In Her Element

Almyra sat up, gasping and clutching the blankets tight as the last remnant of the nightmare faded. She hated these nightmares. These were slightly different than the ones she had at home; these were closer to the end of the story that was her life. The sun outside Almyra’s eastern window was glowing, throwing a ray of light across the pillow. Almyra shuddered, the light of the crystal still sharp in her mind, as it would be after dreaming about it so many times, although now she knew where the brightness had come from. With the illumination from the window, Almyra was able to survey the room.

Even in the nine days that she had spent in it, it held no warmth or appeal to her. To her, it would always remain her prison, where she would spend her lonely days until she grew old or they—whoever they were—decided what to do with her. The only contact that she had with humans was with, well, one human, Damien.

He was the one who brought her two meals a day, and sometimes he would even stay for a little chat. There was not much information that she could glean from him—he did not hold a position that high up in this institute—but he helped keep her sane, and she gave him something that she knew he never had before: a mother figure, or at least, an older sister.

Almyra slid off the bed, sucking in her breath as her bare feet hit the wooden floor and the coldness seeped in. She shivered as she slowly drifted to the chair—also wooden, although with an antiquated look—that sat in front of the small vanity table, where she had draped her dress the previous night before climbing into the bed and falling into the recurring nightmare. It was a simple earth-colored piece of material that had probably been dragged out from the bottom of some old trunk in the cellar or perhaps one of the many towers, and had belonged to some maid to the Lady of this castle many, many, moons ago. Almyra had no idea what had happened to her ball gown; it had disappeared after she had taken it off the second night and had never been returned to her. Not that she minded entirely. It held too many bad memories, and that was besides the fact that it had not been too comfortable.

She pulled on the dress over the shift that she slept in, the only real reminder of that night other that her undergarments and stockings, and tied the simple laces, which were unusually, but thankfully, in the front. And with no one to help her, or force her, she had opted not to put back on the corset.

After pulling on her stockings and slippers—a pair that had been given to her one night when she was asleep, and probably from the same chest as the dress, judging by the ratted and threadbare looks of them—Almyra combed out her messy hair, wincing as pulled out the knots, and plaited it, her arms aching with effort of working on nearly two and a half feet of hair. She felt a bit regretful of all the times she had whined about the many lotions her mother had made her apply to her long locks, and was a little more than a bit wistful for the chance to even wash her hair. In normal bathwater, that was, and not the pail of cold water that was given to her nightly to wash her body.

Almyra moved to the door, not at all surprised to find it locked when she tried the knob. It always was, and yet she always tried. She tried the window too, and sometimes she was even able to open it. This morning, she was relieved to find, was one of those times. She pushed the window panes open as far as she could and let in a cool breeze that whispered around her neck. She stayed there like that for a few minutes, allowing the frigid air of the newborn winter to rush over her and calm her.

Then, for no plausible reason, she did something she had never allowed herself to do before, for the risk of being caught—or rather, seen, as she was sure the people here already knew some of what she was capable. She lifted her left hand and gracefully fluttered her fingers to play with the winds, conducting them around the room. They blew through the dull, grey drapes, bringing them alive. They rustled her dress and unbraided her hair, which flew around her head like a tornado. The small room filled with howls and the sound of Almyra’s laugher. Real laughter, for she was experiencing more joy now than she had had in many years, and without the caution she had always exercised. She knew she did not have to hide her Talents in this place.

Yet, when Almyra sensed someone watching her, she released the winds and suddenly felt the guilt of a child eating sweets before a meal.

And all the bad feeling in the stomach that came along with it.

Frederick shivered in the doorway, partly in awe, partly because of the cold winds that rushed through the room. He knew Almyra was powerful—being the Reincarnation and all that, and why else would the Master need her—but he had never seen her demonstrate such full control before. Moreover, he had never seen her act this happy. Not ever. Not even before her coming out cotillion; probably not since he had warned Almyra’s mother of the dangers of her only daughter associating with the boys of this very castle.

Since then she had resented him, most likely because he remained in her mother’s good graces while she had lost the only friends she could ever be herself around. Since then, the carefree Almyra was gone. Now, in a place where everyone knew what she could do, she was free to let go and soar.

It was funny, actually. Then, Frederick had felt the need to protect her because she was Matthew’s sister and he had a feeling in his gut that something dire would happen to her. Now, it was all for her.

And he was still hurting her, still destined to hurt her. He had been sent to bring her to the very place he had meant for her to avoid.

When he realized he couldn’t do it he had tried to push her away, to wound her enough that she would never trust him, so she could heal, as well as never risk following him anywhere. He had tried—Goddess knows how much effort he had put in.

But it was not enough; it was never enough, because he was weak. At the same time that he pushed her away, he tried to pull her close.

He picked her mind, her senses, to see how she felt about him. He knew he triggered a strong emotion in her, be it love or hate. Frederick lost himself in his conflicting feelings over the beautiful Almyra, who was no longer a young girl, and who was standing in front of him, looking so exotic, and powerful, and strikingly lovely.

And suddenly the swirling winds ceased; the magic in the air dissipated.

Frederick winced at his lapse of control. Again he had forgotten Almyra’s sensitivity to the thoughts of his kind, and with his mind in such an upset and her being the subject of his thoughts…. She must have heard him loud and clear. Hell, he had probably projected enough for all the castle’s inhabitants to hear.

Nevertheless, he had to do this. He had finally managed to find her in this huge place—no easy feat, especially when the Master did all he could to prevent it—and he could not, would not, back down. He had to tell her now or forever live with the fact that he could have saved her but didn’t.