Ivory maintained silence, palm resting atop the other over her stomach. This was not the moment for retaliation—regardless of the anger felt for the spoken words. The truth remained so. She had failed. She had caused countless deaths, all in the name of love for an Aspirant. A thing anyone was sure to laugh at.
Even the mad knew Aspirants were unallowed for such things—yet Heid, Kabal, had facilitated it so… expertly. She should have seen it. Should have seen the control, the illusion within that smile of his, within that poise in which he controlled her.
Ivory tensed. Mother saw it. "Look at you," she said. "A daughter of mine. A daughter of Gladwell. And this is the outcome. This is how the next Highness is to run the Great Clan of the North?"
It's not like Valor is the sole Great Clan of the North, Ivory thought in a spur of rebellion. There was always the House of Noctis.
But those words, she recognized, were better left internal. Samara maintained a moment of silence, eyes locked coldly towards Ivory. So heavy they were in her awareness that it seemed like the force of a caster, but standing here before Mother brought a similar sensation to that of Argon. Albeit weaker, Mother still possessed that humbling coldness. Anyone could not help but bow to it.
Samara, dressed in a long black dress that pooled over the ground, sauntered forward. Elegant and worthy of her name. And with that hair, that long, lustrous whiteness that seemed like radiance hardened into strands, it was as though she was adorned with a river of brilliance. Maybe she was. Regardless, Ivory knew Mother incapable of such an error as she had made.
"Come, won't you defend yourself?" Mother said, casting a glare at the reading Aspirant. The old man had little in the way of situational awareness. Even with this, this tenseness of the room, his voice was still in that consistent softness… Reading what?
The Oldest Night!
Samara gripped her by the jaw, rearing her face. Now they met at eye level, but Mother was taller. Mother had always been taller. "SPEAK!" she commanded.
Ivory froze. Not once had Mother spoken with such tones.
"Can't you hear me?" she said. "Tell me why your stepfather, Argon, lies in bed, his face and body rotting off in flash moments?"
Ivory trembled. Hold yourself. Control yourself. Keep yourself. She repeated the self-created mantra but found its effectiveness null before the piercing black eyes of Mother. They could see her. They could see the pathetic girl deep within that mask of madness and cold.
She mustn't see it!
No one should be allowed to know it. Never again.
"Won't you SPEAK?"
Ivory slapped her arm away. Lords above, what had she done? There was danger in the air; anyone could see it. Could feel it in the sharpened eyes of the Mother of Valor.
In the way her shoulder propped. Something would happen. Something could happen. A smarter creature would know to stop now—to beg for the forgiveness of the one that stood before them. But not today. Mother did not appreciate the act of begging. She called it the vile alternative of men!
So, no. Ivory gritted her teeth. "Tell me, Mother," she said. "Who was it that brought an Emerlt from the Church?"
There was a chilling silence, one that had frozen the Elder Aspirant… Ah, that man would likely find himself dead in the blueblood river for the sole reason of hearing the next words she was to speak. But… they had to be said.
"It was you who caused this…" she snapped. "You started this; you are part of this end that has come for Valor. You, with a deal that without doubt would come for Valor, had brought that thing here. You had challenged me again instead of the warmth of a mother."
Samara lifted her head, just slightly. A demeaning pose. Mist her!
"Pray tell, Mother, why would I, a highHeir, supposedly loved by everyone, require the heart of an Aspirant?" Ivory parted her arms. "Tell me, Mother. Why couldn't you give me your heart? Why couldn't you tend to your daughter? And perhaps you saw this, knew the eventual outcome of it… But where were your words?
Why was it that Argon was always first to know? To learn. To aid. Tell me, Mother, have you gone to him since the attack? Or are your cleanseWitches your sole means of learning of your husband's health?"
Ivory felt her words were spiraling.
"Tell me—always you are quick to speak about what is to be good for Valor. But what have you done?" she heaved. "You have built weapons, and that's it. That's the end of it."
