by Rick Field
Milor nodded. “And perhaps it meant that you should scry for my location, and turn it over to the court, despite the loss of face involved, My Lady.”
Liane blinked, her cheeks heating up once more, not from desire, but in shame. She hadn't even considered that meaning. She glanced at her Assistant. “My Assistant insisted she come. I attempted to persuade her to break the bond. She refused. She is what I trained her to be: powerful, stubborn, and determined.” She sighed. “I didn't mean to endanger her, and yet here I am. I truly am an awful Proctor.”
“You showed great courage in coming for me, My Lady,” Milor said gently. “Even though you are captured, just as I am.”
Liane snorted derisively. “May I ask what has brought us here, My Lord?”
Milor swallowed. “There are more than just the Rules of Equality preventing me from giving you a full explanation, My Lady,” he muttered uncomfortably. “I will explain what I can.” He was silent for a few moments, trying to organize his thoughts. “In my family, there is a... ritual... a ritual, yes, I believe that would be the best description. There is a ritual that every male of the family must perform on the Christmas Eve before his 18th birthday. The ritual will then allow the male to inherit from the family.”
Liane nodded. Inheritance rituals had been covered by Rituals & Ceremonies, and some of them did require certain times of the year or certain stellar alignments to be performed. “If I do not appear on Christmas Eve, I will have failed the ritual, and I will not be able to inherit.”
She nodded once more. That wasn't part of the magic. Magically, he could take the ritual every Christmas Eve, so it was probably due to politics, or tradition.
“My uncle does not wish me to inherit,” Milor finished, as if it explained everything. Liane thought about it, and it probably did. His uncle did not wish Milor to inherit, so he kidnapped him. Magic ran in Noble families, so that explained why Milor could not be found, his uncle had warded this house, located on an island in the middle of a lake, and protected the only way in: the bridge.
She hadn't taken the course in Ward, Shields, and Magical Protections, so she hadn't recognized the magic, and since it didn't harm her, merely rendered her unconscious, her own magic hadn't protected or shielded her from it.
It was a good thing it didn't, or she would have been immune from pain-relief potions, or from magic that would render her unconscious during operations. The protection she had run afoul of was probably a derivative of the anesthetics magic.
She couldn't help but glance at him while he sat there, staring at her, as if waiting for her to lash out at him. Her eyes slid over his disrobed upper body, before she frowned and looked at his arms. Both his lower arms were encased in bracers, linked together with chain and metal, preventing him from either spreading his arms, or bringing his hands together.
It was the runes etched into the metal that drew her attention, and horrified, she grabbed his hands to bring the metal casing into her full view.
“My Lady-” he started to protest.
“Hush,” she whispered urgently, her eyes sliding over the rows upon rows of runes. Her magic sight activated by itself and she stared at the flows of magic running through the bindings. “This is horrible,” she whispered after a long while. “These bind your magic completely.”
“Which is why I am still here, My Lady,” he said with an annoyed edge to his voice.
“And yet, my Assistant and I are not cuffed the same way,” Liane replied, still staring at the binds while holding on to his hands. They were calloused, she felt through her fingers. And warm. His hands were definitely warm.
“You are dressed as Commoners, My Lady. It is likely that the guards who found you thought you were nothing but curious Commoners who were at the wrong place at the wrong time,” he replied.
“I can break these,” she finally determined. “It might take me some time to do so, however,” she added as she – reluctantly – released her hold on his hands. As he hurriedly withdrew them, she couldn't help but let her fingers slide over his hands, and wished she could run them over the rest of his body. Without the Academy robes, Milor's body showed the results of the heavy work involved in Warlock training. His body was lean and muscular, every muscle clearly defined underneath his skin, and she wished she could touch and feel every edge.
Closing her eyes, she turned her head, only to reopen them when she was sure she was no longer looking at him. She focused on her Assistant instead, annoyed with herself for being so preoccupied with Milor's physical looks.
He was her best friend, who was in an embarrassing situation, and she was making it worse for him by staring at him every chance she got. A dull groan drew her attention to Amy, who was slowly waking up.
