Chapter 15: The Inquisitor's Summons
Cedric awoke with vexia gathering his pony tac. "Kneel. And no moaning." She commanded, pointing tonthe floor in front of her. He'd lost their wager, but she was kind to even give him the chance to win. He wouldn't moan. She was his mistress. He was her tool. That's just how it was.
The leather bridle was cool and heavy in her hands, its brass fittings gleaming dully in the morning light filtering through their dormitory window. Cedric knelt silently on the stone floor, watching her approach. “Look up,” Vexia murmured, her voice all business.
He obeyed, tilting his chin, and she slipped the headpiece over his brow. The fit was snug, the bit cool and foreign against his tongue. His breath hitched slightly as she buckled the straps behind his ears, each click a lock turning. She stepped back, her crimson face a mask of appraisal, her tail twitching with satisfaction.
She stepped back, her crimson face a mask of appraisal, her tail twitching with satisfaction. He stayed perfectly still, the leather conforming to the shape of his skull, the bit a flat, metallic weight.This was simpler.“Good,” she said, her voice flat. “Now, get up. We’re going.”
Cedric rose, his body moving with a strange, stiff grace.The bridle changed his balance, his perspective. Vexia didn’t look at his stacked books or the robe hanging by the door. She gestured dismissively at the remains of his old life.“Leave the rest of your things. A stallion has no need for books or clothes. Those are human things.”
He glanced at his trunk, a tightness in his chest.Aetheric Dynamics.Principles of Transmutation. They were just objects.He turned away. Vexia secured a basic harness around his torso, the connections crude and temporary. The new gear she had commissioned, elegant and tooled for endurance, wouldn’t be ready for several more days.But she was tired of pretending her pet was a mage.
She had used the school to build her connections and acquire the resources she needed. There was no longer a reason to stay. “Forward,” she commanded, taking a loose grip on the lead attached to his bridle.He walked beside her, not behind, his bare feet silent on the flagstones.
The hallways of Lachrim Arcanum were mercifully quiet this early. A few students milling near lecture halls froze, their whispers dying as they passed. Cedric kept his eyes forward, feeling their stares like physical touches.Just an object, he repeated in his mind. Objects don’t feel shame.
They turned a corner and nearly collided with Samantha Hinkley, who was adjusting the strap on her griffin-headed book bag.Her blue eyes widened, then narrowed with gleeful recognition. “Well, look at you two,” she drawled, her smirk sharp. “Taking the ponyboy for a walk before class, Vex? How… progressive.”
“We’re infoming his professor of my intentions to withdraw.” Vexia said, not breaking stride.
Samantha fell into step beside them, her long legs easily matching their pace.“Oh? Do tell.”
“As we discussed at dinner, we’re leaving. This morning, in fact.” Vexia’s tone offered no room for debate.
Samantha’s smirk faltered, replaced by genuine surprise. “You’re actually taking him out of school today, eh? Wasted potential, but still....” Her gaze swept over Cedric’s harnessed form. “I suppose this is a better use for it.”
Cedric felt a hot pang at her words, at the casual dismissal. He liked her. The thought was stupid, but it was there. She enjoyed toying with him, but she’d acknowledged him.
They reached the heavy oak door of Professor Elara Voss’s summoning seminar. The low murmur of students inside seeped through the wood.Vexia pushed the door open without knocking. The conversation inside died instantly. Two dozen faces turned from their desks. Professor Voss, poised beside a floating diagram of symbiotic mana flows, stopped mid-sentence. Her sharp, gray eyes took in the scene: Vexia, imperious and small; Cedric, tall and fitted with tack; Samantha lurking in the doorway with theatrical interest.
Vexia led Cedric to the front of the room, the click of her boots and the soft shuffle of his feet the only sounds. Professor Voss’s gaze lingered on the sigil visible at the open collar of Cedric’s shirt, then on the bridle. “Miss… Thornwood. Vexia. Can I help you?” she asked, her voice carefully neutral.
“You can process his... my property's withdrawal.” Vexia announced, her voice clear and carrying. “Effective immediately. I’m leaving and taking my things with me.”
A ripple of nervous laughter and shocked whispers passed through the class. Cedric stared at a point on the floor near the professor’s sensible shoes, the bit preventing him from swallowing properly. Professor Voss’s eyes locked onto his. “Cedric...” she said, her tone softer. “Is this your will?”
He tried to form a word, but the metal bar filled his mouth, a dumb, heavy obstruction. His tongue pushed uselessly against it, producing only a wet, muffled sound.Professor Voss’s gray eyes softened with a pity that made his skin crawl.
Vexia’s hand landed on his shoulder, her claws pricking through the thin fabric of his shirt. “He doesn’t have a will,” she stated, her voice slicing through the classroom’s thick silence. “Not one that matters for administrative purposes.”
Her other hand tugged at the collar of his shirt, the fabric ripping with a soft tear.The movement was swift, brutal. The hidden sigil on his chest was exposed to the room, the magical brand a lurid, permanent violet against his skin.A few students gasped.
