Love's Blush

by Sabrina Zbasnik

  The fire was an accident, a direct response to her anger. But it was almost worth it to see the look of total fear rise in that shem's eye. She grinned in pride as the girl shrieked back, flames rising up to burn her fancy silks. When the vengeance faded from her blood, panic set in. Myra tried to pat out the flames, kicking dirt at the girl, which sent the entire flock of cousins into a tizzy.

  It was all a blur after that. Someone summoned the king, her dad looking frazzled and angry until he heard the full of it. Then that always smiling face shattered into a pity that wrung Myra's veins ice cold. Her dad never looked like that unless something life shattering was about to happen. The last time she saw it her mother nearly...

  "I swear to the Maker, that girl is impossible. I told her, warned her if she couldn't keep a lid on this it'd be catastrophic. But does she listen? No, her smart mouth takes over for her ears." Reiss continued on, pacing opposite Alistair. If Myra held her breath she could count the steps in ten seconds and approximate the size of their gait. It was better than sitting there waiting to find out what her punishment would be.

  "Reiss," Dad's voice softened and his steps slowed, "it's not..."

  "Don't defend her from this. She's thirteen, she knows how this works."

  "Yes, fine, she's thirteen, and she's...Reiss, she's a mage."

  "I know that. Do you think I don't know that? It's a little hard to miss when she's running around setting girls on fire."

  Alistair snickered to himself, "The way Spud tells it, I think they deserved it. A little bit."

  "No one," her mother began before backtracking, "Yes, there are plenty of people who deserve to have their shoes set on fire on occasion, but not like that. Not in front of...before so many people that can destroy her life."

  Myra curled her evil hands up over her ears, not to shut out the voices, but to feel them. Round, round as a humans, as her dad's. There was a little nub at the top, but nothing like her mom's, or Lunet's, or her other friends. She looked human, as far as anyone cared she was human. But all her mother could see was an elf, an elf that had to be on her best behavior at all times or some shem would come sweeping out of the walls to cut her ears off.

  Shit, even her elven friends could miss curfew, or get caught sneaking sweets and worst they had to worry about was a cuffing to the ear. If Myra was ever implicated for doing those things it'd be no leaving the house, no attending to the palace for anything but seeing your father in the dark dungeon, and writing up two hundred pages of notes into files for a week. It wasn't that she didn't do them, she was just very careful to make certain her mother never caught on.

  "We can't expect Wheaty to control her powers by wishing really hard," her dad spoke up. "It doesn't work that way."

  "Why not?" Mom continued to pace, no doubt Dad trying to get her to stop for two damn seconds. "There are books, she's been reading them."

  "Reiss, it's...she needs to be trained. Properly trained," Dad's voice dropped low and sounded as if he was walking over glass barefoot, "And not just because of the occasional fire."

  The dreams. When she woke that first night to find her pajama's smoking, her mom insisted it was all an accident. Faulty lamps or some rune Myra forgot in her pocket. Reiss used her force of will to convince herself and her daughter that it couldn't be the most likely cause. But her dad began to pry about her dreams and the whispers. They weren't loud or coherent, it was like trying to hear through custard or see around a hedge. There were snippets of something but it made no sense. Myra told him the truth because she didn't think anything of it, but her dad snapped rigid and they began talking about her being a robe.

  "No, no, my daughter, our daughter is stronger than that. She's too smart to be possessed, to give in to demons."

  "I've seen some damn strong adults fold when demons crawl into their brains. You expect a teenager to have the same fortitude? She needs someone to teach her how to protect herself. How to navigate the fade safely." A sigh reverberated up the flue before Dad continued, "She needs to go to the college."

  "Out of the question," her mom leapt up, her voice screeching for understanding. "Never, I won't allow it."

  "Reiss...sweetheart."

  "How long do mages remain there? How long are they trapped in those walls, unable to leave to visit their families?"

