Master Geld wouldn't be that foolish. So… which is it?
I need to get to Mother.
"Why him?" Ivory's gaze sharpened. Her ears caught the subtlest shift in Geld's stance. This would be so much easier if the Servs could enter the castle walls.
"For one, you are my brightest student," Geld said. "But as I've said—your smile is lost. So I brought you him… to rekindle it."
Ivory's gaze slid toward the Aspirant. He was… handsome. Reasonably so. But not enough to stir her pulse, let alone her smile. How then was he supposed to achieve it?
"And how would he do that?" she asked.
"A few weeks to taste?" Geld's smile curled, almost mischievous. "A wager, then. If he draws something out, you receive my secret notes on the Hollow Chasms."
Ivory's eyes keened. His notes? Curiosity washed beneath her calm exterior. Not that the notes would solve her current predicament—but knowledge was never something to refuse. Still, she had no time to entertain indulgences.
"That will be something to discuss later," she said coolly. "Come find me in an hour's time."
Before Geld could respond, Ivory turned and walked away. Her pace was measured—calm. But the tension beneath her steps betrayed her quickened pulse.
As she passed, her gaze traced toward the unknown Aspirant.
Curious.
"Late." Mother Samara's eyes remained closed as the Aspirant read to her.
The Aspirant stood in the far corner, draped in white robes, his head shaven smooth. His voice flowed like a soft tune — practiced, controlled, unnatural in its ease. How did he achieve such softness? Casted?
The room was well-lit, pale light streaming from lamps fixed at the base of the walls. The walls, black as ash, were set with blue froststones that pulsed faintly with inner will. Overhead, the ceiling held spiraling patterns of crystal — a circle beginning and ending upon itself. A symbol of completion. Or a chain.
Mother Samara sat at the edge of the room. Legs crossed, palm resting lightly on her knee. She looked distant, but her attention sharpened toward the reading. She listened to it…More than Ivory's presence.
She wore a slick black robe that pooled at her ankles. Around one leg, a bracelet of gleaming oredite stones caught the lamplight, scattering faint prisms of color. Like Ivory's, but more refined — the stones larger, sharper. What had been casted into them?
White hair, like snow — whatever that was. Eyes of deep, endless black, set beneath the glint of round rings pinned through her ears. Mother wore her crown today: a floating ring of gold orbiting her head, fitted with many oredite gems. It hovered a finger's breadth from her temples, held aloft by invisible force.
Mother's eyes opened, cutting through the room's soft haze. "What took your time?"
Ivory's thoughts scattered. "I met Master Geld," she said, tone steady.
"What did he bring?"
"An Aspirant."
Mother's gaze honed. "What happened to yours? Is he dead?"
"No," she said, lips pressed tightly.
Mother's voice was calm, too calm. Mild words cut deeper. Ivory envied that control. Wanted it.
"Then why the new one?"
"He's from the Abstention Chapter."
Mother's gaze remained cold. "You planned on bedding him?"
"No!" The word broke free too fast. Ivory froze as Mother's black eyes fixed on her. Cold. Watching. Measuring. Why did I lose myself? Mother never once lost herself.
A faint raise of Mother's hand. No gloves. No emeralds. Bare skin. A true caster.
The Aspirant's voice faded — not cut off, but drowned. Muffled at first, but slowly became nothing but pressured silence. His mouth still shaped the words, but no sound emerged. His eyes remained calm, unaware of the shift.
Ivory swallowed. Her mother's gaze weighed on her like a black tide surging down.
What mistake have I made?
"You are to become the next Highness of the Valor Clan." Mother's voice cut the air, precise that it echoed directly into her ears. "And yet you still make such petty mistakes? Losing your temper?" Her eyes darkened. "Do you think Seal, Lilia, Shirera were so weak-willed?"
"I apologize, Mother," Ivory said, hating herself for the weakness in her voice.
Mother's gaze squeezed. A long silence.
"I…" Ivory fumbled. Her tongue turned thick. Airless. Her breath stilled. No sound emerged from her lips. Not even the rustle of fabric as she straightened.
A dampening field. Mother's will, fully imposed.
"A High Daughter apologizes to no one." Mother's voice tunneled into her ears — singular, unyielding. "There's no point fearing anyone. You will know true fear when you face true monsters — the Fallen and the works of men."
