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Viola recalls the paced, practice drills of her past.
There had been a few planetside in school, when the theory of space travel was being discussed. It had been an important part of the curriculum, they'd been told. Everyone needed to be acquainted with what to do in event of an emergency on a spaceship. The likelihood of their traveling on one only climbed as colonies popped up on more and more planets.
Viola remembers dozens of students rushing through hallways to hastily constructed cardboard safety stations. Once, a bench pushed up a wall covered in wadded gray fabric, the best approximation of an escape pod available. The chairs never had belts. No lights were ever shut off -- for safety's sake.
Anyone boarding a ship for real also had an orientation to sit through. The drill was less dramatic than the one from their school days. They were asked to memorize the path from their rooms to the escape pods, to demonstrate thorough knowledge of how to strap themselves into the safety seats lining the corridor walls at crucial junctures.
In person, no drill can live up to the sudden rumble of engines that had previously been nearly silent. No interactive pamphlet can explain the sudden weightlessness of Viola's heart when the floor jolts underneath her, sending her inches into the air, or tell her why she doesn't cry out when her heels miss the floor on falling and the carpet meets her knees instead. Even a reminder a moment before whatever disaster has struck her ship would not have prepared her for the lights to blink out overhead and a red glow to light up the paths to exit ways along the floors.
The dark is the most startling part. She was not permitted to drill in the dark. Getting to her feet by a dim red glow, while the ship shakes and rocks underneath her, is nothing like practice.
All of the trials and drills cannot compare to the reality. And none of them bothered to tell Viola how much panic would course through her when she realizes that she is separated from her only remaining family. Her brother is suffering this same surprise and she has no idea where he is on this ship -- this ship that seems to be falling apart around her.
There is no discernible pace to bolting down the hallway with everyone else in her immediate area. The others all peel off to follow the red lights down to the escape pods -- Viola has no notion of how it feels to be sealed in one for real -- while she grips the wall and feels her way towards the quickly emptying cabins.
"Sebastian!" she calls. People are coming this way. To the escape pods. Her brother must becoming this way, too. "Sebastian!" she shouts, barely restraining herself from adding hurry up.
The ship tilts terrifyingly, and Viola actually rolls along the wall like she laid down on a ramp. Her hips meet touch-screens mounted in the wall at sharp angles. She thinks she hears her overskirt rip somewhere amid all her shouts and the screams from anyone who hasn't strapped themselves in somewhere yet.
With no warning, the ship rights its orientation, and Viola is slammed back onto the floor. But she's managed to roll all the way back down the hallway. When she tries to crawl forward, the ship tilts up, and she's sent tumbling towards an exit pathway, her stomach flopping in circles at twice the rate as the rest of her.
"Sebastian!" she shouts again, her throat dry. "Sebastian!"
She feels a hand grab her waistband and yank her down the exit path. Her fingers don't find purchase on the floors and before she knows it, a group is pulling her into a pod and the door is swishing shut after her.
"My brother, I have to find my--" The air lock sealing isn't a sound she's familiar with, but there's no way to mistake it for anything else.
Viola beats her palms against the pod door, her hair falling out of its bun, while a group of men old enough to be her father all glance nervously at each other. Sebastian is her only family. She cannot leave him behind. It's unthinkable.
"Your brother'll be in another pod, miss," one of them says.
"I have to know," Viola insists. There's a dark gap inside her that starts to yawn and shriek, and she fights to keep from being pulled back into one of the safety seats. How can they not feel that? How can they get in here without knowing where all their friends or family are?
She kicks and writhes and butts her head against the shoulders of the men strapping her into the safety seat, but the belt keeps her from jerking across the tiny space in the pod when it finally separates from the ship wall.
There are no windows in an exit pod. Viola turns her face to the digital readout next to the door and the yawning space inside her begins to swallow her from the feet up. She watches the count of escape pods detached from the ship rise as the count of people in them only wobbles.
"Sebastian," she whispers, her face falling into her hands.
* * *
The digital readout on the panel by the door blacked out half an hour ago. The ship must have been at a point of no return. Viola wonders whether the black box is still intact, or whether it's even retrievable. Without windows in the escape pod, she has no way of telling what exactly went wrong with the ship, and what there might be left of it. She doesn't even know whether all the escape pods went in the same direction.
One of the men puts a hand on her shoulder. "Miss, I'm sure your brother found a pod."
Viola has an uncontrollable image of her brother stepping into sunlight, under bright and clear skies as far as the eye can see. The light glinting off his hair as he puts his bare feet into endless green grass. A place beyond breath, where others long gone would be waiting for him.
"If he didn't," she says. She presses her thumbs to her temples. The fields she would wait the rest of her life to enter. The rest of her life, without seeing Sebastian.
The men glance at each other. "Miss, you got out," another of them says. "There's no reason to think he didn't either. People stayin' behind, that'd be…"
"Crew," one supplies.
"Yeah, crew. Not passengers like yourself. He got out, miss."
"Poor Sebastian," Viola says, shoulders folded over. She thinks her head is too heavy to ever lift again. But the other travelers may be right. She takes a few steadying breaths and slowly raises her head. "Then maybe he was saved."
Few nods pass among the group then, but it is enough for Viola to draw breath. Wherever she is going now, it is another chance. A base to search from. If she were lucky, there is no reason to believe some luck could not be bestowed on her brother.
They are, after all, nearly two as one. Sharing a birth moments apart and then a home growing up. Toys and boots and cookies. A chance at a future far away from the homestead they had memorized. Where Sebastian might pursue the future their education prepared them for, and Viola might do the same -- with a side of stretching out her wings, away from the supervision and scorn of their neighbors.
Her heart hurts to think of it. Sebastian had been the one to suggest their journey. The one to tell her that she might live in a way she which pleased her more, without separating herself from him. He said that they could stay together.
She wills the rest of her luck to her brother. He can have whatever pieces she has not used.
* * *
The man she has privately begun thinking of Captain, despite the fact that they are all victims of the ship wreck, glances over at her. He has a short beard at half-growth. "More like sixty-two, probably," he says.
He's kept the others calm as they were kept in the escape pod until the cargo ship that rescued them dropped them off at a space station, anchored to its planet by elevator. They are stuck in a tiny room together, again, although the lighting in here is better. They also all have tablets to fill in the personal information none of them have documents to confirm at the moment.
