The Black Witch

by Laurie Forest

  “And the dragon. You can talk to her, can’t you?” I press on. “Just like Wynter and Ariel can. With your mind. How can you do that, Yvan? And when you went after Damion to help Olilly...you were so fast...you were like a blur. I thought I was imagining things, but I can’t be imagining all of this. What are you hiding from us?”

  “Nothing,” he says, evading my eyes, his jaw tensing. “You are imagining things.” He visibly struggles with his thoughts for a moment before setting his eyes back on me, his gaze now searing. He leans in, his tone sharp. “You need to stop.”

  I am undeterred. “I won’t stop,” I insist, leaning in, as well. “I won’t stop until you tell me what’s going on.” My brow tenses, concern for him breaking through. “Tell me, Yvan. You can trust me.”

  There’s a flash of tortured conflict in his eyes, and his lips part as if he’s about to level with me. There’s a chasm of sadness there, and my heart wrenches as I sense it.

  But then his mouth clamps shut and the conflicted look is gone, only a hard anger remaining.

  “I need to go,” he tells me icily. “I have work to do.”

  “Yvan,” I plead. “Wait...”

  But I can only watch him, deeply discouraged, as he turns and stalks away from me into the night.

  * * *

  Wildly unsettled, I go to the kitchen, where I find Fern sitting next to her grandmother and sipping at a mug of maple cream.

  Fernyllia has just finished cleaning up the child’s wound, the leg straight and strong and marked only with a small, red bruise.

  Fernyllia looks up as I enter. “Where’s young Yvan?” she asks.

  I take a deep breath. “He had to go. He...has a lot of studying to catch up on.”

  “Such a hard worker, that one.” She clucks and shakes her head as she places her warm shawl cozily around little Fern’s shoulders. The child sets down her mug and reaches for her grandmother, Fernyllia chuckling. “Up with you,” she prods the child, who briefly rises so her grandmother can sit and then pull the child into her broad lap.

  Settling in, Fern reaches for the maple cream and sips at it, her eyes shyly meeting mine.

  “I misjudged you, Elloren Gardner,” Fernyllia says quietly as she strokes her granddaughter’s hair.

  “I initially misjudged you, as well,” I admit.

  Fernyllia’s eyes flick to the white band that encircles my arm. “You don’t really stand with Vogel, do you, love?”

  I shoot her a level stare and shake my head.

  She gives me a shrewd look of appraisal, her mouth tilting up into a grin. “I thought not.” Satisfied, she goes back to rocking and murmuring to the child.

  I watch as Fern grows increasingly sleepy, until, at last, Fernyllia gently takes the mug of warm cream out of her granddaughter’s hands and lets the child fall asleep on her lap.

  “I’m sorry,” I murmur. “I’m sorry I was so ignorant...and wrong, when I first came here.”

  Fernyllia looks at me appraisingly and then glances down at the child. “Apology accepted,” she replies with a smile. “Have some tea, Elloren Gardner.” She motions toward the teapot and mugs before her, minty steam wafting from the pot’s spout.

  I pour myself some tea and drink it with Fernyllia as she rocks her granddaughter gently back and forth, the scene full of comfort.

  I’m stung by Yvan’s anger and refusal to be honest with me, but as I watch the child sleeping and grip at my mug, the steaming heat seeps into my hands and some of my tension dissipates.

  Fernyllia starts to sing a soft lullaby in Uriskal, the staccato language surprisingly lulling when lifted in song.

  I slump back, sip at my tea and bask in this new, heartening friendship.

  As I doggedly try to puzzle out Yvan Guriel’s secret.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Fae

  “He must be Fae,” Aislinn says as she flips through a leather-bound text with silver-rimmed pages.

  The two of us are sitting on the floor of her room, her two Elfin lodging mates absent. We’re squandering precious study time, poring over every book on Faekin that we can get our hands on.

  “It must be strange,” I observe, looking around her room, “living with two Elves.”

  Her face darkens. “I suspect I won’t be for too much longer. Now that the Verpacian Council is being run by Gardnerians.”

