And around him floated servs, odd ones. White. When were servs ever white? Then there was silence between them. The wind fluttering across the rigid, elastic trees, howling. Ivory felt the need to speak—Mother's voice advised against.
The first to speak gives up the leadership.
Maintain control. Always.
The silence broke. "You have taken from me."
"You have given me," Ivory said, noting.
"Yes." He said, "And how easily can I also take it away from you. A simple gesture and you lose all that you have gained."
"Will you?"
"I have no reason to." He replied, "If anything were to happen, it would be by your choices. Yours. That is my gift. Your choice, accepted and honored with their consequences."
A delicate way to tell me not to break the contract. Ivory thought, smiled, but he did not react to it. Unknowable if he did anyway. The brightness and all that. "I have no such machinations."
"Then speak your words."
"Ask your questions."
He was silent for a second. "Tell me of Nightfell."
She was muted. Nightfell? Why would he ask for that? A reason, surely. Was he not a part of that clan? A different clan that now breeds a different Order. Harder, yes, but not impossible. If so….A pause. Or he was lying—a deliberate attempt to mask his origins. I am from Nightfell, but I ask about nightfell, now she thinks I am not.
Ivory said, "What do you wish to know about Nightfell?" Narrowing her thoughts.
"Its mines." His light brightened for a moment. "What is in it? What lies there? What is underneath it?"
A diversion question? Ivory responded. "Nightfell is one of the greatest sources of Elitum in Eastos. This comes from their mines. That is it. Below it, I suppose, are more mines."
"I see." He said callously. "No more?"
"Yes."
He took a span of silence, continued, "Tell me what the oral History is."
Ivory was stunned. So he can hear me, too? She maintained the non-motions, said, "It is a record of history passed down via the spoken word. Mouth to mouth. Highness to Highness."
"A secret."
Ivory stayed silent. Allow him to marinate and create his delusions.
"I see." He hummed. "Is Auwale part of this oral history?"
She was frozen. How often his words do that. Auwale? Mentation raised nothing for the name—at least, none for the oral history. But then, her knowledge's totality was that awarded by the simplicity of her rank. Beyond that, if any were to be known, only the Highness would be preview to it.
However, she sought to prove something. "I know nothing of Auwale from the oral History?" Let me give him something he doesn't ask for.
"Nothing?" That same cold baritone. "You know nothing of Auwale?"
Ivory accepted a silent moment, said, "I know of Auwale, the Patron saint of the greyJusticiars."
His light brightened for a moment, a pattern echoing from the expression. "A patron saint?"
He should know this? Ivory thought. If he was a great Power hidden by Night, he should know such things…She said, regardless. "Yes. A simple matter of Order and identity."
"Explain."
Let me see. "The order of the greyJusticiars, like any of the 11 orders, has a patron by which their identity is derived from. Just like how the faith dictates the acceptance of a patron by which you may imitate their characteristics."
I wonder what saint he abides by.
"The same is applied to the Orders. Humans require familiarity to control and minimize casting risks to themselves fully. The identity creates a path to it. What to do, whom to correspond with. By studying the Specified Patron, they grow an understanding of it, how to become it, drawing upon greater amity from the symbols, reducing the casting risk."
"A patron like Taka?"
"That is of the crownBearers." She responded, drawing upon contradicting observations. His tone, although cold, suggested a certain lack of erudition. Was he indeed unaware of this, or did he play the role expertly?
"And who is the patron of the veilCounsel?"
Ivory was silent. Something was odd here…. "I do not know."
"Do not know?"
"Yes." She said, "Every clan hides its order. None may know of it. A breach and their secrets and weaknesses are learned by another." This, of course, was the truth in the specific context.
"As you say." His light kindled high, flaring. "Rules and Consequences."
"Rules and Consequences." Ivory repeated.
This was his game, she guessed. He played it with her. Words, lies. Even now, he kept the true desires a mystery. What did he want? What did he need? What veilCounsel knew nothing of their Patron? None. That was the answer. So there was another. The true test of my supposed truthfulness.
