by Amelia Shaw
I paused to take a breath, anger thrumming through my blood like a poison.
A powerful poison. I could feel it vibrating through me, pushing me to speak. To act. To scream.
“I will not be silenced. You will not win! I am the product of hundreds of years of magical breeding and believe me when I say... you will regret this day, for the rest of existence, if you do not give me what you have promised me.”
I glared around the room, challenging everyone and anyone to stand up against me. What I was asking for was not carte blanche power, or an easy ride. It was the chance to prove I was better than they thought I was.
To fight to be my father’s daughter.
I just wanted a fair opportunity to plead my case, to show evidence supporting me. That was all. I found that to be reasonable.
And when no-one spoke up against me, hope finally flared to life within my chest.
There was silence for so long my pounding heart had time to settle down to a more natural and normal rhythm.
My father was staring at me now like I’d gone insane. If he could actually hear me or not, I didn’t know.
Tavlor was almost grinning where he stood beside me, still brandishing his sword.
Rasslor, the snake I’d met in my father’s office a week ago, had been sitting in the front pew. He finally stood and faced me.
“And what is it you want?” he asked. The question sounded strained, as though the last thing he wanted was to hear was how I felt.
I groaned and threw my hands heavenward. What did I want? What did I really want, after this was all said and done? It was hard for me to put everything into words. Life wasn’t that simple.
“I want you to accept the fact I am my father’s child, and stop punishing me for it,” I finally said.
I dropped my hands to my sides and gave Rasslor what I hoped was a look that told him I didn’t want to keep fighting him. I didn’t want to keep fighting anyone. I just wanted to be safe. I wanted to be myself without being penalized for it, especially since I couldn’t change it.
My breath heaved in my chest as I struggled against the wave of intense of emotions rising up over me. “I will learn whatever I need to learn. I will train as hard as any other Witch ever has. I am a willing student in all of this. From the moment you all knew who I was, you’ve treated me like a criminal. Like the enemy, when all I was, all I still am... is a girl wanting to know her father. Wanting to know more about this power that resides in me. Wanting to know how to control it.”
Rasslor scoffed. “Really?” He sneered. “And your father’s power and position have nothing to do with that desire?”
“I wish my father was just a normal Warlock, then I wouldn’t be fighting for my life in a trial, set against Witches who want me dead!” I threw him a disgusted look. “If you knew anything... anything about my up-bringing, you would know that I learnt nothing about your hierarchy, your politics, or your world. Your assumptions about me are completely wrong. I feel like I’m drowning on all the knowledge I do know because it doesn’t quite make sense to me. I’ve never been drawn to your power because I didn’t know it existed. How difficult is this for you to comprehend?”
Rasslor snapped his fingers. My father was marched up to the stage with us, still looking like a barely animated doll.
“So, if you are innocent of these charges...”
I groaned aloud again. “Innocent? I am the child! How could I have willfully committed treason!”
This was why I was infuriated. This was why I kept pushing, why I kept fighting. How could they punish me for being created? I did not have a say in my creation. Did that mean I deserved to die for it, or whatever the punishment would turn out to be?
Rasslor nodded once, as though finally accepting my logic. But then he turned on my father, and his look was one of pure greed and envy.
“Then it is the High Warlock that must answer for the crimes against the Council, as he willfully broke our laws,” he said, puffing up his chest almost proudly.
I groaned. Was this their plan all along? To force my father to admit that he’d had a child with another Witch on purpose?
Did they want to unseat him completely so they could replace him someone they could control more easily?
“What have you done to him?” I said before my father could react in his stupefied state. “He looks like he’s under some sort of spell, like someone is manipulating him.”
“We sedated him, so that he didn’t interfere with the trial,” Rasslor said, so matter of factly.
So, they made sure that I had no one on my side when I needed them? Wow, that was low. Perhaps it wasn’t a spell, but it was still enough where my father’s senses were clearly dulled. And yet, here was Rasslor, now accusing him of a crime when he could not get hold of his own senses.
It was lucky we hadn’t declared Tavlor to be my ‘person’ earlier, or they might have organized to do something to him as well—if they wanted to risk such a thing with him.
“Tavlor. Can you fix it?” I asked, turning to the man by my side. A warrior. Half Fae. And technically, my father’s right-hand man, Head of the Guard. I didn’t want to hope just in case nothing could be done, and knowing how these people worked, I wouldn’t be surprised if we were stuck, at least for now. But I pressed my lips together and waited, hoping he had good news.
Tavlor pulled the High Warlock behind him, slid his sword back into its sheath, and conjured a shield that rose in front and fell behind us.
A perfect bubble.
I glanced across the room to where the Council members were all standing, mouths open, some of them drawing their wands.
From besdie me, my father still stared at me like he had no idea who I was. I blinked, trying to ignore the ache carving itself out in my chest.
“It’s not working,” I said, my voice cracking. “He’s still mute.”
Tavlor glanced back at me, both hands extended out in front of him, being held at a conjuring, awkward angle.
“You’ll have to do it,” he said. “I can’t let go of the shield.”
