Aster had a hard time convincing Calixtus that he hadn’t lied to his mother. It was something he probably should have expected, given how well he’d been getting along with his mother-in-law. It was bound to raise suspicions.
Still, he’d have expected his husband, at the very least, would have his back. Clearly, his expectations had been much too high.
“I’m not sure what else you expect me to say, seeing as you seem convinced I’ve lied to your mother.” Aster didn’t bother to look away from the book he was reading—a curious tome about dream interpretations from a distant island country. He’d found it earlier in the day during his first proper tour of the house with his mother-in-law and had been instantly fascinated by it.
“Well you can’t have told her the truth or she would have dragged me in for a lecture about making questionable deals,” Calixtus pointed out.
Aster set his book down and looked at his husband with a frown. Calixtus looked back with a raised brow just as he was ready to get into bed.
“I didn’t lie,” Aster reiterated before turning back to his reading. Next to him, the bed dipped beneath Calixtus’ weight. There was no accompanying groan and so he surmised that his leg must not have been bothering him. He made a note to ask him about it later. When he wasn’t accusing Aster of manipulating his mother onto his side. “I was very honest with her. In a vague way. It’s really not my fault if there are any misinterpretations to be made.”
He heard a huff at his side, an amused sound that made his mouth twitch. Aster pushed down the smile threatening to show with a reminder that he was meant to be offended at the—perhaps not entirely—baseless accusations.
“And what do you mean to say with questionable deals? You make it sound like I’m some demon who’s tricked you into selling your soul.” Although, Aster had to admit, the deal as it was presented to Calixtus was in fact rather suspicious. It was an unfortunate fact that sometimes hiding the truth was a necessity. Even when it made things difficult.
“My mother would definitely think it odd if she were to hear the offer you made,” Calixtus said. “You have to admit, it does seem a bit…dodgy.”
Aster sniffed, insulted in spite of the fact that Calixtus was right.
“What part of it is? I thought it was a very straightforward proposal.” He’d certainly not been vague about what was required of Calixtus—which wasn’t much, in truth. “I don’t expect more from you than what I’ve explicitly asked for.”
“And that’s the troubling part,” Calixtus muttered, lying back in bed. He peered over at Aster, blue eyes shining with a sort of puzzlement. “You’ve offered so much yet asked for so little. I can’t help but wonder why.”
Aster knew he was right. He knew that, if he were in Calixtus’ position, he would be a lot more critical of the deal that was offered. The thought had crossed Aster’s mind that it was Calixtus’ willingness to take the deal that had made Aster’s dreams lead him to his now husband in the first place. After all, he struggled to think there would be many who would accept his terms so easily.
“I suppose it’s all a matter of perspective,” Aster conceded.
“How so?”
“Well, to me the deal is worth what I’ve offered, given my reasons for offering in the first place. The things that I want to achieve aren’t things you can give me, but they are things I can achieve on my own with a little time.”
“Time that this marriage has bought,” Calixtus added. Aster made a vague gesture of uncertainty.
“It’s possible,” he said with a shrug. “All I know is being with you provides some distance for me to work with.” It was the best answer he could give Calixtus without raising more questions, particularly because Aster himself wasn’t certain as to why it was Calixtus that he needed. His dreams—frustratingly enough—could be rather vague. Deciphering them was an art Aster was still working on mastering and the finer details were sometimes missed or not at all revealed to him. For now, Aster was doing his best, but he had no illusions of Calixtus understanding that.
“That’s…not very clear,” Calixtus settled on. Aster couldn’t disagree. “Will you ever tell me? Why you’re doing all this?”
Aster wanted to be honest—to tell Calixtus that no, he most likely wouldn’t. Something gave him pause just as he was set to speak. There was an earnestness in Calixtus’ expression that made Aster wonder if maybe he wouldn’t be able to confide in him someday. If maybe his secrets wouldn’t be safe with him after all.
“Maybe,” he said after a moment. “If the right time comes.”
“A time when you can trust me?” Calixtus guessed, eyes sharp with the cleverness Aster always knew was in him.
“It’s not a matter of trust.” It very much was, but Aster supposed there was more to it. Calixtus had done enough. Aster was loath to ask for more, especially if it put the other man at risk. Briefly, he thought of Calixtus’ mother and the clear concern she felt for her son. Aster didn’t want to have her worries come to life.
