TheDatingGame[continued from After the Fall Back Row] Ginger purred, “I’ll go save you a seat.” She squirmed out of Gillian’s arms and sprinted through the crowd. When the orange blur disappeared from sight, a wash of emotion went through Gillian’s heart; contentment. Seabhac lead her out of the auditorium and into the daylight. He kept his head low, his smile nervous. “I don’t know if I should drop this on you before your class, he said as they crossed the bridge to the classrooms. “And now I’m even more worried after what happened in there.” He shrugged his shoulders, defeated. “My guardian caught wind of you. Through Yo-yo, mostly likely. And now he wants to meet you.” "Who...who is your guardian?" Gillian asked, feeling her stomach sink. Seabhac wet his lips and said in a half gulp, "Mandor. My uncle Mandor." Gillian stopped and turned to stare at Seabhac. "Mandor? As in the High Lord Mandor?" she squeaked. "Your familiar told me that he is most displeased with your empathy for...um...lesser beings. Great Unicorn, Seabhac, I cannot meet him. He will eat me alive!" Seabhac offered a reassuring smile, “No, no. He gave that practice up long ago. Honest.” Gillian's eyes went very wide. She didn't laugh. The attempt at joviality failed. His hand touched her cheek, “Listen, I’m not happy about it either. I could kill Yo-Yo. But I should have known better. "I swear to you that I’ll make sure nothing happens. I’m the Emperor’s son after all. I do have a little say on who I can. . . be with.” His face strained, obviously wanting to say something more. "Is there something else you need to tell me?" she asked, all her attention focused on him. "It...gets worse I'm guessing, based on the fascinating contortions your face is currently making." Seabhac blushed brightly, squeezing her hand. “Gilly. I. . .” He paused, lowering his head for a moment. “We are together, right? I mean. This isn’t just one way, is it?” Gillian bit her lip and looked away. It was a half-moment before she replied. "When we're here at school, I'm a student and you're a student and it's just...us. I feel this flutter inside whenever you look at me and I love it when you hold my hand and when you call me 'Gilly'. "Elsewhere, however...you're heir to the throne of Chaos and I'm just the daughter of servants to a House that's in decline. How is this ever going to work, Seabhac? Your family will never allow it." At her admission, Seabhac smiled shyly, squeezing her hand. In the end, his smile faded. He brushed her fingers gently as he sought his next words. When he found them, his gaze rose to meet hers; determined. “Gilly. I understand that. But this is too important. I love the way you laugh. The way you shriek at every outrageous thing Ginger does. . . which is pretty much everything." Gillian smiled and looked down at their hands. "The way you consume your books like a banquet. The way you look over your glasses when you’re thinking. All of it.” He shuffled his foot, “I dreamt of you before I even met you, Gilly. What’s more important than that? I’ll deal with what comes. As long as I have you.” Seabhac licked his lips nervously and looked away, “Wow. I said that out loud, huh?” "Yeah, you said that out loud," she replied, her smile widening. Gillian reached up and rand a hand through her hair, feeling a little embarrassed and a little overwhelmed. "Um...I need to get to class. Let's talk about this later tonight, after everything else, okay?" “After class then,” Seabhac said, lightly kissing her on the cheek. “I’m taking Professor Ballentyne’s Inner Mysteries alchemy class, so I’ll have more than enough notes to tempt you with if you decide to avoid me. Enjoy your morning, love.” He wandered back toward the Alchemy building. Gillian watched Seabhac walk away. She reached up to touch the cheek he'd kissed, her thoughts all muddled and distracted. Then a single thought surfaced with sudden clarity. "You're in Ballentyne's Inner Mysteries class?!?" The first day of second-year classes had been – in a word – taxing. New classes meant new teachers. And new teachers meant new curriculums and scholastic temperaments to learn. Even Yo-yo and Ginger – usually bitter rivals - were so exhausted that they’d curled up together on the long box-seat by the lab’s bay window. Outside, the Tears of Faiella fell endlessly to the rocks below; the last rays of sunlight creating brilliant rainbows. The alchemically-treated glass muffed the sound to a distant rumble. Between this lulling sound and the low lighting, it made the large room somber and restful. Seabhac lounged on the plush floor of the study area, moving his feet like a pair of metronomes. He smiled over at Gillian, trying to hide his laughter. Much to his amusement and Gillian’s perplexity, a section of lab equipment had been neatly rearranged to make room for an insulin-shock-inducingly cute teddy bear. Chubby, fuchsia, and button-eyed, it sat on the main worktable, daring Gillian to move it. "I hate it," she declared. Its presence far outweighed the other oddities, such as the fire