b - l - a - d - e' - s - - e - d - g - e
- - : - - 4 - - : - -
Sikeen rapped on the door furiously, annoyed that she'd received no response yet. After several long, huffy sighs and more impatient knocks, she let herself in. But Raistlin was nowhere in sight. In fact, several things seemed amiss. Where was the fire? The curtains were even cracked, letting a patch of light onto the floor.
"Raistlin?" Damn. She'd done it again.
"Shalafi," he corrected, emerging from the bathroom. Her heart skipped a beat. There was Raistlin, in a simple, black, short-sleeved tunic and matching pants, wiping water from his face. Where were the robes? He swept past her, grabbing the tea in one quick motion before sinking into his desk chair. After taking a sip, he stopped for a moment and placed it delicately onto the desk, turning to look at her. "That's Dalamar's," he said, eyeing her shirt. She smirked, knowing exactly the conclusion he'd reached.
"You're looking less ill today," she said, deliberately ignoring what he'd said. By Gods, with the robes gone he actually looked… good. Approachable, in a way. And now, she noticed her attire had struck a bit of a nerve with him. He stared at her suspiciously, as if trying to figure something out.
"I suppose he did intrigue you, then," he said coldly, returning a more vicious version of her own sneer.
"Is that a problem?" she asked, shifting her weight to one side.
"I'm assuming he fell victim to your advances. You ought to know he can't get you through the Grove." Internally, she laughed. Master of Past and Present or not, he was a lot like other men she'd known.
"But he can try," she said in a sing-song voice, echoing Dalamar himself. She turned on her heel and was about to leave when Raistlin spoke again.
"I haven't dismissed you." She froze, sighing again as she turned around. These rules were all so ridiculous.
"Can you, please? Because I've delivered the tea and my beloved is waiting for me in the kitchen."
"I'll dismiss you whenever I please," he said simply, flipping open a leather-bound journal.
"Good health really does not suit you, Shalafi," she said, crossing her arms again.
"Yes, there's a reason why I was forced into perpetual illness," he mumbled, quickly scanning some writing. She glared at his back.
"I'm going to go now," she said, turning back toward the door. But when she tried to turn the knob, it was stuck. Flummoxed, she sighed again. "I don't understand; do you lock yourself in here every day? Afraid you might venture into the world?"
It was barely a moment before she crashed into the door, the wood thumping painfully against her skull. A searing pain wrapped around her ankles like rope, reviving the agony from two days ago. When she tried to push herself away from the door, her ankles instantly weakened and gave out from beneath her. But before she could hit the floor, another invisible force pushed her into the door again. She could barely turn her head to the side to prevent a broken nose. Over her shoulder, she could see that Raistlin had silently approached her, simple graphite pencil still in hand.
"You will respect me. And if you do not, you will pretend," he hissed, his face an inch from her own. His snow-white hair brushed against her shoulder. A deeply-rooted instinct instantly rose within Sikeen, and in another flash she all but ignored the blazing pain in her ankles, whipping the mage around and twisting his arm. With the graphite pencil now securely in her own fingers, she pressed it threateningly against his throat, using her other hand to push his forehead back against the door.
"Respect is earned," she said. Raistlin didn't miss the glaze over her eyes. The usually lively blue was now ice-cold, regarding him with the calculated stare of a killer.
"Indeed it is."
Suddenly beyond ignoring, the pain in her ankles intensified. Crippled, she winced, a flash of fear crossing her face before she dropped the pencil and grabbed the collar of his shirt. When she fell, she dragged him down with her, a startled grunt escaping his throat. It was then that a brief knock came at the door. Without another sound, the door swung open and Dalamar stood in the doorway, a tray in hand. What he saw was nothing short of… unexpected.
His Shalafi was sprawled on top of a stunned-looking Sikeen. The usually collected elf looked like she might sob. Not sure how to react, he cleared his throat.
