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late-to-the-magnus-archives · 7 months

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Day One - a Malevolent fic

Time to process grief and shock? There is no time.

Everyone has plans, worries, schemes. Parker, Sunny, Larson. John, Arthur, Faroe.

Hastur doesn't care. He has six years to protect his family. It doesn't matter if they hate him at the end. What matters is they survive.

Part of the Surrogate Series. Written with @sepiabandensis

AO3

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Sun warmed the room, golden and sweet. Outside, birds—with no idea what day it was, or why it mattered—chirped happily, singing in the morning.

Hastur lay and looked at his family.

Arthur was pale as all hell. He slept with one arm around Faroe, his mouth open, deeply out.

Faroe looked… flushed. Hastur checked; she was slightly feverish, but it didn’t seem to be an illness. She was stressed. Nibbles had settled down in the shadows, watching—her ears flicked forward with every soft breath.

Patience, he told himself. He would fix this.

What are you going to do now? said John, the first thing he’d said in hours.

What, indeed. Hastur had a plan—one he’d added to all night, like a quilt—but it would not work unless he restored their faith in him.

He had to be perfect from now on; he had to be competent, and worthy of trust. There would be no more chances. “Triage, first,” murmured Hastur. “I must deal with our guests.”

Without knowing what the fuck you’re walking into?

“Do you wish to tell me?” said Hastur.

John hesitated. It’s really Arthur’s to tell.

“He worried me last night,” Hastur said. “I’m not sure he should be the one to speak right now.”

John’s left hand rose and stroked Arthur’s hair. I can at least give you parts. Larson is some asshole cultist leader. This was when we were separated. I don’t know a lot more than that because Arthur was too upset to tell me.

That tracked. Arthur probably would still be too upset. Whatever Larson had done in the day and a half they’d known each other had left a scar. The villain, indeed. “And the other?”

Parker… that’s his partner. That’s the man I killed.

“The one who lived with him.”

Worked with him.

“Bought him a piano.”

Yeah.

John and Arthur would have to work that out between them; but if there was one thing he was certain of, those two idiots would work it out. With a lot of yelling. Foul language. Oaths. “And Yellow?”

A piece of you Arthur screwed over. Yellow and Larson were just after the pits. After you snapped his fucking legs and threw him to Earth. He was a mess.

Hastur noted that John skipped over and he cut his own throat. An interesting omission. “Go on.”

Kayne promised him he’d give me back.

Hastur grunted. “What? Kayne did? Why?”

I don’t know. It was never a really… clear retelling. Somehow, he got Arthur to flip this coin, and say he wanted me back, with the deal that I kept his eyes.

Fuck. They really were never going to lose the attention of that being… and Arthur really would be staying blind. All right. The plan already compensated for that part. “That doesn’t sound like much of a deal.”

Take it up with fucking Kayne. But instead of me, he gave Arthur that guy. John hesitated. Arthur didn’t… treat him well. Yellow didn’t get to learn like I did. He didn’t have a good example, but the worst possible version of Arthur. John’s voice dropped. When I found Arthur… when I got back to him… Hastur, he was insane. He was crazy. He murdered a guy and got eye goo under his thumbnails. I almost lost him.

Hastur was beginning to see the silhouette of what had happened. Regret; shame; guilt; betrayal—every negative emotion a human could have was wrapped up in this mess, which had lasted all of a couple of days, but managed to hit all of Arthur’s weak points.

It was masterfully done. Some tiny part of him was grudgingly amazed. “I see Kayne has found a way to continue his little drama.”

Well, you got boring, so he had to do something.

He had six years to fix this. He couldn’t kill them. He couldn’t send them away. Fuck. “Yes, thank you. Is there anything else?”

John huffed. Damn you, fucking fight back. Um. I don’t know. Like I said, he never really talked about it beyond these details. I… I stitched him, though. When Larson’s monster in the mine gutted him.

“So that’s when that happened.”

It just… from behind, it just… The memory was unbalancing.

“You saved his life,” said Hastur, pulling his focus back.

I did . John calmed. I did.

By stitching Arthur’s stomach… when he’d been pierced from behind .

The scar on Arthur’s back was large and strange, like a starburst. How had he not died? It pierced his intestines; at the least , infection should have killed him.

More questions to answer. Hastur added it to the what the fuck is he part of the plan. “I will go and hear their side now.”

Why?

“Because I need to know what they think is happening so I can predict their actions. John… I have a request.”

Join’s golden form twisted, coiling like smoke in spiral. What?

“Will you watch them for me?”

John paused. Huh?

“Watch these two. I choose you to care for my precious family.” So casually said, as if it were a given.

John sputtered. What? Wh… what are you… your FAMILY? You fucking son of a bitch… after what just happened to your fucking son —

“Yes. Please watch them until I return.” Hastur rose from the bed, aching. Bleeding where it could not be seen.

More sputtering. Get back here!

Nibbles moved into the space Hastur left, lying next to Faroe, cradling the girl against her great body. She watched Hastur with a half-dozen eyes, tired and concerned, but made no noise of complaint.

“John. I trust you.”

John went dead silent.

Hastur could feel him staring holes in his yellow-clad back the whole way out the door.

Larson slept better than he had in months.

The Dreamlands had its perks, but the rooms the mighty King in Yellow had placed him in were luxurious, more than anywhere he had ever been.

For this to have been granted him so quickly could only mean that either even the basest of Carcosa’s citizenry lived in the lap of luxury, or that he had made one hell of a splash.

He was so close to his goal now. So close to ascension. There were problems, of course: issues he needed to iron out. He needed to speak with the King soon, if he was going to get ahead of whatever horseshit Yellow was likely to spew. And the thief… that thought alone made him furious, but surely the King would know to disregard someone so lowly.

And then there was the conundrum of Arthur Lester. What the hell had happened there? The man wasn’t sane , that at least was clear; but he looked pretty good, in spite of that, and the way the god had held him…

That was weird. That required study. Was that what the King in Yellow did to vessels who’d held pieces of him?

Would He do that to the thief?

Would He do that to Larson?

Oh, that thought made him sick. He had to get in front of it, somehow, and that meant discrediting Yellow as soon as poss—

The door opened and a creature stepped through, carrying fabric. He’d seen her (it?) last night as well, tall and willowy and golden, utterly inhuman. She was made of wisps of yellow silk and sharpness and fluid movement. She moved like a dancer.

“Hello,” Larson said softly, watching her with rapt attention. “You must be one’a his attendants, then. I am honored.”

She said nothing, pivoting on one needle-sharp foot and fluttering through the door.

Did all guests get attended to by one of the King’s own? This could only be a good sign. He fondled the clothes he’d been given. Fine, fine material; the embroidery was unreal, intricate, far superior to anything humans could do. The suit almost seemed to be catching the light in dimensions Larson couldn’t quite see.

He had set it aside and was washing his face when he felt it: the change in pressure.

Like when a ritual had gone right.

Like the incredible moment before Yellow had started bellowing in his head, on the night Arthur Lester dashed his peaceful life to the ground.

He dried his face as quickly as possible, straightening his pajamas (finer than any French silk). He wasn’t dressed yet. What to say? How to play this?

The King in Yellow knocked on his door.

Well, that was unexpected.

It was an honor. Respect offered, and Larson would take it for all it was worth. He flung open the door and damn near blinded himself with His Radiance. [“My Lord, you honor me with your presence!”] he said, backing away, genuflecting, and knelt.

He hadn’t backed up far enough. Hastur flowed into the room like light itself, pushing him further back, filling more space than he filled. Power distorted the air around him.

Arrogance was impossible in this presence. The god looked down at Larson, unreadable, tentacles slowly undulating as though he swam in a secret ocean. “You are Wallace Larson,” he said in English, and the floor beneath Larson rumbled.

To hear his name in the voice of a true god was…

Larson had spoken to their shades, their projections; he’d met with the shadows of gods, or their representative voices. He had never truly been in one’s presence.

This was everything he’d hoped it would be and nothing like he’d expected. All he’d sacrificed was worth it. It all led to this moment, and he would not blow this chance. Larson looked up, eyes wide and reverent. “Yes, my Lord, oh Prince of the Great Old Ones, the Lurker Who Slept Beneath. I am Wallace Larson.”

The voice was massive, echoing somehow before and after itself. Every breath was a universe of meaning, power, as if the very air currents belonged to this being. “My time, Wallace Larson, is not to be wasted on small matters. I give you this chance, here and now, to tell me who you are and why you are here.”

Well, that was a problem, as he had no earthly clue how he’d gotten here or why. The King himself hadn’t done it? Then Larson didn’t know.

Like hell was he going to admit that. “My Lord, Feaster From Afar,” said Larson. “I have been brought here… to serve you.”

“Oh, have you, now?”

Larson couldn’t read the tone. “I know many things; I come with connections, with earned powers. With the will to do anything you ask of me, even shedding my own blood.”

“Indeed?”

The god sounded unimpressed. Larson pushed harder. “I believe I was chosen because I proved myself worthy. For nearly ten years, I have carried a fragment of your power within myself—a part of your holy magnificence, damaged by his first host and in need of aid. I have protected him, sought to elevate him, to grow his power and my own, with the plan of returning him here to you in Carcosa someday.” Might as well hit two birds with one stone.

“A noble goal.” Still unreadable. “How did you happen to capture a fragment of my power?”

Capture. That word was a test, or he was an idiot. “He came to me by makin’ his escape from a wicked man—a man you now hold as prisoner.” His own test-word.

Hastur gave him nothing. “Go on.”

Damn it. He couldn’t tell if he were succeeding or not. He had to make this work. “Ten years ago, nearly, Arthur Lester came to my precious town of Addison, which I founded with my own blood, sweat, and tears, and named after my own daughter. He tore through my home, harassing my people, causing one hell of a ruckus. When I at last captured him, I could tell he was a sick man: talkin’ to himself, twitchy, half-insane. Threatened to kill me. It looked like the reason he went mad was he couldn’t handle the presence of that piece of you.”

