Blood of the Sea, Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter 31: Absorption

Vance

After the display with the prisoner, Vance had been offered a room in the palace. He took it, knowing his ride may have already left without him, and acknowledging that though he was forced to watch someone be killed in front of him, the mages had what he wanted. Power, prestige, respect. If there was anywhere in this foreign land where he would attain a similar status, it was here.

His room was smaller than the throne room, though grander than the one he left behind at home. The carpet was thick, plush and almost bouncy underfoot. The walls were a mix of stone and wood, with one exterior wall holding panes of glass, letting him look out upon the hustle and bustle of Seyune from on high.

As the next morning came and went, they even gave him different garments, though he had yet to muster the curiosity to try them on. He eyes the robe, a deep blue color for his water magic, but it bears none of the decorative markings his own people might have preferred. Glancing back at the street, the people are clothed in all different colors, as varied as the fish in the sea. It wouldn’t hurt anything to try it on. He could always take it back off. Besides, maybe it’s not even comfortable.

Shedding his clothes like water from an ‘urga, he takes a breath and plucks the robe from the four poster bed before him, immediately marveling at the soft texture and lightweight quality of the material. Shooting a glance back at the door to the room, he slips the robe on, the long sleeves cut to show off his forearms, the fabric at his elbows handing toward the floor. Black swirls of ink stare up at him from the tanned hide of his skin, the story of his magic spelled out across his wrists, dancing up toward his elbows. His hands form fists, the ink flexing alongside the muscles, and he relaxes, gazing out beyond the border of the city, toward where he instinctively knows the river lazes in its bed. He leaves the robe hanging open, his pants still on underneath and he prides himself in making a show of blending in. The ocean wouldn’t bend and break, but it could change its shape to better suit itself.

A knock at the door gives him pause, his thoughts racing to the throne room: the prisoner’s lifeless eyes staring back at him from a colorless face so much like a dead fish, save for the pool of red blood staining the red carpet in the red room. He shudders, shaking off the memory and opens the door, seeing one of the other mages - not guards as he had first thought - from the throne room standing in the doorway, their fist raised as if to knock again.

“Oh good, you’re dressed.” The mage’s eyes track down his outfit, a v forming in their brows when they note the way the robe hangs open, Vance’s pants still showing. “No, not like that…”

Vance batts their hands away, “I can dress myself. What need have you of me?”

The mage straightens, curling their lip at his dismissal of their effort to fix his attire. “The Queen has need of you.”

“I hardly see how she would need me.”

“That is not up to you to decide, water boy.”

Vance’s fingers twitch, the cooling feeling of blood on his palm coming back to mind. The faint tingle of magic waiting to be called upon. It’s still there. Here. In the mage before him. He makes a fist. “Lead the way then. Your Queen didn’t call for you.” He steps around the shell-shocked mage, trying to retrace his steps from the other day, but finding himself lost only one hallway away from his room.

“This way,” the mage grumbles, knocking shoulders with Vance as they turn left down the hallway he stopped at. There’s a few more twists and turns and Vance tries to liken it to a river, though the image falls short as the door to the throne room swings open again, and he finds himself coming out of the left door, facing the right door, the door the prisoner came through, across the way. He stops short, bloody handprints in his mind’s eye staining the wood.

“You are amenable to change then, good.” Veyda’s voice snaps him out of it, and he pivots toward her like a wave to the shore, taking in the way her dress today drapes over one shoulder, leaving the other bare as the material cascades toward the floor. Her hands today are covered in black gloves that flirt with her elbows much like the ink imprinted in Vance’s skin toys with the idea of moving up his biceps. Veyda crosses the throne room, her long red hair bouncing over her shoulders, not tied back today as it was. It adds another layer of color to her, her skin all the more starkly pale in comparison. She reaches Vance, petting a hand over the lapel of his unfastened robe. Her eyes are appraising, “Blue looks good on you.”

“Thank you, your highness.”

