by Jada Fisher
I did as Master Velas instructed, trying to focus on keeping my inhalation measured and calm. It had been a couple of days since our grand tour of the place and ever since, I had been meeting the artist every day.
At first, Mallory had been pretty bored by it all, but then her parents had arrived with their own dragon escort and she had been spending most of her time with them. I tried not to be jealous, but it was difficult considering that every day just brought more questions on if my sister could even be alive still with so much time having passed.
Thankfully, Master Velas helped distract me from that. It seemed he always had a pile of books he wanted to go over with me, or an exercise for me to try. Nothing had really come of it yet, but it kept me occupied and for the moment, that was enough. Although my fingers were itching to get at the paints, I figured leisurely creating art was for when we weren’t prepping for a possible war.
Speaking of which, it was strange that I knew nothing about what was going on with the dark faction that attacked. Bron did his best to keep me in the dark, and although I knew it affected me, I didn’t feel like prying.
“Now open your mind, letting your thoughts fall to the earth like petals.”
…whose thoughts were petals? There were a lot of different words for how my mind worked, but dainty, flowery things didn’t describe it at all.
“I see your forehead wrinkling there. Relax.”
Easier said than done. He wasn’t the one sitting cross-legged on the floor with the sun turning the inside of my eyelids red instead of black.
“Good. Now try again. Breathe in, then out, reach down into the very depths of yourself. Feel for the center of your energy. It resides within all of us in different forms, in some people it manifests as a burning flame. In others, it is rushing water, powerful and unstoppable. In others, it is a light. Whatever it is, find it, and grasp it.”
What was he even talking about? How did I reach into myself? Sure, I read about it in all my high-fantasy books, but this was real life. I wasn’t some great mage, I was an orphan turned barista.
Still, I might as well try. I screwed my eyes shut as tightly as I could and concentrated, forcing myself to do what he asked as best I could.
My mind took me back to when I was younger, when kids would mock my hand or teachers would be frustrated that I wasn’t paying attention like they thought I should. In those moments, I had wanted to run and never have to face them again, but I found a strength within myself that I never knew, and I had been able to sit through those classes with my head held high.
Yeah, that would work. I reached for that same strength, trying to envision it in my mind. It wasn’t fire, as Velas had said. Or light. Instead, it was a tightly-wound ball of energy stained different colors of the rainbow. I saw cerulean and emerald, light pink and lilac. Mint, sapphire, scarlet, viridian, all of them tightly wrapped around each other and flowing through each other but none mixing.
I imagined wrapping my hand around it and the little ball glowed faintly, ever-so-slightly growing at the edges, but as my fingers tightened in my mind’s eyes, the colors passed through my hand then slithered around me like snakes.
That was frustrating.
I focused further, remembering the time that we had no food, so Mickey had marched us from our foster home to a local food bank and convinced them to give us some groceries without ID. Then she had built a fire in a park grill by one of their gazebos and cooked us a meal. While it didn’t sound that impressive now, it certainly was to a fifteen-year-old and her much younger sister.
I could be strong like that. I could be just as brave, and calm, and matter-of-fact. I just needed to be less afraid of all the things that could happen and start actually getting things done.
I tightened my imaginary fingers again, and this time, the ball didn’t slither away. No, it grew and grew until my entire hand was enveloped in the technicolor energy.
“Yes! That’s it! I can feel your body reacting!”
But I didn’t pay attention to Master Velas. I was alight with my own energy and my every sense was consumed by it.
Suddenly, time stood still, just like it had when I had my vision in real time, but instead of strange holographs playing over reality, something entirely different happened.
Everything was normal, and yet not. It was the room, just as I had left it, but instead of light illuminating the room, there were just colors, each shining like the energy within me.
It was like everything was a Van Gogh painting, and I felt like all of the brush strokes were leading me right to the canvas at the other end of the room. I stood, eyes affixed, and slowly shuffled forward. Master Velas had the good sense to get out of my way, and that was the last my consciousness paid attention to him. Soon, my whole word was just the blank canvas before me.
Except it wasn’t really blank, and yet it was. I could tell that no one had painted on it yet, but there was a myriad of colors flashing across its surface. Each one of them telling a story, each one of them beckoning me to bring their worlds from their reality into mine.
Who was I to disagree?
Like a woman possessed, I rushed to the paint and brush racks, grabbing whatever the colors told me I needed. It felt strange to be so artistically removed from a process that I normally took such great joy in, but my arms were moving as if they were machines being operated by somebody else and I knew that questioning the who, the what or the why might pull me out of my trance and I would never get the answers that the canvas demanded I dictate.
There was no fear as I stood in front of the easel, splashing colors this way and that. No hesitation and no do-overs. I just followed the colors, letting them guide me even though I couldn’t understand what they so urgently wanted me to express.
I couldn’t say how long I stood there, enraptured by the energy flowing through me and connecting me to all of existence. Time always went a bit screwy when it came to my visions and it appeared that this was no different. But eventually, after many ragged breaths and frenzied brushstrokes, the colors finally faded. I stepped backward, observing what the heck I had made.
