* * *
Stevane
* * *
It takes some more walking and passage through a lot of thick wards, and a few bits I don't even remember, but eventually we come to an end point in our journey. I'm pretty sure a few parts of that are foggy in my head because of the wards, and possibly because of some odd space warping. Either are pretty commonplace in the more secure or dangerous areas of the Poet Hall, so I've become familiar with the sensation. That means that I could be anywhere in Lyiannethe now - that I'm still in Lyiannethe Manor is an unfounded hunch.
We're in a small room with a closed door on either side, and one just-closed door behind us. The floor is an unremarkable , the walls are smoothly mortared stone blocks, and the ceiling is low. After the lavishness of the Manor it's a stark shock. The Kommissar lets go of my arm, his bootnails clacking against the polished white granite floor as he strides forward. I'm a bit confused as there's nothing to stride forward to. He turns back towards me, waits for a moment, then gestures for me to come forward as well. Obviously he can't comprehend why I even hesitated. "You were at least capable of following cues in the audience room. For that, I thank you."
I take a few steps forward to show some cooperation, but I'm not overeager to be right up next to him. "You're welcome. I wasn't sure I was even doing the right thing." I'm still not sure I did. Yes, I got away from Thelea and ensured my brother's safety, but now I'm stuck with the Kommissar. I think of his means of persuading Thelea to let him have me - that Daddy wouldn't like it. 'Daddy wouldn't like it' has been a pretty steady barometer in my life. When it comes to boyfriends and trouble I want, 'Daddy wouldn't like it' is a good sign. When it comes to anything else, it's a big warning.
The Kommissar snorts. "Step closer, I'm not going to snap at you. In any case, you don't need to know you're doing the right thing, you just need to follow orders. The Queen doesn't need to know anything about this place or what I do with you, does she? Answer no." His gaze is hard to break. My eyeballs strain while trying to look away from it.
"I suppose not," I say. I don't really go for absolutes.
He raises an eyebrow. "Thinking too much. Fine. You won't be much trouble, as much as Thelea thinks you're a hassle. You know how to do what you're told. Can you play a musical instrument?"
I scowl. "I doubt I can so much as thread a needle with this stupid collar on. You Xaillyndessen have weird ideas of what 'useful' means."
He narrows his eyes. "That was not my question, but let me modify it for you so that you can understand. Are you proficient at playing an instrument?" There's something flat and cold in his tone that's ringing a few warning bells. It's hard not to be mouthy, though. Most of my etiquette training was in the Poet Hall, so I usually express what of it I can through my Poetic skills. They're all being blocked now, so there goes most of my tact - what little of it I had.
"I've attained expert level with a Rhivendish dulcimer. I am also proficient with the piano and have displayed moderate abilities with a violin, though I prefer a fiddle. I can keep a beat with a drum and I can flagrantly annoy with a triangle." I'm also particularly good at setting other people's fiddles on fire, but that's not a musical ability so much as quality control. Besides, he really doesn't need to be reminded of me setting things on fire.
He chuckles. "A hill people instrument? How quaint. We don't keep trinkets like that here, though. Violin shall suffice. I can tolerate you in my presence if you're playing violin. This way," and with that, he leads me to the left door, and gestures for me to precede him.
* * *
Stepping through the door is like stepping through a sheet of water. The energy shift sucks the breath out of my lungs. My collar gives a distinct protest in the form of a POP and a cloud of some rather noxious smoke. This isn't really the best thing for my nerves, so it's not surprising that I jump to the side and let out a yelp. The Kommissar, ever the understanding sort, grabs me by the back of the collar and yanks me back towards him.
"It's not on fire, you fool, it's just been made incapable of spying on me," he growls through his teeth. "Now, here. Sit." He leads me to... a small bed? I find that hard to believe until I realize that by the look of the plain stone walls and the drab furnishings, this place is a cell. I bet it doesn't even physically connect to that entry point we came through. Damn, that means I'm not going to have much luck finding my way around this place. Well, we'll see what happens. I sit on the bed and look up in time for the Kommissar to push my head back down. He brushes the mountain of curly red hair out of the way and inspects the back of my neck.
