Ceyda dreamt weirdly. Her dreams were always weird, but this time, it was even weirder than before. Of course, claiming a dream was even weirder than her other dreams was also a common occurrence, but this time, she honestly and truly meant it. She also had honestly and truly meant it all those other times, but this time put all her other past situations to shame.

This go around, she had been aware she was dreaming the entire time. She had floated in an endless cloudy, pink void, fully aware of what she was doing.

It annoyed her to some extent. She had spent her entire life trying to lucid dream, and now it just happened and it was colossally boring.

A vague Merlin shaped blur was standing over her. For a moment Ceyda wondered why Merlin was in her dream, only to realize that, seamlessly, she had woken up without realizing it. Ceyda cracked her neck. Had she been sleeping on the floor? Yes. Yes she had.

“I got you what I could,” Merlin said quietly. He appeared to be holding two very brown things. But one smelled like food.

Ceyda snatched it, and upclose saw that it was some sort of hard, flat bread. She bit into it, and recoiled. Very hard. Very bland. She settled to sucking on the bread until it softened enough for her to chew.

“I uh, got you some blankets and some clothes too. Nothing fancy, but I figured you’d want to get out of that dress,” Merlin said quietly. “And I found some wooden pallet no one was using. You can use that so you aren’t sleeping directly on the ground.”

“Won’t I get splinters and die?” Ceyda asked.

“Oh, we’ll put a blanket over it. It will be fine,” Merlin replied brightly.

He set the thing he was holding down. It was a box.

“No word yet on the glasses, you might have to suffer through it a bit longer,” Merlin continued. He hurried back up the stairs, before returning with a second pile. This time, he carried the wooden pallets and up close what appeared to be a very unfortunate bucket.

Ceyda stared at the bucket. She could deal with a lot of things, but this whole bucket situation was where she drew a very firm line.

“Please tell me you have something I can use that isn’t a bucket,” Ceyda whimpered.

Merlin looked down, then away. “Uh, I’ll find something else later? But for now, you’ll just have to make do.”

Ceyda sighed. At this rate, she was going to break out solely to take a nice bath, and actual food. Which was a pity, because this was still the most interesting thing that had ever happened to her, and Merlin seemed nice. Besides, here her bracelet got to stay off. Which meant she didn’t have to worry about over expressing herself.

There was the health issue of toxic ruminations, but if she’d lived with them her entire life a few days more couldn’t hurt.

Merlin sat down next to her, and unfolded his own food, dry wheat rectangles the color of burnt.

“So, why’d you steal the book?” Ceyda asked.

Merlin stared at her, midbite. “Because we wanted to be a mage. Opal did, anyway.”

“Yeah, but, why? How’d you know what it did?”

“Oh,” Merlin chewed thoughtfully. “I figured you’d already know, what with being a noble and all.”

“Know what?” Ceyda asked.

“The Blanches are like, these huge collector of valuable objects? And this old dude took an old grimoire and imbued it with the last of his magic so anyone could use it, if they were worthy,” Merlin said.

“No, I’d have no way of knowing that. We don’t get invited to Blanche parties. How did you know?”

“Opal works there. She said she overheard it when the Blanche’s kid was pissed about not being a mage.”

Ceyda nodded. “So then… is his soul trapped in there? Because the book definitely thinks its human.”

...if I am an old man from this society, I will not be pleased.

Merlin shrugged. “I’unno. Opal just said magic. Is magic the same as a soul?”

“Probably.”

No!

“Doc says it’s not.”

Merlin tilted his head. “Doc?”

“Yes!” Ceyda lifted the grimoire up. “It has a name!”

Merlin pushed up his glasses. “All right.”

Ceyda brought Doc back down, and resumed eating her tasteless crunchy almost-bread. “So this old dude. Blanche Senior, I assume. What did he do afterwards? Just put it in his library?”

“I think he gave it to his daughters. Wait I remember this--” Merlin straightened his back, and held his hand in an exaggerated tea holding motion. “Andrea and Jesebelle Blanche! Mistresses of Bricketfriar.”

He slouched and dropped his voice again.

“Wow you do a really good girl voice,” Ceyda said. “How’d you do that?”

Merlin coughed. “Practice.”

“So did this happen ten years ago, a thousand years ago--?”

Merlin shrugged again. “They’re all dead now. So who knows.”

“It can’t have been recent. I would have definitely heard about women who were mages. There would have been rumors! Gossip! And yes I would have missed all of it but I would have heard snippets of it--” Ceyda paused. “In hindsight, I sorely wished I listened to all the times my mother told me why the other nobles had rotten cores.”

