Chapter Text
Nebra ran her hand over the cover of her grimoire, admiring the thick binding, the silver detailing, and the deep purple color. It was the most beautiful book she had ever seen. Such an honor had belonged solely to Nozel’s grimoire days before, but now she had decided that the detailing on his silver cover was crowded, that it was too bright, that there wasn’t enough contrast. Not like her beautiful new grimoire. She let out a small peep as her nose itched, and she quickly turned away from the cover so her sneeze wouldn’t mar its surface.
“I want to see!” Solid peeped, taking the brunt of her sneeze. He recovered quickly, as children were wont to do, just wiping his face and circling her again. The nine-year-old would have gotten tangled in her legs if he hadn’t already been stepped on several times before on the trip home. “Come on, let me see it!” he insisted.
She lifted it out of his reach when he made a snatch for it. “U mad, bro?” she teased, placing her bent finger in front of her smile to aim a smirk down at him.
Solid huffed indignantly and grabbed onto her skirt. He yanked it vindictively out of Noelle’s grip.
Noelle dropped it and scampered to put Nebra between herself and Solid. Their baby sister had been trailing after them like a little duckling, clinging to Nebra’s skirt to avoid getting left behind. There were lots of people around walking back from the grimoire ceremony, but it wasn’t like she could get lost. They were royalty! The crowd parted for them without question. Noelle had no business clinging.
But Nebra was in too good a mood to pay her or Solid any mind. Her gaze flicked up to Nozel’s back. His shoulders were back, relaxed. She decided that he looked bigger than usual, maybe puffed with pride. The white fur of his Silver Eagles uniform seemed to pick up in the light breeze. “Nozel,” she chirped. She added more cheekily, feeling a sort of giddy that made her think that being childish was appropriate, “Big brother.”
He glanced back at her over his shoulder.
She grinned at him and held up her grimoire. He had already seen it. Nebra had practically shoved it in all of her siblings’ faces. “You know I am a full-fledged mage, now…”
Nozel rolled his eyes and turned to look ahead again. “You will need to show that you can use your grimoire properly before you can become a member of the Silver Eagles. When you design a new spell, I will speak with the captain about your joining.”
“Of course,” she said, shifting the book into one arm and lifting her chin haughtily. She could hear the smile in his voice, as much as he tried to hide it. He had to keep up his stern persona in uniform, especially since he was in line to become vice-captain, but Nebra could strut for both of them. Her little siblings were accessories, and her grimoire a statement piece.
Nebra coughed and sniffled over dinner, and she was exhausted by the end of the day. Nozel made some comments about the filthy commoners at the Grimoire Acceptance Ceremony, and Solid complained about being sneezed on, but all it amounted to was Nebra going to bed disappointingly early.
At least, that was what she thought until she was awoken by a tremor. Nebra gasped, thinking for a moment that the building had shaken. But it was only her. She felt cold, despite her comforter heavy on top of her. Her grimoire was on top of that, laying open over her chest. She didn’t remember falling asleep, only staying up looking through it. Now it was a weight on her, crushingly heavy. She struggled to catch her breath and untangle her freezing arms from her comforter. She was still shivering, her throat felt dry, and her vision was hazy with sleep. The situation was completely untenable. It was a stress dream. Sleep paralysis. And she couldn’t wake up.
Nebra yelled once. It was all she could manage. The sound was strangled, but it was enough to get the attention of a servant in the hall. The weight of her grimoire disappeared. She panted, exhausted by her feeble struggle. More servants gathered, but their voices didn’t come together into something understandable. It was all a buzz. With the bodies in the room, it felt like she was rapidly heating up, now. From freezing to boiling, skipping any comfortable step in between. And in a horrifying trick of that fevered state, the people around her were becoming strangers. Intruders. Attackers.
And then they were gone.
She blinked up at Nozel as his hand landed on her damp forehead. His face was the only thing she could make out in a milky void. His brow was furrowed seriously.
“Where am I?” Nebra rasped. Did I pass out?
“You’re in bed,” he said. “Your fever broke.”
