Chapter Two
W hen I threw open the door to our cottage, rain-slick and shivering, my mother immediately took over.
“Oh, love, get inside,” she admonished, her old rocking chair groaning as she rose from it and set her book down. “Why you insist on drowning yourself out there for a little light, I’ll never know.”
I plopped myself at our small table, leaving a puddle under me as I rummaged through my bag for the two lit lanterns. I slammed them on the table, watching the cottage erupt in a bright glow.
“Does this look like a little light to you?”
She shielded her eyes, throwing a blanket at me. “You know what I meant. Don’t got to be an arse about it.”
I scowled and pulled the blanket around my soaked shoulders, the newfound warmth coaxing out the chill that had started to settle into my bones. Meanwhile, Mannix shook off beside the door, droplets of rain spraying everywhere. With a quick circling of his favorite blanket, he settled near the hearth where a small fire crackled.
“I thought old Mrs. Ravenstone could use a new one,” I went on, pulling the blanket tighter around me. “The last one I gave her went out, and she said she’s been lost without it. That there’s no candle or oil lamp that compares to it.”
My mother gave a soft chuckle, shaking her head. Dark brown, wavy hair like mine framed her face, though hers was streaked with white. She slid a steaming cup of tea toward me as she sat down at the table too. Her deep brown eyes, still sharp as ever, fixed on me.
“And I’m sure Mrs. Ravenstone is grateful, but you’re not made of storm clouds yourself. You’ll catch your death out there one day if you’re not careful. You want to leave your mother here on this gods-forsaken cliffside alone?”
Mannix whined from his cozy spot on the floor, his head tilting to the side. I sipped my tea, smirking.
My mother raised an eyebrow at him. “Oh, I know you’d be here, but unless you’ve figured out how to chop firewood, we’d be in a sorry state, wouldn’t we?”
It was true I’d taken up most of my father’s chores since he’d been gone. Chopping wood, mending the roof, maintaining our stone wall. Frankly, I liked having physical tasks to keep my mind busy.
But my mother was strong. Resilient. I’m sure she could handle them, too, if one day I wasn’t around to do it.
My heart galloped at the thought. One day. Of being out in the world and making a real change, having a real purpose...instead of spending my days ensuring people like Mrs. Ravenstone had the proper lighting so as not to mistake a knitting needle for a fork again.
“I felt it while I was out there,” I murmured. My mother didn’t reply, but I knew she was listening, her breath held. “The ley line,” I continued, reliving the memory of how the magic had rumbled underneath me. “It was weak. It faltered when I tried to light the third lantern. The problem has truly reached Naohm now.”
I glanced, then, at the worn, thick, leather-bound book sitting on our mantel, filled with my father’s notes on magic and the ley lines he’d devoted his life to studying. Every minute that wasn’t reserved for his council duties, he’d spent chasing new theories about how magic worked, how it flowed.
The general belief was that magic lived in the user, but my father argued that it lived outside of us, a power that coursed under our feet that we could call upon. That connected us all.
I’d tried to review it as often as I could, tried to see what I could add to his thoughts, to keep his work alive. But everything about the book—the feel of the cracked leather, the smell of dried ink, the familiar scribblings I knew as his handwriting—made my heart quiver if I looked at it for too long.
“Magic moves like a river, Eedy,” he’d once told me, his eyes alight with confidence. “It flows beneath the surface, quiet but powerful. Sometimes, it gathers in places. We must map the spots where it’s strongest. To learn how it works before someone else with ill intention does.”
Ley lines.
His research. His obsession.
“You need to bring this forward to the council,” my mother said. “Tell them what you experienced.”
I set my cup down, watching the steam curl upward. She wasn’t wrong, but it didn’t matter. “You know everyone can’t feel the ley lines like I can. Father couldn’t even sense them; he had to use physical signs like the etherose growing nearby to map them. And even if they did believe me, they’ll ignore it because I’m his daughter.”
A heavy silence settled between us.
“Your father was a very passionate man, Eedy, no shame in that,” she said after a few moments.
“Mother, he punched Baldric Emberford at the last council meeting he attended,” I groaned.
