thoth
we spend all our time running for our lives, going nowhere

Tris ought to know by now the consequence of waking Thoth up suddenly. A spinning glob of water appeared in the air and a light frost, the beginnings of ice, began to creep over the new king’s fingers. He was only saved from a dunking because he kept talking; his voice penetrated the fog of sleep and Thoth, just about recognising it, put the brakes on his magic. The frost peeled back from Tris’ hands and the water dissipated as Thoth waved it away with one hand, rubbing his eye with the other. It felt like he’d only gotten to sleep a few minutes ago. Even bunking in Tris’ room hadn’t entirely eased the feeling of uncertainty which permeated from every crack in the castle walls. This fortress, once a safe home, had changed beyond recognition.

Evidently, his friend felt the same way. Thoth couldn’t quite make sense of what Tris meant by Mordred making him crazy from beyond the grave, but he did understand the more concrete explanation which followed. Everything was wrong here. Some things were very wrong, like Thoth’s old room, which had been refurnished and redecorated from top to bottom and handed over to some other courtier. Other things were only a little bit wrong but still niggled and chipped away at his attention, like the doors which no longer creaked and the pictures which now hung straight on the walls.

He didn’t have an answer to the question, or to the tears visible at the corners of his friend’s eyes. Thoth only really knew one way to react when people were upset and, after a moment’s hesitation, he employed that failsafe now. Rolling forward onto his knees, he reached across and gave Tristan a hug. It lasted only a few seconds before Thoth released him and Tris jumped to his feet, more energised.

“Okay,” Thoth stifled a yawn, not questioning. Shaking off the last of his sleep, he threw the blanket off the bed and stood up, stretching. He was still wearing the faded green tracksuit bottoms and a t-shirt which he’d worn in lieu of proper bedclothes in the forest, unwilling to take up on the offer of new ones provided by the castle. He padded obediently into the corridor after Tristan. This was a part of the building he hadn’t been to much before, but there were still things wrong. He frowned at the window at the far end. “Curtains,” he said simply, wrinkling his nose. They were new curtains; still purple, but the wrong shade.

Leaving Tris to handle the curtains, Thoth held one hand out to his side and blasted a tiny jet of water at one of the picture frames, knocking it ever so slightly askew. Better.