I examine my lap and try not to lash out at him. The urge is very strong right now. I'm sure he has very flammable eyebrows. I clamp down my violent leanings. They're not going to get me anywhere yet, even if they are unusually strong these days.
The Kommissar's fiddling with the collar. This doesn't have the best effect on my thinking. My vision goes blurry for a moment, and then fades to black, and then everything is perfectly clear. Clearer than it's ever been. Then I'm starting to see colors that I swear never have existed.
"Damn Ebrellin-i and his cursed, overcomplicated devices... 'man of science' my bare end, I could have built something much simpler, but noooo. Lean over further." My neck's already straining enough, but I oblige. "You've certainly got your Father's hair. Feh, what a mess. Ah, here we are. Would help if he'd have just made more of the same and stopped 'improving'. These things work too well as it is. There now, your wits shouldn't be AS dim as they were before I tried that." He lets go of my neck and backs away, surveying me with his arms crossed.
I sit up and get my hair out of disarray, then rub my neck and wince. My head is a fair bit clearer. I can still feel the effect of the sealing and locking the collar's built for, but I can at least think better. "Thanks, I guess. Is this my dorm room?"
"You can call it that. I've got to put you somewhere when you're not useful to me. And feel grateful that you're not in someplace a lot worse. I have them." He grins. "The Queen has more of them."
I blanch a little. "You're gonna stay quiet about my brother, right? He has enough problems right now."
The Kommissar snorts. "Your brother's not my problem if he wants to defect to Audiva Rocale. Thelea can sniff out her own rats, and her business is not my business. Speaking of her business, I might as well get that over and done with. Her High Retainer ought to have some time to take a look at you now."
I try to think that through. Everyone's acting like I'm going to be here for quite awhile, but I don't have any sort of plans for the same. So do I just pretend to go along, or do I fight all of this procedure? I'm not going to escape or contact anyone from home anytime soon, that's obvious now. But if I'm stuck here, I might as well learn something. I'm even in a good position for that! How many people can say they've had the chance to know what happens in the Kommissar's operations? Well, I don't know, since I never got through enough training to find out that much about Lute's division and the spying they do, but still, I bet nobody's got in this deep before!
Still, the Kommissar's not going to expect me to play along, so I can't play along TOO much, and I can't get in trouble... geez, this is like playing chess with Father! I always have to keep an eye on what he really notices and expects, and he keeps such a deadpan. At least the Kommissar doesn't seem as subtle as Daddy is.
"I suppose," I say. "Why do you want me to play violin, anyway?"
"Because if you're going to be in my presence, you're going to be working, and we don't get many musicians down here. Thelea keeps all the Poets. We might as well have SOMEONE here for entertainment. In any case, what does it matter to you? Just do what you're told, stay put, keep hold of your tongue, and maybe you'll get through this with no visible scars." He walks to the doorway, stops before putting his hand on the doorknob, and looks back at me. "Don't try anything. I'm not saying it because you'll fuck something up for me. I'm saying it for your protection. Don't ruin a good track record. It's for your own good. I can't keep you here if you're not going to behave." Then, he leaves. The air he walks through before shutting the door behind him is wavy and hurts my eyes, like he's walking through heat or... or something.
Huh. He didn't look all that honest when he explained why he wanted me to play violin. He never looks all that honest, but this time it was particularly noticeable.
So, here I am, waiting. I do a slow circuit around the room, because while I'm going to try not to cause trouble, I can't just sit there. I can't keep still. I investigate this terribly interesting room, then. Two chairs, a small table, a desk, a mirror, a basin with no water in it, some towels, some paper, quills, inkwell... look, you might as well ask me to write a a description of the most drab place I've been in my life, because that's what this is.
At least I have paper and quill, right? At least I have something to do now. I try sitting at the desk and using the implements in the usual way, and I swear my quill's nib breaks off as soon as I touch it to the paper. I try a new nib: inksplat ruins the sentence before I begin it. I try one more time, and I barely get a line before there's a twinge in my head and I forget what I was trying to write.