The room was bare, containing the bed they had been occupying, and a bucket that, judging from sight and smell, served for various bodily functions. In one corner stood a pitcher containing liquid that looked like water. Liane wished she could just call up a pail of warm water for her Assistant, they way she could at the Academy.
“Assistant?”
“Proctor,” Amy whispered. “Where are we?”
“We are imprisoned with Lord Milor,” Liane replied, calmly. “I should have left you behind. We are quite likely in danger.”
Amy's face showed the pain she was feeling, pain Liane herself had felt upon her awakening. Thankfully, it had worn off quite quickly. “You will feel better in a few minutes, Assistant,” she told the younger girl. “We were rendered unconscious by the protections and brought here. Thankfully, our disguises seem to have worked. Lord Milor's magic was bound, ours wasn't.”
The young girl just nodded and lay there. “I'm still glad I came, Proctor,” she said, her voice sounding rough. Liane imagined that her own voice had probably sounded very similar when she had first woken up, and refrained from comment.
“Nevertheless, I am pleased to see you awake, Assistant,” Milor said, as always being kind to the younger girl.
Amy blinked when she took in his attire – or lack thereof – blushed ferociously, and turned away. Liane felt a smile slip on her face at the sight of her blushing and stammering Assistant, before she reminded herself that her own behavior had been worse. She had stared at her friend instead of averting her face, and she felt shame burn on her cheeks at the reminding thought.
The awkward moment was broken when the locks on the only door singled, creaked, and noisily slid open, before the door itself opened.
Two young men stepped inside, one holding a crossbow, the other holding a large tray in both hands. “Suppertime,” the young man holding the tray snapped, dumping it on the floor with none too much gentility. The slop that was piled onto the plates dribbled over the edges with the jolting movement.
Liane frowned slightly at the mess, then looked up at the two captors. The one carrying the bow was perhaps a few years older than herself and Milor, and muscled in the way a seasoned hunter was muscled. He was wearing a sword slung to one hip, the crossbow aimed in their general direction in both hands, and a strung bow hung over one of his shoulders, a full quiver hanging over the other.
The man with the food had refilled a pitcher with the water from a container that had been slung over one shoulder. He seemed to be her age when he looked up... Liane blinked when their eyes met, and for a moment, she and the young man stared at each other.
“Yari?”
The boy's mouth twisted awfully. “Liane,” he returned. “Them Nobles kick y'out? Always knew y'd be.”
She stood up, imperiously. “Nu-huh, princess,” the man with the crossbow said.
Liane twitched, sat down again. She could probably magic her way out of this, but with Milor in chains, he'd be defenseless. “What-er ya doin' 'ere?" she snapped at Yari. "I dun figured ye'd be at trade school or sumptin.”
She didn't notice Milor's face steeling, nor did she notice Amy's eyes going wider at the sound of Liane speaking like a Commoner, especially to one of their captors. “Bah,”
he snapped. “Ye kn'w nothin'. Y'abandon'd us, Liane.”
She snapped to her feet, ignoring the crossbowman. “I abandoned you!?” she snapped. “I woulda dragged y'all with me! Woulda dun wot-eva I could! But ye woulna even speak t'me!”
“Y'knew the rules, Liane. Ye got out. Never come back. Ye came back,” Yari returned angrily, his hands flashing up with enough force to make her take a step back. “D'ye even know whot happen'd to th'others?”
“How could I!?” Liane demanded. “Ye wanted me gone, I stayed gone. So? How's the others?”
Yari snorted. “Inao died. Yer Noble buddies caught 'er again. She wos tryin' to catch a fish.”
Liane winced. The little girl had always been so happy to see her. She'd given her so many piggy back rides. She'd miss Inai, even if she hadn't seen the girl in almost a decade. “It wos quick,” Yari pressed on. “Not like Fema. She kept stumblin'. Broke 'er leg. Got infected. Nasty. Had ta have it chopped off.”
