Chapter 2
Chapter
Two
The Yarrow home was small but well-made, built with Kenneth’s own hands atop a hill overlooking both city and sea. From the large front windows, they could watch over the business—count the bobbing ships in their shipyard and monitor the comings and goings from the workshop.
Past their shipyard was the Harbor Market. Erinna loved to watch the flickering lamplight illuminate the buildings and streets with warm red and orange. A few well-off storefronts boasted witchstone sconces, but their light was a pale, harsher white.
No matter how late, businesses were open and thriving on tourist zeal and sailor fatigue. Drunk visitors and locals would be stumbling over the worn cobblestones, singing shanties and shouting poems from all over the continents.
These days, the seaside revelry was not immune to the tension that stirred the nation. Everyone held their proverbial breath for the old mage.
Erinna worried about the number of patrolling guardsmen stationed in the populated trade area.
Grievers from the three Great Continents—East, West, and South—had visited the island kingdom in droves to pay their respects.
Perhaps they should be developing a contingency plan when everything eventually went to shit, Erinna thought.
Another muffled gong from the Chancellor’s tower rattled her already sensitive nerves.
If Erinna tried hard enough, she could ignore the few bells that would undoubtedly sound in the middle of the night. The most devoted citizen would likely pause at every toll and send prayers of healing to the old man.
She frowned, wondering how much pain the Chancellor endured just to remain half-dead in slumber.
Erinna thought it was selfish to prolong his suffering for so long.
Iprix had lived for generations, crafted a magical haven on the island, and outlived three kings.
He was the only council member with two highly trained apprentices who continued to serve him.
The Major and Minor Apprentices. Two highly esteemed and gifted mages who surpassed the rest.
One was surely capable enough to take up the mantle after his passing. All things ended, and no one was meant to escape the ruling of The Reaper. Not even the mage of wonder, Iprix Hagan.
Another muffled gong filtered into their home, as if the Chancellor himself could hear Erinna’s blasphemous internal opinions.
“Meeting with the captain of the Royal Navy in less than two days. Not ill-advised at all,” Erinna murmured and slumped into a plush chair by the fireplace, debating whether the burn of mid-shelf liquor was worth numbing her senses.
A headache was starting to thrum at her temples, and the promise of drunken stupor seemed even more appealing.
In the end, Erinna decided it was better to keep a clear head.
There were still things she had to prepare, contracts left to finalize before the exchange.
This would be their largest and most profitable project all year, if it all went well.
And gods knew they would need the money if Kenneth kept taking on last-minute clients.
Clearly oblivious to her thoughts, her father let out a sigh of relief, crossing to the stone fireplace.
Dancing flames blazed to life once more in their hearth, and moments later, a warm cup of Ionian tea was between Erinna’s hands, soothing her hands from the night chill that crept in.
A hearty aroma, crisp but warm, graced her senses, and she allowed herself a moment of reprieve.
Kenneth settled in the chair across from Erinna with an identical dark red mug, eyeing her knowingly. “Anything you want to talk about?”
“We’re getting careless.” It came out as a half groan through careful sips. The tea wouldn’t numb her senses like alcohol, but the familiar scent and taste brought its own comfort. It was all Erinna remembered of her mother. How she smelled like cinnamon and vanilla in every embrace.
Kenneth gripped the mug, white-knuckled. “Not careless, desperate.”
He was, indeed, acting in desperation. More than he usually did. He would come home with new deals and put plans in place without her consultation. In the past few months, she had been left in the dark much more frequently. Simply told what to do and where to be with no input on the matter.
Erinna eyed her father for any signs to indicate his reasoning. His sturdy build, hardened by manual labor, slumped in the seat. Streaks of grey decorated his dark brown hair. The same color as Erinna’s own. Weariness carved lines into his face and darkened his storm-gray eyes.
There was no secret motive to be read. All Erinna saw was a man tired of toiling in the dark and ready for bed.
“We have a deal with Broman for a reason. We use his old mines to move our clients stealthily below ground, and he uses our boats. It is much safer to bring them through the tunnels than in a coach in broad daylight,” she continued.
“We moved at night, Erinna, don’t over—”
“Tonight, you moved under the cover of darkness, but what about yesterday? Damien said the Professor was in class, wearing the same outfit as the day before. According to him, she seemed more nervous than usual.”
The wood on Kenneth’s armrest creaked in response to his well-hidden fury as he leaned forward in his chair, darkness in his eyes. “I thought you stopped talking to that academy boy.”
“Dad,” Erinna rejoined, holding her father’s stare until he eventually caved, sinking back into his chair. Her father had never been fond of the academy. Neither was Erinna.
The Academy of the Arcanum was one of Iprix’s grand achievements, and what made the small island kingdom a force to be reckoned with among the four Great Continents.
Arcanum—the threads that filled the world with magic—was Tarth’s largest resource.
With the highest density of well-trained mages and a globally renowned academy dedicated to its craft, not even the continental kingdoms could deny Tarth’s might.
But the Synod of the Everdawn had sunk its rotten claws into the institution and spoiled it from the inside.
It had gotten worse ever since Dean Harrowood had been appointed.
He was a devout follower of the Everdawn and, worse, subscribed to the fanaticism that aberrants were lesser beings, spoiled at birth by the Unseen Gods.
He trained mages—enforcers—how to hunt aberrants.
Preached of the horrors an unreformed aberrant could do.
Turned mages against each other. Against people like her.
Erinna shivered and wrapped her hands tighter around her cup of tea.
Not every mage had bought into it, Erinna had to believe.
There were still professors who fought against such ideology.
Like Nama. Erinna knew Damien was like that too.
He was kind, caring, and the closest friend she had.
