18

A Trial of Magic

Gwen

To my relief, the brownie was not there to escort me to the trial. It merely looked me up and down, lifted the fabric pointedly, and left the dress and a little velvet bag on the moss before retreating. Giving me time to prepare? I stared after the creature as the door closed, thinking.

Aris lifted the abandoned dress and examined the fabric, turning it back and forth to catch the dim fungal light emanating from the ceiling. 

“You might as well wear this,” he said.

“Why?”

“Do you want to appear for your first trial in that?”

I looked down at my blue jacket. It was a bit worse for wear, but it would also protect me, and that was not worth giving up. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I do.”

Aris shrugged and opened the velvet bag. “You are either wise or incredibly foolish. If the king feels you are trying to offend him”—he pulled out a gold armband in the shape of a snake and examined it—“he may decide to have you killed, outright. It is a miracle he did not kill you on your first presentation, looking like that. At least your black eye is mostly healed.”

“I am not so easy to kill as all that,” I said, offended.

“Oh, yes you are, my lady. Or do you need another demonstration?”

That stopped me. Yes, I wanted one. Wanted one enough that the mere thought of the power Aris held over me made my knees weak. And that was terrifying. “I can do without your overbearing charms, thank you.”

He snorted. “They won’t protect you the way I do. They will seduce and beguile and push to see how far you will go before you break. And your anger will only make breaking you more entertaining.”

“We will see how entertaining they find me,” I muttered, cracking my knuckles even though I knew I had no chance in a fair fight.

“Know this, Gwen; here, one only risks openly offending someone they believe they can beat in a duel. Insults are taken as seriously as blows, which is half of the reason for the stories about faeries speaking in riddles.”

“What is the other half?”

“Truth is power. If you tell someone the truth, you give them power. And faeries guard truth more closely than anything else.”

I hesitated and unwillingly remembered seeing Thistle Honeycutt in her true form, and then Percy through the hag stone, his sleek dark body and huge eyes both strange and familiar at once. The stone was stored safely in a locked desk in my room. I should have brought it with me.

There were many things I should have done. At least I had been smart enough to bring a few tools with me. Hopefully I would not need to use them, but it was comforting to know they were accessible, should worse come to worst. I needed a plan, and for that, I needed knowledge.

I considered the shimmering fabric he held and tried to strategize.

For this first trial, at least, my options were to protect myself physically by wearing the jacket, or to try to make nice by wearing the dress. One was an outright declaration of hostility or suspicion, and the other was both a symbol of goodwill and obedience.

My goal was to survive long enough to bring Lia back with me. Which of those options would get me closest?

“Aris? What is the fae opinion of humans stumbling into the Sunset Lands?”

“It does not happen often enough for there to be a general opinion. Think of it this way: if a unicorn appeared in your townhouse and asked for a treat, what would your response be?”

I sighed. “They are going to make a spectacle of me, aren’t they?”

“That is a definite possibility.”

“But only if they do not think I am dangerous enough to kill. So, what is more effective: a show of force, or subterfuge?”

Aris stood up, alarmed. “A show of force? Did our little tussle in the woods prove nothing? You are a very skilled human, Gwen, but the fae are faster than you, stronger, and they’ve lived long enough to master any skill they care to learn. Unarmed combat is an area in which you cannot best them.”

I shook my head at him in disgust and began unbuttoning my jacket.

“What are you doing?” Aris asked.

Not smiling at the panic in his voice was difficult, so I focused on the buttons.

He grabbed my wrist before I could do anything untoward, such as reach into a hidden in a pocket, and said, “You cannot attack the fae court.”

“I can’t?”

“You certainly won’t get your sister back if you make yourself too dangerous to keep alive.”

Sarcasm dripped from every word when I said, “That is a very creditable point, well done. Do you truly think me so stupid?”

He raised an eyebrow.

I rolled my eyes and pried my wrist out of his hand. “I cannot wear the fae dress if I am still cinched into all of this, can I?”

Relief washed over his face, and he backed away with his hands up. I could have told him my true weapons were already hidden beneath the moss, but it was more fun to let him flounder. Apparently, I had not exhausted my need for petty revenge.

“To be clear,” he said, “I support your tendency toward mayhem, but attacking on uncertain ground is not—” His voice choked as I pulled my shirtwaist off and dropped it onto the moss. “Is not the best first move. If we are going to survive, we must—must play this”—I unbuttoned my corset, and it joined the harness and jacket on the floor—“like a game of…like…like a game of chess,” Aris finished, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“What?” I asked him, innocently. “Why is your mouth hanging open? You’ve seen me do this at least a dozen times, haven’t you?”

