Just when she was getting ready to prod the recalcitrant Servant into appearing — her control of magic had progressed to the point where she was fairly certain she could do just that — his face appeared.
“Greetings, Isabella,” he said. “I have mixed results. I shall be as brief as one such as I can. In my researches, I have indeed come upon creatures who will act as Protectors and who switch from animal to human form. The difficultly lies in the fact that those creatures are invariably one of two types. They are either wholly magical in nature, such as the Fox-Spirit, the Rus Firebird or Zhar-Ptica, or they are, in fact, animals who have somehow gained the ability to become a human.” Even though he had no shoulders, she got the sense of a shrug. “It is as if, I fear, that while transforming from animal to human brings out the best in these creatures, transforming from human to animal brings out the worst in a man, unless it is the purely voluntary and magical Transformation spell, which most Godmothers and a few magicians have mastered — the one that does not require the shedding of blood, nor the belt of the skin of the creature you wish to become.”
She felt her heart sink, but the Mirror Servant was not done quite yet.
“Now, having said that, it is a fact that Sebastian has not killed anyone.”
“He hasn’t exactly had the opportunity,” she demurred.
“Pish, he could easily have killed you,” the Servant chided her. “If you please, I am trying to research a Path out of this dilemma, failing being able to break the magic on him. Now, may I continue?”
She apologized. He peered at her as if to determine whether or not the apology was sincere. When he decided that it was, he picked up where he had left off.
“You will recall that we had determined that this was done to Sebastian by means of magic — though whether it is a curse-spell, or an actual curse, which does not require a magician to set it. Correct?”
Since the face waited patiently after this, she assumed she was supposed to respond. “Yes, I have been told that this was a curse, and that you hadn’t — Wait, what is the difference between a curse and a simple spell?”
The face beamed. “Now, there you are! That is the real question, isn’t it? The difference, my dear sorceress, is passion!”
She gave this careful thought. The Servant allowed her to take her time. Evidently there was no one else clamoring for it — or perhaps it, too, had apprentices, who could take over the more mundane task of telling callers, “I am sorry, but the Godmother is unavailable. Would you care to leave a message?”
“Sebastian has been quite adamant that I am supposed to keep emotion at bay when I work magic,” she said slowly, “because emotion interferes with control.”
“Yes,” the face said, smiling genially.
“He’s right. When I get upset, or worried, I can’t concentrate.” Or when I happen to notice how Sebastian’s eyes take on a stormy-gray color when he’s unhappy, and a green glint when he’s — Bother, not now! Think this through!
“Indeed,” the Servant encouraged.
But was there ever a time when emotion had made it easier to concentra —
“When Eric tried to bully me, just before I was bitten, I was truly angry. And it made me sharper. I knew exactly what to say, and how to say it. I was able to figure out from how he stood and the expression on his face what he was likely to do next. And when I was frightened, when those poachers attacked us, that made me very sharp, too. I knew instantly that I couldn’t get to my knife, and it wasn’t as if I even thought about it. My hand went right to the quiver, I got a crossbow bolt and I used it like a knife.” She paused. “I think I would have to say in both cases I was very passionate.”
The face bobbed. “And there you have it. Fear, anger, hate, pain — all these things can create a single-mindedness that surpasses everything a trained will can do. Not everyone has this sort of mental quirk. Many — I would say most — people become more confused when they are consumed by passion. But those who possess this same talent as you are able to cast curses. This is why incredibly powerful curses can be cast by the dying and the desperate. The Tradition, of course, has a lot to do with this, as well — it responds to an exceedingly well-worn Traditional Path and puts all the force of its power behind the curse. But before The Tradition can feel this, the passion itself must be single-minded. If it’s not, if the passion does not have a single object and a single goal in its focus, then The Tradition can’t sense it.”
She shivered, despite being cozily close to the fire. “It’s like this giant slug, isn’t it? Incredibly powerful, but so stupid that it will always follow the path of least resistance, and always be attracted to — ” she paused, feeling a moment of startled epiphany “ — what it feeds on?”
“Very good.” The face beamed at her. “You are going to make a quite outstanding magician, I do believe. Yes, we think that The Tradition feeds on, derives its power from, emotion, at least in part. So this may explain why it does what it does — it ‘knows,’ as a slug knows, that if it forces matters into this shape, there will be a richer reward. So it does.”
“All right, so what does this have to do with Sebastian?” she asked.
“It means that he didn’t have to actually do something that he remembers to cause someone to hate him enough to cast a curse. It means that for all we know, it could have been something completely out of his control. But that, in turn, means that we — or more precisely, he — may be able to alter the curse. Casting a curse on the curse, so to speak.”
“But why can’t the Godmother — Oh.”
“Exactly. She has a hundred concerns as pressing as Sebastian. There is no way she can muster enough passion. Only Sebastian himself can.”
“Or the person who cast it, I suppose,” she said thoughtfully. Sapphire moved over to the fire and threw a few pinecones on it for the pleasant scent. “If we could find that person and persuade him of the wrong he had done Sebastian and make him sufficiently remorseful.”
The face bobbed in agreement, but grimaced. “That is why the original caster can remove a curse when no one else can. And that is why it is so rare for him to do so. Or her, since females are extremely good at casting curses. You are very passionate creatures. Males are told from childhood to restrain their passions. Females are not. Now it is true that for most magic, control is what is important. But that is not true in curses. In a curse, it is the passion that creates the powerful curse. Females, therefore, are better at casting curses.”
It was her turn to grimace, at a memory of one of those moments when she had realized just how unfair life was. It had been another child’s tenth birthday fete when she was very young and her mother had still been alive. The event had been enormous, for the father of the birthday child was fabulously wealthy and his father wished both to demonstrate that wealth and indulge his child with the most insanely elaborate party anyone in the city had ever seen. Not even the Prince’s birthday fete the next week rivaled it… People were still talking about it to this day.
In fact, the Prince’s celebration had been quite modest by comparison. Just the usual distribution of food and blankets to the poor, and free wine to drink the Prince’s health in all the taverns. Presumably there had been a party for the boy, but only a choice few had been invited.
I wonder if that was allowed on purpose, she suddenly thought. The Prince and Darian Errolf were the same age. And if I were King and wanted to deflect the ire of evil magicians and the attention of The Tradition from my child, I think I’d welcome some idiot throwing a fete that was fit for a Prince.