The Key

Chapter 12

Palms set together in the air, Casper and Prince Dan look at each other over their aligned fingertips. As the song fades into its conclusion, Prince Dan shifts his hand. This isn’t part of the dance, not a part Prince Dan taught him, but Casper understands all the same. Prince Dan might be the one to thread their fingers, but Casper is the one to squeeze tight.

Around them, there is more hand-striking for the musicians, only a quick round of noise. Prince Dan tugs Casper closer and they escape from the center of the dancing area before the next song can begin. Looking back, Prince Dan waves over his shoulder at his brother. Prince Samuel grins and nods to them both.

“You did it,” Prince Dan tells him proudly. “Now let’s get you sitting down before your legs fall off.”

Brimming over with energy, Casper tries to remember what tiredness looks like. He wants to fly. He wants to plummet, headfirst to the ground, and snap up at the last possible second. He wants to pull Prince Dan back to the courtyard and dance with him there.

Instead, he nods slowly, heavily. He holds tight to Prince Dan’s arm and leans. He marvels at the strangeness of supporting himself that way, rather than wrapping a wing over Prince Dan’s shoulders. His arms feel more important like this.

When they reach the staircase, he’s careful to need more help in stepping over the rope barrier. As they climb, he keeps his progress slow.

“Almost there,” Prince Dan promises, as if Casper could somehow have forgotten the way.

They each open one of the tall doors to the library and move through the center of the doorway together. Inside, Prince Dan guides him to one of the few chairs without supports for the arms. Its back is still high, enough that leaning against it would be uncomfortable even with mobility in his wings.

Prince Dan pulls out a second wooden chair without arms, and he sits sideways. Casper nods thickly and copies, perching when his body demands flight or sparring or any manner of fast physical exertion.

Then Prince Dan takes Casper’s hand again, and he is tethered. The sensation of being grounded ought to be a threat, but being grounded by a single fragile touch is something new. Though Casper’s mind still races, though his body still cries for motion, his spirit calms. A commanding presence is its own form of magic, mage or not.

They rest their arms on the backs of the chairs, and their hands hang in between. Their knees brush, then bump, then press firmly, legs interlaced like their fingers. Casper leans harder against the chair back, his cheek resting upon his arm. He watches through half-lidded eyes as Prince Dan removes his horned mask and sets it upon the table. There are imprints on his face, and sweat darkens his hair.

Casper thinks of knowledge, and confidences, and trust.

He comes to a conclusion.

Through the doors to the balcony, he hears both music and the tolling of the hour. Eleven. He has enough time.

He lifts his cheek from his right arm. “There’s–”

“Did you–”

They both stop.

“There’s what?” Prince Dan asks. His voice is as steady and soothing as the motions of his thumb against the back of Casper’s hand.

Casper shakes his head. “You first,” he says, and he sets his head back onto his arm. He rolls his other shoulder slightly, as if settling in.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Prince Dan asks. “Before I wore you out, at least.”

“I did,” Casper replies. “Though I would have appreciated slightly more warning before dancing with both princes of the nation in front of the king and queen.”

Prince Dan winces. “When you put it that way…” He squeezes Casper’s hand. “You did good, Cas. So good. You didn’t even look nervous.” He looks at Casper a little longer, and though this ought to be a continuation of his gaze, it feels different, like the start of a new sentence. “You never look nervous. The composure on you, man.”

Deliberately, Casper twitches the side of his mouth into a smile.

“So I guess that’s why I gotta ask if you liked it,” Prince Dan continues. “The dancing. With me.” He shifts in his chair and what their knees do is too gentle to be called jostling. “You did, right?”

“Far more than I expected to. I hadn’t taken an interest until tonight.”

“In dancing,” Prince Dan says.

“In dancing,” Casper needlessly confirms. He makes another small smile. “When I return home, I’m going to teach Balthazar. Then we’ll combine forces on Uriel, which should be enough to corner Hannah.”

