Burned by Magic by Jasmine Walt

stretchy black cotton pants I pulled out of the second drawer.
    What the fuck? Had the Chief Mage ordered clothing for me? There was enough here for at least a week’s worth of outfits. The only reason I could fathom as to why these would be here, was because he’d already been planning to keep me here for an extended length of time.
    The thought filled me with a combination of hope and apprehension. Hope, because it meant I had at least a week to figure out how to escape this place, and apprehension because I had no idea what the Chief Mage had planned for me. Maybe he was lying, and he really did plan on using me for one of his experiments. I had no trouble envisioning his face hovering over me while I lay on a table, his cold violet eyes observing me clinically as he used his magic to scramble my intestines or something.
    The very thought made me lose my appetite.
    I should refuse these clothes, I thought, staring down at the underwear in my hands with disgust. Putting them on would be like accepting a gift, and the last thing I wanted was to be beholden to the Chief Mage in any way.
    Never be too proud to take advantage of the resources around you. Roanas’s voice echoed in my ears. A silver rope might burn, but you can still use it to climb out of a pit.
    Tears stung the corners of my eyes, and I dressed hurriedly. If I allowed myself to dwell on my thoughts too long, I would lapse into the grief hovering like a dark cloud above my head, just waiting for the right opportunity to burst. I couldn’t allow myself the luxury of a breakdown, so I pushed down the emotion and did my best not to focus on it.
    I found a door that led from the East Wing onto the grounds, but as soon as I tried to step across the threshold an invisible barrier pushed me back. I grit my teeth as I tried again, and then a third time, to no success. Wards. I grimaced, noting the runes carved into the molding. It was unlikely they’d been keyed specifically to me, but clearly they wouldn’t let anyone who wasn’t cleared exit the building, and I was definitely on the Not Authorized to Leave list.
    Determined, I searched the palace for other exits, but every time I tried to pass through a door or window the same invisible barrier pushed me back. This explained why none of the mages or servants that passed me in the halls seemed to care what I did or where I went – there was no chance of me escaping unless the Chief Mage decided to change the wards. An hour later, I was tired, pissed and hungry, so I decided to wander down to the kitchen and find some food.
    Despite the lack of a map, it wasn’t hard to find the kitchen – all I had to do was follow the scent of baking goods down a set of stairs that led from the foyer to a raised basement.
    I moved down a stone corridor and took a right, then smiled as I found myself standing in a large, commercial-style kitchen. The space was pretty open, with all of the wood and coal-powered appliances flush against the far wall, and several large counters placed near the front where the kitchen staff chopped, kneaded and mixed various ingredients. The smell of roasting chicken and baking bread filled my nostrils, and I closed my eyes, inhaling greedily.
    When I opened them, a woman in a chef’s hat and coat stood in front of me with a scowl, a wooden spoon propped on her wide hip. “Can I help you?”
    “Umm, yeah.” My stomach growled, and I gave her my best puppy dog smile. Which, in retrospect, might not have actually worked since I’m a feline. “I haven’t eaten all day and I’m looking for some food. Do you have anything to spare?”
    The woman’s eyes narrowed as she looked me up and down. “You’re that hybrid, aren’t you? The one Lord Iannis has under observation?”
    I grimaced inwardly, both at her use of the word hybrid and the fact that she’d called the Chief Mage Lord . By Magorah, did that man really need a reason for his head to get more inflated? But then again, it was a