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

by Candace Wondrak

The instructor, an enchanter named Nevilla, droned on and on about why there were certain spells that were outlawed. She stood at the front of the room with giant glass windows, iron crosses lining the panes. Rows and rows of desks lined the room, most filled with eager students.

  Lena, however, wasn’t so eager. A switch, definitely, but for a few reasons. First off, this was a lecture she’d heard before. The other students around her were younger, ready and willing to take their first apprenticeship exam as soon as the College would let them. Lena wasn’t ready. She often refused to cast spells when her classes called on them, which was why she still sat in a room full of fourteen-year-olds.

  Secondly, her mind was long gone. She thought of Vale and Tamlen, missing them, wondering if they missed her. In spite of herself, she kept remembering the nightmare with Bastian, how scary it was to see his corpse with the knowledge that she had done some unspeakable things to it. And, of course, she thought about the voice that came into her head when Ingrid did the cleansing spell. The voice who called itself a god, called her blood of my blood.

  She had to remember to look up Issept in the library.

  Ingrid wasn’t with her; she was in an apprentice-level class, learning how to use nature to her advantage or some other stuff like that. Such as using a pond to douse a fire. It was always better if less magic was done, the laws of nature said; using something already around, something already formed and in place, negated the need to whip up their own water out of thin air. Lena was sort of envious, only in that Ingrid was in a new class with people their age.

  As long as the College would let her carry on like this, Lena would continue. She didn’t want to take the apprenticeship exam. She’d heard the enchanters chose a random spell from the texts initiates studied and expected them to be able to do it. Clearly, Lena wouldn’t be able to take a test like that anytime soon. She could do some magic, but not much. Not when it counted.

  Though, apparently, she could raise the dead, so there was that.

  Lena fiddled with the sleeves on her robe, hating that, during class at least, she was forced to wear such a stifling, uncomfortable garment. It was a hideous, dull yellow: the color of initiates. Ingrid’s robes were orange, a better hue, but not by much. The seams were a hard black, stitched rough and without a care. Hers fit a bit better than the rest of the students’ robes did, for it was tailored especially for her since she was so much older than her classmates. The other students were blobs in their seats. At least she looked like a woman in it, though the two men she would seek to impress were far from her.

  Sighing, she ran her quill over her knuckles as she wondered how they were doing. Maybe Ingrid would pull through and think up a way for her to sneak out. Or, perhaps since the hunt would go on for a few more days, Lena could simply ask the High Enchanter if she could take a daily leave after her morning classes. He did like her a lot. Maybe it would be that easy.

  Probably not, though. Nothing in her life was ever so easy. Not when magic was involved—and this whole situation reeked of misused magic of which Lena still did not understand.

  “There are dozens of curses. Some can rot your organs while you’re still alive, others can cause you to forget your entire past—all your muscle functions, forgotten. Slowly, you forget how to swallow, how to eat and drink. Eventually, you forget how to breathe. Does anyone know why curses are against the law?” Nevilla eyed each student, gazing at Lena for only a moment as other initiates rose their hands. She never called on Lena, not after having her in the same class for the last few years.

  A boy in the front row was called on. “Because they’re undetectable and untraceable,” he said, proud for knowing. “Even the highest level cleansing spell can’t undo a curse.”

  “Right, and let’s not forget that when the mage who cast the curse dies, the curse remains…” Nevilla paused as someone loomed in the doorway.

  Some enchanter, in golden-flecked blue robes. Lena thought her name was Astrid, but she wasn’t sure. The enchanter spoke, “High Enchanter Gregain wishes to speak with Celena.”

  Nevilla nodded quickly, looking to Lena. “Go on, then. You’ve heard this lesson before.” She immediately resumed talking, before she even stood up and exited the room after gathering her things and stuffing them into her bag.

  The Noresh text was safely in her room, in the drawer where she kept her extra robes.

  Lena walked with the enchanter, not trying to make any conversation. Gregain hardly ever called anyone out of class, because he was usually running back and forth, dealing with matters for the King. What would he want to talk to her about? She wasn’t complaining, though. It got her out of class and would kill two birds with one stone, since she had to talk with him about the book.

