My Love

by Sabrina Zbasnik

  "Out of the question," her mom leapt up, her voice screeching for understanding. "Never, I won't allow it."

  "Reiss...sweetheart."

  "How long do mages remain there? How long are they trapped in those walls, unable to leave to visit their families?"

  "It's not a blighted Circle. They're gone." Her dad refused to tell her about the Circles, beyond a few vague descriptions of big towers full of people like her and something called templars that were in charge of watching them. Guarding them. But Myra knew how to find books and read through two on the history of the Circle. The first didn't seem so bad, mages all together learning how to shoot fire and ice and do other neat things. Then she got to the second, a listing of atrocities, of why they fell, of how mages couldn't leave, couldn't have families or even boyfriends. That they belonged to the chantry for their whole lives with no say.

  She hid both books under her mattress, terrified of either scenario falling upon her head. That was the day she stopped showing off to her friends. There'd been long accounts from old mages about how their neighbors, friends, coworkers, and even parents all turned them in to the templars. They couldn't trust anyone.

  "The College may not be the circle, but it's out of your jurisdiction," Reiss continued. "What if they think keeping the King's daughter for themselves is useful? If they hold her for ransom to try and get more money from the crown? Or...Maker's sake, Alistair, what if the witch finds her there?"

  Not this witch again. Myra'd been hearing about some mythical old woman that her parents used as an excuse to keep her from doing anything fun since she was a child. Don't stay out too late or the witch will get you. You can't take that hunting trip with your sister because your Dad won't be there to guard you from the witch. She assumed the witch was a way to scare her into compliance, but at thirteen the ruse was wearing very thin.

  "We haven't heard from her in twelve years. Pretty sure she's either dead or making good on her promise."

  "I'll believe that a warm day in the void," Reiss mumbled beside the fireplace. "The College is out. I refuse to let them have anything to do with my daughter. Our daughter."

  "Well, we have to do something. This is only going to get worse. Someone could get seriously hurt. What if I have the arcane advisor tutor her?"

  "For Maker's sake, Alistair. Why not shout through the streets that Myra's a mage? The entire castle, and then the guards, and then every damn person in Denerim will know within the hour."

  "Then what do we do? We can't keep hoping that there won't be another outburst."

  "Yes we can," her mother was in proper stubborn form, her heels banging against the floor as she dug them in. "I'll get her more books, better books about magic, and...and keep her grounded until she can prove she has some restraint."

  Myra snarled, feeling the power building up inside of her again. It wanted to leap free, fire pirouetting across the bricks as she sprayed all the anger and betrayal out of her body. They didn't understand, they didn't want to listen to what she wanted. No, it was all about appearances, about hiding her away and making sure none of the nobs caught on because then something bad might happen.

  Alistair tried to reason with Mom, "I don't think that'll..."

  "Bullshit," Myra spat out to herself. Tipping her head back she screamed into the night air, "It's all bullshit!"

  "Myra?" her dad's voice floated from the chimney.

  Oh crap.

  "Are you on the roof again?" Mom thundered. Suddenly her voice echoed up the flue as if she jammed her entire head inside the chimney, "You are on the roof. Which is how you can hear us. Get off of there now!"

  Myra shrunk deeper into the shadows, her eyes hunting around the edges. The breath stilled, hoping her parents would forget they heard her and return to their fight. Their fight about her life, her future, which neither could bother to ask her a damn thing about.

  "Fine, if you're not coming down, we'll come to you," her mother swore and began to crack open the window.

  Rising to her feet, Myra spun in place and ran across their building's roof. It was barely a stretch to leap to the next one, all of Denerim built on top of itself in this district. She could hide, sneak back down while her parents were messing about to find her and slip into bed unnoticed. Only to have her mom chain her to it until she was thirty, or her father send her away to some mage prison. No, no, she'd run away.

  Where?

  Katelynn's house. Her mom would never find her in the alienage. She could spend her days with her friends, hanging out with the elves that didn't fuss about who set their snotty cousins on fire. And Katelynn's mom was nice, niceish. She came from that smaller alienage up north, and spoke with a Marcher accent. It'd be easy for Myra to blend in no problem.

