Chapter 9
Soil muffled the steady pitter-patter of my bare feet as I trotted clumsily along a trickling stream, clutching a cluster of skinny daisies between my chubby fingers. Mama loved daisies. I squatted, plucking another of the pretty white flowers to add to my collection.
“Not too far!” echoed my father’s voice from further up the bank.
I bent my head to inhale the flowers’ earthy scent when a furious buzzing sounded, startling me. I screamed, dropping my bouquet as I staggered backward.
Papa was upon me in an instant, his heavy boots beating against the ground. “What happened?” he asked, scanning our surroundings. His hand rested on the ax he kept tucked into his waistband when we strayed far from home.
“Papa!” I wailed, ducking behind his legs. “A bee!”
I watched in horror as the fiend buzzed gleefully around my bouquet, now splattered in mud.
Papa’s palm rested on my brow as he knelt, his dark blue eyes twinkling.
Everyone said I took after Papa. Sure, my chestnut hair mirrored his, but he had a beard, and I didn’t want to grow one of those.
I wanted to look like my mama, with her olive eyes and golden locks that she refused to hide beneath a cap, preferring to keep them long and wild.
“Don’t be afraid, sunshine,” Papa said.
“Bees sting,” I whispered, eyes wide. “Everybody knows that.”
“Only when they’re scared,” he said.
“But Jem got stung and Mama made him sit in the stream for hours,” I whined. “It’s cold in there.”
He smiled, ruffling my hair. “Your brother got too close to a hive. The bees were protecting their family. Just like your mama and I protect you and Jem.”
I considered it. Papa was usually right. Still, I remained suspicious of the bee as it nestled between the petals of a daisy, dancing a jig on its fluffy yellow center.
“Why does it have to steal my flowers?”
Fine wrinkles sprouted from the corners of my father’s eyes as his smile widened.
“I think the bee would be happy to share if you let him take what he needs first. Look,” he said, as it took off, its furry body thoroughly coated in yellow pollen.
“Now the bee has what it needs, and you can take them home to Mama.”
I eyed the daisies warily.
“How about I carry them?” he said, sensing my hesitation. He tucked the flowers through a buttonhole on his worn shirt.
“You look pretty, Papa,” I said, but my voice sounded different. Grown up, like Mama’s. I stared up at him, a chill going down my spine as my father froze in place. Something about this was wrong, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. I reached for him and my surroundings rippled.
“Papa?”
I shivered as the temperature plummeted. My knees buckled and my palms met granite as I braced myself against the cold stone table. I blinked the moisture out of my eyes as the courtyard slowly came back into focus.
“Pathetic.”
Another image formed in my mind. I stood on the crest of a hill overlooking the capital. My lips were dry and cracked, my boots worn nearly to the sole. But I was here.
No, I reminded myself, I was not. I shoved the feeling aside and stood, swaying slightly. The skin above my lip grew wet with sweat as I fought to stay in the courtyard.
“Better.”
I touched my finger to my nose, wincing as I pulled it away to find it coated in blood.
The prince and I had been at it for days, each session worse than the last as what little patience he had dwindled.
Steeling myself against psychal attacks was like growing a callous, and Enhart was only too happy to be the friction that thickened it.
I was exhausted and yet I was barely sleeping.
Instead, I spent nearly every hour that I wasn’t training back in my new chambers leafing through endless chapters on psychal magic.
The texts were written in an old form of the common tongue, difficult to read for someone who hadn’t studied at university.
Enhart insisted that they would strengthen my skills, and yet, no matter how much I studied, I could barely drive him out of my head.
Meanwhile, the prince spent night after night parsing through my most private thoughts and memories in an effort to force me to build a ward, as he called it: a barrier against those who sought to invade my mind. It wasn’t working.
“Can we take a break?” I asked as an earsplitting headache bloomed between my temples. The nosebleeds were becoming more common with every session. I wiped the sleeve of my cloak across my lip, leaving the fabric stained with a streak of crimson.
“No,” he replied coolly. “How do you ever expect to learn if you’re not challenged?”
“This isn’t a challenge,” I snapped. “It’s just brute force.”
He cocked his head. “This is brute force to you?”
I pointed at my cloak, the sleeve dark with dried blood. “What else would you call it?”
He shrugged, wrapping his tendrils around my mind once again.
The wards were difficult to erect, like weaving together a tapestry of wriggling serpents.
Maintaining them, though, was even harder.