Prince Dan smiles wide, teeth showing, eyes crinkled at the corners. “You’re a bit of a tactician, there.”

“How else does one capture an archdemon?” Casper asks, and Prince Dan laughs.

“Fair point.” Prince Dan slouches lower in his chair, mirroring Casper. “Really wiped you out, huh?”

“Capturing an archdemon is very difficult,” Casper allows, uncertain where this joke is headed.

Prince Dan smiles again and shakes his head against his arm. “The dancing, smartass.”

“Is two hours considered a small amount?” Casper asks. He doesn’t think he’s miscalculated.

“It was spread out,” Prince Dan argues. “After, uh. The first hour and a half. All right, fine, you win. You’re allowed to be tired.”

“I humbly thank you for your beneficence and magnanimity.”

“Such a smartass,” Prince Dan says, and this time, it sounds like an endearment.

“I’m going to rest a while, and then I think it best I return to my lodgings while I can still walk,” Casper tells him.

“Cas, we got carriages,” Prince Dan replies. “You don’t have to walk.”

“These won’t fit into a carriage seat,” Casper says, nodding toward his left wing.

“And if you hung onto the back like a coachman, you’d probably get blown off,” Prince Dan reasons. “We could have someone walk with you instead.”

Casper shakes his head. “That won’t be necessary. After half an hour of sitting down, I’ll be much more awake.” The renewed energy of his grace might even out by then. He hadn’t felt particularly drained, but he knows now that he had forgotten what it is to be at full power.

“Half an hour, huh?”

“It would be a waste to leave sooner, regardless of my condition,” Casper replies.

“Or you could stick around,” Prince Dan continues. “Stay here. I mean, not here- here. In the palatial complex. You wouldn’t be anywhere near my bedroom, if you’re worried about that. Since people are already talking and all.”

“That offer is either very kind or very selfish,” Casper notes.

“It can be both. I’ve got range like that.”

“It’s appreciated but unnecessary,” Casper replies. Again, he turns his head to look back at his left wing. “There’s a certain amount of necessary processing and preparation I need to do, and I can’t do that here.”

“Hell of a spell, keeping those on like that,” Prince Dan praises.

Casper gives him another smile. Prince Dan seems to like them greatly.

“How did you make those, anyway?” Prince Dan asks. “Griffin feathers, right?”

“There was something I was going to say,” Casper reminds him. He straightens up in the attempt to convey the importance of this subject change.

“Yeah?” Prince Dan’s expression shifts. He sits up as well, but his grip on Casper’s hand remains relaxed. “Something wrong?”

“Not ‘wrong,’ exactly,” Casper says, coasting on an uncertain breeze. The degree of tension in Prince Dan’s hand is a better indicator of emotion than any of the motions of his face. “I believe I’ve discovered something I didn’t intend to, and I think you ought to know.”

By Casper’s standards, the sudden neutrality of Prince Dan’s face ought to be a comfort, so similar to an angel’s, but the stiffness of his hand belies this. “What do you mean?”

“When we were dancing, I felt something unexpected when I touched your brother’s hand.”

Immediately, Prince Dan retracts his own hand. “You what.”

“It was not my intention to pry, and I have no intentions of telling anyone about your brother’s second talent,” Casper promises, committed to this gamble. “I understand why it would be regarded as a state secret, and I would strongly caution him to wear gloves in the future.”

Prince Dan stares at him. His mouth is open, and not in a way Casper recognizes.

“Is that acceptable?” Casper asks.

It clearly isn’t. He’s overstepped.

“What are you talking about?” Prince Dan asks.

“Prince Samuel’s second magical talent.”

“Sam doesn’t have two talents,” Prince Dan says. “ Charlie has two talents.”

“Having two talents is rare, but it does happen more than once each generation,” Casper replies. “I imagine it would be even likelier in families prone to marrying mages, such as yours.”