  Reaching the edge of the baker's roof, Myra leaped into the night air, her hands flying out to snag onto a ladder's rung. It probably seemed more impressive than it was; she was often playing up top testing to see the jumps she could manage. The ladder dropped from her weight, loudly clacking and clattering until Myra's boots hit the cobbles. Spinning in a circle, she bunched her burnt party dress up in her hands and began to run for the dirt part of the street that led into the alienage.

  What did her parents know? Nothing. This magic wasn't so bad, and those mage wars were a long time ago. No one cared if you could cast spells anymore. There was even a mage who lived down the street from them. He was always making little dancing lights to hop up and down the street at night. Whatever demons there were Myra would just keep far away from them. Not like any would go lurking into the alienage. Demons didn't belong there.

  Twisting to the side, Myra leaned into her turn when a hand suddenly lashed out to grab her arm. Instinct took over and she spun, a fist rising up to punch into whatever was holding her. It was about to hit the shadow's jaw, when the second hand caught her fist, pinning it in place. Terror rose up through Myra's gut, the girl pinned by this unknown force. How was she going to get out? She moved to scream, when the man stepped out of the shadows and sighed.

  "Wheaty."

  Dad dropped his grip on her hands but moved to get between her and the alienage, cutting off her escape. She could backtrack but, sure enough, Myra heard her mother twisting in behind her, going for the kill. Folding her arms tight to her chest she snarled. She should have known they'd find her, catch her; it's what they did.

  "What do you think you are doing?" Reiss pounced, jogging up to join the two of them facing off.

  "Nothing," Myra mumbled to herself, her foot nudging into a dead rat.

  "Do not mutter," her mother sniped.

  "I SAID NOTHING!" she screamed, her hands parting as embers of fire erupted off the palms. "Damn it," Myra cursed, struggling to close her hands into tight fists. When the fire doused, smoke trailing off her hands, she turned to face the wall to hide tears in her eyes. Tears of frustration for failing at this.

  Her dad's hand landed on her shoulder, trying to soothe away the anger as he always did, "Running away isn't going to fix this, Wheaters."

  "Stop calling me that, Dad!" Myra spun back around, honing all her raw rage on her father. He blinked in surprise a moment as she jabbed a finger at him. "I'm not a kid anymore. The nickname is stupid and I hate it. Treat me like an adult."

  "Sorry, but you're a kid to me. Always will be. You're my baby, same as Cailan, and Rosamund. If I want to call you Wheaty, or him Radish, or our crowned princess Spud I damn well will. Deal with it."

  "Argh!" she stuffed her hands deeper into her armpits wishing the world would swallow her up whole. Where were those supposed sinkholes to the deep roads when you needed one?

  Reiss eased closer to her daughter as if afraid she'd bolt. "Myra, we need to talk about..."

  "No," Myra whipped at her mother, her voice loud enough neighbors a block over had to hear, "No, all you do is talk. Talk about me, about what to do with me, you never care about me. About what I want. It's Myra, do this. Myra, go here. Myra, you can't be trusted. Myra, you need to
be better."

  Alistair glanced at Reiss before honing in on her, "This isn't a situation where..."

  "I am trying," Myra gasped, the tears coursing from her eyes. "But you don't care," she jabbed a finger at her mother who blanched. "You never care because I'm never good enough."

  "Da'saan," her mother breathed the old pet name she rarely used outside the home. Too much elvish on the streets brought attention. "I..." Reiss dropped her head down and sighed, "I understand you're giving your best."

  Myra snorted, "Since when?"

  "I am trying to protect you," Reiss slid in to her daughter. Only thirteen and Myra could already see eye to eye with her mother. Maker only knew how tall she was going to get.

  Myra used the height to her advantage, staring her down. "Protect me from what, mother? From our neighbors? The elves we meet? The gentry?"

  "Yes, damn it, all of them. You have no idea, no concept of...you're too young to understand."

