The Black Witch Read online

  The woman lunges forward, grabs fiercely at the bars in front of her and opens her mouth. My head jerks back in surprise as slender rows of silvery slits on both sides of the base of her neck fly open, her skin puffing out around them.

  Holy Ancient One—she has gills!

  The woman lets loose a high-pitched, earsplitting croak, the likes of which I have never heard before. I have no idea what she’s trying to scream, what’s happened to her voice, but still, her meaning is clear. She’s crying out for my help.

  The men jump at the sound, put their hands over their ears and shoot her a look of annoyance. The boys laugh, perhaps thinking they provoked her cry. The boys push the stick into her once more, harder this time. Again, she doesn’t flinch. She just keeps her eyes locked on mine.

  My eyes dart to the sign on the storefront above her. Pearls of the Ocean, it reads. Suddenly the carriage lurches forward, and she’s gone.

  “Aunt Vyvian,” I cry, my voice strained and high-pitched, “there was a woman! With...gills! In a cage!” I point to the window on the side where she had been, my heart racing.

  My aunt glances quickly in the direction of the window, her expression one of mild disgust. “Yes, Elloren,” she says, sighing. “It was hard to miss the screeching.”

  “But, but...what...” I can barely get the words out.

  “Selkies, Elloren, it’s a Selkie.” She cuts me off, clearly not wanting to discuss it further.

  I’m stunned by her nonchalance. “She was in a cage!” I point again at the window, still not believing what I just saw.

  “Not everything is how it appears on the surface, Elloren,” she says stiffly. “You’ll have to learn that if you’re going to be part of the wider world.” She peers over at me and studies my troubled face, perhaps seeing that a longer explanation is unavoidable. “They may look like humans, Elloren, but they aren’t.”

  The very human-looking, terrified eyes of the young woman are burned into my mind. “What are they?” I ask, still shaken.

  “They’re seals. Very fierce seals, at that.” My aunt pauses to lean back against the elaborately embroidered cushions. “Long ago, the Selkies were enchanted by a sea witch. Every full moon they come to shore somewhere on the coast, step out of their seal skin and emerge in human form. For many years they caused a great deal of havoc—attacking sailors, dismantling ships. It was terrible.”

  “But she looked so frail.”

  “Ah, it’s like I just said. Appearances can be deceiving. Selkies, in possession of their skins, are stronger than the strongest Mage, and like most seals, they are very dangerous predators.”

  “And without their skins?”

  “Very good, Elloren.” My aunt looks pleased. “You’ve gotten right to the heart of it. Without their skins, they can be easily controlled.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they lose their strength, and because they cannot transform back into seals without them. Without their skins, they cannot get back to the ocean. Being wild animals, no matter how long they are kept in human form, they desperately want to get back to their ocean home. They’re not human, Elloren. It’s only an illusion. Don’t let it trouble you.”

  “But why was she in a cage?”

  My aunt grimaces at my question, like she’s detected an unpleasant odor. “Some people like to keep them...as pets.”

  I scrutinize her face. She’s not looking at me. She’s now glancing toward the window impatiently.

  “She...she looked so terrified,” I say, upset.

  My aunt’s expression softens. “Well, caged wild animals are never a pleasant sight. I am completely and utterly against the Selkie trade and am doing everything I can to wipe it out.” She pats my hand reassuringly.

  I feel some measure of relief wash over me.

  “There are better ways to deal with Selkies that are far more humane than keeping them in cages, forcing them to...act human,” she explains thoughtfully as she splays the fingers of one hand in front of herself and scrutinizes her lovely nails.

  I’m so glad she feels this way. I know my brothers would agree. They’re staunchly against the abuse of animals. Rafe, especially, hates the sight of wild animals confined or shackled in cruel ways.

  “So you’ll help her?” I press.

  “Yes, yes, Elloren. Of course I will.” My aunt impatiently straightens her sleeve cuffs. “Once Marcus Vogel becomes High Mage, it will be possible to put an end to this sort of thing.”

  I try to be consoled by this, but it’s all so troubling.

