Chapter Twelve

When she awoke the following morning, Anastasia wasn’t sure where she was.

The bed was soft and warm, the air clear and sweet … for a moment, she thought she was back home and everything had just been a bad dream, a nightmare of what could happen to her if she didn’t take care of herself. She wanted to stay under the covers forever, to hide from the world, or go run to her parents and promise she’d be a better daughter, turning a new leaf in preparation for the day she inherited the throne. She told herself she could hide until the maid arrived …

She sat upright, blinking the sleep from her eyes. The tiny bedroom brought it home to her, in a manner she couldn’t ignore, that she was still a very long way from home. There was no maid bringing her breakfast, then helping her to dress; there were no tutors waiting in the wings, bracing themselves for the thankless task of drumming knowledge into her head. Tears prickled in her eyes as she stared down at her pale hands, scarred with the work Avitus had forced her to do. His books were under the bed, wrapped in her bag, but she could feel their poison pressing against her mind. She was surprised Jeanette hadn’t sensed them. She was a magician.

Anastasia’s heart sank. She had a very long way to go before she got home.

She forced herself to get up, wash and dress, mentally cataloguing everything she’d need to obtain before she left the city. She’d need new clothes and potions and … her lips twisted, bitterly, as she realised she’d need to work out just how to get home. There were thousands of miles to go and she didn’t know anything about the lands between Beneficence and Rockfall, certainly nothing beyond rough outlines on the map she’d seen in the free state. She couldn’t even begin to put together a plan, let alone turn it into reality. The thought tormented her as she made her way downstairs, for a breakfast that was both simple and yet the best she’d ever tasted. She was so ignorant that she was ignorant of her own ignorance. She didn’t know what she didn’t know.

Which is a start, she told herself, as she lingered over eggs, bacon, potato and fried fish. You may not have the answers, not yet, but at least you have the questions.

It was the fetish that was the real problem, she thought as she returned to her room. She couldn’t risk leaving it behind and yet, carrying it was one hell of a risk. What would happen if she accidentally went too far from the wretched device? Would she return to the room to kneel helplessly, trapped until someone released her, or would she try to get back to the free state to kneel in the death wizard’s house? Would anyone find her or … would she be left to starve to death? Or … would someone take advantage of her? It had been bad enough working for Avitus, but Maurice’s memories had told her just how bad it could be.

Her mind churned as she stared down at what little she had. A handful of books of dark magic, still perfectly legible after being dunked in the ocean when she’d abandoned the pirate ship. A handful of potions, the labels now unreadable; a small collection of coins from a number of different kingdoms, their total value uncertain. And a small outfit … she sighed inwardly. What was she going to do?

She tucked the fetish back under her shirt and headed downstairs. Jeanette was busy with a customer as she entered the lobby and there was no sign of Marie, so she hurried outside and started to explore the magic quarter. There were shops selling all kinds of goods, some very tempting and others seemingly pointless; she groaned, inwardly, as she realised few had any sort of prices on them. That was probably a bad sign. The trade laws back home insisted that goods had to have a starting price, although there was supposed to be room for haggling. Here … she supposed that if she had to ask the price, she couldn’t afford it. The old saying hadn’t made any sense to her until now.

The air grew heavy with magic as she walked past a line of smaller shops and clinics, advertising everything from healers – human and animal – to custom-made magical tools and artefacts. One offered weapons, charmed blades and even firearms; another offered glamours or even partial transfigurations to turn an ugly face into a thing of beauty. The portraits hanging in the windows showed an ugly girl transformed into a pretty young woman, the former so bizarre she refused to believe it was real and the latter so perfect she was almost inhuman. There were smaller services on offer, from finding lost goods or tracking down missing people to downright seedy services, including some so perverse she had difficulty believing anyone would ever try them. One shop was even offering powerful love potions, guaranteed romance in a bottle. She hoped to hell that wasn’t true. There was a reason love potions were practically illegal.

She stopped outside a shop marked CERTIFIED WIZARD: YOUR PROBLEMS SOLVED WHILE YOU WAIT and peered inside. The interior looked more like a sitting room than a shopfront, a handful of comfy armchairs positioned against the wall and the owner himself looking like a middle-aged and very respectable magician, dressed in robes that sparkled with magic stars. She pushed the door open and stepped inside, breathing in the scent of incense and magic that glittered on the air. The owner stood and smiled. Up close, he looked very trustworthy … she wasn’t sure why. The shelves at the rear held everything from magical toys to dried bottles and potions equipment. One wall was lined with certificates from Whitehall, Laughter, Mountaintop and a handful of other places she’d never heard of. It looked as if the owner was qualified in practically everything.