"Princess…" the Aspirant pleaded. His words were unheard.
"So what exact right do you have to judge me?" Ivory looked into her eyes. "TELL ME!"
And then, like a deflation, silence drained all the rage from the air. There was nothing now, just Ivory, standing there, panting, head laced with the body's fluid. Why was she even sweating? Surely the froststones didn't just lose their effectiveness. Was it Mother?
Then came the realization. Her eyes broadened. Did I just scream at Mother? There was a chill in her heart. A dangerous cold.
What happens now? What would she do? Questions within questions. But first, her eyes raised up, meeting the gaze of that woman. What would she see? Rage, anger, hatred, disgust?
Or perhaps some desire for murder…
It was a smile!
Ivory froze.
Samara said simply, "Haste now, before the Comes of the North, Actus, arrives in our lands." She turned, regarding the silent Aspirant. "You should fortify Valor before then; bring the vassal lords to their knees. Wash away this stain from the minds of the men of Eastos. Deny the Church our weakness… Daughter of mine, remind them why the metal stands strong."
Ivory was stunned by the situation that had unfolded. Mother was furious; she was sure she was. But now? There was no hint of that anger, no screaming or the sudden outburst of mindForce. There was nothing. Only passivity. A warm sense of pride in those actions.
But pride? There was no way. Was this another angle, some plan within the mind of Samara that Ivory could not fathom? Surely, that was the case. Or was it not that?
Ivory shook the thoughts away. Why had Mother acted this way?
A voice snapped into the room—a timid young girl. A handmaiden, hair still locked with the metal links. A virgin then. "Urgent News," the girl said. "The daughter of the late Lord of Wane has come all the way from Stone Bastion."
Ivory paused.
Samara interjected. "Wane had no daughters."
"Uhm..." The girl seemed frightened by the words. "Illegitimate, your Grace… According to her, her brother, Argent Wane, had fled to the Free Cities in search of the army created by his father. She is the daughter of a whore."
Samara offered no glance at the girl. "Those are the words of men, child," she said. "What's worse than a man who beds a whore?"
Ivory remained stunned by the suddenness of… well, everything. From the detachment to the insults, the smile, and even this. All of it was like a surge of maddening data, smashing through every prior created impression. Something was off—why had Mother not shouted?
"Your Grace," the handmaiden called, "she awaits your presence in the Grand Hall."
"Mine?"
"You are highHeir now," Samara said, standing before the Aspirant dressed in black. "You are the Regent of Valor, and soon to be Highness." The old man was trembling. Perhaps he could see what was coming. Without a doubt, he would not leave this room alive.
Ivory turned away in thought: Since when was killing Aspirants so easy?
—
Ivory sat on her seat, not the sealSeat, but hers—that smaller one that was placed adjacent to the grand one. Her eyes were locked on the floor, watching the metal chains that pooled beneath the seat. Soon, her legs were to stand on those, to sit on that glorious throne. Except… she realized it was too soon. There was no plan to it. Argon was to die, and she, with little experience with anything, was to rule a shattered clan.
Damn the heavens!
Her head reared up, observing the colossal size of the Grand Hall. With pillars like mountains, black—some sleek, some granular. Few places in Eastos could match the grandeur of this place. Ivory doubted if the fabled Hall of the Riverend Clan could compete.
Ahead, that massive black gate was like a waiter—a thing that lingered before it admitted some enemy or friend to Valor. The question was: Who was this Ardella? Was she a friend, an illegitimate daughter that perhaps sought relation to Valor for power, or an enemy? A snake, like how her father was. Like how her brother is. Regardless…
Ivory leaned back. If she's such a creature, then I will cut her like one…
A voice boomed from behind the door. "Coming from the territory of Stone Bastion, daughter to the late Lord Wane of the Wane Clan, I present Ardella Valor..."
Let me see who you are…
The door parted, revealing a woman. And despite the many things that could be pointed out about her, Ivory saw but one: she had an eye of strange greyness.