"Do you think it hurt terribly when their tongues were cut out?"
Matthias's jaw twitched, but he otherwise remained motionless at his post by the entrance to Treason's Tower. Astrid sighed at him and twisted the braids into place atop her head. The frigidity of the tower slid across her exposed neck, her skin prickling with goosebumps. She rolled her shoulders and tossed off her heavy cloak. Her copper band contracted against the cold and squeezed her upper arm. Astrid had long ago determined that the best part of her lessons with the Scribes was when they released her arm from that blasted prison band.
Even if it was unnerving to watch their tongueless mouths form silent words.
"I imagine our Scribes can't speak, not because of their loss of tongue, but perhaps from the screaming that damaged their vocal cords when they were punished for their treason," Astrid said into the silence with half-a-glance at Matthias.
Still nothing.
Well, then.
Astrid flexed her fingers and shut her eyes. Her focus centered around her copper band where her veins pulsed in rebellion against its trapping. As she focused, the doused power in her stomach fluttered in response. She pulled her focus closer and heat swept up into her chest. The copper band tightened at the rising flame, but Astrid pushed back. Though magic had been stolen from the kingdom's lands, alchemy still thrived in Halorium, and it was Halorium's most notorious alchemist who had created Astrid's cuff from a mineral found all the way in Lake Holalethe near the Gem Mines of Galandreal. It didn't really extinguish Astrid's powers, not completely; instead, it trapped the magic and sent it into a slumber from which it took all of Astrid's control to awaken.
But Astrid had been acquainting herself with the inner workings of her magic for years, and as her cuff gripped her arm so tightly that her fingers went numb, Astrid barreled down deeper, stroking a command into her power's sleeping mind.
I am your master!
Matthias muffled a sharp sound of surprise as a sudden wind swept through the cracks of mountain stone and into the tower with a shrill shriek.
"You insolent little—"
Astrid grinned against her clamped teeth and pushed further. Her thread of wind whipped the braids from its crown of golden hair. A wild burst of laughter caught in her throat as she raised her hands out on either side of her, spreading her fingers wide so the wind could fill the spaces between them. Her cuff warred against the beckoned power, but she could barely feel its burning clamp. With a final push, a metallic thump echoed against the tower's walls. Matthias swore as his captain's helmet flung itself from his shorn hair and fell onto his booted foot.
The sound jarred Astrid from her focus. The cuff regained control and shoved the elements down, down, down. The wind retreated so quickly that her hair was still half-raised even after it was gone. Astrid sucked down a shaky breath but kept her shoulders from slumping as she spun towards Matthias with a pointedly smug expression.
"Well, that certainly got your attention."
He never gaped at her show of magic, which was a little insulting, considering she was the only one left in the kingdom to be able to wield such power. As such, she knew it wasn't Matthias who hummed in a low, guttural sound from the tower's entrance.
Astrid turned towards the doors.
Two Scribes stood there in robes of tattered gray, the edges frayed and unraveling. Despite the fact that they were captured traitors to the crown and had conspired with the Academy during the Great Purge to hoard all the magic left in the lands for themselves, Astrid always felt her spine straighten in the solitude of their presence. One of them was bald, his oval head as polished as a freshly laid egg. Astrid wondered if he had possession of a blade or if the scars that patterned his scalp had been another consequence of his treason. The other, a woman, had graying curls that wound around themselves into matted knots over her thick shoulders.
Serah, the woman, roamed her silvery eyes down Astrid's small but regal frame. She huffed a breath of air as if what she found was unimpressive and wove a hand through the air, her fingers swaying as if caught up in a storm. Wind, the motion said.
Astrid inclined her head; it had been the element of Air she'd called upon to spite Matthias. This high up from the ground, the wind was the closest element to her. After all, there was a reason these two captive Scribes were kept in the tallest, most enclosed tower of the fortress. Scribes understood the elemental magic of the lands, but without the land, what did they have to call on? Not to mention that, before the Purge, Scribes could only harness the elements with the aid of the Authors who travelled with them, who could capture elemental threads into their Monvertas, the land's power woven into parchment with ink of blood.
But all the Authors were dead.
Well, almost.
With all that considered, Astrid's use of her elemental power, especially with the extinguishing cuff, should be considered rather astronomical, indeed.
Serah and Zev held a conversation with nothing but their aging eyes, and then the bald Scribe drew a word into the air with his fingers: childish.
Astrid could have sworn that Matthias choked from his post.
She glowered at his broad shoulders before holding an imperious arm out towards the Scribes, her copper cuff reflecting the flame of the torches along the wall. "Shall we get on with it, then?"
