Chương 3: Wild Magic

"Alastair hired a new etiquette tutor. Isabella's knees were bruised when she came to show me the curtsy she'd been practicing for hours. I didn't have the heart to discourage her, but I fear she is learning to mistake perfection for happiness." - From the diary of Lady Victoria Thorne, four years before her death ISABELLA Rosie smoothed the final tier of my sky-blue velvet dress, cinching the corset tight.

The cage of whalebone and silk shallowed my breathing into sips like a wine tasting, as if too much air might get me drunk. The gown itself was beautiful, a masterwork of the Weaver's Guild intended to signal the wealth of House Thorne to every eye in the ballroom. It was also heavy, dragging my mood down like an anchor.

"You look a beautiful, My Lady," Rosie whispered, her eyes sparkling. She admired me, a ridiculous thought. I forced a smile as she pinned a silver comb into my hair, completing my outfit.

"I think I look more the doll in a display case," I said truthfully, blunting the rebuke with a playful bob of my carefully curled hair. It wasn't Rosie's fault that my father preferred his daughter ornamental. I tried to focus on my reflection, summoning the System with a centering thought. The comforting vibration rang softly in my mind, settling my nerves.

SKILL ACTIVE: [Courtly Grace] My posture corrected itself, spine lengthening, chin tilting at that precise angle the world understood to be aristocratic detachment. To the uninitiated it looked like confidence, to me it was the familiar adoption of a role I'd rehearsed since I was old enough to walk.

"They're waiting," I said finally, stepping away from the mirror. Turning fifteen should have been a liberation, the first stride into the arms of adulthood, but tonight I could feel only the encroaching dread of knowing that my life would soon cease to be my own. The grand staircase awaited whether I was ready to face it or not. Ahead, the ballroom was a sea of color and noise, scents of roasted pheasant mixed with expensive perfumes created a dizzying and indulgent aroma that roiled my empty stomach.

Mana-infused chandeliers floated overhead, a lively waltz bouncing on the air as Eastwatch's country nobility laughed and danced below. Pausing at the landing, I observed the ballroom, a general taking stock of her position before a battle as I let my most recent Bronze skill, [Social Insight], weave the threads of perception.

Through its silent gaze I could see the deep tension connecting our guests, the desperate aura of a merchant seeking a contract, a red spike of envy as the mayor's wife observed a rival's necklace, the golden hues of laughter from the young knights near the punch bowl, their duty forgotten for one evening at least. Victor had his fights and I had mine. Tonight I was walking into the crossfire.

At the center of the room was my father, a magical vortex of charisma that pulled the entire gathering toward it; moons orbiting a planet. His hand rested casually on a cane that he carried for style rather than function, the other wrapped around a crystal goblet that contained wine from one of Sendaria's richest vineyards. The master of the Merchants Guild laughed too loudly, a performance that certainly wasn't fooling Alastair Thorne. My father's gaze snapped to me the moment I appeared.

His eyes slid over my face, assessing the quality of my hair, my dress, my bearing, searching for a flaw. He gave a small nod of approval, a rare enough occurrence that I flushed with pride to have earned it. The sea of bodies parted as I glided through the crowd, the Duke's daughter arriving fashionably late in all her resplendent glory.

"Isabella," my father said as I approached, baritone voice commanding silence from everyone nearby.

"You're late, daughter." Daughter, I thought, the word feeling strange coming from his lips. Is that what I was to him?

"The hem required adjustment, Father," I said, allowing [Courtly Grace] to execute a mathematically precise curtsy, tilting my head down in a proper show of respect.

"I would not shame you with a frayed thread."

"My daughter leaves for the Capital tomorrow," he continued as if I had not spoken.

"The Royal Academy. She will be the face of Eastwatch in the court of the King." I kept my expression pleasant, a mask of cool porcelain.

"And such a beautiful face it is," offered Guildmaster Iscor politely, though his predatory grin sent a chill up my spine.

"You're too kind," was all I could manage, averting my eyes.

"Lady Isabella." A young man in a green doublet stepped forward, saving me from the awkward exchange. He bowed low, offering a hand.

"May I... might I have this dance?" he stammered, his aura a mess of anxiety and hope. I recognized him as Tomas, the son of a wealthy shipwright. He was my age, perhaps a bit older, with kind brown eyes that darted back and forth as he fumbled with the hem of his shirt, the linen worn down at the edges. I looked to my father, awaiting his assent to the request. Alastair gave the boy a passing assessment, weighing and dismissing his value in the span of a single heartbeat.

The shipwrights were useful but not of a station appropriate for courting. He gave a bored wave of his hand as if to say, amuse yourself. I took Tomas's hand, ignoring the damp touch of sweat.

"I would be delighted." We moved out to the ballroom floor where the party was in full swing, entering on the downbeat to join the dance already in progress. Tomas was a clumsy dancer, his steps out of sync with the music, but he was trying so hard it made my heart ache to see him struggle. I used my own higher level skills to compensate, adjusting my movements to cover for his mistakes, the System doing its part to make us appear graceful.

