Yes I know its Sunday and there's no upload scheduled but whose gonna stop me???
♔ 𝔑𝔦𝔯𝔞 ♔
For the following days, I do little else than spend my mornings in the company of Ryke with warm breakfast and pleasant intentions. Then, I waste my afternoons sat in the garden until black mottles the blue of the sky, and I am forced to return inside to avoid the cold. There, I eat a warm dinner in the company of no one but myself and take myself to bed after bathing.
The routine is monotonous, but I enjoy it. It is refreshing to have the choice to do nothing, rather than have it be imposed upon you. Though, as I continue to indulge on the many serving of food that I am brought each day, both my mind and body begin to itch with the need for something more, energy restored. I do find myself missing some qualities I was made to abandon before Zaire took my human life.
Despite the deluded reasoning behind my training, my muscles seem to nag for the stances I became so familiar with. I was becoming increasingly skilful at swordplay, and it feels lonely to have not felt the thrill of victory burn through my blood. Ezekiel taught me to wield the weapon, and Cenred taught me to dance with it. To no longer have hours of training, to not have a sword sheathed at my back or my waist – I miss it.
However pointless it was, I miss too, traipsing through the woodlands with Ezekiel. My hand yearns to flex around the grip of a bow, my fingers flicker to loose an arrow. Even my breathing – as I walk the garden, I find that I have begun, as I once did before, to match my breaths with each soft footfall.
More than anything, no matter the distress it has brought me, I miss having my dagger at my side. The Pario Telum may have been forged by the Fae, embedded with a magic that can take and create, but without it I feel as though I am short a limb. Still now, when I hear a creak of noise, my hand shoots to my waist, where it once sat. The ghost of it is heavy, only reminding me of its absence. For a moment, Zaire tarnished my trust in the weapon. Now, it does not matter, for it was mine to have. A gift from my father, which saved my life, and my families, several times over. There hangs an odd sense of vulnerability around me without it, to say it is the cause of all this change.
Some part of me can recognise that I do not need a weapon here. Dagger, or sword, or bow. By my choice, or theirs, I have not seen any member of this Court, aside from Ryke and Inet. The latter acts as though she does not see me at all. She brings food and clothes in silence and clears what is already empty and worn in silence too. That is fine with me. I do not wish to befriend her either.
Libitina, I have not seen since she brought me here. A surprise, since I thought she would be giddy with the opportunity to impose some sort of retched torment upon me. She seems the kind to enjoy that. Tynan, following our terse conversation in the garden on my first day in the Night Court, has remained at a considerable distance. Occasionally, I see the flash of wings in the sky when I look from my window. They are gone within a blink, and I forget about them a few seconds later. Then the High Lord, who departed from my room with a sour expression, has not returned to pester me since.
Their absence from my presence during my stay here is well received. I do not wish to suffer their company. Despite such displays of generosity and freedom, my trust is seldom. I find myself constantly ticking over their ulterior motives. Calix is conniving enough that he might just hope to lull me into a false sense of security, before he brings the wrath of Zaire or Riyan down upon me. He could even be waiting till it is safe to kill me himself. Rid this Realm, the Earth, of the made Fae that homes the power of six. He knows – Ryke has told as much – and must be somewhat concerned by the revelation, for my lessons with the warlock have extended from two hours, to four. I am sure Ryke tells him, as he continues to tell me also, that there is little that can be done until I come to 'accept myself'. A term which I am quick becoming tired of hearing.
I tie off the braid of my hair while watching my reflection. I have become rather comfortable studying myself now, for I force myself to do it every morning, and evening too. I am not sure how else I am to come to accepting myself, other than not despising that which looks back at me.
At the very least, I am fond of how the colour has returned to me. I look far less ghastly now. It has helped too that the regular meals have filled my cheeks somewhat and returned some softness to my skeletal frame. Not by much, and not half of what I was when I competed in the Equinox, but it is a start.
I do not bother with shoes to take myself to the drawing room, where Ryke and I have our lessons. The floors are so clean, Calix would likely wring my neck if I were to drag the mud on my shoes through his home. Somehow, the thought of it makes me smile.
As always, I knock, but let myself in. Ryke is already sat, and smiles at me from the table. "Good morning Daenira." I have noticed he has a liking to using my full name, and no abbreviations to it. It is rather nice to hear.
