Page 5 of First Ritual

The third woman blurted to the others, “Hazeluna had a daughter?”

The weight of the silence grew.

It was the bare-footed man who asked, “What age are you, Miss Corentine?”

“Twenty-one, sir.”

“Hazeluna had a daughter,” he said. “And it seems that she was pregnant when she… departed.”

The emotion was high, though I couldn’t tell what the emotion was. Were they uncomfortable or furious?

I held my ground.

“A Corentine, you say?” murmured the second woman. “We’d believed that family name gone from our coven.”

Believed or hoped?

I could assume from her words that my grandfather was dead. I’d assumed as much, but my heart still squeezed at the confirmation I’d never meet him.

The leaden silence after her words demanded explanation. The invitation was as positive an outcome as I could have wished for. I wasn’t dead yet. On the other hand, they could just want to question me before the execution. “If I could address the entire council on the matter, that would be much appreciated. The story is a personal one and not one I wish to repeat.”

Five of the six hooded figures exchanged glances that seemed pointless given the depths of their hoods—unless they had a magical means of communication. The bare-footed man watched me. Did he see what everyone usually saw? The tall, willowy woman, softly spoken and delicate? I mean, I really did look that way. My personality just didn’t match the princess appearance, and if people were going to assume things based on my appearance, then I was happy to exploit that. I often did. What I didn’t like were the closer looks, much like the man was giving me. That was the kind of look that said he saw I had secrets locked away.

He saw I was more predator than swan.

The man lowered his hood, and amber eyes set in an aged face met mine.

Would he alert the others to what he could sense? That was the real question.

The others lowered their hoods, too, and the tall woman clapped her hands together, jostling the hundreds of braids of her black hair. Magic jetted upward from the collision and bolted into the air to zip over the knolls before disappearing underground.

“The council has been called,” she announced. “You will have your chance to speak, Tempest Corentine.”

My heart tried to beat out my chest. Keep it together.

“My thanks,” I said demurely, grabbing my duffel.

The man with the amber eyes held out an arm when I reached his side. He hovered his hand over my duffel for a moment, then drew back.

“Quite the collection you have in there,” he stated.

“A magus should always be prepared.”

His gaze was unfathomable. “Rowaness used to say the same. Before she left.”

He tilted his head, gesturing me ahead. “After you, Miss Corentine.”

Only swallowing once, which the councilman couldn’t see, I turned my focus to placing one foot in front of the other.

I had answers to find. I had the impossible to figure out.

The time had come to enter the cage.

3

Five years working in a circus had taught me a lot about showmanship, even if I’d only worked in the fortune-telling stand—or intuit stand as humans liked to call it these days. Those years taught me a lot about persuasion and about how others perceived me.

For instance, I could keep my composure under the weighted and disbelieving gazes of twelve esteemed magus.

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