“Sam doesn’t have two talents,” Prince Dan repeats. “What are you talking about?”

Casper tilts his head, keeping it low. “You don’t know?”

“Cas, I’m telling you, Sam’s only got the visions,” Prince Dan insists.

“You told me that when you were returning from Moondoor, Dame Joanna conjured the largest fireball of her life when she should have been magically exhausted. You said she’d pushed your brother out of the way. Was she in direct skin contact at that time?”

Prince Dan frowns, but his gaze slips to the side. “He was drawing his sword. I ordered Jo to stop him. She… Yeah, she was pushing his hand back down.”

“And afterward, she had enough power to keep moving the carriage.”

Slowly, eyes distant, Prince Dan nods. “You think that was Sam.”

“I know it was,” Casper says.

“You think he’s some sort of… magic enhancer? That’s not even a talent, Cas.”

“It used to be,” Casper tells him. “It was dangerous enough that I’m not surprised it’s largely disappeared.”

Prince Dan rubs a hand across his brow, fingers spiking his sweat-dark hair. “What, like enhancing mages got wiped out because everyone felt threatened when the mages, I don’t know, backed a champion?”

“Your mother the Queen had a difficult pregnancy. The range of her magic grew vastly beyond the typical pregnancy boost, correct?”

“You’re saying Sam – No one manifests in the womb , Cas!”

“All magical creatures do,” Casper replies. “In womb or egg. But that applies to anyone or anything whose life force is connected to their magical energy. Consider it as less an active talent and more an inherent condition.”

“Life force and magic aren’t connected.”

“Not typically in humans, no,” Casper agrees. “But there are exceptions. Before your brother was born, your mother was able to push her range as far as Moondoor, correct? Did she nearly miscarry after?”

Prince Dan’s face changes. Not in expression, but in hue. It drains out in one abrupt wave of ashen skin.

“Are you saying,” Prince Dan sounds out slowly, “that you think my mom nearly drew enough magic out of Sam to kill him?”

“Not intentionally,” Casper assures him. “But it is one factor in the rarity of the talent.”

“When you said it was dangerous…”

“I meant to your brother, yes.”

Prince Dan pushes his chair back. He stands. He paces. His hands clench. He turns back to Casper. “How sure are you?”

“About my knowledge of the talent, or your brother having it?”

“Both,” Prince Dan says.

“Moderately, and entirely,” Casper answers. “Magically, I’m at full strength. It was… unexpected.”

Again, Prince Dan wipes at his face. “All right.” He looks at the library doors and back to Casper. “All right. You could have led with that.”

“I told you I felt it when I touched his hand,” Casper says. “That was the moment of transfer.”

Prince Dan stares at him hard before looking away. He makes a sound as small as it is awful. “Right. Yeah. So you’re all mojo’ed up, we’ve been forcing Jo to make fireballs she can’t cast for months, and Sam nearly wasn’t born. Anything else?”

“Yes,” Casper says. “Will you sit back down?”

For a moment, Prince Dan doesn’t move.

When he does, it’s toward the doors.

“Dan?” Casper asks. He stands.

“I’m getting Sam.”

“Wouldn’t that indicate a disturbance?” Casper asks. It could certainly create one. The likelihood of leaving on time is decreasing by the moment. This was poorly embarked on, leaving revelations where he should be inspiring trust, and he must conclude it as quickly as he can. “Your brother is in no more danger now than he was an hour ago.”

“He should hear this himself.”

Casper stands. He closes the distance between them and takes each of Prince Dan’s hands in his own. “You’ll alarm the guests.” When this garners no fruitful response, Casper amends, “You’re alarming me.”

“ I’m alarming you,” Prince Dan echoes. “I–” He cuts himself off, taking a deep breath. Casper mimics the thumb rubbing motion Prince Dan uses so often himself. “All right, yeah. You tell me everything. Once everyone’s gone, I tell Sam, and anything I can’t tell him, you tell him tomorrow.”