“That was rather amazing to watch,” Master Velas said, walking up from behind me.
I didn’t startle, my attention was too affixed on what I had painted. The colors in my trance were nothing like the ones I had actually used, creating a strange sort of paradox that I would have to figure out later.
The painting was mostly blue, cut into jagged shapes and stark highlights that spoke of crystals, like the kind you’d find in geodes or a wiccan shop, but at the center of it, there was a single figure, hanging there like some sort of religious symbol.
“Do you know what it is?” the older man continued, stepping closer so he could examine it in more detail.
I nodded slowly, but it took several seconds for me to find the words. My mouth was so dry, and my tongue felt like it weighed a million pounds. “It’s me,” I murmured, my entire consciousness affixed on the illustration. “This is how I die.”
“How you di— Are you certain? Is this literal, or more figurative?”
I shook my head, feeling myself slowly return to reality. Like a balloon that had been blown up too large and then deflated too fast, I felt empty. I just wanted to lay down and not have any dreams for once. “I don’t know. I just…only know that this is me, and it’s important.”
“I see.” Master Valen stroked his chin. I could feel that he was staring at me in concern, but I couldn’t summon the energy to care. “Do you mind if I keep this?”
“Do what you will,” I answered, already turning to leave. “I’m going to go sleep. I’ll see you another day.”
“Yes, you will.” He smiled softly and I managed to return a half-hearted grin. “Rest well, Miss Davie. You have earned it.”
Did I? It certainly didn’t feel like it. The only thing I was good at was bemoaning doom and gloom. Would it kill me to have a vision about something happy for once?
I guessed that
would be too much to ask for, and I headed back to my room, shaking my head.
5
Pseudo-Shopping Spree
“Davie! Davie, are you here?”
I looked up from the book I was reading, not recognizing the voice calling me at first. It was only when they shouted again that I recognized it as Baelfyre.
Gross. Why was he looking for me? Maybe he murdered me and that was why him and Bron ended up fighting?
No, that didn’t make sense, considering what I had painted. Then again, what if that was more figurative than literal, or I was just wrong in general?
“Ah, there you are!”
The dark-haired prince had reached the door while I had been lost in thought and he rushed over to me with a smile.
“Hey, come with me,” he said, gesturing for me to follow him, but I wasn’t exactly about to cooperate with who I was sure was a bad guy, so I just crossed my arms and sat back.
“Where? And why?” I asked instead, affixing him with a matter-of-fact look.
He cocked his head to the side, regarding me. “You know, there’s been something I’ve been meaning to ask you for a while.”
To my great displeasure, he stepped around the desk and sat on the corner of it, looking down at me with a kind expression. That was the first time I realized that his eyes were a stunning mix of green and gold. On anybody else, I would have had the urge to draw them, but with him, I just felt like a stupid rabbit in the view of a hungry hawk.
“Did I do something to get off on the wrong foot with you? I can’t help but feel there’s a certain animosity between us.”
Crap. Well, I guessed I hadn’t exactly been subtle, but I couldn’t really tell him that I knew what he was. That might tip my hand too much and I had no idea of how he might react. Sure, I was a seer, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t just slit my throat and end me where I sat.
“Have I?” I responded flatly. “I guess I’m just not very good with new people.”
He nodded. “I understand that. From what my cousin tells me, you haven’t exactly had the easiest life.”
I shrugged. I didn’t really feel like getting into a woe-is-me speech with the royal. I did that enough on my own already. “We all have our struggles.”
“True, but I feel like you have survived more than most. Life can often be cruel, or unfair, and we do our best to accept it, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t difficult. So, I guess that’s why I got you these. Trying to balance the scales a bit.”
He pulled something out of his pocket and I jerked back a bit. His expression turned a touch disappointed, but he persisted nonetheless, presenting me with a long, thin, white box.
I took it tentatively, with absolutely no idea what it could be. It was closed with a beautiful, gauzy ribbon tied into a picturesque bow, so cute that I felt guilty undoing it, but I did nonetheless, opening it to reveal a pair of beautiful gloves within.
They were made of pure white leather with silvery stitching throughout. A design of a tree had been delicately embroidered to the front, elegant and flawless. When I picked them up, they were soft and supple, enough that I could draw in them.
I held my breath as I looked at their interior, seeing that they were lined with soft fur that I couldn’t identify. I looked from the gloves to Baelfyre and back again, trying to piece all of it together.
“But why?” was all that I could ask, as eloquent as always.
“I couldn’t help but overhear what you asked my cousin and I noticed that they still haven’t brought you clothes or gloves. While we may revere scars, it is clear that no one is respecting you. So, I thought I might try to make up the difference as best I could.” He smiled softly, and I couldn’t be more confused. “Bron is a good guy, really he is, and he’s going to do his best by you, but he has too much on his plate to keep track of everything. I figured the least I could do was help where I could.”
But this didn’t make any sense. I knew Baelfyre was a bad guy. Without a doubt. “You really watch out for him that much?”
