Mine to Spell (Mine #2) Read online

  “Maybe.” After a moment of thinking, I say, “No, I have to know what the damage is. Hopefully I’ll never get another chance to see something like this.” I let a burst of magic out in a bright flash, growing the silver light into a reflective surface. It was a trick I learned to use when I couldn’t tell if I looked good enough to be held up to the standard of the Woman’s Canon. Also, it’s what I did on a larger scale at my duel earlier today. Doubt any warlock would have come up with defensive spells while making sure they looked proper.

  “That looks like a useful spell,” Serena says.

  I bite my lower lip to keep from squealing. “It is. Maybe sometime I could teach it to you.”

  “Perhaps so.”

  Her quiet reflection is louder than any response. If she’s this open, I should be able to teach her about magic like Lukas showed me.

  The spell in front of me that made her speak up, is shinier than ever. The sight of my curly, choppy hair, all chin length, but horridly uneven and wild, sends me into a fit of giggles. “Maybe I should keep it like this.”

  “It would certainly startle your opponents tomorrow.”

  “What’s all this—” Waverly stops as soon as she sees me. Her expression still unreadable, she calls out, “Bethany! Girls! You have to see this.”

  There’s a pattering of footsteps, and Bethany hurries in the room, her face wrinkled with concern. “What happened?”

  I shrug, calmness chasing away my fears. “I’m done fitting into the council's demands.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Thankfully, Waverly has experience cutting hair. Since she wanted to be a lady’s maid, it only makes sense she would have acquired such a skill in Envado. When she’s done, it looks surprisingly fantastic.

  It’s rough and jagged still, hard-edged, but curling in a feminine way. A wild feminine way that isn’t permitted to be seen in public. The longest of it is to my chin, but some of the shorter pieces are staggered above that. Now it has texture and purpose that my hack job didn’t have before. I look nothing like any Chardonian has ever seen. Good thing I have the status of a warlock. Never again will I spell my hair to keep it in place.

  “I love it,” Bethany says. “You look as if you’re starting a fashion all your own.”

  “Agreed,” Serena says. “Should we show Lukas? He’s here talking with Zade.”

  “No.” I’m too scared to see what his reaction will be, but anyone else I couldn’t care less. It’s time for them to deal with me as I am. But Lukas? I want him to be pleased with who I am as well, but what if he’s not? I’m not changing who I am any longer, not for anyone, but it’d still make me happy if he liked it. “He can see it tomorrow. There is one more thing I need, though.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Something that Katherine made.”

  ***

  The next morning, I stride onto the field with a confidence I didn’t feel before. My hair tickles my jawline, but I resist the urge to push it back. Hopefully I’ll grow used to it soon, but even if I don’t, I wouldn’t take back cutting it. The feeling of power I get from it is incredible. I didn’t know something as simple as cutting my hair could make me feel this way. If I had, I would have done it a long time ago.

  No face paint this morning. No sense looking like clownish bed sheets. The black pants and shirt Katherine left for me are sleek and form fitting without being tight. Though the outfit is typically male, but the cut is feminine, fitting my curves. My breeches cling to my legs, sticking to them in a way they don’t at home. Yet there’s also a freedom of movement. Something that adds confidence to my stride.

  When I glanced in the mirror this morning before leaving, it was hard to recognize my reflection. I couldn’t help but spell my hair a vivid red to go with the new cut. The overall effect is stunning and strong. I should have donned this look when I first strove for independence. Every speck of me feels like a woman, yet every speck of me feels like me.

  The only thing that doesn’t fit is the orange band signifying I’m from Chardonia. I’d rather have red. My cheeks burn at the thought, leaving at least part of me the color I want to be. Grateful no one knows my feelings, I head across the field, not avoiding the muddy spots that squelch beneath my boots, straight toward the schedule. I will not fail again. Today, I will show Chardonia what a woman can really do.

