Page 10 of Brave Spirit (Bound Spirit #6)
He appears confused. “Time moves differently in Faerie, but I believe it happened at the end of October in this realm. When we saw it was only a small break in the seal, it was assumed you were in trouble and needed our protection.”
Mildred crosses her arms and taps a finger against her chin as she puts the puzzle pieces together. “It must have happened when the binding spell broke. All of that raw magic being released at once had a further reach than we realized.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to argue that all of it was pointed at the old alpha, but I hold it in. I can trust her with the secret, but I don’t want her to know that I used my power to kill a man—more than kill him, I removed him from existence and now his memories haunt me.
“That must have been it,” I mumble in agreement.
Shifting my attention back to Mr. Mischief, I work my expression into something that I hope looks like I have my shit together.
“Breaking the seal didn’t happen intentionally, but I’m glad I helped reunite our two realms.” I really hope that statement remains true.
At the very least, it looks like the fae are on my side, but what that means for the rest of the world is yet to be determined.
He smiles indulgently. “I came to that conclusion when you didn’t suspect I was more than a house cat. When fae could move freely between realms, the high priestesses of the past could sense us through how different our… what you call ‘souls’ are.”
My nan appears immediately fascinated. “How are they different?”
Mr. Mischief focuses his gaze on me and subtly dips his chin. “Ask the high priestess what she sees.”
I’ve always had a sense of people’s inner selves and if they could be trusted. I get the feeling he is loyal and trustworthy, but I’m still nervous to look deeper. He’s clearly very old and has seen awful things. Do I want to know how that forever affects him?
Both of them look at me expectantly, and I keep my reservations to myself.
This is part of who I am, and it’s better to know the full truth of what he is.
Plus, it’s nice to get permission. Balling my fists in my lap, I close my eyes and reach with mental, magic fingers toward Mr. Mischief.
A gasp falls from my lips as I’m overwhelmed with the feeling of living flame, wild and destructive.
He is not a being that magic flows through—he is a being of pure magic ruled by fire.
There’s an odd feeling as his magic seems to yield to mine, a call to serve.
Drawing back into myself, I notice a burning heat inside me.
It’s not harmful, but it does make me feel exceedingly warm.
As I twist my hair up and off my neck, I look at him through surprised new eyes.
Remembering that I’m supposed to tell my nan what I saw, I shake my head and try to speak like my world hasn’t been rocked yet again.
“Souls are magic, except your whole being is magic, but not raw magic. You’re fire magic personified.
It feels wild and destructive, barely contained, yet…
I don’t understand it. You…” I blush as I stammer.
“It feels like it’s more than your vow that keeps you here.
It’s like your very being is drawn to serve my magic. ”
An unexpected softness takes over his face as he gazes at me.
“It’s what the fae loved most about the high priestesses.
Fae are elemental creatures formed by the creation of Faerie.
We don’t have souls in the traditional sense.
As a fire fae, I’m ruled by the queen of the Fire Kingdom in an absolute sense.
Before the gate was sealed, the only way a fae could break that control was to flee to the mortal realm and serve a high priestess.
As beings who ruled over all elements of magic, we were allowed to choose whom we served.
” A wistful smile crosses his lips. “I chose to serve the Volkov high priestess. She was kind and lived for her people, but she was also brave and fierce. Even when she saw the coming storm, she chose to fight to protect those who were innocents in the war. It broke her heart to be felled by those she cared so deeply for. It would have been an honorable end of my one life to die fighting at her side.” He sighs, looking drained by the memories stealing the momentum of the present.
“Why didn’t you?” I ask quietly, not in judgment, but genuine curiosity. I’ve only touched the depth of loyalty that his essence is compelled to follow.
“It was the one and only time she wielded her power over me. She saw the hope for the future and commanded me to stay alive for the time when I would be needed once more.” He doesn’t seem mad about her actions, only sad for the loss.
