ADAIN

I find that the guards get bored after a few hours in the library. There are four of them, sometimes five. You'd think I'd be used to them shadowing me by now, after so many weeks of it, but it only grates on my nerves all the more with every passing day. Books are my escape, my teleportation to different realms.

If you want to understand, read.

Yet no matter how much I search the stacks, I find barely a mention of faeries. The history books talk of demons and witches, terrible beasts that were a blight upon the land before they were vanquished. They talk about The Burned Ones, twisted creatures with fiery eyes wearing crowns of thorns, whose skin was scorched by the touch of iron. But I know now that so much of it is a bunch of nonsense. Sometimes it makes me want to throw the books across the room.

But instead I read them, flipping page after page, trying to find grains of truth within the lies. And at least it gives me something to do.

"How cute." A young, feminine voice breaks my focus. I look up from the page to see Vessimira leaning on the edge of the table, smirking.

Rogemere's daughter is a few years older than me, shares his arched brows and permanent expression of disdain. She's wearing a dress of silvery blue silk that drapes over her shoulders in two columns in the front and one in the back, cinched at the waist with an iron chain. Loops of smaller chains hang around her neck, resting against her exposed skin. Delicate iron bracelets jingle at her wrists. I wonder how I didn't hear her arrive.

"You look like one of my father's puppets," she says, flicking a finger towards the book I have open in front of me and the haphazard pile of others beside it. "They don't let you play outside anymore, Your Highness?"

"What do you want?" I ask, frowning at her.

She glances at my guards, stationed at various corners of the room. Then she pulls out a chair and tosses herself into it. "So boring!" she says. "All these books, and none of them are even interesting."

"How do you know?" I ask. "Have you read all of them?"

She laughs, high-pitched tinkling. "Of course not. What a giant waste of time. The University has a real library. Hundreds of books and scrolls. Floors and floors of them. Oh...but you wouldn't know."

I return her look of mocking sympathy with a glare.

She lowers her voice and leans closer, "I can help you, if you want."

I look at the closest guard, then back at her. She shrugs one shoulder, smiling. "Don't worry about them." She snaps her fingers and says, "Somnodallum."

There is a puff of purple smoke around the guard's head, and his upper body slumps and sort of folds, like his bones have turned soft. His eyes are closed, his jaw slack. Yet he stays standing. I whip my head around to find the other guards in the same state.

Before I have time to react, Vessimira calls out, "Enna! Come!"

A serving girl with arms full of books and a bag over one shoulder hurries into the room, body sagging from the weight she's carrying. She must have been waiting right outside the library door. At Vessimira's impatient gesture, the girl puts the books and the bag down on the table in front of us, then drops into a curtsy.

"Your Highness," she mumbles. I notice a hollowness in her eyes, a sickly pallor to her skin.

"Oh, shoo, Enna," Vessimira says, rolling her eyes. She waves her hand towards the door.

"Yes, m'lady," Enna says. She walks away like it's an effort not to collapse.

"What did you do?" I ask as soon as her handmaid's gone. For some reason, my voice comes out a whisper.

She laughs. "Nothing much. Just a sleeping charm. They'll wake up as if nothing happened."

"Can you show me?" I ask.

She smirks, then grabs one of the large tomes Enna put down before us and starts flipping through the pages. "Here," she says, jabbing a finger onto the page. She passes the book to me.

The paper has golden shimmer, and the writing is illuminated with delicately painted designs. Along with silver and red knots and swirls along the border, there is a small portrait of a sleeping man with a cloud of purple around his head. The rest of the page is filled with text.

Charm of Sleep - advanced difficulty

Spell type: Enchantment

Requires verbal incantation: Somnodallum ingiardum. Best if said with a breathy, lulling cadence, accompanied by a pinch of colored sand blown towards the target's face. If sand is unavailable, may attempt with a light touch or kiss on target's head or shoulder. Will consume more of the caster's mana without the material component.

