“Good.”
His weight lifts from the wound. I crumple against the chair.
“I'll fix you, but know that it's for Thomas.”
I try not to let my relief show as he heals my leg, but I surely fail. The pain fades until it's a dull ache. Apparently, he's not healing it all the way. He casts a honey colored spell over me. The light dances in front of my vision. The world takes on an unreal feeling. Colors look off. The sound of the crowd smothered, but somehow sweeter. I want to lie down and listen to them.
“Now, for a little surprise for Thomas. Payment for your rudeness.” He holds his hands in the shape of a circle. As he pushes his hands apart black, maroon, and gold burst from them. The colors dance around each other until they form Thomas's family crest, a shield with a hand casting a spell on it. The hand moves and pink light comes from it to create a bouquet of flowers. The flowers fade and the hand casts another spell. It continues casting minor spells, hovering in the air before me.
“Stand,” Father commands. I'd rather curl into a ball on the floor, but I'm not about to disobey. Some pain lingers as the crest follows my movement. “Walk to the edge of the box and back.”
I do so. Again the crest follows me. Wherever I go there will be no mistaking that I'm Thomas's property. Though it's supposed to be a recompense to Thomas for my behavior, it feels more like a heavy reminder to me. Constricting. The feeling lightened only by the surreal spell encompassing me. When I get close to Father I make sure to keep my head down.
“Get rid of that sullen mood, girl. We don't want Thomas worrying over your gloomy face when he's about to compete. Sit down and pull yourself together.”
Finally grateful to obey an order, I do as directed. Instead of leaning back and resting on the chair as I wish, I sit straight and mask my feelings with a pleased expression. Eyes attentive and a small upward turn of my lips. The honey spell he cast makes it easier, not so forced. As soon as I have the expression fully in place, Father raises the curtain.
Some minor duel is going on before us. Lights flash between two warlocks. I lock my eyes on them, but don't really see what they're doing. My leg throbs. I'm cold.
Soon Cynthia arrives, servants laden with food and drink behind her. She directs them to the table with a jug on it and she prepares a plate for Father. Once he's satisfied, she perches on the chair beside mine. He's more interested in his food and the tournament than us, but we still keep our voices down.
“Father did better than I thought with Thomas's family crest spell. I was afraid you were in for a punishment, but this is magnificent.” She stares at Thomas's crest hovering in the air before me as it creates a kitten. It scampers about in the air a moment before dissolving and another spell is cast.
My leg aches. “Yes, Father's a talented warlock.”
“Did something happen?” Her hands grip her dark skirt.
With a gesture at the crest, I say, “As you see.”
“It's because of what we talked of last night isn't it?” It takes me a moment to remember I told her a little of my marriage fears. “It'll be all right. With this spell, you really look like a grand prize. It's sure to boost Thomas's chances of doing well, which can only aid you. You'll be his good luck charm. No one harms a good luck charm.”
Unless it runs out of luck. I can't bring myself to say anything. She's trying so hard.
“You're shivering.” She pulls a wrap from my bag and places it around my shoulders, face bunched with concern. “Things really will turn out.”
Instead of answering, I nod at the duel. “Can you tell who's winning?”
Her gaze drifts to the field and her expression brightens as a jade light almost hits one of duelers. “It's fascinating, isn't it? Do you ever wish you knew what was going on when someone cast a spell?”
I think of what magic has brought to my life. “No. No, I don't.”
We watch for hours. The bright flashes of spells hold no appeal for me. Neither does the food Cynthia insists I eat. Everything seems drab. The countries' different colors, false. Smells fade to nothing. The people murmuring. The dueling warlocks. Even the flashy, colored spells start to fade. The honey-colored charm Father cast on me must be wearing off. Yet, I've never been under it before, so I can't be sure.
“Chryos brought a good number of supporters this year.” Cynthia motions toward the group. “I heard they have around sixty people dueling. But they're supposed to be decent. Some of them wear strange framed windows in front of their eyes though.”
I glance to where she points. A large number of participants with black clothes and red bands around their arms watch a duel. “That's more than mother said they had last year. How do you know which ones they are?”