  "It's not a blighted Circle. They're gone." Her dad refused to tell her about the Circles, beyond a few vague descriptions of big towers full of people like her and something called templars that were in charge of watching them. Guarding them. But Myra knew how to find books and read through two on the history of the Circle. The first didn't seem so bad, mages all together learning how to shoot fire and ice and do other neat things. Then she got to the second, a listing of atrocities, of why they fell, of how mages couldn't leave, couldn't have families or even boyfriends. That they belonged to the chantry for their whole lives with no say.

  She hid both books under her mattress, terrified of either scenario falling upon her head. That was the day she stopped showing off to her friends. There'd been long accounts from old mages about how their neighbors, friends, coworkers, and even parents all turned them in to the templars. They couldn't trust anyone.

  "The College may not be the circle, but it's out of your jurisdiction," Reiss continued. "What if they think keeping the King's daughter for themselves is useful? If they hold her for ransom to try and get more money from the crown? Or...Maker's sake, Alistair, what if the witch finds her there?"

  Not this witch again. Myra'd been hearing about some mythical old woman that her parents used as an excuse to keep her from doing anything fun since she was a child. Don't stay out too late or the witch will get you. You can't take that hunting trip with your sister because your Dad won't be there to guard you from the witch. She assumed the witch was a way to scare her into compliance, but at thirteen the ruse was wearing very thin.

  "We haven't heard from her in twelve years. Pretty sure she's either dead or making good on her promise."

  "I'll believe that a warm day in the void," Reiss mumbled beside the fireplace. "The College is out. I refuse to let them have anything to do with my daughter. Our daughter."

  "Well, we have to do something. This is only going to get worse. Someone could get seriously hurt. What if I have the arcane advisor tutor her?"

  "For Maker's sake, Alistair. Why not shout through the streets that Myra's a mage? The entire castle, and then the guards, and then every damn person in Denerim will know within the hour."

  "Then what do we do? We can't keep hoping that there won't be another outburst."

  "Yes we can," her mother was in proper stubborn form, her heels banging against the floor as she dug them in. "I'll get her more books, better books about magic, and...and keep her grounded until she can prove she has some restraint."

  Myra snarled, feeling the power building up inside of her again. It wanted to leap free, fire pirouetting across the bricks as she sprayed all the anger and betrayal out of her body. They didn't understand, they didn't want to listen to what she wanted. No, it was all about appearances, about hiding her away and making sure none of the nobs caught on because then something bad might happen.

  Alistair tried to reason with Mom, "I don't think that'll..."

  "Bullshit," Myra spat out to herself. Tipping her head back she screamed into the night air, "It's all bullshit!"

  "Myra?" her dad's voice floated from the chimney.

  Oh crap.

  "Are you on the roof again?" Mom thundered. Suddenly her voice echoed up the flue as if she jammed her entire head inside the chimney, "You are on the roof. Which is how you can hear us. Get off of there now!"

  Myra shrunk deeper into the shadows, her eyes hunting around the edges. The breath stilled, hoping her parents would forget they heard her and return to their fight. Their fight about her life, her future, which neither could bother to ask her a damn thing about.

  "Fine, if you're not coming down, we'll come to you," her mother swore an
d began to crack open the window.

  Rising to her feet, Myra spun in place and ran across their building's roof. It was barely a stretch to leap to the next one, all of Denerim built on top of itself in this district. She could hide, sneak back down while her parents were messing about to find her and slip into bed unnoticed. Only to have her mom chain her to it until she was thirty, or her father send her away to some mage prison. No, no, she'd run away.

  Where?

  Katelynn's house. Her mom would never find her in the alienage. She could spend her days with her friends, hanging out with the elves that didn't fuss about who set their snotty cousins on fire. And Katelynn's mom was nice, niceish. She came from that smaller alienage up north, and spoke with a Marcher accent. It'd be easy for Myra to blend in no problem.

