The bag was finally removed from Ceyda’s head. She blinked groggily, trying to ascertain her whereabouts. The removal of the bag had not helped her vision at all--there were no lights, and the room she was in was just as dark as her bag. Additionally she still didn’t have any glasses, so even if there were any details, she certainly wouldn’t be the one to notice them.

“Hello?” Ceyda called. No response. Steps echoed across the room as whoever removed the bag left the room, not even letting a sliver of light in as they did. Somehow, no one had bothered taking the spell book away from her. She assumed that would have been a given, but there it remained, in her ever tightening hands.

She let go of the book, and felt instant relief. Her fingers were sore. In the dark, she couldn’t tell how much she had bled from her damn bracelet, but it seemed to have clotted.

The room smelled of moss and burnt leather. It wasn’t overwhelming, but it was a far cry from the wafts of perfume, cleaning supplies and dust that she spent the majority of her life smelling. The burnt leather smell was practically pleasant, like an intense sort of gaseous fume.

It was quiet, too. Perhaps it was the time of the night, but Ceyda didn’t like it. There was something desperately isolating about quiet places. She’d have to wait until morning to hear anything interesting.

Which meant, excitingly, there was nothing left to do but examine the ancient artifact of great magical power. She opened the spell book, and to her surprise, the pages were a brilliant cream color. She blinked in confusion at the vibrantly mundane colors.

Ceyda looked at the walls. Yup. Just as dark as before. Was the book glowing? Like it had before? She pressed the book against the wall, in hopes of illuminating her location, but to no avail.

Apparently she could solely see the book, and nothing else. Her stomach grumbled. Right! She had not eaten since breakfast! This was very rude.

No matter. She would just have to learn all of magic, summon food, eat it, defeat all her captors, and leave. She turned the pages, looking for some sort of information. She didn’t really know how magic worked, but a spell book was a spell book, and very logically, it had to have spells to read, right?

Blank page after blank page--she began to thumb through the book quickly, but to no avail. There was nothing. Not a single word, save for her name emblazoned on the front.

It only now occurred to Ceyda that the average training time of a mage was. Five years.

She drummed her fingers against the blank pages. What if--what if the book hadn’t realized she was a girl? It was made of fog, it might have gotten confused. What if she had this spell book that she would never be able to access?

Or, and this was also a possibility, what if she had hallucinated all of that, and it had been very fake, and she was in fact, the stupidest person in all of Kesterline?

Or maybe it had been an ifrit who lived in the book, and pulled some sort of trick on her! Maybe it had read her mind, found out her name, and then gave it to her for a laugh. That certainly sounded like something an ifrit could do.

“Well, you are thoroughly useless,” Ceyda muttered.

The stark color of the pages dimmed. Had she insulted the book?

I could say the same of you. The words formed in gold ink. Normally, Ceyda had trouble reading without her glasses, but strangely, she could read these words just fine.

Even when she shut her eyes, the words were there, in her mind’s eye.

Sacred skies and above! The book talked! She had a magical talking book! And now her bracelet was once again shocking her poor numbed arm and it was very painful and it needed to stop please!

“Well, you’re a magical book, I’m a human being. I assure you, I’m very good at being a human,” Ceyda lied. She was in fact very bad at being a human, but no need for the book to know that.

I’m a magical book--do you mean I am a grimoire?

Ceyda stared at the words. “...yes were you not there when we had that conversation? You asked me to bind our souls? It was like an hour ago. A bunch of people were watching.”

...no. Not really. I don’t remember much of anything, actually.

“Are you an ifrit?”

A what?

“Magical creatures that hide under your bed and eat your skin if you misbehave,” Ceyda said. “Or drink your blood. Or steal your silver. Or--”

I get the concept. I--I don’t think those exist, to be perfectly frank, but honestly I’m a talking book so it’s about as plausible as anything else.

“You don’t seem very confident about that,” Ceyda replied.

My very first memories are of you calling me useless. Forgive me if I’m a bit slow on the uptake.

Wait. Sorry. Let me rewrite that with emphasis.

Forgive me!!! If I’m a bit slow!!! On the uptake!!

Yes. That looks better. I think that adequately conveys my tone.

Ceyda grinned. “Well, we know you can hear words, despite being a book. That’s something, right?”

I suppose. I believe it’s the emerald at the front that allows me to do it. It’s like I can see everything through that. So as it stands, I’m currently staring at a very grimy floor with mold on it

“You can see the floor?” Ceyda said, lifting up the book to stare at the inky black void of which she stood on.

Yes. Although now I mostly see your hair. Holy gods. You have a lot of hair.

“Wow, thanks--please focus, book. We need to escape. We’ve been kidnapped by weird boys,” Ceyda said.

We have?!?!!

