by Rick Field
She was halfway through her letter, when the door to her hospital room opened. She looked up, expecting to see Amy on her daily visit. Despite Liane's optimism, and her friends' support, it seemed things may not be going the way she was hoping.
To her surprise, it wasn't Amy come to visit – it was Milor. Despite herself, a smile graced her lips at seeing him; she would finally be able to talk to her friend and get the inside information on what was going on. Her smile froze at the sight of him; he looked tired and haggard, dark circles underneath his eyes in a similar fashion to his appearance when she informed him she had survived battle with Lord Marcel of the Rising trees.
Milor sat without being invited. The silence dragged on, and Liane wondered why he wasn't saying anything. The silence boded ill; she couldn't deny the doubting part of herself that seemed to be proven right.
“I'm glad you're alright, Liane,” he finally said, his voice soft yet scratchy. Her heart gave a curious jolt when she found him using her name. It seemed that fighting for Kiria's survival had finally made him abandon Decorum when speaking with her in private. She was happy for it, and chastised herself for doubting him. He looked tired because he probably was tired, and needed the time to either compose himself or catch his breath.
“I'm glad to be alright as well,” Liane answered, finally starting to feel like it. She was getting better, physically, and she finally had her friend back.
“I'm glad to hear it,” he answered, standing up and pacing in a rather agitated manner. “Things have been... stressful.” It started to scare her to see her friend like this. He usually managed his composure a lot better, and his current behavior was worrying her. Would her doubts be proven right? She desperately hoped not.
“The Guardian did not succeed?” she asked him, trying to take her mind off of her own situation and trying to gain more information on what happened after she passed out.
“The Guardian succeeded just fine. The problem has been... personal,” he admitted. He stopped his pacing and looked at her. “You have lost your magic.”
Liane's heart clenched at hearing him speak so coldly. She swallowed deeply, refusing to show the tears she could feel pricking. “I sacrificed it,” she admitted.
He sighed, and sunk into the chair he had been using. “I had hoped... hoped that it was like the Academy, where you were simply unable to express magic,” he said, staring at his clenched hands. He started to speak once more, then stopped. He sighed, stood up; started pacing again.
“You know you can speak truth with me, My Lord,” Liane said, hoping that a return to formal Decorum would ease her friend's anxiety. She didn't really want to ease his anxiety, but it may be the best way forward to get answers from him.
He drew a breath and stopped abruptly. “Liane, without magic, you are not a Noble. I've spent the last week arguing against it, but in the end, the rules are formal. Without magic, you are not a Noble.”
It was as if someone had stuck a sword through her chest. Despite her own misgivings, she had always held out hope and faith, hope that he would protect her and faith that he would be able to do so. Her heart lurched, and she became light-headed, as if the colors faded from the world and she now saw only in black-and-gray.
Somewhere in the distance, she heard herself ask, “What?”, but she couldn't be sure if that was something she said out loud, or if it were just her inner voice. Despite her state, she heard Milor continue, how she no longer was a Noble, and because she was no longer a Noble, she couldn't have a home in the Noble quarter of the Capital. The blows kept coming – she had lost her magic, and because of it, her status, her position, and now, her home. Milor kept talking, she ignored him completely; her psyche unable to take any more blows.
“I'm deeply sorry, Liane,” she heard him whisper in the end.
“Help me,” her voice whispered back, Liane herself not knowing how she had formed the words. It was what he should have done without her asking, it was what she would have expected of him. The very fact that she was forced to ask broke something inside of her, and she felt heat prick at the back of her throat.
“I wish that I could,” he answered, coolly.
Something in his tone set her off, and with a surge of childish pettishness, she raised her head and demanded, “Did you even try?”
He drew himself up with indignation at both her tone and her demand. “Excuse me!?” he snapped back, anger breaking through his strict Decorum.
Her emotions were all over the place, driven by despair, irrational anger, and a sense of utter loss at the lack of magic influencing her. “You heard me, My Lord. Did you even try to help me? You seem to forget who I am, and how long I've known you! I have known you since you were ten years old and started at the Academy! I know a person who wouldn't have taken a single optional class had I not pushed him into it! I know a man who hid his darkest secrets from a person who had saved his life multiple times, and who is the sole reason you are even able to enjoy your throne today!”
She was utterly illogical now, unknowingly switching between third and second person speech, trying to hurt her friend the same way she was hurting, and not caring in the least. Her life was crumbling around her, and the last thing she wanted was to be rational. Her utterly furious speech clipped the edges of her consonants, nearly degenerating into the lower-class slang of her orphaned childhood. As she snarled and spat, Milor's own angry appearance stiffened further.
“And how would I be able to help!?” he retorted coldly, more cold than she had ever heard his voice sound when addressing her. “It is my duty to protect Kiria and act in the best interests of the nation. Yes, your friends and supporters raised an exemption motion, and large debate ensued due to your very considerable achievements on our behalf. In the end, the council's decision was made against your favor. If we allowed one exception to the rules, we would open the door to more, and that could not be allowed.”