  The University Council has always required the integration of lodging rooms, Gardnerians and Elves generally placed together since our countries are allied, our ways similarly reserved. But it’s only a matter of time until this widely disliked policy is dismantled by the Verpacian Council, with its new Gardnerian majority.

  A fire roars in the fireplace beside us, a variety of books strewn about. I glance over at Aislinn’s bed, which is sequestered in a corner. Her things are finely made—her bed’s deep green sheets are made of expensive, Alfsigr Ellusian cotton, and her books are crisp and new. Her clothes, while simple, are nonetheless crafted from silk and fine linen, and her comb and brush set is silver.

  But these things pale in comparison to the ethereal living space of the Alfsigr maidens who reside with her. Canopied beds graced with ivory silken sheets have spiraling posts wound tight with living vines, their black-green leaves interspersed with delicate white flowers that give off a subtle scent as clean as a spring shower. Intricate tapestries done up in white, silver and black knot-work designs set off a complementary rug with a similar, darker design. A long bookshelf holds bowls of translucent crystals and black texts titled with embossed Elfin script. At the foot of one bed stands a lovely harp in the rich hues of the Tortoiseshell Mahogany tree, its strings glimmering gold.

  “There are legends of Fae healers who can do miraculous things,” Aislinn tells me, pulling my attention from the Elves’ waterfall fountain. It’s set near an arching window and surrounded by a variety of flowering plants in ivory pots with black knotwork designs. Its gentle rush is pleasing to the ear and sends a soothing moisture into the air.

  I direct my gaze back to my own text, pausing to run my finger along a fanciful illustration of a Sylphan Air Fae. She’s garbed in flowing, gray garments, riding on a cloud.

  I trace along the Sylph’s ear. “Yvan doesn’t have pointed ears,” I note.

  “Could be a glamour,” Aislinn postulates.

  I point to a passage in my text. “Which, according to this, would narrow our choices down to Sylphan Air, Lasair Fire and Asrai Water Fae. It says here that they’re the only Fae who can glamour.” I pick up my mug of hot tea and sip at it, the weighty ceramic mug warming my hands. “Iron doesn’t bother him. He touches it all the time in the kitchen.”

  “Maybe he’s only part Fae,” Aislinn replies absently, as she runs her finger down the index of another text and begins to flip through it. “He might still feel an aversion to it, though.”

  I try to remember a time when Yvan seemed the least put off by the iron cookware or stoves, but I can’t remember ever seeing him distressed by the contact. And, unlike Tierney, he always goes ungloved.

  “There are so many types of Fae,” Aislinn muses as she reads. “Hundreds. And all of them so different.”

  Fantastical images from the books’ illustrations hang bright in my mind. The Laminak Fae, with their crystalline underground castles. The goat-herding Hollen Fae, their cities carved into mountaintops. Sylphan Fae, who could render themselves transparent.

  “Look at these,” I marvel, pointing out an illustration. “They have butterfly wings!”

  “Hmm,” Aislinn says with a nod. “Moss Fae. I’ve heard tales of them. They’re trouper Fae. Put on plays for the monarchy.”

  I skim over descriptions of the Skogsra Fae, who dwell deep in the forest with the owls, and the stern Ymir Fae of the Northern Mountains, their sharp-spired dwell
ings formed completely from ice.

  “Have you ever heard of the Vila Fae?” Aislinn asks.

  “Are they elemental?”

  She smiles and shakes her head. “No. Candela. Color Fae. Vila had an affinity for violet. They could transform themselves into the shade. The Sidhe used them as spies. That’s why purple still isn’t permitted in the Mage Council Hall.”

  “It’s amazing they were ever a cohesive group,” I muse as I flip through my text. “They’re all so...different.”

  “Mostly cohesive anyway,” Aislinn comments as she picks at another book. “Except for the Solitary Fae.”

  “Solitary?”

