Frigga

When she informed her aunt at breakfast that she would be visiting the village, Frigga neglected to mention who would be tagging along. As Sapphire seemed relieved that her niece was showing signs of improvement, leaving her room and showing interest in magic again, the news went unquestioned. Frigga had decided a month ago to try a new blend of herbs for a special sleeping tea, but she hadn’t hand an opportunity to visit the local magic supply shop to get it done. She’d also made sure to have Razi arrange some errands for herself to do in town that morning. They set off early in the morning in the coach, and the ride was filled with Razi expressing doubt about Rosalind Bloodswell’s ability or willingness to aid her citing the family’s devious reputation and their general “creepiness”. Frigga tried to reassure the woman with a detailed account of the part her coven-mate played in their mother’s arrest. This did not alleviate her lover’s unease.

The carriage dropped the pair off at the edge of the open-air market; the grey, cobblestone roads were filled with stalls, hand-drawn carts, and several pack animals alongside their merchants, and the carriage couldn’t go any further without crushing a stray chicken or upending a trader’s wares. Frigga had to quash her curiosity. She wanted to browse the market, see how the economy of the town played out in real time. She understood the busy town’s datapoints and knew how the government ran, she was even familiar with the guilds and trade associations the called Honeyshore home, but she had never had the chance to experience it for herself in any meaningful way. 

Frigga noticed with a start that she stood out like a white rose amongst a bush of reds; the women were all dressed in dark colours: plain browns, greens and reds were common, but she was in a white dress with small blue floral details. Someone nearby was mending a shoe’s heel that had come loose, probably the only pair the woman had judging by the wear and tear of it. It made Frigga reflect on her own wardrobe and the dozen or so pairs of shoes she owned. She’d never had a heel break on any of her shoes, they’d never seen enough use before they were retired for a new pair. Even her hair, shiny and immaculately braided, marked her as a member of a different class, something she’d never considered as notable before, but most others with long hair like her had simple braids or had it styled in buns or bonnets to keep it out of eyes. While the commoners and merchants in the marketplace didn’t seem poor, Frigga felt the difference keenly and was ashamed that she hadn’t noticed it before.

But she pressed on, she couldn’t afford to get distracted by the life going on all around her. She nearly was distracted by a flower shop, its specimens filled the windows and spilled into the streets on shelves parked on the cobblestones just outside, or an adorable little bookstore boasting new imports and used treasures, but she couldn’t stop; she needed to get this done. She pushed on, glancing at her love who was trailing behind at a distance suitable for a servant, and thought she caught Razi staring lower. But when Razi flashed the smile that made Frigga melt, she forgot to be self-conscious. 

After about ten minutes of walking, the pair arrived at their first destination of the day. The shop’s windows were brightly lit and displayed a range of useful products and imported goods. The thick waft of incense could be detected a block away and the aroma always filled Frigga with nostalgia. It reminded her of the incense her mother used to light during new moon rituals and brought back the memory of Abigail’s soft singing. She’d been the smartest, most beautiful person Frigga had ever known, and even though Frigga and Leland resembled their father Byron in appearance, her magic had always resembled her mother’s. Frigga wished she could talk to her again, to consult her mother’s wisdom, to just behold her one last time. Not even necromancy was capable of that, however, especially not as long as nine years later, but the sting in Frigga’s heart served as her fuel to continue moving forward.

As she stepped into the shop through its black, iron door, the brass bell announced her arrival with a pleasant tinkle. The store’s shelves boasted books and crystals, jars of different herbs, exotic plants in pots, and all sorts of trinkets. Further in was a consultation booth that the Blackwoods occasionally conducted their public-facing divinatory services in, and the tiled floors sparkled with an unnatural varnish Frigga happened to know was a very well-composed illusion.

She heard Razi’s soft “woah,” behind her and caught her eye again. Razi looked uneasy but nodded to Frigga to continue, so the witch stepped up to the counter and the shop keeper. She was greeted with a warm look of recognition. “Miss Thorneheart! Good to see you today, how is your aunt?” His dark grey vest was neatly buttoned on top of a crisp white button-down shirt that slightly ballooned at the wrists and was tied neatly with a red, plaid bow tie. His nearly white beard and tightly curled, receding grey hair was stark against his dark skin, and complimented the thick frames on his spectacles. He was an older gentleman who had been in the business longer than Frigga had been alive, possibly longer than Sapphire had been leader of the coven.

She smiled politely. “She is well, thank you Laurence. I’m here for a particular blend, but I don’t know that you’d have it ready-made.” She brought out the list she’d composed the night before; it was complex enough to be niche, but something the shop would have the ingredients on hand to be able to mix up for her on demand. “I’m hoping you might help me with this?”

Laurence took the list, adjusted his glasses, and peered over it silently as his thin finger traced over the lines. “Ah, yes you’re right,” he mused. “This is quite particular. It may… It may take a bit for me to blend this for you in this manner. You’re lucky, I’m nearly out of tibia flowers, but I should have just enough for this.”

Just as planned. Maybe her preparation had been over the top, but at least it had paid off. Frigga smiled warmly, “That’s alright, I have a friend nearby I can visit. I am also with my groundskeeper today,” she vaguely motioned towards Razi who was quietly looking over the shelf of curiosities and exotic imports across the shop, “and she has some errands that need doing.”

