21. Chapter 21
Chapter 21
A s Kiran moved to stand by his brother, the aenils bells in the palace steeple chimed, their rich song spreading through the courtyard and over the gardens in a synchronized, booming melody. With the sun full in the sky now, it was a call to prayer to the Upper realms—a concerning new tradition the Crown was perpetuating. But that was a worry for another day.
Imani returned her attention to the princes, her face emotionless and stern. She had seen violence before. In fact, her whole life had been filled with violence once she had gone to live with Ara.
I can handle this .
Tanyl had already left with his royal guard. Kiran had been correct; they weren’t allowed near the assessments. The witches were now alone with Saevel and Kiran in the vast training field and courtyard.
While both princes were far from the savages she had anticipated, they were as cold but more calculating than she’d expected. Fear mingled with anger inside her. If they demanded a display of exceptional physical magic, she would surely disappoint, and probably die. She had trained and practiced independently well but was still primarily driven to cast magic on instinct. Her control, something she’d struggled with for a long time, faltered. She needed control if she hoped to hide her shadow and alteration magic.
It also ate at her heart that so many talented witches would meet their demise, as they already had so few.
What a waste.
“Kiran,” Saevel said.
Not needing to raise his voice to summon him, the elf wandered over, unhurried but obliging.
It was strange how power shifted around the two princes. Despite Saevel being the more muscular of the two males, he appeared smaller, somehow, as Kiran meandered forward.
Once at his brother’s side, Kiran lifted both hands. His silently murmured incantation took hold instantly.
Immense magic erupted from his signature. It ripped ribbons of power from the Fabric before flinging a vast ward overhead. The ward moved outward until it encased the courtyard in an invisible dome, and Kiran layered additional defenses to fortify it further.
The shields spread until they shuddered with one final pulse then stilled. Residual power from his magic rattled Imani’s chest.
Lowering his hands, the spell was complete. No one would be able to pass without Kiran’s permission. They were effectively in the Niflheim Kingdom’s domain now.
“Your monarch declared you’ll serve your kingdom for the greater good, a diplomatic and honorable service.” Saevel angled his head. “That’s a lie.”
No one spoke, not even a whisper.
Saevel continued, “Make no mistake. This is a reaping meant to administer punishment to your kingdom, and you are all guilty. Why we picked you to participate is irrelevant. You have gone unchecked for far too long, and now we’re going to give you a choice in how you pay for the crime. If you survive our first ascension assessment today, you’ll move on to the next. Or you’ll die. That’s it. Those are your choices, and we start right now.”
“Not all of us are going quietly into slavery.” A leimoniad nymph pointed his wand at Saevel.
A maniacal smile overtook Kiran’s face before he flipped his wand upright. “I hoped someone would put up a fight.”
Barely moving his wand, Prince Kiran unleashed a spell at the defiant witch in the crowd.
Fire burst forth, encasing the man in his inferno.
Everyone flinched, ducking and covering their heads. Imani kept her eyes locked and unblinking at the gruesome sight. The Serpent Prince lived up to his name. Positively feral, his magic warmed her face from fifty paces back. Malis’s fire had been a fraction.
Before Imani could take another breath, Kiran withdrew the spell back into his body and sent a gust of wind through the remains with a flick of his wrist.
Ashes coated the crowd.
It raised the hair on her arms. Imani was now sure he was a twelve-mark.
Prince Kiran held too much power, and likely abused it, because the magic was like nothing she’d encountered before. Not even a dozen Essenheim master witches would be enough if they went against him.
Worse—a deep, deadly force, one bordering on insanity, fought for freedom inside the elf. The man would be magnificent if not for the raw insanity rolling from him in startling waves. His eyes held a haunted viciousness that spoke of imbalance, and it told her more than she ever needed to know about the Mad Prince. It was more acute than when he’d used his magic to cast the wards. Maybe the other Norn and their keen elven senses felt it, too, but no one else did.
While her own magic made her half-insane, this terrified her.
As a collector for a decade, Imani had lived in society’s shadows long enough to become an expert on spotting danger. This witch would kill or had killed without batting an eye, and he was smart—brilliant, probably. All Imani’s instincts said to run, and while he fascinated her, she wasn’t too prideful to admit he frightened her, as well. A simultaneously horrifying nightmare and a transfixing dream.
“Does anyone else want to choose now?” Saevel asked, arms out, inviting. “My brother and I would be happy to?—”
Two others pointed their wands and shouted as they ran forward.
A brutal blow to their bodies awaited, but this time, it was Saevel. He roared, and Imani stared in shock as his body tore into a bear’s form. Standing on its hind legs, the bear eclipsed the witches, stretching over fourteen feet tall.
Rearing up and veering around, its maw opened in an untamed snarl, showing off long, pointed teeth.