“You have water magic. You should, therefore, be open to change and relatively adaptable, no?” Veyda turns away from him and gestures for the mage she was standing with to approach.

“You have much experience with water mages?”

“Maybe not water callers,” she smiles at him, “but water magic is water magic. Our people may not have the scope and depth to control the ocean,” she steps around him, her fingers trailing over his shoulders as she reveals the bowl of water the other mage holds in their hands, “but we do teach them control over what we do have. Smaller scale of course, but it’s all about the technique when you have less to work with.”

“Of course,” Vance murmurs, distracted between the bowl of water that his magic is practically drooling over, and the smell that is coming from Veyda. It’s interesting, pleasant, and he wants more of it. He shakes himself. “What is it you want me to do?”

“What do you want to do?”

Vance lifts his hand, his palm rotating up. The water in the bowl responds, rising into the air like a reversed raindrop. It hovers before he curls his fingers and the water zooms across the short gap to him, dripping onto his hand while the main ball of water still looms like a bubble, warping in and out of a full, complete shape but still remaining aloft.

“You can move water, yes, but can you fight with it?” Veyda asks, folding her arms.

The water above his hand forms into a tighter shape, resembling a dagger. Vance opens his hand and closes his fingers around the watery blade. He gestures with it, the blade staying formed as he moves it, “Does a blade suffice?”

Veyda considers the water-formed blade. Considers him. “Have you ever drowned someone?”

“Most of us are very good swimmers. It’s a requirement when you’re surrounded…”

“Surrounded by water, yes, I get the principle.” Veyda interrupts. “But have you drowned someone?”

“Why should I have?”

“Blades of water are all well and good, but what about when you meet an opponent who deals in fire? What is mist going to do against your foe?”

“I haven’t fought anyone who had fire magic. Our tribes live in a time of peace.”

“Peace,” Veyda repeats, as though the word is foreign in her mouth. “Peace is only propagated through power. You said you don’t rule your people?”

Vance’s mouth opens, defensive words working their way up his throat, but the truth of it is, “No.”

“What a funny society you must live in.” Veyda’s nails tap against her lips, “What magic rules over you, if not the power of the ocean?”

“The Five have ever changing powers. I do not know what abilities they have to wield this generation.”

“The Five?” Veyda appears first surprised, before that dissolves into laughter. “Five people all getting along? You’re joking.”

“No, I’m not. The gods watch over the proceedings. The people cast their lots, and the five are chosen. One represents each tribe so we have an equal say…”

“And do you?”

“Do I what?”

Veyda grasps Vance’s chin lightly, “Do you have an equal say, when you are not one of these five, but you are a water caller? I would argue that your place among your people should be even more elevated for your control and bountiful natural access to that which calls to your magic, and vice versa.”

Vance feels the familiar sense of frustration well up in him like an underground spring. “Water callers are respected, but not called upon as one of the Five.”

“Respected,” Veyda spits, startling Vance. “The only respect you get in this life is that which is taken. Earned. What have you done to earn their respect, when they gloss over you in favor of others? How is that a sign of respect?”

Words fail him, for Veyda laid out plainly what he had wanted others to see. Her bright red gaze makes him want to squirm, to move, to answer her. He glances away and her intensity softens. She releases him, her hand sliding down the pleat of his blue robe, fingering the material.

“You have potential, Vance.” Her voice is gentle, coaxing. “I need to see what sort of people your tribes have chosen to lead them, if not you.”

“I…”

“Do you think a meeting could be arranged? You could sit at my side. A place of honor. Show your five how magic is viewed in our lands. How magic rules here.”

“I don’t know that they would… come.”

“But could you make them?” She turns those ruby eyes on him, and he feels himself drowning in their depths, “For me?”

For me. Those words resound like a gong struck deep inside his body. Of course he could. The Five would listen to her. Listen to him when they realize he is more than what they’ve always seen.

Vance nods and is rewarded with a bright smile.

Veyda’s red lips curve upon her face, her voice almost a purr. “Very good, Vance. Yes, very good.”