by C. E. Murphy
“Edwin.” There’s a note of challenge in my aunt’s smooth voice. “You will force me to take matters into my own hands.”
“You forget, Vyvian,” my uncle counters, “that I am the eldest male of the family, and as such, I have the final say on all matters concerning Elloren, and when I am gone, it will be Rafe, not you, who will have the final say.”
My eyebrows fly up at this. I can tell my uncle is treading on thin ice if he has decided to resort to this argument—an argument I know he doesn’t actually agree with. He’s always grousing about how unfair the Gardnerian power structure is toward women, and he’s right. Few Gardnerian women have wand magic, my powerful grandmother being a rare exception. Almost all of our powerful Mages are men, our magic passing more easily along male lines. This makes our men the rulers in the home and over the land.
But Uncle Edwin thinks our people take this all too far: no wands for women, save with Council approval; ultimate control of a family always given to the eldest male; and our highest position in government, the office of High Mage, can only be held by a man. And there’s my uncle’s biggest issue by far—the wandfast-binding of our women at increasingly young ages.
“You will not be able to shelter her forever,” my aunt insists. “What will happen when you are gone someday, and all the suitable men have already been wandfasted?”
“What will happen is that she will have the means to make her own way in the world.”
My aunt laughs at this. Even her laugh is graceful. It makes me think of a pretty waterfall. I wish I could laugh like that. “And how, exactly, would she ‘make her own way in the world?’”
“I’ve decided to send her to University.”
I involuntarily suck in as much air as I can and hold it there, not able to breathe, too shocked to move. The pause in their conversation tells me that my aunt is probably having the same reaction.
Verpax University. With my brothers. In another country altogether. A dream I never imagined could actually come true.
“Send her there for what?” my aunt asks, horrified.
“To learn the apothecary trade.”
A giddy, stunned joy wells up inside me. I’ve been begging Uncle Edwin for years to send me. Hungry for something more than our small library and homegrown herbs. Passionately envious of Trystan and Rafe, who get to study there.
Verpax University. In Verpacia’s bustling capital city. With its apothecary laboratories and greenhouses. The fabled Gardnerian Athenaeum overflowing with books. Apothecary materials streaming into Verpacia’s markets from East and West, the country a central trade route.
My mind spins with the exciting possibilities.
“Oh, come now, Vyvian,” my uncle reasons. “Don’t look so put out. The apothecary sciences are a respectable trade for women, and it suits Elloren’s quiet, bookish nature more than the Mage Council ever could. Elloren loves her gardens, making medicines and so forth. She’s quite good at it.”
An uncomfortable silence ensues.
“You have left me with no alternative but to take a firm stand on this,” my aunt says, her voice gone low and hard. “You realize that I cannot put one guilder toward Elloren’s University tithe while she is unfasted.”
“I expected as much,” my uncle states coolly. “Which is why I have arranged for Elloren to pay her tithe through kitchen labor.”
“This is unheard of!” my aunt exclaims. Her voice turns tight and angry. “You’ve raised these children like they’re Keltic peasants,” she snipes, “and frankly, Edwin, it’s disgraceful. You’ve forgotten who we are. I have never heard of a Gardnerian girl, especially one of Elloren’s standing, from such a distinguished family, laboring in a kitchen. That’s work for Urisk, for Kelts, not for a girl such as Elloren. Her peers at University will be shocked.”
I jump in fright as something large bumps into me. I turn as my older brother, Rafe, plops down by my side, grinning widely.
“Surprise you, sis?”
It’s beyond me how someone so tall and strapping can move as quietly as a cat. I imagine his extraordinary stealth comes from all the time he spends wandering the wilds and hunting. He’s clearly just back from a hunt, his bow and quiver slung over one shoulder, a dead goose hanging upside down over the other.
I shoot my brother a stern look and hold up a finger to shush him. Aunt Vyvian and Uncle Edwin have resumed their wandfasting argument.
Rafe raises his eyebrows in curiosity, still smiling, and tilts his head toward the window. “Ah,” he whispers, bumping his shoulder into mine in camaraderie. “They’re talking about your romantic future.”