“Oh?”

“He was bonkers. I tried to contain him until I could figure out what to do, and imprisoned him with one of my servants in the mines beneath my house.” He took a breath. “In that moment of imprisonment, this fragment of you appeared in my head, Lord, having made his harrowed escape. Yellow is his name. He’d been trapped in Arthur; he told me of the crimes Arthur Lester had committed, and was pleased as punch to be outta him.”

“No doubt,” said the King in Yellow.

No, no, it wasn’t enough; Larson had to do better. “Yellow amazed me, my lord. Such wisdom; such grace! I’d never known anything, or anyone, so worthy of worship. Together we decided somethin’ must be done about Arthur Lester, but by the time we’d made up our minds, that man murdered my son, my Lord. My Jack.” Larson let his voice break; he summoned some tears. “He murdered my son and fled my home. I’ve been lookin’ for him since, even while endeavorin’ to get your fragment back to you.”

The King in Yellow shifted, tentacles gracefully sliding through the air; oh, the power . Larson could taste it, like pennies, like gold. “He was quite insane, yes,” said Hastur. “He came to you broken. By me.”

Oh, boy. Oh, boy. “Yellow told me you’d punished him, but not enough.”

“Arthur Lester did indeed commit crimes; and as is my wont, I drove him mad for them.”

Yes, yes, yes… Larson licked his lips, tasting that statement. “I had no idea how filthy he was, or I never would’ve let him leave my sight alive,” he said carefully. “Yellow did tell me Arthur Lester was the one who ripped him away from you, and was the cause of all of this. I operated under the knowledge your fragment told me.” Time for some damage control: “Yellow admitted to me many times that his knowledge was… incomplete. That his memory can’t be trusted. He said it was like his memory was leaking, spilling out of him. Even now, he doesn’t remember things correctly, which is why he’s with that man . He doesn’t recall what happened; don’t blame him, your Lordship, for choosing such a lesser being as his host right now. He can’t help it.”

“A tragedy.” The god sounded so unmoved for that piece of himself, as if it were beneath notice. “A matter of note: Arthur Lester is mine now. He belongs to me; I have claimed him. Any justice done to him is mine to pursue, and mine alone. Do you understand, Wallace Larson?”

Larson licked his lips. This was a relationship he didn’t understand; and until he did, he couldn’t manipulate it. “Of course, my Lord,” he said with the utmost reverence. “I trust you shall ensure his penitence for his transgressions against myself and your fragment. Though if there is anything I may do to assist you in such matters, I beg you to inform me. I live to serve.”

“A lover of justice, I see.” Flat. “I assure you—his desire for death has been denied.”

Well, that sounded pretty damn good.

Larson decided to push it. “That other man is a thief, my lord. He took your fragment from me right as we were on the crux of giving Yellow the power he needed to return home to you.”

“If so, I will deal with him.”

If so. Nope, no good. Larson had to nail this. “My lord. I live to serve you. I will give you anything, absolutely anything you wish.” He prostrated himself, forehead to the floor.

The King in Yellow… sighed. “I confess I do not welcome this intrusion, Wallace Larson. Many of my works are at a delicate stage; I do not have time to… babysit.”

That had to be another trigger word, a test.

What was he being tested for? A position of power? Authority? He had to up his game. “I will never cause you trouble!” Larson surged to his feet, glowing with eagerness. “On the contrary, my Lord! If you but bid me to do so, I could be of great use to you. All my wealth, my people, lives—I have that in spades, oh Great One. Do you wish to bring more people into your fold, to marvel at your city, to die for your cause? I can provide!”

“You wish to serve me? With such a position comes responsibility. With a position comes my gaze. I am not forgiving of error. Are you sure that’s what you want?”

Arthur, still being tortured after years . Clearly driven mad. Clinging to the god who denied him death . A terrifying fate.

But what if Larson got to be the one doing the torture? What if he got to do it to the thief? Oh! “I will do as you ask, my Lord,” Larson vowed. “Anything you wish, I will do for you.” He went back to his knees, arms raised. “Iä!”

And with just the tip of one tentacle, Hastur touched under Larson’s chin to raise his face higher. “And in return, what do you expect from me?”

The god was touching him!

Larson couldn’t stop shaking. The thrill, through his entire body, illicit, terrifying, marvelous—“I wish for power, my Lord,” he said, voice thick with need. “On Earth, I… I brokered a deal with another great power for prosperity for my little town, and youth for myself to ensure it was taken care of for all of its days. The rituals I conducted were to grow my strength so I may better protect my people and guide them into prosperity. If I was granted even a fraction of the power you wield… I could do great things in your name, my Lord.”

“Power is something I am capable of granting. Let us see, then, if you truly deserve it. Remain for now. I shall return soon.”

“As you will, my Lord. Thank you, my Lord. Iä!” And Larson bowed, his face to the ground as the god swept away.

And, face down, he smiled. He had absolutely nailed this audition.

Yow , that guy. Yikes.

Hastur had seen this kind before. Desperate. Slimy. Intelligent. Obsequious. He’d used this kind before, too. This was the kind who could be bought.

The kind his son had purged from his court. The kind Gokar’luh had targeted, back when…

Hastur stopped moving, briefly hunched as though speared through with obsidian. Quickly, he turned to the window, as though merely seized with a desire to enjoy the view.

His tears fell. He caught them, magically evaporated them, before they could be seen.

There had been a time when Hastur would have used the hell out of that man—taking advantage of his purported loyalty, his determined yet expendable mind. Now, he… would not do that. What he would do, he wasn’t sure, but he would not give Larson an ounce of power.

Hastur shuddered, holding himself together by will alone, keeping it in; no one could see him vulnerable. No one could see him in grief . He could not risk weakness now. He wove a few more spells to hide his sorrow, to prevent tears from being seen.

It was not even a question that he’d take Arthur’s word over that man’s, whatever Arthur was able to share. Now, however, it was time for visit number two.

He knocked on Parker’s door.

Parker could fall asleep anywhere—even in the palace of a potential enemy that had fucked up his former partner and sure as hell hurt his new one.

Good morning, Sunny said. His voice was still soft, but he didn’t sound wobbly, which was a good sign. A Dancer brought in clothes for you about twenty minutes ago: they hung it right inside the door. You seemed peaceful, so I didn’t want to wake you.

Parker grunted. “So I didn’t dream all of this.” He sat up. Sheets silkier than he’d ever known slid off his body like oil. “Damn,” he said, staring at them.

A pause. I don’t… quite remember what they’ll do for breakfast, but I hope there’s fruit. Parker, I think I would like to eat a fruit.

“Okay. A fruit.” He hopped out of bed and began stretching. “I think we can swing a fruit.” The view out the balcony was just as lovely during the day, and he was amazed at the life he could see in the city.

There were no engine noises, nothing like that, but he caught motion; this city clearly thrived. It gleamed, polished in the sun. From here, he couldn’t spot where the slums were.

All cities had slums. “Hey, where’s the—”

There came a knock at the door.

It’s him, Sunny gasped, already starting to breathe too fast. Parker, I… I don’t know what to do. To say. What should I say?

Shit. They’d had no time to process, no time to anchor themselves. Parker was naked. He grabbed the pajamas left him last night (fine, fine silk, very weird, he couldn’t process wearing them to bed) and pulled on the pants, hopping toward the door. “I’m more interested in what he’s got to say. I’ll do the talking, buddy. Okay?”

Okay… okay. I’ll follow your lead, partner.

Parker steeled himself and opened up.

He was nearly blinded.

The King bled into the room, power warping the air, so brilliant he made the sunlight seem dim, and then, he loomed. Stood there, looking down at them, limbs gently curling; it was impossible to read his masked face.

Gods were hard to think around, it turned out. Parker would manage. Step one was learning to read this thing.

He’s seen this being at least annoyed last night, if not angry. This wasn’t that. This seemed… neutral, somehow.

For now, Parker mirrored as best he could, trying not to provoke. “Good morning.”

“Greetings. Did you sleep well?”

That voice would take time getting used to; it sounded somehow in more dimensions than Parker knew existed, rattling in his skull. “Better than the ground or a prison cell,” Parker said. “It’s like the Ritz in here.”

“The Ritz? Ah… a human inn. I certainly hope it surpasses that. I am here, Parker Yang, to ask you some questions. To ascertain some truths. To determine your worthiness to carry what you carry… and to remain in my presence at all.”

Well. That could be a whole ass-load of threat. Or it could be genuine curiosity. Or it could be something else entirely—Parker had never learned to read squid . “Fair enough. Ask away.”

“Why are you here, Parker Yang?”

“Not a damn clue,” he said without hesitation. “Not concretely, anyway. The thing that dropped us here sounded like it wanted to hurt Arthur, though.” He paused. “Is he okay?”

The squid-god’s uncountable tentacles undulated, ends flipping; Parker wondered if he’d surprised him. “No. But he will be. He is mine now, and I will see to his recovery.”

Marked. Claimed. What the actual fuck. “All right. So. I don’t suppose you know why all of this is happening.” Parker set his jaw, crossing his arms over his bare chest, and chanced looking up at the King. Direct contact made his eyes hurt, but he would adjust, damn it. “Neither of us can figure it out. Don’t even really have a theory.”

“You are bold.” The King said that almost to himself. “Or at least, choosing your moment to be. Are you not afraid, Parker Yang?”

“I already died once,” Parker quipped. “Figure if you’re gonna kill me, you’d have done it by now.”

Parker, be careful, Sunny whispered.

“I got this, Sunny. We’re okay.”

“So John was correct: he did kill you.” Neutral, like it meant nothing. “You have been to the Dark World.”

What was this guy after? “Yeah. Don’t remember much about it.” Parker shrugged. “Sunny said it was the same for him.”

“Sunny. You have given that name to a piece of the God in Yellow?” Absolutely unreadable tone.

