33 Cuts The Same
Cuts The Same
Vaelira stood in the stillness of a stone courtyard, the pale-pink sky unreal after the choking black of the dungeons.
The others climbed down from the carriage.
Willem reached her first, crushing her into an embrace before holding her at arm’s length.
The gesture was so achingly familiar, so much like how Jon had once searched her for new scrapes, that she couldn’t help but smile.
A quiet laugh escaped him, and he shook his head, disbelief lining his features.
A man dropped from the carriage, striding towards her with a hand outstretched. His gaze caught on the shackles at her wrists, and he let his hand fall. “We’ll need to do something about those,” he muttered.
Vaelira glanced down. The cold metal mocked her, reminding her she wasn’t truly free. Her essensia was bound, and so was she.
Axel stepped towards them, his voice urgent. “Reese.”
Reese gave him a curt nod in agreement. “You’re right, best we don’t linger.”
He led them across the courtyard towards the looming grey stone of a large building. It rose three stories, the upper windows glowing faintly with lamplight.
“Where are we?” Vaelira asked quietly.
“The Academy,” Jurah answered.
She glanced at Reese, his midnight skin and hair, the edge of a tattoo peeking from beneath his collar. This must be Reese Valrow, head of the Academy, and Ressa’s father.
He guided them through a side gate and up a narrow staircase clinging to the building’s outer wall. At the top, he unlocked a door and ducked inside.
Warmth rushed to meet them, carrying the scent of hot stew and woodsmoke. Cloaks hung from hooks by the door and boots lay discarded beneath. A stack of letters sprawled across a narrow table against the wall. A carpet ran down the wide corridor, dark-stained doors lining either side.
Her eyes stung. This was a home, something she’d never expected to see again.
One of the doors burst open. Ressa barrelled towards her, nearly knocking her over as they collided.
She drew back, frowning at the shackles.
Fang appeared next, striding down the hall and clapping her hard on the shoulder.
“You’re alive,” he said with a crooked grin.
The sight of her friends almost overwhelmed her.
“How do we get these off?” Ressa demanded, gripping the shackles and examining the lock.
Axel approached, holding a large iron ring of keys.
“They’re not small enough,” Vaelira said, chest tightening. She’d spent hours in that filthy cell memorising every inch of the unyielding metal.
“We’ll have to get rid of the keys,” Reese said. “If anyone finds them, we’ll all need rescuing.”
Axel handed them over. Reese disappeared through a door and returned with a hammer.
Nodding towards the end of the hall, he led them into a large kitchen.
The scent of stew grew stronger, making Vaelira’s mouth water.
A woman stood at the stove, dark curls tied atop her head with a colourful scarf.
She glanced over, offered a tight smile, and returned to stirring.
“Don’t mind her,” Ressa murmured.
“Your mother?”
Ressa nodded, taking a seat beside her father. Vaelira lowered herself into a chair. Reese’s gaze fell to the shackles and she placed her bound hands on the table, pulling them apart until the chain went taut. Her arms cramped, but she held steady.
Reese inhaled deeply and brought the hammer down. Pain jolted up her arms, but the chain held. He struck again, harder, but still the metal resisted. The table wasn’t so lucky. Ressa and Reese exchanged a look, their gazes darting towards the stove.
“I can try to pick the lock,” Willem offered.
Ressa glared. “You couldn’t have mentioned that before we ruined the table?”
He shrugged, pulling a thin wire from a strip of leather around his wrist. Leaning in, he worked at the lock, muttering under his breath.
“Almost there—” A hiss. He jerked back, dropping the wire as smoke curled from his fingertips.
“That’s never happened before,” he said, staring at the blackened skin.
Vaelira eyed the shackles. “I know who can help.”
A few hours later, Vaelira dozed in a leather armchair in the Valrow’s living room. Ressa had helped her wash and had let her borrow some clothes. They’d had to improvise with the shirt, ripping the sleeves lengthways and tying them at her shoulders to compensate for the shackles.
Afternoon light spilled through the windows, glinting off the wall of weapons opposite. There were blades of every kind, familiar and foreign. Above them hung a double-headed spear, its curved blades gleaming like ice. She tried to picture how it might be wielded, but her eyes grew heavy.
The chains clinked as her hands slipped from her lap and she jerked fully awake. Across from her, Axel shifted in his chair. “He’s quite the collector.”
She nodded faintly. Willem sprawled on the sofa, watching her.
“How’d you know to come?” she asked, her voice rough with exhaustion.
“Your arrest was very public,” Axel said. “Erryn found us and filled us in on the details.”
Vaelira shook her head. “That’s not what I meant. How did you know I was to be executed this morning?” The words felt hollow.
Willem sat up. “What?”
“You didn’t know?” She stared at them.
They were silent.
“The King is dead,” she said. “The Queen sentenced me.”
A knot formed in her throat as they stared. Axel’s gaze dropped to the shackles. “We had no idea. We waited for the right guards to be on duty.”
“Holy tits,” Willem muttered. “Elijah is King.”
Vaelira nodded.
“The bastard,” he growled.
Axel nodded grimly. “He told us he had a plan to get you out, but something felt off.”
“He never planned to,” she said flatly.
Axel rubbed his temple. “If we hadn’t come—”
“I’d be dead.”
The door opened, and all three jumped. Jurah entered, Galfri trailing behind, his robes sweeping the floor. His eyes went straight to Vaelira. The expression on his weathered face made her chest ache. He knelt beside her, tracing the etched symbols on the shackles.
“Can you remove them?” she asked.
“I’ll try,” he said gently.
