Chapter 12
It would be more than a month before they would start off on their first emissary visit, but Kiran had promised her training, and he delivered.
The first day of training had a dark cloud of wickedness looming over it, and it was her new teacher, Master Heirwyn.
Ever since they’d met back in Essenheim during the assessments, she reminded Imani of Ara.
In fact, a sinking feeling told her that Master Heirwyn was a formidable magic user, and her first lesson was about to be a rough one.
Grabbing her new gloves and checking to make sure her wand was hidden in the folds of her dress, Imani set off to find Master Heirwyn. But just as she reached for the knob, a loud knock sounded from the other side.
Imani looked at the door, frowning in confusion. Who would be visiting her at this early hour? Curiosity got the best of her, and she threw open the door.
An elf stood outside. His dark hair was slightly mussed, curling around his pointed ears. Kiran leaned casually against the doorframe and gave her a slow, lazy smile. “Imani,” he greeted.
She didn’t return the look. Instead, she tilted her head to the side in question. “What do you want at this hour?”
He laughed. “My, my, not a morning person, are we, little elf? I love riling you up.”
“First of all,” Imani bit out, a stab of fury at that demeaning term momentarily trumping her confusion and manners, “piss off. I don’t respond to ‘little elf.’ Second of all, the riling is mutual. Third of all, back to my original question—what do you want?”
He gave her a broad smile, eyes twinkling. “What I want is for you to come willingly with me,” he said. Then he screened Imani head to toe in her soft, black leggings, a plain tunic with leather vambraces on her forearms, and boots. “I’m to escort you to Master Heirwyn.”
Imani was confident she could get herself there and refused to feel more like a prisoner than she already did.
It had taken a few days, but Imani was finally starting to understand her way around the castle.
It was far more confusing than Essenheim’s.
Not only was it built over hundreds of years with trap doors, secret passageways, and hallways that ended in dead-ends, but sections had been expanded, destroyed, or added during that time, making navigating the palace a complex process. Still, she would do it alone.
“Thanks, but no thanks,” Imani said, this time scanning Kiran in a similar manner. His appearance suggested he had just rolled out of bed, but his demeanor was far more chipper than Imani was interested in.
“You don’t actually get a choice,” he said cheerfully.
Taking a few calming breaths, Imani decided this wasn’t a battle worth fighting, but the invisible shackles placed around her chafed.
She fingered her grandmother’s Draswood wand, imagining it was the Drasil. If it was, she wouldn’t be going anywhere with this man.
Grabbing a few small daggers, she shoved them into several secret hiding places on her body. His brow arched in surprise, but he made no comment, and she ignored him, strolling out the door and letting him follow.
After the public argument about Imani in front of the whole court, there wasn’t a soul in this castle who didn’t know who she was.
Everywhere Imani went, Niflheim courtiers in mid-conversation would stop and stare at her.
Some would whisper, murmur to each other.
Some would eye her up and down from afar, as if they were trying to size her up.
Kiran had been right; they stared whether she cast her illusion or not.
Most days, she didn’t bother to cast much glamour to mute her looks.
Kiran tightened the echo shield back up again, which seemed to work well on her soul draw, but it still held dominion over everything, and they would stare, anyway.
The flesh magic still kept her other secrets hidden.
Otherwise, she was herself for the first time in years.
Besides casting the echo shield the night after the fealty service, Kiran had been a ghost. He’d all but disappeared except for one handwritten note she’d received from him at first light that morning, directing her to the north tower wing.
Imani ducked her chin and tried to avoid those gazes and didn’t try to engage Kiran in conversation. She wasn’t, in fact, a morning person.
They lapsed into silence for the next ten minutes of the walk. By the time they rounded the corner and took the stairs to the third floor, his lack of responses, however, frayed her last nerve. Getting answers out of people here was a painstakingly slow, infuriating endeavor.
“So, are you keeping tabs on me everywhere I go for your father, like his lapdog? What’s your plan with the witches? Because we’re not all training,” she sneered.
“It’s adorable you think these questions are supposed to goad me into suddenly spilling my secrets.” He leaned down to her. “I think if anyone’s the lapdog, it’s you—that binding puts you at my mercy.”
Despite the raging inferno inside her at hearing the truth, Imani smoothed out her face to hide any reaction. Someone here was going to start answering her questions eventually. She just had to be patient and keep trying.
“Maybe you should try making friends with my fiancée. She is your kind after all.”
Imani whipped out her wand and put it under his chin. “If you think I’m going to say one word to that woman, you’re sorely mistaken.”
Kiran held up his hands in mock surrender, not bothering to hide his grin. “Fangs away, terrifying little elf.”
They stopped in front of two huge doors, and Kiran rapped loudly on one before tipping his head down and muttering, “I have a feeling you could get anything you wanted from her, if you had control of your magic.”
That statement made Imani’s stomach drop. She had already been feeling inadequate, but that just deepened the insecurities.
The door swung open, and Master Heirwyn stood there, dressed in similar clothes to Imani, her light blonde hair, graying in some parts, tied up in a tight bun. Her eyes fell immediately on Imani with a penetrating gaze, studying her.
“Are you prepared to spend the next several hours getting thrown on your ass?” Master Heirwyn asked by way of greeting. The master continued examining Imani, watching carefully, absorbing her reactions as she awaited an answer.
“Of course she is,” Kiran said, clapping her on her back.
“I can speak for myself,” Imani gritted out.
“Because, if not, I don’t want you here. I told Kiran I don’t train ungrateful brats. I’ll ask again: Are you ready to train the hardest you’ve ever trained?” Master Heirwyn flipped her wand gracefully over her fingers.