Laurence nodded and slotted the list onto a clipboard on the countertop behind him. “Of course, Miss Thorneheart, prepared as always.”

“I’ll make sure to come back in a few hours.”

“Yes that should be good. Will this need to be ingestible?”

“Yes, please. Add whatever premium that might require.”

“Very good Miss. I’ll be seeing you later, then.”

Frigga walked over to Razi and saw her looking at some rare woods that had come in from other countries. “See something interesting?” she quietly asked as she glanced over the wares. The shelf was filled with smaller items, some trinkets that were irregularly stocked, and some pre-made charms for a non-magical patron. Luck, money draw, there was even a talisman for protection from tax collectors.

Razi nodded. “What is a rose-wood?”

Frigga looked to the specimen, a small chunk of raw wood that was a lovely pinkish-red hue. She’d never seen it either. “Some kind of rare tree, perhaps? I think it’s from Wade Morgansons’ home country, actually.”

“Does it…do somethin’ in particular?”

“Different kinds of woods have different associations. I’m not sure, I’ve never worked with rosewood before.”

“’S pretty, though,” Razi murmured as she brushed a calloused finger over its smooth surface.

Frigga smiled. She knew Razi was merely thinking out loud, but what was the point of being wealthy if she couldn’t treat her sweetheart once in a while? It wasn’t even that expensive. “I’ll get it for you, if you’d like.”

Razi’s eyes widened and she spluttered. “No, Frigga, you really don’ ‘av to, it’s way too much for jus’ a thing of wood.”

Frigga plucked the item off the shelf and waved off Razi’s protests. “I know I don’t, but I want to. Was there anything else you liked?”

Razi’s eyes scrunched up and her gaze fell to the floor. She had taken such good care of Frigga over the last few weeks, the heiress was glad to be able to do something in return. It didn’t make them even, not by a long shot, but she was happy to buy this small treat. She gave the wood to Laurence to add in to her order, and the man’s smile brightened. He happily pointed out similar items, rare imports, and some local materials that might be of interest. He said nothing when Frigga brought Razi over to consult with or when her hand fell upon the woman’s forearm. 

By the time they’d exited the shop, Frigga was beaming and Razi had been shocked into compliance. “You know that’ll all just end up bein’ stuff I use for you, right?” she said with a bristle, her hands shoved into her trouser’s pockets and her shoulders deflated.

Frigga laughed and set off in the direction of the nearby Bloodswell home. “You can if you’d like, but it’s yours! Do what you like with it.”

“You… you really didn’t ‘av to Frigga, I don’t need any of that.”

“I wanted to.” She looked at the woman behind her, seeing an uncomfortable expression, and smiled softly. “You’re not used to people taking care of you are you?”

Razi shrugged and looked at the clouds floating by. “Not really.”

Frigga longed to hold Razi, to touch her, to kiss her. She wanted to comfort her like anyone else might comfort their partner, but she couldn’t afford someone catching a Thorneheart being affectionate towards her servant and delivering that scandal to Honeyshore’s press. That would be awful. Despite that, using the busyness of the street as cover, Frigga extended her hand to ask Razi for hers. She was given it. “My King, please let me do this small thing for you,” she said in her quietest voice without it being a whisper. Razi was out of her element, being treated to small luxuries like this, but Frigga desperately wanted Razi to know she deserved to be cared for and treated too.

Razi squeezed Frigga’s hand and let go as she rolled her eyes. “As you see fit, Princess,” she sighed defeatedly, “‘av your way this time.”

///

“Master Bloodswell, Miss Frigga Thorneheart and Miss Razi Wood for you.”

They walked into the library together as the ghostly servant left, leaving the door cracked open behind her. Frigga had been in the Bloodswell home before but never by her own choice and never the library. It was filled with ornately decorated dark wood shelves housing hundreds of books, an empty fireplace to one side with a gorgeous stone hearth encircling it, a maroon velvet chaise lounge in front of it, and a portrait of a young Rosalind and their parents hung above it in a golden frame. Across from them was a large window, in front of which was a medium-sized round table flanked by four chairs, three of which were simple, high-backed seats with plush red cushions, and the fourth was a wingback armchair, black with maroon velvet that matched the chaise lounge, in which sat Rosalind. They looked tired, much messier than Frigga had ever seen them before to say the least. They were usually so well-kept and proper, uptight even, but the sight before her now was uncharacteristically casual. She hadn’t expected them to be in formal attire necessarily, but Rosalind was just messy: a few buttons undone, eyes heavier than normal, hair somewhat unkempt, and their head leaned on a palm like they were having a hard time staying awake. The table in front of them was covered in papers and books as well as two tea cups, a teapot, a plate to their left with an untouched muffin, and a bowl of rice recently finished to their right.

Rosalind did not glance up at the two women, still focussed on their work with one hand supporting their head, the other holding a pen. “Here you are,” they mumbled in a tone that suggested irritation, boredom, or both. “Do I need a lawyer?” They dryly smirked with a soft exhale.

Frigga frowned slightly; had that been a joke? “Why would you need a lawyer?”

“I imagine you’re here regarding the coven’s last meeting,” Rosalind said, placing their pen back in its holder, eyes not looking up from their work. They sounded tired and scratchy like they had a sore throat. “Perhaps my assistance in her arrest has rendered me suspicious. Or,” they hesitated for the briefest moment before gathering their documents into a neat stack, “you might be here about your engagement that ended recently.” Frigga stepped to sit in the chair closest to Rosalind, but she was interrupted by them. “Not there,” they demanded, motioning towards the chair opposite them.

