Alex sets me to practicing the move: dropping down low, taking out the dagger, slashing at the air with it.

After surveilling me for a little bit with slitted eyes, he goes over to a tree, puts his hands up in front of him, and … stares at the tree with a really intense expression.

For a little bit, I manage to continue dropping and slashing.

But he keeps doing it.

I finally can’t resist anymore.

“So uh, what are you doing?” I ask.

A stubborn line appears between his eyebrows.

“Practicing,” Alex says shortly. “Which you should be doing instead of focusing on me. I told you. Lower. And faster. The point is for the attack to miss.” He goes back to staring at the tree.

Well, whatever. I don’t care what Alex is practicing, meditation or prayers to trees or how to best make frown-y faces. It’s not my business.

By the time the sun’s almost directly beating down our heads, Alex drops his arms with a groan.

I roll up from the shady grass, where I’ve been laying ever since I’d gotten the “duck and stab” move down—or at least, down enough to be done with it. Rule of diminishing returns and all that, I wasn’t going to get any smoother or faster. And Alex hadn’t made a comment when I’d started sitting, so either my progress was good enough for now or he really had been that focused.

“Why isn’t this working?” Alex mutters. He looks down at his hands as if they’ve personally betrayed him.

I sigh, and dust the bits of grass from clothes. “What are you practicing anyway?” I hesitate. But Alex has been helpful, for his barometer of helpful. “Maybe I can help?”

Alex snorts. “Not unless the future recorded a step-by-step-guide for how I shot fire at enemies.”

That… is actually one thing the novels can’t help with. Alex Prime just sort of like, activated his magic one day, when he got cornered by some enemies and got angry enough about possibly dying before he can avenge his family. By the next battle, he’d seemed to be able to throw fire beams—or set his sword on fire—at will.

It doesn’t bode well for my likelihood of survival that Alex can’t do any of that yet, actually. Probably I should try to help.

“Isn’t magic just like, something you have or don’t?” I ask. I mean, Alex hadn’t needed to put any concentration and effort into being immune to magic. And I certainly hadn’t been trying to have any vision before I had the one.

When I say this out loud, Alex rolls his eyes. “Most magic can be trained. That’s why mages get sent to Augusta. Do you think war mages fight in battle without being able to target their attack? Or shapeshifters just get stuck in their animal form?” He looks at me, and says dryly, “Uncontrolled magic is useless magic.”

I let the implied insult about Seers roll off my back. Aurelia’s Seer powers aren’t exactly mine to defend.1 Though the comment does spark a thought.

“Well, the future didn’t record any instructions, but maybe your family’s magic books would? Luke’s bringing me a few tonight, so I’ll look through. But you should probably ask him directly. I doubt he’ll give me any of important ones—“

Alex turns to me fully then. He narrows his eyes. “Luke is bringing you books about magic? Why? What do you need them for?”

Why does this dude blow between being helpful and amusing to being suspicious so fast?

“Like I told you, my world doesn’t have magic, so it’s weird to be in the body of someone who does. I just wanted to know a bit more about it, ” I said, exasperated.

That brings to mind another thought again. A really important one time, one which had fallen clean out of my head when Alex had made me regurgitate the novels and then attacked me like a trigger-happy lunatic. “Although, I, uh, actually had a question for you about that. Luke, I mean, not magic.”

Alex raises a challenging eyebrow. I take it as a go-ahead sign.

“Luke thinks something is off as well. With me,” I say. “I thought maybe we could tell him—“

Alex blanches. He covers the distance between us in basically two seconds and grabs my arm. “You didn’t,” he says.

“Ow,” I say, and shake off his too-tight grip. “And no, I didn’t. But I thought it might be a good idea. If we keep interacting, Luke’ll just get more suspicious. We’re on the same side, anyway, so we can trust him, and he’s got more authority and resources.”Also he’s obviously more reasonable and probably less psychotic, I add silently.

“And he’s got more responsibilities. Of course we can trust Luke. But has it escaped your mind that it’ll be his duty to tell my parents? Say they all believe you, which is a big if. They’ll have conflicting opinions on how to move forward, it’ll be repeat after repeat of yesterday’s debate. ” Alex folds his arms. “No, there’s no need to needlessly complicate the plan I’ve put into place. I’ll handle this alone. And you’ll talk less around him, so Luke won’t get more suspicious.”

My anger flares at his tone. Maybe in this universe, with all those heads bowing to him all the time, Alex thinks he can just give a bunch of orders and be obeyed. But I’m a twenty-first century woman.

