Page 143 of The Black Witch

I blink back more tears as an overwhelming gratitude washes over me.

“Thank you, Olilly,” I say, my voice breaking as I rub the creamy salve into my already blistering burn, the pain quickly dampening.

She ignores the subtle looks of censure thrown her way and gives me a small, tentative smile.

* * *

“I’d like a copy of this week’sMage Council Motions & Rulings,”I tell the Gardnerian Archivist.

It’s late that same evening, my left hand wrapped with a thin bandage, the burn tamped down to an annoying sting by Olilly’s healing salve.

I think about Olilly’s debilitating fear of Gardnerians the whole walk over here. Her enforced servitude. Her shy doe eyes and gentle ways.And she’s so young—too young to be facing the rest of her life as a virtual slave.

Professor Kristian is right,I think.It’s time to start paying attention to what my own government is doing.And the Gardnerian Archives are a prime place to begin.

The archivist is bespectacled and has gray hair tied up in a loose bun, her eyes set on me with awed approval. There’s a white ribbon neatly tied around her arm.

“I’m so sorry, Mage Gardner,” she says with an apologetic smile. “They’re all checked out.” She motions with a subtle flick of her finger toward the crooked, taciturn Mage hunched over the papers at a table clear across the room.

Tierney.

I thank the archivist and make my way to Tierney’s table. The Gardnerian Archives are thinly populated at this late hour, the lighting dimmed to a soft amber glow.

“Can I see those when you’re done?” I say with no preamble.

Tierney looks up at me, her expression full of its usual grim sarcasm. “I thought politics wasn’t your domain.”

“Well, I’ve changed my mind.”

Her sharp eyes flick toward my arm. “Still no armband.”

I throw a pointed look at her arm, as well. “You, either.”

Her eyes narrow to slits. “I hope Marcus Vogel rots in a fiery hell,” she whispers scathingly.

I stand there blinking at her for a moment. “Well, I might not phrase it quite like that, but I certainly don’t want him to be High Mage.”

Now she’s blinking at me like she doesn’t quite know what to make of me.

Without a word, she slides over and makes room for me next to her so we can read the papers together.

* * *

TheMage Council Motions & Rulingsare deeply boring reading, and I have to bite my tongue more than once to keep from nodding off. Mind-numbing details regarding Council building, shipping and military contracts, tax figures and land disputes make up the vast majority of the tiny print.

But then my eye catches on a motion presented by Marcus Vogel and struck down by Phinneas Callnan’s majority.

“Look at this,” I whisper, pointing. “Vogel wants to make wandfasting mandatory by the age of eighteen.”

There’s tight strain around Tierney’s eyes, her mouth twisting into a grimace. “He’s been pushing for that for months. Refuse to fast, and the Council will pick someone for you.”

I bet Aunt Vyvian would love it if this motion passed.

“How old are you, Tierney?” I hesitantly whisper.

She takes a shuddering breath, her expression haunted. “Eighteen.” Her tone is the fall of an ax, final and inescapable.

I swallow, an uneasy chill working its way down my spine. I pull one arm protectively around myself and look back down at the papers.

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