Hidden Magic

by Melinda Kucsera

  Relle nodded once, and spoke, her voice taking on an unnerving musical cant. “A warning: This oath you must keep, or the days thereafter shall you weep. A punishment so cruel and deep, you’ll seek the grave to find your sleep.”

  Jessa leaned away from her. “That warning really ought to come before making the promise.”

  Relle gave no reply. She brought her hands to her face, smoothing them up and over her head. A ripple spread in their wake. Jessa let out a gasp, scrambling off the other side of the bed.

  Relle’s dark skin hadn’t changed, nor the playful black curls, but her features, though similar, had become utterly inhuman. Her silver eyes were wider and set farther apart, the cheekbones knife-sharp, the brow higher and the chin more pointed. Her limbs—arms, legs, even fingers—were abnormally long, reaching half a length farther than seemed possible, or natural. She was still beautiful, but eerily so. Jessa recognized what she was. Her mother had read so many folktales to her as a child, she’d have to be blind not to.

  “You’re a fairy,” she whispered.

  “No. I’m Fae.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  “Fairies are long-lived, but still mortal. Their magic isn’t nearly as strong, and like all other races save mine, they require a conduit to wield it.”

  A conduit. That made it sound as if magic were some kind of electricity requiring a grounding object through which to conduct it. She remembered the winged stranger—or…pixie—telling her to ready her own just before he pulled the knife from her leg.

  “Magic,” she repeated, feeling her jaw dangle.

  Relle nodded solemnly.

  “Magic is real?”

  “It is, but don’t worry. This world has no magic of its own. Any you’ve seen was brought in by inhabitants of another realm. That’s why Granny and I live by the doorway—to ensure nothing comes through.”

  “Except something has.”

  “We’re still not sure how. Trees can be a capricious lot. They may have allowed them to enter even if they found the doorway by accident. We’ll learn more once the pixie recovers enough to answer Granny’s questions.”

  “He’s here?” This time it was Jessa who darted a glance toward the door. She recalled the horrified expression on his face after the knife struck her, the way he could barely stumble across the short distance to reach her. “Is he okay?”

  “For now.”

  Relle passed a palm from her brow to her chin, and her face settled back into the familiar lines Jessa knew.

  Glamour. That was the term used in fairytales for enchantments of disguise. Jessa never cared for fantastical stories, but her sisters had loved them. All those sticker boards they used to have…

  She shook the memory off before it settled in. They had bigger problems at hand.

  “Those things, the trolls,” she said. “They’re still out there. What if someone else wanders by your property like I did? Katie’s party must still be going.”

  “When we found you, we closed off the woods. The trolls can’t get out and no one else can get in.”

  “How? There’s no fence and…” Jessa trailed off at the other’s pointed look. Magic, right.

  “Everyone at the party will be safe,” Relle said. She pursed her lips, gaze dropping to her lap again. “Was Katie very angry I couldn’t come? I wanted to go. It’s just better if I keep my distance from regular people, even if I feel more a part of this world than the Fae’s.”

  Jessa’s brows went up. “Were you born here?”

  She nodded. “I’ve never been to the other one. Granny says it’s not safe for us. My father was human, so I suppose that means I do belong in a way, but having magic changes things.”

  “And because you’re immortal.”

  She waved a hand. “No, here I’m as mortal as you are. Everything in this world ages, even the Fae can’t stop that.”

  “But you just said you have magic.”

  “It’s in our blood. That’s why we don’t need conduits, but it has limits—like aging—and it’s extremely draining here.”

  Jessa wondered what it cost her to maintain the glamour she wore. Sudden understanding hit her. “That’s why you hardly ever leave your farm.”

  “Yes,” she said softly. “That’s why I—"

  A sharp rapping on the window pane interrupted them. With the blinds down, Jessa couldn’t see what had caused it. Relle stood.

  “Don’t,” Jessa urged, feeling sweat dampen her palms. “What if it’s the trolls?”

