"What is the meaning of this Ms. Felis?” Thomas Leval bellowed. Gone was the warmth, the gentle, mentorly patience that accompanied his voice like birds to air. Fury and worry had him now. He spoke to Carmine, yes, but his narrow eyes never left the body on the ground. Emmet lay wrapped in his robe face down, motionless. This was what it took to anger heasdmaster Leval.
Next to him, Symphonia remained an ice sculpture. The disdainful frown carved into her face barely moved even now, but Carmine wasn't fooled. Bits of feeling bled through the façade; a quivered lip, a twitching eye. Even if she didn't love Emmet as a son, she still invested on him as a legacy, one now under threat.
“I told you we should have expelled this charred little ingrate,” Symphonia barked at her husband. Charred? That earned a glare with more to follow. The headmistress's eyes hardened on Carmine. There was loathing, clear as night above, but underneath it dwelled a fear different from her husband’s. His eyes widened in concern. Hers narrowed in suspicion. “Answer us now, cur, and an expulsion might be the most of your punishment: Why have you attacked our son?”
She’s worried she’s been exposed. A smile played over Carmine’s face. It may be a small victory, but one she relished. “Oh, I think you know Symphonia,” Carmine answered, playing the villain with whimsy flair. She kept the courtyard dark save for the lantern Emmet dropped when he fell. Even with two moons out, the manor walls shaded the courtyard in shadow. Human eyes struggled to pierce the dark while her elven one could see in monochrome. “Emmet there has something he shouldn’t. That he has it at all means he’s one of the people who hurt Almyra.” She strutted over to where they body lay. “I asked him some questions, but he wasn’t too helpful. So, I asked a little harder.” Carmine reached for the hood covering his face. “Want to see? You might not recognize him in this conditio–”
“Get away from him!” Thomas snapped. A spell followed his warning. Calling stone to his order, just as Emmet had done in his exam, he tried to encase Carmine in a cage. Mud bubbled and shifted from churning stone. Instead of bricks and columns, mere rocks and pebbles erupted from the dirt. Carmine jumped back from the earthy hail before she came to any harm. Alarm spread over Thomas’ face, and it was Carmine's pleasure.
“Oh, headmaster, don't tell me you didn't notice,” Carmine threw her arms open to the courtyard. She might have had a little wine to still her nerves before they arrived. “You're in my barrier, good sir, a dampening field. I'm sure you know it: I learned it from your own instructors.” Almost skipping at her plan's success, Carmine moved near the center tree. “This one suppresses the spirit, limiting what a mage can draw out to barely a tenth of their full power.” She couldn't help the smug grin on her face. Planning for the confrontation was one thing, but to see it work? Bliss. Elation. “There's two of you, after all, this was never a fair contest.”
“Well thought,” Thomas Leval nodded, squaring his shoulders. A sneer from his wife cursed his praise. “But you've forgotten one important detail.”
“Have I?” Carmine's smirk faltered.
“I'm not just trained in sorcery.” He stomped forward, clenching his fists. “A great mage trains their mind and body. I've trained mine every day for the past thirty-five years.” With no more warning, the boar of a man charged. Faster than his age hinted, the headmaster nearly crossed the distance in a split moment. Headlong, straight and direct, he was no schemer. Oddly enough, his charge convinced Carmine he wasn't involved in the conspiracy. A snap judgement as Carmine snapped her fingers to a point in the dirt. She expended less than a tenth, less than a hundredth of her power; merely sending a single word of command.
Sigils brightened aglow beneath the headmaster's feet. Before he took another step, lightning erupted from the now visible spell circle. His body convulsed, and a pained roar echoed into the night. It wouldn't gather attention. Pain was common to this part of town.
On his knees and heaving, the headmaster stared at the sigil around him. Surging electricity met any sudden moves. Trapped like a bird in a cage.
Carmine smiled without her eyes this time. This man would have rescued her once. She doubted he'd smile her way ever again.
But she had a role to play.
“It's been too long since you've sat in a class as a student, headmaster,” Carmine lectured, hands behind her back. “You've forgotten how to listen. The spirit from which we can draw is bottlenecked to a tenth. Spells prepared and empowered in advance though…” Carmine gave a chuckle, turning on Symphonia. “I'll give Emmet back, you know, once I figure out how to return what he stole. I’ll be thorough, I’m a doctor after all. Hopefully, he'll still be in one…piece–”
Ringing. Sharp pain in both Carmine's ears distracted her goading. Her eyes instinctively shut for only a moment. A chill shivered through the air.
