She had never seen a dead body until being stuck atop that watchtower with one strapped to her.
Astrid loathed to admit she had never truly considered death in this blasted Saviour's Tournament of her mother's making. Her connection to the elements had always felt inconsequential at their worst and a mystical drama she loved to star in at best. And though she knew the Purge had been fought over the seven elemental threads, Astrid had never truly associated them with death and destruction before.
Until now.
It made her feel like an absolutely naive idiot.
Whenever she blinked, she saw the disfigured, bloated features; the unnaturally pliable way its limp arms and legs had bent into formation; how she had directed the water element and the cold threads of air to wrap around him, entombing the body in thick ice so she could ride it down a mountain.
Astrid braced a hand against one of the tapestries that hung in the corridor leading to Sebastian's room. Her head dizzied, nausea clawing its way up her throat. The tapestry smelled wooly and musty, scratching her forehead as she took a moment to rest against it. Distractedly, her gaze focused on the small bit of the image before her until a clump of unraveling black threads caught her attention. With a choked breath, Astrid stepped back to observe it.
"Curse the skies," she muttered.
It was a portrait of Goddess Elayn, Mother Earth, the maternal creator of the seven realms. A depiction that was as familiar to Astrid as her own sword. In it, Goddess Elayn emerged from a lake, scarlet hair streaming down her bare back, long white linen wrapping around her chest and torso, trailing over her shoulders and down her legs. Above her lay a blank, dark space meant to symbolize the empty Abyss she had morphed into creation with her words. And in her hand, poised up into that empty place, was a handsome black quill.
Mother Earth's Creation, the artwork was called.
Astrid stared at the sewn image of the quill, her chest clutching her heart so rapidly that she forgot to breathe. The image swam before her. Its black threads raised from their knots, unwinding from their place as if someone had run their fingers multiple times over that spot.
Find it, salveretta. Free us all.
Her hand reached towards it without much conscious thought. The yarn felt like any other normal yarn, thick and woolen, and the hardness of the wall met her touch when she pressed into the portrait. There was nothing there.
"You're acting a fool," she hissed at herself.
To think she acted upon the words of some half-deranged mer-creature that ate decaying human flesh.
There was no way that tasted appetizing.
She shook her aching head and clutched the torn parchment she hid in her pocket instead. It cleared her thoughts enough to push away from the tapestry.
Sebastian's two guards stood at attention outside his double doors. Melvin saluted her upon spotting Astrid as she rounded the corner, but Abel crossed her arms, watching her approach with an unspoken challenge that tightened every line in her young face.
"What do you want?"
Astrid ignored her and strutted up to Melvin with a lackluster swagger. "Let me in," she ordered. Melvin bowed his head in a sign of absolute compliance and moved to the doors, but Abel stepped in front of them as if she alone could block the entrance.
"It's only been two days since you nearly killed him with that avalanche," the bothersome, yet beautiful girl accused. "Don't you think he deserves a few days of peace from you, at least?"
"An avalanche that he saved me from—" Astrid caught the way Abel's eyes narrowed. "Oh." She deigned the village girl a superior glance. "That's it, isn't it? You are jealous that he chose to save me." She gestured for Melvin to open the doors, which he did without another moment of hesitation. "Back to your jobs, then, gentlemen."
She was sure Abel cursed her before the doors shut behind her.
His rooms were dark except for a fire that was barely more than embers in their grate. A small beam of light came from a lantern on a cluttered table where Sebastian sat reading, huddled in a wingback chair, a quilt drawn across his shoulders. He jumped when he heard her approach, his hand reaching for a letter opener on the table. She half-snorted at that even as he retracted his hand, pushing his spectacles further up the long bridge of his nose.
"Astrid!" He hurried into less of a slouch, but he winced, a hand at his ribs. "Are you okay?"
She stepped closer to observe him. "You're asking me if I'm alright?" She had to laugh. This man was surely an oddity. "You're the one who appears to have entered a fighting ring with an avalanche and lost magnificently."
