Page 64 of Stolen Magic

My voice faltered. I hated how much that truth hurt, how it stripped away everything we’d built. But doing what was right mattered more than protecting what I’d wrongfully stolen.

“That’s impossible,” Lord Velgrin spoke up. “You interacted with countless people during your masquerade; we can’t simply ask all of them to pretend you never existed.”

“No, but we can…persuadethem.” I evenly met his eyes.

The king rose to his feet, staring at me. “Are you a mage? From Myrona?”

The sinister greed darkening his voice caused me to tremble. Gwen stepped close, her presence a comfort.

“I am the daughter of the Flamekeeper,” I said in a low voice. “And I would like to offer a trade: for your agreement in allowing me to keep my memory erased from Callan and the court, I offer my magical assistance. I know you seek what only my line can offer. I am still new to the use of my magic, but I am ready to learn and serve.”

Over the course of an exhausting hour, the king and his advisor questioned me, naturally suspicious of my claims, but eventually the deal was struck. Rather than prison or death, I faced a fate I would once have considered even worse—helping the kingdom that had once been my greatest enemy, but which had become anything but now that its heir possessed my heart. Helping the kingdom he loved was all I had left to offer after the kindness he’d shown me.

Gwen and I were escorted back to my old chambers that were now hers, guards posted at the door while the king met with his mages. Eventually I was sent for and escorted outside, flanked by a guard and a mage. I recognized our destination—the magical herb garden Callan had shown me.

The king waited beside it, and when I approached, he gestured at the flame-lily in the center. With my heightened senses now that the curse was broken, I could see a thin networkof shimmering lines creating a protective barrier around it—a magical ward.

“I have hunted for this plant for years,” the king said.

I shut my eyes as a wave of sorrow and anger rolled over me, flooding me with memories.

“It is the key to keeping Eldoria from dying,” he continued. “All this prosperity you see? It’s a ruse.”

I opened my eyes, looking at him in confusion.

“Look.” Lord Velgrin pointed across the field. “Can you see that everything is held together with magic? Not the kind of magic that naturally flows through the world, but a magic that artificially keeps plants growing, soil producing, rain falling. Years ago, a powerful wizard cursed Eldoria with death, and the only cure is a spell of life.”

A spell of life. My eyes widened as I stared at the flame-lily. My family’s magic, born from the flame-lily, symbolized life. Could this be the king’s true purpose in destroying everything I knew?

“Your mother came to us once,” Lord Velgrin continued. “We offered her wealth, power, anything in exchange for the spell that would save us. She refused, claiming she didn’t trust us, believing we would use such powerful magic for our own ends. We tried to convince her, but she fled and hid for years in Myrona. So we began to hunt through the surrounding countries, hoping to find her or someone else with the power we needed. When we couldn’t, we took any magic we could find, using it to keep our land alive in hopes that one day we would find the cure. When we found the Flamekeeper ten years ago, she once again refused, and there was a battle of magic.”

I stood frozen, my breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a cry. My mother hadn’t died because of some distant, faceless tragedy—she had been hunted, trapped. And still, she had stood her ground, even when the cost was her life. She hadstood against kings and courts, refusing to bend even when the world demanded it…then died protecting a secret too powerful to entrust to those who would twist it into chains.

A storm of emotion crashed over me. Tears burned my eyes, but I blinked them back. I wasn’t that frightened girl hiding behind masks anymore—I was her daughter who would demonstrate the same bravery she once had. I took a shaky breath to steady myself, trying to shut out the memories of crashing and screaming I’d heard as I cowered in the basement.

“Rather than allowing herself to be captured and used, she chose to die,” the king said. “My men returned with this flame-lily, but it was useless without a mage from your bloodline. And we did not know you existed, thanks to your mother’s curse that stifled your magical signature so we could not track you.”

I gasped, staring down at my unmarked palm. Mother’s last burst of magic had been spent to protect me—ensuring that Eldoria could not use me once she was gone. Until now, as I made my own choice.

“I am still not convinced that helping Eldoria is the right thing to do, considering my mother died to avoid it,” I said. “But I have chosen to trust Callan and the kingdom he and Princess Gwendolyn will foster. I will help if I can.” I looked down at my hands again, now free of the seal but untrained in the ways of magic. “Though I don’t know how.”

The accompanying mage, Serephine, stepped forward. “I will help you learn,” she promised. “I have spent my life studying this magic, and though I cannot perform it, I think I can help you understand how to wield it.”

For a moment, I could only stare at her, too stunned to speak. I had surrendered my magic freely—sacrificed it as penance to choose what was right, even at great cost. I hadn’t expected there would be anything left for me afterward, but this was a mercy I hadn’t dared to hope for.

Something fragile and long-buried stirred in my chest as a piece of myself I thought I’d lost forever flickered back to life. To be allowed to learn magic again and rebuild what I had broken—not as a thief of magic, but as someone trusted to carry it—was a gift beyond anything I’d thought I deserved.

Exhausted and filled with emotions I couldn’t yet process, I returned to the palace, where Gwen had begun settling into the chambers I’d occupied during my time as the imposter princess. I wasn’t sure where I would be lodged now that I was a magical servant rather than the crown prince’s fiancée.

Gwen wasn’t there when I arrived. Quietly I began to pack, placing only a few cherished trinkets into the worn satchel I had brought with me: the now dried bouquet of violets Callan had given me the evening of our first meeting, his letters worn soft at the folds from how frequently I’d reread his dear words, and the final phial of the glowing essence I had risked everything to gather during my sojourn in the palace, though its light had long since dimmed.

The door creaked open behind me. I turned, expecting a servant, and found Gwen just inside the threshold, poised and regal. Her hair was braided in the formal court style again fit for the future queen, and she wore lavender silk—the same dress I had worn the day I first arrived in Eldoria as an imposter…and the same gown I had worn during my first stroll with Callan in the garden.

The memory caressed my thoughts, lingering on when he had smiled at me so tenderly and given me the necklace that now rested, warm and familiar, against my skin. My fingers found the pendant, memorizing the feel of the fleur-de-lis against my palm, as if it could anchor my heart aching with suppressed longing.

Gwen’s gaze dropped to the bouquet in my hands, lingering on the way I gently laid it atop the folded gowns in my satchel.For a long moment, she said nothing as a quiet war raged in her eyes. Then, as if coming to a decision, she nodded to herself and lifted her chin to meet my gaze.

Though she looked weary, her expression remained gentle. “There’s no need to pack,” she said.

---