“And then the guards beat me up for a while,” I said. “Not much to describe there. Came out of it with a broken spine, a missing eye, and some other stuff that’s not important. Slightly worse injuries than usual. I’m getting to an important point, I swear. This is relevant.”
Jasmine blinked hard, like she’d just gone from a dark room into the bright midday sun. “Lily… first of all, that is genuinely horrible and I am deeply sorry that you were ever allowed to go through that.”
“First of all?” I asked. Jasmine hadn’t interrupted me until now. What did she have to say? “There’s more?”
“Just one thing. What have you been doing?”
“Huh?” I shrugged, noticing as I did so that she’d somehow come closer while I’d been talking, practically enveloping one side of me. “I don’t think I’ve been doing anything.”
“I can see flashes of what you’re talking about,” Jasmine said. “I’m here but not here at the same time, and the scene is visible in my mind’s eye with a level of detail that I wouldn’t be able to picture myself. It is quite like the effect you achieved with your message earlier, if admittedly on a much smaller scale.”
I hadn’t even noticed. My hands had clenched themselves into fists while I’d been speaking, the events of the past apparently not far enough removed from my current self for me to explain them without reacting, and now that she pointed it out I could see where my mind was connecting to the magic-threads, inverting them and injecting them with the ideas and pictures I held in my mind.
So soon after I’d figured it out for the first time, and it already felt natural to do. Like my eyes had been sewn shut for so long, allowed to open to the truth for the first time.
It made me feel powerful.
“…interesting,” I said. “Do you want me to stop?”
“Please do not,” Jasmine said. “Unless you would rather do so. It gives me a further level of insight into you, which I much appreciate.”
“What about security concerns?” I asked. “I know my last message got a little out of hand. Won’t others see it?”
“You can’t control how large you make your messages?” Jasmine asked rather than answering. “I thought you could. These messages felt noticeably less emphasized and widespread than the concept you threw to the whole city a few hours ago.”
I winced. “That was my first and only time doing it. I don’t know if I can control the size, but I suppose I’ve been putting less into it given that I didn’t even notice the communication was happening.”
“It’s working,” Jasmine said, giving me an encouraging smile. “Anyway, I apologize for interrupting. Carry on, and use that new magic as you will.”
I smiled back at her, and I continued speaking, my mind now consciously focused on the scenes that were being fed to the god-threads.
----------------------------------------
13 years ago
“Blink.”
I did, and the motion felt stilted, the eyelid too dry. I hadn’t had this particular experience too many times before, but I recognized the sensation. Newly healed flesh had a way of not quite feeling right.
“Can you read this for me?”
“Carnivore, snake, greed, uh… destruction, rebirth?”
“All good. Your eye should be back to fully normal in a day or two.”
The—the oathholder, I was going to get their title right—was a kindly older man. Visibly older than Lord Byron, though he claimed that it was at least partially an affectation. A new one, this time.
Never form connections with those lesser than you. Another choice lesson from Lord Byron, that. In practice, that meant that the oathholders I got visiting me were rarely the same, and my tutors either switched often or obscured their identities.
It was lonely, just a touch, but they did their job well.
“Hold still, little Lily,” the grey-bearded man said. “Merciful gods, who did this to you?”
“Father pays you to heal me, not to ask questions,” I recited, remembering all too well the session I’d had after one of my healers had questioned my father about me. I shuddered involuntarily, a ghost of the burning pain licking at my skin. I wasn’t going to be able to view a soldier’s campfire the same way for a long time.
“I… I suppose that’s true,” he said, apparently at a loss for words.
I wished he would keep talking, do something to fill the silence, but he bought my line too well. The healer stayed quiet and dutiful, his hands hovering over my arms, legs, and torso.
“Last pass,” he said tersely, a new magic pattern forming between his hands. “That’ll sort the bones and muscles.”
I nodded. His earlier efforts had already fixed up most of the damage to my body, of which there had been quite a fair amount—those guards really hadn’t let up—but I knew from having been under the hands of far too many healers that the less competent of them would need to make three or four full passes before they could conclusively finish their spells.
I closed my eyes as he healed me, doing my best to relax my body. Gods knew I needed it.
And then the old man was gone, and then the woman cloaked head to toe in white form-concealing veils was here. She was one of the few constants in my life, having been a regular presence in the part of my day spent in the castle hospital since… just about forever.
Veil-lady never deviated from her routine. I had to admit, it was more than a little creepy how consistent she was.
“Rise,” I mouthed, mirroring her as she said the same. Her voice had a breathy, ethereal quality to it, like she and I existed on two separate planes of reality.