Bruises colored his right cheekbone and forehead. A thick bandage wrapped around his head, pushing his curls upwards into ridiculous positions. He hunched his shoulders under her scrutiny, his hand raising to cover a jagged scratch that ran down the column of his neck.
"Funnily enough, that is exactly what happened."
Astrid offered him a thin grin and took the seat across from him on a small sofa, propping her feet up on the table between them. "I didn't mean for that to happen," she admitted. "I hope you know I would have never risked that on purpose."
Sebastian focused on her cuff for a short moment before he turned away from her with a shrug. The flickering flames from the grate cast shadows across his face that made him look wanner than usual. All sharp angles and hardness. So far from the look of the boy who had hidden a book in his dinner jacket.
She realized she was staring when Sebastian cleared his throat and shifted in his chair. "So, are you going to tell me what happened on that watchtower?"
Astrid leaned back against the sofa, trying not to scowl at the memory. She remembered struggling against the healers, raving like an out-of-control terrified lunatic, the pressure building in her lungs. It had felt like if she hadn't released it, it would have surely suffocated her. And, above all, she recalled the wide-eyed horrified expression with which Sebastian had gaped at her, how she had felt the uncontrollable desire for him to know she did not normally treat bodies like she had, that it had disgusted her as thoroughly as it had him.
With her sanity now somewhat secured, it was impossible to feel comfortable in that vulnerability again. Astrid crossed her arms and met his stare. "That depends—" she procured the parchment from her pocket, laying it flat on the table for him to read—"Are you finally going to tell me the truth about this?"
They both stared down at it as the inked words bled in and out of the porous material like it was a sponge that soaked it all up and then wrung it back out again, splattering the letters into a destructible pile of language: voixili.
Sebastian's cheeks paled. "I didn't know it would cause an entire mountain to fall."
"But you knew it would do something," she said. "You told me when we first met you couldn't be sure what it meant."
He rested his elbows on his knees, leaning closer to the parchment and then away again like it would strike him across the cheek. "At the time, that was the truth." He fumbled for his previously discarded book, flipping it open to a page that had been turned down. "The night before our first task, I read this—" She peered at the book when he held it out to her—"and it was right there."
Astrid drew a finger under the published word. "What does it mean?"
Sebastian turned the book back towards him, pushing his spectacles into place. "It sounds like it gave the first Author her connection to the elements, even allowing her to transcribe Earth's magic into written texts."
"Fables of Monverta," Astrid interrupted. "The books of the Scribes."
He nodded. "Yes, and Scribes shared those texts with the other realms to disperse the knowledge of the seven elements."
"And that part about the consequence?"
His gaze bore into hers in a way that she found uncomfortably probing. "When its power is denied, it kills."
"Oh." His expression made sense now, at least. "Abel's illness. You were honest about not believing in magic, then. I did wonder why you had so suddenly changed your mind about the elements with such admirable vigor."
"I almost killed her, Astrid. Murdered my best friend over something I didn't even understand. How twisted is that?" She was not at all surprised when he scowled at her. "But you already knew this, didn't you?"
Though she had expected this accusation, she would be lying if she said it hadn't stung. "No, I truly didn't. Not in this context, at least."
When his lips thinned even further, Astrid perched on the edge of the cushions, as close to him as she would allow herself. "Sebastian, I swear it. What I told you at the ball was true: my mother only warned me that my elemental connection could harm others if left uncontrolled. It was why she had me wear this cuff." She held out her arm as if he needed a reminder of her prison. "When I found you that night with Abel, I—" Her gaze lowered. "I thought you were doing it on purpose. That you were...feeding off her energy."
"Is that even possible?" His face flushed in outrage. "Have you done that before?"
Well, she supposed she couldn't blame him for thinking that. Still, it irked her. "No. Of course not!"
He looked away from her again, his jaw ticking. "I suppose it doesn't even matter anymore."
But she could tell that it did matter. To him. And for some odd reason, it brought words of comfort to her lips, causing her hand to reach out towards him. She hastily pulled it back, sitting on the traitorous limb, but said, "There's a problem with your theory, however; I didn't kill anyone on that mountain when I used it."
"You nearly did."
