I watched his expression and saw only cold amusement. Something in him had reached the end of his patience, the end of his ability to care.
“Magic cannot be created or destroyed. Like energy, it can only change form. That means that most magic returns to us once the spell is finished, unless you cut the spell entirely off from yourself.” He held up his hand. “But cutting them off would be like cutting off your own hand. When you are a child, the amount of magic you have is not enough to do you any harm when it returns.”
He walked along the edge of the maze and found a large rock set on the side. Crouching down, he tugged it loose, and water began trickling in, filling the outer layer of the maze at a sluggish pace.
“For some, that is the amount of magic they have for the rest of their lives. A small little trickle of power. They could live to be a thousand, and they would only ever have that much magic. However, for the rest of us, as we age, we gain more and more power.”
He continued pacing along the edge of the maze, finding another embedded rock. He pulled it loose, and the water began flowing in more quickly, flooding the outer layer and following the complicated pattern of the inner layers.
“When you gain more magic and you cannot get rid of it, there are two options.” He bent, pulling loose another stone. “You cut it off, removing it from yourself, destroying yourself in increments. First a pinky, and a ring finger, then a whole hand, then an arm and a leg, until what is left? Nothing but you and magic.”
Bending, he wrapped his hands around a larger stone, yanking it loose. Water began gushing in. It flooded the maze, reaching the innermost layer. A small amount reached the cradle where the mouse was, and the thing began screaming in panic. My heart raced at the sound, my hands opening and closing, but I couldn’t look away from Cade, not with that terribly blank expression on his face.
“Or you sacrifice your mind. You go mad. The power drives you insane. It causes you to do terrible things. Until other mages step up and stop you.” He turned his eyes to the mouse, which had desperately begun trying to climb the edges of its trap, trying to keep its head above water. Its weak legs wouldn’t let it go high enough, and it slid down.
Without thinking, I stepped forward, walking on top of the maze until I reached the mouse, scooping it out of the water. It trembled in my hand, and I used my shirt to dry it off as much as possible.
“What are you doing?” I demanded. “That was torture. That was cruel.”
“Look down,” Cade said.
Frowning, I looked down. There was a red circle in the center of the maze, exactly where the mouse had been. Still keeping the mouse cradled against my chest, I crouched down and felt the circle with my fingertips.
The water was freezing, deep groundwater that smelled clean from all the layers of earth that had purified it. I felt the circle with my fingertips. It was a plug.
Grabbing hold, I pulled it loose, and water drained out of the maze. With a gesture, Cade plugged the holes along the outer layer, and soon, the maze was dry again.
The mouse mewled in my hand.
I walked over the maze, leaning heavily, but even all my weight couldn’t crush it, couldn’t destroy it. When I got out, I strode over to Cade, gripping the stone so tightly my knuckles turned white.
With careful control, I tossed it at him, because otherwise I would have thrown it at his head and cracked open his skull. “That was unnecessary. You could have a metaphor without torturing a helpless creature.”
Cade raised an eyebrow. “That mouse is my mind.”
I looked down at the crying thing in my hand. It was blind, still yearning for its mother. Swallowing, I forced calm into my voice. “Then what was the drain?”
“The drain is a werewolf,” Cade said. “Specifically, a consort.”
“Instead of letting themselves go insane, they force it on a werewolf?” I asked.
“Yes and no,” Cade said. He considered the red stone in his hand. “A mage can force their magic into the werewolf, and it is… extremely painful. It breaks some wolves. But if they survive, they are stronger, faster, larger.”
“Like Tyson,” I said. I squinted, imagining what he must have been like before he’d been soaked in magic. “They become like alphas.”
“Yes. The magic isn’t created or destroyed; it simply changes form into the physical in the form of the werewolf. The mage keeps their own equilibrium by forcing their magic on their consort every time they near the point of drowning.” Cade walked back to the center of the maze and pressed the plug back into place.
“Why don’t more mages just cut their spells loose?” I asked. “Is that what Petrona does? She doesn’t have a werewolf.”
Cade smiled thinly. “Imagine knowing that every week or every month, you needed to cut a part of your body off. How long until you went mad from that knowledge? Cutting off magic might not mean cutting off literal limbs, but it isjustas painful.”
“The darkness in you, the pain, the lack of control—that’s because you’re nearing your tipping point?” I asked.
For a long moment, Cade stared down at the center of the maze. He was haloed in light, the sun turning his hair white and his features ethereal. “My father thought of another way, but it died with him. I have his notes, but I don’t understand them.”
He exhaled a long breath, and his lips twisted into a mirthless expression. “I suppose everyone is right, and Iamlesser than the sum of my parts.”
“No one thinks that,” I lied. I had only been here a few weeks, and even I knew how few people in his house respected him.
