Relic Heirs: Chapter Two

Chapter Two: Sweet Silence

Yet in spite of her weeping, a gentle smile shone upon that face, bigger than the curve of the moon and full of overwhelming love. 

A loud, yet muffled slam served as Bridget’s greeting the next morning, the noise grating against her sleep and yanking her out. “Don’t break the door!” She called out, tone sour. A bleary look towards the two windows set in the side of her room showed weak gray light creeping in-it was hardly even morning. 

    In response, the sound of a door opening creaked, not hers, but one in the hallway that she would have been willing to bet a hundred ruby marks was her brother’s. The fact that it was then flung violently shut and open several more times in quick succession confirmed it. 

    Groaning, Briddy buried her head into her pillow, trying to reclaim the quickly slipping reins of sleep. She had almost succeeded, eyelids gently drooping, when one final, succinct crash of a door sent them flying open. With a gasp, she bolted upright, heart pumping as her eyes flicked around her room. This slam had been her own door, but it did not appear as though Nolan had actually bothered to come in. 

    Letting a long, frustrated sigh escape her lips, she grabbed the only other pillow on the bed and chucked it at the door frame. “Quit spelling my door, Nolan!” she hollered, flinging herself back down onto the bed. From the hall, a reedy chuckle sounded, and the doors resumed their swinging chorus.  

Briddy gritted her teeth. More than once she wished that she had pursued magical training to the point of being able to douse her siblings with cold water, and in this particular moment, it would have been extremely satisfying. 

    “The next person that yells is getting clobbered into silence!” Another voice joined the cacophony, loud with promised violence and crabbiness. 

    In response, the doors stopped so suddenly that they may as well have never swung in the first place, and Bridget slowly drug herself back up to sitting. With a wide yawn, she padded across the room and put a hand on the doorknob, the cool brass tingling under her palm. 

    She stuck her head out into the hallway, spotting Nolan where he had leaned his long frame up against the wall. A smirk coated his mouth as he glanced towards the door at the end of the passage, where the third voice had come from. His hair was still mussed from sleep, but the rest of him looked as meticulously put together as always. From the silver embroidered vest under his long plum overcoat to the neatly creased pants that just brush the top of his shoes, Nolan looked ready to meet some foreign dignitary, and Briddy thought the effort looked exhausting. 

    Grasping the doorknob, she began closing the door, shooting a pointed look at her little brother that dared him to swing it open again. Grinning, he watched her slowly close it, but before the wood could completely block him from sight, the door began pushing back against her. 

    “Nolan, I swear to the sculptor-”

    The opening widened further, though a hand pushed it this time, instead of magical force, and Nolan slipped into the entryway to her room. 

    “You may want to be up anyways, Briddy.” 

    “No, trust me, I really don’t.”

    He hummed, the high sound conveying his doubt and bleeding into his next words “I don’t know about that. There was a package in the keepedish earlier.” 

    Bridget looked over her shoulder at the windows, still barely filled with any light. “Earlier? Did you even sleep last night?” Her bed was waiting there, a simple thing with four short posts and a headboard, but piled with warm blankets, beckoning her return. 

“I slept. It’s from the Palanquin.” 

“What, another bill for your ‘excessive damages’?” 

Nolan grimaced. “They weren’t excessive, they were extensive. Besides, seeing as I saved the damned school, a little destruction was necessary.” 

“Weren’t you the reason it needed saving in the first place?” 

“Well-” He paused. “That’s beside the point.” 

“Is it, though?” Briddy raised an eyebrow, a small smile playing on her lips. 

Ignoring the bait, Nolan forged on. “The package came from Terna and was addressed to you.” 

Briddy felt a sinking suspicion creep into her bones, but she fought to keep her face neutral anyways. “And mother hasn’t burnt it yet?” The fallout between Ruba Vasily and Terna a’Tyr  had been a massive spectacle last the two spoke, and Bridget was half sure her mother had placed wards around their house specifically to keep the Headmistress from ever entering again. 

“Not yet, though I attribute that to her having not seen it yet.” 

Considering her brother, Bridget took a moment before speaking. “Interesting. I suppose you came straight here to tell me out of the kindness of your heart?”

It was now Nolan’s turn for silence, though his was the sort where he was rolling the words around his mouth, savoring the moment to come. “I believe it’s an acceptance.” He drawled, eyes slowly sliding down the hall, opposite from where the shouts had come from earlier. 