Zev moved in the same lilting dance as a weathered leaf caught up in a breeze. His grace was rather annoying. Astrid held her free hand behind her, showing her fingers to Matthias, who watched her for a silent command. After ten years of Zev and Serah treating Astrid with nothing other than the indifference of a teacher who didn't much care for his pupil, it would have been unwise to forget that these Scribes had been part of the Purge. During which they had committed treason against her kingdom by snatching up all the magical remnants of the land for themselves. It was due to Scribes like them that magic no longer existed, that had sent Queen Davina scrambling to save Rainier from crumbling beneath the loss of the lands' Elementi.
Astrid refused to forget that Serah and Zev would have snatched up her magic as well.
She held her fingers poised on the base of her spine, Matthias's watchful brown gaze on them, as Zev came to stand before her. With slow, deliberate movements, Zev reached his fingers into the folds of his patched robe. From behind her, she felt Matthias stiffen. Zev withdrew a short, copper tube and offered it to Astrid. It matched her cuff exactly, made with the same alchemical compound but with one difference: it had been made in an exact reversal process to the creation of her cuff. It made this tube the perfect key to her cuff's lock.
Astrid nodded and allowed Zev to wrap his cold fingers around her wrist. By all accounts, he couldn't be much older than her own mother, but the bags of his eyes held secrets. Astrid had spent many years trying to extract those secrets, but with their loss of speech and lack of writing utensils, communication had proven to be a frustrating challenge between her and the mute Scribes. Nevertheless, Astrid peppered them with questions in a feverish hope that, one day, they would surprise her.
She regarded Zev's brown fingers as he nimbly held the key to her cuff. "Were you a student at the Soleitan Academy?"
Zev tilted her elbow a little to the left to expose the circular indentation on the underside of her cuff. Bored, Astrid turned from Zev to regard Serah whose soft hands folded in the sleeves of her robe. "Is it true that all of our stolen magic runs free in Soleita, turning stones to gold and water to the finest wine?"
Serah made a slashing motion with her elbow against her ribs, which Astrid translated as: You know nothing, child. At least, it was the same movement she made every time Astrid did something that they deemed particularly underwhelming.
Astrid sighed.
Zev placed the tip of the tube into the indentation, and—with a lack of fanfare that always left Astrid feeling a little disappointed—the cuff broke into two pieces, hanging open off her arm from a single, hidden hinge. She shook it off, not minding in the slightest if the cuff fell to the floor and shattered. But, as always, Zev caught it from the air. Wordlessly, he handed it back to Serah, holding it between his thumb and forefinger, who then passed it off to an awaiting Matthias.
It was a play of directions they all knew their parts in.
Astrid's arm itched, and she felt her magic lift its awakened head from behind her navel. She knew it would take at least another seven questions before her slumbering elemental threads filled her completely, but her breaths already flowed through her lungs with an ease she always forgot existed in between the times she went imprisoned by her cuff.
The constant pressure behind her eyes lifted, and she inhaled deeply and grinned. Question number one, it is. "Are there really dragons in the Demue Desert?"
Neither one of them so much as blinked.
Two. "If the Authors helped Scribes inscribe the Elementi magic into books, where are those books now?"
Her fingers clenched, magic rising swiftly now, taking flight up her torso and into her brain, singing in an ancient language that caused one of the torches on the wall to ignite in a flame that grew large enough to touch the ceiling of the tower. Zev and Serah's shadows refused to flinch.
She held a theory that the Scribes and Matthias were somehow distantly related.
"Did one of your Authors write my mother's Monverta, or does your kind consider the queen's copy to be a poor replica?"
Number three.
Four. "Was my mother an Author?"
That was a frown on Zev's face, she was sure of it.
"Do you know what voíxili means?" Five.
Serah dropped her hands from her sleeves.
Astrid's heart leapt into her throat, and, sensing the Scribe's visible sign of restlessness, pounced. "Voíxili," she goaded. A sudden burst of magic sent a bout of euphoria straight to her head; the floor spun beneath her. "You know it. I can see it in your eyes."
Inside her head, her magic sang louder now. A loose piece of stone from the wall in front of Astrid shook and cracked straight down the center.
Zev circled his fingers around her wrist and pressed his thumb against her temple. Control, the silent motion said. He moved his thumb to her breastbone. Calm.
The sudden euphoria seeped from her; stupidity swept in to replace the holes. Astrid scowled at Serah over Zev's shoulder. She should have known this was to be a test of her control. Since when had either one of them ever reacted to her based on pure, instinctual surprise? Never. Serah's reaction had been planned, an attack to rile her emotions into a frenzy.
Astrid gritted her teeth. Mostly because it had worked.
