He felt inescapable…somehow.
Suddenly, the dark-robed figures had surrounded her. Their heads, the swirling mass of orbed darkness, seemed to gaze piercingly at her.
They said in one voice, "He is the first and the last…The one who will never die…"
Heart pounded madly as the unknown drew closer, a distant drumming echoing down her bones. Ash scent permeated her scenes, as the beat quaked hard into her body.
The strange beings were now above her, their faceless faces watching her. They said, "He is the preserver!"
She screamed!
Ivory sprang up, eyes wide, breath hectic.
"Your Grace?" a voice called to her, soft and welcoming.
Ivory turned, still panting. At the corner of her room, against the walls, Kabal sat, dressed in the usual white aspirant robes, holding a book. Thick, with hard bindings.
He wore a simple look, though some mien of concern resided in those dark eyes.
A highness shows no fear! Forced composure raided her mind. Calmness returned—her hands placed on her lap, one atop the other.
"Who invited you into my chambers?" she said, though the answer didn't seem ungraspable.
"Bright crown Geld," he said, tone even.
"And you choose to come? Into the chambers of a highness?"
"One to be, your grace. And would you have preferred to come to me?" he said, shrugging.
Ivory frowned. Was he insulting her?
He suddenly raised his hands up, guarding. "Too cold. That gaze of yours."
She started, then curled up a simple smile—at least she thought she did. Why did she even need to smile for this person?
Elegance.
She said, "You can leave now."
"I have to read you something first," Kabal said, flipping a page from the book.
"Why?"
"Because my call is to return your smile to you," he replied, smiling as he flipped open a page. "This would do."
Ivory regarded him for some time, a brief confusion on the Aspirant surging her mind. She knew him as a spy sent by Master Geld, but he, for one, strangely chose to play the role with deep expertness. It was so perfect it felt wrong. Did he think she wouldn't notice if he did well?
She glanced at the slick black box beside her…Did he see it? Would he know what it was? Of course, he would.
Kabal was an Aspirant, a brother order to the Gresendent Sonitras, and even if he hadn't ever used one, he should certainly be able to know one. The query was, what was she to do if he had?
She returned her eyes to him and noted the gleeful oblivion of scheme-filled thoughts. Was she lucky that he didn't see it? Or had he deliberately not searched for it?
Which was it?
Preferring not to take many chances, she discreetly shoved the box into her bedsheets. Then, she yielded to her posture.
He read, "A servant becomes a highness."
"Nonsense." She snapped quicker than control could resist. Mists! Now, he looked at her—a simple stare that Ivory, by some means, saw as condemnation.
He asked. "Why do you think it's nonsense…the name?"
"Because a servant can never be a highness," she said.
"And why is that?"
Why is he asking that? Ivory felt her mind unable to draw knowledge from the various cues that the body provided, ignorantly. He was perfect in the means he kept still, offering nothing but little head tilts, frowns, and raised brows.
It was an annoyance to her procession.
Yet.
"A highness requires virtues that a servant profoundly lacks. Elegance, sharpness, intellect…All these things and more make up a highness. And a slave, though relevant in their own way, cannot hope to reach that height."
"So you think for that reason, a slave is unworthy of being a highness?" Kabal said, his tone strangely vexed.
Ivory disregarded it. "Perhaps. I am to be the next highness, and yet I'm far from ready to assume that title. What hope does a simple slave have to accomplish it?" She paused a moment, then, "The position of highness is harder to hold than one would imagine."
Kabal shrugged. "An aspect of something that seems hard might not be so for another."
Ivory started. "And that means, aspirant?" she said—mists! Her tone to this man left the elegance she built for such moments. "Do you believe that some slave would be able to fill the role of a highness, better than I?"
Such rumors were already going around the clan.
"I said no such thing." Kabal raised his hands, "I'm an Aspirant, I read, I teach, occasionally console, but never am I brave enough to call a High-daughter inadequate."
Ivory flared. This peeved her—his words, the manner of passivity with which he spoke, and the false logic they contained. All of it riled something.
I could kill him if I wanted, right? She contemplated, for once, misusing the rights and power awarded to her as heir.
Then.
Something moved in the dim.
A figure—seemed a man stood at the door. Tall, slender, and dressed in black robes—oily, they pooled underneath him like a small lake.
She yelped, blinked.
It was gone. In a moment of eyes closed and opened, he was gone. Had she imagined it? A remnant of the odd dream….Dream.
Dream?
Ivory exclaimed. She had a dream! Excitement swelled. Wasn't that a sign of one becoming a Caster?
"Your high-grace," Kabal said, standing up, drawing close to her.
Ivory raised a dampening hand, stopping him in his tracks.
"You can go, Aspirant," she said curtly. She needed the silence. Things were swirling. She needed to think.
Kabal looked like he was to retort, but in the end, he submitted to the difference in rank. Yes, he was an aspirant, a worshipper of the Almighty and one so learned, but she was a highDaughter, and not just that, but a highHeir; one to inherit the entire of the valor clan…. Everything and its burdens were to become hers.
She needs strength for that.
Kabal silently left the room. He was probably angry at the incompletion. His book remained unread. But it didn't matter. More things of import had admitted themselves.
He left through the side-sliding door, external silence returning like a shroud over space. This was a good silence, one that allowed her mind the relief to grasp and see. The froststones' star dotted on the walls shone in its shimmering blue, and the white rays reached like pillars to the roof.
Serenity before the storm was upon her.
Then. The dream.
Dreams, as she knew, were one of the known steps one marked in becoming a caster. The first step, perhaps, but also the crucial and dangerous one. Many potentials had been lost to the seemingly normal stage. Madness. The curse that came with being a caster. Was her dream a result of that?
If it was, how exactly was she to prove that to herself? To inherently deduce oneself as mad gives result to the possibility of no madness. It was a contradiction in no way could be resolved internally. An outward force had to break the binds.
But what method?—What if I asked a deadEyes for it? They should be able to see whether or not I've actually become a caster. She thought through both angles. Doing so, however, would place me in a horrible position if the answer turns out to be no. That would almost certainly give the leeches what they want to take the seat.
I can't allow for it.
Ivory realized the mockery that was her situation. Help was what she wanted, but it also the thing she could not ask for…She sighed.
Again, something moved in the dimness.
Ivory rolled down the bed, hands digging down her legs. She pulled a small oredite blade from her heels—queer, like crystal and reflective like water. Argon had forced that decision onto her. To carry a blade gave the impression of fear. That was something she repelled.
"Who are you?" she barked, eyes sharp. Memories, memories. Instinct and awareness learned from seeing men in poise awakened her, and her grip turned white over the gripped blade.
The figure did not appear, but Ivory waited, eyes scanning through the room. She noticed that this thing or man had a fondness for dragging out—maybe an attempt to bring fear to her. She could shout, alerting one of many excubitors stationed outside her room. But…Suspicion stopped her.
If this was by some means madness, then the fewer eyes that saw it, the better. She breathed and heard it like the whooshing of wind.
Then, she saw it: An outline of a dark robe blurring by the wall. She moved, quick as her legs allowed her. And in the moment of closeness, she stabbed. A mistake. The blade punched the wall, pushing back into her grip. Ivory groaned, blood sliding down painfully.
The wall had stopped the blade, and the force with which she pushed it brought the cutting of her own flesh. Oredite into blade was exceptionally sharp. It was luck that the whole hand was not lost to it.
She panted. "Show yourself!" she said, cautiously watching the door. Ivory hoped for no intrusion, yes, but if her safety were longer not a guarantee, then by that, all pretenses would be dropped.