7. Chapter 7
Chapter 7
D espite Fen’s incompetence, seeing the constable the night she murdered a man put her on edge. Imani swallowed hard at the sight of him. It would be stupid not to be worried.
As soon as he spotted Imani, he waved her over. She tried to ignore him, pretending she hadn’t seen, but Meira wasted no time moving to greet him. Imani gritted her teeth and steeled herself for an interrogation.
Young and attractive, Fen had only been in his position for a few years. But, while Imani liked Fen, she frankly questioned how much law and order he provided their town. Living close to the border of Niflheim, fugitives frequently used their small shipping port to try to escape south. As a common-bred naiad with no magic, Fen was useless against said fugitives.
“Something we can help you with, Fen?” Meira put her hand on his arm.
He smiled at her.
Imani recognized the look in her sister’s eyes.
Desire.
Blackness dotted Imani’s vision as the sudden urge to feed almost overtook her body. Shocking in intensity, especially after she’d fed so much already, the force took her by surprise. She steadied herself against a chair and blinked a few times.
The constable had recently become one of her best customers, which made her want to keep Meira far away from him. Indeed, Imani hated seeing Meira acting flirtatious with Fen, but it hadn’t been since her grandfather that she’d really lost control, and today wouldn’t be the day she broke the streak.
She took several deep breaths, reminding herself that she did not want to kill Fen—not truly—especially for this transgression.
Growing up in a small village of nymphs meant there wasn’t a large selection of friends or men to choose from, especially for elf witches. While Norn kept to themselves these days in the Draswood Forest, they still craved companionship and were naturally friendly creatures. It was why they fed the way they did—to be close to others and share intimacy. If her siblings had grown up near more people, the two would likely have many relationships beyond their immediate family.
Despite what Ara claimed, she might have had more friends, too—real ones, like Riona.
But now, in the Riverlands, Dak had Ren, and the girls only had each other, a few acquaintances, and casual friendships. So, Imani could hardly fault her sister for desiring Fen.
Neither of them noticed Imani’s brief bout of distress, and she was able to compose herself as Fen continued talking to them.
“I’m here on constable business. We have a potential master level witch who wielded flesh magic in the area with this Fabric event. A Niflheim merchant who lived in a manor near the epicenter might be the culprit, but all we know for now is he’s missing,” he explained, his face drawn in a somber expression.
“So, you don’t know who the witch was who cast the magic?” Meira asked.
“Do you need anything from us?” Imani asked simultaneously, her voice sounding loud and flat compared to Meira’s.
“No, we don’t know who cast the magic.” He nervously snapped his eyes to the door then back as he leaned lower. “The event was so large, and through the network of master witches the Order employs, word has already reached the Crown.” He shifted his feet, giving them a small smile.
Imani frowned. He smiled far too much, in her opinion.
“I received a raven from the Order that we’re to question all witches in our territories about their activities. I’ll need to talk to you again about the master witch from that day in the shop.” He stepped closer to Imani. “And I’m required to do a quick search around your flat, too?—”
“You can’t be serious?” Imani stiffened, schooling her features into a stern expression she hoped hid her trepidation. She did not want him anywhere near their home. “We’ve been more than cooperative. I’ve already told you everything I know, and you’ve searched the flat multiple times this past month. Plus, you know our grandmother was executed today—it’s where I was returning from when the Fabric event struck.”
His face softened in sympathy. “I have no choice, Imani. Your grandmother and this potential master witch who came into your shop might have some connection to each other. She had ties to Niflheim and practiced flesh magic. We can’t wait if it was related to Zolyn.”
She was relieved they were looking elsewhere for the culprit, but it grated Imani to be harassed about the infuriating master witch again when that humiliating day was the last thing she wanted on her mind. In fact, Imani entirely avoided thinking about the day she had met the unregistered master nymph witch who had harassed her in the shop and had removed the glamour from her face and soul draw. In fact, he was the reason Malis had attacked Imani.
