The man scratched the message out quickly on paper, still managing to look up every few words to stare at her quizzically. “And your name?” he asked when he finished.
“No name,” she answered. “He will know who it is.”
“It is policy to have a name—”
Veria pulled the largest coinage she could find from her satchel and placed it quietly on the counter. “I was told you are a trustworthy Wind Mager, and I am sure that you can manage to get this message to your Master discreetly, and without a name.”
“How did you—?”
“Just highly perceptive,” she said, and added another coin to the payment before turning to leave the small office. “Burn that when you are finished, please,” she added, without turning back around.
Convincing a driver to take her home in the middle of the night was a bit harder, and took more coin, but finally she found one willing to wake his horses and make the journey. She slept a bit more, but, once on the forest roads, the ride was too bumpy to stay asleep. She managed to find a biscuit and flask of water in her satchel, which would tide her until she arrived home—she had never wanted to be home so badly in her life. Probably because she had never been that far away from it before. She was beginning to understand why Daloes did not travel. And why the great Magers were all recluses. Traveling, Veria was coming to realize, was exhausting and obnoxious. One would have more time for studying and training if one simply stayed home.
Complete exhaustion like she had never experienced overtook her upon her arrival home, and she slept for a majority of the day, waking in the late afternoon only to feel like she had not rested at all. She continued to yawn and rub her eyes as she sat at the dining table with her mother, a cup of spice tea steaming in front of her while they waited for dinner to be served.
“Did you find what you needed?” Tanisca finally asked.
Veria nodded silently.
“And...?”
“And it means nothing to me yet, until I can learn how to pull the truth out of inanimate objects,” Veria muttered into her tea cup.
“Is that what skill set you are training?” Tanisca asked, her lip curled in disgust.
“Mother...”
“I am just saying, Veria—you should think about this carefully,” Tanisca lectured across the table as the savory dishes emerged from the kitchen and presented to them. “Just because you have a certain set of natural abilities does not mean you have to train that way.”
“So you would prefer I help you continue your little research project on memory repair?” Veria remarked, snidely.
“Are you still upset about that?” Tanisca sighed, a condescension on her face that made Veria feel like an eight-year-old girl.
“No, no—this is perfect!” Veria yelled in mock excitement. “I can have this baby, then go train the most dishonorable skill set in my Element, and when I get back, we can practice on him!”
“You are going to have to get over this,” Tanisca ordered, with a dismissive wave of her hand.
“If I do, it is going to take longer than two days, Mother!” Veria spat.
“Well, I for one cannot wait for you to have that child,” Tanisca said plainly. “This yawning at the table and emotional nonsense is growing tiresome.”
“Oh, well that just sounds terrible for you,” Veria said, infusing as much sarcasm as she could.
They took the rest of the meal in silence, and it must have been the combination of a day of rest and a good meal that caused Veria to be suddenly alert and full of energy.
“Back to bed?” Tanisca asked after they had both stood and exited the dining room.
“No, I feel far too awake now,” Veria answered. “I think I shall take the letter to Daloes.”
Tanisca scoffed. “That sounds rude and irrational.”
“There is no such thing as a rude visit for a Sand Mager,” Veria quipped as she grabbed her satchel from a hook near the door and left.
Daloes knew she was coming, as she had expected, and after Veria described her journey in detail, they got right to work on the letter.
Daloes described the process by which truth could be found in objects, but as Veria sat with the letter pinched between her fingers, she still felt nothing.
“Do not think it is going to come find you,” Daloes said. “You are thinking that the object will tell you, but it is deeper than that. You have to look for it—not with the object, but with the person, the people, who created it.”
“I am not sure how to do that,” Veria groaned through gritted teeth, her eyes closed tightly and breath held to aid her concentration.
“Relax,” Daloes said, and she did. Her shoulders dropped heavily when she exhaled, and she opened her eyes and pursed her lips. “Oh, you do not like it when you are not naturally gifted with a skill?” he teased.
“It's not—it's just frustrating! I have no time for this!” Veria sighed.
“You have somewhere exciting to get to? Planning a big trip around the world, are you?” he giggled.
“Actually, I would be happy to never travel again,” Veria mumbled.
“On that point we can most certainly agree,” Daloes chuckled softly. “On the matter of your perceived lack of time, however, I am afraid I do not follow.”
Veria, seated cross-legged on one of the large floor cushions, the letter still clutched in her finger tips, looked down at her lap, the beginnings of a round bump just visible through her light cotton dress.
“Oohh...I see,” her Master murmured sympathetically. Then he quickly switched back to his excited voice: “I would not worry your golden-mopped head over that one, missy! You live with one of the greatest examples of a woman who conquered both motherhood and elemental mastery. In fact, I am surprised she does not take apprentices of her own...”
“I would not say she 'conquered' motherhood,” Veria argued, cracking a grin. “And please do not give her any crazy ideas.”
“I would never,” Daloes smiled. “Now, I want you to let go of that letter. Put it down.”
She obeyed the direction.