“I’m not an expert,” Casper hastens to tell him. “My knowledge is limited.”

“It’s more than I got,” Prince Dan says. He draws Casper back to their seats. They sit, Prince Dan leaning sharply forward. “If he’s not just a seer, if he’s some kind of, what, enhancement mage, what are the risks?”

“Long ago, they were called ‘vessels,’” Casper explains. “The danger of a vessel is that it can be emptied. Not simply of their stores of magic, but of their life force. That’s the danger of the two being linked.”

“Not reassuring me here, Cas.”

“But,” Casper continues, “a human could only draw from your brother while actively using magic themselves, while fulfilling a transference condition.”

“Touch, breath, or blood,” Prince Dan recites. “Same hierarchy of transfer?”

“Touch is always least effective, blood always the most,” Casper confirms. “There are certain constants to magic.”

“We can get him more gloves,” Prince Dan says, as if to himself. “He’s too tall to go around breathing on people, and no one gets at his blood before I spill theirs.” He nods a bit as he speaks. Then he looks at Casper sharply. “You were actively using magic?”

Not for the first time tonight, Casper points to his own wings.

“Wait, that’s an active spell?” Prince Dan asks, staring harder. “Not a set-it-and-forget-it?”

“It made the abrupt lack of mental exhaustion very noticeable,” Casper replies, verbally sidestepping.

Dan doesn’t stop staring. “You held a spell this entire time.”

“I am very stubborn,” Casper answers.

“While learning how to dance. For hours.”

“Dan, you’re getting sidetracked,” Casper tells him.

Prince Dan shakes his head, his expression a strange variation on a smile that largely involves having his mouth open. He eventually closes it and settles back into his chair. Despite sitting with his arm along the back of his chair, he doesn’t take Casper’s hand again.

Casper shifts forward a few inches, but Prince Dan still doesn’t take it.

“You said a human would need to be spellcasting,” Prince Dan says. “You being weirdly specific, or do we have to worry about other stuff?”

“Any magical creature is constantly using magical energy, as that energy is their life force,” Casper replies. “So any creature of that kind touching or touched by your brother would draw from him. I imagine it would stop once the creature was at full power, but a strong enough creature, sufficiently drained, could potentially draw your brother’s entire life force first.”

“So, like if an injured chimera bit him somehow,” Prince Dan reasons, “it would pull Sam’s life out of him to heal itself.”

“Meaning that attacking such a creature would only result in more harm to your brother, yes.”

Prince Dan turns quiet, his face a wordless storm.

“Ironically,” Casper adds, “a bite deep enough to draw blood would make the transfer more efficient, and the chimera would have to draw less power.”

“Great,” Prince Dan says. “So vampires will top off their cups quickly.” He closes his eyes and touches his face again, leaving Casper’s hand very much alone. “You’re sure Sam has this? That he’s a, uh, vessel?”

“I can see no other explanation.”

“Should be easy enough to test,” Prince Dan says, again in that tone where Casper is no longer his conversational partner. “Seems like something we should have seen before, though.”

“Is your brother often touched?” Casper asks.

“I mean, yeah,” Prince Dan answers immediately. “We were always roughhousing as kids. Then there was Bobby and Rufus teaching him how to fight and…” He stops. He closes his eyes. Exhaustion and tension both fill his shoulders, more than should fit. “None of us are mages. Dad never lets us close while he’s using fire, and Mom gets distracted if people touch her while she’s scrying. And it’s not like Jess has ever had to heal him. s**t. We really could have missed this.”

Casper sits and waits for Prince Dan’s focus to return to him. It is some time coming.

Prince Dan swears softly. “When we were kids,” he says. “When Charlie was getting back at him for lying about visions, she zapped him pretty bad. Just poked him and zap! The way you get with socks on rugs, except stronger. She swore up and down for weeks she didn’t mean to do it that hard. Never did it again, at all. We gave her crap about her shitty control for years .”

