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The moment Detraeus’ opinion of orderites — and, by extension, anyone sharing lineage to them through blood — came to Lithian’s attention, he had urged Casseth to terminate, or at the very least distance his relationship with the man. He had never trusted Detraeus. Not with Casseth, and not with Araceli. He struck Lithian as volatile, angry, dispassionate, and entirely too in tune with his personal needs, wants, and moods all at the direct expense of everyone around them. As far as Lithian could tell, Detraeus’ capacity for empathy was severely limited at best, and combined with his temper and tendency towards violence, he was outright dangerous and unpredictable. Particularly for Casseth, with a secret so great and volatile hanging in the balance.

The moment Casseth’s wings came into view in the arena, Lithian had felt his heart drop.

He could not remember ever having been of a mind to kill a man, but when Detraeus froze, then lunged, spat, cursed at, and drove his lover back until he was on his knees, helpless before his ‘mercy’, Lithian knew what it meant to see red. He recognized, as Detraeus loomed over him, weapon drawn, with Casseth’s life hanging in the balance, a capacity for fury — and want of violence — that he had never known before. He warred his way to the bottom floor. Pulse in his lungs and limbs shaking, he needed to get to Casseth, ascertain that he was alive, breathing, and get him out immediately to safety.

The crowds, however, swelled like an angry surf. They beat him from side to side, rocking, and fighting him as surely as any strong current that wanted nothing to do with his will, and he was too slow. Too slow. Too slow. By the time he reached the base level, shouting at the guards along the inner railing, Casseth was being taken away from him again, farther and farther from his reach. It felt like an eternity before he made it to Cas’ side. And even then, the news was not favorable.

‘Fast acting’ and ‘already well-dispersed into the bloodstream’ were not a favorable combination when it came to poisons, and by the time Lithian made it to him, Casseth was not looking well. Pale. Barely breathing. His lips cool and nerves burning. The hired healers of the stadium — paid only to perform cursory work to begin with, not exhaustive life-saving procedures on at-risk patients — dismissed him as a borderline lost cause after less than an hour of touch up work.

Lithian was not remotely so easily dismissed.

With Takhi’s help, he had Kilian notified immediately, and Casseth transported home two hours or so after nightfall to the safety of his own bed. After exhausting his own magic — once to the point of losing consciousness — Lithian awoke some hours later to the smell of incense. Complex, thick, and soothing, intermingled scents worked their way through the air and to his senses, followed by the soft tap, tap, tap of an awl in a wooden bowl and crackle, pop of a tiny, contained fire. Controlled by magic, no doubt, though not cast by the bearer.

“Vallah,” Lithian murmured, and then, remembering his circumstances, he jerked upright. “Casseth—”

“Is asleep. Shhhh,” the woman soothed, her ysali magic a soft, green glow at her fingertips as she separated some of the herbs she’d been crushing into a separate, steaming cup of liquid.

“Is he—?”

“The poison will take some time to clear from his body, and his state is still precarious, but not nearly so much so as it was. I’ve managed to nullify most of the active agents in it, and all that is left is to wait for his body to fight it, and bolster his natural defenses when possible…” She pushed the mug towards his hands, and Lithian accepted it numbly, his eyes already locked on Casseth. “As hard as the fact is for a healer to accept, particularly when it is a loved one involved, there is nothing more to be done for the moment…you did impressive work, for one so young.”

Under normal circumstances, Lithian would have blushed at the high compliment. Thanked her properly with all due respect. Instead, he barely heard it, his eyes trained to every rise and fall of Casseth’s chest. The curve of his blonde lashes on his dark, ash-grey cheeks and the soft gold glint of minimal lamplight on his golden scales.

“A visitor came for you, while you were out.”

Lithian’s brow pinched, his fingers sliding against the warm material of the mug in his hands but not bringing it to his lips. Who would have come calling at this hour? Who would care, and why ought he care?

“A friend of yours and Casseth’s…who also had relations with the young man he fought—?”

“Araceli—” Lithian jerked to stand, but Vallarah’s hand on his shoulder stilled him. “Is she alright? Did he hurt her too? What happened to—?”

“She looked to be in fine health, if not so much so in spirit.”

Lithian shook his head, tense. “Someone should have woken me. I—”

“Better, I think, that you rested,” Vallarah said, standing only after she got him to hold still and remain seated. “Fine a job as you did, you endanger yourself greatly every time you test your body like that, and it needed all the rest it could get. I’ll go fetch her for you, though. I’m sure she’ll be pleased you, at least, are conscious.”

Lithian flushed, wincing, and avoided comment by lifting her offered mug to his lips with shaking fingers. As he drank down the steaming liquid, his mind felt like a sandstorm: burned dry to the edges in every direction, desperate, bleak, and wild with confusion. He shut his eyes, and prayed that Ara was indeed as well as Vallarah said she was.

Lithian’s attention jerked up at the voice. He hadn’t so much as heard Ara come in, but the moment he laid eyes on her, he was moving forward, setting his mug down and half darting into her arms as he dragged her to him in a clinging hug. Not yet daring to leave Cas’ bedside, but not wanting to disturb him either and desperate to hear what Ara had to say, Lithian began speaking in a rushed whisper. A torrent of words that spilled out, tripping over each other in the process.

“Ara, are you alright? Did he come for you? Where is he? Did he hurt you? Did he touch you? Abronaxus protect, if he came anywhere near you, I swear—if he steps within a mile radius of Casseth…” Lithian bunched his fists, realizing that he was shaking again, and squeezed his eyes tighter shut, breathing out unsteadily. His voice came quieter when he spoke again. “I’m so relieved you’re alright…I’m sorry they didn’t wake me. I should have been here, I…” He clung to her, tighter than he meant to, and then forced himself to pull back.

Lithian relaxed a fraction, turning away from Ara and glancing back towards Casseth. “Good,” he said, tone crisp and tight. “He’d best never come back. Not after what he’s done here. Certainly not anywhere within my line of vision. I warned Casseth that he wasn’t trustworthy, that he’d hurt him if he found out, but this…”

Lithian frowned, rubbing a hand up his arm as his shoulders sank, taut, but defeated.

“A part of me still can’t believe it actually came to this,” he admitted, softer. “I always like to hope for the best in people…think that maybe, given enough faith, help, good example, people could change and learn kindness…” He dropped his eyes, brow pinching into a scowl and fingers tightening their grip. “Perhaps I was too gentle this time, too soft, at Casseth’s expense.” When his attention moved back to Ara, though, his expression smoothed out at the edges, apologetic. “I’m sorry…I know you and Detraeus—I just…were you two…?”

Lithian winced, his gut knotting at the words.

‘I told him I loved him…’

What must that have been like? To admit something like that, only to be walked out upon? How would he have felt, if Casseth had run from him the first time he confessed to such things…? Lithian’s throat clenched just at the thought, and he shook his head, reaching for Ara on instinct.

“Ara…I’m sorry,” he whispered, his thumb brushing up and grazing over her cheek. His magic tugged, pulling the tears gently away like the subtlest of magnets and ushering them off. “I’m sorry…” ‘I’m so sorry…’

He couldn’t make himself believe her in regards to the poison. Not with Casseth bedridden on a knife’s edge between life and death after watching the man who claimed to be his friend threaten to steal him from this world permanently, but neither could Lithian find it in himself to argue with her. Araceli was hurting, as he was hurting, and he wanted only in that moment to find and provide some solace for each of them. So, he brushed his lips across her forehead, pulled her gently back in, and held, the hug as much for himself as it was for Ara.

‘Everything will be alright…please, Abronaxus, let everything be alright…’