Chapter 19 Like Sourdough
LIKE SOURDOUGH
The next day, Ciaran took me to a new place in the City Beneath, to introduce me to his most trusted friends and fellow city council members, twin brothers Fionn and Rory.
We walked through the passages of leering skulls, back to the crossroads. Ciaran used his palm to unlock a nondescript door that led to a large open room that had been converted into some kind of training space. The twins were already there.
“Seraphina, meet Fionn and Rory. Their mother took me in, back home in Erinn. The three of us grew up together,” he explained. The twins looked at Ciaran with admiration; he was clearly more of a brother than a friend—their bond familial and warm.
Fionn had the palest skin I’d even seen, which was splattered with freckles, from the top of his forehead, down his neck and even along the top of his arms and hands.
He had fiery red hair, in the same buzzed sides style as Ciaran, and piercing blue eyes.
While he was lankier and slightly taller than Ciaran, he had a wiry sort of muscled frame.
Rory had ginger colouring as well, but his shoulder-length wavy hair was auburn—dark and chestnut to Fionn’s ginger orange. His skin was golden, and his eyes were also a deep chestnut. The only familial traits they shared were their height and wiry frames.
Fionn sized me up, but his face was open and friendly.
He extended a hand to shake mine; his grip was warm and firm, though his hands were rough and calloused.
“Any friend of Ciaran’s is a friend of ours.
” He had the same lilting accent as Ciaran, a reminder of their homeland, so far away, and looked to be about the same age as Ciaran, perhaps a few years older than I was.
“It’s very nice to meet you.” I smiled.
Rory was more wary, quietly assessing while I greeted his twin. “I’m sorry to hear what you went through at the opera house. I hope you’re feeling welcome and at home down here, though.” Rory’s voice was soft and low, but he was equally friendly, grasping my hand with his broad golden ones.
“Thank you,” I said. I meant it.
“We thought that you would like to start training your magical skills.” Ciaran gestured to the space around us.
I took it all in. The walls were carved limestone.
The floor had been covered with a soft spongy mat-like surface.
Along the back wall there were racks holding dumbbells and weights.
On the right was a large table covered in various objects, crystals and instruments.
There was a bookshelf along the left wall, containing what I assumed were books about magic.
Spell books, perhaps? Did actual magic wielders use spell books? I knew so little, I realized.
“Um… okay?” I was wary. Despite the mounting evidence to the contrary, I still wasn’t sure I believed I had magical skills.
“When we find magic wielders at a young age, it can be easier to train them. They spend some time here training most days, as a part of their schooling. But it is harder to train someone who’s magic hasn’t materialized until they are older, like yourself,” Rory began to explain.
I pictured a group full of little children learning how to use magic in this room.
My heart squeezed at the adorable image.
“So… you’re going to send me to train with the young ones?” I asked.
“Goddess, no.” Rory laughed. “The three of us will take the time to help you get the basics. And Elena, when she has time.”
“So is this like… a magical gymnasium?” I looked around the room, trying to figure it all out. I gestured to the weights at the back of the training room. “What are those for?”
Fionn laughed as he flexed a wiry arm and patted his bicep. “We may have magic, but we still need to work out to look this good,” he said with a wink, his brogue much thicker than Ciaran’s.
Well, that explained all the muscles. My mind flickered to an image of Ciaran, the night I came here, dripping wet and half naked, muscles on muscles gleaming in the dim light of his apartment.
I shook my head to clear the image. Get it together, Seraphina.
Fionn was smirking at me, and I could feel colour rising in my cheeks.
“We like to train physically as well as magically,” Ciaran intercepted. “We all find it helps us, in various ways.”
I nodded. I understood. Dance had always been that for me; my mind would go quiet when I was dancing. The extensive training and rehearsals always made me feel better—clearer.
“And those?” I gestured to the table full of instruments and crystals.
“Magical instruments,” Rory said, low and deep. “Any and all of these can be used as a conduit for your magic. We’ll get more into it when we start your lesson.”
“And why are we so convinced that I’ll be able to do any of this?
