not the Black Witch...if she’s so dangerous, and if you dislike her so—then why is Fallon Bane going dress shopping with me?”
It seems almost comically bizarre.
Aunt Vyvian leans forward and looks me straight in the eye as if conveying something of deep importance. “Because sometimes in this world, it’s good to know what you’re dealing with.”
“I don’t understand.”
Her eyes narrow. “Fallon is obsessed with Lukas Grey.”
Ah, him again.
“So...they’re courting?”
“No,” she puts in flatly. “Not to my knowledge. From what I’ve seen, Lukas has little interest in the girl.” My aunt’s face twists into a disgusted sneer. “Even though Fallon throws herself at him quite wantonly.”
Warmth spreads through my cheeks as I start to realize where all this is going. Lukas is a prize. And Aunt Vyvian is actively plotting for me to win him. Away from Fallon Bane.
“You want me to spend time with Fallon Bane so I can size up the competition?” I say, disbelieving.
Her eyes take on a sly gleam. “There is an opportunity here, Elloren.”
Worry pricks at me. I might not even like this Lukas Grey, so there’s that. But there’s an even larger concern.
I set my bread and knife down and level with her.
“Aunt Vyvian. You’ve really gone out of your way for me. And I don’t want to disappoint you.” A nervous dismay ripples through me—I don’t want to lose her kind regard. I’ve been hungry for a mother figure for so long, for female guidance. But she has to know the truth. “I have no experience in society. There’s just no way I can...swoop down into it and...fit in with this Lukas Grey, or anyone else, for that matter.” I slump, losing heart as I take in the tiny, elaborate braids that decorate her long hair. I’m hungry for knowledge of such pretty ways. “I don’t even know how to do my hair. Or use makeup properly. Or...anything.” If I had my mother...
Aunt Vyvian pats my hand and gives me a warm, maternal smile.
“You don’t have to know anything, dear.” She gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “I’ve taken you under my wing. And that’s the best place to be. Simply sit back, enjoy it and follow my lead.”
I smile shyly, encouraged, as I hold on to her cool, smooth hand.
Fallon Bane
“Have you kissed him?”
“Excuse me?”
“Gareth Keeler. Have you kissed him?”
I’m facing an audience of three young women—the University scholars Aunt Vyvian has chosen to be my companions for the day. They sit staring at me with rapt attention, waiting for my answer.
To the most embarrassing question I’ve ever been asked.
Inappropriate, personal questions like this were not acceptable in Halfix, and I inwardly draw back from them in discomfort.
It’s early on my first morning in Valgard, and we are in Aunt Vyvian’s carriage, headed toward the shop of the premier dressmaker in Gardneria. The ride is smooth, the carriage surrounded by twelve armed, high-level Mage soldiers.
Twelve.
Charged with protecting Fallon Bane—our next Black Witch. Aunt Vyvian might not want to believe that she’s the one, but it’s clear from our armed escort that most other Gardnerians don’t agree with this view.
Fallon is, by far, the most intimidating young woman I’ve ever met. She’s beautiful, with full lips, curly black hair down to her waist and large eyes that shine with the whole spectrum of green. But everything else about her flies in the face of convention. For one thing, she’s dressed in a military apprentice uniform modified for a female—the traditional slate-gray silk tunic over a long, gray skirt instead of pants, and marked with a silver Erthia sphere embroidered over her heart. And the arms of her uniform are marked with a Level Five Mage’s five silver bands. Fallon watches me, her legs splayed open, aggressively taking up as much room in the carriage as possible.
She’s the one asking the questions, a slightly contemptuous smirk on her face. My obvious discomfort, given away by the blush I feel forming on my face, seems to greatly amuse her.
“Why are you asking me about Gareth Keeler?” I ask Fallon defensively.
“Your aunt says you know him.”
“I do,” I tell her. “He’s my friend.”
Fallon shoots sly, sidelong glances at both Echo and Paige before setting bright eyes back on me. “Have you looked closely at his hair?”
I bristle, my view of Fallon quickly coalescing into a hard ball of dislike. “His hair is black.”
Fallon smirks wider. “So...if you haven’t kissed Gareth, have you ever kissed anyone?”
I struggle to keep my expression neutral, greatly put off by her intrusive behavior. “Of course not. I’m unfasted.” And not in the habit of throwing myself at young men, unlike you.
Fallon flashes a devious look at Echo, which sends my dislike of Fallon flaring higher. Then she turns her mischievous gaze back on me, her tone thick with condescension. “You’re not in the backwoods anymore, Elloren. It’s okay to kiss a boy.”
Echo purses her lips at Fallon. “Some of us have morals,” she chastises. “Even in Valgard.”
Fallon spits out a disdainful laugh and rolls her eyes at me, like I’m an old chum.
Echo’s regarding me now, with serious, owl-like eyes, as if measuring my worth. She’s garbed in the manner of the most religious Gardnerians, her black tunic double-layered and very high in the collar, a small Erthia sphere hanging from a silver chain around her neck, her hair unadorned and parted straight as a pin.
Noticing Fallon’s and Echo’s unfriendly expressions, Paige smiles at me encouragingly. She’s the only truly pleasant person in the group, her curly black hair escaping from jeweled barrettes, spilling out over round, rosy cheeks.
Fallon takes note of Paige’s happy expression. “Paige has been kissed,” Fallon teases, her tone unkind.
That wipes the smile clear off Paige’s face. “Well...umm...” Paige stammers as she looks down at the marked hands that fidget in her lap. “I’m fasted.”
“She’s been fasted since she was thirteen,” Fallon leans in and whispers to me, as if this is a delicious secret.
“You have?” I’m surprised. Thirteen seems awfully young. But then I think of Sage—she was fasted at thirteen.
“I’m... I’m fasted to Fallon’s brother, Sylus,” Paige mumbles, seeming less than overjoyed by this.
Fallon throws an arm around Paige and hugs her tight with mock affection. “We’re going to be actual sisters!”
Paige glances meekly at Fallon and forces a small, quavering smile.
I motion toward Echo’s marked hands. “Have you been fasted a long time?”
Echo’s solemn stare doesn’t waver. “To Basyl Dorne. Five years ago.”
I study her, trying to catch a glimpse of how she feels about this, but Echo’s as private and unreadable as a statue.
My eyes wander to Fallon’s unmarked hands. “So... I see you’re not fasted.”
Fallon’s expression turns cold, and she fixes me with a belligerent stare. “Not yet.” She says it like a challenge.
“Fallon