“Taavin,” she whispered. Nothing. The panic from Ulvarth’s departure returned in full force. “Taavin?” A little louder.
“Who…” his voice was muffled. But she heard footsteps nearing the door.
“Taavin?”
“Vi, is that you?”
“Yes.”
“How did you—”
“Given everything that’s happened, I think me figuring out how to get to you should be the least surprising thing,” Vi teased lightly. “There’s a lock on the door. How do I get in?”
“The lock is new. I think only Ulvarth keeps the key. He says he’ll only let me out at specific times to collect whatever research I need.” Her blood instantly boiled at the words. She had grown up in a beautiful prison as well… but never one with locks on the doors.
“If I break the lock, he’ll know.” It was still tempting to do it, just to mess with him. But Vi suspected Taavin would be blamed—and punished. She ran her fingers over the rung the heavy padlock was slipped through. Such a delicate-looking piece of iron for a door that was bolted so tightly. “But I have an idea.”
“There’s no way to fix the lock with Lightspinning,” Taavin cautioned hastily, needlessly.
“I know. I’m not breaking the lock, and Ulvarth doesn’t need to know.”
Vi pushed the spark into her fingertips, rubbing the rung again and again. The iron heated slowly. She wanted it hot enough to be malleable, but not so hot it dripped off the door. She’d have to fix it before she left, after all.
Her left hand held the lock in place as her right worked. Vi dug her nail into the soft metal, pulling back and separating it. She widened it just enough that the padlock could slide out. Vi set it on the floor carefully, giving the metal time to cool before she undid the latch and opened the door to the face of a very shocked Taavin.
“That’s the problem with metal locks.” Vi gave a small smile. “They’re not really the best at keeping Firebearers out.”
He stuck his head through the open door. His eyes fell to the still locked padlock on the ground. Vi tapped the rung attached to the door that she modified.
“You heated the rung.” He went to rest his hand on the now separated metal. Vi stopped him with a touch.
“It may still be hot.”
“Fire truly doesn’t burn you.”
“No, and thank the Goddess for that holdover from my Firebearer training.” Vi looked to her hand, opening and closing her palm for a moment before shifting her attention to him. His eyes were worried and sunken, face pale. He looked more harrowed being around Ulvarth for a few days then he had on the run or while dying in a cave. “May I come in?”
“What?” Taavin’s attention was jolted from the door. “Oh, yes, of course.”
He stepped to the side and Vi entered, though Taavin’s eyes remained on the door and the dark ladder that stretched away from his quarters. Vi caught the longing look from the corners of her eyes. It was the look of a man presented with the notion of false freedom. They both knew if Taavin left, Ulvarth would find him—and the consequences would fall on both their heads. Besides, all the answers they needed were here, anyway.
He’d described his room once to her and Vi had worked to imagine it in her mind’s eye. She’d been right about a few things, wrong about others.
The whole room was in the shape of an octagon—that much she’d managed to get right. The walls were, indeed, painted in soft grays and whites, but mostly white. The gray was a delicate embellishment in tiny patterns of birds, swords, and suns across the room. It was such a subtle contrast that in certain light, it disappeared completely.
A single shelf on the wall to the left of the door held a handful of texts. The bookend on one side was a bunch of inkwells. On the other, screws and scraps of metal rested, little cogs shining in the low light. He’d mentioned his hobby of watchmaking and Vi had entirely forgotten. They’d been forced to leave behind so much of their peacetime lives since starting this journey. Vi thought back to the hobbies she’d had, the things she’d enjoyed—things she may never be able to do again.
Other than the shelf, there was a single chair and ottoman, facing a lonely window on the wall opposite the door, one other window to the right.
“This is where you live,” Vi murmured. It was obvious, but she had to say it aloud. It didn’t seem real. It couldn’t be.
“My whole life.”
Everything was immaculately clean but worn with age. She tried to imagine a young Taavin, running laps around the chair to dispel the energy that graces all children—even children chosen by Yargen. She imagined a young man standing at the windows, looking out at the world beyond and wondering if he should scream for help. She imagined the man he was now, cultivated in his captivity, seeking solace in the tomes beneath him.
Turning back to face him, Vi found he was suddenly blurry. She blinked rapidly, trying to draw him into focus once more. She could imagine the man before her now sitting in his lonely chair, waiting for the “daydreams” that tortured him to pass.
“Don’t look at me with those sad eyes,” he said softly, crossing over to her. Taavin collected both of her hands in his, bringing them to his mouth and kissing her knuckles.
