Chapter 8 Wen
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Wen
Three days after the assassination attempt, I was sitting in a private meeting room with a witch who looked like she could turn me into a toad if I annoyed her, and honestly, at this point, I might welcome it.
Casimya was ancient. Not just old, but ancient in the way that mountains were ancient.
Powerful. Unshakeable. She’d swept into the castle that morning like she owned the place, her dark robes trailing behind her and her silver hair braided in intricate patterns that probably had magical significance I didn’t understand.
According to Mal’s very formal introduction, she was one of the most knowledgeable witches alive when it came to bloodlines and magical ancestry.
She was also, I discovered within five minutes, delightfully sarcastic.
“The power this boy has,” she said, looking at Killian who was sleeping on my lap, exhausted from another nightmare-filled night. His body was curled against me, one hand fisted in my shirt like even in sleep he was afraid I might disappear. “I have only heard of it once before.”
“When?” Mal asked, leaning forward in his chair with that intensity that meant he was cataloging every word.
“A family. Long ago. The best portal casters who ever lived. Hybrids, most of them. Legends, really. Basically the Shakira of portal magic.”
I blinked. “Did you just compare ancient magical bloodlines to Shakira? How do you even know about Shakira?”
“I pride myself on investigating other worlds, so I’m very familiar with Earth and Shakira. Her hips don’t lie and neither did this family’s portals. The comparison stands.” Casimya’s expression was completely serious, which somehow made it funnier.
I liked her immediately. Anyone who could reference pop culture while discussing centuries-old magical lineages was my kind of person.
“What happened to them?” I asked, trying to focus on the important parts instead of the absurdity.
Casimya waved her hand dismissively, her rings catching the light. “They vanished. Poof. Gone. Very dramatic exit, from what I understand. No goodbye notes, no forwarding address, just gone.”
“When was this?”
“Over two hundred years ago, give or take a decade. I lose track after the first century.”
“Two hundred? Then they’re dead. They’d have to be.”
“Bold of you to assume. Witches are stubborn about dying.”
I shifted in my seat, my hand gripping the armrest. “You mean...”
“Witches live very long lives, Your Majesty, just like wolves. Centuries, if we’re powerful enough. Or too spiteful to die. I’m personally aiming for spiteful. It seems more reliable than power.”
“Wait,” I said. “How old are you?”
Casimya smiled, sharp and amused. “Rude question. I like you.”
I couldn’t help but smile back. There was something refreshing about her complete lack of formality. She treated Mal like he was just another person instead of a powerful king, and she talked to me like we were friends grabbing coffee instead of complete strangers discussing magical ancestry.
“What were their names?” Mal asked, and I could hear the control in his voice. “The portal casters?”
“The last known were Lohuis and Marya. Basically royalty in the magical community. Everyone wanted their power. That’s the only reason they were liked, really. Witches pointedly ignored their wolf ancestry because we’re snobs like that. Can’t have the perfect bloodline sullied by animal shifters.”
I froze.
Everything went very still.
“What?” My voice came out strangled. “What were their names?”
“Lohuis and Marya,” Casimya repeated, tilting her head as she looked at me with sudden interest. “Ring any bells?”
“Louis and Mary,” I whispered. The room tilted. “Oh my god. Oh my GOD.”
“Your grandparents,” Mal said. He didn’t sound surprised at all, the bastard.
“But that would mean they were over two hundred years old?” I looked between them, waiting for someone to tell me I was being ridiculous, that this was impossible.
“If they’re who I think they are? Yes. And they were definitely hiding from something. Or someone.” Casimya studied me like I was a particularly interesting puzzle. “You didn’t know. About any of this.”
“No! I thought they were just normal old people! Who died normal old people deaths a few years ago!” My voice was rising but I couldn’t control it.
Killian stirred slightly in my lap and I forced myself to lower my volume.
“They were my grandparents. They raised me. They made me pancakes on Sundays and taught me to read and helped me with my homework. They were just normal.”
“Did you actually see the bodies?” Casimya asked, her tone gentle.
I opened my mouth. Closed it. “Yes. They were cremated. My grandma’s heart gave out, and weeks later my grandpa followed her. They are dead.”
“Huh. Maybe human Earth snuffled their powers, or maybe they were ready to see the afterlife and decided to leave this physical plane.”
I was going to be sick.