Parker suspected he knew this technique. It was a good one; by not revealing emotion, the interviewer guaranteed the interviewee would try to fill the vacuum themselves, giving shit away. It was comfortingly familiar. “I’ll have you know Sunny named himself.”

The King tilted his head. “Good.”

Parker thought he meant it. “Why’s that matter to you?”

“Because he should have the choice. Know this, Parker Yang: I do not have time for intrusions right now. All of this is inconvenient, as much as it is unavoidable. There are forces at work creating this situation.”

“That Outer God.”

“Yes. Because of him, you may not leave. Because of him, you may not change your circumstances. Because of him, I must mitigate the damage you do to my own with your presence. Do you understand?”

Holy shit, that was a lot. “Your own? Damage? To what, Arthur?“ Parker said. “You want mitigation? You might need a plan for if that slimy fuck Larson tries something. He had us imprisoned before that Outer God tossed us in your lap, and he ain’t the type to forgive and forget.”

“Imprisoned,” the King said slowly. “Hear me: from here on out, you will likely not have my ear alone. From here on out, you will be faced with others, and their opinions on events. This is your chance to tell me the truth without interruption—or fear of reprisal. Tell me what you believe happened.”

No pressure.

“Wow,” Parker said. “All right. I guess it’s storytime. Whatcha think, Sunny?”

There was a weighty pause. Great One, I… Parker is a good man. Do you truly mean no… no repercussions, for us sharing this story?

“None.”

I think… Sunny said, voice so soft it was as though he spoke from a distance. You can tell him, Parker.

“You’re sure?”

I’ll be fine. This is important.

Sunny was not okay. Parker did what he could to draw attention back to himself. “Might want to grab a chair, sir. It’s a long story, but a damn good one.”

“Continue,” said the King.

Parker adopted his best convince-the-jury tone. “Well, it all started when I woke up in the middle of some fucked-up ritual that I think was supposed to do something to Sunny. I was in some basement, surrounded by chanting guys and dead animals, in the suit I got buried in—not that I knew I’d been dead yet.”

“This sounds like quite a surprise,” said the god.

“You ain’t kidding! Larson had the cult guys saying, ‘c' ymg' uln, c' llll ah'mglw'nafh ymg'.’ They said it like a thousand times, so I remember.”

The King went absolutely stock-still, like a photograph. “Did he?”

To Parker’s surprise, Sunny spoke up. Your pronunciation is getting so much better! I’m proud of you. Before long I’ll have you singing Carcosan poetry.

“Hey, I got a good teacher,” Parker said, encouragingly.

Heh. Sunny’s voice was strained, but clear. Great One, Larson was going to broker a deal for more power. What I’d provided wasn’t enough, anymore. We’d done it before, once or twice, but this time he attracted the attention of something else. The Outer God.

“I see.” So flat. “And I presume this Outer God was the one who rehomed you, Slice.”

“Sunny,” said Parker.

“My apologies. Sunny.”

Had that been a test? Maybe. “We think so. He was in my head, boom . Larson wasn’t too happy about it.”

He threw Parker in a cell. Attempted to get information out of him, but neither of us knew what was going on. So he had some thugs beat him, and I… I…

“You’re okay, bud.”

Yes. Yes, I discovered I had partial control over Parker’s mouth when one of the thugs socked us in the jaw.

“You were beaten.”

“Not too bad,” said Parker in his patented tough-guy-detective delivery. “They were pros, and didn’t want me hemorrhaging, or nothin’. Didn’t even tie me all that good. Well. I guess the knots were fine, but the table thing they had me on was half-rotted.”

He didn’t account for Parker being impressively strong, Sunny said, caught up in their story. Or for the lockpicks in his suit jacket.

That rumble… was it… a purr? “So this challenge was not outside your experience , ” said the King in Yellow.

Parker shrugged. “I get bad guys put in jail. Yeah, I get in some situations . But that ain’t the point here. We got out, mostly ‘cause Sunny knew where to go and what to do. Knew right where that prick Larson kept his cars. So you know what we did?”

“What did you do?” rumbled the King.

“First, we fuckin’ climbed a hidden stairway behind one of those tapestry things. Then we crawled down a garbage chute—went straight outside into a dumpstah.”

“I see.”

“Then we crept through the woods, bein’ all sneaky-like.”

Parker used a branch to confuse our footprints, Sunny volunteered.

“Fuck, yeah. Then we hotwired a car and got the hell outta Dodge.” He grinned. “Pretty sure we heard Larson shrieking like a baby.”

You did steal his car, specifically.

“Hell yeah, I stole his car. It was the nicest one. Should’a pissed on the thing and set it on fire.”

“So you wished to leave Larson,” said the King mildly. “Sunny.”

Sunny went very, very quiet upon being addressed.

“It’s okay,” Parker said softly. “You can tell the truth. He said no repercussions.”

Larson had… promised to return me to Carcosa, Sunny said, very carefully.

“Did he? Curious that he told me the same thing, but his version did not include the chant your Parker just quoted.”

Shit. He’d already talked to Larson. “Yeah? Well, they were doing it,” Parker said firmly, because it was the truth.

He… He’d sworn it to me, but it had been over nine years, Great One. I couldn’t wait any longer. When I was put in Parker, I… I took a chance, and helped him escape.

No reaction. “Continue. After your escape, what did you do?”

We made it to New York City, but I… I was foolish, said Sunny. I hadn’t realized Parker was Chinese, and on Earth there is a war with some of the Eastern powers. Men who look like Parker are being put into camps, and on top of that… Larson had much influence there. His voice wavered, a bit. Dropped. It was… It was incalculably foolish of me.

“Naw,” said Parker. “It was still our best bet—and we wouldn’t’ve made it here if you hadn’t. You did good, Sunny.”

Sunny leaned into the reassurance. His men were waiting along our route into the city, and they found us almost immediately. But Parker was brilliant, and navigated like an expert.

“Wasn’t my first time playing rat-catcher,” Parker said. “Only usually, I ain’t the rat.”

He got us to the sewers, and negotiated with a ghoul to use one of their tunnels to come here, to the Dreamlands.

“Hey, you forgot our rooftop adventure.”

I did! He jumped across rooftops, running from the police, with Larson’s men shooting at us from the ground! We howled!

“We sure as fuck did howl!”

“An experienced escapist, I see.” Hastur’s tone was warm.

He was shot, but he persevered, even through the sewers. Sunny had gained momentum, voice soft and wobbly but clear. Parker had only just met me, but he kept his promise, Great One. He was offered the choice, to leave New York or go to the Dreamlands, and he chose to honor his promise to me.

“Did he?” said the King.

He did! The ghoul-tunnel led us to the Underworld, but there were stairs to the surface. Parker… Parker almost died, again, but I took a risk and was able to heal him. From there, we got lucky and met a Trader, and… Sunny paused, hesitating. And… And then we started…

“You got this,” Parker said, his voice gentle.

We… We began… Working.

Parker nodded.

The King’s tentacles undulated in a different way, and Parker thought it might be questioning. “Working?”

“Sunny wasn’t sure where we were, but before we could find Carcosa, we needed a bed and some food. So we got to work. Solved a few mysteries as we started trying to track you down. Healed some folks. Your city moves? That’s real weird. Does the lake go with it?”

“It does.” The King was silent for a long moment. “How long have you been in the Dreamlands?”

“About eight months?” Parker said. “Apparently, we got here way at the other ass-end of the place. We’ve been busy. Working, making our way here. Trying to help folks. Heh, eating, too.”

It was almost like a gasp. I—I can taste! I can taste food, Great One. I had forgotten what food was like. Parker and I would work for food, sometimes, but it also let us be close to people who talked, which is how we found work and could travel. And I taught Parker some magic—healing magic, though I also granted him a few minor spells for convenience. He’s proven to be capable and responsible.

“Flatterer,” said Parker.

The King sounded thoughtful. “You have made good use of your time.” And he touched one tentacle to the underside of Parker’s chin to lift his face.

Parker stepped back, away from that touch. “Hands off the merchandise.”

Sunny gasped. Parker!

The King didn’t seem upset by this. Had that been a test, too? “There are some rules for you here,” he rumbled.

If Parker is kept safe, I will do my best, Sunny said gravely.

“Rule one, you already know—my daughter is to be respected. Do you understand?”

“Neither of us have any interest in hurtin’ kids,” Parker said. “But yeah. Understood.”

“Good. Rule two: do not attempt revenge. If there is to be justice, I will deliver it.”

I don’t want revenge, Sunny said, very quietly. I want Larson to stay the fuck away from us. He might try to hurt Parker.

“Same, but for Sunny,” said Parker. “If Larson tries something, I can’t promise I won’t fight back.”

Parker once punched a wizard in the face to stop a spell.

“He punched…”

“I sure as fuck did,” said Parker. “That guy deserved it. Look, do we have to stay in this room?” he gestured. “It’s nice digs, but we’re not used to staying in one place for too long.”

The King seemed to settle a little, his tentacles lower as they waved, and Parker thought maybe some tension had left him. “As long as you do not leave my palace grounds, nor attempt escape, I give you permission to wander. Of course, I expect common sense. Do not steal weapons. Do not pick fights. Do not antagonize unnecessarily; I may protect you from revenge, but there can be consequences you bring upon yourself.” After a moment, lower, he said, “Larson is dangerous. I would advise you not to push him. And if he pushes… tell me. I will make it stop , no matter the confines I have been given . ”

So a vow from a god was a thing Parker could feel. It penetrated; he suspected it actually did something to him that he couldn’t see, and he shuddered. This wasn’t a lie. “Thanks. We will.”

“Now,” said the King. “You will join me for breakfast.”

Breakfast? Sunny’s voice was soft with fear. Will… Will Arthur be there? I don’t… I don’t know that I can… Parker?

“Hang in there, Sunny.”

“Arthur will be there. Arthur is mine. He is my own. Marked.” And the King suddenly came at him .

