Chapter Text
It was a cold morning in the spring of 1774. All seemed normal for now. The sunlight fell, as the only source of light, through a split in the heavy dark blue curtains onto Karl’s face.
As the sunlight reached his emerald, green eyes, he turned over and tried to sleep again, but then he remembered the beating he got from his mother for sleeping in and missing the family breakfast until her cane broke in half. He still had some bad bruises from the cane, and along with that he just couldn’t take his mother’s screaming anymore. Although he looked far better than the maid the one his mother nearly killed for dropping a vase during her cleaning round, he had never heard someone scream like that although the maid did not have any bruises like who Karl still bore the marks of his mother's temper. And the maid never even looked at her after that and to be honest she did not behave like before she was as if she had lost her soul.
So he got up and put on his suit: navy blue, with an eagle crest and three lilies beside it. He looked into the mirror, trying to comb back his neck-length black hair, which again fell uncontrollably into his face. He didn’t really look like a noble; his body looked like that of someone who worked in the fields with peasants all day. He was also much darker than his mother and brother, tanned from the sunlight, and he towered over both of them.
His brother Pipin (18), three years older than him, took after their father — a small, slightly round, gray-haired man with a monocle under his left eye. His mother, on the other hand, was quite tall for a woman, with black hair slicked back into a tight bun, and thin compared to the others.
Pipin was the better son as Karl was constantly reminded by his mother. But in Karl’s opinion, he simply had the misfortune of being the first-born son, and thus the heir of House Martell a “great displeasure,” as Karl often joked. He used to say Pipin had better not die, so that Karl could finally do whatever he wanted.
As he reached the entry hall of the Martell house, he looked up, like every day, into the eyes of his ancestors, moving from picture to picture. He could swear that since he was a boy, the portrait of Karl the Great had winked at him.
He stepped into the dining room.
“Morning, Mother,” he said with as much displeasure as he could muster.
“Morning, Pipin,” he added without looking at his brother.
He sat down and started eating his oatmeal. Something was strange, nothing on his hair or how he wore his suit from his mother than glanced up at his mother, who was staring at him with her emerald-green eyes. She looked furious — but why? Karl hadn’t even sneaked out last night, and the rope was still under his bed.
“Damn,” he thought, “I forgot to check if it was still there this morning.”
He wasn’t expecting a smile from his mother, but something was off. She had never looked at him like she was about to kill him in the next three seconds. Expept that time he tried to seduce a maid his age when he was 13 and he already got his beating for that 3 years ago.
“Karl,” she said stiffly. “There is a letter for you from…” her voice trembled for the first time Karl could remember. She cleared her throat. “Ehm, Blankenburg .”
She said it as if it had nearly killed her to get the words out.
Karl looked at his mother, mouth wide open, staring at her. He turned his head to Pipin, who was fuming like he was spitting fire the moment he tried to talk. Then it burst out of Karl:
“What the hell is Blankenburg?”
His mother looked at him, one eyebrow raised.
“Have you no self-control, Karl? And clean your ears if you didn’t understand me the first time,” she said sharply.
“Sorry, Mother,” Karl said quietly.
“Read it,” his mother said as she tosed the letter over the table.
The envelope had a black wax stamp with the Prussian crest sealing it, and in red ink on the front it read:
“To Karl August of Martell, the third room on the first floor West Wing , Martell House.”
This has to be a joke, Karl thought. They know where my room is.
He took his knife off the table and cut the envelope open, then started reading the letter:
“Dear Sir of Martell,
We are happy to invite you to join Blankenburg Academy for Magic.
Term starts on October 3rd. You will be picked up by carriage at noon on the 2nd of October at the House of Martell.
A list for your school supplies is on the next page.
Barron of Blankenburg,”
His brother and mother looked at him as if they were hearing a madman talk nonsense. (And to be fair, Karl thought, he would have looked the same way if Pipin had read that letter out loud.)
“Give it to me. NOW.” his mother said loudly.
Karl passed her the envelope back, his hand shaking a little. Pipin didn’t say a word during all of this, which was quite abnormal behavior for him, as he always commented on Karl’s letters. Karl looked back to his mother her eyebrows were raised, and her mouth moved silently while she was reading.
While his mother read the letter, Karl was still trying to figure out if this was a joke. Then his mother opened her mouth and closed it again, clearly at a loss for words something Karl couldn’t remember seeing once in his life. Finally, she spoke:
“Pipin, out,” she said, as commanding as ever.
Pipin looked at her, perplexed.
“Why, Mother?”
“I said OUT!” His mother was now screaming at Pipin.
He obeyed, got up, and walked out of the dining room, muttering something Karl couldn’t understand. As the door closed behind Pipin, his mother turned back to Karl.
What did I do? Karl thought. And why is the King writing to me?
He had totally forgotten about the magic part.
His eyes met his mother’s emerald-green pair.
“Ehm... ehm... so,” his mother began, trying to sound as cold as usual, “you... ehm... are magic, according to this letter, but I don’t care what this letter says you're not going. If the peasants find out, this house is doomed,” she said, her voice trembling. “Just like your sister,” she muttered under her breath.
“MY SISTER!?” Karl screamed. “You said she died after she went away!”
His sister Elena had left the house at fifteen with a carriage seven years prior and never came back.
His mother was now even paler than usual.
“Tell me what happened,” Karl demanded.
His mother swallowed hard.
“She... ehm... is a witch. And went to Blankenburg” she muttered. “I assume she was killed by peasants by now, or by some Inquisitors,” she said with a small grin on her lips. “Deserved that. The mudblood was always different. I knew she would go mad after she spent too much time with that Black guy she met in London.”
Now grinning even more, she added, “And you are the same, it seems — just another child gone wacky by peasants.”
