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CHARMED
CAMILLE PETERS
CHARMED
By: Rosewood Publications
Copyright © 2023 by Camille Peters

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and events are products
of the author’s imagination, and any resemblances to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Rosewood Publications
Salt Lake City, Utah
United States of America
www.camillepeters.com

Cover Design by Karri Klawiter

To every loving caregiver who serves their loved ones with such dedication: you are seen, valued, and appreciated.
 C O NT E NT S

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Epilogue

Thank You
Books By Camille Peters
Acknowledgments
About the Author
C HAPTER 1
 MAEVE

A glowing light shone through the misty forest, luring my gaze away from the clump of mushrooms I’d been foraging. The
light flickered like a firefly, darting amongst the trees that stretched out in all directions, as if searching for something.
I hesitated a moment before hooking my basket on my arm and venturing a cautious step forward, reaching out to caress the
light with my fingertip when I drew near enough. It pulsated with tingly warmth, a caressing whisper against my thoughts. I
instinctively knew what it was.
Magic.
Though magic existed as an invisible force I’d never encountered it before, especially in the forest where my family made
our home. These woods weren’t enchanted like the places I often read about in my little brother’s favorite storybooks…or
perhaps they were and I was only now discovering it. Anticipation tingled at the thought.
At my careful touch, the light paused its wandering to momentarily hover above my hand, creating the appearance that I
cradled sunlight in my palm. All at once it darted away to disappear amongst the trees, leaving behind a sparkling trail. Almost
unconsciously I took a step after it, unable to resist following, drawn by my curiosity and the promise of adventure, a welcome
reprieve from my ordinary life.
The branches twisting in a canopy above me seemed to curl around me like a cocoon, gently pulling me deeper inside; my
skirts caught on the leafy undergrowth as I ventured off the familiar path. The pine-scented air felt heavy with mystery and
secrets, brimful with the promise of discoveries just waiting to be made at whatever destination this glowing light patiently led
me to.
Eventually the forest opened into a large clearing glistening with color, where the light slowed. I paused along the edge of
the trees that masked me from view. The light was no longer alone—a man draped in flowing wizard robes stood in the center,
waiting.
He didn’t seem to notice me, his attention on the pulsating light. He lifted his hand in invitation and the light approached,
answering the summons of its master; it danced across his skin as he cradled it carefully between his fingers.
“You’re back sooner than I expected. Did you find anything of interest?”
Though the light remained silent, concentration furrowed the wizard’s brow, as if he was listening to words inaudible to my
ears. I stared, fascinated by the exchange, one far different than anything I’d ever encountered in my small village.
He sighed in response to whatever silent words the light had conveyed. “I shouldn’t be surprised; quests are only
worthwhile when they provide a challenge. And yet…” Disappointment tugged at the corners of his mouth.
The light quivered, appearing to say something else with its silent communication. The man’s eyebrows rose.
“You were followed?”
He swiveled in my direction before I could duck behind a tree and our gazes locked. My breath caught but I didn’t look
away, as if bound by some sort of spell. By all appearances this man was a wizard. I’d never met a magical being. Rumor often
described them as eccentric, a word he already embodied with the way he communicated with a ball of light, as if such things
were entirely natural.
He stared at me a moment before his lips curved up. “Hmm…interesting.”
Still cradling the light, he approached, his footsteps slow and cautious so as not to startle me into running away…and
despite it being the sensible thing to do, I was far too intrigued not to remain.
“How did you find this place?” he asked.
I cast my gaze around the clearing, aglow with a glimmering, almost otherworldly hue. “Is this place forbidden?”
“Not forbidden, but it was protected by a shielding spell that should have made it impossible for you to stumble upon it.”
With an almost inaudible word and a wave of his hand the shimmer vanished, causing the clearing to melt into the regular
evergreen hues of the forest. I wondered at the trick, marveling that magic could orchestrate such an illusion.
“I followed the light.” I motioned towards it and it gave a little quiver in acknowledgment.
His eyes bulged. “You did?”
I nodded, puzzled by the intensity of his reaction. He stared first at me, then at the light in his hand. “It appears my search
wasn’t entirely in vain.” He spoke in a low murmur, as if musing to himself, before once more meeting my gaze. “I believe an
introduction is in order.”
“My name is Maeve.” Unsure of the polite way to greet a wizard, I settled for a curtsy, which I executed rather sloppily due
to my unfamiliarity with the movement.
I awaited his own introduction but he didn’t seem inclined to give it. When it became clear he wasn’t going to respond, I
shifted my gaze to the golden glow hovering above his palm.
“Were you communicating with the light?”
His attention finally shifted away from me to nod towards the light with a casual air, as if he hadn’t been caught doing
anything out of the ordinary.
“Oh, you noticed? It’s a most amiable companion.” His expression softened as he affectionately stroked it, causing it to
preen with delight. “Such things might seem impossible, but not all communication occurs through words. Magic connects with
us on a deeper level to caress our thoughts and senses with ideas and images.” He tilted his head. “Does magic interest you?”
Surely magic interested anyone. “So you are a wizard.”
As if the observation finally warranted a proper greeting, he swept into a bow…yet he still didn’t divulge his name.
I ventured forward, gaze fixated on the golden glow. “Might I try communicating with it?”
Amusement twitched his lips. “If you’d like.”
I wasn’t entirely certain what to do, only that the experiment intrigued me. I tucked my basket more securely into the crook
of my arm and extended my hand. Like the first time my touch had grazed the light, it was warm and tingly…but another
puzzling sensation mingled with the others. It took me a moment to pinpoint the elusive feeling: a sense of purpose—and even a
bit of mischievousness.
“Is the light obedient, or does it have a mind of its own?”
His eyebrows rose in astonishment at my observation. “So you can hear it after all. Unsurprising, considering you followed
it here.” He glanced at the light. “It appears you found something of interest after all.” He gave it an affectionate pat.
The light ruffled, as if pleased with itself…at least that was the emotion I sensed from it, not in words as the wizard had
explained, but as if the emotion seeped beneath my skin, allowing me to feel some semblance of it myself.
What had the light supposedly discovered? Surely he couldn’t be referring to me. I was as interesting as any other peasant
girl—which was to say: not the least bit interesting at all.
The wizard seemed to think otherwise, appearing not merely intrigued by the woman his light had summoned but as if I was
the very person he’d been searching for. He examined me with a studious air, as if I harbored a myriad of fascinating secrets.
I shifted beneath his perusal, suddenly self-conscious—my shabby and patched dress, my dirty bare feet, and the leaves that
had tangled in my fluffy black hair as I chased the light through thick trees. I tried to pluck them free and smooth out the
wrinkles in my skirt; his lips twitched but he was polite enough to pretend not to notice.
Considering how closely he studied me, it felt only fair to examine him in return. I’d never encountered a magical being
before and found myself mildly disappointed. I’d always imagined their magic would be as discernible as any of their other
features, but other than his attire, he appeared entirely ordinary…save for the otherworldly aura that cloaked him like his
flowing robes.
My stomach twisted pleasantly as my gaze flickered over his features. Whether his appearance had been enhanced by his
powers or he donned a magical disguise, I couldn’t deny the man was handsome—a dimpled chin, wavy brown hair, and large
grey eyes that looked almost green to match his emerald robes, a vibrancy that contrasted with my own drab attire. An air of
mystery shrouded him, as did the confidence he wore like the power emanating from him.
Fascinating.
He noticed my staring and lifted a single eyebrow in question. My cheeks heated and I dropped my gaze. “My apologies,
I’ve never met a wizard before.”
“Technically I’m not a full wizard, considering I’m still in training, but for all intents and purposes I consider myself as
such. The journey to mastering the magical craft is a long yet thoroughly enjoyable one…hence I’m here to practice.”
Practice what? I ached to ask, but before I could decide whether I should, he continued. “As well as to search for
something.” I was curious what a wizard hoped to find inside a seemingly ordinary forest, but I doubted he’d divulge the
details of his purpose after he’d already withheld his name.
I examined the light with increased interest. “Is this a tracking spell to help you find whatever it is you’re looking for?”
He rolled it across his knuckles and I watched in fascination as beams shot randomly around the clearing. “Tracking is only
one of many things one can accomplish through such a simple spell; magic is obedient to those who understand it…when it’s
not being mischievous.” He smiled fondly at the light before, in an instant, it vanished, as if he’d tucked it inside an invisible
pocket. “What I initially came to the forest for is of little consequence considering I’ve found something much more valuable:
an apprentice.”
I blinked. “An…apprentice?”
He nodded. “Magic is quite rare, yet you appear to possess it.”
 It took a long moment to decipher his meaning. An incredulous laugh escaped before I could contain it. “I don’t possess
magic.” Surely I’d know if I did, considering such a possession would undoubtedly make life much easier.
“You’ve already demonstrated several times that you do—following my magical light, entering a clearing protected by an
enchanted shield, and showing the ability to communicate with it.” He lifted a finger to count off each point as he made them.
“Of course I followed it; it’s not everyday one stumbles across a sentient bulb of light that leads them to a wizard.” A
magical being I was beginning to believe was rather eccentric after all.
“That alone proves your abilities—only magical beings can notice magical things.”
I opened my mouth to respond…only to snap it shut when words weren’t forthcoming.
Whether his magic alerted him or he simply had a keen intuition, he sensed I needed more convincing. As if searching for
additional evidence, he cast his gaze around the clearing before it settled on my basket. He plucked a mushroom and held it
aloft, twirling it by its stem.
“These mushrooms are enchanted.”
My mouth fell agape. “Are they?” I’d been gathering this particular mushroom for years. A flare of worry suddenly swelled.
“They’re not poisonous, are they?”
He chuckled. “Not to worry—they’re enchanted, not cursed.”
“How could such a thing grow within an unenchanted forest?”
“That’s where you’re mistaken.”
My eyes bulged and I glanced around the budding woods with renewed interest, searching for the magic it supposedly
possessed. Golden sunlight caressed the leafy branches, a canopy of magnolia, cedar, and pine that allowed just enough light to
filter through in golden rays that glistened against the leafy undergrowth in a way that caused the mist to shimmer. The effect
was enchanting, to be sure…but surely that wasn’t enough to indicate magic.
“It’s certainly beautiful,” I conceded.
“To be sure…yet it’s also magical, just like this mushroom.”
My brow furrowed as I took in the mushroom that looked as ordinary as any other I’d ever foraged. “How can you tell?”
“It’s easy once one knows what to look for. Magic exists everywhere, but only those with a discerning eye can discover it.”
He lightly traced the mushroom’s base. At first I didn’t notice anything…but upon closer examination I detected a faint
shimmer, one that quivered with warmth when I reached out to touch it. I sucked in a breath and drew my hand back, staring in
wonder.
“See? Magic can always be discovered by those who truly desire to find it.” He rummaged through my basket. “All of these
are enchanted. Did you select them on purpose?”
His eyes glistened as I shook my head. My defensiveness swelled. “Experience has taught me that these are the most
delicious mushrooms that best satisfy our hunger; magic has nothing to do with it.”
“Because they’re enchanted,” he said. “Think back—what guided you to these mushrooms in particular that caused you to
select them over others?” He supplied the word I struggled to form. “Intuition?”
I considered. Perhaps it had been, a nearly indiscernible sense that had guided my hand without conscious thought. My
silence invited him to continue.
“Instinct is the foundation of all magic, a word often used to describe unnourished power before it’s developed through
further study; as a magical being, you’re naturally drawn to magical things.”
His words caused my heart to pound in an unrelenting rhythm. For a moment I allowed myself to hope…before practicality
hastily dismissed the idea. “It’s a coincidence, nothing more.”
His eyebrows rose dubiously. “There is no chance or randomness in magic. The odds that you happened to only harvest
enchanted fungi without subconsciously being drawn to them by your innate powers are miniscule.”
My rudimentary education in basic reading and arithmetic couldn’t even begin to attempt the calculations needed to figure
out such odds myself. Did that mean…I possessed magic after all? Surely such a thing was impossible.
“How?” It was the only breathless response I could manage.
He shrugged. “No one knows why magic chooses certain individuals over others. Genetics play a part—I inherited my
powers from my mother, as did my younger sister…though my eldest sister did not. Magic offered no explanation for why she
was passed over, despite her being the most deserving of all of us. There must be something about you it’s drawn to.”
“But how could I possess such power and not realize it?” I lifted my seemingly ordinary brown hands to stare at them and
wriggled my fingers, as if the movement would encourage my dormant—or more likely nonexistent—powers to manifest
themselves in some way.
Nothing happened, yet the wizard didn’t seem concerned. “I’m unsurprised you don’t notice; magic has always been an
intricate part of you, enriching your life in ways you’ve grown so accustomed to that you don’t recognize it for what it is. But
magic is patient, remaining with those who possess it even before they understand how to wield it. And you will…once you
become my apprentice.”
His smile was warm, an invitation to accept his offer.
 The idea was tempting, seducing me with thoughts of a future that felt entirely out of reach. The day had begun in an entirely
ordinary way when I’d ventured from my cottage this morning…only to stumble upon a magical light that had led me to a
wizard who offered to tutor me in powers I didn’t know I had. It seemed a reality straight from a storybook, too fantastical to
be real.
…or was it?
If magic truly was a part of me, had the enchanted light been drawn to the power this wizard suspected simmered beneath
my skin, like a bee to nectar? For a blissful moment I allowed myself to imagine the possibility before I forced myself to push
the alluring daydreams away with a rigid shake of my head.
The wizard blinked in clear surprise before frowning. “You’re not interested in studying magic? The curiosity you
exhibited earlier proves otherwise.”
“I cannot deny I’m interested in magic…” I began hesitantly. “But it’s simply not practical. What use is magic to a
peasant?” Magic seemed as rare and unattainable as wealth, reserved solely for those within the elite circles of society, who
possessed both the resources and time to foster their power.
“On the contrary, it seems it’d be even more useful to a…common girl.” Seeming embarrassed he’d taken notice of my
lower station, he awkwardly cleared his throat, a reaction that only confirmed what I’d suspected: he himself was no
commoner. “Your education as my apprentice will allow you to learn how to wield it as a tool in your everyday life to assist
you with even the most menial of chores.”
The words tugged my mind away from this otherworldly exchange firmly back to reality, reminding me I’d been away from
the duties that awaited me at home for too long. My gaze jerked upwards to track the sun’s progress across the sky. A few hours
of daylight remained. If I left now, I’d have enough time to assist my family—Mother with dinner preparations, and my little
brother patiently awaiting the promise I’d made when I’d departed at dawn.
“I have to go.”
The wizard sighed. “I’d hoped we could come to an agreement. While stubbornness isn’t an ideal trait for an apprentice,
it’ll at least serve you well as you learn the basics of magic and beyond, particularly the more difficult spells you’ll encounter
in the future.”
I frowned. “You’re assuming I’ll agree to your offer.”
“You will.” He spoke with such confidence that for a moment I wondered if his powers extended to seeing the future.
“Magic is a part of you, one you’re now aware of. Thus you’ll come to desire to develop your powers, especially after a bit
of…persuasion.”
Though his expression remained friendly, foreboding prickled my skin. “My life is perfectly content without it.” But my
tongue burned with the lie, one that if his smirk was any indication he sensed.
Could magic also discern between truth and falsehoods? This was only one of many questions I yearned to answer,
evidence that despite my determination, I wouldn’t be able to abandon all thoughts of magic even after the wizard and I parted
ways.
“I don’t doubt you think you’re content,” he said. “But why settle when embracing the extraordinary will only enhance your
life?”
Once more the alluring idea attempted to seduce me. Prior to this encounter, my only experience with magic outside had
been through the whispers and stories filling the village that provided just enough fodder for my imagination to run wild as it
played with the possibilities in vivid color.
As if he sensed my thoughts, the wizard’s smirk widened. “Magic can do all that you’re imagining…and much more.” His
words were cajoling…too much so.
I narrowed my eyes. “Has magic provided you with a sixth sense?”
Mischief glistened as he tilted his head. “Perhaps. There’s only one way to find out for yourself: become my apprentice,
and I’ll teach you everything you desire to know.”
A frustrated sigh escaped. The man was certainly persistent, which left me to wonder how long he’d attempt to persuade
me or the means he’d use before finally giving up…if he ever did; I already found magic alluring enough without whatever
tricks he had up his sleeve. But despite my curiosity, I couldn’t afford to bend; magic had no place in my life, not when my
minimal time was best spent on my responsibilities that held far greater importance.
These duties stretched across the distance separating me from my family, beckoning me to return home. Though I’d ventured
off the forest path to arrive at this hidden clearing, I was hopeful the detour wouldn’t cause any further delay. I walked back to
the cover of trees and the wizard followed.
“Are you certain you know the way?” He sounded far too cheerful about the prospect that I might not.
“Quite certain, thank you.” I increased my pace and silently cursed when he easily matched it.
“Are you sure? If you’re lost, a tracking spell can lead you to wherever you need to go. I shall demonstrate it for your first
lesson.”
“I have a keen sense of direction.” Not to mention I was intimately familiar with the forest I’d lived in my entire life.
 He sensed my sincerity and frowned. “How fortunate for you.” Unfortunately he wasn’t dissuaded; in fact, the challenge
only seemed to excite him.
The trees embraced me as I stepped within their cocoon of foliage, allowing them to swallow me up, but he only continued
to follow, walking beside me like a persistent shadow.
I tightened my jaw to keep back my frustration, fighting a twinge of unease. Though the wizard seemed amiable, should he
prove temperamental I’d hate to give him any reason to curse me. Despite his obvious disappointment at my rejection he
appeared rather cheerful, as if he fully suspected to win this battle of wills and was only humoring my delusions otherwise.
We hadn’t ventured far when his good humor penetrated the soft sound of our footsteps against the undergrowth. “If you
have no need of a tracking spell, perhaps magic can aid you another way: you appear to be in a hurry yet still have quite a walk
ahead of you. Allow me to share an example of how magic can be of use in such an instance.”
I took a steadying breath in an attempt to quell my rising exasperation as my fragile hold on my limited patience finally
faltered. “Please stop trying to persuade me,” I snapped. “I have no need for any of your magic tricks.”
“So you claim, but I’m determined to change your mind. Allow me to demonstrate.”
I bit my lip to hold back my aggravated sigh, even as curiosity warred against my better judgment. While I’d been honest
that I didn’t find my life lacking without magic, I couldn’t smother the part of me that was drawn to it. It took considerable
effort to once more summon my refusal.
“For the last time, that won’t be necessary—” The remainder of my protest was lost as I turned to scowl at the wizard…
only to discover he’d disappeared, swallowed by the trees, as if he hadn’t been there at all.
 C HAPTER 2

