6. 5 #3
“All of this to say,”—she exhaled, pressing her palms to her face before flipping to the next page. Her finger landed on a line of text—“true Velmirians held the strongest magic of all. Lance is no exception. You could learn a great deal from him.”
Mabel pursed her lips. She knew he wouldn’t be satisfied with that arrangement. He’d made his distaste of her clear. Theodore would also be less than pleased.
The lessons continued. Mabel listened closely, scribbling notes in the blank journal Frey had given her. She filled each page with snippets of meaning, sketches of glyphs, and the rising joy that this world wasn’t locked to her after all.
Finally, when Frey was satisfied, she cleared a space on the table and laid out a parchment. A single incantation had been drawn in looping ink, encircled with runes.
Frey clasped her hands with an encouraging smile. “We’ll start with illusion work. You will simply picture the image you want to project and let it manifest. Don’t force it—just feel the magic, let it move through you.”
She gave a brief demonstration, lifting her hand. A shimmering shape formed in the air beside her—an elegant deer, translucent and glowing faintly, as if made of morning mist.
“It doesn’t need to be lifelike,” Frey added. “Only visible.”
Mabel nodded, heart fluttering as she stepped forward. Her eyes closed.
A bird, she thought. Something light. Something free.
She held out her hand, imagining the delicate weight of it perched on her palm, the curve of its wings, the softness of its feathers. Her breathing slowed. She whispered the incantation. She felt a faint pulse under her skin. Something stirred—something small but real.
“Oh!” Frey’s voice broke gently through the quiet. “Delightful.”
Mabel opened her eyes and gasped. A tiny illusion of a bird sat in her palm, glowing faintly with her magic. She laughed, astonished. She had done that. She had made it real.
“Try making it fly,” Frey encouraged.
Mabel nodded and focused again. She pictured its wings unfurling—watched in awe as they did. The bird flapped once, then again, rising from her hand. It swooped through the air, weaving between the hanging plants and circling overhead.
Mabel giggled, joy swelling in her chest.
“Wonderful!” Frey beamed. “You do have magic—and quite the touch for it, too.”
The illusion bird continued to flutter lazily overhead, but Mabel had gone still, her gaze following it in stunned silence.
I have magic.
The thought settled over, soft, but impossible to ignore. Not a dream, not another thing expected of her—but hers. Magic was in her.
It answered when she called, listened when she reached. For the first time, she wasn’t just pretending to belong in this world.
The bird let out a warbled chirp, wings pulsing like a heartbeat, and Mabel felt a smile bloom from somewhere deep in her chest.
A knock came at the door, but Mabel was too absorbed in her illusion to notice. Her focus was fixed on the bird perched in her palm, its delicate wings shimmering with false life.
Frey moved to the entrance and opened it with a knowing smile. “Ah, Lance,” she said warmly, stepping aside. “Come in.”
At the sound of his name, Mabel turned. Her smile vanished. The illusion bird darted toward Lance in a blur of green feathers.
“What the—” He ducked instinctively as the image swooped past his face.
Mabel gasped and slapped a hand over her mouth. Did I do that? She waved her hands quickly, and the bird dissolved into light, vanishing with a soft pop.
Frey laughed softly, patting Lance’s shoulder. “Mabel’s having her first magic lesson,” she said brightly.
Lance blinked, then turned fully into the room, his eyes finding Mabel’s. Their gaze held for a beat too long before he finally said, “You made that?”
She hesitated, looking away from him. “I … guess I did.”
“She did,” Frey confirmed proudly. “And it was marvelous.”
“Do it again,” Lance said, folding his arms. “Show me.”
The air thinned as Mabel’s chest tightened. Lance’s gaze scraped against her focus, stirring something raw—anger, maybe. She straightened, fighting the urge to snap, unwilling to stir trouble in Frey’s presence. A sharp glance was all she spared him before forcing her attention forward.
But her concentration faltered. His presence clung to her thoughts like frost. She sighed quietly, warmth rising to her cheeks. “Just … give me a moment.”
“Take your time, Miss Ravenov,” Lance drawled.
Frey swatted his arm without missing a beat. “Do not belittle her,” she said, calm but firm.
Lance pressed his lips together, muttered a half-hearted apology, then looked away.
Mabel didn’t acknowledge it. She inhaled deeply, shutting her eyes tighter. Forget him. Just focus. She returned to the memory—the bird, its feathers, wings whispering through the air. Her heartbeat followed its rhythm.
When she opened her eyes, it was real.
A luminous green bird nestled in her palms, blinking up at her with patient trust.
Mabel’s breath hitched with joy. She smiled.
