-Chapter 8-
The Legacy of Trust
Evie awoke, reluctantly, her shoulder blooming with pain where it was pressed into the hard cot. Voices were piping up around her, arguing in hushed tones. She kept her eyes shut, listening to their debate. The person speaking sounded like a child or a teenager, a boy, but his voice was low and menacing.
"- are you thinking, Em? Sharing your bed with her? You know what she is."
A murmur of general assent followed this statement, coming from all around the room. The closest person sounded like they were standing at the foot of her bed.
"And what is that supposed to mean?" This was the voice of the kind girl she met before, Emmaline. She was somewhere right behind Evie, and she sounded angry. Was it just last night she had found herself staring down the stark side of the tower? Evelyn didn't chance opening her eyes, but it felt like morning light was splashed across her face. "She's a little girl. All we know about her now is rumor. I found the poor thing crying, what would you have me do?"
"Do what the rest of us did and ignore her." The lower voice answered, with an unconcealed note of disgust. "At best, she's dangerous. At worst, she's-"
The words cut off abruptly, everyone hushing, as the sound of clipped footsteps echoed outside the chamber. She felt the weight of Emmaline sinking back down next to her. There was the rustling and creaking of cots, like people scrambling to get back in bed, then a beat of silence followed by the squeak of a door opening. More footsteps.
A loud noise ripped through the quiet, like the whoosh of a fire, and the room blazed with light. Evelyn's eyes snapped open in surprise, and she saw that the walls were adorned with dozens of mounted oil lamps, all of which seemed to have lit themselves simultaneously. A figure stood before her in the middle of the room, illuminated by this sudden draft of flame. An older woman, maybe in her fifties but Evelyn couldn't tell, with her greying hair tied back into a pin-neat bun. She had sharp eyes and a severe set to her mouth, and she surveyed the room with a brisk intensity.
"Up and dressed," When she spoke it was in a voice so hollow and shrill that Evelyn thought it should belong to an owl, not a person. "Your lessons start in thirty minutes. If you haven't eaten by then, you'll stay hungry til lunch."
Her eyes swept the space again, this time landing on Evelyn's. She took three long, fast steps, somehow closing almost all the distance between them. She wore fitted robes of deep red, giving way to a golden skirt that fell to her ankles, secured at her waist with a single gold buckle. Her ostentatious outfit swished as she walked, catching and reflecting the firelight.
"You're awake," She loomed over Evelyn's cot, eyes narrowed and evaluating. Evie wanted to crawl under this awful woolen blanket and hide until she went away. "Get up and come with me, then."
The woman crossed her arms impatiently, raising one cool eyebrow as she waited. She didn't want to, but Evelyn shifted her hands under her, pressing into the mattress to lift herself up. She hissed through her teeth, feeling the sting of raw skin. Sitting up, she looked down at her palms, finding them red and scabbed over. On the knuckles of her right hand, purple bruises had formed around crescent moon cuts made by her own teeth. She couldn't see her knees under the too-big nightdress, but they felt much the same.
Emmaline was sitting up in bed behind her. She didn't quite make eye contact with the imposing woman, but she shot Evelyn an encouraging glance. Evelyn gulped, shifting her feet under her, and scooted off the low edge of the cot. The room around them was cold stone, no rugs to bring the place warmth, and took the shape of a half circle. One long, curving wall was lined with thin windows that looked out into storm tossed clouds.
Scattered haphazardly around the open space were dozens of mismatched bookshelves and bunk beds. Most of them were occupied by other children, all older than Evelyn. Their faces ranged from hostile to fearful, and a few of them wouldn't look at her at all, but none of their expressions were friendly. One boy, who appeared to be eleven or twelve with shoulder-length brown hair, fixed her with a stare of pure, undisguised loathing. She looked away quickly, wondering what she could have done to make them all hate her already.
The woman wrinkled her mouth in distaste, like there was something disgusting about Evelyn herself, before turning on her heel and stalking out of the room. She moved like a vulture, hunched and languid, ready to scavenge for easy prey. With a weight in her stomach, Evelyn kept her eyes down and followed her through a large oak door. Through it was another chamber, also lit by thin windows and oil lamps. There was a stone staircase with an iron rail going up to a taller level of the tower, and stairs set into the floor that curved and disappeared downward.