M y unexpected encounter with the wizard occupied my mind throughout my entire journey home. The farther I
traversed, the more I wondered whether I’d imagined the entire exchange, even as I kept expecting him to
reappear…only he never did. Had he given up trying to persuade me to become his apprentice? The thought brought both relief
and a strange sense of disappointment, thanks to the impractical side of me that yearned to embrace his offer.
“It’s for the best; my family needs me.” But speaking the words aloud did little to convince my rebellious heart eagerly
stoking my imagination with every possibility for how I could use my newfound powers that up until a moment ago I didn’t
even know I possessed.
The woodland scenery grew familiar once I returned to the twisting path that led to my cottage, yet everything around me
seemed new, as if the woods had changed…or perhaps for the first time, I was seeing them as they really were.
Magic is easy to notice once one knows what to look for. It exists everywhere, but only those with a discerning eye can
discover it. The wizard’s words echoed in my mind with every step, causing me to look around the forest he claimed was
enchanted with new eyes.
I searched the air for any sign of magic, but saw only the breathtaking beauty of my surroundings—tall trees of cedar and
aspen with clumps of ferns growing at their bases and hidden treasures of acorns, pinecones, and mushrooms nestled beneath
their boughs, just waiting to be discovered. Vines hung from the leafy canopy, where golden sunlight filtered through to dance
across the melody of flowers scattered across the undergrowth, adding bright touches to the amber forest grounds. Sunlight
glistened off the vibrant colors, while the air hummed with birdsong, an invisible force that had always filled the forest but
which I was now beginning to wonder might be something more.
Was it truly magic after all?
As I reached the edge of the woods, I crouched down to pluck some cheerful bluebells to brighten my brother’s room. I
rested them carefully across the mushrooms filling my basket and stepped into the clearing where my two-room cottage
awaited me.
“I was beginning to wonder if you’d gotten lost.”
I startled at the now familiar voice and spun around to find the wizard leaning casually against an evergreen, arms folded
and wearing his characteristic smirk.
I sighed. “I wondered whether you’d turn up.” I pressed my hand against my pounding heart, willing it to still.
“Oh?” He raised a single brow. “Magical intuition?”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s nothing of the sort. Wizards are simply predictable.”
He shrugged. “Determined seems the more apt description.” He straightened and glanced towards the sky to frown at the
sun, much lower than when we’d parted ways. “It took you nearly an hour to traipse the woods, time wasted considering I was
able to cross the same distance in mere seconds with a simple transportation spell.”
I did my best to contain my curiosity but it stirred to life at his purposefully cryptic words. Against my will the question
tumbled out: “What sort of transportation spell?”
“There are many different types.”
He paused with a look inviting questions, and to my annoyance several simmered on my tongue. I hadn’t considered that
multiple spells could fulfill a similar purpose. What nuances dictated the differences between the various transportation
spells? But humoring him would only alert him to how much his offer tempted me, which would only encourage him; he was
already difficult to resist as it was.
I took a steadying breath and calmly pushed these wonderings aside as I fixed an indifferent expression on my face. “It
doesn’t matter that it took an hour longer; I had an enjoyable walk that your magic caused you to miss entirely.”
He blinked, as if he hadn’t considered this, and I departed with a triumphant smirk. He frowned after me but thankfully
made no motion to follow as I entered the house.
Mother looked up from the pot cooking over the hearth with a welcoming smile, one I couldn’t return. Guilt twisted my
heart at the sight of the nearly prepared dinner. That blasted wizard had caused me to neglect my chores and create
inconvenience for my overworked mother.
“My apologies, I’m later than I promised.”
Relief softened her tight worry. “It’s no matter considering you’ve arrived home safely.” She cradled my cheek. “I hope you
enjoyed your time in the woods.”
Enjoyable was not how I’d describe today’s events, but I managed a smile as I set the basket down. “I gathered a lot of
mushrooms. I’ll chop and roast them, then help with the bread as soon as look in on Corbin.”
I carefully took the flowers and headed for the adjourning room I shared with him and Mother. I knocked softly and peered
inside, expecting him to be asleep as he often was in the late afternoon, only to find him sitting up in bed playing with his toy
blocks atop the covers.
His tongue stuck through the gap created by his two missing front teeth as he smiled. “Maeve!”
His warm joy and the blessing of seeing him dispelled my lingering annoyance from the wizard, leaving only my adoration
for my dear brother. I swept him into as tight of a hug as his little frail body could allow.
“It’s good to see you, Corbin.” I kissed his cheek before holding out the handful of bluebells. His dark eyes lit up.
“You kept your promise.”
“I’ll always fulfill all my promises.”
He reverently took the flowers and smelled them contentedly before carefully arranging them in the nearby vase with the
others, most of which had already wilted, yet their color still brightened the otherwise stark room. The nightstand contained his
collection of trinkets, which I did my best to contribute to with each venture outside—from flowers of various kinds, to
uniquely shaped leaves, to pebbles, acorns, and pinecones that my brother never tired of playing with. Each offered him a
glimpse of the outdoors he was often too frail to experience himself.
I settled on the bed beside him and stroked his hair before lowering my touch to his brow to check his fever. As usual his
skin was heated, his usually dark complexion pale; no matter how much he rested, his precarious health never seemed to
improve.
“How are you feeling?”
He offered a brave smile even as the corners of his mouth tightened, the sign of his almost constant pain, too acute for
someone of his tender seven years to bear. If I truly had magic there would be only one thing I’d want to use it for. I closed my
eyes, searching for whatever power the wizard claimed I possessed, as if a thorough search would allow me to find it, dormant
yet ready to be of use…but I sensed nothing.
I opened my eyes with a quiet sigh and forced a smile. “Have you had a good day?” I asked gently.
He nodded even though I knew he’d likely been restless, as he usually was. “Will you tell me a story about your time in the
forest?”
I nodded. “I had quite the adventure with a magical light that led me to a rather eccentric wizard.” I winked as if I was only
spinning a fantastical tale, nevermind that had been exactly what had occurred. My heart warmed at his grin; at least I could
help him in this way, no matter how small.
“What sort of magic did the wizard have?”
“He could talk to his tracking charm—a sentient yet slightly mischievous ball of light—and disappear…only to reappear a
mile away.”
Corbin’s eyes widened with delight. “What other spells could he perform?”
His innocent inquiry only stoked my own curiosity I fought to suppress, one I had few answers for, considering I hadn’t
allowed myself to ask the wizard the questions I’d yearned to. “I’m not sure.” I hesitated. “If I had magic, what powers do you
think I’d possess?”
His brow furrowed in concentration before he smiled. “You’re always happy, even when things are hard; you always make
me feel better just from being near me, whatever you cook is extra delicious, and you tell the best stories.”
Could such simple things truly be magic? While I doubted his observations indicated I truly possessed power, his words
caused my heart to swell and I loved him all the more for them.
“I’ve never considered such things to be magic, but it makes me happy I can do anything to bring you joy.” I gave him a
snuggle. “Would you like to sit in the kitchen while Mother and I finish preparing dinner?”
At his enthusiastic nod, I carefully lifted his thin body, cradling him in my arms as I carried him into the next room. Mother
kissed the top of his head in greeting as I settled him in a chair near the hearth, ensuring he was close enough to enjoy its
warmth even beneath his layers of blankets. Once I was assured he was comfortable, I assisted Mother with her preparations,
beginning with the mushrooms.
I frowned into the basket. The contents had been as I’d left them when I’d gone to check on Corbin…with one obvious
alteration. I held one aloft, drawing my family’s gaze. Corbin giggled in delight and Mother gasped. “I’ve never seen such a
large mushroom. It almost seems…unnatural, especially considering to my limited knowledge the woods aren’t enchanted.”
I pursed my lips. “Indeed.”
Though the wizard wasn’t nearby—unless the scoundrel was currently invisible, a possibility I couldn’t entirely dismiss—
his amusement at yet another successful trick stretched across the distance separating us. I could almost hear the smug
explanation he’d likely render were he present—using magic to create larger mushrooms meant the food I foraged would last
longer, with the added benefit that I could perform this longevity spell even from a distance, as he’d so aptly demonstrated.
I was grateful the mysterious wizard wasn’t nearby so I wouldn’t be forced to lie that I didn’t find such a spell useful when
in my heart I knew it was. Yet even the chance to use my magic in such a way wasn’t enough to convince me to accept his offer,
not when an apprenticeship would separate me from the family who needed me far more than they needed the extra food or the
convenience of making my chores easier.
I bit my lip to suppress a sigh as I took up my knife to prepare these engorged mushrooms for the stew bubbling over the
hearth.
Mother gnawed her lip as she cast the unusual fungi a wary sidelong glance. “They’re not poisonous, are they?”
That was unlikely, even for a wizard determined to drive me mad. I shook my head and Mother’s shoulders relaxed before
she took up her own knife to assist me.
The evening passed with us working side by side, conversing with Corbin from his cheerful nearby perch. When the soup
was nearly finished and Mother had just pulled a fragrant loaf of bread from the oven, I took up the bucket to draw fresh water
from the well for us to enjoy with our supper.
The garden was aglow in sheens of slanted light from the setting sun, casting a dancing layer of gold across the herbs and
vegetables growing in tidy rows. The evening spring breeze felt pleasant against my cheeks, damp after standing so near the
hearth. I hummed as I drew the water and headed back to the cottage.
“Did you find the engorgement spell useful?”
I startled and sloshed half of the bucket down my front, drenching me in a chill that seeped through the fabric. The wizard
who’d suddenly appeared at my side was instantly remorseful.
“My apologies. Here, allow me.” With a low murmur, he swiveled his finger in a circular motion to summon a small
handful of wind, which he guided in my direction to dry my soaked blouse.
I could only stare, trying not to be too curious about something that had no place in my ordinary life…but the lure was
impossible to entirely ignore, especially when it stoked my ever-present curiosity from a flame into a roaring blaze that was
becoming more and more difficult to stifle.
“You can control the elements?” The question escaped before I could contain it; I bit back a growl of frustration as the
wizard’s eyes met mine with a knowing gleam.
His lips curled upward, somewhat mischievously, as if he’d purposely chosen such a spell to pique my interest, leaving me
to wonder whether he’d startled me on purpose so he’d have a reason to demonstrate.
“Control isn’t the correct word; nothing is strong enough to control the elements—they’re an entity entirely their own.
However, magic is a tool we can use to manipulate them to an extent, especially the more we understand them. It’s like building
a relationship—the deeper the trust, the more cooperative the elements become, and the more willing to do one’s bidding.”
He patiently finished drying my wet clothes before tucking the gentle breeze away as if he was pocketing the force rather
than having borrowed it from the air.
“Imagine how much more efficient it’d be to dry clothes this way rather than hang them on the line.”
He didn’t need to prompt the thought, not when my imagination had already conjured several uses for magical wind…but I
was too proud to admit such a thing. I couldn’t allow my desires to sway me, ones already difficult to resist when he
repeatedly tantalized me with hints for what awaited me should I accept the offer that still seemed far too good to be true.
He likely would have pressed the matter further if Mother hadn’t chosen that moment to peer outside the ajar window. “Are
you talking with someone?”
Her eyes widened with curiosity and surprise, and it was no wonder. Our home was nestled amongst the trees with no near
neighbors; while we technically were part of the small nearby village, my parents had chosen to build our home in a more
secluded spot. Hence we’d never truly assimilated into village life, though we were friendly with the others when we on
occasion crossed paths. However this was a rather rare occurrence as we often had little time for anything other than providing
for ourselves and caring for Corbin.
I spun around to face the wizard, but once more he’d vanished. “I was practicing a story to tell Corbin over supper.”
Her puzzled expression relaxed into a gentle smile. “He’ll be delighted. I’m looking forward to hearing it myself now that
dinner is ready.” She ducked back inside the house.
Though the wizard was seemingly nowhere to be found either in our garden or the surrounding forest, I sensed his heated
gaze following me as I carried the bucket—now full, the wizard having replaced the water he’d spilled without my notice—
into the cottage.
I hoped that encounter would be the last I’d see of him, but fate had one more interaction in store before the day concluded.
Later that evening as I stepped into the settling darkness to gather firewood to stoke the hearth I did so cautiously, on high alert
for any glimpse of a handsome wizard or his flowing green robes.
He wasn’t anywhere to be seen, yet I still squinted through the fading light as I trod the familiar path to the stack of
firewood. Suddenly the darkness dissipated, thanks to a handful of firelight cupped within an all-too-familiar palm to
illuminate not only the path, but the wizard’s smug greeting.
“You!” I gritted my teeth. Whatever game he was playing, he was annoyingly good at it.
His unrepentant grin only widened. “Shall we continue our lesson on the elements? Fire can be wielded as a source of light
for your chores…quite useful, is it not?” The flame flickered in his hand, as if silently taunting me.
In all truthfulness, fire would prove quite useful, especially in the winter when the extended darkness made my chores more
difficult, as well as for dear Corbin when he grew frightened at night, magic that would allow me to comfort him much more
quickly than lighting one of our precious candles.
Yet my stubbornness persisted, too much a part of me to be so easily dispelled. I’d been getting along just fine with candles
until now and they’d continue to serve me well in the future. Below my desire for self-reliance lay a deeper issue, a lingering
doubt that this stranger could so persistently attempt to convince me to learn magic out of pure benevolence. Yet the flame drew
my gaze nonetheless, so beautiful against the night, even otherworldly, such a contrast to my ordinary surroundings.
“It can even change colors.” He demonstrated, using his mysterious magical force to cause the orange flame to ripple
through a variety of other shades, a confirmation that magic worked behind the scenes to create the phenomena before me. “Do
you have a favorite?”
He so happened to ask this when the flame settled on a rich plum, as if he’d somehow sensed through some magical sixth
sense that was indeed my favorite. While I doubted magic could allow one to read minds, I had to wonder…
Much to my own annoyance, that wasn’t my only question. “How can you hold it without burning yourself?”
He brightened. “Become my apprentice and I will share this and all of my other magical secrets.”
I sighed. “I can’t.” Despite my increasing desire to understand, it appeared that my curiosity would forever remain
unsatisfied.
I expected him to press his cause, but when he next spoke it was about a rather unexpected topic. “You had an interesting
discussion with your brother.”
My breath caught. For an anxious moment I wondered if the man truly had rendered himself invisible…before I considered
an alternate explanation, less alarming but still just as annoying.
I scowled. “Eavesdropping?” I took an instinctive step to place myself between the wizard and my home, as if I had any
hope of protecting them should he choose to use his magic maliciously.
He maintained an entirely innocent expression as he spoke a word I couldn’t quite decipher and snapped his fingers.
Suddenly the sound of Mother’s bedtime story from within the house accompanied by Corbin’s cheerful laughter surrounded us,
as clearly as if they stood beside me.
“Magic can do all sorts of things…including overhearing what one isn’t supposed to, a trick which often provides some
fascinating insights.” He snapped his fingers again to instantly mute the conversation we’d briefly overheard, his eyebrows
raising. “Eccentric wizard?”
My cheeks warmed at the insult he’d inadvertently overheard. “I had to call you something, considering I have yet to know
your name.” I gave him a pointed look, which he ignored.
“You were discussing magic.”
The heat filling my cheeks deepened, as if I’d been caught doing something I shouldn’t have, but the wizard only seemed
intrigued, even pleased.
“It’s natural to be curious,” he said. “I myself am quite interested in the ways your brother believes your magic has
manifested itself.”
“The things he mentioned aren’t magic.”
The wizard tilted his head. “Aren’t they?”
I frowned, suddenly unsure. He continued.
“Let’s analyze your supposed skills: he said you have the ability to bring joy to others, which leads me believe you have a
natural affinity for emotional spells. Your storytelling skills likely prove a natural connection to spoken spells, your ability to
make your food extra delicious makes you inclined towards potions, and your ability to make your brother feel better is
naturally healing.” He extended his hand, as if in invitation. “Don’t you desire to further develop these gifts?”
My mind immediately fixated on the last magical skill he’d mentioned. “You can use magic to heal?” The wizard opened
his mouth to respond, but in my excitement I talked over him. “You must teach me. Please.” This skill alone caused the
excitement at the prospect of learning magic I’d worked so hard to contain to finally burst free.
For someone who’d been driving me mad from the moment we met with his attempts to persuade me to embrace my skills,
the wizard’s expression faltered. “Ah. Well, certainly magic is often used for healing, but…” He made the admission
reluctantly, as if afraid to part from his primary bargaining chip. Conflict struggled on his face before compassion softened his
expression. “Who’s ill?”
Emotion clogged my throat. “My brother. He’s been sickly ever since he was born. It’s a miracle we haven’t lost him.” It
was a reminder I’d fiercely clung to ever since the winter when he’d almost died…the same brutal season that had stolen
Father’s life. “I’ll learn whatever I need to if it means I might be able to heal him.” When the wizard remained silent for too
long, fear eclipsed my rising anticipation. “Can magic not be used in such a way?”
He hesitated a moment before sighing. “It can…but the journey to wielding such power is an arduous one. I fear if this is
your only incentive, the length of your training might lead you to give up before you see the results you desire.”
“But I will see results…won’t I?” That final accomplishment was all that mattered, regardless of the challenges involved.
He bit his lip. “In theory…but I cannot fully promise. The healing arts are some of the most difficult magic you’ll ever
encounter; even I am not entirely proficient at it. And while I suspect you might have an aptitude for it, I cannot guarantee
success.” His shoulders slumped. “Still being in training myself, I only have so many spells to demonstrate. At this rate I fear
it’ll require my entire arsenal before I can persuade you. If you’re unable to achieve the one aspect of magic you’re drawn to…
I have nothing more to offer you.”
I stared at his face, now robbed of all its former confidence, weighing my options. I didn’t need any other spells to be
convinced. The thought of healing Corbin was enough to capture my entire will; I’d go to any lengths to help him.
Yet I worried that the cost, even for something as precious as the chance to heal my dear brother, would be too high. Would
even the promise of healing be worth the sacrifice of leaving my home? Turmoil swirled within me as I considered the cost of
missing out on spending time with my family, being unable to comfort Corbin when he was distressed, missing out on watching
him grow up, and helping my single mother—giving all this up for a mere possibility.
“Would I be required to train away from home?” I asked, hardly able to imagine what it would be like to be separated from
Corbin long-term.
The wizard nodded. “Your training will occur at the capital.”
So far away. I bit my lip indecisively, wrestling with the decision, and noticed him watching me with an expression of
patience rather than the eagerness he’d displayed so far. “I can’t imagine traveling so far from home, leaving my family behind.
Do you have any younger siblings?” If he did, he might better understand my anxiety at parting from my own.
A strange expression flickered over his face, not quite anger, but a mix of pain and disappointment, with a hint of something
that looked like foreboding. I half expected him to refuse to answer, but he nodded.
“Yes, I have a younger sister, though we’re not close enough for me to miss her in the same way you’ll miss your brother.”
He cleared his throat. “While you would be required to live in the capital, that would grant you access to medicines that could
aid your brother until your skills are up to the task.”
It was a fair exchange, yet even so I worried about living so far from the home, a nearly three days’ journey. I couldn’t
possibly make such a drastic decision now, but did this wizard have the patience to give me the time I needed to consider?
One more question weighed heavily on my mind. “Why do you want me as your apprentice?”
The wizard smiled. “I’ll divulge my reasons in time should you accept the position. But beyond my own interests, you have
the potential to become a great witch.” He glanced up at the starry night. “I’ll give you tonight to think on it and return in the
morning to hear your decision. If you decide not to pursue this path and all it entails, I will leave you be.”
I raised my eyebrows in astonishment. “Will you truly give up?”
He held up his hands. “I have nothing more with which to persuade you. Allow this to be your first lesson in magic: it can
never be used to rob anyone of their will. I will not force you on this path. If tomorrow you’ve decided against it, I will respect
your wishes.”
And with these words he vanished once more.
 C HAPTER 3

