Really?" They pick at a string on their cloak without removing their attention. Their brow tightens. Agitation, defensiveness. Jax's heart sinks. They weren't being delicate because they're treating his concerns with what they deserve- they're being delicate because they don't want him to blow up at them. "Ragatha doesn't let you pick a fight with her, and you cry doom and despair?"
Again, Zooble tends to be better at reading him than this, no matter how much they put themselves down about not being emotionally intelligent. They're quick, all sharp points despite their upbringing. Something that comes with the fundamental rejection of a system they benefitted from, he guesses. It all falls flat now. Jax grinds his teeth.
"You know I don't give a damn about Ragatha," and he almost means it. If it didn't contribute to all the wrongness in his world. Deeply, he sighs. "Actually. Forget it, forget I said any of that to you. Everything's fine, and we are all jumping for joy," Jax pushes off the wall without giving them a second look. "Have fun with those papers. I'm going to find someone who won't bore me out of my mind."
Zooble stammers, then cries out a peeved "Jax!" just as he disappears around a pillar.
Ribbit's not around.
Why is Ribbit not around? They're always around, because it's Ribbit, and they're as constant as the moon and clouds. It's as natural as the spinning earth. They're present, and there for Jax when he needs them.
All of that evidence comes to nothing, because when he near tears the castle walls wide open in his pursuit of them, they're as unknown to him as the rats crawling in the dungeons.
His day is just getting worse to a comedic level. Every attempt at connection, connection that he so desperately needs, is blown off. Everyone is inaccessible or just plain dense. Why is nobody here? There needs to be someone else to see the cracks in the walls, and maybe that would soothe his mind, just enough to laugh about it.
Jax sulks under a maple tree. The courtyard is still, every sensible person avoiding the thick heat of afternoon. He must look insane with his dark cloak, pinning his warm flesh in a blanket of humidty.
All the productivity he had planned has went away with the pollen in the wind. Now he just pouts, wishes for night to fall already. At least night was consistent. It's going to be dark, and everyone will be in bed where he can talk to them, and he'll curl up with Pomni and remember all that's good in the world.
It wouldn't hurt if that came sooner, though.
A cloud blocks the sun momentarily. He lifts his head with a grimace, hypocritically missing the beam of warmth hitting the back of his neck. When his eyes focus, he notices a stray figure. Bent over herself shyly, skirt of her blue dress billowing at her ankles.
Gangle, rushing through the courtyard with a purpose. Even when tears cling to the corner of her mask, she plows forward, leaving him in the dust when she passes by. She'd usually say hello. Or even just try and avoid him, in her very unsubtle ways. Jax thinks this is the strangest thing he's seen all day by far.
Gangle is a lady in waiting. She's seen as a symbol of nobility, well-educated and polite. She clings to her reputation like her brushes. The pedestal she's lifted on does little to stifle her insecurities, but she hangs onto it, like she knows nothing else.
So why is she making a fool of herself in the middle of the palace?
Something is wrong. It barely takes a second of deliberation- he pursues.
If something had happened to his castle, he needs to be the first to know about it, the first to rise up and defend. He doesn't care that his battle training is as good as any teenage foot soldier, that he excels in secrecy. Jax will die for this throne. Why wouldn't he, seeing as it appeared like a blessing of rain in a drought?
She dips through the archways and he follows. She squeezes through a barely opened door and he slides in after her, heel knocking hard against the wood. Still, he chases. First, it was at a distance, to see if she would fix her frenzy after a couple lengths, so he could properly interrogate. When she didn't let up, Jax bows into a sprint.
He adeptly weaves between servants, visitors, other palace staff. Placing his paws such that he wouldn't slip on the tile, but with enough lightness that he could spring forward through the nearest gaps.
Jax seizes the back of Gangle's collar, nearly bringing the both of them tumbling over each other. His cape billows around them. Like thick smoke had blocked their view for just a moment.
He barely catches his breath long enough to remove the burn from his lungs. "Gangle," barely a greeting. The expanse of her eyes widen in what he hopes is just recognition. "What happened?"
