Ignoring the blood and whatever else she might have on her, Vesta steps forward and wraps E’ni’cala in a tight embrace. She holds on for a few long seconds before pulling back.
“Sorry. It’s been a rough morning.” She sniffs, brushing quickly beneath her eyes. “I… need to send a letter to Tristan. A missive.”
Her fingers twist together in front of her.
“I know I could go to the Mage’s Guild, but I don’t really know anyone there. And this…” Her voice wavers just slightly. “This is too important to place in unfamiliar hands. I need someone I can trust. I was hoping you might know someone here.”
She straightens a little.
“I can pay, of course.”
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Vesta approaches the Guild of Light looking like a shadow of herself. There are no silken skirts, no glittering jewelry save for the ring on her finger. Her curls are not carefully arranged. Instead, her hair has been pulled up hastily. Her clothes are practical. Where kohl and shimmer would normally frame her eyes, there is only bare skin and the faint redness of someone who has been crying for far too long.
She pauses at the entrance just long enough to steady herself, gathering what composure she can.
Once inside, she moves quietly to the desk. Her voice is softer than usual, stripped of its usual lilt.
“I would like to see E’ni’cala, please.”
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“Thanks. I appreciate that.”
Vesta turns towards the vardo, taking a few steps before hesitating. She pauses at the threshold and glances back at Storm.
“My ear’s always open for you too, Storm,” she says softly. “Goodnight.”
She gives her a small wave, then slips inside the vardo and closes the door gently behind her.
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“Yeah…” Vesta says quietly, her gaze lowered. “Friends should matter to us…”
She smooths her skirts absently, drawing in a slow breath.
“I feel a little better. Not a lot. But… it’s something.” She gives a small shake of her head. “I suppose that’s better than nothing.”
There’s a faint, tired curve to her mouth.
“I don’t think there’s anything else.” A brief pause. “Thank you for listening, Storm.”
She hesitates, then adds softly, “Sorry to disturb you with my antics.”
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Vesta listens to Storm, nodding here and there, though her gaze stays lowered at first. Eventually she wipes at her face again, dragging in a slow breath that trembles on the way out.
“I can’t… not- not yet.” She shakes her head, fingers twisting in her skirts. “Not until I can get it together. Not until I can make it up to her.” She exhales shakily and tips her head back towards the sky for a moment, blinking hard as if trying to dry the last of the tears there.
“It’s not her fault that I’m a coward. I can at least make an effort that’s more than just words.” Her breathing begins to steady. The sobbing has stopped, though her voice is still raw around the edges. She presses her palms flat against her cheeks, grounding herself.
“I can’t ask her to look into Forsetidale business.” She swallows. “I just have to wait to hear from Tristan… and hope nothing is terribly wrong.”
She mutters something in Tovi under her breath, then lightly slaps at her cheeks again, leaving them flushed. “It sucks not knowing if he’s okay…”
A few more tears slip free, but she brushes them away almost irritably this time.
“Ugh. I’m annoying myself with all this. If I could fight half as well as I cry, the famine would have been resolved ages ago.” She gives a breath of a laugh that borders on hysterical, then reins it in, drawing her shoulder back, finally caring enough to sit properly.
“I still need to find a group to go hunt werewolves. That definitely can’t happen until I know Tristan’s okay. But I’m going to do it.” Her jaw tightens slightly. “I might even… take a swing at them myself.” Her fingers curl into her skirts again, but this time it’s in resolve.
“Perhaps Jade would appreciate something tastefully made from a werewolf.” She shudders, as if the words are contradicting themselves. “Maybe something from the teeth. Or whatever those from Seshtau like.”
She waves a hand dismissively.
“She knows how terrified I am of the creatures. If I'm willing to face that for her… maybe she’ll forgive me for being stupid.”