Briddy snorted. “I didn’t apply.”

“I’m just saying.” 

“And didn’t Terna swear to ‘never let a Vasily set foot in her University again’ after your whole debacle?” 

Nolan grinned. “I’m pretty sure that was Adelaide’s doing mostly, but what can you expect after she chucked an axe at a teacher?” 

“She still maintains that she lost grip on the handle.” Briddy’s lips were twitching. This was like old times, almost. Needling each other and sharing a laugh, no silent grudge held over something which she held no control. 

“Plus,” Her brother stretched, reminding Briddy of her own weariness “Do you really think Terna’s going to pass up the chance to stick it to the Gilded Down by getting hands on the heir to one of their most powerful relics?”

Before she could answer, he added, “Not that it’s going to last long, anyway.” 

Well, there went the niceties, not that they lasted long of late, and Briddy had to take several deep breaths to stop from snapping at him again. Voice pitched low, she said, “Do you really want to start this-” 

“What, are you going to go public with this too?”

Violently, a door crashed once more, and from within the gloomy depths within, a figure staggered forward, a hand shooting out to grip the frame. The arm attached to the hand was smooth, the muscles carved with deft hacks of a sculptor’s chisel, tensed and powerful. A blonde mass of unruly long hair spilled over drooped shoulders and a hung head, from which five words came, each more threatening than the last. 

“Will.You.Two.Shut.Up??” The question became a roar by the end, and both Nolan and Briddy began slowly backing away, one down the hall and the other into their room. The head snapped up, and Adelaide’s gray eyes pierced the both of them before she turned, swinging the door shut so hard that the wall around it shook. 

Eyes wide, Briddy slowly turned to look at Nolan, and he at her, both sets of eyes darting once towards the closed door that looked to be now slightly off its hinges. 

Backing away down the hall, Nolan mouthed “Get dressed.” and gestured vaguely towards the end of the passage before adding “Don’t forget.” The silent way his mouth moved briefly reminded Bridget of the way her Father’s mouth had used to look whenever she saw him summon Vex. One could see that the lips moved, but it was impossible to hear or form the name that they spoke unless you were the relic’s bearer or heir.

 She shook her head, turning back into the room. Clearly, she was more tired than she thought, and her thoughts were now wandering, considering everything from packages to parchments, rarely settling on any one thing. 

Rummaging through a tall, rectangular bin made of burnished oak and lined with a cotton sack, Briddy yanked out a fistful of clothes, sniffing them before deciding that they would work. She had never understood the impulse to only wear an outfit once and then having it immediately cleaned, not when most clothes were perfectly fit for several uses before being dirty. 

Pulling on a pair of closely tailored breeches after removing her nightshirt, she reached for the black vest that hung on the hooks above the clothes bin, tossing it over the container’s rim before thrusting her head through a long-sleeved tunic made of navy cloth. 

Getting a hand caught in a sleeve, she danced around, trying to shake it free and nearly toppling a pile of books in the process. Most of Bridget’s room was occupied by her bed at one end, and several stacks of books at the other, the space between filled with a worn rug that might have once been crimson, but the years had turned to a dull pink. 

With the tunic tamed and the vest shrugged over her shoulders, she kicked the boots that lay on the opposite side of the door further out of the way, preferring to pad barefoot across the solid stone that lined the floors of her family’s home. Fishing a length of cord out of one of the pockets sewn into the vest’s lining, she quickly assembled her tawny hair into a sloppy horse's tail, chunks of bang already working their way out to lazily curl near her cheeks. A few careless swipes confirmed the lock’s intent on freedom, so she gave in, preparing herself to face the rest of the day. 

After tiptoeing out of her room and down the hall, Briddy found Nolan waiting on the landing to the main staircase, lazily shaping something bright and silver that floated between his fingertips. “Kinikshen.” She heard him murmur while approaching, though once she was close enough to get a detailed look, he closed his hand and stuffed the project in his pocket. 

Pointedly sending a glance towards his pocket, Bridget puffed some air at the chunk of hair trying to block her line of sight. 

“Commission?” she inquired.

Nolan shrugged, the flowing purple cloth of his overcoat rippling as he began making his way down towards the main foyer. The staircase itself, wide enough to walk four people abreast, wound its way in a cubic spiral around the wall and was the main thoroughfare for the many floors of the house. 

