"Of course, Mari," Taskin smiles at the girl in his doorway. "What do you need?"
"I was hoping you could answer some questions about today's lecture for me? I don't think I understand how the First Council works, really."
Taskin studies her, curious. Mare'n's governing system, while it probably seems very strange to his Eschien students, isn't an overly complicated one. And Mari is one of his brightest students - he sincerely doubts she's having trouble with the concept. The thing about teenagers, though, is that sometimes they need to come at something in a roundabout way. So he just nods, putting aside the paper he'd been grading.
"I have a few minutes. Tell me what you do understand."
"Well, I understand that every tribe can send a representative," she says, "but I don't understand why they don't."
Half an hour later, several illogical circle-backs that are honestly beneath them both, and it's become clear that either she's hopelessly confused or she's buying time. If she were any of a number of his other students, maybe he wouldn't be so convinced that she was stalling.
But she's definitely stalling.
"Mari," he interrupts her latest attempt at confuscation, trying to keep his voice gentle though his patience had run out about fifteen minutes ago. "I don't think you're actually confused about this. Am I right?"
She flushes bright red, ducking her head, and he bites back a sigh. Bright she may be, but she's also been one of the shyer students in the group, and he doesn't want to spook her. "You're right."
"Well, if we're in agreement about that, why don't you tell me why you're really here, and we can work on that instead?"
"Okay," she mumbles, and then sits silently for a moment, fidgeting with her notebook. Taskin waits patiently and is rewarded when she offers, "You know Gilles, in my class?"
"I know Gilles." Taskin does his best to school his face to calm curiosity, but there's an acidic taste in the back of his throat, and he knows his pulse has jumped. Gilles is the son of the Marquise, and it's become increasingly clear since Kevian's visit that that particular apple doesn't fall far from the tree.
He doesn't think he's done a very good job of hiding his distaste, because she studies his face and gives a little nod, more to herself than to him. "I don't think you'd be surprised to hear that he's been saying some pretty nasty things to his buddies," Mari glances up at him again, and then looks away. "It started out just…mean. Intolerant. It's been getting worse, lately. And today…"
After she trails off, it's quiet except for the sound of their breathing. She doesn't seem inclined to go on - he thinks they must have reached the heart of why she's here. "What happened today, Mari?"
Before speaking, she looks right at him. "Henri was complaining about the homework you were assigning, and Gilles told him not to worry about it, you wouldn't be around long enough to grade it."
"Thank you for telling me, Mari," he says softly. "I appreciate your trust."
"That's not all," Mari looks down at her hands, tightly clasped now in her lap. "I wanted to ignore it," she admitted. "To ignore them - they scare me. But then Gilles said…he said that it was going to happen today or before the end of the week, and if it didn't, maybe he'd help it along."
Taskin's heart skips a beat. After Kevian's visit, he had suspected that the hostility from Gilles and his friends was more than just teenage bravado and a reflection of the Marquise's ire, but hearing it confirmed in such a blunt manner was still a shock. He struggles to keep his expression neutral but knows he is failing. The lengthening shadows as the sun sets suddenly seem more ominous.
"Anyway, I just thought you should know. I'm sorry, professor." The girl is on her feet before he can say anything else, and out the door as he stands, reaching across his desk into empty space - though what he would have said if she waited, he doesn't know. He sits down heavily and tries to decide what to do next.
What he wants is to talk to Kevian - but he can't do that right now. Kevian is across the country, doing his job. Reaching into his pocket, he wraps his fingers around the message stone that his partner had given him, but he doesn't pull it out. Kevian could be doing anything - in the middle of something important - and it's not like anything has changed. Kev already knows about the threat, about the Marquise. He can wait for their next scheduled communication time.
Kevian knows, but his boss doesn't. After a lot of thought, Taskin had decided not to talk to the Dean about the threat and just keep his head down and try to stay out of the Marquise's line of fire. But if Gilles of Rone feels comfortable making threats against him in his classroom, then maybe it's time to stop hoping it'll just go away.
