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LUCY WAS IMMACULATE in all ways. In the way he looked, the way he dressed, the way he fashioned ribbons into his most lustrous locks. In the way he comported himself as Aelurus's king. 

Continuing in that tradition, Lucy was immaculately hung over the morning after celebrating his brother's return late into night. The churning in his stomach and throbbing in his head, though unpleasant, a small price to pay, given that a well-timed passing out on his part had allowed Abby and Sebbi a moment alone.

He knew his brother craved it, and while Sebbi had returned more honest than he'd ever been, he wouldn't outright say as much, especially not to Lucy who would use the information to tease him mercilessly - a completely accurate assessment. So Lucy had drunk himself into a stupor, somewhat on purpose, danced until he felt his six bowls of stew trying to resurface, and then crumpled there on the porch to give his favorite people in the world, their time together.

Had his head not felt like a fruit bursting open, he would have badgered Sebbi about what exactly had transpired. And his brother, being his brother, would have reacted by blushing, stammering and swatting at Lucy's nose. Younger siblings were so very predictable.

Not that Lucy had needed to ask. 

Abby's appearance that morning gave it all way. She had a new ribbon in her hair, one poorly made, threads dangling from the unfinished edges. It had stars on it, ones that glided over the fabric as though they were part of the real sky.

A gift. Sebbi had wanted to give her a gift.

And Lucy had gifted him the opportunity to give her said gift. He would ask for compensation at a later date, when it suited him.

For now, he had to tend to his headache. Picking up the glass of eel egg, vinegar, and thrice spice, he held his breath and sipped.

He felt like his entire face scrunched as the hot, sour, tangy mess trekked down his throat.

Next to him in the booth, Margo chuckled. It echoed in Lucy's head, his headaches splintering into tinier, angrier aches.

Grimacing, he took another sip of what the barkeep assured him was a shortcut to a sure cure. 

Gods, he hoped it worked.

A waitress brought over their food. Lucy insisted on a liquids only diet, at least for the morning, while Margo ordered a cheese plate, subbing all the fruits and pickled vegetables for other cheeses. Abby and Sebbi got stew.

Lucy rested his head in his hand, as the usual tantalizing smell of fish swimming amongst a savory, herbed broth, made him gag.

Margo nudged his arm, her eyes widened with concern. "You sure you're okay?" They had gone out to eat at The Smoke Stack, one of Ean's more reputable pubs. Margo, making sure not to cause a scene, had temporarily hid her whiskers with a concealment charm, and seemed to have a good handle on tamping down her radiance. One had to look closely, to see the fluctuating colors alighting on her skin.

Too bad the same could not be said of Axion. The former Shadow King had arrived at Abby's house, festooned in bright yellow from head to toe. His blouse was made of a see-through lace, matching a parasol he twirled his hands. The shirt was buttoned only up to a crater Lucy assumed was his bellybutton. Every other button was undone, leaving most of his chest exposed.

Abby voiced what Lucy had thought - what was the point of a shirt, if you weren't going to wear it properly?

After several minutes of pleading, Axion had buttoned up his shirt, and agreed to wrap his face in bandages. He had to borrow Abby's gardening gloves as he had left his only pair back in the Evernight.

And now, seated on the other side of Abby, picking at a greasy sandwich, he was garnering all sorts of attention. Glowers and grimaces from Ean's workforce, who resisted any disruption to Ean's  well-established routine. Curious glances came from younger folk. They had softer expressions and wistful eyes that sought to peek at what lay behind Axion's bandages. The barkeep was the only one who didn't mind Axion's appearance one way or another. So long as he got paid, anyone was allowed in his pub.

"Did you have to wear that?" Lucy growled, a vein pulsing in his neck. "You look downright sunny."

Axion's lips parted. "I'm trying something out."

"Which is?" Lucy lifted his glass, braced and gulped. The bigger the gulps, he figured, the quicker the burn would dissipate. "To burn everyone's retinas with how heinous you look?"

"Says someone who wears gold brocades like they didn't go out of fashion seasons ago." Axion brought his sandwich to his mouth, and tore into it with both sets of teeth. A slimy, pink slice of meat hung from his lips. Beneath one of his bandages, a star twinkled a taunting red.

"You look absurd," Lucy snapped.

"You look absurd," Axion snapped back.

Abby scowled at them both. "We're not here to determine which of you has worse fashion sense."

"Worse?" Lucy and Axion said together.

 Lucy snorted, falling back into his seat, leather squelching under him, arms crossed.

Axion fluffed a yellow scarf he'd tied around his neck, to draw one's eye, he insisted, away from his bandages. Much good it had done.

