The Might of Magic

by N M Zoltack

  With a groan, Tatum stood. The person she had been trying to help was sleeping, and Tatum swayed a bit on her walk out of there. A bite in the kitchens and maybe then she can find an empty room where she can close her eyes.

  The kitchen was a bit overrun, the scullery maids all over the place, but none of the young maids batted an eye when Tatum lifted herself a slice of bread smothered in cheese. In fact, one of the maids shoved a fruit tart into her hand before shoving her away.

  Tatum inhaled the food and wished she might have more. It tasted simply divine, although she was so famished that anything at all might taste just as delectable to her.

  For a little while, Tatum wandered about, nearly lost, when she thought of the turn her life had taken. Her husband had died, and she had basically given up on her shop, which had once meant everything. Now, she lived in the castle, but it was terrible work, healing the injured. The woman with the glowing hands, Isabel Faure, had healed several through her glowing hands. Isabel could talk, although she hardly said a word at all, only ever speaking in tones so hushed that Tatum often had difficulty hearing her. Despite Isabel’s magic, many still died, and each death cut through Tatum, reminding her of her own loss.

  Dudley had died, but Tatum would not be alone. In several more months, their child would be born, and Tatum would… would…

  Would what exactly? Would she move into the castle permanently? What about the war? The dragons?

  What kind of a world was this? Not the kind Tatum wished to raise a child, especially not alone.

  But Dudley… he had cared so much about his hotel. Would he have even cared about the babe after he or she had been born? He had been so certain the babe would be a boy, but what if the baby was a girl? Would Dudley have… Well, she supposed none of that matter now much, did it?

  A healer. An alchemist. A widow.

  There was another who had one of those titles and sought a second.

  Sabine Grantham.

  Tatum had already spoken with the former queen once about the grimoire. Sabine tricked Tatum into handing over her father’s grimoire, and Tatum had it back now, safely tucked away at her closed-up shop, which meant that at least on one more occasion, Tatum would have to return to Mermaid’s Tears.

  For now, though, Tatum felt sufficiently recovered that a short conversation with Sabine could take place before she rested.

  It took asking several guards and maids and more guards before Tatum was finally brought to what she hoped was the correct door. She knocked, waited a moment, and knocked again.

  The door opened. A blond guard stared down at Tatum.

  “Is Sabine inside?” Tatum asked. “I wish greatly to speak to her.”

  “Who is it, Thorley?” Sabine called.

  “It is Tatum Hill,” the alchemist called. She suppressed a shudder at saying her deceased husband’s surname.

  “Do you mean to judge me?” Sabine asked sharply. “You can allow her in, Thorley.”

  The guard moved, and Tatum entered the room. The guard reached behind her to shut the door with him inside.

  Tatum shifted to the side. “Sabine…” Her gaze flickered over to the place where Sabine had been working. Curiously, Sabine was standing by the window, rather than her vanity crowded with stacks of parchment and vials and potions.

  “Why have you come?” Sabine asked.

  Tatum cleared her throat. “To apologize.”

  “To apologize? Why would you wish to apologize?”

  “I should have come to see you before now.”

  Sabine narrowed her eyes. “Did Rosalynne send you?”

  “No,” Tatum answered honestly, a bit surprised by the question. “I am here on my own volition. She does not even know I am here.”

  “Here with me or here in the castle?” Sabine murmured. “I suppose that does not matter.”

  “You said you wish to use…” Tatum slid her gaze over to the woman’s work area.

  “To help Tenoch Proper, yes.” Sabine nodded, crossing her arms.

  “I do the same,” Tatum said eagerly, “but how exactly are you going about doing that?”

  “Your potions are all about enhancing a person, and that is good and noble even, and it has its place, but we are at war, Tatum. You know that, don’t’ you?”

  “Yes, of course—”

  “You help with after the battle,” Sabine continued.

  “You seek to help during the battle.”

  Sabine nodded curtly, clearly expecting Tatum to argue against such.

  But arguing had gotten Tatum exactly nowhere with Dudley. There had been a few times during their disagreements that she even thought he was being contrary merely to rile her even further.

  Instead, Tatum smiled. “Life is important.”

  “And you can help and strengthen our soldiers, our knights, but that only helps so much. Our enemies are still stronger and faster, and worst of all, we have enemies who can breathe fire and who can fire and are nearly impervious to our weapons!”

  “Nearly impervious,” Tatum murmured.

  “Yes, yes.” Sabine waved her hand. “I suppose that it was because of one of your potions that a dragon fell?”

  Tatum startled. She knew a dragon fell, and she had heard about Edmund and what he had done. Whenever she thought about the knight, that dull ache would start in her chest all over again, and she was not certain if she should seek him out. She had no words to offer him. How grief-stricken he must be! Dudley had been killed right in front of the two of them, and neither of them had acted swiftly enough to prevent his death.

  His murder.

  “Can you make more of those potions?” Sabine asked.

  Tatum shook her head. “I used gladius vicas in it.”

  “What is that?” Sabine asked, her eyebrows lifted. “I never heard of such a thing.”

