The child is a miniature version of his father with his russet-brown curls and slightly hooked nose. Seven years ago, when Maxim first came into this world, I was fully prepared to hate him. Then he wrapped a tiny baby fist around my finger and snuggled up against my chest, and I was done for. He’s my bright spot in this dreary place, and along with my mother, the main reason I’m still here two-years past my eighteenth birthday, instead of forging my own non-magical path outside of Dom Duje.
At least, that’s what I tell myself.
Max bounces after me, his adorably chubby cheeks jiggling and red from exertion. “But he said it’s urgent.”
I ruffle his hair and press a kiss to his forehead. “I know, peanut. But I’ll get in trouble if I let this ink dry out.” I neglect to mention that the one I’ll get in trouble with is Leodin. Max is at that age where he still thinks his father’s a demigod. I’m not going to be the one to ruin that for him. I’m sure Leodin will do an excellent job of that all on his own.
Back at the table, I take my time cleaning the tip of my pen. Then I set it on the ink tray, close up the well and press a piece of blotter paper over my partially filled sheet. Whether I move fast or slow isn’t going to make any difference. I am fully aware that Leodin despises me, and I stopped trying to change his mind a long time ago.
“Come on, Katya,” Max whines.
“Alright. Alright.” I shove the chair back under the table, wincing when the legs scrape across the wood floor, the sound echoing in the empty room. “Piggy-back ride?” I ask the little guy, and he nods enthusiastically, his big brown eyes alight with excitement. I crouch over and he climbs onto my back and wraps bony arms around my neck. My legs strain against his weight as I straighten. The boy’s getting heavier by the minute, and I’m struck with a bit of melancholy, as I realize I probably won’t be able to do this much longer.
Then he shouts, “Onward. Oh, mighty steed,” immediately snapping me out of my funk.
Laughing, I reply with a “neigh,” and we clomp together out the door.
I haven’t even reached my stepfather’s den and already I hear the sound of him and my mother arguing—never a good sign when I’m involved.
“It’s too dangerous,” she says.
“She’s not a child anymore, Iona. It’s about time she contributed to this dom—”
Laughter. My mother’s laughing, but not the pleasant chirping she makes when she’s happy. This is more a predecessor-to-murder type of laugh. I hold my finger over Max’s mouth, shushing him, and listen. “She’s translated half the ancient texts in that library—generations of spells you now have access to because of her. She’s done more for this dom than any of your precious acolytes.”
“Settle down, Iona.”
“And what about the vision the magi saw at Dom Veda?” Mama continues, ignoring him. “I can’t protect her if she isn’t here.”
“If that prediction is true, she’ll be safer away with me—”
“Katya,” Max whines, his voice more than loud enough to be heard on the other side of the door. I suppress the urge to strangle him and knock.
It swings open and Mama stands there, giving me a tight-lipped smile that says she knows exactly what I was doing. “Eavesdropping, Katya? Don’t you think you’re a little old for that?”
Not at all. “Sorry, Mama. My curiosity got the better of me. What’s going on?” I peer around her to see Leodin, one arm perched against the stone hearth, the firelight accentuating the sharp lines of his face and slightly hooked nose. Leodin Valstrad may have all the smooth skin and ethereal glow common to the fae, but the decades he’s spent as principal to Dom Duje have left him stooped and so thin his purple robes hang like curtains from his bony shoulders.
My mother, on the other hand, is beautiful in a way that’s difficult to quantify. It isn’t simply her night-black hair and creamy skin, though they are flawless as always, or even the ephemeral fae grace she possesses in droves. It’s the warmth in her amber-brown eyes—that well-spring of kindness she exudes that instantly puts her patients at ease—that makes her so extraordinary. And though we’re similar in so many ways—we share the same dark hair, heart-shaped face, full lips and curvy figure—I don’t think I’ll ever have her ease with people. It probably doesn’t help that most find my violet eyes off-putting.
Mama backs away from the entrance, and I carry Max into Leodin’s den. In the daytime, the two massive windows surrounding the hearth provide plenty of light to work by, but at the moment, the windows are dark with only the fire and a few gas lamps casting the room in a golden glow. To the left, are shelves upon shelves stacked with glass bottles containing specimens and herbs—and gods only know what else—that reflect the flickering light, like hundreds of tiny flames. But it’s the mahogany bookshelf packed with Leodin’s private collection that draws my eye and makes my fingers itch with the need to stroke their leather spines and flip through their delicate pages. I doubt he’s even read half ofthem, but they’re off-limits just the same, a rule I’m fairly certain he created specifically for me.
I set Max down gently, and that’s when Mama notices his knee. “Good gods, Maxim. What did you do now?” she asks.
Max shrugs. “I fell.”
Mama and I share a knowing look. Maxim is constantly hurting himself in one way or another and the majority of the time it’s because he’s doing something exceedingly stupid—like climbing a nearby tree to dive into a meter-deep pond or throwing stale bread at the bull and laughing hysterically when it charges the fence he’s sitting on.
“Let me see that,” Mama says, kneeling down to inspect his injury. She tugs at the chain around her neck, revealing a clear sythra gem about the size of an acorn.
Mama holds the clear sythra stone and slowly charges it with spectral magic, turning the stone purple, then she holds one finger above Max’s knee and moves it from one end of the cut to the other, erasing the injury like it had never been. It’s such a minor bit of healing, the gem hasn’t disintegrated at all, but Leodin still feels the need to complain.
“Must you always waste sythra on his every cut and bruise, Iona?” Leodin is of the opinion that only deadly injuries must be healed, and Mama would agree with him most of the time—just not when it comes to her children.
It’s an old argument, and one neither of them will win, so Mama doesn’t respond. She just brushes the hair from Max’s eyes and asks him if it’s all better now. Max nods.
Meanwhile, Leodin crosses to his worktable and gestures for me to sit. Wait, am I in trouble for something? I rack my brain tryingto come up with whatever infraction would get me caned today, but I can’t think of anything. Not that it’s stopped him before. I take my seat hesitantly, eyeing my mother as I settle in. The worry lining her eyes is not exactly reassuring.
“Maxim, Iona, you two can go now.” Leodin doesn’t look at my mother while he speaks, simply takes a seat, clasps his hands on the table and waits for them to comply. Arrogant bastard.