What happens now?
What does he make me say?
"As you say, you know nothing of the veilCounsel."
"I did not say that?" The words escaped her. Mist! "Hmm," She rumbled. Confusion growing. This was the thing he did to her.
"I see." He said slowly, "Tell me then what you do."
That covered a broad spectrum. Ivory considered. The terms stop her falsehood and prevent the retarding of information. He could know…This would be yet another of his tests.
Mist it!
"I know most of the symbols learnt at the vested rank of the veilCounsel."
His light brightened—a ring of radiant white. "Say them!"
Ivory sighed within, showed no such expression, and said, "After the first words are said, the total of controllable symbols is 12. Within the order, that is, as other symbols outside that can still be casted. Nothing of the opposition, however. This creates a certain discord. The dark stays from the light. Always." She took a pause, added. "Due to the symbolic effect, the casters of this order can see in the dark."
A subtle, dim hue over his light.
"The 12 symbols, as symbols, are events. I know five. Twilight. I believe, is the last, lingering hint of light before true darkness settles in. The symbols born in those moments are quick to fade. Casting, I suppose, requires speed." Ivory realized a role unexpectedly taken: A teacher?
"At the fading light, the Dullness is one to fade as quickly. Symbols born as colors lose vibrancy and distinction in the fading of light."
A mutual existence…She thought.
"The third is the chill, though this, I suppose, plays no role, as no such symbols can exist naturally in Enor. There is only night and the heat." She offered a smile. No reaction. "Creeping shadows. As the name suggests is the slow crawl of shadow, stretching out, drowning the landscape. Another that requires the slow fading of light. The fifth is the unseen depths." What a garish style of naming. She lampooned. "That is the feeling of the vast, unlit expanse. The endless unknown darkness, I suppose."
Breath warmed her lungs. "That is all."
"As you say." He leaned forward. "Good." A response, radiance dulling for a moment. "You have done something useful enough."
"This makes me a caster?" Ivory knew the answer.
Yet he said it. "Do you think the things you say are worth the power to bring them to reality?"
So he plays me…Ivory nodded to herself, reminding: This was a game—a means to an end. Power. Throne. The highness cannot be a non-caster. War would be the outcome. High lords will rage over legitimacy, Saedon would be adorned with the mantle of highHeir. Never. Valor would be destroyed in such an eventuality. For that, she smiled. For that, she would stand as one with the unknown.
"Anything else?"
I AM took a moment. "That is all." He said, "However, this meeting will be done again."
"When?"
"When I decide to come to your dreams."
So he did not fear whether or not Father learned of this. He was assured. Ivory knew danger from this realization…But she pressed on. "I accept."
The world began to darken, the flora blurring, the trees fading, as though cleaned into an expansive, eerie darkness. A moment, and all was gone, drowned into the familiar darkness.
I have learned nothing!
She gasped, head snapping up, figures around her, startling. cleanseWitches, dressed in those padded white garments of theirs. They stepped back. She was surrounded by an army of Excubitors; tall, imposing, clad in dark suits and crystal helms. Like a mirror, her face reflected off the shimmering heads of the guardsmen. Armed, she saw nothing outside their walls of flesh and muscle.
This stank of Argon!
And he cut through the barrier of men, somehow grander than them. A true storm. Cold gazed, arms crossed behind, donning the simple quilted side-buttoned suit. Black like metal. "Again, you were attacked."
Ivory pulled up the dark, glossy sheets. "Again, I was attacked."
There was silence between them. Nerve-racking. She broke it. "Leaving was my ide—"
"The Aspirant will be executed in three days."
She snapped. "That will incur the wrath of the theocracy! They will attack! Will you have us killed by the plagues? Was Noctis not enough of a lesson?"
Argon's eyes were orbs of churning storms. "You must think me a fool?" Calm. Frightening. "You freed yourself? Distracted Nail, and somehow broke the symbol's sealing on your fingers."
Eyes drifted down. The pale palm was complete.