  “They can’t leave the woods, trust me.” She went to the window.

  Despite her assurances, Jessa looked for something that might serve as a weapon. Spying a pair of glass candlesticks on the dresser, she snatched one down.

  Relle zipped the blinds up. Unlatching the window, she pushed it aside and popped open the screen. A sparrow alighted on the window sill. It bobbed its gray head, ruffling brown-black wings in a manner that looked a lot like a show of deference.

  “Did that bird just bow to you?” she blurted.

  “The sparrows help us keep an eye on the trees. That’s how I knew you’d been attacked.” She held out a palm and it hopped onto her fingers.

  “Didn’t Katie relay my text?”

  Where was her phone? She felt the pockets of her borrowed capris, but it wasn’t there.

  Relle’s brow furrowed. “What text?”

  The sparrow deposited a little wad of rolled up paper into her hand, and twittered.

  “They clean up litter for you too?” She relaxed her death grip on the candlestick as Relle unrolled the bit of garbage.

  Her face went rigid.

  “What’s wrong?” Jessa joined her by the window. Markings she didn’t recognize adorned the little scrap of paper. Writing?

  A dawning sense of alarm bubbled in her stomach. “What does it say?”

  “It says they have her,” Relle whispered. “The trolls have her.”

  “Who?”

  Panic filled her silver eyes. “Katie.”

  Chapter Five

  Icy water tore Simith from his dreamless sleep. He came to with a sputtering gasp.

  “Good,” came a voice nearby. “You’re awake.”

  He tried to wipe his face, and couldn’t. Seated upright, his wrists and ankles were lashed to the limbs of a chair. Not by the trolls, he assumed. They’d had other plans for him. Simith blinked the moisture from his eyes, and sought out his captor.

  An elderly woman sat before him in a wheeled chair of metal, her features hard, her black gaze steely. Despite the long, grey-white braid slung over her shoulder, the clarity in her eyes made it hard to guess at her age. They unnerved him, those eyes, as if they could see more than he wished to share. In one hand she held the cup that must’ve delivered the water to his face. The other rested across her lap where his crystal blade lay. No sign of his knives.

  Simith forced his gaze away from the weapon. “Am I a prisoner?”

  She inclined a wintery brow. “Are your bonds not tight enough? Did we leave room for interpretation?”

  We. She was not alone here.

  “On my honor, I mean no harm. You needn’t restrain me.”

  “You bring trouble to my home. I’m of a mood to do as I please with you. As for your honor,” she shrugged, “I know enough of the swaying loyalty of pixies to find little value in that.”

  She was baiting him. To amuse herself, or as a test? That shrewd gaze she leveled on him suggested the latter. What game did she play? His bonds didn’t budge at all when he tested them. Fabric twisted at one arm and he glanced down in surprise to find it bandaged. The absence of pain entered his awareness. His wings, though stiff and sore, were no longer broken, and his leathers had been secured once more over his chest. That was a hopeful sign, wasn’t it?

  “You healed my wounds,” he said. “Thank you.”

  “I can hardly interrogate you if you’re mewling with injury. If there is to be pain,” she smiled, “I prefer to apply
it myself.”

  Perhaps not so hopeful.

  “I serve the Thistle Court,” he told her, opting to volunteer information. Maybe she’d see it as a gesture of good faith. “I’m a knight in the legion’s vanguard and—”

  “You’re infantry, then. Not a Helm.”

  “Of course not. Only the fairies can hold the rank of commander.”

  “Really. Interesting.” She tapped his sword with a forefinger. “Yet, you carry a commander’s blade.”

  “I was given that honor, yes.”

  “Why?”

  As ever, the words came bitter to his tongue. He could almost smell the blood lingering on the air. “A reward for excellence in battle.”

  “And with whom do the fairies battle that you should have the opportunity to earn such acclaim?”

  He frowned. She seemed to know many details about his world, yet of the conflict raging between the fairies and the trolls, she knew nothing?

