Chapter 8:

Magic

Pixie


Over the next several days, Poppy learned the prince’s daily schedule. He was a creature of habit, so she quickly picked up the times of his comings and goings.

At six-thirty sharp he’d wake up and get ready for the day, and by seven-forty-five he was out the door. He returned around noon for lunch and was back out the door before the end of the hour, only to return once again at six o’ clock.

Several times Poppy had thought about making a surprise attack and running out the front door as he opened it. However, for some damn reason, the prince never returned precisely when there would be no people in the halls. His lunch never actually fell during tea time, so Poppy never risked dashing between his feet and into the hallway beyond. She’d be spotted immediately by an imperial guard.

Not to mention, there were undoubtedly guards always stationed in these hallways. Once Poppy actually stopped to think about it, she realized there was likely a guard stationed every twenty feet or so in the imperial branch of the castle.

So after this epiphany, Poppy decided to use her time for more useful things than plotting and planning. After all, her only chance of freedom was through the vents in the ceiling, and there was no way of reaching them until her ankle healed. She just needed to sit down and rest so she could quickly regain her strength.

The prince had many books stacked onto a shelf in his living room. Some of them lay on his coffee table as well, and Poppy helped herself to these. One was on war tactics, which she didn’t really care for, and there were several on business negotiations as well as communications skills.

Seeing as the prince had no recent taste in literature, she browsed his shelves for possibly a more enjoyable book. Maybe even a novel. What caught her eye was something very interesting indeed.

Elven Lore and Magic, it read in an elegant, golden script. What the hell was the prince doing with a book on elven magic? She was intrigued.

The book was one of the heftier options and it was placed on the second shelf. Poppy managed to clamber up, but pulling it out was the tricky part. She saddled her way up the book’s scarlet spine and skimmed her way to the back of the shelf. Here, she placed her back against the wall and kicked out at the book with her legs, slowly pushing it outward. Once there was enough space for her to fit in between the book and the wall, she slid down and began shoving at Elven Lore and Magic until it finally slid all the way out and fell to the floor with a smack!

Poppy wiped the sweat from her forehead. That had taken a lot more effort than she’d hoped. So much for resting. Her ankle throbbed.

Still, she looked down at the book with a satisfied and possibly hysterical smile. She was hopefully about to learn something interesting.

Poppy flipped through the pages right there on the floor. She walked across the paper when she needed to see something closer and used both hands to lift and turn them. A lot of the beginning chapters were nothing but lore, most of which Poppy already knew. Some of it was just blatant myths. However, once she got past these introductory pages, she found the meat of the tome.

Magic.

The book very finely detailed various magic spells and incantations. There were even chapters on curses. Poppy ate up every word she read and was delightfully surprised to find the spells she was familiar with were actually correct.

Hundreds of pages of magic were right at her fingertips, and there was nothing stopping her from trying them out. With her pixie dust, she should be able to cast at least half of these spells. Most of them were simple, but even the easy ones required practice. Just pronouncing a simple vowel wrong could lead to something completely different from the desired effect.

Poppy decided to begin with one of the more familiar spells. An incantation for making a small flame sprout from her fingertip. She’d attempted this spell before, but had made the flame far too small to be of much use. Ever since then, she’d simply created the glowing ball she used back in the vents for light.

She sat on her heels and studied the print before her. Ak-re-fruh. Poppy practiced saying the incantation over and over again. The language of fae made their R’s often sound like L’s, so it sounded more like Ak-le-fluh. After saying it a few dozen times, Poppy decided she was ready to test it out.

Pixie magic was very different from fairy magic. Fairy magic was easily spotted, as fairies often left trails of it behind them wherever they went. It appeared as golden sparkles, and constantly glowed and reflected light, whether there was a nearby light source or not. Fairies were able to harness this dust and even collect it after exuding it. However, pixie magic varied greatly from this.