  Poor Chadwick and Conrad follow right along, mucking through the path I’m trudging. At least no warlocks have bumped into me today, at least not yet. There’s not as large of a group around the stone today, but enough that they could still hassle me if they wish to.

  When I spot Lukas, waiting off to the side, I let my feet carry me to him. There's only a momentary distraction, one that’s polite and wanted, not with just the aim of avoiding what must be done. While I keep my expression at its ever-fake smile, hiding the nerves that are invading, Lukas has no qualms about letting his soft yet powerful smile show the moment his gaze meets mine. I’m lighter than air, yet somehow managing to stay grounded as we near.

  Others move around us, but they’re a blur. A small part of me wishes they were all gone, that Lukas and I were alone, but mostly I don’t care. I’m done caring about what society thinks of me. Instead, I focus on what’s important, his smile. It matches exactly how I’ve felt since waking this morning.

  “Your hair looks good,” he says. “Real good.”

  His words send such a glow of happiness through me, past my fake smile to give him a real one. “Thank you.”

  He leans in closer, his warmth chasing away the chill of the morning. “You should smile like that more often.”

  Heat rises to my cheeks, and I automatically look down, except his fingers gently reach out and tilt my chin back up. His hand is gone almost as quickly as it came, but my breath still catches in a funny way.

  “I already checked the schedule. Would you like me to tell you what duels you have today, or would you like to go find out for yourself?”

  The reality of the morning wraps around me with a sudden choking. I don’t want to go through another morning like yesterday; it’d be so much easier if he just told me. But I won’t show any weakness when I’m just finding my strength. “I’ll do it myself. Thank you.”

  “Good luck then. I probably won’t see you again until tonight.”

  My heart gives a strange little twist as I think that. Once again, this might be the last time I see him. To think I’ll have to do this every day this week. Or at least I hope I have to do it every day this week. “Good luck to you, too.”

  And he’s gone. Off to fight his own duel while I need to be off to fight in my own. I glance at Chadwick, who’s studying the crowd with keen interest, though he probably knows everything that just took place between Lukas and me.

  “I’m going to check the schedule if you’re ready.”

  He straightens. “I’m ready.”

  I’m not, not really, but if I’m going to be on time, I need to go check anyway. I pivot toward the board, clench my jaw, and walk. At first, nothing changes from when I was just standing there, but then I start to notice warlocks watching me out of the corner of their eye. Hushed conversations are taking place. And the closer I get, the more apparent it is that no one is bumping into me or shoving me around.

  Is it my hair, face paint, or clothes that has brought such a drastic change? Or maybe it’s all three? Whatever it is, it boosts my confidence all the more. Until I’m almost to the oddly, line-free stone, and a warlock, with broad shoulders and plenty of muscles to support them, steps in front of me.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” He sneers.

  “Checking my duels for the day, just like all warlocks are required to do.”

  “You think that a stupid slip of paper, a haircut and color while wearing breeches makes you one of us? Think again, wench.”

  “Watch what happens in my duels today, and you’ll know there’s more than just a little outward change that makes me someone you shouldn’t b
e mocking.”

  He laughs. “Oh don’t worry, little girly. I won’t only be watching. I’m your last opponent of the day, if you manage to live that long.”

  “Good. You’ll see exactly how much more of a warlock I am than you are.”

  He leans in closer and out of the corner of my eye, I see Chadwick tense, but he doesn’t come forward. “I’ll see something all right. I’ll see you dead before you’ve cast your first spell.”

  He leaves before I say another word. A shimmer of doubt forms, but I shove past it, not willing to show all these warlocks watching me just how much I’m affected by it.

  After checking over the board and quickly memorizing my more rigorous schedule, I head to the section of the field where I’ll be dueling today. Not anywhere important, where Serena’s box will overlook, but smushed into some tiny corner. No matter. There are still people there to see me, probably the same ones that laughed at me yesterday. One more incentive to keep moving forward in the competition. Keep working until I am somewhere that not only a few people in the corner will see me but all who attend the tournament.

