《Dawn of Damagic Book 1: Kept beneath the vines》 Prologue Nygilvyn Goresch, 66 years after the Rise I shouldn''t have done it. What was I thinking, spending one of the few coins I had on a fortune teller? I could blame Eleysa, but that would be unfair. Yes, she was enthusiastic about what the fortune teller had told her. She was fervently waving a sheet full of scribblings in my face, somehow expecting I could make sense of what she wrote and follow the incoherent story she was trying to convey at the same time. I could have smiled and shrugged, happy for her that she found something to excite her now that this business trip turned out to be a lot less interesting than she expected ¡ª thank you, Father, for being such a good salesman that you can sell anything to anyone. I could also have chalked her excitement up to her age, though she¡¯s not that much younger than me, or the fact that she¡¯s a girl and has probably thought about love and marriage a lot more than I have. But I didn¡¯t do any of that. I didn¡¯t even consider the options. I chose to try it for myself. I know it sounds dumb, sentimental, and right out naive, but at the moment, the pull was irresistible. I had to go see this lady. So I read the sign promising insight into your true love once more, shaking my head at myself for wanting to do this. I stepped inside the bright blue tent, the sounds of the county fair that Eleysa and I had stumbled upon on our way to Goresch dissipating as soon as the flap closed behind me. I took a seat at the crispy white table with nothing on it but a deck of cards, a stack of papers and a small vase filled with pencils. I allowed a woman dressed in deep purple to take my hands, stare into my eyes with her dark brown ones, and utter some spell I couldn¡¯t make heads or tails of. It might even have been real Magic ¡ª I''ve heard rumors about female Mages, and since she gave me just as many chills as a normal Mage would have, I think she might have been legit. Either way, she shuffled her deck after that, a faint smile on her lips, and had me pull a single card from the fan she made so fluently, that perhaps she was both a Mage and a magician. She gasped, and I immediately added acting to her growing list of talents. I mean, her performance was stage-worthy. ¡°So,¡± she said, her voice constricted, shivering as if a sudden ice-cold draught hit only her. ¡°It''s you.¡± I''d have asked her what she¡¯d meant if I''d been able to get a word in. I wasn¡¯t sure if she was excited or if she had sort of dreaded this day, to be honest. She fiddled around with her bracelets, underscoring her words with the reverberating tinkling of metal against metal. ¡°When I made this deck, I planned on making fifty-two cards. I wrote all the messages and meanings out in advance. Developed spells for them. Made bargains with them to show up at exactly the right times for exactly the right people. But when I finished number fifty-two, I had one blank card left. I counted my deck fifteen times to make sure, and there was no doubt about it. Fate asked me to create one more card. So I did. I slept on it, and at the crack of dawn, not even fully awake yet, I made this card.¡± I felt an unease creep into my stomach, along with anticipation. ¡°I have never pulled it. In all my years of doing this. Not for myself, not for a customer.¡± My heart was pounding by now. My mind told me I was being fooled, that this was a show to try and extract more money from a silly man looking for love. I wasn¡¯t even looking for love, to be honest. I had other things to do first. But there was something that made me stay. Something that pulled at my soul. This card¡­ ¡°This card¡­¡± She looked at me with silvery tear glistening in her eyes. ¡°Is for you.¡± Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. Only then did she reveal it to me. A drawing of a young woman. Bronze skin. Black curls. Closed eyes. Behind her, seemingly made of light and whispers, wings stretched out. She looked like she¡¯d been hit by one of those extremely rare bouts of benevolent Damagic. Like she was a legend turned reality. ¡°Don¡¯t take the image too literally,¡± the fortune teller said. ¡°My cards are meant to be symbolic. Up for individual interpretation.¡± ¡°My true love is no fairy, then?¡± I asked with a grin that must have looked crooked, but she didn¡¯t seem to hear or see me. That didn¡¯t matter. I didn¡¯t really mind her either. All my attention went to the drawn woman, and I took in all of her, as if to brandish the image into my mind. Maybe I could try to draw her on the sheet the fortune teller would provide me with, to keep her close. Though I didn¡¯t think I could ever erase this image from my mind¡¯s eye. ¡°Having said all that¡­¡± She swallowed. ¡°Sorry about the darkness.¡± ¡°What darkness?¡± I asked. The fortune teller had turned silent and it took several heartbeats for me to notice. Darkness? Oh! The background of the card resembled deep, black smoke. ¡°Isn''t the dark just meant to bring out the light of her wings?¡± She blinked, and a faint smile curled her lips. ¡°Perhaps. But¡­¡± She lifted her cards and showed them to me. None of them had a dark background. Not even the ones where she¡¯d played with light, or where some kind of magic made the paint shimmer. ¡°What does that mean?¡± I asked. Now that I noticed the darkness, all but whirling behind the beautiful wings, it seemed to grow even darker. She just shook her head. ¡°Take the card and go. You¡¯ll know.¡± ¡°But¡­¡± Eleysa had received a page full of notes, answers and predictions. I was standing there, a single card in my hands and a mind full of questions. But the woman ushered me out, and all I could do was keep the card close. I tucked it away in my purse, beneath my clothes, close to my chest, and I imagined I could feel the energy coming off it. My card. My secret. I couldn¡¯t even tell Eleysa about it. It somehow felt too¡­ personal. She is still staff, even if we¡¯ve been traveling together for weeks now. I glance at her, walking beside the cart I¡¯m pushing to warn me about pits and bumps in the road. It¡¯s warm here, a different heat from my hometown by the coast. Luckily, there¡¯s a patch of trees nearby. I¡¯ll be glad to walk in the shade for a while again. The card is still close to my skin. Eleysa¡¯s given up on asking about it. She¡¯s no longer yapping about what the fortune teller told her, either. She¡¯s tired. So am I. I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if even the fish in the tank I¡¯m taking halfway across the continent are. I¡¯ve covered the glass aquarium with a cloth so the traveling won¡¯t upset them too much ¡ª fish aren¡¯t meant to travel by road of course, and it¡¯s been a long one. I stop the cart just to check up on them. We¡¯ve lost three already, and I want to make sure these will make it to our destination. There¡¯s no wind, not even a little breeze, so I didn¡¯t need to tie down the cloth today. I can scan our precious cargo quickly. The water¡¯s clear. The fish are swimming, turning their silvery white bodies toward the light. Good. They¡¯re fine. Nobody wants to buy fish that have been dead for days, no matter how much treasure is in them, and we have a long way to go still. Goresch is just a stopover. We¡¯ll be there for a few days, before we move¡ª There¡¯s a rustling in the trees ahead that immediately has me on edge. ¡°Gil¡­¡± Eleysa warns, and my mouth turns dry. The canopy of the forest in front of us is shaking. The roar of splintering wood and falling trees rolls over us. ¡°Eleysa, watch out!¡± I yell. An enormous tree keels over and some force is pulling at the long, bleak grass by the sides of the road. A curse I¡¯ve never said before leaves my lips. Damagic. Maybe it won¡¯t hit us. It¡¯s so erratic and strange¡­ No. We¡¯ll be hit. ¡°Behind the wagon!¡± I shout at Eleysa and I wrap myself around the front of the tank, to protect it from what must be some kind of supernatural wind. I have to keep the fish safe. My father will kill me if¡ª The Damagic crashes into me. The glass of the tank shatters and pain bursts out in my hands, my arms, my chest. The pain in my left eye glows up in bright, piercing white. Someone screams and I realize it¡¯s me. Water is pouring down the front of my body, cold and biting. ¡°The fish!¡± I yell, throwing my arms forward as if that will hold the glass together. A sharp edge tears into my flesh. My vision is blurry when I open my eyes ¡ª only the right one, because the left hurts too much. The lower half of the tank is still intact. Something is floundering against my foot. ¡°Get it,¡± I yell at Eleysa. My wrist is bleeding. The front of my clothes has turned a deep red, black at the edges. Or is something else taking away the light? ¡°Gil!¡± Eleysa yells. And then, the screams and the pain tearing me to pieces all fade away into darkness, deepened by the image of wings made of whispers and light. Chapter 1 Ennah Sentisse, 66 years after the Rise This is the life. I barely manage to repress a very content sigh as I roll over onto my side, aiming to kiss Amador out of his satisfied slumber. I almost giggle as I imagine myself a princess rescuing a prince for once. But before I even reach Amador, who¡¯s right by my side, the piercing sound of Uncle Aniol¡¯s voice shatters the cool, lazy atmosphere that usually lingers after Amador and I have made love. ¡°Ennah!¡± Of course it¡¯s my name he¡¯s shouting. You¡¯d think that he¡¯d be tired of it by now, but the opposite is true. He¡¯s probably fussing about some chore I didn¡¯t do well enough ¡ª it seems like I¡¯m unable to do any chores right as of late ¡ª and I contemplate ignoring him altogether. But that would be one of the worst things I could do. He¡¯ll keep looking until he finds me, and if he does, and I¡¯m here with Amador, I¡¯m done for. So instead of kissing Amador like I want to, I roll the other way, hissing his name as I reach for my dress that¡¯s a sad little heap on the floor. I come up short, even when I stretch myself to the limit, and with a barely audible grunt I drop off the makeshift bed to grab it. The familiar jangle of my ankle bracelets is drowned out by another shout penetrating into the wine cellar and I stop to listen. It came from outside, right? Not from upstairs? Yes, probably outside. But that¡¯s just a temporary relief; the barn door is unlocked, of course. He could barge in any time. Dress firmly in hand, I turn to Amador, who is stretching his muscular naked body, still sluggish from spending midday slumbers by my side ¡ª most of that time on top of me, to be fair. He doesn¡¯t seem to quite grasp the gravity of the situation. ¡°Hmmm?¡± ¡°Uncle Aniol is here. Make sure he doesn¡¯t see you.¡± I pull the dress over my head and thrust my arms through the sleeve holes, scolding myself for not doing this standing up. ¡°Can¡¯t you just ignore him?¡± Amador asks. He rolls over to stroke my hair, smoothing a loose lock behind my ear. Normally, I would have melted for him, but not now. And oh feathers, I must look like a mess! My hands already fly up to do something about what is probably one big tangle of black curls. ¡°I need to¡­¡± I start, but Amador kisses me before I can even finish the words. He tastes of the sips of wine we¡¯ve taken from one of the unsellable bottles ¡ª the liquid usually tastes like tart lemonade, but with Amador present, everything somehow becomes wonderful. As long as we aren¡¯t found out, of course. That would be the worst. I¡¯m not even supposed to know Amador ¡ª I met him accidentally when he brought over a box of brand new bottles a few months ago, bottles that his father had forgotten upon delivery earlier that day. The thought of me having a lover would freak out both Uncle Aniol and Aunt Carme alike, and Granny would have exploded for sure. But how can I resist a guy that tastes and feels so good? I need him, need something to keep myself from going mad. I¡¯m grateful for Aunt Carme and Uncle Aniol taking Granny and me in, I truly am, but¡­ There comes a point when even the most welcome of refuges melts into a prison. Who can blame me for trying to find just a smidge of freedom by choosing to love Amador? He is the only breath of fresh air I have. With considerable reluctance and a moan that hopefully conveys that I want more of this at a later time, I break off our kiss and sit down to hastily tie my buttons. Amador lies on his stomach, his arms hanging over the edges of the bed. He takes one of the black crystals on my ankle bracelet between his fingers, and I pull back my foot as if he''s burned me. ¡°Don''t,¡± I say sharply. He looks at me. ¡°Why are you so touchy about those?¡± ¡°They''re an heirloom,¡± I snap. ¡°You know that.¡± The only thing I have left from a mother I don¡¯t remember, and now that my grandmother is gone too¡­ I avert my eyes, because I¡¯m not sure if I can refrain from tearing up if I meet Amador¡¯s gaze now. He makes an indignant sound as I scramble to my feet. ¡°Please make sure he doesn''t see you.¡± ¡°I''ll be careful,¡± Amador mutters. Maybe I''m a bit pushy about our relationship remaining a secret ¡ª only now that Uncle Aniol is so blatantly bossing me around does it dawn on me how trying that could be. But it''s vital Uncle Aniol never finds out. ¡°Love you,¡± I say, feeling the apologies behind the words as I quickly kiss him on the head. I close my eyes for a second as his fingers caress my calves and neatly stop before they reach my bracelets, and then I turn around reluctantly to escape his pull. The squeak of a door, upstairs. ¡°Ennah!¡± Something in Uncle Aniol¡¯s voice makes me shudder. ¡°I have to go.¡± With Amador present, I can''t do anything but take the annoying route: the stairs. I shoot a last apologetic look at him and put my foot on the first step, reminding myself to touch each and every one of them. It''s not just that I need to keep Amador a secret ¡ª there are secrets to keep from Amador as well. ¡°Ennah!¡± I have to meet Uncle Aniol as if I''ve simply retreated into the cool basement for midday slumbers. Maybe I can use Aunt Carme as an excuse, she wasn¡¯t feeling well earlier today and Uncle Aniol will believe me instantly if I say I didn¡¯t want to disturb her. ¡°I''m here!" I shout, hopefully stopping him from looking for me any further. Deliberately yawning, I reach the top of the stairs just as Uncle Aniol emerges from behind a stack of barrels. I knew it was smart to move them there, blocking the direct view to the stairs. His expression has me worried. This is not Uncle Aniol being mad over shoddily swept floors. Something¡¯s wrong. Only now I realize that it¡¯s still extremely hot ¡ª Uncle Aniol braved the midday heat to fetch me. Feathers! ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± ¡°Come.¡± It''s a command. He doesn''t even wait for an answer; he simply turns on his heel and sets off into the blistering sun. If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. I follow suit. Leaving the barn is good. Leaving means Amador can slip out of here and get off the premises without being noticed. Yet something feels off, and a nervous fluttering takes over more and more of my stomach. Why won¡¯t Uncle Aniol just tell me what¡¯s going on? His strides are long and swift; I occasionally have to break into a run to keep up as we move along rows and rows of grapevines. When we pass the house instead of going inside to the cool rooms carved into the rockface, the unease in my belly ramps up even more. So that¡¯s where we¡¯re headed: the shack at the back of the fields. It looks like it could topple over any minute; Granny has made sure it comes across that way. In reality, it''s probably the sturdiest building on the whole compound. The cracks in the roof only let sunshine in and the temperature inside is always nice and even. I suspect Granny has even put some kind of charm on the place to keep the dust out. A lot of warm memories cling to the shack as if the walls are permeated with them, but I¡¯ve been shunning the place for a few months now. Warm, loving memories hurt tremendously when you miss the person you made them with so much. Admittedly, making the brew in the shack just a few weeks ago has lessened the hurt a bit. Oh dear, the brew! Have I made a mistake? ¡°Uncle,¡± I manage, ¡°Did something go wrong¡­¡± I hate how much I¡¯m panting. ¡°¡­With the brew?¡± ¡°Shhh!" he snaps at me. ¡°Never speak of it outside!¡± ¡°Sorry,¡± I breathe, but he doesn''t seem to hear me as we stalk past yet another row of vines, packed with sour, scrawny grapes ¡ª Uncle Aniol''s best-kept secret. He never allows anyone to see the grounds up close and even keeps the first rows of vines meticulously clear of bunches so he can always claim he''s just harvested them ¡ª them meaning those big, shiny, round grapes he grows in his imagination, of course. In reality, the brew is the only reason there is any wine leaving the premises at all. Without Granny''s magic, the vineyard would have been dead and dusted over years ago, for nobody with even poorly functioning tastebuds would drink the stuff extracted from the sorry excuses for grapes that grow here, let alone pay for it. Not that I''m stupid enough to say that to Uncle Aniol''s face. He''d lock me up and... Oh no. Is that what he''s going to do? But¡­ Why? Unless¡­ As if he knows what I¡¯m thinking, he grunts out, ¡°I''ve called for a Healer.¡± Oh no. Aunt Carme must be sicker than I thought, and it makes my breath falter. Running through the midday heat must have turned my cheeks a bright red, but now all blood must be drained from them as ice grips my heart. I fly forward, gaining on Uncle Aniol fast now that I¡¯m not dependent on the path. ¡°Why, what¡¯s wrong with her?¡± He stops walking straight away, his eyes blazing with fury. ¡°Get down! Are you insane?¡± ¡°Will she be alright?¡± ¡°You do realize a Healer is a Mage, right?¡± Uncle Aniol snaps, as if I¡¯m some stupid child instead of a twenty-one-year-old woman. I place both my feet firmly on the ground, heat creeping to my cheeks. Feathers, I should have walked. ¡°Of course I do. But¡ª¡± Who cares? Aunt Carme needs a Healer, she might die! I can¡¯t leave her side, I have to¡ª ¡°Just think for a second what would happen if he saw you.¡± I don¡¯t think anything will happen ¡ª there are more Mages in the world than the one that¡¯s after me, and if I keep my feet firmly on the ground, he won¡¯t know I can do anything weird, will he? And even if he notices, the chances of our Healer knowing that Mage are ridiculously small, and the chance of him being that Mage is infinitely smaller still. ¡°I promise I¡¯ll¡ª¡± ¡°This is not open to discussion, Ennah.¡± I can only stare at him. ¡°I¡¯m a grown woman. I want to be there for Aunt Carme. I¡¯ll make sure I¡¯ll stay on the ground and¡ª¡± ¡°Like you did a minute ago?¡± Feathers. I messed up big time. My few feet of flying has only shown him how careless I am, that he¡¯s right to lock me away while the Healer is here. ¡°Come.¡± The demand in Uncle Aniol¡¯s voice is crystal clear, almost aggressive. Again, he doesn''t wait for an answer before stomping off, forcing me to run to keep up, my ankle bracelets chiming with every hasty step. ¡°But Aunt Carme¡­ Will she be alright?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve called for a Healer, not an undertaker,¡± he grunts. The thought alone makes me shiver. The undertaker was our last guest, if you want to call it that, and I needed to keep to my room when he came. I always do. Well, not that we have many visitors. Aside from Amador and his father, the local glass blower, we rarely see anyone ¡ª not even family members. On the rare occasion customers need to come here to do business, Uncle Aniol handles the call himself. I only do correspondence. And heavy lifting. And an endless amount of chores. What I¡¯d give to have to sweep the floor right now. We pass Granny¡¯s grave just outside the shack, and he marches right by it toward the door, yanking it open while roaring at me to hurry up. No time to even send her my love. The scowl I shoot his way should have him catch fire or something like that, but of course, nothing of the sort happens. Uncle Aniol is unaware of the tears in my eyes, or he simply chooses to ignore them as he closes the door and turns toward me. The sunlight coming in from the cracks in the roof does little to brighten the dark; the transition from unrestricted sunshine to deep shadows is profound. At the back of the shack, the contours of the built-in walk-in closet are no less visible than if the shack had bathed in bright sunlight, though. I can all but sense it being there, the ugly box that¡¯s almost a room in itself. The only nice thing about it is the stained glass panel above the door. ¡°Please, Uncle. Not the closet.¡± He¡¯s locked me in that tight space so many times when I was young that I get a visceral reaction at the thought alone. ¡°I¡¯ll stay in here. This door locks too. I promise I won¡¯t fly, I assure you nobody will know I¡¯m even here.¡± I¡¯m all but begging him, I know, but it seems like the only thing to do. He must know how awful that closet is to me. ¡°Don¡¯t lock me up in there. I¡¯ll be quiet as a mouse.¡± He looks at me, his eyes dark and weary. ¡°Uncle, please¡­¡± He shakes his head. ¡°I have to lock you away, Ennah. You need to be safe.¡± I swallow away the chills that come up when hearing him say these words. He wants me to be safe. I get it. I should be grateful for his diligence ¡ª he¡¯s been protecting me for almost twenty years now, and I truly am safe here. But I¡¯d be just as safe in this shack as I¡¯d be in the closet ¡ª safer even, for the dark, small space will have me freaking out in no time, eating at my sanity. Feathers, I haven¡¯t even been inside this closet for years ¡ª Granny and Aunt Carme convinced Uncle Aniol that I was smart enough to stay out of sight when we had visitors when I was about thirteen. How is it possible that I find myself back here again? ¡°Please, Uncle Aniol. I know I have to stay hidden. I know you want to keep me safe, and I thank you for that. But I¡¯ll be safe enough when I¡¯m in here. I¡­¡± He shakes his head. ¡°They cannot find you.¡± I walk over to him, pleading, begging. ¡°I¡¯ll stay inside, I¡¯ll even stay inside the closet if you want me to. Just please don¡¯t lock it.¡± The thought of being trapped in there makes my insides churn. Sweat starts trickling on my brow and takes to the air. ¡°Ennah!¡± His shout makes me stumble backward. ¡°I¡¯m not asking. And it doesn¡¯t bring me any pleasure to do this. But I have to. For all of our sakes.¡± My breath hitches. ¡°Please! I won¡¯t¡ª¡± ¡°Go!¡± He¡¯s serious. He really means it. I''m twenty-two, and he wants to shove me into a closet as if I''m an irresponsible little kid who has no control over her powers. And after flying after him like I did¡­ Can I blame him for thinking I still am that child? Feathers, I brought this on myself. Stupid me. ¡°Now.¡± I know I¡¯m slumping as the jangling of my ankle bracelets complements the ringing of the keys he takes out of his pocket. I walk by him without granting him as much as a look, making for the even deeper darkness of the closet. The only light to fall into the tight space comes through the window above the door, its colors far too cheerful for such a gloomy destination. ¡°I hate you¡­¡± I whisper as he reaches for the door to shut it. ¡°I know,¡± he says. ¡°I¡¯ll come and get you when it¡¯s safe again.¡± The sound of the key being turned in the lock, scraping away six years'' worth of rust, makes my hair stand on end. To chase away the nightmare images that are so deeply connected to being locked up in here, I cling to my anger as if nothing else matters, letting it consume me. Unbelievable. Unbelievable! I¡¯m so mad don¡¯t know whether to cry or break something. I bang my fist against the door, but accomplish nothing but hurting my wrist, and that does very little to soothe the rage that¡¯s roiling through me. Uncle Aniol¡¯s footsteps don¡¯t falter in the slightest, though. I hear him close the other door. A key is screeching as it¡¯s being turned, and then¡­ silence. Deep, dark silence, only broken by the sob that wells up in my throat. Chapter 2 Ennah Sentisse, 66 years after the Rise I bend forward to undo the clasps of my ankle bracelets ¡ª Uncle Aniol thinks I can¡¯t do that, but I¡¯ve been able to ever since I was old enough to understand that flying is not something normal people do. The bracelets are steeped in some kind of magic that prevents me from soaring too high, and I see how wearing them is smart. But in here there¡¯s no need to be smart, or careful. No one will see me anyway. I¡¯m stuck¡­ I swallow the fear down. I¡¯m fine. It¡¯s just the closet. I can move. I can breathe. Just breathe, En. The black crystals fall to the floor, flimsy victims of gravity while my whole body is being released from the clutches of that pull. I don¡¯t even have to push myself off the ground. The relief of finally being allowed to go upwards again washes over me; it feels so freeing to finally be rid of what kept me grounded. My feet relax as they no longer have to press against the floor beneath me, and tears ¡ª I¡¯m not even sure if they¡¯re from relief or sadness ¡ª well up in my eyes. The ones that I flick off hover in front of my face like pearl beads, lighting up in yellow and blue in front of the stained glass panels. I touch the cold, smooth surface, tracing one of the dark strands of lead outlining what I can only describe as a manor with high, pointed arches. Granny loved it; I remember her excitement when it came in, and how painstakingly careful she was about placing the delicate, thin glass panes above the door ¡ª she did it all by herself without any use of Magic. Then, she pulled me to her lap and told me that this magical place, which seemed like something straight from a fairy tale book, was my future. My home. She told me my parents lived there, in that big, yellow building. The manor helped to keep me sane. It was something to long for, a dream I could see with my eyes open, and put all my hopes on. It made being in this closet a bit more bearable. Back then, Granny had also made sure there were things to do, like puzzles and books. Several lanterns were stored here, to keep my gruesome memories at bay. We even kept craft supplies, and a jar of cookies, on the lowest shelf to the right, was always filled to the brim. On the floor, in the corner, the dreaded lidded bucket was there for when I needed to go. Everything is gone now. Only this window remains to distract me from the fact that I¡¯m trapped. I move closer to the panes. Behind and beside me, the tears that have floated beyond my reach now fall like a particularly well-contained rainspill, while other droplets hit my face like a soft, somewhat salty shower. Some trickle onto the glass and I follow their lead, resting my head against the cool panels. The lead ridges between them almost feel like writing against my skin, or a map. I close my eyes and use my connection to the smooth surface to keep myself in the here and now, to not get lost in old memories that are already gnawing at my sanity. No. I won¡¯t allow them in. Breathe. Just breathe. I don¡¯t know how long I¡¯m in this position, forehead to glass, but when I finally open my eyes, I do feel better. Stating that I¡¯m calm would be taking it too far, but I¡¯ve overcome the panic that threatened to take me over. When I was little, the panic would win. Conquering it now is a small victory, but I¡¯ll take it with both hands. When I float back a little, I take in the image of the manor. Behind it, I can see the niche high up in the shack¡¯s wall, where Granny¡¯s chest is hidden. It¡¯s a small box, nothing fancy, but it was her tiny treasure trove. I keep everything of importance in there. A few pictures, a small pouch of money, her most valued possession: the spellbook, and my most valued one: the bottle containing the last heart of light she left me. I almost start crying again as I realize how badly I want to open that chest and pull out the bottle, just to see the proof of her love. To hold something of hers in my hands again. I miss her so much. Everything here radiates Granny, her essence, her energy. Radiates our life together. I blink as the thought hits me. This is my home. From inside this closet, I¡¯m looking into my life on the outside. My world. My home. My skin feels heated and taut, and the headache that always lingers after crying is settling in my brain, but my mind has cleared. The yellow manor is nothing but a fairytale. See-through and fragile like the glass it¡¯s made of. My real home¡­ is here. It¡¯s this scrappy vineyard, that¡¯s only kept afloat because of the Magic I can wield. I can¡¯t leave. Where would Uncle Aniol and Aunt Carme be without me? I can¡¯t let all their efforts go to waste, can I? I look at the manor again, and now it¡¯s so obvious that a laugh escapes me, reverberating through this small space like it doesn¡¯t belong. The manor is nothing to me. This is where I¡¯m supposed to be. With Aunt Carme. Even with Uncle Aniol. And Amador. Feathers, how could I forget about Amador? How can I even contemplate leaving him behind? My breath hitches. I could never do that. But¡­ Will I betray Granny and everything she fought for if I don¡¯t go home? If I ever get the message that it is safe for me to leave, can I ignore it and continue my life here, without ever seeking the yellow manor? Will I even be able to find it, now that Granny is gone? Did she leave instructions in the chest? Oh, what am I even thinking! I lower myself to almost floor level, hovering just a few inches above the compacted earth, and for once I don¡¯t mind the lack of light, as if these forbidden thoughts need darkness. I have to start at the beginning. All my life, I¡¯ve been told this was a temporary home. That one day soon a letter would arrive saying everything was safe. That the Mage was no longer searching for me. Every time I open the mailbox, there is this faint glimmer of hope that today will be the day, and every single day that hope gets eroded by another bill, another order, some weird fish company I¡¯ve never heard of requesting a collaboration, or one of the many letters Aunt Carme receives. Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. Is it time to let go of the last scraps of hope and really start building a life here? The thought of having to go to some strangers¡¯ home, without Granny by my side, makes my heart contract. Home should be where the heart is, right? My heart is not with parents I don¡¯t remember, siblings I¡¯m not even sure exist, yellow walls I¡¯ve never seen before and arches that may be pretty but aren¡¯t mine. I love this crooked shack. I love the vines and the mountains and the scent of sweet meibol flowers in the morning. Here, I am safe from that Mage. Drawing in a deep breath, I feel the change sinking into the deeper layers of who I am, and it feels good. Suddenly, even sweeping the floor has meaning. All my chores are less dull not that I don¡¯t think of them as things I need to do to ensure my place here, but see them as means to make this vineyard flourish. With Amador by my side¡­ Tingles awaken all over my body. I can hardly believe how exciting this feels. Of course, I¡¯ll have to talk to them. Aunt Carme will love it if I stay here. Uncle Aniol¡­ Well, he¡¯ll like the idea of having me around for the things I already do. But if I can prove to him what an asset I can be, and if I can make him see how different everything will be as soon as I really step up my game, he¡¯ll be happy to have me. He¡¯ll treat me like an equal, like he treats Aunt Carme and, to a certain extent, Granny. I softly land on the floor, my heart still light in my chest. I¡¯ll talk to him. Tonight, over dinner. And just to accommodate him, I decide to fasten the ankle bracelets in advance. I want to be standing tall and grounded when he opens the door, a picture of responsibility and, well, maturity. I¡¯m done goofing around. The sound of a key being turned comes much sooner than I thought. Uncle Aniol must have taken Nilda to get to town, and ridden her fast. And if he¡¯s here, the Healer must have already departed. Is that good or bad? My heart is pounding as I hear Uncle Aniol¡¯s footsteps coming my way. I stand up tall, my spine straightened, my face a mask of calm. Time to show him who I can be, no matter how fast my heart beats now. Thoughts fight for attention in my brain. How is Aunt Carme doing? Will she be alright? How should I approach the subject of my staying here, and when can I tell them about Amador? Oh feathers, I need to tell them about Amador ¡ª both of them! The light is bright when the door opens, Uncle Aniol is nothing but a deep, dark shadow against it. ¡°Come,¡± he says. ¡°How is Aunt Carme doing?¡± I blurt out. Uncle Aniol just huffs. ¡°What did the Healer say? Will she recover?¡± He¡¯s already halfway out the door and I hastily run after him, making sure my feet hit the floor with every step. Or well, at least my toes do. My uncle doesn¡¯t even look at me when he says, ¡°There are several orders that need to go out tomorrow. I need you to load the barrels onto the platform. The list is on the desk.¡± I blink and take another sprint after him. The sun is already quite low in the sky, it¡¯ll disappear behind the mountain ridge soon. The heat lingers, though. I can feel my cheeks glowing again. ¡°But Aunt Carme,¡± I insist. ¡°What can I do to help her?¡± ¡°Nothing.¡± What? He called for a Healer, for crying out loud. What won¡¯t he tell me? ¡°Surely there¡¯s something I can¡ª¡± Now he turns around and the darkness in his eyes surprises me. ¡°You are to do nothing.¡± ¡°What? Why am I¡ª¡± ¡°Ennah!¡± He all but roars my name. ¡°I don¡¯t want to see you, I don¡¯t want to hear you. Get those barrels ready and start making dinner. Something with onions. A lot of onions. And fluids. No milk.¡± ¡°Alright, but¡ª¡± ¡°No buts! Just do it.¡± He leaves me standing and all I can do is stare at the back of his head. I¡¯m not sure what just happened. Or well, he took out his foul mood on me. Something to address now that I¡¯m staying here. But why won¡¯t he even tell me how Aunt Carme is doing? I¡¯m not sure if I¡¯ll ever understand this man. But at least I¡¯m no longer locked up. And I¡¯m standing right beside Granny¡¯s grave. I¡¯m a bit nauseous when I turn toward it. Maybe telling her about my plans is a good way to start, but it feels heavy. I¡¯m shattering everything she fought for, after all. ¡°Gran?¡± I softly say, tears stinging my eyes again. ¡°How are you?¡± Stupid question. I don¡¯t think there are various states of being gone. But I don¡¯t know where to find the words I need to say. My hand lifts as if it¡¯s got a mind of its own, my lips parting, ready to cast the spell that will produce a heart of pure light. My version of the one that¡¯s in the bottle in Granny¡¯s chest ¡ª we always used to send each other love that way. I need her to know that I love her, that I¡¯m not purposely¡ª ¡°What are you doing!¡± I didn¡¯t even see Uncle Aniol coming. He slaps my hand down so hard that I¡¯m thrown off balance and have to catch myself from falling. ¡°What¡ª¡± ¡°What are you thinking?¡± I can¡¯t even form words in my mind, let alone out loud. ¡°No Magic! Are you mad?¡± ¡°But¡ª¡± His face is a mask of fury and fear. ¡°There¡¯s Damagic, Ennah.¡± ¡°Oh!¡± That¡¯s bad. That¡¯s really bad. My mouth goes dry and my stomach drops. ¡°I learned of it when I was in town. Just north of the Arcendros Peaks.¡± ¡°But that¡¯s half a country¡ª¡± ¡°It¡¯s Damagic!¡± He bellows so loudly there¡¯s spit flying everywhere, even my gravitational anomalies do little to prevent some droplets from hitting me. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I¡ª¡± ¡°And you were going use Magic!¡± I gasp for air. He cannot take all of this out on me. ¡°If you would have told me¡­¡± ¡°Outside!¡± ¡°Bu¡ª¡± ¡°You know how dangerous that is!¡± ¡°We¡¯re at the very back of the premises. It¡¯s just a heart. A bending of the light¡­¡± ¡°It¡¯s Magic!¡± He¡¯s roaring into my ears now. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t be able to use Magic in the first place. Don¡¯t you dare attract Damagic with your unnatural ways.¡± ¡°Unnatural¡­¡± I should be baffled that Uncle Aniol is able to evoke so much anger in me that all the fear about the Damagic is smothered instantly. ¡°I¡¯m the one saving this sorry excuse for a vineyard from bankruptcy.¡± He doesn¡¯t even seem to hear me. ¡°A woman performing Magic. It¡¯s an abomination. You women are the reason Damagic even exists!¡± ¡°Granny said¡ª¡± ¡°I don¡¯t give a flying goose about what Nora said!¡± I can¡¯t believe my own ears. ¡°She saved your ass when¡ª¡± ¡°You will not perform any Magic unless it¡¯s absolutely necessary! It¡¯s bad enough that you are Magic.¡± The disgust in his voice knocks the air out of me. I am Magic. Which means I¡¯m hideous. Tainted, beyond redemption. What if Amador thinks I¡¯m touched by Damagic? What if he thinks I¡¯m dangerous and irreversibly flawed? Feathers. My thoughts are racing now. I¡¯ve always made sure he doesn¡¯t know anything about my weightlessness to keep him from betraying me ¡ª even though I¡¯d trust him with my life, I know a slip of the tongue is easily made. Now that I¡¯ve decided to stay, and that he needs to know about my abilities, there¡¯s another factor to maintaining the secrecy that I never even considered. He might reject me once he learns of my Magic. It won¡¯t matter that a Mage put a spell on me and almost killed me in doing so, Magic is Magic. And I cannot prove it was a Mage instead of Damagic. All I have are Granny¡¯s stories and my memories. I feel so nauseous now that I need to take slow, deep breaths to keep from throwing up. Somehow, Uncle Aniol¡¯s anger seems to have fled him too. He doesn¡¯t shout anymore, though his voice is still laced with venom when he says, ¡°Make sure you stay on the ground. With Damagic closing in, C¨¤gila will surely be around shortly.¡± Another blow to the shreds of self-control I¡¯m desperately clinging to. C¨¤gila. An organization that promises to keep businesses and families alike safe against Damagic ¡ª at a generous fee, of course. They¡¯re supposed to be brutal. Granny called them a bunch of thugs, charlatans if she was on the beat, but even I know they¡¯re trouble. Even inclined to believe Granny¡¯s accusations, fear always trickles in whenever I hear the name. Now, it¡¯s like an entire flood of anxiety washing over me. ¡°No Magic, Ennah,¡± Uncle Aniol says. ¡°You don¡¯t want to attract Damagic, and you don¡¯t want to attract the attention of a C¨¤gilan.¡± ¡°No,¡± I whisper. ¡°Good. Now get your ass over to the storage barns and get those orders ready.¡± I nod, but he doesn¡¯t even watch me long enough to see it. Doesn¡¯t see how hard his words have hit home. He doesn¡¯t wait for my reply to his demands, either. He just assumes that I will do as I¡¯m told. Because I always do. I never have any say in matters. I never have the last word. I always lose. Chapter 3 Kayetan Yoszovar, 5 years before the Rise I cannot suppress the shiver running down my spine upon approaching the enormous doors of Vorvalus Manor. They¡¯re gleaming in the sunlight which also gives the walls an almost golden gleam, and my heart starts pounding as I reach for the knocker. This is it. I made it. I have to keep from pinching myself, for I barely believe it. The weight of the bag hanging off my shoulder makes it more real though, and there¡¯s a twinge in my heart at the thought of leaving Sylva at Moppa Verin¡¯s, so I know I can¡¯t be dreaming. The door opens, revealing a tall man wearing an impeccable blue uniform. His black hair is starting to turn grey at his temples, giving him a sophisticated look. I feel like I¡¯m shrinking under the curious gaze in his green eyes. I¡¯m dressed as posh as I can, but even in his working attire, this man outdresses me completely. ¡°Masterling Kayetan Dynisa, I presume?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I try to say, but my voice cracks. I quickly clear my throat and my second attempt is a lot better. ¡°Yes, I am. How do you do.¡± He looks at my outstretched hand like it¡¯s an anomaly before his lips curl into the hint of a smile and he takes it. His handshake is firm. ¡°Haenar,¡± he says. ¡°Head valet of the Vorvalus Magic wing.¡± A whole wing just for Magic? I knew I made the right choice in pursuing an internship with Grand Master Vorvalus, but an entire wing of this mansion dedicated to Magic? My heart skips a beat and my breath hitches for just a moment. ¡°Pleased to meet you, sir.¡± ¡°Likewise.¡± His smile is widening a bit. ¡°Please come in.¡± He steps aside, revealing an enormous hall the likes of which I have never seen before. Even the town hall in my hometown was smaller than this, and looked like a dark cave compared to this room. The hall is bigger than the largest auditorium at school. The floor is shining, the walls are so white they seem to glow in the sunlight falling from several glass domes in the ceiling, and two galleries stretch out along the walls; the higher floors. The banisters around the galleries are made of curling branches of the winding willows I¡¯ve only heard of, but never seen. They must have cost a fortune. ¡°Master Vorvalus will be right with you,¡± Haenar says and I nod, taking in his words but unable to tear my eyes from the beauty around me. At the back, above an enormous stairway, there¡¯s a huge stained glass window with the Vorvalus symbol forged into it. The square in the diamond. When I step closer, I can see the three-dimensional effect that can only have been brought about by Magic. Knowing how intricate this Magic is, makes the triumph of being here taste even sweeter. In front of the stairs leading to the higher floors, there¡¯s another Vorvalus symbol. It looks like a statue made of glass and light, so beautiful that I don¡¯t understand how it¡¯s standing here, perched on its pedestal like it¡¯s something normal, when I can¡¯t even begin to fathom how this shape must have been made. The Vorvalus symbol has always elicited awe in me ¡ª the platonic solids for earth and air combined radiate a power that I can almost feel now that I¡¯m in this hall, seeing the solids larger and more innundated with Magic than I¡¯ve ever seen them ¡ª and I¡¯m beside the statue before I even know I decided to go here. The artistry is marvelous. I can¡¯t believe how nothing but simple lines coming together to form an octahedron and a cube become so much more than the sum of a few lines. I find I¡¯m hardly breathing as I try to keep myself from running my fingers along the frame. I take hold of the strap of my bad to ensure my hands won¡¯t stray that way. What kind of material is this? Mountain crystal? I close my eyes for a second, allowing the frequency these powerful symbols are resonating at to permeate me. Soon, I will master these symbols and the three other platonic solids so well that my Magic will push the boundaries of possibility too. I can feel it, the power just beyond my reach, the power I¡¯ve been closing in on every single day since I enrolled in school. I know I¡¯ve already mastered a basic level of the Magic ¡ª I¡¯ve been paying my bills by fixing people¡¯s broken stuff for two years now. From pots and pans to jewelry and ripped-up paintings, they all found their way to me. One time I was even asked to restore a half-burned dress. I used both mechanical tools as well as Magic, and got quite a reputation for being the fixer of things in the neighborhood. Sadly, it was a poor neighborhood and I couldn¡¯t ask much for my services, knowing I¡¯d probably rob people of their evening meal if I asked too much ¡ª I know all too well what it¡¯s like to go to bed hungry. And sure, I was happy to help, knowing that I was mastering skills and¡­ that it was leading up to this moment. Just being here is worth all those repairs, all those hours spent at the back of the classroom, working so hard while trying not to be noticed until I got the Magic just right, until I knew exactly how it worked. Hoping I wouldn¡¯t get the looks of pity that seemed to be reserved especially for the poor foreign boy trying to be a Mage. I almost chuckle at the contrast between the looks of immense gratitude from my clients and the disdain of my classmates. I can still remember Masgan¡¯s sneer when I got my water boiling faster than him, and Elrick¡¯s disgusted look when I failed to hit the moving circle once, turning the whole board yellow because of the miss. I still can¡¯t believe how he¡¯d dared to roll his eyes when he¡¯d only mastered hitting a target with color after hiring a private tutor and working on it for four weeks straight. But I beat them all. I¡¯m here. I take a deep breath, my eyes still closed, and imagine myself one day owning a mansion just like this ¡ª a fierce testament to who I am, to my accomplishments, to the journey that has taken me from nothing to everything and more. A faint smile takes over the corners of my mouth. Now that Grand Master Vorvalus has taken me under his wing, my days as a poor, struggling Mage wannabe are finally over. At last, I can give Sylva everything she wants ¡ª from the new doll she hasn¡¯t stopped talking about ever since we saw it in a shop window to the simple dresses and even undergarments I¡¯ve never been able to buy her new before. I can afford Moppa Verin to look after her full-time now, to ensure she¡¯s properly cared for ¡ª Sylva needs special care. After contracting the same fever that killed both our parents and our grandfather back home, Sylva remained pale and small. On a good day, you can see the lines of her blood vessels lavender and cornflower blue, like pathways under her skin. On a bad day, those veins look like they¡¯re inked into her, and that a mere gust of wind will be enough to make her collapse. Breathing is always a struggle for her, and I cannot count the times I feared her lungs would just give up the fight and I¡¯d lose her. If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. And yet, her deep blueish-green eyes always sparkle, and they lit up like the northern lights when I told her about the apprenticeship. She is the only one who has always believed in me. Even when I thought myself a fool, a fraud, an incapable booger head with no talent whatsoever, she refused to even listen to my complaints and kept pointing out all the ways in which I already was accomplished. Without her, I would have quit long ago. She¡¯s been my lifesaver. I¡¯ll bring her here as soon as I can. Warmth wells up in my heart at the thought, my lungs filling with air. I open my eyes to look around this wonderful hall again, turning to take in all its splendor. My bag hits something. Oh no. I turn around as fast as I can, but it¡¯s already too late. The statue of the diamond and square is toppling over. I dive forward to rescue it, but my bag slips off my shoulder forcing my elbow down, throwing me off balance, and my fingertips only graze the stone on its way down. In a last attempt to save the statue I fling Dawnt at it, hoping the spell will stop the fall, but I¡¯m also too late with that. The crystal smashes into the shiny, hardwood floor. My spell has tempered the sound, but I can feel the crash reverberating through the floor. I feel like my heart has been shattered too, along with my dreams. My knees hit the floor hard, but I don¡¯t care about that. The Vorvalus symbol is in pieces before me. But to my surprise, it hasn¡¯t smashed into a thousand pieces. The cube is split in two, and though the octahedron is no longer recognizable as such, most of its ribs are still in one piece. Not that it makes this any less of a disaster, but maybe my spell did soften the blow just a little bit. The silence around me is deafening. I¡¯m waiting for someone to barge into the hall, see this incredible mess and tell me to take my destructive bag and leave without ever looking back. How could I let this happen? What was I thinking? Almost everything I own in in this bag, and I let it¡­ I growl escapes my throat and I¡¯d give anything to go back in time and prevent this from happening. The pieces on the floor are mocking me as I¡¯m still waiting for Haenar to start yelling at me, or even Grand Master Vorvalus to barge in and realize what an utter mistake he made in bringing me on. I¡¯m done for. Unless¡­ I swallow and put my bag on the floor. Ironically, it¡¯s not even full enough to make much of a thud. I¡¯m such a fool, finding the one way in which my meager excuse for possessions could have thrown down an entire statue. Right. Let¡¯s start with the cube. The crystal is cold to the touch and a shiver rolls down my spine as I touch it. It feels like blasphemy, but I cannot go down without a fight. I cannot allow one stupid moment to ruin my entire future. I¡¯m the fixer, I can make almost anything. The almost makes my stomach churn and I swallow the bile that wants to come up, and the fear for that matter, down hard. I got this ¡ª I have to. I know the spell for uniting and seamlessly repairing things. I¡¯ve used it a thousand times. I just hope this crystal isn¡¯t Magically laden enough to reject my intentions. It seems to work. The cube is mended quite quickly, and the puzzle of the octahedron ribs turns out to be relatively simple. I¡¯m almost done with the last rib, already thinking about how to mount the statue back onto the pedestal, when a slamming door makes me jerk. I almost drop the statue again, and my heart is pounding in my throat. There¡¯s movement on the first floor. Somebody is walking. At first glance, I think it is Grand Master Vorvalus coming to greet me, but I quickly realize the error in my thinking; this long black hair belongs to a female ¡ª a girl who has to be one of Iacopor¡¯s daughters. She doesn¡¯t notice me as she hurries along the gallery ¡ª if she had, I¡¯m sure she would have stopped to accuse me of breaking the statue. As it is, she¡¯s preoccupied with something else. The anger in her pace is unmistakable. The skirt of her long, cobalt-blue dress flares behind her as she heads straight away from the door I think she just slammed shut. She is around my age, a bit younger maybe, and even this angry, she is the most beautiful girl I have ever laid eyes on. I couldn¡¯t look away if I wanted to, even with my hands stil wrapped around an almost repaired crystal octahedron. Without thinking twice ¡ª like perhaps I should have done ¡ª I whisper the words for vision enhancement. The Magic sends goosebumps down my spine, and when it kicks in I want to thank every Mage that ever lived for their wisdom, for I can see her properly now. She¡¯s stunning. Her emerald eyes sparkle fiercely and her chin is perked in the air as if she has every right to be angry and display that for all the world to see. Her slightly flushed cheeks and tight-pressed lips tell a story of determination, promising anyone who gets in her way to have proverbial fire and brimstone rain down on them. I almost want to get in her way, just so she will notice me, just so I can have her wrath wash over me, to have her energy scorch me and leave a permanent reminder of encountering such beauty on my soul. The breaking of the statue will surely do the trick. But still, she doesn¡¯t so much as glance my way. My heart makes a little jolt. If I can mend the Vorvalus symbol, we will surely meet. Without any need for anger and scorching. I hadn¡¯t thought it possible, but apprenticing with Grand Master Vorvalus just got even more magnificent, better than just a dream come true. The girl opens a door halfway along the gallery and slams it shut behind her. The sound reverberating through the hall is proof of her leaving, but in my mind¡¯s eye, I still see her walking along the balustrade, her black curls bouncing softly with every angered step she takes. I imagine her in her room, pacing up and down to try and release her fury, sending sparks of rage flying and all but lighting the drapes and trinkets that must adorn her quarters ¡ª even if her room is decorated half as luxuriously as she is beautiful, it would be a sight to behold. I blink. I am here for Magic, to be taught everything there is to know about how to wield it and use it to benefit anyone seeking help. I¡¯m here to serve the world. I cannot let a girl distract me ¡ª not even this gorgeous creation of green eyes, black curls and pure fire dressed in blue. I blink again, realizing I am still staring at the door she disappeared through. I¡¯ll have to be patient. I¡¯ll meet her soon enough. My heart, that was still pounding in anxiety over the statue I broke, now pounds at the thought of meeting her, talking to her, and my stomach is suddenly an unknown, tingling entity in my midst. I will meet her. She won¡¯t see a poor, foreign kid trying to be a Mage. She will look at me with those green eyes, and know that I am good enough to apprentice with her father, the best Mage of this time. She might even smile. I almost melt on the spot. Miss Vorvalus, smiling at me. I might commit bloody murder to have that happen. But I¡¯ll have to make sure I don¡¯t get fired for destroying art before I can do so. With a brusque motion, I tear my eyes away from the door and look at the crystal in my hands. Just one seam to go¡­ I quickly join both ends and put the statue on its socket again. Why didn¡¯t they provide a more solid base for this anyway? The octahedron is balancing on its tip, no wonder one could easily knock it over. But it¡¯s in place now. I should be fine. Quickly, I scan all the seams I¡¯ve made. They look perfect, except for¡­ Oh no. This was not a flawless fix. One of the fractures is still clearly visible, and I think a chip must have shot away, for there is a deep crevice in the smooth crystal. Barely containing a curse ¡ª in my own language so no one would know the profanity I¡¯d be spewing, but still ¡ª I scan the floor. No sign of it. I grab my bag and lift it, hoping the shard will reveal itself, but nothing. Chewing my bottom lip, I again let my gaze wander over the floor. It just gleams like nothing ever happened. Somebody coughs politely, sending me spinning around to greet Grand Master Vorvalus and pray that he hasn¡¯t seen me mending his statue. I am already scrambling at words to say to him ¡ª maybe a compliment that will show nothing but respect and admiration for her ¡ª but it isn¡¯t the Grand Master who stands only a few steps away. ¡°Surprised to see you here,¡± Elrick says. ¡°Come to ask why you didn¡¯t make it?