  Reaching the edge of the baker's roof, Myra leaped into the night air, her hands flying out to snag onto a ladder's rung. It probably seemed more impressive than it was; she was often playing up top testing to see the jumps she could manage. The ladder dropped from her weight, loudly clacking and clattering until Myra's boots hit the cobbles. Spinning in a circle, she bunched her burnt party dress up in her hands and began to run for the dirt part of the street that led into the alienage.

  What did her parents know? Nothing. This magic wasn't so bad, and those mage wars were a long time ago. No one cared if you could cast spells anymore. There was even a mage who lived down the street from them. He was always making little dancing lights to hop up and down the street at night. Whatever demons there were Myra would just keep far away from them. Not like any would go lurking into the alienage. Demons didn't belong there.

  Twisting to the side, Myra leaned into her turn when a hand suddenly lashed out to grab her arm. Instinct took over and she spun, a fist rising up to punch into whatever was holding her. It was about to hit the shadow's jaw, when the second hand caught her fist, pinning it in place. Terror rose up through Myra's gut, the girl pinned by this unknown force. How was she going to get out? She moved to scream, when the man stepped out of the shadows and sighed.

  "Wheaty."

  Dad dropped his grip on her hands but moved to get between her and the alienage, cutting off her escape. She could backtrack but, sure enough, Myra heard her mother twisting in behind her, going for the kill. Folding her arms tight to her chest she snarled. She should have known they'd find her, catch her; it's what they did.

  "What do you think you are doing?" Reiss pounced, jogging up to join the two of them facing off.

  "Nothing," Myra mumbled to herself, her foot nudging into a dead rat.

  "Do not mutter," her mother sniped.

  "I SAID NOTHING!" she screamed, her hands parting as embers of fire erupted off the palms. "Damn it," Myra cursed, struggling to close her hands into tight fists. When the fire doused, smoke trailing off her hands, she turned to face the wall to hide tears in her eyes. Tears of frustration for failing at this.

  Her dad's hand landed on her shoulder, trying to soothe away the anger as he always did, "Running away isn't going to fix this, Wheaters."

  "Stop calling me that, Dad!" Myra spun back around, honing all her raw rage on her father. He blinked in surprise a moment as she jabbed a finger at him. "I'm not a kid anymore. The nickname is stupid and I hate it. Treat me like an adult."

  "Sorry, but you're a kid to me. Always will be. You're my baby, same as Cailan, and Rosamund. If I want to call you Wheaty, or him Radish, or our crowned princess Spud I damn well will. Deal with it."

  "Argh!" she stuffed her hands deeper into her armpits wishing the world would swallow her up whole. Where were those supposed sinkholes to the deep roads when you needed one?

  Reiss eased closer to her daughter as if afraid she'd bolt. "Myra, we need to talk about..."

  "No," Myra whipped at her mother, her voice loud enough neighbors a block over had to hear, "No, all you do is talk. Talk about me, about what to do with me, you never care about me. About what I want. It's Myra, do this. Myra, go here. Myra, you can't be trusted. Myra, you need to be better."

  Alistair glanced at Reiss before honing in on her, "This isn't a situation where..."

  "I am trying," Myra gasped, the tears coursing from her eyes. "But you don't care," she jabbed a finger at her mother who blanched. "You never care because I'm never good enough."

  "Da'saan," her mother breathed the old pet name she rarely used outside the home. Too much elvish on the streets brought attention. "I..." Reiss dropped her head down and sighed, "I understand you're giving your best."

  Myra snorted, "Since when?"

  "I am trying to protect you," Reiss slid in to her daughter. Only thirteen and Myra could already see eye to eye with her mother. Maker only knew how tall she was going to get.

  Myra used the height to her advantage, staring her down. "Protect me from what, mother? From our neighbors? The elves we meet? The gentry?"

  "Yes, damn it, all of them. You have no idea, no concept of...you're too young to understand."

  "I'm not too young to know why you want to get rid of me."

  "Wh...Myra," Dad tried to reach over to calm her, but she shook it off, "we're not trying to get rid of you."

