EIGHTEEN
Silas had visited before, yet Ivory City was still breathtaking.
The Waystone jump landed just outside the city, so they walked at a slow pace across the rolling fields of the outskirts.
Ahead were pale stone buildings, gleaming under the heat of the late morning sun.
The Lux Spire, a pinnacle of academic pursuit and the city’s most recognisable landmark, shone blindingly in the light, earning its name as it glowed with an ethereal light.
It was the heart of the city, seen from afar in all directions, an awe-inspiring structure of ivory-hued marble and intricately stained glass.
Amelia led her horse quietly into the city, Silas walking alongside. They’d hardly spoken to each other since letting one another go beside the Waystone. They had agreed to visiting Amelia’s home before discussing their next steps.
When they stepped through the polished golden gates into the city, Silas found a bustling cornucopia of scholars, merchants, and artisans.
Ivory City exuded an air of refinement, with its carefully maintained cobbled streets lined with trimmed greenery, and its towering buildings adorned with delicate carvings and magical symbols wherever you looked.
Amelia led the way, pulling Tempest along quietly, her hooves making loud clacking sounds with every step.
He knew where she had lived since graduating from the university, having stayed in the same lodgings during his visits.
The Lux Spire was surrounded by an octagonal building, erected around the university, hosting thousands of rooms for students, scholars, and professors.
When Silas had been in the Spire’s upper levels, looking down at the Octagon, he thought it looked more like a barricade to keep people out of the university.
Amelia had a top-floor apartment in the Octagon, courtesy of her wealthy parents who were both professors in the Spire.
She gave her horse to a stable hand, giving Tempest a soft pat before gesturing for Silas to follow her into the towering building. It was not nearly as tall as the Lux Spire by far, but they still stood in its long shadow, Silas having to crane his neck to see the top.
Silas followed her into the lobby of a western edge of the Octagon, still marvelling at the opulence of the ivory marble, the soft, shiny timber of the walls.
Everything glittered and looked fresh, like it had been built yesterday.
He would bet that every surface had been freshly polished within the last handful of hours.
They stepped into an elevator, and she reached for a small round button, but he stopped her.
“Which floor?” he asked, pulling her wrist away.
Amelia looked at him, confused.
He grinned. “I’ve only been in an elevator three times in my life, and I’ve never been able to push the buttons.”
That earned a tiny smile and small laugh. “Such a child,” she said. “Floor eighteen.”
Silas eagerly reached forwards to touch the number eighteen, feeling a silly thrill when the doors slid closed sleekly, and the elevator began to hum before shooting smoothly upwards.
He joined Amelia as she leaned against the wall facing the doors.
Silas was watchful, wondering how she was doing.
That was how he noticed the way she shifted her shoulders uncomfortably, a grimace befalling her face.
He tilted his head as his eyes roamed over her.
It was not the first time he had noticed a similar discomfort.
“Are you alright?”
Her eyes snapped to his and she immediately straightened her posture, face smoothing out. “I’m fine,” she said, looking resolutely away. Silas wasn’t fooled by the brush-off.
“Okay,” he responded, promising himself to bring it up again later when she might be more amenable to sharing.
On the eighteenth floor, he trailed behind her until she was opening the door of her private apartment.
Silas held his breath as he stepped inside, uncertain what he would find in a space that Amelia had occupied for many years. Would there be hints to her true nature with odds and ends that would point to things she enjoys, or would it be clean, sterile?
He set his gaze eagerly around the modestly sized but carefully arranged room. His first impression was that it was a space that represented her scholarly mind while also being a place of quiet solitude.
There were two tall, arched windows that offered breathtaking views of the city below, Silas spying the beautifully crafted terraces and canals beneath them.
With the large windows, natural light flooded the space, illuminating the pale stone walls and dark wooden shelving that lined nearly every inch of available wall.
There were two columns in the central area, adorned with sconces that would give the room a soft golden glow when the sun descended.
A sturdy oak desk sat beneath an arched window, cluttered with open books, pages of notes and half-finished sketches of arcane symbols and runes. Pens and notebooks were scattered about in organised chaos, and it was all so very Amelia that he had to fight his quiet smile.