Decision made, he tidies up his office - which is barely big enough for his desk, a few shelves, and a chair on the other side, but at least it's his. Pausing, he looks around, and there's something tight in his chest. He likes his job. He loves teaching, even these strange and often spoiled students. He hates that it might be torn away from him just because one angry old lady doesn't like what he has to say.
Dean Hollen's office is a few floors up, in a different wing. It's getting late, but he's hoping that she likes to work as hard as the rumors suggest, and will still be there. He knocks, and hears a faint voice call for him to enter.
Dean Hollen’s office is opulent. Everything is dark wood and heavy drapes, and the air is thick with the scent of old books and beeswax. Taskin feels even more out of place than usual as the heavy door closes behind him.
Hollen, perched on a high-backed chair behind a massive walnut desk, glances at him over a pair of thick spectacles. "Professor Dal. What brings you to my office?"
Not too long ago, he would have said the Dean liked him. She was always friendly when they talked, and had checked in to make sure he got settled when he first started. It was only recently, after he started teaching the Marquise's heirs, that she'd started to watch him and question his teaching. Now, he's not sure - which is why he hadn't brought her his concerns before.
“I apologize for dropping in unannounced." Taskin’s throat is tight. He's still not sure he wants to tell her now. "I have…a concern I think you need to be aware of.”
“A concern?” Hollen raises an eyebrow. “At this hour? And with which particular concern are you so profoundly preoccupied?”
Taskin hesitates. He wants to assume the best of the Dean, to ignore his suspicions about why she's been on his case so much recently. But her sharp gaze and the subtle tightening of her lips now that he's here make it hard to do that.
“It’s…a matter regarding a student.”
“Ah," Hollen nods curtly, "a student." Her sharp look makes Taskin’s stomach churn.
“Gilles of Rone,” he blurts out, surprised by his own boldness. “He threatened me."
“Threatened you?” Hollen sounds faintly incredulous - and if it were any other student, Taskin would agree that it sounds ridiculous. This is not any other student, though - it's the son of a dangerous, powerful woman. "Professor Dal…"
"Dean…I know that you are aware that his mother, the Marquise, is unhappy with some of the things I have taught in my class. That's her prerogative. But today, Gilles told his friends that I would be gone by the end of the week…and if I wasn't, maybe he'd help it along."
She has the decency to look uncomfortable, but it's brief before she gives him a look of practiced indifference. “That is quite an accusation against a student. Perhaps young Lord Rone is merely expressing his youthful enthusiasm for political discourse?”
“I don't think threatening to kill your teacher if you don't agree with them can be called youthful enthusiasm,” Taskin says, holding her gaze, “He’s threatening me, and I have it from a good source that the Marquise has too."
She shuffles some papers, restacks some books, and lets the silence stretch until it feels like it might burst before she leans forward, hands clasped on her heavy desk. "Professor Dal, the Marquise of Rone isn't someone to be challenged, or defied."
"I…I'm just teaching the facts, Dean."
"I am aware of that, Professor Dal. Taskin." She rubs her temples and lets her breath out slowly. "Look, young man, I like you. I think you're smart, and you have a lot to offer. But maybe your time to offer it here is up."
"I don't understand." His stomach swoops, feeling like the motion of tripping and falling, but as if the ground isn't there to catch him, and he just keeps falling. Perhaps he's entertained doubts about the Dean, but deep down, he believed that the woman would help. Not…this.
"Taskin, I am going to be very honest with you. Nothing is going to happen to that boy. The Marquise would never allow it." When she looks at him now, it's with pity. "The best thing you can do now is move on. Out of sight, out of mind for the Marquise. I'm happy to write you a glowing recommendation, and I'm sure any of your colleagues would do the same."
Taskin doesn't say anything. He isn't sure he can.
"I'm sorry." The woman in front of him says, and he even thinks she means it. "It's your decision, Taskin. I won't fire you. But I can't protect you."
