The difference between Iris Everton and those who ruled the Thandlecor Empire was a sliver of greatness known simply as pure magic. A powerful energy capable of reaching the highest limits of existence. Most of which was used during the three days of creation it took to bring life to the world. That which was leftover was given as a gift to those souls deemed worthy of its capabilities. A gift given from the creator herself. Iris hated it. In her eyes, Purists and their magic were unfairly elevated, placed on a pedestal and handed their superiority on a silver platter. Her brilliance. Her strive for excellence. It all meant nothing to them. To Purists, she was a commoner, devoid of magic; an empty soul. Born that way, destined to live that life forever. But Iris had other plans, deadly plans. The kind that took years of deceit, manipulation, and unspeakable acts of terror.
Her quest for recognition started in the dusty cellar of her parent's home in Faylawn, a small village in the realm of Tevron. A friendly place that welcomed the world with open arms, but was ignored like a forgotten child. It was these shadows that she dedicated her life to the one thing she believed could match the intrigue of pure magic; a science known as alchemy. Experiments, inventions, discoveries, she did everything she could to increase her knowledge and understanding of the subject. She worked relentlessly, days and nights, weeks at a time with little more than breaks for food and to visit her horses, until she was capable of anything the science had to offer. When she was ready, she took her work across the empire to the beautiful city of Locke, the capital of a realm called Morne. And more specifically, to University da Mi'lier. A legendary institute built and run by commoners centuries before Iris was ever born. It was inside the school's walls that she believed she could access the resources necessary to introduce herself to the empire. The masters were fascinated by her talent, astonished that someone so young could do the things she was capable of. They brought her into their world of higher academia immediately, showered her with praise and compliments, set her on a course for greatness.
Since that day, Iris had made Locke her home. Her studies became her life. The one she left in Faylawn was all but a distant memory almost as soon as she had walked through the university's storied corridors. All she ever thought about from Faylawn were her parents and her horses. Her stern mother that pushed her to be more than a forgotten genius, her hard-working father that spoke fewer words than he worked hours of the day, and her beautiful destriers that calmed her nerves and brought the little joy she felt in Faylawn.
Between the university's laboratory and its world-renowned library, Iris seldom left the university. But when she did she enjoyed frequenting a small eatery called Penelope's Place. A cute little pub that was better known for its delicious food than its mediocre ale. What drew Iris to Penelope's Place was their outdoor seating that allowed her to escape the dinginess of the alchemy lab on days when stressing over failed experiments became too much. Today was one such day.
From her seat along the main road of Locke she could see the gates of the busy harbor at the end of the street, hear the commotion of the fishermen and sailors working on the docks. A chilled breeze swept in from the sea, bringing with it the smell of the day's catch. A thin smile formed on her lips. It was a terrible smell, but one that had become a welcomed custom of her new life in Locke. Birds circled above in hopes of snatching an easy lunch. She could see the tall towers of the university peering over the rooftops near the small eatery. She sipped her juice as she watched the school's green and yellow flags whip in the steady wind. As peaceful as the day was, she couldn't help but obsess over her goal. (I will tear the Purists down one by one until their stranglehold on the empire is no more. I will reign supreme.)
Just then a silence fell over her bustling little part of Locke. She knew the cause of the silence before she ever looked over the brim of her cup. (Of course they'd show up and ruin my delightful little lunch.) The throng of commoners that filled the cobblestone street spread like a parting sea, their heads bowing as they found their place along the sidewalks. A group of men and women dressed in red robes were walking down the center of the street. Iris did little more than the required bow of her head. She refused to stand, as expected as it may be. She cursed under her breath as the Purists of the High Chamber strolled by arrogantly. Brown and black pattens peeked from beneath the red robes of the Crimson Nine. (Lords forbid my lowly arse look them in the eye. I may set them ablaze with my less than perfect soul.) When the last of the Purists cleared her vision she lifted her head and discreetly glared at their backs, wishing they would burst into flames.
