1. Chapter 1
Chapter one
LYRIELLE
I was needed.
That was the truth that dictated the circumstances of my life. I was always needed, and that need tugged on every piece of me, tearing away my dreams and ambitions piece by piece. I was so tired of being needed—never being allowed to need.
“Lyrielle, Lyrielle, let down your long hair!” a voice hollered from down below.
A smile leapt to my face, and I carefully picked up enough of my hair that I could safely cross to the balcony without dragging or damaging it. I leaned out over the banister and looked down on the grinning face of Gregor. “You’re early,” I pointed out, thrilled to see his friendly face.
“Yes, but I wanted to speak to you before anyone else came.” He opened his worn satchel and pulled out the edge of a book.
I looked behind me to be sure that Auntie was still busy with her morning routine, then gathered all my hair and tied my special scarf to the end of my braid before slowly lowering it over the banister and down, down, down to where he waited at the base of the tower.
We’d developed this system long ago, so when the end of my braid reached him, he quickly placed the book in the large hidden pocket that I had sewn into the scarf.
I prepared to haul it back up, but Gregor held on to my hair. “While I’m here…” He held up his arm with a sheepish grin. “Aldie and I got into it this morning.” His sleeve was torn, and a long scrape marred his forearm.
I shook my head, exasperated. “Why are you two always fighting? You’re supposed to be friends.”
He gave a shrug. “We know you’ll make it all right in the end.” He gave my braid a little shake. “Sing for me, Lyri.”
I did so, humming a quick tune, feeling the pull of magic from my heart as it raised to my scalp, and watching my hair glow just a little, though it was barely noticeable in the bright morning sun.
I’d always loved singing, making up little nonsense songs when I was only a few years old.
My mother had encouraged it and often sang along with me.
It had been irony of the cruelest sort that my healing magic had only manifested after my parents had died.
It was a constant ache that gnawed at my insides, wondering how my life would have been different if only I’d discovered my gift in time to save them.
My healing magic flowed down through my hair, and it only took a few seconds before Gregor was moving his arm about and then grinning up at me. “What would I do without you?”
“Bleed out,” I said dryly. “Suffer horrible infection. Die.”
He chuckled even as he lifted the end of my braid, a reminder that I should haul my hair and the hidden book up to my balcony while Auntie was still busy.
“Thank you, Gregor!” I said as I pulled my braid up, hand over hand. It was tiring, especially since I had just healed him. My gift flowed easily, but it always took a toll.
He gave me a cocky salute. “I do what I can, Lyrielle.” He turned to go, but then looked back.
“Oh, I almost forgot. Baron Mabry went on a tirade again. You’ll likely have more than a few of his servants stopping by.
” Then he ran off down the lane, toward the village of Eldmere, tossing a wave over his shoulder as he did so.
I sighed with a frown. Baron Mabry was one of the more powerful sorcerers and had influence with the High Court because of it. He also liked to use magic to hurt those who displeased him, especially those he employed. If the injuries he’d inflicted were severe, it would be an exhausting day.
I quickly hid the book Gregor had brought me in the bottom of the sewing basket beside my chair.
I had a plethora of books in the tower. The walls were filled with them, but they were all books that Aunt Ethel deemed suitable for me—philosophical discourses, the history of the Magisterium of Branfrie and the shroud protecting it from the outside world that hated magic, and tales of morality that nearly always ended with the too-adventurous main character suffering because of their disobedience or curiosity.
Whenever he was able, Gregor would borrow a book from his master’s library and bring it to me.
Books about adventure and bravery. Exploratory texts about the kingdoms outside the magic shroud.
Illustrated texts about animals or plants.
Since being confined to this tower ten years ago, those books provided my only glimpses of the outside world aside from what I could see from this tower, and Aunt Ethel would have considered them a distraction when my life’s work revolved around healing others here in this one spot—the tower of a crumbling ruin of a castle from which the royal family had once ruled.
But that was before magic became a part of our land, before the High Court had taken over, when it was still the Kingdom of Branfrie instead of the Magisterium of Branfrie.
