But Kip and Bruant were pressed so closely together that they made one shadow, talking in low, hushed murmurs. It reminded Pel of when Kip was a cat, always clinging to Bruant's legs and heels, winding around him as he walked; this just seemed to be the human-shaped equivalent of the same.
From the bits of the conversation that Pel was picking up, Kip was trying to teach Bruant a proper healing spell. Kip's voice was affectionate and a little whiny, despite his teacherly cadence. Bruant, in turn, was finally beginning to relax, like that needy tone was somehow soothing.
Pel, feeling a little like he was witnessing something private—something not for him, borderline intimate and borderline anathema—didn't dare interrupt.
Still, eventually, they too lapsed into a companionable silence. Not long after that, Bruant fell back a little to walk alongside Pel, awkward, his shoulders hunched and his gaze downcast.
"Dad?" he said finally, the word blurted too quickly after a long pause. He winced.
"Bru?" Pel asked back, hearing his own voice come out hoarse and exhausted. It had been such a long night already. He pushed past that, reaching out to find Bruant's hand with his own.
Bruant startled, then squeezed it hard, though even that determined grip felt weak. He made a few false starts at talking, more noises than words, then looked down, staring at his feet with eyes that didn't seem to actually be seeing anything. "Are you mad at me?"
"…Mad?" Pel echoed blankly.
Bruant's gaze jerked up at him, stunned by that mild reaction. He gestured in the air with a free hand helplessly, then let it fall. "I really was consorting with demons," he pointed out, unsteady. "I've been learning magic. Everything they accused me of was true. Everything you've hated all this time, everyone you've turned in, I'm one of them. I really am. Kip says I could be a real magician. I have the power. He says I probably got it from my mom, because you don't have any—" He couldn't seem to stop his babbling, free hand grabbing at the air like he could find the words and stuff them back inside himself.
Watching that, Pel's heart ached. "Of course it would be from Phalene," he murmured, sighing. "Listen—"
"And I love Kip, Dad," Bruant added in a rush, saying it more like an apology than anything else. A confession to wrongdoing.
Pel took that in, turned it over, and found himself shrugging it off. If Bruant had to be a magician, then it was just as well that it was Kip who was his partner. Kip would take care of him. And, thinking back over the events of the night, he thought it might not be so bad to have Kip around, whiny and clingy as he was.
He tried to find a way to articulate all of it, to encompass everything Bruant had said, and just squeezed Bruant's hand again. "Okay," he said. "That's all okay. I love you."
"Okay," Bruant said back, voice high and wobbling. "So you're not mad."
"I'm just glad you're alive," Pel said. It was clear that Bruant needed him to say more, though he didn't know if he had the words, so he drew a breath and struggled forward. "It's not a life I'd have chosen for you, but I didn't have a clear head about that, either. Your mother's death hurt me badly. But that's not your fault. It's not Kip or Tari's faults either. Who knows? Maybe your mother had wanted—had needed to be a magician too, and didn't know it. Maybe that's why she always longed for something more, something I couldn't give her."
Bruant was staring at him, silent.
Pel swallowed. "It's okay that you've kept secrets. It's not like you could talk to me about these things, not while I've been like this." He hesitated again. "Are you mad at me?"
Finally, Bruant made a choked sound. Pel didn't look to see if he were crying again, just held his hand tightly, rubbing the side of it with his thumb. "I'm not mad," Bruant said, voice trembling. "Thanks. Sorry."
"I'd understand if you were," Pel said, and smiled wearily at him. "But I want to do better by you. I don't want you to get hurt ever again, by me or anyone else. Okay?"
Bruant's gaze was almost uncomprehending, but after a moment, he managed a smile. It was a little weird, and on the verge of collapse, but he seemed to mean it—the expression reached his eyes. "I'd like that, too."
He didn't offer more, and Pel didn't ask for it. He just squeezed Bruant's hand and walked with him until Bruant stepped away first, stumbling at a faster pace to catch up with Kip again.
