Chapter Text
Whatever you do, don’t fall.
Yuuri inhales, counting heartbeats, trying to stretch out the moment. It’s so tempting to open his eyes, but he knows if he does, everything will come crashing down—literally. He exhales slowly, then in again, forming the shape in his mind, the hand-gesture that would summon a light.
He feels—something, in the back of his mind, like breath on the back of his neck, or the near-inaudible sound of a match strike. But the flare of magic doesn’t come, not yet. Yuuri sighs, the mental image slipping from him as he nearly over-balances and falls on his ass.
Yuuri’s been in this position for several minutes now: that is, doing a handstand in ankle-deep water wearing only his small clothes. He shifts his weight ever-so-slightly to relieve the cramp building in his left hand, focusing on his breathing and not on how dizzy having all of his blood rush into his head makes him. Minako told him that if he can summon his magic in this position, he can do it anytime. Yuuri would like to see her do it, except he already knows that she can—balanced on just one hand, even.
Some other faint memory of Minako’s tutelage comes back to him. Slowly, slowly, he extends his left leg, floating it down so that his toes point out to the side, a perfect right angle to the rest of his body.
His eyes are still shut, but he’s keenly aware of everything around him: the blissfully hot water burbling around his wrists; the faint birdsong of the larks in the trees; the soft, barely-there scent of pine. Even the faint bite of the early autumn air is welcome, familiar.
And soon all of it will be lost to him for good.
No, no, he can’t think about that. Not now, not yet. Yuuri draws in another breath and pushes it out, focusing on the water, the wind, the birdsong. After a moment, the peace of his family’s estate settles on him like a warm blanket, soothing his agitation.
Breathe, says Minako’s voice, in his memory. In, out, in, out, let your breath flow like the mountain stream.
Yuuri draws air into his lungs, feeling his chest expand. His eyes are still shut, but he can picture the low light of the lamps hung around his garden, casting a lovely warm glow over everything: the water of the hot springs, the stones, the cherry trees with their low-hanging boughs. Inside his head, hears Minako: Find your center, then reach for your strength.
Once again he pictures the gesture in his mind’s eyes, the simplest and earliest spell any Spark-touched child learns: one palm face-up and open as if in offering. Yuuri pictures energy flowing out from his chest through his hand, light erupting in mid-air above the open palm.
This time there’s the tell-tale rush of magic along his spine, and he feels the ball of light come into being—right in front of him, where his outstretched hand would reach. Yuuri lets out his breath and opens his eyes, staring upside-down at the round ball of yellow light floating in front of him. It’s the exact shade of the lanterns strung around the garden.
“Ha,” he says out loud, and smiles despite himself.
Mistake. His left leg wobbles out of true just slightly where it floats above him, and before Yuuri can correct, he’s over-balanced and tumbling face-first into the water. Yuuri squawks as he wipes out, getting a mouthful of spring water for his trouble. By the time he shoves his dripping hair out of his face, the light he summoned is gone, snuffed out by the catastrophic collapse of its maker.
Yuuri sighs, but can’t really bring himself to be too mad. That was the first time he’s managed to summon the light without even the tiniest gesture to coax it to life. He can’t wait to till Minako about it—
“Messere, it’s dinner time, your mother wants you to come in!” His page’s voice breaks through his thoughts. Damn, he hadn’t realized how late in the evening it was.
“Tell her I’ll be there in five minutes!” he calls back. He sees the faint outline of Minami at the door; Minami bows in Yuuri’s direction, then vanishes. Yuuri sighs. He lingers just a few moments longer, loathe to leave the quiet contemplation of his garden and its section of the wondrous hot springs that his family calls home.
Like a great many noble families in Kieva, the lands that owe fealty to the High King, the Katsukis—Yuuri’s father’s family—originally gained a nominal noble title because of their strong magical aptitude, and a modest level of status because of some service to the Queen a few generations back. Nobility and the expectations that came with it hadn’t stopped Toshiya Katsuki from falling desperately in love with Yuuri’s mother Hiroko, though. A visit to the countryside with a stopover at her inn had been meant only to last a few weeks, turning instead to months, then a year. He’d ultimately decided he didn’t want to make her leave her family’s inn, or its hot springs, and so instead of returning to his castle, he’d simply settled at her inn instead.
