Chapter 14
A frigid gust of wind kissed the rivers of scalp between Audra’s braids. Shivers cascaded down her spine as she ventured with the others onto expansive grounds. Her gaze ricocheted erratically while she took in her new surroundings.
Buildings—sagging structures of varying style and size—rose out of the fog. Iron lampposts with shattered glass, benches, barely visible beneath ivy, all rotten planks and crooked legs, lined the road on either side.
But it was the castle looming above all else that made Audra’s breath hitch in her lungs.
Positioned right in the center of the grounds rose a dilapidated, haunting structure with black, crumbling spires, chipped columns.
Placed haphazardly, as though by mistake, grime-streaked gargoyle statues, most missing head, wing, or limbs, gazed down upon them with unseeing stone eyes.
The castle, like the grounds, had clearly seen better days and was losing a battle against lichen and ivy.
Too few gray-streaked steps and they were inside the castle, everyone’s teeth chattering as they stood and shivered.
There was a hope that, despite the facade, the castle might be warm … But Audra barely registered a change in the temperature at all; still, she was thankful when the massive doors closed behind them, if only because they blocked out the biting wind.
The chamber was covered in marble swirling with rose-colored veins, high ceilings adorned with large painted tiles, walls covered in massive tapestries with strange yet lovely symbols stitched all over them, and gold-leaf framed paintings.
Dust, cobwebs, peeling wallpaper, and debris piled up, forgotten in the nooks and crevices.
At the rear of the chamber, two massive staircases led to a second, third, and fourth floor.
Sconces, their candlelight dim and wavering, gave the impression the flames were fighting the shadows themselves to remain lit.
Audra lifted her gaze to see sprawling words stretching across the length of one wall: Only by outlasting the long winter will one feel the first sweet warmth of spring.
Audra found it impossible to picture what the spring would look like here, to imagine any life having ever thrived.
Audra stomped wet boots onto the marble floor, trying to knock off some of the frost clinging to them, hoping to ease the ache.
She would lose a toe or three if she couldn’t dry and warm her feet soon.
She shifted closer to Cersha, Wilder, and Callum, trying to use their body heat to stave off cold-sickness.
At the sound of a shrill whistle, all turned to see an older female striding across the chamber, pointed heels echoing with each step until she halted beneath the inscription. Wrinkles spidered from wide, frantic eyes, and gnarled fingers clutched at the frilly collar on her wrinkled robe.
The fae cleared her throat before addressing them, her voice echoing throughout the expansive hall.
“I am Archmagistra Syleste. On behalf of Queen Weshya, let me be the first to welcome you all to Zenaida, the greatest of nations—but more specifically, welcome to the Holyvere Academy of Arcane and Battle Arts.”
A muted murmur spread through the crowd. Academy? Arcane? As in … magic? They were all human. Even when magic thrived within Khaveah, humans were unable to access it. Some pretended, even to this day, but they were all charlatans. What could they possibly have to do here at an arcane academy?
Were they brought here as cleaners? Servants? If Audra had to, she’d bet a whisp they were brought here as cleaners or to serve a host of privileged fae academics who would soon arrive in gilded carriages.
The Archmagistra continued, her frenetic gaze sweeping across the crowd of captives.
“I see confusion in your eyes. And fear. Fear is good; fear might keep you alive during your tenure here. But hopefully”—she smiled, though it was radical, unsettling—“I can alleviate some of the confusion. First, I would like to assure you that this is not a mistake—you have all been brought here because you possess fae blood in your lineage.” She paused, allowing the outrage and shock to move through the crowd.
Audra and Callum locked eyes.
Their theory was correct. Audra wanted to find that bastard noble and rub it in his face … but a cursory glance around did not reveal his cold eyes nor silken hair. He was lost somewhere in the crowd.
“Your kings, queens, and monarchs considered you vermin, a blight upon their crop of citizens. Once fae heritage is discovered, you are no longer viewed as citizens and thus are banished, thrust into exile.” A sympathetic frown.
“Some of you might even know someone, loved someone, who has been exiled.”
A few nods, but most stood there in shock.
