Page 3 of Wrath of the Never Queen

I cross the space between myself and the bucket, allowing myself a brief moment of satisfaction at the clean metal. But witch magic is not permanent. With one swift movement, I lean back and kick the bucket.

The enchantment breaks. The bucket rattles across the platform, landing with a clang against the front of the shop. The purple glow evaporates like steam from a teapot. Rust crawls over the surface of the metal once more, redtendrils burying into the silver until it reverts to its earlier state. I regard the scene as my ophid relaxes. My aunt’s words ring clearly in my ears.

A muscle must be used to be strong.

Dragons and sirens learn their magic over several years, sometimes decades, while witches are born with an innate ability to tap into their au’mana. From the moment of my birth, I had a well of magic at my fingertips. But an ophid is like any other muscle—it can be stretched and strengthened. Or torn and injured.

When I was very young, I had tried to take on too much at once. My father, sick of all my books taking up space in our small home, had tried to rip one of them. At once, the house was enchanted and alive. Floorboards shook and the walls rattled and I threatened to collapse it on us both.

I was only stopped by a painful twinge in my back, bringing me to my knees. The pain nearly drove my anger into a blind rage, but I could not even stand. I had asked too much of my ophid and it had torn, putting me on bed rest for several months after. My aunt tutted and fussed over me, rubbing cooling creams along my spine and distracting me with stories.

“Just like your mother,” she told me. “You inherited her temperament.”

My father did and said nothing, but he has not touched my books since.

I tuck the rusted bucket back under thepile of leaves, hidden from view despite me being the only visitor Old Mossgarde has. I collect my book, gathering it to my chest and holding it tight. I breathe deep one last time and savour the cool air. Tomorrow, I will return and strengthen my ophid again. Until then…

Despite the release of my magic, anger still simmers in my chest. I have been forced from my home, yet again, and cannot return yet. It will be several hours before my father drinks himself unconscious and I can slip back inside, hoping he awakes in a better mood.

“Bastard,” I mutter.

I turn away from my pile of lost items and scurry towards my other sanctuary.

Mossgarde is a cluster of homes and buildings, the raised platforms allowing us to avoid the big below. I peer down at the water as I cross the bridges. A thick layer of algae and moss coats the surface, completely still. I shudder at the depths beneath and keep walking.

Near the village square, on a set of sturdy stilts, it’s the library. It is stout and proud and the sight of it calms my heart. Unfortunately, I must pass the public house to reach it.

Many of the unsavoury types, my father included, linger outside the public house when the barkeep has tossed them out. There is nowhere else for them to go, after all. As a young girl, I would bow my head and try not to draw attention. I soon learned that meant nothingto them. Now, I jut out my chin and push my shoulders back and snarl and snap at whoever believes himself entitled to look upon me. My mother’s daughter, indeed.

Most of them have come across me before and so turn their eyes away. But there is one who is either too inebriated or too bold to care. I feel his eyes on me.

“Where are you off to in such a hurry?” he calls. His words slur together like muck.

I meet his eyes but do not slow my pace.

“Why don’t you come and join us for a bit of fun, eh?” His grin is lecherous. I do not break pace, but I change direction towards him. “That’s right, we’ll—”

He is cut off when I slam my book across his face. He crumples to the floor, dazed. The other men look at me.

“Good morrow, Miss Shivani.” One of them inclines his head and nearly stumbles forward, catching himself just in time. The stench of ale is apparent. “What enchantment was that?”

“None,” I reply, regarding the man I knocked down. He blinks rapidly, blindly grabbing at the wall of the public house to haul himself up. “Just a heavy book.”

“Off to the library, then?”

“I am.” I inspect my book, making sure I didn’t get blood on it, and silently apologise to it for using it as a weapon. “The examiner from Frostalm is visiting in a few months.”

“University?” one of the other men pipes up, his voice gruff.

“House of Learning,” I correct him. “Universities are in Coalsburgh.”

He rolls his eyes.

“Don’t know why you bother.”

“Why do you bother spending your time and money on drink when you have a wife at home to look after?” I bite out. He has the grace to look ashamed, casting his eyes downward.

“Let the girl do what she wants,” the first man replies. “It’s a far cry better than staying here with a king bent on slaughter.”

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