Ivory nodded. The silence unraveled as though drawn away by an unseen hand. Like cloth pulled beyond. Sound returned in soft ripples. What kind of symbol had Mother cast to achieve that?
Mother's gaze lingered. Ivory straightened, hands folding over her stomach. One atop the other. Did I do well? She searched for some glint of approval. Nothing. That's okay. It means I need to do better.
A brief silence followed before Mother said, "Have you dreamed recently?" Her gaze shifted, distant.
"No," Ivory said. Clear. Precise. Like Mother.
"I see." Mother said, her tone low. How could it be low? Ivory closed her eyes for a moment, then bit on her lip. This was her fault. Mother was sad by her inability to cast…yet.
"In that case, have this." From the safe pouch hidden in her robes, Mother took out a box. Black, smooth. The box wasn't like any she had seen. It was unique, not like traditional materials used in making boxes. It didn't even seem like wood. Or maybe it was, and instead was casted to look that unique. One couldn't know for sure when casting was involved.
"What's that for?" Ivory asked.
"A gift." Mother said, "Take it."
Ivory lingered a bit, as she should. Mother always said, as a high daughter, she shouldn't seem ever eager to take something. It can end up revealing some desperation others can snatch from.
With that, she stepped forward. Smooth, calm, collected. Reaching, she did not lean, instead with an almost curt movement, she took the box from Mother's hand.
She was to pry it open when Mother said, "Not here."
Ivory nearly startled. She was so close to her, so the voice seemed exceptionally powerful. Can't take it.
She stepped back, returning to her original stance.
Mother said, "Train with what is in there."
Ivory paused, her gaze settling on the black box. A cold weight settled in her chest.
Train with it? Skepticism curled through her mind. What's in here? Something I need to train with?
Her fingers stiffened as the cold sank deeper.
"Mother." Her voice was calm, measured. "Is there an Emerllt in here?"
Mother Samara sat motionless, her gaze fixed somewhere beyond the room, beyond Ivory. A deliberate silence.
"It is, isn't it?" Ivory's voice sharpened. Her heart twisted beneath her ribs. She doesn't trust me to snap on my own. "How did you get it?"
Emerllts were not easily acquired. The church held them with the weight of law. That Mother had one meant strings had been pulled — dangerous ones.
"It does not matter." Mother's voice was smooth, sharp-edged. "What matters is the future of the clan. You've had enough time to snap on your own, and yet you haven't. Rumors spread, and soon the other clans will see weakness. They will challenge us. That cannot be allowed."
"So this is your answer?" Ivory's voice cooled.
"Yes." Mother's eyes darkened. "At least for now. You will keep it hidden — cast, but guard the secret. If, by some chance, you snap in the future, the Emerllt can be returned."
If. Ivory's grip tightened over the box. Her knuckles blanched. She wanted to crush the damn thing. "And what if I need it forever?"
"Then you will bear a child. A child who will be able to cast. The future Highness will pass to them."
Her chest tightened. Mists. What is this? A pressure curled in her throat, rising fast. To have a child if I can't cast?
Mother raised a hand — a small motion, coldly dismissive. Ivory swallowed the rest of her words and turned away.
This is my fault. Her steps echoed through the room. I need to cast. I need to dream.
She stopped at the door, her gaze sliding back toward Mother Samara.
Beside her, an orb of pale white drifted into view — Eiya. Its light softened the harsh angles of Mother's face, casting her dark robes in a delicate sheen of silver. Eiya's mouth opened as if to speak —
Mother's hand lifted. A wave came. Silence rolled through the room like a shroud.
Who is she talking to? Ivory wondered. It didn't matter. Not now.
She needed to think. This required… deliberation.
Something—anything.
"Your Grace!" a voice called to her. Down the dark halls leading out from mother's chambers, a figure, a woman likely, ran toward. She wore the black side buttoned coat of a hand maiden, skirt past her ankles, flowing like the wind.
She was drenched; froststone did little to quell her body heat.
She reached.
"Your Grace." It took a moment for decorum to take hold—the servant, straightening into a statue.
"Yes, " Ivory said.
"The Highness, Argon, first of his name, lord of the Cintry Range and protector of the ash mountains."
The titles just pile on, don't they? She thought, amused at the simple servant who had to speak them all. But again. We all have our burdens. Ivory pressed the box and said, "Where?"