I clung to the memories of my past life as they came to me, as though their previous warmth and delight could take me out of diapers and back to my days as an emperor. There was nothing I missed more than the royal feasts and celebrations. 

The sounds of revelry could be heard through the thick castle walls on nights like those. Glasses and plates clanged, and lords and ladies cried out, either in delight or awe at each new dish, each entertainer or performer hired to amuse them, the opulent decorations. It was a feast for all five senses. Their merriment echoed through the chambers and halls, from the highest tower to the lowest dungeon. 

One of my favorite memories was of the feast at the spring equinox, notable for the rare honey mead we’d been served and the particularly pleasant company I had that evening. A group of beautiful ladies gathered around me. They always did, of course--I was both handsome and rich--but tonight I’d garnered special attention by using one of my magical artifacts to bedazzle them with tricks. 

I plucked a flower from the centerpiece on the table and placed it in the palm of one lucky lady’s hand, closing her fingers around it gently. A twist of my hand, and the blue gem affixed to my ring flashed and glistened. I gave a kiss to her hand to seal the spell--truly it did nothing, but how would they know?--and she opened her hand to release a cloud of fluttering butterflies.

“That’s incredible,” they said. 

“Well,” I told them, “when an emperor wiggles his fingers, magic always follows.”

Of course, that was when Yarro arrived. He had a most uncanny knack for sensing when fun was being had, like catching the smokey scent of a fire. He also had the knack for seeking to stamp it out before it had the chance to spread. But even his attempts couldn’t soil this memory.

“Your highness,” he started. 

“Grand Vizier,” I replied in an overly serious tone, giggles from my company following suit. 

Yarro ignored their laughter and forged ahead. “Perhaps your artifact could be put to better use than entertaining your guests; I believe the performers have that taken care of. Conjuring these insects could cause your guests to lose their appetite.”

“Yarro, if I’m not to use my artifacts for entertainment, then what the hells is the point of having them? You have a wand yourself, don’t you? Try flaunting it more often! It’s great! Though judging by your stiffness, I can wager where you keep it.” Everyone laughed at that. Well, everyone but Yarro, but getting him to crack a smile was near impossible.

“Now! Speaking of appetites…” I returned to kissing the hands of my lovely guests. Hands led to arms, which led to necks. You get the idea.

The memory of feasts and parties of the past only made me miss my previous life more and long for my familiar palace from the chilly, ill-insulated walls of the hovel where I now lived. It was storming outside the cottage; it had been for several days now. An assortment of pots and pans laid about the tables and floor to catch any rain that found its way through the cracks of the thatched roof above us. Krig was kneeling by the hearth, striking against flint to spark a flame. Gwen moved us closer to him, and I could see the cold breaths escaping his lips. Even as she bounced me in her arms, a shiver would reveal itself, and though their voices wore the convincing disguise of calm, I could see my parents were scared. 

“Is there enough?” Gwen asked.

“Sure,” Krig said. “For now at least. If I can get the fire going, but I think the kindling may have gotten too wet from the rain.” Even as he was admitting defeat, Krig never stopped striking the flint. “It’s been storming like this for days, and there’s no sign of when it will end, which will make game harder to find. And no nearby vendors are crazy enough to be out in this weather.”

I couldn’t decide if my father was genuinely informing us of the situation or if he was simply speaking about each issue aloud to himself, as if the solution would come tumbling out along with them. I also wrestled with the concept that this situation warranted any worry whatsoever. In my former empire of Zobrus, I would never sentence my people to live in such squalor.

If I had my artifacts, I could simply dissipate the storm or produce a meal and furs. Hells, I wouldn’t even need an artifact to produce a fire! Pyromancy is quite possibly the most rudimentary circle of arcane that exists, a child could probably--

I cooed at the thought and made a face that usually indicated that I had an idea or it was time to be changed. Thankfully, this time, it was the former. I looked down at my hand, clenching and releasing my fingers slowly. Admittedly, in my infantile state, I tended to forget I could control my limbs from time to time. What if…

I reached out toward the fireplace, performing the same clenching and releasing of my fingers. I twisted my hand from side to side. A hair-thin line of smoke snuck out of the center of the kindling, and dull orange embers began to glow. Just as I felt like my arm might drop from exhaustion, a flame ignited. It worked!

Gwen and Krig stared at the small fire, stunned, then shifted their astonished looks toward me. 

So, we have fire, what’s for dinner? They may not be able to hear my thoughts, but surely they could hear my stomach rumbling. That’s when Krig spun around and grabbed the nearest pot off the floor, half-filled with rainwater, and doused the fireplace. I watched the embers die out with confused frustration. My hunger was turning from discomfort to pain.

“Krig… maybe it would have been fine tonight,” said Gwen.

“Absolutely not. You know the risk for us if we use magic! Just one marshal tracing spellwork to our village, and we could lose everything.”

“No one is patrolling in this storm.”

“It’s not safe, Gwen!”

My father’s voice tore through the room like a crack of thunder, and the silence that followed was equally deafening. I had not heard my father speak like this before, and judging by the look in my mother’s eyes, Gwen was not accustomed to it either. Krig placed his hands on my face and looked me in the eyes. His face was a mix of sympathy and concern, but his voice carried a solemn firmness. “Crow. I know you’re too young to understand. But you can never, ever do that again.” A hand moved from my face and held my hand tightly, its tininess starkly evident when held in his. “No magic.”

Krig’s eyes shifted upward to Gwen’s, offering apology for his outburst. Gwen smiled weakly and handed me to him. “We have some jerky I think, but tomorrow we really will need something else. It should last us for tonight.”

I stared up at my father, my lips quivering as the wind and rain howled outside. No magic.