The glowing hot anger in her chest was far more interesting than her daily studies. So much so that she eventually slid her book out of the way and planted her elbow on the table, chin in her left palm. She stared at the city. Locke was built at the base of a sprawling hillside. Bastion da Le'fi sat at the top, its tall guard towers looking down on the city, its high walls keeping commoners away from the royalty within them. Surrounding the bastion were the government buildings full of Purists that ran the city and the realm of Morne as a whole. Below the hillside were the seemingly endless houses and apartments, chapels and businesses. There was a clear decline in the quality of those buildings, but not so much that she could call the city rundown or ugly. In fact, she couldn't imagine a much more beautiful city. Not even with her brilliant creativity.
A hint of sadness built in her chest. (I miss home, mother and father, the horses.) One horse stood out above the rest, her youngest destrier, Thunder. (I wonder how he's doing. I wonder how mother is doing. And father's cough. I hope it is gone. I could leave here, give up. Use my knowledge to cure father's illness. Ships leave the port everyday, surely one is heading toward Tevron.) She let out a resilient exhale. (No. I mustn't be deterred. I'm here for a reason and I will see it through. Besides, I'm close. So close. Master Rellin will see my brilliance soon enough. Then the purge will follow not far behind.)
She took another drink of her juice and flipped through the pages of Olt's Guide to Alchemy mindlessly. Try as she might she simply couldn't shake her frustration with the entire empire. It bothered her deeply that the Purists sat upon their pedestal while commoners obeyed their every whim, forced to take their word as absolute. (I'm every bit as intelligent as any of them. So they can move objects with their minds, or change their appearances. I can create things the world has never seen with my genius. I'll show them they're fools to disregard me.)
She gave up on the book with a crisp snap when she heard the waitress approach.
"Here you are ma'am," said the redhead. She sat two adorable plates down in front of Iris. One with a warm bowl of soup resting on it and the other with two slices of bread stacked atop one another. "Do you need anything else?"
"No thank you, you've been wonderful." She handed the woman a generous tip and smiled. "Such a lovely little eatery, please, give the owner my compliments." The waitress nodded happily and walked away.
Her soup warmed her chest as she watched the hustle and bustle of Locke. The narrow streets were lined by stone buildings that cast a cool shade over most everything. The sound of vendors and traveling merchants yelling their products and prices created a chaotic state of back and forth haggling while children ran through the sea of pedestrians, laughing and yelling at one another. (Look at them. Enjoying their lives that aren't even considered worth living by those who call themselves better than us. Pathetic fools. I will give them something worth living for. A cause.)
Above her, people sat on balconies and walked along stone bridges that connected the buildings. Arches along the sides of the covered bridges allowed people to look down on the city below. A young couple was standing near one such arch, kissing passionately. The purple lotus flowers that sat on the rails of the bridge made for romantic scenery around them. Children below gawked and pointed, laughing wildly.
The Lotus flowers on the bridge were by no means the only ones, they were everywhere, in window sills, on tables, in patches of grass, growing the pots that sat near many entrances to businesses. Their pink and purple pedals gave the entire city a sense of happiness and joy. She felt a smile forming at the beauty of the flowers. (Careful. Don't let yourself believe there isn't something hideous hidden beneath all this beauty.)
"Iris," She turned quickly to see Jameson Wicket standing at her small glass table. (Ah. The second step of my plan.) What had started as an accidental run-in with James six week before had become a sneakily useful friendship. One she kept at an arm's length yet required no effort to make convincing. James did not fit the mold she had created for the Purists. He was different, kind and thoughtful, like the people back home. At least most of them. She had to deal with Purists there as well, but they were far outnumbered and too few to dominate Faylawn's political landscape. Yes, James' personality made him a prime target, a Purist she could manipulate.
She wiped her mouth with her cloth napkin. "Morning James." She moved her books from the chair beside her. "I was just thinking about you," she said with a smile.
