"Ivory!" A voice called out to her—cold, with a certain bored detachment deeply within it. Who was that? "Get the cleanseWitch; get Haggon."
Feet padded across the floor. "Here she is..."
"I don—"
"Tend to the princess… Now."
Ivory groaned. "There's no reason for such bootless actions," she muttered. "I am quite well."
Slowly, her perception peeled away the groggy darkness, leaving behind the cold scene of the room. Laid on the floor, cradled by Nail, Ivory passed a glance towards the lady-Captain of the now-dead seatGuards, eyes locked on that pale, bland face of hers.
"Leave me," Ivory commanded, watching as Nail offered no expression to the abrupt words. Even now, not once had this woman shown any expression other than constant tedium. Perhaps that was a limitation on her part. Not that it mattered—Ivory nodded within, pressing her palm against the floor, standing, heaving a breath; in through the nose, out through the mouth. A trait she had yet to grasp the origin of.
But pondering that was a thing to be done later. For now, she needed to see. She needed to see the fruit of her actions—to know the outcome of the cast. The success or its failure.
A voice chimed into her awareness.
"Where is the Fermen?" Nail.
Ivory smiled, or at least believed she did. Those words on their own were confirmation of her act; that was good. All that was left now was the visual confirmation. Thus, she reared her head, laying eyes on the man still tied to a round chair in the center of the room. But unlike before, there was a change.
"That is him," she said, looking to Nail, who stood by her—there were others in the back, but they shared no relevance in her awareness. Nail lingered in observation, then said:
"What have you done, Ivory?"
A frown creased the face of the princess. "What?"
Nail crossed her arms. "This act—this change you have done on this man…" She paused. "It is beyond you."
Is she insulting me?
"The symbol required for this… at the very least, is at the highest complexity of the middleMind."
"And this relates how?"
"Hmm…" A silence stretched between them. "This man is no longer Fermen."
"An obvious thing," Ivory spat, sauntering towards the tied ex-Fermen. With hair nearly as lustrous as her own and skin with the paleness of the purest Valorian, one could hardly identify this creature as once a beast of the Great Desert. If anything, she could enjoy that change… although.
Gripping his chin, Ivory observed the dazedness in his eyes—the lack of anything internal, almost dead. "Is it the needle?" she wondered, pulling out the silver pin that had been jammed into his eye. Out now, she tossed the thing away, still noting the lack of cogitation behind him. There was nothing.
I suppose that was to be expected, she noted. After all, with his colors changed, he was likely no longer the man he once was, and since symbols of himself were not uttered, this was likely an unforeseen consequence of the change.
"Why exactly did you do this?" Nail said by her side. "There could have been other ways."
Is she stupid? Ivory maintained her coldness. "He, as a Fermen, had certain mental reflexes encoded within. Thus, any and all attempts in the mental ways would have resulted in him taking his own life. In this method, he is no longer Fermen, and given that his memories still remain intact, the desired questions can still be asked without problem… once he regains his mind, somewhat."
There was a tremble in the air. The handmaidens behind Nail had reeled; even the darkCrown guardsmen showed signs of irritation at her act. This she, of course, understood. To them, this was an act nearly on par with the might of the Almighty. A man is himself, and none were to tamper with or change him in any way.
Except, before their eyes, Ivory had now done so.
"Take him," Ivory said. "Find a room, and the moment he regains awareness, call for me." The guardsmen donned in their black armor trudged forward, lifting the dazed Fermen off the chair. Not a grunt was held. There was, of course, a mild hesitation. Even with the knowledge that this man was Fermen, to their eyes, all they saw was a brightCrown.
Nonetheless, they soon exited the room, accompanied by most of the handmaidens. There was silence now, left only was Nail and the blind Haggon.
Ivory skimmed the silent Nail and said, "What was it that brought you here?"
"Your changes… that's one," Nail replied. "But first, the events of your coronation have somehow been sent out to every Eiya in Eastos."
Ivory froze. "What?"
