Tower of Change

The ballroom was filled with enough blue blood to create a small ocean. Drinks flowed as it paired with the laughter of bejeweled people from all areas of the world. Any cares the guests had were tossed away with each new song played by musicians with more fame than talent. A woman leaned against one of the columns, her sapphire gown pairing well with golden-bronze skin, dark ebony ringlets falling down her back, piercing amber eyes watching the dancefloor with the concentration of a trained falcon. This ball was meant to create connections, forge treaties and alliances to keep wars at bay for at least a few more years, but right now, there were more dangerous things to worry about.

Bellatrix “Belle” Rinn’s own blood was far from royal, but thanks to a desperate noble needing an heir that at least looked like they were a product of his bloodline she was able to walk amongst those with titles and more money than any deity. Yet that didn’t keep the nobles from turning their noses up at someone they considered of lowly birth. At least it meant they ignored her at events such as this, granting her the space to do what she came here for.

In the middle of the dancefloor was man, a year or so younger than her, hair tied in an chestnut braid down his back, gold embroidered in flowing patters on his crimson uniform, dancing with a woman in a gown of gossamer, her blood red lips twisted in a naïve, or deceptive, smile. The prince whispered something to his partner that made her laugh before resting her bejeweled head on his shoulder.

The girl was unknown to both the nobility and royalty, a sign that something was very wrong. Research from the Royal Council lead to rumors of a woodland witch or magician in some cave miles away who cast a spell on the prince. This information lead to several attempts at removal, but no successes. Having the girl herself give up her secrets was difficult due to the prince’s constant need to be with her, and the crown guards who were loyal to a fault.

Belle tapped her foot as guests danced in all their finery, each one willfully ignorant to what was happening in the shadows. Anton was taking too long, but then again, the seconds felt like hours since she arrived at the ball. The Royal Council wanted this problem fixed, and what better way to weed out potential Council members than for the Elders to have candidates search for a solution to undo the spell placed on the prince so he could wed the foreign princess he was betrothed to before war breaks out.

A man with glass of pale wine stumbled towards Belle, his grin twisted in a way that made her shudder. Expensive education or not, she was always seen as nothing more than a pretty bauble to be played with.

Where is Anton?

“How’s a pretty girl all alone?” he asked, words tripping over each other like overly eager children competing in a race.

“I’m waiting for my partner to get me a drink.”

“Shouldn’t have left you all alone. ’Doncha wanna dance?”

Before she could respond he reached for her arm just as an energetic song began to play. Ingrained lessons in etiquette kept her from stomping on the man’s toes.

“Hope I didn’t keep you waiting long, darling.”

A young man wearing a coat of deep azure interlaced with silver brushed her shoulder while handing her a glass of fizzing blue liquor. Belle hid her relief behind a charming smile as her gloved fingers brushed against the man’s own to take the glass. The drunk man huffed before wobbling away to find another unattended woman to pester.

“Took you long enough,” muttered Belle, fighting the urge to down her drink in one gulp.

“Information doesn’t come easy,” Anton replied, “or cheap.”

“Then I hope whatever you have is worth it.”

Anton’s smile did little to reassure her. He could charm the skin off a snake, but a childhood with him had made her immune. She took a polite sip as he let her simmer in her impatience. Citrus mixed with ginger.

“Since we now have an edge over our competitors,” he replied, “it is. The prince is not under just any spell, but an enchantment, one that makes him believe this strange girl is the foreign princess, and that it’s love at first sight.”

Belle shook her head with disbelief. Anton’s amber eyes glanced at the dancing couple with irritation. The prince’s cheeks are bright with heat as the woman pretending to be his fiancé presses her lips against them.

“It’s a strong enchantment,” he continues. “While I never expected him to be such a romantic, his twisted emotions paired with this magic has him wrapped around her finger.”

Belle sighs before taking another sip of her drink. The amount of time they and their competitors had to break the enchantment all depended on keeping the engagement in limbo before the prince caught on to what was going on. If the enchantment was as strong as Anton believed, he might threaten to end his life if efforts were made to keep him from his false beloved.

“So,” Belle prompted, “what does your information say about rescuing our bewitched prince? True love’s kiss?”

“Nothing as lovely as that. My source told me of special type of amulet which, once placed around the neck, could break any spell.”

“Your source?”

 “An old woman on the outskirts of town.”

It was moments like this when Belle wanted nothing more than to hit him. But that would reflect poorly on her candidacy, so she dug her nails into her empty palm instead.