Her body ached. It felt like she was floating in a restless sea. Maybe that was why her bed felt so unfamiliar. Or maybe it was how she was drenched in sweat. Her skin didn’t feel like her own. Those alien eyes slipped shut.
“Nebra,” Nozel said firmly.
“Huh?”
“I said you must stop casting this spell,” he commanded.
She opened her eyes and found his face again. Her voice came out a plaintive squeak. “I’m not, brother.”
“Yes, you are.” He dabbed at her face with a wet cloth. “Concentrate. You have half the castle in a fog.”
Nebra whimpered and let her gaze swim over her surroundings. This didn’t feel like her mist magic. It didn’t move like it. It didn’t even look like it. This fog was an impenetrable wall. It didn’t flow. It hardly moved. And it was warm. She couldn’t tell if it was her own sick or the vapor, but it smelled stale. She could feel mana- her own mana- like it was a distant thing. Nozel’s, usually so cool and bright and conspicuous, was not even detectable while he sat directly beside her. “Please believe me…”
He held up a book to her, and it took her a moment to recognize her own grimoire. It was glowing very faintly, and when he released it, it remained suspended. Opening, the pages flipped slowly, like they were sticky. They rested on a spell she didn’t recognize. She didn’t know if her mind was still too sick to read, or if it was entirely incomprehensible. Her gaze shifted to Nozel helplessly.
“Stop this,” he repeated. “It’s your spell. You know how.”
I don’t. Nebra didn’t dare to speak the words aloud. “When my mana runs out-”
“It’s been days, Nebra.”
She stared at him, uncomprehending. Had she been asleep for days? Casting for days? Did a grimoire increase one’s abilities that much? She tried to focus on her mana again. It felt outside of herself, but once she found it in whatever abstract space it now apparently occupied, she found it brimming. No closer to exhaustion than when she had first received her grimoire. How could that be if she had been casting for days?
Reaching for her grimoire with trembling hands, she closed it and pulled it to her chest. “I-I need time… I still feel… Right now I…”
Nozel sighed. “I know you need to recover, but you need to address this as soon as possible. You understand.”
She nodded, and her voice came out a whimper. “I understand.”
Nozel left her alone. Nebra tried to focus on the spell in her grimoire, to make sense of what her fevered mind had done in an attempt to protect her. It was less than half a page of scrawled, overlapping, senseless words. Could it really be so hard to unravel? Her grimoire floated over her head, displaying the convolution until it blurred in her eyes. Just the act of looking was exhausting Nebra. She had not even tried to lift her head from her pillow. The cold compress on her forehead might as well have been a restraining strap. Weights pulled on her eyelids, too, but she fought them. I have to figure this out . Her fingers curled feebly into her comforter.
She woke to Nozel picking her grimoire off her face. Had she fallen asleep? Her face heated up in embarrassment.
“Don’t,” her brother whispered, brows pinching in concern. His hand found her forehead again.
Another face appeared; one of the royal doctors gently brushing Nozel’s hand out of the way. He pushed a thermometer between her lips. “... She’s alright. Not feverish.”
Nebra heard her brother sigh, and her mortification only amplified. Must she pile worry after worry on him?
The doctor’s grimoire opened. Lights shined in her eyes. Her ears, nose, and throat were examined. His hands held her upright. Cold tools touched her chest and back. She tried very hard to cooperate and breathe clearly. But the movement, even with strength supplemented from the doctor, was exhausting. Her heart thrummed. She panted. The doctor spoke like she wasn’t there.
“The primary infection is gone, but it’s weakened her severely.”
“She will recover,” Nozel asserted.
“Yes,” the doctor agreed. “It will take time. She needs to rest.” He placed Nebra gently down on her pillow.
“I understand.” Her brother’s gaze landed on her. Nebra felt like she was expected to answer when he asked. “How long?”
But the doctor was the one to speak. “It’s hard to say. I will check on her once a week or as needed and monitor her progress. In this state, she’s likely to catch anything she is exposed to. That will lengthen things… No one around who doesn’t need to be. None of the little ones.”
Nozel nodded. He was still watching Nebra. She looked away as he asked, “And what about her magic?”
