Chapter Text
Heinrix could hear seabirds.
He rolled over in the ridiculously extravagant bed, yawning, reaching one arm across to find - nobody. Gwenllian was gone. With a grunt, he sat up, then rubbed his eyes and looked at the chrono.
Almost midday!?
They had arrived late, in the dark, and had both been so weary they had fallen straight into bed and stayed there; and clearly he had been asleep far beyond the possibility of disturbing in the morning. The thought concerned him. What else might he have missed, in such a state? There were guards, he knew, and he had supplemented them with unobtrusive but armed servoskulls from his personal arsenal, as well as secretly leaning on his rosette to have the location thoroughly vetted prior to their arrival.
It was safe. Or as safe as anywhere could be in the Koronus Expanse.
He looked around the room. It was sparsely furnished in a style he supposed one could call ‘beach’, all pale wicker and white fabrics, although he was no interior designer.
‘Gwen?’
Silence. He clambered out of the bed, found a pair of trousers, wandered to the en-suite to wash his face.
Bare feet took him though to a palatial lounge area, where a very relaxed Rhiannon appeared with a large carafe and disappeared again with a rather joyful smile. Gwenllian had brought her own staff down with her, reasoning they should get a beach trip too; Heinrix personally thought it was sensible from a security perspective, but he hadn't commented, electing to let her enjoy her generosity.
‘Gwen?’
He poured himself a cup, and moved through gauzy curtains that danced in the breeze onto a deck area. The sea shimmered enticingly in the distance, and he let out a long breath at the warmth of the sunlight on his bare shoulders. Watching the waves, he sipped at his caffeine. So this is a beach, he thought, staring out across the sand at far-off seaboats. I could learn to enjoy this, perhaps.
A still figure caught his eye, motionless in an enormous hammock nearby.
‘Gwen?’
She didn't respond, and he forced down a sudden panic as he hurried across the decking, mentally running through all of the things that might have happened while he wasn't awake to watch over her, automatically checking for enemies and weapons and nearby threats-
She was asleep.
Unharmed, safe, perfectly content; just fast asleep.
Heinrix, you idiot.
He was abruptly relieved she hadn't been awake to witness his undignified dash to her side. Pushing aside the unneeded concern about her non-existent demise, he let his eyes wander, drifting across her sleeping form. Her curls were damp - had she been swimming? She lay on her front, face-down in the cushions - aquila tattoo bared for all to see, thanks to the brief swimwear she was only just wearing. He swallowed tightly, trying not to be too distracted by the curve of her hips, and instead carefully slid the book she was asleep on out from under her.
‘The Gospels of Saint Sabbat,’ he murmured, putting his cup down and flicking through it. It was well-worn, clearly used, and he found old bookmarks and hurried annotations in a precise handwriting that wasn't hers. The letters IG and a serial number were neatly printed inside the front cover.
‘Devotional Creeds… the Epistles of Duty… Doctrines and Revelations… the Annals of War…’
‘He was very sentimental when it comes to fine devotional poetry, too,' came a sleepy voice.
He smiled down at her. ‘He was?’
‘Open the book flat on the table and riffle the pages.’
He did, and it fell neatly open at the Psalms of Sabbat. Something heavy, or repeated openings, had cracked the spine at that spot.
‘His favourite,’ she added, rolling onto her side and stretching. ‘He described it to me as the most beautiful poetry he'd ever read.’
‘Do you think so?’ Heinrix asked, carefully climbing into the oversized hammock behind her and drawing her into his arms. Her skin was warm against his, and she smelt of salt and the sea.
‘He's not wrong, but I'd rather read Kiodrus. Or Sathescine.’
‘Really?’
‘My grandfather loved Catuldynas, but I could never settle into it. Sathescine is… easier reading.’
‘What about Ravenor?’
She half-smiled. ‘That was my copy of The Spheres of Longing, not Theodora's. My mother prefers The Mirror of Smoke, but she knew him and I didn’t.’
He kissed across her shoulder, idly, letting some of the tension drop out of his muscles.
‘You'll get burnt if you stay out here like this,’ he murmured.
