The Fifth Star - Chapter 4 (2/2) - Over Aethribane

Sparrow did as he asked, backing away with quickly shuffling feet while the jailor peered over from his seat to see what was going on. Her eyes held a kindled flame of curiosity within them, and he knew she saw the display for what it was even as she curled back into her previously occupied corner obediently. She would think on the short exchange until their next meeting, he was certain, and he allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction that he had managed to pique her interest.

Once he had taken his leave, his stomach reminded him with a profound and angry rumble that he had not eaten in… well, he'd forgotten. Too often he did this, neglected food in lieu of business, but he only berated himself lightly this time; there had been more than enough going on to excuse himself. Darius headed swiftly for the kitchens. While most everyone in the castle still slept at such an early hour, the cooks would already be in full swing, bustling to prepare the first meal of the day.

Well accustomed to the odd hours he kept, the kitchen staff merely cast the barest of glances in his direction and carried on with their work uninterrupted. They did not interfere with him, ever, as he had free reign as Harlemont's right-hand mage to raid the pantries whenever he felt. This morning however he decided to ignore the dried meats, breads and cheeses he normally ate in favour of the cooked meal, piling a plate high with the bacon, sausage and eggs the cooks had barely finished preparing. He received a small glare for this – others had to wait until breakfast was properly served to eat thusly – but no one dared to say a word, and he settled in to eat the hearty meal in the peacefully empty great hall.

He tore into the food with gusto, and when he was finished, was about to leave when he recalled his tentative plan to help Sparrow escape come nightfall. While I'm here, he thought, I might as well pack a few days rations. Darius returned to the kitchen and deposited his used dishes before re-entering the pantry. Drawstring sacks hung nearby from a hook on the wall for just this purpose and he proceeded to stuff one full of the aforementioned foods that could be relied upon for a time without the risk of rotting. When it was filled as much as the sack could handle, he pulled the draws taut and left the kitchens to return to his chambers.

When it came to be time for his next visit, Darius headed to the dungeon with haste. He had to admit, he was already looking forward to it, despite the circumstances. He'd watched her from a distance for so many years now, seen her transform from an adolescent to a fascinating adult. He had even risked his life by forwarding anonymous information regarding the dates of Seer patrols to Mistress Raven, just to keep her from being discovered. But despite the illusions he maintained the handful of times he had gone to the Nest to check up on her, Darius had never spoken to her. Not even a word. He'd kept to himself, always in the bar area where the serving girls would see to him rather than the prostitutes. So while he felt like he – albeit in an unusual manner – knew her, she did not know him at all, and it was exhilarating just to finally exchange words with her and to have her look upon his true face.

This time, she was at the bars of her cell as soon as he entered the prison, her eyes following him until he stopped directly in front of her. He could tell he had made an impression by the eagerness in her very stance.

“It's you again,” she commented first, “I half-expected someone else. Are you not busy with other work besides seeing to me?”

“I've been assigned directly responsible for your scheduled aethribane,” he told her, “you'll be seeing me quite frequently until you leave Lothan.”

“So that is part of the plan, then? I'm not to be imprisoned here forever?”

“No one's explained any of this to you?” he asked somewhat incredulously. So often captors and jailors liked to gloat over their prisoners, instilling the terror that comes with knowing your fate and having no way of altering it.

Sparrow shook her head no.

Darius reached into his pocket and withdrew her next dose of the herb, which she took immediately and without complaint. “Mage talented people, no matter when in their lifetimes they are found, are sent to the College of Magi,” he explained.

“I've heard of the place,” she acknowledged with a shudder, “nothing good though, I'm afraid.”

“I won't lie to you, it's not an entirely pleasant place. It has a way of… changing people.”

She said nothing for a long moment, but she made no move to walk away either. Darius wondered what she was thinking, and wished he could tell her he intended to keep her from ever seeing that terrible place – but in the interest of keeping his own head on his shoulders, he could not trust her with that just yet.

“When you were taken…” she started slowly, cautiously, to see if he might object to her coming inquiry, but when he did not stop her she continued, “did you know you possessed magic?”

