Fake News: Castles in the Sand, chapter 1

[ptahrrific]

Title: Castles In The Sand (1/10)
Rating: R
Pairings/Characters: Olivia/Kristen, Jon/c!Stephen, Hodgman, Miss Jenny Slothodor (a cavern singer), Sam(/Jason), Wilmore/Oliver
Warnings: Sexy sex; gratuitous bathing scene. Eventually: (skip) pregnancy, potential abortion, references to past traumas, magical fempreg, more sex, mortal peril
Disclaimer: Characters belong to the Report. Names of real people are used in a fictitious context, and all dialogue, actions, and content are products of the author's imagination only.

It's the third installment in the magical fantasy epic. If we've learned anything from Narnia—not to mention Pirates of the Caribbean, Shrek, and even Tolkien—that means it's time for a voyage to the End of the World. (Almost everything else about this story would probably make C. S. Lewis spin in his grave, but what can you do.)

That's right, folks, the Castleverse threequel is finally out of the "wistful hint-dropping" stage and into the "actual posting" one :D

Amazing beta job by queenfanfiction. Decorative capitals by Daily Drop Cap. Title comes from the Philosopher Kings song. To get up to speed on the prequels, see the Castleverse Table of Contents.




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ven after the process had been explained to him, three times, Jon didn't understand how the staging spellcraft worked. (It probably didn't help that Hodgman, whose expertise had spearheaded the production, was the one who had tried to explain it.) He contented himself with watching the results from a balcony seat next to Kristen, baffled by the mechanics but enjoying every minute.

As the only visible figure on stage, Stephen had to carry the bulk of the show on his own. And carry it he did, throwing himself into the recitation so wholeheartedly that Jon felt the emotions of the story over their link, on top of Stephen's own cocktail of nerves and hope and enthusiasm. The scenery and props moved along with him, flowing and reshaping themselves to each new chapter under the unseen guidance of Olivia's ninjutsu; the audience could probably have followed the whole story even without the Commedien subtitles guiding them along.

The curtain fell to hearty applause, and rose again for Stephen and Olivia to receive a stunning bouquet each from Hodgman. "I had to talk him out of breaking tradition," confessed Kristen over the roar of the crowd. "He thought blenders would be more practical."

Jon's laugh was tempered with concern. "They better let the curtain down soon. Don't know about Olivia, but in about two minutes Stephen's going to fall over where he stands."

When the rest of the audience, still humming with excitement, filed out through the main red-and-gold-bedecked lobby, he and Kristen ducked into a service entrance and down stony back halls to the dressing rooms. The wine was being poured when they arrived, just in time to raise a glass to the whole crew: stagehands, lighting operators, Hodgman, the exhausted Stephen and Olivia, and their director, a mole-manic former cavern singer named Miss Jenny Slothodor.

Jon made sure to drop a gentle kiss on the back of Stephen's hand before smiling to the whole group. "Tremendous job, all of you."

"But mostly me, right?" asked Stephen hopefully.

"You were amazing," sighed Kristen, landing in Olivia's lap and pulling the princess into her arms. "If I could, I would pick you up and swing you around right now."

"What she said," agreed Jon. The perils of being the small one.

"Guess I'll just have to get Jon to do it." Olivia batted her eyes winningly at him. "How about it, Sir Stewart? Willing to settle?"

When looked to for permission, Stephen nudged him in their friends' direction, though not without a wine-reddened pout. Kristen stepped aside and Olivia rose, bracing herself on Jon's arms as his hands gripped her slender waist, the edge of her skirt flaring as he spun her in a tight and giddy circle.

Olivia needed no tricks to blend into the stage's dark corners, no head-to-toe black leggings to make the crowd's eyes skip over her. She wore shimmering violet trimmed in white and gold, and with the ninjutsu of invisibility could have walked across the stage unseen if she chose.

Jon pulled her into a hug of appreciation once her toes were reunited with the floorboards, but made it quick. Impressive as she was, he had a Stephen to get back to.


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ictory sex, Olivia decided, was hard to beat.

