It brought his attention. "I'm in a prison," he said, bearing an astounded look. Quickly, it was replaced with a smile. "How are you, Princess?"
Her hands lowered to her sides. "I thought you were harmed."
"I thank Wane for their integrity," he said, standing, pushing the flat chair closer. "Sit." He took the bed.
Is the bed less comfortable than the chair? Ivory kept mum, sat, and noted his sunken skin. Pallid, jaw flesh pushed into a caved hollowness. Undoubtedly, something had been done to him. A day in prison did not create such physicality. "What are they doing to you?"
He laughed, hoarsely sounding. "Nothing really," he said. "Maybe it's the weather, or maybe because I haven't prayed in a while."
"Why?"
"My teacher once said disturbing the Almighty with the impossible is an insult to the divine."
"Isn't the divine meant to be the manifestation of the impossible?" Ivory said. "If the possible is all they can do, that in the end makes them human. A caster, perhaps."
"Ahhh." He chuckled, "My Princess, such words can be seen as heresy."
"It's bootless regardless."
"Maybe it is, maybe it isn't," Kabel said. "But enough about me… did you learn it? Did you discover the emotion that will guide you in becoming that?"
Mentation imposed a memory.
A white chalk—streaking lines across the surface of reality. It shattered, surging back in a tide of incoherent words, meanings, logic, and sound. Mind arching. "Hmm." She made a sound. "I think I have… Power creates it all."
"People do," he said. "People do."
She nodded. People who wield power.
He watched for a moment, leaned back, and sighed. "That is good. I think I might be leaving the world as a better place."
"As Kabel the foolish."
"Does it matter?" He asked. "Eventually, doesn't everyone end up in the ground, or in your case, a pyramid?"
"If you died," Ivory corrected. "You will be burned."
"I see." He shrugged. "At least I'm not burned alive."
"You might be."
"Yikes!" He threw both arms up. "Can't you, my Grace, allow me such bravery?"
Ivory reins in the battling emotions, tears pooling at the edges of her eyes. "You don't need to be brave."
"Would you prefer I scream and spit?" He laughed. "No, no. I'm no extremist. This is the only thing I can do."
She broke.
"Mist it!"
He startled.
Her eyes met his. "I have two questions, no, three questions for you. Answer them truthfully."
"I might lie." He tried laughter, but her gaze deterred it.
"I believe Aspirants are forbidden from doing such."
"Not forbidden." He smiled. "But… ask."
Ivory watched him, noticed her body leaning closer. No. He must not see how much she cares. Poise returning, back straightening. "Answer these three questions truthfully, Kabel."
He smiled. "Yes."
"Do you love me?"
He is silenced. "What?"
"Answer the question."
He struggled for words, mumbling futile nonsense, eyes darting for mental comfort. Nothing in the dark space provided it; the Wanes assured the absolute isolation of both physical and mental energies. There was only him and her. Man and woman. Oddly, she noticed this as the moment that distinction had fitted into his awareness.
That is what scrambled his thoughts.
"Can I pose one to you?" He managed.
"You will ask me if I love you?"
He is stunned again. How carelessly she utters those words… that is what he would think. Ivory, however, had sealed the resulting emotions in a subterranean part of her conscious mind. Buried in recursive memories. He would see nothing from her expressions.
"Mist it." First time he cursed, sighed. "What a way to die," he said. "What a nice way, but an odd way to die."
"The answer—Kabel."
"Yes… okay. Yes," he said, voice echoing out as though wrenched out from his very soul. She guessed it, but hearing them… Lords, what strength she marshaled to confine her expressions and reactions. It was like a surge through the heart, enclosing all emotions into a singular swelling force. How long can she endure?
"I love you, Princess Ivory of Valor. Future Highness of the great clan." He looked to her, seeking a response to the words. Men did this action as though the mere acknowledgment of one's feelings instilled the same in the other.
"What did they do to you?"
"What?"
"The answer, Kabel."
"But I just sai—"
"I heard what you said… Answer me," she replied, adding, "Please."
