Chapter 22 – A Tool
"How’s the Academy going, Isolde?"
A voice — mature, feminine — rang through the purple garden lit by a purple light tinged with artifice, coming from the strange sun overhead.
The woman, looking around forty, sat on a small black carpet, her back to a small river flowing endlessly upon itself, birds chirping all around.
The sound was heavenly, yet oddly hollow of any rhythm.
With black hair, matching eyes, and traditional robes that evoked the style of Eastern fashion, the woman — Sophia — stirred the same feeling as the garden encasing her:
Calm, peaceful yet horribly lethal beneath all of it.
Her words were addressed to her eldest daughter sitting cross-legged in front of her, eyes resting on a face very similar to her own.
Isolde didn’t respond immediately. She took the time to turn the question over, trying to find any hidden meaning beneath it.
She had to. She needed to know exactly what to say.
"It has been great, Mother." She finally answered, smiling adorably. "We have one final test remaining, and if I pass it I will clear my third year."
"Do you doubt your ability to pass?"
"I don’t."
"Your ability to take first place in your year?"
Isolde paused, then shook her head gingerly, and with hidden fear. "I am not certain, Mother." She admitted, twisting her lips, tightening her fist, lowering her head slightly. "The Desdemona Twins are there, and—!"
"I want no excuses, Isolde."
Her mother’s cold voice cut through cleanly. Isolde’s head snapped up. The deep frown on Sophia’s face said everything.
"Do you hear what I am saying?" She continued, her black eyes narrowing until her pupils seemed to vanish into the white of her irises. "You have been unable to take first in your year since you entered the Academy. All of that for what?"
"Mother! They are—!"
"Close your mouth when I am speaking." Sophia hissed, and Isolde flinched at the sharpness of it.
She curled into herself like a frightened animal, searching desperately for a way out of the situation.
There was none.
"Tell me, Isolde, when will the time come that you don’t disappoint us?" Sophia asked wearily, as if managing her own daughter was a chore. "Your father no longer wishes to see your face. All because of your performance. All because of your incompetence. How much longer will you humiliate us?"
’I am third ranked, Mother!’ Isolde wanted to scream, fists tightening. ’Third in the entire Kingdom for my year! Third! Bloody fucking third!!!’
Ah...how she wanted to shout it. But she knew it would be useless.
She knew — she damned well knew — that neither her mother nor her father cared about third.
They wanted first. And anything below first was an insult to them. An insult to every sacrifice they had made to give her the same opportunities as the children of Tier One families.
’But I am doing my best. I truly am. Can you not see it, Mother? Father? I am giving everything I have—!’
"If you cannot achieve worthy results," Sophia resumed, her eyes deader than the dead as they locked onto Isolde’s, "then tell me, will you at least be useful and entertain the Desdemona’s youngest?"
She tilted her head, and Isolde suppressed a shudder of rage behind a small, sorry smile.
"Can you, Isolde?"
Isolde swallowed, fighting to keep the pain out of her voice. "I... I can, Mother."
"Perfect." She said flatly. "The youngest has been spoiled by his family since birth. To them, laying a hand on Cassius means laying a hand on all of them."
She picked up a purple flower, brought it to her nose, and sniffed it before continuing. "In the same way, having Cassius’s heart means having the heart of the Desdemona."
Sophia looked at Isolde through the gaps between the petals. "Do you understand what I mean, Isolde?"
A sharp pause followed before Isolde parted her trembling lips.
"...yes." She whispered, still wearing her gentle smile like a mask, lowering her head slightly. "I do, Mother. You want me to seduce Cassius."
"With everything you have." She added. "Everything, Isolde. Your mind, your abilities, and even..."
Sophia left the rest unsaid. There was no need to finish it. Isolde understood completely, and that understanding came with a coldness that had nothing to do with the cool air of the garden.
It was unnatural. It gripped her heart and soul alike, as if trying to freeze her from within. As if trying to force into her a profound stillness she could use to get through this.
But Isolde had never been like that.
The raging fire of wrath churning inside her was close — so close — to bursting open and burning everything without distinction.
’Damn this whole family!’
Here she was, working herself to the bone to earn the acknowledgement of her parents — fighting monsters in the Academy and coming out above all but two — and still, nothing.
They were treating her like property. Selling her off like a whore for a cheap relationship with that cursed family.
Isolde began to wonder, fighting back the tears of anger threatening to break through while holding her expression steady, when had this started?
Since when had her family turned this cold toward her? This indifferent? As if she were something they had spat out rather than their own blood?
The answer was obvious...and chilling.
It was the moment competition was born in her life. The moment they were set against each other. The moment she was outmatched in every possible way.
"If you have understood your task fully," Sophia said, "you are dismissed. The meeting with Cassius is five days away. Prepare yourself by learning everything you can about him. Don’t forget, they took our Fractured Land because of him."
She smiled coldly.
"So let’s take him in return, and gain far more than what we lost. And I hope...I truly do, Isolde..."
The purple flower in Sophia’s hand was severed instantly into hundreds of pieces, scattered by the wind and swallowed by the purple birds around them.
"...you will not fail us this time."
Isolde nodded stiffly, not trusting herself to speak for fear of shattering the barrier she was holding together. She rose carefully from the ground.
She stopped, bowed her head toward her mother in respect, then turned and walked away.
Her steps made no sound. Yet the anguish and desolation surrounding her entire shape felt louder than anything else in that garden.
Each step toward the distant door deepened her awareness of her situation.
Each step fed the wrath festering inside her, toward her family, and toward Cassius.
’I will kill him.’ Isolde swore. ’And we will see how you get what you want.’
They wanted to use her like a whore?
Fine.
’Let me show you exactly how much of a fucking bitch I can be.’
She reached the door, pressed her palm against it. Her essence surged, and the door began to glow, beginning to open.
That was when her mother’s voice rang out once more.
"Oh, and I forgot to mention."
Isolde froze instinctively, a dread rising inside her.
"Your sister is coming back."
Her body went still. She turned her head, looking at her mother over her shoulder, and found the woman wearing a smile of sickening happiness.
"Anesthesia, my daughter, is coming back."
Isolde’s heart dropped.
—End of Chapter 22—