Mere hours later, Imani stood outside with the others for the second Assessment. A biting cold wind from the Neshuin sea whipped through the courtyard where they stood, waiting for the princes.
Black veins pulsed up her hands and arms when she left her chambers earlier. It worried her how much her atrophic magic was pushing for freedom. Not even Kiran could break that illusion—it was the strongest of the many she'd cast that night. The spell had its limits, though.
It seemed Master Selhey's execution had done what Ara's hadn't—anger and grief feverishly pumped through her. Yet, despite an additional illusion spell cast on top of the flesh magic glamour, she still stood in the frigid gardens clenching and unclenching her fists, trying to keep her signature as contained as possible.
Indeed, she felt like a tinder box ready to ignite. Whispers flicked her ears back and forth, and her magic purred under her skin.
Unlike everyone else, she knew what was about to happen.
Everyone hushed and parted as the Niflheim royals strode into the crowd. Their advisors and master witches trailed close behind, ascending the viewing platform. The nymph witch was with them.
Imani bristled at their relaxed demeanors and luxurious setup. All of them were planning to watch this Assessment like bloody entertainment. Too many innocent Essenheim master witches had died in the past few days—weakening their kingdom further—and she was fresh out of patience for the slaughter of her fellow magic wielders.
Saevel laughed at something Kiran said—who smiled in return. The sight made her practically gag. Sweat covered her back as she forced herself to watch their every move.
The princes strode up to address those gathered.
More massive than any other male, Saevel didn't hide one inch of himself. Like his shifted beast form, the Niflheim's Heir's presence overpowered everything around him. Yet, his expressive green eyes continued to hold intelligence that hinted at a far more complex man than just some animal.
Unlike his brother, Kiran hid so well.
In the usual black, his jacket was pressed to perfection, hinting at the lean yet strong body beneath and how it fit his muscular shoulders. Holding his wand at his side, the younger prince appeared unassuming as he lazily scanned the crowd.
Everything about Kiran felt wrong. He'd easily be the most fearsome yet exquisite creature anywhere he went if not for the illusion he constantly wore to give the impression of mediocrity—disguising a menace she didn't understand.
"The first Assessment tested your willingness to obey execution orders without question," Saevel announced. "The second will test your ability to fight for us in battle. Today, we'll see your ability to survive in the chaos while proving your loyalty to your new kingdom by killing your brethren."
His words hung in the air, cold and final, with a heavy silence falling. People shifted their feet and glanced around, wondering who was living their last hours in this world.
"Well, well, well. No objections?" Kiran taunted with a dazzling grin. But his mismatched eyes held a haunted viciousness that spoke of imbalance. They pierced through everyone, wild as he stared head-on, daring anyone to look back.
He didn't look at her, but Imani didn't shy away. Instead, she stared right back, wondering what precisely the endless black depths in them housed.
A troubling sensation lit up inside her again. Barely there, she felt it gently pulsing deep inside her. A desire that wouldn't go – a constant yearning that skittered below her skin. She pushed it away, determined to resist any thrall Kiran attempted to put on her.
Not waiting for a response before jumping off the platform, he prowled forward into them, intent on gleeful harassment.
"Any noble objections? Does anyone want to die for their kingdom before we get started? Speak up. I feel like killing someone," he shouted with dark laughter, bounding further into the crowd. Barely breathing, the witches just watched. He pointed at a slender nymph. "You? Hmm?" She trembled under his gaze, whimpering. He rolled his eyes. "No? Fine, you'll be dead two minutes after we start anyways."
He was probably right. But Imani wanted to punch him.
Lunging in a blur towards an older shifter, Kiran got in his face, making the man flinch. He bared his teeth, a few still slightly longer than others—fangs she knew only got longer and sharper. "How about you?" Tilting his head to assess the shifter, Kiran barely waited a minute before grabbing another man by the shoulder, roughly throwing him to the ground with a manic look.
Laughing to himself, he pointed his wand at the man's chest. "You?" The man on the ground shut his eyes in fear.
"I might kill you now for being such a pathetic coward." He cast some spell that made the man writhe on the ground, then quickly moved into leer at more people.
