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“You are right in one regard. You don’t possess magic, princess. You are magic. Believe in yourself, as we all believe in you. That peasant girl is who I fight beside on the morrow,” Philip says. “She is who we are all fighting for.”
I clasp the top of his arm. “Thank you, Master Philip.”
He nods. “You’re welcome, my lady. I shall go now. Until the morrow, my princess.”
“Until the morrow.”
I take a seat in front of the fireplace when Philip departs. I watch the flames leap and dance, my thoughts as scattered as the ash and soot escaping in tiny clusters on the floor of the hearth. I think about what these wee morning hours will hold for me and the irony of it all. When I was but a small girl and beyond, I had big dreams—dreams that were much larger than this cottage and the market square. I made wishes of grandeur to simply see inside the castle walls, to see what life held for the privileged ones fortunate enough to actually live there. And now that those dreams are a reality, I’m afraid.
But I know what must be done, know who I really am. I would love nothing more than to see Gram’s smiling face, busy in the apothecary, asking me how many coins I’d collected for the day and if I’d managed to put food on the table for the evening. Funny how that struggle was the only thing I thought of daily when my life was selling wares in the market square and taking care of Gram. But those struggles seem small compared to what I’m facing now. When I think of what it must’ve been like for Gram to be cast out of the palace with me as an infant, to leave behind the only life she’d ever known, all in the name of keeping me safe…
She was the strongest woman in Timberness. She is my family, the only one I need. Her blood runs through my veins, and on the morrow, I will make her proud. But she was not the only powerful woman in my life. Philip’s words keep running through my head.You don’t possess magic, you are magic. Willow’s Wisp. My mother’s magic. A message in fire…
If I don’t find my magic now, learn to wield it to some degree, it will be of no use during battle. I open the door leading to the back of the cottage and step into the blackness. Nothing but starlight and moonbeams guide my line of vision. I stare into the emptiness, the earth beneath my feet as I step off the porch. I stretch out my right hand, extending it toward the ground. What was it that Master Burgess said?Fire is their quickening, the birth of the magic itself. Every mage is a fire wielder, but it is not a fire that burns. It is a fire that releases the very power it iscreating.
I close my eyes, willing every ounce of strength in my body to reach my outstretched hand. I still have no comprehension of what is expected from me, what releases any true power I may carry. I say the first thing that comes to mind, the only words in my overthinking brain. I look at the soil itself. “Move.”
Nothing. The ground is simply the ground, unchanged. Stagnant. Still. I extend my hand again, and I see the orange flame dancing in my opened palm. I scream, unable to resist the knowledge that fire burns, shouldn’t be in my hand. But the fire is cool, floating, merely an image. It does no damage to my flesh, causes no discomfort at all. I fling the flame to the ground in front of me.
“Move!” I yell again.
In seconds, the ground swirls to life, creating a spinning funnel running along the ground. It dissipates almost as quickly as it starts, leaving a small piece of flame behind. I bend down and retrieve the flame, gazing into its brightness until it goes completely out.
“I did it,” I mutter, my heart a racing stag nearly bursting through my chest. “I’m a mage.”
The sky is black as pitch except for a few scattered stars. I barely slept at all, but it is of no consequence. Sir Victor will be here to collect me very shortly. Soon the resistance will journey to the castle in the cover of darkness and take King Urich and Sir Malek by surprise. And when they are defeated, I will become the queen I was born to be.
But I see only Milla in the looking glass as I gaze upon it. No matter the finery I wear, I still see a peasant when I stare at my reflection. My mother’s dress has been hemmed and altered for battle, and it fits like a glove. A queen’s dress for a queen. But I am no queen. Not yet. And I am no longer a peasant either.
I am something in-between.
I shove the bundle of matches Master Burgess gave me into my pouch with the medicines I’ve prepared for the battlefield. I have poultices and anesthetics, and needles and thread for sutures. I retrieve the last match Gram gave me from the top of my dressing table and place a kiss on top of it.
“Give me strength, Gram,” I whisper, and tuck the match into my chemise. I roll my mother’s note through my fingers and tuck it in my chemise as well. “Give me a queen’s heart, Mother, just a speck of the bravery you embodied. Strengthen my magic.”
The raven feather is in my chemise as well. I will fulfill the vow I made, will see the black feather on Malek’s lifeless body for what he did to Gram. I swear to the gods I will make it so. I retrieve my newly fashioned dagger and make my way to the kitchen table. I plunge the dagger into a melon that is resting on the table, the blade hard at first against the melon’s rind, but then sinks into its tender flesh with little effort. I shiver at the thought of using the dagger on some poor soul, and pray it remains tucked away the entire battle. I shrug away the thought and continue with my preparations.
The armored plate is a little heavy when I lift it. I fit it on my chest and back, tugging the leather straps on the sides until the plates are snug around my torso. I fasten the straps and let out a slow, ragged breath. I’m grateful that Philip had the foresight not to make the armor too heavy for me to wear. It is curved to fit my womanly features and easy to maneuver now that it’s in place. I slide my dagger into my tight-fitting left sleeve and cinch the medicine pouch on my right hip. I fill my canteen with water from the barrel. I hear the horses and panic grips me momentarily. I glance around the room, desperate to remember every detail of it, right down to the last herb in the apothecary. I run a finger along the edge of the table, remembering the meals shared upon it with Gram, and the talks we enjoyed in the glow of candlelight. After several seconds, there is a knock on the door. My breath catches in my throat.
I will never be the same once I leave thiscottage.
I remove the heavy wood block from across the door and lift the latch. Sir Victor and Jordy are both standing outside. I straighten my back, placing my red cloak about my shoulders.
“Gentleman,” I say, then I speak directly to Victor. “General.”
“Your highness,” Sir Victor replies, his golden armor a reminder of his former position in King Urich’s palace. “Your troops are readied, and your horse awaits. Shall we ride?”
There are mounted riders as far as my eyes can see through the thick darkness. Armor and shields, blades and arrows… All of this is for me, to secure my rightful reign.
It is surreal.
My words are strong, unlike my feeble nerves. “I am ready.”
Sir Victor nods, then turns and joins his troops. Jordy’s jaw clenches as he looks me over from head to toe.
“You are truly a queen.” He places a soft kiss on my cheek. “Now let us claim your castle.”
Jordy helps me onto my horse as I admire his signature black leather vest and garments. He refuses to wear armor, saying it slows down his swordplay. As much as I worry about the thought of Jordy having no real protection, I will admit that his black leather makes my knees weak and my heart flutter. He is the finest soldier in the company.
