The fog that rolled in from the ocean would likely burn off by mid morning, but that did not change the way the chill and the damp seeped into Corina's bones now at this early spring sunrise. Groaning as she flexed her fingers in the cold, the young woman wrapped her battered silken blankets more firmly around her shoulders, then slowly rolled from the bed, trailing her worn quilts and sheets like a royal train. Blearily, she made her barefoot way towards breakfast, grateful that the silk wrapped around her kept her body heat close to her skin. It was chilly enough and--as Corina peered up at the sun through one of the arrow slits of Pasior's Tower-- it was dark enough that surely it was not lunch yet. Breakfast it would be.
Seating herself at the long wooden pew that would surely hold many of her peers if it were only an hour earlier, Corina helped herself to the cold and sticky oatmeal heaped in her plum-colored ceramic bowl, the silver spoon stuck in the thick mess clashing with the delicate gold enamel on the rim of the bowl. Crunchy white bread that had once been soft, buttered toast that had once been warm, and some tepid juice in a glass had been also laid out for her. Pasior the Solemn might hold Corina to impossibly high standards, but he had long since learned that she was just as much at the whims of her nascent dream state as he was. She would join the ranks of her scant few classmates when she was ready and able to learn. And breakfast was the first step.
Already Corina could feel the pull on her mind to return to the liminal world, to crawl back into bed and dream again. She shook off the urge physically and mentally the best she could. Pasior the Solemn insisted that she learn to control her impulses when it came to feeding her "reverie dependence" but they both knew that if she was going to be any good at being a Dreamweaver, she would have to let herself indulge eventually. Practice made perfect, after all, and it wasn't like she wasn't present at lessons while she dreamed nearby. She was only missing lectures in the physical sense.
Pasior's concern about the way Corina slipped in and out of the dream world would normally not have been misplaced, Corina had to admit. Magic always came from and for a cost. But Corina was an anomaly: they'd proved it over and over that she could be trusted to consistently and responsibly use her powers, even under pressure. That it was difficult for her to not use her powers accidentally was a footnote that was easily forgotten. Well, by Corina, anyways.
With a sigh, Corina finished her plain breakfast and hauled herself and her soft blankets back to her bedroom, her toes making hardly any noise against the floors of the familiar stone corridors of the tower. She would have thought that she might get better fare, at least on her birthday, but c'est la vie. In her room, Corina quickly dressed in her rough woolen clothes - complete with scratchy tights and itchy frock. Her trusty leather boots made more noise in the hallway than her bare soles, but with the sun eagerly eating away at the fog outside her window, Corina knew it was far past time for her to be at lessons. No one would mind the thumping of boots at this hour, anyway. They should all be awake and at class, like her.
Satisfied with her state of dress, Corina moved to the small mirror on her dresser, laid at a hard angle against the wall so she could peer into it. Bushy, ridiculously red hair filled the looking glass for a moment before Corina managed to batten it down with some worn silk ties that she pulled from the dresser. Now, she was ready. Back tall, shoulders straight, Corina shivered once and stifled a yawn before composing herself and walking purposefully into the hall.
Taking the first turn that led her upstairs, Corina ascended the steep spiral staircase that wound its way up before her with the fortitude of long practice. The stairs had only one entrance and one exit- far at the top- but here in Pasior the Solemn's tower, it always led to where you needed to be. And usually, it was kind enough to let you grab the books you needed from the great, rotating, double-helix library that drifted around the staircase, always in sync with the staircase and itself. However, as Corina scanned the titles that floated before her, it seemed the staircase was not inclined to be helpful today. Sticking her hands in her scratchy pockets, Corina sulked the rest of the way to the lecture hall.
"Farleigh!" Her family name sharp on Pasior's tongue caused Corina to stand up straight again, all appearance of sulking and huffing smoothed away in an instant. "Farleigh, come assist me in the front, we were just finishing up the introductions on the parallels between--"
"Between the liminal world and the physical realm, yes of course, Master Pasior." There was only truly one subject that Corina might ever be called upon to supplement, so she picked her way carefully down the steps into the fishbowl of a lecture hall that Pasior the Solemn preferred to teach in. Better acoustics, he insisted. Corina kept her gaze steady and politely directed away from the other lecture participants. Her classmates were, by and large, much younger than her and unanimously dressed more comfortably than she. There was only so much purple dye that could go into a woolen frock to make it look fancy, when compared side by side with meticulously embroidered linen.
Corina knew that her plain appearance, her long tenure in the tower, and her inability to conjure with the weave of the waking world in a manner as flashy as her peers might expect caused the majority of the whispers that slithered off the tongues of those who watched her finish her descent to the bottom of the lecturing hall. Bold whispers, some might say, since they were all here to study the weave together, which meant they'd all been irrevocably touched by it in some way. Those in glass houses should not be casting stones, Corina felt. Still, this tittering was something she was used to, and Corina did not let her irritation show on her face, or in the slight movements of her body.
