Chapter 15: Chapter Fifteen

Mila paced the greencourt nervously.

The greencourts were essentially indoor courtyards with glass roofs and walls. This one was of middling size, with aqueducts running all around the six vine-covered walls, feeding terraces rendolent with plants. Archways between each wall led out, some to other buildings and some to corridors and some to courtyards. The sound of running water splashed and gurgled faintly. Roxa and she had picked this as one of their meeting spots because it was impossible to get cornered in. They had also picked it because it tended to be fairly busy. Which it had been, until now.

A flock of students had been mingling by the fountain just a few minutes ago, when Mila had entered and leaned down by one of the walls to wait. Since then it had emptied rather abruptly, and no one else had come in.

Mila had always been careful to never stray out of very public spaces when Roxa was not with her—she hadn’t been to visit the river sunrise in weeks and it was wearing at her. She had just decided it was time to leave and was walking towards an archway when she saw a silhouette emerging from it, coming towards her, and she stopped.

It was an older boy with a straw-thatch of hair, and the look on his face set screaming alarms off inside her. As he paced into the light, she saw another figure doing the same from a different archway—not good. They were here for her, she could see that in their faces. This was it. No time to think.

As she backed up, Mila pulled a small glass vial from her coat. She took a deep breath and, taking her eyes off the approaching strangers, she looked away from them, in the opposite direction. She stared searchingly at the archway to her left, the one farthest from both of them, trying with an intense fervor to imprint what she saw in her memory. It would take her a good fifteen paces to get there, and the corridor beyond took a slight turn, but she could just barely see a door…

There was a small, sharp clink as she dropped the vial, and before either of them could raise their hands, she screwed her eyes shut and stepped on it. It shattered, and the room briefly and violently flooded with the smell of burnt citrus.

She heard yells of surprise and pain from the two attackers but she was already plunging through the archway and fumbling her way along the corridor beyond, her eyes still tightly shut. Mila kept her hand to the stone wall as she went, and when it came to a door-frame, she risked cracking her eyelids. Her eyes immediately teared up and there was an overlay to her vision that reminded her of the bright, colorless, blinding light-show that happened when she rubbed her closed eyes too hard.

She heaved the door open. The cold air bit at her face, and buffeted away the last traces of the Yavanese sensory weapon she’d released—the airborne principles everyone but alchemists referred to as the Orange Torching.

She saw a courtyard, gray stone, a mantle of fallen snow in the center—and then everything cartwheeled and she was staring at the leaden sky, gasping.

She’d been knocked over.

There was a stifled grunt from somewhere above her, out of her field of vision, and without thinking, Mila rolled sideways. She heard the thud of a boot hitting flagstones where her head had just been, and kept rolling. She fetched up against something hard and scrambled to her feet, swaying.

Her back was against a wall. He was stomping towards her. He was so much bigger than she was, thickly built, with intense eyebrows, and dark, stubbly hair. She had no bellsound and no bell, and there was no time. Mila fumbled in her coat for another vial, but in her heart she was sinking, going under. The feeling of water closing over her head.

From his blindside, Roxa hit him like a hurricane. She crashed into him, elbow first, head tucked. As he staggered, she hammered an overhand fist into his bicep, then sliced her other elbow through his face. He howled and clutched his nose, and Roxa kicked him in the kneecap.

Mila was gasping so hard she could hardly breathe. She tried to keep one eye on the fight while she used the other to search for stones to throw. Why were there no stones anywhere!?

He had recovered enough to start swinging huge, lumbering blows. Roxa danced back, her footwork a blur, fast and sharp—but not fast enough. He landed a punch to the ribs that left her gasping. The next swing, however, she side-stepped.

As his extended arm passed her, Roxa grabbed it, twisted her body and did something fast and brutal-looking with her grip. Mila heard a snap-crunch and he recoiled, clutching his wrist and crying out.

Roxa stepped one foot behind him, grabbed his neck, and spun him to the ground. For a moment it looked like he was going to struggle to his feet, but then Roxa snapped a clean kick into his head, his skull rebounded solidly off the flagstones, and he didn’t get up.

Roxa turned to Mila, breathing heavily, her expression etched with fear and concern. Mila opened her mouth, but the door banged open again and instead she yelled a warning, as the two attackers she’d delayed in the greencourt lurched out.

Mila ducked behind her friend just as Roxa crooked her fingers and raised a hasty shielding spell, which twisted away the opening salvo of sorcerous missiles. The space between the two pairs quickly heated into a kaleidoscopic light show of otherworldly colors, and gave off the characteristic sizzle and stink of opposing sorceries.