When Malis had entered the shop, she had no time to find her grandmother or Meira to cast another illusion, and her soul draw had taken hold of him. He’d held her down, ripped her dress, and shoved himself inside her. He had been in the midst of forcing her to feed from him when Ara had arrived. Her grandmother had attacked Malis, leaving him bleeding out in the shop, and Imani had escaped upstairs to their flat.
Ara had been arrested later in the evening, thanks to Malis, and their family had been spiraling in the month since.
Imani understood why they would search for a potential master witch practicing flesh magic as the source of the event. Magic became unstable when Niflheim legalized such barbaric sacrificial magic, causing the first fissures in the Fabric.
Although they claimed otherwise, the oppressive shroud over Niflheim’s lands meant they were likely still abusing it even today.
Some blamed all magic, but people were the problem—greedy, destructive Niflheim breeds who took too much and cared little for the damage it racked. So, not only did the Niflheim people cause the instability, the loss of magic, and the war, but they had also caused Imani’s parents’ deaths and the deaths of so many others for centuries.
While the place itself made her curious, Imani hated the throne of Niflheim for letting its people run wild—a genuine, unbridled hate. Thinking about the storm raging outside, she hated herself, too. She had been careless with a brand of magic she didn’t understand.
Meira interjected, “If the magic bore any resemblance to flesh magic, Fen must report it to the Crown.”
Imani gritted her teeth. “I already told you everything about the male witch; again, he looked like a nymph and appeared far too young to have trained with Zolyn.”
“But you don’t know for a fact he was a nymph, nor do you know his age.” Meira frowned at Imani, silently telling her she was being obstinate.
Fen’s voice dropped lower when he moved to stand over Imani. “Maybe we could go somewhere quieter and more private? These questions might be sensitive to your sweet sister here.” Fen rubbed Imani’s arm in a sad attempt to comfort her. His expression conveyed genuine concern, but the desire evident in his eyes, even on the day her grandmother had died , lingered within.
Disgusted, she summoned all her strength to maintain a measured response. “Thank you, Fen. I understand you’re merely doing your job.” She paused to hold his hand tighter. Desperate to buy some time, she added in a faint whisper, “Why don’t we leave here, and you both can wait in the shop while I clean up? It’s been a hard day.” Her eyes sparkled in suggestion.
His eyebrows shot to his hairline as he caught Imani’s meaning. “Take your time.”
Spinning on her heel, she walked in calm steps to hide the tension growing taut inside her. A clawing desire to hide the maps in her pockets from Fen—and find the book Malis had mentioned—grew. Imani didn’t understand why she wanted to protect the items, but she listened to her instincts.
After a brief walk, she entered their building and dashed into Ara’s old room. Dak would be ignoring her all night after she’d taken his voice, so he didn’t even bother coming out of his room. As she tore open the trunk, a pang of guilt hit her remembering his face, but she ignored it.
She’d read everything there a thousand times, even after Ara had demanded she stop. She’d learned quickly that her grandmother would become annoyed when she chose to spend hours researching various things instead of focusing on her “duties with the magic business.”
Ever since the constable’s men had searched it last week, the trunk was a mess of parchment, jars, and maps, all stuffed inside with no reasonable organization. They hadn’t even thought of calling a master witch and using magic.
Idiots.
Flicking Ara’s wand, she murmured a spell she made up on the spot to break the wards on the secret compartments. It worked. Being around magic for so long—and transfixed with it—made using it second nature.
The locks clicked open with a puff of dust, revealing deep, cavernous storage compartments, all spelled to hold ten times more than the trunk alone.
Grabbing a thick folder, she sat cross-legged on the floor. As she flipped the frayed, yellowed paper, she found they held nothing but scribbles of irrelevant business transactions and familiar notes for spells and other magics she’d seen before.
But she came across documents she’d never read in the middle of the stack.
It was filled with illicit drawings of mysterious breeds, including elves and shifters, descriptions of illegal atrophic spells, and more lists of wands. Combined with what she had stolen from Malis, this was the most information she’d ever seen on Niflheim.
