How could he freeze me there, just by saying a word? I’d always thought my father was weak in magic, a powerless diplomat, someone who’d chosen to live his life through reason instead of actions. But he stopped me without raising a finger, without even raising his voice. I tried to move but the word held me. Waiting. Staring at the door I had been about to walk through and slam.
“Your mother wants you to have clear skin, tomorrow,” my father said, from behind me. “You can visit the herbalist, or we can cover you with make-up.”
“I’m not a girl,” I said, feeling silly talking to the door, but relieved that at least the magic had not frozen my tongue. “I won’t wear make-up. Can’t you just put a glamour on me?”
I felt his magic loosen as I turned around.
My father frowned. “That’s a subtle spell, if it’s to last, and we have no time. If you don’t want to cover those bumps with makeup, go find some witch to hide them for you. Or see the herbalist and see what she can do.”
My father looked back at his papers. Our conversation was over.
“Father?” I said.
Instead of answering, he held up his hand. There was power again, there. Somehow he stopped me, with just a gesture, without even saying a word.
“Your tutor is waiting for you,” he said, without looking up.
“Have a nice trip,” I said, finally, when he released me — holding it all in, my fingers forming into fists. It was pointless to even ask where he was going. He never told me anything.
“Thanks, son,” my father said, standing up now. “Happy birthday.”
For a moment I thought he was going to hug me. He took a step towards me, even reached out his arms. His face changed — he looked loving, warm, like he had when I was little, before the magic, before the big move.
Was I still angry or just surprised?
It had been so long since my father had touched me.
I turned away, and he let his arms drop.
“Sorry, Anders,” he said, then. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
I found Ana, Giancarlo’s wife, down in the lower depths of the castle. She knew what I needed as soon as she saw my face.
She wrapped me up in her arms, and squeezed me. I felt all the anger melt then, all the frustration, and blubbered like a baby. Talk about embarrassing, but Ana is like family to me. She took care of me when I was a little boy, even before we moved here, way before I knew her husband the blademaster.
When I finally pulled myself together, Ana pressed a jar of green clay into my hands. She gave me careful instructions, making me repeat them until I understood everything.
“It won’t get rid of your problems,” she said, “But it will help.”
She looked me in the eyes then, and kissed my forehead. I’ll always remember that kiss, and her smell: patchouli and orange.
“I am not sure if you will really need this clay,” she said. “But I’ll tell you one thing. Be careful what you wish for.”
I wanted to ask her what she meant. Ana could see things that other people couldn’t. She knew about things sometimes too, even before they happened. But when I opened my lips to ask her, she only pressed my hand down over the jar and shook her head.
“I’ve said too much already,” she said. “Your tutor is waiting. I can feel his impatience.”
I could smell Ana’s scent on my clothes as I sat through eight hours of ancient tongues, geography of the low-lands and high-lands, military strategy, mathematics and astrology. Only the ancient tongues and military strategy were interesting.
The rest was a bunch of nonsense. The books said there was once a kingdom of people who lived under the sea. I didn’t believe it, but it was in the books. There were battles in there, too, great struggles for power, people flying around on dragon back and swinging magical swords. It was all a pack of lies. I knew what real life was. Real life was my father. He had to leave from time to time to meet people, and talk to them. He had lots of papers to read and lots of letters to send. He was tired a lot of the time. There was nothing else. When I was older, I wouldn’t be a guard in an underwater city; I wouldn’t even be a wizard in King Lowen’s glass castle. I would be a paper-pusher like my father, a poor excuse for a sword fighter, and an even sorrier excuse for a wizard.
My lessons were the same as always, just longer than usual. If I had expected anything different now that I was sixteen, I was disappointed. My tutor waved at me finally from the door. He had left me a huge stack of homework.
“Happy Birthday, Anders,” he said, and locked me in.
After studying for a few more hours, and snacking on some dried fruit, I figured I might as well try the jar. My face hurt and I just wanted to scratch and squeeze. I showed some self-control instead and slathered the green paste all over my face.
The mask was unbearably itchy but Ana had given me clear instructions: no touching my face, if I wanted my skin to relax, release and smoothen.