Page 7 of Stolen Magic

Inside, nestled among the roots, was a small pool of liquid silver—a magical essence so pure and potent that it seemed to hum with power. My heart skipped a beat at the sight. This was more than I had ever hoped to find throughout a lifetime of scavenging, a discovery that was enough to cast not just one spell but several for the future I was determined to reclaim. I envisioned myself using this magic to not only inflict vengeance on those who’d wounded me, but to keep them from harming other innocent families…in some small way restoring Myrona to the kingdom I remembered.

With magic finally back in my possession—albeit a small and treasured amount—I felt a renewed determination to pursue that path, not out of hope for peace or restoration but out of an unquenchable need to act to doanythingto repair the shards of loss from my lacerated heart.

The question still weighing upon my mind washow. Gone were the innocent days when I wanted to use magic to create wonder—flowers blooming from a single touch, air sparkling with glitter, or the simple glamour that made an ordinary dayfeel like a festival. Such uses seemed frivolous and almost painfully naive, given my current needs. Whatever power I miraculously obtained would be utilized for one purpose and one purpose only.

Throughout the years the relentless search within myself for even a pinprick of power beneath the oppressive seal had been like nurturing a dormant seed in barren soil. Initially, my magic had been entirely lifeless, smothered by the curse. But with time and relentless perseverance akin to exercising a weakened muscle, I had managed to coax a whisper of magic back into existence.

It wasn’t enough to cast the spells Mother had taught me that required only my personal magic to fuel the spoken enchantments; I needed an outside source of magic to successfully cast a spell, which was why I hunted for any stray particle of wild magic I could find.

Yet I was grateful for even this ability after years of being completely cut off from my birthright. The only explanation I could account for achieving this seemingly impossible feat was that the curse itself was flawed, cast by someone with more power than skill, as if unaccustomed to the magic they wielded…a plausible explanation, considering it had likely been stolen similar to my own powers. With this realization came the hope that even the mightiest spell could eventually be unraveled by its weakest link.

Yet willpower alone was insufficient against its formidable nature. No matter the lack of sophistication in its casting, the curse bore a power distinctly its own, deeply entrenched and frustratingly resilient. I had faced many moments of despair during times all my efforts seemed futile, when every attempt to harness even the smallest spell fizzled out into nothingness.

Now circumstances were different—I possessed enough magic that was not trapped beneath my skin to tip thebalance between my power and the force of the curse in my favor. I measured the magic I had collected, estimating it carefully. It appeared to be enough for multiple simple spells…or one, perhaps two complex spells. My mind raced through the possibilities. A tracking spell might uncover more about Eldoria, the kingdom responsible for Mother’s death and my current plight…but that wouldn’t allow me to infiltrate the court undetected and investigate. That step could come later.

Almost as if she could sense my inner turmoil, Myst nuzzled my hand. From her deep and knowing gaze a sudden clarity washed over me through the magical telepathy we shared, an idea steeped in the potential for retribution, tailored to the revenge smoldering in my heart.

A Spell of Opportunity.

My breath caught at the ingenious possibility. Of course. The spell was one of the earliest forms of magic Mother had taught me, a charm that acted as a plea to magic itself to guide me towards the path that would create the opportunity I desperately needed to enact my revenge. For all my thirst for vengeance, I lacked a way to bring my desperation to fruition.

Twilight had entirely cloaked the forest by the time I returned to my hovel. There I prepared for the incantation. Myst sat beside me, her eyes reflecting the faint glow of the magical essence we had collected from the hollow tree as I carefully poured it into a small, shallow basin that had once belonged to Mother, my hands shaking with the familiar thrill of anticipation.

Closing my eyes, I reached out towards the liquid magic, letting my fingertips graze the surface as I began the spell. “Magic that binds and bends, hear my plea,” I whispered into the gathering darkness. “Grant me the chance to right the wrongs done by leading me to the crossroads that will bring me to my enemies.”

