A Seeker's Sacrifice

“The door to one’s soul is a sacred place, Brisa. All one’s secrets, longed for wishes, deepest fears, even forgotten memories...all of it, lays beyond that door–it’s a sanctuary where no outside presence can step foot.”

Brisa glanced down at the endless darkness beneath her feet before lifting her chin, focusing her eyes on the door looming over her on the same invisible plane.

“That is...it should be untouchable. Unless you are a Seeker.” She finished reciting her mother’s words. A feat she was quite proud of remembering despite not hearing it spoken aloud for so very long.

The space connecting her soul to another person’s remained unchanged, always the same black span of nothingness. But the door residing in that space appeared different according to the soul to which it belonged. Each door was unique, so it only took a matter of time for Brisa to recognize those that she encountered often. The door standing before her was perhaps the most familiar.

Tigers were carved into the dark oak wood, staring down at her through glimmering topaz eyes. Heads lowered and hackles raised, each beast’s mouth was eternally carved into a furious snarl as though daring her to take another step closer where they might strike out.

It was a mere trick of intimidation. Knowing it well, Brisa ignored the tigers’ gazes bearing down upon her. She placed her hands against against the heavy door and with only a light push, it swung open as if it expected her arrival and welcomed her inside.

Stepping past the threshold, the room within was illuminated by a grand crystal chandelier hanging from the peak of the high ceiling. Brisa’s footsteps were cushioned by a thick crimson rug spread over the marble floor, although she only made it ten steps inside when her path was blocked. Stacks of books, papers, both bound and loose, and old boxes filled with various mementos filled the rooms, some stacked so tall and haphazardly, she feared touching one item might send the rest tumbling down. None were neatly arranged, but Brisa didn’t expect anything less from Torin Wynbrook.

Perhaps he thought by keeping the chamber’s contents in such disarray, she’d become disheartened. Indeed, overlooking the mess may have slightly dampened her spirits, had she not long since become accustomed to stepping over the papers and books which were always strewn about Torin’s study each time she visited him.

“He’ll never learn,” she chided, carefully maneuvering between two book stacks, each leaning precariously towards the other. “Using this as your only defense against a Seeker. Torin, how can you possibly call yourself Captain of Royal Knights when you can’t even give me a challenge?”

She sighed, inhaling the lingering aroma mimicking Torin’s smoking pipe. If there had been windows in the chamber’s stone walls, she was absolutely sure the double casement windows behind his desk would be swung opened, exactly the same as in his real study. While he complained of the noise outside, Torin always took her into consideration once he discovered how she disliked the smoke’s strong scent.

Yet for a rare moment, Brisa found comfort in that very scent. She longed to be seated in Torin’s study, listening to his banter on whatever topic had crossed his mind on this particular day. But in this realm, his voice was absent in the unsettling quietness, leaving her with only her own thoughts for company. And acknowledging that was far more suffocating than the heavy air pressing down on her lungs with each breath she took in this place where time seemed to stop.

Stepping over a final pile of letters scattered across the floor, Brisa reached the desk at the far end of the room. Several books laid opened there, the pages separated midway by bookmarks or by little scraps of paper with handwritten notes jotted down within the tight margins. An invisible force, or a calling of sorts, urged her to look farther over, guiding her eyes towards a book stationed dangerously near the edge of the desk’s corner. A lamp sat atop, its wick blackened from use and the oil nearly depleted. It was the letter, its edge peeking out from closed book’s pages, that captured her attention.

Golden brown strands of hair fell over her shoulder as she leaned down and plucked the letter from its hiding spot. Now checking the memories it contained was her only remaining task. Gently, her fingertips glided over the smooth surface of the wax stamp, the kingdom’s royal insignia, clearly indented into it. What began as a faint glow intensified quickly, but Brisa didn’t panic, rather, she embraced the bright light enveloping her.

~

“Brisa? Are you listening?”

Brisa blinked once, then again as her eyes adjusted. She looked up, finding herself no longer in chamber but instead surrounded by the carriage’s velvet lined interior.

“Brisa?” Hearing her name repeated, Brisa focused her attention, connecting her gaze with the man’s seated across from her. Deep brown eyes returned her stare, though a mix of concern and surprise lurked behind the rich, warm color.

Only then did she realize her right hand was still extended. Torin’s fingers brushed lightly against her skin as he dropped an earring into her open palm.

