Weaving the Strands of Love

by Lazette Gifford

be safe." Pel threw himself into the other chair, pushing aside wet hair and shaking his head. "I'm not safe to live with. And at least Ela comes by to visit often."

  "After all this time you must have gained some control," Idas said.

  "Some," he agreed. "Otherwise you wouldn't be safe here. But there are times when I can't control what happens. I could hurt people, which is why they made me come here, and why you're the only one who visits."

  "No one else?" Idas frowned now. "I thought you had friends who would visit. And the priests come here. They told us you needed teaching."

  "They send me books by Ela. No other humans." He stopped and took a deep breath. "This is the way things have to be."

  "Why?" Idas felt angry for Pel's sake, which surprised him. "You were not that much trouble at home!"

  Pel laughed suddenly. "I took half the roof off-the keep, Idas."

  "But you never hurt anyone!"

  "Because they got me away in time," he replied and glanced once around the room. "Staying here is the best answer. Just not a comfortable one. But enough. Do you have the strands?"

  "Yes." Idas pulled the pouch from his belt, quelling the surge of guilt as Pel took it.

  Pel looked into Idas's face. Idas couldn't remember the last time his shy brother had done so. He'd forgotten Pelias had their mother's bright green eyes.

  "You don't need this spell," Pelias said.

  "I can't risk the chance!" Idas gave voice to the thoughts he'd harbored in the dark of the night, the fear growing over the last two years. "I don't want to be like our father. If Vania left me the way mother left him --"

  Pelias winced. He'd been very young, and Idas didn't think the boy remembered the day their mother had packed her belongings and her servants to return to her father's great castle. She'd told the king she'd done her duty, and given him two sons. Their father let the woman go. He never trusted another one.

  And never cared much for her sons, either, though he did his duty to the Prince Heir, and made certain he learned what he needed to rule. Pelias, though, had gotten nothing from the man and precious little notice from anyone else. Idas had been too busy, half a decade older, and heir to the throne.

  "Idas?" Pel whispered, drawing his attention again. "Will you take my advice and drop this?"

  "I can't risk the chance," he repeated automatically. "Dendari has suffered enough, don't you think?"

  "The land is at peace, the people prosperous and content," Pel answered. "Dendari hasn't suffered for our father's lack of love."

  "But you've suffered or else you wouldn't be here, would you?"

  "Maybe not. If someone had taken the time and noticed my gift when I was younger --" He stopped and waved those words away. "But the real truth is you are the one who wouldn't be here if you hadn't suffered."

  "I --"

  "You wouldn't want a spell to ensure the love of a woman who has already given you all her heart."

  "I can't take the risk!" Fear and frustration pushed him to his feet. "Our parents had an arranged marriage, like mine. How do I know theirs didn't start out this way? Pelias, I couldn't risk it. I couldn't bear the loss."

  Pel's his face grave. He had never seen such a look before. "Sit. Let me explain to you how this spell works so you fully understand."

  Idas settled in the chair, his heart pounding. He knew magic always came with a price. When Pelias had accidentally destroyed the roof at the keep, the boy had been ill for days afterwards.

  Pelias reached towards the right; a little flicker of light appeared, and he held a small canvas in his hand, painted with the likeness of Vania. A very good likeness, in fact.

  "You've never used magic to bring something to you before, Pel."

  "You can learn all manner of tricks from books." He shrugged and held the portrait out to the light. His brother had been very good at drawing. He'd gotten better. "I've woven her hair into the canvas. These last strands will complete the spell, and the magic will be set before you get home. However, we need to talk about the price magic takes. This isn't something paid in gold."

  "I know." He felt a little surge of dread this time.

  "Love spells are especially complex because love is a magic all its own. This is the only magic all humans have the ability to create. There is a kernel of love in everyone which can blossom, but, as with all magic, this kernel is finite. A mage can create a spell to give someone more than their share of love. However, to do so, he must take love away from someone else."