I got off the makeshift cot that I’d been relegated to, standing to attention.
“Still,” she said, even though I already wasn’t moving. Now for the uncomfortable part.
She knelt down, bringing her head level down to equal mine, and she placed gloved hands on each of my shoulders.
The veil-lady squeezed, digging sharp fingernails into my flesh. I knew she wouldn’t break the skin with them, she never did, but it was an irritating pain all the same.
“Gaze.”
I stared into the veil that covered her face, unable to see her eyes behind the gauzy white cloth.
She was able to see mine, though, and suddenly I felt dizzy, my vision spinning and my head growing thick. I stood my ground. If I moved or fell over, the spell would fail and Father would punish me.
“Grow.”
Her last word was laced with power, and a burst of bright white magic assailed me, entering my body through my eyes, ears, mouth, and nose. It was painless, always was, and a moment later I could feel the fog clearing from my mind, taking with it countless impurities and immaturities that would clog up a peasant child’s mind.
“Thank you,” I said. Veil-lady gave me no acknowledgement as per usual, choosing instead to stride away.
That was all well and normal. If everything went according to schedule, a retainer would be appearing to show me to bed in the next five or ten minutes.
Everything was not, unfortunately, going to go according to schedule.
Rather than one of the masked servants that would usually pick me up here, my father appeared.
He stood two or three heads taller than me, and his glower made me want to shrink into myself and hide. I didn’t, of course—I’d just gotten healed, it would be a shame to go to bed damaged—but the temptation was there anyway.
“Lily,” he said. “You are my third child.”
I tilted my head ever so slightly at that, wondering what he was getting at. I knew which order I was born in, so why—
“And you are my first failure.”
Ah. That would be why.
“You cannot even kill a murderer,” Lord Byron said, his voice measured and coiled as if it would explode out at me in a matter of moments. “How can you ever accomplish even a single task for this House that birthed you, fed you, raised you?”
“I will do better next time, my lord,” I said. “I promise.”
“Your promises are worth less than a peasant’s day-old shit to me,” he said. “You take time off of training to watch your mother do her work, and this is what you have to show for it?”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
“I—“
“It is a regrettable failure,” Lord Byron continued, talking over me. “Thankfully, there is hope for you yet. A small hope, but an existing one.”
I kept my mouth shut. He was in one of those moods.
“I am graciously allowing you a chance,” he said, a tinge of exasperation in his voice. “One single chance.”
“I am grateful, my lord.”
“Tonight, you will learn how to properly take a life.”
----------------------------------------
The Byron estate was truly massive, almost half as large as the city of Kani that it oversaw. Even after eight years of life here, I had never been to every point in the manor. I had expected that we would be entering the dungeons, a damp and dark area where Mother loved to do her executions, but we headed in the opposite direction, our path taking us towards a more refined area.
“Where are we going, Father?” I tentatively asked, hoping that the question wouldn’t make him too mad.
“To the golden birdcage, Lily,” Lord Byron responded, not even glancing down at me. “You have seen enough of the common scum in the dungeons to not have qualms killing them.”
That was… probably true. I knew the guards that fought me were bad people, but it had been made excessively clear to me that the people we held in our dungeons barely deserved that name. Murderers, vagrants, addicts, rapists. Mother, Father, and all the other servants had spoken of them with disgust every time they were brought up, with the rare exception being when Mother explained the new ways she’d discovered to execute them.
“Golden birdcage, my lord?” I was likely testing his patience now. Better to use the formality if I feared he was going to start reacting poorly to my words.
“Patience, Lily,” he replied. “You will see in time.”
We walked the rest of the way in silence, two guards joining us along the way. They wore form-concealing armor, so I didn’t recognize either of them, but one of them apparently recognized me. He chuckled quietly, low enough that Lord Byron wouldn’t be able to hear him, and that I did recognize.
It was a mean laugh, the timbre the same as the one coming from the guard who’d decided to stab my eye out earlier.
Anger coursed through me, hot rage flooding my veins, but I looked up and saw Lord Byron.
Breathe. You are better than this. Words from my tutors, ones that Mother had repeated to me many times. A proper lady had to conceal her emotions. A proper lady wouldn’t attack her own guard in front of her father.
I settled for giving him a venomous glare, but that just made him laugh harder.
“Is something the issue, guard?” Lord Byron asked.
“Nothing at all, my lord,” he said easily. “Just a fond memory resurfacing, that’s all.”
I clenched one of my hands into a fist, then unclenched it slowly, letting the tension drain out of my hands. A proper lady is better than this.
