Page 62 of Kingdom of Locks

Amell didn’t even try to answer this time. He could feel in his throat that he wouldn’t be able to. He just stared unblinkingly back at Bartholomew, willing the man to put the pieces together by himself.

Unfortunately, the enchanter seemed oblivious to his silent communication.

“But then I realized the power I’m sensing on you comes from that cloak.” Bartholomew glanced at the article in question. “The amount of magic leaking from it is positively garish. What is it, by the by?”

“It’s an artifact designed to shield me from concealment magic,” Amell said with a touch of irony. He slipped it from his shoulders and threw it into an empty chair. “What do you feel now?”

Bartholomew clucked his tongue. “That’s no way to treat a valuable artifact, dear boy.” His gaze passed from the cloak to the prince. “What do you mean, what can I feel? I still sense the magic. It’s just…coming from that chair instead of from you.”

Amell frowned. It seemed that whatever layer of concealment magic was silencing his tongue was too subtle for even Bartholomew to sense. He couldn’t help but be rattled by the thought. He considered Bartholomew one of the most skilled enchanters in Solstice. It wasn’t good news if Cyfrin’s capability was high enough to fool him. And, now he thought about it, it didn’t tally with Bartholomew’s own description of Cyfrin’s mediocre strength.

But then, none of the enchantments surrounding Honeysuckle and Abigail tallied with that old description. Something definitely didn’t add up.

With a sigh, he shook off the thought. So Bartholomew wasn’t going to be able to help him dodge the silencing restriction. That wasn’t the only matter he wanted to raise.

“What can you tell me about keys in magic?” he asked abruptly. Thankfully, without any context whatsoever, the magic allowed him to ask the question.

Bartholomew leaned back, processing the change in topic. “That’s very advanced magic. Tricky to do, but not difficult to explain. In essence, a key is an action that will trigger the release of magic for a preconstructed purpose.”

“So the action doesn’t control what the magic does?” Amell asked.

Bartholomew shook his head. “The function of the magic is decided at the time the key is fashioned. Then when the action is performed, the magic is released onto its pre-approved path.”

“What kind of action could be a key?” Amell asked.

“Any action at all,” said Bartholomew simply.

Amell groaned internally. That didn’t help narrow down Cyfrin’s plans.

“You know,” Bartholomew added thoughtfully, “I’m sure you have heard of keys before. Just not by that name.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you’ve heard of a counterforce, surely?”

Amell nodded.

“Tell me what you know,” Bartholomew urged.

Feeling like he was back in lessons, Amell recited, “The magic we know isn’t the strongest force in existence. Therefore all curses can by nature be broken. We call that counteracting force a counterforce, and it acts as a remedy for a curse. A sensible magic-user will build in a counterforce intentionally when casting an enchantment, so that he or she can control what action or situation will counteract their magic. But if they fail to do so, the natural counterforce still exists, and can be used to break the enchantment if one can figure out the natural opposite of whatever motivated the curse in the first place.”

“As good an explanation as any,” Bartholomew said approvingly.

Amell frowned. “But what does that have to do with a key?”

“Well, it’s the same sort of concept, isn’t it?” Bartholomew explained. “The counterforce, whatever it might be, is a key of sorts. It’s usually an action, and by performing it, you trigger a specific magical outcome, in that case breaking the relevant curse.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” said Amell.

Not that it really helped him. Honeysuckle wasn’t exactly under a curse. She was hemmed in by a restraining enchantment, which was a different kind of magic altogether, and who even knew what to call the magic that had been stored in her hair? He doubted even Bartholomew could explain the ramifications of that, given no one had ever done it before.

“Thank you, Bartholomew,” Amell said, suddenly feeling very weary. The activity of the last few days was catching up to him. “I appreciate your assistance.” He was on his feet before he remembered his final question. “Oh, are you familiar with something called the foundational principles of power?”

“Of course,” said Bartholomew blankly. “I’m a senior enchanter.”

Amell couldn’t help but laugh at the hint of haughtiness on the kind old man’s face. “My apologies,” he said. “What I should have asked is whether you would mind writing them down for me.”

“Gladly.” Bartholomew pulled a blank sheet of parchment toward him, and lifted an extremely long feather quill from an ink pot on his desk. Scratching in an unhurried way, he wrote out a list of six principles. Before handing the parchment to Amell, he rolled it up neatly and tied it with a blue ribbon.

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