Simon expected the doorknob to be hot. Basking in white light, it only made sense to him that something that appeared metallic would have warmed, but as his hand grasped it, the temperature was impossible to feel. Instead, his blood felt as if it was lit from inside him, coursing through rapidly.

He should ask if Isador could feel it, too.

No.

”Simon?”

He grit his teeth. It was difficult to discern whether his sight was made strange by the light feeling in his head or if it was the way the light seemed to surround him. He took a breath, squeezing his eyes shut as he turned the knob.

The moment the door opened and his hand no longer made any contact with it, the buzzing in his head stopped. The electricity still ran through him, but it was not so overwhelming. He squinted, scanning the dark ahead for anything, but there was nothing to see. Inside this light was only void and the odd shapes the white glow had left in his eyes when he blinked. When Simon stepped forward, he did so carefully, and was almost surprised when his foot found solid ground.

”Come, Isador.”

Simon stepped slowly forward, each footfall tentative and uncertain, but there was no sudden drop, no rush of air as he plummeted. There was only even ground, as smooth and steady as the marble of palace floors.

He did not jump at the feeling of Isador’s hand on his shoulder. Instead, he just turned, glancing over his shoulder. Before he could say a word of warning, the door swung shut just behind Isador. Simon’s face fell and his stomach sank. It was as if it moved in slow motion, time creeping to a crawl, but Simon was frozen in place as the sliver of light that seeped through narrowed and then, with a deafening and gentle click, disappeared.

There was no moment to panic or snap at Isador for being so foolish or berated himself for having been so stupid as to not warn him to keep it open before they were inside. There was not an entire second between the time the door shut and the moment the inner chamber roared to life.

The place they found themselves now was a circular room, gray and warm, with no visible exits save for the door from which they had entered. Simon’s eyes dragged upward. The walls seemed to rise forever, as high as the light outside had been, extending until it disappeared into darkness.

There was no visible light source here, but the room glowed as if there was a bright chandelier where the ceiling decidedly was not. 

”Try the door,” Simon said softly, his gaze landing back upon it. If they were locked inside here, he needed to know now. This room wasn’t small, but if that door had trapped them, it could be perfectly suited to claustrophobia. His heart pounded too heavily in his chest.

Simon felt that same buzzing feeling return inside him, faint compared to what he had felt before, but distinct enough to notice. Isador did not move.

His eyes had latched onto something behind Simon and the man froze.

Simon did not want to turn around. With the way Isador’s eyes widened, there was surely nothing there that Simon would enjoy seeing. Still, he clenched his jaw and pivoted slowly on his heel, staring at the ground.

He had expected some sort of monster. And perhaps that was, in a way, what this was, though he had been anticipating something larger and more threatening. Instead, before them stood the form of a man. He was so pitch dark that he seemed flat.

”It is a shadow,” Simon said softly, relief on his tongue.

The shape before them stood and flickered in the light, moving like a flame attempting to be steady. It did not quite maintain an unmoving posture, but its movement was slight and unimposing. The features were entirely impossible to make out except for the silhouette even as the light of the room cast itself upon it. The light was absorbed, fading into the dark of the shape.

Isador took a step forward. He did not reach for the sword hanging from his hip. His hands trembled far too much for that. Any attempt at fighting would be completely ineffective with the way he shook and dragged himself sheepishly forward.

Simon had never seen him like that. Sure, as children, he had seen Isador cry and have fits. He had seen him afraid before the king and disappointed when Simon did not reach for him. But he had never seen him quiver.

”Yes.” His voice was quiet as he stepped forward.

It was not Simon that Isador was speaking to. His attention was focused entirely upon the figure before them. It seemed to be fully attentive toward Isador, not facing Simon at all. It moved forward, ever so slight and ever so slow. It did not appear threatening, but Simon’s hands clenched into fists as he stared toward the pair.

”I know,” Isador said, nodding quickly. “I know, I’m not mad.” His eyes glistened with a wet sheen.

”Isador, can you hear it speaking?” Simon asked, furrowing his brow.

Isador did not turn to him, but spared him a moment’s glance and a nod. “He’s a friend. I— No. No, he doesn’t.” His eyes fell to the floor. “No one does.”

The tears began to fall from Isaor’s eyes even as he kept his voice steady. They crawled slowly down his cheeks, smearing the dark kohl liner he had worked so hard to perfect in the morning. Simon shivered. It was always unpleasant to see people cry, but this was different. What was he meant to do? It didn’t seem like the sort of thing that he ought to interrupt, but he had not seen Isador’s eyes bursting like dams since they were ten years old.

Simon stood still.

Isador stepped closer and the shadow’s gangly arm stretched forward.

”I’m not. I promise. I promise,” he said. HIs voice was quiet, almost reassuring. Isador paused, shaking his head. He squeezed his eyes. shut. “No. No.” Any stability in his voice had gone.

Simon opened his mouth to ask that Isador question the shadow. Even with the way Isador was acting, it didn’t appear malevolent. If it knew something about this place, surely it would tell. But Isador’s shoulders heaved with a sudden sob.

”I’m sorry— I— No, I will. I promise. I promise.” He spoke quickly, shaking his head. The shadow moved quickly forward, its hand cupping Isador’s cheek. With the way the light fell away from it, it seemed more as if there was a hand shaped hole through Isador’s head than something standing in front of him. “I… Thank you.” Isador swallowed, his throat bobbing as he reached to wipe at his tears. “Thank you.”

