“That—” Artesia growled as she threw open the door. It banged against the side of the wall, leaving the image of a fuming witch to fill the door. Cally blinked, getting used to the sight, for Artesia held a massive tray laden with food enough for two people, not just her. In fact, it had two plates, and as the witch entered, she pulled the table to the center of the room, placing the tray on it with enough force that it was the slightest bit beyond necessary.

Then Artesia fisted her hands and glared in no particular direction, only to sight and then slump back into the chair sliding to meet her.

Cally perked up. This seemed interesting. “Is everything okay?” She asked, being intentionally obtuse. “You seem a little…”

Artesia sighed from her place (again), closed her eyes, and didn’t move. “Yes. Eat your meal.”

“Aren’t you having it with me?” Cally ventured.

Artesia seemed to twitch as if she hadn’t even considered that, only to open her eyes and look at the tray that she, herself, had brought in. “... Huh,” She said. “I had not even realized.”

Cally edged closer. “So something is wrong.”

Artesia scoffed. “Of course not,” She said. “Why, can’t I enjoy a meal with my— with you?”

What, had she been able to say kidnapee? That was an odd interest. Cally definitely didn’t believe it. “You can,” She agreed. “But you seem a little too put off for that.” She grinned in that cheeky way she knew annoyed Dimone so. “You haven’t even called me ‘sweetling’ today, and we all know that’s your favorite word.”

Artesia shook her head with an obviously unintentional smile. “You seem less like a princess every second I speak to you,” She said, but the admonishment didn’t sound like a scolding, not like her mother’s likely would have. “Sweetling.”

Cally snorted, then gestured to the food. “Well?” She said. “Anything you’d like to share?”

“I think you forget who the kidnapper is,” Artesia said mildly.

Cally waved the thought away. “Semantics.”

Artesia rubbed the bridge of her nose, then sighed again, slouching back against the chair. “I have a visitor,” She admitted. “An unwanted one.”

Cally’s breath hitched. For all her lack of real terror, the thought of getting to leave—

But surely, even if unwanted, this visitor would be on the witch’s side, not Cally’s. Why else would they be coming to Artesia in the first place? She narrowed her eyes. ‘Unwanted’. Huh, maybe a little prying was in order. “I know all about unwanted,” She commiserated. “My brother’s the same, putting his nose in my business when I don’t want him to.” She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from saying out loud how desperately she wished for Dimone to do so this time around.

Artesia, however, seemed to brighten slightly, a smile flickering on her face. “Ah, yes,” She said. “Dimone. How is–” She stopped.

Cally frowned. How did she— No, of course she knew her brother was the prince. But the familiarity with which she referred to him…

Something was well and truly odd about this, and while she certainly did not believe it was that her family knew Artesia (because Dimone, at the very least, could not hide such a thing from Cally, even if her mother likely could), it was still something to do with her. Something to do with the fact that this woman knew who the royal family were, and, if the way she referred to them was any indication, in a much more intimate way than any commoner ought to. Certainly more so than any witch ought to, if Cally herself hadn’t known about witches at all!

“Well, it seems you do understand my plight,” Artesia continued. “While not an irritating sibling, my current visitor holds much the same disregard for my personal business.”

“Huh,” Cally said. “You don’t like each other, then.”

Artesia hummed and came closer to the food. “Well, I do not know this messenger, of course, but intermediaries are far more aggravating than the source.” She — dare Cally think it? — pouted. “’Tis not like I can say anything to his employer, after all.”

Woah, there was someone behind Artesia? Someone more powerful than her? Did that mean there were even more magic users in Argentum? But then why had no one ever told Cally about them? It would have been so much more fun— and useful in this particular situation, of course.

“But enough about my unwanted intrusions,” Artesia said. “Tell me of your life.” Her eyes sharpened. “Perhaps I will not need to use more consequential magic if we can unravel the truth from your own telling.”

Cally flinched, her hackles rising. “I said I do not know about this— this key! You even used a truth spell!”

“That does not mean you do not have it,” Artesia pointed out. “Only that you do not know it. If I know Isera—”

“How…?” Cally whispered, cutting her off. “You’ve mentioned her before. How do you…?” Her eyes flared and she fought the urge to pull back, to question everything her mother ever did, just as she questioned everything her father ever did.

Artesia inhaled sharply, her eyes widening minutely, as if she hadn’t intended to so such a thing. “That’s not important,” She said coldly. “I do not want to speak of the Queen.”

“You’ve already—”

“I said,” She repeated. “I do not want to speak of her. And as you are not my guest here, sweetling, it is better that you listen to me.”