M other and Corbin’s rhythmic snores filled the long and restless night, a soothing lullaby that usually lulled me to
sleep but which proved impossible tonight with magic’s firm grip over my thoughts.
The ability to heal my brother had acted as a key, unlocking the door I’d determinedly shut and inviting me to explore every
possibility I hadn’t allowed myself to imagine should I become an apprentice. Now every wonder—from the practical to the
fantastic—filled my mind, impossible to quench. When sleep finally lured me into its comforting embrace, magic filled my
dreams in images of glistening light and vibrant colors, with Corbin at the center—healthy and whole, his smile bright and his
face aglow as my powers filled his life with joy.
The image lingered as dawn arrived, confirming the decision my heart had made, even as sense prevented me from fully
embracing it. These two parts of myself warred within me the entire morning, a distraction that didn’t escape Mother’s notice.
“What’s troubling you, Maeve?”
Her gentle voice tugged my focus away from the butter I was churning a little too intensely. I blinked hastily to chase away
the thoughts of how magic would aid me in such a task and met her gaze, soft with concern. Her expression invited me to share
my burden, even as I wasn’t sure where to begin, especially with the guilt accompanying my desires to learn magic when doing
so would selfishly put my yearnings before the needs of my family. Even so, I desired to confide in her, desperate for Mother’s
opinion on my struggle.
I attempted to sort out my tangle of thoughts, but had barely begun the arduous task when a knock suddenly sounded. I knew
who stood on the other side, whether due to magical intuition or because the wizard I’d met had proven quite predictable.
Mother glanced towards the door. “Who could that be?”
I sighed. “I believe I know.”
Before she could question further, I hoisted the door open to find the very man I’d expected standing on the other side, this
time in plum robes the exact shade of my favorite color, a change I suspected was a further attempt to persuade me.
“Let me guess,” I said by way of greeting. “Magic would have allowed me to open the door without needing to have risen
from my chair. Or”—I allowed my imagination to lead me in a more satisfying direction—“perhaps magic could have acted as
a shield that would have prevented you from disrupting our morning at all.”
Rather than the quip offending him as I’d secretly hoped, he only grinned widely enough to reveal an annoyingly attractive
dimple. “It appears you’ve given the matter some thought. I’m glad you’ve considered all that magic can do to enhance your
life.”
The last thing I wanted to admit was how much I’d done that very thing. “Your timing is rather inconvenient; I haven’t even
discussed the matter with my mother.”
“Magical intuition rarely fails, leading me to believe that despite your insistences on the matter, I’m right on time.” He
wriggled his eyebrows. “Does this mean I’m about to receive the answer I’m hoping for?”
I lifted my chin. “You assume my decision is favorable.”
“One can only hope.”
With a wink he stepped around me to enter the tiny kitchen. Mother’s chair tipped over as she hastened to her feet, her eyes
wide as she took in the wizard. He swept into a proper bow in greeting, already behaving far more charmingly than he ever had
with me.
“I’m a wizard. Perhaps your daughter has already told you about me.” Mischief filled his gaze as he tilted his head slightly
towards me. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” With a flick of his wrist he conjured a bouquet of flowers, which he presented to
Mother with a bow.
Mother’s eyebrows rose in astonishment and I rolled his eyes at his excessive attempts to charm her. His purposeful
omission of his name was much more obvious in this introduction than when he’d failed to go through the protocol of providing
one during our first meeting.
“Is there a reason you’re intentionally withholding your name from your introductions?”
His easygoing expression faltered before he hastily tucked his confidence back around himself. “It’s common practice for a
wizard to protect his identity. I’ll be inclined to provide it once you agree to be my apprentice.”
If he’d hoped to distract us from the matter of his name with such a statement his ploy worked, for Mother’s eyes bulged.
“Pardon? You want Maeve to be your apprentice? A wizard’s apprentice?”
He cast me a triumphant smirk before offering a more genuine smile for Mother. “Indeed, ma’am. I happened upon Miss
Maeve while in the forest yesterday and noticed she possesses a rare affinity for magic.”
Mother gasped and spun around to face me with a gasp. “Is this true, Maeve?”
I shifted guiltily, feeling as if I’d been caught in a lie. “It’s true I encountered this wizard yesterday…” I trailed off, having
lost the words that would provide an adequate defense for my lingering silence.
“Is that what’s had you so distracted this morning?” she asked. “You seemed deep in thought about something, but this is
admittedly far different than anything I could have imagined.”
The wizard glanced towards me, expression hopeful and dimple once more on display as he shot me a mischievous grin. “I
knew you were considering it.”
I ached to deny it, but while it was one thing to lie to him—there was something about him that made it thoroughly
enjoyable to toy with him, an impulse his interactions with me thus far indicated he clearly shared—it was another thing
entirely to be dishonest with Mother.
My shoulders slumped in defeat. “I admit the idea is…appealing, but I simply could never—”
“I think you should do it.”
I blinked at her unexpected response. “You…do?”
She nodded. For a moment I could only stare in astonishment before I whirled on the wizard, jabbing an accusing finger
towards him.
“Are you bewitching her into being so cooperative?”
He raised a dubious brow. “I told you yesterday magic cannot be used to eclipse another’s will. It doesn’t bode well for
your apprenticeship if such a fundamental truth has already slipped your mind, one that I shared only yesterday and which will
be foundational for your training.”
In truth I had forgotten, but the last person I wanted to admit such a thing to was him. While I yearned to accept his offer,
something about him compelled me to remain uncooperative.
I squared my shoulders and faced Mother. “Becoming an apprentice would take me away from my responsibilities.”
“I can manage.” Though she seemed sincere, she sounded exhausted by the prospect, which only solidified my
determination not to abandon her or my brother.
I clenched my jaw. “But my leaving will put you in a difficult position—”
She gently rested her hands on my shoulders. “You’ve always been a dutiful daughter, but as much as I appreciate both your
company and your help, you have your own life. You need to explore and grow, not sacrifice your future to making my life
easier.”
“But…how can I selfishly choose such a path when there’s no guarantee it’ll lead anywhere? I might not even truly have
magic.” As I spoke the words, I realized that was one of the major variables holding me back. I was torn between the desire to
find out what I was capable of and the fear that the answer might be nothing, leaving me worse off than I was now as I returned
to my normal life with crushed dreams and no way to heal Corbin. That possibility felt more plausible when the one who
claimed I possessed magic was an eccentric wizard with unknown motives, someone I’d only just met and who had not even
shared his name with me yet.
With an impatient sigh he extended his hand, beckoning in invitation for me to take it. I hesitated before gingerly laying my
hand in his. A tingle of energy passed between our hands as his fingers curled gently around mine and he flipped it palm up.
His proximity enfolded me as he stepped closer, a closeness that despite the way he continually frustrated me I didn’t
resent.
“Summoning your powers will prove you possess magic.”
“I don’t know how,” I stammered, my eyes drifting to his hand hovering underneath mine.
“I’ll show you.” His patient tone softened my resistance and allowed my desires to coax the magic I supposedly possessed
in order to obey his instructions. “Close your eyes and concentrate on the warmth simmering beneath your skin.”
I tried to focus on the feeling he described…but the only warmth I noticed came from his proximity. I edged a few inches
away so I could better concentrate. The distance helped me focus on the feelings coursing beneath my skin, none of which
seemed different.
As if sensing this, he spoke. “Considering magic has always been a part of you, the feeling may be difficult to distinguish
since it won’t seem out of the ordinary. Silently beckon your powers and they’ll answer.”
I mentally explored the feelings coursing through me, giving them an occasional poke. Eventually I was able to discern
them; as if stirring awake they shifted, stretching and yawning in preparation to do my bidding.
“I may feel something…?”
“Good.” A smile filled his voice. “Now take hold of that sensation and push it towards your hand.”
 The calmness I’d felt from his gentle instruction faltered as my anxiety rose to cinch my heart. “You want me to perform a
spell? I don’t know any—”
“It’s just a simple charm,” he said. “Think of it as a parlor trick rather than a real spell, only meant to prove that you indeed
possess power.”
My doubts remained, but my curiosity had grown too powerful for me to ignore. I did as he instructed, searching the almost
tingly feelings stirring beneath my skin, but they only seemed to slip just beyond my reach whenever I tried to take hold of them.
Sensing my rising frustration, he stepped close enough to rest a hand on my shoulder, a touch that eased my stiff posture.
“You’re too tense. Don’t overthink it; the process isn’t complicated. Simply imagine taking hold of your powers and then
visualize pushing them towards your hand.”
The effort required strenuous mental concentration, a sensation similar to attempting to walk against a headwind. After
several attempts and much focus on the image he described, the heated tingle I’d discovered spread to my hand, followed by a
sensation of upward movement. My eyes snapped open in time to see sparkly, plum-colored light lift from my palm to twirl
through the air, as if the magic had matched itself to my favorite color to identify itself as mine. At least, I hoped it was aligning
itself with me and not showing allegiance to the wizard whose cloak was the same shade.
My gasp of surprise was drowned out not just by Mother’s but by another, equally dear voice. “Wow, Maeve, that was
amazing.”
My brother’s sudden exclamation drew my gaze towards the bedroom threshold, where he’d managed to slip from bed and
open the door wide enough to peek through with wide, fascinated eyes.
“What are you doing up, Corbin?”
He slowly eased from his room, his bright attention fixated on me and the wizard beside me. “I didn’t know you could do
magic. Did this man teach you? Is he a wizard? Can he teach me to do a trick, too?” His excited questions came rapidly, one
after another.
The teasing that usually filled the wizard’s expression melted into a look that was rather sweet as he crouched in front of
Corbin. “You must be Maeve’s younger brother.” His tone was surprisingly kind for someone who’d been driving me mad ever
since we’d met.
Corbin’s tongue stuck adorably between the gaps in his teeth as he grinned. “I’m Corbin. What’s your name, Mr. Wizard?”
I fully expected him not to respond, considering he seemed determined to keep his identity a secret, but not even the
wizard’s powers were strong enough to resist my adorable brother’s charms. He answered the eager question with very little
hesitancy.
“My name is Alden.”
He stiffened as his name escaped, as if bracing himself for some sort of reaction. When our silence extended too long, he
cast me an almost expectant look.
“Doesn’t that name…mean anything to you?”
I frowned. “Is it supposed to?” Perhaps he was a high-ranking wizard well known amongst magical beings and he took
offense at my lack of recognition of his prowess…though admittedly he didn’t seem upset, more anxious.
His shoulders sank in clear relief. “No, not at all.” Then to himself he muttered, “There are advantages I didn’t foresee in
choosing an apprentice from an obscure village; it appears news travels slowly from the capital.”
My family didn’t appear to have overheard, but as if the magic filling the air had carried his voice to my ears, I heard his
quiet murmur as clearly as if he’d spoken the words at a normal volume.
My brows drew together. “Pardon?”
“Nothing.” He cleared his throat and returned his attention to my brother, who stared up at him with an almost worshipful
expression. “Would you like to see some magic?”
Corbin clasped his hands together. “Please.”
“Bring me any ordinary object and I’ll make it extraordinary.”
I opted to go to Corbin’s room in his place while Mother helped him settle in a chair so he wouldn’t exhaust himself from
standing too long. I cast my gaze about before selecting the vase of bluebells I’d picked for him the day before.
My grin was wicked as I handed them to the wizard. “A distinguished man such as yourself seems to specialize in flowers.”
Amusement twitched Alden’s lips as he accepted them. “A proper wizard can use any material for his spells. Now to select
the perfect one.” He studied the flowers with a thoughtful air. “Bluebells, hmm…” He lifted his hand…but nothing happened.
Alden’s shoulders sank in an almost theatrical fashion. “It appears the spell the didn’t work. Perhaps you should try?”
Corbin’s eyes rounded. “Me?”
Alden’s eyes twinkled as he handed the vase to my brother, who cradled it carefully in his lap. He hesitated only a moment
before determinedly squaring his shoulders and mimicking Alden’s earlier movements. With his attention diverted, he didn’t
notice Alden surreptitiously exerting his powers—the wizard’s lips moved almost silently as he whispered an incantation, and
with a twirl of his wrist, a sprinkle of glistening magic whirled around the bluebells before seeping into the petals.
Corbin stared expectantly at the flowers, waiting, but they appeared entirely ordinary. His little shoulders slumped.
“Nothing happened.”
“Are you certain?” Alden asked. “Perhaps you should try touching them.”
Corbin gave the nearest flower a tentative poke. The clear chime of a bell filled the room. Corbin’s eyes widened in
wonder and delight and he immediately poked another, which emanated another sound in a different pitch. With each touch, a
cheerful tinkle emanated from the flowers, all unique, creating an instrument that would provide my brother hours of
entertainment and brighten up his often monotonous days.
His joyous laughter filled the room, causing my heart to swell. Alden offered me a secretive wink that effectively caused
my annoyance which I’d firmly clung to since our meeting to vanish in an instant.
When Corbin had finally satisfied himself in exploring his new magical toy, he smiled contentedly at the flowers a moment
more before looking up at the wizard. “Thank you, Mr. Wizard.”
Alden tilted his head. “Why are you thanking me? You’re the one who enchanted them.”
Corbin’s little body straightened. “You can’t trick me. I’m seven and I know you just made me think I cast the spell.”
Alden’s lips twitched. “Perhaps, but you inspired the trick, so we can share the credit.” He leaned closer, as if to share a
secret. “Since we worked together, let me tell you how the spell works. These are special flowers that won’t wilt, which will
allow you to not only enjoy them for years to come, but will remind you of your adoring sister who gave them to you.”
In that moment I realized Alden’s true motive behind his charm—he’d created a parting gift for my brother that would not
only bring him joy, but which would ease some of my worries about leaving him behind, all while demonstrating another
example of how I could use my powers, should I master them.
The odious man had likely calculatingly chosen the best means of softening me, leaving me entirely defenseless when with
another wave of his hand he conjured a floating parchment and quill. I didn’t resist when he flicked his wrist and the quill
began writing the words as he dictated them.
“Maeve, daughter of Lilith from the village of Cedar Ridge, in good faith and without equivocation, places herself in the
service and engages herself to become the apprentice to Alden the Wizard, making her home with him for learning the art and
craft of magic for a period of…” He glanced at me. “What length is agreeable to you for your studies? Two years? Four?”
Four felt entirely too long; even two seemed an eternity to part from my family. “Let’s begin with one.”
His eyes widened. “One? There’s not much I can teach you in such a short span.” He muttered something indiscernible, the
one word I caught being difficult, yet he obediently transcribed the length of time I’d requested. “…for a period of one year, at
the salary or wage of…” Here he paused again, his expression kind as he glanced at me. “What wages do you deem adequate
for your apprenticeship?”
Wages? I hadn’t even considered that I would be paid. Knowing that my family would be financially compensated for my
year-long absence cast away any remaining doubts as to this path I had chosen.
We spent a few minutes negotiating a tidy sum that, while modest, would be a boon to my family’s finances, further easing
my lingering worries in leaving them. Alden instructed the enchanted quill to write these out.
“Any further conditions?” he asked.
Each one surrounded my dear family, watching our exchange with love and joy despite the cost to them in letting me go. “I
want to be allowed to visit frequently.” I’d no sooner made the request when I realized such a wish was unattainable. The
capital was a several-day journey that would make regular visits impossible. The thought squeezed my heart.
“That will be easy to arrange.” Alden glimpsed my dubious gaze and smiled. “Trust me, Maeve.”
And to my astonishment I realized that, despite our rough beginning, I did.
The enchanted quill wrote, “Granted a visit to her family every weekend” in curly letters. Alden considered another
moment before adding, “Will be granted the right to send a daily letter with the aid of Wizard Alden’s magic until hers is
deemed sufficient” and “will receive magical compensation to her family for the loss of her labor.”
My eyes widened. “How—” I began, but Alden had already cast a spell on a nearby broom leaning against the wall.
Corbin clapped in delight as I watched in astonishment as it quivered, lifted itself upright, and began sweeping the floor, as if
guided by an invisible hand.
Alden’s smirk was triumphant. “Satisfied?”
I could only gape as he motioned the floating quill and parchment towards me with a gentle nudge. The quill angled itself
towards me, inviting me to take it up and sign the contract. I stared first at it, then the broom tidying the house on its own, and
finally to my family’s faces—though they seemed sad at the thought of losing me, their eyes were bright in anticipation for my
upcoming adventure. Their support and encouragement finally gave me the strength to embrace the path my heart yearned to
choose, a desire which had only grown with each of the wizard’s magical displays.
Alden’s magic had done more than bring smiles to their faces—it had softened my own stubborn resistance. Such simple
spells had brought joy to Corbin, eased some of my mother’s burdens, and offered the only path that could potentially heal my
brother and provide him the most fulfilling life possible. This thought, more than anything else, helped me embrace the journey
awaiting me.
Impatient, the floating quill gave me an encouraging nudge until I accepted it, my fingers trembling slightly as they gripped
the smooth stalk. It warmed my hand as I signed my name and I felt a sensation of peace wash over me rather than the dismay I
feared I’d experience once my decision became irrevocable.
And that was how I, a common girl from a remote village, became an apprentice to a wizard and embarked on my magical
journey that would prove far more surprising than I could have ever imagined.
 C HAPTER 4

A lden seemed eager to begin my apprenticeship…and in truth so was I. Luckily I needed very little preparation; all my
personal effects fit into a single rucksack, which would make traveling easier. Yet I soon discovered we weren’t about
to endure a lengthy journey on foot, but rather employ magic to quickly arrive at our destination, a discovery I only made after
finishing my heart-wrenching goodbyes.
Corbin hugged me as tightly as his weak state allowed. “Promise to bring me back a souvenir and a story?”
I nestled my cheek against his curly black hair. “I promise to bring back not one but a whole collection of stories that will
keep you up all night, should you choose.”
I held him as long as I could, not wanting to let him go, but Alden had been more than patient during my repeated hugs,
goodbyes, and tears. I gave Corbin one final squeeze and Mother one last embrace before facing Alden, who stood watching us
from the edge of the forest.
“I’m ready.”
He stepped forward. “Then we shall begin your first lesson in magic. While such a spell is too advanced for you to
perform on your own as of yet, you’ll be using it frequently to visit your family, so it’s important you at least understand it.”
As he spoke he used his powers to inscribe a large circle in the air; the magic left a glistening green trail of light that
illuminated the shade cast by the surrounding trees. After its outline had been completed, Alden shaded the center with a spell
murmured in a language I didn’t understand; the shimmery magic eclipsed the forest background until it was entirely filled with
glistening light.
“This is a magical portal that allows you to cross vast distances; when you enter it, you leave behind your origins and
arrive at the destination you’ve enchanted the portal to take you to, as easily as stepping through a door.”
While I understood in theory, the thought of magically traveling hundreds of kilometers in a single step tightened my
stomach with apprehension. I frowned at the portal floating a meter above the ground as it awaited our entry. “Is it safe?”
“Of course.” Alden looked almost offended by the insinuation. I had no choice but to take him at his word, yet couldn’t
quite let go of my lingering doubt. “I’ll go first, if you’d like,” he offered before stepping into the portal without hesitation,
vanishing in an instant as the light swallowed him up.
Though I’d understood the concept behind the magic, shock at seeing it unfold rendered me still. I blinked in astonishment
before managing to stir enough to walk around the portal to investigate the other side. Naturally Alden wasn’t there; he’d truly
been transported elsewhere.
I fought to suppress my lingering nerves, sternly reminding myself that an apprentice shouldn’t hesitate to trust in her
master’s spells. After stealing a final parting embrace with my family, with a wavering breath I faced the portal and stepped
inside.
It was if I’d been submerged in the sun. My body felt as if it was traveling at breathtaking speed—one moment I was
embraced by swarms of glistening golden light and the magic’s tingly touch, the next it melted away, allowing my surroundings
to gradually reappear as if being painted into existence by strokes of watercolor.
My breath caught as they came into focus. We no longer stood in front of my cottage with my family on one side and the
towering forest on the other, but in an elegant garden. Its artistic beauty stretched in all directions, ending at a towering castle.
While I’d heard of these magnificent structures I’d never seen one in real life. It was far more grand and elegant than I could
have imagined, its grey stones glistening as its towering turrets reached towards the sun. I drank in every detail, already
planning how I’d describe it to Corbin next time I saw him.
From beside me, Alden’s bitter swearing interrupted my admiration. “Blast, we should have come out approximately 770
meters southwest of the imperial gardens, which means I must have made an error somewhere in my calculations…” He
rummaged in his robes, withdrew a small notebook and quill, and flipped to a page crammed with scribbles and numbers,
which he began to study with an almost religious fervor.
I watched him with a puzzled frown. “I take it we’re not supposed to be at the palace?”
He didn’t warrant me a single glance, nor did he seem inclined to comment, his entire focus riveted to his figures.
 “770 meters doesn’t seem too off course,” I continued. “Such a distance means we’re still within a kilometer of our
intended destination.”
That got a reaction. His gaze snapped up. “Not too off course? 770 meters can make a monumental difference, depending
on the situation. What if that was the difference between exiting the portal midst the ocean, or over a cliff, or within enemy
territory? Magic must be precise. I should have known better than to make such an amateur mistake.”
As he returned to mulling over the mistakes in his configuration, his fingers knotted through his hair restlessly, causing it to
stick up at all angles. Whatever confidence he’d exhibited so naturally when performing his spells for me and my family had
entirely vanished. Such charms had made him seem like quite an accomplished wizard, so it was startling to discover he’d
gotten something wrong.
He seemed to sense my thoughts with that magical sixth sense of his. “I did clarify I’m still in training myself. Even so, I
can still be an effective teacher for you.”
“I wasn’t questioning the efficiency of your tutelage.” There was no need to when he was his own worst critic.
He seemed not to hear me, so I took the opportunity to admire the surrounding beauty and attempt to gauge the distance of
770 meters to see where we were supposed to come out, but nothing in our immediate surroundings appeared to be our
intended destination. Instead my attention became once again captured by the magnificent structure before me…until footsteps
suddenly sounded on one of the garden’s paths.
Alden tensed and looked up just as a guard hurried into view. He muttered another unsavory word, but before I could
question the reason for his distress, the guard spoke.
“Your Highness, several of us have been looking for you.”
Your Highness?
Alden stiffened at the address even as his gaze darted about, as if frantically searching for a place to hide…but it was in
vain, for despite being decked in heavy armor the guard swiftly reached us, his damp face frantic. He swept into a bow…and
in an instant I understood the full implications of Alden’s magical miscalculation with the resulting revelation he’d seemed
desperate to avoid.
My gaze snapped towards the wizard in hopes he’d dismiss my assumption…but the guilt mingling with his disgruntled
expression told me all I needed to know: he wasn’t just a wizard, but a prince.
He caught sight of my gaping astonishment and offered a sullen nod before facing the guard with a resigned sigh. “What’s
the reason for such a fuss? I informed the guards I had an important task to oversee.”
“That was yesterday morning,” the guard said. “When you didn’t return last night as you’d initially informed us, Their
Majesties became worried and ordered us to conduct a search.”
“It’s not the first time I’ve been late, though I do regret the worry and inconvenience I caused. I had an important matter to
attend to—a rather unexpected discovery caused me to take longer than I anticipated.”
He cast me a sideways glance and I understood. I had been the reason for his delay—I and my stubborn refusal to embrace
the joyous opportunity to study magic…with royalty, apparently.
“Whatever your reasons, it’s my duty to take you to Their Majesties as they’ve commanded so that you can inform them
you’re safe.” The guard spoke in a tone that was as close to an order as he likely dared give a member of the royal family.
Prince Alden nodded in resignation. “I understand. I will inform them after I see to my new apprentice.” He gestured
towards me, and while the guard gave me a curious look, he didn’t comment or question his prince.
“Understood, Your Highness. I shall wait here and escort you to the palace myself.”
Prince Alden seemed unenthused at the prospect, but he nodded reluctantly and motioned for me to follow him. The moment
we were out of earshot he released a heavy sigh. “My personal guard’s favorite hobby seems to be stirring up a fuss whenever
I manage to slip away, as if I’m not perfectly capable of taking care of myself with my powers.”
My shock finally faded enough for me to find the words that had been ringing in my head ever since the guard appeared.
“You’re a prince?”
He’d gone from a nameless wizard, to just Alden, to my master, and now to a prince, all within the span of twenty-four
hours. I frantically recalled every interaction we’d ever had. While I’d never been outright rude or done anything particularly
embarrassing, I hadn’t exactly maintained the decorum his title warranted, a fact that made me fiercely regret every negative
thought and feeling I’d ever had towards him.
He hesitated, as if debating whether he could get away with denying it, before his shoulders slumped. “I…suppose you
could say that.”
“You suppose?” What kind of answer was that?
He sighed. “I mean…yes, I am a prince…I suppose.”
That answer was just as vague as his first until I considered a possible explanation: there were many types of princes—
lesser royals that possessed enough royal blood to warrant the title while not being the direct members of the current reigning
family. Perhaps Alden was one of those.
“What’s your relationship to the current king and queen?” I asked tentatively.
 He didn’t immediately respond, seeming to debate how to answer before sighing in defeat. “I’m their son.”
Well, there went that theory. The man was as royal as one could be. Just perfect.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were the prince?”
He slowed on the path twisting away from the imperial grounds, looking weary. “Because it’s a title I did nothing to earn. I
place very little value in a role I was merely born to, whereas my identity as a wizard is one I’ve worked hard for, making it
far more valuable to me.”
I frowned. “Is that why you took so long to offer your name?”
He bit his lip, which I took as a yes. “My apologies, I know my lack of introduction was unbearably rude. I just…wanted to
enjoy not being Prince Alden for as long as I could. I was pleasantly surprised when, upon learning my name, you didn’t
connect me with the royal family.”
The pieces of his puzzling reaction after finally sharing his identity fell into place, and then I was embarrassed by the
implications of my own response. “It’s not as if I was uninformed that the prince of the reigning monarchy was named Alden.”
My basic education had at least included that much. “I just didn’t…”
I swallowed the admission I hadn’t had any reason to remember. Our village resided on the very edge of the kingdom of
Rosileya, too far for anyone of importance to ever travel, much less the royal family. Our vast distance from the capital made
its affairs as well as the intricate matters of the kingdom and high society of little concern to us.
His eyebrows rose as he filled in the words I hadn’t dared speak out loud. “You were aware…but simply didn’t care.”
My cheeks heated. “I—” But my fumbled attempts to explain faltered at his expression—rather than offense, he appeared
rather pleased.
“You don’t need to explain, I’m not upset.” To my fierce relief he seemed sincere. “Too many place more importance on my
family than we warrant. We only hold a title, nothing more.”
I disagreed. They did more than hold a title—they were the reigning force over the entire kingdom; no family had greater
prestige or influence. But I pursed my lips and chose to remain silent…about that matter, at least.
“Were you planning on telling me?”
He shrugged. “Eventually, for I’m not foolish enough to think I could get away with keeping it from you for long.
Admittedly I hoped to have lasted longer than I did, but at the very least the discovery waited until after you signed the
contract; I was afraid if you knew before, you wouldn’t want to become my apprentice.”
There was truth in his assumption. My jaw tightened. “So you lied.”
He shifted guiltily. “Not lied, just…omitted a few essential details.”
The fragile trust I’d managed to build with him faltered. I didn’t need to ask to know it was too late to break our contract; I
was bound to this royal wizard for at least a year. Only this thought was strong enough to help me resist the burning temptation
to hold a grudge against him for his deceit; if I was trapped as his apprentice for the foreseeable future, the least I could do
would be to make the situation as bearable as was within my power…no matter how much I detested the thought.
This determination was insufficient for me to break the tense silence as we walked across the vast grounds farther from the
palace in the direction of a small stone building covered in crawling ivy, whose distance of approximately 770 meters from
where we’d exited the portal led me to assume it was our intended destination.
I finally broke the quiet awkwardness to ask…but only ended up escalating his uneasiness with my question. “Your
Highness, is that—”
“Don’t call me that,” he interrupted with a frown.
I blinked at him. “Then what should I call you instead? Prince Alden?” The tentative title felt awkward on my tongue.
“Just Alden will do.”
My eyes bulged. “I…couldn’t possibly do that, Your Highness.”
He frowned. “But you did before.”
“Well, circumstances were different; I didn’t know who you truly were.”
“You did: I’m Alden, Wizard-in-Training, and you’re my apprentice. Nothing has changed.”
Except for the fact I now knew him by his real identity as the sole prince of our vast kingdom.
At my continued hesitation he sighed, the sound resigned. “If you insist on titles, then I’d prefer either Master Alden or
Wizard Alden. Our magical agreement makes those most appropriate; your position as my apprentice supersedes that of being
my subject.”
Unfortunately I couldn’t disagree with this logic. Referring to him as Master felt a bit much, which left only one remaining
option. “Wizard Alden,” I conceded.
He smiled to himself, seeming pleased by the address. “Excellent, so the matter is settled…or perhaps not.” He slowed to
face me. “There will be no curtsies, bows, addresses of Your Highness, or any formalities whatsoever. Is that understood?”
My brow furrowed. “But…then how should I treat you?”
“As you always have.” Grumpiness hardened his tone. “I wish you hadn’t found out as it makes things needlessly
complicated; we don’t have time to waste on royal protocol if you’re only going to apprentice with me for a year. The only
matter of significance in our arrangement is that I’m your magical tutor. If my title makes things too complicated, then your
apprenticeship ends here.” By the fierceness filling his expression I realized he was serious.
It wasn’t until he gave me an out that I realized just how desperately I wanted this opportunity. For as long as I’d resisted
this path, now that I’d chosen it nothing would compel to me give it up…neither his position nor my grudge against him for
withholding it. A flicker of anxiety in the prince’s eyes betrayed his act of sternness; he clearly desired this as much as I did.
I hesitated before nodding reluctantly. “Very well…Wizard Alden.” I didn’t offer any word of complaint, even as I fought
the impulse to apologize in a way he’d undoubtedly disapprove of. When I made no further argument his shoulders relaxed and
his easygoing manner returned.
“Thank goodness we got that tedious business sorted.” Satisfied, he closed the remaining distance to the building just up
ahead with long, purposeful strides. “This is the magical chamber where we’ll be spending the majority of our time and where
you’ll conduct your studies.”
At our approach, the door opened of its own accord, as if attended by an invisible servant. My eyes rounded as I stepped
inside the stone chamber. The room was large and airy, lit by swaths of natural light tumbling through the windows and many
floating candles that flickered to life upon our entrance.
A myriad of books stacked haphazardly greeted me and I took in a breath of amazement at the sheer extravagance, curious
to explore their titles; perhaps I could find some new stories to share with Corbin. My eyes were next caught by the number of
magical items scattered about the room and I yearned to better examine them, but before I could study any of the enchanted
objects with any detail, a book that had been lying dormant in the corner suddenly stirred to life and soared towards us,
flapping its pages as if agitated.
I took a step back, startled, but Wizard Alden chuckled as he gave it a reassuring pat. “My apologies for being late, but
thank you for tending to things in my absence.”
The book nestled its spine against his hand rather affectionately before tilting itself in my direction with an almost
inquisitive air. The wizard motioned towards me.
“This is my new apprentice, Maeve. You can show her around while I meet with my parents. Please treat her well.”
The spellbook didn’t seem inclined to perform such a menial task. It gave an annoyed ruffle but Wizard Alden ignored its
silent complaint as he swept over to a nearby bookcase sagging beneath the weight of hundreds of magic books, muttering to
himself as he browsed.
“If only I had time to study why I got the portal’s configuration wrong before I meet with Mother and Father…” With a sigh
he carefully selected a worn volume and handed it to me. “While I’m gone, your first assignment is to read this. It’ll cover all
the basics to provide you with a solid foundation that will be essential in learning to cast spells. I’ll answer any questions you
might have when I return; hopefully the information is straightforward so I have time to deduce the error in my portal.”
His robes billowed as he strode determinedly towards the door. He paused on the threshold to glance over his shoulder, a
concerned look crossing his face as he found me tracing the title embedded into the leather cover.
“You can read, can’t you?”
“Of course I can.” I might be a common girl but I at least possessed that qualification.
He nodded to himself. “My parents are both very involved in ensuring literacy for all our subjects, which will make my job
easier.”
He departed. The door closed without assistance behind him, leaving me standing alone in a foreign environment,
surrounded by magical knowledge and enchanted items I had no idea what to do with.
I glanced uncertainly at the spellbook floating nearby. “His Highness promised me a tour…?”
In response, the spellbook quivered slightly as if snorting in condescension, then floated towards the hearth, where it
settled itself comfortably like a cat stretching itself out for a nap. It appeared that the tour would have to wait. It was likely for
the best; it’d be much more productive if I could ask the prince—wizard, I hastily corrected myself—my questions that were
sure to arise…if he’d be willing to take time away from his own pressing studies in order to answer them.
With a sigh I curled up in a chair near the fire and eased the book open, prepared to settle in for a long stretch of reading
before His Highness returned…only to be bombarded with page after page of archaic language and complex diagrams I
couldn’t even begin to decipher.
I stared blankly, first at the book, then at the sentient spellbook ignoring me quite determinedly, and finally I glanced around
the room entirely absent of the wizard who had annoyed me with his presence so often before now only to be inconveniently
absent when I most needed him. I puzzled for a moment over the conundrum of a wizard who had employed every persuasion at
his disposal to convince me to join him, only to seem too busy to actually teach me.
I wasn’t entirely sure what I’d expected from my apprenticeship, but so far it hadn’t been this rather unconventional
beginning.
 C HAPTER 5

