CHAPTER 5
Letters lay scattered in uneven piles across the dining table. From my side, I watched quietly and deciphered from their discussion that they carried citizens’ concerns and pleas to their Mage Lord, a man clearly important enough to warrant a litany of messages.
I had reluctantly agreed to join them for another meal, yet I might as well have been invisible. The lord’s pinched mouth and the tense pauses made it clear they had far worse problems than me.
Reagan squinted at the message in his hand, then at the table, as if lost in some private thought.
I kept my eyes on him, the most dangerous person in the room. My nerves were still frayed from yesterday, the memory of claws and sharp teeth so fresh I could almost see them again. I swallowed a hard lump of meat that slid down my throat as if it had sharp edges.
In my head, I replayed the moment he’d turned into an animal. Finn had said it was just a scare, just intimidation, but I wasn’t sure I believed him. It had felt like . . . something else.
It didn’t matter. I knew now that the threat he posed was far more vicious than I’d imagined, and if Finnegan was right, this was nothing compared to what he could do.
His gaze caught mine for a heartbeat before I lowered my eyes to the half-eaten plate of kale and meat stew, finding it far more interesting than seconds ago.
“Most of the pleas mentioned the harvest issue,” Cerridwen said, reclining gracefully in her chair. “This is the most pressing matter for the audience today. Focus there first. Nothing on the Rite yet. We don’t have enough to share.”
“It’s something we may need to reconsider if it’s still worth keeping,” Barracus Crow said tersely.
Cerridwen turned toward him, her eyes narrowing as though his suggestion annoyed her.
“And what then? Tell them to hide and forgo the few occasions this estate still counts on? No. This year matters more than ever. Cancelling it would be worse than Zara openly admitting she will not stir in our favour.”
They both glanced at Reagan, whose eyes, as I belatedly realised, were still fixed on me, as if he’d noticed how closely I listened.
I cursed inwardly. They were the ones who had turned a meal into a business discussion. He didn’t have to worry. Almost everything they said felt foreign to me.
He finally turned back to the staff and answered, “We will have the Rite and work on what we need for the next few months.”
It was Gwinifer who spoke next. “I heard news from Eldritch.” She handed a letter to Reagan, who skimmed the paper over his food.
“No incidents,” he said, with a tone of relief.
“Not since the Wraiths that showed up last week, but they still have more patrollers there,” she replied.
All of them seemed to sigh for a moment.
“What’s a Wraith?” I asked, sensing this might be relevant.
Impossibly, the tension in the room thickened.
“Dead, cursed people,” Finnegan answered curtly. “They hunt mostly the mageborn.”
“They are not really people anymore,” Gwinifer added, as if she read the alarm on my face. “Their bodies are decaying, but they live by feeding on the powers of others. So they are dangerous.”
“Feeding?” I asked with cold dread.
“On our power,” Finnegan clarified. “They can drain a mageborn to the point of death, which is the main reason they cannot be near cities.”
“Should we be talking about this here?” Cerridwen asked, staring between their lord and me.
Reagan shrugged. “I didn’t invite her. But what can she do?”
“I invited her,” Finn said, unfazed. “She is staying for a year. You want to have her stuck in a room the whole time?”
I dropped my napkin on the table, ready to rise from the chair.
Reagan shook his head, reaching for his drink. “Fine by me. She should know what is out there.”
I couldn’t tell whether it was meant to prepare me or unnerve me. In any case, I leaned back in my seat and listened.
“We’re leaving for the border. Again,” Reagan said to Barracus, pinching the bridge of his nose as if fighting off a headache.
“Then, after the audience, we can review our options.” He turned to Cerridwen.
“I know you’re talking about current deals.
When I’m back, we’ll go through your list and decide where I have to go, including Erisea. The location will make it easier.”
Reagan rose from his chair and turned to the emissary. “We leave in twenty minutes.”
With an electrical current in the air, both mages vanished. I stared at the empty chairs, still struggling to believe they were, in fact, empty.
“They flung,” Cerridwen explained.
“Right. You can do that,” I murmured, shaking my head.
“It’s easier to travel if you can do it,” said Gwinifer, who also stood up and walked towards the door.
“Not all of you can?” I asked, following her.
“No. It takes practice and leaves you with a nasty exhaustion. Not the good type.” She smiled over her shoulder as we walked out of the room. “Not everyone masters it.”
“Should I be worried about Wraiths?” I asked, unwilling to waste the opportunity.
