Her figureless robe is much the same, with similar creased draping in the starch-white cloth, covering her from jaw to feet. A slight train is gathered behind her, and her sleeves are long and wide at the ends, swallowing her hands so that not even that part of her is showing.
She has a sharp, pointed chin and her eyebrows are gone, as if she’s shaved them away, while her eyelashes are so thin and fair that they’re barely visible. Her eyes snag my attention though. Both of her brown irises are cracked on the outer sides, split with light green. It’s a mirrored image from her right eye to the left, the green making her gaze look eerie.
“Welcome to Wallmont Castle,” she says, voice serene and tilted with a slight accent, her lips twisted into a pleasant smile. “The Conflux is about to begin. I’ve come to prepare you.”
“I’ll pass, thanks,” I say as I lean against the wall.
Her pleasant smile doesn’t falter, but she does turn her head to look over her shoulder, and that’s when two large men come through the doorway. They wear their own sort of wimples, only theirs are gray, the fabric shorter and thinner, in the same shape as chainmail hoods on soldiers. Their tunics are a cream color, not quite the stark white that the woman is wearing, and their gray pants are loose, the ends rumpled where they’re tucked into knee-high boots.
They’re both young, one with brown skin and one white and covered in freckles, and they both look at me without emotion as they stride forward. I press myself against the wall, anger curling in my stomach. I have a split second to decide if it’s more important for me to hide my magic or to get out of here.
I opt to get the fuck out.
Curling my fingers into fists, I call to the gold. When I feel it pool in my palms more this time, my heart leaps. I let it gather until it starts to drip between the cracks of my fingers. It’s slow, but it’s something.
The first drop that falls to the floor makes the freckle-faced man’s eyes go wide. With a push, I shove my hands out in front of me, fingers spread, letting the rest of it splash down. In a blink, I use the gold to slither toward them and wrap around their feet like thin snakes, the clinging liquid twining up their legs, stretching and hardening around their limbs. I yank more gold from my palms, a small stream pouring out, reaching for the woman next—
And I’m suddenly hit with pain.
It’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. It doesn’t strike like lightning, doesn’t burn like fire. It doesn’t pierce through me or feel like a limb slicing off.
This feels like being pinched. As if invisible hands have delved through my belly button and grabbed onto my organs. As if phantom fingers have dug around to my veins, taking the tubes and compressing them so hard it makes my blood stop.
My heart, my stomach, my lungs, my muscles, my throat—these pinching fingers grip my insides and make everything freeze up. This horrible, pressing pain lances through me, and I fall to my hands and knees, making the gold cut off, squelching between my fingers, soaking through my pants.
I can’t breathe, can’t move, as these horrible contractions squeeze every part of me harder and harder and—
It suddenly stops. As if every single pinching point was released at the same exact time. I’m shaking, covered in sweat, choking in rasping coughs.
Through blurred eyes, I look up to see the woman gliding forward, stopping just before the liquid gold can stain her pure robes.
“There, none of that now,” she says, her placid tone so out of context in this situation.
I look up at her with fury and try to call my gold again, though the echoing bruises inside my body make it so much harder. I barely manage to get a new trickle forming from my palms when I see her lift her hands, the sleeves falling back just enough to show her pressing her forefinger against her thumb and pinch.
Just like before, that pinching pain erupts inside of me.
This time, I collapse on the ground instantly, choking through a clamped throat, while everything inside of me cinches in agony, compressing like it’s going to make my organs burst and bleed.
“Stop…” I croak out, writhing on the floor.
“No more trying to use that magic, Lady Cheat,” she says. “This will happen every time you attempt to use what isn’t yours.”
The pinching ceases, and I twitch on the floor, feeling like I’m covered in a million internal bruises. It takes me a moment to recover before I even realize what she said.
“What did you call me?” I pant.
“Lady Cheat,” she says in her same serene voice. “The gilded saddle who cheated her way into the Golden King’s heart and his power, before she stole both and then his life. You’re a cheat and a fallen woman, and this is the best place for you.”