Raising her gaze to meet Master Pasior's, the elder Weaver nodded for Corina to continue. Swallowing, Corina reached across the podium at the center of the bowl to grasp the chalk that waited there for her, letting her breath out slowly to calm her nerves before they could become perceptible. Public speaking was a learned skill, and she felt she would always be a pupil.
With that Corina turned her back on the classroom, stepping away from the podium, moving towards the back wall, where a dusty slate-board waited for her. Pasior the Solemn usually illustrated his lectures with brilliant arcane illusions, but Corina would have to make do with more mundane tools. The wheels attached to the bottom of the slate-board squeaked as she rolled the board into place, and Corina wiped her hands off on her dress, leaving pale streaks of old chalk dust on her skirt before she turned to face the silent lecture hall.
"The lim--" Corina was interrupted by a soft harrumphing from Pasior's direction and she swallowed again, taking a deep breath. Projecting a little louder, Corina began again. "The liminal world is almost a direct parallel to the physical world, depending on the immediacy and proximity of your anchor to your projection." Corina stifled a yawn again, causing some tittering out in the bowl. Still, she continued on, drawing a little stick man on the center of the board. "In most cases, when traveling the liminal weave, your body will typically be your anchor. There are few, if any, safe methods to fully submerge yourself in the liminal world, so projecting your essence and your mind while leaving your body behind as a waymark to the waking world is generally the preferred method. This has many benefits, including allowing you to choose the shape of your incarnation in the liminal world as your existence there is malleable. This flexibility comes with its own set of dangers, as it means your shape is changeable not only by yourself, but by others - other travelers and and other denizens of the liminal space beyond. Without solid form, we are vulnerable--"
Pasior shifted in his seat, harrumphing again, and Corina paused to take another deep breath.
"Going back to my original point, however," Corina said, tapping the stick man on the slate board, "The proximity of your essence and mind to your body is what determines how...true the ratio of reality to liminal space is. This means, closer to your body, you can exert more structure and stability in the liminal world. This usually manifests as the space around your body, your anchor, being a one-to-one copy of the physical world, exactly as it is--even true to the details you do not know about. For instance," Corina returns to her stick-man, drawing a little sketch of a chest with a comically oversized lock on it, "if I was in a room with a locked box like this right next to my anchor, if I opened it in the liminal world, likely it would contain exactly the same items and information as it would in the physical world - with maybe some slight variations. The key to being a successful Dreamweaver is ultimately not just the strength of your mind and your weaving, but your ability to parse what is dream nonsense that has made its way into your surroundings and what is true on both sides of the barrier between worlds."
Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.
Drawing a circle closely around the stick-man and his chest, Corina tapped outside the ring. "The further you travel from your anchor, the more dream logic will sneak into your surroundings, until eventually, if you manage to get far enough, you will be in a world entirely unlike the physical world--entirely unlike where we reside, that is." Corina turned to face her captive audience again, choosing a point directly in front of herself and addressing it, more than she addressed the other students. "It is very dangerous to move that far away from your anchor, but there are...dubious theoretical benefits. The liminal world is a place where the collective unconscious comes alive. Knowledge that no one knew was knowledge--sometimes known as, well, secrets-- is purported to be found there. And," Corina said, cracking a smile with a glance as Pasior the Solemn, "As we all know here: knowledge is power. So, for adventurous and foolhardy Dreamweavers who are not afraid to be lost in the liminal world for all eternity, there might be a fantastical amount of power to be found in the liminal world."
The sound of applause ringing out in the silent, bored lecture hall startled Corina and she snapped back to look around the students assembled there, wondering who was so appreciative of her lesson. To her surprise, a man in a pristine, white silk shirt stepped his way down between the desks anchored to the sides of the lecture hall, a pair of fine leather gloves in one hand, as he clapped against them with the other. "Oh, bravo," the unfamiliar man said as Corina turned to look at Pasior the Solemn with carefully subdued confusion. "You've turned her into a brilliant speech maker, at the very least."
Corina licked her lips, a tinge of anxiety showing through despite her guard as she turned to face the applauder. He was already extending his hand to her as she did, bowing low with the clear expectation that she would take it with her own before he returned to standing. With her classmates' full attention, Corina delicately took the man's hand as though it might bite her, giving it a single firm shake before letting it go as though it had burned her. The man lifted up from his deep sign of respect, flashing her a smile that had only a veneer of genuine mirth in it.
