A Question of Magic

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Authors: E. D. Baker

BOOK: A Question of Magic
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This book is dedicated to Kim, my inspired
research assistant and my very own Baba Yaga.
To Ellie, my future Baba Yaga, who is always up
for some creative brainstorming. To Kevin,
who knows the true answers to my computer
questions. To my fans, who help me believe in
myself. And to Victoria, who knows how
to ask the right questions.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Acknowledgments

Also by E. D. Baker

Chapter 1

Serafina watched as Alek folded the metal back on itself and used a heavy mallet to beat it flat once again. He was making a sword for Sir Ganya, a local knight who had promised more work if this piece turned out well. Serafina always enjoyed watching Alek, whether he was making horseshoes, nails, or something as refined as a sword. Although his father specialized in plows and axles and tools ordinary people needed, Alek preferred to work on items that required a more precise touch.

Alek's father, Kovar, grinned at Serafina from the other side of the blacksmith shop. Everyone knew that Serafina liked seeing how things were done. Her own
father's nickname for her was Kitten because he swore that she was as curious as a cat. Whether she was watching someone work or asking questions about things she didn't understand, Serafina was always interested in learning something new.

“When you finish working on that sword for the day, you can help me take off the axle I'm fixing next,” Alek's father told him. “The farmer who brought the wagon in wants it as soon as possible.”

Alek nodded and wiped the sweat from his eyes. His father was a strong man, but Serafina had seen Alek lift almost as much weight.

“Miss Serafina! There you are!” Tasya, her mother's servant girl, waved at her from the doorway. “A letter came for you! Your mother wants you to come home now. Everyone is waiting for you to read it!”

Serafina's eyes went wide. A letter was always a big event, and she could imagine how excited her family must be. “I'll come back to tell you what it is as soon as I can,” she told Alek.

He had been her best friend since they were children, but in the last few years he'd become something more. After her family, he would be the next person to hear any news she had to share.

Serafina was reaching for the door to her parents' house when it flew open and her sister stepped out. “There you are!” snapped Alina. “We've been waiting for you to come home.”

“How are you?” Serafina asked her.

Alina rubbed her belly. “I think the baby will be here soon. I've been having little pains for the last few days. And look at my ankles!” she said, lifting the hem of her skirt. “They're so swollen I can't lace up my boots. Come into the kitchen. I need to sit down. Nesha Zloto is here,” she added in a whisper. “The old gossip is in the kitchen with Mother and won't leave until you read the letter.”

Serafina's father, Tadeo Divis, the most sought-after master builder in the town of Kamien Dom in the kingdom of Pazurskie, had encouraged his youngest daughter to learn to read and write. No one else in her family had been interested. After Serafina learned, she taught Alek and often shared her books with him.

Someone laughed inside the kitchen as Serafina followed Alina through the door. Their mother, Zita, was seated at the table across from a white-haired woman. Tasya had gone into the kitchen before the girls and was already pouring hot water into the teapot.

Zita's eyes lit up in a way that always made Serafina feel warm inside.

“Oh, good, you're here, Fina!” said Zita. “Tasya, I'll take care of the tea. I want you to run over to Katya's house and tell her that Fina is back.”

Tasya set the pot on the table, wiped her hands on her apron, and hurried from the kitchen. Alina took a seat beside her mother and sighed.

Their neighbor, Widow Zloto, scowled when she glanced at the girls. “Alina can sit at the corner like that; just make sure you don't, Serafina. Move over! Alina is already married, so it won't affect her, but unmarried girls who sit at a corner will stay single for seven more years.”

“Good day, Mistress Zloto,” Serafina said, bending down to kiss the old woman's wrinkled cheek.

The widow Zloto patted Serafina's hand. “You can fetch me some of that good bread your mother makes, Fina.”

“I'll have some, too,” said Alina.

“I'll bring a plate to share,” Serafina told them. She had already spotted the letter on the table, propped against a mug filled with daisies. Her fingers itched to pick up the letter, but instead she hurried to get the bread and cheese.

The bread was the traditional round loaf topped with salt usually given to guests and special company.
Her mother made one every day, knowing that at least one of the neighbors was bound to stop by.

“Don't forget the knife!” cried Widow Zloto. “It's bad luck to break bread with your hands. Break a loaf, break a life; that's what my mother used to say.”

Serafina smiled. The old woman was one of the most superstitious people she knew, and she mentioned the knife every time she ate a piece of bread.