“You shouldn’t handle a gift from His Majesty so carelessly,” he chided before settling back against the seat’s cushion with a slight grunt.

“It won’t happen again.” Brisa’s voice was steady, but a lie hid behind her words. Judging by Torin’s audible sigh, he was aware of it. To somewhat appease him, she looped the hook onto her right earlobe, a motion she’d practiced so many times, that by now, it was nearly effortless.

With a glimpse into the window beside her, Brisa couldn’t hide her reflection’s grimace mirrored in the glass pane. A pair of gray eyes, tinged along the pupils with a violet hue, stared back.

The eyes of a Seeker.

Her gaze dropped and her agitation grew upon seeing the small, oblong jewel now shimmering in the sunlight as it dangled alongside her neckline. The light caught onto the gem’s facets, shifting the rosy shade into a nearly translucent white and illuminated the glowing golden flecks–the fragments of magic which were ingrained into its core. A Sacred Shard, a befitting name for a gem imbued with the gods’ powers.

Brisa tapped the gem lightly, watching it sway. It was almost absurd to think something so small had sparked centuries of wars among the regions, as kingdoms vied for control of the land and the Sacred Stones buried deep beneath the soil. And like vultures with insatiable appetites, humanity’s greed for a taste of the divine’s magic could never be satisfied.

“Have you been ignoring me since this morning?” Torin asked. Startled, Brisa pulled her gaze from the window, though she quickly noticed the nearly hidden frown forming beneath his dark beard.

Afraid her tone may give away the truth, Brisa shook her head. Truthfully, she had listened for a short while before Torin’s explanation for their journey to the border between Calendria and Averyllis. With the carriage’s sudden jolt sideways to avoid a hole in the unkempt road, Torin’s trail of thoughts also veered, consisting mostly of his complaints about the discomforts of traveling. Brisa couldn’t glean anything of importance in what he said thereafter. Rather, she couldn’t help but think Torin appeared oddly pleased with himself for shifting the conversation so naturally despite his grimace and loud groan as he rubbed at his tensed shoulders.

Brisa’s gaze fell onto her hands, guilt twisting her own expression. It was his fault, she reminded herself. He refused to say more than what he deemed as necessary and that was why she’d been forced to reach into his memories, using her own abilities to draw out the truth.

Torin exhaled heavily, losing his concentration for a moment as he tapped the end of his pipe against the armrest, settling the tobacco inside. He lifted it to his mouth, inhaling deeply before blowing a puff of smoke out towards his opened window.

Wrinkles had long since settled into his skin years prior, gathering near the corners of his eyes and accompanied by a faint darkness beneath his lower lids from a lack of proper sleep. He celebrated his fifty-eighth birthday last winter and with another year’s passing, he struggled to match her resilience. And although reluctant to admit it, since their departure from the capital city, Dawnhaven, a week ago, Brisa found a heavy tiredness had begun to cling to her limbs as well.

She propped her arm against the window, resting her chin in her cupped palm. Mosswood— their current destination—lay ahead, a small settlement on Calendria’s side of the border.

Worrisome rumors had begun spreading from the eastern region, Averyllis, warning of its king’s sudden ailing health. With the sole heir, Prince Myron, poised to take temporary command, spark of fears had been ignited on how a sudden shift of power might threatened to unsettle the region’s already fragile relations.

Her mother’s words echoed in her mind:“A pot boils before it overflows.”In that sense, Averyllis would be considered simmering. Signs of unrest would first flare in its interior before building up and spilling over into the neighboring lands. Calendria hoped to douse the fire before it spread...but maybe it was too late to contain the embers.

Torin laid down his pipe and cleared his throat. “You did hear what I told you when we departed from Alrune?” His weary gaze met hers again.

“I’ll behave once we arrive.” Brisa answered without hesitation. After Torin’s frequent warnings, it became habit to simply answer him with reassurances. She was careful to make it sound believable, though a part of her wondered if Torin ever truly believed it.

Torin didn’t respond immediately. He only looked at her, the crease between his brows deepening. He exhaled sharply through his nose, returning the pipe to his lips. Smoking was his source of comfort when dealing with difficult matters. Unfortunately, Torin’s most challenging assignment currently sat in the seat across from him.