A sigh escaped him, shoulders lowering in that tired gesture. "Nothing. I swear. Maybe it was the fermen bug; it devoured my force, I believe, what minuscule amount I may have."
"Your soulForce."
He nodded.
"I see… Final question." This she dreaded. "Would you renounce the Church?"
And the smile faded. "Why would you ask me that?" His tone sharpened.
"It is the only way."
"No," he said.
"Please, Kabel."
"NO!" He frowned. "How can I abandon the Church? No. Never."
"That is the used tool. That imprintment of false loyalty from old rewards. They gave you this; now you must love them."
His eyes slowly blaze with rage. "What does that matter?" He said forcefully. "Without the Church, without the Aspirant order, I would have been yet another starving boy in Bolt. No help was coming, not even the House of Black and their ravens cared enough to lend me bread; they even take from the beggars. Not the Church. It came for me. Cared for me. Taught me, and you want me to leave it?"
"You called me the prophesied savior." Ivory said, "Don't you believe me when I say this?"
"You think it differently, you and the Church. You should become one and the same. Not an opposing force. Now I know why you asked me that question. You aim to weaken me enough to accept it. Now, who uses a tool?"
"Please, Kabel."
"No, Princess." He said, "Don't ask this of me… I can't leave the Church, even if I die. Let me die. My soul will be glad in the heavens."
Ivory watched the man—a superstitious creature in the end. "Your soul will be nowhere." She stood. "I don't care about your reservations… You will renounce the Church, even if I have to resort to a silverAssurer. That is it."
"You cannot make this of me." His tone pleading. This would destroy him. "I will hate you for it."
"Do that," She said. "I will be Highness; by the end of my life, hundreds more would adopt the desire. I will seek bliss knowing you hated me first… But you must live, Kabel. After all, you have yet to truly make me smile."
The door streamed up, vanishing into the upper segment. Figures stood in greeting. Lord Wane, the other, Delney, and two Excubitors. "I have been summoned by Argon?"
"Yes," Lord Wane said. "It would seem your particular visit was not sanctioned by the Highness."
Ivory met his gaze, smiled. "Careful, Lord Wane, how will you explain this to me when I become Highness?"
Again, he scowled.
Now, Ivory stood elsewhere, a large metal door a bastion for what lay within. King's Room, some called it. A place only visited by the Highness of any clan, visiting or not. Every clan had one of such. A King's Room of ultimate privacy, a place for the rulers. She is no lord to reside in it, yet Argon had ignored that law. A right conserved only for him.
What he wanted was unequivocal; still, the prior conversation had left her internal self in a weakened cognitive state. Argon would be smarter now. Wonder if he would sense that advantage?
Likely.
Anyone could perceive it.
She managed a breath, attempted the heightening of mental prowess—to project her consciousness into an envisioned reality. To know what is to come. darkCrowns called it overthinking. What a dull term. But it sufficed in creating the necessary understanding. Waited, she did.
Argon would create plans to trap her—means to lead her into some decision. After all, a day and she would assume the inherited authority. Not as a Highness, but close enough that Mother would stand below her in that hierarchy. Granted, the power came from the collective views of the brightCrowns and the Merchant lords. Following tomorrow, they would develop desires for a bond. To gain favor from the future Highness—that was the source of her influence.
And the source of the imminent dangers. Now, more would find reasons to end her life. A thing to derive fortune from the opposing group. In this case, Aunt Illenna and Saedon maintained that converse position.
It bothers how similar Saedon was to Mel the foolish—perhaps a genetic outcome. To whatever divinity out there, she thought, I thank you for the exclusion. Indeed, she was thankful.
And the door trembled, dragging up in slow grating sounds, light spilling from the partially growing entry. Yellowish, red flickering lights… It increased, greeting with a humbling vastness. A chamber, four mountainous statues holding up the iron ceiling. They were kneeling stone men, hands pressed against the roof, frozen in an undeniable laborious state. Gray colored, bristling as though only recently been carved by a dreamShaper, no doubt. An aura of newness permeated it. Below was the vast chamber.