“Welcome, welcome,” he said. “You may call me Caster.”

Anastasia dropped a polite curtsey, then smiled. “What sort of problems do you solve?”

“Anything.” Caster smiled, his lips curving in a manner that suggested some manner of inhuman blood. “People bring problems to me, I solve them.”

He motioned for her to take a seat. “What problem would you like me to solve?”

“That’s a little vague,” Anastasia said, instead. “Do you have a speciality?”

“I do everything.” Caster sat facing her, his eyes bright. “If I can’t solve your problem, you’ll be the first.”

Anastasia eyed him thoughtfully. He looked trustworthy … and that bothered her, although she wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was that he smiled too much … her father had once said a man who smiled too much was planning something, something she wouldn’t enjoy. And yet, she wanted to relax and trust him and ask for help. If he could solve her problem …

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

“I don’t know where to begin,” she said, finally. “It’s a long story.”

“The beginning is always a good place to start,” Caster said. “Do you have a young man you wish to attract? Or a young woman? Do you wish a spell that most magicians won’t cast? Or has someone cast a spell on you? Only yesterday, I had to help a young woman whose mouth was cursed by a man she rejected, turning her breath to something vile. The day before, there was a man who was forced into a slave collar. I helped him too.”

His voice was calm, yet warm and friendly. “Take your time. I have no other customers today. I can afford to wait.”

Anastasia felt the urge to relax growing stronger. The curse shivered around her, yanking on her leash … a reminder she would choke to death if she said the wrong thing, before she could even say it. She wasn’t sure where the limits were … she was tempted to try to push them, in hopes he’d realise what was happening, but she doubted she’d survive. And she had to survive …

“Someone cast a spell on me,” she said, finally. The curse pressed against her, warningly. “I … he made this.”

She reached under her shirt and removed the fetish. The curse made no attempt to stop her from holding it out, let alone letting him take it. Caster smiled as he took the tiny doll-like thing, turning it over and over in his hand … Anastasia thought, through the growing haze, that she might have made a mistake. But it was almost painfully hard to think clearly.

Caster looked up. “What does it do?”

Anastasia’s voice was dreamy. “I can’t get too far from it,” she said. “If I try …”

“I see,” Caster said. “And where do you come from?”

Anastasia choked, the curse gagging her. The shock cleared her mind as she bent over gasping, a sudden flash of horror running through her as it dawned on her she’d put a terrifying amount of power into his hands … power over her. She knew what she’d done with a makeshift fetish and Caster was presumably a far more experienced magician … he practically had to be. The curse tightened … she tasted something in the air and kicked herself for her mistake. The incense could hide something to lower her resistance …

“Don’t answer that,” Casper said. The curse lightened, barely. “Where did you get this?”

“The free state,” Anastasia gasped. Her throat felt as if someone had wrapped their hands around her neck and started to squeeze. “I …”

“Relax,” Caster ordered. “Do you have any family in this city?”

“No.” Anastasia couldn’t stop herself from answering. “I’m alone.”

Caster’s smile turned cold. “How … interesting …”

Anastasia felt her body moving of its own accord, standing up and then kneeling, then bending into a number of shapes as if it was under the control of a demented puppet master. She tried to fight, to keep herself from moving around, but nothing worked. Her body hit the floor and crawled around the room on her hands and knees, then stood on one leg, her hands patting her forehead or tugging at her hair. Caster’s smile was even colder, as he puppeted her. She cursed herself for a fool. Whatever was in the air, it had duped her into lowering her guard and putting herself in his hands. She’d escaped one master only to be trapped again.

“Quite the little gift you’ve brought me,” Casper said. “You’re lucky you came to me. I know others who would take advantage of you.”

It was hard to speak, despite her best efforts. “And you’re not?”

Casper patted her on the head as she dropped to her knees again. “They’d keep you for themselves,” he said, cheerfully. “Me …? I won’t be so selfish.”

Anastasia felt her heart turn to ice. Maurice’s memories mocked her. There was a reason Casper’s shop was so far from the main street, so small and unimportant compared to so many others … he was a criminal, an outright dark wizard, prying on the helpless and the desperate. The certificates on his wall … she realised, grimly, that there was no way he could have attended all the schools, if indeed he’d attended any of them. There was no reason someone couldn’t use a printing press to produce any number of certificates, secure in the knowledge no one desperate enough to enter the ship would know to question them. Her body twitched, her legs opening as she rested her hands behind her head, thrusting out her breasts. Caster devoured the sight, his smile cold and hard.