A planet with a population that's sixty-two percent women. It is unusual. Viola shakes her head slowly and wonders what her brother would have said if she had suggested this Illyria as their destination when they first set out. Their father had certainly never mentioned that particular fact in his tales about the planet.
"What else do you know about this place?" Viola asks. She has not turned her tablet on, like the others.
She cannot fill out her form. She wants to ask the person who escorted them in here about the other refugees. Whether there was a boy who looked like her among them. And she does rather look like a boy (not on accident, either), even with her hair grown out after their father's funeral when there was never time to keep it trimmed like she normally does. It isn't hard for others to imagine Sebastian when they look into her face.
Although she does not want to be her brother, she likes her face best of all her features for giving her the option to appear how she pleases.
Captain pauses and looks at her. And continues looking at her. Viola squirms and then sits upright, refusing to be judged harshly. "You'd fit right in, miss," he says at last. "Though you'd have to compete for a husband a bit."
"I have no interest in competing for a husband," Viola retorts, stiffly. This is not the kind of information she needs in order to move forward. And not the kind of assumption people tend to make when she's not in an overskirt, with long hair falling about her face. "I need to know what I can so I can make a place for myself here. Until I find my brother's -- where my brother has gone."
No one mentions her hesitation. "That," Captain says, instead, "might be a problem."
"What? Why?" Viola looks around the group, most of whom are bent over their tablets, pecking away to fill in their forms. "Why would that be a problem?" she demands.
Captain sighs. "Orsino, the man in charge of Illyria--"
Viola frowns, her brow creasing. "I've heard mention of him."
"Yes, well." Captain clears his throat. "He's rather strict with immigration. It's easier to get visas, even temporary ones, if … well … there are so many women already, you see…" He gestures vaguely and types something quickly on his tablet.
Her breath leaves her for a moment, in two pieces. To stay as a man, or not to stay at all. An opportunity growing in size and another shrinking rapidly. She feels selfish and ashamed for thinking of the former, because no chance to show herself more as she is should come before being in the best position to find Sebastian.
"I can't leave," she says. Her head is spinning. All the nearby planets and stations are popping into her head. Their ship hadn't been making a stop for a long time. There's nothing close by. "If I leave, I'll be -- who knows how long it'll take Sebastian to find me if I'm not near the crash site."
No one spares her much of a glance, and she starts to reflexively count her breathing. It was something their mother used to make them do when either of them got overexcited. Sebastian had needed to do it much more often than she, but Viola has the basics memorized. The process seems forced to her. Her heart slows, though, and her thinking starts to clear with each new breath and count.
She cannot be sent away. That much she knows. Even if it does result in something that feels selfish in part.
If she isn't near enough to the crash, to the places the other refugees will be taken to, then finding Sebastian will take extra weeks or months. If he's taken to any other space station then this one, then he'll have to earn passage off to meet with her. They only have so much money. She's older, by two minutes, and Sebastian claims to have difficulty counting, so most of what they did have was in her name anyway. If -- no, when. When they figure out where each other are, they'll have to earn the money to meet up. Unless the passenger line compensates them for the full price of their trip.
Viola snorts under her breath.
Her overskirt is just that -- an extra piece of clothing. Decorative more than functional. She has pants underneath. If she rolls up the sleeves of her shirt to hide the embroidery on the cuffs, if she can beg a cap off one of these men to tuck her hair under until she finds a pair of scissors… She takes a breath. She has always worked to look less like what people expect. And those people are always telling her, to their surprise and her delight, that she looks like Sebastian.
Her fingers start to fill in the form. The easiest information comes to mind.
NAME: SEB
She watches the cursor blink. No.
She thinks she's had this name in her head for a very long time. It flows out of her without needing to be checked. There's no reason to steal her brother's name. No reason to borrow someone else's identity when, really, she has her own.
NAME: CESARIO
On and on. The more familiar as she writes it up. This might be selfish when she should be concentrating on her brother, but Viola doesn't have another option. Or she tells herself that. If there's a way to think herself out of this dilemma, she doesn't want to work on it. Not since it would risk the warmth in her hands as she types.
A part of her that's never quite been allowed to stretch before, given its own spotlight.
* * *
She wonders whether the air will be filled with black smoke from paper mills. Or whether paper mills even produce smoke. All she knows is that paper is relegated to art, where she comes from. Made from trees grown in special greenhouses. Trees in real soil aren't supposed to be touched if they're healthy. Not without permission, anyway. From people who spend years doing that kind of planning to make those kind of decisions.
Her mother had made a paper piece with their names on it shortly after she and Sebastian were born. But that was lost long after her mother's slow, sick death, in the fire that took their father.
"You won't give me away, will you?" she asks, quietly. Her heart beats like a taut drum.
Captain and the others from the escape pod glance at her. Captain shakes his head. "You can count on us," he says. "We have no reason to make things more difficult for you."
She half-smiles and returns to listening to the narrator above them. The computerized voice in the walls is telling her about the thriving economy in Illyria, a colony currently confined to one continent but by no means suffering for it. About the nobility here. Duke Orsino and Lady Olivia. It takes a moment, while other names roll over them, for Viola to realize that the first two mentioned aren't married.
As a boy, she looks too young to work as a tutor, which is the only job she thinks she's actually qualified for. That means she'll have to find some kind of unskilled position. But something that gives her time to search for Sebastian.
"Can you tell me what else you know about Illyria?"
Captain scratches his jaw. "The air can get hot," he says. The corner of his mouth quirks in a smile when he sees the look on Viola's face. That's not what she wants to know. "Orsino is always picking up people for temporary work."
"What about Olivia?"
The men glance at each other. "Last I heard, she was still in mourning," one of them says. "Brother died about year ago. She let her servants go, now they're all working for Orsino."
"I heard she was too depressed to remember to pay them and they quit," another suggests.
They argue for another moment. Viola learns that Orsino is easily distracted and doesn't always keep people in employ for long. She learns that restaurants and inns are always looking for work that she won't need too many skills for. That coffee and tea cafes will have access to the Net, but charge for it. That if she waits a week and can get a letter from her landlord, she can present it for access to materials and technology at the libraries.
The idea of waiting even a week to find Sebastian makes a spot in her chest ache. She will have to save every spare coin to go to those cafes.
When the elevator comes to a halt, she feels suspended for a moment before settling back down in her seat. The men file out ahead of her while she tucks her paper back into her vest.