‘I'm not genetically Tanith, remember,’ she chuckled in response. ‘Ghosts in more than name, the lot of them. I developed my father's penchant for a good tan.’
‘I've never seen you with a tan.’
‘When was the last time we went anywhere with sunshine?’
‘Janus.’
‘I was working.’ She stretched against him, catlike, all long limbs and salt-encrusted curls. ‘I'm not working now. I can lie still long enough to get one.’
‘Better a suntan than a flamer-tan,’ he joked, and she grinned radiantly.
‘A whole entire joke, just for me?’
‘I have plenty of things just for you.’
‘Oh?’ She turned to face him, setting the entire hammock to swinging dangerously.
‘Absolutely,’ he breathed, and kissed her, feeling her shiver in his arms with sudden interest.
‘Why, Interrogator,’ she murmured. ‘People will talk.’
‘Let them,’ he whispered darkly, and lost himself in the taste of her skin.
The sea was closer when he next looked out at it, having changed for dinner - a simple dark suit, his rosette tucked beneath it, just in case. There were footfalls behind him, and he turned to find Gwenllian a vision in gauzy wine-red chiffon, a rather daring gown that laid bare just as much as it hid.
‘Well?’
He pulled her to him, kissed her with a sudden hunger. ‘If we didn't have reservations we wouldn't be leaving.’
‘You'll just have to hold that thought,’ she smiled, her expression suddenly filled with the old mischief. He courteously offered her his arm as they left their very exclusive private chalet, heading to a chartered aircar that would take them to the nearest town.
Raeskillon IV was a pleasure world, the entire planet engineered through careful terraforming to be a sub-tropical paradise, an exclusionary playground for the wealthy elite. Through an intermediary, Gwenllian had rented an entire private bay and dispersed her retinue and most of the Myfanwy's officers across it, with instructions for them to a) fething well relax, damn you and b) not to vox her unless there was a serious emergency. She and Heinrix were both staying under aliases - she didn't want to be known, she had said, wanted to simply rest and relax and pretend to be someone else for five minutes.
‘Why Killhook?’ Heinrix asked in the aircar, Gwenllian's hand in his and her head on his shoulder.
‘Culhwch,’ she corrected.
‘Killhewk?’
She was laughing now. ‘Culhwch!’
‘Keelhookh.’
‘Close enough,’ she managed, cackling. ‘Throne above, I didn't think a little bit of native Tanith dialect would catch you out-’
‘Do not laugh at me, woman, I only started learning this yesterday-’
‘And you're doing fine,’ she said encouragingly, stifling her laughter and kissing his cheek.
‘Culhwch,’ he said stiffly, trying to recover his dignity.
‘Very good. And Olwen.’
‘Ohl-when.’
‘Less h. We- as in wet, not when.’
‘Olwen.’
‘Perfect,’ she smiled, and he drew her into his arms and covered her mouth with his.
‘You certainly are,’ he murmured, tracing kisses down her throat. ‘But you still didn't tell me why.’
‘A fated pair from some of our ancient stories. Olwen's father set Culhwch a series of impossible tasks to win her hand.’
‘Did he succeed?’
‘He did.’
He snorted, amused. ‘You're such a romantic, Gwenllian.’
She chuckled. ‘You said I could choose and you didn't care!’
He kissed her again, sliding his hands into her dress though whatever openings he could find, making her shiver against him.
‘I like this dress,’ he muttered quietly. ‘I'm going to like getting you out of it, too.’
‘Landing in five,’ crackled a voice abruptly over the vox, and he released her reluctantly.
Dinner was delicious.
He chose for her, at Gwenllian's request - it was the first real time she'd flexed any financial muscle for herself, gone somewhere for pleasure without thought of the cost, and he had smiled fondly when she pronounced the menu ‘too confusing’. She ate everything in sight, including some of his, which Heinrix took as complimentary of his choices. Dessert had just been cleared when they were interrupted by Abelard's appearance, Cassia on one arm and Idira on the other, all three dressed to the nines. Gwenllian practically leapt out of her seat to joyfully take the women to the bar, and the Seneschal took her abandoned chair. The two men nodded to each other.
