A Trial of Sorcerers: Book One

by Kova, Elise

  “Eira—” Reona began to say.

  “You’re lying!” Eira pushed the woman away. She staggered backward, her body aching with every step. But this wasn’t from the trial. It was from a wound that had been there her whole life and she’d never known.

  “This isn’t easy for us to tell you. Eira, please—” Reona began to attempt to soothe.

  “You said you were ready, act like it,” Herron snapped. He was always brisk when he was in pain. This was like the time they were at the beach and she’d been caught in the tide. They’d thought she’d drowned. Her father had yelled at her through his worried tears. Eira stared up at his eyes, searching for warmth and finding none. She wanted to scream at him to show some kind of feeling as she cracked and shattered before them both.

  “How… If you’re not… Who is?” she managed to say.

  “You were left on our doorstep one winter’s night,” Herron answered. His matter-of-fact tone was grating her ears already. “We didn’t find you until morning. You were so still we thought you had frozen to death. But your mother insisted we take you inside anyway. You warmed up and began to cry.”

  “I might not have given birth to you,” Reona said gently. “But you are every measure my daughter as Marcus is my son.”

  As she listened, Eira pillaged her deepest and earliest memories for some recollection of what her parents were saying—for some proof this portrait of her beginnings was true. But she could find nothing. Her earliest memories were of playing with Marcus in winter.

  Her brother.

  Not my brother?

  Eira gripped her head with both hands. She shook it back and forth as if she could scatter this truth like snow from her shoulders. And it was true. She knew it was. Some part of her must have always known, because it seemed so horribly obvious now.

  Her mother had the same deep golden hair as Fritz, as Marcus, and the rest of the Charem family. Her father had a darker, ashen blond. Not platinum like Eira’s was. Her mother had a dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks, which Marcus had also inherited faint speckles of. Eira’s complexion was void of any such marks.

  Stop calling them Mother and Father, a voice raked against the back of her mind. They’re not.

  But they are, her heart replied.

  An argument began that would split her in two.

  “Eira.” Two hands landed on her shoulders. She looked up to meet Reona’s eyes. “I know this is hard for you.”

  “Hard?” She was the punch line of a horrible joke. That was why she couldn’t breathe now. Someone had hit her square in the gut. Eira wheezed hollow laughter out of trembling lips. Everyone had known. Everyone had seen it but her. The whole universe was laughing at her. They’d always been anyway, she’d just never realized the true reason why. Not even your mother could love you, that’s what Noelle had said three years ago on the night of the incident. Even Noelle somehow knew the truth. That was why it’d hurt so much. Eira had been the oblivious one. “You have no idea what this feels like.”

  “We don’t, but we’re here to help you. We love you,” she soothed.

  “You don’t love me!” Eira stepped away. The tides roared in her. Ice crackled cold under her numb fingertips. She would keep them from touching her again by force if she had to. She could hardly think with them looking at her. “If you—if you loved me, you would’ve told me. Someone would’ve told me. Why did no one tell me?”

  Eira’s back hit the far wall. She hadn’t even realized she’d been moving. A wide gap was between her and her parents. Snow fell between them magically, creating an icy line.

  “We wanted to,” Reona said, pleading. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “As you grew, it became harder and harder. We—”

  “Hard for you?” Eira was almost shouting. “What about for me? Did you ever think of me?”

  “Of course we did.” Herron stepped forward but didn’t cross her magic line. “That was all we thought about and why we were waiting.”

  “Waiting for what?” What could’ve possibly had them keeping this secret from her?

  “For you to be old enough to handle the truth and understand its importance.” Herron locked eyes with her. “There’s one more detail about that night you were found. You had a note tucked in your blankets. But there wasn’t writing on it, just the symbol of a trident.”

  “What does it mean?” Eira whispered.

  “You know what it means,” Herron said. He had grown up in Oparium. He had been the one to tell her the old sailors’ stories and make Eira swear she’d never repeat the name of the pirate queen. Her promises suddenly took on new meaning.

