The Chain (The Secret of Spellshadow Manor #3)

For a moment, Alex thought about giving up and reading something else, but he persevered, scanning each chapter for something new. It was only as he came to the back few pages of the book that the read started to bear fruit, growing a little more colorful as it delved into the personal life of Leander Wyvern. Alex raised an eyebrow as he scanned over a section that remarked upon Leander’s penchant for non-magical women. Apparently, he was known to have a strong affection for these ordinary women, despite it being frowned upon to fraternize with people of non-magical origins.

Alex wasn’t exactly surprised by this bigoted mindset, though it made him think of Helena’s warning comments about others in the villa not being so welcoming of outsiders—perhaps some noble mages still upheld the values of the past, he thought, as the biography said.

It made him smile to think of the heroic Spellbreaker as something of a Casanova, wooing whomever he pleased, regardless of what they were. Intrigued by this new facet to Leander’s character, Alex read on:

Though he never married, it is thought Leander Wyvern had a favored mistress from the non-magical world; however, the rumors have never been confirmed and the woman has never been identified. Whether it was a tale spread simply to mar the man’s reputation, or it was the very real truth of a notorious Lothario, we will never know. What we do know is, he was an eligible Spellbreaker in his time: a man of considerable fortune, a heroic warrior with great skill on the battlefield, the heir to the House of Wyvern, and a tall, powerful, genetically blessed individual. He certainly made the ladies swoon wherever he went, yet remained a bachelor until his death upon the Fields of Sorrow in 1908. No woman ever garnered a proposal from the legendary Spellbreaker—at least not as far as history is concerned. If there was a woman out there who captured the heart of Leander Wyvern, her name died with him.

Alex frowned, re-reading the part about Leander’s love of non-magical women. It brought to mind unspoken thoughts about Alex’s heritage and the anomaly of his own bloodline. He had the power of a Spellbreaker, there was physical evidence of that, but, as far as he knew, his mother wasn’t one and nor were his grandparents. That meant the Spellbreaker abilities had to have come from his father’s side, but Alex didn’t know what had gone on with his father. He knew his father wasn’t around anymore, but what had actually happened to him was something his mother had never mentioned, because as soon as Alex had begun to ask, she had broken down in tears, silencing the subject from Alex’s lips. At least from that, Alex could guess it hadn’t been something good, though he was still in the dark about the specifics.

Confusion itched at the back of Alex’s mind as he dwelt upon his father and the root cause of his powers. With it, memories of the Fields of Sorrow came rushing back, only adding to the mystery. In the accounts of the Fields of Sorrow he had read and heard, it was assured that every single Spellbreaker in existence had been wiped from the face of the earth. It was written in black and white. Every Spellbreaker. The extinction of a race. Yet he was alive and he was a Spellbreaker; he had the anti-magic to prove it.

Curiously, he wondered if it might be that his father, and his father before him, and his father before him, all the way back to 1908, were the product of a union between a Spellbreaker and a non-magical person? Perhaps that was the loophole to his continued existence; if an ordinary woman had been pregnant with a Spellbreaker child at the time of the final battle, then truly, every living Spellbreaker would have been wiped out on that day of absolute elimination. But there would have been a child, with Spellbreaker potential, yet to be born.

It was food for thought, and the idea made Alex tremble with giddy anticipation, though there was disappointment in the knowledge he could never really have it confirmed. All those who might have been able to corroborate it were dead.

Suddenly, Alex became aware of soft footfalls creeping below. He had been so absorbed in the book that he hadn’t heard them advancing, until now. Crawling cautiously over to the very edge of the walkway, he saw shadowy figures moving across the marble floor of the library, stealthily heading for the stacks. For him, no doubt.

Panic shot through Alex’s body as he stepped back and looked at the books spread out across the table. If he left the books, the creeping guards beneath would undoubtedly suspect a trespasser in their midst. Hurriedly, Alex shoved the tomes back among the shelves, though he made sure to grab the one text he really wanted to keep—the Wyvern biography. But when he looked down at the book beneath his arm, he realized he had made a mistake. He had grabbed The Royal Households instead.

The footsteps below quickened, and Alex cursed under his breath. It was too late to switch out the books. He turned and struggled to climb up to the top of the closest stack, only to feel Leander Wyvern’s notebook slip out of its familiar spot in his back pocket and land with a smack on the marble floor.

Everything went still.

Fraught with dread, Alex sent out a snaking tendril of anti-magic, copying the floating spell he had seen Helena do with Aamir, as he maneuvered the book into his outstretched hand. Pushing it firmly back into his pocket, he scrambled up the rest of the stack, before rolling along the top surface into a crevice in the wall behind it. Swiftly, he sent up another camouflage barrier around himself, just in case any of the assailants decided to peep over the very top shelf. He had just managed to dim the shield to a barely discernible sheet of anti-magic when he heard the creak of the ladder, leading up to the platform he was on. Alex’s heart was pounding, but it was his labored, panicked breathing he was worried about. He was convinced they would be able to hear it, as he sensed the approach of figures below.

They were whispering in low, refined voices, and Alex could hear the scrape and thud of moving furniture as they pushed the table and armchairs to one side, searching for any sign of recent occupation. Alex had pushed his reading selections far back into the stacks, but he couldn’t help but feel a shiver of fear that the lurkers would somehow find the books and, in seeing titles about havens and Spellbreakers, would presume the reader to be an intruder.

The Royal Households book dug into Alex’s side as he waited and tried to hold his breath, his cheeks reddening and his eyes bulging.

The investigators seemed to take forever, rustling pages and shifting objects, making Alex’s pulse race even faster every time they came too close, but eventually he heard the subtle sound of them disbanding. The ladder creaked, signaling their departure, but even after they had gone, he didn’t dare to move; he stayed there, staring up at the ceiling of the library, for what seemed like hours.