Fyra (First Draft)

Twenty Eight

When Tori noticed that her roommate had awakened, she gave her a smile. Fyra stared at her vacantly for a moment before reciprocating. Tori felt bad for the girl. She could sense that the other fire user had much weighing on her, and now that she had been admitted into the military unit of magic users, she would only be pushed further and further toward the brink. Tori knew this from personal experience.

As the eldest of five children, it had always been her job to provide both financial and emotional support for an orphaned group of ragamuffins. Oftentimes the responsibility weighed on her, affecting her outward appearance and demeanor. Fyra, despite the smile, was exposed due to the shadows lurking beneath her eyes and the dejection in her sinking posture. Hands unable to find a moment of peace fiddled with her fiery hair, letting her unrest shine through hastily closed shutters.

Suddenly, Fyra rose from her bunk, bringing a hand to mask a yawn.

"Someone was looking for you yesterday." 

Frya wasn't sure she wanted to know, but the beginning of a question formed on her lips.

"Who..."

Her voice faded, because she didn't really need to ask. It was the prince that she never should have befriended, the prince whom she now knew was kind, if not a little strange. He was by no means perfect, getting drunk with ladies under the mask of nightfall, shirking all protocol to invite an outsider to an Autumn ball.

Tori said nothing at first, but after a pregnant pause, she spoke. "Prince Cirian...he--"

"Thats not allowed is it? I mean he shouldn't be seeking me out should he? Does he even know about..." She raised her hand to cover her right wrist, clenching the runes that marred her freckled skin.

"I'm not exactly well informed," Tori lamented with a sigh. "I just heard this through the grapevine."

"Thank you for letting me know," said Fyra, sitting back down on her bed.

Tori watched her from the corner of her eye as she undressed. Concern wormed its way into her thoughts, and she sighed. Tori wasn't usually the type to be emotionally invested in other people. It distracted her from what she needed to get done.

Though Fyra may not have the stress of hungry children relying on the meager wage she would receive, the mastery of her magic would prove to be a difficult task. Tori could already see that she was an emotion driven person. Safe magical practice required control of one's emotion, and magic driven by feelings was often regarded as inferior. Most sorcerers preferred detachment, though someone who was so seemingly kind and empathetic may find a unique strength in her emotion.

Fyra's magic had caught Tori by surprise. It was a wilder brand, a separate being that threatened to consume the girl and all she was. It was an orange flame speckled with a burning blue center. It was a testament to the girl's brilliance, though the blue could be a result of her underlying sadness.

When she finished dressing, Tori turned to walk out of the room. As her hand reached to the doorknob, she turned over her shoulder.

Tori stared at her a moment. "Are you alright?"

"I don't know anymore." Fyra gave her a small smile, one fraught with uncertainty and sadness.

Tori nodded, reciprocating the smile with one of understanding and then walking out.

As she left Fyra let the damn break. Tears flowed despite her desperate attempts to stop them. She couldn't tell herself why she was so weak, yet she also knew that she couldn't stop the silent stream of pent up frustration.

A storm of uncertainty had descend upon Fyra. Part of her wanted to see him, but the overwhelming majority of her being was afraid. It was impossible to gauge his potential reaction, considering that she wasn't even sure why he would want to see her.

One thought was nagging her now that she was forced to face the mirror that reflected her frantic mind back to her. She had been repressing the question since the arrow had appeared in the air. 

Who the hell had tried to assassinate Cirian, and why? 

No one seemed to be discussing it, and the rumor mill on the subject was dry. She had attempted to ask Tori and some of the others about it on the way back from the spar, but they had clammed up, almost as if they were being coerced into silence. She was in the dark about something that everyone was more than hesitant to reveal.

It was possible that it had something to do with the supposed dark guild that Eli had mentioned. It was impossible for any normal assassin to have attempted it, considering that the arrow fired had been composed of ice. It was also unlikely that they had attempted the murder in attempt to satisfy some personal grudge. The potential murderer had chosen a specific time and place that they would act, and that had huge significance.

Whomever had done it wanted to cause a panic, and assassinating the prince in the middle of a public social event would certainly provide the uproar they were seeking.

While the danger seemed to have passed, there was no guarantee that Cirian was completely safe. In fact, another attempt at his life was likely in the near future.

Fyra ran her hands through her hair, inhaling. As her lungs filled with the new air of morning, she wished that all her troubles could dissipate. Despite wishing with all her might, as the air fled her lungs, all the same questions pressed on her mind.

All the same, sitting here doing nothing wouldn't help solve any problems or answer questions. She stood once again, letting determination energize her weary soul. She would solve her problems no matter how impossible it may seem. 

She hadn't planned on staying in this castle long enough to let herself become attached to anyone or anything, but now that she had, she couldn't run.

She would clear the air with Athan, and hear what he had to say, no matter how much she wanted to knock him out with a solid punch. 

She would face Cirian and any impossible questions he may have. She was going to master her magic, while discovering what the king's intentions were in creating a secret army.

It was time to find her place in the world; time to make a stand.

It was time to finally stop running.