Chapter 8
Flames in an otherworldly shade of blue razed through a ramshackle village.
The roof of a nearby cottage caved in with a groan, sending its inhabitants spilling into the street.
Soot-covered children wailed as their mothers dragged them to safety.
Others watched, frozen, as the horror unfolded around them, as if they had sprouted roots where they stood.
The earth before my feet was flayed open like a lamb on a butcher’s slab, spitting scorching embers into the air.
The anguished cries of the people around me—frightened to their marrow and choking on smoke—were insignificant to my ears.
There was only the heat of the fire. The wrath of the horror I’d summoned to this place.
I woke with a yelp, the stench of smoke in my nostrils. I whipped my head around, my thoughts clearing as my surroundings came into focus. My breathing ragged, I untangled my fingers from the violet sheets.
It’s been three years, I reminded myself. It’s just a dream.
I massaged my temples, easing the dull ache that came from drinking one too many glasses of wine.
Swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, I winced as my bare toes grazed the cold stone floor.
I rose and pulled on the garments I had worn when I arrived here: a shift and pale blue overdress.
I unraveled my hair from its braid, waves hanging loose, before slipping silently into the corridor.
In the cellars, Mrs. Cathers’s beady eyes bored into the back of my head. Her irritation wafted off of her like the vapors from her whiskeylaced tea. “Her ladyship deigns to grace us with her presence, does she?” she muttered as I passed.
I ignored her, taking my usual seat at the table beside Niamh. My friend was more than a little excited to hear about the evening before. She bombarded me with questions, ignoring the runny eggs and crispy bacon on her plate.
“Finn? Have you heard a thing I’ve said?” came Niamh’s voice over the din Nathalie was making in the corner. She was giggling wildly as she flirted with a stablehand at the other end of the kitchen.
My eyes flicked to my best friend. “What?”
She scowled. “What do you think you’ll do in training today?”
I shrugged. “The King hasn’t told me anything, so I have no idea.”
“Well, what did he tell you?”
I fiddled with the end of my braid. “He asked if he could call on me.”
Her jaw nearly hit the table. “What? When?” She leaned toward me. “Where?”
“On the terrace,” I said. “We left for a breath of fresh air, and he told me that he was fascinated by me and asked to call on me.”
I winced as a high-pitched squeal escaped from between her lips. “And what did you say?”
“Shhhh. Well, after standing there dumb as a statue for a few moments because I could scarcely believe my ears, I said I wouldn’t mind.”
She yelped, grabbing my hands from across the table. “Do you have any idea what this means?”
“No.”
She giggled. “It means that the King of Valen is interested in you.”
A flush crept up my neck. “I know he’s interested in me. He asked me to be on his council.”
She rolled her eyes. “Finn, I’ve never known you to be dense, so I know that you understand what I’m saying. You told me that he called you beautiful!”
I made a disbelieving noise. “I suppose.”
She squeezed my fingers between hers. “I don’t understand why you’re acting this way. What’s wrong?”
I shrugged. “I suppose I just find it difficult to believe that he—” I paused. “That Mordric would be interested in someone like me.”
She guffawed. “You’re a pretty, fearsome witch, remember? Perhaps the last witch in Valen. What’s not to like?”
I avoided her gaze.
“The only thing that I find difficult to believe is that you call the King by his given name,” she continued, grinning.
“He asked me to!” I cried as the clay cup before her shattered, shooting a stream of water down her front. She squeaked as it hit her, jumping to her feet.
“Careful!” she scolded, dabbing the damp spot with her apron. “Some of us have to work today.”
“Shit,” I murmured, offering her a cloth. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s alright,” she said. “It’s only water.”
I eyed the splintered cup warily, imagining that the prince would be far less forgiving if I let my magic get out of hand in his presence. “I think I’m just nervous,” I said.
“I can imagine,” she replied. “He is the king, after all.”
“It’s the prince,” I murmured. “You should have heard him last night.”
“He couldn’t be that different from his brother, could he?” she asked.
I shrugged, tapping my toe rapidly beneath the table. “He seems pretty full of himself.”
“With a face like that, who wouldn’t be?”
“Niamh!” I cried as she broke into a fit of giggles.
