Vesper’s gaze drifted towards the corridor and through the open doorway at the far end, where she glimpsed towering shelves packed with leather-bound volumes.

  Rafe led the way, not waiting for someone to greet them. Vesper followed closely, assuming they didn’t need a chaperone after Beatrice had granted them access.

  “Wow,” she whispered as they entered the room. “All those books about magic, about what I am…”

  “Focus on the trials,” Rafe said. “If you pass those, then maybe they’ll let you look at the good stuff and not just the fluff.” He gestured to the shelves with a snort.

  “There’s treasure to be found in the fluff, you know,” Vesper said, her fingers itching to get a hold of the trove of books before her. “I don’t think they realise who they let into their library. This is my idea of heaven.”

  Somewhere in that vast collection might be answers about the grimoire, about Selene’s death, and about her own possible abilities. The books called to her, much like the grimoire had in the London Historical Library.

  She didn’t wait for Rafe and took off amongst the shelves, trailing her fingers along the spines and scanning the titles.

  Many were in languages she’d never seen before, but her years of experience helped her navigate to where historical records might be kept. The organisational system wasn’t far off from what she used at work—though these books held far more dangerous secrets than parish records and old maps.

  She pulled down a hefty volume bound in dark leather, its pages crackling as she opened it. The scent of age and magic wafted up, familiar yet different from regular old books. Her chest tightened as she remembered sharing similar moments with Selene, pouring over ancient texts together, learning how to preserve fragile bindings and repair illuminated text.

  Across the room, Rafe had climbed one of the rolling ladders, reaching for a book near the ceiling. Despite yesterday’s awkward moment during training, the tension between them had eased. He’d been patient with her questions, even if he deflected the personal ones. And he was still content to sleep on the lumpy couch and let her use his bedroom…and she hadn’t snooped any further.

  Vesper liked him, despite his secrets. After all, he’d saved her life, taken her in, cleaned up her mess in the Fold, and agreed to mentor her through these trials. After all that, he had no obligation to share his past with her.

  Until it becomes a problem, she thought with a sigh. Hopefully, it doesn’t.

  The sound of pages turning filled the comfortable silence. Vesper settled at a carved wooden table, spreading out her findings. She’d already discovered three promising leads about the history of the trials.

  “Found anything?” she asked, glancing up to find Rafe surrounded by floating books, each open to different pages.

  He caught one book as it drifted past. “Nothing concrete yet.”

  “I’ve found a collection of personal accounts of the trials,” she murmured. “Maybe there’s a clue or two.”

  “Let me know if you find anything.”

  She nodded and opened the first book, which appeared to be a bound copy of a personal journal, reprinted for study.

  Vesper’s hand trembled as she turned through the pages of the journal, spotting words she didn’t like the sound of at all. Death, disembowelment, grievous harm, and her personal favourite: decapitation.

  Her throat went dry as she read about a trial from 1887 where an initiate faced an army of shadow warriors, their ethereal blades cutting through flesh as easily as air.

  They can’t possibly expect this from me.

  But the entries continued, each more terrifying than the last. In 1923, a candidate spent three days possessed by ancient spirits, forced to battle their influence while completing complex magical tasks. Another trial in 1956 saw initiates transformed into grotesque creatures, their bodies twisted and mutated as they fought to maintain their sanity and complete their objectives.

  The room tilted. Vesper gripped the edge of the table, her knuckles white. The words blurred before her eyes as she read about psychological warfare—initiates trapped in endless mazes of their own fears, forced to confront their deepest traumas.

  Her stomach lurched. The comfortable silence of the library now felt oppressive, crushing. She’d agreed to this. Signed up for these trials without knowing what they truly entailed. What would she face? What were her fears?

  She glanced at Rafe, still absorbed in his floating books. Did he know? Was this what he’d tried to warn her about?

