Chapter 14 Iris #2
But every time I glance at Cadeon, I feel the weight of what's coming.
He catches my eye across the crowded table and smiles. Warm. Certain. Utterly unafraid.
I wish I could borrow some of that certainty.
At eleven o'clock, I stand.
The room falls quiet. Sixty faces turn toward me, expectant. At the far end of the table, Cadeon watches with quiet pride.
"Thank you all for coming," I begin, and my voice only trembles a little. "My grandmother hosted this feast for decades. She saw it as a display of power. A reminder of Ashwood strength and Ashwood influence."
A few uncomfortable glances around the table. Everyone knows what Elspeth Ashwood was.
"I'm not my grandmother." I take a breath. "I'm a kitchen witch who talks to plants and burns soup when I'm distracted. My magic doesn't move mountains or win wars. It makes tea that helps you sleep and bread that tastes like being home."
Someone chuckles. The tension eases slightly.
"When I inherited this cottage and its..
. responsibilities, I didn't know what to do.
I'd spent my whole life being told my magic wasn't enough.
Wasn't powerful. Wasn't worthy of the Ashwood name.
" I look at Cadeon, and he gives me a small nod of encouragement.
"It took me embarrassingly long to realize that power isn't just about force.
It's about choice. About how we treat the people who depend on us.
About whether we use our magic to dominate or to care. "
The room has gone very still.
"Tonight is solstice. The Alignment. For many of you, the bonds you've built with your familiars will be tested.
The magic will ask whether your bond should exist, and in what form.
" I let my gaze travel around the table, taking in mages and familiars alike.
"I'm not going to tell you how to answer that question.
But I will tell you this: familiars are not tools.
They're not weapons. They're not assets to be maintained or resources to be managed.
They're people. People who chose to bond with us.
People who deserve respect and care and the freedom to make their own choices. "
Magnus shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Good.
"The old ways would have us believe that dominance is necessary.
That control is kindness. That familiars need to be kept in line for their own good.
" I shake my head. "I've seen what that belief does.
I've seen the hollowing out it causes. The slow erosion of personhood until there's nothing left but obedience. "
My voice catches. Cadeon's eyes are bright across the room.
"Tonight, when you go home to tend your bonds, I ask you to consider what you want those bonds to become.
Partnership or ownership. Connection or control.
Love or fear." I lift my glass. "To the bonds that lift us up.
To the choices we make. And to the people who remind us that magic is nothing without kindness. "
"To kindness," several voices echo.
"To choice," others add.
Glasses raise around the room. Even Magnus lifts his, though his expression suggests he's swallowed something bitter.
I sit down, trembling, and feel Cadeon's approval wash through the bond like sunlight.
The guests begin leaving at half past eleven.
Each mage-familiar pair slips away to tend their own solstice rituals, their own bond transformations. Some look nervous. Others look relieved. A few of the familiars meet my eyes as they leave, and I see something there that might be hope.
Thea hugs me at the door. "That was beautiful," she whispers. "You're going to be fine."
Ash shakes Cadeon's hand. "Good luck. Not that you need it."
"Thank you." Cadeon's voice is warm. "For everything."
Magnus is one of the last to leave. He pauses in front of me, his hawk familiar silent on his shoulder.
"Your grandmother would be appalled by that speech," he says gruffly.
"I know."
"She would say you're undermining centuries of tradition. Weakening the foundations of mage-familiar bonds. Setting dangerous precedents."
"Probably."
He's quiet for a moment. Then, grudgingly: "She would also be wrong."
Before I can respond, he's gone, striding into the night with Talon ruffling his feathers against the cold. Part oe me wonders what the bird looks like in human form.
I stare after him, speechless.
"That might be the closest thing to approval Magnus has ever given anyone," Cadeon observes from behind me.
"Did he just admit my grandmother was wrong about something?"
"It appears so. Shall I document the occasion for posterity?"
I laugh, but it comes out shaky. The cottage is empty now, quiet except for the crackle of dying fires. Candles still float near the ceiling, casting soft shadows. The detritus of the feast covers the table.
And the clock on the mantle reads eleven forty-five.
Fifteen minutes until midnight.
Fifteen minutes until the bond transforms or breaks.
Cadeon closes the door and turns to face me. He looks calm. Settled. Ready.
I feel like I'm going to vibrate out of my skin.
"The dishes—" I start.
"Can wait."
"The candles need to be—"
"They're fine."
"I should check the—"
"Iris." He crosses to me, takes my hands in his. "Stop."
"I can't." The words tumble out, frantic. "I don't know how to stop. I don't know how to just stand here and wait for everything to change. I need to do something, fix something, control something—"
"I know." His voice is gentle. "That's exactly the problem, isn't it?"
I stare at him, my heart pounding.
"You've been taking care of everyone else for so long," he says quietly. "Taking care of me. Managing everything, controlling everything, being strong for everyone. And now the magic is asking you to let go."
"What if I can't?"
"Then we'll figure it out together." He squeezes my hands. "That's what partners do."
The clock chimes the quarter hour. Eleven forty-five becomes eleven forty-six.
Fourteen minutes.
"Come with me," Cadeon says, and leads me toward the sitting room, toward the fire, toward whatever comes next.
I follow, because I trust him.
Even if I don't quite trust myself.