Dawn came, but the sun didn't rise. An eerie quiet had settled over Norshire overnight.
Throwing open the curtains, Imani was greeted by a foreboding fog. Nothing permeated it except a mournful mist, lightning flashes, and the arid stench of smoke blowing into the Riverlands.
She could feel the fear spreading that their skies would darken permanently as villagers, shaken that it hadn't cleared, appeared to sequester themselves in their homes. While some carried lanterns as they made their way to work, many storefronts remained empty and dark, with the oil lamps the only light. Looking down again, she watched while people peeked out their doors. They shivered as the night charged at them like a wild beast and hugged them in cold, chilling discomfort before slamming them shut again.
Imani squinted her eyes to the south. Night had spread like a disease across the horizon there, then never left, and everyone agreed—except the branded and people familiar with magic—that it was a problem of the other kingdom. Repercussions they'd received from the Gods for their lawlessness and brutal culture.
Indeed, before today, most people in the Essenheim Kingdom shook their heads, refusing to look, even as smoke blew into their lands, carrying the smell of magic and death.
As if sensing her thoughts, booms of wicked thunder rumbled far in the distance over the mountains. Then, a mesmerizing orchestra of lightning lit up the enormous dark cloud over Niflheim, flashing in random sequences for a minute.
After years spent watching this same Fabric storm over the southern kingdom, Imani found it difficult to believe such destruction wouldn't eventually spread here. Abused and chained into submission for far too long, the Fabric always took something in exchange for magic and no one escaped payment. Even here in the sunlight, Imani knew dozens of those who'd already paid.
She'd been one of them—and the price was almost too great to comprehend.
Amongst her mounting worry, Imani kept to the routine she had followed every day for years and made her way into the crumbling alley to unlock their shop. Even in the overcast light she could recognize the intricate details of each oil lamp and navigate the cobblestones that were still wet from last night's snowfall.
Acting normally was especially important after the Fabric Event, and her appearance in the pub last night.
Inside, the shop smelled like it always did with red currant and shaved cedar, a hint of smoke, and musty paper. She sat on the rickety stool behind the counter and opened the thick, ragged-paged ledger, scanning the most recent pages.
Imani didn't have time to waste. They had several orders she'd already planned to collect, and Imani needed everything to go perfectly.
While the unbranded grew ignorant of her kind, other witches didn't forget, and it was only a century ago that people killed female Norn in droves. More powerful witches were captured and prostituted, forced to feed from customers or use their feeding draw for their masters' gains. Her magic skills were so unpracticed, and she could see the appeal of other female witches throwing in with a more prominent coven for protection.
She needed to stay vigilant and focused.
A disturbing thought struck her as she turned to the next page. If Imani could run everything else all these years without the magic, she could do it now that it surged through her veins. Ara did nothing on a whim, and she wasn't stupid. When she died, she knew Imani would eventually possess magic, and it seemed the old witch had planned her death for years, which didn't surprise Imani one bit.
The bell jingled, and she choked on the hysterical laughter threatening as her sister stepped into the shop. Imani had to cover her face to silence her crazed mirth.
The silver color of her blonde hair sparkled, and with it pleated perfectly, her subtly pointed ears were only slightly visible. Even when crying, Meira was the prettiest Aowyn sister.
At one time, Imani imagined she'd been as beautiful as her sister in her true form, maybe more. The scarring on her face made that impossible, but she didn't care much these days. After working for Ara for this long, she aspired to more than use looks to her advantage—she wanted real power, which had nothing to do with beauty and everything to do with magic.
The two sisters hadn't said a word to each other since their argument—and it might have been the longest they'd gone willingly without speaking.
Meira's red-rimmed eyes widened to the size of saucers as she approached the counter. "Show them to me," she whispered.
Relief swept through her feeling the tension lift in the room. The illusion fell with just a thought—no more than an errant desire for the magic to be gone. The spell was already becoming natural to Imani.
On a whim, she cast a hasty glamour over her red sigil. The colors swirled to blue, and the stag morphed into the shape of the leaf. The truth about her ancestry was just one of many that she wasn't ready to share yet.
She shoved her bare forearms toward Meira, admiring how each brand sparkled in the dim light.
Silence fell as Meira stood next to her. Would her sister be jealous? Would she be afraid of the heartmate sigil? A part of her wished she'd glamoured that too. But she didn't want to lie about everything.
"These appeared yesterday?" Meira asked with pure amazement, still studying the marks intently.
"Yes, as soon as Ara died." Imani's shoulders slumped. "But I suspect they've been on my arm for a long time now."
Tracing the lines of each one over and over—alteration, alchemy, binding, enchantment, illusion and wandlore—she tried to remember when these markings could have appeared. But there was nothing.