Parker startled, stepping back.

The King stopped right in front of him, creepy chipped white mask (wait… was it a mask?) right in front of Parker’s face. “I know you are aware of other relationships here. I saw the look you gave them.”

Definitely not a mask! Oh, boy! Parker swallowed hard. “We’re shooting straight? Okay. Yeah. Your kid? That’s his kid.”

“Yessss.” The tentacles undulated all around, eclipsing Parker’s vision, making the room otherworldly, frightening.

But… how? Sunny was fumbling, now, on the back foot. I know she looks—but I don’t… Parker, this is a lot.

“I know, buddy. Hold on a little longer.”

I… This is important. Yes. I’ll try—no, I will.

The King was silent for a long moment. This close, his every word rumbled through Parker like a train. “Did Arthur Lester trust you?”

Power gripped Parker like a fist. This question had to be answered true. “With his life.”

Sunny made one, very small noise, but was otherwise silent.

Finally, the King withdrew, looming again, but at a distance. “She was his daughter. She died. I brought her back.” There was absolutely no tone to this; no indication of how he expected them to feel. “She is my daughter now. And his. Yes. I brought her back to hurt him, in the beginning. Now, she heals him.”

Parker gawked at him. “What the actual fuck? ” he said.

“Is that your only question?” said the King, mildly amused.

“If you were just some guy, I’d sock you,” said Parker, low.

Parker! whispered Sunny, afraid.

“Refreshingly honest. Perhaps you wish to know why I chose to hurt him so?”

Was this happening? Was this really happening? “I think only a fucking monster would use a little kid like a weapon,” Parker said through clenched teeth.

“True, and accurate—I make no excuse.”

That was unexpected. Parker frowned, peering at him.

The King’s many limbs undulated. “He took something from me, Parker Yang. And he would not give it back. He took the one called John. You know something about this, don’t you, little one?”

Sunny did not sound good. He did not sound okay. John. The one Arthur… wanted me to be. Outside of Addison, when I was torn away from you. He made a deal to get John back, but he got me instead. His voice was very soft. He hated you, and he hated me because I am you. But you’ve marked him! Why?

“Because over the last six years, he’s proven me wrong. He’s worthy of keeping John, and worthy of keeping. I will no longer try to separate them—nor will I see him broken again. As you’ll be here for some time, you are going to witness the rebuilding of Arthur Lester. Perhaps… you might choose to be part of that. If you do not, I will not hold it against you. But I intend to repair all damage I have done to that man.”

This was not in any playbook Parker knew.

Why was Hastur telling them this? Admitting this? Confessing? Letting them in on some crazy plan? What the hell was the purpose of this? “Uh,” said Parker.

The… the damage. Like his legs. And… Sunny’s voice was very, very small. Distant. Strangely… blank. Parker?

Sunny had never sounded like that before. “Sunny? You okay?”

The King spoke low, but like when he’d gripped Parker with that power to tell only truth, he caressed Sunny with it now. “Sunny. Do you trust this man?”

With my life, Sunny said, his voice going even softer, a whisper.

What? What was happening? “Sunny?”

Parker, I… I think I… I have to… I can’t. It was like he was sinking, somehow, worse than Parker had ever heard. I really tried. I’m sorry.

Parker inhaled. He could feel it. Sunny had shut off . Sunny was gone, sunk. Parker began breathing low and sharp. Sometimes a guy got angry, even if there was nowhere for it to go.

“I see,” said the King quietly.

Parker stared at him, stared hard, telling himself that trying to hit the damned squid wouldn’t fix anything. “What the fuck was that? What did you do?”

“Tested the water.” The King seemed to be staring back, as if watching some kind of result. “Was he like this when you were given him?”

“What kind of… you listen here, you fuck! He’s doing… he’s been doing great! He’s learned. He’s grown. You just… came in here like a godsdamned brick to the head!”

“Taking advantage of the lack of consequences, I see.”

“Yeah. Fuck off! Leave him alone!”

“As you wish. Though for today, you will join us for breakfast.”

“What the hell? Like I wanna be part of any plan you got going now?”

“You don’t have the choice. Had the Outer God not pressed you into service, I would simply let you go—but my daughter’s life is threatened. I will not permit threats to her… and so you must stay.”

“ His daughter!”

“Mine. She is mine, now.”

“Like Arthur?”

“Both of them, Parker Yang, are unusual. I think you know how unusual; Arthur Lester did something to you, too, in the years you were together. Didn’t he?”

Parker clammed up. That wasn’t this god’s business. That was nobody’s business.

The King knew, anyway, and continued. “Arthur Lester won my respect. Faroe won my love. They are my family now. I am not kind, Parker Yang. I am not generous, like your earthly saints, your fairy tales, so hear me well as I say this: they are my priority. I do not know you .”

What the hell was Parker supposed to do with that?

The devil was vowing familial love. What the fuck. Parker swallowed down the growing urge to grapple with this thing. “The hell was all this for?” he said. “What, you wanted to see what happened if you pushed real hard?”

“To see if you are a threat to my people.”

Parker’s voice dropped. “I’m not. We’re not.”

“I believe you. Thus, you now have information no one else in this palace has.”

Parker went still. “What?”

“Faroe’s parentage. My admission of guilt regarding Arthur. You alone hold this.”

Why the fuck had he shared all that? This guy wasn’t fitting into any of the boxes Parker had prepared. “Okay,” he said carefully.

“You may keep Sunny. Had you been like Larson, I would have taken him from you.”

Parker inhaled, fists clenched. So it had been a test. All of it. “Okay.”

“I am not attempting to befriend you.” The King’s tone was even. “Should we gain intimacy over time, then that will be the reward of choices and proof of character. You have been dropped into this situation, Parker Yang, at the highest point of a storm which you cannot control, and cannot steer through. I have already crashed the ship; from this point, my goal is to protect the survivors.”

Parker stared at him. They were back to confusing confessions, vulnerability in the middle of threats. This felt…

Rushed. That was the word. Rushed. Like they had no time to do this with grace.

But he was a god. That couldn’t be right. “Okay,” Parker said again.

“I have no time to rest. I have no time to babysit . It is clear to me that Sunny is… damaged, and that is not his fault. I believe he will heal with you—but he cannot be my focus. My people are.”

Shit. “Arthur and his kid.”

“And my city of Carcosa. Yes. I have six years to please that Outer God, or I lose them. Do you understand the situation?”

Parker exhaled slowly and swallowed around the lump in his throat. He couldn’t be sure if the metal taste in his mouth was his anxiety or Sunny’s panic. “So. Ship’s wrecked. Pirate’s coming in six years. You’re trying to save your own Swiss Family Robinson, and suddenly you got random guys dropped in that you don’t got any connection with, were told to care for, but you won’t do it at the cost of your people. That’s what you’re saying.”

“Something like that.”

Parker’s brow knit. “You’re in emergency mode. That’s what you’re saying.”

Again, that pleased rumble. “That is what I’m saying.”

What was with this guy? “I don’t get you.”

“I hardly expect you to.”

“I don’t know if you’re the good guy or the bad guy.”

And the King laughed. It was a shocking sound—bigger than Sunny’s, but the same, wicked and dark and terrible. “Neither do I.”

What the hell? “You… you’re really giving me the chance to help with Arthur.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because his guilt and grief regarding you are in the way of his recovery.”

If the King meant what he said about fixing Arthur, then that made sense. “Practical reasons. Okay. Sure.” Parker rolled his shoulders. “And Sunny? He wants to rejoin you, though I gotta admit, I ain’t too keen on that idea anymore.”

“Understandable. Then perhaps this will please you: he will not rejoin me. Neither will John.”

Parker’s jaw dropped. Oh, that was… that was big. The shadow of something he couldn’t make the shape of, and didn’t have enough experience to identify. “Why the hell not?”

“I do not have the time required to do it, not with the constraints placed upon me. Perhaps after the six years are up, assuming Kayne—the Outer God—has moved on.”

Shit. That sort of made sense? But Parker’s gut was never, ever wrong; something in there was a lie. He just wasn’t sure what. “Sunny’s good. You’d benefit.”

“Oh, I would, without doubt—but there is no time to make it so. You will come to breakfast in an hour; dancers will guide you there. I expect it to be awkward.”

“Wait, that’s it? You’re just going?”

“You have questions?”

“I… fucking will . I need to take care of Sunny. Uh. You guys got… baked goods?”

The King’s tentacles moved in a way Parker realized was puzzled . “Would you like some?”

“Good-smelling. Chocolate, if possible. Oh—and some kind of fruit, too.”

“As you wish. It will be sent. Don’t ruin your appetite.” But that sounded humorous, not threatening.

“Nobody knows what you just told me?” said Parker to his back.

“Nobody knows. You are coming into the middle of a chapter, Parker; you are… what is the human phrase? ‘Hitting the ground at a run.’”

All because, his gut said, Arthur had trusted him with his life.

Parker chose his last words carefully. “Don’t fucking poke Sunny again. Don’t you fucking dare. He’s been through enough.”

“I won’t. No further testing will come from me—I’ve decided.” The King paused right at the door. “That chant was not what he thought it was, but it was what you thought.”

Parker’s stomach sank. “Yeah?”

The King’s back was still to him. “That chant was sacrificial. He’d planned to offer Sunny to something in exchange for power.” And with that horrifying statement, he just floated out the door.

Parker knew it. He knew it . That fuck, Larson… oh, it was a damn good thing he wasn’t in the room right now. Hit the ground running, nothing; this really was like being dropped into a storm, with forty-foot waves and just a little stick for buoyancy.

And real important: the squid had body language he could read. Parker knew he could figure him out, and wanted to analyze the hell out of this conversation, but right now, it was time to be a good partner. He began pacing and rubbing his jaw, gently stroking his lips, like trying to restore circulation to a body part that fell asleep. “Hey, buddy. Come on back to me. He’s gone. It’s okay. We got good food coming. You’re gonna be all right.”

