Suri remained oblivious to the passage of time. Had someone not brought her something vaguely resembling food, she might not have noticed that time had a tendency to slip away, regardless of other circumstances. All her thoughts were occupied by one thing. Engaging in a silent negotiation with herself, it seemed that, stumbling upon some compromise, she would fall asleep hoping to wake up in familiar surroundings. However, each new day played the same cruel joke on her mind. A sense of helplessness consumed the girl from within. The once comforting glow of the crystal, never failing to captivate her with its persistent attention, soon began to feel otherworldly.
The man in the cloak no longer appeared. The conversation between them ended as abruptly as it began, shedding no light for either party. Suri didn’t feel a strong desire to resume it. Instead of offering answers, the enigmatic stranger only gave rise to fresh questions. “This cannot continue,” the thought increasingly flashed in her mind.
Indifferent to her own physical condition, the girl persistently ignored the growing signs of exhaustion. But her body invariably responded to any discomfort, reminding her of its needs. Yielding to an impulse, Suri clenched her fist with such force that her nails dug into the delicate skin. The instantaneous pain, followed by an itching prickling, served as a predictable outcome. Yet, the girl stared in surprise at the drops of blood that now stood out. The captive of the nightmare had to admit that what looked, smelled, and felt like reality was indeed her reality now. The reasons for finding herself in such a situation, especially whether it was by her own will or not, seemed irrelevant. The throbbing pain in her hand, the hungry spasms of an unsatisfied stomach, and the stiff spine from an uncomfortable, cold bed spoke of one thing—she didn’t want to die. And it was precisely the desire to live that prompted the girl to take action.
***
Nearby, voices echoed. Their resonance was muted by the thickness of indifferent stone walls. Soon, a passage leisurely unfolded, ushering in a stream of cold yet invigorating air. A young girl gracefully emerged from the darkness, holding a stone bowl. A subtle, mildly spicy aroma, reminiscent of cinnamon, delicately permeated the gray surroundings.
The unfamiliar visitor wasted no time. Swiftly and lightly, she reached the solitary chair, skillfully placing her offering. Turning on her heels, she exited the room at an even brisker pace. Only as the stone blocks were about to seamlessly meld with the wall, Suri caught the curious gaze of brown eyes. The meeting happened so quickly. If not for the barely distinguishable scent, the captive would have thought it was all a figment of her imagination.
However, the food proved tasteless. There was no hint of any spices. The almost imperceptible aroma likely belonged to the stranger herself. Suri sighed, as the guest inadvertently stirred memories of airy cinnamon buns. Unfortunately, the incomprehensible mixture of unknown herbs fell short as a satisfying replacement for the porous bread pulp infused with sunny, sweet spice.
Persistent hunger hinted that meals arrived no more than once a day. There was simply no other way to remotely gauge the passage of time.
The visits from the brisk girl remained consistent. Suri clung to the hope that, beyond the bland concoction, she would eventually receive something more valuable—answers.
Unfortunately, despite the status as the daughter of a central figure in both official and private events, she seldom initiated conversations. Her father’s influential standing spared her from that necessity, and her social life revolved around a narrow circle of regular acquaintances. When others managed a rare meeting, they took the initiative themselves, seeking future advantages. Not surprisingly, Suri found herself uneasy.
Amid all the difficulties, it seemed Suri had lost not just her voice but also her freedom—unintentionally held captive without signs of change.
The girl’s wandering gaze then fell upon an empty stone bowl on the chair. Although the meals lacked variety and were rather meager, they still existed. For Suri, this served as a hopeful sign—someone was trying to preserve her life, despite the entirely groundless accusations of causing the death of one of the warriors.
What she understood very well was her need for information, and the only available source moved swiftly. The lack of a voice, in this case, didn’t so much frighten the girl as it irritated her. While Suri contemplated how to capture the stranger’s attention, the passage lazily revealed itself. The stranger emerged from the darkness. With a wary look, the agile figure darted to the solitary chair with a singular purpose—to retrieve the empty dish. Yielding to impulse, Suri reached for the bowl, which ended up in her hands. The girl, emanating a scent of cinnamon, froze in place, her hand outstretched and eyes widening with fear and disbelief.