Carmine lunged to the side, but piercing cold still shot through her arm and out the other side. Warm liquid ran down her arm. Forcing her eyes open, Carmine spotted the several water globules floating about Symphonia as they caught the lantern light.
“There's your bullshit,” Carmine shook her head of the ringing. “Emmet told me you fuck with people's senses.”
“He told you too much,” Symphonia muttered back.
“Good to know he doesn't take after his lying bitch of a mother.” Carmine shook her arm: her left. Fire had dulled the nerves there and she didn't feel as much pain. Still hurt, but it sharpened her focus.
Symphonia used what little power she could muster to disrupt Carmine's senses, then launched a small burst of pressurized water to pierce her. A nasty trick, but Carmine knew what to look for now. Dampened by the barrier, Symphonia couldn't sustain all her spells at once. The chill in the air was her warning.…unless that too was a trick. Either way, Carmine decided she'd keep at least one eye open at all times.
The window behind Symphonia shattered outward, but she deflected the shards with a thin water current. She retaliated with desperate bursts of pressurized water. Using a barrier no larger than a buckler, Carmine deflected each shot. The first few targeted her joints: knees, elbows, debilitating wounds had they hit. As the attacks continued with no purchase, more often Carmine had to guard her vitals. Symphonia tried for her liver twice, heart once, and lungs four times. The intent to kill might have been stunning, but Carmine had faced it before. Held It before.
Maintaining her defense, Carmine activated another of her prepared sigils. Arcane missiles bloomed from the bog, battering Symphonia from all sides. The elder sorceress had decades more experience, but Carmine had preparation. Unlike the headmistress, she could attack and defend at once, and she used that advantage to back Symphonia into a corner.
Under the sustained barrage, Symphonia retreated to the cover of the central tree. She must have spied the missiles circling around the paralyzed headmaster, because the cold bitch used him as cover too. No doubt she still had a trick up her sleeve. Carmine needed her to use it.
Extending her senses to the sigils around, Carmine could count those still powered on one hand. They'd have to be enough, or it'd turn into a battle of attrition, and one she'd probably lose.
The ringing returned; a high pitched whine worse than any sound Carmine had ever heard. It incited a migraine on demand, driving her to a knee. Symphonia rounded the tree, ice-forged knife in hand and moving fast. With no time to react, Carmine detonated two of the few sigils she had left. The ground between them erupted in fire and force as an explosion threw both sorceresses back. Dazed on her side, the heat threatened Carmine with unpleasant memories, but fire didn’t panic her any longer. The impact on the other hand, that left her in a stupor.
Where was Symphonia? The blast caught her too, but her body wasn’t anywhere in sight. Movement by the tree called Carmine’s attention back only to see the headmistress slinking out of cover without a scratch. An illusion.
Vision blurring, Carmine saw three Symphonias step around the tree. Her stone face cracked into a sickening smile. “Insolent upstart,” She spat. Drawing moisture from the bog, she formed one of the globules she’d launched at Carmine a two dozen times so far. This one meant to finish it. “Let’s see how arrogant you are without working legs.” She pointed a finger at Carmine’s lower abdomen. A chill permeated the air.
Three Symphonias, all raising to use the same attack, but only one emanated an arcane aura Carmine could sense. She snapped her fingers, and her last sigil brightened on the gnarled tree. Roots slithered from the mud, snatching the leftmost headmistress in their grasp. Wrapping around each limb, and coiling around her torso, they pulled her arms wide, nearly twisting them out of their sockets. As her two hallucinatory copies disappeared, Symphonia tried to lash out. Pressurized water cut across Carmine’s forehead, but weakened before it could pierce. Another thin root circled Symphonia’s neck, threatening to choke off any more attempts to cast.
Her threats came up empty. Carmine had won. Blood ran over her eye, and she had a hole in her arm, but she won.
Ss she stood, she touch where Symphonia’s last spell cut her. Beneath the parted skin, she felt exposed bone. Another scar for her growing collection.
Stolen novel; please report.
