Title: Nightingale

Author: Shu of the Wind

Rating: T. Possibly M for violence in later chapters. Don't know yet.

Summary: A new threat has settled in the shadows of Lazulis Island. As Zael and Calista's wedding fast approaches, Yurick is the only one the new Countess can trust to handle it. But with blood mages, shadow cults, and a sharp-tongued new apprentice to deal with, there are no guarantees. Multi-chap. Yurick-centric. Lyrenne, Cael, possible Mirania/OC. Cover by あきら on pixiv.

Disclaimer: Applies for all chapters. I do not own The Last Story, or any of its characters. The game, and all of its relevant pieces, belongs in turn to Sakaguchi Hironobu, Mistwalker, Nintendo, XSeed Games, and AQ Interactive .

One: The Peony
The Peony Star marks a crossroads,
a point in one's life where everything can change.
If a man is wise, he pays heed to the rise of the Peony…
and heeds equally her fall.

The wedding day of Calista Arganan, Countess of Lazulis Island, and Sir Zael, Bearer of the Outsider, was finally approaching, and in Yurick's opinion, the damn thing couldn't come quick enough. Maybe then Ariela's tavern wouldn't be so bloody crowded all the time.

There was one thing he could rely on about the tavern, at least. None of the other customers here—not even the women—would ever order apple twilsey, which meant that he would always be sure of a glass when he sat at the bar. No one seemed to like it but him, and for that he was grateful. It was light and clear, nearing sweet but not quite there, and it never fogged his mind like the concoctions that Syrenne favored. He'd learned a very long time ago that getting drunk in public, even in a place he could call a safe haven, was never something that he could afford to come back from. Especially in a room full of strangers.

And for once, the Tavern was certainly full of strangers. It looks like half the bloody Empire is sitting in one room.

Why anyone would want to see Zael and Calista get married was beyond him. Admittedly, he wasn't stupid enough to think that there was nothing to see—after all, Calista was a Very Important Personage now, and apparently, so was Zael—but at the same time he'd never been raised to think of marriage as a form of entertainment, not even for nobles. Though, apparently, a great many people saw it that way.

Ariela was pleased, though, at least. Kentis and Warren too. There were more people in the Tavern right now than was probably healthy, and that meant more money coming in than there'd been in the past decade, he was certain. That, at least, was one good thing to come out of this whole mess. Other than Zael getting married, of course, but that went without saying.

"No Syrenne tonight?" Ariela ran a rag over the wooden counter, one eyebrow arched. She looked less curious than relieved, and considering the number of people they were serving tonight, Yurick couldn't blame her. Syrenne would have drank the whole of their stores a long time ago at her rates, and left a great many unhappy sailors and tourists to go dry. Yurick lifted one shoulder in a shrug.

"She and Lowell are still down Artisan's Way." Searching for their new premises. Or what would soon be their new premises. Calista had left some rooms for them in the castle, but they'd declined. Too fancy for little ol' me, Syrenne had said, and then elbowed Lowell in the gut before he'd had a chance to contradict her. They were staying in the Tavern until they found a place of their own.

Ariela hummed, but didn't ask. She'd been treated to more than a few questions by Syrenne about how to run a tavern. Yurick was absolutely sure that she knew what they were doing, down in the Way. "Tell them I wish them the best of luck, when you see them," she added, and then she went to pull more pints for the trio of men—from the Azaran Islands, he thought, by their accents and the beads in their ridiculously long mustachios—who had just joined the crowd.

It was getting too crowded. Yurick paid for the twilsey, nodded at Kentis, and then forced his way into the throng. If he stayed any longer, he might just set someone's beard on fire, and he didn't think that would go over very well with Ariela.