T he prince didn’t return until late afternoon, when he found me in front of the bookcase scouring the titles, encircled by
a small collection of discarded volumes neatly stacked around my feet. He blinked in astonishment. “What are you
doing?”
I hesitated, unsure whether I should voice my complaints to a prince…before they tumbled out of their own accord,
releasing my frustration at not only being unable to understand the book, but at being abandoned to learn on my own on the first
day. “The basic book you chose for me was too advanced, so I’m searching for another.” I yanked out a worn volume and
perused the first page before setting it aside with the others.
“I selected the same book I myself studied from when I was beginning my own training, so the material should have been at
your level…but perhaps I should have taken the time to explain some of the basics in order to aid your comprehension, which
means you’ve lost an entire afternoon of studying.” He sighed. “If you were having difficulties finding a more appropriate
book, you could have asked my familiar.”
I glanced towards the spellbook, no longer lying lazily about, but propped open and ready at a table, as if to show its
willingness to be used for whatever Wizard Alden needed, no sign of the mischievous rebellion that caused it to disobey his
earlier wishes in assisting me.
“It didn’t seem inclined to provide a tour, let alone help me select a more approachable book.”
“You mean you haven’t even done that much? What an unproductive first day it’s been for you.” Despite his exasperation,
he appeared contrite. “The fault is mostly mine. I should have taken the time to assist you rather than leaving as hastily as I did.
I just didn’t want to keep my parents waiting longer than necessary.”
The heated annoyance that had been stewing throughout his absence was slightly mollified by his words. “I understand that
the king and queen must take priority.”
“They would have been fine to wait longer if they’d been aware of the situation, which only worsens my neglect.” He
stepped in front of me to search the books himself. His brows drew together as he turned away from the shelves to crouch in
front of the teetering stacks. “Where is it?”
Several minutes of rummaging apparently didn’t yield what he was searching for. My mind drifted back to our meeting
when I’d been led to him by his sentient ball of light. “If you’re looking for something specific, could you perhaps perform a
summoning charm?”
He stilled before his wide-eyed gaze snapped up to meet mine. I responded with a shrug. The corner of his mouth lifted.
“You’re thinking like a magician, which will serve you well in your studies.” He snapped his fingers, and with a glisten of light
a book wriggled itself free from the farthest pile to float into his hand. He glanced through its contents before handing it to me.
My shoulders slumped as I opened to the first page. “This one is also too advanced.”
I started to hand it back to him but he pushed my hand away. “Don’t make such a hasty judgement before you’ve even
studied it. You can expect the material to be above the level you’re used to; magic is different than reading a story—it requires
time and focus. If after an hour of sincere effort you still find the material too difficult, I will help you.”
I frowned at the book before lifting my gaze. He’d returned to rummaging through the stacks until he found what he was
looking for. He carried the chosen volume to his workbench laden with ingredients and instruments outside my realm of
familiarity, ignoring his spellbook’s annoyed ruffle at being ignored when it noticed the other book in his possession.
“Is this the extent of my magic training?” I asked. “Simply reading?”
He opened his own book to a bookmarked page. “For now, but after you build a solid foundation through self study, it will
evolve to more practical applications where I will assist you. In the meantime, I have my own studies.”
I was miffed that he only seemed willing to assist me if I needed it, but I was in no position to argue. I might have
disregarded the fact that he was my mentor and offered my unfiltered opinion anyway…if his royal position hadn’t held me
back, a title I couldn’t forget despite his wishes on the matter. Though the arrangement he outlined was unideal, it was better
than none at all.
I bit my tongue to stifle the complaints yearning to escape and settled myself in the seat closest to the hearth for a long
afternoon of reading…or attempted reading, for though my literacy level provided me with the vocabulary to read most of the
words, I struggled to weave them together to form any semblance of meaning, particularly with the complex diagrams.
Reading had never been one of my strengths. Though I’d learned the basics, I’d had little opportunity to practice. Other than
a religious text, a volume containing recipes and information about basic herbs, and the well-worn storybook I’d read so
frequently I had all the tales memorized, my family didn’t own any books; they were both expensive and impractical for our
working, everyday use.
The strain quickly caused a headache to pulse at my temples, causing time to slow. Soon the light outside began to fade as
twilight painted the sky. The floating candles remained lit, drifting closer to offer ample light, so that Wizard Alden seemed
unaware of the settling night, remaining burrowed in his own studies, oblivious to all else. I frowned at his back hunched over
his thick volume in an unregal posture; he occasionally paused to scribble notes, his fingertips stained with ink.
I tried to return to my own studies but quickly grew distracted—the magical objects scattered about the room were far more
interesting than a text I couldn’t understand, as was the magic simmering beneath my skin. I soon became occupied with
practicing my powers as Wizard Alden had taught me this morning. Concentration proved difficult with my current mental
strain, but after several attempts I managed to manifest the tingly warmth beneath my skin through a swirl of glistening purple
light.
The magic finally drew the wizard’s elusive attention. He frowned. “You’re a fast reader. I didn’t expect you to get to the
practical portion for at least another day.”
I bit my lip. “I haven’t yet reached it; I’m still in the first chapter.”
His eyes bulged. “You are?”
His clear astonishment at my lack of progress—something his poor tutelage had vastly contributed to—annoyed me enough
to push past my natural reservation towards unleashing my frustrations on a member of the royal family.
I snapped the book shut. “Perhaps apprenticeships are done differently in the capital, but in my village the Master takes a
more hands on approach. That was my understanding when I signed our contract. If an afternoon like this one is all I have to
expect, left alone to study material I cannot understand, then if at all possible I want out.”
Heavy silence hung thickly in the air following my outburst, punctuated only by the ruffle of the spellbook’s pages as it
tilted itself back and forth between us in silent anticipation. Eventually Wizard Alden heaved a sigh as he swiveled in his seat
to fully face me. “My apologies. Even if I wasn’t distracted by researching why my portal veered so off course, it’d still be
difficult to give you what you expect when I’m still in training myself.”
“Then why did you acquire an apprentice?” The question still nagged me—he’d been so adamant about my acceptance…
only to entirely ignore me after he’d gotten his way. Despite the effort he’d expended for me to become his apprentice, my
presence felt like a nuisance, leaving me feeling confused and frustrated.
“The decision was admittedly rather spontaneous. As such I didn’t fully consider the implications. In the end it all comes
down to the fact that I need an apprentice…for various reasons.”
Once again he was being purposefully vague. I had the sinking suspicion that, like his identity, he had a reason not to
disclose his true intentions. I lifted a brow. “Such as?”
He fiddled with his quill. “In part, I thought my apprentice could aid in performing some of the tedious preparations often
needed for my spells, or help with other menial magical tasks so that I had more time for my own studies, something I already
lack with my pressing royal duties.”
I blinked at him. “So you were just seeking a hired assistant?”
“Not entirely…” But he hadn’t denied it. There was clearly another reason he wasn’t telling me, one his extended silence
indicated would likely upset me.
Unbelievable, though it made my painful decision easier. “Where’s our contract? I want out.”
His chair tipped over as he stumbled to his feet in dismay. “You can’t. A magical contract can’t be broken.”
“It’s broken already,” I snapped. “You haven’t upheld the terms upon which we agreed: I signed up to learn the art and craft
of magic, not to be your magical housekeeper or to spend hours reading tomes I don’t understand.” I stomped over to push the
book into his hands so forcefully he nearly dropped it.
“You are learning the art and craft of magic; you just need to study in order to acquire the basics.”
“Then you need to ensure I understand these basics as I read about them, else I’m merely wasting my time.”
We had a silent stare down before his tense posture eased with a heavy sigh of capitulation. “You’re right, I haven’t been an
effective tutor. First I was distracted with my parents, then my own magical weaknesses concerning my failed portal. This is as
new to me as it is to you, so please don’t prematurely give up until you give our arrangement a fair try; I need an apprentice.”
I pressed my hands to my hips. “And you refuse to disclose the reason why?”
He bit his lip and remained silent. I sighed and considered what to do. Unfortunately there weren’t many options open to
me. Not only was I bound by the magic document I’d signed, but my anger had done little to suppress my yearnings to explore
my magic; if anything they’d only grown as I immersed myself in my studies, despite not fully understanding them.
He tentatively opened the book I’d failed to comprehend. “What part can I explain?”
 “All of it,” I said.
“That will take time we don’t currently have.”
“And whose fault is that?”
By his widening eyes he’d clearly overheard the words I’d muttered beneath my breath. His lips twitched. “Hmm, you’re a
feisty one.” He didn’t seem bothered by this; if anything, he appeared intrigued, as if he found a common girl putting him in his
place vastly entertaining.
My cheeks warmed by my daring but I held my ground. He glanced towards the window at the fading light settling across
the royal grounds.
“You’re quite right that I’m to blame for our circumstances. Unfortunately, the hour has grown late and I’m due to attend
dinner; I promise to provide a full explanation of the material, but I’d rather not rush it. In hopes of making up for my
negligence, I will at least provide your promised tour, with the assurance I’ll assist you with anything you don’t understand
from your reading first thing in the morning.”
Though unideal, it was better than nothing.
His promised tour wasn’t lengthy, as the magical quarters consisted of only a few rooms—I’d already seen the main
workshop, but there was also a brewing room where ingredients were stored and potions were created, a library, a kitchen
enchanted to transport prepared meals directly from the palace kitchens, and a few bedrooms upstairs. My assigned room was
small yet more spacious than the cramped room I’d shared with my family back home, but though it was the first time I’d ever
had my own room, I felt no joy at the prospect, only aching loneliness.
I glanced towards the closed doors lining the corridor. “Which room is yours?”
His eyebrows rose. “I no longer sleep here. I used to on occasion on days I stayed late and was too tired to return home,
but it’d be inappropriate for me to do so now that you’ll be living here.”
My face burned at the insinuation behind my innocent comment, a blush that was thankfully masked by the dim light and my
darker skin. “Of course.”
I was relieved I wouldn’t always be in such close proximity to the prince—not just because he easily riled me but because
for some reason his proximity made me anxious, a feeling that urged me to engage in a battle of wills that had no place with a
royal, despite him not seeming easily offended.
After ensuring I had everything I needed, he departed. I slid the curtain aside a sliver to watch him walk across the grounds
until he disappeared. With a weary sigh I allowed the curtain to fall back and perched at the edge of the bed to look around my
new room, empty save for its bare furnishings and a silence that stretched to fill every corner. From downstairs I could faintly
hear the soft ruffle of the spellbook’s pages, but otherwise I was entirely alone.
And thus my first day as Wizard Alden’s apprentice concluded.

MY FIRST NIGHT spent away from home was more restless than the one before when my mind had been occupied with thoughts
of magic; this time I was haunted by my family’s absence, the darkness too silent without the familiar, comforting sound of their
soft breaths as they slept.
The night slipped away with very little sleep, which made it difficult to concentrate the following morning when Wizard
Alden fulfilled his promise to explain the chapter in its entirety. Although I understood more of it than I had when attempting to
study it on my own, my exhaustion hindered most of my comprehension, a deep fatigue that took several long days to make up
for.
The first week passed in a blur as we attempted to establish our routine, a balance between study, practice, and duties.
Depending on the day, I alternated between resentment at being magically bound to an apprenticeship I often found difficult and
frustrating, and excitement at the new magical powers I was slowly uncovering; on occasion the emotions varied within the
same day, sometimes even down to the hour.
Though the prince was never as neglectful as he’d been the first day, his royal duties prevented him from devoting as much
attention to his magic as he wanted. The hours he managed to steal had to be divided between assisting me and his own studies,
training which he conducted with as much fervor as he’d dedicated to his portal work our first day, leaving me wondering if his
hard work was due to his dedication to his craft or was motivated by something else.
Due to his busy schedule, reading founded my magical training, but gradually the task grew easier as I became more
familiar with the magical vocabulary and the diagrams demonstrating each spell, which were more difficult to master than I
anticipated. My master was patient yet often distracted, but no matter how busy he became, he did his best to answer my
questions and assist me with the details of my craft.
We began with simple charms, basic spells, and menial potions, all whose effects were often not worth the effort required,
but I still thrilled whenever I could create my own magic—whether it was causing an object to float, creating my own bulb of
light, or transforming an ordinary object into something extraordinary.
 My studies were broken up by my promised visits to my family every weekend, all of which gave me the incentive to work
hard so I’d have something to showcase. I never tired of Mother’s proud awe and Corbin’s exclamations of delight as I showed
off my small accomplishments, nor the thought of the rest I could provide them should I finally master the magic that would be
able to aid my mother and alleviate my brother’s discomfort.
When I wasn’t studying, I took on the role of an assistant and helped Wizard Alden with some of his magical duties, which
he assured me were essential for my own training. I spent hours gathering herbs and ingredients in the surrounding forest and
preparing them, organizing books and potions, and keeping things tidy. It might be tiring work, but I vastly preferred it to trying
to decipher a book of magical instruction.
My fascination with magic grew with each passing day, as did my ease in controlling my powers the more I practiced. With
each successful spell magic became more my own, not just a tool but a friend who, with the right persuasion, could do my
bidding.
If only our peaceful rhythm would last, but everything changed the day an unexpected summons arrived.
It began as any other. I sat at the workbench practicing a tonic meant to soothe discomfort, one of the most basic brews. I
hummed to myself as I chopped the ingredients, pausing occasionally to consult the book, ensuring the appearance and
measurements matched the description. I finished mincing the dahlia petals and pulverizing an acorn, and was just beginning to
peel willow tree bark when Wizard Alden’s annoyed sigh punctuated the air.
I glanced towards him. “Is something the matter?”
“It’s nothing.” But his jaw clenched, betraying him; one of the earliest traits I’d learned about Wizard Alden was that he
was a rather poor liar.
I shrugged and returned to my potion, faintly aware that the longer I worked, the more rigid the wizard’s posture became…
until a glimmer of magic surrounded him following a wave of his hand. It faded, leaving him much more relaxed.
I returned to my potion, measuring each ingredient with the utmost care. It was essential I master this tonic. If it alleviated
some of Corbin’s discomfort, I could prepare a steady supply and transport it back home through the magical circle Wizard
Alden had drawn in a corner of our workshop that connected with the one he’d created in the dirt outside my cottage, allowing
me to efficiently send messages, wages, extra food, and items to make my brother smile.
I’d been working on this tonic for four days, but despite my many attempts, I could never get the completed potion to match
the illustration—today’s was murky orange, a stark contrast to the vivid blue the book indicated meant a successful concoction.
I yearned to seek Wizard Alden’s assistance, but his tension combined with his extra concentration on whatever he was
currently working on made me hesitant.
When today’s attempt turned my brew a bubbly crimson, I realized there was no help for it. With a reluctant sigh I faced the
prince. “Wizard Alden, can you help me?”
No response. I waited a patient moment in case he needed to find a good stopping point, but after a minute passed I
surmised he hadn’t heard me.
“Wizard Alden?”
Nothing.
“Prince Alden?”
My use of his despised title should have at least gotten me a response, yet still nothing. I abandoned my failed concoction to
tentatively approach, yet he still didn’t look up even after I’d reached him. Magical energy filled the air, as if some sort of
cocoon surrounded him, blocking out all distractions.
Curiosity compelled me to lean over his shoulder to see what had so effectively captured his attention and was met with an
unusual list: magical theory (finish the complete works), acquire an apprentice, master charms to Level 9 or higher, invent
my own enchantment, create an advanced brew, invent a unique spell, embark on a magical quest…
His arm blocked out the rest. Beneath each item were a series of brainstormed ideas written in an untidy scrawl, with two
tidy checkmarks beside “magical theory” and “acquire an apprentice.”
My brow furrowed. What was this?
He stretched, a movement that caused his shoulder to graze my fluffy hair. He startled and swiveled to face me, his elbow
nearly making contact with my face. “Maeve! What are you doing?” Magic hummed in the air as he performed a hasty,
unspoken spell; even with my minimal training I recognized that he’d just removed a charm.
“Now you notice me.”
He blinked towards the bench where I’d been sitting only moments before, his expression bashful. “I’m sorry.” He offered
no explanation, but with the magic lingering in the air, I didn’t need one.
“What magic did you perform?”
He hesitated. “Just a spell to help me concentrate.”
The spell he’d chosen wasn’t difficult to guess. “Was it a silencing spell?”
The guilt twisting his expression was all the confirmation I needed. “You hum while you work, which can make it difficult
to focus.”
 I frowned. “My humming hasn’t seemed to bother you before…or have you been performing such a spell my entire
apprenticeship?”
His silence was confirmation enough. If his concentration was so fragile, he should have considered that before getting an
apprentice. I managed to refrain from voicing the accusation, but only just.
“I didn’t mean to bother you; I like to hum while I work.”
“I noticed.” He said nothing more as he reluctantly set aside his quill and gave me his full attention. “Is there something I
can help you with?” By his tone he clearly hoped the matter would be an easy one to settle.
Even so, he was being strangely cooperative…which made me suspect he didn’t want me to ask about the contents of his
list, a suspicion he confirmed by mumbling a hasty spell to blur the words, masking them from my view. Naturally, his attempts
to hide the contents only escalated my unquenchable curiosity.
I debated between going against his wishes in asking about the strange list—something I felt particularly invested in,
considering I’d been on it—or taking advantage of his rare undivided attention. Naturally the latter won as I reminded myself
that the sooner I mastered my tonic, the sooner I could help my dear brother.
“No matter how many times I attempt it, my brew always ends up the wrong color.”
Wizard Alden approached my simmering cauldron and studied the contents. He dipped his hand in and rubbed a droplet
between finger and thumb, then carefully checked my measurements and the size of my minced ingredients. “It was prepared
well, so it appears this is a magical theory issue.”
I nearly groaned. He had the annoying tendency to insert magical theory into his lessons at every opportunity, facts that
were not only confusing but unbearably dull. “What theory did I fail to pay attention to this time?”
“I suspect it either has to do with the order you added your ingredients, the manner in which you added them, or how you
stirred them. I have a book that might help.”
I bit my tongue to stave my protests as he wandered to the shelf. The spellbook perked up at seeing its master’s need and
inched itself closer in an effort to draw his attention, but he dismissed it with a pat, causing it to droop in a disgruntled manner.
After rummaging through several shelves he still hadn’t found what he was looking for. “Did you rearrange my books?”
“I did. Your original organization was chaotic.”
“But it was my chaos. I knew where everything was.”
“But I didn’t. It was hindering my studies, considering I don’t yet know how to use a summoning spell to acquire what I
need, whereas you do.”
He muttered something indiscernible, his tone grumpy and his good cheer all but eclipsed by the same tension I’d observed
when I caught him with that mysterious parchment.
“You seem on edge,” I observed. “Is something on your mind?”
At my words his gaze made a sudden dart—not towards me, but to the window. “Of course not. Everything is—”
The remainder of his words were swallowed by a gasp at the glistening light that suddenly flickered into view. As it
approached, I saw that it was a glowing butterfly, a creature I now recognized as a standard choice in sending messages
between magical beings.
Wizard Alden hurried over to wrench the window open and eagerly snatched the ethereal insect. Upon contact, the butterfly
melted into a piece of parchment, which he read frantically, his eyes widening with every word.
“What is it?” I asked.
He seemed to scarcely hear me, his attention entirely eclipsed by his message, while his expression warred between joy
and nerves.
“At last, after all this time…it’s finally here.”
And that was the moment when the quiet magical life we’d forged drastically changed.
 C HAPTER 6