“Despite your best efforts, Symphonia, I’m still standing,” Carmine gloated. “You lost to a sorceress that had the rank for only a day.” She received a sneer in response, but not words. No doubt Symphonia understood if she opened her mouth, the roots would tighten. If she wanted out, she’d have to think of something else. “No more demands? Good. I wasn’t quite finished with Emmet, but oh well. If I can’t find a way to reverse what he’s done…maybe the exorcists can.”
“Excorcists!?” Thomas grumbled from his crackling cage. “You’re the one who’ll be punished for this. You attacked the founding house of the institute.”
“I think once they get a good look at your son, they’ll see things my way.” Carmine turned her back, marching back towards Emmet’s crumpled form.
“That won’t happen!” Symphonia snapped. She uttered a single-word spell, too quick for the roots to silence. One final water jet burst up from the ground, slicing Symphonia’s own wrist. Blood leapt from the wound, further than any human heart could push. A crimson light brightened inside Symphonia's chest, and, in a blink, it traveled down the arteries in her arm, extending to the blood shed from. But it did not fall. It swept around her as a scythe, severing the binding roots like blades of grass. Her eyes flashed red, hair tinting the same, and in a moment she was free.
Symphonia needed no spell, no spirit for what came next. She thrust her arm towards the younger witch, and obeying her will, the blood speared Carmine through the chest. Lifted off her feet, Carmine collided with the wall behind her, pinned in place.
Calm down. Calm down, she warned herself from slipping into shock. Deep breath. Pain. Short breaths then. Note the damage: Wet coughing, shallow breathing. She got a lung, that’s all. That’s not fatal. She coughed blood. Not immediately.
Symphonia stepped closer, murder in her eyes, but she stayed her hand for just a moment. Wanted to repay the humiliation for sure.
“Symphonia…that’s…” Thomas stammered, but she ignored him.
“Release my husband,” She ordered. “Try anything else and I’ll burn the other half of you an inch at a time.”
“F-Fine,” Carmine acquiesced. The arcing cage that kept Thomas still died away. The headmaster climbed to his feet in stupor, as if he’d never seen his wife before in his life.
“Symphonia…blood magic?” He struggled to comprehend the scene before him. Between Carmine's words, and Symphonia's action, he finally realized the truth. “What have you done?”
“We’ll talk about it later.” She replied, a softness to her voice Carmine hadn’t thought possible. “Check on Emmet. I’ll handle her.” And then it was gone. The cold returned. “You’ve stirred up far too much trouble, elf, but at least your corpse will make a useful scapegoat.”
Carmine glanced at Thomas, trudging slowly towards Emmet. He stumbled again, unsure if he should intervene. Move faster, old man!
“It was supposed to be you.” Symphonia whispered. Carmine stared back. “Dr. Valentine never told me about your little trade with the faun. By then it was too late, so she was sacrificed instead. I knew Emmet fancied you. He would have insisted we help you find your place, maybe even keep you at the tower. Instead, your friend will be an outcast and a burden. Think about that while you bleed, you wretched little–”
“What in the hell!?” Thomas’ shock cut through the whispers. As he knelt over his son’s unconscious form, ‘Emmet’ sprung up. His hood fell back to reveal a face far different from their expectations.
Marcus played his part to perfection. Low praise, considering all he had to do was lay still and cover his face, but he stayed. Silver really went a long way with him. That it was Leval’s own made it all the better. Now, his part over, and Marcus ran into the manor without a backwards glance.
“Where is my son!?” Symphonia roared. She twisted her bloody spear, and agony ran through Carmine’s body, but still she grinned.
She. Won.
“C-can’t you sense him?” Even struggling for breath, she relished this moment. “Or does your mark fail up close?”
“Play games with me, witch, and you will die slowly.”
“I don’t think he’d like that.” Carmine retorted, glancing at a window on the second floor in full view of the courtyard. Symphonia followed her gaze, and paled. The window opened outward, and Emmet, the real Emmet, floated down. Regan climbed after. She had her own job preventing Emmet from intervening too soon.
“Emmet,” Symphonia called out, opening her mouth to explain herself, but no words came. She finally realized the trap she walked into. It wasn’t the dampening field, the prepared sigils, or even Carmine herself.