Astrid flinched. She had almost killed them both with her recklessness. But, in her defense, she hadn't known. Even still, Sebastian had chosen to save her before himself. It was her turn to look away.
"Regardless, from what you showed me in that book, it doesn't seem as if the use of the word itself claims souls. Only if one speaks out against it," she said. "Denies it."
"Right," Sebastian agreed, "the word appears to act like a transcription, taking in the elemental threads and transcribing the magic into Scribal books. Like your mother's. Rainier's magic was stored there, after all."
She bit the inside of her cheek. Why hadn't her mother ever told her any of this? It was hard to believe that her mother wasn't aware of it. Davina had always been so protective over the Monverta, and if only she had told Astrid sooner, perhaps she could have released the elements years ago. Perhaps she could have helped them. She thought back to the other times she had called upon voixili: each time, the elements had risen to the occasion, performing miraculous feats, but there had also been consequences of its usage. A rock had lodged itself into Matthias's head, for one. She had found Sebastian unconscious in a ditch after another. And then there was that avalanche...
Was it because she'd torn the threads from the Earth each time and given it to her mother's Fables of Monverta?
Her fingers itched at the seams of her cuff when Sebastian sighed into the silence between them. "Your turn," he said, "When you came down from the watchtower, you mentioned something about a quill. What did you mean?"
She stared at her hands. There were still scratches on them from her struggle in that cursed pond. "Have you ever heard of Merpeople?"
"In folklore, yes. Creatures of the water that are both human and fish. Sailors often blame their existence for any misfortune they experience at sea."
"And ponds," Astrid added. "Apparently."
"Oh." Sebastian must have seen her drawn expression because his brows pinched. "I'm guessing they are no longer just myths and legends. They're...real, then? Like the elves and fae?"
Astrid eyed his shoulders, which inched closer and closer to his ears the more he processed the information. "Are you sure if I tell you, it won't cause your brain to short-circuit and fully combust?"
"I think I'm far past that by now." He met her questioning stare. "I can handle it."
So, Astrid told him of her ordeal in Infinite Pond, her clash with the mer-woman, the creature's demand to find the quill, and that inked marking she had found on the soldier's body. As for the absolute terror she had felt in those freezing waters, the gut-wrenching disgust that had consumed her from manhandling the dead—well, she decided to keep those emotions to herself.
Sebastian's eyes never left hers, but his pupils dilated with every word, retreating into himself as if he could see inside his brain to organize the information into a puzzle he could make sense of. His jaw looked so tight, Astrid was half-sure he would crack at least two molars.
"Salveretta," he said when she finished her story. "That's scribal tongue for saviour."
It was odd he focused on that out of everything she had just told him. Astrid was still stuck on the bit about the mer-woman feasting on putrid, rotten flesh, to be honest.
She shrugged. "Don't ask me how an insane creature trapped beneath layers of ice knows about this whole saviour business. I have no idea." She crossed her legs beneath her. "None of this makes much sense."
"And to think It only took a murderous beast to have you finally agree with me on that."
Astrid pulled a face but regarded him. He hadn't mentioned a word about the quill, which was odd, considering how curious he was about literally everything. Maybe that crazy brain of his had just got caught up on other facts of her daring feat against the merperson. Or maybe he had already read about the quill in one of his books like he had with voixili and was choosing to withhold it. Perhaps he didn't trust her.
At least his intellect remained intact.
Tension settled between them. It felt stringent. Astrid frowned at it. "Listen, I have an idea. Or, rather, a bargain of sorts."
Sebastian hesitated, weary, like he had already determined her ideas were utterly destructible.
"If we are to survive this tournament, we're going to have to help each other. You need further practice with the elements, which I can help you with. I want to learn more about scribal folklore. Your mother spoke the language and taught it to you. I'm learning that my mother hardly taught me anything."
"Perhaps she didn't remember," Sebastian offered.
"She remembered," Astrid countered. "She knew. Whatever memory loss happened during the Purge, it did not affect my mother. Why else would she imprison two Scribes? How would she know the truth of what her Fables of Monverta truly was?"