"You leave tomorrow?" he asked, voice cracking the way boys his age sometimes did.

"For Everton?" My dress swished around my ankles as we tapped our way through the highly choreographed dance.

"At first light," I said, face flushed from the sudden exercise.

"I... I will miss you," he blurted out, going a bright shade of crimson.

"The city that is... the city will miss you." I squeezed his hand, trying to reassure him.

"Thank you, Tomas. I will miss the city as well." I smiled as the music swelled and for a moment I forgot the pressure of the Duke's approval. For a moment I was just a girl dancing with a boy who thought she was pretty.

"I believe," a voice said, low and edged with danger, "that you are stepping on my sister's gown." A large hand clamped onto Tomas's shoulder and he stopped suddenly, my dress tangling around my feet and nearly causing me to fall. I stood up angrily, smoothing my skirts to see who dared interrupt a dance on my birthday. Victor. My brother stood tall and impressive in his dress uniform, silver braiding catching the light and drawing the eye to my family's house sigil - a rose and thorns emblazoned on his chest.

He was smiling, but the wrinkles around his hazel eyes remained unmoved. He towered over Tomas, aura radiating a dark aggression that made the air around us taste of iron. His short blonde hair was perfectly coifed, bouncing lazily above his forehead. This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

"I... I didn't..." Tomas stammered, shrinking away from the much larger boy. Victor ignored him, turning his attention to me.

"You look tired, Isabella." It wasn't even a believable excuse; I'd only just arrived.

"Father wouldn't want you exhausted before your journey." He smiled again, white teeth dazzling like bared fangs.

"I am fine, Victor." It wasn't true, I was furious.

"We were enjoying ourselves." Navigating my brother's moods had become a tightrope exercise, never knowing if the next word would set him off.

"Were you?" Victor glanced over at Tomas with disdain.

"Run along, ship rat, before you hurt yourself." Tomas went pale and bowed hastily before fleeing into the crowd. Anger flared red hot in my chest.

"That was hateful," I said, chin trembling. I wouldn't cry, I wouldn't give him that satisfaction.

"Tomas was just being kind."

"Is that how cheaply you sell yourself? A stammered request and a gentle smile is all it takes to impress you?" Victor offered me his arm and I pushed it away. He grimaced at the rebuke, eyes flaring.

"You need to grow up, Bella, you are the daughter of a Duke. That boy was unworthy of you."

"You sound just like him," I whispered, pulling away. Victor's smile faltered and he ran a hand over his face.

"Someone has to protect you, you're too soft for this world. You always have been."

"I leave tomorrow." I backed away from him.

"I'm not your problem any more. I will be just fine on my own."

"We'll see." Victor frowned and turned away. I left him there, whatever small joy I'd hoped to find tonight now curdled like sour wine. I needed air, I needed silence. I pushed through the crowd and out to the balcony, the smiles of our courtiers feeling menacing in the lamplight. I let the cool air quiet my mind, a balm for the anxiety that constricted my throat. I looked out over the city I was soon to leave, leaning on the stone railing and quietly hoping that it would give way beneath me, my problems at an end.

I'd lived here all my life, walked these same streets, smelled this same sea air. My thoughts turned to my old tutor and his stories of a world that existed far beyond the stone walls of Eastwatch where merit mattered more than blood. I doubted it was true, but I missed the way he'd make me believe it, make me feel that I had a mind and not just a pedigree and a title. I looked out toward the west where the Whisperwood lay dark and silent against the stars.

Everton was somewhere out beyond the forest, at least it would be different, a chance at something new. My mood was ruined beyond any hope of redemption, but I turned again to the balcony doors and let the sound of merriment pull me back. I smiled and stepped into the light, the truth never touching my face. +++ I woke that night to the sound of my perfume bottles dancing across the vanity. Then the earth heaved, a booming vibration through the bones of the manor.

The heavy velvet curtains of my bedchamber swayed as if a great and invisible hand had pressed against the glass. I sprang out of bed clutching my silk sheets to my chest, the lingering threads of a dream unraveling into cold reality. A golden shimmer manifested in the air, unfolding into a scroll of woven light. ~ SYSTEM MESSAGE ~ ~ Aetheric Disturbance Detected ~ The light dissolved as I dismissed it with a wave of my hand, dust motes floating in the moonlight that filtered through my balcony doors.

I threw off the covers and the cold air bit at my skin, my nightgown little protection from the painful chill of the early spring night. The glass of the doors was ice against my palms as I pushed them open, stepping out onto my balcony that looked out over the city. Eastwatch was spread out below me, slate roofs and cobblestone streets illuminated by the steady glow of mana-lamps, a tapestry of light. The city was waking, windows flickering to life, a thousand fireflies disturbed from slumber.

I looked west where a wound marred the sky above the Whisperwood forest, a pillar of black smoke ascending toward the twinkling stars a thousand feet high, illuminated from beneath by a sullen orange glow. Something had struck the ground, something massive and violent, a fireball from the heavens. Even this far from the source I could taste the metallic tang of ambient mana.

