Chapter Text
As the out of favour Vaude son, he knew they would never let him get a grimoire.
His spatial magic was simply the wrong kind. He tried to force it to be what they desired, but despite hours of struggling to bend mana into impossible shapes, he understood he would never control space as effortlessly as his brother.
The night he reached this conclusion he had fallen onto the thin sleeping mat with mana exhaustion so severe that the room spun, and his head pounded. He had thrown up, and all he wanted to do was sleep, but he was too on edge from the punishments and repeated failures. As he lay there, he finally accepted that his magic would always be wrong, no matter how hard he tried. And if his magic was useless, there was no point to his continued existence.
His adrenaline-fueled panic settled eventually. Yes, his magic was wrong, but it had been wrong since it manifested. Even if he had spent years hoping to make it as good as his brother’s, the adults must have known it was impossible. And yet, he was still alive. That meant he had a use beyond his magic. What was it? His nine year old brain struggled for the answer as his body shuddered through the worst of the mana depletion.
He fell asleep no wiser.
His brother’s mother supplied the solution a week later. Seated around the dining table in the large white tiled kitchen she handed him an empty plate while the others had plenty. “You’ll eat when your brother addresses his areas for improvement,” she said as she sat down to her meal.
Motivation. His magic was useless, but his suffering was not. He went to bed hungry, and if his brother apologised, he did not hear it. What did it matter? He buried his anger and survived.
So, he knew they would never let him get a grimoire.
It was almost a relief, when, approaching his fifteenth birthday, there was a knock at his door long after it was usually locked. A key turned and it was pulled open to reveal his father standing in the hallway. There was a length glittering rope in his hands. He did not speak.
The rope was slick around his wrists as his father secured the knots. The enchantment upon it was traced in the shape of fine bolts of lightning and it made his skin crawl. It was designed to feedback the mana he used, arcing to the earring he wore and turning spatial magic into a hellish agony running across his skin. They had forced him to try a spell while bound, and he had remembered the unconsciousness that followed the pain as a blessed relief. His brother’s mother had woken him a day later and that had been unpleasant.
Once the knots were tight, he stood at his father's bidding. The instinct to resist was long beaten out of him. The idea may have flickered across his consciousness, but he knew better than to even give it consideration. They always seemed to know.
Their destination would be the training area in the basement. This took them past the identical room next to his that was his brother's. The door was open and the room empty.
Damn.
He was not afraid of dying. In fact, escaping from Tota and the family felt like it would be a relief. But if his brother was being dragged into it, they would be making it a lesson and that was always painful. His shoulders slouched, but he never slowed his step as he walked the opulent carpets.
They were met by his brother's mother at the closed door to the training area. She smiled as though he was prey and she wanted to know what he tasted like. He might be used to it, but it never failed to make his heart rate increase, even after all the years. He was the other woman's son, and she made sure he remembered that he was only alive on her sufferance. Her smile confirmed that his survival was going to end tonight.
"Ledior," she said. "You can leave him here."
"I... I want to be there."
"No. You don't," she said, and leaned in and kissed him lightly on the lips. It was a toying, sarcastic kiss. They all knew where her heart lay and it was not with Ledior, even though he was the father of her desired son. But, even with this knowledge, Ledior shivered with suppressed desire. If there had been any pity left, perhaps his sons would have pitied the wreck of their father as he lusted for a woman who played him like a fool. Tonight, there was no pity left.
Ledior Vaude dropped his hands and stepped back. His face was empty, as though he had already mourned what he would lose tonight.
They stepped inside. The door closed with Ledior Vaude on the other side.
The training area was the same as always. It was cold despite the comfortable warmth of the rest of the house. There was a large central space for magic use with desks pushed against the walls that held measures, timing devices and maps. There were knives with slim blades, and broader hatchets with cruel serrated edges. A half completed bow and arrow leaned against vials of coloured liquid and small boxes with stencilled labels. The only new items since his last visit were detailed anatomical models of the heart, eye and brain. Large intricate illustrations were stretched out along the length of the top table. He gave no sign that they filled him with horror, because this woman delighted in any show of fear. He would not give her that. He squashed the terror down and continued to walk.
There were two people standing at the top of the room, but he kept his gaze averted. He knew better than to meet their eyes, but he could imagine their expressions. One would be full of cool indifference, as though he was beneath even her contempt. The other would be his brother. He did not want to think about his brother and what part he would be expected to play.
There was a prod at his back and a hissed, "Get a move on. You can't put this off."
He wanted to reply that he was aware of this, but he knew better than to answer because it would give her the excuse she needed to punish him before this started. She did not need excuses when they were on their own, but it was different when she was being watched.
He reached the far end of the training room too soon. He stopped without raising his head.
