Page 19 of Wings of Frost and Fury
Those crystals carried residual energy and intent from the last spell he’d worked with them—the Rotting Death, performed on enemy spies at the Queen’s request.
Failing to cure the crystals myself was a foolish error—the mistake of a student, not a master, as I’d thought myself to be. And yet I couldn’t help being horrified at the kind of spells my father was doing for the Queen. He didn’t seem troubled in the slightest by the nature of his work or by Katlee’s death, except for the fact that it embarrassedhim. It was disappointing tohimthat I had failed, “and in such a stupid way,” as he put it.
The mistake was mine; I acknowledged that, and I still do. But if my father had been performing a milder spell, or a beneficial one, Katlee would not have died. Things might still have gone wrong, but I could have fixed it. She could have been saved.
I wasn’t registered as a trained sorcerer, and even if I had been on the books as a novice, the spell I attempted would only have been allowed for an enchantress several classes higher. To be cleared to perform such a deeply transformative spell on a human, I would have had to pass stringent exams and go through a lengthy practicum.
In Elekstan, self-taught sorcerers are not illegal. People can hire them, knowing there’s a risk. But if sorcerers without official training attempt spells above a certain level, with bad results, there are consequences. Those consequences usually involve fines and jail time, depending on the extent of the damage caused by the malpractice.
Since I caused a death, I should have been imprisoned for years and heavily fined. But Katlee, with her foresight and kindness, had left behind a letter, signed and sealed in the event of her death, declaring that she had persuaded me to do the spell against my better judgment, begging her family and the Court to spare me from repercussions if it went wrong.
Even after death, she protected me.
Because of her plea and my father’s proximity to the Crown, I wasn’t fined or jailed. But I was banished from Court and forbidden to ever practice magic within the royal city or thesurrounding regions. The sentence was handed down by the Queen herself, two days before my nineteenth birthday.
That night, my father and I walked home in silence. As soon as we stepped into the foyer and the footman closed the door behind us, my father said, “You should pack your things.”
“Pack my things?”
“You disgraced me,” he said. “You rejected all my offers of help and training. You pursued knowledge far beyond your abilities without accepting the gift of my aid. You’ve brought shame upon this house, this family, this name. Your banishment from Court will forever be a stain on my legacy—a legacy I’ve been building for far longer than you’ve been alive.”
I stood silent, shaking, choking on my tears.
“I am deeply disappointed in you,” he continued. “I thought you were reasonably intelligent, but now I realize you’re as foolish, impulsive, and self-indulgent as your mother. Any power you have, you received from me, and if I could take it from you, I would. Leave this house before noon tomorrow, and go far from here. I will see to it that my steward gives you a travel allowance, and I will send you money each quarter for expenses, but I do not wish to see your face again.”
My fury finally burst through the painful tightness in my throat. “You’re not going to admit that you played a part in this? You performed that awful spell. You failed to purge the crystals before you put them away.”
“You should have checked them. Goodnight, Thelise, and goodbye.”
He went quietly upstairs, and that was the last time I saw him.
I was shattered. Convinced I would never do magic again. It came as a surprise to me that despite what happened with Katlee, there were still people desperate enough to hire me for magical services. Even so, months passed before I felt comfortable doingeven the tiniest bit of magic, and it took years for me to venture back into the art of transformation.
Since then, I have performed fourteen successful human transformations. The first was on conjoined twins who would have died without magical interference. The healers could do nothing, and the parents were desperate. When they approached me, I said that absolute secrecy was the only payment I would accept.
I could have been sentenced to life imprisonment had the spell failed. If the situation had not been so dire, I never would have had the courage to try it. I remember the nightmares that plagued me the night before the working of the spell—wretched, blood-soaked dreams.
But it worked. And when I saw those two babies alive and squirming in their own separate, healthy bodies, a measure of my confidence returned.
Following that first success, I’ve taken select cases quietly, always making the families promise that they will never reveal who did the work, lest I come back and reverse the magic. Not that I would reverse it, but the threat has so far proved effective.
Other than those cases, Elekstan’s people know me as someone who does mildly successful magic, but tends to fuck up dramatically on occasion. I’m a cautionary tale. A roll of the dice. Powerful and unpredictable.
That’s how I thought my father saw me, too, until I received his latest letter.
Over the years, he has attempted to stitch together the remnants of our relationship with his missives. They’re pathetically short, containing bits of news about the house and the Court, and occasionally including a scathing comment about the rumors of my incompetence.
This letter—this long, comprehensive letter—is much different. I don’t know what story or rumor he heard that changed his mind and convinced him I could actually be helpful.But clearly he thinks I have something to contribute. Maybe he believes I’ll begratefulthat he’s giving me a chance to consult with him.
The thing is, if he knows me at all, he should know that a genocidal spell like this would be utterly abhorrent to me.
Why,whywould he send me this? To confuse me? To fuck with me? To prove that he has actually gone insane? He must have lost his mind to even consider performing this kind of magic. Either that, or the Queen has her claws deeper in him than I ever realized. The two of them are a pair of murderers—her giving the commands, and him fulfilling them.
When he was young, did he ever suspect where his path would lead? Did he ever see himself entwined with a ruthless despot, serving as a magical executioner?
Determination finally cuts through the haze of the memories and the wine.
I’ve wondered and wavered for an entire week, which is far too long. Yes, the dragons have been killing my people, but their race doesn’t deserve to die out entirely. On the off chance that my father does plan to slaughter them, my inaction isn’t protest enough.
