spellbound | book #1 | completed

L I I

[edited: 01/04/2018]

It took Tykon approximately two hours to find Annika even with the help of a tracking spell, and even then she was in the last place that he had expected her to be: a small tavern. By the time he had tracked her down, he thought it might have been quicker and easier to have fought in the war—but then again, he always had liked a challenge.

And a challenge Annika was; he had seen the mess he assumed she had left behind in the Opal household, with shattered glass, splintering crystal walls, and black soot—remnants of dark magic, he supposed—tainting the once pristine kitchen. He would not have liked to be on the receiving end of whatever had gone on there and prayed for anybody who was.

He looked at the peculiar witch now, trying to figure out how on Refilyn he was to approach her. He had no idea what to expect; the Principle had said she was in trouble, but what did that mean? Annika had always been so kind and gentle by nature, so how had she gotten herself into the mess at the Opal's?

There was only one way to find out. He cleared his throat, patted his slightly creased shirt down anxiously, and made his way through the empty tavern to where Annika sat, her head down so that he could not see her face. The only other person in there was the tavern owner working behind the bar, and he smiled politely at her on his way. Everyone else would no doubt be fighting in the war or helping out at Central Hall.

After a few moments of hovering awkwardly in front of her, Tykon sat down on the opposite side of the table and crossed his legs.

"I do not suppose you fancy a drink, do you?" he questioned finally.

"Is that before or after you imprison me and put me on trial?" she responded without looking up at him. Her voice was thick with what Tykon assumed were tears, and her dainty body and white silk dress was covered in dust. Even her hair was tangled and matted, and Tykon realised he had never seen her in a state like this before. He had never seen her looking anything less than perfect, in her own Annika way.

"Let us not be too hasty, for I am not here to punish you," he said softly. "I am not even sure what has happened, and by the looks of it, it is better I do not ask."

Finally, she lifted her head, and it was everything Tykon could do not to gasp. Her eyes, once light and golden, were now a murky brown with specks of black freckling her irises and merging into her pupils. Her face was dirty and tear-streaked, so much so that she was hardly recognisable to him now: the effect of dark magic. Still, he smiled at her kindly, remembering that he had been sent here by the Principle Warlock. He had no intention of letting him or his mother down.

"Then why are you here?" she whispered, her eyes darting around the tavern as though she did not trust his words and half-expected to be surrounded by the Council.

"Your father sent me. He said that you were in some sort of trouble. He wanted me to take you home and make sure you remain safe." Tykon believed that the Principle's actual words were to lock her in the house, but it did not feel appropriate to mention such a trivial detail now.

"He knows, then." It was not a question. Annika frowned, running a trembling hand through her hair nervously. He had never seen her like this before and was not entirely sure how to respond. "Is he angry?"

"He is the Principle Warlock. He is always angry," he joked. "But he is your father. He loves you, and he only wants what is best for you. If that was not the case, I think that perhaps we would be having a very different conversation now."

She nodded, seeming to take his words as reassurance. "You must think I am a monster."

"As I said, I do not know what has gone on, only that you are practicing dark magic. Still, I do not believe in monsters, and I certainly do not think that you could ever be one."

"You don't know what I did." A tear slipped over her eyelid as she glanced down, her fingers tracing patterns in the wooden table absent-mindedly. The tips of her nails had gathered blackness beneath them so it looked as though she had been clawing at soil with her bare hands.

"Whatever it is, you are showing remorse for it now. As long as you can regret, you can repent." He reached across the table for her hand. She flinched away at first, then relaxed into his touch, finally able to meet his eyes. "Whatever it is, Annika, your father will forgive you for it. He would not have sent me here if he did not think you were past the point of redemption. I think that you know that."

"He is never going to love me, is he?" Even as she spoke, her eyes were brightening to their usual hue again, though they were bloodshot and glassy. "Maksim, I mean."

It took Tykon a moment to understand, and then he remembered all of the times she had been at Maksim's house, all of the times he had complained to Tykon about her incessant attempts at gaining his attention.

He grimaced uncertainly in response, and then squeezed her hand again. "Perhaps not, but somebody will. Somebody who is right for you. And I suppose if I simply must, I suppose I can take you out sometime. I can be very romantic, you know."

She rolled her eyes, but a small smile crept up on her face, and it seemed to surprise even herself. "You are too kind, Tykon. If you knew ..."

"If I knew, I would say exactly the same thing—mainly because your father has asked me to, but that is of no matter now."

He chuckled quietly at his own joke, glad that his attempt to lighten the mood seemed to be working at least a little bit. It was true that he had never particularly been close to Annika, but he could not see her as a bad person, or worse, a Dark One, and he did not try to. He would simply do as he had been asked and not think too much about it.

"So," he sighed finally, standing up and holding out a hand for Annika to take. "I think it is about time we take you home, is it not?"

She glanced up at him reluctantly, and he began to see the innocence that she usually held make its return as she worried at her lip. "I am afraid, Tykon. I am afraid of who I have become."

"You needn't be. Perhaps you have lost your way a little bit; it does not make you a bad person, not as long as you can still find it again. The worst is over, now."

As Annika finally took his hand and he led her out of the tavern, he hoped more than anything that that was true. There was something, though—an itch in the back of his mind that could not be scratched—that told him it might not be.