They still had the castle; if Yuuri recalls correctly, they have some cousins and maybe other distant relatives who live in it, and Yuuri and his immediate family visit it occasionally. But their home is in Hasetsu. And while most of the nobles Yuuri’s met over the years think Toshiya eccentric for giving up his castle, Hiroko’s gift with the Spark matches her husband’s, and their children’s gift of magic rivals that of anyone in Kieva.
Which was sort of the problem. Yuuri sometimes wishes that the royal family cared more for prestige or nobility of blood than they do for the strength in the Spark; maybe if they did, he wouldn’t be in this situation.
He shakes his head a little, as if shedding years of dark thoughts. Time to get going. He has a long ride in the morning, after all, and he’s put off entirely too much of the preparation till the last minute. He’ll need all of Minami’s help after dinner to have everything ready before midnight.
Finally Yuuri stands, water sluicing off his body. He gestures with one hand, and another ball of light appears, this one smaller. He flicks a finger, and the light bounces, then floats just behind his shoulder, hooked in place relative to his position. It follows Yuuri as he heads back to the stone porch, illuminating the now-dim bench where he’d folded all his clothes. He wraps a fluffy towel around his body, then gathers up his things and pads inside, the faerie light bobbing behind him.
He dresses quickly, trying to keep his mind on the simple act of getting dressed and adjusting his obi, not wanting to dwell more on what the next three days will bring.
At least Minako will be going with him for the trip. She’s been their family’s retainer since Yuuri was just a child, someone the Katsukis trust as much as one of their own blood—if not more, Yuuri thinks with a faint smile. After all, it wasn’t Yuuri or Mari his parents asked to mind the estate when they traveled to the capital for the prince’s coronation celebration.
At the thought of the prince, Yuuri’s expression darkens. He falters, hands stilling where he’s brushing his wet hair back from his face. Why did the prince have to come back from overseas, Yuuri thinks bitterly. Why couldn’t he just stay gone?
A knock at the door makes him jump. “Messere, can I help you finish getting ready?”
“I’m fine, Minami, I’m almost done,” says Yuuri quickly. He sets the brush aside and retrieves his glasses, then toes into his sandals and heads for the door. Minami is waiting outside, and he beams at Yuuri as he emerges from the room. Despite himself, Yuuri can’t help but smile back.
Minami is six years younger than Yuuri, his face still chubby with baby fat despite how much he trains. He’s one of Minako’s other students, and he lives with the Katsukis, where he acts as something of a servant in exchange for room and board—though that will change soon, Yuuri realizes. Minako is sending her other students away to train with another Master until Yuuri is settled.
“Your mother made your favorite dinner tonight,” Minami says cheerfully. “She went a little overboard, actually.”
Yuuri exhales. “She didn’t have to do that,” he says ruefully. He can already smell the scent of dinner wafting from the direction of the kitchen, and can guess at the spread awaiting him there: okonomiyaki, spring rolls, dumplings, yakisoba, and of course his favorite thing in the entire world, katsudon. Affection for his mother makes his chest tight, and he follows quickly after Minami as they head down to the dining room.
“Yuuuuuri!” Yuuri’s mother claps her hands as he comes into the room, beaming at him across a table almost groaning with platters and glasses. She’s wearing her favorite yukata, one Yuuri’s father got for her for their twentieth anniversary. “I hope you’re hungry!”
“Mom… that’s so much food…” Yuuri sighs, grinning ruefully as his mother comes around to pull a chair out from the table for him to sit in.
“Well, we have to celebrate,” says Yuuri’s father, as he comes into the room. He’s wearing one of his nicer yukatas, as well. “Our son is leaving tomorrow to make the family proud, so we want to send you off in style.”
Yuuri’s heart sinks a little at this, but he manages to retain his smile anyway. “Thank you so much,” he says, and bows, hands pressed firmly against the tops of his thighs. “I—I promise I won’t let you down.”
“Still can’t believe the prince wanted you,” says Mari. Yuuri’s sister comes in from the kitchen, bearing a bottle of sake and several glasses. “You must have been a pretty impressive thirteen-year-old.”
