Page 2 of Faeheart
“The Thorne family has always led magical innovation,” he said firmly. “And Elias is more than capable of handling this challenge. Aren’t you, son?”
It wasn’t really a question. It never was with Father. But for once, I found myself genuinely wanting what was being offered to me.
“Yes, Father,” I replied, and this time, the words had my approval behind them.
Later that afternoon, as I packed my suitcases for the return to Widdershins, I found myself pausing over an old photograph. It had been taken three years ago, at the Winter Solstice Gala on campus. I was a freshman then and new to Widdershins Academy. There were several friends around me, witches from high-ranking families like me, that were trying to make their parents proud.
That was the year I felt most like myself. It was my first time out of the house and on my own. I allowed myself to cut loose a little, to have some fun. But when my grades came in at the end of the year and I’d gotten less than top marks in my evocation class, my parents nearly lost their minds.
That summer that followed was one of the hardest of my life. My father took it upon himself to drill me day and night in every bit of magic he thought Ishouldknow. Meanwhile, what little free time I did have was chaperoned by my mother, who decided she needed to find therightsort of friendsfor me to be involved with.
Since that summer, I’d not gone to a party on campus, hung out with friends outside of mealtimes, or done anything except homework, it seemed. The professors were given special instructions to keep me busy, and that’s exactly what they did. Because of all that, I was one of the strongest witches at theacademy. But also, one that nobody would miss should I not come back to school for my senior year.
I set the photograph down and continued packing, methodically folding each robe and organizing my ritual components by elemental correspondence. Mother insisted on this system. Fire elements went into red silk pouches, water in blue, and so on. It was efficient, I had to admit, but sometimes I wondered what it might be like to just... throw things in a bag and go.
A soft knock interrupted my thoughts.
“Come in,” I called, closing the silver clasp on my enchanted luggage.
Varina, our house witch, entered with a small wooden box in her hands. Though technically our servant, she’d been with the family since before I was born and sometimes felt more like an aunt than staff.
“Your grandmother asked me to bring you this to you when the time was right,” she said, her voice low as if sharing a secret. She set the box on my desk, her weathered hands lingering on the carved lid. “Considering your acceptance into this special project, I think now is the time.”
“What is it?” I asked, approaching cautiously. Magic emanated from the box in subtle waves. It was old magic, not the clean, sterile kind Father typically approved of.
Varina’s eyes twinkled. “Some of your grandmother’s personal things. It’s from a time before the Thorne family became quite so... structured.”
My curiosity piqued, I reached for the box, but Varina placed her hand over mine.
“Your father doesn’t know what’s in here,” she whispered. “Your grandmother was not always the proper witch your parents remember. She had... adventures. And ambition. And talent… so much talent.”
“Adventures?” The word tasted foreign and exciting on my tongue.
Varina nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “The Thornes weren’t always about perfect hedges and formal teas, you know. There was a time when your family’s name inspired both awe and a little fear.” She patted my hand. “Don’t tell your mother I said that.”
“Thank you, Varina,” I said, holding the box in my trembling hands. “I’ll keep it a secret.”
“Good idea,” she smiled, patting me on the shoulder. “Now finish your packing and don’t forget to have a little fun this year, okay?”
I smiled, pulling her in for a quick hug. “Thank you.”
After she left, I opened the box carefully. Inside lay an assortment of items that looked nothing like the pristine magical tools I was accustomed to. There was a small bone knife with strange carvings along the handle, a vial of what appeared to be quicksilver but moved with too much purpose, and a leather-bound journal, its pages yellowed with age.
I picked up the journal, feeling a jolt of connection as my fingers touched the worn cover. Opening to a random page, I found spells written in my grandmother’s flowing script. They were spells unlikeanyI’d studied at Widdershins. Spells with emotion woven into their very construction, with variables rather than constants, with room for improvisation.
Wild magic.
My pulse quickened as I flipped through more pages. This wasn’t the rigid, formulaic magic my father practiced. This was magic that breathed and adapted, that required the witch to be fully present rather than merely precise. It was more like a prayer and less like writing an equation.
A folded piece of paper slipped from between the pages. I unfolded it to find a photograph I’d never seen before—mygrandmother, young and vibrant, her hair flowing freely around her shoulders. She was standing arm-in-arm with a tall, willowy figure whose features seemed to shift the longer I stared. The stranger’s hair appeared to be made of autumn leaves and copper wire, their eyes unnaturally bright against skin that seemed to glow from within. A fae. My grandmother had known a fae. Not only that, she was standing in front of the Seelie Court, a place not in our world.
On the back of the photograph, in the same flowing script as the journal, were the words: “Briar Hall, Summer Solstice. The night I learned that rules are merely suggestions to those brave enough to bend them.”
I sat heavily on my bed, the photograph trembling in my hands. Everything I’d been taught about the fae, their dangerous beauty, their trickster ways, their wild, untamed magic, rushed through my mind. And here was my grandmother, looking happier than I’d ever seen her in family portraits, embracing one.
Had Father seen this? Did he know?
Sure, there were a few fae students at school, but even friendships were rare between my kind and theirs. Outside of the academy, it was even more so. Witches kept to the mortal plane. Fae, on the other hand, had a tendency to return to their own plane of existence where they could be wild and free with reckless abandon. From what little I’d studied, it seemed like a chaotic place where humans, even magical ones, stood little chance of surviving.