Even though most of the repairs were done, the city still stank of ashes. Twilight had finally set in, and most of the tourists had retreated to their respective lodgings, unwilling to lollygag in a city that housed the Gurak. Too many idiots, he thought, cutting past the fountain, and too many cowards. Most of the Empire was still in uproar about the decision of Lazulis Island to allow Gurak within its borders, and the Emperor had expressed, in the mildest of terms, his disapproval of Calista's decision. But even devastated as it was now, and without the Cannon at its disposal, Lazulis Island was still one of the Emperor's most critical assets, his first blockade against any sea attack the rest of the world had to offer. No matter what he expressed to the Countess in private, he would stand with her in public. Calista knew that, and was using it.

The Gurak are now my people, just as much as anyone else on my island, she'd said to the Emperor's messenger, and clenched her hands into fists. I will not allow anyone—anyone—to expel my people from the only home they have left.

She'd been crowned the next morning, and had woven the sentiment—though, admittedly, a less confrontational version of it—into her acceptance speech. The crowd had gone mad. Zavira, the Gurak ambassador to Calista's court, had spent all of the next morning locked in Calista's office, and when they'd both emerged, it had been with an official treaty of peace.

If the city was closing in on itself as the sun sank, the castle seemed to be blossoming with activity. Maids were everywhere, making the final preparations: fixing garlands here, dusting corners for the fifth or sixth or tenth time, moving vases. Cursing himself for not going in through the back, and avoiding being dusted, polished, or otherwise reorganized, Yurick ducked his head and made for the stairs. There was only one place in the castle that would be safe, and empty, and noiseless. He could hope for some peace in there.

The library had been his first project once the castle had regained some semblance of normality. Yurick had tracked down the old librarian, a man that the last Count had imprisoned for seditious propaganda (more like telling the truth, the wretched bastard) and, with Calista's permission, had invited him to return to his old post. Malkus had brought with him all the library records he'd managed to smuggle out before his imprisonment: lists of books that had been burned, hidden, confiscated; letters and legacies from previous Arganans; contact information for the best book dealers; legal papers that revealed secrets the count would have rather kept hidden.

He could also recall nearly every book in the library, and for that, he was a life-saver. A good third of the volumes of the library had been burned in the Gurak assaults on Lazulis Island; even though they had made significant progress on rebuilding the collection, there were still a great many that were missing, and that meant there was a great deal of work left to be done.

With Calista's permission, and Zael's, Yurick had holed himself up in the library with Malkus, and gone over every list, document, contract, treatise, and manuscript that the Lazulis Castle Library had had to offer. His afternoons were spent scrounging through what remained of the city's bookshops, trying to track down replacements for the books that had been lost. It was work that needed to be done, for the sake of the magelings and for the castle itself. It had been a productive way to spend three months, and it had given him the outlet that he'd so desperately needed after Dagran's death. He rather thought Zael, who had thrown himself into rebuilding the city, could understand that.

Something in him seemed to unwind as he slipped into the library, and closed the door softly behind him. Malkus had gone home an hour ago; the candle on the old man's desk was snuffed out and cold, and the air was very still, as though he'd stepped into a tomb. Yurick sent a flicker of flame to the candle, casting a small pool of light over his worktable, and then pulled off his cloak and the half-mask, slinging it over the back of the nearest chair. He wasn't a Lazulis mage—at least, not officially—but it was a good way of keeping people away from him while he was out and about. There were too many in the city that could recognize his face now. His hair, the eyepatch, his manner—he was too distinctive. The mask and cloak gave him a bit of anonymity that he liked very much indeed.

He sensed Zael about two seconds before the soft knock came at the library door. Yurick didn't respond. Zael didn't wait for permission; he slipped inside as well, and shut the door behind him. He looked tired, Yurick thought, but there was a smile playing around his lips that Yurick had rarely seen when they'd been mercs. He was happy here, miraculously, after everything that had happened. After all, he had everything he'd ever wanted.

Sometimes, especially when Dagran had been alive, Yurick wondered if Zael was insane. Or godstouched. Or both. Probably both, he thought, studying Zael out of the corner of his eye. After all, only a madman would have tried to do what he had done. Only a godstouched would have succeeded. And here they were.

He fought back a smile at that thought.

