Chapter Six
There was a yowling in my dreams. Like banshee’s howling through the night, hunting for souls. Shadowy robes swirling like storm winds, long, sharp, bony fingers glistening in the moonlight with the blood of a fresh kill. Then came the stab of something biting into my chest. A pressing weight that pulled me slowly back to consciousness.
I opened my eyes, not to the milky eyes of a banshee, but those of a cat. The yowling didn’t stop.
Alma screeched into my face, her tiny white paws a dead weight, claws cutting through the thick duvet to poke into my skin.
‘Ow !’ I half groaned, trying to roll her off, but those sharp canines nipped at my swatting hands.
‘Alma!’ I snapped, but her urgency didn’t stop and it took one look at the clock to realise why.
I was late.
‘Bollocks !’ I kicked off the covers, sending Alma flying with the cushions as I darted out of bed, my feet sliding on my loose sketches from where my art folder had dropped to the floor. A reminder of the mysterious Lord Blackthorn who gave me no answers, just more questions.
I never overslept. It was an impossibility considering the saint bells went off every morning at dawn in the Institute for prayers. Normally, I’d be thankful for Lord Blackthorn’s apparent heathen ways, but I could have used the cursed bells today of all days.
I hurried to the closet, finding my only remaining good dress. Slate grey with a severe black lace collar and cuffs. I stuffed myself into it, messing up my charm three times to lace the thing. It ended up far too tight, but I’d rather suffocate slowly than make myself any later. I twisted my braid up onto the crown of my head and pinned it in place, ignoring the hair that my restless sleep had allowed to slip free.
Alma’s tail thrashed with annoyance as she pawed at the creased hem of the skirts, but I shooed her out the way, grabbed my bag and rushed for the door. I doubted the Council cared much about a creased hem considering they probably wanted to try me for attempted murder.
After almost tripping over the breakfast tray that had been left outside my door, I rushed down the stairs, almost falling off the last step as I caught sight of the stern form of Lord Blackthorn waiting in the entryway, head bowed in contemplation as William was listing off different types of soil with enthusiasm.
William was in a simple white shirt rolled up to the elbows, dirt clinging to his freckled forearms and smeared all over the stained, brown work apron he wore.
Emrys was an imposing figure in the warm morning light, wearing a sharply tailored black coat and trousers, cut perfectly to his commanding form. The only colour coming from his deep navy waistcoat and the gleam of a silver chain from his pocket watch.
It appeared I hadn’t imagined the unnerving handsomeness of him, then.
Without warning, and clearly impatient with my tarrying, the step beneath my feet tipped forward, sending me stumbling across the entryway. The clatter of my arrival caught their attention.
I straightened quickly, looking back at the step, only to see it was straight once more.
Bloody mysterious lords and cursed houses.
‘Good morning, Kat.’ William’s greeting grin was big enough to show his dimples as he tried to dust some of the dirt off his apron.
‘Morning, William.’ I smiled back, making sure my Kysillian ears were obscured by my hair as I met the lord’s assessing gaze.
‘Emrys.’ I nodded in greeting or in challenge, I hadn’t quite decided yet.
Those strange grey eyes were focused not on me, but on that bottom step behind me, considering something before they drifted to me almost reluctantly.
A tension in the harsh line of his jaw made me bristle for a reprimand, but he simply turned back to William.
‘I’ll take a look when we return, William.’ Emrys nodded to the boy.
‘Of course.’ William rocked back on his heels, digging his hands into his apron pocket. ‘I hope it goes well.’
I didn’t think William realised just how much hope I needed. Whatever charitable deed Blackthorn was trying to accomplish by having me here was about to bite us both sharply on the backside. The Council didn’t like a challenge, especially where it concerned me.
I wasn’t given the chance to dwell on that too long as Blackthorn made his way down the corridor, leaving me no choice but to follow. I struggled to keep pace as he moved through the arched hallways. Trinkets and paintings catching my eye and tiny stone gargoyles looming down from their small pedestals high above. Their curiosity wicked as we turned another corner and through a grand dark, wooden archway into another room.
‘I’m sorry I’m—’ I began, fumbling for some reason for my tardiness, only to almost slam into Blackthorn’s broad back as he came to a sudden stop.
We were now standing in a small chamber with an intricate dark floral wallpaper design of birds eating berries. A very ordinary non-descript door with a large brass knob and a slot ready for the incantation paper was waiting before us. Blackthorn effortlessly pulled something from his breast pocket and slipped a rune covered piece of paper into the slot as the whirring and clatter of the mechanisms began.