Sunny was silent.

Dissociate. He’d seen it; that kid from that case had done it, and they’d had to learn about it for the trial. Sunny…

Sunny was there. He was . He would come back. Parker kept talking to him, rubbing his mouth, walking. He continued until the Dancer came, pushing a cart that wafted such an aroma of chocolate and hot sugar that even Parker salivated.

“Thanks,” he said to the Dancer, whatever the hell it was, and picked a sort of chocolate cup-cake looking thing. He took a hot, steaming bite, and discovered it had melted chocolate in the middle.

It was much better than an arm pinch, for damn sure.

Parker? Sunny’s voice was foggy, like he was waking from a deep sleep, and still soft. Oh, Parker. What… What is that? It’s good.

“Fuck yeah, it is. I don’t know what it’s called, but I asked for it. That King guy delivered. Man.” He was mouth breathing. “There’s more. Check it out. Drinking chocolate, too.”

There were plates of things. So many things.

Parker considered this. Don’t ruin your appetite. And then this… bounty. Was it another test? Had they somehow won points?

The god talked about repairing damage done to Arthur. If he tied that with this, it almost looked like… guilt. Because this was overdoing it. Hm. “Whatcha wanna try next? Ha, we’re salivating.”

Oh. Is this… For us? Really? Sunny was waking slowly, dragging himself up from wherever it was he’d gone. I would… I would like some drinking chocolate next, please. What… did something happen, when I was… gone?

“Yeah. He was pretty honest.” And he made an instinctual leap: one he might not do normally without more information, but it felt like throwing out a life preserver for Sunny to latch onto. “He wasn’t a real nice guy, I got the impression. But… that guy… he’s trying to make up for something. I think we’re safe from him. I really think he won’t hurt us. I got pretty sharp with him. He didn’t take it wrong. He didn’t lash out. I really think we’re gonna be okay.” He took in the scent of the drinking chocolate. “Hot damn, that’s thick.”

Don’t choke on it—maybe there’s a spoon. Or if there’s something that is more substantial than those pastries, you could dip them. Sunny very nearly sounded like himself, and the relief tasted even better than the chocolate. It is good to know he won’t hurt us, Parker. I was… I was afraid that he might, especially after… learning what happened to…

“Yeah. I understand what you mean. I’m glad too.” Another bite, building that flavor-anchor. “But we’re here at the right time: he’s not going to hurt us, I’d bank on it. I think he’s trying to fix shit. More shit than we know about. Sounds like that Outer God’s been fucking with all of them for years.”

The Outer God certainly seemed to think using you to interfere with Larson’s ritual was funny, Sunny murmured, but it was a content sound, a hum of pleasure with the bites. I… I don’t know what to think quite yet. There’s still… There’s so much yet to learn. Did he tell you any more?

“Yeah. A lot of things. Do you wanna hear ‘em now? It’s not an emergency. There’s no rush.” Another bite, getting liquid chocolate on his chin. He laughed. “Gonna need another shower.”

Hey, I need all that! Don’t go wasting it now, Sunny said. His voice was still weak, but his tone… Tentatively, Parker put him in the clear. I… I want to hear it, but maybe in an hour or two. It… It takes me a bit to… Really come back. I should have discussed this with you before, but I didn’t think…

Dissociate. “Hey, it’s okay. Water under the bridge, now. I’m just glad you’re back. I’ll always be here when you do.” Parker picked up a weird fruit he’d never seen, like some kind of shiny, golden peach.

Oh, a fruit! Parker… you remembered.

“Of course I did.” He bit.

The fruit was juicier than the lava cake, and made a mess, getting all over his chin and chest. They both laughed, utterly sticky, mouth alight; he’d never tasted anything so sweet.

Sunny was better. Parker hated to risk it, but… he had to warn his partner. “One thing you need to know. He wants us at breakfast in an hour with everybody. He knows it’ll be rough. He believes us about Larson. He believes us. But we do have to show up.”

…Fuck. Sunny was quiet for another long, horrible moment. I’m going to try not to… I’ll do my best. I’ll follow your lead. But I’m not… I don’t think I’m ready to talk to Arthur yet. I haven’t… there’s just so much, Parker.

“You don’t got to. We’re partners. That means we got each other’s backs. You don’t got to talk. Try to listen, but I understand if you can’t.” He meant that. “I got this.”

I’ll do my best, Parker. I promise. And… If… I’ll tell you, if it’s too much and I have to go again. I’ll try not to. But… I can prepare, at least. He was quiet, again. Is it strange to you, that he sent all of this when we are expected at breakfast? It feels strange to me.

“I asked for something chocolate. That asshole said he wasn’t good or kind, but I think… I think he felt bad he upset you.”

But we still have to go to breakfast. Sunny rumbled softly. I don’t know what’s going on, Parker. I feel like we just walked into a new town and people are asking us who the killer is, when we thought we were investigating someone stealing a pie off a windowsill.

“Good example.”

Sunny sighed. That chocolate is really, really good. Thank you for… for asking.

“You’re welcome, buddy.” He could get into the rest of it when Sunny was better. “I say we ruin our breakfast.”

There was a pause.

Well, if you insist, Sunny said, and Parker smiled.

Hastur took a moment in the hall, casting another spell over himself so no one would see him trembling.

He liked Parker Yang. He was concerned about Sunny.

What were those two to each other? Their ease of communication was… it was like they’d known each other for years. Was it happening again? It couldn’t be. It wasn’t the same vibe as Arthur and John, for certain, and besides, surely it couldn’t just happen again.

Surely. Hastur couldn’t be so pathetic that every part of him just fell stupid in love with…

He was distracting himself.

This day was far from over, and he had so much more to do. He paused to study himself in the many mirrors he’d installed for Arthur’s sake, and was shocked to realize he was damaged.

There was a visible chip in the corner of his face.

He stared. He tried to heal it; it did nothing.

The choice not to panic, right now, took everything he had. Whatever that was, it was an injury —a wound from an Outer God. Nothing would heal it.

Larson had possibly seen it. Parker, he was certain, had. No one else could. Hastur wove more spells, rooting them, ensuring that chip would stay invisible from now on, no matter what happened.

This was so hard.

It didn’t matter. He had to do this. The plan was on track. Now, he would go back to his family. Now, he would wake them, and reassure them, and gently place them upon their new path.

His heart lifted as he opened the door and saw them on the bed, and he could not even take the time to consider why.

rthur slept like the dead. There was such an exhaustion to it, like he just hadn’t gotten enough on their trip.

Faroe did not have that problem. She was young; she was awake, sitting up and leaning against Nibbles, watching her human father sleep.

She knew John could see her.

John peered at her from one eye, cracked just enough to see, a flash of gold beneath fluttering lashes. He didn’t know what to say. Everything had changed between them. He should fix this. He… wanted to fix this. Could he fix this?

Faroe was looking at him. There was something edging into royalty in her look, sort of imperious, the gaze of a true queen. But she was also a child. She sniffled once. “John? Are you there?”

Yes, he said, very softly, opening his eye fully. Good morning, Faroe.

“Why are you still in Arthur?”

John made a strangled noise. I—what?

“No one can hear us right now,” Faroe said, her voice hard. Furious tears welled at the corner of her eyes—she’d thought that she would feel better in the morning, after everything, but she very much did not . “You lied to me too—as much as everyone else did. Dad is hurt , and you’re—you’re still in Arthur. Why?”

John focused on her from underneath Arthur’s brow, his gaze hard—and then it flicked away as he thought. I… I understand you’re angry, he said slowly, cautiously. I’m angry too, Faroe, but—

“You said, in the Woods, that this was your fault,” she snapped. “So if you understand that, why are you still in Arthur?”

Because I don’t fucking want to leave him, John snarled. Alright?

Like that was an answer. Like that wasn’t what had gotten Kayne’s attention, six years ago, and nearly doomed the lot of them. “So you’re selfish,” Faroe said softly. “Arthur is marked by both of you. You have him. You’ll never leave. And you’ll just let dad be torn. ”

Do you have any idea what you’re asking of me? John’s voice was a growl. You’re just a fucking kid. Do you get that you’re asking me to fucking die in the hope that it’ll make things better?

She startled. “Die?”

I wouldn’t be me anymore. I’d be gone. I’d be him.

“Why is that so bad?” She knew she was being defiant, knew she was being awful, but she couldn’t help it. She wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve, leaning into the feeling of Nibbles’ nose pressing against her side in a halfway-hug. “Dad wants to take care of Arthur. You want to take care of Arthur, too, and you could—and dad wouldn’t be in pieces anymore!”

John sighed. I wouldn’t be me, Faroe, and Arthur still needs me. He still needs my help, and last night was proof of that. Fucking Kayne gutted him three times, if you weren’t paying attention.

“But Dad was the one who calmed him,” Faroe said, her voice carefully neutral. “So if you—”

Your Dad, John growled, tortured him. He threw us in the prison pits for three months and nearly starved Arthur to death. He—six years ago, he used you to try and get Arthur to kill himself.

Faroe really needed to learn what had happened six years ago.

Faroe was terrified of learning what happened six years ago.

Suddenly, an insane thing happened: John began to cry. Tears welled at the corner of Arthur’s eyes. You don’t get it, John said with a sob. He… He’d given up. He asked me permission to die.

Her face twisted. “What? Permission to…”

And you were just there , skipping around like you didn’t have a care in the fucking world, because Hastur had done it. He’d fucking won, and if Kayne hadn’t shown up—

What? She’d what? Faroe’s breath hitched, but she kept her mouth shut. What was he talking about?

He was ready to fucking kill you because Hastur had fucked up his show, and we’re all really fucking lucky that Arthur somehow begged for him to spare you. Do you fucking get it, now? Those golden eyes shut against the tears, which welled and trickled down Arthur’s nose—John’s hand came up, brushing them away quickly.