¡± Chapter 4 Ennah Sentisse, 66 years after the Rise Carefully, I sip a spoonful of the onion soup I''m making for dinner. Despite pouring all my love into it, it tastes like bland broth. I know I¡¯m a terrible cook, but how does one spoil a soup, for feather¡¯s sake? Admittedly, this soup would have been better if I hadn¡¯t allowed my mind to keep wandering to the conversation I¡¯m about to have. As I was stacking barrels on the platform, I decided that telling Aunt Carme about my plans first is the best way to go. Uncle Aniol is still in such a foul mood I¡¯m surprised the air is still breathable, but even if he was happy as a meibol flower in spring, approaching Aunt Carme about this first is smart. She has a way of breaking things Uncle Aniol doesn¡¯t really want to hear in a fashion that leaves him upset and thrashing about the place for only a short while. My telling him about my decision to stay may upset him for days, weeks if it¡¯s ill-timed. And with Damagic running amock up north, I think telling him now will be the understatement of ill-timed. I take a deep breath. Right. Focus. Is there anything I can do to make this soup less hideous? My gaze wanders over Aunt Carme¡¯s herb collection, unsure which one might add flavor without worsening her symptoms ¡ª the Healer has her on some kind of concoction and I don¡¯t want anything to interfere with is working. If Uncle Aniol had just been a bit more informative about what exactly ails Aunt Carme, but asking him was like asking something to the moon ¡ª pointless. If I had pushed him more, he¡¯d only have started yelling at me. And Aunt Carme was asleep when I came to check on her just before starting this poor attempt at cooking, so she couldn¡¯t help me either. It felt good to see her sleeping, though. I know she didn¡¯t sleep well last night, and she looked so calm, that I know the Healer has done a great job. Thankfully. Ugh, the soup. What can I do to make it better? Will Aunt Carme even taste if it¡¯s bland? Well, at least I made sure to chop all the vegetables finely to prevent any choking. She¡¯s done enough coughing as it is. I take one last look at the soup and decide there¡¯s nothing more I can do. For Uncle Aniol and myself, I think I know what herbs to add to make the soup, well, sort of eatable. For Aunt Carme, I¡¯m afraid this¡¯ll have to be it. I¡¯ve already cut off the softest pieces of bread I could of the loaf I baked earlier ¡ª it¡¯s so hard I could almost use it as a weapon. I''ll make do with the small pieces of hard crust today; Uncle Aniol will get the more edible stuff. I clear the flat stone we use for hot items, making room for the soup pot. I meticulously place the lid on it so nothing will spill as I lift it. Liquid is tricky as it is. Hot liquid is downright dangerous, and it¡¯s already coming up ¡ª I have to actively hold the lid down as I place the pot on the stone. If I do anything with haste or carelessness, it will surely cause a mess. My fingertips are scorching and I try to flap some cool air onto them as soon as I let go of the pot. There¡¯s a reason why I rarely cook. This is even more difficult than all the dust sent afloat in the air with every sweep that I make. But it needs to be done. I don¡¯t see Uncle Aniol chopping onions or kneading bread any time soon. Too bad I¡¯m so awful at cooking and baking, it would have made a nice argument for me staying here if I could bake the best oat cookies in all of Sentisse. I think Aunt Carme is awake. The sound of coughing pierces the silence. Time to pick up the pace. Three bowls are waiting, and I fill all of them, deciding which one to give to Aunt Carme based on the amount of union floating around ¡ª the more the better, I guess. I cover her bowl with a plate for transport. Since I already tucked in the bread with a cloth so it won''t wander off when I lift it, I don¡¯t have any excuses left to dawdle. I place the bowl and the plate on a serving tray and make for the kitchen door. Oh, wait. It would also be wise to take another cloth along ¡ª coughing and soup probably don''t make for the best combination. Gracefully, I turn around, my ankle bracelets chiming sweetly. One piece of bread escapes the cloth and drifts through the air for about a heartbeat before falling prey to gravity again. When I extend my foot to return it to weightlessness once more, the chime of my ankle bracelet is more succinct. I catch the stray piece of bread and then quickly lower my hand onto the plate now wanting to drift away from the soup. Another bit of bread tries to follow its bigger predecessor, and after tugging both of them in again, I sigh. Granny has told me about jugglers, people who twirl balls and other objects around in their hands, throwing them up and always catching them. She''s compared me to one of them on several occasions ¡ª and I can almost hear Granny say it to me now. With a bittersweet smile of love and loss on my lips, I make my way to the bedroom, slowly and meticulously, making sure I don''t send stuff flying all over the place again. The door to the bedroom is closed and my hands are full. I allow myself to fly up just a little, so I can lower the doorhandle with my buttock. It¡¯s a good thing Uncle Aniol still isn¡¯t around. The room is lit with a single candle, on Aunt Carme¡¯s bedstand. She¡¯s laying down, but as soon as she sees me, she clambers upright. ¡°Do you want me to tug some pillows in behind your back?¡± I ask. ¡°Yes, dear, that would be very kind of you.¡± I smile and make sure to place the serving tray on her bedstand carefully. Aunt Carme takes over plate duty, so I can retreat without still causing the soup to splatter. It wouldn¡¯t be the first time things go sideways just when I think everything¡¯s under control. ¡°Onion soup?¡± she asks. ¡°The Master¡¯s orders,¡± I say. ¡°Hm,¡± she says, followed by a coughing fit that gives me just enough time to gather some more pillows. One of the better consequences of my condition is that I rarely have to ruffle them up; every pillow I carry immediately fluffs up. ¡°Better?¡± I ask when the coughing has died down and Aunt Carme is sitting upright. ¡°Yes, thank you, dear,¡± she says. Before, I thought she was doing better. But now I find her looking frail and small below the sheets. Her breaths are shallow, whooping with every movement of her lungs. She smiles, though. ¡°Thank you for making dinner.¡± ¡°It was the least I could do.¡± ¡°I know what a hassle it is for you, so thank you. Have you also prepared the barrels?¡± Even when ill, she still knows everything that goes on in this household and in the business. ¡°Every order is ready to be transported,¡± I say. The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. ¡°And please remember to clean the area you took them from. We don¡¯t want any dust to make its way into the wine.¡± ¡°Of course.¡± ¡°And the chickens need¡­¡± Her sentences are interlaced with coughing. ¡°Need tending to.¡± ¡°I know where we keep the grain. And how to keep Brown Bollass out of it.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t forget to make vinegar from the left-overs.¡± ¡°Aunt Carme, you don¡¯t have to remind me of this. Please, save your breath. I know what to do.¡± I¡¯m not sure what makes her so anxious about the running of the vineyard, but I know what needs to be done. The vinegar we make from the unsold wine is used to scrub the kettles and de-calcify the water reservoirs. These are things I¡¯m well aware of. ¡°If Angeline starts producing less milk¡­¡± ¡°I¡¯ll make sure to tell Uncle Aniol so he can ask the neighbors to bring their bull over.¡± I smile. This is the perfect opportunity to weave in my intentions. ¡°I know how the business works.¡± ¡°And make sure you fix problems with the water and fencing immediately.¡± ¡°I¡¯m fully supportive of it.¡± ¡°I labeled last year¡¯s produce yellow. This year needs to be orange.¡± ¡°In fact, I don¡¯t want to¡ª¡± ¡°Follow the rainbow. Make sure to sell the last blue barrels quickly.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t want to leave anymore. I want to stay.¡± ¡°In spring, when the blossoms come out, take out the ones that are overgrown by the bigger flowers. The bees won¡¯t find them anyway.¡± She¡¯s not even listening to me. And why is she talking about spring, as if¡­ I look at her as she says something else about what needs to be done when the next spring comes around. It¡¯s like she¡¯s ticking off a list, as if she¡¯s been thinking about this for a while and is terrified she¡¯ll forget something. ¡°Aunt Carme?¡± ¡°Aniol forgets it every year, you need to remind him¡­¡± A coughing fit makes her stop, and I take advantage of the moment to ask the question I fear I already know the answer to. ¡°Aunt Carme, why are you saying all of this?¡± ¡°Hm?¡± ¡°Like you¡¯re¡­¡± I can¡¯t bring myself to say the words. Like she¡¯s instructing me on what to do after she¡¯s gone¡­ ¡°What did Aniol tell you?¡± she asks, her voice suddenly hoarse. ¡°Nothing. That I had to make sure to make onion soup, and¡­¡± She closes her eyes and shakes her head. The movement makes another bout of coughing break free. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she mutters in between barks. ¡°No, don¡¯t be.¡± ¡°He doesn¡¯t¡­ He can¡¯t handle¡­¡± Anxiety claims my stomach as if filling it with cold, prickly liquid that sucks all the life out of my body. ¡°What?¡± This can¡¯t be. Aunt Carme is known to sometimes overreact. This must be one of those occasions. She must have felt awful, really awful, and feared for her life. Maybe she was dreaming. I had a fever once and it got me so delirious that I saw every word that Granny and Aunt Carme spoke to me as colors and shapes. It was odd and at the time, it made complete sense. Only when the fever had broken and I remembered the beauty of the colors did I realize something odd had been going on. This must be something similar. She was sleeping so peacefully just now. She looks so much better than she did this morning. It must be a mistake. I try to focus on Aunt Carme¡¯s eyes, that still sparkle with life no matter the dark circles around them, or the pale face they glisten in. Then, she coughs even deeper as she sits up straighter. How have I not seen this? This can¡¯t be happening, right? There¡¯s a look I¡¯ve never seen before on her face when she pats the bed beside her. A mixture of sadness, and courage, and, I don¡¯t know, surrender. No dramatics. Maybe it¡¯s compassion, but¡­ Her voice is creaky. ¡°Come¡­ sit with me, child.¡± Even though I know I won''t dent the mattress, let alone rock the bed, I sit down very carefully. ¡°I love you, you know that?¡± Aunt Carme says. Tears immediately blur my sight. I want to say that I love Aunt Carme too, very much, but it feels like saying it out loud would signify that this is goodbye, and I''m not ready for that. My lips tremble, and I clench them between my teeth, trying with all my might to keep the tears from falling. If I so much as make a sound now, I''ll be lost. ¡°It''s alright,¡± Aunt Carme says. ¡°I''m not afraid to die.¡± Every other word falls prey to another cough, but she keeps speaking, even when her voice is reduced to a mere scratch. ¡°But you¡¯re not dying,¡± I blurt out. ¡°You¡¯re just having a cold, a severe one, but you¡¯ll live. You¡¯ll get to see spring and remove the blossoms that are falling behind and¡­¡± ¡°Honey¡­ The Healer couldn¡¯t help me.¡± ¡°Because you¡¯re strong enough to get well on your own?¡± I¡¯m clinging to straws, I know it, but I¡¯m still shattered by Granny¡¯s passing. Losing Aunt Carme on top of that is unthinkable. Soon, I''ll have nobody left I can be myself with. ¡°I know,¡± she manages. ¡°For you and Uncle Aniol, I would stay, without a doubt. But I fear I have no say in that.¡± ¡°You must have a say.¡± Tears are now rolling down my cheek. ¡°There has to be a way. Another Healer, perhaps? There has to be a potion, something¡­¡° ¡°There is not,¡± Aunt Carme calmly says, her voice so fragile now. ¡°I can tell.¡± ¡°No, we¡­¡° I think of Granny¡¯s book, all the way up in the recess in the wall. ¡°There must be something¡­¡° ¡°Oh, Ennah.¡± She puts her arms around my shoulders and pulls me against her chest. The cool crystal leaf and the golden chain of her necklace will leave a mark on my face, but I don¡¯t care. She struggles to speak. ¡°I wish¡­ I really wish¡­ Knowing that I have to leave you and Aniol behind is my deepest sorrow. I want you to know that I¡­ I love you dearly, Ennah. As if you were my own.¡± I swallow. As a child, I had wanted Aunt Carme to be my real aunt, or even my mother. I had wished it with all my heart. Aunt Carme saying this out loud, even though in a way I¡¯ve always known she feels this way, both lifts and sinks my heart simultaneously. I''m so grateful to know that I''m loved, but Aunt Carme¡¯s words also shine a light on all the empty spaces in my heart I hold for my real family, for those Granny has never really told me about but who have to be out there somewhere. It makes me miss everything I don''t even remember even more. ¡°I love you,¡± I whisper. ¡°Oh, darling,¡± Aunt Carme says, her words strained and her breaths shallow from trying to stop the coughs from ripping through her. The tears in her eyes glisten like pearls in the candlelight. ¡°I cannot express how¡­ much that means to me. You will always be loved. Will you please remember that? A love as powerful as mine¡­ and I know your Granny loves you even more¡­ Love like that cannot fade. They will forever be with¡­ you, alright?¡± I nod, my throat too clogged up with tears to even utter the slightest sound. ¡°Remember that¡­ whenever you feel alone¡­ because you¡­ are not alone. Love never dies.¡± Aunt Carme¡¯s coughing increases. The sound pulls at my very core, making me feel sick as well. ¡°Do you want a sip of water?¡± ¡°No,¡± Aunt Carme gasps from behind the hand she catches the coughs in. ¡°I''ll be¡­ Fine¡­ I just¡­¡° I look at her, knowing Aunt Carme hates the look of deep concern that¡¯s radiating out of my eyes right now, but I can¡¯t help it. Aunt Carme¡¯s arm slides from my shoulders as if it¡¯s nothing more than a limp cloth, and I quickly take Aunt Carme¡¯s hand into mine. ¡°Can I get you anything else? Maybe¡­¡° ¡°No. Just¡­¡° It seems to me that Aunt Carme wills the coughing to cease, seeing the way her face is contorted in a painful grimace. ¡°I should leave you; you should rest.¡± ¡°No. Things¡­ Things aren¡¯t always¡­ as they seem. You¡­ must remember that. Ennah.¡± ¡°Things aren¡¯t always as they seem,¡± I repeat, not sure how to interpret those words but I will keep them in mind. I cannot ask her to elaborate, she''s barely able to breathe as it is. I squeeze Aunt Carme¡¯s hand in reassurance. ¡°I''ll remember.¡± And I pray to everything dwelling on the fields that she will get a chance to tell me what she means by this when she''s better. The thought leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, as if a part of me knows that prayer is in vain. Aunt Carme presses her free hand against her lips, still willing the coughs to stay away for a bit longer, but now losing that battle. I can hear the fluids in her lungs, hear the rattling of each strained breath Aunt Carme manages to take. Time is running out; I can sense it with all of my body. It feels as if I''m being turned inside out, as Aunt Carme is fighting for the smallest bits of air to hold on to. When she coughs into her elbow and releases it, dark spots stain her skin. Blood. Mine seems to run cold in my veins. ¡°Aunt Carme? Shall I fetch Uncle Aniol?¡± The nod is barely visible. I press a kiss on Aunt Carme¡¯s pale, sweaty brow and wish I could give more love, be more of help to the frail woman that seems to be nothing more than an echo of the Aunt Carme she used to know. Then I push myself off the bed and reach for the ankle bracelets. ¡°No¡­¡° ¡°I''ll be faster if I¡­¡° ¡°No¡­ C¨¤gil¡­ Aniol¡­¡° The words are barely audible in the chaos of coughing and wheezing, but tear through my heart like a knife. No flying. Even when she''s this ill, she tries to keep me safe. Even when there is no one around, even when her life¡­ ¡°I''ll be back soon, with Uncle Aniol,¡± I say, my throat all but clogged up. ¡°Don''t go anywhere, Aunt Carme. Don''t¡­¡° Don''t die alone¡­ And then I run, my toes barely brushing the floor. Run as fast as my feet will carry me, as fast as my muscles will allow, as fast as the winds in a hurricane or the thunder in a storm. Chapter 5 Kayetan Yoszovar, 5 years before the Rise ¡°Right.¡± Haenar appears from behind Elrick, a hint of a smile on his face. ¡°Mageling Kayetan, you can leave your bag here, if you¡¯d like.¡± My stomach clenches ever so little. This is everything I own. If I were to lose it¡­ Elrick looks at the bag and his lips curl up in a knowing smirk. He doesn¡¯t carry anything ¡ª not even a small suitcase. Just as I¡¯m wondering what that means, he clears his throat. ¡°I take it that my belongings have arrived safely?¡± he asks Haenar, with the arrogance I¡¯d expect from someone as highborn as Elrick. To him, servants are probably just a step up from utensils and tools. Haenar doesn¡¯t seem fazed in the least by the attitude he¡¯s been given. He nods politely. ¡°They are already in your room, sir.¡± ¡°Good.¡± I don¡¯t like Elrick¡¯s tone. It reminds me of my more difficult customers, who were impossible to satisfy. After I¡¯d used every bit of Magic I could muster to repair their clothes, shoes or trinkets, they wouldn¡¯t thank me but make me feel like I was the cause of the tears, dents or mud stains, and I needed to thank them for overlooking my flaws. Those were the people who never tipped. My mouth goes dry. What will happen when the flaw in the Vorvalus symbol is discovered? I need to figure out how to repair it ¡ª there must be Magic to grow crystal, or to locate the shard, or¡­ I could work it out myself, but it takes time and I¡¯d need to be very close to the object to find its true nature and frequency. Crystal is one of the hardest materials to work with, since it has an energy of its own. How can I study it without drawing attention to the fact that I smashed it? ¡°If you would follow me, please.¡± Haenar¡¯s voice pulls me out of my angsty thoughts. Elrick darts after him straight away, making me jump into action as well, while still holding on to my bag. I¡¯m not leaving it anywhere close to the diamond and square, that¡¯s for sure. Haenar opens an elaborately decorated door below the grand stairs that lead to the next floor and ushers us through. I leave my bag against the wall with a certain amount of low-grade anxiety. Haenar nods encouragingly before taking the lead again. His shoes click almost cheerfully on the polished hardwood floors, and I take a deep breath before I follow him again. Everything about this house is so clean, spacious, and fresh. It emanates power and Magic. Too bad about Elrick''s presence. He makes me feel small. Like the kid that stepped into the classroom four years ago, who¡¯d just come of first age, and didn¡¯t even understand the language fluently, let alone have any understanding of the ancient tongue. Elrick elevated the art of ignoring me to unknown heights, but was more than capable of finding me whenever he needed somebody to vent his frustrations on. And if I stepped out of line by even my pinky toe, he was the first to point it out and mock me for it. Of all the students in my class, why does it have to be him who¡¯s here now? I already know his stuff is here, so my hopes of him being wrong are reduced to nearly nothing by now. It almost makes me want to turn around and leave. But I won¡¯t I¡¯ve come too far to allow myself to shrink back into the boy I was once. My letter specifically stated that I was to apprentice with the Grand Master. I was expected to move here, and I belong here. I have to. A tiny, laughable voice at the back of my head proposes that Elrick is here to teach me ¡ª a test object to try all sorts of Magic on. In school, we barely got beyond studying Magic on inanimate objects, the next logical step will be Magicking living things. Right? But a human test subject? It is a thought so far off the trail of possibility that I almost laugh out loud; it would be the most useful the boy will ever be, but I don''t think a boy this rich would ever be awarded a position like that. If it even exists, that is. Suddenly I swallow. What if the position of a test person does exist, and it is me it¡¯s assigned to? After all, I am the foreign Mageling who shouldn¡¯t have been allowed to enter Magical education in the first place. It doesn¡¯t matter that I understand the Magic, whereas Magelings like Elrick only know how to use what they¡¯ve been taught. I take a deep breath, hoping Elrick won¡¯t detect my nerves. Haenar leads us through another door. We are now at the beginning of a long corridor that is lined with shelves and cupboards filled with all kinds of trinkets that seem to have nothing else in common than being Magically touched ¡ª I can feel the presence of Magic tingling just below my skin and the little tell-tale signs of when it¡¯s been used. The slight deflection of light. The air that seems to behave differently around a Magicked object. An inaudible humming of energy that has been added to something to change part of its nature, the kind I only started to notice when I was in my final year. Elrick hardly spares a look at all the wonders accumulated here, but I cannot keep my eyes to myself. These shelves are full of items I long to explore. There¡¯s something that looks like a handkerchief glowing inside a glass case. There¡¯s a brush normally used on horses chained to the wall. It keeps stroking the wallpaper that has been polished to the point of shining. I wonder how long it¡¯ll hold, and I¡¯m glad this brush didn¡¯t find a horse to comb until the poor animal would have been seriously injured ¡ª or brushed into oblivion. I know the basic spell for cleaning things, but somebody clearly overextended the Magic here. I could get lost in this corridor forever, but Haenar turns a corner and vanishes through a door I hadn¡¯t even noticed. I should go after him, but this hallway is just too fascinating. My lingering allows Elrick to enter the next space before I do and I don''t even mind, for I feel the Magic radiating from another artifact. It looks like a normal vase, yet upon a second look it seems to be holding a glow that I have never seen before. What does it do? Who made it? Could I make such a thing of beauty for Master Iacopor¡¯s daughter? I can''t ask any questions ¡ª not now. I''ve taken too much precious time gawking already, so I make haste to step into the small room that is also filled with both strange and familiar items, books, and¡­ well, energy. The whole feel of this room is Magic, even more so than the corridor. Small stained glass windows above the larger, clear panes bear the mark of the House of Vorvalus in beautiful colors ¡ª the diamond and square glistening in the sunlight, casting colorful beams onto the chairs that are set up ¡ª two simple ones, and one cushioned armchair that seems to have threads of gold woven into the fabric. In it, Grand Master Vorvalus is seated. He looks like a king, sitting up so straight and tall. His rich green cloak, fastened with a clip of pure gold, is delicately embracing his broad form clad in the finest silks and velvets. Not that he needs the garments to look impressive ¡ª his tall build, coal-black hair and ring beard do more than enough to inspire awe. Not to mention his eyes which are a bright, almost luminescent green. I always get chills when I behold them ¡ª like he can see right through me. High time to get used to that and find a way to be comfortable in his presence. Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. It helps that I am no longer one of the eleven students in our class, or one of the many, many more at the school itself. I¡¯m his apprentice now. I am, no matter what Elrick implied earlier. He can talk all he wants, but I am here, learning from the Grand Master who is an esteemed member of the Council and the chairman of the board of Magic Education. His former apprentice became one of the teachers at the academy immediately after receiving his Mastership, and the one before that is now the head of the Healer¡¯s Circle. When I heard he¡¯d be taking on a new apprentice right after I finished my exams, I was as resolved as I was nervous to become that apprentice. Now that I''m here, knowing that I''ll be learning the finesses of Magic from him fills me with more awe, excitement and humbleness than I¡¯d ever imagined myself capable of feeling. Yet, in my heart, a little fear still hammers. It can¡¯t be that something¡¯s off. Two chairs. No bewildered looks. Elrick and I are both meant to be here. My heart skips a beat. What if there¡¯s some kind of trial period? Do I need to prove myself worthy of staying here? Instead of Elrick? I cannot accuse Grand Master Vorvalus of valuing money over talent and skill, but¡­ Elrick is the son of a prominent Mage and nobleman. His status alone will ensure that he¡¯s successful in whatever he does ¡ª even if Young Master Sufka is not that good at whatever he¡¯s set his sights on. How can I compete with that? I swallow my unease and focus on remaining calm. After all, what good is any Mage if he can¡¯t even bring himself to the state of peaceful calm all Magic needs to arise from? My heartbeat is already calming down and I look at Grand Master Vorvalus with what I¡¯m fairly sure is open expectation. Grand Master Vorvalus¡¯ bright green eyes twinkle with a hint of austerity, which makes the nerves in my stomach flutter even faster. I can feel Elricks short gaze on me, the disdain in it barely concealed, sending a jolt of unpleasant tingles through my stomach. But I won¡¯t let him push my buttons. To try and forget that Elrick is even there, let alone posing some kind of threat, I focus on the Master, who is now looking at the both of us. Elrick clears his throat and I can¡¯t help but be annoyed. Doesn¡¯t he realize the magnitude of this moment? The green of my Grand Master¡¯s eyes is brighter than I have ever seen eyes to be. And that says a lot, for everybody descended from this region has green eyes and pitch-black hair. It was so hard to keep everyone apart when I first came here ¡ª and that while everybody recognizes me within a fraction of a heartbeat with my blond curls and grey eyes. As Grand Master Vorvalus breathes in to speak, I hold my own, bent on taking in every syllable and voice inflection. ¡°Welcome to Vorvalus Manor, your home for the years to come,¡± he says. I know why he¡¯s keeping it vague ¡ª the length of our time here will be determined by our accomplishments; both lack and mastery will see us leave the Manor faster. ¡°I imagine you are a bit perplexed that you have both been selected to apprentice under me.¡± Next to me, Elrick draws a sharp breath. I release mine slowly. Two apprentices. No trial. No test subjects. Only me and this¡­ bastard. ¡°Grand Master Vorvalus,¡± Elrick begins. ¡°Master Iacopor will suffice.¡± ¡°Yes. Thank you, sir. Master Iacopor, I can¡¯t help but wonder¡­ How come you have chosen to educate two apprentices?¡± A mild smile graces Master Iacopor¡¯s lips. ¡°This is completely in line with the goals of the board. We aim to train more Mages. Thus the school was founded, and now it¡¯s time to drop the notion that a Mage can only educate one Mageling at a time. This year, it¡¯s the two of you. Next year, I intend to bring in even more students.¡± I blink as I wrap my head around this. Magic has always been taught one on one. Yes, the school was revolutionary, but I hadn¡¯t expected it to extend into the personal Magical training as well. Then again, I should have seen it coming. I remember the speech Master Iacopor held on our first day of school, ¡°The subtle art of Magic has been spread through the generations in small, private settings, each Master passing his knowledge on to one pupil at a time. Though it has protected the sacred knowledge, it has also led to the uncontrolled proliferation of the craft. Too many Masters teaching their many methods and philosophies have sown discord. Principles and skills vary like the fur patterns on cats. Magic has become fragile and dispersed, fundamental knowledge has been lost. Our aim is to centre the Magic, so we can use it to its fullest and create an abundant world in which Magic is safe and accessible to anyone.¡± I remember how proud I felt for being part of that movement, yet the thought of one Master having multiple students leaves an uneasy twinge in my abdomen. Everyone knows the bond between a Master and his apprentice is personal and so deep that they become almost the same entity. How will Master Iacopor do that with both Elrick and me? And do I need to get as close to the rich stinker sitting next to me as well? The very thought makes me all but wince. ¡°The future is here,¡± Master Iacopor says, as if he¡¯s also had a flashback to that speech from four years ago. ¡°Two extremely talented apprentices in front of me, your higher education about to begin.¡± I can''t help but straighten up a bit more. Next to me, Elrick gleams as well. ¡°We will make Yoszovar rise above all else,¡± Master Iacopor says. His words echo through the room and reverberate in my heart. I can''t wait to begin, can''t wait to help make Yoszovar great, to make the whole known world better. It is overwhelming, humbling, and most of all, exciting beyond my wildest imaginations. ¡°Now, today will be all about finding your footing here. After this conversation, we¡¯ll take a tour around the Magic wing where you''ll be spending most of your time. Your rooms are also in this wing. The other wings in this manor are reserved for my family and the servants. I ask you to respect everyone¡¯s privacy.¡± ¡°Of course,¡± I quickly say. Master Iacopor gives me the tiniest of nods in appreciation. Elrick probably nods too, but I am not about to look at him. ¡°The only time everybody will be together is at dinnertime,¡± Master Iacopor goes on. ¡°Attendance is required by all people living under this roof ¡ª that is to say, all who are not servants. They have their own quarters and meal times. The staff is also divided into roughly two groups; the personal servants that tend to the family, including my own personal assistants, and the servants working in this wing. You will recognize the latter by the blue on their uniforms, and of course, the family symbol. Haenar you¡¯ve already met. He¡¯s the head of the servants here. If there¡¯s anything you need, you can call on him.¡± A servant to call on¡­ My cheeks must be flushing, for I can feel them heating up. ¡°Haenar will also show you to your rooms later today,¡± Master Iacopor says. ¡°Make sure you spend ample time there to rest and replenish because I will work you both hard. You''ll have days off of course, and you can use the facilities of this manor and outside. You probably know the bathhouse is just around the corner.¡± He looks at me when he says that, as if I wouldn¡¯t know. Still the poor, unknowing foreigner, right? I bite my lip hard not to show my distress. ¡°You''ll be working on personal assignments in your spare time as well. This will not be an easy ride.¡± He voices it like a threat, but I hear nothing but the promise of growth and mastery. I will gladly spend every waking hour in Master Iacopor¡¯s presence or working on his assignments. Sylva will understand that I don''t have that much time to spend with her ¡ª of course I''ll squeeze her in whenever I can. Master Iacopor stands up and walks over to a closet, but I¡¯m not really watching him as my mind goes over everything he said. Anticipation washes through me. We¡¯ll be having dinner with the family. Which means that I will meet Master Iacopor¡¯s lovely daughter. I''ll spend time with her every single day. I have to make sure Master Iacopor won¡¯t fire me. I suppress a shiver. Challenging as it might feel now, I can''t wait for this new life to unfold. This is the beginning of everything I ever dreamed of, and I will take it all in with eagerness and gratitude. Even the dunce sitting beside me. I make the mistake of looking at him. He smirks and I¡¯m not sure why. Didn¡¯t Master Iacopor just tell us we¡¯re both supposed to be here, and that there¡¯s wonderful Magic to be learned? Master Iacopor noisily pulls something out of the closet, and Elrick leans toward me. ¡°He said it nicely, but make no mistake. There were ten Mages taking on apprentices. We were eleven. You are still the pity project.¡± Chapter 6 Ennah Sentisse, 66 years after the Rise Things are not going well. Not at all. I think Aunt Carme kept everyone up all through the night, our short moments of drifting off probably coinciding with hers. Now, she¡¯s awake ¡ª without a doubt. The intensity of the coughing has increased and pierces the frail peace that was lingering here. My insides curl up with worry. Yesterday, Uncle Aniol claimed her life wasn¡¯t at risk, said that the Healer wasn¡¯t worried about her and she was being just a bit dramatic, but listening to those barks now does nothing but contradict those words. She must be exhausted and drained, and every time I think about the blood spatters on her arm, I shiver. What is she coughing up now? My circadian candle has lit up, casting a delicate light into my room indicating dawn has arrived. Good. Something needs to be done to help her, so I have to convince Uncle Aniol to fetch the Healer again. Surely he must see that she needs help. Maybe there¡¯s another Healer in town? I¡¯ve heard there is a really good one traveling from place to place, maybe he¡¯s available? Granny left some money in the chest, perhaps that will help pay for the Healer since I won¡¯t be needing it to travel¡­ home. Just as I swing my legs over the side of the bed, stretching my still-tired body and rubbing my eyes to chase away the remnants of too little sleep and the tears of worry that have escaped me, Uncle Aniol barges into my room. I¡¯ve never seen him dressed in his night attire. And he looks downright haunted. If it weren¡¯t for another coughing fit coming from their bedroom, I might have thought she had passed. ¡°I¡¯m getting the Healer in again,¡± he says. ¡°Get dressed.¡± I immediately reach for my dress. ¡°Get yourself some breakfast too.¡± ¡°And you?¡± ¡°Two minutes.¡± He turns around as if he didn¡¯t even hear my offer to get him something too, and I don¡¯t take any time to think on it. Before a minute has passed, I¡¯m on my feet, in my dress, and my hair is somewhat under control. Was it just yesterday that I had to get myself decent in as little time as this too? Unbelievable. It seems like another life ¡ª one with different problems and different needs. A life I wish I could return to, when everything seemed easier and death was looming at a far-off distance instead of far to close for comfort. I walk out of my room just as Uncle Aniol appears in the doorway of his and Aunt Carme¡¯s room. ¡°Go,¡± he says. ¡°Can¡¯t I¡­¡± I want to see her. Kiss her. Tell her she¡¯ll be alright. ¡°No time,¡± Uncle Aniol grunts. He all but chases me into the kitchen, where I quickly pull out the last pieces of the sorry excuse for bread I baked yesterday. No time to put the dough I prepared in a second attempt last night into the oven, this will have to do for now. Maybe I can still find some nice, soft bits for Aunt Carme to¡ª ¡°Go.¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°I¡¯m getting the Healer. You need to go.¡± My fist clenches around the pieces of bread I¡¯m holding. Is he serious? ¡°Come on!¡± he roars. ¡°Time is running out as it is.¡± ¡°But you can¡¯t lock me up again.¡± ¡°Now.¡± He grabs my wrist and yanks me toward the door. ¡°You¡¯re hurting me!¡± ¡°You¡¯re not walking fast enough.¡± Stumbling after him, tempted to fly but knowing that would only aggravate him more, I feel panic rushing over me. I don¡¯t want another episode in the closet. It¡¯s daunting at the best of times, and now, I¡¯m scared for Aunt Carme¡¯s life. It will feed into the fears that reside in that closet for me, it will be hell. And what if she needs me while I¡¯m locked in there? What if I¡¯m not there to rescue her, what if she¡­ ¡°You cannot lock me up. Please. I have to take care of her. I¡¯ll stay out of sight as soon as you return with the Healer. I¡¯ll lock myself in my bedroom. I¡¯ll make myself invisible. Just please don¡¯t put me in there.¡± We¡¯re halfway down the path by now, Uncle Aniol¡¯s grip on my wrist only deepening as he yanks me along. ¡°Please,¡± I repeat. I¡¯m running out of breath, trying to keep up with him. The panic now twisting through my body makes it even worse. ¡°I won¡¯t¡­ Please¡­ I need to¡­ Take care of¡­ Aunt Carme, she can¡¯t¡­¡± ¡°I can¡¯t risk it!¡± Uncle Aniol roars. ¡°And I don¡¯t have time for this.¡± The thought of being stuck in the darkness when I could be saving Aunt Carme, when I should be doing this, squeezes my already tautly wound heart. ¡°Haven¡¯t I already¡­ Proven myself? Adult enough? What else¡­ Can I say? I promise¡­¡± ¡°Shut up!¡± He suddenly stands still and turns around to face me so fast that I can barely stop myself from crashing into him. The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. ¡°You don¡¯t get it,¡± he grunts. ¡°Aunt Carme needs my help.¡± ¡°She needs a Healer. Somebody to perform proper Magic on her.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not talking about Magic!¡± Tears are streaming down my face. ¡°I¡¯m talking about love!¡± The smack is hard and unexpected. My head swings to the right, my cheek already burning from the impact his hand made. ¡°Don¡¯t you dare speak of love,¡± he snarls. I can see the tears in his eyes as well. He¡¯s scared to death. Just as I am. ¡°Uncle¡­¡± All the hurt I saw a moment ago is swept away by the pure rage now emanating from his eyes. He grabs my wrist so forcefully I know it¡¯ll leave bruises, and doesn¡¯t stop for anything I say. I try to writhe myself free, but being weightless means that I barely have any leverage to make an impact, and he can shove me around just as he pleases. It has always puzzled me that I can move anything that isn¡¯t alive, while living beings do adhere to gravity around me. The grapevines around us become a blur of green and a smidge of blue here and there as we¡¯re approaching the shed that has never been this gloomy before, and the darkness of the closet never more pitch black. He trusts me in, locks the door and I can pound on the wooden door all I want, but nothing budges. ¡°No!¡± I yell. ¡°Get me out!¡± To no avail. I¡¯m stuck. My breath hitches, my stomach clenches, and I¡¯m back. Back in the nightmare of all those years ago, the nightmare I was able to block yesterday which now comes back to life with double the force, as if to make up for the loss and then some. Twice as big, twice as dark. I¡¯m laying on a table. It¡¯s light out, but it feels like darkness, and I feel as if I¡¯ve just woken up from sleeping. Except that I wasn¡¯t in my bed, and I wasn¡¯t asleep. A man I don¡¯t know has done something to me and I cannot move. I can¡¯t scream for mommy, I can¡¯t even cry. Everything hurts and I can¡¯t get away. The man keeps hitting me with new waves of pain and still, mommy isn¡¯t here. Or daddy. Or Nora, or Jack whose fur I love to crawl away in. Nobody. I¡¯m all alone and I can¡¯t move and everything hurts. It hurts so bad. The older version of me makes sense of what that little girl felt. The Mage did something to me. Granny told me I was in sleep paralysis. I could see and feel everything he did, but I couldn¡¯t move or make even a peep. I was barely a year old when the Mage caught me, and I still remember this vividly ¡ª it¡¯s the only thing I remember from before I got here. Granny told me all kinds of things about my life before the vineyard, but only the Mage¡¯s attack on me still dwells inside my memories. Correction: it haunts my memories. I crumble into a ball on the floor, panting, crying, feeling like that little helpless child again, unable to escape the terror that was put on her. On me. Shivering, I unclasp my ankle bracelets. I need to counter the notion of being stuck, and flying is the only thing that will do that in this confined space. The irony of it doesn¡¯t elude me ¡ª I feel most free when enjoying the result of what that Mage did to me when I was tied down, unable to move or break free. He was caught in the act by Granny before he could finish the job ¡ª presumably leading to my death ¡ª and with his dark Magic half-finished, I became who I am now: an abomination that needs to be kept away from everybody else. For my sake, for their sake, I don¡¯t care. I¡¯m just¡­ wrong. My trembling fingers have finally dealt with the clasps and I¡¯m floating up, my lungs at last some finding room to breathe again. My eyes fall on the stained glass manor that¡¯s mocking me, but I see something different from what I saw yesterday. It¡¯s a way out. It''s a split-second decision. With a quick flick of my hand, I smash the fragile window and carefully knock and blow away all the shards that still cling to the rebate, bending and twisting the lead so it breaks off. Everything will have to go if I want to force my body through the hole without cutting myself. I float back to make sure the last tiny bits of glass will fall prey to gravity. I hear them tingle as they hit the ground. Had I been less pissed off, I¡¯d have loved the sound. Now I¡¯m only focused on breaking free. There is a sting of guilt though, as I work my way through the opening I¡¯ve made. Granny loved this window so, so much. But Granny isn¡¯t here anymore. I squirm through the hole, not heeding the one shard I have apparently missed that rips my dress and skin alike. No time to linger, the pain serves as a punishment for breaking the glass, and I fly right to the chest that''s waiting for me in the recess many measures up the wall ¡ª I''m not sure if the sigh of relief is only my own or if the chest reverberates it as well. When I open the chest, I''m engulfed with light coming from a little, radiant heart, an illusion of light. It¡¯s trapped in an old wine bottle. The last piece of love, a heart Granny left for me right before she died. I hold the bottle to my chest, trying to feel Granny¡¯s love through the cold glass against my skin. The little heart immediately travels towards me, tinkling ever so softly against the glass, and I burst into tears. For Granny, for Aunt Carme, for the fate thrust upon me when I was only a baby. I cry for everything I¡¯ve lost, and knowing that I¡¯m about to lose even more, I find myself sinking away into a deep pit of despair. I shouldn¡¯t allow myself to go this deep. I should stay strong. Granny taught me better than this. As the tears dry and some hints of sanity reach me again, I curse out loud. I¡¯ve been drowning in my sorrow when I could have been helping Aunt Carme. I can¡¯t believe my own selfishness, I can¡¯t believe I let myself go like this. Without so much as glancing at the mess I created, I put back the bottle and quickly return the chest to its recess before I hover to the door that¡­ That¡¯s locked. I am the epitome of stupid today. I close my eyes, feeling how puffy and swollen they must be. Stupid, stupid child. No wonder Uncle Aniol wouldn¡¯t listen. No wonder I was chosen to be the Mage¡¯s victim. I am worthless. The dark pit from before threatens to take hold of me again, giving me insights into how worthless I really am. I know I can¡¯t do anything properly ¡ª everything always has to be fitted to my needs, and even after that I screw things up and make everything harder on everyone. But I have to be there for Aunt Carme. And I will be. I just have to be resourceful. Grateful for the ability to fly instead of wading through razor-sharp shards of glass, I fly to the cabinets on the other side of the room, where we keep the utensils needed for making the brew. I need something small to stick into the keyhole. If I can get the key to fall down, if I can grab it and unlock the door from the inside¡­ I will need something for it to fall down on, too. Something big and flat, so I can keep my distance and the key won¡¯t fly off as soon as I try to pull it inside. Feathers, do we even have things like that? I dig up an old tablecloth but toss it aside again. I won¡¯t be able to spread it out. And unfortunately, even the smallest spoon is far too large to fit inside the keyhole. What else is there? A shelf. There¡¯s a big shelf inside the cabinets. Quickly, I empty it and yank it out. It¡¯s not that wide, but it is long. And it will fit through the crack under the door. Now, what to use on the key¡­ I look around. Lead! Lead ought to do the trick. I search for the perfect piece ¡ª long, thin and isolated enough for me not to get pelted by shards when I come near enough to grab it. There¡¯s a wide variety to choose from, so I pick the piece that looks both strong and thin enough to fit the keyhole. Aunt Carme, I¡¯m on my way. Chapter 7 Kayetan Yoszovar, 5 years before the Rise The tour through the wing of the manor dedicated to Magic is longer than I expected ¡ª and I expected quite something. It''s not the number of rooms we wander through, really; it''s the sheer amount of possibility in each and every one of them that overwhelms me in the best way imaginable. Master Iacopor leads us through rooms filled with Magical objects I want to examine thoroughly, like a flower pot that continuously sprouts flowers that wilt within seconds before another batch is pushed into existence, and a mirror that shows nothing but purple fog until one comes close enough to suddenly find all kinds of little scenes in the mist ¡ª scenes that appear to be stories of one''s life. I can myself hugging Sylva and a hint of regret travels through me ¡ª she¡¯ll never look that healthy, which makes my heart ache, and I¡¯ve never given her a hug like this, which makes my heart ache even more. I immediately resolve to hug her as soon as I see her again. Elrick is also mesmerized by this mirror. I hardly think he sees himself hugging his sister, but there¡¯s a sadness in his eyes that makes me wonder what could be playing out in front of him. I¡¯ve never seen him this distraught. Maybe I¡¯m allowing myself to stoop to his level, but somehow it feels good to know that there is something that can shake Young Master Sufka. He recovers soon enough, though. This is the arrogant face I know so well, going along perfectly with the stick up his ass. Master Iacopor pulls us both away sharply. ¡°This mirror shows only what opportunities you have missed in life,¡± he says. ¡°Best not to dwell on it.