-------------------------
He realizes, halfway back to his office, that his fingers are wrapped so tightly around the communication stone in his pocket that they're cramping. That he's been gripping it like that for a while. He almost pulls it out, but he doesn't want to talk to Kevian here, in the empty, echoing hallway, or even in his office, even though he's made that his peaceful sanctuary here at the college.
No. He wants to be able to curl up on the couch, with a fire roaring in the hearth, and wrapped up in the blanket that Kevian had knit, one painstaking row at a time, for no other reason than to have something to do with his hands while Taskin read aloud. Or in their bed, which somehow still smells like his partner's unique mix of fresh air, lavender soap, and the strange spicy scent Taskin has come to associate with Kevian's magic use, no matter how many nights the man himself doesn't sleep there.
Once he has one of those things, then he can contact his partner and admit that he's failed here.
With numb fingers, he gathers up the rest of his things from his office and walks down to the street level, half-expecting Gilles to jump out from behind the bushes and attack him as he leaves the college. But he doesn't, and Taskin heaves a sigh of relief, forcing a chuckle at his own overactive imagination. Who would attack him on the college grounds? That would be foolish.
The city, though, is a different story. His lodgings aren't in a bad part of town, but neither are they in a busy student area. When he picked them, that had been a benefit, not a drawback. As he walks down the street now, nervously scanning the streets and the faces he does see, he's distracted by wondering what on Earth he's going to do. Where will he go? He doesn't notice the figure following him, lurking in the shadows, until it's too late.
A hand reaches out and grabs his arm, spinning him around. Taskin tries to shake off the attacker, but they're too strong. He's slammed into the wall of a nearby building, the air knocked out of him. He can only see his attacker's eyes, and that barely; the person has a dark scarf wrapped around his head and face. And the knife, glinting in his hand.
Taskin tries to break away, but the attacker lets go of him just long enough to shift and pin him to the wall with a forearm across the base of his throat, faster than Taskin can react. The assassin is also much bigger than him, in height as well as breadth, and just pushes harder against Taskin's throat as he struggles ineffectually.
Without anything else to do, Taskin stares into his attacker's eyes, hoping to inspire some last-minute humanity, but the knife is pressed to his throat, and he's accepted that he is probably going to die here in this alleyway. He wishes he'd called Kevian from his office.
Just as he feels the sting of the knife pressing into his skin, there is an awful, otherworldly shriek, followed by a bright blur. His attacker curses and drops the knife - and Taskin - as he raises both hands to shield his own face from the tiny, iridescent dragon that has appeared seemingly out of nowhere, wings beating rapidly as it places itself between the professor and the assassin, shrieking its fury again.
The man stumbles back a step, hands still in front of his face as the dragon darts forward, claws extended, scratching at the man's face. He bends down, grasping for the knife, but there's a second dragon there. She's no bigger than a housecat, but her hiss and the razor-sharp talons she's flexing as she stands over the knife seem to dissuade him from trying to reach under her.
Taskin scrambles fully upright in time to see the man reach into his cloak, and his heart is in his throat, sure the man is about to pull out another weapon - that is when Desily appears, as if summoned from the shadows.
"I wouldn't, if I were you," she says, as the white faerie dragon lands on her shoulder, still bristling with rage, mouth open to show all his pointy white teeth as he breathes a little whisp of smoke. "If you value your life, you won't be here when I turn around," she says, her voice low and menacing.
Turning her back on him, the tiny archivist approaches Taskin. "Did he harm you?"
Speechless, it's all he can do to raise a shaking hand to his throat. It comes away smeared in blood, but she peers up at him, and though her eyebrows knit together in a frown, she doesn't seem overly concerned.
The man takes one step towards them, hand still in his cloak, but as he slowly starts to withdraw it, the copper-colored dragon on the ground adds her shriek to the air, and his nerve fails him. Turning bone white, he turns to flee. Both dragons give chase, and Taskin tries to slow down his racing heart as Desily approaches him.
"Let me see your neck," she commands in her usual no-nonsense tone, effortlessly conjuring a stool for him out of thin air. He sinks into it, pulling his hand away from his throat when she grabs his wrist. "We should get that cleaned up and bandaged, but I'm not sure you'll even have a scar."
