"Training" was relentless. Each morning, Lord Balliol would retrieve me from the same room I'd been held in for months--though now it also held a small cot, a lantern, and spell books. My own spell book was asking them, something I'd been surprised to notice. I'd assumed it was left behind when I was captured. Either they'd brought my things immediately and withheld them from me, or they'd gone back for them. No matter; I had the book now, and I was grateful. The other books contained darker magics, magics that scared me. I avoided them as much as I could, but occasionally Balliol would force me to practice some evil incantation or another. Nothing too severe yet, but clearly nefarious nonetheless. I couldn't be sure if the dirty feeling left behind was real, or some product of my imagination, a manifestation of my guilt.
The days were spent in the enclosed courtyard, practicing a spell again and again until I could call it forth with power and ease. Lord Balliol had taught me well, and I would owe my escape largely to him. Now that I was no longer being tortured, I could bide my time waiting for the right opportunity while gaining as much knowledge and strength as possible. At times a small voice would whisper doubt in the back of my mind. Was it I who was using Balliol, or he who was using me? He was a cunning, cold, calculated monster of a man and I couldn't be sure I wasn't playing right into his hands, but it was the only plan I had. I seemed to have convinced my captors that I was no threat. That they'd effectively broken me--they almost had, but I held that secret close and pretended to be cowed by fear. The time to act on my plan would come.
It came sooner than I expected. It was an unseasonably warm day, the sun gently convincing the snow to melt away and reveal the first glimpses of spring green on the ground.
"Lynarra, you've made impressive progress. I'm starting to see why King Alaric was so adamant about having you. You'll be a powerful addition to the Praecant ranks despite your late training."
I said nothing, having learned Balliol did not always want a response. He was a fan of his own voice, and of thinking his words held special power over others. We'd spent the morning practicing nonverbal incantations, though you wouldn't have guessed it from how much I still heard that slimy, slinking voice of his.
"Yes, I believe the king will be quite pleased when he comes to retrieve you this week," he continued.
This got my attention. I whipped my head in his direction, unable to mask the surprise on my face.
"W-what? This week? Surely I'm not ready," I sputtered.
/Now you've done it, Lynarra, you've stayed too long and lost your chance, you should have gone when--/
"You've been behaving quite well, your powers are growing, you're back to good health--"
/Lovely how he fails to mention his role in my recent lack of "health."/
"Lord Balliol," I started, aiming for an even tone, "I worry I will...disappoint...our king. He will expect the best--what if he asks me to perform in a way I cannot?"
"You will do as he says," Balliol said simply.
"Yes sir, I will try. But in the event he asks something of me--something I do not know, or simply can't do--what will happen to me?"
His eyes narrowed as he took in my words. "Let me be perfectly clear, girl," Lord Balliol said, approaching me with ice in his voice, "there is no 'can't' or 'won't' where King Alaric is concerned. You either 'do,' or you face the harshest of consequences. Think back to your early days here. That was nothing, compared to what you face if you fail once in the king's command." His eyes traveled my body, and almost as if it was an afterthought, he added, "Truthfully I'm not entirely sure that spells are all King Alaric intends to demand of you. You may find yourself serving…other purposes." The implication in his tone made me suppress a shudder.
"But--"
A sharp slap across the face cut me off.
"But nothing! You are ready. He wants you this week, so he gets you this week," Balliol hissed.
Panic coursed through me, my heart pounding in my ears. This was it. My time was up. I either escaped now, or not at all. I'd be damned if I let myself go quietly into the arms of the despicable man who ruled the kingdom with an iron fist. I swallowed hard, fighting back the urge to scream and run. I would only have one opportunity. I'd need to catch Balliol by surprise if I was to stand any chance.
Lowering my eyes in what I hoped was believable defeat, I said, "I understand. Please, might we practice today's spells just a little more? So that I may truly offer my best? I think I can give more."
Balliol nodded curtly and walked back to his earlier position, motioning for me to resume. Nonverbal spells were especially challenging, and did drain the body's energy more. I was tired from the hour I'd spent coaxing snow to melt and refreeze into small ice sculptures. I rolled my shoulders, stretched my neck from side to side, and took a deep breath. My escape would require two parts: a blow to my captor would be necessary before I could break down the outer wall and flee. It could not be done without taking him down, at least momentarily. An anger was burning inside me, bitter rage boiling toward the surface as I drew on all the suppressed emotions of the past months.
I felt that heat manifest in my hands--the nonverbal incantation was working. Spinning on my heel, I whipped around and flung the ball of fire directly at Balliol. It was large, and powerful enough to blast him backward with a surprised yell. The spell had depleted my energy greatly, but I couldn't stop now. I ran toward the eastern wall of the enclosure--the one that I knew separated me from freedom--and raised my hand, opening my mouth to utter the words that would send the stones crumbling before me.