So it should be as though the castWarer was invited amid ongoing proceedings. Never to suspect. And what better proceedings than one to punish an offender? Ivory analyzed the conclusion with a partial mind, eyes watching as Argon took to the throne, his legs placed atop the pool of chains.
Silence remained ruler over the grand hall. None dared speak before the highness—none dared to anger the Protector of the seal. Not that Argon was particularly known for rage, but still, what was the point in courting death? And more, knowing doesn't often equate to reality.
Suddenly, the front of the thrones, previously scanty, was no longer. Figures, not many, dressed in black, stood as guards before the throne.
The Seat guards. Ivory wondered what need was for the theatrics. Surely they could as easily walked into the hall, why the abrupt emergence? Then, it came to her that they needed to present an inescapable horror. Everyone had to feel the presence of the guards at all times—hence, mundane things like walking in could not serve the function.
Most of the guards—personal protectors of Argon, were unknown to her, except two. A couple; Nail and Veil, they were called. Likely, they remained hidden. Unseen. After all, as lord and ladyCaptains of the seat guards, they were also its strongest force.
Ivory rested into the silent persona of a watcher. No more thoughts—now was time to learn. One day, she would have to do this all, and how stupid would it seem if she lacked the expert knowledge to do so?
Argon spoke, "Rise," and the bowed congregation did so. "Begin."
An Aspirant stepped from the side. A bald man dressed in flowing white robes. He carried a piece of paper, eyes staring down to read. As Aspirants, they and only they were allowed to read.
That, of course, and certain others. Like her, for example.
"Bring brightCrown No'el!" There was a deliberate tone of command laced over his voice. A cadence she sensed was an attempt to undermine the Highness Authority.
Would she also be undermined like this?
Never!
The Excubitors, prompted by the furious command, came rushing, dragging a man through the large gates past the lane walled by the mute, enraptured watchers.
Battered, bruised, his white hair pulled out in violent tears. A shame to a brightCrown. What exactly had he done? This No'el—a name Ivory drew no familiarity from. She observed his black eyes, pale skin now red from fists and heated poles. He was a pure valor born, so what crime did he commit?
This, she understood, was a lesson in itself. One day, she would have to punish, and what better way than to watch one experience said penalty.
The Aspirant said, "brightCrown No'el is accused of selling vital information to the odium clan…How do you plead?"
Whispers, as always, were quick to roll through the crowd.
"I plead not guilty!" the man roared—strange for a man as damaged as he was. "I did not sell anything to Odium. Why would I? What do you people think of me? What next, you say I also planned the rednight?"
A mistake! Ivory thought.
"Bind him in Ta'renheal!" Argon snapped like a storm, his voice a natural damper to the whispers and schemes of the crowd.
His rage was justified. The rednight had taken something from him—from her too. The difference was she lacked the memory to care for the loss. Regardless, Ivory felt the rage was baited.
No'el seemed a man of decent intelligence—what point was it in bringing something so delicate into the trial that dedicated his life and death? An utterly stupid conjecture, less so if examined from the role of a conspirator. Was that what he was? Was this a trap?
No'el suddenly wailed. "Ta'renheal?" as though he had just heard the words, "You see this, my fellows, he binds me. Enslaves me. Me a brightCrown—hair like the sun of myths. He binds me. What does this mean? Does he claim supremacy over the sun? Does he claim overlord over all brightCrowns? What is this, my fellows?"
I see. Ivory realized another meaning to her father's earlier words. Indeed, the prison had been locked. This was a trap—one of many attempts to undermine and seize control of the seat.
The question was: the key to the prison, who now held it?
"It interests me how often bugs have spores in them." A voice, familiar, cold, and detached, spoke up. Mother Samara.
Quickly, like a reflex, Ivory broke them into meanings.. And the awareness of the elucidation brought a spark in her thoughts. Spores—Bugs. One controls the other. No'el is controlled. He is the one in danger, like the bug, but is unaware of it. Someone is making him do this. Some reward, perhaps…But he must see the stupidity of what he's doing…Or maybe he can't.