On their way down, Briddy and Nolan were nearly run over by a pair of maids, bearing wide silver trays topped with several metal domes. “Watch it-” One of them began as the other stumbled over the hem of her wide black skirts, sending plates sliding with a ringing screech. 

Briddy put out a hand to catch the tipping side of the tray, when the other maid, still expertly balancing her platter, quickly said “Forset”, tone matter-of-fact. The second the final consonant left the girl’s lips, the silver set of dishes froze mid-air, remaining stationary while the other maid gathered herself. 

“We’ve got this in hand, Miss Bridget, Master Nolan. Forgive the intrusion.” The maid who had cast the spell spoke, her compatriot nodding so vigorously that her auburn curls bounced about her face. She didn’t look familiar to Briddy, who supposed that she must be a new hire or something of the sort. With a quick dip of her head, noting that Nolan had never even stopped his descent, Briddy scrambled her way down the rest of the stairs. 

Alternating tiles of pale gold and brown lined the entry hall, and a wide doorway welcomed visitors into the drawing room, whose pale blue walls were usually a welcome sight to Bridget. She loved spending afternoons on the large window seat that overlooked the front gardens, curled up with a book and able to watch the world from behind the safety of the glass.

Today, however, she felt an overwhelming sense of apprehension while walking in, largely due to the two figures already standing there, huddled around the rectangular table that lay against the wall to the right of the door. Perched atop that table was a wide crystal dish, easily big enough to fit an entire melon and deep enough for a child to bathe in. Innocuous though the clear facets of the rock were, it was shot through with veins of copper metal that continued to rise out of the rim into six jointed, articulate arms. 

Four of these limbs were currently holding up a square parcel roughly the length of Briddy’s forearm, and about the height of her hand. Gold and sapphire blue paper had been carefully wrapped around it, though several corners were already peeled back, and the package opened. 

The two people already present paid little mind to Bridget and Nolan’s entrance, their attention solely focused on several sheets of paper, eyes locked in intent reading.

If a storm could be made tactile, the mood in the room would’ve been the closest any artificer would come. Though the window showed dawn pearling the sky outside, and the smell of leavened bread provided a sense of warmth, the atmosphere stank of a darkness, a cold towards the piece of paper and the package that lay beyond, still dutifully proffered by the copper legs of the Keepedish. 

Carolli, the housekeeper that herded Briddy and her siblings since they were little, had her thick brows slammed so low over her eyes that it was a wonder she could see anything, let alone the paper in her hands. 

Ruba Vasily on the other hand, spared no emotion to her face, fingers quickly dancing across the thick, luscious curls of her hair, braiding them up like she did when readying for battle.

Neither was a good sign, and Briddy firmly clamped her mouth shut around any greeting she might’ve had in mind. The way the tightness pulled around the edges of her mother’s eyes never meant good things for her, especially not of late, and if she wanted to escape the exchange without a tongue lashing or worse, quiet was the best route. Making herself small, she sidled slightly back, letting Nolan take up most of the doorway while she watched Ruba from his shadow. 

Where age could be said to smooth out beauty’s edge in many who experienced long years, Ruba’s had only sharpened, striking those that looked at her with a lasting memory even after they parted. Full, dark brows set off the brightness of her slightly tilted eyes, and cheeks bloomed in a natural flush. The only one in the family lucky enough to be passed down her head of soft, raven dark hair was Nolan, her sweet baby boy. 

As it was, once they entered the room, Ruba’s eyes ripped away from the paper to focus on her children, quickly passing over Briddy to settle on her son. 

“Just heard there was a delivery.” Nolan grinned at their mother.

“Hmmmmm,” Ruba replied, tilting her head towards the siblings and raising her chin. 

Without a word from her mistress, Carolli thrust the piece of paper that they had been poring over towards Bridget, who slowly reached out her hand, only to have Nolan’s snatch it up.  A small scuffle ensued, Briddy trying to catch a glimpse and Nolan slyly repositioning every time that she got close. Finally, after putting her weight on his arm and yanking it down, he handed the missive over, a satisfied cat’s grin stretching across his face. 

“Told you so” he murmured, low enough for Briddy to hear while she read. 

To the personage of a Miss Bridget Vasily,

It is with a conflicted heart and against better judgement that I write you to offer a place within the Novice class of Palanquin University. In accordance with your previous correspondence, I agree that your situation necessitates training of the highest caliber, considering your current level of education and the potency of the relic to which you find yourself heir. Please note that both your conduct and progress will be closely monitored by myself and the faculty; behavior not in line with our rules will be swiftly addressed. The school year will begin on the 9th of the month of Quartz, attached you will find a list of needed supplies, your arrival instructions, and a copy of the school’s code of conduct, which I strongly encourage you to peruse before setting foot in my institution. Your time here will be what you make of it, Miss Vasily, do not spend it frivolously. 

