But she couldn't—a consequence of legality and monopoly. The Fray Clan held sway over the silverAssurers, and even if she were to acquire aid from a rogue caster, as there were many, the Theocracy's laws increased the likelihood of discovery. Unfortunate. No one must ever learn of what she does.
They would create weakness from that fact. "Look at you, a highHeir that flirts with an Aspirant."
She paused. Flirt? There was an oddity to the word. Was that what she does? Flirting? She pondered this for a minute, time trickling past in dull moments. Meaningless. The external stimuli of hands and body rubbing against herself had blurred into the background, requiring no immediate attention. After the earlier bump by the unknown Handmaiden, very few attempted the error. More cautious. They would think death an outcome of angering the highHeir.
No, not highHeir. brightCrown. Ivory had heard words, never rumors, due to the availability of facts. However, in certain territories or the free cities north of the Ashmountains, brightCrowns "used" the truth of their nobility as reasons for cruelty. Of course, this was expected in all societies, even the modern ones. No collection of humans would not inevitably give rise to the "nobles" concept: men and women who justify their actions with the truth of their birth.
She lingered on the thought, realizing the slow growing of empathy for such matters. Not that she ever enjoyed needless cruelty. But this new awareness called for a needed assessment. She observed the white silk gloves over her slender hands.
Has Kabel infected me with his beliefs... His wish to make a benevolent ruler?
Velira, as that dead Fermen had once called her.
Strange that even after the multitude of simulations run by the deadEyes, no concrete fact could be presented. Only potentialities. One being the likelihood of a breach in the security of the Castle. Made sense. After all, given the past actions, the presence of "I AM," the Dark humanoid creature. Those things, yes, Mother had little information on the specifics, but one hardly ever needed the whole story to form scenarios.
Samara knew. Somehow, she sensed a breach in the Castle's security. Either that, or a traitor existed in Valor.
A hand slid down her ankles, rubbing cold oils for the preferred shine of the skin. A rather bootless thing, but considering the complete attendance of many Highnesses and lords, one could only attempt to incorporate all such distinctions into oneself. Those oils, she knew, originated from the Fool's clan. Strange that a people who spend more of their time in mists require oils.
Perhaps that was the greatest joke?
Everyone knew the Fools and their jokes.
She sighed, internally, of course. A great many rumors would start if any of these women were to speak. They would pose questions: Is the highHeir too weak to assume the mantle thrust upon her? Should she be given this? Then, countermeasures, as they often did, would arise. Answers such as: What about Saedon, can he rule?
Dangerous answers.
Her gaze drifted to an unassuming Handmaiden: a stout lady with dark hair. darkCrown, folding neatly a silky black coat. She seemed non-Valorian, a thing noted by the lack of skin paleness. Perhaps she was part of the House of Noctis; after all, though they are the only clans "allowed" by the Church to take slaves or workers from other clans, many loopholes are often exploited by the rest. Case in point, given the current moment.
I wonder what the extent of her responsibilities is? What would she say if she were me? Would she take the path of the Clan and condemn Kabel to death? Would she reveal the possibility of her Order being that of a different Clan? Would she speak fervently at Argon for the choices he had made?
What would she do?
Ivory shook her head. Maybe in a different universe.
But not this one...
A silver bodice, metal, was fastened around her chest, spiral markings and ancient words inscribed on it. Unbent and Unbroken. Supposedly, words once spoken by Amon Seal Valor, the Highness who had battled during the Great Rebellion, though details on the exactness of those days are exempt from even her.
Argon once remarked that their truth was hidden within the Oral History. Someday, she would learn them...For now. A dress trail was fitted into the hand bracelets, forming a ribbon-like form that rounded the back. More restrictive. Now, her turning could only contain the poise and elegance equal to those of the Fray Clan.
She recalled an Ancient Joke: When the highHeir dresses, they cannot help but look like the Frays. This quib, as many others, came from the mouth of a Fool; which fool in particular eluded her.
