The fire. Its flames were an unearthly black, licking the air with bright, white wisps of pure, crackling power. Where did it come from? Why did it seem to come straight for Celena? She was eight years old. Her life was free and fun, even if she had to help her mother and father with the fields. She was a child. She didn’t understand the absolute destruction around her.
She cried, hot tears falling down her face. Celena didn’t know how to stop it. She was sorry. She didn’t mean it. It was a tantrum, as children often had, one that she just threw because her parents weren’t paying attention to her…wasn’t it?
She couldn’t remember.
Inhaling sharply, she stumbled through the farmhouse, the fires causing the wooden walls to collapse. She was nearly crushed under a large beam as it fell, only inches behind her. The black fires lapped at her clothes, eating them up. She was too frantic to wonder why the fires did not hurt her, why she hardly felt the heat.
Mother and father laid dead in the kitchen, their bodies burned to cinders, nothing but black bones and ashes. Celena fell to her knees, wailing, crying as loudly as she could. She wanted it to stop. This was madness, this was death. She did not know why this was happening to her. She’d been a good girl, until that very moment.
How much time had passed, Celena hadn’t a clue. She didn’t care. She sat near the two charred corpses, the scent of their burned skin in the air, crying long after the majority of the blackfire had consumed the farmhouse. She was a naked child, alone in a harsh world.
Until she wasn’t.
Until a man, riding a horse, galloped onto the scene. With metal armor that shone multi-colors in the moonlight and a waist-length cape that hung off the intricate shoulder pads on his body, he was her shining knight. Her hero. He, she’d find out soon, was Bastian.
He wore a helmet, but as soon as his legs elegantly slid off the horse, he tore it off, dropping it in the dirt as he approached the burnt down farmhouse and Celena. When he came closer, he noticed she wore nothing, so he unhooked his cape, holding it out for her as he stepped on the ashes, the remains of her old life. His eyes were a multitude of colors, like his armor, a pretty color her mother always called hazel. His hair was short, black and curly, his skin darker than hers by quite a few shades.
“Little one,” he spoke, his voice holding a strange accent. “It’s all right.” He rolled some words with his tongue, a foreigner in the farmlands of Rivaini. He held out the cape to her, and when she started crying again, he noticed the corpses near her. Around them, the house was gone. Nothing but charred bones and lost memories. “Come here. I can protect you.”
The young Celena looked at him, unsure through her watery gaze. He was younger than her father by quite a few years, but her mind was too frayed, too young to put an age to the man. She sniffed, and a new black fire flickered to life near her, magically growing from nothing.
“Don’t do that,” he said quickly, reaching out to her. The moment his gloved hand touched her, she felt instantly at peace. The blackfire faded away, and soon he was wrapping her in his cape, cradling her like a baby. “My name is Bastian LeFuer. I will take care of you. You are safe.”
She felt somewhat uncomfortable while cradled against his armor, but she couldn’t argue with him. Celena wanted to sleep away this entire night, forget that it ever happened.
“What is your name, child?” Bastian asked, his voice strangely melodic and gentle.
“Celena,” she muttered as she closed her eyes. The blackness of unconsciousness took her, and the next time she opened them, she was in a bed in the College.
Bastian had brought her straight from the farmhouse to the College. He stayed with her a few days until she adjusted, and he visited her whenever he was in town on business with the King. Which was often, considering he worked in the Empress’s court in Sumer. He wasn’t her family, but he was the closest thing to it, which was why it hurt so much when she had gotten word that he’d caught the plague that spread across the kingdoms years ago.
Four years. Was that all it’d been? Lena was aghast, for it felt like so much longer since she’d seen his smiling face. His smiling, tanned, handsome face. He was a good-looking man; it took her years to realize it. He was only a few years older than Lena was now, when he’d saved her from the farmhouse.
He’d helped her in more ways than one, too. To this day, she had no idea what he told the High Enchanter, had no clue why she was not punished for what she did. Perhaps he’d lied, and Lena realized the possibility too late.
