Lady Telenhart expressed profound displeasure at our imminent departure from her company. Though in her early thirties, she found herself attempting to forge companionship with us, adolescents by comparison. We were, after all, the only nobles in Bernan who had thus far accepted her invitations to cohabitate. Without Princess and Tirrha, she would be forced to return to her less illustrious circle of friends—an undesirable fate for the Lady, given their relative lack of prestige. Through her persistence, we reluctantly agreed to remain for one additional night, with plans to depart at dawn.
Princess entrusted me with the discretion of what to divulge regarding my purported demise. Regardless of what I disclosed, she held firm in her belief that Tirrha would remain loyal to us, even in matters of life and death—a stark contrast to her sentiments of mere days past, when she had entertained the opposite conviction.
I did not consider it prudent to truly disclose our current situation or make any admissions regarding the sinister practices of theurgy. Well-intentioned as Tirrha might be, should such secrets escape, Princess’s existence would be swiftly and mercilessly extinguished by the purging flames of the Sisters of Light. Even in the edited version of events I chose to relay, I emphasized to Tirrha the critical importance of her silence. Carelessness on her part could result in Kyolhan Cafligen himself ensuring that I faced severe retribution for tarnishing the family name by admitting to the dissemination of false information.
Tirrha nodded solemnly, vowing that none would learn of our secret from her lips. After such a prelude, her curiosity had been sufficiently piqued.
I described the death of Dubart Cafligen as a violent and harrowing ordeal, filled with bloodcurdling screams and a grotesque display of bodily fluids—a demise anything but serene. I deliberately wove a graphic narrative, taking a perverse satisfaction in watching Tirrha’s discomfort grow with each lurid detail, as her earlier eagerness turned to regret. Yet, she listened intently, though it was clear she wished she had not asked.
There were no untruths in my account. I portrayed the scene as Princess would have perceived it, absent any knowledge of theurgical rituals. I had sent Princess away, as was often my practice when her presence became unbearable during her shifts. She had returned to find me lying in a pool of my own blood, with shattered vials strewn across the floor. The conclusion was unavoidable: in my torment, I had either conducted a desperate experiment that ended in catastrophe, or I had succumbed to my agony before reaching my laboratory to save myself.
Upon hearing my tale, Tirrha reassured me that the secret would die with her. She also confirmed that the rumors stemmed from the fact that my death screams had indeed echoed through the nearby chambers. This aligned with the account of Rascal, who had been roused from her sleep in the room directly beneath mine. It was also plausible that some of the maids or guards who had seen my body had spread whispers of the gruesome sight.
True to her word, Tirrha ensured that her personal carriage was readied for our journey ahead, mindful of the snow that lay thick upon the roads. I was to travel alone, as Tirrha had no intention of cutting short her leisure. She had also been receiving instruction from my mother, albeit to a lesser extent than Gurrow Lunatora. Tirrha’s tutelage focused merely on the fundamentals of stewardship, ensuring that she could at least discern when her advisors sought to line their own pockets under her oblivious nose.
Our parting was marked by a kiss—the first I had ever received while in full control of my faculties. Though taken aback and lacking in experience, I endeavored to mimic the way I had felt Princess move her lips the previous night. The sensation was both exhilarating and disconcerting, especially given that Lady Telenhart and the coachman bore witness to the scene, gasping at our audacity. Such public displays of affection among nobles were frowned upon, and while homosexual relationships were not unheard of, they were typically kept as embarrassing secrets.
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Thus, we left Bernan behind, not a tin pranton in our purse, having forfeited our Arbinian dress and abandoned our traveling attire at the Faringoth residence. We had accomplished little beyond mending a friendship and acquiring a few manuscripts as recompense. With the carriage to ourselves, we had at least ample time to delve into our newfound reading materials.
“So this journey was a complete waste of everyone’s time,” Princess concluded with a sigh, speaking into the new hand mirror we had been gifted.
“Not entirely,” I countered, sensing in her reproachful tone a desire to hear otherwise. “The manuscripts are yet to reveal their worth. Lord Faringoth shall spread word of our prowess with the brush. We have secured a wealthy ally in Lady Telenhart, repaired your relationship with Tirrha, and-”
“And also, we switched,” Princess interrupted. “Now days are yours, and I have to make do with nights. That is so unfair; days feel so much longer,” she complained, morose.
“Yet this revelation has afforded us valuable insight into our condition. We are tethered by the body, yet not fully intertwined in mind. We appear to exist as independent entities, and I am beginning to suspect that sleep may be unnecessary for us, as rest can be achieved when one of us assumes the ‘passive’ role. It is also within the realm of possibility that we could reverse this process.”
“You mean you can give me the days back?” Princess pressed me, something akin to joy in her otherwise annoyed tone.
“Perhaps. We already possess the hexerei that could achieve the desired result. Were I to employ reverse Akhnot circles to catalyze the reaction, I might harness Artalar when you are the ‘active’ mind.”
“What do you mean? Like, could you just use the ‘hexerei’ things right now and let me be back in charge?” she inquired, misinterpreting my words.
“No. How do you propose I cast mind-altering hexerei upon myself and still retain the faculties necessary to sustain the process? It would also take far too long for me to teach you lifespark theory or Gildo, so that you might perform part of the process yourself. Any switch we enact, assuming we can replicate what we have already experienced, must occur while you are ‘active,’ thereby transferring control to me.”
The Artan Legacy was far more than saying ‘funny words’ over ‘complicated drawings’ in ‘specific situations’ to make ‘things happen’. The incantation was completely pointless without a deep understanding of the Artanical formula. While saying the incantation, an exceedingly specific amount and type of lifespark had to be released, but this could only be achieved by those who had solved the formula of the hexerei itself. Entire books—rare and elusive, most of them—had been written about the complicated endeavor. Draw the sigil, fulfill the trigger, speak the incantation, know the formula, realize the answer, and release the solution as lifespark. Instructing Princess in such matters, given her lack of any mathematical inclination, would take no less than a decade, possibly two. A magian capable of wielding Artalar at my age was an extraordinary rarity, for one could scarcely expect initiates to have completed their studies in Gildo before they reached their twenties, even beginning to learn it from childhood.
“Fantastic. So to get the days back, I have to give you even more time,” is what Princess understood from my long-winded explanation, which was a fair assessment. “And to do Artalar, I have to get those awful headaches.” She sighed. “Fine. Keep the days for now, but I want to see you working towards getting out of my body.”
“At once, Princess,” I replied with a touch of sarcasm, though my intentions were earnest. With that, I returned to my reading.
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