Bard: Chapter 23

Trista pushed the door open without knocking. It caught as she moved into the space, but she shoved against the heavy wooden door and it swung out of her way with minimal resistance.

The grandmaster was at his desk. He barely glanced up as she entered, raising an imperious eyebrow.

“I was wondering…”

Trista strode towards him. Some kind of spell pulled at her feet but she kicked it aside, leaning both hands on the desk, her breath heaving.

“Either you trust me or you don’t,” she snapped, “but you will leave them alone.”

The grandmaster didn’t respond, but made a small gesture with his hands. Markings etched into the surface of the desk began to glow with arcane power, rising to snake up Trista’s arms. She reared back, shaking the runes off of her skin. They dissipated into the air.

“She was addled!” Trista fumed. “She’d lost days! And the clumsy tangle you left behind! Did you even care that–” the words died in her throat. Very suddenly, the grandmaster was terrified.

She took a step back, forcing herself to breathe and rein in her anger, but the man’s fear only intensified. What had set him off? He’d acted as if her visit were expected, and had shown not even the smallest glimmer of disquiet when she'd walked in. She hadn’t attacked him, or made any sort of threat, so what was it?

There was the way the door had snagged, and whatever spell had tried to hold her feet as she approached the desk, the runes that snatched at her arms… Trista sighed heavily, realizing.

“These are all the things you had to stop me,” she said quietly, gesturing to the door, the faint marks on the floor that she noticed when she looked, the desk…

“Quite ineffective,” he said, voice trembling. He began to turn one of the rings he wore, and Trista held up her hand.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” she said fervently. “You don’t need to defend yourself.”

“Don’t I?”

“No!” Trista exclaimed, throwing up her hands. She wanted to cry. She did cry, and was glad her mask covered it. Although, if the grandmaster had known right off what she was there was every chance her mask hid nothing from him. “I don’t–I don’t know how to make you believe I’m not dangerous.”

“The girl seemed to think you aren’t.”

“Laura,” Trista snapped. “And you reached into her mind and knotted it up!”

“It’s a simple memory spell,” the grandmaster said, regaining his authoritative tone even as his terror grew. “She would have been fine.”

“In a week or two, maybe, after her brain had time to right itself out,” Trista ranted. “What was she supposed to do until then? Wander around in a haze, forgetting to eat?”

“Side effects can be more severe on occasion,” the grandmaster conceded uncomfortably. “Which is why such spells are not used lightly.”

“You shouldn’t be using them at all!” Trista cried. The grandmaster scowled.

“I needed to make sure our conversation would remain private,” he said scathingly. “Though I can see that effort was in vain.”

“You could have asked her to keep it so.”

“Oh? And that would have sufficed?”

“I don’t know, maybe,” Trista said with a shrug. “If she decided to trust you.”

“That isn’t what I meant,” the grandmaster said slowly, and Trista bristled.

“I don’t go digging around in their heads!” she exclaimed, her voice cracking. “She might have chosen to tell me on her own, but I would never have pried it out of her!”

“Oh?” he said, eyebrow raised, finally lowering his hand away from the ring. “And why not?”

“Because I don’t do that anymore!” she cried, wrapping her arms around her stomach. “I’m not–I don’t want to be a monster!”

“You’ll never be anything else.”

Trista recoiled. She felt as if ice had dropped into her stomach, as if the ground had become unsteady. He sounded so cold, so certain, so right. She swallowed, opened her mouth to try and protest, but nothing came out.

“What?” the grandmaster pressed, leaning his elbows on the desk. “Did you think you’d become human if you abstained long enough?”

His fear had diminished, but only just. The old dissonance was back, he was unsure of her, as he had been before. Beneath that, though, was a distinct and powerful sense of disgust.

Trista turned and ran.

The college offices were empty this late in the evening, and she was glad. Doors flew open as she neared, clearing a path. She needed away, as fast as she could go. She wanted to be home.

The sun had set, and the streets were dark between where the light pooled at the bases of street lamps. Trista kept to the darkened parts of the street, running, her breath heaving, her heart pounding. She wanted to be sick, to cry, to hide.

She had gotten so used to Laura and Liam, who had seen her face, who knew what she was, and who were not afraid. Humans who would call her a friend, and share a living space with her. Humans who didn’t cut into her, or call her a beast.

She deserved those things. She knew she did. That didn’t make them any easier to endure.

She had enjoyed these months of feeling like a person, enough to forget they would eventually end.

Liam was near, she could feel him approaching, between her and home. There were ways around him, but they were too far out of the way. As much as she wanted to hide, as much as she didn’t think she could explain what had happened, she wanted to be home more.

He turned the corner ahead of her, saw her running, and caught her right out of her run, hugging her tightly against him.

Trista sobbed. She couldn’t help it. Anything she’d managed to hold back as she ran burst out of her in a torrent. It felt good to be held, to be trusted. It made knowing what she was hurt all the more.

“Are you hurt?” Liam asked anxiously. Trista shook her head, unable to form words through her cries. “Gods, Trista, what happened?”

She tried to tell him, to reassure him and ease his worry, but her breath had a mind of its own, and she couldn’t make words with it. Liam held her tighter, and she pressed her face against his chest and wept.

“Let’s get you home,” he said gently, and Trista did her best to nod, following as he led her back to the flat, still holding her against him.

Laura took her from Liam as they came through the door, and held her while she cried. She couldn’t seem to stop. There was a little worry on Laura’s end, but nothing more–no fear, no disgust. Trista sobbed into her shoulder, clinging to her like a scared human child, and Laura stroked her hair and rocked her gently against the floor. It was soothing, and Trista fell into the rhythm of Laura’s touches and movement.

When Trista could finally draw breath without releasing it as a sob, she pulled free of Laura’s embrace, sniffling and wiping her face on her sleeves. Laura gave her a sympathetic look.

“You lose a fight?” she asked, the hint of a jest in her voice. Trista laughed mirthlessly.

“We didn’t fight, necessarily,” she replied. Her senses were clearing, and she became aware of an absence. Looking around the flat, she added, “Where’s Liam?”

Laura’s brow furrowed. She twisted around to look at the door. His swords were there at the table, but his coat was gone.

“He must have stepped out?” she mused, but a gnawing worry bloomed.

Trista opened her senses further, reaching for him, searching the city around the flat for any sign of Liam. She closed her eyes, focusing on pushing outward and away, as far as she could reach. He was right at the edges of what she could perceive.

“Can you sense him?” Laura asked as Trista opened her eyes. She nodded.

“He’s heading back towards the college.”

“Fuck.”