  A journal entry from 1972 described an initiate who’d failed their trial—their mind shattered beyond repair, babbling about shadows that ate memories. Vesper pushed away the book with shaking hands, unable to read more. Her earlier confidence evaporated like morning mist.

  The library’s vast collection no longer felt inviting. Each book might hold more revelations about the brutal gauntlet she’d volunteered to run. Her breakfast threatened to make a reappearance as she considered what horrors the Concordat might have planned for her.

  Vesper snapped the book shut as movement near the library entrance caught her eye. A witch with striking amber eyes and copper-red hair glided between the tables, her presence warming the space like a hearth fire. Ember. Vesper remembered her from yesterday’s gathering, one of the few who’d offered an encouraging smile.

  Vesper’s fingers traced the spine of the trial records, desperate to ask someone about them. But other witches bent over their desks, their pens scratching against paper. The silence of a library was sacred, and she didn’t dare break it, especially not in Nightreach—something might leap out of the pages and eat her for all she knew.

  Ember paused near a shelf of astronomical charts, her gaze sweeping the room. When their eyes met, Vesper’s heart quickened. She slipped away from her desk and ducked into a shadowed alcove between towering shelves, hoping Ember would follow.

  Footsteps approached, bringing with them the scent of cinnamon and wood smoke. Ember appeared at the end of the row, her smile genuine and warm.

  “I’d hoped to find you here.” Ember’s voice was a whisper on the air. “Would you care to join me for tea in my study? We’d have more privacy to talk.”

  “Yes, please.” The words tumbled out before Vesper could stop them. After yesterday’s meeting, Vesper had desperately wanted to talk to the witch. She knew Selene and might know what she’d been doing in London.

  “Excellent.” Ember’s eyes sparkled. “Bring your mentor—my study’s just off the east wing. The door with the copper knocker shaped like a phoenix.”

  Vesper watched Ember’s retreating form before hurrying back to Rafe, who still stood amongst his collection of floating books.

  “Ember invited us for tea in her study.” She tugged at his sleeve. “I think she might know something about Selene.”

  Rafe’s brow furrowed as he plucked the hovering books from the air. “Ember Vance? She’s got quite a reputation for her fire magic.” He hesitated. “And her political neutrality.”

  “Is that bad?”

  “No.” He shelved the last book. “If you want to go, then we ought to.”

  “If I want to?”

  Rafe leaned close, keeping his voice low. “Vesper, everything we do from now on comes with risk. Ember has a good reputation, but remember what I said about agendas?”

  She frowned and glanced over her shoulder at the other witches studying. “I want to talk to her.”

  “Okay.”

  They found the copper phoenix knocker easily enough. The door swung open at their approach, revealing a cosy space that reminded Vesper of autumn evenings. Amber-tinted glass in the windows cast warm light across walls lined with well-worn books. Their spines showed frequent handling, with notes and markers protruding from many pages.

  A grimoire thrummed on the desk, its energy different from Vesper’s—more like crackling flames than flowing water. Scattered papers covered every surface, held down by various crystals and curious metal instruments. Ink bottles in shades of red and gold clustered near a collection of elegant quills.

  Ember gestured them to sit in two plush chairs before perching on her desk edge.

  “Forgive my directness and lack of greeting,” she began, “but circumstances have changed, especially after your arrival. There was a disturbance in the Fold that has everyone on edge.”

  Vesper glanced at Rafe, but his expression revealed nothing. “If you don’t mind me saying,” she said to Ember, “you seem on edge.”

  The witch nodded. “I thought you ought to know Marina’s already moving against you. She’s been holding private meetings with key Concordat members.”

  Vesper’s stomach dropped. “About what?”

  “She claims admitting someone with no magical background would lower our standards.” Ember’s lips twisted. “That it dishonours our traditions.”

  “She sure works fast,” Rafe muttered, leaning forward. “That meeting was only yesterday.”