“Of course he was,” says Yuuri’s father. “They only let the most talented omegas even come to try.”
Yuuri wrinkles his nose, allowing his mother to usher him into the chair at the head of the table. Being honored for something he had no control over like this makes him feel weird, but his parents’ obvious pride in his selection blunts his bitterness somewhat. “Well, I hope he’s not disappointed in the grown-up version,” is all he says. “But let’s eat, this smells amazing.”
“We’re just waiting for Minako,” says Mari. “She’s running late, actually. You must get it from her.”
As if on cue, there’s a clatter at the front door, and the yowl of a cat as someone trips over her on their way in. Yuuri hears cursing, and can’t help but smile. “Sorry, sorry, sorry!” Minako appears in the doorway to the hall, still wearing her traveling cloak. “I had to go home to get something, did I miss dinner?”
“Of course not,” says Mari, with a small smile. “Come on, Minako. Give me your cloak—“
“Ah, thank you so much,” says Minako. She also hands Mari her traveling bag, and then comes to sit near the head of the table by Yuuri. She plops into the seat, her long hair tied back in a ponytail, cheeks slightly pink, as though she ran all the way from her home.
“Tell me you’re drinking tonight, Yuuri,” says Minako.
Yuuri groans. “I don’t think traveling with a sore head is a great idea,” he says. “And I’m not done packing yet—“ But Minako is already pouring him a glass of sake.
Despite his trepidation, dinner is wonderful. Yuuri’s only insulation against Minako (and then his father) incessantly pressing liquor on him is the fact that he eats so much of his mother’s cooking that he’s too stuffed to manage getting drunk. There’s six of them, including Minako and Minami, but Yuuri’s mother made so much food that they still don’t manage to clear it all. Everything is delicious, which Yuuri would expect even if he didn’t know his mother’s talent at all areas of domestic magic; his sister’s healing skills might earn the Katsuki estate the most notoriety locally, but his mother’s cooking is almost as renowned—as is the wonderful night’s sleep all travelers can look forward to while under her roof.
Minako—who has the highest tolerance for alcohol of anyone Yuuri’s ever met, including the Nishigoris—manages to help them plow through three of the Katsukis’ finest sake, doing the lion’s work of the drinking herself. Despite being at least two sheets to the wind, she follows dinner with a modified performance of some of her best magic, which ends with Mari’s and Yuuri’s hair both slightly singed and a life-size paper crane floating delicately above their heads. Yuuri has seen all of Minako’s magic before, but he applauds just as hard as everyone else.
Finally Yuuri excuses himself to go pack, an activity he wants to do even less than he wants to get up before dawn the next morning and start their journey to Ekaterina Palace. To his surprise, Minako follows him to his room, booting Minami out and locking the door.
Yuuri’s mentor sits down on his bed, fixing him with a surprisingly keen stare. “So,” she says. “Last chance, Yuuri.”
Yuuri stares at her. “Last chance for what?”
“If you want to run in the morning, I’ll go with you,” she says bluntly. “No one will know we haven’t headed to the capital until we’re two countries away.”
All the breath leaves Yuuri’s lung in a rush, like a balloon that’s just been punctured. “Minako,” he says weakly. “R-Really?”
“Of course,” says Minako. There’s no trace of slurring in her speech now. If Yuuri hadn’t seen her put away all that sake, he’d never know she’d been drinking at all. “I know how you feel about this. I’ve got everything we need, more than enough of the medicine to last us both till spring. We’ll tell everyone you’re a beta, like me. No one will have to know, and you can do what you want.”
Yuuri sinks down heavily onto the chair next to his desk. He’s dazed, a weakness in his limbs that has nothing to do with his mother’s excellent cooking, or the sake they both drank. So many questions are spinning through his mind that he doesn’t even know where to start. “How long have you been considering this?” he asks, first.
“On and off for about three years,” says Minako. “I kept hoping something would come up that would make it unnecessary, but… here we are.”
Yuuri swallows hard. Hope, hot and bright, flares in his chest; the idea of freedom is one he’s held onto for the long decade he’s spent waiting for this day, despite every reason to give it up.
“But—but what about my parents? Your other students? They’re expecting you back by the winter holidays!”