She had fallen asleep on the carriage ride home and stayed that way until well past dawn, sprawled in Kristen's bed with her stage clothes still on. Rather than let the missed opportunity go, she dragged Kristen into the shower with her; the fire mage was no fan of extensive soaking, but Olivia made it worth her while.

Over breakfast Kristen read the first review out loud, for the benefit of the translation crystal now concealed in a brooch that pinned smartly to Olivia's clothes, or, in this case, to the towel wrapped around her hair. Olivia responded by straddling her hips on the pillowed lounge and kissing her again, partly in thanks and partly to distract her from the welling tears. They liked her.

"You remember that you have to do it all again tonight, right?" said Kristen almost timidly, Olivia's fingers tangled in her dripping curls. "Might not want to use up all your energy so quickly."

"You give me energy," insisted Olivia. "Even when you're doing stupid things like insisting that the Shadow-Beast wasn't on fire."


"It was clearly a metaphor!" exclaimed Kristen.

The towel slipped from Olivia's head, spilling damp hair across her bare shoulders; its twin rode up her hips as she bent to fuss with the plunging V of Kristen's robe. "Does the poem ever use fire as a metaphor anywhere else? No!"

Kristen's hand left trails of heat up Olivia's thigh. (Speaking of fire.) "So it's unique. And the Shadow-Beast isn't? I mean, come on, if it was naturally flame-y, why would it have been hurt by falling into the Pit?"

"Narrative—ohhhh." The cloth of the robe had fallen to Kristen's waist, sleeves pooling at her elbows and bunching partway up her forearms, but the slow circling of her thumb had Olivia too distracted to take advantage of it. "Nar-rative—convention," she gasped, determined to finish. "Wouldn't—be much of a battle—if it died before the wizard even—dothatagain."


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hen Kristen smiled, her lips quirked just right, everything else paled in their orbit. "Am I good, or am I good?"

"Depends," breathed Olivia, stretching out beside her: not drained but steeled, a sword pulled from the forge. "Were you just getting me off, or were you trying to set my uterus on fire?"

The consternation on Kristen's face set off a sour pang in Olivia's stomach. Before she could explain that it was just an expression, though, the other woman jumped to her feet. "Speaking of setting things on fire, I'm gonna be late! Ooh, Sam is going to string me up for this."

"Can't Sam just use matches once in a while?"

It was no use. Kristen was already halfway to the wardrobe, with cuddling clearly the last thing on her mind.

"You're still wrong about Shadow-Beasts!" called Olivia, tucking the disheveled towel back around her torso. This, too, went unanswered. She raised the second towel to her shoulders, poised to wrap it back up.

There was no need. Her hair was perfectly dry.


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reakfast came and went while Stephen slept, but he woke to find Jon waiting with bacon and egg sandwiches and a copy of every paper that did theater reviews. Well, all except The Harlot. They had made a remarkable comeback in the months since firing and denouncing certain editors, but Jon knew better than to bring a copy within fifty feet of Stephen.

They would be backstage again by suppertime, so Jon offered to take Stephen out to a celebratory lunch at one of the Castle's banquet halls. Stephen turned it down, and was still gleefully quoting the best bits of the reviews all the way to Sam's bar.

"And it's going to be even better tomorrow," he declared, all but dancing as they turned the final corner. "Just you wait!"

"You don't expect me to attend every performance, do you?" laughed Jon, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "Not that I don't love the sound of your voice, but...."

Stephen frowned blankly. "Of course you're attending them all. You have to. Didn't you listen to how the setup works?"

"Uh, I listened," said Jon sheepishly.

"It's simple! Olivia and I are telling the same story at the same time, so we use that to trick the translation stone into associating my words with her. Then we use Wilmore and Oliver's custom mirror-spell to display our subtitles for everyone. But the stone only translates when you're having a conversation with someone specific, and to make sure the subtitles stay consistent, I have to spend the whole thing addressing a single person who speaks Commedien. And that's you!"

"Why couldn't Hodgman have just put it like that?" wondered Jon. Then: "Hang on. So it only works if you're doing the whole recitation just for me?"

Stephen pouted. "I thought you knew."