“You do realize she could be insane, right?”

“Or clever. The best solutions can be found in the strangest places.”

Belle allowed her eyes to roll, causing Anton to glare at her, yet his lopsided grin diminished its edge.

“Fine,” she conceded, “tell me how we can find this amulet.”

Anton held up a single gloved finger.

“One option is at the top of a mountain where a dragon has lived for a thousand years. Said mountain is in the nearest country, which we all know is in a state of unrest right now.”

Another finger joined the other.

“The other is rumored to be resting at the bottom of the ocean. At least we both live near a port town, but getting the supplies will be difficult, as well as finding a willing crew.”

Belle slammed the back of her head against the column. Her skull could have shattered and she wouldn’t have cared.

“How are we going to get the resources for any of those? None of our parents have the leeway for such things, and neither do our contacts. War will break out before we could get to either destination.”

Silence hung heavily between them as a slower melody began to play. Belle and Anton knew a few of their competitors were willing to hire assassins to “get rid of the problem,” and how even enchantments don’t always end with the death of their caster. Time was running out for not only their future, but the prince’s as well.

“Anton, please tell me there’s a third option.”

Anton glanced to the floor in a show of discomfort, his hand scratching an invisible itch at his scalp, a tell she recognized instantly. For several seconds only the sound of laughter and music filled the air between them.

“There is,” Anton began, defeated, “but I didn’t mention it because you’d say no.”

 “What makes you so sure?”

“Because you’d have to marry a sorcerer who’s been trapped in a tower for centuries.”

 “And why can’t you be the one who marries him?”

“He prefers women. That, and I already imagined you finding a nice witch, settling down in a little cottage near the Council estate, making a deal in exchange for an unwanted child or two, and living happily ever after.”

Belle would have playfully punched his shoulder, teasing him about her own theory of him stopping an assassination at the cost of a lost limb and being taken care of by a clumsy healer of any gender, their love blossoming like in a romance novel he would deny reading to his death, were the circumstances better.

“The sorcerer can’t be convinced otherwise?”

“Not likely, hence why I didn’t want to mention it.”

“So those are our options? Wonderful.”

The glass in her hand cracked from the unintended force she gave it, staining her glove and soaking her hand. A small issue, but added to the stress presented before her, tears began to fall down her powdered face.

“Why did this have to happen, and of all the times it could have, why did it have to be now? It’s not as if this fool of a girl cares about a scandal, or how the prince needs to marry the princess. What are we going to do that won’t result in us losing our heads or worse: our titles?”

Anton wrapped an arm around his friend’s shoulder, as she wept silently.

“I know, Belle, I don’t like our chances either. It’s clear that we have to pick one of these options, but each one will be difficult to execute. I don’t trust our competitors to plan or to care about potential collateral damage, so the choice is ours alone.”

Another laugh reached them from the middle of the dance floor. A reminder they didn’t need. Belle wanted nothing more than to walk over and wring the girl’s neck. She didn’t want this, no one really wanted this except the girl, no doubt. Not that it mattered now. Choices had to be made, and soon.

#

The wind howled louder than a pack of wolves as it mingled with the winter air. Belle’s hunting clothes were the closest to adventure ware she had, but they kept her safe from the worst of the journey. After days of travel, hiding from anyone who might recognize her by sleeping on mossy ground and eating what she could find and catch, she was finally at her destination.

The spire of the tower housing the kingdom’s salvation pierced the fragile skin of the sky. Its stones appeared to be made of storm clouds, each one smoothed by age and rain. Each window reached the heights of trees yet revealed nothing of the contents of its home.

“For great knowledge of magic, a bride one must be. To unlock the power for your eyes to see.” That’s what Anton’s source said. As much as Belle hated the idea of marrying a strange old man, this was their best chance at breaking the enchantment.

With a sigh of defeat, she made her way to the tower. The heavy iron door opened once she was three steps away. Her body trembled, from the cold or what needed to be done she didn’t know, as she made her way inside.

Crimson curtains draped over the windows, casing living shadows over the onyx floor. The ceiling reflected the sky during a thunderstorm with veins of silver breaking through the darkness. Images and figures of creatures and ethereal beings dance across the walls as if alive. The air itself was akin to a winter morning, cutting through even her wyvern leather coat. Sigils played across the walls along the figures, glowing with the brightness of the moon on a starless night.