  “Fae that existed independent of Sidhe Court politics. Renegades. Nomads. Like the Dryads. The Lasair Fire Fae.” Aislinn’s finger pauses. “Oh, here’s something. The Lasair Fire Fae had powerful healing magic...” Aislinn’s finger moves again as she skims down the section. “Powerful fire magic, gifted healers, fiercely independent, nomadic.” She shoots me a significant look before continuing. “Bright-green eyes...extremely dangerous...” Aislinn’s mouth quirks into a small smile, her eyes lifting to mine again. “Physically very attractive. I know he’s a Kelt, but...he is a bit attractive, don’t you think?”

  I shrug cagily. “A bit,” I allow, not wanting to spark Aislinn’s suspicion about my senseless crush on Yvan Guriel. “We should put that one on the list,” I prod, attempting to sound nonchalant as I grip my mug and Aislinn scratches it down.

  Fire Fae. Could Yvan be part Lasair?

  “He’s so strong and fast,” I muse, remembering. “Always going off in the woods. I think I told you—for a time I wondered if he was secretly Lupine.”

  I regret saying this as soon as the word leaves my lips. At the mention of Lupines, Aislinn’s face becomes instantly strained.

  “How are things between you and Jarod?” I venture.

  She doesn’t answer for a moment, just sits staring at the book. “I’m speaking to him, if that’s what you mean,” she says, her tone evasive. “Please, let’s not discuss it any further. I’ve made my decision. I can’t abandon my sisters and my mother. So there’s no sense talking about it.”

  Troubled, I take in her wan appearance. Aislinn’s been increasingly away, visiting with her family, gone now most weeks’ ends. Partially to keep up appearances, in case anyone notices the grimoire is missing, and partially to avoid her feelings for Jarod.

  “Aislinn,” I tell her, “your happiness matters, too. Not just theirs.”

  Her expression becomes pained. “And how could I ever be happy, knowing I abandoned my family?”

  “But you wouldn’t be abandoning them.”

  She shakes her head, her eyes tight with anguish, and I know I can’t sway her right now.

  I let out a long sigh. “I miss having you around more. You’re one of the few people I can really be honest with.”

  Aislinn knits her brow at this. “I know. I feel the same way. But at least you have Diana...”

  I feel a pang of resentful bitterness pass through me at the mention of Diana’s name, remembering something that happened between us a few days ago.

  * * *

  I was in the North Tower’s washroom, naked after a long bath, faced with the scratched mirror before me.

  Gardnerians do not, as a rule, keep mirrors in washrooms. It’s considered unseemly and wrong to view oneself naked. But as I caught a glimpse of my reflection that night, I was struck by the beauty of my glimmering form. Pretending, on a whim, to be Diana, wondering what it would be like to be as comfortable in my own skin as she is in hers, I stretched my arms high up over my head shamelessly, just as Diana always seems to be doing, mimicking her unself-conscious ways.

  Just as I was doing this, Diana barged into the small room. Mortified, my hands immediately flew down to cover myself as I reflexively hunched over. I felt a sharp spike of shame, even though Diana, herself, was naked. I glared at her, absolutely hating her inability to knock.

  Diana paused, taking stock of the situation. “Ah, good,” she said approvingly. “You are admiring yourself, as you should. Youth and beauty are a gift from Maiya. We should revel in it.”

  “Get out!” I cried, wanting to literally throw her out of the room. “You need to knock! I’ve told you this a million times! It’s like you’re deaf!”

  “I most certainly am not deaf,” she huffed. “My hearing is vastly superior—”

  “Get out!”

  “But—”

  “I said, get out!”

  Diana made a great show of looking disgruntled and offended before padding out of the room in a snit. A few minutes later after my murderous feelings toward the Lupine princess had begun to abate, I heard a very perfunctory knock on the door.

  “What?” I snapped. Did she ever give up? Ever?

  “May I please come in and speak with you?” she announced with stiff formality.

  “No!” I cried, still fuming as I pulled on a camisole and pantaletes.

  After a few seconds there was another knock. “What about now?” she asked, sounding genuinely confused.

  I let out a deep sigh. As easy as it is to get mad at Diana, it’s just as hard to stay mad at her. “Come in,” I relented.