With every word the air around me pulsed with potential, the magic stirring like a living entity, responding to my voice. As the incantation reached its climax, the seal on my hand began to throb, resisting the flow of magic through me. I gasped as invisible chains seemed to tighten around my wrist, a stark reminder of the barriers still imposed upon my powers.

Gritting my teeth against the pain, I pressed forward, but it felt like trying to walk against a fierce wind, every step met with resistance. The curse fought me, straining to hold the magic back and prevent my completing the spell, but I pushed through the discomfort, anchoring myself to the fragile thread of power I had uncovered and nurtured over the years. With painstaking effort, I chipped away at each obstacle barring my magic, forcing open space for the spell to take root and begin to bloom.

Calm settled over me as I uttered the final word, a mixture of relief and resolve. I pushed against the very bounds of my curse; now it was up to the magic to decide whether my plea would be answered. I could already sense it like a whisper on the wind, calling to the unseen forces that lingered in the land, beckoning them to guide my path.

Though it was a fragile spell, delicate in its construction, it wasalive—a faint thread of magic that wound its way through the forest, pointing unerringly towards what I was certain was the kingdom of Eldoria where my enemies awaited me.

CHAPTER 4

Myst’s steps were sure and silent as she led the way through the twilight-shrouded woods, following the magical thread that guided us more surely than any map. I had no idea what destination lay at the end of our journey, but trusted that the spell I’d woven would lead me to the fulfillment of my greatest wish.

The faint pulse of power navigated the forest far more swiftly than I had anticipated. A trek that should have taken days according to any logical estimation seemed to pass in a mere fraction of that time, as if the spell I’d cast—feeble though it was—tapped into the hidden strands of the lingering magic that still existed in our land, hastening our travel.

After journeying throughout the evening, the castle’s towering spires eventually came into view. I hid in the shadows along the edge of the forest, my attention fixated on the flag atop the tallest tower—not bearing Eldoria’s eagle insignia that I’d expected, but Myrona’s familiar fleur-de-lis.

Confusion clouded my thoughts that I hadn’t been led to where my enemies resided, making me wonder if the seal on my hand had thwarted me, weakening or misdirecting my magic.

I cast Myst an uncertain glance. “Is this truly the correct place?” I’d been certain of the outcome when I’d cast my spell, trusting in the power that still simmered within me no matter how deeply it’d been suppressed. But in truth it being stolen from me at such a young age had left me untrained and thus susceptible to mistakes.

Myst’s luminescent gaze remained on the flag as whispers of her enchanted communication caressed my thoughts.Don’t cling too hard to your preconceptions. There are multiple paths to your destination, and a journey as precarious as yours must be taken with great care.

Some of my tightening worry eased. I’d yearned for this goal for so long that my anxiety had caused me to cling unnecessarily to each step, but Mother had always taught me that wasn’t how magic worked—I needed to trust in a force beyond my understanding, yet far more powerful and knowledgeable than my own wisdom. If the Spell of Opportunity hadn’t taken me directly to the court of Eldoria, then I would have to trust that this backdoor was the best means of reaching the goal I had once thought forever out of reach.

With a wavering breath I directed my feet towards the servant’s entrance, Myst walking steadfastly at my side in silent support. Snippets of the guards’ conversation drifted towards me as I neared the gate, offering my first hint as to why the magic had chosen this particular destination.

“I can’t believe the princess’s handmaiden took ill so suddenly,” a guard told his comrade. “Will they be able to find her a competent replacement in the month before she weds the Crown Prince of Eldoria?”

I slowed, my attention catching hold to any mention of the royal family I loathed.

The other guard shook his head. “It will be difficult to find anyone willing to take on such a position, especially on suchshort notice. Given the history between our two kingdoms, accompanying Princess Gwendolyn is a risk most would refuse, even for such a prestigious position.”

My thoughts whirled in disbelief at this unexpected information. Her Highness required a companion to accompany her to the very enemy court I sought to infiltrate? The circumstances seemed far too good to be true…but this was undoubtedly no mere coincidence with magic at work behind the scenes.

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