‘Is that a Council portal door?’ I asked, a bit breathless, trying not to be impressed that he wrote his own portal papers.
‘Yes.’ He considered me over his shoulder, brow furrowed, troubled by something. ‘Didn’t William bring you this way?’
I shook my head.
His fingers ran though the dark mess of his hair as a small phantom smile graced his lips. ‘He has a fondness for the scenic route. I hope he didn’t bore you too much with talk of ground goblins and the benefits of Dulmor weed.’
‘Of course not.’ I flushed, running my hands over my skirts to try and straighten them. ‘Dulmor use is fascinating, and the abandoned studies of Mage Septimus Barton about wild root magic have been an interest of mine for …’
My words ran out as I glanced up, expecting his polite disinterest, but he was closer than I anticipated. That aloofness had left his expression once again. That small smile still touching his lips, dark hair falling onto his brow, head tipped to better hear every rambling thought I had.
Under the force of his attention, I suddenly couldn’t remember another word and my only salvation was the door clicking open as the incantation worked.
Emrys stepped through first and all my wonder was lost as the horrid, draughty Council passages greeted us. The reek of saint smoke was thick in the air from their morning prayers. I swallowed down my cough at the sourness it left on my tongue. I barely had a moment to gather myself before Blackthorn was off again, striding down the corridor like some dark, threatening shadow.
Considering he was a man I’d never seen in the Council chambers, he certainly knew the way. Whispers followed us around each corner as maids and the few students who were not in class scrambled from our path. At least their unease distracted me from my own as we arrived at the stained-glass doors that led into the Council’s grand chamber.
A shudder ran through me, hearing the horrid creak of the old wooden doors as Blackthorn opened them and moved inside. I reached to catch the door before it swung back, only for my hand to meet air – to see Blackthorn holding it open for me. Those dark, unreadable eyes waiting for something.
I snatched my hand back, muttering my thanks as I entered the room, ignoring the dark rich scent of that troublesome beasam bark as Emrys’s powerful steps put him back in front to lead.
I gratefully followed, trying to calm myself, but as I watched the broad expanse of his shoulders move before me in the confines of his dark jacket, I didn’t feel any calmer, so I settled on the boring white tiled floor between us.
The chamber doors were open, two Institute wardens standing guard. Their bright blue tunics looked as stiff and uncomfortable as ever as they shifted slightly with unease at Emrys’ presence as he. He walked through the grand arches and into the Mages’ Hall.
The room was vast, many desks abandoned by Master Mages who weren’t in residence or couldn’t be bothered to attend. The walls were lined with garish tapestries of their achievements, battles fought against fey in the name of their dethroned Mage King. They seemed to forget that they allowed him to bring darkness back into this world, remnants of that royal dictatorship covering every inch of the new Institute.
The King’s crest depicted in the domed ceiling of stained glass above showered the waiting Council’s disapproving faces in a wash of colour. The main desks faced us in a semi-circle, the dour wrinkled face of Master Ainsworth sitting at the centre. I wasn’t surprised Ainsworth was here, despite his son being the guilty party. Council hypocrisies had stopped shocking me long ago.
Master Grima and Master Stone sat on either side of Ainsworth, their desks littered with papers and teapots. Madame Bernard, the Institute matron, lingered behind them like a thin, hungry crow.
Master Hale had situated himself at the end, hand resting on his cane as if he could rise to my defence at any moment. The skin beneath his eyes appearing bruised with his failing health. His presence did little to unpick the tight knot of anxiety in my chest, my mouth suddenly too dry.
They’d moved one lone chair of dark mahogany into the centre of the room, just to one side – probably for Blackthorn to witness my humiliation from.
‘Lord Blackthorn,’ Master Ainsworth grumbled, those cold, hateful eyes finding me too swiftly. His powdered white wig sat off-centre on his head. ‘You’re late.’
‘You should be counting your blessings I could find the time to entertain you at all, Master Ainsworth,’ Emrys drawled, turning to me to indicate the chair between us with the barest motion of his gloved fingers.
An offer to sit.
My heart pounded wildly against my ribs. The chair was clearly intended for him. Not me. I always had to stand.
He sent me a slightly irritated glance and I dropped into the seat.
I’d made him late, the least I could do was not cause a scene. So, I folded my hands neatly in my lap and kept my chin high, refusing to be cowed by the hateful glare of Ainsworth and his bench.
I knew the plain dress I wore was useless. They still saw the wildness of every other indiscretion I’d made. Saw how the dark slate grey of the fabric made the golden tones in my skin glow, made my ethereal eyes sharper in my face.
