“Yes I was,” I said.

“I don’t understand why you read them. It's not like you have the aptitude for magic,” she replied, wrapping her arm around me. I sighed, it was true. When you reach the age of five you are tested for magical aptitude. The testers use a machine powered by magic that lays your soul bare, for that is where magic is found after all. And in my soul they supposedly found none.

I looked in her coal black eyes and sighed. She was my wife, the one person I should be able to tell anything. I lifted my finger and conjured a small orb of light. She gasped in shock and propped herself on her elbow. Though the problem with that maneuver was that she just slammed her elbow into my chest. I gasped as the air was driven out of my body and the lights went out as I frantically tried to inflate my lungs.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry,” said Sylvie “But I was so shocked,” she said with a smile.

“Ow,” I coughed as my lungs re-inflated, “I think my ribs are bruised,” I said rubbing my chest.

“You’re a big strong man, you’ll be fine,” she said, waving her hand in the air dismissively. “Tell me, how are you able to do magic? The testers said you were unable!” she asked, sitting cross legged in front of me leaning forward.

“They’re human, they fucked up. It happens,” I said with a weak shrug. She raised a hand to her chin and gave it a rub.

“Hmm, the machine should be infallible. I don’t see how they missed it… When you got older magic would literally have been oozing out of you,” she said contemplatively. I cleared my throat.

“Well, I never used magic until I began studying your textbooks. So maybe I did not have enough magical energy to be able to use it naturally, but when it was guided I was able to reach it. At the very least that's my view on this whole thing,” I said as she took off her shoes and changed into her nightgown.

“In any case let’s eat,” she said, putting the rough wicker basket down on the table and taking two steel plates out. She reached into the basket and pulled out a small block of hard cheese, a glass jar of pickled radish, two loaves of stale looking bread, and some dried meat.

“Could you get the cutlery?” she asked as she cut the cheese into chunks and bread into slices. I sat down at the table and used my magic hand to open the drawer and pull out two forks and two knives, it wasn’t like I needed to hide anything anymore. I floated them over to the table and set them down. She sighed disappointedly, “You could have just gotten up you know? That spell makes everyone so lazy,” she tsked and shook her head, her rusty hair shimmering like a sheet of burnished copper. She carried over two plates with the cheese, bread, pickles, and meat laid out.

“I suppose we might as well eat this today, in celebration of your newfound mystical abilities,” she said smiling. She reached a hand slowly into the basket with a smile accentuating her canines. With a showman's flourish, she pulled out a rather large, round pastry. Carefully, she cut it into half. The round fried dough, dusted with powdered sugar and cinnamon, was a trademark of Nidariel. When she cut it open on the plate white custard streaked with red leaked out, though most of it stayed where it belonged. She lifted one half and put it in my plate and put the other half in her plate.

“Dessert before dinner? A childhood dream,” I said with a chuckle.

Sylvie smiled, “Finally huh?”

I held the pastry up to my mouth and took a bite. The custard was strongly vanilla, though I could taste the cardamom and strawberry, and the cinnamon sprinkle simply elevated it to another level. It wasn’t disgustingly sweet, rather it was more bready and it wasn’t completely soaked in grease. The bread was light, fluffy, and still warm. Though the custard was still cool.

“Oh my god. That’s the best thing I have ever eaten. I would murder anyone for this,” I said, my eyes nearly rolling up into my skull as I sighed. Sylvie frowned, “Are you saying you don’t enjoy my cooking?” she said teasingly, taking a bite of her half. Her entire body shivered as the heavenly bite was swallowed.

“I’m the one that does the cooking Sylvie,” I said, raising an eyebrow. Having recovered from the ecstasy.

“You act as if I’ve never cooked for you. Although you cannot have been more right,” she said, setting the rest of it aside. I ate half of it before following suit.

“Don’t worry, I will most certainly finish you,” I whispered the promise to the pastry as I took a piece of cheese and put it on a slice of bread. Sylvie rolled her eyes as she took a bite of her sandwich. I quickly assembled my sandwich and took a bite of it and let the contrast of the pickled radishes' bright sharp flavour cut through the cheese’s rich heavy taste and the meat's savoury meatiness. If only it had been some fresh meat, not the dried meat that was common in those months before and during winter.

“You know I need to know,” I said, taking another bite of my sandwich.