  She sets her eyes on me. “But really, Elloren, I didn’t bring you here to talk about the local wildlife. There are so many more pleasant things to speak of.”

  I nod silently as my aunt points out her favorite shops and historical landmarks, but the face of the Selkie stays fresh in my mind, and I can’t shake the chill I now feel for the rest of the ride.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Valgard

  A starlit sky overhead, we arrive, the carriage pulling up before Aunt Vyvian’s three-story home, arching windows lit golden and an expansive, dark wooden staircase spilling toward us in welcome.

  Lush gardens arc along the curved entrance road, and I breathe in their heady, sweet scent as the carriage slows. Ironwood trees are bursting with glowing Ironflowers that cast the road in their soft blue luminescence.

  Our carriage glides to a smooth stop.

  Two Urisk serving women stand on either side of the carriage door as I exit, their straight violet hair tied back into tidy braids, their ears coming to swift points and their skin the soft lavender hue of the Urisk upper class. Their coloration is new to my eyes—the only Urisk I’ve ever seen are those toiling at the Gaffneys’ farm. Those women have the white, rose-tinted skin, hair and eyes of the Urisks’ lowest class—so pale they could almost pass for Alfsigr Elves, were it not for the faintly pink sheen of their skin and hair. These upper-class women’s linen uniforms are crisply starched, snow-white tunics over long gray skirts, their expressions neutral.

  Suddenly self-conscious, I grasp at the rough wool of my tunic hem. I’m shabbier than even the servants. I crane my neck up, amazed at the height of the house, and swallow apprehensively, feeling small and insignificant in contrast to this grandeur.

  Aunt Vyvian’s mansion is the same style of architecture I saw throughout Valgard—a climbing, multistoried building hewn from Ironwood; the broader, higher floors supported by curved, wooden columns; the roof topped with expansive gardens and multiple potted trees, vines of every variety spilling over the sides.

  Like a giant tree.

  It sits on elevated land with a panoramic view of the ocean to the back, and down onto twinkling Valgard and the Malthorin Bay to the side.

  It’s so beautiful.

  Heady with anticipation, I follow at Aunt Vyvian’s heels as she briskly makes her way up the stairs, the double doors opened for us by two more Urisk servants.

  She holds herself so elegantly straight, I adjust my posture without thinking and hasten my pace to keep up with her. I wonder how she manages to walk so confidently and gracefully in her slim, tall heels, her skirts swishing around her feet.

  I’d probably fall clear over on shoes like that.

  My own feet are covered in sturdy boots made for gardening and caring for livestock. I secretly hope I can try feminine shoes like hers.

  We pause in the most beautiful foyer I’ve ever been in: tables set with fresh bouquets of red roses, the tilework beneath my feet set in a black-and-green geometric design and a pair of stained-glass doors patterned with climbing vines.

  A flutter of excitement rises in me to be in the middle of such luxury.

  Aunt Vyvian riffles through some papers on a silver tray held by one of her serving women. “I apologize, Elloren, but I must leave
you to get settled on your own.” She pauses and examines one of the papers with shrewd eyes. “Fenil’lyn will show you to your rooms, and then we’ll have a late dinner once you’ve unpacked.” She sets down the letter and smiles expectantly at me.

  “Of course. That’s fine,” I respond eagerly. I glance around and break into a wide grin, looking at her with appreciation and a heightened desire to win her approval. “It’s...it’s so lovely here,” I say falteringly, suddenly giddy with nerves.

  My aunt nods distractedly as if she’s suddenly lost interest in me, then motions toward the servants and strides away, trailed by three of the Urisk, her heels clicking sharply on the tile floor. One stays behind—Fenil’lyn, I assume.

  Aunt Vyvian’s aloof dismissal has a small sting to it.

  If I had magic, would I be of more interest to her? I let out a small sigh. On the carriage ride here, my aunt repeatedly brought up her disappointment that I take after my famous grandmother in looks only. No matter, I console myself. It’s a huge honor that she’s chosen to single me out and bring me here.