“After last night’s stunt, Brisa, I’m not sure how much faith I have in your word.” Torin drawled. The silence thickened, broken only by the sharp tap of his pipe against the armrest. “You can only imagine my surprise when our knight escort barged into my room, demanding I allow him to return to Dawnhaven posthaste. He claimed you threatened him.” Torin held up his hand, stopping Brisa before she could interject. “Yes, I know you surely had your reasons, but as long as you refuse to explain them to me, you have to understand, I can’t defend you.”

“I don’t need defending and I hardly call it a ‘threat’,” Brisa shot back, irritation clear in her voice. “Someone needed to warn him to stop speaking nonsense. And, it’s not as if I’ll stoop so low as to sending a box of lizards to his office’s door. Exposing his fear like that would be much too cruel.”

Torin’s eyes flashed briefly with surprise, before he rubbed his hand over his face, exhaustion weighing on his features. Leaning back, he dragged a hand through his hair and sighed. “You peered into his memories?” It wasn’t a question so much as a statement. “Brisa,” he muttered her name, his tone turning exasperated. “You can’t keep acting like this. Let us both be thankful I was allowed to accompany you this time. I doubt another knight would have the same patience.”

Brisa fought the retort teetering on the tip of her tongue, swallowing it down. Another knight wouldn’t share Torin’s patience nor would anyone else understand his foolish kindness towards a Seeker. That kindness was why she couldn’t tell him her reason for confronting the knight.

The thought of Torin’s reaction made her stomach twist. She hadn’t wanted to expose the insults, particularly when Torin had sat only a room away, completely unaware his subordinate was openly questioning his sanity.

“I’m sorry you were forced to accompany me,” She finally spoke, albeit, mumbling. “You must be terribly unhappy,” She added, purposely adding a sarcastic touch to her words to hide the guilt preceding them.

“Come now, don’t waste your apologies on me.” In his usual casual way, Torin leaned forward and placed his large hand on her head without a hint of reserve. The warmth of his touch seeped through her hair. Brisa allowed herself to lean into the comfort of his touch, reassured there was at least one existence which hadn’t completely shunned her.

Her mind wandered. Something about the gesture reminded her of a time when she had been younger. Perhaps, she had only been seven years old, when she first stood in the palace’s courtyard with her mother on that warm, summer day. The sun was high, bright against the blue sky, but what caught her attention the most wasn’t the weather. It was the looming figure of Torin. Even back then, he’d been a giant, towering over her like a mountain.

She had clutched her mother’s and the grip of her mother’s fingers steadied her, but not enough to quell the nervousness rising in Brisa’s chest. Torin’s gaze swept over her, and instead, he took in her mother’s every detail. He was unlike anyone Brisa had encountered at the palace. The other aristocrats walked and spoke in an elegant, calculated poise. Torin was direct and far more imposing. The sharpness of his presence made her feel small and insignificant. And from the slight tremble in her mother’s grip, they shared this feeling.

Brisa recalled her father’s low scolding, warning her to bow as Torin drew closer, but at her faltering response, Torin smiled down, seemingly amused rather than offended that she didn’t recognize him or understood the importance of the title he held. It was meant to be a gesture to relieve her anxieties, but as a child, Torin’s angular features gave him a perpetual expression of displeasure that even a smile couldn’t entirely lessen.

For months after, Brisa pitied the servants working beneath him, convinced Torin’s personality was one that reprimanded the maids for every move they made, no matter how well the chores were done. If anyone could find a flaw where there was none, it must surely be him. Holding firm to that belief, she couldn’t understand why her mother and father found humor when she spoke of Torin in a serious tone. Only after her family had been in Torin’s care for a year did Brisa learn to read his expression, taking care to notice how Torin’s eyes softened when he was happy or how he bit his lower lip when particularly bothered.

He became less like a scary giant and began resembling the lions Brisa read about in her study books—a regal beast with a gaze capable of over-powering all who came into contact with it. Torin rarely acted on impulse and none of his gestures were ever made in true rage. Rather, he served his duties with utmost loyalty, putting forth all his effort as the leader of the king’s royal knights. Torin protected Calendria in the same way a lion risked its life defending its pride.

“And why must you assume I’m unhappy?” Torin asked, his loud voice pulling her back to the present. “On the contrary, escaping my study for a few days has actually been a pleasant change of pace. Though...” Gently, he moved his hand from her head. Flicking his wrist, he quickly gestured at the two stacks of papers set down near his feet, “It is a shame my work has followed me here.”