  "Yes you are, I heard it. You want to-to send me away or chain me up until I can prove I'm not a mage anymore. Because I get in the way. I mess things up in your perfect life. I bet you wish I'd never been born!" She ended her shout by burying her face into her crossed arms, not willing to look at either of her traitorous parents.

  It was her mother who gasped at first, as if she was surprised her daughter caught on. She took a moment to gather her strength but when it came back, it nearly knocked the girl over. "Myra Sayer Theirin, there is not a day that passes where I am not grateful for your existence. Even when you drive me up the blighted wall, I don't wish to lose you. Because..." her mother's words faded into a gravelly snarl as she fought against the need to both smother her daughter in love and a pillow.

  "Sweetie," her calmer Dad wrapped a hand around Reiss and sighed, "we both love you. We both want what's best for you. You need someone to teach you to control this or else... Look, I've seen mages fall under the sway of demons. It's not always their fault, demons pry into every crack and you have to be prepared."

  Myra dug her nails into her arms, her Dad's soft pleas striking against her wall. She hated him, hated them both because...because, damn it she didn't want to go. Didn't want to face up to whatever this was alone. All her life she'd always had her mother behind her watching, waiting to leap in should something go wrong and now? Her mother didn't understand the fade and would always curse at magic. She waved away Myra's concerns about her dreams as a bad case of indigestion.

  "I don't want to go. I don't want to...to leave my friends."

  "Okay," Alistair nodded, "what if we--?"

  "Don't even think it," Reiss interrupted. "There is nowhere here she can learn, nowhere in Denerim that Myra's magic wouldn't be noticed. Do you have any idea what that attention would call upon us, Alistair?"

  Myra risked a peek, expecting her father to go to bat for her, but he impotently tugged his hair up and sighed. Shit. "You're right. After the incident it's...I'm sorry, My."

  "No you're not," she cursed.

  "What if she goes to a mage. Not the college, but..." Dad turned to Reiss and nodded his head, "What about Lanny?" Her mom blinked a moment, her lips curling into her contemplating pose.

  It was Myra who needed clarification, "Who?"

  "You could be trained by the greatest living mage. The one that stopped a blight. She could teach you things even I can't understand and I've known her for...Maker, it's been too long to count."

  "That," Myra was pulled by the idea. The few spells inside books she could get her hands on were piddly things to entertain children. She wanted to learn how to do stuff that could really have an impact. And there were probably magics beyond her imagination locked away in a stuffy college or with this mage tutor. "That might not be too bad."

  Alistair
smiled wider, a hand curling along her shoulders to try and tug her in for a hug, but Myra was rooted. She was still pissed at the both of them.

  Her mother focused hard on Alistair, "You know she'll never come here."

  "Yeah," his head dropped down a moment. "Not for more than a week at most. Wheaty...Myra, you'd have to head out to the Hinterlands for awhile."

  "Awhile? The Hinterlands? What about my friends? What about my...what about my work here?" She didn't enjoy the cases and hated the school work even more but if it could get her out of this quagmire, she'd study every dialect of ancient Tevene with a smile on her face.

  "It can wait," her mother said, slamming her hand over Myra's only chance of escape. "This is more important. You'll travel to the Hinterlands to stay with the Rutherfords for training."

  "No," she tried to scoot back from her parents, but the alleyway wall sat in her way.

  "Alistair, I assume you can send a letter out to Lana?"

  "Yeah, might have to wait a bit for her to get things ready. Seems it's some kind of animal breeding or eating season. Chickens? I can't remember." Her dad nodded along, fully okay with her being banished to this desolate void.

  "No, see," Myra tried to get her parents attention but they were too involved with each other. "You don't have to do that. I'm good, I can control it."

  Reiss tipped her head, "I'll go with, get her settled in properly. Have to talk to Lunet about taking the time away but I'm certain..."

  Both parents folded their heads together, plotting and scheming to destroy Myra's life without turning to glance over at the girl melting into despair. If they had maybe they wouldn't have written her out of their lives so easily.

  * * *

  What was she going to do with herself?