  I follow straight-backed Fenil’lyn down a long hallway decorated with small, potted trees, and out into an expansive central hall. I skid to a stop, stunned by the sight that lies before me.

  A central staircase spirals three stories up around a life-size tree sculpture. Wrought-iron grating, stylized to look like flowering vines, encloses each story’s circular balcony.

  I quicken my steps to catch up with Fenil’lyn and follow as she starts up the staircase. I take in the lifelike carved leaves, fascinated, and brush my fingers along their textured surface as we ascend.

  River Oak.

  An image of the source tree lights up my mind like the summer sun, moss-covered branches undulating out.

  Reaching the top floor, I wordlessly follow Fenil’lyn onto the top balcony. She stops before two expansive wooden doors and pushes them open.

  I peer inside and have to blink to believe my eyes.

  A roaring woodstove pumps out a crackling heat, a crimson-canopied bed directly across from it. Sanded trunks and branches rise up near the walls, hewn from dark wood, giving off the smell of their rich beeswax coating, the domed ceiling painted to give the illusion of a starlit sky. I step inside and am immediately enfolded in delicious warmth.

  Everything already done for me, no wood to lug.

  Directly before me, two cut-crystal doors sparkle gold in the reflected lamp and firelight.

  I pause to touch the smooth silk of a golden tassel that hangs from my bed’s canopy, to stare in amazement at the intricate tree design embroidered on the scarlet quilt.

  I reach the crystal doors, open them and find a curved sunroom just beyond, its walls made of glass that looks straight out over the ocean, a geometric glass ceiling giving me a panoramic view of the real night sky.

  Two snow-white kittens play with a ball of string in the center of the sunroom’s floor. They’re fluffy white, with sky blue eyes. Just like my own cat, Isabel.

  Enchanted, I stoop down and pick up one of the kittens. She kneads me with needle-sharp claws as a tiny, rumbling purr emanates from her small chest. The other kitten continues to worry the ball of string.

  “For you, Mage Gardner,” Fenil’lyn informs me with a polite smile. She’s slender, with gorgeous eyes the color of amethysts. Her violet hair is streaked with a single stripe of gray. “Mage Damon felt you might be missing your pet.”

  My chest floods with a grateful warmth. How incredibly thoughtful.

  Happily, I rise and turn to Fenil’lyn, hugging the purring kitten against my chest, the animal’s tiny head tickling under my chin.

  “You can call me Elloren,” I tell her, grinning from ear to ear.

  She stiffens, her smile freezing in place. “Thank you, Mage Gardner. But that would show disrespect.” She tilts her head gracefully and gives a small bow. “Please allow me to honor you with your proper title.”

  It’s odd to be in the presence of an Urisk woman who speaks the common tongue. Odder still to experience such deferential treatment, especially from someone who might be older than Aunt Vyvian. I’m momentarily ill at ease.

  “Of course,” I defer, the woman’s frozen smile softening into an expression of relief.

  “If you have need of anything, Mage Gardner,” she tells me brightly, “simply ring the bell.” She motions toward a golden-tasseled rope hanging by the door with a practiced wave. “I’ll be back shortly to bring you to dinner.”

  “Thank you,” I say, nodding.

  She quietly leaves, and I take a deep breath, overcome by my surroundings.

  Setting the kitten down in a basket with its littermate, I open the sunroom’s side door.

  The salty ocean breeze kisses my face the moment I step out onto a curved balcony. The stone balcony follows the arc of the sunroom, the rhythmic whoosh of waves lapping the dark rocks below. I peer over the balcony’s edge, down two stories toward another, broader balcony, where servants are busy setting out an elaborate dinner.

  Our dinner, I realize. Nothing to cook. Nothing to clean.

  Breathing in deep, I take in the refreshing, salt-tinged air.

  I could get used to this.

  I wander back into my rooms and skim my finger over the spines of the books in a small library that’s set into the wall, all the texts related to apothecary medicine.

  A thread of amazed gratification ripples through me.

  She’s created a custom library just for me.