  “My father created it.”

  “He did? There was no mention—”

  “It was a mostly failed experiment,” Tatum murmured. “He mixed plants with various ingredients to try and make a new plant, one that could help to ensure that no one would ever become hungry again, but…” She sighed. “Most of the plants died, and none were edible at all. He named them each. His research on them was lost to a fire, but I saved only the one plant.”

  “The gladius vicas.”

  “Yes. The other plants, my father studied extensively, and he supposed what they might be capable of.”

  “And for this one, what did he deduce?”

  “That it could either provide a man with the strength of that of all of his ancestors…”

  “Either? Or…”

  “Or it could strip the strength away little by little until no strength remains at all.”

  “How did he come to deduce this?” Sabine asked. She sat down on the edge of her bed and motioned for Tatum to follow suit.

  “My father was one of the most intelligent men I ever met, and he had… innate knowledge when it came to herbs and other ingredients used in alchemy. He had… an instinct if you will.”

  “Do you possess this as well?” Sabine asked.

  “No,” Tatum said sadly.

  “Is that why you do not make many new potions?”

  “I can make most everything that I need to,” Tatum protested.

  Sabine appraised Tatum. “You wish to convince me to stop.”

  “No, never,” Tatum protested. “You must do what you think is right, but, Sabine, there is a darkness when it comes to alchemy. I’ve fought it for much longer than you realize. There is a light too. Sabine, all I ask is that you do not neglect the light.”

  “We are at war,” Sabine said firmly.

  “The war casts enough darkness and shadow as it is,” Tatum said softly. “For there to be peace, for us to live with our actions when we feel threatened most… that defines ourselves more than anything else. You no longer wear a crown, no, but the people still look up to you. You lead us during the early part of the war. Let me teach you what I know. To
gether, we can create more healing potions like the one you started.”

  Sabine grimaced and glanced away.

  “You added something new to it, didn’t you?” Tatum asked. “The coloring is a bit different.”

  “Some glowstone dust,” Sabine murmured. “I thought it might make it more potent.”

  “That just might work,” Tatum said.

  “If it does, would that be enough to make me a full-fledged alchemist?”

  “Modifying a potion is not enough, no, but you know exactly what I meant when I said my father had an intuition about alchemy, did you not?”

  “It… It almost feels like it has been in my blood all along,” Sabine murmured. “It… The quest for knowledge almost consumes me at times.”

  “Be careful of the allure,” Tatum said sagely. “I’ve avoided that because I fear that is what causes the curse to be enacted. The light, Sabine. Stick to the light, and all will be well.”

  The former queen barked a laugh. “Oh, at times, I very much doubt that all will be well ever again.”

  54

  Cateline Locke

  No matter how many times she was asked for her name and her purpose, Vivian never once wavered.

  “I’m Cateline Locke. I’m a spy for the prince. Talk to Prince Marcellus.”

  She knew that mentioning the prince would not help her in any case, but what else could she do? Vivian was desperate that they not torture her. As strong as she liked to think she was, she did not know if she could handle torture. No one knew unless they endured it.

  Given what she knew of the prince, she doubted he would allow her to be tortured, but would he be willing to torture another prisoner of war? That she did not know bothered her greatly. She thought he would not, but his father, there was no doubting that his father would.

  His father clearly thought that any warrior would be easily able to kill her, and he was probably right about that. As much as it pained her to admit, they did have years of experience on her. Being a fast learner only helped so much. Unless she could use some trickery, she would not be able to best the prince.

  Not that she was going to have that showdown. And an attack on the castle? They must intend for that to be soon. King Antonius did not seem like he was a very patient man.

  All of this meant one simple thing—Vivian had to escape.

  It would not be an easy feat. Her hands and her legs were bound, and she was in a cell they had constructed. It had absurdly strong vine bars that they had coated in some kind of substance, and one of her guards had struck her sword against the vines to show that even blades could not cut through them. Ever since she had been imprisoned in the middle of their camp where everyone could see her, many Vincanans approached her to mock her. The ones she had trained with specifically went out of their ways to degrade her. A few even claimed they thought she must have been an outsider given how clumsy and terrible of a fighter she had been.

  How ironic. Before that commander had outed her, those same women had praised Cateline for her strength and knowledge of arms.

  They had taken most of her weapons, but they hadn’t noticed one of her blades. She hadn’t thought this would happen, but she had been prepared anyhow.

  Vivian waited until the cover of night. There had been a bit of a fuss earlier in the day with Vincanans sick with some kind of ailment, and they had started to dig another ditch. There had been mutterings about contamination possibly, and while the king had pointed the finger at Vivian, even his people had to admit that she had been locked up tight, not moving at all.

  She was waiting, watching, immobile, not willing to give the king a reason to decide that she should face the showdown now, before the attack.

  Vivian did not want to die. With the king here, Marcellus had no power. He could not save her even if he wanted to.

  Would he want to? He did not need her. For there to be peace, their plan depended on his marrying her sister, not Vivian. Truly, all she had been needed for was as a messenger, and the message had been delivered.

