Page 102 of Prince of Masks
A frown tucks my brow as I turn the page.
Still, I search for a hint, an inkling, a word that jumps out at me. I search for the reason Mother and Father don’t want me reading these books.
‘Non-magical witches in krum society were the focus of a 1714-1733 study, which ultimately concluded with the creation of the Venus Theory.
The results of this study determined the difference in value of deadbloods, depending on their sex.
Male deadbloods are without the dormant magic in their reproductive organs, whereas female deadbloods retain magic within the womb, thus only female deadbloods are considered valuable in terms of reproduction.
Modern society shames and thus shuns these handicap witches, however—within cultures across the world and throughout time—there have been moments of worship.’
Worship?
I run my fingertip down the page, one line at a time, as though I can’t quite believe what I’m reading.
‘As far back as the second century, communities within countries we now recognise as Mesopotamia and Egypt, both shared practices where the strongest males would compete in battle.
The males who won victory were rewarded with the wifery of a female deadblood.
This was a revered prize as it was believed that the handicap witches were unable to access their own magic which existed within the tissue of their organs, thus it was supposed her destined purpose was to birth the strongest witches of the next generation.
To mate with such a witch elevated the status of the male warrior within the small society.’
The next few pages are smeared and faded.
The ink is so old on the parchment that time has eaten much of it away and I can’t make out more than a word here and there.
I flick through the blank pages until I find neater ink: ‘DIFFERENTIATING DEADBLOODS FROM KRUMS.’
‘The magic of a deadblood is dormant, but not non-existent. Thus it will appear within the blood of the witch.
Witchblood, held directly under the moonlight, will reflect the sky itself.
Nature belongs to nature, which belongs to the universe.
Krum blood will appear as it is. There will be no change.’
I huff and flick through the pages faster. I scan every heading on every other page, until finally, I slam the book shut.
For a long while, I stare ahead at nothing.
I don’t see the details on the mantle, the fine frame of the fireplace, I don’t see the flames or the charred log or the metal grate—I don’t see anything.
I’m too deep in my thoughts.
Nothing this book told me is a shock.
None of it is new information, except remote lores about how wonderful deadbloods are for reproduction, and maybe I do wish I was revered instead of ostracised.
But really, I can’t imagine why Mother and Father would want to keep this information from me.
I have always known, since I was diagnosed, that I have the magic in me, it’s only dormant. That it will pass on to my children—and that I have a handicap.
Maybe Oliver really did steal my magic in utero, and my parents are protecting me from that knowledge. I said something like that once, a little rumour I might have spilled at Bluestone, but I never put weight behind it.
I did wonder. His power is great. Mine is none at all. But then, it’s such a weakly supported theory that it borders on guesswork.
I shake my head and reach for the envelope.
