Morgana multiplied the bread, multiplied the water. It wasn’t hard for her to do; what was hard was not getting caught. Two sentries stood outside her cell twenty-four hours a day, ensuring she had no privacy whatsoever.

But they couldn’t stop her. It had been a year already, and none of the fools who guarded her had figured it out yet, the reason why she didn’t cry out with pangs of hunger. She was only ever fed the smallest scraps of bread, often moldy. No matter; she could take the smallest piece and turn it into a feast.

She wasn’t concerned about herself, though. It was the members of the Cloaked, all of whom resided in the cells nearest to hers, that she worried about. They had their own special magic, but it didn’t involve things like multiplying resources.

So, in the darkest hours of the night, when the guards were either bored stiff or talking amongst themselves, she would do her best to slip a hunk of bread, a cup of water, through the bars to one of the Cloaked, the one closest to her. His name was Nealon, and she knew he always passed the food down the line before taking even a bite for himself.

“Take this,” she whispered.

She couldn’t see him; the walls between them were stone, but she would frequently feel the touch of his cold hand reaching out for the bread.

The guards had retreated to a game of cards. They were within earshot, but not in direct line of sight.

Nealon took the bread and passed it down the line to his men.

She vowed that if she were ever to decide to escape her prison, she would do her best to free them. They were her friends, though they had rarely exchanged a single sentence between them.

Only the highly trained seers were taught how to multiply resources like this, and even then it was illegal to do so except under direct order from the king. For everyone knew that the best way to keep a kingdom in line was to control the food, the trade, and the money. And it was always easier if everybody was a little bit hungry.

This was where Morgana had gone wrong. Once she was trained to do it, she would sneak out of her room each night and leap effortlessly over the wall around the castle and into the slums four stories down. She could take a single apple and make it a hundred, making a vendor rich for a week easily enough.

But her favorite was going to the orphanage. Deep in the night she would bring sweets to the abandoned children who lived there. Their faces, often bruised and bloodied by their mistress, would light up with joy at the sight of her. She often thought that it wasn’t so much the candy that made them wish to see her so, but the simple fact that she was kind to them in a world where a single word, a single look, could result in a slap across the face.

“Nealon,” she whispered again and passed along another hunk of bread. They did this several times until everyone in the group was fed. The Cloaked were masters of camouflage, and they were never caught with the rations she provided them. Knowing that she was their only source of sustenance, she could’ve convinced herself to stay down in the dungeons forever, for it was her simple desire to help others that kept her there.

But after twelve months of incarceration, she knew she would need to escape soon.

Of course, for a seer like Morgana, the steel bars of her prison cell were child’s play to break through. She’d done it dozens of times. The trouble was making it past the guards. Her little escapades needed to be kept secret, and wounding or killing her captors would let Ulfred the king know that she had been out.

She wasn’t sure what would happen to her if she were caught, but it didn’t seem right to let others starve while she ran away from her troubles.

She did miss comfort, though. Oh, the feeling of dry clothes and a warm bed seemed so far away now that she wondered if she would ever experience such things again.

She’d thought about her escape for weeks, months. In the beginning, she’d seen the needs of the Cloaked and put theirs ahead of her own. But more and more she realized that her talents were needed elsewhere. She would need to leave the dungeons, the castle, the city, and then try to help those in need from the outside.

She could always murder the king and try to take his power from him, but his son, a young prince, would ultimately take over the throne. Just another king. All of them the same.

Morgana hated Ulfred, and the bitter taste she got in her mouth every time she thought of him was so vile that she had to literally spit it out. What he’d done to her, and what he continued to do to the rest of his kingdom, was disgusting. He took pride in his misdeeds, starving the people, beating the poor for entertainment, wedding young brides to men of seventy years.

He hadn’t wanted her to be his bride, however, because Ulfred was already married. His desire was to have her as his lover, and it was her refusal of him that had resulted in her imprisonment.

As she sat back to take a bite of her bread, she heard the noise of a scuffle, then a howl of pain. Quickly, she stashed the bread into the darkest corner of her cell and pretended to be asleep on the cold stone floor.

