Chapter Seventeen Riela
Chapter Seventeen
Riela
I spent the rest of the afternoon paging through Garrick’s books, looking for any information on the dais or magic or Etheri
in general. Most of the books were in a foreign script, so I was stuck peering at the illustrations to try to figure out the
context.
None of the books I found referenced the dais—or if they did, they didn’t include a handy illustration. There were several
books on monsters, magic, and Etheri, but they were all seemingly written by human authors, so I wasn’t sure how accurate
the information would be.
Still, I set them aside, then grabbed a few more books to look over later. I took the pile up to my room, and since the castle
let me go, I figured Garrick probably wouldn’t be too mad that I’d borrowed them. They’d been in the one bookcase that had been clean, so they might be books he used often, but
if he went looking for them and they were missing, it wasn’t exactly difficult to guess where they’d gone.
That done, I headed down to the kitchen an hour early, determined to make something nice for dinner, both to serve as an additional
apology, and to prove that I had at least some control over my magic. I refused to be a burden on our trip to the forest’s border, and food would be harder to come by without
the castle’s help.
I frowned. I might need those travel biscuits in my pack after all. Maybe I could make some more. Maybe I could make some
better.
My optimism died a quick death. Not only could I not make travel biscuits, but I also couldn’t make anything properly. Despite intense, exhausting focus, my magic remained even more recalcitrant than usual. Plateless food littered
the table, soup dripped onto the floor, and the whole kitchen smelled of a nauseating mix of terrible cooking and stinging
magic.
And I couldn’t even magically clean it.
When Garrick appeared at the doorway, too early and with a frown on his face, I pointed a shaking finger at him before he could open his mouth. “Not one word,” I bit out, frustrated beyond embarrassment or self-preservation.
Magic churned around me, a deep, violent blue, nearly purple, like heavy clouds before a thunderstorm. It was probably for
the best that I couldn’t harness it right now, because I was tempted to bring down the whole damned kitchen.
Garrick’s gaze skated around the room, taking in the destruction, but he didn’t say anything. After a moment, his posture
relaxed, and he carefully approached the table, avoiding the worst of the mess.
“You are making dinner.”
His tone was carefully mild, but I still had to clench my fists against the urge to either scream or cry in furious frustration.
I nodded once, sharply, not trusting my voice.
He settled onto the bench across from me, and I winced. He’d likely just sat in something that would ruin his clothes.
He met my gaze. “Would you like assistance?”
The denial pressed against my teeth, but I swallowed it down. Pride had gotten me nothing but a destroyed kitchen and endless
disappointment.
He waited, his eyes on me and an impenetrable expression on his face. When I dipped my chin, his magic rose and set the room
to rights. Forty frustrating minutes were erased in the blink of an eye.
Resentment and envy seeped like poison through my veins, and I kept my lips clamped shut against the words I wanted to fling
into his face. It wasn’t his fault that I couldn’t use my magic, and an Etheri sovereign only had so much patience for mere
mortals. Between this and earlier, I was likely treading dangerously close to that line.
“Thank you,” I ground out quietly. It wasn’t gracious, but it wasn’t vitriol, either, so I’d take the win.
Garrick put his hands on the table, palms facing inward. Then he waited.
I grimly matched his posture, my hands just inside his. He was going to show me how to make food again, and it was going to be super easy with his help, and then I was going to stab him right in his handsome fucking face.
But Garrick didn’t follow the map in my head. Instead, his hands closed around mine, his grip gentle but firm enough that
I knew I wouldn’t be able to easily pull away. “Close your eyes,” he murmured.
Some part of me wanted to argue just so he could taste frustration, but curiosity won out. With my eyes closed, I could sense
my magic, and his, and the cool feel of his fingers against mine.
“Make a magical light without opening your eyes,” Garrick commanded.
Magic still roiled under my skin, but the light sprang into existence as easily as it always had. It shined through my closed
eyelids, bright and stable.
“Now make another one.”
I frowned. I’d never tried to make more than one at a time. Garrick didn’t offer any advice, and when I peeked at him, his
eyes were closed, his expression serene.
It took a half dozen tries before I could keep both lights active. They danced around the table, buoyed by my tiny victory.
“Now keep them burning,” Garrick said.