"Good morning Ryke." I reply with equal pleasantness. While I am not fond of the rest of those that reside here, Ryke I have come to favour. We do not share much conversation other than the curriculum of our lessons, but his company relaxes me.
"I see we have made progress." He announces before I have even sat.
My brows lift at that. "I've hardly said a word."
"No, but your hair is different." Self-conscious, I run my hand over my braid. It is a hasty mess – Sloan would judge it, if she were here to see – but it is how I wore it at home. From the middle of my scalp, down to my back.
"Astute observation." The comment is dry, almost rude, but Ryke smiles.
He shuffles his chair. Closer, as though preparing to share a secret. "It is often down, to hide your ears." I blink once. Then again.
For him to realise, when I had not, stuns me. I had not tied back my hair since I first discovered the pointed cartilage sat either side of my head, hoping to shield them from sight. In privacy, I uncovered them, familiarising myself with the sight. This morning, when I tired of my hair drooping in my face, I hadn't even considered them before I tied it back.
"It is a hopeful development." He says nothing more, but he doesn't need to. I can see it, in the glinting of his eyes, that he thinks I have completed my first lesson. My jaw clenches. Somehow, I feel tricked. "Have you made any effort to call on your powers?" He doesn't need my answer, for it has been the same one each morning.
No.
As each day has passed, it has become more insufferable to contend with too. My chest feels prepared to burst, full to the brim. As though something is pushing from inside, desperate to get out. My stomach writhes, twisting in on itself. It is no longer only a nuisance, it is painful, and tiring, and enough to make me scream out if I think on it for too long. But I will not let it be known – I cannot show that it is an area of concern. If I were to, I will become an element of threat, and then the matter of me being unable to defend myself will become far more worrying.
Ryke looks disappointed. It angers me. "I do not think you are completely comprehending how serious I am when I tell you how uncontrollable this power is. You are used to training your younglings with but trickles of it, compared to what lives inside me. You tell me to scrape the surface, but I already know that is too much. Six Fae – all that power dying to be utilised. If I pull one thread, it will all unravel, and I will not be able to stop it.
"Do not cast looks at me with such judgement. You do not have to believe me. I am not searching to prove myself to you. I know what this power is capable of, and I know I cannot stop it. I have seen darkness fill rooms. Air smash doors from hinges. I have seen frost and ice crawl across floor and walls. That is what scraping the surface looks like. Havoc."
My body burns. Rage. I am far too familiar with the sensation now. My chest thunders with in, power ready to rip free, and I know the only way to stop it is to escape. I stand, the chair flying back as I push it away and crashing on to the floor. I ignore it as I stomp to the door, head held high.
"How did you create frost. Create ice?" Ryke calls behind me.
I turn, my expression pulled fierce, while his is a frown. "What?" I snap out.
"You have the power of six Fae within you, the power of those you killed – which had powers of that?" I open my mouth to quip back the answer he seeks, but I cannot.
I pull back with light shock. Not the Umbra Demons, nor the Dullahan. "I would not be sure. The Mer. The Fae from the Equinox. Your King? I had no reason to question their artillery."
Ryke holds my eyes. He thinks, a canyon wrinkle forming between furrowed brows. He says nothing, and I bore of this held silence, leaving the room to continue back to my bedroom.
♔
After leaving Ryke, I find myself too furious to leave my wing again at all. Besides, I am still trembling with irritation, which is not helping the weak harness I have around the coil of power in my chest. I have to pause my breathing, focusing on nothing over than pressing my palms to my sternum and biting my lip hoping to relieve some pain enough to stop me from screaming.
I try anything. Stretching. Swordplay, with a wraith weapon in my hand. Screaming into pillows. Even opening books and seeking out the most complex words, trying to identify the letters I am familiar with, and spelling them phonetically. The pain does not once abate. It grows and grows and grows.
There is no eating tonight. Not when I can hardly unclench my fists to pick up the cutlery. I've done nothing but watch the food grow colder and drier. I am hungry, but if I move from this position – sat straight on the chair with a fisted hand to my chest – I fear everything with unleash.
I close my eyes, breathe deep through my nose, and out through my mouth. I almost feel my lungs rattle from the effort, having been stolen of the space to expand within me. Still, I breathe. Long, slow, deep breaths. If I calm, it will calm. I control it. It is mine to wield.
My thoughts fracture at the crack that sounds beside me, startling me from my chair. I jump from it, flinging my arms out to protect myself and not my fall. In that moment, my mind entirely elsewhere, it goes. Like the taut string of a nocked bow released, the power within me explodes.
