Chapter Text
Lovage did most of the talking once we’d arrived at the tower. It was his area of expertise, after all, though I thought it just as likely an outcome that Sybilla would be so irritated by his effusiveness that she would refuse assistance just to be rid of us again. However, she listened attentively to Lovage’s explanation, giving little of her thoughts away. When she asked to see the curse as it had been written, Lovage turned to me with raised eyebrows, indicating that he wished me to write out the curse. I could understand his reluctance to risk putting even a scrap of power into those words again, and I spelled out the words that would likely never leave my mind again.
Sybilla took the piece of paper from me and read it with a frown furrowing her brow. Once she had finished reading, she folded the paper somewhat gingerly and flung it into the fire burning in the hearth.
“You spoke a great deal about the effects of the spell,” she said. “But there’s one rather significant symptom you did not mention. I find that curious. I wonder, do either of you know exactly what type of magic this is?”
“Control magic,” Lovage said promptly. Given the wording of the curse, I had had no reason not to believe him.
Sybilla shook her head. “That’s the effect, not the cause. The spell wants to control you, yes, but its method of doing so is quite ingenious. You see, most control spells are hard to maintain because the subject struggles against them so thoroughly. But whoever wrote this spell took that into consideration and came up with a more effective way of exerting control. It’s something that many of us are influenced by, in one way or another. Would you like to share what that might be, Leo?”
I looked at Lovage in confusion. What was Sybilla getting at? Had Lovage been hiding some aspect of the curse from us? It would be rather like him to keep a vital piece of information to himself, just to make things more difficult for everyone else involved. However, he seemed just as perplexed as I was at Sybilla’s coaxing.
“We really don’t know. That’s why we came to you,” he insisted.
Sybilla sighed theatrically. “Very well, if you don’t want to say it, I will. This is a love spell.”
The room was filled with a ringing silence at Sybilla’s proclamation. I found myself unable to form any kind of coherent thought, absolutely baffled at her words. They didn’t make sense. What was she saying?
Lovage seemed to understand Sybilla’s meaning more quickly than I did. “I’m not in love with Grimm. I’d – I’d have noticed!” he exclaimed.
What? Love? Lovage? Me? It still didn’t make sense.
Sybilla, on the other hand, seemed to delight in our confusion. She shook with such laughter that she had to reach out to steady herself on the sofa. She might as well have clapped her hands with glee in the face of the horrifying realisation that was dawning in my mind.
I turned to stare at Lovage, found him already gaping at me, and averted my gaze at once.
“Sorry, sorry,” Sybilla hiccoughed. “It’s just that this is more entertainment than I’ve had in quite some time.” She wiped the tears from her eyes with a touch of theatricality, then straightened, seeming to pull herself together again. “All right, you’ve convinced me. I’ll write your counterspell. Follow me.”
I was in too much of a daze to do anything but follow Sybilla and Lovage as she led us up the stairs winding around the walls of the tower. Had I been in a more normal state of mind, I would have paid more attention to the impossible architecture of the building, but as it was, all I could think of was the bomb Sybilla had just dropped on us. A love spell? I had cast a love spell on Lovage? Meaning he had been in love with me for the past weeks? The thought was ludicrous, entirely absurd. Lovage was the most irritating person I knew, and he clearly felt the same way about me. He consistently sought me out just to antagonize me, and I was sure he had been going out of his way to present me with the most frivolous charms he could come up with in Duality. He had shown absolutely no sign of a change in his sentiments towards me.
Although…
I had seemed to run into him more often than usual in the weeks leading up to the harvest break. I’d caught sight of him walking past me in the gardens, half-hidden behind the hedges lining the walkways, more than once. I had never spotted him there before, so it must have been a recent development. I hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but…
He’d also been watching me more closely. I was slightly embarrassed that I was apparently aware enough of Lovage’s regard of me to notice a change in his behaviour, but there it was. There had always been a certain tenson between us, one that Lovage seemed to delight in straining, so much so that we had finally been forbidden from interacting with one another in lessons. And yet I often found him watching me, or finding excuses to call out to me, taunting me with various degrees of nonsense. I had developed a keen sense of when he was in a room, if only to be able avoid him more effectively. Lovage had always found reasons to encroach upon my space, but in the course of the last few days, during which we had been forced into proximity more frequently than ever before, I had noticed him looking at me more than usual, and had found him standing more closely to me than usual as well. Apparently I had been paying attention myself. Out of irritation, surely.
“It’s not a love spell!” Lovage’s exclamation brought me back to the present. “I would have noticed.”
“There have been no signs?” Sybilla persisted. “Nothing out of the ordinary at all? Fits of passion, unexpected jealousies, protective urges?”
Fits of passion! Really! I almost wanted to laugh scornfully, and Lovage protested loudly as well, but then I considered the rest of her words.
