“Stepmother,” Thorel thought out loud. “I understand now. I'm sorry for bringing it up, Mistress. It must be difficult.”
“It is no matter. You assumed my recently dead mother was my birth mother,” Ari stated factually.
“Yes, Mistress. I didn't mean to bother you with it.” Thorel could only imagine how hard it must be to have such great duties thrust upon her unexpectedly like that, and losing her parents, must have been terrible.
“It does not bother me. My stepmother was the murderous whore that killed my father. It was a pleasure to take vengeance upon her. My only regret is that I cannot kill her again,” she said coldly.
Thorel paled. Her stepmother killed her father? This revelation caught him completely off guard.
She took vengeance?!? He knew anyone had the right if another killed one of their blood, but this was something else from stories he'd read. It had never been truly real to him until this moment.
He looked into her eyes. There was no hint of regret there, no sadness, only truth. His stomach recoiled involuntarily.
“Mistress, you can't mean that. You-” Thorel started.
He saw a bit of Magik come from bracelets on each wrist, and she was standing in front of him, looking down into his eyes within the next breath. He barely saw her move through the space between them.
What he saw in her blue eyes was cold as a winter's day. He knew with certainty that he was in real danger. Thorel doubted he could protect himself from her if she chose to harm him.
“Do not contradict me. You know nothing of this. She was a murderous whore that deserved a far more painful death than the one I gave her. Do you understand?” Her eyes were more intent than any he had ever seen.
“Yes Mistress,” he said quietly, not looking away from her eyes. He felt sympathy for the mouse being hunted by an owl at this moment; he felt his position was similar to the rodents.
“Good,” she said. She walked back to the bench on the other end of the carriage and sat delicately. The power feed from her bracelets vanished.
“It would make sense that your sight would have to be different in order to see animal spirits. Therefore, you may perceive things about spirits that other Wizards may not,” She said as if nothing had happened.
He nodded numbly. “I can now say with certainty she has inherited the family tradition of ruthlessness that the Dothranan's are known for,” Master Stiral's words echoed through his mind, with a new gravity.
“I apologize, Mistress. I didn't mean to anger you,” Thorel thought an apology was the best thing he could offer right now.
“I was not angry, and we have already dealt with this. Speak no more of it,” she said firmly.
“Of course, Mistress,” he said with a surprised nod.
Thorel wondered, If she was not angry then, what would her anger be like?
* * *
Siri saw Thorel Tangarth waiting patiently outside the Mistress's dining room on the bench in the hall. He sat quietly and read one of his textbooks while he waited. The guards watched him and everyone else going by.
“Mr. Tangarth, Are you joining us for dinner tonight?” Siri asked.
She obviously startled him. Her step was quiet as she'd intended. “Yes ma'am,” he said quickly.
“The Mistress will be delayed, but you may wait with me if you like. The chairs are more comfortable in the dining room,” she hoped he would accept her invitation; she had too little information about this young man.
In her position, it was likely the Mistress would ask her for counsel in her attempts to cultivate a relationship with him. It was best to be ready with answers for her.
“If it isn't an inconvenience, ma'am, thank you,” he said sincerely.
She walked past the guards and opened the doors to the Mistress's dining room. It was unoccupied, but the table was set for three. Siri set her case beside her place on the table.
“Would you like a glass of wine, Mr. Tangarth?” She asked as she poured for herself.
“No. Thank you, ma'am,” he said respectfully.
Surprising, Siri thought. “You took wine with your meals before, Mr. Tangarth. Is something wrong?”
“No ma'am, I just had too much one night... I didn't like the fact I couldn't remember what happened or the way I felt the next day,” he said with feeling.
Siri smiled lightly at that. “Ah yes. I do recall a night or two that was similar in my youth. I'm certain you will find a good balance for yourself.”
He sat in the seat that was set for him. “Maybe I will, ma'am. But for now, I'd just rather not drink.”
Interesting, he is serious and disciplined; to a degree at least. Not wishing to lose control of his faculties is an intelligent sentiment, Siri thought to herself. Looking at him, it did seem something was bothering him though.
“Is something the matter, Mr. Tangarth?” She asked.
“I... respectfully, ma'am, I don't think I can talk to you about it,” he said looking into her eyes.
“Why not?” She asked curiously.
“You would have to tell the Mistress anything I say, wouldn't you?” Thorel said, meeting her gaze.
“Only if it affects her person or interests directly,” The half truth came easily to her: she simply neglected the fact that he is one of her interests.
He looked away from her and seemed troubled. “I think I offended her. She seemed very angry, even though she denied it when I apologized.”
This surprised her. The Mistress had said nothing of the sort to her, and they had spoken just before she arrived here. “Why do you think so?” Siri asked.
“We were talking about her stepmother's death... I just can't imagine what it would be like to lose your parents like that. She said some very harsh things about her. I thought she spoke with haste and I said ‘You can't mean that.’” Thorel recalled.
Siri took a deep breath and a drink of her wine. She knew very well this line of conversation would not go well for anyone speaking to the Mistress.