I watched warily as Wizard Alden whirled about the room, seizing all manner of books, ingredients, and potions and
throwing them into the trunk he’d enchanted to follow him as he packed. It wasn’t the only object trailing him—the
spellbook had spent the past hour using every manner of silent persuasion in cajoling its master into bringing it with him, pleas
to which Wizard Alden was remaining stubbornly unyielding.
From the moment the wizard had received his message, the formerly quiet magical laboratory had been a whirl of chaos as
he prepared for his sudden trip which he’d been nothing but cryptic about. He’d only spared as many words as necessary to
explain about a magical competition that, should he win, would allow him to earn a prestigious position on some wizard’s
counsel I’d never heard of, let alone understood its details.
All I knew was that this venture would require him to be absent for weeks, likely even months, an arrangement I found
myself quite disgruntled by when I was only just getting used to my apprenticeship and still needed help learning the basics of
my craft, especially if I hoped to master the healing tonics I yearned to create for Corbin.
“How long is this competition supposed to last?” I asked for the third time.
Wizard Alden didn’t even spare me a glance as he yanked several books from the shelf and tossed them haphazardly into
his trunk, which had yet to become full, enchanted to hold any number of objects, a mystery that, like many others, I’d have to
wait until his return in order to understand.
Though I found his silence frustrating, it didn’t discourage me from trying another tactic. “Should you earn this prestigious
position as you hope, how will it affect my apprenticeship?”
“It’ll put me in a better position to tutor you.” He plucked several potions from a shelf and turned to pack the vials…only to
nearly careen into his spellbook hovering precariously close to the trunk, as if it meant to slip inside when he wasn’t looking.
“For the last time, I can’t bring you with me. Competitions are meant to be done on one’s own without any outside assistance,
especially from a familiar.”
The spellbook’s entire manner drooped in response and the prince’s annoyance softened. He gave it an apologetic pat.
“If I ever have need of you, I’ll be sure to summon you.” He gently tickled its spine but the caress did little to cheer up the
temperamental object. Though he appeared regretful, Wizard Alden remained unyielding as he resumed his packing.
“Can you truly earn such a position with your being a prince?” I asked.
He stiffened. “I can do both at the same time.” But he didn’t sound certain.
That seemed doubtful, especially when a position as prestigious as a magical counsel seemed time consuming enough to
distract from his royal duties. “Do Their Majesties approve?”
His resulting scowl told me they clearly didn’t, which meant he was gallivanting off on this adventure without their
knowledge. Though my common background left me with little experience in political matters, I had enough sense to know that
this decision was a very poor one on his part.
“Doesn’t your position as a prince come before being a wizard?”
It was the wrong thing to say. He snapped his trunk lid shut and spun around to give me a rare glare. “Neither my position
nor the life I choose to lead is up to you to decide, Maeve.”
His words returned me to my proper place. I flinched and lowered my eyes. His heavy sigh was followed by approaching
footsteps. He cupped my chin to gently lift my gaze, a gesture that left my skin strangely tingly from his touch, as if the magic
we both possessed reacted at our contact.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”
“You only spoke the truth,” I murmured. “Your choices are none of my business.”
“They are when they affect you.” He dropped his touch, leaving me strangely yearning for it again. “I regret that this will
interfere with your apprenticeship. Though I’ll be busy, it’ll never be too much to answer your questions, so send as many
messages as you need.”
“My skills are too amateurish to guarantee they’ll reach you.”
He considered the matter before withdrawing some parchment from his desk and resting his hand on top as he spoke a
phrase in the enchanted language I never grew tired of hearing; the entire stack glowed before the light faded as the charm
completed.
“My enchantment will guarantee that any message written on this parchment will find me. If you need any further assistance,
my spellbook will be pleased to help.”
By the spellbook’s aggravated rustle, this was an arrangement it clearly didn’t approve of any more than I did. But Wizard
Alden didn’t seem to care as he waved his hand to shrink his trunk…but the spell had the opposite effect, causing the trunk to
grow larger. He muttered a curse.
I frowned. “Do you truly possess the skills necessary to earn such a prominent magical position?”
Grumpiness once more overcame him at my words. “Of course I do.”
He panted heavily as he cradled his magic and struggled to force his trunk to a small enough size for him to pocket,
muttering the incantation through gritted teeth. Tucking the exasperating object safely into his robe, he nodded to himself before
facing me with a much calmer expression.
“Every skilled wizard has a few…hiccups they must overcome. Admittedly, I wish I had more time to iron out my own
wrinkles, but even though I’m not as prepared as I’d like to be, I’m not going to waste an opportunity that only comes once
every decade or so. I’ll give it my best effort with the abilities I currently possess.”
With a flicker of magic he summoned his cloak, secured it around his shoulders, and with a parting wave he was gone. I
stared after him, feeling his absence more acutely than I expected. Even though we didn’t interact often, I’d still found his
presence comforting, especially knowing I could turn to him whenever I needed him.
I settled at my workbench to stare morosely at my cauldron where my failed tonic still bubbled gently, while the spellbook
moped nearby in the place Alden had vanished. Wizard Alden hadn’t been able to finish figuring out what had gone wrong with
it before he’d left, leaving me no guidance on how to proceed save for the thick volume on magical theory resting beside my
mortar and pestle.
With a heavy sigh I opened it and scanned the table of contents for the chapters on the two potential issues the wizard
hypothesized: either the problem was due to the order I’d added my ingredients or it lay with the manner in which I’d done so.
I selected the chapter on ingredient preparation first before propping the book up and emptying the cauldron’s contents in order
to start over again, this time alone.

TWO UNPRODUCTIVE AND rather lonely days passed before there was any variation to my routine, time in which I made little to
no progress on my tonic. I tried not to panic—after all, Corbin had been doing well during last weekend’s visit—but I couldn’t
entirely dismiss the sudden urgency I felt to prepare it, as if some outside force guided my hand, instinct my powers possessed
rather than my consciousness.
But no matter how diligently I studied, I could never properly create my brew—either the color was wrong, or the
consistency, and once even the temperature.
With an aggravated sigh I drained my most recent failure—this one a dismal brown—and glared at the workbench Wizard
Alden normally occupied, hoping he could feel the force of my ire even across our vast distance.
“Some master you are,” I grumbled. “Running off to pursue your own selfish interests and abandoning your apprentice
when she most needs you.” But even unleashing my anger without risk of being overheard did little to lift my despondency.
With a dark mutter I stomped to the supply closet to retrieve the necessary ingredients to start over, only for a sudden knock
to deviate my course. A courier stood on the other side of the door, bearing an envelope inscribed with a familiar hand. My
spirits immediately lifted.
“Message for Miss Maeve, Apprentice to His Highness.”
I eagerly accepted it. It’d been nearly a week since I’d heard from my family, whose lack of magic forced them to send
their messages via the post rather than the magical circle, making each few and far between.
My smile in anticipation of reading of my family’s adventures and seeing Corbin’s most recent drawing faltered the moment
I noticed the roughness of Mother’s usual neat penmanship, as if my name had been written in a hurry. Heart pounding, I tore the
message open. It contained a single line.
Corbin is very ill. Fear cinched my chest, trapping my horrified breath. Corbin!
For a moment I could only stare at the horrible words, which shook with my trembling hands. All at once my strength
vanished and I collapsed to the floor, clutching the now crumpled letter to my chest.
Corbin…
This wasn’t the first time he’d suddenly taken ill, and the memories of the past moments only escalated my fear. The panic
searing through me compelled me to action while also leaving me paralyzed, as if Mother’s news had cast a spell that rendered
my limbs frozen.
Eventually worry for my beloved brother urged me to my feet and up the stairs, where I took every coin I’d earned from the
pouch in my room and hastily scrawled a note: Get whatever medicines he needs at the apothecary.
I set both these at the center of the transporting circle Wizard Alden had set up and touched the outline with my powers. It
illuminated and reached its light up to swallow the note and money.
Yet despite having offered whatever assistance I could and trusting our village apothecary’s capabilities, my anxiety
lingered, especially with the vast distance separating me from my brother. Leaving home to learn magic felt unbearably selfish
when he lay sick without my being at his side to nurse him or comfort him as I always did.
This thought haunted me as I struggled to distract myself with my studies, but all I could think about was Corbin’s flushed
face and heart-wrenching moans as his illness seared through his fragile body. My helplessness surged. I tried to reassure
myself he’d get better like he always had in the past…but what if this time he didn’t and we lost him like we had Father all
those winters ago?
Fear fueled my desperation. I quickly abandoned my usual tasks and began frantically searching the books Wizard Alden
had left behind for something—anything—that could help my dear brother, a search made more difficult considering I
possessed little information about what afflicted him. Midst my rummaging, the spellbook eventually stopped its daily dose of
sulking and wandered over to examine the uneven stacks piling up around me.
I knew it’d be foolish to attempt an unknown spell when I still struggled with the most basic of tonics, but panic blinded me
to sense. What good was possessing magic if I couldn’t use it to help the one I loved the most? Corbin’s well-being was of far
greater importance than any of the magical parlor tricks Wizard Alden had taught me.
I stilled when I caught sight of a faded title of a tome of simple healing spells blending into the shelf, as if hiding from
prying eyes. I held my breath, hardly daring to hope as I shakily pulled it out and flipped through its contents, finally settling on:
A brew to escalate the body’s natural healing.
Some of the anxiety cinching my heart eased as I scanned the listed ingredients, all of which I recognized, and all on hand
in the general supply…other than the filipendula, which I’d have to pick from the batch of herbaceous flowering plants growing
in the nearby forest.
I took a steadying breath to calm my rising anxiety. I could do this. Even if it took me an infinite number of attempts, I’d
make a tonic for my brother to help him get better. Then I’d abandon my apprenticeship and walk day and night until I arrived at
home to tend him myself.
I gathered all the other ingredients before stepping outside to forage the remaining one. I found a clump of filipendula plants
growing along the forest trail closer that I remembered, a fortuitous find considering time was of the essence. I carefully
gathered a small basketful and returned with quick, agitated strides.
Inside I found the spellbook hovering over the recipe with a studying air. After a moment’s deliberation, I tentatively
approached to graze its spine. “You’re the only other magical being of my acquaintance. Won’t you help me prepare—”
It darted out of my reach before I could even finish my earnest plea. I sighed. It appeared the spellbook still didn’t like me.
While its assistance would be of great help, if I prepared my potion with a level head and to the best of my abilities, I’d
undoubtedly succeed. I rolled up my sleeves and set to work.
Despite the brew being at a slightly more advanced level than the others I’d attempted, this one seemed slightly easier…or
perhaps my magic sensed my desperation and was lending me its powers. At least I had some assistance despite my master’s
absence and the fact that his familiar currently hovered in the corner with its usual determination to ignore me.
I painstakingly prepared the ingredients and added them one by one—the perenalcone sap, the apifilliam roots, the
cepharantha bulb, and finally the filipendula, carefully minced and stirred in the juice of armelina fruit. I lifted this final
concoction to add it to the potion when the spellbook suddenly stirred and hastily flew towards me, spreading its pages out to
block my hand.
I frowned. “What’s gotten into you?”
I tried to reach around it but it only darted into my path, causing me to lose my hold on my minced filipendula so that it
tumbled to the table, sloshing some of the precious mixture over the bowl’s edges. I glared at the book.
“What did you do that for?”
No response, save for its continued flapping. I grumbled a few unsavory words as I envisioned the great satisfaction I’d get
from ripping out some of the interfering spellbook’s pages.
These fantasies fueled my movements as I hastily salvaged what I could of the ingredient, chopped up some more
filipendula to make the measurements even—which once more caused the mischievous spellbook to flutter frantically about. I
seized hold of it to prevent its continued interference; it wriggled about trying to escape, but my grip was firm as I dumped the
final ingredient into the simmering cauldron.
Poof!
The moment the ingredients made contact with the potion a puff of green smoke billowed up, enveloping my senses.
Tingling began in my fingers and toes before spreading up my arms and legs to encapsulate my entire body, leaving me
lightheaded.
The feeling gradually faded along with the fog, allowing my surroundings to drift back into focus. I slowly opened my eyes
and blinked. At first everything was blurry, but gradually my vision sharpened, though everything looked different somehow,
the colors brighter with several unique hues.
I tried to stand but my legs wouldn't cooperate. Dazed, I looked down. The ground was much closer than it’d been only
moments ago. A pair of webbed feet and long muscular legs stretched out in front of me. Puzzled, I squeezed my eyes shut, then
opened them to look again. The legs were attached to a short, plump body covered with mottled, green skin. I lifted my hand
and wiggled my fingers; four crooked, green fingers twitched.
Suddenly I understood: this was my body. I’d been turned into a frog, a fact only confirmed by the spellbook’s clear horror
as it stared down at me from above.
Panic of a different sort seared through me much more quickly with my smaller body. In all the times I’d messed up my past
potions, none had ever backfired in such a drastic way as to transform me. How could this have happened?
As if sensing my unspoken panicked question, the spellbook frantically turned its pages before angling itself towards me so
I could see the spell printed at the top of the page: How to Turn Your Enemy—Or Your Friend!—Into an Amphibian.
“But I didn’t follow that spell!”
At least, those were the angry words I tried to speak; instead the only sound that emerged from my new throat was a
disgruntled croak. I flinched at the timbre of my voice, strange to my ears. Naturally the spellbook didn’t understand—not that
it’d have answered even if it had—which left me to solve the mystery.
It scooted itself closer, encouraging me to study the recipe more closely. I did, only to notice that it was nearly identical to
the healing tonic I’d just tried to brew…save for a single ingredient: dryas.
My breath caught in my throat. No…impossible.
My magical transformation confirmed it wasn’t impossible. Yet I refused to accept I’d made such a foolish mistake,
especially after all the times Wizard Alden had impressed upon me how similar dryas and filipendula were to one another and
that I was to ensure I never, ever mixed them up.
I really needed to get better at listening.
The part of me that still didn’t quite believe my own idiocy compelled me to further investigate the matter, but the
ingredients were still piled haphazardly on the workbench towering high above me and out of reach. I released a frustrated
growl that manifested itself as another helpless croak and tried to jump.
I underestimated the power of my new hind legs and with a single hop my body lifted enough for my small, four-fingered
hands to graze the edge of the table and hoist myself up. From there I hopped towards the grass-like pile of what should have
been filipendula…only for me to discover that it was indeed dryas, which looked almost exactly filipendula except for the
small white flowers blooming at the tips.
I groaned, and after taking several minutes to curse myself with my new frog tones for making such a foolish mistake, I
forced myself to focus on the matter at hand.
It didn’t matter how I’d gotten into my current predicament, nor did I have time to dwell on the consequences from my
rushed spell. The next step was to deduce how to reverse it in order to turn back into a human as soon as possible. After all,
Corbin was waiting.
After deliberating where to begin my search, I settled for the spellbook, considering it contained the frog transformation
spell so would likely also have its reversal charm.
Luckily the spellbook was in a much more cooperative mood—whether because of guilt or pity I wasn’t sure, or perhaps it
feared its master’s ire when he learned his apprentice had been turned into a frog under its watch. Whatever its motive, it
allowed me to clumsily flip through its pages, which I had to be careful not to tear with my moist skin and lack of thumbs.
My heart lifted when I discovered the reversal spell hiding in the back of the book…only for it to sink upon reading the
words scrawled across the top: requires mastery level in spell-casting.
For a long moment I could only stare in horror, my helplessness threatening to engulf me. My brother was ill, I had no way
to reach him or help him, I’d been transformed into a frog, and the only wizard I knew with the skillset to change me back
currently attended a competition miles away with no way for me to reach him.
C HAPTER 7
 ALDEN