“You threw yourself in front of me,” I said reluctantly. “When you thought Jayne and Mathias were going to kill me. And again, when Beaugard leapt at me.” Thinking of it now, it seemed obviously out of character for Lovage.
“That was – that was just me reacting in the moment! Instinct!” he protested. It was a weak argument and he knew it – since when had either of us ever felt a protective instinct toward the other?
Lovage seemed to be replaying the last few weeks in his head, as I had just been. He slumped back into his chair and went increasingly pale. “Oh,” he said, letting his head fall forward onto the table. Apparently, he had reached the same conclusion that I had.
Sybilla seemed sympathetic to our unwelcome epiphany. “It’s a very subtle piece of magic,” she said soothingly, more to Lovage than to me. “You needn’t feel badly for not noticing right away. In fact, I think it’s likely designed to grow in strength over time for just that very reason, to stop you from understanding the true mechanics at work. It makes the whole thing doubly difficult to unravel. Whoever wrote this has a very devious mind.” She did not look pleased at the thought.
But unravel it we must. There was no question of this being left as it was. “Can you fix it?” I asked Sybilla.
“I can certainly try,” she said. She launched into a rather convoluted explanation of the nature of magic and spells, using a piece of knitting to show us how magic was bound tightly to the intention of the caster who was casting the spell. All of which I didn’t understand the reason for, until she summarised her theory for us in damningly succinct words.
“It means that if the person who cast the spell were to return the feelings it provoked, the whole thing would likely dissolve on its own.”
Return the feelings. The feelings of love that the curse provoked. For Lovage. My mind barely wanted to accept the meaning of her words, let alone envision the actual mechanics of the scenario she described. The whole idea was ridiculous and distasteful, but before I could say so, Lovage erupted into laughter. Apparently he thought the whole situation hilarious.
“Guess the counterspell really is our only option, huh, Grimm?” he giggled, before bumping his shoulder against mine and dissolving into another fit of laughter. His childish manner aside, at least we were in agreement on that. It seemed we were at Sybilla’s mercy, if she held any chance of being able to scrive a sufficiently powerful and complex counterspell. I didn’t like it, but it seemed we had no choice but to bow to her conditions.
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When the following morning saw me sorting through Sybilla’s underthings while she and Lovage sat chatting away about the nature of scriving, I questioned my resolve to accept Sybilla’s terms without much argument. This activity seemed about as useful as Lovage’s cosmetic charms, and a damn sight more humiliating, and I chafed at my being reduced to a home renovator while they took an indeterminably long time getting down to work, frequently going off on tangents that I had to haul them back from. It was undignified, being made to refashion the contents of a stranger’s wardrobe, and I had very little desire to become so intimately acquainted with the contents of a woman’s lingerie drawer. To distract myself, I cast my mind back to my conversation with Lovage the night before, once he had made himself comfortable on the floor of my room.
I had been glad at the thought of having some privacy, after the close quarters we had been forced to keep on our journey to Sybilla’s tower, and had settled into the room after Sybilla bid us goodnight. I performed my usual evening ritual of running through the days’ events, sorting through them so as to ready my mind for sleep, and in doing so remembered Lovage’s wound. It must still be painful, even with Sybilla’s treatment. I wasn’t exactly anxious for his company, having overindulged in it over the last few days (weeks, even), but I swung my legs off the bed with a sigh and headed towards the door. I would offer to cast another charm over his arm, and then I would withdraw for some much-needed solitude.
I pulled open the door and was met with a tangle of blankets and limbs tumbling onto my feet with a yelp. I sprang back and stared at Lovage, for it was he who had apparently been making camp on my doorstep.
“What are you doing?” he demanded indignantly, as if I were the one who was out of place in this scenario.
“I was going to find you,” I informed him. “What are you doing?”
Lovage sighed aggrievedly and began to untangle himself from his blanket. “I’m not precisely sure how these remembered spaces work, but I don’t think we’re actually as close together as rooms down the hall from each other would be in an ordinary house.” He rose with an affectedly haughty look that did nothing to hide his embarrassment and stepped further into the room. “The curse didn’t like it. Felt like I was trying to sleep on top of an anthill.”
“Oh.” I hadn’t given much thought to the symptoms of the curse up until now, but it sounded unpleasant. “Why on earth didn’t you just knock and say so?” Certainly it was embarrassing, and awkward and inconvenient and all of it, but there was no reason to strain the bounds of the curse out of pride.
“Thought you’d be asleep already,” Lovage said, a shade too blithely to be genuine. I imagined our positions being reversed, and had to concede that I would hardly have been eager to knock on his door and ask to be allowed to share his room, had I been in his position.