"How did you…" Now that he's had a moment to breathe, he can't quite puzzle through why she's here. He hasn't even seen or spoken to her in…well, in more than a month.
"Well, boy, your beau sent me a desperate message," she meets his eyes as the dragons come back, chirruping in good spirits. "I thought he was just being overprotective, but it looks like he wasn't." Shimmer lands on the achivist's shoulder, but Shine hops over into Taskin's lap, butting his head against his hands much like the cat they are often compared to. "Shine always did like you. Let's get you out of this alley, boy."
-------------------------
Despite his best efforts, Taskin finds himself escorted not to his own home, but to Desily's. According to her, she'd promised Kevian Taskin would be alive when he made it back to Mythlight, and she doesn't trust Taskin to keep himself safe. Which, alright, he maybe understands why she feels that way, but he just wanted to go home.
"Drink this," she tells him, thunking a steaming mug onto the table.
"This is really unnecessary," he tries again. "Thank you for your help, truly, but I should go home."
"Do you really think that half-witted street thug was the worst the Marquise can come up with?" She pins him down with her bright green eyes, turning away from the stove, where she's been heating something up in a pan. "I'm not convinced that wasn't the son, anyway. There could be anyone lying in wait in your rooms. So, you're going to sleep on my couch and wait for your young man. There is strength in numbers."
She slides a plate across the table to him. "Eat, Taskin. I don't cook for just anybody."
Despite the gruff delivery, he can tell she means it, and it cheers him up a little. Maybe she'd taken a while to warm up to them, but he knows both Kevian and himself consider her a friend, and he's pretty sure it's reciprocated.
It helps, he knows, that they don't ask her too many awkward questions, even on the occasion when things have gotten…weird.
"Thank you, Desily."
He rallies to be good company for a little bit, but then excuses himself, claiming exhaustion. She hands him some blankets and disappears, leaving him finally alone. Her house looks a lot like her office - crowded with books and small treasures he's choosing not to investigate too closely, in the spirit of not having too many of those questions. Sinking down onto the couch, he pulls the communication stone out of his pocket and holds it in his hands. It's dark - and it stays dark, even after he sends a tentative pulse through it. He swallows hard on the disappointment and sets it on the chest by the couch where he can see it.
Shine, perched on the back of the couch, makes a curious sound. "I'm okay, little friend," Taskin strokes down his smooth white scales. "Thanks to you, of course." The little dragon makes a pleased burble and hops over to what is clearly a nest, though a very cozy one, settling in with his coppery partner. "You and Shimmer."
He thinks it will take him a long time to fall asleep, so he selects a book from a nearby shelf, but he doesn't remember opening it.
-------------------------
He's not sure at first what wakes him, but as he's surfacing, he can hear their murmurs.
"What can I do to repay you?"
"It's not needed."
"I disagree. If you hadn't been there…"
"But I was there, little cleric." Taskin smiles at that, rolling towards them. Kevian is probably twice her size, maybe three times. He'd pointed it out more than a few times, early on, but the nickname had stuck.
"Yes." Kevian exhales heavily, leaning on the table. "And thank the Six you were."
"It's what friends do, Kevian," the little old woman pats his arm. "You boys have grown on me, you know. And besides, Shine loves him, and that grumpy old lizard doesn't like many people." That particular 'lizard', who it turns out is perched on the back of the couch just above Taskin's head, huffs at being called 'grumpy', or possibly at 'old', and Taskin has to stifle a laugh. He watches Desily turn to his partner as she says seriously, "If you want to repay me, get your boy out of here before she hires someone I can't handle."
"I'll do my best," he sounds so exhausted. Taskin's heart clenches, and he tries to sit up, struggling against fatigue and the heavy blankets that seem to have been wrapped around him at some point.
"Kev?"
"Hello, dearheart. I heard you had quite a bad day." Kevian comes around the table and sits down on the chest. He has to pick up the communication stone to do so, and he turns it over in his hand. "Did you try to use this, earlier?"
