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He had not exactly been filled with enthusiasm at Elaine’s half-pitying proposal that he visit the Garde, and the less that she followed it up by telling him with her usual too-much-honesty that she thought he’d benefit from bedrotting in a change of scenery even if he was still bedrotting.

He had, therefore, made only a non-committal reply. But he had laid awake, the devil curled up in her now-customary spot in the curve of his neck, and he had bleakly compared the Garde to his own dismal Wonder and felt a sick sense of futility at ever connecting to that place to such an extent that he would be safe from -

Sicker still the thought of the hand in his chest, and the sudden realization that as much as he wanted to live, there were certain things that he wanted even more than life, and all the days of misery and turmoil on the heels of knowing that he would never be safe unless he relinquished his efforts at atonement. Which was probably an appropriate sacrifice - a just price to ask of someone who had incurred a debt that could never be settled - but still, that certainty that he would rather die and that he might not even be able to enact that death before -

Well. Maybe the Garde had something to teach him, if he tried. But he rebelled against the thought, when he considered that dreary rain-slick edifice in the dark trees, mossy with the wings of shingled moths and full of darkness and secrets, and a creature lifted from a horror movie that seemed incapable of seeing past her own centuries of hurt to help him. Easy for Joy to love a place built for pleasure, haunted only by a man who seemed to do whatever she asked of him. Easy for people like Joy - or Pendour, whose Wonder Joy had described to him - or Tempesti with her stained glass temples - or even Kua’kua with the memory of a sunset that was -

He realized, abruptly, that he did want to go, actually. She had told him, after all, to bring a friend.

















As if he didn’t already spend half his time staying up too late. As if he hadn’t already been going back into work at odd hours, trying to scramble the store back to a state of function before it reopened next week. But she was right that the sleeping through daylight thing was probably going to have its consequences. So maybe there was something a little bit in the way of spite that he showed up as fresh as possible, as if he might offset the red and dark-circled eyes with an immaculate mustache trim and a new haircut and a fit that he might have described, if asked, as "Bohemian princeling visits the White Lotus." The outfit she ignored. The hair she gave a Look.

"Way less obnoxious. It looks good. Trying to -" she started, but he cut her off, already knowing where she was going. He didn’t even have it in him to be sarcastic about it, his feelings worn to threadbare by exhaustion and anxiety and what he was beginning to suspect might have been called depression if it was being experienced by anyone but himself.

"Don’t. I just needed a ******** haircut. She’s got enough going on," he repeated. "She needs a friend."

This got him another Look, more scrutinizing this time, and if she was searching for his own feelings about that she had the decency to let it go without pursuing it. She assumed the guise of Joy, and relaxed almost imperceptibly a moment later at the absence of any sign of encroaching enemies.

"She knows me," he said after a pause. "Two signatures in one place is gonna be bad enough even if it’s just for a minute. No need to make things dangerous with three people."

"I figured. I didn’t think you were running around the zoo in armor," she said mildly, "next to some blue-skinned girl in thigh high boots."

They stood for a while in the greyish dawn light, Morgan rocking on his heels. He was long past the physical cravings, but he wanted a cigarette so badly that he was considering walking back down to the main road to finally buckle and buy a pack, and was saved only by the knowledge that he currently smelled very good. In one hand he swung the backpack that contained both his own things and some items he’d collected weeks ago from New Lease for the purpose of donating them to what Joy called the Library - the little shelves of books and board games furnished up for entertaining visitors to the Garde. Food and supplies were awaiting him in the convenience of subspace, presumably to be supplemented by Kalani’s own - he had given her a rundown on what to expect and pack - and in lieu of the cigarette he could not have he attempted to nurse what little remained of a coffee that was, by this point, mainly an excess of syrup clinging to half-melted ice cubes. The temptation was high to lay claim to the second cup which he was saving as a means of introducing Kua’kua to coffee, but he was resisting, and only partly because while it was sweetened, it was not essentially the liquid sugar with a dollop of coffee that he himself preferred.

"I left instructions for the cat on the microwave," he said, for the sake of filling the silence. Joy, who did not require these things, only made a meaningless noise of assent. "Have you considered that maybe you do actually want a c-"

"No," she said firmly, and thus returned them to silence.