"It's beautiful, in a chaotic sort of way." I stiffened at the voice coming from the adjoining balcony, a reflex that had been drilled into me by a dozen etiquette tutors. I flattened my nightgown and turned.

"Father." Duke Alastair Thorne stood at the railing fully dressed holding a glass of dark liquor, his black doublet immaculate as it always was. If the man ever slept, I'd yet to see it. The silver thread of the Thorne crest on his chest gleamed in the moonlight. He observed the explosion in the forest with the dispassionate interest of a collector examining a flawed specimen.

"Isabella," he finally acknowledged, voice smooth and cool.

"You should be asleep."

"The house shook," I said, stepping up beside him but maintaining a respectful distance.

"Is the city under threat?" He took a measured sip from his cup.

"Whatever that was, it occurred many miles beyond our walls. A surge of wild magic perhaps, or a celestial body losing its way. The world is full of random violence." He turned toward me and I could see my own face reflected in those icy blue eyes, a mirror of the man I feared most. The man I most wanted to please. Other men would have shouted orders to their house guard, demanded answers about the explosion so close to their city. Alastair Thorne stood on the balcony and drank liquor while the forest burned.

"Until the source is identified, all travel out of the city will be suspended." I tried to register no reaction, but inside I felt a quiver of confused emotion, hope to remain home, dread that I might never actually leave.

"That, of course, means your departure to the Capital is delayed."

"Yes, Father," I said simply, giving nothing away.

"In the meantime, you will attend me at the Guild Hall." He reached out his hand, resting it on my shoulder. His grip was firm, no fatherly warmth to offer, but I welcomed even this small bit of physical contact.

"Order is not a natural state, Isabella. It is imposed. You would do well to remember that. Go back to bed now, Victor is handling things. There's nothing for you to worry about."

"Victor is out there?" The question slipped out before I could stop myself, a spike of fear shaking my composure. My brother was strong but he was not invincible.

"Danger is the whetstone of command," my father intoned, something I'd heard my grandfather say at least a dozen times before he'd died.

"Victor must learn to wield the city's strength, he cannot do that from his bedchamber. Just as you cannot learn to wield the influence that will be expected of you from yours." Influence. A creative way to describe servitude. I would be polished and pruned at the Royal Academy until I made a suitable offering for a border lord my father needed for his latest expansion.

"I am ready," I lied, the words a bitter medicine. I looked back at the smoke.

"It feels strange to leave when the world is shaking."

"The world is always shaking." He removed his hand and brushed an invisible speck of dust from his sleeve.

"I have heard reports your packing is incomplete. Do not dally. Appearance is the first language of the court and I will not have you arriving in disarray. Consider this reprieve an opportunity to better yourself." He turned back to the forest, dismissing me without a word.

"Of course, father." I curtsied and retreated back into my room, leaning against the heavy glass doors with a sigh. A quiet knock on my bedroom door made me jump.

"Bella?" The door creaked open. Victor wore his city guard leathers, a sword strapped to his hip, and a heavy cloak thrown over one shoulder.

"Victor," I whispered, rushing to him. I hugged him and buried my face in the rough wool of his cloak.

"Father said you were out there investigating."

"I'm riding out now." He hugged me back with an uncomfortable strength.

"Captain Roderick is gathering the guard but I had to see you before you left for the capital. You'll be gone before I get back." I pulled away, not bothering to correct him. He was nineteen and trying so hard to look thirty.

"It's dangerous, Victor. That explosion, it shook the entire city."

"I know." A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"The scouts say it was something truly massive. Whatever hit the woods, it wasn't natural. Father thinks it might be a meteorite, or a rogue summon. If it is... imagine the resources we could harvest."

"Just be careful. Don't try to be a hero."

"I have a responsibility, Bella, you know that." He reached into his satchel.

"But I didn't come here to talk about duty." He pulled out a small leather-bound book. The cover was worn, gold leaf fading and cracking with heavy use over many years. My throat hitched - The Fall of Aeloria - Fenris's copy. I ran a thumb over the spine, remembering the huge paws that used to turn these pages with such surprising gentleness. He'd been gone five years now, vanished back to the High Peaks one morning without so much as a note left on the door.

"I found it in the library archives," Victor said, keeping his voice low.

"I remembered how much you enjoyed his stories, didn't want you to leave without it. Happy birthday." I was on the verge of tears as I opened the cover. On the flyleaf, in Fenris's cramped handwriting, was a simple inscription: For Isabella. Wisdom is the only crown that cannot be stolen.

"You saved it," I whispered. Victor rubbed at his temple.

"I know you miss him. I cared for him too. He was... kind." He squeezed my shoulder.

"Now I have to go." His face tightened, a shadow of our father crossing his features and erasing the boyish concern. He kissed my forehead.

"The regiment is waiting." He turned and slipped out the door, his boots heavy on the stone floor. I stood alone in the dark, clutching the book to my chest. I looked out the window one last time. The fire in the woods was dying down but the smoke still stained the stars.