“Come on, he’s practically a work of art!” she said, her cheeks rosy. “And those eyes could make a girl melt on the spot.”
“When have you seen his eyes?” I asked. “Besides, I thought you were frightened of vampires.”
She beamed at me. “I may have caught a glimpse of him when I was returning to our quarters yesterday evening, and my phobia was miraculously cured. Anyway, be sure to tell him you have a very beautiful friend waiting for him were he ever to venture downstairs.”
I stopped myself from tuning her out as she continued her overly thorough analysis of Prince Enhart undeterred.
Apparently, a fleeting glance in a dim corridor was enough to make an indelible impression on her mind.
I grabbed her plate and proceeded to scrub the dishes as she continued to describe him in disconcerting detail.
He was, apparently, devilishly handsome, his muscles honed by regular training with the Fencing Masters, and rumored to be one of the best lovers in Valen.
I scoffed. “Why do people keep saying things like that?”
She grinned. “Probably because it’s true. Can you imagine?”
“Not talking about me now, are you?” said Maxence, sidling up to us.
I snorted, masking it as best I could as the tips of his ears reddened. Niamh giggled, excitement practically oozing from her pores as she laid eyes on him.
“You know, I really have to prepare,” I said. “Keep Niamh company for me?”
Maxence frowned. “I’m quite busy, you know.”
“Well if you don’t want to—”
“That’s not what I said!” He took my place on the bench. “I suppose I have some time to spare.”
Behind his back, I widened my eyes at my friend.
Good luck, I mouthed, before taking my leave.
Maxence and Niamh. I paused at the door, spying on them for a fleeting moment.
Maxence was practically draping himself over the table as he leaned toward her, listening intently to whatever she was saying. I grinned.
I whiled away the rest of the afternoon in the courtyard, practicing what little I knew in silence.
A ball of light danced around, casting its glow over the cracked stones, and with a flourish of my wrist, it dissolved, resulting in a puff of air that swept the courtyard free of dust and debris that had fallen from the dormant trees above my head.
Mordric had been sparse with detail about what to expect in these sessions with the prince.
I imagined, though, that it would be a bit more complex than my petty household enchantments.
Mordric had called his brother a scholar, said he was educated at the most acclaimed university in the kingdom.
Perhaps he planned to teach me the history of magic, or the theory behind it.
My own education was admittedly embarrassingly paltry.
I had shared a one-room schoolhouse with dozens of other children for my entire childhood.
As the hour inched toward five o’clock I returned to my chambers to dress.
To my surprise, several new garments awaited me in the wardrobe.
I tugged on a pair of black breeches and a loose white chemise before draping a silver cloak around my shoulders.
It was thick enough to keep me warm through what promised to be a long evening.
I pulled on a pair of leather boots that had been left by the door before setting off into the cold.
I had been instructed to meet the prince in a far corner of the grounds, a place unfamiliar to me.
I followed a guard’s directions out of the castle and up a winding stone path due west, lit only by oil lampposts that had been stabbed into the earth every ten paces or so.
As I hurried up a set of uneven stairs, my breathing became labored.
Minutes after the fifth bell chimed, I stepped through an archway and into a courtyard.
My eyes grew wide. The palace itself had been built over two thousand years ago, back when the first King of Valen was crowned, but there were structures on the grounds that had existed long before then.
Some of them dated back to the time before vampires ruled over this land, according to the history books.
This one appeared to be ancient, with a flagstone terrace surrounded on its four sides by arched cloisters, withered ivy winding its way around the cracked stone.
If I looked to the west, I could see down the hill to where Lake Brone churned in the evening air, thick sheets of ice floating on its surface.
The wind whipping off of the surface of the lake nipped at my nose even from this distance.
In the center of the courtyard, Prince Enhart sat at a round stone table, flicking through an ancient tome.
All manner of books were stacked atop the table’s surface and I eyed them greedily.
“You’re late,” he said without looking up.
I bit the inside of my cheek. “My apologies, Your Royal Highness. This courtyard is much further from the castle than I realized.”
He waved forward one of the guards who had been lingering at the edge of the courtyard.
For a moment, I panicked, worried he was about to order them to take me away.
Could he dismiss me for being just a few minutes late?
My heart caught in my throat and I opened my mouth to protest, but couldn’t find the words.