Pel's hand felt empty, and he went back to checking his pocket watch regularly to distract himself. Soon enough, it told him they'd walked their suggested three hours, so they paused to set up camp.
Bruant nearly collapsed, groaning as he sank down to sit on a log. Kip, still in human form, crawled to and curled up next to him, resting his head in Bruant's lap. Pel found somewhere else to look and give them their privacy as they rested and waited for Tari to catch up.
But Tari didn't.
*~*~*
"They're too late," Kip said. He'd started pacing the boundaries of their temporary encampment, hair fluffed up with his frustration and worry.
Bruant was huddled in Pel's cloak, looking like he needed about ten more years of sleep than he was likely to get tonight, but also seeming to have himself a lot more together. He said, tentatively, "It hasn't been that long…"
Kip shook his head furiously. If he'd been in his feline form, his tail would be lashing.
"It has," Kip insisted. "Even with how little energy they have right now, Tari can move much, much faster than we can. Cubants are real shapeshifters. They can turn into anything that any human they've met is attracted to! Even in their imaginations. Lots of people have fantasized all kinds of things. Formless shapes. Things with wings. Things that run fast, too."
They both looked at him dubiously. "I can't say that I've ever fantasized about formless winged things," Pel volunteered.
Even as he said it, he remembered abruptly that he'd spent a few years wishing centaurs existed, combining the best of swift horses and attractive people. He deeply wished that memory had remained buried.
"Um." Kip stopped pacing, turning to face them. "I may be new as demons go, but I'm pretty sure. Not you, but in general. The things people get angry or guilty at themselves over are pretty wild sometimes. You're… you're both doing it right now, actually."
"I am not," Pel protested.
Bruant let out a weak laugh and held out an arm. "Come here," he said. "Try to relax."
Pel watched as Kip gazed at Bruant, then sagged in place, as though the tension had just rushed out of him. He padded over to sit next to Bruant, pressing against his side. Bruant turned to brush his lips against Kip's hair and inhaled.
"You two said the rest of the plan went off fine," Pel said. "Kip, you were able to get in and out."
"Yeah," Kip said, seemingly unaffected by Bruant huffing him. "The amount of anti-demon wards up were amazing, but they weren't pointed at me or Tari, and the people there opened the doors for us along the way so none of the sealing wards were active. But maybe once those doors were closed, Tari couldn't go out after? Maybe, once they thought Tari was Bruant, the wards were aimed at them. Maybe even just being in that building drained their energy. They didn't have a lot." Kip let out a hiss of breath and dragged his claws along the log they were sitting on. "Maybe, maybe, maybe."
"Tari told me they were strong against that kind of warding," Pel said slowly. "That all cubants were. They got in through the city gates no problem."
"City gates are designed for passage," Bruant said, half-muffled by Kip's hair. "Even if they're made to test for demons along the way, the reason there's a gate so people can go in and out. That might be a bit different from magic on a place designed to keep people in and t-torture them."
Kip made a small noise of sympathetic pain, rubbing his cheek against Bruant's. Even so, he kept speaking. "Mm… cubants are different from a lot of demons. They're made to use a connection between bodies. So they're strong against magics that work on the spirit 'cause they're really… fleshy? But even if Tari's strong against it, how strong do you have to be? If one of those
problems are true? If all are? Tari fed a lot at the bar 'cause they weren't feeding deep enough for their prey to notice, I bet. And then went without for days."
I'd been so proud of that fact, Pel thought, exhausted.
"And I'd think that if the Inquisition ever wanted to hold demons, or even well-trained magicians," Bruant said slowly, tone anxious as he pulled away from Kip a little to face Pel, "they would ward the cells against transformation. They're only effective as "cells" when closed, so they might have been able to transform into me because the doors were still open then. But that means that once I was gone, the Inquisition could do to Tari whatever they did to me." His eyes were dark, haunted.
"Only if the door was closed," Pel said firmly, trying to reassure him through confidence alone. He didn't have anything else going for him. "The inquisitors would have to open it to get in to question them."
