Dom nodded, created a matching covering above himself, and jogged toward Daedeth Quarter. “I’ll see you tomorrow in the Menage,” he yelled back before turning out of sight.

  Chapter four

  Dominick

  He needed a drink. Stronger than the brew at Mystic’s, something that would burn, make his mind pleasantly numb, and put him into all sorts of trouble. Dominick needed it because Sera was lying.

  Rain pelted the green covering that surrounded him. His and the one he kept in place above Sera. He could sense where she was, turning onto her street now, all the way in dirty Jedan. Dominick understood why she chose to reside there and commended the help she was giving. But when would she start living for herself?

  A strain on his magic had his skin heating, and Dom let the covering above his head fall away, focusing squarely on hers, making sure it stayed put until she reached her door. That single room with a tiny fireplace and bed, the bathing chamber shared with the rest of the tenants, in one of the only boardinghouses in the quarter. Shadow, she could be living so much better.

  Fat droplets of water ran down his cheeks. He didn’t mind the rain, not today at least. The news he’d received from his brother had been concerning, and this incessant drizzle matched his mindset. Add in the fact that it was now dark, and the clouds had fully shrouded the moons Nitheon and Nubenia in the sky… Well, at least he knew fate had a sense of humor.

  The letter he had received seemed rushed, and although Colton wasn’t the most elegant with his writing, his penmanship had a tilt to it. They were moving outside of Valburn, and the question was… why?

  The Solarni coven had been at war with Gehenna for two thousand years, and in a ceasefire for only twenty. Dominick had been five when everything went from worried brows to genuine smiles. Colton had seen more, though. Four years older, he understood more, too, and Dom still remembered that determined look on Colton’s face when he decided he’d present his magic in a way that would guarantee placement in the Legion. He and Alistair had practiced for what seemed like years. It was no surprise they both quickly moved up through the ranks.

  There was nothing he could do for Colton, regardless of his opinions on the Council and how their coven was run. Dominick was an oracle. Not a general, not a Council member. His voice wasn’t enough to enact any type of change. Moons, he’d been trying to get switched out of his pool for months now and still couldn’t convince the master to let him.

  No, there was nothing he could do for his brother; Sera, however, he could do something about. Shadow, the bags under her eyes. Her twitches. The way she’d stare off into space. Her usually vibrant brown skin would pale during those episodes. She was fucking lying about something, and he didn’t know what to do about it, because the more he pressed… the more she pulled away.

  They hadn’t hung out nearly as much in the past three months, and that wasn’t like them. He and Sera had been inseparable from the time they were young. Sitting together in their classes while they were novices, running the streets of Daedeth, constantly getting into mischief.

  Dominick sighed and shook out his shoulders. He pushed his hair back in one sweep and approached the only acceptable tavern in this part of the Citadel.

  Mage lights hovered below the ceiling and lined the walls, casting a warm glow throughout the space. The brew at Mystic’s hadn’t been nearly enough, and as he scanned the room, his eyes roaming over the iron chairs and posh tables decorated with golden candelabras, he found what he was looking for.

  Or whom.

  A glass full of brown liquor was already sitting on the bar beside the handsome warlock. Sam had ordered for Dom, it seemed. Impatient to get on with it, was he?

  Dominick threw on his most flirtatious grin and strode forward.

  “Shadow, you’re soaked. What, were you hanging out with that keeper again?” Sam handed him his drink.

  Dominick slammed back the whiskey and motioned for another to take its place. He supposed he could explain himself, but what would be the point? Truly, few people in the coven understood his relationship with Sera. He didn’t care that she was below him in the eyes of the coven. Sera was his. Not in any physical sense, but their lonely souls had found each other, and that was enough for him.

  Dom had a feeling he would be holding on to Sam for only a few more nights anyway. The warlock was getting clingy and, to be honest, too comfortable. He’d left one of his red guardian robes just lying across his bed last week. No. It wasn’t going to work, but it’d be enough for tonight. Sam would help keep his worries buried.