¡± This makes me even more curious about what the mirror presented Elrick, but when Master Iacopor pulls a curtain in front of the reflective surface, I see him wince too. I can''t imagine what missed opportunity could make a Grand Master wince, and suddenly I feel a bit queasy. What has possessed a Mage to make a mirror like this? I have to let it go. As Master Iacopor said, I can¡¯t dwell on what could have been. Or perhaps, should have been, like Sylva in blooming health ¡ª did I have anything to do with her falling ill? The thought pains me, and immediately I grasp why this mirror is a bad idea come to life. This guilt won¡¯t be swallowed easily. ¡°Kayetan¡­¡± Master Iacopor softly says, his hand on my arm. ¡°Let it go. Come. I think I have something that you¡¯re going to love.¡± He walks to yet another door and as I take the first step to follow him, Elrick touches my shoulder. ¡°Saw something broken in there?¡± he whispers, and my breath hitches. I don¡¯t want to show anything, so I throw him a dirty look, but my heart is racing. What did he see? Does he know I broke the Vorvalus symbol, and will he bide his time to spill the knowledge at the perfect time? He walks past me with a satisfied smirk and I hate that I feel small again. With clenched fists, I follow him into a brightly lit room with just one wide window, furnished with a table, a few chairs, and a peculiar instrument resembling a round, bronze serving dish atop a bronze bowl. It¡¯s sitting on top of a table with a book next to it. I hold my breath. I can feel the Magic lingering here, sparkling in the air without being seen or heard, but present nonetheless. Magic is not just practiced in this room; it is also being made here. Elrick doesn¡¯t sense it ¡ª I can tell from the disappointment he tries to hide behind a curious, open expression. Fool. Master Iacopor closes the door behind us with a distinct click. ¡°Alright,¡± he says. ¡°Time to reveal a bit of what we¡¯ll be working on together. It¡¯s a project I¡¯m very excited about. I need both of you¡­¡± He looks both Elrick and me in the eye so earnestly that my heart starts pounding even faster, allowing the anticipation to win over any anxiety, ¡°¡­ to not breathe a word about this outside this wing. It¡¯s not to be spoken about anywhere, not even at the dinner table. Is that clear?¡± ¡°Yes, sir,¡± Elrick says. ¡°Of course, Master,¡± I say, struggling to keep my voice under control. Elrick was always so adept at kissing up to the teachers. I can¡¯t allow him to entrap Master Iacopor too. I have to prove my worth ¡ª and before they find out I broke the Vorvalus symbol, or after I¡¯ve repaired it so well no one will ever know the difference. I should probably make something to prevent the thing from toppling over so easily too. After a deep breath of resolution, I turn my attention to the device on the table. It simply begs for me to examine it, and Master Iacopor doesn¡¯t seem to mind. In fact, he suddenly stills, as if he¡¯s waiting to see how we¡¯ll react to whatever this is. The bronze plate is completely smooth, the work of a master craftsman ¡ª whether Magical or not. A thin layer of sand covers the surface, and I frown as I see it must have been scattered in some pattern once, a pattern that has now been lost to airflows and maybe people touching the plate ¡ª the sand looks so fine that even the slightest of breaths might move it. I make an effort to barely breathe. When I look up, my eyes find Master Iacopor looking at me. ¡°I knew you¡¯d like this,¡± he says. ¡°Let me show you how it works.¡± Elrick comes closer too, eager to see what the fuss must be all about. Master Iacopor opens the book. I immediately realize it is a Magic notebook ¡ª probably some Mage¡¯s life¡¯s work. The spells look quite simple and primitive, reminiscent of the spells we learned in school. Surely a Mage as powerful as Master Iacopor would perform Magic of a higher level? ¡°Kayetan, pick something for us,¡± the Master says. I quickly step forward as he shoves the book my way. I¡¯m leafing through, looking for something to catch my attention, as Master Iacopor flicks some kind of lever ¡ª the sand rustles softly for a few heartbeats. This must be a Mage¡¯s first book of Magic. It basically contains the spells our teachers made us all copy and learn. They build up in difficulty, and upon my first run-through, I recognize a lot of them. There are spells for changing the color of a rose ¡ª at least to the eyes of the observers, a spell for creating the scent of freshly baked apple pie, and an intricate piece of Magic that we''d all been required to master in our second year of school: how to obscure any belongings so that no thief would be able to find them, let alone steal them. I¡¯ve always liked that spell. I¡¯ve been playing with its limits and have even taught it to Sylva, after an accident with Magic killed one of our teachers and I had been very aware of my own mortality. I''d never leave her without the means to survive. This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. It¡¯s an easy choice. I let my fingers glide over the written words I know the taste of so well. ¡°This one,¡± I say. ¡°Interesting choice,¡± Master Iacopor says. ¡°I believe you both know exactly how to perform the spell, right?¡± ¡°Yes, Master,¡± I reply. Elrick¡¯s ¡°Yes, sir¡° cuts right through my words. ¡°Interesting,¡± Master Iacopor repeats. ¡°We might be able to make this a double experiment.¡± The next sentence leaving his lips tingles in my ears and makes the air light up with Magic, the sort of light that is only to be felt and not seen. Out of thin air, two small cat sculptures appear, carved out of a blue crystal that reflects the sunlight onto the wall, in flowing waves that remind me of the light that sometimes appeared in the night sky back home when I was a child. I remember my mother waking me up once to have a glance, and how mesmerized I¡¯d been by the colorful glow in the night¡¯s sky. I can hardly believe Master Iacopor just pulled both of the figurines out of thin air ¡ª that requires both an astonishing level of mastery and an amount of energy that I can hardly fathom, but something has sparked my interest even more. As Elrick still looks at the figurines, I watch the bronze plate. On it, the sand has shifted into a pattern. I blink and step closer. ¡°Ah,¡± Master Iacopor says, as if he is quite pleased with himself. ¡°I wondered which one of you would notice it first.¡± He throws me a hint of a smile, and I feel my insides glow. I belong here, with Master Iacopor, and right now I will learn all there is to know about the Magic behind the shifting sands. Elrick¡¯s slightly annoyed stare is easily parried. ¡°What you see before you is the first way ever found to make Magic energy visible,¡± Master Iacopor says. ¡°We know Magic is pure energy, but up till now we never had a means of showing it. With this device, we do.¡± ¡°How does it work?¡± I blurt out. I hastily close my mouth, but thankfully Master Iacopor simply raises the corner of his mouth just a little. ¡°The waves of Magic travel through the air,¡± the Master explains. I nod, but he hardly notices. ¡°The bowl collects and enhances them, and the sand shifts accordingly. I¡¯m working on creating a catalog of all syllables in the ancient tongue, to see what energy lies beneath the words of power.¡± My heart is about ready to burst. ¡°That¡¯s¡­¡± I start. I don¡¯t even know how to finish this sentence. Game-changing? Astonishing? A feat that will transform the very core of how we use Magic and will stretch it to its limits ¡ª safely? Master Iacopor just gleams. ¡°But how?¡± Elrick asks. ¡°Let¡¯s take a look, shall we? Now that we know what to look for.¡± The Master shoves the book in Elrick¡¯s direction. ¡°Obscure your figurine, please. And watch the sand. I¡¯ve only cast spells myself so far; I¡¯m curious to see if different Mages make different patterns.¡± Again, my heart thumps with expectation. My first day, and already I''m diving deeper into the Magic than I''ve ever done before. Elrick nods and takes one of the figurines Master Iacopor has just conjured up out of thin air. He doesn¡¯t even look at the book ¡ª in his defense, it would have been quite a display of incompetence should he have done so ¡ª and clears his throat. The look he gives the figurine is one of concentration, but also a bit of contempt. As if he is used to obscuring items way more valuable than this, I think. Spoiled brat. The syllables of the ancient tongue his lordship utters, bring the sensation of invisible light again, and the sand on the plate shifts with every single one of them. It¡¯s an amazing spectacle, watching the most beautiful, intricate geometrical symbols dance over the surface of the disc, the sound of Elrick¡¯s voice blending with the whispers of the sand moving along the metal. It gives me chills. Elrick doesn¡¯t really notice, or so it seems. He looks at the figurine and says the powerful words as if he¡¯s learned them by heart but doesn¡¯t pour his heart into them. There¡¯s something missing ¡ª something I''ve noticed with others in my class. They keep the Magic superficial. Effective, but no more than that. But still, as I look at the symmetrical patterns that Elrick is creating with his voice, I can feel tears well up in my eyes. It¡¯s going to be impossible to not weave your feelings into the Magic once you know how beautiful the words are. The patterns are beautiful, like the mandalas Sylva used to draw. ¡°Thank you,¡± Master Iacopor says. Clearly, Elrick has finished. And he¡¯s done a good job because his figurine is nowhere to be seen. On any other occasion. I would have watched the Magic take hold of what is to be obscured with an almost childish glee, but the shapes that formed on the plateau have been too beautiful to care. ¡°Kayetan, your turn,¡± Master Iacopor says. I step forward and take a deep breath in excited anticipation. I can¡¯t wait to see the patterns that will form when I cast the spell, to watch what syllable will make what form exactly. The figurine tingles in my hand; its Magic palpable and almost alive. I squeeze the figurine and pour my energy into it. The ancient words themselves are easy enough to find and pronounce, so I say them clearly and confidently. The sand reacts immediately. It dances, jumps, huddles together in the most stunning forms and then collapses again, only to find another way to string together in a harmonious pattern. I can¡¯t take my eyes off them; I drink the images in and immediately start thinking about what this means, how to categorize the images, how to¡ª I stumble over a syllable. It comes out of my mouth all jumbled, and the pattern on the disc before me gets distorted too. It¡¯s a mess; all symmetry has vanished, and the lines are crooked and uneven, as if the pattern is wounded. My voice dies. I look up, my mouth dry, and fear suddenly clenching my heart. I stumbled on something I was supposed to have mastered years ago. Elrick¡¯s look is one of derogatory ridicule, and I expect a similar look from Master Iacopor. But the Master only nods. ¡°Excellent,¡± he says. ¡°Did you notice how different both your styles are? Elrick¡¯s words drew a lot of long lines into the sand, whereas Kayetan¡¯s way of using the magic made for more round patterns. Intriguing.¡± He claps his hands. ¡°Well, it¡¯s about time for lunch. We¡¯ll be spending hours and hours in this study, so let¡¯s not overstay our welcome in the introduction. Haenar, will you please make sure there¡¯s ample sketching paper and charcoal present?¡± ¡°Yes, Master,¡± Haenar replies. I hadn¡¯t even been aware of his presence in the room. Master Iacopor and Elrick leave the room, and I''m on my way to follow them when my eye falls on the mangled pattern my mumbling produced. It taunts me, laughs at me. My face flushes with shame, and I''m about to tear my gaze away from it when I realize I¡¯m still holding the figurine. A small part of it has been obscured, most of it has turned into something that looks like wet mold or slime, but still feels solid to the touch. Jaws clenched, I repeat the spell. Faster now, and with a certain doggedness. The sand dances over the board as it did before, the patterns again round and beautiful. The figurine in my hand turns almost liquid translucent, and I grin. I see and feel it. To anybody else, it will have vanished from sight. And on the disc, a beautiful pattern of circles, curls, and gracious lines has appeared ¡ª a promise of all the beauty I''m here to make. Chapter 8. Ennah Sentisse, 66 years after the Rise I haven¡¯t been inside the shack for that long ¡ª the sun isn¡¯t that high in the sky just yet, but the heat is already pressing down on me as I¡¯m walking down the path between the grapevines. I¡¯m so grateful for short skirts ¡ª in Granny¡¯s books, the women all wore terribly long gowns that flowed from their wastes like upside-down tulips. The dresses around here are all short-skirted ¡ª as far as I know, having only Granny and Aunt Carme as examples. My skirts aren¡¯t just short, but also wider than usual, to make it possible for the front and back hem to be buttoned together, making the skirts more trouser-like and ensuring the clothes will behave themselves around me. Walking around in my undergarments won¡¯t do, of course. Visiters or not. When I was younger and in a particularly sulky mood, I¡¯d tell myself the only reason they dressed me like this was so that I could work without fabric flying around my face. If I am to stay here, those are thoughts I have to eliminate. I take a deep breath and focus on the task at hand. I need to pay attention. As soon as Uncle Aniol arrives with the Healer, I have to make sure neither of them sees me. And I also need to make sure that whatever Aunt Carme needs me to do, I do it quickly and without making a mess. Proving you¡¯re up to the demands of the vineyard and capable enough to deserve a permanent place here, will require nothing but perfection. Right. I got this. Still, there¡¯s a nervous fluttering in my stomach. I want to try to tell Aunt Carme about my plans again, but if she¡¯s sleeping, or coughing so much I can¡¯t really bother her with anything else, then my actions will have to speak for themselves. Not just to prove to her what I¡¯m capable of, but most of all to Uncle Aniol. Another nervous streak through my belly. What if he¡¯s the only one left to decide soon? Thoughts I won¡¯t give in to. I hurry down the path, the sun scorching my skin. Today will be extremely hot. I¡¯ll have to make sure to water the vines tonight, after the sun has disappeared behind the rockface, and make sure the scrawny little grapes can grow larger ¡ª the brew influences taste, not the amount of wine we produce. The cool shade of the house is so welcoming that I breathe a sigh of relief ¡ª also because there is no sign of either Healer or Uncle Aniol yet. The deeper I get inside the house, the darker and cooler it gets. I don¡¯t know who was smart enough to build a home right into the mountain, but he must have been brilliant. The circadian lights are another stroke of genius; some Mage invented oil lamps that correspond with the rhythm of light and dark outside ¡ª even the intensity of the lights coincides with the time of day. Much better than having to step outside all the time, squinting into the sun. Just when I reach the small corridor that leads to the bedrooms, I realize it¡¯s quiet. Too quiet. As if the silence needs to be filled, my heart starts pounding, the sound gushing against my eardrums. Please, let Aunt Carme be sleeping¡­ I cannot risk waking her, so I sneak closer to the door that¡¯s slightly ajar as fast as I can, hoping for a cough that will prove she¡¯s still alive. I hear a voice, and I almost lift off the floor with relief when I realize it¡¯s Aunt Carme. She sounds like she¡¯s been coughing for ten hours straight ¡ª which isn¡¯t that far from the truth ¡ª and she sounds very weary as she says, ¡°Aniol¡­¡± I come to a full stop. How is it possible that Uncle Aniol is here again? And if he¡¯s here, then where is the Healer? Should I sneak away now? But if Aunt Carme¡¯s coughing has ceased¡­ He must be gone already, right? So maybe¡­ Maybe all is well now. I will my feet to stay on the floor and listen, before I do something rash like barging in and throwing my arms around Aunt Carme¡¯s neck. Well, not that escaping the shed wasn¡¯t rash. And all those shards covering the floor¡­ It may be cool in here, but my cheeks heat up anyway. Uncle Aniol makes an indignant sound. ¡°You practically begged me to. If I had known¡­¡± ¡°Known what?¡± Now Aunt Carme sounds quite sharp as well, even her coughing has a defiant edge to it. ¡°That Nora was going to save our vineyard? They''ve brought nothing but good into our lives.¡± ¡°That''s not true.¡± ¡°You see trouble where there is none to be found, Aniol. Nora saved us, and the both of them brought life, joy and laughter into our home.¡± ¡°And difficulty.¡± ¡°They saved us. And Ennah''s still saving us.¡± In the relative silence that follows, Aunt Carme coughs, raw and violently, and I can hear my heart thumping in my chest. They¡¯re having a conversation about my future here. I should walk away. Sweep the floor in the shack, be the perfect so-called niece, make sure I can stay here. But I cannot move. Then Aunt Carme resumes speaking, in a softer, even more serious tone. ¡°We need her, Aniol. You need her, after I''m gone.¡± My throat chokes up. What is Aunt Carme talking about? She''s not¡­ She can''t be¡­ ¡°Don''t say things like that, Carme.¡± ¡°They have to be said, Aniol. The Healer was right.¡± Uncle Aniol grunts. ¡°He helped you. Look at how well you are doing now.¡± ¡°Borrowed time, my love.¡± What is she saying? This can''t be true. It must be her overly dramatic side, it has to be. But somehow, her tone isn¡¯t overly dramatic. She doesn¡¯t seem to be playing out something. ¡°He can do it again.¡± ¡°I can feel it. I¡¯m so grateful for¡­¡± Coughing takes her over for a few heartbeats before she can resume speaking, ¡°¡­ for having some relief, but I can feel it. I¡¯m so sorry, Aniol.¡± I have to get out of here before I hear things I can''t un-hear, before something is said that could never be taken back and therefore has to happen. ¡°I cannot lose you, Carme.¡± There''s an emotion in Uncle Aniol''s voice that I''ve never heard before. So much love, so much fragility. I choke up at the sound of it. Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°Aniol¡­¡± Aunt Carme says kindly. Aunt Carme sighs. ¡°Promise me you''ll always see Ennah first, and not her¡­ capabilities. The vineyard needs her. And so do you.¡± ¡°Carme, they¡¯re looking for her again. I saw it on the Mess.¡± ¡°What?¡± Aunt Carme voices what I can''t let slip. I¡¯m on the Mess? I¡¯ve never seen the thing in real life of course, but I know it¡¯s like a big canvas or board with messages on it. Mostly news, like where Damagic has surfaced or what king is getting married. There¡¯s only a sentence on it; if you want the full story, you have to pay. But why would I be¡­ ¡°It must have been someone else,¡± Aunt Carme says, and I think she¡¯s right. ¡°Missing: female, about twenty years of age, from the surroundings of Yoszovar. More information¡­¡± ¡°Did you pay for the rest?¡± Aunt Carme''s voice sounds doubly as feeble as before. ¡°What choice did I have? The Healer wouldn¡¯t be around for another five minutes. I had to see if it was really about her¡­¡± ¡°And?¡± ¡°Defies gravity.¡± Well, not right now. I feel heavier than ever now that Uncle Aniol said these words, the soles of my feet so solidly on the ground that it hurts. ¡°Oh, Aniol¡­¡± ¡°The reward has gone up since Nora saw the notice way back when.¡± What? Why doesn¡¯t anyone ever tell me things? I always knew a Mage was looking for me, but that was just one Mage in thousands of people. But if he has everybody looking for me¡­ Fear grips my stomach even harder, and I want to turn and run, flee to the shack, to the basement, to anywhere I will be safe and hidden. But I can''t help but keep listening to the conversation. What if¡­ What if Aunt Carme and Uncle Aniol decide I''m worth less than the reward? ¡°I just don''t know¡­¡± Uncle Aniol starts. ¡°Aniol!¡± I''ve never heard Aunt Carme speak to Uncle Aniol like this before. Like she has no more patience for him. ¡°Listen to me. Keep her safe.¡± ¡°I just¡­¡± ¡°Keep her safe. Promise me again. Now.¡± Aunt Carme starts coughing again, a sound as if stones are scraping against each other in her throat. It makes me cringe. ¡°Carme¡­¡± Once more the warmth in Uncle Aniol''s voice strikes me. I shudder, knowing he has never poured such an amount of kindness into any word spoken to me, and he never will too. Aunt Carme''s voice is weak; I have to strain my ears to hear her. ¡°Even if Damagic is on our doorstep, or C¨¤gila is breathing fire down your neck, Aniol. Keep her safe.¡± This is too much. I can¡¯t breathe, I feel I might be sick, I¡­ I¡­ I can¡¯t run. I can¡¯t make a sound, I cannot let them know I heard all this. So I lift off the floor, forever grateful that the ankle bracelets are safely on the floor of a locked closet, and I hurl myself into the blistering heat outside. I hardly register the temperatures, or the bright light almost blinding me. My feet have to touch the ground. I must appear to be walking, to be running. That¡¯s all I can remember through the racing thoughts dizzying my mind. The danger is real. It¡¯s tangible. I feel so exposed out here, like someone is ready to snatch me and finish the business they once started. But for what? If I¡¯m worth so much to him, what does he need me for? What is my death supposed to bring this Mage? Whatever it is, I don¡¯t want to find out. I¡¯ll keep myself safe, out of sight. Somewhere to my left, a bird flies up toward the bright blue sky with a shrill shriek. Is that a bad omen? Is the Mage on his way, or is it C¨¤gila, or is it Damagic? My chest feels constricted, it¡¯s as if I cannot breathe as I hurry to reach the path closest to the mountainside. There, the grapevines are wilder and least contained compared to all the other rows of plants ¡ª maybe it could almost pass for lush and, most importantly, that path is the furthest from the entrance to the vineyard. I¡¯m still trying to find a balance between walking and stooping when I realize this won¡¯t get me to the safety I crave fast enough, and the shaking of my legs combined with the cramp in my stomach makes me want to lie down and not do anything anymore. I have to get to safety. I have to make sure nobody sees me, nobody hears me. When I almost stumble, I¡¯ve had enough. I lean forward, switching from navigating the earth to navigating the skies, and I glide forward like I¡¯m a snake carried by a shimmering heat mirage. I like the effect of the wind brushing my heated cheeks, my whole body now covered by the still long shadows of the plants around me, and by the time I reach the final path toward the shack, I feel a bit beter. Now, I don¡¯t dare to stand still to pay Granny respect, let alone send her a heart when anything could attract unwanted attention. I murmur an excuse and fly into the shack ¡ª literally. I smash the door so hard I make the window ring and press my back to it. Fear is still clenching my gut, but at least I¡¯m inside. At least I¡¯m out of sight. The sunlight seeping in through the window graces the shards on the floor, lighting every broken piece of glass it touches with a glow that seems out of this world. I can¡¯t help but be mesmerized by it, no matter how hard the fear is tugging at me. The play of light seems Magical, unreal. With the warm wood against my back and the roof over my head, I allow the sight to calm me down. It¡¯s ironic how the stained glass window pane I used to need to cling to when locked up in a closet, is now soothing me as I almost feel like wanting to lock myself into that very closet once more, and stay there until that Mage is dead and gone. I swallow as a bitter thought hits me. Why didn¡¯t he die instead of Granny? Why did I have to lose everything ¡ª my home, my family, my life ¡ª to a Mage so wicked he even outlives the people that truly love me? Oh feathers¡­ Aunt Carme. She¡¯ll be next. And after that¡­ My eyes drift to the chest high up in the wall¡¯s recess. Will I have something in there reminding me of Aunt Carme¡¯s love too? Too soon, too painful? What would it even be? Her beautiful necklace, perhaps? Or something she embroidered? Before I know it, tears are flowing down my cheeks, tracing cool paths over my heated skin. I quickly wipe them off. If I allow myself to ponder this for too long, I don¡¯t know if I¡¯ll ever recover. I have to do something. I don¡¯t even have to wonder what ¡ª they¡¯re staring me right in the face, all thousands of them. The shards of my old dreams, ready to be collected in a bucket and given to Amador so his father can smelt and blow them into something new. I like the idea of that and pick up the first shard within reach. Oh, right, of course. It¡¯s glass. That it''s weightless to me does not help in avoiding cuts ¡ª even before I pick up the third piece, I''m already bleeding. If I don¡¯t come up with a better idea, the ground will be littered with red blots before I¡¯ve even picked up a fraction of the mess, and I¡¯ll be empty. On the counter, I spot the pile of buckets I¡¯ve left there after finishing last month''s brew. That¡¯s where I¡¯ll start. There are no brooms or wipers to be found inside the shack, thanks to Granny''s spell to keep it clean ¡ª dust and dirt find their way out in a matter of hours, normally ¡ª but there is a drawer filled with old cloths, and the cutting board I use for slicing the amarold into the tiny rings needed for the brew will come in handy as well. My nose is less pleased about the idea - amarold is one of the smelliest herbs I know and its juices soak right into the wood. You¡¯d think that someone clever enough to invent a brew to make things taste good, would also invent a spell for reducing stench, but alas, the Mage who wrote the book didn¡¯t mind smelly stuff that much. Hovering on my belly, just above the floor ¡ª and breathing shallowly ¡ª I start to collect all the strewn pieces of glass and lead, scraping them together with the cutting board and shoving them into the bucket as best as they will. The finer pieces will have to be done with the piece of cloth. Oh, the noise these shards make! The air is filled with tinkles and chimes, making it impossible to hear anything outside. I can''t hear if Uncle Aniol returns, and if someone else is present on the grounds, I might even lead them straight to me. My insides clench at the thought, but I need to make this right. Now more than ever, I know I have to make sure Uncle Aniol and Aunt Carme want me around. I can¡¯t goof up. So I barrel through, trying not to send shards of glass flying all over the shed while collecting them as fast as I can, hoping the hem of my dress won¡¯t stir the shards still on the floor below me. As I move a dark piece of glass, formerly a part of the manor grounds, the lead that had encased it falls off. A small detail catches my eye, and I drop the cloth I used to moved the shard with. Could that be¡­ I reach for the fragment, a frown on my brow appearing as I focus on it. There, on the rim, a symbol has been etched into the glass. I squint to properly see the small geometric form, and a shudder travels down my spine when I realize that I know this shape. I carry it with me on¡ª The door opens, and I shoot upright so fast, that I now hover at least three feet above the floor. ¡°What in the name of fur have you done?¡± Chapter 9. Kayetan Yoszovar, 5 years before the Rise The figurine lies in my hand, the crystal glistening in the last rays of the sun filtering through the only window in the room. The window itself is enormous, adorned with stained glass, the Vorvalus emblem worked into a pattern with an elegance that shows that even the apprentice¡¯s rooms have been given a lot of thought ¡ª and budget. I feel out of place, and like I¡¯m betraying Sylva by not being there for her. Even on my longest days of working and school, I always returned home. And now I¡¯m here. In a room breathing wealth while she remains in a shabby attic under the care of a woman who thinks an outing to the market down the street is quite a journey. It¡¯s temporary, I want to tell myself, but then I remember the symbol I crashed and my throat tightens. Temporary is too risky a choice of words to cling to. And if Elrick really knows¡­ The figurine in my hands gets almost slippery with my hands turning clammy. What if he does snitch and I¡¯m out of here before I¡¯ve even started? I focus my attention on the figurine, as if to draw strength from it. It¡¯s beautifully made, if I hadn¡¯t seen Master Iacopor create it out of thin air, I would never have believed it was conjured up by Magic. Well, upon first look. There are small tell-tale signs of Magic, hardly noticeable. A faint smell of stale water. Something that feels like an echo of light simmering around the object ¡ª that won¡¯t be visible for much longer, that effect wears off. Just like the smell, that will wear too. And it¡¯s a general vibration I cannot pick up with my senses. It¡¯s more like an inner knowing than anything else. I take a deep breath. My teachers said I was fooling myself with this notion, and maybe they¡¯re right. I saw Master Iacopor make this figurine, so I know it was created magically. It might well be that I¡¯m tricking my mind into feeling something that isn¡¯t there. But still¡­ I think I can feel when Magic touched an item and when it was just the ordinary ¡®magic¡¯ a good artisan has brought into making it. Whatever the case, it¡¯s not something I have time to ponder. When I look up from the crystal, I am amazed once more at the beauty that surrounds me. Such a difference from when Sylva and I first came to Yoszovar, fleeing the town up north in the mountains because of the fevers and famine wreaking havoc there. We left a reasonably good home and had to make do in the cheapest of cheap housing upon our arrival here. I remember how Sylva and I had to huddle together beneath all the blankets we could find and we¡¯d still be shivering from the cold that crept in from multiple cracks in the walls. I was so afraid she wouldn¡¯t make it. Every sniffle sent me into a state of panic. Never again. Never, ever again. I promised Sylva, I promised myself. From now on, we will never again want for the basic things in life, and soon, we won¡¯t want for more luxury either. The figurine in my hand feels like this promise come to life. Sylva will love it ¡ª she likes cats anyway, and I know how much she loves the crystal necklace left to her by our mother. She wears it every single day. The idea to give her this figurine comes easily ¡ª the way to do it even more so. I focus on the figurine and speak the words to lift the obscuring spell, shaking off the last bits of unease about tripping over my words earlier. The flash of light coming off the crystal when it becomes fully visible again isn¡¯t necessary to remind me of the beauty these words energetically hold; I can feel the vibration in my body now, and I allow myself to be fully immersed in the wonder. Those teachers have to be sensory challenged not to feel this. Who knows, maybe they are. Chuckling to myself, I look at the wall in front of me. Next to an intricately ordained closet, there''s enough space to make an access point to the safe I share with Sylva. I cast the spell and can¡¯t help but wonder what this Magic will look like on the copper platter. The energy furls around the corners of a hatch in the wall that wasn¡¯t there just a few heartbeats before. I sense the things inside the safe; some money and a few keepsakes of my old life that remind me of how far I¡¯ve come. A little click tells me the work is done. I place the obscuring spell over the hatch before opening it. When I reach inside, I feel the tingling of fresh Magic ¡ª like the way a new book smells when you open it for the very first time, or when you put on a shirt that has been washed in flower-scented water ¡ª a subtle reminder of something wonderful that has been done. Yes, my teachers must really be thick if they can¡¯t sense this. I put the figurine inside with a certain reverence and then close the hatch. A letter to Sylva is something I¡¯ll have to work on later ¡ª I¡¯ll send it to her in the normal way so she¡¯ll know that she needs to check our safe every once in a while. A knock on the door has me jolting upright. It¡¯s time to go to dinner. And then my throat goes dry. I¡¯ve avoided the subject as best I could for the past couple of hours, but¡­ I won¡¯t just meet the family, I''ll meet Master Iacopor¡¯s daughter. The one with the glistening eyes and the long black curls I want to run my fingers through. Wait, did I really just think that? Yes, I did. I¡¯d better obscure that thought just like the hatch in my luxurious bedroom wall. Right. I can do this. I leave the room with my head held high, pretending nothing¡¯s amiss, when I find not only Haenar waiting for me, but Elrick as well. His lordship looks at me funny, his smirk lands a blow to my confidence. But he doesn¡¯t say a word, and upon entering the dining room ¡ª bigger than the whole of Moppa Verin¡¯s attic and then some ¡ª I realize why. Everybody inside is dressed to the nines. Dresses of the finest silk, jackets made of thick velvet and lined with colorful silks as well. Every button is shining and not a stitch of embroidery seems amiss. And here I am, with dust on my pants, a jacket that must be wrinkled after all that I¡¯ve done today and colors so dull they almost absorb the light. It¡¯s too late to perform any spells on my appearance ¡ª they¡¯ve all seen me like this now. Besides, they¡¯d probably tell I altered my appearance and mock me for it. Elrick¡¯s smirk only feeds my shame ¡ª I''ve been a fool to think it was about the statue and be done with it. So stupid. And now there''s nothing I can do but take the looks the Vorvalus family gives me; the pity on Master Iacopor¡¯s wife¡¯s face and the hint of mockery on his eldest daughter¡¯s, and the mixture of both of these in the amazing emerald green eyes the girl with the black curls. Those eyes still sparkle, even now that her anger has worn off ¡ª or at least I think it has. There''s so much to be seen in her gaze. Our eyes lock for the briefest of moments, and I spontaneously forget how to breathe. I can only wish she feels the same; a timelessness, a seeing into each other¡¯s souls, a connection that¡¯s instantly forged between us. How can it be that I¡¯ve remembered her beauty, but that the memory pales in comparison to the real girl? And how can my resolve not get to distracted by her crumble so easily? Just looking at her is enough to send me spiraling into hopes and dreams that I shouldn¡¯t even consider harboring. Man, I feel like the biggest doofus in the world for not changing into something more appropriate for our first meeting. Well, not that I have anything appropriate ¡ª I''m actually wearing my finest clothes to date. But I have a jacket that has a better cut, which even has some embroidery on it. A few lines of yarn have snapped, though, making for a disturbance in the pattern, so maybe it¡¯s better to fix that first. But at the very least I could have knocked some of the dust off my pants. Too late. Way too late. And the initial pity and scoff have gone, dissipating into something¡­ Could it be¡­ interest? I stand a little taller, hoping she¡¯ll be focused on me instead of my clothes. Then, she breaks off the eye contact and lowers her gaze to the empty wine glass in front of her. I have to keep myself from being overtly disappointed in that. Master Iacopor doesn¡¯t seem to notice any of this, to my relief. He walks over, welcoming us to the dining room. I nod just as gracefully as Elrick does ¡ª or at least I come as close as I can ¡ª and since even I have to admit that Elrick knows more about etiquette than me, I decide to follow his example as I''m introduced to the Vorvalus family. You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. ¡°This is my wife, the lovely Arceli,¡± Master Iacopor says, looking at the tall, slender woman wearing a delicate bronze-colored dress with a smile that displays his deep adoration for her. ¡°My love, these are Elrick and Kayetan, the apprentices I¡¯ve told you about.¡± For once, I don''t mind that Elrick has been named first. ¡°Told us about?¡± Arceli Vorvalus gives her husband an incredulous huff. ¡°You haven¡¯t talked about anything else for weeks.¡± She smiles at Elrick as he bows to her. In my mind, I repeat the gesture. Then, Arceli¡¯s gaze falls on me. Her eyes are not the usual green, but tending towards a blue like the eye color of most people I¡¯ve known back home. I wonder if we might share a common ancestry one way or another ¡ª I know the Vorvalus family goes way back in the history of Yoszovar, but it''s possible that Mistress Arceli¡¯s lineage extends all the way to the north. I bow to her just like Elrick has done, and she smiles at me as well. ¡°You must be Kayetan,¡± she says. It might be wishful thinking, but it seems as though she can wrap her tongue around my name a bit easier than most people in Yoszovar. ¡°Yes, madam.¡± I smile back. Her voice has been warm and gentle, welcoming even. ¡°How lovely to meet you.¡± Her smile widens. ¡°Thank you. You must tell me all about your first day here.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure they won¡¯t shut up about it,¡± somebody mutters. Arceli¡¯s gaze immediately shoots towards her second daughter. ¡°Melena,¡± she hisses. ¡°I apologize,¡± Melena says in a tone that is sincere enough, but her eyes have the same defiance they carried this morning. ¡°It slipped out before I could help myself.¡± Master Iacopor purses his lips together. ¡°We¡¯ll make sure other subjects will be entering the conversation, my dear,¡± he says, clearly mastering the same skill as his daughter ¡ª using a tone of voice that doesn¡¯t come close to matching the expression in his eyes. He ignores his daughter¡¯s scowl and goes on to introduce her older sister, Ralonda, whose eyes are a cold green without much light in them. Her whole demeanor is quite reserved ¡ª I wonder if it''s her character or upbringing that has her acting so timidly and poised. Upon meeting Elrick, her mother inclined her head. Ralonda makes a proper bow, though not a deep one. Elrick simply acknowledges it with a courteous nod. Then Ralonda looks at me, and I bow for her. She pulls up the corner of her mouth ever so slightly and makes me feel like I¡¯ve done something wrong. Restrained amusement on my behalf is thick in the air, I¡¯m expecting a wave of laughter to crackle through at any moment. Nobody says a word, though, and Master Iacopor shoots Melena a sharp look before he says: ¡°And my second daughter, who has already made her presence here quite clear. Melena, I¡¯d like you to meet Kayetan and Elrick.¡± Oh dear, I¡¯ve come first. ¡°It¡¯s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Melena. How do you do,¡± I mumble, resisting the urge to bow like I¡¯ve done for Ralonda since that was clearly something they¡¯ll laugh about behind my back. Melena raises both her eyebrows at me, blinks, and then turns to Elrick, to whom she bows. I''m left aghast. Surely, I haven¡¯t insulted her by saying how pleased I am to meet her? I can''t imagine anyone being offended by those words ¡ª and they''re more true than I hope she¡¯ll ever find out. What''s happening here? Confused, I look away ¡ª especially since she smiles the prettiest of smiles at Elrick and laughs sweetly at a lame joke that Elrick butchers. What have I done wrong not to get such a smile from Melena? Is there any hope of rescuing this situation, and¡­ Well, in a way life would be simpler if she hated me. I¡¯m here for Magic, not for a beautiful girl that won¡¯t even smile at me. But why does it feel like I¡¯ve been stabbed in the middle of my chest? I catch a servant¡¯s gaze ¡ª Haenar looks at me as if he¡¯s straining himself not to tell me all that I¡¯m doing wrong. He shakes his head ever so slightly, eying Melena first and then bows without moving much at all. Oh no. Should I do bow for her now? But the moment has passed, and there¡¯s nothing I can do to make up for my incivility. I''m introduced to another daughter, Eilyn. She''s a fair bit younger than Ralonda and Melena, probably two years younger than Sylva, though nobody would tell the difference since Sylva¡¯s so frail. Eilyn has eyes that sparkle in a similar way as Melena¡¯s do, only her sparkle is one of pure joy. She bows to Elrick, and I take advantage of that moment to look at Haenar again. He bows ever so shallowly, and when Eilyn looks at me, I bow just as gracefully as I¡¯ve done for her mother. Eilyn beams, and Melena looks even more cross. She quickly engages her mother in conversation and ignores me so blatantly that I have to take a deep breath to let the nausea fade. I remind myself that it¡¯s good that she¡¯s not interested in me whatsoever. Why do I keep harboring these thoughts of getting closer to her, running my fingers through those beautiful curls, kissing those perfect lips¡­ I would do anything to make her like me, and that thought scares me so much that another wave of nausea hits. ¡°Sit, sit,¡± Master Iacopor says, as if he doesn¡¯t sense the unease flying across the table. He gestures for Elrick to sit down next to Melena. She seems very pleased with that, which sends another sting through my chest. The last set place on the table is next to Eilyn, so I sit down beside her, happy that I can relax a bit next to the youngest Vorvalus daughter. That turns out to be a misconception, as she turns to me straight away and looks at me with sincere interest. ¡°Are you hungry?¡± she asks. ¡°Yes, I am,¡± I answer. ¡°Aren¡¯t you?¡± She nods. ¡°Yes. I am always hungry around dinnertime. But then they fill my plate with more than I can eat, and there¡¯s a lot left, and I have to eat all of it because it¡¯s unfair to those who are hungry, mommy says, and then I¡¯m too full and it hurts real bad.¡± She leans over conspiratorially. ¡°If I¡¯m full, can I give you what doesn¡¯t fit into my tummy anymore?¡¯ I suppress a smile ¡ª she''s just as forward and open as Sylva and even smiles in a similar way. ¡°But what if I¡¯m full too?¡± ¡°You can¡¯t be,¡± Eilyn says. ¡°You¡¯re poor, and mommy says poor people are always hungry.¡± I try my best to hide how sharp her words have inadvertently stung me behind a smile. ¡°Well, I used to be poor. But now that I¡¯m here, I¡¯m not poor anymore.¡± ¡°You¡¯re not?¡± Eilyn frowns and pouts her lips just a bit, as if she needs to contemplate this very, very deeply. ¡°Right. I guess that makes sense. But how come your clothes are still poor?¡± Another sting. I can¡¯t be mad at her; she doesn¡¯t even judge me for being poor but jumps to conclusions entirely of her own. But as honest and nonjudgmental as Eilyn is, her sisters and maybe even her mother secretly think the same and they probably do judge me for it. I look at her and move a bit closer. Eilyn leans in some more, as if I¡¯m about to tell her a big secret. ¡°I¡¯m still adjusting,¡± I say. ¡°I just moved here, my clothes still have to get used to the new situation.¡± Eilyn snorts a cute laugh. ¡°You¡¯re silly. Clothes don¡¯t need to get used to things, they¡¯re just clothes.¡± ¡°Oh, clothes are quite capable of more than you think,¡± I assure her. ¡°Mine are still processing the fact that I¡¯m here. They¡¯re a bit overwhelmed.¡± Another snorted laugh, and a head shake. ¡°But you can do Magic,¡± she says. ¡°All you have to do is put a spell on your clothes, and they¡¯ll look wonderful. Daddy did that for Rally¡¯s clothes once. They sparkled all night and even into the morning.¡± ¡°Did he now?¡± ¡°It was so pretty,¡± Eilyn says. ¡°I asked if he would do the same for me, but he said I needed to be older. I just turned ten, so it¡¯s a year less now, but I¡¯m still going to have to wait at least five years.¡± ¡°Five.¡± I whistle as if I¡¯m impressed. ¡°That¡¯s quite a number of years.¡± ¡°Uncountable minutes,¡± Eilyn sighs dramatically. She must be more than two years younger than Sylva. I swallow away the discomfort when I think about how she compares to a healthy, well-fed noble girl, and about the image I saw in that mirror. Eilyn doesn¡¯t notice, thankfully. She looks at me in earnest. ¡°I tried to do the numbers, but I ran out of fingers.¡± I nod as if I understand how horrible it is to run out of fingers to count on. ¡°Well,¡± I say thoughtfully. ¡°Maybe if you finish your plate every time, you¡¯ll grow to be fifteen faster.¡± ¡°No way.¡± ¡°If you grow up, get nice and strong, and tall, and even prettier than you already are, then maybe you get to have a sparkling Magical dress too.¡± ¡°You think?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t you?¡± Eilyn¡¯s face contorts again into a thoughtful frown. ¡°Hm,¡± she says. ¡°You might be right.¡± ¡°And even if you don¡¯t turn fifteen sooner, you¡¯ll be stronger, taller, and prettier by the time you will.¡± Eilyn now nods. Then her eyes get big. ¡°But what about you?¡± she says. ¡°What about me?¡± ¡°If you don¡¯t finish my plate, what about your hunger? If your clothes are still adjusting, then your tummy must be too.¡± ¡°My tummy will be fine.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± She looks at me, her expression still worried. ¡°Are you sure?¡± ¡°Sure, I¡¯m sure.¡± ¡°Oh. Good. Because I want to finish my plate now.