“You missed the best part,” I whisper back. “Earlier they were talking about how you would be my lord and master when Uncle Edwin is gone.”
Rafe chuckles. “Yeah, and I’m going to start my iron-fisted rule by having you do all my chores for me. Especially dishwashing.”
I roll my eyes at him.
“And I’m going to have you wandfasted to Gareth.” He continues to bait me.
My eyes and mouth fly open. Gareth, our good friend since childhood, is like a brother to me. I have no romantic interest in him whatsoever.
“What?” Rafe laughs. “You could do a lot worse, you know.” Something just over my shoulder catches his eye, and his smile broadens. “Oh, look who’s here. Hello, Gareth, Trystan.”
Trystan and Gareth have rounded the cottage’s corner and are approaching us. I catch Gareth’s eye, and immediately he flushes scarlet and takes on a subdued, self-conscious expression.
I am mortified. He obviously heard Rafe teasing.
Gareth is a few years older than me at twenty, broad and sturdy with dark green eyes and black hair like the rest of us. But there’s one notable difference: Gareth’s black hair has a trace of silver highlights in it—very unusual in Gardnerians, and read by many as a sign of his less-than-pure blood. It’s been the source of relentless teasing all throughout his life. “Mongrel,” “Elfling” and “Fae-blood” are just a few of the names the other children called him. The son of a ship captain, Gareth stoically endured the teasing and often found solace with his father at sea. Or here, with us.
An uncomfortable flush heats my face. I love Gareth like a brother. But I certainly don’t want to fast to him.
“What are you doing?” my younger brother, Trystan, asks, confused to see Rafe and me crouched down under the window.
“We’re eavesdropping,” Rafe whispers cheerfully.
“Why?”
“Ren here’s about to be fasted off,” Rafe answers.
“I am not,” I counter, grimacing at Rafe, then look back up at Trystan, giddy happiness welling up. I break out into a grin. “But I am going to University.”
Trystan cocks an eyebrow in surprise. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope,” Rafe answers jovially.
Trystan eyes me with approval. I know my quiet, studious younger brother loves the University. Trystan’s the only one of us with magical power, but he’s also a talented bowmaker and fletcher. At only sixteen years of age, he’s already been pre-accepted into the Gardnerian Weapons Guild and apprenticed with the military.
“That’s great, Ren,” Trystan says. “We can eat meals together.”
Rafe shushes Trystan with mock severity and motions toward the window.
Humoring us, Trystan bends his wiry frame and crouches down. Looking ill at ease, Gareth does the same.
“You’re wrong, Edwin. You can’t possibly send her to University without wandfasting her to someone first.” My aunt’s domineering tone is beginning to fray at the edges.
“Why?” my uncle challenges her. “Her brothers are unfasted. And Elloren’s not a fool.”
“Sage Gaffney wasn’t a fool, either,” my aunt cautions, her tone dark. “You know as well as I do that they let in all manner of unsuitable types: Kelts, Elfhollen…they even have two Icarals this year. Yes, Edwin, Icarals.”
My eyes fly up at this. Icaral demons! Attendi
ng University? How could that even be possible? Keltic peasants and Elfhollen half-breeds are one thing, but Icarals! Alarmed, I look to Rafe, who simply shrugs.
“It’s not surprising, really,” my aunt comments, her voice disgusted. “The Verpacian Council is full of half-breeds. As is most of the University’s hierarchy. They mandate an absurd level of integration, and, quite frankly, it’s dangerous.” She gives a frustrated sigh. “Marcus Vogel will clean up the situation once he’s named High Mage.”
“If, Vyvian,” my uncle tersely counters. “Vogel may not win.”
“Oh, he’ll win,” my aunt crows. “His support is growing.”
“I really don’t see how any of this pertains to Elloren,” my uncle cuts in, uncharacteristically severe.
“It pertains to Elloren because the potential is there for her to be drawn into a wildly unsuitable romantic alliance, one that could destroy her future and reflect badly on the entire family. Now, if she was wandfasted, like almost all Gardnerian girls her age, she could safely attend University—”
“Vyvian,” my uncle persists, “I’ve made up my mind about this. I’m not going to change it.”
