Schol wears a green bowtie on a Vault Day.
This isn't the first instance he's worn his green bow tie, but including that first time six or so weeks ago I can count on one hand how many times he has made time for me. A busy man, indeed.
The Prince, who is objectively a busier man, has made more time for me than him.
It's not the lessons with Schol that I dread. Staying in the forest until nearly dawn learning how to control my powers at the expense of Sava has actually been the highlight of my time in Lothar Castle. I have reached the point in my magical lifetime where I know enough to pretend I knew what I was doing; I finally understand. I finally know myself.
No, the issue here is that today is Sunday.
I stand where the hallway splits after dinner. Left leads to the staff exit, where I can easily escape, and right leads to the Vaults, where Rein's probably lighting lanterns at this very moment. If he's even there today—he's skipped enough, attending emergency meetings with his Father, that I have no way of knowing. On days that the King has dragged his son away, I eavesdrop on the other side of the door, listening to the rapid development of a plan to hunt down every Wordsmith in their Kingdom and exterminate magic once and for all. Rein always protests the logistics—I hate that his defense is finding the manpower and making enough of these devices, and not the inhumane way the King wants to round his people up like sheep and scan them for a trait they themselves might not know about.
Today, it's different. It's never been me who had to pick between love and duty before.
I branch to the left, fading into nothingness and slipping from the back castle door like smoke.
Schol is waiting with Sava. I see their glowing white outlines faintly. The late Summer air is warm on my skin, the last lights of dusk not reaching the dark shadows between the tall forest trees.
I feel the prickle on my temples when I get near Schol. Another benefit to training, I know what I'm looking for. By the time I exhale, I'm at the beach. Staring out into the ocean and listening to that rhythmic in and out of the tide, matching the in and out of my breathing. Schol nods as I approach, satisfied.
Matching his ruthlessness, I enter Sava's mind—Gods' know I'm not good enough to take over Schol. Hey, kid. Fancy seeing you here in my head. If you gave me a warning I would have at least cleaned up a bit.
Good evening to you, too, Sava.
Look at you getting down the mind-speak. There's hope for you yet, young protégé.
How is it that even your thoughts are sarcastic?
It's my fourth Talent, of course. It's not all fire and speed and weather control. And of course my fifth Talent is my devilishly good looks.
Schol chuckles, that fucking eavesdropper, and throws a set of clothes at me. Men's clothes, I already know. I've been able to extrapolate that he finds my dresses utterly absurd; repulsive even, though I don't particularly see why. They're always rich boy clothes that he gives me—nice silks or sturdy cottons in cuts of the latest fashion—that I take joy in hoarding in the back of my armoire.
I disrobe down to my drawers, only a little uncomfortable with the audience. Sava's looking over at Schol and I'm sure they're having some silent conversation. I'm not bold enough to peek into their conversations like Schol does.
I'm tying my hair up with a leather strap when I notice Schol is looking off to the side. I follow his eyes, tensing unconsciously as if something is about to attack me. Schol is a very hands-on learning kind of guy, but his tactics normally leave me with a headache or some bruises the next day.
The object of distraction isn't an aggressive training tool, but a person. From a distance, I'd swear it was a child approaching us. And that isn't a short joke—I've endured plenty to use them over the years—but a testament for how young this person looks. On further inspection, the greying hair and mature eyes has me reevaluating. She's either twelve or sixty.
They.
What?
Schol glances over at me before smiling at the new addition to the forest. "Jaus, thank you for coming." Even though he's not maintaining eye contact, he's still somehow able to speak in my head. Espiri culture doesn't follow the same gender norms. Use 'they' to refer to them, unless told otherwise. And don't ask about their genitals.
Who the fuck asks a stranger about their genitals? Why would you even think I'd do that?
My apologies, I work with stupid people all day.
"Jaus, my favorite portal master," Sava cheers. She turns to me, like her next sentence is for my benefit. "They're the best in the business. Roe's portals always make me sick, but never Jaus." I have no idea what she's talking about.
Jaus sighs and I can tell from that one sound that it's been a really long day. They flick their hand in a circle motion. A white oval of light fills the space between us, so bright in the dark forest that I have to squint my eyes.
I look around nervously. I've encountered the forest guards twice, but they were loud enough both times that it was easy to avoid them. An incandescent beam of light is definitely bound to draw them in, though.
"Are we not concerned about the guards?" I ask nervously. Schol crinkles his eyebrows at me, so I elaborate even when my worry should be blatantly obvious. "You know, because of this big fucking thing lighting up the forest like a lighthouse."
It's Jaus who explains. "Espiri and no one else can see it. You shouldn't be able to, either. Are you a... well, never mind—silly question. The Saaros are long gone." Schol doesn't make a movement to confirm or deny but Jaus keeps talking as if the answer to their unfinished question doesn't particularly matter. "Saaros could see our magic, I've been told, but no one else."
"Does this mean I can make portals too?"
Jaus doesn't even dignify my dumb question with a response; instead they let out an absurdly loud belly laugh. I'll take that as a crystal clear 'no.' They hold their hand out towards the portal, directing everyone. "Let's go. I don't have all day."
