High, beautiful windows lined one of the walls, allowing the sun to shine light upon everything it touched. It was the backdrop to an elegant, intricately carved desk. Neat shelves of potions lined the walls, but I couldn't even muster the energy to scan them as I dropped down into a cushioned chair. High Master Belcomb took a seat in the high-backed one across from me.
"That was incredibly stupid of you."
The words weren't said maliciously, but matter of factly. I knew she was right, but there had been no other option. Was I meant to let him die a horribly, painful death in front of his daughter? So soon after the death of his wife, leaving Mirabel an orphan in a world that already despised her?
Would I have ever been able to forgive myself if I had?
The High Master let out a little breath, a humorless laugh following it. “However, knowing Merle Sommers is your Aunt and mentor, I shouldn't even be surprised, should I?"
I wanted to question her, wanted to know exactly what she meant by that. Yet I remained silent, my eyes settling onto the window just behind her.
Seeing, but not seeing. Hearing, but not hearing.
My body no longer felt as if it were my own. It feltwrong. My skin crawled and squeezed against my bones, my lungs compressing—too tight for me to truly breathe in.
I was here, but I was not.
I was real, but I didn't feel it.
"Syra."
My hands clenched.
Her brow crinkled the slightest bit, and I focused in on the pale skin dimpling and pinching together, creating such a worried expression.
Was it worry? Worry for what? Me, or that I was a sympathizer?
I hadn't realized she had stood, rounding the table before leaning down so we were eye level. Her hand gripped my chin harshly, pointed nails digging into the soft skin.
"Do you know why your Aunt is not the High Master of Potionery despite being the best of a generation?" Her eyes bore into mine—eyes I had once thought reminded me of the ice on a frozen stream, but I could see now that they were flame through and through. An azure flame so hot they threatened to turn me to ash under their raging fury. Harsh, deadly, and wholly unforgiving. Her nails dug deeper as she spoke. “Because she could not separate her emotions from her work. She could not hide her empathy." The words stung, like poison dripping from her tongue. “Because she was toostupidto see the larger picture and just behave the way that was required of her."
My nails carved into the skin of my palms, the pain drawing me from my stupor. The first emotion I had been able to feel in minutes was unspooling and clawing its way up my throat.
Anger.
I jerked back from her grip as I ground my teeth.
A little smile curled High Master Belcomb's lips as she backed away, seeing what she had apparently needed to see.
"Wallowing does us no good," she finally spoke, going back to her chair. "To be so worked up over the life of a man you do not even know, a Luanthian man at that, will only bring you trouble in a place such as this. Steel your emotions, hide them. That is the only way we survive."
But I did know him.
A kind smile on my walks home. Nervous fingers tapping his hat. Coal dust and patched shoes. His face tender and loving every time he looked upon his wife. His voice soothing and patient when he spoke to his daughter.
"And how do they survive it, High Master?" My tone bordered on insolence.
"They don't."
Those words, the simplicity and finality of them, had the rage vanishing as quickly as it stirred. My body slumped further into the chair, wanting to curl into it and simply disappear.
"Was there something you needed from me?”
The question was quiet.Goddess, I was tired.
I wanted to see Merle.
To be home, curled into the familiarity and comfort of my own bed as I let go of all the emotions that were now beginning to wither me fromthe inside out. To let Merle comb her fingers through my hair and lift the burden from my shoulders.
