CHAPTER EIGHT
Another letter arrived the morning after Nyssa had completed her first trial.
She sat at her kitchen table, tea cooling, and broke her coven’s wax seal with steady fingers, even though her heart felt like it was going to beat out of her chest. There was no way they’d send details of the next trial so soon, and congratulations wasn’t in Edith’s vocabulary.
Which could only mean the letter was bad news.
The thought was enough for her inner voice to pipe up even without the help of a cursed ring. Perhaps they’ve decided you failed, after all, it mocked.
But no. When Nyssa had checked the candelabra before coming down that morning after waking with that very same fear, she’d found the first candle still burning bright. If the coven had decided to fail her, then surely that wouldn’t be the case?
Nyx bumped her head against the envelope with a short, curt meow that seemed to say: You’ll never know if you don’t open it.
Nyssa let out a small sigh. ‘You’re right. Here goes nothing.’
The moment Nyssa pulled out the letter and saw Noah’s signature at the bottom, she wished she’d left it in the envelope.
There had been no time to talk with the young warlock before she’d left the covenstead back in London, and she’d been too afraid to write back to Edith and ask about his wellbeing.
Nyssa was expecting the letter to be short and brutal; she deserved it, after what she’d put the poor warlock through. What she did not expect was for the letter to offer her the one thing she’d been craving more than she realized.
Dearest Mage Hawthorne,
I hope you are keeping well, and that you do not mind my writing to you. I overheard that you were in Nighthaven and so I thought this the best way to reach you given technology doesn’t work within the island’s bounds.
Firstly, I want you to know I am fully recovered.
Secondly, that I do not blame you for what occurred.
We all make mistakes, and you were so patient and forgiving of the (many) mistakes I made when I first joined the coven.
Please, do not worry yourself over it. If you wish to make it up to me, you can do so by passing your trials and returning to the covenstead.
Blessed Be,
Mage Noah Sampson
Nyssa reread the letter thrice over before she realized she’d started crying. Large, fat tears spilled on to the parchment and blurred the ink, and Nyssa had to lean back in her chair and take a number of deep, shaky breaths to stop the sobs building in her chest.
She didn’t deserve Noah’s forgiveness – not yet – but if his letter had made Nyssa certain of one thing, it was that she would do everything in her power to earn it.
The next two weeks passed by in a haze of tea-scented air and the comforting companionship of Nighthaven’s small community.
Nyssa hadn’t told anyone about completing the first trial, but she was sure that both Liora and Elowen had noticed how much more confident she had become with small spell work over the last few weeks.
Her café had gotten so busy that Nyssa barely had to worry about the fact that details of her next trial should be arriving soon.
In fact, as the days went on, a part of her began to feel almost …
excited at the prospect of proving herself once again.
So when she awoke one chilly morning in late October, a few days before Samhain, to find a letter from Edith on her kitchen table, her heart filled not with the creeping sense of foreboding she’d imagined, but with a small flicker of hope.
After she’d finished brewing herself a cup of sweet tea, she sat down to open the letter, steeling herself for whatever trial would be next.
But as she read, the flicker of hope was rapidly snuffed out.
Mage Hawthorne,
I am writing to confirm that we have taken note of your completion of the first trial.
Moreover, I must inform you that, due to unforeseen circumstances, the details of your second trial will be delayed.
I apologize for any inconvenience this may cause, though I would advise you to use this additional time to reflect on your performance and how you might improve upon this for your second trial.
I am equally certain that you will be grateful to have more time to prepare.
Blessed be,
Edith Kelster
Interim Head Mage of The Coven of the Sacred Owl
Nyssa’s cup of tea hung suspended halfway to her mouth, a knot of frustration lodged in her throat. Who was Edith to advise her on anything? To suggest she might ‘improve’ on her performance? Nyssa’s eyes flicked through the letter once more, lingering on that final line.
I am equally certain that you will be grateful to have more time to prepare.
Nyssa could almost hear Edith’s condescending delight ringing in her ears as she read the words over and over, the letter shaking in her hand.
Nyx hopped on to the table, pawing at the paper until Nyssa finally put it down, taking a deep breath that did nothing to quell the tangle of emotions in her chest.