D iscouragement curled itself around my magic so tightly I felt suffocated. The revealing charm I’d cast on the blank
parchment slowly faded, the light disappearing like a watercolor being washed away, leaving it just as blank as it’d
been before. I cursed, but my unsavory frustration had little effect on the enchanted object.
The edges crinkled as my fingers tightened around the parchment. I took a steadying breath to force myself to calm; one
wasn’t enough, so I took another, much slower, one. Each breath acted as a spell cast upon my body without magic, soothing the
rising anxiety that threatened to choke me until it dispelled, leaving me calm enough to approach the problem rationally…and I
needed such a presence of mind if I hoped to overcome this first challenge in the magical competition.
This parchment—which was supposedly a map—had been included in my invitation to participate in the competition being
held to determine the new three members of the Enchanters’ Council to replace those retiring at the close of this year. Such a
position had been my aspiration throughout my childhood, for it was one I could earn through hard work rather having it be
bestowed upon me like my royal one that luck, not ability, had selected for me.
I dug out the crumpled invitation from one of my many hidden pockets in my wizard’s robes, emerald green today, and
consulted it once more even though I’d already read it enough times to have the words memorized. On the surface its only
instructions were to decipher the included map—the blank parchment that had been driving me mad for two days—and then
solve the accompanying riddle, which would provide the instructions for the first charm I’d be required to present in order to
formally enter the competition.
I studied the invitation for any potentially hidden cryptic codes, but it appeared entirely ordinary, leaving me only a blank
map and an unknown riddle. I’d need to solve both to make it past the first round and time was rapidly running out, sand in an
hourglass I couldn’t slow, even if I possessed the skills required for such advanced magic.
The sun sank ever closer to the horizon, casting the forest clearing in a sheen of fading golden light. I had until tomorrow to
decipher these riddles so I could make my way to where the competition was being held. If I ran out of time…I’d have failed
before I could even begin.
The deadline pressed in around me, as if it in itself was a magical force bringing a heavy cloak of anxiety that hovered over
me like an oppressive shadow. It mingled with my guilt brought by my sudden departure with nothing more than a hastily
written note for my parents to find that had undoubtedly left them and my guards frantic…emotion that threatened to replace the
anxiety I’d managed to calm to a low simmer.
Panic joined the suppressing feeling, squeezing my heart until I cast a hasty and rather sloppy soothing spell in an attempt to
stave off the rising emotion. When this failed, I procured the calming potion I always kept at hand and took a swig of the amber
liquid. Warmth trickled over me with each tangy sip, easing the pressure against my chest enough for me to think.
You’re a wizard, Alden. You can figure this out.
I repeated this affirmation several times as I reexamined the blank map, trying to figure out how to approach this puzzle.
Casting every revealing charm in my arsenal had repeatedly proven ineffective, which eliminated the possibility that the
map had been drawn in invisible ink or contained a simple concealment charm. Yet what else could so effectively mask its
contents? I reached for the tomes of knowledge stored in organized rows in my mind from all my years of training and combed
through them, page by page, lingering on my favorite subject, magical theory.
I went over every possible technique that could conceal an entire map as I lifted the blank parchment to the light, searching
for any sign. When I angled it to capture the sunlight, a faint shadow shaped like a keyhole flashed briefly across the
parchment…and I finally understood.
A magical lock. Of course.
My excitement over the discovery diminished when I remembered how delicate magical locks were—they were enchanted
to break after even one failed attempt. While I had some experience with magical locks, I didn’t have enough confidence to
unpick them without a guide…which was stored in the spellbook familiar I’d left behind.
My initial inclination was to dismiss the idea and forge ahead on my own, but the high likelihood that I’d blunder and seal
the map’s contents caused me to hesitate in choosing the path my stubbornness was inclined towards. Even if I took my time in
performing the spell, my lingering anxiety could potentially hinder even my most careful attempt. One mistake, that was all it
would take.
I gnawed my lip, deliberating. In the end, my need to succeed eclipsed my desire to prove myself by tackling every magical
obstacle alone…which meant I had to rely on the help I’d stubbornly avoided ever since beginning my journey.
With a defeated sigh I conjured an image of my spellbook in my mind and mentally drew a rough magical path from my
magical chambers to my current location deep within the Rosileyan forest, as if using a paintbrush to draw a trail of golden
light between two points on a map. Holding this image in mind, I gathered my power close, spoke the necessary incantation,
and snapped my fingers.
The spellbook traversed this magical trail separating us in an instant, creating the appearance it’d materialized out of thin
air. I plucked it from the air and pried off the green frog clinging to the book’s spine, as if trying to wrench it open.
My brow furrowed. Where had the frog come from?
I gently set it on the ground and flipped through the book…or at least I tried to, but it was being unusually wriggly, trying to
wrench itself from my hands and dive towards the frog hopping frantically at my feet. I didn’t have time for such mischievous
disobedience, not with the rapidly vanishing hours pulling me further from my goal.
“Stay still,” I grumbled to the spellbook. “If you want to come along, you have to prove yourself useful.”
The words had an almost magical effect, causing the spellbook to obediently go completely still, creating the impression it
was an ordinary book I could peruse at my leisure.
“That’s better.”
I gave it a grateful pat to keep its temperamental nature appeased and scanned the table of contents, which altered
according to the spellbook’s whims as often as my younger sister changed her outfits…only to discover that what I was
searching for wasn’t currently included.
I closed the book. “I need information about breaking enchanted locks.”
Light illuminated it; when it faded, a new index appeared and I was able to find what I was looking for with relative ease.
After brushing off the frog that had hopped onto a nearby log I settled there, ordered the spellbook to hover eye-level for ease
of study, and spread the map onto my knees.
Magical locks were one of the more complicated charms. While basic ones were simple to cast and break, the more
advanced ones possessed many components; it often took hours of tedium to uncover the specific lock and carefully unravel it
one magical layer at a time. It was unsurprising a complicated one served as the competition’s first challenge—anyone who
didn’t possess the skills or patience to unlock it had no place on the Enchanters’ Council.
Determination set my jaw. I had the right for such a position, and I’d prove it task by task, beginning with this one.
First I had to determine which of the variety of different types of locks had been cast. Thankfully I was able to narrow
down the one on the map with relative ease—it was undoubtedly neither one of the basic ones nor the most advanced, but
somewhere in the middle, which eliminated many from the vast pool.
From there, I was able to identify this particular lock through a variety of clues—the magical energy emanating from the
map, the color and type of light that flickered above it when I performed a specific revealing charm, and magic’s whispers that
caressed my ear tuned to the silent language I’d spent years learning, a communication between a wizard and his power.
All my tests narrowed it down to a lock I’d thankfully studied early in my training.
After double checking my conclusion, I flipped back to the table of contents on magical locks and opened it to the page
containing instructions regarding this specific charm. Breaking it would require thirteen steps, an overwhelming number with
the mental exhaustion now smothering my powers from the effort I’d expended in decoding the lock.
“If I’d deciphered the lock days ago, I would have had a chance to rest before unlocking it.”
The spellbook gave a disgruntled ruffle in response to my grumblings.
“I know, I know, I should have brought you along sooner to help rather than determinedly venturing forward on my own. I’ll
let you accompany me from this point onward.”
I returned my attention to the map, ignoring my familiar’s blatant dance of victory as I gathered my powers for the first step.
The sensible response would be to rest before working on it, but twilight was approaching, drawing me ever closer to my
looming deadline…and with it the end of my chances of achieving my aspirations. Despite the exhaustion weighing on me, I
would need to push through with the promise to pause if I noticed my concentration slipping.
I turned from the parchment long enough to conjure a floating ball of light to illuminate the map so I could better see it in the
settling night and then resumed my work, painstakingly weaving my powers through each magical layer guarding it, using the
spellbook as a guide. Each layer provided a unique challenge that required a different magical manipulation.
I formed my powers into a thread and inserted them through a narrow space. From there I navigated the lock’s invisible
corridors, each of which required different spells and levels of strength to pass; decoding each route led me to the next one that
provided an even greater challenge. A headache soon pulsed at my temples from the effort but I pressed forward, all while the
spellbook carefully observed each magical move…as did the frog resting a meter away.
Upon completing the final puzzle, a metallic click echoed through the clearing. For a moment I froze, hardly believing I’d
finally succeeded, before exhilaration filled me, momentarily lifting the fog of tiredness. I leaned forward to examine the map
anew. Successfully unlocking it allowed me to use a basic spell to wipe away the concealment charm, revealing its contents.
Exhaustion pressed around me again as I studied it but there was no time to rest—I still needed to decipher the magical riddle
to reveal my first task, perform the magic it required, then create a portal to reach the destination of the competition…all by
tomorrow.
I rubbed my weary eyes and glanced up at the sky, now blanketed with velvety night, a testament of the hours that had
melted away as I’d worked on the map. The directions themselves were thankfully straightforward; the portal to the
competition would be easy to create after a night’s rest, which would allow me to arrive in time for morning’s deadline.
However, there was still the matter of the first task.
I suppressed a yawn as I set the map aside and picked up the second blank parchment that the invitation had included, this
one detailing the instructions for the charm I was to present in order to earn a place in the competition. Solving the map puzzle
had acted as a trigger, causing inky words written in one of the trickier sets of ancient runes to surface.
I groaned. “Of course there is more to solve.” The pain pulsing at my temples sharpened at the overwhelming thought.
I sought the assistance of my spellbook for a translation guide, but the several hours of cooperation it’d already rendered
seemed to have been too much for it; rather than continue its docile aid, it became aflutter, swooping frantically around the frog
still resting nearby.
“Please, I’m trying to concentrate.” Only my weariness softened the snapping retort I ached to give.
The spellbook slumped in defeat, but I paid it little mind as I focused on the riddle. Concentration was already difficult
when the nearby frog kept croaking, rather loudly and persistently, as if trying to direct my attention towards it, a sound almost
as annoying as my apprentice’s frequent humming.
The message was arduous to translate due to my unfamiliarity with some of the more archaic runes, but thankfully it was
short. After forty minutes of frequent consulting of both the spellbook’s translation key and my own knowledge of the principles
behind the grammar of ancient runes, I had deciphered the contents of the first task:
Entrance into the trials can only be secured with an enchanted object of one’s own creation that possesses three unique
charms.
Despite the basic instructions, I read through it several times to ensure I fully understood. “So the first task is to
successfully enchant an object.” It was so elementary as to be almost disappointing, but the true challenges would undoubtedly
soon follow.
The spellbook perked up at these words and began another frantic dance, using its pages to gesture towards itself in plain
invitation.
“I can’t use you; you’re already enchanted.”
Its persistence to the idea remained, ruffling as if to say, no one will know that.
“But I will. I could never earn such a prestigious position through such dishonest means.”
It wasn’t much different than having done nothing to earn the right to be born as a prince…except being the unfortunate
product of fate’s cruel work behind the scenes.
“I want to earn my position on my own merits. It’s one thing to use you to reference information I’ve previously studied, but
I’m not the one who enchanted you and I refuse to pretend otherwise.” I gave the spellbook a stern look that caused it to once
more droop with disappointment.
Though I knew I’d made the correct decision, apprehension prickled at the thought that without using the spellbook, I had
nothing on hand with which to enchant…and I only had a few hours remaining to find something.
I ignored the spellbook’s frantic motioning towards the nearby frog that for some indiscernible reason had not yet hopped
away to do whatever frogs did at this time of night and paced the clearing with agitated steps, my summoned light following me
like a shadow. I used its illumination to cast my desperate gaze around the night-shrouded forest for any inspiration of what I
could enchant instead…but there was nothing. The longer I searched without capturing an idea, the more tempting my
spellbook’s offer became.
I forced the seductive thought away. No, Alden. You will earn your position without resorting to cheating. But the
temptation grew stronger the longer I failed to discover another solution, repeatedly drawing my gaze towards the spellbook.
Its enchantment was quite impressive—not only had it been charmed to be sentient, but it’d been given a personality of its
own and an ability to house as much knowledge as one ever needed. Claiming it as my own would definitely earn me the
position I desired. I could always use it with the vow to submit my own work in the future challenges…
I gave my head another rigid shake. “No, you mustn’t cheat.” The words echoed through the empty clearing, as if the
surrounding magic agreed with my noble declaration and was determined to help me stay the honorable course.
When I failed to notice anything worth enchanting on my own, I gathered a handful of magic into a ball of light and directed
it to search instead. It investigated every inch of the clearing, pausing to hover above the frog, which had long since stopped
croaking, as if exhausted by the repeated effort. It’d been following my pacing for quite some time now, drawn to my magic…
as if it possessed some of its own.
 I crouched in front of it and reached out a tentative hand to test the air around it. I didn’t expect to discern anything, so I
was quite surprised when the air surrounding the frog tingled with magical energy, pulsating against my own powers with
almost as much intensity as the spellbook did whenever in close proximity.
Hmm, intriguing.
There was no clear rhyme or reason to the objects or beings magic chose to attach itself to. While it was usually people
who had the ability to wield it, occasionally it connected itself to other living creatures who possessed an affinity for it…not
that a frog would be able to use its power; the most it could offer magic would be the position of a host.
If this frog was enchanted, it would provide a solid foundation for any spell I cast upon it, which would make it easier to
create the enchanted object the competition required, even with my exhausted powers. Despite this fortuitous find, I hesitated.
An enchanted frog was a rather cliché choice that wouldn’t help me stand out…yet I currently had no other options; it was
better than having nothing to offer for my entrance charm.
With a reluctant sigh I picked up the frog and rested it on my palm; the magic clinging to its skin tingled as it made contact
with my own, a promising sign. The frog stiffened but made no motion to hop away, simply stared at me with deep brown,
almost curious eyes that were somehow familiar, even if I couldn’t pinpoint why.
Through the exhaustion smothering my senses I struggled to summon my creativity. After several vain attempts to come up
with an interesting spell, I settled for casting the obvious choice—to enchant the frog to speak, which would take care of one of
the three charms required.
The intermediate spell required me to weave together not simply the concept of words, but a thread of comprehension so
that the frog would not only understand me, but would possess the skill necessary to articulate its own thoughts.
I wove these threads together as tightly as I could before connecting it to my gathered magic surrounding the frog, being
careful to cover its every surface before completing the spell. The frog’s eyes bulged as it began to glow, but it remained still,
allowing the charm to work its magic upon it. I waited with bated breath when the glistening light faded, hoping that even with
my exhaustion, I’d possessed enough skill for the spell to work.
After a long pause, the frog opened its mouth…and began to speak.
C HAPTER 8
 MAEVE