Never chase a Fray in their own home... Ivory felt the need to recount the various words and customs of the Great Clans, and a few of the Lesser ones. Clan Dawn is to come, she thought. Perhaps the Lord of the Clan might come with their Twilight Sword.
A blade forged from the skystones, or metrorite, as the castWarers loved to call them.
She replayed the legends as they were: whoever wielded the sword had the possibility of gaining terrifying powers.
Likely a bootless rumor. No experiment had marked such things as a possibility. Unless, by some means, the Sword was a Sacred Relic... which, as has been studied, it is not. But the beauty and sheen are considered to be far greater than the old Odium Steel or Oredite blades.
Perhaps I would make that distinction myself.
A round mirror was brought up to her face. Its rim is dark and etched with spiral markings; the glass, on the other hand, screens an almost alien face. Hers. Pale skin, eyes darker than the blackest metal, and white hair trailing down like trapped strands of brilliant white. A thing that once exalted her as more contained than any of her birth.
A curse now.
Her face, she noted, was a canvas of hues and things. The applied oils lowered the natural paleness of her features, and then there were the colors over the eyelids and the dark that fringed the eyes. More sharply, it made them. Her gaze seemed to pierce into the soul, and on the cheeks, a single black teardrop was glued.
I'm like a doll, painted and decorated for the pleasure of others. She noticed then that some of the women with parted hair, metal braids, had such drops.
Is that for their husbands to admire?
She could not fathom the supposed appeal of such things.
What would Kabel say about it?
She cringed within... Ah, not that.
The mirror was lowered, and the ladies, as usual, returned to their monotonous tasks of decorating and preparing. Who knew when they deemed satisfaction? Who knew indeed.
Perhaps I will stay here until the end of the Ceremony... The internal quip surprised her.
And then there was a voice that struck into the chamber. An Excubitor announcing in that hollow voice of theirs: "HERE COMES brightCROWN GELD!"
Master?
She turned, and stepping out from the sliding shut door was Geld—the muscular man of dimmer Odium hair. Tall, dressed in a side-buttoned black coat, with spiral patterns stretching down from both sides. Unaccompanied, he stood, smiling.
"Are you here to collect, Master Geld?" She knew the curtness of her tones but pressed on. The internal annoyance at the world fueled her. Geld, unfortunately, could only be the victim of these emotions.
He paused for a moment, deliberating. "And what do I have to collect?"
"Your gift to me."
"By the Savior, didn't you once consider him a burden?"
Ivory cringed, quelled, and channeled the emotion back as a snippy remark. "Times change, don't they?"
"But only you, my princess, are constant." He smiled.
Somewhat annoying that the rudeness had little effect on him.
Deeply vexatious.
She turned away from him, his form divided from her by the swarming tides of Handmaidens. Little of them paid attention to the brightCrown. Because of her presence, no doubt.
"Tell me, Master..." she asked, "What do you want?"
"Merely to know how you are enjoying my present."
"He is a human..."
"That, he is," he said, "but still a present."
"We'll see."
He chuckled. "That means good news," he said. "The effect is working, but it seems he has failed to make you smile."
"I smile."
"Not that I have seen." Master Geld took out an orb from his clothes. Glassy and he tossed it into the air. Like Kabel had, it glowed with a bright whiteness and expelled a male voice.
It's a type of Eiya? she thought.
The voice said, "MESSAGE FROM CASTLE ROCK. WE REGRET TO INFORM YOU THAT THE HIGHNESS OF THE ODIUM CLAN, THE LADY HIGHNESS, BETHANY OF ODIUM, WILL NOT BE ATTENDING. SHE HAS GIVEN MASTER GELD THE AUTHORITY TO ACT AS A REPRESENTATIVE OF HERS."
The orb went silent, light dimming before dropping into Geld's hands. A faint buzz in the air.
"So you're a representative of the Highness?"
"It would seem so."
Ivory regarded Geld. "I sense this will become a trend."
He smiled. "I sense that too."