The Opal Witch: Prophecy (Book Two)

Chapter Four

"Any word from the Council?" Declan asked.

Damien's wistful expression hardened. "No. They're not budging on the timeline. You're not to have contact with Lux until graduation."

"This is ridiculous. I graduated from the Institute when I was seventeen."

"That was a hundred years ago."

"For everyone else, maybe. When I woke up, it was as if no more than a day had passed. I didn't forget all I learned. You and I both know this is their way of punishing me for my relationship with Lux."

"Technically, you should be stripped of your power- both of you. But they can't because of what Lux represents. The First Circle can't be compromised now that it's back in power."

"Not to mention that we know the real reason behind the ban."

Damien shrugged. "They're afraid others will defy the ban. Some don't even want you here because they think you'll corrupt the young before they're assigned to their witches. You're only here because I agreed to keep an eye on you and not show favoritism."

Declan raised the sausage biscuit and took a big bite. With biscuits crumbling down his chin, he said, "I'll be happy to report you've treated your old uncle terribly."

"Well, keep antagonizing Nigel, and I might really have to start being an ass. His father is on the Council, and they were both proponents of tossing you in a cell until they figured out how to sever the bond between you and the witch."

All the moisture in Declan's mouth evaporated, and the bits of biscuit sliding down his throat stuck, choking him. "Can that even be done?"

"If it can be done, they'll find a way."

"Shit."

"Did you just curse?"

"I'm not opposed to using coarse language when the situation calls for it, and there are no ladies present."

"Gods, you sound so much like my Papaw sometimes."

Declan was changing into the school's standard uniform: black linen pants, a black tunic, and a belt with potion pouches attached. His cestuses were secured around his forearm before he pulled on the long, high collared trench coat this generation favored. When Damien mentioned his grandfather, he stopped.

Holding a boot in one hand, he let his mind travel back to the last time he lived at the Institute. Ice cold wake up calls weren't uncommon even then, but it was an offense easily forgiven when the one holding the bucket was your own brother.

"I'd like to see him again," Declan whispered.

Sorcerers and witches were long lived- not immortal like Guardians or Fae, but they had to be actively practicing to slow the aging process. For a strong practitioner- one who had more angel blood than others- that could mean hundreds of years, but for nearly all of them, the human half eventually weakened to the point that using magic safely was impossible. For some, it was as if the clock picked up where it left off when the aging slowed. For a rare few, like Declan's brother, it was as if the clock played double-time, racing to catch up, aging a person rapidly in just a few years.

Damien scratched the stubble on his jaw. "He's not the same. His memories are all confused. He talks about you sometimes, but as if you'd never gone to sleep."

This was the most his nephew had ever opened up about their family. He'd not been present when Declan first arrived. When he did show up, he did everything he could to make others believe he detested his uncle as much as everyone else- at least in public. After a month, he pulled him aside, apologizing for his actions. It was only because of him that Declan knew the Council was involved in his forced schooling.

"So what's on the agenda today?"

They walked side by side down the outside corridor. Cold winds carried flurries through the archways, making Declan grateful for the coat. Even if it was hideous. Gray clouds covered the sky, their bottoms bruised and promising a real snowfall later. It was rare the Institute received the brunt of any storm. Most drifted over the mountains and fell on Camelot.

Following his gaze to the east, Damien sighed. "I believe the Guardians are planning on stopping by."

Declan whipped his head around. "Why?"

"Don't look so alarmed. We've always been friendly with our neighbors. They send experts over to teach combat, and we send some of ours to teach magical properties. Don't forget, we're all fighting the same enemy."

Morgan le Fae. Until Alina showed up with The Grail, he'd never given the Fae Queen much thought. She was little more than a monster parents used to scare their children into behaving, but now he knew the truth. She was gathering her forces, preparing to launch another rebellion. This time she was determined to breach Avalon, and if she did... Declan shuddered.

But to do any of that, Morgan needed The Grail. And it was safely housed on the Godelieve Estate. Too close to Lux for his comfort, but she was powerful. As much as he wanted to be near her to protect her, she didn't need him to do so. She would be fine.

"As the oldest student, I want you to spar with the instructor they're sending."

"That's not a very glowing endorsement. Hey, you're the oldest so you get to fight a skilled warrior."

"Ha, let's not pretend like you're not one of the best fighters I've ever seen. Calum might have a little more muscle on him because he has two hundred years of training behind him. But it's more than that, Declan." Damien caught him by the arm before they stepped into the open. "The others need to see who you really are. Right now, you've been held back so they think you're weak. They think you got where you are because of Lux."

A surge of hope welled up inside of Declan. This was his chance to change things. To build alliances.

A fire burned in Damien's eye. "You're an Emrys, and it's time they remembered that."