Spells and Necromancy: A Reverse Harem Fantasy (Unfortunate Magic Book 1)

by Candace Wondrak

  Spells and Necromancy

  Candace Wondrak

   Candace Wondrak.

  All Rights Reserved.

  Cover is by Venkatesh at Killer Book Covers.

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Prologue

  This was Celena’s worst idea ever. Why didn’t she realize prior to now how stupid it was? She of all people in Rivaini knew how magic always backfired, flying into her face and laughing at her each time she tried to use it. Truly, reading from the book was no different. She should have expected something like this to happen, even though she couldn’t remember why she read from the book in the first place.

  She held her breath, a pale hand over her mouth as she knelt, huddled in the darkness of the crypt. Her torch had fallen and slowly rolled away, its orange flames dimming. She was too frozen, too panicked to run. She knelt, hiding behind the book that did this—the book that rose the current horde of undead who were closing in on her.

  This was a bad idea from the start. Place full of dead guys should’ve told her all she needed to know about her plan: it sucked. She’d never be able to write her dissertation about this. Bringing to life angry skeletons? Not something the Enchanters would appreciate. Plus, if they made it to the farms on the outskirts of town…

  No. Lena wouldn’t think like that. She could handle the skeletons. So what if some of them still had tendons and ligaments? So what if their bones were gnarled and black with mold and age? She could do this. She could—oh, who was she trying to kid? She couldn’t do this. She was no hero, no all-powerful mage. Magic and her did not get along.

  She was just a girl with a book.

  Chapter One

  Lena did her best to hurry and pack her leather satchel. Today was the first day of the hunt, when wannabe heroes from all over would arrive at the gates of Rivaini and seek out the King’s Gardens. They weren’t so much true gardens as they were acres and acres of land beyond the farms that surrounded Rivaini’s high stone walls. Evergreen and full of nature; they were usually off-limits to anyone who was not the King. Today, and until the King ended the festival, the restricted area would be restricted no longer. Anyone could venture into the King’s Gardens.

  Any hunter, really.

  For that’s why it was open: the King wanted sport, invited all his lord friends and confidants to see if they could hunt the beast that stalked through the Gardens. A wyvern—a creature so mythical and rare that Lena wasn’t even certain one existed in the area. She’d know. She spent all her time nose-deep in books. Any reports of one would’ve been written down.

  Rivaini’s inhabitants could go and watch the hunt if they desired, but from detailed stories of past hunts, Lena knew it was a lot of standing around and looking pretty. The nobles were good for that much. Odds were that the best kill would be of some boar. The King, at least, would feast well.

  Lena wasn’t getting ready to join the hunt. She’d told her friend, Ingrid—truly, her only friend in the College—that she’d accompany her as she investigated the mating habits of the green-feathered sparrow. What a boring thing to write a dissertation about, but the Enchanters always loved birds. Suck up.

  It wasn’t her decision, strictly speaking. Lena couldn’t just waltz out of the College whenever she wanted, but the High Enchanter had approved it. Gregain had only told her to wear her hair up and to cover the bun with a hat. Her hair was a bright, golden blonde, but after testing one of Ingrid’s potions the week before, her hair and eyes had turned a rather…unnatural hue.

  Purple. Her hair and eyes—which were normally a blue hue—were purple. She’d most definitely stick out outside of the College. Her friend had sworn to her that it would wear off after a night’s sleep, and evidently, it hadn’t. Who knew how much longer she’d have to stand and wither under the curious and strange gazes of both her fellow mages and Rivaini’s inhabitants.

  Ingrid was a year older than Lena—nineteen to her eighteen—so Lena had one more year to go before she had to figure out just what her dissertation was going to be about. All students in the College of Magi had to write one if they wanted to advance in rank. Since Lena had nowhere else to go, no family to go back to, she had no other choice. But that was fine with her, for she loved being surrounded by knowledge, even if she was only an initiate.

  The magic part—well, that was something she could do without.

  Magic and Lena did not get along. And, besides, even if she didn’t want to write a dissertation, High Enchanter Gregain would force her. She might still be an initiate, but he held her to different standards than the other students.

  A knock on her door shattered her thoughts, and Lena stopped to watch Ingrid walk in. Her friend was a tall woman with long, dark hair and bright emerald eyes. Its lengths were drawn back in braids, and her body wore tall boots, pants, and a loose white shirt that would surely get dirty. She had a small pack slung across her side, where Lena guessed her writing utensils, journals, and potions were. Because her friend never went anywhere without a few potions handy. Potions were one thing Ingrid was good at.

  However, apparently it was a work in progress—or at least the hair changing one was.

  “Lena,” Ingrid said, eyeing her up. “You can’t wear your robes. This is the one time you’re allowed to wear what you want—don’t you want to change it up?”

  Lena paused and glanced down at herself. Smaller in frame, she looked quite childish in the pale yellow robes she wore. The College’s colors, yellow. Not her favorite color at all, but all initiates had to wear the garish hue. Her purple hair was already up, twisted onto the back of her head.