"Scribes?"
"Yes. Serah and Zev. They are eerily peaceful beings even whilst being imprisoned for the past two decades." She noticed the strange expression, which rippled across his features. "What?"
His cheeks rouged. "The woman with silver hair. She touched me." He flush furthered when she quirked a sly brow. "In respect," he amended hastily. "In the way one often greets a priestess."
Astrid's chest thumped, but she ignored it. "Well, I never claimed they were not deranged. Serah even told me to protect you. Even though we're meant to be opponents. Enemies, even, one could say. Though, I'll admit, I did a fairly poor job of that."
A terse silence followed her statements. She glanced down into her lap, a sudden sense of foolishness causing her to want to avoid his assessing expression. Why did he constantly seem to be the one to crack her exterior shell and divulge what was raw and true beneath it? It was unnerving. And uncomfortable.
Astrid crossed her arms. "So, what do you say? Do we have a deal, Seabass?"
Before he could respond, Sebastian's doors opened and Abel strode in, tawny eyes flashing at Astrid. Her much taller form towered over Astrid's own as she peered down at her from the arm of the sofa.
"Don't make a bargain with her, Bash."
Astrid rolled her eyes. "I should have known husky street girls excel at eavesdropping."
"What did you just call me?"
"No need to sound so affronted," Astrid said, "It is a sincere compliment."
Her smirk seemed to only further enrage Abel whose fingers flexed at her sides. "Care to inform me as to how?"
"You are curvaceous and scrappy, which makes you good at using your assets." She grinned innocently up at Abel's reddening face. "You've survived this long based on that, haven't you?"
Abel swore under her breath, her arm reaching for a nonexistent weapon because she still hadn't been trusted with any. Astrid's smirk widened at that.
"Stop it. Both of you," Sebastian snapped. He made a move as if to get up from the chair, but his face spasmed with pain, and he slumped back against it. His breaths were heavy, a hand placed to his ribs.
Astrid stood but Abel was already there. She kneeled in front of him and, without asking permission, lifted the hem of his tunic to assess the skin over his abdomen. An irrational sense of embarrassment had Astrid turning away, but she paused when she caught sight of his bronze flesh. His ribcage was battered with purpling, angry bruises.
Your fault, she thought. Your avalanche did that.
She watched as Abel ran nimble fingers along his ribs. Sebastian flinched but did not object to her examinations.
"What's broken?" Astrid asked. She was an idiot for not having bothered to ask sooner. "How many bones? Where?"
"Three bruised ribs. Two fractured," Sebastian answered. "My wrist was sprained, too, but it's not that bad."
Based on his pinched complexion, he was obviously lying.
"All compliments to you and your actions," Abel snapped. "I bet you haven't even thanked him for what he did for you."
It bothered Astrid that Abel was right. Thank you wasn't an easily accessible part of her vocabulary. She had never been given many opportunities to care for people, not in the same way Abel and Sebastian obviously did for each other. There usually wasn't anyone for her to offer thanks to, anyways. Matthias was different because thanking him for doing his job had always seemed pointless. Disingenuous.
He probably would have scoffed at her.
Perhaps Astrid had even grown incapable of caring.
She found she had to clear her throat before saying, "I can teach you how to heal them." Her next breath caught in her throat when Sebastian lifted his head. "If you want me to."
Abel tugged Sebastian's tunic back into place before facing Astrid. "Absolutely not," she said. "You can hardly control your own powers."
But Astrid ignored the displeased street girl and stepped closer to Sebastian. For some degrading reason, she offered him her hand, like he would take it with his battered ribs and rise to his feet on her strength alone.
Curse the skies, there had never been a girl more of a fool than she!
Sebastian watched her offer like her nails were actually the yellowing fangs of the mer-woman herself. "You refused to let me heal your ankle on that mountain because you claimed I would kill you."
"Yes, well—" Astrid offered him a brief smile, miming an invisible crown on her head—"I am a more valuable commodity, wouldn't you agree?"