No, she did not get it. How could she get it? Who had been ready to kill her? Kayne? Why? What?

John kept going. I almost fucking lost him, and even at the end, when he had the gall to ask me permission, I decided I’d rather go with him to the Dark World than go back to your fucking Dad! I’m not him, anymore, and I don’t fucking want to be ever again!

Faroe swallowed thickly. “I don’t understand.”

I… I know.

Silence for a moment.

She could not figure out that night. The pieces everyone kept giving her didn’t fit together; they were like the outside puzzle pieces, but the center of the image was still missing.

She knew one thing, though, and knew it with all her heart: “You love him.”

Yeah.

“I love him, too.”

I know.

Faroe scrubbed at the corner of her eye with the bathrobe. Trying to imagine herself skipping around while Arthur was suicidal… “So this is why you hate me?”

The golden eyes snapped back open. What?

“You’re not… you’re not subtle,” she said, her own voice strained. “You always got snippy when I came to visit Arthur. I just wanted to spend time with him. I tried to tell myself you were just grouchy, but… I’m older now. I know you hate me.”

I don’t hate you, John said, voice quiet.

Faroe just looked at him.

He looked away, dropping Arthur’s gaze. I don’t, he said. I was afraid of you. Hastur had already used you once to nearly destroy Arthur. I was afraid that Arthur would get… For a long time, when I looked at you, all I could see was a weapon. A wedge that Hastur tried to use to separate Arthur and me, that he used to crack Arthur into pieces. And… and sometimes… Do you remember the nightmares you used to have? About drowning?

Oh, no. “Yes.” Oh, no.

The first time it happened, he was so depressed he didn’t get out of bed for three days, and there wasn’t anything I could do to help him, John said.

She felt herself go pale. “What?”

He fucking—he blamed himself. For what happened to you, and we both know it wasn’t his fault, right? In the tub.

Faroe shook. “Yes. I know it wasn’t. He didn’t put a toddler in running water and walk away.”

Yeah. But he blames himself, still. And gods, yes, I was fucking angry about it, but that wasn’t even anything someone had done on purpose. It was just you being around hurt him. He let out another sob. But then… then you showed up, and for you , he got out of bed, and for you , he played the piano, and it was… you could do that, but I couldn’t. It was so fucking unfair. I held all his pieces, I did everything for him… but you were healing him.

So she had hurt him by going to him for comfort?

Her heart… hurt . Such a strange feeling, physical; sharp and heavy and sour. She pressed her fist into her chest. “I… I didn’t…”

Something about her expression tipped John off. Don’t you fucking do that.

“What?”

That’s the same damn look he gets when he blames himself for you drowning. Don’t you fucking dare. Did you hear me? You’re healing him . And in the end, it doesn’t matter to me if it’s fair or not. You’re healing him. Don’t you dare pull away just because you’re finally learning what your dad did to that man.

She took a shuddering breath. “I didn’t know I was hurting him!”

How could you? You were just a fucking kid, John said. You’re still—you’re still just a kid. What the fuck am I doing? He inhaled sharply. Faroe, I’m sorry.

John did not do that without being forced. John did not apologize unless someone made him . Faroe was certain she had never heard those words, spoken freely and genuinely, from John in her entire life.

She swallowed, wiped her nose on her sleeve, wiped her eyes. “Why?” She was asking so much more than just this.

He did his best to answer. Because… He took a breath. Because Arthur needs you, too. And I’ve been a selfish asshole, and I’ve kept you away. I’m sorry I made you think I hated you, and I’m… I’m sorry. I’m sorry all this happened. I’m sorry I made you run away. You’re a good kid.

Faroe swallowed back the tears she wanted to shed, refusing to cry. She watched John’s hand brush Arthur’s cheek, gently running over the scars with the pads of his fingers.

She didn’t understand them. She didn't really understand all of this.

She remembered, again, Arthur rescuing Nibbles, getting them out, then turning back, blind, to fight gods.

She remembered, again, her father letting himself be torn into so he could reach her and heal her throat in time.

She remembered… John being the one to cut Nibbles free.

Her dad and Arthur loved her. Whatever else was happening, she knew that .

And John…

She couldn’t just let all this go. But then, he couldn’t, either.

Arthur loved John. Dad needed John, which maybe was the same thing. She didn’t know.

They all loved each other, and they were all a mess.

So this was being a grownup. It sucked. She swallowed. “John,” she said, and wasn’t sure what to follow it with.

And then with incredible timing, Hastur entered the room.

He hesitated in the doorway, surveying the scene, then swept toward them, silent.

Faroe wanted to run to him, to hide in his many arms, to cry where no one could see her. It was all too much, and she hesitated. “Good morning, Daddy,” she managed, trying to sound fine, trying to sound adult .

He knew anyway and grabbed her up at once, holding her close, hiding her against the world. “My daughter. Good morning.”

She made one tiny sound and hid her face.

Fuck, she heard quietly behind her.

“Thank you for watching, John,” said Hastur, and he sounded… gentle. So that was weird.

Yeah, sure, I did great, John said, weirdly subdued. Should put me in charge of this all the time. I can fuck everybody up on a regular basis.

“John,” said Hastur. “We have all been through terrible things in the past week. Thank you for watching them. I don’t hold you responsible for damage done by circumstances.”

Silence. Nobody knew how to respond, except for Nibbles, who stood and shook herself vigorously and then dipped into a magnificent stretch.

Hastur gently picked up Arthur next. Arthur was completely limp, boneless; the robe fell off one shoulder, revealing scars on his chest. Hastur held him close, adding another tentacle, tugging his robe back up. “Time to wake, my own.”

“Mm,” said Arthur.

“Daddy,” Faroe said quietly. “Can we go away for breakfast today?”

He stroked her curls, evening them out a little. “I’m afraid not this morning. Kayne’s guests must be faced, at least for this meal.”

“Mm?” said Arthur, who seemed to be rising from such a deep sleep that he didn’t fully recall himself. He settled against Hastur, making small, contented noises.

“Fool,” said Hastur warmly. “You could be like this all the time, you know.”

“You’re the fool,” Arthur said out of habit. “Wait. Could what?” And Arthur went stiff. He sat up. “Faroe?”

“Good morning, Arthur,” said Faroe from beneath the tangle of her father’s arms.

Hastur, maybe this isn’t such a good idea, John said, voice low and worried. We’re all fucked up. We need time. We need to talk about this beforehand. Prepare ourselves.

Hastur’s sigh was heavy. “We have a choice. Before us lies a forked path.”

“What, in a yellow wood?” blurted Arthur.

“Essentially, yes. Both roads last for six years. Both involve unpleasantries—things that must be done. Errors that must be addressed. Repairs that must be made. So: we can drag those horrible things out, make them last, linger … or we can get them fucking over with so we can move on with our lives.”

Arthur rubbed his eyes. “Um. What are we talking about?”

“I have decided we’re getting this over with. To that end, John, we have to face them. You’ve already told me what you can of the situation. Arthur… are you ready to talk about Larson and Yellow and Parker?”

Arthur went stiff as a board. “No!”

“Then we won’t wait. I know enough: these people were brought here to hurt you.”

Faroe went stiff, too, but said nothing.

John growled.

Arthur swallowed. “Me?” he said, tiny.

“Yes—and allowing that isn’t one of Kayne’s fucking rules, which means I don’t have to. So: today, we are drawing boundaries. Our guests will respect those boundaries, or they will know deep regret. Done. Then we move on with the next steps.”

Next steps? said John suspiciously.

“Wh—you can’t hurt Parker!” Arthur made a desperate noise. “And you can’t fucking trust Larson, no matter what he says. He’s a liar, and a killer, and—”

“And we are stuck ,” Hastur said with a growl. “Do you recall Kayne’s rules? Because. I. Do. And I am not going to risk any of you by flaunting those again!”

Arthur’s left hand rose with a mind of its own to touch the scars Pers had left behind.

“I will not trust Larson,” said Hastur. “I will not hurt Parker, unless provoked. But we must establish boundaries now . Then it is done, and we can move on. ” Hastur’s tentacles lashed.

Fucking hell. John made a noise of distinct unhappiness. Hastur… this is a lot.

“It can’t wait until tomorrow?” Faroe said, very tiny, hidden.

Hastur sighed heavily. Clearly, he’d have to get them on board with some honesty. “I have made mistakes.”

Arthur’s mouth hung open.

“I intend to correct those mistakes. And I intend to do it… quickly,” said Hastur.

Quickly? John said.

He cradled Faroe close. “My errors have cost us all far too much. I move now to correct them. I know it’s happening fast.” They didn’t understand yet, but they would. “Arthur, you were right: the state of Ishara is unacceptable. John, Arthur is now being paid.”

“I’m what?” said Arthur.

“Faroe, I will work with Dis to ensure you can fight even more effectively.”

“Oh,” she sighed, sounding relieved.

“Arthur, I intend to repair what I have done to your reputation.”

You what? said John.

Arthur’s brow was knit. “Okay. Sure. Wait. What?”

Hastur was moving, carrying them all out into the hall. He placed Faroe in front of her door. “I’m sorry, my daughter. This breakfast will be unpleasant. I wish for you to dress as the future queen you plan to be. We are drawing battle lines. Do you understand?”

“Yes, dad,” she said, shuffling inside, her robe dragging on the marble floor.

Hastur carried Arthur to his room.

Servants peered, doing doubletakes at the King in Yellow and the Composer in a bathrobe. Arthur just sort of hung there, face red. There wasn’t much else he could do.

Hastur, for fuck’s sake! People are seeing this!

“Good.”

“Good?”

Hastur explained again. “We are playing Kayne’s new game, must make many changes.” They were in Arthur’s room at last. Hastur put him in the bathroom and began picking through Arthur’s clothes. “The playing field has been made more difficult, but we will succeed. For Faroe’s sake.”

