“Alright, no one cos up. I need you to prevent anyone from coming up. That includes your generals, my mistress of the bedroom, the lords and ladies and anyone else who might want to talk with . No matter what you hear.”
“Yes, my lady.”
I almost told them, ‘Of course, I won’t hold it against you when you can’t because they pull rank or magical power.’ But, I didn’t. Why make it easy for the guards to have an excuse?
My body didn’t want to be here. Stomach was going from uncomfortable to queasy to cramping. Gritted my teeth, clenched my fists, took a step.
The tower.
Trying to keep calm, I looked at my arms. Nothing. The perseidian iron was holding. Or I was calm. Probably the iron as I didn’t feel calm taking my first steps up. Bechalle took his last steps up here. The tower where he beat senseless, cut into my back. Gathered bowls of my blood.
We never learned why he did that.
Dust covered the grey stones, puffs floating up with each step, settling down slowly. The corners were dark, dirty. Most of the torch holders on the walls were empty, but so yet held old and forgotten torches, burnt at the top.
The bottom entrance had been sealed off since that week. Not that day, for Morry and Tread had scoured it, searching for clues. A twisted, galomaniacal journal, disturbing books of magic, anything. Other than his tools, nothing turned up.
I didn’t light the torches on the walls, nor carried one with . Possibly, foolishly, for it was near sunset.
I knew if I stopped walking, I wouldn’t make it to the top. And then I got to the heavy, wooden doors. Broken, axed apart and never repaired. Where Morry bashed the doors open, I told myself. Not where Bechalle tricked into going.
No tapestries here.
Funny it worked like that. Because of our long discussion about tapestries, I had no love for them. Yet there weren’t any in the room. We’d co up here ostensibly to look at more, his trick to get in the room. Entirely empty of the woven artwork and sohow I blad them for Bechalle’s actions. Tapestries probably think that’s unfair of .
The two wooden pillars where he tied up yet stood as if waiting to hold another person, ropes dangling from them empty, dark stains on the ground underneath and fire ran up and down my arms, around my body, the air crackling and wavering, and I pointed my palm, blasting those hungry pillars apart, splinters flying everywhere, then caught in mid-air, floating, swirling in the violent wind, catching my hair, the dirt, everything into a mini-tornado, and I flashed it, a vortex of fire suddenly screaming and roaring.
The sll of burnt hair and dust and woodsmoke and ash. The air fed the fire, burning brighter and quicker and I pushed those molecules faster and faster and faster until all the whirling pieces burned a painful and violent white, heat cooking steam off the floor, and quickly burned out, room suddenly darkening, with only ash circling in its howling cyclone.
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I wanted more fire. The table! I blasted it into pieces with my left palm. Sucked up into the wind, it burst into raging fire and heat, scorching the floor and ceiling black, burning away all.
The wind screaming, my blue and black hair blowing all around, arms outstretched, Bechalle had co back from the dead to attack once again, standing at the door, I could feel it, whirled around to blast him with the energy he gifted , but it was the big man, Morry, holding his arms out and yelling, sohow I directed the thick laser off to his right, the tornado flared brightly, fizzled, collapsed, dust going everywhere, dry against my lips and into my nose, coughing and coughing.
Thick, strong arms under my legs, against my back, he picked up so easily. I hacked, coughed, buried my face into his chest.
“Gods, Princess.”
We were in the hallway, he’d carried out of the room.
“Morry. I got dust and ash all over you.”
“Yes, you did.”
“I’m glad I didn’t kill you.”
“ too, Princess, too.”
He set down, but I didn’t let go of him so quickly, even after my feet touched the floor. “I’m sorry.”
“For not killing ?”
I hit his chest lightly and pushed myself back, “No, jerk! For . . . whatever it is I’ve beco.”
“That’s not a thing you have to apologize for. We should put your iron back on. If you’re ok, that is.”
“What?” I held up my arms and they were bare. I didn’t recall taking off the iron and that troubled .
“It’s in the room, on the floor. You stay here and I’ll go get it.”
“No, I’m fine, I’ll-”
“Princess,” he put his large hand on my shoulder, “take a breath. Wipe so of that ash off your face and dry your eyes.”
“I’m not crying!”
“Of course not.”
“I’m not! I don’t cry. That’s not .”
“Here,” he said, passing a handkerchief from inside his jacket that was sohow not dusty, gave one more concerned look, and went back into the room.
The cloth caught under my eyes, probably on make-up, and I rubbed it away. Then the hole drew my attention. Clean through the room’s wall opposite , through the thick outer stone wall I was resting against, and who knows how far after that. The sky was visible through that hole.
How much energy was required to punch through three feet of stone? A hole the size of my fist. We had lasers where I’d co from, but none were remotely close enough to producing that kind of power that quickly. Damn.
“Princess,” Morry took by the hand, standing up gently, then sliding a ring on my finger, holding my palm and reattaching a bracelet to my wrist.
“How many won have you put rings on?”
“Not enough, it seems.” He took my left hand and did the sa. Then, brushed back my hair with surprising gentleness, slid his hands behind my neck, and locked the gold and charcoal chain into place.
“Morry?”
“Yes?”
“I blasted a hole clean through both walls.”
“Straight through? I’m grateful you missed .”
“Are mages this powerful? I an, the regular ones. The not- ones, you know, with all their training and such.”
He bent down pushing my dress up, closed the chains around my ankles, “I’ve seen them call fire from the sky, send out waves of force and cause people’s bodies to burst.”
“That’s probably a yes, then.”
“I’ve never seen any of them loose a beam like you do.”
“It seems like they have enough power to do it, though. Either you haven’t seen it or there’s so other reason they don’t. Like, magical shields or sothing.”
“Princess, perhaps coming up here was a mistake.”
“No. I needed to test myself.”
“And?”
“I didn’t, uhm, remain calm.”
“Perhaps so tea downstairs?”
“I need to see the room again.”
“Is that a good idea?”
“Brin will probably get angry at for getting this dress all dirty.”
“Brin’s temper is not what I’m worried about.”
“I need to know, Morry.”
“I’ll wait downstairs.”
The room was smokey, walls and ceiling blackened, dust yet hung in the air. Nothing of Bechalle’s remained. I’d destroyed it all. Cleaned it. Sanitized the room.
Each step sent eddies of fine dust billowing up. I unlatched the window, pushed it open. Fresh, chilled air blew in, white particles in the moonlight spinning away.
I headed down, joined Morry in my rooms for tea.
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