A Spell for Succor and Sustenance
Even cooking can be magical. It should be, in fact.
Kitchen spells needn’t be complicated. The simplest of spells can bring the greatest joy.
This one can be tailored by changing out the spicing herbs and the type of ingredients.
Without further ado, I’ll share the working I use to cheer you up when you’ve had a rough go.
You’ll require:
One silver spoon
A copper cauldron
A sizable piece of bloodstone
Generous amounts of cinnamon, allspice, and ginger
You’ll need other ingredients for best results.
You could drink it as a tonic, using only water, but it wouldn’t be filling, and magic can’t create nutrition from nothing.
We can create only the illusion of fullness, and that can have wicked consequences.
Feckless mortals have starved on glamoured fae food, never realizing they were eating air.
When I cook for you, my gem, this spell adds the warmth and satisfaction you experience, whether it’s a bit of cracked barley or a handful of rolled oats.
It’ll be even better if you have a little fruit or some nuts.
Having both makes for an exceptional outcome.
Use the bloodstone as your cooking surface, and funnel energy until it’s good and hot.
Set the cauldron on top, then add your ingredients: grain, water, nuts, fruit.
Allow it to heat while focusing your will, funneling your love and good wishes into the pot along with the spices.
You can speak the spell if you wish, though I usually don’t.
If I do, it’ll be, “Let this food bless and nourish my darling girl. Let it serve as fuel for all the wondrous things she’ll do, and let her feel my love in every bite.
” I’d be honored if one day you used this spell for me, but it’ll serve well wherever you roam.
Thea
It is so flipping dark.
When I rouse, I cannot be certain how long I’ve been out, and I feel weak, but anger sizzles in the air around me, tingling on my skin.
Without meaning to, I lift my head and feast, silently drinking in the blazing wrath that Lord Liskaal disperses as he paces.
This ability is probably why I—and others—survive here in the Winter Court.
I take a situation from explosive to volatile and from volatile to salvageable, simply by existing.
The Lord of Winter glares at the courtiers and guardsmen assembled before him. “An unmitigated debacle, and for once, Thea had nothing to do with it!”
I stumble while pushing to an upright position.
It’s unsurprising that nobody rendered aid while I was unconscious.
Erdene cannot freely traverse the great hall, and Da is locked up, so my head is still bruised and I have scrapes and cuts on my hands and knees.
I might be able to heal myself once I feed a little more.
Easy enough. Fortunately, everyone in this room is angry—and not with me.
Over time, I’ve learned that righteous wrath tastes different than violent fury.
I do strive to control myself at all times, though the effort is sometimes painful.
I can’t remember when I didn’t feel hungry.
My movement, however, draws Lady Valnevi’s attention. “You’re awake. Since you did sign the agreement, the marriage and the treaty are binding. But if you cannot implement some plan for cohabitation, the Summer Court may manufacture cause for dissolution.”
I blink. “If I don’t move in with some random person, the realm could go to war?”
“Summer wants part of our territory,” Lord Liskaal snaps, as if I ought to know that.
One of the courtiers speaks, rambling about redrawn boundaries from some conflict that I’m too young to recall. I certainly haven’t studied fae history, as Da provided lessons of an entirely different variety. He’s not a generalist, but rather specialized in mischievous magic and wilding ways.
I shouldn’t articulate how much I don’t care about any of this while he’s still locked up. I need to be tactful. “I cooperated. If you want me to help further, keep our agreement.” I pause delicately, because Lady Valnevi has no choice. Unlike me, she can’t renege on a deal. “Where’s my dad?”
A familiar hobgoblin slips through the crowd, stealthy as a shadow, and until he speaks, I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who notices him.
Spells for skulking and skullduggery indeed.
“I’m here, my gem. The commotion was fierce.
Are you hurt?” Warm, rough hands take mine, and he tries to turn them palm up to assess the damage.
Not wanting to worry him, I quickly turn that scan into a hug. “Not really.”
Lady Valnevi makes an ominous sound at the back of her throat. “I did not give you leave to speak,” she says to Da, though her gaze lances through me.
