SWNOVELS Chapter Chapter Fifteen - Ether
The familiar wooden slabs stretch across the ceiling, worn from the incessant sun. Dust flakes off them like shattered crystals, but its dullness absorbs the light like wet ash.
I sit up and the sheer, worn bedsheets slide from my barren and bony body. The other thin beds in the servant’s quarters are already vacant and tidied. Including me and Bernadette, two others tend to the second prince: Martha and Agnes. All have left to begin their rounds; I waited in bed thinking all night about today, how I plan to train a rookie prince.
Nights are long and uneventful, but they provide a lot of time to think. Sometimes I close my eyes and pretend to sleep like them, swallowed up in my own dark void of thought. Other times I observe the maids curled under sheets, twitching every so often as though something invisible prods them.
Though I don’t sleep, I don’t mind the hours spent laying under covers, breathing slowly in a cold, silent room. It’s actually rather peaceful.
I stare for a moment at the crooked rectangle of light casting across the brick wall, and then realization grips me like a soaring bird’s talons on its prey.
How long have I been laying here, alone?
How long will Ramiel have been waiting for me?
The air leaves my lungs as I push from the spindly mattress and stand at the center of the room, unclothed. My hair pools around me like a cloak, and I use it as such while I move about in search of anything that isn’t maid’s attire to sport for combat. My old clothes will do.
My search stops at the cauldron-shaped furnace stowed near the toilet. My clothes sit in a heap, just as I’ve left them.
I slip my arms through ripped sleeves and shove my legs into tight shorts, then pull a series of threads together along my spine, tightening my chest. Breasts are an inconvenience in combat. In fact, I’ve thought for a while now that they ought to be cut off since I never plan to have any children anyway. I never understood the purpose of their existence beyond maternal care.
My thigh straps fit snug. I slip my trusty dagger into a slit in the leather. I probably won’t use it, but it feels wrong to leave it behind.
A small, cracked mirror leans against the wall by the entrance. I kneel in front of it and tether my hair quickly into one long braid. A few strands don’t make it into the weave, but I’m not trying to impress anyone with my styling skills, and, like my chest, the braid simply makes it easier to move quickly.
Anticipation rises in me, forcing me to slow my heart with a deep inhale.
I nod at my reflection and head for the door.
We spar for about thirty minutes, but even that seems to be too much for the unlearned prince.
Ramiel’s breath is hot and heavy, amplified by the sun’s direct aim. His hands rest over his knees and he bends forward, eyes trying to focus on the flat gray ground.
There is no soft place to rest in this concrete arena, nor is there any shade to relieve ourselves from the plaguing heat. Instead, we stand under the sky’s mercy, swords in hand, sweating until one of us dares to give in.
I may be panting, but I won’t be the first to drop.
The cool blade sits flat against my exposed shoulder, alleviating the searing sensation sizzling along my collarbone. Like humans, we aren’t immune to sunburns, we’re just a little more tolerant of them.
“Had enough yet?” I ask, trying not to smile. If he knows I’m having fun with this, he might have an adverse response. But that might be fun to see...
He looks up from his squat, eyes squinting into the sunlight. Strands of dark brown stick to his forehead, glistening with sweat. His lip lifts in response to the glaring light, revealing a set of straight teeth in his half-open mouth. “Explain to me again why this is the first thing we’re doing?”
I turn the blade quickly, letting the other side absorb the warmth in my shoulder. “Magic is useless if you can’t wield it in a vessel.” A half-truth. Magic is strongest when its wielder has a powerful core within them. But in his current state, he couldn’t conjure even a droplet of the simplest liquid, especially not with his lack of any physical skills. Hence why he needs to master a weapon before attempting to control the speck of magic squealing in his core.
“Useless?” he echoes. His eyes blip away from me, no longer able to withstand the brightness. Sighing, he plucks his sword from the hard ground and grips it with both hands, then stumbles a few feet back. He seems to finally understand the importance of this exercise. With very little time to learn everything he needs to know, he can’t start easy.