That was even worse, and Liane didn't even bother trying to hide her second wince. “She's still alive. If ye can call it livin'. Last time I saw 'er, she wuz beggin'. One legged girl, lotsa sympathy, it helps. Dunno where she at now. Could be dead, might be better if she were." his face reddened with rage. "She had a pretty face. Men liked her, 'spite only havin' one leg. Might not be much of a life.”
Liane's right fist balled. “She wouldna take nuttin' from me. Tried to help 'er,” Yari said. “Pride. Stupid girl.” He looked at her, calming down. “Momi got adopted. He's a servant boy now. Warms some old battle-axe's bed, but he's fed at least. Better than nuttin', I s'pose.”
“So now them Nobles kicked y'out. He's a Noble, y'know,” Yari went on, pointing to Milor. “Real pretty boy. S'pose ye might let him have ya. Yer all gonna die here anyway. We're s'posed ta keep 'm alive til after Christmas. After that,” he drew his finger across his throat. "Off 'ith 'is head."
Liane looked horrified at the thought. “Suppose I could give ya something else. Yer pretty. More pretty than I thought ye'd be. Ye were cold. Bossy. Maybe ye'd like me bossing y'around now. I'd take ya. Might be willing to spare some decent food for ya.” He shrugged. “Or might take ya anyway. Without magic, yer justa bitch. Dun think them Nobles taught you 'bout fightin'.”
Liane's anger burned on her cheeks, and her magic raged in her chest, begging her to swat him right where he stood. Drawing a deep breath, she tried to compose herself. Coldly, she thought you'd be surprised, Yari. It was Milor that taught me to fight. Even without magic.
Yet, she didn't say anything. Magic would be their surprise. “Maybe ye'd let me go,” she said. “Instead of doing anythin' to me.”
Yari laughed. “We're not kids anymore. Ye can't boss me 'round no more.” He turned and walked out, giving a sharp nod of his head to the man with the crossbow, who had been enjoying the confrontation judging from the big smile on his face.
When the door closed, and the locks slid back into place, Milor and Amy both turned to stare at her. “My Lady?” Milor asked, the first to break the silence.
“I can't believe h'w far he's fall'n,” she muttered.
“My Lady,” Milor repeated, louder.
She snapped back to reality. “My apologies. I... used to know him. Before I came to the Academy. The rest is covered by the Rules of Equality.”
“Plenty was said to reveal your background, My Lady,” he told her. “Do not worry, your secret is safe with me.”
“I would never break the trust you have placed in me, Proctor,” Amy added.
“Thank you, My Lord, Assistant,” she whispered. “It was... not easy... listening to that.” she opened and closed her fists repeatedly, trying to stem the anger that stung in her veins and tingled in her fingertips. She had wanted to hurt Yari, hurt him in a way that she hadn't felt in a long time. She had been angry before, driven to duel over it, forced to take life. Yet she had never felt angry enough to forget herself and all that she had been taught, and to take the power that she held, and smite someone with it.
Her magic bloomed, offering her power and skill, driven by her own baser instincts and heightened emotions. All she would have to do is reach out, remove the door, walk out, find him, and twist his scrawny little neck. He was just a Commoner, there would be nothing stopping her.
“My Lady!” Milor snapped, and Liane's murderous train of thought broke as she looked at him.
“My Lord?” she asked, feeling drained all of a sudden.
“You looked ready to go on a rampage, and despite how much I would no doubt enjoy seeing you bring me to safety, I would recommend that we try to remove these bands first, so that I may at least cover our backs.”
He had said it on a joking sort of tone, but it did bring Liane back to reality. She nodded. “My magic has become even more unstable,” she explained. “There is a large shield present over the capital. It drains a bit of magic from every Noble present in the city or its surroundings, and uses that power to energize itself. Almost like a magical tax. I am used to living under it, never questioned it. The moment we were out from under it, My Assistant reverted to being an ordinary 12-year-old girl, complaining about food and water, while my magic has turned me into a Noble with an incredibly short fuse.”
Amy blushed when Liane mentioned her shortcomings.
“I see,” Milor said. “That would make sense,” he added. Somehow, Liane got the impression that he had known about the shield all along, and it made her wonder just where her friend may have learned about it.