The question jolted Darius into an old memory, back to the moment his talent had triggered. He could not sympathise with her feeling of being wrongfully accused, for there had been no doubt in his mind after that particular moment that he had an ability.

He'd hurt her again, there was no denying it. Though Alysse told him with every bruise her father gave her that confronting him would not be worth it, just to wait until they were married and could leave this village behind, he could not in good conscience ignore this most recent attack. Tears streamed freely down her battered and swelling face as she clung to him, and Darius decided he'd had enough of watching his love suffer. Was it not his duty to protect her, regardless of the identity of her assailant? Darius kissed her tenderly, then left her in the care of his own parents, leaving him free to seek out the man he so hated.

He found him easily, sprawled across the chair he kept outside his front door, bottle of spirits in hand as he waited for the return of his only child that he treated with such a heavy hand. Darius's strides were long and intimidating, even at fifteen, as he approached the man with not a hint of fear.

Without waiting for him to speak, he took hold of the collar of his filthy shirt in both hands, hauling him to his feet. “Why?!” he screamed at him, only inches from his face. He could feel his face heating with potent anger. “What did she do this time to deserve it in your twisted mind?”

"Bah!” Oryn scoffed, one muscled arm striking Darius's hands off his shirt, “She told me your precious little secret. Your plan to marry her without so much as my permission, without paying her bride-price even, then leaving me here with nothing! Did you think I would let such an affront pass without punishment?”

“You will not hurt her again. Ever.”

“Or what?”

“I'll kill you. On the gods I swear it, I'll kill you in your sleep if I have to.” Even as he said it, Darius knew he meant every word.

Oryn's eyebrows furrowed. “I'd like to see you try, you scrawny brat! Didn't your parents ever put you in your place proper? That Jolin… no, he was probably too weak to beat you when he should've, eh? He always was a right coward.”

Darius grabbed onto the man's arms, above the elbows, his grip as tight as a lion's jaws. He trembled with anger as he squeezed, tighter and tighter, wanting to cause some measure of pain to the person who'd done the same so often to Alysse.

Then Oryn had the audacity to laugh.

Darius felt something inside him snap, like a horrific creature breaking chains that had so long contained it, and though he did not consciously do anything differently, Oryn's face reflected the change. First confusion, then anger, pain and fear in short order. “What the hell are you doing?! Let go of me!” he screamed as he tried to pull away, but Darius was not fully present, his entire mind consumed with hatred, and he refused to let go. The struggle grew fiercer, and he came back to his senses as the acrid stench of burning reached his nostrils.

He pulled his hands away. Darius expected to see bruises there, had fully intended it be so. Instead, the skin where his hands had been but a moment before already formed blisters and cracks in front of his very eyes, scorched flesh weeping serous fluid along a perfect imprint of his fingers. And yet he had no marks of his own when he looked down at the hands that had caused it…

“Yes,” Darius answered, pulling himself away from the memory, “yes… I was well aware. But you are not the first to deny feeling the magic within you. You will see for yourself soon enough.”

A slow tear, the first he'd seen her shed, rolled down her face. It made his heart ache and he reached out without thinking to wipe it away. She turned her head, denying him that contact without words, but he did not blame her for it.

“So the Seers never make mistakes?”

He could still hear that slightest glimmer of hope in her voice. He hated to do it, but he had to extinguish it. Such doubts would only make her training more complicated. “I'm sorry, but no, they don't.”

Sparrow's eyes closed with obvious pain for a moment. Quickly embarrassed by the display however, she covered for it the best she could. “Damn,” she chuckled as she wiped her face clean, “here I was thinking this was all a misunderstanding and I could go home soon.” Darius said nothing; there was nothing to be said. “Do the girls at the Nest know what's become of me, at least?”

“Oh,” Darius smiled at her, “I'm sure they'll know soon. I wouldn't worry about that.” He was, of course, thinking ahead to the city-wide chaos that would ensue if they managed to free themselves, but he couldn't tell her that. He turned to take his leave, but her voice followed him quietly and gave him pause.

“You never told me your name.”

He stopped, turned around and gave her the most reassuring smile he could manage. “It's Darius. Darius Alder. Get some rest, Sparrow. I'll see you soon.”