"Lord James, Duke of Porthland," he said by way of introduction, as if she should be expected to know something other than how to address him directly by that statement. "It's an honor to meet Your Royal Highness, Princess Corina." There were several gasps from around the room at that proclamation - mostly from the younger students who had not been at the Tower for long.
Corina pursed her lips at the invocation of her formal title, not entirely at ease with the presence of other nobility. "The pleasure will be all mine, I am sure," she said stiffly. "We have not had a noble visitor for some time, Your Grace." Blessed Essences, she wished he would make motions to leave the lecture hall. The feeling of awestruck stares boring into the back of her neck was uncomfortable, whether real or imagined. "What brings you to The Tower of Pasior the Solemn?" She took a step to the side, towards the stairs, but Duke Porthland seemed content to bask in the attention of her peers. Or rather, the attention of her subjects. They would never be peers again, not after this display.
"Why, the commemoration of your birth, ma'am!" The Duke spread his arms wide and turned to the class. "Surely we have not all forgotten that today marks the twenty-first anniversary of the Anointing of the Princess of Farleigh?" The students across from the trio at the bottom of the lecture hall looked amongst each other, a slow murmur growing louder and louder as it rumbled through the assembled student mages. Duke Porthland lowered his arms, then offered the crook of his elbow to Corina without looking back at her. "Not only will there be a celebration of your birth today, but today marks your ascent into adulthood and as such, I have been sent by Our King, your father, to reclaim you from your studies here." Here His Grace looked to Master Pasior the Solemn, whose harrumphs had mysteriously quieted during Porthland's speech. "I trust in her fourteen years here, she has been sufficiently trained?" Corina winced inwardly at the direct mention of her time served. Had it really been that long?
The old Luminweaver grasped his staff and pushed to his feet, shuffling close to Corina and the Duke. "His Grace is correct," he announced to the class, his old voice steady and clear as it projected across the room like always. "This young woman is Princess Corina Farleigh and today is the twenty-first anniversary of her birth and her Anointing." He put a friendly hand on Corina's shoulder and gave it a firm, comforting squeeze. Goodbye, it said. Farewell, for now. "It has been a pleasure to see you grow into a fine young mage, Your Royal Highness. Undoubtedly, while there will always be more for you to learn to improve your Weaving, I have taught you everything I know. Please consider this your graduation." Sticking a hand into his plain, dark robes, Pasior the Solemn pulled forth a small golden medallion on a star-spangled blue silk ribbon. The badge of a Mage Adept. Placing the cold award into her waiting hand, Corina could see that Master Pasior's long white eyebrows framed his face in such a way as to hide the tear that traced its way down his cheek. He patted her shoulder once more, then tottered back to his seat.
Corina swallowed as she watched Master Pasior walk away, blinking rapidly while her face was turned away from the audience, trying to compose her emotions before she had to face the congregation of students. "I...am so very honored, Master Pasior," she announced as she shifted back to smile at the Duke, her happy expression just as much an enameled facade as his exuberance. There should have been a celebration with a feast that all the students could attend. It should have been announced days in advance so the Adepts-to-be could have time to prepare themselves. There should have been a public trial to display her mastery of her gift--
Corina took the elbow that Duke Porthland still offered her, taking a few small steps to close the distance between them so she could hold onto him more comfortably. She opened her mouth to address her classmates, but the Duke spoke first.
"I thank you for the kindness of your attention, Mage Apprentices. I wish you the best of luck in your studies and look forward to the light you will bring to our Kingdom's future." The Duke gave a grand wave to the lecture hall and began to lead Corina up and out of the bowl, murmuring to her. "I believe I bought enough time for your room to be packed up, but we still need to return there for a moment. You cannot be seen dressed like this." Corina chose not to respond hotly - the village below the tower had certainly seen her in her shapeless wool gowns before.
Instead, Corina agreed demurely, "Of course, now that I'm the Princess Royal again, it wouldn't do.”
"My dear, you have always remained the Princess Royal in not only our hearts, but in fact as well." Duke Porthland patted her hand sympathetically as they crossed the threshold to the Staircase again, beginning the trek along the downward spiral. "It is just time for you to, hm, take up a more formal position within our country again. Per your father's orders, of course." His voice was soft and gentle and he spoke like a long time friend, like a close companion, but Corina kept her silence and her distance as they walked down the Staircase.
Pulling away from the duke, she did not deign to comment, but led the way with her chin thrust proudly forward. She did not know him and the first rule of Court, drilled into her mind by her once Lady-in-Waiting and nanny, Jenny, in the time before she was sent away, repeated itself to her: Trust no one unless you have good reason. No one is simply a friend here.
And she may not be in her father's palace, but it seemed that Court had come to her.