¡± As if the servants have been waiting for that confession, they swoop in with plates filled with all kinds of vegetables, meats, and sauces. Of course, Master Iacopor has summoned them ¡ª the conversations of a young girl and a poor boy aren¡¯t exactly noteworthy. Yet when I look up, I see that Arceli is looking at me with a smile that expresses both satisfaction and a certain surprise, while Melena looks at me as if I¡¯m filth that clings to a dog¡¯s paws. I open my mouth to say something, but I know no word could ever make those sparkling green eyes look at me without seeing anything but a poor boy working his way up the Magical ranks. I am nobody to her, and when Elrick makes a remark about one of the dishes, even her laugh says she¡¯d never laugh as freely or vividly about anything I could ever say. I need to forget about her completely, focus on my studies and the amazing things I¡¯m going to learn here. Yes, I¡¯m a poor kid working his way up. But I have talent, I have ideas, and¡­ I have broken the statue, and I need to get my skills up to speed to fix that mess and make sure Elrick, now talking to Melena as if they¡¯re old friends, can¡¯t use it to get me kicked out. And maybe, just maybe, Melena will talk to me like that once too. Oh dear. I would melt on the spot. Chapter 10. Ennah Sentisse, 66 years after the Rise I''m not entirely sure why I''m sitting here. It¡¯s so close to the vineyard entrance, and still I¡¯ve chosen this spot to wallow over my life. Maybe it¡¯s because the glass heap is the closest thing to Amador that I have on the premises, sad as that is. Maybe it¡¯s a weird hope to find the shard I dropped when Uncle Aniol barged into the shack and started shouting. Or perhaps I¡¯m just fleeing the shouts that I know would have cracked the air if I¡¯d stayed inside the house, no matter if Aunt Carme was sleeping. If I¡¯d stayed there for one minute longer, he definitely would have found a toe nail of mine out of line ¡ª or in the air ¡ª and he would have blown up. I think the no screaming near Aunt Carme reason is the only viable one. The shard is hardly something to think about. No, I didn¡¯t know the symbols on my ankle bracelets had anything to do with my ¡®real¡¯ home, but since I¡¯m no longer planning on returning to that former future home, it doesn¡¯t matter, does it? And Amador never shows up two days in a row. He¡¯s too busy working for his father. Expecting him to turn up here is foolish at best. So I must be here to find solace. Peace. As far as that¡¯s possible when your Aunt is on the verge of¡­ A sting of pain pierces my heart as the horridness of the situation sinks in. Uncle Aniol reluctantly told me that the Healer has indeed been by. The man provided a few doses of medicine. Not a cure, but something to subdue the symptoms so¡­ I take a shuddering breath. So Aunt Carme¡¯s last days would be spent with as little pain and physical difficulty as possible, and her path to death would be kind. I can¡¯t believe the Healers have something to take away the pain, the coughing and the other discomforts, but still cannot stop death. It¡¯s so strange. I thought it would be easier to know if someone was slipping away. I thought it would be better if you were able to say goodbye, if you could prepare for that fateful moment. Granny¡¯s death was so sudden, such a shock, and I felt so awful for not being able to tell her how much I loved her one last time. With Aunt Carme, I was able to say the words, and I will still have an opportunity later judging by the five vials on her nightstand, and still, it hurts like the highest skies I can¡¯t think this way. She must make a miraculous recovery. I¡¯m counting on Uncle Aniol having to go and collect more vials of medicine. I have to¡­ I have to remain calm, even though I wish I could fly away from all this. Why can¡¯t I simply travel back in time to when all was well? When I had only recently met Amador and felt even more giddy with excitement than I do now. When Granny was still around, when Aunt Carme was healthy and energetic, and Uncle Aniol¡­ Well, he wasn¡¯t the epitome of pleasantness before, but it was better than it is now. Much better. Bitter tears cloud my vision as I¡¯m once again reminded of how my life is almost unrecognizable now. I miss Granny so much. She would have hugged me and told me everything was going to be alright, that I was safe, that nobody could harm me. But she isn''t here, and no heart in a jar will ever make up for that fact. I touch the crystal on my ankle bracelet again and I feel like such a fraud all of the sudden. Granny gave up everything she knew, everyone she loved, to keep me safe at a vineyard who knows how many miles from her home, and here I am, reducing her sacrifice to shams. How can I? Is it a good thing that I wasn¡¯t able to tell Aunt Carme I¡¯m staying yet? Should I hold off on telling Uncle Aniol about my plans? And Amador¡­ Fear clenches my heart at the thought of telling him about my abilities. What if he leaves me as soon as he finds out I can fly? Something suddenly covers my eyes, blocking all the light. Terror rushes through me like a storm as something warm, a bit sweaty, and very much alive pulls me backward. Oh no. The Mage! I was too close to the road, they spotted me, I¡­ I almost try to fly away, but then I recognize the scent, the touch. My body¡¯s response. ¡°Amador!¡± The relief makes my limbs turn heavy, and I feel like a ragdoll against his strong chest. ¡°Ennah, my love.¡± He releases his hands from my eyes, only to wrap his arms around me from behind, both tight and supportive. He kisses my ear. ¡°I see that you''re missing my company dearly.¡± I smile as the last tendrils of fear slowly subside as happiness takes over. ¡°Do you now?¡± ¡°The look of pure misery on your face made it more than clear,¡± he says in a low tone. ¡°What''s the matter?¡± So much for the happiness. ¡°My aunt isn''t well. She¡¯s¡­¡± I can¡¯t say she¡¯s dying. I just can¡¯t. Saying it out loud makes it too definite, too real. If I am to retain even a sliver of hope, I need to speak that hope to life. ¡°She¡¯s hanging in there.¡± He throws me a sympathetic look. ¡°I¡¯m sorry to hear she¡¯s taken ill. Knowing your stories about her, she¡¯ll be on the mend soon, right?¡± ¡°Right,¡± I say, knowing full well that he now thinks Aunt Carme¡¯s illness is little more than a cold. But it feels good to have him think that. As if the danger just became less real because someone truly believes she¡¯ll heal with ease. I melt into his embrace, grateful for his presence and the thoughts he¡¯s keeping for me. Should I tell him? My heart starts beating frantically. His mouth is close to my ear, his whispers a gentle caress across my skin. ¡°So¡­ Are you here because you were somehow certain that I wanted to see you today? Or are you just hiding from all the chores your uncle wants you to do?¡± The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°Of course, I was hoping you''d show up.¡± He releases his hold on me just enough for me to turn around and kiss me. His lips are warm and enticing; his scent washes over me and fills me with expectation. ¡°Weird thing,¡± he says softly. ¡°I was here yesterday and did everything I had to: deliver bottles and collect the shards for the smelter. Make sweet love to you...¡± Another kiss. ¡°And still, I felt I needed to be here again today.¡± ¡°And quite early too.¡± It¡¯ll be a few hours before midday slumbers. He nods, his brown eyes just catching the sunlight, making them gleam with gold. ¡°I guess I felt you needed me.¡± I sigh and let my head rest against his shoulder. Amador is here. He doesn''t know anything about my secrets, he doesn''t expect me to make or do anything to save the vineyard or the wine. He just likes me for who I am. The fact that he has indeed felt that I needed support ¡ª needed him ¡ª is enough to make me want to cry. Not that I would do that, but it feels good to have him here. ¡°Come now,¡± he says. ¡°I don''t want to see those beautiful green eyes filled with this much sorrow.¡± I manage a smile. ¡°As you said, you arrived at the perfect time.¡± He tucks a black curl behind my ear, and I lift my head to kiss him. Again, a rush of warmth and relaxation tingles through my body. I wrap my arms around him, grateful for his arms protecting and supporting me. There''s a relief in knowing where this will lead ¡ª we''ve been down the path to intimacy so many times that I shiver with anticipation. I can tell he senses it too; his hold on me becomes firmer, and his breathing heavier. It seems like today I¡¯m even more keen on fleeing into this energy, into not having to do or be anyone but myself. But not right beside the glass heap. It¡¯s as if Amador can hear my thoughts. ¡°Shall we take it to our cellar?¡± he whispers. ¡°Or is your uncle working there today?¡± ¡°There are orders that need to be processed,¡± I whisper back. I think Uncle Aniol is in the house, but I can¡¯t be sure. The only habit I can rely on is where he spends midday slumbers. ¡°Why have you come this early?¡± ¡°I told you, I felt you needed me,¡± Amador says. ¡°And I couldn''t sleep in since my father had an extraordinarily large order to deliver today, and he was frantic about delivering it and getting back home again well before the slumbers. Guess who had to help him load it on the carts.¡± Amador pulls a face that says he didn¡¯t exactly enjoy to the work. ¡°Sounds like you made good time.¡± ¡°Yup. And, as it turns out, for a good reason.¡± He shoots me a look that awakens an entire colony of butterflies in my stomach. What did I do to deserve such a wonderful man? ¡°Well, I''m glad you came by and found me.¡± Amador chuckles. ¡°Way better than broken glass.¡± He kisses me, and suddenly, I have a hard time remembering how to breathe. ¡°How is it possible that I want you so badly?¡± he whispers as he pulls me against his chest. ¡°When it was only yesterday that we...¡± ¡°I feel the same,¡± I softly mumble into the hollow of his neck. Oh, we really need to find a place to be alone. One of the storage units is empty. Maybe, if we take a blanket or something of the sort... Keeping as close to Amador as I can, I look around for something soft and cozy to bring along. With Amador on top of me, the floor tends to push against me in ways my body isn''t used to. I don''t feel like adding bruises to the fresh collection I acquired yesterday. The only things lying around are the padded cloths used for wrapping bottles, made from the fluffy plumes of a weed called sapphyn, or ''hare''s menace'' as people have nicknamed it. As if hares are ticklish. Amador follows my gaze and grins. ¡°I think you know where to go.¡± ¡°I do. The leftmost storage unit isn¡¯t in use right now.¡± ¡°Can''t wait,¡± he says. ¡°Don''t follow me too swiftly,¡± I warn. I can almost feel him rolling his eyes. ¡°I don''t know if I can stand the wait.¡± ¡°Wasn''t it you who once told me that the longing makes the love all the sweeter, when I was moaning about how long I''d waited for you to show up?¡± He now moans. ¡°Yes. I knew you''d use it against me one day.¡± I smile and take some cloths. ¡°Can you take these with you?¡± ¡°Sure.¡± He squints at our supply. ¡°Do you need more? We''ve employed another dozen of farmers to grow sapphyn for us.¡± ¡°I think we''re good.¡± I look at him as the full meaning of what he just said dawns on me. ¡°Another dozen?¡± ¡°Yes, things are looking up. Wrapping the bottles individually is the new standard.¡± He smiles. ¡°Dad never thought of doing anything for protection, but the clients love it when they feel we''ve treated their precious orders with respect, and we do receive fewer complaints. It''s going well. I think I ought to thank you for that.¡± ¡°Yes, you really ought to,¡± I had wanted to say, for it is true that it was my idea to protect the glass ¡ª in particular from my weirdness when I carry them ¡ª but he kisses me before I make it past ''really.'' The butterflies are now swirling around inside me, all of them reaching straight for the area between my legs, giving wings to my desire. I want Amador so badly it almost hurts. It¡¯s a strange agony: I¡¯m missing his touch like I¡¯d miss the air underwater, and at the same time my skin becomes so sensitive that the tiniest brush of fabric against it hurts. The sweetest kind of hurt, but torture nonetheless. His tongue plays with mine, his hands are all over my back and bottom, pulling me closer to his muscular, lean body. ¡°We have to go...¡± I whisper when he lets go of my lips only to kiss my earlobe and gently bite it. ¡°I know,¡± he sighs. ¡°Just give me some more to bridge the time between now and the moment I¡¯ll be laying you down on the floor of that storage unit. I want you, Ennah. I need you.¡± I let out a high-pitched moan and press my breasts against him. His thumbs brush against the tender sides, and he kisses my neck. ¡°I can understand why your uncle doesn''t want anyone to know about you. I should thank him for keeping you here. All mine...¡± ¡°All yours...¡± I breathe. Amador''s hands slide down my back and further down, along my skirt until he finds my skin. He makes a hard return going up, and I hold my breath as his fingers find my already wet core. ¡°All mine,¡± he groans. I want him to never let me go again, for his fingers to bury themselves deep into me and for him love me until I see stars, but that isn''t possible here. Amador seems to think otherwise. He slips his hands underneath my skirt once more, and immediately, he finds my slick flesh. I sigh as one of his fingers disappears inside me, pushing myself on top of his hand with enough force to take him in entirely. ¡°Ennah...¡± he grunts, and a second finger follows the first. I can''t help but grind my hips, trying to give him even more access, to encourage him to please not stop. ¡°You make me so hot,¡± he whispers, and I kiss him, long and deeply. His fingers are now steadily gliding in and out of me, the pace teasingly slow, making me squirm. I rub his hard cock over the coarse fabric of his shorts, making him moan in a low tone that resonates throughout my whole body. This is bliss ¡ª or as close as I can get to that at this very moment at this very place. I want more. ¡°We have to go,¡± I whisper. ¡°Yes.¡± It¡¯s more like a grunt escaping his lips than anything else. Amador quickly gets up. My body is cold where he touched me before, but I know it won''t be that long before I can enjoy all of him again, and that thought helps me as I watch Amador disappear in the direction of the empty storage unit and get swallowed by the darkness behind the door. No Uncle Aniol in sight. No Mage. A fluttering in my stomach. Good. I take a deep breath, steady myself on my feet, and figure there''s no point in waiting any longer. Mindful as I am about touching the ground with every step, I¡¯m not sure if I¡¯ll be able to. Amador is waiting. Chapter 11. Ennah Sentisse, 66 years after the Rise I don''t see Amador right away, and my heart flutters as I realize he''s hiding himself pretty well just in case Uncle Aniol makes an unexpected appearance here. The arousal already awakened by our entanglement near the glass pit now gains more momentum now that I have to go look for him, like a sort of grown-up hide-and-seek. The idea that we''ll do it somewhere we haven''t been before, almost out in the open¡­ If I could fall prey to gravity, who knows if my knees would actually have buckled. And I know it shouldn¡¯t be here, that I shouldn¡¯t want this. Not when Aunt Carme is ill, and not even if she weren¡¯t because what we¡¯re about to do is beyond risky and bold, but¡­ I can¡¯t deny how much I want this, how much I need this distraction, how much I need Amador¡¯s hands on my body so that at least one aspect of my life is normal and good. I reach for the buttons at the hem of my dress, undoing them so he can have his way with me. A shiver runs down my spine as I think about what Amador will do with his fingertips, but I¡¯ll have to find him first. It was a good call to try this unit. There¡¯s stuff everywhere. Old barrels and big bags of dried manure ¡ª thankfully past the state of smelling ¡ª are stacked all around the floor, making for various spots to keep ourselves from being spotted. I wonder which hideaway Amador chose to wait for me. If he''s been smart ¡ª like he absolutely can be ¡ª he''s made sure he won''t be visible through any of the windows and has selected a big pile of stuff to hide behind so that nobody walking into the unit will be able to tell there are two people making sweet love very, very near to them. So he should be¡­ I walk over to a pile of barrels I¡¯ve stacked myself a few months ago, grateful for my apparent foresight to create the divide in the room. My ankle bracelets tingle gently as I walk, the sound quite present in the open space, heightening my anticipation. "Ennah," he beams as soon as he sees me. He''s already laid out the padding and covered it with his shirt. His bare chest, sun-kissed yet still a lot lighter than mine, is a sight to behold. I long to touch him, to taste him, to feel him on top of me. Quickly I kneel beside him, releasing my precious load of padding as if it is of no importance. He doesn''t notice how slowly all of it drifts down. Before my knees touch the floor, he''s already there, his arms around me, his lips on mine, his skin hot against the suddenly too-thick fabric of my dress. A few pieces of padding are pressed between our legs. Soft though I know them to be, they feel like metal cushions. I quickly brush them aside, only just mindful enough to give them a gentle nudge. I probably won''t be able to throw them through the door from here ¡ª nowhere near the door, in fact ¡ª but they could easily land quite some distance away from the safety of our barrels. And then he kisses me, and all thoughts of doors and padding vanish from my mind. How is it possible that Amador feels so good in my arms? So hot, so alive, so¡­ "Ennah¡­" he breathes. "I want to make you scream." The promise in that simple sentence almost makes my bones melt ¡ª I know he can make me utter sounds I¡¯d never make in normal life. He has made me scream quite a few times. Only when I knew for certain that nobody was within earshot, of course, and even then, I¡¯ve always capped the sound. Now, in this echoey storage building, I really have to rein myself in. In a weird way, that is even hotter than simply surrendering to the heat of the moment. Today¡¯s heat is dangerous, and a part of me longs to be burned. Amador lays me down on his shirt, the padding beneath it far better than the rough floor of the storage unit. Leaning on his elbow, he lets his free hand drift over my body. I can feel the small ridges of the scars that adorn his fingers ¡ª working in a glass-blowing hall has its dangers. His touch is direct and hot on the bare skin around my collarbone, turning into a soft promise where we are separated by clothes that need to be disposed of as soon as possible. I already start tugging at my dress. There have only been a few instances where he has undressed me, and it has been heavenly. What will today bring? His hand slides under my skirt and finds my warm, slick entrance again. My, he really is hungry for me ¡ª the stage of kissing and caressing my breasts has been cut shorter than ever, though my nipples are pebbled from his gentle rubbing. Even fully clothed, they are visible, and I silently beg him to touch them again. I clamber upright just enough to tug up my dress, hoping that uncovering my upper body will entice him to kiss and caress me there some more before we go on. I know the order of making love ¡ª as soon as we have become one, there will be no more attention cast towards my breasts. Kisses will become sparse, at least until he swiftly pulls away from me to reach his climax. That leaves him so out of breath and exhausted that he always needs some time and space to pull himself together again. I love that I make him fall apart so intensely every time. Knowing I hold such power over him makes me shiver even just thinking about it, that I can please him to that extreme, until he grins with utter satisfaction and a certain gratefulness. That is usually my cue to snuggle up to him and listen to his heartbeat returning to a normal pace, and be lulled into a slumber by the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. It is utterly satisfying. Once, we had a lot of time and a lot of hunger, and we went for a second round. That time is etched in my memory; the passion has veered so high between us that I almost experienced the wave to flow over me; the rush of pleasure that I can induce in myself when I¡¯m alone, touching myself like Amador does at the beginning of our love-making. I¡¯ve asked him to rub and caress me between my legs longer, I think it would be Magical if he¡¯d make such a wave wash over me, but he always stops before I reach that point. Maybe I should ask him again. But on the other hand, him filling me up with his wonderful, throbbing cock makes me happy and feels great. I do need that, so¡­ I pull him a bit closer as his hands cup my ass. And I certainly won''t experience anything if my clothes remain where they are right now ¡ª on me and completely in the way. I struggle to free myself without punching Amador in the face or getting too far away from him, which turns out to be quite a challenge. As if he senses my urgency, he kisses me on the nose and lets go of me, grinning cheekily before seizing the opportunity to get rid of his clothes as well. I breathe a sigh of relief when Amador finally presses against me without the barrier of fabric keeping us apart. His skin is so warm, so alive, so wonderfully good against mine, that I let out a deep sigh. If I thought his skin was hot, his hard cock is searing. It pushes against my lower belly with a promise that takes my breath away. My longing for him to touch my breasts, to kiss me and caress me everywhere makes me writhe beneath him, pressing my body against his in every way I possibly can. He kisses the hollow beneath my cheek, and he pulls my leg up so he can again slide his fingers into me. A bolt of tingles shoots directly toward my core. Amador¡¯s touches feel so intense. Could it be that this time¡­? His heavy breathing fires me up, I reach for his cock to give him pleasure. He''s so hard in my hand, jerking when I run my fingers up and down the shaft. The more I stroke him, the more intense his caresses become. I can hear how wet I am, sounds that speed along or slow down with the rhythm of Amador¡¯s movements. "You¡¯re so ready," he whispers. "So hot. I want to fill you completely." No, not yet. Give me more of this first, make me soar with pleasure some more before we become deliciously one. ¡°Don¡¯t stop yet, please¡­¡± I moan. His caresses feel so good. But he wastes no time to climb on top of me, and I surrender. I gasp as the knob of his shaft is pressed against my entrance. He runs the head up and down my sensitive lips, wettening it so he can slide in with ease. He always makes sure it will go easily ¡ª once, we weren''t that patient, and it hurt us both. He''s been careful ever since, and though I''m appreciative about that, I''m also impatient. Breathing heavily, I push my hips up so that he knows I''m ready, so he can tell that I might burst with anticipation if he doesn''t enter me soon. When he finally does, I breathe a deep sigh of relief. His weight is heavy on me as he uses the hold gravity has on him to sink deeper into me, a feeling so alien and yet so familiar to me that I close my eyes and just linger in it. Everything loses its touch with gravity when I¡¯m near, but people are the exception. I remember how heavy Granny was when I found her, the little heart she left me floating just above her own heart that no longer beat¡­ This is no thought to harbor right now, but I have trouble letting it go. Why, for feather¡¯s sake? I am here with my lover, and he¡¯s making my body feel incredible. Amador pulls back and thrusts with increasing intensity. I know he will slowly build up the tempo, and increase the force behind his movements, until every pounce follows the one before faster and deeper, until our lovemaking is like an avalanche gaining speed the further downhill it falls. Again there¡¯s this lightning bolt of pride that he can lose himself in me, that I, Ennah, am special enough to make him climax every single time. The thought makes me even wetter than I already am, enabling Amador to slide in deeper. I roll my hips, wriggle beneath him to feel more of him, take him in further, to create those intense sensations that make my cheeks flush, my blood rush, and the pleasure roar through my body. Maybe I don¡¯t need his fingers ¡ª he doesn¡¯t like it when I touch myself. But just maybe¡­ I throw my head back, focusing solely on where our bodies collide, where all else simply falls away. Amador grunts, the franticness of him moving in and out of me a telltale sign that it won''t be long before he has to pull back and come all over my belly. I push against him harder, trying to get the friction between us just right, still hoping that maybe I can ride my wave as well. Harder, faster, deeper. Ah, yes, that¡¯s the spot. I now hold still, not wanting to throw anything off now that I¡¯ve found a spot that gives me immense pleasure. Oh, his cock feels so good in me. A drop of sweat hits my chest and trickles down my side, leaving a moist trail chilled by Amador¡¯s panting. "Please¡­" I start. If he would lick or carefully bite a nipple right now, I¡¯d lose myself too. ¡°Touch me, please¡­¡± Amador moans as if he''s in agony, plunges into me once more, and then quickly retreats. His hot come shoots as far up as my breasts, adding to the bliss that is building inside me. If he would touch me now, I know I¡¯ll all but explode. One bite, one lick, one carefully placed caress. ¡°Could you¡­¡± I start whispering, still out of breath, but Amador doesn''t hear it. He closes his eyes and turns away from me. I close my eyes as well. Again, I haven''t been fast enough to catch the wave. But it has been amazing; my body tingles all over, and the proof of our passion is right there, glistening on my skin. I quickly reach for the handkerchief I never forget to carry with me ever since one time I didn''t have anything to wipe myself clean with, and I¡¯m once again grateful that the white liquid behaves quite differently from things like soup and tea. "You are amazing, Ennah¡­" Amador mumbles. "So are you," I reply. I put away the handkerchief ¡ª which is prone to fly off, so I get rid of it quite quickly ¡ª and roll to my side to study Amador. His expression is one of intense satisfaction and I smile. He holds out his hand, inviting me to come and lie down against him. I don''t have to think twice. And there, with his arm safely around me, I savor the pleasure that is now slowly ebbing from my body, grateful once more that I met Amador and that he initiated me into this wonderful way of expressing what cannot be anything but true love. Chapter 12. Melena Yoszovar, 5 years before the Rise I¡¯ve overstayed my welcome in the bathhouse. Of course, it¡¯s my own fault ¡ª against my better judgment, I decided to float around in the heated pool a little longer. And I didn¡¯t decide on that once, but at least seven times. And now I¡¯m caught in the hustle and bustle of women leaving right before the men come in, and I hate that moment almost as thoroughly as I hate the cold bath in the back of the bathhouse. Why did I allow myself to postpone my departure so many times? What was I thinking ¡ª that the paint still hadn¡¯t come off my fingers? That I hadn¡¯t shriveled up like prune enough yet? But as I pull my towel from the hook, trying to avoid bumping into two elderly ladies who not only dominate the space with their endless chatter but also take up a lot of room with their corpulent bodies and don¡¯t even think to look whether somebody is standing where they want to go or not, I know very well why. It was a good idea to have Yeszy, my personal maid and usual company when going to the bathhouse, go home before me so she could take precautionary action if needed. Oh, I feel it is needed. If I could, I would probably have postponed my departure a hundred times, but I can¡¯t. It¡¯s frustrating. As are all the women here ¡ª the two blocking my hook in particular. To add to my annoyance about their vociferous presence, the two have somehow thought it a good idea to hang their towels side by side to mine, causing me to have to squeeze between them in an attempt to rescue my towel and dry myself off as quickly as I can. Hopefully, most of the women present in the dressing room have had the sense to plan ahead and stay ahead of the crowd so by now they¡¯ll be about ready to leave, but if I can trust my ears, that isn¡¯t the case. The dressing room is filled to the brink with women yapping away, taking their sweet time to dry themselves off and then get dressed. They¡¯ll drive the attendants mad, for no man is supposed to enter the bathhouse when a woman is still present, and I know how big the lines can grow on any given day ¡ª I usually breathe a sigh of relief when I leave here and pass the line that is already growing, not wanting to guess how long it will be come changing time. Why did I allow myself to be so slow? Today, the sigh that wants to come up has nothing to do with relief. I know very well why I delayed going home. Even thinking about the manor makes me want to hide in some remote corner of the bathhouse and not come out ¡ª sending Yeszy was a feeble attempt to gain some control over the situation. Marriage, ugh. Not that Horgas is such an awful guy, but the thought of marrying him¡­ This time I have to suppress a gag, and I immediately feel the sting of guilt run through my stomach right next to the nausea at the idea of binding myself to Horgas. All the women here would probably have given their right hand to be engaged to Horgas Malleti when they were my age. Most of them probably even would right now, no matter their age or marital status. Horgas is well-born, handsome and, well, nice. Everything a woman might look for ¡ª any woman but me. I suddenly realize I am staring straight ahead, my hair still dripping rosewater on me, the towel motionless in my hands. In front of my breasts and other area¡¯s don¡¯t like exposing to the world, but just hanging there idly. The big women are all but finished, already making their way towards the door. The crowd seems to grow smaller, and I can now separate different conversations ¡ª most of them gossip. If I¡¯m right, two different conversations are going on about the same subject, a servant girl that somehow managed to poison an entire household by mixing up the herbs used as cold medicine with the ones used for soap. It¡¯s quite an accomplishment since both herbs look nothing alike. The distinct smell of both of them adds to the weirdness of the incident, and that makes speculations about the degree of intent spread like wildfire. The two ladies nearest to me are absolutely certain the girl fed the family the wrong herbs to cover up some unlawful affair ¡ª their tone just a bit too exhilarated to hide the fact that they¡¯re bored out of their minds with their own lives and need to seek some sort of thrill over the backs of others. By all that is sacred, I do not want to turn out like them. And now I¡¯m still not doing anything. Quickly, I start to rub myself dry. Even though men and women are kept strictly separated in the bathhouse, I¡¯ve heard rumors of attendants opening the doors when departing guests take too much time to leave to their taste. I am not going to be exposed in front of a horde of men ¡ª and I most certainly don¡¯t want to see any man get undressed in my presence. The very thought makes me rub even faster, the rich, soft towel setting my skin aglow. The focus doesn¡¯t last long, even by my current standards. Somewhere between one foot and the other, my mind wanders off again. To Horgas. To the fact that Father has been with Horgas¡¯ father all afternoon and has probably returned. I don¡¯t know how probable it is for them to have made arrangements, but¡­ Oh, I really don¡¯t want to go home. Hopefully, my father will spend the rest of his day with his brand-new apprentices. Two this time ¡ª as if the world really needs more people to bend it out of shape. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. I can¡¯t even begin to understand why my father brought them in, and why they are required to be there over dinner is an even bigger mystery to me. Why did Father put their lives upside down? Why is he putting my life upside down? I was so happy the old apprentice was done apprenticing and things were fine as they were; I don¡¯t need strangers at the dinner table. Or marriages that ¡¯better the family,¡¯ which is the biggest nonsense I¡¯ve ever heard. If Father cares so much about our status, he should have never hired Kayetan ¡ª if there ever was an example of a low-born Masterling, he is it. And I don¡¯t like him. Not because he is low-born or foreign. I pride myself on not being that shallow. But when he bowed to Ralonda and not to me, and then bowed with amazing grace for Eilyn, who was almost half my age, that was infuriating. It was as if he¡­ I notice the towel hanging limp in my hands again and grit my teeth. As if he wanted to taunt me. As if he wanted to tell me that he was unavailable for me. The very idea of wanting him to be available is so silly I almost laugh out loud, which will hardly be noticed in a dressing room full of women yapping away, but I cannot allow myself to do so. No, Kayetan was simply out to humiliate me. And to top it all off, he started a conversation with Eilyn and even got her to finish her plate. Eilyn, the queen of picky eaters and surly faces at the dinner table. And he¡¯s done so every time. Imagine Eilyn finishing her dinner three times in a row! He¡¯s a miracle worker with her. Well, he should do what he needs to. I¡¯m not interested in him. It doesn¡¯t matter that he looks at me in a way I¡¯m not familiar with ¡ª I sometimes catch him, usually because some sort of shiver runs down my spine alerting me to his gaze. No, that doesn¡¯t mean anything. I ought to never think of the boy again, with his stupid smile and his stupid enthusiasm for Magic, and his stupid work ethics Father keeps going on about, and everything else that is plain stupid about him. And most of all, it¡¯s stupid that I keep thinking about him; whenever I push Horgas out of my mind, Kayetan comes in. Maybe that¡¯s the worst part ¡ª that he has somehow wriggled his way into my brain and has refused to leave. I stalk to my locker and press my hand against the lock as if it¡¯s Kayetan¡¯s face. It opens with a click that is far too gentle for the amount of annoyance I have poured into the movement, but I make up for that by yanking my clothes out and putting them on as if they¡¯ve done something terrible to me. Something snaps ¡ª probably some stitching in my dress, but I couldn¡¯t care less. The frustration needs to be released, and my dress is probably a safer option than doing something socially unacceptable like yelling at the two women who have now moved from their discussion about the servant girl to an assessment of the weather, and how one of them predicts the size of the raindrops by the shape and color of the storm clouds coming in from the West, combined with how the tea leaves stick to the inside of her teacup. The other woman is nodding as if what her friend said makes total sense. Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. Sometimes I understand why women are forbidden to use Magic. I finally tie my hair together in a loose bun and close the locker - this time I am able to control myself and simply shut it without any banging or pretending it is Kayetan. Strangely enough, I wasn¡¯t inclined to pretend the locker door was Horgas. That is something I do not want to investigate any deeper. I turn on my heel and make for the door, surprised that there are still about a dozen women inside. Most of them fully clothed, but a few show very little hurry to reach that state of dress. Well, that is up to them. I will have nothing to do with any indecency with the other sex present, so I quickly gather my things and stuff all of them into a bag, which I then fling over my shoulder. I slip out the door onto the empty hallway. Somewhere within the bathchambers, I hear voices and the sound of something sweeping over the stone floors. A musky scent fills the air, a smell I recognize from when the men are allowed into the bathhouse first, and the slot for the women is the second half of the day. I¡¯ve also smelled it on my father after he returned from the bathhouse, and probably on Horgas too. Oh dear stars. The only time Horgas and I have been close enough for me to smell that was during some tedious social event that had me make stupid comments on everything that went on just so I wouldn¡¯t die of sheer boredom. He chuckled about nearly all of them, and that¡­ I close my eyes for just a second and shake my head. That must have been the moment he got the idea that I might be marriageable material. Oh, if I had just been sensible enough to shut up and bear the excruciatingly long speeches and ceremonies in silence, maybe I wouldn¡¯t be in this mess right now. But I need to keep my head straight. Yes, Father might have sealed the deal. He might have plotted my wedding; he might have promised a whole lot, but I still have the right to say no. No matter how good it would be for the family to form bonds with a family as powerful as Horgas¡¯, I can simply refuse to marry him and¡­ And I would probably be disowned. Or drugged. Or Magicked. I know my father; he would do anything to get what he wants, and I don¡¯t suspect him of ever holding back, not even when it comes to me. Can I refuse? Is there a way out of this mess, or am I doomed? Oh, I am doomed for sure. My footsteps falter as I realize it. All the noises from the adjacent bathchambers fall away. A woman looking at me oddly as I stand still in the middle of the hallway doesn¡¯t even bother me. The marriage to Horgas is a fate I won¡¯t be able to escape easily. I¡¯ll have to take desperate measures if I want to get out of it. I clutch the handle of my bag and squeeze as hard as I can. Why couldn¡¯t Horgas just have chosen Ralonda? Why are Mother and Father fine with their second child getting married first ¡ª isn¡¯t that an honor reserved for the eldest? I thought myself safe as long as Rallie was unbound. Of all the misjudgments I¡¯ve ever made, this one has to be the worst. Can I use that argument? I don¡¯t know, but thinking too much about this is making me feel constricted. I need fresh air. It¡¯s too stifling in here, too hot. A fresh wind might blow some sense into me, make me see a way towards a Horgas-free future. I pick up my pace and leave behind the scraping sounds that echo through the hallway. Get outside, breathe, and think. The woman who passed me by opens the door to step into the freedom I yearn for too. A gust of wind carries the deep, low voices of waiting men outside, and I speed up. The sooner I am alone, in the park or on the embankment of one of Yoszovar¡¯s many channels, the better it will be. Oh, the line is long. Thank goodness I am already out of there ¡ª the attendants won¡¯t want to keep such a crowd waiting for too long. And thank goodness the sun is shining, and the wind is blowing. I will find myself a safe space to think and make plans. I will¡ª ¡°Melena?¡± Oh no. Not him. He¡¯s spoken quite softly. Can I pretend I didn¡¯t- ¡°Melena, it¡¯s me, Horgas.¡± How rude is it to just make a run for it? His voice is still soft enough to make the excuse of not hearing him stick ¡ª around him a few men are adamantly talking about a game they¡¯ve been playing where one of them has supposedly cheated. I could make it look like I want to get away from them. I pick up speed. I can almost feel Horgas¡¯ eyes on my back and wish I¡¯d brought a cloak of some sort. Does this mean I¡¯d have to go into hiding every time I set foot outside? No, I won¡¯t allow that. But¡­ ¡°Miss Volvalus? Melena, is that you?¡± Drat. Can I make him believe I am somebody else? Are the footsteps I¡¯m aware of coming after me? I decide the only way to lose him properly is to disappear into the crowd. That¡¯s the simplest way ¡ª to get lost between all those men standing and waiting. There¡¯s a bit of an opening in the line of waiting men, and I dive right in. ¡°Melena!¡± No, no, no! I resist the urge to look back and squeeze in between two sturdy men so much bigger and broader than me that Horgas can¡¯t possibly see me anymore. I dive left and right, praying everybody will keep silent about a girl zigzagging through, but a lot of men have their remarks at the ready when they see me. Horgas will only have to follow the sound. I round a man with an enormous hat, a younger man humming out of tune, and squeeze past a group of three men who apparently notice my hair, my eyes, my buttocks, and some other curves of mine. I refuse to listen ¡ª though one of them has such a sharp voice that it¡¯s hard to ignore how appreciative he is of certain body parts ¡ª and trudge on. Into somebody. He¡¯s standing with his back to me, which has prevented him from seeing me barge in and stepping aside in time, and his bag falls off his shoulder as he tries to maintain his balance. My bag flies to the ground too. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I mutter. His ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡° comes right at the same time. I reach for my bag, he reaches for my bag, and our hands touch for the shortest of moments before we both pull back. But that moment has been enough to take my breath away, to have my heart beating in my chest faster than I¡¯ve ever felt it beat. I want to blame being chased by Horgas, want to attribute the tingling of my skin to how sudden the touch has been, or how improper. But I know this is something else. I quickly look at the person who now takes my bag and presents it to me, and gasp. ¡°Kayetan.¡± He¡¯s as surprised as I am. ¡°Lady Melena.¡± And then he bows. He bows, deeply and gracefully. I ought to just catch my breath right now, but my body doesn¡¯t seem to be able to do anything normally anymore. The tingling sensation spreads, and when our eyes catch, it seems like everything I¡¯ve ever been certain about loses its meaning. Up, down, right, wrong, everything switches places or simply falls away. The air between me and Kayetan seems to be filled with the most beautiful music only hearts can hear. ¡°Are you alright?¡± he asks. ¡°I¡¯m¡­ No, I don¡¯t think that I¡¯m¡­¡± ¡°Here.¡± He holds up my bag, and I swear I didn¡¯t plan on doing it, but our hands touch again, and now the tingling sweeps through me like a storm of breathless pleasantness. ¡°Thank you,¡± I want to say, but something incoherent and hoarse comes out. ¡°Are you sure you¡¯re alright?¡± ¡°I just¡­ I need to get out of here. Could you¡­¡± I hear something behind me that has to be Horgas; there¡¯s no other way around it. ¡°Can you hide me?¡± ¡°Hide¡­ What¡¯s wrong?¡± He won¡¯t do it. He¡¯ll just keep me talking, and Horgas will find me and probably propose on the spot ¡ª or even worse, simply inform me that the wedding will be in a few weeks. ¡°Please¡­¡± I whisper, looking at Kayetan with an expression I know must be desperate ¡ª something I usually do not allow myself to show anyone except for the mirror, and even then only for painting purposes. But he has to help me. He can¡¯t stand idly by as I¡­ Right? He¡¯s the one who will save me from Horgas. If I¡­ I hardly dare to think it. If I play it well¡­ ¡°Kayetan¡­¡± I whisper. He looks as if something pains him. Exactly where I want him to be. ¡°I¡¯m not sure if this will work¡­¡± he starts. ¡°Please¡­¡± Anything. I swallow, resisting the urge to take both his hands in mine no matter the bag. ¡°I¡¯ve never done this on a living being¡­¡± ¡°Melena?¡± Horgas sounds so much closer than I¡¯m comfortable with. ¡°Please, now!¡± He lets go of the bag, and his nod is barely visible before he starts saying odd words that in a way feel familiar, while at the same time, they¡¯re nothing but nonsense. ¡°Melena!¡± Something warm drips over me. It¡¯s like being back in the bathhouse, being underwater in one of the most comfortably temperatured baths, and yet I¡¯m still able to breathe. The liquid I feel I¡¯m in isn¡¯t as quick as water; it resembles the viscosity of syrup, something thick and rich. I can see through it; basically, there¡¯s nothing there, and the sounds also remain just as loud and clear. Still, there¡¯s a veil between me and the rest of the world ¡ª only Kayetan is as visible as he always is; everybody else seems to be shrouded in mist. A flash of an idea shoots through me. Could I perhaps use Kayetan to get rid of Horgas? Not only now, but¡­ Horgas emerges from behind the three men I passed earlier. ¡°A girl with black curls and green eyes?¡± he asks them. ¡°Like anyone here,¡± one of the men mutters. ¡°Fine ass, nice rack?¡± another says. It¡¯s the guy with the sharp voice. ¡°She went that way.¡± ¡°Give her our regards,¡± the third one says. Horgas stalks towards me, and I¡¯m too scared to even be furious about him not saying anything to protect my honor. Nice ass and fine rack indeed! He should have punched the guy on the spot. But that¡¯s probably exactly why I don¡¯t even consider marrying him. The jerk. He¡¯s still coming straight at me. Now that he comes closer, his expression becomes a bit clearer as the mist grows thinner. He doesn¡¯t look worried or kind; he looks quite frustrated. It doesn¡¯t become him. And he obviously doesn¡¯t see me, which makes me almost want to cry with relief. ¡°Have you seen a beautiful girl with black curls?¡± He asks quite generally, and suddenly a pang of fear shoots through my stomach. Kayetan has hidden me, but there have been people standing right beside and behind him. If they saw how I¡¯d just disappeared, and this noble man is looking for me¡­ They might just tell him what they saw. Chapter 13. Ennah Sentisse, 66 years after the Rise The word empty doesn¡¯t even begin to describe the way I feel as I stare down at the freshly dug earth beside Granny¡¯s grave. I¡¯ve run out of tears, run out of thoughts, run out of words to say to myself to make any sense of this. Even the air itself seems empty. Next to me, Uncle Aniol is silent. The cicadas have fallen silent too, the absence of their usual cheerful songs adding to my misery. Four days. Four days from Healer to undertaker, four days of doing everything I possibly could to make things better, and seeing every single attempt fail miserably ¡ª for both Aunt Carme and myself. She passed away a few days ago and was buried yesterday ¡ª a burial I didn¡¯t attend, for obvious reasons. Locked up in my room this time, I had to imagine everything that had happened over here ¡ª only now that Uncle Aniol has taken me with him do I really know what it feels like. Two graves and a heart shattered into more pieces than the window I broke just seven days ago. The sheer speed of Aunt Carme¡¯s decline still baffles me. She slipped from having conversations with fluent, complete sentences, riddled with coughs as they may have been, to barely being able to utter a syllable. The last conversation I had with Aunt Carme had been a tormenting ordeal for the both of us ¡ª Aunt Carme trying to say what she wanted to say left us both frustrated, as I couldn¡¯t guess what she wanted to say about Granny¡¯s death, about the vineyard, about a lot of other things I couldn¡¯t make heads or tails of. In the end, I simply put my arms around Aunt Carme¡¯s shaking body, told her how much I loved her, and desperately tried to ignore the awful wheezing and rumbling inside Aunt Carme¡¯s chest ¡ª the awfulness the Healer¡¯s medicine couldn¡¯t soothe. It made me wonder whether the guy was an accomplished Healer at all. Poor Aunt Carme. Poor Granny. I could tell them both how much I love them, but they won¡¯t hear it. Not with their ears, at least. But they¡¯ll feel it. Just like I do. When even the word ¡®love¡¯ had become impossible for Aunt Carme to say, I felt it. And Uncle Aniol must have felt it too, for in the last moments of his wife¡¯s life, when he held her so close to his heart, I saw that very heart break. I still choke up when thinking about that moment, more than when I remember how I offered to make more brew so that we could sell amazing wine, make quick money, and send for the best Magical Healer in the world. I know very little of the world outside, but even I¡¯ve heard the tales of the Hefty Mage. I don¡¯t know his actual name ¡ª he wears the nickname as an honorary title. This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. I wish our Healer had learned a thing or two from that guy. But it was no use. Aunt Carme simply shook her head upon my suggestion, also to Uncle Aniol¡¯s frustration, and at the time I suggested it, it had been too late to do anything anyway. It does little to soothe the sting I still feel about not having been able to really do anything for Aunt Carme Now, looking at the rectangle of dark earth between the tough, yellow blades of grass, I wish I¡¯d called for the Hefty Mage anyway. Well, not that I know how to. Since I haven¡¯t left the premises since coming here, and I have zero memory of that, I don¡¯t even know where to find the village, let alone the Mess. I know that you can contact someone else, but that requires payment, and though I have money in Granny¡¯s chest, I don¡¯t even know if they¡¯d be ripping me off or anything. The emptiness gnaws at me even harder realizing how useless I am, how utterly small and powerless. I look at Uncle Aniol. He is still silent, his face a grim, pale mask of grief. There are no words. Nothing to say to make him feel better. I know it. Know it first hand after hearing all the words Aunt Carme used to try and console me after Granny died, and not have any of them register or resonate. Somehow it feels like she¡¯s tried to console me about that one last time, the evening before she died. I swallow. Aunt Carme meant so well. Fought so hard. Cared so much. Without really realizing it, my lips start to form words. A little gesture made by my fingers. A feeling released from my heart, to add to the brightness of the light that suddenly appears in the air before me. Uncle Aniol looks at me, a certain disgust in his gaze, but he doesn¡¯t say a word as the light grows into the shape of a heart. My voice almost breaks when I say ¡®Aunt Carme¡¯, and the heart floats toward the fresh grave, disappearing into the earth, leaving a little ray of light behind until that also fades. Apparently, there are more tears to shed. They fill my eyes and blur my vision, but don¡¯t stop me from seeing how Uncle Aniol looks at me, his face contorted with disgust and, at the same time, some sort of gratitude. ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± he mumbles, his voice hoarse and broken. I don¡¯t trust myself to speak. I turn around to follow my uncle as the tears drip down my cheeks, hot and painful. Before I can step away, I create two more hearts of light and let them float to both of the graves. The ankle bracelets feel completely obsolete now that my heart is so heavy that I can¡¯t believe I¡¯ll even be able to fly, and the chiming sounds so cheerful that it shouldn¡¯t exist in a world where Granny and Aunt Carme aren¡¯t present anymore. I drag myself away from the graves, feeling I haven¡¯t just sent hearts made of light into the ground, but left my real heart down there as well. Chapter 14. Kayetan Yoszovar, 5 years before the Rise ¡°Have you seen a beautiful girl with black curls?¡± In front of me is a young man dressed in the clothes of somebody high up in society. His long black hair is tied together at the base of his neck, every strand that has fallen out combed to one side to look like the wind has casually but wonderfully styled his hair. His eyes are an almost colorless green, bordering on grey or maybe even silver ¡ª my best guess is that they usually display quite a bit of intelligence, but now frustration is pouring out of them. Over Melena, who is on the brink of trembling just in front of him. ¡°She went that way,¡± I say, pointing vaguely over my left shoulder. Oh no, both bags are still on the pavement. Hopefully, the guy is full enough of himself not to notice. I look him straight in the eye ¡ª or so I try ¡ª willing him to not drop his gaze, and hoping Melena won¡¯t realize the bags are still there and try to pick them up ¡ª the Magic has only engulfed her and the clothes she is wearing. ¡°Are you sure?¡± the man answers with a certain degree of disdain in his voice. He looks around as if I have barely answered him. Suddenly, I feel a deep, deep dislike for this fellow. ¡°You do mean a girl with green eyes like emeralds? High-born, by the look of her dress? Black curls tied together in a sort of bun? A girl beyond beautiful?¡± He nods quite frantically. ¡°Yes, that¡¯s the one.¡± ¡°That way,¡± I repeat, now pointing over my shoulder with even more vividly. He doesn¡¯t even have the decency to thank me; he simply stalks passed me. ¡°I do wonder what you did to make such a noble, wonderful girl want to flee.¡± It just pops out of my mouth, and to my horror, or maybe to my delight, the man stops and looks at me. ¡°She is not fleeing,¡± he bites out. ¡°She just hasn¡¯t noticed me yet.¡± ¡°Right,¡± I say. The man turns his head and stomps off. The fear in Melena¡¯s eyes makes my insides churn. ¡°Come,¡± I whisper. ¡°He¡¯ll probably be back when the people behind me haven¡¯t seen you.¡± She nods, and I quickly grab the bags and leave the line, hoping the gap I created between several people is wide enough to let her pass freely. Maybe not, somebody behind me lets out a sharp yelp. ¡°Auch! What was that.¡± Before I know it, I¡¯ve spun around to see if Melena is alright. She is. And the smirk on her face informs me that the ¡®auch¡¯ had been anything but accidental, and somehow that makes me grin too. We make it out of the line without auches or anything of the sort after that, and I slow down a bit, so she can walk beside me. I don¡¯t care if people think I¡¯m talking to myself when I softly say, ¡°Let¡¯s go to the park. I know a quiet spot where I can release the spell safely.¡± She just nods, and I do as well ¡ª appreciatively, for the spell is limited to sight. If she spoke, people would hear a voice without a body. Somehow that doesn¡¯t seem like a good thing to have happen. Now that the bathhouse is opened to men, the demographic of park dwellers has changed quite dramatically compared to when I came through here on my way over. Sylva lives only a few blocks away, and then I¡¯d been one of the many men strolling the paths. Now the park has been taken over by the women, some still carrying a blush from the bathhouse heat, or dispersing the scent of rose water ¡ª a faint odor that bleaches in comparison to the lovely smell that Melena brings with her. I can¡¯t believe she¡¯s here, walking next to me, her face a blank mask while I can almost feel how an endless stream of thoughts and emotions run through her mind. What would she have done if I hadn¡¯t been there to Magic her? What if that awful guy had gotten a hold of her? What if releasing her from the spell feels just as¡­ intimate and special as when I put it on her? I shiver, thinking about what happened. Even in that brief moment of summoning the energy, of pouring the incantation on her and watching her disappear into a place where she is exclusively mine to behold, there was another kind of Magic going on. One that I¡¯ve never thought to exist, yet it is as clear to me as is the sun. Protecting her, standing up for her, helping her in that dire moment of need, has stirred up all the feelings that I have tried to stuff away for days now ¡ª and the feelings have blossomed into something more. The Magic has opened me right up, has shown me that we are connected in a way that goes beyond everything I have ever envisioned as being love. She is mine, I realize it in a split second. The fact that she has been willing to be Magicked by me, makes me walk taller now, and adds a confident bounce to my steps. Somehow this situation, her trust in me, and my power to help her, glow bright on the inside. Melena seems oblivious to all that, her mask still in place. Yet I know she has to have felt something too. A feeling this big, this engulfing, this radiant cannot remain unnoticed. This connection that has simmered ever since we first laid eyes on each other, is now more than a mere possibility. It is a promise that she will be mine. And I will be hers, for there is no other way. No amount of sunshine could have made this day any brighter than this realization does. The path toward the clearing I have in mind to lift the spell in, is busy enough to have me doubt if there will even be an opportunity to lift it in private. I breathe in sharply. Master Iacopor will not be amused if he finds out I Magicked his daughter. In school, practicing Magic on other students ¡ª or anything with a heartbeat for that matter ¡ª is strictly forbidden, and I have only been a Masterling for a few weeks; no way I am cleared to perform any Magic of this level. It would not be smart to release Melena inside the house. Master Iacopor was away today, which is why both Elrick and I have been given the day off, but he¡¯ll probably be home by now. I have to release her, safely, and without any bystanders. Plus, I need to talk to her, to see if she experienced something similar. This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. We pass bushes and trees, glowing fields of grass and flowers, and a lot more women and children. What if there are a lot of people in the clearing? What if¡­ Could I bring her over to Moppa Verin? It would be my safest bet if my first plan doesn¡¯t hold. I swallow and look at Melena, still walking next to me, her expression now quite grim as she is lost in deep thought. Yet at the same time, there is a certain glow to her. It is faint, but a little glimmer of Magic flows and curls after her. It has a golden hue and it¡¯s beautiful. She is beautiful. Suddenly, she looks my way. Our eyes lock, and my breath falters. The gleam in her emerald eyes is different than I¡¯ve ever seen, and it gives me the chills. There is nobody near enough to hear me. ¡°We¡¯re¡­¡± I start, my voice coarse and breathy. ¡°We¡¯re almost there.¡± I need the feel of the bags in my hands to keep myself steady; I feel as if I am dreaming. She just nods. I quickly look ahead again ¡ª I don¡¯t necessarily mind people thinking I am crazy, but I don¡¯t want to blow her cover. For all I know, people are spelled into obscurity all the time, but I am not willing to take the risk. We walk on, and yet again I realize how extraordinary it is to be the only one to be able to see Melena. A part of me wants to keep it that way, wants to have her exclusively to myself. I allow that part of me to savor this moment, to have the memory of this imprinted very deeply into my soul, and that will have to be it. My mouth curls into a secret little smile. I will forever know that there has been a time when the most beautiful girl in the world was mine to behold, mine alone. It warms me to the core, and I almost hope that the clearing will be too busy to lift the spell, just so I can relish in her private presence a bit longer. We take the small path to the clearing anyway, a bypass through the bushes that¡¯s so narrow that I¡¯m afraid Melena¡¯s dress will get caught ¡ª especially since we have to step over low-hanging branches and weeds overgrowing the path. I lead the way. ¡°Be careful,¡± I say as I move a branch out of her way. I turn to see her, to make sure I won¡¯t release the branch only to have it slap her in the face, and watch her almost glide across the path. She seems unbothered by any of the growth on and over the path. Untouchable is a word that comes up in my mind. That is interesting, as the spell is supposed to only interfere with visual aspects. Could it be that there is more to it? Could I perhaps find evidence of that within the patterns in the sand? Tantalizing. But not as urgent as releasing Melena from the spell. I manage to tear my gaze from her and move on. Before long, we step out into the clearing to find it is empty. I¡¯m both relieved and disappointed. A gentle breeze rustles the leaves and makes a few flowers dance on their stems, but that¡¯s it. All is quiet, not even the sound of birds breaks the peace in this place. A thousand shades of green complement Melena¡¯s eyes, the bright reds and pinks of the flowers dotting the foliage. Overhead, the sky is a stunning blue without even the faintest trace of clouds. A few steps away, little white mushrooms form an almost perfect circle, and the light filtering through the trees makes them twinkle like little gems. ¡°I¡¯ve been in this park so many times, and I never knew this clearing even existed,¡± Melena says as she looks around. ¡°It¡¯s beautiful.¡± Her smile is one of pure enjoyment. The Magic she¡¯s been emanating glows gold and bright, faint as it is. I keep in ¡°You¡¯re beautiful¡± and just smile a bit. ¡°It is. I found it when playing hide-and-seek with my little sister.¡± ¡°You have a sister?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± But I do not want to talk about Sylva. I want to be with Melena, and the part of me longing to not release the spell makes my heart thump in my chest. The part of me that does is even stronger. How will it feel to release the spell when I¡¯m actually mindful of casting it? What will happen if I consciously pour my heart into it? ¡°Shall we?¡± I ask, barely recognizing the tone in my own voice. I drop the bags and notice my fingers are tingling, but that has nothing to do with how tightly I¡¯ve held on to the straps. Melena simply nods again, her eyes still wandering around before they finally meet my gaze. It takes all I have not to step forward and kiss her, now that her eyes are filled with wonder and beauty. I swallow. ¡°How are you feeling?¡± ¡°Fine,¡± she says. ¡°Alright. Then I guess¡­¡± I try to smile, but it takes more effort than I¡¯d expected. Taking a deep breath, I draw the words needed to lift the spell into my mind, into my heart, onto my tongue. The words I speak are crystal clear, and the Magic flows immediately. Melena closes her eyes. Her trust in me touches me to the core. She is so strong, so confident. I finish the spell and watch the Magic retreat, revealing her to the world once more. I do not really know whether I am sad or joyful about it. I just know how connected I feel to her, to the point of tears, to the point of trembling and almost aching with the yearning to touch her, to kiss her, to be as close to her as is humanly possible ¡ª or even closer. The spell has been lifted completely now, and she is still standing there, sunlight twinkling on her face, a loose black curl dancing in the wind. I need to kiss her. I have to. I inch closer, my heart pounding in my chest. She opens her eyes. The golden gleam that followed her when we walked over here now shines in them. ¡°It worked, right?¡± she asks. ¡°Yes.¡± It comes out all croaky and weird. I clear my throat. ¡°Yes, it worked. You¡¯re visible again. In all your beauty.¡± She has to feel it too. She has to feel what I feel, and even a fraction of that would be enough to bind us forever. She just smiles at me, though. The urge to kiss her grows stronger, and I step forward. She does not back away. She does not shake her head, or lift her hand to stop me. She just looks at me in what seems like anticipation. ¡°Melena¡­¡± She blinks, and¡­ Is it my imagination, or does she lean into me? Is she bridging the gap between us? Could I¡­ Should I¡­? ¡°Can I¡­¡± ¡°Kayetan¡­¡± she whispers. The sound of her voice saying my name knocks every breath of air out of my lungs, makes every coherent thought dissipate from my mind. I reach out to touch her honey-colored, smooth cheek, to secure the lock of ink-black hair behind her ear. As soon as I touch her, ever so lightly, a jolt of energy shoots from my fingertips to every other extremity in my body. She shivers under my touch, her breath hitches. Slowly, as if she might disappear if I move too fast, I close the gap between us. Our eyes are still locked, her emerald green eyes dotted with gold, her shallow breaths tickling my approaching lips ever so slightly and erratically. By all that is good, I am about to kiss her, taste her¡­ Her warmth feels so good, spreading across my skin like the most delicate of oils in the bathhouse, pooling at my base where I know I am growing just for her. She closes her eyes and lifts her head just enough for our lips to be able to meet. I have the impression that I can feel her pulse in my body, her heart beating just as frantically as mine. I close my eyes and kiss her. Ever so lightly, a mere brush of my lips against hers. Once more a bolt of energy surges through me, and I kiss her again, pressing just a little bit more this time. She gasps audibly, the fabric of her dress rustles. Another kiss, I gently weave my fingers through her hair, drunk of the scent of her, the taste of those sweet lips on mine. Rose water and something else, something that is so distinctly her that it goes straight to my heart and is imprinted there, along with every memory I have made of her today. Her lips are warm and soft, and¡­ Suddenly, they are gone. ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡­¡± she mutters. She shakes her head and steps back, leaving me cold and suddenly very, very much alone. ¡°I¡­¡± Before I can say anything, she turns, grabs her bag, and runs. Chapter 15 Ennah Sentisse, 66 years after the Rise I throw the cloth I have been using to clean the chestnut fermentation vessel aside. It flows up higher than usual and then makes a sharp turn when gravity takes hold of it, but still drifts to the floor in a slower, more graceful way than I would like. It is so annoying that I can''t simply hurl stuff here and there. This does absolutely nothing to release even the slightest bit of the frustration that is raging inside of me, and it doesn''t create so much as a gentle breeze to lift the heat that¡¯s announcing that mid-day slumbers are at hand. Maybe I ought to try some shouting, or break something. Is there another glass window to shatter around here? Wiping the sweat off my brow, I''ve already started to look around when a noise comes from outside the shed. Instinctively, I throw myself down and fly behind a barrel. Trying not to make a peep, my thoughts swirl around the question of who made that sound, or what. Uncle Aniol is pressing this weak¡¯s meager harvest in a barn on the other side of the premises, which will take him at least until midday slumbers ¡ª even if he finishes sooner, he¡¯ll probably avoid me. He has done so for the last couple of days, and I don''t mind. The only things we''ve said to one another today have been grim greetings and the chores we were planning on ¡ª so we¡¯d know how to avoid each other other. He won''t come here. Are we expecting visitors then? I think Uncle Aniol has canceled all appointments, but I can''t be sure. What if it¡¯s C¨¤gila? I don''t think they¡¯d announce their arrival beforehand, but what do I know? Is Damagic still roaming in the North? Uncle Aniol hasn''t mentioned it anymore, but then again, he hasn''t been to town to hear the latest news. For all we know, Damagic is rolling into Sentisse right now. C¨¤gila might even come here to protect us. Which still means I have to stay out of sight. Could they really have come here because Damagic has arrived at our doorstep? But¡­ How can one be protected against a force like Damagic? Granny''s book doesn''t even mention it, but it is old, she''s said so herself. Maybe¡ª The sound of a cat. Amador! My sigh of relief relaxes me all the way to my bottom ribs, signaling that I''ve been holding my breath. I respond with a soft frog-like ribbiting, and a few heartbeats later, I hear Amador''s footsteps as he enters the shed. I immediately scramble to my feet, realizing I haven''t seen him in over a week. Then, Aunt Carme was still hanging in there, and I was still clutching to feeble hopes. The lump in my throat comes on quicker than I expected it to, and Amador is already here. I can''t hide my emotions from him, and even though he looks quite confounded by my tears, I can''t stop myself from running to him, not sure if I even touch the floor or not, and I fling myself into his arms. ¡°Ennah,¡± he mutters. I can''t speak for the sobs breaking free from my throat. Amador puts his arms around me, his hand gently ¡ª or maybe reluctantly ¡ª tapping me on the back. ¡°There, there.¡± The tapping continues, it almost feels like the basic rhythm of a musical piece my crying is completely out of tune and offbeat from. ¡°What happened?¡± ¡°It''s Aunt¡­¡± I can''t even say it. ¡°There, there,¡± Amador mutters again. I hate it. Hate how I''m sobbing in front of him, reduced to a pile of blubbering nothingness, how all my strength has just left me. I was trying to forcefully throw stuff around a few minutes ago; now it feels like I won''t even be able to lift a handkerchief to my face. ¡°I heard of her passing,¡± Amador says. ¡°My father was here for the ceremony the day before yesterday.¡± ¡°Hm-hm.¡± I sound like a proper frog now, my throat contorted from crying and not trying to do so at the same time. ¡°I''m sorry for your loss.¡± I let go a little to look at him, to thank him for the kind words even when I can''t find any myself. There''s a helplessness in his eyes, an uncertainty on how to handle an Ennah that is so broken and lost. When Granny passed, I locked myself in my room for a few weeks, only coming out to do the chores Uncle Aniol couldn¡¯t or wouldn¡¯t do himself ¡ª Aunt Carme didn¡¯t ask me anything ¡ª and I¡¯d retreat into the dark as soon as I could after. When I saw Amador for the first time as¡­ well, I felt orphaned even when that wasn''t the case; my grief had settled just enough to keep my composure when we met. Things quite quickly returned to how they''d been before. Part of it had even become easier because now there was one person less to hide our intimacies from. But Aunt Carme''s death is fresh, and it has opened the wound left by Granny in its entirety. ¡°Sorry,¡± I mutter. ¡°It''s okay,¡± Amador assures me. The patting continues, and I''m still offbeat, though maybe just a little less. I allow myself to lean in a bit more, to pull strength from him, to not have to work so hard to keep standing. It helps. His arms around me are comforting, his body a lifeline, his voice soothing, and his presence a necessity I hadn''t even known I required that badly. ¡°I''m sorry,¡± I mutter. ¡°I didn''t mean to¡­ Thank you.¡± ¡°You''re welcome.¡± His tone is strange, and I wonder if I placed too much of a burden on him, or if something has been triggered in him too. He never tells me much about his life ¡ª we usually let our bodies do the talking ¡ª so for all that I know, he has known loss as well. I look at him, my eyes still watery. ¡°Are you alright?¡± He swallows. ¡°Of course. Why shouldn''t I be?¡± But his lip trembles just a little, and there''s a weariness in his energy that I suddenly feel as if he has pointed it out to me. ¡°I just¡­¡± I start, and then it doesn''t matter anymore. The only thing that matters is that we''re there for each other. That I can comfort him just as he has comforted me, and that I can kiss his slight trembling away. I lay my hand on the side of his face and kiss him. With desperation, with fire, with everything I have. Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. If Amador is surprised, he doesn''t let it on. He pulls me against him, almost pressing the air out of me, and kisses me back with the same desperate hunger, a need that I want to fill, that I will fill, that I have to fill. Feverishly, our tongues twine together, gasping breaths and the rustling of fabric the only audible reality around us. I pull on his shirt; he tugs up my dress. Hands and fingers rub and knead my skin that has been starving for his touch, my hands and fingers drinking in the feel of him, every nerve in my body yearning for his closeness. Even skin on skin, he isn''t close enough. ¡°Are we safe here?¡± he mutters. His hands work on the lace of my dress. ¡°He''s pressing.¡± ¡°Cellar?¡± It would be better. Though the shed we are in now is relatively safe, the basement is as safe as can be on the vineyard terrain. But I don''t care. I need to have him, now. I don''t even mind that there''s nothing for us to lay on ¡ª the cloth I''ve thrown aside is barely enough to sit on let alone lie down on, but I don''t even want to be comfortable. I want to feel everything, to chafe my skin, to feel every pebble and raw patch on the floor. I want to sweat in the heat of midday slumbers, crumple like a raisin, lose myself completely in all kinds of physical discomfort just so I wouldn''t have to feel the ache in my very being. ¡°Kiss me,¡± I breathe. ¡°Fuck me, as hard as you can.¡± Amador gulps. ¡°Ennah?¡± I shake my head. No room for talking. I press my lips onto his and lick his lower lip with a ferocity I never even thought myself capable of. I even push away his hands so I can unfasten the lace myself ¡ª I know exactly where to yank the chords free. ¡°Ennah¡­¡± he now breathes. His hand disappears under my skirt, under the bodice that is now roomy around my middle. The touch is warm, heavenly, nowhere near enough. He grabs my breast, and the singe of pain as he finds my nipple and squeezes it hard makes me yelp with torture and delight. This is exactly what I need. Pain and pleasure mixed together to obliterate all else. Amador pulls me to the floor, the dirty, dusty floor that normally would have me running to the cellar, leaving my dress where it is. All I have to do is raise my arms and I am free. He throws the garment far further than I could ever manage. ¡°Ennah,¡± he grunts, burying his face between my breasts and licking the sensitive skin as he makes his way to the nipple that is now rock hard from his squeeze. He fondles the other one with his fingers as he licks and bites the first. A moan emerges from deep within me, rising to the surface like an ancient cry. I tear at his clothes, claw at him to get him closer, get him naked, get his cock in the only place I need him right now. He lets go of my breasts for just a second to help me get rid of his shorts, and then he pulls away my underwear so fast I wonder if he simply ripped everything off. I don''t care. He could rip my dress or tear up every bit of ribbon that is on it, and I''d only welcome it. ¡°Come inside me,¡± I pant. ¡°Now?¡± he asks. For the love of all that runs on the plains, he needs to get a move on. Screw the normal order of things ¡ª I almost laugh when the thought pops into my head ¡ª but my need to feel him, to have him inside me so I can escape inside him, is too grand. There is no time for fingers and caresses, no time for his usual build-up. Any delay offers too much room to get sucked into my loss, too much risk of drowning in sorrow, too much space for reality to sink in. I pull him on top of me. His warm body weighs heavily and heavenly on me, but his hot cock, though already pressing at my entrance, is still covered by his thin, linen underpants. I let out a huff and feel ready to rip it to shreds. It takes quite a bit of effort to shove the waistband down and free his rod, only to capture it in my hand and rub my fingers all over its length. He pants, but still doesn''t really make the move to enter me and pound me until I see stars. ¡°Ennah¡­ Just a little more¡­¡± he mutters. ¡°Take me,¡± I mutter. ¡°Please.¡± How hard can that be? For the love of all things furry¡­ Finally, he seems to get what I want. He plunges into me, and I want to scream, scream like I''ve never done before, like I can''t allow myself because Uncle Aniol is not deaf, and probably even stricter now that all his energy leaks away into mourning Aunt Carme. The urge is strong, though. The need to scream, to make my crumbling world cave in even further, to destroy whatever rubble remains now that nothing is right anymore. Maybe I want to be found out, just to have my outside world fully match the mashed-up, shattered world inside of me. I won''t shout. I know that. But something has to be done, something needs to come out. Things need to be turned upside down. In an instant, I know. ¡°Amador,¡± I pant. ¡°Yes, yes¡­¡± ¡°Get off me.¡± ¡°What?¡± He stops mid-movement, his cock almost entirely buried inside of me, his expression one of pure bewilderment. ¡°Get off.¡± ¡°Ennah¡­ Am I hurting you?¡± I push him aside. ¡°No. I just¡­¡± I scramble upright, ¡°¡­ need you to¡­¡± Now I force him to lay down on his back, ¡°¡­ lay down.¡± With just enough awareness not to go hovering over him but keep my knees on the floor, I lift one leg to straddle him. ¡°Ennah!¡± His incredulous enthusiasm eggs me on. I take his cock and lower myself onto him. He reaches deeper than he''d ever done, and I throw my head back. This is what I want. To be filled deeply, to really lose myself in our unity, to¡­ To be in charge. This is something I hadn''t thought about. As Amador sighs deeply beneath me and then grunts something about how wonderful I feel, I realize I''m in control now. Of the tempo, the depth, even where he can put his hands¡­ I take a deep, quivering breath and start moving, wiggling my hips to take him in deeper, raising my bottom to have him slip out just to let myself drop again. I can feel his whole length. ¡°Feathers¡­¡± Amador gasps. I look at him and bring his hand to one of my breasts. He kneads it, squeezes and massages it, takes my nipple between his fingers and pulls and twists it as I speed up. I lean into him, flexing all the muscles in my belly so he won''t push me off him. My ankle bracelets are still on; I feel the diamonds cut into my skin, but now that I''m on my knees, I can feel their Magic having less of a hold on me, and I cannot allow less friction between us, and certainly no more distance. Then he lifts his other hand to my breast, and all thoughts fall from my mind. His hands are heaven, his cock inside me is hot and big and so, so good. His caresses take my breath away, and his low groans are a testament to the way I make him feel in return, making me bounce even faster. He releases my breasts and grabs my ass, urging me to move even more frantically. The sound of skin slapping skin, almost reminiscent of somebody applauding, is oddly exciting. He is in so deep that my ultimately sensitive lips hit the fluffs of hair around the base of his cock every time he is buried deep within me, a sensation that is so new and so good that I wish it could just stay there. I try to refrain from getting up again, but his grip on my butt is too firm. Now he has taken control, he bounces me up and down as he pleases, thrusting his hips up and down as well so he can enter me even deeper. I focus on the feeling he gives me when we are closest together, most one, opening myself up to drink that feeling in, to get lost in the sensation of my lips and tender center against his base. ¡°Ennah¡­¡± he breathes. ¡°I''m going to¡­ I need¡­¡± I don''t want to hear it. I am so close, so close to experiencing that shattering feeling that is his standard prerogative and my secret, precious rarity. ¡°Amador¡­ Just a little more¡­¡± ¡°En¡­ No¡­¡± he exclaims, still bucking his hips up as if he can''t help it. ¡°You''re feeling way too¡­¡± And then the sensations lift me so high I shatter. It is like an explosion of light and bubbles and caresses inside me, like dropping down from high up in the clouds and at the same time floating between the stars. ¡°I''m coming!¡± Amador squeals. He shoves me aside quite crudely, but I hardly notice it, nor the seed he spills onto the floor and on himself. I am still panting, my body shivering from all it has just released. ¡°That¡­¡± Amador mumbles. ¡°That was amazing.¡± I smile and bend over to kiss him. ¡°Yes,¡± I sigh. We are definitely doing this again soon. I collapse against his shoulder and nod. ¡°Oh, yes.¡± Chapter 16 Kayetan Yoszovar, 5 years before the Rise Who would have thought that studying Magic could ever be¡­ Quite dull. I lay down my charcoal and move my fingers to counteract the cramp that has been building in them over the last half hour. My drawing isn¡¯t anything near perfect yet, and I let out a deep sigh. Luckily, Elrick has his own study in which to mess up whatever he should be doing ¡ª or so I imagine. I¡¯m glad I don¡¯t have to be there to witness it. But my work cataloguing is, dare I say it, boring, and somewhat lonely, and gives me way too much time to think about Melena. She ignores me. Which ought to be a good thing. This infatuation of mine has gone on long enough. I¡¯ve started to catch myself staring at her over the table whenever Eilyn doesn¡¯t demand my attention ¡ª which doesn¡¯t happen all that often because she is always cheerfully yapping away, no matter how empty or full her mouth is. I think Madam Arceli has given up reprimanding her ¡ª it¡¯s no use. Eilyn is like Sylva in that way ¡ª no stopping her once she¡¯s enthusiastic. And Eilyn is enthusiastic about a lot. Too bad she¡¯s not old enough for the conversations to be intellectually stimulating yet. Which ought to be a good thing too, for this way I should have a lot of brain capacity left to think about the patterns that are emerging from my work. If only my brain would let me think of something else than how the golden hue shimmers around Melena¡­ Now I¡¯m not sighing but almost grunting. I ought to snap out of it and get going. I¡¯ve got everything set up for success. As I am not exactly blessed with much talent for drawing, I have created a template to fill in, and managed to create a spell to multiply it ¡ª I still have the bags under my eyes to prove how long it has taken me. Or at least, that is what I try to convince myself of. In truth, at least half of those sleepless hours have been devoted to Melena. The way she smiles. The way she looked at me when we were first introduced. The feeling of Magicking her. The moments she was mine, and mine alone. Even the way she shuns me now entraps my thoughts, annoying as that is. I get up from the desk and pace around the room, willing the fluttering in my heart to stop and ordering my stomach to adhere to normal gravity again. It is maddening not to be able to suppress all those sensations, not to be strong enough to simply banish her from my conscious mind. I sigh as I stop my pacing just before slamming headfirst into a wall. Melena out, the very fabric of Magic in. The patterns themselves hold so much beauty ¡ª it is almost a crime to find it boring to draw them. I throw a glance in the direction of both the plate of sand and my attempt to capture the pattern on my template with the charcoal. From a distance, it seems I am doing the job quite well. It is only when one comes closer that it becomes clear that I am completely unable to capture the flow, the softness of the lines, the curves that hold utter perfection. I swallow. Magic, beheld from a distance to keep up the appearance of beauty. A sudden idea forms in the back of my mind. Just a little experiment, a small side step from my assignment. What would happen when a word of power is spoken from a distance? Would the power diminish or would the Magic stay just as strong? We¡¯ve always been taught that being near to the object one¡¯s Magicking is a must, but¡­ Another glance at my drawing assures me that I¡¯ve noted my current word of power well. I can always speak it again, and the sand will fall back into the same pattern. Let¡¯s take it a step further. Or actually, a step further away. In my mind¡¯s eye, I see Melena as she walks along the gallery, her eyes sparkling with fury, her soft black curls waving behind her even more gracefully than her silk skirts. I see her wrapped in golden glow, invisible to the world. I smile as the word rolls off my lips. ¨¢ylon. Love. Even from several steps away, I can see the shift in the sand. Quickly, I cross the distance, only to come to an abrupt halt. The pattern on the plate is more beautiful than any I¡¯ve seen so far. Perfectly round, the shapes inside the circle elegant and, in a way I can¡¯t understand, touching. They resemble flower petals, or circular rays of sunlight, or the most perfect symmetrical drawing made by a Master Artist. My pattern radiates everything I¡¯ve felt when saying ¨¢ylon; I can almost feel Melena¡¯s presence residing in the most majestic image I¡¯ve ever seen. I reach for my charcoal and a template. Even writing the word ¨¢ylon at the top fills me with a strange but welcome sensation of fulfillment. There is nothing boring or repetitive in drawing out this symbol ¡ª every line brings me closer to Melena, makes my skin tingle with anticipation and, at the same time, fills me with a strange sort of peace. If there ever was a word that could prove how powerful Magic is, then this is it. Every line feels in place, feels exactly right. How come I don¡¯t feel that for the other drawings? What is so special about¡­ But I know. I know the instant I wonder about it. It is the heart. The part of the miracle of Magic that is so easy to leave out of the equation. I trace one line of the pattern with my index finger, hovering just above the charcoal line so that it won¡¯t smudge, and a chill runs along my spine. Of course we were well educated about the connection between the brain and body ¡ª the basics for any kind of Magic. Spells can only be unlocked by connecting eyes and hands. Reading is too superficial; only writing the ancient words down will make the connection strong enough and leave an imprint on the brain. After that connection is established, the spell won¡¯t be activated until it comes full circle; when the brain provides the words for the tongue to speak the Magic into existence, while the listening ears close the loop back to the brain. Though my teachers have always said that emotion is part of the cycle, only now do I grasp it fully. Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. It leaves me breathless for a moment, my insides vibrant and strangely heavy as the understanding kicks in. It¡¯s amazing. And it¡¯s horrible, for now I¡¯ll have to re-draw every pattern save for this one. I don¡¯t cringe, though. The deeper understanding of Magic is worth it all. It is humbling, exciting, and expansive all rolled into one. Maybe this can help me with the Vorvalus symbol too. ¡°Kai?¡± Elrick pushes open the door, completely oblivious to the beauty of the moment. ¡°It¡¯s time to call it a day. Haenar just came to inform me that we are to make ourselves ready.¡± His tone implies that I¡¯ll need quite a bit of time to get myself suitable for dinner with the family, which is not true for Madam Arceli personally took me to their tailor¡¯s a few days ago. The insinuation infuriates me enough to keep me from telling Elrick off for shortening my name to ¡®Kai¡¯, something only my closest friends and family are permitted to do ¡ª meaning the only one who lovingly calls me that is Sylva. But I am smart enough to see through Elrick¡¯s trick. Haenar would never allow him to come and fetch me, he insists on everything being done properly. Without him, I wouldn¡¯t have discovered half of the etiquette rules at play in Vorvalus Manor. It¡¯s most likely some low-down prank Elrick is pulling. Best let him think he got me. ¡°I¡¯ll be on my way in a minute,¡± I say. ¡°I want to finish something.¡± Elrick¡¯s mouth twitches sourly. ¡°Suit yourself,¡± he says. ¡°Have fun with your plate. Don¡¯t drop it.¡± He darts off and my angry look bounces off his back. I may not have fallen into his trap, he got to me anyway. If Master Vorvalus finds out about the statue¡­ I haven¡¯t even started to look into what crystal it is, let alone how to repair it properly. How long will Elrick keep his mouth shut? As if he¡¯s blabbing about me right now, my ears pricks up. There is a sound. Very soft, almost inaudible, but the longer I listen, the stronger it becomes, pouring in from the hallway. Upon opening the door, it can pinpoint the source. It isn¡¯t pretty, not something like music. I¡¯ve heard Ralonda sing once and that couldn¡¯t really be called music as well, but this is something else. There is a persistence to it, some kind of ongoing rumble at a tone that seems human, or maybe an elongated mew from a cat. A weary cat for that matter. I go to investigate and as I walk over to Elrick¡¯s study, the sound gets clearer and clearer. The idea of it being something human or feline now seems ludicrous. But what it actually is, is beyond me. What has Elrick been working on exactly? It hasn¡¯t been a deep dive into the nature of Magic like I am doing; it is more of a practical thing having to do with ¡ª Oh right! Master Iacopor has asked him to work on manipulating seeds so they will sprout and grow faster, eventually providing more food for the ever-increasing population of Yoszovar. How on earth has he managed to have the Magic make sounds like this? And¡­ It dawns on me just before I reach the door, my hand already stretched out in front of me to push it open. It hasn¡¯t been time to prepare for dinner yet; it has been time for Elrick to flee whatever he has mucked up in there. I close my eyes and sigh, my hand still raised in front of me. Can I ignore this, return to my own study, and retreat to change for dinner at the proper time? Or is it better to clean up the mess Elrick has left? What if his remark on dropping things was a poor attempt at blackmail? The sound from his study now turns into a full-blown holler, a wailing that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. If it grows louder, chances are the windows will shatter within a few minutes. Elrick¡¯s mess or not, blackmail or not, I can¡¯t stand by and let that happen. I open the door, and the sound bites into my eardrums, reverberating through my skull like some sort of siren. It doesn¡¯t exactly hurt, but it resembles a throbbing headache too much to be able to ignore it. Where does the noise come from? I quickly take in the scene. Scribblings on a chalkboard hanging on the wall, words of Magic, and diagrams that make no sense to me. A bright light shines above six bowls. Two of them are covered by a plate, the rest of them hold little balls I think must be peas, but they are a pale, sickish green at best. In one of the bowls, they have turned a deep, disgusting brown. But where does the sound come from? I hardly think Elrick has made the peas themselves cry for mercy from whatever he is doing to them. Magic prickles as I enter the room. The lighting over the beans is Magical, there also has to be a Magical source for the sound too; a source I can¡¯t see. I purse my lips. Hiding something is easy, revealing something you¡¯ve not hidden yourself is a totally different thing. But as the sound becomes louder and breaks the barrier between annoying and painful, at least I can be sure that my heart will be in whatever Magic I perform. Can I think of a spell on the fly? Cringing from the sound, I run to the board and write down the syllables for revealing and showing and sound, combining them into a new spell that hopefully will at least reveal to me what I can freeze. That spell will come easily ¡ª I was so bad at freezing in the beginning, and so determined to get it right, that I¡¯ve even mastered the art of freezing bits of air. My spell on the board is very readable. Somehow, all the drawing I¡¯ve done over the last couple of days must have increased my ability to write neatly. I can almost feel the spell itself fall into place in my brain. Concentrating on the noise is hardly necessary as it tears through every fiber of my being, but I do it anyway. ¡®Yas Merenth Sowl!¡¯ I call, as if it is necessary for my voice to be louder than the racket around me. Next to the light something flickers. It sort of resembles the patterns I am conjuring on the plate, but it seems broken, askew. ¡®Dawnt!¡¯ The silence is instantaneous, so deep that it rings in my ears. The release of my shoulders makes a rustling noise, and my sigh of relief is like a gust of storm wind blowing through the room. It seems to me that even the peas are relieved. ¡°Masterling Kayetan, what are you¡­ What happened?¡± Haenar is in the doorway, his eyes wide. ¡°Where is Masterling Elrick?¡± ¡°Probably wallowing in shame,¡± I grunt. I rub my head ¡ª the noise is gone, but the headache proves a bit more tenacious. ¡°Are you alright?¡± ¡°Yes. Thank you.¡± I look at the servant, who is breathing fast. ¡°Are you?¡± Haenor looks at me as if he doesn¡¯t really believe I have just asked him that. ¡°Yes¡­ Yes, I am. Thank you, Masterling.¡± He shakes his head. ¡°That sound¡­ I hope the neighbors have all their windows intact.¡± ¡°I hope the windows three towns over are intact,¡± I say, still rubbing my temples. A hint of a smile creeps up on Haenar¡¯s lips, but I am distracted by my thoughts. How far can sound travel? How far can Magic travel? And can I find a way to make the Magic show itself at a distance, so¡­ So messages can be sent further and faster than they¡¯d ever had before? What if¡­ ¡°Thank you, Haenar,¡± I say, and then I all but run to my study and snatch my notebook to jot down the stream of thoughts and ideas flying around in my mind. Chapter 17 Ennah Sentisse, 66 years after the Rise This evening¡¯s soup is the worst batch I''ve ever produced. I even contemplate adding in some brew, but Uncle Aniol, sitting across from me at the dinner table, spoons it up without a word. I''m not sure if he just doesn''t have the energy to scold me or if he''s too lost in thought to notice. I can''t blame him. The empty space at the dinner table is so much bigger than just the vacant chair and the missing bowl. Tears seem to come out of nowhere, and I quickly scoop up another spoonful of the bland liquid, lowering my eyes just so Uncle Aniol won''t catch me crying. It tends to make him even crankier than he already is all day long ¡ª public displays of emotion are not something he handles with grace. And though I really can''t blame him for his bad mood, I don''t want to be at the receiving end of it. So I swallow and will the tears to stop flowing. Of course, willing them away doesn''t do much ¡ª they cling to my eyelids, trickle down my cheeks, and make their way up towards my eyebrows. When I blink, one of them is hurdled into my soup, creating a ripple that has my dinner flowing over the rim of the bowl. I quickly shoot backward to release it to gravity again, before the soup spills everywhere. I''ve mastered the art of spooning it up quite well, but rogue tears are something else altogether. My sudden movement has Uncle Aniol look up from his own bowl. ¡°Get it together, girl,¡± he mutters. ¡°Can''t have you loitering about crying all the time; we¡¯re already understaffed as it is.¡± I don''t even dignify that with an answer. So that''s what he''s so damn grumpy about ¡ª it has nothing to do with him missing Aunt Carme, but all the more with missing the work she''d always put in around the vineyard. I ought to have guessed ¡ª he''s awarded more tasks to me this morning than I''ve ever had, and I haven''t been able to finish all of them as it takes quite some time to figure out how to, for instance, collect all the dried lentils and put them in weck bottles when one interferes with gravity. We''ve made certain divisions of tasks for a reason, and now that Aunt Carme is gone and all the women¡¯s chores are up to me, it becomes perfectly clear why we¡¯ve done so in the past. Luckily, there¡¯s little writing correspondence for me to do right now, for all the writing can take ages. At the same time it¡¯s scary; little correspondence means little business, and we need business to stay afloat. Our mailbox was empty today. I checked it twice, simply because I¡¯m used to it. Granny trained me to take responsibility for bringing in the mail, to make sure no letters from the yellow manor will be missed. The question is, do I want to continue that habit? Well, if I want to stay here, I¡¯d better keep it up. I need to know about the offers we put out, the invoices, the amount of prospects that turn our offers down versus the number of people buying our wine and things like that. Should I tell Uncle Aniol of my plans? I¡¯ve tried to tell Aunt Carme, but I don¡¯t think she fully grasped what I was saying, and I very much doubt that she told Uncle Aniol. I study him over the empty spoon I¡¯m holding up. He¡¯s in a foul mood ¡ª he has been like this for days now. It wouldn¡¯t surprise me if his grumpiness drives him to find the most arduous tasks for me ¡ª like preserving the lentils. I¡¯ve spent all morning in something of a lentil storm, I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if there are a few somehow clinging to my hair. So many of them fell on the floor that I''ve had to rinse half of our stock again, and now there¡¯s a heap of them waiting for a second try after they¡¯ve dried. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. I don''t dare to think about how many rounds it will take me to have them all safely packed. And when he saw me struggling, Uncle Aniol did nothing but look at me sullenly and remark on where to find the lanterns so I can finish my chores in the evening ¡ª as if I don''t know where to find them. Perhaps he was trying to more or less nicely tell me that he expects me to finish everything, no matter the hour or the darkness. After saying this, he immediately added that the oil probably needs to be refilled as well, so my list of chores became even longer. Being nice about it doesn¡¯t make the workload lessen. Thankfully, I''ve found a way to refill the oil without spilling the best part of it. Ugh, if it hadn''t been for Amador, I would have gone stone-cold crazy by now. Even if our being together has been just a shallow, temporary flight from feeling and thinking to feeling and touching, I needed it dearly, and now it¡¯s all I can do but cling to the memory and hope he''ll come around again soon so I won''t lose my mind. Uncle Aniol goes on eating his soup. Without looking up, he says, ¡°I need brew.