under the cauldron, the open draperies, the room’s thorough dusting, and the freshly filled water jug and crystal glasses in the study area. “Oooo-weeeee-oooo-woooo,” Seabhac whispered. Gillian chucked a paper wad at him. "The other stuff is nice, though...I think...I'm not really sure how I feel about ghosts..." She left the teddy bear where it was and walked over to sit down beside Seabhac. "I suppose we should have that conversation now, before everyone else get here." “You ‘suppose’?” Seabhac replied, a tinge in his voice. He patted his chest and then opened his arm so she could rest against him. “I’m not usually so nosy, but you’ve got me worried Gilly. I mean, you do know that you can trust me, right?” Gillian reached out and squeezed his hand. "I do, otherwise we wouldn't be having this conversation. I...think I need to stay sitting here, so we can see each other. You're going to have reactions and I...want to see them," she ended in a small voice. She repositioned herself onto her knees very close to Seabhac, in a seiza position. Gillian spread her skirts out in an orderly fashion, taking the moment to also organize her thoughts. She nervously adjusted her glasses, then dropped her hands down to rest in her lap. Her gaze followed her hands. "It all started spring of last year, on the day of the equinox. My older brother Jonathan was chaperoning me while I wandered through the shops on Temple Street buying school supplies for the upcoming term. "We were by Lancer's Fountain when the clock tower struck midnight. At that point a...transformation occurred that I still do not understand. It still looked like Temple Street...sorta...but Temple Street from someone's nightmare. The color faded and black coffins appeared and they were filled with people. The architecture twisted in grotesque ways. The scents of the festival—food and wood smoke and cherry blossom—-turned stagnant. The moon turned green and wan." Gillian glanced up at Seabhac, wondering how he was taking this so far. She continued. Seabhac remained silent and attentive. His eyebrow rose slightly as Gillian described the Dark Hour’s arrival, but otherwise made no comment. "Jonathan and I ran and hid in a patio garden, under a table pushed up against a wall. While we were hiding, Jonathan called out to me and I heard this horrible sucking noise. Then this shadow appeared behind him and wrapped itself around his shoulders and throat and poured out of his eyes and pulled him down into itself and consumed him and the shadow had a white tragedy mask and it looked at me from behind the mask and these ropey tendrils reached out toward me and they all held stilettos and I knew it wanted my blood, I don't know how I knew, but I knew—" She caught at her breath, trying to distance herself from the memory. Seabhac’s hand sought Gillian’s, their fingers entwining. He moved closer to her, offering his support without words. "I screamed and ran away. Suddenly there was a voice in my head—a woman's voice, icy and condescending. I kept telling myself it was all a horrible dream and to wake up. And then...it seemed like something did wake up. My hands moved of their own accord and started ripping the flesh from my arms and there was a different body underneath and I felt power, Seabhac. Power. I...think it might have been what High Magic feels like—you know, the real thing that the royals can tap into—and it felt really...good...and the Voice in in my head told me it was time and that I should revenge our brother and show them what I was made of and that I would never need to be afraid again but I was afraid, I was so afraid to give into that Voice and use that power and I was afraid it would change me, sully me somehow and I tried to refuse but the Voice took control of my body and blue flame came from my fingertips and it burned the whole square in front of me where the shadows with the tragedy masks and stilettos were coming to get me were and everything erupted in blue flame and the Voice laughed and seemed to take delight in this and I blacked out." Gillian tugged at her skirts. "When I awoke I was back in this world in a building that had exploded. Do you remember that from last year? The story they circulated was that it was a coal gas explosion. I ran back to Temple Street to find Jonathan and passed a clock that said only seven minutes had passed here. It seemed that much more time passed for me while I was in that other place. "I found Jonathan under the table in the same patio garden that corresponded to where we'd run to hide. Seabhac, he was...gone. There was no response to anything I said. He just...stared. He had Apathy Syndrome...has Apathy Syndrome." She forced her hands to quiet and looked back up at Seabhac. "And now every night since then, at midnight, I'm transported back to that place. One hour passes for me while one minutes passes here. Then after my hour is up, I come back here." When she’d finished, Seabhac stared at her with an unreadable expression. He did not even appear to breathe or blink. The waterfall’s rumble