Spell Bound (A Fairy Retelling #3) Read online

  Even in the faint torch light of the room, it’s striking how fair skinned the girl is. The paleness of her skin makes her black hair seem darker, her lips more red and distinct. Although the Great Royal Wife of Pharaoh, Nefertiti, is thought to be the most beautiful woman in the land, this peasant girl could easily rival her. Even the girl’s eyes seem darker and larger than they should be, like two giant pools of ink that see too much. Could they see through him? Could those eyes know who and what he is without him having to say a word?

  Those eyes are fixed on him. He’s been caught staring. “I’ve been told your father said you had some talent for weaving,” Nehi says as a greeting. He motions to the basket in the girl’s hands. “It seems he lied.”

  The girl attempts to manipulate a thin straw through the holes in the bowl. Lowering her eyes to her work she says, “He also said he’d always take care of me, so it seems like he lied to us both.” Her hands stop and she looks Nehi in the eyes. “Actually, he didn’t lie to you. Just to me. I do have talent for weaving. Unfortunately, the oaf who brought me these weeds doesn’t. None of these are fit for creating the most rudimentary basket, and even if they were, I don’t have the tools that I’d need to create anything of worth.”

  The girl moves her hands as she speaks, punctuating her words with grand sweeps of her arms. “If the high priest expects me to work miracles with a bunch of twigs,” she continues, “I am going to have to disappoint him.” She holds the misshapen basket up with one hand. “This is the extent of what I am able to do if I don’t have the proper tools and materials. Even a master sculptor can only create so much beauty with a pile of dung.”

  A corner of Nehi’s mouth lifts. “I didn’t realize basket weaving required such special attention to proper tools and technique.”

  “No, I don’t suppose you did. Now that you do, I’d appreciate it if you could gather some tools that will help me in my craft so that I can begin to work off my father’s debt. I’d prefer to be on my way home as quickly as possible.”

  The smile drops from Nehi’s lips. He doesn’t want to be the one to tell the girl that she’s likely seen the last of her home, no matter how many woven works of art she produces for the priest. In fact, the better she is at weaving, the more likely the high priest will fetch a high price for her when selling her off to wealthy nobleman or woman. She’ll be lucky to stay in Waset. It’s more likely that she’ll end up in another of the Pharaoh’s cities, perhaps Amarna, where Pharaoh is planning to build his new capital. If she is truly unlucky, she might end up the slave of a foreign dignitary, leaving Egypt all together. That is not news he wished to share with anyone, even a girl as haughty as she.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” he says.

  “I don’t suppose you can also manage to get me a different room, as well? It’s dark and cramped in here, and if I’m to do what the high priest wants, I’ll need more space -- and sunlight,” she adds.

  “I’m sorry this prison cell isn’t to your liking. Perhaps you’d prefer it if I put you in one of the royal bedrooms?”

  “If you wouldn’t mind.”

  “I don’t. But Pharaoh might.”

  “Fine. I’ll stay here for the night, but I really do need someplace where I can spread out and work. That is, if the high priest really does want me to work off my father’s debt with my skill.”

  Nehi hesitates. Would it just be better to tell the girl that no amount of weaving is going to pay off her father’s debt? Instead he says, “Tomorrow I’ll see if you can be moved to the servants’ chambers. Perhaps Master Rahotep won’t mind if you move there until…” he can’t bring himself to finish with a lie, but he can’t bring himself to tell her truth, either. “And your tools. We’ll find some tools for you as well.”

  “Well then,” the girl replies, still weaving a crooked twig through the misshapen pot, “thank you…” she holds onto the last word, waiting for him to speak and raises an eyebrow at him.

  “Nehi. My name is Nehi. I am an initiate of the priesthood.”

  “Thank you, Nehi, initiate of the priesthood. I am Aniya, weaver of bent and useless baskets.”