“Kill him,” Ulfred’s drunken voice came through the corridor. “Sleeping while guarding the most dangerous witch in the kingdom is punishable by death. Now, where is she?”

She could hardly pretend to be asleep after the sound of a sword unsheathed and the man on the receiving end of its blade crying out for mercy as it cut through his body.

“Your Majesty!” the other man said. “I beg you, do not—”

But the guard with the sword had no mercy, and soon he joined his lifeless friend on the floor of the dungeon.

Ulfred came into view before her cell wearing the pelt of a stag, his round stomach protruding from beneath it.

“So,” he said. “I see you still haven’t come around. I thought that surely the meager bread rations would’ve been enough to sway you. Perhaps we’ve been feeding you too much.”

He was swaying back and forth, and it seemed inevitable that he would fall, which he did, right onto the floor before her.

“Morgana,” he slurred. “Come with me. We can be together like I’ve always dreamed. Since I was a young king, I’ve watched you from afar. Why do you reject me so?”

His voice was soft, soothing, convincing. He tried so hard to sway her. But she knew better. Ulfred was known for his cruelty, and with all of those imprisoned in the cells beside her, he didn’t exactly inspire her trust.

She had seen him more and more of late, his wife having contracted an awful sickness not long ago. And with each visit, he seemed to be more and more drunk.

He could’ve forced her to share his bed, of course, but it seemed to be a matter of his pride that kept him from doing so. Even he understood that taking a woman that way would be pointless, would only result in her hatred and ire.

What she knew, however, was that he would’ve failed if he’d ever tried. She may play helpless in her cell, but she was anything but.

“Release the Cloaked who share these cells beside me, and I will be yours.”

Ulfred sputtered.

“I will do no such thing,” he said. “They are here because of their crimes against the kingdom. I will not free them.”

“Then you will be on your own,” she said. “I will not join you. I could never be with a man so cruel. Not now. Not ever.”

“You’re terrible!” he exclaimed as he lay down on his back, his head knocking painfully against the stone. “Agh!”

He seemed close to passing out, which was a good thing. When the guards came to take him back to his bed, they would be gone for a short while, a perfect opportunity for her to get out for the night.

But should it just be for one night? Was it time?

Ulfred mumbled something unintelligible, and as he lay his head against the ground, his two guards walked up behind him and picked him up.

“You’ll regret this, Morgana! My love! You will learn that I am the man for you no matter what it takes! Guards, no more rations!”

And then he was out.

Morgana waited for them to leave the dungeon before she dissolved the bars of her cell and stepped outside.

“I think this is it,” she whispered to Nealon. “Will you come with me?”

Nealon shook his head sadly.

“It’s not our time,” he said.

“Your time?”

“We have work to do yet in this castle. One day you will understand.”

“But you’ll starve.”

“We will hunger, yes. But we will survive. We have survived worse.”

She smiled down at him, and then down the row of men, eight in total. She didn’t understand their ways, but she respected them.

“I will go, then. Be well.”

She reached out one hand through the bars to his cell, and he took hers in his.

“You as well,” he said, and released her. “Now fly.”

She smiled for the first time in a long time, turned toward the door, and took a few careful, barefoot steps until she could see beyond.

The two guards lay dead at her feet, their punishment for having left her for just a few moments of respite.

She peered through the doorway and into the corridor. Empty. She dashed down the hall toward the staircase beyond, ready to fight if it came to that. But nobody stopped her; the corridor was deserted.

One flight up the stairs and she was into the vast halls where Ulfred held court. Parties. Weddings. Celebrations. Coronations. They were all unguarded but for the tall main doorways where two men stood.

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She gasped and stepped back, hoping they hadn’t heard her. She paused, listening, ready to fight, but she heard nothing. Turning, she ran back to the staircase and didn’t stop climbing until she was on the fifth floor, one level down from the roof, which was guarded. In these chambers those who were less powerful in court slept, and the rooms were unguarded. She dashed down the hall and over to a single stone window, jumping out of it without a second thought.