  Dom lowered his voice. “You know, the last time we were together, you used some very colorful language when I stepped out of the tub. I just figured you had a thing for me being wet.” He took a large gulp of the second drink, happy for the burn all the way down to his gullet.

  Sam leaned an elbow on the bar, his brown eyes heavy lidded and his smile easy. “You want to get out of here?”

  “Thought you’d never ask.”

  Chapter five

  Seraphina

  The two and a half cups of herbal tea should have calmed her. She’d cut it this morning with some of her sleeping elixir, but her palms still stung as she passed under the massive amphitheater’s entrance.

  The Menage was the most impressive structure within the Citadel walls. Five stories high, showcasing arches that mirrored the architecture throughout the fortress city.

  Along the archways on the upper levels were balconies and designated boxes for the Daedeth-class families. As a witchling, Sera had marveled at the structure’s acoustics and ability to seat so many. How the crowd cheered at events. And, of course, the view.

  It struck her then that she would never see the Menage from that height ever again; she would be confined to the lower levels. Over the past four years, Sera had avoided coming here, no matter the event, due to the terrible memories of her failure at her own trial. Now, as she took in the earthen arena and peered up at the boxes for the Daedeth members, an overwhelming sense of sorrow came over her.

  Her mother had great accommodations above, but she had agreed to sit with Sera so she could see Nora better. Sera didn’t remember where her mother sat on her trial date, only that it had been surprisingly close to the arena floor. What was now entirely too vivid was the smell of the same dirt field, the constant shaking of her hands, and the memory of her sweat-soaked robes.

  The crowd seemed to echo her unease. They aimed whispers and sideways glances at the novices and their family and friends who were hoping for a high placement. The anxious cloud could almost be cut, and none of it was helping her keep her abomination contained.

  It had thrashed and raged inside her the past twenty-four hours. She’d barely gotten any sleep. When the healers’ quarters opened, she had been relieved—not only for the family in Jedan, but also for the extra batch of elixirs she picked up.

  “I’m only staying until your mother gets here.” Dominick’s robes billowed with dramatic flair around him as he flopped onto the bench beside her. “Then I’m joining the other oracles.”

  “Wish I could say the same,” Sera said, rolling her shoulders and relaxing a touch.

  Dominick pointed to the novices standing in a line along the arena’s dirt floor. “How many do you think will place in the Legion?”

  It didn’t surprise her that he was concerned, considering their conversation last night. Colton’s movements were bizarre, and worse, upsetting to Dominick. “I’d guess no more than any other year.”

  She couldn’t read the expression on Dom’s face as he gazed over the crowd, but she settled her head on his shoulder. Dominick always smelled like rain to her. It must have been from the water in the Ogdelo pools, but anytime there was moisture in the air, it reminded her of Dominick.

  A long desk had been erected at the viewing level. Behind it were two thrones. Typically, three or four Council members assigned the novice placements. Only two was unusual.

  Sera spotted Chair Blackwell conversing with some Daedeth members near a side entrance. Blackwell had been at her trial four years ago, in the same outfit—red robes that reached the ground and a black bongrace atop his balding head. What hair he had left ringed his skull from ear to ear, cut down to a stubble.

  She remembered the way he’d frowned at her presentation. How Chair Briar had looked genuinely shocked, and Chair Renata had searched the crowd for her mother, looking for some sort of explanation. How could one of Lavinia Wildrick’s daughters have such little power?

  Sera’s stomach churned, and she took a deep breath.

  “He looks ridiculous, doesn’t he?” Dom whispered. “That stupid hat and those robes. You’d think he’s getting ready to pose for a statue to be placed in the Council chambers.”

  The corner of her mouth ticked upward. “Dom, you wear full-length robes every day.”

  “True, but at least you gave me a little smile,” he said, bumping his shoulder into hers.

  “I don’t deserve you.” She didn’t, not really. Not after all her secrets, the lies, and the horrors she’d committed, whether consciously or not. Sera leaned into him while pressing her thumbnail hard into her palm, biting deep.