Roxa was weaving her hands and murmuring under her breath non-stop, as she worked to maintain the vortex of a shielding spell around them both. A fist-sized blob, the color of purest night, floated next to her, and it bubbled and spread and grew like a ladle of batter poured onto a scorching griddle.

There was pressure mounting in Mila’s ears, as if she were diving straight down, too fast for them to equalize. She shivered. Roxa was reaching recklessly deep.

One of their attackers had both arms extended and was pouring magefire from outstretched palms into Roxa’s shield. The other seemed to be focused on warding them both with a shield that resembled a bright, hard column.

“Could use...a distraction,” panted Roxa over her shoulder. Every time she inhaled, it seemed to hurt.

“There’s nothing to throw!” hissed Mila in frustration.

Roxa took a breath, and winced in pain. “Snowballs!” she said, over her shoulder, before launching back into spell concentration.

“What are those!?”

“You pack…snow together…with your hands,” Roxa gasped, taking breaks in between each set of words to mumble to the twining spiral of the shield around them. Her hands moved frantically as a streaming blur of magefire splashed over them, and was spun away. “Throw them...it’ll help!”

The snow was wet and icy, perfect for packing into hard, knobbly clods. Of course, Mila thought, in a numb, observing part of herself, snow balls—it made sense. How had she not thought of that?

The snowball fit her hand perfectly. She judged the distance, exhaled, and threw it hard and flat.

Mila had grown up gathering seabird eggs from cliffside nests with her friends, and warding off the dive-bombing parents with sling and stone. Her aim was excellent. The wards their attackers were using did not seem designed to keep out snowballs. She caught one of their attackers right in the head and the bright column around them both flickered as he sat down clutching his face.

Roxa was ready. The spell she had prepared, a liquid black disc, hovered at elbow-height, spinning. As soon as their wards dropped, it sprang forward like an arrow from a bow. As it reached its intended targets, it rose over them, shooting down sticky black tendrils that snarled the two enemy sorcerers, entangling and stinging them like a dread jellyfish. The attempt by the other attacker to batter Roxa’s shield away ceased as he began screaming, then turned, ran headfirst into the stone doorpost and crumpled. The one Mila had hit with a snowball was trying to drag himself away, mouth agape in a silent scream.

With a groan, Roxa released their shield vortex and it fell to shimmering pieces that fell like scraps of fire to the ground and disappeared. She immediately slumped over, gasping hard and clutching her side.

“Roxa!” Mila hurriedly wedged herself into her friend’s armpit and supported her weight.

“You’re okay?” Roxa panted. “Lady above, I was so afraid.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine! Let’s get out of here.”

Quickly, they turned and limped away. When they had gotten far enough, by Mila’s reckoning, they paused to rest in an empty classroom.

Roxa locked the door and went around lighting the alchemical lamps. Mila stood with her back against the wall, next to the door. She held her hand straight out in front of her. It had started to tremble. She slid to the ground and hugged her knees to her chest. When Roxa came back, Mila looked up at her.

“I’m sorry,” she said, in a small, flat voice, “I’m sorry, Roxa, I shouldn’t have waited so long to leave that place—I should have seen it was a trap sooner.”

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“Why are you apologizing?” Roxa knelt in front of her friend, flinching a little at the pain in her side. “This is my fault.”

“You keep on saving my butt, Roxa. Over and over and over.”

“Well, to be fair, it is an amazing butt.”

Roxa’s mischievous smile really did light her whole face, thought Mila numbly.

“She isn’t going to stop, though.” Mila’s voice broke. It was no longer flat. It was jagged, and raw. “Penelope isn’t going to stop. This time was close. So close. If—if you h-hadn’t—”

Roxa scooted closer. “Oh, Mila, listen, we’ll figure this out, okay? We’ll find a way. I’ll—I’ll think of something, I will, I will.”

The trembling had spread to Mila’s whole body. Her voice quavered. “Roxa, I-I thought I was going to d-die until y-you came.”

Roxa reached out and gently took one of her friend’s chilled, trembling hands and brought it up to her own face. She alternated between breathing warmly on it and holding it, cupped, to her cheek. She watched Mila’s huge, dark eyes flutter frantically, brokenly, like birds trapped behind glass.

“Not on my watch,” said Roxa fiercely.

Roxa’s eyes were clear, deep, green pools. Mila drank them in like cold well water, and her breathing began to steady.

