Page 1 of Faeheart
Chapter 1
Elias
The problem with having everything is knowing exactly how much you have to lose.
I stared out the window of the Thorne estate in Northern California, watching as the gardeners, a mixture of bound elementals and human staff, trimmed the impossibly perfect hedges into even more perfect shapes. Mother insisted they be crafted to resemble the great magical beasts of old. There were phoenixes, griffins, and dragons galore in the garden. In fact, the topiary dragon exhaled a small plume of actual fire, an enchantment Father had added last spring that he was particularly proud of. It was the most excitement I had to look forward to most days.
“Elias, darling, are you listening?” Mother’s voice cut through my thoughts, precise as a silver athame.
“Yes, Mother,” I replied automatically, turning away from the window. The formal dining room stretched before me, all dark mahogany and crystal chandeliers that had been in the Thorne family for generations.
“As I was saying, your father and I have discussed your final year at Widdershins. We expect nothing less than excellence, particularly in Advanced Conjuration. The Blackwood womanspeaks highly of your potential.” She sipped her tea, pinky extended, not a hair out of place in her immaculate chignon.
“Yes, Mother.” The words felt worn from overuse.
“The Cromwell boy won’t be returning, I hear. Such a shame about Damien. Powerful bloodline, if a bit... unconventional in his methods.” Her lips pursed slightly. “His son… What was his name?”
“Caden,” I supplied.
“Yes, Caden. Frightfully shy thing when I met him. Nothing like his father.” She waved her hand dismissively. “In any case, you’ll be the most powerful witch in your year. You must represent the Thorne name accordingly.”
I nodded, staring at my untouched scone. Two months sailing the magical currents between Singapore and California, attending formal dinners with other prominent witch families, practicing prescribed spells under Father’s watchful eye, and still, I felt as empty as when we’d left.
Was that all my life was going to be? A never-ending series of parties, careful magic, and polite conversation? As I stared out the window, I felt as if I’d already lived the entire thing. And to be honest, I found it wanting.
Not that I’d ever say that out loud.
“Elias.” Father’s voice boomed from the doorway. He strode in with purpose, his tailored robes swishing around his ankles. “I’ve just received word from the Dean. The curriculum this year will include a special project. You’ll be part of an independent study for those with sufficient power.”
Mother’s eyes lit up, the way they always did when there was an opportunity for me to showcase the Thorne family superiority. “How marvelous! What perfect timing. Elias has been practicing diligently all summer.”
I hadn’t, not really. I’d gone through the motions, of course, but my heart hadn’t been in it. The structured spells Father insisted upon felt like chains rather than channels for my magic.
“It’s an excellent opportunity,” Father continued, taking his seat at the head of the table. He snapped his fingers, and a conjured servant appeared with his morning coffee. “Only three students have been selected.”
“And Elias is one of them,” Mother said, not a question but a statement of fact.
Father nodded. “Along with someone I’ve never heard of and...” He paused, frowning slightly. “Caden Cromwell.”
I nearly choked on the sip of tea I’d finally taken. “Caden? But I thought he wasn’t returning.”
Mother’s perfectly sculpted eyebrows drew together. “I thought you said?—”
“Apparently,” Father cut in, “the boy has shown unexpected promise. After Damien’s passing, certain... abilities have manifested.”
The way he said it made my skin prickle. There was something Father wasn’t saying, something important.
“What kind of independent study?” I asked, suddenly interested in a way I hadn’t been in months.
Father’s eyes gleamed. “Ancient magic. Pre-colonial. The kind that doesn’t follow the rules we’ve established.”
Mother’s teacup clattered against its saucer. “Surely you don’t mean?—”
“Wild magic,” Father confirmed. “Untamed, raw power. The kind the first witches channeled before we codified our practices.”
My heart raced. Wild magic was forbidden at Widdershins except in theoretical study. It was unpredictable, dangerous, and utterly fascinating.
“I don’t know if that’s appropriate,” Mother began, but Father silenced her with a look.
