2

She had no right to stand before His Majesty in representation of the House of Silvanys; at least, that was what many, including her own brother, would have her believe. But it would take more than popular opinion to get Sybelle Silvanys to stand down. The more others pushed, the harder she pushed back.

It was, therefore, with nothing but steadfast confidence and innate entitlement that she stood before King Hesael Cilithiel of the kingdom of Amaijah, appointed to speak for her family, one of the four that had served Cilithiel’s monarchy for centuries’ worth of generations. She had a case to make, and would be damned if her voice was not heard. Nothing was more intolerable than selective listening. “I have provided you will all of the facts that I possess, Your Majesty.” Sybelle gave a shallow bow, heedless of the judgemental eyes of the Council, their ancient faces revealing nothing but distrust. “Not only, therefore, do I feel we should consider that the captive was apprehended by illegal means and left in sickly condition, but that, while faced with ample opportunities for freedom by release or even by death, she continues to claim that she has nothing of interest to divulge. I am confident that her story rings true, and that she is not involved in the coup driven by Falna Syxer.”

“While those are interesting stipulations, Sybelle of Silvanys, we truly have no way of knowing that this captive is innocent.” The elder councilman of the house of Valcourt clasped his hands together in front of him, a frown at the corners of his mouth. “Not by these means of deduction, at the very least. Although, if His Majesty permits…” He turned towards his king, beseeching permission with raised eyebrows before he even made the suggestion. “The House of Valcourt can determine if this prisoner is as good as Miss Silvanys’s word.”

“Your Majesty.” Sybelle interrupted with all the fire of conviction, taking several bold steps forward. “This is exactly the reason I am making my case. So as to avoid the measures that the House of Valcourt might take. I mean this will all due respect, of course.” However, her tone connoted little respect, as she shot a sidelong glance at the Valcourt elder, whose frown deepened. “There is no guarantee that the captive will recover after probing her mind, regardless of what care is taken. She could well be rendered catatonic or comatose; which might be all fine and well if she truly were some slimy minion of Falna Syxer, but what if I am right, and she is innocent? I beseech that you consider this, Your Majesty.” She was not afraid to meet her king’s curious and contemplative gaze. “Should we harm an innocent being, then we are, ultimately, no better than the House of Syxer. I thought the remaining three Houses that loyally serve you had come to the conclusion that we would not take such unnecessary measures with the potential to cause undue harm.”

“If you are so opposed to this solution, Lady of Silvanys,” the councilman from the House of Auret piped up, with some skepticism but no hostility, “then what is it you propose? Simply set the prisoner free? Even if she is, in fact, as innocent as you believe, there is no telling what she might have seen or heard between the time she wandered onto Amaijian soil and the time at which she was apprehended. Should she be set loose and ultimately caught by the traitors of west Amaijah, then you know as well as anyone else that Falna himself will not hesitate to use any means at his disposal to siphon information from her.” Turning his ancient hands palms-up, he shook his head in defeat. “Forgive my skepticism, but I cannot help but feel that if we do not act on this assertively, then this discussion has come to an unfortunate stalemate.”

“No, not a stalemate. I do have a proposal.”

Councilmen and king all grew quiet, preparing to offer Sybelle the attention to terms that she so desired; and it was then, of course, that her confidence decided to waver. The cinch of her gown around her waist suddenly felt too tight, and drawing air into her lungs became a laborious effort. I don’t even know what she can do, short of some vague claim of pyromancy, she thought with trepidation. She could be a liar; she could be useless. Worse, she could be playing us…

There was only one way to find out, and her gut feeling—for whatever it was worth—encouraged her to move forward with the radical idea.

