Chapter 5
Chapter five
Seraphina
The two and a half cups of herbal tea should have calmed her. She’d cut it this morning with some of her sleeping elixir, but her palms still stung as she passed under the massive amphitheater’s entrance.
The Menage was the most impressive structure within the Citadel walls. Five stories high, showcasing arches that mirrored the architecture throughout the fortress city.
Along the archways on the upper levels were balconies and designated boxes for the Daedeth-class families. As a witchling, Sera had marveled at the structure’s acoustics and ability to seat so many. How the crowd cheered at events. And, of course, the view.
It struck her then that she would never see the Menage from that height ever again; she would be confined to the lower levels.
Over the past four years, Sera had avoided coming here, no matter the event, due to the terrible memories of her failure at her own trial.
Now, as she took in the earthen arena and peered up at the boxes for the Daedeth members, an overwhelming sense of sorrow came over her.
Her mother had great accommodations above, but she had agreed to sit with Sera so she could see Nora better.
Sera didn’t remember where her mother sat on her trial date, only that it had been surprisingly close to the arena floor.
What was now entirely too vivid was the smell of the same dirt field, the constant shaking of her hands, and the memory of her sweat-soaked robes.
The crowd seemed to echo her unease. They aimed whispers and sideways glances at the novices and their family and friends who were hoping for a high placement. The anxious cloud could almost be cut, and none of it was helping her keep her abomination contained.
It had thrashed and raged inside her the past twenty-four hours. She’d barely gotten any sleep. When the healers’ quarters opened, she had been relieved—not only for the family in Jedan, but also for the extra batch of elixirs she picked up.
“I’m only staying until your mother gets here.” Dominick’s robes billowed with dramatic flair around him as he flopped onto the bench beside her. “Then I’m joining the other oracles.”
“Wish I could say the same,” Sera said, rolling her shoulders and relaxing a touch.
Dominick pointed to the novices standing in a line along the arena’s dirt floor. “How many do you think will place in the Legion?”
It didn’t surprise her that he was concerned, considering their conversation last night. Colton’s movements were bizarre, and worse, upsetting to Dominick. “I’d guess no more than any other year.”
She couldn’t read the expression on Dom’s face as he gazed over the crowd, but she settled her head on his shoulder. Dominick always smelled like rain to her. It must have been from the water in the Ogdelo pools, but anytime there was moisture in the air, it reminded her of Dominick.
A long desk had been erected at the viewing level. Behind it were two thrones. Typically, three or four Council members assigned the novice placements. Only two was unusual.
Sera spotted Chair Blackwell conversing with some Daedeth members near a side entrance.
Blackwell had been at her trial four years ago, in the same outfit—red robes that reached the ground and a black bongrace atop his balding head.
What hair he had left ringed his skull from ear to ear, cut down to a stubble.
She remembered the way he’d frowned at her presentation. How Chair Briar had looked genuinely shocked, and Chair Renata had searched the crowd for her mother, looking for some sort of explanation. How could one of Lavinia Wildrick’s daughters have such little power?
Sera’s stomach churned, and she took a deep breath.
“He looks ridiculous, doesn’t he?” Dom whispered. “That stupid hat and those robes. You’d think he’s getting ready to pose for a statue to be placed in the Council chambers.”
The corner of her mouth ticked upward. “Dom, you wear full-length robes every day.”
“True, but at least you gave me a little smile,” he said, bumping his shoulder into hers.
“I don’t deserve you.” She didn’t, not really. Not after all her secrets, the lies, and the horrors she’d committed, whether consciously or not. Sera leaned into him while pressing her thumbnail hard into her palm, biting deep.
“I said I would stay until Lavinia arrived, but…”
Sera turned to see the same handsome warlock from yesterday waving at Dom.
“Just go. I’ll see you later. Make sure you bring my winnings,” she said as Dominick turned to leave.
Sera looked for her sister in a sea of white robes. Her eyes settled on Chair Thorne, speaking with a few of the younger novices.
Thorne’s red hair was cropped just below her chin. A streak of white sprouted from her forehead and swept effortlessly behind her ear. Amethyst robes framed the plain floor-length black dress she wore underneath.
