Page 151 of The Black Witch

I’m like someone who has just been sent on a treasure hunt. We all are. Aislinn, Jarod and I immediately begin rummaging around, pulling old canvas sheets off sculptures and paintings, each new discovery bringing forth delighted gasps.

“Oh, look at the tapestries!” Aislinn’s voice rings out as she lifts some canvas to expose four loosely rolled works. She turns to Wynter. “Did you weave these?”

Wynter nods as Jarod and I join Aislinn. The intricacy of what Wynter has done is evident even from a quick glimpse of the fabric’s edging.

Wynter watches us modestly from where she sits, now perched on the base of her statue of her brother, her hand resting on the horse’s smooth leg.

Aislinn pulls at one of the tapestries unsuccessfully. “They’re terribly heavy...”

Jarod reaches around her with long, sinewy arms and effortlessly pulls one out.

Aislinn turns to him, amazed.

“Pretty handy to have a Lupine around,” I observe, beaming at him, and he shoots me a small smile.

Jarod lowers the tapestry down on the floor and carefully unrolls it. It’s large, able to cover a sizable wall, and pictures ethereal white birds flying across a summer field. I move my head and am fascinated to find the birds move as I do so, their wings flapping gracefully up and down.

Watchers.

Aislinn and Jarod enthusiastically move on to unfurling more tapestries as I stare at the ivory birds.

Wynter quietly approaches my side.

“I’ve seen them,” I tell her, my voice low.

“I know this,” she says. She looks to me with concern. “It is not good to see them, Elloren Gardner.”

“Why?”

“The Shining Ones of the Inner Sanctum have deemed it so. They are messengers of the Shining Ones. Only the most holy may look upon them. For the impure to gaze upon them is blasphemy.”

I’m thrown by how foreign her faith is to me, and how odd it all sounds. “And they think you impure?”

Wynter hangs her head, sorrowful. “All Icarals are impure. Cast out for their evil.”

A spark of outrage rises deep inside me. “But how did all of this start? Why are Icarals viewed as evil?” I’m dismayed that her religion echoes this prejudice of ours.

Wynter is staring at me evenly, as if the truth of this is written in stone. “Because they seek to fly away from the Inner Sanctum into the realm of the Dark Ones. It is written in our sacred texts.” Wynter’s shoulders drop, and she looks to the birds in the tapestry with open longing. “I know that I should not sculpt these messengers, or paint them...but I find them to be so beautiful. I know it is blasphemy to say it, but they call to me.” Wynter’s voice grows stifled and faint. “They are my muse.” She says it as if she’s confessing some heinous, unforgivable crime.

I glance around at the unrolled tapestries, suddenly filled with stubborn purpose. “We should hang these up.”

Wynter gives a start. She shakes her head in shocked disagreement. “No, Elloren Gardner. My work can never be hung in the gallery.”

“Not in the gallery. In the North Tower.”

She peers at me with deep concern. “My work would pollute any dwelling. Curse it—”

“No, Wynter.” I cut her off gently. “This artwork was not meant to be thrown in the corner of some storeroom. Besides, we need the tapestries to keep out the drafts. I’ve noticed the cold doesn’t seem to affect you and Ariel, but it sure affects me.”

“You can hang the paintings all along the staircase,” Jarod amiably suggests.

“And the flower series in the upstairs hallway,” Aislinn chimes in.

“Surely some of the smaller sculptures could be brought up,” Jarod adds.

We all turn to look at Wynter.

“Very well,” she quietly agrees, a small smile lighting her face.