Sorting through the rest of the items in the trunk, she found a mass of crinkled papers. The parchment was practically falling apart. Another more detailed map showed a maze with an arrow leading through it. The words “ Royal Vaults and South Chamber XII ” were smudged with a loopy red script.
Gods, Aralana had been obsessed with the southern kingdom.
Two books on wandlore were also well obscured in the back of the cubby hole. A wrinkle appeared between Imani’s eyes as she flipped through the pages. Everything was about wands. All the texts should have mentioned Draswoods, but none did. Strange. It reminded her of the lists she had seen on the maps about the alternative wands. What had Aralana been doing?
Her scalp prickled.
A picture formed in her head.
Ara had come home muttering and smelling like intense magic these past months, and it appeared like her grandmother was going mad. But the more Imani turned the details over, the more likely Aralana hadn’t been going crazy at all. Imani reluctantly admitted she might have been working on something dangerous but incredible.
For hundreds of years, the experts agreed all they could do was slow the Fabric’s degradation by controlling magic. But what had once given magic life would eventually destroy itself. The Fabric would be no more, and neither would magic. Reversing it was impossible.
Except … Aralana might have been close to finding a way.
Meira’s flirting distraction worked well enough; except for checking the spelled trunk again and a few other books on the shelves, Fen barely searched their home.
The hour grew too late for him to stay longer, and Imani breathed a sigh of relief she wouldn’t have to fulfill her earlier suggestion of sleeping with him.
He paused at the door, playing with his hat, and considered his next words. “There’s something else you should know.”
“Get to the point, Fen. It’s been a trying day,” Imani snapped, her patience gone.
“Larger towns at the edge of the Riverlands are reporting an increased presence of security forces already moving in after the Fabric event, and I feel compelled to warn you.” A deepening grimness swept over his features.
“About what?” Imani asked through gritted teeth.
“Queen Dialora accused the Order, including the First Witch, of letting witches go unchecked for too long, which is likely true. However, the Order accounted for all its master witches yesterday, so we can’t deny the event came from a potential master who doesn’t answer to anyone.”
“But it could be any witch with five markings,” Imani said. “Thousands of witches with five markings haven’t ascended to master witches. How can they expect to control all potential masters? They aren’t required to work for the Order.”
With magic dwindling and most witches only possessing a few brands, there weren’t many potential masters remaining. Still, there were enough in a kingdom of millions that this would be a problem for the Crown—and with five brands registered with the Order, Meira was one of them.
“Well, there are rumors about a new law requiring anyone registered with at least five markings to take the assessments. Anyone who passes would work for the Order,” Fen stated.
Hand to her throat, Meira was unable to speak.
Imani clutched the counter in their kitchen. “Assessments kill people. They can’t force witches to go to our deaths.”
“They can, and they will,” Fen said as he moved to leave. “I wanted you to know because it’s well known your family wields magic. Of course, whether either of you have five brands is not my business. But if you do …” He paused, backing up to the door. Tension in the air thickened, and his eyes looked apologetic. “If you do, they are coming for you.”
With the collection Imani was supposed to go on forgotten, both sisters stayed silent for a long time after Fen had left.
The selfish, opportunistic part of Imani desperately wanted to let Meira go. Imani wanted to be saved for once and let someone take away her role as the mediocre head of a family, barely holding it together. She wanted to stay and grow the magic business she had worked so hard for all these years. She wanted to eliminate this noose of responsibility around her neck and experience real freedom.
Her sister’s sobs cut through the silence. “Imani, I can’t go. I can’t.”
The fear in Meira’s words broke her heart. By nature, only the strongest witches survived to become master witches. It was what set them apart. Although harsh, parts of the ascension assessments required more than magic skills. Skills Meira didn’t possess. If her sister took the ascension assessments, she would die. Imani wouldn’t let such a thing happen.
A semblance of a plan formed while her sister cried, one that would send Imani to Stralas, not Meira. It splintered her heart even further to think she’d be chained again, but they didn’t have another way.
Even in her head, it sounded insane.
They didn’t have much time to pull the plan off, either.
Wiping her eyes, Meira watched Imani pace. “You have an idea, sister.”
