Chapter Sixteen: Cassia (2)

  They tell you a lot of things about eyes.

  That they're honest. That they reveal you. That if you looked hard enough you could find the real person hiding behind manners and makeup and whatever else the world demanded. Like you could hold a gaze up to the light and check for defects, cracks, bruises, a smear of guilt that wouldn't wipe away.

  I sat in front of my vanity, staring at my reflection like it might confess something if I glared hard enough. My finger traced the shape of my eye along the glass, slow, idle, almost childlike. Following the curve, the lid, the rim. Mapping it out for no reason except I didn't know what else to do with my hands.

  The mirror hung in a frame of pale wood carved into curling vines. Too perfect. The leaves never browned. The petals never dropped. Even the shadows looked intentional, like someone had studied real nature long enough to replicate it without any of the inconvenient parts.

  My reflection stared back. Hair loose. Face calm. Eyes too bright when the air was thick with mana.

  Everything exactly where it was supposed to be.

  That was the problem.

  If guilt left bruises, if doubt carved scars, maybe I'd finally have proof that something inside me had shifted after what happened in the village.

  Instead, I looked like myself.

  Behind me, a small chime rang out. I didn't turn. The music box on my shelf had decided it was time to remind me I was awake. The little dancer on top would be spinning now, her body carved from white crystal, wings spread in frozen grace. It only ever played when I wasn't looking.

  On my desk, a quill scratched across parchment, writing out my schedule in precise loops.

  Breakfast. Lessons. Audience. Dinner. Sleep.

  The quill paused on sleep, like the word made it uncertain. Then it wrote it again, slightly bolder. The parchment was already filled with the same schedule from yesterday. And the day before. And the day before that.

  I'd never asked it to keep rewriting.

  It did it anyway.

  Because nothing here existed for me. Everything here existed for Mother, including her flowers. Some of them sat along my windowsill in pale clay pots, arranged with obsessive symmetry. The window looked out over the inner courtyard, smooth white wood surrounding a pool of clear water. Always beautiful. Always quiet. Always empty, except for servants who moved through it like shadows.

  I crossed the room barefoot and knelt in front of the flowers.

  They weren't impressive blooms. Not the kind mother cultivates. Mine were small. Stubborn. Slightly uneven.

  I'd found them growing in a crack during an excursion. A defiant burst of life that had no business surviving. I'd plucked them when no one was looking and promised myself I'd keep them alive.

  I picked up the small silver watering can and poured carefully, one pot at a time. The water caught the faint glow of mana in the air, sparkling. Too much water drowned the roots. Too little left them brittle. The balance mattered.

  A rustle behind me. Clothes. Footsteps.

  I didn't turn. I knew the sound of servants moving through my space.

  "Lady Cassia," a voice murmured. Young. New.

  "What is it," I said, sharper than I intended.

  The servant flinched. I heard it in the way her breath caught, the slight shuffle of her feet against the floor. When I finally turned to look at her, I recognized her face, one of the newer girls, maybe sixteen or seventeen. She had white hair pulled back in a simple braid, and her hands trembled slightly as she held the breakfast tray.

  "I... your breakfast. And... Lady Wisteria and Lady Sitka are already in the dining room. They asked..."

  Of course they did. They always asked. Not me. They asked the servants, as if speaking to me directly was too much of a bother.

  I inhaled slowly, forcing my expression to soften. The girl looked terrified, and that wasn't her fault. "Thank you," I said, gentler this time. "You can set it down."

  The servant moved forward carefully, as if approaching a wild animal. Porcelain clicked against wood as she placed the tray on my table.

  But she didn't leave. She hovered near the table, her eyes darting between me and the door.

  "Is there something else?" I asked.

  "They said you were late yesterday." The words came out in a rush, like she'd been holding them in and they'd finally escaped. "Lady Wisteria was... she wasn't pleased. And Lady Sitka said. . ." She stopped herself, biting her lip.

  I studied her for a moment. Most servants wouldn't dare speak to me like this, wouldn't risk offering anything that could be construed as advice or warning. They kept their heads down, did their work, and disappeared when my sisters were done with them.

  "How long have you been working here?"

  "Three months, my lady."

  "And in those three months, have my sisters ever been pleased with anything?"

  A ghost of a smile flickered across her face before she caught it, smoothed it away. "No, my lady."

