Chapter 5
The prince didn’t return until late afternoon, when he found me in front of the bookcase scouring the titles, encircled by a small collection of discarded volumes neatly stacked around my feet. He blinked in astonishment. “What are you doing?”
I hesitated, unsure whether I should voice my complaints to a prince…before they tumbled out of their own accord, releasing my frustration at not only being unable to understand the book, but at being abandoned to learn on my own on the first day. “The basic book you chose for me was too advanced, so I’m searching for another.” I yanked out a worn volume and perused the first page before setting it aside with the others.
“I selected the same book I myself studied from when I was beginning my own training, so the material should have been at your level…but perhaps I should have taken the time to explain some of the basics in order to aid your comprehension, which means you’ve lost an entire afternoon of studying.” He sighed. “If you were having difficulties finding a more appropriate book, you could have asked my familiar.”
I glanced towards the spellbook, no longer lying lazily about, but propped open and ready at a table, as if to show its willingness to be used for whatever Wizard Alden needed, no sign of the mischievous rebellion that caused it to disobey his earlier wishes in assisting me.
“It didn’t seem inclined to provide a tour, let alone help me select a more approachable book.”
“You mean you haven’t even done that much? What an unproductive first day it’s been for you.” Despite his exasperation, he appeared contrite. “The fault is mostly mine. I should have taken the time to assist you rather than leaving as hastily as I did. I just didn’t want to keep my parents waiting longer than necessary.”
The heated annoyance that had been stewing throughout his absence was slightly mollified by his words. “I understand that the king and queen must take priority.”
“They would have been fine to wait longer if they’d been aware of the situation, which only worsens my neglect.” He stepped in front of me to search the books himself. His brows drew together as he turned away from the shelves to crouch in front of the teetering stacks. “Where is it?”
Several minutes of rummaging apparently didn’t yield what he was searching for. My mind drifted back to our meeting when I’d been led to him by his sentient ball of light. “If you’re looking for something specific, could you perhaps perform a summoning charm?”
He stilled before his wide-eyed gaze snapped up to meet mine. I responded with a shrug. The corner of his mouth lifted. “You’re thinking like a magician, which will serve you well in your studies.” He snapped his fingers, and with a glisten of light a book wriggled itself free from the farthest pile to float into his hand. He glanced through its contents before handing it to me.
My shoulders slumped as I opened to the first page. “This one is also too advanced.”
I started to hand it back to him but he pushed my hand away. “Don’t make such a hasty judgement before you’ve even studied it. You can expect the material to be above the level you’re used to; magic is different than reading a story—it requires time and focus. If after an hour of sincere effort you still find the material too difficult, I will help you.”
I frowned at the book before lifting my gaze. He’d returned to rummaging through the stacks until he found what he was looking for. He carried the chosen volume to his workbench laden with ingredients and instruments outside my realm of familiarity, ignoring his spellbook’s annoyed ruffle at being ignored when it noticed the other book in his possession.
“Is this the extent of my magic training?” I asked. “Simply reading?”
He opened his own book to a bookmarked page. “For now, but after you build a solid foundation through self study, it will evolve to more practical applications where I will assist you. In the meantime, I have my own studies.”
I was miffed that he only seemed willing to assist me if I needed it, but I was in no position to argue. I might have disregarded the fact that he was my mentor and offered my unfiltered opinion anyway…if his royal position hadn’t held me back, a title I couldn’t forget despite his wishes on the matter. Though the arrangement he outlined was unideal, it was better than none at all.
I bit my tongue to stifle the complaints yearning to escape and settled myself in the seat closest to the hearth for a long afternoon of reading…or attempted reading, for though my literacy level provided me with the vocabulary to read most of the words, I struggled to weave them together to form any semblance of meaning, particularly with the complex diagrams.
Reading had never been one of my strengths. Though I’d learned the basics, I’d had little opportunity to practice. Other than a religious text, a volume containing recipes and information about basic herbs, and the well-worn storybook I’d read so frequently I had all the tales memorized, my family didn’t own any books; they were both expensive and impractical for our working, everyday use.