"We're here to figure out what to do next," Abby continued. Her gaze fell to Margo, an unspoken signal between them.

The mouse-wizardess straightened, her shoulder brushing Lucy's as she leaned over the table. "Returning the Dusk Stag has given us some time, but magick continues to fail. Aelurus's sea is boiling on most days more than it's not."

Lucy's face went grim. In all the history Reven had thrust upon him, he'd read about Aelurus's ocean before, when it'd been filled with blue water that flowed from the wells of magick at the realm's core. Supposedly, it had healing properties, which had launched the moon clans into a series of brutal wars over who would claim it as their own. It had only been in the last century or so, that the water had soured and turned black, but Aelurians didn't live long, what with everyone waiting to shove poison down their throats, so few had known it as anything other than the Black Sea.

Reven warned him that if magick was restored, and the issue was not handled with a deft hand,  another war would break out because of it.

"Magick dying is felt even here." Margo stabbed a finger against the table, her upper lip quivering. "Jacquer fish ending up beached, dying in droves. The color from the Blood Plains draining..."

"So the plan remains unchanged," chimed in Axion. "We find the Dawn Stag, return magick's creators to the sky, and voila!" He waved a pocket square of buttery yellow into the air. "The realms saved, and we, their saviors."

"We don't know where the Dawn Stag is," Margo said stiffly, her ire rather attractive when someone else was cast in its net.

"And you haven't found out anything?"

Margo's hands balled into fists. "The Temple of the Dawn Stag's supposed to be in the Morningtide, but–"

"My grandfather oversaw its destruction," Axion said, coolly.

Margo nodded. "There's nothing about it in any books either." She rested her chin on her hand, and sighed, fingers picking at a wedge of dark-brown cheese. "It's powerful, so it would have been kept secret. Only those with royal blood would know–"

"The queen?" Abby's voice perked up, her stew infusing  her with a renewed energy.

"She's the one that told me where the temple was."

Abby's face fell. She reclined into her seat, eyes downcast. The table lapsed into silence, and though it should have been a welcomed reprieve from Lucy's aches and pains, it wasn't. Each face looked miserable and hopeless. They'd endured so much - losing Hestor, losing Sebbi, almost losing Margo had the Archmage not stepped in at the last moment - it couldn't have been for nothing. 

He turned toward Margo. An entire platter of cheese was in front of her and not a single strand of drool ran down her chin. "Miss Puffs." She flinched, her dark-skin embracing a rosy hue, her chin lifting to meet his gaze. "You've done your best." His breath tickled the curls hanging over her ears.

She slumped. "I don't feel like I've done my best."

"Even the best spy can't uncover something if there's nothing to uncover."

Her eyes widened. "You're suggesting the Dawn Stag doesn't exist anymore?"

"I'm suggesting," he said, drawing one of her curls back and locking it behind her ear, "that's a possibility we ought to prepare for."

"What if there is a book that contained information on the Dawn Stag?"

Margo's eyes flew to Sebbi. Lucy too, turned to face his brother, though he did so slowly as to not upset the fragile alliance he had ongoing with his stomach. The deal? He promised to take things in stride, and in return, it would keep its contents from coming back up and decorating Lucy's tunic with partially digested fish chunks.

"I've read all there is."

Sebbi quirked an eyebrow. "You've read every book?"

Margo's brow wrinkled, arms flung over her chest. "I've read several."

"So there might be a book out there that does mention the Dawn Stag."

"Sebbi?" Abby pushed her empty bowl into the middle of the table, and rested her elbow. "What are you getting at?"

"I know someone who–"

"Has access to rare books?" Margo grunted. "Forgotten texts and forbidden tomes? Who has a library that holds all of the realms most ancient secrets?" Her eyes narrowed, doubtfully.

"Yes," said Sebbi.

"And who would that be?" She tsked.

"The Wizard Kellog."

"What?!" Margo squeaked. She jolted upright, hands slamming onto the table. A piece of fish in Sebbi's half-eaten stew broke the cream surface and dove into his lap. He picked it up, inspected it for lint, and then popped it into his mouth.

"How do you—When did you—How did you–" Margo's shoulders shook with so much excitement, Lucy was sure her head would fall right off them. Her curls lashed the air with every quick swivel of her head.

Sebbi grinned. "I met him–"

"You met him?" Margo flopped back into her seat. "What was he like? Is he really over six feet? And his skin, is it exactly as brown and perfect as it is in the adverts for his shows? I always thought his skin looked like Mooreshead, triple gold, cocoa-infused cheese. Deep and rich, like the rind. Was it? What was he wearing? His stage suit? Oh, do the stars really sparkle?" She clapped her hands together, a cloud of dust rising between her fingers. "And his eyes, so dangerously blue you can get lost in them, right?"