Her familiarity burns away to fear, horror. A nervous tilt of her mask back and forth, a tremble in her ribbons that makes him doubt her ability to stay upright. Jax pulls her to a shadowed corner. Even if the servants had lapsed into thoughtful silence at the sight, eyes more than prying to the scene.
Gangle hiccups a noise, and her hand slides up to press against a newly formed tear. His body sparks with lightning, threatening to dissolve into a wildfire that takes out the whole kingdom.
Was it Kinger? His mind failing him at a crucial moment, leaving him vulnerable and unprotected. Or Ribbit, all too curious, falling to paper thin promise.
Pomni. Too caring for her own good. For the worst kinds of miscreants and fools, ones that would take her apart piece by piece.
Gangle gasps quietly, like she'd just remembered to breathe. Or something in his eyes, which she stares into, wavering with fear. Not towards him, anymore. No. She slides his head closer, just enough to whisper to him. Her voice flares with a fresh wave of grief, but she's unbelievably steady as she delivers the news. It's her purpose, after all.
"...Queenie's disappeared."
When the dam breaks and they fail to conceal the secret, the entire castle is torn asunder. People mourn. People scream, like they'd seen ghosts. People look haunted and absent, like their body is yet to catch up with the weight of it all.
Jax doesn't fall anywhere on that spectrum.
It's instead rage, terrifying productivity. He strongarms searches to tear up the entire palace, forces the city gates to be drawn up to prevent anyone from moving. He doesn't care what authority he's overriding. Jax needs to fix this, and fast.
Queenie couldn't be dead. Maybe it's the childish naivety that makes him burn himself to exhaustion throughout the afternoon. Forcing every single occupant of the castle to make their whereabouts known, firing off commands to search, search harder. She can't be far, he repeats, falling more into a broken mantra than reassurance.
When Ragatha finds out she screams, and then flanks Jax on his rounds, a familiar burn to her eye that makes him feel so, so grateful. She's a constant, burning flame, reigniting him when he wavers.
Zooble and Gangle are heads of search parties throughout the city. Both in purpose to find the missing queen, and spread the news, stamping out any rumours. If anyone whispered about desertion, they'd take it to Jax, and Jax would make it his job to make sure whoever uttered those words would suffer. Queenie would never. Something has to have happened to her. But what?
Ribbit had been in the castle all along. A shaking mess in Queenie's room, knelt at her bed like in a prayer. She whispers madness. Jax doesn't know what to believe when Ribbit, so grounded despite her spirituality, the tales she spins, grips him by the shoulders and whispers ferociously, "she's been taken". That couldn't have happened. Who wants to take her? Who would take a queen, none of her jewels, and then spare her life? Or kill her far away, without fanfare. It's impossible. She must still be here.
Kaufmo is almost as present as Ragatha, a calm trickle of sensibility whenever the pair forgets themselves. He's the first one Jax cries to, an ugly, heavily breathing mess that makes him feel all the more useless. His friend just holds him still. Composed. Nobody should be so composed, but Jax loves Kaufmo for it. He can pretend the absence in his eyes isn't there, just for a little while.
Jax, head on straight, tries to make sense of the story he's pieced together over the hours.
A meeting with Ribbit. The queen disappeared. His friend was horrified beyond anything he'd ever seen of her, like someone had gutted her open, left the remains strewn about in the bedchambers. Gangle only found the inconsolable Ribbit, alone, and had to fill in the pieces herself.
Jax wants to have been there for all of it. Like he, out of anyone, could've stopped it, could've managed whatever happened, fought the enemies with nothing more than rage and loyalty.
He knows that's impossible.
Jax's fire had died off to sparks by evening's glow, miserable little embers that float to the forefront of his mind, with the taunt that he can't do anything about it. He retreats into the castle.
He kneels at Kinger's side once he finds him. The king hasn't said anything, the chaos and cries for justice all weakening him. Jax feels a stab of remorse. Nobody could even tell him his wife is gone. Kinger himself is absent, pale eyes fixed on the pinned butterflies in his study. He hadn't even asked Jax to sit down properly.
His nails near slice through his leather gloves every time he clenches his fist. He's more than useless.
How hard was it to just go and find his queen? It's not like the city was a haystack. Everything made sense, was organized, had purpose. Someone must've seen her. He just hadn't looked enough. Asked enough. Even when his throat went raw with the questions he hammered through to every peasant of importance- deliverers, guards, landlords and tavern keepers. He came up with nothing.