“Yeah, they wanted to steal you, and when I got you first, they stole me instead,” Ceyda explained.

...you seem remarkably calm about this.

“I guess,” Ceyda shrugged. “My mother says I’m extremely over dramatic.”

I fear to meet your mother then.

Ceyda wandered aimlessly in the dark, holding out the book like a buffer between her and the walls.

We appear to be in a basement of some kind, the book informed her. No windows, just a bench and some leaky water in the corner. There’s a winding staircase in the corner.

Ceyda frowned. “What magic do you know, book?”

...I don’t understand? As in spells? What spells do I know? Or what spells do you know?

“What spells do you know, book. If you could possibly teleport me out of this basement, that would be best,” Ceyda said.

Teleport?!? Most people have to go into specialized training to teleport! It can take years to learn! And you want to be able to cast it right now? On a whim? What in Karani’s name is wrong with you?

Another name Ceyda didn’t recognize. She would have to ask about that later. It was strange how they kept invoking names. It felt… mildly blasphemous? But then again, who was Ceyda to dictate how a talking book worshipped?

Come to think of it, was this book the center of her core now? Had it replaced her being a chatelaine? Was she a mage and a chatelaine or did one override the other?

Or was she not a mage at all, she was just, somehow, paradoxically, a chatelaine with a spellbook? Her father had said technically not all mages could cast magic, and some instead trained to do other things. This struck Ceyda has highly stupid, as if anyone would ever willingly have the option to learn magic and turn it down.

“Well, if teleporting is hard, how about you give me spells that I can use to beat people into total and utter submission?” Ceyda asked.

...that is a dramatic swerve into an entirely different sphere of magic. What exactly is your logic here?

Ceyda blinked angrily at her book. This seemed very simple to her and the fact that her book wasn’t understanding it was very annoying.

“You are a magic book. Use magic.”

...I cannot use magic just willy nilly, the skill must come from you. You need to be able to cast the spell.

Ceyda stared at the book in confusion. “What? That makes no sense! What good are you? You’re supposed to be able to cast spells for me! Or--make me able to cast spells! And you should be good at something, right? That’s why the thief wanted you! You’d be effective at battering individuals into submission!”

Well, yes. But--all right. Let’s assume for a moment that I am the finest crafted sword in the land. Perfectly balanced, unbreakable, and not even other swords can stop me. I am the best sword ever. Tell me, what can an unskilled individual do with such an item?

“Kill people because it’s a sword and anyone can use it if they’ve got arms!” Ceyda snapped back. This was beginning to stress her out. From the sounds of it, the book was absolutely useless and would only be helpful if she already had spells. Which she most definitely did not!

What sort of trick was this? It felt like an elaborate prank, only played by the very forces of the universe.

You’re misinterpreting my metaphor here.

“Your metaphor is stupid and wrong!”

Arrrgh--look, all right. Consider, then. Yes, you can use a sword without training. And you can also use me! Go right ahead! How old are you, anyway? I feel like the answer is sixteen?

Ceyda nodded, but there was no response. It then occurred to her that the book couldn’t see her.

“Yes.”

Right, so that’s two years of magic training, maybe even three! Just tell me what spells you have, and we’ll start from there.

“I can’t cast magic, isn’t that obvious?” Ceyda asked.

...excuse me?

Ceyda took a deep breath. She didn’t know why this was so difficult, but to be fair to the book, it had amnesia. “That’s a core for men exclusively.”

...all right I feel like this conversation jumped in several directions that I was not ready for nor saw coming. Please rephrase.

“Only men can be mages.”

Well that’s most certainly not true. Everyone and anyone can cast magic.

Ceyda shook her head, despite the book not seeing it. “You’re incorrect. Only men can cast magic, and of those, only an elite few are chosen for such a core. That’s why you’re here, to cast spells for me.”

How would that even work? Would it be a hormone balance? What if someone travels between sexes? What if they are shapeshifted? What in Karani’s name is a core? How would any of this work? Is this a joke or something?

“How would you know? You’re not a woman or a man! You’re a book!” Ceyda shouted at the book. Her bracelet shocked her for the raised voice.

Apparently I’m also an ancient and powerful grimoire! So I think I hold a bit more knowledge on how magic works than you do!

Noise racketed from upstairs. Ceyda almost cursed, but stopped herself before the bracelet could activate. Evidently, she had been getting rather loud.

Footsteps echoed across the stairs, and Ceyda looked around in the darkness, not knowing what to do.

...only men can cast magic. Honestly I swear, the things I am forced to hear with my own ears. Not that I have ears. How am I perceiving this anyway? Oh gods, I’m going mentally cross-eyed thinking about this.

Three individuals walked down the stairs, one carrying a lit lantern.

In this darkness, she couldn’t recognize if any of them were familiar. She missed her glasses.