At length, we reached one of the castles. It was brighter and smaller than our primary ones, painted in a rather childish shade of gold, but it still painted an imposing image against the empty fields. I had visited this one before, I was pretty sure, but it had been a while ago and it hadn’t left much of an impression on me. I’d played with another child there, if I remembered right, one of the few times Father had allowed me to interact with another my age.
“Leave us,” Lord Byron said. “Return to your quarters. Stay out of my sight.”
“Yes, my lord,” the two guards said, maintaining that creepy synchronization that was characteristic to them.
We entered the castle, guards opening the double doors from the inside as we entered, and Lord Byron led the way. He didn’t bother holding my hand or looking back to make sure I was following—after all, what kind of self respecting Byron would want to baby their child?
The castle was less well-kept than the one I resided in, I was aware. It was in the little things—the way the paint flaked in corners, how traces of dust were gathering on certain tables, how some of the doors creaked like they hadn’t been used in a long time.
We made our way through halls and great rooms, and the entire time I couldn’t help but feel that the place was just a little bit off. Some of the paintings were askew, the shades of paint slightly different from wall to wall, and there were definitely more inconsistencies that I’d failed to notice. It felt like it had been designed specifically to irritate anyone with normal sensibilities.
Golden birdcage… I’d spent many nights in language classes, utilizing the enhanced mental capacity granted by the veil-lady, so I knew that was a figure of speech. For what? Political prisoners? I wasn’t aware that we held any of them at the moment. At least, none that I’d heard of.
“We are here,” my father said, indicating a door that had to have been made with at least three different types of wood. It was offputting again, the texture and color of the wood ever so slightly different in different parts of the door.
There was a knocker in the center, but the Lord Byron would never need an invitation to enter. He pushed the door open easily, the lock on it nonexistent. What kind of birdcage has no gate?
Inside was a guest room. One better furnished than most of our guest rooms, but still a guest room. Bed, books, facilities, and a set of servants just like they all had.
“Rosemary,” my father called, his demanding voice turning a name into an order. “You have a guest.”
From the far end of the room, by the bathroom, a girl my age emerged. Dark eyes, darker hair. Slightly taller than me, curse her. Dressed in formalwear like she was getting ready to be tutored. Not someone I recognized, unless—
“Lily!” she shouted, sprinting towards me. I had more than enough time to react to her incoming body, but I was at an utter loss for words and actions as she wrapped her arms around me. “Do you remember me?”
“I… do?” I replied, unsure of what to say.
“You came here and played cards with three years, six months, and twelve days ago,” Rosemary said, releasing me. “I was beginning to worry you’d never come back!”
“This is your target,” Lord Byron said. “Hold your hand out.”
“What?” The words escaped before I could stop myself, a question tumbling forth from my tongue. “She’s not even a prisoner, Father, why would—“
“I’m so glad you’re here,” Rosemary blabbered on, ignoring both my father and me as she spoke. There was a crazed edge in her eyes, like she’d been practicing this speech to a wall for a long time. “The bad men always keep me from wandering too far, and this place is just a little messed up, you know? And the bad men still won’t tell me why I’m here in the first place and—“
“Her name is Rosemary of House Ther,” my father told me, turning a deaf ear to the girl. “We purchased her from her family six years ago during House Ther’s financial crisis. As their savior from the clutches of peasanthood, we were permitted to take their newest child.”
“So she hasn’t done anything wrong?” I asked.
“She was born to the wrong family,” Lord Byron said. “House Ther has grown far too greedy. They have stretched their authority too far, reaching into our own domain and colluding with the Crown itself to prevent House Byron from rising up. It will do to give them an example.”
“—and I knew my best friend would never abandon me and—“
Rosemary was clearly not right in the head, but I found myself feeling for her anyway. Watching her ramble on, her eyes glazed over like she was one of the addicts finally getting her fix… it was sad. Kind of like watching a dog try to appeal to an owner that didn’t want it.
Guilty of nothing but her birth, forced to grow up in this twisted castle where she had nothing and nobody. It wasn’t something that particularly inclined me towards murdering her.
“You want me to kill her, my lord?” I asked, an edge of panic creeping into my voice no matter how hard I tried to control it. “Why her?”
“I am tired of your failures, Lily,” Lord Byron said. “I will not allow you to drag yourself forward inch by inch. If you are to affirm yourself as a true Byron, you must prove your worth.”
“By killing an innocent?”
“By furthering House Byron’s position,” he said. “By helping us push for the Crown.”
“But the Crown says that’s not allowed,” I protested. “The Crown Prince said that when he came by last month.”
