Page 81 of The Black Witch

I jolt awake, fear washing over me. Heart thudding, I look around, wildly disoriented. I recoil at the sight of Ariel splayed out on her bed and Wynter curled up in a tight ball, completely buried under her stained bed covering.

“Elloren?”

When I hear Rafe’s voice through the door, it’s as if the entire world has suddenly righted itself. I spring out of bed, burst out into the hallway and throw my arms around my brother.

Rafe chuckles as he staggers backward. He quickly finds his footing and hugs me tightly. “You sure know how to shake things up, don’t you, Ren?” he observes, grinning widely.

I laugh and cry at the same time, overjoyed to be with family again. Suddenly, nothing seems as bad.

His grin fades as he takes in my bruised face. He reaches up to lightly touch my cheek. “Have you seen a healer for this?”

I shake my head against his hand. “I’m okay. It’s better than it was.” I search past him, down the narrow hall. “Where’s Trystan? And Gareth?”

“Downstairs,” he says. “Aislinn and Echo are with them.”

“They’ve put me in with Icarals,” I tell him in a low, cautioning voice. I gesture toward the door behind me.

He nods grimly. “Aislinn and Echo told us everything.”

I wipe at my tears and smile shakily. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Go get dressed,” Rafe urges with an affectionate squeeze to my arm. “You look drawn. We should get some food into you.”

* * *

The bleak, gray room is startling in the daylight. It’s filthy and smells foul, like the Icarals in Valgard—sour and rotting. And the Icaral demons are awake.

Ariel is now crouching in a corner, still as a gargoyle, watching me carefully through slitted eyes. Wynter’s perched on the sill of the large, circular window, her thin, black wings tight around her, only the top of her head poking through like some oversize turtle.

They look rattled and beaten down.

They’ve been living barely a step above animals. The fireplace is a mess, with ashes spilling out onto the floor. Torn black clothing, books and other ratty belongings are strewn about the room. White bird droppings litter the floor, prompting me to glance upward, squinting at the ceiling and the supporting rafters for signs of avian life, but I can’t make anything out.

The bed I’ve claimed is pressed against the left wall, near the entrance to a small washroom and privy. Ariel’s and Wynter’s beds lay haphazardly against the opposite wall, bracketing the fireplace. The furniture is a motley mix of old, beat-up pieces. There’s no rug on the floor, and no tapestries on the walls to stave off autumn’s encroaching cold. Throughout the night, I had to wrap myself in both my woolen winter cloak and my mother’s quilt to stay even marginally warm.

It’s almost like living in a cave in the woods.

I’m guessing that this old archery post was a convenient place to house the Icarals away from the other scholars, especially the Gardnerians, who view meeting the gaze of a winged one to be spiritually polluting.

Apparently, my aunt doesn’t care how spiritually pollutedIbecome, as long as I buckle and wandfast to Lukas Grey.

I search through my travel trunk and pull out some of the fine Gardnerian attire my aunt purchased for me—a shiny onyx silk tunic and long skirt. The resentment I feel toward my aunt does not overshadow the fact that, in one day, I’ve been forced to learn where my loyalties must lie. I need to be strong and look strong. I’ve seen firsthand what the Urisk, the Icarals and the Kelts are really like. They consider me an enemy, and I need allies against them—Gardnerianallies. And I need to look powerfully Gardnerian.

Lukas’s words hang in my mind.Dominate, or be dominated.

I wash up quickly, dress in the small washroom, comb my hair and make up my face. I glance at my reflection in the scratched mirror before me. Although my face is bruised and dark half-moons anchor my eyes, I’m regal in the elegant clothing.

Just like my grandmother.

I pause in the bedroom, gathering up my books and papers and stuffing them into my book bag. I eye the two Icarals warily as I do so, feeling the weight of Ariel’s hostile stare pressing against me. Her gaze shifts to my violin case, and I narrow my eyes at her in suspicion.

I made that violin with my own two hands—there’s no way I’m leaving it here with Ariel. I grab the handle of the case, deciding to store it somewhere else for now, and make a hasty exit from the repulsive living quarters and my even more repulsive roommates.

* * *

Waiting for me and Rafe outside the door are Trystan, Gareth, Echo and Aislinn. I’ve gone from being completely on my own to having a supportive crowd around me.

It’s a vast improvement.

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