Page 192 of The Black Witch

Trystan’s eyes widen. He blinks at me. “You’ve changed.”

I give a deep sigh. “Yes. I have.”

He breathes out a short laugh, affection lighting his eyes. “I’m glad of it.” He wipes his tears away and straightens, shooting me a small smile. “You know there’s very little chance any of this will turn out well.”

I spit out a sound of derision. “Well, who needs good odds? Where would the fun be in that?”

Trystan coughs out another laugh, then takes a deep breath, eyeing me soberly.

“Go,” I tell him, motioning toward the door. “Get some sleep. Down the road, when you’re a rich and successful Vu Trin soldier, you can come back for Uncle Edwin and me and fly us back to Noi lands on the back of one of their dragons.”

“And we’ll all live happily-ever-after?” Trystan questions, a wry gleam back in his eyes.

“Yes,” I staunchly assure him. “That’sexactlywhat we’ll do.”

Trystan takes his leave, shooting me an appreciative glance before he goes, and my false bravado leaves with him. The North Tower hall is quiet, the walls solid, but the entire world has gone unstable beneath my feet.

The thought of losing both my brothers has my heart breaking to pieces in my chest.

* * *

When I finally open the door to my room, everything is wrong.

There’s no fire in the hearth, and a bone-chilling cold has started to seep into the stone walls. And the atmosphere feels oppressive—laced with a heavy dread.

Ariel lies passed out on her bed, her chickens running about aimlessly, the raven staunchly at her side. A bowl of her nilantyr berries is tipped over beside her, her lips stained black. Marina the Selkie is curled up on my bed next to Aislinn, wide-eyed and afraid. Aislinn’s face is drawn, as if she’s withstood a disorienting blow.

“I didn’t know you were here,” I tell Aislinn, rattled by her expression. “What’s wrong?”

“The Verpacian Council passed a resolution today in solidarity with Marcus Vogel,” Aislinn says, her voice haggard.

My chest tightens. I glance around for Wynter and find her almost blending in with the shadows. She’s crumpled up against the windowsill, black wings tight around herself, her expression despondent.

“What happened?” I ask, the dread growing.

Wynter’s eyes flick to her desk, and I catch sight of the official-looking parchment.

“It was posted on the door,” Wynter says despairingly. “The new Verpacian Council...they’ve...made some changes.”

I swallow nervously, needles of fear pricking along the back of my neck. I go to Wynter’s desk and take the parchment in hand.

It’s an official notice from the Verpacian Council. All Icarals are required to return to their countries of origin after completion of this year’s University studies. Verpacian work papers and Guild admittance will no longer be permitted for Icarals.

“How did they get two-thirds of the Verpacian Council to vote for this?” I ask Aislinn, swiping the parchment through the air. “The Gardnerians only hold a slim majority.”

“The Gardnerians have been emboldened by Vogel’s election, and the rest of the Council are scared. They want to placate the Gardnerians,” she replies.

Wynter begins to cry.

Ariel will have to return to Gardneria. Where she will be imprisoned in the Valgard Sanitorium. And Wynter will be sent back to Alfsigr lands, where her people are debating whether or not to execute her kind.

My sickening dread begins a rapid slide into rage. I curse and hurl my bag at the wall. Marina cries out at the sound, and I immediately feel guilty for it. I slump down onto the bed, bring my hands to my face and force myself to breathe.

Over a thousand dragons.

When I look up again, a line of six mournful Watchers flashes into view. They sit on the long rafter above Wynter, wings tight around themselves, heads hung low.

They fade away as Wynter’s sob deepens into a low, keening wail.

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