Too moved for words, Jon brushed a kiss across his cheek and took his hand to lead him in.


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rink some water. No, that's stupid. Better make it whiskey."

"Did you light something on fire earlier?" suggested Stephen, as Sam pulled down a couple of bottles from her top shelf. "I know when I have to perform twice in one day, it's never as good the second go-round."

"There were definitely some sparks earlier," said Olivia under her breath, though of course her subtitles displayed at the same size regardless. "If you know what I mean."

"That's never been a problem before," protested Kristen, gazing woefully at her palm. A handful of sparks jumped bravely into being on command, though it was apparently too much to ask that they resolve into a flame. "There's a reason most elemental mages are women. It takes stamina. This isn't supposed to happen!"

"Have you been to a doctor?" ventured Jon. "Maybe it's a symptom of something else. Say, your body can't rally the fire powers because it's too busy fighting an infection."

"It's never happened before," repeated Kristen in despair. The sparks fizzled out. "I'm really sorry, Sam. If I had known...."

Sam tched firmly, cutting her off. "Oh, no you don't. Just because you've been lighting our fires for years doesn't mean we've forgotten how to use matches. Jason and I will handle the bar. You just sit back, relax, and work on getting better."

That said, she thrust a pint into Kristen's hands, followed by matching ones for Olivia and Stephen. "Not to mention congratulating these two! You crazy kids need to keep your strength up, you hear? I couldn't get tickets until Friday, and I expect it to live up to the hype."


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riday's performance drew the fifth straight standing ovation of the week. The Saturday afternoon autograph session had lines out the door.

Kristen went to the doctor, to the Resident Expert, to Wilmore and Oliver. By Saturday her flames were still weak and sputtery, and Wilmore was threatening to use his prophetic cards for kindling if they didn't tell him something useful.

Olivia slept all day Sunday. Kristen had been planning to stop by the forge to see if that would give her powers any inspiration. She ended up spending all morning snuggling against Olivia under the sheets, their bodies fitting together like nested seashells, curved and smooth.


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e hab good dews ad we hab bad dews," began Featherwick, then stopped to blow his nose.

"Maybe I should do the talking," offered Larry, shoving a cup of hot tea with lemon in his partner's direction. "Don't worry, he's not contagious. As long as he doesn't sneeze on you."

Kristen, Olivia, Jon, and Stephen all discreetly scooted back their chairs.

Larry sighed. "Look, if you guys don't even trust me that far, you're not going to buy the rest of it."

"Just spill, okay?" pressed Kristen, unsubtly squeezing Olivia's hand under the table. A sprawling house of cards lay across it, only three stories high but suggesting intricate and evocative architecture too exotic for a human to be comfortable living in. "Bad news first."

"Right. The bad news is, the cards still won't tell me what's going on with your powers. I swear, if this happens one more time I'm seriously considering quitting the business and taking up whittling."

"And the good news?"

"That would be that I know why they aren't talking." Larry's cloak swished as he waved to indicate the entire structure; miraculously, not a single card was blown out of place. "When I asked what was keeping them from giving a straight answer, they came up with this."

"Which means...?" prompted Jon.

"Well, you have to realize that this is a subtle art, full of nuance and uncertainty, which even a skilled card-reader might take decades to master...."

"Blah, blah, blah," translated Olivia, miming the action with her hand for good measure. "Just give us the general idea."

"Kids these days! No respect for pomp and circumstance," grumbled Larry. "A loose translation would be something like, 'That's between us and our little girl, so stay out of it, you nosy mortal.'"

Larry was relieved to find that even this lackluster presentation made three jaws drop.

The fourth jaw, Stephen's, only twisted in confusion: "Kristen's parents are undead?" (Jon shushed him.)

"Id's bore comblicaded den dat," put in Featherwick. "I'b preddy sure dey wad you to come for a bisit."

"But...." Kristen looked pleadingly from one wizard to another. "What do they expect me to do, take a brisk afternoon stroll to the End of the World?"

"I recommend a boat," said Larry. "That's where you come in, Sir Stewart. One of the cards mentioned they might have an easier time getting passage with you around."