The shadow’s forehead pressed against the top of Isador’s head, pushing hair out of the way but seeming like a cutout in space as it moved. It was unsettling to see and Simon disliked the way it made his head ache to watch, but he could not turn his attention anywhere else. 

Simon could not ask Isador to question this thing. Whatever questions he might have asked, they were gone and replaced by so many new.

Whatever this thing was, Isador spoke to it with a sense of familiarity. He knew what this was— or who. Or, if Simon was going to be a cynic, the thing could be impersonating someone Isador knew. Anything was possible here, and without being able to hear what it was saying, there was no way to know.

”Please don’t go,” Isador whimpered, curling in on himself. His eyes squeezed shut. “Please.”

The change in the shadow’s form was gradual and slow, but it seemed to fade, becoming more translucent. Isador became more visible through it as it faded. He shook, falling to his knees as it disappeared.

The electricity in Simon’s veins faded.

He approached slowly, kneeling beside Isador. The man’s face was wet with tears and his chest heaved with unsteady breaths. Simon did not move to touch him, but kept close regardless.

It was impossible to tell if it was seconds or hours that Isador sat there, face in his hands, body hunched over, unable to catch his breath. When he turned, his eyes were red and still damp.

”He’s a spirit,” Isador said softly, wiping his nose with the back of his sleeve.

Simon reached into his jacket pocket retrieving a handkerchief. He passed it to the man carefully. “Is he a friend?” Simon asked. He needed to be careful with his words. Interrogating Isador too much was only going to frustrate him.

Isador nodded and dabbed at his eyes. “I never told you… I don’t know why I never told you about him. I’m not supposed to, but… it’s you, you know?”

Simon didn’t question him. Isador did not owe him any information. He kept quiet.

”You’ve seen how bad I am at magic. I’m not an heir. I… Not really. The King isn’t my father.” His voice was so quiet and his eyes refused to lift from the floor.

Simon held his tongue. He supposed that explained Isador’s ineptitude for magic and the way he stood out in such contrast to the rest of his siblings. And knowing the way Their Majesties had kept people as playthings… Simon was not supposed to know that. Even if Isador knew he was not the King’s son, he likely didn’t know his parents’ history. If not for Chalice, Simon never would have. Simon would not be the one to break that to him.

”Please say something,” Isador whispered. “Please. I don’t want you to be mad at me.”

His mouth hung open for a moment. “Why would I be angry with you?”

Isador shook his head. “Father— His Majesty, I mean— he always says people will be angry if it gets out.”

Simon’s brows narrowed. “No. No one who cares about you would care about that.” He let out a soft sigh. “You believe that spirit was your father?”

“He sounded just like him.”

”You met him?” Simon asked.

Isador nodded. “He’s the son of the royal portrait artist. Sometimes he helps. Or… he did.” Isador swallowed. “I didn’t know he was gone.”

Simon took an unsteady breath, reaching out a hand to place it atop Isador’s. “I’m sorry.”

Isador shook his head. “No, I shouldn’t be complaining, not to you. I still… My mother is still here. And His Majesty has done everything to take care of me like his own.”

Simon’s stomach sank. “A loss is a loss.”

“I guess so.”

Simon squeezed his hand. “I am glad you got to see him, at least. Even if it was like this.”

Isador stared down at their hands. “He asked me if you knew. And if I was disappointed.” He shook his head quickly. “I’m not. I… He was a really nice man.” For a moment, Isador was quiet, still looking at Simon’s hand on his. “It scares me not knowing why he’s gone.”

He did not know what he was supposed to say to that. “We will find out,” Simon said softly. He scanned the room. The door, thankfully, remained exactly as it was. “Why don’t you take a moment to breathe, and then we will leave? I do not think there is much you or I can do about this.”

Isador nodded, turning his hand over to clasp Simon’s. “Thank you,” he whispered. “I know you don’t like to touch me, so I know trying to comfort me like this can’t be easy.”

Simon blinked. “It is not you, Isa.”

“It is. You don’t have to pretend just because I’m sad.” He let out a soft, humorless laugh.

Simon sighed. “I do not pretend with you.” It was an absurd thing to confess. It was almost entirely true. Even if Isador could not know Simon’s plans or his desire to simply disappear, Simon found there was little need to keep his guard fully up with him.

”Can you tell me why? You used to not mind it much.”

Simon swallowed. “I cannot.”

Isador nodded. “That’s alright. You don’t have to. You… You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, alright?”

This wasn’t just about touching him. “I know.” Simon stood, his hand finally leaving Isador’s. “Now. Let’s leave this place. We do not know what else could happen here and I do not wish to find out without more of a defense.”

Isador followed him up. His face was much less of a mess than it had been before, though his makeup was smeared around his eyes messily. “Right.” He took a few short steps toward the door and reached out tentatively. “Alright.” His hand grasped the doorknob, and it turned easily in his hand.

Simon let out a sigh of relief.

”I was afraid it would hurt to touch from how nervous you seemed,” Isador said quietly. “It’s just a doorknob after all, huh?”

Simon nodded. “Indeed.”

As the door pulled open, a rush of relief struck him like a burst of cold wind. Just outside, through the glow, the same crowd remained. They were going back where they had come from. The world was, thankfully, just as it had been.