"There you are." Zael crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the door, tilting his head lightly to one side. "Calista's been wanting to talk to you about something."

"Oh?" Yurick dropped into his chair. This couldn't be good. Whenever Calista had wanted to speak to him about something, it usually resulted in more work, and more responsibilities. He'd been trying to leave some options open, at least. As loyal as he was—or could be, he supposed was the more accurate term—he had been planning on traveling again, and if he did accept a permanent position at the castle, it would be far more difficult to get away after the wedding. Malkus had left some translation work for him, Yurick realized, as he scanned some of the scrolls that the old man had set on his desk. Old stuff. It would take him a week, at least. "What about, exactly?"

"Well, nothing until after the wedding, obviously." He grinned like a fool at the word wedding. Then Zael shook his head and recollected himself. "But…well, it's a bit complicated."

"I don't like complicated."

"Good complicated," Zael hastened to add. "Magically complicated. It's…a bit of a problem, really, that needs solving."

"Stop beating around the bush and tell me what it is."

"She's the mage. She's better at explaining…magic stuff…than me."

"'Magic stuff.'" He wondered if it would be all right with Calista if he took a nearby bookend and beat Zael's head in with it. Zael must have heard the irritation in his voice, because he winced.

"Come on, Yurick. It's important, truly, it is. I…we need you." He straightened, cleared his throat, and repeated himself. "The Countess requires your assistance."

Official speak. That, more than anything, told him that this wasn't just a silly favor that Zael would pay back later. Yurick studied him for a moment or two, and Zael stayed quiet, and let him. It had been a long time, he decided, since he'd seen that look on Zael's face. The tightness around his mouth, and the hint of an unsheathed blade in his eye. Must have been going on four months now. Something he hadn't seen since before Dagran had died. When they'd still been living on the edge of a knife.

Yurick looked back at his translation work, and then let out a breath. "How long will it take?"

"I don't know." An honest answer, at least. Yurick glanced at his candle, at his work, and then licked his fingers and pinched the flame out.

"We'd better go and talk to her, then."

The Mages' Wing had been a new addition to the castle, after the second time the Gurak had flown in and broken it in two. It had been Calista's idea, originally, and she'd spent a great deal of time consulting with magical architects and the top mages that her uncle had employed while overseeing the building of it. What she'd eventually crafted, with advice from every relevant party, was a new school for magic, independent of the Military Wing that her uncle had built. It was all windows and marble, with statues of infamous mages lining the halls.

It made Yurick deeply uncomfortable. There were too many people looking at him whenever he wandered through, too many expectations from the other mages. He'd never liked spending time with mages, even when he'd been in training. Mirania and Lowell were the only other mages he could tolerate spending long stretches of time with. The girl he'd known as Lisa had been grudgingly added to that list after he'd realized just how much she meant to Zael. It had taken an invasion and the revelation that she was, in fact, Lady Calista Arganan for him to realize that he didn't mind her presence anymore. In fact, he rather enjoyed it.

Calista had an office of her own at the end of the Luminescence Hall, which she used in place of the official audience room that her uncle had commanded. It was smaller, and homier; the only painting in the room was a portrait of her parents. There was a shelf crammed with books stuffed into one corner, a globe, and a window that he'd spelled personally to keep out arrows and other assassination attempts. There had already been a few, these past few months, and he didn't doubt that there would be more in the months to come.

Calista stood when they came in, and her gaze flickered instantly to Zael. There it was again, that sense that he was intruding; they locked eyes for a moment or two, seeming almost to converse, and then she turned to Yurick, and smiled, offering her hands. "Yurick. It's good to see you. I've been trapped behind desks for so long that it feels like I've been years since I've seen any of you."

He took her offered hands, leaving his wrists bare to her rings. He knew that at least one of them was poisoned. He'd crafted it himself, after all. "It's all right. Zael said you have something for me to do."

