Page 7 of A Conduit of Light
Ashsmirked, not expecting to hear one of the many proverbs of her childhood. “Ithink that one has always been my favorite.”Ashmoved forward, picking up the cloth and holding out her arm for the woman to regain her footing.
Thewoman sighed heavily, “Myeyesight is not what it used to be.And,Isuppose, my magic, too.”Shetook ahold ofAsh’soutstretched arm, then looked up at the exceedingly large painting. “Inever did like this one,” she spoke softly, her gaze landing on the subject of the portrait.
Ayoung man stood atop a broken tree trunk, his gaze directed just beyond the painter.
Ashgasped in recognition. “Isthat…a youngBaronHeimlen?”
“Goodeye.Thiswas painted when he was chosen as successor toBaronThalius, back before evenIknew him, andI’mone of the oldest remaining channelers here.”Shesmiled dreamily at the portrait. “Butit does not capture theBaronIknew back then.Itdoes not capture his vulnerability.Orhis kind eyes.”
Ashcould sense it—admiration, possibly love in her expression as she gazed at the younger version of the man who had bargained for her. “Doyou knowBaronHeimlenwell?”
“Yes,Iknow him.Hecame for me many years ago, just as he came for you.Hebrought me to theFortressand taught me to use my magic.”Shechuckled, “Thatwas back when there was hope for me.Butthe trials…Ijust couldn’t get through them.AndhereIam now, decades later.”Shesmirked atAshand whispered, “AtleastIgot to stay.AtleastIdidn’t have to go back in shame.”Again, she beamed up at the portrait’s subject.
“MayIask how long you’ve been here…”
“Sylva.Niceto meet you, dear.I’vebeen here seventy-two years now.”
Ashnarrowed her eyes at the woman.Withwhite hair thick and loose around her shoulders, cheeks flushed with warmth, but skin pale as moonlight, she couldn’t have been older than eighty herself.
Sylvacackled atAsh’sconfusion. “You’llfind time works differently here inFelgren.Seasonsare long, years linger.BaronHeimlenhimself has been here over one hundred years.You’llget used to it, dear.Butyou’ll return to your home and find it very changed.Prepareyourself for that.”Shebent down to gather her supplies.
“Andhow long hasBaronRevichbeen here?”
“Ah, so you’ve met the youngBaron, eh?”Sheheld a sly smile as she hobbled toward the downward staircase. “Hearrived a few years ago now.Icouldn’t tell you exactly how many.BaronHeimlenis in need of a successor, and he found one.”Shebegan her descent down the winding staircase. “Thetop,Ash’Arah.You’llfind yourself at home up there, dear.”Shegestured upwards whereAshcould see several more floors to what must have been a parapet and a final level to the tower.
Ashnodded to her newfound acquaintance, more questions swimming through her head than when she’d started her climb.
Sylvahad known her name as well asBaronRevich.Thistruth disturbed her, hinting that finding her way back home quickly would be harder than she’d originally thought if she was already being spoken of in this desolate place.
Shesighed, taking one more glance at the portrait on the landing before grabbing ahold of the black stone railing and continuing her long ascent to, hopefully, a place of rest.
Chapter5
Karus
Themorning sun was up,welcoming the forest to a new day, butIcould not see it.Someonehad closed the shutters to the single window in my room, and light from the dawn crept through the slats, begging to be released.
Iglanced around my cramped quarters for a stool.Thepin at the top of the slanted window was difficult to reach, even with my long legs.Moirausually opened it for me.
MostmorningsIawoke to find her sitting on the window’s ledge, eating some kind of berry or nut she’d found whileIstill lay sleeping, waiting patiently for me to wake.
Ireached from my chair to pull the pin and sunlight—glorious sunlight—streamed through the window in unapologetic indulgence.Springtruly had arrived, andIwas grateful for it asIbasked in the rays.
Onthe tips of my toes,Isaw trees—the tops of thousands of trees.Thelength of their branches reached for the warmth of the sun asIdid.
IlovedFelgren.Inever wanted to leave it.
Isat at my humble vanity, gazing at my reflection in the dingy mirror atop of the dark wooden desk.Myhair was always so striking, even to me.Broadstreaks of white contrasted atop brown strands the color of the pecansMoirasometimes found and brought for me.
Ihad never seen another person with hair like mine.Therewere servantsIhad seen in theFortress, their heads sprouting white and gray wisps, but never such a differentiation in color as whatIpondered before me.
Itook my bristled brush and combed through the tangles a restless sleep had brought and studied my reflection.Myeyes were dull, even in the morning light, but the lashes were dark as ever.Mycheeks accentuated my pale complexion in a subtle pink and lips wore a soft red hue, the cupid’s bow pronounced upon my face in a sultryVshape.Iadmired my lips—the shape of them fit my features well and added more character than any other part of me.
Ipainted them red each morning with a concoctionMoiramade for me.Sheknew so much more thanIdid, scouting the forest for the blood-red demorte flower, which was so hearty, it could grow even in a harsh winter.Perhapsthat’s whereMoirawas.Theblooms must have been rebelling against the frost, growing strong, red, and lovely.
Ifinished painting my lips and began to dress.Somethingheavy fell to the wooden floorboards asIwrestled with the long sleeves of my favorite white gown.
Ipicked up the green stoneIhad somehow forgotten about and felt the joy it had given me the day before.Iclosed my eyes and filled my lungs slowly as the sense of a deep bond came again, flooding my body, andIgrinned ear-to-ear asIexamined the rock in the morning light.
