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Chapter 1 - Charred
Ten years later
Luella
If you wanted to live in a place with perfect weather, you had Queenspell. No, I would not have been jesting with you. It was true.
Yes, my mother was Queen Soraya, and you should have seen her domain in the summer. It was not arid and cracked like they said Arrowspear was like. Months afterward, when you expected frigid weather like Cathrona’s, you still had the same mild weather. Everything had been under control.
It rarely rained. Whenever it did, it was to nourish the Earth, spike the growth of vegetation, and plump the flowers. While my mother was a fire witch, my father was a water warlock. They were a perfectly balanced pair. Unfortunately, he had not been feeling well as of late.
The balance had tipped. With my father, King Adrian feeling poorly, rain became even rarer until we could officially call the situation a drought. It was a drought in two ways – drying up of both powers and water.
It had been going on for a year. It was not only him experiencing the loss of powers, either. Even my mother’s closest friends, Farah the spirit witch, Martha, the herb witch, and Diana the telepath, were not themselves lately.
Something had been draining them – perhaps from afar. My mother started worrying about a powerful witch that could steal powers. Even her fire had become low, like the ones you see on burning embers enough to feed on but not enough to fight with.
But here was the thing, I still had mine, and it was still raging.
It was a mistake that escalated the situation. I walked in the village, celebrating my spinsterhood with the freedom none of my siblings had. Even my brother did not have the same independence that I enjoyed. The morning started well.
“What are you looking for this time, Your Highness?” my lady-in-waiting Francilia asked. The Dubich lady was always hiding behind her thick clothes, but she was a beauty if she let herself be: long shiny brown hair and large hazel eyes.
“Why, I am looking for some cloth to have some new gowns made,” I said coquettishly, batting my eyelashes at her. I did not have anyone else to do that with, and I sometimes pretended I was more carefree than I really was. Everyone knew I was a little vain, and they had somehow accepted me for who I was.
Francilia could only laugh. But she knew me. She could laugh at my weakness for clothes and cosmetics, and I would not be offended.
I was beautiful, with my mother’s fiery red hair and green eyes. Self-love was all I had, a spinster and a virgin. I was not innocent, though. My recklessness killed a young man an entire decade ago in my desire to feel the physical satisfaction everyone was whispering about. I did not even love Thomas. He was handsome and rough, a squire who did not care about dying in my arms. That was what he said until it was too late, and he realized there was truth in the rumors and the fears people expressed about me. His mother called me a slut, as she wept over his ashes, but she was silenced with gold. It was not a proud moment in the Beckett household. I was the only child who had made my mother set her honor aside.
Whenever I closed my eyes, I could still see him burn. So every time I started a new flirtation, I would mentally give myself a slap.
My mantra was, “You are vain and proud, but you are not a murderess, Luella Beckett.”
However, magic had become scarce in the last year. Suitors were again attempting to woo me, a spinster! People had begun fearing me less - until that day in the village.
“Look at this, Francilia! It’s beautiful!”
“It would look wonderful. You can still have a dress made for your brother’s next banquet.”
Suddenly, somebody bumped my back. Who was this careless fool? Then, it happened again. I was sure there was a hand caressing my hip.
“Excuse me. You cannot handle me like that!”
“Because what? You’re a princess?” the man slurred. He could not be much older than me, but his life seemed to have been rough. He was wearing a dirty tunic and rough-hewn breeches. He smelled like mead and urine.
“Leave the princess alone,” Francilia warned. It must have taken a lot from her just to say that. She was often afraid of her own shadow.
“Oh, you two cannot protect yourselves now, can you? The princess has lost her powers. That’s right. That’s what I heard. Now, you two are powerless and walking around with no guards, confident that everyone likes you.”
“We will go now,” Francilia said, pulling me towards her while I still stubbornly held the purple lace in one hand.
I threw some coins into the vendor’s stall. She gladly picked them up. It was twice more than the price of the cloth. I expected a quick escape, but the man was persistent and grabbed me by the waist toward him.
I could not remember the last time I was that furious. I had always kept myself calm. Everyone said that I was chilly, prim, and proper – the opposite of what a fire witch was like. They did not know who I was deep inside.
It happened so quickly. I did not know how it did, but I grabbed the man back. Then, I seared his arm with my burning touch. He screamed, catching the attention of everybody. I let go of him before it was too late.
“Witch! Bitch!” he cried, as men who would not usually care what he shouted clamored for him.