  She holds it up to him. Nehi leans over to take it, his fingers brushing hers for an instant as she holds up the misshapen bowl. It happens in an instant. His fingertips warm with the familiar sensation of magic flowing from him and into the girl. Both he and Aniya stare wide eyed as the twisted twigs of the basket shift, smoothe, and reform themselves into a tightly woven vessel.

  Aniya snatches her fingers to her chest with a gasp. The now masterfully-formed basket falls to the floor, wobbles for a moment, and then stills.

  “How did that happen?” Aniya asks. “Was it you?”

  Nehi shakes his head. “No. And yes. I can’t use magic. I mean, I can’t manipulate it. Only a great sorcerer like the high priest has the ability to do that. I can only hold the magic. I store it. I’m only a vessel.”

  “Then what just happened?”

  “I think you did this.”

  “Me? No. How?” Aniya sputters. “I’m not...I never...I can’t...”

  Aniya’s face transforms through so many variations of shock and disbelief with her words that Nehi has to laugh. She frowns.

  “I’m sorry,” he apologizes. “Have you ever seen magic before?”

  “No, never.”

  “That must be a little frightening.”

  “No, not at all. What could possibly be frightening about basket reeds slithering around without anyone touching them?”

  “But you were touching them.”

  “So were you!”

  “True. But, I can assure you that it wasn’t me that used the magic.”

  “Prove it.”

  “Fine,” he says with a huff. “What sort of magic would like me to not be able to do?”

  “I don’t know...try...try turning the basket into gold.”

  Nehi sighs. “All right. Watch.”

  Nehi picks up the basket and holds it tightly in his hands, his face drawn in concentration while Aniya watches.

  Nothing happens.

  Nehi focuses on the basket so hard that sweat breaks out on his brow. Still nothing. He exhales and leans back against the wall across from the girl. The basket sits in his hands, unchanged.

  “It’s not a particularly good feeling to be studying about magic all the time and never be able to actually do it,” he says. “I don’t know if I’ll ever have the skill needed to manipulate magic into doing my bidding. I may never be a successful priest.”

  Nehi slides down the wall and sits on floor across from Aniya. He hands her the reed basket. “Your turn.”

  “What do I do?”

  “If I knew the answer to that…” he starts, the frustration building to the breaking point, but then stops. It isn’t her fault he isn’t talented with magic. Just like it isn’t her fault if she is. He forces back his irritation and tries again. “I’m not sure. Try talking to the magic in your mind. See if you can get it to do what you want.”

  “Talk to the magic?”

  “Yes.”

  “That sounds ridiculous.”

  “You asked! Do you have a better idea?”

  “No.”

  “Then stop being so judgemental and give it a try.”

  “Fine,” she answers.

  Aniya holds the basket in her hands, an exact imitation of how Nehi held it just a few moments ago. Her vast, dark eyes seem to grow even larger as she stares at it.

  “Come to me, magic. Make this basket golden,” she says. Nothing happens.

  “I didn’t mean out loud.”

  “Oh.”

  “Just think. Use your mind. Talk to it as if it’s a living thing inside you.”

  “Ok. A living thing. Inside me. Talk to the magic in my head. Sure.”

  Nehi barely restrains his eyes from rolling and forces himself to give her an encouraging nod. Aniya responds by looking at the basket, concent
ration wrinkling her brow. The muscles of her jawline twitch as she grits her teeth in intense focus. Seconds go by. A minute. Nothing.

  “This is useless!” she says, dropping the basket to the floor. “You were wrong. It must have been you. I can’t do magic.”

  Nehi hits his head in realization. “Of course! How could I have been so stupid? I didn’t think...Here. Give me your hand.”

  “Why?”

  “Just give it to me.”

  Aniya cautiously places her hand on top of his open palm. The moment she does, he feels it. The last bit of magic he has stored inside leaves his body, flowing into hers.

  “What was that?” Aniya asks, pulling her hand away and staring at her fingers. She rubs them gently, her eyes searching for answers in the soft skin.