"Well, yes. If you want to, of course. There are a few other mages that I could feel comfortable trusting this to, but…well, it would make me feel better if you took it." She squeezed his hands and then released them, dropping back into her chair. She looked as tired as Zael, but they both had that dozy happy look on their faces, the one he remembered on every affianced couple he'd ever seen in his life. It vanished when she looked at him again, and the tightness was back. It was what Mirania called her Countess Look, the one that she wore when she gave commands. Yurick glanced at Zael, and then nodded.

"What's going on, milady?"

She waved a hand at him. "Oh, for goodness' sake, you're all getting wretchedly polite and it's too much. And please sit down. I don't want to have to break my neck looking up at the two of you."

There were two chairs. This felt rather planned, Yurick thought, looking at Zael and Calista again. He was certain that they were both telling the truth, and that there were other mages they could trust this to, but he was also certain that those two mages were named Mirania and Lowell, respectively. They were rather obvious with their cards sometimes, Calista and Zael. He knew Zael too well to not know when he was planning something, and Calista…well, she wasn't predictable, but now he could at least make educated guesses as to what she would do.

"I would like to make a formal request of you, Yurick. If you don't mind." She had to get rid of that politeness, he thought absently. It wouldn't serve her well as a countess. "Something was recently brought to my attention by one of the castle mages, and it requires immediate and thorough investigation by someone who has a deep understanding of the magical arts. Naturally, you were the first person who came to mind." She hesitated. Bit her lip. "I'm afraid you'd have to officially take a commission as a castle mage to have the resources you'd need, but…"

He waved that aside. "What sort of incident?"

Calista took a breath, and then let it out. She folded her hands on the desk. "It seems that there is a circle of…of blood magicians currently in hiding on Lazulis Island."

Yurick sat quite still. He wasn't sure if he'd heard her right. "Are you certain?"

"As we can be, considering the lack of hard evidence we have. Whispers, rumors, nothing more." Her breath seemed to rattle in her chest. No wonder she looked so anxious. Blood magicians weren't always dangerous, but they could stand as a serious threat to anyone, let alone a newly made countess. Yurick tilted his head to one side, and kept his mouth shut as Calista continued. "You're aware of the political group known as Nightingale, correct?"

"The bastards who sent a poisoned arrow through your bedroom window, yes," Yurick replied caustically. "I'm fully aware."

Zael ground his teeth at the memory. It had been one of the more dramatic assassination attempts. One of Calista's doppelgangers, something suggested by Lowell after the first attempt, had died before anyone could reach her with a healing tonic. The arrow had somehow been fletched with nightingale feathers. Magically, he was certain. The damn thing had disintegrated on impact, though, so all he had was firsthand accounts, no physical arrow to study, to analyze. It had driven him mad at the time, and even now rankled in his gut.

Since then there had been whispers from Zael's people in the lower districts, a few of the street children he'd met while they'd been mercs in Ariela's tavern: Nightingale was a name to be whispered on dark nights, a group that was gaining power amongst the discontent. The people who still hated the Gurak, the people who had followed Jirall and the old Count—those were Nightingale's allies, and they were taking ground. No one was sure who they really were, other than the fact that they were loyal to the old way of doing things, to the old Count Arganan and his lackeys, and they didn't like the way Calista was reorganizing the Island. One thing was for certs: Nightingale was vicious, and they were willing to do anything to destroy what Calista was trying to build.

Then it sank in. "They have blood mages?"

"We think thatthey may have blood mages," Calista corrected, but she reached out a hand, and Zael came around the desk to rest his fingers lightly on hers. "We only have a report of blood magic used within the city limits, but it stands to reason that with their first attempt failing, another will soon be coming. Blood magic is untraceable once it's complete, you know that as well as I do. If they get a hold of some of my blood—somehow—they could…well, they could do anything. As I'm sure you're aware."

Anything meant anything. Stop her heart. Still her lungs. Make her a puppet. Rip her apart. Let her die, long and lingering, with no way to counteract it. It felt as though someone had run a cold fingernail down his spine. Yurick looked at her, long and hard. "You want me to deal with them."