Minako waves a hand dismissively. “They can stay with Celestino, or find another mentor,” she says. “They’ll be fine. But… your parents would be pretty upset, Yuuri. Mari would understand, but…”
Yuuri nods. The flame in his chest flickers, diminishing. “The Nikiforovs might think they knew all along,” he says slowly. He gets a sudden mental image of armed mage-knights at his parents’ door, of fire consuming the beautiful sloped roof of the inn. He shudders.
Minako is frowning. “The Nikiforovs are not cruel, Yuuri,” she says, trying to sound reasonable.
“They couldn’t overlook treason, though,” says Yuuri dully. “And I’m pretty sure disappearing the prince’s betrothed counts.”
“Probably,” Minako says. Her beautiful face is harder now, steelier than Yuuri’s ever seen it. “Doesn’t matter. If you want to go, we’ll do it.”
“If they catch us, you’ll be put to death,” Yuuri says. Just saying it out loud makes his too-full stomach churn. “Or imprisoned, at the very least.”
“I know,” says Minako. She holds his gaze, expression unwavering.
Yuuri stares back, weighing his options. Of anyone in the entire world, Minako is probably the only one who really understands what Yuuri’s going through. It’s one of the reasons they’re so close, beyond just the fact that he’s her student and she’s his mentor. Mari might have been the one to heal the sword wound in Minako’s stomach, but Yuuri is the one who knows the past she fled from. It’s all too similar to the future he’s staring down right now.
After what seems like forever, Yuuri shakes his head. “I can’t ask that of you,” he says. Minako starts to protest, and Yuuri adds, quickly, “I know you’re offering. But I can’t do that to my family. And I’d never forgive myself if—if you got hurt because of me.”
Minako lets out a long sigh. “I thought you might react like this,” she says. “You care too much about other people, Yuuri.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” says Yuuri. Minako gives him a lopsided smile, and he manages a smile back himself: weak, but real.
“Only sometimes,” she says. “Anyway. I thought you might not want to make a run for it, so I looked for other options. There is one thing you could try.”
Yuuri bites his lower lip. He briefly considers telling Minako to not even say anymore—he’s not sure he can bear having hope dangled in front of him again, only to have to discard it. “Go on,” he says after a moment.
“There’s a Grand Tourney at Ekaterina Palace in the spring,” Minako says. “A competition where entrants compete using combat magic. There’s a whole point system involved, rules, everything, but the winner is granted a boon by the High King. They’re allowed to ask anything within his power to grant.”
Yuuri makes a small, unhappy noise. “You know I won’t be allowed to compete,” he says flatly. “Even if I show them what I’m capable of, omegas are banned from magical combat.”
“That’s why you would enter in disguise,” says Minako. She leans forward, elbows on the tops of her knees, eyes bright. “If you can beat all the other challengers before you reveal who you are, I’m sure the prince would persuade his father to grant you your request.”
Yuuri frowns. “The prince? Why would Victor Nikiforov want to grant me a boon? Especially if the request is to not marry him?”
“Rumor tells it that the prince loves nothing more than to be surprised,” Minako says, and shrugs. “Nothing would be more surprising than discovering his omega fiance is a talented enough mage-knight to best all other comers, would it? And even if those rumors are false, both the prince and his father are said to be fair and just, and would at least listen to such a request.”
Yuuri opens his mouth, then closes it again. He’s finding he almost wants to argue, to find a flaw with this idea, a reason that it won’t work, and there are surely plenty. But the more he thinks about it, the more he wants to try it. And not just because it offers the possibility of an escape hatch—he’s always hated the ridiculous restrictions placed on omegas, forbidding them from the kind of combat magic that Yuuri loves so much. The idea of showing up a bunch of stuck-up mage-knights at their own game, when they all think he couldn’t possibly compete with them… well, it has more than a little appeal.
“That’s my Yuuri,” says Minako, and Yuuri startles a little. She’s grinning at him, a hard, knowing expression. Yuuri feels himself reddening slightly, but he’s not going to pretend Minako doesn’t know what he’s thinking.
Yuuri might come across as a shy, anxious omega, and there’s some truth to that—but it’s also true that he loves to perform, to compete, to win. He’s been Minako’s student in the study of the Spark since he was just seven years old, and he’s inherited her love of the art.
