Illusions of Fate
Page 46
“Ha!” Finn says, pointing at his knuckles. “Now you’re black and blue, too!”
I can’t help but laugh at my poor, panicking bird. Not to mention the ridiculous pettiness of Finn’s magic show. Picking up Sir Bird, I stroke his feathers and speak softly to him. “Hush now. I’ll make him fix you. You’re still very handsome, but blue isn’t your color, is it?”
He caws mournfully, still pulling at his own feathers.
“Finn.”
He puts his hands behind his back, trying to look innocent. “What? He deserved it.”
“He’s a bird. You can’t really find this much satisfaction in revenge against a bird, can you?”
His voice comes out just a tad petulant. “He started it. Besides, I made it temporary. It’ll wear off within the hour.”
“There now.” I kiss Sir Bird’s head and set him on my shoulder. “You’ll be back to yourself in no time.”
“Tell him to stop pecking at me.”
“Perhaps you deserve it. But you’re right—magic can be used for things that are petty and ridiculous, instead of just boring.”
His smile is soft and sadder than I anticipate. “We used to use that one on each other. My dad would dye my mother’s hair pink, then she’d make his green, and I’d pester them until they made mine as red as the flowers in that painting. It’s always been one of my favorite tricks.” He clears his throat. “It’s quite in vogue with society, as well. You’d be hard-pressed to find a noblewoman with her own true hair color.”
“I didn’t notice much blue at the symphony. Just brown and blond.”
“Well, they have to make the spell boring somehow. They are Alben, after all.”
I laugh, then lean over to study the spell to see if I can work out how it was all accomplished. “So you could use any ink lying around?”
He nods. “It would have been brighter still if I’d had blue ink, though.”
“Interesting. So the quality and type item you use influences it. What about the sugar that Lord Downpike uses? I’ve been wondering. Could he use any sugar or must he spell it beforehand?”
“He uses it as a reagent to focus and release magic he’s stored up. Similar to what I do with my cane, but he keeps the spells in his own body. They lose less potency, but it’s a far greater risk should something go wrong. And I can’t imagine the strain it must be, nor what it must feel like.”
I flex my fingers, noting how much the pins and needles have faded. “He’s not a man afraid of pain. But you do store some magic in yourself.” I gaze significantly at his hair and he smiles.
“I haven’t refreshed that in weeks.”
“Hmm. I don’t quite believe you.”
He raises a single eyebrow and both corners of his lips at the same time. “You think I can’t be this charming without magical aid?”
I exhale a laugh, steering the conversation from this increasingly large, unspoken thing between us. “Maybe he’s got the right idea, though. You should expend that energy on a more important spell in case you ever need it. But the magical knowledge of his that we’ve gathered because of Sir Bird—can’t he have just stored the spells before? So it doesn’t matter that we have his book.”
“Once broken, the connection between Lord Downpike and the spells in this book cannot be restored. If Downpike was storing any of the spells in Sir Bird, he lost them.”
“Good boy,” I murmur, nuzzling Sir Bird with my cheek. “I won’t let nasty Finn dye you ever again.”
Finn and Sir Bird exchange jealous glares. Finn breaks eye contact first, returning to the sheet I was working on. “Now, look here.” He points to one of the symbols I’ve copied. “If you shifted that one place to the right, instead of dousing flame with water, you would light water on fire. Change one variable and you change the entire equation.”
“Is that why there’s so little innovation?” I haven’t told him about Eleanor’s trick. Finn informed me early on that everyone sticks to the magic they’ve been instructed in. I’ve started to wonder about switching things around, though—combining and reimagining some of the more complex spells.
“It’s safer. A slight change in any stage could have unintended results. That’s why most of the gentry hardly bother with magic at all. They learn the basics as is required of all of us to defend Albion, but other than that they leave it alone.”
“Why are you different?”
He sighs, shoulders slipping down as though bearing a greater weight. “Because someone must be paying attention.”
“To what?”
“To everything. My parents entrusted me with a great deal of knowledge; they did not do it so I could live a privileged life of ease.” His voice gets that heavy distance it always does when referencing his family.
“Mmm, yes, because the homes and wealth and carriages and galas and symphonies are such a burden.” I cannot hide my smile, and Finn sits back, noticeably more at ease.
“You’ve forgotten what a great deal of work it is to be so handsome and charming.”
I look pointedly at his hair. “Perhaps you could show me the equation and methodology behind that one. I should very much like to understand how much effort you’ve put into it.”
“It truly was essential when I came to the city without knowing a soul. I had to get invitations to dinner and dances and social engagements somehow. I used to put more stock in its effectiveness, until a certain someone proved resistant.”