  Those around me seem too quiet as I walk past, but maybe I’m so intent on my destination that I’m letting their conversations fade. I have to focus, and I have to win. I can’t come as close as I did to losing last time. If I do… Well, I just won’t. I will make them see what I can do. What a woman can do.

  A strand of hair blows in my eyes. Instead of brushing it aside with my fingers, I go against that screaming instinct since I’m not in the forbidden magic zone anymore, and brush it back into place with a wisp of air in the form of a blue spell. The spell glitters as it passes by. Why is it glittering? Please tell me it’s not my nerves, but I’m sure that’s why. I lengthen my stride and keep my shoulders back. Maybe anyone who saw it will mistake it for confidence.

  They call my name, and I move forward, leaving Chadwick behind on the sidelines. Serena and the others aren’t watching today, at least not where I can see them. They must be in one of the boxes or stands to watch, and no one wants them anywhere around here. Hopefully someone will soften toward them soon, though it may just be more nerve-wracking to have them watch than supportive. It'd still be a nice thought. Conrad isn't anywhere to be seen either, though I know he’s keeping an eye on things from somewhere. He always is there somewhere protecting me.

  The chatter grows louder as I walk toward my duel. I ignore them all as I stride to my dueling ring. When I stop at my spot, the judge doesn’t say a word but just stares at me.

  “Um, what are you doing?” He finally squeaks out.

  I give him an icy smile. “Getting ready to fight in my duel.”

  His eyes widen. “Cynthia Stephen’s daughter?”

  “Just Cynthia.” I maintain my cool demeanor, but all this attention is making me itchy. “Are we starting now or do I need to come back later?”

  My wiry opponent says, “Can she do this?”

  “I don’t know,” the judge responses.

  “It’s not hard,” I say. “I have the status of a warlock. I can style my hair and clothes as I please.”

  “I don’t think she can do this,” my opponent continues as if I didn’t say anything.

  The judge ignores me just as much. At least they aren’t laughing?

  “I don’t know. We’ll have to check the rule book.”

  “There’s a rule book?”

  Idiots. They know less about what’s going on than I do, and it’s my first experience out in a warlock’s world. I yawn and spell my nails different colors and patterns while they putter around, using as little energy as I can while showing proof of why I belong. The first flash of color has them eying me like an Envadi, but if they can ignore me, I can ignore them right back. Or at least pretend to as I take my time coloring each nail.

  Through my nonchalance, I keep track of every move they make. The nonchalance gets harder to fake when another warlock joins us, not the mediator of this area. Oh, no that would be so much the more preferable.

  “Chancellor Ryan,” the judge says. “We’re honored you’d attend to this issue yourself.”

  Not him. This can’t be a good sign. I stop spelling my nails, leaving the pinky on my right hand uncolored, but continue to examine them like I don’t care what these men are doing.

  “What seems to be the issue?”

  “Well, this…” The judge screws up his face and points to me. “…this warlock is dressed as well, a warlock. And her hair and face paint are most unacceptable.”

  The Chancellor doesn’t even look at me as he lets disdain coat each of his words. “This contestant is sadly within regulation. I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do about it at present. We are working on changing things so this will not be an issue in the future.”

  What is that supposed to mean? It can’t be good. But at least it sounds like, for now at least, I’m going to be able to compete in my duel, which is what I want. Except the Chancellor leans over to my opponent and whispers something in his ear before giving me a smug glance.

  I brush a finger across Lukas’s ring. Inside, I’m quivering with dread, but I give him the same cold smile I’ve used for everyone else this morning. It does the trick of morphing his smug features into a scowl.

  “Go ahead and begin, Judge Manes,” the Chancellor says.

  The judge opens his mouth as if to protest more, but the Chancellor’s jaw tightens, making the judge instead wave at the glowing ring. “Enter.”

  I step into the circle the same time as my opponent and immediately throw a shield up. It’s a good instinct because a spell crashes into it almost immediately. Nothing is holding them back from taking me down. Nothing except me.