He swallowed again. “A dozen times, at least.”

“Would it make you more comfortable if you changed into your raven form?”

“Moon and stars, no,” he said, finally turning away as I dropped my skirt onto the growing pile. Beneath was nothing but my chemise, and that was practically transparent. 

It was cruel to get a bit of revenge that way, but a lady uses what weapons she has at her disposal. I only hoped my weapons would be as effective against the other fae as they appeared to be against Aris.

“What can I expect from this trial?” I asked as I pulled the dress over my head.

“Impossible to say. You have read enough faerie tales to get the general idea, I am sure. Spinning flax into gold, retrieving golden fleeces and all that.”

A shiver of unease ran down my spine. Most of the tasks given in faerie tales were rather horrendous. Weaving coats of stinging nettles came to mind. “Is there any way to prepare?”

“Only the chamberlain knows what the trial will be, and he will not reveal it.”

“At least they do not intend to kill me.”

“What makes you think so?”

I paused. “There are three trials. If they want maximum entertainment, does it not make sense to keep me alive through the third?”

Aris turned and regarded me, his expression sober. “These are the Sunset Lands, Gwen. You must stop making mortal assumptions. You cannot trust anything here to make sense or be as it seems.”

When the guards collected me and dragged me back to the throne room, the response from the court was, if not gratifying, at least not insulting. While the gown was simple, similar in style to medieval houppelandes, with long, bell-shaped sleeves and expansive fabric, it certainly left me looking better than my battered coat had.

The gown was something like the formal attire one might wear to a ceremony or religious rite, plain and unadorned. And as this was a ceremony of sorts, it fit well enough. I simply had to maintain my composure. Which was a thousand times more difficult as soon as I saw my sister again.

She stood at the right hand of the King, chin high, an expression of haughty disdain on her face. How many times had I seen that face creased with laughter? Watching her made ignoring the intoxicating scent of wild flowers and the domineering beauty of the King much easier as the guards and I walked down the flower-lined path to the throne.

Before it stood a simple wooden table with three objects placed at equal distances across the top: an unlit candle in a silver candlestick, a bulging leather sack as large as my joined fists, and two gold coins. 

On the opposite side of the table stood a sidhe man with eyebrows like storm clouds, a hawkish nose, and a sweeping black beard that spread across his chest. He might have been in his late sixties, or several thousand years old. His blue-gray robe faded to an obscuring mist before reaching his feet and turned into a train of clouds that billowed as he moved.

The cloak made the man appear to be floating several feet off of the ground. His eyes, the clear blue-green of a shallow sea, crinkled around the corners as he smiled kindly at me. Since I was not gibbering in a puddle, I had to assume he was using the same simple glamour Aris used that protected me from his true aspect.

He leaned in and took me by the hand, kissing it as if we were at a ball somewhere in New London, and not in the court of the faerie King, taking part in a trial that might end with my death. He nodded once in respect, and I reciprocated with as elegant a curtsy as I could manage.

“You have been assigned three tasks by Obyrron the Mighty, King of the Sunset Lands,” he said in a voice like crashing waves. “I will judge your performance.”

Unsure of how to respond, I nodded.

“The first task is before you.” He gestured to the table with a sweeping motion of one hand, stopping over the gold coins. “Turn these coins into songbirds.”

I swallowed the objection that rose to my lips and fought to keep my expression serene. I had no magic, but letting them know that might be a fatal mistake. Best to keep my proverbial cards close to my chest. In faerie stories, some circumstance always arose to change the fate of the hero or heroine when confronted with an impossible task. 

Was that more fiction, or a truth carefully concealed?

I took a coin and examined it, flipping it between my fingers and feeling the cool weight as it sat on my palm. It could be a bird, if I wanted it to. A small bird might weigh as much as this gold coin. With a deep breath to center myself, I imagined the coin melting, shifting, rising to form a small, fat bird that would open its mouth and trill a beautiful song into the scented air.

Of course, nothing happened.

I focused harder, pushing my will at the coin until sweat beaded on my upper lip.

Nothing.

Closing my eyes, I imagined gathering all the energy from my body, drawing it toward my hands, shaping and forming it. My hands grew hot. The edge of the coin bit into my skin.

