Spellwrought by Katica Locke

Blood darkens the forearm of my shirt, the cloth wet and sticking to my skin. I slowly sink down onto a rock, the cold eating up through my cloak and pajamas even before I can sigh and rest my chin on one fist. My elbow throbs where I slammed it against the sharp edge of a boulder, but I ignore it. I can't find him. I've been out here, searching the barren rocks around the castle for so long my fingers are numb. The sky has gone from antique silver to pearly gray, to the delicate gold of Sactaren's hair, and now the thin clouds are beginning to blush the faintest pink as the sun nears the edge of the horizon. I'll have to head back soon. I bite the edge of my lip and glance over my shoulder at Sactaren's castle.

I let my eyes rove over the dark stone, the blocky battlements, Lady Sactaren's rooftop garden in the northwest corner--and when I just can't help myself any longer--to the high tower. Sactaren's tower. I turn away, wrapping my arms tighter around myself. It's all his fault. If he hadn't gotten so angry, if he hadn't threatened to sell me, if he hadn't sold me, I wouldn't have had to chase Khas off. Yes, it was stupid and impulsive, but Sactaren drove me to it. I just wish I could tell Khas that. I jump to my feet and climb up on the boulder I'd been sitting on.

I sorry, Khas. I scan the empty mountainside as I make the simple gestures, hoping that if he's watching me from somewhere, too angry to come back, maybe he'll see and accept my apology. I repeat the gestures several times, but he doesn't come scampering out of the rocks, so he's either not out here, or he's madder at me than I'd thought. I glance at the sunrise, scowling as I squint into the light. Time to go back. I glance up at the tower again, and jerk my eyes away. What is wrong with me?

I'm twenty years old and he is the most seductive, attractive creature I have ever met, that's what is wrong. I tried to deny it, tried to hang on to my anger, my belief that he bewitched me, but Sactaren's magic is an easy, safe place to lay the blame. If he bewitched me, then what I feel is not my fault, it's not real. But that makes so little sense. If he put a spell on me to make me lust after him, then why do I feel anger, fear, resentment, even the occasional flash of hatred? He would make me want him with every beat of my heart, he would leave no will in me, and he would have taken me long before this. Schaff said--damn his furry hide--he said that Sactaren would bespell me if he thought he had something to gain by doing so. That doesn't mean Sactaren did. Which leaves me no one to blame but myself.

After pacing up and down the hall all night, to the very foot of the tower stairs a couple of times, I finally gave up and went outside to look for Khas. I could stand in the store room, looking up the dark spiral staircase, but I couldn't bring myself to start the climb. Not knowing what I would be going up there to do. Even if he didn't hurt me, even if all we did was sleep, like he said he meant, I'm his slave. It's not right for me to sleep in his bed. It's not right for me to feel this way, but I can't seem to help that.

I slip into my room and toss the cloak onto my bed. Is this real, what I feel for him? I've never lusted after anyone, not like this. There were times where a man or woman would catch my eye, something about them lingering in my mind even after they left my sight, but no one has ever filled my blood with fire or made my heart race like he does. I strip off my shirt, wincing as the bloody cloth is torn away from the wound on my elbow, and head into the bathroom. I hold the jagged gash up in front of the mirror. Nice.

I pour water from the enchanted pitcher into the basin and wash my face before tending to my elbow. It's as bad as it looks, but I've had worse. I slather on that healing salve Sactaren gave me for the cut on my face, then bandage it with a strip of clean, white cloth from the medicine shelf. I glance in the mirror, making a face at my haggard reflection. Great Maele, I look old this morning. I dab a bit of salve on me cheek where Drumar kicked me, but the cut already looks several days old instead of less than a day. At least magic is good for something.

Read more of Spellwrought - Chapter One