Alina leaned forward to rub the small of her back. “Hurry, Serafina! I want to hear your letter before this baby is born!”

“Your baby isn't coming this very minute,” Widow Zloto told her. “But when it comes, you make sure no stranger sees it until it's at least two months old. It's bad luck if they do!” The sisters sang out along with the old woman, then laughed when she laughed, too. “So, I'm a little superstitious? What can I say, my mother was just as bad and my grandmother was even worse. But your sister is right, Serafina. Hurry so we can hear what's in the letter. I wonder who sent it.”

Serafina couldn't imagine who might have written to her. Aside from her father, people in her family rarely received letters. When they did, everyone wanted to be there for the first reading. Because she and her father were the only ones in the family who knew how to read,
they were often asked to read the letters over and over again. The few letters they did receive were usually their only connection with some of their friends and relatives and were generally treasured and set aside to keep.

Serafina's mind raced as she tried to think who might have sent
her
a letter. Could it be one of her cousins inviting her to visit? Perhaps it was her old friend Eva, whose family had moved away the year before. Serafina was pondering the possibilities as she carried the still-warm bread to the table.

The door opened and her oldest sister, Katya, burst into the kitchen, out of breath from running. “Oh, good! I'm not too late!” she said, collapsing into a chair. “Mother, the children were taking their naps, so I asked Tasya to stay and watch them. I hope you don't mind.”

“Not at all,” said Zita.

“It's good that Tasya won't be here,” declared Widow Zloto. “Servants love to gossip. Whatever your letter says would be all over town before nightfall. I know—you should hear what my serving girl tells me!”

“You sit down now, Fina,” said her mother. “Read the letter while I take care of the food. We can't stand the suspense any longer.”

Serafina set the knife on the table, slid into her seat, reached for the letter, and turned it over in her hands.
She had hoped to see who had sent it, but the writing on the back simply said “Serafina Divis.”

“What does it say?” Alina asked, leaning toward the table.

“Just my name,” said Serafina. “No address or anything.”

Even the stamp used to press the sealing wax had been plain, without the usual initial or decoration. Frowning in concentration, Serafina broke the wax and spread the letter open on the table.

“Don't start yet, Fina!” said Katya. “Let Mother sit down and get comfortable. I'm just sorry Father is away,” she added. “He would love to hear the letter, I'm sure. All right. You can start now.”

Serafina glanced from one person to the next. “Are you certain I can read it? No one has to fetch someone else or start supper or—”

“Just read the thing!” Alina ordered, kicking her leg under the table.

Serafina grinned, but her hands were shaking when she began.

Dear Serafina
,

I am sure you have never heard of me, but I am your great-aunt Syianna from
your grandmother Yanamaria's side. I am writing to inform you of the inheritance that I intend to leave you. This inheritance is of great importance and will change your life forever. Should you be interested in this bequest, come to the town of Mala Kapusta on the next market day. At nine o'clock that night, go to the house located at the westernmost edge of the town, past the Bialy Jelen tavern
.

Looking forward to your arrival
,

Your great-aunt Sylanna

“She's right. I've never heard of her,” said Alina. “Who is Sylanna? And why is she leaving anything to Fina? Why not me or Katya? We're older, after all. Mother, have you ever heard of this person?”

“The name isn't familiar, but then your grandmother had so many sisters. Some of them died young, others moved away.”

“An inheritance!” said Widow Zloto. “Well, well! We might have a little heiress here! I do wonder why she chose you for this honor. Not that you aren't deserving, dear child, but your sisters have been completely cut out.”

“It isn't fair!” complained Alina.

“I'm sure Great-Aunt Sylanna had a reason,” said Katya. “But I can't imagine why she would pass over two older sisters for Fina.”

“What do you suppose it is?” their mother mused.

“Money, of course,” said Widow Zloto. “Inheriting a lot of money would change anyone's life.”

“Perhaps it's a small business,” said Katya. “Then she'd have to move to Mala Kapusta. It makes sense that she'd inherit that. Both Alina and I have families of our own and can't just pick up and leave.”

“We won't know why I was named or what my inheritance is until I go to claim it,” Serafina declared. “Do you think Father will be home in time to take me?”

Her mother shook her head. “He'll be gone for another week at least. The next market day is tomorrow.”

“I wish Alek could go with me—but I know it wouldn't be proper, so I won't ask him,” she hurried to say, even as her mother and Widow Zloto opened their mouths to protest. Serafina turned to Alina, but she knew the answer even before she asked. “I don't suppose that Yevhen—”

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