"They were dark, if that's what you mean."

"Dark?" She raised a hand and smacked Sebbi reproachfully. "You mean perfect."

She glanced at Abby, who nodded her agreement.

"Well," said Sebbi, running his hands along the table. Poor cat hadn't realized what terror he'd unleash with those three little words. But Lucy had known Miss Puffs long enough to know she only talked about two things as animatedly as she talked about the Wizard - cheese and Cloudian whiskers. "He mentioned a hand-drawn poster for his show in Noriie depicted a really close likeness. Got the cornflower color right and everything."

"Cornflower's a very hard color to recreate. It doesn't occur naturally in nature. Countless sea glass has to be ground into a fine powder and mixed in precise amounts to achieve it."

Sebbi laughed. "That's almost exactly what The Wizard said."

A wave of blush rose over every inch of Margo's skin.

"Anyway, he's incredibly knowledgeable."

"Well, obviously." Margo and Abby shared a glance.

"And he knew things about Laos I'd never heard about. He's the sole wizard in the king's court, he must have access to books the public doesn't."

"Oh! You're right."

At this, Sebbi's chest puffed with pride. "He invited me to visit him in Triad, had to take care of a few things. We could–"

This time, it was Abby who hit him. "You have a standing invitation with The Wizard Kellog and you didn't tell me?"

"We're going to see The Wizard Kellog!" sang Margo. A strand of drool hung from the corner of her lips.

Was it natural for Lucy to feel jealous of The Wizard Kellog? He was a handsome, older gent, of mild renown, and with some skill levitating rocks, and warming baths with showy tricks. But he wasn't any competition for Margo's affections, was he? Or, maybe, since cheese and The Wizard were the only things capable as of right then of making Margo drool, it was Lucy who had no chance in securing Margo's affections.

His brow wrinkled, his limit for thinking that morning reached.

"I've heard a great deal about the sandwich shops in Triad," added Axion. "Some of them bigger than the castle courtyards, with flavors wholly dependent on the seasons. Can you imagine something so whimsical?" He grinned, unaware no one else was paying him any attention, lost to whatever vision of a sandwich shop he had conjured up.

Lucy took on a more regal, elegant posture. The one he saved for meetings with the Moonborn Houses, ones where he demanded his audience's attention. "A trip to Triad," he started, his voice loud and commanding. They all turned to face him. "--would be in service of locating the Dawn Stag. Not getting The Wizard Kellog's autograph."

"Autograph," Abby mumbled, her hand slapping her forehead. "I hadn't even thought of that."

"And it would certainly not be about visiting the sandwich shops, and pestering the shop clerks into sampling one of everything."

His gaze rested on Axion, who picked at his fingernails. "How am I supposed to make an informed purchase if I haven't tasted the merchandise?"

"Are we clear?" Lucy finished. "Going to Triad would be solely to learn about the stag."

"You know, you're–" Sebbi's nose wrinkled, a telltale sign he was fishing for the right word.

"Irritable?" Lucy finished, taking one last swig from his glass. The concoction had done nothing except make his stomach bubble and his breath reek of spice. "I am significantly hungover."

"I was going to say, you're quite good at leading."

Lucy's face lit up, the corners of his mouth tilting into a grin. "Wine brings out my natural–"

"I didn't say that."

"--leadership abilities. Hmm. Brother, be a dear and tell Reven that the next time you see him."

With their plans solidified - they would go to Triad and meet with the Wizard, and try to discern where magick's other stag could be - the breakfast concluded. Everyone was to meet at the tram station at first light, Abby forbidding Lucy from even looking at a bottle of wine, lest he entertain an even bigger hangover on the morrow.

Lucy threw himself on the couch the moment they arrived back at Abby's shop. With his eyes closed, and his ears shut to the bustling world, he slept and for the first time in a while, he dreamed. 

Of Miss Puffs and their not-so-secret meetings on the balcony, where he'd made it a point to stand a few inches closer to her with every encounter. Of Abby, complaining about his laundry piled around her floor with softness in her voice, and an ever-present smile on her lips. Of his brother, the two of them newborn kittens, Lucy a squirming, twisting bundle of fur. His first sensations had been of Sebbi, of Sebbi's whiskers against his face, the cold press of Sebbi's nose against his, his warm paws holding Lucy. His first sound had been of Sebbi's heartbeat, followed closely by gentle purrs.

Always together, he thought. And it all seemed foolish then, thinking it'd been an immaculate lie.