Requiem

A solitary manor on the forest's edge glowed in the dark, spilling warm light into the emptiness. Through the stained-glass windows the silhouettes of guests dancing in the main hall were barely discernible. The closer they approached, the tighter everything inside Anna twisted. The people behind these walls weren't just the elite - they were the living flesh of the very system that made her sick. Her own lineage, pure-blooded and flawless on paper, suddenly felt like a pathetic imitation. They had status. Anna had only her name and a set of questionable skills Tony valued far more than her so-called noble blood. Long, winding conversations about the subtleties of magical politics, those embarrassed, perfectly calibrated smiles... It was a language she had forgotten how to speak. Here, Anna felt like a beast cornered in a cage that was far too ornate. "Stop making that displeased face," Antonin whispered, pulling the witch along. His fingers gripping her arm above the elbow were not a gesture of courtesy. They were a point of control, a pin fastening her to him. Without granting him a glance, Anna pulled a smile over her face the moment they stepped inside. The pouring rain fell silent at once, cut off by a sound-dampening spell. Instead of raindrops, they were met with the murmuring hum of whispering aristocrats and the delicate voice of a violin. Anna's gaze was immediately drawn upward - to the intricate vaults of the ceiling merging into a worn yet elegant fresco. At its center lay a black pearl - the symbol of House Abbys - from which white light spilled downward toward the candles of the chandelier. As if a second Moon had risen indoors, illuminating the dark interior of the hall. "May I?," came the polite voice of the butler. Startled, she looked down at the wizard in his modest dark robe. If he hadn't spoken, he would have blended perfectly into the dark stone of the walls. "Thank you," she replied with a nod, followed by Tony's hands lifting her cloak from her shoulders. "Have a pleasant evening, mister and miss..." "Erter," Anna cut in - just a little too quickly - and softened her tone at once. The butler, holding both cloaks passed to him by Tony, returned a courteous smile. "Anna Erter, of course. Miss Abbys is expecting you in the main hall." With a slight bow, he returned to his duties. The main hall smelled of mingled perfumes and something faintly burnt. Still holding Tony's arm, Anna swept her gaze across the crowd: some guests lingered by the buffet tables, others danced with reckless enthusiasm. Tony, however, stood unshaken. His eyes prowled through the figures and the masked faces as if he could see straight through them. He marked weaknesses: an elderly wizard with trembling hands, a too-young heiress, a woman laughing too loudly as she tried to conceal panic. What frightened Anna most was not his work, nor his mood swings, but that gaze. Piercing, as though he already knew everything she would say, everything she would do, long before she did. Nearby, a cluster of witches whispered, stealing glances at her - at her companion. Anna silently thanked the masquerade mask for hiding not only half her face but the embarrassed flush beneath it. At first she thought the attention was due to her modest pale-blue dress, which looked like a cheap imitation amid the lavishness around her. Only when Hanna passed by did she understand the true reason. Gripping Tony's forearm, Anna followed. Floating spheres of warm light hovered overhead, illuminating wizards in vibrant robes. "If she asks, we're simply here to enjoy the evening," Antonin hissed, his tone stripped of its former ease. Anna nodded silently. A flick of her hand - and two glasses on a nearby waiter's tray lifted into the air and drifted after them. The colorful sparks inside the transparent flutes fizzed and burst like tiny fireworks. "Miss Abbys," Tony greeted the young woman, taking a glass. Her pale hair, pinned up, rivaled the pallor of her skin. Two eyes - so crystalline they seemed almost colorless, only a trace of bluish luminescence - studied them from behind a blot-like black mask. "Good evening," Abbys smiled, looking first at Anna, only then at Tony. The smile didn't reach her eyes; it was a rehearsed movement, nothing more. "How's the evening treating you? Your father's hosting is as impressive as always," Anna replied with an equally polite, equally artificial smile. If anyone watched from afar, she likely seemed perfectly at ease - save for the death grip on her glass giving her away. Hanna nodded - a simple, effortless gesture, yet full of elegance that only an aristocratic witch could muster. "Mr. Igneous has already arrived," Abbys said, motioning toward the balcony where a man stood beside the master of the house. A tall, broad young wizard with a dusting of freckles and hair slicked immaculately back. His movements were not precise - they carried a playful carelessness at odds with the sharp lines of his face. "I'll introduce you," Hanna added, lifting her chin with a faint smile as she glided toward the stairs. Anna and Tony could only follow. The broad stone staircase, lined with floating candles above the railing, carried them to the second floor. Bright, ringing laughter grew louder until Rupert Igneous came into view. His shoulders were draped in a deep-red cloak studded with tiny rubies and gold embroidery. Two young witches hovered near him, chirping bashfully in response to his laughter. Hanna spoke first. "Rupert." Her soft, courteous voice cut through the air. The man opened his arms in welcome. "Hanna!" Despite his playful tone, there was a chill beneath it - an aristocrat's subtle reminder of boundaries. "Splendid attire." With a casual wave, he dismissed the two witches, and they scurried off. Hanna inclined her head in gratitude. "My condolences regarding the incident with your supplier. Isidore, was it? Terrible negligence." Hanna's words made Anna glance sharply between them. The name was painfully familiar. The old man from the southern farms whose dragon herd she and Tony had destroyed a month ago. Her gaze, glassy with realization, darted to Tony. His expression did not shift; only his heavy hand settled on her waist. "Negligence!" Rupert burst