“She then sent me back to Faerie, along with all the fae who could escape before the witches massacred them for their unwavering loyalty. As the end drew near, she pulled in magic far beyond what her mortal form could withstand to seal the gate between our realms. Afterward, she would have been far too weak to defend herself.”
“That’s how the spirit witches died? They were forced to use too much magic?” I ask, sobered to hear the first signs of my own limitations. I had a taste of it when I kept drawing on the magic inside me versus drawing on the magic around me to fuel my power.
Mildred is strangely quiet through our exchange, but she does reach out to hold my hand. Her firm grip and comforting squeeze help ground me.
Mr. Mischief also appears to want to reach out, but he refrains, dropping his hands in his lap and shifting his gaze toward the window, looking at the twilight outside.
“Your goddess has granted her chosen unlimited access to her well of magic, but everything has a cost. Your body is still mortal and can only wield so much before it takes its toll on the vessel.” He shakes his head as he continues to share the tragic tale of the last of the spirit witches.
“So many were sent to die for the purposes of weakening the vessel. It was a double fold of torment—not only to have to call into themselves more and more magic without rest, but their souls were also battered by every life they were forced to end. The high priestesses tried other ways to subdue the populace, but it required more resources to command them. Once the vessel was too weak to sustain the magic needed, the priestesses’ holds over them would break. ”
Living with ending one life, even of an awful man, weighs heavily on me. I can’t imagine the devastation of ending whole armies made up of people whom they swore to protect.
As I contemplate what all of this means for me and my future, Mildred takes her turn to ask the only living being who was possibly actually there the truth of the war. “We were told a very different version of the shifter war. What really started it all?”
Mr. Mischief scoffs. “Of course the cowards would blame the shifters when it was them who poisoned the well.”
“Who? Who did all this and how?” she asks with a tone revealing her desperation for answers. This is the truth she’d been searching for since she discovered the fate of the last of the spirit witches at their most powerful.
“How else is a being of great power felled? By those they trusted most.” He turns away from the window to look directly into my nan’s eyes.
“The high priestesses blessed those closest to them who didn’t wield the gift of spirit witches with more power.
They were to be their eyes among the people and wanted them to be protected.
At first, they were grateful, but they eventually grew envious of the absolute power of the high priestesses.
Ruling was the high priestesses’ birthright, and those who had a taste of their true power no longer wished to serve.
They were more powerful than any average witch and decided they would rule the world better themselves.
” He clears his throat, and I realize he’s been talking a lot without pause.
I immediately hand him my mug of tea that’s more lukewarm at this point.
He gratefully takes it, drinks several gulps, and then hands the mug back to me.
“Deciding they should rule and bringing it to fruition against such powerful witches seems to be quite an undertaking,” my nan states, her brows furrowing. “And how were the shifters dragged into all this?”
“The original council of witches who started the… ‘revolution,’ as they called it, had their life span expanded by nearly half a century, and they used that time to sow slanderous discourse among all who fell under the high priestesses’ rule.
I don’t know exactly what was said, but I do know the people’s ignorance was used against them.
The average witch didn’t fully understand that the goddess made checks within her chosen to balance their gifts.
All they knew was that they were ruled by witches who wielded the most power. ”
“That explains why the council is supposedly ruled by the same directive,” Mildred muses out loud. “The strongest of us are the ones chosen to rule over us.”
Mr. Mischief scoffs at the notion of the council being the strongest the witching world has to offer.
“It wasn’t simply the high priestesses’ power that made them the best to rule.
It was their greatest gift and burden—empathy.
” He looks at me with a gaze that knows the full extent of my potential.
“Your ability to see into the souls of others was by design. As you gain greater control, it won’t be a conscious act to do so, but something innate that will grow to feel the will of nations.
Your goddess created her chosen to care for her creations and guide them toward harmony. ”
“To keep balance,” I mutter as I feel the crushing weight of my existence. I want to live a small life healing the sick, but is that selfish when my power is something destined for more?