  "I'm not too young to know why you want to get rid of me."

  "Wh...Myra," Dad tried to reach over to calm her, but she shook it off, "we're not trying to get rid of you."

  "Yes you are, I heard it. You want to-to send me away or chain me up until I can prove I'm not a mage anymore. Because I get in the way. I mess things up in your perfect life. I bet you wish I'd never been born!" She ended her shout by burying her face into her crossed arms, not willing to look at either of her traitorous parents.

  It was her mother who gasped at first, as if she was surprised her daughter caught on. She took a moment to gather her strength but when it came back, it nearly knocked the girl over. "Myra Sayer Theirin, there is not a day that passes where I am not grateful for your existence. Even when you drive me up the blighted wall, I don't wish to lose you. Because..." her mother's words faded into a gravelly snarl as she fought against the need to both smother her daughter in love and a pillow.

  "Sweetie," her calmer Dad wrapped a hand around Reiss and sighed, "we both love you. We both want what's best for you. You need someone to teach you to control this or else... Look, I've seen mages fall under the sway of demons. It's not always their fault, demons pry into every crack and you have to be prepared."

  Myra dug her nails into her arms, her Dad's soft pleas striking against her wall. She hated him, hated them both because...because, damn it she didn't want to go. Didn't want to face up to whatever this was alone. All her life she'd always had her mother behind her watching, waiting to leap in should something go wrong and now? Her mother didn't understand the fade and would always curse at magic. She waved away Myra's concerns about her dreams as a bad case of indigestion.

  "I don't want to go. I don't want to...to leave my friends."

  "Okay," Alistair nodded, "what if we--?"

  "Don't even think it," Reiss interrupted. "There is nowhere here she can learn, nowhere in Denerim that Myra's magic wouldn't be noticed. Do you have any idea what that attention would call upon us, Alistair?"

  Myra risked a peek, expecting her father to go to bat for her, but he impotently tugged his hair up and sighed. Shit. "You're right. After the incident it's...I'm sorry, My."

  "No you're not," she cursed.

  "What if she goes to a mage. Not the college, but..." Dad turned to Reiss and nodded his head, "What about Lanny?" Her mom blinked a moment, her lips curling into her contemplating pose.

  It was Myra who needed clarification, "Who?"

  "You could be trained by the greatest living mage. The one that stopped a blight. She could teach you things even I can't understand and I've known her for...Maker, it's been too long to count."

  "That," Myra was pulled by the idea. The few spells inside books she could get her hands on were piddly things to entertain children. She wanted to learn how to do stuff that could really have an impact. And there were probably magics beyond her imagination locked away in a stuffy college or with this mage tutor. "That might not be too bad."

  Alistair smiled wider, a hand curling along her shoulders to try and tug her in for a hug, but Myra was rooted. She was still pissed at the both of them.

  Her mother focused hard on Alistair, "You know she'll never come here."

  "Yeah," his head dropped down a moment. "Not for more than a week at most. Wheaty...Myra, you'd have to head out to the Hinterlands for awhile."

  "Awhile? The Hinterlands? What about my friends? What about my...what about my work here?" She didn't enjoy the cases and hated the school work even more but if it could get her out of this quagmire, she'd study every dialect of ancient Tevene with a smile on her face.

  "It can wait," her mother said, slamming her hand over Myra's only chance of escape. "This is more important. You'll travel to the Hinterlands to stay with the Rutherfords for training."

  "No," she tried to scoot back from her parents, but the alleyway wall sat in her way.

  "Alistair, I assume you can send a letter out to Lana?"

  "Yeah, might have to wait a bit for her to get things ready. Seems it's some kind of animal breeding or eating season. Chickens? I can't remember." Her dad nodded along, fully okay with her being banished to this desolate void.

  "No, see," Myra tried to get her parents attention but they were too involved with each other. "You don't have to do that. I'm good, I can control it."

  Reiss tipped her head, "I'll go with, get her settled in properly. Have to talk to Lunet about taking the time away but I'm certain..."

