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LUCY WAS AS GREEN as the Fragilli by the time they departed the tram.

"I told you not to eat so many cream cakes," Abby chided, her hand running down Lucy's head and providing him with comforting pats. A contented sigh slipped from his lips.

Beside them, Sebbi walked with noticeable disdain, his arms crossed over himself, his glare trained on Lucy.

Lucy didn't seem to mind or hadn't noticed, or had and was being willfully oblivious. Instead, he simply nuzzled Abby's neck more, a grin propping up his face.

"If you need a shoulder to rest on," hissed Sebbi. "Mine's available, brother."

Lucy shooed him, and his suggestion away with a limp wave of his wrist. "No thank you. I'm perfectly content with the current position of my head. Why there is no better, no warmer, or lovelier a perch, than my love's shoulder."

Abby gave a snicker. Then, as they strolled past a band of burlas under which sat a dozen Laosians seeking refuge from the sun, she asked, rather boldly, "And what of Margo's shoulders? I hear many heads would seek out their comfort if she'd let them."

Lucy's head snapped upright. His smile faded, and his cheeks paled. "Love," he said miserably. "I do not wish to rest my head on anyone else's shoulders, especially Margo's."

At this, both Sebbi and Abby rolled their eyes.

"It's true!" He harrumphed, flinging his arms around himself and jutting his chin. "True, her hair is as soft as nightsilk, and the curls undoubtedly would tickle my cheeks and forehead, but she'd also, certainly, laugh at my handsomeness, and though her laughter sounds like bells played only by the most accomplished hands, such rudeness to Aelurus's king could not be tolerated."

"And yet she mocks your appearance daily, and you have yet to punish her in any way," Sebbi said. They passed a pit where meat was being roasted on the fire. He licked his lips at the glistening, blackening skin.

"Oh, haven't I?" Had Lucy had his tail, he would have flicked it indignantly then, riling dirt clouds to take flight around them. "Her daily allowances of cheese have been cut by a quarter and my staff only serves her her second favorite cheese. All my doing."

"If that's a punishment, I shudder to think what you'll do if she ever admits to liking you."

A blush rose to Lucy's cheeks. "I–I would...think of something appropriate."

"Sure," Sebbi's eyes roamed over to Abby's when– "Be careful." He grabbed her arm and pulled her toward him. She stumbled but remained upright.

Her eyes were bright with alarm, her cheeks flushed.

"A puddle," he said, quickly letting her go.

"Oh." She smoothed strands of hair that had fallen free of her ribbons. Sure enough, she'd been a few handspans from a pool of questionable brown liquid, haloed by a swarm of buzzing black specks. "Thank you."

Sebbi nodded, and Lucy, who had watched the whole thing go down, strode over to Abby with renewed vigor, looping his arm through hers.

"I will help you sidestep any further puddles, love."

She chuckled. "You just want me to keep petting your head." With a hand, she beckoned him to once again rest on her shoulder.

He obliged eagerly and easily, situating his head perfectly on top of her shoulder, his hair pressed against her neck. It was just as soft as his fur had been, and without thinking she began running her fingers through it.

"Am I that transparent?" he purred.

"Yes," came her response without hesitation.

Lucy released a yawn, his eyes narrowing as the sun grew fiercer overhead. "You have always known me best."

"You have always known us best."

Abby's gaze flicked to Sebbi, who walked uncharacteristically fast and though he was a few paces away, and already skimming the sea glass wares of a nearby vendor, she could still make out the red sweeping across his cheeks.

She wondered which was worse - the heat of the sun, or the heat of her embarrassment, and whether the latter could, like the sun, after prolonged exposure, leave her permanently red-streaked and warm.

Though, it might not be the worst way to be, considering.

*

Together, they ambled through Laos's streets, enjoying the familiar sights of the city. Purple flags still marked the entrance of Mandarren Square, and Abby was thrilled to find it busier than it'd ever been - the return of the Dawn Stag had ignited a resurgence of interest in the magickal arts. Not only that, but mines, thought depleted of Ly'ren stone, had found new deposits of the veined stone, prompting an increase in enhancements. Many of the flashier new inventions were on display - little bug-like shapes, capable of carrying one's voice a dozen leagues, hovered over tables, flowers fed with enhanced fertilizer showed off their improved durability. Their sellers claimed they could survive drought, which made them perfect for Noriie. This sparked lively conversations at the prospect that the mostly desert continent might one day be a flourishing green-scape of flowers and trees.

