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Because only something living could experience agony so deep in their bones, they splintered and crumbled until left sobbing in tandem.
He offered pieces of pressed sugar to Dewdrop, Goldie, and Apple, the pixies who shared the nest with the birds when they weren’t sleeping in Saffron’s hair.
i love that the pixies were able to findhim and keep him company
This is certainly the thing that makes you so disagreeable, he wrote, referencing the first time he heard that word in Cylvan’s suite on Imbolc. Soon, Saffron would show Cylvan his own annotations. The notes Saffron left in improved handwriting, text occasionally blurred with loosed tears as he wallowed in his own loneliness. Just trying to find a single thing to hold himself together, finding comfort in the words of fantastical tales just like he once did with Derdriu, Naoise, Niamh, Oisín.
the hubris 🤧
“The only red Naoill has ever worn was the blood of their enemies.”
mood
Taran would learn that night—to never underestimate Saffron, ever again.
“Hey! That’s the beantighe from earlier,” Asche smiled brightly from behind Eias, and Saffron couldn’t help but smile slightly back. He wasn’t totally sure why, Daurae Asche was just naturally refreshing. Cylvan had once described them as Alfidel’s favorite golden child, the one who resembled King Ailir, the exact opposite of the icy first born. Saffron thought he understood after finally meeting them. “Do you know where to find lavender tea, beantighe?”
i dont know much about you asche, but i hope youre trustworthy bc i think i love you
That was exactly what he wanted—and for Taran to give it to him with so many words thick with irritation and resentment, was deliciously satisfying.
Saffron wanted to offer comfort. Saffron wanted to take care of him. Saffron wanted nothing more than to prove what he once promised that same night Cylvan offered him patronage. I will stay with you—so that you may always know there is at least one person who cares for you.
Saffron’s library ring was right inside, tied off in a little bag containing familiar quartz pieces unearthed by his own hands from the edge of Quartz Creek. Quartz pieces—once offered to Cylvan like payment for access to the library, in Saffron’s feverish haze.
HE KEPT THEM
“You… smell like him,” Cylvan went on, hardly speaking the words at all. “You… must sleep with me. Cover my pillows. He’s faded too much.”
“You… didn’t forget me,” he murmured in sleep, and Saffron turned to ice. He bit back a rush of emotion, closing his eyes and shaking his head. An offered truth that Cylvan wouldn’t see, wouldn’t recall in the morning. “Tell me… you remember me, Saffron… please…”
But Cylvan did, grabbing his own cup and flinging it over Kaelar’s lap. Saffron covered his mouth as Kaelar shrieked and leapt to his feet, Asche erupting into laughter as Cylvan stood with a flip of his hair.
YEAH YOU SHOW THAT FUCKER!!!!
“If Kaelar—no, if anyone tries anything with you, beat the shit out of them. I know you can. I will vouch for you. Do you understand? Taran despises pathetic, perverted shows of dominance, and Kaelar knows it.”
Meanwhile, Hollow offered reassurances of everyone whose name he could characterize through things within reach. He took a head of lettuce, patting it in appreciation, before rolling it toward the cold fish on a cutting board and pretending to make them kiss. Letty and Nimue. Saffron snorted in laughter, pretending like he’d inhaled some flour to cover it up.
Did Saffron really think himself better than Icarus, who lasted hardly a moment in the sky before sweeping toward the loving sun right within reach? Cylvan, his raven, his sun, who might melt Saffron’s waxen wings—but whose touch would make the plummeting descent worth it?
Icarus’ sun emerged from behind the clouds. Saffron’s wax wings slumped. The first drips of melt slithered between fibrous feathers, gathered individually by hand during his two weeks of imprisonment. Saffron could deny the sun once. But not twice.
i am a mess
I have had these trinkets for some time. They come in pairs. When you touch one stone, its twin burns warm. Let’s use them during our agreement, to ensure the other person is always accounted for. ☼ as the beantighe-flower. ☾ as the master-fey. –Prince Master Cylvan dé Tuatha dé Danann.
But then, there was one moment during breakfast where he and the prince made eye contact, and Saffron let the amethyst dangle from his shirt while leaning over to pour his coffee. Cylvan made a little sound of acknowledgement, touching the necklace and complimenting it under his breath—and Saffron knew it would be impossible to ever leave the warmth of that sun, ever again. Even just to pretend.
He thought about the underworld as he went, preparing to cross the vicious three-headed dog at the bottom. Did any stories ever explain how to get past the beast in one piece?
yeah, this one story called the lightning thief
Saffron tore out of the vision, falling backward with a gasp, a shuddering heave of his chest. Tears spilled over his eyes, heart racing as if he’d been one of those sprinting up and down the stairs. The king, the wolf king— The ghosts, the bones— A school of Aridology— Hunching forward, Saffron crossed his arms over his face, but couldn’t scream. Morrígan’s west campus—had been for humans.
“Oh, shit!” A familiar voice hissed, but it wasn’t Asche’s hands that flew inside, digging under Saffron’s sore body to exhume him. Like Demeter digging Persephone from the underworld.
HOW DO YOU ALWAYS REFERECE GREEK MYTHLOGY I THE EXACT RIGHT MOMENT????? IT GETS ME EVERY GODDAMN TIME
Especially when Saffron drunkenly wrote, can I see onne of the charmes you hid in the house? and Asche laughed in his face. His next request was a little more vengeful: will you make me a charme that will make kaylar pyuke every time he gets a boner?
PLEASE
His raven wanted attention, but was ever too proud to ask for it.
“Let me see what I can do for you, little flower.”
