Page 14 of Stolen Magic (All That Glitters #2)
I n the deep, shadowed hours of the night, I found myself pacing the confines of my dimly lit room in the inn we were staying in just past the Eldorian border.
The air was thick with the heavy aroma of herbs, the components for the spell I’d been planning for weeks, one of such profound consequence that it made my heart weigh heavily in my chest.
This simple potion was designed to erase memory so I could strip Princess Gwendolyn of her identity long enough for me to replace her without contest. Turning my restless feet towards the table, I lifted the stone pestle that felt heavier than usual.
The rhythmic grinding of the herbs in my mortar and pestle echoed my pounding heart, turmoil I fought and failed to ignore.
“Is this who I’ve become?” My whispered question hung in the air, unanswered.
The justifications were there, lined up ready in my mind for my review—this was for both myself and my mother, for the justice so long denied to us, not to mention everyone this corrupt family had oppressed.
Why then did hesitation threaten to consume me?
I fought against my conscience’s valiant efforts to dissuade me by focusing on the hatred that had been my constant companion…
along with the painful memories of the raid, the fire, years of crippling poverty, and most of all Mother’s lifeless eyes.
These remembrances stoked my need for revenge, effectively locking my conscience away where it couldn’t interfere.
I poured the ground herbs into a boiling cauldron, watching as the mixture turned a dark, ominous shade.
I pushed through the throbbing pain spreading from the seal branding my hand as I mixed the brewing concoction, each stir bringing forth memories of the girl I had once been—curious and bright, with dreams not of revenge but of wonder.
How far I had strayed from that path, yet the allure of magic and vengeance was too fixed in my being for me to turn back now.
Even so, my hand still trembled as I reached for the teacup that would hold this brew of forgetfulness.
The gravity of this irreversible choice grew with each second that ticked by—the power to erase a part of someone’s soul was monstrous, yet I could see no other path to obtaining what I desperately wanted.
“Can justice truly be built on the ruins of another’s life?
” I found myself speaking aloud, as if filling the silence with my doubts might lessen their weight.
Myst raised her head at the sound of my voice, her soft body curled up on the table beside my ingredients; I stared into her calm grey eyes, wishing she would offer approval or disapproval as I wrestled with my choice.
But she lay silently, watching with an impassive expression absent of judgment, leaving the choice entirely within my trembling hands.
Princess Gwendolyn had never wronged me; she was but a pawn in a game she didn’t realize she was playing.
Her innocence almost made it easier to move forward—while the fate I’d determined for her was cruel and unjust, it was almost a mercy compared to the life that would be forced upon her in the wicked Eldorian court where the royal family would eat her alive. She deserved far better.
How ironic that she would be condemned through a rare single ounce of compassion lingering in my heart, far more scarce than magic had become in our land.
My hand shook as I reached for the jar containing the last ingredient, causing another wave of searing pain to slowly spread up my arm from the magic seal.
I gasped sharply as my knife slipped from my grip, clattering to the table, and I lifted my hand to the light.
The dark seal pulsed with a malevolent glow, its edges creeping farther than before, as though it were slowly consuming my skin.
Each use of magic fed it, a silent exchange that deepened the curse’s grip on me.
I wrapped a cloth around my wrist to muffle the throbbing that extended up to my elbow.
Gritting my teeth, I forced my focus away from the lingering discomfort back to the task at hand—precision was crucial if the magic was to succeed…
and unlike my younger self who could try over and over beneath a mother’s loving guidance, I needed to get this right on the first attempt.
Though I had poured every spare moment into mastering the spell, the cursed seal branding my skin and my own inexperience made its execution precarious.
Carefully, I pushed against the force restraining my magic, probing for weak points in the invisible barrier.
Over the years, I’d gradually chipped away at these tiny falters, coaxing them wider, enough to let a thread of power slip through.
It took hours to gather even the smallest usable amount, but it was enough for my purposes, enhanced with a trace of the magic I wore around my neck in the pouch.
Only one ingredient remained, and then the spell would be complete.