“Since the House of Syxer abandoned East Amaijah a year ago, we have found ourselves at a loss for offenses. Not to discredit our alchemical breakthroughs in weaponry, or our foresight into enemy intentions, of course—” She eyes the councilmen, as if daring them to accuse her of a discourteous attitude, “—but any and all who we have put on the frontlines, battle after battle with West Amaijah, has not been adept in magical offense, in either practice or hereditary skill. All of our warriors left us to follow Falna Syxer, and we have been left with little else than defense and damage control. But there is one thing that West Amaijah does not have in its arsenal, yet that we now have at our fingertips.” Sybelle licked her lips and met the eyes of her king. “Access to the darker realms of magic. Whatever our prisoner did, it was enough to scare our guard into deciding she was too dangerous to leave to pass through our kingdom. This could be our best chance at winning this war that has already gone on for too long.”

“You are suggesting we use the prisoner to our own advantage?” The councilman of the House of Valcourt frowned so deep, Sybelle imagined those creases would become permanent folds in his skin. “That is entirely contingent on whether or not she is even willing to cooperate. Even then, we are not certain as to where her loyalties lie—and will never be, if His Majesty will not allow intervention from the House of Valcourt…”

Sybelle opened her mouth to retort, but was beat to the chase—and perhaps for the better, as her words would not have been anywhere as diplomatic as the voice that spoke on her behalf. “We have already established, honourable councilman of Valcourt, that we do not make it a practice to subject anyone, even prisoners, to torture or treatment that could potentially render them better off dead. Not even Falna Syxer himself, under my father’s law, would be subjected to such measures.” Support stemmed from noneother than the king’s son, Prince Sidayne Cilithiel. He sat at his father’s side, in the stead of his departed mother, and trained his eyes with intensity on the two councilmen. Sybelle should not have been so surprised to receive this support; if anyone would give her the benefit of the doubt, it was Sidayne. “Let us save our judgments for later, and allow Sybelle of the House of Silvanys to proceed.”

“Thank you, your highness.” Sybelle’s bones felt malleable as some of the tension drained from her body. Not all was lost yet—most importantly, not her credence. “The prisoner has had ample time and opportunities to either lie her way into our good graces, or to gain her freedom. And that is in addition to the sickly state in which she was kept, with a festering wound to the leg that was left untreated—which is also against or code of conduct.” She pressed her lips together and straightened her already rigid posture. “Of course nothing is for certain, but I do believe that she can be convinced to work with us. All I request is the opportunity to explore this possibility. If it turns out that she cannot be persuaded either way…” Lifting her shoulders in a shrug, she folded her arms. “Then in that case, do with her what you will. But we will not know unless we try, and if we pas sup this opportunity, we might be passing up our only chance at victory over Falna and his followers.”

There was a a communal pause in the councilchambers, one where ponderous glances were exchanged, evoking a hot atmosphere that caused a droplet of sweat to trickle down the back of Sybelle’s neck. If they dismiss me, I will never again be taken seriously to speak before this council… And she, of all of her family under the House of Silvanys, already had the least going for her, and the most to lose.

His Majesty, King Hesael Cilithiel, who had been the quietest in this discussion, finally nodded his acknowledgement. His calm cadences forced a lull into the otherwise tense gravity of the room. “Sybelle of the House of Silvanys, your judgement has proved both valuable and accurate before. For that, and that alone, I am impelled to grant you your request in persuading this prisoner to fight on behalf of our kingdom. However, I feel it necessary that we witness her potential before declaring her an asset.” Spreading his fingers on the arms of his chair, the king’s handsomely aged face relaxed into what appeared to be uncertain resignation. “You have the remainder of today and this evening to appeal to this manipulator of dark energies. If you succeed, then I would like to witness the extent of her arcanic abilities. Should she either prove uncooperative or primitive in her strengths, then… well.” Turning his hands palms-up, he sighed. “I suppose we will have to revisit our considerations, at that point, but not before. This council is dismissed.”

“Your Majesty.” The Valcourt councilman rose from his seat, face flushed in incredulity. “With all due respect, you do not deign to suggest you will sit tomorrow where you sit now, and risk your health and your life at the hands of this supposed dark magician? Amaijah has not born more witness to the toxicity of dark practice in over a century. Users were exiled for a reason--”

“That is not entirely true. Councilman Auret,” Sidayne interrupted, raising a pointed eyebrow. “Does alchemy and your family’s craft, in general, not draw on certain ‘sinister’ properties to achieve desired results? It is my understanding that polarity between magics is not the focus, but rather, balance manifests as key. Should my father fear the power of this prisoner, then he should, by that logic, fear certain aspects of every practice—even that of the House of Silvanys, who are healers, by nature.”

