Several times that day, Roman had caught himself wondering about Gareth, about how he was doing after his ordeal the night before. Chagrin always immediately followed. The likes of Gareth Ranulf, brother of a Unity Magistrate, who had everything in the world and could easily get the few things he didn’t, needed neither Roman’s pity nor his concern. Roman’s energy was better spent elsewhere.
Unfortunately, though, sympathy didn’t quite work that way, nor could it be reasoned with, and Roman’s mind kept drifting back Gareth’s way. Did he regret saving the man? Of course not. Given the chance, now knowing Gareth’s surname, would he do it again? Roman shifted uncomfortably at the thought, at the inevitable answer. Of course he would. After every problem Unity had ever made for him, he still would.
Roman jumped when, suddenly, fingers snapped in front of his face.
“Oy! Are you listening to me?”
Roman blinked, the leader of the Webhon Players sliding into focus. Cahrn stood before Roman wearing his customary scowl, his arms crossed in front of him. He dropped them quickly, though, when the costumer tsked disapprovingly.
“Sorry, Cahrn. I was distracted by how dashing you look in that costume,” Roman said sweetly, batting his eyelashes for extra effect.
Cahrn rolled his eyes. He was a tall man with a dark beard, always grumpy and terse except for when he was on stage, where he was still grumpy and terse but was at least more strategic about it. Though Roman could never forget the time he played Burgess in Cenhelm, a notoriously saccharine role in a notoriously tender tragedy. The Act III soliloquy, with all of Cahrn’s uncharacteristically raw vulnerability, had Roman sitting in the back row bawling like a child.
“This concerns your girl, so you need to pay attention,” Cahrn said while the Unity costumer flitted around him making last minute adjustments. “I passed her and Tabia on my way here. They’re practicing again.”
“Is that a problem?” Roman asked.
“Of course it’s a problem. The show is tonight. If she keeps pushing at this point, she’ll only make herself tired. I know you’re not from this world, but think.”
Roman held his hands up. “I get it, I get it! If you need target practice the day of the big battle, it’s already too late.”
Cahrn raised an eyebrow at him. “Been in many battles, have you?”
“It’s only a metaphor, Cahrn.”
Cahrn grunted in reply. “One of these days, you will have to tell us what you were up to before you joined us.”
“I already have. I’ve done a bit of everything,” Roman said cheerfully.
Cahrn looked, for a moment, as if he might push, but in the end he decided against it. “Go tell Dinara to stop.”
“I’ll do my best, but you know how hard she can be to reason with when she’s set on something,” Roman said, pushing himself up from his seat.
“Distract her, then, if you have to. You’re better at improv than half my trained actors; you should be good at stalling. It’s only for a few hours.”
“Are you saying I could be an actor, Cahrn? I knew if I only stuck around long enough you’d ask me to join the players permanently! I’m flattered, really, but I can’t afford to be tied down at the mo—”
“Just go,” Cahrn growled. “And make sure she’s at the theatre by five for hair and makeup.”
Roman laughed and ducked out of the trailer before Cahrn could do any more scolding, then set out through the Webhon Players’ camp. They’d set up as close to the Rinehart Festival Grounds as they could get, in the strip of part abutting it that Gallontea roped off just for the travelling performers and vendors each fall.
For creeping up on the biggest performance of their careers, the Webhon Players’ camp was at ease. Roman passed Julian, the Players’ guitarist, pianist, and musician of many different hats, tapping at a light, sweet drum from Troas. Julian’s wife nestled on the ground beside him, asleep with her back resting against his side. As Roman passed them by, he ignored the distant homesickness that followed the music. In the distance, he spotted a group of Dinara’s friends playing kickup when they were supposed to be repairing the Rinehart skenes.
He slipped down a side path before they could spot him, continuing through the gates into the empty festival grounds — eerily empty. Roman had never actually been here when the festival was closed. Fortunately, the way was short.
He rounded the bend just in time to see Dinara fall.
She stood alone on the Webhon Players’ stage, dancing for the empty benches while her mentor, Tabia, stood off stage watching. Dinara jumped, her ankle rolling as she touched back down, and hit the ground hard. Roman rushed toward her, but Dinara was pushing herself to her feet again before he’d even reached the back row of benches, limping only a few paces before shaking it off.
Roman slowed to a stop. Tabia was already on her way to help Dinara, but Dinara waved her off. “I’m alright,” Dinara said, rolling her ankle experimentally once, twice.
Tabia knelt to check for herself, holding Dinara’s ankle carefully in her hands while Dinara held onto her shoulder for balance. She looked past Tabia, out into the audience, and finally spotted Roman coming down the center aisle. She grimaced, embarrassed, but gave a small wave. Roman smiled and waved back.
