bethen avilla ; the circle mage (bethe) wrote in thedas,
Slowly, Bethen had managed to inch herself forward, closer to the sole source of light and sound in the room, a small gap in the makeshift wall of stacked objects. How long had things been this way, and no one ever noticed? Wonder and disbelief temporarily supplanted horror, though only for a moment until she heard the response to the Demon.
There was no fight, no shouting, no arguments -- just talking. It was a terrible thought, but Bethen would have much preferred to hear a chilling cry of anguish over such a disturbingly calm exchange. Of course, Constans' voice held far more emotion than that, but it was difficult for her mind to register his anger when her thoughts were fixated on one particular sentence: This isn’t why I summoned you.
She had felt ill before, when she first had her suspicions -- however, the confirmation was much, much worse. Her heart was pounding so hard, she felt as if her chest, still holding a breath for far too long, was going to explode. Every muscle in her body was wound up so tightly. She was caught between flight or fight. Bethen had never felt so furious in her entire life. She had half a mind to run forward and hit Constans across the face, send him reeling, make the consequences for dealing with demons so much more physical and real and immediate, not merely a threat. If he didn't think anyone was hurt by his actions yet, he was completely wrong. What have you done? she wanted to scream.
Not that it would have made a difference, it seemed, as only seconds after the thought passed through her mind, the Demon was making him an offer -- one that made her want to keel over and wretch all over the floor. It was one thing for the apprentice to sell his own soul, but to drag his brother into this? No. There was no way she could allow that to happen. Desiderio was still just a boy, an innocent. Constans could doom himself, but she would never let him take his brother with him. Even if he was hesitating to answer, she couldn't just stand there and wait. Every second that the Demon stood beyond the Veil between reality and the Fade contributed to the greater compromise of the Tower's security. The last thing she heard of their dealing was the first syllable of what she assumed would be Constans' acceptance.
The thin soles of her shoes audibly scraped against the floor as she turned sharply on her heel and darted out the same way she came, footsteps no longer quiet and controlled, but too fast to be caught up to if she were chased. Bethen ran up the looming staircases, winding round and round the curved halls, until she was breathlessly stumbling in toward the door of the First Enchanter's office. She practically threw herself against it, pounding harder than was necessary to get him to open up.
"I'm coming," called a weary voice from within. What hour was it? Briefly, she thought of how rude it was to wake him if it was late, but all sense of guilt over it was tossed aside in the wake of having something of great importance to tell him. There was shuffling behind the wood, finally a click of a lock, and she found herself looking eye-to-eye with the elderly man. His sharp gaze softened as he registered who stood before him. "Child," he addressed her, even though she had been a full Mage for several months now and a woman for longer; but a small girl, with braided pigtails, she would remain to him. "What is the matter?"
Her thoughts were clouded with urgency, but not enough to let her simply blurt out everything while she perched in his doorway. This matter required discretion. Even if the corridor was empty, she couldn't tell who was listening just beyond the bend. Bethen composed herself as much as she could, in spite of the fact that she was exhausted and feeling light-headed, just barely capable of remaining on her feet. "We need to talk. Inside. Please."
He understood immediately. "I...of course, child." Irving stepped back to open the entrance a little wider, ushered her past and shut the door behind him.