"Because a few of my old friends are sailors?" asked Jon. "It still depends on them being in port at the time...."

"That too. But mostly because you're a knight."

"Oh, right. That." Jon rubbed the back of his neck. "I'll have to get dispensation from Her Majesty, of course, but I can't imagine her saying no to...well, you know."

"I don't know," sulked Stephen.

"Den id's seddled," said Featherwick. "You're all goig to de sea."


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on't they have mages in Vulpis?" asked Jon that evening, sitting on the tiled edge of the bath and dragging his calves through the water. Summer had heard the applause at its departure and burst out with one last solo, so rather than suffer through individual stints in his tiny shower he had rented a private room at the bathhouse, where he and Stephen could both enjoy a long cool soak. "You must have read about them, if nothing else."

"Most of the stuff I read was about ninjutsu. Or completely made-up fantasy powers." Stephen ran his hand along the shelf of exotic soaps, salts, and lotions in vibrantly colored glass jars. "Do you want Acai Berry or Coconut-Vanilla?"

"Is there a difference?"

"Um...." Stephen peered at the labels. "Acai Berry moisturizes, and Coconut-Vanilla hydrates."

"Better grab both. Just to be safe."

He took the deep-violet jar when Stephen offered it, and stirred a generous handful into the water. With the cobalt-blue concoction Stephen followed his lead.

"Mages who go Elemental aren't so much tapping into the power as merging with it," explained Jon, peeling off his towel and sliding into the bath with a light splash. "From that perspective mortal goings-on start to look petty and irrelevant, which is handy, since they could probably take over the world in a couple of weeks if they thought it was worth the hassle. Instead they withdraw, eventually ditching us altogether."

Stephen had once read a series where an ordinary young man accidentally summoned an Air Elemental. Her sisters had followed to find out what happened to her, and they all ended up living with the main character, doing the cooking and cleaning for free while they were at it. Somehow he wasn't surprised that reality wasn't like that at all. "Where do they go?" he asked, lowering himself into the water.

"You know, I'm not actually sure? I don't think it's a physical place. You can get there if you cross the ocean, but only if they want to see you. If not, you start paddling in the other direction as fast as you can."

"And these are the...people...who want to see Kristen?"

"That's right. As far as I can tell, ascended Elementals think of non-ascended mages roughly the same way you and I would think about four-year-olds playing slay-the-dragon with sticks and the family dog. Kind of ridiculous, but still endearing. Here, turn around, I'll wash your back."

In fact, Stephen had already washed that day. You had to keep a strict schedule when you shaved as thoroughly as he did. But any kind of contact with his (marvelously furry) Jon was a plus. He could always moisturize later.


"So they might only take Kristen, is what you're saying?" he pressed, as Jon's hands worked over the muscles of his shoulders. "They might snatch her up into their magical higher plane of existence and let the boat with the rest of us fall over the edge of the world?"

"'Us'?" repeated Jon, hands stilling.

"Of course, 'us'," huffed Stephen. "You didn't think I was staying behind."


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hocolate creme on one hand, banana meringue on the other, and the table's usual candle centerpiece replaced by a tub of whipped cream. Olivia was in heaven.

"You don't have to come," said Kristen, who was staring absently at the candle on the next table over and had barely taken two bites of her slice of pumpkin pie. "This isn't like taking a few weeks off to visit the Eagle Islands, you know? It's almost three months to get there, same amount back, if we even make it back. I don't want to drag you away from the start of what could be a great career, or your other friends, or...."

"Mnuh-uhh." Olivia held up a hand, swallowed her last mouthful of flaky crust, and tried again. "Hold it right there. Will you feel better if you're not alone?"

"I won't be all that alone. Jon's coming, remember? And the crew of whatever ship we find, obviously."

"Okay, let me rephrase that. Will you feel better if I come with you?"

Sparks flickered weakly in Kristen's cupped hand.

"Maybe a little," she admitted.

"Then I'll be there. And since I don't think they make a whole lot of pie on the open sea, we need to stock up on it now. Pass me that menu again, I think I saw key lime on there."