Chapter 29
My fingers curled around the damp wood of a rowboat.
At Ivor’s insistence, I had enchanted it to ferry us across the lake as a precaution.
I held my tongue, unconvinced that water would do anything to stop the Ealdorfyre.
The vessel jerked as the bow hit the muddy bank in the center of the lake.
I clambered out with Ivor in tow, the mud squelching beneath our boots.
Fiddling with the end of my braid, I glanced across the water at Enhart, who stood stiffly beside the Vice-Chancellor on the opposite shore.
“Are you ready to begin?” asked Ivor.
“Yes,” I replied, somewhat unconvincingly.
“Good. Now then, when you command elemental fire,” he began. “You focus on a feeling of calm, correct?”
“Yes.”
“The power flows through your veins and erupts from your fingertips.”
I nodded. By now that feeling was familiar to me in its predictability. It was comforting. “The Ealdorfyre,” he continued, “is not the same. It is akin to a living creature that must be fed. And tamed.”
I recalled the image of the fire pouncing on those men in Wealdstone and swallowing them whole. The flames had had a mind of their own. I wiped clammy palms on my breeches. “I can’t do this,” I protested weakly.
“You can,” insisted the ancient vampire. “And you must. Tell me, what did you feel when you first connected with it?”
“Rage,” I whispered without missing a beat. My anger had been pure. White-hot.
“Not just rage,” he said as if reading my mind. “What else?”
“It was like … like I was a wild beast that had found itself ensnared in a trap. The panic was so raw that it threatened to swallow me whole.”
“Fear,” he said, “is a powerful force.”
“I suppose.”
“Your fear is understandable. To wield the Ealdorfyre responsibly, however, you must summon it from a place of emptiness.”
I frowned. “Emptiness?”
The vampire appeared in front of me, blocking my view. “Close your eyes and empty your mind.”
“I don’t think—” I began, stopping short as he raised a weathered hand.
“Slow your breath,” he ordered. “Inhale slowly, hold, and exhale. Let the world around you fade away.”
I obeyed, squeezing my eyes shut against my better judgment.
I tried to focus on my surroundings. The breeze tickling my nose.
The tiny waves that lapped against the shore.
But my mind burned with questions, anxieties, and resentment at both Enhart and Mordric for wrenching me from the comfort of Valnar and sending me instead to a place that made my skin crawl.
“Your mind is not empty.”
I sighed. “Sorry.”
“Do not be sorry. Breathe.”
I exhaled through my nose.
“Welcome your power. It’s in the tips of your fingers.”
I splayed my fingers across my hips.
“It spreads inwards toward your center.”
Ravens cawed in the nearby trees. “It’s not working,” I insisted, blinking my eyes open.
“Then we will try again.”
I frowned at the Chancellor. “How long is this going to take?”
He shrugged. “I suppose we’ll find out.”
An evening passed. Then a day. Before long, it had been over a week and I had still made no progress despite spending my evenings ankle-deep in mud while Ivor prattled on about breathing exercises.
On this particular night, I had nearly throttled the ancient vampire when he reminded me to empty my mind for the umpteenth time.
It was an impossible task. I was haunted by the words I hadn’t said to Mordric before I left, fear of the Ealdorfyre, and the godsdamn whispers that still came from the forest. I wondered if any other girls had disappeared off the streets of Valnar.
Niamh had promised to heed my warnings, but the thought that she, or Vesper, could be in danger of some mad witch kept me up at night.
“Perhaps we should explore another avenue,” said Ivor, interrupting my thoughts.
I breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank the gods.”
“Not yet,” he replied.
I stared into his ancient face, tracing the fissures etched into skin that was wrapped so tightly around his skull. I wondered how many students he had tutored like this. I glanced down at my feet, the waves lapping at my toes. Probably not many. “What is it?”
“When you first summoned the Ealdorfyre,” he began. “Your blood was spilled, was it not?”
I hesitated, recalling the way the man with the shaved head had grabbed me.
He’d crushed the delicate bones of my wrist so hard I thought they might break.
And he’d scratched me, I remembered. Deep enough to draw blood.
It was only after that that the Ealdorfyre came.
“It was,” I said finally. My spirits fell as I recalled the smack of Gran’s head against the step. “My grandmother’s, too.”
“Then perhaps that’s the kind of sacrifice the Ealdorfyre demands from its conjurer.”
My fingers drifted absently to the ridge of my nose, recalling the drops of blood that spilled onto my lips when I had first forced Enhart from my mind.
“There is a link between a witch’s blood and their power.