  "Then I suppose one more disappointment won't make much difference." I turned back to the flowers, dismissing her gently. "Thank you for the warning. You may go."

  When the door clicked shut behind her, the silence pressed against my ears again. But something about the conversation had loosened the knot in my chest, just slightly.

  I stood, smoothing my gown. Dark purple fabric, chosen for me because mother declared it. The material was fine, expensive, embroidered with silver thread that caught the light.

  When I opened my door, two servants stood at a respectful distance, heads bowed.

  The corridors stretched before me, wide and high-ceilinged, built for grandeur rather than comfort. The walls were white wood, smooth and pale as bone, carved with intricate runes that glowed faintly with stored mana. The illumination they gave off was cold, clinical. It made everything look slightly unreal, like walking through a dream someone else was having.

  I moved through the halls slowly, taking the long way. The direct route to the dining room would have taken me through the audience chamber, and I had no desire to risk being chastised by Mother.

  The temple was already alive with activity despite the early hour. Servants moved along the edges of the corridors, carrying linens and trays, their footsteps muffled against the polished floors. They bowed as I passed, their movements synchronized, practiced. Some of them whispered prayers under their breath.

  I turned down a wider corridor, one that opened into the public galleries. This was where the temple showed its face to the world, where civilians were allowed to enter and marvel.

  And marvel they did.

  Tapestries hung from floor to ceiling, each one larger than the last. Woven from threads that shimmered with residual mana, they depicted scenes of salvation and grace. In one, three figures with magnificent wings descended from a glowing tree, their hands outstretched toward a crowd of kneeling supplicants.

  I recognized my own face in the leftmost figure. They'd made me look older, wiser, more certain than I'd ever felt in my life. My wings in the tapestry were vast things of purple and silver, each feather detailed with obsessive care.

  Wisteria stood in the center, her wings a cascade of red and pink, her expression regal. Sitka flanked the right, dark-haired and elegant, her black wings folded in a display of controlled power.

  A small group of civilians stood before the tapestry, their heads tilted back to take in the full scope of it. An older woman clutched her daughter's hand, tears streaming down her face. A man knelt on the floor, his lips moving in silent prayer. Two children stared with wide eyes, their faces full of wonder. "The Winged Ones blessed my son," the woman was saying, her voice thick with emotion.

  I kept walking, my footsteps silent. They didn't notice me passing. Why would they? The figure in the tapestry bore only a passing resemblance to the girl in the purple dress. That Cassia was divine, untouchable, perfect.

  This Cassia was just tired.

  More tapestries lined the walls as I continued. In one, we stood before the World Tree, its branches spreading across the entire width of the fabric, its roots diving deep into the earth. Mana flowed from the Tree like water, and we three sisters channeled it, distributed it, and blessed the world with its power.

  In another, we healed the sick, raised the fallen, and turned back darkness with nothing but our hands.

  Servants lined the halls here too, but they moved differently in the public spaces. More formal. More reverent. They kept their eyes down, as if looking directly at the tapestries might blind them.

  One servant, an older man with gray in his beard, was explaining the images to a young boy who couldn't have been more than seven.

  "You see the Tree?" the man said, pointing. "That's where all magic comes from. And the Winged Ones, they protect us, keep us safe."

  I turned down another corridor, leaving the public galleries behind. The walls here were still white wood, still carved with runes, but there were no tapestries. No civilians. Just more servants, more guards.

  The audience chamber loomed ahead, its massive doors carved with images of the World Tree. I could feel Mother's presence beyond them, heavy and oppressive even through the thick wood.

  I veered left, taking a side passage that would let me avoid the chamber entirely. I didn't need another lecture. Didn't need to hear again how I'd disappointed her, how I'd failed to live up to the standards she'd set, how I was the weakest of her daughters.

  I already knew.

  The dining room doors were open when I finally reached them, and I could hear voices inside. Laughter, low and indulgent. The clink of glass.

  My sisters.

  The table stretched almost the entire length of the room, wood gleaming beneath a scatter of vessels. Plates sat pristine. Serving trays lay polished, their silver surfaces without a smudge or stain. Bowls clustered near the center. Everything was arranged for a feast.