Before his enrollment, he had been welcome in the house with open arms. It wasn’t fair to forsake him.
“You know what will happen if they find you,” Kenneth warned, breaking through the tense silence.
“Of course I know. I’ve known my whole damned life,” Erinna shot back. Regret flashed across Kenneth’s features.
Erinna had lived her entire life knowing how dangerous it would be if she came across an Enforcer.
It didn’t matter how weak her power had become—hells, there were moments Erinna forgot she even had a Talent—it meant nothing.
The night her Talent first bloomed beneath her skin had sealed her fate—one of constant secrets. Constant hiding.
Erinna had been a child, nodding off in her father’s arms when she saw it. A ghostly apparition stalking the street outside a tavern. She didn’t understand it at first. Not until the spirit saw her. Then it knew she could see it—could respond. It opened its mouth and screamed.
Erinna shoved the unwelcome memories from her head, burying them deep in her consciousness. There were more pressing matters at hand. “I just mean that we have to be more careful with our operations, especially with the number of guards that have been dispatched lately.”
Kenneth raised the steaming mug to his lips, mumbling imperceptibly into his tea. Erinna was too focused on her anxiety to care about his complaints. Every risk he took impacted them all—the business, his friends, his family.
“There have been more navy patrols around the harbor. It will be a miracle if Rexin can make the voyage without being spotted,” Erinna continued.
She gulped down her drink and placed the cup on the achingly ornate side table crafted by Kenneth’s own two hands.
“At least run things by me so we can plan better.”
In truth, Erinna would be little help during this trade-off.
Kenneth initiated the voyage in such a rush they barely had time to request access to Broman’s old witchstone mines.
And of course, that greedy merchant applied a rush charge for emergency use of the abandoned mines he still owned.
Kenneth didn’t even use them, despite Erinna’s incessant pleas.
She sighed, adding to her never-ending to-do list. Broman’s men loaded more than agreed upon, so she could probably recoup the cost of the unnecessary fee. Everything had been going haywire since those bells started ringing. Lately, the gongs sounded multiple times a day, and even more at night.
Both Yarrows stared out the window, waiting for the tension to subside.
The ocean was dark ink beneath the night sky.
Rexin would be sailing dark with no one but Broman’s men and the Kellori family for help.
At least Nama was a powerful mage. Transmutation would be somewhat useful at sea.
She could strengthen the hull temporarily and protect the ship against sharp rocks if needed.
They had a chance, a very slim one, of making it to the Initian Islands with minimal complications.
“I have a few things to take care of these next few mornings, but I can secure you a ride to Crown Quarter for the day of the meeting,” Kenneth offered.
Erinna aimed a sharp stare his way. Every instinct buzzed with the need to know what he was planning—what secrets was he keeping, what were those vague and guarded plans?
But they’d been through this before, and Erinna was growing weary of these fights. Secrets clung to her parents like shadows, but only her father was alive to ask. Erinna choked down the dull ache of grief that still surfaced whenever she thought about her mother for too long.
“I’ve secured a ride, actually.” She picked intently at a stray thread on her shirt. Anything to avoid her father’s scrutiny.
His brow twitched up. “It’s not that academy boy, is it?”
“He has a name, Dad.”
Kenneth’s groan was half protest, half warning. He folded his arms across his chest in disapproval.
“Tell me your sordid plans,” she countered, “and I won’t meet with him.”
Silence answered. It always did.
They had been playing this game since she started working full-time at the family shipyard. Erinna demanded answers; Kenneth evaded with vague answers or silence altogether.
In rebellion, she decided she would have her own secrets then.
Admittedly, her amorous escapades were far less interesting than whatever her father did in the dead of night or early rays of morning.
Only now, the stakes felt heavier. Whatever her father was hiding, it didn’t feel like old family business anymore.
Another gong rang out.
Kenneth shifted in his seat, and Erinna turned instinctively to the small wooden sculpture that rested on a table near the front door.
A hand-carved piece devoted to the Pantheon.
The symbols of each major deity were carved into each point of an eight-pointed star.
Erinna sent a short prayer to The Reaper, wishing for an easy passing to the Realm Beyond when the Chancellor finally drew his last breath.
There were few left on Tarth who remembered the old faiths. Many were some form of Everdawn worshiper. It was a newer faith by comparison, and hurriedly snuffing out the rest.
Erinna rubbed her temples, turning her attention back to the dancing flames.
In the quiet that followed, there was a softening in her father’s features as he finished the rest of his warm beverage. They both sagged with fatigue.
Exhaustion had made a permanent home in their bones. Running a shipbuilding and repair yard in the heart of an island kingdom was enough to rob anyone of rest. But their shared efforts to save the lives of the less fortunate were a burden that didn’t stop at the docks.
Kenneth finished his tea before crossing to Erinna, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders.
She breathed in his familiar scent, letting her mind wander to the times before such tension.
He placed a soft kiss on the top of her head.
The way he used to when she was a child, and Erinna couldn’t help but smile.
“I’m proud of you, mouse.”
The old nickname reached deep into her chest. It had been a while since he’d called her that.
“Love you, Dad.” Erinna tried to return the warmth but couldn’t stop the slow, creeping dread from working its way into the back of her mind.
With a reassuring squeeze to her arm, Kenneth retired to his room, leaving Erinna to watch the flames dull in the small hearth.
When she was sure he was sound asleep, she stole into her parents’ study and shoved a few papers into her bag in preparation for her meeting with Damien the morning following tomorrow.
Once the pages were secure in her bag, Erinna cleaned the two empty cups, letting the routine movement work some of the worry from her bones before retiring to bed, praying she wouldn’t wake until morning.