Cally’s fists clenched, her ire sparked. “Well, maybe you shouldn’t have mentioned my mother, then” She snapped. “And what are you going to do, put me under another truth spell?” She regretted the challenge the second it left her mouth.

Artesia rose from her place, her eyes glittering with an odd mixture of hurt and fury, and even in the daylight, her hair gleamed and her skin sparked. There was power that floated about her, power Cally had no right seeing, power she had no idea she could see, power she didn’t think the witch would have had, not outside of the night from whence she drew her strength.

And yet, Artesia stood, peering down at Cally like an empress arisen, her hands at her side and her lips pressed tight. “Oh, I can do so much more than put you under a truth spell, child,” She said, her voice low and silky and horrifyingly, terrifyingly empty of the kindness (and by Rulan, kindness?) that her every conversation had included till then.

That every ‘sweetling’ had included till then.

Artesia’s smile widened in callous glee. “I can strip your body of your bones second by second, flay your skin while you're alive, heal you, and then do it all over again,” She said, as simply as if she was reciting the menu for breakfast. And yet, around her, magic began to spark, so silently, yet so wildly, that Cally couldn’t help but be both horrified and fascinated by the fascination that arose with it. “I can steal all your senses, turn them against you. I can turn the pores in your body into places for spores to nestle, for flowers to bloom, tearing you from the inside as they’re borne of blood and fire.” She laughed, and the sound rang through the room. “Blood roses do fetch a pretty coin on the market.”

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Another shiver raked through Cally’s body.

Artesia smiled in satisfaction, and the sparks and magic around her started to fade. “But I don’t want the hassle of cleaning up after a body,” She said. “And I don’t hate you, sweetling, so I won’t kill you.” Her eyes gleamed again, and Cally had the terrifying thought that she wanted to add ‘yet’ to that statement. “And of course,” The witch continued before Cally could say anything (though it was still debatable whether she could say anything). “You are a modicum less irritating than my… visitor downstairs, so the lesser of two horrors will have to do, I suppose.”

Cally stared, her mouth dry and her eyes burning.

“Well?” Artesia asked. “Eat.”

Cally ate.

It took a while before she was able to gather her courage again, but she managed to do so in under an hour, which Cally was sure was some kind of feat, at least in front of a witch as powerfully terrifying as Artesia had been this past day.

She swallowed her last bite with difficulty, and then, her fists clenched to stop her fingers from trembling, awkwardly broke the strained silence. “Y— You wouldn’t really kill me… right?” She asked weakly.

Artesia looked at her, eyebrow raised.

Cally continued. “I mean— You’re looking for a ransom as well, right? From my parents? Even if I can’t— Even if you don’t find the key—”

“Oh, I shall find the key,” Artesia said in a voice that brokered no argument. “And you shall remain alive until I do so.”

‘Until I do so’ definitely did not mean after she did so. Cally really wished she hadn’t asked, now.

But the terror from before was starting to fade, and even this revelation wasn’t as difficult to manage. Cally took a deep breath, calmed herself, and tried to figure another way out of this conversation. “… What about magic?” She asked. “Can’t you find the key with magic? You had a truth spell, and you said you could use your magic in other ways too.” Real curiosity threaded itself into her words and she perked up, actually interested. “How does magic work?”

Artesia’s shoulders untensed and something warm — the same kindness that had previously beheld all her conversations with Cally — flickered about her lips. “Are you really asking?”

Cally blinked. “… Yes?” She tried, then shook her head. “I usually don’t like lessons,” She admitted. “Just ask Dimone. But magic… it’s magic,” She said helplessly.

Artesia huffed. “That is true,” She agreed. “Magic is superior to the studies of mortal men.”

Cally’s eyes widened. “You’re immortal?!”

Artesia deflated. “Not yet,” She said. “But true immortality is the goal for any magic user.”

“Huh,” Cally said.

“But,” Artesia continued, sidling closer. “If you are interested in the studies of magic, I suppose it is my duty to give you a primer in the subject.” Her smile widened. “Perhaps even tell you all that the darling Queen refuses to acknowledge.”

Cally’s brow wrinkled. “Why do you have something against my mother?” She asked, then flinched, remembering her last reaction. “Sorry.”

Artesia grimaced. “No need. Shall we move on to more important topics of conversation?” She raised her eyebrows. “Such as the wonders of magic?”