  And at the far end, there were three chairs.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Wisteria lounged in the chair on the left, one arm draped over the back. Her hair caught the illumination. Her wings were out, half-unfurled, feathers of red and pink condensed mana spilling behind her.

  Sitka sat on the right, posture straight, expression calm. Dark hair braided tight. No wings visible.

  Between them, the third chair waited. The one meant for me.

  I crossed the room and sat.

  A servant approached instantly, placing a plate in front of me with practiced efficiency.

  My sisters barely looked up.

  Wisteria laughed at something only she'd said, then took another sip from her glass. Sitka swirled hers thoughtfully, watching the liquid catch the light.

  "Well," Wisteria said, finally acknowledging my presence. "Look who decided to join us."

  I didn't respond. I kept my eyes on my plate, my hands folded in my lap.

  Sitka set her glass down with a soft click. "We were just talking about you, actually."

  My stomach tightened. "Were you."

  "Mother was asking about you," Wisteria continued, her tone light, conversational. "After your little... incident."

  "She was disappointed," Sitka added. "Very disappointed. She'd had such high hopes for you, Cassia. We all did."

  Wisteria leaned forward, her wings shifting behind her. "But we're not here to scold you. That's Mother's job, and I'm sure she'll get around to it eventually." She smiled, and it was almost warm. Almost kind. "We're actually pleased with you."

  I blinked. "What?"

  "You listened to us," Sitka said. "We told you to stay away from the village. You listened. You stayed here, in the temple, where you belong."

  "That shows growth," Wisteria added. "Maturity. Maybe you're finally starting to understand your place in all this."

  "We know it's hard for you," Sitka continued, her voice taking on that false gentleness that made my skin crawl. "You're softer than us. But that's not necessarily a bad thing. It makes you useful in different ways."

  "Mother sees that now," Wisteria said. "She was angry at first, yes. But we talked to her and explained that you just needed time to think."

  "And you have," Sitka finished. "Haven't you?"

  They were both looking at me now, waiting for confirmation. Waiting for me to agree, to thank them for their intervention, to promise I'd be a good little sister from now on.

  I swallowed hard. "Yes," I said. The lie tasted like ash. "I have." I smiled because that’s what I’d been trained to do when I was cornered.

  Wisteria's smile widened. "Good. Just know that we love you Cassia. You’re our little sister.”

  “I know,” I said, without thinking.

  “Then you'll have no problem helping with tonight's work," Wisteria said.

  My blood went cold. "Tonight?"

  "The new arrivals," Sitka said, as if it were obvious.

  I stared at my empty plate. At the perfect silverware. At the crystal glass that reflected my face back at me, distorted and small.

  "Of course," I heard myself say. "I'll be there."

  "Excellent." Wisteria raised her glass in a mock toast. "To family!"

  Sitka raised hers as well. They both looked at me expectantly.

  I picked up my glass with numb fingers and lifted it. The crystal was cold against my palm.

  "To family," I whispered.

  We drank. The liquid burned going down.

  After that, they returned to their conversation as if I'd never spoken. As if I'd never been there at all. They talked about quotas and schedules and which samples were showing the most promise.

  I sat frozen, feeling the phantom pressure of their expectations settling over my shoulders like a yoke.

  Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. I stood, my chair scraping against the floor.

  "Cassia." Sitka said.

  I didn't look at her. I walked toward the door, my footsteps echoing in the cavernous room.

  "Come back here," Wisteria said. "We're not finished eating."

  I kept walking. My hands were shaking. My chest felt too tight.

  "Cassia!"

  I pushed through the doors and into the corridor beyond. Behind me, I heard one of them stand, and heard the rustle of Sitka's wings manifesting. But I didn't stop.

  My sisters’ voices followed for a few steps, then faded. The silence after them felt like a bruise you only noticed once you stopped moving.

  I needed to get away. I needed to breathe. Needed to see someone who didn't look at me like I was a disappointment or a problem to be managed.

  I needed to see her.

  The stairs spiraled beneath the temple, steps worn smooth by centuries of feet. The light dimmed as I descended, the cold glow of the upper levels replaced by a deeper, older illumination from runes carved into the walls. At the bottom, the corridor stretched ahead, lined with iron-barred cells. Most of them were empty, their doors hanging open, their floors covered in old straw. But a few were occupied. I could hear breathing in the darkness, the shift of bodies against stone.

