Talent’s POV
Talent waited by the door, fire flowing in his veins, blood burning like the anger in his heart. Betrayal was the only word for it. Mikala, Mila, Sandra, now his father. It was time Talent put an end to this nonsense.
Sandra stepped out of the room, closing the door gently. He didn’t think she noticed him in the shadow of suit of armor, but she stopped a step before him, her eyes focused ahead. “Talent, you shouldn’t be here,” she said without Turing to face him.
“What are you doing?” Talent asked, stepping from the shadows to confront her.
Sandra finally turned, but her expression was neutral. “What are you talking about?”
“The ant, what are you doing for him? He’s nothing more than my father’s new toy and yet you’re so determined to save him. I can’t understand it. I can’t understand any of this.”
“Whether he’s a toy, an ant, or the next heir, my job is—”
“Your job is to defend me! You’re mine! My servant! You’ve always been at my side, and I thought I could trust you.” His voice was rising as he spoke, but he didn’t care who heard him anymore. “I thought that we were partners, that you were loyal to me. But you’ve been lying to me all along, haven’t you? You’ve always been working against me.”
Sandra shook her head, “You’re overreacting. And I think you’ve made one big mistake. I am not a servant, I’m a magistrate and the last I checked you can’t make magistrates, can you?”
Talent clenched his fist, but he couldn’t think of anything to say. Sandra had never spoken to him like this before. She had always been respectful, always followed his orders, always treated him like he was in charge. It had made him forget that her allegiance was not to him, but in fact it was to his father. She was a puppet of the high lord, just as he was.
Sandra seemed to see through his silence, and she took a step toward him. “Talent, you need to stop this. You could be a great lord one day, but you’re losing yourself over this boy, and it’s not worth it. He’s not worth it.”
Talent laughed, it was bitter, and his chest ached with each breath, but he couldn’t help it. “You don’t get it, do you? You’re so blinded by your own loyalty that you can’t see the truth. My father is using us, he’s using everyone. He’s using Dominant to—”
“Ah-hem.” Mila cleared her throat.
Talent jumped, startled by her presence. He hadn’t noticed her approaching and he wasn’t sure how much she overheard. He didn’t want her involved in this, he was protecting her from his father, not recruiting her to his cause. He turned to face her, trying to keep his expression neutral, but it was difficult. He was nervous, and angry, and afraid.
Mila stepped forward, her hand brushing against Talent’s arm. “Are you alright?” she asked. “You seem upset.”
Talent swallowed, trying to calm himself. “What do you want?”
Mila backed up, retracting her hand. “I only came to inform you that your father has requested your presence,” looking past him she added, “and yours magistrate Sandra.”
Talent clenched his jaw, and nodded, “I’ll go see him now.”
“If Dominant is awake—”
Talent didn’t like the sound of that name from her lips. “He’s not!” he shouted, then he took a breath and spoke softer. “He’s not awake. He’s still unconscious.”
Sandra stepped forward, “He woke for a bit, but he’s weak and needs to rest. I’m sure the Lord will understand.”
Mila nodded, “Well, let’s not keep him waiting,” she said, turning away without another word.
Talent wanted to refuse, but he couldn’t. He followed after Mila, his fists clenched, and anger burning like coals in his belly. Sandra fell in behind him, her footsteps barely audible, her presence like a weight on his back. He felt almost like a prisoner being marched to see the warden.
Talent wondered if Sandra would report back to his father about his outburst, and he wondered what his father would do if she did. Probably nothing. It wouldn’t surprise Talent if his father didn’t care about his feelings at all, if he didn’t care what happened to him.
Mila led them not to his office, but to a meeting that was more akin to a throne room. It was where Lord Asher met with foreign dignitaries and the highest ranking officials of Krell. Talent had never been summoned to the room before.
The room was crowded, with a few dozen men and women, all magistrates assigned to guard the manor. The High Lord was seated on an elevated podium at the head of the room. He wore a black robe trimmed in violet and silver thread, and his hair was combed back and styled in waves. He was the image of authority, and power.
As the doors closed behind them, his father began to speak. “As you all know, we have been preparing to send a delegation to Stellanorte. We extend this olive branch, but Lord Akiru spits in our face. It is time that we remind the petty fool who holds the leverage in this negotiation. Talent will act as my proxy and carry my seal, making him the leader of this delegation. Magistrate Sandra, you will continue to act as his bodyguard, and Magistrate Darren will accompany you as well.”