The shove on his neck was accompanied with a sharp knock to the back of his knees. Even if he had wanted to resist falling to the ground, there would have been no way to prevent it with his hands bound by the enchanted rope at his back. He took the weight of the fall on his shoulder, which was better than a bleeding nose and cut lip again.
His face was forced into the cold stone floor. “Keep your head down, whore's son," his brother's mother said in his ear. "Stay in the dirt where you belong." He could not breathe but he did not resist. It would only make it worse.
Another voice said wearily, "Leave him alone. You're like a cat toying with your food. It's unbecoming."
The reply was sulky. "You said this would be fun."
"There are plenty of other toys to play with. This one has a more important purpose."
The voice at his neck tutted, but the pressure was released. "I'll want one of those toys."
"I have just the thing in mind. But later, dear." Then the speaker changed her tone as she addressed him. "Boy. Get up. You're no use on the ground."
Carefully, in case he provoked the woman at his shoulder, he manoeuvred onto his knees. He kept his head down.
"Look at me," she said.
He could not put it off any longer. He raised his head.
She stood in front of a desk, as neat and professional as always. Her tidy dark hair was swept back behind her ears, highlighting the plain hooped earrings in the lobes. Her grimoire sat in its holder alongside the bound ledger that she never let out of her sight. She might have been a schoolteacher or an accountant.
She took a step forward and slipped her index finger under his chin to tilt his head back. Her fingertip ghosted across his skin to touch the earring he wore, and he felt the spark of magic connecting the plain golden hoop with its maker. It burned full of her magic, and he tried not to give away how much it hurt, but he probably failed. “I hardly need to remind you, but your pathetic magic is no use here. Do not be tempted to make use of it.” He thought of what had happened the last time he had tried a spell with the rope around his wrists and knew he would not try that again. Had she done something to the earring too? There was a final crackle of electricity, then the burning eased. “It is rather a shame we could never get you to use your magic properly, because you have a hunger for it, don’t you? But I knew you were too useful to dispose of carelessly. Your existence is going to make things easier. Now, be polite and greet your brother."
He had been avoiding looking at the other person in the room, but he had to obey. He turned to the other figure. "Hello, Finral," he whispered.
Finral replied, "Hello Langris."
There was nothing more to say.
They used to talk. There was a special place on the roof of Tota where Finral would take Langris during their daily outdoor time. They sat beside the chimney stack and discussed everything. Dreams, fears, grumbles about lessons and the comings and goings of the wildlife around the house. Finral had talked of a future where they lived with their spouses. He would run a bakery and serve the cherry tarts to the nobles and peasants of Clover. Friends would visit, and they would invite each other for dinner where they could eat as much as they wanted. They would sleep on real beds. Langris had listened to those wild fancies, but never contributed himself. When Finral encouraged him, his mind went blank. Even then, Langris had known his future was this room and this final lesson.
"Fine. We've got that out of the way, can we get on with the good bit," Fiona Roulacase, Finral's mother said from her place beside Langris. She was bored, and a bored Fiona never meant anything good, especially for Langris.
Tondra Sturm, Fiona's lover, handler and the one who ran the family business tutted again. "You're not usually so impatient with lessons."
"I won't be impatient during the lesson. I'm looking forward to it." She prodded Langris's back to emphasise the point. "I'm bored of all the talking."
"The talking is part of the lesson. He needs to understand what we are teaching."
Langris felt Fiona cross her arms behind him. "Finral knows what the lesson is."
"I... I don't," Finral said. There was an undercurrent of fear in his tone that told Langris that this was a lie. Finral knew exactly what the lesson was going to be. It made him afraid. Any vestige of hope that Langris might have held that this was going to be a quick and painless death vanished at his brother's words.
Tondra heard the lie too. She sighed at Finral. "Very well. Although it's wholly unnecessary, let me remind you what we've been working on. I'm sure your brother will appreciate hearing it."
Langris would not appreciate it, and Tondra knew it. Finral would know it too as Langris glared at him. He wanted to tell them to get on with it. Fiona's presence kept him silent.
Tondra indicated the anatomical models and diagrams on the desk nearby as she addressed Finral. "You've already proved yourself adept at locational spatial magic. Your portals are fast and accurate. Since you got your grimoire, you've been able to create one anywhere you have been before. This is done by accessing spatial magic markers in the fabric of reality. You've been able to create portals into liquids and even some low-density solids. Theoretically, it may be possible to access the space with the atoms of a substance, but I've found no historical evidence that this has been done before in my research on the great spatial mages in the past."
"Boring," Fiona yawned. She pushed a fingernail into the back of Langris's neck until he could feel the warmth of blood drip down his skin.