The blade slides off my shoulder and I lift my other hand to grip the leather hilt. I aim it at him. “Did I tell you I’ve never taught anyone how to wield a sword? Nor have I ever described how to use magic. These things were a part of my upbringing. It’s going to be very difficult for you to catch up in...”
“Two months,” Ramiel coughs.
“Right, two months.”
Is this really possible? After surveying his coordination, he isn’t terrible, but he also hasn’t trained his body to withstand the heat of battle. Nor of the sun, a thought taunts. My lips purse to hide the smirk crooking my lip into my cheek.
There’s no sense in being pessimistic—that will only slow us down.
I clear my throat. “It can and will be done. You just need to be serious about it is all.”
The prince scoffs, rolling his eyes. “It feels like I’m the only one being serious here.”
My hands tighten on the hilt. If I fail to teach him what he wants, what will happen to me? To Pluto? To... elven kind? I suddenly realize that this is no laughing matter. My presence here has been dangerous from the beginning.
I have to take him seriously, too.
To my surprise, he lunges first, sword leading his attack. But the blade is off-aim, and I immediately parry it with mine. The soft shriek of metal clanging together echoes off the cement landings surrounding us, but it’s gone after a moment.
Ramiel looks at me with flared nostrils, clearly agitated. I shrug my shoulders, but this seems to aggravate him more.
He launches at me, shoving the tip of the blade forward as though he’s trying a key in an unfamiliar lock and each time is a humiliating miss. His face flushes red and he bites his lip, eyebrows like stiff slopes over his grassy green eyes.
“I’m really not putting in a whole lot of effort to dodge you,” I sigh, tipping my blade toward him. “Why don’t you try to copy my movement?”
With one hand behind my back, I bend my knees and take three small steps forward, maintaining eye contact. Ramiel’s frustration fizzles into curiosity, his eyebrows lifting slightly. Then I take my free hand, strike the heel of the sword, and swing, stopping just before grazing his glistening neck.
He’s looking at me through eyes filled with innocent admiration.
A grin tweaks my expression, and in less than a second, I swipe my foot against his ankles and knock him to the hard ground.
A gurgly laugh barrels from my throat, but I don’t stop it. Nor do I want to. I feel... somehow free. While laughing at royalty. I thought I’d never see the day...
“Are you satisfied?” he asks, coughing from his sprawl. Upon seeing my blank expression, he continues. “I’ve been meaning to apologize for hiding the truth from you. After lying, myself, it’s unfair of me to expect the same from you.”
He stands, abandoning the sword. “Look, I know we got off on awkward terms. But if I’m being honest...” A hand runs hesitantly through his sweat-speckled brown hair as he struggles to find his phrasing. A genuine smile lifts his cheeks and my eyes gravitate toward that little indent to the left of his mouth. “I really need you, Ether.”
My heart thumps to life. He... needs me? What a strange thing to say.
I twist my sword into the ground. It spins and grinds into gritty cement, dulling its edge. “I originally didn’t care what your circumstances were, or why you need someone to train you. But would you mind telling me why you only have two months to learn how to use magic?”
Ramiel traces circles with his finger on the gray. His eyelids shade his eyes evergreen. “So, I take it you care enough now to ask?” He glances at me without moving his head, his eyes dark and dazzling in their moat of white.
A gulp struggles down my throat. “I’m worried, to be honest. Ever since you mentioned Pluto, I’ve been anxious about what our... companionship means for the rest of elf kind.”
Ramiel nods. “Yeah, I hadn’t really thought things through. But you’re here now, so I guess we ought to make this work out.” Something about the drawl in his words scares me, the carelessness—or perhaps ignorance—of the situation is clearly evident. He hadn’t even considered the consequences?
He continues. “My father threatened me with the Feast of Undying. This year, the kingdom promised to reveal the face of their crown prince, officially announcing his duty to the throne.” His eyes are empty as he speaks. “But with Xavelor’s death, there’s only one heir that can take the position.”
