The Charmwitch Seamstress (Witches of Olderea #3)

Prologue

“Next!” the herald shouted.

The witches before me shuffled forward. At the head of the long hall, robed palace clerks sat at a table, flanked by guards in purple livery, each speaking to the witches before them. By the end of the day, they could recruit any of us into the newly announced royal Witch Committee.

I looked up, dizzy. The palace grounds were nearly twice the size of Witch Village.

Here in the west wing, the frescoed ceiling was vaulted to the heavens by two rows of ivory pillars, gilded embellishments gleaming at their base.

Crystal windows spanned floor to ceiling, setting the marble tiles aglow with glorious afternoon sun.

The real sun. My skin tingled at the warmth of its golden rays.

The weak imitation in Witch Village could never compare.

I dabbed my nose with my handkerchief and smoothed the front of my blouse.

I had taken the time this morning to press the pintucks to perfection, though I could barely handle the smoothing iron as giddy as I was.

That autumn, when Grandma’s urn had barely begun gathering dust on the mantelpiece, news had spread that the Non-Magic Age ended because of a half-witch girl who saved the queen from being poisoned.

When I asked Ma who, she clicked her tongue and said, “Amarante Flora, the daughter of the notorious Seraphina Barclay. Remember? That herbwitch who threw everything away for a season of frivolity and got impregnated by a human man?”

She then began a lengthy lecture about Seraphina’s foolishness and how handsome men couldn’t be trusted.

“Which is why I married your father,” Ma had said to punctuate her point. But as Christabella and I knew, Ma’s lectures never truly ended.

I, for one, admired Seraphina’s pluck, though leaving Witch Village for a man was a bit embarrassing.

The daughter couldn’t be so bad, especially after apprenticing under Lana, the most formidable herbwitch in the village.

But perhaps I was biased in their favor.

After all, Amarante had given me an opportunity to seek my fortune.

At the Witch Market, postings had appeared for recruitment to a Witch Committee, encouraging every witch to serve and advise the royal family with their talents.

Ma and Christabella had tried to warn me against it, but I was lost in imagination.

An apartment of my own. No more Ma interrupting me every ten minutes.

No more mending Sonny’s smelly stockings or embroidering Christabella’s bodices for whichever boy she was obsessed with that week.

I was going to make lavish ball gowns and dashing suits for the aristocracy.

I was going to the palace. And perhaps, if I was very lucky, I was going to open a dress shop of my own.

My fingers tingled with anticipation as I wrung my handkerchief.

A witch shuffled side to side in front of me, clearly overwrought with nerves.

I recognized her frizzy white hair and blue shawl immediately—Shauna, the herbwitch who lived half a mile from the village square.

Her candy shop was practically the jewel of Witch Village.

Behind me was Ferdinand, who tended to the village fields and manned the entrance to the Witch Market.

Behind him was Rowena, a charmwitch I’d seen running errands for her mother in my youth.

All of them were traitors, according to Ma.

Someone sneezed, the sound echoing in the cavernous hall. I felt the tickle in my nose as well, but stifled it with my sleeve. There seemed to be some sort of seasonal allergy going around.

“Good to meet you, sir! Enchanted, ma’am. Lovely to see you...”

An old human man drowning in an emerald green robe made his way down the queue, bowing abruptly at every step and shaking hands with every witch in line.

I jumped when papery hands grasped mine and shook it fervently.

“Welcome, welcome!” the old man said, now in front of me. “I’m Erasmus Lenard, the royal inspector. I’m very glad to see so many witches in the palace again.”

He moved on before I could think of something to say. I smoothed my sleeve, which had gotten rumpled after the violent handshake. Surely humans weren’t that excited about our return, seeing as they banished us in the first place.

A chuckle came from behind me. “He’s an enthusiastic one,” Ferdinand said. “He must remember the times when witches and humans got along.”

I turned to look at the hunched old witch, his snowy white beard strung full of charms. “Do you remember when witches were allowed aboveground, Ferdinand?” I asked.

“Only a little,” he said wistfully, his eyes growing cloudy. His gaze refocused on me. “I’m surprised to see you here, Giselle. I thought Nasha kept you on a tighter leash.”

“Ha! Ma doesn’t have me on a leash.” I stuffed my hands into my pockets. “She doesn’t know I’m here.”

Ferdinand’s brows raised. “You always were a bold one. What excuse are you going to cook up when you get back?”

I merely shrugged, deciding not to tell Ferdinand that I wasn’t going back.

That morning I had packed everything I needed into my old canvas satchel after finally mastering the bottomless bag enchantment Christabella and I had both been trying to learn.

It was slung around me now, its weight comforting, though I still felt a pang for not giving Christabella a proper goodbye.

The letter I left her would have to suffice.

The queue shifted forward again. Shauna, the witch in front of me, approached the table. I stood a few feet back, feeling rather exposed now that I was in the front of the line. I hoped my skirt was still as smooth as it had been when I ironed it.

“Name?” the gruff clerk behind the table said.

“Shauna. Shauna Vance,” she responded.

The clerk shuffled through a pile of papers before pulling out hers. “Do you swear allegiance to the crown and only the crown?”

She hesitated before saying, “Yes.”

The clerk nodded, looking down at the set of papers in front of him.

Interested witches had been instructed to send in our application to the palace the week before, which entailed giving our name, age, and type of magic. Shauna was a very talented confectioner, and her candy shop did very well. I wondered why she decided to seek her fortunes aboveground.

The clerk set aside her papers. “I’m afraid we won’t be needing your services. Thank you.”

Shauna gasped. “But sir—”

“Next, please.”

A guard took her by the elbow and escorted her away.

I watched her disappear behind the arched exit, wondering why Shauna of all people seemed so desperate to find a situation outside Witch Village.

She struck me as the sort who would be satisfied with her situation—she was practically beloved by every witch child for her shop—but she must’ve believed the same thing I did: the world was bigger than Witch Village and there were better things in store aboveground.

“Name?”

Belatedly, I realized it was my turn. I hastily stepped forward, stopping before the table. “Giselle Phula,” I said, proud of the steadiness of my voice.

“Do you swear allegiance to the crown and only the crown?” the clerk asked.

I didn’t hesitate. “Yes, sir.”

He scanned the paper before him. Even upside down, I recognized my own hand and the words I had written.

Giselle Phula

Nineteen years old.

Charmwitch.

Accomplished charm maker and seamstress. Skills include fine needlework, pattern drafting, tailoring, and breaking enchantments. Can finish a ballgown in a day.

An impressive list of accomplishments, I thought. But the clerk’s eyes remained dull and disinterested.

“I’m afraid we won’t be needing your services. Thank you.”

The floor seemed to drop from beneath me. I didn’t come all this way just to be told no. In fact, I was almost sure I’d be accepted. I had worked so hard at my craft. I knew I was good. So why wasn’t I enough?

A guard approached to escort me away.

“Wait!” I took a breath, my heart slamming wildly against my chest. “I can do more.”