"Yes…after…" Taskin gives up trying to get upright and lies back down, trailing off. He can't help but remember the disappointment when Kevian hadn't answered, but it seems unfair, since his partner is here now.
"I'm sorry, my heart. I was already on my way here, and I didn't notice it."
"It's okay," Taskin smiles up at him. "You're here now." Kevian's eyes are not on his, and he has a feeling he knows what he's looking at. "It's not that deep. I'm okay." Kevian reaches out anyway, and his fingers are so gentle against the bandage and Taskin's neck that it doesn't ignite the pain again.
"Hm," the hand leaves his throat and brushes through his hair instead. "I thought we agreed you'd be careful?"
"I was careful!" Taskin protests, shoving the blanket off forcefully and sitting up, but then amends it to, "I tried my best."
"Oh, honey, no. I know that." Kevian's hand is back on him, on the side of his face, as he leans in. "This wasn't your fault. I was teasing."
He looks around, guiltily glad to see that Desily has made herself scarce, as the sting behind his eyes tells him tears might be coming. "I'm scared," he admits.
"Me too. Alright, move over." It doesn't take much for his partner to physically move him to the side, settle in on the couch, and then tug Taskin back over into his lap. It's nice when his arms wrap around Taskin tightly.
"I told the Dean today," he sighs. Kevian responds with an inquisitive noise, so he continues. "Another student came and told me that the Marquise's son was making threats against me - he's bold enough to be doing it in class. And the Dean - she said she can't help me. That I should leave."
"I know that's not what you were hoping for. And I'm sure it hurt to be turned away by the Dean. I'm sorry, my heart," he settles back against Kevian, as his partner runs a hand up and down his arm. He appreciates that Kevian hasn't, right now, brought up that they'd already talked about this possibility. That Kevian had encouraged him to quit months ago. They'll have to talk about it at some point, but right now his partner is just…here. A rock. His rock.
"I love you, you know." Taskin looks up, ignoring the stretch of the skin on his torn throat.
"I know," Kevian smiles down at him. "I love you, too. Go back to sleep, dearheart. We'll figure out the rest in the morning."
-------------------------
"I just…I feel like I have more to do here."
Morning has come and gone, and with it their journey across town back to Taskin's rooms. Now he's perched on the counter, because Kevian had insisted on getting a look at his neck underneath the bandages, even though he tried to assure him that Desily's handiwork was just fine.
"I know it's not what you wanted," his partner smoothes a dampened cloth across the cut, which admittedly, feels very nice. Taskin leans in a little bit, savoring the gentle contact. "But you won't be able to do anything if you're dead, Taskin."
"My students-"
"Will have to learn from someone else!" Kevian throws the cloth down next to Taskin, who can't help but jump, and his partner closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to shout. But your life is more important than anyone's education. You're a whirlwind, dearheart, but you're not invincible."
Taskin sighs, feeling the weight of everything that's happening bearing down on him. "I'm sorry I didn't leave when you first learned about the threat." The pang of guilt is so strong it's nearly a real, physical pain. If he had, this wouldn't have happened. And Kevian has wasted so much time, worrying about whether Taskin is safe… "This is my fault."
"No, my heart, it's not." Kevian places a gentle hand on the side of his face. "We looked at those odds together and decided it would be okay. Circumstances have changed, though, and now we need to change with them."
Taskin looks down at his hands, feeling nauseous. He knows Kevian is right, but he was doing something important here. He was offering a perspective that ran counter to the awful one perpetrated by the Marquise and her ilk.
"There are just so many things I could have done differently," he laments. "I should have recognized I needed to back down in my teaching sooner. Or maybe I should have spoken to Dean Hollen sooner, before she was so intimidated by the Rones." He has picked up the cloth Kevian was using on his neck just for something to wring in his hands, and he's looking down at it, but he's still aware of his partner's eyes intently on his face. "I should have been more careful coming home…and several times yesterday I thought about calling you, and I didn't, I shouldn't have waited. Or I should have asked someone else for help if I couldn't reach you."