Silence.
“Very well.” My aunt sighs with deep disapproval. “I can see you are quite decided at present, but at least let her spend the next week or so with me. It makes perfect sense, as Valgard is on the way from here to the University.”
“All right,” he capitulates wearily.
“Well,” she says, her tone brightening, “I’m glad that’s settled. Now, if my niece and nephews would kindly stop crouching under the window and come in and join us, it would be lovely to see everyone.”
Gareth, Trystan and I give a small start.
Rafe turns to me, raises his eyebrows and grins.
CHAPTER 2: AUNT VYVIAN
The Gaffney twins buzz past as I make my way into the kitchen, which is now full of friendly, boisterous noise.
My aunt stands with her back to me as she kisses Rafe on both cheeks in greeting. My uncle shakes hands with Gareth, and the twins are practically hanging from Trystan while holding up their toys for his inspection.
My aunt releases Rafe, stops admiring how tall he’s become, and turns toward me in one fluid, graceful movement.
Her gaze lights on me and she freezes, her eyes gone wide as if she’s come face-to-face with a ghost.
The room grows silent as everyone else turns their attention toward us, curious as to what’s amiss. Only my uncle does not look confused—his expression grown oddly dark and worried.
“Elloren,” Aunt Vyvian breathes, “you have grown into the absolute image of your grandmother.”
It’s a huge compliment, and I want to believe it. My grandmother was not only one of my people’s most powerful Mages, she was also considered to be very beautiful.
“Thank you,” I say shyly.
Her eyes wander down toward my plain, homespun clothing.
If ever there was anyone who looks out of place in our tiny kitchen, it’s my aunt. She stands there, studying me, amidst the battered wooden furniture, soup and stew pots simmering on our cookstove and bunches of drying herbs hanging from the ceiling.
She’s like a fine painting hanging in a farmer’s market stall.
I take in her stunning, black, form-fitting tunic that hangs over a long, dark skirt, the silk embroidered with delicate, curling vines. My aunt is the absolute epitome of what a Gardnerian woman is supposed to look like—waist-length black hair, deep green eyes and swirling black wandfasting lines marking her hands.
I’m suddenly acutely aware of the sad state of my own appearance. At seventeen, I’m tall and slender with the same black hair and forest green eyes of my aunt, but any resemblance ends there. I’m dressed in a shapeless brown woolen tunic and skirt, no makeup (I don’t own any), my hair is tied into its usual messy bun and my face is all sharp, severe angles, not smooth, pretty lines like my aunt’s.
My aunt sweeps forward and embraces me, obviously not as dismayed by my appearance as I am. She kisses both my cheeks and steps back, her hands still grasping my upper arms. “I just cannot believe how much you look like her,” she says with awed admiration. Her eyes grow wistful. “I wish you could have gotten to know her, Elloren.”
“I do, too,” I tell her, warmed by my aunt’s approval.
Aunt Vyvian’s eyes glisten with emotion. “She was a great Mage. The finest ever. It’s a heritage to be proud of.”
My uncle begins scurrying around the kitchen, setting out teacups and plates, clunking them down on the table a little too loudly. He doesn’t look at me as he fusses, and I’m confused by his odd behavior. Gareth stands rooted by the woodstove, his muscular arms crossed, watching my aunt and me intently.
“You must be tired after your trip,” I say to my aunt, feeling nervous and thrilled to be in her lofty presence. “Why don’t you sit down and rest? I’ll get some biscuits to go with the tea.”
Aunt Vyvian joins Rafe and Trystan at the table while I fetch the food, and Uncle Edwin pours tea for everyone.
“Elloren.” My aunt pauses to sip at her tea. “I know you overheard my conversation with your uncle, and I’m glad you did. What do you think about being fasted before you go to University?”
“Now, Vyvian,” my uncle cuts in, almost dropping the teapot, “there’s no point in bringing this up. I told you my decision was final.”
“Yes, yes, Edwin, but there’s no harm in getting the girl’s opinion, is there? What do you say, Elloren? You know that most of the young girls your age are already wandfasted, or about to be.”