Poppy oftentimes carried a small pouch of her pixie dust around with her, just because it was more difficult to obtain on the spot. Her magic could come from the sweat on her brow or the blood in her veins. Even her spit slightly glowed a coppery color, as if little specks of a coin had been shaved off and into it.

Her blood held the most potent magic, but Poppy never bothered to draw her own blood. In her opinion it was far too much trouble for what it was worth--too messy. She wasn’t a fan of the pain either, and quite frankly the sight of blood made her queasy. So she collected her magic through other means, even if this meant it was less potent.

Still, this was a special occasion and Poppy didn’t want to lessen the spell just because of something as simple as queasiness. Damn, she wished she still had her knife. Hopefully the kitchen staff disposed of it along with the hard skin on that fruit. The last thing she needed was anyone seeing it, or worse, accidentally eating it.

She shuddered.

Well, Poppy wasn’t adverse to trying desperate tactics. Unfortunately, she seemed to have bad timing because just as she bit into her arm, she heard the handle to the front door clink and turn.

“Fairy?” the prince called after he shut the door firmly behind him. Thank the saints these walls were soundproof, lest his guards would think him a maniac every time they chaperoned him back to his chambers. “Where are you this time?”

He scanned the room and his gaze was almost immediately drawn to the mess she'd made. Poppy’s eyes met his and she awkwardly grinned at him while feeling her own blood staining her lips.

His eyes were so wide it was comical, and Poppy almost laughed, despite herself, at how his jaw had slackened. “Uh, ah,” he searched for words, “is there something I should be concerned about? If I’m not feeding you enough, you should tell me.”

Her lips wobbled from trying to hold back the laughter and she felt tears prick her eyes. Finally, Poppy burst like a dam overflowing. Her neurotic laughter exploded from her mouth as she clutched her stomach and lent forward to help ease the stitch in her side. When she calmed down enough to look up and see his face, a mixture of embarrassment and concern, she bent forward once more and cackled all over again.

His ears turned pink when he was flustered.

“This isn’t something to be laughing about,” he said half-heartedly. Poppy’s laughter must have been contagious because his lips were pulled taught against a smile. “What in the world are you doing?”

Poppy calmed down to the point that only slight fits of giggles would come over her. “I’m practicing magic,” she said with humor in her voice. “I found your book on Elven lore.”

He raised a brow and sat down beside her. He was dashing today in a grey button-down and blazer of darkest-green which made his eyes subtly stand out. His trousers pulled against his knees and thighs as he sat cross-legged, making Poppy idly wonder where he found the time to work out. Weren’t royals supposed to be fat and lazy?

“Ah, that old thing,” he said, as if just remembering he owned it. “My maternal grandfather gave that to me.” Ah, yes. The one who wasn’t assassinated. Well, for all Poppy knew they could have both been murdered. When it came to bad blood, royals had it the worst, she would give them that.

“But that still doesn’t tell me why you’re injuring yourself. Care to explain?” He still had that look on his face which appeared to question her sanity. She’s had worse looks sent her way, so Poppy didn’t particularly mind.

“My magic dwells in my body,” she explained. “My blood is very potent with it.”

Over the past several days, Poppy has begun to speak more with the prince, and found herself not completely hating it. Hearing her voice out loud, and actually be answered by another person, was still miraculous to her in a way. She hadn’t really thought about it until now, but it’d been over three years since she’d last spoken with someone. At least someone who wasn’t an animal or her own reflection.

She dabbed at the blood on her arm. There were two half-circles made of teeth-marks which slowly trickled a coppery-red color. “See the coppery hue?”

The prince peered down to look. “You’re right. That’s intriguing. But isn’t there another way for you to harness this magic? I thought fairies released it when they flew?”

She slightly smirked. “Do you see wings on me?”

“Well--”

“Now, hush,” Poppy demanded and stood. “If you want to see some real magic, be quiet for a moment and watch. I didn’t just bite myself for no reason, so I need to hurry before my blood crusts over.”