Ivory sighed. A highness seemed more a slave than a ruler. She walked on, following the path lit by base-placed lamps. It was a passage of white luminescence, low, as though the ground was a sea of whiteness. Dreamy and ethereal in the way it calmed the mind.
Must be intentional. Ivory thought. Something to dull the mind before meeting Argon. A weaker mind would mean a less cognitive one. Thus prone to mistakes
She refused the serenity the tableau provided; instead, she shifted her mind to foreboding prospects.
She had been summoned.
Argon had called for her.
Disregarding the break in customs the call admitted, the possibilities of the reason were multitudinous. Though, possibly her prior attack might be more paramount to the call. If it were, Ivory cringed. Guards. Lots of them.
Father would drown me in guardsmen before I can do anything.
She felt the sigh, but repressed it. Eyes were upon her. Ivory reached a square door. Black, intricate in the manner of the silver spirals over it. It was to open to her presence, this was common to all slide doors. But this. This was one made with protective intent. Thus, had complicated measures. Affirmation of her identity would be required.
"Name!" A voice, origin unknown, spoke through the walls.
"Ivory Valor." She replied.
And in the following moments, the door slid to the side. The motion fluid that no sound outside the whistling of wind echoed. She stepped in and again marveled at the vastness, Valor—no, the world chose to abide by.
Pillars like mountains held up the massive sky of iron and stone, spiraled delicately with pattern, names, glyphs, symbols, stories. Light rayed down from them, casting a varying hue of gray and white. Below the immensity was a field of sleek black solitude, curved staircases going deeper into the room or the roof. Some connected to the walls. Ivory imagined, those led to other rooms.
Regardless, her eyes locked now upon statues placed conveniently near the closest pillars. Cast in gray and black, it took a bare moment for awareness to register the images wrought into stone.
She moved, stopping before one. Towering, it showed a man, tall, muscular, bearded, carrying a wheel. He held it amid a throw; hands stretched, face clenched. Oh, the detail. Ivory smiled, touched the surface of the stone, and felt the faint jolt of current.
"It's a gift." A voice, like wind before a storm, spoke, and Ivory knew herself in the presence of Argon Valor.
"Yes, it's a beautiful gift." Ivory said, "I wonder if the fools were so happy to lend their casters for it."
"Ah, the fools don't do much of anything. They can hardly see through all the fog in Mistveil. That place," he paused, "Shaedarth."
"Old tongue?"
"Yes," Argon smiled, "Calling it shadow place denotes a need of some importance which the fools serve."
"If the myths are to be believed. They do."
"The Myths say a lot of things. Four ages. Past gods. Many things."
Ivory touched the stone statue and felt the jolt. "And one day, I too will know the truths in those myths."
Argon chuckled. "That day, daughter, is far in the future. Or do you desire to kill me now?"
"Never." Ivory turned to him and met his eyes. "I wish the highness the longest life."
"Ha. Your mother would pay good marks to see the blade in me."
"Jokes."
"Perhaps." He said, then looked to the statue. "Daughter, tell me, what do you think of him?"
Ivory found no test in those words. "Taka is the patron saint of strength, good battle. Courage, and—"
"I said nothing of tags," he snapped, "Tell me what you see!"
Silence. Anger quick to pass and strong like the storm. "A boastful fool. A soldier who thinks himself invulnerable and runs widely without care. A man who chooses the worthless wheel save for the sword."
"Yes, a wheel for a weapon is madness." Argon laughed. "Now, I wonder what choice my daughter will make when I ask her to train to become a warrior. A blademaster, perhaps."
Ivory froze and in those moments, found her thoughts a collection of jumbled notions. What was this? What was what? Blademaster? Why?
"Why?" She managed.
"You are like your mother in many ways. That courage. That wildness. Like a sophisticated beast."
"She calls men beasts."