The councilman addressed cleared his throat and averted his gaze to the table before him, clearly desiring neutrality in this argument. “You are correct, your Highness. Balance is the key, and by that logic, Miss Silvanys’s suggestion is not so… unreasonable.”

“I am glad that we could all come to an agreement, then,” Amaijah’s king spoke with a note of finality. “As I said before, gentlemen and Lady Silvanys: this council is dismissed.”

---

“You suggested what?” Kian all but stepped on his sister’s heels as she made through the long corridors with purpose, an irate and urgent bounce in her step which anyone with a sound mind would read as a warning sign not to antagonize her. “All the more reason you should not be speaking on our family’s behalf. Do you realize what you have done?”

“More than you have, that’s for certain,” Sybelle snorted, a distinctly unladylike sound, clenching her hands into fists at her side.

Her brother was far from through with his tirade. “You have set us up for failure in more ways than one! If this wench does not agree to our terms, or if her magic does not prove sufficient, or—worse yet—if we fall victim to her schemes, if she lashes out at his Majesty… You will make a mockery of the Silvanys House and name. You will ruin us; as if you have not done enough already.”

His last comment was her last straw.

No sooner did the thread of her last nerve snap that Sybelle turned on her heel and shoved her brother’s sternum with the hateful palm of her hand, watching with satisfaction as he fell to the ground, his face swimming with fear and astonishment. “Rest assured, should all prove futile, the responsibility will fall upon the shoulders of this wench. Not you, nor anyone else of the Silvanys name. It is impossible to make an ass of the likes of you any more than you already do all by yourself, Kian.”

If he made a reply, she did not hear for the loud thrum of blood pumping in her ears and her own heavy footfalls as she stalked off, blind with fury. How dare he! He had… he has no right. Not for all that I have done and will continue to do to keep this damned family from drowning! Arms pumping with every stride, all the while not so much as sparing a glance to the few who passed through corridors and dared to offer her a smile, Sybelle’s feet moved without any real direction from her brain… and it wasn’t until she found herself standing before a familiar door, guarded by an armed sentry on either side, spears pointing skyward. As if physical weapons were at all a threat to the magically adept. “I need to speak with her,” she told them, an order and not a request, much though it had just occurred to her as a realization. “Has she made any trouble?”

“Not a bit, Lady Sybelle. On the contrary, the prisoner has been very quiet,” the older of the two guards informed her, sounding unsure as to whether or not he was confused or relieved. “So much so that we’ve checked in on her a few times, just in case she somehow managed to find a way out. She is still there, sure enough.”

Of course she is, Sybelle thought with agitation. Quiet and harmless and staying bloody put. At least if she had made an attempt to escape, or to harm, or to be anything apart from the cooperative captive that she was, it might have assuaged some of the uncertainty of putting forth that bold suggestion to His Majesty and Amaijah’s High Council. But now, the possibility that this woman was, in fact, relatively harmless, and that the night guard were grandiose simpletons (like she had always suspected) who had overreacted was too great a threat to both her and her family’s reputation. If there was too little truth to the great threat that this woman could pose, then it was up to her to figure out how to embellish the ordinary—or, alternatively, convince this quiet, secretive waif to show her true colours.

Sure enough, the dark-haired prisoner had only abandoned her bed for the seat near the window, cheek resting in the palm of her hand, and looking as though she had long grown bored of the scenery beyond. She didn’t even have the decency to look up when Sybelle closed the door behind her and cleared her throat. “Leg feeling better, I take it? Good. Because you are going to do me a favour.”

“A favour.” Lilica repeated in the same monotone as before. She didn’t look away from the window. “We’ll see. I’m listening.”