Jax finds himself continually glancing up. Maybe he'd find Queenie blinking warmly at him, offering a quick lesson, often at her own whims. Anything from musical theory to ant colonies. Impulsive, almost. If she wasn't so calculated all the same, a sharpness in her eyes that reflects his own. Maybe why he made her nervous. Maybe that's why he's grown to admire her so deeply, a shining example of wit and power that he privately, deeply, craves.
He wishes he could've done more to earn her favour. Scratch wanted it. Scratch didn't give him blessings or boons, he gave him chances. He gave him the chance to protect the kingdom he once loved. Jax wonders, knees starting to ache against the rug. He wonders about fairy magic, witches, demons.
Because if sensibility had an enemy, it was magic.
The door creaks, tries to swing open, instead an awkward slide through the many rugs piled on the floor. He lifts his head only out of necessity. There isn't any sign of danger, quiet steps of an assassin nor the chaos of a coup. He still feels the need to take action. A hand straying to a belt, holding his sole dagger.
Instead of an enemy, murderer or demon, it's Zooble. Their eyes are damp still, tear tracks dark against their face. A shaky breath leaves them first before they untangle the sight in front of them, slow, decisive, knowing. They find Kinger first. A half bow, even if the man barely acknowledges them, instead fussing over a glass case of beetles with the delight of a child.
Zooble looks at Jax when they rise. Their fists open and close around something plated. A pause, where they glance over their shoulder at someone else.
"She wouldn't rest unless she saw the both of you," and his eyes widen, an undignified scramble to his feet. "I guess... two birds, one stone."
Pomni steps into the room, and it's brazen relief and sinking exhaustion that carries her. Shoulders slumped. Still in armor- Zooble carries her helmet. She clasps her hands together over her mouth, smiles weakly despite it all, and it's like someone's kicked him in the throat.
Jax flings at her, wrapping his arms like a coil. Stay close, forever. Not you too. His elbows collide at her spine, and he squeezes her through the plate cutting through his clothes, slicing uncomfortable cold metal into his skin.
Pomni rocks into him, a trembling of her hands he hadn't noticed before. Then she whispers, pleased, "Jax", folding against his shoulder like she was waiting for it. Behind her, Zooble shifts. They walk around the embrace, and Jax thinks they take up post next to Kinger. It doesn't matter.
In that moment, Jax is fine with the tide of emotions that collapses on him. Tears spring to his sore eyes, his tense fingers close on her where he'd managed to slip between the gaps of her armor. People he trusts are here. Pomni is here. There isn't anyone he has to perform for, act the dignified noble, commandeering and calm in the face of an emergency. He is just Jax. The tears track paths through the silver of her plating, and Pomni's glove is warm when it comes up to cradle his head.
She adjusts, pools him closer. He feels her chin tip up, and her address is not to him, because their exchange was performed in silence and gentle hands.
"Zooble, I'll take it from here, if you don't mind. Kinger's... not in the best state, he should have-"
His eyes open, and he moves his cheek from the warmed plating.
"No," Jax hisses. The hairs on his shoulders raise, bristling. She leans away, shocked. His face slips from her shoulder but he still keeps his eyes downcast. "Pomni. No. Where- in what world would you need to perform guard duties? After all of this?"
"The world where my queen's gone missing and I haven't done anything to help," she replies, a flicker of heat in her words.
He lifts his head then, hands planted against her shoulders, keeping her rooted for the moment he needs. Pomni looks tired beyond words. Even when she's trying to hide it, with the straight slope of her spine, eyes halved in that knightly focus.
Jax flares in anger at the demons in her head, the ones that make her decide that all her hard work isn't good enough. The whispers that make her train herself half to death. The taunts that make her go the rest of the way, killing herself with hard work and labor, all equating to nothing. Because she's going to always be appreciated. Beyond words.
If she were somehow the worst knight in the world, Jax would be her sole supporter, battling to claim the title despite what anyone else says.
He tries to rest his hand on her wrist. She retaliates, a step back, half turn towards her chosen duty. His withdraw is only brief. Pomni thinks she's won.
