VINCENT

Darkness.

Pain.

Nausea. 

I winced as I slowly sat up. Lazing about would not be permitted, and I would suffer far more if I didn't do my best to hide how I was being affected. I rubbed at my temples and neck, and my hair quickly tangled with my hands.

My braid had come undone thanks to a fitful sleep. I sighed as I combed through my hair with my fingers and looked around.

Aside from a small bed, I hadn't the faintest idea where I was. It wasn't the first time I had awoken in an unfamiliar room. I moved to sit on the edge of the bed, letting the darkness soothe my migraine for a brief moment.

I could see nothing but a slim line of light from under a door that stood a few feet away from me. It was hardly enough to help me find a candle or a lamp. Father wouldn't approve of such mundane lighting, anyway. I was certain he was waiting for me to cast a spell, ready to pounce when I failed to do so.

I slowed my breathing and raised my hand, concentrating on forming a ball of dim light. I only needed enough to see if there were any obstacles in my way. 

A soft glow danced across my fingertips, and I used it to examine my surroundings. A writing desk and several chairs had been pushed against the walls, allowing enough room for the bed I sat on to fit.

A wave of vertigo hit me as I stood, and I swayed for a moment before finding my balance. I carefully made my way around the small room and found my luggage tucked against a corner beside the door. I resisted checking to see if my books were left untouched. I already knew they would be.

Their titles were truly awful and the content even more tasteless. So far, any test of an angry note against my father had yet to be found. So long as I ignored them upon waking or returning to my room, they were ignored. The money I had secreted away was safe so long as I didn't give anything away. Not with Father so close by. 

I could feel him swiftly approaching. It would be best to leave the room before he reached me.

I reached for the door and blacked out. I grabbed at the handle for balance and slumped onto the ground, clutching at my head with a soft groan.

By the Mallou, it always seemed to hurt worse than before. Either feeling a Core shatter was chipping away at my own magical essence, or the sleeping draughts my father insisted I drink were beginning to cause permanent damage.

He claimed they helped with the magic hangover caused by feeling a Core shatter, but I had my doubts. A sleeping draught might help others, but I always suspected I was allergic to one of the ingredients. It was the only explanation, but my concerns were brushed off as being overly sensitive to magic.

I couldn't deny his claim. As long as no dampeners were involved, I could easily pinpoint a fellow magic user from miles away. Not that Father knew of that particular skill, and I was perfectly happy to never let him know just how useful I could be.

No, the only useful purpose I offered was being a viable option to marry off. I could hardly complain about my engagement—it gained me my first friend. But my relationship with Alessa wasn't what I wanted. I had read so many stories of nobles being whisked away by brigands and falling in love that it had skewed my expectations on what a loving relationship should be. I wanted someone keen on adventure. Someone strong and with the patience to help me past my cowardice.

I sulked on the floor, wallowing in my own painful misery until the handle I still clutched turned beneath my fingers. I had wasted more time than I realized.

The door opened, and Father looked down at me in disappointment. "Really, Vincent?" he said with a sigh. "At least you lit your way with a spell."

I squeezed my eyes shut as my head pounded. Mallou, I felt the need to purge my stomach. I swallowed back the feeling and gripped at the wall as I struggled to stand. "I apologize, Father. I'm not feeling well. I'm being affected more than usual."

"In what way?" he asked, his tone curious.

In a way that made me want to stab my eyes out, just to get to the pain and dig it out with a serrated spoon. Like something was there that shouldn't be.

"I feel…" It was hard to explain. Aside from the migraine, I felt like a fragile balloon stuffed full of shards of glass, begging to pop and for it all to finally end. But he wouldn't understand that. He wouldn't understand that it was only temporary. A brief struggle. The feeling would settle into something like a new bird being accepted into the flock, still uncertain, still lost, but accepted enough to stay.

"I feel as though I'm about to burst. Like I'm…" I trailed off as he raised an annoyed brow. He never accepted any answer I gave that leaned on metaphor. I settled on the mundane. The acceptable. "The migraine is worse. Tighter. It's already better than when I first awoke."

"Interesting," he said as he looked me over, as if he could see a physical source for my pain. "That might be the anise. I thought it might help with the hangover, but it would seem it's reacting badly with the valerian. I'll leave it out next time."

