6.8
Dear Landis,
Austin stares at the two words he’s written so far, the tip of his pen making tiny, black pockmarks in between the lines as he taps it against the page. He takes a deep breath, twisting the pen back in between thumb and forefinger, and forces himself to start writing again.
I don’t think we’re going to see each other again for a long time.
Austin exhales, rubbing his forehead with his free hand, and scribbles the sentence out. If he’s getting the letter, he already knows you’re dead, idiot. He’s not going to read this unless you aren’t going to see each other again, maybe forever.
He crumples up the page, throws it in the wastebin, and starts over.
Dear Landis,
I know you’ve lost a lot of people in your life, and I hate to be another one.
“Nope,” he says out loud, already balling the paper up in his hands. Why was writing Otter’s letter so much easier?
Dear Landis,
I guess you’re surprised that you got one of these. I actually wasn’t intending to write to you, but
Well, can’t tell him that right off the bat. Austin groans and tears the paper in half. He grabs a fresh page, and pauses, the tip of his pen hovering in the air. It sort of does bear thinking about - why Landis was the only other person aside from Richard and Otter he felt like he had to write a letter to, instead of anyone else in Antlers. Landis is the only other one Austin feels like he owes an explanation to, maybe even an apology. For going back to the mines and putting himself in danger. For failing to kill Gen, which is the only circumstance these letters will be delivered under.
You don’t have to write him a letter, Austin tries to rationalize. Richard is your dad, and Otter is your boyfriend. Landis just lives with you. You aren’t going to write a personalized letter to every dead member of Paper Museum who lives in your apartment, are you?
He’s not. But he also doesn’t feel the same kind of pit in his stomach when he thinks of how he’ll never see the other members of Paper Museum again, or how they’ll get on without him. And where Landis is concerned, it would be easy to justify it as not wanting him to lose someone close to him again. As being worried of what he’ll do when he hears Austin is dead and not coming back as a ghost (so Austin thinks, anyway). But as much as Austin tries to justify, the pit in his stomach feels like more than concern for a friend.
Austin stands up from the guest bedroom’s desk, his legs sore as he unfolds them and pushes his chair back behind him. The view from the windows is completely dark, he notices with a small start. He came up here to write almost as soon as Naberius dismissed him from training for the day, and the sun was just setting then. He must have been sitting and writing for at least two hours.
Austin finds himself craving a cigarette, or at least a nicotine patch, and decides to take a walk instead. Maybe getting some air will help clear his head, and he’ll be able to figure out what he wants to say to Landis before he gets back.
There’s a small terrace, a tiny rooftop garden with a marble fountain, that a pair of double doors from the library lead to. The overgrown state of the garden and the fact that the fountain didn’t seem to have any water in it at all led Austin to believe it would be abandoned, a good place to pace and think. He’s surprised when he approaches the doors to the terrace and sees, through the glass, Naberius sitting alone on the rim of the fountain, drinking a cup of tea.
Maybe he wants to be by himself, too, Austin thinks, and takes a step back from the doors. The mansion has plenty of terraces - he can go downstairs, to the one off of the ballroom, or wander around until he runs into another by chance. There’s no need to bother Naberius.
Only, Naberius has already noticed him, and beckons him over with the wave of a hand. Turning around and walking away now would look unnecessarily rude. Austin grits his teeth and pushes through the doors, shivering a little as the cold night air hits his bare arms. As he gets closer to Naberius, he can smell that whatever is in the teacup is clearly alcoholic, but declines to comment on it.
“Trouble sleeping?” Naberius asks.
“I haven’t even tried,” Austin says. “I’m still writing letters.”
“Ah,” Naberius says, his voice a little strained. “Yes. How are those coming along?”
Austin sighs. “Not great.”
“I don’t see why they should be so hard. I could write them for you, if you’d like.”
“No, that’s,” Austin says, “that’s okay. I, uh, just have a hard time getting my thoughts down the right way. I don’t think I’m much of a letter writer.”
Naberius cocks his head to one side, curiously. “But you’re essentially writing a will, aren’t you? There’s no need to be sentimental about it. You could just tell me what you want to say, and I could put it to paper for you. It eliminates having to think about your personal feelings surrounding your death.”
“That’s not what I want,” Austin says, his face heating up suddenly. Naberius gives him an even more curious look.
“Pardon?”
“I mean, I’m not writing a fucking will, I’m writing things I might not ever get to say to people I -” Austin stops short, clamping his mouth shut around the rest of the sentence. He can hear his pulse hammering in his ears.
“To people you feel indebted to?” Naberius asks.
“To people I love, asshole,” Austin snaps.
Naberius takes a long sip out of his teacup, considering Austin.
“For what it’s worth,” he says, finally, “I think you’re going to do well in the duel.”
“But you don’t think I’m going to win.”
“I never try to predict the outcome of a duel,” Naberius says. “I find it foolish to do so, though I am well-documented in my habits of always pulling for the underdog.” He sets his teacup down on the rim of the fountain, and looks away from Austin, at the ground. “Although perceiving Kesi as an underdog was perhaps what sparked this whole situation to begin with. I often think about what may have happened if I hadn’t played the role I did in Crocell’s trial and punishment.”
“Well, you can’t turn back time,” Austin says sullenly, rubbing a finger over the scar on his palm, considering its twin on the back of the same hand. “All you can do is get revenge.”
Naberius laughs. “I suppose you’re right.”
“Will you deliver those letters?” Austin asks. He stands from the fountain - he’s wasted enough time here. “If I do lose?”
“If you lose,” Naberius repeats, agreeably. “But you had better try your best not to.”
Austin looks at the teacup sitting on the rim of the fountain, imagining his gaze as the scope of a sniper rifle, a laser sight generated from his eyes to the delicate pattern of gold roses on the porcelain. His index finger twitches down by his side, pulling an invisible trigger. The teacup vanishes, and Austin jumps as he instantly feels the cool, smooth handle dangling from his hand. Alcohol drips out of the teacup and onto the ground, the sound taking up the ensuing silence between Austin and Naberius as they both stare in wonder.
“I will try my best,” Austin says finally, more confidently than he feels.
He tosses the teacup back to Naberius, who catches it clumsily, and breezes through the doors into the library. Words connect in his head like puzzle pieces as he hurries back to his room, and he clings to the sentences for dear life, trying to weigh down the thoughts before they float away. Landis’s letter can come next - Austin has a vague idea to tease at now, an idea about time and love and revenge - but talking to Naberius reminded him that there’s one more letter he wants to write.
Austin throws himself into his desk chair and grabs a fresh sheet of paper, forcing himself to close his eyes and take a breath before he starts putting pen to paper. He starts the letter like all the others, though the two words are ones that even the Austin of a few months ago couldn’t have imagined writing.
Dear Jacob,