She acquiesced and sat across from them instead, off-put by their curt manner, and she glanced to Razi who opted to stand behind her chair. How did they know about the engagement being called off? Why would that be relevant to them anyway? “I told you, I don’t blame you for the actions of your mother. I’ve come to ask for help.”

Rosalind froze and finally turned their wearied gaze to their guests. “With what?”

“Frigga’s trapped,” Razi explained. “Can’t figure out ‘ow to get ‘er out of, what’d you say it was, Frigg?”

“A contract,” Frigga answered. “My aunt forced me into it after the break-in. I’ve been reconsidering my place as Heir lately, but she said that the coven might fall apart because I’ve been hesitant, so she made me swear to go through with accepting the role of Heir. The spell uses complex energy transformation, and while I understand most of the theory, I don’t know enough about its application to formulate a way out.”

Rosalind’s eyes narrowed slightly but their voice remained flat. “You want out of a contract? That’s none of my business.”

The women were stunned by the indifferent reply. While Rosalind didn’t have a reputation for being cruel or rude, they were someone who did not get involved in interpersonal matters of their coven. Frigga had heard of other coven members getting offended when Rosalind didn’t act interested in the issues of their peers or when they left mid-conversation, but she had hoped their significant contribution to their mother’s arrest had signalled a shift in that disposition. Apparently not, so maybe their disinterest shouldn’t have been a surprise.

“We were ‘oping,” Razi said with an audible frown, “your family might ‘av a similar ritual or somethin’, ‘cause th’ information we got wasn’t super helpful.”

Rosalind leaned to look at the clock on the fireplace mantle, glanced at the door behind the women, and settled back in their armchair to thumb through their date-book. “If I were to help, it would be framed as an attempt to meddle. I don’t share my ancestors’ grudges against your family, but I have no reason to help you out of a contract you agreed to.”

“Rosalind, I had to come to you,” Frigga stammered as her cheeks warmed. “You’re the only one that might be able to figure out what my aunt did or how to undo this!”

“I understand, but I will not do anything that will cause others to accuse me of carrying on in my mother’s footsteps. Helping you break your promise to your aunt, thereby ridding your family of its Heir? A perfect example of something my mother might do,” they drawled, seemingly tired of the conversation already. They glanced up at Frigga from their book and snapped it shut. “I’m sorry your aunt’s a bitch but putting my family’s reputation at risk so you can run away from the consequences of your actions isn’t something I’m willing to do.” Frigga stared in speechless disbelief and Razi’s face contorted in anger, but Rosalind did not seem bothered and continued with a bored tone, “I’m not your on-demand necromancer, Frigga. You might be the First Family’s Heir Apparent, but I will not cater to your whims like everyone else does.” They glanced at Razi pointedly, a cynical smirk tugging at their lips. 

Razi was about to snap at the implication when the door behind her swung open and Marcus Magnus-Monroe practically danced into the room holding two fresh mugs of coffee. “Oh, hey Frigga! Fancy meeting you here,” he exclaimed happily as he whirled past them to Rosalind’s side of the table. The women whipped around to gawk at the man who was also a complete mess. He looked like he had just woken up with the oversized shirt that hung off one shoulder and his unkempt hair. Were those rashes all over his neck? He waltzed up to Rosalind, who’s shoulders had relaxed and cynicism disintegrated the instant he’d entered the room, and planted a kiss on their cheek. “Hey, Baby, got you this. Thought you might need it,” he murmured while setting down a mug in front of them, the happiest of smiles on his face. Frigga and Razi stared dumbfounded as Marcus plopped himself down on the chair Rosalind had demanded Frigga not sit in, his easy affection obliterating the room’s tension. Once settled in his seat, the realization that there was someone in the room he did not know dawned on him. He shot out of his chair and thrusted a hand towards Razi to shake, “Sorry, I don’t think we’ve met, I’m Marcus Magnus-Monroe.”

Razi looked between him and his hand before hesitantly shaking it, “Yeah, I know. Razi Wood.”

He grinned as he shook her hand. “Good to meet you, you’re a friend of Frigga’s?”

She dropped his hand with a somewhat icy, “You might say tha’,” before retaking her place behind Frigga.

Marcus nodded before sitting down again and finally caught Rosalind’s tiredly irritated gaze. He smiled lazily at them. “Did I come in at a bad time, Baby?”

“Yes.” Rosalind grumbled, but on their lips was the smallest of smiles. They sipped from the mug Marcus had brought with a small huff.

“Sorry about that,” Marcus sipped at his mug unbothered and clearly not sorry, “But it’s too early for drama.”

“It’s 10:30 in the morning,” Razi objected, her tone full of contempt.

Marcus waved away the concern with a carefree motion as Rosalind pushed the plate with the muffin towards him. “Ooh, for me?” he asked with an excited wiggle. Rosalind gave a skeleton of a nod and Marcus took a bite from his muffin with remarkable enthusiasm. “Anyway,” he said after swallowing, “sorry to interrupt, what were we talking about?” He then leaned his elbows on the table and perched his chin on his interlaced fingers.

