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“You keep saying things like that, but I have no idea what you’re talking about. What does my mother have to do with any of this? She’s been dead and gone for almost twenty years.”
“You’re the same as she was. I can feel it, Rory, so stop trying to lie about it.”
“I’m not lying, and what do you mean, the same? I have no idea what you’re talking about. Do you mean I’m plain like she was?”
“Plain? Vesper was beautiful, just as you are. A few of the artists in the kingdom tried to paint her beauty, but they weren’t ever able to capture it.”
“What artists? I’ve never seen any of her portraits, and surely, they would have been in the royal gallery.”
“They are—just not in Igella’s. They’re in her home country. Morovia.”
“Morovia? What are you talking about?”
“It’s a good act, but I’m not buying it, Rory. You couldn’t be so ignorant of your true history and nature. There’s simply no way.”
“You keep saying things like that, but I assure you, I am, because once again, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Very well, if you want me to spell it out for you, I will, just so you’ll know that we’re onto you, and this pretense of yours is foolish. You’re a warlock, a practitioner of black magic, like your mother before you. We know this, so don’t bother to feign ignorance or try to deny it. Vesper was extremely powerful, one of the most wicked warlocks who ever lived, and we have every reason to believe that you are too. That kind of power definitely runs in families, and your grandfather was also incredibly strong, though he practiced white magic.
“He managed to flee Morovia with Vesper when she reached puberty. By then he had discovered she was a throwback to some earlier ancestor, and he knew who and what she was. Rather than lawfully register her with the king and have her powers bound, he ran with her and brought her to Igella, where neither the king nor his subjects even believed in magic.”
He tightened his hold around my waist as I tried to protest. But I hadn’t heard the worst of it yet.
“Be quiet and listen. Your stepmother was so anxious to be rid of you that she never checked past the color of our gold to see whowereally are. We’re not exactly who we said we were, Rory. Asher and I are both witches, too, though not your kind. We know you’re a warlock, and we’re taking you back to my home so you and your magic can be bound, contained and put under our control. Luckily for you, we’ve found no evidence you’ve practiced your craft as yet. That will help save you. When the time comes, I’ll become Regent of Igella and your country will be under my control. Under Morovian rule. In the meantime, there’s no escape for you. You’ll be under my control at all times, too, kept by me under close watch and lock and key. I’ll be the first thing you see in the morning and the last you’ll see at night. If you behave yourself, you won’t be chained, but if you don’t, I won’t hesitate to lock you down.
“From now on, this pack will be your whole world, so you better get used to it. If you try hard to amend your ways and renounce evil and all dark magic, we’ll only bind your powers and let you live. If not, we can deal with that too.”
A deep shudder wracked my body, and I could feel a strange tugging sensation in my chest. It felt a little like a giant screw was being tightened on me from the inside of my chest, locking me down and making it hard to breathe. I cried out and he leaned over to murmur to me. “Don’t fight me, boy. There’s nothing you can do.”
****
Warlock.
The word hung in the air accusingly, like an arrow pointed straight at my heart.
I spent a great deal of time in the library growing up, and I had read the “forbidden” books. The ones on the high shelves that you needed special permission from the Head Librarian to even look at. Everyone except the royal family, that is. No one else in my family ever cared about any kind of reading, but I consumed all books voraciously, and books on magic piqued my interest right from the start.
The Discoverie of Witchcraft, The Key of Solomon,De Nigromancia, The Necronomicon—they were all books and grimoires on black magic and the dark arts, mostly copies, translated (badly in some cases) from the original source. I tried to read them all. I knew about witches and warlocks, and the differences between them, though our religion in Igella forbade us believing in any of it. Our ancestors had rejected magic hundreds of years ago, but we knew all about witches and warlocks. And I knew, because I’d read the ancient books. They seemed to know what they were talking about, and they said Vesper was a warlock. The thought that I could be a warlock like my mother before me, frightened me more than anything that had happened to me so far, and that was saying a lot.
Warlocks were evil and trafficked with the dead and the demonic. They were outlaws and criminals, and they were thought of as deceivers. Liars—in fact, the word “warlock” itself was derived from an old word that meant “oath breaker.” Witches, on the other hand were more truthful and good. They were often called wise men or women who fought against the dark powers, were defenders of the king and his armies, healed the sick and even helped the crops to grow. The powers belonging to both types of magic practitioners were believed to be passed down within families.
Morovia was full of witches, and always had been. They were practitioners of magic, like the warlocks, but warlocks practiced dark or evil magic, while witches practiced “white” or good magic.
But I had never heard anything like this about my mother. Nothing about witchcraft, either dark or light. Not so much as a word. It made my head reel.
“I don’t understand any of this. How can you believe I have magic? If I had, I’d have left that castle years ago to avoid mistreatment.”
“I assume you had your reasons. I don’t pretend to know what they are. But if you doubt the darkness of your nature, think back to when the priest spoke his holy words over us during the binding ceremony. I saw how much pain it caused you. If I hadn’t told him to stop when he did, it might have injured you.”
I was silent then, because he wasn’t lying. The memory was vivid and fresh regarding the pain in my head and of how hard it had been to breathe when the priest was doing our binding ceremony. At the time, I’d chalked it up to fear and stress.Couldit have been something more? No, I couldn’t believe such a crazy thing. I couldn’t believe my own mother was an evil warlock, a wicked witch and a practitioner of the dark arts.
“You didn’t even know my mother. Her name may have been the same as this person you’re speaking of, but they were different people. They had to be. You say this Vesper of yours had magic. I never heard that of my mother.”
“Her father, your grandfather, Lord Rory, was a powerful witch in Morovia too. He loved his daughter and when he realized what she was, he disguised her to smuggle her out of Morovia, but later she revealed her dark nature. Your father, King Elam, knew who and what she was. But he fell in love with Vesper so madly once he married her that he helped her hide her magic. Your backward country doesn’t believe in magic, good or bad. She obviously revealed her true identity to him, and he couldn’t resist her—or more likely, she gave him a love potion. Either one might have happened. Your father grieved for her for years after she died from complications of childbirth. Your birth.”
“I don’t believe you.”
I could feel irritation radiating off him. “What reason would I have to lie?”