“Not usually. He’s a fairly capable prince, but a lot of things are happening very quickly. It’s easy to get overwhelmed, but in general, yes. It started when we were kids and he almost was knocked out of the sky by a plane, and it’s been happening on and off ever since.” He laughed slightly, and it was quite the musical sound. “I’m two months older, so I guess that makes me feel responsible.”
“Huh, yeah. I guess.” I looked back down at the gloves and slid one on, tucking the other one so it hung out of my pants pocket decoratively but was secure enough to not fall out. “Thank you.”
“It’s nothing, really. And I have a whole selection of outfits waiting for you in your room, so you can stop wandering around in those rags all the time.”
I laughed. “We made do.”
“Indeed you did, but that doesn’t mean you have to. I noticed your friend’s parents brought her clothes, but it seems no one has been looking out for you.”
I shifted uncomfortably. “Mallory has been letting me borrow her dresses every now and then.” I didn’t feel the need to say that I wore them as shirts, and that they were quite short at that.
“I’m sure she has, she’s a good friend, but come, I promise you’ll love it.”
He offered his hand and I looked at it with more uncertainty than I had ever felt. I had been so sure that I had him pegged as a bad character, but was it possible that I was wrong? So far, none of my visions had really turned out the way they had been presented. What if I was taking things far too literally?
Although my subconscious was practically screaming at me, I slid my gloved hand into Baelfyre’s and let him escort me back to my room.
He kept up the friendly banter the entire time, obviously enjoying my company and the new sense of trust he was perceiving. I listened, just like before, my mind trying to decipher if he was really friend or foe.
When we finally reached my room, I did notice that the door was ajar. Baelfyre strode through them, throwing the doors open and waiting for me to follow him.
I did, cautiously of course, and crept into the place where I spent most of my time if I wasn’t in the library. Mallory had been moved into a different room down the hall with her parents and, while she did her best to visit me often, it wasn’t the same.
The moment I was in and could actually see the inside of my room, I noticed the racks and racks of clothes lined up against the wall. My jaw dropped, and I could hardly believe what I was seeing.
“Are these…all for me?” I half-whispered.
“Hardly,” Baelfyre answered with a bit of a laugh. “I wasn’t quite sure of your size, so I had them bring a selection from size twelve to twenty. Your American measurements are very strange, but whatever fits you is yours.”
“Are you serious?”
“It would be in very poor form if I was not.”
I let out a squeal and rushed forward. Normally, I wasn’t big on clothes, but that was mostly because they weren’t a priority in life. Money went to food, bills, and Mickey’s care first. Everything else came after that, and I wasn’t going to spend time or money on something as frivolous as a new dress or whatever the latest fashion trend was.
But this…this was entirely different.
There were dresses and overalls, shorts and shirts, all of them incredibly well-made and far beyond anything I could afford. Suddenly, I could be the goth girl that I always wanted, and the prep, and the rockabilly. Pretty much anything I could imagine was present and I was absolutely loving it.
My hands were practically a blur, picking out things I liked that looked to be about the right size and piling the on my bed. I was like a kid in a candy shop and I was discovering all sorts of things about myself.
I had at least a quarter of the racks cleared out in minutes and my bed was absolutely covered in different outfit pieces. When I finally had picked over everything, I realized I could spend a couple days trying stuff on before I went through it all, and I h
ad to wonder if I was dreaming.
Sure, men who could shapeshift into dragons I bought with no issue, but a wardrobe makeover? Unbelievable.
“Thank you so much for this,” I said, looking at Baelfyre once more. Maybe it was shallow of me to be swayed by a couple of gifts, but it wasn’t really what the man was giving but how. He paid attention to what I needed. Granted, that was something that someone trying to trick me would do, but what could I say? He was sending me signals that just didn’t make sense.
“So, now that you have some choices, the real question is what shall you wear first?”
“You mean right now?” I asked, eyes going wide.
“Unless you want to continue to wear the same clothes you’ve been wearing for nearly two weeks and washing every few days.”
“Right.” I looked at the large pile on the bed and ended up picking a cute, sort of pin-up dress that was clearly in sailor style. Grabbing that and some of the polka dot tights that had been hung over the top of the rack, I headed in.
“I hope you don’t mind, I had the maid take the liberty of putting unmentionables in your dressing room. I figured you would want to peruse those in a more private setting.”
I felt my cheeks color as I remembered that he had first met me in only a bathrobe. If you asked me, my unmentionables came up far too much around him.
“Thanks.” I hurried to my oversized half-bath and shut the door, relieved to be away from the dark-haired man for a little while.
I took my time shimmying and shammying into my new outfit, loving every moment of it. The fabric was thick, and sturdy, none of the plasticine and polyester stuff I was used to. And yet, it was also soft. Not stiff or itchy. It felt like it was made for me, with everything but the chest fitting as well as the glove on my hand.
The tights fit too, which was a miracle in and of itself. Between being tall and being plus-sized, it wasn’t often such things fit without a lot of research and trial and error, but the polka dot pair did so without feeling like they would become unraveled and full of runs the moment the slightest bit of friction hit them.