[Like I said before, this story switches point of view often, usually between the two main characters. Iulia isn't one of them, but this is her POV. This is the same night as part 1. ConCrit welcome!]
~ Switch: Iulia ~
Queen Iulia walked briskly away from the feast, anger flowing cold and fast through her veins. Her fists were clenched holding the dark blue fabric of her dress as she turned up the main stairs and marched up them, her shoes clacking angrily on the stone steps.
How dare he. How dare the King treat her son so. And how dare Coron, the cheeky brat, shame her in front of the King. That boy… Iulia clenched her jaw tightly, examining the corners of the landing as she approached. He was always hiding in the shadows- what a coward he was. Everything he did shamed her. Everything he didn’t do shamed her even more. She must do something… he must be punished. The way the King had looked at her- or rather, the way he hadn’t- at the feast had made all the exotic food turn to dust in her mouth, leaving a bad taste that only got worse the longer she remained at table.
Coron wasn’t at the top of the stairs, or in his room. Iulia scowled angrily, but managed to stop herself from stomping her foot in irritation. He must have gone to the tower again- he was always going as far away as possible from anyone else. He had said once that the other children laughed at him because his hair was so light- the witch-white hair of the Northern clans, of his mother. He had told her this when she had caught him, ashamed, trying to dye it brown like Duma’s.
Ashamed of his own people. She’d given him a hiding for that. But even then, his eyes had looked up at her full of tears- and it was his father’s face, with his father’s eyes. The eyes of the King. He wasn’t of her people, no matter what color his hair was. He was Zanni, through and through.
“Coron?” Iulia called loudly up the tower stairs, and was rewarded by a frantic scuffling sound. Someone was up there, and trying to hide. Iulia started up the steps.
When she reached the top, the tower room was empty. She looked around, her eyes searching everything: the chair turned to face the fireplace, the set of curved wooden bookcases with the wardrobe in between, the windows with heavy red curtains on either side. “Coron?” she called once more. “I won’t ask again. Come here at once.”
Iulia’s eyes flashed as the door of the wardrobe creaked, but Coron emerged instead from the shadows shrouding the small space between it and the bookcase. He stood staring at the floor, looking small and solemn.
Iulia waited for a moment in silence, then spoke.
“You missed the feast tonight, Coron,” she said.
He didn’t answer, but instead began to play with his fingers, making them cross and uncross repeatedly.
“Coron, answer me,” Iulia said. “Why did you miss it? What do you think the King thought?”
That seemed to strike a chord; Coron stopped crossing his fingers. “I… don’t know. I’m sorry,” he said.
Iulia sighed impatiently and stepped closer to him. She put her hand beneath his chin and pulled his head up so that he was looking right into her eyes.
“I know why. The entire palace knows why,” she said. “You acted like a fool today while playing with your sword, hmmm? And the King taught you a lesson. And what did you do?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “You ran away and hid.” Her tone was scathing and mocking.
Coron said nothing, but she could see tears begin to form, and suddenly she couldn’t stand to look at him anymore. She snatched her hand away and walked over to the fireplace to stand by the chair. She rubbed her hand agitatedly over the designs carved into the worn wood. It was quite old, with a pair of dragons carved on the sides and entwining in the center. It made Iulia smile distractedly.
“I just wanted…” Coron began, sniffing, “Well, Viri said that I was very good… that I was better than Duma, when he was my age. And I wanted to show Father because I thought... I thought…” his voice trailed off, and he sniffed again. “I don’t know.”
Iulia stiffened, but then relaxed, and a chill of sadness washed over her like a winter breeze. She hadn’t felt it in so long- her anger was colder, and it made her numb.
“You thought… it would make him like you,” she said, not mockingly now, but with a hint of understanding. Perhaps there was something in Coron that was like her, after all.
Coron didn’t answer at first. Then, so quietly she almost couldn’t hear it, he whispered, “Yes.” He turned away then, and looked out the window at the rapidly darkening sky.
A silence fell over the room, but it wasn’t empty. Iulia let herself become still, and concentrated. She opened herself, and slowly, she began to sense another layer to the silence, deeper, constantly moving and turning. They were visible, but only just; slight traces in the air, a barely perceptible ripple in the air was all that marked their presence. That didn’t matter though, Iulia knew. Their effects were felt more strongly than anything else, and there were so many of them. Some were stronger than others; fear, for example, and anger, were always two that were very noticeable, even to those untrained in this kind of sight. Here, there were many emotions present, subtle and yet potent, like fragrances in the wind. They warped and turned in a constant state of change, and their strengths and weaknesses were as palpable to her as the physical objects surrounding her.
It had always been this way for her- so easy to feel the emotions of others, so simple to gage their power. Anyone could use it, even these Zanni. But they rejected it, labeling it witchcraft, banishing those who saw it for the valuable skill it was to the northern reaches of the peninsula. Even the King feared it, although he hid it well. Even that effort was ineffectual, though- how could you hide your emotions from an enchanter, especially something as obvious as fear?
Coron’s emotions were strong now- almost as strong as hers, Iulia noticed with surprise. His was a tangled web and they constantly rose and fell, confused… and usable.
“Coron,” she said suddenly. “Would you like me to teach you a trick?”
Coron looked over to her now, and Iulia saw the slight wisp of curiosity rise around him. “What is it?” he asked, taking a tentative step toward her.
