In Her Element

Frederick shook his head when she was done, and held her close again, planting another kiss on Almyra’s forehead. He was not sure how much of her dream was an actual prediction and how much was just a nightmare, but it killed him that she had been experiencing them for so long, and that she spent a lot of her waking moments worrying about them.

Now he was struggling to keep himself in control. He was not sure when had realized that he truly loved her and could not wound her emotionally, but it was a relief to let her know how he felt.

But it took all of his willpower not to lay her down on the bed and continue where they had left off, knowing that right now, all she needed was to be heard and comforted and not to be kissed into oblivion, however much he wished he could. He had to focus on getting her out of this place alive and safe, and not on his overwhelming attraction.

Now it was his turn to do some explaining.

He let go of her and turned on the bed to face her, taking hold of her hand and turning them over. “Show me.”

She looked at him unsurely, obviously scared of what he might think of her and for some other unknown reasons. He brought her palms to his lips to kiss, and then lowered them with a gentle smile and repeated, “Show me.”

He let go, which turned out to be a smart move as her right hand once again turned deep red, to match her pretty, blushing face.

“Fire,” she whispered, and an orange sphere was in her palm. And then it fizzled out as she was suddenly holding water in the same palm. “Water.”

She held up her left hand and Frederick felt a sudden familiar chill as she said, “Air”. Then she stood and went to the window, and he followed in wonder of what would happen next.

“This one is the hardest to do,” she said. “Everything else is created from something that already exists. There is always heat, in the air or in me, as well as water. Wind is just strong currents of air. But earth,” she pointed her left hand at the window, “needs something strong to pull it as it is not always around in the immediate environs, and if then, it is usually buried deep.”

Sweat began to bead on her forehead that was scrunched in intense concentration, and there was a slithering sound coming from outside. And then there were rosary vines peeking through the window, the beautiful dark green and silver leaves fluttering slightly. The green snakelike plants were wrapping around the panes as they all stretched towards Almyra, struggling to reach her, their connection to the human race.

Frederick felt a burst of pride and love as he watched her stroke the vines and then send them back to the outside wall of the citadel. He reached around her from behind and wrapped his arms around her waist. She leaned into him and they stood there watching the sun spread pinkish hues to override the blue as it began to set.

Frederick gasped as it hit him. Sunset! It was late! Without realizing it, he had spent an entire day with Almyra, and he knew if it was found out the consequences would not be good. Damien would be bringing her evening meal soon, and it would not bode well for Frederick or Almyra.

“Almyra, love, I must go.”

She turned around to face him even as he wondered at the slipped term of endearment and he gave her a soft kiss on her lips, smiling when she gave a sigh. “Must you?”

He nodded and pulled away, although not before giving her one more kiss on the forehead, and then on the lips again. “I will come back as soon as I can, I promise. There is much more that you need to be told, and we must get you out of here before they can do anything to you.”

He hugged her close, tightly, as though he might never again have a chance to do so, and then left the room with a parting smile and “good night”. And none too soon, for not five minutes later, Damien appeared with her supper tray.

The Master was in his office, wearing out the old shag-carpet as he paced back and forth. At the slightest sound he would flinch, cowering into himself and bringing his arm up in protection. The dim fire in the far side of the room was no help, making him see things in the dark corners and bringing back his childhood fears of the dark. The fire crackled loudly as it ate at the logs that fueled it, drowning out the sound of the Master’s soft footsteps. Every so often, an ember would shoot out and flutter slowly to the floor and disappear.

The Master stopped his uneasy movements in front of the fire and stared into the glowing depths of the flame, his face iridescent with a strange orange hue, and little sparks flickered, reflective, in his eyes.

Fire is a powerful thing, he mused, started by man, and with one second of lacking concentration, the fire could gain control. It could wreak havoc and destruction; bring down in mere seconds what has taken years to build. He shivered, and the irony of the fire hit him; it was lit for warmth but right now it was giving him the chills.

A sharp grating sound pulled the Master out of his musings and his heartbeat kicked up a notch, as did his apprehension. He turned his back to the fireplace and the hidden door that was appearing—hoping to prolong this as much as he could—which turned out to be a big mistake.

“Do not turn your back on me, Howard.”

Now he battled with his annoyance over his name and the use of it against his unnatural fear of his mother. Foolishly, he allowed annoyance to win out and he slowly turned to face the woman who had carried him for the first nine months of his existence. “I asked you not to call me that, Mother.”