Abel snorted, indignant, but Sebastian's lips slowly tipped upwards. He stretched out his fingers but didn't come close to touching her hand, which, for some inexplicable reason, was still waiting for him. Hastily, she lowered it to her side, forcing her expression steady. Instead, Sebastian wiggled his fingertips in the same motion he used to seek out elemental threads.
"I would have to use Spirit, right?" he asked.
That curious light returned to his face, brightening his eyes in a way that caused her chest to loosen in relief. "Spirit's threads are nearly translucent, pearlescent almost, but it makes them difficult to see. They give off more of a feeling, like the first breath of fresh air in the morning." She felt his excitement rattle down his own soul's elemental thread and onto her own. It gave her a thought. "I can help guide you to the correct threads."
Abel took up position behind Sebastian's chair, arms braced across the back of it. "How?"
Astrid looked between them, settling back on Sebastian. "That night, when I healed Abel, I could only stop it by tying your soul's thread to mine. I—I never released it." She gauged his reaction and could practically feel Abel's animosity burning into her. "Not to control you; I'm not even sure if something like that is possible. But I couldn't risk your power seeking out another innocent again, so...I held onto it. And I can lead you to it now. If that's alright."
"You did it to help me. And Abel."
There was a grateful quality to his tone that made Astrid shift, uncertain under his awed attention. "And she never even thanked me for it," Astrid mocked in return, using Abel's own words against her. "Imagine that."
Abel huffed, cheeks pink.
Astrid's grin broadened. "Anyways, we can count this as your first lesson in the elements, fisherboy: Healing with Spirit's threads. What do you say?"
Sebastian lowered his head but nodded.
"Are you going to offer him your hand again?" Abel clipped tightly.
"No need. It would be quite pointless." Astrid stopped before Sebastian, his knees brushing up against hers. She tried to keep her tone neutral, but it was difficult to keep her lips from twitching into a smirk as she said, "You're going to have to place a hand on my stomach."
Abel gaped. "What?"
Sebastian's face reddened, but he titled his head in curiosity, glancing at her torso. "I hope our clothes can stay on."
"That's where that male brain of yours went first?" Astrid choked on a laugh. "By the Scribes! I never said anything about the removal of our clothing."
She took his hand in hers, careful not to jostle him too much, and placed it on her lower abdomen. Over her simple, linen blouse, of course. It was difficult to curb her giggles, especially when the warmth of his fingers soaked through her clothing and into her.
"I've always felt my connection to the elements here," she explained. "I think you have felt it, too. Like a punch to the gut whenever you're in danger? Or, perhaps, even when I was near, like I am now, as it sought out your Spirit's thread I stole."
Within her, she felt their connection clash.
Sebastian gasped in turn, his free hand pressing to his own stomach, his opposite fingers curling into her shirt reflexively. She nodded to reassure him, but her heart was racing so rapidly that she had to swallow it back into place.
"I'm going to release the thread back to you."
"No," Sebastian argued. She had to place her hand over his to keep it on her. "You can't! What if—?"
She squeezed his fingers. "You taught me about voixili yourself." She met his worried gaze with her determined one. "I think you're done with denying elemental magic, am I right? You should have nothing to fear. Let me give this back to you."
His face still paled.
"Trust me."
Abel made a defiant noise, and Astrid shot a look over at her. She had almost forgotten Abel remained there, watching them. "Trust me," she beseeched again, but this time of Abel. The two women sized each other up. "He can't heal himself unless I relinquish control of his own spirit back to him."
But it was Sebastian who replied, splaying his palm large and wide across the width of her stomach. "I'm ready. Tell me what I have to do."
Astrid turned away from Abel only after the girl had nodded, albeit curtly as if it were against her better judgment.
"I'm going to unravel our Spirits' threads," Astrid explained, "You should be able to feel it loosen—" She pushed his fingers into her—"Here. Like how your ribcage expands with a deep breath. When you feel it, grasp it. Just like how you did with Water's threads."
Sebastian's jaw set. He wrapped one arm around his injured ribs and pushed himself closer to the edge of the chair, to her. His knees gripped her legs as if he needed them to ground himself.
"Alright," he said. "Okay. Do it."