  The bars were etched with runes that pulsed faintly when I passed.

  I walked to the end of the corridor. To the last cell.

  "Took you long enough," a voice called before I'd even reached the bars. "I was starting to think you'd forgotten about me."

  Relief flooded through me, washing away the tension from the dining room, from my sisters' false praise and thinly veiled threats. This was my one relief, the one opportunity I had to relax each day.

  "You could tell it was me?" I said, a smile creeping onto my lips despite everything.

  "Your footsteps are lighter than the others. Less stompy."

  I moved closer to the bars, and I could see her now. She was sitting against the far wall, knees drawn up, head tilted in my direction. Her eyes were open, but they didn't quite find me. They stared past my shoulder, unfocused, seeing nothing. She couldn't see mana after all.

  She'd learned to navigate by sound, by touch, by the subtle shifts in air current that told her when someone was near. She tracked my movement now by the sound of my breathing, the rustle of my dress against the floor.

  I knelt by the bars, close enough that I could have reached through and touched her if I'd wanted to. "How are you?"

  "Oh, you know. Living the dream. Gourmet meals, luxury accommodations, five-star dungeon experience." She gestured vaguely at the cell, her hand sweeping through empty air. "I'd leave a review but the Wi-Fi down here is terrible."

  "Wi-Fi?"

  "Never mind." She shifted, leaning forward. Her eyes still didn't find mine, but her face turned toward me with uncanny accuracy. "So. Can you let me out yet?"

  "You know the answer to that," I said, sitting down properly, my back against the wall opposite her cell. "Why don't you tell me more about your world, about the... TV. You mentioned something called shows last time?"

  "You can't stop me from asking every time you visit." But there was no real heat in her words. "At least you talk to me. Your sisters observe me like I'm a zoo animal."

  The mention of my sisters made my stomach clench. "Let's... not talk about them this time."

  "Oh?" She brightened, her expression shifting from resigned to curious. "And here I thought you just saw me as someone to vent to? Isn't that why you gave me that weird bracelet, so I can understand you?"

  It was one of Wisteria's translation charms. I'd slipped it through the bars weeks ago, a delicate thing woven from her mana. It let her understand our language, let us actually communicate instead of just staring at each other across the barrier of words.

  "You know you're more than that," I said quietly. "And thank you for hiding it from my sisters."

  She shrugged, and I saw the bracelet glint on her wrist as she moved. "It's the least I can do for the one person that actually talks to me like I'm a person." She scooted closer to the bars, close enough that I could see the details of her face, the scars, the cuts, the injuries, the way her unfocused eyes tried to guess where I was. "Now... shows?"

  "Yes. Please." I said.

  She settled in, getting comfortable, and I could see the tension leave her shoulders. This was her escape too, I realized. Talking about her world, remembering a life before this cell.

  "So there's this one," she began, "it's about a chemistry teacher who gets cancer, right? And instead of just, I don't know, accepting his fate or whatever, he decides to start cooking meth."

  "Cooking... what?"

  "Drugs. To make money for his family before he dies."

  "That sounds awful."

  "It's amazing." She grinned, and for a moment she looked almost happy. "So they're trying to cook in secret, right? But the teacher's brother-in-law is a cop."

  "A what?"

  "Law enforcement. Like guards but with less armor." She waved it away. "Anyway, the cop is investigating the meth operation, and he has no idea it's his own family doing it. Meanwhile, the teacher is lying to his wife, lying to his son, lying to everyone, and it just keeps getting worse."

  "Why would anyone want to watch that? It sounds. . ."

  Footsteps echoed down the corridor.

  She stiffened, her head snapping toward the sound. "Is that them?"

  I closed my eyes. "Yes."

  Wisteria's voice reached us first, sharp and clear in the enclosed space. "There you are. . ."

  They rounded the corner, and I saw Wisteria's wings flare out behind her, mana condensing into feathered shapes that illuminated the entire dungeon in pink. Sitka's wings were hidden, but I could feel them coiled at her shoulders, ready to manifest.

  Wisteria stopped when she saw me at the bars, her expression shifting from anger to something colder. "Cassia."

  Sitka's gaze flicked to the cell, then back to me. "Move."

  "Please. . . not her."

  "Cassia." Sitka's voice held a warning. "Move away from the cell."