Sava is the first, walking vaguely in the direction that Jaus is pointing at. She almost doesn't walk through the light—portal—at all, but Jaus grabs her elbow at the last minute and shifts Sava right to the bright white center.
Sava doesn't walk out the other side.
Schol goes through next, disappearing right where Sava went.
Jaus makes another gesture with their hand, and I take it as 'hurry up.' I warily follow where the others went.
I expect it to burn, but the light does the complete opposite. It's cold to the bone, making my whole body shiver. I can't tell if I'm surrounded by all white, to the point where I can't even see myself, or if I've lost my vision. Whatever this magic is, it presses down on me like bricks pushing into me from all directions.
"You can't just stop. You need to keep walking," Jaus' voice tells me. I take a step forward, and then another, though it feels like I'm walking through solid ice and moving nowhere. "Almost there."
It takes three more tiny, impossible steps and then I'm surrounded by color again. Schol's pinkish skin and green bow tie. Sava's brownish tones and red dress. My own beige shirt. Navy sky and grey earth. Not a tree, building, or sign of life for as far as I can see.
"How was your first portal-travel?" Sava asks with a smirk, like she knows good and well how it went. My body aches like I just rammed into a building headfirst and I'm still shivering though the air is warm. "You know, you're not supposed to just sit there and take it. Unless you like that sort of thing."
I stare at her blankly. "This is my amused face." I direct my next question to Schol. "Are we in the Wastelands?"
He nods in confirmation. "This is the Wastelands." I inhale deeply as I look around, though it feels like there's not enough air to breathe in. "You'll get used to it."
"The portal or the Wastelands?"
"Both."
Jaus clears their throat, regaining everyone's attention. "I'll be back in three hours." And then, with another hand motion and blinding white light, they're gone.
"So. Espiri make portals," I say conversationally. "Not what I expected when I read 'forest magic,' but to each their own."
"Talents," Schol corrects. I honestly can't win.
When Schol doesn't elaborate Sava decides to be helpful; this is typical of them. "They can connect forests and lands. Back before Roshad was Roshad, they used to leave the portals open. Now a handful of Espiri run a very lucrative transportation service. They also sell dust, enchanted with their Talent, that you can sprinkle on the ground and make your own portal with. Civilians use it as a way to travel through Ocerea, but long distances like this need an Espiri."
"How do they know if you're in need for transportation?"
"You send them a message, of course."
I frown at her. "Like, through the telephone?" That can't be. Telephone poles don't come out to the Wastelands; we never had them in Glendyl because of this fact.
"Well, I suppose it's like an enchanted telephone, yeah." She taps the piece of jewelry clipped to her upper right ear. "Through these, you can—"
Schol clears his throat. He's always ruining things right when I start to get some interesting information. Some teacher he is. "We're practicing combat today."
That's all the warning I get before Sava charges.
My hand catches the first fist she throws at me and my gut catches the second. Her leg wraps behind my knee when my body hunches in from the blow and she pulls inward. I crumble to the ground in ten seconds flat.
The second match is better. I'm focused this time and instinct takes over as we dance around each other for a few minutes. Punch, dodge, punch dodge. I think Ed taught me hand-to-hand combat at one point in my life; while I don't necessarily remember it anymore, the skill is still there. Sava is a trash-talker who favors her face and leaves her torso uncovered too much. Right when I find the perfect opening to use that knowledge to my advantage, fire spits out of her fist.
I dive to the ground.
"What sort of Khronas trickery was that?" I yell at her as I stand. "You could have burned my face off! We didn't say we could use Talents."
"We didn't say we couldn't," Sava shrugs uncaringly.
And that is when the dirty fighting starts.
I never use fire in return; I never want to use fire at all. But I do find out at the tenth ball of fire pointed in my direction that I can block it. It shouldn't be a surprise—I never really thought about it that way, but I did block the fire in Fiddleweld. It stopped when it reached me.
Schol sends some pointers my way every once and awhile. Reminders to read her mind to get an advantage on her next attack. Reminders to use mind control. She's able to resent most of the time, probably from sheer experience and practice, but sometimes that trick works. I mostly control the Wasteland debris, however, from the crumbled building nearby and fling it at her like large bullets. She does fine work of reducing all of my projectiles to ash for over an hour of training until I'm at the level of desperate where I'm controlling the ashes themselves and flinging it at her eyes.
I think back to the battle at Curt's Crossing and without putting much more thought into it, I unsheathe my dagger tucked into the waistband of my boy trousers while I duck to avoid one of her magnificent blasts of fire. When I turn back to face her, I let the dagger loose.
I'm too busy focusing on my control on the dagger—I obviously don't want it to actually hurt her—that I miss the fireball she sends off in my direction. I hold out my palm to block it a little too late and it burns right through my sleeve into my forearm. "Fuck," Sava says, dissipating the flames immediately. "I thought for sure you had that one."
"It's fine." I watch as the angry red on top of old scars disappears back to wrinkled skin. I have no control over it but my body feels drained as the magic works on its own.
Oh no.