Jax meets eyes with the waiting Zooble. Another sigh, then a nod.
He tackles her. An undignified scuffle, where Pomni is more than familiar with his tactics, dirty, starts pounding against his chest and kicking bruises into his ribs. She just can't do this. He won't let her, even as his skin stings with hurt.
"Jax-" she exclaims, once he's toppled himself upright, fighting to keep grip on her as she flails like a snake. "Why the- why won't you let me-"
Because I have to keep you safe, he thinks back. If I fail you, I fail myself.
"Sorry," Zooble says gravely to Pomni, who he feels tense in outrage against him. Jax staggers into the hard edge of the doorframe, then brings the both of them tumbling into the hallway. A hard edge from her armor slams into his collarbone as he hits the ground.
Like a gentleman, Zooble bends to place her helmet at their feet, giving Jax something of a grateful look. He's not anything special for it. Just burning the hydra before it grows more heads.
Then, the door is closed. The lock barricading their re-entry is impenetrable, even as Pomni lunges forward to claw at the wood. Feeble scrapes of her gloves into the grain. Her shoulders heave with exertion.
Jax catches his breath, lungs warring against him. He drags his hand up his neck to press against his flushed cheek, both in anger and overexertion. When he sits up, his free hand runs its fingers to check the damage done to his torso. Beside him, Pomni growls out something beastly.
A few pants. She's aware of his eyes on him now, tracing her red rimmed face and shaking fists. Pomni pounds the door once. Sinks down to the floor.
"Fuck," she whispers. Jax shuts his eyes, a moment of grief. Then she howls, "God damn it."
"Jax," her eyes burn with unshed tears when she turns. "Why didn't you let me. Why didn't you let me do the only thing I'm good for, in this god forsaken castle, the only thing I can-"
He hushes her. It hurts to hear. Her anger expires once her eyes settle onto his. It makes way for understanding, and deep desolation, face going slack with agreeability. She does trust that he does what's best for her. Jax only hopes that he judges correctly.
Jax offers his hand, slow and trying to stay composed, a silent question of forgiveness. She takes it. The two of them stand, even as Pomni starts trembling on her feet.
He speaks, "What would that have solved? What... what does working yourself to death do to help find Queenie? To protect Kinger?"
"At least it's something," she balls a fist into his tunic. Jax slides his fingers through her hair, tacky with sweat. "At least I could say I tried."
"You did try," and he dips down to collect her helmet, lifting it carefully into his hands. "Come on. Don't tell me you heard the news, and didn't go ransacking the whole city to find her."
Her eyes soften, and she blinks the welling emotions away. In silence, she lets him offer her helmet back into her arms, lets him press against her shoulder blades to guide her towards their room. The palace is hauntingly dark. Even if Jax can pick up the stray whispers of guards, it's like nothing else he's experienced, in his time of calling this place home. Everyone seems awake, active. They're more like ghosts than anything else.
He nudges their room door open with his boot, inhales sharply in time with its creak, familiar and carved through his mind. This was Pomni's room, far before he came to her. But he's a habitual creature.
Even through the dark, he brushes past the scarce furnishings to unlatch the window. A cool breeze guides through the muggy room, sending his mind somewhere peaceful. Jax examines the full moon overhead. There's just enough light that, when he turns, he can see Pomni achingly remove her armor, the steel glinting pale.
He rejoins her to help set the pieces on their stand, to steady her when she nearly falls over. Jax brings her up into his arms when she's done, and together they collapse into the bed, just the right blend of cool fabric and plush comfort.
"Why didn't you come home?" He asks, just as she pulls the needle of his brooch free of it's cage. Jax's cloak, lacking anything to keep it secured, drops against the bed.
"I don't..." and it's not a good sign when Pomni, of all people, is brought to silence. Jax swabs a thumb under her eye. Her cloak goes with his. The wind ruffles the fabric, flips it into itself. He's too tired to even bother sliding the outerwear onto the floor. They'd wake up at dawn and go straight to work regardless. He presses their brooches onto the night stand, before his hand joins the other. Pomni allows him to cup her face, delicate like he's holding water in his hands.