But before she was smashed flat onto the dirt road, she raised her arms out to her sides, and power burst from her hands, slowing her. Invisible fire was rare among seers, but she had several gifts that were rare. Most wizards would’ve hit the ground like a rock, but not Morgana.

Not tonight.

She crept through the township, silent as a ghost. It was a rare thing to find, but there was a vendor who sold, and often gave, candy to children, enticing them with their sticky sweetness, so much better than an apple.

And easier to hide.

She snuck into the stall where the vendor slept and snagged a single piece of taffy wrapped in paper. She immediately multiplied it, leaving him a little pile where there had only been one. She didn’t know the man, but she’d seen him with the children who walked this road. She’d once seen his face upon waking after a night of her thievery; happy, and immediately giving. Those were the days when he gave out the most candy.

He was a good man.

She was tempted to give him more, but worried that the riches that might come from such a gift might corrupt him in some way. It was an unfair assessment, but she had seen much greed among men and women alike, having grown up in the castle where food was plentiful and riches were vast.

Morgana had been only ten when she was brought to live in the section of the castle devoted to housing the seers. The head seer, Malvin, wasn’t a friendly man, but she’d always felt he was decent underneath all of his grumpiness. And he was an exceptional teacher. His knowledge of magic and how it related to each and every person in the world was beyond compare, and he was never stingy with his insight. He understood the patience that was required to learn new skills, and while he would sometimes scoff at a student’s efforts, he wasn’t mean.

It had been Malvin who’d taught her to fly. He didn’t even know how to do it himself, but together they’d figured it out and kept it a secret. They used to meet late on moonless nights on the outskirts of the castle, deep in the meadow where they couldn’t be seen. Malvin had known somehow that the revelation of her talents would put her in danger. She might’ve been exceptional, but that didn’t make her safe.

Now, as she slunk through the town toward the orphanage, she realized how much she missed the old man. To her knowledge, he was still the head seer, though the boy Zahn had been vying for his position for some time. She’d met Zahn when she’d been a child, and she’d never liked him. Too focused on his own interests, she thought, as those of great power often were.

She reached the orphanage and pushed herself through the air until she was stepping delicately upon the window pane. The mistress kept it locked, but that wasn’t a bother at all; she simply waved her hand over the glass, and she was inside.

Gasps from within. She put one finger up to her mouth. Eyes opened, mouths stayed shut. Silently, she beckoned the children to her.

The orphanage had grown in inhabitants, but not in size. She saw that several of the children were shivering, and she tip-toed to each of them and placed one hand on their chests, warming them from within. She might’ve given blankets or pillows, but those things would be seen by the mistress, and, unable to explain, the children would be beaten for stealing.

One girl, Aife, the tallest and oldest of the group, knelt down beside another, smaller child with tears in his eyes. He was new, Morgana realized, and terrified. Tears ran down his little cheeks, pooling on his chin before dropping onto his shirt.

She sat down on the floor so that she could be eye to eye with this boy, unwrapped a piece of the candy, and handed it to him. But he simply tucked his head under the girl’s arm, refusing to look at her.

She handed the taffy to Aife, and she made sure he saw her when she popped it into her mouth.

“What’s your name, little one?” Morgana asked, passing around several pieces of taffy to the other children. Everyone quietly sat down in a circle around her, happily, silently, munching on the sweets.

“His name is Cadman,” Aife said. “He’s only just arrived. His parents died a few years ago, and he was raised by his grandfather … until now.”

“And his grandfather?” Morgana asked.

Aife shook her head, and Morgana understood. It was a fate too common in Eagleview: starvation. That, combined with advanced age, was likely what had killed the boy’s grandfather.

She unwrapped another piece of taffy and held it out to him. But he was having none of it.

“I’ll save it for him,” Aife said.

“But what if you’re found out?” Morgana asked.

She shrugged.

“So be it.”

This hurt Morgana’s heart. The idea that a young girl was being forced to mother all of these children was despicable. Almost as despicable as the visual signs of abuse nearly all of the children had on their bodies.

