Chapter 12
ChApter
Twelve
Itry not to let the king’s announcement frazzle me as Nadya and I make our way to Ezra’s lesson room. The only thing that eased the blunt was the king’s acquiesce that Nadya was permitted to accompany me. I have a feeling he doesn’t trust her to not turn his castle into a party hall in his absence.
Because Ezra was helping my uncle recover, lessons were put on hold.
Now that Uncle Kormak is in the clear, I find myself looking forward to spending some time learning something.
Mostly, I’m still wondering about the storm that suddenly hit during Torbin’s funeral and if I had anything to do with it.
If anyone has a semblance of a theory that could explain what happened, it’s Ezra.
Nadya and I step into the scent of parchment, ink, and dried herbs.
Shelves line the stone walls, crammed with tomes bound in cracked leather, their spines worn from decades, perhaps centuries, of handling.
Bundles of herbs hang from the rafters, suspended to dry, while glass bottles of various tinctures glimmer in the dim light from the room’s narrow windows.
A sturdy desk sits at back of the room, papers strewn across its surface in ordered chaos, and behind it stands Ezra.
The magister watches us enter, his brows raised, like he’s glad to see us.
The dark circles have disappeared from under his eyes, and his usual tunic looks freshly cleaned.
It lightens the weight from my chest that he seems to have gotten some rest after the exhausting efforts he went through to bring my uncle back from the brink.
“Celeste, Nadya,” he says, his arms stretched out at his sides. “Lovely to see you in my lesson room.”
I understand the truth behind his words. He’s glad we’re meeting here instead of in my uncle’s chamber, frustratingly throwing ideas at the wall to see what sticks.
Ezra studies me for a beat longer before gesturing toward the chairs arranged before his desk. Nadya and I settle into them as he lowers himself into his own seat, hands folding over the parchment before him. “Is there a particular subject you’d like to begin with today?”
Nadya lifts her hand before I can even open my mouth.
“Actually, yes. If it’s okay with Celeste.
I read something in the archives. About a trio of wandering women from Bastos who traveled across Terre Ferique before the poisonous plants began spreading.
Supposedly powerful, possibly witches, possibly tragic figures who died before their work was done.
” She leans forward, resting her hands on her knees.
“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about them, would you? ”
Ezra arches a brow. “Witches from Bastos? Now there’s a tale I haven’t heard in some time.” He sits back in his chair, rubbing his jaw with a hand that’s ink-stained along the knuckles.
“You were around back then, weren’t you?” she teases.
Ezra chuckles. “Hardly. I may feel ancient when I wake up some mornings, but I’m not quite that far gone.”
Nadya grins, undeterred. “But you’ve heard about them? Read some things?”
“That much is true.” He grows thoughtful, his fingers drumming lightly on the desk.
“There have always been stories. The most credible accounts mention three women cloaked in robes who moved from Bastos through the central lands. They were said to have unnatural magic, power that wasn’t innate, like the fae or sirens. ”
I exchange a glance with Nadya, her curiosity shining in her expression like a lit match.
Ezra continues, his tone drifting more scholarly now. “Some magisters believe they were trying to warn the kingdoms. Others say they were trying to stop something. And still others think they triggered the plague themselves—made a deal with the old gods and failed to control the consequences.”
“Do any of the records say who they were?” I ask. “Names, lineage… anything?”
“Not directly,” he replies. “But there are more than a few accounts of their journey, each with similar details. Those descriptions repeat, even when the language changes. I’ve always found that consistency the most intriguing part.”
“So it’s real,” Nadya says softly. “Or real enough that people remembered.”
Ezra’s gaze sharpens. “Enough that people feared them. Bastos isn’t known for its love of rules, but even they tried to bury the old stories. Magic like that was seen as chaos. Uncontrollable. And anything that couldn’t be chained was considered dangerous.”
I fold my arms, something twisting uneasily in my chest. “Isn’t that how they see all magic they don’t understand?”
“Precisely.” Ezra nods. “But what’s buried tends to grow roots, not vanish. That’s why the land feels as if it’s holding its breath these days. Too many unanswered questions. Too many old powers stirring.”
A chill pricks across my skin.
Nadya runs her palms over the silk of her dress, smoothing it out. “What happened to them? The women.”
Ezra’s voice is quiet now. “They were ambushed on the coast. No official account names the killer. But some texts claim they saw what was coming—and went willingly into the sea.”
I frown. “Why would they do that?”
“Perhaps they believed their part was done and someone else would rise after them.” He gives us both a long look. “Someone stronger.”
The silence that follows is thick, and I can feel Nadya holding her breath beside me.
Then Ezra stands, stretching the tension from his back. “Come. I think we’ve talked enough about the past. Let’s see what your magic has to say today.”
“My magic?” I fidget, squeezing my fingers, as if subconsciously trying to keep the magic at bay.
“Yes, Celeste. Tell me. Are there any new developments?”
“Your powder is still working.” I decide it’s easier to start with truths he already knows. “No night wanderings. So that’s good news.”
He waits a beat. “Is this your way of telling me there’s bad news?”
“Not bad news, really.”
“But something unexpected, perhaps?” Ezra tilts his head.
I glance at Nadya. She doesn’t know that I felt my body buzzing during the storm. She doesn’t know about the pain that shot through my head. I didn’t tell her my suspicions, mostly because I’m frightened to admit them to myself.
“The day of Torbin’s funeral,” I begin, already feeling my mouth go dry, “there was a storm that suddenly blew in.”
“Yes, I remember.” Ezra waits for more, but his expression changes when I remain quiet. “No. That can’t be.”