She stared at him with open mouth, unable to believe what her childish tantrum had drawn from him. Despite the darkest corners of her emotions having doubted him, she never would have expected him to turn on her this completely. “Despite the things I have done for you!?” she screamed, voice rising half an octave. Never had she wished for magic more – her rage as it was now would have fueled an epic storm. “Despite coming to your rescue, despite the sacrifices of life and magic, despite placing myself and my Assistant in danger for your sake, you have not seen fit to defend me!? You are the Crown Prince. The only one capable of overruling you would have been the Lord Emperor. Has he seen fit to debase me as well!?”
He stood stiff and fell silent. For long seconds, both friends stared at each other. Finally, he spoke, on a calmer tone. “My Lord Father and I must act in the best interest of Kiria. Supporting your claim, or overriding the Council's decision, were not in Kiria's best interests.” He sighed. “If only we had been linked romantically, I could have offered you shelter at the Palace.” For a moment, her emotions fell silent, the unexpected declaration breaking her train of thought and torrent of emotion. A piece snapped into place. Her memory, her exceptional memory trained for years and years to never forget a detail of intricate magic, didn't forget a detail in other parts of her life. His statement answered so many questions... so that was what this was all about, and that was the reason for his nervousness at the opera.
She returned to herself abruptly, rekindling her raging fury, and looked up at him. There was no more magic to enrage her, but his words managed just fine on their own. “NOW you come to me with that!? When I have lost everything!? I have sacrificed my magic to Kiria, and Kiria in gratitude took my status, my position, and my home! And my best friend can't help me because we never entered a romantic relationship? Is that it? It wasn't as if you have ever asked me! You are... you were my friend. Friends do not abandon friends. My Lord.”
“I have asked on multiple occasions, you chose to ignore me,” Milor replied, coldly once more. “How many Mages do you think get invited to the
opera by me? How many do I visit at their home without it being an official visit?”
“We were friends. Friends spend time together,” Liane snapped, choosing to focus on the detail rather than the whole. “Not once did you tell me how you felt regarding me!”
Milor sighed deeply. “So Father was right in the end,” he muttered to himself, low, before glaring at her... “A Noble does not speak of such things. It is against Decorum.”
She closed her eyes and sunk back into the pillow. She had no pain and was in no physical discomfort, but she was tired now. “Just leave, My Lord. If you're not going to help me, if you're going to abandon me, then I think it is time our friendship ended.”
She didn't see him flinch at her statement. “Perhaps it is for the best,” he allowed sadly.
“Perhaps it is,” she replied, as testily as she could.
She felt him hesitate, despite her eyes being shut. “I'm afraid I must take Lucifer as well. A Commoner cannot own a permanently enchanted object.”
Rage filled her anew, and her eyes opened on their own accord. She was halfway out of the bed before she realized just how weak she was, and was forced to sink back. She looked at her faithful staff, standing upright next to her bed. “Just try and take it,” she challenged.
He frowned slightly, and reached for the staff. He suppressed a painful yelp when the weapon shocked him. It surprised her slightly, normally Lucifer would have become intangible to those that tried to take it from her. It seemed the weapon's magical intelligence still reacted to her emotional state, despite her loss of magic. “Even if it has its own magic, it cannot react without a person bound to it,” he said, more to himself than to Liane.
“Lucifer is mine,” Liane said, a pleased smile on her face. Despite everything, her weapon would never abandon her. It would be forever by her side, and she was glad to see that at least something was going right for her on this horrible day. “It is bound to me, and none will ever take it from me,” she added, as if twisting the knife.
“That's... impossible. Without magic, it shouldn't recognize your ownership,” Milor protested faintly.
“Do not presume to tell me my own craft, My Lord. Lucifer will always know me, magic or no magic, and it will always remain by my side, magic or no magic,” she snapped. She may have lost her magic, but that did not mean she had lost her knowledge of it as well! She was one of the finest magical theoreticians in Kiria, magic or no.
“Of course,” Milor muttered morosely, and turned to leave. “I have no doubt that it will react far worse at stronger attempts. However, one day, its magic will be depleted. It will just be a normal staff, then.”
“It will not,” she said, taking pleasure in seeing his confusion. If she had been twisting the knife before, she was now salting the wound.
Milor snapped back and stared at her. “What?”
“Lucifer will never run out of magic,” she answered, crossing her arms and grinning smugly. “It is more of a Legend than you can ever imagine.”
He shook his head, and the doubt on his face made it obvious that he didn't believe her. “Liane – one last thing. What happened to DawnBreaker? It is a different weapon from what it was.”
Liane scoffed, and for a moment considered not answering. In the end, she decided that his knowing would hurt him worse than leaving him to wonder. “I was forced into a fight beyond all ken, so I was forced to upgrade DawnBreaker. Yes, without breaking its bond to you. Consider it to be a final gift of the MagicWarper.”
