11. Chapter 11
Chapter 11
S weat covered her palms at the conversation ahead, but she wanted to get this over with, to assuage Master Grey’s suspicion.
After a long, winding walk, where people stared openly as if she were a circus animal, they entered the Order’s wing.
Dust coated everything, making it less polished than the rest of the palace. The carpets were frayed in some places, less decor hung on the walls, and paint peeled in various corners. Its remote location in the court was odd, as if the queen had tried to shove the distinguished Royal Order of Magic into the attic and forget about them.
The servant took her to one lone door and opened it.
She stepped past him and found herself in a large open room where two men engaged in a rather intense but clearly friendly duel.
Furniture sat piled off to the side. Half a dozen tall windows lined the outer wall, exposing the green gardens. One man, a broad-shouldered pixie, shot some enchantment and slammed the other man into the wall. The pixie’s sleeves were in ribbons, and he had a massive slice visible down his lean abdomen.
Her back stiffened in surprise as the other, a nymph with short, dark blond hair, sent one of the chairs flying across the room and smashed it into his companion. Unlike the pixie, the nymph had somehow lost his shirt entirely, and sweat glistened on every inch of his golden skin as he braced his hands on his knees, panting.
Both snapped their gazes toward her.
When she met the nymph’s discerning eyes, recognition shot through her.
With her hammering heart at the sight of Master Grey, she carefully held the paper between two fingers. “I was summoned here.”
“Lady Aowyn,” Master Grey greeted her with a lazy smile.
She crossed her arms, about to unleash a snarky comment about him putting a shirt on, but she held her tongue. Meira wouldn’t say anything so crass.
Imani dropped her confrontational mask, given the circumstances.
The male nymph ran a hand through his messy hair and motioned to the door. “Lore, I have business to attend to.”
The pixie named Lore gave Master Grey a slight bow then left.
They were alone, and the master loomed down at her.
He strode over, slipping his shirt on. He had shaved and cut his hair short, and without his robes and shirt … well, he appeared vastly different. Younger and more relaxed.
“You have questions for me.” Imani’s voice sounded quiet and formal.
“Indeed. I reported to my colleagues you’re glamouring yourself constantly.”
“Is there some rule against it? I’m not trying to hide but rather blend in.”
“No, there’s not a rule against it. But it’s uncommon,” Master Grey said, his white teeth catching at his lower lip in the prelude to a grin. For a moment, his face was heart-stopping boyish. His smile faded. “Most people don’t bother. It’s generally seen in poor taste when someone tries to make themselves more attractive using tricks most of us see through.”
Her glamour had never been a matter of vanity—Imani had none. It was a waste of time and none of her concern. She had hid all her life to mask her soul draw and hid now because, without the glamour, it revealed a weakness Imani didn’t want anyone to know.
“I’m not trying to make myself more attractive.”
He cocked his head to the side in amusement. “I told them that, as well.”
She stood her ground. Everyone should be allowed to control their appearance, deciding what people see and when without others being suspicious.
She let her primary glamour disappear entirely. He had already seen her without it.
The curtain lifted, and she turned back to him. “People are uncomfortable when they see me, High-Norn or not.”
Blinking a few times, he moved closer. “How did you get a mark like that?”
Nobody outside her family and heartmate had seen the marking before, but she had expected this response and let the prepared lie slip out. “Birthmark.”
In truth, she hadn’t been born with the black veins and marred skin disfiguring half her face. Yet no one understood where she’d gotten it or why. It had appeared slowly, growing over the years until she came of age, stopping around the time when her brands were supposed to have appeared.
As a young child, Imani would disobey her family, often escaping to play in the Draswood alone. Children commonly roamed and explored around the city’s edges, but inside the forest, it could be dangerous, even for elves. All the plants and creatures possessed magic. Ara had said everyone’s best guess was Imani had encountered something there. Her family had glamoured it when the mark started showing up and had never said a word.
Master Grey swallowed, now even more suspicious.
She forced her expression to soften. “Please,” she whispered, imploring the nymph. “I don’t know if you have much experience with my kind, but I’m a female elf witch alone here. Without a heartmate’s magic to share, I’m exposed. Let me blend in more. No female elf in her right mind would leave the Draswood without some form of protection. I haven’t been seen unglamoured by so many people since I was a child, and even then, they were all Norn elves. Do you know any Norn elves, Master Grey?”
“At least one,” a male voice sounded from the doorway. A large frame with a discerning expression darkened the doorway.
Her heart almost stopped.
The first male Norn elf she’d seen in years looked like her adoptive father, or what she imagined he’d be like if he were still alive.
Silver hair, although shorter, was the same as she remembered, and the elf’s complexion appeared older but shone with a similar luminosity. It gave the master witch an iridescent magic signature surrounding his body.
For some reason, she immediately liked him.
“Lady Aowyn, I must admit I was so very pleased to hear about your arrival. Training a young Norn witch to join the Order is a thrill I haven’t experienced in decades.” He ambled forward and, without touching her, greeted her in a formal elven fashion she hadn’t seen since childhood—two fingers on the forehead and a deep bow.