“I was coming to see if you wanted me to do another casting over your arm before you went to sleep,” I said, before Lovage could get any ideas why I had been coming to find him. He turned from where he stood inspecting a collection of books by the writing desk at the far side of the room and looked at me with mild surprise. “It’s feeling much better, actually,” he said. “Almost as good as new.”
“Very well,” I said, not being able to think of anything else to say. I was suddenly very aware of the fact that this was the first time we’d been alone since Sybilla had explained the nature of the curse, and I felt an uncharacteristic urge to bolt from the room to avoid having to discuss it any further. The curse had impelled Lovage to seek me out, in my bedroom, and that was not an area of thought that I was comfortable with. But I could hardly deny him a decent night’s sleep after the day we’d had. Gritting my teeth, I closed the door and turned to face Lovage. I suggested he make a bed for himself on the floor with the blankets I had spied in the wardrobe, and he did so readily. Thankfully, it didn’t seem like he’d been expecting to share my bed. I felt the back of my neck flush slightly at the thought and schooled my expression into one of neutrality.
Lovage lay down in his makeshift bed, and I settled into the guest bed. It was the softest bed I’d ever lain in, too soft for my tastes, really, but I wasn’t going to mention it and sound ungrateful for Sybilla’s hospitality. I listened to the sounds of Lovage making himself comfortable, and wondered how the curse felt now that it was content with Lovage’s proximity to me. Which led me to another question.
“Did you truly not know?” I asked. Lovage stayed quiet for a moment, and I wondered if he was going to pretend not to have heard me, feigning sleep, but then he sighed.
“I didn’t. Truly, I had no idea.” He paused. “I blamed you for not realising what the spell could do when you cast it, but in the end, I didn’t recognise what it was either. At least, not entirely.”
What did he mean by that? He hadn’t realised entirely, but he had realised something? What was that something? I was intensely curious, but I would rather have bitten my tongue off than ask. I asked a different question instead to distract myself.
“Is there a chance Sybilla is wrong?”
“I think Sybilla is very good at what she does,” Lovage said thoughtfully. “She’s older than she looks, you know. She must be. The tales I read about her were in a book written twenty years ago. She must make use of cosmetic charms that put all of mine to shame. I think she’s been doing this for a long time. So, no. I don’t think she’s wrong.”
A hope I hadn’t realised I was holding onto fizzled out and died. If Lovage had accepted it, that meant he must truly have recognised his feelings towards me as… what Sybilla had said. How could someone not know if they were in love?
“I just don’t understand how you didn’t notice,” I gave voice to my thoughts. Granted, I had no experience in this area, but surely if someone had captured my attention in such a manner, I would have noticed the shift in my perception of them. “This is so different from anything you would have felt before.”
“You mean back when we were at each other’s throats?” I thought I detected a smile in Lovage’s voice. “I thought of that too. But you heard what Sybilla said, the spell works slowly. I suppose I might have enjoyed your company slightly more than usual lately, but I thought that was just the consequence of spending time together under unusual circumstances. Just the beginnings of a… friendship, of a sort.”
The idea of Lovage enjoying anything about me seemed laughable, as well as the thought of us becoming friends. I almost said so, but something held me back. I supposed if we were being honest, I had not minded Lovage’s presence these last few days as much as I would have expected to. I had been irritated with him on many occasions since he had shown up at my parent’s farm, certainly, but I had also been favourably surprised by him in almost just as many instances. The spellsong he had cast at the fireside after dinner that first evening, with the simple aim of delighting his captive audience. His unexpected consternation at the sight of crops ruined by silver rot, and his determination to assist in some way. Not to mention the solution he had found, elegant and clever and somehow quintessentially Lovage. And the brief moment in which we had been in harmony casting his spellsong. That moment had filled me with a warmth and sense of wholeness that I hadn’t felt since my childhood, before I left for the Fount. Not that I was going to admit that to Lovage, of all people.
Lovage seemed oblivious to my musings. “If there was anything else to it, I was oblivious. I have not loved many, to recognise the signs.”
“Hmm.” I found this hard to believe. I had heard talk of his romantic escapades, so it was hardly believable when he played the blushing innocent. I may have been unfamiliar with any… impulses the curse may produce, but the same could surely not be said for Lovage. I was suddenly struck with the distressing realisation that Lovage might be harbouring more… physical desires towards me, and despite the fact that I knew that it was only the curse that would be responsible for these, the thought was decidedly uncomfortable.
Lovage seemed to sense the direction my thoughts had taken and laughed. “I don’t love everyone I fuck, Grimm. For that matter, I don’t fuck everyone I love, which should comfort you. As far as I’m concerned, the spell has tricked me into thinking you’re a bit like Agnes – someone I care for.”
