Chapter 1
Ellie
Charcoal scrapes along paper. Crisp gray lines and a gentle curve of laughter, brightening his smile. I hesitate, then blend the soft shadows of his lips with my pinky, heat rising in my cheeks.
I tilt the sketchbook up, eyeing my subject from across the room. A gentleman, likely a few years older than me, sharing breakfast with his love. His fingers entwine with hers, resting on the battered table between plates full of eggs, toast, and boiled tomatoes.
There’s a spark in his eye—a joy—that I haven’t captured.
Mom taps my elbow. She tilts her head close, caramel curls tucked beneath a stylishly askew, lace-trimmed hat. “You need to eat. There may not be another chance before your placement exams.”
Pressing my lips together, I snap the leather-bound pages shut. “I’m not hungry.”
“Are you nervous?”
“It’s impossible not to be,” I mumble, then glance around the inn’s chilly breakfast room, resisting the urge to reinvigorate the hearth’s dying flames with an incantation.
At least it’s quiet, with no other guests besides us and the couple; my nerves would likely be screaming otherwise. “Where’s Father?”
“Already calling the carriage.” She tucks back the rebellious wisps that escaped my hastily twisted bun. “Try not to stress over it—there’s not a doubt in my mind you’ll do well.”
A weight bears down on my shoulder, startling me despite its familiarity. “Of course she will,” Father’s voice rumbles. He pulls his hand away, unbuttoning his violet tailcoat as he slides into the seat opposite Mom and me. Thankfully, he agreed to forgo his full Order regalia today.
“We should leave soon,” he says, glancing at the wall clock. “Exams begin at eighth bell, and at this rate, I doubt we’ll make it before midday.”
Lovely—I’ll be lucky to get a full bell to settle in. Mom nods at my plate, so I scarf down a few forkfuls of egg, despite my lack of appetite, then reach for my glass. Empty.
Curves and angles form a circular pattern in my mind, and I silently run through an incantation, drawing power from beneath the foundations. Crystal-clear water fills the vessel at my fingertips.
“Ellie!” Mom’s voice is sharp, as is the shake of her head.
My fingers jerk away from the glass. “Right. Sorry.”
While it’s not as if a single incantation will ruin the furniture, it is illegal outside of Academy grounds and members of the Order—a fact I need to get used to now that I’m leaving home.
Father’s status has always given me leeway, not that most people ever noticed me doing it.
I spent most of my life not realizing it was forbidden, assuming everyone else simply lacked the resources to learn or wished to avoid its negative effects.
My elbows tuck in, shoulders hunching. Father eyes me, then clears his throat. “You needn’t concern yourself with that. Your professors will see your skill as proof of your dedication to the fight.”
Right. My dedication. As if following in his footsteps was my choice, and not the only option for the daughter of a noble who won’t inherit it herself.
To someday serve under him, awaiting the day the fae inevitably invade again.
No one knows why their attacks stopped, but two decades of peace is nothing compared to the millennia of war that’s plagued our people.
“Come along now,” he says, giving Mom his hand as she gets to her feet. “We don’t want to be late.”
I slather some strawberry jelly on my toast, then hurry after them.
Pausing at the door, I peek back at the happy couple.
The spark remains, lighting both their faces as they lean close, whispering.
After a moment, the woman glances in my direction, raising her eyebrow.
I jump, almost colliding with the doorframe in my rush to escape.
My face burns, shame and envy winding tightly around my ribs.
Someday, I tell myself, hoping to relieve the ache. And today is the first step. It may be along my father’s path, but it’s still my first taste of freedom from a life sequestered in solitary study. A chance to finally connect with others.
I shiver as I step out of the inn, my linen blouse a poor shield against winter’s bite.
Our two carriages await on the lone dirt road of this small town—simply another stop on the three-day journey to the Arandur Academy of Incantation.
Eunice, my mother’s maid, holds out my coat.
I slide my arms into it while my father helps Mom into our family carriage, then she steps in front of me to help with buttoning.
“How’s the journey been for you?” I ask. It seems better than discussing the weather.
“Comfortable enough, Miss.”
“Was your room warm? Mine was a bit nippy.” I cringe as the words leave my mouth. So much for steering clear of the temperature.
She glances at the handsome footman loading the last of our luggage, then turns back to me, a smile tugging at her lips. “Warm enough, Miss.”
Lucky her.