Ah yes, hello, this is magic speaking, gifted to you by the avatars themselves. We are here to check each and every one of you. You see, we can only work if you have a dick. Oh, not all men have dicks due to a variety of reasons? Oh then it’s the testosterone. Oh, you mean hormonal deficiencies exist and there’s nothing stopping you from taking a great big syringe of testosterone to the ass? And on top of all of that, magic is a consistent force whereas a hormone is often inconsistent and cyclical?

“Is that her?” a woman’s voice said.

“Yeah,” a familiar voice replied. Merlin.

Well, clearly it’s because women bleed out once a month, and that scares the magic, you see. Ignore the fact that not all women experience menstruation, that’s totally the reason! Magic scared! I swear, what even is this based on?

They didn’t seem to hear the book rambling. Which was probably for the best. Ceyda was only barely keeping up.

“And she was at the party?” the woman asked.

“Yeah, she’s still wearing the fancy dress and everything, although it looks like shit now,” Merlin replied.

Ah, I understand now. The avatars, being of magic and guiders of humans, came down from the heavens themself, a variety of expression and different opinions, unable to agree on what to have for dinner, let alone any one agenda, and collectively they all went, “you know what makes the most sense. Only men can cast magic! Let’s all agree and make out in private or something because we all just get along now! Isn’t it great that we live in this world without ever doing something different or contradictory just to piss each other off?

“Shut up!” Ceyda hissed at the book. Her bracelet shocked her again, albeit feebly.

“Excuse me?” the woman asked.

“Not you--” Ceyda said quickly. “The book is talking to me. Well, it’s actually writing at me, but I can see it no matter what, so, uh, yes.”

The woman got closer. She had a goldish reddish mop of hair, and due to Ceyda’s lack of glasses almost no other distinguishing features in the dim light.

The woman blob frowned. “Ugh, and you’re saying the book bonded to this? Some random chatelaine?”

“Unfortunately,” Merlin said. “Who knew that the book only wanted royalty?”

“Technically I’m lower class,” Ceyda corrected reflexively.

The third spoke, and Ceyda recognized it as Lyle’s voice. He gave out a bitter guffaw. . “Oh, you think you’re lower class? That’s just fuckin’ rich. Why don’t you stay here for a few weeks, sleeping in the piss and shit, and then we’ll have a talk about who’s lower class.”

“Well, we are!” Ceyda insisted. “I live with my mother and father, our estate is very tiny, we can only afford three servants and two of them are part time--”

“Sacred skies,” Merlin said. “You can’t be serious right now.”

“She’s dead serious, unfortunately,” the woman said. She grabbed Ceyda’s arm, and forced it out. “See this bracelet?”

“Yeah, it’s that one they make all the ponce-ass little kids wear,” the third person said.

“Right, they use it to send little shocks if you have an over abundance of toxic ruminations. Her entire brain is addled by bad thoughts and shocks to the system. She probably doesn’t have a single original thought in her head,” the woman said, her face twisting in clear disgust.

“I have many original thoughts!” Ceyda protested. “And I’m not wrong--we count as lower class!”

“Really? Then question, princess, what exactly do we count as, huh?” Merlin asked. “Because I’m deadly curious.”

“Well--” Ceyda trailed off. “You’re the servile class, are you not?”

“So, let me get this straight, the vast majority of the population is the fucking servile class? In what spectrum does that make you on the low end?” Merlin spat.

“When the upper class has several estates, an unbroken lineage of spearheads and lighthouses, and thousands of servants, we count as lower class!” Ceyda protested.

Have you all considered economics is fake.

"Don’t bother arguing with her,” the woman says. “She’s been trained to never change. You’d have a better luck convincing a dog to eat at the table.”

Ceyda frowned. She did not like this woman. She expected kidnappers to be hostile to her, but not outwardly rude and condescending.

“So is that bracelet why she hasn’t broken down at all? We literally kidnapped her and she mostly seemed slightly confused” Merlin asked.

“Yes. It turns them into hollow little dolls. Not to mention she’s clearly a chatelaine, and that’s already a core for women lacking common sense,” the woman said.

“I am not a doll,” Ceyda protested.

You know, I agree that any country that calls their lower nobility ‘lower class’ has some skewed perceptions, but there’s something they’re missing here that I don’t quite like.

Ceyda looked at her book in surprise. “What do you mean?”

So, just going to gloss right over the thing about cores because that just seems like a whole complicated knot I am not ready to dive into, but--you have a bracelet on you that, what? Shocks you? I’ve felt its magical energy go off a few times. As a sort of mental training thing?

“What do you mean, what do you mean?” Merlin asked.

“I am talking to my book,” Ceyda said. “And the answer is yes. To my book.”

Right. So, did you like, ask for that bracelet? Is it a point of pride? Is this a coming of age ritual? Does everyone who has a core wear a bracelet like that?

