15. Chapter 15
Chapter 15
T he main room of the master library was empty hours before midnight when Imani finally entered.
Few people ventured out at night anymore, and since the ground quake a week ago, a subdued perturbation had permeated the usually vibrant halls of the palace. It was a Fabric event, but no one said it out loud, and the queen used it as an excuse to pass new laws.
Tanyl’s wand concerned her, too. Abilities evolved, and the Fabric branded more to witches over time, but something about the configuration bothered her. He had to be lying. His wand had performed alteration magic, yet the power inside the layers was wrong. It was as if some magic had been added later, which would be odd unless he was given more magical abilities after coming of age. But none were correctly done, and as a prince, he would have the best wandmakers adjusting his wand.
Then there was the binding ability she’d detected. His wand had barely noticeable binding magic inside—a light layer, at most. Not enough to cast binding spells.
The wand was performing magic Tanyl didn’t possess; magic added to its initial configuration. But why would he risk such a thing?
Wielding magic a witch didn’t possess a matching brand for always ended in death. The wand might trick the Fabric for a while, but to take from it when the witch didn’t have the Fabric-given ability went against the laws of nature and would eventually end in a reverberation, likely killing the witch.
She bit her lip in confusion but shook away the thoughts. An arrogant prince playing with magic he didn’t understand wasn’t her problem.
Pushing Tanyl aside, she slipped into the back recesses of the library, making her way to the staircase leading to the higher floors. The walk always felt long when she tried to remain unseen.
Eventually, she stood staring up at the restricted library door above. Lifting her steady hands, she worked the spell she’d created earlier. Energy thrummed through her palms and wand. Imani would go soliciting help from Esa if this didn’t work, but only then.
Streaks of bright magic from her shockwave enchantment cracked through the transparent wall surrounding the door. In the center, a tiny hole buzzed with energy, straining the barrier.
With her arm outstretched, she wasted no time attacking the weak spot. But gravitational alteration proved vastly more complicated. The muscles in her forearm strained. For a terrifying moment, she thought her bones might break. Gripping it with her other hand, she reinforced the pull and hissed in pain.
The overtaxed ward glowed and crumbled further until the hole was large enough. Putting her wand in her mouth, she dropped to her knees and crawled through it. Inside the breach, the magic sensed an intrusion. Agitated sparks burned her skin, and the air was thick like syrup. She hoped the caster couldn’t feel her enter either. Depending on how the wards were set up, they might be able to. It was also possible they had been in place so long that the witch or witches who had cast the spell were far from the capital.
She was willing to take a risk, and the wards let her pass.
Pushing herself up, she leaned against the wall. The only sounds were her labored breaths. Sweat covered her face, but she shoved loose strands of hair away and tried to keep calm. Imani couldn’t stop, and she couldn’t panic.
Cracking her neck, she took a deep breath. Then she strode to the shelves like she belonged, frantically perusing everything.
While organized in a simple alphabetical order, the languages and dialects made identifying the material more difficult. Imani didn’t understand any older languages beyond their common tongue.
An excessive amount of time passed. Imani’s frustration grew, and she cursed her general lack of language skills and education. Ara hadn’t let Imani attend much school, like Dak and Meira had.
The room warmed the longer she searched.
She would only have this one possible chance. Once the Order learned someone breached the wards, they’d shore up defenses again.
One, old, tattered book caught her eye. The word sangris , an Elvish word for blood , stood out. She carefully pulled it so the book stuck out further on the shelf and tried to decipher its full title. It was in bad shape, yet this could be something.
Her breath hitched. She opened the inside of her cloak to drop it inside, but a second later, the glass entrance door shattered.
Smoke filled the entire room. A spell ripped apart her own magic. Her wand slipped from her hand as she glanced down at her now visible body.
“There she is,” the guard said, wand pointed at her. He turned to another master witch next to him. “Grab her wand and check the upper levels. Ensure everything is intact.”
His smile was the last thing she remembered before everything darkened.
Silver hair fell in a curtain around her as she tried to lift her head. Everything hurt.
A ticking clock was the only sound in the room. It moved past two in the morning, and she shivered a bit. No fire burned in the hearth. Faint light shone from two chandeliers.
Her vision sharpened, and she found herself in a lavish room. It was far more elaborate than her own and, luckily, not a jail cell, as expected. Still, nothing about this situation boded well for her.
Imani turned her head around the room three more times.
Escape wasn’t possible. They had tied her hands and feet with tight ligatures to a chair. Her wand had disappeared. Her best option was probably talking her way out, but she had no idea who’d caught her. If she did, she might be able to find a quid pro quo to help her out of this predicament.
The creaking of a door opening made her jump, and then the heir apparent walked into the room.
Imani fought a grin. This she could work with.
Despite tallying several intriguing traits from the prince, including powerful magic, handsomeness, and shrewdness for court politics, the prince still lacked the stomach for certain things, and she didn’t perceive him as particularly manipulative. He was somewhat kind underneath the arrogance. His kindness and honesty were weaknesses for her to exploit, or at least try to.