Abby grinned as she walked past the tent, no longer tempted by its offerings. She had had her fair share of magick, at least for a time, and would be happy without it. Though, she did pause, just for a second, to acknowledge the Wizard Kellog statue posed in the center of the square. It was too tall, and too lean, and the real Wizard Kellog wasn't as muscular as the statue nor its sculpture suggested. 

The face was too slim and all its features were too harsh and too angular whereas the Wizard had a round face and square jaw and soft cheeks. His nose had been wider, the gemstones used for his eyes, the wrong shade of blue. However, Abby could still make out traces of the Wizard in his so-called likeness. The smile carved into the face for example was one of mischief and mirth,  and his hands were elegant, delicate stone waves cresting over the palms.

Thank you, she thought to the statue.

And this time, she most definitely caught it winking at her.

When the sun fell, and the fishing boats were returning to the docks, Abby, Sebbi and Lucy, sat down at their favorite tavern to share a pot of fish stew.

In true Lucy fashion, he fished every despicable onion from his portion. Sebbi, who had asked the server for double fish, was delighted to find his bowl overtaken with flaky white fish chunks. Abby, not wanting to waste a drop, took Lucy's onions and added them to her bowl, and in a dimly light corner, where through grime-streaked windows they watched the sun set, they slurped and shoveled stew into their mouths, until their bellies grew round and everyone was satisfied.

After taking his finger and wiping his bowl clean, to ensure not a speck of cream or piece of fish had been left behind, Lucy set his fifth bowl of stew, next to four others that had been pristinely cleaned of any stew residue.

"That was incredible." He leaned back in the booth, arms cradling his stomach.

Sebbi smacked his lips together, a cream moustache decorating his upper lip. Abby chuckled. Shyly, Sebbi wiped his napkin over his mouth. "You have a cook at your command. Command they prepare you stew."

"I have," said Lucy leaning forward. "Several cooks at my command, dear brother. But still, none of them know fish stew. Instead they serve me meat simmered in a brown sludge and think that good enough." He grimaced, as though even the memory tasted bad.

"You should start by introducing them to fish in the first place."

"I wonder." Lucy planted an elbow on the table and propped his head on his palm. "I've had word the Black Sea is changing. Getting clearer by the day. Dock workers whisper of slender shapes slicing through the water with their fins."

"Fish exist in Aelurus?" asked Abby, setting her spoon to the side of her own emptied fifth bowl of stew.

Lucy shrugged. "They could." He kicked his feet up, and threw his hands behind his head. "Reven's to keep me updated on their findings."

"It seems Reven should wear the crown."

Lucy's lips split apart, showing off his teeth, and though they were no longer fangs, their sharpness shone under the lamplight. "That's treason, brother. I ought to throw you into the dungeons for it."

Sebbi traced a finger over a glass of iced brownbark. "But it's true, yes?"

Relaxing back into his seat, Lucy gave another shrug. "He can have the cursed thing if he wants. The crown weighs a ton, and it always causes my fur to lay too flat afterwards."

"While I would love to hear your voice your many concerns with how the weight of a kingdom is ruining your handsomeness," Sebbi's eyes flicked over to Abby, "It's about time we get going, yes?"

Abby's breath caught in her throat. She nodded, remembering their visit to Laos, wasn't just about reminiscing and devouring fish stew.

She had come here to see if what the Wizard had said was true - that the persimmons would be in season.

*

As they crested the hill, she remembered it all so well - the stately columns boxing in the front door, the potted plants greeting guests with wilted leaves and dying flowers. The arched windows, that gave the front of the house an always surprised expression. The weeds that sprouted between cracks in the driveway, and that grew yellow flowers when there was plenty of rain.

All that remained of the Tells' estate was that cracked driveway. Behind it, was the flat scorched land of where the house once stood. The lake had been drained, the gardens overgrown, the statues' faces covered in moss and lichen, the shapes of the topiaries too wild to discern. 

Mrs. Seiver's herb garden was a patch of cracked ground, the soil hard and water-starved. The veranda where Abby had sat nestled between her father and Mimi, with Reynhold, a solid fixture at her father's back, a coat draped over his arm should her father require it, was nothing more than a handful of pebbles, scattered and scarred black. Her father had called Reynhold a support beam made flesh, given that he had an unparalleled way of propping up the household. Without his unflinching servitude, her father had argued, the estate would have collapsed. 

Abby bent forward and brushed her fingertips along the stones. They had drank up the sunlight, and even though it waned overhead, and the sky had gone auburn, they warmed her skin, their touch reminiscent of all the hugs she had shared there with the people she had loved, the people she would always love, as they were as much a part of her heart as Lucy and Sebbi, Axion and Margo. 