M aeve

“ [WITH THE ADDED S CENE, should this Chapter be split up? It is the longest chapter in the book now, but I have had chapters
over 5k in previous books, so it may be fine? I’m curious what you think.] Did it work?” Despite the question being the least
pressing it was the first I could think of to ask. To my relief, words rather than the useless croak that had plagued me since my
transformation emerged. I was surprised to note that the voice was completely unfamiliar—pitched in a low, masculine timbre,
another piece of my identity that had been stripped away by my accidental curse.
Wizard Alden’s smile dispelled the discouragement that had clouded his expression for the past hours, causing my heart to
beat more quickly than I was used to; I wondered idly if frogs’ hearts functioned differently than humans’. Not to mention my
entire body was hot where I rested on his palm that gently enveloped me.
“It worked.” The tension in his shoulders eased, as if in relief.
Despite my own amazement at the success of his spell I was tempted to frown at the implication in his words, but it seemed
that my new lips weren’t inclined to form in that way. My disgruntled speech would have to do.
“It seems rather irresponsible for you to cast a spell you lacked confidence in, especially on an unsuspecting creature who
didn’t ask to be given the ability to speak. How do you know I wasn’t content with my limited communication?”
Nothing could be further from the truth, but just like the days spent as his apprentice, something about him made it
impossible to resist riling him.
His eyebrows rose. “It seems the spell has given the frog an attitude in addition to words.”
“You take too much credit for your magic; your spell was one of communication, not the confidence for me to stand up for
myself.”
Amusement twitched his lips. “Are all frogs this feisty?”
I tried to shrug…another gesture that had disappointing results with my new body. “I haven’t met my match.” I chose to
remain silent about the fact that I hadn’t met any other frogs at all.
“Then perhaps I should hunt down a more compliant one; you seem like you could potentially give me all sorts of trouble,
something I can’t afford given my current circumstances.”
“Yet trouble is far more interesting…something you well know, else you wouldn’t be entering such a grueling competition.”
The spellbook gave an annoyed rustle, and though I found a strange thrill in our word spar, I couldn’t ignore its reminder
that I had far more pressing concerns—primarily returning to my human form so that I could go to Corbin.
Time to focus on the matter at hand. “Your skills in transposing language are quite impressive. Do your abilities also extend
to human transformation?”
His brow furrowed. “Transforming anything into a human—whether something that was previously human or has never
been—is some of the most advanced magic that is unfortunately well beyond my mastered skills.”
The hope that he would be able to reverse my curse had guided me until this point, keeping me from abject despair.
Following my transformation, I’d turned the library upside down in search of a reversal spell as well as for any information
about the magical competition so I could track down the prince’s whereabouts. I’d tried all manner of means—forming a
tracking spell, creating a portal, using the enchanted parchment he’d left behind to write a message, and manipulating the magic
circle—but my transformation seemed to have suppressed my magic, making it impossible to access my powers.
It’d been quite fortuitous that my master had saved me the effort of an arduous journey by summoning his spellbook when
I’d been trying—and failing—to encourage it to lend its wealth of knowledge to my predicament, as if magic worked behind
the scenes to come to my aid. Yet it’d done me little good when for hours he’d been too occupied with his challenge to even
notice me. I’d never considered that even after finally getting his attention he wouldn’t be able to help me.
Even with his granting me the speech needed to make my request, I’d encountered another obstacle. “What if…it was to
reverse a curse or a spell gone wrong? Would your limitations still apply?”
“No matter how the transformation was done, the principle is the same.” He tilted his head to study me with a thoughtful
air. “Is becoming human your aspiration?”
“Of course, for I’m—” To my astonishment, a ribbit swallowed the words. I blinked in confusion and tried again, but once
more a frustrated croak overcame my voice.
Why couldn’t I tell him who I was? Panic set in, more acute when it seared through my small body. Wizard Alden was
awaiting my response with admirable patience, considering he believed I was nothing more than a mere amphibian.
My green body curled in on itself. “I desire to become human.”
I managed those words without difficulty, which confirmed my fears that I was only prevented from speaking of the curse…
which meant I wouldn’t be able to tell Wizard Alden I was his apprentice.
He considered my request. “There may be a way to help you achieve that wish…but it’ll be impossible unless I win this
competition, which means I must find another spell to place upon you.”
While he rummaged through the books he’d brought for ideas on the other two enchantments this challenge required from
him, I occupied my time frantically searching through the spellbook for the frog spell I’d accidentally performed so I could
better understand its conditions and limitations. Scrawled at the bottom were the words: Classified as a Curse.
Part of my basic training had included a lesson on magical terminology. Curses, I’d learned, contained various
distinctions…including the inability for the victim to share its details, thus increasing its power. It appeared that despite having
cast the frog spell on myself by accident, I remained subject to these conditions.
I muttered a dark oath. Bother with such technicalities.
I slammed the spellbook shut, earning not only its disgruntled ruffle but Wizard Alden’s notice. His eyes widened. “Do you
know how to read?”
“Of course,” I snapped. I paused, trying to think of something I could add to give him a clue as to my identity, but before
any ideas came to me, the wizard nodded, eyeing me with interest.
“It appears my communication spell was quite thorough.” He looked a little puzzled by this, but shook his head and
continued. “This makes you a much more interesting enchanted object. I wonder if I can claim your ability to read as a separate
charm, which means we only need one more.”
“You’re assuming I’m willing to cooperate.” My voice came out a little more sharply than I intended, but my inability to
communicate as I wished was frustrating.
More importantly, if he didn’t possess the necessary skills to help me, I had no further reason to stay. Whether it was as a
frog or a human, I would find a way to return to my brother and remain by his side until he got well. Wizard Alden would
eventually realize my fate after his competition ended and he returned home to find me missing, which would finally allow him
to provide the assistance I needed. While waiting would prove inconvenient, being a frog hardly mattered when Corbin needed
me.
I scanned the clearing for the direction that would most likely lead me home, but it was impossible to gauge beneath the
darkness, so I chose one at random to more quickly escape the prince; I could be more selective come morning. I hadn’t gone
far when I was plucked mid-hop by the wizard himself.
“Please, you mustn’t leave. I need you for my entrance challenge.”
“That’s of no concern to me.”
“Even though my earning a position on the Enchanters’ Council would grant me access to the advanced magic currently
beyond my reach…including that of human transformation?”
I stilled. “Would you truly be able to turn me into a human should you win?”
He nodded. “The arrangement is mutually beneficial, considering my learning such a difficult spell would provide me a
solid foundation for the more advanced studies my new position will require.”
I searched his grey eyes—they’d taken on a light shade of green today to match his robes. He appeared earnest, and while
the man had often frustrated me with his habit of withholding information, he’d never lied, giving me hope I could trust him.
A possibility suddenly occurred to me. “Does this advanced magic include…spells of healing?”
I held my breath as he considered the matter. “Does healing magic also interest you?”
I hoped this interest of mine would guide his thoughts towards his apprentice who’d also been intrigued by the healing arts.
But either his mind was too occupied with his own interests for him to make the connection, or he hadn’t cared enough about
my background to remember.
“I believe there are some particularly powerful ones,” he said in answer to my confirming nod.
I couldn’t speak, too overwhelmed by the visions suddenly flooding my mind, all of Corbin as he ran around playing with
the vibrancy of a normal child rather than the frailty that had consumed him his entire short life. Healthy, well, whole. Though I
hesitated in delaying my return to my brother’s side, at least the time away would allow me to find a way to prevent him from
suffering from poor health ever again, a more powerful wish.
“If I agree to help you,” I said slowly, “you must promise to not only do all in your power to turn me into a human, but grant
me access to this healing magic.”
“I promise.” He extended a finger, I rested my tiny green hand over the tip, and we shook on it.
By this time the light of early dawn had begun to tinge the horizon, drawing Wizard Alden’s gaze to the sky. “It’s nearly
morning. That doesn’t leave us much time to arrive at the competition. Unfortunately there’s no time for rest, but lack of sleep is
nothing that a simple rejuvenating potion can’t cure.”
He procured a bottle from one of his many pockets and downed its contents in a single swig. Surely even the most potent
potion couldn’t make up for a proper night of rest; the prince’s need I’d witnessed in the weeks of my apprenticeship to push
forward in his ambitions bordered on unhealthy. Yet that didn’t suppress my desire to send that very potion to Corbin to use for
the many nights sleep eluded him, or for Mother who faithfully gave up her own rest on those nights to soothe him.
Eyes brighter after his dose of energy, the wizard began to flip through the spellbook with renewed vigor, searching for a
third enchantment. He repeatedly shook his head, muttering about lacking the necessary time or skill for each. Finally he paused
to thoughtfully study a page before lifting his gaze to give me an appraising glance.
“This is something a friend and I used to do when we were young, more as a prank than for actual magical benefit, but I
wonder…”
He returned to the book and I hopped closer to peer at the page entitled Basic Telepathy.
“The more advanced spell that would allow two people—or rather two entities—to truly wordlessly communicate is
beyond my capabilities…beyond almost anyone’s capabilities. But this temporary spell will allow me to send you an
impression without speaking, although it will only last for a few hours.”
He once more busied himself in the book before picking me up and once again cast a spell. This time the effect, while still
noticeable, was much milder. I frowned up at him, wondering how exactly the charm worked. Before I could ask, I felt the
strange sensation of prodding in my mind, followed by the distinct image of a small, buzzing black insect. I gave a startled jump
before saying, almost involuntarily, “Fly.”
Alden beamed. “Excellent. I can’t send any complicated messages, but a simple impression seems to work.”
Wizard Alden hastily packed the supplies he’d used to complete the first challenge before using the map’s guidance to draw
another portal, this one much more carefully than the first he’d created for me. The completed portal glimmered invitingly,
beckoning us to enter.
He wasted no time carefully placing me on his shoulder and tucking the spellbook beneath his arm. I clung to his collar as
he stepped through the sparkling light; an airy, floating sensation prickled my warty skin as the magic swallowed us up. Miles
melted away with a single step, so that when the light gradually faded, new surroundings came into focus.
Dawn cast a sheen across a vast clearing, empty save for the crowds of enchanters all dressed in flowing robes in an array
of colors. Even with my less attuned powers I sensed the magic filling the air, humming in the presence of so many talented
wielders, as palpable as a soft breeze.
Wizard Alden suddenly swore and hastily ducked behind a towering pine. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I was so anxious to arrive at the competition that I almost forgot the most important element.”
The air tingled as he lifted his hand. With a few murmured words, he cast a sheen across his face. By all appearances
nothing happened. “A disguise spell,” he explained in answer to my puzzlement. “One enchanted to only work for the
participants of the competition; anything else would be too exhausting to maintain. The last thing I want is for anyone to
recognize me as the prince.”
“Do you fear your title will grant you the position before you have a chance to earn it?” I asked.
“It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“You mean your title has already granted you a position?”
He pursed his lips, which was answer enough. He double checked that his disguise was firmly tucked around him before
ducking back into view. He muttered a phrase to summon a tracking spell, but abruptly stopped halfway through and the spell
fizzled out. I swiveled my head, trying to see what had distracted him. He was squinting into the group of wizards and witches,
staring at a tall young man whose back was turned to us. After a moment, Alden sighed and shook his head, returning to his
spell.
This time a glow lit his palm before lifting off his hand and moving smoothly away from the group of enchanters. Silence
filled the spaces between us as we trailed the light that led us deeper into the seemingly empty clearing.
Wizard Alden studied the air, as if searching for ripples in the magic. When he found one, he caught hold of the invisible
folds of a tent entrance, parted it, and stepped inside.
A woman awaited us, wearing shimmering silver robes that matched her flowing hair. Upon seeing her Wizard Alden
immediately stiffened before sweeping into a deep bow. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Enchantress.”
Her smile was serene as she lifted her hand in silent invitation for him to straighten. “The pleasure is mine. It appears
you’ve passed the second component of the first challenge—it’s one thing to decipher and break a magical lock, and another to
be able to detect an invisible force.”
She lifted her gaze to the ball of light still hovering at Wizard Alden’s side. “A tracking spell, a simple but effective
method. It’s important for an enchanter to possess a mastery of the basics, for the fundamentals are just as valuable as the
advanced techniques one hopes to acquire.”
Wizard Alden pocketed his light and rummaged through his robes for a parchment, which a simple spell caused to float into
the enchantress’s hand. She caught it easily and rested a pair of spectacles on the tip of her nose to study its contents.
“Twenty years old—the official age of an adult—with fifteen years of formal study, during which you’ve mastered all the
essentials and achieved excellent marks, all of which puts you in an enviable position for the upcoming challenges.” She
tapped the page and the ink refreshed with additional information for her to continue reading. “It appears your skills have even
progressed enough for you to acquire an apprentice. Obtaining the role of Master raises you well above many of your peers.”
My breath caught. Surely the prince hadn’t chosen me as his apprentice just to tick off a box in the credentials for this
competition? I’d no sooner wondered this when I remembered the parchment Wizard Alden had been scribbling only a few
short days ago—apprentice being only one item on his list of magical goals. Only now did I realize that the list had been
tailored to ensure he had all that was required to earn a coveted position on the Enchanters’ Council.
The realization left me numb with shock, an emotion that quickly rose into anger at being so ill-used. I glared up at him,
though apparently amphibian expressions left something to be desired as the wizard didn’t seem to notice anything amiss. But
far more concerning than my wounded pride was what this development could mean for me…and Corbin. If Alden cared about
me only as a stepping stone in his goals, I couldn’t trust him to have my—and my family’s—best interests at heart, in which
case perhaps I should be thankful he hadn’t yet discovered who I was.
Deep in thought over my betrayal, I was unprepared for my role in the entrance requirements when Wizard Alden carefully
took me from his shoulder and rested me on the table between me and the enchantress.
“In fulfillment of the first challenge, I present my enchanted object.”
The enchantress studied me carefully. “A frog is a rather simple object to enchant, leaving me to wonder if it’s merely a
desperate attempt to arrive with something before the deadline. Did such a simple magical lock really give you so much trouble
as to cost you so much valuable time?”
Wizard Alden gritted his teeth. “The lock itself was fine. There were simply…other complications that forced me to depart
late.”
He shifted nervously beneath the force of the enchantress’s frown. “Indeed. I imagine it was quite difficult to get away from
all the responsibilities vying for your time…Prince Alden.”
He immediately stiffened. For a long moment he remained rigid…before his shoulders finally slumped in defeat. “I knew
the moment I saw you that you’d be able to see through my disguise, Head Enchantress Ivy.”
“It was impossible not to when I’m so familiar with your magic,” she said. “Particularly disguise spells, one of the basic
fundamentals I taught you in the early years of your training. Though you did an admirable job with the charm, I’m too familiar
with your style not to recognize it, especially when you performed it so hastily, a mistake you often made while under my
tutelage. It appears you’re still prone to rushing through even the simplest spells rather than giving each one the care and
thought it requires.”
Wizard Alden flinched at the words and lowered his eyes.
“However,” the enchantress continued, much more kindly. “Your technique is, as always, excellent.” She made a mark on
the parchment before turning her attention to me. “Even with your obvious difficulties in arriving, a frog is still a step below
your usual work, though I’ll reserve judgement until I see the enchantments you cast.”
At her use of plural enchantments Wizard Alden bit his lip. In the rush to arrive at the entrance challenge before the
deadline, we’d had little time to discuss other charms he could use beyond giving me speech, but at least that was the place to
start.
“The first enchantment is the spell of communication.” He cast me an expectant glance, my signal to spout words—whether
poetry or nonsense, it likely didn’t much matter. However, I remained stubbornly silent, my lingering temper making me less
inclined to cooperate. Wizard Alden leaned close to my ear. “Say something,” he pleaded.
Rather than procure words, I ensured my responding croak was as frog-like as I could make it. The enchantress frowned
and Wizard Alden cast me a rather desperate sidelong glance, seeming confused that his charm could have already worn off.
Against my better judgement, my hardened heart softened in the face of his blatant panic.
“Hello,” I spoke distinctly. “I’m a frog that was recently enchanted by Wizard Alden to understand the mysteries of human
communication. Although at first I was annoyed he’d given me speech without my permission, the more I explore the world
beyond my swamp, the more I’m coming to enjoy it.” Unsure what else to say, my words ceased.
The enchantress nodded in approval. “Impressive. Rather than taking the easy route in giving it basic speech such as that of
a child, you chose the more complicated spell that granted it more advanced speech patterns and ideas.” She made a mark on
Wizard Alden’s parchment. “What other enchantments did you cast?”
“The frog can also read—” he began.
“That falls under the communication spell, as you’re well aware.”
“Of course.” A flicker of anxiety crossed his face as he pressed on. “I have also established a telepathic link. Observe.” He
Another random document with
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What happened is told in a letter to Coleridge; one of the best-known
and one of the longest letters Lamb ever wrote,—he is so brimful of
his grievance. Miss Benger’s lodgings were up two flights of stairs in
East Street. She entertained her guests with tea, coffee, macaroons,
and “much love.” She talked to them, or rather at them, upon purely
literary topics,—as, for example, Miss Hannah More’s “Strictures on
Female Education,” which they had never read. She addressed Mary
Lamb in French,—“possibly having heard that neither Mary nor I
understood French,”—and she favoured them with Miss Seward’s
opinion of Pope. She asked Lamb, who was growing more miserable
every minute, if he agreed with D’Israeli as to the influence of
organism upon intellect; and when he tried to parry the question with
a pun upon organ—“which went off very flat”—she despised him for
his feeble flippancy. She advised Mary to carry home two
translations of “Pizarro,” so that she might compare them verbatim
(an offer hastily declined), and she made them both promise to
return the following week—which they never did—to meet Miss Jane
Porter and her sister, “who, it seems, have heard much of Mr.
Coleridge, and wish to meet us because we are his friends.” It is a
comédie larmoyante. We sympathize hotly with Lamb when we read
his letter; but there is something piteous in the thought of the poor
little hostess going complacently to bed that night, and never
realizing that she had made her one unhappy flight to fame.
There were people, strange as it may seem, who liked Miss Benger’s
evenings. Miss Aikin assures us that “her circle of acquaintances
extended with her reputation, and with the knowledge of her
excellent qualities, and she was often enabled to assemble as
guests at her humble tea-table names whose celebrity would have
insured attention in the proudest salons of the metropolis.” Crabb
Robinson, who was a frequent visitor, used to encounter large
parties of sentimental ladies; among them, Miss Porter, Miss
Landon, and the “eccentric but amiable” Miss Wesley,—John
Wesley’s niece,—who prided herself upon being broad-minded
enough to have friends of varying religions, and who, having written
two unread novels, remarked complacently to Miss Edgeworth: “We
sisters of the quill ought to know one another.”
The formidable Lady de Crespigny of Campion Lodge was also Miss
Benger’s condescending friend and patroness, and this august
matron—of insipid mind and imperious temper—was held to sanctify
in some mysterious manner all whom she honoured with her notice.
The praises lavished upon Lady de Crespigny by her contemporaries
would have made Hypatia blush, and Sappho hang her head. Like
Mrs. Jarley, she was the delight of the nobility and gentry. She
corresponded, so we are told, with the literati of England; she
published, like a British Cornelia, her letters of counsel to her son;
she was “courted by the gay and admired by the clever”; and she
mingled at Campion Lodge “the festivity of fashionable parties with
the pleasures of intellectual society, and the comforts of domestic
peace.”
To this array of feminine virtue and feminine authorship, Lamb was
singularly unresponsive. He was not one of the literati honoured by
Lady de Crespigny’s correspondence. He eluded the society of Miss
Porter, though she was held to be handsome,—for a novelist. (“The
only literary lady I ever knew,” writes Miss Mitford, “who didn’t look
like a scarecrow to keep birds from cherries.”) He said unkindly of
Miss Landon that, if she belonged to him, he would lock her up and
feed her on bread and water until she left off writing poetry. And for
Miss Wesley he entertained a cordial animosity, only one degree less
lively than his sentiments towards Miss Benger. Miss Wesley had a
lamentable habit of sending her effusions to be read by reluctant
men of letters. She asked Lamb for Coleridge’s address, which he,
to divert the evil from his own head, cheerfully gave. Coleridge, very
angry, reproached his friend for this disloyal baseness; but Lamb,
with the desperate instinct of self-preservation, refused all promise of
amendment. “You encouraged that mopsey, Miss Wesley, to dance
after you,” he wrote tartly, “in the hope of having her nonsense put
into a nonsensical Anthology. We have pretty well shaken her off by
that simple expedient of referring her to you; but there are more burs
in the wind.”... “Of all God’s creatures,” he cries again, in an excess
of ill-humour, “I detest letters-affecting, authors-hunting ladies.” Alas
for Miss Benger when she hunted hard, and the quarry turned at
bay!
An atmosphere of inexpressible dreariness hangs over the little
coterie of respectable, unilluminated writers, who, to use Lamb’s
priceless phrase, encouraged one another in mediocrity. A vapid
propriety, a mawkish sensibility were their substitutes for real
distinction of character or mind. They read Mary Wollstonecraft’s
books, but would not know the author; and when, years later, Mrs.
Gaskell presented the widowed Mrs. Shelley to Miss Lucy Aikin, that
outraged spinster turned her back upon the erring one, to the
profound embarrassment of her hostess. Of Mrs. Inchbald, we read
in “Public Characters” for 1811: “Her moral qualities constitute her
principal excellence; and though useful talents and personal
accomplishments, of themselves, form materials for an agreeable
picture, moral character gives the polish which fascinates the heart.”
The conception of goodness then in vogue is pleasingly illustrated by
a passage from one of Miss Elizabeth Hamilton’s books, which Miss
Benger in her biography of that lady (now lost to fame) quotes
appreciatively:—
“It was past twelve o’clock. Already had the active and judicious
Harriet performed every domestic task; and, having completely
regulated the family economy for the day, was quietly seated at work
with her aunt and sister, listening to Hume’s ‘History of England,’ as
it was read to her by some orphan girl whom she had herself
instructed.”
So truly ladylike had the feminine mind grown by this time, that the
very language it used was refined to the point of ambiguity. Mrs.
Barbauld writes genteelly of the behaviour of young girls “to the other
half of their species,” as though she could not bear to say, simply
and coarsely, men. So full of content were the little circles who
listened to the “elegant lyric poetess,” Mrs. Hemans, or to “the
female Shakespeare of her age,” Miss Joanna Baillie (we owe both
these phrases to the poet Campbell), that when Crabb Robinson
was asked by Miss Wakefield whether he would like to know Mrs.
Barbauld, he cried enthusiastically: “You might as well ask me
whether I should like to know the Angel Gabriel!”
In the midst of these sentimentalities and raptures, we catch now
and then forlorn glimpses of the Immortals,—of Wordsworth at a
literary entertainment in the house of Mr. Hoare of Hampstead,
sitting mute and miserable all evening in a corner,—which, as Miss
Aikin truly remarked, was “disappointing and provoking;” of Lamb
carried by the indefatigable Crabb Robinson to call on Mrs.
Barbauld. This visit appears to have been a distinct failure. Lamb’s
one recorded observation was that Gilbert Wakefield had a peevish
face,—an awkward remark, as Wakefield’s daughter sat close at
hand and listening. “Lamb,” writes Mr. Robinson, “was vexed, but got
out of the scrape tolerably well,”—having had, indeed, plenty of
former experiences to help him on the way.
There is a delightful passage in Miss Jane Porter’s diary which
describes at length an evening spent at the house of Mrs. Fenwick,
“the amiable authoress of ‘Secrecy.’” (Everybody was the amiable
authoress of something. It was a day, like our own, given over to the
worship of ink.) The company consisted of Miss Porter and her sister
Maria, Miss Benger and her brother, the poet Campbell, and his
nephew, a young man barely twenty years of age. The lion of the
little party was of course the poet, who endeared himself to Mrs.
Fenwick’s heart by his attentions to her son, “a beautiful boy of six.”
“This child’s innocence and caresses,” writes Miss Porter gushingly,
“seemed to unbend the lovely feelings of Campbell’s heart. Every
restraint but those which the guardian angels of tender infancy
acknowledge was thrown aside. I never saw Man in a more
interesting point of view. I felt how much I esteemed the author of the
‘Pleasures of Hope.’ When we returned home, we walked. It was a
charming summer night. The moon shone brightly. Maria leaned on
Campbell’s arm. I did the same by Benger’s. Campbell made some
observations on pedantic women. I did not like it, being anxious for
the respect of this man. I was jealous about how nearly he might
think we resembled that character. When the Bengers parted from
us, Campbell observed my abstraction, and with sincerity I
confessed the cause. I know not what were his replies; but they were
so gratifying, so endearing, so marked with truth, that when we
arrived at the door, and he shook us by the hand, as a sign of adieu
immediately prior to his next day’s journey to Scotland, we parted
with evident marks of being all in tears.”
It is rather disappointing, after this outburst of emotion, to find
Campbell, in a letter to his sister, describing Miss Porter in language
of chilling moderation: “Among the company was Miss Jane Porter,
whose talents my nephew adores. She is a pleasing woman, and
made quite a conquest of him.”
Miss Benger was only one of the many aspirants to literary honours
whose futile endeavours vexed and affronted Charles Lamb. In
reality she burdened him far less than others who, like Miss Betham
and Miss Stoddart, succeeded in sending him their verses for
criticism, or who begged him to forward the effusions to Southey,—
an office he gladly fulfilled. Perhaps Miss Benger’s vivacity jarred
upon his taste. He was fastidious about the gayety of women.
Madame de Staël considered her one of the most interesting
persons she had met in England; but the approval of this “impudent
clever” Frenchwoman would have been the least possible
recommendation to Lamb. If he had known how hard had been Miss
Benger’s struggles, and how scanty her rewards, he might have
forgiven her that sad perversity which kept her toiling in the field of
letters. She had had the misfortune to be a precocious child, and had
written at the age of thirteen a poem called “The Female Geniad,”
which was dedicated to Lady de Crespigny, and published under the
patronage of that honoured dame. Youthful prodigies were then
much in favour. Miss Mitford comments very sensibly upon them,
being filled with pity for one Mary Anne Browne, “a fine tall girl of
fourteen, and a full-fledged authoress,” who was extravagantly
courted and caressed one season, and cruelly ignored the next. The
“Female Geniad” sealed Miss Benger’s fate. When one has written a
poem at thirteen, and that poem has been printed and praised, there
is nothing for it but to keep on writing until Death mercifully removes
the obligation.
It is needless to say that the drama—which then, as now, was the
goal of every author’s ambition—first fired Miss Benger’s zeal. When
we think of Miss Hannah More as a successful playwright, it is hard
to understand how any one could fail; yet fail Miss Benger did,
although we are assured by her biographer that “her genius
appeared in many ways well adapted to the stage.” She next wrote a
mercilessly long poem upon the abolition of the slave-trade (which
was read only by anti-slavery agitators), and two novels,—“Marian,”
and “Valsinore: or, the Heart and the Fancy.” Of these we are told
that “their excellences were such as genius only can reach”; and if
they also missed their mark, it must have been because—as Miss
Aikin delicately insinuates—“no judicious reader could fail to
perceive that the artist was superior to the work.” This is always
unfortunate. It is the work, and not the artist, which is offered for sale
in the market-place. Miss Benger’s work is not much worse than a
great deal which did sell, and she possessed at least the grace of an
unflinching and courageous perseverance. Deliberately, and without
aptitude or training, she began to write history, and in this most
difficult of all fields won for herself a hearing. Her “Life of Anne
Boleyn,” and her “Memoirs of Mary, Queen of Scots,” were read in
many an English schoolroom; their propriety and Protestantism
making them acceptable to the anxious parental mind. A single
sentence from “Anne Boleyn” will suffice to show the ease of Miss
Benger’s mental attitude, and the comfortable nature of her views:—
“It would be ungrateful to forget that the mother of Queen Elizabeth
was the early and zealous advocate of the Reformation, and that, by
her efforts to dispel the gloom of ignorance and superstition, she
conferred on the English people a benefit of which, in the present
advanced state of knowledge and civilization, it would be difficult to
conceive or to appreciate the real value and importance.”
The “active and judicious Harriet” would have listened to this with as
much complacence as to Hume.
In “La Belle Assemblée” for April, 1823, there is an engraving of Miss
Smirke’s portrait of Miss Benger. She is painted in an imposing
turban, with tight little curls, and an air of formidable sprightliness. It
was this sprightliness which was so much admired. “Wound up by a
cup of coffee,” she would talk for hours, and her friends really seem
to have liked it. “Her lively imagination,” writes Miss Aikin, “and the
flow of eloquence it inspired, aided by one of the most melodious of
voices, lent an inexpressible charm to her conversation, which was
heightened by an intuitive discernment of character, rare in itself, and
still more so in combination with such fertility of fancy and ardency of
feeling.”
This leaves little to be desired. It is not at all like the Miss Benger of
Lamb’s letter, with her vapid pretensions and her stupid insolence.
Unhappily, we see through Lamb’s eyes, and we cannot see through
Miss Aikin’s. Of one thing only I feel sure. Had Miss Benger, instead
of airing her trivial acquirements, told Lamb that when she was a
little girl, bookless and penniless, at Chatham, she used to read the
open volumes in the booksellers’ windows, and go back again and
again, hoping that the leaves might be turned, she would have
touched a responsive chord in his heart. Who does not remember
his exquisite sympathy for “street-readers,” and his unlikely story of
Martin B——, who “got through two volumes of ‘Clarissa,’” in this
desultory fashion. Had he but known of the shabby, eager child,
staring wistfully at the coveted books, he would never have written
the most amusing of his letters, and Miss Benger’s name would be
to-day unknown.
 WHEN LALLA ROOKH WAS YOUNG
And give you, mixed with western sentimentalism,
Some glimpses of the finest orientalism.
“Stick to the East,” wrote Byron to Moore, in 1813. “The oracle,
Staël, told me it was the only poetic policy. The North, South, and
West have all been exhausted; but from the East we have nothing
but Southey’s unsaleables, and these he has contrived to spoil by
adopting only their most outrageous fictions. His personages don’t
interest us, and yours will. You will have no competitors; and, if you
had, you ought to be glad of it. The little I have done in that way is
merely a ‘voice in the wilderness’ for you; and if it has had any
success, that also will prove that the public are orientalizing, and
pave the way for you.”
There is something admirably business-like in this advice. Byron,
who four months before had sold the “Giaour” and the “Bride of
Abydos” to Murray for a thousand guineas, was beginning to realize
the commercial value of poetry; and, like a true man of affairs, knew
what it meant to corner a poetic market. He was generous enough to
give Moore the tip, and to hold out a helping hand as well; for he
sent him six volumes of Castellan’s “Mœurs des Ottomans,” and
three volumes of Toderini’s “De la Littérature des Turcs.” The
orientalism afforded by text-books was the kind that England loved.
From the publication of “Lalla Rookh” in 1817 to the publication of
Thackeray’s “Our Street” in 1847, Byron’s far-sighted policy
continued to bear golden fruit. For thirty years Caliphs and Deevs,
Brahmins and Circassians, rioted through English verse; mosques
and seraglios were the stage properties of English fiction; the bowers
of Rochnabed, the Lake of Cashmere, became as familiar as
Richmond and the Thames to English readers. Some feeble
washings of this great tidal wave crossed the estranging sea, to tint
the pages of the New York “Mirror,” and kindred journals in the
United States. Harems and slave-markets, with beautiful Georgians
and sad, slender Arab girls, thrilled our grandmothers’ kind hearts.
Tales of Moorish Lochinvars, who snatch away the fair daughters—
or perhaps the fair wives—of powerful rajahs, captivated their
imaginations. Gazelles trot like poodles through these stories, and
lend colour to their robust Saxon atmosphere. In one, a neglected
“favourite” wins back her lord’s affection by the help of a slave-girl’s
amulet; and the inconstant Moslem, entering the harem, exclaims,
“Beshrew me that I ever thought another fair!”—which sounds like a
penitent Tudor.
A Persian’s Heaven is easily made,
’Tis but black eyes and lemonade;
and our oriental literature was compounded of the same simple
ingredients. When the New York “Mirror,” under the guidance of the
versatile Mr. Willis, tried to be impassioned and sensuous, it dropped
into such wanton lines as these to a “Sultana”:—
She came,—soft leaning on her favourite’s arm,
She came, warm panting from the sultry hours,
To rove mid fragrant shades of orange bowers,
A veil light shadowing each voluptuous charm.
And for this must Lord Byron stand responsible.
The happy experiment of grafting Turkish roses upon English
boxwood led up to some curious complications, not the least of
which was the necessity of stiffening the moral fibre of the Orient—
which was esteemed to be but lax—until it could bear itself in seemly
fashion before English eyes. The England of 1817 was not, like the
England of 1908, prepared to give critical attention to the decadent.
It presented a solid front of denial to habits and ideas which had not
received the sanction of British custom; which had not, through
national adoption, become part of the established order of the
universe. The line of demarcation between Providence and the
constitution was lightly drawn. Jeffrey, a self-constituted arbiter of
tastes and morals, assured his nervous countrymen that, although
Moore’s verse was glowing, his principles were sound.
“The characters and sentiments of ‘Lalla Rookh’ belong to the poetry
of rational, honourable, considerate, and humane Europe; and not to
the childishness, cruelty, and profligacy of Asia. So far as we have
yet seen, there is no sound sense, firmness of purpose, or principled
goodness, except among the natives of Europe and their genuine
descendants.”
Starting with this magnificent assumption, it became a delicate and a
difficult task to unite the customs of the East with the “principled
goodness” of the West; the “sound sense” of the Briton with the
fervour and fanaticism of the Turk. Jeffrey held that Moore had
effected this alliance in the most tactful manner, and had thereby
“redeemed the character of oriental poetry”; just as Mr. Thomas
Haynes Bayly, ten years later, “reclaimed festive song from vulgarity.”
More carping critics, however, worried their readers a good deal on
this point; and the nonconformist conscience cherished uneasy
doubts as to Hafed’s irregular courtship and Nourmahal’s marriage
lines. From across the sea came the accusing voice of young Mr.
Channing in the “North American,” proclaiming that “harlotry has
found in Moore a bard to smooth her coarseness and veil her
effrontery, to give her languor for modesty, and affectation for virtue.”
The English “Monthly Review,” less open to alarm, confessed with a
sigh “a depressing regret that, with the exception of ‘Paradise and
the Peri,’ no great moral effect is either attained or attempted by
‘Lalla Rookh.’ To what purpose all this sweetness and delicacy of
thought and language, all this labour and profusion of Oriental
learning? What head is set right in one erroneous notion, what heart
is softened in one obdurate feeling, by this luxurious quarto?”
It is a lamentable truth that Anacreon exhibits none of Dante’s
spiritual depth, and that la reine Margot fell short of Queen Victoria’s
fireside qualities. Nothing could make a moralist of Moore. The light-
hearted creature was a model of kindness, of courage, of conjugal
fidelity; but—reversing the common rule of life—he preached none of
the virtues that he practised. His pathetic attempts to adjust his tales
to the established conventions of society failed signally of their
purpose. Even Byron wrote him that little Allegra (as yet unfamiliar
with her alphabet) should not be permitted to read “Lalla Rookh”;
partly because it wasn’t proper, and partly—which was prettily said—
lest she should discover “that there was a better poet than Papa.” It
was reserved for Moore’s followers to present their verses and
stories in the chastened form acceptable to English drawing-rooms,
and permitted to English youth. “La Belle Assemblée” published in
1819 an Eastern tale called “Jahia and Meimoune,” in which the
lovers converse like the virtuous characters in “Camilla.” Jahia
becomes the guest of an infamous sheik, who intoxicates him with a
sherbet composed of “sugar, musk, and amber,” and presents him
with five thousand sequins and a beautiful Circassian slave. When
he is left alone with this damsel, she addresses him thus: “I feel
interested in you, and present circumstances will save me from the
charge of immodesty, when I say that I also love you. This love
inspires me with fresh horror at the crimes that are here committed.”
Jahia protests that he respectfully returns her passion, and that his
intentions are of an honourable character, whereupon the
circumspect maiden rejoins: “Since such are your sentiments, I will
perish with you if I fail in delivering you”; and conducts him, through
a tangle of adventures, to safety. Jahia then places Meimoune under
the chaperonage of his mother until their wedding day; after which
we are happy to know that “they passed their lives in the enjoyment
of every comfort attending on domestic felicity. If their lot was not
splendid or magnificent, they were rich in mutual affection; and they
experienced that fortunate medium which, far removed from
indigence, aspires not to the accumulation of immense wealth, and
laughs at the unenvied load of pomp and splendour, which it neither
seeks, nor desires to obtain.”
It is to be hoped that many obdurate hearts were softened, and
many erroneous notions were set right by the influence of a story like
this. In the “Monthly Museum” an endless narrative poem,
“Abdallah,” stretched its slow length along from number to number,
blooming with fresh moral sentiments on every page; while from an
arid wilderness of Moorish love songs, and Persian love songs, and
Circassian love songs, and Hindu love songs, I quote this “Arabian”
love song, peerless amid its peers:—
 Thy hair is black as the starless sky,
And clasps thy neck as it loved its home;
Yet it moves at the sound of thy faintest sigh,
Like the snake that lies on the white sea-foam.