“It’s fine, Tabia, really,” Dinara said, brushing her dark curls out of her face. As Roman got closer, he noticed the sheen of sweat on her forehead, her heavy breathing, and wondered how long they’d been out here. He’d woken before her, that morning — as with every morning.
“You’re nervous,” Tabia accused, her back still to Roman. “It’s making you sloppy.”
“I’m tired,” Dinara corrected, while Roman settled on a bench in the third row. At what was presumably a stern look from Tabia, Dinara caved, letting out a frantic nervous laugh. “Fine. Of course I’m nervous! We’re performing for Unity! I'm performing for Unity!"
"Don't think about them. You should only be thinking about the story, now. About Edith. Would you like me to tell you about her?"
Dinara nodded, eyes wide. She backed away as Tabia took the stage for herself, tying her long braids behind her with a scrap of cloth. Finally, Tabia turned toward the empty audience – and Roman. She frowned, displeased. "You shouldn't be here," she said.
"Is it true you've met Edith?" Roman asked in lieu of apology. It was a common rumor among the Players, but he'd never heard the truth of it.
Tabia ignored Roman in turn, instead stepping into the dance Dinara had just been practicing. She jumped – and she landed it smoothly. Roman noticed Dinara flinch, noticed her gaze drop to the floor. She'd been having issues with the role since Cahrn first cast her – not because of her own skill, but because of Tabia. Edith, the spirited heroine of Only the Roses, was Tabia's legacy. It was her role. From the way the Players told it, always in whispers when neither Dinara nor Tabia were around, she was the one who made the role – the entire play – famous, decades and decades before. But mortality was a tragedy, and Tabia was getting too old for the role.
If they had been performing for a small village well off the beaten cast, Cahrn probably would have cast her anyway. But they were playing for Unity. It had to be perfect. Roman knew how much Dinara hated being the one to take Edith from Tabia, but in truth, she was the only one. Roman, Cahrn, even Tabia herself – they all rooted for Dinara.
"You have her heart," Tabia said, moving through the variation with ease. She was slipping deeper and deeper into character, her usual jaunty sway fading away. "But it makes her desperate – desperate to be good, do good, and that's what you're missing. Your fear is holding you back, Dinara. Edith's story is about trusting your heart and doing whatever you must to follow it."
Dinara nodded, looking miserable.
"Had Edith hid behind fear, she would not have discovered the assassination plot. Ellaes would not have given her the power to stop it. She would not have saved Unity and, subsequently, the world." As she spoke, Tabia finished the dance and dipped into a bow, a smile on her generous lips. Finally, she met Roman's eye. "I have met her, you know. Just once."
Roman moved up a row so he could hear better. "Wow. Must've been a long time go."
"Are you calling me old, boy?" Tabia asked. Roman opened his mouth to backtrack, maybe even to flirt and soften her up, but Tabia chuckled at her own question. "My grandmother was maranet. I'm even older than I look."
Dinara shot Roman a warning look. "You don't look old at all," she said.
"Sweet of you, pet, but I know it's not true."
"Did Edith talk at all about Ellaes?" Roman asked, taking advantage of Tabia's good mood while he could.
Tabia shook her head. "No, Ellaes was just a narrative embellishment. That, or Edith had to deal with people's doubt for so long that she no longer believes it herself. She wouldn't speak of it when I asked. But enough of this," Tabia said, holding her hands out to Dinara. Reluctantly, Dinara took them. "Go rest, pet. And remember: stories mean the most when you, the one doing the telling, are moved by them as well. Don't be so hard on yourself: just feel the story, go where it leads you."
Dinara nodded, a determined gleam in her dark eyes. "I will. I'm sorry for taking up so much of your time today, Tabia."
"That's not something you ever need to apologize for."
When Dinara came down the steps toward Roman, Roman stood and stretched. "I'm glad you two are done, because Cahrn sent me here to tell you to stop. Something about needing a break? You know the meaning of that word, don't you, Di?"
"Har har," Dinara said. When she held out a hand, Roman took it without hesitation. "Let's go home."
Roman tugged on her hand to stop her. "I'm not letting you walk back on that foot. Come here," he said, crouching so she could hop on his back. She laughed as she did, looping her arms around his neck while he held behind her knees.
"Steady?" he asked. Dinara's curls brushed his cheek and neck as she nodded.
"What were you doing with Cahrn? Did you two become best friends when I wasn't looking?" she asked against his neck.
Roman laughed, heading back through the empty festival grounds. "Not quite. He was scolding me for sneaking into camp late again."
"You'd think he'd be used to it by now," Dinara said dryly.
"Exactly!"
"How late was it this time?"
"Oh, only...around four."