She felt her neck heat under the intensity of his focus, so she closed them and focused. With a slow inhale, she delved into her elemental reserve, felt the slumbering threads lash against the confinements of her cuff. But she kept pushing. Until she felt them. Tangled breaths against her thoughts. Her own soul's thread was twined around Sebastian's, knotted together as she had left them since that fateful night. Both of her hands raised, and she thought she might be humming, coaxing the two threads apart with a song that came from the very depths of her core. An end of each wrapped around her awaiting fingers, and she spun them, unwinding the threads until they fell apart.
Her stomach felt suddenly twice as empty when she felt Sebastian's hand leave her and grab onto his freed thread instead.
O O O
A haunting tune vibrated around them, filling his head, when Sebastian felt it.
Astrid's ribcage rose upwards on a contained breath; Sebastian pinched his thumb and index finger together as the wispy, opalescent thread twirled from Astrid's hand and into his.
His breaths rushed into his lungs with a new purpose. He had not realized he had been missing this part of himself until it was his again.
It was weightless, almost like feeling nothing at all. "I've got it." His words came out in a whisper, afraid to scare off the thread.
He felt Astrid back away. "Good. Now, focus on the parts within you that hurt and direct the thread there. You're its author, dictating its path across the page of your body. Show it what to do."
I can do this. I know how to write.
Sebastian would have to remember to thank Astrid later for using an analogy she had known he would understand.
The thread hummed between his knuckles as he focused first on his sprained wrist. It wasn't broken, at least, so he figured it might be a safer place to start. Just like how he remembered manipulating Water's threads, he pinched Spirit and willed it around his injured wrist. It wound around him, a soft kiss of a touch. The throbbing in his wristbone dulled.
Amazed at the sensation, Sebastian laughed.
Snap.
Pain erupted up his forearm, and Sebastian cried out. The thread buzzed around him, sharper now, angrily vibrating in tune with this new pulsing broken bone. Sebastian was sure he was going to faint when he looked at his wrist, which now hung uselessly from his arm like a branch that had been snapped by the wind.
Air whooshed from him on a low moan.
Abel dropped to his side, but Astrid was suddenly before him again, holding up a hand to halt Abel's progress. She kept it there as a warning, leaning over him and urging, "Focus, Sebastian. Keep it under your control."
There were tears in his eyes, he would be ashamed to admit later, but he focused them on Astrid's wavering face anyways. He blinked. You can do this, she seemed to say. Do it. He forced his breaths to match with hers, pushing the writhing pain away until it was background noise. A horrible, pulsating background noise, but still he watched Astrid, centering himself on what it had felt like to feel his thread embracing hers, the sound of her singing them apart so delicately, like a lullaby. A complete antithesis to everything he had grown to know about her. He wondered if she even knew she had done it.
His thread quieted again, a gentle tickle on his skin.
With Astrid's low tune in his head, he guided it back to his wrist.
The pain cooled, dulling, retreating until it was a mere pinpoint of discomfort. Astrid's song continued to thrum alongside his thread, rising and falling over his damaged skin, slipping under his tunic and across his ribs. It felt like fingers, stitching him back together again, an itching sensation that was far preferable to the snapping of his bones. Careful to not disturb Spirit's work, he lifted his tunic to watch the healing take place.
It was rather miraculous.
From behind him, Abel gasped, but as the last of his bruises faded, sinking back into his blood, it was Astrid he sought out.
She lifted her eyes from his stomach. "You did it," she said, a gleam in her eyes and a fading blush on her cheeks. With a quiet cough, she cleared her throat. Her hands clasped in front of her. "A successful first lesson, if I do say so myself. Even if you did break your own wrist in the process. But we have to keep all this learning lively somehow. My lessons were always such a bore."
Sebastian couldn't keep from grinning at her, his head feeling light, renewed, carefree. He shrugged his tunic back into place. It was a relief that he could participate in such small movements without twinges of pain.
"Really? They were all boring?"
Astrid shrugged. "Well, I did battle Matthias once with a sword made of fire, but other than that, a complete snooze fest."