  “Marina’s had a lot of practice at this sort of thing.” Ember poured tea from a copper pot. “She’s particularly skilled at turning personal vendettas into matters of principle. I doubt it’s personal, but an opportunity to push her agenda all the same.”

  Steam curled from the cups, carrying the scent of cinnamon and something else Vesper couldn’t identify. Her hands trembled slightly as she accepted her cup, her lip curling at the very thing Rafe had warned her about—agendas.

  “And what is Marina’s agenda, exactly?” Rafe asked.

  “She wants to push Beatrice out and become High Witch in her place.”

  Vesper wasn’t really surprised. Human history had told the same story over and over again, the only difference being circumstance. It seemed Nightreach, with its witches and mages, suffered from the same affliction. But what did surprise her was Ember’s generosity with information.

  “But Beatrice hasn’t been idle,” Ember went on. “She’s arranged private meetings with several neutral council members. Old families who’ve stayed out of the progressive-conservative divide.”

  Vesper wrapped her hands around the warm teacup, studying Ember’s face as she spoke. The fire witch’s amber eyes flickered like flames as she detailed Beatrice’s response to Marina’s political manoeuvring.

  “To what end?” Rafe asked.

  “She’s insisting on transparency in the trial procedures. Everything must be documented, witnessed, and conducted according to ancient laws.” Ember’s fingers traced the rim of her cup. “It’s clever, really. Marina can’t object without appearing to undermine our most sacred traditions.”

  Vesper shifted in her chair. “And what does Beatrice want from all this?”

  “She believes the Concordat needs to evolve. For centuries, we’ve hidden ourselves away, overlooking talented individuals who could strengthen our community.” Ember’s gaze met Vesper’s. “Beatrice wants to identify and train those with magical abilities before they’re lost to us.”

  The implications hit Vesper like a punch to the gut. “So I’m what, then? Her test case?”

  “You’re an opportunity,” Ember said. “Though perhaps not one Beatrice expected.”

  Vesper set down her cup, tea sloshing against the sides. She wasn’t just fighting for her own place in this world anymore—she’d become a pawn in a larger political game.

  “Perfect,” she muttered. “No pressure at all.”

  Rafe leaned forward. “Being used as an example cuts both ways. If you succeed, you prove Beatrice right. If you fail⁠—”

  “Marina’s position is strengthened, and I’m dead,” Vesper finished, her stomach churning. She’d walked right into the middle of a power struggle she barely understood, and now her success or failure could reshape the entire magical community.

  “You’re not going to die,” Rafe told her.

  “I know, I know, the future is uncertain,” she bit back. “But I’ve got enough problems without being the Concordat’s pawn. I barely understand this world and—” She cut herself off before she said too much in front of Ember.

  But the fire witch presumed her next thought all too easily. “Selene.”

  Vesper’s heart clenched at her friend’s name. “You knew her well?”

  “We worked together often.” Ember’s eyes dimmed, the amber darkening. “The last few weeks though…” She shook her head. “Something changed.”

  “Changed how?” Vesper gripped her teacup tighter, remembering those final conversations with Selene at the library. She’d wanted to go away, said she might have to leave, but had avoided telling Vesper more about it.

  “She grew distant, distracted,” Ember went on. “Started working odd hours, always alone. I’d find her in the archives at dawn, surrounded by ancient texts. When I asked what she was researching, she’d change the subject.”

  Heat prickled behind Vesper’s eyes. She’d noticed the same behaviour at the library—Selene arriving earlier, staying later, her usual warmth replaced by a preoccupied tension.

  “Did she say anything about being followed?” Rafe asked.

  “I don’t know.” Ember’s brow furrowed. “But when I confronted her, she insisted everything was fine, that she was just spending more time in London.”

  Vesper’s throat tightened. She knew exactly why Selene had been in London more often—to mentor her, to share long talks over tea about rare books and restoration techniques. Had Selene been putting herself at risk just to maintain their friendship? The thought made her stomach twist.

