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Scene Forty Three




Quicksilver, staring from the ground, while light and power fly in a battle between Will and Proteus.


Oh, what might Will has, what power, Quicksilver thought. No wonder Silver had loved him.

In that moment, he understood Silver’s love. The guilt and shame Quicksilver hadn’t even known he felt at her preference for Will, now fled from him. A mortal Will might be, a lowly mortal. But how could anyone be ashamed of loving him?

For Will, mortal — and male — though he was, must be a rare creature, engendered from the womb of nature on a singular day. How he battled the magical ones with no fear. With what strength he opposed what he didn’t understand.

Yet Quicksilver, long an adept at these duels, knew that Will would lose, for the centaurs pressed in upon him also, increasing Proteus's might.

Will, unschooled in magic, could not stand the trained might of his enemies.

Quicksilver thought of the centaurs’ just complaints and felt guilty, but the time was not for guilt. From his throne could he address the foreigners' just complaints. Not now.

Now must he help Will save them all.

“Lady,” he asked the girl who, on the ground beside him, sobbed like the child she was. “Lady, I know you fear me, but you must untie me, so that I can help the mortal and free us all.”

Miranda looked at him, her eyes wide, and stared like a blind woman who, suddenly given sight, cannot interpret what she sees.

“Lady, you must help me,” Quicksilver said. “And you can have my throne, or yet my life, or my riches or anything of mine you crave. Only let me save Will and all of us with him.”

He looked at Miranda and wished her strength.

And he wished he could be Silver again. Her follies were his follies and together they were less foolish than apart.


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Framed