‘How was your first day?’
‘I am… unsure,’ Heinrix confessed. ‘I do not know what to do with myself. I am unused to having no duties.’
Abelard chuckled warmly. ‘You will soon adjust, I'm sure. Shore leave does have its benefits.’
‘I am sure,’ he joked, raising an eyebrow at the trio across the restaurant.
‘Ah, I couldn't leave them without a chaperone. Lady Cassia would cause havoc.’
‘Cassia? Really?’
‘Oh, absolutely. Idira encourages her, of course.’
‘And her Ladyship the pair of them.’
They both watched for a while, sat in companionable silence. Gwenllian appeared to be trying to introduce Cassia to the concept of shots. Abelard sighed wearily.
‘That is unlikely to end well,’ he harrumphed, and Heinrix laughed.
‘A laugh, young man? Whatever is that woman doing to you?’
Heinrix snapped his gaze back to the Seneschal in surprise, but there was no malice in the man's face - simply a teasing kindness.
‘Whatever it is,’ he mused regretfully, ‘it may not go down well with my masters.’
‘Would you like my advice?’
‘I will hear it.’
‘Enjoy the time that you have together. It will be cut short one way or another. Perhaps it is enough to simply live for the now, however temporary.’
Heinrix scrutinised the older man carefully, seeing a flicker of sadness. For Theodora? For Quatharina? For Gwenllian herself? Whichever it was, it was quickly hidden again behind a patient smile as Abelard rose to his feet.
‘Well, I had better rescue Cassia before she drinks too many of… whatever that is.’
He nodded to Heinrix and strode away, who remained lost in thought until Gwenllian returned, her cheeks a little pink from the alcohol.
‘I want to go dancing.’
He blinked, dragging his attention back to the present.
‘What?’
‘Dancing, Culhwch. I want to go dancing.’
‘Now?’ But I had all sorts of plans for that dress-
‘No, in six months. Yes, now,’ she laughed, tugging at his hand. ‘Come on.’
‘Gw- Olwen,’ he corrected himself, ‘perhaps tomorrow would be-’
She pouted at him, the exact face she'd made on Janus when he had exasperatedly asked what in the void she thought she was doing, and he sighed.
‘Someone needs to pay for-’
‘I already did. Come on, let's go, or I'm going without you.’
He took a deep breath. ‘You absolutely are not.’
She grinned. ‘Possessive now, are we?’
He got to his feet, yanked her closer with a sharp gesture.
‘I could show you possessive,’ he muttered in a low voice against her ear, feeling her shiver against him, then released her and continued in his normal register. ‘I am, in fact, being protective.’
Her eyes met his, an unspoken challenge dancing in them, and he forced down his instinct to rise to it with a sharp effort.
‘If you say so,’ she smirked. ‘Let's go.’
The nightclub - Heinrix had no other word for it - was dark and packed with bodies, music pounding. He had been in less salubrious places over the years, of course, but he had also been in… nicer ones. He stood awkwardly at the bar, holding their drinks stiffly - Gwenllian had vanished onto the dancefloor, and he occasionally reached out with his biomancy to check on her. He stoically ignored the level of interest in him, his face tightly serious, coolly rebuffing anyone who tried to strike up conversation.
‘Heinrix?’ called a warm voice from behind him.
He turned to find Eira Macsen, dark hair loose about her shoulders, green silk gown almost glowing against her olive skin. He was slightly stunned. It had been many years since he'd seen her in such attire.
‘Eira,’ he called back over the noise. ‘You look… very nice.’
‘I look lovely,’ she corrected, but there was no rebuke in her tone. She stepped closer so they wouldn't have to shout. ‘What on Terra are you doing in this forsaken place?’
Heinrix gestured, and she followed his hand to a dervish in scarlet, and chuckled.
‘I did not think you would be here without… encouragement.’
‘It is somewhat different to a quiet night with a regicide board or a stack of reports.’
‘Absolutely.’ She smiled at him, and he returned the gesture. ‘But different is good.’