The doctor regarded the thick mist around him with an expression that only betrayed a professional amount of annoyance. “That will have to recover, too. Maybe some sort of artifact, or a binding spell would be prudent.”
“We’ve tried as much,” Nozel said impatiently, crossing his arms. He didn’t elaborate.
Realizing perhaps that he had overstayed his welcome, the doctor nodded. “Very well, master Silva. I will return this time in a week, or earlier if you call.” With that, he was gone, disappearing into the mist.
Nebra tried to feel his presence in the moving water, or to even sense his mana, but the vapor was a screen between them, and once he was out of sight, he was completely gone from all her senses. She groped for Nozel, afraid he would go and leave her completely alone again. She caught his robe. It was an effort to keep her grip, even though the only force against it was the weight of her own arm.
He combed his fingers through her tangled hair. “You need to get control of this, Nebra. It is unbefitting of royalty to struggle so much. So publicly.”
Her hand fell and dangled over the edge of the bed. “I’m trying,” she croaked. The complete lack of conviction in her voice made her want to give up right there. I’m embarrassing House Silva.
Tucking her arm back under her comforter, Nozel sighed. “I am putting you in the care of your favorite maidservant. No one else, beside myself and the doctor on occasion, will see you until this is under control.”
She couldn’t help but feel like he was punishing her. “But brother-”
“No buts. Focus on recovering and controlling this.” His fingers worked through another tangle in her hair. “I will send in your maidservant shortly.”
Nebra couldn’t find her voice to beg him to stay. His Silver Eagle robes quickly blended with the fog, and he was gone.
There was no time or place in the fog. It was everywhere she went. Her maidservant carried her through it to the bath. When they returned to her room, her bedding had been changed, and despite the fact that she had contributed very little to the task, Nebra collapsed in exhaustion. She guessed that they kept a strict schedule, but it didn’t matter. If the days had structure, any longer period of time did not. Her mind swam, puzzling and struggling continuously over the problem she had created. The doctor’s arrivals always surprised her. She couldn’t keep count of them, and she didn’t want to. Each one only impacted her shame. Nozel’s visits were even less predictable. He stopped coming to her appointments after the first few, and she felt it in her chest: a breathless, painful heartbreak that the doctor made no comment on.
Nebra tried everything she could to stop. It felt like the spell was drawing on her physical strength, keeping her weak and bedbound. She could not recover. She could not cast another spell. She could not sense through it. She could not end it. It lapped hungrily at those in sight, perhaps drawing on the mana they radiated, but it in no way depleted their stores. In all the time that passed, this was the only thing she learned about the spell, and she could not bring herself to say as much for fear that the few people she did see would stop coming. Disheartened, she decided that she would rest on her attempts. And that rest turned into weeks of sluggish inactivity, if the doctor’s visits were any indication.
At about this time, Nebra started to receive gifts of pity. Flowers, cards, toys, another blow to her ego. Her maidservant read to her, and showed her the gifts in hopes of raising her spirits. Nebra wondered if she had been receiving them this entire time, and Nozel had just then deemed her a failure enough to know how her actions had impacted everyone.
One day, her maidservant greeted her with a quiet enthusiasm. “Lady, Nebra,” she said in a hushed tone. “I have a surprise for you.”
Nebra didn’t open her eyes. She kept her head to her pillow and nodded in acknowledgment. Maybe it will help , she thought hopelessly. She heard footsteps, and she thought, less hopelessly, Maybe this will help! Someone was here. Someone was visiting. Had she really not realized how lonely she was? Trying to control her breathing, she weakly pushed herself upright and peered through the mist.
Beside her maidservant, Fuegoleon Vermillion stepped into sight. Her heart pounded. He was holding flowers. He looked serious at first, but his expression softened when he saw her. “Hello, Miss Silva,” he said gently, like he expected his voice to blow her over. He held out the flowers to her. “Doing well?”