Truly, he did so much for her, which was why Lena hated that dreadful nightmare. It only tainted his memory—and the memory of Bastian and what he did for her was about the only good memory she had of her life before. She had Ingrid, true, but a best friend was not the same as a family.
Although, she had to remind herself, Ingrid didn’t have family, either. She was more an orphan than Lena.
“Lena,” Ingrid’s voice burst through her thoughts. “Are you in there?”
Lena snapped out of it, realizing that she’d stumbled to a halt right outside her door. Shaking it off, she said, “Yeah. I’m fine.” She totally dazed out of that entire walk though, which was nearly fifteen minutes of winding through halls and walking up stairs. She went inside her room, carefully setting her bag on her dresser. It felt like ages since she’d last been in this room, with its stone walls and furniture that was elegant and refined compared to the stuff in Vale and Tamlen’s tiny room.
Ingrid knew her better than that. “No, you were out of it the whole way here. I was trying to get some details about your two pretty men, but you were as blank as a canvas.” She came in her room, quickly shutting the door. “Let’s do this cleansing spell, because you’re not acting right.”
She couldn’t argue with that, could she?
Her friend moved a wooden chair before the door. If anyone should try to enter while the cleansing spell was working its way through her, they’d get stuck, hopefully long enough so that the spell could finish.
Ingrid and Lena sat across from each other on the floor. Her room’s door was firmly shut. There would be no interruptions.
“Are you ready? Remember,” Ingrid paused, rubbing her hands on her knees, “a cleansing is always easiest when you—”
“Don’t fight it,” Lena cut in. “I know. I might not cast spells, but I do listen to the instructors.” She didn’t mean to sound so snippy, but she did. She’d have to remember to apologize to Ingrid for that, later. She was too nervous right now to do anything more than tremble.
Ingrid stretched out her arms, both her palms up. “Hands.” Lena was measured in placing hers atop her friend’s. Ingrid’s fingers were strong as they wrapped around her. “Close your eyes.”
Eyelids fluttering closed, the very moment she did, Lena nearly leapt out of her skin. A heavy breathing was behind her—she had to open her eyes and look to make sure that no one had come into her room, that no one was hiding in her small attached washroom.
“Eyes closed!”
Lena did as she was told, because there was nothing behind her. Why, then, did she feel like someone—or something—hovered over her shoulder? Whatever. Clearly, it was nothing. It was all in her head. All the more reason why she needed Ingrid to cleanse her.
It’s just magic. It’s just magic. It’s Ingrid, you trust her with magic, right?
Her thoughts grew frantic even though she sought to keep them in check, to be cool and collected throughout this whole process. Nope. Lena would make it difficult because it was the only way she knew how.
A warm, soothing feeling emanated from Ingrid’s hands, flowing into her rapidly. If magic had colors, cleansing magic would be green magic: calm, smooth, peaceful. But magic was not color-based, and if Lena opened her eyes, she knew what she’d see. Just two girls, holding hands, sitting on the floor. Not the worst thing to see, but she’d much rather be with Vale and Tamlen, holding their hands.
Sorry, Ingrid.
Minutes p
assed, and slowly Lena got her nerves under control. She was a mage; she shouldn’t feel so frightened at every little use of magic, especially when said magic was being used to help her. She should suck it up; almost every mage here had a sob story. She wasn’t the only one, though usually, when a mage’s spells went out of control—if the spells harmed a non-mage, killed them—the offending mage was put to death, regardless of their age at the time. A power-hungry, Demon-possessed mage was the last thing anyone needed. She could thank Tamlen’s failed revolt for the swift and harsh punishments, even though she was in agreement that a possessed mage was not a mage that should remain alive.
Could she be possessed and not know it?
Could she—
“You try to cleanse yourself?” A hissing voice erupted over her shoulder, sending chills down her spine.
Lena knew it.