“Now, stop trying to force things. You are no good at it,” he said plainly. Veria was not sure if she should take offense, but he kept talking. “Clear your mind, and pick the letter back up, This time, looking for your energy.”
Again she obliged. Immediately, she was flooded with a flow of strong energy, a quiet replay of the thoughts she had just had, the emotions, the fear about motherhood, the frustration of not feeling adequate—all washed over and filled again as if they were fresh. Her head dropped and she swallowed hard.
“So you found yourself, your imprint on the letter...who else is in there?” Daloes said quietly.
She put it down on the floor, took a deep breath and rubbed her hands together, then picked it back up and laid it in the palm of one hand, brushing her pointer finger from the other around the surface in no particular pattern.
First there was her energy, and she focused on it for a second, then let it go, just like she would with all the truths and lies that were spoken to her. She moved on, looking for more, and it was there. There was more energy, more fear—a completely encompassing fear that ached in her muscles—she started to shake.
“Put it down,” Daloes ordered, this time gravely, his voice full of concern.
“If I don't do this, I am going to die! Someone is going to find out the truth, and they will kill me!” she whispered harshly, but they were not words she thought of or planned to say. They were the thoughts of the person who created the letter. “I never should have gotten involved in this...”
“Veria, put the letter down, now!” Daloes yelled.
“No! I have to finish this, I am running out of time!” she snapped.
“Was that you?” Daloes asked, his voice tight with worry.
“No,” Veria answered.
“Was it your father?” he asked.
Her head seemed to explode at the mention of her father. The sparks and snaps and s
woons she felt when someone lied to her felt pithy and inconsequential now, in comparison to the roaring, seething flame that had engulfed her entire skull. She continued to shake, and she pressed her eyes tight together and clenched every muscle in her body against the pain in her head. Trying to focus, knowing somewhere in the heat and anguish was a truth, she took a deep breath, but it was too much. She dropped her free hand down to the floor, trying desperately to connect herself to the Earth, but her arms were so shaky, her muscles in too much pain, the fear and the heat coursing through her entire body, she lurched forward onto her elbow and had to use the hand that was holding the letter to steady herself.
The letter fell to the floor, and Daloes scooped it up quickly.
“No,” Veria answered in a ragged whisper.
“Yes, you are done for the night,” he argued.
“I was answering your question,” she corrected. “No, it was not my father.”
“Well, I think that was obvious, dear,” Daloes said.
“Whoever it was, he is in there—his name,” she continued, breathing heavily but still unable to sit up or stop shaking. “I can find it. I can find the name.”
“I am absolutely positive you can, but not tonight,” Daloes ordered. “That was risky enough letting you continue—”
“I told you I do not want to be treated differently—” she protested, finally able to push herself back into a sitting position.
“I know, but I cannot in good conscience allow you to do possible harm to yourself or your child!” he argued.
“You said it would not—”
“Basic training will not, and that is true—but that level of training! That amount of stress and fear and pain! Veria, that is common sense for every mother, not just those who are training elemental skills,” Daloes explained.
Veria took a deep breath and brushed her hair from her face. “Then when can we resume?” she asked calmly.
“In a week or more,” he answered.
“A week or more?!” she snapped.
“Go home and practice on some objects with a little less intensity and get plenty of rest,” he said.
“I am sick of resting,” she muttered.
“You are going to need to be fully rested, because I am not letting you attempt that letter again without a talisman,” Daloes said with a smile.
Veria's face lit up, her chest fluttering with delight. “My talisman?”
Daloes nodded. “Be sure to bring your sapphire!”
-XVII-
The servants must have thought her crazy, Veria thought, as she went about her assigned task of searching for imprints on inanimate objects. They gave her concerned and quizzical glances as she followed them around, picking up items they had just touched—a wooden spoon, a rake in the garden, a letter the footman has just laid on Tanisca's desk—searching for their energy.
And it was too easy for her.
One particularly dreary, drizzling morning, her mother nearly scared Veria off her bookshelf ladder in her library.
“What book are you looking for?” Tanisca asked, lurking in the threshold with her arms crossed over her lavishly robed chest, her voice causing Veria to jump and clutch the rungs of the ladder tightly.
“I'm not looking for a book,” Veria explained with a sigh. “I'm looking for energy imprints.”
“Oh, that nonsense...” Tanisca grumbled. “You know, you should at least learn natural state, Veria. I mean, seeking the truth is fine and dandy and may even land you some extremely useful, possibly lucrative information some day, but you ought to also learn some way of protecting yourself,” she lectured, adopting the speech pattern Veria recognized as condescension.
“Thank you for that unsolicited advice, Mother,” Veria grumbled, not looking back at her, instead continuing to run her fingers along the spines of various encyclopedias and journals.
“Well, how is it coming, then?” Tanisca interrogated, abruptly but sounding genuinely interested. At least they had something to talk about besides the Estate, Veria thought with a moment of relief.
“It seems to be...too easy,” Veria complained. She clutched a brown leather, gold-trimmed book and slid it out of its spot on the shelf. “This,” she explained, angling her body toward Tanisca seated at the fireplace and waving the book around the space in front of her, one hand still clutching the rungs of the ladder, “has been read by every female member of the household staff, multiple times. And I cannot repeat the things they were thinking when they read it.”