"Maybe some of those things are true," Kevian leans down, trying to kiss him and pressing a tender kiss to the corner of his mouth when he stubbornly turns his head away. "But none of them mean you deserved to be murdered." His words don't absolve Taskin of the guilt settling in his core. He knows Kevian is probably right, but it's hard to let go of his duties and probable shortcomings.
"I still feel guilty. I could have done better."
For a moment, everything is silent except for their breathing. Kevian is still studying him, looking at him like he can see inside his mind, and he finally says slowly, "Do you trust me?"
Startled, Taskin looks back up at him. "Yes, of course."
"Alright, come here," Kevian guides him gently off the counter and over to the couch, where he sits down, but as Taskin goes to join him, he reaches over and tugs him instead over his lap. One of his hands is wrapped around Taskin's hip, arm across his body to keep him in place, and the other is resting on his upturned rear rather ominously.
"Kev…?" he asks, uncertain, butterflies starting to swarm in his stomach. It's one thing to feel as guilty as he does, but he finds it's quite another to consider that his partner might find fault in his actions. That makes him feel small, and not in a good way, in the way where he'd like to disappear.
"Easy," Kevian's large, warm hand strokes down his back in slow motion, and he realizes he's squirming in his partner's hold. Not really trying to get away, just uncomfortable and uncertain. "Settle. I'm not upset with you. I don't think you broke any of our rules. But I think you're blaming yourself, so I'm going to take care of that, so you can let it go. If you need me to stop, you know the word."
Taskin takes a takes a deep, if somewhat unsteady, breath and as he lets it go, sinks into stillness over Kevian's lap. He is prepared for the first smack when Kevian lifts his spanking hand from Taskin's back, but when it falls, it barely stings. His hand lands about ten times before he pushes Taskin's tunic out of the way and slides his fingers into the back of his trousers and underthings, working them over his cheeks and down to his knees with a reassuring hum.
When his hand falls again, he hasn't much increased the strength, but taking away three layers of protection makes a difference, and Taskin can't help but huff out a tiny, nearly silent protest.
Kevian continues to land slow, purposeful spanks all over his now-bare bottom, the smacks echoing through the otherwise quiet room. None of the individual swats are particularly hard, but the cumulative effect leaves his rear stinging, and then starting to burn. Taskin struggles to stay still and unresisting, but as Kevian's hand rises and falls again, and again, he knows he will soon lose the battle.
As he begins to squirm, involuntarily, Taskin starts to feel a lump form in his throat. He tries to swallow it down, but it only grows, until he's choking back tears. Kevian's hand pauses, and for just a second, Taskin thinks he's done. But Kevian leans over him for a moment, seemingly checking on something, and then takes a better hold of his hip before lifting one knee and starting in again, this time a steady barrage of stinging swats on the lower half of his cheeks and the places where he sits. Taskin can't hold it in anymore. He bursts into tears, his body shaking with sobs.
Kevian's hand slows, but doesn't stop, continuing to scatter smacks all over. "Let it go, my heart," he says, his voice low and soothing. "Let go of the guilt. You did the best you could with what you had."
Taskin's sobs grow louder, his body wracked with emotion. Kevian's hand continues to fall, but the swats are almost pats now, and coming slower and slower, just to encourage the release. Taskin feels himself letting go, slowly, of the weight that's been holding him back.
Finally, Kevian's hand stops. He pulls Taskin up into his lap, wrapping his arms around him in a tight hug. Taskin buries his face in Kevian's chest, sobbing reduced to silent tears, but he can feel a sense of peace wash over him.
"It's okay," Kevian whispers, his voice rumbling against Taskin's ear. "You're safe. You're loved. And you're not alone."
Taskin's tears slowly subside, replaced by sniffles and hiccuping breaths. He wraps his arms around Kevian's waist, holding on tight, and just lets himself be held. He can feel Kevian's warmth seeping into him, comforting and familiar, and he knows that he's exactly where he needs to be.