Master Hale’s wrinkles deepened with worry despite the reassuring smile he gave me.
‘Miss Woodrow is accused of a severe violation of section nineteen of the Peace Agreements,’ Master Ainsworth proclaimed, his puffy red face pulled into its usual frown. ‘I’m certain such disregard for the safety of Institute students is more than worthy of your time , Blackthorn .’
‘Do you contest the claims against you, Miss Woodrow?’ Master Grima asked impatiently, pushing his glasses up his bulbous nose.
I clenched my fists tightly in my lap as magic continued to flush my skin.
‘We’re waiting to hear them,’ was Blackthorn’s dark response from my side, arms folded, forearms testing the limits of the stitching of his coat.
‘I’m certain Miss Woodrow can speak for herself, Lord Blackthorn,’ Master Stone’s nasally voice added with disdain.
‘If you asked her a question worth her time, I’m certain she would.’ Blackthorn’s tone had gone even colder. I noted the slight drop in Master Hale’s shoulders, evidence of his relief at Blackthorn’s defence. I, on the other hand, felt like a rabbit in a snare, my magic moving uncomfortably through my limbs.
‘I thought the charges were clear, considering the injuries to the Ainsworth boy and the state of the ruins,’ Master Grima pressed through his thin lips as they curled to show his yellowed teeth. ‘It clearly lost control of its wild magic, partaking in vengeful dark creature summoning.’
‘She was probably trying to call on the Old Gods while she was at it,’ Madame Bernard added scornfully.
Old Gods . The ancient Verr of the deep. The creators of dark magic, if the myths were to be believed.
‘Miss Woodrow has been extensively tested,’ Master Hale objected sharply.
Brutally was a better word, trying to see if I was a deadly threat. Fortunately for me, the Council hadn’t realised Kysillian fire couldn’t be enticed from its wielder. No matter the cruelty of their examinations.
‘I’d also remind the Council that dark magic is no friend of the fey,’ Master Hale finished, breath rattling in his throat as he contained another coughing fit.
‘ It was in the restricted section, which as you know, Hale, is strictly forbidden,’ Ainsworth huffed out with an unamused sour laugh. ‘Have you abandoned all sense of reason along with your responsibilities to this council?’
‘The Ainsworth compendium was left—’ I began, knowing I needed to say something.
‘A book that hasn’t been seen in two centuries,’ Master Grima interrupted me, a viciousness to his tone.
‘Finneaus opened it,’ I challenged, confused as to why I needed to state such a fact. Surely the Wardens had found it?
‘Be careful, Miss Woodrow, or we may be forced to summon the Truth Seeker,’ Ainsworth threatened coldly.
The Truth Seeker, a being who devoted themselves to their saints’ cause, mutilating their bodies with the words of ancient spells in order to be able to pull truth from your very soul.
‘Perhaps you should,’ I countered, some dark hateful part of me wishing they would. No matter how horrid someone rummaging through my soul would be.
‘Insolent—’ Madame Bernard began to crow from her perch, but my anger didn’t give her a chance to finish as I took hold of the armrest, needing something to anchor myself.
‘Finneaus released a demonic entity into the lower chambers from that compendium.’ Silence struck like a lightning bolt. A blood seal was dark magic made to keep all, apart from the direct bloodline, from opening it. ‘A blood-sealed compendium that I can’t touch.’
I turned my hands over for them to see. No red welts or burns from the forsaken iron that coated the text.
Dark, silent fury crept over Master Ainsworth’s pale face. Blood-sealed texts were outlawed for their lethal unpredictability, and it was a crime to own one, yet this one had sat in the Council’s very own library for years, and he knew that. Knew because it belonged to him.
‘The book was—’ I tried to continue.
‘No such book was discovered, you vicious thing. If anything could be found in the destruction to those sacred ruins at all,’ Madame Bernard half wailed, as if she’d ever given a second thought to the dusty chambers beneath her feet until I’d stepped foot in them.
‘Your charge won’t stand, Master Ainsworth. Under clause five, blood-sealed texts aren’t included,’ Emrys pointed out with bored observation, ignoring every word they’d said as his hands slipped easily into his pockets.
‘Have you not been listening?’ Ainsworth spat.
There was no anger, no harsh words or sneers in response from Blackthorn at the vulgarity in Ainsworth’s tone. Instead, a slow, almost cruel smile came to his lips.
Then I felt it, a strange tension rolling through the room like the beginning of a storm – cold, lethal magic. The morning sun dimmed as if great storm clouds passed overhead.