and the crackle of the fireplace remained the only sounds in the room. Time stretched out, immutable, frozen. And then, he leaned forward and kissed her lips, so tenderly it may have been her imagination. He remained so close that she could feel his body trembling against her. His fingers tightened around her hand. “Oh Gilly,” he whispered. “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner? I could have done something. Anything. You shouldn't be going through this alone.” Gillan bit her lip and rested her forehead against his. "I don't think there's anything you can do. During that hour you're one of the people encased in a coffin, oblivious until the time passes. As for the others, Raina and Joao and Temnal all experience it too, as does Cole di Perondor. And I found out today that Rusalka Cardovan and Cynwyd Barimen also join our ranks." Seabhac squeezed her hand, enjoying the intimacy and not willing to dispel it. “That makes some sense, I suppose. Raina’s explanation of her association with the Night Wolves sounded as plausible as one of Uncle Caine’s demises.” He kissed her again and leaned back. “Is this some kind of pocket realm? Or is it really Amber? I’ve seen Undershadow, but it never appeared as you just described. And time passes there at an equal rate. So this must be something. . . different.” Gillian sighed softly and opened her eyes. "What did you just say? Oh yes...Undershadow. Ginger believes it's more like a twisted version of the Wake, the spirit realm. She thinks Entropy rules there, as if the soul of Amber is slowly rotting away. "Dworkin and Mirelle, however, describe it as an occultation in which the separate reality of the Dark Hour eclipses this localized region of our true reality." Her expression turned thoughtful. "He described the effect as 'tiny holes in his thoughts, a realm which he cannot and has not been able to observe.' I imagine it's akin to the blind spot we have in our visual field, though we're generally unaware of said blind spot and Dworkin apparently is aware of the holes in his thoughts, so perhaps that's not an apt metaphor after all..." Seabhac gently squeezed her hand, “Whoa-whoa! Slow down there, Speed Racer. You actually met Dworkin? And Mirelle? I mean. Not to question you, Gilly. But Mirelle is long dead. And Dworkin. Well, Aunt Fiona makes certain he never leaves his room. “So, are we talking about the same people?” Gillian stopped her line of speculation concerning metaphors and looked at him seriously. "I...I think so. Yes, Mirelle is dead, and that's why—oh—" She covered her face with her hands briefly, then let them drop again. "Seabhac, there's so much more to tell, I'm not even sure where to start," she said. "The Voice in my head is Cybele, I found out. And Rusalka is channeling Coral. We're all channeling dead Royals. Well, Dworkin said they weren't exactly dead. But not living either. He said they were 'reflections of reflections'. Mirelle called us 'conduits'. I think she is channeled as well, and that's who we were talking to today while you saw me spacing during the convocation and that's why Mirelle does not look like the Mirelle in Reynaud's Geneology." Gillian shifted her position anxiously. "But why the conduits? For what purpose? Dworkin said we entered into a contract with him, though none of us remembers such a thing. He thinks the world is going to end in one year's time and that this Dark Hour, this occultation, is somehow responsible and Mirelle wants us to explore the Dark realm and do whatever it is we must to stop the world from ending and Temnal suggested slaying the Shadows but Jonathan was swallowed by the Shadows and I told them not to! I'm afraid that I'll never see Jonathan again. The Voice told me blood is the key to his recovery, but whose? And what do I do with it?" She took a shuddering breath, close to tears. "I don't know what to do. I don't want to explore the Dark Realm. I don't want to let Cybele loose inside of my head. I don't want to save the world. I just want to be student. "And I haven't even told you yet about Caine and Cybele's trumps." To his credit, Seabhac appeared to follow Gillian’s hectic information drop. He nodded sporadically, silently making mental notes on everything being said. At the mention of Jonathan, he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “Before we discuss the Trumps, let’s backtrack a little, Gilly,” Seabhac said calmly. “First, I’ve never heard of Cybele. She must be one of the Lost. But if she makes you this afraid, then we’ll deal with her together, okay? You’re not alone.” Gillian nodded nervously. His thumb stroked her palm, “Second. Anything that has to do with Dworkin is dangerous. He’s completely mad and locked up for his own sake…” He paused. “All our sakes,” he corrected. “From what auntie tells me, his very thoughts can disturb the Pattern. So if he says the world will come to an end. It will. Have no doubt in that. I’ll find out more about him. Covertly. The less my family knows about you in that regard, the better. They’re likely to take