Regards,

Headmistress Terna a’Tyr 

Palanquin University

Post-script: It should go without saying, but should there be any inquiries towards visitation, both Nolan and Adelaide Vasily remain banned from the University and its grounds for the foreseeable future.

Briddy looked up from the letter, no small amount of confusion creasing her face. Although Carolli still stood near the table next to the doorway, fussing over the package in the Keepedish, Ruba had moved on to fussing with Nolan’s curls, brushing them behind his ears and smoothing them at the crown of his head. 

    “I do like this fabric you chose, dear, though I wish you had spent a bit more time on your hair. It’s nowhere near as bad as your sister’s, and unlike her, you put some effort in, but they are running wild. Maybe a trim…?” 

    Briddy touched her horsetail, watching as Nolan ducked his way out of his mother’s hands and glanced over at her before asking a question. 

    “So who wrote ol’ Terna? Briddy says she never sent any application-”

“I thought you had ‘just heard there was a delivery’” Ruba said, her voice cool as she brushed some non-existent dust from his shoulder. 

It was Nolan’s turn to hum, evading the question while Briddy bit the inside of her cheek, turning the piece of paper over and over in her hands. She certainly hadn’t reached out to the school, and she doubted that any correspondence from her siblings would’ve even been opened, which left few possibilities. 

Looking away from her hands, she tuned back in to Ruba’s fussing, which currently seemed to revolve around her favorite target other than Bridget; her father. 

“-Sculptor knows what, the dolt of a man turns a hundred and everything goes to mud.” Ruba sighed, her eyes softening slightly as she added, “Though the chip’s off the block now, and there’s no putting it back. The Sculptor’s worked worse before, I suppose.” She gave Nolan a small smile, patting his chest to make sure his overcoat lay perfectly flat. 

Briddy worked her jaw, studiously keeping her silence despite the bait her mother laid before her. Locking eyes with the other woman, she slowly raised an eyebrow, and then the letter, shaking the paper slightly for emphasis. 

“Don’t you take that attitude with me, you ought to be grateful.” Ruba sniffed, turning her head away. “It’s a feat in itself that the letter made it through in the first place.” 

Her mouth only a little ajar, Briddy closed it and looked over at Nolan, who seemed surprised as she was. Ruba looked at them both with a cool face, eyes sparkling as though waiting for the first child to speak an argument. 

Shaking his head, Nolan ran a hand through his curls and offered an empty smile. “So the 9th, eh? Only a couple of days away. Brutally short timing, that.” 

Better than wasting more time with a constant reminder of ruined plans. Bridget thought sourly. 

“Wipe that look off your face, young lady, and for Sculptor’s sake, straighten your back. You look like some sort of decrepit Kelpine lurking like that.” Ruba’s admonishment was swift, and despite her annoyance, Briddy found herself standing as straight as she could. Even with sweet silence as a shield to prevent her words from being picked apart, something else could be easily found and critiqued under her mother’s sharp gaze. 

“Was that so hard?” Turning without an answer, Ruba addressed Carolli, all business. “Inform Kerr that we’ll be heading to Whittop tomorrow and that his heir will be departing the day after. In addition, deliver the rest of the package’s contents to Bridget’s room and prepare a chest for her things.” 

Bridget felt like the air was leaving her as the housekeeper bustled off to carry out the orders. Her eyes bounced around the room, she tried to breathe while struggling to keep up with the whirlwind of events. Everything was happening so fast, and it felt like the moment she thought she had any control over it, that control was yanked away. 

“I know it seems sudden, but your sister really left us no choice after her childish stunt last week,” Ruba murmured this to Nolan, as though he was the one needing comforting. 

Air escaping her chest in an angry burst, Briddy turned on Ruba only to have a finger raised in her face, pointed in warning. 

“I’ll hear no more of it from you, Bridget.” Her mother said, turning to grasp Nolan’s arm and escorting him from the room. “Tell one of the maids to fetch Adelaide after she wakes, I wish to speak with her.”

Briddy let them go, watching the turned backs fade away and wondering if it was worth pointing out that she hadn’t spoken at all.