Vassal by Sterling D'Este (ebook reader computer TXT) 📕

the excited look in Etienne’s eyes had her slowly nodding in agreement despite herself.

Etienne placed a hand on Alphonse’s shoulder and smiled at her confidently. “Coralie hates listening to me explain my research, and you’ve been there the whole time. Besides, you do just as well as her or better in incantations.”

He turned and secured the book in its wrappings and placed it carefully in his bag, more gently than he would treat most anything else. “I know you’ll do fine, Alphonse. You’re a good mage and a good healer.”

Somewhere far off, a bell tolled, signaling the time. “We’ll have to go for now, but will you be alright to meet me here tomorrow night? I can get everything ready.”

“Night?” she squeaked. While students over a certain age were certainly allowed about the academy after dark, there was a strict rule about no magic unless sanctioned by the Masters.

This was definitely not sanctioned.

One look at Etienne’s hopeful expression had Alphonse sighing.

“Very well.” She tried for a calm, reasonable tone.

It came out more as wavering.

“But you better pass that Transformation exam with flying colors! I’m serious, Etienne, really put in the effort.” They were useless words; his face was already lighting up, and she could see the wheels turning. He was unlikely to think of anything else but the spell until tomorrow night.

“Of course!” Etienne said, grinning. “And I won’t even argue with the Master.”

⥣          ⥣           ⥣

The empty classroom Etienne had chosen for their incantation no longer resembled a quiet place of learning. He had shoved the desks against the walls, their legs standing rigid in the damp air like things newly dead and haphazardly piled out of his way. The floor was all but covered in a vast, perfectly circular rune chalked in intricate, swirling patterns. Candles in different stages of melting decay stood at regular intervals, casting flickering light onto stone walls.

Etienne stood near the center of this, his feet positioned to avoid any of the lines he had socarefullyetched onto the floor. He held the book in one gloved hand, his other poised to turn the page, though he no longer read the words inked there. His eyes were fixed on a small pile of supplies he’d left to one side of the room and the dagger lying among them.

Etienne had been over the lists of requirements and procedures outlined in the book dozens of times. He knew them all by heart, knew their placement in the spell, and likely their purpose, but he could not understand why they were required to each spill a bit of blood. It seemed like irrational drivel, the sort of “magic” practiced by the tribal barbarians of The Wildlands, pointless and gruesome.

Still, this spell was new to him. The blood might have some purpose that he had yet to divine, some significance that could keep the incantation from collapsing on itself or harming the casters. His instinct was to include each part required to a spell and trust the original sorcerer until he had experimented enough to refine it.

That didn’t mean Alphonse would like it, though. He supposed he’d just have to tell her why he thought they should keep the spell as it was.

When she gasped, Etienne looked up from his work. Alphonse stood on the threshold to the classroom, her eyes full as she took it all in. Her already pale features were almost waxy in appearance. “Etienne?” she asked, voice no more than a whisper. Her eyes were glued to the dagger, it’s blade gleaming in the almost absurdly romantic light provided by the candles.

“Come in. Quickly.” Etienne ushered his friend inside with a steady hand on her shoulder.

Already, she was frightened, occasional tremors visible in her fingers. Etienne felt a stab of guilt. He should have never roped her into this. Gentle Alphonse didn’t really have the stomach for late-night rituals and taboos. Still, he was so close to real understanding. He could taste the truth, held just out of reach, as though this ritual was but a veil separating him from a lover’s kiss. The scholar longed for it with an intensity few would understand.

He had to get Alphonse to help him. No one else could be trusted, and he must go on. To turn back now would mean leaving behind a victory that he had rightfully earned.

“Alphonse,” he began, keeping his voice low and calm. “Don’t be afraid. It looks like something terribly complex, but it’s just a bit of chalk and herbs and candles. We’re going to stand together in the center, say the words, prick a finger, and then receive the memory. It’ll be easy. Over before you know it.”

❀

She recalled the very same words being said to her as she entered her last year of studies to become a healer. All healers ordained by Moxous were marked this way, an indication of their competence and duty to heal. Tattooed on her and every healer who had come through these doors, a mark on the brow. The full womb and healing hands, a circle with a smaller one within its center, two artful brackets holding it up. The ink used to tattoo it white, nearly invisible on her fair skin. Still, it was there.

And her Master had told her the same thing Etienne said now. ‘A prick … Over before you know it.’

That Master hadn’t lied. While the tattoo itself hadn’t been comfortable to receive, she hadn’t suffered terribly during its administration.

But this wasn’t a sacred mark bestowed by the academy! This was an ancient spell found in a dusty, forgotten book. Not something simple, done in the holiness of daylight, for all to see. No. This was some secret, arcane, forbidden act, and what little commitment she had to do this for Etienne was already sputtering and dimming.

“Blood? The academy doesn’t use blood magic… It’s not permitted,” she murmured, stepping aside even as Etienne closed the door, locking it. Sealing them in. Despite