Sera always thought Thorne looked more pleasant than the other chairs. She smiled freely and often, revealing the apples of her cheeks. They were dashed with just the right amount of cosmetics to set her pale skin aglow beneath her freckles.
It was good that Thorne was there to view Nora’s presentation. The former mistress of arcane was loyal to her old occupation, and Nora was the best this year had to offer.
“Sera,” her sister called to her, bounding up the steps. “Where’s Mama?” Nora had pulled her hair back into a high puff, making her eyes as sharp as glass.
“I haven’t seen her come in yet. Is Artemis ready?” Sera smoothed out the creases pressed into the white satin fabric of her sister’s outer robes.
“He’s in his office. Mama threatened to walk through the portal herself and hunt him down if he wasn’t visible for the entire Menage to see.” Nora giggled.
“Well, I wouldn’t put it past her.” Sera couldn’t remember the last time she’d giggled unironically. Even before her disastrous trial day, her mother had kept a tight rein on her. “Speaking of which, she just got here.”
Lavinia Wildrick descended the stairs toward her daughters, oozing grace, stone faced and regal in her black mastria’s robes.
Today her mother wore her braids down instead of having tied them up like she usually did.
The ends almost reached her elbows, and every few had a charm or a bead attached.
There was intention in her steps toward her daughters, but when she saw Nora, her poise cracked into a radiant smile that reached her eyes.
“Darling, I am so proud of you.” Lavinia reached for Nora, pulling her into a tight embrace. “And what a blessing from Shadow it is to have Chair Thorne here.”
“Thank you, Mama. I couldn’t have done it without you or Seraphina.” Unshed tears lined Nora’s eyes.
Sera’s stomach hollowed out from the display of gratitude. Nora’s kind heart had always tried to repair the damage between Sera and her mother. But this hurt was buried too deep. It would take more than a few tender moments to fix. Lavinia broke the moment by touching Nora’s cheek.
Sera clenched her teeth and stared at the ground.
Darkness snapped inside her. No matter how many times she told herself that Lavinia’s approval didn’t matter, the stinging viper of jealousy reared its head.
The events, the time her mother and Nora had spent together training.
The mother-daughter outings that Sera was never invited to.
Moons, why wasn’t she numb by now? This wasn’t going to go away.
Especially with Nora assigned to Daedeth.
Lavinia hugged Nora again. “All right, my love. Go down and take your place. Your sister and I will be right here watching.”
As Nora left to take her spot in line with the others, Lavinia’s face morphed back to stone.
“Your memories, Seraphina. I was able to slip in much too easily.”
Shit.
“Yes, Mother.” Sera reinforced the barrier in her mind as Chair Blackwell walked to the podium.
“Witches and warlocks gathered here today”—Blackwell’s voice was amplified to every corner of the arena—“we view and celebrate the annual novice trials.” The crowd cheered.
Sera kept the wall around her mind reinforced and clapped her hands.
“Every trial date, I am reminded of the responsibility of practicing magic and what a gift the coven founders gave us when they rebelled against the demon king so long ago.
How our life above ground is the way the Solarni coven was meant to live.
“You have honed your skills and developed your magic through your studies, and soon, you will emerge as a valuable member of the coven.”
Valuable. The word made Sera shift in her seat.
What was the value of a witch or warlock to its coven?
Every member of the Jedan class would be forced into a life of servitude, their occupations nothing more than cleaning and cooking for the upper classes.
Dobro held the healers and, like her, the keepers—the holders of history.
The Daedeth class, with their four occupations—mastrias, guardians, arcana, and oracles—played with magic, pushing it to its limits.
Then there was the Legion, who followed its own brutal hierarchy.
“But let us not forget,” Blackwell continued, “magic is a responsibility. As you enter the coven as adults, you must wield your abilities with wisdom, compassion, and integrity. May your incantations be true, and may Shadow watch over your souls.” Blackwell held his palm to the sky and sent a kernel of magic to the goddess.
The trials began with a young warlock, short and riddled with acne, initiating what Sera thought was supposed to be an illusion.
Blue light snapped tight between his hands.
The warlock struggled, twisting his wrists and reciting his incantation over and over.
With a burst that looked like a lightning strike, the energy was gone.
“Legion,” Blackwell yelled.
The warlock’s shoulders sank low, his head hung. Sera’s chest grew tighter.