Astrid stepped back into a crouch. Zev's fingers fell from her skin. She flexed her fingers at her sides in an attempt to stretch her magic like she would her muscles. Anger from being duped so easily sent her raging power into a storm, blinding her, but she still heard the sharp schtick of a blade behind her as Matthias pulled his rare blood-sword from its scabbard.
She flexed her empty fingers again.
That was hardly fair.
Her veins pulsed with energy. She sucked in a breath, held it, and closed her eyes. Matthias waited for her move. She imagined she could feel his breath on her neck, the tip of his sword poised. The diamond-like material of the hilt was lighter than air but stronger than stone. A blade that could taste blood and know its owner from its enemy. The length of the silver blade patterned with peaks of mountains that would reveal themselves beneath the glow of flames.
"Fire," she breathed.
Her right hand straightened out at her side, the power inside of her splaying open her fist to the air. Her fingers stretched blindly towards the sconce on the tower's wall, seeking out a thread of element that burned. Invisible heat circled itself around the tips of her fingers. The magic in her blood hummed, vibrated, but she held her breath firmly and demanded.
Heat swept across her face as the flames in the sconce went out. A heavy scent of smoke swept through the room. Red sparks erupted behind her closed eyelids right before they opened. She'd done it! With a wild grin, she spun towards Matthias, a replica of the sword he held now angled protectively across her chest.
With pride, she noted they were identical.
Except hers was a blade made of fire.
Matthias raised a single brow, his light, shaven hair tight against his scalp. The foolish captain hadn't even thought of replacing his helmet.
"Peacock," he accused her.
"I prefer dragon, actually."
Matthias flicked his wrist, rearranging the hilt of his sword more comfortably in his hand. "An extinct breed." He clucked his tongue. "An apt comparison, indeed."
Astrid barely had time to scowl before he lunged at her.
She felt most connected to her magic when she fought, whether she wore the extinguishing cuff or not. During a battle, her brain shut off to allow her adrenaline to take control. It silenced all else, reducing her to primal survival and instincts. Astrid had long ago learned that adrenaline could provide a magic of its own. So, if it was control the Scribes were looking for, she would deliver.
Her feet moved a full breath before her brain registered Matthias's atypical offensive move. She felt her magic flood her mind. It bent her knees low to the ground. Her body listened, and she dropped beneath Matthias's offensive feint. She swept her flames along the ground to catch Matthias's booted feet, but he easily sidestepped it. In the split second it took for Astrid to leap back onto her feet, his silver sword was already held aloft to meet the hit of her flaming one. The two weapons clashed between them. It was a shame swordsmanship was Matthias's expertise, not to mention the sixty pounds of muscle he had on her. Her arms shook against the strength needed to push back against his. She clenched her jaw but winked at him as her own Spirit's threads rushed to fortify her muscles. The flames of her sword grew hotter.
Matthias's brown eyes were a bright amber against the heat coming from her blade. If the heat bothered him, he refused to show it. In fact, Astrid was sure he grinned at her between the sparks erupting from their clashed weapons. He shook his wrist, sending tremors from his hilt to the tip of his blade. Astrid narrowed her eyes when the sleeve of his heavy cloak fell back to reveal a pair of black gloves that reached nearly up to his elbows.
She looked back at him just as he said, "Fireproof."
Sweat rolled down her spine. "And the rest of you?"
"I suppose you'll have to figure that out for yourself, eh, Princess?"
She growled and pushed with her strength against him. He grunted but allowed their swords to part in a shower of sparks. Astrid spun out of his reach, crouching back down into a defensive position. Matthias simply watched her, analyzing her stance as he shrugged out of his cloak and tossed it into the far corner by the door. His captain's armor gleamed across his chest as he parried his sword expertly through the empty air.
"You're holding your strength in your arms," he said. "Hold it in your core. Your strength will distribute evenly from the center."
Technically speaking, she knew Matthias was right, but the strength of her magic had been held in her core for too long, and now it was released. It was in her, all around her. She grinned at him, twisting her flames to shadow the tilt of her lips into something grotesque. Matthias rolled his eyes at her theatrics but turned his hips toward her, wrapping his hands around the sword's grip. She placed her left foot forwards, and then they moved together. Their blades clashed again, and Astrid became only aware of the dance of their feet, the artistry of their attacks and counters, the silence as their weapons met open air. Moisture beaded her hairline, and she stepped back to avoid a blunt hit from Matthias to her waist. She found she was panting.
The flames of her blade flickered.
There was movement to her left. She spun towards it, her weapon held perpendicularly before her. It was only Serah, her hands speaking. Control, they said. Magic not tired. You.
Astrid had forgotten the Scribes were even there. She glanced at Zev, whose brown face remained impassive as his motions spoke, Air.
And then the blasted Scribe threw a stone at her.