She walked past where her room had been, now no more than rubble strewn through tall grass. Most of her time she had spent imprisoned within its walls, punishment for finishing an argument others had started. She'd hated it then - shoved away in the corner of the house and left to collect dust like a piece of fine crockery in the cabinet. She thought her father embarrassed by her, though he'd never said as much, with how obstinate she'd been and with how swift she had been to wield her shoes to slay her foes, how could he have not been? 

But she knew that wasn't the case, that that had never been the case. Her father loved her completely, flaws and all, and a little annoyance or irritation wasn't going to change that. It certainly never changed how she felt about Lucy, and he seemed to go out of his way to annoy her. Almost as if he was playing with his prey. 

She would have given anything to be enclosed within those walls, to hear her father's laughter echo off the walls, and Mimi's chiding voice chasing her down the halls and she attempted escape. To rest her head again on soft pillows, her two beloved cats curled up on their own, their purrs carrying her off into a world of dreams.

"Love?" Lucy nudged her arm, his golden gaze, unsure. 

She nodded, and taking a deep breath, moved on.

Behind the house on grass that was brown and patchy, stood her mother's grove, a place Abby had loved since she'd been old enough to walk there herself.

Her gait slowed as she began the ascent, her knees trembling, Lucy and Sebbi at her side, each ready to catch her should she fall.

The sea air buffeted her face, and Laos's lights twinkled in the distance, and it seemed the whole of the world, was goading her on, helping her forward.

Sir Simon came into view first. The tree was not nearly as tall as she remembered, but its face was still there, made from peeling bark and black fungus and a particularly fat knot that made for a knobby nose. Branches bowed toward the ground, most of them barren, save one.

Abby gasped at the small patch of bright green leaves, underneath which hung a glistening orange persimmon fruit.

Clasping her hands together, she gave Sir Simon a bow, Lucy and Sebbi, following her lead. "It's good to see you, Sir Simon."

A breeze blew through the trees, its branches whistling.

"I guess, I should call you Simon, or perhaps Master Elmswitch, considering what I know about you now?"

The tree seemed to sag further, the tips of its branches scraping along the ground.

"If you'd like, I can still call you Sir Simon?"

At this, the old tree seemed to stand taller, a creak rattling off from the center of its trunk. It's sole persimmon fruit swayed.

Lucy nudged her forward. "Go on, love. It's for you."

Giving him a slight nod, Abby walked toward her other oldest friend. The one who'd provided her shade in the summer season - though not ample, it had been enough, the one who cradled her while she slept against its trunk and dreamed of her mother. The one who listened to her complain about Crum and school and Mimi's lectures. The one who kept her hiding spot a secret when Mimi stomped up the hill to find Abby and dole out that day's punishment.

The one who was ever-present, an ever-constant presence in her life. Who had, in another life, been a great wielder of magick, and an invaluable friend and trusted companion to her mother.

She reached up, and the tree shivered beneath her touch, and with a quick snap, she broke off the persimmon. The fruit was solid in her hands, and far too heavy for a simple fruit.

She turned it over, and there, on the back, a piece of jagged metal pierced through the flesh. "There's something inside."

Sebbi and Lucy walked toward her.

"Something inside?" asked Sebbi when he reached her.

She angled her hand so he could better glimpse the metal.

"Well, open it, I guess," added Lucy.

She dug her fingers into the fruit, discarding the flesh and the pulpy fruit beneath and revealed a key. Then another key, a third, a fourth, all dangling from a single, bone-white ring.

The keys, though different, resembled Lucy's gift, the one she wore around her neck.

A white key stuck out most to her, rounded and smoothed like sea glass on one side, jagged teeth on the other. It hummed in her hand, magick, now that it was returned, an easy thing to sense.

She closed her fingers around them. "The Worlds-keys," she said, smiling up at Simon. "Mother's keys. You held onto them all this time." Her other hand found the side of Simon's face. "Thank you."

Another breeze whistled through Simon's branches, and each of his boughs lifted up, the end of one tracing like a finger over Abby's cheek.

"Let's not leave yet," she said, turning to face Lucy and Sebbi.

They nodded, and the three of them sat beneath Sir Simon, like they had before, only Lucy wasn't curled in her lap, and Sebbi wasn't perched on Simon's branch with some poor beetle trapped under his paws. The cat brothers were on each side of her, their fingers intertwined with her own as they watched the lights twinkle over Laos, and over the Fragilli, magick's song, now heard across all the realms in the Eridan, a wondrous melody ringing in their ears and their hearts.