Her eyes flew open, but instead of staring at Ingrid, she stared into a black abyss. Nothing but black around her, a vast array of emptiness and desolation. Lena felt cold; she was on her feet—which was strange, for she didn’t even remember when she stood. Her hands held nothing. She flipped around, seeking out the owner of the voice. It was too low, too much hissing; she couldn’t tell whether it was a man or a woman speaking.
“How disappointing.”
Even though she turned, the voice was still behind her. She flipped again, but once more, nothing.
“You cannot see me. You are not ready.”
“Why?” No, not why. She knew why. Lena wasn’t a good mage, and she knew it. So she asked, “Who are you?”
“Not who, but what.”
“Are you Hunger?” Lena asked, tossing out the most probable. If Hunger had been trapped with Vale for centuries in that tomb, it was very possible that it was restless enough to speak with her in her own mind.
The voice sneered, “Hunger? Again, you disappoint me. You cannot even recognize a god when it speaks to you?”
A…a god? God of what? And what would a god want with her? Lena was no one important. Just a girl with unfortunate magic skills. No one nearly important enough to merit a one-on-one with any god.
“Tell me, does your kind still worship that blasted fool Issept?”
Issept? Lena hadn’t even heard of Issept before…had she? Even though she loved reading and history, today was stretching her brain. Issept, Issept. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of Issept,” she muttered, unsure whether she should be ashamed of it or not.
It laughed. “Good. Then it is time for me to make my return. You, blood of my blood, will help me.”
Blood of my blood? Okay, that didn’t sound pleasant. And Lena was certain she did not share any blood with a god. She was human one hundred percent. “Sorry, but I don’t think I’m in the mood for that,” she spoke, wishing she could blink and reappear in her bedroom, holding hands with Ingrid.
This cleansing shit didn’t work very well, did it?
“You have no choice. The moment you fall, you will turn again to me, and I will help you. In doing so, I will be able to take physical form again. When I do, you will be the first I shall visit. Blackblood—remember, you are mine.” The mean voice took on a haunting echo as it repeated, “You’ve always been mine.”
You’ve always been mine.
Lena jerked, stumbling out of the blackness of her mind, opening her eyes to her bedchamber, to the image of Ingrid watching her. No blackness; no strange voice. No blood of my blood.
“Well?” Ingrid asked, tilting her head. Her dark hair fell in wisps; she didn’t even try to put them back into place, for she still held onto Lena’s hands. “Did it work? Do you feel better?”
If she said no, if she told Ingrid the truth about what happened, her friend wouldn’t understand. Ingrid had never cast a bad spell, never caused the death of two people she loved most. Lena might’ve been naive in certain aspects of life, but magic was not one of them. She couldn’t tell the truth, because she didn’t know what the truth was.
Issept.
Why did that name sound so familiar?
Lena added it to the list of things she would study come morning, after classes. And then, if she could catch High Enchanter Gregain in his office, she’d have to talk with him about the book she found in the library. The Noresh tome whose words were like hieroglyphs.
“I feel much better,” Lena said, only speaking once she was reasonably certain she’d sound believable. She didn’t need Ingrid to worry about her. She could continue planning her dissertation, keep saving up to leave Lena alone in the College.
“Good.” The relief was evident on her face, and she loosened her grip, which allowed Lena to move her hands back to her laps. “Now, details.”
Lena laughed. Ingrid was good at getting her mind off the seriousness of the situation, wasn’t she? Her friend did have a hearty appetite for sex, something Lena never shared until today. “Details about what?” She played coy, trying to sound normal, as if she wasn’t entirely freaked out.
“Don’t be stupid. How were they? Did you have them both? Did one sit back and watch?” Ingrid’s eyes widened as far as they would go. “Did you have them both at once? Lena! Wasn’t that your first time? Oh, Gods. Please tell me everything, because I am dying to know.”
“Do normal people share every intimate detail of their sex life with their friends?”
Ingrid shot her a playful glare. “We are not normal people. And screw being normal anyway. Those men might’ve been risen from the dead, but they are two hunks that I wouldn’t mind taking a bite out of…” She trailed off as Lena gave her a glare was not so playful. “Or not. You have first dibs.”
