Mine to Spell (Mine #2) (29 page)

It’s good Lukas showed me around so I know where everything is, even if I don’t know my place in it all. Chadwick was here last year but stayed in the stands just like I did. Well, I’m sure it wasn’t just like me, but he didn’t wander around with the participants and get an idea of what duelers do moment to moment. If I had to ask for directions, no one would give the correct answer.

By the time I reach the dueling ring furthest from the center of the action, there are only the benches for sitting and none of the raised boxes, and even these are sparsely populated. Though still enough warlocks speckled throughout them to make me play with my bracelets. Perhaps it’s even more fortunate than I first supposed that my display of magic was at the entrance gates and not in front of this small group.

I drum my fingers against my thigh. Usually it’s not so hard to hold emotions in, but being nervous is difficult to hide. My betraying fingers only listen to my calls to be still for a moment before dancing through my emotions again.

I keep thinking of Lukas waiting closer to the more important events. The ones I watched last year. Last year. Never would have guessed I’d ever be here competing. I should have been sold off early, like Serena and become a baby maker like mother, always hiding my magic. Always fearing what would happen if it was discovered.

Yet, here I am, about to show everyone what I already showed the early crowd this morning. Only this time my death is even more of a reality as spells are flung back at me.

“We’re on the field. Magic is allowed here as long as it’s not at another dueler,” Chadwick says. “Can I heal your bruises?”

“
I’ll be fine.” What good am I if I can't even take care of myself?

“
But not up to what you could be if I don’t heal them.”

True. And if I did it myself, I'd have less power saved up for later. It's time to let him and others help more even if it isn't what I'm used to. “Thank you. That would be welcome.”

The spell is a soothing teal, passing over me with speedy efficiency. Now there’s nothing left to do but wait. I watch the few other duels going on nearby. A year ago, I would have been rapt by them. Now they are a measly show of those lacking in skills and not a good distraction.

My necklace pulls tight on the back of my neck as my fingers wind through it. Tight like the growing pressure in my chest.

“Cynthia Stephen’s daughter.” Finally, they call my name.

I’m so focused on listening for it, I don’t even hear them call my opponent. And, naturally, they don’t have any sort of title for me, or the decency to call me by just my first name like the others. No, they have to call me by my old owner, proof to all I’m still my father’s daughter, even when he no longer owns me.

I make my way across the waiting strip and onto the field. Grateful that I listened to the instructions being given to the other participants all day, I make my way over to the ring where I think I’m supposed to be. Of course no one is going to tell me. The spelled ring is a bright green, looking almost wrong against the dark grass. A judge and another dueler are already waiting outside it, but the mediator is circling other duels taking place. I force myself to continue on to them, though both men are glaring me down.

Serena, Zade, Bethany, and Waverly are waiting on the sidelines, quiet and steadfast. The fact they made an effort to leave their box to be somewhere they could watch is heartening but nerve wracking. It’s enough to know their support is here, though I don’t look at them again.

I step to the circle, careful to not cross the line surrounding the dueling area yet. The judge announces something, probably my and my competitor’s names, but it’s hard to focus on what he’s saying. Everything is fuzzier, blurring together in a swarm of nerves. I twist Lukas’s ring.

The warlock across from me sneers. “Easiest win of the tournament.”

My opponent, apparently. The one they thought would be enough to wipe me out of the competition. He looks scary enough to wipe me out. Eyes dark, almost black against his pale skin. Smirk on his face saying how much he’s going to enjoy massacring me. I shiver. Maybe their plan will work.

He steps into the circle, and I do the same, with it flashing bronze as we do so. The instant we’re both in and the light is back to green, he zaps an orange arrow hex toward me. Instead of blocking, I dive out of the way my hand landing inches from the boundary.

The pale warlock laughs, and some of the nearby crowd joins him, quite loudly despite their lacking numbers. “Knew this was going to be too easy. What are you even doing here, little girl?”

My knees are soaked with dew from the grass and burned where they scraped against a rock, but they don't hurt as much as the shame within me burns. Little girl. He’s correct. I’ve spent too many years hiding my skills. It’s instinctive to flinch away instead of reacting. At least he’s too stupid to throw another hex while I’m down. Fool thinks he has this. I climb to my feet, and the laughing increases.

“You belong in a pigsty, not with world-class warlocks,” he taunts.

And it’s true. I’m not a world-class warlock. I’m just a girl. Except I’m a girl who learned to tap into her powers when others didn’t even try.

“Give up now.” He cracks forth another hex, orange, tainted with black.

It slams into my stomach with a pop before I have time to process a defense. The pain sears my skin. I grit my teeth to keep from calling out, grateful it only went skin deep and didn’t do more damage. Or worse, kill me.

I fling a yellow hex back at him, meant to puncture him with heat. It misses only inches from his shoulder, enough to wipe the glee from him, though the crowd is still laughing. He zips two more at me, hitting my shoulder and arm. Both take all my effort not to call out, but I keep the pain in and my face determined.

Just barely starting, but I’m already losing, four to zero. I zap an array of mini fireballs at him as quickly as I can, striving to get as many points as I can, even if they’re the minor one point attacks. It doesn’t help that my mind seems to have gone blank. My spells are weak and slow, most easily blocked with his silvery, translucent shield.

He throws a hex, jagged lights of puce and amber arcing toward me. I ignore my instincts to dive under it or take it while hiding my magic and instead blare a full-force shield that utilizes the spell I used for years. A mirror. The spell reflects back to him, silvers and blues mixed in with a deafening crack as it smashes against his entire body.