“I can ask Opal for you later. Once she calms down. She’s sort of mad that the plan went… so utterly wrong. Honestly it’s not even your fault. If you hadn’t been there, that freak would have just killed all of us and worn our skins as a coat.”

“I wonder how that thief knew about it,” Ceyda said.

“Maybe he was some sort of--I don’t know. Noble spy? From an enemy house? Is that a thing that happens?” Merlin asked.

Ceyda looked into the dark, musty wall. “I assume it happens, but mostly we just drink tea angrily at each other.”

“That sounds nice,” Merlin muttered.

“What? No, it’s terrible, you have to sit still and listen to people talk about politics and who’s husband is drinking themselves into a depressed stupor,” Ceyda replied.

“I meant the drinking tea part. I’ve never had it before”

“Oh,” Ceyda chewed on the inside of her cheek. She had admittedly not considered that part. “If it helps, it’s mostly a hot water vehicle for copious amounts of sugar.”

Ceyda, just a shot in the dark here--but how expensive is sugar?

Ceyda stared awkwardly at Merlin. She had no idea how to navigate this! This was a perplexing torturous situation where she intended to say something but the topic had gone utterly off the rails!

“That’s an apt comparison, right?” Ceyda asked.

“Uh. I’ve never put sugar in water before so. No.”

“Utter damnation,” Ceyyda muttered. She had to admit, cursing was quite nice. Were mages allowed to curse? Surely if she could cast spells, then she’d be given some privileges from different cores.

“Well,” Ceyda said stiffly. “When I gain supreme magical power, I will get you tea.”

“Gee, how generous.”

That sounded like sarcasm. Ceyda squinted at Merlin’s silhouette. She was being sincere, here!

Merlin finished his food, stood up, brushed the crumbs off his pants, and left the room without another word.

Ceyda gave a small huff. “That boy is weird.”

You did just sort of insult him like, five times.

“What? How?”

So I don’t really know how folks here work, but usually when someone encounters something they don’t know, they tend to feel stupid and vulnerable. Also considering how they wanted revolution--magic isn’t really a good tradeoff for tea.

“I would have done other things! It was one thing of many!” Ceyda insisted.

Right but stating that as the first action you’d ever do is going to leave an impression.

“I guess,” Ceyda huffed. “I was just trying to be nice! I didn’t mean anything wrong by it at all.”

Does he know that? Does he know who you are as a person, the very core of your being?

“Of course he does. He knows I’m a chatelaine, he mentioned it in passing once or twice, and Opal insulted me. Don’t you remember?”

...no I meant--like, your inner workings.

“What’s the difference?” Ceyda asked.

I--I don’t know. How about you explain to me Kesterline culture before I continue this strange circle of communication?

Ceyda took a deep breath and set Doc to the side, as she crossed her legs.

“Sure, what do you want to know?”

What, in Karani’s name, are cores?

“They’re… you. The thing that tells you what you are and what your purpose is. It’s your guiding light. Your internal coda. A mantra. They come to us when we are born, it is revealed to us on Adreday, and are our last companion when we die,” Ceyda recited.

And is this… a religious thing?

Ceyda blinked. “What do you mean?”

Okay, backing up, please define religion for me.

“Religion is an expression of faith and worship.”

And are cores involved?

“Of course they are.”

What happens?

Ceyda frowned. That was a very broad question. But Doc had magical book amnesia. So she just had to be patient.

“Well, some people get demesnes, and obviously there are different rites for each core--”

What are demesnes?

“Uh--like--the place you express your core? Like my dad has an entire study. That’s his demesne. My mother has a garden. And I bet you that the museum you were in is used as one too.”

So a work space of some kind? Or just a place you feel at peace?

“Yeah a work place,” Ceyda said. She had never really known what she wanted for her own demesne when she grew up. Younger her had wanted a castle. If the entire castle was her demesne, no one else could enter unless she gave permission. That was unfortunately, not entirely realistic.

And what are these cores? Like you’re a chatelaine--what are the others?

Ceyda rolled her eyes back and started to recite them from memory. Spearheads, gaslamps and mages for boys. Chatelaines and lighthouses for the girls. Towers for both.

And you can usually tell who someone is at a glance?

“Yeah. Sorta. Usually.”

So what was that Lyle boy? A spearhead?

“Oh no, he’s servile class. He doesn’t get one.”

Oh. Okay. Uh. Why.

Ceyda stared at Doc. The question had never occurred to her. It wasn’t like it was something she had asked. She did remember learning the fact--she had asked their maid if she was a Tower. Then her mother had corrected her. There had been some brief confusion, but it had been wholly accepted afterwards.