“She cannot do it,” Lia said with cold disdain.

I blinked and looked down. The coin lay on my palm, unchanged.

The crowd tittered and my cheeks went up in flames. I had not truly expected anything to happen, but to have my failure thrown in my face, and by my sister, made anger sit like a rock in my belly.

“Perhaps,” Lia said, a bit of malice entering her voice, “she simply lacks motivation. With your leave, Chamberlain?”

The dark-haired man nodded, once.

“Bring him.”

Everyone turned to see two more of the hound guards escort Aris into the room. He strolled between them as if he were walking in the park, a sneer on his lips as he regarded the staring faces of the crowd.

“My lady,” he said, widening his arms and giving Lia a mocking bow. “To what do I owe the honor of being dragged back into your presence?”

Lia turned to the King, who gave her a nearly invisible tilt of the head.

“Guards,” Lia said. “Hold him.”

They took Aris by the upper arms, gripping hard enough to turn his skin red. Dread ran down my spine on tiny, cold feet. Lia left the stairs and stalked down the aisle, put both hands on his chest, and ripped his shirt neatly into two pieces.

“Well, that was unnecessary,” he said, releasing the glamour and standing before the crowd bare chested.

She walked around him in a circle, examining his skin. “I see you have healed from my displeasure rather quickly. Good. I want you healthy for our demonstration.” Then she patted his cheek, turned, and strode back to her place before the King.

His eyes never left her, and his expression never changed.

“You have the honor of assisting us in His Majesty’s test,” she said once she resumed her place. “Our subject needs motivation, and it would appear you still need a lesson in manners. This demonstration will serve both purposes. Therefore, know this: if she fails the next test, I will hurt you.”

“What?” I heard myself say. 

Lia ignored me and spoke only to Aris. “If she takes too long to complete the test, I will hurt you.”

“How can you do this? Lia, what has made you so cruel?”

“Cruel?” she asked, finally turning to me. “He should be flayed alive for his betrayal. I am merely hurting him and using his pain to help you complete your trial. I am merciful. Now, let us not dawdle and leave our whipping boy waiting in apprehension.” 

“Very well,” the chamberlain said with a slight bow. 

He opened the sack and emptied it onto the table. Seeds spilled across the wood, bouncing in every direction, even skittering so far as the feet of the crowd behind me. 

“Return every seed to this bag without touching them, or moving from that spot,” he said.

I gaped at the seeds. There must have been hundreds of thousands scattered across the room. My mouth went dry. Not even with a broom and pan could I be certain of returning every seed.

Perhaps there was a way around the test, something clever. I doubted a godmother would appear to save me, and I did not speak the language of animals to call upon ants to do my bidding. My wits were all I had left.

Could I use a runic circle to draw the seeds together? No, that would require knowing what type of seed it was, how far away they might have traveled, giving specific directions for movement and knowing which natural force was most likely to be molded for such a purpose. That required subtle artifice far beyond my skill. I was more likely to blow up the palace than move a single seed. 

Besides, revealing this new magic to the fae could be more dangerous than letting the humans have it.

Lia sighed and said in a bored tone, “She appears distracted. Perhaps a demonstration is needed.” She raised one hand and green fire kindled at her fingertips, running down the edges of her hand and lighting her face with a lurid glow.

My breath caught in my throat.

Magic. Lia had magic.

Part of my mind spun off into the past, searching to see if any hint of that gift manifested itself when we were children, but discovering nothing. The other half searched within me. If Lia could use magic, the gift may be in my blood, as well, just waiting to be unlocked. Could that be her true goal, to use stress to force a latent ability to manifest?

Lia’s flames curled and writhed with a dry hiss, like snakes waiting to bite. I did not have time to wrack my brain for a clever solution, so if magic was the only way out of this problem, I had to try.

I turned to the table and focused my attention on a single seed. All it had to do was move a few inches. Just a few. Move, I thought at the seed, picturing it fly across the table. Every muscle tensed as I channeled all of my will, demanding the air molecules gather and propel the little black seed across the table.

Nothing happened.

I blew a stray hair from my face in frustration. If I did possess some of the magical talent Lia displayed so indifferently, how could I unlock it? My sister did not give me a chance to find out.

She pointed at Aris with one finger. A line of fire shot across the intervening space and struck him in the stomach.

“No!”

My scream echoed off the walls as he wrapped his arms around himself and fell to his knees.