—
"You're telling me everyone in Eastos knows that?"
"Everyone with an Eiya, yes. Those are the words that I have said," Nail said simply. That infuriated her.
Ivory stepped closer, her eyes locked on the lady-Captain. "How did this happen?"
"Likely some attempt by the Theocracy to bring weakness to the clan."
Ah, the madness.
There was a need to scream at those words…to wail and reap the ones that had done so. But she could not. Although most of the handmaidens were gone, there was still Haggon… the cleanseWitch, yes, and a part of her small council. But even then, Ivory could not trust her.
There was always the chance that behind that facade was some spy sent by the Church, the Pained Martyr sect, or whatever enemy out there sought a piece of the Valor clan.
Yet this—those words that had escaped Nail's mouth—brought a sense of rage within her. They all knew now. All of Eastos would laugh and mock the stupid princess who, in her coronation, allowed for such madness. They would sing about how the Fermen had defeated the Steel of the North. Had bent that which should never be bent.
Ivory looked away, eyes staring out through the round glass window of the room. From it, she could see the vast expanse of Cintry. Obscured by the rising mist, only the looming mountains could be made out, but she knew they were there. Her people, her land, the ones she was to rule.
Would they too mock me?
"There is something else."
Ivory felt like killing something. "Speak."
"Renly, the Master of Coin, had been poisoned during the Fermen attack. The rot spreads within him."
Ivory placed her palm over the other on her stomach, breathing.
"He is likely to die in four days," Nail added. "And Stephon Fray, current Highness of Fray, has sent an apology through an Eiya. In relation to the last meeting held in the King's Room, Adara of the Silverwoods vassal clan did not speak truly for the Fray. For whatever insult that may have occurred, he is sorry and has sent a gift that is to arrive today."
So the Highness of Fray isn't like the rest of the beasts called men. That's good, Ivory thought, listening for whatever else Nail was to speak. But there was only silence. "AND?"
"Would you visit Renly before he is to die?"
"No," Ivory proclaimed. "Now, when exactly is the funeral of the seatGuards to be held?"
"Soon."
"And the Trail of Worth?"
"The same."
Ivory glanced at Nail. "Make it quick," she said. "The sooner we replace the guards, the better… Now, what else is there?"
Nail maintained a moment's silence, then added, "Time for you to reconsider."
"What?"
"Renly had served under Gladwell and Argon," Nail said. "Those are two Highnesses. He deserves the presence of the next one."
What mistsense… Ivory lingered on the words. "If he wanted my presence, then he should have lived for it. His death is simply the consequence of his own incompetence. Nothing more."
"Yet—"
Ivory raised her arm. "Enough with this, Nail. I have a meeting with my Mother… And it is best not to keep her waiting."
Do you know what I call the bane of man? I call it the curse of religion—Author Unknown.
"Late again." Mother Samara was quick with her words, eyes closed as an Aspirant read some written words to her. Why was that needed, one would ask. After all, as a castWarer of the highest Fa'n, literacy was a guarantee. Perhaps it was the principle of it.
As always, the Aspirant was seated in the far corner of the room, draped in filmy white robes, head clean-shaven and oiled for the production of a unique sheen. Perhaps he had been taken from the Fool's clan. Nonetheless, he did speak in tones of softness—likely casted.
And the room? It was brilliant in the light. Pale radiance streaming from the lamps embedded in the wall's base. The walls, black as ash, were dotted with froststones, each pulsing with dim cobalt. Overhead, the ceiling held patterns of silver spirals… As it appeared, there had been no change to the room of the Mother.
"So?" Mother Samara repeated. "Do you not speak now?"
"I—"
"I seem to have remembered your high tones within the Grand Hall. What was it? Yes, 'we have graves for you.'" She turned, her long, lustrous white hair cascading down that elegant form of hers. "Tell me, Ivory, what graves do you have? Is it for Argon? Is it for the dead seatGuards, or perhaps for the many Excubitors and guardsmen slain that day? Tell me, daughter of mine, what graves do you have?"