“Need to know what?” asked Sylvie.

“How much did the doughnut cost?”

She looked away from me and sighed. True, she was the Archmage’s apprentice. True her social standing was likely higher. But, since she was technically a student, she did not make any money. Leaving him in charge of their finances.

“One gold,” she said leaning back, a strand of hair falling across her eye. I proceeded to choke on my sandwich and struggled to get down the bite. I hurriedly grabbed the metal cup she had set beside my plate and washed down the sudden blockage. I slammed the cup down harder than I needed to, bent over from my harrowing experience. One gold was how much I made in a month, needless to say, it was a lot of money. Of course the merchants had increased their prices with war on the literal horizon. Afterall, they did not know if they’d survive the next month. If they needed to run, they’d need money for that.

“Well fuck it was worth it,” I said with a grin as tears fell from my eyes, my face red from almost choking to death. Internally I was screaming. I knew my wife made poor financial decisions; but goddamn! After she sat back down I leaned forward and tucked her hair behind her ear.

“If you’ve got money, no use hoarding it like a dragon, hmm?” I said, flashing a smile through the pain.

“I suppose so, but I still feel bad,” she said, taking a bite of her sandwich. I shook my head.

“There is an invading force marching towards us, nearly three thousand strong. I don’t think money will matter much to our corpses,” I said, waving my hand dismissively, much like how she often did.

“You certainly know how to kill the mood,” said Sylvie, taking a sip of water. “How was your day?” she asked.

“Boring, I just did my circuit until my shift was over. I bet you get to do more interesting things, casting spells and whatnot,”

“It’s tiring work, and after the first few hours it becomes very boring. You just cast the same spell, over and over until you feel like you’re going to drop,” she said finishing her sandwich. I found myself relating, very hard. But, at least it was a novel experience for me. Sylvie was born with magic, I guess it’d get repetitive sooner rather than later for her.

“Speaking of spells,” I began before polishing off my sandwich.

“Could you maybe finish your sentence before eating your sandwich,” Sylvie said with a sigh. It was a bad habit she had gotten on my case about many times before. Rather than pausing for effect I’d take a bite, chew, and swallow. I, of course, did not see the problem with the practice. But it annoyed her to no end. I swallowed the bread and toppings.

“As I was saying,” I said, pointedly ignoring her comment, “ do you know any spells for battle? It may be useful in the coming fight,” She pursed her lips and put her hands together forming a steeple.

“No, I’m pretty sure only battle mages, of which there are currently very few, are allowed to learn them. Let alone use them,” she said looking up at me.

“That’s a shame, magic would definitely have been useful in direct battle,” I said with a sigh. Hmm, this did not bode well for myself. “But I’m sure, with how smart you are, you can adapt the spells you know into combat spells in a pinch,” I said fishing for something.

She snorted and looked out the window, “Of course I can, and if it comes to it I will. But, if I use a combat-esque spell and get caught. You’ll never see me again mi amore,” she said curtly, using an expression from the south. “Rather than being celebrated, I’ll be cast into the darkest dungeon they have,” she said, looking at me with a frown. A chill ran down my spine. If anyone had opened the door suddenly while I was practicing. Or looked through the window…fuck.

“Even if you save the city?” I asked, leaning forward, resting my chin on my hands.

“Especially then, unless by some miracle no one rats me out,” she said, wrinkling her nose as though she smelled something foul. Like a deceased rodent.

“What if… what if I used a combat-esque spell, as you put it?” I asked leaning in even closer as if discussing a secret none but my closest confidante should know. Which was an incredibly accurate description. She looked in my eyes, studying me. I could see her mind working through the data her eyes were providing her. Tone of voice, body language, my own unique markers she would know after years of living with me. It’s a wonder I ever got away with lying to her. Although, in hindsight, I’d probably never gotten away with it. She probably just never mentioned it when she knew I was lying. And before you get the wrong idea, I could count on one hand the number of lies I had told her.

