Page 142 of The Black Witch

If Vogel wins, and Priest Alfex slides into his Council seat, Vogel will hold a majority on the Council. Seven to six.

And just like that, the world will change.

CHAPTER ONE

Mage Council Papers

I read history every spare minute, but there aren’t many minutes to spare, the fear of imminent death by Fallon’s ice scratching at the back of my mind.

I read Urisk history while cough syrup simmers before me, poring over accounts of how the cruel Fae set the elements on the Urisk people, blowing whole villages to bits with great, funneling winds, crushing the Urisk fishing fleets with shattering storms.

I read Fae history when I should be memorizing medicinal formulas, with its tales of the barbarian Urisk and how their vicious wyvern allies rained fire down on Fae cities, the great dragons using long talons to rip Fae children to shreds. And later, how the cruel Keltic invaders were quickly subdued before they could wreak havoc on the Fae with their iron weapons.

I read Keltic history as I stir molasses pudding, the text propped up on a shelf just above the stove, half ignoring the thick bubbles popping up to the pudding’s surface like hungry fish mouths. I learn that the ancient Kelts’ ships were met by Fae aggressors, who forced them to their knees, separating families and shackling them all into servitude.

It’s enough conflicting information to make me want to scream.

“You’re reading Mikael Noallan,” Yvan observes flatly, pausing after dropping an armful of logs onto the growing pile beside my stove, his green eyes flashing.

I eye him with defiance.I can read Keltic history if I want to. “Professor Kristian lent me some books.”

Yvan meets my defiant stare full-on, and my pulse quickens.

“Ignore the Roach,” Iris sounds out from across the kitchen, and my muscles go tight with offense.

Let it go. Just let it go.

Yvan’s head whips around. “Don’t call her that.”

The entire kitchen goes silent and motionless. I gape at him in shocked surprise.

Iris glares hard at Yvan, her eyes catching fire, her lip curling with overwhelming, trembling disgust. “You’re defending...aRoach?” She can barely get the words out.

There’s danger in his eyes. “I said,don’t call her that.”

Iris’s eyes glaze over with tears as her eyes flit from me to Yvan, her fury collapsing into raw hurt.

“Iris.” Yvan relents, holding out a conciliatory hand.

Shaking her head violently from side to side, Iris bursts into tears, throws down the rag in her hands and runs out of the kitchen.

Yvan shoots me a brief, storming look, then strides out after her.

My heart is racing fast as a hare, the kitchen workers slowly and carefully launching back into their respective tasks, their eyes darting warily toward me.

Completely astonished by this turn of events, I absentmindedly notice that one of the pots is starting to boil over and reach for its iron handle without remembering to use a mitt.

Heat sears my palm, and I cry out and lurch back, pulling my hand protectively in. Pain streaks up my arm, and I dare a look at my palm, a red half-moon already rising up.

Everyone ignores me, going about their tasks with silent deliberation. I blink back tears and turn toward the stove, grasping my wrist, raw from the pain and from their pointed indifference.

There’s a gentle tug at my tunic arm.

I turn to find Olilly staring up at me with wide, amethyst eyes. Clear eyes. And skin free of red spots.

She used the medicine after all.

“Here, Mage,” she says softly, fishing a small glass container of salve out of her tunic pocket, opening it and holding it out to me. “For burns.”

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