A look of shame flashed across his face, then it was covered by an iron mask of Decorum. He dipped a nod, turned, and left, slamming the door. She knew it would hurt him – he'd abandoned her, even as she had given her magic for his country and increased the power of his weapon. Every time he was forced to use it, he'd remember what had happened here today.
The new Commoner looked at Lucifer. Was it her imagination, or did the staff look smug at having shocked Milor? “Did you shock him on purpose?” she wondered out loud. Lucifer, being an inanimate item despite being magical, did not respond. It didn't have to. A faint smile appeared on her lips, before she curled up on one side, threw her arms around her legs, and felt the tears come. She made no effort to hold them back.
For the first time since she woke up in hospital, she wished she hadn't woken up, that the battle had been her final one; that she was going over to the afterlife.
At some point, she must have fallen asleep, her body's physical exhaustion overwhelming her. A nightmare plagued her, she was eight years old again and felt the sword of her assailant at her neck. She snapped awake, panting and sweaty, feeling for a scar on her throat that was no longer there. Panacea had seen to it.
She fingered her throat helplessly nonetheless, feeling overwhelmed and powerless. Light still shone from the outside, showing that she hadn't slept for more than an hour or two at most.
With no magic to support or protect her, she felt vulnerable for the first time in years; as if Milor rejecting her and abandoning her friendship had suddenly made it more real to her. She had known and felt the loss of her magic, and hadn't been able to cast a spell since she had woken from her coma; and yet it was Milor's proclamation that had made it real for her. No magic meant no Nobility.
She sat upright in her bed, and pulled her knees to her chest, hugging them in an attempt to curl up and feel safe. How could they do this to her? She had given everything for Kiria! Everything she had done, everything she had learned, had been for her country. She had nearly died on multiple occasions, and in the end, had sacrificed her most precious possession – her magic – for the protection of it.
She shook her head. The realization made it no less difficult to accept, however. She had lost her life among the Nobility, and possessed no skills to live as a Commoner. The buried memories of her early childhood popped up, reminding her of the hunger and thirst she suffered as a nameless orphan. She had tried so hard to forget that part of her, had refused to acknowledge that the nation she cared so much for would be willing to let its most helpless members suffer.
The former Mage shook with silent tears. She'd been so pathetically grateful for her Noble status that she had forgotten how hard her early life had been, and had refused to acknowledge the unfairness of the system. Kiria had taken care of her when her magic emerged, had fed her, clothed her, and educated her. She'd refused to see, to listen; to accept the harshness and the unfairness.
And now her country had abandoned her, cast her out of the Nobility, as if proclaiming her useless now that she no longer commanded magic. It wasn't as if she had forgotten everything she had learned, or had lost the skills she had gained at the Academy. She could still contribute, even if only in the development of new magic! Why would her ability to cast spells influence her status in Kirian society?
She startled, her formidable memory bringing forth the discussion she had once held with Steven MacDonald, the interloper who had crashed his strange floater within Kiria's borders. She had extolled Kiria's virtues, and had ignored his comments regarding the government. Worse, she had defended its practices!
How easy it was to defend a system when you were one of the ruling elite, she realized. Her point about magical vows ensuring government suddenly made less sense. With her loss of magic, she could still function as a Noble, even if only as a theoretician – she wouldn't be in the government, or even associated with it, then. And yet, all her knowledge and skills were invalidated in one fell stroke now that she had lost the ability to exercise magic and cast spells.
She felt like a hypocrite, lamenting her loss of status and the loss of her life, when Steve had tried to tell her of the injustice of the system. She hadn't believed him then. She hadn't needed to believe him. She was a Noble, things were as they should be. Now that she had lost her status, now she realized how heavy-handed the government was, how neglecting of its people.
And now it was too late. She buried her face in her knees. It was too late, and she had lost everythi
ng.
She didn't know how long she cried, but the sound of the door opening made her jump. Instinctively, she straightened her legs and tried to hide her crying. Habits of Decorum died hard, and one should never display emotional weakness to others.
Amy came in, her face clouded at the sight of Liane. She sighed sadly, and sat down in the visitor's chair. “I heard Lord Milor came to visit. From what I can see, the news was not good.”
Liane hiccupped the last of her tears away. Her crying had released some of the emotional hurt from her body, and she pushed herself out of the bed. Despite the lingering weakness in her legs, she moved to the window. “Lord Milor just came to advise me of the fact that I have been abandoned.”
“He did wbat!?” Amy barked, throwing Decorum by the wayside and suddenly standing next to her. “Liane, he didn't.”
Liane snorted. “He did. No magic means I'm not a Noble. Not being a Noble means I can't have a home in the Noble quarter. He even tried to take Lucifer.” the former Pillar looked over her shoulder at her faithful weapon. “I wish him good luck with that. Then he claimed he couldn't offer me any help because we weren't linked romantically – not that he ever deigned to tell me about his feelings, mind you. It's not allowed under Decorum, apparently.”