So when everyone else is gone and the attendants beckon, Cesario steps out.
* * *
"I don't know why I must dress, Maria," she murmurs. She holds her arm out straight so Maria can fasten the silver buttons that run from wrist to elbow. Maria insists they're acceptable for ornamentation even on mourning dresses. "I have no intention of visiting the city today. Or anywhere or anyone."
She drifts back into her bedroom and watches the courtyard through her window. Maria bustles around behind her, though Olivia hasn't been up long enough to make a mess. Toby is spinning around the courtyard with Sir Andrew.
Olivia can only watch them for a moment before turning away and walking back to her bed. The covers were pulled into place sometime during her bath. The winter quilts are piled so heavy that it takes both of her hands to tug them away and expose enough of the mattress for her to burrow against.
There's a heavy sigh from the doorway when Maria reappears. "You'll waste away in that bed, my lady."
Olivia curls her hand around the edge of her pillow and lets her eyes fall shut. "That's fine with me, Maria," she murmurs.
She'll sleep the day away in her black dress and take dinner to satisfy Maria. Although she may take it in bed if Toby and Sir Andrew decide to spend the night in. Ever since her brother died, there is only so much noise Olivia can stand before her head begins to pound.
The bed sinks down. "You have to realize you're still living sometime soon, Olivia," she says.
"Why haven't you left yet, Maria?" Olivia asks. She plucks at the edge of her pillow. "Nearly everyone else has." She may be melancholy, but that doesn't mean she's oblivious. Besides, it takes very few people to run a house when only a couple rooms are ever used.
Maria sighs again. She tucks the blankets in around Olivia and smoothes her hair. "I've known you too long to leave," she murmurs. She pauses and adds, lightly, "Plus, you never forget to send my paycheck, even if you're absent-minded with the others."
The corner of Olivia's mouth twitches.
* * *
The job isn't exactly a long-term solution, but it will pay for dinner tonight. Or possibly a bed. Viola hasn't memorized the local currency yet so the coins Duke Orsino tossed to him are unfamiliar. He isn't sure what they might pay for. He was just in the right place at the right time to get a job carrying love notes to someone who, for all he knows about her, is not in the mood to receive them.
Orsino had barely glanced at him before shoving the papers and coins into his hands. One of his assistants had protested that they had messengers on staff and didn't need to pick someone up off the street, but Orsino was dashing around shouting "They must be sent now!" So Viola got his first job and is now half-lost in the city.
It's easy to tell where Lady Olivia's house is, though. It's the only other manor actually in the capitol city. Both of them are nearly as easy to see as the space elevator. It's not quite as ostentatious as the glass-covered, glimmering vision that Duke Orsino's is from a distance, but Viola can see it whenever he crests a hill. All he has to do is head in the general direction, right? Eventually he'll be close enough to see how to make his way to the walls around the manor, which are draped with black banners.
The silver edging on the banners looks violet, like the sky, when the wind blows them the right way. Viola thinks of the coins in his pocket and wonders whether they'll buy a jacket. The home he and Sebastian were going to was in a place in the middle of summer. The spaceship was a controlled climate where they never had to worry about being warm. Here he thinks it might be wise to invest in a coat.
His fingers are numb by the time he gets to Olivia's home, although he's kept his hands tucked underneath his arms for the past mile. Gloves, too. Gloves and a coat. And a scarf. And a hat. Maybe Lady Olivia will pay him to carry replies to Duke Orsino's letters back across the city. Viola might be frozen at that point, but he might also have enough money for new clothes in addition to somewhere to sleep. A bed is starting to look more important than food for the time being.
"Hello?" he calls at Lady Olivia's gate. "Hello? I'm here to deliver something!"
The wind blows and the silver edging on the banners turns violet again. Viola looks back and forth, blushing when he spots a speaker next to the gate. He walks over and presses it. "Hello?"
"Who is speaking?"
He clears his throat to make sure his voice is right. He hasn't had much opportunity, ever, to practice a voice. "Cesario."
"And what is your business here today?"
"I have letters for Lady Olivia from Duke Orsino."
"I see."
The gates swing open. "Does that mean I come in?" Cesario asks, leaning in through the gate but not stepping inside. No more voices come out of the speaker, though, and the gates stay open. Cesario takes a tentative step onto Olivia's property and jumps when the gates swing shut behind him. A light over the front door turns on and those open without a whisper.
All right then.
* * *
She pulls her pillow onto her head and mumbles something. Maria yanks the pillow off and throws it -- entirely unfairly -- across the room. Olivia squints through the bright light to stare at it for a moment before looking up at Maria. Her servant yanks her shoulders to pull her into an upright position and starts brushing her hair. Much more roughly than is called for.
"Ow! Maria, what is the meaning of this?" she asks. She presses her palms against her poor scalp when Maria declares her hair fit and walks back to the vanity. "Why are you poking and prodding at me?" she demands. She flinches when Maria returns and sprays perfume at her. It mostly lands on her neck. "What's the point of that?"
"We want Orsino's servant to report back good things about you, don't we?"
"Excuse me?" Olivia asks. She only reflexively holds her arm up for Maria to fasten a silver-and-pearl bracelet around her wrist. Then she shakes her hand so it rattles some. "I have no interest in either Duke Orsino or his servant -- what servant is it this time?" she asks, baffled that she has somehow ended upon her feet with Maria smoothing out her clothes.
"A man."
Olivia rolls her eyes. "What kind of man?"
"The kind who I barely glanced at on the view screen," Maria says, shrugging. She's for some reason decided to guide Olivia over to the vanity and put makeup on. When Olivia glares at her, Maria sighs and walks over to the wall screen to press a few buttons. "He's a man," she says, gesturing at the figure in the entryway. Olivia has no interest in getting up to look closer.
Maria makes a face at her. "A man who … looks a little young, maybe. And cute." She shakes her head. "If that is the kind of thing you favor, my lady," she says.
It's Olivia's turn to make a face as Maria returns to finish her makeup, and then start sweeping her hair into some ornate silver clasp Olivia doesn't even remember owning. She tries not to let each sweep of the comb tug her off the vanity bench. It's been quiet a while since her hair was last done up properly.
"I don't understand what's so important that I must see this one," Olivia says. She's turned away enough others so that Maria doesn't even ask her about them anymore. Or that was what she'd believed. "He won't have anything to say that the others didn't."