“Yes, it must hurt to know that your own nations have deemed you as undesirables when they discovered the potency of fae blood within each of you. Try to return to Khaveah, and all that awaits you is charges of trespassing and imprisonment.”
This couldn’t be true … could it?
In Ruscal, it was taboo to speak of the fae as anything but awful—and for those who possessed fae-like qualities, well, all did their best to hide it, lest they be stigmatized.
Stories of small towns abandoning infants born with pointed ears to a slow and painful death to the elements or outright drowning them or smothering them at birth were prevalent, but with every generation, you heard fewer and fewer of these gruesome, awful tragedies.
Audra wasn’t sure if people cared less now, or because those with more obvious fae qualities had been “weeded” out.
The Archmagistra smiled, her expression at odds with the unsettling announcement.
“To them, you are undesirable, but to us, you are welcome, wanted.” The Archmagistra began to pace, talking excitedly, waving her hands.
“Each of you possesses latent talent, a spark waiting to ignite. Divine willing, Holyvere will be the forge that transforms that spark into a pyre, that helps you to realize the greatness within you that has, until now, remained dormant.” She gestured around the hall, her voice taking on a note of fervency.
“You see, a darkness encroaches upon our borders. I’m sure you could sense it as you walked through our realm. ”
Audra could. The diseased dirt … the gnarled, twisted trees.
Even with Khaveah suspended in perpetual winter, they still managed to keep their soil as healthy as possible—they still grew crops and had a host of evergreen trees that retained their leaves and needles.
There was something more sinister than just a prolonged winter at work here.
“We fae have a cyclic prophecy, one that rules the fabric of our realm—and your former realm too. Without the fruition of this prophecy, our civilization, our very lives, will cease to exist. You, initiates, are our last line of defense.”
She paused for dramatic effect.
“You will be trained as weapons, honed into instruments of war. We will break you and remake you into our image.” She raised one hand, sweeping a painted fingernail across the crowd.
“One of you is our Heir—the One Who Is Promised, Most High, our savior. One of you, through their training, will be revealed as Heir—and will be raised to near godhood, showered with riches, fame, and legendary glory.” She waited a beat to let her declaration sink in as she surveyed the captives, studying them as though she might be gazing upon her savior.
Silence rang through the atrium. Someone coughed.
The Archmagistra frowned.
She’d clearly been expecting a different response from them, but she couldn’t know that the things she promised? They were something out of a fable—things like this didn’t happen where they were from, and if they did, well, they certainly wouldn’t happen to the likes of them.
Riches? Fame? Glory?
These words might as well be spoken in whatever fae tongue was local to this nation, so foreign were the concepts.
Most of them had never bothered to dream of such things, let alone hope to achieve them.
It was enough to wish for a safe place to lay your head at night, with minimum rats and enough dry firewood to keep from freezing to death while you slept.
The Archmagistra brushed off her disappointment and turned, motioning to the priestesses.
Oh, forgotten gods. Whatever Audra had been expecting, it wasn’t this.
The priestesses surrounding Archmagistra Syleste began to sing.
Their voices echoed through the chamber, reverberating off the walls.
Their eyes, already terrifying, began to glow in earnest. The shadows bloomed; the room darkened until the only source of light was their glowing eyes.
Audra couldn’t tear her gaze from the ring of pulsing, radiant eyes; she couldn’t even blink as the melody coated Audra’s skin like oil, seeming to penetrate her skull until it was all she could focus on.
When magic wanes, and light fades
and the earth teeters on despair’s blades
upon the ascension of winter’s breath, a savior born
to mend the world, fractured and torn
in this most desperate hour
awakens their arcane power
when winter peaks, our Heir is due
the time is nigh; hope springs alive
What the fuck.
Finally, thank the forgotten gods, the song was through, and they stopped their haunting singing. Though their mouths were closed, Audra could still hear the melody like a ghost playing through her mind.
Audra leaned toward Wilder and whispered in her ear, “Have we been abducted by a cult?”
Wilder squeezed Audra’s wrist. “Forgotten gods, we might have.”
“Thank you, priestesses, for blessing us with your hymn. I surely feel the divine blessing us all this day,” cried the Archmagistra, her expression rapt as though she really were feeling the divine presence of gods in this very chamber.