I wonder who let him out. Possibly the boggart, though Da is endlessly resourceful. “Apologies. I thought I should let Thea know that I’m safe and sound.”
As far as I’m concerned, this marriage can be dissolved.
If they want me to live as a hostage in the Summer Court, they can offer me a better reason than pretending they want to avoid a war.
In truth, they wish to feign reluctance so they can claim they exhausted all avenues for diplomacy before being forced to military action.
Perception is everything. They need to shellac some righteousness atop their overweening ambition. I don’t know for sure that Summer even wants more of Winter’s lands. Given what I know of their character, Lord Liskaal and Lady Valnevi might be the aggressors, trying to steal from Summer.
Regardless, those two are nothing if not deceptive. So if I cooperate and leave Winter, taking my calming properties with me, tension will subside in the Summer lands while Winter gains the space to foment resentment. And when Summer no longer wishes to do battle, Winter will attack.
I’m a cursed gift, after all.
The document I signed is crumpled on the floor, and I stoop to pick it up.
Earlier, I didn’t examine it closely, but the signature is scrawled to the point of being illegible.
If I squint, I can make out the letters.
Devan J. Fenelon. Nobody I know, then, or at least no one I recall meeting when various Summer delegations visited.
Lord Liskaal shares a speaking look with his lady. Her silvery lashes flutter. But before she can speak, a harried guard sprints into the room, wheezing out a few desperate words: “We have completed the search as you ordered.”
“Well?” Lady Valnevi screeches.
“They’re gone. The entire delegation is gone.”
“Gone where?” Lord Liskaal demands.
“Unknown. There were signs of a struggle in the quarters where they were assigned. I’ve been assured that the front gates never opened.”
“Portal magic. Kerboros should be waiting for us to debrief.” Lady Valnevi tries to seem unaffected, but her lips twitch, revealing her distress.
If the Summer envoy comes to harm during a diplomatic mission, the Winter Court will bear all the blame, and they’re not ready for battle yet.
They thought they had more time to gather support and get alliances in place, but it seems some crafty schemer is trying to accelerate the timetable.
I make eye contact with Da, who tilts his head ever so subtly toward the archway that leads out of this grand and gleaming hall.
I move so slowly that it hurts my joints and sinews, and with each incremental motion, I expect someone to turn on me and shout, She’s running away!
But they’ve momentarily forgotten about me in light of current events.
Eventually, I make it to the corridor with my da right behind me, and I let out a sigh that’s more like a groan of relief.
“That was…” He makes a gesture as if he’s dusting away something unpleasant. “Shall we go home?”
“Please,” I mumble, as the aches and pains and exhaustion set in.
He’s quiet as we tiptoe through the palace complex, adroitly avoiding guards and messengers racing about in reaction to the vanishing of the Summer delegation.
It doesn’t take long for us to reach our sanctuary.
His room is above the barn, and mine is a loft within that space, ample when I was small, a bit cramped now, though I’ll call it cozy.
It is decorated with shiny things I’ve given to him over the years.
There’s a padded bench for sitting and sleeping, a low table set upon a rug woven by brownies out of pooka hair, and a few shelves fastened to the walls.
In the loft above, there’s a sleeping mat from river reeds and dried flowers, along with a plethora of pillows.
I can’t wait to crawl up there and collapse.
“Have you eaten, my jewel?”
“Erdene gave me a snack.”
“Nothing substantial, I’ll wager.”
He’s right about that. The dew pear is long gone, and I only nibbled the honey wafers. But unlike our cottage in the wildlands, we don’t have the means to cook.
But I should have known that wouldn’t stop him.
He gets busy with some ground grain and dried fruit; then he pours some water from a flask and sets the copper bowl on the table.
With a focused frown, he wriggles his fingers, and the bowl heats slowly, slowly, until the ingredients thicken into groat porridge.
He even put this spell in a book, and I already know how lovely this will taste.
Even better, it will warm me from the inside out, comforting me now as much as it did when I was small.
“I adore you for this.” I take my spoon from the little box on the table and dig in.
“Have you heard from Tara lately?” he asks unexpectedly.
I haven’t seen my childhood friend in such a long time.