The assembled people began muttering, but the high Lord silenced them with a sharp look. “Talent, I trust you understand the importance of resolving our grievances with the Akiru’s once and for all?”
Talent bowed, then straightened. “Yes, father.”
His father nodded. “Good, then I expect you to ensure success at all costs.”
“Of course, I will be sure to demonstrate the strength of our house.”
The high lord nodded. “Yes, and Dominant’s presence will surely emphasize that.”
Talent bit his lip to keep from speaking out of turn. Dominant’s presence would only weaken him, make him look less like a judge deserving respect and more like some sort of token. He didn’t like the idea of bringing that ant along, but he knew that his father would never allow him to refuse.
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“He is still recovering,” Mila began tentatively. She glanced over at Talent before continuing and he could tell she was about to say something he wouldn’t not like. “But, I might be able to aid his recovery, if it pleases the lord.”
The High Lord nodded. “Yes, it is essential that we resolve things in Stellanorte as soon possible so that our attention can be turned to the true threat.”
Mila nodded, keeping her eyes downcast and avoiding Talent’s gaze. “I’ll do my best,” she said.
A magistrate who’s name Talent couldn’t remember stepped forward, her wheat blonde hair tied back and a scowl on her face. “When you say true threat, are referring to—”
“Me?” Lord Asterith interrupted as she burst through the door. “I thought we’d become allies, but perhaps this explains why my people continue to be enslaved in your territory.”
Talent was disgusted by her appearance. Two horns twisted up from among her lilac curls. Her big almond shaped eyes and full cheeks gave face a child-like innocence at odds with her malicious personality. Asterith flared out her wings in a threatening display that made her presence feel imposing, despite her small stature. She wore a dress made of what appeared to be hard scales, but it flowed over her form like water.
Two drakes trailed behind her, their eyes focused and held high, as if to look above the humans gathered there. Between the two drakes, what appeared to be a human girl marched in step with the beasts. She was beautiful, but Talent felt that she was either a beast blood or a beast blood lover. In either case, she was an abomination.
The High Lord stood from his seat, “Would an ally loose vicious murders on my people? Would an ally suppress the magic of defenseless citizens and allow them to be sacrificed?”
The drakess laughed, “Is that what you think happened? I was merely helping you to keep the agreement you made. I believe your exact words were, ‘Every beast blood will be free to come and go from Krell without fear of capture. I’ll outlaw the practice of enslaving your kind, provided you assist me in showing Akiru’s coalition of—”
“I do not need a reminder of my promise,” Lord Asher snapped, “But you have overstepped your bounds. How dare you interfere with matters in my sovereign territory.”
Asterith laughed, “You are quick to make demands, and impossibly slow to make good on your word. If you cannot hold up your end of the bargain, why should I hold up mine?”
Asher growled. “What are you here for? Hmm? Is it to apologize, or have you come here to lay down your life in atonement for the lives your actions cost?”
“Neither,” she replied, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “I’ve actually come to renegotiate our little deal. However, before we can negotiate I believe that you should prove your worth as an ally to my people.”
Lord Asher glared at her. “I am the one who decides what is worth, and what is not. I will not be dictated to by some beast.”
“You may not, but the rest of your kingdom will. You have stopped today’s events, but I’m just as happy to join with the weaker lords' effort to topple your power. Then I’ll destroy them all.”
The High Lord didn’t reply. He seemed to be thinking about her words. After a moment he said, “I owe you no proof of my strength, but I will entertain your proposal in the interest of showing you how I will decimate your forces if you should work against me.”
Asterith bowed, “How gracious of you,” she said with mock humility. “Then my champion will face every magistrate, and even the lordlings you have here. Everyone, except you, Lord Asher, may try to their heart’s content to strike her and if a single blow or spell lands within ten minutes time, then we will recognize you as equals.”
The girl, who had stood silently behind the drakess, stepped forward, a confident smile on her lips. She looked as fragile as a number and mana seemed to flee from her like prey escaping a predator.
Talent thought it was a joke. This girl had to be an illusion, and the real champion was hidden somewhere, waiting for an opportunity to strike.