“I guess because they’re bred for different things,” Ceyda said finally.

Hoo boy okay. That is--um--no. No no no. Don’t talk about other humans like they’re being bred like cattle.

“Then what’s the correct way to say they have their own cores?”

Um--I don’t know I just got here--what are the cores they have access to?

“Well, someone like Lyle could become a pillar or a chisel.”

And those are?

“A pillar works hard and excels at labor. A chisel excels at specialized artisanal work. It’s a high honor for a servant to become a chisel.”

Mmm. Okay. The social strata is getting clearer with every sentence. Is it the same for the women?

“As far as I know. I don’t think women can become chisels…” Ceyda frowned. She had never paid enough attention to the going ons of the servants. It was beginning to occur to her that was a crass mistake.

That’s, and pardon my language, fucked up.

“Why? Because they also can’t become mages?”

How about that they have none of the options you do? Do you have a core that would tell you that you’re best at working forever?

Ceyda laughed. “Of course not.”

By the Crown, Ceyda would have been so stressed if she had to contend with both the possibility of being a tower and the possibility of being a pillar.

So why do they?

“Well--I mean--they just… do?” Ceyda said, cringing. She felt like she was being scolded for something that wasn’t her fault.

Yes but why?

“I don’t know! Because if they didn’t, then we’d all die of starvation and not have children and humanity as we know it would end!” Ceyda replied, her voice going up an octave.

Do mages do any sort of heavy labor here?

“No. Of course not they--” Ceyda paused. This felt. Awkward. “I’m saying ‘of course’ a lot for someone with a magical talking book, aren’t I.”

I’m not trying to be rude, Ceyda. I am trying to understand, but also if you intend to hang out with these kids, it might do you well to understand where they are coming from.

“I understand where they’re coming from!” Ceyda insisted.

Okay, why do they want to fight against the nobles? Why do you think one of those boys, in a hypothetical scenario, would want your head on a pike?

“...I--” Ceyda paused. What did she make of that. “To be honest, I just can’t see myself dying to something as silly as that, so I just didn’t pay it much mind. Especially now, I’m the one with the magic book, not them.”

Ceyda I will make sure you never cast another spell.

“Hey! What! No!” Ceyda protested.

That was abrupt of me. Let me-- say this nicely. Ceyda. I know it’s great that you are a mage. But you’re also kidnapped in a dark miserable basement, and magic alone is not going to get you out of here when you know zero spells. So, I reiterate. Why do you think they want to fight against the nobles?

“Well how do you know? You don’t remember anything?”

Ceyda. Trust me. I have learned quite a lot just from the conversations you’ve had in the past night.

Ceyda sighed. “All right I guess--because we have nicer stuff than them. Like how my mother wants the Weaver’s house. They also want that house. Only for them. And since they can’t play an elaborate game of passive aggressive trade wars, they would have to do it violently?”

Honestly? Not wrong. But lets go simpler, what do you think of the food you’re eating right now?

“That it’s bland and deserves to be plunged into the depths of the underworld.” Ceyda replied.

What’s the underworld?

“It’s where the ifrit take you away to if you’ve been bad.”

Wonderful metaphor. Now, nobles I assume have better food, right?

“Yes.”

And a lot of it?

“Ye-ohhh, “Ceyda’s eyes lit up. “I too would wage war for good food.”

You have a populace that is, to some extent, forced to bear the burden of hard work, so you can have tea and go to parties. And even with your cores, there are people who were born knowing they could only ever be one core, right? A pillar, you said?

“Well--yeah--” Ceyda frowned. “But-- I mean--”

There was a silence.

Ceyda was. Annoyed?

It was a strange emotion.

She wasn’t sure why, but she was indeed annoyed. Doc wasn’t… wrong? But there was something so aggravating about how she said it. How she poked at the world in an overly simplistic method.

But then again, Ceyda hated being a chatelaine. Ceyda wanted to be a mage. Why should she get mad at the talking book?

“I think I’m mad at you, Doc,” Ceyda said.

Why?

“I do not know, but it distresses me greatly,” Ceyda continued.

I was just trying to give you advice for talking to your captors. You--technically have every right to hate them. But you don’t. You want to talk to them. Do you not want to understand their side?

“I do. I just--well obviously I don’t hate them, why would I hate them?” Ceyda asked. “Who amongst us wouldn’t kidnap a source of powerful magic if it meant they could be a mage?”

Ceyda, this is a total topic swerve, but, what exactly would you do for magic?

Ceyda shrugged. “Nothing. I already have it.”

Sure. Okay. Lets go back in time a little. I say you must kill someone, and in exchange you would get incredible ultimate magic powers.