A thought flashed through Suri’s mind: if she didn’t act, the stranger, once over her surprise, probably wouldn’t wait for explanations. So, Suri abruptly thrust the bowl toward her. The polished container, clearly not meant for such handling, slipped from weakened fingers and flew to the floor. Before the bowl could shatter into tiny pieces with a deafening sound, an unintentional culprit was pinned to the spot by a sharp sense of danger. In that moment, the knowledge struck Suri at full speed that if she moved, she would undoubtedly lose her life. Such a feeling was entirely new to the girl; it was radically different from her acrophobia. She would prefer to find herself on the open terrace of the top floor of a medical center rather than in this small room.
It seemed the brown-eyed girl was entirely impervious to her surroundings. If anything scared her, it was only the inhabitant of the room itself. She didn’t take her eyes off Suri’s face, immediately sensing something amiss. The visitor cautiously turned, casting a bewildered glance into the darkness. This gave a hint to the fear-paralyzed captive of where the suffocating sense of danger might be coming from.
Fortunately or unfortunately, in the darkness, hardly anything could be discerned. Suri initially suspected that, no matter how nimble the girl was, she couldn’t play the role of a true overseer. But if everything ended like this, there might not be another chance.
Suri’s lips curved into a barely noticeable smile. With an uncharacteristic display of emotions, she tried to express regret. The servant blinked in surprise, still not showing any intention of interrupting the escape already underway from the room. The icy fear that had gripped Suri’s racing heart in her chest dispersed, much like morning mist. Whatever she had done, it saved her life.
***
The uninvited guest entered the room long before the resident woke. Without drawing attention, he settled into the sole chair, unfurling a scroll adorned with intricate writings from his vast cloak. Suri awoke only as he repeatedly perused the scroll, rubbing his chin more vigorously each time.
Sensing a foreign gaze, the Magister swiftly concealed the scroll and rose.
“Your fate does matter to you, it seems. In that case, we can come to an agreement,” he declared, throwing a questioning glance her way.
“Oh, was that a question?” Suri nodded hastily.
“Judging by the fact that, during your stay, you haven’t used your abilities or uttered a word, it seems neither is under your control,” he continued. The man fell silent, seemingly giving the girl a chance to respond. She nodded in reply, sparing her interlocutor a long wait.
“As I suspected…” The Magister fell silent, immersed in thought, absentmindedly rubbing his chin with a familiar gesture. The silence didn’t last long.
“During the last descent, a squad of hunters discovered that a previously sealed passage had opened. That’s how they found you, aera. However, when you woke up, your body emitted a powerful magical impulse that proved fatal to them. You probably suffered as well, losing your senses. Yet, that very loss saved everyone else.”
The man fell silent, withdrawing his hand from his chin as if battling a troublesome habit.
“We don’t know anyone capable of such a thing. Unless you are… a blood mage,” his black eyes bore into the girl with a sharp, scrutinizing gaze. The atmosphere around the man changed dramatically. Goosebumps ran down Suri’s spine, as if the room had suddenly grown colder by several degrees. But it was just a misleading impression.
“I am Pankratz, Magister of Azur Fortress,” the man introduced himself as if nothing unusual had occurred. “And I have the power to bring down anyone who dares to bring trouble to my castle.”
The man spoke in a relaxed, measured manner, as if stating the obvious, but Suri sensed an implicit threat. She didn’t understand the exact meaning of his words, but the undertone was clear—a warning. And, for some reason, only gloomy prospects came to mind.
The introduction concluded. Suri’s questions lingered in an intangible form, shattering against the resolute male back. She watched the Magister, clearly defining the purpose of his visit. It would be strange on her part to expect anything else from him.
As in the previous encounter, the Magister departed without a farewell, leaving behind the parting words, “Cassia knows what to do.”
