Seventeen

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Standing in front of door to Fyra's rooms, Cirain hesitated. She hadn't looked back at him once, and didn't seem to hear him call her name before she walked to her chambers as if possessed. He desperately wanted to see her, tell her she didn't deserve to suffer for what she couldn't control. His hand refused to reach up and knock the door, though his heart wanted nothing more.

A voice in his head was asking him, what will you say, what will you do? He thought she had gone through much during her life on the streets, as a thief, but in light of the marks branding both of her wrists, he had no doubt it went far beyond what he had thought. Noting in his life had even grazed the surface of the suffering she would have faced as a slave, and a woman slave no less. Anything he said would be overshadowed by the fact that he was a pampered prince who knew nothing of the world.

She could have killed those who dared enslave her with a flick of her hand, and yet she hadn't. She had lost many people, and been hurt by yet more others, including the soldier that filled her face with so much pain. There was age in her young eyes, age and wisdom that was carved into her soul through suffering. She wouldn't use her gifts to save herself from rotting in a cage, yet she had used them to save him. Her scars were so much more than skin deep, yet she was the one saving him. He would never have the words to tell this beautiful, broken girl how much her life brightened the world.

She was safe in her rooms, at least for the moment, and that was all he could offer her. With a heavy heart, he dragged his unwilling feet to his own chambers, hoping that the new dawn would bring hope to both of them.

•••

King Henry of Aceria cursed under his breath. This damn ball was causing so much more trouble than it was worth. First this foreigner swaggers in, brining with her an air of  uneasiness that settled over the room. Then she had to do her little magic trick. And now, all these infernal people were causing a fuss. If only they knew how many magic users actually resided in the castle; how many members of their own families had diluted magical gifts that could be channeled, with time and effort. Yes. This ball was just the end to a wonderful week.

He wasn't worried that the girl would cause trouble, two guards had undoubtedly already brought her to the tower until further notice, as they had been told to do with any exposed sorcerer after a magical mishap.

The king whispered to one of the guards beside him to send for Athan and René. Both were talented mind manipulators in his service. Athan, a boy he had been discovered in the town outside the castle gates, could project illusions onto the threads of reality, blending air and spirit elements into a seamless falsity. René could manipulate memories with spirit magic. Both abilities were limited, but when the two used them together, they could bend nearly anyone's mind to the king's liking.

Those whom the King had entrusted with sensitive information pertaining to sorcerers, the army, and other plans, had undoubtedly already left the room. If they hadn't, they should be properly marked in order to avoid the memory extraction that was about to commence.

The spirit element was a strange and twisted one; it allowed its user to shape and change human perception, dealing with thoughts and the spiritual connections between people and objects. Any element empowered the person who possessed the ability in a unique way.

Being able to change the memories of others was an extremely useful commodity that was used with care. If the person channeling magic overextended their power, they would die. He had learned that the hard way. Spirit users were rare, and finding an adequate one with useful abilities was even harder.

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