story - part 44 - blood - 1110 words

This is one of the most complicated spells I know how to do. It is more than merely a pinprick to draw blood; it requires a long slash from the tip of my pointer down to the heel of my palm, deep and angry, crimson welling up to coat my hand. It terrifies the girl, who has never seen magic of any kind before, it turns her eyes wide and her cheeks pale. It has a similar effect on Corbin.

I am endlessly grateful that Calidris is still asleep, curled up sideways on her chair, tucked under a thin but warm blanket. Her head is lolled to one side, her breathing slow and steady, there is a tiny curve of a smile on her lips. She is not part of this anger and this blood, the violence. She does not have to taste the magic in the air, coppery and sour.

I keep my voice low as I whisper an incantation, I try to keep my expression neutral so that Sialia will stay calm [assuming that this is not an act, that she is honestly afraid of me]. Her eyes meet mine and slowly she begins to relax, shoulders slumping down and ex pression shifting toward confusion again. She merely waits for me to finish, to explain what is happening.

The spell is designed to drag forth truth. The intent is that she will only be able to speak the truth, but it is more than that; she must speak the whole truth, even things that she should have no way of knowing, everything will be revealed. My mother never had any use for these slow words, these careful gestures. She hated the truth.

There is a tension in the air, like a piece of string stretched to his limits, like two pieces of machinery grinding against each other. I have to grit my teeth so as to continue the incantation - I am fighting against some other spell, I can feel that now. This is not as pointless as I thought it was, I have not gone out on a limb. There is definitely other magic around, done by someone sharp and angry. The signature is familiar, it tastes right on my tongue, I recognize it but refuse to admit it. I do not tell Corbin.

As I strain against this unseen force, I lift my eyes slowly up to Sialia's face, expecting it to change, for those baffled features to melt away into a familiar grey-eyed glare. I have not allowed myself to admit it before now, but I expect her to transform into my mother, dangerous and furious. This does not happen, there is not so much of a flicker change in her features. I have worked things out wrong.

A moment of confusion as her eyes shift away from me, off to her right. I drag my head around, still speaking and carefully around a tongue that feels swollen. I am fighting for every word, for control over my mouth and my mind. Things have gone a hair fuzzy, I am almost certain that some trap was set on this spell, that is supposed to cut down on any attack. It slows me down.

It takes me a moment to realize that she is staring at Calidris, curled sideways in her chair, and a moment longer to recognize the sweat beading on sleeping eyelids, across cheeks. Calidris is shivering and drawn up tight, as if she is having a nightmare. Her fingers twitch against the bed, and her mouth shifts down into a deep frown. A strangely familiar frown, perhaps because I have seen it a hundred times before, or because I know her so well. Somehow I do not think that is it.

This is when Tumaire awakes, sleepy-eyed and confused, to stare over at us. He is too tired and unfocused, still drugged, to understand what is going on. His voice eludes him, and after a moment's struggle he merely settles back against the bed to watch in confusion and uncertainty, to take in the blood-stained scene.

That tension is crackling in the air, something grinding and aching in the back of my head, making the cut across my palm throb in time to my heartbeat. In a matter of moments, one of these spells is going to snap and give way to the other. I know enough about magic, she taught me enough, that I understand how much this will hurt, how dangerous it is.

There is a grind and a crack. It is so loud to my ears and echoes so violently in my mind that I am certain it was audible to physical ears - except that no one else jumps, except for Calidris, in her dreams. Everything grinds to a halt for a moment, this scene is frozen. Her asleep in the chair, Tumaire pulled up onto one arm to stare across at us, Corbin in the corner glaring at all the going-ons, and Sialia and myself watching with wide eyes, tasting the lingering effects of that spell in the air before it dissipates entirely.

Lady Calidris's eyes snap open, and suddenly they are no longer a vivid green but an icy grey, something angry and familiar. The flesh seems to melt away from her bones, the curve of her hips and of her breast, to leave her slim and flat and straight. That mess of curly red hair darkens slowly to a pitch black, the curls tightening into near-ringlets, thick and shiny. Her hand tightens into the cloth of the chair and she shoves herself up to stand, bolting for the door.

I can see Corbin snatching at her arm and dragging her back around through a haze. He recognizes her, of course he recognizes her. She is his sister, dark and dangerous. She is his enemy, the strongest he has ever needed to deal with, the only one who has ever defeated him so thoroughly. She is the father of his child, the one who plays all kinds of games with his mind, who knows exactly which buttons to press to make him panic, to turn him furious. Altair Two-Crescent, beautiful and wild and dangerous.

I am weak with blood loss, thick red dripping down off my fingers to stain the floor at my feet. My world is spinning, and I sag in against Sialia, tumble bonelessly sideways onto the ground; I want nothing more than to stay awake and watch, to interrogate her, to find out how this happened and why she toyed with me again, but instead I fade away into sleep.