Maria brushes some of Olivia's bangs into her face. "My lady, the town needs some reports that you're still alive, or else they'll be rushing the gates accusing me of witchcraft or thievery." She bends down and kisses Olivia's cheek, so that Olivia shuts her eyes for a moment. "And because speaking to someone other than myself or Toby will do you a service, Olivia."
Olivia catches sight of herself in the mirror and understands why Maria would worry about accusations of witchcraft. She looks entirely like a corpse made up for viewing.
"Fetch me my veil," she murmurs. She can see Maria bite her lip in the mirror before scurrying to the wardrobe and returning with a gauzy black veil to pin around Olivia's face. Olivia takes a breath and holds her arm out. "If I do this, will you let me back to bed?"
Maria gives her an even look before taking her arm. "Perhaps."
They walk down the stairs together. Olivia is careful to walk slowly. It isn't until they're in sight of the entryway that she realizes Maria, in her haste, forgot to insist that she put on shoes. Flashing her feet when she isn't even up to anyone seeing her face would send an inconsistent message at best.
The man in her entryway turns when they come down the stairs. He does look young. Younger than her brother would be now. The thought makes Olivia's stomach sour slightly, but she tries to hold herself straight. He steps forward when they get to the bottom of the staircase.
"Is one of you favored ladies the noble Lady Olivia?" the boy asks, bowing awkwardly at the waist. He's skinny and dressed floppily, like he needs to grow into his clothes.
"I will speak for her," Olivia says. She ignores the glare Maria sends in her direction. "What have you come for today?"
* * *
The letters crinkle under his fingers when he holds them out. They look to be hastily stuffed in their envelopes. Some aren't sealed, and some are tea-stained. A frayed piece of ribbon keeps them tied together. It looks like something that fell off one of Orsino's coats, judging from how he was dressed when he walked past Cesario in the street. Altogether, the paper has obviously been given far less care than the visa Cesario has in his vest. He wonders whether Orsino takes such care with the rest of his things.
"The Duke asked me to deliver these, my lady," he says.
It occurs to him that presenting himself as a man makes it easier to be in the presence of nobility than it might otherwise be. He thinks they might expect more knowledge of etiquette from someone who fits their expectations of a woman, even a common one.
The veiled woman does not move forward, although the other taps her on the shoulder. "Read them to me," the veiled woman says. She clears her throat and shifts her head, so her veil ripples before her face. "Tell me what Orsino didn't want to say in person."
It might just be Cesario's imagination, but he thinks he catches the maid rolling her eyes.
He hesitates. "I was only instructed to deliver the letters--"
"Which I don't want to read," the veiled woman says, waving a hand with a bracelet at her wrist. Then she pauses. "Which… my lady will not want to read, either."
Cesario looks back and forth between the women. He feels certain that he has walked into a situation he's not prepared for. Their postures remind him of him and Sebastian, standing next to each other trying not to give away how upset the other was to a parent or teacher. Although he doesn't know how he could get either of these women in trouble.
"Perhaps I should speak to the lady alone," he suggests.
The two look at each other. "I will join you upstairs soon, Maria," the veiled woman says.
The maid presses her lips together but nods. She vanishes behind a door at the top of the stairs and the veiled woman turns back to Cesario, waiting.
The only letter he feels comfortable opening is one that hasn't been sealed, since he was given no directive to paw through the private letters from the Duke. He brandishes the paper before him and takes a deep breath.
"Most sweet lady--"
The woman holds out her hand to stop him. "I have heard the like before. Please, try to find something different if I must listen," she says. She slowly sits down on a step, tucking her skirt in around her feet, while Cesario scans the letter.
The only place he can find that doesn't sound like something from one of his mother's leftover romance novels begins mid-sentence. Or mid-sentence for Orsino, who does not seem to be overly fond of (or familiar with) punctuation.
"--beauty which echoes all the thousands of leagues of the sea, mirrored from the very bottom of my heart, upon which my love for you is scrolled like a novel--"
The lady rubs her fingertips against her temple. "A story filled with heresy, and one I've been subjected to far too often," she says. She rests both her elbows on her knees, and fits her hands underneath her veil to set her chin against. Viola imagines the curve of a jaw line beyond the veil. "If Orsino can think of nothing new to regale me with, and cannot bother to do it in person, I must assume his heart is waning."
Cesario hesitates. There are two wildly different directions to choose from here. One is to follow the lead of the man who hired her without bothering to learn her name. The other. Well. He looks down at the letters and then drops them at his feet.
"Now that is off-book," the lady says, her voice slightly muffled. "What will you report to Orsino?"
Cesario shakes his head. "I was only told to deliver the letters. The Duke seemed to have his mind in many places." He bows slightly. "I did not agree to pester Lady Olivia."
"Are you, though? I said that I would speak for her."
"I assume that she is the type to speak for herself," Cesario says. He is not familiar with the customs on Illyria, but given what he knows of Olivia, he thinks that this woman is in full mourning for her brother.
"You assume rashly."
"But do I assume correctly?"
After a long pause, Olivia lifts her veil.
Cesario has the distinct sensation of floating just above the floor, as if the manor is about to shift and send him tumbling.
* * *
"How much time?" Sebastian asks, frowning. Despite all that time studying the display it doesn't seem like he has learned enough to read most of it. Probably, Antonio assumes, he just watches the line showing their general direction.
He looks at the read-out himself. "Eighteen hours. You may want to sleep."
Sebastian puts his face in his hands, but he doesn't say anything, or make a move to get out of his chair. Antonio looks over his own display and then gets up to sit in the empty spot next to the other man.
"I know it's taken longer than you wanted--"
"Two weeks," Sebastian says. He rubs at his eyes, then leans back in his chair, letting his hands flop into his lap. His fingers curl up into fists and squeeze before relaxing again. He's been doing a lot of that recently. "What if she landed somewhere worse than I did? Her name hasn't been released on any of the refugee lists."
Antonio rubs at his jaw, which has broken out in stubble since they found the escape pod. Antonio and his crew had needed to tether it to their small ship until they'd gotten to a moon with atmosphere, where Sebastian and the others crammed into the pod had been able to crawl out. All the others had been satisfied with getting on new ships at the nearest space station, but Sebastian hadn't found his sister there.
He'd been hopping stations and planets with them since, while the ship went about its regular shipping route. Antonio is getting used to him, even though the ship is a bit cramped.