  Both parents folded their heads together, plotting and scheming to destroy Myra's life without turning to glance over at the girl melting into despair. If they had maybe they wouldn't have written her out of their lives so easily.

  * * *

  What was she going to do with herself?

  Myra clung to the window frame in the carriage door. To any passerby's it looked as if she was simply enjoying the scenery, but that'd be mad. There was nothing to see out here but dirt, trees, dirty trees, and a vast ocean of sky. She was hanging onto the window in the hopes that the second the carriage stopped she could bolt free from it. But no, her father sent one of his more stricter guards to drive the thing. Even Myra's best offer of all the licorice she could get her hands on couldn't sway the woman.

  Groaning, she collapsed back onto the hard bench and tried to not glare at nothing. It took her parents over a month to arrange this, taking so long she began to hope that maybe they forgot. Maybe they really believed her magic would simply go away. But no. When departure day arrived, Myra barely had any time to say goodbye to her friends. They'd all flocked around the carriage, impressed with the gilt and trappings while Myra stared forlornly down at her puny luggage. So many promised to write but would they even care or remember her if she'd been gone for over a year?

  She was so mad about it all, Myra refused to let her mother come. At first, Reiss was adamant, but if anyone knew how to push the right buttons to piss her off it was her teenager. Her dad tried to calm her mother down, but there was nothing doing when Myra mocked how she was only going because she couldn't hack the beat. That angered her mom so much she nearly refused to hug her enraging daughter goodbye. In the end, Dad tugged them both together in his greater arms, placing kisses in their hair and swearing she'd best be safe on the trip out.

  Her mother only swore she'd better be on her best behavior. Because if she got kicked out of the Rutherford's place it was unlikely anyone else would take her. By the time Myra got into the carriage, she was glad to be leaving them all behind. Maybe there wasn't anyone who cared what she wanted outside the Denerim gates, but there wasn't anyone inside either.

  She kept feeling happy to be without her mother for the first few days, but as the carriage wheels rolled onward, it struck Myra that she was being led by a guard with strict orders to never turn back, to leave her with people she didn't know. What if they didn't like her? What if they hated her? What if they made her their life long slave? Mages could do that, she read about it in the second book. Something about the blood. Her dad would try to protect her
from such vile and evil things, but her mom. She'd burn the entire place to the ground for anyone that dared to harm a hair on her head.

  And you stupidly left her behind.

  Because she was pissing me off.

  I want to go home.

  The carriage took a sharp turn, the horses whinnying and Myra rolling with the force. "Sorry about that, Miss," the guard called back, "nearly missed that turn."

  She should probably be cross, but it was the most excitement she felt on the entire trip. Maybe if they did a few more of those the carriage would tip over and they couldn't continue on. Then you'd be stuck in someone's back fields with a royal guard. Was that any better?

  The flat farmland gave way to trees, an imposing forest pushing inward towards the road. It hugged so tight, branches snapped off against the roof. Hm, at least that could be interesting. Myra had never really climbed a tree before. Not like these. This place felt ancient, as if...as if she could reach out and hear the trees talk.

  Shaking off the silly thought, she peered out the window down the road and spotted a building. White stone, it rose like a bone protruding from broken flesh out of the green forest. A short wall circled it, nothing like the ones back home. Myra could easily scale it with only needing one foothold. That thought calmed her, at least she wouldn't be easy to pen in.

  As the carriage rattled its last into the courtyard, Myra nudged her nose against the bottom of the window so only the top of her head was visible. She peered around to find what looked like stables to the right side, a few horses stamping around the bed, and the definite sound of goats or sheep bleating in the air. Myra'd been to a few farms but more as a state visit, never to stay. Would they expect her to milk things? How did that work?

  Tiny doors led into the open walkway on the second floor, a few people shuffling between them. She couldn't spot anyone who looked like the supposed Hero of Ferelden, but from her angle all she could make out were their torsos in shadow. Myra was about to risk rising enough to stare at the ground floor, when the door behind her opened.