His shoulder faded—in a moment, it became only his chest, unattached to upper limbs. Handless. Tears washed down his face, eyes turned further red outside the inflicted ones. "I don't want to die."
I suppose it seems like that to him. Ivory thought, taking a side glance at her Mother, Silent, watching, she seemed unamused by the pathetic man. She is the caster, isn't she?
No'el screamed as the final of his limbs vanished into the air. He was like a half child—body little more than chest and head. Disgusting to look at and unnerving to imagine.
Argon said, finally, "May the almighty welcome you."
In that moment, No'el was gone. It was not the abrupt destruction of a powerful explosion but one of calm silence. There was no gradual fading or the slow counting of time before he was no more. No. There was only a moment, and the next, which held the man sprawled over the floor no longer.
Ivory saw this, but felt little fright from it. Instead, her mind focused on the final words spoken by Argon. Observably, they seemed like words of assuage, meant to calm the dying No'el, but she thought not just that.
Calming a punished child. The phrase sounded through her being, and she drew meaning from it. The Hall, the crowd was like a child, punished with fear and the promise of penalty. They would tremble in it. But also, they should love and call it a justified action, hence the final words.
Except for the original conspirator…Ivory thought, for all its worth, No'el did not betray them. Fear could have clouded his mind, surely, but maybe it didn't….
A loyal idiot.
Her gaze foraged through the hall—the crowd of frightened and marveled men settling into her mind. I can't see them. She thought, The conspirator is either not here or a master of expressions. After all, he couldn't have known what the fool could have done in fear.
Then, she grasped a frailty in the created plan. Whoever planned this chose the wrong moment. It was too soon; not enough tension had been fused to weaken the fear the brightCrowns had on the seat. If that had been accomplished, then today could have been done differently.
Or was that also the plan?
Argon said, "Often I wonder what possession costs this betrayal of one's own kind? Is this not enough, or must the leeches keep nipping at my heels?" He sighed.
It is not a collective argument of when or how the bond started. Some cling to the notion that they were two souls ever to be bonded in new lives. But I say no. This was new. Utterly new—bonfire talks by a wandering scholae.
Ivory watched in silence, the gates of the great door parting with the sound of howling wind.
"castWarer of the high fa'n, updater of the skyships, and Inventor of the Velis Disk."
Velis disks? Ivory searched her mind for the corresponding knowledge but found no relevance to the spoken word. Velis—old tongue, likely. Vel—means to flow—motion. Is means a state…an object. That means…She rattled her mind, a final conclusion giving way. Hover
Hover Disk?
A figure walked down—no, not walk. Floated down. A man dressed in a brown castWarer coat, stiff, rigid with an oval collar that hid half his face. Across his chest, a bold, dark belt wrapped it, and below it, the coat split into two parts, revealing his darker heat-pressed trousers.
He rested atop a thin silver disk, skimming past the long hall, above it all. Even the seal seat. A clear insult.
I am above you all. Ivory suspected the man felt, and for a moment harbored, desires of homicide. She was a high heir, yes, but surely a command from her was enough to put this man to death.
She glanced at mother. And she showed no reaction to the affront high above them. Maybe it's okay. Ivory told herself, yet was half angered at the callous air the castWarer wore.
"Greetings, Valor," The castWarer said in obvious affectation. "Your Nariel was somewhat bumpy for my taste. Do you need a fix for it?"
"If that is needed, I alone can provide it!" Mother said with unrestrained brusqueness.
"Of course." The man waved his hand, "A fellow fa'n castWarer is more than enough to fix a faulty Nariel."
"Do you intend to say our waygate is faulty?"
"Unless you by some virtue owned the last Nariel, then for no reason could it be yours that I refer to."
"You twist words like the whiteTower, though I hope that pureness can also be found in you." Mother said,
"Yes, yes," the castWarer chuckled from above. "But I must say it surprises me that the woman who made the greatest means of destruction quotes me on pureness. Some say grief clouds the mental prowess of the mind. My grace, is that the same for you?"
"ENOUGH!" Argon snapped—his voice like thunder striking in the deepest silence. What power in them. What might wrapped in a single body. By relevance of that voice, perhaps, Ivory saw as the castWarer wobbled.
His disk trembled like metal caught amidst the waves of sound, and in the moment next, he dropped with a scream.
"Eh!" He slammed into the ground, his Velira stopping inches from the same floor. "That's extremely improper!" he said, groaning to his feet. "Asking seemed better than that."
"What do you mean?" Mother said, "It's hardly our fault that your disk faulted. Perhaps I, too, will fix that for you."
"I see." He said simply, then poised himself. A clear message was written on his form: the games were over. The wanted begins now.
"What brings a Wiseman of the mind here?" Argon said, tone calm like a brewing storm.
"Wiseman?" The castWarer said, "No, call me Miralin. It's my almighty given name."
Miralin—old tongue for shaper of patterns. Fitting for castWarer, I suppose.
"As for my business. I hear your daughter seeks to replicate the old wares. Integument. She wants to create a copy of it."
One that transcends the original
"Yes," Argon said,
"Splendid. Then I see no issue—"
"How easy it must seem to gain access to the valor clan." Mother said,
"Easy?" Miralin said with a rapt expression, "I have you know I weathered the unknowable storms, fought fallen—many of my excubitors died to such. Sad. Sad. And even then, the hard ground of this place harassed me without consent."
There was no retaliation to his jabber; this, ivory suspected, gave him might to continue. "And more," he said, "Don't you like the fresh face? Here, many would say what you want. A terrible way to live. I can think of nothing more sceptic than to rot in the pool of mirrored words."
He plays words like a string. Ivory deliberated a meaning well hidden in them—her eyes drifting to Samara. Waiting. Patient for the witty response she was to give to this man.
It never came.
Unnerving.
Argon leaned back, arm resting calmly on the side rest, "We did not get any invitation from the hivemind for your presence."
"Then imagine how terribly this would go if I were an imposer," he said, a dry laugh breathing out, "But I am not that. Even then, do you refuse me for that reason? Can a humble castWarer not satisfy his curiosity with simple things?"
"But what exactly are those things?" Argon asked, eyes sharp like a tamed beast.
"Again, I must say these things…" Miralin said, "I desire to learn of the processes by which your daughter employs in the creation of this copy.. And, of course, offer my insight as one in high fa'n."
"Your word on it." Mother said simply.
"I don't see the abundance of choices, but okay." He sneered his words, "But of course, the question of worthiness remains."
Mother snapped, "You, the curious, now ask for proof? What exact reason did you come here? A man does not go to war in such abruptness. What are you?"
"I take that back," Miralin said. "No one can mirror you. I doubt even an assurer is able of that. However, I have seen many men fray to the fallen on a whim."
"Fools,"
"Maybe, certainly a possibility. But not true for this one before you. I know what I can know, but often only the doer has main knowledge of what they do." He passed his eyes to her—Ivory.
Her skin quaked with sudden fear. Why though? Ivory suspected the bizarreness and means by which he twisted the tongue battled against her conclusion of an impression. He was strange to her—an alien creature with double motives, yet gave no clue to either of them.
She could dedicate this moment to knowing them, but…What if I can't? Mother is here, I can't make such a mistake before the court.
Her thoughts splintered, and she found herself staring, locked in some improv contest. Miralin abided by it, him too locking eyes at her. Oh, the silence. Ivory could feel the strange murmur spill from the crowd. She should stop this, she knew, but her mind, her will, her very thoughts, slowed to catch up.