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Vesta follows Storm with uneven steps, her breath hitching, small broken sounds escaping her no matter how hard she tries to swallow them down.When Storm tells her to sit, she collapses onto the rock, skirts spilling over the stone. She draws her knees to her chest and tries to steady her breathing, but it only comes in sharp, shaking pulls.“I-I’m sorry if I’m bothering you,” she blurts through tears. “I know this is ridiculous. I know I’m not exactly… likable. I know I can be a bitch, and dramatic, and if you think I’m insufferable and pathetic I really don’t blame you. If you never want to speak to me again after this because this is embarrassing, that’s fine, I just-”Her voice cracks.She folds in on herself, burying her face in her hands as a sob tears out of her chest. It’s ugly and unrestrained. She drags her palms down her face, then slaps her own cheeks lightly as if she can shock herself back into composure.“Normally I’d just talk to Tristan,” she says. “But yesterday the Forsetidale Knights showed up and said he had to come back with them. They had their swords drawn and everything-”Her breathing quickens.“And I know it’s because of me. After what happened with Jade, I got drunk and upset and tried to leave Volaire in the middle of the night when it was freezing, and if Tristan hadn’t come after me I would have died. And it’s not the first time I’ve almost…” She trails off. “So I know I scared him, and he stayed by my side. He’s been missing classes. There’s rumors going around, and now all the nobles are furious, and Charlotte’s putting out the fires. He had to go back. He said not to worry, but how am I not supposed to worry when it’s my fault?”The words tumble faster and faster, barely separated by breath.“And I can’t even scry to see what’s happening, because if I look and something’s wrong, I won’t be able to fix it. I’ll just spiral. And I can’t handle that right now because I’m just-”She scrubs at her face again, eyes red and glassy.“I can’t talk to Edgar. I can’t talk to Zinna, or Zuigrii, or E’ni’cala, because I can’t bear looking like a fool in front of them.”Her laugh is brittle, collapsing immediately into another sob.“And I can’t talk to my best friend because I fucked that up too. I yelled at Jade in front of her barony. I knew we were walking into a death trap and I panicked. It turned into a screaming match. She pulled her rank on me, so I left. Kalil told me she could have me killed for it, and I know that.”
Her hands curl into fists in her skirts.“Every time I think about apologizing to her, all I see is death. All I can think about is the time she did actually kill me, and I’m scared to go through that again. She’s my best friend. I love her.” Her voice thins. “And I’m scared of her…”Her shoulders shake harder.“It’s so stupid! She apologized to me. I doubt she would actually hurt me. And I still can’t make things right. I’m just a coward.”She presses her fists to her eyes.“Jade would do nearly anything for me and I can’t do this for her.”Her voice cracks completely.“What is wrong with me? I ruin everything. My clan calls me a curse and maybe they’re right.” She says hollowly. “Everywhere I go, I just fuck things up.”The words spill out without restraint now.“I wasn’t even supposed to live this long. I was supposed to burn out. And now I’m engaged, and I have people I actually care about, and I can’t even be there for them because I’m selfish and stupid and weak.”She chokes on the last word.“I’m drowning in all this guilt.”She drags in a shaky breath.“And now I sound like some self-loathing pity party and you’re probably regretting not just turning me away, and I can’t even leave because I don’t want to be by myself-”Her voice breaks again, sharp and painful.“I’m sorry,” she whispers hoarsely. “I should be pulling myself together instead of just crying about this shit. I’m sorry.”
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Nill is crouched a few feet away from Storm, rolling a small black die across the dirt with careful concentration. She glances up as Vesta approaches, before dropping her gaze back to the die, uninterested. When Storm asks what’s wrong, Vesta bursts into tears. They start flowing down her cheeks, and she drags the heel of her hands across her face, visibly irritated with herself at being unable to keep it together.
“I’m sorry- I’m sorry,” she rushes out, voice wavering. “I’m trying not to be so… dramatic, I just-” She hiccups. “I just don’t have anyone else to talk to. Tristan got taken to Forsetidale by the knights, and I can’t get into the manor to see Edgar, and I obviously can’t talk to Jade right now, and I was up crying all night and I just can’t-”
The sentence collapses under another wave of tears. Her shoulders hitch as she struggles to steady her breathing.
