Magnus Ironwood stands on our doorstep like a conquering general surveying disputed territory. He's dressed in the formal robes of the old war mages: deep blue trimmed with silver, sigils of power embroidered at the cuffs. His familiar, a hawk shifter named Talon I’ve met a few times, perches on his shoulder, eyes sharp and predatory.
Iris is in the doorway, still in her work apron dusted with flour. The contrast between them is almost comical. The legendary battle mage and the kitchen witch.
Except there's nothing funny about the way Magnus is looking at her. It’s like she's a disappointment he's obligated to correct. Even in the gathering darkness, I can see his expression and I do not like it.
"You cannot possibly maintain this estate alone," he's saying as I approach, his voice carrying that particular condescension the old guard reserves for anything they consider beneath them. "Your grandmother understood the importance of proper authority. Of strength. Of knowing one's place in the natural order."
"Good evening, Magnus," I say, deliberately interrupting. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"
He turns, and something in his expression sharpens. Assessing. "Cadeon. Still here, I see. Tell me, can you even feel the bond anymore? Or has it degraded past functionality?"
The casual cruelty of his statement, the assumption that I'm a tool to be evaluated makes something cold and sharp settle in my chest. But I've had two centuries of practice maintaining perfect control to show him.
"The bond is adequate to its purpose," I say, keeping my voice neutral.
"Adequate." Magnus makes a dismissive sound. "Elspeth's bond was iron. Unbreakable. Absolute. This..." He gesturesvaguely between Iris and me. "This diluted connection is an insult to her memory."
Through the bond, I feel Iris's anger flare bright and hot and directed entirely at Magnus. She's biting her tongue, literally biting it, trying to remain civil.
"Would you like to come in?" she asks, voice tight. "I'm afraid I'm in the middle of baking, but I can make tea."
"No need." Magnus adjusts his robes, and Talon shifts on his shoulder, ruffling his feathers in what I recognize as a dominance display. "I came merely to deliver a message from the council. We've been researching the bond-weakening. Our findings suggest that those who maintain proper discipline, proper dominance, experience no degradation at all."
"How interesting," Iris says flatly.
"The implication being," Magnus continues, clearly enjoying himself, "that weakness in the bond reflects weakness in the master. Those who coddle their familiars find their connections deteriorating. It's simple cause and effect."
"Or," Iris says, and I hear the edge in her voice now, "different relationship dynamics create different bond structures. Partnership bonds might simply function differently than domination bonds."
"Partnership." Magnus says the word like it's obscene. "Familiars are not partners, girl. They are bound servants. Tools. Weapons. The moment you forget that is the moment you lose control."
"I'm not interested in control," Iris says quietly.
I have to bite my tongue at him calling her a girl. She might not be Elspeth, but she’s still the same rank as he is. Still a mage in her own right.
"Then you're a fool." He looks at her with something approaching pity. "Your grandmother understood. Power requires dominance. Dominance requires will. Without constantreinforcement, the bond degrades and the familiar becomes dangerous. It's not cruelty, it's protection. For both of you."
I feel my hands curl into fists at my sides. Every word out of his mouth is technically correct, according to the old texts, according to centuries of tradition. But hearing it spoken aloud, hearing Iris reduced to incompetent child who doesn't understand basic familiar management...
"Did Mistress Elspeth coddle me?" I ask suddenly.
Magnus turns to me, surprised. Familiars don't speak unless spoken to. Familiars certainly don't interrupt their betters.
But I'm so tired of the old rules. I am, I realize. I am so tired.
"Did she?" I press. "Did Elspeth Ashwood coddle me? Show me weakness? Fail to maintain proper dominance?"
"Of course not," Magnus says stiffly. "Elspeth was exemplary in her control. Absolute discipline. You were a perfect weapon under her command."
"Then why," I say, keeping my voice very calm, very controlled, "do I barely remember what it feels like to be a person? Why did two hundred years of her 'exemplary control' leave me so broken that I flinch at kindness? Why did her 'perfect discipline' make me forget how to want anything, feel anything, be anything except a tool?"
The silence that follows is profound.
Magnus stares at me like I've grown a second head. Talon makes a sharp sound of distress. And through the bond, I feel Iris's shock, and underneath it, fierce pride.
"You're bound," Magnus says finally, his voice hard. "What you feel is irrelevant."
"Is it?" I take a step forward. "Is what I feel irrelevant? Or is that just more convenient than acknowledging what your 'proper discipline' actually does?"