Cally nodded hesitantly. “Sure,” She said because if the witch wanted to teach her kidnappee the secrets of her own skills, she sure as hell wasn’t going to complain. Of course, the fact she was actually interested only added to that, but the stupidity of the decision on the part of the witch was still an advantage.

Artesia beamed. “Lovely!” She said and then shifted to become more comfortable, now standing practically within arms reach of Cally. “Magic,” She began. “Requires energy. This energy has to be harnessed within one’s own mind and body before it can be used for one’s purposes, which is why not everyone practices the art. ’Tis also why the skillsets of magic users vary so much.” She sniffed smugly. “The more advanced witches, such as myself, have focus and the ability to channel so much more than the ordinary hedge wizard out there that only we can truly harness magic to its full potential. In fact, I, as the—” Her eyes flared. “Never you mind,” She said, clearing her throat, her smugness dying, only to be replaced with a slight mix of resentment and frustration. “Where was I?”

“Magic needs energy,” Cally said obediently.

“Right,” Artesia said. “Magical energy is natural. It cannot be created by man, though history knows we’ve tried.” She shook her head. “It is in all things, really — the trees, the rivers, the moon, the very breath you take.”

Cally stared, eyes wide and fascination forcing her to sit straighter. “Then why don’t more people use magic?” She asked. “Even if not everyone has the focus, surely there are more who can than… well, you?”

Something inscrutable passed through Artesia’s expression. “… That is a good observation,” She admitted, then her smile hardened. “But after that monster Jarvis massacred my—” She swallowed, closing her eyes for a second. “After Jarvis massacred the protectors of Belawain, the land of magic, it was obvious what opinion magic users would have of Argentum.”

Cally’s mouth curved into a horrified ‘o’. “You’re from Belawain, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Artesia said. “I am.”

There was a moment of silence.

Cally looked down. “I’m sorry,” She said. It took her a moment to draw up the heart to look up again, but when she did, she realized the older woman was staring out of the window, eyes almost unseeing.

“Belawain was magic,” Artesia said, eyes on the past even as they stared out at the scenery below. “It was a source more potent than the sun, than the moon, than the earth. For we could touch it. We could see it. It was simply… raw. It was energy in a way that all the other elements can not hope to be, and so much more than that, too.” She sighed, turning back to Cally. “It was the reason it granted wishes. For even someone without the ability to access or harness magic could touch it and pour into it their desires, for when they do, the energy itself changes.” She huffed. “That was also why the caves of Belawain had protectors. And it is why it has the key.”

The key she was apparently supposed to have. Cally licked her dry lips, trying to figure out what to say. “How— How does someone use natural energy?” She asked instead, changing the subject.

Artesia’s lips twitched. “It’s energy,” She said. “You pull it in and change its form. You use energy to do something other than what it did before.” She pulled up her palm, facing upward, and splayed her fingers. Atop them, sparks rose from the tips of her fingers, golden in color and intense, even as they harmlessly danced on top of her hand.

Cally inhaled sharply, her eyes widening, intent on the sparks.

Artesia closed her palm.

Cally blinked. “But you’re the Lady of the Night,” She said. “You said your powers came from the moon. How…?”

“Even if they come from the moon, it’s not like they’re limited to them.” Artesia huffed. “I can obviously store up energy in my body. Do you not, when you eat? ’Tis the same principle.” She shrugged. “And I am from Belawain. I may not have accessed the source of Belawain’s magic in far too long, but that kind of energy is potent. I still have a connection to it.” She smiled widely. “And Belawain, sweetling, is a flood of power.”

Cally really didn’t want to ask. And yet. “Is that why you’re looking for the key?”

Artesia turned around suddenly, her back to Cally, and her shoulders tense. “I’m looking for the key to save my family,” She said, and her voice was dark, even as her expression remained hidden. “It’s the only way—” She stopped, and Cally heard a huge inhale. “I must attend to my visitor now,” She said and took a step towards the door, only to stop at the entrance and glance back over her shoulder with a tight, unreal smile. “Do try to remember where the key is, sweetling, or I will not hesitate to use the magic we discussed today on your person. I don’t have enough time, and if you can’t help me…”

And then she left, leaving Cally alone in the room, shivering as another lance of fear snaked across her spine, confusion mixing with morbid interest and hurt in a cocktail of unwanted emotions and— and—

“I want magic,” Cally whispered to herself, hands fisted and a burning building desperately in the pit of her stomach, so harsh and so hot that—

She blinked and inhaled raggedly, the cold air rattling through her. “Huh?” She asked, staring blankly ahead, and then down at her hands, which were no longer mashed into angry, furious fists. “What just happened?”