A flash of something hot went through me at his coarse choice of words, mingled with a surprising sting of hurt. Was it so outlandish that I could be someone he cared for? We had been at odds for most of our acquaintance, it was true, but over the last few days it had felt as if we had moved from despising each other to merely being annoyed by each other. And even though I indeed found him incredibly irritating most of the time, that would not stop me from extending courtesy to him when required. In fact, I had been extraordinarily accommodating towards Lovage since we had discovered the existence of the curse, a fact he did not seem to fully appreciate. Perhaps he was just used to people following his directions, gentry-born as he was. It was silly of me to think that he might be warming to me as it seemed I had been to him.
Warming to him? Where had that thought come from? It must be the hour and the stresses of the day that were making me ramble, even within the confines of my own head. Lovage’s next words did nothing to ease the sense of being off-kilter.
“I promise that the only urges I’ve had to fling myself at you were of the protective variety,” he said in the verbal equivalent of a smirk. His nonchalance made me feel awkward, for some reason, and I strove to find some sort of neutral ground.
“I wasn’t worried about that,” I lied. In fact, now that the thought had occurred to me, it seemed to be taking up an inordinate amount of space inside my head. I cast around for something else to say, but could think of nothing. Lovage seemed to be of a similar mind, because he did not respond to my statement. Perhaps he was insulted.
With the practice of years, I pushed the discomfort from my mind and willed my body to relax. No doubt there would be enough time to unpick the convoluted workings of the curse over the next few days.
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Sybilla had me cast spell after spell in a host of rooms, dragging us up and down the tower steps. It seemed very impractical to me, given she could probably have created one door that opened to any room, depending on one’s intent, but when I suggested this she scoffed and said I had no sense for romance. If by romance she meant a tendency towards theatricality and impracticality over common sense, perhaps she was right. Lovage seemed quite in his element, though. He was able to demonstrate his ‘romantic’ tendencies after dinner, when Sybilla requested he play for her. He played several ordinary songs, albeit rather artfully, before casting a spellsong that caused the candles in the room to spit out sparks that gravitated towards him and hung about his head like a halo. I thought it a waste of energy, bordering on reckless, but Sybilla was delighted.
“You’re very skilled, Leo,” she declared. “I’ve never seen a scriver able to cast so well. Your methods are unique. Look, even Beau is impressed.”
Indeed, the wolf had been watching Lovage intently, even moving to sit at his feet while he performed the spellsong. It reminded me of how the other monsters in the forest had watched Lovage so closely when he’d played the song that has sent our message to Sybilla. Lovage seemed to be thinking the same thing, because he said: “The monsters in the wood liked the music too. I’m not sure why.”
Sybilla eyed Lovage thoughtfully, scratching Beaugard’s ears absentmindedly. “Perhaps because your way of magic shares something in common with them. They are creatures of the Wilderlands, and there is a hint of the wild in your spellsongs, I think. Or perhaps there is some other reason we will never know. Magic, like music, does not always need to be explained. It is enough that it exists. And the way you’ve combined the two is ever so lovely.”
That was a suitably poetic description for Sybilla, but there was some truth to her words. I had been surprised at his skill with the violin, as I had not expected Lovage to be able to dedicate himself to anything enough to become proficient in it. I remembered his affront at my saying so. I had underestimated him in that regard, and it appeared he had a talent for scriving that had so far gone undetected at the Fount, given that there was no precedence for magic being cast with music. As for the casting itself, there had been little focus in our classes on scrivers’ casting abilities, but if Sybilla was impressed, then here was another side of Lovage that did not fit to the image of him that had developed in the four years I had known him.
Lovage actually seemed embarrassed by Sybilla’s assessment of his skills, and even blushed. I would never have thought him modest, but he had managed to surprise me again. His pleased expression faltered, however, at Sybilla’s continued musings: “I’m very curious to hear what Grandmagic might sound like written into one of your spellsongs, aren’t you?” Obviously, she had not quite believed our assurances that Lovage and Grandmagic did not mix well, but then again, she had more experience and knowledge than either of us. Perhaps she was familiar with people who had had trouble with Grandmagic. Lovage squirmed a little under her scrutiny and tried to brush it off. “Little point in wondering. I’d rather spend my time writing the songs available to me than mourning the ones that are not.”
“A fine sentiment,” Sybilla said in a thoughtful voice, still studying Lovage closely. And as Lovage took up another tune, and as we retired to our room a while later, I wondered too. Lovage’s idea for drawing out the silver rot had been clever, but not only had he had the idea, he had been able to improvise such a neat scriving without any reference books. There must be more in his head than I’d given him credit for, and Sybilla’s wonderings of how that would pair with Grandmagic was indeed intriguing. It didn’t seem that it mattered, given Lovage’s capacity for stubbornness, but I still wondered what it would be like to work with a Lovage who took his scriving seriously, and put it towards spells of substance. I might feel rather differently towards him, I thought.