Bound (3 page)

She heard a sound, metal rattling on porcelain, approaching the door a moment before Ivanne entered the room carrying a tray with two covered plates in. She set the plates in front of each of them, whisked the covers off to reveal savory roast pheasant and vegetables. Fay didn't move until Ivanne left the room and had closed the door of the study behind her.

Ganson was watching her again as she reached for her fork. "You know, I always thought that you would become used to Ivanne as most people do, but if anything, it's gotten worse over the years. You always become so still when you see her. Why?"

Fay set the fork down and returned her hands to her lap, where she gripped the napkin she'd laid there. She considered how much she wanted to say as she twisted the cloth around her fingers. When she answered, she kept her voice quiet. "I always worry that there's nothing more for me than a life like hers. Ivanne seems happy enough as an unbound Magicia, but I don't think I could be in her place. But what if I never get a chance at more?" She took a deep breath and the rest flooded out of her before she could stop it. "You said that we would talk about it, and tonight might be our last chance. Professor, why do I refuse to chose a partner? It isn't as if I've never had a reaction. They've been weak, pale in comparison to how I've heard others describe their own, but wouldn't that be better than not being able to accomplish anything based on something so stupid as not having a partner at all?"

"Do you really want to be bound forever to someone you may end up despising for not being a worthy partner? I can tell you that there are those who regret the choice they make, but they cannot unmake it. Is it perhaps wiser to be choosey, to have a care who you make the offer to or accept it from? I wonder if we do a disservice to the children who come through the academies by pressuring them to make such an irrevocable choice that they have neither the knowledge, the experience, nor the wisdom to understand." There was a bitterness to his tone that she had never heard before. Ganson never discussed his own partner, and though she had always assumed it was out of sensitivity to her situation, she was beginning to think she might be wrong. After a moment, he went on, "Beyond that, Fay, you would not be the first person I’ve ever met to find their partner later in life. Those I’ve known who did so actually seem happier to me than those who jump at the first offer."

"I didn't jump at the first offer. Or the second. There have been a few," she admitted reluctantly as Ganson watched her closely, his surprise barely registering in his eyes before he controlled it. "I just can't imagine having chosen any of them. I tried, truly I did, Professor, but something inside me turned away before I could give it more than a cursory thought. While I'll admit I might find someone out there I'd have a more powerful reaction to, I somehow doubt it would make any difference. I'm not sure why I think that, but I do. For some reason, I find it incredibly difficult to consider partnering with anyone and I need to understand why, given the life it may condemn me to."

She could feel her emotions teetering at the edge of her control and struggled to calm herself. As if sensing this, Ganson didn't speak for several moments, pulling apart his own pheasant instead and taking a bite before responding. "Perhaps it's something more to do with your father, then, rather than simply a fear of being bound. You told me before that he impressed on you many times as a child the importance of choosing the right partner. While you know how much I dislike agreeing with him on anything, I'm not sure he's wrong about that. Putting that aside though, I have often wondered if those early lessons are the source of this hesitancy."

She found her mind cleared by having final spoken aloud her fears and worries. Able to at last think past these things, she considered closely what he was suggesting. Part of her was repelled by the idea that her father might still have any control over her behavior, but she forced herself to examine the possibility as she used her fork to pick at the carrots and beans on the plate. She took a bite to buy herself more time to think. Finally, she said, "No, I don't think it's that. Not entirely at least. Father said on many occasions that I should have the highest standards for a partner. That's always been the important thing to him, so far as I can tell. What you're suggesting is different, I think. And it doesn't matter, because I doubt either is the case.  This feels more general to me, almost like I'm avoiding it completely. I have trouble even thinking about it. When I was younger, I wanted to prove that you didn't have to have a partner in order to do well, and for the longest time, I thought that's all it was. That idea is still there for me, the desire to show everyone that I can be something without conforming to their vision of what my life has to be. But this last year, it's been harder to ignore the rest, especially this sense that there's more to it."

She hadn't forgotten the implication from their conversation before the reception that there was more that Ganson knew and she was trying to prod him toward telling her what it was. The thought had occurred to her the day before that he might be able to explain it all to her, but she saw the same misgiving in his face that she'd heard before in his voice. She was determined to get at least some of the answers though, so she watched him carefully. He kept silent for several minutes, not meeting her eyes. Eventually, he spoke, though with the greatest reluctance.

"So, now we come to this conversation. I think I'd always hoped we might somehow avoid this, even though I understood how necessary it is. Even today, I wanted to at least get through dinner without having to dig into this subject, but I should have known better. In four years, I've never known you to go slow when you could sprint. They told me I'd likely be the one to have to tell you, but I don't relish it." He paused, clearly gathering himself for something unpleasant and Fay wondered if she should stop him, only to realize that she couldn't. She needed to know. "It does have to do with Calder though. I've never told you why I dislike your father as I do, but I will have to now, for it involves what he has done to you, including the effect on your ability to decide certain things for yourself. When you were-" Ganson broke off as voices raised in argument erupted in the foyer.

The door of the study was thrown open and a man of average height with short salt and pepper hair stomped through it. His clothes were decently made but his style was obviously defined by indifference and they looked more than a little rumpled. A light cloak still hung about his shoulders, though Ivanne trailed after him, spluttering about his insistence on seeing Ganson immediately. He stopped beside the table, his dark eyes focused with piercing scrutiny on Ganson, who was frowning at him.

"Dal, you're interrupting an important discussion," Ganson said disapprovingly.

"Hang the discussion, there's no time for it. The man's starting to move already, something I didn't think he was ready for. I still don't, but something's happened that seems to have forced his hand. I told you Derrion would continue to be trouble, despite the girl graduating."