‘I did not think this was your sort of place either, Eira.’
‘Ah, I needed to get off the ship,’ she shrugged. ‘Being asked to replace Forius was quite the honour, but I will definitely need to put my feet planetside every once in a while.’
‘You did dance, once.’
‘As did you,’ she commented pointedly.
‘I was young then.’
She snorted, downed the rest of the drink she was holding, set the glass aside. ‘You're still young, you know.’
‘Now now, this ashmag's been old since he before he was born,’ interrupted a laugh, and Jae appeared, wearing an outfit so revealing it almost didn't count as one.
‘Heydari,’ he nodded uncomfortably, carefully averting his eyes.
‘And where is my Shereen?’
‘Dancing.’
‘Ah, you should be dancing with her instead of flirting with our lovely doctor!’
‘Jae,’ he managed stiffly, clamping down on a rising blush, ‘I will have you know Eira and I are old acquaintances and-’
‘Hmmm, something more than that, no? I'll join her then, even if you won't. I think she looks ravishing in that dress.’
‘Jae-’
But she had gone, vanished into the crowd, and they watched as Gwenllian flung her arms around her and the dancing continued.
‘It could be worse,’ Eira grinned at him. ‘Remember that twist club?’
He grimaced. ‘I would not forget-’ Neon lights and discordant pound, the pair of them undercover and posing as mutants, the mission where their shared objective had led to something more-
His eyes met hers, and there was something strange in them, a remorse and a sadness that was almost pity.
‘Eira? What's the matter?’
Wordlessly, she reached out and took his glass, downing his drink too, then reached out and ran her fingers over the rosette hidden beneath his shirt.
‘Just remember what is going to happen isn't my fault, Heinrix,’ she said, and walked away. He stared after her, confused, until a joyful and rather sweaty bundle flung herself into his arms.
‘Come and dance!’
‘You know I do not.’
‘You taught me!’
‘That was very different-’
But she was leaning over the bar now, ordering more drinks, and her smile was infectious as she kissed him right there in the crowded, sweaty room, and he forgot his concern as he found himself swept up in the ridiculousness of it all.
He didn’t dance, however.
She fell asleep on his shoulder during the aircar ride back to the beach property, and he carried her boneless form to bed, a yawning Rhiannon appearing to get her out of her shoes and dress as he showered.
He couldn’t sleep, afterwards, and found himself calling up the fragmentary remnants of Tanith's mythology on a dataslate.
‘Heinrix?’ came a sleepy voice from behind him, later.
‘You didn't tell me it was a curse, Gwen,’ he said quietly, staring out at the very early dawn, waves rolling in the background.
‘What?’
‘Culhwch.’
‘Heinrix-’
‘Is that how you see me? As a curse?’
‘Of course not,’ she answered, her tone hurt. ‘Don’t be fething ridiculous.’ She came up behind him, slid her arms around his waist, her forehead resting on his shoulder. He could sense her headache through their contact, but didn't soothe it. I do not fix hangovers, he'd exasperatedly told her once after multiple requests, about a week after they'd first met.
‘Culhwch was cursed to only be able to marry Olwen by his vengeful stepmother,’ she explained gently. ‘He set out to find her, and grew to love her during his travels. “Maiden, it is you that I have loved” were his first words to Olwen, depending on the translation. The love was never the curse, Heinrix.’
He said nothing, unsure of how to respond. She sighed. ‘Forgive a silly girl her stories and come back to bed. I didn't mean anything by it.’
He turned to face her, laid gentle hands against her face, kissed her as deeply as he could.
‘Nothing you do is without meaning, Gwen. You wouldn't be that… careless.’
‘And you favour precision in all things, even your women?’ she teased, arching an eyebrow. ‘Perhaps I did choose the names with meaning, but the point stands. It's just a romantic story. A myth.’
‘If you say so.’
‘I do.’ She kissed him again. ‘Come to bed.’
‘And fix the state of you?’
She chuckled. ‘I know you won't.’
‘Ask me nicely.’
She raised an eyebrow again. ‘You've gone soft, Van Calox.’’