“Is this why the engagement was called off?” Frigga breathed. “How long has this been going on?”

Rosalind lost some of their composure as a soft tinge of pink warmed the tips of their ears. “These two,” they began to explain, glancing pointedly to Frigga and Razi before returning their eyes to the man beside them, “have asked me to fix problems she made for herself.”

“I told you, I was forced into it!” Frigga defended while glowering at Rosalind. The scene in front of her was confusing, but even if Marcus had softened some of Rosalind’s resolve, she saw they weren’t going to help her just out of the kindness of their heart. She’d have to try a different approach. “Which wouldn’t have happened if your mother hadn’t hurt my brother, mind you.”

Rosalind glared back at her. “You said you don’t blame me for my mother’s actions, but now you’re trying to guilt me into helping you with them? Either I’m responsible or I’m not, but don’t change your mind when it suits you.”

Marcus looked to Frigga with concern on his face. “What’s wrong? Is there something I can do to help?” Both Frigga and Rosalind looked at him, she with softness, them with fatigue. “I mean, I know I’m not magical, but this sounds serious.”

“Why do you care?” Rosalind asked, and their expression was one of tender, unmistakable love and resignation, a look she never thought she’d ever see on the necromancer’s face. It was a feeling she recognized, one of consideration and compromise, and to see Rosalind yielding to Marcus of all people? Someone she had barely seen them interact with ever? Inexplicable.

Marcus shrugged nonchalantly, meeting his host’s pliant gaze with a confident, easy smile. “If I can help and it won’t inconvenience me much, why not? Even if it does, I wouldn’t mind, not for Frigga.”

The frustration in Frigga’s chest was soothed by Marcus’ kindheartedness. “I don’t think there’s much you can do, Marcus,” she said and held out her right forearm to him, displaying the faint mark staining her skin. “After my brother was hurt in the break-in, my aunt pressured me into a magical contract that binds me to accept the role of Heir.”

Marcus peered at the mark on her arm, his head tilted slightly and a small wince at his eye. “Wait, you’re being forced to be the Heir? You don’t want it?”

She shook her head. “No, I… it doesn’t suit me.”

He frowned. “Can’t you ask your aunt to revoke it then? Why bother forcing you to do it if you don’t want to?”

Razi replied, “The old lady knows Frigg doesn’t wan’ it, and tha’s why she did it. You think ‘er aunt’s jus’ gonna let ‘er go after goin’ this far?” She closed her eyes and let out a frustrated breath. “Frigga already looked through the books at ‘ome, but she figured Bloodswell might 'av some insight ‘bout how t’ cancel it.”

Marcus grinned and clapped in his excitement. “Wonderful! I’m sure Ros would love to help!” He tossed a glance at his paramour. Rosalind’s face remained unchanged behind their coffee but their eyes slipped away from Marcus. He was clearly Rosalind’s weakness, and Frigga knew she could count on him to want to be helpful. He’d already offered to, after all. 

“Actually, they were just saying they wouldn’t help me,” she answered in a dejected tone. “Even though their mother’s actions directly resulted in my aunt forcing me into this mess and the magic they work with is exactly the type I need help with.”

Razi continued, and Frigga heard the woman’s barely concealed smugness, “So Frigga ‘as t’ be miserable for th’ rest of ‘er life jus’ ‘cause someone don’t wanna get their ‘ands dirty.”

Rosalind’s expression soured immediately and they scowled at the women. Frigga heard them curse under their breath, but their scowl tempered when Marcus turned his eyes on them. They very purposefully avoided his gaze, but the man’s effect on their resolve was profound. “Is it true, Ros? You won’t help them?” Marcus questioned softly, his hand reaching to rest on Rosalind’s shoulder, recapturing their gaze. “Isn’t there anything you can do?”

They faltered, the pair’s eyes locking in a conversation Frigga wouldn’t dare guess at, until Rosalind protested, “I didn’t say I wouldn’t help, I asked why I should and have yet to receive a sufficient answer!”

Frigga barely held back laughter when Marcus lovingly leaned closer to them, his voice turning from wounded-puppy pleading to a warm, loving timbre. “Because you’re a lovely, powerful witch who cares about other people?” The man softly tucked a stray lock behind their ear before resting his palm at their jawline, cradling it gently, and Rosalind’s lips thinned with the effort of resisting him.

The scene in front of her was bizarre to say the least, almost embarrassing to see, but Frigga would put her discomfort and questions aside for another minute. Rosalind was obviously under Marcus’ spell and seemed close to caving, but they would still need another push. “All I want,” she said as she rose from her seat to take Razi's arm, “is to be able to decide for myself how to live. That’s something you understand, right?”

Razi looked at Frigga and placed her hand on top of the witch’s. They locked eyes and had a wordless conversation of their own. Frigga asked Razi to pile on too, and Razi didn’t care for the situation nor did she care for exposing all her tender spots to a pair of aristocrats she didn’t know. But in the end, Razi yielded and continued “Bloodswell, you know Frigga’s heart lies elsewhere. She shouldn’ be ‘er aunt’s puppet. She should be out there, doin’ what makes ‘er ‘appy, instead she’s miserable ‘ere.”

Frigga looked from Razi back to Rosalind and Marcus and saw the other witch’s eyes glued to her. The expression on their face was unreadable; maybe it was pensive, maybe it was compassion, or maybe it was just weariness. She’d give it one last effort. “You of all people,” Frigga pleaded, “know how important making your own choices and being true to yourself is.”

