st_onecoldfox | Ghosts of Winter: Kolkhis (for Corbie)

Another coughing spell hit, clenching and jerking Mildmay's body so strong the headboard rattled against the brick wall of his room.

Fuck me sideways. I got the winter fever. Again.

His whole body ached, and he was shivering, but it hadn't been a septad-minute since he was drenched in sweat, pushing feebly at the covers trying to kick them off. He'd known it was Winter Fever, but forgot. It did him that way sometimes. The idea hitting all the sudden like a epifa-whatsit, and knowing he'd knowed it only fading in after.

But he knew he was sick. And worse, others knew it too. Emma'd kicked him outta the kitchen with a thermos of soup, assuring him she and Kenny'd manage without him, and insisting he get some rest and take care of himself. What'd happened to that soup? He couldn't remember eating it or nothing. He thought maybe Corbie'd bullied him into bed, but that mighta been the fever, 'cause there'd been two Corbies, and how the blazes could he withstand the both of 'em when they put their minds to something?

Couldn'ta been Corbie though, neither of 'em, 'cause she'd never been to Mélusine, and he knew this bed. Too big for any bed of his. Felix's bed at the Mirador'd been this big, but Mildmay's was little more than a cot. He knew this bed. This was... This was Keeper's bed.

Kethe. He hadta get outta here. He wasn't going back. Not to her. And he couldn't let her get Corbie neither. Fuck.

He took a deep breath to work up to pushing out of bed. Or he tried to. It set off more coughing, and he just wound up more tangled in the bed linens, already clingy damp with his sweat.

"Just where do you think you're going, Milly-Fox?" The voice was almost a purr that slithered down his spine like the Snake Littleman had called her. Keeper put her hand flat on his chest, and she barely had to push to keep him right where he was.

"You go where I tell you. When I tell you. Always so good at doing just what you're told. Except for when you didn't, and look where that got you. Although perhaps you've forgotten. Should I show you then? Remind you of what you are?"

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Who the fuck is Ginevra?

Corbie could not keep the question off her face, and she knew it, but she made the choice to lean into that rather than try to smother it or hide her expression. With the focus turned on her, however momentary and incidental, Corbie knew that keeping quiet would only make her more noteworthy. So she gave the easy, fade into the background answer. "Yes, ma'am, I have."

She shifted from foot to foot, eyes darting from Kolkhis to Mildmay to the scene as though unsure where to look. It was not a lie, exactly. Mildmay didn't want her to see... but she was curious.

But seriously, fuck this bitch.

Keeper's instructions had been crystal fucking clear. Whoever was paying for this job didn't just want Griselda Kilkenny dead, they wanted her damn scared first, and an example after, and if Mildmay wondered what a smalltime madam had done to earn that kind of feeling, he sure as anything knew better than to ask. It wasn't none of his business. He was just Keeper's clockwork bear: wind him up and make him dance. 'Cept his 'dancing' meant somebody wound up dead.

He couldn't look at Corbie. Or at Keeper. And that only left watching as the scene played out same as it did in his memory and dreams. He watched as his younger self stepped outta the shadows silent as the death he was bringing when Griselda crossed the mouth of the alley, one strong, scarred hand wrapping 'round her throat to cut off any scream, the other pulling her back by her hair. He hadn't been worried about her fighting back, not even with her arms and legs still free. She was at least a couple septads into her second Great Septad, and struggling to breathe was taking up most of her focus.

He backed her into the nearest wall, using his body to pin her in place, and leaned in close to tell her exactly what he was gonna do to – how he was gonna bleed her slow, and then, once she was dead, how he was gonna leave her to be found – his voice low and harsh as he forced the words past his scar and the tiny voice in his head wondering why he was doing this. 'Sides, he knew why. 'Cause Keeper'd told him to, and maybe, if he did it, she would... she would... She would what? Love him? He couldn't even believe that, but he did it anyway.

The watcher's face remained as stony as ever, but the fever-flushed grey of illness lost even those bits of color, as he remembered the feel of the first cut, and the second, of Griselda's blood on his hands. "Stop it," he forced out, barely a rasp.