¡± I purse my lips together, keeping back a sigh. I really can''t blame him, so I shove my chair back. ¡°I''ll go fetch some right-¡° ¡°Not for the soup, silly girl. For the vineyard.¡± ¡°But¡­ The batch I made a month ago,¡± ¡ª it feels like a lifetime ago ¡ª ¡°was more than enough to last us for this season.¡± He looks up at me, his gaze bitter. ¡°I need more.¡± ¡°But the harvest¡­¡± ¡°The brew will not spoil for a number of years, right?¡± ¡°I suppose, but¡ª¡° ¡°What if something happens to you too?¡± ¡°To me?¡± I feel like the silly girl he''s made me out to be, but his train of thought just seems so foreign. ¡°I''m fine.¡± ¡°Carme was too, only a fortnight ago.¡± ¡°But¡­¡± ¡°I cannot risk it, Ennah. There is too much at stake.¡± Yes indeed, there is. I have to tell him I¡¯m staying. That I¡¯m not going anywhere and he doesn¡¯t need to worry. I don¡¯t have anywhere to go anyway. But if he has enough brew, he might kick me out. I know he promised Aunt Carme he wouldn¡¯t do that, and I don¡¯t think he¡¯d break a promise to his beloved dead wife. ¡°I understand that you¡¯re scared,¡± I start, taking care to choose my words wisely. Let¡¯s probe his reaction for now. ¡°But I really am perfectly fine. I¡¯m not going anywhere.¡± ¡°Two deaths within six turns of the moon,¡± Uncle Aniol says, seemingly unaware of my last sentence. ¡°Damagic creeping closer every day, C¨¤gila can arrive on our doorstep any day now to ask for higher fees because it¡¯s so near. The world is throwing every floating thing our way at the moment. I cannot risk the vineyard.¡± His gaze is so intense that I let go of my spoon ¡ª it drifts away from me for a few seconds before dropping on the table with a loud clang. ¡°It¡¯s the only thing that can provide for us, Ennah,¡± he says, his tone now soft and even a bit scared. I only hear the word ¡®us¡¯ and my heart starts beating expectantly. He shakes his head, the worry in his voice loud and clear. ¡°If the quality of the wine falters even a bit, other breweries will take over before we know it. I''m already working my ass off to make sure we don''t lose any customers because I was preoccupied with¡­¡± He swallows. ¡°This is all we have, Ennah. And now it¡¯s up to you and me to keep this operation going as best we can. Carme worked so hard to make this vineyard a success. She loved it so much, she gave up so many of her dreams to make this one flourish. I''ll be damned to flying if I let it fall.¡± Again, the tears fall before I even notice them coming. ¡°I''ll help you in any way I can,¡± I whisper. ¡°I¡¯m in here with you. I¡¯m not going anywhere.¡± Uncle Aniol nods. ¡°Good. We need to survive.¡± ¡°Yes.¡± It¡¯s barely more than a whisper, but the resolution burns in my heart. I¡¯ll do everything within my power to make sure the vineyard not only survives, but thrives. And I will do so without making myself redundant, for that would be a big, big mistake. Chapter 18 Melena Yoszovar, 5 years before the Rise What was I thinking, allowing him to kiss me? It¡¯s been four days and I can still feel his lips on mine. They tingle with some sort of anticipation, a sort of¡­ Longing perhaps? That thought makes me throw down my brush into the waterbowl and all but run through my room as if I can escape that ludicrous thought by walking fast enough. I have to get a grip on myself. It wasn¡¯t even a real kiss, like the ones in novels and the secret book Ralonda gave me when I turned fifteen, and I¡¯m all over the place. It¡¯s ridiculous. And I am not going to pay any more attention to it. I¡¯m painting a lovely still, that¡¯s what I want to concentrate on. I stride over to my brush, ignore the droplets of water I splattered all over my desk when I threw it into the bowl and take up my palet again. Green. That¡¯s the color I need now. But that kiss, that peck, that utterly unwelcome acquaintance with his lips has been on my mind almost non-stop, is still so present in my mind that I can¡¯t hold the tip of my brush still enough for a single stroke. This is madness! I must be the world¡¯s biggest fool. Why did I let him kiss me? And even worse¡­ Why did I run off? Why not just let him kiss me, really kiss me, and¡­ The notion of Kayetan really kissing me is so overwhelming that my heart starts bouncing as if it doesn¡¯t know how to beat properly anymore. A droplet of paint makes its way down the shaft of my shaking brush and stains my hand a bright green. I was right to run away. This feeling of dread and fear and wanting and hope and frustration is too much. I don¡¯t even recognize myself anymore. The only thing I know, is that I¡¯m utterly stupid. Kayetan could well have been the scapegoat to save me from Horgas. It should have been easy to seduce him, to let him kiss me and make him want me so that he could be my knight in shining armor saving me from this upcoming marriage thing with Horgas Maletti. He looks at me like a lovesick puppy and I just know that if I had played it well, he would have kissed me good and been at my beck and call. He could have been my barrier against Horgas Maletti. But if that teeny tiny kiss has this effect on me, I don¡¯t want to think about what could happen if I really kiss him. No, if he kisses me. I¡¯d never initiate a kiss. Never. Not when it makes me tingle all over and I feel I could just faint and my temperature goes wonky and¡­ Why does my life have to change so much? Why can¡¯t I just keep living the life I¡¯ve led up until only a few weeks ago ¡ª a simple life filled with painting, a trip to the bathhouse every now and then, and as little societal demands as possible? Just me, Jeszy and my family. No suitors, no Masterlings invading our space ¡ª I was so happy when Father¡¯s last Masterling finally left us and I got dinnertime with family back ¡ª and no thoughts about the future because I could live my life happily in the present. Can¡¯t I just go back in time and prevent the Masterlings from coming to live with us, prevent the conversation I had with Mother about Horgas¡¯ idiotic intentions from happening, prevent time from moving on? Now that would be a kind of Magic worth the trouble. But Magic doesn¡¯t work that way. Magic is conjuring up illusions. Like the clothes Father adjusted for Ralonda, like the music playing over teatime, like the beauty of the flowers in Mother¡¯s drawing room that look pretty from a distance but in reality are nothing more than a bending of the light. I know ¡ª I tried to paint them once and saw them for what they were. Oh, why am I even wondering? Everything is different; there is no way I can ever go back to the way it was. It¡¯s as if black paint has touched all my vivid colors, and I¡¯ll never be able to get the grey shades out of them ever again. The servant¡¯s door opens and Yeszy comes scurrying through it. ¡°Mel,¡± she hisses. ¡°It¡¯s Bargle, he¡¯s coming to take you to your father¡¯s room.¡± I drop the brush I¡¯d forgotten I was holding, and I¡¯m sure there¡¯s a green stripe on my skirt now. ¡°What?¡± ¡°Bargele.¡± There¡¯s a knock on the door and we look at each other in alarm.. ¡°Can you help me escape?¡± I whisper as soon as Yeszy is within earshot. Which was a stupid thing to do, for Bargele¡¯s hearing is uncannily good. His voice sounds as if he knows he¡¯s about to ruin my day and loves every second of it. ¡°Ah, Miss Vorvalus, you are in. Splendid.¡± He opens the door just a crack to speak ot me. Another sign that I¡¯m no longer a child; before, Bargle would simply barge in ¡ª hence our nickname for him, Barge-le instead of Bargle ¡ª and I think he loves this. He can now pull the faces of sheer gloating that he has to hide when speaking to me directly. He¡¯s not that good at hiding them, though. Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°Bargle,¡± I manage. ¡°Your Father is waiting for you in the sitting room. Would you like your tea with or without sugar today?¡± It takes all I have not to grind my teeth. ¡°With sugar, please.¡± There¡¯s been a long and strangely infuriating talk with Mother a few weeks ago about how I needed to quit childish habits like sugar in my tea. It¡¯s only now becoming clear that a whole series of events and confronting conversations have all been about getting me to become somebody I¡¯m not. How long have Mother and Father been brewing on Horgas? And why are they passing by Ralonda? It¡¯s a thought that¡¯s entered my mind before, and now I hang on to it for dear life as I¡¯m led to Father¡¯s sitting room by Bargele ¡ª who is gloating ¡ª as if I don¡¯t know the way around my own house. Admittedly, I would have tried my best to get lost in the corridor between my room and Father¡¯s sitting room, but that¡¯s beside the point. I don¡¯t need a guard dog. I am seventeen, for crying out loud. Maybe I should take Mother¡¯s heed and start acting my age. I take a deep breath before entering and even try to put up a smile ¡ª I need every bit of lift to put Father in a good mood. Maybe, just maybe, Maletti is not¡­ My smile suffers from swallowing, and I know the feigned happiness doesn¡¯t reach my eyes ¡ª not even a little bit. ¡°Lena,¡± Father says. He looks even more stubborn than he usually does. Mother must have told him about my¡­ objections to their plans. ¡°Father,¡± I answer, my voice somehow bearing a cheerful tone that would make any sugar added to my tea redundant. ¡°How is your day so far?¡± ¡°Very nice, thank you. Sit down.¡± It¡¯s more of a command than a request, and a seat has already been put up. To my amazement, it¡¯s an ornate one, one that would just about level me with my father ¡ª or it would have been if he hadn¡¯t been so tall. But there is a hint of equality in it ¡ª as if I am to be taken a bit more seriously than before. No longer a child, but a young woman. Why does that piss me off when barely a minute ago I decided to act my age? I want to be mature. I think. But why does that have to go hand in hand with feeling all kinds of new things? And being forced to think about men and marriage? Suddenly, the soft cushioning feels like quicksand I have been lured into without any means of escaping. And Father just looks at me. Is he waiting for me to start this conversation? That¡¯ll be a long wait ¡ª I will not bring up the subject of Horgas or matrimony if I can help it. ¡°Lena,¡± he starts, after what seems like half an eternity. ¡°I am most pleased to see you.¡± What on earth do I say to that? How do I want to portray myself, as an empty-headed girl he can boss around, or as a nearly grown woman who needs to be taken seriously, but who is also ripe for a wedding? I really don¡¯t know which is worse, so I just nod, dread forming clumps in my stomach. ¡°I¡¯ve had some interesting conversations as of late,¡± my father goes on. He uses the tone of somebody conveying serious matters. ¡°Big conversations of personal sorts.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± I try to keep it light, I really do, but it''s impossible. My heart is beating so fast, it nearly jumps out of my chest, and I feel queezy. ¡°You know that you have caught the interest of Horgas Malleti.¡± Oh, I know. I¡¯m hoping with all my might I will lose it again. Oh, please, let that be what Father is speaking so gravely about. Let him believe I would be heartbroken by Horgas calling off the plans for an engagement, let him try to soften the blow. I might just be able to contain myself and not reveal how tremendously happy such a thing would make me. I could even act all sad. Maybe. ¡°His interest in you has consolidated into a deep wish for the both of you to be bound in marriage.¡± I gasp for air. ¡°He hasn¡¯t asked for your hand yet, but it will only be a matter of time.¡± ¡°But¡­¡± ¡°Don¡¯t worry. I¡¯m sure all will be done considering proper protocol. You only need to prepare yourself to say yes.¡± ¡°Proper¡­¡± I can''t even ask about that last thing he said, my mind simply refuses to go there. Instead, I latch on to his other statement. Proper protocol¡­ Proper protocol! ¡°But what about Ralonda? You surely cannot allow me to get engaged when she is still unwed.¡± ¡°That is none of your concern.¡± Father¡¯s eyes are usually a radiating green, but now they gleam like ice. I try very hard to swallow my but. ¡°I have been brought up with the notion that one should always follow protocol. Why would that notion be broken for my¡­ For such a hasty¡­¡± I can''t even bring myself to utter the word. With every beat of my heart, I feel the resignation pulse through my veins, and the sensation of Kayetan¡¯s lips on mine flares up with every pulse as well. It''s the strangest sensation, and the fact that I register it is even weirder since Father has basically sentenced me to a life with Horgas and that is much, much more discerning than one small kiss on the lips. ¡°There is time. We¡¯re not rushing into things,¡± my father says. ¡°I am barely seventeen,¡± I interject. ¡°Ralonda is eighteen. She has rights, as the eldest.¡± I prefer to call them obligations, but for this noble cause I will alter my words. It''s impossible for Mother and Father to ignore protocol and marry me off before Ralonda. I can''t believe it. ¡°As I said, this is none of your concern.¡± ¡°But what will everybody think?¡± I almost yell. ¡°Do you really want to risk your position in the Council over this?¡± Where his eyes were spreading a cold, icy hue before, my father¡¯s gaze now sparks fire. ¡°Do not speak about things you don¡¯t even understand. Ralonda will be betrothed and married well before you will.¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°As a matter of fact, she is taking her responsibility towards the family with grace and dignity. She knows to trust us in our choices. Whereas you¡­¡± He spits the word at me. ¡°You¡¯re letting foolish selfishness rule you. Do you want to know why we have already informed you of Horgas¡¯ intentions? Because we were so happy that a wonderful man like Horgas expressed his liking toward you, his affection even. We wish you all the happiness in the world, Lena, and Horgas will give you just that. I don¡¯t want another word out of you about protocol or Ralonda or anything else that says something other than your willingness to take Horgas¡¯ offer when it comes.¡± I can''t even speak from indignation. Maybe acting childish will be the best way to go, to make Father see that I am not ready to marry, that I¡¯ll make a fool of myself in front of all those society members Mother and Father are always so eager to impress. ¡°I¡­¡± ¡°If you are about to say anything else than ¡°yes, I will marry Horgas¡±, then you might as well keep quiet.¡± I press my lips together and storm out of the room. I know Father is watching me go with that same stubborn expression he carries so often. I know he really isn¡¯t pleased with me. I also know he probably expected me to bend to his will just like that. He doesn¡¯t care what I feel or think. I have no say in this, that much is clear, but somehow I need to make it stop. And there¡¯s only one person I can turn to, for she¡¯s in this just as deeply as I am. Chapter 19 Ennah Sentisse, 66 years after the Rise Uncle Aniol is serious about his request for more brew. Come the next morning, as I''m still eating breakfast, he''s already up and running, gathering the ingredients needed for the brew and he calls me to come with him even before I''m completely done eating. I take the last piece of bread with me and follow him to the shack, trying to keep up with his long strides by breaking into a run every so often while also trying to eat my last few bites. Uncle Aniol likes things to be done quickly, but this is oddly hasty, even for his lack of patience. ¡°I gathered everything you need,¡± he says upon opening the door to the shack. He''s already sweating, and mid-day slumbers are nowhere near yet. ¡°I¡¯m not sure how much you can make, fill me in on what you need more of so I can supply you with it.¡± Inside, all kinds of flasks, pots, bags, and even a barrel are set on and beside the table. I blink. ¡°Oh. You really did gather everything.¡± I even see things that I normally get myself, like Granny instructed me to do. Granny had been quite strict when it came to how much Uncle Aniol was to know about the brew, but it seems like her plans haven¡¯t been secretive enough. Is this a good thing, now that I¡¯m staying? Uncle Aniol wipes his brow. ¡°The grapes are growing quite well in this heat. I¡¯m hoping for a big harvest, so¡­¡± ¡°I see.¡± My smile is feeble at best, but if we¡¯re to work together and make the vineyard a success, I¡¯ll make sure to give it my all. Right. I¡¯d better get going, then. The shack has partly been built to cater to every need when brewing. The first thing I need to do is build a fire so the first ingredient can be boiled and processed. As soon as the flames are up, I¡¯ll check and see how much brew I can make. I''m already walking over to the fireplace when I realize that Uncle Aniol is still there. I turn around so fast that both my feet come off the floor before landing on it again, without as much as a thud. ¡°Why are you still here?¡± I ask, trying not to let any mistrust trickle into my tone. Cooperation is one thing, but I can¡¯t let him see me making the brew. He hasn¡¯t even said anything about me staying here yet, and the thought of showing him the ropes makes me feel ill at ease. Uncle Aniol must be feeling something similar. He swallows again, a bead of sweat trickling down his cheek. ¡°You¡¯re the only one who knows how to make the brew,¡± he says, as if the words are very hard to string together. ¡°I meant what I said yesterday over dinner. What if you are taken ill, or something else happens to you?¡± ¡°As I said, I cannot imagine myself not being able to make more in time, even if I were to get sick. We always make more than we need.¡± Uncle Aniol¡¯s face turns slightly darker. ¡°I¡¯m just nervous,¡± he says, again with an unease that gives me the chills. ¡°I don¡¯t know how I¡¯d manage without you.¡± That must be the sweetest thing he¡¯s ever said to me. ¡°I¡¯m not going anywhere,¡± I assure him. Who¡¯d have thought that Uncle Aniol would be capable of nerves like this? ¡°With the Damagic so close¡­¡± he starts. ¡°Damagic is highly unpredictable,¡± I say, as if I know more about Damagic than him. I feel as if I need to calm him down, though. What would become of me if he fell ill, or maybe had a heart attack? If he keeps this up, he just might ¡ª he¡¯s sweating like a pig. ¡°Chances are it will have dissipated before it even leaves the North.¡± Uncle Aniol blinks. ¡°It might. Or it might not. It¡¯s Damagic, we never know¡­¡± I suppose that''s true. ¡°I¡¯ll make the brew. As much of it as I can, with the supplies we have. And I can always make more in the future.¡± ¡°Yes. Yes, that¡¯s good.¡± Uncle Aniol is shifting his weight from left to right, as if he¡¯s indecisive about leaving or not. I hope for the sake of the delicate balance between us that he¡¯ll decide to leave on his own. Granny warned me to keep as much of the potion a secret ¡ª even if I¡¯m no longer a burden but a valid member of the team, it¡¯s still smart to hold on to my advantage. With that leverage gone¡­ A shiver runs down my spine. ¡°I¡¯ll do my very best,¡± I say in a light, friendly tone, hoping it will ease Uncle Aniol¡¯s nerves enough for him to just leave and let me work my magic. It''s bad enough that he knows the ingredients. ¡°Just trust me.¡± Uncle Aniol squeezes his eyelids together, his lips pursed into a sour pout. ¡°Can I?¡± His words slide over my back with liquid, ice-cold suspicion. My stomach drops. What does he mean by that? What if he doesn¡¯t want me to stay? Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. Panic surges through my belly and I try to read his face, looking for clues that he¡¯ll kick me out or if it¡¯s just the fear of Damagic and the fragility of life talking. Uncle Aniol turns several shades darker, his nostrils flaring. From the look of it, he''s getting ready to shout. Loudly. The only question is whether I''ll just let it wash over me and bow my head, give him some slack because of how much pressure he''s under, or if I want to counter his accusations and undoubtedly the long list of my shortcomings that he¡¯ll unleash upon me, and drag this whole thing into a conflict that could possibly go on for days. Can I say or do anything to let his rage fizzle out before it''s no longer containable? And what would support me in staying here? I can¡¯t let him push me around, but if I anger him too much, all could be lost. I swallow. This is exactly why I can¡¯t show him any of the processes involved in making the brew. And I¡¯ll have to show him I¡¯m an adult, capable of being handled as such. So, no taking his bait. No getting angry. No showing weakness. Remain calm and focused. The simplest answer here is the truth. ¡°Yes, you can trust me.¡± I''ve never done anything to deliberately cross him, I have abided by his every single rule. Save for Amador, of course. There¡¯s a hint of guilt pinching my heart at that thought, but I remain defiant. The glare in Uncle Aniol¡¯s eyes grows into something unpleasant, an emotion so heavy I feel it tugging on my body, pulling me down to the floor. This is not going to end well. Aggravating Uncle Aniol has always been a talent of mine at the best of times ¡ª a questionable talent, I know ¡ª but it seems I¡¯ve mastered it even when I don¡¯t mean to. I swallow as a vein on Uncle Aniol¡¯s forehead starts to pulse and his cheeks grow darker still. ¡°Do you take me for a fool?¡± he bursts out. ¡°Are you so ignorant, so arrogant, that you think you can play me? A woman with magic. It¡¯s unnatural. It¡¯s wrong. And you are wrong most of all. You, Ennah,¡± he points his index finger towards my nose, and I swallow again, ¡°you are an abomination. You are a fault, a festering flaw in a world. You should have been eradicated a long time ago. I cannot fathom why your grandmother has gone to all those lengths trying to save you. I cannot believe I was stupid enough to let both of you in to taint my vineyard. Don¡¯t even think for a minute that I didn¡¯t see through that scheme of yours. Your brew is keeping me hostage, and I hate it. You hear me? I hate it, and it¡¯s time for that to change. I cannot bear to have the Magic of a woman rule my life any longer.¡± My breath comes in little puffs as I try to grasp what Uncle Aniol has just spat my way. The way he uttered the word woman, the way he looks at me as if I really am a flaw in the universe, some despicable thing that is nothing but a waste of space. And how he has crushed all my intentions of staying here as his equal in one, loud burst. Of course, I knew he felt this way ¡ª or at least to a certain degree, but hearing it out loud, aimed directly at me, pierces me deeper than I expected. I do not want to give him the satisfaction of seeing my tears, but I am close to crying them. At the same time, I feel a surge of anger coming up, one that has been lingering in the deepest corners of my mind for quite some time now, and him spewing out his frustrations so blatantly seems to open a gateway for the rage I¡¯ve so carefully tucked away. ¡°A woman ruling your life?¡± I shout. ¡°A woman saving your life is what it is!¡® My words reverberate in the air between us, our gazes locked. Suddenly Uncle Aniol looks old. And most of all, sad. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± he says. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry. I¡­¡± He sighs. ¡°I¡­ With Carme gone and¡­ It¡¯s just that the Damagic is so close now, it¡¯s never been this real. And I just¡­¡± He rubs his forehead. I''m unsure whether to storm out of there or hear what he has to say. I have never heard him use the word sorry ¡ª not in the sense of an apology, that is. I feel he is oblivious to everything I go through, but now that he¡¯s almost breaking¡­ What am I not seeing with him? All the anger drains from his eyes, leaving only pain and confusion behind. ¡°I just don¡¯t know what to do,¡± he says. ¡°I have lost so much, I cannot lose¡­¡± He looks at me. ¡°You¡­¡± A single tear slides down his cheek, so similar to the beads of sweat still trickling on his face and at the same time the most singular thing I¡¯ve ever seen. I have to squeeze my lips between my teeth so as not to start crying too. ¡°I cannot¡­¡± I mumble, not sure what to say next. Teach him to make the brew, bring back Aunt Carme, keep the Damagic away¡­? ¡°I know,¡± he mutters. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Ennah. Please¡­¡± Another word I hadn¡¯t expected to dwell in his vocabulary. I shut my eyes as a soft sob escapes his throat, and I feel my own throat clench with emotion. It¡¯s true. I¡¯ve never even thought about how it must feel for Uncle Aniol ¡ª how he busied himself with the vineyard and poured all his concern into the business, just so he wouldn¡¯t feel¡­ Just so he wouldn¡¯t feel what I feel. He¡¯s lost his wife, the wife who has been by his side for at least twenty years. Even the thought of losing Amador stings like a knife in my heart; I can only imagine what it must feel like for Uncle Aniol. The fact that I haven¡¯t seen him cry does not mean that he isn¡¯t heartbroken. Grief can make you act strange. In my head, I hear Aunt Carme¡¯s soft, hoarse voice. ¡°Things aren¡¯t always what they seem.¡± Was she talking about Uncle Aniol? He seems to hate me, but¡­ He hastily rubs his eyes. ¡°I cannot teach you how to make the brew,¡± I softly say. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I can¡¯t.¡± Uncle Aniol just looks at me, the single tear still clinging to his skin. ¡°I will make as much of it as I can, just like I promised. That¡¯s all I can do right now.¡± ¡°That¡­¡± He clears his throat. ¡°That ought to do for now.¡± Uncle Aniol looks away, bows his head, and suddenly stalks out of the shack, leaving an oppressive silence in his wake. I stare at the door for several heartbeats, my mind still boggled by what has just happened. Then, I quickly walk towards the door and peer outside. Uncle Aniol is making his way up to the house. I shut the door and lean against it for another few heartbeats. After that, I bend forward and undo the clasps of my ankle bracelets. I know the recipe by heart, but now that I¡¯ll have to make more than usual, I want to make absolutely sure I get everything right. A bitter sigh escapes me as I rise toward Granny¡¯s chest, my body weightless but my insides all the more weighed down by loneliness. Chapter 20 Melena Yoszovar, 5 years before the Rise I¡¯m pounding on Ralonda¡¯s door, more desperation coming through in the movements than I am willing to admit. And it could be a fruitless call. Ralonda is rarely home at this time of day. ¡°If you want in this much, I will not let you,¡± my sister snaps from inside. I don¡¯t even have room to be happy about the fact that my sister is in. I keep in the roar of frustration at Ralonda¡¯s demands and twist my wrist to knock ever so politely on the carved and painted wood that is Ralonda¡¯s bedroom door. My smile must be honeyed venom. ¡°You may enter,¡± Ralonda says in a sweet, upbeat tone. I¡¯m not even going to answer that. I open the door and burst through, my eyes scanning the room quickly. Ralonda is sitting on the bed. Some kind of embroidery lies on her lap ¡ª she¡¯s been really into that the last couple of weeks. She¡¯s smiling. No venom, but it¡¯s not really radiating kindness either. ¡°My darling sister, what can I do for you?¡± ¡°Stop being so annoyingly polite, Rallie. I heard that you¡¯ll be getting married soon?¡± Ralonda puts away her needle and thread and stands. ¡°So you heard.¡± ¡°Father told me.¡± Her composure is annoyingly calm. ¡°So what are you doing here?¡± ¡°Checking to see if it is true.¡± ¡°Father wouldn¡¯t lie,¡± Ralonda says. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t he?¡± ¡°Not about things like this.¡± ¡°So you are actually getting married.¡± Ralonda nods. ¡°I¡¯m to be asked within short. Dowries are being discussed at the moment, and I¡¯ve already started working on my trousseau.¡± I shake my head. Hence the endless embroidery. Sickening. ¡°I can¡¯t believe this.¡± ¡°Why? Yes, he¡¯s old, but who cares?¡± ¡°Old?¡± I blink. So does Ralonda. ¡°You mean you don¡¯t know who¡­¡± ¡°Father wasn¡¯t that forward in sharing.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± It seems Ralonda has decided not to say anything else. ¡°So, who is it?¡± I don¡¯t even try to hide my impatience. Now, my sister seems somewhat reluctant to even look at me. ¡°It¡¯s Master Deksan.¡± ¡°Master Deksan. Mage Deksan.¡± My eyes open wide. ¡°He¡¯s not old. He¡¯s ancient!¡± ¡°So?¡± ¡°So you really want to give yourself to him?¡± I exclaim. My stomach clenches just from the very mentioning of him. Ralonda rolls her eyes. ¡°You really need to get your priorities straight.¡± ¡°Me?¡± I breathe. ¡°You¡¯re going to marry somebody four times your age!¡± I look at Ralonda with horror in my eyes. ¡°Do you love him?¡± ¡°Love?¡± Ralonda snorts. ¡°Who¡¯s saying anything about love?¡± ¡°But¡­ You don¡¯t love him yet you¡¯re willing to marry him?¡± Ralonda shrugs. ¡°Yes.¡± I look for some place to sit down before my knees buckle and I have about five seats to choose from ¡ª Ralonda¡¯s room is quite heavily furnished. I swoop down on the nearest fauteuil, still looking at Ralonda in utmost bafflement. This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. ¡°Oh, honey,¡± Ralonda says. She scoots over to me and somehow manages to wriggle herself between me and the armrest. Her look is a mix of pity and amusement. ¡°Did you really think love had anything to do with marriage?¡± ¡°I thought¡­¡± Ralonda sighs and closes her eyes just long enough for me to actually feel like a child. ¡°Love is something that comes after the marriage,¡± she says. I roll my eyes. ¡°Sure, learn to love each other, yada, yada. You sound just like Mother.¡± ¡°That is not what I¡¯m talking about,¡± Ralonda says. ¡°Look, we were born into wealth and power. Father worked hard to provide us with everything we needed, and through our marriage, we pay him back.¡± ¡°But¡ª¡± ¡°I¡¯m not quite finished talking yet. We marry for the good of the family. To expand power, to gain more possessions and opportunities. We do!¡± Ralonda exclaims, no doubt because of the frown I have pulled. ¡°And after that is secured, it is our turn.¡± ¡°What, to push our children into similar detestable situations?¡± Ralonda puts a hand on my shoulder ¡ª which is quite a feat since we are sitting so close to each other. She lowers the volume of her voice. ¡°First, we secure our future. Then we go and find love.¡± I blink and I don¡¯t know where the breath to speak is coming from, since I feel all has left me. ¡°Are you saying¡­¡± ¡°I am saying that you can find and love whoever you like as soon as you¡¯re married. You think you¡¯ll lose your freedom once you have landed a husband. I say you gain it.¡± ¡°So you don¡¯t really care about Master Deksan. You¡¯ll just wed him, live with him, and then go your separate ways?¡± I swallow the words I couldn¡¯t make myself say. Do thinks out of that book with him¡­ I¡¯m really getting nauseous now. ¡°It¡¯s not like he won¡¯t do the same,¡± Ralonda says. ¡°We both know the arrangement will be more of a business deal than something forged from true love. All he is truly interested in is securing his position through bonding with the Vorvalus name and getting himself an heir to leave his legacy to.¡± ¡°How can you be so¡­ cynical about this?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not cynical,¡± Ralonda says, her tone now sweet and sincere. ¡°I¡¯m just practical. I¡¯ve read the same novels you have, my dear sister, and I would love the idea of true love showing up at our doorstep. But that¡¯s not how it works. Not for the likes of us. We have higher things at stake than our hearts. We tend to those higher things first and chase happiness later.¡± ¡°I just¡­ You¡¯ve talked about this with Master Deksan?¡± ¡°Yes, I have. We both know perfectly well what we¡¯re getting into.¡± ¡°And Horgas? Do you know anything about that?¡± Ralonda shrugs. ¡°I¡¯m securing the Magical bonds; you¡¯re providing the money. I will admit that I am a bit surprised about the speed at which all this is going on, but I think you have managed to charm Horgas one way or another. That¡¯s quite a basis for any marriage to work out.¡± I purse my lips. ¡°I wish I hadn¡¯t charmed him.¡± ¡°You¡¯ll be fine. Even if he likes you for you and not for your name, he¡¯ll eventually get bored enough for you to invite others into your bed.¡± ¡°Rallie!¡± ¡°Don¡¯t be a prude, Lena. This is how the world works. You can have anyone who wants you too ¡ª after you¡¯re married to Horgas.¡± She smiles a devious smile. ¡°I have my eyes set on multiple candidates already.¡± ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t even know you.¡± This is a side to my sister I never even suspected and I think I¡¯d rather not have known. Ralonda nods mildly. ¡°Welcome to the world of adult womanhood, dear little sister of mine. The sooner you realize where your power lies, the better.¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± I say vaguely. I peel myself off the chair and rub the spot where my hip is probably bruised. ¡°I¡¯m¡­ Going to think things through.¡± ¡°You go do that,¡± Ralonda says cheerfully. ¡°If you need more advice, feel free to call again. But let¡¯s keep conversations like this confined to my room ¡ª or yours. This wisdom is not to be shared too freely.¡± ¡°That¡¯s for sure,¡± I mutter, and I leave the room deeply absorbed in thought. Worry and dread are fighting for dominance in my stomach, and once again, I find myself wishing it could all go back to the way it had been. That dreadful day when Mother spoke to me about Horgas, the day those two intruders entered my home, the day that¡¯s etched into my memory like a bad drawing that makes imprints on all the pages beneath it¡­ I thoroughly wish I could simply step into some portal and come out the day before that day and stay there for the rest of my life. To my surprise, my room is empty. Yeszy is nowhere to be seen; only the painting gear now resting neatly on top of my desk, the brush clean and no droplets of water to be found, provide any proof that she even was here. As I close the door and lean against it, as if wishing the wood I feel against my back could really block out the rest of my life, I feel the need to throw something against a wall and break it. It is not fair, not in the least! I am supposed to live undisturbed and safe for at least another two years before anything has to change ¡ª and even then, it shouldn¡¯t have to happen this fast or intrusively. I have to do something, something to keep me from throwing a very unladylike fit ¡ª even though I feel like being very unladylike, I value everything in my room too much to throw it to smithereens. But how can I distract myself from all the madness that is sweeping me off my feet? Painting. Of course. That is the one thing that always makes me happy, no matter how bad things get. The one thing I will never give up ¡ª no matter how many times Mother says it doesn¡¯t suit a young lady of my stature to still fiddle with paint and brushes. Like Rallie, I should pick up embroidery and sewing, because those things are useful. Right. Like embellishing your socks is more useful than enriching a wall. I clench my paintbrush harder than I ever do and shake out the excess water so vigorously that drops land on my heated face ¡ª it is rather pleasant and even a bit cooling. I know what red I want to mix to get the color of the apple in my still just right, and with a bit of luck, the light coming from the window will be perfect within about¡ª The apple has started to rot. The bleeding, flipping apple has started to rot! Why didn¡¯t I see that before? With a scream of frustration, I pick it up and throw it against the wall, where it splatters and leaves a soggy, brown stain that does nothing to relieve my anger. Chapter 21 Ennah Sentisse, 66 years after the Rise I¡¯m staring at my measuring cup and not really seeing anything. Numbers twirl through my head as if I¡¯ve had a bit too much of the good wine, but I haven¡¯t had even a sip for days. I need to get this right if I want to keep Uncle Aniol happy, and more importantly, out of my hair and convinced that I¡¯m worthy to stay. Besides, we have this fragile peace going on, and I don¡¯t want to break it. Well, the word peace might be stretching it. It¡¯s more like a delicate, awkward balance born from a certain shame that Uncle Aniol must be carrying about showing me his true feelings ¡ª both the shouting and the crying afterward, and my resolve to show I can handle him without flying off the handle ¡ª both literally and figuratively. The truce means that he¡¯s polite. I¡¯m doing my best not to annoy him, so I¡¯m equally as polite. Oh feathers, thinking about this has made me forget my calculations again. I rub my brow to try and remove the headache coming on. It¡¯s ridiculous. I know exactly how to make the brew. A normal portion is no trouble at all. But now I¡¯m making it two and one-third times as large, and my mind goes blank trying to multiply and add and get an outcome. One more time. If I normally need six of something, now I need fourteen. So eight bars in the measuring cup would now be¡­ Ugh. I drop onto the bench and barely resist the urge to just throw the measuring cup far, far away, but I know that won¡¯t be satisfying the way I¡¯d like it to be. Instead, I kind of smash it onto the table, with a thud that¡¯s¡­ Equally dissatisfying. I shake my head. It¡¯s just math, just a bit of logical thinking. Yet my mind hurts, and the fact that I¡¯m constantly worried that I¡¯m doing this all wrong doesn¡¯t help at all. Why did I choose to make the absolute most I possibly can? Why not just double the normal amounts, it would be so much easier ¡ª and safer. And Uncle Aniol would need me again sooner¡­ That thought makes it even more annoying that perfectionist Ennah has made this decision. And I cannot go back now, for I have already started the process. If I try to change things now, I won¡¯t have any potion at all. Right. That¡¯s it. This may very well be the worst decision I¡¯ve ever made, and I¡¯m including the time I was about six years old and thought it would be funny to scare Granny by hovering several feet above the ground and letting myself drop when she entered our room. I¡¯ll never forget the force of the slap she gave me, but the way she broke down and cried because she was so relieved I was fine made an even deeper impression ¡ª I think I cried ten times as long as she did because I really felt I¡¯d hurt her with my silly prank. I learned a lot about my abilities that day, and also about what it was like to love someone dearly. Turns out that both of those lessons scratched little more than the surface of their respective subjects. If I had known the sting of losing someone I loved earlier, I¡¯d have treasured my time with both Granny and Aunt Carme a lot more. And somehow, I feel I have to cherish the time with Uncle Aniol a bit more too. I don¡¯t want to let my mind wander that way, but he¡¯s already paved the path for me by requesting I make the brew ¡®just in case¡¯. What if something happens to him? I cannot run this vineyard on my own. Could I get Amador to help me? The thought of him warms me from the inside. What would it be like to live with Amador, to marry him, and have his children? What would my life be like if the Mage finally gives up his search, and I am free? I draw in a deep breath. Live with Amador, in Sentisse, with a bunch of children running around. Not floating, I hope. Now my breath falters. I have no way of knowing if I pass on my Magic to my children. I¡¯ve always imagined my future with kids, but now is the first time I think about what that might actually look like, and it¡¯s scary. No. No, no, no, I¡¯m not going to go down this rabbit hole. It¡¯s like my brain is trying everything in its might to keep me from doing the math I need to do, and my window of opportunity is dwindling. If I don¡¯t add the lifdom extract in time, all of this has been for naught. How much time do I have left? I turn to the window and freeze instantly. Was that a shadow? There are no trees directly in front of the shack, it¡¯s impossible for a shadow to be cast here. What was it? I run ¡ª I explicitly touch my feet to the floor ¡ª to the window and peer out. Nothing. No trace of anything that could cast a shadow. It must have been my imagination. Just to be sure, I listen for any cat sounds. It could have been Amador, of course, looking for me. The time is off, it¡¯s well past midday slumbers, but who knows. I haven¡¯t seen him for a while, so¡­ No, no cat sounds. No sounds at all ¡ª which probably means that Uncle Aniol chased the birds away again. I think he likes the way they scatter when he releases the skeet from the crossbow, and he likes the way it allows him to vent. He¡¯s been doing it so often lately, that I¡¯ve almost grown accustomed to the sharp pang it sends through the air. And I¡¯m fine with it, of course. Better he releases his anger into the crossbow than toward me. I didn¡¯t hear anything this morning, though. Scanning the air ¡ª the windows in the shack are tall so that a lot of light can come in ¡ª I¡¯m quite sure he fired skeets today. There¡¯s not a bird in sight. Nice, brain. I wasn¡¯t disturbed by a sound like all hell was breaking loose, but one thought about Amador and I¡¯m off dreaming about floating babies, forgetting my numbers instantly. Numbers. Six makes fourteen. Eigh makes¡­ I have to write this down somewhere. For the first time in my life, I wish we¡¯d have some dust on the floor so I could write in it. But maybe¡­ There should be a bit of powdered ingram left. Working out the math on paper is too dangerous, but I can simply blow any powder away after I¡¯ve finished my calculations. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. This time I don¡¯t mind my feet when I make for the counter. The sack of ingram is almost empty, but there ought to be enough to sprinkle a fine dusting onto the countertop. It glistens like a blank canvas and a smile creeps to my lips. Yes, this is going to work. I should have thought of this sooner. Now that I have a way to make the numbers visible, I¡¯m done in no time. I measure the amount of lifdom extract I need ¡ª eightteen and two thirds ¡ª and pour the liquid into the kettle. The unfinished brew turns a bright yellow, just like it¡¯s supposed to, and relief washes over me. There are some calculations that need to be done later on, but for now, all is well. Time to cast the spell. I look up at the chest high up in the wall and for the first time, the loving memories of how I used to take it down for Granny are stronger than how much I miss her. The sting is still there, but in doing the motions and making our brew, I feel closer to her. As if I can feel Granny¡¯s essence in what I¡¯m doing here. Smiling, I unlock my ankle bracelets and this time it¡¯s physical relief washing over me. I am free again! But I cannot allow myself to fly around the shack just for the fun of it just yet. I¡¯ll do that after I¡¯m done for the day ¡ª as soon as the incantation is said, the brew needs to rest for half a day anyway. Half a day of relaxing, for Uncle Aniol doesn¡¯t know that there¡¯s nothing I can do for twelve hours ¡ª that doing anything might ruin the whole thing, even. This is a part of the process I am particularly keen on keeping a secret. The chest is fetched quickly enough and I hover down again, keeping it close to me. The heart in the jar will have to stay inside until I¡¯ve finished the spell too, sad as that makes me. But I¡¯m really bent on finishing swiftly now that I¡¯ve wasted so much time on the darned calculations. This spell has been used most out of all the spells in the book. The page is stained and there¡¯s a fold in one of the corners ¡ª I think I did that once ¡ª and yet again I can feel Granny¡¯s essence in what I¡¯m doing. It warms my heart and against my prior intention, I pull out the jar and watch as the light heart softly bounces against the glass. I whisper the spell to make a heart of my own, allow my fingers to dance a heart into life. Now two hearts bounce against the glass and though it pains me that they cannot reach each other, I know they¡¯re both there. Just like Granny and me, divided by something invisible that doesn¡¯t mean that the both of us aren¡¯t here, and that the love has gone. I swallow away the sudden tears and quickly place the jar in the chest again. My heart now flutters against the wood of the chest and I cannot bear to leave it like that. If I let it enter the box, will it survive just like the one inside the bottle does? Oh, I hope it does. I won¡¯t open the bottle, for if Granny¡¯s Magic escapes I¡¯ll be heartbroken, but maybe the chest will act as something to keep the heart safe in as well. Carefully, I scoop up the heart in the chest and close the lid before quickly stepping away from it. Right. Now I just need to be mindful when I go near the chest again ¡ª though I can probably catch the heart easily should it¡ª Again my gaze is drawn to the window, and again there¡¯s nothing to be seen. No trace of the shadow I thought I saw from the corner of my eye. Am I going mad? Is it just my hope that Amador will come and find me, or¡­ I suck in a deep breath, listening and watching intently, but there¡¯s nothing but silence greeting me, nothing but the clearest blue sky and some raggedy vines barely swaying in the wind. Still, I can¡¯t shake the feeling that something weird is going on here. Let¡¯s cast the spell and be done with it for today. Maybe I¡¯ll even go into the house, cold and empty as it is, and risk Uncle Aniol loading me with chores again. ¡°Meres ¨¢ylon a humm ¨¢ylon, festegraz n¡¯ay humm ¨¢ylon. Mig daranum mess varlor, humm spidar, meres ¨¢ylon.¡± Even on my tongue, the words taste sweet. The Magic tickles my nose, my tastebuds, and I am struck by the difference between the casting of the spell just over a month ago and how it feels to speak the words now. I know the last batch was good, but somehow I know this batch feels better. The words take on more meaning, as if the taste they create urges me to dig even deeper, and pour even more life into the spell than I ever have before. Granny always said Magic was part ingredients, part spell and part love, or emotion, and somehow I know she¡¯s right. ¡°Meres ¨¢ylon,¡± I whisper, and the sweetness of the spell makes me smile. ¡°Humm ¨¢ylon.¡± This is what love must taste like. The moment I think that, I think of how Amador¡¯s kisses taste, I let my memories float to how his skin always has a hint of salt on it. My tastebuds react immediately and now the whole spell turns more savory than sweet. This is amazing! I never realized I could influence the taste of¡­ But stop. I cannot make the wine taste salty. It needs sweetness, it needs a flowery pallet, a taste that has the tongue tingle lightly with the essence of dreams and sunlight. I cannot have it taste like Amador. Not that I¡¯m certain it works that way, but I cannot run the risk. So I think of sunlight, like Granny instructed me. I think of sweetness, of apples and strawberries, cherries and laughter. It¡¯s as if the words are getting me drunk. Louder and louder I chant, more cheerful with every round, until I¡¯m practically singing the spell toward the kettle. ¡°Humm spidar, meres ¨¢ylon.