Marcus watched as Frigga and Razi begged for Rosalind’s aid, but he then looked back to the irritable witch beside him. He had the sweetest puppy dog eyes, and Frigga thought she saw them glisten with tears. Those eyes could make anyone do anything he wanted, her included.

Rosalind slumped in their chair and their unrelenting demeanour gave way to annoyed resignation. “You’re right,” they muttered to Marcus. “It is too early for this shit.” They sipped from their coffee mug, plonked it down on the table in a weak display of protest, and rubbed their temples. “Fine.”

Marcus scooped Rosalind into a hug and kissed their cheek joyfully. The women grinned and looked at each other, a shared feeling of success swelling in their chests. Razi squeezed Frigga’s hand in comfort and Frigga savoured the warmth of it. They would figure this out together.

She looked back to the pair at the other side of the table; Rosalind was still captive in Marcus’ arms and not entirely upset by it, even though the man hadn’t stopped peppering their cheeks with kisses. Frigga realized the two hadn’t answered her question earlier. “But is this why the engagement was called off?” she asked, hesitant to pry but unable to hold her curiosity back any longer.

Marcus released his partner and considered while Rosalind returned to their coffee to soothe their damaged ego. “I guess I owe you an explanation. It probably seems unexpected, huh?” he asked as his knee started bouncing.

Frigga retook her seat, motioned to Razi to sit in the last chair, and looked to Marcus as Rosalind would likely not volunteer much. “This just seems so unlike both of you?”

“Can I leave?” Rosalind grumbled.

“Not yet, Baby,” Marcus teased while picking up his own coffee cup again which caused his love to slump in their seat and sulk. What an unthinkable sight! Frigga couldn’t think of a time Rosalind had ever sulked before. Marcus savoured his beverage for a moment before replying, a thoughtful smile on his face. “But I’ve been thinking about calling it off for the last few weeks.”

Frigga frowned. “Why?”

“You didn’t seem happy,” Marcus answered simply, “and it was my father’s idea anyway. I think we would have had a great marriage, and sure it would have been good for the city and the coven, not to mention my family, your family, basically everyone would’ve benefitted if we’d gotten married, and I’m kinda bummed that everyone will be let down and I’ll be disappointing my father and-“

“But?” Razi cut off the long list of Frigga’s insecurities spilling from his lips with a bristle, and Frigga was grateful for the woman’s shielding.

Marcus looked wide-eyed at Razi for a few breaths, clearly surprised at the woman’s boldness, but then looked back to Frigga unbothered. “But, then I heard you weren’t happy and wouldn’t be happy with any man. I thought it would be better to release you from your promise so you had a chance to be. And, yeah, I was sad about it, but-”

“You don’t seem t’ ‘av stayed sad tha’ long,” Razi interrupted again as she brushed her hand across her own neck, mirroring where the rashes on Marcus’ neck were plainly displayed. Razi grinned and looked back to Frigga. “Told ya th’ vampire bites,” she joked causing Frigga to hide a giggle and Rosalind to roll their eyes while their pink-tipped ears turned bright red.

Marcus chuckled sheepishly while covering his very fresh hickies with a hand and cleared his throat. “Oh yeah, I forgot about those. I guess I should apologize; technically this started while we were still engaged, and I’d be lying if I said Rosalind didn’t have something to do with my decision, but…” Marcus looked at Rosalind, meeting their silent, questioning gaze, and his face softened. “Rosalind let me in, so what hope of escape would I have after that?”

Frigga’s heart warmed seeing her friend happy. Marcus had been nothing but a gentleman during their engagement, and she’d felt awful for using him. She would never have made him happy, so to see the man so clearly smitten, even if the subject of his affection was beyond her understanding, was a comfort. 

Rosalind straightened in their seat again, the slightest quirk of a smile on their lips and the flush on their ears had crept onto their cheeks. “Can we move on?” they asked curtly, “or do you insist on knowing everything about my personal affairs?”

“Aw, come on, Baby!” Marcus chimed as he gently placed a hand on their knee. “You know this is unexpected and who wouldn’t have questions?”

“I fail to see how it’s their concern?”

“But Ros!” he whined, “I wanna talk about how wonderful you are!”

They huffed impatiently. “I don’t even want to help them, why must you tell them our private matters as well?”

He waved the concern off and fluttered his lashes at his host. “Oh, please! I know you’re a kind, generous, caring, helpful person!”

“No,” they replied without room for debate.

Marcus stuck his tongue out at them playfully and his voice sang in a teasing tone. “Nothing you say will change my mind because I, of all people, know how generous you are.”

The emphasis on the word “generous” made the women chuckle and rendered Rosalind speechless. Marcus victoriously grinned as he kissed Rosalind on their very red cheek before turning his attention back to Frigga. “So how can we help?”

Before getting into the technical theory, Rosalind insisted on cleaning themself up a bit more and left the library with Marcus at their side. The two returned in a much more dignified state twenty minutes later, Marcus in a light blue, loose blouse atop a gorgeous pair of slim-fitted black slacks with silver detailing, and Rosalind in their black suit and jacket, completed with a silver chain necklace and small drop earrings in a blue similar to Marcus’ shirt.

