Chapter 8
Isca
My sleep was fragmented and restless, each bout broken by another imagined disaster. My mind became a stage for a thousand unwelcome futures, all clamoring for attention the moment I closed my eyes. Why couldn’t the Assembly have given me any details about what they wanted or why?
Since I was the first one awake, I quickly changed and threw on my shawl to get the stall ready for Papa. The market was silent, so I sat there for a few minutes, gazing up at the looming Mage’s fortress, skin covered in goosebumps from the chill air. What kind of trouble had I gotten myself into?
The main structure at Avanfell’s heart still stood strong, held together by magic and stubbornness. I couldn’t imagine any place grander. Its towers pierced the sky, dark against the pale light, as if challenging the heavens.
My brief yearly trips to the lofty building—which had loomed over my life like a watchful giant since my magic appeared—comprised my entire experience with it up to this point.
And each visit consisted solely of announcing my name and handing over money; that was all they’d wanted from me. Until now.
I imagined servants already racing through those stone halls, their footsteps echoing beneath chandeliers brimming with candlelight, cleaning and cooking for masters who wouldn’t deign to glance their way if they weren’t serving them.
If things had been slightly different, I would’ve been part of that world.
But my mother had chosen love with a man lacking magic over breeding with a gifted one, condemning our family to a life of poverty.
To the mages above, it didn’t matter that every single child born of their marriage had manifested magic.
My father was an outsider. Employable, but never one of them.
Now, all three of my sisters were married.
One a day’s ride outside Caervorn to a trader, another to a farmer in the south, and the youngest only last year to a different trader in Wynth.
My two middle brothers were both able to conjure elemental magic and had become guards for the same lord in southern Larethia.
Only Tegil and I were left. The beginning and the end, stuck at home.
On my way back to meet my mother, I pleaded with Fate to hasten the arrival of Tegil’s magic.
No one really venerated the gods anymore, but I wasn’t above begging defunct deities for help in that.
Should anything happen to me at this meeting, my parents would need Tegil’s skills to survive.
A heavy burden for a thirteen-year-old, but life wasn’t fair—especially not to us.
By the time I opened the door, everyone was digging into the remainder of the bread.
My father winked as I sat down. I simply couldn’t take it from him anymore.
“Papa, what is going on with you? You’ve been down for months—and of course, no one blames you for that—but now you’re acting like the accident didn’t happen. ”
“The dress happened,” he answered cryptically.
“What?” I asked at the same time as my brother managed, “The dress?”
“The dress means they’re trying to get you in for something without notice. I’ve done it before.”
My mother’s anxiety immediately spiked, like thorns digging into my skin. My father, however, didn’t require empathic magic to understand how she was going to react.
“Calm, Heleth,” he soothed. “It’s all part of a political game to them.
Given what Isca can do, my guess is that someone wants her to subtly use her abilities on an opponent or some other nonsense.
She’ll never even be noticed! Might come home with another handsome coin for a day’s trouble.
Honestly, I expected this to happen years before. ”
“So you’re glad I’m about to manipulate people with my magic? And you trust the Assembly now?” I asked, incredulous.
“No, on both counts.” His tone and stony face were back to the commanding father I remembered. “You’re smart enough to get around the worst they’ll throw at you. Just like your mother and I were.”
My parents promised to tell me the story of their romantic beginnings when I was married myself or on my twenty-fifth birthday. At this rate, I’d hit twenty-five before I met anyone. From the hints I’d gathered, their story was a bloody one, concluding with secrets kept in return for their silence.
My father cleared his throat, and his voice resonated with unexpected gravity.
“Isca, I’m happy you’re about to be offered a chance at a better life than I’ve been able to give you.
They won’t ask you to do any bloody work.
You’re not the type. And…if you do a good job, they might take notice of your brother when his magic comes in and offer him training.
I want my children happy. And you haven’t been happy in years. ”
Gods above and below. His words struck harder than any blow. My hardworking, caring father felt guilty for not providing more for us. Tears surged in my eyes, hot and sudden, turning the world into a smear of color.
