In the Eye of the King's Needle

Chapter Three

Where had I been at the beginning of this? What could be called the beginning? How far back to look? At the very least, I'd seen this man before the day in the glade which I can hardly remember now. I could start there, but... it's hard to find the exact moment. 

My days with Mother were slow and carefully structured. It's not that we did the same thing every single day, but that there was a subtle rhythm to our activities, sensed in the motion and magic around us, so we followed the progression. Working with the wind instead of against it. 

Living like that, weeks and months became soft, malleable things, molding into each other, and each was warm and easy, like living in a dream. Always work to do, then training after. No need for thought or deliberation.

That's all to say that there was no one moment when the newcomer came to town. Only a whisper at the market and the occasional glimpse of a face I didn't recognize. It felt as if he'd always been there somehow. 

Even when I met him standing on the path at the edge of my mother's gardens, one gloved hand resting on the fence post, I didn't find him strange, nor was he familiar. It felt like he'd been the newcomer for years at that point. Impossible, but I didn't question it. 

That couldn't all have been due to the stupor of a sleep town. It must've been magic as well, but not any kind I recognize. It didn't seem to be affecting me now, at least. He must not have any need for it anymore. The though brings a bitter taste to my tongue. 

Looking at him now, I can finally see him clearly. A tall, lean-muscled man with a stubbly jaw like he just can't maintain the clean-shaven look no matter how hard he tries. Black hair only a shade or two darker than his skin, cut close to his scalp. His eyes seem too large for such a sharp face. Too round. 

He looks away from me now and turns to grab something out of the small cabinet beside the washing bowl. 

I try and fail to make sense of what I'm doing here or what he's planning, what he wants from me. 

"What's your name?" I ask, and my voice is rough in my throat. I manage to sit up when I try this time. I was beginning to feel over-exposed lying down like that. 

He glances sideways at me and doesn't answer as he drapes a newly acquired towel on the edge of the washing bowl. 

"Where am I?"

He peels the black gloves from his hands and tucks them in the pocket at his hip. His clothes are almost that of nobility I've seen passing through town. Dark trousers, an olive shirt under a gray vest. But something seems off about the way he wears it. 

"My room," he says. 

I say nothing because it's what I had suspected. Instead, I concentrate my essence in my eyes no that my head has cleared somewhat. My vision sharpens, and I can read the patterns of the folds in his clothing like letters--if I could read letters that is. The fabric stretches and bunches in places it shouldn't, taught over certain places, ever so slightly restricting. So he's not nobility then. These clothes were never tailored personally to his measurements. In the employ of a noble house, then. I pool more essence into my eyes, hoping to glean more. 

A miniscule stiffening runs through his body and he whips around. "What are you doing?"

He catches me off guard, looking at me as if he can feel me shifting my essence. "Nothing," I manage to say. "Just watching." I had been wondering how he'd known to catch me. I guess he saw the magic inside of me, though I hadn't known that could be done. 

"Don't," he snaps. 

His eyes are so large and so hard. I remember him standing by our fence, staring at me across the vegetables and herbs, brow sharp-angled in determination above those enormous eyes. 

"Do you know the way to the pinewood grove?" he'd asked, and my skin crawled under the intensity of his gaze. 

Mother was out again. Hunting. 

I told him the truth, that I did know the pinewood grove and that I wouldn't take him there. I didn't watch his reaction as I was uprooting a weed with skinny, notched leaves. Sharp-looking, but flimsy. 

"Why not?" he demanded. 

I shrugged. "Don't want to."

Wood squealed, and I looked up to see him gripping the top of the fence post so tightly the wood was collapsing. 

A cold chill rippled down my spine. It was magic. Had to be. I began pooling essence into the muscles in my arms and legs. The air bristled with the heat of magic. An emotion flickered across his face, but my essence was elsewhere and my eyes couldn't decipher it. 

He let go of our now cracked post and left, cloak swaying with his movement. 

Now, in his dark room, I understand. "You can see it," I say. "Even inside my own body, you can sense my essence moving."

He's unreadable through unaugmented eyes.

Heat flashed through my body. Lip curling, I swing my bare feet onto the floor. "Tell me what the fuck I'm doing here."

The anger brings my headache back on, but I don't stop glaring at him, teeth bared. "Where am I? What do you want?" I glance around his room again. I can't say it doesn't make me nervous that he brought me here. 

The anger doesn't seem to bother him, now that my essence isn't moving. He turns again and begins splashing water on his face. 

"I asked you a question." I spit the words as I try to stand, but my legs feel loose at the joints. 

He begins to shave.

"Stop toying with me," I snap, but even as I say it I know that's now what he's doing. He's just unflappable. 

Another memory comes rising out of the gloom. I'd seen him in town one day. The day of a new moon. He was inspecting the peaches at the stall next to my mother's. I didn't need enhanced vision to see the pantomime it was. I'd thought it odd, but he was only a stranger. I hadn't been able to remember seeing him before. I thought he might be hoping to steal, but before I could think any further, one of the forest's beasts prowled into town. 

He didn't express any shock. No fear as the spike-tailed creature rummaged through a fruit cart and the townspeople went screaming. Normally, Mother and I waited these situations out and handled them after dark when we could work unnoticed. He seemed inclined to do neither, and I thought he would ignore all of it, but he walked to the creature which looked up at his approach with round amber eyes, and he held up a single gloved hand. 

The creature had flinched, then pressed its head hard into the ground, clawing at its tufted ears. The man just kept standing there, letting everyone in the village see what he could do until the beast's resolve crumbled and it ran. 

He returned to the fruit stand in order to inspect the peaches. It scares me. I hat to admit it, but all of this scares me. This man who showed so few of his thoughts yet found no reason to hide his magics while scrambling the minds of an entire town, he scares me. I don't know where I am or why, and the fear makes me angry. Anger makes me vicious, but it also makes me stupid. 

Teeth bared, I lunge at this man whose name I do not know. I have no plan. I just want blood. 

My fingers hook into his fancy shirt like claws. He bangs against his washing bowl. I almost get my teeth on his ear, but he whirls and hurls me off. 

I land messily on my feet. He glares at me, still holding the razor. A thin cut weeps blood down his cheek. 

I wait for his next move, considering my counter carefully, but he doesn't move. Instead, he sighs. Rubs his temples.

The fog of my anger is starting to recede, but not the fog of my memories. 

"I'm Balsa," he says, then shakes his head. "You're going to... help me, but first we need to get you ready."

"Why?" I snarl, still crouched on the floor because I don't yet trust myself to stand. 

"The court expects a trial of you."