A snap pierces the air, and one of the horses tosses its head with an irritated whinny. The trace connecting it to the servants’ carriage dangles at its side. It’s nothing I can help with—even if incanting weren’t outlawed, it can’t fix torn leather.
“What a way to start the day,” Eunice murmurs. When I can’t think of a response, she brushes a speck of lint from my sleeve. “I’m sure they’ll resolve it in no time, Miss.” Then she steps back, no doubt hoping to avoid any further conversation.
So I stand there, nibbling the remains of my toast while my father exchanges words with the coachman. Just as I’m finishing, he heads over.
“We’ll move your bag and go on without them,” he says, offering his arm. He leads me to our carriage, where I sit on the bench opposite him and Mom.
A sigh escapes me as I peer out the window. Only four bells to go. I lean back, closing my eyes while my parents’ voices drone to the sway of the carriage. Before I know it, something presses against my knee.
“We’ve arrived,” Mom says, pulling her fingers away.
Rubbing my eyes, I peek out the window, then at my father. “Can you stay here?” I ask. “Please?”
“Of course not. I’m to speak before the exams.”
“You can head over separately, Hiram,” Mom says. “She doesn’t need everyone to witness her arriving with the High Marshal.”
Wrinkles form at the corners of his eyes as he considers me. My mother often speaks of how they sparkled like the sea when she first met him, but all I’ve ever known is the gray of an impending storm.
His lips tighten beneath his mustache, and he nods. “Very well.” But before relief can wash over me, he plants his hand heavily on my shoulder. “I know I don’t say it enough, but I’m proud of the woman you’ve become.”
It’s the closest he’ll get to ‘I love you.’
My fingers clench in my lap—I can’t sit in this carriage any longer. “I won’t let you down,” I say, hoping it’s enough. Unless the fae renew the wars, the only way I’ll be able to secure my place as his successor is through skill and fortitude miles beyond anyone else.
After a torturous moment of searching my face, Father knocks on the carriage door. It pops open, the footman extending his hand.
With a deep exhale, I step out to face my new life.
Beyond the crowd buzzing with excited faces, my gaze lands on the rectangular building looming before me, tracing the sharp edges of bricks whose color has long since faded.
It’s one of many similarly drab structures in this ocean of dirt that looks more like ash, where not even a single blade of grass can survive the drain of constant incanting.
Wooden window frames and decorative tiles form uniform rows on its facade, all in dispiriting shades of gray.
Mom steps out beside me, overdressed in her bright, rose-colored skirt and matching jacket.
She exchanges some words with the footman, who hands me my bag—it holds only the bare essentials, save my sketchbook.
No one brings any prized possessions here, as their vibrancy would slowly dull to nothing. Leaving my paints behind had gutted me.
With a sharp crack of a whip, wheels creak and the carriage rolls away, taking Father to wherever the exams will occur.
Almost free.
I pull my coat tight, seeking warmth against the cold that might as well be emanating from the building itself. “I knew they started term in the winter to ease the transition, but this…” I meet Mom’s gaze. “This is bleak.”
She bites her lip. “Perhaps that’s why they allow students to visit the village so often,” she offers.
The village. Right.
I glance behind me. Just a silhouette of dilapidated shacks against the cloudy sky. Beyond that, a rainbow-painted clock tower rises like a beacon of hope, fighting to outshine the gloom.
Mom rests her hand on my shoulder. “Let’s get you checked in.”
I’m itching beneath the skin as I follow her through the swarm, people pressing all around me, until we find a table of third-years doling out room assignments.
Together, we pass through the massive entry doors—the only spot of color on the entire building.
My fingers trail along the violet paint that coats them so thick, you’d hardly know they were wood.
It chips away at the edges, revealing gray underneath.
We navigate the teeming hallways to a door on the second floor whose number matches my key. With a deep breath, I turn the knob and let us in.
“This is just dreadful! Why couldn’t we get a room facing Haven?
” A girl with thick hair flowing past her shoulders throws open the ashen curtains of the sitting room, filling the space with pale sunlight.
Half her locks, black as the night sky, are pinned up in intricate braids.
Compared to her, I must look like an unkempt mess.
“I’m sure there’s someone you can bat your eyelashes at for a better view,” says a dark-haired man, probably fifteen years my senior. He lounges on one of the two purple damask armchairs in the center of the room, feet propped up on a slate table between him and the matching settee.