Kiran squeezed Imani’s shoulder. “She’s going to be a model student.”
Master Heirwyn subtly glanced at the male elf next to Imani, her gaze skeptical but calculating.
Imani clenched her fists a few times to calm her nerves but gave the woman a curt nod.
After a moment, Master Heirwyn sighed. “Fine, come inside.”
Leaving Kiran outside in the hall, Imani followed the master witch into her room. She openly admired how beautiful it was; everything seemed to be light and airy, a sharp contrast to the rest of the Niflheim palace.
Windows were open everywhere, and the sheer drapes rippled gently with the breeze. White walls gave it a relaxing yet clean feeling, and she wondered if this was the nymph’s way of attempting to get back a piece of her home.
Aralana had constantly opened the windows, as well, letting the smell from the river into the apartment. A pang of sudden nostalgia hit her. With its rolling hills, sunshine, meadows, and warm breezes, the Riverlands were quite different from Niflheim.
They stopped in a sitting room where the furniture had been cleared to the perimeter.
Imani let out a deep breath. “What exactly am I going to be training for with you?”
The nymph witch flicked out her wand and studied Imani once more. “You were close to passing the assessments, but you held back your atrophic magic.”
“I’ve had to hide it. My magic is much more raw. Wild … dark.” She whispered the last word.
“You’re afraid of it. That’s your first problem.”
“Really? And what would you know about that? You haven’t seen anything I can do yet.” Imani crossed her arms, and her voice dropped lower. “My magic kills people. I’m not sure training so physically is a good idea.”
“Please, child, I probably know far more about your own magic than you do. Besides, I wasn’t selected to train Kiran when he was a child or serve as First Witch for nothing. I know a thing or two about defending myself from magic that can kill me.” She gave Imani a placating smile.
Perking up, Imani was no longer concerned about the danger—she was enamored with the idea of learning more. “So, you can teach me, then?”
Master Heirwyn waved her hand dismissively.
“Of course. I can train you in control, no matter the magic.” Pulling out her wand, the naiad nodded for Imani to take out her own wand.
Then she pushed more of the furniture to the edges of the room and cast a protective ward around them.
Imani hoped it would be strong enough to contain her shadows.
Inside the shield, they stood across from each other. Master Heirwyn gave her a funny look. “Did your grandmother gift you her wand?”
Imani’s mouth gaped, and she stood frozen in shock for a moment. “You could say that she did.” Imani paused, remembering how Ara had tossed the wand to her through the jail bars. “How did you know this belonged to my grandmother?”
“We knew each other.” A second later, she pointed her wand at Imani and didn’t give her a chance to prepare before striking her with a flash of gold light.
As if someone had pulled on an invisible string attached to her, Imani jerked to the side, just missing the spell. Before it hit the wall, Master Heirwyn tugged it back.
“Focus on your own inner voice. Don’t let the magic overpower that voice—ever. And don’t let distractions like conversations get in the way of your focus.”
Imani took a breath and did her best to silence the whispers just as the nymph witch struck again, faster this time.
Whatever magic she cast sliced through Imani’s sleeve. Blood dripped from the wound, and that inner voice roared in her head, overpowering the whispers, calling for more, more, more.
In an instant, darkness poured from her hands. Growing thicker, the shadowed darkness started moving around the room.
It felt good, so good to just let it free.
Imani clutched her wand and felt the haze of powerlessness slip away. She could do anything. She could kill anything. The magic was a gift, a blessing from someone somewhere. Maybe her father.
Not for the first time, she wished she knew him. But those sentimental feelings had no place in this training session, and she choked them back down.
Just as she moved to strike the witch, Master Heirwyn covered herself in a halo of gold magic. Imani pushed her wand and palms forward, muttering various incantations, but nothing could penetrate the barrier. She needed thicker darkness and more of it—like the blast that had killed Malis.
But before Imani could call for more darkness, the halo fell and the nymph dove for Imani, a vicious look in her eyes.
Imani managed to block the attack with her darkness, and their magic pressed up against each other.
The force dropped Imani to her knees. Then she rolled onto her back to avoid another spell.
A mistake, as Master Heirwyn straddled Imani, punching her hard in the jaw.
Imani’s head snapped back, but with her next strike, the elf caught the master’s fist in her crushing grip.
Reacting without a thought, Imani slammed her elbow into her face.
The naiad grunted out a curse then locked her fingers around the wrist of Imani’s wand arm, twisting it painfully.
Imani managed to wrench her wrist away and slip out from under the other witch.
But weakened as she was, with blood pouring from her nose and the side of her mouth, Imani landed face-down on the floor.
The air left her body.
With a groan, Imani pushed herself into a sitting position and gritted her teeth in anger. With a sharp swipe of her wand, she sent the darkness pummeling toward the nymph. It smashed through the halo this time, knocking the master onto her back.
Lifting her head slightly, the nymph just smiled. She looked more ragged, animalistic than her usual elegant self. Imani cocked her head to the side—the spell must have ripped away an illusion. It made her giddy to know her magic was more powerful than the naiad witch’s illusion magic.
“You wear glamour? I never sensed it.”
Panting, the deceptively strong nymph witch looked pensive, watching Imani curiously. She looked the same physically, so what was the glamour hiding?
With just a small movement of her arms, Imani saw the brands covering her arms—including a massive gold band.
Imani pointed. “What in the Saints is that brand?” Imani’s voice was barely above a whisper.
The nymph just shrugged. “I suppose it’s only fair you know my secret now, too—I’m high-naiad but my father is from the Upper realm. It’s quite common for first-generation mixed breeds to have different-colored brands.”
Shock rolled through her. “Is this why you had to leave Essenheim?”
“That, and I murdered the king.”