As usual a large hood covered the magical charmer's head and hid much of his face when he wasn't looking at her directly. But when he was she could see his mesmerizing blue eyes and the short, black stubble that gave him a rugged look she loved. He gave her a smile that could embed itself in a person's memory. Right beside all the other gorgeous things they'd ever seen. Her efforts to exploit the man's desire for her had already shown to be working. James regularly showed up when she was eating at Penelope's Place. So often that she figured he walked by the place daily just to see if she was there. Unfortunately for her, she could feel a hint of interest growing inside herself as well. (He's one of them. Even if he felt something for me he wouldn't be willing to act on his emotions. Would he?)
James snatched a piece of her bread and sat down. "We ain't all as bad as ya think," he said.
"Not all of you," said Iris. " There's you. And…" She looked at the white, puffy clouds, her finger to her lips as if in thought. "Well, there's you." They shared a grin, though what they were grinning about was specific to each.
"Aye, not everybody can be so charming, I guess." She giggled at his reference to his magic. (Ridiculous. Stop giggling.) She didn't stop though. James was plunking her with balled up pieces of bread. She was swatting at them and laughing all the while.
"Stop! Stop!" she said through her laughter.
When the doughy barrage ended they stared at one another. Grinning.
Iris' insatiable curiosity thrust a question at James unexpectedly. "Why don't you find me revolting, like the others?" He stared at her blankly for a moment. Clearly caught off guard. Any hints of joy were gone.
"What do ya mean?" James played with the rest of the bread in his hands. Rolled another piece into a ball but refrained from throwing it at her. .
"Your kind has spoken exactly two words to me since I've been here and that was a mistake. An elderly woman thought I was her daughter. Turned her back as soon as she looked me in the eyes." She ripped her own piece of bread in half. "And look." She pointed at the hillside above them, where the extravagant buildings stood proudly. "Your city is literally built to remind the rest of us that we are beneath you."
"I reckon that's just a coincidence," he said meekly.
"I reckon you may be wrong," she said sarcastically. He looked at her, ashamed of his people. She looked at him, boiling over inside. (Ease up on him. He didn't make things the way they are. And I need him. Don't go pushing him away with bitterness.) She smiled. "Not your fault though, of course. You seem like a true gentleman."
James looked at his lap, put the ball of bread into his mouth. "It's just the way it's always been but I reckon it ain't in me to make someone feel bad," he said as he chewed.
"Not in you, the man, or not in the charming Interactionist?" she asked in a knee jerk reaction. He frowned, clearly displeased at being referred to as his form of Purist. She hadn't meant to hurt him. In fact, she wasn't sure where the question came from at all. (Am I actually interested in this man? Is my heart curious if he is genuine?
James pondered his next words. "My magic can make anybody my friend for a few minutes, but it don't really make nobody feel better about themselves, not even me. It's all just a charming little trick. I want ya to like me, not my magic." She watched his eyes. Her mother's words echoed in her mind. (There's a subtle difference between avoiding eye contact out of embarrassment and doing so to lie.) James was embarrassed, she liked that much better than the alternative.
"Well, thank you, James. You have certainly made my time in Locke tolerable."
He spoke with his mouth full of bread. "Just tolerable?"
"More than tolerable. Quite nice actually." She paused, frowned as she looked at the table. See how committed he is to winning you over.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"I reckon I ain't brilliant like you, but I ain't blind… Tell me."
"It's just that…"
"Go on."
She looked at him with the most innocent eyes she could muster. "I'd like to see you somewhere other than here."
"Gotta be careful, you are beneath me, aren't ya?" She snapped a look at him, but changed her tune when he was smiling. "Come with me. I wanna show ya somethin' you're gonna love." He gathered her books for her as a stiff breeze swept through the street.