“The magi of Proell do not like “rogue” wizards wandering about. If anyone of the Magi’s guild learns of you, un-apprenticed and un-affiliated, they will hunt you and either kill you or imprison you. And so, for my sake, keep your magic secret,” she replied, cupping my face in her hands. I covered her hands with my own and our rings clinked together, clearing my mind. I sighed as the sunlight streaming in from the window began to wane, “It’s getting dark, we should get to bed. Tomorrow will be another long day. For both of us,” I said, extricating myself from her hands. Her eyes followed me as I picked up the dishes from the table and washed them using the water from a bucket, and a small bar of soap. She sat, still and silent, as I dried the dishes and stored the leftover bread and cheese under a cloth.

As we slipped into bed, Sylvie turned to me, “If you get exposed, I will be at your side. Forever and always, mi amore,” she said, throwing her arm over me. A few minutes later, she was out like a light, snoring gently. A fact she vehemently denied. On the other hand, I couldn’t sleep at all. All I could think about was how the next few days would pan out. How my life would change if anyone else discovered my magic. How Sylvie’s life she worked so hard to build could crumble, just because curiosity got the better of me. Eventually, my body gave in, exhaustion overpowering my overactive mind.

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My dreams were not kind to me. Of course, the one time I have a dream it’s a nightmare. Typical. All I could dream of was the city burned to the ground, Silvestrians tearing down the flags and standards and making the city their own. Of course, I also dreamt of me being forced to use the powers at my disposal to stem the tide of Silvestrian soldiers. In my dream I summoned massive balls of fire, raining hell down upon the heads of the invaders. Their metal armour melting, their clothes alighting with a violently red glow. But then there was the fallout, the consequences of my actions. And they were heavy. Being forced to go on the run, living in dirt hovels, never being able to stop for more than a few days. And the worst one of all, Sylvie being taken and punished for doing what was necessary to defend the city and for keeping my power a secret. Chained, in a cell under the city. Torn away from her studies, charged with treason. Gently swaying from a noose, neck bent at an awkward angle. Her beautiful eyes, overtaken by jet black ink. A ratchety breath shook her body as I watched on, suddenly in the crowd. Then she spoke, and with each word more bloody ink flowed from her eyes.

“Why? Why did you do this to me, traitor, betrayer, if only you’d told me!” Not-Sylvie shrieked, and with a disorienting flash she was in front of me, body contorted. Her joints snapped and crunched with every movement, the black, brackish blood was flowing freely from her mouth and ears. Staining her fetching red hair. Her flesh was melting off of her face as she grabbed me by the upper arms.

“If only you’d let the city burn! Then I could have lived! Why don’t you love me!” it wailed as the dreamscape shifted once more into blessed darkness.

I woke up with a throbbing headache not to mention having tossed and turned all night. Apparently Sylvie had noticed. On the table was a medicinal tea and a note. Suddenly my heart lurched, I wanted to hold her! Tell her I love her, that I wouldn’t do anything to separate us. A sudden wave of emotion came over me, and I kept myself from breaking down into tears by clenching my fists hard enough to distract myself. The feeling passed in but an instant, leaving me disoriented and tired. I heaved myself out of bed, unsteady on my feet.

The tea was bitter, but a few minutes after drinking it the headache subsided. I doubted it was a mundane tea, my heart swelled at the thought of Sylvie making it for me. And I drank the rest of it with a big dopey smile plastered across my face. The note was simply explaining what the tea was for and reminded me to keep my ability under wraps. As if I needed another reminder. I stepped out of our home, there was still an hour before my shift. I had slept for a long while, likely because of that exhaustion fueled nightmare. I went back inside, it seemed Sylvie had taken her books with her this time. Probably for the best, I was starting to realize that my self-control when it came to learning more magical knowledge was non-existent. Although it was a little too late to be restricting my access. After all, I thought I had a pretty damn good grasp on mana and magic in general. I could probably reverse engineer some spells, although likely not without difficulty.

I started my morning routine, as late as it was. I dropped to the ground and did my pushups, the blood flow eliminated the headache altogether. Not to mention it pushed the vestiges of my nightmare as far into the back of my mind as possible. I took the leftover bread from last night, slathered a few slices of it with butter and heated them in a pan over the woodstove. I fried a few eggs in the residual grease, over easy like any civilized person. I ate my breakfast of cheese, eggs, and bread with a large pitcher of water. Washing down the now stale bread with large gulps of water. As I collected the day's eggs from our chickens I noticed one of them had become lame, it appeared as though it had hurt its leg on a stone or sharp fence. The wound looked like it might be infected, a clear pus seemed to be leaking from the wound. It was in such bad condition it couldn’t even walk. I sighed and decided to put the poor thing out of its misery. I took it out front, away from the other chickens, slaughtered and cleaned it. The whole process took maybe a total of twenty minutes. It was a good thing that it was becoming cold, the chicken wouldn’t go bad if left out for a day.

