Page 112 of Secrets of Avalon

Lady Suriel pauses her spell-work, curiosity etched on her face. "A price? What do you mean, milady?"

The queen also waits expectantly for my answer.

Memories flood back, bringing a lump to my throat. "Where I'm from, magick drains life. Animals, plants... sometimes even people die every time it’s used. It's not... it's not like this. It’s not for fun or useful things."

The room falls silent. Queen Isolde steps closer, meeting my gaze with a kind expression. She places a gentle hand on my arm. "Oh, my dear girl," she says softly. "I can't imagine living in such a world. It must be frightening to look around and worry who the magick might hurt."

“It is, but I’m getting better. I’m more in control of my magick now than ever before.”

"What does your magic feel like, Melinda?" Isolde asks.

The question catches me off guard. I open my mouth to respond, and close it again. I take a deep breath, closing my eyes for a moment. How does it feel? "I... well, I've never really thought about it."

“To me, the world around me is malleable. Like there are little threads and handles on everything around me and I just have to tug on them to move or change them.” She turns to the modiste and points to the table. “Go grab that pair of slippers, Suriel.”

Lady Suriel retrieves a pair of exquisite white satin slippers, placing them reverently before me.

Isolde's voice takes on a teacher's tone. "Look beyond their surface, Melinda. See the threads that wove them, the goats whose wool became fabric, the dyes infusing color into the threads. Try to perceive the energy pulsing within each component."

I scrunch my face like that will help me think better. "Like at a molecular level? You mean atomic energy?"

Isolde’s face lights up. “I don’t know those particular terms, but everything in the universe is made of energy. And the Fae can see it and manipulate it.”

"But I'm not just Fae," I protest, squinting at the slippers. My eyes strain, searching for any hint of the magical threads Isolde describes. Frustration bubbles up inside me as I see nothing but ordinary, albeit beautiful, footwear. "I don't see anything special. No threads, no handles—just shoes."

"And therein lies the mystery," Isolde says, her voice tinged with excitement. "If you have Fae blood, you should be able to manipulate energy as I do, though perhaps not yet with the same finesse."

Shame washes over me. "I've only ever hurt people with my magick. I've never created anything beautiful."

Isolde's expression grows serious. "I've felt your power, Melinda. It's like you're grasping all the threads at once, trying to change everything and nothing simultaneously. It's raw, but there's immense potential there."

My mind reels, thoughts ricocheting like pinballs. "Isn't there some test for Fae heritage?" I blurt out, desperation edging my voice. "A spell or ritual to confirm it?" Images flash through my mind—blood tests, DNA sequencing, the cold certainty of scientific proof.

"Kellan and Ares both said I wasn't human, but on Earth, magick is binary—you either have it or you don't. We don't have distinct magical races." The words tumble out, each one underlining how far I am from everything familiar, how little I truly understand about myself.

The Queen shakes her head, and my heart sinks. "Fae abilities aren't so easily categorized," she explains. "Ancient bloodlines carry more power, strengthened through centuries of selective marriages. Even some common families possess remarkable gifts." She pauses, her eyes meeting mine with sympathy. "But there's no definitive test for Fae heritage."

I deflate, disappointment heavy on my shoulders..

Isolde reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear with motherly affection. "Fae are unique among the eight worlds. We're indistinguishable from humans, save for Olympians–and their obsession with ambrosia makes them easy to identify. Fae and Olympians can also procreate with humans. I’ve always thought that humans used to be Fae… just that they had generationally lost whatever it was that allowed them to manipulate the energy of the world." She points to the slippers at my feet, her voice encouraging. "Now, focus on those white shoes. In your mind's eye, see them transform to vibrant red."

The Inquisitors would hate to learn they might have once been fae… but even as convincing as the Queen makes it sound, I struggle to believe it’s the truth. Not all magick on earth looks like Fae magick. And after being here and seeing the things I’ve seen, I now desire to question everything I thought I knew.

I stare at the delicate slippers once more, my heart pounding. I can’t control my magick. People get hurt when I use it. I’d seen my mother do it before. Change things. Manipulate reality. But only to protect us. Only when it was absolutely necessary. She’d even tried to teach me when I was younger. But I always hurt people.

And if I hurt Hawke’s mother he’d never forgive me and I’d never forgive myself.

I shake my head, my stomach clenching. "No, I... I can't." The words come out barely above a whisper. I force myself to meet Isolde's gaze, my own eyes pleading for understanding. "I can't risk hurting either of you. Not when I don't know what I'm doing."

A flicker of disappointment crosses Isolde's face, and guilt surges through me. Here she is, trying to help, and I'm refusing. But the memories of past accidents haunt me.

I swallow hard and turn back to the mirror, desperate to move past this moment. "Please, let's continue with the dress," I say quickly. "There's so much to prepare for the wedding and coronation tomorrow. I don't want to waste your time."

Isolde’s lips part like she’s going to say something, but instead she presses them closed again and nods.

I glance past her and my reflection looks back at me with such grief. Suddenly my view blurs. My parents' faces flash in my mind, vivid and achingly familiar, and my chest constricts painfully. They'll never see me walk down the aisle. They're gone, forever out of reach.

Except for Hawke, I'm utterly alone in this strange world. And even he... if we can't break this curse, I'll lose him too. The thought sends icy tendrils of fear crawling up my spine.

---