Time Is Magic

We were ever at war, my brother and I.

Even now as I face him across the huge Arena I cannot concentrate on the meditation exercises I am meant to be doing, cannot concentrate my focus on the crime I am accused of, cannot do as they want me to do. Instead, I watch him. He stands there, eyes closed, blond curls framing his face - the picture of wronged innocence. Winning hearts and minds even while doing nothing. A talent of his.

It was always this way. Even though I entered this world minutes before him, he was the one that they wanted. A boy to inherit the title and lands. A boy who only had to look at something for it to be given to him. A boy who had the best tutors in the land to coax his magic out of him. While I, who had more magical ability in my little toe than would ever be in his privileged head, had to beg for lessons from a second-rate spellster. I used to sneak around after hours to learn from my brother’s costly books and scoff at his badly inked spells.

And they wonder why I became dark and bitter. Sharp as a spike-fruit, my nurse called me. Yet she loved me still.

I can imagine him this morning being readied for this trial, wearing the solemn expression that has become his mask over the last month. Nodding politely at the Ministers as they placed the red sash of the Accuser over his shoulder. Accepting the good wishes of his fellow lords as he prepared himself to enter the Arena.

No-one accompanied me. I walked alone to the Pleader’s entrance. Alone that is, if you do not count the groups of gossips lining the route to watch me. Hoping to see me falter or stumble. Hoping to see the guilt written on my face. Hurrying, once I had passed, to reserve the best seats in the banked tiers above the Arena. I can hear them now, whispering and commenting, talking over my past misdemeanours. The shield that will protect them from our stray magic is designed to allow sound to penetrate.

I shut out their voices and concentrate on my brother. As we grew up, the chasm between us grew too. He always acted bewildered and hurt when one of my tricks or taunts was discovered and received their concern as his due. He had them fooled, but he knew how to hurt me in private, how to craft an insult that would pierce me like the sharpest arrow. All he had to do was remind me how much I was unloved. I would cry in my nurse’s arms and vow to make my armour stronger and yet stronger until he could no longer reach me.

The clock between us continues to tick through this time of meditation. There is only a quarter of the hour left. Fifteen minutes before we can loose our power and let magic decide the outcome of this trial.

They expect me to do bow my head and accept his strike without returning it, to show the world that I admit my crime and do not deserve to live. Their precious ideas of honour and trust bring a smile to my lips - quickly smothered. I do not want to give myself away, not now.

I think back to the day it happened. The day he inherited and turned me away from the only home I had ever known. As I walked the long drive to the gates, he sneered at me in his thought-voice, Now go find a hole to crawl into, sister dear, for you will never belong in this demesne while I live. That he could taunt me then, when I was at my lowest, brought the bile rushing to my throat. I whipped around and flung a strike at him with all my force and anger behind it. It was pointless I knew; even he could deflect with a simple shield. How was I to know his silly wife would get in the way?

Of course, I was held to blame. He had worked his charm for years, and no-one would think to consider that he has them all fooled. But they will come to see that they were wrong.

It was not difficult to craft the little spell; I have been working on the idea for years. My old nurse is loyal to me still and swore to secrete it in his robes. The moment he entered the Arena it will have activated, and now his timeline is being infinitesimally slowed. By the end of the hour he will only be delayed a few seconds: not enough for anyone to notice, but enough for my purposes.

Shards of power hover at my fingertips, itching to break through the skin.

This hour will soon end. They will be shocked to see him make no move against me, and the uncertainty will start eating into their thoughts.

I will strike first, and I will strike well. And finally I will step free of his shadow.