Page 37 of The Witch in the Dead of Night

“If you were practiced at your craft, you wouldn’t need them,” he shot back. “Again.”

His influence was even less forgiving this time, an ice-cold wave that crashed over me and threatened to drown me. This time, however, anger was my shield. I resisted, the wave churning haplessly around my wards.

My brief moment of triumph quickly gave way to panic, however, as the ground seemed to shift beneath my feet. Powerless to stop it, I was yanked forward as if by an invisible fishing line that was hooked within my chest. My vision was obscured by a dizzying succession of images: the flash of steel as swords collided, the frothy peaks of waves that lapped against the hull of a ship, cobbled streets coated in blood.

My stomach roiled as if I’d scarfed down a meal too quickly, but my surroundings slowly steadied themselves and a hazy scene formed before my eyes. I was in the very same courtyard where Enhart and I toiled day after day, only it was different.

Three guards stood at the ready beneath the cloisters, but only two of them wore the black and scarlet of the Royal Guard. The third watched the scene before him with narrowed eyes, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His tunic was golden with a scarlet sash, his skin tanned as if he’d spent most of his life beneath the sun. I peered closer.

A woman I didn’t recognize stood before me along with— I sucked in a breath. Prince Enhart stood facing her, his brow creased. It was a memory, I realized, but from when I had no idea. Vampires aged so slowly, and he looked exactly the same then as he did now.

My eyes flicked to the woman. She appeared to be in her third or so decade of life, with curly black hair woven into a thick braid that cascaded down her back. She was dressed in all the finery of a lady of the court, her garments dyed the same gold and scarlet as her guard. I squinted at her as my surroundings shuddered. A ring of inky black shadows appeared around her.

A witch.

A shiver crept down my spine as I watched the shadows coil around her like the slippery river eels I had once seen hanging at a fishmonger’s stand along the Tirlif. The shadows pulsed as if breathing. I recoiled. There was something deeply unsettling about these creatures, and I found myself hoping that she would send them back to whatever godsawful place she had summoned them from.

This version of the prince opened his mouth to speak, but his words were garbled, as if I was underwater while they conversed above me. The witch shivered and released the shadows, and they disappeared into wisps of black smoke. Her shoulders sagged as Enhart spoke again.

As I peered at her, I noticed the purplish shadows blooming above her sharp cheekbones. The skin below her brown eyes was puffy and irritated. My brow furrowed as I wondered how long Enhart had been pushing her to her limit like this.

The fisherman’s line behind my breastbone tugged, this time pulling me backward, and the scene before me shuddered and collapsed as if it was made of smoke. The sensation of being forced out of a memory was nearly as unsettling as being pulled in. I splayed my fingers across my chest, bracing myself.

When I opened my eyes, I was staring into the furious eyes of the prince himself.

When I spoke, my voice was ragged. “Who …” I hesitated. “Who is she?”

“Someone actually worth my time, unlike you,” he hissed.

I was undeterred despite the rage so plainly written across his face. “What was that magic? The shadows?”

“Never you mind,” he bit back.

I returned his glare. “You’re really not going to tell me? She looked miserable, and that magic was … wrong.”

“This is exactly what happens when you can’t control your power,” he snarled. “It’s pathetic.”

The air between us crackled like the sky right before lightning struck. Hackles raised, I found myself unable to bite my tongue. “Perhaps you need to work on your wards then if someone as pathetic as me can fall through them.”

He stood abruptly, his hands clenched into fists at his side. His anger was so palpable that I almost feared being singed. “This session is over,” he said, his voice low. “Get out of my sight.”

I stood just as abruptly, my chair scraping across the flagstones. “Nothing would bring me greater pleasure,” I assured him. I spun on my heel and stormed down the courtyard stairs, cursing him under my breath.

Anger pricked my fingertips as I left the courtyard behind. I stalked toward the copse of pine trees overlooking the frozen lake. “He has no right to berate me,” I said aloud, as if they could hear me.

Magic spilled out of me, whipping through the branches, and the ground quaked beneath my feet. The trees groaned, swaying violently as my frustration built to a crescendo. A deafening crack echoed through the hills as the closest tree snapped in half, sending shards of wood flying in every direction. I shielded my eyes, peering through the gaps in my fingers as its disfigured trunk tumbled down the hillside, carving a haphazard trail through the snow. I blanched as it crashed through the surface of the lake, leaving splinters in its smooth surface.

I drew in a shaky breath, my fists clenched so tightly that my knuckles turned white. When I was a child, I sometimes lost control of my temper, though at the time, I didn’t understand why bottles would fly off the shelves or why the walls sometimes shook.

My mother was no witch, but she discovered that dipping my toes in the stream behind our cottage would distract me enough to release whatever power was escalating inside me. “Someone should teach Enhart that,” I mumbled.

I stooped and scooped up a pile of snow, molding it into a ball between my fingers. For a moment, I wondered how Enhart would react if I pelted it at his face. I chuckled as the snow melted in the warm cradle of my hands, leaving my fingers bright pink.

My magic was still pooled on the surface of my skin, begging to be used. I had denied it for so long, hiding in the shadows as some kind of penance for what I had done in Wealdstone, only allowing myself to use it for petty enchantments. But now I wanted to use it. I wanted the power that the council could offer me. Craved it, even. And even though I dreaded the sessions with Enhart with every fiber of my being, I had little choice but to bear them.

I exhaled slowly. Resolute, I set off in the direction of the castle, leaving the destruction behind me.

I circled the back of the castle in search of solitude, weaving my way toward the courtyard behind the cellars. Only this time, it was not deserted. My brow creased as I laid eyes on Sigrid, sitting alone in an alcove. The older woman’s cheeks were streaked with tears, her nose ruddy. I shuddered as her anguish crashed into me like a maelstrom. She had no wards to keep her thoughts at bay, so I raised my own, shutting her out as I exhaled slowly.