There’s a sudden hush. His footing wavers. I waver. I didn’t want to do this to anyone. Didn’t want to become like one of them. It’s all too clear as his skin bubbles with thousands of tiny blisters.

Then I remember, that could have been me. It has been me, and thousands of other women. I have to do this. I have to fight back, even if it means becoming like them. For now at least. And both the crowd and my opponent finally understand I’m not playing a game. I will not break.

I hurl several pain spells, angry reds and blacks, aiming for his hands and feet. Three of them hit, causing him to howl with pain and shoot an aqua spell back. I block with a wisp of a shield that comes out in a spurt of pink and pops when hit.

A final pain spell slams into his gut. Is it enough? Have I slipped ahead yet? A final spell comes to me, father’s silencing spell. Not really a traditional attack, but I thrust it toward his throat anyway, its clear wavering lines clashing against his throat just as the judge yells, “Time.”

It’s done. My first duel over.

There’s no laughter. No taunting. Only the distant sound of other duels still taking place. Here, all are silent, focused on the judge.

“
Cynthia is the winner.” His words are begrudging, but it’s of no matter.

The eyes of the nearby crowd are on me, watching me. More have come, the crowd growing sometime during the fight, the mediator also watching on with a deep scowl. I wish the duel would have taken place in front of Envado’s or Chryos’s stands. Maybe then the stares wouldn’t be so hostile.

But not all the stares are hostile. Some of the women are looking at me with something much more complex than hostility. Do they understand that they can do what I’ve just done?

As poorly as I did, I’m not sure that they will think it’s something they want to replicate. I have to be better. Move past whatever it is holding me back, or they'll never wish to try it for themselves.

My opponent spits, barely missing my shoe. His voice is weak and cracking, even if his words are harsh. “Dumb luck, wench.”

I paste on my fake smile while inside burning with rage. Partially at him, but mostly at myself. My first duel should have been one that left everyone in awe over my ability, not one that left my opponent skeptical. As he walks away, he pushes his shoulder into me as he passes. I try to stand firm, as he does, but it forces me to stumble back.

I glance at the mediator, who quickly turns his head away, pretending he saw nothing. None of them take any of this seriously. If I slammed into a dueler like that, I’d be disqualified.

At least there are no more duels today. Still, this isn’t how I wanted things to go. I turn from the ring and head back to the participant’s area, careful to make sure I don’t walk past my sisters.

***

“
There you are,” Zade says. “Serena’s worried about you.”

“
Nothing to worry over.” I give him one of my fake smiles to defend my words. “Chadwick was just about to take me home.”

He lifts a brow. “Without seeing how Lukas is doing?”

I do want to know. Hopefully, he’s being much more successful than me. Not only successful, but winning with his life, and body, fully intact.

But hovering at the edge of a field full of warlocks who hate me won’t do anything to help him or ease my worry. “I’m sure he’ll tell me about it when he finishes.”

Zade sighs like he understands. “Maybe I should see you home as well.”

“
No, don’t. Serena and the girls need you, whether they decide to stay or come home as well.”

I turn to go, but Zade puts a hand on my shoulder. His words are low. “You’ve made an impression, Cynthia.”

I swallow past the sudden thickening in my throat.

“
You may not have seen, or heard it, but people are talking. They want to know what you’re doing competing, but more than that, I’m already hearing whispers of other women wondering if they can do what you can.”

Which was to barely escape with my life. I’m grateful that they are thinking, but I really made the biggest fool out of myself. There was no excuse for me to perform so poorly, and I’m lucky to have not only won but to have survived. I don’t need hooded attackers or other duelers to kill me off. My stupidity is going to do it all on its own. Yet… his words spark embers of hope.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say and then head for home, Chadwick, and probably a few others I don’t see, following the whole way. No wonder I need them to constantly follow me everywhere. I’m failing at what I’m supposed to be showing everyone. How could I possibly manage to do something as simple as protecting myself? It’s hard to say why, but those embers keep flickering inside me, warming to the hope there is much I can still do, even if it doesn’t seem like it.

Chapter Thirty-Three

I can’t handle another day in the tournament like this one. It was so much worse than I thought it would be and in more ways than expected.

First duel and I lost my composure. It was nothing like practicing. I only won by a point. A single point. One less spell, and that would have been the end of this escapade. No one believes I can do this, not even me. Those people Zade mentioned were talking of me because it’s new and different, not because of any skill level. I’m just another woman. A woman who should be hidden behind some warlock, giving in to his demands. Not allowed to even think as a person.

I smack the thought aside. One hard day isn’t worth reverting back to thinking like I was taught for years. The ember of hope inside me proves that, if nothing else does. But there’s more. More I’m still learning. More I see inside myself as I look in the mirror.

I am a person. A woman. A strong woman, who can do magic. And everyone will see it. It may have been foolish to enter, but there was a reason I did. There’s something inside me that won’t settle for inane warlock teachings any longer. Something that drives me to act, to do something I’ve always wanted to do even before I knew I could do magic.

I stride into my room, grab a pair of scissors out of my sewing basket, and seize a chunk of hair. With a quick snip, the long locks fall to the floor. I stare at them a moment, lonely on the floor. Yet, I already feel lighter.

More snips quickly follow. Dark blond bits flutter through the room as the scissors make their slicing music. With each cluster of hair I cut, I’m lighter. Freer. Each strand is a weight thrust on me by a society unwilling to let me be a person, but not for a moment more. I will no longer be chained down by their rules, by them or myself.

When I’m done, exhilaration is raging through me, bright and happy and absolute.

The door opens, and Serena walks in, startling me from my rampage. “Zade said you wer—” She stares at me and then at the floor and then back at me. Her big eyes grow even bigger. “What happened?”