I love thee, Ibla. Thou art bright

As the white snow on the hills afar;
Thy face is sweet as the moon by night,
And thine eye like the clear and rolling star.

But the snow is poor and withers soon,

While thou art firm and rich in hope;
And never (like thine) from the face of the moon
Flamed the dark eye of the antelope.

The truth and accuracy of this last observation should commend the
poem to all lovers of nature.
It is the custom in these days of morbid accuracy to laugh at the
second-hand knowledge which Moore so proudly and so innocently
displayed. Even Mr. Saintsbury says some unkind things about the
notes to “Lalla Rookh,”—scraps of twentieth-hand knowledge, he
calls them,—while pleasantly recording his affection for the poem
itself, an affection based upon the reasonable ground of childish
recollections. In the well-ordered home of his infancy, none but
“Sunday books” might be read on Sundays in nursery or schoolroom.
“But this severity was tempered by one of those easements often
occurring in a world, which, if not the best, is certainly not the worst
of all possible worlds. For the convenience of servants, or for some
other reason, the children were much more in the drawing-room on
Sundays than on any other day; and it was an unwritten rule that any
book that lived in the drawing-room was fit Sunday reading. The
consequence was that from the time I could read until childish things
were put away, I used to spend a considerable part of the first day of
the week in reading and re-reading a collection of books, four of
which were Scott’s poems, ‘Lalla Rookh,’ ‘The Essays of Elia,’ and
Southey’s ‘Doctor.’ Therefore it may be that I rank ‘Lalla Rookh’ too
high.”
Blessed memories, and thrice blessed influences of childhood! But if
“Lalla Rookh,” like “Vathek,” was written to be the joy of imaginative
little boys and girls (alas for those who now replace it with “Allan in
Alaska,” and “Little Cora on the Continent”), the notes to “Lalla
Rookh” were, to my infant mind, even more enthralling than the
poem. There was a sketchiness about them, a detachment from time
and circumstance—I always hated being told the whole of everything
—which led me day after day into fresh fields of conjecture. The
nymph who was encircled by a rainbow, and bore a radiant son; the
scimitars that were so dazzling they made the warriors wink; the
sacred well which reflected the moon at midday; and the great
embassy that was sent “from some port of the Indies”—a welcome
vagueness of geography—to recover a monkey’s tooth, snatched
away by some equally nameless conqueror;—what child could fail to
love such floating stars of erudition?
Our great-grandfathers were profoundly impressed by Moore’s text-
book acquirements. The “Monthly Review” quoted a solid page of the
notes to dazzle British readers, who confessed themselves amazed
to find a fellow countryman so much “at home” in Persia and Arabia.
Blackwood authoritatively announced that Moore was familiar, not
only “with the grandest regions of the human soul,”—which is
expected of a poet,—but also with the remotest boundaries of the
East; and that in every tone and hue and form he was “purely and
intensely Asiatic.” “The carping criticism of paltry tastes and limited
understandings faded before that burst of admiration with which all
enlightened spirits hailed the beauty and magnificence of ‘Lalla
Rookh.’”
Few people care to confess to “paltry tastes” and “limited
understandings.” They would rather join in any general acclamation.
“Browning’s poetry obscure!” I once heard a lecturer say with scorn.
“Let us ask ourselves, ‘Obscure to whom?’ No doubt a great many
things are obscure to long-tailed Brazilian apes.” After which his
audience, with one accord, admitted that it understood “Sordello.” So
when Jeffrey—great umpire of games whose rules he never knew—
informed the British public that there was not in “Lalla Rookh” “a
simile, a description, a name, a trait of history, or allusion of romance
that does not indicate entire familiarity with the life, nature, and
learning of the East,” the public contentedly took his word for it.
When he remarked that “the dazzling splendours, the breathing
odours” of Araby were without doubt Moore’s “native element,” the
public, whose native element was neither splendid nor sweet-
smelling, envied the Irishman his softer joys. “Lalla Rookh” might be
“voluptuous” (a word we find in every review of the period), but its
orientalism was beyond dispute. Did not Mrs. Skinner tell Moore that
she had, when in India, translated the prose interludes into Bengali,
for the benefit of her moonshee, and that the man was amazed at
the accuracy of the costumes? Did not the nephew of the Persian
ambassador in Paris tell Mr. Stretch, who told Moore, that “Lalla
Rookh” had been translated into Persian; that the songs—
particularly “Bendemeer’s Stream”—were sung “everywhere”; and
that the happy natives could hardly believe the whole work had not
been taken originally from a Persian manuscript?
I’m told, dear Moore, your lays are sung
(Can it be true, you lucky man?)
By moonlight, in the Persian tongue,
Along the streets of Ispahan.
And not of Ispahan only; for in the winter of 1821 the Berlin court
presented “Lalla Rookh” with such splendour, such wealth of detail,
and such titled actors, that Moore’s heart was melted and his head
was turned (as any other heart would have been melted, and any
other head would have been turned) by the reports thereof. A Grand
Duchess of Russia took the part of Lalla Rookh; the Duke of
Cumberland was Aurungzebe; and a beautiful young sister of Prince
Radzivil enchanted all beholders as the Peri. “Nothing else was
talked about in Berlin” (it must have been a limited conversation); the
King of Prussia had a set of engravings made of the noble actors in
their costumes; and the Crown Prince sent word to Moore that he
slept always with a copy of “Lalla Rookh” under his pillow, which was
foolish, but flattering. Hardly had the echoes of this royal fête died
away, when Spontini brought out in Berlin his opera “The Feast of
Roses,” and Moore’s triumph in Prussia was complete. Byron,
infinitely amused at the success of his own good advice, wrote to the
happy poet: “Your Berlin drama is an honour unknown since the
days of Elkanah Settle, whose ‘Empress of Morocco’ was presented
by the court ladies, which was, as Johnson remarks, ‘the last blast of
inflammation to poor Dryden.’”
Who shall say that this comparison is without its dash of malice?
There is a natural limit to the success we wish our friends, even
when we have spurred them on their way.
If the English court did not lend itself with much gayety or grace to
dramatic entertainments, English society was quick to respond to the
delights of a modified orientalism. That is to say, it sang melting
songs about bulbuls and Shiraz wine; wore ravishing Turkish
costumes whenever it had a chance (like the beautiful Mrs.
Winkworth in the charades at Gaunt House); and covered its locks—
if they were feminine locks—with turbans of portentous size and
splendour. When Mrs. Fitzherbert, aged seventy-three, gave a fancy
dress ball, so many of her guests appeared as Turks, and
Georgians, and sultanas, that it was hard to believe that Brighton,
and not Stamboul, was the scene of the festivity. At an earlier
entertainment, “a rural breakfast and promenade,” given by Mrs.
Hobart at her villa near Fulham, and “graced by the presence of
royalty,” the leading attraction was Mrs. Bristow, who represented
Queen Nourjahad in the “Garden of Roses.” “Draped in all the
magnificence of Eastern grandeur, Mrs. Bristow was seated in the
larger drawing-room (which was very beautifully fitted up with
cushions in the Indian style), smoking her hookah amidst all sorts of
the choicest perfumes. Mrs. Bristow was very profuse with otto of
roses, drops of which were thrown about the ladies’ dresses. The
whole house was scented with the delicious fragrance.”
The “European Magazine,” the “Monthly Museum,” all the dim old
periodicals published in the early part of the last century for feminine
readers, teem with such “society notes.” From them, too, we learn
that by 1823 turbans of “rainbow striped gauze frosted with gold”
were in universal demand; while “black velvet turbans, enormously
large, and worn very much on one side,” must have given a rakish
appearance to stout British matrons. “La Belle Assemblée” describes
for us with tender enthusiasm a ravishing turban, “in the Turkish
style,” worn in the winter of 1823 at the theatre and at evening
parties. This masterpiece was of “pink oriental crêpe, beautifully
folded in front, and richly ornamented with pearls. The folds are
fastened on the left side, just above the ear, with a Turkish scimitar
of pearls; and on the right side are tassels of pearls, surmounted by
a crescent and a star.”
Here we have Lady Jane or Lady Amelia transformed at once into
young Nourmahal; and, to aid the illusion, a “Circassian corset” was
devised, free from encroaching steel or whalebone, and warranted to
give its English wearers the “flowing and luxurious lines” admired in
the overfed inmates of the harem. When the passion for orientalism
began to subside in London, remote rural districts caught and
prolonged the infection. I have sympathized all my life with the
innocent ambition of Miss Matty Jenkyns to possess a sea-green
turban, like the one worn by Queen Adelaide; and have never been
able to forgive that ruthlessly sensible Mary Smith—the chronicler of
Cranford—for taking her a “neat middle-aged cap” instead. “I was
most particularly anxious to prevent her from disfiguring her small
gentle mousy face with a great Saracen’s head turban,” says the
judicious Miss Smith with a smirk of self-commendation; and poor
Miss Matty—the cap being bought—has to bow to this arbiter of fate.
How much we all suffer in life from the discretion of our families and
friends!
Thackeray laughed the dim ghost of “Lalla Rookh” out of England.
He mocked at the turbans, and at the old ladies who wore them; at
the vapid love songs, and at the young ladies who sang them.
I am a little brown bulbul. Come and listen in the
moonlight. Praise be to Allah! I am a merry bard.
He derided the “breathing odours of Araby,” and the Eastern
travellers who imported this exotic atmosphere into Grosvenor
Square. Yonng Bedwin Sands, who has “lived under tents,” who has
published a quarto, ornamented with his own portrait in various
oriental costumes, and who goes about accompanied by a black
servant of most unprepossessing appearance, “just like another
Brian de Bois Guilbert,” is only a degree less ridiculous than
Clarence Bulbul, who gives Miss Tokely a piece of the sack in which
an indiscreet Zuleika was drowned, and whose servant says to
callers: “Mon maître est au divan,” or “Monsieur trouvera Monsieur
dans son sérail.... He has coffee and pipes for everybody. I should
like you to have seen the face of old Bowly, his college tutor, called
upon to sit cross-legged on a divan, a little cup of bitter black mocha
put into his hand, and a large amber-muzzled pipe stuck into his
mouth before he could say it was a fine day. Bowly almost thought
he had compromised his principles by consenting so far to this
Turkish manner.” Bulbul’s sure and simple method of commending
himself to young ladies is by telling them they remind him of a girl he
knew in Circassia,—Ameena, the sister of Schamyle Bey. “Do you
know, Miss Pim,” he thoughtfully observes, “that you would fetch
twenty thousand piastres in the market at Constantinople?”
Whereupon Miss Pim is filled with embarrassed elation. An English
girl, conscious of being in no great demand at home, was naturally
flattered as well as fluttered by the thought of having market value
elsewhere. And perhaps this feminine instinct was at the root of
“Lalla Rookh’s” long popularity in England.
 THE CORRESPONDENT
Correspondences are like small-clothes before the
invention of suspenders; it is impossible to keep them up.
—Sydney Smith to Mrs. Crowe.
In this lamentable admission, in this blunt and revolutionary
sentiment, we hear the first clear striking of a modern note, the first
gasping protest against the limitless demands of letter-writing. When
Sydney Smith was a little boy, it was not impossible to keep a
correspondence up; it was impossible to let it go. He was ten years
old when Sir William Pepys copied out long portions of Mrs.
Montagu’s letters, and left them as a legacy to his heirs. He was
twelve years old when Miss Anna Seward—the “Swan of Lichfield”—
copied thirteen pages of description which the Rev. Thomas
Sedgwick Whalley had written her from Switzerland, and sent them
to her friend, Mr. William Hayley. She called this “snatching him to
the Continent by Whalleyan magic.” What Mr. Hayley called it we do
not know; but he had his revenge, for the impartial “Swan” copied
eight verses of an “impromptu” which Mr. Hayley had written upon
her, and sent them in turn to Mr. Whalley;—thus making each friend
a scourge to the other, and widening the network of correspondence
which had enmeshed the world.
It is impossible not to feel a trifle envious of Mr. Whalley, who looms
before us as the most petted and accomplished of clerical bores, of
“literary and chess-playing divines.” He was but twenty-six when the
kind-hearted Bishop of Ely presented him with the living of
Hagworthingham, stipulating that he should not take up his
residence there,—the neighbourhood of the Lincolnshire fens being
considered an unhealthy one. Mr. Whalley cheerfully complied with
this condition; and for fifty years the duties were discharged by
curates, who could not afford good health; while the rector spent his
winters in Europe, and his summers at Mendip Lodge. He was of an
amorous disposition,—“sentimentally pathetic,” Miss Burney calls
him,—and married three times, two of his wives being women of
fortune. He lived in good society, and beyond his means, like a
gentleman; was painted by Sir Joshua Reynolds (who has very
delicately and maliciously accentuated his resemblance to the tiny
spaniel he holds in his arms); and died of old age, in the comfortable
assurance that he had lost nothing the world could give. A
voluminous correspondence—afterwards published in two volumes
—afforded scope for that clerical diffuseness which should have
found its legitimate outlet in the Hagworthingham pulpit.
The Rev. Augustus Jessup has recorded a passionate admiration for
Cicero’s letters, on the ground that they never describe scenery; but
Mr. Whalley’s letters seldom do anything else. He wrote to Miss
Sophia Weston a description of Vaucluse, which fills three closely
printed pages. Miss Weston copied every word, and sent it to Miss
Seward, who copied every word of her copy, and sent it to the long-
suffering Mr. Hayley, with the remark that Mr. Whalley and Petrarch
were “kindred spirits.” Later on this kinship was made pleasantly
manifest by the publication of “Edwy and Edilda,” which is described
as a “domestic epic,” and which Mr. Whalley’s friends considered to
be a moral bulwark as well as an epoch-making poem. Indeed, we
find Miss Seward imploring him to republish it, on the extraordinary
ground that it will add to his happiness in heaven to know that the
fruits of his industry “continue to inspire virtuous pleasure through
passing generations.” It is animating to contemplate the celestial
choirs congratulating the angel Whalley at intervals on the “virtuous
pleasure” inspired by “Edwy and Edilda.” “This,” says Mr. Kenwigs,
“is an ewent at which Evin itself looks down.”
There was no escape from the letter-writer who, a hundred or a
hundred and twenty-five years ago, captured a coveted
correspondent. It would have been as easy to shake off an octopus
or a boa-constrictor. Miss Seward opened her attack upon Sir Walter
Scott, whom she had never seen, with a long and passionate letter,
lamenting the death of a friend whom Scott had never seen. She
conjured him not to answer this letter, because she was “dead to the
world.” Scott gladly obeyed, content that the lady should be at least
dead to him, which was the last possibility she contemplated. Before
twelve months were out they were in brisk correspondence, an
acquaintance was established, and when she died in earnest, some
years later, he found himself one of her literary executors, and twelve
quarto manuscript volumes of her letters waiting to be published.
These Scott wisely refused to touch; but he edited her poems,—a
task he much disliked,—wrote the epitaph on her monument in
Lichfield Cathedral, and kindly maintained that, although her
sentimentality appalled him, and her enthusiasm chilled his soul, she
was a talented and pleasing person.
The most formidable thing about the letters of this period—apart
from their length—is their eloquence. It bubbles and seethes over
every page. Miss Seward, writing to Mrs. Knowles in 1789 upon the
dawning of the French Revolution, of which she understood no more
than a canary, pipes an ecstatic trill. “So France has dipped her lilies
in the living stream of American freedom, and bids her sons be
slaves no longer. In such a contest the vital sluices must be
wastefully opened; but few English hearts I hope there are that do
not wish victory may sit upon the swords that freedom has
unsheathed.” It sounds so exactly like the Americans in “Martin
Chuzzlewit” that one doubts whether Mr. Jefferson Brick or the
Honourable Elijah Pogram really uttered the sentiment; while surely
to Mrs. Hominy, and not to the Lichfield Swan, must be credited this
beautiful passage about a middle-aged but newly married couple:
“The berries of holly, with which Hymen formed that garland, blush
through the snows of time, and dispute the prize of happiness with
the roses of youth;—and they are certainly less subject to the blights
of expectation and palling fancy.”
It is hard to conceive of a time when letters like these were sacredly
treasured by the recipients (our best friend, the waste-paper basket,
seems to have been then unknown); when the writers thereof
bequeathed them as a legacy to the world; and when the public—
being under no compulsion—bought six volumes of them as a
contribution to English literature. It is hard to think of a girl of twenty-
one writing to an intimate friend as Elizabeth Robinson, afterwards
the “great” Mrs. Montagu, wrote to the young Duchess of Portland,