¡± It has to be enough. I can just feel it, and the yellow of the brew now shimmers with a golden gleam. I did well. It¡¯s enough. I make my way to the chest and open the lid just a crack, to make sure Granny¡¯s heart won¡¯t fly off. But my worries prove unnecessary ¡ª the heart is still bouncing gently around in the glass bottle, the heart in the reflection mirroring its movements, and both are undeterred by my weightlessness. Carefully, I place Granny¡¯s book inside, on top of the small pouch with coins and the writing gear I used to use for copying spells almost every day. One of Granny¡¯s rules: practice Magic on a regular basis. Maybe it¡¯s time to pick up that habit again. I close the lid feeling a bit sad, and a bit agry with myself. I made promises, I followed rules, and now I¡¯m slipping. That¡¯s not alright. But today, I did well. I¡¯m done. I fly up to the recess in the wall and place the chest there, making sure it¡¯s safe and sound before I widen the distance, only letting go when I know for sure that gravity has firmly gripped the chest again before I descend. I¡¯ve had too many instances where I thought something was safely sitting somewhere, only to turn my back and have it fly off, and crash down. Hard. The chest doesn¡¯t so much as shiver. Good. I turn around, and then I spot him. Uncle Aniol. Crouching below the window sill. I presume he thinks he¡¯s ducked away deep enough, and when I¡¯m on the floor I cannot see him, but from up here I can see his balding head ever so clearly, and the black cloak he¡¯s wearing. I can¡¯t believe it! He¡¯s been spying on me! I drop to the floor faster than I¡¯ve ever done, my rage a storm in my belly and heart. The nerve, the sheer nerve! Did he really think¡ª The spell. I turn pale. He must have heard it. There¡¯s no way around it ¡ª I sang it, shouted it for crying out loud. Not that he can do anything with it. Not as long as he hasn¡¯t written it down, that is. And his spelling qualities are poor at best, even with words he knows, but¡­ Oh no, what have I done? But this is not my fault. I cannot believe Uncle Aniol betrayed me like this! Before I know it, I¡¯m at the door, throwing it wide open. He startles, his wide eyes fixed on me for a second before he squints. I open my mouth to start yelling at him, when an enormous bang makes us both flinch. Chapter 22 Kayetan Yoszovar, 5 years before the Rise I know how valuable the work I¡¯ve done over the past few days is. If not the drawings themselves, then at least the data I¡¯ve gathered about how the power of the Magic varies according to how much heart is poured into the ancient words will ensure that Master Iacopor will keep me as an apprentice. Maybe even a personal assistant, and shortly an esteemed colleague at the Council. It is all within reach, I think with a little smile. But still, I¡¯m nervous. I haven¡¯t had time to work on the Vorvalus symbol yet. It still stands, my Magic to keep it upright had held, but there¡¯s still a chip missing and when I walk through the hall, I can almost hear the scars running across the smooth surface call out at me. And I¡¯ve dreamed at least seven ways in which Elrick rats me out ¡ª I can almost hear his words too. At least Master Iacopor isn''t made aware of certain kisses. That¡¯s something to cling to. If Melena had wanted to tell on us, she would have done it by now. Thinking about the kiss and about the intimacy of when I performed the Magic on her, makes my breath unsteady and my cheeks heat up. Swallowing seems impossible, but my throat is so dry that I have to do something. Concentrate. Present your findings in a coherent way. I¡¯ve practiced what I wanted to say, but my mind has gone blank. Hopefully the words will find me again. They have to. Footsteps in the hallway. Hasty, not particularly angry ¡ª yes, I¡¯m still analyzing Master Iacopor¡¯s behavior in fear of the other shoe having been dropped. Will that ever stop? Well, not as long as I vividly remember the feel of Melena¡¯s lips on mine. I can still see the golden hue around her and it reminds me of that weird, wonderful afternoon every single time. If I hadn¡¯t startled her by kissing her too soon, what could have happened between us? I snap myself out of this so fast that I almost give myself a shake. Right. Only speak of the task and the outcomes. Show Master Iacopor how the Magic works. Explain about the heart¡¯s energy and how leaving the heart out makes the Magic unstable ¡ª it¡¯s clearly visible in the patterns. I breathe in heavily. Show him that I really know what I''m doing. Elrick is sitting next to me, a bowl of scrawny excuses for peas in front of him on the table. He doesn¡¯t look at me, but I can see the outline of a little tendon at his jaw. He¡¯s nervous too. Like it¡¯s exam day all over again. His nervousness should calm me down, but it only adds to my agitation. Will my work be enough? Master Iacopor swoops into the room, filling the space with an energy that is thick and slightly oppressive. I take a deep breath and find it doesn¡¯t come easy. Even relaxing my face is difficult, and despite my deep belief that Melena hasn''t breathed a word about our kiss, my heart races. ¡°Elrick. Kayetan.¡± Master Iacopor wastes little time with small talk, as usual. ¡°I¡¯m very curious to learn about your progress. Elrick, tell me what you¡¯ve found out and what you¡¯re working on.¡± Elrick clears his throat, and I can''t help but remember the audible mess my fellow Masterling left me to clean up after him a few days ago. If I turn my attention to it, I can still feel the damage that has been done to my eardrums. ¡°Well,¡± Elrick starts. ¡°I¡¯ve been working on finding ways to make the seeds sprout faster and grow stronger, like you asked. I went with your theory on how powerful words might nourish the seedlings, and I tried several ways of keeping the seeds under the influence of the Magic.¡± Master Iacopor nods intently. ¡°The spells you found in the old books were of varying quality. One of them took my interest, and I tried different ways of keeping the spell in place. One of those was very promising.¡± He stands up as if he actually has something to show. I can hardly believe Elrick has made much progress. Though there hasn''t been another instance where I had to step in and save the windows from cracking, I also haven''t seen vines growing everywhere or had to navigate a hallway filled with branches or leaves. But even if I know we¡¯re not competing, I feel apprehensive. How well did he do? How well do I have to do? Elrick places his bowl of pitiful peas in front of Master Iacopor. ¡°I¡¯ve collected the worst peas I could find just so I could demonstrate the effect,¡± the boy says. ¡°Three words are enough to make wonderful Magic happen.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t just tell me about it, show it.¡± Master Iacopor sounds a bit tired, and hurried. ¡°Yes. Right. Er¡­¡± Elrick wavers a bit. ¡°Let me just¡­¡± He starts mumbling the words that I also know. Live, grow, thrive. They are simple enough, but I can feel how small they are kept as Elrick speaks them. There is so much more to do, to feel. What would happen if Elrick truly believed, with all his heart, and would speak the words with emotion and conviction? Can I suggest such a thing tactfully, so it won¡¯t seem like I¡¯m trying to steal Elrick¡¯s thunder? Or talk down at him? If he squeals¡­ I keep my mouth shut. At least for now. And I¡¯ll stay calm. Maybe he¡¯ll reach a conclusion on his own after I¡¯ve finished sharing my results. I don¡¯t need to steal any thunder. It will happen naturally, without me even trying, because my research is ground-breaking. I suppose that¡¯s why Master Iacopor has invited Elrick to speak first ¡ª always go out with a bang, somebody said once. I will blow Master Iacopor away. Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. A second incantation rolls off Elrick¡¯s lips, something that binds the original words in time and space: the space locked in just about a hand¡¯s length above the bowl, the time stretched out so that the energy emitted from the first incantation flows to the bowl in a slow and steady wave. Why keep it this slow? The effect of uttering any word will probably stay the same, the impact isn¡¯t dependent on speed but on energy. If anything, I would have put the ancient words on repeat and have them build on each other somehow, having new Magic ooze out of them with every repetition. Elrick has chosen another way, that¡¯s clear. He now eyes his Magic as if he¡¯s looking for the part that will break down first, and it takes a while for him to look up again. The peas are still the same. Meager, unsightly drops of something that shouldn¡¯t become food, and not be planted into soil either. ¡°So?¡± Master Iacopor demands. ¡°It takes some time,¡± Elrick says. His cheeks are a bright pink now, and his voice is trembling just a bit. So much for the hotshot he pretended to be in school. ¡°Very well,¡± Master Iacopor says, not without some reluctance though I can tell he¡¯s trying to be mild. ¡°Kayetan, what have you been keeping yourself busy with?¡± The excitement rises in me and I clear my throat. When I catch Master Iacopor¡¯s eyes, I¡¯m reminded of Melena and a jolt of joy makes my stomach tingle. Thoughts of her feel like some secret source of power within me. She softly hums in my heart. Like true Magic is supposed to. I only notice that I am smiling when Elrick gives me a funny look. ¡°Oh, er, yes. I¡¯ve made great progress with the determination of energy patterns and I have categorized a multitude of words and their weave, so to speak. I¡¯ve also been experimenting with what I can only describe as truth: I¡¯ve proven without a shadow of a doubt that Magic needs to be casted from the heart.¡± ¡°Hm-hm.¡± I notice Master Iacopor hums quite contently ¡ª I feel stronger for it, and for the interested look he¡¯s giving me. ¡°Can you elaborate?¡± ¡°Of course, Master.¡± I take two of my templates and lay them side by side. ¡°This one on your left is merenth, when spoken quite mindlessly. On the right, it was spoken from the heart. You can clearly see the difference in both drawings; this one on the left is more lax. The sand seems to resist forming neat lines, the curves are also a bit flatter, and overall it feels ¡ª lacking a better word ¡ª lazy.¡± ¡°Yes, clearly,¡± Master Iacopor says. The gleam in his eye turns to interest, and I can''t help but feel proud of that. ¡°This was not a one-off feat,¡± I continue. ¡°I¡¯ve run the test with every single word that I documented, and the patterns behaved exactly the same every time. The more emotion is involved, the more synchronized the pattern, the more effective the Magic.¡± Master Iacopor nods. ¡°And the patterns themselves? Have you noticed any similarities between words and meanings?¡± ¡°I have,¡± I say, as I grow more enthusiastic about sharing this with every word I speak. ¡°Words having to do with vision have a strong outer ring and are symmetrical on four points. Things that have more to do with inner principles, like for instance ¨¢ylon, tend to be more intricate and have an elaborate set of lines and curls that are repeated many more times than four. ¨¢ylon even has thirty-six axes that all maintain symmetry.¡± ¡°Nice¡­¡± Master Iacopor picks up the drawing for ¨¢ylon, the one that represents the word from the heart, and I feel a slight blush creep over my cheeks. ¡°Wonderful work,¡± Master Iacopor says. He points at a prominent line in the drawing. ¡°I¡¯ve seen this curve before.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I say. ¡°So have I. If you¡¯ll allow me just a few seconds, I can¡­¡± I rummage through my pile of drawings. ¡°Oh!¡± Master Iacopor exclaims, and I quickly look up. What has the Master discovered? ¡°Well done,¡± he says. Not to me, but to Elrick. ¡°Just look at those peas!¡± I do, even if it¡¯s reluctant. All the paleness has lifted from them; not even a hint of yellow and brown remains. The bowl is filled with scrawny peas that have started sprouting little roots. ¡°This is amazing.¡± Master Iacopor seems in awe. My throat clenches. How can the Master be so happy with a simple feat as making some peas grow faster? Of course live, grow, and thrive would make the peas behave this way. This is as easy as changing the color of a leaf or whispering a word into somebody¡¯s ear over a hundred paces away. ¡°Kayetan, what would you expect the outcome to be if we not only sprinkle the ancient words over the peas but also feed them the energy pattern?¡± I have to blink and shake my head just a bit to have this question really sink in. ¡°You mean drawing the pattern and placing it underneath the pot?¡± ¡°Or applying it to the wall, or inside the pot, or¡­¡± ¡°Well, I cannot be sure, but¡­¡± ¡°For I really felt the love when I held your drawing of ¨¢ylon.¡± ¡°Thank you,¡± I start, but Master Iacopor is already moving on. ¡°What a blessing it would be to feed more people with ease. Elrick, this research might change the future of mankind.¡± I could not have been more perplexed if I had been slapped in the face. I can''t even interject ¡ª I simply feel put outside of the game, and I don''t like it one bit. Elrick is growing more smug with every word Master Iacopor speaks. They even take a few peas and examine the roots and stems that are now sprouting everywhere, and Master Iacopor summons a few pots with soil and everything to plant the peas in. He commands me to plant the darn seedlings and asks Elrick to place the spell on them once more, to see if the process will speed up even further. The disappointment in my stomach slowly turns into anger. My hands clench into fists, my lips become taut. This is unbelievable. How has Elrick become the hero of the day? What happened that I¡¯ve been reduced to someone assisting Elrick to sprout some plants? I dig into the soil with more vigor than I need to, sending lumps of earth everywhere. Master Iacopor is going on and on about the wonderful things that will come of this research, how everybody in the world will benefit from this. As if my accomplishments won¡¯t change the world. As if not every Mage on the face of this earth will grow into their full capability by using the insights that I am collecting right now. My research makes the Magic better, makes every bit of it hit its target. Accuracy and efficiency might be increased tenfold. How much good will that do the world? But people might not see. People rarely see what is in front of them, even when it is hiding in plain sight. Could I make the effects of my work more obvious? How could even the stupidest of people benefit from¡­ ¡°Master Iacopor?¡± I say. ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve discovered more than just the patterns.¡± Master Iacopor looks at me, a bit of annoyance glistening in his eyes. ¡°What?¡± ¡°The patterns are a way of showing Magic. The distance is irrelevant. Using this technique, we could make sending messages across the world possible at the speed at which the words are spoken.¡± Master Iacopor blinks. Just once. And then he drops the tiny pea-plant he¡¯s been holding and walks over to me. The hand on my shoulder is warm and, in a way, heavy. ¡°This is why I hired you,¡± Master Iacopor says. ¡°You are brilliant.¡± Chapter 23 Ennah Sentisse, 66 years after the Rise It sounds like somebody fired the crossbow with a triple powered skeet ¡ª or something even heavier. The sound reverberates through the air and sends a lonely bird screeching, a feather whirling through the air in his wake. ¡°What the¡ª¡± Uncle Aniol starts, and I grab the doorframe so I won¡¯t float up any higher. ¡°C¨¤gila!¡± a booming voice announces. If I thought something was raging in my belly before, it¡¯s nothing compared to the flair of fear that jolts through me right now. Uncle Aniol is white as a sheet and even though I¡¯m madder at him than I¡¯ve ever been, I instantly know that I have to shut up and let my anger go ¡ª even if it¡¯s just for now. The thought of C¨¤gila being on the premises has me gasping for breath, even when I remember Granny¡¯s fierce monologues about how it¡¯s useless to try and protect people from Damagic, and that they¡¯re just leaching off the fear of the people. Knowing they¡¯re no good actually makes this worse, for I have overheard conversations about their ways of convincing people to pay them for protection against Damagic. Even if half of it is true¡­ And now they¡¯re here. We knew they were coming, but I never thought they¡¯d come like this. Our guests usually have an appointment. They come in through the gate after which they are referred to the waiting area, where Uncle Aniol greets them with wine and the sheep cheese our neighbors produce. Only now the naivety of this dawns on me. We¡¯re talking C¨¤gila. Of course they won¡¯t announce their visit, let alone wait for Uncle Aniol in the wairing area, seated on a nice bench lined with soft cushions, making observations about the weather with some wine and snacks on the side. Yet again, I think this is overdoing it. Even for them. ¡°Ennah, inside,¡± Uncle Aniol snarls, and I think this is the first time I¡¯ve ever willingly flung myself into the shed knowing it will be locked within a few heartbeats. There¡¯s no key in sight though. ¡°Don¡¯t come out,¡± he warns me, his voice no more than a hiss. ¡°As far as they know, I live alone now. Stay out of sight.¡± I nod. ¡°Does this mean¡­¡± Uncle Aniol just purses his lips, and that says it all. If they¡¯re this loud about their arrival, Damagic must be close. Uncle Aniol closes the door and runs. I¡¯ve never seen him run so fast ¡ª or at least, I hadn¡¯t until Aunt Carme really turned for the worse. He caught up with me when I came to collect him on that fateful evening, and now he¡¯s running like the wind once more. As I watch him, my stomach churns just as it did then. I hope he can appease C¨¤gila, I hope they are truly on a mission to save people from Damagic. But here, in the shed where I can sometimes still hear Granny¡¯s voice, I clearly remember her saying time and time again that there¡¯s no way to be safe from Damagic and that they¡¯re just a bunch of frauds exploiting scared people, using Magic to intimidate them. Has Uncle Aniol listened to her? If he sends them on their way and Damagic does arrive at the vineyard, will I recognize it as such? Is Damagic somehow a part of me, and I of it? The fine hairs on my arms stand on edge when I think of it. The back wall of the shed¡¯s windows are placed very high up in the wall, allowing light to come in without much risk of revealing a toddler flying through the air to outsiders. Even though it¡¯s nothing but sheep on that side of the mountain ¡ª or at least, I¡¯ve never seen anyone. Now I feel like I have to go up to the windows, to see if the grass has turned purple, or if the sheep have grown extra heads. Damagic can do anything, good, bad and crazy, like Granny used to say. What if it is here? This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Nothing but sheep. Perfectly boring sheep, chewing on tough grass, as though C¨¤gila¡¯s bang was no more than a bout of gas being passed. Have they grown this used to Uncle Aniol¡¯s skeets? I float down again, unable to hang still for even a moment. C¨¤gila has taken all of my attention, but as my gaze falls upon the brew slowly bubbling on the simmering fire, my rage about Uncle Aniol spying on me floods back into my system. He¡¯s heard the spell. Who knows how much he¡¯s seen. Oh, I knew I saw shadows. I knew something was there. I should have taken flight and looked from a higher vantage point. Has he seen the chest? Without thinking twice, I hurl myself into the air again, reaching my precious chest not even two heartbeats later. If he saw me use the spellbook, I¡¯d better hide it somewhere else. Somewhere he¡¯ll never come looking. When I carefully open the lid, hovering mid-air, the light radiating off my heart is duller than I would have hoped. Granny explained how this works to me once, something about the light Magic of the hearts turning into raw energy again as time passes. That¡¯s why I trapped the heart she left me in a bottle. It has only disintegrated a little. My own fabrication is doing far worse. But I don¡¯t have time to dwell on this. Who knows when Uncle Aniol will be back. I take the book from the chest and close the lid again before returning it to the recess. Then I let myself drop down to the floor, my feet gently touching the ground. Without the ankle bracelets on, it doesn¡¯t even feel that awful to walk. Now, where to hide the book¡­ I hold it against my chest as I look around. Inside one of the buckets? No, he¡¯d find it way too easily if he were to start looking. It would be surprising if I hid it near the ground, but I don¡¯t see any cracks or crevices that might harbor a book this size ¡ª or even a book ten times smaller. On top of the closet? But should Uncle Aniol fetch himself a ladder, he¡¯d spot the book right away. My search is interrupted by another loud bang. It seems to have come from the other side of the mountain ¡ª our neighbors? C¨¤gila must really be doing house calls. And this probably means Uncle Aniol is on his way here again. I¡¯d better hurry. The closet. Uncle Aniol has indeed boarded it up, and that might be the thing that saves me now. I open the door, ignore the darkness inside, and push myself off the floor. Just as I thought. He¡¯s nailed the boards against the old window frame from the outside, leaving a perfect rim for the spell book to stand on. I meticulously place it in the darkest corner and quickly leave this cramped, dark space again. It gives me the chills, and closing the door feels like a relief. Feathers, I hope that hiding the book proves to be completely unnecessary, and I hope this hiding place is good enough even more so. With Uncle Aniol, I cannot be sure anymore. Bastard. Why couldn¡¯t he just trust me? What if he is planning to make my presence here obsolete? I hear footsteps. As fast as I can, I transport myself to the table and pick up the measuring cup that still needs to be cleaned, now that I think of it. Better do that fast, before he sees how much extract I used. Uncle Aniol¡¯s shadow is sliding by the window from left to right, and to my surprise he doesn¡¯t even start yelling before he opens the door. He saves that for when there¡¯s no wood barrier between the two of us. ¡°Come with me!¡± he barks. ¡°They¡¯ve made a mess of things, we need to clean it up. And I need you to take one of the good barrels down from the attic.¡± ¡°What happened?¡± He grits his teeth. ¡°Apparently, if you flinch even a little about the price they ask, they use a little Damagic to demonstrate the effects of it.¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°One of the Mages opened a bottle and let¡¯s just say I¡¯m very happy I didn¡¯t take them to the good storage unit.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± I swallow. Damagic in a bottle, that sounds downright scary. And judging by the look on Uncle Aniol¡¯s face, it is. ¡°Was it¡­ Did they ask that much?¡± He snorts. ¡°Are you going to pay it?¡± ¡°Well, what choice do I have?¡± he yells. ¡°Even if it means they have to work their Magic in a thousand bottles, they have to protect us. I cannot risk the vineyard. So¡­¡± ¡°You know Granny said-¡± ¡°I know what she said. But she¡¯s dead, there¡¯s no proof that she told the truth, and C¨¤gila¡­¡± He snorts again. ¡°Well, they make a pretty good case, don¡¯t they? If Damagic doesn¡¯t destroy this place, they will.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not fair.¡± ¡°Thank you for stating the obvious.¡± His mouth is nothing but a thin line. ¡°Now go. The mess won¡¯t clean up itself, you know. And I¡­¡± His voice falters a bit. ¡°I have some calculations to do.¡± Feathers, I miss Granny. I miss Aunt Carme. I miss Amador. Taking a deep breath, I make for the door when Uncle Aniol snaps at me. ¡°Put those things on your ankles, for fur¡¯s sake. Who knows who¡¯s lingered behind.¡± Chapter 24 Melena Yoszovar, 5 years before the Rise ¡°Melena?¡± Yeszy¡¯s voice comes from behind the door, following the modest knock that I¡¯m not used to from my maid. This can only be bad news. I brace myself, clutching my brush firmly enough to feel the wood bend. I force myself to let go. ¡°Yes?¡± Yeszy pushes open the door but doesn¡¯t come in, she merely pokes her head around the wood. I try to smile, since Yeszy isn¡¯t to blame for anything she has to convey to her mistress, but I cannot hide my trepidation from her. Something¡¯s up. ¡°You have a caller,¡± Yeszy says. ¡°Now?¡± ¡°Yes. Your mother is entertaining him and requested you come as soon as possible.¡± ¡°But I am not dressed to receive any guests,¡± I interject. I have made particularly sure not to be ready for anything social today ¡ª I have been painting in my nightgown all morning. Yeszy takes a deep breath. ¡°It¡¯s¡­¡± She doesn¡¯t finish the sentence, nor does she need to. Bile rises in my throat and a nervous fluttering in my stomach makes me gasp for air. I was foolish to get my hopes up, foolish to think that he would let me be. When he didn¡¯t show up right after I fled, and repeated that over the next couple of days, I¡¯d hoped he¡¯d given up his interest in me. I mean, how much clearer does a girl have to be. Apparently, I was mistaken. I close my eyes for just a second. ¡°I really wish I had better news to bring you,¡± Yeszy says. ¡°Your mother was quite adamant. I don¡¯t think she¡¯s even been as strict with me.¡± Gathering breath as if it were the strength I need, I make a second attempt at a smile, just to cheer Yeszy up a bit. ¡°He isn¡¯t planning on telling me this engagement is off before it even got official, is he?¡± ¡°Apparently not, Miss Melena.¡± Yeszy uses the formal way to address me, making me wonder if Mother has sent somebody along to make sure Yeszy does as she¡¯s told. Is this house turning into a prison, shackling even the servants? How thick are the shackles around my limbs, and how many locks are already in place? Is there even a way for me to get out of this? ¡°Melena?¡± Yeszy enters and quickly closes the door behind her so she can come to me as fast as she can. ¡°Are you alright?¡± I¡¯m fighting too hard to keep in the tears to be able to answer. I swallow, almost falling apart when I feel Yeszy¡¯s arms around me, and swallow again. A single tear slides down my cheek and I hastily wipe it away. ¡°Oh, Melena,¡± Yeszy says. That is enough to break me. I start sobbing uncontrollably and hold on to my maid for dear life. ¡°There, there,¡± Yeszy mutters. ¡°You¡¯ll be fine. You¡¯re so strong, so very talented in so many ways. You can take on any situation.¡± Not this one, I¡¯m sure. It isn¡¯t just the thought of having to confront Horgas, or even having to tell him that I ran from him. It¡¯s the whole future flung at me while I don¡¯t want any of it. My vision clouds with tears, I look at the painting I¡¯m so close to finishing. It looks all muddled and vague now, like my future. As if the painting itself lets me know that there is no more hope to be found in colors and brush strokes, and that all that is waiting for me is nothing but grey, faint nothingness. ¡°Do you want me to say you¡¯re ill?¡± Yeszy asks in a quiet tone. ¡°No.¡± I wipe off the tears and even though my mouth still twitches a bit, I take a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. ¡°I need to do this. Can you please help me pick out a dress and give me a hand with my hair and such?¡± ¡°Of course,¡± Yeszy answers within a heartbeat. She sighs as well. ¡°I really wish you wouldn¡¯t have to go through this.¡± I answer with a weak smile. ¡°Me neither. But as it is, I don¡¯t think I have much of a choice.¡± Yeszy shakes her head. ¡°There is always a choice. It¡¯s only the consequences we may or may not like.¡± Strangely enough, that remark helps. I get myself ready and even the traces of my tears are expertly erased by Yeszy. Before I know it, I am outside the door of the drawing room where Mother has retreated. I can hear her voice, cheerful as if there isn¡¯t a cloud in the sky, and at the sound of Horgas reacting to whatever Mother has said, I don¡¯t even wince that badly. Right. Go in there, pretend like I never saw Horgas, and remain polite. Not too charming, just polite. And maybe¡­ Maybe it is a good idea to talk to Mother after Horgas is gone, so I can find out exactly how irreversible the situation is. I swallow. The servant at the door, who¡¯s been kind enough to wait for me to get ready, gives me a quick nod after I look at him directly. He opens the door and announces me like I¡¯m the very queen. I might need to thank him for that later, for it actually makes me feel a bit stronger. It doesn¡¯t last that long, though. As soon as I catch Mother¡¯s gaze and sense all reproaching words she¡¯ll never say out loud when entertaining company, my courage simply leaks away. Horgas, on the other hand, is beaming and immediately stands. ¡°Miss Melena,¡± he says, coming up on his toes as if he barely manages to keep from run toward me. ¡°How lovely to see you. How are you?¡± I incline my head most courteously. Mother will be proud. ¡°I am quite well, thank you. How kind of you to call.¡± ¡°Of course,¡± he says, his smile simply radiant. ¡°Kind indeed,¡± Mother says. ¡°Mister Maletti has been patiently waiting for you since he arrived and had to make do with my meager company all that time.¡± She says it in a pleasant, semi-mocking tone, but I feel the sting behind the words ever so clearly. You¡¯ve kept the most important man in your life waiting, you insolent child. How dare you! Sometimes I wonder where Mother stores all the anger she rarely shows, or where she lets it all out. Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. The notion that she might have been the one installing all kinds of ideas about marriage into Ralonda¡¯s head, makes me blink. No time to consider my parents¡¯ marriage. Probably best to never think about that too deeply. ¡°I assure you the pleasure was all mine,¡± Horgas says. ¡°Though I have to admit that I¡¯m very happy to see you, Miss Melena.¡± ¡°Thank you,¡± is the best reply I can think of. ¡°Please, let¡¯s all sit down and have some tea,¡± Mother says. She is charming as ever, but the glance she throws me as she goes to sit¡­ The only place available to me is on a sofa for two, next to Horgas. Where have the single armchairs gone? How planned is this spontaneous call in reality? Mother busies herself with hot water and herbs, the tingling of the fine porcelain against cups and silver spoons the only indication that her state is off ¡ª I wonder how long she¡¯ll be mad for. Long, probably. ¡°Did you have a nice journey over here?¡± I ask, just to appease Mother. ¡°I did, thank you. How has your day been thus far?¡± ¡°Quite well, thank you.¡± I smile politely, hiding my inner thoughts as well as I can. Of course, I¡¯ve never been that good at hiding them. And he¡¯s studying my face, so I presume he¡¯ll see more than I¡¯d like him to. He doesn¡¯t show it, though. His pale green eyes are somewhat bland, as if they are the mirrors to an empty mind. But I know that must be only appearance. Just as his hair looks like it¡¯s been tussled by the wind, while I think every single lock is where he wanted it to be. ¡°And yours?¡± I manage to say without breaking my superficial smile. ¡°Quite dull, to be frank. I find I sometimes need challenges to break free from the repetition of day-to-day life.¡± Does he know? Am I his challenge, provided that I fled from him? ¡°Dull? I find it hard to believe that your life could be dull, mister Maletti.¡± Now, his eyes show a bit of emotion. He glances at my mother for a fraction of a moment before returning his gaze to me. ¡°Please, call me Horgas.¡± I bite my tongue not to say how big of a challenge that will be. Instead, I nod as if I oblige. ¡°So your life is never dull, Miss Melena?¡± How I wish it were. But between running from him and kissing Kayetan¡­ ¡°Never.¡± That came out better than I expected ¡ª my voice feels wobbly and unstable, but I sounded clear enough. ¡°So what is it that has you captivated?¡± ¡°I paint.¡± Mother is going to murder me. Painting isn¡¯t useful, it¡¯s not a skill a woman should pursue and shallow suitors might even be repelled by the notion of a painting woman. Being murdered by Mother is worth it if he is repelled by me now. ¡°You paint?¡± he asks, looking more than a bit surprised. ¡°A passing fancy,¡± Mother quickly intervenes. ¡°She enjoyed it so much as a child, a result of the schooling she received. Melena knows quite well it¡¯s simply a thing to pass the time with. Nothing serious, really.¡± Horgas seems to ignore her. ¡°You enjoy painting?¡± ¡°Yes, I do.¡± He nods appreciatively. ¡°I do too.¡± I blink before I even notice it, and a little fluttering of hope arises in my chest. Could it be that he¡­ ¡°Or I should say, I did. Of course, I laid down my brushes and paints as soon as responsibility came calling. When one isn¡¯t gifted, there is no point pursuing mastery, is there?¡± ¡°Can¡¯t the arts be something one enjoys, even without being exceptionally gifted?¡± I retort. The disappointment in my voice is thick, and I know it. How foolish of me to allow myself a glimmer of hope. Horgas is the shining epitome of the Yoszovar bourgeoisie, of course he thinks exactly like them. Arts are for gifted men to wield. The lesser talents and the women are only to enjoy their efforts, and that is how things are. But men are still allowed to to what they like, even if they suck at it. If we women want to express ourselves, it needs to be in the form of useful things. Embroidering the blankets for the babies. Knowing how to sew clothes ¡ª even though there are tailors for that ¡ª and knitting scarfs for the underprivileged. We¡¯re condemned to that. Horgas shrugs at my suggestion. ¡°Why would one bother?¡± he says. ¡°If nothing can be achieved by something, then the exercise itself becomes quite useless.¡± ¡°Indeed¡­¡± I mutter. This whole conversation is useless. And yet here I am, living through every single agonizing second of it. ¡°Did you enjoy your time in the bathhouse the other day?¡± Here it is. It is concealed as a perfectly legitimate question, yet I can sense the accusation behind the words. He knows I ran from him, he has to. But there is no need to have him continue believing that. If I am consistent, adamant even, he might be persuaded into thinking something else altogether. ¡°I always do, thank you.¡± I smile the sweetest of smiles. ¡°I tend to relax to the point of retreating into a bubble of my own. I just drift away, lost in my own thoughts.¡± As I glance at him, it is quite clear that he still has his doubts. I push a little further. ¡°Is there a special reason for you to bring up the bathhouse?¡± I can feel Mother staring daggers at me from across the table, but I¡¯m not letting Horgas out of my sight. Those eyes portray so little emotion, yet I can¡¯t believe he¡¯s not thinking very hard right now. ¡°Just making conversation,¡± he says. He hesitates for just a heartbeat. ¡°I saw you there a few days ago.¡± ¡°You did?¡± I hope I don¡¯t look too amazed. ¡°I was waiting in line when you left.¡± ¡°Ah,¡± I say, adding a little nod of understanding. ¡°It was a long line. I must say I didn¡¯t take the time to look and see if anyone familiar was in it. I was not in the mood for light conversation, as the heat had given me a slight headache.¡± Can I take it one step further? ¡°You should have called me if you¡¯d wanted to speak to me.¡± ¡°I have,¡± he says, and suddenly his eyes seem to breathe fire and he¡¯s close to grinding his teeth. I swallow. This might not end well at all ¡ª or maybe this is the perfect ending. If he gathers that I actually ran away from him, maybe he¡¯ll let go of this idiotic resolve to marry me altogether. That sounds like a perfect situation. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry I didn¡¯t hear you,¡± I say, my heart now beating suspiciously fast in my chest. Can I play this exactly right? Is it possible to manipulate him into no longer wishing to wed me? ¡°You didn¡¯t hear me,¡± he repeats reluctantly. My heart flutters even more. He knows, and he knows I¡¯m lying right now, and he will not simply let it pass. ¡°May I invite you to be frank with me?¡± he says. His tone has become dark and somehow I sense some kind of threat behind them. Well, it is just as well that he finds out I have no interest in him whatsoever. I look at him blankly, daring him to accuse me of telling lies right in front of him. And Mother, at that. The silence lingers for a few heartbeats, only broken by the racket Mother makes with some saucers and biscuits. ¡°I am being frank with you.¡± He shakes his head. ¡°You heard me. And you decided to run.¡± ¡°I distinctly remember walking,¡± I say, straightening my spine. He shouldn¡¯t get the impression I¡¯m easily brought out of balance. He might be mad at me, but it isn¡¯t just his future on the line here. I¡¯m saving both of us from a living nightmare. This makes me grow a few inches taller still, and I look at him defiantly. ¡°You know very well what I mean. I called you and you ran. Or is it a habit of yours to go straight through a line of waiting men instead of walking by the mass?¡± ¡°Melena!¡± My mother drops a biscuit. ¡°What is young Master Maletti talking about? What exactly did you do?¡± Oh no. Not only am I at a loss for words ¡ª a clear sign of guilt, I also feel my cheeks flush. My breath quickens. Deceiving Horgas is one thing. He¡¯ll be out the door soon. Mother, on the other hand, will be very much inside the same building. My room won¡¯t be off limits if Mother really wants to throw a fit. ¡°I¡­¡± I swallow. ¡°Alright, fine. I fled, yes.¡± I throw a cross glance at Horgas. ¡°I didn¡¯t want to talk to you. I don¡¯t even want to talk to you right now. I don¡¯t want to be here! This is all a big mistake.¡± ¡°Melena!¡± my mother all but shouts. But I don¡¯t respond. I have already jumped up from the seat and without any regard for etiquette or proper behavior, I race out of the room and throw the door shut so hard, that the servant standing next to it is startled a second time ¡ª he already jumped when I suddenly yanked the door open and ran through it. The glass stained windows further down the main hall rattle in their lead rebates. I couldn¡¯t care less. It is only when I¡¯m in my room again, panting against the wooden panel of the door, that I realize how much of a fool I¡¯ve made of myself. Screaming at a guest, running away, slamming doors¡­ With a deep sigh, I sink through my knees and land on the floor with a thud, my hands covering my face. There are no tears, I have no regrets, but I do feel¡­ Strange. Guilty, perhaps. I know I¡¯m not ready for marriage, or even growing up. But behaving like a child doesn¡¯t feel right either. I just¡­ I don¡¯t know who I am anymore. Chapter 25 Ennah Sentisse, 66 years after the Rise When I finally step inside the house, I am exhausted and my mood has dropped far below freezing. Feathers, they¡¯d really trashed the place. Every bottle in the waiting hall was shattered, blood-red wine dripped from every surface, and the barrel we kept there ¡ª shiny as copper but leaky as a colander ¡ª looked like it had been ripped apart in a storm. I am bruised, my muscles are sore in more places than I care to think about, and I¡¯ve been cut several times. Even though I used a broom to sweep up the shards of glass, keeping a safe distance, I couldn¡¯t prevent some of them flying off and hitting me. The biggest challenge was getting them all into a big bucket. I had to come close enough to place the thing over the pile I¡¯d created, shove a wooden board under it and then try to turn it over. I think that part gave me most of the cuts ¡ª no matter how swiftly I distanced myself from the bucket, the shards were faster. Turns out the floor could get even redder. Now I reek of wine and sweat, and my stomach growls. I don¡¯t smell any food though. Well, if Uncle Aniol expects me to cook him dinner after this monster clean-up, he can forget it or make his own. I¡¯ll make do with some bread and ¡ª well, not sheep cheese, for I¡¯ve seen too much of that stuff up close too just now. We must have something lingering around. Ugh, I feel dirty and sore. After I¡¯ve fetched myself something to eat, I¡¯ll know I¡¯ll be headed to the bathroom for a nice bath. Maybe I¡¯ll even treat myself to some rose petals and olive oil in the water. Uncle Aniol can shove any chore he has for me up his¡ª He¡¯s in the kitchen. Perhaps I should have known, but he¡¯s not eating. He¡¯s sitting at the table with his back to me, bowed over what I think are the ledgers. In front of him, there¡¯s a small wooden box that I¡¯ve never seen empty before; all the coins that usually sit in it, are now stacked into neat piles of ten pieces each. There are three full ones of them, and a smaller tower that feels like the runt of the litter. Thirty-four coins then. And Aunt Carme¡¯s necklace. My heart flutters and a stroke of grief pulls through my stomach. ¡°Uncle Aniol?¡± I ask, my voice little more than a whisper. ¡°What?¡± ¡°Are you¡­ Selling¡­¡± He growls. ¡°I have no choice.¡± The pain in his voice, the defeat, sends another stroke of pain crashing through me and I swallow the ¡°but¡± that I was about to say. ¡°Uncle¡­¡± I have no words. I may be angry with him. I still want to yell at him for all he did. Perhaps I¡¯ll do so later on. But seeing him like this¡­ I know he would never sell Aunt Carme¡¯s necklace if he had any other options. I hadn¡¯t realized how dire our situation was until now. ¡°Get yourself something to eat,¡± he says. ¡°There¡¯s bread and cheese.¡± But I¡¯m not hungry anymore. ¡°How much do they want?¡± I ask, my throat dry. ¡°One hundred.¡± What? I can¡¯t claim to be an expert, but I highly doubt that Aunt Carme¡¯s necklace is worth seventy-six coins. No, wait, sixty-six. ¡°How much do we¡­¡± I start, but I can tell by the way his muscles tense that, even when he sells Aunt Carme¡¯s necklace, we¡¯ll be coming up short. I bite my lip and throw a glance toward the gold glistening in the warm light of the oil lamps that always make this kitchen feel welcoming. Whenever I think of thirty-four coins, it always feels like a lot. An amount I¡¯ll never own. But seeing it in three and a half piles like this, knowing it¡¯s only a third of what we need¡­ ¡°How much time¡­¡± ¡°Too little.¡± I nod, even though he can¡¯t see me. Even if we¡¯d sell all the wine we have on the premises right now, we¡¯d make about fifty coins. That would still put us sixteen coins short. But I¡¯ve written a few letters the day before yesterday. And I know the payment for a few orders have yet to come in, so that ought to be about fifteen¡­ Amador¡¯s father gives us discounts when we have a lot of glass waste and furry beasts know I¡¯ve filled the heap just now. Amador should be over soon ¡ª I can¡¯t help but feel a tingle in my lower body with that thought ¡ª and¡­ And I have some money in Granny¡¯s chest. I think Granny meant for me to use it to return home, and since I¡¯m staying here¡­ Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. I don¡¯t even think twice. I turn around and head back outside, my feet barely touching the ground as I soar to the shed. It stands crooked and lonely in the moonlight, the embers under the kettle bathing the room in a soft glow that¡¯s pouring out of the window, inviting me in. I send a little heart to both Granny and Aunt Carme, buried where I cannot see them but the light hearts will reach them, and make a vow to Aunt Carme that I¡¯ll keep her necklace safe. I have to. The door shrieks as I open it and my eyes catch something sparkling by the threshold. A yellow shard. Granny¡¯s dust spell must have gotten rid of it. I cast all feelings of having handled enough shards for one day aside as I carefully pick it up. I look around for more glass pieces, remembering the one with the symbol, but it seems Uncle Aniol¡¯s work that evening was quite thorough. And well, what would I do with a glass shard with a symbol on it anyway? I¡¯ll make do with the crystals on my ankle bracelets. Bracelets I struggle to get off because I am so tired, but I manage and fly up to the chest. My heart is still in it, though I can tell it¡¯s starting to dissolve. The glistening has dulled and it¡¯s grown considerably, the edges now frayed and turning misty. Granny¡¯s heart is still the same and I smile. Bottles. As much as I hate them when they¡¯re broken, when they¡¯re whole they are miraculous. The gold in the pouch softly rings as I take it out. I¡¯ve never counted what Granny left me, but now I need to know just how much it is. First, I gently put the shard of glass on the bottom of the chest. To make sure nothing comes flying out of it, I release the pouch to close the lid using both hands, and then grab the pouch from mid-air just before it drifts away far enough to fall down. I can imagine what a ching that would be, and I¡¯m just too tired to be willing to tolerate a noise like that. So I make my way down smoothly and land with the slightest of thuds. The ankle bracelets are even harder to put on again and when I take too long with the left one, the ching still comes. I suppress a snorted sigh and reach for the pouch, that becomes airborne again as soon as I nudge it with my toes. Too impatient to wait for it to rise high enough to only have to reach out and grab it, I take hold of the pouch as soon as it floats by my knee. Then I empty the contents on the table. I can barely keep the coins in check with both my hands, but at last I have them all resting on the surface of the table. If I play it well, I should be able to count them and collect them all in the pouch again without difficulty, though piles like Uncle Aniol made are probably out of the question. That¡¯s okay. I just want to know how much I can add to the fee C¨¤gila¡¯s asking. Eightteen. That¡¯s a lot. I was quite wealthy without realizing it. I nod. Eighteen coins to contribute. Maybe it¡¯s enough to keep Uncle Aniol from having to sell Aunt Carme¡¯s necklace. I think about her as I make my way back to the house. She loved the necklace so much. She once told me about a forest touched by Damagic that turned all the trees, branches and leaves into diamonds. According to her, her necklace was worth a fortune. The leaf on the chain had once been a normal, green leaf, just like the ones on the vines here ¡ª I was nine when she told me and even then I highly doubted that anything growing here could even be as beautiful as the leaf on her chain must have been even before it turned into a diamond. Now I think it could well be the case. Well, fortune or not, I cannot let Uncle Aniol sell it. It doesn¡¯t matter whether I¡¯ll ever wear it or not, it¡¯s the only pretty keepsake we have of her, and I refuse to lose it. There¡¯s still a glimmer of light trickling up through the soil on both graves as I pass them. Smiling, I pick up my pace and enter the house, the cold reminding me of the warm bath I surely deserve. But first things first. He¡¯s still in the kitchen. ¡°Uncle Aniol?¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve brought you¡­ I want to help¡­¡± He turns around. The shadows cast by the oil lights emphasize the lines on his face. They make him look weary, old. It¡¯s almost scary. His eyes dart from my face to the pouch in my hands. ¡°What¡¯s¡­¡± he starts. ¡°Granny left me some coins. Eighteen. I want you to use them for the C¨¤gila fee, so you won¡¯t have to sell¡­¡± I have to take a breath just to steady myself. I want to give this money freely. Strong. Not blubbering all over it. Uncle Aniol gives me the strangest look he¡¯s ever shown me. I can¡¯t even tell if it¡¯s gratitude, or if he¡¯s appalled by me, or maybe some kind of annoyance. All I know for sure is that he swallows ¡ª I can hear it ¡ª followed by a curt nod. ¡°I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s enough. I did some calculations in my head, and if we sell everything we have stored in¡ª¡± ¡°Thank you, Ennah.¡± ¡°Yes?¡± I¡¯m holding my breath. ¡°Is it enough to not have to sell the necklace?¡± He sighs. ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t know. But it helps, and who knows¡­¡± He clears his throat. ¡°I¡¯ll be off to town tomorrow. You take the morning off.¡± I can¡¯t believe my ears. ¡°And take a bath. You smell like you¡¯ve been bathing in wine.¡± ¡°In a sense, I have.¡± And then there¡¯s this little moment of understanding again. Something we have in common; our dislike of C¨¤gila and their means of intimidation. A shared enemy. Uncle Aniol breaks our eye contact and collects the coins from the pouch. He hands me the empty sack and somehow, it makes me smile. This pouch may be empty now, but my heart is full. I clutch it against my chest and then I¡¯m off to the bathroom. Chapter 26 Kayetan Yoszovar, 4 years before the Rise There are stacks of paper everywhere, and Magic is buzzing all around Master Iacopor and me. This is exactly what I''ve dreamed about for all those years ¡ª working closely with my Master, pushing the boundaries of known Magic, and inspiring each other to dive even deeper every time. Right now, Master Iacopor is looking at a few of my drawings while I¡¯m writing a simple test text to send to the screen ¡ª a big message board that is perched right in the middle of the small study that I now consider my second room inside the manor. I spend more time here than in my bedroom and the dining room combined; I¡¯ve even installed a small secret safe here to make absolutely sure nobody will run off with our ideas. Master Iacopor is entertaining guests more frequently as of late, and though many of them are highly esteemed Mages, I wouldn¡¯t trust them for the world. Luckily, Master Iacopor was intrigued by my use Magic there ¡ª I think my next project is already on the horizon. Elrick is still working on his projects too, in his own study down the hall. Master Iacopor divides his time between the two of us. In the beginning, I wanted the Master to spend more time here, working on the screen, but it has grown less and less important for me to have Master Iacopor present. I''m doing great on my own, and sometimes Master Iacopor¡¯s ideas on how to make things work are frankly not up to par. I¡¯ve succeeded in baffling my Master with clever Magic solutions more than once. Right now, I''m counting on another compliment. The drawings Master Iacopor is studying depict an intricate system of magnifiers that will allow us to spread messages all over the known world, and have them come in within a few heartbeats of sending them. ¡°This is great,¡± Master Iacopor mumbles, and I smile without looking up. ¡°Kai, I mean it,¡± the Master repeats. ¡°This might become a global system. Just imagine the impact we would have.