Mother and Father were in another meeting, meaning I had plenty of time to sneak down to the dungeons and practice my newfound craft. I should attend my parents' meetings, as I am princess, but I do not feel that the throne is for me. I don't wish for power, I wish for peace.
The craft I speak of is magic. I don't know how or why I can do it, so I have been spending all my time in the library reading on such things. Today I'm sneaking down to the dungeons to see if I can control it.
Mother and Father rarely ever put people in the dungeon. It was usually an immediate death sentence on the stones of the throne room. I hated that they did it, but it was the easiest way. I was all alone down here, save for a few rats. I decided to use one for my practice. I focused all my energy on its body, the fur, the way it breathed, and then I pictured it at my feet. I heard squeaking and felt its whiskers on my toe.
"Thank you, Ser Rat," I breathed. I then pictured the rat back in its original spot and looked for something else to focus my attention on. So far I had controlled moving objects both living and inanimate. I wondered if I could do anything else.
I removed a hair pin from my braids and pressed the end to my finger until it bled. Taking a sharp breath I whispered the words from the book, "parantua." I gasped as the small wound became nonexistent before my eyes.
I began to grow tired. I had never practiced magic with control before, and it was exhausting. I walked back up the long, twisted stairwell hoping no one would notice where I came from.
"Lehna," a voice from behind me called. "What were you doing?" I turned to face my father's uncle Jaime.
"I could say the same to you. Aren't you supposed to be in a meeting?" I demanded.
"The meeting is over. I'm cleaning out a space in the dungeon." Jaime began to walk closer to me.
"Why?" I scoffed. "Do my parents even know we have a dungeon?"
"You shouldn't speak of them that way." Jaime warned. "They're just trying to protect you."
"Who's the dungeon for?" I ignored his comment on my parents.
"Boy named Jojen Reed. A radical group that answers to some 'High Sparrow' accused him of witchcraft and he was tried by the Septon. Now we're putting him here because your mother had qualms about killing a child your age. It would be in your best interest not to make anymore leisurely strolls to the dungeons," he said sarcastically. I rolled my eyes and left him to clean.
Could this radical group find out about me? What would happen to my parents if I was accused of witchcraft?