"Er, breakfast, Shalafi," he said, walking in to put the tray on his desk. Raistlin rose to his feet and shot a blithe glare at Sikeen, pacing back to his desk.
"You're both dismissed," he said, taking another sip of the tea. He turned around and leaned against the desk, eyeing her as he drank. Dalamar was halfway out the door as Sikeen struggled to pull herself to her feet – the pain was worse than before. It felt like it was burning down to the bone. She winced as she tried to put a bit of weight on one foot. It simply wasn't possible. "Sikeen, you may go," said Raistlin evenly, watching her. From the floor, she tried to glare at him, but it came out looking more desperate than anything. The exhaustion combined with the burn in her ankles, along with the quickly dawning realization that she was truly stuck here as long as Raistlin demanded it were all driving her to her limit. Though she hated herself for it, a single tear rolled down her pale face.
"I can't," she said, choking up a bit.
"No. You can't. So you may as well stop testing my patience in an attempt to escape." Without looking away from her, he addressed his apprentice. "Dalamar. Why don't you help Sikeen back downstairs? She looks like she could use your company." Dalamar could see that Sikeen had pushed his Shalafi too far. He didn't get violent unless provoked multiple times, and there was something odd about the way he'd asked him to help her. Silently, he approached the girl and offered her his arm.
"I don't need your help," she mumbled. Dalamar would have rolled his eyes if he hadn't caught a glimpse of one ankle beneath the hem of her canvas pants. It was a gory mess. Slowly, she tried once again to put weight on it. Raistlin contemplated hitting her with another spell, but decided he'd damaged her pride enough. Her arrogance gave her a certain charm – she was obviously used to having some degree of control over people. Besides – pride, he knew, would never disappear, no matter how much he hurt her. It was just a matter of her realizing she had no power here, and accepting that with dignity. Until then, he could afford to restrain himself.
"I think you might," said Dalamar under his breath. What happened after that surprised Raistlin – she seemed to develop a new level of pain tolerance, forcing her ankles to bear her weight. She stood up, taking slow, deliberate steps toward the door, leaving Dalamar and his Shalafi staring after her. When she got past the door, Dalamar walked out after her and shut it behind him. Raistlin, frowning, wondered if he'd perhaps done the spell wrong.
Or, perhaps, that was just her nature.
As soon as the door was shut, she collapsed.
"You're not proving anything to him," he said quietly, offering her his arm again. This time, she grabbed it, wincing again as another tear rolled down her face. Upon hearing Dalamar speak, Raistlin crept toward the door, listening. His curiosity was truly a vice. She wiped at her face furiously, whispering back to him.
"I don't care."
"About what? Your ankles? Because he's not going to lift that spell now. It's just going to get worse, and you still have to bring him tea."
"Just shut up," she hissed, hating herself more every second. He scoffed, leading her toward the stairs.
"And how is the seduce-Shalafi-to-escape plan going?" Raistlin choked back a cough and smirked dryly. So he'd been right – her interest in him was a tactic. Slowly, he began lifting the spell. At this rate, she'd never get down the stairs. They were still on the landing.
"Considering he thinks I'm sleeping with you, not well," she said, regaining her dignity a little as the pain subsided slightly. Raistlin raised a brow. So he'd been wrong about that. Dalamar shot her a quizzical look.
"Because of the shirt?" he asked, resisting a laugh. "I mean, now that he thinks so, you might as well, right?"
"Or maybe you ought to start figuring out a way to get me out of here, since I implied you would," she countered. Behind the door, Raistlin wasn't sure how to react. So that had been all talk, on Sikeen's part. Satisfied, he paced back to the desk and coughed, taking another sip of the now-cold tea. A drop of blood from his lip appeared on the rim of the mug. He stared at it, once again reminded of the sacrifices he'd made.