Then it took flight, its emerald plumage catching the light as it spun in a wide arc above them.
“Incredible,” Frey breathed, clasping her hands together.
As the bird neared the tall bookshelf, a flicker of light shimmered across the spine of an old tome, followed by movement.
A black serpent slithered from the shadows, coiling along the edge before rearing back, fangs poised to strike.
“Don’t!” Mabel gasped.
But the serpent lunged.
It pierced her illusion midair, and for a breathless moment, Mabel felt the phantom bite bloom in her chest. The conjured bird burst apart in a cascade of shimmer.
Lance tilted his head, smug. “Oops,” he said, voice laced with mock innocence.
Mabel turned away, heat rising in her cheeks, frustration knotting behind her eyes. She clenched her jaw, refusing to meet his gaze.
Frey swatted his arm again with practiced irritation. “Don’t be a show-off,” she scolded, though the fondness in her tone softened the blow.
“That wasn’t showing off,” Lance muttered, his eyes still locked on Mabel.
She didn’t respond. Didn’t look at him.
But she felt the weight of his stare like a challenge she wasn’t ready to answer.
“Mother,” Lance said, shifting his attention. His tone was different now, measured. “There is something I needed to discuss with you.”
Frey tilted her head, curious. “Of course, my child.”
His eyes lingered on Mabel, unreadable, before returning to his mother. “May I speak with you in the hall?”
Frey nodded, her gaze sweeping once more toward Mabel before stepping out. The door clicked softly shut behind them, leaving her alone with the stillness.
With the room hushed once more, Mabel rested against the edge of Frey’s desk, her fingers tapping an uneven rhythm into the polished wood. The silence stretched. She glanced toward the closed door, then back to the spellbook.
She drew a steady breath, closing her eyes.
This time, she envisioned something deeper. Not just beautiful, meaningful. A raven.
When she opened her eyes, light cracked sharply beside her. A raven materialized, dark as ink and twice as silent, hopping across the floor with delicate grace. Its head tilted, watching her.
Mabel dropped to her knees, breath caught. Awe swelled in her chest. It hopped over to her, pecking at the jeweled necklace she wore, seemingly irritated with it.
She gasped and stood, startled, as the raven looked up. Slowly, she crouched again and reached out, fingertips brushing soft feathers. It felt real. Not just light or illusion, but presence.
The raven stepped lightly onto her arm. Mabel bit back a squeal of delight.
“You’re beautiful,” she whispered, stroking its inky feathers. The raven bobbed, then climbed onto her shoulder. She caught her reflection in a glass case across the room—a girl standing tall with a raven perched at her side.
She smiled. This … this looked like someone with magic.
The door eased shut with a soft click behind Queen Frey as she reentered the room. Her eyes immediately landed on the raven perched neatly on Mabel’s shoulder, and she let out a delighted coo.
“It’s magnificent,” she whispered, crossing the room. She extended a hand toward the bird, smiling as her fingers brushed against its glossy feathers. “You’ve given it remarkable detail—it almost breathes.”
Mabel beamed, one hand gently steadying the illusion. “Back home, I used to sit for hours just watching them. Some would come close enough to eat from my hands. I always wanted one, but my father would never allow it. Said they were filthy.”
Frey hummed in sympathy, her gaze softening. “I have an aviary—dozens of birds from all over the kingdom. Would you care to visit it?”
Mabel’s eyes widened, her smile breaking into something radiant. “Really?” She gasped. “I’d love to.”
Mabel followed Frey out of the study, steps quiet against the stone as firelight danced along the corridor walls. Ahead, just at the edge of the hall’s curve, Lance disappeared around the corner. Her brows drew together instinctively.
Frey caught the shift in her expression and followed her line of sight. “Don’t let him get under your skin,” she said. “He can be cruel—but it’s a ruse.”
Mabel didn’t quite believe it, but she played along. “How so?”
“He just brought word of a village not far from here,” Frey replied. “They’ve sent a plea for help—this winter’s been harsh. He asked for my support, wanted me to help convince King Thalen.”
Mabel blinked. That wasn’t what she expected—not from him.
“My husband can be infuriating,” Frey added with a laugh, “but he’s wise enough to listen when I insist.” Mabel smiled faintly, the tension in the air loosening.
Then Frey’s voice softened. “Lance is kind. It takes time to get there, but he is. He has enough adversaries in this house—I’d prefer you weren’t one of them.” Her gaze lingered on Mabel.
Mabel felt the irony tighten in her chest. Excellent, she thought bitterly, Theodore will be thrilled.
But she didn’t argue. Just nodded.