"But like I'm saying! Tari was already low energy, so they might not be able to do things even then," Kip said. "You two didn't even really sleep together…"
Pel went red. "How do you—"
"You feel guilty about it," Kip said, kind of strained.
Bruant dropped his face into Kip's shoulder. "Can we not?"
"Anyway," Pel said forcefully. "How do you even know all this about cubants and so on? I thought you were new. Maybe you're just… misunderstanding?"
Kip shrugged, awkward. "Demons know demon things," he said. "We don't have childhoods or grow up, so we don't learn like humans do. Besides, I ran into plenty of other demons out here before getting called into the city."
Shit. He was out of arguments. Things had gone so well that he'd wanted to hope—but the more they talked, the worse it looked.
He rose and said, "You two, keep walking and following the river. Rest when you have to. There's no need to take it at a fast pace, since they don't even know you're gone. Bru, can you carry my bag while Kip carries the other?"
"Yeah, but—" Bruant looked up at him in wide-eyed alarm. "Dad, you're not going back."
"I'll be fine," Pel told Bruant, hoping he wasn't lying. "I've known these people for years."
"But what if—"
"Bru," Pel said. He came over, dropping a hand on Bruant's head. "Tari risked themself for you, because I begged them to. So let me do this for them."
"I can come— "
Pel shook his head. "A second Bruant would give things away for sure. And anyway, they want you. Stay out here. Trust your old man."
Bruant stared at him, then lowered his eyes. "We'll keep walking," he said, and took Kip's hand, squeezing it. "But don't you die. I'm not ready to be an orphan. And I'm really not done with you yet."
"I'll do my best," Pel said, the most honest answer he could give.
*~*~*
It occurred to him, as he made the long walk back, that nobody would actually know if he left Tari there. It was a strange, horrible thought that welled up in him, nauseatingly tempting. The plan—Tari's plan—had been to put Tari in the cell; it was up to them to escape on their own. If Pel changed his mind on this, all he'd have to do was lie to Bruant and Kip, say that he'd tried but it was too late. It might actually be too late if Tari hadn't managed to escape already. He could be walking right back into the maw of danger with the Inquisition alerted, leaving his son fatherless, with only a young demon for company in the wilderness, the two of them with nowhere to go.
Tari would never have asked him to come back for them.
Tari would never have expected him to want to.
Pel shook his head, disgusted at himself, as he stopped at the foot of the wall. He checked his pocket watch, calculating the time until it would absolutely be free from guards again. Fuck it. There was nothing in the world he could do to make up for the people he'd betrayed, and he wasn't going to pretend there was, but this was different. He was just tired of it. He didn't want to be someone who sold people out anymore, he didn't want to lie to Bruant anymore and, fuck, he just plain wanted Tari back.
It was that simple.
Dawn had already passed before he made it back over the wall. His feet were aching and he needed sleep more than he ever had in his life, but he forced his tired legs to keep going. He strode through the city with an air like he'd gone out for a morning walk to clear his head, and walked right up to the Inquisition building door, as he imagined Tari had done earlier when pretending to be him.
He knocked.
The guard who opened the small windowed slot in the door was a man named Verrat. They recognized each other at once, from all the free drinks Pel had bought him when he'd stopped in on his rounds. The pity on his face was that of a man who knew his acquaintance's son was being interrogated.
That was good. Tari hadn't given anything away.
"Verrat," Pel said in greeting. He knew how haggard and stressed he looked; at least he didn't have to fake that. "I need to talk to Roselin. It's about my son."
"Again?" Verrat asked, not unsympathetic. "I don't know that she'll think much of having you show up a second time in her shift. It's almost over—maybe you should try your luck with Levrier instead. He's on next."
He shook his head. It was tempting to wait, try a fresh face, but Levrier was a hardass and Roselin, at least, was probably a little shaken up. She'd been the one to deliver the bad news, and had seen him 'fail' to get through to Bruant earlier that night. It would be the end of a long, rough shift, and he stood better chances she'd get sloppy.