The strain quickly caused a headache to pulse at my temples, causing time to slow. Soon the light outside began to fade as twilight painted the sky. The floating candles remained lit, drifting closer to offer ample light, so that Wizard Alden seemed unaware of the settling night, remaining burrowed in his own studies, oblivious to all else. I frowned at his back hunched over his thick volume in an unregal posture; he occasionally paused to scribble notes, his fingertips stained with ink.
I tried to return to my own studies but quickly grew distracted—the magical objects scattered about the room were far more interesting than a text I couldn’t understand, as was the magic simmering beneath my skin. I soon became occupied with practicing my powers as Wizard Alden had taught me this morning. Concentration proved difficult with my current mental strain, but after several attempts I managed to manifest the tingly warmth beneath my skin through a swirl of glistening purple light.
The magic finally drew the wizard’s elusive attention. He frowned. “You’re a fast reader. I didn’t expect you to get to the practical portion for at least another day.”
I bit my lip. “I haven’t yet reached it; I’m still in the first chapter.”
His eyes bulged. “You are?”
His clear astonishment at my lack of progress—something his poor tutelage had vastly contributed to—annoyed me enough to push past my natural reservation towards unleashing my frustrations on a member of the royal family.
I snapped the book shut. “Perhaps apprenticeships are done differently in the capital, but in my village the Master takes a more hands on approach. That was my understanding when I signed our contract. If an afternoon like this one is all I have to expect, left alone to study material I cannot understand, then if at all possible I want out.”
Heavy silence hung thickly in the air following my outburst, punctuated only by the ruffle of the spellbook’s pages as it tilted itself back and forth between us in silent anticipation. Eventually Wizard Alden heaved a sigh as he swiveled in his seat to fully face me. “My apologies. Even if I wasn’t distracted by researching why my portal veered so off course, it’d still be difficult to give you what you expect when I’m still in training myself.”
“Then why did you acquire an apprentice?” The question still nagged me—he’d been so adamant about my acceptance…only to entirely ignore me after he’d gotten his way. Despite the effort he’d expended for me to become his apprentice, my presence felt like a nuisance, leaving me feeling confused and frustrated.
“The decision was admittedly rather spontaneous. As such I didn’t fully consider the implications. In the end it all comes down to the fact that I need an apprentice…for various reasons.”
Once again he was being purposefully vague. I had the sinking suspicion that, like his identity, he had a reason not to disclose his true intentions. I lifted a brow. “Such as?”
He fiddled with his quill. “In part, I thought my apprentice could aid in performing some of the tedious preparations often needed for my spells, or help with other menial magical tasks so that I had more time for my own studies, something I already lack with my pressing royal duties.”
I blinked at him. “So you were just seeking a hired assistant?”
“Not entirely…” But he hadn’t denied it. There was clearly another reason he wasn’t telling me, one his extended silence indicated would likely upset me.
Unbelievable, though it made my painful decision easier. “Where’s our contract? I want out.”
His chair tipped over as he stumbled to his feet in dismay. “You can’t. A magical contract can’t be broken.”
“It’s broken already,” I snapped. “You haven’t upheld the terms upon which we agreed: I signed up to learn the art and craft of magic, not to be your magical housekeeper or to spend hours reading tomes I don’t understand.” I stomped over to push the book into his hands so forcefully he nearly dropped it.
“You are learning the art and craft of magic; you just need to study in order to acquire the basics.”
“Then you need to ensure I understand these basics as I read about them, else I’m merely wasting my time.”
We had a silent stare down before his tense posture eased with a heavy sigh of capitulation. “You’re right, I haven’t been an effective tutor. First I was distracted with my parents, then my own magical weaknesses concerning my failed portal. This is as new to me as it is to you, so please don’t prematurely give up until you give our arrangement a fair try; I need an apprentice.”