First dibs. As if. Lena said, “For your information, they both already swore themselves to me.”
She laughed outright, which earned her more scorn from Lena. “They what? No!”
“They did. We’re together.”
“Oh, Lena. It’s because they’re your thralls—they couldn’t look at anyone else even if they tried.”
That was not what she wanted to hear, and truly not what she believed in her heart of hearts. As strange as it was, and perhaps as stupid as it was, Lena believed Vale and Tamlen liked her for her, and not because she was their master in a necromancy sense.
“Maybe,” Lena admitted slowly, “but I do think they like me. At the very least, they are super attentive.” And amazingly sexy when they’re naked and hard, but she probably shouldn’t think like that while talking with her friend.
“Ooh, tell me more! Attentive how? Did you…”
Lena hid her smile and her blush behind her hands. “Yes. With both of them.”
“Gods, girl—you are so lucky. That one, Tamlen? He was hung like a horse. I bet he felt great.”
“They both felt great.”
“Did you have them at the same time?”
“Like…”
“Like one for each hole,” Ingrid clarified.
The thought of either Vale or Tamlen poking and prodding her backside with their dicks was not a pleasant one. Lena wasn’t sure if she’d ever warm to that idea. “No,” she said. Then she wondered if Ingrid had meant one behind her and one in front of her. Either way, the answer was the same.
Ingrid pursed her lips, thinking. “Was there any, let’s just call it, crossing of the swords? Two muscled men like that, that’d be a sight to see.”
“If you mean it literally, no,” Lena said quickly, to which her friend frowned. She didn’t exactly want to tell her more, but she knew she would, because that’s what best friends did: share every single detail with the other one, even if the other did not ask. And in this case, Ingrid totally did ask. “There was some…sword in mouth, though.”
“Yours?”
Lena blushed. “No.”
“Those dirty men—how disgusting,” Ingrid exclaimed with a chuckle, though it was obvious the last thing she thought was any form of disgust. Her words were spoken with a twinkle in her eye and a smile on her lips. “Hopefully they don’t fuck them
selves raw and leave nothing for you when you visit.”
She laughed, incredulous that Ingrid just went there. Lena shouldn’t have been so surprised. Inappropriateness was Ingrid’s middle name. “I don’t think that’ll be a problem. I told them it was okay, that I didn’t care if they did, but I don’t think Tamlen’s that way.”
“Ah, so it’s the blonde one, then…”
Lena reached over and shoved her friend. “Don’t be thinking about either of them like that.”
Throwing her hands up, Ingrid said, “You’re right, you’re right. They’re your men. Yours, and yours alone. Damn. I’m so jealous of you right now—minus the necromancy bit. Tell you what, tomorrow, while you sit all studious in class, I’m going to think up a way that you can sneak out and see them. After all these years, you need a healthy dose of dick, and those two stallions are clearly happy to fill your order.”
Her words would almost be embarrassing, if Lena hadn’t just told her friend about her day’s sex events.
“I’m going to spend my free time in the library. There are a few things I want to look up,” Lena said. Both Tamlen and Vale, and now Issept. “And I do want to catch Gregain, so if you see him, send him my way.”
“Got it—” Ingrid was ready to say more, but a loud pounding on her door startled them both. Standing, her friend shouted, “Just a second!” She quietly moved the chair away from the door, returning it to the small table in the corner. She flung open the door after Lena got to her feet, leaning on the hinge as she gave a wide smile to the guard. “Hey there, Kyler. Don’t mind us. Just a little…girl stuff.” She cocked her ankle, toying with the ruffles along the neckline of her shirt.
Kyler was the College guard who checked on their floor every night. A younger man, though he was a few years older than Ingrid and Lena. He was nowhere near as handsome as the two men Lena was forced to leave at the inn. His armor glimmered an unnatural hue, almost like a shield, an extra barrier between him and any offensive spells.
Spells and Necromancy: A Reverse Harem Fantasy (Unfortunate Magic Book 1) Page 13