Chapter 45 Witch Who is Not a Witch
Witch Who is Not a Witch
Elizabeth stared at the stubborn candle, willing it to light. After a few minutes of producing nothing—not even a whisper of smoke—she gave up.
“Try again, dear. I think you almost have it,” Risna said kindly.
It was late November. Two and a half months since she’d fled Caspian’s castle, and she still failed at magic nearly every morning.
Her life was peaceful in Veridas—but she couldn’t shake a sense of urgency.
She had a feeling that sooner or later, her freedom would be turned on its ear, and one of Caspian’s demons would come to call.
She wanted to learn how to defend herself before that happened, but her magic remained maddeningly elusive.
Nasera bustled in with tea and drawled, “What are you failing to teach her now?”
“Don’t be pert, daughter. She is working very hard,” Risna admonished.
“Hard work with nothing to show for it.” Nasera scoffed. She had a fair point. Elizabeth conceded privately, but there was no need to be so rude.
Nasera plunked into the opposite chair as Risna drifted to the other side of the room. “Light the candle.”
Elizabeth tried. Nothing happened.
“Summon a ball of raw power,” Nasera ordered.
Nothing. The more irritated Elizabeth grew from being put on the spot, the smugger Nasera became. With a lazy flick of her fingers, Nasera lit the candle with purple flame.
Elizabeth loathed her for it.
“You are weak. Undisciplined.”
“I understand your frustration with me, and I’m sorry,” Elizabeth said abashedly.
“You’ve both been lovely teachers. Someone urged me to learn all I can about my magic—said it’s important for me to survive, otherwise I wouldn’t keep bothering you.
” She paused and felt the need to add, “I really am trying my best.”
“Your best.” Nasera snorted. She dangled a piece of rope in front of Elizabeth. “You have split one or two strands. A spell that, need I remind you, is one of the simplest we can devise.”
She didn’t know if there was anyone she had ever hated more.
“Cut the rope. Or we are done here.” Nasera’s voice was firm. “Make visible progress today, or I will consider the token fulfilled. There is nothing more we can teach someone unwilling to learn … or simply incapable.”
Her fists tightened in anger. She was trying.
The candle flame flickered.
Nasera beckoned to her mother, and the two of them left her alone, giving her privacy to collect herself.
She stared at the dancing flame, the chaotic movement matching the anger in her heart. It wasn’t her fault the angel set her on such an impossible path.
Learn magic. Ludicrous.
She wanted nothing more than to prove Nasera wrong and rub it in their faces that the angel had been right. That she had magic, and she was worthy of their efforts.
She just didn’t know why her magic kept picking and choosing when to cooperate.
Then she noticed the most curious thing. As her anger ebbed and flowed, so did the fire. When she calmed, it burned lower.
On a whim, she thought of something that made her angry. Ambriel, his impossible requests, Nasera’s disdain, her father’s betrayal. To her surprise, the flame leapt higher.
She focused on the worst memory: Caspian shouting at her to leave, to the long walk back to her chambers alone, the twisting in her gut as she tried not to cry, waiting for an apology that she knew would never come. The unfairness of it all.
The flame roared, leaping higher still.
She whispered, “Váless.”
The fire rose into a slender pillar, twisting a foot into the air. She gasped, breaking her focus and ending the magic. The flame returned to its normal appearance.
Why had this worked when following the witches’ instructions had not?
Alone, she made several more attempts to move the flame, preparing herself for Nasera’s return.
When the young witch entered, she flounced to the chair opposite. Spotting Elizabeth’s glare, she chuckled. “Good. Get angry.”
Nasera spoke with conviction, her tone brooked no argument. “Let the anger guide you, fuel you. Now, instead of saying the words like a child sounding out their first words, you’re going to speak clearly and cut the rope with a line of your power.”
Elizabeth smiled politely, fury simmering beneath the surface.
“Do it,” Nasera purred. “Prove me wrong.”
Instead of creating magic from nothing, Elizabeth decided to try something else. Drawing power into her palm, she spooled magic into the existing candle flame, in her mind’s eye seeing the flickering orange become green, ripe with magic.
She took a deep breath and pointed a finger at the rope. “Váless!”
