Love, Mother
The following morning, Hazel sat alone in her room. Again.
Since the truth had come to light and Slaide had, to her surprise, taken his banishment seriously, Hazel had found herself with nothing but time. Time to let her mind wander. To read. To grow bored. To regret that everyone she crossed paths with ended up hurt or killed.
She was shocked he hadn’t attempted to stop by and harass her about how she could have possibly survived the mirror a second time. Or how that event resulted in the mirror’s demise.
But he didn’t.
And it was in those boring moments that Hazel found herself thinking about him again. It was a dangerous path, for she kept going back to one of the last things Slaide had said. Magnus was full of half-truths. So why had she been so keen to believe them?
She sat in bed, surrounded by the fluffy, cloud-soft duvet, with the strange book set before her. Her kitty companion was curled at her feet, snoring.
It was the first peace Hazel had to herself in days, and she was about to ruin it by messing with her magic. The locket thrummed in anticipation, much to her annoyance.
Hazel pressed her palm into the book’s cool leather surface, feeling its bumpy grain beneath her hand. She ran her hand over the divots made by the etched runes, wishing she knew what they were.
Relax, she told herself. Clear your mind. After all, she wanted to open the book, not destroy it. So far, channeling her magic while upset had devastating consequences.
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. As she exhaled, Hazel dove deep into her subconscious… and found nothing but darkness. The well of power wasn’t present, not even a thread.
Hazel opened her eyes, sighing, and found the cat on high alert, staring at her with his bright green eyes.
“Don’t worry,” she said, “nothing will happen if I can’t reach my magic anyway.”
His tail flicked in response.
She closed her eyes once more, determined to try again. She dove deeper this time, searching desperately for any sign of the power she knew swelled there. Still there was nothing.
Panic crept into her veins and her breathing intensified, so Hazel backed out quickly. As her frustration boiled over, she picked the book up and threw it against the opposite wall—and immediately regretted that decision.
“Shit,” she muttered to herself, scrambling out of bed. What have I done? She might have destroyed the book. She might have broken its spine or damaged the age-worn pages.
When her fingers brushed the cover, though, a zap ran through her arm.
She recoiled, looking at her hand in confusion.
For a moment, bluish light filled the runes across the cover, and as the light faded, Hazel rubbed her eyes in disbelief.
She made to repeat the action, and the cat mewled sharply over her shoulder. But Hazel ignored him.
She touched the cover again, slowly allowing more of her hand to make contact. She received the same shock as before, but it was less jarring since she’d expected it. After the initial shock, the feeling leveled out into a vibration, spreading into her hand and up her arm… into the locket.
And that was when a possibility occurred to her… perhaps it wasn’t her magic that was needed to force open the book.
Perhaps it needed a physical key after all. And maybe the locket was… she shoved down her excitement as she pulled the pendant from beneath her clothes. It bounced excitedly on the chain as she unclasped it and lowered it to the cover.
For a moment, nothing happened. Hazel braced for impact, expecting the book to revolt against her or otherwise injure her for trying to get to its secrets.
Then to her surprise, the runic inscriptions began to glow again. Bluish at first, then lighter until they were such a bright white she could barely stand to look at them.
Out of the corner of her eye, a disappearing flash of orange told her the cat had hopped down and scurried beneath the bed skirt out of harm’s way.
Once the entire book was aglow with ethereal light, it pulled against her grip, trying to break free. The leather grew hot, as though she was trying to hang onto a burning star, so hot that she had no choice but to let go.
Both book and pendant should have fallen to the floor. But they didn’t.
Instead, they levitated before her, still glowing. Then, the glow faded away and the book and locket thumped to the floor.
Hazel heard the click of the lock before it really registered. It hit her as she watched the lock fall open.
After all this time spent fighting this ancient tome, willing it to open, she’d been wearing the key. Go figure.
She picked it up, afraid to open it. What if the binding failed? What if the pages turned to dust?
But she thought about what had got her into this mess in the first place.
She was searching for answers about her mother.
This book had called out to her in a locked, abandoned library she stumbled into by chance.
And now, the book had responded favorably to a locket she’d inherited from her mother.
No, it couldn’t be chance. It was Fate.
Hazel inhaled sharply as she opened the cover.