I can’t help but laugh at my poor, panicking bird. Not to mention the ridiculous pettiness of Finn’s magic show. Picking up Sir Bird, I stroke his feathers and speak softly to him. “Hush now. I’ll make him fix you. You’re still very handsome, but blue isn’t your color, is it?”
He caws mournfully, still pulling at his own feathers.
“Finn.”
He puts his hands behind his back, trying to look innocent. “What? He deserved it.”
“He’s a bird. You can’t really find this much satisfaction in revenge against a bird, can you?”
His voice comes out just a tad petulant. “He started it. Besides, I made it temporary. It’ll wear off within the hour.”
“There now.” I kiss Sir Bird’s head and set him on my shoulder. “You’ll be back to yourself in no time.”
“Tell him to stop pecking at me.”
“Perhaps you deserve it. But you’re right—magic can be used for things that are petty and ridiculous, instead of just boring.”
His smile is soft and sadder than I anticipate. “We used to use that one on each other. My dad would dye my mother’s hair pink, then she’d make his green, and I’d pester them until they made mine as red as the flowers in that painting. It’s always been one of my favorite tricks.” He clears his throat. “It’s quite in vogue with society, as well. You’d be hard-pressed to find a noblewoman with her own true hair color.”
“I didn’t notice much blue at the symphony. Just brown and blond.”
“Well, they have to make the spell boring somehow. They are Alben, after all.”
I laugh, then lean over to study the spell to see if I can work out how it was all accomplished. “So you could use any ink lying around?”
He nods. “It would have been brighter still if I’d had blue ink, though.”
“Interesting. So the quality and type item you use influences it. What about the sugar that Lord Downpike uses? I’ve been wondering. Could he use any sugar or must he spell it beforehand?”
“He uses it as a reagent to focus and release magic he’s stored up. Similar to what I do with my cane, but he keeps the spells in his own body. They lose less potency, but it’s a far greater risk should something go wrong. And I can’t imagine the strain it must be, nor what it must feel like.”
I flex my fingers, noting how much the pins and needles have faded. “He’s not a man afraid of pain. But you do store some magic in yourself.” I gaze significantly at his hair and he smiles.
“I haven’t refreshed that in weeks.”
“Hmm. I don’t quite believe you.”
He raises a single eyebrow and both corners of his lips at the same time. “You think I can’t be this charming without magical aid?”
I exhale a laugh, steering the conversation from this increasingly large, unspoken thing between us. “Maybe he’s got the right idea, though. You should expend that energy on a more important spell in case you ever need it. But the magical knowledge of his that we’ve gathered because of Sir Bird—can’t he have just stored the spells before? So it doesn’t matter that we have his book.”
“Once broken, the connection between Lord Downpike and the spells in this book cannot be restored. If Downpike was storing any of the spells in Sir Bird, he lost them.”
“Good boy,” I murmur, nuzzling Sir Bird with my cheek. “I won’t let nasty Finn dye you ever again.”
Finn and Sir Bird exchange jealous glares. Finn breaks eye contact first, returning to the sheet I was working on. “Now, look here.” He points to one of the symbols I’ve copied. “If you shifted that one place to the right, instead of dousing flame with water, you would light water on fire. Change one variable and you change the entire equation.”
“Is that why there’s so little innovation?” I haven’t told him about Eleanor’s trick. Finn informed me early on that everyone sticks to the magic they’ve been instructed in. I’ve started to wonder about switching things around, though—combining and reimagining some of the more complex spells.
“It’s safer. A slight change in any stage could have unintended results. That’s why most of the gentry hardly bother with magic at all. They learn the basics as is required of all of us to defend Albion, but other than that they leave it alone.”
“Why are you different?”
He sighs, shoulders slipping down as though bearing a greater weight. “Because someone must be paying attention.”
“To what?”
“To everything. My parents entrusted me with a great deal of knowledge; they did not do it so I could live a privileged life of ease.” His voice gets that heavy distance it always does when referencing his family.
“Mmm, yes, because the homes and wealth and carriages and galas and symphonies are such a burden.” I cannot hide my smile, and Finn sits back, noticeably more at ease.
“You’ve forgotten what a great deal of work it is to be so handsome and charming.”
I look pointedly at his hair. “Perhaps you could show me the equation and methodology behind that one. I should very much like to understand how much effort you’ve put into it.”
“It truly was essential when I came to the city without knowing a soul. I had to get invitations to dinner and dances and social engagements somehow. I used to put more stock in its effectiveness, until a certain someone proved resistant.”