  “Magic,” Nehi answers. “I told you, I’m a vessel. I suppose I should be glad of that at least. I can hold the magic, but I can’t manipulate it. I can’t use it. It sits in me untapped until someone more skilled is able to draw it out.”

  “Someone like who?”

  “Like Rahotep...or perhaps you.”

  “But why me? I thought you said that only someone highly trained like the high priest could use the magic.”

  “Well, usually that’s true. But there are rare times when someone is born with the talent. Gifted. Maybe that’s you. Let’s see what happens. Can you change this straw to gold?” he asks, lifting the basket off the floor.

  Aniya takes the basket into her own hands. “It’s not straw,” she corrects him. “It’s river reed.”

  Nehi shrugs his shoulders and nods at the basket. Aniya takes a deep breath.

  “Be gold,” she whispers.

  An umber wave flows under her fingers and up from the bottom of the basket, encasing the ashen colored reeds until the entire vessel is ensconced in gold.

  Nehi takes the shining basket from her shaking fingers. Aniya says nothing. She simply sits, alternately staring at her hands and the basket.

  “It seems,” Nehi observes, “that you can do magic after all.”

  THREE

  “Can I do more?” Aniya asks, eagerness apparent in her voice.

  “More? I don’t know. You can try,” Nehi answers.

  She picks up a reed from the floor, breaks it in half, and brings it close to her face to watch each minute detail of the change.

  “Be gold,” she whispers.

  Just as before, a flow of liquid gold spreads over the reed. Aniya studies the end where she broke it in half, and even the core is golden, too. She bends the thin, golden reed easily between her fingers but it does not break.

  “It’s golden through and through,” she says.

  Nehi takes it from her hand and places it into the golden basket.

  “So it would seem,” he says.

  “Surely, if I can do this, then my father’s debt will be paid off in no time.”

  “As long as the magic lasts.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Try it again,” Nehi says, picking up another thin reed and placing it in her hands. “See how many more you can turn to gold.”

  Aniya frowns at him. “I just did it a moment ago. Now that I know what to do, this should be simple.”

  Nehi shrugs his shoulders. “Just try.”

  Aniya looks down at the slender stick resting on her palm. “Be gold,” she whispers to it.

  Nothing. The reed remains a chalky-gray piece of river grass bleached by the sun.

  “Be gold,” she says a little louder.

  Still nothing.

  “Why won’t it work? Did I do something wrong?” she asks.

  “The magic is gone,” he answers. “You used it all up.”

  “Where did it go?”

  “Into the gold, of course.”

  Her lips form a slight pout. “Where do I get more?” she asks. “I want to try again. I want to turn this whole room into gold and bargain my way out of here tonight if I can.”

  “You have to get it from a magic vessel.”

  “Like you?”

  “Yes,” he answers. “Like me.”

  She holds out her hand. “Well? Fill me up!”

  Nehi’s head tilts back as he laughs. It’s loud and sudden, and Aniya jumps a little. His eyes are closed in his laughter, and she takes the moment to notice how beautiful his face is. His dark skin is smooth and muscled, his teeth white and straight. She wonders for the first time exactly what his role is here in the palace. What does the apprentice of the high priest do -- other than help imprison young girls and share his magic with them?

  “Why are you staring at me?” he asks.

  “I was just wondering what it must be like to live a life of luxury in the Pharaoh’s palace. How nice it must be for you to walk freely through the halls doing as you please.”

  The laughter drips off his face.

  “I can assure you, I’m not nearly as free as you perceive,” he says, standing. “And it’s hardly a luxury.” Nehi stomps to the door.

  “Wait,” Aniya says, scrambling to her feet and putting a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that. It was stupid. I don’t know anything about your life. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  He gives her a fixed look, but his face remains hard.

  “No, you don’t know me,” the words spit from his mouth. “And you can take your hand away. There’s no more magic left to give you.”