  “No, no, that’s impossible. She’s a myth.” Eira shook her head frantically. No more, she wanted to beg. She couldn’t handle any more revelations.

  “Adela was reported to have been seen thirty years ago in Oparium,” Herron said. Just the mention of Adela’s name made Eira cringe. That name alone was bad luck. She’d always hated it, but maybe was now uncovering the reason why.

  “My sister, Gwen, found record of the incident at the summer palace in the guard’s logs, written by Prince Baldair,” Reona said sadly.

  “Thirty years ago? I’m only eighteen.”

  “Perhaps she came back. We had to keep you secret and safe.”

  “Adela would’ve been ancient by then!” Eira shook her head. “There’s no way.”

  “Perhaps another pirate has taken her name and continues terrorizing the seas. Perhaps she’s been made immortal by hate. Or perhaps you’re right,” Herron admitted. “Perhaps the trident was some desperate mother’s way of ensuring you would be taken in by offering a threat.”

  “I could’ve been left out in the cold just as easily,” Eira realized. “Adela is bad luck… You… You both had no reason to take me in.”

  “But we did,” Herron said firmly, wrapping an arm around his wife’s shoulders.

  He was right. They did. And what good had she been as a daughter? She’d created a lifetime of her parents looking over their shoulders, afraid that just maybe she was the offspring of the fabled pirate queen. A lifetime of them trying to hide her and keep her secret and safe. A lifetime of worry.

  “And we love you.” Reona wiped her cheeks.

  “I’ve been nothing but a burden to you.” Eira looked down at her hands. Frost coated them, snow dripping down to the floor like the icy tears that streamed down her face. She’d said she could handle this truth, but she was proving by the second she couldn’t. “I have caused you worry and pain. I’ve held your real child back.”

  “Do not say that again,” Herron boomed.

  “You are our ‘real child,’” Reona snapped in a no-nonsense tone. “Just as much as Marcus is.”

  But she wasn’t. That feeling of always being in her brother’s shadow. The innate urge to compete, as if to prove herself worthy of love—of a moment in the sun—like there wasn’t enough affection to go around, suddenly had an explanation.

  Eira continued staring at her hands. The frost now covered her arms. It was as though her magic was trying to cocoon her, numb her, protect her from this horrible truth.

  “Now listen to me,” Herron demanded. Eira couldn’t bear to bring her eyes to his. “If there is suspicion that you are somehow related to Adela then, at best, you will be ostracized.”

  “I already am ostracized,” Eira murmured. Another explanation for everything she’d endured. Bad luck and hate was in her blood. They didn’t seem to hear.

  He continued, “At worst, you will be hunted. I taught you from a young age—hatred for Adela is as deeply rooted as hatred for sorcerers that still clings to the corners of Solaris. You have to keep this secret for your own sake now. And that may mean clamping down on your magic even more so there aren’t any reasons for people to grow suspicious. No more incidents like the trident today. Anything that can connect you to Adela is a liability.”

  Eira drew up her eyes to him. “That’s why Fritz always gave Marcus more tasks in the
clinics. That’s why I was never selected for any special training or projects. You two told Uncle to never let me be eligible. You didn’t want to risk my magic taking shape. You didn’t want me to have too much power.”

  “I know this is hard, but think rationally,” Reona pleaded with her.

  Eira was beyond being rational. “That’s why Marcus has been…saddled with me, managing me, like he’s my keeper. And that was why you didn’t want to let me compete in the trials.”

  “Only because we love you.” Reona had the decency to at least pretend to be pained. Eira honestly didn’t know what was sincere anymore. “We all do and want what’s best for you.”

  “What’s best for me is a moment alone.” Her voice was steel.

  “And now that you know, you must realize that the best thing for you to do is drop out of the competition, immediately,” Herron said.

  “Get out,” Eira seethed.

