Page 67 of The Black Witch

I stumble out into the sunshine, my eyes smarting from the glare.

It’s late morning, the sun high in the sky, and the fields, which were so gray the day before, are green and cheerful, rimmed by trees highlighted with the beginnings of vibrant fall color.

I rush down the broad, scrubby field that separates the North Tower from the rolling horse pastures, squinting into the sunlight.

A few curious sheep raise their heads as I hurry past their partitioned fields, the dirt path moist beneath my feet, the scent of mud and greenery on the air. The clacking of multiple looms and the buoyant sound of female conversation waft from the Weavers’ Guild building, the doors propped open to let in the fresh air. Blonde Verpacian and silver-haired Elfhollen girls are coming and going, newcomers lugging baskets of brightly colored yarn. I fly past them all onto the cobbled walkways of the University city, the occasional groupings of scholars, laborers and professors breaking off midsentence to gawk at me.

There are flags flapping everywhere, affixed to buildings, streaming from windows, hanging from belts and saddles. Verpacia’s four-pointed star on gray seems to dominate, with Gardneria’s silver Erthia sphere on black a close second. The streets are crowded, the passersby in a celebratory mood, and uniformed soldiers of every stripe are out in force.

I suddenly remember that this week marks the beginning of the Fall Tournaments. My brothers told me about them, the contests ranging from archery and sword combat to weaving and glasswork. Competitors come from all over Erthia to show off their expertise and impress the various Guilds.

Breathless, I stop in front of the stately Merchants’ Guild, the flags of Gardneria and the pure white flag of the Elfin Alfsigr lands bracketing the entrance. I’m jostled as the crowd surges around me. My eyes dart from building to building as I try to find my bearings in this sea of people, but nothing and no one looks familiar.

“Are you all right?”

I turn to find a young, pointy-eared Elfhollen soldier staring at me with his bright silver eyes.

“No,” I tell him.

“Can I help you?”

I glance around blankly. “I need to find the Lodging Mistress.”

“You’re just across the street from her.” He points to a squat building festooned with Gardnerian flags. “It’s over there.”

Relief floods through me as I dodge pedestrian and horse traffic to get to the office of Mage Sylvia Abernathy, the woman in charge of the scholar housing.

She’s a fellow Gardnerian. She’ll understand the gravity of the situation, and I’m sure she’ll help me.

* * *

A short while later I’m in a stuffy office sitting opposite Mage Abernathy, a pinch-faced woman, our flag prominently displayed behind her long desk. Like the Urisk cleaning woman, she’s oddly unsurprised by my appearance or by my story, and regards me with cold, calm eyes.

“You’ll help me, won’t you?” I plead, thrown by her composure.

For a moment she holds her pen in suspended animation over the stack of papers in front of her. “Why, that’s entirely up to you, Mage Gardner,” she says as she resumes her writing.

“I don’t understand.” I struggle to remain composed.

“Well, Mage Gardner,” she replies absently, “your aunt has been in touch with me about your lodging arrangements. She sent a runehawk with instructions yesterday morn. Of course it would be possible to move you into a room with...more amiable roommates.”

More amiable roommates?

Why isn’t she outraged? I’ve been placed in a room with Icarals! And they tried to kill me!

I force myself to take a deep breath. I need to stay calm, even if all of the people here are completely unhinged.

“How soon can I move?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady and even.

She stops writing, sets down her pen, folds her hands and meets my gaze. “Why, as soon as you’re wandfasted, Mage Gardner.”

Oh, Holy Ancient One.My heart begins to hammer against my chest. Aunt Vyvian...

Everyone has a breaking point, Elloren. Don’t force me to find yours.

“I can’t wandfast yet,” I say, my resolve wavering.

“Well, then,” she responds unsympathetically, “I suppose you’ll just have to find a way to deal with your situation.”

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