Kayetan

Yoszovar, 5 years before the Rise

“Have you seen a beautiful girl with black curls?”

In front of me is a young man dressed in the clothes of somebody high up in society. His long black hair is tied together at the base of his neck, every strand that has fallen out combed to one side to look like the wind has casually but wonderfully styled his hair. His eyes are an almost colorless green, bordering on grey or maybe even silver — my best guess is that they usually display quite a bit of intelligence, but now frustration is pouring out of them. Over Melena, who is on the brink of trembling just in front of him.

“She went that way,” I say, pointing vaguely over my left shoulder.

Oh no, both bags are still on the pavement. Hopefully, the guy is full enough of himself not to notice. I look him straight in the eye — or so I try — willing him to not drop his gaze, and hoping Melena won’t realize the bags are still there and try to pick them up — the Magic has only engulfed her and the clothes she is wearing.

“Are you sure?” the man answers with a certain degree of disdain in his voice. He looks around as if I have barely answered him. Suddenly, I feel a deep, deep dislike for this fellow. “You do mean a girl with green eyes like emeralds? High-born, by the look of her dress? Black curls tied together in a sort of bun? A girl beyond beautiful?”

He nods quite frantically. “Yes, that’s the one.”

“That way,” I repeat, now pointing over my shoulder with even more vividly.

He doesn’t even have the decency to thank me; he simply stalks passed me. “I do wonder what you did to make such a noble, wonderful girl want to flee.” It just pops out of my mouth, and to my horror, or maybe to my delight, the man stops and looks at me. “She is not fleeing,” he bites out. “She just hasn’t noticed me yet.”

“Right,” I say.

The man turns his head and stomps off.

The fear in Melena’s eyes makes my insides churn. “Come,” I whisper. “He’ll probably be back when the people behind me haven’t seen you.”

She nods, and I quickly grab the bags and leave the line, hoping the gap I created between several people is wide enough to let her pass freely. Maybe not, somebody behind me lets out a sharp yelp. “Auch! What was that.”

Before I know it, I’ve spun around to see if Melena is alright.

She is. And the smirk on her face informs me that the ‘auch’ had been anything but accidental, and somehow that makes me grin too.

We make it out of the line without auches or anything of the sort after that, and I slow down a bit, so she can walk beside me. I don’t care if people think I’m talking to myself when I softly say, “Let’s go to the park. I know a quiet spot where I can release the spell safely.”

She just nods, and I do as well — appreciatively, for the spell is limited to sight. If she spoke, people would hear a voice without a body. Somehow that doesn’t seem like a good thing to have happen.

Now that the bathhouse is opened to men, the demographic of park dwellers has changed quite dramatically compared to when I came through here on my way over. Sylva lives only a few blocks away, and then I’d been one of the many men strolling the paths. Now the park has been taken over by the women, some still carrying a blush from the bathhouse heat, or dispersing the scent of rose water — a faint odor that bleaches in comparison to the lovely smell that Melena brings with her.

I can’t believe she’s here, walking next to me, her face a blank mask while I can almost feel how an endless stream of thoughts and emotions run through her mind. What would she have done if I hadn’t been there to Magic her? What if that awful guy had gotten a hold of her? What if releasing her from the spell feels just as… intimate and special as when I put it on her?

I shiver, thinking about what happened. Even in that brief moment of summoning the energy, of pouring the incantation on her and watching her disappear into a place where she is exclusively mine to behold, there was another kind of Magic going on. One that I’ve never thought to exist, yet it is as clear to me as is the sun. Protecting her, standing up for her, helping her in that dire moment of need, has stirred up all the feelings that I have tried to stuff away for days now — and the feelings have blossomed into something more. The Magic has opened me right up, has shown me that we are connected in a way that goes beyond everything I have ever envisioned as being love. She is mine, I realize it in a split second. The fact that she has been willing to be Magicked by me, makes me walk taller now, and adds a confident bounce to my steps. Somehow this situation, her trust in me, and my power to help her, glow bright on the inside.