"In the morning?!" Dinara asked, going shrill right in Roman's ear. He winced, veered on the path, and Dinara quickly added, "Sorry! That's just...if I tried to stay up until four and get up when you do, I wouldn't last three days. I need eight hours sleep, minimum, or I can't function all the next day."
"Believe me, I know," Roman muttered darkly, laughing again when Dinara pinched him. Changing the subject, he asked, "What were you thinking on stage? You made some interesting faces."
"Just the usual. Wishing I didn't have to do this. It's not that I don't want the role – because I really do – I just feel so guilty. She didn't even do anything wrong, just got old."
"Oh, to stay young forever," Roman sighed. He thought he'd done well at controlling his tone, but something strange must have slipped in because Dinara peered around his shoulder trying to see his expression. Luckily, he already had an easy distraction on hand. "Here we are. Shall I set you down here, my lady, or walk you to the door?"
Dinara wiggled to get down. "Here's fine, thank you," she said, pressing a quick kiss to the back of his neck before jumping down. She climbed the rickety steps to her trailer ahead of him. The paint was chipped and cracked and you got splinters if you relied too heavily on the handrail, but the small trailer had carried them hundreds of miles – Dinara, even further. While Roman hadn't been with the Players long, Dinara had been with them her whole life. Her parents – lovely people – had built this trailer themselves after their marriage, and it had been with Dinara since. It must have seen all of Calaidia in that time.
Pushing past the beaded curtains that hung in the doorway, Dinara turned back to Roman as soon as they were inside. Standing at just barely over five feet, she had to crane her neck to look up at him. "So. You're going to stay for the whole show tonight, right?"
"What do you mean?" Roman asked.
"Don't give me those big, innocent eyes," Dinara said, holding Roman an arm's length away when he stepped up into the trailer behind her. "You think I haven't noticed that you always leave before it's over?"
"That's not fair," Roman said, taking Dinara's wrist and reeling her slowly in. "It's not you, it's just the show you're doing for the festival. I told you when Cahrn asked me to do the introduction that I don't like it."
"Does it have something to do with Cahrn? You always leave when he comes on. It's like clockwork."
"It's not him. It's the character he's playing," Roman admitted reluctantly.
Dinara frowned. "Egil?" she asked. This time, it was her turn to hold on while Roman wriggled away. It was a common dance of theirs, a push-pull. "Who doesn't love a good Egil story?"
Roman shrugged, his smile not meeting his eyes. "Me, I guess."
"But why?"
"That's hard to answer, Di."
When Dinara realized he meant to leave it at that, she rolled her eyes. "You could at least try."
"And for anything else, I would."
"Fine," Dinara said, throwing her hands up. "Fine, I'll leave it. Now you need to ask how my rehearsal went."
Roman blinked. "Pardon?"
"It's next up in our routine, after our morning fight."
"But I saw your rehearsal this time," Roman pointed out.
"Only the end of it. A humiliating end, by the way."
Roman hummed and moved to their bed – just a lumpy mattress on the ground – and sat. "I wasn't aware we had a routine," he said, patting the spot next to him. Dinara surprised him, hiking up her flowing skirts and dropping onto his lap instead, straddling his hips. Roman leaned in with a wolfish grin and asked, "Is this part of our routine?"
"It is, actually. It just comes next."
"I see," Roman said. He gave Dinara a coy look, up at her through under his eyelashes in the way he knew she was weak to. "And...this?"
"Wh— Ah!" Dinara squealed, laughter forced out of her like a punch to the gut when Roman's fingers found the ticklish spot just below her ribs. She tried to bat his hands away while she laughed, but he was relentless. "Roman!"
Roman's own laughter stopped when Dinara went on the offensive, going for where he was most ticklish – the back of his neck. He yelped and almost threw her off. For a minute, they wrestled, Roman trying to get at Dinara while protecting himself and Dinara doing the reverse, both of them laughing until they couldn't breathe. Finally, Dinara ended the battle by pushing Roman back onto the bed and following him down. "Truce?" she asked, sitting up on her elbows so she could look down at him. This close, he could count the faint freckles on her warm, dark skin.
"Fine. Truce," Roman said breathlessly.
"You're an ass," Dinara said through a smile. "You know how ticklish I am."
"And it never gets old," Roman said. He gave her a bright grin back and watched her expression soften further in reply. He reached up to tuck a curl behind her ear, then finally asked, "How was your rehearsal?"
It startled a laugh out of Dinara. "Good, besides the falling," she said, turning her head to kiss his hand. "What did you do today, besides get scolded by Cahrn?"
"Not much," Roman said, thinking again, briefly, of Gareth. "Lots of interesting gossip around Gallontea today – have you seen the papers?"