I pressed my hands to my hips. “And you refuse to disclose the reason why?”
He bit his lip and remained silent. I sighed and considered what to do. Unfortunately there weren’t many options open to me. Not only was I bound by the magic document I’d signed, but my anger had done little to suppress my yearnings to explore my magic; if anything they’d only grown as I immersed myself in my studies, despite not fully understanding them.
He tentatively opened the book I’d failed to comprehend. “What part can I explain?”
“All of it,” I said.
“That will take time we don’t currently have.”
“And whose fault is that?”
By his widening eyes he’d clearly overheard the words I’d muttered beneath my breath. His lips twitched. “Hmm, you’re a feisty one.” He didn’t seem bothered by this; if anything, he appeared intrigued, as if he found a common girl putting him in his place vastly entertaining.
My cheeks warmed by my daring but I held my ground. He glanced towards the window at the fading light settling across the royal grounds.
“You’re quite right that I’m to blame for our circumstances. Unfortunately, the hour has grown late and I’m due to attend dinner; I promise to provide a full explanation of the material, but I’d rather not rush it. In hopes of making up for my negligence, I will at least provide your promised tour, with the assurance I’ll assist you with anything you don’t understand from your reading first thing in the morning.”
Though unideal, it was better than nothing.
His promised tour wasn’t lengthy, as the magical quarters consisted of only a few rooms—I’d already seen the main workshop, but there was also a brewing room where ingredients were stored and potions were created, a library, a kitchen enchanted to transport prepared meals directly from the palace kitchens, and a few bedrooms upstairs. My assigned room was small yet more spacious than the cramped room I’d shared with my family back home, but though it was the first time I’d ever had my own room, I felt no joy at the prospect, only aching loneliness.
I glanced towards the closed doors lining the corridor. “Which room is yours?”
His eyebrows rose. “I no longer sleep here. I used to on occasion on days I stayed late and was too tired to return home, but it’d be inappropriate for me to do so now that you’ll be living here.”
My face burned at the insinuation behind my innocent comment, a blush that was thankfully masked by the dim light and my darker skin. “Of course.”
I was relieved I wouldn’t always be in such close proximity to the prince—not just because he easily riled me but because for some reason his proximity made me anxious, a feeling that urged me to engage in a battle of wills that had no place with a royal, despite him not seeming easily offended.
After ensuring I had everything I needed, he departed. I slid the curtain aside a sliver to watch him walk across the grounds until he disappeared. With a weary sigh I allowed the curtain to fall back and perched at the edge of the bed to look around my new room, empty save for its bare furnishings and a silence that stretched to fill every corner. From downstairs I could faintly hear the soft ruffle of the spellbook’s pages, but otherwise I was entirely alone.
And thus my first day as Wizard Alden’s apprentice concluded.
* * *
My first nightspent away from home was more restless than the one before when my mind had been occupied with thoughts of magic; this time I was haunted by my family’s absence, the darkness too silent without the familiar, comforting sound of their soft breaths as they slept.
The night slipped away with very little sleep, which made it difficult to concentrate the following morning when Wizard Alden fulfilled his promise to explain the chapter in its entirety. Although I understood more of it than I had when attempting to study it on my own, my exhaustion hindered most of my comprehension, a deep fatigue that took several long days to make up for.
The first week passed in a blur as we attempted to establish our routine, a balance between study, practice, and duties. Depending on the day, I alternated between resentment at being magically bound to an apprenticeship I often found difficult and frustrating, and excitement at the new magical powers I was slowly uncovering; on occasion the emotions varied within the same day, sometimes even down to the hour.
Though the prince was never as neglectful as he’d been the first day, his royal duties prevented him from devoting as much attention to his magic as he wanted. The hours he managed to steal had to be divided between assisting me and his own studies, training which he conducted with as much fervor as he’d dedicated to his portal work our first day, leaving me wondering if his hard work was due to his dedication to his craft or was motivated by something else.