Her voice was low and fierce. "I wouldn't ask you if I didn't think you could."

"Oh, I know I could." Yurick shrugged. His words felt razor-sharp on his tongue. "The question is if I would."

Zael went to say something. Calista pressed his hand hard, and he stayed quiet. She looked Yurick in the eye. "Will you?"

They were both silent for a long moment. Then Yurick rolled his eyes at the pair of them. "'course. I'm not that much of an arse."

"That's not what Syrenne would say," Zael muttered, and Yurick fought the urge to kick him in the shins. Calista snorted, a distinctly unladylike sound, and then looked at Yurick again.

"Thank you, Yurick. I might just give you a title for this."

"Please don't." Yurick winced. "I've been getting enough attention as it is. I don't want to prance around and have to pretend to care about noble people problems all day. It sounds dreadful."

"That's not what we do, but if you say so." Calista sounded deeply amused. She leaned to the side, and pulled one of the ropes that hung beside her desk. A signal for someone in the antechamber. "If you've officially accepted a commission as a Lazulis Mage, Yurick—"

Something settled deep in his belly. It felt rather like dread. "I'm warning you, this'd better be temporary, Calista—"

"—then, as a mage, you have the right to claim one of the students as your assistant."

Yes. It was dread. And frustration. "I don't need an assistant."

"No, you just don't want one."

"Milady—"

"Calista," she corrected sharply. She stared at him. "Please, Yurick. Please don't fight me on this. You know as well as I do that blood magicians are dangerous, and I don't want you going up against them alone, no matter how strong you are. You'll need someone to watch your back, and someone that they won't be looking for. As much as I hate to admit it, we've…become a bit well known, in these parts, and they'll be keeping an eye out for anyone that resembles the description of Dagran's mercenaries." He liked that she still called them Dagran's mercenaries, because at heart, that was what they were. But that was beside the point.

"I can disguise myself. I've done it before—" And having to take care of a kid, no matter how much he loved them, was a distraction he couldn't afford with an investigation like this.

"And I don't doubt that, but if Nightingale is as widespread and as intricate as we thing it is, then even you'll appreciate having someone to watch your back while you hide in an alley in the dead of night."

It was logical. It was rational. It stuck in his throat like a fishbone. "I've been perfectly fine without an assistant for all this time," Yurick replied, stung. "All this time. I'll be fine."

Calista looked at him, hard.

"You'll be taking this assistant, Yurick. I won't have you killed if I can help it."

He opened his mouth to keep arguing, but then the door opened, and it was all he could do to steady himself, to pull all emotion back inside, forcing himself to be casual as the apprentice mage slipped into the office, still hooded and cloaked. He shut the door behind him, and bowed to Calista and Zael before pushing the hood back.

Not male, he realized, looking at the apprentice. Female, and tall, crafted like a whip. Judging by her face, she had the same crack when she snapped, too. A grown female, he realized, not a child, and something in him relaxed at that thought. At least he wouldn't have to worry so much about keeping her out of the way. She had a narrow, pointy sort of face, with high eyebrows and cheekbones so sharp they could have cut through her skin. The only soft thing about her that he could see was her hair, a shade of brownish-gold, and that she kept bound back in a tight braid. She didn't look at Yurick.

"My lady."

"Sharima," Calista replied, and then gestured to Yurick. "This is Master Yurick, Sharima. You'll be assisting him with a few of his projects over the next several weeks."

Her eyes snapped to Yurick. Dark brown. Wide and long-lashed. There was something in them that he recognized, though he couldn't say what it was at the moment. She bowed again, crisply. There was no inflection in her voice, no indication she was anything other than an automaton.

"Master Yurick."

He would have argued, but the look on Calista's face brooked no argument. Her eyes flicked back to Sharima. "If you could escort Master Yurick back to the library, please, Sharima, I'm sure that there are a few things you'll need to discuss."

Yeah, he thought, getting to his feet and plotting all the many ways he could take revenge, there certainly are.