“And that’s you,” I say, tone flat. My nose wrinkles. “The Feast of Undying? As in, a celebration of the thousand-year-old war? The one that separated all species and nations?”
Ramiel doesn’t flinch at my words, only nods. “At this event, I’m expected to defeat a dragon.”
My eyes widen. While dragons were nothing to brag about for an elf, they were perhaps the mightiest beast to ensnare for a human. A dragon’s heart is worth a fortune in human currency, though its lack of magical energy renders it valueless to our kind.
Before I open my mouth to refute his negativity, the prince’s attention is elsewhere. I follow his gaze to the stone wall of the arena and my breath lodges in my throat.
A klopse?
Fuzzy and black, the little beast hobbles along the toothed crenellations as though weak or injured. I can feel its slow beating of magic energy—and it can’t even maintain its trademark camouflage—so it’s the furthest thing from a worthwhile source of replenishment.
Ramiel thinks differently, of course. If he spoke the truth about awakening some abnormal core within him, I’m sure his body is starved and looking for something to increase its size.
His eyes glaze over with venom. He reaches for his sword, then scales the wall clumsily before confronting the ragged beast.
“You’re unwise to wield a weapon against that creature, especially an adult,” I shout up to him, but he isn’t listening. His eyes are trained on the oblivious soot-colored being’s wobbling movement along the wall’s crest.
Does he even know what a klopse is? Do I have time to explain?
“I don’t know why, but I feel a sort of magnetic pull to it. Can I get stronger if I... if I kill it?” Ramiel sounds unsure of himself, but his movements are suddenly smooth and calculated.
I snort. “If you don’t let it kill you first.”
“This little thing?” Ramiel laughs. “It’s like a walking ball of yarn, it couldn’t—”
Before the poor prince can blink, the coal-colored beast grows into its full size, about twice that of Ramiel’s head, and strikes his arm with its four sharp teeth.
The prince cries out in pain, falling into the wall’s siding. Velvety red liquid spirals down his arm from ripped flesh.
Before the klopse can take another bite, I’m up on the wall, driving my dagger into its center. Through layers of matted, soft fur, I reach its skin and wrench the blade through. The beast must be so weak that it doesn’t realize I’m there until it’s already dead. I grip its hair in my fist and toss its light body into the arena.
Ramiel slumps to his knees, eyes rolling around in his head. I catch him with an arm before he falls to the stone path.
I float us down to the arena, out of sight of onlookers, and assess the damage. All four teeth went straight through his arm, piercing all the way through his bone. Luckily, it only got his forearm. He’d be in serious trouble if his humerus had been shattered.
My magical energy had been restored since eating the Tallup’s magical core, but using healing magic would dry me up too quickly, and it might not be effective in saving him anyway. I glance at the klopse’s corpse beside me, fur stiff from the humidity. Its weak core wouldn’t even begin to replenish my supply, but it might just help this weak prince...
With my free arm, I dig through the klopse’s fur and stick my fingers into its death wound, searching for the magical core.
I feel what seems to be a grain of sand—pathetic!—and hold it in front of me. Small and iridescent, shining in the light. It’s the magical core, alright, but it doesn’t have nearly enough energy to be of use to me.
Ramiel’s breaths start to slow and grow louder. His eyes shut tensely to his cheeks and the hand of his unscathed arm stiffens into a fist.
For every other creature with a magical core, one may consume its energy without issue. But for klopses, a vicious species, only the slayer can absorb its energy. Unless given in an incredulous way—by mouth.
“I’m not sure this will heal you, but it’s the only way,” I hiss, my cheeks growing hot. His arm continues to bleed out rapidly, forming a puddle beneath us. There’s no time to consider his boundaries or if this is the right decision.
No, this is the right decision. I need to think as this careless prince would, ignoring all future consequences. If he dies now, the blame will be on my conscience.
With a huff, I wedge the microscopic magic core into my lips, take a smooth breath in, and transfer it to Ramiel’s lips.
I push the core in further with a quick puff of air, then pull away and gently lay his back against the hot ground.
Now I wait.