  Aniya reels back, his words stinging. “I wasn’t...I didn’t…”

  Nehi’s knuckles rap a staccato beat on the door and the guard opens it from the other side. “I’ll see that you get your tools tomorrow so that you can start working on your father’s debt,” he says before the door slams shut behind him.

  The sound of his footsteps echo against the walls outside the prison door until he’s gone and Aniya is left alone with only the golden basket to keep her company.

  The torch has burnt out and the dungeon is so dark the only way to know that morning has come is because of the guard pounding a fist against the door and yelling, “Wake up! Your breakfast is here.” Aniya shivers against the chill that has crept in through the stone walls. Her thin, linen dress does little to chase away the cold. It made falling asleep difficult as well. Once the torch went out, she had no choice but to try, huddling in the corner and digging a hole in the scratchy, dried-out reeds for warmth. Aniya blinks swollen eyes against the bright light of the torch as the door opens.

  Nehi walks in with a tray of food. He replaces the dead torch on the wall with a newly-lit one and Aniya eats the meal in hasty silence. She tries to gauge whether or not he’s still angry from the night before, but his face gives away nothing.

  “It seems that the palace artisans are reluctant to give up their own weaving tools. I’ll have to find some new ones for you.” He stands in front of her and folds his arms in front of his bare chest. “Tell me what you’ll need, and I’ll have someone get it from the market.”

  “It’s not as simple as that,” Aniya says, finishing her last bits of breakfast. “Tools are unique. They have their own personality. The same type of tool might act differently in another weaver’s hands. No, I need to choose my own tools.”

  “Do you think Rahotep is going to let you wander out of the palace and take off? I don’t think so.”

  “I have a debt to repay,” she says. “Besides, Rahotep knows my father. He knows where we live. I’m not about to gamble my family’s life by running away.” Nehi studies her face. Her eyes are hard, her face determined. “And anyway,” she continues, “how will you know what type of reeds to collect? Will you know how to tell the difference from one that is malleable and one that will break under pressure? I’ve been doing this for as long as I can remember. I hardly think that a quick conversation will enable you to find the proper materials.”

  He stares down at her for a silent moment. “We’ll have to be accompanied by a set of guards,” he finall
y says. “If you try to run, they’ll kill you.”

  “I won’t run,” she says quickly. Aniya’s so eager to get out of the prison that it’s impossible to keep the excitement from her voice.

  “All right then,” he says. “Let’s go.”

  She hops up from her place on the floor and stands ready at his side. Nehi raps on the door and the guard on the other side opens it. The guard says nothing as Aniya follows Nehi out of the cell and into the hall. She gives the guard a quick glance and wonders if this is usual protocol. What kind of power and prestige does Nehi possess that he can take a prisoner from the dungeon and not be questioned about it?

  The two walk through serpentine halls and up to the main level of the palace. Aniya takes a thankful breath of fresh air and squints her eyes when they reach the main level where sunlight streams in through the windows.

  “Feel better?” Nehi asks.

  “Yes, much,” she answers with a smile. She hadn’t realized how much the dark, closed-in quarters of the cell had affected her. Stepping into the sunlight feels like being reborn.

  They are nearing a door where many guards are stationed when the High Priest comes walking around a corner on the far side of the hall.

  “You there, boy!” Rahotep’s voice booms across the hall. Nehi comes to a complete stop and Aniya nearly collides into his back. The high priest walks toward them with quick, purposeful steps. “Where are you taking her?” He looks down at Aniya with a sneer.

  “The girl needs materials in order to perform her gift,” Nehi answers calmly.

  “Her gift?” the high priest asks. “Is she gifted in a...particular ability?”

  “Weaving, master. That is where her gift lies.”

  “Oh,” Rahotep says, his face falling in disappointment. “Did you test her, then?”

  “I have nothing left to pass to her. I am empty, my lord.”

  “Is that so? Then we’ll need to perform the ritual. Tonight. And then tomorrow if she’s...gifted...we’ll include her as well.”