A relief, then, to be approached at last. He could give Kua’kua, at least, the brightness of his usual smile or at least most of it, only worn a little around the edges both by the effort required and by his awareness of Joy watching him in an attitude of cool, composed assessment as he put his cups down on the ground. He felt, or at least he imagined feeling, her interest in the scene amplifying considerably when he put out an arm for a greeting hug.

"Morning," he said, and it was cheerful enough.

"Oh," said Joy, with visible delight. Well, more visible delight, since she had manifested dimples at being addressed as Lady Joy. She accepted the gifts, holding them up to the light for a second to admire them before whisking them away to subspace. "Thank you. I will enjoy these very much." She did not say you owe me nothing or don't worry about it as so many humans including Morgan likely would have. Joy believed in the value of having people owe you favors and being very aware of it.

The glance back at Morgan got only a smile, its usual brightness despite the edge of exhaustion on it and something of encouragement in it.

"Thanks for joining me," continued Joy, putting out a hand to squeeze her guest's in a friendly sort of way. "It's come a little ways since you've seen it, and it's certainly more impressive in the summer - or at least not in the winter. Goodness," she added, with a trace of a southern drawl (whether Kalani could identify that or not) slipping in, "but you're lovely. I didn't have time to admire you when you visited last."

Kalani would also be unfamiliar with the Earth constant of Girl's Girl Who Hypes you up Drunk in the Club Bathroom. Still.

"Are we ready to go?" Despite the we, this was addressed entirely at her more favored guest, Morgan having been unceremoniously shunted into the role of bystander.

It could at least be said that in Kalani’s presence - and out of consideration for her, and not Morgan - she made no outward show of pitying contempt at the man whose fate she had unfortunately been saddled with.

(One of the men.)

The handshake she had given Kalani had, maybe, seemed a little too modern and casual for the way she looked. She had an appearance that seemed to demand a kiss on the hand.

Which is what she got, when they were whisked away from the true Earth and into that strange, pocketed facsimile of it that she called her second home. They were met by Gouvernail, whose tall, translucent figure was bent in a bow to her guests before he extended a ghostly hand to receive Joy’s. They could not, of course, actually touch, but they pantomimed the act of his kissing her hand with detached courtesy, emotionless and rote.

The heat of Destiny City - already ramping up despite the hour - gave way to a balmier morning. This was a relief to Morgan, but he was aware of Kalani’s different feelings, and was grateful on her behalf that the clouds streaking the sky were not currently obscuring the sun, which threw out its hospitable warmth. A tabby cat was sprawled on a nearby crenellation, soaking up what rays were available. They had arrived, as usual, on top of the gatehouse, overlooking the tiled floors and plaster murals of the bailey to one side - crawling with ivy and dotted with flowers, where already bees were busy at work - and with the river a silvery-blue streak to the other, the remnants of fog burning off its surface in the rising sun. Above the latter the seagulls wheeled, contributing their fainter noise to the sound of some nearby bird singing in the trees, which were of a brighter, purer green than they had been during the autumnal tournament. While the profusion of spring had passed, some flowers still clung to the walls - particularly the one that was still in ruin - and deer were grazing on the green, their slender legs stepping through what little remained of the morning mist.

If ever a place looked alive, the Garde did - vital, vibrant, the banners at the top of the keep fitfully unfurling in the light breeze and bestowing life even to that stone tower.

“I’ll show you around,” Joy said to Kua’kua, after a cursory introduction between the senshi and Gouvernail, who repeated his silent bow, and after Joy had pushed a two-sided sheet of photocopied paper into her hand, which apparently contained a set of rules and some helpful information. “I wish I had more pictures of what it looked like before, but I can tell you about it.”

And she did, as they made their way down the stone steps to the courtyard - which was more intact than it had been last November, the gatehouse especially seeming remarkably sound and its ivy now more decorative than pulling the walls down. In an animated voice she described the state of the place when she had arrived as they first stopped off at the Library - Morgan silently dropping his donations as Joy made a brief diversion to talking about what kind of basic amenities they could expect, including the Mauvian perk of a place to charge their civilian cellphones. The general ruin of the place - inaccessible corridors, rotting staircases, bare walls with only a few scraps of painted plaster clinging where elaborate murals had once been, empty chambers, half-barren branches spidering the sky, plants bare of flowers, and an eerie silence - was described briskly as they made their way around the bailey and a trophy room opulent with pelts and antlers.

“The first thing we got,” she said - the “we” presumably referring to Gouvernail, who had not accompanied them, “was a spider.”