He was more unhinged than she'd seen before, terrorizing people at random. He corned another two witches, tossing one to the ground. Everyone looked away.
"Anyone? Is anyone brave enough to take me? Come on!" Spreading his arms wide and smiling, he waited.
None came. But Imani was highly close to volunteering. Indeed, she was practically trembling now with a commanding urge to strip him down to his bones and destroy that sneer on his face.
Now that they were acquainted, she could feel beneath Kiran's glamour, and some sick part of her wanted to tug at the layers of magic coating him.
Before she could stop, her veins darkened further. She didn't move an inch, but the entirety of her magic signature briefly rattled its prison to flare out at Kiran in response to his call—his threat.
In the deathly quiet, heads snapped to her immediately—including Kiran's.
Tilting his head, Kiran let her see his sharp teeth. A strange, purr-like growling rumbled from his chest, and she knew then that he would have relished it if she tried to break him.
Shocked by her loss of control, she knew what he was doing. The prince purposely pulled on her magic to create a scene. At that time, Imani knew without a doubt that Kiran could manipulate magic signatures.
A furious noise escaped her throat, wordlessly expressing her displeasure at his audacity.
He grinned, absolutely delighted. Terror ran up her spine, but her heart dropped seeing his perfect smile.
What am I doing? Her thoughts and heart raced. This male elf possessed a lethal power that promised death—and she would not be dying today if she could help it.
Eyes wide and embarrassment flickering over her skin, she tore every bit of her magic back inside with surprising strength before bowing her head in submission. All the veins had cleared, and she prayed it would stay that way—and the prince would shove off.
Today was not the day she'd lose control.
Kiran's chuckling broke the tension like an incoming storm. He braced his hands on his knees, laughing like a man possessed. "Great news, brother." He stood while clapping his hands at the witches. "Any noble or stupid Essenheim witches are dead—or will be soon. The rest are exactly like us," he shouted, sweeping his wand wide above his head.
A burst of Kiran's magic spread across the visible sky. Then, effortlessly like breathing, he cast forth massive vast swaths of invisible wards, all with a smirk.
Like the first Assessment, the wards were jaw-dropping in their strength. Kiran's shields wove and melded together, rippling the air. Finally, they thundered in her chest as the spell locked everyone in his mighty, impenetrable fortress again.
He made his way back to his brother, cackling to himself.
People gave him a wide berth, averting their eyes when he walked past. All noise ceased. Unease coiled tighter inside her when she didn't even hear the damn birds chirping. The Prince of Snakes had made his point—all rebellion had squashed, and those who remained would either be too weak to live or pragmatic enough to serve the Niflheim Kingdom.
Moments later, the sun dipped below the horizon. The mood amongst the Essenheim witches changed from tense to downright unbearable.
All manner of nymphs, shifters and pixies stood around her, and the two male Norn elves were still alive. Most of the remaining witches were probably far more adaptable to physical magic than her, but she'd been putting a strategy together the past day.
Melees, as an Assessment, were nothing more than a barbaric blood bath, in her opinion. Like executions, combat or other tests featuring death and brutality, their Order had stopped using melees hundreds of years ago. People still died during Ascension Assessments, but it had become far less common. Or so she assumed.
Both princes stood next to each other at the front. Saevel raised his hands. "It's time."
He paused for effect, then added, "My brother tells me that only the most cowardly or savage witches of this kingdom remain."
Seemingly from thin air, Kiran instantly flipped out his wand again, playing with it in his hand before pointing it threatening at them all, a serpentine smile spreading across his face. "Indeed, brother, and by the end, we'll only go home with the savages."
"Good," the Niflheim Heir boomed. "Now, a reminder of the rules. There are two hundred of you; the melee ends when a hundred are dead. So, everyone must kill at least once."
"No exceptions," said Kiran, "or you'll be executed."
Lifting her chin, Imani eyes took in the stars, the Fabric's dancing lights, and the torches' amber glow lighting the courtyard.
Saevel signaled the start, his roar reverberating through the dome of Kiran's protective spells. Before she could drop into a fighting stance, the elf raised his wand.
Fire shot down the middle of the courtyard.