  Behind me, I felt the prisoner shift. I heard her breathing quicken. She was listening to every word, her eyes staring at nothing, her body tense.

  "You've done enough to her," I said, my voice shaking. "More than enough. Just... just leave her alone."

  "Step aside, Cassia." Wisteria's wings flared wider, casting dancing shadows on the walls. "This isn't your concern."

  "Yes it is!" I took a step forward, putting myself between them and the cell.

  "Is it?" Sitka tilted her head, her expression cold. "Because lately you seem more interested in coddling the samples than serving Mother."

  "I'm not coddling anyone. I'm saying she's suffered enough. That maybe we don't need to. . ."

  "And how exactly do you plan to stop us?" Sitka's eyebrows rose, a challenge in her voice.

  My hands clenched into fists. The mana in my chest surged, responding to my anger, my fear, my desperation. "If you touch her, if you do anything else to her, I won't help with the new arrivals."

  Both of my sisters stared at me.

  "What did you say?" Wisteria's voice was dangerously quiet.

  "You heard me." My heart hammered against my ribs, but I forced myself to hold their gaze. "The new samples you're planning to take. I won't help."

  "Cassia." Sitka's tone shifted, becoming gentle, concerned. "You don't mean that."

  "I do."

  Sitka's face flushed. "You ungrateful little. . ."

  "I'm just trying to stop you from hurting the little ones!" I interrupted, wincing at my own words.

  "Little ones?" Wisteria hissed, and her wings flared brighter, the mana crackling. "How many times do we have to explain this? They're samples. Resources. Things."

  "I won't do it," I said again, my voice stronger now. "Please. . . just her. . . just leave her alone."

  Wisteria moved fast. She crossed the space between us in two strides and grabbed my arm, her fingers digging into my bicep. "You don't get to decide that."

  I yanked back, trying to break free. "Let go of me."

  "Cassia." Sitka's voice was sharp as she moved in from my other side, flanking me. "Please stop making this difficult."

  "Difficult?" I wrenched my arm, but Wisteria's grip tightened, her bright pink nails biting into my skin. "You're keeping little ones in cages and I'm the one making things difficult?"

  She shoved me backward. My spine hit the bars of the cell and the iron was cold even through my dress. The impact drove the air from my lungs.

  "Hey," the prisoner said, her voice whispering through the bars behind me. Her hand found my shoulder through the gap, her touch gentle despite her inability to see. "Cassia. Don't let them push you around, you're stronger than that. I believe in you."

  Something in those words, in that simple gesture of solidarity from someone who had every reason to hate me, made my fear crack open into something else.

  Wisteria advanced. Sitka moved to flank her. Both of them closed in like they'd done a hundred times before, like they'd always done, expecting me to fold, to submit, to be the good little sister who did what she was told.

  The mana in my chest spiked. I felt it surge up my arms, into my hands, wild and uncontrolled.

  I didn't mean to let it loose. Didn't mean to lash out.

  But the magic exploded from my palms in a burst of raw force, purple illumination filling the entire dungeon for a long moment. The recoil ran up my arms like lightning, leaving my wrists aching and my stomach hollow.

  It missed them entirely. Slamming into the wall behind Wisteria instead.

  The wood splintered. A sound like thunder in the enclosed space. A spiderweb of fractures spread across the surface, and chunks fell away, clattering to the floor in a shower of splinters and dust.

  "What. . ." Sitka's voice cracked. She took a step back, her eyes fixed on the wall. "What did you do?"

  I stared at my hands. They were still glowing with residual mana, purple light dancing across my palms. I understood, all at once, that there was no folding this back into the shape they preferred. You couldn’t unbreak a wall and call it discipline.

  "Don't touch her again," I said, and my voice didn't shake. "Don't touch any of them."

  The words hung in the air between us, heavy with promise and threat.

  Wisteria opened her mouth. Closed it. For once in her life, she had nothing to say.

  Sitka recovered first, her expression hardening back into its usual mask. "Mother will hear about this."

  "Good," I said. "Let her."

  Then they were gone, disappearing into the upper temple, leaving me alone in the dungeon with the sound of my own ragged breathing and the gentle pulse of mana still dancing across my palms.

  I looked down at my hands. They were shaking from the realization of what I'd just done.

  My reflection wouldn’t show the change. But their eyes did.