They had arrived in the main hall, which remained barren of furniture but where the threadbare, rotting rugs and tapestries of the time of the tournament were replaced with plush carpets and beautiful hangings, although some few still hung in disintegrating disarray. The central window pane with its embracing couple cast colored lights onto the floor, which she passed through as she approached the view to the trees outside. Framed between the pillars of the unglazed sections of the window was a shadowbox, strangely modern in this setting, containing one immaculately-pinned specimen of orb weaver spider. Joy lifted her fingers towards it.

“They only live about a year, you know,” she said, with a little hint of grief. But she smiled, then, her dimples returning, as she gestured at the arches, which were thick with spiderwebs. “But she left us a legacy. Since she was the first, it felt right to let her children and grandchildren have the run of the place.”

She paused, turning her attention towards the trees outside. Through gaps between them, very distantly, the banks of the river could be seen in all its broad, silver shine.

“You’ll have good weather, I think,” she said. “It might rain a little - especially at night - but it never rains long this time of year. Or that’s what Nail tells me.” She hesitated, her eyes drifting back to the spider and then to her guest, with a return of her dimples. “When I first came, it was during the - the storms, you know. I was doing a lot of working inside. I still do, but I do more outdoors, now. And more laying around enjoying myself, too. Do you have any questions? Either about staying here, or how the place has grown?”

Whatever antagonistic relationship she might sustain with Morgan, she seemed to have nothing but friendly benevolence for her other visitor. Joy, a girl’s girl to her core and therefore already inclined to give Kua’kua her best and friendliest hospitality, was also worked on by a sense of pride in this place - this castle of which she was the undisputed Queen. She subscribed to a belief that, as in story, a castle reflected its ruler, and it was a pleasure, therefore, to exhibit to a stranger the full extent of its beauty and life.

She reached out to press Kua'kua's hand obligingly, giving her a very sweet, dimpled smile.

"You are very kind," she said. "Entirely too kind, really. But this isn't my home, not really. My home," she added, lapsing into dryness, "has running water and a toilet that flushes. Speaking of which."

She gestured towards the stairwell. "There's a little map on the print-out that tells you where the facilities are, and I use that term loosely. The best way you can show reverence for the place is to s**t over the moat if you can manage it, and in the woods and buried if you can't."

She turned to resume the brisk tour she'd been on before, getting down to brass tacks. Maus, who had been watching Kua'kua more closely than anything he'd already seen a half-dozen times, had noticed that flicker of grief, and although he'd attributed it to nothing more than understandable emotion at the ephemeral nature of life in a place that had spent so long struggling to live, this was nonetheless enough to make him manifest a rare moment of outward irritation at Joy. He reached out to silently, briefly, touch Kua'kua's arm as if to apologize for their host's vulgarity, unforgivable in response to such sincerity.

"I think you can trust us not to make a ******** mess," he said, half-testy and half-airy, and Joy, perhaps realizing belatedly that she had been a bit unkind, still only slightly relented.

"I know. You should take a swim," she added, with a return of friendliness. "The water is maybe a little bit chilly, but it might be OK this afternoon, even if it's not warm."

It was only a sense of overpowering kindness that kept Morgan from pressing his palms to his eyes. As it was, he'd already very politely and nonchalantly divested his hand from hers by the expedient of conveniently feeling his bag slipping off his shoulder and needing to rescue it, thus saving them from Joy raising her eyebrows when she turned around.

"We're not animals," she said mildly, unoffended. "The moat doesn't connect to the river, and anyway -"

"We can s**t downstream," said Morgan, in as sunny a tone as he could scrape together. "Oh," he added, seizing the first available opportunity to change the subject. "The pavilions are here."

They were looking through a narrow window down to the riverbanks, on which were spread a couple of large white tents flying bright banners.

"They come and go," said Joy, apparently taking pity on them both. "So you can have one of those instead of a room, if you want. They're a little nicer." She paused, her gaze turned on them with a strange and unfitting amount of distracted fondness. "I'll leave you to it," she added, as if reminded by this fondness of her other duties. "I need to catch Nail up on some things. I'll ring the bell when I leave, and then you'll have the run of the place."

She caught Morgan's eye, and did not say whatever it was that she had opened her mouth to add. "Thank you for coming, again," she said, and after pressing Kua's hand again, she left them there by the window.

