The lightning booms again, distracting her immediate thought, just the way she likes it.
Why can't I have this one little thing? Ivory sighs. Why can't I?
She moves from the window frame; that ovate thing. Steps onto the sleek dark grounds, queer and finds her thought rampant. She hates this. Hates every part of it—the weakness it causes, which she hates the most.
Why can't I?
The library chill pressed with an intensity, like a cold wrapper. She shivers, moistens her tongue, and moves. She seeks a distraction. What to do away from thought. For now, her fingers trail the edges of elastic wood. Good wood. Equal to the weight it holds now.
Books upon books.
She looks up, sees not the end. It annoys her. But she knows. A command, and she would float to it. Casted things. She does not. Ivory turns away, leads a path between mountainous shelves, countless books.
Much knowledge. She smiles. Worthless knowledge. She thinks. Compared to the oral history, at least.
Lightning falls, she hears the sound, and the foremost thought vanishes. She is empty again. No mentation to go on about. That was good. A proper mitigation. A corner calls to her, and she takes it into a large section. There, nothing but a sole table, surrounded by path-leading shelves, remains.
A lonely thing. She turns away, touching wood while in motion. Where was she going? Ivory doesn't know. But she chooses to move. The only choice she can make now. They have condemned her.
Ivory recalls the stance of Mother, arm folded, eyes piercing in that cold quality of theirs. She is a cold storm, unlike Father. He is the mad storm, ever brewing. They stand in a chamber, a glass ceiling above. Somewhere at the peak of the Valor Castle.
All except the glass is black, and the froststones are hidden within the masonry. Rainfall is muffled, like steps splattering mud. Father is first to speak, "We learned something from the deadEyes."
"What?" She holds the trembling.
Mother follows. "He is a darkCrown."
Ivory is stunned. What mistsense was that? darkCrown? Since when were darkCrowns casters? Symbolic science reveals the effect of force in the body changes the hair color. The more force, the brighter the hair. Yes, he was dark-haired, but that could just as easily be falsified.
She tries to rebut, but Father says, "Do not angue with this. Multiple deadEyes had confirmed it."
"Since when were they prescient?" Ivory knows the stupidity in her words. Mother knows it, too. The hard frown on her face says it all.
They share a look, father at least, Mother does not leave her face. "All brightCrowns are afforded the simple knowledge of symbols. How to mold one's force. How to control it. How to grow with it. " Father said, "But he lacks them all. He bashes through the symbols. That, I suppose, is the intense force as the source of the arrogance. Understandable. He has yet to learn the horror the symbols can often pose."
"Maybe that would kill him." Mother adds. "And we know he promised you something."
Ivory feels caught. Danger present. She tries calmness, it fails her. No. No. They wouldn't know what was promised. deadEyes are intelligent. Cognizant monsters, but they weren't prophetic. This she tells herself.
Even then, they still watch her, learning her responses. She did the same with them.
"What do you mean by that?" Ivory places both hands on her stomach, one atop the other. She sees mother note this. She knows I'm anxious.
There is a brief silence. Argon breaks it. "The deadEyes state the possibility of an offer is more than 70 percent."
"Reason?"
"No individual would risk such without a desperate need. A want for something. Given your nature, you would not accept unless something is proposed." Argon said, "That was what they said."
Ivory finds a flaw. "But as you said, he would have asked me first to do something. I could have just as easily refused, hence never receiving any offer."
"Unless he is intelligent enough to render the offer first before asking. Something tantalizing enough." Mother watches now. "He has high force, which equates to a higher intellect."
"Sometimes." Argon steps forward, a stray lamplight, screening white across his face. "These games you play are odd. There is no reason to hide this. You dance around the question. You say possibilities when you know the actual thing…"
There is warmth in his tone. Ivory notes that and knows the storm close to come. "I do not know anything." She says, "I do not know what he wants. Who he is. What he can do."
"But you know his offer."
Ivory meets mother's gaze, metal black; hard with a chilling attribute. She is regal now. Above her head, the half-circle oredite crown floats. Shimmering in the dim white. In black, an elegant gown of layered fabrics. The top of the dress fits with a metallic silver bodice, carved in a sharp, linear pattern. Like armor. The sleeves matched the bodice—sleek, silver, mirroring the environment light.
Over the gown, she wore pale. A flowing outer robe draping over the shoulders down to the ground, pooling. It parts on the front, revealing a darker, textured skirt underneath. Moving like soft waves. Simply majestic.
Valor.
Ivory knows she is lost in that divinity and tries to return. Mother forces it. "Won't you speak? Or do you need an Excubitor from Domestic Flagellate?"
She wants to torture me? Ivory hides within…Should I just say it? Mother must have a reason to tell me this…I just can't see it. There must be a reason. Mother is intelligent, beautiful. Better than I am. She must see a threat to the clan…
Father scowls. "What mistsense is this?" He asks, "What were you promised, Ivory Valor?" His tone is cold.
The storm comes.
"I…I…I.."
Mother's eyes narrow. "A fearful highHeir?" There's a scoff in her words. "What a highness you would make."
Ivory is silent.
Argon rubs his jaw—anger in his eyes. "What were you promised?" He says, "What were you promised to betray your clan?"
She perks. He thinks I betrayed the clan? "Never!" Ivory declaims. "I have never done anything against the clan. I am to rule someday, why would I ever do that?"
"Then speak your truth."
"I cannot." There. There it is. Make me your enemy.
Argon's eyes flicker, and her finger is gone. Ivory looks down. Palm, five fingers once on each hand, now there are four. The middle ones were gone. She regards him, fearful. "What?"
"You are now in solitary. Alone. Ever guarded by Nail." He says, "She is your shadow and will always exist with you. You are not to return to your lab. You are not to talk to anyone. You are not to build anything or leave the castle. Only remain."
"For how long?" She manages.
"Until you decide to speak the words that were offered to you."
Ivory in the library, sighs, observes her four fingers, and looks above. The plafond is dark stone, sleek with the spiral patterns of the clan. Words are written on them. Religious lines.
There is a need to read them....So she does.
"In the beginning was the song, and the song was with god—"
"And god was the song. And from it came the world." A new voice sounds.
She turns and beholds a new face. A familiar jawline, sharp eyes, dressed in white robes. A scholarly air to him. Kabel? "What?"
"I am an Aspirant," he says simply.
"That explains nothing."
He smirks. "I don't need to explain anything. I am an Aspirant."
"So the laws don't apply to you?"
"As I said." He shrugs. "I am an Aspirant."
Ivory hides it, but she is glad. "What are you doing here?"
"Thought to read." He says, passes her, reaching for a book.
"You can just command it."
"And miss the movement of my body?" He looks flabbergasted. "Do you know the sweetness of motion. The heat of it. It warms the body, and I bet it can warm that coldness, too."
"Coldness?"
"You feel cold." He picks a green-backed book, opens it.
He is right. But she denies it. "How would you know?"
"So I was correct?" He smiles. "Now that is what I call an Improvement."
"Of what?" Ivory wants to move closer…but the laws still bind her.
"My appraisal of the frost princess." He flips through the book. "Who knows, I might just start repeating your own thought back to you."
I would love to see you try.
He smiles. "Yes, I will very much try."
She freezes. "What?"
"What?"
"How did you?" Ivory knits her brows. She thinks at least. "How did you do that?"
"Do what?"
"Read my thoughts?" She feels exposed.
"Come on, princess. Even a deadEye drunk in moss can guess certain follow-up thoughts. You are a prideful person. It stands to reason that you would invite my challenge."
She calms. "Smart," she says mockingly.
He nods, closes the book. "That's not good."
"What isn't?"