Suddenly, it dawned on her, what she should do now that she was free. Before, she’d only thought to leave Eagleview behind, banished forever from her life there.

But now …

She looked at Aife and the little boy clinging so tightly to her arm.

No. She wasn’t just going to fly away and find some new life somewhere away from Ulfred and his dungeons.

She was going to stay.

But she had a little business to take care of first.

“Stay here, children,” she said, standing up. “I’ll be back soon. Get in your beds just in case.”

Just in case what? Morgana didn’t know. Her powers rivaled most others,’ but that wasn’t always enough.

She turned to Aife. “What is the mistress’s name?”

“Isolda,” she said.

It was time for her to face the woman who’d been abusing these kids.

She slipped from the room and floated down the stairs, not making a sound. Then, at the bedroom door of the mistress, she slammed the door open with a loud BANG.

Isolda sat bolt upright in her bed, a knife held unsteadily in her hand. Morgana wondered why; what abuse might this woman also be facing? Could it be that bruises covered her arms, too?

Morgana clapped her hands together and threw a bolt of power at that knife, ripping it from Isolda’s hands and sticking it firmly into the wall behind her. Then, she approached, and as she did, she spread out her arms, puffed up her chest, and hovered over the floor.

“You are Isolda?”

The woman looked shellshocked, and didn’t speak.

“Answer me,” Morgana demanded.

“I am,” she stuttered. “Yes, I am Isolda. What do you want with me?”

Morgana allowed herself to float down again until her feet were on the floor.

“I will be here most every night, watching over this place. You can believe me when I say that if I again find another child with marks on him from your abuse, you will not be of this world for much longer. Do you understand?”

“But Ma’am, you do not understand. I don’t have enough food to feed all of these children. And they are a wicked bunch. They don’t do as they’re told, and I—”

“Say another word and I’ll clarify for you what the term ‘wicked’ really means,” she snarled. “There is no excuse for it; I don’t care how the children treat you. They are babies and scared. It is your job to care for them, not to injure them or treat them like soldiers in a war. Is that clear?”

Isolda nodded, eyes wide.

“As for the food, I will visit your pantry from time to time and fill it for you, though I expect you to feed the children first, before yourself.”

“You can do that? With the food?” Isolda then, remembering she wasn’t to speak, clapped her hand over her mouth as if she’d uttered a terrible curse. But Morgana didn’t strike.

“Yes,” she said instead. “Neither you nor the children will go hungry again. Understand that it is my gift to them, not to you.”

Isolda nodded again.

“Good. We have an understanding, then. Now, you and I have some work to do before breakfast. Get up and come with me.”

Isolda was shaking, her covers pulled up and underneath her chin.

“I said, let’s go.” Morgana pulled the covers and threw them off the bed. Beneath them was the figure of an emaciated woman, and Morgana understood.

It was a terrible fate for all who called this place home.

Isolda got out of bed and pulled on a thin shawl, shivering.

Morgana scowled, knowing what the right thing was to do, but not wanting to do it.

She did, though. She reached out one hand and put it on the woman’s chest, warming her from within.

Isolda’s face broke into a wide smile, and the visage that had seemed so vile moments before now looked almost pretty, filled with wonder and appreciation to the giver of the heat.

But Morgana didn’t let it sway her. Perhaps by extension of the work she was now going to set out to do with the children, this woman would have a better life, even a good life. But the goals remained the same.

Feed the hungry.

Protect the weak.

Punish the abusers.

Morgana walked out into a long dining room with twenty chairs sitting around a huge, long table. Next to the table was a tiny kitchen, yesterday’s dishes still sitting out, unwashed and forgotten.

“You have work to do,” she said.

Isolda winced.

“I’m sorry. I know it looks bad. I just—”

“No need,” she said, brushing past her into the back room.

The pantry.

A small container of oats, maybe enough for ten for breakfast, and several large containers of brown lentils were the only things she saw in the pantry.

No wonder they were all so emaciated.

She turned back.

“There’s not much I can do with this. Do you have anything else? Sweets, maybe, for the oats?

Isolda looked away, guilty.

Morgana put her hands on her hips.

