“Report it to whom?”
“Uncle Conrad—”
“Will never believe such wild accusations.” I threw the rock, missing the stream entirely and sending it into the field on the far side. “For years he has sided with Powell, doing nothing to grant me my inheritance and believing the same lies as everyone else.”
“Only because of the charm. But you’re right, it might be too hard to convince him. We could send for a magistrate or constables from Haiwella, though.”
“And they’ll be impacted by the charm when they get here, just the same as Magistrate Conrad. There’s no point, Mina. Knowing Powell is using a charm against me doesn’t actually change anything. I can’t combat magic.”
I pivoted away from her and walked downstream. Why had I let myself get my hopes up? Because I was an idiot. It didn’t matter what I learned; I wouldn’t be able to escape Powell’s magic.
“Alan!”
I ignored Mina, knowing that if I stopped and listened to her, I’d just get my hopes up again. Then I’d realize how futile it all was once more. Better not to even have a moment of hope.
Ten
Mina
???
I wasn’t surewhy Alan had suddenly given up last night, but I was determined to prove to him that it was possible to change people’s minds. I’d have enough optimism for both of us. Once I had my proof, I’d show him how wrong he had been to walk away.
Even when the charm hadn’t been in Skorsa that first day I visited the smithy, it had taken considerable effort to make the Wrisons entertain the idea that they had misjudged Alan. Years of magically influenced thought patterns wouldn’t be overcome easily. Now that the charm was back in Skorsa, it would be even harder to convince someone. I rubbed a finger against the rose ring. Harder, but not impossible. All magic had limits.
I thought of the diamond tucked under my shirt and reviewed the warnings the mind-bender had delivered along with my charm. The mage had interrupted his own explanations every other sentence to assure my parents and me that his charm, of course, held enough power to keep my identity hidden in any situation. The warnings came more from what he had glossed over than what he had said.
Most of his tutorial had focused on how well the charm countered logical arguments. No one could walk up, point at me, and say, “Mina is the princess and here is why...” because they’d be underthe influence of my charm if they came near. But if they did, the mage had reassured me, his charm would make people doubt even the most logical arguments the moment the speaker stopped making them. And it would take stronger arguments to convince people—even momentarily—than under circumstances without a charm involved.
When my father asked about emotional arguments, the mind-better had admitted they could circumvent the charm with less effort, though the effects would still fade. He had brushed aside my concern about that vulnerability, claiming that emotional arguments were weaker than logical ones.
Though I wished people listened to reason more, my experience contradicted the mage’s perspective. Emotional arguments swayed more people, with less effort. Emotions, therefore, were the key I’d use to prove Alan wrong.
The Wrisons, by and large, were a rational family. They wouldn’t be the best ones to test my theory on. Kayla would be easily swayed by emotions, but I wasn’t sure I’d be able to tell if she broke past the charm’s magic, given how much she disparaged everyone. Hannah would take her cues from Kayla.
I needed Gemma.
I made my way to the general store, a relatively large building in one corner of the village square. As I walked through the square, I couldn’t help but look at the smithy off to my right. But I didn’t change my path. I’d deal with Alan later.
“Good morning, Mina,” Gemma greeted me with a wide smile. “Are you picking something up for Mistress Wrison this morning?”
I glanced around. Neither of Gemma’s parents were in the front room of the store today, nor were any other customers. Gemma was rearranging the shelves, pulling wares forward and twisting them so labels were easily visible. Her curly golden hair was confined by a simple kerchief, and she had tied an apron around her narrow waist.
I pulled a spare apron from the peg behind the counter. “No. I thought I might help out again today.”
“You don’t need to do that. You already did so much yesterday.”
I looked around the store once more, and though we were alone, I lowered my voice. “Helping is just an excuse. I wanted a chance to talk to you privately.”
Gemma matched my volume. “Is it about Kayla? Did you notice how off she seemed yesterday, too?”
I twisted a canister of tea so the label faced the edge of the shelf. “What do you mean? I only saw Kayla in passing yesterday, but she seemed well enough.”
“That’s just it. She was so cheerful.”
I looked at Gemma askance. “You are worried because Kayla was happy?”
“Happy isn’t really the word I would use.” Gemma glanced at the shop in much the same way I had earlier, as if afraid someone had walked in while we were speaking. But we were still alone. “Kayla is always energetic, but she expects other people to make her happy. Yesterday, however, she was smug.”