Everyone gathered in the living room to watch Galfri work. Ressa’s hand rested on Vaelira’s shoulder, Fang leaned forward on the sofa, and Reese and his wife stood in the doorway.
After a long silence, Galfri glanced up at them all. “Can I trust you?”
There were murmurs of assent, then he placed his hands over the shackles. A hum of power brushed her skin. It wasn’t hers. This was different. It felt older, gentler than her own fire.
The etchings glowed like embers.
Jurah cursed. Axel hushed him.
Galfri grunted as heat tightened around her wrists, so hot she had to bite her tongue to stop the scream that was building.
Then the shackles fell to the carpet, blissful power surging forth.
She closed her eyes, meeting it with restraint, breathing through the urge to unleash it, to give in to its fury at being caged.
When it quieted, she opened her eyes. Galfri’s palms were red raw, blisters already forming on the sensitive skin. She knelt beside him, cradling his hands in her own.
“Mage shackles,” he rasped. “They bind power and take it. Every time you tried to wield, they absorbed it. If someone tries to unlock them without the key, the power strikes back.”
Her stomach turned. “I did this?”
“Always so quick to blame yourself,” he smiled. “Don’t blame the kitten, remember?”
She laughed softly.
He handed her a small pouch, wincing as it brushed his palm. Inside was an amethyst, cold and smooth beneath her touch. Not the same one she had before, but she could imbue it.
“Without it, you’re like a bonfire in a windstorm, but with it, you’re a blade,” he said. “I must get back before anyone notices I am gone.”
“Thank you.” She didn’t think words would ever fully convey the gratitude she had for the man.
He had taken her under his wing, making sure she didn’t plummet under the weight of grief and this new, unpredictable power.
Without him, she would have been a boat adrift, lost to the waves of her own wrath.
Vaelira gave him a grateful smile as Axel helped Galfri to his feet and led him from the room, talking about pain relief and poultices. Jurah left with them, returning a moment later with a familiar sheathed sword, the ruby in the pommel catching the light.
“It’s all I could save before they raided your room,” he said.
“It was the only thing worth saving,” she said, taking it from him. “Thank you.”
She mourned the loss of the moonstone, but it had no practical use. It was already imbued with her ancestor’s essensia and impossible for her to use as a conduit.
“I have something too,” Willem said, producing a golden dagger. “I know he gave it to you, but it still cuts the same.”
She studied the swirling design. It had once reminded her of home, now it only reminded her of the man that had betrayed her so thoroughly.
She spent the rest of the day explaining what had happened since her arrest and answering the flood of questions that followed. After, Ressa led Vaelira to her room.
“I don’t have much,” she said, opening a small wardrobe by the window, “and we will have to roll up the trousers, but it’s better than that.” She eyed the ripped shirt. “My mother should have a spare pair of boots.”
Vaelira dressed then sat on the bed to pull the boots on. The fit was almost perfect. She stared at scuffed leather toe, her mind feeling too heavy for coherent thought.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” she said, finally.
The mattress shifted as Ressa sat beside her. “I understand why you didn’t. There are so many people who wouldn’t understand, who would hate you, even. But I don’t hate you, Lira. And neither does Fang. We are with you, remember?”
“I wanted to tell you.” Her voice was raw. “I—I was scared.” Tears fell hot and fast down her cheeks. She looked up at the friend she had kept so much from, and who was still here helping her through it all. “I don’t deserve your loyalty.”
Ressa nudged her and winked. “I know.”
When they returned to the living room, Ressa shooed Willem from the sofa and planted Vaelira on it with a thick blanket, ordering her to sleep. It was easy order to follow.
Vaelira slept dreamlessly. When she awoke, dusk pressed against the half-drawn curtains.
Willem and Axel slept in the chairs by the fire, Orphi curled at their feet.
Fang sprawled on the sofa opposite, his unruly mop of red hair jutting in every direction, his long legs hanging over the armrest. A faint smile touched her lips.
They had all come for her. Vaelira couldn’t fault her Erryn her absence.
Abandoning her guard duties the same night Vaelira had fled would have drawn attention.
Her sword lay on the floor and she picked it up, relishing the weight. Her last connection to home. No, not her last. Freya was still out there, and she would find her.
Vaelira stood, glancing back at her friends once before creeping silently from the room.
In the kitchen, a single candle flickered. Ressa’s mother sat alone, a steaming mug clutched in one hand. “You slept through a full night and day,” she said, without looking up.
Vaelira sat. “It’s kind of you to open your home to us.”
“Reese didn’t give me a choice.”
“I’m grateful all the same. I don’t know your name.”
“Azza,” she said, watching her closely.
Vaelira frowned. “Azza. Reese. Ressa.” She laughed softly. “You mixed your names?”
“We created her. It seemed right.”
Azza rose, pulled a large mug from a shelf, and ladled in thick broth. She set it in front of Vaelira. Before turning to leave, she paused. “There’s a reason the priests hunted your kind.” Then she left.
Vaelira sat until the broth cooled, her thoughts darkening. She remembered the chapel collapsing, Erryn’s scorched hair, Lukas's burned arm, the King’s bed in flames. Maybe Azza was right.
The air shifted suddenly, the hairs on Vaelira’s arms standing on end.
A metallic taste coated her tongue.
The floor lurched, throwing her into the table. A deep crack split the night, rattling her bones. Then came an endless roar, like wind through a canyon, shaking the walls until plates crashed to the floor.
Her essensia rose, humming like armour over her skin.
Shouts rang through the hall. She grabbed her sword and dagger, bursting outside with the others, hurtling down the stairs, and into the courtyard as the ground rocked beneath them.
They clung to one another until the tremors stopped, making way for a long breath of silence.
Then the screaming began.