Thea catches my eye from across the table and grins.
The hours pass faster than I expect. Conversation flows easily, helped along by the wine and my magic and the general relief that the solstice is finally here. Many of these mages have been struggling with weakening bonds for months. Tonight, one way or another, they'll have answers.
I try to stay present. Try to focus on my guests, on the success of the feast, on anything except the clock steadily ticking toward midnight.
But every time I glance at Cadeon, I feel the weight of what's coming.
He catches my eye across the crowded table and smiles. Warm. Certain. Utterly unafraid.
I wish I could borrow some of that certainty.
At eleven o'clock, I stand.
The room falls quiet. Sixty faces turn toward me, expectant. At the far end of the table, Cadeon watches with quiet pride.
"Thank you all for coming," I begin, and my voice only trembles a little. "My grandmother hosted this feast for decades. She saw it as a display of power. A reminder of Ashwood strength and Ashwood influence."
A few uncomfortable glances around the table. Everyone knows what Elspeth Ashwood was.
"I'm not my grandmother." I take a breath. "I'm a kitchen witch who talks to plants and burns soup when I'm distracted. My magic doesn't move mountains or win wars. It makes tea that helps you sleep and bread that tastes like being home."
Someone chuckles. The tension eases slightly.
"When I inherited this cottage and its... responsibilities, I didn't know what to do. I'd spent my whole life being told my magic wasn't enough. Wasn't powerful. Wasn't worthy of the Ashwood name." I look at Cadeon, and he gives me a small nod of encouragement. "It took me embarrassingly long to realize that power isn't just about force. It's about choice. About how we treat the people who depend on us. About whether we use our magic to dominate or to care."
The room has gone very still.
"Tonight is solstice. The Alignment. For many of you, the bonds you've built with your familiars will be tested. The magic will ask whether your bond should exist, and in what form." I let my gaze travel around the table, taking in mages and familiars alike. "I'm not going to tell you how to answer that question. But I will tell you this: familiars are not tools. They're not weapons. They're not assets to be maintained or resources to be managed. They're people. People who chose to bond with us. People who deserve respect and care and the freedom to make their own choices."
Magnus shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Good.
"The old ways would have us believe that dominance is necessary. That control is kindness. That familiars need to bekept in line for their own good." I shake my head. "I've seen what that belief does. I've seen the hollowing out it causes. The slow erosion of personhood until there's nothing left but obedience."
My voice catches. Cadeon's eyes are bright across the room.
"Tonight, when you go home to tend your bonds, I ask you to consider what you want those bonds to become. Partnership or ownership. Connection or control. Love or fear." I lift my glass. "To the bonds that lift us up. To the choices we make. And to the people who remind us that magic is nothing without kindness."
"To kindness," several voices echo.
"To choice," others add.
Glasses raise around the room. Even Magnus lifts his, though his expression suggests he's swallowed something bitter.
I sit down, trembling, and feel Cadeon's approval wash through the bond like sunlight.
The guests begin leaving at half past eleven.
Each mage-familiar pair slips away to tend their own solstice rituals, their own bond transformations. Some look nervous. Others look relieved. A few of the familiars meet my eyes as they leave, and I see something there that might be hope.
Thea hugs me at the door. "That was beautiful," she whispers. "You're going to be fine."
Ash shakes Cadeon's hand. "Good luck. Not that you need it."
"Thank you." Cadeon's voice is warm. "For everything."
Magnus is one of the last to leave. He pauses in front of me, his hawk familiar silent on his shoulder.
"Your grandmother would be appalled by that speech," he says gruffly.