“Alright,” they began, stepping up to their book shelves, looking through the volumes, and bringing a few back to the table. “What do you already know?”

Frigga joined them and noted the tomes they’d selected. “It involves blood magic in some way,” she explained as Rosalind grabbed at Frigga’s arm to inspect the mark there. “It’s definitely based on an older working that I brought a copy of.”

Rosalind hummed tentatively as they traced over the brand with their index. “What were the terms?”

“Go through with the ceremony or accept a penalty. ‘Mundanity and madness’ I think were the exact words used. My aunt said it can only be cancelled through death or penalty, but I don’t trust her word as she always keeps back a secret or two to ensure her advantage.”

“It’s true that contracts can have loopholes and weak points,” Rosalind said as they turned to the notes Frigga brought with a curious look. Their curiosity tempered as they read over them. “But it seems Lady Thorneheart was quite thorough.”

Frigga frowned, her heart sinking at their statement. “I guess that makes sense. Auntie doesn’t leave anything to chance.” She glanced to Razi, who was doing her best not to appear bored but her fingers tapped at her arm impatiently. Marcus sat across from Razi and looked like he was studying one of the tomes Rosalind had brought over, but he was in the wrong section of the book and flipping through it too quickly to be reading.

“I still don’t understand,” he said, “why Sapphire won’t just let you out if you don’t want this.”

Rosalind exhaled softly. “I mean, you could die, that’s one way out.”

Frigga and Razi stared and blinked at Rosalind. “What th’ fuck, Bloodswell?” Razi stammered.

“I didn’t say she should do it,” they responded nonchalantly as they leafed through one of their own books and began to compare against to the notes Frigga brought.

Razi turned to Marcus and hissed “What th’ hell are you doing with this person?”

“They’re delightful, obviously.” Marcus answered with a chuckle.

“Anyway,” Rosalind commanded attention back, still carefully scrutinizing the documents Frigga had brought, “From what I’m seeing, the ritual had no loopholes and was carefully worded. There is only four ways out: fulfillment, death, penalty, or by your aunt’s redaction.”

“That was what I thought too, initially,” Frigga agreed peering over to the page Rosalind was reading. “But I thought about the time that one contract was dissolved through an interaction with a fae. You know, a couple years back?”

“Wait, with Madam Downspire’s cousin?”

“Yes, wasn’t it dissolved because of opposing vows?”

Rosalind’s brow furrowed and they grimaced. “Yes, but that was a completely different set of circumstances, and it still didn’t end well.”

“But it’s a proof of concept!”

Rosalind scratched at the back of their neck and screwed their eyes shut, “It’s not that simple, Frigga. Do you know what the penalty is?”

Frigga blinked as she realized that she hadn’t bothered to clarify the contract’s vague wording. She winced. “Uh, not exactly.”

Rosalind looked at her and their tone sharpened. “What do you mean ‘not exactly’? Why would you agree to a contract when you didn’t fully understand the terms? The first thing we learn as witches is to not mess with what we do not fully comprehend and that’s exactly what you’ve just done.”

Frigga glared at them as she tried to quell her resentment at being lectured on basic safety. “I don’t know if you’ve been informed, Rosalind,” Frigga growled despite her efforts to remain gracious, “but I’ve been incredibly unwell lately.”

Rosalind rolled their eyes. “Excuses,” they spat, “won’t help you and neither will I if you continue to hide behind them.”

How dare they speak to her like that? Frigga nearly hit the ceiling in rage, her mouth falling open to protest which Marcus took as his cue to try and ease the tension. “Alright so, the contract won’t be redacted by Lady Thorneheart, I guess that’s a safe assumption. And you’re not fulfilling it, that’s the whole thing.”

“And as much as I’m sure you’d have fun with that whole scenario,” Razi grit, her voice wavering like she was biting back rage of her own, “I’d rather she not die, thanks.”

Marcus hummed thoughtfully before musing, “How long would she have to be dead for?” 

Frigga was honestly impressed by the unusual question, but Razi blurted out, “Are you stupid? Th’ amount of time she’s gon’ be dead for is zero!”

Frigga forced a smile. “I would like to stay on this plane of existence for a bit longer, if I can.”

He made a big movement with his arms, animated by excitement. “No, but don’t you guys astral travel? Ros, you told me about something last night that might help.”

There was silence. Frigga didn’t understand why he thought astral travel was relevant, so she looked to Rosalind. They were staring at Marcus with open surprise. “Are you talking about my family’s initiatory ritual?”

Marcus pointed excitedly, “Yes! I don’t fully understand but it sounded like dying.”

Razi and Frigga exchanged an unsure glance before looking to Rosalind who was opening and closing their mouth as if to start speaking but then thinking better of it as they processed. Eventually they found their voice. “You’re not exactly right, but not entirely wrong. It would be incredibly dangerous if it worked at all.” Rosalind glanced over to the back corner of the library.

“But,” Razi asked, “could it work?”

Silence hung as Rosalind considered the equation. Frigga didn’t know much about the ritual involved, only that it was how the Bloodswells were initiated into the more intense necromantic arts they were famous for. It enabled them to more clearly understand the death process so as to more intimately understand the sensation of dying and to more concretely connect with those recently passed as well as otherworldly spirits. Thinking back to the time around their coven initiation, Frigga remembered something seemed profoundly different about them from the week before their birthday to the week after but hadn’t quite been able to put her finger on how.