A door with a padlock was set into a wall to their right, and Evelyn scurried to keep up with the fast clip of the woman's steps as they approached it. A ring on the woman's belt jangled with dozens of keys, all different sizes and colors. Evie's thoughts buzzed with the childish curiosity that a ring of mysterious keys never fails to incite, her fingers itching to grab for it. The woman reached a hand to her belt, thumbing through the keys and removing an old looking bronze one that matched the lock on the door.
Looking at that lock, for a moment Evelyn was back in the kitchen with Max, hearing the scratch of metal as he picked the lock to the larder. Her throat closed around a lump, tiny hands balling into fists. She felt weak, and more than a little ill, and was suddenly taken by the need to sit down. There was a delicate click as the key turned in the lock, and the door swung open before her.
This room was unlike anything she'd ever seen outside of the Fade. It was small, the ceiling set at a slant to accommodate the stairs above it, and every wall and surface within was covered in interesting things she'd never seen before. Intricately carved metal lamps of different sizes hung from the ceiling, giving off flickering orange candlelight that sometimes hit the walls in prismatic splashes of a dozen more colors. Open books and half-finished notes filled a large wooden desk and a bookshelf behind it, and a map of what appeared to be constellations hung on the wall. A boundary of invisible magical energy crackled at the doorway, Evelyn didn't have an explanation for how she knew it was there.
The woman brushed past her without a glance, sweeping into the little room, clearly expecting her to follow. Evelyn did, shivering at the fizz of spell energy as it passed over her. Once through the boundary at the door, all sensory input changed. The air, clean and damp before, now hung heavy with the scent of incense. It was warm in here, a fire snapped and sputtered from a stove in the corner across from her. As she watched it, the small door opened and a tongue of flame shot out, snatching a log from a small pile and yanking it inside. Evelyn yelped, but the woman appeared not to have noticed, sighing through her nose and settling herself behind the huge desk. She didn't say anything, but she waved a hand and a chair was pulled out, so Evelyn shuffled forward and sat.
She tried, but couldn't keep her eyes from wandering around, awestruck. On closer inspection, the celestial map was covered in notes that constantly shifted, pen lines scratched themselves out, unwriting and rewriting equations between the little points of stars. A globe beside the chair she was in was hand painted with a map of Thedas. It revolved itself on a metal frame, with several smaller orbs spinning around it at varying speeds, all hovering in midair. She wanted to touch one, just to see if it would fall out of the air or bounce back like it was on a string, but she felt the presence of the woman burning into her.
"I am Senior Enchanter Lydia," The hollow, birdlike voice startled her out of her reverie, and Evelyn's eyes snapped to the woman's. They were steel grey and sharp, but apathetic. "Your lessons will begin today, and proceed every morning at eight o'clock. There are no exceptions to this rule."
She spoke like she was reading a passage she had read many times, from a book she didn't enjoy. As she did so, she glanced over some of the papers on her desk, apparently not considering Evelyn worth her attention. Evelyn swallowed, incense clouding into her throat and making her feel woozy.
"Excuse me," She said, speaking for the first time since her panic attack last night. Her voice came out in a croak, barely more than a whisper, but Senior Enchanter Lydia's eyes refocused on her and narrowed. "I was just wondering where I am?"
This drew an unexpected sneer from the Senior Enchanter, as she called herself. Evelyn had never heard those words before. She leaned onto one elbow, craning her neck around a stack of books to get a better view of Evelyn, who could barely see over the desk.
"What exactly do you mean by that?" She held eye contact like she was searching for a lie, and something about her gaze made Evelyn feel guilty. Coughing a little, her throat stinging, Evelyn faltered as she tried to figure out how to respond.
"What lessons am I meant to be taking?" Was all she could think to ask. She was still reeling over the loss of her brother, everything else was slow and sticky in her head.
"Do you really not know anything? I can't imagine your parents were that negligent." Senior Enchanter Lydia's stare bore such judgement on it that Evelyn wanted to shrivel up and blow away on the wind. She opened and closed her mouth, but couldn't speak. The Senior Enchanter waved a dismissive hand, eyes falling back to the papers on her desk. "No matter. You're currently in the tower of the Circle of Ostwick, the Templars at your residence discovered your abilities and brought you here. You'll begin training today."