” I asked. It didn’t seem possible—to channel whatever power I had within me into objects or spells or anything.
And yet, I had seen Ciaran do spells. I had felt the power rise in me when I sang in the opera house that night.
I had slid through the mirror like it had been made of butter.
“You’ll be able to do it.” Ciaran said, “but it may take time, and a lot of training, to be able to wield your power reliably in a controlled way. So far it has just come out in bursts when you were in danger. We’re here to help you use it in an intentional way.”
“And what if I don’t want to? What if I’m happy to just live in blissful ignorance and never use my magic until the day I die? What if I just want to go back home and pretend that nothing happened?” It was a long shot, but I threw the idea out there.
Rory exchanged a dark look with Ciaran. “You won’t be able to do that,” he said softly, “I’m sorry.” He grabbed a rolled-up newspaper that had been sitting on the table with the instruments and handed it to me. “This came down from Lutesse today.”
I unfurled the paper. The Lutesse Herald.
The same paper I had seen Ciaran’s face in all those days ago.
On the front page, staring back at me, was my own face this time.
“Wanted: For Witchcraft and Murder.” It shouldn’t have been a surprise.
I knew as much when they put me in handcuffs that night.
But it was a shock to see it in print, right in front of my face.
Dallier has been declared a Heretic and Witch by the Church of Scion, accused of killing three people in the Saturday evening Chandelier Disaster at the Lutesse City Opera.
She has no living relatives, and her friends were not available for comment.
New owner of the Lutesse City Opera and prominent Scion Deacon, Viscount Erik de Barras, said that he always knew there was something strange about the woman, who is known to have been courting the viscount’s son and heir, Seff de Barras.
Dallier was last seen in Scion custody in the opera house before she disappeared.
Scion authorities suspect she may have been aided by other heretics, possibly known terrorist Ciaran Fahy.
If you see Dallier, please contact the authorities immediately and stay away. She is extremely dangerous.
I blinked away tears. There was no way to deny it now. I could not go back.
“Fuck,” I swore after several long moments of pointed silence. I wiped my face with the back of my hand, hoping no one had noticed.
Ciaran placed a warm, reassuring hand on my shoulder. “I know it hurts. Believe me, I know better than anyone. But it is not the end of the world. You made it out alive. You are here now. Train with us—work with us, to take the city back from Scion.”
“What do you mean? Take the city back from Scion? Are you insane?” I hissed. “The last time anyone tried to challenge Scion’s power, it ended in a war across the entire continent.”
“True,” Ciaran agreed, “but no, we are not insane. We all fought Scion before, in the war.” His voice was grim; I was flabbergasted.
I hadn’t known that Ciaran had fought for the resistance.
In all our talks of Scion and the war—of my father’s death—he had never mentioned it.
“And we have all since been exiled by their backwards and nonsensical laws. We do not intend to live out the rest of our days cowering underground. We will take Lutesse back. And Erinn after that.” His voice, still low and quiet, was stronger. Determined.
“You all fought for the resistance?” I don’t know why I was so shocked.
Most men their age had fought for one side or the other.
Seff was one of the few men I knew who hadn’t, citing a hereditary condition of the heart as a reason he was not fit to serve in Scion’s brutal military units.
Perhaps his father’s money and influence had been the real reason he’d been able to dodge serving.
“Yes. We fought before, and we will fight again, for the freedom of our people—all people,” Rory chimed in.
What kinds of horrors had these men seen already?
I knew what had happened to Ciaran’s mother, but clearly he had seen many more horrors since.
I couldn’t help but feel bolstered by their bravery.
They had been through so much, but here they were, joking together, laughing, making plans for the future.
If they could do it, then maybe so could I.
Rory was the scholar of the bunch, and he took my formal education in magic very seriously. He had me sitting at that table full of instruments with a notebook and pen while he began to lecture me about the history and technicalities of magic.
“There are four types of magic that can be wielded by those who come from a magical bloodline. The first two being the most common, and the second two being extremely rare,” he began once I was seated.
Fionn and Ciaran scurried off to the back of the room and started to do some weight training while Rory spoke. I tried not to get distracted.