Bright Flame, Deep Shadow (lesbian story)

Hestia

"Hestia," Martel says gently. He snaps his book closed.

"Yes, sir?" I reply, feeling my stomach sink. I detect a lecture coming on.

He doesn't say anything for a moment, just takes time to arrange the papers on his desk into neat piles. Not that it could get much neater. Then he folds his hands in front of him. "Do you need to talk about what happened this morning?" He nods at my essay. "You haven't written anything for a while. Normally when you get bored, you leave, but tonight you haven't. That indicates that you might want to talk to me about something."

"Are you sure you're a Shadow?" I say. "You're talking like some kind of Psychic."

Martel's smile falters slightly. "No, Hestia, I promise you I am an Ethereal. Just not a very powerful one."

I nod. "Like me. You've said."

He laughs, but I don't see what's funny. "I'm probably even weaker than you."

"At least you're good at other stuff, like teaching. I'm not even that smart." Martel's told me he hates it when I talk about myself like that, but I can't help it if it's true.

He gets up and pulls up a chair on the other side of my desk. He leans in close to me, like he's about to share a secret. "You are being too hard on yourself, Hestia," he says, just like I knew he would. "You have just demonstrated a marvellous ability to sidetrack a conversation and change the subject completely. Didn't I say you'd make a good politician?"

I nod, but my eyes are fixed on the knots in the wood of the table. He did say that, but we both know it will never happen. Councillors can write essays on their own.

"Now, are you going to talk to me? Or will I have to send you to Nurse Mentha?"

I look up sharply, but I sag with relief when I see the teasing glint in Martel's eyes. Nurse Mentha is supposed to be our school's student advisor, but her advice usually boils down to, 'don't have problems'.

"I'm..." I fidget in my seat. I guess I could tell him part of the truth. I wouldn't be lying. "I'm just upset about Arabella, sir," I say meekly. It sounds even weaker out loud than it did in my head. "I liked her." Is that a lie? I don't know.

"Really?" Martel fixes me with that piercing gaze again, and I feel like a mouse cornered by a cat. "I didn't know you two were close."

"W-we weren't," I stammer. Something in the way Martel is looking at me makes my heart leap into my throat. He knows, a little voice at the back of my head screams. He knows what you did. "We didn't really know each other, but that doesn't mean I didn't like her."

"I see. If you had been close, would you still have reported her as a spy for the Flames of Astia?"

"I—I never!" I fight to keep my voice under control when all I want to do is run far away.

"Tanvik told me," Martel says simply. "Hestia, I am not angry at you." My hands start to tremble, and for a moment I think he's going to put one of his hands over mine, but he just folds them in front of him instead. "I know you. You are not a malicious girl. I want to understand why you would do such a thing. I know you must have a reason. It may not be too late for Arabella. If I can understand, I can help you sort this out."

His words are so much more than I deserve, and they make me want to collapse into sobs. Fuck the wall. But I manage to hold it together for long enough to tell him everything; about Ardyan going off in free periods; about the archive under the school he spends all his time in while he searches for some book; about Davorin, hiding in a cave with a dragon. The whole time, Martel's face remains impassive.

Until I mention Davorin. Then, he looks like he's seen a ghost.

"Wait," he cuts me off, and I fall silent instantly. I've never heard his voice this sharp, this urgent, this afraid, before. "Davorin. Did he say his last name? Where he was from?"

"No, sir, I've never met him myself."

"Metal arms..." Martel whispers. He stares off into the distance, his eyes unfocussed, but his expression is one of pure horror. "Hestia, you are not safe. Come with me."

"Where are we going?" I yelp as Martel grabs my arm and half-drags me out of the classroom, leaving my essay on the desk.

"I need to take you somewhere safe," he mutters. "We'll go to my office."

"Why?"

"It's harder to break that lock than one on a classroom door," he says grimly.

I struggle to keep up with his long strides as he leads me through the corridors of the school and up the stairs to Lour Castle, then across the courtyard and to the Teacher's Keep. Luckily it's late, and everyone seems to have gone to bed.

"Couldn't you just leave me in my room?" I whisper as we ascend the winding stairs, his iron grip still crushing my arm.

He shakes his head, long braid swinging. "There's a master key. You'll be safer here."

"Do you think someone will try to hurt me?" I ask as we stop outside a door several floors up.

Martel produces a key from a pocket in his black robe and unlocks it. He turns to me and sighs. "Yes, Hestia, I do. Later, I will explain exactly how I know. For now, though, I want you to stay in my office. I will lock the door—do not try to open it. I will be back for you later, when it's safe."

With those parting words, Martel gives me a gentle push into the room, and locks the door behind me.