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Only the Royal Mages and the healers are allowed to request book deliveries from the library. We can’t be running around delivering and retrieving books from nobles who are too lazy to come to the library themselves, after all. Anyway, the nobles always have the option to have a servant do that for them.
We make exceptions for the Royal Mages and the healers because they often need certain reference books on very short notice. Today is one such day. The healers have requested a book on magical burns.
Since the book is quite old and fragile, I take it to them myself. The walk is short and the day is sunny and pleasant, so I don’t mind.
When I enter the Healer Hall, I’m ushered straight through the foyer to the treatment rooms beyond, the requested book still in my possession. I’ve wrapped it in cloth to ensure it isn’t damaged.
When my guide, a trainee healer, directs me into a room, I enter to see a familiar but unexpected face. The High Mage is sitting on the edge of the examination table, shirtless. His torso is covered in ugly, painful-looking red marks. I wince in sympathy. Thanks to my fire affiliation, I’ve never been burned by magical fire.
Since this guy shares my affiliation, that raises a question. How has he been burned? His magic ought to have protected him from any fire produced by magic. Natural fire, if hot enough, can bypass such protections, but the healers had requested a book on magical burns, not natural burns.
The High Mage glowers at me as the healer tending him gives me a relieved look.
“Thank you for coming so quickly, Miss Librarian,” the healer says. “Is that the book?”
“Yes.” I take the book out of the bag and set it on a table. The healer goes straight to the index at the back of the book, tracing his finger down the page as he searches for the section he needs.
The High Mage looks as if he wants to tell me to leave, but he remains silent. I stand next to him, wondering how much pain he’s in right now. If it’s a spell that’s done this, I ought to not try any pain-suppressing spells. I might make the situation worse, not better.
“What happened?” I ask. Technically, I’m not allowed access to such information, but sometimes this guy humours me.
“Someone found an unrecorded item in the Royal Treasury,” the High Mage says with a scowl. “A necklace. It turned out to be cursed. Thankfully, I was the only one in range of the curse when it activated.”
That’s interesting and concerning. Had it just been incompetence that led to that necklace languishing in the Royal Treasury, unwarded, or had someone left it there deliberately, hoping that an innocent person—or a royal—might come across it and activate the curse?
“Would you mind tying my hair up?” the High Mage requests of me.
When I move behind him, I see that the burns extend to his back as well. His hair is in its customary ponytail, but I suppose it’s irritating the burns. I put it up into a bun.
The High Mage’s hair is soft and the light pink colour strangely suits him. I envy the prettiness of his hair; my own is dead-straight, and a dull, mid-brown colour.
As I secure the bun, the High Mage says, “Thank you.”
The fact that he’s thanking me in such a tired tone tells me that he’s in more pain than he’s letting on.
I shoot a concerned look to the healer, who’s bent over the book, attention fully focused on the words. He’s muttering under his breath and tracing something on the surface of the table next to the book. A rune, I presume.
“The curse is old,” the High Mage says.
When he reaches for my hand, I let him take it. Inexplicably, I feel my own fire magic stir. I’m about to pull it away, but his magic gets a firm hold on it and tugs insistently. Sheesh. Even his magic is pushy. A small amount of my magic trickles into him, and his pained expression eases. How odd. My magic ought to not have that effect on him.
The High Mage continues, “Given its age, our modern spells are unlikely to be effective against it. The runes we use now aren’t recognised by it, so we need one of the spells in that book.”
Yes, old spells to fix old curses. While newer spells can sometimes dispel old curses, old spells are much more effective. The designs of the runes we use has changed over the centuries as magic is used in different ways and attached to different materials.
The healer finally looks up from the book, then retrieves a notebook. He scrawls something on a page then shows it to the High Mage, who examines it with eyebrows drawn together. “That ought to work,” he mutters.
“It will require a fire mage for best results,” the healers says. “I’m water. Most of us here are water or earth.”
The High Mage turns his violet eyes to me. “We have a fire mage right here,” he says. His implication is clear. I’m to cast the spell.
“Are you sure?” I ask. “Someone from the Royal Mages can be sent for.”
He glowers at me again. “I’d prefer to have this dealt with as quickly as possible. By that, I mean right now. The burns are getting worse.”
Oh, I hadn’t realised that. Guiltily, I examine the healer’s notebook. The rune looks complicated.
“You can do it,” the High Mage assures me as the healer hands me a soft-tipped pen. The rune will need to be drawn onto the High Mage’s skin. “I know your capabilities.” Then, under his breath, “Better than you do.”
I glare, but move into position to start drawing the curse-breaking rune on his back. He’s so arrogant, thinking he knows more than anybody else. It’s no wonder he isn’t betrothed yet. I feel sorry for his future wife.