"My... abilities?" Evelyn gaped, confusion scrawled across her face. The reaction this earned from the woman was as jarring as it was mortifying.
"Do not think for a moment that I believe your innocence act." The Senior Enchanter stated, malice laced under every syllable. "Any mage with the power to do what you did would have known what they were. It's simple: you've been hiding, and you were found out."
Mage. That's what the Templars had called her, too. The word turned itself over in her mind once, then twice, trying to make the pieces fit together. Then, all of a sudden, they did. And Evelyn felt the full weight of her foolishness crash down around her.
Someone might think that was magic. They'd take you away.
Max's words echoed in her ears, the old fear springing back up easily. Memories started rushing through her head. Her dreams, her wolf. Her brother's cold, dead hands around her neck. She looked around the room again, so clearly magical in nature, and felt the heat of embarrassment as she realized how stupid she'd been.
Somehow she'd always thought her dream life and her real life would never touch. She'd thought magic was just something she saw when she was asleep. She'd convinced herself Max was overreacting. This was all her fault. The realization brought bile to the back of her throat.
"Hold out your hand." Senior Enchanter Lydia snapped, shaking Evelyn to the present once again. Too rattled to question the order, she stuck out her right hand, palm up. Lydia grabbed her wrist tightly with one hand. Her skin was soft but her grip was strong, and before Evelyn thought to try and pull back, she had taken a letter opener in the other and cut a clean slice across Evelyn's palm.
Evelyn screamed, trying to pull away, but the Senior Enchanter's grasp was like iron. Tears ran down her face, clouding her vision as she struggled in vain. The woman set the letter opener down in a cloth and reached below her desk, producing a small vial. Slowly she tipped Evelyn's palm, now filled with a growing pool of blood, over the rim of it. The blood ran down into the little bottle, filling it with thick darkness. Evelyn shut her eyes against the sight, remembering the feeling of Max's blood in her slippers.
Lydia set the vial down on her desk, holding Evelyn's bloody hand in hers. Evelyn started to feel heat in her palm, and the telltale hum of magic. She watched the Senior Enchanter begin to glow where she touched her, a soft blue light emitting from the skin of her hand. Then, the burning started.
A searing pain, worse than the knife itself, ripped across Evelyn's palm. Fire, tearing through her nerves and scorching the bones in her hand. She cried out, pulling hard to try and free herself. As quickly as it started, the burning shifted to an intense itching, and a feeling like bugs crawling through her skin. Underneath all of the discomfort, she could feel the skin on her hand changing.
The itching dulled into a tingle, then a buzz that lingered and traveled up her arm. Wordlessly, Senior Enchanter Lydia wiped the blood off her hand and released her, as though nothing had happened. And, inspecting her hand, she saw no wound to indicate that it had. Evelyn sputtered, turning her fingers over and over in front of her, sniffling through leftover tears.
"What was that for?" She asked, hysteria creeping into her voice, as soon as she could speak again.
"This," The Senior Enchanter replied, corking the vial and storing it in her robes. "Is your phylactery. If you ever get the notion in your head to try and escape, your phylactery will allow us to find you. One of the Enchanters will know your location at all times. I'd suggest you get used to it here, Miss Trevelyan. You are dismissed. Being late for any lessons will have consequences."
She waved her hand again, already back to focusing on her notes, and the door to the strange little office swung open. Evelyn stayed seated for a moment, utterly rattled, palm still aching, until Lydia made an impatient noise and startled her out of her chair. With nothing else to do, she slowly stumbled back out the door.
As soon as she passed back through the sizzling magic at the entryway, the door slammed shut behind her, knocking a draft of warm, incense-heavy air into her back. She startled, stumbling back on one foot as she turned, just in time to see the padlock flip itself shut. The bronze key still nestled in the keyhole gave a sharp turn, locking itself with another click, before vanishing into thin air.
Evelyn stared at the door in slack disbelief, unable to comprehend what had just happened, or any of the events of the last day. Realizing how little she knew of this world, how sheltered she had been until now, was overwhelming enough. She had no idea how she had gone from being Evelyn of House Trevelyan, to a dangerous, hated prisoner. One thing, though, she knew with a certainty that roiled in her gut like poison. She was never getting out of here.