  “Who are you?” he asked, casting an eye around the square room, empty save for the two chairs.

  “You may call me Ionia.”

  He considered her. “Is that even part of your name?”

  Her mouth crooked up on one side.

  “Where am I?”

  “So many questions. You are perhaps unfamiliar with the way an interrogation works?”

  Familiar enough to recognize the look in her eyes. She might not be his enemy, but she certainly saw him as one. As soon as she had the information she sought, his life became worthless. He needed time to figure out an escape before that happened. The more answers he gave, the shorter that time became.

  His thoughts flashed back to the tree line and his skirmish with the trolls. Were they still out there? And the pooka. Where was she? She’d been hurt, he remembered with a start. By his blade. He’d tried to heal her, but the magic was fractious. Had she survived? His chest tightened for fear she hadn’t.

  He worked to keep his voice level. “There was a pooka—No, not a pooka. She was…” He didn’t even know what she was.

  “Human, is the word you’re looking for. Creatures born without magic.”

  He’d never heard of them. “She was injured. Did she—Is she here?”

  “Your concern would seem more genuine if you hadn’t been the cause of her injury. I don’t recommend more questions about her.”

  “Is she alive?” he demanded.

  “So perilously uncooperative. It’s rather irritating.”

  Simith didn’t like the smirk she gave her words. Perhaps they had her in a room like this one, tied down and interrogated. He would not abide that. He reached for his magic, casting his mind toward his conduit to lend him power.

  None came.

  The old woman’s dark eyes watched him as he struggled to hide his confusion. “You are quite helpless here, pixie. You exhausted your magic during your skirmish on my lands, and in this world, there exists none to replenish your stores.”

  No magic, just like the human who couldn’t heal herself. How then did his captor have magic? He could sense it in the palpable aura of power that surrounded her.

  She nodded to his unspoken question. “Correct. I am not powerless. Perhaps a demonstration would help to clarify things.”

  A hint of pain started behind his eyes. It swelled, growing brighter and hotter until his back arched and his breath shortened.

  “Now, tell me,” she settled back in her chair. “Who do you fight in the fairies’ name? Answer honestly. I will know if you lie.”

  Pressure built in his skull. He clenched his jaw, resisting, but thought better of it. This fact was common knowledge.

  “Trolls,” he pressed out. “They war against the trolls.”

  “How long?”

  “Nearly a century.”

  “Since the fairies betrayed the Fae.”

  Betrayed. A bizarre description for the actions of those who freed the world from tyrannical rule.

  “Yes,” was all he answered.

  The pain vanished. Simith slumped back in his restraints. Her expression thoughtful, she gazed down at the sword again, aged fingers tapping away.

  “Why do you do this?” he rasped. “I pose no threat to you, clearly.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Do you require another warning about deception?”

  “I speak truly. I don’t know you.”

  “No, we have never met,” she agreed. “But let us not pretend that you didn’t come here looking for me.”

  “My arrival was accidental. Trolls ambushed me in the Jaded Grove, and the trees led me here.”

  “The trees.” She gave a grainy chuckle. Sweat glimmered across her brow. “I planted the trees of that grove many ages past. Do you think I’ll believe they not only spoke to a mere pixie, but led you to the doorway?”

  Ages past? The Jaded Grove had stood for millennia. Nothing lived that long.

  Realization washed over him in a cold wave. He stared at the creature before him, goosebumps racing along his arms and legs.

  Now she laughed. “How surprised you seem. Have you not the wit to see through glamour?”

  “It’s not possible. The Fae are dead.”

  “Most are. Some escaped before the curse reached them.”

  “That magic covered the entire world.”

  “Of one realm, but as you see, there are others. Kindred realms, we called them. This is one I’d visited often.” She gave a slight shrug. “Of course, at the time I hadn’t realized it would cost my immortality, but a century more of life is better than none at all.”

  Simith tried to calm himself. He shuddered to think what atrocities she’d committed here among peoples without magic, unaware of her kind’s merciless nature.