And he couldn’t. People of the Council had begun congregating in front of us, throwing spells at Tavlor’s projection and testing its strength. As though they did not take Tavlor and his magic seriously. They were a bunch of hypocrites, the lot of them. I knew they feared Fae magic, and yet, because Tavlor was a hybrid, they assumed his magic couldn’t stand a chance against theirs.
Clearly, they were wrong.
He was doing his job to save us, to save my father. Now it was my turn.
Pity I hadn’t had more training in healing, although I did know a bit about mental barriers...
I took my father’s hands in mine and closed my eyes, focusing on the connection between us. The strength of our familial bond. I found it, held onto it, and used it to project me forward, into his subconscious.
I slipped my magic along his veins, into his mind, testing for the cracks in the magic fogging his brain. Keeping his personality and true identity from us.
Then... I found it! The weirdly shaped grey bubble. An alcoholic-like cloud encasing his mind. Clogging up his powers. Making him defenseless.
Rather than letting my anger take hold of me, I focused on the spell. I sucked in a breath and closed my eyes. I ignored the little voice that told me I needed to make the Council pay for what they did to my father. I ignored the way my power felt—so easy to hold onto, so easy to release and harm them. My father needed me more. With a few whispered words I’d learnt from the Fae mage to amplify my powers, I split apart the spell cast over him.
My eyes sprung open. My father’s head was thrown back, and he shivered with whatever evil magic had been cast over him. He looked like he was in pain, so much pain he could not make a sound. I needed to get him through the struggle. Every spell did not want to be removed so easily, not when the victim gave it life.
I moved my hand and pulled. The split spell immediately vanished and I stumbled back, letting his hand
s go. I caught my balance, righting myself, and hoped what I had done was enough.
His head dropped down so that his face was level with mine, and his eye lids sprung open.
He was back.
“What happened?” he asked with a frown. Relief washed through me.
“The Council.” I indicated to the Witches and Warlocks who stood on the other side of the wall Tavlor had created. “They put a spell on you to... numb you, I suppose. They didn’t want you able to interfere with my trial.”
Matlock spun around to face the room, his wand appearing in his hand as he whipped it from wherever his hiding place was.
“Who the hell did this? Damn it... you’re all under arrest,” my father yelled. “Tavlor. Now.”
Tavlor dropped the shield he’d conjured. My father blasted the entire audience with a white light that had the ten or so people falling onto chairs that magically appeared beneath them.
Clearly, they weren’t expecting the spell they’d cast on my father to be magicked away, especially not by me.
The powerful men and women shrieked as their hands were bound and glittering, magical ropes wove around their waists and over their thighs, holding them in place on the chairs they now sat upon.
I almost laughed, their shock was so palpable. In their lives, I was sure no-one had dared to overpower them in such a way.
My father’s chest heaved with the effort such magic took, but Tavlor and I stared at him in disbelief.
“Woah,” I said. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”
My father half chuckled and half growled.
“You don’t think you get all your power from your mother’s side, surely?” he asked.
I grinned at him, enjoying the moment of connection, of the playfulness in his eyes. The I turned back to the Council, a group of scowling witches and warlocks.
“Should we bind their magic, or something?”
Matlock shook his head. “No. My magic and the spell I cast is enough to sedate any magic they might try to throw at us in this room.”
I raised an eyebrow. Really? Did that mean I had the same power?
I looked down at my hands, but shook my head. Though this trial was about me, it wasn’t about my magic. I needed to focus on what was going on presently and then I could talk to my father about my potential.
He had all that power and yet they thought they could unseat him so easily? I think it’s time he stepped into his role with a little more fervor.
He lifted his head as he glared at the Council. “I am the High Warlock. And with it comes power that all of you granted me, and none of you have. How dare you stifle me? Cast a spell on me? That alone is grounds for a decade in jail, and you all know it!”
I glanced over at Tavlor.
Really? Just casting a spell on the High Warlock was enough to send someone to jail for half my life?
That was a bit harsh as far as I was concerned, but who was I to talk about the laws and politics I wanted to change, when my father was on the war path.
“Who was it? Or did you all agree to do this to me together?”
When none of them spoke, simply glaring at my father like he was in the wrong, he nodded. “You all agreed, and I assume my lovely wife here was the one to suggest it.”
He walked over to where Charity sat, straight as an arrow, her lips pursed like she’d sucked on a lemon.
He tapped his wand under her chin.
“What am I going to do with you?” he asked, though it was obvious the question was rhetorical.
I took a step forward, unable to miss the opportunity as it rose. “I’m not sure what your laws are regarding divorce, but I’d say that wanting you dead is as good a grounds as any.”
Matlock’s gaze shot back at me. “They wanted me... what?”
“Oh...”
Charity glared at me. “Don’t listen to her, Matlock, she’s the bastard of a whore...”
My father’s wand shot out at his wife. Her nasty mouth snapped shut and her muted screams could be heard from behind lips that appeared to be glued shut.
I shivered. “Thank you. It still kinda, hurts, the way she talks about Mom and me.”