Fine, I'll draw instead. I refuse to think that this collar could block every attempt. I'm not trying to get out, I'm not trying to do anything bad, I'm just trying to kill time here. If I do a study of my hand, surely that's not going to cause anything bad, right? I try. I try outlining first and then crosshatching - the ink bleeds over and makes a mess of the whole thing. I try an etching style, but lose coherence of the drawing about thirty seconds in. I try the damn stipple effect, and my quill's nib permanently injures itself. I curse and throw the damned thing to the floor.
Fine, I'm gonna try fingerpainting. It's not even a question of killing time anymore. This is a fight and I'm going to win it. I try dabbing out a... a happy face. A simple, stupid happy face! One dab for an eye, another for the other, and then a simple C for a smile. My wrist twitches at the final swing-up of the smile, obliterating the tiny doodle and covering my finger with ink. I screech, ball up the paper, and fling it across the room.
It hits Edward Cruxradia in the chest.
I jump in my chair, grabbing the back of it to keep steady. "Edward? You're here? How did you get in here? I thought it was locked off! Do you know how to get out too?"
He just smiles. It's that creepy smile he always seems to have when he's trying to be superior about some issue or another. He also uses it for the ghost stories. I'm pretty used to it, I grew up on those stories. Why is it giving me the willies now? Why are his blue eyes so blank? "Oh, Stevane, it's so nice to see you here. It's been such a long time!" Why is he wearing those strange clothes? A black outfit, semi-formal, cut the same as the garb of the servants that Thelea likes to dress up all the same. There's more green trim on it, and the embroidery and buttons are more ornate. The formality looks so odd topped off with his wild curly brown hair. He steps forward. "Oh, dear Stevane. I'm glad you wrote to me. I really enjoyed those letters. They made me laugh for quite some time."
I try to shut my mouth, my jaw is hanging open. "You... got my letters? Here?" I shake my head. "I sent those to Chethar. You... wrote back. You said..." I shake my head. Things are going a bit fuzzy, like a few times when I tried to write. "You said you were in Chethar, Edward."
"Oh, I was. For a time. Well... practically. I decided to visit home for a bit, you know? Just got a little sidetracked, is all."
The collar may be trying to interfere, but I can still tell that: "You're lying."
He pouts. "Aww. Poor little Stevane. You're making the same face your Father makes when he's disappointed with someone. Have I disappointed you? I really did go to Chethar." His eyes are so fuzzy. They've almost gone white. "Really, I swear to you. I remember it so well."
"...Edward? Are you okay?" Why is he here? Did Thelea catch him, too? "If you weren't in Chethar, where have you been all these years?"
The Kommissar coughs from behind Edward. "Really, you can have your little reunion later. I've things to do, Cruxradia."
"Oh, of course," says Edward in an airy voice. He's not even really here. It's not like when Jhe h'Lete's gone out of it - it's like someone else is in there. "Let me attend to that, then. I'm sure you and I can chat later, can't we, 'Bit?"
Frost goes right through me. I shiver. That was his name for me when I was little. Heck, even when I got big. Tidbit. "I..."
"Of course we can. Now, come here. I won't bite." Standing there with blank eyes and that creepy smile, he's not very convincing. "...Oh, come now. You're not going to listen to your Uncle Edward?"
The Kommissar coughs from behind him; I swear it's a laugh.
"What are you going to do?" I narrow my eyes.
"So suspicious! Just as always. You were like that when I gave you your tenth birthday present. But didn't you like that story? I'm sure you'll like this one, too."
"I screamed because of that story." I swallow, trying to wet my throat and failing. "Jhe h'Lete had to calm me down afterward. You apologized, you said you should have waited until I was older. Unkie almost beat you for it, but Father got to you first."
"You're older now, aren't you?" His smile is perfect and blank but somehow still full of harm. "Come over and see your Uncle."
I don't know why I'm getting up, why I'm rising from the chair and stepping toward him, chin up, arms down. I'm standing in front of him by the time that I realize I've even done any of this.