Hesitation once more momentary trapped me before I pushed past it and painstakingly added four petals from an azalea flower.
A cloud of smoke emanated from the potion, fading to reveal a brown, tea-like liquid imbued with hues of violet; the liquid shimmered like a captured star, beautiful and dangerous.
I placed it on the table and stepped back, as if the distance could separate me from what I’d just created. My cat familiar turned her head to track my movements, her gaze intense as she waited to see which course I chose.
Throughout my preparations, the princess slept soundly in the adjoining room we shared, oblivious to the spell I was concocting.
I’d expended great effort to mask my intentions from her while slowly gathering the herbs I needed every spare moment from the time of my employment—some had been found in the palace gardens, others located in the nearby woods, while others had been salvaged throughout our journey whenever the carriage stopped to allow us a chance to stretch our legs.
My careful efforts allowed me to complete my preparations by our first night after we crossed the Eldorian border, the perfect moment to implement the plan.
I’d been deliberate in my timetable, ensuring the usurpation occurred after we were outside the protection of Princess Gwendolyn’s faithful guards; aside from their loyalty, they were too familiar with the princess not to detect our switch.
My hardened heart wasn’t entirely without feeling—part of my motive in changing places while we remained close enough to the border was so Princess Gwendolyn could more easily return to the safety of her home kingdom rather than remain as a stranger in a foreign land, a reassurance that provided added strength for what was to come.
I cast Myst one final uncertain glance, but she merely stared at me with her silvery luminescent eyes, her tail swaying gently. She made no effort to stop me, leaving the conscience I’d suppressed beyond feeling the only force that could possibly prevent what happened.
I went to the adjoining room to wake the princess. For a moment I simply watched her, her face relaxed in restful sleep, oblivious to the plan I was moments away from setting into motion. With a wavering breath I set my candle down on the nightstand and gently shook her awake.
Her eyes fluttered open. For a moment she peered blearily up at me, seeming confused by my presence so late at night. Then she yawned and slowly sat up. “Is something wrong, Lysa?”
I kept my voice low in an effort to mask the nerves underlining my forthcoming lie. “You were tossing and turning. Were you having a nightmare?” In reality the nightmare I spoke of was not one I pretended she’d dreamed, but the one currently unfolding before her unsuspecting eyes.
She blinked in confusion. “I…don’t think so. I was dreaming of my beautiful wedding day that turned out far better than I’ve been imagining. Perhaps I’ve forgotten it.”
I arranged my expression into the humble remorse that I had perfected throughout my sojourn as her handmaiden. “I’m relieved to be mistaken, but I regret disturbing your sleep unnecessarily. Forgive me for acting on my worry.”
Her forgiving smile pierced my heart with impending guilt. “It is no trouble at all. You’re so kind, Lysa. I’m so grateful to have you at my side. You’ve become a true friend.”
I winced at this show of undeserved gratitude.
I wasn’t kind at all. Perhaps I’d been once upon a time, when my life had been shades of pastels and innocence rather than the streaks of darkness I’d allowed to corrupt me.
That bright, good part of me had died the day I’d lost Mother; at times I often wondered if my old self had ever existed at all.
The teacup containing the forgetfulness brew felt cold and heavy in my hand, a stark contrast to the gentle warmth of the princess sitting across from me.
The same previous hesitation that had gripped me while trying to complete my potion tightened my throat once more.
My shaking hand rattled the cup on its saucer.
Once I handed it to her, there would be no turning back. Did I truly want to do this?
Princess Gwendolyn noticed my tremors and her eyes softened with such sincere concern I hated her for it. “Is something troubling you, Lysa?”
The innocence in her voice pierced my heart like a dagger.
I hastily shook my head, not trusting myself to speak lest my wavering voice expose me.
I felt a twinge of regret for abusing her trust, but the path I’d chosen left no room for hesitation.
I extended the potion; a thick floral scent rose with its curls of steam, stronger than the princess’s usual herbal blends, the only hint of its unusual nature.
“I brewed a new tea from some herbs I gathered since entering Eldoria, to help ease your nerves for the journey ahead.”