“I don’t know who created this,” Caster said, holding up the fetish. “It’s good work. Better than mine. It shouldn’t be wasted. I could name a dozen people who’d pay good money for a bound servant. They’ll be glad to get you.”

Anastasia wanted to point out that that was illegal, but what did it matter? Magicians were largely immune to mundane laws, and no doubt her buyer would claim he hadn’t been the one to enslave her. Given enough time, he could even create the impression she wasn’t enslaved. It wasn’t as if she was wearing a very visible collar. She cursed herself for her folly, wishing she’d thought to stay with Felix or even relied on the books to free herself. Given time, she was sure she could parse out the sections she didn’t understand or …

She forced herself to think. She knew what it was like to use a fetish now … could she use hers? Her body remained still, trapped in the insane pose … she mentally reached out with her mind, trying to make contact. The magic ebbed and flowed around her, twisting oddly as if she was in two places at once. The fetish was part of her … she recalled an old story about how a wizard had cut out his own heart in a bid to grant himself immortality, remaining alive and well as long as his heart remained safe. Had someone cut out her heart? There were no scars, but that was meaningless when magic could heal any wound. Or was she overthinking it … the fetish she’d made had involved nothing but blood. Her fetish was probably based on blood too …

Her mind reached out. Strange and unpleasant sensations surrounded her … she thought he was touching her until she realised he was actually touching the fetish. It felt wrong, her body felt wrong … she gritted her teeth, all too aware she’d only have a second to act. Caster didn’t seem to have realised she had magic and she was certainly no sorceress … she doubted his clientele included real magicians. In hindsight, his shop was right on the edge of the magic quarter. She braced herself and cast the spell, blasting fire through the fetish. Caster yelped and dropped the tiny doll, an instant before the flames grew too powerful. Anastasia screamed as fire burned through her … she started swatting at herself before realising she wasn’t actually on fire, it was the fetish. The pain stopped a second later. The fetish was nothing but ash.

Oops, she thought. The fetish was supposed to keep her from destroying it, but it honestly hadn’t crossed her mind that she would destroy it. What a pity.

Casper struggled to his feet. Anastasia saw murder in his eyes. She turned and ran, a flash of light darting over her head as she ran through the door and up the alleyway. A surge of magic followed, the air prickling behind her. She heard him coming after her, felt his magic gathering itself … she ran around the corner and nearly crashed into an older woman; her face patrician, her eyes cold and hard as the ocean she’d sailed only a day ago. The woman said something Anastasia couldn’t make out as she dodged and kept running, then said something a lot sharper as Caster ran around the corner too. Anastasia didn’t look back as the woman blocked his way. She’d saved her life.

She kept running, not daring to stop until she was a long way away. Caster might not be a powerful magician, not by the standards of Circe or the Court Wizard, but it was rare for a magician to be defeated by a mundane. And she was disturbingly close to being powerless … her skin itched unpleasantly as she gathered herself, her palm crawling as if her skin was healing after a burn. She stared down at herself, her head twanging as she struggled to reconcile two sets of memories. She’d been burnt and yet she hadn’t …

You were an idiot, she told herself. She wasn’t sure how she’d been lured into the shop. It was hard to understand what had gone wrong, as if each step was logical in and of itself but collectively they’d led to disaster. On paper, she’d done the right thing; in practice, she’d nearly doomed herself. You can’t trust anyone to help you.

She took a long breath as she found a small café and sat down, ordering a mug of hot tea to calm her nerves. The fetish was gone … she was fairly sure of it, because she’d definitely run much further than she’d been allowed to run before. It couldn’t be used against her now … she hoped. Caster would have time to sweep up the ashes and search for any traces of her blood … she closed her eyes, trying to reach out to what might remain of the fetish. There was nothing, not as far as she could tell. And yet, there would always be a quiet nagging doubt.

You have to take control of your own destiny, or someone will control it for you, Circe’s voice whispered, at the back of her mind. She’d never said anything like that in the real world … not to Anastasia, at least. It was the sort of thing she might have whispered to herself. You have to learn to use your power.

Anastasia sipped her tea, studying the other customers. A middle-aged woman with two children, an older sailor, three men so old they could pass for her grandparents, chatting quietly in one corner … were they dangerous? Would they take advantage of her? Or would they not give a damn? Why would they? Rockfall was thousands of miles away. Her kingdom might as well be on the other side of the world, for all they cared. There was no way they could help her even if they wanted to. She was alone. She would always be alone.

She stood and left the café, heading for the library. She had some research to do …

And then, perhaps, she could come up with a plan.