Casper keeps waiting. Minutes pass. Casper considers getting up to inspect the items in the display cases, but he is meant to be tired. Also, that might be too rude even for Prince Dan.

At last, Prince Dan looks at him properly. “Do you know about any other talents like this? Easily overlooked stuff.”

“Do you have something in mind?” Casper asks.

“No,” Prince Dan says. “I just…” He lowers his head. After a moment, his shoulders sag as well. “Look. Sam’s gonna be a great king. I know that. He really will be. But I…” He looks up at Casper, a strange angle. “Is Sam the only one? Could I maybe be a vessel too?”

Casper takes his hand.

Prince Dan watches him with wide eyes and a tight mouth. “Do you feel anything? Surge of magic, anything?”

“That’s not what I feel when I touch you,” Casper replies.

Closing his eyes, Prince Dan squeezes his hand. “Tell me.”

“I feel warmth,” Casper says. “Strength. Your tension. Sometimes your heartbeat. The marks of your training.” He trails a fingertip across these callouses, tracing the places where the hilt of a sword has become part of Dan’s palm. His own skin doesn’t work this way, and he feels a faint and wistful envy which he keeps to himself. Instead, he says, “A peculiarly strong sense of safety,” because this is also true.

“But that’s all,” Prince Dan says, again looking at him with a bowed head.

“That isn’t all,” Casper promises. “But you are not a vessel.”

Prince Dan nods. “Yeah. I guess I knew that.” He sighs and straightens, and when Casper doesn’t give him his hand back, he smiles weakly. “Thanks, Cas.”

Casper makes him a smile in return, a small one.

“How do you know about all this?” Prince Dan asks, which is a reasonable question Casper has prepared for.

“Very old stories,” Casper answers. “Ones I don’t think you’d care to hear tonight.”

“More angel stuff?” Prince Dan asks, frowning. “What’s the connection?”

“You don’t believe in angels,” Casper reminds him. “And I think you have enough practicalities to cope with, without enduring fiction.”

“You don’t think it’s fiction.”

“You do,” Casper replies, “and that’s what’s important right now. Especially when you keep looking at the door behind me. You want to go to your brother.”

He hadn’t actually been before, but Prince Dan glances past him now. “That obvious, huh?”

“I have brothers,” Casper says, thinking back to Uriel’s capture. “So in that sense, yes.”

Prince Dan rubs his thumb across Casper’s knuckles. “I’ll walk you down, but I gotta see Sam. Sorry.”

“I’d do the same,” Casper tells him.

They stand, hand still in hand. Prince Dan moves for the door, but Casper does not. Prince Dan looks back at him.

“You’re forgetting something,” Casper says.

Face unreadable, Prince Dan pauses before he steps back before Casper. He looks down into Casper’s eyes, his own a calm and serious green. His hand not in Casper’s rises and touches Casper where his shoulder becomes his neck, above the collars of both his shirts. His thumb supports Casper’s jaw, and Casper allows his chin to be lifted in willing supplication.

“Gonna kick myself for this later,” Prince Dan murmurs, “but I’m not feeling up for a good night kiss right now.”

Pointing with his eyes, Casper tilts his face into Prince Dan’s hand. “I meant, your mask is on the table.”

Prince Dan’s eyes flick past him and return to his face. Tension suffuses his hand on Casper’s neck, and the touch suffers for it.

“Is a good night embrace a suitable compromise?” Casper asks, unaware of any so-called good night customs.

“Yeah,” Prince Dan says, voice low and thick. “Yeah, that would do it.”

Casper sinks forward, sinks into him. He wraps his arms fairly high about Prince Dan’s back, forcing Prince Dan to put his arms about Casper’s neck rather than over his wings. Casper holds him, or the other way around. Their feet know where to stand, and their knees touch without jostling. The music still slipping in through the balcony doors bids them to sway, and it is not unlike dancing. The side of Prince Dan’s face presses against the side of Casper’s mask, and it is almost satisfying.