Melena seems oblivious to all that, her mask still in place. Yet I know she has to have felt something too. A feeling this big, this engulfing, this radiant cannot remain unnoticed.

This connection that has simmered ever since we first laid eyes on each other, is now more than a mere possibility. It is a promise that she will be mine. And I will be hers, for there is no other way. No amount of sunshine could have made this day any brighter than this realization does.

The path toward the clearing I have in mind to lift the spell in, is busy enough to have me doubt if there will even be an opportunity to lift it in private. I breathe in sharply. Master Iacopor will not be amused if he finds out I Magicked his daughter. In school, practicing Magic on other students — or anything with a heartbeat for that matter — is strictly forbidden, and I have only been a Masterling for a few weeks; no way I am cleared to perform any Magic of this level.

It would not be smart to release Melena inside the house. Master Iacopor was away today, which is why both Elrick and I have been given the day off, but he’ll probably be home by now. I have to release her, safely, and without any bystanders. Plus, I need to talk to her, to see if she experienced something similar.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

We pass bushes and trees, glowing fields of grass and flowers, and a lot more women and children. What if there are a lot of people in the clearing? What if… Could I bring her over to Moppa Verin? It would be my safest bet if my first plan doesn’t hold. I swallow and look at Melena, still walking next to me, her expression now quite grim as she is lost in deep thought. Yet at the same time, there is a certain glow to her. It is faint, but a little glimmer of Magic flows and curls after her. It has a golden hue and it’s beautiful. She is beautiful.

Suddenly, she looks my way. Our eyes lock, and my breath falters. The gleam in her emerald eyes is different than I’ve ever seen, and it gives me the chills.

There is nobody near enough to hear me. “We’re…” I start, my voice coarse and breathy. “We’re almost there.” I need the feel of the bags in my hands to keep myself steady; I feel as if I am dreaming.

She just nods.

I quickly look ahead again — I don’t necessarily mind people thinking I am crazy, but I don’t want to blow her cover. For all I know, people are spelled into obscurity all the time, but I am not willing to take the risk.

We walk on, and yet again I realize how extraordinary it is to be the only one to be able to see Melena. A part of me wants to keep it that way, wants to have her exclusively to myself. I allow that part of me to savor this moment, to have the memory of this imprinted very deeply into my soul, and that will have to be it.

My mouth curls into a secret little smile. I will forever know that there has been a time when the most beautiful girl in the world was mine to behold, mine alone. It warms me to the core, and I almost hope that the clearing will be too busy to lift the spell, just so I can relish in her private presence a bit longer.

We take the small path to the clearing anyway, a bypass through the bushes that’s so narrow that I’m afraid Melena’s dress will get caught — especially since we have to step over low-hanging branches and weeds overgrowing the path.

I lead the way.

“Be careful,” I say as I move a branch out of her way. I turn to see her, to make sure I won’t release the branch only to have it slap her in the face, and watch her almost glide across the path. She seems unbothered by any of the growth on and over the path. Untouchable is a word that comes up in my mind. That is interesting, as the spell is supposed to only interfere with visual aspects. Could it be that there is more to it? Could I perhaps find evidence of that within the patterns in the sand? Tantalizing.

But not as urgent as releasing Melena from the spell. I manage to tear my gaze from her and move on. Before long, we step out into the clearing to find it is empty. I’m both relieved and disappointed.

A gentle breeze rustles the leaves and makes a few flowers dance on their stems, but that’s it. All is quiet, not even the sound of birds breaks the peace in this place. A thousand shades of green complement Melena’s eyes, the bright reds and pinks of the flowers dotting the foliage. Overhead, the sky is a stunning blue without even the faintest trace of clouds. A few steps away, little white mushrooms form an almost perfect circle, and the light filtering through the trees makes them twinkle like little gems.

“I’ve been in this park so many times, and I never knew this clearing even existed,” Melena says as she looks around. “It’s beautiful.” Her smile is one of pure enjoyment. The Magic she’s been emanating glows gold and bright, faint as it is.