GAH
When he finally realized why, he stared at it for a long time, biting back tears as his hands shook. With long blonde hair woven into two plaits over her shoulders; round cheeks; round eyes; ears that stood out distinctively from her head— It was—Baba Yaga. Nora Everhart. A student of Kyteler School’s first class.
Saffron suddenly didn’t want to know what would happen when Cylvan discovered the silver choker and cuffs he wore hidden beneath his collar and sleeves every day. Ah, no, that wasn’t true—Saffron would have loved to know. Perhaps it was even something to look forward to.
“Oh, Christ, don’t do that,” she snorted. “Actually… my name is Saffron.”
saffron, jesus christ, what's the difference, really?
He replayed the events over and over again. Not to search for a way he could have stopped them, or to reiterate how close he’d come to his own death, or anything else—except to simply force himself to relive every moment for the sake of penance to the woman who had died right in front of him. To recall all the arid books lost because of him. It felt selfish not to force himself to witness the mistake again and again and again and again. Selfish. Impertinent. Arrogant.
“That beantighe is the only one who has earned protection from my Night Court,” Cylvan whispered. “And creatures like you would be wise to cower beneath what I am willing to bring in order to protect him.”
CYLVAN I LOVE YOU
it was a self-fulfilling prophecy of my own hubris.” “I like that word,” Saffron whispered. “Is that the thing that makes you so charming?” Cylvan smiled wearily. “Some people say it’s what makes me so… disagreeable.”
“There’s nothing stopping you now!” Saffron snarled before realizing. “Try me, you ashen cunt!”
YEAH, GET HIM DUDE
“I see the way he looks at you,” Asche said, like a promise. “I used to think he loved Taran… I used to think I loved Taran… but maybe I just… didn’t know any better. The way my brother looks at you, though… the way he touches you… the way he talks about you all the time, even when you aren’t there… I think he’s meant to love you, too, Saffron.”
Over his shoulder, Magnin stood in the doorway, breathing heavily with his jaw clenched in anger, having fetched the prince, himself.
THANK YOU MAGNIN
“Saffron,” Cylvan finally breathed, amethyst eyes splitting Saffron open further, to purge the weeds from his chest once and for all. “Close your eyes and sleep.”
PARALLELS
He couldn’t ever face Cylvan, knowing what he’d done, how he’d ruined everything because he wasn’t smart enough, strong enough. Worthless—useless—impertinent—selfish—arrogant— “I love you too, Saffron.”
IM SOBBING
“I’m real,” he promised. “And so are you. And so are you, gods—thank the gods, you’re real, I never lost you…”
“There are three ways to initiate the peak of the spell,” Saffron read aloud, still perched in the crook of Cylvan’s arm and using his horns as a bookrest.
what else are horns for, if not to hold up books?
“Will you still feel that way if I truly mess it up? What if I turn you into a toad?” “Every arid witch needs a familiar,” Cylvan reassured. Saffron smirked, then shook his head. “Alright—don’t kiss me again until I say so.” “Ribbit.”
“You—are like no one I’ve ever met before,” the prince said like a prayer. “Saffron—my witch—let me worship you.”
He would be the divine mercy that tore Cylvan from the fate Taran forced him to accept. He would be the sun Taran mac Delbaith flew too close to.
If it meant Saffron could save Cylvan, he would do it. If it meant he could keep Taran mac Delbaith out of power, he would do it. If it meant protecting the people he cared for most, no matter the cost—Saffron would do it.
Unlike Queen Proserpina, there would be at least one royal high fey to anticipate Saffron coming. Two, if Taran valued his life.
With her back to him, Saffron stared as, carved into her back, there were wounds older than he was. Perhaps older than even Baba Yaga. Impertinence. Impatience. Belligerence.
Finally knowing what it really meant to sink beneath the mounds. To nearly disappear into them, where no one would ever find him again. Finally knowing what it really meant—to be buried alive.
He smiled drunkenly with a mouth full of blood whenever anyone gazed at him too long, then made the mark of beseeching a Night Court just to watch the color drain from their faces.
saffron i fucking love you
“Despite the warning, the boy thought quite highly of himself and his abilities. Thrilled to be free of captivity, he soared into the sky, wanting to be the only one who owned the air, wanting to be above everything and everyone he thought himself better than. But, just like his father warned—the heat of the sun melted the wax of his wings… and he plummeted to his death with no one to catch him. It’s a story of opportunity, ruined by one thing…” He met Taran’s eyes again. Taran had gone still. “Arrogance.” Saffron grinned. The scars on his back tingled as rowan magic surged in his body.
“I am Cylvan’s divine mercy,” Saffron declared viciously. “And the sun you flew too close to. Remember that—the next time you underestimate me.”
“Saffron!” Luvon shouted, followed by the sound of two bodies tangling as he thrashed against someone holding him back. “Let me go, godsdamnit—that’s my child! Saffron!”
IT TOOK YOU LONG ENOUGH LUVON
at least Cylvan would remember him. Cylvan, who was always so warm. Who always tucked hair behind Saffron’s ear, and kissed the tears off his cheeks. Cylvan, who played the violin. Who controlled the wind and the sky. Who taught Saffron to love romantic myths—and then showed him what it was like to live in one, tragic ending and all.
yeah just fucking sTAB ME OR WHATEVER
“And should my future Harmonious King die before dawn…” The mounds tugged Saffron deeper. Attempting to pull him from Cylvan’s arms, as if knowing the warning that came. As if knowing the danger of what Cylvan would declare, knowing exactly what would happen if— “… All of Alfidel will learn exactly what it means to despair beneath my Night Court.”