interest.” She shook her head so vehemently that her glasses slipped. "Unicorn preserve me from the acuminous interest of a Royal. Present company excluded, of course." Gillian flashed Seabhac a brief smile before sobering again. "Um...remind me to tell you about Prince Caine." He nodded in reply, but did not press the issue. He did – however – appear very pleased that she did not consider him amongst the ranks of elder Royals. A sly grin warmed his features, “Fear not. My interests are far more. . . romantic in tone.” Gillian blushed and looked away, her smile back. Seabhac bit his bottom lip, thinking. “He said ‘reflections of reflections’? And Mirelle called you conduits? Hrm.” "Does that mean anything to you?" she asked. "I haven't had time yet to go researching it in the library," she added apologetically. Seabhac sighed, “You’ve had a lot of your mind, Gilly. I’m amazed you’ve gotten any school work done with this on your shoulders.” He tugged his ear and then shrugged. She gazed back, nonplussed. Of course she'd gotten her school work done. “Well, Trumps are essentially conduits for mental connections,” he said. “I wonder if the effect is no unlike that. Still. Not even trumps can contact the dead.” "If 'reflections of reflections' then maybe not dead?" Gillian ventured. "Though I have to admit from the few experiences I have had with Cybelle, she doesn't sound like she's leading another life. I suppose I could...ask." By the expression on her face, it was clear this was not her preferred choice of action. Seabhac touched her cheek, “Only if I’m there with you, Gilly. I’m not letting you face her alone. I can tell how much she terrifies you.” He nodded, resolute. Gillian bit her lip and nodded back. Unless he could miraculously figure out a way to be inside her head too, she was going to be forced to deal with the situation alone. She found his support sweet and touching though, so she didn't contradict him. "There might be someone who could shed some light on the subject of death. One of..Cybelle...I accidentally activated one of her trumps and it took me to the Elysian Fields, the Lands of the Dead. I talked to someone there named Shiva. She seemed...nice...and knowledgeable...and...all right, and creepy. But still a possible source of information." Seabhac sat back, blinking in shock. “Wait! Did you say Shiva? The Elysian Fields?” She could feel his body shiver against her; whether from excitement or fear, she couldn’t tell. His voice sounded strained, nervous, as he spoke. “I need to see those Trumps, Gilly. As soon as possible.” Gillian nodded again slowly, looking back at him with some alarm. "Wh-what's wrong, Seabhac? Seabhac squeezed her hands, “Gilly. I need to see them. I wouldn’t even suspect this if you hadn’t mentioned Dworkin and one of the Lost. But I’ve read that there is a set of Trumps beyond all others. That the Trumps of today are merely pale reflections of the True Deck. Nor do they function the same. They go far beyond anything an Artist—even my father—can hope to accomplish. "The First." All her thoughts of the Dark Hour vanished, replaced with a sudden intensity for Seabhac's words like a moth to flame. "A 'true' deck? Who created them? Where did you read about this?" “Aunt Fiona may be sly, but so am I,” Seabhac said. “I snuck into her private library once." Gillian gave a tiny gasp. "Grandfather’s room has a secret passageway connecting their bedrooms. I believe he used it once to escape his brother. Anyway, it still works and doesn’t have those nasty wardings she’s set up on the front door. For the record, she hides her private writings in a copy of Aberrational Fictions. And that’s where she makes notes regarding her trump research.” He gave a wry grin. <I begin to like this one> the Voice whispered, intrigued. Gillian forced a return smile for Seabhac as a flash of anger spread through her thoughts. <This is a private conversation. What right do you have listening in? I don't care if you're a royal and I don't care if Dworkin put you there. GO AWAY!> <So touchy, poppet> the Voice laughed. <Perhaps, I might utilize that passion in other regards at a later time> The Voice faded, crouching in the shadows like a spider. “One particular note referred to True Trumps and Princess Sand’s attempts to replicate them. Sand, I believe, actually surpassed the red-heads in every regard. But even she couldn’t duplicate the True Trumps. She came close, but her research led her in another direction entirely.” Seabhac paused, “Before I continue, what do you know of the Trumps?” "Um..." Gillian paused, distracted. She shook her head to clear it. "They are an arcane construction that allows the user to initiate a mental connection with the person or scene depicted on the trump. I believe they're traditionally painted and I think only someone capable of high sorcery can create them, though I admit I'm unsure of the last part. "How do True Trumps differ from the trumps in use by the royals?" “You’re mostly right. You do not need to possess high sorcery to activate them, just