A phantom wind brushed her cheeks as the fire from the candle rose and arced through the air, burning a line of fire through the rope. The severed ends fell to the floor, charred.
She had done it.
Nasera did not give her a moment to savour her victory. There was no “good job” or “well done.” She simply laid another piece of the rope on the table.
“Do it again.”
To her incredulity, she succeeded a second time, the rope splitting with a line of fire. “I did it! I actually did it!” she exclaimed.
“An odd method,” Risna commented. “But effective.”
“Not quite what we asked you to do, but if you are incapable of manifesting flame, this is a good crutch.” She paused. “A moment.”
Nasera left the room and returned with rusted manacles. “Break it.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“You think you are accomplished because you mastered two spells—one that you needed to cheat to do.”
How like Nasera not to let her bask in a sense of accomplishment. She went from elated to fuming in seconds.
“Don’t look at me like that.” She shook the chain in front of her face. “Break one of the links.”
Elizabeth said nothing, glancing between Nasera and the rusted chain.
“The principle is the same. Split it with your power,” she instructed Elizabeth.
Try as she might, she couldn’t do it.
“Worthless.”
Using the same trick, she brought a line of fire from the candle against the metal. The chain glowed cherry red but remained whole and unbroken.
Energy flagging, Elizabeth released the magic, and watched the metal cool.
“This is your task. Figure it out. Our studies are paused until you can do this.”
Nasera stood and left.
“She means well,” Risna said, offering her a bowl of warm venison stew. “We don’t mind teaching you, but I am inclined to agree.” The older witch offered her an apologetic smile and departed to the other side of the shop, leaving her alone.
Elizabeth stared at the chain.
The angel was wrong.
Once she finished her bowl of stew, she swirled her tea and stared off. She stared at the crystals that peeked out at her from different parts of the shop, and at the bundles of eucalyptus leaves, sage, and mint that hung on the walls.
What was she even doing here?
Perhaps she should return to Rhodea and work in the slums of Calyx as a common labourer. Her court friends could laugh at her rough hands and sun-tanned skin. A glamorous end for the daughter born to the Ashcroft line, who threw it all away for nothing.
Allowing herself a moment to wallow, she cupped the mug of tea forlornly like it was a teddy bear, some comfort to cling to. Elizabeth stared at the rusty shackles, her thoughts drifting. Why did Risna and Nasera had handfuls of rusty shackles in their possession?
She grimaced. Witches. Of course, they had to rescue loved ones and friends who had been captured and teach their young how to avoid such a fate.
The rust had wreaked havoc on the iron, dappling the blue-black surface with copper. Then she noticed the rust patterns on the iron—nearly eaten through in one place. Elizabeth yanked the manacle with her bare fingers but was unable to break it.
The clock tower outside chimed loudly. Her eyes flicked to the window, and she counted the chimes. On the sixth chime, an idea struck her.
She ran to the other side of the shop, where Risna was measuring out dried herbs on a set of brass scales and adding them to a pewter cauldron. An herby, pungent smell filled the air, and, peeking into the cauldron, she saw a green mulch forming at the bottom.
“A healing poultice to keep injuries from getting infected,” Risna explained, noticing her interest.
“Risna … what’s the word in the Godstongue for time?”
“Tídth,” Risna said, glancing at her before returning her attention to her cauldron. “Why do you ask?”
“No reason. Thank you.”
Running back to her seat, Elizabeth held the rusted shackles and took a deep breath. Perhaps she was not strong enough to manifest fire or break iron. But she could be smart.
Locating the spot that was already nearly rusted through, Elizabeth drew up her green fire and spooled it into the manacle.
Instead of imagining the shackle being cut in half, she pictured the chains that she had seen near ships, whole one summer, and rusted the next. The kind of rusting that spread like poison through the iron until the chains and anchors became delicate and needed to be replaced.
“Tídth.”
Rust bloomed across the manacle, thickening, spreading until the entire manacle became covered in orange rust. She pushed more magic into it. The metal warped, cracked, and finally broke.
Elated, Elizabeth released the spell.
Shocked at her own ingenuity, she wasn’t nearly as tired when she used the other spells. It seemed her magic didn’t mind altering the world as it was, rather than creating flame or darkness from nothing.