The story makes him sad, though. Every time Sebastian tells it. Which is every time they meet someone new, since he always wants to explain who he's looking for. Some people -- including the newscasters -- have started to say that those who haven't been found, won't be.
"We'll find her," he says. He claps Sebastian on the shoulder and tries to sound optimistic. If he did a bad job, it's not reflected in Sebastian's face.
A warning light flares on the navigational display, so Antonio crosses back over to it. "We've got these jewels to sell on Illyria. If she's not there, we'll look at the list of low-tech colonies and visit them together while everyone else is on shore leave."
Sebastian lifts his head. "You would help me like that?" he asks.
"If you'll have me," Antonio says, resting his chin in one hand and poking at the navigational tools with his other.
Sebastian actually laughs. "If I must."
* * *
Olivia is sitting up in bed surrounded by pillows. The wooden tray across her lap is loaded with a plate of bread pieces and a heavy soup bowl. She's left the spoon alone so far, but has dipped her bread into the soup and eaten the soggy pieces. There's actually a twinge of discomfort in her legs, but she's not ready to get dressed and dine at a table.
"Seven years," she tells Cesario. "I shall not marry anyone, or consider doing so, until seven years have passed." At which point all eligible people should have paired off, giving her a free pass to continue avoiding it.
Maria told her that there's no one around who would give a damn about having a boy in her bedroom, and that Maria herself both knows better and has better things to do than chaperone Olivia all day. So for the past couple of weeks, when he's not busy running errands, Cesario has sat on the couch underneath Olivia's bedroom window.
"How long has your brother been passed? If I may ask such a question," Cesario says. He is supposed to be checking inventory records to check for thefts since so many of the servants have left over the past year, but he's looking at her instead.
Today he is in the new clothes Maria got for him, though to Olivia they seem as if they might be hand-me-downs from things former servants left behind. Either that, or the man deliberately ordered clothes that are slightly too big. Olivia has spent more time than is proper looking at him these past couple of weeks. The gold and brown tones in Illyria's fabrics look far better on him than the dull grayish things he showed up in.
Olivia dips another piece of bread into her soup. "Just over a year," she murmurs. She gingerly chews her bread and then sighs. "Jameson had grand plans for this place. I'm afraid I've let all that planning go to waste."
"Could you not pick them back up?" Cesario asks.
Olivia thinks that doing stitching or embroidery would fit him, then dismisses the thought. She should not indulge herself in fantasies when the world has gone so far to show her that the wishes she makes will not be answered. And wishing to change a person to complement her is a selfish wish, besides.
She shakes her head. "Everyone has gone. I've neglected the house and its people." Her voice hits a bump and she swallows, hard. "I suppose that I've let my brother and his memory down."
Cesario places his tablet on the couch. He stands and looks at her, then steps forward and stops. He lifts his hands as if to make a gesture that does not materialize. "Losing a brother is very difficult," he finally says.
"That's right," Olivia murmurs, blushing slightly. How could she have forgotten? "You and your brother were separated in the shipwreck." The wreck had been all over the news. "Have you had any luck in locating where he might have been taken to?"
Half-shutting his eyes, so that his long eyelashes touch his face, Cesario shakes his head. His voice soothes Olivia. Helps her relax in a way that doesn't make her sleepy. "The news is that of the escape pods that did not get carried to a well-settled world, several pods landed on uninhabited worlds, some found purchase on planets with low-technological settlements without communication networks, and some…" He wets his lips. "Snatched by pirates."
Olivia can't help it, she raises an eyebrow. "Pirates?"
"I doubt that too," Cesario says, shrugging. The way he lifts and drops his shoulders makes his whole frame sway. "But if my brother does not surface soon, I may need to embroil myself in the good graces of any pirate I can find."
"I certainly hope that you find him before resorting to that," Olivia says.
Cesario half-smiles at her and sits back down. "What I meant to say is that losing someone… someone like a sibling… makes things difficult. There's no reason you can't resume Jameson's plans for the manor at another time," he says. He picks his tablet back up and bends his head over it, tending to his work at last.
Olivia watches him for several luxurious moments. It feels like she's sitting several inches over from herself. Is this what it was supposed to be like when she was growing up? What would have made her more acceptable to her father before his passing? Jameson had always assured her that the lack of it was fine, that she and an eventual lady could stay on in the household, but Jameson is gone now, too.
The warm stirring below her stomach is familiar, though its source is not. Neither does she know Cesario well, nor is she used to taking note of masculine features. Though Cesario sometimes seems to have feminine ones by half, when his head is tilted this way or that.
She's entirely unsure whether she finds Cesario himself attractive, or just the experience of a new face and voice whom she does not disappoint in her sloth.
When he looks up at her, she slides her eyes to the window. The stirring inside her stays.
* * *
He thinks he's fortunate to have Antonio at his side -- and not just because the navigator has a better sense of direction than Sebastian himself does. Antonio has kept him on the straight... and the narrow. Part of Sebastian wants to duck into a dim bar and drink himself to the bottom of a glass.
It gnaws at him that he's dragging his new friend along on this mission. There was no record of a woman being brought to Illyria in an escape pod, but he couldn't talk his way into being granted access to the records of anyone visiting otherwise. This search may end up taking quite a while. If Viola is planet-hopping in her search for him, too, then he can't imagine how long it might take them to meet up.
"Don't look so melancholy," Antonio tells him. He grabs Sebastian's shoulder and shakes him slightly. "We have more than enough money for a room and time to explore."
The cobblestones feel like they might jump underneath Sebastian's boots at any moment. "I know," he says. He knows, too, that the odds of either he or Viola ever being in another spaceship disaster are slim.
But they were supposed to be nearly zero in the first place, as well.
"We'll make our way to the Duke's, you and I," Antonio insists. Sebastian thinks it must be an inborn talent to be able to sound so cheerful all the time. "He oversees all the immigration to this place. He'll have the records."
"And you can talk him into showing us these records, even though the office wouldn't," Sebastian says. There's an itch in his chest and a pain in his side. He isn't used to walking so much... or to trekking without Viola's running commentary on their surroundings.
At least the Duke's house is looming closer, even if he can't make out a clear path to it yet.