a little willpower,” Seabhac said, pleased. “They utilize the Pattern or the Logrus to open an arcane connection. A thread, if you will. That’s how you can step through them, if need be. However, as powerful as they may be, they are not ‘true’ manifestations of the person or place depicted. No more than a strand of hair or a drop of blood is. “The True Trumps are true manifestations of what they depict.” He allowed that to settle in for a moment. Gillian sat back and stared at him. She blinked. “Elysium and Shiva. They are merely components of the Trump itself. The artist drew them into existence for a specific purpose. From what I read, they are living, breathing mystic concepts. Like the Tarot. Indeed, the tarot might be a reflection of this deck." "Drew them into existence? But...Elysium was...well, it's a place. As far as I could see it's an entire place, most of it which is not depicted on the card. Seabhac, do you realize what you're implying here?" Seabhac gave a solemn nod. “I’m well aware, Gillian. Is it so difficult to believe that an elder could create an entire Shadow through the Trumps? After all, Dworkin created billions of Shadows when he sketched the Pattern. “Of course, I think these Shadows are special somehow. Protected. Or outside of this level of existence. Maybe that’s why no one has discovered these places. Until you.” "Well, until Cybelle brought their hiding place behind a rock to my attention when I was having a picnic in the park with Prince Caine." Gillian sighed. "I need to tell you about him, too. He suspected I knew something about that building exploding last spring and took me on a picnic to tease the information from me. I told him about the Dark Hour, but not about the Voice in my head. He doesn't realize it was Cybelle acting through me when she razed the building. He thinks instead she's a separate person from me and doesn't know her identity. "He wants me to report to him what I see during the Dark Hour. In that regard, he wants me to leave the protection of my tower bedroom and explore the streets during that time. When I pointed out that he may well lose me this way, he seemed fairly unconcerned. I'm to give him my first report next week. "Seabhac, I don't trust him, but I can't keep lying to him--he will figure it out. What should I do?" “Pray?” Seabhac replied and immediately regretted it. He sighed, “Everyone is afraid of my uncle. And with good reason. If he’ll kill the gentlest of us just so that he might kill a tyrant, I dread to think what he’d do to you. You need to remain useful to him, Gillian. Because no matter how dangerous this Dark Hour is. Uncle Caine is far worse.” She tightened her grip on his hand. "You haven't seen the Dark Hour, but...in this case I'll take your word on it. He...did unsettle me greatly." Seabhac frowned, “He unsettles most of the family, Gilly. I’m not surprised.” He scratched his chin thoughtfully. “In the meantime, I can speak to some family members. Make them recognize your importance to me. So, why don’t you let me pass the missives to him? That way he knows you’re protected. Even Caine won’t risk upsetting the future Emperor. That way, you only have to deal with these creatures. Gillian smiled with some relief. "This is a huge thing you're offering to do for me. I greatly appreciate it. Thank you." “It’s for you, Gillian.” Seabhac gave a shrug and quirked a smile. "But promise me that you'll never mention the Voice to him. Ever. My family has a sore spot for the Lost." "I...may have already mentioned Cybelle to him," she said reluctantly. "I'm sorry, Seabhac." A grimace passed over his face like a shadow. He flexed his fist and then sighed. “It can’t be helped,” he said. “But I’ll handle it. I may even use it to my advantage. Pick his brain, even as he’s playing me. I just need to give Caine less than I take from him.” "No." Gillian shook her head. "You just said everyone was afraid of him and for good reason. It's one thing to pass along missives, but it's another thing to try to beat him at his own game. "Pass along the missives, declare our relationship to him... word of it is already out. Please do not get more involved that, Seabhac. I know you believe your role as heir gives you protection, but..." She trailed off and shook her head, not willing to finish the speculation. "I would never forgive myself if something happened to you." Seabhac’s face lit up with a grin. He leaned forward ever-so slowly until his lips hovered a breath from hers. A smooth fingertip traced the pulse of her throat. “You just said we’re in a 'relationship,'” he whispered happily. The kiss never came. A knock on the door did, however; echoing through the workshop. Seabhac jumped, “Shit!” Gillian startled too, bumping her head against Seabhac's. "Ow!" Seabhac leaned unsteadily, rubbing his head. Above them, the felines were immediately awake and muttering foully – having discovered their intolerably close proximity to one another. “Hello?” Raina called from the other side of the reinforced door. [continued in Meeting of Minds] |
