Page 44 of Omen of ice
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Kopic arrives the next morning to bring Tania before my uncle. I don’t know what the meeting is for, but my best guess is that it’s a discussion of security measures, since she ran out on Liani the day before. While she’s gone, my plan is to sneak out for a quick run, but someone knocks on my door before I can slip away.
“Valen.” My aunt breezes in from the hallway, looking out of place against the bright tile. She reminds me of darkness. Not necessarily the bad kind, but cool nights and starless skies. Peace and tranquility. “I hoped we could talk.”
“Is everything all right?” I step aside and wave her to the chair. “Sit, please.”
The grateful smile she flashes lights her entire face. “Yes, yes. Everything is fine.” Liani is the daughter of the court’s healer, Zomade. With her elegance and beauty—not to mention intelligence and quick wit—no one was surprised when she caught the eye of Orbik, the son of the previous monarch, Envrill.
Her smile falters as she crosses the room and perches on the edge of my bed. “I’m afraid the conversation isn’t a lighthearted one.”
“Orbik sent you to fetch another donation.” My tone comes across flat, but inside…inside, I rage. This isn’t her fault. Orbik is just as careless as our ancestors when it comes to squandering magic. Liani always tries to stop him, but he does as he pleases, stating the Winter Lord answers to no one.
I knew it was coming. After being down in the tunnels and finding that room, after knocking over the flask… It was only a matter of time.
I take her hand and squeeze. “Please don’t be upset. I’m not angry with you.” Sighing, I add, “I’m never angry with you…”
“You are the purest soul I’ve ever known, dear child.” She cups my face and smiles. There’s so much sadness in it, and I hate that my uncle makes her do this. I’ve suggested many times that she ask Kopic to come for the donation, but she always refuses. If it has to be done, she sees to it herself to ensure my safety.
“The party drained most of it. Then, when you were down in the cellar…”
While Fae lost their magic in the Great Drain, certain powerful individuals, such as someone in a royal bloodline, can still manipulate it. My uncle can’t manifest his own power, but he can use mine.
“I spilled the rest of it.” I sigh. “I wonder if you might convince him to wait a day or so. I haven’t been feeling well lately. The last donation he took sapped me for a week.”
“You’re still upset about what you uncovered in the tunnels, aren’t you?”
That isn’t the reason I’m asking her to wait, but since she brought it up… “It doesn’t bother you?”
“The druids sacrificed a great deal for us. Iamdeeply bothered by what transpired. But I willnotput my feelings ahead of your safety.” Tears gather in the corners of her eyes. “Orbik is…careless. If the burden of keeping our magic stores full fell solely on you…” She ducks her head for a moment. “Besides, we did keep them safe during the war. And Servis did use the remainder of his magic trying to get the tear back…”
“That was lifetimes ago!”
“For them, maybe. But not for us.”
I want to keep arguing with her, to make her change her mind, but the last thing I want is to upset her further. “I suppose you’re right.”
“It’s why we honor the bond to this day,” she says. “Not for Servis’s sake—for Aphelian. Her descendants are brought here to live in comfort, never having to worry about filling their bellies or seeking shelter.”
“If it’s about honoring them, why do they come to us as guards? We’re physically stronger, live longer, and can withstand more damage. Why do we not act astheirprotectors?”
Her eyes widen, and if I hadn’t been staring at her, I would have missed it. “I suppose because it’s the role Aphelian herself played. She was a very powerful druid and, while accompanying Servis’s caravan on a mission to the Autumn Lands, saved his life. They were unlikely friends before that, but it was on that trip they fell in love. It’s also when she met Avastad, the Autumn Lord who wanted her for himself.”
“Which is rumored to have started the war,” I say. I know my history, but recent developments have me questioning everything I thought I knew. “So, could we wait another day or so for the donation?”
The process is painful for me, but how would Tania feel? If it’s even a whisper of what I endure, the thought of it makes me sick.
She lowers her gaze and presses her lips tight. It’s a look I’ve seen a thousand times. Absolute and utter shame. Regret and apology mingled with more guilt than someone as pure as Liani should ever have to endure.
“Oh, Valen.” She stands, hands shaking slightly. “I wish it could. Obviously, your uncle can manipulate the magic in the druid tear, but it’s much harder than using yours. Lately, even yours has begun to take a toll on him. It seems the stronger you get, the quicker it fades from the flask.”
If that’s true, they’re going to bleed me dry if they aren’t careful. How much can they take without killing me?
This is my responsibility, though. The one thing my presence within these walls is good for. The process is agonizing—both physically and mentally. In the days before the Great Drain, the procedure, called panashere, was used as a form of corporal punishment. Criminals would be strapped down, a needle inserted into their chest, just below the heart. Our magic is in the blood, extractable only using a needle made of iron. Criminals would have their magic bled slowly over the course of several days. The pain was excruciating, and most didn’t survive.
I was very young the first few times it was done, and it almost killed me, but I adapted. Found a way to fight through and ease my own discomfort. As I got older, it was easier to endure. Liani never takes that much.
But Tania is human, and I’m tied to her.
