Chapter 10
“You’re not trying,” Enhart growled as I failed, yet again, to force him from my mind.
“Do you ever have anything else to say?” I bit back. “It’s not as if I’ve been wasting time here. My wards are strong and you know it. Mordric even said so. The only problem is you.”
A cruel laugh met my ears. “Oh Mordric said so, did he? Then why isn’t he here night after night enduring this endless torture? You really think that I’m the worst thing you’ll encounter on the king’s council?”
“I don’t doubt it,” I snarled, slapping away the finger that he was waving in front of my face.
“I should have your hand taken for that,” he threatened.
Rage churned beneath my skin. “Take them both for all I care,” I cried. “Maybe then I wouldn’t have to see you ever again.”
“If you were practiced at your craft, you wouldn’t need them,” he shot back. “Again.”
His influence was even less forgiving this time, an ice-cold wave that crashed over me and threatened to drown me. This time, however, anger was my shield. I resisted, the wave churning haplessly around my wards.
My brief moment of triumph quickly gave way to panic, however, as the ground seemed to shift beneath my feet.
Powerless to stop it, I was yanked forward as if by an invisible fishing line that was hooked within my chest. My vision was obscured by a dizzying succession of images: the flash of steel as swords collided, the frothy peaks of waves that lapped against the hull of a ship, cobbled streets coated in blood.
My stomach roiled as if I’d scarfed down a meal too quickly, but my surroundings slowly steadied themselves and a hazy scene formed before my eyes. I was in the very same courtyard where Enhart and I toiled day after day, only it was different.
Three guards stood at the ready beneath the cloisters, but only two of them wore the black and scarlet of the Royal Guard.
The third watched the scene before him with narrowed eyes, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His tunic was golden with a scarlet sash, his skin tanned as if he’d spent most of his life beneath the sun. I peered closer.
A woman I didn’t recognize stood before me along with— I sucked in a breath. Prince Enhart stood facing her, his brow creased. It was a memory, I realized, but from when I had no idea. Vampires aged so slowly, and he looked exactly the same then as he did now.
My eyes flicked to the woman. She appeared to be in her third or so decade of life, with curly black hair woven into a thick braid that cascaded down her back.
She was dressed in all the finery of a lady of the court, her garments dyed the same gold and scarlet as her guard.
I squinted at her as my surroundings shuddered.
A ring of inky black shadows appeared around her.
A witch.
A shiver crept down my spine as I watched the shadows coil around her like the slippery river eels I had once seen hanging at a fishmonger’s stand along the Tirlif.
The shadows pulsed as if breathing. I recoiled.
There was something deeply unsettling about these creatures, and I found myself hoping that she would send them back to whatever godsawful place she had summoned them from.
This version of the prince opened his mouth to speak, but his words were garbled, as if I was underwater while they conversed above me. The witch shivered and released the shadows, and they disappeared into wisps of black smoke. Her shoulders sagged as Enhart spoke again.
As I peered at her, I noticed the purplish shadows blooming above her sharp cheekbones. The skin below her brown eyes was puffy and irritated. My brow furrowed as I wondered how long Enhart had been pushing her to her limit like this.
The fisherman’s line behind my breastbone tugged, this time pulling me backward, and the scene before me shuddered and collapsed as if it was made of smoke.
The sensation of being forced out of a memory was nearly as unsettling as being pulled in.
I splayed my fingers across my chest, bracing myself.
When I opened my eyes, I was staring into the furious eyes of the prince himself.
When I spoke, my voice was ragged. “Who …” I hesitated. “Who is she?”
“Someone actually worth my time, unlike you,” he hissed.
I was undeterred despite the rage so plainly written across his face. “What was that magic? The shadows?”
“Never you mind,” he bit back.
I returned his glare. “You’re really not going to tell me? She looked miserable, and that magic was … wrong.”
“This is exactly what happens when you can’t control your power,” he snarled. “It’s pathetic.”
The air between us crackled like the sky right before lightning struck. Hackles raised, I found myself unable to bite my tongue. “Perhaps you need to work on your wards then if someone as pathetic as me can fall through them.”
He stood abruptly, his hands clenched into fists at his side. His anger was so palpable that I almost feared being singed. “This session is over,” he said, his voice low. “Get out of my sight.”