Clearly oblivious to Blackthorn’s mood, Ainsworth unwisely continued his tirade. ‘If you wish to believe it’s—’
Out of thin air, the small, mangled cage I’d made to hold the gobrite in question crashed down onto Master Ainsworth’s desk, sending papers skyward. Chairs scraped against the wooden floor as the Master Mages jumped to their feet, stumbling backwards with cries of alarm.
My own hands gripped the arms of the chair in disbelief, my magic hot in my veins at the resurgence of a familiar foe. The cage rattled as the creature turned its head to me, hissing and thrashing. Clearly in an unforgiving mood.
‘Blackthorn !’ Madame Bernard shrieked, holding tightly to Master Ainsworth’s arm, who shrugged her off in annoyance.
Blackthorn simply ran a gloved knuckle beneath his chin in thought as he approached the Council’s desks and the creature.
He was mad. Completely mad.
Then, in the blink of an eye, in his grasp was the blood-sealed text, its forsaken iron cover gleaming even in the dim light.
I cringed away from it, hating the painful sensation that rushed over my skin.
If Blackthorn noticed, he didn’t show it as he dropped the book onto Ainsworth’s desk, sliding it closer to the Insidious beast. The creature calmed, almost whimpering to return to its home.
‘You seem to have misplaced this.’ Blackthorn’s voice was quiet, the words clipped with an ominous warning as he met Ainsworth’s stare.
A fury burned behind the old mage’s eyes, one that I’d been on the receiving end of too many times, yet now he remained silent. As Blackthorn pressed his palms to the table, leaning closer to challenge him, the gobrite cowered ever so slightly with a low growl.
‘That …’ Ainsworth began to splutter. To try and twist a lie, but at the mere sound of his voice the book swivelled and pushed itself across the table towards him, making all the mages lean back from it, chairs creaking.
‘Cursed things always return to their master in the end.’ Blackthorn’s calm tone almost verged on boredom. ‘You shouldn’t need a spell to work that out, Councilman .’
I was stunned, both that Blackthorn could summon a cursed text, as well as how flawlessly he challenged the Council. How he hadn’t challenged me the same to prove I was telling the truth. He’d just taken each fact from me. Effortlessly.
‘With your infrequent visits, Lord Blackthorn , you won’t be aware of just how much of a menace Miss Woodrow has been,’ Grima replied tartly. ‘She is a danger to this Institute, the treaty and her fellow students.’
‘Unjustified claims fuelled by nothing more than prejudice,’ Master Hale snapped. His grip on his cane was white-knuckled, making me worry he’d bludgeon Master Grima to death with it.
‘The burning of the east workroom, assaulting students, stealing four ancient texts, having poison on her person and now trying to unleash monsters !’ Madame Bernard threw in for good measure.
My gaze shifted awkwardly to see if Blackthorn had paid any attention to the accusations. Unfortunately, all were true.
His attention had indeed turned towards me. I expected annoyance, or disgust perhaps, but he was simply looking over his shoulder at me with a raised brow, as if I’d impressed him.
‘I would remind the Council that, when trialling someone under laws written by myself, I hold complete authority.’ Blackthorn continued to consider me with unexpected curiosity before his dark focus slipped back to the old men. ‘The verdict therefore falls to me.’
He straightened to his full height and pulled a long envelope from his inside pocket, dropping it with little decorum onto the desk.
‘My findings. I think you’ll agree Miss Woodrow is the only reason the Insidious beast didn’t breach my wards.’ Blackthorn’s smile was tight, seeming more like a sneer under the constraints of his pale scars. ‘Her spell crafting is flawless where dark matter is concerned. Therefore, she’s passed her Dark Defence theory, making her a partner mage without papers under the old laws.’
Dark Defence theory – an antiquated test where they’d lock fledgling mages in a room with all manner of dark creations or creature traps. Most didn’t survive the ordeal and the council had shelved the test a decade ago, largely because lords weren’t about to risk their heirs. Yet some desperate fey students still attempted the test … their deaths a gruesome warning to the rest of us.
‘However, we’ll go along with the pretence of a partnership agreement. Just to make certain there are no more oversights where Miss Woodrow’s study is considered. One year of mentorship, under the old laws,’ Blackthorn added as an afterthought.
‘Dark summoning is forbidden, Blackthorn,’ Master Grima stated warily. Desperation clinging to his words.
‘I saw no evidence of dark summoning on her part.’
‘You are the expert after all, Lord Blackthorn,’ Master Hale added, his smile filled with relief. My magic wasn’t soothed. It all felt too easy, that sense of a trap not leaving me. Too used to things going horribly wrong.