“He consented to this,” Vexia continued, her fingers tracing the edges of the mark. “The bond-sigil wouldn’t have taken hold otherwise.His will, his potential, his choices—they’re mine now. I’m merely reallocating resources from a failing academic venture to a more… practical application.”
Professor Voss stared at the sigil, her lips pressed into a thin line. The academic curiosity in her eyes was warring with procedural alarm.This went beyond an unconventional familiar bond. This was a dissolution of a person into a resource.
“That may be,” the professor said slowly, her gaze never leaving the brand. “But the withdrawal of a student under these specific circumstances isn’t a form I can simply stamp. Not when the familiar is the one filing the paperwork.”
She turned slightly toward the class.“Miss Tanith,” she said to a sharp-faced girl in the second row. “Please summon Inquisitor Lisa to my seminar room. Use the priority channel.”
The girl, Tanith, blinked and then nodded, scrambling from her desk and out into the hallway. The room seemed to let out a collective held breath, followed by a swell of nervous whispers.
Vexia didn’t look surprised. She merely smoothed down the torn edge of Cedric’s collar, her smirk knowing and deep.“I anticipated a bureaucratic hurdle,” she said, almost conversationally. “The Order does so love its rubber stamps.”
Cedric stood frozen, the professor’s pity and the students’ stares feeling like physical blows.He was a exhibit.A legal problem. The bit in his mouth kept him anchored in a silent, drooling reality. Property, he thought, the word a cold comfort.Samantha, still leaning in the doorway, let out a low whistle. “Getting the Inquisition involved.Bold move, imp.She’ll scan him, you know. Root around in his head for coercion.”
“Let her,” Vexia replied, her amber eyes glinting.“The truth is etched into his skin and his soul.He gave himself to me. What she finds in his head will just be the echo of that choice.”
Minutes stretched, thick with tension. Then the door swung open again, not with a student’s hurry, but with a measured, authoritative swing.Inquisitor Lisa filled the space.
Her modified habit was stark black against the classroom’s warm wood, the fabric straining against her figure. The silver sigil of the Order hung heavy between her breasts. A large, sleek hound with intelligent eyes padded silently at her heel, scanning the room with a predator’s calm.
Her gaze, a piercing blue, swept over the scene and landed on Cedric. It felt like a physical touch, a prickling scan that went right through his skin and sought the brand beneath.He shuddered.
“Professor Voss,” Lisa said, her voice a cool, clear instrument.“You invoked a priority summons. Explain.” Her eyes never left Cedric, taking in the bridle, the torn shirt, the exposed sigil.
“This student, Cedric Thornwood, is being withdrawn by his familiar,” Professor Voss said, her voice regaining its professional steadiness. “The familiar claims full ownership, citing the bond-sigil as proof of consent. The circumstances are… unorthodox.”
Lisa finally blinked, breaking her stare at Cedric to look at Vexia. “An imp,” she stated, no judgment, just a cold categorization. “And you believe your contract supersedes the academy’s enrollment covenants?”
“The sigil doesn’t lie, Inquisitor,” Vexia said, meeting that fierce gaze without flinching.“It’s a record of a soul’s surrender. Check it yourself. You have the talent for it.”
A slow, faint smile touched Lisa’s lips. It didn’t reach her eyes. “I do.” She stepped closer to Cedric, the scent of her—sage and cold stone—washing over him. Her hound sat, watching Vexia with utter focus.“Well, boy? Let’s see what you’ve willingly given away.” I
nquisitor Lisa’s fingers hovered just above Cedric’s chest before pressing down with deliberate precision. The moment her skin met the sigil’s surface, the mark flared violet-blue, confirming what her magic had already whispered to her soul: the enchantment was irreversible.
The brand pulsed beneath her touch. He whimpered around the bit, his body going rigid as Lisa’s magic unspooled inside him, tracing the threads of his consent like a spider mapping its web. The compulsion wasn’t just etched into flesh—it had woven itself into memory, into will, into the marrow of his bones.
The compulsion wasn’t just etched into flesh—it had woven itself into memory, into will, into the marrow of his bones. Lisa’s magic flowed through those channels, a cold, clear river sifting for any sediment of duress. Cedric’s knees trembled. He saw fleeting images reflected in her blue eyes: his own hand pressing the sigil-stone to his chest, the dizzying rush of submission, the profound relief that followed. No coercion. Just surrender.
She withdrew her hand as if from a hot stove, the phantom chill of her magic lingering in his veins. The classroom was a vacuum of sound. Her hound whined softly.
“Well?” Vexia’s voice was a needle prick in the silence.
Inquisitor Lisa did not look at the imp. Her gaze remained fixed on Cedric, a complex mix of professional disdain and something darker, almost hungry. “The bond is voluntary,” she stated, the words final and flat. “No enchantment of compulsion preceded it. No external will overrode his own at the moment of sealing.”
A murmur erupted, but Lisa’s raised hand silenced it. She turned her body fully to Professor Voss, addressing the room with judicial clarity. “He is a fool, but there is no law against foolishness.
“He is a fool, but there is no law against foolishness.” Inquisitor Lisa’s pronouncement hung in the air, a judicial verdict that felt like a door slamming shut. She finally broke her gaze from Cedric to look at Vexia, her professional mask back in place. “The Order recognizes the sovereignty of a sealed pact. His potential, his rights, his academic standing—they are forfeit to the bond’s terms.”