  How in the world was she going to bring that up? Oh, by the way, High Enchanter, I happened to stumble across this strange book in the back sections of the library that are restricted to only enchanters, nary another soul in sight, and I decided to take it with me because I thought it was related to runes, which I’m hoping to do my dissertation on, since you’re still making me write one even though I’m still an initiate…

  She didn’t think that would go over particularly well, and it was quite rambling.

  The enchanter escorted Lena through the College. They headed up the tallest tower, and Lena took two steps at a time, holding the bottom of her robes in her hands. She gave a bow of her head as they emerged into a dim hall, one room directly across from them. “Good luck,” the enchanter snickered before leaving.

  Good luck. With what?

  Lena gathered her courage as she walked to the giant wooden door. She knocked once, saying, “It’s Lena. You wanted to see me?” She didn’t wait for his answer, even though perhaps she should’ve. It was only High Enchanter Gregain. He was like a father to her, after Bastian had brought her here.

  Gregain was an older man, greying even though he was only fifty-odd years old. His black hair was mostly grey, his goatee a few steps ahead of his hair, all silver. His robes were a royal purple, the only one of their kind, reserved solely for the high enchanter. He wasn’t a tall man, perhaps only a few inches taller than Lena, but he radiated a kindness that she loved. She had no idea why everyone else hated going into his office and speaking with him. He always seemed a kind and caring man, even if he held the highest position a mage ever could hope to achieve. It meant he was the most powerful mage in all of Rivaini.

  His office was a large, open space. A few private bookshelves full of tomes and stuffed with parchment sat along the walls, and a giant desk was near the window which overlooked the largest courtyard of the College. If he wanted to, he could watch all the comings and goings of the College from his office. Various glass alchemical ornaments littered the floor in haphazard piles. If one were to look at this room by itself, it would never be known that it belonged to the high enchanter. It was far too messy, at least in Lena’s eyes.

  His dark eyes rose to her. Gregain was bent over, searching through the bookcase on the right wall. The candelabras that burned wax candles dripped into clay dishes. “Ah, Lena.” He straightened himself, though his eyes still roamed the bookshelf. “Ingrid’s potion hasn’t worn off yet?”

  “Unfortunately, no.” Her violet hair was down, swept onto one shoulder, wavy in its lengths. Lena shut the door behind her, smiling as she asked, “Looking for something? Maybe I can help.”

  “I’ll look for it later, thank you, though.” Gregain moved closer to her, crossing his arms as he leaned his backside on the desk. He waited for her to sit in the swiveling chair that faced his desk. It was the chair that students in trouble sat in.

  Was she in trouble? How? She didn’t do anything—other than use a spell that was banned from Rivaini centuries ago. Accidentally. That last bit was the most important part.

  “Do you know why you’re here?” As he spoke, he studied her, as if he could see all her past mistakes.

  Lena hoped she didn’t look different. Simply because s
he was a necromancer and the fact that she lost her virginity didn’t mean that she was different, did it? Oh, Gods. What if he knew? Teachers always did say Gregain had eyes and ears everywhere, but she thought it was a story they told initiates to get them to behave.

  “No,” she said slowly, crossing her ankles.

  “How was the hunt? I was surprised you asked for leave. I think that’s the first time you’ve left the College grounds in years.”

  Not sure where this was going, Lena said, “Initiates aren’t supposed to leave.” And she had hated asking him to make her an exception, but since he was forcing her to write her dissertation, surely other rules could be broken too.

  “I’m not worried about you setting fires or turning the townspeople into toads,” Gregain spoke, smiling softly. Odd for him to say that, considering how she had come to the College of Magi in the first place. Maybe he preferred not to speak of it. Which was good, because she didn’t want to, either. “In fact, it made me glad, seeing you want to further yourself here.”

  Lena gazed steadily at her lap. Her fingers fidgeted over her bag.

  “Lena, you must know that you and Ingrid were not the only students who asked for leave to join the hunt in the name of research.”

  She nodded. “I saw the others.”