The Fabric could bestow more power to worthy witches later in life—after adversities, tests of magic and strength. But such events were rare. More commonly, the Fabric enhanced the already-gifted abilities as master or archmage witches.
"Do you think it has anything to do with that day?"
Even weeks later, the mere mention of it sent a flood of sensory memories rushing through her mind, never failing to cause an almost full-body tremor.
"I remember that day in this shop perfectly, and I didn't have one bit of magic," she bit out.
Meira's beautiful face—a little more Naiad than Norn—softened at Imani's tone. Imani squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block it out again, shoving the memory back down. Ignoring everything had been the only way to keep her from losing her mind entirely.
"I'm sorry, I overreacted," Imani said, silently sensing her sister forgive her like she always did.
"She did this the last few months in the cage. It's the only explanation. She erased my memory until she finally pulled off the flesh magic needed," she stated, leaving out the part about Riona's death. Another truth she preferred to keep to herself for now.
"It was to protect you," Meira stated. "She must have felt it was too risky to have you using any magic with an illegal marking."
Despite her anger earlier, Imani was starting to come to the same conclusion. Protection was the most logical reason because they'd kill a young elf who couldn't control her magic, especially if anyone caught even a hint of the red brands.
"You know so much about magic, Imani. Are you sure you don't know this brand?" Meira pointed to the strange red rune.
"I'm sure," she snapped.
"You have more than five marks. So, you'll have to register as a potential master, right?" She asked, completely ignoring Imani's temper.
"Yes, I suppose," Imani muttered, hoping Meira would drop that line of questioning. Because unless the urge to commit suicide hit her, Imani had no intention of registering and admitting treason. They'd never believe she remained ignorant with a family member found guilty of illegal magic.
Another boom of thunder rumbled outside. The sisters flinched, but neither seemed able to move.
Meira let out a deep breath. "Why don't we close the shop early," she murmured, stepping behind the counter. "Let's take Dak and spend some time together by the river when it stops raining." She put her hand on Imani's. "Dak and I might need another day," she whispered.
A day? A day sitting around with their emotions and memories? Another day so a new witch or coven could move in on their area?
People expected products—magic and clothes—from the Aowyns, and they had money to give them in exchange. The money they desperately needed.
So, no, they would do no such thing.
"Aralana would want us to open the shop today." And with that, the subject was closed.
Meira nodded, wringing her hands in her dress as Imani flipped the sign to open for the day.
Customers started streaming into the shop, asking for magic in hushed voices like it was their dirty secret.
If they were lucky, it would only take a day or two for the word to travel to the right circles about her collection from Elyon. But, that said, it would take months more for her to feel secure, and years before, she would feel confident.
Still, it was a start.
Almost everything requested was well in their skillset to create. Men and women wanted all kinds of potions, earth crystals, unique herbs, and elixirs—sleeping aids, sex enhancement, extra energy—and they slyly sought spells like enchantments, illusions, and bindings.
There were a few strange requests, though.
More than a few asked for contraceptives, which had been a rare request in recent years with the fertility problems most Essenheim breeds were experiencing. A few asked for an old superstitious enchantment to release haunted spirits from a dwelling.
One, in particular, caught her attention—in just a few hours, she'd already gotten at least four or five people asking for it. The magic was something she'd never heard of—an elixir with a few different names.
No one said the word outright, instead preferring to write it down or whisper it.
Draught of Saints. Everlasting Light. Eldritch Blood.
Whatever they called it, it was in high demand in the more populated cities closer to Stralas—and so far, only five-mark witches were attempting it successfully. Half the people even demanded to see her enchantment, binding and alchemy brands and Meira's divination one before making their request.
She and Meira could create it if they knew more about its intended use. But as far as Imani could tell from the few words they said about it, the magic produced was a complicated youthfulness and healing spell.
Odd since it didn't require a healing brand. Another customer requesting it told her it could give the wielder the power to defy death. Another was even adamant that it saved her aunt's life.
New spells like this would always go in and out of fashion, and while Imani was curious about it, time was money. So, they'd earn more from their mainstays instead of wasting time learning and making complicated spells that no one would want in a year.
A voice cut through her thoughts in the shop. "I'm here for the Aowyns. Is this the place?" Imani knew she wasn't asking about clothes and quickly led her into the cramped back room. After haggling on a price, the woman told her she wanted a root-binding spell with a death angel.
Before she made a biting remark about death angels being a myth, her sister called for her. "Imani? Are you talking to yourself back there?"
Imani pointed to the door. "Leave and come back with the other person," she ordered quietly.