She stumbled through her response but managed.
“Meira, meet Master Selhey, the only High-Norn master witch to serve here in Stralas.”
Master Selhey ignored Imani’s gaping mouth. “I’ve vehemently argued you have the right to keep your glamour for unpleasant reasons you know all too well. You’re a female elf alone here and have a right to any protection necessary.”
Imani didn’t know what to say to his statement, but a surge of affection rose inside her for this stranger.
He held up his wand. “Many, including myself, regarded your parents as the best wandmakers in centuries—your father made this one.”
Sven and Saria Aowyn had been the best wandmakers in centuries.
Clutching her own, an unbearable sadness came over her, missing both her parents. Not many people knew she wasn’t entirely an Aowyn, and her adoptive father had never treated her any differently. Although her parents had been terrified of her after what had happened with her grandfather, they’d always treated her with love before that day.
Master Selhey put his wand away and folded his arms across his chest. “Your parents died young in a Fabric event near the border of the Plainslands and Riverlands, did they not?”
Emotion clogged her throat. All she could do was nod.
“It was a particularly horrific event. Strong enough that Niflheim could’ve called the treaty void if they had known about it,” he muttered with an edge to his voice. “The area there still hasn’t fully recovered. It’s a miracle you survived.”
Imani had to agree. It was a miracle.
Images from the day flashed in her eyes. Black, burning rain had poured from spliced pockets of the world, as if two realms had smashed together, fighting to exist in the same plane. The ground had disappeared underneath them, gravity and time had shifted as the world tilted, and her parents’ bodies had been caught between the two, effectively breaking them into pieces.
Parts had been strewn here in this realm, while others presumably went … elsewhere.
Master Selhey turned to Master Grey. “Elves are different from the others in this kingdom in almost every way—our appearance, magic, and emotional needs. All the more reason she should be able to keep the illusion.”
“She’s not even close to the most powerful witch here. I don’t see the point.”
“I don’t think you quite understand the magic a female’s soul draw has on others, nor the distraction her … other looks would bring,” Master Selhey tried to explain patiently.
Glaring, Imani faced the nymph witch head-on again. “I want to learn here. I want to be taken seriously for my magic, not for being an unmated female elf with a strange birthmark. People see this”—she motioned up and down her body—“and they forget everything else. They ask me who I’m feeding from?—”
“Who are you feeding from?” Master Grey’s voice came out rough as he interrupted with a familiar longing she’d seen before.
Her cheeks heated in frustration to see her magic at work, and she wanted to put her illusion back on to hide from his attention. Much to her chagrin, it occurred to Imani that she found this male nymph painfully attractive. Hunger bit at her insides, but she forced herself to remain impassive.
That was a problem for another day. Or week.
Such irritating stirrings—his desire was all fake. It made her want to show him what it was like to have a piece of furniture thrown at him.
Again, Meira would never do anything so rude, and he didn’t deserve it. She hated the soul draw sometimes.
Before she could respond, Master Selhey interjected, “ That is none of your business, Master.”
Master Grey had the decency to look affronted, at least, and relented. “I’ll tell the other master witches and the First Witch you can keep the spell. We’ll likely be the only ones who will sense it, anyway.”
“Thank you.” Imani meant it.
The male nymph gave her a final dubious once-over. “Come; we’ll take you to the other apprentices.”
They made their way out, but Master Grey whipped around to stare at her, forehead furrowed in concentration. “You’re still hiding something.” His voice dropped low. “It would be a mistake to be dishonest with the Crown or the Order. As a witch with only five brands, you’re far from the most powerful, but they are rare enough brands for us to notice, so we’ll be watching you. That much, I can guarantee.”
Tension mounted in the room, and while Master Selhey’s eyes narrowed, he said nothing.
As they stepped into the hallway, both master witches murmured to each other softly. Imani’s ears flicked back and forth as she listened closely to their conversation, her elven hearing kicking in.
“This is the last favor I do for you until you can answer me about the divination spell,” Master Grey said.
“I will give you the same answer I gave your mother—the spell is notoriously difficult to cast. The future is constantly changing as witches are born and die. Given this, it’s impossible to discern the truth until the moment it happens.”
“Other master witches have managed to divine the heir apparent with a spell before.”
“Then they lied to appease their monarch. The divination mark is one of the rarest in this realm, giving the caster dangerous abilities many people desire but few possess. Many don’t understand it.”
“It seeks to reveal the truth or the future; what’s not to understand?”
Their conversation was cut short when they entered the main hall.
Dozens of gazes fell on her. Some apprentices stepped back in surprise, and others stared in confusion. Esa’s brows shot so high they practically touched her hairline.
Puzzled, Imani met their expressions, daring them all to look her in the eye. With her glamour back on, she had nothing to hide. She had never met most of these people, yet hostility wafted through the air.
Four master witches stood in crimson robes and black attire at the front of the room. Master Grey approached, and the others bowed to him.
Each of them murmured in low tones, “Your Highness.”
The shock made her jaw drop. He was the heir apparent ?