Bang!
A loud bang came from the entry hall. His mother looked anxious as the door opened. Standing in the doorway was a strange-looking old man wearing lemon-colored robes. A long black beard with some grayish hairs hung from his chin, and half-round glasses sat on top of his small nose. His long hair fell neatly around his friendly-looking face — but the strangest thing of all was the far-too-tall hat on his head, which barely fit through the doorway.
“Morning, Astrid,” he said. “As you might have noticed, you have a second wizard in your family, and he can open his letter himself! Wow.”
Nobody ever called his mother by her first name. Nobody. Not even his father.
“So, Karl,” the strange-looking old man went on, “I see you have opened your letter. I wonder if you would join me on a walk around the grounds to discuss your future.”
Karl got up and followed the man out of the dining room without looking back at his mother.
As both of them crossed the entrance hall, Karl caught a glimpse of Pipin, who looked down from the big staircase, but the man didn’t seem to bother. Once on the grounds, it all poured out of Karl:
“Sir, who are you, and is this a joke?” he said so fast he nearly swallowed half his words.
The man stopped at a pond and took out a wooden stick from the inside of his yellow cloak, which seemed even brighter in the sunlight. He muttered something that sounded like aquia, and a stone from the shore flew into his hand. Then he skipped it nearly ten times across the water as if he did it every day.
“You know, Karl,” he said, smirking, “sometimes I wish magic was just a joke after all, and I’d wake up tomorrow and all this was just a dream. But I’m afraid this is real.” He put the stick away.
Karl now looked at him with his mouth wide open.
“Ahh, I missed that face,” the man said with a bright smile. “Your sister had the same expression when I told her she was a witch.”
“You knew her? Karl interrupted the man. “Where is she? Is she alive?”
“Oh yes. She lives in London. Married some rich pureblood called Black. I can give you the address if you want to write her,” he said very calmly and smirking.
“But this would take months, Mister… ehm…” Karl answered.
“Of course. Where are my manners? I haven’t introduced myself yet. My name is Sir August Barron of Blankenburg, and we don’t use the Tumplichs’ way to deliver our letters,” he said as calm as before.
“Ehm… Sir, what is a Tumplichway ?” Karl asked, feeling a bit stupid by now.
“Non-magic people. I believe the English call them muggles, and the French non-magique. A lot of names for the same thing just people you would call ordinary.”
After that, an awkward silence followed for some moments as Karl tried to process everything he had just heard. Then he finally spoke up.
“Why did you pick me, Sir? And why not Pipin?” He looked at the ground as he asked.
“I did not pick you, Karl. Magic did or better; the King’s phoenix did. He dropped a feather on your house the day you were born, over our magic map. That is how we found you and your sister… and the others,” he explained calmly.
“The others, Sir?” Karl sat down on a big rock next to the pond, his legs starting to hurt. August of Blankenburg sat down across from him on another rock.
“What did you think, Karl? That only you and I are wizards?” he said jokingly.
Now that Karl thought about it further, it did seem a bit silly to ask that.
“But why me, Sir?” Karl asked, still not looking up and now facing away from the man, staring at the pond.
“It is a bigger question, Mister Martell, why Pipin can’t do magic. Every Martell we know of is a witch or wizard,” August explained.
“I’m sorry, Sir, but I believe you’re wrong. My parents are… how did you call them… Tumplichs,” Karl said, now looking up into the man’s light-blue eyes.
“Ah, of course Astrid did not talk about this,” he said, seeming far more serious now.
“About what, Sir?” Karl asked.
“She murdered three men because of a money dispute one of them was from a real powerful family and your mother got band from or society.”
Karl’s mouth and eyes went wide open. Sure, his mother was cruel, but three murders seemed a bit too cruel even for her.
“Her wand was snapped in half so that she couldn’t use magic again. But your father still works for the Obaro as a guard.”
As the baron stopped speaking, Karl still did not know what to say, but he closed his mouth for now.
“Oh, just for you to remember: if someone not from your family asks you, you are just going to boarding school, and you mustn’t tell anyone about your ability.”
Karl nodded.
“So, Karl,” the old man continued, “I have to leave now. We will see each other on October 3rd in Blankenburg.”
“Sir, just a second!” Karl pulled the letter out of his pocket. “Where do I get this stuff?” He now held out his letter.
August took a look at the list with school supplies. “Ask your mother. She knows where to find all thi—” He interrupted his sentence as if he suddenly realised that Karl’s mother wouldn’t buy his school supplies.
“Go to the church. Right behind it, take a a turn to the redbrick house. There is a store. — List these things: milk, ivy, lettuce, lemongrass, asparagus for fifteen shillings, please. Say it, and they will let you into the shop there you can get your supplies and your wand.”
“WAND SHOP?” Karl interrupted him.
“Yeah, you think I found this in the forest? It is an ancient craft,” he explained, smiling, and again Karl felt a little dumb for asking such an easy question.
“But Sir… it sounds all pretty nice, but I have no money, and my mother will certainly not pay for all this. She called my sister a mudblood because she is a witch.” Karl felt anxious that his magical adventure would end with him owning nothing.
“Someone took care of that — to be exact, Elena Black. She sent this for you.” He took out a little brown sack and threw it to Karl. “Open it,” he said, encouraging.
Karl did as he was told. When he looked inside, he saw a lot of silver coins.
“Sir… who is that Black woman?”
August started to laugh. “I think you know her. It’s your sister, Karl. As I said before, she married a pureblood named Black across the channel.”
“Oh… right.” Karl felt a bit ashamed that he had forgotten that detail so quickly.
“So, I’m on my way. See you in October, Karl.”
Crack.
And the Barron vanished.