At the exit, the woman almost collided with the constable. Fen busted inside, practically slamming the door in her face.
Imani strode out from behind the counter and grabbed his arm. "Fen, watch where you're going with our customers," she admonished.
Puzzled, he stared at her for a beat or two. As if trying to solve some impossible riddle. "What customer?"
Pushing hair off her face, Imani sighed at his idiocy. "The woman in blue, Fen. She was just here."
"I'm sorry. I didn't see anyone."
She swallowed at the sight of him. Despite Fen's incompetence, a visit from the constable a day after she murdered a man put her on edge. She'd have to be stupid not to be worried.
He gave her a suspicious look.
Shadows started darkening the corners of the front windows, which matched her nervousness. It was well known that the Aowyns were witches. Now, after Aralana's execution, it put them in a precarious situation if the authorities started showing too much interest in their magic business.
Selling magic wasn't illegal. The Aowyns' business was legitimate, and they registered it with the government every year to renew their license. But selling certain types of magic and the criminal activity they used to protect their area was all illicit. As a result, almost everything Imani did as a collector would get her thrown in prison, on top of the fact that they laundered the illegal profits through the shop.
Darkness spilled like ink down the walls and started consuming her line of sight. While she couldn't discern anything about its nature or origins, the truth that her magic was something other pounded in her ears like a drum. Unease unfurled in her stomach, she reached into her dress pocket to clutch Ara's wand, desperate to get herself under control.
Meira wasted no time jumping up to greet Fen.
Young and attractive, he had only been in his position for a few years, and frankly, Imani questioned how much law and order he had provided their town since then. Living close to the border of Niflheim, fugitives frequently used their small shipping port to try to escape south. As a common-bred Naiad with no magic, Fen was useless against said fugitives.
"Something we can help you with, Fen?" Meira put her hand on his arm.
An urge to shake her sister and punch Fen in the face almost took over her body.
Growing up in a small village of nymphs meant there wasn't a large selection of friends or men to choose from, especially for elves related to the local witch. While they kept to themselves these days, most Norn craved the company of others and were still naturally friendly creatures. If they had grown up near their kind or more people, the Aowyn children might have had many relationships beyond their immediate family. But here, Dak had Ren, and the girls only had each other and a few acquaintances and casual friendships.
So, Imani could hardly fault her sister for desiring Fen.
But the constable had recently become one of her best customers, which made her want to keep Meira far away from him. How he deemed himself some protector of "delicate young ladies" when she could have made a better constable was beyond her.
"It seems we have flesh magic wielders in the area," he explained. His face was drawn in a somber expression. "I know this is a bad time, but I hope you understand that it's best we capture any fugitives alive. I'd hate to expose lovely creatures such as yourselves to anyone like that again."
Lovely creatures? Imani pursed her lips before saying anything she'd regret.
"Yes, of course, we understand," Meira promised.
"What do you need?" Imani's voice sounded loud and flat comparatively.
His eyes looked nervously to the door and back, then he leaned lower. "Word of this event has reached most of the kingdom," he said, shifting on his feet and giving them a tense smile. Imani frowned. He smiled far too much, in her opinion. "I'm here on constable business," he added, "I need to talk to you again about the master witch who came here that day." He stepped closer to Imani. "I'll need to have a quick look around your flat, too—"
"—You can't be serious?" Imani stiffened, schooling her features into a stern expression she hoped hid her trepidation. "We've been more than cooperative. I've already told you everything I know, and you've searched the flat multiple times this past month."
His face softened. "I have no choice, Imani. Your grandmother and this master might have some connection to each other. She had ties to Niflheim and practiced their flesh magic. We can't wait if it was related to Zolyn."
it grated her to be harassed about the infuriating master witch again when that day was the last thing she wanted on her mind. Yet Imani understood why they would look for a flesh magic wielder as the source of the lightning storm. The instability of magic started when Niflheim legalized the barbaric sacrificial magic. But, unfortunately, the southern kingdom had started pulling far too much power, causing the first fissures in the Fabric.
Although they claimed otherwise, the dark shroud over their lands meant that they were likely still abusing it even today.
Some, like Elyon, blamed the magic—but people were the problem—greedy, destructive dark breeds who took too much and cared little for the damage it wracked. So not only did the Niflheim people cause the instability, loss of magic, and war, but they also caused her parents' deaths and the deaths of so many others for centuries.
She hated them—genuine, unbridled hate.
And thinking about the storm raging outside, she hated herself, too. She had been careless with a brand of magic she didn't understand.
"If the magic the witch wielded bore any resemblance to flesh magic, Fen is required to report it to the Crown," Meira interjected.