After hiding the book, I lowered my braid back over the banister and returned to my seat on the tiny balcony.
The clock tower in the distance read nearly eight o’clock, and Auntie insisted I be prompt.
It didn’t matter if we couldn’t see anyone coming; she wanted me seated on the balcony, my hair hanging within reach of the ground by the time the clock struck eight.
I couldn’t wait until this afternoon when she would go on her daily walk and I could see what sort of book Gregor had given me.
I cherished every single one that he lent me, knowing they were my only link to the world outside.
It was getting more difficult to remember the years I’d spent outside of this tower, when I had lived with my parents—wandering the streets of the village where we’d lived, being part of the world.
The dimming of those memories left me terrified that this tower was all I would ever know.
But surely that wasn’t the case. I was grown now, a young lady.
Surely Auntie would allow me to start making my own decisions.
I shook off the heavy thoughts and reached into the sewing basket at my feet, pulling out a sleeve I was working on. Sewing clothing for myself and my aunt was a challenge that I enjoyed. Creating something whole out of parts and pieces fascinated me.
As I stitched, I sang. It was easier to simply sing the whole time I was on the balcony instead of waiting for someone below to holler up at me.
The routine was mundane for the most part, only sometimes punctuated by someone pulling too hard on my hair, or by a cry of pain as someone dragged their injured body to my tower.
Auntie would often supervise, peering over the edge to be sure that those who used my hair left something in return.
A coin, a measure of wheat, a few pieces of fruit—whatever they could spare, whatever they thought their health was worth.
Gregor’s prediction came true. Several of Baron Mabry’s servants came with blackened blisters slashing across their bodies.
Magic injuries were always tricky, so I leaned over the railing, concentrating on each person one by one, putting strength into my voice and singing words of compassion to encourage quick healing.
When they were done, they all sagged in relief and trudged away.
I could heal wounds, but there was nothing I could do about the emotional toll those injuries inflicted.
After they went, I slumped down by the railing, resting my head against it while my breathing came in shallow spurts, and I wondered yet again what it would be like to just walk away from this tower.
At noon, Aunt Ethel brought me my mid-day meal and placed a few books on the table beside me. I often switched to reading in the afternoons, and it was good to break up the monotony while sitting there, looking out on all the places I was never allowed to go.
I’d grown up in a different village far from here, but after my parents died, Aunt Ethel brought me to this crumbling castle and turned this tower into our home.
I didn’t just long for the day she would let me leave, I craved it.
I plodded through each day on the hope that one day she would tell me I’d done enough and could start making my own decisions and building my own life.
There was an ache inside me, deep and throbbing, that yearned for a family of my own.
I wanted the kind of comfort and security that my parents had given me.
I wanted children of my own who I could love and teach and raise. And who would love me in return.
Aunt Ethel left late in the afternoon, as usual.
She moved her bed aside to access the one door that led to the stairwell, then she disappeared through it and I heard the lock scrape into place.
Usually that sound was ominous, but today it felt like a boon.
I bent and pulled out the book Gregor had given me from the bottom of my sewing basket, running my hand over the worn leather cover before opening it.
It was a botanical guide. Names, descriptions, and illustrations of herbs, flowers, and every plant I could imagine.
I wanted to devour it all. What might it be like to have a chance to see them up close, smell them, hold them in my hands?
The only flowers I ever saw were the roses that climbed the tower, beautiful with their soft petals but brutal with their sharp thorns.
I was so engrossed in my study of the book that when the sound of the door being unlocked reached my ears, I had to scramble to shove the book out of sight, burying it in my sewing basket.
Then I lunged to grab a different book from the little table beside me, quickly opening it and trying to look like I was engrossed in the material.
Aunt Ethel stepped inside with a bowl of cut vegetables in hand. She kept all the knives in a room below, worried I’d cut my hair. I’d tried once, when it first started growing out of control. “Hello, my dear,” she said in a cheery tone.
“Hello, Auntie.”