At Any Cost (A Bound Trilogy Prequel Novella): Bound Trilogy

By Kate Sparkes

A legendary Sorcerer's daughter. A king with everything to lose. An ill-fated love that would change their worlds.   **visit www.katesparkes.com for details on series reading order, complimentary books, and more

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sparrowcat Press
• Release date: Jan 12, 2016
• ISBN: 9780994999917

Book preview

1

Belleisle

Aperfect party , Maggie thought as she retreated toward the food. If only I deserved it.

A lavish spread of desserts covered the table, so that not even a hint of the rich mahogany surface showed between plates of tiny cakes, baskets of fresh fruit, and a centerpiece of spun sugar candies stacked into a glittering castle. Wine flowed as though from an unending spring. Music filled the air, the notes laughing their way through the crowd of students and guests, mixing with hushed conversations and the soft rustle of dresses on the dance floor.

Maggie reached for a glass of wine—her sixth of the evening—and let her focus soften as she watched the party go by. Her father, headmaster of the finest school to ever teach young Sorcerers and Sorceresses, had spared no expense for his only daughter’s twenty-second birthday celebration. The dining hall had been transformed. Literally, in some respects, thanks to one talented young Sorcerer’s gift with illusion. The lamps on the walls, filled for the night with rare dragon oil, burned brighter than Maggie had ever seen them, casting an ethereal glow over every face, every gown.

A birthday party fit for a queen, or perhaps a Sorceress. Maggie brushed a hand over the skirts of her dress, smoothing the deep red folds, and wondered whether she was an imposter for playing along with it, or merely a fool. She was no queen, and never would be. The island nation of Belleisle didn’t even offer the position. And she certainly was no Sorceress. Though she’d lived her life surrounded by magic, she’d never felt the faintest hint of it in herself, nor expected it. The biology of magic, though not an exact science, was clear. A Sorcerer and Sorceress could never produce children. A Sorcerer and a Potioner—which her mother had been—could, but their children would inevitably be devoid of magic. Maggie had been doomed to an average life from the moment her parents met.

She sipped her wine again and admired the way the light sparkled in the liquid’s clear depths. Each glass lifted her spirits, or at least eased her boredom. It made the lamps glow brighter as she watched the party go by without her.

No one would notice if I slipped away.

She gave her head a quick shake. No self-pity. Not tonight.

Tonight was her night, her turn to have everyone’s eyes on her. Not on the brightest students, whose skills and talents continually cast shadows over everyone else. Not on her father, the greatest Sorcerer in Belleisle or, she suspected, anywhere else. Not his new wife Emalda, a talented Potioner from across the strait in Tyrea. This was Maggie’s night to be the center of attention, to shine on her own.

She stepped back into the shadows near the table. Just not yet.

Why are you hiding?

Maggie smiled, but didn’t turn toward the soft, familiar voice. I’m not hiding. I’m drinking.

Graceful brown fingers wrapped around the stem of her glass. Maggie allowed her friend to set the wine on the table, just out of reach.

It doesn’t seem to be doing you much good. Rashel’s deep violet eyes sparkled as she tucked a loose strand of Maggie’s black hair behind her ear. Get out there. Dance. Make memories. Meet someone who doesn’t skulk around dessert tables.

I’m not sure the ones on the dance floor are any better, Maggie said. Most of them usually ignore me, but tonight it’s, ‘You look stunning, let’s talk about your father’s work on island defenses. Or perhaps his wealth. Or better yet, let’s talk about me. Did I tell you about my…’ She wiggled her eyebrows. ‘Magic?’

Rashel giggled. They can’t all be that bad, but I guess you see more of that side of them than I do.

Maggie traced a finger absently along the pale skin above the neckline of her dress. For beautiful people who are supposed to have lives of greatness ahead of them, my father’s students can be terribly dull.

That’s a matter of perspective, Rashel said as she watched the students and older guests, magical and not, mingling on the dance floor. I’m sure they find themselves a fascinating topic of conversation.

Undoubtedly. If only my small, regular-person mind could comprehend how fascinating they truly are. Maggie kept her tone light, but her stomach tightened as she fought back the wave of envy that always came with being around the students. There had been a time when she’d followed them around like an adoring puppy, wishing to be one of them one day. The students, and the few girls in particular, had doted on her. As Maggie grew up, she’d realized how unlike them she truly was. She’d never lost her desire to be someone special who could change the world, but had accepted that such greatness fell only to those with vast magical power and the long lives that came with it.

In another setting, Ernis Albion’s pretty and intelligent daughter might have shone bright as the sun. Not everyone on the island possessed magic. But here at the school she felt like the smallest star in the sky, consistently dulled by those with more thrilling destinies.

I need to get away. Go somewhere where no one knows who I am. A smaller village on the south shore, perhaps. An assumed name, just to see what might happen. She sighed and looked longingly at her half-drunk glass of wine on the table.

Maggie turned her attention away from her wine-induced self-pity and looked Rashel over, from her intricately-styled chestnut hair to the black slippers that peeked from beneath the hem of her shimmering green gown. You look lovely, she said. Where have you been all night? Leaving the guest of honor to sulk over the pastries. Imagine. She gave her friend a teasing smile.

Rashel’s cheeks flushed, and she dipped her chin. I did meet the nicest fellow. Didn’t want to ruin your perfectly foul mood with good news, though.

Did you really? Maggie moved toward the dance floor and pushed up onto her toes for a better look at the party guests. A young man raised a hand in quick greeting as Rashel stepped beside Maggie.

Shel, Maggie whispered, and grinned. He’s not a Sorcerer, is he?

No.

Judging by the faded shoulders on his suit, I’m guessing he’s not wealthy, either.

I suppose not. Van has just taken over his father’s farm. He says it’s lovely, though.

Well, well. Maggie made her way to a nearby alcove to sit on a red velvet settee, a hideous thing her mother had thought elegant. Rashel followed, but remained standing, sending quick glances back toward the dance floor. Shel, I can’t imagine you as a farmer’s wife. He’s adorable, though.

Rashel would find her way, Maggie had no doubt. As a talented mid-level Potioner, Rashel’s skills would be in demand anywhere she went. Though Potioners didn’t channel magic and shape it the way a Sorcerer could, their skills with recognizing and combining the magical qualities of substances made them the nation’s healers, among other things. Wherever she went, Rashel would be needed and cherished, her gifts recognized. She would make a difference in so many lives.

Maggie’s gaze drifted back to the dance floor, only a sliver of which was visible between the bodies of the other guests. She was accustomed to being surrounded by these beautiful folk, whose magic healed them and kept them young. Her own father had lost count of his age a century ago, yet barely looked fifty, and she’d become used to seeing his students unchanged ten years after they’d left the school. But tonight, in the glow of enchanted dragon oil flames, they seemed transformed. Ethereal.

Don’t, Rashel whispered.

Don’t what?

Don’t compare yourself. I can see it in your eyes. Enough moping, now. It’s not like you.

I know. I think that last glass of wine was a mistake. Possibly the last three. She blinked back unexpected tears. I’m just getting tired of it. Tired of being overlooked, and yet having expectations dangling over me. Tired of being wanted for the wrong reasons once powerful men decide I might be useful to them. Tired of— She bit her lip. Rashel knew the stories of her little heartbreaks well enough. Sorcerers she’d been drawn to for their charm or their looks, only to learn that they wanted to use her to move into important social circles—or to satisfy other selfish needs. And then they’d be gone.

Rashel pursed her lips, deep in thought. She crouched and took Maggie’s hands in her own. "Remember the