“And the Church tells us that we may not seek the gods out for ourselves,” he snapped. “Do not defy me. Hold out your hands.”
I obeyed, putting my palms out in front of me. In one smooth motion, Lord Byron drew something from his belt and handed it off to me, a long and flat object that felt a lot heavier than it looked.
A shortsword, one made of the finest steel. A true one, well-polished and deserving of the Byron crest.
A true noble’s weapon.
“It’s yours,” Lord Byron said. “So long as you use it to slay our enemy.”
Rosemary didn’t seem like much of an enemy. A lost, stupid child, perhaps, and not one that I wanted to spend more time around than was necessary, but I didn’t see how that blubbering mess could ever present a threat to our household.
“I… I don’t want to,” I said, staring at the ground. Heat rose up in my throat, the resistance to my father’s orders not one that I commonly followed through with. “I don’t see why she has to die.”
“You will kill her,” Lord Byron ordered, all steel and ice. “Not because you understand why—which you will, one day—not because you think it is just, but because I said so.”
Father knows best. That had been one of the few “lessons” that had never truly stuck.
I felt a dim sense of righteousness rise in me. Maybe it was those copper-store novels I’d read in my rare moments of free time, the heroes in those stories truly deserving the title of noble. Maybe it was some inherent sense of morality, granted by the enhancements that the veil-lady gave me.
Whatever the case, it was there, and it made me think that maybe murdering another kid wasn’t what I wanted to do with my night.
“No,” I whispered softly. “No.”
Lord Byron sighed, and then I saw a flash of steel and a moving hand and then suddenly the constant stream of dialogue was gone and Rosemary was crying and—
“Disappointing,” he repeated, shaking his head. The word felt like a condemnation, a weight upon me that I would never overcome. “Very well. The Ther child was never going to survive the day.”
My heart jumped into my throat at the blow. I dropped the shortsword and ran over to Rosemary, deep-seated instincts kicking in. First-aid training applied here, right?
The dagger hadn’t hit her in a lethal spot. A direct hit to the shoulder, embedding itself away from any major arteries. She was bleeding heavily, but she should be able to survive.
Lord Byron was there a moment later, approaching silently. The sound of my heart pounding in my ears had been drowning out the sound of his steps.
He knelt down next to me, and when he spoke, he spoke like was addressing a peasant. “Lily. Are you my child?”
“I am, my lord,” I said.
“You are not,” he spat, his face contorted with anger. “I make everything as easy for you as I possibly can, and you still fail to accomplish your duties. What child of mine would fail this much?”
The words hit me like a physical blow, my vision blurring. My fath—Lord Byron had expressed disdain for my actions any number of times before, but never to this level. I didn’t particularly like him, but he was still my father and, and, and having that connection be lost was not something I wanted.
I didn’t realize I was crying until a tear hit the side of my lip.
“Never cry,” Lord Byron said, and his voice was soft all of a sudden, forgiving. “Never give them anything.”
“What?” I asked. The abrupt shift to warmth was jarring, but it was nice.
“There is hope for you yet.” His voice was a warm blanket over my mind, soft and soothing in a way I hadn’t heard for years.
“There is?”
“The blade is poisoned. Rosemary will die. It is your choice whether she dies now or in three hours.” Lord Byron was speaking softly, but the steel had returned to his voice.
“I… what?” I was no better than the idiot peasant children that couldn’t tell paint from gold right now. Too many things had happened in too little time, and my mind was left reeling from it.
I didn’t want to kill her but I wanted my father’s approval and she was dying anyway but would it not be a mercy to let her live longer but also—
“Here,” my father said, passing me the shortsword I’d dropped.
I hefted it, unsure of myself. My mind was running in a hundred directions, and not a single one of them was the one I wanted to follow. I didn’t want to make a decision.
“Choose,” my father said, rising to his full height.
I held the sword, kneeling over Rosemary’s prone body. She was heaving out breaths, her eyes more than a little glassed over.
Still enough life left in her for the girl to turn her head and look at me though.
“L-Lily?” she asked, her voice small and weak. I had to strain to hear her. “H-help m-me, please…”
I looked at her, then to my father. His gaze had been soft for a moment, but it was gradually growing harder. I looked back and forth between the two of them, paralyzed by indecision.
“Choose!” Lord Byron demanded. “Choose now, or you can join the scum on the streets!”
He drew another dagger from his belt, as if ready to finish what he’d started.
Cement myself as my father’s daughter, or be cast out to die amongst filth?
There was never a question as to what I would do.
I made my choice.