Not that anyone but a handful of people know. Yuuri shouldn’t really be surprised that Minako offered to run away with him, he thinks; she’s been flouting the laws of the land for over a decade now, just by teaching him combat magic like she has—scratch that, just by knowing it herself. After all, before she taught him how to suppress his heats with the right combination of herbs, she’d been using it to suppress her own for over a decade, living as a beta to hide her omega nature. And she’s covered for him every single time he snuck out of the manor during one of his “heats” so that he could practice unharassed on the grounds at her house.
“Alright,” says Yuuri. “But how am I going to disguise myself? It’d be hard to get something like that together at the palace, under the royal family’s nose…”
Minako stands up, crossing the room to the traveling bag she brought with her to Yuuri’s room. She crouches, digging through it, and Yuuri gasps at what she brings out: a set of honest-to-god armor, fashioned of leather and ultra-fine chainmail. All the metal and leather pieces are the same deep blue, like the water of a mountain lake. Piece by piece, she pulls it out and puts it on the bed next to Yuuri for him to examine: leg guards, arm guards, fine leather gloves with silver plates to guard the knuckles, while still leaving the all-important fingertips free. She brings out the helmet last, complete with arching silver horns and a face plate sufficient to head the wearer’s identity.
For the second time in ten minutes, Yuuri is speechless. “Minako,” he manages at last, his voice tight with emotion. “You—you had this made? How…”
But she’s already shaking her head. “It was mine,” she says. Her eyes are bright. “I—quit competing as as a mage-knight before I started teaching you, but I saved the armor. I always hoped to go back, or see one of my students take it on.”
“But you’ve had so many other students,” Yuuri says. He’s picked up one of the arm-guards, marveling at the lightness of the material. He glances up at Minako, and is shocked to see her eyes are wet. He’s never seen her cry, not once in more than fifteen years of being her student.
“You were always my best pupil,” she says roughly. “And I hoped—I wanted to see you find a way out of this trap.” She clenches her hands into fists, staring down at him. Yuuri finds, suddenly, that it’s hard to speak. He stands, and Minako embraces him, throwing her arms tightly around him. Yuuri hugs her back, his own eyes stinging traitorously.
He’d promised himself he wouldn’t cry any more tears because of the prince or the rest of the wretched royal family. But he hadn’t known how far Minako would go for him, either.
* * * * *
Yuuri ends up getting significantly less sleep that night than he’d hoped for thanks to his endlessly circling thoughts, but he hardly minds, even when the knock comes on his bedroom door two hours before dawn. The High King has sent a carriage and guards to collect Yuuri, and Yuuri and Minako will be meeting them down in the village at the base of the mountain. Mari will ride with them as far as the village, then return home with the horses alone.
They set out for the village just as the sun is starting to peek over the mountainside, Yuuri wrapped in a warm cloak his mother surprises him with at the door. He endures a hug from her, one he can barely stand to accept because he doesn’t want to break down crying yet again, and then he’s waving at his parents as he sets off down the narrow mountain trail, his horse’s bags bulging with all his worldly possessions.
(Minako’s magnificent gift to him rides in her bags, to save him having to make room for it, since in theory she’ll eventually be returning to her own house once Yuuri is fully settled at Ekaterina Palace. The High King requested her to accompany Yuuri as an honor guard, to ensure he arrives with his skin—and virtue—in one piece. Yuuri has plenty to say about that particular section of the royal summons, but he keeps it to himself.)
They arrive at the outskirts of the village by mid-morning. Yuuri accepts one last embrace from his sister, as well as a small bag full of the various poultices and salves she makes for the villagers and other travelers. For the thousandth time, Yuuri finds himself wishing he’d been born a beta like his sister, so that he wouldn’t have to be making these good-byes right now, but it’s much too late for those regrets now.
Besides. Now he has a plan. Or at least, the start of one.
The High King’s men load Yuuri and Minako’s bags into the carriage boot. Before Yuuri can climb into the carriage, however, one of the manservants approaches him and presents him with a long slim box. Yuuri stares at it.
