My stomach drops. Beside me, Arlon goes still.
“That won’t be a problem, Sire,” Arlon says. “But what exactly has the Shykhdar requested in exchange for hosting?”
The King’s smile is bright. “Only that we continue negotiations that Ambassador Feisal has initiated about what magic might be made available to the Shykhdar, and that the wizard Olammed bin Barric attends as part of the Strae delegation.”
Hearing Olbric’s deadname spoken so casually feels like a slap to the face. After years of trying to guilt Olbric into coming home, years of threats and pleas, a failed kidnapping attempt, it’s finally come to this. It’s a vice slowly closing, and Arlon has no way of stopping it.
He still tries.
“Your Majesty, I apologize, but that last request is not possible,” Arlon says carefully.
“Did I say it was a request?” the King asks. “Is Olammed dead? Last I heard from Ambassador Feisal, he was alive and well at the Crux.”
“No, Sire, but -“
“Then he will accompany you and the rest of the delegation to Marikadar,” the King says, his voice hardening. “Is that clear, Grandmaster?”
Arlon once told me that being Grandmaster feels impossible some days, and now I understand what he meant. I feel numb. There’s no denying this request. No getting around it. If there is even a chance to nip the budding conflict between Straetham and Immenbach... Olbric will have to go home.
Beside me, Arlon’s expression is hard as stone, so at odds with the warmth and openness I saw in him yesterday. Yet through the mask, I can see how much it hurts him to utter the words, “Yes, Sire.”
Hurt Me
But the act of casting can be incredibly healing. Taking control of a situation that frightens you can be an act of empowerment on top of making actual magic.
Magic Philosophy by Namina Kimathi
Please note this chapter includes rope bondage, pain play, lingerie, and frotting.
I’M AVOIDING OLBRIC. Avoiding everyone, really, butespeciallyOlbric.
After my magic went rogue on him, I’d fled in the middle of the night, finding the alcove in the illusion tower to doze before I spent the day doing my best to stay out of sight.
In the days since it happened, I’ve made myself scarce, calling off my Monday arrangement with Arlon with a note saying that I caught a head cold. I’ve been sneaking food from the kitchens before and after mealtimes, not lingering long enough for anyone to stop and talk.
Not for the first time, I find myself wishing I could just leave the godsdamned Crux. Even if only for an afternoon. There’s just so few places in the Crux I can go to be alone.
Olbric showed me most of the nooks and crannies among the various towers, so I can’t use them without risking him finding me.I’m afraid of going to the baths alone right now, so all that leaves is me locking myself in my room and pretending I’m not there when someone knocks.
Now I’m sitting hunched on my mattress like a fucking madman, working on fletching more arrows that I don’t need just to keep my godsdamned hands busy.
It’s cowardice. I’m well aware of that. But I’m terrified of hurting Olbric again. Of hurtinganyone. My spells are still buried in the back of my closet, but it sure as fuck hadn’t made a difference when I’d burned him in my sleep.
The nightmare that had woken me so violently had been about Lucien again. In it, he had been like a walking corpse, his fingers blackened, eyes gaunt. Every staggering step looked painful, but he still took them, stumbling towards... something. His frostbitten fingers had reached out, clawing, grasping before landing on shining magiline.
Without warning, someone pounds on my door. Sharp, desperate knocks. I jump, heart racing as the arrow in my hand clatters to the ground.
“Dom?” Cancassi calls, their voice tight with urgency. “I need you to go to Olbric’s casting room.Quickly.”
“What? What’s happened?” I ask as I throw my door open to meet them, but the hallway beyond is empty. My heart hammers against my ribs, and some terrified part of me wonders if this is some new fucked up trick of my own mind.
There’s only one way to be sure.
I rush out of my room and down the divination tower stairs. It’s only midday, and eyes follow me as I all but sprint to the evocation tower before finding Olbric’s casting room on the first floor.
I grab the handle, throw the door open, and -
Olbric smirks at me from the center of the room. He’s bound up in the most ridiculous abjuration I’ve ever seen, hanging partiallysuspended by a messy web of rope. Yet for a moment, I’m so relieved to see him unharmed that it takes me a second to catch up with what’s actually going on.