Even if there wasn’t a vampire trying to force their way through, any loss of concentration, any second thought, and they would crumble away into ash.
As I squeezed my eyes shut, images formed one after the other.
I peeled off a leather boot that was worn almost to the sole, grimacing at the mangled flaps of skin hanging off my blistered toes.
Ewan stared at me with empty eyes, a bloody, gaping hole where his throat should be.
I ran my thumb over a stone lifted from the banks of the creek behind our house. Carefully, I placed it on a cairn with a hundred others.
A blond boy tumbled into the deepest part of the creek behind our cottage as my own screams echoed in my ears. He can’t swim.
There was a snap around me, and the ground seemed to give way beneath my feet. This time, though, it wasn’t in my head. My eyes flew open as I hurtled backward through thin air. I yelped as I hit a body of water with a resounding splash.
The light dwindled as I sank like a rock. I pumped my arms and legs, gasping for air as I broke the surface of the freezing cold lake.
“What the fuck?” I spluttered, whipping my head around. I had somehow traveled far from the courtyard, landing in the middle of Lake Brone at the western edge of the palace grounds. The water was so cold I felt it to my marrow.
The image of my childhood friend, Arthur, tumbling into the water was the last thing I had seen before I ended up here. I reminded myself that he was just fine, safe in Bard after I’d nearly drowned dragging him out of the water.
I trod water for a moment. I knew I had to get out, and quickly, but the sight of a familiar figure on the bank of the lake gave me pause. The prince stood in the mud, watching me with his arms crossed. I would rather freeze to death than face him after yet another mistake.
I cursed as my chin dipped below the surface. The sodden wool of my cloak threatened to drag me down so I fiddled with the clasp, releasing it into the depths. Bracing myself for his admonishments, I made my way toward Enhart.
“Now that,” he said coolly as I approached, “was unexpected.”
“I, I don’t—” I stammered, climbing onto the muddy bank. “I don’t understand what just happened.”
I stood before him, the soaked, sheer fabric of my shirt clinging to my curves. My teeth clattered together violently. I folded my arms over my chest, hugging myself for warmth.
“You phased,” he said. “A curious response, but I suppose it’s not completely out of the ordinary. What were you thinking about?”
The image of Arthur’s face, puffy and blue as he coughed up creek water, appeared in my mind. “It doesn’t matter,” I said, shoving the memory deep down. “I didn’t even know that I could do that.”
He shrugged. “It’s not unusual for a witch.”
“I just moved magically from one place to the next,” I pointed out exasperatedly. “Without even trying to.”
“I know, and you’d better get it under control,” he replied.
I balked. “I beg your pardon?”
He cocked his head. “You’re upset with me.” It wasn’t a question.
“You forced me to do that!” I cried, rage bubbling up inside me. “And now you’re admonishing me for not being able to control it. Don’t you see why that would be incredibly frustrating?”
“I didn’t force you to do anything,” he said. “You failed yet again to drive me out, and then this happened. If you disagree with my methods—”
I scoffed. “Methods? What exactly are your methods?”
“To push you,” he said. “Which clearly worked.”
“You have no godsdamn methods,” I bit back.
“For Letlas’s sake.” He approached me and I flinched. “Hold still,” he bit out. He unfastened his cloak and wrapped it round my shoulders. There was no warmth from his body, but the thick, soft fabric instantly warmed me.
“I wouldn’t expect you to know anything about my methodology,” he growled, looking down at me. I shouldered past him intending to stalk off toward the castle.
Instead, I found myself face-to-face with the King.
I inhaled sharply. “Mordric.”
“Finn! You’re—” His eyes raked over my trembling frame wrapped in Enhart’s cloak. “Wet.”
My face flushed as it dawned on me how ridiculous I must look. Dripping in lake water and caught in a screaming match with his brother. Mordric’s gaze flitted to Enhart’s. “Would anyone care to explain what’s going on here?”
“What’s going on here is that your novice is entirely out of her depth,” said Enhart in a flat voice. “No pun intended.”
“Then adjust the depth,” Mordric said without missing a beat. “She’s not a master witch, as you were well aware when you agreed to train her. That’s the reason that you’re here.”
A humorless smile spread across the prince’s face. “I’m well aware of the reasons that I’m here, Your Majesty.”
I swallowed, my eyes flicking between the two of them. Mordric put a hand on my shoulder. “I suggest you two take the night to cool off.”
Enhart shrugged. “Fine with me.”
“Good.” Mordric took me by the arm, leading me away.