Ivory recounted the notion of his intelligence. Clearly, the man was lesser than most in the mind.
"What nonsense are you talking about?" No'el barked, yet some surge of contrasting emotion washed through his face. For a moment, his eyes twitched, edging but refusing to look at a certain angle.
So someone was controlling him. A puppet of a brightCrown.
"Nonsense?" Mother Samara said, her demeanor uncared for the words spoken. Perfect in every way. "Was that too hard for you? Then let me make it clearer; what use is this in your mind. How exactly did you envision the outcome of your betrayal? Say, perhaps you indeed never did what you were accused of, a crime already has been witnessed in these halls. You insulted Your Highness and his consort!"
"What?" Again, his eyes bordered to the side. And Ivory found herself curious about who had instigated him. Knowing them too protected her from their schemes. If this did not work, an attempt on her would be the best for them.
"This!" No'el gritted. "This is a trap, my fellows. This highness and his false consort are trying to trick me. I did nothing!"
"Us?" Mother said curtly. "Did you miss your memories? Shouldn't there be another with such a role?"
No'el fidgeted, and a figure stood beside him. Frightened as he was, he did not notice the man who had come. Dressed in black, the attendant carried a Ta'renheal. A half black rod, the length of an arm to the elbow, with glyphs inscribed on its form.
He saw this and shook. "Fellows, will you allow this to happen? This high family is tricking you all. I am a light—I am pointing the way for you to follow. This is trickery! These are lies. Falsehood." he tried to turn, but the excubitor forced his head in place.
Frustrating.
Allow him to allow me to see who controls him. Ivory thought.
"That's about enough of that." Argon, voice, like a herald of silence, rolled through the room. In an instant, the buzzing room drowned again. "And, yes, no ta'renheal," he said.
What? Ivory started; the fear of the unyielding storm, bending to the whims of such a fool, trembled her.
"I have heard your defense, and have made my judgment…You shall not be bound or killed."
No!
No'el curled a wide smile. "See my fellows. I was never guilty, this was always their plan. To weaken us. Is that what you want? Come o—"
"However," Argon interjected, "As my true consort has said, you have indeed committed a crime. "
"What?"
"Hence, I declare exile!"
In an instant, it was gone. Like the quickness of breath, his hand vanished into nothing. Left only was the edge of the elbow—no blood, not a sight of a cut, just that, as though he had been born with one hand missing.
Casting!
The room saw this and shuddered, but No'el, the dunce he turned out to be, saw it last. He raised his right, staring at the limb that once held five fingers. Gone, and he screamed.
"What…What…What is going on? This isn't meant to happen! This is not the way it was said!"
Would he reveal his cohort right here? Ivory thought, a bit repulsed at the weakness. No loyalty from the prat, then.
His legs were next to vanish—and like before, no blood, just a sign of lastiness as though it had always been that. He fell to his chest, body half held by his elbow. He crawled to them, to the stand of thrones seated by her, mother, and Argon.
Did he want to plead?
"I…" He jabbered, "I can't die!"
"Death is not what happens to you." Mother said, "You are to be sealed—deathless. In dark, yes, but not dead."
"I KNOW WHAT THE SYMBOL DOES!" He roared, and his right arm vanished. Ivory saw this and drew the realization of the caster. From many a list of possibilities, the obvious choice of Mother being the doer echoed soundly through her.
Mother was a redeemed caster, so it made sense for the power. But if it's mother, then this isn't true banishment—more likely a state of being locked. No'el might not feel it and call it banishment, but it can't be it…Mother is strong, but the symbol of that is something a venerate at least will be required for.
That thought pattern brought the expansion of more variables. Now, Mother no longer seemed the obvious choice for the caster.
No'el whimpered, his back bulging as sounds of wailing filled the hall. He raised his head, unsupported by his arms—like an animal. A beast that begged for some mercy after its fangs and claws were taken.
"Please…" he said, "Mercy. Mercy."