CHAPTER 6

CASSIE

What is wrong with me? How am I reading his mind? I am a liability to Nikolai, trapped in a world I don’t understand. It is too risky to be alone. Did they help me just because of what I can do? Because of that contract? Nikolai looks like he believes every lie that scary man put in his head.

I need to get close to him to survive. So close that he ignores every warning against me. So close that he thinks only of protecting me, even if it kills him. We are supposed to be friends. It shouldn't be hard.

A sharp knock rattles the door. It swings open to reveal Joel. Nikolai didn’t come. The mental attack must have drained him. Joel stands rigid, hands behind his back, his thick hair tied neatly away.

“What of Nikolai?” My voice fails me, coming out as a breathless whisper.

“Follow me.”

“If Nikolai isn’t here, I am not moving an inch.” Panic flares in my chest. I look around for a weapon, but my magic is dormant. I have nothing to defend myself with.

“You will meet him in there, Cassie,” Joel says, his firm voice offering small comfort.

“Fine.” My heart pounds against my ribs as I follow him out.

We walk through freezing, cavernous hallways. The stone walls are massive and oppressive, lined with towering iron doors that make me feel entirely insignificant. After a tense, quiet walk, we stop before the grand council chamber.

The heavy wood doors groan open. We step into a suffocatingly tense room. Ten council elders sit at a long, polished table—five on the left, five on the right. Their cold eyes burn holes straight through me. Maeve sits at the first seat, shrouded from head to toe in stark white ceremonial robes. Nikolai sits at the head of the table, his head bowed. He looks completely exhausted, and his usual confident mask slipped away. At the far corner of the room is a well decorated seat with lovely beadings. I noticed it last time I was here.

I stop inches from his chair. Joel quickly takes his seat next to Trish.

“What do you know about your mother?” an old, light-skinned man with icy grey hair demands. He slaps the stolen photograph of my mother onto the table.

“That she is a great mom,” I reply, forcing my voice to stay steady.

“Don’t play dumb with us,” Maeve snarls from behind her veil.

The old man points to her wrist in the picture. “That bangle. It is a sacred ancestral object. Where is it?” His voice grows dangerously stern.

They know?

“I don't know, sir,” I lie smoothly, shrugging my shoulders despite the sweat dampening my palms. “Thieves must have stolen it when my home was invaded.”

“We also found top-tier, dangerous spell books in your things,” another elder cut in. “Whose are they?”

If I claim the magic, they will view me as an active threat. They already loathe me.

“I have no idea what you mean, sir.” I avert my gaze from the elders and look directly at Nikolai, pleading for help.

Nikolai finally looks up, but his eyes are dead and professional. “Your training starts in twenty minutes.”

“What kind of training?”

“You will see,” he says coldly, shifting his gaze back to Maeve.

A heavy lump forms in my throat. His professionalism feels like a physical betrayal. They will devour me the first chance they get.

“Take her, Trish,” Nikolai orders.

Trish stands and ushers me out of the suffocating room. At the threshold, I look back at Nikolai, his bowed head a riddle I am desperate to solve. I don’t just need to get on his good side – I need to become his absolute obsession if I want to survive in his kingdom.

Trish leads me down a winding, subterranean corridor. The air here smells heavy, thick with crushed herbs and old stone. Ahead of us are people entering the building. Their dresses have different symbols on their shirt.

Five different materials; dark-grey robes accented with misty cloud-grey silk that constantly float in the ripple. The symbol of the chest is a set of tin, hollow concentric circles. The second is a robe with smoldering, burnt crimson. The symbol is an inverted triangle split down the center. The third, the robe is accented with matte charcoal and moss green, and the symbol is a solid interlocking square. The fourth robe is iridescent sapphire blue that catches the light like a deep ocean water. The symbol is three wavy interlocking lines. Last but not least, a polished metallic steel robe. The fabric is stiff and tailored like an armor. The symbol is a vertical spike piercing a diamond.

I watch a girl step up to the massive classroom door. It is made of ancient, petrified wood, reinforced with heavy iron runes, and the symbols on their shirt imprinted on the door. She presses her palms against the metal, mutters a strained incantation, and heaves her shoulder against the wood just to crack it open. Accessing the wells requires immense, deliberate effort.

“Step in” Trish says from a mile away.

“Werewolves aren’t allowed?”

“Today is a big day for tethers in training. Good luck, Cassie. I am rooting for you” Trish bows curtly as she staggers. I take it as a cue to go in.

When it is my turn, I brace myself. I expect to strain against the heavy wood just like she did. I don’t know any spells, but if I push the door hard enough, I can enter. If I can’t I’d turn around and leave.

I take a step forward. Before my fingers even brush the surface, the iron runes suddenly flash a brilliant, blinding gold. The heavy internal lock clicks. The massive door swings open completely smoothly, as if bowing to my presence.

Inside is initially dark. But the moment my foot crosses the threshold, the stone torches along the walls burst into life one by one, cascading down the room like a wave of golden fire.

Wow, I think, blinking at the sudden light. This castle has incredible automatic sensors.

There is a gigantic stair leading to a door. I walk upstairs and open the door just before the stairs. I push the door and waltz in. Their head swirls to look at me. Some of them have their eyes arched in surprise and some in anger. I will assume they were informed of my arrival before I even came. I hold my head high and walk in majestically.

Maeve is seated in front, the veil still covering her face. I sit down beside her and turn my gaze to the teacher standing on the podium. The classroom has this gothic arrangement with only seven students, me inclusive. They all had different clothing materials, and only two were wearing the same house material.

“Can you introduce yourself?” The teacher gestures to me, and I stand up.

“I am Cassandra, but I prefer to be called Cassie.”

“And which house do you represent?” One of the students asks, and I look at the symbol. One looks awfully familiar.

I have seen such a symbol in clothing in my house. A light-skin, innocent looking girl has it on. I remain silent and divert my attention to the teacher.