I butchered the chicken then put a dry rub of black pepper and salt on it, then left it to marinate in a covered wooden bowl. I put the bowl outside where it would stay cold in the winter-esque weather. And indeed it was cold today, I knew today was going to be miserable on my patrols for sure. I would need my coat and cloak if I wanted not to freeze to death. I rooted around in the closet until I found what I was looking for. A simple black coat with brown fur, probably from some sort of beaver, lining the inside. I gave the coat a good shake, the dust blew into my face making me cough. I inspected the coat, it seemed to be in decent condition. Although one of the many pockets did have a hole in it and one of the buttons was coming off. I slipped into it, wearing it over my armour. Thankfully it was big enough for it to be an easy fit.

I took my brown cloak from where I had placed it the night before and pinned it around my throat. The clasp was simple, a wooden construction with a metal pin affixed to it. I strapped my standard issue sword to my belt and my shield went over my back. I grabbed my spear from the closet and left the house, making doubly sure to lock the door. Almost immediately, as if to make a point, the wind picked up and buffeted me from all sides. Dying down as quickly as it came, it still managed to blow enough dust in my eyes for me to pull my gauntlets off and struggle in vain to rub it out. Giving up, I made my way to the wall and relieved the on duty guards of their post.

They clapped me on the back, rubbing their hands together as they made their way to a bar. The five others assigned to this time were already there. They greeted me with a simple hello and a nod. I partnered up with my usual partner, Reo. He was a talkative fellow and made for good company especially when the weather was shit. Most people didn’t enjoy his constant talking, but I couldn’t really care less. At least it made the patrol less boring, hearing his stories; be they real or completely and unashamedly fiction. Unlike most people, he was descended from the fey. A fact he took great pride in, despite me pointing out that that only meant one of his ancestors had likely been kidnapped by the fey. Most fey-born lived in Patrida, a country to the east, although Reo’s family has been here for a very long time. The claim that he was fey-born is difficult to dispute. His fire-red hair, pointed ears, incredible height, and cat-like eyes are alien enough to be more than enough proof. For who knows what reason, the fae blood seemed to have concentrated itself into the young man. It had been several generations since it was introduced, and in fact his parents didn’t seem obviously fey, unless you looked very closely.

You would think, being born from another plane of existence would give you some sort of magical affinity. You’d be wrong, most fey-born have no magic in this plane. In their home plane? That’s a different story altogether. This of course doesn’t mean that fey-born cannot have magic, it’s just that being only partly of this world they have a much lower chance of gaining this realm's power.

“So what do you think? Do I have a chance?” I was quickly brought out of my thinking by a poke at my side.

“Huh?” I said looking up at Reo, “Sorry, I zoned out. What were you saying?” He sighed,“You know how much courage I had to build up to even tell you what I told you? And you weren’t even listening!” He said, his eyebrows furrowed in an exaggerated angry face. I put up my hands in mock surrender, “I said I was sorry,” I said with a smile.

“Whatever,” he said, shaking his head. Then he looked and smiled at me, “You think I've got a chance with Margaret?”

“Who was that again…?” I asked genuinely not remembering.

“Good God, man! The woman I’ve been talking to you about for the past few months. The butchers' daughter? Ringing any bells up there?” he replied, poking my head. I slapped his hand away. I looked up at him. Margaret was the butchers’ daughter. The butcher, Brock Butch, was a pretty nice guy all things considered. But then again, Reo had his reputation. Unlike me he was born in the city, his parents had died when he was an infant but his grandmother raised him. Until she died when he was sixteen. After that he had become a delinquent. Although being made a guard had mellowed him out a little bit, he still had that desire to cause mischief whenever possible in his soul. Probably that fae ancestry. Despite being kind, Brock was strict. I’m sure he wasn’t thinking of Reo for his precious daughter.

“I don’t know Reo. But, talk to Brock. If you can convince him you’ve left your delinquency in the past, he might give you his blessing. Maybe,” I replied as we walked down the stairs into the city to begin our rounds there. We nodded to the guards we were switching with.

