Together we fall

18 | Ember

"You're late."

Bronte's voice was stone hard as Ember and Ro entered the small room for her session.

It was stuffy, with no windows and a cold interior that immediately made Ember shiver. There was only one chair in the room, and the pointy eared Councilor was sitting in it. Councilor Fitz stood beside Bronte, looking surprised to see Ember's new bodyguard.

Ember smiled. She hadn't been told Fitz would be there to moderate the session, but she wasn't complaining. The dark haired Councilor was her absolute favorite of the twelve, besides Oralie and Terik. The fact that he was Emerson's uncle didn't hurt either.

"Ro?" Fitz said, his eyebrows raised. "What are you doing here?"

"Ohhhh," Ro said with a snarky laugh, "It's wonderboy—and you're a Councilor now too!"

Ember shook her head. It seemed like Ro had an endless supply of nicknames.

"I thought you moved back to Ravagog," Fitz said, straightening the jeweled circlet that rested on his head.

"Oh, I did," Ro said with a dramatic sigh that nearly rattled the walls, "But I got sent back to look after Blondie here."

Fitz finally looked at Ember and smiled warmly. "Hi, Ember."

Ember glanced at Bronte wearily before she gave Fitz a big hug. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed him until he hugged her back. Fitz was her dad's best friend, and he was almost like a second father to her. He always looked out for her and sided with her in the council's decisions.

Fitz reminded her a lot of Emerson; they had the same eyes, same face shape, same smile. The only difference was their differing hair colors and quite a few years of age.

Once she'd pulled back he said, "I'm sorry you got Ro for a bodyguard."

"I can hear you," Ro reminded them from a shadowy corner.

Fitz grinned. "I know."

Ro just sighed as she pulled a dagger out of her sheath and cleaned beneath her claws.

Ember had almost forgotten about Bronte until he stood from his chair and scrutinized her so intensely that she nervously reached up to pull out an eyelash.

Fitz glanced at her. "Runs in the family, huh?"

Ember nodded bashfully as she laced her fingers together to stop herself from tugging out more.

She wanted to look calm and collected in front of the Councilors, not childish and stupid.

Ember tossed her long, wavy hair over her shoulders and let it cascade down her back like a rippling stream. She straightened her posture and squared her jaw as she stared back at Bronte, silently daring him to blink first.

He didn't.

"Ember, isn't it?" Bronte asked, his voice less cold then she remembered it, but still not remotely friendly.

She nodded, locking her knees so she wouldn't start to shake. At least Bronte had cared enough to remember her name correctly.

"I assume your mother hasn't ever inflicted on you?" He said as his shoes clicked on the glossy floor beneath their feet. The sounds echoed through the room, ringing with such clamor that Ember had to fight the urge to cover her ears with her hands.

Ember forgot to breathe. "Never."

The pointy haired Councilor nodded simply as he paced back and forth. "You've never been inflicted on."

It wasn't a question, but Ember nodded anyways.

"So," Bronte went on, "for our first lesson I'm going to inflict on you."

Ember choked on the air. "W-What?" She stuttered, gasping for breath as her head reeled.

She looked at Fitz for help, but he looked just as surprised as her.

Had he not known about this?

"Bronte," He reasoned, holding his hands out in peace, "she's fourteen."

"Fifteen," Ember corrected, immediately regretting it. She was just making things worse.

The two councilors kept arguing.

"She needs to be taught!" Bronte said firmly, his voice just below a yell.

"This isn't going to help her!" Fitz shot back, his teal eyes flaming.

"Yes it will!"

"No it won't!"

"Yes it w—"

"Let him do it!" Ember said, raising her voice so they could hear her.

Fitz's jaw clenched. "Ember—"

"I'll be okay." The words were soft as they left her mouth, barely above a whisper.

"I . . ." Fitz trailed off. His gaze flipped between the two of them before he murmured, "Okay."

"You're dead if you hurt her, Grumpy pants," Ro yelled from the corner, making Ember jump.

Bronte almost smiled at Ro, the closest his face ever came to looking happy.

Ember took calming breaths, inhaling and exhaling slowly. "What emotion are you going to—"

"Pain."

Ember suddenly felt nauseous, and she was grateful she hadn't eaten much breakfast.

"Bronte," Fitz tried again.

"No," the ancient elf replied, almost sounding . . . Gleeful. It made Ember feel even more sick.

"Just close your eyes," Bronte mentored her. "I'll make it quick."

Ember did, closing them tightly and slinking backwards until she was leaning against the wall.

"Ready?" Bronte asked.

Ember glanced at Fitz. He watched nervously, concerned.

"Ready," she whispered.

But Ember was clearly not ready for the amount of pain that shot through her system as the word left her mouth.

It was . . . Excruciating.

Like knives ripping her body into shreds, like bullets slicing into her heart, like she was being burned alive.

It was so painful she couldn't even scream; she could only slink the the floor and curl into a ball, whimpering and waiting for it to pass.

Her mind pounded like her brain was too large for her head, about to explode. She pressed her fingers to her temples, rubbing with all the strength she could manage. She felt so weak, so vulnerable, so small.

"Bronte!" Fitz yelled from somewhere out of her vision. "That's enough!"

The pain came to an unexpected, sudden stop as Ember crumpled into a heap.

She was so exhausted that all she could do was close her eyes . . .

She passed out.