“His majesty the Prince has sent you a token of his regard,” says the servant. “He hopes you will accept it and his hopes for your marriage, and make a speedy journey to join him.”
Yuuri swallows, and it’s hard past the gorge rising in the back of his throat. “Thank you,” he manages, and accepts the box. No doubt the manservant thinks him overcome with emotion at the gift, but in reality Yuuri is fighting to not fling the box to the muddy ground, where it can lay until bandits take it for all he cares.
Instead, he tucks it into his cloak and climbs into the carriage with Minako, focusing hard on his breathing, on his expression.
It’s a three-day journey to Petrograd, with Ekaterina Palace sitting at its center like the crown jewels. Yuuri hadn’t given much thought to the dangers of the trip itself, too preoccupied with what lay at the end of it—travelers at their inn have spoken of dragons in the deep woods of the mountains, but Yuuri’s never seen one. He and Minako spend much of the journey in hushed conversation inside the carriage, discussing how Yuuri will convince the royal family to put off his and the prince’s wedding till after the Grand Tourney in the spring, and how Yuuri will continue to practice and train without Minako’s house as a safe-haven.
“I wish I could convince him to let me go home till spring,” Yuuri says at one point. He slumps disconsolately in his seat in the carriage, his shoes undone, feet tucked up under him. He’s sore and tired from their long trip—the carriage is luxurious, certainly, but no amount of cushioning makes up for some of the rough roads they’ve journeyed over, or for being crammed in a moving box for 10 hours a day.
Minako is frowning at him from her spot on the opposing bench. “There must be empty rooms in a palace that big,” she says. She bites absently at a hangnail, face screwed up in concentration. “We might need an excuse to ask the High King for permission for me to stay longer than expected, though—“
She breaks off as the carriage comes to an abrupt stop, jostling them both. Yuuri nearly falls into the footwell, but Minako is already on her feet, eyes hard. Shouts come from outside the carriage, and then all the hairs on the back of Yuuri’s neck go up as the tell-tale sizzle of magic burns over his skin.
“Bandits,” snarls Minako. She’s out the door before she’s finished saying the word, Yuuri tumbling out after her, still barefoot.
Minako’s in front of him, blocking him somewhat from the turmoil; she’s already drawn the staves that live in her belt-loop, magic humming through the dark oak waiting to explode to life. Yuuri glances to the side, and catches a glimpse of the group attacking them. They’re highwaymen of a rough-looking sort—Yuuri catches a glimpse of one man in an eye patch with a short, ugly sword, locked in combat with the captain of the guards. Another man covered in scars with long matted hair comes at the guards with a long pike, a cruel barb at its tip. There’s at least a dozen of their attackers, including several archers on the ledges overlooking the narrow gorge they’ve been passing through. They were clearly lying in wait for the next carriage luckless enough to pass through.
One of the guards spots Yuuri looking around. “Stay in the carriage!” he shouts.
Not a chance, Yuuri thinks darkly. He spares half a second to wish for his set of staves that match Minako’s, but they’re in the bag with the armor—might as well be on the moon. He crouches, making a smaller target as he flattens himself against the carriage wheel. Yuuri curls the fingers of one hand against his chest, as though cupping an invisible ball; inside the cage of his hand, he’s gathering blue fire, waiting for the right moment to use it.
Three bandits have spotted Yuuri and Minako, and break off from trying to murder guards to swing round towards the carriage. Minako whirls her staves, drawing eye-searing green lines of fire in the air. Yuuri feels the sudden pulse the moment before she throws herself hard to the right and flings the stave in her left hand at the first man.
The bandit shouts, and for just an instant his face is a caricature of surprise—and then the stave hits him and all the magic in it explodes in a burst of green fire. The flames lick up his face, and the bandit screams, batting at it uselessly and stumbling backwards into the path of his companions.
Yuuri shoots up from the ground like there are springs in his feet, using the moment of distraction to throw his own spell. Instantly, their three attackers are enveloped in a vortex of swirling fire, blue mixing with green. The bandits scream in pain and fury, scattering like mice as they try vainly to get away from the flames now racing greedily over their skin.