Everything was written in the runic language. An ancient, dead language, forced out of use when the witches were pushed into exile beyond the Border.
A forbidden language.
The language of magic.
She carefully turned the page, and to her horror, a page fell out. It fluttered to the floor like a dying butterfly before coming to rest at her feet.
Shit. This was exactly what she’d hoped to avoid. But when she stooped to pick it up, Hazel’s heart stopped.
This page wasn’t written in runes. And it appeared to be a letter.
My dearest daughter,
If you are reading this, it means you’ve taken up the chase, just like I always knew you would.
I did my best to leave you breadcrumbs, with the hope that we would be reunited someday.
Though I fear some will be lost to time or mice before you find them.
My time here is growing short, so I leave you with this: never stop seeking the truth.
You are the light in the darkness. Do not let them snuff you out.
I’ll see you on the other side.
Love,
Mother
Hazel collapsed to her knees, unable to comprehend what she’d read. Holy gods. Her mother. Her mother had been here. And she’d been alive long enough to explore the castle. To leave notes in strange books and lock them with magic.
Her heart yearned to tell someone. But there was no one to tell. Slaide came to mind, but she couldn’t trust him. Zeke? It probably wouldn’t be safe to tell him either, not as long as he continued chasing fame among the knighthood.
Hazel wouldn’t risk telling Phaedra, lest the angel have the truth beaten out of her. Hazel had no doubt the angel would keep her secrets, but at what cost? No, that wasn’t fair.
She flipped through the book, checking for clues. While there were none, she did come across illustrations depicting angels, witches, humans, and kings. Times of war and times of apparent peace. And through those illustrations, Hazel understood what she had in her hands.
A history book.
Her thoughts flitted to the pendant, having forgotten it in her haste to open the book. It was resting on the floor where it fell. And it was open.
She picked it up, expecting to find something life-changing within.
But it was empty.
She spent hours in her room, alternating between rereading her mother’s note and examining the illustrations throughout the book.
Even without reading the words, there was so much she’d never known.
So much most of the kingdom probably didn’t know.
Books like these were removed from the public eye.
If they existed at all, they were in the Citadel’s forbidden libraries.
She glanced occasionally at the empty locket, now resting on the bedside table. Her disappointment at it’s barren interior had left a sour taste in her mouth. What was the point?
A knock sounded at the door.
“Come in,” Hazel called. By now she’d come to recognize Phaedra’s knock. It was very specific to her in a way Hazel couldn’t begin to explain. She tucked the book beneath her pillow, just as the angel opened her door.
“Evening, mistress,” she spoke softly.
“Hazel, Phaedra, please. I can’t have you using honorifics to address me. Not when it lumps me in with the monsters who hurt you. Just Hazel.”
“I am terribly sorry. It’s just that… if they hear me being too informal with you, well, it could be dangerous for both of us,” the angel explained.
“They really monitor everything you do, don’t they?” Hazel didn’t mean it as a question, but Phaedra nodded in answer.
“Never mind me, then,” Hazel said. “Can’t have you getting in trouble on my account.” She smiled at Phaedra, hoping to relieve some of the tension.
“Thank you, mistress.” She set down her usual tray of tea and cakes, the aroma of baked oats and warm honey floating over Hazel in a cozy embrace. “I come bearing news.”
“Oh?” Hazel asked as she made her way to the oatcakes.
“Yes, well… There’s no easy way to tell you this, but they’ve moved the last trial up.”
Crumbles of oatcake fell into Hazel’s lap as she stopped chewing mid-bite. “Dare I ask when?”
“Tonight. In just a few hours, actually. I thought perhaps Master Elias would have informed you by now, but I didn’t know the two of you were still not on speaking terms. I came as soon as I realized.” She looked sheepish, embarrassed even.
Leave it to Slaide to let me find out on my own. Asshole. Hazel caught herself frowning.
“Right. Well, do we know anything about this trial? Did Slaide at least relay anything of importance to you?” She tried not to sound too hopeful.
“I’m sorry, mistress. He did not. Though I must stress it was not for his petty tendencies that he doesn’t relay the information. It’s because none was given.” Sweet Phaedra, always protecting those she cares about.
“A surprise trial, then?” Hazel asked. She didn’t love that.