  Diana padded back in and took a seat on the edge of the washtub, eyeing me like I was slightly deranged.

  I frowned at her and went about combing out my hair with a vengeance. “What do you want?”

  “I need to talk to you about something,” she said reluctantly.

  That was something new. Diana was never reluctant. I paused and turned to face her.

  “I wrote to my parents,” she began. “I asked them about bringing you home with me.”

  Something warm and comforting dropped out of my center. The pain of anticipated rejection that replaced it was surprisingly sharp.

  No. They said no. Of course they had. Diana was a fool to have thought it would be any different. A naive fool. She thinks she’s so all-knowing; that her people are so perfect. Turns out the noble Lupines are just like everyone else. Full of prejudice.

  “My father,” she began tentatively, “suggested that they meet you first.”

  In other words, no.

  I turned my back to her and kept combing at my hair, even more roughly this time, pulling hard at the tangles, glad that it hurt. It distracted me. Kept me from crying. It’s better to be angry than pathetic.

  “It’s okay,” I told her stiffly, swallowing down the pain of rejection. “I’ve been thinking on it, and I really don’t think I want to visit your people anyway. My people are just too different from yours. I don’t think I’d be comfortable.”

  “Elloren...” she tried, her tone kind. On some level, I knew that she was really trying, that she was on my side, but the part of me that wanted to hate her at that moment out of sheer hurt was stronger.

  “Please get out, Diana,” I said harshly. “I’d like to finish up with some privacy. I really don’t want you here.” I took some small, fleeting satisfaction in the look of hurt that crossed over her face before she left.

  So much for sisters, I thought as she quietly closed the door. I pulled harder at my wet hair, tears stinging at my eyes. So much for finding friends and family among her people. So much for not losing my brother, but gaining a sister. I’m not gaining anything.

  It’s just as I thought.

  * * *

  “It’s not possible to be close friends with Diana,” I tell Aislinn stiffly. “She’s just so...different. She’ll never understand what it’s like for us.”

  Aislinn is studying me closely, as if she can read the conflict behind my words. I look away and try to swallow back a hurt that still feels jagged and raw.

  I close my eyes and reach up to rub my temples, a dull throb beginn
ing to send an ache through them. After a long moment I open my eyes and survey all the books scattered about.

  “What happened to the Fae?” I ask Aislinn. “Toward the end of the Realm War.”

  “They were brought to the Pyrran Isles,” Aislinn says, cocking her head in question.

  “And after that?” I press. “What then?”

  Aislinn shrugs, her expression growing dark with unease. “They were resettled. Somewhere in the far north...” Her voice trails off. “What? You think something else happened to them?”

  I can make out the paper-thin click of an Elfin pendulum clock and the small trickle of the waterfall as silence descends between us.

  “I don’t know,” I reply. “I’ve looked all over the archives. I can’t find out anything about it. There’s nothing. And no Fae anywhere.”

  “Strange.”

  “Here’s the thing.” I lean in toward her. “I don’t think they were just kicked out of the Realm. I think they might have been killed. And if they were, well, that means that anyone who’s Fae or has Fae blood...their lives could be in danger.” I swallow, attempting to beat back the creeping dread.

  “There’s more and more talk about rooting out mixed-breeds,” Aislinn says ominously.

  “And if Yvan’s mostly Fae...” The clock ticks out a few more beats. “Then there’s no more time to waste.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Asrai Fae

  Tierney is waiting for me when I return to the North Tower. She’s sitting on the stone bench in the upstairs hallway, stock-still, lit by a single wall lantern.

  I come to a stop before her. “Tierney...”

  “I was three years old when they came for me,” she says, her thin voice low and hard. Her eyes are firmly tethered to the floor. “My parents, they were part of a small group of Fae. One of the last, hidden holdouts. It was over. The Gardnerians were closing in. There was no way out.

  “My Gardnerian parents were close friends with my Fae parents. My father now, and my father then...they were both glassblowers, and they admired each other’s artistry. Before the end came, my Fae parents...they brought me to them. Me and my baby brother.