“One, don’t order me around, we made a pact to work together. Two, can you handle this alone? You can’t even throw a single flame right now! And I just told you about the mess that’s coming!” I wave over at the map still on the floor of the clearing. “We need all the help we can get.”

Alex opens his mouth. Closes it. Rubs his eyes.

Looks up at the sky then back down at me.

“It’s late. We need to get back to the castle before the messenger comes,” Alex says, and begins to walk—And wow, way to just totally derail the argument when you’re losing—He puts up a hand at whatever expression my face is making. “I acknowledge your points. But there is no need to tell Luke now. I’ll re-assess depending on what the coven Seers say. The ‘mess’ that’s coming isn’t here.” He bends to start rolling up his map, and says under his breath, like I don’t have extremely fine hearing, “When it does, you might not even be around.”

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

I’m beginning to really hate Alex saying things are none of my business.

Like, okay. It’s true that my goals start and end with figuring why I’m here and how I can leave,whether that’s getting back to my real body or staying in Aurelia’s but getting to run away. Either way, all I want is a happy, healthy life.

Or at least, that’s all I should want.

Unfortunately, it increasingly feels like what I want is much bigger than that. It’s hard to just watch and not stop the plot going off-the-rails. Even in the best case scenario, where Aurelia’s restored to her body, it’d be nice to not have lied to Mrs. Morrell and keep Aurelia safe amidst Alex and his family’s politicking. Not to mention a lot of people die after foiling the attack would be a stupidly big waste of effort.

And now I’ve told Alex all this stuff2 —which I really shouldn’t have done, in retrospect, what was I thinking, it’s all his fault for throwing me off with that visit to Mrs. Morrell— I wouldn’t even just be a bystander. It’d be my fault for putting those stupid ideas in his head and walking away—

“Fine, we’ll talk about this again after we get to the coven,” I say, cutting off my own spiraling train of thought. “And then we’ll re-assess.”

Alex deigns to give me a nod, before he stands up and starts walking out of the clearing.

The annoyance at Alex and this whole dumb situation simmer in my gut on the walk back. But it’s hard to hold onto the irritation.It’s such a sunny, crisp fall day. Silverwood certainly earns its name, the trees of its surrounding forests tall and majestic and fragrant.

I also feel—great, actually. Accomplished, for mastering that move and generally holding my own against Alex’s unpredictable moods and overbearing ways. And not as exhausted as I usually am doing something physical, just a pleasant ache in my calves and arms and a building hunger in my stomach. I’d assumed adrenaline had propelled me through all the running of the past couple days, but I’m starting to suspect that in fact, I probably inherited Aurelia’s physique and stamina, in addition to her reflexes and Seer powers. So yay for that.

In contrast, next to me, Alex is—there’s no other word for it, brooding. His face is dark and preoccupied, and he keeps talking under his breath.

“Perhaps there might be something in those books. Though I doubt the King would’ve allowed any guidance on maximizing the use of Elemental magic to be put into ink, there may be ink….” Alex murmurs, half to me, half to himself.

I sigh. I can see how, from his perspective, it hasn’t been a very good morning.

Sympathy sucks.

“I’m sure your abilities will come when you need them,” I try.

Maybe it won’t happen at the same time as it did in the novels. Or maybe now that his family is alive, he’ll need a bigger rush of emotions or to be in even more danger.3 But if the novels are anything to go by, the hand blowtorches will trigger at the right moment.

Even though I’m just being optimistic, Alex actually stops to glare at me. “And I guess I should just depend on it coming when I need? ‘Sorry, mother, father, not only am I an accursed mage, but I have no control over any useful Elemental powers yet. But don’t worry, the next attack, the next time I have to protect our family and lands, it’ll come!’”

I flush. Obviously when he says it like that, it sounds stupid—but I can’t even get properly irritated at him, because his mouth twists into an ugly, worried thing immediately. He turns around and keeps on walking.

Maybe all the deeds I told him about in the clearing are actually weighing on him. Maybe the plans he was unspooling in the forest don’t come so easily to him after all.

As we walk back to the Keep, the beautiful day loses a little bit of luster. I wonder how the people who have to mourn someone lost in yesterday’s attack are taking today.

Like I said. Sympathy sucks.

When we’re only a few steps away from the Keep gates, Alex jerks his head up and scans the sky.

“Huh. We’re just in time,” he murmurs, making no sense. I look up at the sky too. But it’s still as sunny and cloudless as before. There are even birds chirping in the distance, that’s how idyllic the day is.