“So, what you’re saying is that this guy,” he began, pointing with double thumbs at himself, “has a chance in hell? I’ll take it,” he finished with a grin. “Do you have any pointers? As my one married friend you have the duty to tell me how you managed it,” he said, elbowing me in the side. I groaned and held my head in my hand. This was quite literally the fifth time he had asked this week. And it was only three days in.

“I don’t know, ok? We just both decided to get married to each other. So we did,” I said.

“Ah, is it fucked up to wish Margaret was an orphan so I could marry her without her Dad getting in the way?” said Reo stroking his chin

“Incredibly so,” I replied, pinching the bridge of my nose. My headache was back, at least it was for a completely different reason this time. Reo sighed,

“I had a feeling that was the case. I guess it’s the old-fashioned way for me then,” he said looking up into the sky. “Are you scared?” he asked, his voice taking an odd tone. I looked up to see him looking at me.

“What do you mean?” I asked, knowing full well what he meant. He looked at me in a strange way, with a serious look rather than his usual jovial look.

“Please don’t play dumb with me Liam. You know what I mean. And I’ll be the first to admit it. I’m scared, man. I don’t want to die, I’m way too young. I’ve never even left this city, I wanted to explore the world Liam. I don’t think that's plausible anymore though,” he rambled looking down. We walked in silence for a good few minutes. I thought about saying something supportive, or reassuring. But I came up blank, might as well be realistic.

“I’ll be honest, Reo. I don’t think I’ll make it. The only way we survive is if our reinforcements come on time. And if they don’t I’m not going to make it. But, I think you will. You’re a smart guy Reo, you’re cunning and sly. If you can’t make it, none of us can. But, let's hope it doesn’t come to that, huh?” I said standing on my tiptoes and putting an arm around his high shoulders.

“Yeah,” he said in reply, looking down at me “let's hope it doesn’t come to that,”

We spent the rest of our shift in contemplative silence. After our shift was over, and we were heading home, I grabbed his arm and looked him in the eye.

“You want to marry Margaret? There’s no time like the present to ask, it’s literally do or die,” and saying so I released his arm, nodded at him, then headed home. Reo smiled and immediately went towards the butchers' shop.

I got home and set to cleaning the house, what little there was to clean. I looked at the bucket I had blasted the other day. I turned it in my hands, touching the place I had mended it. The spot was just a bit shinier than the rest of it. I put the bucket down, then, using my physical hands, I began to sweep the house. I made a pen in the corner for the chickens in the winter and moved them inside. It was already getting too cold for them outside. I put some charcoal in the stove and began frying the chicken on a pan with a little fat. Soon the aroma of cooking chicken filled our little house.

By the time Sylvie came home, the chicken was done frying.

“You moved the chickens in?”

“In more ways than one,” I said with a smile. She smiled back at me. I felt my heart skip a beat. And without thinking I was stepping forward. I grabbed her by the waist and pulled her into a tight embrace.

“Urmph!” she said, surprised. I stopped squishing her and just looked at her, “I’m not saying that this is unwelcome, but what happened?” she asked, leaning into me.

“Nothing,” I lied, “it’s just the stress and worry overflowing.” Well, that wasn’t a complete lie. “We should eat before the food gets cold,” she murmured, but I noticed she didn’t make a move to break free of my hug. I carefully extricated myself from her.

“Yeah, that sounds like a good idea,” I said. She stood on her tiptoes to plant a kiss on my cheeks. Then, with a flick of her wrist, she cleaned her hands and mine. I took the plates out and set them on the table. I served up some of the chicken to her, along with a hunk of bread. Then I sat down and served myself.

“Sylvie,” I said, putting down my chicken. She looked up at me. “If it comes to it, if the reinforcements don't come, if the Silvestrians overpower us and breach the walls, should we try and escape?” She seemed to think for a good long time, while I waited for her response with bated breath.

“If we’re going to die anyways; say, if they decide to raise the wolf's head and take no prisoners, then I for one intend to go out in a blaze of glory,” she replied with a crazed smile. I looked at her, “I was hoping you'd say that,” I responded. Then I summoned the little balls of fire and had them circle around my head, in a sort of crown. “A blaze of glory huh,” I said with a wild grin, “then teach me everything you can.