It was Emmet: a son more honest than his mother would have him. Symphonia could silence Carmine, persuade Thomas to lie, but she couldn’t destroy her legacy. She hated undoing her work, after all.
“Let her go, now.” Emmet said, hands shaking in fear or anger, Carmine couldn’t tell. The blood spear retreating inside Symphonia veins, she felt keenly.
“Emmet, all this was…” Symphonia found her tongue, “s-she put you in danger–”
“Less than you. I know what you did.” Emmet refused to look at her. He moved to Carmine’s side and helped her to her feet. Most of her weight leaned on him, even as Regan came to support her other side.
“That was to help you.”
“You didn’t. You were using me to–”
“This needs to wait, Emmet,” Carmine clutched his shirt, feet numbing from blood loss. She needed to wrap this up soon, or the dark spots at the edge of her vision would be the least of her problems. “You,” she rounded on Symphonia. “We’re going to have a long…long talk about what you did to Almyra, and you’re g-going to tell me everything. Nod,” Symphonia nodded. “Good. Now get the fuck out of my sight.”
The headmistress flinched back as Emmet and Carmine headed for the manor. What went through her head right now, Carmine could care less. She had plan to force Symphonia into using her blood magic, but taking a spike through the chest was not part of it. Thomas made no move to stop them. She would pity his ignorance later.
“My room…” Carmine coughed to her carriers. “Bed…”
“You’re uh…bleeding a lot boss,” Regan's harsh tone actually carried a mote of worry.
“Ah, Regan…didn’t know you cared.”
“You’ve been fair to us.”
Precious minutes dragged by before Carmine found herself in her musty room. She let her robe fall off her shoulders and found her white shirt beneath stained red. She put a hand to her wound and uttered memorized healing incantations.
Her wounds didn’t close. Exhaustion clasped her in its gentle talons.
“Fuck…” Carmine sighed.
“Why isn’t it working?” Emmet asked. Concern gave way to near panic in his eyes.
“I’m too tired. I can’t…gather my spirit.”
“We can use mine,” he suggested exactly what Carmine dreaded. He was right, She knew he was right. And still, there was some hesitation she couldn’t shake. “Tell me what to do.”
“F-fine.” Carmine forced herself. “I can…guide you…with my intent, but…you’ll have to say the words, and use your energy.”
“I’ll do it, just tell me how.”
Carmine took a deep breath. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons of her shirt, no fault of her wounds. No one had seen her full scaring except for Vale. Fear coursed her heart as she pulled the blood-slick cloth from her skin. Not fear that Emmet would fail, but fear that her scars would revolt him. She had so much more to fear, yet that thought…that cowed her.
Dark red and warped flesh covered the left side of her bare chest, an ugly reminder melted into her body. The fresh wound sat among the scars. Emmet, bless him, tried not to flinch, but he was never good at hiding his reactions. He stared, and it hurt. But he pressed his hand over her ribs, and it hurt less.
“Tell me what to say,” he looked into Carmine's eyes. She rested her hand on his shoulder. What little power she could manage would guide his own. He repeated after her, word for word. Slowly, Carmine's pain lessened. The terrible itching of a healing wound followed, but she could breathe easier after coughing out the lingering crimson.
Next came her arm. The same hesitation returned as she rolled up her sleeve to the wounded bicep. In one night Emmet saw most of her scaring, and more than anyone she'd met in the last decade. It shouldn't have bothered her; she just fought for her life…but it did. Absurd, comical even. She would have laughed if her stomach wasn't tied in knots.
Last, she guided Emmet to close the wound on her forehead. “How's that?” He asked when they finished.
“Amateur work, but I'm not leaking anymore.” Carmine offered an awkward smile, but she couldn't meet his eyes. She didn't want to see what was in them, or what wasn't anymore. “I can…take care of myself from here…if you want to go back to the tower–”
He embraced her again. It felt the same as before the fight, before she stopped his heart, but there was something new. His lips pressed against her scared cheek, gentle and caring.
“I'm not going anywhere,” he whispered. “I love you, Carmine.”
Those few little words, she couldn't have imagined the weight they lifted. Her tension unwound, and she leaned her head into his shoulder.
“I…” she started, but exhaustion took the reply from her. In the throws of her fading consciousness, Carmine promised herself she'd answer properly when she woke up.
There would be time, after all.