Antonio waves a hand dismissively. "The Duke has a much greater sense of sentimentality than an office full of bureaucrats," he says. The wind is whipping his scarf around his neck, and it hits Sebastian in the face -- not that Antonio notices. "We appeal to his heart, and he'll open his records. Look as sad as you can when we see him. He will not be able to resist. If Viola is here or has been here, we'll know soon."
Sebastian pushes his friend's scarf away and tries to keep a step ahead of him, though it increases the pain in his side. Orsino's glass-covered manor catches every spare ray of sunlight spearing through the murky sky. It's easy to keep their eye on it and alter their path whenever they start to stray too far from their destination.
The glass also flings the light unrepentantly in the eyes of whoever is unfortunate enough to be staring at the house. Sebastian feels half-blinded by the time they sag in front of the gates. Even Antonio is out of breath, and puts his hands on his knees.
"So perhaps I should have spared the money for a cab," he says. His hair droops in his face, but the wind plays his scarf back and forth.
"Viola could have walked it," Sebastian says to himself. He rubs his hand against his side, not that it helps. But Viola was always more diligent about her studies and her exercise than he ever was.
Antonio groans. "Then when we find her, we will take cabs everywhere, because I am sure I could not keep up with such a creature," he says.
That does make Sebastian laugh softly. He thinks Viola would like being called a creature. It would make her grin.
After a few moments they both advance towards the gate, but the metal swings open before Sebastian can press his hand to the speaker at the side. Antonio grabs his arm and hauls him out of the way just in time to avoid being struck by a man dressed in the most colorful cape Sebastian has ever seen. If he didn't know better, he would say it was made out of the same glass adorning the duke's home -- it reflects light just as well.
"Oh, oh. Weeks with no word. How can a man sustain himself on weeks of silence?" the figure asks, pressing his hands to his chest. He seems to fold in on himself, his long blond hair rustling around his shoulders. A couple of servants buzz in the background, following him, but he pays them no mind. "I will surely waste away and die if I do not hear from my beloved soon. Oh, oh!"
Sebastian looks at Antonio, who nods. Sebastian doesn't want to hurt his friend's feelings, so he doesn't say it, but he can't imagine someone noble growing up to be able to act like this in public.
"Sir…" one of the servants says.
The Duke raises his head and spins on his heel, pulling to a stop as Sebastian and Antonio try to jump out of his way once again. Sebastian can't help but stare now that he has a good look at the man's face. He's sure that face could be replicated on the floor of a museum.
"Who are you two?" he asks, frowning, which barely creases his forehead. "I don't know you."
"My name is Antonio. I'm a navigator," Antonio says. "And this is my friend Sebastian."
Orsino reaches out, and before Sebastian can react, has gathered his fingers in the front of his shirt. He pulls Sebastian so close that their heads nearly knock together. "Do you think," he asks, "that it's possible Lady Olivia was so overcome that she has not been able to rise from bed to compose a response to me?"
There's a long moment of silence before Sebastian can figure out that he's actually expected to respond. "…I suppose?" he squeaks.
Both of Orsino's hands clasp his shoulders and give him a much firmer shake than Antonio ever has. Sebastian thinks his heels might be slipping on the cobblestones again, though it doesn't seem entirely unpleasant.
"That is surely it. What a good man you are! And your companion! Good men both," Orsino says. The glittering cape isn't as assaulting on his eyes from the front and frames Orsino rather nicely. As well as his smile, which stretches from ear to ear.
Antonio edges up to his side and clears his throat. Orsino takes one hand off of Sebastian to rest on Antonio's shoulder. Antonio glances at Sebastian, and then smiles. "Your Grace," he says. "Thank you kindly for the compliments. They mean quite a lot, especially from one as wise and … earnest … as yourself," he says, his own smile stretching uncomfortably wide when he falters on an adjective.
Out of the Duke's sight, Antonio kicks Sebastian in the ankle. He winces and then tries to cover it up with as much of a moping look as he can. Look sad. Look sad.
"That's quite kind of you," Orsino says. He lets go of them to lean back. A servant who is either the tallest person Sebastian has ever seen, or on stilts (which Sebastian wouldn't rule out), walks up and winds a scarf around the noble mans' neck. "Did you happen to come here to see me today?" he asks, looking at the gate and then back at the two travelers.
"In point of fact, we did." Antonio puts an arm around Sebastian's shoulder and pulls him close. Sebastian tries not to blush when Orsino trains his gaze on him. "You see, my friend here has lost his sister," Antonio says, mournfully.
Orsino snaps his fingers, and a hat is placed on his head. It makes his long hair stick to his neck. "Tell me more."
Sebastian does. The itch under his heart grows worse as the ache in his side dulls.
But he thinks he's finally getting his second wind as the gates swing shut behind him and they all walk to the front doors of the manor together.
* * *
"I've only kept a week's worth at a time, Olivia," Maria says. "If you want to read back further than that, you'll have to use the electronic archives." She puts the papers down on a small table in front of Olivia and together they start separating the sections, removing those Olivia has no interest in.
Cesario likes to watch the two of them talk. Very occasionally, he misses skirts. He can learn what it might have been like if he had met Olivia in them by staying in the room when Maria comes to see her lady.
Plus, the two are interesting. Around Sir Toby and Sir Andrew, Maria sticks to calling Olivia by titles. But when the two of them are alone, or only in Cesario's company, they tend to fall back on their first names only. For her part, Olivia seems to take much more comfort in the latter times than the former.
"That's okay, Maria," Olivia murmurs. She's putting aside all of the classified sections. "I don't quite have the stamina to try to catch up on a year's worth of missed news."
"I told you anything important, anyway," Maria says. She gathers up the unwanted paper and stands straight, turning to take them to recycling. "I'll bring tea in soon."
Olivia nods and settles back to read her papers.
Technically, Cesario has the day off today. Usually on his days off, he would walk down to the local police station and inquire about any newfound refugees that hadn't been reported in the news. Any word from the low-technology settlements on other planets as to whether anyone had been found.
But there's an ache in his gut today and he is so very tired. All he wants to do is curl on the edge of the couch. Sitting is safe. Neither Olivia nor Maria ever questions whether Cesario is spreading his knees wide enough, masculine enough. If he wants to sit with his legs crossed for a while, neither of them seems to notice.
When Olivia twists her necklace between her fingers, Cesario's hand goes to his throat. He fiddles with his collar and remembers the slip of metal underneath his fingertips when wearing Viola's necklaces.