It is nothing like the tendrils of darkness, or the black seeping through my veins. It is fast and violent, turrets of them firing from my open palms, towards what threatens me. It floods the room, drenching furniture, shooting across the walls, rendering this space to nothing but blackness. As fast as it happens, I realise it is my fault.
I curl my arms to my chest, shuffling across the floor until my back hits the wall. The power hasn't receded, vines of it encircle my arms, fingers, legs. They float around the floor, like a mist. It is hard to explain something as nothing, but that is what it is. It is not a shadow, not liquid or solid or clouds. It is just there – it steals the light; it disguises the carpet. It is living, writhing, licking across my skin almost with affection. Snakes without eyes, limbs without fingers, death without a blade.
While I stare into the abyss I have created, I do not blink. Instead, I watch it, breathing calm again, despite the fact I am anything but. Finally released, and yet there is not even a fraction less of the pressure that was in my chest. It still remains, though now my entire body thrums with fire, a warm, prickling sensation. I keep breathing. I control it. Mine to wield.
Something within pulls at each tendril, fighting the resistance, dragging it back down into the depth of the pit within me. Slowly, they recede. The darkness crawl away from the walls, and the carpets. It trickles from the furniture, towards me. It finds my skin, seeps into my pores, and disappears. Gone, like it never was, until the room is clear.
Now, I am looking at Calix, his own shadows retreating from the protective shell they formed around him. I look at him from the floor, fixated on that dark, threatening expression carved into his features.
"FOOL!" I scream, not sure where I have found the nerve, or the energy. "I COULD HAVE KILLED YOU!" I hurry to my feet, pressing into the wall, seeking stability.
I am neither relieved nor aggrieved that he found sense in Scering here with a shield intact. I do not care if he lives or dies. I only care that he finally sees my power for the danger that it is, before he pressures me, or urges Ryke to do the same. I am only overwhelmed with how forceful and fast and easily that power escaped my restraints.
He moves to step towards me, rage reverberating from him, and on instinct, my hands come forward to protect me again. He notices, and though his expression does not alter, something changes. Taunting and savage. His head tilts to the side, slow. I dare you, it says. Part of me is ready to try.
"You have kept your secrets, little Viper. Saving such knowledge for when you are ready to strike?" Like that which he names me, I almost hiss. I press further against the wall, nowhere to run as he stalks towards me. If he attacks me, with hand or magic, I will fight back. He doesn't seem to care.
"You are speaking riddles." I snap at him. My hands begin to burn with warmth. A warning to me that this power will not stay sedate for long.
"Ryke." He says with a snarl, as if that explains all. At the name, my extended arms drop a fraction. "He has told me that dagger did not steal the power of only those you killed. It took from all that were so much as wounded. Took it all and gave it to you." My face morphs into a look of incredulity.
Power from all those that were wounded with the dagger. That could be dozens! If I were not supposed to survive the transfer from six individuals, there is no possibility that I would have survived anything more.
Perhaps my expression is a giveaway, for Calix halts his advance, and the viciousness in his posture lessens. "You did not know?"
"No, I did not know. Even if I did, I owe you nothing." I snarl. The wrong thing to say.
Calix is before me in two strides, leering down. I hadn't realised quite how much taller than me he is. Larger in stature too. I feel insignificant before him. "You owe me everything. You owe your life. Do you think you would have survived if I had turned you away? Think Libitina would have gone against me for a debt. Your survival is thanks to me. The least you owe me is the extremity of your circumstances. Believe me when I say, I will find out otherwise, and if it places me, or my family, or the people of my Court at risk, I will gladly exterminate it."
"And you think the method to gaining my trust is through threats?"
He inches impossibly closer. "I do not care for your trust, but your candour is invaluable. I am only admitting that your blood on my hands will not guilt me if it comes to the safety of those around you."
My lips roll back in warning, ready to fire back a threat of equal calibre, but the anger only swells my chest. My hand comes up without thought to alleviate the pain. He notices and grabs my wrist to stop me.
"I am tired of Ryke's gentle methods. You will go outside and release your power. Even if it eats you alive. For as long as you erupt from fear at the sight of me, you will not be allowed within these walls." He throws my hand away and it smacks against the wall. His movements are fluid, and he is at the door before I can fathom.
"I do not fear you." I grit out.
The smile he returns to me is feral. My blood chills. "You should."