Another shot of jealousy ripped through Avery as she eyed the golden patches, which signaled that Wren was a High Commander. She had no desire to become an enforcer, but at this point, she would take it. It was almost like looking in a mirror of what she could be. Although, Avery didn’t really look much like her sister. Where Avery had hair like cinnamon, Wren’s hair was black, a symptom of her cold, cold heart. A terrible disease, really. Tragic.
The main difference between them, though, was that Wren looked as if a giant stick was up her ass, especially since she assumed the position of High Commander, and it was now shoved even further. Their mother had that effect on people,though, and it wasn’t surprising her smile had faded after spending more than a minute with the devil like Wren did.
Finally, Wren broke the tension.
“The High Councilor would like to speak to you.”
“You mean, Mother would like to speak to me?”
Wren raised an eyebrow, a warning not to challenge her. She had enough ammunition in this room alone to get Avery expelled. Avery wondered what she would become besides the pub pouring bitch. A barista, perhaps in one of two coffee shops on the island? Potentially a seller of the forbidden toe pictures? Maybe she could become homeless! What a treat. Her small world was truly her oyster. The only good thing about being expelled was that she could have some proper time to plan her escape. Although she had tried her damn hardest to do that, but every time she somehow made it to the ferry, she was irritatingly, magically, sling-shotted back to Caerwyn Island. Was it too much to ask that a simple witch would like to get a taste of some chicken nuggets?
Her toxic trait was her confidence in thinking she could swim her way to the mainland of Wales, that somehow the only thing standing between her and the coast was unwavering determination, and her deluded hope that maybe the witch boundary magic didn’t work in the water. She probably could do it; swimming was her primary hobby, if the magic didn’t pull her back first. The only thing standing between her and attempting a swim to freedom was the idea of being trapped in the jaws of a shark, and no, she didn’t care that the percentage was as low as her dead grandmother’s bosoms. With her luck in the last year, it would happen.
“Wow, I didn’t know you could do that.” Avery pointed to her own wiggling eyebrows. “With, you know, the work you’ve had done.”
She was really pushing it now.
Wren only pinched the bridge of her nose, probably regretting her decision to personally fetch her. It was likely Mother’s idea. Wren would rather fetch a turd out of a toilet than doing this right now.
“Please don’t be difficult. She said it’s urgent.”
In reality, they both knew Avery was stalling. Seeing her mother was never a pleasant experience, and especially now, when she was the only one in her class not to summon a familiar. She was almost sure this was her mother’s way of solidifying the idea that she was the family’s failure, a letdown of generational proportions. Just like her aunt. Her mother was absolutely going to expel her. At least she had it in her cold, dark heart to tell her in person, instead of sending a pigeon or something. Something so cute shouldn’t be burdened with such messages of misery.
Wren stared her down. “Are you going to go to the chambers or will Sparky have to carry you?” If Avery didn’t come willingly, she was sure Wren would have incapacitated her and taken her anyway. They had such a lovely sisterly bond.
Maya yelped as the massive dragon dropped its head down from the roof, its golden eye the size of a dinner plate, peering through the balcony doors. Wren had bonded the gigantic lizard three years ago, and Avery still hadn’t gotten used to the beast. As much as Wren declared Sparky awhittle baby, Avery always gave him a wide berth.
Walking it was.
As if he sensed her hesitance, Sparky blew out a breath toward her, fogging up the glass. His black body shook in a way that Avery was fairly sure meant he was laughing at her. Even Wren’s dragon was an asshole.
“I’ll walk. I prefer my feet attached securely to the ground.”
Wren only shrugged. “Your loss, enjoy the stairs.”
It was Avery’s turn to roll her eyes. They weren’t that bad.
Two
Avery
The stairsreally were that bad.
At least two years had passed since Avery had climbed the stairs to the council tower, and she had completely forgotten how steep the walk was between here and the main campus. There had to be at least a thousand steps on this goddess-forsaken path. That mixed with nausea from both the alcohol and a pit of nervousness that would not go away. Her head swirled, and the tree-lined steps blurred as saliva pooled in her mouth and her stomach churned.
Halfway up the stairs, her body decided to expel the alcohol she had so lovingly bestowed upon it and spray the trunk of a poor pine tree that had done nothing but be in the wrong place, wrong time. To make it even worse, the moon had completely disappeared, and her phone had died. So with no light, an overwhelming urge to brush her teeth, and a whole lot of misplaced confidence in her footing, she somehow made it up the stairs with minimal scraping.
When she reached the top gate, the air was noticeably thinner. Her breath came in ragged pants, forming little ghosts in the cool wind. The dense forest canopy had given way to amanicured garden that surrounded a path of stone and arches. Flowers bloomed the same blazing maroon as the ivy that coated the council tower. The scent of it always confused her. The garden should have carried the smell of a florist; instead, it smelled of decaying leaves and damp earth. It hadn’t changed at all in two years.
She leaned against the iron posts, catching her breath. For a swimmer, stairs shouldn’t be her worst enemy, but in her eyes, they were worse than shifters, and given that they were a witch’s mortal enemy, it was saying a lot.
The council tower was easily the most ominous building on campus. Built on a sheer cliff-side of jagged, mossy rocks, it was a thin, entirely menacing building that seemed to be shrouded in fog, no matter the weather. It was visible practically everywhere you went in Caerwyn. At the top sat a belfry. A sound that rang in only the most dire of situations. One that maybe she should ring now, as seeing her mother was really reserved for the most dire of things.
An enforcer eyed her from the last arch encasing an iron gate that did very little to actually secure the building, given beds of flowers surrounded it rather than a fence. With a nod, he opened the squeaking gate, the noise preparing her for the grating voice of her mother being disappointed in her yet again. Giving him a curt smile, she walked past with every inch of confidence she could muster, which was abysmal, akin to a mouse that had challenged a cat.
Wren leaned against the stone building, looking minuscule in comparison to the statue of their goddess, Cerituen, that was carved into the building next to her. Cerituen looked about as lifelike as Wren. Their stony features were a mirror image of each other. Her marble form looked so real, the way the fabric draped across her eyes and her body, even her expression, Avery wouldn’t be surprised if her lips started moving.
The stone bore three carved symbols: a sword, an open book, and a pair of wings. The sword was for the enforcers of House of Rhyfel, the book was for the scholars of the House of Doethur, and the wings were for the healers of House of Seren.