“Then what happened?” She inquired. She did have an idea of what the Mistress's reaction might be though. This young man was fortunate that Ari did have feelings for him, whether she acknowledged them or not.
“She moved faster than I could see, and stood over me. She said, ‘Do not contradict me. You know nothing of this.’ As well as a bit more, but I don't recall what it was right now,” he recounted, not looking up from the water he had poured for himself.
“Think nothing of it. The Mistress was simply making sure you understood what was expected of you,” Siri lied easily. There was no way she could explain his error to him without revealing years of personal information about the Mistress. That was something the Mistress must do herself if she chose to.
Thorel met her eyes. “It is not that simple. I saw her eyes. I have seen them before, in a wolf. If I had looked away, or disagreed, she would have attacked me. I know it.”
This man is extremely perceptive, she thought. “I'm certain she would have punished you if you hadn't obeyed her,” she said, downplaying his gaff as much as possible. “I am sure that is the extent of it. I spoke to her just before I arrived. She said nothing of this.” That much was true.
“If she had been truly angry, there would be no doubt of it. You certainly would not be sitting at this table now. The Mistress does not let those who anger her off easily, I can assure you of that,” she concluded honestly, recalling the gruesome death of the first man in the Hold to disrespect her after she became Mistress.
He nodded. “I just can't help feeling that I made her angry,” Thorel said with obvious concern.
“I am certain it was simply her strong feelings for what happened. I would suggest that you should not bring up the subject of her father's death or her stepmother. And if she does talk to you about it, that you simply listen and not offer differing opinions,” Siri said seriously.
“Of course. Thank you, ma'am,” he said sincerely.
“You're welcome, Mr. Tangarth,” she said, g
lad he knew that he had erred. Siri was gladdened she was able to downplay his brush with danger to his satisfaction.
She would have to speak to the Mistress after dinner about this: she would lose this man she loved if she continued frightening him like this. She would have to approach the subject delicately though.
Siri knew it was likely the Mistress had been truthful: she was not angry. Ari Dothranan was the only person she had ever met who could become violent without the slightest hint of anger.
* * *
Thorel held the Magikal shield in place more easily than before, in the Great lady's study. The Mistress had been making him work on this for nearly an hour now. Each time he held it before him, the Mistress would inspect it for a moment and criticize his technique. Then she would shatter it easily with her Magik.
Ari inspected it now with a cold eye. “This is better, more solid. I doubt it would stop an arrow from a long bow though.”
“I'm sorry, Mistress,” he said. He was as tired as he would be if he had done all of his morning chores as fast as he could on the farm. Sweat beaded on his brow from his exertions. He had no idea it would be so tiring to practice Magik.
“Do not apologize. You should have learned many things before this. I am only teaching you this now because you may need it.” She took power into her hand, and Thorel braced himself.
Every time she crushed his shield, it felt much like it did when he'd broken a maul handle while splitting firewood at home. The vibrations went up his arm and rattled his joints. It was not painful, per se, but it was certainly uncomfortable.
She struck the shield with her palm and released her power: the shield's lattice shattered. But it did not collapse this time.
A pleased smile crossed her face. “Good, at least it could take one solid blow. Recall your power. You have earned a break.”
“Thank you, Mistress,” he breathed heavily, returning the power to his father's spirit.
She walked to her desk and picked up her wineglass. Her white dress was embroidered with red patterns that looked much like the jagged patterns of lightning. She did not appear fatigued in the least. It was a true sign of how easily she handled her power compared to him.
He saw her use a small thread of power: a hidden door from the side of her study opened. A woman not much older than they were walked in quickly with a tray of fruit with water packed in a bowl of cold stones for him. She bent at the knees and placed it quietly on the low table in front of Thorel's chair.
“Thank you Kira,” Ari said with her back to the woman. Thorel noted that as odd; until now, he'd never seen her show her back to someone like this. He wasn't certain of the significance, but he was sure it was significant somehow.
“It is a pleasure to serve you, Mistress,” the woman curtsied and padded out quickly.
“There is a venom stone in the drawer in front of you,” she said taking a drink while looking through the window onto the Hold below.
“Do you think someone would want to poison me, Mistress?” Thorel asked, somewhat shocked. He opened the drawer and found the stone, alongside several pens and pencils.
“I doubt it. The tray was coming to my room. I would be their target,” she said without emotion.
Thorel could not imagine what it would be like to have to worry about attacks on every front, including through his food, but for her it was an unenviable fact of life.
“How do I use it?” He asked.
“Simply hold the stone and pass it over the food. The rune must be facing away from it,” she said distractedly.
He did, and he could see the Magik of the stone passing through the food. It was so faint he had to look for it. “I can see the Magik Mistress, this is amazing!”
She turned from the window to regard him with amusement. “I suppose it would be, to someone who is new to Magik. It is a very simple technique though. The shield I am teaching you is far more difficult.”
She walked to her desk and refilled her glass.
“Can you teach me this?” He asked.
She simply looked over her glass at him and raised her eyebrow.