She did her best to smile, but she knew she couldn’t keep her balance sitting up and reach for the flowers at the same time. Her maidservant accepted them for her, and placed them in her lap. Nebra stroked the flowers. White heather, yellow chrysanthemums, and red asters. “Well enough.” Her voice came out raspy. She had not spoken in days, maybe weeks. Clearing her throat, she said, “You’re not supposed to be here. The last thing I need is for a Vermillion to get me sick again.”
“Then I won’t overstay my welcome. I heard that Nozel was keeping you isolated and I thought a visit might be good for morale.”
“Then he doesn’t know you’re here?” she murmured. Her throat was already sore after so little use.
“No, he doesn’t.”
Her cheeks colored. This was a secret meeting. A tryst . Some fuzzy excitement overtook her shame, but she guessed that almost anyone could have elicited such a reaction, she was so desperate for company. “I see. Why don’t you sit down?”
Her maidservant produced a chair, and Fuegoleon sat down beside her bed, distance respectful. “Your abilities make it easy to move about undetected. I should have expected they would be so powerful.”
She lifted her hand to her mouth with her finger bent so she could look down her nose at him. “You should have.”
Fuegoleon smiled politely at her. “You’ll make a fine magic knight once you recover.”
Nebra swallowed and fought to keep her performative condescension. This conversation was quickly exhausting her, and the fact that her joining the Silver Eagles had been indefinitely put off hurt like a jab in the belly. The words came out as a whimper. “... Of course.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked gently. “This reminds me of a time when you were younger, in the garden. Do you remember being caught in the rose bush?”
She looked away from him. Her blush was as much from mortification at the situation as a milder embarrassment that he would bring up such a romantic memory when they were more or less alone. “What does that have to do with it?”
“I talked you through using your magic, then,” he ventured. “Drawing in your mana. Getting it under control.”
She sank. Oh. “It’s not so simple, now.”
“No, I’m sure it’s not. But if there was a way I could-”
“You’re no help,” she snapped. Her chest heaved from the effort of the rebuttal. But she didn’t want him to go, so she carefully, slowly extended her hand toward him. “But you may try to guide me… I wouldn’t mind the entertainment of you floundering in my power.”
He gently took her hand. His grip felt strong, but she guessed that she was just weak. “Take a deep breath.” Fuegoleon closed his eyes and breathed in demonstratively. She watched the calm on his face and mirrored his inhale. He breathed out the words. “Draw your mana inward. Center yourself…”
Nebra wasn’t centered. She was savoring the touch of his hand. He was so warm. So strong and lively. She needed more. Maybe if she fell out of bed he would catch her. Maybe he would pick her up, and she would be enveloped in his arms. The thought was too much to bear. “I can’t,” she said aloud.
He blinked his eyes open. “No?”
“I need to be somewhere else. To clear my head. Take me to my drawing room,” she decided.
Fuegoleon glanced over to her maidservant, brow furrowed. “Do you think that will help?”
“I am not sure, lord Vermillion.” She looked to Nebra, and she must have seen the pleading, desperation in her face. “It certainly couldn’t hurt.”
Fuegoleon stood, and her servant moved the chair aside and set the flowers on her nightstand. He transferred her hand to his other hand so he could put out his arm to her and let her cling to it. He lifted her out of bed and, seeing how unsteady she was on her feet, put an arm around her back. It was a gentleman’s hold, but Nebra thrilled at his palm between her shoulders, and clung to his hand with growing infatuation. She gripped it with both hands.
“Can you walk?” he asked.
She could, with great effort, but… “No. You’ll have to carry me.”
The Vermillion sighed. He had surely realized by now that he had been tricked into being an errand boy for the testy Silva. Again, so careful and gentlemanly, he scooped Nebra up into a bridal hold. She leaned against his chest and reveled the sensation of being held by another person. Her head was spinning with glee and growing exhaustion.
Her maidservant led him to the drawing room, and watched dutifully as he set her on the fainting couch. Her grip on his hand, while not strong, was too sure for him to politely leave, so he sat down on a stool beside the couch and continued to try to talk her through. Again, she wasn’t listening. She was holding his hand and fantasizing about being carried back to her room in his arms.
