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I turn to Bram. “Did you suspect when you introduced us?”
“That you would be mates? No. I only knew you were Le Fay, and that you might have some means of helping Marrok end his curse.”
Of course. The real reason Marrok began this “romance” with me. “Why do you care about helping Marrok?”
“He knows what I want.”
“You really shouldn’t yet have a mate,” my father chimes in.
“I hardly took out a bridal registry the moment Marrok and I met.”
Richard drops his voice to something low and soothing. “Parents usually restrain their younglings from forming a mate bond until after transition.”
The first time Marrok took me in his arms, something compelled me to speak those archaic, unfamiliar words. I was literally unable to hold them back. Richard’s sage counsel wouldn’t have done me any good.
“Those words we exchanged… They were the magical equivalent of wedding vows?”
Marrok nods.
“Mating before you attain your powers can be very dangerous,” my father adds.
Dangerous? I mentally riffle through the moments before Marrok and I first joined. I felt so weak, and he gave me strength. He gave me sex. Then he made sure I can’t live without it—or without him.
“Well, I had no way of knowing. Mom certainly never warned me, and since this is our first meeting, it’s too late for fatherly advice on the mating front.”
Richard hangs his head. “You’re right. I haven’t been a father to you. I’m sorry.”
His dejection makes me feel like a bitch. “Why haven’t you come to see me in the last twenty-three years?”
“Your mother…” He sighs. “She left me. I never tried to reconcile because I hoped it would be better for you.”
“Did she refuse to let you see me?”
Richard casts an uneasy glance at Bram, as if looking for privacy. The younger wizard crosses his arms over his chest like he has zero intention of budging. Behind me, I feel Marrok’s solid, stalwart presence. He’s protecting me again.
Or hoarding me.
“You were conceived during dangerous times and…” My father sighs. “No, I must go back further. You know little of magical history, I presume?”
“Nothing.”
“Four hundred years ago, a wizard named Mathias d’Arc gathered followers with the idea of crushing the current order in the magical world. He named his followers the Anarki.”
“Why would he or anyone want anarchy?”
Richard shoots another careful gaze in Bram’s direction. “Magickind is divided into two castes, the Privileged and the Deprived. After some unfortunate deaths about five hundred years ago, the Council enacted the Social Order, which outlawed magicfolk with certain magical traits, diseases, or relations from positions in which they could influence crowds or harm younglings. The intention may have been good, but what actually happened is that anyone whose family had ever produced a witch or wizard with a tendency to violence or dissent was cast down. Soon, once prosperous families lost their esteem, professions, and lands. They fell into poverty and were truly deprived. Richer families simply bribed the Council and their minions to overlook transgressions. Anger, divisiveness, and finger pointing became the norm. Magickind has been divided since.”
Magical segregation?
“A hundred years after the Social Order, Mathias began protesting these practices. His philosophy made him the egalitarian of the magical world and his Anarki like the disciples. He wanted to rescind the Social Order and return magickind to a balance of power.”
“And he didn’t care how many wizards, witches, or younglings he had to kill to achieve his supposed utopia,” Bram spits.
“But not everyone understood that right away. What I knew was, the Deprived were poor and downtrodden, often treated without dignity—never mind respect—for reasons completely beyond their control. They had no family fortunes to recommend them and wanted more opportunity for their children. Many told me how heartbreaking it was to look at your infant and know he or she was doomed to a thousand years of prejudice and squalor.”
“Which is why I’ve always advocated change within the system. I agree that the Social Order is flawed. But matters will improve.”
My father sneers. “Rubbish. Magickind is nothing but an oligarchy. The Council merely bickers while getting richer off the backs of the Deprived. Wizards like you—all Privileged—who comprise the Council cannot possibly understand what the Deprived endure.”