He turned to share an amused look with Abel, who had silently perched herself on the arm of his chair. She appeared far from charmed by Astrid's antics.
"If you're going to teach Bash, then I want a part in it," she demanded.
Astrid sat back on the small table and sighed a little too dramatically. "Name your price, Husky Street Girl."
Abel's expression thinned, her eyes flashing as they narrowed. "You can train him in the elements, you've proven to be competent in that much, at least, but he also needs physical strength." She prodded Sebastian's bicep to make her point. A small part of him may have tried to flex to prove otherwise. "I'll help with that."
If he were a vainer man, he would have probably objected to Abel's insinuation of his lack of physical prowess. After all, he knew he wasn't particularly muscular, but he had trained in the fishing trade for nearly a decade. He could haul heavy nets full of fish and crabs straight out of the waves and onto a boat. But, instead, Sebastian sat, content to watch these two women in their battle of wills.
"See?" Astrid said, motioning a hand up and down Abel's lithe form. "Husky."
"Call me that one more time—"
"It can mean strong," Sebastian interjected, nudging Abel's knee with his elbow. It felt amazing to be able to move again. He grinned at her. "Powerful and muscular are other known synonyms."
The dimple in Abel's right cheek ticked dangerously. "I still don't like it."
Astrid only grinned, clapping her hands together in a bright smack. "I'll put together a training schedule."
"We," Abel snapped, "We will put it together.
Astrid waved the correction off like it was nothing more than a bothersome gnat.
Watching the two of them, Sebastian had to admit it was consuming in a slightly terrifying way. Separately, Abel and Astrid were both forces to be reckoned with; together, he could only imagine the torture they would put him through with this schedule of theirs.
"As for you," Astrid continued, toeing Sebastian's shin with her boot, "make a list of important Scribal legends." She kicked his leg again. "Be sure not to leave anything out this time. Anything you know, Seabass, I want to know it, too."
"That would be a pretty long list," Abel muttered.
Astrid exhaled audibly. "Don't you have guard duty to attend to?"
"Don't you have mountains to destroy?"
"That was one time!"
Sebastian watched them leave. Their bickering continued into the hallway beyond his doors. With a short chuckle, he grabbed a book and walked over to the window, running a hand over his ribs, twisting his wrist back and forth. Nothing hurt. At all. Not even a single hair on his head.
He placed the book on the window's ledge, flipping back to the page he'd been studying earlier before Astrid's visit had interrupted him. An image stared back at him, reflected in the glass of the window. He glanced between them both, biting the inside of his cheeks.
Half of the page was covered by an illustration. A slender quill poised atop shattered glass, scarlet blood dripping from the broken shards.
Together, Queen Branwyn and Lady Guinivere created a quill in the hopes of finding a way for Lady Guinivere to share the knowledge of the elements with her people's kingdom: the humans, untouched by Mother Earth's natural gifts. With the elvish connection to Earth, Queen Branwyn drew upon the most ancient Weeping Willow who had been given birth along the shore of Holalethe Lake. The Elvish Queen took some of its bark and wielded it into a quill, using the tail feather of a phoenix to bind it together. Lady Guinivere called upon the gift of Voixili, imbuing the wood with a single thread of each element. In this way, the elemental connection of Elementi could be imbued into written language and shared with those who could not experience its magic. Subsequent quills were forged, but none were ever as powerful as the original: The Black Quill. Thus, it was sought after for generations, but rumor claims it was buried with Lady Guinevere upon her death, never to resurface again.
Sebastian tucked the book against his chest, glancing back at the closed doors. He wasn't sure why he had kept it from Astrid earlier. In fact, he felt a bit guilty over it. But that night when he had been led to Queen Davina's Keep, the night he had unknowingly awakened the elements, his ma had come to him in a dream. She had handed him that quill.
The very same one.
It felt personal.
He traced his finger over the image.
For now, he thought it best to keep it to himself.
- - -
Well, this was an extremely long chapter, but I couldn't find an adequate place to cut it in half. It didn't feel right to slice it up. So, here you go. Hope it kept you entertained, at least. *fingers crossed*
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