By the time he carried her back, she was fighting to stay awake. “Let’s do this again,” she murmured, playing with his fingers and leaning her cheek against his pec. “Please.” She pressed his hands to her lips absentmindedly. “Please.”
“I think you might want to send for your siblings more often,” Fuegoleon said gently. “I don’t think being alone is good for your morale.”
She only released his hand when he started to set her in bed, and that was to try to get her arms around his neck. “Please stay,” she insisted. “Just a little longer.” Her hands slid easily off his neck, unable to support her weight. He made sure she landed gently.
Fuego caught her hand when she tried to reach for his robes and gently patted it before setting it back on the bed. He stepped back to let her maidservant tuck her in. “I might visit again, but I think it would be best if your family spent more time with you.” When the blanket held her securely, he gave her head an encouraging pat. “Rest, now. I’m sure you’ll be feeling better, soon.”
She tried to speak up more, but sleep was dragging her down, and her throat only ached from the effort. As much as she tried to stay awake and focus on his face, her eyes sunk closed.
The next time she awoke, before dinner, Nebra felt lonelier than ever before. Her maidservant gently asked her what she would like, urged her to eat, and went to fetch her a plate. When she was gone, Nebra dragged the flowers off her nightstand and clutched them to her chest. To her surprise, something poked into her arm from among the stems- not a flower or thorn, but an envelope. She carefully plucked it off the bundle. A card? She had not noticed it before. Eager at the thought of another point of contact with her crush and the outside, she wrestled the envelope open.
Inside was not a card. It was a letter that looked like it was written on a blank page ripped out of a book and folded in thirds. She glanced toward the door. Her maidservant wasn’t back yet. Unfolding the letter, she began to read:
Dear, Nebra,
Congratulations on receiving your grimoire. I wish I could have said so sooner. It is always an event when a royal receives their grimoire, but I am sure this special day will be all the more memorable for you. Don’t take my words unkindly. I know your illness will pass. In the meantime, it has been a magnificent show of royal power. Your family would be foolish not to notice the effect it has on the kingdom’s residents. It is enrapturing. You are enrapturing. Already something to be feared, fitting for a member of the royal family. That is exactly as you should be. Your power and control will only grow from here, and so I hope this does not weigh on you. What you think of as weakness is beautiful and fearsome in the eyes of others. You should not believe the admonishments your family sends your way. They will understand eventually.
Until then, consider me a confidante. Being alone for so long is a cruel sentence and remedy. Though I can’t visit you directly without raising questions, we can write to our hearts’ contents. I will come and pick up letters you leave me, in the first drawer of the dresser in your drawing room, and I will leave my own. Let me know if this interests you, or leave me without answer. It is all your choice. Tell me, too, if I’ve overstepped my bounds. I mean only the utmost respect. The only thing I ask is that you not embarrass me by showing this to anyone else.
Your answer is awaited with dire anticipation,
~ F
Nebra couldn’t read it all at once. She felt the warm blush flood her cheeks and her heart fluttered. Several times, she set it down and hid her face in her sleeve, like she had been attempting to say the words aloud, herself. New feelings arose in her bosom to chase away her sadness and her loneliness: warm, powerful feelings of complete faith in what she had read.
She heard the door to her room open, and scrambled to hide the letter under her pillow. In came the plate, then the maidservant who carried it. She replaced the flowers on the nightstand and set the meal in front of Nebra on a tray that rose over her lap. Nebra ate enthusiastically, if not distractedly, much to the pleasure of her maidservant, and then requested ink and stationary and to be left alone.
Dear F,
I will forgive your forwardness this time only because you’re right. My isolation is most cruel. Still, it is nothing that I cannot handle. I will accept your offer to act as a confidante because someone ought to pay me the proper attention. It is out of principle, you see. Feel free to continue your praise, of course, out of the same principle. And don’t assume you are the only one who must worry about your reputation! Honestly, how short-sighted and selfish. Do not use my name. Use ‘N,’ and I will continue to offer you the same courtesy.
Your awe at my power is expected, and it is only proper that someone praises it despite the circumstances in which it is displayed. I assure you that, healthy, I can do much more! I will show you some day soon. Until then, tell me about outside, and about the reaction of the people. No one has seen fit to tell me about the goings on outside of my confinement. Absolute fools, every one of them!