As Dalamar and Sikeen slowly made their way down the stairs, he decided he would get the truth out of her. If she was going to be here indefinitely, he needed to know who, exactly, she was.
| - - : - - x - - : - - |
Two hours later, Sikeen's hands were stained with her own blood. After a great deal of compression and cold water from the sink, the bleeding seemed to have miraculously stopped. Dalamar had since dismissed himself for some obligation or other, leaving Sikeen to test the waters and figure out if she could walk yet. Surprisingly, when she pushed herself off the bed, her ankles were fine. The cuts were even healing up a little. He must have lifted the spell, she thought, with a tinge of gratefulness. It was quite obvious that he had some control over her, at least here in the Tower. Maybe deferring to that control was the best way to convince him to let her leave.
But how likely was it, really? He'd gotten so angry earlier – there was no way he would just forget about her rudeness. She'd already lost his favor for the time being. How long would it take to win it back? And how long would it take for him to even begin considering letting her out? At the moment, it seemed like an eternity.
She wandered toward the dresser, remembering what Dalamar had said earlier. Sure enough, when she opened a drawer, it was stocked full of clothes. Boys' clothes, she noted, taking out a long, grey tunic. Sighing, she returned it to the drawer and made her way back to the kitchen to brew more tea. She found Raistlin in the laboratory this time, and when she approached he barely reacted. As soon as the tea was on the table, he mumbled his dismissal and she sulked away, returning to the library to read books about magic by candlelight.
For the next few days, her deliveries went by like this. Raistlin barely acknowledged her existence, and Dalamar was nowhere to be found. She sometimes wondered how three people who lived in the same tower could possibly interact so little, and by day six of her imprisonment she was more or less used to being bored almost all of the time. However, one precious thing still evaded her – sleep.
She'd just delivered her last cup of the day when she curled up in a large, soft shirt she'd found in the dresser, ready to attempt sleep one more time. Outside the door, there was a brief movement, which she ignored. That was, until the door swung open. She sat up straight in bed, completely alert. Through the darkness, she couldn't recognize who it was.
"Dalamar?" she whispered, hoping she wasn't wrong. Raistlin had never come into her room, and if it were anyone else she was certain they'd be some undead being of her Shalafi's ready to suck her soul of her body.
"Shh. Get a light on," he whispered back, creeping into the room. Relieved, she grabbed a match from her bedside table and lit a candle, tugging the shirt lower over her thighs and gathering the blanket around her.
"What're you doing here?!" she demanded, uncomfortable. It was far too late at night for her to be in bed, half clothed, alone with a man. The light settled on Dalamar as he came closer and her question was answered – in his hands were two glass bottles, and on his face was the devious smirk of a toddler. Unable to help herself, she returned the grin.
"Thought you might be bored," he said, pulling the desk chair closer to the nightstand. He cleared away the things on it and pulled two glasses from the cabinet, pouring drinks. "This used to be my room," he said, giving a reason why he knew what was in the cabinet. Perhaps she could afford some indecency, for now.
"I assumed so. Where have you been?" asked Sikeen, grabbing her glass. Dalamar scoffed a bit.
"Here. Where else?"
"I mean, I haven't seen you." He blinked at her.
"I'd assumed you were avoiding me." She took a slow sip, eyeing him from beyond the rim of her glass.
"Avoiding the only person in this place who will have a conversation with me?" She paused. "Is this Silvanesti?" He raised a brow at her.
"You know your ale."
"Gets my mind off my job," she said with a saccharine smile. A look of distaste crossed Dalamar's features.
"I'd nearly forgotten you slaughter people for a living." Sikeen quickly downed the rest of her drink and poured herself another glass.
"Wouldn't be here otherwise," she said, feeling a slight buzz already. Dalamar nodded solemnly. "Let's play a game." He raised a brow at her.
"What sort of game?" he thought, unable to control his mind's wandering. She drank nearly to the bottom of her glass and placed it delicately on the table, wiping at her lips. Tonight should hopefully make up for the last few days of boredom.