The Proposal
Evocation isn’t always about pain. It’s about sensation. Fire can provide warmth just as readily as it can burn.
Advanced Casting Principles: Evocation by Lionel Lorne
AFTER CONDUITING FOR the Crux, my idea comes together in a burst of inspiration, but it’s my enthusiasm as I explain the plan to Garrett and Bridgette that gains their support. I’m grateful to have it, because I’m going to need their help if we’re going to pull this off.
The night before my royal deadline, I ask Bridgette to give it all one final going over. Her eyes scan the document, and I wait with bated breath, trying not to squirm out of my skin. Then, she grins at me over the piece of vellum.
“This is brilliant, Gal,” she says.
I let out a sigh of pure relief and slump forward, resting my aching forehead on my crossed arms. “Thanks.”
Bridgette sets the vellum down before she carefully pours a drop of purple wax onto the proposal. She hands me the stamp, and I set it into the wax, tamping it closed with the Crux’s seal - a circle of woven rope with a pair of focuses at the center.
“This is going to fill a lot of needs,” Bridgette says. “The Queen would be a fool not to go for it.”
My meeting isn’t until tomorrow, but I wish someone had developed a spell that could speed up time. I’ve slept like trash this whole week and that’s not likely to change tonight.
“It’s done,” Bri says, like she’s read my mind. “Throw it out of your head. You can pick it up again tomorrow.”
I give a small laugh. “Easier said than done. Now I’m excited about it. Which is also going to keep me up.”
Bridgette hums before she gets to her feet. “C’mon, then.”
I blink at her extended hand. “Where are we going?”
“To make you relax,” she says simply.
I glance at my proposal before I take her hand, letting her pull me to my feet. “Lead the way.”
Bridgette takes me down the hall and up the stairs, and though I expect to go to the baths, maybe even a casting room, I’m surprised when she leads me to Arlon’s quarters.
The only other time I’ve been in here was when Arlon collared me for my abjuration mastery.
It feels a little strange to be here without him.
“And how exactly are you planning to get me to relax?” I ask.
Bridgette disappears into the closet before she emerges with a bag, filled with what sounds like clanking glass. “You have been hunched over a desk all week. I’d like to give you a massage.” Her grin is full of mischief. “I’ve done it for Arlon before, and he said to treat you like I’d treat him.”
I raise a curious eyebrow. I’ve conduited for Bridgette before, and something as kind as a massage doesn’t sound like her style. “What kind of massage?”
Bridgette’s grin turns sharp. “How do you feel about fire?”
“Like in a general sense?” I ask as Bridgette heads over to the fireplace and adds a log to the embers. “I’m fine with it.”
“And what if I used fire in the massage I want to give you?”
That piques my curiosity. I’ve cast with wax before, but using fire is new. “I’d say I’m interested.”
Bridgette grins before she motions to the luxurious bed. “Then get undressed and get comfortable.”
I eye the bag of casting supplies before I obey, shedding my clothes. I only hesitate a moment before I lay across the bed on my stomach. When I was collared, I slept on a pad at the foot of it, so sprawling across the lush covers is an unexpected thrill.
I rest my cheek against the soft mattress, and the warmth and comfort of the room has already helped some of my muscles relax. I watch with a sedate sort of interest as Bridgette sets a couple of bottles onto the table next to the bed, followed by a couple of clean rags and a glass bowl.
One bottle - water, I assume - is emptied into the bowl. The other I recognize as soon as Bridgette pulls the cork free. It’s alcohol, the same type we use to clean wounds in the clinic.
“This potency of alcohol catches fire easily,” Bridgette says as she wets the end of one rag with the acrid contents.
“But it also burns quickly. Too quickly to damage skin unless there’s a puddle of it.
” She approaches, and my skin prickles at her proximity.
Gentle fingers brush my curls over my shoulders before the rag draws a line of cold alcohol down my back. “Ready?”
I let out a breath, skin shivering where she’s wet it. “Ready.”
Bridgette lights a match before she brings the flame to my back. There’s a whoosh of air, a shock of warmth, soft as wings against my skin. It travels up and down the line of alcohol before Bridgette snuffs it with a damp rag, a shock of cold after the heat.
“Wax will get you a fire burst,” Bridgette says as she draws another line across my skin, twisting it back and forth over my spine. “But this will get you an inferno.”
She brings the match down again, and heat races across my back. I groan and sink against the bed, enjoying the shock of warmth before the damp cloth snuffs it out.