Nill looks up again. Her expression stays flat, but her wings give an awkward, unsettled twitch.
“I… will go do the helping of Cassia,” she announces quietly.
Without waiting for a response, the pixie gathers her die and scampers off, disappearing around the nearest structure. Vesta shakes her head quickly, as though embarrassed to have caused a scene.
“I just… I thought maybe I could talk to you,” she says, her voice smaller now. “But if you don’t want to deal with me, I can just go back-” Her words falter. “I-I’ll be okay by myself. I just…”
Her arms fold tightly around her torso, shoulders trembling as she stares stubbornly at the ground, unable to meet Storm’s eyes.
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The day after Tristan returns to Forsetidale, Vesta finds herself walking the road to Kog’Thrak with more urgency than she means to show. Her steps are quick, arms folded tight against herself. Her hair has been hastily twisted into a messy bun, loose curls falling free. Dark circles shadow her eyes, faintly puffy from a night that offered little rest. When the village comes into view, she slows. She stops just outside the entrance, hesitating. After a moment, she turns and takes several steps back the way she came, only to halt, jaw tightening. With a frustrated breath, she pivots again. Forward. Back. Forward once more. The indecision plays out in small, restless movements before she finally steels herself and steps inside. She approaches a guard and asks, as evenly as she can manage, where she might find Storm. Given a direction, she nods and moves on. As she walks through the village, she keeps her gaze forward and to herself, ignoring any looks that may follow her.
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Vesta’s brow knits together, the composure she’d put on beginning to fray around the edges.
“Oh. I… I didn’t know.” The words come softer than she intends. For a fleeting second she simply stands there, hands hovering uselessly at her sides. She shifts awkwardly, eyes flicking to anywhere but the guards. “Sorry for disturbing you, then.”
With that, she turns on her heel. She folds her arms tight against her chest, and her head dips, silvery curls spilling forward to shield her expression. Without another word, she begins walking in the direction of her vardo, eyes fixed firmly to the ground.
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When E’ni’cala leaves for the evening, Vesta insists on walking her back to the Guild of Light. The thought of returning to her empty vardo makes her chest tighten, so she begins walking towards the manor portal instead.
She curtsies to the guards as she approaches, smoothing her expression into something composed.
"Good evening. I'm here to visit Sir Edgar."
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Vesta returns the smile, but it’s thinner now, carefully placed and not quite reaching her eyes. She leans forward and takes E’ni’cala’s hand in hers, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“You’re more than welcome to stay,” she says softly. “But if you’d rather go, I understand.” A heavy sigh slips from her.
“If I don’t keep myself distracted, I’m going to start overthinking. Or try to look in on it.” Her gaze drifts to the cabinet where she keeps her scrying materials. “I probably shouldn’t. It isn’t my place to intrude on matters that don’t concern me.”
Her fingers tighten slightly around E’ni’cala’s before she lets go.
“I’m sure whatever it is, Charlotte and Tristan will resolve it,” she says, aiming for confidence.
But the worry lingers in her expression, and her eyes keep flicking towards the door, as though she half expects him to walk back in at any moment.
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Vesta stands frozen in the doorway, arms crossed tight against her chest. Her eyes follow Tristan as the knights surround him and march him down the road. She doesn’t wave back. She just watches until he disappears from sight.
Only then does she breathe out.
“I don’t know.” She finally says quietly. “But whatever is going on, I don’t think it’s good.”
She rubs at her temples, tension settling in.
“Well,” she adds after a moment, voice edged with forced composure. “He could’ve at least been gentler with my door. I’ll have to touch up the paint now.”
She doesn’t even glance at it.
Instead, she turns and walks back inside, lowering herself into her seat. Her hands rest on the table as she stares down at it, deep in thought.
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Vesta sighs heavily and attempts a smile, though it comes out strained, the corners of her mouth pulling upwards in something that is almost a grimace. “Well hey,” she says, trying for brightness. “With Nill here, that gives us extra hands, which puts us closer to waking Saige up, right?” Nill nods twice without hesitation.
