“But it’s still Verpacia,” I counter. “There’s a mix of cultures here. There are too many different races living here for any one race to have too much influence...”
“You haven’t followed politics because you haven’t had to,” she snipes, raw resentment breaking through. “And it shows. You’re incredibly naive.” She leans closer, confrontation burning in her eyes. “Your people have huge families. Because you’re supposed to take over the entire world.”
“Our people,” I hastily caution her, my eyes darting carefully around, relieved to find no one in earshot or seemingly paying attention to us.
Tierney hunches down, her voice lowered to a rough whisper. “The number of Gardnerians living and settling here in Verpacia—it’s rising every year. That’s why they’ve gained a majority on the Verpacian Council. If Vogel wins in the spring...” She stops, swallows nervously. All fire is gone from her eyes now—only pure dread remains. “If he wins, the Verpacian Council will fall right in line behind him. The Gardnerian members will out of true allegiance. The rest, out of well-founded fear.”
“So, if Vogel wins,” I venture worriedly, “it affects much more than just Gardneria.” I run Vogel’s motions over in my mind, all of them uniformly and disastrously harsh. The feel of his dark void that day I met him, his eyes pinned tight on mine, creeps into my mind. And the startling image of the dead tree.
It’s like his black void has spread to this room and beyond. Gathering patiently at the edges of everything.
Chilled, I rub at my arms, trying to warm myself.
There’s stark fear in Tierney’s eyes. “Elloren, if Vogel wins, the world changes.”
The entire Western Realm quickly becoming one giant trap for everyone who isn’t Gardnerian.
“They’ll hunt down the Icarals first,” she whispers, her tone deadened. “Then the Urisk and the Kelts...” She stops, her voice breaking.
Stricken, I finish for her. “And then they’ll come for the Fae.”
CHAPTER TWO
Randall Greyson
The following morning I arrive at apothecary lab to find Tierney waiting for me at our lab table with a look of profound alarm.
We’re early for class today. Gesine is quietly talking to a group of white-arm-banded apothecary apprentices, all four of the young women shooting me a troublingly smug look as I pass them.
I glance at our lab table as I near Tierney.
My violin is sitting right in the middle of the table, case open.
“Tierney,” I question, deeply thrown, “why...”
“I didn’t put it there,” she quickly points out, her eyes full of warning.
My stomach lurches, my whole body tensing.
Fallon. How on Erthia did she get it out of my brothers’ lodging?
I quickly pull myself together, assessing the situation with a wary eye. “That’s her big revenge?” I scoff, loud enough for Gesine and the other apprentices to hear. “Moving my violin from one place to another?”
I give them a defiant smile and reach out to pick my violin up. As I lift the instrument, it falls apart into two neat halves, cleanly split down the middle.
Just like Lukas’s portrait.
My center drops, and I can feel myself blanching.
“I’m sorry, Elloren,” Tierney says, pained, keeping her voice low. “It’s important to you, I’m sure.” She glances darkly toward Gesine and the other young women, her eyes narrowing to slits. “Or else she wouldn’t have bothered with it.”
Tears sting at my eyes, and I can barely choke the words out. “It was important, yes.” And I’ll never be able to make another violin with Uncle Edwin again.
I can’t say any more than that without bursting into pathetic sobbing, my mouth trembling.
Gesine and the other women’s eyes dart toward me, the four of them barely able to suppress their gloating smiles, waiting for me to fall apart.
No. I will not give them the satisfaction.
“What will you do?” Tierney asks me worriedly.
“Nothing,” I say, my fury pulling me firmly together, searing the tears to oblivion. “I imagine, in Fallon’s warped mind, that we’re about even at the moment.” I pick up my violin, force a trembling, defiant smile and look right at Gesine and her cohorts as I calmly slide my precious, broken-beyond-repair violin back into its case.
I dust off my hands, sit down next to Tierney and turn to see her blinking at me with unwavering concern.
I give her a wide, chilling smile. “You know, I just might go to that Yule Dance after all.”
*
It’s early evening, two days later, and I’m sitting with Jarod Ulrich in an out-of-the-way alcove of the main University archives. Chemistrie notes, paper, pens and ink are spread out on the rough wooden table in front of Jarod and me, my mounting hatred of Fallon Bane having to get in line behind the need to buckle down and study, but I can’t seem to let it go.
*
Soon after I found my destroyed violin, I marched straight to my brothers’ lodging. Only Trystan was there, his face lighting with concern the moment he opened the door and took in my expression—my whole body practically vibrating with hot fury.
She’d wounded me, Fallon. Hit me where the blow would truly hurt. I was increasingly finding that this was her specialty.
Trystan quietly stepped back, opening the door wider in welcome. I stepped inside and pulled out the remains of my violin for him to peruse.
His eyes widened as he took it into his hands, strings dangling.
“Fallon Bane’s work.” I spat out each word.
He shot me a quick look of surprise before turning his attention back to the violin. “That’s quite a clean cut,” he marveled as he ran his finger along the perfectly straight edge, studying it. “She must have used a jigsaw.”
“Or some evil spell,” I ground out under my breath, abhorrence coursing over me in waves.
“I knew something wasn’t right,” Trystan said, shaking his head. “When I got back here last night, our doorknob was so cold it hurt to touch it.”
Of course it was. Compliments of the Ice Witch.
“How could she know I kept it in here?” I wondered.
Trystan shrugged. “The cleaning women? They’re in and out—and the case is marked with your name.”
And Fallon’s got every servant girl in Verpax terrified of her wrath. It’s not a great leap of logic to assume I’m storing things here, with Ariel Haven as my lodging mate.
“She should be thankful,” I told him, voice menacingly low, “that I have no magic whatsoever.”
Trystan eyed me soberly and set down the violin halves on his desk. “Do you want me to go to the Vice Chancellor with you? To file a complaint?”
“No,” I spat out. “I want you to freeze Fallon’s head. Or set it on fire. Can you do that for me?”
Trystan took a deep breath and looked at me with his usual measured calm. “Um...yes. I could, Elloren. Followed by my immediate expulsion from University. Minor detail.”
I glowered at him petulantly and plopped down on his bed, defeated.
Trystan quietly took a seat beside me. “You know, you might be able to enlist Diana Ulrich to your cause.”
I looked to him questioningly.
Trystan’s lip lifted with a trace of amusement. “Apparently Diana’s been going on and on about putting Fallon’s head on a spike and posting it at the city gates. ‘For the crows to devour.’ Her words, not mine.”
I can’t suppress a smirk at this, both heartened and darkly gratified by Diana’s bloodthirsty sentiment.
*
The tap, tap, tap of Jarod’s pen draws me back to the present.
He’s bent over the table transcribing my Chemistrie notes, his script neat and compact. My notes are now a necessity for him, since Diana won’t share hers anymore.