  “I said I would stay until Lavinia arrived, but…”

  Sera turned to see the same handsome warlock from yesterday waving at Dom.

  “Just go. I’ll see you later. Make sure you bring my winnings,” she said as Dominick turned to leave.

  Sera looked for her sister in a sea of white robes. Her eyes settled on Chair Thorne, speaking with a few of the younger novices.

  Thorne’s red hair was cropped just below her chin. A streak of white sprouted from her forehead and swept effortlessly behind her ear. Amethyst robes framed the plain floor-length black dress she wore underneath.

  Sera always thought Thorne looked more pleasant than the other chairs. She smiled freely and often, revealing the apples of her cheeks. They were dashed with just the right amount of cosmetics to set her pale skin aglow beneath her freckles.

  It was good that Thorne was there to view Nora’s presentation. The former mistress of arcane was loyal to her old occupation, and Nora was the best this year had to offer.

  “Sera,” her sister called to her, bounding up the steps. “Where’s Mama?” Nora had pulled her hair back into a high puff, making her eyes as sharp as glass.

  “I haven’t seen her come in yet. Is Artemis ready?” Sera smoothed out the creases pressed into the white satin fabric of her sister’s outer robes.

  “He’s in his office. Mama threatened to walk through the portal herself and hunt him down if he wasn’t visible for the entire Menage to see.” Nora giggled.

  “Well, I wouldn’t put it past her.” Sera couldn’t remember the last time she’d giggled unironically. Even before her disastrous trial day, her mother had kept a tight rein on her. “Speaking of which, she just got here.”

  Lavinia Wildrick descended the stairs toward her daughters, oozing grace, stone faced and regal in her black mastria’s robes. Today her mother wore her braids down instead of having tied them up like she usually did. The ends almost reached her elbows, and every few had a charm or a bead attached. There was intention in her steps toward her daughters, but when she saw Nora, her poise cracked into a radiant smile that reached her eyes.

  “Darling, I am so proud of you.” Lavinia reached for Nora, pulling her into a tight embrace. “And what a blessing from Shadow it is to have Chair Thorne here.”

  “Thank you, Mama. I couldn’t have done it without you or Seraphina.” Unshed tears lined Nora’s eyes.

  Sera’s stomach hollowed out from the display of gratitude. Nora’s kind heart had always tried to repair the damage between Sera and her mother. But this hurt was buried too deep. It would take more than a few tender moments to fix. Lavinia broke the moment by touching Nora’s cheek.

  Sera clenched her teeth and stared at the ground. Darkness snapped inside her. No matter how many times she told herself that Lavinia’s approval didn’t matter, the stinging viper of jealousy reared its head. The events, the time her mother and Nora had spent together training. The mother-daughter outings that Sera was never invited to. Moons, why wasn’t she numb by now? This wasn’t going to go away. Especially with Nora assigned to Daedeth.

  Lavinia hugged Nora again. “All right, my love. Go down and take your place. Your sister and I will be right here watching.”

  As Nora left to take her spot in line with the others, Lavinia’s face morphed back to stone.

  “Your memories, Seraphina. I was able to slip in much too easily.”

  Shit.

  “Yes, Mother.” Sera reinforced the barrier in her mind as Chair Blackwell walked to the podium.

  “Witches and warlocks gathered here today”—Blackwell’s voice was amplified to every corner of the arena—“we view and celebrate the annual novice trials.” The crowd cheered. Sera kept the wall around her mind reinforced and clapped her hands. “Every trial date, I am reminded of the responsibility of practicing magic and what a gift the coven founders gave us when they rebelled against the demon king so long ago. How our life above ground is the way the Solarni coven was meant to live.

  “You have honed your skills and developed your magic through your studies, and soon, you will emerge as a valuable member of the coven.”