“Hand it over.”

She looked up, guilt outlining her features. She reached up toward the highest shelf and revealed a tiny container of liquid. Syrup. She snatched it up and then held it tightly to her chest, as if it were the most valuable diamond in all the world.

Morgana allowed this. There was no way for Isolda to know what was going to happen next. Instead of striking her, she reached out for the cleanest bowl she saw in the pile of dishes and placed it onto the table.

“Give me the syrup,” she said, holding out her hand.

Isolda hesitated. Morgana glared.

She handed over the syrup.

Morgana uncorked the tiny bottle and spilled the contents into the bowl. Then, with a few fanciful waves of her hands over the surface, watched as the little pool of sweetness grew and grew until it nearly filled it.

Isolda was taken aback, shocked by this action of Morgana’s. But then, like a little school child, she smiled excitedly.

“What else can you do?” she asked in wonder.

And Morgana realized the truth.

“Where did you grow up?” she asked.

Isolda laughed nervously, indicating the building around her.

“I see.”

Morgana moved back into the pantry and pulled out the container of oats.

“Do you have something bigger than this I can use?”

“Yes,” she said. “Deeper into the cabinet.”

Morgana turned, but then out of the corner of her eye, she saw Isolda dip her finger into the syrup. She turned on a dime and moved to smack her across the face. She winced, waiting, finger dripping of syrup.

Morgana lowered her hand and sighed.

“Children first,” she said.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Ma’am.

How far she had come.

* * *

Later on, deep into the night, Morgana floated among the vendors, still asleep. She stole from them, but only in minuscule amounts. A scrap of bread, an apple core, a stick of meat. She brought these things back to the orphanage and dumped them out onto the dining table. She’d set Isolda to do the dishes an hour before, and she’d done as she was told.

Morgana arranged the pieces of food on the table so that there was enough room to multiply them. Then, within minutes, there was a veritable feast on the table, enough to feed everyone in the orphanage for weeks.

She looked up from her work, satisfied, and saw that Isolda had tears running down her face. She approached her and latched onto her, an uninvited hug of thanks.

Morgana sighed.

“Okay,” she said. “It’s nearly dawn. Get moving on breakfast; the kids will be awake soon.”

Isolda surprised her by jumping into action. A large pot was soon on the stove.

Morgana nodded, appeased.

“I’ll leave you now,” she said. “I’ll come fill your pantry from time to time.”

Isolda’s eyes were wide, but she nodded in response.

“Good.” She turned to go. It had been a long night, and she needed to find somewhere to rest.

“Wait, Ma’am,” Isolda said, and Morgana paused. “I just … well … thank you. I never could have—”

“I know,” she said, cutting her off. “Show your thanks to me in your care of the children. They do not understand why they remain here for so long when the wider world has families to care for them. They are their own family. And yours.”

She nodded again, and Morgana turned and climbed the staircase up to the children’s dormitory. She stopped by Aife’s bed, where she found little Cadman curled up beside her. Her eyes were open, though, and Morgana wondered if she’d been awake the whole time.

“You’re in charge now,” Morgana whispered.

Aife’s eyes grew wide.

“Things will be different. But you’ll see me every week, so don’t become too fearful in the days to come. There is enough food for you all now, and I’ve talked with Isolda. She is not to lay so much as a finger upon any of you again. And if she does …”

“You’ll find someone else?” she asked hopefully.

“Yes, child. I will find someone else. Now, take care of them. I’ll see you next week, though I daresay you may be sleeping better from here on out.”

Aife’s face was not relieved; there was no smile there. But when Morgana pulled out one last piece of taffy and handed it to her, she closed her fingers over it.

“I’ll save it for him,” she said, indicating Cadman.

“Good girl.”

Morgana walked to the window, still open with a cool summer breeze floating into the room. She looked up at the sky, still inky black on one side, with the slightest brightness along the horizon where she knew the sun would soon rise. She would head for the meadow.

And then, with the slightest of effort, and a satisfied look on her face, she spread her arms wide and flew out of the window, like a bird flying into the night.

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