Page 7 of Stolen Magic (All That Glitters #2)
Myst continued to gaze at me with an unreadable expression while I clenched my jaw in anger. Since no amount of power could restore Mother to me, seeking retribution against those who had torn her from me seemed the next best option.
“I know the path of vengeance is treacherous,” I murmured, more to myself than to her. “And yet it calls to me, unyielding and seductive.” Even with this burning desire, I was painfully aware of my limitations—lacking both the means and the specific knowledge of whom to target with my revenge.
Myst seemed be listening keenly as I spoke, peering up at me with her wide, lamp-like eyes, her gaze intense and knowing, reflecting an understanding that went beyond mere animal instinct.
In that moment, with the forest around us holding its breath, she offered an empathy I hadn’t realized I’d been seeking, as if she understood the complexities of my grief, rage, helplessness, and offered her companionship as solace.
To my surprise, her presence was comforting, and I felt a sense of relief at being able to share my struggle with someone, even if it was an animal.
We paused to take a lunch and rest our feet, sharing a meager meal that I supplemented with some greens and berries I’d foraged. Myst groomed herself silently as I continued my story, voicing aloud for the first time my pain and desire to restore justice.
I sensed a shift in her purpose when we resumed walking, venturing farther into the trees in a direction different to the one we’d traversed before.
After nearly an hour Myst suddenly stopped, her body tensed and alert, her eyes gleaming with a mix of excitement and caution.
The tang of magic hung palpably in the air, and following her gaze, I saw it—a faint glow emanating from a hollow in an old tree.
As I approached, the air grew thick with the scent of moss and earth, the glow intensifying until it bathed the hollow in a soft, ethereal light.
Inside, nestled among the roots, was a small pool of liquid silver—a magical essence so pure and potent that it seemed to hum with power.
My heart skipped a beat at the sight. This was more than I had ever hoped to find throughout a lifetime of scavenging, a discovery that was enough to cast not just one spell but several for the future I was determined to reclaim.
I envisioned myself using this magic to not only inflict vengeance on those who’d wounded me, but to keep them from harming other innocent families…
in some small way restoring Myrona to the kingdom I remembered.
With magic finally back in my possession—albeit a small and treasured amount—I felt a renewed determination to pursue that path, not out of hope for peace or restoration but out of an unquenchable need to act to do anything to repair the shards of loss from my lacerated heart.
The question still weighing upon my mind was how .
Gone were the innocent days when I wanted to use magic to create wonder—flowers blooming from a single touch, air sparkling with glitter, or the simple glamour that made an ordinary day feel like a festival.
Such uses seemed frivolous and almost painfully naive, given my current needs.
Whatever power I miraculously obtained would be utilized for one purpose and one purpose only.
Throughout the years the relentless search within myself for even a pinprick of power beneath the oppressive seal had been like nurturing a dormant seed in barren soil.
Initially, my magic had been entirely lifeless, smothered by the curse.
But with time and relentless perseverance akin to exercising a weakened muscle, I had managed to coax a whisper of magic back into existence.
It wasn’t enough to cast the spells Mother had taught me that required only my personal magic to fuel the spoken enchantments; I needed an outside source of magic to successfully cast a spell, which was why I hunted for any stray particle of wild magic I could find.
Yet I was grateful for even this ability after years of being completely cut off from my birthright.
The only explanation I could account for achieving this seemingly impossible feat was that the curse itself was flawed, cast by someone with more power than skill, as if unaccustomed to the magic they wielded…
a plausible explanation, considering it had likely been stolen similar to my own powers.
With this realization came the hope that even the mightiest spell could eventually be unraveled by its weakest link.
Yet willpower alone was insufficient against its formidable nature.
No matter the lack of sophistication in its casting, the curse bore a power distinctly its own, deeply entrenched and frustratingly resilient.
I had faced many moments of despair during times all my efforts seemed futile, when every attempt to harness even the smallest spell fizzled out into nothingness.
Now circumstances were different—I possessed enough magic that was not trapped beneath my skin to tip the balance between my power and the force of the curse in my favor.
I measured the magic I had collected, estimating it carefully.
It appeared to be enough for multiple simple spells…
or one, perhaps two complex spells. My mind raced through the possibilities.
A tracking spell might uncover more about Eldoria, the kingdom responsible for Mother’s death and my current plight…
but that wouldn’t allow me to infiltrate the court undetected and investigate. That step could come later.
Almost as if she could sense my inner turmoil, Myst nuzzled my hand. From her deep and knowing gaze a sudden clarity washed over me through the magical telepathy we shared, an idea steeped in the potential for retribution, tailored to the revenge smoldering in my heart.
A Spell of Opportunity.
My breath caught at the ingenious possibility.
Of course. The spell was one of the earliest forms of magic Mother had taught me, a charm that acted as a plea to magic itself to guide me towards the path that would create the opportunity I desperately needed to enact my revenge.
For all my thirst for vengeance, I lacked a way to bring my desperation to fruition.
Twilight had entirely cloaked the forest by the time I returned to my hovel.
There I prepared for the incantation. Myst sat beside me, her eyes reflecting the faint glow of the magical essence we had collected from the hollow tree as I carefully poured it into a small, shallow basin that had once belonged to Mother, my hands shaking with the familiar thrill of anticipation.
Closing my eyes, I reached out towards the liquid magic, letting my fingertips graze the surface as I began the spell.
“Magic that binds and bends, hear my plea,” I whispered into the gathering darkness.
“Grant me the chance to right the wrongs done by leading me to the crossroads that will bring me to my enemies.”
With every word the air around me pulsed with potential, the magic stirring like a living entity, responding to my voice.
As the incantation reached its climax, the seal on my hand began to throb, resisting the flow of magic through me.
I gasped as invisible chains seemed to tighten around my wrist, a stark reminder of the barriers still imposed upon my powers.
Gritting my teeth against the pain, I pressed forward, but it felt like trying to walk against a fierce wind, every step met with resistance.
The curse fought me, straining to hold the magic back and prevent my completing the spell, but I pushed through the discomfort, anchoring myself to the fragile thread of power I had uncovered and nurtured over the years.
With painstaking effort, I chipped away at each obstacle barring my magic, forcing open space for the spell to take root and begin to bloom.
Calm settled over me as I uttered the final word, a mixture of relief and resolve.
I pushed against the very bounds of my curse; now it was up to the magic to decide whether my plea would be answered.
I could already sense it like a whisper on the wind, calling to the unseen forces that lingered in the land, beckoning them to guide my path.
Though it was a fragile spell, delicate in its construction, it was alive —a faint thread of magic that wound its way through the forest, pointing unerringly towards what I was certain was the kingdom of Eldoria where my enemies awaited me.