"It needs to be now. She wouldn't want to wait to hear this," he said.
Verrat watched him for a few moments, then shrugged. "I can try, but don't get your hopes up, Stone."
"It's important," Pel stressed, but Verrat just shrugged again and shut the window.
It took several long minutes before anyone came back. Pel didn't fool himself that nobody was watching, even if he couldn't see them, so he refused to shift his weight to try to salve his aching feet. It was unlikely they'd recognize it for what it was, but he didn't dare give it away, just in case.
Anything could ruin this, right now.
Finally, the window slid open again. Roselin looked tired, strained. "You're going to have to leave, Pelerin."
"I have information," he said. "You'll want this."
"Well? Go on."
"I need to come in," he said, his urgency also unfaked. "I need to show you. The proof is important, and you need to see it. Take me to Bruant's room."
Roselin's face grew tighter. "A second time?"
"It's fine," he said, leaning up closer to the window. "This information will change everything. Shit, if you're trying to hide him from me because you've roughed him up, I don't care. You'll see why it doesn't matter what you've done to him."
"If you're planning some kind of rescue—"
Pel let out a shaky laugh. Too close to home. "No. I don't need to rescue my son anymore. That's not my son. I'll show you."
For a long moment, he didn't think it would work. And then the door unlatched and Roselin held it for him. "Be quick about it," she said shortly. "Exactly as before. You can enter the cell. I'll guard the door. Show me whatever. If this really does change everything, you'll be rewarded. If it doesn't… I'll mark it down. You won't be able to come in again and you can't work with us any more, Pelerin. Not if you're playing with us here."
"Trust me." He tried to keep his hands from shaking. "You've trusted me these fourteen years, Roselin, and I've never led you astray. Trust me now."
She gave him a hard look, but he could tell from the way she'd relaxed her shoulders that it had worked. Relenting, she turned to lead the way down the hall. Pel had been here before, and it wasn't an unfamiliar path, but he let himself think about how it must have been for the victims, cold stone and fear and pain and the awareness they'd never leave.
How many false confessions did the Inquisition get just because their victims knew there was no way out and just wanted the agony to end?
He felt sick. Never again, he promised himself. Never.
Tari looked up as Pel entered, eyes widening in shock and fear.
For a moment, his heart almost stopped. The cubant looked so perfectly like Bruant that the last few hours briefly seemed unreal, the rescue a failure, and the horror on "Bruant's" face was something other than Tari thinking the plan had gone awry.
"Dad?" Tari whispered, breaking through Pel's paralysis. "What is it? Why are you back?"
"So," Roselin said from behind him. "What do you have to show me?"
Even though their entire escape had taken place at night, it didn't look like the Inquisition had been resting in trying to get a confession. "Bruant" was sitting stiffly on the stiff cot in the cell and breathing shallowly as if to protect damaged ribs, face discolored, an eye swollen almost closed.
Fuck.
Pel's heart squeezed again. He knew what he had to do, but he didn't like it. Bracing himself, he drew a slow breath in. "Roselin, you have to keep the door unlocked or this won't work."
"Unlocked?" Roselin repeated, suspicious, but didn't move to lock it.
Pel didn't respond. He raised a hand and pointed at Tari. "I have your true name, demon."
Tari's eyes went huge with shock and barely-concealed betrayal. "Dad?" Tari asked again, voice raw. "Please, what are you doing—"
"Don't call me that with my son's voice!" Pel yelled, because that part, at least, he meant. He was exhausted, terrified, sick, and he forced himself to not hide it, showing it to both Tari and Roselin. "Demon, I have your name. Tarigan."
Tari groaned. "No. Pel, don't—"
"Show your true form, demon," Pel demanded. "Since the door is open, you can transform again, can't you? Show the inquisitor your true form, Tarigan! Tarigan, I command you!"
These cells were meant to detain witches, but they'd held demons more than once in their time. If his amulet, in combination with Tari's name, might force a weakened Tari to obey sooner or later, the cells should function the same way.
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