Spellbound Chapter 12.

Chapter Twelve.

 

Sophie Explodes.

 

Sophie enjoyed going to market with Aunt Meg far more than she expected. They sold the cheese and fish quickly, and Meg pressed a few coins into her hand.

“Go on,” she said. “Find yourself something nice.”

Sophie wandered among the stalls, enjoying the bustle and the smells of bread, leather, and warm spices. She bought a handful of bright red ribbons from a cheerful woman who insisted she try them in her hair. As she stood admiring them, a man approached.

“You’re from Riddock?” he asked. Before she could answer, he went on, “Yes… George the Carpenter’s daughter. Sophie, isn’t it?”

Without thinking, Sophie said, “Yes.”

“Thought so,” said the man. “Nice to see you.”

He walked away without another word.

Sophie found her aunt and thought no more of it.

The next morning dawned warm and still. Sophie took the goats to their favourite grazing spot. She sat by the stream, watching sunlight flicker on the water. The goats were calm, heads down, tails flicking lazily. It should have been a peaceful morning.

But something felt wrong.

The birds were quiet. Even the breeze seemed to hold its breath. Sophie frowned, glancing around the valley. Nothing moved except the goats.

When it was time to bring them in, she gathered them together and started down the path. As she rounded the last bend, her stomach dropped.

The house was surrounded by rough‑looking men.

They stood in a loose ring, weapons in hand, muttering to each other. Sophie froze. Her heart thudded painfully. There was no sign of Aunt Meg or Uncle William.

For a moment she couldn’t breathe.

She looked at the goats. They sensed her fear and huddled close, bleating softly. Sophie swallowed hard.

“I can’t pen you,” she whispered. “They’ll hear.”

She took a deep breath and concentrated, forcing her panic down. She wrapped her magic around herself like a cloak, not invisibility, exactly, but a soft, subtle nudge that made eyes slide past her.

The men didn’t look up as she slipped past them and into the house.

Inside, she stopped dead.

Uncle William sat at the table, hands tied behind him. Aunt Meg sat rigidly beside him, her face pale. The man from the market stood over her, holding a knife to her throat.

“You tell me where the girl is hiding,” he snarled, “or else—”

Something inside Sophie snapped.

A white‑hot fury surged through her. Her vision blurred. Her skin prickled. She felt heat rising from her chest to her fingertips.

Without thinking, she made the knife glow red‑hot.

The man yelped and dropped it. He spun toward her, eyes wide, and Sophie doubled him over with pain so fierce he collapsed, clutching his stomach.

She turned her attention to the men outside. Through the walls she felt them, their fear, their cruelty, their intent. She flicked her fingers.

They fell as one, writhing on the ground.

The man inside tried to crawl away. Sophie pointed at him. As easily as she had lifted the baby goat from the stream, she flung him out the door to join the others.

It didn’t feel like enough.

She made him believe his hair was on fire. He screamed and beat at his head with his hands, rolling on the ground in panic.

Sophie’s breath came fast and shallow. Her hands shook. She felt sick, and powerful, and terrified.

She turned back to Uncle William. The ropes binding him crumbled to dust.

“Stay here,” she said fiercely. “I’ll deal with the rest.”

Outside, the men lay groaning and clutching their heads. Sophie stood over them, trembling with fury.

“You have five minutes to get out of this valley,” she said. Her voice sounded strange, deeper, sharper. “If any of you return, the pain you feel now will be ten times worse. And you—” she pointed at the leader “—your whole body will burn to dust.”

The men scrambled to their feet and fled, tripping over each other in their haste.

Sophie watched them go, her chest tight, her hands still shaking. The goats bleated nervously from the hillside, but they weren’t afraid of her. That hurt more than anything.

Inside, Aunt Meg and Uncle William sat frozen at the table. William had blood at the corner of his mouth and the beginnings of a black eye. Meg’s hands trembled.

“I’ve sent them away,” Sophie said. Her voice wobbled. “Where did they come from? Why were they asking about me?”

Meg shuddered. “They were sent by Lord Margib. He made William an outlaw. Because of that, we couldn’t legally adopt you when your parents died. So… we took you anyway. Margib wanted to send you to an orphanage.”

“Why?” Sophie demanded. “What has he got against us?”

Meg swallowed. “Years ago, he wanted to marry your mother. She refused and married your father. He hated her after that. Sending you away was revenge. Making William an outlaw was part of it.”

Sophie’s anger flared again, but this time she controlled it.

“I’ll deal with him,” she said.

Before either of them could speak, she whisked herself to Lord Margib’s house.

The front door burst open at her command. A servant tried to stop her; she pinned him to the wall with a snarl.

“Where’s Margib?”

“In there,” trembled the servant. “Please let me down.”

“You stay there,” said Sophie.

She pointed at the next door; it flew open. Margib sat behind a desk. He reached for a bell, she froze him in place.

“You made my uncle an outlaw,” she said. “Undo it.”

“I can’t,” he protested.

“You’d better find a way.”

She made his left hand appear to burst into flame. He screamed and tried to beat out the fire.

“There are papers!” he cried. “I can sign them, please stop!”

She stopped the burning.

Margib fumbled in a drawer and pulled out documents. He signed them with shaking hands. “There, William is no longer an outlaw.”

“And the others,” said Sophie. “Do the same for them.”

A man entered, edging around Sophie. He took the papers.

“I’ll copy these and send them to the palace,” he said quietly. “Then he can’t undo them.”

He gave Sophie a tiny grin. “Well done. He deserves it.”

Then he left.

Margib staggered from behind his desk. “Please,” he begged. “Leave now.”

“Not yet.”

She set fire to both his hands again.

“If you ever do anything cruel again, your hands will burn like this, and without me to stop it, they’ll burn to ash.”

Margib fell to his knees, sobbing. “I promise! Please stop!”

Sophie clicked her fingers and whisked herself home.

Meg and William were still at the table. William had washed the blood away and held a damp cloth to his eye.

“Margib signed the papers,” said Sophie. “You and the others are no longer outlaws. The papers are being sent to the palace. And I made sure he’ll never hurt anyone again.”

She took a deep breath. The fury drained away, leaving her trembling and hollow.

“I’m sorry I had to use magic like that,” she whispered. “But what else could I do?”

She sat down, and burst into tears.