  But her friend was right. She couldn’t wear the robes out. It’d been so long since she left the College, since she was allowed to leave College grounds, that she hadn’t even thought about it. Now was the time she could wear her own clothes, other clothes. Not that she had much, for she didn’t have need of many other clothes besides a few nightgowns.

  “You’re right,” Lena said. “Of course, you’re right.” She grabbed a pair of leather pants and a tunic, heading into the small washroom attached to her bedchambers to change. As she came out, she found Ingrid leaning over her dresser, where her bag sat, tugging out the thick tome that she planned on bringing. Rushing over to her, Lena tossed the robes onto her bed and stepped between her and the tome.

  Ingrid was never one to spend copious amounts of time in the College’s library like Lena, but she didn’t want to take any chances that she’d look through the book and find the map she’d drawn.

  “Some reading material,” Lena shrugged it off, closing the flap on her bag. She was met with a raised eyebrow. Just one. How in the world Ingrid could raise only her right brow without simultaneously raising her left was beyond her. It was a skill she never had.

  “Reading material?” Her friend wasn’t having any of it, but she didn’t argue further. She did, however, say something when Lena went to grab a sword beneath her bed. A weapon she shouldn’t be in possession of, but in a College full of mages, one couldn’t be too careful. After much whining, Ingrid had acquired it for her under the noses of the enchanters. “What—what do you think we’ll be doing out there?”

  The sword was all metal and heavier than Lena recalled. If th
ey did happen to come across a wyvern or bandits taking advantage of the King’s hunt, it’d be useless if she couldn’t swing it without becoming short of breath. So she put the sword down and instead took out a dagger. She couldn’t rely on magic to protect her like Ingrid could. Her friend was decent at casting and summoning.

  Ingrid was unimpressed. “Why you think you need all those weapons under there, I’ll never know. But we will be fine, we won’t go too far in. No wyvern nests for us.” She paused. “Although, the nesting patterns of wyverns would make a fantastic thesis…” Her friend knew better than to mention magic.

  Odd, how Lena was in a school full of magic and she hated its very mention. Not so odd when given her history with it. She had come to the College of Magi when she was eight, brought here by a young man whom she owed everything to. A chevalier that was no longer living in this world.

  Lena shoved the dagger into her pack, slung it over her shoulders and said, “Lead on!” Very dramatic.

  Ingrid threw her a look that said, Don’t make me regret inviting you.

  As if she would’ve invited anyone else. Lena grabbed the hat resting on the dresser, earning herself a curious and disappointed expression from her friend. “What?” she asked, plopping the floppy hat on the top of her head. Its wide rim hid most of her unnatural hair. “One of the conditions the High Enchanter gave me.”

  They left her room. No need to lock it, for there were no locks in the College. They had no privacy, not truly.

  Ingrid huffed. “Did he ask why your hair was purple?”

  “No, but I have a feeling he knew.” Lena wasn’t the type of person who’d tattle on her friend, not when it came to something as silly as potions that turned one’s hair and eyes a different color. If Ingrid had been speaking to Demons, then she would’ve narked, but potions were one of the least dangerous things a mage could focus on. If a brew failed, the potion was simply a nasty-tasting liquid with none of its intended effects.

  “Hmm.” Ingrid nibbled on the inside of her cheek, something she always did when she was deep in thought. “It should wear off soon. Put too much lavender in, I think. Nobles will never pay for a potion that turns your hair purple for weeks.”

  Lena wasn’t certain whether any noble would pay for a potion like that regardless of the length of time the hair color was changed, but her friend swore up and down that she could sell such things, once she had the rank of enchanter and was able to leave the College freely. She’d go to the lords and nobles all across Rivaini, selling such things for a high price. For parties and balls and such. If that were the case, though, the potion should only last one night, a few hours at most, not indefinitely.

  Lena was so lost in her thoughts that she almost didn’t hear her friend mutter something along the lines of I hope it isn’t permanent. That got her to nearly trip on her own feet and ask, “What?”

  The hunt for the wyvern put the whole city in a sort of carnival-like state. Vendors who normally sold only potions and perfumes now sold wyvern-baiting scents and lures. Some sold special-tipped arrows, supposedly able to pierce through even the thickest of its scales. Others catered to the children clinging to their parents’ sides, offering dolls that mimicked the look of the wyvern—feathery, majestic, awe-inspiring, with sharp claws to match. Bards stood on every corner of the city, telling tales of the white wyvern that was fabled to live in the King’s Gardens, seen by mankind but never caught and most certainly never tamed.

  Lena took it all in the very moment she and Ingrid stepped out of the gates of the College. It wasn’t something she was used to, for initiates weren’t allowed to leave the grounds. But this day was a special day, and the rules could occasionally be bent.

  The College was situated in the heart of the city, just before the giant stone steps that led to the towering castle. The King wanted his mages close, possibly to instill fear and trepidation in anyone who thought they could take the crown from him—foreign dignitaries from Sumer especially. Not every kingdom had a College; those who didn’t looked down on those who did, and vice versa. Magic was an enigma to all mankind.

