“Why does love fade?” I ask turning my face to gaze upon the apparition conjured by either the curse or my distraught mind. “And must it always? Am I doomed to a broken heart?”
Stepping from the darkness, Balázs crosses his muscular arms over his chest, his chin tucked close to his neck as he ponders my question. “I pray not. I do not wish for you to suffer such a fate. If not for Ágota and you, my heart would be a cold, empty place indeed.”
“Do you love me? Even though I am not your daughter?”
The big man smiles and lays his hand on the top of my head. “Of course, dearest, Erjy.”
The mausoleum fades away until I stand before him, a young woman of fourteen. The sun blazes through the windows, illuminating the red in his hair and beard. He is not glamoured but appears as his true self. His study is cold despite the sunshine this wintery day. The flames in the fireplace only press back the worst of the icy air, but I am warm beneath the fur mantle of my cloak.
“Why do you even ask?” He ruffles my hair before retreating behind a desk overburdened with reports, letters, and ledgers.
“I overheard some members of the coven discussing the possibility of Soffia having a child. She has not been particularly well in the mornings,” I answer. “It was implied that I will finally be set in my proper place if this happens.”
The notion rankles. I rather like the station I carry in his household. As Balázs’s ward, I am given respect and treated well. Ágota mocks me for she rather dislikes the airs she is expected to exude when dealing with servants, the coven, and dignitaries while I take to such behavior quite easily. Perhaps it is because I am aware of my future as a countess, but I enjoy being taught how to be a proper young lady of a certain standing.
Balázs shakes his head. “Soffia is not with child. She merely ate something that was tainted.”
My fingers flex around the hilt of my rose dagger. I always wear it on my belt as a reminder of Albrecht. “Why do not you have children other than Ágota?”
It is a question I was warned to never ask by my tutor, Henrietta, the red-haired witch from England. I dare to ask now since my position in the castle household is being questioned. It annoys me immeasurably that members of the coven anticipate the day I am ousted from Balázs’s good graces.
With a sigh, he settles in his grand chair. The carved branches sprouting from the back of his seat cast shadows over his face, deepening the lines of worry. “There is much I have not discussed with you about the Witch World. Why we came here, why Ágota is so important to our future, and why you may be important to our future. I have withheld information from you so that you could enjoy being a young lady of my household until such a time when the burdens that rest of my shoulders must also weigh on yours.”
“And when will that be?”
“When you marry,” Balázs answers. “That time may come sooner than you anticipate, Erjy. You will be fifteen in a few months. Wirich has made overtures for us to arrange your marriage within the year.”
“Truly?” I am not certain I find the idea enticing or not.
“I would rather wait until you are eighteen.
&nb
sp; “And if he should ask, what will happen?”
“Should that happen, I will delay your marriage a few years in order for Ágota to properly train you. Though you have demonstrated formidable magical abilities, you may not have yet come into your power fully. There is still the possibility that you will become an Archwitch like your sister when you reach full adulthood.”
“Oh?”
Ágota still hopes I will manifest my own magic soon, but she hasn’t discussed with me the possibility of being an Archwitch.
“Most likely you are not an Archwitch. You might be a Grandwitch, like me, or even a Battlewitch. You are already showing signs of being a great warrior,” he adds with a slight smile.
I have never told anyone about the man at the stream or how unaffected I was by taking a life. I ask cautiously, “Why would you say that?”
“You have become deadly with that,” he replies, gesturing with one finger toward my dagger.
Upon observing my attachment to the weapon, Balázs arranged for me to be instructed in the proper way to wield it. It pleases me that he trusts that I am able to defend myself. I can now wield my knife as effectively as any man in battle. I am very proud of this fact.
“But in time, we shall see your true power. Of that, I have no doubt.” Balázs laces his hands together and rests them against his chest as he leans back in his chair. “Wirich is anxious to bring you into his household. He hopes that you will restore magic to his lineage, but that may not be so easy.”
“Oh?” I tilt my head, regarding him with interest.
“This is not known to many outside our race, but because you are a witch you may struggle to bring children into this world. We are very long-lived and have many years in which to try to procreate, but it is a great struggle.”
“Why? Is it because we are not native to this world?” I have learned to address myself as a witch to preserve my standing with the coven.
“That is one theory. The other is the reason why the coven is not particularly fond of your sister and was often hostile to Viorica. When the Archwitches realized the Witch World was dying, they decided to abandon it to our enemies. They conspired to drain what remained of magic from the ley lines of the Witch World and rupture the barrier between worlds so we could escape. They did not consult anyone outside their chantry and their plan horribly failed. They drained us, too, the regular witches. We are not nearly as powerful as we once were and many survivors resent what we lost. We came through the rift into a new world weakened and at the mercy of new found enemies. The Archwitches died defending the exodus and closing the portal, but their actions sowed a bitter seed in our hearts. Viorica was the only Archwitch to survive and the magic of our world that dwelled in her is now in Ágota. And, possibly, in you.”