He wore a perfectly fitted shirt and waistcoat with a dark formal jacket. His hair fell against his forehead, a bit messy, and he smelled like smoke and other magic. Imani guessed he’d been gambling and whoring and had come straight from Kesen Street.
Her heart rate increased with hunger pangs. Had he been with a female? She gripped the restraints and kept her face neutral while imagining it.
Taking off his jacket, he placed it on the back of a chair before calmly turning back to her. He continued remaining silent, taking his time.
Imani’s muscles tensed while she tried to lessen her shivering. He narrowed his eyes at her and, using the kindling in the hearth, enchanted them to light a fire. Warmth filled the room, proving her assessment of his gentlemanly sensibilities correct.
But she stayed quiet. She wanted to get Tanyl talking and give herself as much time to formulate a plan.
He rolled up his sleeves and ran a hand through his hair, raising his brows in arrogance. “My, my, my, isn’t this a surprise? The pretty little Norn elf caught red-handed. I guessed it was you when my guards reported a breach.”
Imani blinked at him. What did Tanyl want? What could she give him to sway him?
“Do you know the punishment for stealing from the Order?”
Silence.
“Death. Execution,” Tanyl confirmed.
“Good thing I didn’t steal anything then,” she said coolly.
“While it’s true you were caught before you could steal the book, breaking a ward of the Crown and the Order is no minor crime,” he added.
“Tanyl,” she purred, “I made a silly mistake. Surely, you don’t want to punish a young witch so harshly. There must be something we can work out together.”
His eyes went glassy at her magic subtly drawing him in. “Really? What are you offering?”
Imani paused, debating her offer—a risk—but she wanted to go for it.
“My wandlore magic, it’s a rare ability. Outside of storming into the Draswood, which we both know is impossible, you only have one master witch here who can perform it.”
“Impossible? I can enter any one of Essenheim’s territories—they belong to the Crown.”
Imani let her head fall back and laughed. “Walking uninvited into the Draswood? Demanding magic from the Norn elves’ master witches? Gods, Ellisar would be furious.” She let her smile fall. “Go ahead. I dare you.”
He paced and studied her surreptitiously.
She tilted her head to the side. “Hmm. You don’t have many options for repairing your wand.”
He crossed his arms but still didn’t respond. Imani almost smiled again.
“Furthermore,” she pressed, “your wand is irregular—someone tampered with it. Maybe experimented. I’m not entirely sure. But I wager discretion is of the utmost importance to you. Which is why you haven’t sought out Master Selhey.” If that had been the case, Imani would have been called to assist him in a lesson.
A glint flashed in his eyes. The look alone told Imani she’d nailed it.
“Tell me. How are you so qualified in wandlore? You might know a bit about it, but you’re untrained. You said it yourself—you’re only a young witch.”
“Only a fraction of Norn elves can practice true wand magic, and I happen to be a high breed who grew up living and breathing it. My entire family was expert wand workers—ask Master Selhey. Later, even when we lived outside the Draswood, I practiced. I read everything I could on it and studied independently,” she explained, embellishing a bit. “I might be young, but if anyone can help you fix your wand quickly and quietly, it’s me.”
He stayed silent, weighing her words.
She wanted to snarl at his stalling and proximity when he kneeled in front of her. Instead, she bit her tongue. His pupils were large, as if he weren’t quite clearheaded, either from her magic or something else.
“Who are you feeding from here?”
“None of your business,” she bit out.
“It wasn’t before, but now, it seems it is.”
She narrowed her eyes. Of the two options she had at her disposal, she should have known sex would trump magic, especially when she’d let her feeding draw wrap around him earlier.
“No one,” she said tightly, hunger rearing its ugly head.
The prince smoothed back her hair. “Even with such a hideous mark disfiguring you, you’re a mesmerizing elf,” he murmured.
Gritting her teeth, she allowed his intrusive touch without protest.
After a moment, he stood, clasping his hands behind his back. “Lady Aowyn, I will allow you to remain here and forgive your crime. As such, only three people are aware of it, including me. The other two are part of my private royal guard. It will be our secret.”
“How magnanimous. What do you want in return?” she sneered. Imani guessed what it would be, and truthfully, the price was fine for her. Sex in exchange for getting away with this crime? She’d agree to that deal any day.
“Your wandlore magic was an appealing offer, but I want your help with something else … besides repairing my wand.”
Imani hid her surprise. Enlisting her help with the wand had always been the more intelligent and respectable choice for her over whoring herself out. Her admiration for Tanyl increased.
He crossed the room and picked up the book she’d attempted to steal from a table. His slate eyes danced with excitement as he dropped it in her lap. With a wave, the restraints lifted, and she rubbed her wrists, eyeing him warily.
“ A History of Royal Bloodlines is ancient—a rare and mostly dull book written in Elvish. I think the pages you will be most fascinated by are halfway through in the section on doorways. At least, those were the ones I found interesting.”
Imani lightly traced her fingers over the ragged cover. “How can you be sure this is even the book I sought? Maybe I pulled this out only to find it was wrong.”
“You didn’t pull out any others, and why would you? You’re searching for a Drasil wand. This is the only book in the entire library mentioning it.”