“Mistress! My apologies!” He bowed his head quickly. He could not let himself forget his manners with her. Not addressing her properly could have serious consequences, and he knew it.
“I suppose I can forgive you this time. I did consider having you flogged though,” Ari said while taking a drink, looking at him flatly.
His eyes widened at that. He knew she would be well within her rights to do so for such a slight.
A small giggle escaped her, “Thorel, I jest. If I wanted to have you flogged, the guards would have already seized you,” she said with a slight smile.
With a bit of effort, Thorel laughed weakly at the joke. He was sure she was the only one who found it amusing though.
He finished passing the venom stone over the tray and placed it back in the drawer. He filled a glass and took a long drink thoughtfully.
“Did I disturb you?” She asked with a look of concern.
“Yes Mistress,” he answered honestly.
Ari frowned at that. “I didn't mean to,” she said sincerely.
“It was my error, Mistress. I didn't understand such a thing could be said in jest,” he replied without looking at her. He didn't find the idea of being hauled out and flogged even one bit funny, particularly since it was a real danger if he continued erring like this.
She walked to the low table and knelt in front of it. She held her wine glass in both hands and looked into it for a long moment before speaking. Thorel could not help but admire the stunning beauty of this woman before him.
“Then I will explain myself. I feel I should, to prevent future misunderstandings,” she began quietly.
“It is easy for me to jest about such things. They are simply a fact of life. My stepmother would often be displeased with me and have me punished severely for it,” she stated factually.
“I'm sorry Mistress,” Thorel said, surprised she would be telling him this.
“You may call me by name, so long as no others are present,” she said looking into his eyes, and her beautiful blue eyes for the first time he'd ever seen were open. There was no cold, no authority. They were simply the lonely eyes of a beautiful woman looking at him.
“Thank you... Ari,” he said. It felt strange to call her by name, everything in him felt wrong about not addressing her as Mistress or Milady. She deserved that respect; he knew it in his bones.
Her smile touched her eyes, lighting them prettily. “It was difficult for you.”
“Yes m... Ari,” He said with a wan smile at his near error.
With a sad look in her eyes, Ari set the wineglass down on the table and began carefully unlacing the red ribbon on the right sleeve of her dress.
He watched her proceed in puzzlement. “What are you doing?”
“I have something to show you,” she said sadly.
That ambiguous statement moved Thorel's imagination quickly: to the thought of her beautiful naked body before him. His manhood was quick to respond as well, to his chagrin. He shifted his sitting position quickly to allow for it less obviously.
Where she looked made it clear his attempts at stealth in this matter were useless. He was sure he turned as red as a beet.
“I am not undressing. I wouldn't want to disgust you,” she said sadly.
“Ari... I can't imagine a man who likes women being disgusted by that,” he said seriously.
“You don't understand. But you will,” Ari said, continuing her task.
That statement completely puzzled him. She finished unlacing the inner part of her sleeve and pulled back the flaps of silk to reveal her forearm.
His hand went to his mouth in shock. The scars ended just an inch above her hand. Just on her forearm alone, she had more scars than Korin did on his whole body. She turned it for him, and he saw the same was true on the other side as well. There was puffed up white scar tissue overlapping other scars. There were
indented scars as well, that looked like flesh had been gouged from her body.
“By all the spirits! Your stepmother did this to you?” He asked in shock and felt a rage well up within him that completely dwarfed any other he had ever felt.
“She didn't touch me most times,” Ari said looking at him. “But she would order my punishments, and tell those she chose for the tasks what she wanted to be done. They were quite obedient, most times.”
She closed her sleeve and began lacing it back up with the red ribbon.
“That isn't all of it, is it?” Thorel asked, his whole body shaking with anger.
“No. My body is hideous. No man would dream of my body if he saw it. It might wake him in the night if he did,” she said, meeting his eyes.
The glass broke in Thorel's hand. He hadn't realized how hard he was gripping it. He distantly felt the wetness on his hand and leg, as well as the glass in his fingers and palm. He just looked at Ari, shaking with impotent anger at a woman who was already dead.
Ari stopped lacing her sleeve. “You're hurt,” she said. She got up and went around the table. She took his hand into hers.
“Not compared to what you've endured, this is nothing,” Thorel said angrily.
“True. But I will heal it for you. I was not allowed to heal myself after punishments, but there is no reason not to heal you,” she said.
With a bit of Magik, she pulled the shards of glass from his hand easily and within a second it was healed.
Still shaking with rage, tears came to Thorel's eyes. “If that bitch wasn't already dead, I would kill her right now. She-”
“Is already dead, and was considered by many to be the most skilled battlemage in the realm. She was Vallad's representative on the Wizard's Council, and could have killed you with a single thought. She wasn't easy for me to kill, and surprise was my ally,” Ari said seriously.
He nodded his acknowledgment, but this knowledge did nothing to diminish his anger.
Saturday May 11th 1624th year of the First Great City
The Execution
The sun's morning rays lit up Ari's private dining room nicely. She sat in her chair at the head of the table, and Siri sat to her right.
Spirit of Magik (The Dothranan Chronicles Book 1) Page 19
