They stood in the shop an hour later.
Imani's distraction worked too well—Fen barely searched their home. The constable shuffled his feet, seeming to debate his following words. He cleared his throat. "Before I leave, there's something else you should know."
"Get to the point then. We have work to do today," Imani snapped, her patience gone.
"Larger towns at the edge of the Riverlands reported an increased presence of security forces, and I feel compelled to warn you," Fen started, a deepening grimness sweeping over his features. "Queen Dialora accused the Royal Order of Magic, including the First Witch, of letting witches go unchecked for too long, which is likely true. However, the Order accounted for all its master witches yesterday, so we can't deny the event came from a potential master who doesn't answer to anyone."
Imani's heart hammered. "But that could be any witch with five markings. How can they expect to control all potential masters?" There weren't that many masters remaining. But in a kingdom of millions, there were enough that this would be a problem for the Crown.
"Well, there are rumors about a new law requiring anyone registered with at least five markings to take the Assessments. Anyone who passes would work an indeterminate amount of time for the Order."
Hand to her throat, Meira seemed unable to speak.
Imani clutched the counter. "Assessments kill people. They can't force us to go to our deaths."
Since creating the Ordinances, only the Royal Order of Magic could facilitate a witch earning a master brand. Outside of accidental ascension, any witch caught wielding a master brand would lose their license to practice magic and would probably end up in jail—or, these days, worse.
Such an accomplishment took more than practice and hard work—it took sacrifice. A board of master and archmage witches at the Order created and administered three demanding assessments once a year.
The Assessments didn't just test witches—they pushed them to the very limit of survival with dangerous challenges of magical abilities, all intense enough to trigger the Fabric master brand.
"They can, and they will," he replied as he moved to leave. "I wanted you to know because it's well-known that your family wields magic."
How much magic someone had was their business, though. Most of the town assumed Imani had just as much as her sister and grandmother, and they didn't correct anyone.
Fen continued. "But, of course, whether you have five brands is not my business. But if you do," he paused, backing up to the door. Tension in the air thickened, and his eyes looked apologetic. "If you do, they are coming for you."
The bell jingled as he left, sounding far too cheerful for the mood.
- - -
Both stayed silent for a long time after Fen left.
The selfish, opportunistic part of her desperately wanted to let her sister go. She wanted to be saved for once and let someone take away her role as the mediocre head of a family barely holding it together. She wanted to stay and grow the magic business she had worked so hard for all these years.
Her sister's sobs cut through the silence. Then, finally, Meira's head dropped into her hands. "Imani, I can't go. I can't."
The fear in Meira's words broke her heart. By nature, only the strongest witches survived to become masters. It's what set them apart. If her sister took the Ascension Assessments, she would die—and
Imani couldn't let that happen.
The Aowyn children had never traveled to Stralas, the massive capital city of their kingdom. She'd heard it towered over the Neshuin Sea, tall and imposing on the cliffs of a long peninsula. It was more than a week's journey; it could be entirely another realm. The Royal Order of Magic mingled with the court and lived on the palace grounds.
She wrapped her sister in a hug, and Meira's tears soaked into Imani's dress while her slender shoulders shook. Pricks of moisture burned her own eyes as Imani despaired, thinking about what would happen to the business with her gone. Everything the Aowyns had worked for would be dismantled.
But losing Meira was even worse. There wasn't a choice.
A semblance of a plan formed while her sister cried—one that would send Imani to Stralas, not Meira.
Even in her head, it sounded insane.
They didn't have much time to pull it off, either. Everywhere in the Riverlands took three days by carriage, two by horseback. So, they could come for Meira tomorrow.
Wiping her eyes, Meira watched as Imani started pacing. "You have an idea, sister," she sniffed, cheeks splotchy and gray from sadness and fear, tears still wetting her long lashes. "I can tell."
"I might." Imani bit her lip, then started rambling. "No one here knows the exact details of our brands—only suspicion based on what we sell. I'm probably not registered. Otherwise, I'd have gotten at least one visit by a recruiter like you and Ara have over the years. So, the people here in the Riverlands won't know they came for you specifically, just that they came for one of us."
Meira's bottom lip continued to quiver. "I hate the idea of separating."
"I hate it, too," Imani whispered. "The last thing I want to do is leave you both." Imani was surprised at the truth in her words. Leaving Meira and Dak behind scared her. What choice did they have, though?
'We can ask them to spare me when they come."
"Begging won't work because they will take you anyways. The Order and the Crown are serious if Fen came to warn us." Imani stroked her sister's hair back from her face. Then, after a moment, she continued. "When I said separate, I meant you would stay here and care for Dak and the shop. And I would go to the capital and take your Assessments."
Her sister gave her a curious look. "But how will we make ends meet?"
"Witches preparing for their Assessments are still technically members of the Royal Order—and they're entitled to a stipend. So, you can still work at the tavern and keep the shop. It should be enough to supplement the lost income from the magic."
With the magic business as leverage in the bargain with Asim, they could get compensation and had a real chance to pull this off. But, if everything went to plan and he held up his end, they'd lose everything.
Imani felt sick. No more magic. Everything their family had worked for would be gone.
But they didn't have another way. Although harsh, parts of the Ascension Assessment required more than magic skills. Skills Meira didn't have.
Meira sniffed. "I have a different brand than you, though; they have records of all five of my markings."
"We are going to transfer your divination magic to me." And secretly bind Imani's pesky red rune and all the volatile magic that came with it. Not forever, but at least long enough to trust herself more around its unpredictability.
Her sister swallowed hard, worry lining her face. "Is that even possible?"
"I think so," Imani said. "I read about it in a book years ago. But sometimes the transfer doesn't work if the breeds are too different and physically variable." Imani tried to look confident and took her sister's hand.
"But we'll be fine—we're sisters. We look so similar, that with your exact magic, I could easily pretend that I'm you when I'm in Stralas."
"What type of magic can do that?" Meira's voice sounded surprisingly calm.
Imani paused before answering. Technically, flesh magic didn't fall under any ability. "It's alteration," she murmured, not wanting to detail too many specifics.
"I only remember a few things about brands I don't possess. What is that? Like an illusion?"
Truly, Meira wouldn't survive two hours with the Order.
"No, illusion magic simply masks the physical. It's not like enchantment either, which affects how something behaves. We will be permanently changing a physical part of the world. The magic in your body and mine. You'll be losing your magic entirely and transferring it to me."
It was dark, dangerous magic, and the spell would get them burned like Ara if caught.
Her sister braced herself on the chair and looked into Imani's eyes. A deep fear shone back at her. "Let's do it," she whispered. "Let's transfer it to you as soon as possible."
Nodding, Imani squeezed her sister's hand. "I won't lie—this magic is difficult. You and I will need help; the only person who might agree is another witch a few hours from here."
That was a lie. When Asim, the other nearby coven leader, learned what Imani was willing to pay, he would agree in a second.
"Then we'll leave tonight," agreed Meira.
Pride bloomed in Imani's chest at her sister's bravery and trust, and she clenched her fist, silently promising not to kill them both.
They closed the shop early. Time was of the essence if they were to reach Asim in the marsh towns in time and explain what they wanted—and what he would get in return.