“Too hot?” Bridgette asks.
“No, it’s perfect,” I say as I melt under her hand.
“Want more?”
I can’t help but grin. “Always.”
Bridgette draws another pattern of alcohol, a pentacle that crosses the center of my back. The match connects, and the lines of fire race out to fill the pattern. It burns for longer than her previous designs, and I gasp at the heat before Bridgette snuffs it out.
I enjoy the attentions as she draws another pattern, a spiral twisting out from the center of my back. It disappears in a snaking trail of heat that seems to ease every knot in my back. Yet even as my body relaxes, my mind is far less capable.
“Can I ask you something?” I say at last.
“Of course.”
“Do you think Arlon will be... okay with this plan?”
“Arlon is... cautious,” she says carefully. “Sometimes too cautious, in my opinion.”
My hopes sink and I bury my face against the covers. They still hold his scent. “You think he’ll hate it.”
“I didn’t say that,” Bridgette says, amused, as she draws another line of alcohol across my skin. “I think he will be... surprised by the audacity of it.”
She brings the match down, and comforting heat blooms from the pattern she created. It doesn’t do much to stop my swirling thoughts. Yet it’s like Bridgette can feel the whirlpool as her fingers trail over my back.
“Gal, look at me.” I turn my head and am greeted by a gentle hand that smooths my curls away from my face. “You aren’t Arlon.”
Cancassi had told me they thought I would be a very different Grandmaster than Arlon, but wrapped in my own doubt, it’s hard to say if that’s a good thing or not.
“Every Grandmaster of the Crux has brought something different to the position,” Bridgette continues, “and you will be no exception.”
“He’s just always... so certain,” I sigh.
Bridgette lets out a huff of a laugh as she rolls her eyes. “Gal, Arlon deals with doubts, the same as the rest of us. For better or worse, he’s just very good at hiding them.”
I watch her out of the corner of my eye as she idly draws another line of alcohol over my skin. When she brings the match to it, I close my eyes, trying to calm the tempest.
“Maybe this idea is too much. Maybe I should scrap it. Come up with something else. Something less risky,” I say and hate how uncertain, how scared my voice sounds.
“I just - gods, this whole thing could misfire spectacularly. And if I fuck this up, then that’s it.
My chance of making this position permanent?
Gone. Redeeming my family’s name? Forget it.
And on top of that, I’ll have created a whole other headache for Arlon when he gets back. ”
Bridgette tsks before she trades the alcohol-dipped rag for one of the other bottles on the bedside table.
She pours some of its contents onto my back, and I catch the scent of lavender before she starts to massage the oil into my skin.
I bite back a groan as her fingers rub the knot of tension that’s turned my shoulders into rocks.
“You’re focusing on the wrong things,” she says simply. “So let me ask you this. What happens if this plan goes how you imagine?”
My thoughts spiral off, reaching towards more hopeful futures. “If this works... wizards will get attention in town, but hopefully for a better reason. If people are receptive to this... it could cool the mood a bit. Help build the trust back between the Crux and the city.”
Bridgette’s palms smooth firmly down my back, wringing a groan from me as she says, “And, if you want my opinion, succeeding at that is going to get you a permanent appointment as Grandmaster. Do you know why?”
I let out a long breath. “Why?”
“Because the rising hostility is a problem that Arlon has refused to even touch,” she says. “You, though, you’re facing it head on. And having a Grandmaster who isn’t afraid to confront difficult things bodes well for you, I think.”
I breathe deep, force myself to really hear her words. “Thanks, Bri.”
Bridgette leans down and presses a chaste kiss to my temple. “Can I try something else on you?”
“Please,” I say, not ready to lose her gentle touch.
Glass clanks, and I turn my head to see that she’s set out a collection of jars. They’re spherical, with wide mouths and thick, flat bottoms. She dips a cloth in the alcohol before swirling it inside of one jar, lightly coating the interior. Once she’s done, she grabs the match again.
“Ready?” she asks.
I raise a curious eyebrow. “Ready.”
Bridgette brings the match to the jar, and the flame eats the alcohol in a ravenous display.
But before it can be fully consumed, she tips the cup and presses it firmly to the skin of my back.
I yelp, feeling warmth before the skin of my shoulder is sucked into the mouth of the jar.
Even once the heat disappears, the cup is suctioned tightly to my skin, drawing up flesh and muscle.
“That,” Bridgette says smugly, “will get you an explosion.”