  “Eira—”

  “Get out!” Her voice rose and her magic rushed to meet it. Wickedly sharp points of ice sprouted from her line of snow, stopping just before they punctured her parents’ clothes. Eira panted.

  “Let’s give her some space,” Reona said sadly.

  “Now that you know the truth, you know what you must do.” Herron looked down at her one last time before allowing his wife to lead him away. “And we expect an apology from you before we leave.”

  Eira didn’t know if she could ever bear speaking to them again.

  She wanted the echo of the door closing behind them to be the last word on the whole horrible affair. She wanted to never have to think about what they told her again. She wanted it to be a lie.

  She wanted so much it ached. So much that everything in the world wouldn’t be enough to fill this gaping hole of want.

  Eira slid down the wall, curling into a ball. She didn’t want to think about it. Numb. Cold. Pack the ice tall and tight—so thick that you can’t feel anything. If you are the daughter of the pirate queen then so be it. Be as heartless as she is.

  The tears froze on her cheeks as the permafrost that covered her arms crept up her neck. Eira clutched her knees and buried her face in her forearms. Maybe this was what she felt like the night she was abandoned—cold and empty.

  A voice echoed to her from a distance. It thudded dully against her mental and physical walls. There was movement as well. Something ruffled her hair. Eira was surprised to realize that hair was still exposed. Every other part of her was coated in ice.

  “…get…” the voice said faintly, “…what’s…okay…”

  There was a howling in her ears. Eira slowly raised her face to see a whirlwind surrounding her. It ripped curtains off their rungs and peeled off chunks of ice from her body, scattering them like snow around the room.

  At the center of the storm was Cullen. He pulled at the ice coating her with red fingers. Her frigid magic nipped at his skin and he cursed under his breath every time one chunk of frost that he peeled off was replaced by another that grew.

  “What’re you doing?” Eira murmured.

  “You’re not going to be able to breathe if you keep coating yourself in ice.” His hands were on her cheeks, scraping away frost until his cold-blistered fingers met skin. “You mad woman, are you trying to kill yourself?” he shouted in her face over the howling wind that battered her.

  “No…the cold won’t kill me.” It hadn’t claimed her when she was a baby, it wouldn’t now. It had been a part of her for her whole life. It was the only thing she knew she could trust to be real.

  “Well, stop acting like you’re trying to test that theory!”

  Eira sighed softly and worked to get her magic under control. The ice slowly vanished into steam. Cullen’s hands fell from her face. The radius around them was a wet mess from frost and wind.

  “Mother above, you really are a handful,” he muttered.

  “I know,” she whispered.

  “It’s no wonder Marcus is always worrying about you.”

  She winced. “I know.”

  “You’re too powerful for your own good.”

  “I know.”

  Cullen’s hands returned to her face. He grabbed both of her cheeks and brought her face toward his with force.

  “What?” Eira snapped.

  “Just making sure it really is you. Because, more than any of those things, the Eira I’ve known is stubborn, determined, and not afraid to talk back or put someone in their place. You’re little more than a wet rag right now.”

  “Leave me be.” She glanced aside. His breath was too warm on her cheeks. He was running the risk of making her feel again. And if she could feel, the tears would start once more. The whole cycle would rack her body anew.

  “No. Marcus told me to check on you so I am. You took the run hard and he’s worried. I’m not going back empty-handed.”

  “Where is he?” Eira dared to ask.

  “With Fritz, I presume. He was coming to see you himself, but the minister intercepted us on our way.”

  Eira laughed softly. If he was with Fritz, then Reona and Herron would soon follow. Marcus would find out the truth of their relationship, no doubt much to his relief. Her mission to make sure he felt like he never had to take care of her again because of her performance in the trials had succeeded spectacularly. Just not in the way she expected.

  All because of a stupid trident she hadn’t even intended to make. It was those journals’ fault. A shudder ripped through her.

  Who wrote those journals?

  “You can go. He won’t care soon,” Eira murmured.

  “What?”

  “Marcus won’t care what happens to me soon.”

