A FEATHER'S WORTH
A FEATHER'S WORTH
Tessa's point of view
Today’s lesson began with disappointment.
Lady Matilda stood in the training hall, arms crossed, eyes narrowed as if expecting me to fail before I even started. She pointed to a silver goblet on the table in front of me.
“Lift it,” she said curtly. “No hands. Only your magic.”
I nodded, took a breath, and extended my palm.
Nothing happened.
Again.
Still nothing.
I clenched my jaw, trying harder, summoning whatever magic was supposed to be inside me. The air around me remained stubbornly still, and the goblet didn’t move an inch.
Matilda scoffed. “Pathetic. You claim to carry the blood of mages, yet you can’t even levitate a simple object.”
“I’m trying—” I whispered, heat prickling behind my eyes.
“Try harder. Your ancestors brought chaos to this kingdom, and you can’t lift a cup?” She turned her back on me with a sharp swish of her cloak. “Useless witch.”
Her words stung more than I cared to admit.
The rest of the day was worse—she made me sweep dusty floors, haul water jugs from one end of the hall to another, polish old grimoires without touching the pages. Every task designed to drain me, to wear me down. She said it was to “build character.” I think it was to punish me.
By the end, my limbs ached, and my chest felt hollow. I went to bed without touching my food. I cried silently into my pillow, so no one would hear.
Maybe she was right.
Maybe I was a useless witch.
The next morning, I dreaded the walk to the hall. My steps were slow, hesitant. I braced myself for another day of ridicule.
But when I arrived, it wasn’t Matilda who stood waiting.
It was Queen Arabella.
She smiled at me gently, the sharp contrast to Matilda’s harshness nearly overwhelming.
“You look like someone who hasn’t slept well,” she said softly.
I didn’t answer. I didn’t want to lie. She didn’t need me to.
“I heard about yesterday,” she said, her voice calm. “It’s okay to take time to learn something like magic. You’re not the first to struggle.”
I looked up at her. “Even Aeris struggled?”
Arabella chuckled lightly, something wistful in her tone. “Oh, Aeris nearly burned down the west tower during one of her first lessons. Magic isn’t about perfection. It’s about patience.”
I swallowed hard. “So what did she do to control it?”
“She practiced,” Arabella said, “but with intention. With gentleness. Magic is not just strength—it’s focus. So today, we try something different.”
She walked to the desk behind her and picked up a feather—white, soft, weightless. “Start with this. Not a goblet. Not metal. Something that wants to float.”
I hesitated. The fear of failing again clung to me like a second skin. But I nodded.
Arabella placed the feather on the stone floor between us and stepped back. “Close your eyes. Take a breath. Focus not on the feather… but on the air around it. Invite it to lift. Don’t force it.”
I closed my eyes and took a shaky breath. In my mind, I pictured the feather rising—light as breath, gentle as wind.
Nothing.
Again. I pushed the doubt aside and tried once more.
Still nothing.
But the third time—I felt something shift. A tickle in the air, a change in the space between me and the feather.
And then… it moved.
Only slightly, barely a few inches off the ground.
But it moved.
My eyes widened. “I did it…”
Arabella’s smile widened. She stepped forward and gently placed a hand on my back.
“You can do it, Tessa. That magic inside you isn’t just blood. It’s choice. And if you truly want to protect Ares… you’ll need to master it.”
Her words lit something inside me.
Hope.
Determination.
And for the first time since discovering what I was… I believed maybe I could do this.
Not just for me.
But for him.