"Dal Brinds," Ganson said in a loud, firm voice. "I'd like you to meet my former student-"

"Hang the student too. Samell, we've got to move now, only I can't see how. I've no idea what he's up to, but we have to stop him. If they get their hands on her and the pendant, it's all done. I know that much." Brinds paused for a breath. "You once said you had a plan to get her away if we needed to. Will it still work or do I need to think up something else?"

Ganson looked more angry now that Fay had ever seen him. "You're an idiot, Dal," he hissed at the man before taking a deep breath. Ivanne took Brinds' cloak now that he was standing still and she left the room. Ganson went on in a calmer voice. "Let me introduce you to Faylanna Derrion, my former student and now friend. Fay, this is Dal Brinds, my often excitable partner."

Several things happened at once then. Brinds looked down at her, his face full of surprise. Ganson was beginning to rise from his chair when one of the glass jars in the room shattered loudly. Fay slid off her chair instinctively at the detonation. After a moment she raised her head and saw a cloud of darkness pouring out of the shattered remains of the bell jar. She stared in disbelief and confusion. How could the jar have been weakened enough for this without Ganson detecting it?

As the dark mist poured down the shelf to pool on the floor, tendrils formed and reached out toward Ganson and Brinds. Both men were shouting, but Fay thought that the explosion must have damaged her hearing because she couldn't make out what they were saying. Every sound was a heavily muffled buzzing to her. Ganson was looking around frantically and relief flood across his face when he saw her. He stepped toward her, grabbed her shoulders and pulled her up to her feet. He was looking in her eyes and she saw his lips moving, but she still couldn't make out the words. When she didn't respond, he shook her, said something, then pulled her away from the table. Around his shoulder, she saw the tendrils strike out at Brinds, wrapping around his arms and torso. He opened his mouth and she heard a muffled sound that might have been a scream. The smell of brimstone and burning cloth and flesh pricked her nose, making her stomach roil until she was glad she hadn’t eaten much of their dinner. The shadowy appendages pulled Brinds into the roiling mass that was still growing and this time his scream was so loud that she heard it with horrifying clarity.

Ganson looked back over his shoulder, flinching as Brinds disappeared into the darkness. He turned back to Fay, shouted something and then shoved her back toward the open door of the room. He took two steps away from her, toward the black shifting mass. She wanted to reach out to stop him, but she was frozen in place. She wasn't sure what he was planning, but it was faster. Thickening arms of darkness whipped out more quickly than she would have believed possible and wrapped around the professor's body and head like bands, pinning his arms to his sides and cutting off any scream he might have tried to make. The smells came again, thicker, closer and she gagged on them, trying desperately not to throw up. The darkness flexed, pulling Ganson into itself as rapidly as it had attacked him and then began to advance on her.

She thought that her hearing must have been starting to recover because she could hear a whispering that wasn't quite words, and wondered if the sound came from this monstrous thing before her. It approached her, rearing up, dozens of tentacles and thick arms of blackness reaching out toward her, coming at her from every direction. She was unable to make herself move, to even close her eyes so that she didn't have to see the end coming. But the darkness suddenly flinched back from her as if struck. Before her disbelieving eyes, it pulled back and began to swirl about its center, moving faster with each moment until she was nearly dizzy and had to look away. As she turned her head, she realized that the dark cloud was shrinking as it spun. When she looked back, there was nothing where she had last seen it.

A hand grabbed her arm and Fay shrieked. She heard it clearly and was surprised to find her hearing recovered completely. A familiar voice spoke in an alarmed tone, "Fay, it's okay, it's Ivanne. What happened?"

Turning, she saw the professor's aged assistant and tried to calm her racing heart. She breathed in long, slow breaths. "Something came out and... It got the professor and that other man."

Ivanne's eyes went to the shelf and the broken jar, glass shards radiating outward from it and she seemed to deflate. She let go of Fay's arm and went over to the side desk in one corner of the room. She rummaged around in one of the drawers and came up with two items, a white crystal the size of the palm of her hand and a packet of letters, tied together. She returned to Fay and held them both out to her.

"You need to leave, Fay, right now. The professor showed these to me weeks ago and made me swear to give them to you and send you away from the academy if anything happened to him. You know how to use a caeldar, don't you?" The woman's voice was frantic with worry and grief.

Fay could only nod, staring at the impossibly broken bell jar on the shelf and the object that still lay in the center of the destruction, unable to take her eyes from the familiar shape. In a distracted tone, she said to Ivanne, "Of course, I'll go right away, as soon as I've grabbed some things and food."

"Listen to the message before you go. The professor said it was important that you listen to it before you leave unless you were immediate danger. I have to go tell the headmaster what's happened." Ivanne left the room and Fay was alone.

She was still staring at the pendant on the shelf, feeling that same pull toward it and more. It suddenly felt as if the pendant belonged with her, that it was part of her in a way she didn’t understand. That’s silly, she thought, even as she slowly crossed the room to stand closer to it. She knew it must be dangerous, but she couldn't shake off the feeling that it wasn't dangerous to her. Finally, the need to keep it with her overcame all the more rational arguments about why she shouldn’t. She dashed around the table, reached out and carefully plucked it from the nest of broken glass. A warm tingle spread up her fingers for a moment when she touched it, and she thought it must be the remnants of the protective spells in the shattered jar. She turned and fled from the room and apartments, clutching the caeldar, pendant and letters to her chest as she headed for her own room.

Chapter 3

As soon as she closed the door, she wove a sealing spell into it. She felt a little foolish for that when she turned and looked around her room. The only window was too narrow to get through and even if she did somehow manage that, it was a sheer drop from three stories up with no ledge to speak of. There was also nowhere in the room to hide, as the lower bunk of the bed was nearly on the floor. Beyond that, there was only a chest of drawers and a table and chair that served as her desk. At least no one will be able to listen in, not even with magic, she told herself.