“If you train under the king in the art of rune magic. Once you pass the assessments, you get the Aethel-Mark. It’s a pigment in the skin to prove you can legally practice as an Aetheling.”
“Why risk death for something that sounds so dangerous, anyway?” If it were me, I’d definitely not be messing with this stuff. I mean to grow a plant, what would it take from you? She goes quiet, her hands pausing amongst the sheets of paper as she takes a long breath.
“My father was an Aetheling.” I don’t even know what to say to her. It makes sense now why she would want to involve herself in the dangerous magic. I think of my own parents, the day I lost them, and how I would do anything to know what they would say if they knew me now. My grandmother, would she be proud of me? She’s the reason I fell in love with botany.
“I’m so sorry, Bryn.”
“It was a long time ago now. But he would show me all these different markings. His face would light up whenever he talked about the history of runes and the power they hold. Somewhere along the way, I found myself lighting up in the same way. He would sneak me all the books from the castle, let me try out really basic incantations with him. The first one I ever learnt to do was the Lumen Orbis.” She flips through the pages of a big leather book in front of her, pointing to a description of a symbol. “It creates a single orb of light, permanent. It’s used in most of the lanterns you see around the castle.”
“What does it take from you? To create that?” I ask.
“It’s nothing. An easy one to do. It takes a single memory from you. My dad used to tell me to think of something I wanted to forget or something useless like the colour of a ribbon you saw in a shop window.”
“That one doesn’t sound too scary,” I say with a small chuckle. Smiling at me, she releases a soft murmur of a laugh.
“None of it’s scary if you use it correctly,” she says. “It’s only been made illegal since mistakes can be catastrophic. If someone were to do it without training, it can cost lives.” She looks away from me now, her smile disappearing. “My father was experimenting with new rune magic. It was already too late before he realised what it would take from him.”
She doesn’t need to explain further.
The look on her face tells me all I need to know.
“But if he were here, he’d be doing anything he could to help get Kael back. So that’s what I’m going to do,” she says, releasing her shoulders and sitting forward, returning to her books.
“What is it you need to do to bring fire back?” I ask.
“The rune in place is a binding rune. It can be used for many things, for example, to seal gates. But the binding rune we are interested in specifically binds the element of fire. Any binding rune can be unbound,” she says as if it’s going to be easy. By the number of notes she has out and the look on her face, she knows something that she’s not telling us.
“What is the cost to break a bind?” I ask. She hesitates, which makes me even more nervous before turning to me with a calm smile.
“It’s nothing, Elodie, you don’t need to worry,” I quirk a brow, hoping she elaborates further. “It causes temporary fatigue. At the worst, I’d be asleep for a day or so. It’s nothing, really.” I have no reason not to believe her, but why do I have this awful feeling building in my chest?
“The hardest part of this is actually going to be gathering the materials,” she rips a page out of her book, grabbing a pen and circling a section. “These are necessary for any rune cast. They are like the universal anchor.” She points to a tattered section of text.
Salt of the Earth: To ground the wandering energy of the Aether.
A Drop of the Caster’s Blood: To seal the contract of who is paying the price.
Earth: To act as a vessel
“Then, for an unbinding, there are specific ingredients related to whatever it is you’re trying to set free. A stone gate requires crushed quartz, a wooden chest, inner bark,” she goes on. “The only text I have been able to find on the Aethelguard — the fire seal — talks of a —” she narrows her eyes, bringing the text closer to her.
“It’s smudged, I can’t really make out what it says. It looks like ‘black hall’ but I’ve never heard of it before?”
“Black hall?” It’s not like I can offer much knowledge on the matter, but if I can help her, then I have to try. She’s in this because of my theory after all. “Like glass, maybe?” I ask. She shakes her head with a frown.
“No, the drawing of it makes it look more like … a rock?” Just as I lean in to inspect the illustration, there is a knock at the door before Rowan appears. His face is pale, and he looks angry.