  “Good. Because they saw you.”

  She felt her skin clam up as a coldness swept over her.

  “And they saw who you and Ingrid left with.” He smiled, though it was a bitter smile. “Hard to blend in with hair and eyes like that. Ultimately, I suppose, you can thank Ingrid for this talk.”

  Shit.

  Gregain’s expression was hard. “You know the rules about fraternization with the public. They might’ve been fancy dukes or barons who promised you a title, but the rules apply to them as well.” When he saw how tense she was, he sighed, moving closer to her. As he set a hand on her shoulder, meaning to comfort her, he added, “I’m only trying to protect you. If the guards were to get a whiff of any possible involvement between an initiate and a non-magical citizen, they’d have to tell the King, and then I’d…I’d have to punish you.”

  Biting the inside of her cheek, Lena wondered who saw them. It had to have been someone around the entrance to the King’s Gardens, but she couldn’t remember seeing any other mages there at the time. Then again, she’d been busy ogling her men. Still, it wasn’t hard to imagine someone spotting her, thanks to her violet tresses. She’d have to remember to ask Ingrid to whip up another potion that at least made her locks more of a natural color.

  “I’m more than happy to extend your leave. You don’t need to sit in the same classes over and over. I can move you up to an apprentice, but you have to promise me that you’ll never break the rules like that.” Gregain’s hand squeezed her shoulder. “You cannot see those men again.”

  This talk—Gregain pulled her up here to tell her not to see Tamlen and Vale? That would be a problem, considering they were bound to her in more ways than one.

  Instead of swiftly agreeing, which he clearly wanted her to, Lena asked, “But I’m not ready to take the apprenticeship exam. I can’t…” Her breath came out short, a mini panic attack forming. Her thoughts ran wild. What if they asked her to cast a fireball and she burned down the whole College? What if they wanted her to call down a bolt of lightning, and she struck one of the enchanters and killed them?

  Magic always acted up around her. She couldn’t take that chance.

  Gregain knelt before her, his dark eyes calming her as he said, “You don’t have to take the exam. I can write up the paperwork and send it to the King. I’ll tell the other enchanters that you wanted more leave to further study the topic of your dissertation—”

  Runes. But, no. Not runes. Not anymore. “The wyvern,” Lena said in a huff.

  He smiled, glad that she had put some thought into it. “Yes, the wyvern. And I agreed, but only on the condition you summon a familiar.” Standing, he moved back to his desk, once again the high enchanter and not the man who cared for her like a daughter. “But you must swear to me that you won’t see those lords ever again.”

  What if she did?

  As if reading her thoughts, Gregain said, “If you do, I won’t be able to protect you. The King does not take lightly to mages flouncing the rules.” He waited a moment before asking, “Promise me, Celena.” He used her full name, which she hated.

  “I promise.” A lie, one she felt terrible for telling.

  Gregain stared at her for a few moments, and as she sat there in silence, she knew she messed up. Not only in the necromancy bit, but also in the fact that she should’ve been more observant as they were leaving. She should’ve had Ingrid take a hat when she camouflaged herself to get clothes for Vale and Tamlen. Could she have been more stupid?

  Now Gregain was offering to help her, to forgo the apprentice exam, if she agreed not to break any more rules. Well, that was a promise she’d have to break, for she had to see both Vale and Tamlen again. She’d just be more careful.

  Of course, now she couldn’t bring up the text from Noresah. Not yet, at least, while she was so fresh in trouble. Lena knew it could’ve been a lot worse, had someone else noticed that she was a mage and with two people who, unbeknownst to them, were not mages. She would have to ask Ingrid who she thought told on them.

  Wait a second. Was she in trouble, too?

  “What about Ingrid?” Lena asked, worried suddenly for her friend.

  “Ingrid’s always been more rash than you. I will handle her situation differently. For now, why don’t you simply worry for yourself, and respect the laws that are put in place. They’re there for a reason.”

  Right. Separation, segregation. It irked her more now than it did before; maybe Tamlen’s ideals had rubbed off on her.