I stood just as abruptly, my chair scraping across the flagstones. “Nothing would bring me greater pleasure,” I assured him. I spun on my heel and stormed down the courtyard stairs, cursing him under my breath.
Anger pricked my fingertips as I left the courtyard behind. I stalked toward the copse of pine trees overlooking the frozen lake. “He has no right to berate me,” I said aloud, as if they could hear me.
Magic spilled out of me, whipping through the branches, and the ground quaked beneath my feet.
The trees groaned, swaying violently as my frustration built to a crescendo.
A deafening crack echoed through the hills as the closest tree snapped in half, sending shards of wood flying in every direction.
I shielded my eyes, peering through the gaps in my fingers as its disfigured trunk tumbled down the hillside, carving a haphazard trail through the snow.
I blanched as it crashed through the surface of the lake, leaving splinters in its smooth surface.
I drew in a shaky breath, my fists clenched so tightly that my knuckles turned white. When I was a child, I sometimes lost control of my temper, though at the time, I didn’t understand why bottles would fly off the shelves or why the walls sometimes shook.
My mother was no witch, but she discovered that dipping my toes in the stream behind our cottage would distract me enough to release whatever power was escalating inside me. “Someone should teach Enhart that,” I mumbled.
I stooped and scooped up a pile of snow, molding it into a ball between my fingers. For a moment, I wondered how Enhart would react if I pelted it at his face. I chuckled as the snow melted in the warm cradle of my hands, leaving my fingers bright pink.
My magic was still pooled on the surface of my skin, begging to be used.
I had denied it for so long, hiding in the shadows as some kind of penance for what I had done in Wealdstone, only allowing myself to use it for petty enchantments.
But now I wanted to use it. I wanted the power that the council could offer me.
Craved it, even. And even though I dreaded the sessions with Enhart with every fiber of my being, I had little choice but to bear them.
I exhaled slowly. Resolute, I set off in the direction of the castle, leaving the destruction behind me.
I circled the back of the castle in search of solitude, weaving my way toward the courtyard behind the cellars.
Only this time, it was not deserted. My brow creased as I laid eyes on Sigrid, sitting alone in an alcove.
The older woman’s cheeks were streaked with tears, her nose ruddy.
I shuddered as her anguish crashed into me like a maelstrom.
She had no wards to keep her thoughts at bay, so I raised my own, shutting her out as I exhaled slowly.
“Finn?” Sigrid blinked up at me, holding her wrinkled cap in her hands.
“What happened?” I asked.
“It’s one of my girls,” sniffed the laundress. “She’s disappeared on me.”
My stomach roiled. “Who?”
Sigrid sniffed. “Her name is Ruby. Well, that’s what she told me at least.”
“I remember her,” I said. “I spoke to her the day I …” I trailed off, the memory of my attack too near. “You think she lied about her name?”
She nodded. “She didn’t answer to it half the time. Never talked about her life before she came to Valnar, either.”
“When did she disappear?”
“Before supper on Farren’s Day. Just before the solstice.”
My blood ran cold. “That’s the night I was attacked.”
The air grew prickly as the door creaked open to reveal Mrs. Cathers, her lips twisted into a cruel smile.
“Not this about the girl again,” she said, shaking her head.
“You’ve been in this business as long as I have, Sigrid.
I have no doubt that that wench went crawling back to Swan’s. Better coin in it.”
“She had no interest in returning there,” Sigrid hissed. “Not ever.”
I glanced back and forth between them. Madam Swan was a proprietor of a house of ill repute on the city’s outskirts. We’d all heard whisperings about it from the odd footman or guard.
“Oh please,” said Mrs. Cathers. “I caught her sneaking out after hours many times. On her way to pick up old clients, I presume.”
Sigrid rose, her fists clenched. “You bite your tongue.”
The housekeeper cocked a brow. “I beg your pardon?”
Sigrid’s jaw snapped shut. I shot Mrs. Cathers a filthy glare, drawing myself up to my full height. “That’s enough,” I said.
“Of course, my lady,” said the housekeeper, retreating with an exaggerated flourish. I flicked my wrist the moment she crossed the threshold, causing the door to slam so forcefully that the birds roosting in the cloisters took off. Sigrid stared at me with wide eyes, but said nothing.
I cleared my throat. “Spiteful old hag.”
Sigrid offered a weak smile. “Finn, I overheard from some of the other staff that you spoke to the King about what happened to you down in the city. What did he say?”