“Yes,” she said simply, turning her back to me. “But not here, not on castle grounds.”
“What if I’m in the city and see one of them?”
“Then you scream and hide,” Gwinifer replied, sauntering through the corridor.
I blew a quiet, irritated breath. “Could you just help me?” I asked. “I ran away from that dead hound in the woods, and I just need something to feel safe. Can you give me anything I could defend myself with against these creatures?”
She stopped and turned to me, cocking her head to one side as she considered. Or pitied me.
“Most creatures will be stronger and faster than you. You’d die, even if you could fight, which . . .” She eyed me thoughtfully. “I’d venture you can’t.”
She would be right.
“You could use Velvetshades as a precaution.”
“Velvetshades?” I repeated.
“Yes. Velvetshade Blossom is a flower that can make you invisible to their senses. It hides your scent and keeps you off their radar. The petals are velvety and purple with a strong smell. Carry a few in your pocket. It might help you hide, but you’d still be better off praying to Zara that you never encounter any creatures at all.
And if you’re thinking of wandering in the Northern—”
“A flower?” I cut her off. “That’s the best you have?”
“For a human? Yes,” she said, padding away. “Don’t do anything stupid, Red. And by all means, don’t give my brother a reason to bite my head off.”
◆◆◆
“Why do you want to know?” Cerridwen asked as I trailed behind her down a winding staircase.
“So I can see it. Admire it. I don’t know what to do, and I feel like I’ll go mad if I don’t do something. I mean, what do you people expect—”
“Alright,” she replied swiftly. I fought the urge to grin. “You’ll find a garden if you follow these stairs down to the ground level, turn left, and head straight south. Spend as much time there as you like.”
“Thank you,” I said, already descending the stairs.
◆◆◆
The garden was unusually vibrant for the season, the grey sky only adding to the contrast. Shades of pink, orange, and even maroon bloomed in abundance, so many that it was impossible to tell a damson from a blackthorn.
The rows of bushes guided me deeper into the heart of the lush garden, blissfully empty at this hour.
My steps were slow and aimless, but my eyes were ever watchful, scanning the greenery.
Then I spotted it. Muted purple, no fruits in sight, and mainly textured petals.
Velvet. I approached the bush, bending low as if to smell the flowers, careful of any prying eyes, my fingers grazing the petals before swiftly plucking a handful.
In my pocket, a small, thin bag—courtesy of my brilliant chamber—was just the right size to hide the cluster of petals, lest the scent of florals and damp earth betray me.
A few moments later, I slipped out of the garden.
◆◆◆
The room was the largest I’d seen in the castle so far, clearly designed to accommodate a crowd. Towering stone pillars flanked the sides and ended in a vaulted ceiling. They stretched all the way to the entrance, where people trickled in.
I leaned back against a slender pillar near the far end, close to a dais where the Mage Lord sat between his second and third-in-command. The chairs they occupied—neither quiet thrones nor ordinary seats—seemed designed to project authority.
Before the dais stood a line of mages, each taking turns to present their petitions to the ruler of the estate. Others were scattered throughout the hall, either in clusters or alone.
“I’m pleased to hear your business is holding steady, Esmond,” Reagan said, addressing the man before him. “From your dealings with other seamstresses, do you hear the same?”
“I try to stay in contact with most towns, my lord,” Esmond continued. “Textiles are still in steady production, though demand has dropped. Same with the runesmiths. We aren’t selling as much, but it’s not for lack of effort or materials.”
I’d been allowed to observe the Citizens’ Audience where they received residents of this estate. Finnegan stood nearby, along with a pair of guards or battle mages positioned on either side of the dais.
I let my gaze wander around the chamber, contemplating how strangely informal this was. Mountheim couldn’t be so large, or at least not as large as the human estates in the country, if they could address their people like this.
Turning to Finnegan, I kept my voice low. “Do you listen to every citizen in this meeting?”
“No, that would be impossible,” he murmured. “We schedule different sessions for specific towns, and only some of them attend. Each audience lasts about three hours, and they try to address as many concerns as they can.”
The seamster’s voice drew my attention back to the dais. “The patrollers you dispatched were a great help. But we fear the threat isn’t over. The whole village is asking for reinforcements.”
Reagan leaned forward, resting his elbows on the armrests. He wore an open cloak that looked slightly official, with an embroidered gold badge. “I thought you reported no new attacks last week?”