Arthur took care of business, frowning, washing up. “Yeah. Yeah, but—”

“Your Parker is an interesting character. I am surprised you never took him up on his offer.”

“What offer?” Arthur said, wandering over. “What the fuck, Hastur?”

“You will wear this.”

“I don’t want to wear that!”

“Arthur, you don’t even know what I’m holding.”

It… it’s fine. It’s mostly black. Just yellow piping. It’s the one you wore on that one jubilee when all those representatives came from Koranth.

“Why?” cried Arthur.

And he explained again. “Because today, we turn over a new leaf.” Hastur pressed the outfit into Arthur’s hands.

New leaf? You’re being the usual pushy ass.

“That’s because I have much to make up for. Arthur, after breakfast, you are coming to court with me.”

Arthur stared at nothing, clutching the outfit like a security blanket. “To… go on trial?”

And again . “No. To be seen. Acknowledged. Presented.”

“Presented?”

“As I should have in the beginning.” Hastur touched his face. “Do I need to dress you?”

Arthur’s expression was a journey . “John,” he said evenly. “How long was I asleep?”

Not long enough for all of this. What the fuck, Hastur?

“I am moving too fast for you,” said Hastur softly. “I apologize.” And then he just took the bathrobe away.

“For the love of—” Arthur startled, covered himself, then started pulling on the outfit.

“Today,” said Hastur, “we will first have a terrible, awkward meal. We have no choice about the inclusion of these three people. Larson is untrustworthy.”

No shit, John muttered.

“Parker is interesting. A shame I have no time to pursue him. Sunny—”

Parker is what? You what? Who the fuck is—

“Sunny—whom you knew as Yellow, but who has renamed himself—is damaged badly, thanks to Larson. You will be gentle with him.”

Gentle with him?

“After breakfast, you will come to court. John… it is time.”

Time for what? John growled.

And again. “To be seen. It’s time to correct my mistakes.” He picked them up.

Seen? John said, his voice almost small. For what in fuck?

“We’ll talk more after breakfast,” said Hastur. “We go now to meet our foes, our forced family—and get it over with.” He picked Arthur up again.

“Wait!” Arthur cried.

“There isn’t time,” said Hastur, and carried him out of the room.

Dancers went to Larson’s room, where they found him dressed as fancily as Carcosa allowed—which was golden and caped, embroidered and jeweled, and Larson felt more glorious than he ever had. He smiled, following them out the door.

Dancers went to Parker’s room, where they found him dressed as an ordinary citizen—not peasant rags, but just clothes, a tunic and trousers, cinched at the waist, showcasing his shoulders and shape in simple, neutral colors. He followed, too, looking grim.

They met Larson and his group halfway there. Dancers fluttered between them, a sharp, inhuman army to keep them apart.

Parker and Larson still shot glares at each other through the golden gauze. The march to the breakfast table was done in thick and terrible silence.

Faroe had not gone the direction Hastur expected. This was no gown; no loveliness of sparkles and pastels. She did not wear yellow. Instead, she wore what Dis had called her battle dress .

It was a sheath, fitted to her; thin leather lined it, protecting her organs, her wrists, her throat. She wore her wooden knife at her side; her bow had been destroyed, but she’d fetched another one, just some soldier’s bow, and carried it with its quiver to the table. Over her shoulder stood Nibbles, a silent sentinel of raw eldritch power that peered down the table with dozens of disinterested eyes.

Faroe had tied her hair up, and she wore her crown. She sat on Hastur’s right. back straight, smile absent. Ready for war.

“My precious one.” Hastur sounded proud, amused, warm. “It will be over soon.”

“I know. We’re drawing battle lines,” she said.

“Oh, boy,” said Arthur.

And in swept the dancers with their uninvited guests.

Hastur put Arthur in the usual spot to his left. That meant seats on both sides of him were taken, and Larson was not pleased. Lips tight, he sat next to Faroe, looking back and forth as though sizing up a game of poker.

Parker stared wildly at them all, then sat beside Arthur. He could still feel that god. He swore he could feel the god in his fucking teeth.

The Dancers flitted away with a rustle of fabric.

Awkward silence thickened, like clay.

“So this is weird,” Parker finally said. “Awkward as a shotgun wedding.”

Arthur snorted.

“You dare,” whispered Larson.

“We are here,” said Hastur, “to come to an understanding. Living beings have conducted business, made peace, and entered agreements over food as long as memory itself exists, and so we shall honor that tradition today. This will be a calm meal. We will speak, discover our roles, and lay out our boundaries. Decide on your questions. There will be time to ask them.”

The new guests stared at him.

And in came the dancers, loading the table down with incredible smelling food, savory and delicious. It was a full spread, a proper kahvalti —black and green olives, cucumbers, cured meats, spiced eggs, fresh sheep and goat cheeses, fresh tomatoes, fresh-baked bread, apricot, cherry, and apricot jams, honey, pastries, and sweet butter.

Parker’s jaw hung open. Larson gawked.

Faroe’s cold exterior melted, and she looked at Hastur. “Oh! You remembered?”

“Of course I remembered. Happy birthday, my precious one.”

Faroe beamed at him, tears shining in her eyes, and dug in.

Arthur sniffed. “It’s that favorite of hers.”

Turkish-inspired, said John.

“Uh, I don’t… I don’t know where to start,” said Parker, staring. Salivating. (Or maybe Sunny was.)

Arthur turned toward him to speak, but Sunny spoke first. There isn’t really a wrong way. I’d start with the eggs; they smell fantastic.

“Yes, he’s right,” Arthur said. There was something pleading in his expression. “However you like. I’d start with the bread, unless you’d prefer something else?”

Sunny said nothing.

Arthur sighed, his attempt abandoned, and turned away. “Sorry.”

Parker was not a fan of the new and crunchy Arthur. “Don’t be,” he said slowly. “After all…” He met Larson’s gaze. “We all gotta find a way to get along, don’t we?”

“Do we?” said Larson conversationally, wrinkling his nose at the feast before him.

“Yes,” said Hastur with a low rumble of warning, tentacles lashing briefly. “You do.”

Parker shuddered. Fuck, gods were distracting.

“My lord, oh great one, I will—” Laron began.

“Stop,” said Hastur. “ Eat. And while you’re at it, listen and learn.” He touched Faroe’s cheek, focusing on her because—as they would all understand—she was the priority. “What are your plans this day, my darling?”

“I want to talk to Dis,” said Faroe. “I want to advance my training.”

“An excellent idea. I need to speak with her, as well. We should consider several new aspects of your education, if you are willing.” One of his tentacles had picked up a bowl and was delicately filling it with several tomatoes, a spread of cheeses, olives, and topped it off with a generous drizzle of honey.

Then, inexplicably to his guests, he put it in front of the goat, who began to eat quite happily.

Faroe smiled up at Hastur, one hand straying from her silverware to pet the soft, bare spot by Nibbles’ ear. “I am willing, father.”

“I am proud of you, my daughter.”

She leaned into his touch.

Arthur was making good progress with his plate. He muttered, “What’s Parker doing?”

He’s eating. I don’t know what to tell you.

Parker snorted. “How about I tell you when I stop eating?”

“How about you remain silent as we were asked?” said Larson sweetly.

Parker looked at him. “Says the guy who didn’t eat as he was told. You’re just grouchy nobody wants to talk to you , aren’t you?”

“Parker,” said Hastur, but there was no accompanying growl. “Behave.”

Parker sighed dramatically. “Boss said behave. Sorry, everybody,” he said, stood, did an awkward bow, and sat again.

Faroe giggled, staring at him like she’d never seen a human before, cheeks flushed.

“Here is the situation,” said Hastur. “Wallace Larson, Parker Yang, Sunny Ot H'aaztre : you are here as part of an experiment of sorts, run by an Outer God. To wit, I cannot get rid of you; I cannot release you. I cannot lock you away. I cannot kill you. However…” The room rumbled threateningly, and the plates rattled. “Those are my only limitations. I can hurt you. I can set you on fire—or make you believe that you burn. I can skin you, erase your mind, force you to live in wordless agony. There are many things I can do. But I would rather not have to do them. They take time; they take energy. I do not care to spend them on you. Am I clear?”

“Crystal,” said Parker.

Yes, said Sunny, very quietly.

Larson was an eager beaver. “I understand, oh great and glorious lord! Iä!”

Faroe gave him a magnificent side-eye.

“Therefore,” said Hastur like that hadn’t happened, “what I would like to do is offer you… a chance. I’m sure you have things you want to do. Things to pursue. You probably left a life behind; I will allow, through my agents, for a graceful end to that life. You will never return there. This is now your home.”

“The Dreamlands for good?” said Parker, brightening.

“Yes,” said Hastur, “though initially, only my palace; after that, Carcosa. Then, we will see.”

“I’m so sorry,” whispered Arthur.

“You kidding? This is great!” said Parker. “Fuck, yeah.”

Faroe grinned and hid it behind her hand.

Larson was dead pale. “How long do I have to… to close out my life there?”

“How long do you believe you will need?” said Hastur in a gracious tone.

“I got lots of investments, things that ain’t made to pay out for years to come. I got people. Land. I can’t just…” He stopped, licked his lips. “I need at least a few months to contact everybody.”

“Granted.”

Larson stared. “Really?”

“Yes. I can be reasonable—though of course, all of your decisions will be made through my agents. You are not to return.”

“My lord, there are some things that need to be done in person,” said Larson.

“I will send copies of you,” said Hastur to Larson, his tentacles undulating all around like dark flame. “You will not leave here. I’m being generous to prisoners forced upon me, Wallace Larson. I wouldn’t suggest you try my patience.”

Larson swallowed. “Thank you, gracious lord,” he said, tone bitter.

“Don’t remember much about religion,” Parker muttered to Arthur. “But something about rich guys, a camel, and the eye of a needle seems to be coming to mind.”

Arthur had a choking fit.

“Geez, sorry,” Parker laughed, and smacked Arthur on the back.

Breathe! Shit!