"Good girl. You've grown so much. You've got your mother's eyes, you know." I'm having trouble keeping track of him or even looking at him. One moment everything's fine, and the next he's got his hand around my throat. My mind generates a spike of panic before I realize that he's holding my collar, not my neck. He's examining the jewel in the center of it. He's concentrating on it, and whatever he's doing is making my head throb in dull pulses.
"It'll be alright," he says in that dreamy, not-there voice. "Just stay still..."
Then there's a bit of a POP in the collar again, though this time there's no smoke. Something loosens around my mind, some sort of band that was constricting it. It's different than when the Kommissar modified the collar - it's not something that makes my thoughts clearer so much as...
"Sit down. Try to draw now," Edward says.
I do so. The pen's in my hand before I even realize I've decided to draw. My hand scrabbles across the page, sketching out a frame, then picking in details. A crow. No, a bigger bird than that. It's a crow-face on a man's body. An Avian, like Kevrin, except he's a full Avian, and he doesn't look friendly. There's an Arachne-kin behind him, and it has something in its spindly hands. An arm, a bare arm. Something long and slender and detached. It's looking at it like it wants to eat it...
I jerk my hand back from the page and my quill slips away to the floor. Edward chuckles. "You always did make the most entertaining starts! Part of why I loved keeping you around so much. Loved teaching you, helping you ply the craft. It seems we're back to that now, Stevane. Again, I am here to train you, to mold your potential into something new, something grand, something even your imagination couldn't conceive."
I ball up my hands in my lap. "I won't draw for you." My voice is ragged. I take in one long, shaking breath. I haven't channeled a drawing like that without controlling the wave for some time now. That's one of the first things they teach you as a Poet trainee. I feel dirty for forgetting it for even a few moments. "I only draw like that for Jhe h'Logos." I don't remember the last time I used his proper title instead of the childhood nick, but even the name being in my mouth is a reminder of how I can defend against this, and how much is there to protect me. I've been trained. I can do this.
"So you say. But you've already done it." He reaches forward and plucks the paper off of the table. "Oh, lovely. My friends. You'll meet them sometime, I'm sure. They stay around the Manor, assist Miss Thelea from time to time. Very charming creatures, really. Resourceful."
I bite my lip. "Avians?"
He chuckles. "Those stupid things? No, Tidbit, Arachne-kin. They're so pretty..." his voice drifts off again, sing-song and hazy. "So very slender, always making things... or sealing them up. I do so love to talk to them. They understand me better than anyone here." He straightens up, shaking back into his wits, or what of them he has. "Except Miss Thelea, of course." His smile gets a little more intelligent, and a little more dangerous. "You'll get on with Miss Thelea, won't you Tidbit? She did say you were being rather typical-of-yourself with her. Did Elete's etiquette classes never catch on? Your letters seemed to convey that you were still taking them."
The Kommissar coughs again, a bit more impatiently.
"Ah, yes. I'm sure you'll be fine here, 'Bit. Just do what you're told, is all. I'll have assignments for you, from time to time. Nothing big, since you're just beginning. It takes training to build up to the grander projects Miss Thelea has for her Poets." His expression brightens. "Oh, you'll be happy to know that Elric's here too, puddin'. He's doing really well. If you behave yourself, maybe you can see him soon. I think he'd really like that."
At my expression of horror, he just grins wider. I'm starting to see red peeking around the edges of my vision, and then there's a black blank spot, and then I'm on top of Edward, burying my fist deep into his right cheek. I seem to be very intent on doing this over and over with alternating fists and cheeks, to sort of balance it out. I don't really conceive of there being anything particularly wrong with this - in fact, it's a kind of bliss. For the first time since I woke up with that collar on, not only does my head not feel stifled at all, but I actually feel really good.
It's not until I've got Edward by the neck and am bashing his head against the floor that the Kommissar intervenes by lifting me up off of him and throwing me onto the bed. In fact, I think that he gave me a few extra seconds of Edward-strangulation before bothering to stop me.
Then, well, our little meeting is over. Edward glares at me as the Kommissar escorts him out. "Remember Stevane - all of us have to pay our dues. I won't let you stir up trouble in Miss Thelea's house."
The Kommissar snorts. "Out, boy, that's my job."
Then they're both gone.
* * *