  The guards who stood watch at the College’s exit watched them as they went, and Lena did her best not to care. She understood why they were so heavily watched, knew the risks that mages possessed. There were…certain dangers to being a mage, threats that normal folks didn’t have to worry about. Of course, one could not simply choose to be a mage; Lena hadn’t. It was something one was born into.

  They were not the only ones hustling to the city gates, not even the only ones from the College. After a long walk through town, Lena spotted some higher-level apprentices wearing robes off to the side of the group.

  Mages in robes. What a shocking sight, Lena thought dryly, glad that Ingrid had convinced her to change. When non-magical citizens pictured mages, the mages were always in robes. There was a reason for that, though—robes were versatile. They didn’t hinder the body from spellcasting. Armor was not something mages could wear, in no small part due to the scrawniness of most of their bodies. They spent their time reading and casting, not training their muscles.

  After waiting for a sizeable group, a guardsman spoke, practically shouting beneath his silvery helmet, “All those partaking in the King’s hunt, follow the scout.” A tall, intimidating woman wearing an ensemble of stitched leather bowed. “She’ll lead you to the Gardens. And good luck.” He gave a bow of his own.

  Right. Because this wasn’t simply about hunting the wyvern and bringing back the best trophy. If someone caught the fabled white wyvern alive and offered it to the King, they’d gain riches upon riches, land, and the title of Lord.

  The King’s Gardens were decently far from Rivaini. How often the King actually visited them, Lena hadn’t an idea. They were farther out than the farms, past the dirt roads that traveled between cities in the kingdom. The wilderness, pure and unfettered. All wild and free. What it must feel like to—

  No. Lena could not be free of the unfortunate power she held. The disastrous magic that ran in her veins, in her blood. If she was born normal, like her mother, her family would still be alive. But instead, from what little she remembered of her parents telling her, she had taken after her grandfather, a mage through and through.

  It was a half an hour’s walk past the farms that were just outside Rivaini’s gates. Tall evergreens towered around them, a small stone archway the only thing that alerted Lena to the fact that they were now in the King’s Gardens. The scout told them good luck; she had to return to the city for other stragglers.

  Their group was not the first one there; the nobles of the area already had their hunting gear ready, their dogs trained to sniff out magical feathers. They had carts and carriages parked, full of food and clothing and other such things, as if this was a socializing trip and not a hunt. Wyverns were rare, reclusive creatures; Lena doubted anyone would even see one with all the noise they were making.

  Ingrid scoffed as she pulled Lena along, away from the throngs of people. The nobles themselves did not need the prize; they were here mostly for the entertainment. They still wore spiffy shoes and fluffy shirts. Even hats with feathers. The poorer, more common folk got right to work, splitting from the main group, weapons on their backs. The prize the King offered would change their lot in life, even their children’s lot. No one paid much attention to what Lena and Ingrid were doing, thankfully. It was just how she liked it.

  “Come on,” Ingrid said, huffing as they started up a tall hill, full of tall trees, “let’s hurry and find a green-feathered nest.”

  Lena clutched the strap around her shoulder tightly, eyes scanning the horizon. “You don’t want to try to find the wyvern?”

  If anyone had a chance to see it, to catch it or kill it—shudder the thought—it would be a mage. Ingrid was not a master at spells, but she could cast more than Lena could. Lena kept away from spells of all kinds. She hadn’t even passed her apprenticeship test yet, and she wasn’t sure if she ever would. As long as
the High Enchanter let her remain an initiate, she’d do so. Even if that meant she still had to write a dissertation with her more age-appropriate peers.

  “I want to go where there’s no people,” Ingrid said, shooting her friend a look. “For once, breathe air that no one else has. Being in that College is stifling. I don’t know how the enchanters live their entire lives there.”

  “If you become an enchanter, would you leave Rivaini?” Lena wasn’t sure why she asked; she felt compelled to, even though a part of her already knew the answer. Ingrid was her only friend, the only one in the College who didn’t look at her strangely, didn’t wonder why she was a mage but so against casting of any kind.

  Being so attuned to magic, mages had to be wary not only of mankind’s prejudices, but also the Demons who wanted their power. Demons who tried to cross the Veil and into the realm of man.

  Ingrid found them a spot near some smaller trees; this would be their camp. “I…maybe. But then I’d leave you, and we both know how well you’d do on your own.” Her lips curved into a smile, and for a moment they both laughed.

  It was true. Lena wouldn’t do well on her own. She never had. If Bastian hadn’t taken her to the College…there was truly no telling what would’ve happened to her. Possession, even more destruction. Being a mage was not all it was cracked up to be.

  Oh, Bastian. How she missed him. It’d been years since he caught the plague and passed, years since the King buried his body in an unmarked grave. All his years of service, and he got nothing in return. Not even a monument. Not even a gravestone.

  Ingrid swung her pack down, retrieving a journal and a feather pen, along with a corked inkwell. She’d use the items to jot down her observations on any green-feathered nests she would find. “I’m going to search for some nests. Are you tagging along, or…” She trailed off as she watched Lena sit and move her bag to her lap.