Lord Asterith chuckled, “I see the doubt in your eyes. You do not believe this girl could be my champion. I assure you, this is no trick or insult. I suggest you try your best.”
Talent didn’t wait for permission to attack. He charged the girl with fire and lightning surging from his palms. He didn’t care how weak she was. If the girl got hurt, it would be Asterith's fault for sending the girl in the first place.
The girl didn’t move. As Talent unleashed a torrent of flame and lightning, the girl just smiled. She didn’t even try to dodge.
Talent wasn’t sure if he missed, or if the girl was an illusion. He spun around, but instead of a short redhead, he saw his spell a moment before his magic slammed into his body.
Talent screamed and writhed, his skin burned and his muscles spasmed. He could only watch as the girl approached him. She knelt next to him and whispered, “Do you want to try again?” Her voice was as soft and weak as her appearance, yet the words felt like a threat and the gentle sound made the hair on his neck stand up.
Talent tried to get up, but his body wouldn’t obey him. The girl stood and moved to the center of the room, her eyes drifting around but not focusing on anything or anyone. “Who will be next?” she asked. “You can all come at once if you like, it’ll be faster that way.”
Talent grit his teeth, the pain of his burns and embarrassment of the defeat were still fresh, but he knew that girl wasn’t human. She was a beast, or a monster, and her powers were a mockery of his, of all magic.
The other magistrates didn’t seem to know how to react either. None of them wanted to be next. They were afraid of being humiliated, or killed, by the girl, but they were also afraid of disobeying the High Lord, who had not yet spoken to stop the farce.
Talent forced himself to his feet, unwilling to accept defeat and knowing that he could not afford to disappoint his father again. “I’m not done yet,” He said, his voice tight with pain. “If you want to stop me, you’ll have to kill me.” The words were a challenge, but they were also a bluff. He needed the girl to attack, so he could catch her in a trap.
The girl shrugged and flicked her wrist at him, sending out a wave of force that hit him like a brick wall. Talent flew back, slamming into a column with enough force to crack the stone. He fell to the ground, blood dripping from his mouth and nose.
Talent coughed and spat out more blood. His vision was blurry, and he could barely see the girl standing over him, a look of disappointment on her face. “You are weak,” she said, and her voice sounded distorted, as if he was hearing her through water. “Don’t get up, please. I would prefer not to kill you.”
Talent refused to listen.
His legs trembled under his weight and his arms burned as he drew on his mana. His chest felt tight and there were black spots in his vision, but he didn’t care. He wouldn’t let this girl beat him, no matter what the cost was.
The girl shook her head. “I will kill you if you try again,” she warned.
Talent raised his arms, summoning a spell he called the sunflare. A ball of fire that would engulf everything in a ten-foot radius, enhanced with its own gravitational pull that would leave nothing behind but ash and smoke. He knew it was dangerous to use indoors, but he was beyond reason. He would prove that he was the strongest, the most powerful mage.
As man flowed into the fire ball something in the atmosphere changed and Talent knew something was wrong. He tried to pull his mana back from the spell, but couldn’t. It was like in the Raven’s when the leach crystal used his own magic against him, only this on a larger scale. His mana was drawn from him like water down a drain. Talent tried to stop the flow, but it was too late. The flames exploded outward in a blinding flash of light and heat.
He could only watch as the flames rushed outwards, consuming everything in their path. His ears pulsed with pain and his body lurched forward, pulled in by the orb's gravity. His skin and hair began to burn and the heat seared his throat.
Then the flames vanished, and a cool breeze caressed his skin. He blinked, trying to clear his vision, but it was no use. He only saw white. He couldn’t hear anything either. He was blind and deaf.
Talent felt a hand on his shoulder, and then a voice in his head, a soft and gentle voice that was somehow familiar. “It’s okay if you give up, I can still spare you.”
Talent would not relent. If he gave up now he would likely find himself on a decorated stage beside his mother. If this was how he would die, at least it would be relatively peaceful.
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but it couldn’t have been long before he heard again.
“How did you…”
Talent’s vision returned slowly. His sunflare was gone, along with much of the room, but no one besides himself appeared to be harmed. His skin was mostly black and he could not move or feel anything yet. He wasn’t dead, but he didn’t understand how he survived. He didn’t understand why she let him live.
The girl looked past him towards the door, where he imagined Lord Asterith stood.
“…oh, it’s you.”