"I already told you everything about him, and again, as a male nymph, he appeared far too young to have trained with Zolyn," Imani said through gritted teeth.
Fen's voice dropped lower when he moved to stand over Imani. "Maybe we could go somewhere quieter and more private? These questions might be sensitive to your sweet sister here." Fen rubbed her arm in a sad attempt to comfort her. His expression conveyed genuine concern, but the evident desire in his eyes, even just a day after her grandmother died, lingered within.
Disgusted, it took everything in her to compose a measured response. "Thank you, Fen. I understand you're merely doing your job." She paused to hold his hand tighter. Then, in a desperate attempt to buy some time, she added in a faint whisper, "Why don't you have a look around the shop, and I'll meet you upstairs."
His eyebrows shot to his hairline as he caught Imani's meaning. He nodded and squeezed her hand back.
"Take your time."
Spinning on her heel, she walked in measured steps to hide the tension growing taut inside her. A clawing desire to find the book Malis had mentioned started possessing her. Imani didn't understand why she felt the urge to protect it, but she listened to her instincts.
She sped out of ear and eyesight to unlock their door and dashed into Ara's old room. Tearing open the chest by the bed, she began rifling through it. She'd read everything in here a thousand times, even after Ara demanded she "stop wasting time reading about the magic you'll never perform."
Parchment, jars, and maps were stuffed inside with no reasonable organization. It was a mess since the constable's men had searched it poorly last week. They didn't even think to call a master and use magic.
Idiots.
Flicking Ara's wand, she murmured a spell to break the wards on the three secret compartments. They clicked open with a puff of dust, revealing deep cavernous cubby holes, all spelled to hold ten times more than the trunk alone.
Grabbing a thick folder, she sat crossed-legged on the floor. As she flipped the frayed, yellowed paper, she found they held nothing but scribbles of irrelevant business transactions and familiar notes for spells and other magic she'd seen before.
But then, she came across documents she'd never read in the middle of the stack.
Filled with illicit drawings of mysterious breeds, including elves and shifters, and lists of atrophic magic, this was the most information she'd ever seen on Niflheim's people and the place itself.
Gods, Aralana had been obsessed with the southern kingdom.
Sorting through the rest of the items in the trunk, she found a mass of crinkled papers with notes written in a tight script at the bottom. It was Ara's handwriting. She'd drawn thick circles around the words Royal Vaults and South Chamber; the rest had faded too much.
Two books on wandlore were also well obscured in the back of the cubby hole, but why? No one would question Ara for owning books on wands. Norn elves were the only kind with wandlore magic, and Ara was practically half-elven with her tether and her children and grandchildren all being high-bred Norn.
A wrinkle appeared between Imani's eyes as she flipped through the pages. Everything was about wands; all the texts should have mentioned Draswoods, but none did.
Shutting the book, she let it rest on her lap for a moment, thinking. Why was Ara so interested in weaker wood alternatives?
Laughter from the hall made her jump. Meira murmured, and Fen chuckled—she had only another minute or so before they came inside. What was Meira doing with Fen? She was supposed to be managing the shop not flirting, especially when Imani implied Fen should come alone. If she couldn't distract him with sex, then they might be in trouble.
Imani gritted her teeth at the annoyance while still shoving things out of sight. But a final map caught her eye as she was about to cast the spell and lock the trunk. Rolled and tied with a distinct red leather string and in far better condition than the others, it stood out.
Inside, she found the most detailed map of the Niflheim Kingdom she'd ever seen, along with dozens of other mysterious pieces of information, almost all about the magic and people south of the Riverlands.
She found it strangely beautiful. What would she encounter if she crossed the river into Niflheim? A mountain range dominated part of Niflheim's southern border, so large she wasn't sure if anything was beyond it: lakes, forests and large swaths of unmarked lands.
Handwritten notes were scrawled at the bottom of the map, pointing to various areas. Imani squinted, trying to make out the words.
One jumped out at her repeatedly—Drasil.
Her scalp prickled.
A picture started forming in her head.
When Imani watched Ara coming home muttering and smelling like intense magic for all those months, it seemed like Aralana was going mad. But the more Imani turned the details over, the more likely it was that Aralana hadn't been going crazy at all. Imani had to reluctantly admit she might have been working on something dangerous but incredible.
Imani set the map aside with a shaky hand and laid it on the others. Then, with a quick swipe of her wand, she cast an invisibility illusion over the chest and hurried out of the room, her mind reeling.
For hundreds of years, the experts agreed all they could do was slow the Fabric's destruction. But what had once given magic life would eventually destroy itself. The Fabric would be no more, and so would magic. Reversing it was impossible.
Except Aralana might have been close to finding a way.