Page 31 of The Black Witch

She shrugs. “It doesn’t really matter who chooses. Most of them are pretty interchangeable anyway. I mean, look at them.” She gestures toward a group of young men dismissively. “It’s hard to even tell them apart.”

She has a point. Looking around the room, I have to admit I’d be hard-pressed to find a memorable face, one that stands out in true contrast.

“What are you reading?” I ask, noticing her book again.

She flushes. “Oh, it’s just a book for University,” she explains, a little too innocently. “I’m getting a head start on my reading.”

The cover confirms what she’s told me:An Annotated History of Gardneria. On second thought, though, the paper cover doesn’t fit the bookexactly, hanging a bit over on the sides.

“What are youreallyreading?” I probe.

At first, her eyes widen in surprise, and then she slumps back in her chair, sighs and hands the book over in mock defeat. “You can’t tell anyone,” she whispers conspiratorially.

I peek under the cover and flip through it. “Love poems!” I whisper back, chuckling. I hand the book back to her and smile. “I thought you weren’t romantic.”

“Not in real life,” she clarifies. “I guess I like the idea of it, though. But I realize it’s pure, unadulterated fantasy.”

“You’re funny,” I say, smiling at her.

She cocks her head to one side, considering me. “And you’re completely different than how I expected you’d be. I’m Aislinn Greer, by the way. My father sits on the Mage Council with your aunt. We’ll be fellow scholars at University.”

“Elloren, I see you’ve made a new friend.”

I turn to find my aunt gliding up to us.

“Good evening, Mage Damon.” Aislinn greets my aunt respectfully as she covers the book with both hands.

“Good evening, Aislinn,” Aunt Vyvian beams. “I was just speaking with your father. So nice to see you here.” She turns to me. “Elloren, I’d like you to go fetch your violin. Priest Vogel would like to hear you perform for us this evening.”

My stomach drops straight through the floor. “Perform? Now? Foreveryone?”

“Your uncle has told me time and again how extraordinarily talented you are.”

“I’m sorry, Aunt Vyvian... I...Ican’t...” I’ve never once performed for a crowd, and just the thought of it makes me feel sick with apprehension.

“Nonsense, child,” Aunt Vyvian says dismissively. “Run along and fetch your instrument.No onekeeps the next High Mage waiting.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Lukas Grey

It’s a relief when I finally leave the crowded ballroom for the private hallway that leads to my room, my feet cramped in my pinching shoes. I briefly ponder escape.

I enter the deserted room and my breath immediately catches tight in my throat.

There, lying open on my bed, is a violin case. Within, nestled comfortably in green velvet, is a Maelorian violin—the highest-quality violin in the Western Realm, made by Elves in the northern Maelorian Mountains from rare Alfsigr spruce.There’s a note card carefully slid under the strings, a message written in my aunt’s flowing script.

Make the family proud.

I sit down beside the violin and stare at it. How Aunt Vyvian obtained the use of such an instrument, I can’t begin to imagine. When I finally take it in my hands, I feel as if I’m lifting a holy object. A picture of a tapering Alfsigr spruce tree set on a sloping mountainside caresses my mind as I gently pluck at the strings.

Perfectly in tune.

A tingling excitement bubbles up within me as I tighten the bow, lift the instrument into position and slide the bow across the A string.

A perfect note sounds on the air, pure as a still blue lake.

A rush of joy quickens my heart. Overwhelmed, I set the instrument down, go to my travel bag and fish excitedly through the music folder for my favorite piece,Winter’s Dark, quickly locating the stiff parchment. I stare at the crisp lines of notes, the music already dancing in my head.

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