Page 136 of The Black Witch

“Shall I continue?” he asks gently, perhaps noticing my discomfort.

I nod in assent.

“For a number of years, the Gardnerians kept to themselves, quietly increasing their numbers—”

“And then the Keltic War came.”

A shadow falls over his expression. “Yes. Styvius’s power had grown. And magic was becoming stronger in a number of your men, more prevalent with each passing generation. Styvius led his Mages to invade Keltania, taking over half of the Keltish lands and ruthlessly annihilating the population of those lands. Styvius planned to continue his conquest until the entire Western Realm was claimed for the Mages.”

“But then Styvius was killed.”

“By a Vu Trin sorceress.”

“And the war ended.”

“After a drawn-out battle.” Professor Kristian pauses to pour himself some tea, asking with a hand gesture if I want some, as well. I nod, and he pours me a cup. I sit back and sip at the bitter tea. “The Gardnerians had to cede some of the land they had annexed,” he tells me, “and my people reclaimed about half of what had been taken from them.”

Hispeople, I note smugly. This has to be a biased account.

“What happened next?” I ask, wanting to catch him in a blatant half-truth.

He sips at his tea. “Many years of peace ensued. It was a time of growth for the Guilds, for trade. Verpacia once again became a major trade crossroads. The University was formally established. And Keltic society became more open to the point where even Icarals were tolerated.”

I stop him here. “Where did the Icarals come from?”

He tilts his head, considering. “No one knows for sure. They’ve popped up in virtually every race as far back as can be remembered, and are hated by almost everyone in the Western Realm.”

It’s true. It seems that practically everyone’s religious traditions cast the Icarals as demonic beings.

“Why are they hated so?” I wonder.

He shrugs. “Like the Fae, they can be full of unpredictable power. They’re often dangerous as children. It’s probably because they have wyvern blood.”

“Wyvern? You mean dragon-shifters?” I try to wrap my head around this. Are Ariel and Wynter part...dragon?

“Well, they do share the western wyverns’ feathered, black wings,” he says, his mouth tilting up. “And their fire power and fire magic.”

Wyverns. Not demons at all. It makes sense.“So...the Icarals are hated because of their wyvern blood?”

Professor Kristian spits out a disdainful breath. “I would postulate that they’re hated because you can’t hide wings.”

I scrunch my face up in confusion.

“All that wyvern blood floating around,” he explains, “interferes rather inconveniently with cherished ideas of racial purity. Which, in and of itself, is probably the greatest myth of all time.” His eyes gleam with mischief. “Gardnerians are touchy about racial lines not being clearly drawn. The Elves are even touchier. It’s easier to cast the Icarals as evil and shun them at birth than it is to admit that every race is a mix.”

I grasp at my mug, thoughts swirling as he stirs some honey into his tea and glances sidelong at me, giving his words ample time to sink in.

He sits back, a question in his eyes. “Shall we continue?”

I nod.

“Where were we, then?” His brow knits tight as he focuses into the middle distance.

“It was a time of peace.”

“Ah, yes,” he says, taking another sip and eyeing me poignantly. “So...enter Carnissa Gardner onto our historical stage.”

“My grandmother.”

---