“Y-you keep saying that,” Mila said, somewhat dreamily, “as if it will always be true.”

Roxa squeezed her friend’s hand and kissed it, without breaking eye contact. A hundred things to say ran through her mind, but all of them seemed to fall short. Silently, she reached for the other hand and brought it to her lips.

~ ~ ~

Roxa padded to the windows and drew the curtains, allowing the early morning sun to slant in. She began to do her morning warm-ups, moving gingerly from her bruises. Still in bed, Mila spread out into the warm space Roxa had just vacated, murmuring sleepily.

Once she was fully limber, Roxa began her blade exercises, and Mila pillowed the extra blankets under her chin to watch. Roxa was wearing very little, and her taut lines and arches and curves in the soft light were so interesting to watch as they gathered and slid…

“You know,” Roxa put up her practice sword, panting. “I had another thought…” She looked guiltily over at Mila. “Sorry, is it too early to bring this up again?”

It had been a few days since the fight. Their discussion of what to do about the Penelope Problem was still in progress.

Mila sighed, and sat up. “No, I’ve been thinking about it, too.”

Roxa paced. “I mean, you know, you could go to Aralia Cordivar. She has an interest in you now; she would protect you.”

But Mila was shaking her head. “She would own me, then.” Mila shivered. “No, I don’t dare put myself that far into her power. She’s too smart, and she’s too deep in bed with the Social Hygiene Ministry. If she found out about me...it’s too dangerous.”

Roxa nodded. “Then we just need to find something we can hold over Penelope’s head. Until then, we’ll be more careful, and always stick to places where even she can’t afford to start a knock-down, all-out brawl.”

Mila sighed unhappily. “It’s only getting easier for her. Did you catch how big the last loyalist rally here was? A few more of those and she’ll be able to walk into any of my classes and hex me without anyone raising a fuss. Even the teachers will have stopped daring to do anything but look the other way.”

She looked tentatively up at her friend. “Roxa, I might have to leave.”

Roxa stopped pacing, and sighed heavily. “Oh, Mila, this is all my fault. Listen, if it comes to that, I’ll accompany you. At the very least, I’ll see you safely to port, and make sure you’re aboard a good ship.” She shrugged, and flashed Mila a small, mischievous grin. “I can always take a few terms off and see that you get safely back to Opali.”

Mila smiled back at her. After completing Apomasaics and getting much of what she’d come here to learn hand-delivered in a tidy package, the prospect of getting forced out of Harmine had lost much of its former terror.

“If it comes to that, I’ll be glad of the company,” she said, letting her relief show plainly.

Roxa reached down and drew her friend up, pulling her close. Mila put her hands on the taller girl’s shoulders and her mouth sought Roxa’s hungrily.

After long while, Mila pulled away. “Do you think,” she panted, “that we have time, before class, to, um, walk along the river?”

“Probably,” Roxa smiled slyly. “That’s not what I thought you were going to ask, though.”

~ ~ ~

The bright sun lanced through bare tree branches and dazzled brilliantly off the snow that muffled the river trail. The river ran dark and quick, and the round, smooth rocks on either side were crusted with ice. They kicked their way through the snow, Mila clad in Roxa’s second pair of boots and second cloak. Birdsong soared cheerfully from all directions as their breaths plumed in the fresh, still air.

Mila stopped at her spot under the great maple tree and savored the scene. It was a while after dawn, but that was alright. A small bell, only the size of her fist, hung from her belt. She unsnapped the leather holder that muffled the clapper, and gripped the slender wooden handle.

Mila held her hand out, down next to her waist, and felt Roxa’s hand slip into it, clasp, and squeeze. She smiled and took a deep breath. With her other hand, she swung the bell. As the clear, sweet pealing rolled and mingled with the sunlight, Mila began to make the new day’s veneration.

Standing beside her, Roxa’s heart thudded, almost painfully hard, in her chest. Her gaze was fastened on her friend’s face as Mila murmured the stream of ritual words. She watched tension flow out of Mila, watched her shoulders lower as they released, watched her breathing lower and deepen, and her smile broaden. When Mila finished, they were both quiet for a fathomless stretch of time.

Mila turned to Roxa, smiling shyly. “Thank you, for sharing that with me.”

Roxa bent down so her lips brushed Mila’s ear. Mila shivered in delight and closed her eyes.

“It was beautiful,” Roxa whispered, “and you are my best friend, and you are beautiful.”

Mila sighed softly. “Do you think,” she murmured, “that we have time to fuck, before class?”

 

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