Due to his busy schedule, reading founded my magical training, but gradually the task grew easier as I became more familiar with the magical vocabulary and the diagrams demonstrating each spell, which were more difficult to master than I anticipated. My master was patient yet often distracted, but no matter how busy he became, he did his best to answer my questions and assist me with the details of my craft.
We began with simple charms, basic spells, and menial potions, all whose effects were often not worth the effort required, but I still thrilled whenever I could create my own magic—whether it was causing an object to float, creating my own bulb of light, or transforming an ordinary object into something extraordinary.
My studies were broken up by my promised visits to my family every weekend, all of which gave me the incentive to work hard so I’d have something to showcase. I never tired of Mother’s proud awe and Corbin’s exclamations of delight as I showed off my small accomplishments, nor the thought of the rest I could provide them should I finally master the magic that would be able to aid my mother and alleviate my brother’s discomfort.
When I wasn’t studying, I took on the role of an assistant and helped Wizard Alden with some of his magical duties, which he assured me were essential for my own training. I spent hours gathering herbs and ingredients in the surrounding forest and preparing them, organizing books and potions, and keeping things tidy. It might be tiring work, but I vastly preferred it to trying to decipher a book of magical instruction.
My fascination with magic grew with each passing day, as did my ease in controlling my powers the more I practiced. With each successful spell magic became more my own, not just a tool but a friend who, with the right persuasion, could do my bidding.
If only our peaceful rhythm would last, but everything changed the day an unexpected summons arrived.
It began as any other. I sat at the workbench practicing a tonic meant to soothe discomfort, one of the most basic brews. I hummed to myself as I chopped the ingredients, pausing occasionally to consult the book, ensuring the appearance and measurements matched the description. I finished mincing the dahlia petals and pulverizing an acorn, and was just beginning to peel willow tree bark when Wizard Alden’s annoyed sigh punctuated the air.
I glanced towards him. “Is something the matter?”
“It’s nothing.” But his jaw clenched, betraying him; one of the earliest traits I’d learned about Wizard Alden was that he was a rather poor liar.
I shrugged and returned to my potion, faintly aware that the longer I worked, the more rigid the wizard’s posture became…until a glimmer of magic surrounded him following a wave of his hand. It faded, leaving him much more relaxed.
I returned to my potion, measuring each ingredient with the utmost care. It was essential I master this tonic. If it alleviated some of Corbin’s discomfort, I could prepare a steady supply and transport it back home through the magical circle Wizard Alden had drawn in a corner of our workshop that connected with the one he’d created in the dirt outside my cottage, allowing me to efficiently send messages, wages, extra food, and items to make my brother smile.
I’d been working on this tonic for four days, but despite my many attempts, I could never get the completed potion to match the illustration—today’s was murky orange, a stark contrast to the vivid blue the book indicated meant a successful concoction. I yearned to seek Wizard Alden’s assistance, but his tension combined with his extra concentration on whatever he was currently working on made me hesitant.
When today’s attempt turned my brew a bubbly crimson, I realized there was no help for it. With a reluctant sigh I faced the prince. “Wizard Alden, can you help me?”
No response. I waited a patient moment in case he needed to find a good stopping point, but after a minute passed I surmised he hadn’t heard me.
“Wizard Alden?”
Nothing.
“Prince Alden?”
My use of his despised title should have at least gotten me a response, yet still nothing. I abandoned my failed concoction to tentatively approach, yet he still didn’t look up even after I’d reached him. Magical energy filled the air, as if some sort of cocoon surrounded him, blocking out all distractions.
Curiosity compelled me to lean over his shoulder to see what had so effectively captured his attention and was met with an unusual list: magical theory (finish the complete works), acquire an apprentice, master charms to Level 9 or higher, invent my own enchantment, create an advanced brew, invent a unique spell, embark on a magical quest…
His arm blocked out the rest. Beneath each item were a series of brainstormed ideas written in an untidy scrawl, with two tidy checkmarks beside “magical theory” and “acquire an apprentice.”