Professor Voss let out a slow breath, her shoulders slumping slightly. “So that’s it, then? There’s nothing to be done?”
“The law is clear,” Lisa said, her tone leaving no room for appeal. She turned her attention back to the withdrawal form on Professor Voss’s desk. “Process the paperwork, Professor. He is no longer a student of Lachrim Arcanum. He is an asset, listed under his familiar’s name.” She picked up a pen from the desk, its tip gleaming like a threat. “I’ll provide the required Inquisitorial witness signature.”
The scratch of the pen on parchment was the loudest sound in the room. Cedric watched the movement of her hand, the finality of each loop and line. It was done. A soft, despairing sound escaped him, muffled by the bit. It was the sound of a bridge burning behind him.
Samantha chuckled from the doorway. “Damn. I’ll miss our little chats, Cedric.” Her tone was light, but her eyes held a strange, almost jealous glint. “Try not to let her work you too hard. Or, you know, do. Sounds boring either way.”
Vexia ignored her, taking the completed form from Lisa’s hand without a word of thanks. She folded it neatly and tucked it into a small, elegant pouch at her hip. “Come,” she said to Cedric, giving the lead a slight tug. “We have a carriage to catch.”
She turned and began walking toward the door, expecting him to follow. He did, his movements stiff. The class remained silent, a gallery of wide-eyed witnesses. As he passed Inquisitor Lisa, she spoke again, her voice low, meant only for him.
“A word of advice, boy.” Her blue eyes were like chips of winter sky. “That sigil binds your will to hers, but your soul is still your own. It’s the only thing she can’t truly take. Remember that, when the work feels endless.”
He paused, meeting her eyes for a fractured second. There was no kindness there, only a stark, brutal truth. He gave a single, shallow nod, the leather of the bridle creaking. Then he followed Vexia out, Samantha stepping aside with an exaggerated flourish.
The hallway outside felt cavernous and cold. The sound of Vexia’s boot heels and the soft pad of his bare feet echoed off the stone. Students shrank back against the walls as they passed, their whispers now silent, replaced by stares of horrified fascination.
“That went smoothly,” Vexia mused, almost to herself. “The Inquisitor is sharper than most. She saw the whole truth.” She glanced up at him. “It bothered you. Her seeing it.”
Cedric couldn’t answer. He just walked, the bit a constant reminder of his silence.
“Good,” she said. “A little shame is healthy. It reminds you of your place.” They rounded a corner toward the Grand Arcanum, the main entrance looming ahead. Sunlight streamed through the massive stained-glass windows, painting the floor in fractured colors. “The carriage is waiting at the bottom of the Steps of Reflection. You will pull it to the main gate.”
He flinched. He’d known this was coming, but the reality of it, here in the heart of the academy, tightened his stomach. Pull a carriage. Like a beast.
Vexia felt the tremor through the lead. Her tail snaked up and gave his flank a sharp, stinging tap. “None of that. You’re stronger than you think. And you have no choice. It’s the fastest way to get my things home.”
They pushed through the heavy oak doors and out into the bright morning. The “carriage” was a simple, open-sided cart hitched to a single shaft. His temporary harness had a clip designed for it. A few parcels were already stacked in the bed. The driver, a grizzled man with a bored expression, glanced at Cedric, then at Vexia, and simply shrugged.
“Here,” Vexia said, guiding him to the shaft. She unclipped the lead from his bridle and fastened it to a ring on the harness. The connection clicked with dreadful finality. “The Steps are just there. One foot in front of the other. Try to keep a steady pace.”
The Steps of Reflection were a long, shallow flight of a hundred stone stairs leading down from the academy’s plateau to the road below. They were a traditional test of endurance for first-year students. Cedric had climbed them on his first day, his bag heavy with books, his heart full of ambition. Now he stood at the top, harnessed to a cart, looking down.
“Begin,” Vexia said, settling herself comfortably among the parcels on the cart. She crossed her legs and watched him, her amber eyes unreadable.
Cedric leaned into the harness. The cart was heavier than it looked. The wheels resisted, then began to turn with a grinding shriek. He took the first step down, the weight of the cart suddenly pushing against him. He had to dig in, muscles in his thighs and back burning immediately.
The second step was harder. The third, a jarring impact that traveled up his spine. He found a rhythm, a lurching, clumsy descent, each step a controlled fall against the momentum of the load. His breath sawed in his lungs, hot and ragged around the bit.
From the top of the steps, near the doors, he heard a familiar, brash laugh. Samantha stood there, her griffin beside her. She wasn’t alone. A small crowd of students had gathered, drawn by the spectacle. Someone pointed. Someone else laughed.
“Go on, ponyboy!” a voice called out. It wasn’t Samantha, but one of her cohorts. “Show us your trot!”
Tears of strain and humiliation blurred his vision. He focused on the next step, then the next. The leather of the harness bit into his shoulders. Vexia said nothing, a silent queen on her moving throne. The laughter from above chased him down the stairs, each mocking echo a whip against his raw nerves.