Do not keep me waiting long, or our deal is forfeit.
~N
And thus began a correspondence. F told Nebra about the impact of her condition on the kingdom. That half the castle was in a fog was no exageration; the Silva portion of the castle was completely enveloped. It poured out the windows and hung in the air, only thinned by the most turbulent of winds. Working and living in their wing of the castle had become a challenging matter. It was easy to get lost, or to walk into things. Her spell, intentional or not, was a source of awe for the nobility that could see it from their manners. They were convinced that such a massive and long-standing spell should be impossible. Some thought it a curse. Nebra quickly shut down this train of thought. It terrified her, and though F only mentioned it once, the idea of it kept her up on many scattered nights.
But for the most part, it all felt dreamy to Nebra, not nightmarish. F didn’t sound like the Fuegoleon she knew, but he was charming and flattering, and his words were easily but not damningly romantic. Nebra would never consider herself infatuated, but between letters, she had the vague fear that there would be no answer, that the relationship was an illusion, and that she would be alone again. This would all be relieved in the rush of finding another letter in her dresser drawer, and she would happily, eagerly, tell F anything he found interesting about her, her family, her abilities, the Silver Eagles, and all other manner of things.
Maybe it was because she had something to focus on other than her grimoire, or that she no longer felt so depressed as to let herself languish in bed, or the fact that frequent trips to her drawing room were building her strength, but after a few weeks, the doctor decided that she was finally improving physically. He deigned it safe for others to come around by the next visit. Of course, she wrote about this to F.
Dear F,
I’m sure you know how well I have been feeling. Your encouragement, I will admit, has been some help in that. My siblings will be visiting me soon. I am sure they will be pleased about my recovery. However. I must remind you of our secret arrangement before I continue. You are my confidante, and no one else is to hear of this. I have some uncertain feelings about meeting them.
I think that Nozel is still mad at me. You know the fog remains. That is partly your fault, too, because you distract me from working on my magic. (Of course, I would not have it any other way!) He hasn’t spoken to me in so long, I have no idea what he will say. I know you say that I am doing a service by displaying House Silva’s power, but I am starting to have my doubts. Not in you, but I don’t think he thinks the same way. I wish he was more like you.
I don’t know what to say to him. I want to join the Silver Eagles as soon as possible. Maybe he will agree, because it will give me more excuses to use my magic around other powerful mages. What do you think? I think that sounds perfectly practical. I have always been mature and tactical. Surely, he will recognize that?
Tell me your opinion, and quickly.
~ N
Dearest, N,
I am very happy to hear that you are feeling better. I knew it was well within your ability as a talented and powerful young woman. You don’t need to assure me of your maturity and tact. These qualities were always obvious about you. And don’t worry. Your feelings are safe with me, and they always will be.
Nozel is cold. He might be mad at you, but that is a fault of his own, not yours. I can promise you that. My concern is that he will go too far and say something cruel. You can take it, I’m sure, but he still should not say something insulting to you. Just the thought of such a thing makes me burn with anger. Still, he might. Taking care of others emotionally is obviously not his strong suit. Maybe ask about the Silver Eagles in a different context before you bring up joining. There are lots of things you could talk about on that front.
I am looking forward to seeing you join the Silver Eagles very much. Those regal robes will suit you, and I will admit I do have some selfish things to ask you. But I will hold off until you are a magic knight.
In great Anticipation,
~F
That letter got Nebra’s heart beating for an entirely different reason than her anxiety over her siblings. What could he want from me? she thought, head spinning. It was a distraction so great, and she couldn’t even write back. Her stomach fluttered. When she first read the letter, she was in such a tizzy that her maidservant thought she might have caught something, but the thermometer confirmed her health, and she sheepishly explained away her excitement.
So when her siblings arrived, she was completely unprepared.
“Lady Nebra, your brothers and sister are here,” her maidservant said brightly.
The butterflies in her belly condensed into a ball of ice. Nozel’s gaze was the first to cut through the fog to where she sat at her desk in her sitting room. “Nebra. It looks like you’re feeling better.”
