Sunset

She climbed the stairs, as aware of her breath as she was the stony silence that surrounded her. With each inhale, she climbed higher and higher to the tower office. The office where she knew Silas awaited her.

“Ah, you’re here.” She heard Silas mumble, distracted by the sample of herbs he was purveying. She pushed the heavy wooden door inward, careful not to catch her cloak as she shut it with a resounding groan of wood.

“The herbs you have obtained are of the most excellent condition.” Silas mentioned from beneath his short and graying beard.

Aravia took great pride in this. Finding and gathering herbs was the most peaceful and intricate part of her day. She was free to wander the forest, her shoes strung around her belt, barefeet plunged into the soil. The sights! The smell of damp earth, and the feeling of growth and life beneath her feet were enough to calm her and bring out her sense of mastery of the forest.

Although she knew that no one could ever master the forest, she felt in her element here. Her studies in the cold stone of the castle seemed so stifling when she was out here. She forgot about all of the mistreatment she had experienced there once she touched the forest edge.

It had been 15 years since she had been acquired by the Mage's guild. Her first memory was of being dragged through the mud and to a loud and fumy carriage. The woman in a purple robe held out her hand to lift her up into the beast. After that, there was only the cold stone walls and then finally, Silas. Her mind had taken care of the bullying and crude pranks of the other children, locking them away until the middle of the night, when she would awake in sweat and terror.

“This veil is for your own protection.” The woman in purple had told her, letting the black, lace veil fall deftly over her face. “A cruel spell has been cast upon you, and anyone that should see your face shall be cursed to ruin.” The woman in purple had presented her to Silas as such, pulling her new purple cloak around her, the hood engulfing her face. Aravia wanted to reach out and stroke his magnificent dark beard.

“She is to be your apprentice.” Aravia heard the woman say. She was guided by hands to a room behind a solid and heavy wooden door.

“Apprentices are chosen at their 8th year.” She heard the bearded man say from behind the door.

“This one is different.” The woman in purple insisted. “She is gifted, but she must never be revealed.” The woman spoke this last sentence so harshly that Aravia felt herself quiver from behind the door. “She is a special case, which the counsel believes that you can accommodate.” After a long moment of silence, she heard the bearded man grunt his acknowledgement.

This was the grunt Aravia began to crave in these last 3 years. It was a grunt of approval and nothing more, but sometimes compliments accompanied it, giving her praise for her hard work. Though now, those were far and few between.

Aravia sat at the hearth of the fire, glowing not only from the heat, but the praise her master had just given her. He had usually criticized the herbs she had brought back as damaged, too young, or too old for his purposes. She sat looking at his back from under the veil and hood, as to capture this moment in her memories.

“Do not become drunk with this compliment girl.” Silas chastised, reading her emotions. “This is something a girl of two years lesser could do. I am just surprised you have only done it now.” As always, Silas ended his compliment with an insult. Aravia didn’t mind. She knew his ways of communication always came along with backhanded corrections before anyone could guess he was being sincere.

His beard had now become flecked with silver, and she watched it waggle as he minced the herbs into his latest concoction. Silas was not old by any means. If she’d had to guess, she would say he was in his late forties. He had a slender figure, and she could sometimes glimpse the outlines of his musculature through his thin herbalist shift when he moved the right way. Aravia was good at watching. She hardly ever spoke, and tried to make herself as small as possible when not alone. This helped her avoid any unnecessary attention- ill or otherwise.

With Silas, she sometimes was able to take up space. Lately, she had felt the need to be closer to him, even sometimes letting the “accidental” touch occur. She wasn’t really sure what was coming over her recently, and she wasn’t sure if Silas could tell how impure her thoughts sometimes turned.

Lately, her nightmares had been replaced by the most thrilling and lustful dreams she had ever had. It was unusual to her, as she had never before even kissed a man, let alone slept with one. But the dreams followed her into the waking hours, and she had to force herself not to become aroused at the sight of her master’s shoulder blades beneath the shift. She wondered if her imagination was good enough to guess all of the chiseled features beneath.

“Where is your head?” Silas finally turned from his alchemy bench to stare at her. She felt her cheeks go red beneath the veil. He walked over to the cabinet next to her and grabbed the granite mortar and pestle. Obviously she had been to busy in her fantasies to have heard his request. She bowed her head in shame.

“I need your help with this.” He motioned for her to come over to the bench beside him. She slowly made her way over to his side. Her breath caught in her throat as she smelled his familiar scent.

What is wrong with you? She cursed herself in her head. You’ve known this man since you were a child! He’s closer to your father than your actual father! Silas handed her a beaker and instructed her to pour it slowly over the contents of the mortar while he ground with the pestle.

“Intentions. . .” He chastised when her hand began to shake. The liquid was sloshing, revealing her headspace was not the right mood for alchemy. She tried to clear her mind and think about the intentions she had for making this potion.

To heal the sick... She started to recite the Herbalist Mantra in her head, but it was very hard to concentrate as she felt the hot breath of her master on her hand that was pouring the liquid. She thought about how it would feel on her neck, in her ear.

To comfort the pained. . . She glanced up at her master’s face, tracing his sharp jawline with her eyes. His dark brown eyes closed in concentration. She could feel the beaker begin to shake more in her unfocused hand, and tried to force her mind away from such thoughts.

To kiss his lips. . . This was not going well. She saw Silas moving his lips, enchanting the elixir as he ground it. Her body was on fire. Those plush, soft pink lips. She was imagining how his beard would feel against her face, when she heard the tinkling of breaking glass. She had dropped the beaker.

Suddenly, there was a hot current in the air, the energy of an unbound spell sliced through the room. She felt herself being grabbed roughly by the shoulders and bundled into the strong arms of her master. She opened her eyes just in time to see him lower his guarding ward. When the haze of energy settled and the spell was spent, she looked at the scorched surfaces of the room and the disarray of the objects it had sent flying.

She was suddenly aware of how close her master was holding her. His ragged breathing moved the thin lace of the veil. As if in a trance, she looked into his eyes, which were now filled with anger. His thick, dark brows furrowed in fury, and she suddenly felt very small.

“What were you thinking?!” His anger was like a chain reaction building as her released her from his chest and grabbed her roughly by the shoulders. She didn’t have an answer, but she couldn’t stop the confusion building inside her. Why was she like this so suddenly?

“Well?!” He was becoming frustrated with her stupefied expression. Behind her veil, he could only glimpse a slight twinkle coming from where her eyes should be.

As if broken by a spell of its own, his anger instantly vanished. It was after the feeling had left him that he realized why. Aravia had lifted her hand to his face, stroking his cheek with her fingers. She pulled her body closer to his, and he was taken aback. So taken aback, that he stumbled backward toward the door, stuttering and trying to find any words.

She saw a confused and dark look on his face, as she lowered her hand and bowed her head in shame once more. What had she done? She had almost caused them both injury, and now she had most certainly caused them both humiliation. She tried not to think about how horrified he must be. She was almost sure of his thoughts. This cursed and ugly girl- the unwanted beast- had touched him, had thought impure things about him. She was sure he knew.

There wasn’t enough time for another horrific thought before the door behind her master burst open. The lady in the purple cloak- Mage Olivia as Aravia had come to know her- coughed and waved a hand to clear the lingering energy from the room.