And it did. I wasn’t a bastard... well, technically I was. But I didn’t feel like one. Especially not in the offensive way she spoke. And my mother was no whore. She hadn’t taken a lover in the last twenty years of her life. That certainly counted for something.
Matlock nodded once, his face still a mask of strength. “I agree with you,” he said. “She has no right to speak that way, especially to you. Now tell me what you meant by the fact she wanted to kill me.”
He was breathing hard, as though the news of this caught him by surprise and he didn’t know how to respond to it.
Tavlor stepped up next to me, and I was glad he did. I wasn’t sure how to explain exactly what had happened.
Tavlor said to my father, “Rasslor said that if Ava wasn’t guilty of treason, then you were. And they had sedated you from the moment you stepped into the room, to make sure you didn’t interfere with the trial. I don’t know what they would have done with you after that. Ava stepped in and took the spell off you.”
My father glanced at me with a look of wonder and surprise, as though he could not believe I had had the power to do such a thing. To be honest, I was surprised I was able to do it myself.
“And Tavlor conjured a shield that held the whole Council at bay,” I added. I wasn’t getting all the credit, not when I didn’t know where I’d be without him. “I couldn’t have done anything to help you, if he wasn’t here.”
My father’s face began to redden, his eyes hardening like sticks of flint.
“They did what!?” he asked. He didn’t seem to care who got credit for what, only that his own Council had conspired against him, had used magic to keep him under their control.
My father turned to the Council, sparkling light vibrating from his clothes and body as though he were glowing.
“You were going to try me for treason against myself? While under a spell that had me deaf, dumb and mute!”
He was practically screaming now, and I couldn’t stop myself from smiling at the strength I finally saw.
When I’d met my father I’d been surprised, and somewhat disappointed, by how calm he was. How lacking in passion and strength he appeared.
Well, now it seemed like it had all been a façade.
Rasslor pleaded his case. “No! Matlock! We would never have conducted the trial with you in that state. The whole purpose of today was to determine if Ava was at fault, but her appeal was that she is the child of an illegal coupling, and that it is your fault, not hers.”
I rounded on the lying weasel. “You liar! How dare you—”
My father put his hand up, silencing me as he stepped forward.
“There’s an easy way to sort this out,” he said. His voice was strained, like putting a muzzle on a barking dog.
He pointed his wand at Rasslor’s head.
The weasel of a Warlock began to squirm. “No, Matlock...”
My father closed his eyes and I stepped over to Tavlor. “What’s he doing?”
“He’s checking Rasslor’s memory for what was said.”
“Isn’t that subjective? Doesn’t everyone remember everything slightly differently?”
Or I thought that’s how memories worked.
“He’ll be able to discern the difference.”
There was a growl of frustration from my father as his eyes snapped open once again. He must have found what he’d been looking for.
“You dare to accuse me of treason?” he said. His hands shook as though he couldn’t control himself. His eyes narrowed like a beast hunting prey that happened to be particularly slippery. “When I loved a woman before I was married, and had no idea she’d walked away with my heir? When you are ready to overthrow me so that you can replace me? Treason!”
My father whipped his hand around and hit Rasslor in the chest.
&n
bsp; Rasslor disappeared, and I gaped at the place he’d once been.
I blinked, almost as though I needed to be sure he was really gone and that this wasn’t some kind of trick.
“Where did you send him?” I asked.
I bloody hoped he’d sent him somewhere, and not killed him. I was pretty sure even the High Warlock wasn’t above the laws when it came to murdering someone, especially when he was clearly angry and giving into his rage rather than defending himself from a viable threat.
“To the dungeons to await his trial,” Matlock said, before turning back to his Council. His flock. His people. “Now, for the rest of you.” His eyes lingered on each one, his mouth twisting into a smirk, though there was no humor in his eyes that matched it. “I think it’s time we sorted this out, don’t you?”
Most of them squirmed, including step-mommy dearest, and hope rose in my breast. My father was back.
Chapter 4.
THERE WAS A TITTER among the Council members, then a brave voice called out.
“How do we know that Ava was conceived before your wedding to Charity?” It was one of the Witches in the back row.
I wanted to roll my eyes. What sort of question was that? That could easily be proven. Quite frankly, it was a waste of my time.
My father turned to me. Even he seemed annoyed.
“Ava, when is your birthday?” he asked drolly.
I reeled off the date and Matlock turned back to the Council.
“I’m sure you can all deduct nine months from that date, but from what I’ve gathered, Ava was conceived almost two months before my marriage,” he stated.
The witch at the back snorted. “How do we know that is true?” she asked, hands on hips as she stood up to face us.
“Ava, would you undergo a truth test to be sure of that date?” Matlock asked, though he kept his eyes focused on the witch, as though he wanted to prove his point to her.
I laughed aloud.
“Of course,” I said as though it was obvious. “It’s true.”
Then it occurred to me that I could sort this all out. Right now.
“What if I could prove that the only person who committed any sort of... crime, was my mother?” I said. I ignored the questioning gaze my father sent my way, only focused on the people in front of me. “And even then, it wasn’t on purpose?”