Edith’s words had soured the sweet tea she’d been drinking so badly that she dumped the rest of it into the sink before throwing the letter into the fireplace.
Blood pounding in her ears, Nyssa snatched up her broomstick and satchel and threw open her front door.
She stepped into the garden, and, barely even giving Nyx time to climb aboard, pushed herself forcefully from the ground, soaring into the grey October sky and steering towards the café.
As the damp autumn air whipped at her face, Nyssa couldn’t stop herself from mulling over Edith’s letter yet again.
If the mage had her way, she’d delay giving Nyssa a chance to prove herself for as long as possible.
Long enough, no doubt, for her to try to prove to the rest of the coven that she was a better choice for the position of head mage.
‘The snake,’ Nyssa muttered to herself angrily.
Nyssa was clutching the handle so tightly that her knuckles were turning white, and she could feel the broomstick vibrating beneath her as frustration coursed through her chest. Lisabeth’s voice came to her then.
Safe flying requires a sound mind, her grandma had always cautioned when Nyssa had first been learning to fly.
She knew if she didn’t pull herself together she wouldn’t be able to control her broom, so she gently eased her grip and inhaled deeply, willing the thoughts racing round her head to slow down.
Gradually, the broom stilled beneath her, and Nyssa was able to focus her mind on the route to the café.
As she descended carefully to the street on which Teas and Tales resided, crisp orange leaves flying up around her as she touched down to the ground, the pulse of irritation was still ticking beneath her skin.
But alongside that frustration, another feeling was mounting inside her.
Panic.
She unlocked the café and made her way into the back room to safely deposit her broomstick and coat, before returning to the front to begin brewing the first pots of the day.
‘She surely can’t get away with it, Nyx,’ Nyssa murmured as her familiar wound her way around Nyssa’s legs.
‘Someone at the covenstead is bound to see what Edith is trying to do by delaying – Prim or Kilan or someone will realize, right? But maybe … Oh, I don’t know, maybe she would be a better head mage than me. ’
Nyx mewed in protest, rubbing her head soothingly up and down Nyssa’s calf as she began wiping down the counter.
‘I mean, it’s not like my track record is looking great at this stage, is it, Nyxalia?
Maybe Edith was right, maybe I should be grateful for the extra time to prepare …
’ Nyssa went on, worries building as her chest tightened.
She scrubbed at the counter more vigorously, trying to put all her anxious energy into the action, but she couldn’t stop the tears welling in her eyes.
Sensing Nyssa’s mounting panic, Nyx quickly leapt up to the counter, bopping her head against Nyssa’s until she put down the cloth and pulled her familiar into her arms. Nyx purred deeply as Nyssa nestled her face into the black fur, willing away the all too familiar insecurities.
After a few minutes, Nyssa found her breathing returning to normal and gently set Nyx down. I’m okay, she reminded herself, I’m just overthinking things. It will all be okay. She just had to get through the day’s work.
Mercifully, the morning rush of Nighthaven residents eager for a cup of tea before they went on their way to work proved a highly effective distraction, soothing some of Nyssa’s worries.
As the stream of customers slowed to a trickle, though, her anxieties became louder once more. She chewed her lip as she leaned against the counter, lost in her thoughts as she gazed into the inky depths of the ceiling.
‘Ohhh, you big cheater!’ Liora’s shrill shout forced Nyssa from her musings.
Now that the rush had passed, Alaric had roped the bard into a round of Lost Treasures, an enchanted game that rewarded the winner with a physical manifestation of one of the games prizes.
Alaric, whose lap was currently Nyx’s seat of choice, held up a shimmering crystal with a wide, handsome grin.
‘Don’t be a sore loser, Li. I won fair and square.’
Despite her insistent worries, Nyssa couldn’t help but smile as she watched the scene unfold. It was becoming a near-regular occurrence for Alaric and Liora to fall out over accusations of cheating, and Nyssa had found herself thoroughly enjoying her fiery friends’ confrontations each week.
‘You did not! You distracted me with your stupid story. I demand a rematch – and this time, we play in complete silence!’ Liora turned her angry gaze on Nyssa. ‘I don’t trust him to follow my rules, so can you enchant him so that he can’t speak?’
‘I’m not going to do so without Alaric’s permission.’
‘Which you absolutely do not have!’ the druid proclaimed.