I started to question what he meant, but his magic wrapped around one of the lights and attempted to snuff it out. He had
to be using a mere fraction of his power, but I still had to clench my teeth to keep the light from faltering.
It became exponentially more difficult when he attacked both lights at once. Keeping one light glowing was mostly instinct,
but both required me to split my focus and magic. It was complicated and difficult, and sweat beaded across my forehead.
But I kept both lights burning.
“Good,” Garrick murmured. His fingers tightened fractionally against mine.
My stomach did a little flip that had nothing to do with imagining him whispering that to me in bed—or so I told myself.
“You have the necessary power and control,” Garrick said, “but you still need practice.”
I grimaced. What did he think I’d been doing? Destroying the kitchen for fun?
His magic rose, and I cracked my eyes open to peek at him. He was staring at me like I was a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve.
But rather than telling me to close my eyes again, he nodded at our hands. “Create an empty soup bowl on the table.”
It was frustratingly easy, and I scowled at the resulting bowl. Why couldn’t I have done that an hour ago and saved myself
a lot of frustration?
Garrick frowned, and his magic rose higher, but all he said was “Now fill it with soup.”
That took more focus, but after a moment, I had a bowl full of potato soup and none on the table or floor.
Garrick removed his hands and set the soup aside. “Do it again.”
I created the bowl, but it took me ten times as long without his help. The soup was another matter. Finally I gave up and
filled the bowl with porridge. It wasn’t my favorite, but it was food.
Garrick watched me with narrowed eyes, his expression caught somewhere between contemplative and suspicious.
“What?” I demanded.
“You’re not giving the castle your magic,” he said. “You’re using the castle’s magic directly, and it’s fighting you. Except when I’m here. Then you use me as a conduit. The castle recognizes me, so it’s
easier for you.” He shook his head. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
My heart sank. “Does that mean I’ll never be any good at creating food?”
He tipped his head to the side and his eyes glowed silver. “I don’t know.”
This day just kept getting better and better. I pulled the bowl of porridge toward me with a glum sigh. I didn’t know why
the castle helped me so much when I asked, but refused when I tried to make food. Worse, Garrick didn’t seem to know, either.
Moonlight magic pulsed and a beef roast appeared in the middle of the table. I stared at it with greedy eyes. How long had
it been since I’d had a whole roast? I couldn’t remember. Before my father’s death, certainly.
My porridge disappeared with another wave of magic, and a plate full of mashed potatoes and wilted greens replaced it. Garrick
carved off a generous portion of the roast and added it to my plate.
I tilted my head in question and waved at the table. “If you could make this, why were you eating stew?”
He frowned at me. “I like stew.”
It had been an excellent stew, and I wondered where an Etheri king had learned how to make it. Had he made any of his own
food before he’d been trapped in this castle?
“Where are the people in the painting?” I dared to ask, breaking the silence that had fallen between us.
Grief and fury flashed across Garrick’s face before he smoothed them away. “Last I heard, they were safe in Lohka, but I don’t
know if that remains true—or how many remain in the Silver Court.”
“Why are they there while you’re here?”
“Feylan betrayed me, but I held the door open long enough for my people to escape. To be stuck here is not a kind fate . . .”
He trailed off and shook his head.
“Are the other sovereigns in Lohka?”
“I do not know all of their fates,” Garrick murmured, “but Etheri sovereigns are hard to kill. Those who aligned with Feylan
are likely stronger still.”
I blinked at him. “Some of them helped the Blood King?”
Garrick’s smile was as sharp as a blade. “Of course.”
“But why?”
His shrug was entirely too nonchalant. “Power, most likely. With me out of the way, they had fewer checks on said power. Plus Feylan must spend the majority of his time here, guarding the last remaining door, so that gives them greater freedom still. The only reason humans haven’t suffered more is because every time Feylan opens the door, I gain more power. He’s trying to starve me out.”
“Can he?”
“Not without starving himself.” Garrick’s smile turned quietly vicious. “He found that out the hard way.”
“So you’re at a stalemate?”
Garrick shook his head. “Eventually he will figure out a way to cut me off from the door’s magic, and then he will win. He
still has a court, and I’m sure he’s driving them to find a solution.”
Garrick was being surprisingly forthcoming, so I dared another question. “Can you kill him?”
The mage’s eyes glinted. “I could if I caught him outside his castle, but he learned that lesson, too, and well. Now he never