‘I strongly advise you let this one go, Ainsworth,’ Blackthorn finished, a lethal quiet to his voice that confused me. ‘If you wish to antagonise the rebellion by removing the last fey from the Institute for nothing more than spitefulness , I am certain that’s a greater breach of the Peace Accords.’
‘The rebellion died a long time ago,’ Master Stone argued.
Ainsworth didn’t react; couldn’t, because he knew it was a lie. The fey rebellion had never been more vicious in their fight for freedom, in their hunger to bring a mortal council down. They wished to govern themselves from the northlands, which they still held. A group so ruthless that even my father had warned me against them – how they coerced fey to do their bidding, forcing them to take inescapable blood vows as evidence of their loyalty.
‘Is that why Montagor has asked for more troops in the north?’ Blackthorn’s head tipped in dark contemplation, straightening the cuff of his jacket. ‘Why your attempts to summon him here didn’t work?’
I couldn’t be hearing these things.
Lord Montagor, the bastard son of the Mage King, was currently seeking the same power his father had possessed, just as tyrannical and ruthless. He’d worked his way into the Council through corruption and the sudden unexpected deaths of other, more peaceful members.
Another topic Master Hale told me to keep away from. Montagor had made himself the expert on fey attacks and wild magic. Giving himself jurisdiction to persecute fey without just cause. His radical followers were devout to his dogma, calling him a saint in mortal form.
‘With the unrest in the north, the rebellion appears to be knocking at our door, Councilman. I for one am not seeking to open it for them just yet,’ Master Hale added. Another uprising was coming. A truth they couldn’t deny much longer.
‘As Miss Woodrow has accepted her partnership, I’d like her key to access the mage facilities.’ Blackthorn held out his hand expectantly and I watched as Master Grima’s face went almost purple with rage.
‘No fey has ever been allowed in the Grand Library!’ Ainsworth half-spewed the words.
‘It seems you’ll need to contact the records department,’ Blackthorn mused. ‘I’m certain they’ll be thrilled to update their files.’
‘They’re a risk to the texts!’ Madame Bernard hissed, taking a cautious step back from all the hideous evidence now covering the desks.
‘You can charge me for the damage,’ Blackthorn replied quickly, undeterred, and still holding out that dark gloved hand. ‘Her key, if you’d be so kind.’
Master Ainsworth let out a cursing breath before he reluctantly began to rummage in the desk drawer. One of the most prized items, and it just sat in his drawer. It felt like a slap in the face.
‘You cannot be serious, Blackthorn,’ Master Stone bristled. ‘That thing has been running rampant for too long.’ He threw his yellowed finger in my direction, leering over his desk so suddenly I flinched. Forgetting the company we were in, the years that had past. Somehow, the one slap I’d been given by the hateful councilman had remained with me, just like the ones from Daunton. Every strike still fresh, still burning upon my flesh with the shame of it.
‘It—’ Master Stone’s next slight didn’t escape his thin lips. No, his face had gone quite pale, hand grasping at his neck as he slumped back into his chair, trying to drag in air that rattled worryingly in his chest.
‘You don’t seem yourself, Master Stone,’ Emrys offered conversationally, leaning into his palms that he braced on the table, as if he had all day to stand in the odious man’s presence.
Master Stone coughed suddenly, greedily dragging in a breath. His hateful eyes remained on the lord before him despite how his fingers trembled, disregarding Madame Bernard, who scrambled to give him water. She was looking quite pale herself.
‘I’m fine,’ Stone half-croaked.
‘I’m certain Miss Woodrow has many things to be getting on with and entertaining this council isn’t on that list,’ Blackthorn finished with menacing authority.
Having no choice but to sit there gawping at Blackthorn’s boldness, I tried to pretend such disregard for the Council was natural to me, despite the sweat gathering at my palms and the nauseating swirl of my magic deep in my gut.
Sensing my unease, Blackthorn turned his attention to me.
‘I have some remaining questions for Master Ainsworth and his questionable collection of compendiums, Miss Woodrow.’ He nodded, those eyes so dark I wondered if it was a trick of the light as they suddenly shifted to a more mortal grey in the blink of an eye. ‘You’re free to continue with your day.’
I didn’t wait to be told twice. Standing and giving him and the Council a respectful bow, I left the chaos behind me, trying my best to keep my steps measured.
I knew without a doubt Alma was going to murder me. Not only had I riled up the Council, but I’d also got myself partnered up with a lord who was clearly insane and took enjoyment from humiliating them on my behalf. Something I knew they wouldn’t be in a hurry to forget.