  “I did not come here looking for you.” He held her dark gaze as steadily as he could. “No one knows you exist.”

  “Here’s what I think, little pixie. I think your industrious fairy commanders found the doorway. Somehow, they discovered that not all Fae were destroyed in their uprising. They dispatched you to locate my whereabouts so they can send reinforcements to kill or capture me.” She moved alongside him and set the edge of his blade to his throat. “I cannot have that. There are those who depend on me here. Thus, you will never return, and I will have a chat with my trees to make certain no one ever finds that doorway again.”

  He tilted his head back as she pressed the sword into him. “The Helms did not send me.”

  “Then what were you doing in the Jaded Grove before the trolls found you?”

  “It was the trolls I went to meet. In secret.” He sucked in a breath as the blade’s edge bit into him. “To make peace.”

  “Without the backing of your commanders,” she said dryly. “I don’t believe you. You are of the vanguard. They wouldn’t have placed you there unless they trusted your loyalty completely.”

  “They have my true name. That’s why they trust my loyalty.”

  She paused. “You gave it to them?”

  “Yes.”

  He shot a sidelong look at her, afraid to move lest he cut open his own throat. Incredulity filled her black gaze. “You can’t have been that stupid.”

  “It’s required to join the ranks; the price we pay for the resources to protect our families from the attacks.”

  She barked a laugh. “They have grown clever. You’re saying, despite this, the trolls agreed to meet with you and discuss peace?”

  “Yes.”

  She shook her head, certainty replacing the surprise. “For trolls, oathbreaking is a matter of damnation. If they’d truly agreed to that meeting, they wouldn’t have ambushed you. What a sorry liar you are.”

  But he wasn’t lying. The trolls had broken their oath because they saw him as evil, a monster who would slay enemies on their knees as easily as those on their feet. They were right. After ten years of war, he’d done that and worse. He’d accepted no surrenders, heeded no pleas. Like the daylight that turned their flesh to stone, his wrath knew no mercy. Of course, they would
sacrifice their honor to kill him.

  Simith squeezed his eyes shut. He saw no point in saying any of that. This was what he deserved, to die here, alone, without the rites of his homeland or family, without leaves in his hands or runes dyed onto the soles of his feet. It was the fate he had earned, no matter that his spirit ached to atone.

  You were wrong, Rim. For some, it is too late for peace.

  Behind him, a door slammed open.

  “Granny, stop!” someone exclaimed.

  The blade lowered from his throat. “I told you not to come in here.”

  “You can’t kill him. At least not yet.”

  “Why should I not? I’ve learned all I need.”

  He opened his eyes to Ionia scowling over his shoulder. A young female strode into his line of sight and passed a bit of parchment to her. “The trolls captured Katie and sent a ransom note. They want the pixie alive in exchange for her.”

  He’d heard that name before. So Katie was a person, after all. Was she Fae as well? Just how many still lived? He blinked. Had she said Granny?

  “The neighbor girl with the loud parties.” Ionia crumpled the parchment. “Let them have her.”

  The young female stiffened. “What?”

  “It would be a favor, really. She’s become a nuisance with her calls and unannounced visits.”

  “Granny, we can’t—”

  “Why is he tied up?” came a third, startled voice.

  Simith recognized it immediately. He shifted, craning his neck as far as possible to look behind him. He couldn’t get much more than a glimpse of dark hair and a figure of small stature in the doorway, but it was enough. He breathed out a sigh. She lived. Thank all the winds, he hadn’t killed her.

  “Relle?” she asked. “What’s going on?”

  “Go back to the bedroom, Jessa. He’s tied up because he’s dangerous.”

  “But he saved my life.” Her quiet steps moved her into his view, dark eyes widening when she looked from him to the sword in Ionia’s hand. “Why are you—You weren’t going to hurt him, were you?”

  Simith stared up at her. It had been a long time since someone regarded him with anything close to concern. He couldn’t help but appreciate it.