James led her through the crowd, through back alleys, up flights of stairs, down flights of stairs, and across bridges that hung over the busy streets. Before she knew it she was in areas of the city she hadn't explored. She did her best to look at the world around her as they sped toward James' surprise. The mastery of the city's stonework was that of ancient talents, the decor that lined the bridges and hallways was crafted by Morne's infamous artisans; beautiful and stunning. As Purists realized who he was and what she was, glaring eyes started following them. Eventually they stopped at the entrance of Walendar's Tower. An enormous structure that stood at the edge of the hillside and peered at the Purist buildings above the rest of the city.
She knew of the tower well enough; she had stared at it from a distance several times since arriving in Locke. Now, as she stood in front of it she had no words to describe its beauty. It's six sides stretched high into the sky, swirled carvings were etched in the exterior. At the top of the tower were six open arches that would have shown off the bell if there was one. Most noticeable was the dome made of real gold sat on top of the arched gaps.
"Am I supposed to be here?" Iris asked. "Is anyone supposed to be here?"
"Course not." James responded. "But I don't much care what they think of ya. As long as you're with me, you're gonna go wherever ya want. Like it should be."
They began their ascent up the winding set of stairs that climbed the open shaft of the tower.
By the time she stepped onto the stone that covered the floor of the belfry she was panting. Catch your breath quickly, he's barely breathing. A handful of crows fluttered away in a hurry when James waved his arms at them.
Painted on the ceiling was a picture of the great Arren Walendar, a Purist all commoners knew as a voice of reason amongst his brethren. She studied the image. The man's eyes appeared to stare back at her just as intently. He was shaking hands with a woman that had strong features and an unforgettable smile. (Have I seen her before? In my studies.) Walendar's left arm was extended toward what would be an audience watching the exchange. It looked like he should be holding something in his hand but wasn't.
"He's my inspiration. The reason I wanna change your opinion of Purists," James said. And then, for the first time in their friendship he lowered his hood. (Three hells, he's gorgeous.) His black hair reminded her of her own and was just long enough to be wavy and styled. His bangs were split and revealed a small bit of his forehead. His skin was tan, not as caramel coated as hers but certainly baked by the sun.
"That's quite admirable." She looked at the smiling man. (That smile, it's too much. Focus. I'm not here for a relationship. I'm here to ruin this man's life. All of their lives.)
James spun slowly, looking at the world around them. "I reckon if the High Chamber had their way this tower would have been knocked down years ago."
"And why can't they?" she asked.
He stopped, facing her. Shrugged. "They just can't. It won't let them."
"It?"
"Aye. They've tried to knock it down, but the stubborn thing won't come down. I like to think it means somethin' special. Like an unbreakable bond between Purists and commoners."
Again, her words poured out of her as if she had no control of herself. "You are charming with or without your magic, Jameson Wicket." He turned. "Before, at the eatery. I shouldn't have questioned your kindness. You're a good man, nothing like the other Purists."
He stared at her intently. Their eyes locked tight. The longer he remained silent, the more uncomfortable she became, the more she wished she could take back her words. (I shouldn't have feelings for this man.) Eventually he thanked her and stepped closer. (No. Not him. Not one of them.)
Nerves overwhelmed her. "Why is there no bell?" she asked abruptly as she turned and moved to the thin iron railing that circled the open shaft. He joined her a moment later.
"I dunno know the answer to that. Maybe it was never there to begin with." He stared at the painting above. "Lots of Purists say Walendar had himself a lotta support in his efforts to bridge the gap between me and you. But things never got any further than this empty tower." He frowned. "I reckon somebody got in the way, somebody with their own agenda. Like always."
"What happened to Walendar?"
"Disappeared. Probably dead. He's old enough to be gone by now, but no one knows where he went before that." James looked disappointed.
The wind swept through the gaps between the arches. Iris rubbed her arms to warm them.
"Here." James removed his coat. Beneath was a shirt tight enough to show the outline of his muscular physique. He draped the coat over her shoulders. (Must he make this more difficult?)
"Thank you," she said timidly.
"Look through this one here," James said as he directed her to one of the gaps that faced the coast. Her hips pressed against the stone wall as she looked out over Locke.