Minako grabs her thrown stave, and Yuuri sneaks after her, sticking close to her back. He can’t do any of the really effective spells he knows, because they’ll be too obvious, so instead he drags the fingertips of his right hand up and into the palm of his left, drawing an intricate design on bare skin. In their wake a dagger forms, its outline limned in more blue fire before coalescing, becoming solid. Minako calls a green scythe to life out of the end of one of her staves and uses it to take the head clean off of one of the bandits fighting their guards. Her shout of triumph breaks off in a swear, and Yuuri hears the thwip of an arrow lodging itself in the ground—he can see the line of blood along her collarbone where it grazed her.
“Above you!” she hisses. Yuuri ducks behind her, mentally projecting where that arrow came from, and then throws himself out her other side and flings the dagger in his hand. His foot twists underneath him as he lands, but his dagger flies true, whistling through the air as it curves its own course to aim for Yuuri’s target. He hears the gargled scream as it buries itself in the archer’s throat, then the thwump of a body falling to earth.
Yuuri tries to straighten and nearly topples over as agony lights up his ankle. “Ah, ffff—”
Minako’s there in an instant, slipping his arm over her shoulders. “It’s okay, Yuuri,” she says in a low voice. “It’s over.”
Yuuri leans on her, glancing around, and sure enough, the guards are standing down. He sees the captain of the guard—Mikhail, he thinks the man’s name is—wiping his sword on one of the bandit’s bodies before sheathing it. Mikhail glances over at them, his eyes widening as he catches sight of Yuuri limping alongside Minako.
“I told you to stay in the carriage!” he exclaims. He hurries over, helping Minako sit Yuuri on the ground. Despite the harshness of his voice, his hands are gentle as he helps Yuuri to sit. “Did they hurt you?”
“No—nngh.” Yuuri winces slightly. “Just twisted my ankle.”
Minako is examining his foot, probing the joint with her fingertips. Yuuri hisses as pain shoots up his leg, and she frowns. “It’s not that bad, but we should wrap it,” she says. “I’m not much of a healer, I’m afraid.”
“Neither am I,” mutters Yuuri. Mari got all the skill in that area. Speaking of—“My sister sent some medicine, though. It’s in my bag.”
Minako gets up, going to the carriage to retrieve Yuuri’s satchel. Mikhail stays by Yuuri, perhaps afraid that the bandits will come back for seconds. Abruptly Yuuri becomes aware of the way Mikhail is looking at him: thoughtful, evaluating. “I saw some magic over by you two,” he says, studying Yuuri’s face. “It was quite effective.”
“Oh, that—that was my mentor,” Yuuri says. He can feel himself flushing, uncomfortable with the scrutiny. Damn. He tried hard to disguise his spells by casting at the same time as Minako, but maybe he hadn’t been careful enough.
“I see,” says Mikhail; it’s hard to tell what he’s thinking. “Did she also throw a knife at one of those archers?”
“Ah, that was... Me, actually,” Yuuri says. He stares at his hands for several seconds, then forces himself to look up. Mikhail sees him looking and gives him a faint smile.
“Quite the throw,” he says.
Yuuri clears his throat. “My family doesn’t keep guards,” he says, and tries to keep his voice mild, apologetic. “So my parents thought it would be good if Minako taught me and my sister some self-defense.”
Minako appears as if summoned by her name, kneeling by Yuuri, the small satchel Mari sent in her hand. If Mikhail has more to say, he keeps it to himself, merely sitting by with his sword at the ready as Minako goes about applying a poultice and wrapping Yuuri’s ankle.
They’re on their way again soon enough; there were a few injuries in Yuuri’s party, but apparently the High King sent a half-dozen of his best men, so despite being taken by surprise they had been more than up to the task of defending against the bandits. After some discussion with Minako, Mikhail sends one of his men on ahead riding at full gallop to bring word to the next town of the attack.
“We’ll meet up with some men from the garrison stationed there,” Mikhail tells them. He’s leaning in the window of the carriage from where he sits on his horse; Yuuri and Minako are both inside, Yuuri’s foot propped up on some pillows. Mikhail glances at him, and adds, “I’m sorry, my lord, but we could not find the dagger you threw at the archer on the hill. His companions must have made off with it.”