  I fling a sharp spell, silver with razor edges of gold. He throws an aqua shield up, but not fast enough. The golden edge of light slices into the side of his abdomen as I lift my hand to send another from up high. While it’s in the air, I spread my hands out wide from my sides and shoot two more at him. The one from above whips across his cheek and one of the side spells slices his arm before he strengthens his shield, the last one crashing into it, breaking into dust-like pieces before dissipating.

  An icy blue ball erupts from him, bigger than me. I dive to the ground, but instead of just getting out of the way, I shoot an icy spell back at him, angled from the ground. It slams against his thigh, sinking into him. He rocks onto one foot with a hiss, but it doesn’t stop. A black light bounds out of him, heading straight for my vulnerable spot on the ground.

  No time to move. A blaze of power storms out of me as I think on it transforming into a wall, thick and unmovable. Its transparent iron color holds as the black splats against it, saving me from whatever fate it held.

  I flick out a dozen mini arrows, nothing hard to block, but enough to give me time. A few nick his arm as I bounce to my feet. I send two arrows, this time big—both in size and punch—but he had the same thought, sending three blue darts after me. I block the first two, but the third hits my shoulder with an icy stab.

  Instinctively, I throw up a shield, giving me a moment to recover only to discover I jumped up much too close to him. If I advanced just a bit, I could reach out and touch him. He seems to realize this, too. As I throw the first spell at him that comes to mind, I take a step back. Only he steps forward as well, his shield spell in place, effectively blocking my useless silencing spell.

  Before I can out pace him, his fist crushes my stomach. Pain and confusion over the illegal move pollute my thoughts. Something rips across my chest, a brass-colored spell flickering out of sight. I throw my magic at him, ineffective for points, but giving me a moment to step back, almost to the ring line.

  Cheater and the judge hasn’t called him on it. No surprise, but I can’t hold anything back. I fling spell after spell at him, blocking any that come my way except for one that nicks my right hand. Ignoring the pain, I keep flinging my magic until the judge calls out, “Time.”

  I look to him, waiting to have him ca
ll my opponent out. Instead, he mumbles, “Stephen’s daughter is the winner.”

  “It’s Cynthia.” My voice is as loud as the frustration boiling inside me. I round on my opponent, “Cheat much?”

  He just sneers and shoves his way past me. At least I won this duel.

  ***

  I wander on the edge of the field, wishing it was my turn for the next duel of the day. It’s still a long ways off, though. The field is a bit squishy beneath my feet, the rain-soaked grass fresh from last night. Someone has erected a giant shield over the fields, protecting everyone from further downpour. Rather, several someones I’d imagine. It’s massive enough to cover everything.

  As I roam, I study it, trying to decide how much power it would take to make the pale blue protection. Then something odd catches my eye. Everyone seems to be staring in one direction. I follow their gazes and can’t but help stare with them.

  Serena is alone in her box, dark locks flowing forbiddingly to her waist.

  My breath catches. Will she be punished for this even though she’s free? Will someone find a way to punish her? Why did she do this? It’s hard to notice anything else about her except her dark hair, sharply contrasted by her pale complexion. I’ve seen her hair down before. I used to help her with it all the time. But to see it flowing free like this in public?

  The crowd begins to talk, their noise growing by the second. What did she think she was doing, coming out here like this? It’s one thing for me to cut my hair when I’m fighting in a duel, but leaving hers down? Somehow, it seems like a stronger statement than me cutting my hair. Like it’s something the general public isn’t meant to see.

  I want to talk to her, but I don’t want to make things worse by going over there. Who am I kidding? Things are already bad for us. How is talking to her going to make it any worse? What are they going to do? Try to kill us even more? Doubtful that’s even possible.

  I hurry to her box, bringing memories of last year, and march up the stairs. The guards Zade set up for her let me pass without question. When she sees me, she doesn’t look surprised, but calmly sits in her chair, a warlock’s chair of comfort, and motions for me to take the one next to her.