He was lying again. I hated the taste of anise. I would have noticed it. Why would he lie about something so small?

"Thank you," I said quietly. I pinched the bridge of my nose and rubbed inward, hoping to alleviate some of the pressure. "I think I'll have some tea and get some fresh air in the garden."

"Yes, you do that. Relax. Recover. I'll want to check your Core fluctuations later tonight before your fiance joins us."

My heart dropped. Why couldn't he give me one day of proper recovery? Always checking, always testing, yet never satisfied with the results. I felt more like an experiment than a son. Not that I knew what that was supposed to feel like, but I had a feeling happiness was somehow involved. Perhaps I would have been happier as a mindless construct.

"Very well, Father. I'll see you tonight."

If only he would leave me be until night.

The garden blessed me with more than just house finches. The beautiful raven I had been bribing for the past few months sat atop the garden wall, eying me as I approached. I reached my free hand out to him and sent a bit of calming magic. After a moment, he flew down and perched on my arm.

I could feel his intrigue over the next task I would inevitably ask of him. A little mission with a nice reward.

I sensed my father's approach and turned to face him, letting my hold of the raven go. I let my disappointment show, feigning the cause as the bird fleeing.

"It's a pity you can't have them attack," he said as watched the raven fly off. He looked back at me in disappointment. "Perhaps even something more useful beyond an ornamental pet."

"Anytime I've tried to force their will, they lash out," I replied. "Practicing on anything larger and more vicious than a bird or rodent could spell disaster." The apprehension that he might push me into manipulating a construct rose.

Father hummed in thought. "There could still be a use for that talent. Keep practicing."

"Of course, Father. I'll see if I can get it to bring me a leaf or a stick. Something familiar that it wouldn't question." Something that I could struggle over for a while then triumphantly succeed if my plans fell through. Just another thing to distract as I bought myself more time.

He nodded approvingly before turning away and leaving the garden. 

Lady Below, that small nod almost had me rethinking my plans. But it wasn't approval over my supposed improvement. It was for what I could offer him. How I could be useful. Every single time I saw a sliver of approval, I wavered.

If he knew what sort of control I truly had simply by asking nicely, he'd push me further. He wouldn't relent until there was no will left in me. I would be another hollowed out mage sitting in a dungeon with no hope. The thought of joining one of those lifeless husks spurred my desperation back to the forefront.

I tempted the raven and the little finches for a bit longer until Father lost interest in watching and left for the day.

I was far from alone. Guards still lined the halls and entrances, but none of them were magic users. Father wouldn't trust his safety to any who could potentially overpower or deceive him. His paranoia worked to my advantage. They wouldn't know how advanced of a spell I would be wielding.

They would believe that I was exhausted and needed to take a break.

I returned to my makeshift room under the guise of having recovered enough to attempt reading. I went through my luggage and pulled out the money I had stashed between the pages of several books.

It would be the final payment, and I hoped I wasn't being a naïve fool again. In the end, it amounted to well over a year's worth of wages for some. With a promise of more to come and an assurance that I would be willing to spill all knowledge I held, it had to be enough. I had been assured the risk I was asking them to take was well worth what I was offering.

Rummaging through the writing desk, I found fresh leaves of paper and a sturdy envelope. They hadn't been confiscated, but, as far as my father knew, I had no one with whom to correspond. I quickly wrote down my instructions and drew a small map of the estate and the most likely places I would be found.

I prayed that the little finches were right. They knew of a small house with a pretty little flowerbed of calendula out front that held a pinwheel of spiralling white, blue, and green. It was a sign of a safehouse used by the

Resistance and my next point of contact.

It had been implied that it housed a smaller cell. Enough to keep an eye on Father and his movements. Enough to stage a small rescue.

I sealed te envelope and cast a small spell to ease the weight, praying it would last long enough to reach its destination. I tucked it between the pages of my selected book and headed back to the garden.

Making certain the guards weren't watching, I called the raven to my side. He landed lightly on the arm of the bench and cocked his head curiously. He pecked lightly at my fingers as I tied the envelope to his leg.

I relayed the visions the finches had given me, receiving confidence in return. The raven flew off, taking my hope of freedom with him.

Tonight, I would make my final move and earn isolation as a reward. I felt light with the prospect that I would outwit my father.