The bell atop the south tower called every man, woman, and child to the dining halls. Every evening, the servants were given an hour break — barring the service staff, who got their break the hour after — and the important members got to share a meal with the noble family. A large set of doors stood imposingly over the entrance.

  Harvett had already made his way in, thankfully.

  As I moved to enter, a familiar voice echoed off the stone.

  “Ser Leonn, just a moment if you will.”

  I turned my heel.

  “Frey? What are you doing here? Isn’t the servant dining hall down that way?”

  She nodded,

  “May I take your coat, Ser? It would be best not to stain it during your meal.”

  I reluctantly obliged, unwilling to deny her sound logic. She practically raised me in place of mother and father, who couldn’t be bothered by the task.

  “I will keep this safe for you. Enjoy your evening.”

  She said, lingering in place for a while longer than she probably meant to.

  It felt... colder. Usually, she would decorate her well-wishes with elaborate words, but today it was to the point.

  Like she didn't mean it...

  Our dining hall was decorated with gold candles, meticulously crafted furniture, and an abundance of red and purple. A banner hung on the wall, unable to flow freely due to its captivity. Our usual family crest watched from the cloth — A throne decorated lavishly. A single engraved gauntlet atop it.

  Our guard commander spoke up.

  “Lord Hanss, to what do we owe this night’s toast?”

  My father sat upright, clapping his hands twice. Service staff poured into the room like water, quickly and quietly filling every glass with wine. He smiled as they filed out of the room in the same torrent.

  “Tonight... we toast to honor.”

  The rest of the high-rankers and my brother lifted their glasses high, chanting the same toast in unison.

  I barely lifted mine at all.

  Conversation ensued en masse. Chatter bounced around the room, but every word missed, dodged, or glanced right off of me. Harvett was singing empty praises to the head chef seated beside him, father and the commander spoke of security in our hold.

  Suddenly, father’s voice became louder as he projected his words across the table to my instructor.

  “Etzo, how fares Leonn’s magic training?”

  I... I was sitting right here. Never mind... I of all people should know how transparent I look.

  Tonight’s food was the usual: Well made and thoroughly over-spiced. I heard the treasurer claim he knew where the spice came from, before guessing so thoroughly incorrect that it was laughable. Clearly it was ground Oren-stem, but the fool guessed Akktan hot-bell. One clear line tied both together — needlessly expensive and disgusting.

  “You know, maybe his magic has been touched by a demon. At this rate, he will never improve.”

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  My ears honed in, desperate to stave off the boredom. My father turned to the head scholar, exchanging a look I could not describe.

  “A demon...?” His gaze snapped to meet mine. The look pierced me, as if meant to draw blood

  “Well, it’s certainly possible...” He spoke the words as if rehearsing a play.

  The room lost all vibrancy. All sound ceased to exist. I could hear my heartbeat, the heartbeat of the men sitting beside me, and the men across the room.

  Harvett chimed in, “If persistence is its own reward, then Leonn’s the most accomplished of any of us.”

  One by one, each person at the table considered his words. The room burst into discussion once again as I sank deeper.

  “Leonn...”

  The Duke's sentence hovered as his gaze flickered toward brother.

  “I think it’s high time you left the family.”

  I swear the room started spinning from how nothing made sense. I caught a familiar, self-serving grin from across the table. Harvett had mentioned a meeting earlier, and that I would hear of it.

  “What does that mean?”

  The words left my throat before I could stop myself, my chair fell over in a loud thud.

  All eyes were on me now, but I couldn’t bring myself to say another word. My face felt completely numb, like summer’s wasps had enough and began pricking me.

  I knew all too well that exile in these weather conditions was a death sentence. The thought of that phrase shook me to my core.

  Only father looked me in the eyes, while the others averted their gaze like I would give them the plague.

  “Quite simply, I no longer believe you will inherit our art. Despite years of magic training, not a single bit of your skin has shown it.”

  “You just think that because of Harvett. He managed to learn in only a couple of years, and you all call him a prodigy. So what if I’m taking a little bit longer?”

  He stood up himself, rolling the sleeve of his doublet to reveal his deeply tattooed arm.

  “The difference is that you still don’t have these, boy. You know all too well that any son containing my blood naturally develops these lines.”

  His hands posted on his hips in utter disappointment.

  “Our animata spell is so engraved in Vuudweyen history that it etches itself onto our bodies. I think you have no place in it.”

  To top off his performance, he gestured to the door.

  “Leave by the hour, or the guards shall throw you out.”

  In this moment, despite everything I wanted to say, I knew trying wouldn’t help. He wouldn’t take to asking for more time, nor more resources. I grabbed my glass, still untouched since the toast.

  I’ll make one of my own.

  “To honor.”

  I proudly announced through tears, before upturning the glass. The wine splashed down onto the deep red tablecloth, bleeding my toast into the fabric.

  My boots echoed against the same silent hallway I entered from. The sound was heavy, weighed down by the moment. I hated how hot my face burned, how wet it felt from tears. All those years and effort means nothing, all my suffering these years means nothing.

  The paintings of the ancestors mocked me as I took my final stride down the dungeon hall. Within the hour? I’ll leave within the minute. I’ve dealt with far too much for the sake of being accepted by those two.

  I arrived at my room, and the door stood cracked. I entered reluctantly, expecting to find some soldier armed with a dagger, but in their place stood a familiar face.

  “Frey? Why are...”

  I couldn’t even finish the sentence, gods I am so pathetic.

  “Oh, my dear Leonn. I assume they really went through with it.”

  My eyes widened in a rage.

  “You knew? You knew and you didn’t tell me?”

  She nodded,

  “what would knowing have done for you? You already stormed off. Did you get anything into that bottomless pit they call your stomach?”

  Now that I think about it... no, I hadn’t.

  Frey handed my fur coat back to me.

  “I kept it safe for you; they would have taken it back and thrown it in some storage room. Can’t kill their own blood outright, can they?”

  Part of me resurfaced through the anger and laughed.

  “Today’s toast was to honor... no honor in that is there?”

  A full loaf of bread found its way into my hands.

  “Listen, if they find me helping you, they’ll make me join you or worse. If you keep going south, you’ll find a small town called Fuulen.”

  For a moment, she hesitated as footsteps echoed outside.

  “They’re hardy but they’re friendly too. If you can make it there, you can survive this.”

  The anger resurfaced. I shouldn’t have to go through this in the first place, should I? Was I truly cursed?

  The front gate clattered as it closed behind me. Wind whipped falling snow in every direction. My coat followed the rhythm, and it felt so cold.

  end. I hope you enjoyed that scene as much as I enjoyed writing it.