Page 7 of Twisted Magic

Still, he could have stuck to his resolve not to bond a familiar at all. If he had, then he wouldn’t be undergoing this daily torture with Liat to learn to control his healing ability. Back when he’d healed only himself and affected no one else, he hadn’t had to worry about draining someone else dry of magic—not incidentally, also killing them in the process—nor about what having a human battery connected to his twisted and powerful ability would do if unleashed upon the world.

But Seliah was his, for better or worse, so he’d better learn that control. As unlikely as that eventuality seemed, given his progress thus far. Somehow, he suspected the missive glaring menacingly at him bore news that spelled the end of their recuperation and learning time.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to read it?” Seliah asked softly.

“I’m doing it,” he snapped, and touched his finger to the seal. It sent up a spark, a small, three-dimensional illusion of a lightning bolt, gold on a field of purple, a showy bit of El-Adrel magic. The scroll unrolled itself with a flourish and an echo of invisible trumpets, all of it screaming his mother’s adoration of everything glamorous. She played Lady El-Adrel to the hilt, especially when it came to manipulating her progeny.

Except the letter wasn’t from his mother.

Oh, her magic had sealed it, as only a wizard could do, but she hadn’t written the words.

His father had.

Emotion could be a funny thing. For weeks Jadren hadn’t thought about his father, and yet now it felt as if Fyrdo sat in the room with them—and Jadren’s eyes stung sharply, pricked with invisible needles. Suddenly, and ridiculously, it seemed he might break into unmanful tears at any moment and weep like a child, just from seeing his father’s elegant handwriting. Leaning his head on his hand, Jadren blinked rapidly, willing his eyes to clear enough to focus on the message.

“Jadren?” Seliah asked tentatively, leaning across the table to fold her fingers around his wrist. Her cool-bright magic waited for him, deep pools of moon-silvered water. Though he didn’t need to draw on her, just the sense of her magic, freely offered, helped to soothe the ragged edges of the wound abruptly rent open by receiving a letter from his father.

Fyrdo had been made to do it, of course. That much was obvious, especially since Katica wasn’t the sort to let her familiar do anything without her knowledge, and Fyrdo wouldn’t willingly apply emotional pressure to any of his children. Where Katica El-Adrel arguably didn’t know how to love, Fyrdo possessed all the ability she lacked. He loved all of his progeny, awful as they were—which included Jadren—and had always done his best to protect them from their criminally ambitious and morally corrupt mother. Fyrdo had been the one to free Seliah and Jadren from their cage in the testing labs. He’d said goodbye to Jadren using their old code: three taps for I love you.

Jadren hadn’t had any way to know if his father’s complicity had been discovered, though it almost certainly had, nor what the punishment had been, though certainly it had been horrible. Katica understood pain very well. She’d made a science of it.

And now she’d made her familiar write this letter.

“It’s from my father,” Jadren managed to tell Seliah, his voice as creaky as his heart.

She gasped in delight that quickly morphed into fear. “Fyrdo—is he all right?”

“We can’t know, can we?” Jadren retorted drily, finding more certain ground in scratching at her. “My mother will have supervised every word.”

Seliah nodded in rueful understanding, dropping her hand. “Will you read it to me?

He cleared his throat and read aloud.

My Dear Son,

I hope you and Seliah are well. I mean that in every sense. We have been so terribly concerned about you both since House Phel reportedly lost you. When we recently learned that you’d been at House Refoel for most of the summer, we could only think the worst. Please write and reassure your family of your health—or inform us of your needs so that the house of your birth may do whatever is necessary to ransom your freedom. Particularly as it seems that your contracted house is disinclined to take action. You will always be an El-Adrel, and so should call upon us for anything at all.

You must come home.

Come home and bring the lovely Seliah with you. We are aware that she is the key to your happiness. We are reassured that you did not take drastic measures there, as an Elal might.

All is forgiven. And I do mean all. Your mother asks me to tell you that you’ve made your point. You need not seek training and succor among the healers, if you are indeed there of your own free will. El-Adrel will defend you against all grievances. Just come home, as soon as you can manage it. Reply to this missive and we’ll send transportation for you. It would arrive faster than you might think.

Your mother sends her love and deepest concern. As always, mine is written between every line.

Father

~4~

Selly waited a beat—in case there was some sort of postscript, and in case Jadren had a comment. But he just sat there, staring at the scroll, his pale complexion so drained of color that the scattering of freckles high on his cheekbones showed as starkly as stars in the sky, making him look young and vulnerable. Truly, she wished he’d offer some sort of acerbic remark.

“I suppose there’s a lot encoded in that message besides the emotional leveraging?” she finally asked.

Jadren lifted his gaze to hers, haunted and so black that his eyes looked like the pools of tar that lurked in the marshes of Meresin, from which nothing escaped. “What?” He sounded almost surprised to find her sitting there.

Feeling like her nakedness would only distract them both, and not in a good way, she got up and put on one of the several robes Refoel had gifted her. Chaim had been generous. A bit too much so, but Selly knew her own heart and mind. She wouldn’t be swayed by all the charm and gifts Chaim could muster. She was apparently just perverse enough to crave Jadren’s jibes and sly insults over all the compliments in the world.

“Written between every line,” Jadren finally said, sounding annoyed enough to give her heart. She turned around to find him eyeing her with a sardonic half-smile, black eyes glittering with irritation. “Unfortunately, I don’t know the code to read what might be there,” he added. “Another chapter in the pitiful and twisted story of my life.”

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