This was the single worst thing Corbie had ever seen.

She had never seen someone being killed before. People had told her about it before. Soldier boys who needed to tell someone without then being told to stop being such a pussy about it. But she had never seen it. And she had never seen Mildmay so...

The color drained from her face, but she kept watching. But more than the blood and the screams, she was watching the boy.

Boy.

Because more than the hair, that was the difference. A boy's physique was different from a man's. Lighter. Slimmer. He had none of the coltish awkwardness one would usually expect of a teenager, but it still showed. And while she knew that voice, while she hadn't heard it go cold like that... Lady, how young was he? "Oh, Mildmay..."

"It took only a few kills for my little Milly-Fox to make a name for himself," Kolkhis explained, reaching up to run a hand through the loose hair around his face. "And they still tell stories about him. Just the threat of Mildmay the Fox was enough to get many people to fall into line. And others would come to me especially to hire him, because they wanted the job done right. But then he lost his stomach for the work, thought he could get by on his own, without me."

Her grip on his hair tightened. "You forgot I made you. You were nothing without me. Hiding behind-"

"Stop it," Mildmay said again, louder and sharper this time as he jerked away from Keeper. "Just fucking stop."

And that moment when Kolkhis turned her full attention to Mildmay and Corbie became invisible was the moment Corbie struck. Muttering words under her breath to subdue a ghost, she brought up her hand and slammed her flat palm against Kolkhis's breastbone, above where her heart was at least supposed to be.

"Okay. Now you're gonna listen to me a fucking minute." Not that she'd have much choice in the matter. Corbie wasn't about to let her speak again, now that she'd touched this ghost with her power. She didn't know if what came out of her was really for Kolkhis or if it was for herself or if it was for Mildmay, but the words would be said all the same.

"Yeah. You made him into that. Good for you, he was a child. And even then, big scary boss bitch you are, he was too strong for you to break. You don't know a fucking thing about who he is. And I ain't about to give you the time to learn, because he needs his rest, I was done with you yesterday, and he's been done a fuck of a lot longer than that. Get. Out."

Only then did she speak the final words of the spell, dispelling the ghost.

Just like that, two little fucking words and a not so little wizard's power behind him, and Kolkhis was gone. Griselda's corpse and the younger Mildmay too, and the rest of Mélusine. Just Corbie and Mildmay, alone in his room, and good thing his bed was right beside 'em, 'cause his legs went and gave out, the both of 'em, and he only just managed to land in a exhausted slump on the edge of it, 'steada the floor.

"Fuck me," barely more than a whisper, and Mildmay ran shaky hands over his face. He couldn't look at Corbie. Not after... that.

Instinct made Corbie rush to his side, but when Mildmay managed the edge of the bed, for a moment she didn't know what to do. Or say.

She'd never felt shame like this from him before.

Okay. She could handle this. "Come on," she said gently, reaching out to touch his shoulder. "Let's get you back in bed."

Mildmay didn't have it in him to argue with her, worn down to nothing by Kolkhis' "visit" and the fever that was gonna run roughshod over him never mind what else life had in mind for him.

"Don't gotta," he tried as he let her steer him back into bed. 'Cause why she'd want anything to do with him after all she saw, he didn't know. Why would anybody give a damn about him after seeing that? 'Specially Corbie, who was a good person with a soft heart. "Know you can't wanna now. Not for me."

"Shut up," Corbie said gently, tucking Mildmay back into bed. Her hand moved to his forehead. If only this fever would break. But maybe now that the ghost was gone, he'd be able to actually rest and heal.

She slipped into the bathroom to do what she'd intended before this all started, wetting a washcloth with cold water and wringing it out.

She came back a moment later and sat on the edge of the bed, folding up the washcloth and laying it on his brow.

It would be a lie to say that she felt nothing about what had just happened. She thought and felt a lot of things. But even if Mildmay was well enough to talk to her about it, she knew she wasn't ready. So she left it at, "I'm here. I don't hate you. We'll talk about it when you're better."

Ghosts of Winter: Kolkhis (for Corbie)

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