Shari kept her eyes down and her mouth shut as she followed her new teacher out of the Lady's office. Her hands were trembling, she thought, or they might be thinking about it; she clenched them in the pockets of her cloak to keep them from moving, from betraying her. This mage wasn't all that much older than her, she thought, maybe only by a few months, but there was something about him that screamed at her, scraped at her senses. She'd never been good with fire mages, never enjoyed spending time with them. She could only hope that this new teacher of hers wouldn't ask her to be around too often.

They walked quickly and silently down Luminescence Hall, and out of the Mages' Wing, and still Master Yurick didn't say anything. He didn't even look at her. There was a tightness around his mouth that she didn't like. Shari cleared her throat. "Master—"

"Don't call me that," he snapped, and his voice was soft and crackling with suppressed temper.

Well, that just threw a fistful of muck into everything she'd been learning over the past four years. Shari took a breath, held it, and let it out. Breathe, woman. "Sir—"

"Not here." His good eye cut to the nearest guard, a man she didn't know, one of the knights she liked to avoid. "Wait."

That was fine with her. She closed her mouth again.

He seemed to relax the slightest bit when the library door clanged shut behind them. It was a curious reaction for a fire mage, to be comfortable around paper and leather and parchment and a dozen other things that could curl and blacken and vanish with a snap of his fingers, but it made her like him a bit more. That is, until he turned to stare at her, and the coldness in his eyes made her think of polar ice.

"I want to make one thing very clear to you, mageling." She was taller than he was, but she still somehow felt like she was looking up at him, rather than the other way 'round. "I don't take apprentices. I've never wanted one, don't like them, and I most certainly don't need one. The only reason you're here—the only reason—is because Lady Calista requested that you be here. For some reason, she trusts you, and that means, in turn, that I will. But don't expect anything beyond that."

Her hackles raised. Shari bit her tongue rather than snap, and swallowed blood. Little prick, she thought, little half-blind prick, but she kept her face smooth and blank as slate as she nodded.

"Should I expect to be studying the Final Rites on my own, then, sir?"

The little prick made an impatient noise, probably at the sir. "I told you, no titles. I don't like them. Yurick is fine." There was a prickle of interest in his face that he quickly squashed. "You're at the Final Rites?"

"Yes." It was the last stage of any mage's training, the last official part of their learning at any school in the Empire. The Final Rites of magic. It was long, and complicated, and dangerous to learn solo, but if it meant getting as far away from this little prick as she could, then she'd do it. She'd be the first on the Island to master them alone.

He looked as though he was wrenching needles out from under his nails, and to her surprise, he muttered something under his breath. It sounded very much like damn it, Calista, but it wouldn't have been. After all, none of the Lazulis Mages would ever dare refer to the Lady Arganan by her first name. Then he sighed, and looked at her again, studying her instead of glaring.

"Fine," he said. "Fine. That's all you have to finish?"

"Other than individual projects." She was a lightning mage. There were multiple projects that no fire mage would be able to help her with. But still, it needed to be said. "Yes."

"We'll work on that as well, then, when we get the chance." It was a command, and it rankled. "What did you say your name was?"

I didn't, she thought at him, but she answered anyway. "Sharima. Sir."

She might just keep calling him sir, just to see the look on his face when she said it. Like he'd swallowed ashes. "Sharima. Come back tomorrow, first hour after dawn. For now, you're dismissed. Tomorrow, we have work to do."

She studied him for a moment longer. Pale hair, pale eyes—eye, she corrected herself, studying the eyepatch. She'd heard of a mage with an eyepatch that had been an ally of Sir Zael, one of the mercs who had helped Lady Arganan free the Outsiders of human chains, who had brought peace between humans and the Gurak. But this couldn't possibly be the same mage. He was too short, and too young, and too…acidic. No hero could be this damn rude. Then she bowed.

"As you command, sir."

Then she turned, and left the library. If this was his haunt, she knew there was one more place in the castle she'd try to avoid, whenever she could.