  “Thank you, High Enchanter.” Lena got to her feet and headed for the door.

  “Oh, and one more thing—if you’re in the library, keep an eye out.”

  She stopped, her hand frozen above the handle. “For what?” she asked.

  “I think I might’ve left a tome in the stacks. Don’t know how I did it, for it’s quite a sizeable one, but still. If you happen to find a tome with a hand on its face, bring it to me, will you?”

  Lena had to fake the smile that she gave him as she tossed a glance over her shoulder. “Will do.” Her hand shook only a little as she yanked open the heavy door and slipped out. She walked quickly down the empty hall at a pace that was brisk, even for her.

  She wouldn’t consider herself intuitive, but Lena worried, for it was practically spelled out for her in his description of the tome’s cover.

  It had sounded as if the Noresh text was Gregain’s.

  After telling Ingrid the whole story, Lena watched her friend’s shoulders slump. They were in the dining hall, eating a small lunch. Mostly fruits and vegetables, things that were grown in the College’s garden. They sat alone in the great room, at the end of a very long table. All the chairs around them were empty, still they spoke in hushed whispers.

  “I can’t believe he’s going to promote you to an apprentice without even making you take the exam,” Ingrid said, shaking her head. Her long, dark hair was pinned up in a braided crown, stray wisps flying every which way. “Do you know what the enchanters had me do for my test? I had to lift a bookcase without knocking over any of the books, and hold it there for two minutes. Force magic is my weakest point. No fair.”

  That’s what she took out of everything Lena told her? Where was her friend’s worry about herself?

  “Still, wonder why he didn’t call me into his office. Maybe he knew you’d tell me, make me stew a bit. Eh, that’s fine. He already knows I hate this place.” Ingrid frowned at her plate. “He probably thinks I’m a bad influence on you. I’d bet you any coin that he blames me for it all.” She grew disgusted. “What if he makes me clean the latrines? By hand? Gods, the horror.”

  Lena shrugged. “We’ll have to wait and see, I guess.” She chewed on her li
p, a bad habit but one she could not break. “He’ll be watching me closely, now. I don’t think I’m going to be able to sneak out to the inn.”

  “Ooh, hoping to get some hanky-panky? Or…hanky-spanky?” Ingrid laughed at the expression she gave her. “Sorry. Forgot you’re still new to this. Tonight, after dinner, I’ll come to your room.” She winked. “Don’t worry, Lena. We’ll get you to your men. You don’t know all of my secrets.”

  Was there a secret passageway Lena didn’t know about? Honestly, she hadn’t an idea how else her friend slipped in and out of the College so easily, unless she seduced the guards at the gate not to report her. Which, maybe she had.

  Lena did keep one thing to herself—and that was the suspicion that the Noresh text was Gregain’s. Ingrid didn’t know about the book, didn’t know that she read from it, that that was the reason why Vale and Tamlen were risen from the dead. She didn’t know that it was from the kingdom of Noresah, outlawed by the rules that be.

  Until Lena was certain, until she knew more, she’d keep it to herself. Clearly that tome was dangerous. She was only keeping it safe by hiding it in her bottom dresser drawer.

  They finished up their lunch, and Ingrid left her to go to her final class of the day. Lena headed across the College, towards the library. Most initiates spent the afternoon in the training courtyard, practicing their spells and such under the watchful eyes of whichever enchanter was on duty, but she rarely went there. She often spent her time in the library, nose deep in a book.

  The library was an intimidating structure in the heart of the College, with twin peaks for short towers. Its two floors were full to the ceiling with books and research collected by previous mages. It always smelled dusty, but the smell of old texts didn’t bother her. When other students came in, talking and laughing as they searched for whatever book they needed—that bothered her.

  Jerome, the dark-skinned library aide, glanced up from his desk when she entered. He didn’t get up, didn’t ask if she needed help finding anything; he knew her well enough. His thin shoulders wore a deep red robe, the color that all journeymen mages wore. Journeymen were a step up from apprentices, and a step down from enchanters. He was nearing thirty, she guessed, and he’d probably try taking his enchanter’s exam soon.