She nestles into his body, tries to hide away her face against his shirt. Shame, he pinpoints. Jax cards his fingers through her hair and just waits, passively watching the sky beyond the window. Beside him, she shudders. Something wet carves its way into his fur, and his heart feels frosted over.
Eventually, she manages to get the words out. Or her mental timer had depleted. "I couldn't come back and disappoint you," her voice wobbles, pitched higher, like she's desperately trying to hold it together. Jax sweeps his arm to bracket her, barring her away from the world. "I- I wanted to tell you it was okay. That I found her. I saw you, you know. You," she giggles wetly. "You looked horrible."
The second of humor fades when her throat rips free a sob. Singular, at first, before she fully envelops herself against him, starts to bawl like he'd never seen her.
Pomni doesn't cry. Either because of the importance placed on knights being outside of emotion, sincerity, or because her past made it impossible to. So when Pomni did cry, it meant something. She held onto her shield for so long, it was like she forgot her spouse was more than ready to allow her to let her guard down. He tucks his face into the crown of her head.
"I should've been there, I should've- fuck, she's gone, she must be dead because I was so stupid. To leave her. To- to fail." Jax feels his heart splinter with every word. All the same thoughts he had to deal with, looped endlessly like a whirlpool. "What am I gonna do?"
Jax's eyes slip closed. He should've found her sooner. She shouldn't have had to deal with it alone. Because he didn't have her, but he had his friends. He had Kaufmo, Ragatha. She just had her own self loathing. How terrible is that? Why hadn't he gone out of his way to uproot the town to find her, first?
They're similar in that way. Loyalty above all. She wouldn't have wanted him to.
He pulls his gloves from his clammy hands, brings a fuzzy palm to press against her cheek. Her head turns into the feeling. Jax tries to brush the hot tears away, chest aching with hollowness.
"She's not dead," he says, finally. His sympathy is unspoken, but accounted for. She knows that he's there for her. As thoughtless as breathing. He just can't expect her to know this part. "Something bad must have happened. But her room was undisturbed. Nobody stole anything. All of the palace staff were accounted for, aside from..."
Her eyelashes tickle his knuckles. Jax curls closer against her, a heavy sigh leaving his chest. He doesn't know what she learned while outside, but what he thinks, is that it's awfully easy to pin the blame on Ribbit. Ribbit, who wasn't shy about their proclivity to the supernatural. Ribbit, who seemed to appear out of smoke and crawl into Queenie's good graces just as suddenly.
Ribbit, who was the last person who saw her.
"Did you know," he says, unable to dodge the facts. "Ribbit was with her. And then, she disappeared."
"Disappeared," Pomni repeats.
"Vanished," he lifts his hand to the air, fans out his fingers. "Poof. Into the air. Isn't that so strange," and when Pomni doesn't reply, where he knows she's figured the same conclusion as him, Jax hardens his resolve.
He's heard the whispers. Just bad luck. All good things must come to an end. All of that nonsense. It's as stupid as a superstition, blaming it on the full moon or the day of the week. Bad luck is only unfortunate luck. Bad luck only exists because someone's life can't be all joy- weddings, intimacy, reaping the rewards from hard work and effort.
What isn't bad luck is a queen disappearing from her chambers in broad daylight, leaving nothing in her wake but the implication of something terrible.
It must have taken a lot of negative energy. It must have taken spite, anger, and unbelievable amounts of power.
It was still possible. No matter how insane the thought feels, despite how he's been considering it nearly all day.
Someone once told him he had an aptitude towards detecting it. That strange, incomprehensible power beyond any of his wild fantasies.
"Do you believe in magic, Pomni?"
When he opens his eyes to greet a stronger wave of wind, she's pulled back, looking up, stunned. Disbelieving. Hopeful. Blindly trusting him.
Her laugh is surprised and meek, but it's still there. Pomni shakes her head, fondly, like he's started spouting nonsense to entertain her. Jax reoccupies the space left. He hears her reply ring out like a bell, rattling through his head, leaving permanent markings.
"If it's the only way this can make sense. If it's what brings her back."
He promises, in his silence, the draw of his fingers over her nape. This is a solution to a problem. He will get their queen back, and their life will return to predictable monotony soon enough.