“My—oh,” says Yuuri. “Uh, that’s fine, really. There’s—nothing you can do about it, so… thank you.” He manages a shy smile, curling his hands in his robes out of nervousness. Mikhail inclines his head and then withdraws, letting the curtain fall shut.
Yuuri exhales his air in a rush. “You are really bad at that,” Minako says lightly; Yuuri shoots her a dirty look. “What? You’re lucky you’re cute when you’re flustered, it distracts people from how bad a liar you are.”
“Ugh,” says Yuuri, and slumps against the wall.
* * * * *
By the time they arrive at Ekaterina Palace (an extra company of soldiers in tow) Yuuri is no longer concerned about his foot. He’s too busy fretting over Minako. The nick from the arrow on her shoulder has grown puckered and angry, and redness spreads out from it in a terrible halo around her collarbone. Yuuri has used much of his sister’s gift of medicines already, which has helped somewhat to keep the arrow’s bite at bay, but the poultice for poison is long gone, and now Minako worsens steadily.
She’s leaning against him, her breathing labored, eyes glazed over with fever. Every bump in the road makes her whimper and tense up in pain. Yuuri laces their fingers together tightly, wishing desperately he knew something, anything, that would help her.
“We’re almost there,” he tells her softly. She nods, a minute up-down of her head, and turns her face more towards the breeze coming in from the open window.
Luckily, with the captain of the guard with them, they don’t have to stop at the entrance to the capital. Yuuri hears the crier running ahead, shouting for people to get out of the way of the carriage; the horses do not stop or slow, and Yuuri grits his teeth as they rattle over the flagstone streets of Petrograd.
Finally, the carriage stops. Yuuri hears shouting outside, people talking in urgent voices. He’s reaching for the door when someone opens it from the outside, and a man leans into their carriage. He’s young, handsome, with silver hair and wearing the royal insignia; Yuuri figures he must be one of the High King’s attendants.
“Are you alright?” he demands. His gaze flicks over Yuuri, taking in his bandaged foot and the state of Minako, how shallow her breathing is. “You’re not alright,” he says.
“Please, I’ll be okay, but my mentor—she’s sick, I think the arrow tip was poisoned—“
The man frowns and climbs into the carriage. He lifts his hand, palm-up, and speaks a word, and white vapor issues from his mouth, forming a softly-glowing cloud. He blows across his palm, and the cloud leaves his hand, moving to Minako and enveloping her. Yuuri watches anxiously as dew forms along the angry cut and the infection radiating out from it, the drops shining and brilliant.
Minako groans and sags, letting out a ragged sigh. The dew-drops fade, leaving a clear, delicate lattice settled over the top of the injury. “It’s poison,” says the silver-haired man grimly. “We need to get you both inside. I knew I should have come personally to get you.”
“Uh,” says Yuuri.
“I’m so sorry for not being there for you,” says the silver-haired man, whom Yuuri is starting to think is maybe not an attendant after all. “But come on, your mentor is ill, she needs care.” Without waiting for an answer from Yuuri, the silver-haired man climbs out of the carriage and starts barking orders.
“Come around the other side, and bring a carry-bed, this woman can’t walk! Quickly!”
“Yes, your Majesty,” comes the immediate answer. Under his traveling cloak, Yuuri starts to sweat.
He puts aside his impending freak-out as attendants surround their carriage. They coax Minako out the other door, laying her on a platform and heading inside with her. Yuuri tries to climb out and follow, but his ankle folds under him and he nearly falls.
“No, don’t try to walk on it—“ The silver-haired man appears at his elbow, catching Yuuri before he can collapse. “Here, I’ll carry you.”
Oh, no no no no no. Noooo, this is—this was not how this meeting was supposed to go. “I-I’ll be fine—you don’t have to—“ Yuuri glances up into the other man’s face, and finds himself flushing at the intensity of the gaze he finds there.
“I should have been there to protect you,” says Victor Nikiforov, Crown Prince of Kieva, who for some unfathomable reason is bending down to scoop Yuuri up in his arms. “Please, this is the least I can do. We have to see to it that you both get better as quickly as possible.” He starts to head inside, carrying Yuuri as though he weighs nothing at all.
Yuuri puts his face in his hands. So much for meeting his betrothed for the first time.