“Oh, I know what that one is,” Tanisca purred, her ruby lips pulling into an entertained grin.
“Yes, I found your energy in there, too, but I blocked it out,” Veria groaned with a visible shudder. “And this one,” she replaced the salacious fiction volume where she'd taken it from and pulled a larger encyclopedia from a shelf above, “seemed to have been Father's favorite for researching hunting spots for wild guineas.”
Tanisca nodded, an impressed smirk on her face. Veria climbed down from the ladder, and swallowed nervously before producing a small, red leather journal from the pocket of her skirt. As soon as it was visible, her Mother's face hardened, the impressed look gone, her lips pursing into a hard, cinched line.
“This,” Veria said, handing her mother's journal back to her, which Tanisca ripped from Veria's hands anxiously as soon as it was within reach. “was the hardest for me to work with. Not because it was hard to find your energy in it. In fact, it was quite the opposite. It was right on the surface, almost as if it wanted to be found. It was hard because it was the saddest energy I have ever felt. Just holding that journal, feeling your imprint, I was...” she trailed off as sobs formed in her throat. “I didn't even read it. I didn't have to. I know how you felt when you wrote in it—about the things Father was doing to us.”
Tanisca swallowed hard and dropped her head.
“You were sad. And scared. And so alone. And you wanted to protect me anyway you could,” Veria said through a tight, hot throat. “And I'm truly sorry that I doubted that, Mother. I should have been more understanding.”
A sob broke from Tanisca's throat and she quickly swiped the accompanying tear from her perfectly made face. Sniffling and sighing, she raised her head to look her daughter in the eye.
“I am sorry,” she said in a whisper, her eyes pleading for more forgiveness. “It was hard, but I should have fought him harder, I just...I was always so afraid to lose him! I was scared that someday he would change his mind about me and kick me out, and I would never get to see you again!” Her voice rose to a frantic whimper. “I know I am not the best at it, Via, but I do know from the moment you were born, all I have ever wanted was to watch you grow up.”
“I know, Mother,” Veria sighed, kneeling on the floor in front of her mother's seat, and resting her head in her mother's lap. Tanisca instinctively stroked her daughter’s golden locks, sniffling and rubbing at more tears on her cheeks.
“I used to worry if your Father's interference would cause serious harm, if it would somehow affect your future, but now,” Tanisca said, “seeing you train, and seeing how quick and adept you are, I realize that's not the case at all.”
“This is too easy, though,” Veria replied, pulling her head from Tanisca's lap to look at her face. “How do I make it more difficult? I don't feel like I'm getting better at anything.”
Tanisca shrugged and cocked her head. “I don't know much about your area of Earth skills, sweetheart,” she answered. “Maybe you are just beyond this and need to start training something else?” she suggested.
“I can't be beyond it, Mother,” Veria rebutted. “I just started it a few days ago.”
“Well, it certainly seems like you have done everything you can with it at home,” Tanisca said. “Either you have to go somewhere that you are not as familiar with the energy imprints, or you can just wait and see how your next attempt at the letter goes.”
“And, if I choose the latter, what shall I do in the meantime?” Veri
a asked.
“I am not your daily coordinator, Via,” Tanisca huffed, her regular haughty tone returning, though Veria detected some playfulness to it. “Get some exercise! Read a book—ooh! Read that book...”
“Ew...no, Mother. I am not reading that book,” Veria stood from the floor as she argued, and her mother giggled in her chair, an act that made her look twenty years younger instantly. “The entire time I'd be reading it, I'd have to hear Cook's very descriptive thoughts about the Pirate Prince Perry and what she would do to him if he were real.” Veria made a gagging motion and Tanisca collapsed into further giggles. “I'm glad you think this is so funny! I never want to make love again because of this!” Veria protested, but a smirk crept across her face.
“Then you should definitely read it,” Tanisca said, nodding slowly and emphatically, “I think you'll change your mind!”
Veria went back to Daloes' hut on the agreed upon day, clutching her sapphire, this time not out of nervousness or need for comfort, but out of sheer excitement. Today, they would make her talisman.
She didn't know what to expect, and was certainly surprised at how straightforward it all was. Daloes had asked her what sort of jewelry she preferred and she said she'd like a necklace. He had produced a simple chain, with an empty gem setting, the perfect size for her sapphire. Veria had shook her head. Of course he already knew what she wanted...
It seemed anti-climactic, but Veria wasn't sure what she expected the talisman ritual to be—possibly some long, exhausting, multi-day process, or something mysterious and difficult—but it took less than an hour and hardly tired her at all. In fact, it felt like a normal practice session, Daloes guiding her through a series of truths and lies, and specific focuses and thoughts, but with one simple, added instruction: “Channel all your energy into the sapphire as we go.”
She clenched the gem so tightly in her hand as they worked through the focus session, squinting her eyes and constantly keeping the task of channeling her energy into the talisman at the forefront.
Lord and Servant: (Book I of the Elementals Series) Page 13
