Chapter 4

Rosalie carefully descended down the dimly lit, damp stairwell. She hated that her childhood friend spent his days in a dark, dank, cold cellar. When they were both new to the castle, they would spend every spare moment outdoors, laughing and running through the garden mazes and rows of flowers. Everything changed when Kieran had his first prophecy. He dreamt one night that King Antoine had been hit with a stray arrow during his yearly hunt. Awoken in a panic and drenched in sweat, he ran to his best friend to tell her what he had seen. She proceeded to drag him to Mrs. Woods, who then led him down this same stairwell, for the first time, to the royal mage's cellar. Listening intently to the boy's dream, old Mage Edward proceeded to prepare the strongest healing spells, ointments, and salves in case such an accident should actually befall their beloved regent. Edward implored the King to reschedule the hunt, but the king brushed off the old wizard's warning, claiming that needless worries did not a great king make. Sure enough, true to Kieran's dream, the king returned that evening with an arrow lodged deeply into the bone of his shoulder. As soon as the king descended from his mount, he was laid down on the grand oak table in the dining hall, where Edward carefully removed the arrow, and covered the wound in antiseptic balm. The white-haired mage then closed his eyes, cupped his hands above the spurting wound, and began reciting words in the old tongue, now known only to mages, dragins, faeries, and magical beings who rarely ventured out of the wilderness and into a town such as this.

Young Kieran and Rosalie watched at the edge of the doorway in amazement, as the wizard repeated the same magical phrase over and over, and the bleeding gradually slowed to a stop. The children gasped as the wizard slumped over, exhausted from the draining spell, and the castle servants lifted the wizard by his armpits and helped him to his underground bed. That was the last night Kieran spent in the servants' quarters, and was told as soon as the sun rose the next day to pack his things and take them to the stone cellar to begin his training as a mage. The children hugged as they said tearful goodbyes, promising to always make time for each other, even as they followed different paths. True to her word, Rosalie made sure to check in on her friend from time to time, and Kieran was always willing to lend Rosie an ear to listen to tales of castle drama and court intrigue. Sadly, in the past year, since Mage Edward's death, Kieran had become more and more reclusive, obsessing over becoming the most powerful spellcaster he could, as he now served as the sole source of magical aid in the king's employ.

As Rosie entered the stone gray cellar, she knocked on the wall to get her friend's attention.

"Go away. I'm busy. I can't help you. Go ask another wizard, but definitely not me," Kieran rattled off, not even looking up from the massive tome in which his head was buried. Rosie couldn't help but giggle at her friend's antisocial greeting.

Recognizing her laugh, the mage immediately shot up from his seat, banging his head on an overhead lamp in the process, and knocking his round spectacles to the floor. Rosie doubled over laughing at her friend's clumsiness, then rushed over to him and ran her hand over his dusty brown hair, checking for any bumps or nicks as a result of his haphazard accident. Satisfied that the only injury he sustained was to his pride, she bent down, picked up the spectacles, and handed them to her now blushing friend.

Kieran gulped at the sudden contact, his adam's apple bobbing in this throat. "Rosie," he gasped, unable to contain his shock at her sudden visit, "I wasn't expecting you. I would have tidied up a bit, and lit a fire." With that he snapped the fingers of his right hand, and a flame engulfed the wood sitting in the iron stove at the corner of the room. Kieran jogged to the glowing corner, and drew a huge pile of books and papers into his arms. As he lifted the disheveled bundle of literature, its absence revealed a dusty orange cushioned armchair underneath. Kieran set his reading material in the floor, and gestured for Rosie to take a seat in the newly-cleared chair. Rosalie smiled and walked over to the armchair, plopping herself down in the soft, time-worn seat. Kieran then flicked his left hand, and another mountain paper and books flew off a chair opposite Rosie's, and hit the wall behind it. Kieran pulled the chair so that it directly faced Rosie's, dropped into the seat, and leaned forward to rest his bony elbows on the knees that his long legs held high above the height of the cushion on which his torso sat. He looked at Rosie with his light, sky-blue, bespectacled eyes, and reached forward, covering her small hand with his massive one. "I've missed you Rosie," he softly confessed, warmth enveloping his face as he examined the expressions of his oldest, dearest friend. Rosie lifted her other hand and placed it atop his. "I've missed you too Kiri. It's been far too long," she gently consoled as her smile matched his.