Sebastian rarely questioned the changes in her clothes, the way she sat, or how she cut her hair. Even when her father nearly had a heart attack that time she chopped off her braid with a pair of scissors at the dining table. (Even when she'd had to ask her brother later to even out the ragged ends that attempt at hairdressing had produced.)
Cesario sighs and rubs at his eyelids. His gut aches in a low spot that he's not sure the tea will reach when it comes, but he doesn't want to drink it anyway. Later he will try to take a walk around the garden, but for now, he just wants to watch Olivia. Who questions him even less than his brother ever did.
"I think," Olivia says, slowly, her head bent over a sports report, "that in the next few weeks, I would like to go visiting."
Cesario clears his throat and sits up a bit straighter. "Anywhere in particular?" he asks. He hasn't needed a heavy coat yet, since he spends most of her time in with Olivia. Though Maria should be able to find one for him.
"I don't think the destination matters so much as the going." When Olivia looks up, her eyes seem to be lit from within.
The ache in Cesario's gut slowly begins to change. It unravels and twists back up in a … not unpleasant way.
* * *
Then his scarf slips pleasantly against his throat, and he remembers. Orsino had given him such a pleading look with such wide eyes. The duke had made the invitation out to be too important to entrust to the mail. Too important to hand over to just any servant. The house had dozens, but none were apparently suited to the task. Orsino had said, "I need someone I can trust."
And though Sebastian thinks he might not truly have time for it, in that moment he had wanted to be that person oh so much.
Even outside of Orsino's gaze, the idea of returning to it keeps him powering forward. The walk to Lady Olivia's is just as exhausting as had been the walk to Orsino's. Though twice as long -- Sebastian glowers at the space elevator that marks the halfway point, and feels he deserves to be much farther along at this point.
A few moments later he quietly and, with a face red from embarrassment instead of cold, made his way to a cab and handed over the pass Orsino had tucked against the back of the envelope for him.
Viola would laugh. Viola would laugh, Sebastian thinks, and presses a hand to his face, hoping that this detour isn't going to end in his sister's ruin. But all of Orsino's resources put together are surely making more headway in the search than he and Antonio could have done on their own, in such a small ship.
He repeats that to himself over and over and over, nearly missing the cab driver's second announcement that they've arrived at Lady Olivia's home. Sebastian retrieves his borrowed transportation card and slips out the cab door, asking the driver to wait for a while, and walking up to the gate. The speaker looks exactly like the one at Orsino's door and is exactly as easy to operate.
"Hello?" he asks.
There's a brief pause before an answer. "Who is speaking?"
Sebastian lets out a relieved breath that he's not going to be waiting by the gate for hours to come, as sometimes seems to happen when people come to the gate at the manor to greet Orsino. (Absent-mindedness is not a sin, though it may be a minor character flaw, he admits to himself.) "Sebastian."
"And what is your business here today?"
"I have an invitation to an upcoming ball for Lady Olivia from Duke Orsino."
"I see."
This pause is longer than the last, but eventually the gates swing open. Sebastian walks forward without hesitation and only jumps slightly when the gates clink closed behind him. He still isn't used to that sound, if he's honest, and expects to be locked on the other side each time. It reminds him eerily of the sound of the escape pod closing behind him, which he tries not to think about overly much.
The same woman who spoke to him over the intercom answers the door. Sebastian had been expecting a butler and is surprised to see that she's merely a maid, but he hands the invitation over.
"The ball is in a week's time and his grace would be more than thrilled to receive her ladyship," he says, remembering what Orsino had told him when handing over the envelope. He thinks he might actually see the lady at the top of the stairs, too.
It surprises him how much he wants her to shout out that she doesn't want to go. But she seems to be talking to a young man and doesn't even spare a glance towards the door.
"I will deliver this to Olivia. Please tell the Duke her response will arrive electronically," the maid says.
Sebastian nods and scurries back to the cab before he freezes through. He tries not to give a parting look to the lady on the stairs or her companion. If what the other servants have told him is true, Olivia has less than zero interest in his -- in Orsino.
He privately hopes that is true.
And resolves to make sure to inquire how the search for Viola is going as soon as he steps through the door upon his return.
* * *
It is also the first time in over a year that she has worn all else but black. The gown Maria cleaned and pressed for her is silver from neck to hem. When she had pulled it on and faced herself in the mirror, she had felt as if she were wearing a representation of Orsino's home, and nearly fled back between her covers.
Until Cesario had knocked and stepped in to retrieve her, that is. Tonight he is not wearing oversized clothes. Maria must have called in a tailor without telling her.
"You look … you look lovely, Olivia," Cesario had said, stuck with his back in the doorway. The expression on his face had drawn Olivia in more than his clothing, as striking a sight as formal dress on her servant had been.
She'd clasped her hands tightly in front of her. "I am not entirely sure about that. But it is kind of you to say." Her heart is louder in her memories of that moment than her voice. "I... didn't realize you were coming tonight."
A small smile, the kind that makes his eyes seem so bright and keeps Olivia from half knowing her own breath, had bloomed on Cesario's face. "I could not let you go unescorted to such an important event," he'd said, softly. (In her memories, in that second, her heart is louder than even Cesario's voice.)
So as Olivia proceeds across the ballroom, curtseying to all and flattering where appropriate, Cesario keeps his arm firmly locked with hers. Someone remarks on the color in her cheeks, and Olivia merely smiles. Cesario is the best counterweight she could have ever asked for.
The fitted outfit, white and gray and silver, matches him to her. It also slims him. The way he walks next to her makes him seem lighter on his feet than most of her male dance partners have ever managed to be in the past. She finds that if she watches him from the corner of her eye, he keeps her upright and steady enough not to need to watch where she is going. And she does like to watch his face as they're presented with noble after noble.
Especially, she confides privately to herself, when he ignores the women. She has spared more than a few thoughts over the past three weeks as to whether he's like her -- preferring people more like himself than not.
Olivia's dear Jameson had promised her a permanent place in his household despite knowing such about her. If she were surer of it with Cesario, she would do the same for him. Though she wants even more to ask Jameson for his opinion … on whatever has happened to her, to draw her so close to someone that might actually make a suitable match in the eyes of their long-gone but restrictive parents.
Once upon a time she had thought she'd known her own heart better than she'd known anything else in the world. Now it's full of questions.