¡± Now I do look up, and immediately I wish I hadn¡¯t, even though Master Iacopor is again engulfed in the drawings and doesn¡¯t look me directly in the eye. This is the second reason I don¡¯t want Master Iacopor around all the time. Melena looks so much like her father that it is uncanny, and if I look at him too often, I find myself hurled back in time, to the day when she was running from Horgas Maletti ¡ª I¡¯d later found out that nasty guy was him ¡ª the day I kissed her. My mind and body still react to the memory, in a highly distractive way. I can count on having strange, feverish dreams about her whenever I allow my mind to wander off in her direction ¡ª which is almost every day, considering we dine together every evening. She barely looks at me, and I follow the same strategy, not wanting to show her how much I hate the fact that she ignores me. She is right to do so, of course. My love ¡ª my lust for Master Iacopor¡¯s daughter is completely inappropriate. I know she is out of my league by distances I don¡¯t even want to fathom. But I can¡¯t help myself. We had a bond before I Magicked her, and since then, it has only grown deeper. Sometimes when I see her, there¡¯s still that faint shimmer of gold flowing from her, like when she was under my spell. But I cannot let my thoughts linger on that now. If anything, I¡¯m working on proving my worth right now. If I do this well, Master Iacopor will see me as an equal and she¡¯ll grant me her attention. So, ironically, I have to forget all about her for now to possibly be able to get her. So I do that. During the day, that is. The nights are a completely different story. Most of the time, my dream is a nightmare in which she turns me down time and time again, reducing me to rubble. But sometimes the dreams take another turn, and I wake up sweaty and hard, with a yearning for Melena that is strong enough to envision myself slipping into the quiet corridors to her bedroom. One time I even made it to my bedroom door before halting myself briskly ¡ª most of the time I simply close my eyes again, and since experience tells me I won¡¯t be able to fall asleep with this much hunger rolling through my body and soul, I¡¯d stroke my hard cock and pretend my hand is hers. When that first happened, I came quite quickly and was able to get a reasonably decent rest after that. But every time I have to help myself, my longing for her grows, and my own touch grows less and less satiating as my lust for Melena increases. How much longer will I be able to soothe myself? The thought of her makes me hard even now. But I have to control myself. I am building the future with my Master. I refuse to let anything come between me and my purpose, not even beautiful, fiery Melena. After I¡¯ve sealed my fate, the way will be clear. Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. Hoping that Master Iacopor is completely oblivious to all the thoughts racing through my mind and the blood streaming to my lower body, I notice him looking at me expectantly. Right, he said something. ¡°Yes. Sorry, I was lost in thought there for a moment. Global, thats¡­ Quite a lot to take in. Amazing. The message screen will bring more wealth and harmony between the lands, I¡¯m sure.¡± And that is what I need to focus on. This project, this future. My future. I look at the words I¡¯ve written. They look like something somebody else has provided. My heart has been nowhere near the lines. But it will do. ¡°Are you ready for another test?¡± I ask. Master Iacopor already veers upright before I¡¯ve finished my sentence. ¡°Yes!¡± He all but jumps to his feet. ¡°From the hall?¡± ¡°Very well,¡± I agree. It isn¡¯t necessary to put much distance between the screen and the person casting the spell to convey the message onto the blank canvas, but somewhere in the early stages of experimenting, we delighted in sending each other jokes and riddles. Since the spoken word is still necessary for the Magic to work ¡ª I am working on changing that ¡ª we¡¯d decided upon casting from other parts of the manor. The element of surprise and the absolute certainty that no audible information has been passed between the both of us through any other means but the screen ¡ª just to be safe ¡ª has worked wonders, and now it is more of a habit than anything else. A way to humor each other, and by putting meaning into the message, the heart is more easily involved. Trying to get the other to laugh is a good way of sinking into the emotions. I don¡¯t really recall writing the words in front of me, but there is a punchline in it that Master Iacopor will appreciate, and I can already feel some anticipation about how the Master will react. I take the paper, bow to Master Iacopor both because it is the polite thing to do and because I need to hide the fact that my body hasn¡¯t fully recovered from thinking of Melena yet, and leave the room. On my way to the main hall, I pass the space where Elrick is working. A waft of Magic trickles by; and a faint sense of something that is rotting. It happens quite a lot ¡ª Elrick¡¯s quest for growing crops faster results in a lot of plants rotting as quickly as they grow, and one time, I had to clean up a bed of mold and fungus that had spread across the entire hallway. I got rid of the stuff itself quite easily, though the scent lingered for more than a week, and fresh tufts of hairy, mushroomy decay sprouted here and there at will. I considered teaching him the spell for cleaning it up within heartbeats, but decided against it. I¡¯m still afraid he¡¯ll spill the beans on my encounter with the Vorvalus Symbol on my first day, and though I don¡¯t think Master Vorvalus would just kick me out, I can¡¯t be sure. And with Sylva as happy as she is, and myself loving the job so much, I can¡¯t risk it. So, I still take responsibility for all of Elrick¡¯s goof-ups. Elrick himself is more than happy to let me clean up his muck, of course. He rarely owns up to the messes he leaves behind, using the excuse of getting ready for dinner every single time ¡ª as if dinner is more important than anything. He does fit in, though. At the dinner table. Much more than me, I have to admit. I¡¯ve grown used to Eilyn¡¯s company, and I¡¯ve had lively conversations with everyone but Melena, come to think of it, but still, I feel out of place at the dinner table. Maybe I can excuse myself in a couple of days to visit Sylva again. I miss her, and I know she misses me. Maybe I can install a screen at Moppa Verin¡¯s, so we can communicate more easily. Writing takes time, and I never know when a letter I write is picked up by my little sister, nor when she left one for me. Oh, the possibilities! I leave Elrick¡¯s smelly room behind and take in a deep breath of fresh air. Sylva will be the first to be awarded a message screen. I can hardly wait. But I¡¯ll have to finish the test now, or else there¡¯ll be no screen to give her. At the sight of the family statue, I can¡¯t help but cringe and sort of smile at the same time. I broke the symbol Magic in motion, the square in the diamond. I mended it, though I still haven¡¯t found time to fix it properly, and now I¡¯m the one showing Magic where to move to. The spell is easy enough by now; the words roll off my tongue like they are part of the language of my soul ¡ª which, in fact, might be just about true by now. I read the words I¡¯ve written earlier directly following the ancient words, knowing that they will make Master Iacopor chuckle as soon as they appear on the screen. The message is a bit long this time; it takes longer to reach a punchline when the setup is somewhat sloppy. I frown as I read the lines out loud. I never thought about the size of the letters on the screen. Perhaps they will be too big for the whole message to fit onto it right now. Will that be a problem? Where will the rest of the message go if there is no space to store the energy? Will it be lost, hover in the air endlessly, or maybe wander the ether? I¡¯ll perhaps have to think of a way of hold on to the messages. And what happens if more than one person were to send a message to the screen, how would that work? I don¡¯t even reach the punchline on the paper in front of me. Thoughts are whirling through my mind. Maybe the messages need to be short, like chapter titles in books, conveying only a subject or headline. If I could create some kind of system to capture the whole message, to store it, keep it waiting until somebody chooses to read it, then a whole assortment of messages can be featured on the message screen without taking up too much space. There can even be a system that makes the headlines pop up in turns, and¡ª ¡°Kayetan!¡± Master Iacopor comes to me, a haste in his step that I seldom see. I startle. Has anything gone wrong? ¡°How could you stop mid-message?¡± the Master demands. ¡°I¡­¡± I start. Then, out of the blue, Master Iacopor hugs me. ¡°If you leave out the punchline for something as brilliant as the ideas you just put on, I¡¯d gladly miss it every time.¡± I let the embrace wash over me and smile incredulously. ¡°Do you even realize?¡± Master Iacopor says. ¡°If only the headlines appear on the message screen, people will pay to read the whole message. That, my young Masterling, is going to bring in more wealth than you¡¯ve ever seen in your entire life.¡± Chapter 27 Ennah Sentisse, 66 years after the Rise I watched him go. Uncle Aniol left for the village and I just watched him as he stepped through the gate, carrying his precious load in a small satchel on his belt. My money hadn¡¯t been enough to keep Aunt Carme¡¯s necklace safe. Uncle Aniol assured me he wouldn¡¯t sell the necklace, he would pawn it. It didn¡¯t make that much of a difference to me ¡ª as much as I watched Uncle Aniol go, I felt the necklace going too and it was as if Aunt Carme left me yet again. Now I¡¯m sitting by the glass heap. The smell of wine is familiar and nauseating at the same time. A few shards are floating right beside me and I watch the sunshine filter through them, casting shimmering light green specs on the wall. It¡¯s beautiful, yet I feel little joy. What if the pawnbroker doesn¡¯t give enough for the necklace? It looks real, but then again, there¡¯s nothing even remotely fancy present on the vineyard grounds. And I can barely believe Aunt Carme would wear something as expensive as a real Rainbow Forest leaf around her neck on a daily basis ¡ª if there ever was someone sensible around here, it was her. Yes, the diamond leaves are supposed to be all but unbreakable, but if I know Aunt Carme, she would never take such a chance. Would she? I wish I could ask her. I wish I could just talk to her once more, or to Granny. My heart feels as shattered as the glass I¡¯m sitting next to when I think of them. And yet, this is the very best place to be. This is the spot Amador is most likely to find me. I hope with all my might that he somehow feels I need him again, that he will be as early as he was when¡­ When Aunt Carme was still alive. Oh feathers, I¡¯m really hoping he¡¯ll come today. It¡¯s been almost a week now, and though he¡¯s not that regular, he rarely lets more than five days pass without dropping by. And with Uncle Aniol gone, we could even go inside the house for a change¡­ Maybe. I swallow. All I can do is hope, and I¡¯m not sure how long Uncle Aniol will be gone. I don¡¯t even know how long the walk from here to the village will take him, so I can¡¯t calculate how long I¡¯ll have at the least. Maybe it¡¯s a bad idea to linger here. I¡¯m not visible from the road, but anyone taking more than three steps through our gate and onto the main path leading to the buildings will easily spot me. I could simply turn the corner and make myself comfortable there. I¡¯ve waited for Amador to show up so many times from that spot, that it¡¯s strange that I¡¯m not there right now. But even consciously thinking about it, doesn¡¯t get me to move. I want to see him as soon as he arrives and not have to wait for him to make himself known by meowing. The sunshine is relentless. The green specs travel across the wall as the shards of glass lazily drift in mid-air. It¡¯s kind of mesmerizing to watch and I can feel my eyes struggle to stay open. The last few weeks have been extremely challenging and I think this is the first time that I have some time to just sit, be still, and realize just how tired I am. I cannot allow myself to fall asleep here, tempting as it is. Then, suddenly, there is movement at the gate. My first reflex is to jump up and hide, and I¡¯m already resisting the pull from my ankle bracelets when I realize that, once again, Amador must have received my calling. He¡¯s walking over to me, and his smile is so wide I could relish in it all day. ¡°Hi,¡± I beam when he¡¯s close enough to hear me. ¡°Hi,¡± he replies, with a small wave of his hand. ¡°What did you do?¡± ¡°What?¡± I look at his fingers. Several cuts are running along the length of them, covered in bandages that cannot hide the serious damage. ¡°Oh, that,¡± he says, shrugging. ¡°A little accident. Nothing big.¡± I don¡¯t know if I believe him. Yes, working in glass manufacturing has some risks, but I¡¯ve never seen him this wounded before. ¡°Are you sure you¡¯re alright?¡± I take his hands into mine and realize I must look equally wounded after yesterday¡¯s cleaning frenzy. He smiles at me and nods as I lift his hands to kiss his hurt fingers. ¡°Never better¡­¡± His breath gets caught in his throat, I¡¯m pleased to notice. He lets out a soft, enjoying grunt. ¡°I¡¯m with you, so¡­¡± I grin cheekily, taking the tip of his finger between my lips. I¡¯ve never done anything like this, but I like it. ¡°Ennah,¡± he grunts, and finally he gets sensible enough to kiss me. I kiss him back, so happy that he¡¯s finally here, in my arms, under my lips. A sigh escapes my lips as he pulls me closer. Everything is fine, even if it¡¯s just for this moment. ¡°Where¡¯s your uncle?¡± he asks. I cannot help the fact that my smile turns naughty. ¡°Out. He¡¯s gone to the village.¡± A flash of understanding in Amador¡¯s eyes, then something darkens. ¡°I cannot believe my luck,¡± he mutters. ¡°I have to go. I only came by to give you this.¡± ¡°You cannot stay?¡± This is not how my perfect fantasy is supposed to work out. We should be making sweet love without restrictions, maybe even in the comfortable cool surroundings of my bedroom. Why can¡¯t he stay? If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. He pulls a slightly wrinkled envelope out of his pocket. ¡°I was going to leave this for you.¡± ¡°A bill?¡± That¡¯s utterly romantic. I scowl at him. ¡°No. It¡¯s for you. It¡¯s¡­ The directions to my house. I¡­ I¡¯d like to invite you over.¡± I gasp for air. It feels as if my blood is drained from my face in an instant. ¡°You know I never leave the vineyard.¡± ¡°Yes, I do. But¡­¡± He takes my hands and squeezes them. ¡°I cannot be without you. I need you, En. I want you in my bed. Not in sheds or cellars or storage units¡­ I want you properly.¡± I¡¯m lost for words. My cheeks burn and my heart flutters. I can barely believe he just asked me this. ¡°I¡­¡± ¡°Tonight,¡± he says. ¡°I¡¯ll be waiting for you.¡± ¡°Amador!¡± Someone is calling him from the road. His father? ¡°My father. I have to go now. I¡¯ll claim the heap was empty¡­¡± I blink, not fully comprehending what¡¯s just happened. Well, part of it is clear. He¡¯s on the road with his father, he can¡¯t stay here and instead chose to leave me a letter. But the contents of the letter¡­ An invitation to go to his house¡­ ¡°Will I see you tonight?¡± he asks, placing gentle kisses on my fingers. They¡¯re just as battered up as his, and I¡¯m glad he doesn¡¯t mention it. Maybe the pile right behind me is all the explanation he needs. ¡°Ennah?¡± ¡°I¡­¡± The thought of leaving is so big, so far-fetched, that I can¡¯t even imagine myself doing it. But¡­ ¡°I love you,¡± he says, and then he leaves without awaiting my answer. For the second time today, I watch as someone leaves the premises. Uncle Aniol left taking a bit of my heart with him. Amador might just have taken the rest of it. Will I get it back when I go to visit him tonight? If I go¡­ I stare at the gate, most of it hidden just behind the gnarled old tree Amador disappeared behind. What would happen if I were to walk through that gate? Would the Mage catch me? Or C¨¤gila? Or¡­ Do I want to go outside? Will Amador cut things off with me if I don¡¯t? The unease settles deep in my stomach. My mind is racing back and forth. I¡¯ve thought about leaving the shelter of the vineyard before, but never with an intention to actually do it. Now, suddenly, it¡¯s as if the gate has opened up for me. An invitation to expand my world. My mouth goes dry as I think about it. My fingers tremble slightly as I open the envelope and unfold the letter. Amador knows I¡¯ve never left the vineyard ¡ª I remember how hard it was for me to tell him so, and how surprised he reacted ¡ª and now he¡¯s drawn me a map. Squiggly lines and written directions, like ¡°Turn right after the giant cypress tree with a swing hanging from a broken branch¡±. He¡¯s really put a lot of effort into it, and my heart melts. Leave the vineyard. Before I know it, I¡¯m already halfway down the path to the gate ¡ª the gate I crossed only once in my life. It¡¯s so weird to think that I can step through. That I can visit Amador if I want to. Go to Amador¡­ Who¡¯d have thought that that would be a possibility? I notice my feet are barely touching the ground as I walk, and I hear Granny¡¯s voice in my head. ¡°Remember the rules. They¡¯re here for a reason. Stay on the ground. Stay on the grounds.¡± She always chuckled a bit when she said those two sentences, only to become serious again right after. ¡°Practice your Magic. Copy a spell every week. Be kind and polite. Do your best in everything. And do not show yourself.¡± I swallow and suddenly it¡¯s not that hard to hit the path with every step. I¡¯ve not been practicing my Magic. I allowed myself to be shown, and now I¡¯m even tempted to leave the grounds. But Granny isn¡¯t here to chuckle anymore. I cannot stay hidden forever, can I? But that Mage¡­ How big is the world anyway? The Mage that¡¯s been looking for me could be anywhere. Still, my pace grinds to a halt now that the gate is in full sight. It seems like the world beyond it is just as normal as the vineyard itself. The light is the same. The colors of the plants and trees, the dust on the road. And yet I can sense the barrier. I¡¯m getting closer and even though I¡¯ve been close to this part of the vineyard multiple times, I¡¯ve never come up here. I¡¯ve always steered clear of the gate, like Granny wanted me to. Now my heart is racing as I charter this known, unfamiliar territory. I don¡¯t think there¡¯s a Magical boundary I cannot cross, or one that will alert anyone to my presence here. Though I can¡¯t be sure, of course. My footsteps get smaller now, and slower. I¡¯ve never been this far down the path. The trees across the road, outside the gate, are rustling in the wind. Whispering at me to just come the them. It feels wrong. So wrong. All my life I¡¯ve been told to stay away from here and I obeyed. Am I going to throw a lifetime of safety away on a whim? But I need to know. I want to know what it¡¯s like out there. If there is a magical barrier or not. If I can cross the gate. If I can go to Amador if I want to¡­ Just a few more steps. My feet are kicking up dust even though I barely touch the ground anymore. My heart is pounding. What will wait for me on the other side? The gate itself looms over me. It feels so heavy, while it¡¯s nothing more than a few beams that make up the entry to the vineyard. Why am I so intimidated by a bit of wood? My throat is so dry now, that I can¡¯t even swallow. My heart is thumping as if it personally wants to jump into the unknown before I do. One more step before I¡¯m under the top beam. Two more to leave the grounds. My feet are tingling, as are my fingers. I brace myself for something to happen as I move forward, inching toward the road on the other side¡­ Nothing happens. No sirens, no Magic ¡ª as far as I can tell. The temperature is no different, the sounds are the same. And yet, I feel exposed. Naked. Completely at the mercy of an outer world that¡¯s too big, that¡¯s dangerous, that will swallow me whole if I¡¯m not careful. It doesn¡¯t feel right. Not at all. Maybe that¡¯s a spell at work, or maybe¡­ Maybe I should forget about all of this and stay home. But Amador¡­ He¡¯ll be waiting. Tonight, after a long, hard day working with his father, he¡¯ll be waiting for me. I cannot let him down, can I? And I don¡¯t want to let him down. I want to see him smile. I want to feel his warmth. I want his lips on mine, his hands on my skin, his muscles flexing as he takes me to heights I¡¯ve never seen before. But as I take another step, just to force myself to get used to being off the premises, I get nauseous with fear. Every sound makes me jump ¡ª it doesn¡¯t matter that the only noise is what I always hear. It feels like a million eyes are upon me, watching me from the trees, from behind rocks, from¡­ Everywhere. Not to mention the claws that are waiting to catch me. This is too much. I cannot do this. I¡­ I turn and run, run toward the house, run toward the safety of my chamber deep inside the mountain. And then it dawns on me. I am alone. There is nobody else in this whole vineyard. If I have rattled some magical alarm system, if somebody¡¯s looking for me, they¡¯ll find me. What have I done? I want to force myself to run, to place my feet on the ground like I¡¯m supposed to, but I can¡¯t. I fly to the house, bolt the door from the inside ¡ª I¡¯ll surely hear Uncle Aniol cursing if he cannot get in ¡ª and I don¡¯t even bother to light a candle as the circadian candles are enough to guide me through the corridors. In the dark of my room, I hide away under the covers, and stare at the door until I cannot keep my eyes open anymore. Chapter 28 Kayetan Yoszovar, 4 years before the Rise ¡°Now, what does one need to fixate a spell onto a growing object?¡± Master Iacopor looks at Elrick, and it''s all I can do to not smirk at the shade of pink Elrick¡¯s cheeks suddenly become. True, the answer to this question can be quite elaborate and it is a difficult thing to do. And growing plants are less predictable than the sponges we used to practice on at school. But he should have known branches and leaves can burst out in any direction. The latest jungle in his study should not have arisen. I lean in a bit closer ¡ª I don¡¯t want to miss what¡¯ll happen next. ¡°Er¡­¡± Elrick starts, but he doesn¡¯t make it past that initial time buyer. There''s a polite knock on the door, and Iacopor opens it with a simple flick of his wrist. Haenar bows before entering. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry to disturb you, Master, but there¡¯s an urgent message for you.¡± Master Iacopor raises an eyebrow, and all I can think about is that we really should get the Message Screen up and running soon, and that it might be useful to have it make a distinctive noise or something to let the users know they¡¯ve received a message. That would make the screen even more efficient. I will propose that as soon as I have the chance. Master Iacopor reads the note that Haenar gave him and frowns ¡ª a frown I know and that means something¡¯s amiss. I cautiously lean forward, trying to read Master Iacopor¡¯s expression in more detail. ¡°Something¡¯s wrong with a Council member,¡± Master Iacopor announces without taking his eyes off the note. ¡°We need to go there at once.¡± ¡°Right now?¡± Elrick asks. ¡°That is what at once tends to mean, Elrick,¡± Master Iacopor snaps. I can almost feel my fellow Masterling relax in knowing this means a delay from being scolded for not knowing his basic Magic stuff well enough. The brightness in his voice is annoying ¡ª Master Iacopor should leave him here to write an essay on how to get a spell to cling to a moving object. Maybe that will jog his memory enough to give a fluent answer as soon as Master Iacopor asks him again ¡ª or rather, a way to fix whatever had gone wrong in his room. This time, I haven¡¯t been around to save Elrick¡¯s ass ¡ª something I do way too often. It''s probably a good thing Elrick''s incompetence finally shows, and an even better thing that I had absolutely nothing to do with it. Not that I ever do, but now it''s even clearer. I¡¯ve spent all day with Master Iacopor, sending messages back and forth over a long distance ¡ª half the city of Yoszovar ¡ª and every message was received loud and clear. Lord Maletti was there to watch and he¡¯s even tried sending something himself, a bad joke that only the man himself chuckled about ¡ª even ten minutes later, he¡¯d burst into some sort of giggling fit as he apparently remembered it again. The Lord is a peculiar man, but he is generous too. He has financed the two Message Screens I¡¯m still perfecting with the Master, and I know Master Iacopor has already secured funds for the next step in our experiments: building a system to link payments with messaging, and also finding a way for the sender not to have to come up with a short title by himself. It would be amazing to make the Message Screens smart and independent, so they can make their own decisions and have the messages all optimized for their goal. But all of those thoughts will have to wait. Right now, Master Iacopor¡¯s lips have thinned to a straight line and his eyes wander the room shortly, as if he''s thinking about which of the devices that are on display here might be worth the trouble of bringing them along. That¡¯s the next thing to look into. The Magic behind my safe will probably bend quite nicely into larger containers with multiple access points all over the known world. Such an invention would make the world a completely different place ¡ª if I can make it work for living things, travel could be reduced to stepping into a closet on one end and walking out of another closet located half a continent away. Oh, life would change forever. This is the stuff of my dreams, both literally and figuratively, and I can¡¯t help but think that this thing that demands our attention right now might be a crucial step toward making all of them real. All of them. Including Melena. She''s avoiding me ¡ª which is as painful as it is meaningful. Because she looks at me. When she thinks nobody is paying attention to her, she looks at me in a way that makes my heart flutter and my breath hitch. There''s a connection, and I know she feels it too. That¡¯s why she¡¯s sometimes so eager to leave a room when I¡¯m in it, or so quick to leave after dinner. She doesn¡¯t trust herself around me. It¡¯s too difficult. I can¡¯t say that I¡¯m proud of the way that makes me grin ¡ª also only when I¡¯m certain nobody¡¯s looking at me ¡ª but I do. And I understand her, and in my mind, I promise her it will only be a matter of time. Master Iacopor hurries through the hallway as if his cloak were on fire, Elrick scurries after him like a shadow. Haenar follows behind, close to me. ¡°Do you know what the message read?¡± I whisper. Haenar shakes his head. ¡°Private matters. But I¡¯ve never seen somebody so pale deliver a message, nor have I seen the Master leave the house so swiftly.¡± I nod. ¡°Thank you, Haenar. You¡¯re amazing.¡± That remark brings up a little smile in the servant. ¡°No, I mean it,¡± I say. ¡°You¡¯ve been nothing but kind and helpful since I arrived. I¡¯m in your debt.¡± ¡°It¡¯s my job.¡± ¡°No, You take it further than you have to. I want to acknowledge that.¡± Now, Haenar¡¯s smile widens. ¡°Thank you, Masterling Kayetan.¡± ¡°Carriage!¡± Master Iacopor shouts from the front door. Elrick moves in to follow the Master close behind, and I speed up my steps. There''s no way I¡¯ll delay the party. Of course, the need to hurry is quite ridiculous. Even if the coachman were a Mage, getting a carriage with four horses ready to go requires some time ¡ª and this coachman clearly isn¡¯t a Mage in any way, shape, or form. Master Iacopor is pacing up and down the driveway, his eyes focused on the horizon. He nearly jumps when the carriage finally arrives, and ushers us in as if we¡¯re the reason he¡¯s had to wait so long for the carriage to arrive. Once inside, he taps the ceiling so hard I''m surprised the Master doesn¡¯t show any signs of pain. The splinters I see falling from the wood must be my imagination ¡ª it couldn¡¯t possibly be that a carriage owned by the Vorvalus family is shabby ¡ª I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever been in a carriage as beautiful as this. But, could it be¡­ I frown and look around, feeling for any traces of Magic. I find plenty. Ah. I press my lips together for just a moment, and I¡¯m not sure if it¡¯s sympathy or disbelief that¡¯s trickling into my heart. Maybe both. When Eilyn told me about Ralonda¡¯s dress, I¡¯d shrugged it off as a one-time thing. And the tailor seemed eager to help us, so any money shortage hasn¡¯t extended that far just yet. But I can sense a bit of desperation in the state of this carriage, and the realization that looks can be deceiving dawns on me. Nobody will notice the truth ¡ª as long as Master Iacopor doesn¡¯t let other Mages in. Elrick and I will keep silent, of course. Master-Masterling confidentiality is one of our highest values. I study Master Iacopor as he¡¯s staring out of the window. His concern for his colleague moves me, and combined with these newfound suspicions about possible money issues, I feel as if I truly see the man behind the Master for the first time. I take in a deep breath and suppress a shiver. Master Iacopor is just human. Maybe, just maybe, he¡¯ll be open to me courting Melena in time. A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. I wonder what she¡¯s doing right now. Maybe she¡¯s painting ¡ª I¡¯ve seen her fingers covered with tiny specks of color around dinnertime, and Haenar let it slip once that she likes to indulge in it. Maybe one day I can ask her to paint the wonderful patterns of Magic. That would be amazing, and my heart flutters at the thought of her working alongside me, close enough to simply reach out and touch her. Not that I would. Or could, rather. She¡¯s still off-limits, at least for now. But who knows, one day¡­ I take a deep breath. ¡°What do you think could have happened?¡± Elrick asks. ¡°Did the note say anything?¡± Master Iacopor mumbles ¡°No,¡± and a little tendon in his jaw protrudes. I¡¯ve never seen him this tense before. ¡°Who are we going to¡­¡± My voice falters. See? Help? Rescue¡­? ¡°Master Bockayah,¡± he says, and I can¡¯t help it that my eyes widen. I don¡¯t know him personally, but he¡¯s famous ¡ª an amazing and powerful Mage. He¡¯s personally responsible for the lighting in the streets of Yoszovar, and if I remember correctly, he¡¯s also had a hand in diverting the warm water streams from their source in the middle of town ¡ª where the small settlement of Yoszovar once sprouted ¡ª to the bathhouse. What could have happened? We¡¯re not healers, so I wonder if this emergency is of a Magical nature. Why would one call on Master Iacopor if there¡¯s anything else going on but Magic that¡¯s flown off the handle? My eyes grow even wider, but I cannot assume some Magical accident happened. I surely don¡¯t want to insult anyone, and the idea of Master Bockaya having a Magical hiccup is preposterous anyway. So I keep silent and try not to let my thoughts wander too far. I don¡¯t know what¡¯s going on, no use in getting ahead of myself. Yet I find myself bracing for the worst. Beside me, Elrick has turned pale. I look at him, but he won¡¯t look back. His throat is bobbing, and his nerves are almost palpable. Focussing on my breath, just like they taught us to do before using Magic, I try to let go. I fear I¡¯ll need a clear mind. We don¡¯t have to wait long. Before I know it, the carriage slows down and the tension inside is ramped up because of Master Iacopor¡¯s stressed energy. We stop in front of a big mansion. The door is open and two men stand beside it ¡ª they look like guards, though they¡¯re not in uniform. One of them immediately steps toward Master Iaocopor when he gets out of the carriage. ¡°This way, please,¡± he says, and Master Iacopor follows him. Elrick and I exchange a look, and then we tag along also, passing the man who remained at the door. His face is a grim mask and I wonder what we¡¯ll find in there. The first thing I see is a trail of blood. Somebody is carefully putting something furry into a box and¡­ Is that a cat? Or what¡¯s left of it ¡ª it seems the unfortunate animal has been ripped to pieces. Now that I get closer, I can see the tufts of fur on the floor, wet with sticky red liquid. The hairs at the back of my neck stand on end. Master Iacopor looks at the cat and then, at the floor. He asks the question that must be on all of our minds. ¡°What happened here?¡± ¡°We were hoping you could tell us,¡± the man says. His hair has got a bit of a copper glow in it ¡ª he must have ancestors from some other place than Yoszovar. A band around his arm says he¡¯s some high-ranking officer for Yoszovar¡¯s bailiff force. ¡°And Master Bockaya?¡± The officer gives Master Iacopor a look that sends shivers down my spine. ¡°Barely hanging on,¡± he says, almost reluctantly. ¡°He¡¯s tried to protect himself, but whatever this was, it has gotten to him good.¡± ¡°Some kind of wild animal?¡± Master Iacopor asks. ¡°Nothing natural.¡± The way the bailiff says it gives me the chills. I can sense it. There¡¯s Magic in the air. Familiar, yet at the same time there¡¯s a weird touch to it. I¡¯ve never sensed anything like this before, and it makes me feel a bit queasy. ¡°Have you caught it?¡± Master Iacopor asks. The man purses his lips and my stomach drops. Whatever did this, is still around somewhere. ¡°Did it flee?¡± I ask, and both Master Iacopor and the other man turn around, as if they¡¯re surprised Elrick and I are even here. For a few heartbeats, everything goes quiet. Then, Master Iacopor turns to the officer. ¡°Well?¡± ¡°We haven¡¯t located it yet.¡± ¡°What?¡± Master Iacopor starts. ¡°There¡¯s some kind of monster loose on the streets of Yoszovar and you¡ª¡± ¡°We¡¯re looking, of course. Could have gone anywhere, there are two dozen men on the lookout. Finding this¡­ thing is high on our priority list. But right now, Master Bockaya needs Magical tending to. It seems like there¡¯s a spell¡ª¡± ¡°Gardant.¡± Another man steps out into the hallway, his face serious as he addresses the officer. He¡¯s about as Yoszovarian as one can get, black hair, bronze skin and green eyes, the latter filled with panic. ¡°Quickly,¡± he says. The officer and Master Iacopor dart off and I follow, Elrick in tow. The room we enter looks like a warzone. Not a single piece of furniture is upright or undamaged. Books are strewn across the floor and Master Iacopor kneels at something. The officer stands next to him, his mouth taut and his pose one of self-imposed restraint. And then I see it. A man is on the floor, bathing in a pool of blood. Grey hair, skin as pale as old parchment, a huge nose almost cut in half by what must have been something razor sharp. Blood is cascading from several wounds, but from the cut on his nose it¡¯s simply streaming. He¡¯s breathing shallowly, making a wheezing sound that¡¯s only audible now that I step closer, though I don¡¯t really want to. ¡°Yalt,¡± Master Iacopor softly says. ¡°What happened?¡± The reply is almost inaudible, and I remain too far away to make out the words that are spoken. I daren¡¯t get nearer, the atmosphere in here is one of imminent death, and the memories of sitting on my knees next to my father uttering his last words to me from right where he fell down, too weak to get up from the fever, almost knocks the air out of me. I cannot show my own emotional struggle here, I need to divert my mind. Elrick just stands there, pale as parchment, looking like he might throw up any minute. I can¡¯t think of anything to say to him, so I do what I think is best; look for clues. What seems like giant claws have scratched the surface of a writing desk. Splinters are strewn all around it. There¡¯s a spellbook on the floor between the splinters and without thinking, I pick it up. Spellbooks are the most valuable possessions for any Mage; if I were Master Bockaya, I¡¯d want my life work to be safe too. In hopes of finding a clue inside, I rummage through it for the latest entry. I find it, and the blood splattered all over the page makes me wince. The spell has nothing to do with monsters, though ¡ª it¡¯s about making roof tiles not only repel water but retain it in some way as well, so that the liquid can be used for bathing or washing the dishes. I think he was coming up to a point where he wanted to harness the sun¡¯s warmth to warm it up, and I love the way he¡¯s been thinking this through. It gets my brain humming and I can feel the ideas start to form in the back of my head, until I¡¯m yanked out of my daydream by a scream. Somebody else yells a command, and then there¡¯s a loud bang and a high-pitched screech coming from outside. It sounds as if it¡¯s not from this world. Vicious and¡­ big. Incredibly big. The shouting outside turns frantic and I cannot help but step closer to Elrick, though he won¡¯t be of much help if anything were to crash in here. Prepared for anything, I ready my tongue for Dawnt, the ancient word for freeze or stop, so I can at least try and do something when all hell breaks loose in here. Something crashes into the wall, but save for some falling dust, nothing happens just yet. Another bang and the screeching stops abruptly, leaving a deafening silence filled with nothing but my thumping heartbeat. I¡¯m surprised I didn¡¯t pee my pants. Next to me, Elrick is panting. Without as much as a word, we inch closer to Master Iacopor. I¡¯m still clinging to my defense strategy, but the screaming has come to an end and all I can hear is somebody laughing quite maniacally ¡ª the laughter of a man having looked death in the eye and escaped. Whatever that was, it must be dead now. But was it alone? I turn to ask Master Bockaya, which is a stupid thing to since he¡¯s barely able to speak, and the look of him is heartwrenching at best. His silk cape and shirt have been shredded to pieces and blood has soaked the fine fabric that once must have been a vibrant green. The red seems ever so dark against it, and it still shimmers, as far as I can tell. He needs help ¡ª and fast too. It seems to me his life is all but dripping from him. Somebody runs inside. ¡°We got it, sir!¡± he yells. ¡°It¡¯s dead.¡± ¡°What was it?¡± the officer demands. ¡°Giant¡­ rat¡­¡± A weak voice says. It¡¯s Bockaya. ¡°Came out...¡± ¡°Spare your breath, Yalt. You can tell the story when¡ª¡± Master Bockaya doesn¡¯t seem to be aware of Master Iacopor¡¯s presence, his face is one of pure horror. ¡°Came out of nowhere. Killed mister Snookums. Tried to kill me.¡± ¡°Save your energy. You can tell us all of this as soon as the Healers have done their work on you.¡± ¡°I¡­¡± Master Bockaya starts, but I think Master Iacopor is staring him down so he drops the effort. He¡¯s so pale, I have to look away before his face is replaced by my memories. ¡°Have the Healers been called in?¡± Master Iacopor asks the officer. ¡°I thought the Magic might need to be resolved first.¡± Master Iacopor lets out a huff. ¡°Send for them.¡± I know I shouldn¡¯t, and I avoid looking directly at his face, but my gaze keeps being drawn to the Mage on the floor. There¡¯s something odd about him ¡ª and I don¡¯t mean the fact that he seems to be more blood than anything else. I swallow. What if he still dies from the injuries that giant rat¡¯s caused him? But there¡¯s something else. I¡¯ve been in a room with dying people before, I¡¯ve experienced it firsthand. This is different. There¡¯s Magic involved, a twisted sort of Magic. I¡¯m not sure¡­ Master Bockaya¡¯s eyes fall shut and his breath becomes shallow. And then I see it. The golden hue emanating from Master Bockaya¡¯s body, as if his soul is leaving him. I¡¯ve seen it before. With Melena. Chapter 29 (final chapter) Ennah Sentisse, 66 years after the Rise I wake up with a start. All is still silent, and it takes me a few heartbeats to realize why that seems so important to me right now. Then, it all comes rushing in. Amador¡¯s note, tucked away in a pocket of my dress, the steps I took outside the vineyard, how exposed I felt and how I fled inside. I have no way of telling what time it is ¡ª if midday slumbers are upon me or whether they¡¯ve already passed. I¡¯m hungry, so I guess I have slept for a couple of hours. I cannot hear a furious Uncle Aniol at the door, but he¡¯ll probably return soon. I need to make sure he doesn¡¯t find me here, cowering in bed, for he¡¯ll surely demand an explanation. On the other hand, I could just say C¨¤gila scared me so much that I didn¡¯t dare to leave the door unlocked. He¡¯d believe me ¡ª even if C¨¤gila had been friendly the other day, Uncle Aniol would believe a girl to be so scared that she¡¯d lock the door and hide under the covers. Feathers, I¡¯m a mess. How am I ever going to see Amador if I¡¯m acting like a scared little girl? He¡¯ll want a woman, somebody he can rely on. Not a child that hides in her bed just because she¡¯s been out in the open for a few heartbeats. Yet I still get the shivers from even the thought of passing through the gate again. I feel I should wear a cape, or¡­ My eyes open wider as the thought dawns on me. I have something far better than a cape. I have an obscurity spell. It¡¯s one I copied years ago, but I copied it nonetheless. And if I place it on myself, I will be invisible. No Mage to see me. No C¨¤gila to capture me. No Uncle Aniol to stop me¡­ If I take the book from the shed now, this evening I can pretend to get an early night¡¯s sleep and sneak out of the house without him even noticing. Why haven¡¯t I thought of this before? I¡¯m such an idiot, hiding under the covers when all I had to do was go to my very favorite place on the grounds and perform Magic! And while I¡¯m there, I can also add the last ingredients to the brew. I shake my head. Really, I¡¯m an idiot. But an idiot with a plan, which makes the idiocy lessen ¡ª at least a bit. The door to my room creaks ever so slightly as I slip out. All seems perfectly quiet. It makes me jumpy, so I hurry up. The sun has passed over its highest point, midday slumbers are over. Has Uncle Aniol spent the slumbers in the village? I suppose so ¡ª he used to do that quite regularly when Granny and Aunt Carme were still around. I loved the time we spent in each other¡¯s company back then, it brings a smile to my face even now. The memory helps soothe the unease that I¡¯m carrying with me as I walk the paths along the vines. They look scrawny and pitiful. We¡¯re going to need the brew I¡¯m making. My thoughts return to Uncle Aniol. It makes sense for him not to be home yet. He hasn¡¯t been to Sentisse in a long time, so going to the pawn shop is probably not the only task on his ever-immense list. I shouldn¡¯t be worried. As I pass the graves and send two hearts of light into the earth, another thought rises in me, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. I¡¯ve thought it before¡­ What if he doesn¡¯t come back? What if something happens to Uncle Aniol, what would I do then? He¡¯s scared of losing me, and I can see why, but the other way around¡­ Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. I take in a deep breath to steady myself, I even consciously put my feet on the path. Little bits of gravel press into my soles, I adjust my height to just feel the ground enough to sense some support ¡ª nonsensical as it is to need the ground for support when I don¡¯t even need it to stand. Still, I feel I want to know that some things haven¡¯t changed. That down is still down, and that there still is some sense to my world. I cannot suppress the second wave of unease flowing through me, though. What if he dies too? For all I know, he could have been attacked coming out of the pawn shop ¡ª people walk out of there with coin in their pockets all the time, don¡¯t they? Or what if he does return, only to have the same illness that took Aunt Carme take hold of him? Or¡­ I cannot do this. I cannot think this way. It¡¯s depressing, it¡¯s making me nauseous, and it doesn¡¯t help. Uncle Aniol will be back before I know it, and if I don¡¯t take my book inside in time, he¡¯ll see it and my chance of meeting up with Amador will be annihilated. My heart jumps. Amador. Meeting Amador at his house. Making love to him in a proper bed, in the dark like normal people do according to the few romantic books Aunt Carme and Granny used to read ¡ª books that I snuck into my room when I was too young to even comprehend love. Now that I am living my own romance with Amador, in a way no novel has ever shown me, it would be nice to have a bit of normality added to the relationship. My smile is back. This one cannot be chiseled off, I¡¯m sure of it. Tonight, I will see Amador in his home environment and I love it! There are pieces of wood outside the door of the shed. I frown, and that smile that was so vivid on my lips is suddenly faltering. I can feel my heartbeat in my fingertips as I touch the door handle, twist it, and press against the wood. The creak the door gives makes the little hairs on my body stand on end and I give an extra push. The chest has fallen from its recess. Or at least, that¡¯s what must have happened. There are splinters and pieces of wood everywhere ¡ª Granny¡¯s spell has so far only made a little dent in the sprawl on the floor. In the middle, shards of green glass make me gasp for air. No heart. Not my own, not Granny¡¯s. Lost. Forever. The pouch I took all my money from yesterday, is a bit to the right of the rest of the rubble. Empty, of course. Might that be why it fluttered to the side? But that doesn¡¯t make sense, does it? If the chest fell due to my carelessness, it would have been fine until it crashed into the floor. It doesn¡¯t make sense for the pouch to have flown that way. Granny¡¯s spell has all rubble move outside, towards the door, so¡­ And then I see the ladder. This was no accident. I know it within a heartbeat. Uncle Aniol saw my hiding place yesterday. I don¡¯t know if he¡¯s been looking for more money or for the spell book ¡ª or both ¡ª but he¡¯s the one that took my chest. He¡¯s the one who dropped it. He¡¯s the one that made me lose the last piece of love Granny left me. Tears fill my eyes as anger floods my heart. I fly to the closet, my ankle bracelets trying to keep me grounded as I no longer want to touch the same floor as Uncle Aniol did, as I want to flee from the broken glass and splintered wood and pure betrayal lying on the floor. I hate the fact that I¡¯ll have to get down to even enter the closet, but I do it in a swift dip, only to rise again as fast as I can, reaching for the book I left there. The soft feel of leather against my fingers. I can snatch it just as it rises into the air and I pull it to my chest. I am so mad I could scream, and so hurt that I could scream even louder. I only notice that I¡¯m actually crying when a tear floats in front of my eyes, a round droplet that faintly shimmers in the light coming from the open closet door. I need to go. I need to move. I cannot stay here any longer, I need to¡­ Amador. It¡¯s too early, I know, but I have nowhere else to go. My feet don¡¯t touch the path. My ankle bracelets keep me from flying over the vines, but I¡¯m too shaky with emotion to get them off now, and I don¡¯t have the patience to stop. I need to move. There is so much going through my mind that pausing to do anything else, even something as smart as taking the ankle bracelets off, is unthinkable. I need the wind against my skin, I need a way to unload the tension. So I make an effort to take every corner too fast so I almost spin out. My hands are cramping up from how tightly I am clenching my fists. I thump my feet on the ground and I kind of like the way the gravel hurts me, because it gives me another reason to waddle in this anger. I¡¯ve given him all. I have given that no good, blasted, not even a real uncle everything I had to give, and still this is how he repays me. No more. No more! I make my way past the storage units. Past the glass heap. Past the tree, past the gate. I know I am exposed now. I can feel the fear start to creep into my insides again. But I am still too angry to care, and the bitter taste of betrayal is so much stronger than the prickling of fear on my tongue. No turning back now. I¡¯m on my way to Amador, and Uncle Aniol is not going to stop me.