Nebra curled over an unwritten note. Doodles bordered the corners. She had gotten as far as ‘ Dearest, ’ before giving into fantasy. “Y-yes.”
“What are you writing?” Solid asked, scurrying to her side. He tried to look over her shoulder, leaning across her shoulders affectionately.
She had missed him, but the first thing he was doing was making a nuisance of himself. She hunched further over her paper. “Nothing! I’m working on my spell!”
“Straighten your posture,” Nozel commanded. “Time away is no excuse for you to forget etiquette.” As Nebra hesitantly straightened, her older brother caught a corner of the paper that stuck out under her elbow and slipped it out of her grasp.
“Hey!” she squeaked, cheeks heating up.
He examined it with a cold stare, and his gaze flickered to his little sister’s blushing face. “Who is this for?” Beside him, Solid stood on his toes, trying to peer at the paper in front of Nozel’s face. He was unable to make it out through the fog, much to his disappointment.
She looked down at her lap, fists curled into the ruffles of her dress. “It’s no one.”
He folded the paper and tucked it into his robe. “You should be working on your spell, not writing nonsense.”
Her heart sank. “I am. I’m trying.”
“This is well past trying. You are a Silva. Do better.” His voice was cold and cutting as a winter gale.
“I will,” she whimpered. F was right. Her brother was being cruel. “I want to talk to more mages about my magic. If I join the Silver Eagles-”
“You think that I would endorse you becoming a member in this state? You can’t control your magic any better than Noelle. The Silver Eagles would never lower their standards so much.” The frustration was leaking into his voice now. “Get your head out of the clouds, Nebra. You are not a Silver Eagle, and if you cannot fix this, you never will be.”
Her grip tightened on her dress. She felt completely hollow. “Ok,” she whispered. The fog had never felt thicker around her, but maybe it was just in contrast to how empty she felt inside. She heard Nozel turn, and his footsteps faded into the milky void. Solid lingered just a moment before following.
Nebra let her head fall onto her desk, lingering in mental limbo. Before her on the desk was her grimoire, a pile of stationery, and her ink and pen. With her fingers still twisted in her dress so tightly she feared the fabric might rip, she decided all at once that she needed to write to F. He would know what to do. He was the only one that would. She decided not just this, but that he was the only one that loved her. The only one that was real.
She had started to untangle her fingers from her dress when a small hand landed on her own. Her gaze snapped to it, then to its owner: Noelle, staring up at her with wide, wet eyes. The little child looked so thoroughly distressed to see Nebra in this state that her purple eyes were overflowing. The older Silvas certainly had not taught her that kind of compassion.
Nebra mentally recoiled from her pity. How dare she? How could she? I’m better than her! She’s pathetic! She can’t even control her magic! Fury rose in her stomach so hot and fast she thought she might be sick. Trembling, she lifted the hand Noelle had touched. She had never hit Noelle. Solid had, but Nebra had stuck to cutting words and cruel looks. Now she wanted nothing more than to lash out.
Noelle cringed.
The strike never came, though. Nebra crumpled. Her arms fell around the little child’s shoulders, and she pulled Noelle to her, and with a painful sob the tears started falling. She wept so hard her chest and body hurt. Through her tears, the world around her seemed to melt like hot wax. The months of alienation. This was what Noelle felt her whole life. And Nebra hated her for it.
Noelle rubbed her back and cried with her.
When Nebra wiped the last of the tears from her eyes, the fog was gone. Noelle had exhausted herself and fallen asleep in her lap. It was bittersweet. Nebra still hated her. If anything, she hated her more than ever, because she knew how close they had been. With the water that Noelle had drawn from her eyes, something else had left Nebra. She knew that F wasn’t real, somehow. An illusion of her mind, she decided. F was something about this incomprehensible spell, or her attempts to deal with it. She hated Noelle for taking that comfort away, too. Her many crimes were cemented in Nebra’s mind, and they would not soon be forgiven.
But for now, Nebra stroked the little girl’s hair in gratitude for freeing her from the limbo she had created.