out, throwing up his hands. The rubies on his cloak flashed. "That's putting it mildly. Half the order for the Council Guard—gone! The old fool couldn't handle a simple task... Lost track of the dragons!" "Lost track?" Anna interjected. "What exactly happened to them?" "Dragon hide is sturdy, resilient, my lady..." Rupert's gaze flicked from Anna to Abbys and back again. "Pardon," Hanna said gently, gesturing toward the pair. "Miss and Mister Erter. Perhaps your salvation." A subtle, cunning smile lit Anna's face. She placed her hand into Rupert's outstretched one the instant Hanna drew his attention to her and her partner. "A salvation indeed." His lips brushed the back of her hand. Before his gaze wandered lower, Tony finally spoke. "Miss Abbys informed me of the supply complications." Tony's voice, when touching serious matters, sounded to Anna as out of place as a mermaid trying to walk on her fins. "Nigel," he introduced himself, extending a firm, broad hand. "Rupert." When their palms met, Anna exhaled. They could not have been more different: the plump man in expensive clothes squeezing Tony's hand with overeager force, while Tony remained collected, sure of every word and gesture. His black hair brushed his shoulders, a few unruly strands tied into a tight knot at the back. He did not smile—his confidence lay in silence and brief phrases. "My business partner may be able to help you in these circumstances, Rupert." "Unless he happens to have half a dozen fire-breathing beasts lying around," Rupert scoffed, ready to laugh - Tony beat him to it. "He does." A simple nod. Rupert's forced cheer evaporated. His gaze sharpened, sliding from Tony to Anna and back again - evaluating, almost cold. "Rare goods," Anna added. "And I doubt the Council will restore their supply chain quickly. People are already uneasy. A shortage like this could undermine the Archons' authority." Tony's hand tightened at her waist either in approval or in warning. Her ribs yielded beneath his grip; she froze. Rupert's plump fingers drummed against his glass. "The only question is how urgently you need to restore the Council's trust. Or," Tony's voice dropped lower, more intimate, "your father's." That struck home. Rupert straightened, shoulders pulled back, all earlier frivolity gone. Unease flickered across his face. "Well then," Rupert declared, extending his hand once more - this time toward Tony. "We should discuss the details somewhere more suitable." His voice finally held true businesslike interest, free of pretension. Tony's grip on Anna's waist loosened, and relief spread warm in her chest. Half the work was done. The journey home was long. Anna tried not to look at Tony, and when she did, she only allowed her gaze to skim him carefully, as if trying to peer past the mask of detachment. Were his shoulders tense enough? Had everything gone according to plan? Was he satisfied? She tracked every movement he made. Even the slightest gesture ignited a cascade of anxious possibilities inside her. When they stepped into the house, she finally exhaled. It felt almost blissful to be back in their small, cozy refuge - to hide behind the walls of the unremarkable house on the city's edge and forget everything that waited outside. She slipped off her cloak, hung it carelessly on the wall hook, and walked deeper inside. Tony followed closely. "When's the meeting?" he asked, removing his masquerade mask just as the chandelier's candles flared to life. The short, dim corridor led them into the sitting room connected to the kitchen and the stairs. "Tomorrow at eleven." Anna sank onto the burnt-orange couch, inhaling the familiar scent of dusty pages from her books, standing haphazardly along the shelves. Her mask landed softly on the angular wooden side table. "Are you going alone? I didn't know they gave you assignments like that. I thought you only..." "Eliminate?" Tony finished for her, stopping in front of the couch. The streetlamps and the rising Moon cast pale light over his face. The scar running from his eye to the middle of his cheek glinted, eclipsing his sharp features. He sat beside her, rubbing the bridge of his nose. She nodded silently, watching him with wary curiosity. Antonin kept the silence intact. Then he patted his lap. A clear command. Anna slid closer and curled up in his arms. Her body, frozen from tension, seemed to breathe again the moment his hands settled on her back. "It's still ahead of us," he murmured. His voice was calmer than at the ball. But his movements remained just as precise, mechanical - like a wooden soldier's. "What do you mean?" Anna lifted her head, her dark eyes searching his face. "Neither of us knows how that fool will react. If he resists, we'll have to persuade him." "Will they want him dead?" Tony shook his head. His hand traced her back with almost mathematical precision: measured, exact. "Force him to cooperate by threatening his family?" "Anna." His hand froze. The way he said her name made her straighten. "Why do you need these details?" "Come on, I'm curious." A faint smirk glimmered on her lips. "Or do you think I'm unworthy? Still not ready?" Her challenge earned him a patronizing smile. The kind adults give to misbehaving children. "Knowledge has a price," he whispered into her ear. "What do you have to offer?" She would have answered, but his fingers tightened at her waist, firm yet gentle, pulling her closer. Anna exhaled shakily, melting into the heat of his touch and freezing under the weight of his attention. "Tell me," she whispered. Her voice barely existed. Half a breath, half a plea. Not for a secret, but for permission to share his air. Antonin's fingers glided slowly along her cheek, wiping away nervousness and lifting a new, delicate tension. Silence stretched between them, knotting in her stomach. She wanted to leap forward, force time to move faster. Every inch of skin blessed by his touch dissolved her thoughts into a useless blur. Inside her, a craving unfurled - a desire to break free of the small prison called a body, to spill into the air and mix with the breath he drew. When his finger brushed her lips, time halted. There would be no more talk. And if secrets ever surfaced—they would not be tonight. Not between them.