“In theory,” Rosalind answered. Frigga gasped softly as her heart leapt in joy before crashing to the ground when they continued, “But honestly, you would probably die trying. How skilled are you in astral projection, Frigga?”

She frowned, trying to objectively judge her ability through the strange blend of hope and disappointment. “Intermediate, I’d say. I’ve been doing it since I was a child, though not lately.”

Rosalind disappeared into the darkest corner of the room and returned with an old tome held delicately in their hands like the book was made of eggshell. They set it down on the table with reverence and murmured “Nobody touch this,” while opening it and looking through the rituals transcribed within. The pages were different ages and covered from edge-to-edge in writing and diagrams. Some of the writing was in a language she didn’t know, but the small glimpses she did understand described magic she had never seen before. As Rosalind read, their index hovered above the text and they would murmur a word or two that Frigga could only assume was the language she didn’t know, and it was then she realized: this was the Bloodswell family’s grimoire. Non-family members weren’t allowed to see it outside its case, never mind be present while it was open.

Frigga wasn’t sure about trusting Rosalind before, or even if they were taking the task seriously. She was sure now. “Rosalind, thank you,” she breathed as she took a few steps back to give them a wide berth.

They glanced up at Frigga, a questioning look on their face before they realized what she was doing or why she was thanking them. “Oh,” they absent-mindedly murmured before returning their attention back to the tome in front of them.

Frigga sat back down to give Rosalind space to read without the feeling of her hovering. Maybe Marcus was right and they weren’t so unfeeling. She understood the need to put walls up and keep everyone at arm’s length. She certainly had done it too. She didn’t think Rosalind was going to be her best friend, but recalling their strength only a few weeks before as they handed their mother over for judgement, Frigga realized they might actually be…

Honourable.

She sipped her tea while sitting next to Razi, who was still tapping her bicep with impatient fingers. Marcus went to lounge on the chaise by the fireplace, grabbing a nearby volume on the way over. The four of them spent the next half-hour in silence as Rosalind read through the grimoire. Every so often they’d take a note on a memo pad next to them or open another book to reference a sigil or planetary alignment date. They even consulted Frigga’s knowledge regarding the current retrograde’s effects on her family’s magic which she answered as fully and truthfully as she could as there was no point in obscuring her family’s secrets if it costed her life.

“It seems,” they sighed as their consult completed, “there is a chance it might work, though it’s so obscure that I wouldn’t bother considering it; it is not worth the risk, Frigga.” They locked eyes and Frigga saw how serious Rosalind was. They were a few years older and had seen some gruesome magic in their time. Their personal work was in energy, but they were a necromancer like their mother and her mother before her. There were rumours about what the family’s work entailed, Frigga had seen them work with their mother at funerals to help spirits move on and she couldn’t imagine what a death witch like Rosalind might see on a regular basis. If there was one family that understood risk, it was the Bloodswell family, and the gravity with which Rosalind spoke made Frigga feel sick. “People die during our ritual as-is,” they continued, gently closing the grimoire and stepping away to put it back in its place. “And adding astral projection on top of it could result, not only in your body’s permanent death, but your soul being trapped permanently here with no means of moving on. You would be trapped as a disembodied soul.”

“Like a ghost?” Marcus asked, perking up from his spot by the fire.

Rosalind grimaced. “Not quite. Ghosts are souls that stay voluntarily until they’re ready or until a necromancer moves them on. A disembodied soul would never have the choice. It would be a fate worse than anything you can imagine. Not to mention,” a sinking feeling manifested in Frigga’s heart; this was not going to be good, “even if you did succeed, it’s not a guarantee it would even nullify the contract. The timing would need to be exact and if you got it wrong, you would die before you even got the opportunity to astral travel. If you got it right, you would only be able to be outside your body for a maximum of a minute before your body shut down and depending on the death model your aunt works off of, the contract may require you be dead longer. It might be instantaneous, but it may not be. It may even require your spirit move on completely making this all a null point.”

Frigga frowned and glanced at Razi who looked horrified. “You can’t, Frigga,” she pleaded. 

Frigga mulled it over, displeased with this answer. “Are you certain there’s no other way?”

Rosalind’s eyes screwed shut and their jaw clenched. “I’m doing my best,” they grit, more frustrated than Frigga had ever seen them. “I’m not sure what you expected you’d find today, but I’m honestly shocked we made it this far.”

It was Frigga’s turn to get angry. How could they give up so easily? Did they not understand what this meant to her? “Did you consider waiting out the retrograde? Maybe there’s something you missed?”

“There isn’t. I know this material.”

“There has to be something! Can’t you just-”

Rosalind’s concrete resolve shattered and they interrupted. “Sometimes,” they snarled, “there isn’t. Sometimes there isn’t an easy answer! Magic doesn’t fix everything!”

Frigga bristled at their angry tone. “I didn’t say easy, I just need something!”

“How about you just accept the terms of a contract you agreed to? Accept the penalty, then!” Rosalind’s volume began to rise, a first for everyone in the room, and Marcus quietly made his way to their side from the fireplace. “How could that possibly be worse than being stranded on the material plane for all eternity? You don’t even know what the fucking penalty is!” Marcus winced, placing a hand on Rosalind’s shoulder. They sunk into his touch and their anger ebbed minutely.

