Æther flows fast through the proper æther channels in my body, burning them away slowly as I summon a contradictory cold. Frost spreads from my fingers into the air, before pooling at the ground by my feet and dispersing.
Usually, such magics are reserved for forming ice from water, the air is a far more stubborn medium to employ with such magics. For any real application, I’ll likely have to train in wind magics also, but even so, its utility in subtle action is too much to ignore.
Already I’ve startled a few servants with a sudden chill that seemingly comes from nowhere.
Perhaps if I can sustain it, it can play to my advantage, an inexplicable chill can seep into the nerves more effectively than a piercing nail of frost. For that, however, I must learn to sustain this magic as an aura.
Most proper mages maintain an aura of their own, and while it’s certainly a mysterious seeming effect to the mundane peasantry, it’s really nothing more than a training regime. It’s simply a matter of keeping the aether veins burning to strengthen them and encourage growth.
A powerful mage without an aura is far more threatening, as it suggests that they’re resting in anticipation of a serious fight.
This does mean that most nobles would see my frost aura as nothing more than an effort to train myself, so perhaps I should act with a little more discretion.
As an effort toward such ends, I redirect the flow of magic into my own body.
The summoned frost seeps through my flesh, and settles into my bones, after a few minutes of investment into the task, crystal ice forms over my skin in a growing web. If I were still human, I would have been screaming in intense pain and suffering, but now it’s almost akin to a warm bath. The chill embraces me and settles the anxieties that I can almost pretend aren’t stirring within.
A cracking whip breaks my focus, and I chance a small peek out the window, avoiding the direct light.
A man, not my own slave master but a servant from among uncle’s entourage, is playing about with not just my whip but my slaves as well. The violet-eyed girl who freely offered her blood just last evening now whimpers away from the striking whip.
The others around her are gathered in silent concern, though they dare not stop their own labours. The man is taking things further than he ought to. His untrained hand is doubtlessly causing undue injury.
A hiss slips from my lips, as the man continues.
I pull myself from my chair and amour myself in the hooded cloak that I prepared. I’ve delayed long enough already.
Ignoring the curious glances from the servants, I rush through the haunted halls of my home, my pace the height of speeds that a lady can walk in an emergency. Anyone looking should know of my rage, yet the blind little peasants dressed in servant’s livery all seem unconcerned.
I push through the front doors, the bright sunlight a physical wall before me. It cuts into my clothes, burning me away slowly. Slowly enough that I can bear to weather it.
The continued whip cracking only further inspires me to cross the wall of glowing death that stands in place of the open doors.
Not daring to reveal even a hint of weakness, I stride into the yard and head right for the man with the whip.
“Enough,” I say on my approach, but either he doesn’t hear, or doesn’t care. The girl still cowering turns her eyes toward me, surprise painting her expression much more than the pain.
“Enough!” I snap at the man, reaching out and grabbing his arm. He tries to shake me off, and I summon frost directly into his flesh. It’s much too weak to do any harm, but it’s more than enough to startle him back a step.
I watch him closely as he stumbles away, panic flowing off of him in waves, but quickly fading away. In the sunlight, the panic is worthless for my magics, but fear is just as useful to me as a noble.
“Who... who are you?”
“You crack my whip in my yard to wound my slaves, and you dare to ask who I am?” I step closer to him not letting my short stature limit me. “I was going to leave this matter at a simple flogging but it seems that I must make an example of you.”
“You’re the cursed girl!” The paid muscle shouts as if in realization, his panic dissipating all too quickly.
“You sir, will make for a fine example,” I say. “Perhaps I should adorn our gates with your severed head.”
“The lord said that you can’t leave the house.” The man says, “But I guess this is still the yard. You shouldn’t be running up and startling people, you know? The lord is still looking for a lady’s maid for you.”
He nervously chuckles, but I continue to glare at him until he finally retreats.
Hardly a victory for me. I’ll have to deal with him later since I am without knights to properly give effect to my commands. This truly is frustrating beyond reason. What is a lord or lady without the knights who obey them?
To be so reduced in both influence and dignity…
“Miss?” The violet-eyed girl asks after me, looking at me curiously and glancing down at my hand while sniffing. Her kind have better senses, and she can no doubt smell my sizzled flesh. I exposed myself in grabbing the man, and I can’t even heal the wound out here in the sunlight.
“Are you troubled by your injuries?” I ask, looking her over. The lashing cut right through her thin rags, and the wounds beneath look truly nasty. There are sure to be new scars added to her body should she not be treated, and ordinarily she wouldn’t be.
“I’m fine, miss.” She says, but it’s clear that she’s not. She’s still sickly pale, and the blood dripping from her wounds tells a clearer picture than the poor deception of her words.
“You’re not,” I say. “Come, there are some things I’d like to ask you, preferably away from here.”
“Miss…” She pulls me to a stop as I try to take her away. The other slaves, many of them children, stand around, shaking in fear. My uncle’s man may be gone for a moment, but it won’t be forever.
Is this girl acting as their protector?
“All of you come with me, then,” I say. “Perhaps you can assist me.”
It doesn’t take too long to gather them into the slave barracks. The women and children are gathered here but the men are separated into their own pen to prevent any unwanted pregnancies. It does also offer them some limited privacy between the sexes.
“I apologise, I have little influence here with my uncle having infested the house with the ill-born creatures he considers servants,” I say, disappointed in my own failings as a countess.
The slaves all take their places in the darkness of the room, glad for a moment’s rest. With the door closed my power returns to me, limitedly, and I can heal my wounds using the æther flowing through my dry veins.
Here, within the darkness, the sweet tang of blood becomes ever so much more tempting, but I must go about this with careful dignity.
“Now, if I may?” I say gesturing to the bleeding wounds gathered on the girl’s back. I ignore the stares offered to me by the rest of the slaves as she nods, turning her back to me.
It’s… more than a little bit strange to be licking at another person’s back but the sweet taste of blood draws me in, and my shame passes quickly. My first task is to understand the limits of my recovery magic.
“Things have hardly really changed for us,” The girl says, barely making a whisper. “It doesn’t matter who holds the whip, it’s the same stinging in the end.”
“I don’t understand…” I say, tasting of her wounds. It seems that simply drinking the spilt blood isn’t enough to heal her though my magic should work in such a way. “My father is… was a proper noble. I’m sure that the whip master would have restrained his use for when you were deserving, no?”
There’s a pause around the room, and many of the younger slaves turn away from me or lower their heads in silent tears.
“Things have hardly changed at all,” she repeats, and I don’t know how to respond to that. Was our last whip master unnecessarily cruel, too? Surely something like that would have been noticed, no?
I sink my fangs softly into the wounds covering her back, and finally, my æther finds passage and expression. As I draw from the current of her blood, my magic travels along the uninterrupted blood flow healing the wound. When the current of blood is split, my power has no direction to travel. Even when working right, I must still press my fangs close to the injury.
I finish my work with her wounds, my recovery magic working more efficiently than any healing magic of the same power. Now I have a slightly firmer grip on my understanding of the magic, but I’ll need to test it more later.
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