Page 38 of Arcane Entanglement
A family of thralls was unjustly accused of crimes they never committed and burned at the stake by a mage before a formal investigation was carried out. Six children and two adults died that night while their neighbours and friends were forcibly held back and made to watch.
Though the real criminal, a caster, was caught the very next morning and punished, no apology was ever offered to the relatives of the dead family.
Like the crack in a dam, one thrall rebelled. Then another. Then half a dozen. By the end of that first week, riots had broken out across the south of England and began spreading north.
Appalled by the actions of people they considered nothing more than cattle, the magic users retaliated with a brutality that far exceeded what the thralls did.
The war that followed was led by the five most powerful Archmages in England and became a period of history that would forever be tainted with the terrible tragedy that was the deaths of thousands of innocent magicless. Thralls who perished at the hands of organised mobs of mages who swept through capitals, towns, and countryside villages on a misbegotten mission to rid themselves of the enemy amidst them.
It was as if those who’d inherited their powers by the simple virtue of their births had decided to purge the world of those who hadn’t been as lucky as them. To cleanse humanity of the defective bloodlines that could never birth magic. To “rid the world of dirty thralls.”
Evander had felt sick to his stomach when he’d learned that that had been the motto and the objective of the war in its last year, the real reason behind why the conflict started in the first place lost amidst a sea of spite and venom.
It was the protests of the highest born nobles of the land, among them Evander’s father, and their European counterparts that finally drove an ill King William IV to rise from his bed and persuade his niece Queen Victoria to put an end to the awful war. Queen Victoria eventually threatened to divest the Archmages of all their titles and lands and restrain their magic, the royal family having in its possession a secret artefact that could do this.
Though the war officially ended in 1830, the persecution of the thralls did not. It was another two decades before the zealots who, fuelled by a twisted ideology of magical supremacy stemming from the Archmages who led the War of Subjugation, had subjected dozens of thrall communities and villages to campaigns of terror were finally arrested and their leader sent to Irongate Prison. Stripped of his powers by Queen Victoria, the Archmage was ironically set upon and murdered by a mob of thralls a few years later. His body was buried in a nameless grave and his once powerful family lost their seat in the House of Lords.
Evander had heard rumours concerning Viggo’s origins. The Brute was said to be the sole survivor of the last terrifying purge led by the Archmage. One where he had seen his entire village massacred before his eyes when he was but a boy. Remorse knotted Evander’s insides at having inadvertently caused Viggo to recall his painful past.
Chapter17
“I’m sorry.”
Evander’s voice dragged Viggo from the dark turn his thoughts had taken.
“Whatever for?”
“For making you remember something unpleasant,” the mage said quietly. There was no conceit in his voice or expression.
“How strange,” Viggo said.
Evander glanced at him quizzically. “What is?”
“That a mage cares so much about thralls. And a Brute at that.”
Evander stopped walking abruptly, causing Viggo and Solomon to nearly bump into him. The look in the mage’s eyes made Viggo’s breath catch when he turned to face them.
Evander’s ice-blue gaze had shifted to the colours of a storm-tossed sea.
“The only thing that differentiates us is the circumstances of our birth, Mr. Stonewall,” he said in a voice that would have quaked with anger had he not had such a tight rein over his emotions. “And that is nothing but a stroke of luck. It is simply fortune, or misfortune, that neither of us had any control over. At the end of the day, we’re all made of flesh, bone, and blood.”
An awkward silence fell between them. Evander twisted around and resumed walking at a brisk pace, evidently not caring if they followed or not.
Viggo and Solomon fell into step behind him.
“I like history and science too,” Viggo volunteered gruffly after a moment. He ignored Solomon’s side stare. “And botany. I very much like botany.”
Evander’s shoulders slowly unknotted as he accepted this tentative olive branch. “I also saw books on commerce and law in your office.”
Viggo’s chest loosened. He didn’t know why, but he didn’t like seeing this man upset. By the time they reached the west wing of the fortress and the Arcane Division, Viggo learned that they shared many a reading interest.
A man with dark hair and slate-blue eyes was waiting for them inside Evander’s office.
“Thank goodness you’re alright!” he started in a voice full of relief as Evander entered the room. He rose from his chair. “I got your message late last night. Is Mr. Stonewall really joining—?” He stopped at the sight of Viggo and Solomon, surprise flitting across his face before he carefully schooled his expression. “Oh. My apologies, your Grace. I didn’t know you had company.”
The silver aiguillette on the stranger’s uniform indicated he was an inspector in the Met. And the way he’d quickly shifted from a casual to a formal address told Viggo he and Evander were close acquaintances in private.
Evander waived honorific as he made the introductions. “Rufus, this is Viggo Stonewall and his associate, Solomon Barden.” He indicated the inspector. “This is Inspector Rufus Grayson. He’s assisting me on this case.”