I keep in “You’re beautiful” and just smile a bit. “It is. I found it when playing hide-and-seek with my little sister.”

“You have a sister?”

“Yes.” But I do not want to talk about Sylva. I want to be with Melena, and the part of me longing to not release the spell makes my heart thump in my chest.

The part of me that does is even stronger. How will it feel to release the spell when I’m actually mindful of casting it? What will happen if I consciously pour my heart into it?

“Shall we?” I ask, barely recognizing the tone in my own voice. I drop the bags and notice my fingers are tingling, but that has nothing to do with how tightly I’ve held on to the straps.

Melena simply nods again, her eyes still wandering around before they finally meet my gaze. It takes all I have not to step forward and kiss her, now that her eyes are filled with wonder and beauty. I swallow. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” she says.

“Alright. Then I guess…” I try to smile, but it takes more effort than I’d expected. Taking a deep breath, I draw the words needed to lift the spell into my mind, into my heart, onto my tongue. The words I speak are crystal clear, and the Magic flows immediately. Melena closes her eyes. Her trust in me touches me to the core. She is so strong, so confident. I finish the spell and watch the Magic retreat, revealing her to the world once more. I do not really know whether I am sad or joyful about it. I just know how connected I feel to her, to the point of tears, to the point of trembling and almost aching with the yearning to touch her, to kiss her, to be as close to her as is humanly possible — or even closer.

The spell has been lifted completely now, and she is still standing there, sunlight twinkling on her face, a loose black curl dancing in the wind.

I need to kiss her. I have to. I inch closer, my heart pounding in my chest.

She opens her eyes. The golden gleam that followed her when we walked over here now shines in them. “It worked, right?” she asks.

“Yes.” It comes out all croaky and weird. I clear my throat. “Yes, it worked. You’re visible again. In all your beauty.” She has to feel it too. She has to feel what I feel, and even a fraction of that would be enough to bind us forever.

She just smiles at me, though.

The urge to kiss her grows stronger, and I step forward. She does not back away. She does not shake her head, or lift her hand to stop me. She just looks at me in what seems like anticipation. “Melena…”

She blinks, and… Is it my imagination, or does she lean into me? Is she bridging the gap between us? Could I… Should I…? “Can I…”

“Kayetan…” she whispers.

The sound of her voice saying my name knocks every breath of air out of my lungs, makes every coherent thought dissipate from my mind. I reach out to touch her honey-colored, smooth cheek, to secure the lock of ink-black hair behind her ear.

As soon as I touch her, ever so lightly, a jolt of energy shoots from my fingertips to every other extremity in my body. She shivers under my touch, her breath hitches.

Slowly, as if she might disappear if I move too fast, I close the gap between us. Our eyes are still locked, her emerald green eyes dotted with gold, her shallow breaths tickling my approaching lips ever so slightly and erratically. By all that is good, I am about to kiss her, taste her… Her warmth feels so good, spreading across my skin like the most delicate of oils in the bathhouse, pooling at my base where I know I am growing just for her.

She closes her eyes and lifts her head just enough for our lips to be able to meet. I have the impression that I can feel her pulse in my body, her heart beating just as frantically as mine.

I close my eyes and kiss her. Ever so lightly, a mere brush of my lips against hers. Once more a bolt of energy surges through me, and I kiss her again, pressing just a little bit more this time. She gasps audibly, the fabric of her dress rustles.

Another kiss, I gently weave my fingers through her hair, drunk of the scent of her, the taste of those sweet lips on mine. Rose water and something else, something that is so distinctly her that it goes straight to my heart and is imprinted there, along with every memory I have made of her today.

Her lips are warm and soft, and…

Suddenly, they are gone.

“I’m sorry…” she mutters. She shakes her head and steps back, leaving me cold and suddenly very, very much alone.

“I…”

Before I can say anything, she turns, grabs her bag, and runs.