“I might. No one here knows the exact details of our brands, only suspicion based on what we sell. I’m not registered, but no one knows for sure. So, the people here won’t know they came for you specifically, only that they came for one of us,” Imani rambled.
Meira’s bottom lip continued to quiver. “I hate the idea of separating.”
“The last thing I want to do is leave you both,” Imani whispered.
“We can ask them to spare me when they come.”
“They’ll take you, anyway. The Order and the Crown are serious if Fen warned us.” Imani stroked her sister’s hair back from her face. “When I said separate, I meant I would go to the capital and take your assessments. We’d lose the magic business, though.”
Sadness overtook Imani’s chest. Their magic business would be over. Everything their family worked for would be gone. Any semblance of her independence would be lost. She would be a slave to the assessments, and then to the Order.
But, for the first time in years, Imani would get to leave their small territory and explore the capital city. She’d get to learn magic, get real training and education, something denied her whole life. Despite her despair at losing everything their family had worked for, the entire world might be at her fingertips if she could escape this suffocating town. Maybe she could even meet more Norn elves there.
While helping her sister was paramount, a selfish hunger to make this work burned inside Imani.
Meira worried her lip. “But, how will we make ends meet without it?”
“Witches preparing for their assessments are still technically members of the Order, and they’re entitled to a stipend. I’ll send it home, and you can still work at the tavern and keep the sewing shop. It should be enough to supplement the lost income from the magic.”
With the magic business as leverage in the bargain with Asim, they could receive compensation, too, and had a real chance to pull this off.
Meira sniffed. “You have three different brands than me. And I have divination, and you don’t. They have records of all five of my markings.”
“We will transfer your divination magic to me and use powerful magic to glamour the brands I have that you don’t. If it works, the master witches at the Order won’t sense anything wrong with the divination. I’ll be wearing a glamour, but all female Norns are entitled to do so to temper our soul draws.”
More worry lined Meira’s face. “Is it even possible?”
“It is. I read about it in a book years ago.” Imani didn’t say that sometimes the transfer didn’t work if the breeds were too different, and Imani and Meira were more different than either of them had realized.
Her sister had the magic of a High-Norn and the blue leaf sigil with the triangle around it, but Meira’s features were muted in many ways, unlike Imani. Since learning her dominant breed was something else, it was even more mysterious now why Imani had inherited all the High-Norn features she had—magic, looks, and natural talents, like her powerful soul draw.
No one knew why such things happened among siblings, but like all breeds, each elf was unique.
This made the spell all that more dangerous.
“We look so similar. With your exact magic, I could easily pretend I’m you in Stralas.”
“What type of magic can do this?”
Technically, flesh magic didn’t fall under any ability; it enhanced already existing spells. “It’s alteration.”
“I only remember a few things about brands I don’t possess. What is it? Like an illusion?”
Indeed, Meira wouldn’t survive two hours with the Order.
“No, illusion magic simply hides something. We will be permanently changing a physical part of the world—the magic in your body and mine. You’ll be losing your magic entirely and transferring it to me.” It was dark, atrophic magic, and the spell would get them burned at the stake, like Ara, if caught.
Her sister braced herself on the chair and stared into Imani’s eyes. A deep fear shone back at her. “Let’s do it,” Meira whispered. “If anyone can survive the assessments, it’s you, Imani. You’ve been going on dangerous collections for years and have read everything you can about magic—you’ll learn fast. Plus, you haven’t had an incident in years. Your control over your soul draw was perfect, even when you didn’t have magic. Thank you for doing this for our family.”
“Of course.” Nodding, Imani squeezed her sister’s hand. “I won’t lie; this magic is difficult. You and I will need help. The only person who might agree is another witch a few hours from here.”
Now, that was an outright lie. When Asim, the other nearby coven leader, learned what Imani was willing to pay, he would instantly agree.
“Then we’ll leave tonight,” Meira said.
Pride bloomed in Imani’s chest at her sister’s bravery and trust. She clenched her fist, silently hoping she didn’t simply kill them both.