Pleased, Elizabeth strode to the door connecting the living quarters to the shop and knocked loudly, too glee-ridden to bother with politeness, and opened the door.
Elizabeth climbed the stairs to the living quarters upstairs and dropped the broken shackles onto Nasera’s desk, rust scattering across the wood and onto the floor.
Nasera looked at the shackles and pulled one up to her eye to inspect. Carefully, she spent a long moment looking at what was in front of her, running a finger over the edges, now rough and jagged. “You rusted it through with magic?”
Elizabeth nodded once.
Nasera was quiet, surveying the broken and rusted shackles. Finally, she looked up with a frank expression.
To her surprise, Nasera’s usually solemn face split into a rare smile. “Welcome to the Veridas coven, Elizabeth, witch who is not a witch.”
***
Arriving back at her townhouse, she saw two letters had arrived. One was her weekly letter from Charlotte, and the other bore her family’s seal.
Elizabeth cringed at the sight of the oak tree pressed into the dark blue wax and wondered what her mother had to say.
She knew her parents would be upset with her for storming off and making it clear she had no intention of returning, so it was with great trepidation that she opened the letter.
Dear Lizzy,
We miss you. Please visit, and next time for longer. We were hurt when you left so abruptly. Are we not still your family?
I am sending this to you at your new address. Do I dare ask who you are boarding with and where you are staying?
I beg you to stop gallivanting about the countryside and come home.
It is unseemly for a lady from a well-connected family, and …
we worry for you. I spoke to your father, and he has agreed that you may visit, and we will speak nothing of your engagement for a while.
Stay for a week or a month next time. We will sort out this mess.
You can ask your father to reconsider his decision, and all will be well.
If he insists on pursuing the match, we will attempt to reason with Duke Howard so that the match is more acceptable to you. Please come home.
Your father asked me not to say anything about this, but I feel you ought to know. We have seen strange men in town. There have been men dressed in dark cloaks around the city asking after you. One of our servants was accosted in the market and asked if they had ever seen a purple necklace?
What exactly have you gotten yourself into?
Come home. And hire a plain, nondescript carriage. We will pay for it.
Sincerely,
Your mother who loves you very much.
The amulet.
Elizabeth stopped cold.
Ambriel had told her the demons were hunting for it.
She was possibly the only person alive who knew where it was.
What if one of the demons had accidentally seen it in her mind?
Though she had improved vastly at shielding her mind, her thoughts had been unguarded when she’d first arrived at the castle.
She cradled her head in her hands. What had she brought upon herself? Upon her family?
Elizabeth chewed her lip. Maybe she should advise her parents to double their guard and stay far away from anyone who mentions the amulet. She wrinkled her nose. Her mother probably thought she had gotten herself mixed up with a band of criminals, but there was no helping that now.
She picked up a quill and, after great hesitation, penned a warning that she hoped her parents would heed.
***
Elizabeth practiced magic tirelessly.
Risna commented that she appeared driven and focused, bolstered by her successes the other day. She didn’t have the heart to tell her it was because she was worried that less friendly demons than Caspian were after her.
She didn’t stop practicing until Risna stopped her. “That’s enough for today. You look exhausted.”
Elizabeth left the witch’s shop, grinning from ear to ear despite her fatigue. She had real magic now. She wasn’t sure how to use it in self-defence yet, but she had made significant strides forward.
Twilight shrouded the streets as she took her usual route home, her hood up to shield her face against the light rain that sprinkled overhead. She’d stayed later than she’d intended, but the progress had been worth it.
Unease prickled at the back of her neck.
For some reason, she felt like someone was watching her.
A glance backwards revealed nothing out of the ordinary, but she couldn’t shake the feeling there was something there, lurking in the shadows, unseen.
She chastised herself for her paranoia and quickened her pace. Only a few blocks from home now.
Turning a corner, she stopped dead.
A dark figure stood in the middle of the cobblestone street, mists drifting around his feet. Broad-shouldered, he dwarfed the townsfolk who walked around him. The man took a step towards her, and the light from the streetlamp caught his face.
It had only taken two and a half months.
Caspian had found her.