Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
In the morning, Arthur wakes me by hopping on my head.
“You are naughty, Snack Thief,” I mumble, blinking blearily as feathers tickle my nose.
I get up and dress in an outfit similar to yesterday’s—wide-leg trousers and a loose tunic top, this time in navy blue—then wander into the kitchen.
Lander is there, making breakfast. He spent the night in one of the upstairs guest rooms, which feels far too intimate for someone I am still not entirely sure I trust.
He turns with a grin. “Best meal of the day.”
He looks devastatingly handsome when he smiles.
Heat rises to my cheeks, and I quickly glance away, pretending to study the breakfast spread instead.
The breakfast snug table is laden with pancakes, yoghurt, fresh fruit, and eggs with toast. He must have been cooking for at least an hour.
The scent of butter and warm batter makes my stomach attempt a hopeful little flip. My mouth actually waters.
Lander gestures for me to sit, and I do, pouring a cup of tea while I watch him finish up. He moves with the ease of someone accustomed to doing everything himself. He brings over two plates and waves me off when I try to help. I have not been waited on in… well, forever.
He glances at my cup, nudges the milk jug closer, and quietly tops it up to the level he has decided is acceptable.
The man who threatened me and spent a year hunting me down now worries about whether my tea is made properly.
Perhaps I am not the only one who was trapped in a role.
I eat slowly, sneaking Snack Thief a few pieces of fruit under the table. Lander pretends not to notice, though the corner of his mouth twitches as if he is amused by my bribery.
“You’re still magically depleted,” he says at last. “An energy circle might bring your magic back up.” Then, as if dropping it casually, “What did you do with the paperweights?”
The paperweights—the only things that can harm my magic. He mentions them lightly, as though he has not just reminded me how fragile our trust is.
“As you know from watching me, there is a bunker in the chapel grounds. I’m using it for storage and practice. Ten weights are down there, in their original case, sealed and warded so they cannot affect my magic.”
“Good,” he says. “I’d remove them myself, but I presume I’d have a fight on my hands.” His gaze stays on me. “I guess you don’t want them out of your sight.”
“No, I do not. I have been destroying that magic whenever I can, but it is an almost impossible task; you cannot trace magic designed to suppress your own. I tracked down every document that contained that spell and burnt it out of existence.” My jaw tightens.
“The paperweights should never have existed. I will destroy them after breakfast.”
“You’re exhausted from handling them last night; give it a couple of days.”
“I am fine. As you said, I will do an energy-recharging circle first.” I take a cautious sip of tea. “What happened to Meredith and her coven?”
“The sector police let them go.”
My head jerks up. “What?”
“There was nothing I could do,” he says. “She has people—human police and Magic Sector officers. The man I spoke to last night was one of hers.”
“So… they let them go.”
He runs a hand through his hair. “It may look slow, but we have rules. Meredith’s high on the council.
Councillors aren’t allowed to attack citizens, so Dayna and I have called for a vote.
With your camera footage and everything else, we should have her removed.
She hasn’t a chance of keeping her seat. ”
I am still unaccustomed to eating, and right now I can’t bring myself to take a bite; anything I swallow will stick in my tight throat. I prod a slice of pancake with my fork. Lander has no such trouble. That man can eat.
I force myself to take another mouthful. My body needs the fuel, even if my mind would rather chew on the problem of Lander Kane.
“She won’t attack you again,” he says. “I won’t let her. You’re safe now.”
“Lander, I’m not worried about Meredith.” I can handle myself. But with nothing left to lose, Meredith is even more dangerous.
And I am angry that I did not kill her when I had the chance. Beryl’s pragmatism has rubbed off on me. Life was easier when bodies could simply disappear.
“If you get council approval, what then?” I ask. “Will she merely have her knuckles rapped and be sent back to twist young minds in a not-fit-for-purpose magical education system?”
“Meredith will be wearing anti-magic cuffs for the rest of her days.”
If they catch her.
