Chapter Text
I sit alone in my bedroom. Trappings of iron and steel gild the ceilings and walls. A furnished prison. I shift a little to gaze out of the window. The bullet around my neck bobs slowly with my movements. The metal seems to whisper against my skin. A constant reminder of impossible shoes to fill. Sometimes I wonder whether if Father made me wear it to remind me about who I am and what must be done, rather than to teach me to recognise these little things like a bullet’s touch.
The door creeps and Father enters the room. Volo Samos clasps his hands around my face. “You are steel,” he whispers to me. “Steel does not break or bend.” He forces my chin up and I stare into the blackness of his eyes. Hunger gleams there, the only evidence of his insatiable appetite for power.
“Steel,” I echo. “Forged in the heat of blood and agony.” His eyes drift towards the bullet. “Remember that.”
Beneath his beard, his lips twist into a smirk and I can feel the smug satisfaction dripping. The silver necklace seems to tighten around my neck. It seems more like a collar now. Even now, he enjoys reminding Ptolemus and I that he is the one who holds our leashes, our lives. And his grip is iron. Father’s gaze softens and he bends a little to me. Lowers himself an inch just so he can whisper one last thing into my ear, “Remember what you are made for. What you are.” I know that he sees me little more than a weapon ; a bullet intended to be used ; and he is the gun, ready to fire me in a predetermined trajectory.
He embraces me in what seems like a hug. The contact is brief. Fleeting. There is no place for anything more than the painful kiss of metal in our house. As he leaves the room, I can almost hear the clicking of puzzle pieces as they meld together, forming another step forwards in Volo Samos’ great plan.
A plan that I must follow.
I watch him leave the room, the Samos guard outside straightening and saluting him. I frown. Father turns around, catching the question in my stare, and the iron door closes behind him.
He leaves me alone to ponder over our conversation. Even with my ability, the bullet hangs around my neck like a leaden weight. Lying on my bed, I stretch my arms towards the ceiling and reach for the metal decorations. With a twist of my wrist, iron and steel merge together into little creatures of my creation. They scuttle around me, gleaming in comparison to the dull black of my bed sheets. My fingers flutter and they drop in a melded pool of glistening silver. It widens into a thin band that I shape slowly across my forehead. I concentrate and thin ribbons of metal crawl into patterns of my fancy.
Footsteps sound outside. I recognise them. A knock rattles on the door. "Tolly?" My brother struts into the room. "Father wants us," he tells me, eyes dancing over the crowns that I have fashioned. I move my fingers and they morph back into their original shapes. He smiles and looks at me. "Eve, you don't need to hide anything from me."
His voice softens, and something glints in his eyes as he turns towards me. Ptolemus bends down and sits next to me. The bracelets around his wrist tightens as he opens his mouth. He whispers, "You know what this is going to be about, don't you."
I swallow. "Yes."
On the other side of the room, a trophy starts to wobble, its surface rippling as my power tears roaring through my shred of control that I have.
Beside me, Tolly stiffens. His lips quiver as words tangle in his throat. I know what he means to to say, to ask. The unspoken question hangs in the air, invisibly obvious.
"Not now, Tolly," I tell him. There is no escape from this life, and I must follow this path paved for me. Father wishes to see me soon, and my walls must not crumble. To show weakness is to appear powerless and to appear powerless is weakness itself. And weakness is not the Samos way.
Already, I can feel my foundations crumbling. I stand up and look down at my brother. He frowns a little, worry flickering over his features. I offer him my hand, and he clasps it pulling himself up.
Steeling myself, I nod at him. "Let's get going. We shouldn't keep Father waiting." My fingers quickly unlace from his, and I feel a bit emptier without the warmth from his grip. He snickers in response, and we walk together through the iron hallways.
Volo Samos glares at us from the head of the table as we enter. I shiver as his gaze drops onto me, my skin crawling under the icy weight of his stare. "About time," he grunts. Father looks down at his untouched plate of roast beef. Sauce sweats off the meat as it lies cooling. He ignores it and lifts his head. "We're moving back to the Archeon palace," he says.
I ease myself into one of the seats.
Beside him, Mother picks up her silverware and adds, "Tomorrow." I scowl at the idea of leaving the Rift only to return into the endless webs of plotting nobles. If only my metal could cut through those as easily as it slices flesh. She turns to me and raises a perfect eyebrow. I don't turn to look at him, but I can feel Father smile as he oozes with smugness. He is enjoying this. Enjoying putting me inside another cage, one that only I can feel.
I clench my teeth and direct my focus into cutting the meat on my plate. The knife in my hand bends a little as it touches the plate. Ptolemus is quiet next to me, fuming in waves of silent anger. We all knew that we would return, but none of us could have guessed that it would be so soon.
I quickly realise what this is. A slap in the face. A reckless display of his power. My fist tightens on the knife and I force a forkful of beef into my mouth if only to stop my teeth from breaking.
Father leers at me from his seat.
Reaching for my wine glass, I turn away from the weight of his stare. Disobeying him is useless as there is only path to follow. At least none that I can see. I raise my glass in salute, the crimson liquid pooling in an oily mess.
It seems almost nauseating.
"To Strength. To Power. To House Samos."