  I remember the runehawk messenger bird Aunt Vyvian had her guard send out to bring word of our arrival, but still, I’m stunned that so many personal touches have been pulled together in two days’ time.

  I slide a volume off the shelf and open the cover, the new leather resisting my pull. The drawings of herbs are hand-painted and look so lifelike, I can almost smell their scent.

  I wonder if she’ll let me take some of these books to University with me—they’d be of incredible use to me in my studies. A sitting table near the bed has a mirror rimmed with stained-glass roses. On the table sits a gilded brush and comb set, along with brand-new bottles of perfume, their spritzers tasseled with crimson silk.

  So many pretty things. Things I never had in a house full of messy males.

  I pick up one of the glass bottles, spritz it in the air and inhale.

  Mmm. It smells like vanilla and rose.

  As the mist falls and dissipates, my eyes light on a shelf set into the wall, a cabinet beneath. Set on the table are two marble statues.

  I walk over to them and pick one of the statues up, the polished base cool against my palm. It depicts my grandmother, her wand in her belt, leading Gardnerian children to some destination, smiles on the children’s upturned, adoring faces. I look closely and trace my finger over the face’s sharp features, her thin nose.

  It’s me. Or certainly a close likeness.

  The second statue is my grandmother again, powerful and fierce, her delicate wand raised, her hair flying out behind her, a dead Icaral demon crushed beneath her feet.

  An Icaral, like Sage’s deformed baby.

  I pause, troubled, my brow tensing. The thought of Icaral demons is so jarring in the midst of the comforting warmth, the sweet kittens, the luxury cushioning me all around. It makes me want to hide the statue away in a closet and never set eyes upon it again.

  Shaking off the dark image, I clean myself up and prepare to meet my aunt for dinner.

  * * *

  “Are the rooms to your liking, Elloren?”

  Aunt Vyvian beams at me as I join her at the balcony table. Fenil’lyn bows and graciously takes her leave.

  “They’re lovely, thank you,” I reply, a bit dazzled. “I’ve never seen anything like...” I look out over the spectacular view of the ocean. “Wel
l, like any of this.”

  She smiles, pleased. “Well, it’s your birthright. Enjoy it. Your uncle’s deprived you for far too long.” She gestures toward a chair with a light wave of her hand. “Please. Sit. Enjoy the view with me.”

  Delighted, I take a seat opposite her, a deep green rug beneath our feet covering the gray stone of the balcony. Lanterns hang on multiple stands and cast the table in a soft glow that reflects off the fine porcelain with tiny, golden pinpricks of light.

  A plate’s been made up for me—slices of a citrus-glazed pheasant, precarved on a side table, thin lemon slices decorating the succulent bird; wild rice with dried fruit and nuts; baby carrots. Fresh bread steams between us alongside a dish of butter molded into flowers. A pitcher of mint water and a basket of fresh fruit also adorn the table. And a small table by the balcony’s side wall holds a steaming pot of tea, a tower of small pastries and a bouquet of red roses in a crystal vase.

  A servant stands still as a statue by the tea set, a young blue-skinned Urisk woman with vivid sapphire eyes who stares straight ahead into the middle distance, her expression carefully blank. It’s hard to remember she’s a person and not a statue, she’s that still.

  Aunt Vyvian’s gaze wanders over me as she sips her water.

  I find myself longing for her approval. I try to sit straight, my hands folded lightly on my lap, mimicking her graceful posture. My clothing may be shoddy, but at least I can try to mirror her refined ways.

  “Tomorrow I’m sending you to the premier dressmaker in Valgard to have an entire new wardrobe fitted,” she tells me with a small smile. “You can take it to University with you.”

  It’s like she can read my wishes, and I’m overcome with gratitude. We’ve never had enough money for fine clothing. A warm rush rises in my neck and cheeks as I blush at her kindness. “Thank you, Aunt Vyvian.”

  “Unfortunately, I won’t be able to accompany you.” She sets down her glass and cuts into her pheasant. “I’ve Mage Council business to attend to, but I’m having three young women join you. They’ll be your peers at University.”