Brisa followed his gaze down. Half of the papers had been read, marked with either a signature of approval or a reason for his rejection in the lower bottom corner. He kept the remaining half for entertainment during his return trip to the capital. By then, Brisa would stuck under another knight’s command and her place inside the carriage would be empty.

As if sensing her unease, Torin’s hand returned and patted her head. “Brisa, this is the farthest you’ve traveled from Dawnhaven,” Torin continued, his voice softening. “I won’t be nearby for some time, but I can assure you, the knight you’ve been assigned is someone you’ll come to trust as much I do.”

Assigned? Brisa scoffed. She hadn’t expected the word to irritate her so badly. She snorted, the sound escaping before she could stop it. An image flashed in her mind unprompted; showing a small glimpse of the letter she had found in Torin’s soul chamber.

Closing her eyes, the scene from the memory replayed just as vividly as if Brisa had just touched the paper and felt the embossed stamp again for the first time: She was there again, in Torin’s memory, standing before the king’s desk. The man sat in front of her kept his posture causual despite facing a guest, with his elbows resting on the surface of the grand desk. He almost seemed unfamiliar with his current attire, a stark contrast to the velvet fur-lined robes and crown she’d grown accustomed to seeing him wear. Here, the king was dressed in a dark blue doublet, plain but for the jewel-encrusted buttons that gleamed faintly in the light. He felt unfamiliar, even though his face remained the same. As if the grandness of his position had been stripped away and he was just another ordinary person she could have met on the street.

His smile, warm but tinged with an emotion she couldn’t quite place, was directed not at her, but at Torin. Brisa’s heart skipped a beat, and she felt the strange discomfort of being a spectator, peering out through Torin’s own memory.

“I shall allow the Seeker to be placed under his watch as you requested.”The king’s dark blue eyes lowered, focusing on something in Torin’s left hand. ”Seeing as you have the letter I sent, you’re aware the commander will soon be moving into Averyllis.And no doubt,”he added with a chuckle, though his eyes showed little amusement, “you’ve come to complain.” His gaze shot upwards, taking in Torin’s expression, as if daring him to disagree.

“Not complain, Your Majesty. I’m merely concerned,” Torin spoke, his voice seeming to rumble out from Brisa’s own throat.

"What concerns you, Captain Wynbrook?That I’ve graciously fulfilled your request? Or that in doing so, the Seeker’s safety is at risk? For now, Averyllis poses no threat, and with the commander and Seeker’s aid, it won’t pose a risk in the future either. You should have no qualms about this arrangement. And don’t forget, I’m also considering the proposal you have sent to me. My answer may be more favorable if I receive good news from the commander in his next report.”

Brisa opened her eyes and stared down at her hands, squeezing them together tightly, before glancing at her reflection in the carriage’s window, fearful that she looked as troubled as she felt In her mind, could still feel the letter crumpling in Torin’s tightened grip, a confirmation she wasn’t alone in sensing the sharp edge of a threat hidden in the king’s final words.

But what troubled her far more was Torin’s silence. He hadn’t mentioned how he personally requested a knight, only that she would be going to Averyllis to aid in the investigation of some strange occurrences in the border towns. It was presented as mere coincidence, rather than forceful intervention, that the commanding knight Aurel was assigned as her overseer.

Brisa vaguely recalled the conversation with her handmaiden the night before her departure. For once, the timid young woman appeared eager in answering her questions when it learning that it concerned the commanding knight. After being deemed a prodigy in swordsmanship at a young age, Aurel quickly surpassed his fellow squires, earning knighthood by the time he turned fifteen. The maid spoke at length about his achievements during the war, but Brisa grew bored with the list. Noticing how the maid’s tone suddenly softened, Brisa began listening again as she spoke of how the news articles containing Aurel’s name slowed, eventually stopping altogether—his name fading into obscurity along the headlines celebrating the war’s end.

Brisa opened her mouth to ask Torin a question that had been bothering her since then, but the carriage trembled and slowed to a halt. She fell silent, listening to the heavy thud of the driver’s boots approaching the door. As it swung opened, an older man appeared, lowering the metal steps.

Torin was the first to rise from his seat. “It seems we’ve arrived,” he announced, adjusting the collar of his coat and giving his uniform a quick look-over before descending the steps.