Hastur waved one tentacle, and Arthur’s throat cleared. He was red.

Parker laughed.

Faroe’s eyes were bright as she giggled, too.

Larson went very carefully neutral. He poked at his plate as if he thought the feta might be alive.

“And you, Parker?” said Hastur.

“Been dead for ten years,” said Parker, and shrugged.”If I had anything left, it’s long been sold off, or stolen. Didn’t have anything worth keeping, anyway.”

“I’m sorry,” whispered Arthur again.

“Quit that. I would’ve chosen to stay here on my own, anyway,” said Parker.

“I will find employment for you in time,” said Hastur, “but for now, I expect to be adults and entertain yourselves. You may study in the libraries. Should you wish, you may train in the grounds below. If you wish a hobby—plantlife, or something—you are welcome to pursue it, but there will be no rituals. No gathering of followers. Nothing that in any way threatens a single being in my palace or my city, and certainly nothing that puts anyone at this table at risk.”

Larson’s eyes narrowed. “In spite of the sins these two thieves and murderers have committed?”

And Arthur… bent his fork. It was a spark of magic, flashing through, it bent, just creaked to a useless vee.

Parker jumped. “Shit!”

“Arthur?” Faroe gasped.

What did you just… said John, feeling the fork.

“You dare talk about sins?” Arthur growled.

“I do,” said Larson. “Unlike you, any deaths I have overseen were done as worship . They were for the gods who are so much greater than we are, greater than any death that could be given. You think your sacrifices really mattered? Do you? They were nothing. I know the true cost of devotion. The gods eat it up like a single grain of rice and demand more… and I will always give them more. ”

Faroe stared at him, eyes wide.

Nibbles’ great head swiveled to watch him, very carefully.

Arthur started to stand.

“No,” said Hastur.

Arthur froze. “Hastur…”

“No. Larson understands that I do not permit such sacrifices here. Don’t you, Wallace Larson?”

Larson stared for the briefest moment. “What do you wish for, my lord? I will provide it.”

“Obedience.”

Arthur was breathing through his nose like a bull, but he sat back down, obeying.

“There,” said Hastur, straightening his fork. “Was that so hard?”

What the hell did we just do? John muttered, feeling the fork.

“I don’t know,” said Arthur.

“Now,” said Hastur. “Questions.”

“Do we get to eat whenever we want? Whatever we want?” said Parker.

“Yes,” said Hastur. “You are responsible for your own health, of course.”

“Cool.”

Larson’s look clearly said waste of a question. “What opportunities are here to advance ourselves? To gain independent wealth.”

“For you?” rumbled Hastur, sounding amused. “None at the moment. You see, gentlemen, I don’t trust you yet.”

Larson stiffened.

Parker eyed the King. “You trust us enough to run around your home.”

“That, Parker Yang, is trusting me . I know my power. I know the extent of my network here. You cannot betray me.”

Larson looked aghast. “Never! I would never.”

“Let us hope you are never foolish enough to try,” said Hastur mildly. “Any more questions?”

“Yeah,” said Parker. “How long we gotta stay cooped up?”

“The palace is vast. The grounds are large. You will not feel cooped up. But… it may be a couple of years before you are given true freedom to roam.”

Parker looked sick. “Years?”

“I am unfortunately tasked with keeping you alive for now. That becomes harder the further you roam.”

Larson licked his lips. “If I find a way to serve you, may I pursue it?”

“You may ask me about it.”

And Sunny blurted, Do we have to eat together every day?

“I would prefer it,” said Hastur. “We must grow accustomed to one another. But if you choose to eat at another time, I will permit it.”

Sunny’s relief was palpable. Thank you, lord.

“You’re doing great,” said Parker softly, and bit into some flatbread spread with apricot jam.

Sunny let out a soft sigh. That’s really good. You should add a few crumbles of the goat cheese as well.

“You sure?” Parker raised an eyebrow.

Trust me.

Arthur turned his head toward them, looking puzzled.

“I will sit when you do, lord,” said Larson. “And join you. In court. In anything you do.”

“If that is what you wish to do with your time,” said Hastur.

Faroe made such a face.

Hastur stroked her hair. “We have responsibilities, dear one, whether we enjoy them or not.”

“This is our time,” she said.

“Mmm. Perhaps lunch will be ours.”

“That means you have to always be there for lunch,” Faroe said loftily.

Hastur chuckled. It was such a wicked sound, and so incredibly pleased. “Expertly negotiated, my child. Very well. I will always be there for lunch, and it will be together, alone, with our family.”

“What about… what about me?” said Arthur.

Hastur touched his face with the tip of one tentacle. “You are family.”

Arthur exhaled in relief.

Hastur turned to the others. “Gentlemen, for lunches, you three are on your own.”

Faroe smirked.

Parker chuckled softly. “Nice one, kid.”

She glanced at him sideways, cheeks red. “Thank you, Mister Yang.”

“Parker’s fine.”

“Pah…kah?”

“It’s his accent,” Arthur said quietly, and tried to elucidate. “Parrrrkerrrrr.”

John started snickering. Then he guffawed.

Arthur went red.

No, do that again! Do it with all our names! Farrrrroooooe!

“Don’t howl it!” Faroe cried, and then she, too, started giggling.

Parker laughed. Sunny made a tiny sound that might have been a laugh. Hastur laughed.

Larson stared.

“Ah,” said Hastur. “Have we covered it all?”

“Sir,” said Parker. “There are gonna be more questions. And we… we all got a lotta baggage to work through.”

“I understand this. Do no harm to one another, and work as you will.”

“What if we can’t?” whispered Arthur.

“If you ask for my help, my own, I will give it.”

Arthur turned his face toward Hastur, brow knit. “You really did change yesterday, didn’t you?”

Hastur did not answer that. He took Faroe’s hand in his human one. “Is there anything else right now?”

“Sunny?” Parker said softly.

N-no.

“Oh, great Lord,” said Larson, bowing from the waist. “It is an honor to be yours.”

“Then let’s hope someday you will be,” said Hastur, because right now, Larson was not.

Larson got it. He inhaled, held it; after a moment, he spoke again. “I shall please you,” he growled, doubling down.

Parker snorted. “Good luck with that,” he muttered.

Faroe giggled again.

“Arthur,” said Hastur. “John. It is time.”

Oh, no. Court. “I usually compose now,” said Arthur.

“You will after. Come.” Hastur stood. “Unless you would prefer to be carried.”

“I can fucking walk ,” Arthur snapped, and stood. He kept his face turned away from Parker.

Faroe stood. “Thank you, dad.”

“I haven’t forgotten. You will, of course, be given a party—but it’s all delayed. I apologize, my daughter.”

“It’s my fault our schedule is off,” said Faroe. “You don’t have to celebrate my birthday.”

“Yes, I do,” said Hastur. “Every single one is precious.” His tone was thick.

“For once, I’m with him,” said Arthur.

They loved her. She knew they did. Faroe smiled. “All right. But maybe just… something small this year.”

“Of course. When you find Dis, send her to me,” said Hastur. “We must speak at once.” And he swept away.

He’s headed to the throne room.

Arthur followed.

Parker eyed Larson. “You’re gonna be here all the meals, huh?”

“Yes,” Larson said through clenched teeth.

“Then I won’t. Solved.” Parker stood. “Nice to meet you, Faroe.”

Faroe looked disappointed in that decision. “A pleasure, Mister… Parker.”

He nodded to her and left, but not before grabbing one more piece of fruit.

Larson looked at the little girl.

She looked back; standing, she was barely taller than he, but her chin was raised so she could look down her nose.

And over her shoulder that creature , tree bark and shadow and power.

“A remarkable princess, to be sure,” said Larson, standing, and bowed to her slowly. “Truly a treasure.”

Faroe made a face. She wasn’t even sure why; something about him was just… slimy. She simply nodded, then left, Nibbles trotting at her heels.

Larson abandoned the horrible food and hurried after the King.

So. This wasn’t what he’d thought it would be.

You really did change yesterday, didn’t you?

Just his luck that he finally got in tight with a real, live god, and it was after something went horrifically wrong.

He’d suspected for some time that the gods might be… petty. Pathetic, even, with base desires. What they wanted was always so simple ; pain and suffering, blood and death, blah, blah, blah. Well, here was a Great Old One, a million years old, and he wasn’t even particularly esoteric.

Arthur was part of his ‘family?’ Please! The King probably just liked how the disgusting man sounded when in pain. It wouldn’t be difficult to supplant him. Between Arthur and that nonsense with a human daughter…

And Parker .

The thief wasn’t worth considering right now. He’d pay for every stupid quip. Every pinch of attitude. But not yet.

It was going to be harder than he’d thought to gain the favor of this god, but it was possible. It was clear this god could be controlled. Some Outer God, who for reasons unknown had arranged this whole thing, clearly had the King in Yellow by the shorthairs.

Larson hadn’t been able to figure out who the hell the Outer God was, and so hadn’t known how to appease it. Could this be the same Outer God who’d interrupted before? Why? Why had it chosen him?

Because it had chosen him. He was a shark, swimming among irritating goldfish.

To be given an opportunity like this was incredible.There could only be one reason: somehow, he must have pleased this god. An Outer God’s true favor. What a thing to have!

His end goal was still on track: godhood. Deification. Unlike Yellow, Hastur genuinely had power. Larson could taste it. Magnificent. Perfect. Wasted.

This Great Old One might be messed up (and Yellow’s brokenness suddenly made so much sense ), but that only made him vulnerable . Yes: vulnerable.

With so many doors to try, one of them would damn well open wide. For now, he followed, determined to learn everything he could about this true god and whatever happened yesterday, to find whatever he needed to become a god himself.

It was only a matter of time.

#malevolent #malevolent podcast #surrogate series #malevolent fic #malevolent au #arthur lester #hastur malevolent #kiy malevolent #faroe lester #wallace larson #parker yang #yellow malevolent

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