  She could die, but peace still be had.

  Honestly, that wasn’t enough for her. She did not wish to die.

  The moment the sun went down, the Vincanans started to set up patrols. There would not be any more sabotage happening under their watch. Had it truly been sabotage? Vivian thought it highly likely, given what the Vincanans had muttered to each other. They had left the village because of their horses and also the water supply there, which was why they had dug a ditch here to fetch water for them from the nearby Arlingway River, although the river was not close enough for them to use without taking an hour there and back walking with the heavy water containers.

  There had been talk about how Marcellus had saved the villagers from his father. Even the Vincanans realized how terrible their king was, yet none of them, not even Marcellus, was willing to stand up to him, but then, what did she expect Marcellus to do about it? He was doing what he could to save the villagers from his father. That was enough, for now at least.

  But she did not think he would come to save her, and she did not wish for him to risk it. His father was so power-hungry he just might be hoping his son would do something foolish enough for him to have a reason to dispose of him.

  Once the Vincanans settled into a rhythm with their patrols, Vivian slumped down a bit and discreetly brought her bound hands up to her hair to remove the pin nestled within her dark locks. It was not merely a pin but the smallest dagger she had ever found, and she sawed at the rope around her ankles, freeing herself but leaving the rope in place so that no one looking over would realize what she had done. Then she did the same to her hands, although using that tiny dagger in that fashion proved weary and awkward.

  Finally freed, Vivian considered the cage. The vines had been shaped in a dome, just high enough that she could almost stand tall and not hit her head on the top. The one who had placed her inside the cell in the first place had said that the vines were alive, that they were growing into the ground, that they might have a hard time getting her out for when the showdown would take place.

  Even so, the roots would not share the same properties as the coated parts of the vine, correct? Vivian hoped so as she shifted onto her hands and knees, still feigning being bound yet, and she gripped two of the vine-makeshift bars. She struggled to lift, hoping the roots would give. Nothing happened at first, but she strained and pulled more and more, and then the vines gave. Shocked, she jerked back, landing on her rump.

  The guard watching over her had been looking away, but came over now. Vivian ensured her ropes were in place and glowered at the guard.

  “What are you doing?” the Vincanan asked. This one was a male who Vivian did not know.

  She beamed at him. There were enough lit torches throughout the camp that she could see his face clearly, which suggested he could see hers. “Cursing your king,” she said sweetly.

  “See? You are not one of us, or else—”

  “Do you agree with him? With his desire to punish the villagers when you do not know who did anything?”

  “It might have been you,” he hissed. “How do you know about the village?”

  “You all speak too much, and no, Cassia does not think you look cute. She prefers Felix.”

  “You lie.”

  Vivian shrugged one shoulder. “Ask her yourself. You all talk far too much.”

  “You just admitted that you listen to conversations not intended for your ears.”

  “I cannot stop my ears from hearing, and I also cannot stop my nose from smelling. You had some of the contamination, didn’t you?”

  He gritted his teeth. “I should go and fetch you some of that water.”

  “Go ahead,” she said sweetly. “I won’t drink it.”

  “You will if I force it down your throat.”

  “You would make your king proud. You do recall that he wished to punish the entire village, to burn it to the ground. At least your prince has a sound head on his shoulders.”


  “Is that what you want? Are you plotting with the prince to—”

  Realizing his thoughts, she rushed to add, “But I’m sure madness must run in his family. His father is mad. The prince will show signs of madness at some point.”

  The guard reached through the vines to grab her by the throat. “You will perish by the prince’s blade, and I will stand right up front to watch you die.”

  “I’ll blow you a kiss before I expunge my last breath.”

  With a scowl, he squeezed her throat hard enough to nearly make her cough.

  And then the fool stalked off, most likely to go and fetch that poisoned water for her.

  Vivian grinned. What a knave he was!

  A quick glance in every direction revealed no one was paying her any mind, so Vivian sought to lift the vine cage once more. She only lifted the one side enough for her to crawl beneath, and she stayed on all fours until she reached a tent. No one had raised the alarm, and she turned to flee when a hand clamped on her wrist, the other on her throat.

  Why did they like to grab her throat?

  “Caelia,” she choked out.

  “Where do you think you’re going, traitor?”

  “Caelia, please.”

  Her friends light blue eyes looked almost black, filled with venom and hatred, and Vivian knew there would be no chance of escape again. She had failed in so many ways.

  Maybe peace was only an illusion, one she could strive for but never obtain. The only truth that lay before her was that she would die.

  55

  Alchemist Apprentice Sabine Grantham

  The former queen poured over the grimoire the moment Tatum left the room. Their talk had been illuminating in ways, but the alchemist was clearly frightened of the power she had. Knowledge could be power, but Tatum would not use her wisdom for anything that might invoke the curse. She lived her life in fear, and so, she did not truly live. When Sabine had turned the topic of discussion to Tatum’s condition, to the child growing within her, Tatum had fallen entirely silent. Sabine asked about Tatum’s husband and learned the man had perished.