She sat down at the foot of the bed, and leaned against the wall. Closing her eyes, she tried to relax, allow herself to just feel, feel but not dwell. Do not hold on to thoughts and feelings, she told herself. Let them flow over you, like water.
Drawing a deep breath, letting it out, she could feel tension leave her shoulders. Her head hurt, a stress-induced headache that felt somehow worse than any she had ever felt before. She tried not to dwell on the pain. It was just another part of her, like her arms and legs, like her magic, like the anger simmering beneath the surface of her mind.
“I am glad that we were mistaken for Commoners,” she finally said, half to herself and half to Amy and Milor. “We weren't searched, so I still have my focus gloves, and my Occluding Necklace.”
She could almost feel Amy touch her matching ring. “Assistant,” she went on, “Please refrain from using magic from now on. We are to pass as Commoners until we can escape. They made the mistake, we must capitalize on it.”
“I cannot pass as a Commoner, Proctor,” Amy whispered. “The moment I speak, they will know.”
Liane didn't open her eyes. The frustration splashed over her, and she tried to let it pass. “Then, Assistant, from now on, you are mute, and therefore, cannot speak.”
The younger girl was silent for a few tense seconds. “Yes, Proctor,” she whispered.
Milor, in an attempt to diffuse the situation, placed the tray on the bed. “Perhaps we should eat?” he offered, motioning to the slop in the bowl. “Unfortunately, it seems the portions have not increased, despite there being three of us now, instead of just me.”
Liane nodded. “Perhaps you can eat your fill first, Assistant. You are the youngest.”
The younger girl just nodded, took up the spoon, and scooped up a generous portion of the goo, obviously ravenous.
She took a large bite, her face twisting in revulsion, and she visibly choked while she swallowed. “That is truly awful,” she declared, putting the goo still on the spoon back in the bowl. She lifted her hand in a tell-tale sign of magic about to be cast, only to startle when Liane intercepted the hand.
“Magic will be our surprise, Assistant. We do not want to tip our hand. There might be defenses that will react to magic being cast. They have cuffs that suppress My Lord's magic, so our kidnappers have obviously been prepared.”
Amy glared in silence and withdrew her hand. She had no intention of eating the vile concoction they were being fed.
Liane shared a glance wi
th Milor. With a nonverbal agreement, she picked up the abandoned spoon, and ate. She had once used her fingers to eat, sharing food with others who ate with their fingers. She knew intellectually that sharing a spoon was no more intimate than it was sharing food.
It still took her a conscious effort not to show any hesitation in picking up the same spoon Amy had used, and eat with it.
The glop wasn't half as bad as some of the gruel she had been fed on at the orphanage. “Assistant, one day you will realize that there are people out there that aren't Noble. People who work hard, just to put food on the table. And that there are people, children, who do not even have this.” She finished the half she had allocated for herself, and motioned for Milor to go ahead. He didn't flinch or hesitate in sharing the spoon either, and Liane wondered whether it took him an effort as well, or whether his imprisonment had dulled him to those social niceties.
As the Warlock ate, Liane turned to focus on Amy. “You will grow hungry. In fact, I would wager that you already are. One day, you will eat. I will not force you. I will not make you. You will do it on your own. But remember this, Assistant. There are three people here who must share this food. When you do finally eat, do not take more than your fair share.”
The girl crossed her arms, and looked away. Liane sighed. Amy was turning more and more into a spoilt little rich girl, the longer they were away from the Academy. “It is either that, or starve,” Liane finished. “I will leave you to your thoughts.”
Amy just glowered. Liane shared an amused glance with Milor, even though his face, too, twitched slightly as he forced down the food. They drank some of the stale water that had been left to them. It was better than nothing.
When Milor finished, he gave her a questioning glance, obviously curious as to why she was able to eat so easily. She shrugged, not really wanting to go into it. Enough of her background had already been revealed.
He nodded in understanding, and Liane shared a small smile with him, glad that they were comfortable enough with each other to allow them such extensive nonverbal communication. He dipped his head in agreement.
