Chapter 15
W hile I had never been inside Herve Chaunter’s home before, I had passed it many times on my way to the palace. It was nearly right next door to the Queen’s residence, and it was a garish estate made of glossy black stone and surrounded by a wrought iron fence.
When I arrived, the warlock's assistant met me at the gate, and he escorted me around the back to Herve's personal performance room. The walls were draped in rich, velvety tapestries depicting scenes of mythical creatures and epic battles, their vibrant colors dancing in the flickering candlelight. Even the floor beneath my feet was a masterpiece, crafted from polished marble inlaid with shimmering gemstones glimmered like stars in the night sky.
A magnificent stage, elevated on an ebony platform, was at the center of the room, surrounded by rows of plush seats.
The warlock’s assistant directed me to the stage, and there I waited until Herve graced me with his presence. He was a bespeckled man in his midlife, draped in exquisite robes. They appeared to be made of the finest material in a deep emerald green. Ethereal embroidery weaved patterns of arcane sigils, and they glowed faintly, hinting at the latent power contained within.
Herve had a wide, toothy smile as he approached. “You must be Lady Isadore.”
I curtseyed before him. “Warlock Herve, it is an honor to meet you.”
He waved his hand dismissively and took a seat directly across from where I stood. "We don't need any of those formalities. We're here to tap into the magik and see what you offer."
“Where would you like me to start?” I asked.
“Wherever you wish. Lady Adora said that you were dazzling, so dazzle me ," he said, as if it were some simple thing.
Soren and I had been practicing nearly every day, but that kind of conduction required an enchanter. However, a few sections of the choreography from the recent Ashoralida could be performed solo, and I began with that.
"Well, that's nice, isn't it," Herve said while I was in the middle of my routine, so I stopped and turned to face him.
“Sir?”
“Did you do that for the Ashoralida?” he asked rather snidely, and my skin burned in shame.
I nodded timidly. “Yes.”
"Of course. It was safe; it was expected. You've proven that you can follow a command, and that's something, I suppose, but I want to see magik .” He let out an exasperated sigh.
"Come on down, have a seat." He motioned to the one beside him. "Let's chat and see if we can draw the magik out."
“If that’s as you wish,” I said, because what else could I say to the man who held my future as a muse in his hands.
When I sat beside him, Herve turned his body slightly toward me so he could look at me fully.
“How long have you been conducting?” he asked.
“Fourteen years.”
Herve clicked his tongue. “That’s a very long time for a rather young girl. And you’ve never had a starring role in any of the festivals?”
“No, not yet.”
“There is a glow to you.” He narrowed his eyes slightly. “But is that enough to sustain you as a muse?”
“I… I’m not sure what you mean,” I said.
"That's all right because I wasn't really asking you anyway. I was thinking aloud."
“Oh.” I lowered my eyes, embarrassed.
“Look at me, girl. Are you a muse, or are you a wilting flower?”
I snapped my eyes up to meet his. “I am a muse.”
He leaned over the armrest, filling my personal space with the tangy scent of toadstools and vinegar. His eyes were milky but intense, and he inhaled slowly.
I felt it before I saw it – an unpleasant prickly sensation of something being pulled out from within me. It colored the air between my mouth and his, glittering wisps of magik.
Instinctively, I flinched and pulled back.
"What are you doing?" Herve asked, which was the exact question I wanted to ask of him. "I need to draw out your magik since you could not show me."
“I… I wasn’t expecting that,” I replied uneasily.
"And I wasn't expecting to have my time wasted today." Herve grew haughtier and more exasperated as he spoke as if losing his patience with a spoiled child. "Do you want to have a starring role in next season's festivals or not? Are you a muse, or aren't you?"
“I am a muse,” I repeated and nodded.
“You wish to continue then?” he asked pointedly.
I wanted to say no. I wanted to leave the lucenition as soon as I sat down beside him, and especially when he began pulling my magik from me.
Magik may have been something I shared with the enchanter and something muses gave to the kingdom during our conductions. But that was it exactly. Magik was something that was given – this was taken .
But Adora would never forgive me, and she would never understand why I said no and ruined my lucenition with Herve.
So, despite my own reservations, I forced myself to say, “Yes. Let’s continue.”
He smiled and leaned closer to me so his lips nearly touched mine as he drew my magik from me. The warlock's eyes glowed with an otherworldly brilliance as the stolen magik intertwined with his own.
This was not the first time that I had experienced this. Growing up, my mother had been a disgraced muse, and I had been just a child. Neither one of us had a title then – that would eventually be bought and paid for by my work – so to get lucenitions, I had to prove my worth.
For years, this was how we got by. Conductions when I could get them, but more often than not, the gold coin only came Adora's way after a warlock or enchanter drank of my magik. That had continued until my sixteenth year after we'd gotten our titles, and I could finally secure conductions on my own merit.
I thought I would never endure a "lucenition" like this again. As Herve drained the light from me, my stomach twisted in revulsion.
I stood up, abruptly ending the exchange. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to waste your time, Warlock, but… I have to go.”
He called after me, sounding angry and annoyed, but I gathered the length of my skirt and hurried toward the doors. The warlock's assistant was waiting and opened them for me, and as soon as I was through, I started running.