“What?” Nadya scoots to the edge of her chair. “What can’t be?”
Ezra straightens his shoulders, studying me for a moment longer before facing Nadya. “Celeste suspects she may have influenced the storm.”
Nadya whips her head in my direction. “That was you?”
“I don’t know.” For some reason, I feel ashamed. “Maybe.”
Her jaw drops. “Impressive!”
Ezra paces, his hands clasped behind his back. “Tell me everything. What you were feeling, emotionally and physically. Even the small details might help us understand.”
I take a minute to compose myself before I recount the details for him.
How I was filled with anger because everyone was being told Torbin was dead, that he was some honorable man who should be revered.
Frustrated because I felt Torbin was still out there, that the tsar was planning something big, but the king refused to listen.
I told Ezra about the buzzing in my blood, within my bones, the zing of power coursing through me, and how the sky darkened.
But I don’t mention the bolt of pain.
“Interesting.” Ezra watches me for a long moment, then sighs.
“I’ve been scanning every book I have, searching for anything that might explain how the fae who hid their powers during the Age of Blood regained them.
There are plenty of histories that claim it was a deal with the gods, that their magic was returned as some divine gift.
” He scoffs slightly, shaking his head. “But I believe there’s more to the truth than that.
If the fae could hide their magic, there must have been a way to retrieve it—something deliberate, something tangible. ”
I frown. “And you think I could find that answer?”
“I think you might be the answer.” His gaze is sharp, unwavering. “Which means we need to keep searching for it within you. This… magic you wielded at the funeral, perhaps it was an extension of the energy force you seem to have developed.”
Energy force. It sounds so powerful, but I feel so far from being able to control it.
“If not, it’s an entirely different path, which adds another mystery to our puzzle.”
“Just what we needed,” I joke.
He gives me a smile, and I can’t help but notice it’s lined with pity.
“Let’s first try to concentrate on the parts of the puzzle we might be able to gain insight on.” His eyes go toward the windows. “I suggest we try it now.”
I swallow, shifting my hands in my lap. “Here?”
Ezra’s lips twitch. “I was thinking about the southern courtyard. It’s private, walled in. No one will see.” He tilts his head. “Unless you’re afraid?”
I narrow my eyes at him, standing from my chair. “Lead the way, Magister.”
The wide courtyard is littered with the scattered petals and leaves of magnolia trees.
The copse of trees shades the area, their broad, waxy leaves rustling slightly from the morning’s breeze.
Sunlight filters through the branches, dappling the stone pathway and the patches of grass beyond.
A peaceful scene—if not for the heavy weight pressing on my chest.
Ezra, hands clasped behind his back, surveys the courtyard as if inspecting an army outpost. “Nadya, step to the center,” he instructs, tilting his head toward the open space.
She lifts a brow but obeys, strolling to the middle with an air of exaggerated elegance. “Am I to be sacrificed?” she muses, shooting me a playful grin.
Ezra ignores her and turns to me instead. “I want you to summon the wind—not a storm, not a gust, just a whisper. Gather the petals around Nadya.”
“Am I controlling weather? Or is it simply energy force focused on the petals?”
“Do you have weather-wielding fae in your lineage?”
I bite the inside of my cheek. The mother had telepathy magic, as does my uncle. My grandmother could create illusions, and my great-grandfather had fire-wielding magic, according to what my mother told me when I was young. “I don’t think so.”
“Let’s play it by ear and see how it feels to you.”
I inhale slowly, stretching out my fingers, feeling the energy like a hum beneath my skin. It rises with my breath, coiling inside me, and as I exhale, I release it—a soft pulse outward.
A few petals shift. Then more. Like dancers stirring from a long slumber, they rise from the ground and swirl around Nadya’s boots, climbing higher until they spin at her waist.
Nadya watches them in delighted awe. “Not bad,” she teases, spinning once, sending them twirling outward.
Ezra, seemingly unimpressed, crosses his arms, his eyes narrowed. “Now, have them follow her.”
Nadya scoffs. “I prefer to be chased by roguish men and curvy women.”
“You don’t need my magic for that, my friend,” I say.
I breathe out again, this time with more focus, pushing the magic toward her. The petals obey, drifting in a slow, weightless dance as she takes a few steps. I adjust, keeping them in her wake. With the lift of a finger in the air, I push one up to tickle her cheek.
She gasps, then laughs outright. “You little menace.”
“Run,” Ezra suggests, his tone entirely too amused.
Nadya doesn’t need another invitation. She takes off, laughter ringing through the courtyard, and I chase her—not with my feet, but with my power, urging the petals after her like a playful storm. They catch in her hair, skim her shoulders, flit ahead of her, as if guiding her steps.
She ducks, swerves, and twirls, but they stay with her, and I realize something. I’m not straining. I’m controlling it.
The thought makes me bold. I push a little more, sending the petals rushing at her all at once, blocking her view, and she yelps, losing her footing when she trips over an exposed root.
She tumbles onto the grass in an unceremonious heap, laughing breathlessly as I send the last of the petals cascading over her like a silken blanket.
I run toward her, my laughter lifting my spirits.
Until a sharp pain slices through my head like a burning blade. I almost wince but quickly school my features, keeping a smile plastered on my face.
Nadya grins up at me, twigs tangled in her curls, her stomach bouncing up and down as she giggles. “That was fun.”
“Don’t ever say I never brought you flowers,” I tease.
“I’d say that was a success,” Ezra says as he comes closer, offering Nadya a hand and pulling her to her feet.
I would agree, if only it didn’t feel like it cost me.