Her father never approved of me, and he was angry at her mother for allowing the connection.
I shake my head, mouth too full to answer.
The repast is simple and creamy yet chewy with bursts of sweetness.
And it’s spiced with love and kindness, the rarest flavors of all.
Quickly, I empty the bowl and lick my spoon clean.
Da pets my head as he takes the dish away.
“She’s working in Summer, probably busy at the inn,” I guess.
He sighs, showing a wistful expression. “That’s what comes of growing up, I suppose. We have so much to talk about, but…” A pause as he studies my face. “You look done in.”
“I am,” I admit.
“Ferghus is in the wind with his herd, is he?”
I nod. “It was worth it.”
“As long as you feel that way, I do as well,” he says.
“I’m sorry they dragged you to the dungeon because of me.” It comes out in a rush.
“If you have energy for apologizing, you have spirit enough to discuss how we’re getting you out of that dratted marriage contract.”
If I run, he’ll pay the price. I know that, and he does too. There’s no world where I allow anyone to hurt him. So I manage a smile and stretch my mouth into a yawn that swiftly becomes real. “What’s that? I can hardly keep my eyes open.”
“You can’t kid a kidder,” he points out. “But I’ll let it be. Ready for bed?”
“More than. You get some rest too.” I hug him for a long time and then edge up the ladder, gingerly using my scraped hands to pull myself onto the platform. Earlier, when Da asked if I was hurt, I said, “Not really.” He hasn’t noticed that I’m a bit beaten up, and I don’t want him to.
It takes a few painful contortions to strip off that wretched silver dress.
I fling it away with a muttered curse. As I tumble onto the pillows, I tip my head backward.
On the ceiling, there is a whole world, still sparkling with pixie magic.
Da called in a favor from a friend named Shereth, who painted the forest scene to cheer me up when I grew old enough to ask awkward questions about why Rain and Fen paid no attention to me, though I was supposedly their daughter.
Twenty years on, the rivers still sparkle and the pookas still run through the flowering trees.
I can even smell the floral and honeyed perfume of the wildlands, thanks to her deep woodcraft.
A few of my childhood things are still in a chest at the back of the loft, but I haven’t looked in there for ages.
There’s nothing of value, apart from my own sentimental attachment.
The sound of Da moving about below and eventually settling himself to sleep soothes me as well. Before I know it, I’m gone.
Without realizing how I got here, I’m standing in the garden outside Miremorel House.
The sun is a blessing, and the air is bright and pure, the song of the brook nearby calling to me in the distance.
Here, I know the shapes of all the rocks, the colors of the mossy stones, and I could sketch the trees from memory.
I love it here. But where’s Da?
“I’m waiting for you,” someone says in a sunny tone. “Find me.”
I spin in a circle. “What? Why?”
The more obvious question is who, but I’m too savvy to fall into that trap.
Asking a fae directly for their name is quite a dire offense, a misstep I wouldn’t make even if I have spent more time in the wildlands than at court.
Though I don’t see anyone, there are certainly multiple places to hide.
I pace across to the broad-branched tree that shades our cottage.
There’s a tangle of foliage, leaves practically woven into a verdant screen.
“They’ll make you if you don’t volunteer. I rather think that you’re not the sort who enjoys being forced to comply. Have I read you wrong?”
“Not at all,” I admit grudgingly.
Some might find it bewildering or vexing to converse with a disembodied intelligence, but there’s a water sprite near Miremorel House who doesn’t much enjoy leaving her brook, so I’m used to it.
Truth be told, I’ve had some lovely chats with Nerys.
She’s got a wicked sense of humor, and she always knows the best gossip.
Even here, people are always whispering to trinkets and tossing them in fountains, never wondering where that water goes.
“Then heed my warning. They’ll blame you if they can.
Punish you if you let them.” The voice is light and melodic, delicate as butterfly wings and flower petals, but there’s also an inherent power that pleases my ear to the point that I find myself languorously smiling, when the words are, in fact, most alarming.
“‘They’? Do you mean the Lord and Lady of Winter?” That’s the only deduction that makes sense, considering the day’s events.
Which means this isn’t a dream. It’s a Sending.