“Oh, do not assume you at liberty to decide that this is a request. In all actuality, I am doing you a favour by requesting this.” Sybelle narrowed her deep azure eyes, arms folded confidently across her chest as she fell crossed the floor. “You can sit there with your defeatist façade and preach how little you think of your life, how you couldn’t care less if you live or die, but the fact remains that you are still alive right now. And that in and of itself tells me that were your little nihilistic act true, then you would have given us a greater excuse to kill you already.”

Lilica’s cheek twitched; the brazen blonde had hit a nerve. And had struck truth. “What do you want of me?” Her eyes all but narrowed into slits as she challenged her captor. “Recall that I don’t exactly owe you anything. But if I am bargaining for my freedom, then inform me as to what I am to do.”

“Freedom from captivity in this room, at the very least. Freedom from those shackles.” The Lady of Silvanys nodded at Lilica’s wrists. “Put simply—we need your magic. It would be a boon to us against West Amaijah and its corrupt leader. And a boon to me, if you can prove to those above me that you can serve as a valuable weapon.”

“So you wish to use to meet your ends. And if I refuse?”

“There is no alternative.” Sybelle’s voice quieted, and her sharp eyes spelled danger. “Only consequences.”

Lilica met her captor’s threat with silence for a solid moment, until at last she broke eye contact. “You cannot ask that of me.”

Sybelle’s cheeks flared. “Do not mistake asking with offering an ultimatum. If that is really your answer—”

“It isn’t up to me,” the captive hissed. “Can I wield the darkness? I can. But controlling it… that is something else entirely.”

“How do you mean?”

“I mean,” the dark one eyed the haughty blonde with a blunt edge, “that your request is sure to endanger those who you wish to impress, Princess. Be careful what you wish for.”

Breathe in. Pause. Breathe out… Sybelle’s temper had ignited before she had entered this captive holding chambers. It was only through barely contained self-control that she did not lash out further at the term intended as an insult. She had tired of it years ago. “No. All the better that they witness the danger first hand. So then,” she folded her arms. “You won’t disappoint?”

Once again, Lilica responded with silence. But this time when she looked away, she did not turn back. Sybelle’s last thread of patience snapped, as a result, and a nearby decorative vase suffered her fury as it shattered to pieces with a solid throw against the wall. “I expect an answer when I speak to you! Don’t you understand you hold no power, here?”

“Wrong. I may not have your standing, but…” Lilica’s gaze drifted to her hands, to her wrists, to the bracelets that tethered her magic to her core. “I still hold power over myself—enough that I still possess the power to choose. And, if you please, I choose to not put anyone else at risk.”

The lady of Silvanys was already reaching for another object to shatter in representation of her white hot ire before the prisoner could finish, but the nature of Lilica’s rebuttal registered just in time to stay her hand. The dark-haired woman could not be intimidated or swayed by threats or the shadow of the power she held; something to which Sybelle was not accustomed. It was time to stop insisting those tactics would find her success, and play another hand entirely. “Unbelievable. You are honestly determined to refuse out of concern for others.” She knew it was the truth before the tightening of Lilica’s mouth confirmed it. “Exactly who are you? What is your name? You owe me that much for seeing to it that you didn’t die of infection.”

“If it will persuade you to leave me well alone, my name is Lilica D’Or. Just a name, like any other.”

“Well, Lilica D’Or… Perhaps we can make this arrangement work for the both of us. If your fear and reluctance do, in fact, stem from concerns for your own capabilities.” What was left of her rage seeped out of Sybelle’s body in a quiet sigh. There was no benefit to further antagonizing this evasive witch; at least, not until she has a better idea as to whether her plan would see fruition. “Expect to be called on again in the next couple of days. I will leave you alone—as per your request, though I advise you to take the time to understand that my approach is not usually so give-and-take. Simply put,” she fixed her eyes on Lilica and did not look away until the dark magician returned her gaze. “You are luckier than you perhaps deserve to be.”

Out of words and depleted of the energy to argue, Sybelle left and closed the door behind her with force, but not before she thought she heard Lilica utter, “The same could be said for the both of us.”

Next Chapter: The Fire that Eats the Light