All Imani could do was breathe as the scene unfolded.
“I spoke with Master Selhey and Lady Aowyn. It’s my opinion, as the heir apparent and a master witch with this Order, we should let her retain the glamour. It’s innocuous. We haven’t had a Norn witch study here in fifty years, but I promise it will prove helpful in eliminating distractions for everyone.”
One master witch voiced his disagreement.
The prince’s gaze darkened, along with her own. It was, quite frankly, astounding how ignorant people here were about her kind. She had expected it from common breeds in other territories but not educated high-bred witches in Stralas.
“Furthermore, I don’t think High Sentinel Ellisar would be pleased if she were mistreated in any way. Which means my mother wouldn’t be pleased, either,” the prince added.
Imani almost scoffed. She didn’t even know the high sentinel of the Norn. Like the monarchs of the Mesial Realm, high sentinels were chosen by the Fabric once the other died. Many were the most powerful of their breeds and oversaw their people in each territory while also sitting on a council to advise the queen. Imani assumed it worked similarly in Niflheim, but she wasn’t sure.
High-Norn female elves, like her and Meira, were rarer and rarer these days, but thousands still lived in the Draswood.
Ellisar wouldn’t even spare her a glance.
Still, she appreciated the lie.
All the witches turned to watch the male standing the farthest away. With a purple marking on the top of his hand—an archmage—he must be the First Witch, the only known witch in Essenheim with such a brand. There could be others, of course, but they were nearly impossible to earn.
“Yes. We agree that displeasing Ellisar and your mother would be most unfortunate.” He bowed his head. “Please inform her of your successes this past week. We’d hate for the queen to think we are not entirely supportive of the new laws.”
The prince gave a curt nod. “Of course. The queen looks forward to a stronger partnership between herself and the Order for a stronger Crown.”
The First Witch murmured, “Magic to magic.”
“Truth to truth,” the prince said. Then, without sparing another glance at her, he strode from the room.
Practically shaking from learning the young master witch was the heir apparent, she turned on her heel and marched to the back of the group to stand next to Esa. Everyone continued to level her with blatant stares, but she kept her countenance neutral.
Esa glared. “What exactly were you doing with Prince Tanyl this morning?”
Imani brushed her off. “Nothing. He had some questions for me about my magical training.”
Esa arched a manicured brow.
Luckily, there wasn’t time for any more questions. The First Witch waved his hand, and the sconces lining the walls of the room brightened, somehow silencing everyone at the same time.
“Witches, welcome. I am First Witch Savus. I’ll get straight to the point—you’re here because you possess the potential to wield incredible magic. A power only earned and bestowed by the Fabric itself.”
Firelight washed over his strong jaw and stunning golden skin. The First Witch was a satyr shifter whose magic signature seeped into the air around him. Even from a distance, it moved in a formidable caress.
With his pale eyes, he scanned the room. “The ascension assessments are an honored tradition as old as the Essenheim Kingdom itself, and we are bound to its ancient rules and structure. However, we recognize most of you have not volunteered. The world is changing, and we must change, too, to ensure our control over magic. However, we do not view our role as controlling. Instead, we view it as a partnership, protecting and enforcing the law by ensuring balance. Master witches serve the Crown and the people of our kingdom first. Therefore, we have always respected our power and protected those who can’t wield it.”
With a tug on his sleeve, Savus revealed his ten brands for the room. A shock rumbled through the crowd at his boldness as he displayed his forearm, brands gleaming.
“As you know, there are twelve magical marks the Fabric bestows upon witches from the Mesial Realm—binding, illusion, alteration, alchemy, enchantment, wandlore, divination, conjuring, healing, fire, terrestrial, and defensive—and as potential masters, you all possess five or more. You’ll be divided into groups to train for each of your abilities, and the assessments will allow you to show us your mastery of your magic as a whole.”
At this point, more master witches strode into the room, all wearing traditional red and black cloaks. The same brand flashed on the tops of their hands, identifying them as master witches.
“Here, at the Order,” Savus continued, “some will die during the ascension assessments. Only a select few of you will survive and gain a place among us as master witches. The rest of you will be given honorable deaths. To die in the pursuit of magic is a death we should all hope for.” His gaze landed on Esa. “Bow today,” he declared.
“Rise tomorrow.” The echoing words rose from the witches like a haunting melody.
A faint magic signature hit Imani as Esa’s anger rose—not everyone agreed with First Witch Savus.
“If you survive”—Savus motioned to the crowd of apprentices—“you will receive magic only most can dream of, and we do not take this gift lightly. It’s a lethal responsibility, and we demand you achieve specialized expertise in your branded abilities. We will challenge you to properly draw power from the Fabric that no other wielders can, and we’ll start today. Your instructors will break you into groups now.”
“This is sanctioned extermination and enslavement. The Crown will either kill us or force us to work for them,” Esa said through gritted teeth, cracking her knuckles. “And no one here gives one shit about it.”
A bout of nausea hit Imani at Esa’s words. She’d suspected something suspicious about how all the apprentices had gathered, and she was starting to agree with her that it was with malicious intent.