Morgan seemed to unravel somewhat at her absence, apparently having been carrying some level of tension that he could not release with her around.

"Well," he said, his eyes still turned down to the river, or rather to the white birds over it. "What do you think? It's not gonna be - like... hard for you?" He paused. "If it's too much, we can leave. She doesn't care."

He tagged along with amiable obedience - maybe if he exhibited that kind of behavior around Joy more she'd be less antagonistic to him - and didn't seem at all to mind if she sometimes needed to pause or linger.

"I can't wait. I'll trade you," he said, and if it wasn't his usual level of chipper brightness, it was close enough that the difference was hard to find. "I brought stuff to make s'mores. I don't know if you've ever had a s'more. Pretty close to Dippin' Dots tier. Oh, and I brought you coffee, just in case you still haven't tried it," he said, retrieving it as they passed the place he had put it down because he definitely did put it down and I didn't just forget that he had his hands full don't be silly and handing it over to her. "My feelings won't be hurt if you hate it. It's an acquired taste, but like... that's the thing about acquired tastes, right, is you have to acquire them."

He was watching the deer, which were dispersing towards the treeline as the sun rose, so as to avoid looking too much at her - afraid of betraying some expression that might be unpleasant to her: concern, or regret, or something worse.

"I'm sure," he said, "that if you wanted to come out here more she'd be happy about it. I was - well. Like. I guess I'm just glad that it's not hard. I should have said something sooner, but I'm glad I did now."

It was as much time as he'd needed to rally the forces required to arrange his face in the usual sunshine-smile, which he turned on her with every appearance of comfortable ease.

Morgan, being already acquainted with the pavilions and all their almost-oppressive opulence, allowed himself the small indulgence of not informing her that they would not vanish if anyone was inside of them.

He was enjoying her enjoyment almost to the point of forgetting that he was supposed to be bedrotting in one of those fur-piled beds, but still it was a little alarming just how enthusiastic she suddenly was. The alarm was of a positive kind, though, and quickly overcome.

"We gotta take the boat," he agreed, glancing castlewards. "You know how to do a lot of things," he added, in a tone of friendly correction. "There's oars, somewhere."

The oars having been located - one for each of them, the vessel being a little too wide to accommodate one rower - he put himself into her hands with a total ease that even had him somewhat defiantly untethering the boat, although possibly that decision was influenced by the chiming of the bell that signaled Joy's exit as much by Kalani's confidence. The little printout did say that if anyone lost the boat she would kill them, but that wasn't likely, and even if it was, he was pretty sure that was hyperbole.

He was an obedient first mate, receiving instructions and emulating her as well as he could and at one point observing that he was glad she was there in a tone that indicated his appreciation of her expertise and an implied apology for his own lack of it, but not allowing himself to get distracted until the anchor had been safely dropped, leaving them in the center of a swath of water so broad it seemed almost like a lake from where they sat in its gentle, slow-moving current. It wasn't until Kalani herself seemed done with the business of sailing that he abandoned himself to one of the cushioned seats, leaning childishly on the edge to look down at the fish weaving in and out of the water plants perhaps twenty feet below them, through water as clear as glass.

"That's an eider," he said, somewhat dreamily wishing that he had a cigarette, again, pointing vaguely at a black and white bird slicing a wake through the water some distance away. "They line nests in - like - these really soft feathers, and when the ducklings swim away they collect it and make it into pillows and blankets. Joy told me about it. Said they used to have a lot of eiderdown, back in Gouvernail's day. Probably some eiderdown in these seats."

These, with a vague touch of his fingers on the embroidered cushions, his attention still turned to the fish - he was looking, vaguely, for a turtle, as one might play I Spy - and on the touch of the sun on his face through the boat hangings.

It was for the best that she’d spent that long under the surface, as it had allowed room for anxiety and then outright worry too displace what had been there before, and what had been there before - well.

“Isn’t it cold?” he asked, laughing. Stalling. He had done the accepted vacation-goer thing and worn swim trunks under his clothes, but he was now seized with the impossibility of acting on it, because there she was, making his trunks look silly. And then: “You must be able to hold your breath a long time.”

He leaned his chin on his arm, reaching out to touch the surface of the water as if to verify for himself that it wasn’t chilly, apparently in no hurry to join her just yet. As nonchalant as could be.

“My coffee hasn’t kicked in,” he said lazily, by way of an excuse for his sluggishness. “But don’t let me stop you until it does."