She glances up when she realizes that she's being put onto a bench at the corner of the ballroom. "Oh," she says, blinking. "I didn't even notice we'd made it this far."
Cesario sinks down next to her, though her skirt blooms out and lives only a sliver of cushion for him to rest on. "We can return to the floor any time you please, my lady," he murmurs, eyes lowered slightly. Olivia has the strangest desire to rest her head on his shoulder and look up into them. "We have the entire night to meet and greet. I just thought that… you looked like you could use a moment to adjust."
"Oh, I could," Olivia whispers.
It's just then that Orsino descends the staircase to their immediate left, with several guests trailing behind him. One in particular makes Olivia's jaw drop just as his appearance seems to make Cesario leap off of the bench and stumble forward two steps before seizing up.
His twin on the stairs meets Cesario's gaze and immediately does the same, though in his case it involves tripping rather spectacularly onto his face and pulling Orsino on top of him when the Duke tries to catch his wrist.
The room erupts into sound. Though he's only moved two steps away from her, Olivia has to elbow her way past several people before she can reach Cesario and latch onto his arm. Everyone is trying to tend to the fallen guests, even though Orsino appears to be in no hurry to return to his feet.
"Who," she asks, turning to Cesario with wide eyes, "is that?"
Cesario swallows so that his throat bulges.
* * *
"My sister."
"Your sister -- what? Wait!" Orsino says, watching Viola and Sebastian duck out a door and away from the fervor the fall on the stairs had created among the guests. The Duke looks helplessly at them for a moment before turning to find Olivia, but the lady is turning and fighting her way against the movement of the crowd to get as far away from the scene as possible, apparently.
Taking a breath, Orsino calms his guests and explains the situation -- reunited siblings, which is all he knows. "Please, don't mind us, just go back to dancing," he pleads. It's hard to be convincing when one eye is on the door the twins left through. But the crowd moves back.
It's snowing quietly, the white flecks melting as soon as they hit the stones underneath their feet, but Viola feels like they're diamonds welcoming her and her brother into a moment alone.
They spin, Viola clutching Sebastian's wrists, and Sebastian grabbing her around the waist to lift her off her feet. It makes her breath squeeze out of her, her vision blur, and more laughter than she has had in three weeks escape her lips.
"I thought I might never find you, dear sister," Sebastian says, placing her back on the stones. He presses his hands to her face. His fingertips are freezing, but she does not care.
She covers her hands with his, then touches her fingers to his own face. "I thought for sure it would be months and months longer," she tells him. There's water at the corners of her eyes. Snow melts on her cheeks and Sebastian's, too.
"I can't believe -- how did I not know you were here? I looked through everything -- and with Lady Olivia! How did I not know that? How did no one know that?"
"It was easier to be here as Cesario."
"Cesario? Do I know that name?"
"I think I have, myself… always."
Sebastian stares at her for a moment, snow dusting his hair, then clasps her close. He nearly lifts her off the ground again, but her boots stay on the stone this time. "Viola or Cesario or the moon, I will count you my family by any name," he whispers in her ear.
Her heart lodges in her throat for such a long moment that Sebastian strokes her hair -- cut freshly short by Maria in anticipation of the ball. "I would have kept looking for you for years, sister. Brother. Twin," he says. "As long as it took."
She squeezes her eyes shut and counts her breaths as her mother taught her before looking back at her brother. A smile appears on her face. "Will you come back to live with me?" she whispers. She remembers the summery planet they had planned on as snow touches her lips. But she has a coat, and does not need the heat. "Will we make a home now?"
It's Sebastian's turn to be at a loss for words. But instead of trying to fix the hitch in his breath, he glances over his shoulder.
Viola follows his gaze to a glass door separating them from the ballroom. Everyone visiting the ball has been shooed away from watching over their meeting, but Orsino has his face pressed to the glass. He does pull back and start looking at his shoes when he catches them looking, though.
With a soft breath, she touches his cheek. "As long as you do not disappear, Sebastian," she whispers. He turns to look at her, and she smiles again. "We can have a home in two buildings."
Sebastian gathers both her hands in his grip and kisses her fingertips. She shuts her eyes, and they touch their foreheads together. It has been a while since they've been together, but Viola has never been so sure that Sebastian's thoughts are the same as hers. Being in the same city is leagues better than hearing those escape pod doors shut in their dreams ever again.
She watches Sebastian return to the ballroom and Orsino clasp him with both hands before leading him to the dance floor. They're quickly swarmed by other guests, and Viola loses sight of her brother in a moment.
This time she knows where he is, though. She does not need to call his name.
Several footsteps behind her, a moment later, make her spin around.
Olivia didn't bother to put a cloak over her dress before coming outside. She must have exited a door the other guests didn't know about, to make it past Orsino insisting that everyone give the twins a moment alone. Viola thinks she sees enough glimmering drops of melted snow on the lady's bare shoulders to mean that she must have been out here for a few minutes at least.
"I suppose that you will be making a home with your brother now," Olivia whispers. She swallows, and does not bother to wipe at her eyes when they shine as wetly as the skin left exposed by her dress. "I only heard snips and pieces, but I am sorry for listening in. I know that I shouldn't have," she whispers. Her smile wobbles. "But it's been over a year since I've been very good at doing what I know I should."
"Olivia," Viola whispers, stepping forward.
Olivia holds her hand up and Viola stops. "It's okay," she whispers. "I knew from the beginning that you were looking for your brother, though I did not know it was as a sister." Her unsteady smile pulls up on one side and falls on the other. "You truly did know how it felt for me to lose my Jameson, didn't you?"
Viola clenches her hands at her sides and walks until Olivia's wide skirt brushes the toes of her gray boots. "Olivia," she says again. "I'm still the person you've known."
Olivia lays a hand on Viola's shoulder and smiles. "I -- I know. And I want to say that I am g-grateful for the time you spent with me," she struggles.
Viola's fingertips find Olivia's jaw, and bring her down for a kiss.
In the light spilling from the ballroom, they are two silver and gray shadows, glittering where the snow melts on their backs. The point where their lips meet is warm enough to chase the chill from both of them. Viola's hand creeps up to Olivia's tousled hair, her fingers threading through the curls. Olivia does not know what to do with her hands, but tension fairly melts from her every muscle.
"Seven years, truly?" Viola asks, leaning back just a fraction. Her breath frosts in the air, on Olivia's lips.
Olivia inhales. "Perhaps not quite that long."