Chapter One #2
An ancient sensation wafts over me, confusing my senses—feeling both prickly like frost, yet also searing, like flames have erupted and engulfed my body.
The edges of my periphery fade, leaving me in darkness before flickers of light shudder and are quickly overtaken by images:
A large white tent. A small copse of trees.
The most impossibly bright brown eyes I’ve ever seen.
A ring of fire.
A tangle of orange and red. More rage than one vessel should be capable of containing.
A child laughing.
An opalescent Dragon staring back with the most striking blue eyes—as bright as the midmorning sky.
A sorcerer, whose smile is so broad his eyes are nearly closed. Bearing a scar on the edge of his brow and another which juts down from his lower lip—the kind of markings one would ask a healer to fade long before they became permanent.
My vision returns, and I squint at the brightness. I dig my nails into the soft flesh of my palm with uncertainty as to the purpose of each image shared by the Dragons. Each one deemed important enough for the most powerful beasts to share their collective wisdom with me.
“Here is where I leave you to meet with your assignment,” General Blace says, gesturing to the large white tent next to a copse of deciduous trees.
My heart slams against my ribs as the image from the vision appears before me, as if projected directly from my mind.
Yet sorrow immediately overtakes any sense of curiosity at the realization as to why they must have sequestered Sergeant Varic so far away from the rest. Understanding what it is to be feared, while also made to stay at least an arm’s length away.
Anger thrums beneath the surface, itching within my fingers and palms, recalling the way General Blace just referred to the Sergeant as a burden, rather than his title and name.
“General, I presume you did not misspeak on purpose.” His face blanches, while a sense of pride swells within my chest. “Sergeant Varic is your comrade, not my ‘assignment’, as you so inappropriately stated.”
The General swallows harshly and turns to look at his assigned witch when I send a spike of fear through his abdomen, then lean in to speak at full volume.
“I will not condone the stripping of his title, especially when he is out of commission due to following orders which required he charge his magic past anything he had been known to be capable of controlling. An order which he followed with grave consequences. Are we in agreement, General?” The sniveling wretch nods, and I gleefully siphon his fears, drinking them in much like our Emperor with his beloved wine.
“Good,” I begin, “because his promotion to Sergeant at the mere age of twenty-four suggests he will continue to require guidance from his superiors. Meaning he is not to blame for the inability to contain his power at the magnitude of which it grew. Instead, that fault lies with the commanding officer who failed to consider the consequences, resulting in the worst magical catastrophe our Imperial Army has ever seen.”
“I’m sorry, I—” General Blace sputters.
“Forgot your place,” I say, swallowing the metallic taste of his ire now covering my tongue and retracting my magic to release the General, who then gestures to the tent once again.
“I have every faith in your abilities, Imperial Grand Witch Tasch.” General Blace bows to me before stalking away with his assigned witch.
I pull in a deep breath and prepare to stage my rebellion to show my captor once and for all how my magic is not all-powerful. How it is not possible to carry out his claim of being able to manipulate everyone and everything simply because he commands it.
The Imperial Guards standing tall on either side of the tent’s entrance bow to me before drawing the canvas flaps to the side, granting me entrance to the tent where I will prove what I always have been—a witch incapable of meeting His Majesty’s every impossible expectation.
How even my level of power is not capable of pulling someone from the sort of haze Sergeant Varic is said to be trapped within.
I will show them how my magic cannot be relied upon for as much as the Emperor asks of it.
How even the strongest witch, whose ability has been known to settle a room full of rowdy sorcerers, needs a reprieve.
That even those of us who swallow every complaint and ignore our needs to attend to those of others require rest. Time to recover. And dream.
To finally be seen for what they have made of me. Pushing and prodding. Expecting perfection at every turn, no matter how frequently I fail them. No matter how often I prove to be anything but this projection of perfection they all must see, somehow cast so convincingly over my being.
I must fail so spectacularly in this endeavor so that they might know my magic cannot possibly bring about the anticipated outcome.
The whole of the Empire awaits the triumphant news of the Imperial Grand Witch having succeeded.
Regardless of it being from the most challenging emotion to overcome—grief, when lost in a sea of hopelessness.
This opportunity has presented itself, and I must use it. To prove what the Emperor commands is impossible, while the whole of the Continent awaits the results. To show how my magic is merely a manipulation, not an arbiter of permanent change.
My Lead Guard Hendry’s tall frame bends almost comically in half as he stoops to assess the interior while barring me entry by thrusting his hand out before my stomach.
Annoyance prickles beneath my skin, and I send a tendril of curiosity to find out what’s gotten into him. The deep red of nervousness snakes through his insides, while a coil of lighter red in the center of his chest represents his trepidation.
Interesting.
He steps back, glancing over at each of my Guards before dropping his attention to me. His blue eyes swim with concern, more so than I would prefer moments before entering a tent with an unknown sorcerer.
Yet, Hendry nods in approval with his closely cropped blonde hair barely moving.
I retract my magic from his chest and square my shoulders to prepare to meet the sorcerer who will become the sacrifice for all we have been forced to endure.