The witches hit him with powerful magic, but it did nothing. Its paw swung around in defense, and the magic dissipated.
People in shifter form could still be hurt by magic, but rumors circulated that the powerful royal shifter family in Niflheim was impervious. She had incorrectly found it too unbelievable even to consider it valid. Sinking defeat settled in her chest.
Stalking toward the first man, the animal’s massive claws slashed across the witch’s body. The bear gutted the man, dumping blood and insides onto the dirt. The other witch pummeled more magic at Saevel, trying to stop him. He couldn’t.
The witch screamed, his back arching and thrashing while the bear ripped him apart. Bones crunched as he crushed both witches. Their blood and guts smashed into the gravel. Over and over, Saevel batted their bodies, destroying them into the ground. It was like he’d smashed them with a thousand bricks.
Crunch, crack. Blow, crack . Saevel didn’t stop.
Outside of Malis, Imani had little knowledge about Niflheim breeds, but Saevel’s shift reminded her of an animal she’d read about in a book—werebeast shifters. Such monsters populating Niflheim made her stomach churn.
With another fierce growl booming in the courtyard, Saevel’s body blurred again, swirling with his shifter magic. A second later, he stood, panting. The sweat gleaming on his forehead was the only sign he’d changed forms.
Saevel curled his lip in distaste as he motioned to the remains. “Clean it up,” he said to his brother, eyes promising violence if Kiran didn’t.
Kiran merely shrugged, obeying like a good little lapdog.
“All of you, on your knees,” Prince Saevel ordered.
Everyone shuffled to the ground but one.
Imani looked over her shoulder to see a satyr shifter still standing. He was an eight-mark but not a master.
Kiran sighed dramatically. “As much as I’m enjoying the challenges, we’ll kill them all by the end of today at this rate,” he muttered, too low for most breeds to hear.
“He bends the knee or dies,” Saevel snarled.
“Well, you heard your future king.” Kiran pointed to the ground with a flourish. “Let’s go, horse face.”
The satyr shifter didn’t move.
Impatient, Kiran motioned again, snapping his fingers. “Down, boy. You’ll get to die soon enough. Today will be such a bore if you force me to do it now.”
After hesitating for a second, the shifter dropped to his knees.
Kiran clapped loudly, his face a giant grin again.
Saevel crossed his arms. “Now that you’re all bowing to your true sovereign, my brother is going to bind you to take our assessments.”
With people already dead and the rest bound in agreement to serve the Throne, the princes wasted no more time getting the first assessment started.
The rules of their ascension assessments were simple—fail or attempt to resist completing the three tests in any way, purposely or otherwise, and the binding would kick in. Any survivors were bound to serve King Magnus and the Niflheim Throne.
Unease blossomed inside her at the idea of servitude for the rest of her life, away from her home and siblings. But she had to believe it would afford her the opportunities she needed to search for the Drasil.
Then she could free herself forever.
Their abilities were evaluated for hours. Several other master witches from Niflheim helped run the assessments. The candidates were grouped repeatedly in every way imaginable—by breed, sex, height, physical magic, spiritual magic, elemental magic, functional magic, and on and on.
The princes didn’t speak once throughout the ordeal, but Imani sensed their judgment, not missing any detail. Especially Kiran. Although, blessedly, he didn’t show any sign of detecting her flesh magic.
When the sun set, the Essenheim witches were sorted into two, long parallel lines, an air of finality permeating. They were split evenly down the middle, staring at each other. Most kept their gazes averted, shifting nervously. Except Imani. She fixed her eyes on the brothers, not wanting to waste precious time observing them.
“The left half is dead as we speak. You’ve been chosen to lose today,” Kiran said.
“Those on the right,” Saevel said, “will execute the person across from you. As far as you’re concerned, these are now enemies of Niflheim, and we expect total compliance from our vassals.”
Imani was on the right. She would advance to the next assessment if she could murder the person across from her. It was a horror, but if she wanted to live, she’d need to complete the task.
Those bastards , she thought, thinking about all the dead witches standing on the opposite side.
Murdering people was a perfect assessment. Magic capable of killing required immense control to wield without unintended consequences. People killed themselves if they couldn’t cast correctly. It also ran a spectrum of abilities, requiring the same demanding task from everyone while allowing witches to showcase their individual powers.
Both princes knew it was the perfect assessment, too, because smug satisfaction showed on their faces. Why worry about killing the Essenheim witches when they’d kill each other? With permission, the princes eliminated nearly a quarter of the most potent magic wielders from their enemy’s army.
Still, she was anything but nervous. Her anger made anxiety impossible, and she bristled at them making her complete such a task. Imani didn’t murder innocent people on a whim, especially witches, but the binding made disobeying impossible. Her fist tightened, imagining it slamming into one of the princes’ faces.
“And if we refuse?” a nameless witch called out from the far end.