Slowly, the loop of Casper’s arms lowers. He settles his chin over Prince Dan’s shoulder. He closes his eyes and wills his feathers not to ruffle. He decides he likes good night customs.

Too conscious of the time, he loosens his hold. Prince Dan takes a moment longer, and even when he lets go, he doesn’t step back. Casper does, retrieving Prince Dan’s mask and returning it to him. Prince Dan accepts it with a small groan.

“Wearing this thing makes me feel ridiculous,” he complains.

Wearing his own feathers on his face, Casper says nothing.

Prince Dan replaces the mask upon his head, becoming no stranger a creature than he is without it. “This is where you’re supposed to tell me I look very handsome,” Prince Dan prompts, licking his lips.

“You look very handsome,” Casper replies, watching his mouth. Yes, he enjoys good night customs. “I’ll kiss you tomorrow.”

Prince Dan’s lips part. His nostrils flare. “Will you?”

“If that’s acceptable,” Casper says, not wanting to overstep.

“s**t, Cas,” Prince Dan says, which is a strange kind of answer.

Uncertain of how to reply, Casper instead shifts his grip on Prince Dan, moving from hand to elbow. “You were about to walk me downstairs.”

“Yeah,” Prince Dan says, still staring at Casper’s mouth. He moves when Casper moves him. “I mean, it’s after eleven. It’s practically tomorrow already.”

“You’re going to return to your brother,” Casper tells him, “and I’m going to return to my lodgings.”

“And tomorrow, you’re going to kiss me.”

“Yes,” Casper says.

“Y’know, I’ve thought about it,” Prince Dan says as they start down the stairs, “and I’ve reconsidered. A good night kiss would go over just fine. Don’t wait on my account.”

Casper leans heavily on Prince Dan’s arm, which is difficult to do when his body feels so light and refreshed. “Tonight, I’d rather hold you again,” Casper answers, because this is the closest they will come to dancing under his guise of exhaustion. “But that doesn’t seem very feasible on a staircase.”

Prince Dan swears in the same tone he’d sworn in before.

Curious, Casper looks up at him, one hand on Prince Dan’s elbow, the other on the stone railing.

“You’re really something else, I hope you know that,” Prince Dan says.

“So are you,” Casper answers, a private joke, and Prince Dan grins along all the same.

At the bottom of the stairs, Prince Dan helps him over the rope barrier one last time. There, Casper releases him. After hours spent in almost continuous contact, the lack is jarring, cold, and unwanted.

“I gotta,” Prince Dan says, and he points in the direction of the throne room.

“Until tomorrow,” Casper says.

“Yeah,” says Prince Dan, not moving.

The hour grows late, and so Casper must move. He holds Prince Dan’s gaze before deliberately closing his eyes, and bows. He straightens, looks at Prince Dan with a small smile, and turns to go.

Every step of the way out, he half-expects, half-fears being called back. Once outside the castle, he checks behind himself even more than he looks to the sky. As on other nights, he’s not the only party-goer leaving this early, but it is far from a crowd. He walks with a small group at the periphery until he lags behind sufficiently to slip away. The rest continue on to their waiting carriages.

His wings help to hide him in the darkness, and he makes his way to the hedge maze without the help of light. At a quiet jog, he unerringly finds his way to the dead end that is, at midnight, no longer a dead end. By the time he reaches it, the portal is already open and waiting, the clock tower tolling out long strikes.

The previous two nights, he’d bid the sky a silent goodbye before forcing himself back into that containment. He’d breathed fresh air and pushed down memories of quiet suffering until he could withstand the thought of return.

Tonight, he has neither the time, nor the hesitation.

Tonight, feathers ruffled with thoughts of tomorrow, he simply jumps through.