You’ve noticed, I’m sure, that you feel your magic first beneath your skin before it spills into the physical world.
Sacrifice is always required upon the initial casting, regardless of the type of magic.
It comes in many forms, perhaps through exhaustion, or even blood spilled. ”
“A sacrifice?” I asked. “To what, the gods?”
He blinked once. “If you like.”
“I’ve never willingly given blood in exchange for magic,” I said slowly. “It sometimes just happened.”
The Chancellor’s tone was pensive. “Curious. It can speed up the learning process significantly. I suppose the prince was unwilling to let you harm yourself.”
I cast him a wry look. Enhart had never hesitated to force me to relive humiliating memories or knock me to my ass, but I supposed what the Chancellor said could be true.
I shook my head, forcing away my concerns. “So now what?” I asked. “I have to open my veins to summon the Ealdorfyre?”
He nodded once. “The choice is yours, but I imagine that it wouldn’t hurt your chances.”
I swallowed the questions that welled up in my throat. “Fine then,” I said. My fingers trembled as I unclasped the holster at my belt and wrapped them around the blade Enhart had gifted me.
I paused. The last time I had spilled blood in the presence of a vampire, it had nearly cost me my life. Ivor chuckled. “I assure you, after a few thousand years not even the scent of witch’s blood whets my appetite anymore.”
My grip slackened for a single breath before I sliced the blade across my skin.
A pulse of surprise washed over me. I glanced up, meeting Enhart’s dark gaze across the murky water.
He watched wordlessly, his lips pressed into a tight line.
His emotions had slipped past his wards, but he withheld any thoughts that might be floating around in his mind.
I shook him from my head. This is what he wanted. What Mordric wanted. My palm became slick as blood welled to the surface, pearls of crimson dripping onto the earth. I held my breath. Heat throbbed beneath my skin, but that was all.
I squeezed my palm, wincing as it stung. Taking a steadying breath, I took the knife to my skin again. The mud lapped up my second offering without offering so much as a whiff of blue smoke in return.
With each droplet of blood, my confidence slipped further and further away. In its place, frustration seeped beneath my skin. I wasn’t sure who I should direct it toward—Ivor? Mordric? Or Enhart, whose face I could no longer see across the darkness?
Perhaps that was for the best.
Of course this was happening to me. For years, I had grappled with the guilt of what I had done in Wealdstone.
The Ealdorfyre haunted me nearly constantly.
But when I needed it most, it failed me.
A breeze whipped across the surface of the lake, sending a chill down my spine.
I took the knife higher, tracing another line beneath my fingers.
At this rate, I would run out of space soon.
The mournful call of a wolf echoed in the nearby forest. That damned forest. I narrowed my eyes. The sight of it, a black mass in the encroaching darkness, sent a chill down my spine. If I strained my ears, I could almost hear it whispering my name.
“Shit,” I cursed as the knife slipped, nicking me in the thumb.
“Miss Erramun.”
The kindness in Ivor’s voice was disarming. My attention flicked toward him, the knife hovering inches above my skin like a threat. “So, what now?” I asked through gritted teeth. “I do this again tomorrow?”
“Do you feel as if it’s working?”
I bit back a bitter retort. “You’re the expert, Chancellor.”
He nodded. “Then I suggest we leave it here for the evening and try again tomorrow.”
I grunted in response, wiping the blade clean on my breeches before slamming it into its sheath.
At supper, Enhart and I sat opposite each other in our small dining room, the silence broken only by the scraping of pewter against porcelain. I held my fork gingerly in my bandaged hand.
“You look tired,” Enhart observed, watching me over the rim of his glass.
I scowled. “Why is that always the first thing a man says when he thinks a woman looks terrible?”
“I don’t think you look terrible,” he replied.
“Of course not,” I replied sardonically.
He cocked his head. “You’re combative tonight. More than usual.”
“I’m frustrated,” I replied through gritted teeth.
“About your dreams?”
I shot him a dark glance. Of course he could hear me screaming in the middle of the night. At least he hadn’t shaken me awake again. “No.”
“I see. Ivor is an excellent teacher, you know. You’ll get there.”
“I’m not frustrated with Ivor.”
“Who then?”
“You!” I cried. “And Mordric. And anyone whose stupid idea it was to bring me to this awful place.”
He stilled, his face annoyingly placid. “I told you, you have to try.”
“Why?” I shot back, not caring who overheard. “When will it ever be enough? I’m out there standing up to my ankles in mud, slitting my veins open so that the gods might see fit to bestow upon me a power I don’t even want.”