  “Stop,” Cullen said firmly, bringing her attention back to him with a gentle tug of his hands. They were still on her face. Why was he still holding onto her? Didn’t he realize he was holding bad luck incarnate? “I’m not letting you speak ill of yourself or Marcus. He loves you more than anything. And you, you’re…” Cullen trailed off, his loss for words more telling than anything that might have followed.

  “You’re jealous,” she whispered. Cullen’s eyes widened. “Do you love my brother?”

  “No,” he snarled. “I’m jealous that you two have each other. That you have family who look out for one another rather than just seeing the branches of the family tree as potential kindling for the fires of ambition.” He released her in disgust and stood.

  “They don’t really love me,” she whispered when his back was to her. Cullen spun, but Eira spoke before she could. “My family is a lie. They can’t really love me because I’m not one of them; I’ve never been.” Eira shook her head slowly, the tears falling in earnest. “My parents…they’re not the same as Marcus’s parents. They’ve never been. And they kept it from me.”

  “What are you saying?” he whispered.

  “I was abandoned. Left to die. And Marcus’s parents took me in because they were afraid of who my mother might be.” Eira buried her face in her hands and curled into a ball once more.

  But before the ice could consume her, Cullen’s arms were around her, and suddenly her frozen world was filled with his agonizing warmth.

  15

  “I—”

  “Shh,” he whispered in her ear. Cullen pressed her face into his shoulder, as if shielding her from everything that might seek to harm her. “Just cry.”

  “But—”

  “Stop. Let it out.”

  That was all the permission she needed. Eira pressed her face into his shoulder and sobbed. Cullen’s velvet-covered muscle muffled her cries. When she tried to pull away, he yanked her close once more, and the crying continued.

  Eira had never shed so many tears in her life. It was as though she was trying to drown the world in her agony. She didn’t even know a person could cry so much. Perhaps it was just her magic manifesting her pain in a new way. If it couldn’t be ice, then it would be a never-ending river of tears.

  After what could’ve been minutes or hours, Eira s
traightened. This time, Cullen didn’t pull her back. Somehow, he’d sensed she’d reached her limit.

  Eira rubbed her face, sniffling. Cullen stood and crossed the room silently. He was no doubt ashamed for comforting someone like her. He was putting as much distance between her and him as possible. He would leave.

  She concocted a number of terrible, self-deprecating fantasies as Cullen rummaged through the desk, not caring for whose it may be. He returned with a small kerchief and knelt once more before her, presenting his humble offering.

  “Thank you,” Eira murmured, blowing her nose.

  “Of course.” The way he said those words, he seemed to know she meant more than just the kerchief. “I’m…sorry.” Eira let out a bitter laugh. A noise that elicited a look of confusion from him.

  “The Prince of the Tower, always so self-assured. I’ve never seen you look so…”

  “Hopeless?” He ran a hand through his hair. “If you ever got to know me, you’d find out I can be incredibly hopeless.” Cullen sat and pulled his own knees to his chest, loosely situating them in his elbows. When he spoke, he didn’t look at her. “And that nickname, can you not call me that?”

  “Prince of the Tower?”

  “Yes. I hate it.”

  “Why?”

  Cullen turned to her with weary eyes. It was as though she was finally seeing through that perfect image he always exuded to something real. There was raw hurt and fierce determination smoldering within him. His clothing was disheveled. He was finally imperfect, messy, and everything that Eira knew her peers in the Tower would find unbecoming because they ruined the illusion of their perfect lord that had been lifted from the squalor they all lived in.

  Yet, it was the first time she’d felt anything genuine toward him. In his world-weariness, he’d never looked more tragically beautiful.

  “I honestly have no interest in being a prince, or a lord, or any other titles that came with my powers awakening and my father’s ambition.” This was the same Cullen Eira had heard the echo of in the Windwalkers’ study. “You’re not the only one with a messed-up family that has secrets stacked up to your hip, Eira. But at least yours loves you.”