My brow furrowed. What was this?
He stretched, a movement that caused his shoulder to graze my fluffy hair. He startled and swiveled to face me, his elbow nearly making contact with my face. “Maeve! What are you doing?” Magic hummed in the air as he performed a hasty, unspoken spell; even with my minimal training I recognized that he’d just removed a charm.
“Now you notice me.”
He blinked towards the bench where I’d been sitting only moments before, his expression bashful. “I’m sorry.” He offered no explanation, but with the magic lingering in the air, I didn’t need one.
“What magic did you perform?”
He hesitated. “Just a spell to help me concentrate.”
The spell he’d chosen wasn’t difficult to guess. “Was it a silencing spell?”
The guilt twisting his expression was all the confirmation I needed. “You hum while you work, which can make it difficult to focus.”
I frowned. “My humming hasn’t seemed to bother you before…or have you been performing such a spell my entire apprenticeship?”
His silence was confirmation enough. If his concentration was so fragile, he should have considered that before getting an apprentice. I managed to refrain from voicing the accusation, but only just.
“I didn’t mean to bother you; I like to hum while I work.”
“I noticed.” He said nothing more as he reluctantly set aside his quill and gave me his full attention. “Is there something I can help you with?” By his tone he clearly hoped the matter would be an easy one to settle.
Even so, he was being strangely cooperative…which made me suspect he didn’t want me to ask about the contents of his list, a suspicion he confirmed by mumbling a hasty spell to blur the words, masking them from my view. Naturally, his attempts to hide the contents only escalated my unquenchable curiosity.
I debated between going against his wishes in asking about the strange list—something I felt particularly invested in, considering I’d been on it—or taking advantage of his rare undivided attention. Naturally the latter won as I reminded myself that the sooner I mastered my tonic, the sooner I could help my dear brother.
“No matter how many times I attempt it, my brew always ends up the wrong color.”
Wizard Alden approached my simmering cauldron and studied the contents. He dipped his hand in and rubbed a droplet between finger and thumb, then carefully checked my measurements and the size of my minced ingredients. “It was prepared well, so it appears this is a magical theory issue.”
I nearly groaned. He had the annoying tendency to insert magical theory into his lessons at every opportunity, facts that were not only confusing but unbearably dull. “What theory did I fail to pay attention to this time?”
“I suspect it either has to do with the order you added your ingredients, the manner in which you added them, or how you stirred them. I have a book that might help.”
I bit my tongue to stave my protests as he wandered to the shelf. The spellbook perked up at seeing its master’s need and inched itself closer in an effort to draw his attention, but he dismissed it with a pat, causing it to droop in a disgruntled manner.
After rummaging through several shelves he still hadn’t found what he was looking for. “Did you rearrange my books?”
“I did. Your original organization was chaotic.”
“But it was my chaos. I knew where everything was.”
“But I didn’t. It was hindering my studies, considering I don’t yet know how to use a summoning spell to acquire what I need, whereas you do.”
He muttered something indiscernible, his tone grumpy and his good cheer all but eclipsed by the same tension I’d observed when I caught him with that mysterious parchment.
“You seem on edge,” I observed. “Is something on your mind?”
At my words his gaze made a sudden dart—not towards me, but to the window. “Of course not. Everything is—”
The remainder of his words were swallowed by a gasp at the glistening light that suddenly flickered into view. As it approached, I saw that it was a glowing butterfly, a creature I now recognized as a standard choice in sending messages between magical beings.
Wizard Alden hurried over to wrench the window open and eagerly snatched the ethereal insect. Upon contact, the butterfly melted into a piece of parchment, which he read frantically, his eyes widening with every word.
“What is it?” I asked.
He seemed to scarcely hear me, his attention entirely eclipsed by his message, while his expression warred between joy and nerves.
“At last, after all this time…it’s finally here.”
And that was the moment when the quiet magical life we’d forged drastically changed.