Tondra ignored her. "As you're aware, the Roulacase family does not provide transportation services with fast and accurate locational portals. You are an assassin. You have mastered infiltration of the target's location. You are skilled at researching a subject, and you've learned to mask your mana signature to the point of invisibility. But you're resistant to the use of spatial magic for the conclusion of the act. You need to use your markers to open a portal and interrupt the target's physiology so that it is incompatible with life."
"You need to kill," Fiona summarised.
"But... but I told you. I can't make markers in people. I tried. I did all the lessons. It... it doesn't work. I've tried so hard and..."
God, Finral. Don't cry, Langris thought. Please don't make this harder than it is already going to be.
Fiona giggled and Tondra frowned. She moved around the desk to sit on the chair and neatened a pile of papers before continuing. "Now, I think we can agree that this is not true. The only barrier is your stubborn refusal to take the logical step. If you can make a portal into a fluid, you can do so into the fluid inside the heart. We will break that barrier tonight."
"No. I can't. I told you. I..."
Finral was a terrible liar. Fiona giggled again.
"Now. I considered using one of the work projects we have available, but I won't put amateurs in the field and risk exposure. Which leaves the question, who do we suppose you have spatial markers on already? Most likely someone that you've been in prolonged contact with, perhaps over years. You may not even be aware that you've placed the markers, but you will be able to access them. You don't need to answer. You understand my point."
"I don't. I don't have markers on Langris. I can't. I told you. I..."
"Hush," Tondra said. It was almost kind, as though she was reassuring a fractious animal. One that was being led to slaughter, Langris thought grimly. "We'll have the chance to test that, won't we."
She lifted a ceramic bowl from the table and swirled it so the contents clinked against each other, then tipped it out onto her hand. There were three small metallic spheres decorated in lightning motifs. A single spark arced between them, as though confirming that they, like the rope and earring, had been enchanted with Tondra's magic. Finral must recognise them, because his dread peaked. Langris had never seen them before, but he had not been present for Finral's lessons for a long time. Whatever they were, it could not be good.
"You've worked with these before, Finral. Today's lesson will be the same." She paused, then said. "Retrieve them."
"No," Finral whispered.
Fiona stepped past Langris. He could feel her magic activate as a small portal appeared above Tondra's hand. She spoke to Finral. "You might not have markers on your father's whore’s son, but I do."
The first of the small metal objects disappeared into the portal. Langris felt his magic resonate as something interacted with his body in a way he did not recognise.
Then, pain.
It was sharp, and sudden, like being stabbed by one of Fiona's knives. It was so unexpected that he was on the floor before he could even localise the source to his right thigh. He gasped for breath as the muscles spasmed and he probably cried out, but it was hard to be sure because all sound was drowned by the crashing of blood in his ears. He did not care if Fiona was watching, or even Finral. He wanted it to stop.
It felt like hours, but it was probably only minutes before the worst of the agony eased. His leg felt heavy and swollen but he was able to tune back into the words around him.
Tondra was speaking. "...no harder than our exercise yesterday. Retrieve the sphere from the anterior compartment of the thigh."
Finral tried to object, but all Langris could hear was Fiona giggling. She was close to his ear when she said, "I’ve wanted to do something like this to you since you were born, you know that."
Langris did know. He concentrated on breathing.
Tondra's reply to Finral was weary. "It is no different from the carcass we worked on yesterday. You are aware that the longer you leave it in, the worse the muscular damage and bleeding will be."
"I can't. I told you I don't have markers on Langris."
"And I've told you that this is a lie."
Through the blurring of the tears, Langris watched Tondra nod to Fiona. Finral shouted something, but his protest was useless. A portal opened above Tondra's hand, a metal ball vanished and this time there was no delay before the pain.
It was probably a good thing he was lying on the ground because his body jerked, and he hit his head hard. His hands fought to grasp at nothing. It had been difficult to breathe before, but this was different. That had been pain and panic. This was the muscles of his chest contracting against his lungs and no effort on his part would get them to move. The world dissolved into white. It felt like a knife twisting into his ribs. Blood filled his mouth and nose, choking him, but he could do nothing to force it clear. He could not move.
Something. Someone. The white agony was muddling his thinking. Someone shoved him onto his side and yanked his mouth open hard, to let the blood drain out. He could smell it and feel its warm wetness run down his cheek to pool beneath his face.
"No dying yet," Fiona hissed in his ear. "We're not done. "
It was as if her words were an order that could not be resisted. The muscles of his chest spasmed, forcing air into his lungs, then out again. He coughed, because there was more blood in his throat, and the pain peaked. Perhaps it was the agony, or the fear or adrenaline that kept him conscious, but over the sound of his own struggles to breathe he could hear Finral's continuing protests and Tondra's gentle instructions. "You know what you have to do, Finral. Reach into the markers that we know you have and remove the foreign bodies."