"I suppose we are. But a beast is a creature of power. Mighty claws, strong muscles. Eyes to see in the darkness. Ears to track the faintest of sounds. And lungs to breathe the tiniest air in the mist-choked world. You, my daughter, are not that. You lack the claws, the muscles. The skill."
Ivory felt fervent. "So you will have me build muscles and hold swords. Because I can't cast."
He breathed a sigh. "These words are yours, daughter, not mine. Not once have I made you feel that way. Casting is but one means to hold power. I know blademasters who can so easily kill a caster like breaking a wet twig."
"An excuse."
Argon turned and walked. "Follow."
And she did.
"Your knowledge is extensive. That is a weapon. Far sharper if the mind can arm it. Do you understand this?"
"Yes."
"Then focus on that. The leeches nip at the heels of the clan with each passing day. They need to see strength."
"They do so because they think I can't cast."
"YOU CAN'T!" Argon's voice boomed through the space, quaking.
Ivory felt the tremor deep within her body, her mind seeking solace in the corner of timidity. She knew what her body sought, but would not give it. She stood, hand placed atop the other over her stomach.
Argon frowned. "Are you challenging me?"
"You said I am to become highness one day. What use is fear now?"
And then she felt the horror grip her heart. Argon was massive now. A thing she recognized as an exaggeration of the mind towards fear. He was doing something. And not the strength from his voice, no, another.
He was vast. Like the herald of a storm—eye wide, face hardened like a storm wall. So big. Unknowable. Higher than anything.
Ivory gained an awareness of the occurrence. He was trying to dominate her. A thing, casters by the mind could do. Sweat trickled down her face, breath— a hectic exhale.
She forced the words. "I won't do it!"
The pressure vanished, and she found her legs weak. Don't fall.
"So annoying." Argon spat. "Just like your mother. So very annoying." He walked and stopped before a table placed in the center of the vastness.
Two boxes were atop the sleek black desk. Two chairs too, facing each other.
"Let us play a game." He said.
"It won't define the choice in this matter." Ivory sought clarity.
"Ah," he frowned. "You forget I can make you do this regardless of what you want."
"And that will take my trust with it, and this little game of ours."
"I can make you do that, too," he said.
Ivory shrugged. "Then, I wouldn't have any reason to allow you to ever win again."
He laughed. "Ah, daughter, join me for a game, and in the end, I will tell you my decision."
That's the amount I can do. Ivory looked into his eyes and drew the understanding that whatever he says would be an order. That last show, her meagre defiance was a test. Likely to ascertain her health after the attack. In this, Ivory did not have any delusions that she could stand before the true domination of Argon valor.
She sat down and asked, "What are we playing?"
"What we always played."
"I see." Ivory offered a smile and dragged her box closer.
Opening it, she saw then the bulk-backed bug—six-legged, pincers like muscles. Wall bug, eater of eltium. Many words they called it. She heard the Fermen believed bits of Eltium remained in their stomach. Myths. Myths. But that did not matter now.
Ivory, carefully, risking not an attack from those pincers, took out a long needle, and smiled. "My bug seems hungry."
Argon chuckled. "Is this a sign that I am to lose? A hungry bug means a ferocious bug."
"It also means a weak and tired bug."
"That too."
Again, Ivory lowered her gaze to the black needle; black, two-finger length, and pointy. This was the game they were to play. Bug against bug. But the wall bug was known as a blind creature, as most things are; it saw with sensations and feelings.
The needle in this case was the prompt.
Argon looked to her, and she to him.
"Should we bet?"
Ivory sensed a doomier event. "This will not dictate your decision on whether I train or not."
"Of course it won't."
"Then what?"
"Who becomes your guard?"
"What?" Ivory felt decorum slip away.
"Ah, must you always resist?" Argon inhaled, "You do not wish to become a blademaster, and you don't want a guard? Why not choose death?"
"I already have plenty."
"A mere excubitor cannot handle it."
"Then choose one from a different domestic," Ivory said.