"With all due respect, your majesty, that's kind of stupid of you." Celeste said, raising an eyebrow slightly. "It's my turn to tell you that you owe me nothing. I put myself in danger willingly, in an attempt to keep you and the other people in the room out of harm. It didn't quite work like I'd planned, but when do things ever. I will ask, though…if you're having your magic blocked, how could you expect to be able to control it? If you don't know the magic you're using, it tends to use you."
"No, I…" Soren shook his head. "It's complicated…my magic is…passed down through the family line, like my eyes. But it's only supposed to…only one per generation, at the most, is supposed to have it. And it's always fire." he hesitated. "But my sister, Alana…she had this sort of magic too. Hers was water. And our…water kills fire. And that's what her powers did to mine. Every time our magic was active…I started to fade." he shrugged slightly. "And it's still…like that. Even though she's been dead for five years now. I still can't use my magic without…bad consequences."
Celeste's thinking face returned at Soren talked, and she nodded, continuing out the door and helping him down the hallway. She had never heard of anything quite like that, to that extent, but the chances that one of her books had information on the matter were high. "That's…strange, for sure. And you're sure it's definitely a physical thing?" The question…didn't make a whole lot of sense, despite it being obvious that it did to her.
He raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sure what you mean." He said softly. "But…" He sighed. "The issue was always with my magic. Not hers. So my parents had my magic blocked, so I wouldn't end up dying." Soren spoke slowly. He had been so jealous of Alana. That she was allowed to keep her magic, and he wasn't. Now he just wished she was alive still.
"So my thought process was probably off then." She mused, nodding. "I've known people who…lost the ability to use their magic after the death of a loved one. That was the first thing I could connect this to, but you answered the question." She grew quiet for a minute or two, before speaking softly, her eyes forward once more. "If you don't mind me asking, and feel free to let me know if you do, what…what was your sister like?"
"Alana?" He hesitated, coughing. "I…she was five years younger than me. Very sweet girl. She would have been 19, if she were alive. She loved her magic, but never meant to hurt me. She tried not to." He sighed softly, wincing as pain stabbed through him again. "She was always happy. Always laughing and smiling. She loved the gardens."
"She sounds wonderful." Celeste said, pausing to give him a moment, before continuing. She didn't quite know where they were going, so she hoped he would let her know if she took a wrong turn. "You got along well, as siblings?"
He nodded. "We did. She…died, five years ago. Went out for a ride, and then…of her four guards, only one came back. He died three hours after he came back. The Witch Bloods did it." He sighed softly. "She was 14, I was 19. She was essentially still a child." He shook his head, closing his eyes for a moment.
"Oh." She said softly, glancing behind them as though she could still see into the room. "Oh." That final 'oh' seemed to show something clicking in her mind, bits of things falling into place and making sense. "I would say that I'm sorry that she was killed, but that seems too empty."
Soren closed his eyes for a moment. "Yes." He said simply. He opened his eyes again and kept walking. "I've always wondered why they didn't go after me instead of her. I don't think I'll ever know." He shook his head slightly, biting his lower lip.
"You shouldn't…think about that." Celeste said quietly, glancing up at him for a moment. "Or it becomes all you think about." "Why her. Why did he kill her I was right there and he chose her instead of me and I didn't do anything-" "You probably won't know. But maybe it's best if you don't."
"It doesn't make sense. She was never going to inherit the throne; I was. It would have made more sense…" He trailed off as pain stabbed through his abdomen again. He coughed softly, and turned down the hall to get to Lena's rooms. "The healer I'm going to… she's a little odd, but the only one who…can fix me." He explained with a sigh.
Celeste stayed quiet, knowing she didn't have much to add that wasn't just hollow phrases and unnecessary filler. She glanced around as they turned down another hallway, adjusting her grip on Soren to support him better. "Odd? How so?"
"She's just…different." he knocked on the door, and it was opened by a short, older woman.
"Soren! Again?" She chided, leading them inside.