  “Whatever she discovered in her research,” Ember continued, “it frightened her. But she wouldn’t tell anyone what it was. Not even Beatrice.”

  Vesper stared into her cooling tea, fighting back tears. She should tell them about those final weeks at the library, about Selene’s increasing anxiety. But something held her back. Until she understood more about what had happened to Selene, she needed to keep some things to herself.

  Ember’s fingers traced patterns on her desk, leaving faint trails of golden light. “There’s something else you should know about Selene’s research.”

  Vesper leaned forward, her tea forgotten.

  “I thought you said she didn’t reveal what she was working on,” Rafe said, his eyes narrowing.

  “She didn’t, but when she didn’t come back…I pried.” Ember’s eyes gleamed. “Given half a chance, I knew there would be those who would see her absence as an opportunity and if she was in trouble, then I wanted to help.”

  Rafe snorted. “An opportunity for you.”

  “We were friends,” Ember snapped. “Do not doubt that, mage.”

  But Vesper was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. “What did you find?”

  The fire witch’s expression softened. “She’d been looking into past candidates from the trials—specifically those who withdrew before completion.” Ember’s amber eyes flickered with concern. “All within the last decade.”

  “Withdrew?” Vesper glanced at Rafe, whose expression had darkened. “I thought failing the trials was…” She couldn’t finish the sentence.

  “Death isn’t the only outcome of failure,” Ember clarified. “Some candidates choose to withdraw and suffer the consequences of doing so. But these particular cases caught Selene’s attention because their magic manifested in unusual ways.”

  “What do you mean by unusual?” Rafe asked, his voice tight.

  “Their abilities didn’t align with traditional magical classifications. One candidate could hear echoes of past spells. Another saw threads of magic that nobody else could.” Ember’s gaze fixed on Vesper. “Selene believed these candidates shared something in common—something that frightened them enough to abandon the trials entirely.”

  Vesper’s mouth went dry. The way she could sense the grimoire’s energy, step into the Fold without a thread, witness Rafe’s magical aura, see those echoes of memories… “Did she find a connection?”

  “She was close to something.” Ember stilled, her gaze lowering. “The night before she—” She paused, composing herself. “She told me she’d found a pattern in the archives, something about a different manifestation of magic. But before she could explain more, she was called away. That was the last time I saw her. But…”

  “But?” Vesper whispered.

  “It was clear to me she was searching for something.” Ember hesitated as if she was struggling to say the word Vesper was dreading. “Resonant magic.”

  The word ‘Resonant’ hit Vesper like a physical blow. She thought of Selene’s final days at the library, her nervous energy, the way she’d jump at small sounds. Had someone discovered that she was researching Resonants? A rare power that was dangerous enough to get her killed?

  “It wasn’t an accident or suicide,” Ember said. “Someone killed her.”

  “I know,” Vesper whispered. And from what Ember was telling her, the witch suspected someone in the Concordat had had a hand in it. Selene got too deep…too close.

  Ember’s fingers drummed against her desk, leaving tiny scorch marks. “Obviously, the Concordat isn’t as unified as it appears. Not only are there internal divides, but there are outside interests trying to gain influence.”

  Vesper’s chest tightened. “What kind of interests?”

  “Groups who believe our traditions make us weak. They want to reshape magical society, starting with institutions like ours.” Ember’s voice dropped. “And Marina’s been meeting with some of their representatives.”

  “You’ve seen this?” Rafe asked, his shoulders tensing.

  “No. Which is why you shouldn’t take what I’m saying as truth, but merely a suspicion.” Ember’s amber eyes flickered. “I have heard whispers, patterns that don’t quite add up. Marina’s influence has grown unusually quickly, and her supporters seem to appear from nowhere.”

  Vesper gripped her teacup harder. “Why tell us this?”

  “Because you two need to understand the game you’re playing.” Ember straightened. “And because I don’t want you making the same mistakes Selene did.”