Razi stood next to Frigga and took up her hand. “We can’t risk an unknown like tha’, Frigg,” she said, a soft, desperate plea saturating her tone. “We don’ know wha’ it is but it don’t sound like an afternoon jaunt.”

“I don’t care!” Frigga cried, frustrated that even Razi was now trying to talk her down. “There has never been a problem I can’t solve in all of my studies. I’m sure we can figure this out, I just need to find the right theory and-“

“I don’t know if you’re aware,” Rosalind interrupted with an annoyed taunt, “but this isn’t some problem in a textbook for you to solve. You can pick my theory apart all you like, but it won’t change your situation: you fucked up and there’s no getting around that. Nor will there be any fixing it without consequences because the world doesn’t revolve around you.”

Silence fell upon the room and Frigga was stupefied by Rosalind’s bluntness. She looked at Razi, searching for some kind of sign that her covenmate was wrong, but all she found was grim frustration. Frigga looked to Marcus hoping for some of his optimism, but his focus had turned to soothing his partner. As much as it pained her, Frigga took the tension-filled moment to consider Rosalind’s words. This wasn’t like her texts at all, those dealt in facts and definable concepts and, if one applied the correct theory, the solution was simple. This was anything but that because not only were the concepts at play not ones she fully comprehended, but if she got it wrong the result wouldn’t just be a failing grade. Theory was one thing, and theory was important, but application was always messier, less precise, and mistakes would always be made when learning.

A servant knocked on the door, bringing a refill for their tea, and the room’s tension receded. 

Marcus rushed to pour everyone a fresh cup and shooed the servant away as Rosalind sat back down in their seat with a heavy sigh. “I can give you my notes on the ritual if you’d like. And if you want to attempt it, I will offer anything I can to boost your chance of success.” Frigga looked at them, her gaze wounded and pensive. They met her eyes, and in theirs she saw compassion, worry, and dread. “But my advice is don’t. If you must get out of this contract, accept the penalty and then move on. Please trust me.”

Frigga stared into her own teacup. It was a hard pill to swallow, especially since they had come close to an answer. No, they had an answer, but the answer was no. She was confident in her own abilities, but a ritual on top of a ritual like this, a new, entirely untested technique with this many unknown variables? Not to mention it may not even fix the problem at all? Rosalind was right, it was a terrifyingly bad idea.

Frigga sighed, finished her tea and placed it on the table before looking to Razi, then to Marcus, then back to Rosalind. Razi looked as if she’d just witnessed the dismemberment of some adorable animal, Marcus was troubled as he’d just been exposed to more magical theory in the last hour than he’d likely ever seen in his life, and Rosalind was patiently looking to her for her answer. “Fine,” Frigga said finally. “If it’s alright with you, I would like to look over your notes further. Maybe…maybe we missed something, however unlikely. But if I can’t make it safer, then I understand what you’re saying and I agree with you. As it is, this is not worth the risk.”

Rosalind let out a breath and their brow unknit a fraction. “I’m sorry, I truly am,” they said, “but you’ll need to figure something else out.”

When all Razi’s errands were completed and Frigga’s ingredients were retrieved an hour later, they walked back to the carriage and sat across from each other in silence until Razi spoke up. “Sorry we didn’t find anythin’.”

Frigga nodded sadly in reply as she thumbed through the notes Rosalind had taken. She had known they were intelligent before, but Rosalind was an incredibly knowledgeable and skilled witch with several years of active practice. If they couldn’t figure this out, she certainly wouldn’t be able to. “Thank you.”

“But I’m glad you said wha' y’said,” Razi offered, placing a hand on Frigga’s knee. Frigga glanced up and saw Razi’s terrified expression. “It’s not worth th’ risk, an’ I don’ know wha' I’d do if you went through wit’ it.”

Frigga set the notes down beside her and grabbed Razi’s hand. “I really thought we’d find something.”

Razi leaned forward and pulled Frigga in to plant a kiss on top of her head. “I know. But tha’ ritual is terrifying. Even if you lost your magic completely as penalty, tha’s still better than failin’ tha’. Nothin’s worth losing you, Frigga.”

The thought of permanently losing her connection to magic caused tears to well up, and Frigga started to cry. It was unfathomable, impossible, unreconcilable. Frigga didn’t know who she’d be without magic. “I’m sorry I made you worry,” she squeaked.

Razi pulled Frigga over to her side of the coach and wrapped the weeping witch in her arms. “Sorry I made you desperate.”

They sat in that embrace the rest of the way home. It broke Frigga’s heart to part from Razi, but she needed to start looking for another way out. She also didn’t want to cause Razi any more ill-will from her aunt, so when they returned to the house Frigga rushed to the library. She studied Rosalind's notes over and over again, pulled books from the shelves to compare, and she didn’t leave the library for the rest of the day. Even still, she couldn’t see a way out, but she would not give up.

That evening she took dinner in her room and she was surprised by a small note under the napkin, something Razi would only chance if Gertrude was bringing it up as Doris had an eagle eye for this sort of thing. Opening the note she found two simple words: Love you.

The despair from the weeks before had begun to settle in once more after today’s visit, but such a simple token of love from her sweetheart soothed some of the ache. She placed a kiss to the note. While the sadness still lingered, her heart fluttered with the simple knowledge that Razi was here, was hers, and this time she would be there to see her through it.