Use mental link to calm the target before spell is cast, if able. Best if target is at ease and trusting.

Even in best circumstances, spell will cause caster extreme fatigue, and due to the high mana requirement, other spells should not be attempted until energy has been replenished. As always, overextension of mana may cause the caster long-lasting lethargy, unconsciousness, physical ailment, shortened life span, or death.

Do not attempt on multiple targets at once.

I read it twice. "But- I don't understand!" I say. "What is mana? How did you… You didn't follow any of these rules!"

She scoffs. "Rules are for babies. That's why I don't go to school."

"And why you'll never be a wizard," Rogemere adds, appearing behind us. There's a note of finality in his statement, an undercurrent of disappointment in his deep drawl. But no anger. He's not like my father, who would have stormed in yelling and flinging his arms. He's far more terrifying.

Vessimira moves to get up, but Rogemere snaps, "Sit," and she slams back into the chair as though shoved by invisible hands. "Look at what you've done," he says.

With a twitch of his hand the guards begin to shudder and gasp. They collapse to the ground, flailing, skin quickly turning a deep shade of purple.

"It was just a sleep charm!" Vessimira says.

"Their spine has collapsed; their organs are crushed," he says. "They're dead."

Rogemere looks at me. "This is your first - and last - magic lesson, My Boy. Listen carefully. Magic is about control." He narrows his eyes at his daughter as he says this. "It is not a raw explosion, let loose into the world. That is just chaos, pointless and, ultimately, weak. True power is the ability to harness energy, target it, mold it, make it do our bidding."

"Is that what mana is?" I ask, wincing as the words leave my mouth. I shouldn't draw his attention to me. What was I thinking? I can still hear the guards bodies thumping on the floor, the gurgling and wheezing of them trying to cling to life. And I'm ignoring them, asking questions about the terrible magic that got them killed.

He answers my question with an encouraging smile. "Mana is the energy we each have store

d inside of us. The pool of life force we draw from when we cast spells. Most people have a very limited supply, which in turn limits their magical capabilities. It takes years of discipline to cultivate a greater reservoir of mana."

He turns back to Vessimira, still paralyzed in her seat. "Did you truly think I wouldn't know you were using a conduit?"

Her eyes widen. "I… I didn't- It wasn't…" she babbles.

"Your handmaid has collapsed in the hall, drained to the brink of death. You think you're strong, Daughter? That this is power? You have failed every lesson I have ever tried to teach you. You can't control even the most rudimentary spells, let your energy burst out of you with all the grace of a troll. And now you think to tap into someone else's mana so you can show off to the boy prince, impress him and gain his favor?" His voice starts out dangerously low and rises a bit more with each sentence. "Using a human conduit is forbidden."

"Father, it's not the same!" Vessimira wails. "She's not human; she's a demon! She showed me!"

At this, Rogemere stops. He looks as though he's been slapped. Robes trailing behind him, he strides from the room, only to return a moment later with the serving girl dangling before him in the air. She blinks groggily, shifting her body as though unconsciously trying to struggle.

"You knew there was a monster hiding amongst us, at your bedside, and you did nothing?" he asks Vessimira.

I stare at the maid, at her tight brown curls and dimpled cheeks. She looks human. Human and scared for her life. Suddenly I want to rush over and protect her, put myself between her and Rogemere's look of loathing and disgust. But I stay frozen in my chair, as though I'm just as trapped as Vessimira.

Rogemere takes a chain from around his neck and drops it over Enna's. As it falls against her skin she whimpers, and I hear the soft sizzle of burning flesh.

"Please," the handmaid begs, eyes glistening. Her skin hisses and smokes where the iron touches it, quickly turning red. She looks at me, at Vessimira. "Please."

Rogemere growls, "Reveal yourself, fae demon."

The girl quietly writhes in pain, tears dripping down her face.

"Show yourself!" he shouts, and the whole room shakes.