Page 24 of Ruled By Magic

A peculiar lassitude crept over me as I viewed myself. As if the person in the mirror wasn’t me. So why did it matter what I wore? Was it a good thing, a sign I’d adjusted to my situation, or a dangerous indication of how quickly I could lose myself? My actions earlier in the day, the carnal pleasure I’d experienced with the Lord Commander. None of it felt real. My new existence was a fever dream of need, shame, and an unnatural desire to please my jailor. Not me. Not my life.

The Lord Commander did a double take when I emerged. “She’s outdone herself this time.”

“Who?”

Did he seem a little embarrassed? “I inherited a lot of staff when I became Lord Commander. A personal stylist came as part of the package. She chooses all my working clothes. And now, yours too. Under my direction, of course.”

That explained the endless red shirts. The stylist aimed for a certain look. “Where does she find these dresses?” I let my distaste show. “I didn’t think anything like this existed.”

He smirked. “It doesn’t, in Dexia. Other territories are far more open-minded. In Alaria, your outfits are unremarkable evening wear. She sources them over there and has them teleported in.”

How much did that cost? A sickening expense, money that could be used elsewhere. Did it come out of the territory treasury, or his own personal funds? I would have roasted him for it on my news channel. Corrupt Lord Commander wastes thousands garbing his consort in the latest Alarian fashions.

How would I have viewed myself from the outside looking in? Not favorably. It’s so easy to judge without knowing the full story. I adjusted my straps for the millionth time. Unremarkable evening wear? What sort of place was Alaria? Frustration coiled through me at my limited knowledge of the world. Only mages could afford overseas travel, and it was rare, even for them. All foreign media was banned. Living in Dexia was like living in a bubble, knowing interesting places awaited on the outside but having no way to reach them.

I dragged my focus back to the Lord Commander.

“You must thank her for me.” Sarcasm coated every word.

His smirk widened. “I’ll send her your compliments, along with my own. I’m looking forward to peeling that off when we get home. Or maybe you can leave it on. You’ll be the centerpiece of the event tonight, but since you behaved so perfectly for me earlier, you’ve earned a brief visit. Now,”—he held out his hand—“let’s go.”

We appeared in a long, broad corridor, high ceilinged and bright. My heels clicked on a marble floor, white threaded with gold. Paintings lined the walls, floor-to-ceiling behemoths in thick gilded frames. A lone harpist in white played, and servers circled with drinks and food. I ignored the gasps and whispers my appearance generated, my jaw set.

The Lord Commander raised a hand to the other guests, took my arm, and we walked in silence, examining the paintings. Movement caught my eye, and as I focused on one, it shifted. The pattern changed and colors blurred into different shapes, like a living kaleidoscope. Curiosity overrode my wariness. I looked at the Lord Commander and gestured to the painting. “How does that work? I’ve never seen one before.”

His lips curved up. “I’m not sure. Magical art never interested me. It was the only class I failed at the Academy. I believe it takes a team of mages supplying different colors, and they seal the lot in.”

“Different colors?”

He turned to me. “We’re all born with a unique shade to our power. Mine is blue.” He held up his hand, and a tiny blue flame appeared at the tip of his finger. “The same color as your mark.”

I covered my cheek, self-conscious. We moved on.

Another painting grabbed my attention. A woman in rags, on her knees in a snowy wasteland, surrounded by claw-like shadows. I froze, and the Lord Commander drew to a stop next to me.

“I remember this one.” My voice echoed in the vaulted room. “It’s a depiction of hell—trapped in the cold, away from the light of Zantus.”

The Lord Commander’s brow creased as he studied the painting. “Are you religious, then?”

I turned to face him. “If I was, I’d have chosen the prison, wouldn’t I? Because if Zantus is real, that frozen hell is where I’m heading.”

He laughed, surprise splashed over his features. “I suppose so. Me too. I expect everyone interesting ends up there. Heaven must be a dull place.” He waved a hand at the painting. “Where did you come across this before? An excursion with your Academy?”

“No. My mum loved art. She had a book of classic paintings, and we’d read it together when I was a kid. This one gave me nightmares. I still have it, somewhere. I put it away once she died. Couldn’t look at it.” I clamped my mouth shut and turned back to the painting. Why the fuck was I telling him this? He wouldn’t care.

“What happened to her?” His voice, soft and curious, surprised me.

A dangerous topic, but I may as well tell the truth. “A mage killed her. He was high on banzo dust, thought monsters were trying to kill him. She worked nights in the kitchen at a restaurant and was walking home. He blasted her with magic and smashed her into a wall. They told me she died right away.” My voice cracked. “I was twelve. He never went to prison, it got recorded as an accident. That shit happens all the time. It’s why I started my site.”

The Lord Commander stayed silent for so long I didn’t think he would answer. I glanced at him. He drew in a breath, let it out, and turned to me, jaw tight. “That isn’t right. I’m sorry you lost your mother so young. I’d have been angry, too. But your site didn’t just target the guilty.”

I swallowed and looked down. The Lord Commander set off again, and I walked beside him until he paused in front of a colorful piece. An intricate oil painting of tiny birds, in a multitude of bright shades, perched in a tree. He stared at it blank-eyed, as though his thoughts were elsewhere. I found my courage.

“I really am sorry about your friend. I should have investigated properly. There’s no excuse.”

He tore his gaze from the painting with a sigh. “Sam was devoted to his family. Prone to depression, but he pushed through. He’d made a good life for himself. When the scandal hit, he couldn’t cope. His wife found him.”

I closed my eyes. Guilt sluiced through me in a nauseous green wave. “I never meant for anything like that to happen. If I’d known, I’d have shut the site down myself.”

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