Well. Birds cawing, really, they’re not really dainty chirps. And ‘close by’ would be more accurate than ‘in the distance.’ In fact, that bird shadow is heading in our direction and growing more defined by the second.

Alex’s eyes sharpen on that bird shadow. He’s acting way more intense than I’ve ever seen anyone birdwatch. I’m starting to get the uneasy sense that it’s not a normal bird, because now everyone— from the guards to the townspeople— around us is tracking it

As the black bird comes in fast, it folds its wings and dips its head down, like a plane landing or or a meteor crashing into earth—or into Alex, rather. His face is pretty clearly in its flight trajectory.

“Is it suicidal?” I say incredulously. I grab Alex's sleeve, my muscles tense and ready to yank him out of the way of the approaching bird gore.

But just as it gets close enough for me to make out its beady little eyes, the bird twists in the air. There’s a sickening crunch of bones, like the bird’s devouring itself or something, and then the mass grows, in these lumping, nauseating pulses. My stomach turns, I’ve never particularly liked watching slasher horror films, and flick my eyes away.

When I look back, there’s a sallow man with lanky black hair standing where that mutant bird was. His midnight robes and cloak drag on the ground as he takes a step forward, and bows to Alex.

“Sir Damion,“ he greets, with a nod back.

Around us, everyone else bends their head down respectfully. I copy them, a beat too late.

“Lord Alexandrius,” he says. His beek-like mouth stretches into a thin smile. It makes my skin prickle. “It has been many years since we’ve crossed paths at Court. I am gratified to see you again, even in these unfortunate circumstances.”

“Indeed,” Alex says blandly. He jerks his head at a guard I recognize. “Sir Miles, relay to the Duke and Duchess as well as my brother that the King’s messenger is here.”

“There is no need, my lord,” Sir Damion says. “With the privilege of being the King’s longest-serving messenger comes duty. I am afraid I have other urgent messages to deliver to the Noble Houses and cannot linger. Such a simple message as I bring today can easily be relayed. In fact, it may benefit from being delivered in front of the good people who have suffered.”

Alex tenses. But he bows again—this time from his waist He crosses one arm across his chest, his fist clenched over his heart. Again, everyone else copies him, and again, I do too. But instead of fully bending my head, I peek up. There’s something about this messenger that makes me not want to take my eyes away from him.

Sir Damion opens his mouth, and his voice deepens, rings with authority like Magnus’s had: “We grieve to hear of what has befallen Silverwood Keep, but Our heart is gratified that Our most Noble House remains standing as befitting its mighty reputation. We impress upon Our royal subjects that Our hands will soon eradicate from the root the poisonous rebels who harm innocents for their own ambition. With due consideration of the famed Silverwood valiance, We summon Duke Silverwood to Court to advise Us and the Noble peerage on carrying out this divine justice. No expense and inconvenience shall be spared to bring Our esteemed Duke to Augusta swiftly before Us, lest these dark forces are driven to beset towns and roads before winter’s embrace can stall their malignant purpose. Sealed by King Rex XI.”

As Sir Damion finishes, Alex doesn’t raise his head. “Acknowledged. I will relay the message to the Duke,” he says.

The messenger nods. There’s that crunch of bones again, and this time I do tilt my head to the ground, until the sound gives way to the flap of wings. When I look up again, the bird shadow is shrinking away in the wide expense of the sky.

When he’s no more than a dot on the sky, I turn to Alex.

He’s paler than a ghost.

This definitely hadn’t happened in Chess Games of Blood.

I’m suddenly very nauseous.

----------------------------------------

1. Also, objectively, it’s true. Seers seem hilariously nerfed in Chess Games of Blood. (And war mages hilariously overpowering, I assume so that Alex Prime can be super impressive).

2. I don’t know why I hadn’t picked more carefully what to tell Alex. For some reason, it hadn’t occurred to me that foreknowledge can both make things better and make things worse. You’d think Alex’s violent streak would be more top-of-mind for me, between the the choking and the arm-grabbing and the creepy ruthless words.

3. It’s kind of hilarious that Alex’s problem is the opposite of Cyclops—you know, that X-Men member who has to wear glasses because he can’t control his gaze sending out fire lasers otherwise, and isn’t cool enough for Jean Grey?

... Speaking of which. Is it just me or do writers love giving super cool red-headed women inferior boyfriends?

(Except for Spiderman, I guess, he’s good enough for MJ. But only him).