Sweat covered her palms at the conversation ahead, but she wanted to get this over to assuage the master witch's suspicion.
Downstairs, through winding corridors with soft, sumptuous black carpet, Imani allowed herself to look around the atrium. Her head tilted back as she gazed at the gleaming, glass-painted windows.
She knew her glamour wasn't hiding her anymore—Esa made it clear all it did was dull the intensity and made her feeding draw tolerable. Those were her choices; everyone should be allowed control over their appearances, deciding what people saw and when without others being suspicious.
Groups of courtiers milled around, stealing glances while maids, laundresses and other staff openly watched, too. Watched her. Their eyes fell on her sharp pointed ears and sapphire velvet, form-fitting dress.
Despite all her efforts to fade into the background, Imani was a curiosity.
Even fixing her gaze straight ahead, she couldn't help but see the muted colors that appeared to be the court's fashion this winter. Women wore boxy-shaped dresses, all in some drab shade. Unfortunately, both made elves look like corpses with their pale complexions. Unlike the shapeless fashion the courtiers wore, her dress cut a bright slash through the crowds and hugged every curve down her body.
The intelligent thing to do was to toss out all the dresses and glamour her face more to blend in. But she couldn't even think about doing such a thing. So instead, she held her head high with every right to be here. Meira was a registered high bred Norn elf, and Imani would wear her sister's clothes no matter how much they stared.
Trying to ignore the looks, Imani focused on the luxury around her. Everything they passed appeared gilded in gold or marble, and she gaped at the paintings, vases, rugs and ornate scones lighting the vast hallways.
The leering looks finally thinned when they moved up a winding, carpeted staircase.
Everything in this wing looked less polished than the rest of the palace. The carpets frayed in some places, less decor hung on the walls, and paint peeled in various corners. Its remote location in the court seemed odd as well. It was as if the Crown tried to shove the distinguished Royal Order of Magic into the attic and forget about them.
In a long hallway, the servant took her to the one lone door and opened it. She stepped past him and found herself in a large open room, watching two men engaged in a rather intense but clearly friendly dual.
Furniture sat piled off to the side. Looking over the garden, half a dozen tall windows lined the outer wall. One man, a broad-shouldered pixie, shot some enchantment that slammed the other man into the wall. The pixie's sleeves were almost in ribbons, and he had a massive slice down the front with a big gash visible down his lean abdomen.
Her back stiffened in surprise as the other, a nymph with short dark blonde hair, sent one of the chairs across the room and smashed it into his companion. Unlike the pix, the nymph had somehow lost his shirt, and sweat glistened on every inch of his golden skin while he braced his hands on his knees, panting.
Suddenly, both snapped their gazes toward her.
Imani hoped her face conveyed blank annoyance. Despite her hammering heart, she slowly held the paper between two fingers. "I was summoned here. Likely by the master who arrived yesterday with the new witches. Have you seen him?"
"Lady Aowyn," the shirtless one greeted her with a lazy smile.
She crossed her arms, about to unleash a snarky comment about him putting a shirt on. But she held her tongue. Meira wouldn't say anything so crass.
The nymph ran a hand through his messy hair. Then, grabbing a shirt, he didn't make a move to put it on, instead motioning for his friend to leave before giving her a once-over.
Whoever his identity, he held a position of power because the pixie gave him a curt nod and immediately left.
Imani decided to drop her confrontational mask. When she met his discerning gaze, recognition shot through her.
The master witch from their journey strode over, slipping the shirt on. Gray eyes loomed down at her. He had shaved and cut his hair, and outside of his robes—without a shirt—well, he looked vastly different. So young, more relaxed.
"You have questions for me." Imani's voice sounded quiet and formal.
"Indeed. I reported to my colleagues that you're glamouring yourself constantly."
"Is there some rule against it? I'm not trying to hide. Just blend in."