"He's going to die anyway," Fiona said loud enough for everyone to hear. "You're the only one who can stop this, Finral."
"But... But I can't. I told you. I know what you'll make me do. And I can't. I won't use my magic like that. Please. Stop. I won't do it."
"I know what you said. And I know what is true." Magic flared above Tondra's hand again as Fiona continued to speak. "One left. I could put it into his heart? His lung might heal after all. But if disrupt his heart with a metal object, the conduction pathways you’ve been learning will short circuit and he'll have a fatal arrhythmia and die. Quickly."
"Fiona. You're playing with your food again."
"Leave my son to me, Tondra. I know how his head works. He's thinking if he holds out long enough, we'll kill his brother, and he never has to use his markers. And I'm showing him that he's wrong. We haven't really started with your brother yet, Finral. I've been waiting for this since the whore birthed him and if I had to keep him alive for fourteen years, then I'm going to make sure he suffers for it."
Tondra said calmly. "There is only one way out of this. We know we don't want your brother to suffer more than necessary. Only you can take them out and make it stop."
Take them out. Please, Langris thought but could not say. Please take them out.
"I can't," Finral whispered.
"Fine," Fiona snapped. "I've never tried the brain before. Should be fun."
Everything exploded. Langris was not sure if it was him, or the world, and at that moment, it did not make any difference. What had been left of his vision dissolved, and he was left with agony and white noise. Muscles contracted so hard that he felt the bones break in his hands. His mouth was full of blood and saliva as his teeth clenched against his tongue and cheek. Breathing was a distant memory. Nothing else existed but the pain and the noise and the now.
Stop. Please. Take them out.
Voices. He had no way to understand the words, but as oblivion would not take him, the words followed him even if he could not make sense of them.
"Hmm. Unexpected. I really thought he would lose consciousness." Something crushed down against his hand and bones that were already broken shattered further.
"If you put it into the lateral ventricle of the brain, it won't affect cerebral function immediately. However, the displaced spinal fluid will cause pressure effects on the rest of the nervous system. That's what's causing the muscle spasms and the rigours. And pain, Finral. So much pain from tormented nerves. Never mind the lung full of blood and severed superficial femoral artery."
"Tough little creature. Shame his daddy wasn't as strong. I might have had more fun with him. So, Finral. Are you ready to stop this yet?"
"No... I told you. I told you I couldn't do it. You can't do anything else to him now. There isn't anything worse."
A pause.
"Oh, Finral. Don't you know me at all?" Tondra.
Magic. Lightning. The smell of ozone and the crackling of arcing electricity. Burning at his wrists and ear.
"I made those spheres, and I made them metal for a reason. Do you know why?"
No answer.
A tutting noise. "They conduct electricity, Finral. All I need to do is the slightest magic, and my lightning will transmit to them. He’s conscious, and every pain before now will be nothing compared to electricity directly to the brain and lungs. Are you prepared for that? I don't think your brother is."
"No. Don't. Please"
"Remember, this is your fault, Finral. You could have stopped it at any time. Lightning magic: Distant thunder."
There was nothing but the smell of ozone and burning flesh. The crackles of electricity surged. There was pain like nothing that had gone before. It crashed in like a tsunami wave, obliterating everything in its path. His consciousness was destroyed by the power. At last, there was darkness, and finally nothing.
It was over.
-
Quiet.
No lightning. No voices. Nothing. Floating. This must be what dying felt like. It was not so bad.
"It's done?" A male voice. Familiar. Quiet.
"Yes. It's finished." Female. In charge.
"Did you... did you get what you needed?"
"Hmm. I think so. He resisted for longer than I predicted, but the lesson was taught." The sound of metal objects swirling around a ceramic bowl.
"And... and what about... about what's left."
"Oh, yes. I'm afraid we made a bit of a mess. You know how she gets when she's enjoying herself."
"Yes. May I." Pause. "Can I..."
Irritation. "Spit it out. What do you want?"
"I... I'd like to say goodbye."
"Do whatever you want. We're finished. There's nothing useful left now. Obviously. The lightning destroys the normal anatomy, so the corpse isn’t even any use as a specimen. Clear it out and make sure the floor is scrubbed. I dislike the smell of blood. We'll require the room tomorrow after this breakthrough. Don’t remove the earring."
"Thank you, ma'am."
A door closing. Hesitant footsteps coming nearer.
Mumbled words. Closer. "Sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
Touch. Pain. Take them out, Finral. Please.
An intake of breath. A single word. "You..."
Hesitation. Quiet. Then magic.
Touch. Nerves on fire. Touch and movement and silent screaming. Make it stop. Take them out.
The magic of a portal. So familiar. His brother's magic?
Then it was gone.
He did not know anything more for a very long time.