When the fire died, Aris knelt with his head hanging, black hair covering his face, his skin scalded like a boiled lobster. But he was breathing.

“Should you move from that spot,” the bearded man said as I made to rush to his side, “the trial shall be concluded, and you will fail.”

My leg froze before my foot hit the ground. Aris raised his head, his gaze pinning Lia like an arrow. Sweat poured down the sides of his face at the temples and his lips were white, but he said, “If memory serves me correctly, your fire has lost a bit of its kick, lady.”

Lia flicked a finger and sent sparks dancing into the air. The moss sizzled when they landed. “Do not worry, Raven. I shall revive your memory when this human fails.”

Helpless rage burned in my chest, hotter than Lia’s fire. Crouching, I tried to ignore the fact that my sister was a magic wielding general who tortured people and bent all of my concentration on the single seed. Move, please. Move!

My heart jumped. The green flames sizzled, and Aris sucked in a pained breath through his teeth, grunting as he braced himself on the moss with both fists.

“I haven’t failed yet!” I cried.

“I did say he was here for a dual purpose, did I not? Continue. Unless you cannot move the seeds, of course.”

Furious, I turned all my will, frustration, longing, and desperation on the seeds, drawing strength from every failure and insult and injury. I clenched my fists, gritted my teeth, held my breath, and pushed. 

Nothing happened.

“Yet another test failed,” Lia said, false sadness coloring her voice.

I spun in time to see her level her hand at Aris, the crackle of her flames drowning out my cry of, “Aris!”

He arched backward, his muscles strained, but he did not cry out. The flames did not burn him, but sank into his skin and glowed beneath his flesh. He threw his head back, veins bulging in his neck as the pain clenched every muscle in his body.

When it was quiet, Aris hung suspended for several long moments as smoke rose from his skin. Then he took a deep breath and stood, muscles shaking, raising his chin in defiance.

“The final test, if you will,” Lia said, turning to the bearded chamberlain with an expression as calm as if she had just spent a morning in the garden, not burning a man from the inside.

What had become of my sister? What could have turned her into this?

The chamberlain gestured at the candle and said, simply, “Light this.”

The little candle was innocuous, as mundane as the seeds or coins. I stared at the wick. To light it, I simply needed to produce enough heat. But how? Without much effort, I recalled seven different spells a witch might use to produce heat…but I was not a witch. I could not use the runes, and I had no tools for what small artifice I did know. 

Fine. Magic, it must be. I imagined heat from my blood, from the air, condensing at the tip of the wick. In my mind, I saw the molecules vibrating faster, creating heat. With gritted teeth, I willed it into existence, but not even a trail of smoke appeared.

Lia raised her hand.

Instead of watching Aris writhe in pain, which made my throat close and tears sting my eyes, I watched Lia’s face as the flames roared. Her expression was absolutely immobile, cold, distant.

She looked down at the fingernails of her opposite hand, bored.

I could no longer stand by, failure or not. Dodging the guard who reached for me, I lunged toward Aris but was stopped by Harl, who wrapped his arms around me and growled in my ear.

“Stop!” I screamed at my sister, but she only raised a finger and coaxed the fire higher, till it burned his chest instead of his stomach. I wrenched my arms and shoulders but gained no purchase as Aris’s face contorted in agony.

At last he cried out, a furious shout of pain and anger. And Lia flinched.

She flinched.

Her eyes were hard, but she flinched and released the fire. That single motion was a light in the darkness, small and sputtering but still there.

Lia, my Lia, was somewhere beneath that hard exterior. She had to be.

Aris collapsed. My knees wobbled, but Harl held me fast as Lia turned toward the King. 

“This woman possesses no magic, your majesty,” she said. Her voice was tired.

“Very well, General. We shall wait for the next test, then, to see if your blood runs true.”

The chamberlain bowed low. “If I may speak, my King?”

“Speak.”

“This human woman has quite caught my eye. Might I have your permission to escort her to tonight’s festivities?”

Obyrron smiled, and the crowd burst into excited chatter. “It has been many years since a human has joined the dance. Very well, bring her if you like. I am certain she will be entertaining, if nothing else.”

After a bow, the bearded man turned toward me and smiled again, kindly. “I shall call upon you at the proper time, madame.”

I was sweating and still so furious that it was hard to see straight, so I only gave him a stony glare.

“Take them back to their cell,” Lia said. “Leave the coward to the tender ministrations of my talented sister.”