"No, there's not a rule against it. But it's uncommon" Tanyl said, his white teeth catching at his lower lip in the prelude to a grin. For a moment, he looked heart-stoppingly boyish, then his smile faded. "Most people don't bother. It's generally seen in poor taste when someone tries to make themselves more attractive using tricks that most of us see through."
Her glamour had never been a matter of vanity—Imani had none. It was a waste of time and none of her concern. She hid before to hide herself and hid her markings now because they revealed a weakness Imani didn't want anyone to know.
"I'm not trying to make myself more attractive."
His eyes sparkled in amusement. "I told them that as well."
She stood her ground. "So, how about those questions, hmm? I don't want to be here all day."
"Why is a high bred female Norn living so far away from the Draswood?"
He had more questions but clamped them down to give her a chance to respond.
"Not that it's any of your business, but my parents were killed in a Fabric event when I was a child."
Images from that day flashed in her eyes. Black, burning rain had poured from spliced pockets of the world as if two realms were smashing together, fighting to exist in the same plane. The ground disappeared underneath them, gravity and time seemed to shift as the world tilted, and her parent's bodies had been caught between the two, effectively breaking them into pieces.
Parts were strewn here in this realm, while others presumably went... elsewhere.
Imani wouldn't forget the sight for the rest of her life. She cleared her throat. "My grandmother raised me."
"The witch who was recently executed for treason?"
It sounded like a question, but it wasn't. Did this witch suspect Imani practiced the same illegal magic? She almost laughed. After what she and Meira did with Asim, Imani practiced worse.
Her eyes darted around the room, confirming they were alone. Then because the nymph was powerful and already sensed the glamour, she loosed the illusion more than she ever had for most people.
The curtain lifted, and she turned back to him. "People are uncomfortable when they see me, High Norn or not."
Blinking a few times, he moved closer. "How did you get that mark?"
Nobody outside her family and heartmate had seen the scarring before, but she expected this response and let the lie slip out. "Birthmark."
In truth, she wasn't born with the black veins and scarred skin that disfigured half her face now. Yet no one knew where she'd gotten it or why. Instead, it appeared slowly, growing over the years until she came of age, stopping around when her marks were supposed to appear.
As a young child, Imani disobeyed her family, often escaping to play in the Draswood alone. Children commonly roamed and explored around the city's edges, but inside the forest could be dangerous even for elves. All the plants and creatures possessed magic. Ara said that everyone's best guess was that Imani encountered something there. But Imani's parents glamoured it and never said a word.
He swallowed, looking more uneasy. "You don't need to hide it from me."
She wanted to roll her eyes as she walked to the window. "You looked into my background." But, instead, she folded her arms, tossing a look at him over her shoulder. "You should know I'm not like my grandmother, and if I'm being honest, I'm glad she's dead. We never really got on."
His brows went up a little at that statement.
She forced her expression to soften. "Please," she whispered, imploring the nymph. "I don't have a tether. I'm a female witch alone here. I can't hide entirely but let me blend in more. I haven't been seen unglamoured by so many people since I was a child—and even then, they were all Norn elves. Do you know any wood elves, master?"
"At least one," a voice sounded from the doorway. Discerning blue eyes stared back at Imani.
The first male Norn elf she'd seen in years looked like her father—or what she imagined he'd look like if he were still alive.
Silver hair, although shorter, was the same as she remembered, and the elf's complexion appeared older but shone with a similar luminosity. It gave the master witch an iridescent magic signature. She guessed he was around his mid-life for an Elf. Which meant he could be hundreds of years old in standard years.
For some reason, she immediately liked him.
"Lady Aowyn, I must admit I was so very pleased to hear about your arrival. Training a young Norn witch to join the Order is a thrill I haven't experienced in decades." He strode forward and without touching her, greeted her in a formal elven fashion she hadn't seen since childhood—two fingers on the forehead and a deep bow. She stumbled through her response but was too surprised to say anything.
"Meira, meet Master Selhey, the only High Norn master witch to serve here in Stralas."