AC… AC… Hurriedly, I flip towards the back of the ancient book and scan over the different indexes. Finding it, I study the list intently, hoping that the names of the spells won’t be too complex for me to guess their meaning. Finally, my finger rests over a single spell, one that sounds promising; oath-breaker.
I follow the footnote to another page, where more information on oath-breaker is written. I read, taking a few mental notes. Excitement and hope well within me as I read the instructions. This, I can at least try. Somehow, someway, I have Bloodbane magic in my veins. Perhaps I can use it to cast a spell to save Altair.
I bookmark the page and tuck it beneath my arm, heading to the soldier at the door. “I need chalk,” I say.
His eyes drop to the book in my arms and then rise to meet my eyes. “We don’t practice magic around here.”
I purse my lips. “You might not. I’m trying to save your King.”
The soldier stares me down before finally relenting. “I’ll bring you chalk. But don’t do that here.”
“I won’t. Bring it my room, please,” I say as I sweep past him into the hall.
I practically run up the stairs and down the long halls, clutching the book tightly to my chest. In my room, I toss the book onto my bed and push the armchairs out of the way. Grunting, I move them back against the wall. Then, I roll up the ornate carpet on my floor and drag it beside the arm chairs. I need room, an open space.
As I’m laying the book out before me and flipping to the correct page, the door opens. The soldier enters and tosses me a stick of chalk. I catch it easily. Before I can thank him, he’s shut the door. I wrinkle my nose at his abrupt departure. The Fae are magical creatures, and yet they abhor spells. If I visit Altair tonight, I’ll ask him about it. I almost laugh at myself then. There is no ‘maybe’. I want to see him.
Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I start etching the spell on the floor with the chalk. I draw a large circle, uneven, but still a circle. In it, I copy the strange markings in the book; slashes of chalk that look almost like Viking runes. By the time I’m finished mapping it out, my trousers are dusted in white powder. I rise, surveying my handiwork.
It isn’t a spell yet though. I move to the fire and carefully extract a bit of burning wood from it with the stoker. I hold it gingerly, the heat of the wood singing my fingers. With a sigh of relief, I drop the burning wood into my circle of chalk. Instantly, the chalk ignites into my flames. Sparks course through it like wildfire. It burns too hot too quickly and I lurch backwards, away from the smoke curling away from the spell.
As the sparks die out and all that’s left is blackened ash, my blood thrums powerfully. I feel it rushing through me, every molecule, every bit of oxygen being carried by my cells. It’s the same sensation I felt when the Bloodbane witches touched me, but a thousand times more powerful. My head swims and I stumble backwards into the arm chairs.
I lean heavily against them, breathing raggedly. What is happening? I feel the blood drain from my face as my body breaks into a cold sweat. My hands tremble uncontrollably. I clench my eyes shut and lower myself to the floor, struggling to catch my breath.
Slowly, gradually, the pain and nausea ease and the strength of my blood fades. I open my eyes. The ash covered chalk has faded to gray, cool now. Out the window, the sun is setting. I clutch at my head. How long was I lost? When I first started the spell, it was barely the afternoon. I’ve missed hours of the day. Fear coils in my heart, sending a wave of ice through my body. I don’t know what’s happening to me. But it scares me that I may not be who I thought I was.
I haul myself to my feet, taking a moment to make sure I’m steady. I don’t want this spell to remain here. I don’t want to look at it anymore. There’s a small broom besides the fire, used to clean up any ashes that may have drifted away from the fireplace. I grab it and brush away the ash and chalk. I sweep the remnants of the spell into the fire, letting it burn away the evidence.
I wonder if I reacted that way because I was successful. I wonder if Altair is saved. My energy is slowly returning, and with it my curiosity. I return my room to normal before running out the door towards his room.
My heart is pounding loudly as I approach his door. The spell should have had immediate effects, but maybe he was too injured to come find me when it worked. Navi eyes me from her post at his door but I ignore her. I throw the door open and run breathlessly into the room. My heart soars when I see Altair. He’s still lying in his bed, in the same position he lay in the night before. But his eyes are closed, and his lips softly parted. He’s asleep. And he’s Fae.
I bite my lip, trying unsuccessfully to force back a victorious grin. A soft breeze rustles the curtains at his balcony, and moonlight streaks into the room. Moonlight. My smile fades. It’s night now. The curse is only doing what it always has done; freeing him when the sun sets. The spell failed.
Quietly,