“Oh.” Ceyda frowned. “Yeah I could definitely kill someone.”

How do you know?

“Well it can’t be that hard, right? I mean it’s just--” Ceyda mimed stabbing someone.

Murder is very serious, Ceyda.

“You know, my dad said the same thing, but I don’t get it. I can cut into food, I know how to do that. So it’s just the same logic. Only with a human. And then I heal them with my magic powers.”

Ceyda. Are you being serious.

“I--” Ceyda rolled her head from side to side. “I guess? I don’t know. Do I have to kill someone?”

No. Gods above, no.

“Then--” Ceyda waved her hand forward. “It’s not real.”

Ceyda. Come on.

“I’m serious! I’m not trying to be silly. You could tell me that there are evil beetles here to flay my skin piece by piece, but until they are on my hands, chomping away, it just doesn’t feel real! It’s just words! A strange and silly hypothetical!” Ceyda insisted.

You know what? That’s fair. I hadn’t considered you might struggle with predicting your own emotions.

“Yeah, I’m sixteen and still have to deal with toxic ruminations,” Ceyda muttered. “Sorry that I suck at this, I appreciate you trying to explain things to me.”

Follow up, what are toxic ruminations?

“All the bad thoughts people have in their head. They’re what make you do bad things.”

Like… compulsions? Can you give me an example?

Ceyda bit her thumbnail as she tried to think of a good example.

“Oh! Okay, so, say you look in the mirror, right? And go, wow, I’m super ugly and gross. Everyone hates me. Then, later, you wake up and you’ve broken out, you smell terrible, and your friends hate you,” Ceyda said.

...could you give. A different example.

“Um. You see a cookie on a table. And then you think about taking it because no one will see it. And as a result you’re more likely to steal things, even if you resist taking the cookie.”

I don’t fully understand. Just give me another example. Just one more.

Ceyda scratched her head. This seemed fairly straightforward, but all right. Honestly, the first example had been the best one. It had nuance and a narrative. She was quite disappointed in its failure to be a good explanation.

“If you hate someone, then that hate will build into pits and gaps in your body, eventually damning you to an early grave?”

How do writers work?

“What do you mean?”

Like, say I write a novel where a guy kills another guy.

“Oh. That’s fine. You just go to your Ritesgiver and ask to be cleansed. My dad does it all the time.”

And dreams? What about dreams?

“Well if you’re having toxic dreams, you should also tell your Ritesgiver. You probably have underlying ruminations that haven’t been completely destroyed.”

Oh. Good. That makes it completely fine and not horrifying.

Ceyda breathed a sigh of relief. At least that was taken care of.

Just--one final question. And then we can change the topic--is this a chatelaine only thing?

“No this is a health issue. Everyone needs to stay healthy. Well, some gaslamps push that a bit too far, but even they need to avoid bad ruminating.”

Does cursing count as toxic rumination?

“Yes. That’s why I had the bracelet, remember?”

So then this is a class thing. Those boys definitely had no problem cursing.

“Well, they’re boys. They can curse more. They’re hardier. Also my mother is ah. A tad hyperbolic in her actions,” Ceyda said.

That is not how being a boy works. Not even a little. Cursing is--that’s not how any of this works! There are so many things wrong packed into this and I don’t even know where to start!

Ceyda rubbed her face. “Well, everyone else is doing it, and every doctor other than you has told me to avoid it.”

Oh no. Fuck no. Everyone else is definitely not doing it. There is no way you have an entire functioning society where everyone is fucking--thinking happy pure thoughts all the time with no cursing!

“Well, of course not. People make mistakes. No one is perfect--”

No! No beyond that! Beyond everything else! Beyond the cores, beyond the fact that no one here can spell--Ceyda. None of those examples are real. All right? None. Zip. Zilch. Negative fifty five thousand. Absolute zero.

Ceyda frowned. “So I don’t want to be rude, but you are, very likely, an old grimoire.”

Yes, and?

“So isn’t it possible your information is… outdated?”

Yes. I suppose that is. Quite possible.

“Besides, when I think bad thoughts, I do feel worse. And when I think happier thoughts, I literally get happier,” Ceyda said. “Your brain is very, very important.”

Doc did not respond.

Ceyda wondered if Doc was mad at Ceyda in the same way she had been mad at Doc earlier.

That was fine.

They would get through this together.

Weirdly, despite having already rested, Ceyda was still immensely sleepy. She didn’t know if it was magic or maybe the food was poisoned and she was about to collapse in a frothing, spasming rage.

Either way, she crawled into the makeshift bed, tried to find the least uncomfortable position, and promptly fell asleep.