Chains and Broken Magic
Copyright© 2026 by Rachael Jane
Chapter 9: Elenora: The Draining of Magic
Vespera wakes me before dawn ... as she has done every day for the last week. Not with a touch. Not with a voice. But with magic. The collar around my throat constricts until I wake up gasping for air. It’s one of Vespera nasty tricks to keep me on edge. If I’m too slow in rising, a thin thread of cold light snakes across the floor, curls around my ankle, and tugs me out of my cot.
I jolt upright, breath sharp, heart pounding. The air in the tower is still, heavy, expectant ... like the moment before a storm breaks.
“Come,” Vespera says from the doorway.
Her silhouette is framed by the faint blue glow of the runes carved into the stone. She looks composed, rested, eager. I feel the opposite ... drained, sore, my magic flickering weakly under my skin like a dying ember. I want to resist ... but I follow. Because I have no choice. Because she will take what she wants regardless.
The laboratory chamber is colder than the rest of the tower. Crystals hang from the ceiling, humming softly. Shelves overflow with powders, vials, and strange metal instruments that glint in the dim light. At the centre of the room sits a pedestal. And on the pedestal a sphere. Translucent. Pulsing faintly. Alive.
My magic stirs uneasily.
Vespera gestures. “Sit.”
As usual, a chair slides behind me. I sit because resisting only makes things worse.
She circles me slowly, her eyes bright with anticipation. “We’re making good progress. Yesterday was promising. Today, we refine.”
I swallow. “Refine what?”
“Your output,” she says. “Your capacity. Your limits.”
Her fingers brush the air near my cheek. I flinch. She smiles.
“Don’t be afraid, Elenora. I’m not here to hurt you.”
She believes that. That is what makes her dangerous. She lifts her hand. Magic gathers at her fingertips ... pale blue, sharp as frost. It coils in the air, reaching toward me like a curious serpent. My breath catches. The magic inside me stirs in response, warm and bright ... and frightened.
“Relax,” she murmurs. “Let it rise.”
Again I try to resist. Again I fail. The magic inside me surges ... instinctive, wild, desperate to defend itself. It meets her spell in a clash of light and heat. The air crackles. The crystals overhead tremble.
Vespera’s eyes widen. “Yes. Yes, that’s it.”
She lifts her other hand. The sphere on the pedestal glows. A thread of my magic ... gold and white ... rips free from my chest and streams toward the sphere. I gasp, doubling over as once again my magical energy drains out of me. It feels like being hollowed out, like losing breath and warmth and something deeper all at once.
The sphere brightens. Vespera inhales sharply, as if tasting the air.
“Remarkable,” she whispers. “Elven magic is so ... pure.”
I clutch the arms of the chair, unable to stand because her magic binds me to the chair. “Stop.”
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