If fae gods were present here, Audra felt no different than back home, where no gods deigned to acknowledge her existence.
Archmagistra Syleste turned back to the crowd.
“Now, initiates, time is not on our side—lessons begin first thing tomorrow morning, promptly at a quarter after six. Your academic schedule will be rigorous. Your assignments, portfolios, and skills graded harshly. Each guild will need to prepare for trials—information forthcoming.”
Assignments? Grades? What did she care about lessons? What did she care about impressing them?
And then Archmagistra Syleste said, “Failure must be avoided at all costs, though it will be inevitable for most. Only the top five students from each guild will graduate—only those who graduate will be deemed worthy of sponsorship by the greatest noble families in Zenaida. Sponsorship grants citizenship.” Her expression grew somber.
“Those deemed unworthy of assimilation into our high society, will be conscripted into the queen’s army, laying their lives down in pursuit of freedom, of life, where the demons seek only death.
Survival is unlikely, considering our enemy. ”
Survival is unlikely? And what enemy?
“The Zenaidan Empire is at peace with our neighbors. It is not fae we must fight, nor humans, but different creatures entirely. You see, the fae have one true enemy, and that is a scourge of wretched demons.”
Fear, choking, smothering, like smoke enveloped the room.
Demons were a thing of myth.
“We are locked in perpetual battle with demonkind, no matter the season, as they are determined to annihilate faekind.”
What did they care if the demons annihilated the fae?
And then, with a grave voice, the Archmagistra said, “Protecting Zenaida protects your previous home, for if the demons defeat us, there will be nothing standing between them and Khaveah.”
If the fae struggled to fight demons, Audra couldn’t imagine what a demon army unleashed upon Khaveah would look like. A bloodbath. Death for all.
Her mind reeled with all this information.
Fae blood ran through her blood. The Zenaidan fae were looking for …
a magical queen or something … no, an Heir to save them.
One of the traumatized captives standing in this room was that Heir.
There were going to be trials of some sort between the guilds?
What even were guilds? And she was now one of about two hundred people conscripted into a … magical academy of war? With … demons?
Demons … that were real.
Audra had to suppress the sudden, unhinged urge to laugh. Or cry. Or both.
She needed to pull herself together. It would help if she could ignore most of it and whittle this all down to something manageable.
Something she could control.
Like at the inn, when she felt overwhelmed, or hopeless, or particularly trapped … what was something that she could control?
It seemed like the Archmagistra was giving them all two options.
Option one: graduate at the top of whatever this fucked up school was …
So, Audra thought, as her heart beat an erratic song and her mind raced to stave off a full-blown meltdown, she had to be the best. Well, Audra was painfully skilled at overachieving—at ensuring that whatever task was set before her, she exceeded expectations.
Be a good proprietor in a struggling inn?
She would be the best. Be a good big sister to this little boy who’d been hurt by everyone he’d loved and had only ever known pain?
She would love him endlessly until he felt safe, whole, wondrous.
Push all her own hopes and aspirations down, bury them completely, while she dedicated her entire life to helping her parents keep their dream alive?
She could do that and do it so Mist-damned well that they would never know that it was slowly killing her.
Being an overachiever was part of Audra’s charm, she hoped.
And then … that left option two: fail out and be sent to die on the front lines of a war with a species that, a moment ago, she hadn’t known were real.
Unfortunately, returning home was not, it seemed, an option provided, but it was something she would never give up on.
So, it seemed as though she would have to focus on option one. Be the best. Then, once she managed that … she could focus on returning home.
Audra wasn’t the only one spiraling—the Archmagistra had to clap her hands multiple times to get everyone’s attention again.
“Initiates!” boomed a deep voice. Lord Khari stood on the first landing of the steps, his hand raised in the air.
The room quieted at once.
“Thank you, Scholar Khari,” said the Archmagistra.
“That concluded orientation. Follow the priestesses for guild assignments and training schedules.” The Archmagistra raised a severe chin as she eyed the initiates.
“I suggest you arrive early to your first class; tardiness will be severely punished.”
“Punished how?” Audra muttered. Made to run laps around the academy? Or with an arrow through the eye?