Page 106 of The Witch in the Dead of Night

“I don’t believe Agnes can practice psychal magic. Besides, she’s speaking with the stablehand right now.”

I glanced sideways at him, wondering if it was ever a burden to have such carefully honed senses. A voice called my name again and I whipped around, drawing closer to the window. Enhart fell into step behind me, as if ready to catch me should I fall. My eyes panned over the landscape.

Our quarters overlooked a forest of gnarled trees at the edge of the grounds. Their thick masses of needles could likely block out the sun if it dared show its face. “What is that?” I asked. Hoarse whispers met my ears, but I could not make out the words.

Enhart paused, frowning. “What’s what? The trees?”

I stared at him blankly. The whispers grew fainter.

“They’re yews, I think,” he said.

“Yews,” I echoed. “We had one in the graveyard in Wealdstone.” I could picture the tree perfectly. It was ancient and scarred, squatting over the remains of our dead like a sentry.

My breath hitched in my chest as he peered into my eyes, concern written plainly across his features. “Are you feeling alright?”

I swallowed. “I suppose I’m just tired.”

“Well, lucky for you, the Chancellor won’t wake for a few hours. You’ll have plenty of time to sleep.”

“Alright, I’m going,” I said absently. I squinted at the woods. There was something strange about them that I couldn’t put my finger on.

“Hey.”

I turned, meeting his worried gaze. “What?”

“Get some sleep. I mean it.”

I threw up my hands, backing toward my bedchamber. “Of course, Your Royal Highness.”

The moment the door closed behind me, I stripped off my traveling clothes and crawled into bed, exhaustion outweighing my desire for a bath. I pressed my brow to the cool side of the pillow, leaving behind a damp imprint.

For a short, panicked moment, I wondered if I had caught an illness on the road. I came to a seat, shaking my head free of sleep. My skin was free from the purplish hue of violet fever, I reminded myself. And we hadn’t encountered a single soul on the road. It was only nerves. Flipping onto my back, I kicked off the sheets, letting them fall to the floor.

I slept for a fitful few hours, visited in my dreams by the usual carousel of suffocating blue flame and monsters with horns and long fangs. Only this time, they appeared to me in a circle of yew trees. The trees leaned toward me with their spindly limbs, as if to trap me in this place. When I opened my mouth to scream, the voice that came out was not my own.

It’s time.

I woke to the sharp staccato of knuckles rapping against my door. My skin was dewy with sweat.

“It’s time to meet the Chancellor,” came Enhart’s voice.

Exhaling a shaky breath, I rose and changed hastily into a simple dress and boots. I scraped damp hair off the back of my neck, weaving it into a braid. I cast a final look out my window before joining Enhart in the corridor.

A cool draft blanketed us as we entered the Chancellor’s study. A cherrywood desk sat in the corner, its surface covered in sheets of used parchment and a glass box that contained a small, metal circlet. The walls were lined with towering bookshelves, the tomes nestled against each other as ancient as the man who slumped in a weathered armchair by the fire.

The Chancellor was unlike any vampire I had ever met. His weathered skin was taut like vellum that had been stretched over his angular frame. The beard that fell over his chest matched the wispy, yellowed hair on his head. He looked as though he could have been in his eighth decade of life, were he human. He blinked open silvery eyes as we approached. “Your Royal Highness,” he rasped in an accent I couldn’t place. “Please forgive me if I do not bow.”

“I shall, but only because I’m not sure you could manage it,” Enhart quipped.

The vampire’s gaze flitted to me. I sensed nothing from him. Not the faintest whisper of emotion. “You must be the King’s witch.”

Enhart snorted. “Finwal Erramun,” I said, ignoring him. “Pleased to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine,” he replied. “As I’m sure you have already been informed, I am Ivor Sorrell, Chancellor of Hollybrook University.” Silence fell as the vampire looked me up and down. “Your Royal Highness, if you do not object, I’d like a moment alone with Miss Erramun.”

Enhart paused for a fraction of a second before retreating from the room with an, “As you wish.”

When the door creaked closed, Ivor waved me into the seat beside him. The upholstery must have been very fine in its original state, but was now faded and frayed at the edges, as if used regularly by a housecat to sharpen its claws. A musty scent reached my nose, and I wondered when the windows had last been opened.