Spellbreaker

She was not surprised at the Cowls’ reasoning for sending her here. Magic was a tool that could help all of society. Or hurt it, as was the case with the curse in the duke’s fields. But magic helped plants grow, tamed animals, eased transportation. It kept bodies working, children healthy. And so anyone who hoarded it for pride and profit hurt those who lacked access to it. Even Bacchus had been denied a spell he’d needed, and he was one of them.

Elsie wondered how many useful spells were hidden in the library of the great fortress before her, withering away, unused and forgotten, helping no one. Once her work was finished, others more daring than she would sneak in, copy the spells, and distribute them. Perhaps if spellmakers were not so bloody gluttonous, they wouldn’t be robbed or murdered in their beds. This way, there would be more for all . . . if the lower classes could obtain the necessary drops to absorb magic as well. But sharing the wealth of the spellmakers would be another task for another day.

The “suction” spells—Elsie hadn’t a better name for them—ended when the stone did. She proceeded even slower than before, pausing once when she thought she heard something nearby . . . but silence settled, minus her rapid-fire heartbeat. There was another spell here, somewhere, although she saw nothing on the ground—

There.

For a moment she thought it was a spiritual spell, for she heard it, faintly, like a mosquito close to the ear. But as she neared two identical statues standing across the path from each other, she spied glimmering physical runes on each of them.

The barely audible sound made sense. She’d undone an enchantment like this once before, a few years ago. The two sister spells formed an invisible barrier that if broken, let out a horrible noise. It was an alarm, likely activated by darkness as the suction spells were.

If she set off this alarm, she didn’t think she’d be able to run far enough to hide before someone found her. Reaching one hand out carefully, ensuring her fingers never passed the inside of the rune, she loosened one end. Then the opposite end. A small loop in the center, then the bottom, until the spell let out a weak croak and vanished. She needn’t worry about the sister rune—without anything to connect to, it would be harmless.

Still, Elsie held her breath when she passed between the statues, sighing in relief when nothing happened. Her chest felt too warm beneath her corset, but when she searched for other alarm spells, she found none. Nerves, then.

Approaching the building, Elsie glanced up at the nearest window, which started about a foot above her head. If the Cowls were correct, there was one spell left—one that forbade passage through all ground-floor windows from the outside. Once she eliminated that, the Cowls could sneak into the library, copy the spells they needed, and flee. If she lingered long enough, would she see one of them?

And what explanation will you give Ogden if you’re not in your bed come morning?

Given the assault he’d suffered, he was liable to contact the authorities at once. Which would require her to answer questions best left unasked. No, she needed to be quick.

Retreating into the garden, Elsie tipped over a pot, dumping out its soil and flowers. She froze over the mass, hearing footsteps nearby. She listened closely to them until they faded and her calves burned from her prolonged squat. Heaving the pot up, she carried it back to the window and stood on it.

The spell came alive beneath her fingers, beckoning her. Elsie worked with both hands, having to jump up twice to reach the top of the rune. She felt exposed, and sweat slicked the curve of her spine. When the spell broke apart, it took every ounce of discipline she had not to bolt away. She needed to replace the pot in case the Cowls’ man did not come until tomorrow night. She couldn’t give anyone a reason to be suspicious, else she’d have to do this all over again. And if her work was discovered, there would be patrolling guards.

Feeling oddly stronger than she had moments before, she carried the pot back and shoved dirt into it, heedless of what it did to her dress. The unrooted flowers were a mess, but she stuck them into their beds, anyway. No one would notice unless they looked closely. She swept loose soil into manicured grass and crept, with painstaking slowness, out the exact way she had come.

As far as she knew, no one followed her.

Elsie stepped out of the way as Squire Hughes exited the post office. Not out of deference, but because she was sure the man would simply mow her over if she did not. He neither held the door for her nor made eye contact. He simply charged past, nose held high, and headed toward his horse, which Elsie noted was newly respelled.