During their first night of conspiring, Emery has to summon Herculean strength to stifle a harsh bark of laughter at the sight of the glorified butterknife Lucius expects him to use to work through the cell's bars.

The poor kid is going through enough; Emery doesn’t have the heart to kick him while he’s down. 

Lucius is trembling so violently that Emery can practically hear his body rattling against his cotton night robe. Standing flush to the wall, he whips his head back and forth every few seconds, chasing the sounds he was too nervous to recognize as his own anxious gasps.

If this nightly theater wasn’t his only source of amusement down here, Emery would have let him know that the guards weren’t just on break—they were at home.

With Lucius’ ragged breathing creating the perfect backing track, Emery wiggles the knife against the bars in a sawing motion. He chases each stroke with the corrosive brush of his fingertips, carefully masking the tell-tale signs of his forbidden magic, and wearing the stone down in vaguely believable but time-efficient increments.

Each night, the charade would come to an end as quickly as it began. 

Lucius’ mental timer would go off and he would gently lay his hand against the bars, signaling for Emery to return the tool. Tossing in a satisfied huff for artistic flair, he’d lay the knife in Lucius’ palm, handle down, playing nicely for the time being. 

Lucius would linger in the dark for a moment before departing with a melodramatic, “Soon, Emerickus.” 

Once the boy was out of earshot, Emery would continue working his fingers over the bars, gently channeling the currents emitting from his fingers. After all, the Full Moon was quickly approaching, and he wouldn’t miss it for anything.

…

Emery thought that time had shown him everything that there was to see about the true nature of the royals, but Lucius is showing an old dog new tricks.

It is the early morning of the Full Moon and the kingdom is in disarray. 

The Royal Guard, split into two even factions, storms the Square. 

Cast against the muted pink of the dawn, they flood each home, door by door. One half of the group mechanically removes each family from their home, pulling children away from fathers, and mothers away from newborns. They are harshly and quickly interrogated in hushed tones while the other half of the group turns their home inside out.

Even the street vendors, who had only just set up shop, are made to empty each of their carts to prove that they weren’t hiding the escapee under their goods.

Confused whispers swirl around the Square. Guesses of an attack from foreign spies or the arrival of embittered exiles rule the public discourse. But, doggedly focused on the task at hand, the Guardsmen, as per instruction, ignore all questions, marching through the throngs of concern with a laser focus.

At Lucius’ whim, the search continues. The school day is delayed and unearned wages are squandered, all for the satisfaction of his personal agenda.

“If he is not found in the Square, move to the Coast, then from the Coast to the Isle. Leave no stone unturned, he must be found before sundown,” Lucius’ airy voice commands from his pedestal in the throne room.

Each time he hears the heavy doors crack open, giving way to another “Sire?”, Lucius equips his straight face, clear voice, and forked tongue, as he orchestrates the chaos with the ease of a practiced conductor.

Behind the throne, shielded by the heavy curtains framing the King’s chair, Emery is… impressed. 

Suspicious and disgusted too. But impressed nonetheless.

With bored baby blues, narrowed eyebrows, and a nose that seems to be permanently stuck in the air, Emery can’t recognize the shaking leaf of a boy who approached him just days ago, incompetent and terrified of his own shadow. The Gaia cultist who pleaded to him for help, claiming powerlessness, calling him his dearest.

In between visits from the courtsmen, Emery chances calling out a curious, “Lucius?” He hesitates before poking his head from around the back of the throne. To his surprise, Lucius has wordlessly lolled his head toward him over the armrest, glowering down at him. 

Refusing to allow this kid to think he has the upper hand, Emery discreetly swallows the gulp in his throat, saying, “Sire, we’re aware of the limits of the kingdom. There is but so much space to be searched. What will happen when the Guard returns from the Isle empty-handed?”

“Please, Emerickus,” Lucius sighs, waving his hand dismissively as he turns to face forward. “Don’t worry over such details. I’ve planned accordingly.”

How arrogant. Emery snorts, “According to what? The seat of your pants?”

Emery is surprised to hear Lucius share a hearty chuckle. “According to the two long weeks that I’ve held this,” he lifts his crown off and into Emery’s line of sight. “On my head. If you must know, Emerickus,” A scoff cuts him off.

“And I must, Sire.”

Lucius pauses to level an unimpressed look at him before launching into a villainous monologue.

“Well if you must, Emerickus, then I have no choice but to humor you. 

When Guard turns up empty-handed, I’ll pace around the room in utter distress. Sweating, swearing, muttering about the neighbors. Could it be collusion? Are their citizens in danger?

As if suddenly struck with the idea, I’ll announce that we must assemble and mobilize every unit of the Covert Intelligence Assembly to investigate. And to protect them, we’ll have no choice; we must send not just the Guard, but the Army as well.

‘But Sire,’ they’ll say. ‘What if Emerickus appears while we’re away?’ Unfortunately, it can’t be helped, we will have to rely on the militias for the time being. 

All at once, anyone who would be authorized or able to stop us from doing what must be done will be miles away, preoccupied with a wild goose chase. You and I will quickly slip off to the Cove and put Miu to rest. 

At the end of the day, when the search parties turn in for the night, disappointed but still looking forward to the celebration, they will find their beloved false idol deceased. But by then, you, the obvious culprit, will be long gone.”

He hates to admit it, but, it’s a solid plan. So manipulative that it’s farfetched. Open-ended enough to be pinned on a scapegoat of his choice, should tensions escalate to that point. 

Curious, Emery pokes his head around the throne, catching the mischievous glint in Lucius’ eye. “Pardon me, Sire. It seems that I’ve briefly underestimated you.”