Soren nodded. "Yeah…" He said, sitting down wearily, one arm tucked around his stomach. "Help?"
The woman tutted, and turned to Celeste. "And who might you be? I'm Lena Crain." She introduced herself.
Soren sighed, slumping over onto his side.
"Celeste Sovanna." Celeste said, obviously a bit startled by the sudden introductions. Her eyes flickered to Soren, and then back to the woman, as she wrapped her arms around herself. The scars on her wrists, she had yet to realize, were in plain view now that her sleeves had been pushed up.
Lena nodded. She was middle-aged, and turned to the shelves and grabbing things. "Nice to meet you." She said.
Soren looked over at Celeste, and frowned. He reached out with a hand and tapped a finger on her wrist. "What happened?" He asked softly as Lena kept working. His face was slightly drawn with pain, and he kept one arm tucked around his stomach.
Celeste blinked, looking down at where he was tapping. And her face…closed off, somewhat, becoming more of a mask than anything, though her eyes were a giveaway. "Nothing big, nothing to worry about." Liar. "My father didn't like it when people spoke out of turn." She said it so casually, as though it was normal, the things he'd done and had others do to her. And for the longest time, she had believed that they were.
Soren studied her for a long moment. "That doesn't sound like nothing to worry about, Celeste." He said quietly. His face was difficult to read, partially due to the pain.
Lena hummed as she worked, not paying attention to their conversation.
“The past is the past, Soren.” Celeste said, her voice almost void of emotion. Her mask wavered just slightly, for a moment, revealing the face of a woman who had never quite gotten over being that scared little girl. ”You speak when I say you do, do you hear? I’m not quite sure you understand. Alan, try not to bruise her face.” “They’re just scars, right?”
"Yeah, and my sister's just a body in the ground." Soren replied. "No, Celeste. Scars…are memories on your skin." He said. "That's what Lena taught me, actually." He pulled the edge of his shirt up. Arcing across his stomach was a long, jagged scar. "When I got this…this was from my magic clashing with Alana's. It literally tore me open." He dropped his shirt back down, shaking his head. "It's a permanent reminder." He sighed, looking down. "I'm not explaining this well." He muttered.
Celeste blinked, her eyes widening as he lifted his shirt. She wasn’t the only one of them with scars, then. “It…tore you open?” She whispered, her fingers tracing the scars around one wrist. She was quiet for just long enough that it seemed like she wouldn’t speak again. And then she did, her voice soft and barely audible. “My father…would shackle me by my wrists, and sometimes my ankles, when I made him mad. He would let men into the room, prisoners of his and soldiers, allies, anyone willing. He told them not to-to touch my face-“ She couldn’t keep going, her fingers closing around her wrist tightly as she pressed her lips together, shaking slightly. “I don’t want these reminders, Soren.”
Soren sucked in a breath. "Oh…I'm so sorry, Celeste." he said softly, looking down at the ground. "I…I'm sorry." He bit his lip. Shit. What do I say?! He took a quick breath, closing his eyes for a moment. "I didn't mean to… I'm sorry." He stammered, looking at her for a moment, then away again.
Celeste shook her head, taking a moment to gather her voice back. Hands on her hips, bruising fingers gripping tight and moving down, a hand at her throat and now she couldn’t breathe, but gods, she would love to be unconscious right now- “Don’t-please don’t apologize. It’s not your fault, it’s mine.”
He looked up at her. "Celeste, no. It is not your fault, okay? I…it was not your fault, it is never the victims fault." He said quickly, wanting to put a hand on her shoulder or something, but worried that that might make things worse. Instead, he linked his fingers together in his lap, biting his lip. "Celeste, if…if you ignore everything else I say, listen to that. It is not your fault."
He seemed so sure of that, so much that she wanted to believe him. But it had been beaten into her, carved into her skin, that it was nobody’s fault but her own. Her eyes flickered over his face, searching, before she nodded once. “I-I want to believe that.” She said softly, her eyes settling on his.