“Well, yes,” my mother huffed, “but that old geezer deserved it. He wouldn’t even let your father finish reporting on his latest findings!”
I crossed my arms over my chest, but a grin still escaped. What I would’ve given to have seen that.
“He was a brilliant man, but he never learned how to ease people into a new idea. He always wanted to get right down to the truth of things instead of buttering people up to it,” my mother went on, curling her fingers tightly around her teacup. “But he did predict this instability a few rings ago, and they didn’t listen to him then. Maybe now they need a new voice.”
I clenched my jaw. The council had never been interested in what I had to say.
The only reason I was even a part of the meetings was because of the law of succession of a council seat, that it goes to the first-born child upon a member’s death, not because they wanted me there. In their eyes, I was just my father’s placeholder. One they’d only have to deal with a little longer until membership came up to a vote again during the summer solstice in seven months.
I sighed, leaning back in my chair. “Oh, they have a new voice now, just not the right one. A prince with no understanding of magic—what could he possibly add to the discussion? They’ll defer to him because of his title and the power that comes with it, as if that makes him capable of fixing something he knows nothing about.”
Centuries ago, the first council of mages decreed that highborns could neither wield magic nor marry those who did—a safeguard against the rise of an untouchable ruler, too powerful to challenge or control. Little did they know, ordinary men were more than capable of devastating corruption.
And yet, even though highborns had never been able to use magic, they thought one could help us fix it when it was broken?
My mother frowned. “We may be some of the few who can wield it, Eedy, but let’s not forget that magic is here for the benefit of everyone, hmm? And, as far as the prince is concerned, maybe you’re judging him too harshly before you’ve even met the poor lad to see what he’s like.”
I scoffed. “You didn’t like the royal family either, not when Father was alive.”
“Your father had his reasons, and I stood by him,” she said, looking away, her voice softening. “But no one’s life is ever easy , Eedy. I’m sure he’s had his own hardships.”
“He’s just going to be another spoiled highborn,” I muttered, “thinking he can waltz in and fix things without understanding a damn thing about it. I felt the magic unraveling, and all they want to do is play politics.”
My mother sighed but didn’t press further. Instead, she reached her hand out, hovering it over the nearby kettle. Her fingers swayed, and I watched as a faint shimmer of heat glowed around the kettle’s base. I braced, waiting for the magic to falter like it had on me earlier, but this time, it held.
A few seconds later, the water inside began to boil again, even without a fire beneath it.
“I’ll top off your tea,” she said casually, as if performing such a task with ease didn’t spur jealousy in me from time to time. Her magic had always been subtle but practical, manipulating the temperature of objects—keeping water warm, drying herbs quickly, or cooling food in an instant. It was something she could call on at any moment, and the magic obeyed. I had to wait for lightning to strike before I could do anything.
If I could summon a bolt at will, I’d wager a lot more people in Naohm would think twice before crossing my path.
I stared down at the table. “Father would’ve been able to figure it out. He always said the ley lines were the key to everything, but he didn’t have enough time to prove it.” I let out a frustrated sigh while rubbing my temples. “If the council could just put aside their pride and listen , maybe there’d be a chance.”
“You know how people are,” she replied. “They rarely want to admit they might be wrong.”
The council—and most of the kingdom—believed that magic was something inherited, a force passed through generations like a family heirloom. To them, it wasn’t a source shared between us. But I knew better.
I leaned forward, my father’s ring slipping out from beneath my shirt. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, Mother.”
She reached out, placing a hand on mine, but her eyes were focused on the silver chain bobbing against my throat. “You’re more like him than you realize, Eedy. Sometimes, it’s not about being the loudest voice in the room. It’s about being the one willing to do what needs to be done.”
Her words rattled around inside me like the storm still raging outside. I swallowed, feeling the weight of them, though I didn’t know what else I could do . The magic was breaking down. The council wouldn’t listen. And I wasn’t my father.
Mannix nudged my knee, and I rubbed the scruff around his neck as I thought. If my father had been right, I couldn’t keep standing by, waiting for the council to take me seriously. The meeting was in a few hours, and if I didn’t get them to listen, soon there might not be any magic left to save.