She could see every inch of the city as it cascaded down its slight slope toward the Jazak Sea.
"The beach is my favorite part," James said. She looked at the miles of white sand that lined the coast in both directions. It was pristine and perfect. She had been awe struck by it as the boat approached weeks before.
"It's beautiful." She felt a hand on the small of her back. She turned into him and looked up.
"I've liked gettin' to know ya, Iris."
"I have-" Suddenly, she couldn't move. James' eyes narrowed in confusion briefly before he darted away. She could hear him speaking angrily beside her.
"What the hell are ya doing?" he asked.
"What are you doing Jameson?" A woman's voice hissed through the empty belfry and out into the sky around them.
"What I'm doin' ain't none of your damn business, Ceralline. Get the hell outta here."
Iris fought to move her arms but her body was stiff as a board. It quickly occurred to her that Ceralline was a Physicalist, one of the more dangerous forms of Purists. She was at the woman's mercy.
"No one is supposed to be here. You know that Jameson. I'd hate to see what would happen if I brought this to the attention of the High Chamber."
"You're not supposed to be here either," he snapped.
"I think father would make an exception for me. I'll just go check with him now."
"I have a better idea. Why don't ya tell me why you was following us," James said.
"You were practically flaunting the commoner around. Why wouldn't I check on what you were up to?"
There was a sinister cut in James' tone. "I think ya should probably just make ya way home, Ceralline. Before a whole lotta trouble finds ya."
"I see," the woman said, her snippy confidence in full stride. "Sneaking into a forbidden place and threatening a fellow Purist. The High Chamber will be quite disappointed, I'm sure."
"I suggest ya don't say a word to nobody and just leave," James said.
"And I suggest-" Ceralline never finished her sentence. Instead, she started a new one and in a far kinder tone. "Afternoon, James! How are you?" There was a pause. "And who is that?"
As the Purist spoke the hold on Iris faded. She blinked to wet her eyes and stretched her jaw that had been locked half open. She turned to see James guiding the woman toward the middle of the belfry. There was a look of admiration on her face as she stared at James.
Suddenly, the woman made eye contact with Iris. "Nice to meet you! I'm Ceralline." Her eyes darted back to James. "It is a lovely day isn't it?" More than a bit of jealousy rose in Iris when the woman's hand touched James' chest flirtatiously. (Get your hands off him you stupid bitch.)
"The loveliest," he said, though he was hardly focused on the conversation. "Sit up here for me." He directed the woman to the thin railing that circled the shaft.
She should have been concerned, scared for Ceralline's life. They had broken the rules, not her. But instead, she was anxious to see what James was willing to do for her. She decided not to let on her excitement. "What are you doing?" she asked nervously. "That looks dangerous."
"So is a bitch like this knowin' we were here together." He looked at the woman in front of him. "Ceralline."
"James." The woman smiled wide. Her hands were on his waist to balance herself.
"I need ya to do me a favor."
"Anything."
"I need ya to jump off this railing sweetie." James' tone sounded so innocent that Iris almost missed the sinister nature of his request.
Ceralline smiled. "Of course, James. Anything for you."
She continued her false resistance. "James, no. I will take whatever punishment they want to hand me," Iris said. "Really. It's fine." The words left her lips with a believable force.
He looked at Iris. The vibrant blue of his eyes was now a shade of navy, as if darkness was sitting behind them somewhere. "No. It's not." He looked back at the woman on the railing. "Now." His tone was firm.
Iris lunged forward but with no real effort to catch the woman. There was no scream as Ceralline fell, just a loud thud when she hit the stone floor at the bottom of the shaft. Iris stood there, staring at the ruined body. The pool of blood that surrounded it. She fought back a smile. She turned and looked at James. His blue eyes were no longer cold and sinister. Instead, he now gazed at her with the admiration she had seen in Ceralline's eyes moments before. There was a long silence. (This man just killed for me.) She let a gentle grin form on her lips as she stared into his eyes. (I own him.)