"Not yet," Dinara said, as if she might yet. It was something they'd bickered over more than once, though: she never kept up with the world, never read the news. She claimed she didn't know what to do with the heartache the news gave her, as if ignoring pain kept it from existing.
"They think Orean is trying to start a war. Unity – everyone."
"Oh," Dinara said, eyes wide. "Why?"
"A misunderstanding, I hope," Roman said. Putting on some false cheer, he continued, "But speaking of Unity, have you seen their theater yet?"
Dinara blinked a few times at the subject change, then readjusted, used to it from Roman by now. "We had our tech rehearsal yesterday, and I got a private tour of the whole place this morning. Roman, it's beautiful! Wait until you see it! You are coming, aren't you? Egil's not in this one."
"I wouldn't miss it even if he was," Roman promised.
Dinara smiled down at him, dark eyes glimmering. They were nearly as dark as his, but hers held so much warmth in them. He'd been told more times than he could count that his were cold. Unsettling. Eerie. Even Dinara, his own partner – she flinched when his eyes met hers, dropped her gaze to the collar of his shirt. By the time she'd looked up again, apologetic, Roman was staring at the ceiling.
"Roman," she said, sensing the change. She tried to pull him back to her. "I'm sorry. Thank you. I'm glad you'll be there."
It was something about this city. It made it worse, made him worse. More and more since they'd gotten here, he'd been swimming in the murky depths of his own thoughts, thoughts he didn't know how to even begin sharing with Dinara. He didn't know how, and that helplessness only drowned him deeper. It wasn't fair to her. She kissed him, hoping to lure him out, but he only shifted beneath her to slide her off.
Dinara changed tactics. She broke the kiss, twined her fingers with Roman's, and pinned his hands on either side of his head. That caught him, his eyes widening, his attention shifting back to her. She didn't flinch away from it this time. "It'll be nice to have you there," she said, as if they were still discussing the show.
Roman blinked lazily, trying to think past Dinara's hands, warmth, weight to process the words. Dinara didn't give him a chance. She kissed him again, and when she started trailing those kisses down his jaw, he tilted his head to give her better access.
"I promise not to make faces at you when you're on stage this time," he eventually managed, when he could find the words. A breathy laugh came from Dinara, and she sat up.
"You'd better not! Cahrn scolded me for that, yesterday!"
Roman snickered and squirmed, a half-hearted attempt to break out of Dinara's grip – or get her to kiss him more. Dinara pressed her weight into him, then shifted more of it to her hands and ducked to ghost more kisses along Roman's jaw.
"It's not that I don't appreciate this...whatever it is, Dinara," he breathed, "But there actually were a few things I meant to tell you."
"Oh?" Dinara asked, sitting up again.
"No need to look so worried. Cahrn says hair and makeup is at five. Also, Gemma's planning an afterparty and says attendance is mandatory. I told her I'd ask if you were up for it."
Dinara finally released his wrists. "Do you think she'll notice if we're not there?"
"You're the lead, Di."
"So?"
"It'll be fun," Roman said. "And knowing you, you'll just spend all evening fretting over how the show went if you don't have something to distract you."
"There are other distractions than parties," Dinara tried hopefully, laying a hand on Roman's chest.
He covered it with one of his own. "We don't have to stay the whole time."
"I'm tired," she groaned. "And my feet hurt."
Roman laughed and easily flipped their positions, sitting up while Dinara squawked and grabbing her leg. She nearly kicked him in the face, thinking he was going to tickle her again, but instead he sat back and began massaging her foot. "I know you'll regret missing it."
"Probably," Dinara agreed with a grimace. She let her eyes fall shut. "Is that why you want me to go so badly?"
"I'm far too terrified of Gemma not to give it a fighting effort," Roman said, making Dinara laugh. "Plus, it'll be good for you. If we stay, you'll fret, I'll brood, and we'll fight. Party with friends seems like a better option."
Dinara hummed, held her other foot out for Roman to massage. "This is going to make me fall asleep."
"Then sleep. I'll wake you before five."
He couldn't quite tell, but he thought she was asleep before he'd even finished speaking. For a moment, she looked so peaceful he was tempted to join her. But Dinara's peace couldn't stop his own nightmares, so instead, he went to sit on the stairs and enjoy the last of the summer sunslight.
No more new characters for a while, you have my word! :) Thanks for your patience these last few weeks; my partner and I are getting ready to move (to a new state! very exciting!) and there’s so much work to be done that finding time to write has been hard. Back to our regularly scheduled chapters, though as a heads up, I’ll probably be taking another week off on the 20th.
This email is a part of Fractured Magic, a gothic fantasy webserial. At emrowene.com, you can find a character guide and gallery, a full list of content warnings, and other works by the author. Supporting the story on Patreon will give you early access to chapters plus character art and exclusive content.