Against a far wall, sat a narrow but comfortable looking bed with a thick woollen blanket on top and far too many pillows lined neatly at the head.
On the opposite side of the room was a small fireplace, with two wingback chairs and worn-looking cushions.
Silas could imagine Amelia curled by the fire with a book, reading late into the night until her eyes drooped, eventually falling asleep there, book still open on her lap.
Personal touches were subtle, but Silas picked up on a few with his first sweep around the room. An old telescope on the windowsill. A pressed flower between the pages of a journal. A single scarlet scarf hanging on a hook by the door.
Amelia set her backpack down near her bed, rubbing her hands against her trousers, looking awkward.
“Um, I’d like to get changed,” she said, before pulling at her heavy cloak. “It’s a bit warm for all these layers.”
Silas smirked and looked around for the bathroom facility, spotting a single door. “I’ll step away for a minute, let me know when you’re ready.”
She nodded while Silas moved for the bathroom, pulling the door shut behind him.
He sat on the closed toilet, waiting for her. He wouldn’t mind getting changed himself. Silas felt itchy and overly warm in his heavy clothing that was meant for much colder weather.
A clatter of something was heard behind the door of the bathroom, and he heard the faint huff of frustration.
“Winslow?” he called through the wood. No answer.
Silas glanced at his own reflection and reached up to run his fingers through his windswept blonde hair, trying to fix the general disarray.
Another sound, like something being dropped and breaking.
He frowned at the door, leaning closer to it.
“Winslow, what are you doing?”
“I’m fine!” she called back, sounding strained.
He was sceptical but stayed put. Until he heard the distinct sound of pain, a gasping hiss of breath, followed by a searing pain down the centre of his own spine that he knew belonged to Amelia. Silas grimaced with the ache of it, moving back to the door, uncertainty propelling him.
“Winslow, I’m coming out.”
“Finley, don’t—”
Silas had already opened the door, his worry overtaking any sense of decorum. He froze to the spot, hand fixed tightly around the handle as he took her in.
Amelia whirled. She had been standing before a dresser with an oval mirror fixed to it, her back to him. Now she faced him, wearing her black trousers and nothing but a black bralette.
She gasped, arms flinging across her chest, but she needn’t have worried about him looking at her. Not there anyway.
Before turning to him, he had seen something on her back. Something raw and red, sharp lines etched into her skin.
Now he could see it, this time reflected in the mirror behind her as Amelia stood, chest rising and falling rapidly.
“Finley, what are you doing!” she shrieked. “Get out of here!”
Silas stared at her with mounting disbelief and horror.
“What is that?”
She hesitated, before she realised he could see her back reflected in the mirror, and she shifted away from it. “What is what?”
He released the handle and stalked forwards, anger fuelling his steps. He stopped before her and pointed to her chest. “ That , what is that on your back?”
“Finley…” Amelia said, eyes darting away as she fetched her top from the ground and held it to her chest, covering her bare stomach.
“Show me.” His demand was laced with cold fury.
She shook her head, eyes wide with what he could only describe as terror.
Silas took one more step, fixing her with a hard glare. “Amelia Winslow, turn around and show me your back.”
Her eyes flared wide.
Twice today he had used her given name, and Silas wasn’t even sure she had heard him the first time. She certainly heard him now and blinked at him, shocked.
That shock seemed to work in his favour, and she cast her gaze to the ground before slowly turning on the spot, dropping the shirt she’d held so it fell back to the ground.
His heart dropped into his stomach with horror.
Two runes were carved into the skin between her shoulder blades, created of harsh lines that still looked like open wounds, the skin a harsh red around the cuts.
Silas let out an unsteady breath.
“Why…” he breathed, the only word he could form as he stared at the monstrosity on her back.
Then his academic brain translated the runes, and it became worse.
The top rune was a mark for intellect.
The rune beneath was for…
Obedience.
His next breath hissed in through his teeth, understanding slamming into him.
Silas gripped her arm and turned her around until she faced him. He searched across her face, but her eyes were low, lashes fluttering as she breathed unevenly.
“Did someone do this to you?”
Amelia shuddered beneath his touch but stayed silent, refusing to look at him.
He set his jaw. Someone had forced those runes into her skin, an act of utter abomination.