Kiran chuckled.
Imani narrowed her eyes at the sound.
Saevel gave the nameless witch a withering look. “Then you failed to keep your vow, and the binding ramification will kill you.” He waved his hand at him, irritated. “You’ve volunteered to go first.”
Kiran gripped his wand tight in one hand and raised his other. Ropes appeared out of thin air and tied themselves around the shaking, crying candidates across from Saevel. Kiran forced them onto their knees with a smirk. When some let out wails of pain, he swiped his wand and silenced them with a spell all too familiar to Imani.
Kneeling on the ground, the first victim shook so violently Imani thought the woman might fall over.
Seconds passed as the victim and executioner stared at each other. No one moved, enraptured by the atrocity about to inevitably occur, no matter the choice.
Backing away, the master witch shook his head. “I can’t. I won’t murder this woman?—”
Before the words left his mouth, he grabbed at his throat as the air left his lungs. He swayed and fell on the gravel, his body contorting and jerking in every direction.
Saevel’s and Kiran’s faces didn’t shy away while the witch scratched at his throat and choked for air that would never come. It took him several minutes to suffocate but, mercifully, he stilled.
Afterward, no one refused, and like the Niflheim princes, Imani never averted her eyes from the carnage. With Tanyl and anyone from Essenheim barred from viewing the assessments, the Niflheim princes were free to commit any atrocities they deemed appropriate for the assessments. Sandpaper coated her mouth as she looked on.
She’d have to participate like all the others, but such indiscriminate killing of witches infuriated her. Nevertheless, she refused to show weakness in front of the princes. It was the only way she could survive such cold-blooded cruelty.
To their credit, those playing the executioners tried to ensure a painless passing. Body after body fell, and Kiran didn’t even let their families keep the remains—he burned the corpses with detached efficiency. The wind carried them away, all remnants gone in seconds. Thrown into the skies, they ceased to exist here anymore.
Esa sucked the air out of the lungs of her victim, and with the next, blood spilled from a slit throat. Unlike the rest of the victims, the two souls hovered above their bodies, lingering, tempting Imani to feed. And indeed, it was tempting. She wanted the strength, the vitality it afforded, and the blissful feeling. But it would be impossible to get away with it right now, and when she refused the spirits, they disappeared, presumably to start their journey to the Under with the others.
Heads whipped toward her, signaling her turn.
Imani stole a brief glance at the Niflheim princes. The piercing darkness of Kiran’s eyes tore through all the voices, people, and commotion to find hers. An illicit shiver of fear jolted her at the unexpected intimacy. Kiran’s snaking magic coiled around his body and rolled off him in prominent waves, as if he read her and she’d failed some sort of test.
Imani would not let this serpent know how much his stare and assessment rattled her. Slipping out her wand, she ignored how he made her heart pound and stomped forward, quickly closing the distance between her and the victim. Kiran’s stare burned into her spine.
Once she stood over the man’s trembling, kneeling form, she didn’t hesitate. Gripping her wand overhead, she cast a spell, slicing her victim’s head clean off.
It rolled on the gravel, and the body collapsed. Blood spurted from his severed neck. Like the others, his spirit rose above his body, and Gods helped her, she almost gave in to her hunger to devour his being. Instead, Imani tilted her head and examined the bleeding, headless corpse. That was it?
Her own ruthlessness surprised her. She had expected to feel more than hunger, but a cold, vacant stare hardened on her face. Sacrifices had to be made to pass the assessments, she supposed, one of which might be her soul.
Without a crack in her mask, she strode back to her spot on the grass.
The final two finished, and one remained—the one the witch whose executioner refused to kill her.
Saevel pointed to Imani. “You, elf witch, finish her off,” he ordered with gleeful malice at making her complete the task twice.
Despite the Niflheim heir’s barking, Kiran’s magic bore down on her, threatening again—a warning for her to obey.
Their gazes snapped together, and an impish smile tugged at his mouth. He’d been staring at her for several minutes, maybe more, but now he took his time with his close-up view, probably searching for signs of weakness.
He would find none. She’d dressed the part today, after all. She would prove she belonged in these assessments, at least for today.
Imani moved forward in measured steps, unhurried. Others might have interpreted her slowness as hesitation, but hesitation had nothing to do with it. She simply wanted Kiran to see the obstinate detachment on her face.
You’ll have to do better than this to rattle me. The thought was clearly visible on her expression before she separated the last victim’s head from her neck.
Acceptance liberated her mind.
She’d done her fair share of immoral acts and had never defended her actions. A large part of her found some satisfaction, especially when someone wronged her or stood in her way.
A line existed she’d never crossed before. One where people committed atrocities for no other reason than they enjoyed them. In this instance, it simply needed to be done, but how close would Niflheim’s assessments bring her to that line?