“Damnit, Taig,” my mother chided my father. “Ya had to go and make her face all puffy before she meets the chancellor.”
***
An unnerving silence replaced my mother’s usual chatter as she cleaned our laundry. The river water was still cold enough from the melting snow in the mountains that bathing in it should’ve been impossible. But being a mage meant free baths in the river year-round.
Warming myself with magic took as much energy from my body as running, so I bathed quickly. I left the frigid water feeling refreshed, with the lingering scent of the herbs I’d worked into the soap clinging to my skin and hair.
The servant’s gown the messenger had handed my mother the night before was a beautiful dark purple shade and fitted at the waist. Although a little too loose, it was quite flattering, at least judging by my reflection in the river.
Something about wearing the Assembly’s garb finally unlocked my mother’s tongue.
She’d lived in the fortress for nearly a decade before she married my father, serving as a seamstress.
Information about its inner workings poured from her as we traveled to the meeting.
But underneath all her advice was an uneasiness I couldn’t ignore.
“Mama, just come out and say it,” I bit out. “You’ve warned me of a million different scenarios. Say what you’re really thinking.”
“Isca.” She turned toward me and grabbed my arms with both hands so fast that I stopped dead in my tracks. “You are my oldest, my wisest, my most responsible child. Your father was right. You have been unhappy for so many years, and I’ve not been able to do anything about it.”
She looked down at the ground then back up at me with a glint of regret in her eyes.
The second hammer blow of the day slammed into my chest as she said, “The Mother blessed me with too many children to care for. It forced you to be a woman far too early, and you’re still making up for my lack while I’ve cared for your father since his accident. I’m sorry.”
The floodgates in my eyes opened again. I blinked away the blurriness as she pulled me into a fierce, breath-stealing hug, the kind I hadn’t felt in too long. For a moment, I was her little girl again.
When we finally resumed walking after a few brushed-away tears, she said, “Sitting at home taking care of me and your father is not what you wanted for yourself. You’re the child I always expected to make the biggest splash.
You act meek and prim in front of everyone.
But we both know you have more than that inside. You can’t hide from me, girl.”
She was right, as usual. I wanted more than a market stall and bargain mending. Small things, like a bedroom to myself, true friends, not just my siblings, and not having to conceal my hunger so Tegil could have enough food to grow.
But I also wanted to have a voice that people would listen to. I wanted to matter.
“Your father is getting stronger every day. That means I can start managing the stall while I mend again.”
A few mages glided past us, magic keeping their shoes clean despite the muddy path. Their glances bounced off me as if I were part of the scenery, wholly unimportant.
That was the power of this servant’s dress in action.
The road to the fortress curved sharply upward, still slick with the morning’s mist where the shadows of the heavy stone walls were thickest. The closer we got to the outer gates, the more tangible the hum of power became.
I swallowed hard. My heart pounded with uncertainty as I neared, the dread growing heavier with each step.
My mother grew silent under the same weight.
We passed under not one but two ancient archways that tested our magical reserves.
The spellcraft to fabricate those was lost to history, but the Assembly made certain that everyone who crossed through them either had a charm that let them in or fit neatly into their definition of “good enough.”
I hated it.
As we neared the final archway to the inner courtyard, Mama pulled me toward her and brushed a strand of hair from my eyes. The sound of her low, steady voice, warm and reassuring, calmed my jitters, even more than her magic could have.
“Love,” she said, “Never trust them, and never forget that you’re smart enough to work around them.”
She reached into the folds of her cloak and pulled out a small sprig of lavender. With gentle fingers, she tucked it into my braid. Then she kissed my cheek, turned, and left without looking back.
Something about the way she walked, with her shoulders stiff and head high, felt too definitive. I couldn’t explain it, but I knew I’d be a different person after this meeting.
Every muscle trembled as I stood before the final heavy iron gates, the scent of lavender a faint comfort against what lay within.
But when I stepped forward, it was with a determined stride. Whatever waited on the other side, I would meet it standing.