“Portal casters are always so dramatic,” Casimya continued conversationally, like she hadn’t just upended my entire understanding of reality. “Always with the ‘ooh, look at me, I am a superior being.’ Please. It’s exhausting being around them.”
I let out a surprised laugh despite everything. “You don’t like portal casters?”
“I respect their power immensely. But they’re tiring as people. Always disappearing mid-conversation. Your grandparents once portaled away in the middle of a council meeting. Just gone, right in the middle of someone’s sentence. Very rude.”
“That sounds exactly like something they’d do,” I admitted, actually smiling even though my worldview was imploding. They’d done the same thing to me countless times growing up, just vanishing from rooms. I’d thought it was a game, that they were terribly fast.
It had been magic the whole time.
Casimya was watching Mal now, her expression shifting to something amused. “Something wrong, Your Majesty?”
“No,” Mal said stiffly.
I could feel his jealousy through the bond like a warm pulse of irritation. He was annoyed that I was bonding with Casimya, that I was smiling and laughing with her when I’d barely spoken to him for three days. Well. Served him right.
“You look constipated,” Casimya observed with clinical interest.
I choked on a laugh, pressing my hand to my mouth to keep from waking Killian. “He does kind of.”
“I do not...”
“Very constipated. Maybe eat more fiber. It’s good for regularity.”
“Oh my god,” I was full-on laughing now, my shoulders shaking.
“This is not productive,” Mal said, sounding so offended that it just made it funnier.
“Fiber is very productive. Keeps things moving.”
I loved this witch. I was absolutely keeping her.
“I found a book,” I said, the memory suddenly surfacing through my laughter.
My smile faded as the pieces started clicking together.
“Years ago, at Halloween. Five years ago, actually, right before I opened that first portal. A magic book in their storage room. I thought it was just old and weird, some kind of antique. But it was real, wasn’t it?
The magic was real. They were actual witches and I just thought they were quirky old people with a thing for creepy books. ”
My breathing was getting faster. “Oh god, they LIED to me. About everything. My whole childhood was a performance.”
“Why did they disappear?” Mal asked Casimya, his attention fully on her now. “Why hide in the human realm for two hundred years?”
“Many people wanted their power. To study it. To steal it. To weaponize it. The magical community can be rather acquisitive about rare abilities. Especially ones as powerful as portal magic. And there were a lot more people interested in their abilities.”
“So they ran,” I said flatly.
“And hid in the human realm. Smart, actually. Brilliant, even. Without them to cast portals, the gates between worlds would be completely closed. Earth was the perfect hiding place for two powerful witches who wanted to disappear.”
“This is...” I couldn’t finish the sentence. “My entire life was a carefully constructed lie. Everything I thought I knew about my family, my history, my identity, all of it was fiction designed to keep me safe and ignorant.”
“Not a lie,” Casimya said gently. “A protection. There’s a difference.”
“Doesn’t feel different right now.”
Killian stirred in my lap, making a distressed sound. I automatically adjusted my hold on him, stroking his hair until he settled again.
“I think that’s enough for today,” Mal said, standing abruptly. “Casimya, thank you for your time.”
“Understandable. That’s a lot to process in one sitting.” Casimya stood gracefully. “I’ll be in the east wing if you need me. Try not to spiral too hard, dear. It never helps.”
She swept out of the room before Mal could respond, and I would’ve laughed if I wasn’t currently having an existential crisis.
I sat there, staring at nothing, trying to process the impossible. Two hundred years. My grandparents had lived two hundred years and lied to me every single day. Every birthday, every holiday, every normal moment, all built on lies.
“Wen...” Mal started, taking a step toward me.
“My grandparents. My family. My entire childhood. My understanding of who and what I am. All lies. Meticulously maintained for decades.”
“They were protecting you.”
“By lying to me?” I looked up at him, anger starting to burn through the shock. “By letting me think I was human when I’m apparently descended from legendary magical bloodlines that people hunt?”
Before Mal could respond, the door burst open and Daphne rushed in, nearly tripping over her own feet.
“Hi... Oh my god, Wen!” She took one look at my face. “You’re pale. Like, ghost pale. Are you okay? Don’t answer that, you’re clearly not okay. What happened?”
“I just found out I’m part wolf, part witch, part human, and my grandparents who I thought were normal human beings were actually magical beings who lied to me about literally everything for my entire life. Nothing big, of course. Just a casual identity crisis again.”
“WHAT?!”