“I will do the helping with the waking of Saige.” Vesta gestures towards her in confirmation.
“See? There you go.” She folds her arms loosely, then lets them drop again. “Extra hands also means I will not die quite as often, ideally. And I am sure everyone would appreciate far less complaining from me in the process.”
She attempts a laugh, but it comes out thin, her expression flickering in a way that does not quite match the humor of her words.
“In the meantime, Volaire’s baths aren’t terrible.” She waves one hand casually. “You could take Nill over there for a bit. I would recommend bringing your own soap though. Theirs is… adequate, I suppose, but nowhere near my standards.”
Nill tilts her head slightly.
“What is the bath being?”
Vesta places a hand dramatically over her chest and closes her eyes for a brief moment.
“Stars help this one…” she mutters in Tovi under her breath. Then she stands, brushing down the front of her skirts to collect herself.
“Well,” she says briskly, “If there’s nothing else pressing at the moment, I should really get to setting up camp properly here. There is quite a bit to do, chimes to hang, pillows to fluff, you know the routine.”
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As they speak about her, Nill’s attention slowly drifts inward. She stops poking at the chair and looks down at herself instead. Her fingers comb through her hair, tugging at tangled strands. She turns her hands over, examining her nails, and brushes at her sleeves, at the worn fabric along her arms. Then she twists slightly, glancing over her shoulder at the back of her shirt where two ragged holes have been worn through the fabric. She shrugs.
Across the table, Vesta sets her cup down carefully. Without comment, she rises and moves to a nearby cabinet, retrieving several pouches. She returns to her seat, pressing a quick kiss to Tristan’s cheek before settling back into place.
From her rune bag, she draws three stones. She lays them out in a neat row on the table.
Vesta frowns. “Well, that’s…” She lets out a small, awkward laugh. “Shadow, confusion, moon. All three represent hidden things. Unknown information. Obscured paths.” She exhales softly. “I suppose that means we don’t really have a choice.”
She looks up at Nill, then extends her hand across the table.
“May I see your hand? This will not hurt you, I promise.”
Nill studies her own small hand first, then flicks a glance towards Storm, searching for reassurance. After, she carefully places her hand atop Vesta’s.
Vesta does not speak again, and closes her eyes. Her shoulders stiffen, and after several long seconds, she inhales sharply and opens her eyes, blinking a few times. She releases Nill’s hand.
Nill tilts her head, studying Vesta’s face with quiet intensity.
“I kept the question vague,” Vesta says slowly. “But the vision was clear. Clearer than I expected, to be honest.” She shrugs. “I see you fighting with us. Around Volaire, in the amphitheater. Monsters, undead, people, Fae.” She pauses, processing. “It is evident that you join us. As for whether the Fae will come after you specifically…”
She reaches for the second pouch.
“I am going to try something else,” she explains. “It shouldn’t place a target on my back, as I’m not scrying directly. But I would like to know if they intend to pursue her.”
Vesta selects five bones from the bag and cups them in her hand. After a brief moment of focus, she casts them onto the table. They scatter softly. Only one bone crosses over another. Studying this, Vesta taps her chin, thoughtful.
Nill leans forward, peering at the pattern with curious fascination. “So… yes, but it’s not a very strong yes…” Vesta murmurs. “If more bones were crossed, I would be concerned.” She runs her fingers over the bones. “I wouldn’t discredit the possibility of the Fae coming after her. However, it does not appear to be urgent.”
She gathers the bones and returns them to their bag, setting both pouches aside before reclaiming her tea.
“Perhaps it will be a matter of them pursuing Nill only once she is discovered?”
Her eyes lift up to Storm.
“This method isn’t always accurate. The future shifts. Information changes based on choice and action. I’d take it as a warning, not a verdict.” Then, she turns to Nill. “You should avoid drawing attention to yourself, if you can.” Nill nods once.
“I am being used to the hiding. And the escaping.” Both Nill and Vesta silently look to Storm.
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