Her magic roared against the threat and forced the ancient word to the forefront of her thoughts. It screeched against her brain: voíxili. The cry from her mother's Monverta.
A sharp breeze swept into the tower so quickly that it screamed through the cracks of the mountain. Exhaustion sent Astrid to her knees with a cry, but she still saw the stone Zev had thrown at her stop in midair. She held her breath as Zev's stare met her own from across the room.
Not tired. You tire.
The wind bolstered the rock for a moment, suspending it as it rotated serenely an inch away from Astrid herself. Then, with the same flashing crack that lives in lightning, the stone shot itself in the opposite direction. It was so quick that Matthias barely had time to meet her widened gaze before it struck him in the temple.
He went down immediately.
The stone clattered harmlessly against the floor until it bounced to a stop just out of Astrid's reach.
Astrid scrambled from the floor. Her arms shook from the exertion of her magic, and she stumbled again, her wrists unable to support her. Serah knelt beside her, hoisting her up by the armpits into a slouched kneel. The Scribe looked from her to Matthias's prone body and then jabbed a finger at Astrid's chest, directly over her heart.
Heal.
Astrid glared at them both. They had planned this, no doubt. They'd wanted to tire her to the point of burnout and then force her to use the Spirit element—notoriously the hardest of all elements to wield, according to all the legends and myths—to prove a point about her lack of control over her body as well as her mind. This was a lesson of her mother's doing, she was sure of it.
She gripped the remains of her magic, fisted it with her anger, and shoved Serah back from her.
Her knees swayed, but her feet steadied as she walked to Matthias and knelt next to him.
The stone hadn't been particularly large, but it had been fast. A stream of blood trickled down the side of his head, pooling in his ear. Of all the days for him not to wear his helmet! She placed a finger against the pulse at his neck. "You'll never live this down, you know," she told him, "and to think you used to refuse my nightly excursions."
He better be bloody grateful when he awakened.
Her hands shook as she unfastened his chest plate. Her brain already recoiled at the idea of using more energy when she was already so depleted. But when her palm slid along his bare skin to the spot where his heart thudded against her fingers, her veins hummed again. It was muffled this time. Her magic lurked just out of reach.
No. I master you.
She pressed her hand into his chest, as if she could reach down and yank on his very soul. She gritted her teeth in frustration, and when nothing happened, she whipped her head around to glare at the two silent Scribes.
"You did this," she seethed. "You wanted this to happen."
Zev pressed his thumb to his temple. Control.
Curse their control! She swept a leg across Matthias's torso so she sat on his stomach, bracing both of her hands against his chest. She pressed as if she could force air into his lungs. I am your master!
The word ripped from her thoughts to her throat and out through her mouth. "Voixili!"
Someone screamed.
Astrid nearly fell off Matthias, but the scream wasn't coming from someone.
Magic screeched within her head, a magic that was not her own. It rattled against her power, reaching out in desperation as if to clamp onto it for survival. What in the name of the Scribes?—the Scribes!
Fear swamped Astrid so quickly that she had half-reached for Matthias's fallen sword when she registered the heat seeping from her hands into Matthias's skin. She gasped as it flowed from her, glancing from the motionless Scribes back to Matthias. The split skin across his temple bubbled and crawled as the cut stitched itself closed. As her magic pulled on Matthias's Spirit, the screaming intrusion from that foreign power lessened, but she felt it fueling the remnants of her energy reserves.
Or maybe it was feeding from her.
By the time Matthias's eyelids twitched, Astrid's head drooped between her shoulders. She jolted when fingers wrapped around her upper arm. But it wasn't Matthias. It was Serah. And it wasn't fingers; it was her copper cuff, clamped back into place above her elbow. The Scribe had one hand pressed to her mouth, and Astrid recoiled when she saw drops of blood dribbling from the gaps between Serah's fingers.
"What did you do?" Astrid said, but with the extinguishing cuff back on, it came out less like the royal decree she had intended it to be and more of a stunned gasp.
Her head dizzied with exhaustion, and she steadied herself with a hand on Matthias's unconscious shoulder. "You—you attacked my magic!"
For once, Serah's eyes were expressively wide. She shook her head—No—and then pointed at Astrid with a shaking finger—You.
Serah dropped her hand from her mouth. Blood stained her lips, and when she turned back to Zev, Astrid realized he had slumped against the wall. The scars on his bald head looked rather odd, the patterns of them different— Serah touched a finger to her heart.
Spirit.
A second finger.
Heal.
She opened her mouth. The Scribe's mutilated tongue had started to reform. Astrid's sweaty palm slipped against Matthias's bare shoulder and into a swirling abyss of darkness, Serah's half-formed tongue the last image of her consciousness.
- - -
She should really stop throwing that mysterious word around...
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