i am the violence in the pouring rain
i am a hurricaneShe would always be some sort of Queen. Not of the Chamber, not forever. But of ravens, always. Of herself, of her life, always. At least until the Chamber asked for her life, and then Straia would be ash and dirt and bones. But until that day, Straia was always a queen of some sort. She held herself like one, even long before she’d been any of what she is now. Just a princess with an agenda, with the betterment of the Chamber always in her head. An agenda somewhat synonymous with the destruction of Beqanna.
Straia wears the word on her sleeve, not just with the crown of feathers on her head. One didn’t need to be magic to pluck it off of her, but perhaps Cordis saw it in a different way. Not that Straia can read minds, or knows this. But if she did, she would ask how Cordis knows. What’s the word look like on Straia, in a magician’s mind? Knowledge is power, after all. Not that Straia would ever be pure magic, not that she’d ever wear lightning on her skin, but still, she enjoying knowing things. Knowing what it’s like.
“Haven’t we all?” Straia replies easily. Not that Straia was ever necessarily nothing, but she had been very little as a child. Petulant and annoying because it amused her, but she’d had to shed that skin to become anything on the Chamber. She’d had her years playing at Princess, with no actual power and no actual skills. They were short years, yes, but still, at one point everyone had been nothing in some sense. Did Straia’s nothing compare to Cordis’s? Probably not. But that’s not the point.
The point is simple. It is never too late to become something.
She thinks this particular thought very loudly, suspecting (though of course, not knowing) that Cordis will hear it. It doesn’t seem like a thought that needs to be spoken aloud though. It’s the kind of thought that belongs inside the mind, turning around in there until it’s been polished smooth like a stone tossed in the ocean. What pretty stones, those are. What powerful thoughts a simple idea can become.
The raven does turn to ice, and it falls and shatters at this feet. This time, Straia does not put it back together. Instead she simply smiles, very certain that Cordis is some sort of magic. Maybe there are limits to that magic, maybe not. Straia leans toward the latter, though they’d have to spend quite some time testing that theory to find out. “Perhaps you are magic, and perhaps not. But there is no denying you are something, Cordis. And if you’d ever like, I would be happy to help you figure it out. But if you want to find me, you’ll have to put that raven back together,” she nods to the one on the ground, still in pieces, “and have it find me.”
Not that this particular raven wouldn’t melt in the sun, but she thought that Cordis could pull the water out of the ground, turn it into ice and then a raven, and send it back to Straia. It was a test, yes. And it was a promise to help, as best she could. Because Cordis was a terribly well kept secret of Beqanna, and Straia would keep that secret. And perhaps, if she was lucky, Cordis would decide to become something. And Straia could definitely help with that, as well.
Her grin widens just slightly as she adds, “I hope I see you soon.” And with that, she nods once, shifting back to a raven before taking to the skies. It was time to go home, but she imagined they would meet again. Cordis was simply too much fun, too much of an enjoyable mystery, not to see again.
straia
the raven queen of the chamber