Schol hums. "So you can heal."
I can feel Ed's disappointment, miles away.
Sava gasps when she walks closer, noticing the old burns for the first time. "Was that me? I'm so sorry!"
"No," I promise her. Her guilt still permeates the space around her. "You didn't get me that bad. The rest is the Fiddleweld Fire."
The way Sava glances over at Schol makes me suspicious. I give her a hard stare, connecting our minds.
La-la-la, la-la-la, la-la-la.
Stop singing and tell me what you know.
Nope! No way, can't say, I wasn't even there, nope, nope, nope.
Tell. Me. What. You. Know.
A memory in Sava's head springs up against her will. My hand holds his wrist. The desperation and guilt eats at my soul. His lovely, haunted green eyes pierce me. "Sav, let me go."
"It's too risky."
"It would be easier if someone else helped me cast the fire." I shake my head. A memory of my little girl's still body flashes in my head. Jemeera, gone too soon. He knows that my line is children. He knows how I feel about hurting innocents. His hands cup my cheeks and he looks at me so sadly—this bastard's in my thoughts. "You know the orders. They want something big. It's this or the Capital, and we're not ready yet."
"Is that a lie you tell yourself to sleep better at night, Atilio?"
I've crossed the line. He drops my face; I miss his touch. "I'll be back by tonight."
I'm not at all comforting.
Something pushes me to the ground.
I stare up at the sky scattered with stars, blinking as I adjust back to the real world and not the world inside Sava's mind. Schol stands over me, blocking the moon with his angry glare.
"It was you."
The man from Sava's memory frowns deeply. Lord Ultar Schol, I've been told, but Sava called him Atilio. He didn't even trust me enough with his real name.
I've heard that name before. Ed said it once, the day at the ocean. I've heard it more, from before. I don't remember before.
"Sava let you train with her. This does not mean you can force yourself—"
"That's a little hypocritical coming from you. Atilio, isn't it? Did you forget your name the day we met?"
"I'm not the forgetful one, here, Emerson." It's a comment meant to hurt me and it does. It's not my fault my childhood is gone.
My mind is spinning as the connections are made. I think of Val, the first time she was willing to talk to me after the Fire. We sat on the mossy earth of the forest north of Adalwin Manor, right where the tree line breaks at the cliff overlooking the Maeric Ocean. We watched the waves that day.
"I saw him," Val whispered brokenly. "The man who did this. I left the shop to find... I saw him at the top of the hill. Fire was coming out of his hands. His hands, Em."
"I'm so sorry," I said for the millionth time; I didn't know what else to say.
"I saw him, too, in the nightmares," she whispers. The nightmares we never talk about, the ones that are always eerily similar to events that have yet to happen, because talking about the nightmares makes it real.
"It's not your fault." She disagrees but nods at my soothing words anyway.
Val was more than guilty. Val was angry. "I'm going to kill him."
It was Schol that Val saw on the top of that hill. It was Schol that sparked her biting passion for revenge. It was Schol that she joined the Roshadian military for, with my Summons, so that she could track him down. It was Schol that she looked for at the Border in every battle she got dispatched to.
The man that Val hunts has been living in the same building as me the whole time.
If Sava hadn't burned every scrap during our dueling, I would have thrown a chunk of building at him in the rage that overtook me. I reach out and wait until I feel the familiar metal hilt of the dagger safely returned to my hand. I throw that at him instead.
"You shouldn't have violated Sava like that," Atilio reiterates, flicking his wrist to bat away the knife flying his way. I'm disappointed.
"And you shouldn't have burnt down Fiddleweld," I scream back at him. "Congratulations, we're both disappointed!"
Atilio gives me what I can only describe as a condescending look. "This is war. We do what must be done."
Just like Rein thinks—all people with power are the same. I feel like I could throw up. "No, that wasn't war. That was my best friend's mother's life. That was the day that Val gave up on happiness, the day Warin gave up on trying, all because of you. Ed thought I was dead that day because of you! Gods, my boyfriend couldn't even look at me because of these scars that YOU gave me. I'd be at the Border right now if it weren't for you, so I guess for that twist of fate I should thank you."
"Prilo, this isn't about you, e descu. You'll understand when—"
"Stop talking to me like a child and saying things in a language I don't understand; it definitely doesn't make me like you more."
Atilio looks like he's about to argue, but Sava catches his eye from a few meters away. She shakes her head ever so slightly at him before turning to me. Her sadness fills me, mixing with my own and bubbling desperately in the bottom of my stomach. "I wish you didn't have to find out like this, Emerson. Trust me, neither of us knew you were in Fiddleweld that day until now."
I roll my eyes at the attempt for sentiment. They didn't know me four years ago; Atilio knowing about my presence in Fiddleweld wouldn't have changed a thing that happened. "I don't see how that's supposed to comfort me."
A white oval illuminates behind the couple. I storm through the space between them. Jaus, my savior, is only just stepping out of the hole when I pass them.
"Thanks, Jaus," I mutter, so as not to look like a total asshole as I walk through their portal. It was a poor choice of a night, in hindsight; I should have been with Rein instead.