I was right; she will be confined to some deep, dark cell. I do not know about Meredith, but if it were me, I would rather they put me out of my misery than lock me away.
I almost feel sorry for her.
Almost.
I insist on clearing up, and he insists on helping, so together we pack away the leftovers and tidy the kitchen. With Snack Thief flying beside us, we make our way to the bunker.
Of course, Lander already knows where it is; he was merely being polite before, pretending he didn’t. Snack Thief may not have followed me underground, but he certainly saw me vanish down here for hours over the past two days.
I must remind myself that Lander is sneaky.
The light spheres I created days ago still glow softly, suspended in the air. He frowns at them but says nothing.
He pulls my wand from his pocket. “Here,” he says, handing it to me.
I stare at the willow wand. Part of me wants to fling it at his head and tell him to keep it, yet the wood is warm in my hand. I shouldn’t throw it—however much he deserves it. It is mine now; he gave it to me. I might not have wanted it yesterday, but I do now.
I hold the wand gently while Lander examines the shelves, sighing now and then in quiet appreciation. Dust settles on my shoulder as I lean against the wall, but I ignore it.
His expressions amuse me. In his Ministry office he keeps a skull with a candle stuck in it and mere trinkets. My collection could make the Magic Sector’s museum weep with joy. When he glances back, I only shrug; he shakes his head and continues, as if trying not to look too impressed.
At last he notices the sealed case—the one with the paperweights.
Disgust clouds his face, and for a moment, my opinion of him rises.
No one could fake that reaction. He circles the room, checking each ward with measured focus, then squats beside the engraved circle and traces its edge with his fingertips.
“Have you got any…?” he asks, looking up.
I hand him a small bag of salt and a stub of chalk. He smiles and sets to work. When he finishes, he looks pleased with himself.
But I am trained differently.
I draw my own manifestation chalk and begin inscribing sigils. Each stroke is deliberate and precise. Fifteen minutes later the circle is complete: broad, intricate, and beautiful. My legs ache, yet satisfaction outweighs the discomfort.
That odd expression returns; Lander watches me as though seeing a mage for the first time.
“This is a masterclass,” he murmurs.
I huff, slide the chalk away, and step into the circle.
“I will be a while,” I warn him.
“It’s all right,” he says quietly. “Take your time.”
Under his gaze, I feel a flicker of self-consciousness.
I could sit and meditate, but movement has always served me better.
Father—who travelled constantly—filled our shelves with books of rituals from every corner of the world.
The blend of motion and magic is rare; even then it was a dying branch of craft. I was twelve when I first attempted it.
I assume the opening stance—
—and dance.
The style is closer to modern lyrical than to classical ballet: fluid, expressive, purposeful.
My fingers carve runes in the air. My toes press meaning into the floor.
Each twist and step is deliberate. Though I have not danced like this in years, my soul remembers.
My body—this strange, borrowed thing—falls into the rhythm.
Something stirs. A cry from deep within, ancient and healing. Magic wells up to meet me. I hear music, a song unsung for a thousand years—perhaps imagined, yet it works.
I dance until strength fails. Finishing the last movement, I sink to the floor—one leg folded, the other extended—and bow, palms flat, releasing the spell.
The circle flares to life.
Salt and chalk ignite. Sigils blaze. Power races around the perimeter with a satisfying whoosh before settling back into the earth. Energy lingers where my feet touch, as if the ground is still holding the shape of my steps.
Power floods me, buzzing beneath my skin and lighting every cell. The air feels forest-clean—crisp, unsullied. Above, the light spheres I crafted gather and glow like soft sunlight filtered through leaves.
In time the brilliance fades. The circle calms. I am sweating and breathless, but exhilarated.
Lander is still staring.
I give a sheepish nod.
My breath catches when he smiles that glorious smile of his.
“You are incredible.”
“Thank you,” I mumble, suddenly fascinated by my boots.
“I’d love to learn. Will you teach me?”
“Yes,” I say, surprising myself with how quickly the word comes.