“Come here and I’ll show you,” she said, gesturing for him to approach.
He did so, a little cautiously at first, and then stopped, close to her side, but not touching. Iulia bent down, her white-blonde hair falling down over her shoulders as she bent to be on eye level with her son.
“Close your eyes,” she instructed, “and stay perfectly still.”
Coron watched her for a moment, then curiosity won out, and he closed his eyes. His breathing became deeper, and calm.
“Now, reach out, and feel- no, not with your hands, just in your mind,” Iulia said, impatiently, as Coron began to move his hands forward. At her rebuke, he dropped them stiffly to his sides and frowned as if in concentration.
“Now, the simplest way to do this trick is to think of something that makes you very angry, or very afraid,” Iulia said. “But don’t let yourself become angry or afraid, just think of it. Remember how it feels, and know that it is there.”
“What do I do then?” he asked.
“Can you feel it?” she asked, trying him. “Can you feel its strength?”
He bit his lip, concentrating, then nodded.
Iulia looked around the room. “It’s dark in here,” she said. “Open your eyes now, but don’t let go of the feeling. Look toward the fireplace.”
Coron did as she said, squinting in concentration.
“Now, focus on the fireplace. Push the power there. Think of it warming the wood and igniting it. Think of the canals in the city; you are the canal, the power is the water- channel it to the fireplace.”
Iulia looked back and forth, from Coron to the fireplace, watching for a sign. Coron had closed his eyes again and stood facing the fireplace, his face a mask of concentration, but the fireplace remained dark. Minutes passed, and Iulia felt irritation rise in her again.
“Come now, Coron, it’s not that hard,” she said trying not to sound impatient. “Try harder- you can’t do the trick if you don’t try.”
“I am trying,” Coron muttered, and then, suddenly, Iulia heard a fizzing sound.
She turned, quickly, to the fireplace, and saw a slight ribbon of smoke rising from the wood in the grate.
“That’s right, just a little more,” she said softly, so as not to break his concentration.
The wood smoked more, and then suddenly a tiny flame sparked to life.
“Look, Coron, you did it!” Iulia said, satisfied. “Quickly, look!” It was not a roaring fire perhaps, Iulia thought a little critically, but it was a start.
Coron opened his eyes and gasped in surprise. He stared at the small flame, already dying on the logs, and turned to her.
“Did you do that when my eyes were closed?” he asked, disbelievingly.
“No, it was you,” she replied.
He turned back to the fire, which flickered and went out as a small wind blew down the chimney. “But how…” his voice trailed off, and he looked confused. “But I didn’t, all I did was what you told me to do.”
“And you lit the fire, with the energy you were controlling.”
“But that would be…”
“Magic, yes,” Iulia confirmed, sounding pleased. Coron actually could be a clansman, it seemed. Wouldn’t the King just love that- his own son, practicing magic. The thought made her smile.
“But, Mother, I can’t do magic,” Coron said.
“Of course you can. Anyone can do it,” Iulia said, her smile disappearing. Honestly, how tiring he was being!
“No, if I did, then I would be a witchling, like the other children say,” Coron responded, and he started backing away from her, from the fireplace, back toward the stairs.
“What does it matter what those other children say? They’re fools, just like the rest of these Zanni- rejecting a power that could come so easily to them. It is for us, Coron, and for our people, to take this power and not hide it, but use it.” She extended a hand to him and gestured for him to come back. “Come here, Coron, and I’ll teach you more.”
Coron stayed where he was, close to the top of the stairs, his hand on the newel. He didn’t move, and in the dim light, Iulia could see his eyes watching her, uncertain and afraid. His apprehension filled the air with a biting, bitter taste. Iulia took a step closer, ignoring the slight annoyance rising in her. “Come now, I won’t bite,” she said, smiling a little mockingly. “And I can guarantee I won’t be like your father, this morning.”
But Coron stepped back again, onto the top stair. “No, I won’t!” he said. “I’m Zanni!”
“But you’re not, son,” she responded. “You’re not Zanni- why do you think everyone else says so? You are Sinu, from the North- don’t hide among these people, Coron. In fact, you can’t hide, so why not show it?”
“No, no!” Coron called at her, shaking his head. “I won’t! You can’t make me!” And with a sudden turn, he ran down the stairs, leaving her behind.
Iulia stared for a moment at where he had been standing, her face and muscles frozen with the sudden surprised anger. Then, as the slam of the door below echoed up the stairwell, she shook herself.
So. She had been right about Coron after all. A spoiled, sullen, ungrateful boy. She had been right about him before. Taking pride in being Zanni? It was the Zanni who were weak, as irresolute as they insisted all other peoples were. They were weak in mind and weak in power, as were all who like tyrants ruled through strength alone. She had even shown him this, and still Coron had rejected it, clinging to those people who cast him away. He wasn’t Zanni, and now he wouldn’t be Sinu either. He was lost somewhere between them, as he wished to be.
The cold shivers of anger ran over her arms, and Iulia calmly fingered the strength in her mind. Her hand went up and traced the chain of the necklace she had worn for the last five years; the thin chain held the simple pearl pendant close to her throat. The room had grown dark, but as her fingers neared the pearl, it began to give off a dim light, like the rays of the sun from below the surface of the sea.
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