  Valuable. The word made Sera shift in her seat. What was the value of a witch or warlock to its coven? Every member of the Jedan class would be forced into a life of servitude, their occupations nothing more than cleaning and cooking for the upper classes. Dobro held the healers and, like her, the keepers—the holders of history. The Daedeth class, with their four occupations—mastrias, guardians, arcana, and oracles—played with magic, pushing it to its limits. Then there was the Legion, who followed its own brutal hierarchy.

  “But let us not forget,” Blackwell continued, “magic is a responsibility. As you enter the coven as adults, you must wield your abilities with wisdom, compassion, and integrity. May your incantations be true, and may Shadow watch over your souls.” Blackwell held his palm to the sky and sent a kernel of magic to the goddess.

  The trials began with a young warlock, short and riddled with acne, initiating what Sera thought was supposed to be an illusion. Blue light snapped tight between his hands. The warlock struggled, twisting his wrists and reciting his incantation over and over. With a burst that looked like a lightning strike, the energy was gone.

  “Legion,” Blackwell yelled.

  The warlock’s shoulders sank low, his head hung. Sera’s chest grew tighter.

  Her mother crossed her legs beside her, and Sera could feel her trying to claw into her mind. She ignored the rattling in her chest and worked to reinforce that wall. This was a test, and she wouldn’t fail this time.

  A tall witch with rosy cheeks and strawberry gold hair walked forward and took her place before the Council members. An almost perfect replica of the witch stood beside her, showcasing an ideal example of echo projection. Impressive, truly. Even her mother clapped at that.

  “Daedeth, arcana,” Chair Thorne proclaimed.

  Anyone would be lucky to go into arcana. It was the most versatile occupation. Studying the way of magic, teaching novices, and creating new spells. They even oversaw the healers and practiced alchemy. Nora belonged there.

  Another warlock, red haired and pale skinned, with an outrageous number of freckles across his attractive nose and cheeks, approached the center of the Menage. His shoulders were hunched, and his hands hung limp at his sides.

  An ache formed in Sera’s throat. She knew with every fiber of her being what it felt like to be out there, with the scrutiny of your classes, loved ones, and the Council bearing down on you, knowing that no matter what form you displayed, you’d never make it out of Jedan.

  Sera had wanted to be placed in the mastria occupation since she was a witchling. She had prayed to Shadow and dressed in only black for years. As if that alone would have guaranteed her place.

  Her cheeks burned with embarrassment at her idiocy. Her mother had known it would never happen. Still, Sera had wished that it could have been the bridge between them.

  The novice looked like she felt. Defeated.

  He took a broad stance, his hands reaching forward with palms facing the ground. The novice closed his eyes, whispered his spell, and shot green bolts into the dirt. Several large pine trees erupted from the ground, climbing rapidly skyward. The rich pine scent wove its way through the crowd, and Sera inhaled, reveling in the smell of the winter solstice.

  Esoti in Jedan. That’s where he’d be placed. Anyone with the power to grow plants landed there.

  “Legion,” Blackwell yelled.

  A hush fell over the crowd.

  “What do you mean?” The novice asked, taking a step toward Blackwell. “A Legion warrior? I should be in esoti.” His hands were clenched, and clumps of grass sprouted from under his feet, crawling along the Menage’s dirt floor.

  Sera bounced her knee and rubbed her palms together. Every beat of her heart echoed in her ears, and the cage rattled hard against her ribs.

  “Warlock Stoll, you will not question our decision. You will still be with the rest of the esoti, but you are needed with the Legion.” Blackwell motioned to the exit. “Now, please step aside for the next novice.”

  Stoll didn’t move. The green sod grew wider. If he stood there much longer, the entire arena floor would be a meadow.

  “Novice Stoll”—Thorne’s voice was soft—“your magic is needed to help feed our warriors. Your power is imperative to the war effort and the livelihood of our kind. It is a great honor to care for those who protect us. Do you agree?”

  The grass at Stoll’s feet retreated. He nodded and then knelt before the Council members. “Yes, Chairs, please forgive me for my outburst.”