“I hope not,” Calixtus said, cutting into Aster’s thoughts. “After all, if you can’t trust your husband, who can you trust?”
Aster snorted.
He was taken aback by the uncharacteristic comment made by Calixtus. Enough so that he couldn’t help but laugh. When he looked at Calixtus, he was once again surprised by the look on the man’s face. There was a smile, small but true, and a sparkle in his eyes—a glimmer of mischief—that took the weariness from his face. Aster couldn’t help but think it was rather a good look on him.
“And here I thought I was the only one making such terrible jokes.”
“You’ve been a bad influence,” Calixtus accused in good humor. Aster wasn’t even offended at the accusation. Mostly because it was probably true.
“Right, well, save your accusations for tomorrow when we’re both less tired,” Aster said, shutting his book and setting it aside along with his glasses.
He got comfortable in bed and let a hint of magic flow from his fingers, the lights going out in a tiny show of skill the likes of which Calixtus had quickly grown used to—if only for its convenience. “Good night, dearest,” Aster said into the dark of the room. The last thing he heard before falling asleep was a quiet snickering from beside him.
Aster dreamt that night.
It was, by no means, an unusual thing. Even when his dreams were nothing but nonsense, they were common enough that he’d gone through several dream diaries since he’d first become aware enough of the strange nature of his dreams. Remaining lucid during such dreams was now a simple enough task for him. A blessing, now that his dreams were a place he hoped would contain answers.
As he did on many other nights, Aster found himself standing in the too-familiar room of the Magic Tower where he would die on a night not too far away. Before his very eyes he saw himself walk into the room. He strode in with purpose, determined to do something in spite of the knowledge of his impending death. The Aster in the dream was dressed in the white robes of the mages of the tower and looked much the same as he did at that moment.
And yet, there was something different about the version of him that was crossing the room. Aster had puzzled as to what that could be for many a night and had yet to reach an answer. For the time being, he merely stood back and watched as the scene unfolded before him, same as it did every other night he’d visited that room as of late.
He watched as the dream unraveled—as his lips moved without a single sound reaching his ears. All was unsettlingly quiet for a scant few moments. Then, there was a shifting of shadows and someone stepped out.
Aster didn’t bother to hide his disappointment as he was once more shown far too little.
The person who stood before his dream self was nothing but a swirling mass of darkness, a walking shadow where he’d hoped to find the true form of his killer. The rest of the dream unfolded much as it always did. There was the flash of silver caught in the moonlight and the carmine gleam of his blood as it washed over the stone floor and then there was the emptiness in his eyes as he laid there and breathed his last.
Aster looked down at himself and felt nothing but the vague feeling that he was missing something.
The dream shifted and once again, he stood in the midst of a city shaken by some unknown calamity. Aster walked the streets and listened to the confused mutterings of the people until it all faded away. This time, he stood in the field of asphodels and didn’t waste time making his way to the oak tree at the center of the field.
The wind felt just as sweet as it always did and the grass just as soft beneath his feet. He was still glad to finally reach Calixtus where he stood, much as he always did. The ring on his hand shimmered just as brightly as the last time. When he looked at Aster, there was a look of fondness that hadn’t been there before. It made some odd feeling of apprehension rise in Aster—this wasn’t meant to be.
“Why do you wait here for me?” he asked. It was something he’d often wondered.
It was in the nature of his dreams to change as he took action and so it was for the dream currently plaguing him. Yet, for all the things that had shifted as he plotted and schemed, Aster had never once failed to see Calixtus beneath the oak. He was different at times, changing with the actions taken in the waking world, but he always waited there.
Waited for Aster.
Calixtus only shook his head, smile still in place, like there was some secret Aster wasn’t yet meant to know.
Before Aster could ask his question once more, there was the loud cawing of a crow. It startled him, making him turn to look at where the sound had come from. Aster saw the glossy black of feathers and then the field was gone along with Calixtus.
He opened his eyes to the gloom of a too-early morning of a cold, autumn day. There was a chill in the air that was only kept at bay by the familiar form next to him.
Aster laid there for a while, listening to the soft breaths at his side and knew it was time for him to search for answers.
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