Page 14 of The Black Witch

It takes several days to reach Valgard, and we stop often to change horses, stretch our legs and retire in the evening to sumptuous lodging. My aunt picks only the best guesthouses—delicious food brought to our rooms, fresh flowers gracing the tables and soft bedding stuffed with down.

Over meals and during the long carriage rides, Aunt Vyvian tells me about the people she’s invited to her party: the various young men, along with their accomplishments and family connections, as well as the young women I will be meeting and who they’re wandfasted to. She also speaks about her hopes for the rise of Marcus Vogel to High Mage, our highest level of government. Our current High Mage, Aldus Worthin, is elderly and getting ready to step down in the spring.

Marcus Vogel’s name catches my attention. I remember a conversation my brother Rafe recently had with Uncle Edwin about him. Uncle Edwin was surprisingly strident in his dismissal of Vogel, calling him a “rabid zealot.”

“Half the Council is still behind Phinneas Callnan for our next High Mage,” Aunt Vyvian tells me, her tone clipped. “But the man has no spine. He’s forgotten his own faith and how we were almost destroyed as a people.” She shakes her head in strident disapproval. “If it was up to him, I suspect we’d all be slaves again, or half-breeds.” She pats my hand as if I need consoling on this point. “No matter, Elloren. The referendum’s not until spring, and Vogel’s support grows every day.”

Though her harsh words make me uneasy, I find myself falling under Aunt Vyvian’s congenial spell, and she brightens in response to my rapt attention. She’s a wonderful traveling companion, charming and vivacious. And she paints such vivid pictures of each person she describes that I imagine I’ll be able to recognize them on sight.

She seems particularly fond of a young man named Lukas Grey—a powerful, Level Five Mage and rising star in the Gardnerian military.

“He’s the son of the High Commander of the entire Mage Guard,” she tells me as we roll along, a spectacular view of the Voltic Sea to my right, the late-afternoon sun sparkling on its waves. “Andhe’s a top graduate of the University.”

“What did he study?” I ask, curious.

“Military history and languages,” she crows.

I can tell from the way her eyes light up when she speaks of him that he’s her first choice of fasted partner for me. I humor her, doubting that this much-sought-after young man will spare even a glance toward a shy girl from Halfix. But it’s enjoyable to listen to her enthusiastic descriptions, nonetheless.

“Only three years out of University andalreadya first lieutenant,” she gushes brightly. “There’s talk that within a year’s time, Lukas Grey could be the youngest commander in the history of the Guard.”

My aunt prattles on for a long time about Lukas and several other young men. As she speaks, I glance out the window and watch the scenery go by. Gradually, the buildings of the towns we pass through are becoming taller, grander and closer together, and lanterns are lit to welcome the twilight. Our progress is now slowed by heavier carriage and horse traffic. We crest a hill, pass through a wooded area, and then, suddenly, it’s before us—a sloping valley leading straight to Valgard, Gardneria’s capital city.

Like an elegant cloak clasp, gleaming Valgard rings the Malthorin Bay. A glorious sunset lights the ocean beyond and bathes everything in the rich colors of a well-stoked fire. Tiny ships speckle the water. Valgard’s docks resemble the curved half of a long fishbone.

I can scarcely breathe as I take it all in, the city glittering in the fading light, points of illumination sprouting throughout, like fireflies waking. Our carriage weaves down into the valley, and before long, we’re in the heart of the capital.

I slide the carriage window open and stare.

Buildings made of luxurious, dark Ironwood rise up around me, the progressively wider upper stories supported by richly carved ebony columns. Curling emerald trellises thick with lush, flowering vines flow out over the rooftops and down the buildings’ sides.

I close my eyes and breathe in the rich Ironwood. It’s traditional for our homes to be made of this wood and styled in designs that look like forests and trees—a symbol of the Ancient One’s creation of my people from the seeds of the sacred Ironwood Tree, giving us dominion over all the trees and all the wilds.

We pass an open-air restaurant, dining tables spilling out onto a promenade surrounded by decorative fruit trees, all of it lit by diamond-paned lanterns. The smell of rich food wafts into the carriage—roasted lamb, sautéed fish, platters of herbed potatoes.

A small orchestra plays beneath a plum tree.

I turn to my aunt, thrilled by the beautiful music. I’ve never heard an orchestra before. “Is that the Valgard symphony?”

Aunt Vyvian laughs. “Heavens, no, Elloren. They’re employees of the restaurant.” She eyes me with amused speculation. “Would you like to hear the symphony while you’re here?”

“Oh, yes,” I breathe.

There’s an endless variety of shops, cafés and markets. And I’ve never seen so many Gardnerians together before, their uniformly dark garb lending an air of elegance and gravity to their appearance, the women’s black silken tunics set off by glittering gems. I know it says right in our holy book that we’re supposed to wear the colors of night to remember our long history of oppression, but it’s hard to keep such somber thoughts in mind as I look around. It’s all so wonderfully grand. I’m seized by a heady excitement, coupled with a desire to be part of it all. I glance down at my simple, dark brown woolen clothing and wonder what it would be like to wear something fine.

The carriage lurches, and we turn sharply to the right and make our way down a narrow, darker road, the buildings not as lovely as the ones on the main thoroughfare, the storefront windows mysteriously harder to see through, the lighting a moody red.

“I had my driver take a shortcut,” my aunt says by way of explanation as she flips through more Council papers, the golden lumenstone in the carriage lantern growing in brightness in response to the dark.

I marvel at the lumenstone’s rich, otherworldly light. Elfin lumenstone is incredibly expensive, the golden stone the rarest. I’ve only seen swampy green lumenstone in the Gaffneys’ outdoor lamps back home.

Aunt Vyvian lets out a sigh and pulls down one of the blinds. “This isn’t the best part of town, Elloren, but it will shave quite a bit of time off our journey. I suggest you close the window. It’s not an attractive area. Frankly, it should all be razed and rebuilt.”

I lean forward to close my open window and draw the blind as the carriage slows to a halt. It’s been a constant stop and go ever since we reached the city because of the heavy street traffic.

A split second before I’m about to pull the cord, something hits the window with a loud smack—a white bird’s wing, there and gone so fast, I swear I imagined it. I press my face to the window and try to locate the bird.

They’re not just birds, they’re Watchers!Sage’s words echo in my mind.

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