Ceyda’s face flushed for a moment. “My mother is embarrassed I still need it. Most stop wearing it by the time they’re thirteen.”

There was a moment of silence, and Ceyda realized that a book with no knowledge of the world might not realize the implication.

“You don’t get cores until you’re fourteen.”

Right, that makes sense, similar to Dorskina’s Day… so you’re being forced to wear a bracelet that shocks you. For thinking things or showing emotions. And this...young teenager. Well, she’s acting like it’s your fault for wearing it. Which, to be frank, is kind of bizarre.

“My book just made a very good point!” Ceyda said. “It’s not my fault that I’m wearing this bracelet. So please, stop insulting me about it!”

“We kidnapped you and you want us to be polite?” Merlin asked, dumbfounded.

“Well, at least be polite about things not related to why you kidnapped me,” Ceyda said. “If you want to be rude about my magical book, go ahead, it probably deserves it.”

Merlin exchanged glances with Lyle. “...you’re kind of weird.”

“So I have been told!” Ceyda replied.

“Hey, Opal, can we go upstairs for a few minutes?” Merlin muttered quietly to the woman. Ah, this was Opal. Their boss.

Opal stared at Merlin, before going up the stairs. She was followed by Merlin and Lyle.

They do not seem well organized at all.

“What do you mean?” Ceyda asked.

Well usually the leaders of a kidnapping ring aren’t ah, gawky young teenagers. How old was that girl? Fifteen?

“I do not know, it is very dark and I am bad at ages,” Ceyda answered truthfully.

I’m pretty sure they’re going upstairs to have an argument. Whatever they plan on doing, I don’t think they actually have the experience to do it.

“Well, that one boy from before said he wanted to kill all rich people. Which, I guess includes me?” Ceyda shrugged.

He said that casually?

“No… I think he was forced to? The other thief had something… weird about them. Like they could force you to make you say whatever thing was floating in your head. For me, it felt like strange instinctual desires.”

Well, a desire to rebel against the rich isn’t exactly surprising. Especially if you really do have such a large servant class. That’s kind of disgustingly obscene.

Ceyda stared at her book. “Is it?”

I think it is. Of course, I’m a book, so what do I know.

“Apparently a lot. You seem to have a lot of practical knowledge,” Ceyda said.

I suppose. Not sure why, if I truly didn’t remember anything, I would be unable to recall the avatars, and not be able to properly analyze statements. But it seems like nothing has stopped that. So perhaps I can remember things, but it’s behind a wall of some sort?

“Or maybe you are being given information from the book.”

Maybe. Either way, I wouldn’t trust these kids. They have a lot of passion, but lack a direction. Or maybe just these three do. They could just be lackeys.

“I think that one--the one named Opal, is their leader.”

...that’s worrying. She spoke more in propaganda lines than anything that sounded like nuance to me. But I could be overthinking this situation.

“I’m surprised you’re so sympathetic to them, rebellions are usually a very bad thing,” Ceyda replied.

Ehhhh. It’s complicated. Usually people aren’t rebelling unless there’s something they are deeply unhappy about. Three reasons people risk death--those who have the privilege or misfortune to believe they won’t die, the cultural molding to assume it is significantly important, and the belief that you have nothing to lose, because life literally cannot get any worse.

And to be honest, they seem like the latter.

“I don’t see why they would think that,” Ceyda said. “Bricketfriar is lovely. And most servants don’t even have parents!”

Wh--what exactly do you mean by that.

“Most servants I talk to either have dead parents or missing parents,” Ceyda says.

Why would that. Be a good thing.

Ceyda stared at the grimoire in confusion.

“Why would that be a bad thing?”

Because people are usually sad when their parents die.

“Are you sure about that?”

...yes.

“That cannot be true,” Ceyda replied. “Otherwise why would it be so important for towers to exist?”

What do you mean by towers?

“It’s a core. Well I guess for the servile class it would be pillars,” Ceyda explained.

There is. A lot of information going on here and frankly I’m worried that I do not have time to understand it all before those children come back.

“Then can you at least help me escape?” Ceyda asked. “With any spell, at all? I’m not picky. Or just a spell so I can spy on them!”

Ceyda I can’t just--actually. The spying thing might work. There’s a simple enough spell to cast to expand your senses, anyone can do it.

“Then yes! Cast that spell for me!” Ceyda said.

Uh, sure, all right, let’s get as close to them as we can, can you get to the door?

Ceyda mumbled a yes as she tried to inch her way across the basement. She felt the staircase with her hands, and slowly climbed up on all fours. She stopped when she felt the cold metal of the door.

Distantly, she could hear the hushed voices of her captors.

“I’m ready, book.”

All right, let’s cast your first spell.