My cheeks grow warm. “I, um…we’ve never talked much about it.” I envy Trystan and Rafe as they sit playing with the twins and their toys. Why isn’t this conversation about Rafe? He’s nineteen!
“Well—” my aunt shoots a disapproving look at my uncle “—it’s high time you did discuss it. As you overheard, I’m taking you with me when I leave tomorrow. We’ll spend the next few weeks together, and I’ll tell you all about wandfasting and what I know about the University. We’ll also get you a new wardrobe while we’re in Valgard, and your brothers can meet up with us for a day or two. What do you say to that?”
Leaving tomorrow. For Valgard and the University! The thought of venturing out of isolated Halfix sends ripples of excitement through me. I glance at my uncle, who wears an uneasy look on his face, his lips tightly pursed.
“I’d like that very much, Aunt Vyvian,” I answer politely, trying to keep my overwhelming excitement at bay.
Gareth shoots me a look of warning, and I cock my head at him questioningly.
My aunt narrows her eyes at Gareth. “Gareth,” she says pleasantly, “I had the privilege of working with your father before he retired from his position as head of the Maritime Guild.”
“He didn’t retire,” Gareth corrects, stiff challenge in his tone. “He was forced to resign.”
The kitchen quiets, even the twins sensing the sudden tension in the air. My uncle catches Gareth’s eye and slightly motions his head from side to side, as if in caution.
“Well,” says my aunt, still smiling, “you certainly speak your mind very frankly. Perhaps talk of politics is best left to those of us who have finished our schooling.”
“I have to be going,” Gareth announces, his tone clipped. He turns to me. “Ren, I’ll come by to see you when you’re in Valgard. Maybe I can take you sailing.”
My aunt is studying me closely. I blush, realizing what conclusion she must be forming in her mind about the nature of my relationship with Gareth. I don’t want to respond too enthusiastically, to give the wrong impression. But I don’t want to hurt Gareth’s feelings, either.
“All right, I’ll see you there,” I tell Gareth, “but I might not have time for sailing.”
Gareth throws a parting, resentful look at my aunt. “That’s okay, Ren. Maybe I can bring you by to say hello to my family at least. I know my father would love to see you.”
I
glance over at my aunt. She’s calmly sipping her tea, but the corner of her lip twitches at the mention of Gareth’s father.
“I’d like that,” I say cautiously. “I haven’t seen him in a long time.”
“Well, then,” Gareth says, his face tense, “I’ll be off.”
Rafe gets up to see him out, the legs of his chair squeaking against the wooden floor as he pushes it from the table.
Trystan gets up, too, followed by my uncle and the twins, and all the males make their way out of the kitchen. I sit down, feeling self-conscious.
My aunt and I are alone.
She’s tranquilly sipping her tea and studying me with sharp, intelligent eyes. “Gareth seems to take quite the interest in you, my dear,” she muses.
My face grows hot again. “Oh no…it’s not like that,” I stammer. “He’s just a friend.”
My aunt leans forward and places her beautiful, alabaster hand on mine.
“You aren’t a child anymore, Elloren. More and more, your future will be decided by the company you keep.” She looks at me meaningfully then sits back, her expression lightening. “I am so glad your uncle has finally come to his senses and is letting you spend some time with me. I have a number of young men I am very eager for you to meet.”
* * *
Later, after we have eaten supper, I make my way outside to bring the leftover scraps from dinner to the few pigs we keep. The days are getting shorter, the shadows longer, and a chill is steadily creeping in, the sun less and less able to fight it off.
Before, in the light of day, the idea of attending University seemed like an exciting adventure, but as the tide of night slowly sweeps in, I begin to feel apprehension coming in with it.
As eager as I am to see the wider world, there’s a part of me that likes my quiet life here with my uncle, tending the gardens and the animals, making simple medicines, crafting violins, reading, sewing.
So quiet. So safe.
I peer out into the distance, past the garden where the twins were playing, past the Gaffneys’ farmland and estate, past the sprawling wilderness, to the mountains beyond—mountains that loom in the distance and cast dark shadows over everything as the sun sets behind them.