Belle let her feet guide her through the entrance and towards the winding staircase of tarnished coper and polished marble. Incense filled every room Belle entered: flora of summer in one, spices of foreign lands in another, yet each room lead to nothing, every door she opened bringing more disappointment. Until she heard the sound of harp strings and windchimes from behind a carved cherrywood door.

The door itself was unlocked, a surprise or an obvious trap, but Belle was prepared either way. Behind the door was a room filled with pieces of metal and clouded glass hanging from string on the ceiling, each artifact dancing to the breeze from an open window. Candles burned on a long table where a cloaked figure mixed contents of transparent bottles into a small brass cauldron.

Belle stepped towards the figure, hoping she wouldn’t have to unsheathe the blade at her waist. The figure tapped their finger against a jar filled with wriggling black blobs as Belle prepared herself for anything from binding spells to measurements for a wedding dress. A flask filled with tiny glass beads falling onto the ground broke the sorcerer’s attention, stopping at Belle’s feet to bring their eyes together. Both figures stood still as their minds spun for anything to make sense of what stood before them. Belle was the first to find the words to speak.

“You’re a woman?”

The pale lavender eyes staring back at her narrowed. Removing the hood of her cloak the sorceress revealed long silver tresses framing a heart shaped face far too young to be centuries old.

“What does that have to do with you breaking into my home?”

Despite years of training in the art of conversation, Belle hesitated before speaking again.

“You’re a sorcerer, right?”

“Of course, like my mentor before me. At least before he trapped me here, ageless and alone until I’m bound in matrimony because of his pettiness.”

Her explanation was not what Belle anticipated, and neither was the beautiful woman standing before her. True, she had heard the most talented of magic-users can be vindictive, cursing entire generations for the smallest slight. But to trap a student in a tower until they are married seemed an overreaction.

“So,” the sorceress sighed as she picked up her flask from the floor, “why are you here? Unlimited power? Avoiding an arranged marriage? I may be unable to leave, but I can still aid a lost soul, if the price is worth it”

Belle’s hands clenched in dread at what she needed to say.

“The prince of my kingdom is under an enchantment that makes him believe a peasant girl is his betrothed and that he loves her. It’s rumored that you have an amulet that can break it, and I need it. Name your price.”

The sorceress was silent as she moved her fingers above the spilled contents of her flask. Within seconds the beads returned unharmed into their home. The sorceress then made her way back to her table, the clinking of glass the only sound for several moments, setting Belle on edge. Was all this completely pointless in the end? Even if it were possible to marry this strange woman, would she even help? Was the promise of power just an excuse to aid in her in an escape from her imprisonment?

“How strong is this enchantment?”

Belle let out a small breath before she spoke again.

“Strong enough that the Royal Council is desperate. He hasn’t left her side since they met, and there are worries about the implications of this.”

“Has she shown signs of pregnancy, then?”

“If so, it’s been hidden well.”

“Have you noticed anything off about her? Has she been wearing anything that doesn’t fit with the fiancé of a prince? Are there any odd mannerisms you’ve noticed?”

Belle didn’t have to consider for long.

“She’s always smiling.”

The windows began to shake as if in a violent storm, yet the stones remained in their rightful places. A string of ancient curses fell from the sorceress’s mouth as the containers rattled from the invisible force.

“Did he think he could hide this from the world, from me?” she hissed. “How arrogant is he now, to believe he can get away with toppling a kingdom?”

A moment later the room is still, the sorceress temporarily relieved of her rage.

“So,” Belle prompted, “you know who’s responsible.”

“My fool of a mentor, if he’s still alive. Those stupid sunshine smiles are his signature. If it is him, or another product of his vanity in the form of an apprentice, then it won’t be hard for me to unravel his mess.”

 “Then…how will you be able to do that? Won’t the amulet solve this?”

The sorceress turned to face her with sharp eyes, intense enough to make her heart race.

“Oh, my dear, this is no mere magician we’re dealing with. This absolute fool wouldn’t let something so simple as an amulet halt his plans. He’ll leave precautions in place, secondary plans if somehow his first one fails. You’ll need more if you fully intend to stop him.”

“And how am I supposed to do that?”

Her smile was bright yet haunting. Never before has anyone made Belle feel so lost. Was it her ageless knowledge or how this woman reminded her of the Fae who spun illusions to tempt mortals to ruin.

“Well, you did come here for a reason, didn’t you? Save the kingdom no matter the cost, yes? The amulet won't be enough to save your prince. Unless things have changed in the years since I’ve been trapped here, there should be a chapel nearby.”