  "What do you mean?"

  Pelias stared into his brother's face once more. "You take more than you create, and deny someone else their share of love."

  Someone else?

  "They'll never marry?" he asked.

  "Love is more than the relationship between a man and a woman, Idas. All love this person might have created with others will be gone."

  The knowledge bothered him . . . but not enough. He'd been trained to be king and he knew about difficult choices and matters which would not always be fair to all sides. Idas had accepted such burdens and responsibilities. There would be worse choices when he became king.

  Idas gave a bow of his head. "I understand."

  Pel held his stare for a long moment. The storm raged and then subsided as his brother turned away. Pel pulled the first strand from the pouch and laid the golden hair against the canvas. Sparkles of light traced where his finger moved.

  "Once completed there is no going back," Pel added as he smoothed another strand into the cloth.

  "Good. I want this finished."

  Pel straightening another strand. A soft glitter of light brightened the strokes as his brother meticulously worked each strand into the portrait. The work took time and Idas soon grew bored. He wanted to go home and smiled at the thought of Vania waiting for him, his forever.

  Another strand. Idas stood and headed towards the door. No reason to stay. Pel didn't need his help.

  He took a dozen steps before he turned to watch his brother working, the magic growing stronger beneath his fingers.

  Gods! A truth Pel hadn't explained reached him. He froze.

  "Pel."

  Pelias glanced up, his face calm and remote. "Yes?"

  "You know from whom you are taking the love, don't you?"

  "Oh yes."

  "And the spell began to work as soon as you began weaving the spell months ago, didn't it?"

  "Yes."

  "No." Idas crossed to the fire and grabbed his brother's arm. "Not you. I can't do this to you."

  "And I can't do steal from some poor stranger who might have a real hope of family and friends." He pulled away and his finger wove a little more of the strand into the painting.

  "Pel --"

  "You are the only one who ever visits me, Idas. Ela only comes by to drop off the books. Even before the spell. This is the best choice."

  "No." Idas took the canvas from his brother's hand. "This is the best choice."

  He tossed the painting into the fire. Magic flared bright and exquisite for a moment and died away in normal flames.

  Pel stood with a hand on the arm of the chair. He appeared stunned and unsteady as he watched his older brother. "I never thought even you loved me."

  "Gods, boy. I'm sorry." Idas held out his arms.

  Pel took a step forward and collapsed against him. He felt almost limp and unexpectedly cold and trembling.

  "Pel!"

  "A moment," he whispered and waved a hand towards the fire. "That was a harsh way to break a spell."

  "I'm sorry!"

  "It's all right." He laughed and stood straighter, smiling brightly. "It's wonderful!"

  Idas stayed, talking with his brother all through the night. The visit helped them both. When he and Marl walked out of the courtyard the next morning, the day had dawned bright and free of any hint of clouds.

  He and Vania would visit soon. He'd already promised Pel.

&nb
sp; "Beautiful day," Marl said. He looked at the tower which, remarkably, remained in place as they walked away. "About damn time he settled down. Now we have to find him a woman."

  Idas thought to berate him for his usual crass irreverence and changed his mind. "Yes, Marl," he agreed as he walked beside the centaur. "I think you're right."

  The End

  ###

  About the Author:

  Lazette Gifford has publications in both electronic and print format, including material from Double Dragon Publishing, Yard Dog Press, Eggplant Literary Productions, Ideomancer, Fables, Andromeda Spaceways Inflight Magazine and more. Having joined the ranks of Indie Authors, she has published both new material and previously released stories and is having a wondrously fun time.

  She also owns Forward Motion for Writers and is the editor/publisher for Vision: A Resource for Writers.

  Connect with Zette:

  Web Site: https://lazette.net

  Twitter: https://twitter.com/lazetteg

  Joyously Prolific Blog: https://zette.blogspot.com/

  Other works by Lazette Gifford

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