Page 46 of Vicious Is My Throne

“Even if you managed to find this weapon, we still need the other piece,” Zor said. “And that’s somewhere back in Blackcastle, probably in the ashes of Trubahn’s shop.”

15

ANARIA

Ihadn’t planned on following Bexley.

Hadn’t planned on sneaking through the palace’s once-sumptuous halls after the thin, furtive mage, questions boiling over inside my head, emotions bursting my heart.

“I know you’re there, Anaria. Despite your name, you make a terrible thief, young lady.”

My lips quirked. “Blame Solok. He’s the one who named me.”

“Oh, I do blame him. For a great many things.” His thin shoulders sank. “What do you want that you couldn’t ask me in front of the others?”

“I know you are a member of the Vanguard Conclave. What’s left of it, anyway. I don’t know how this witch blood thing works, but I wondered…” I twisted my hands together, nerves flaring. “I need to know…Is my magic a mix of Fae and witch magic, or is it one or the other?”

“There are some…tests I could conduct to determine how much witch magic you possess. This has to do with Corvus, I assume?”

“If witch magic works against him, then I would be wise to strengthen that aspect of my magic, no?”

I swore the hallway darkened around us, a chill creeping up my arms, and when I looked down, shadows danced around my fingertips.

“You wish for me to take you on as an apprentice?”

“Yes, that is what I’m asking. Could you train me to use my witch magic—assuming I have some—so I can leverage that when we face Corvus?”

My hands twisted together, palms slick with sweat. I needed Bexley to say yes. Needed to know I had an edge when it came to this fight. Something that would make me feel not quite so outmatched.

“Firstly, witchlings begin their training as soon as they can walk, and secondly, I am not a good teacher.”

“Well, that’s a relief because I can’t promise to be a good student.” My smile faded when he didn’t laugh. “Please, Bexley. I’ve never had anyone teach me how to use my magic, so I’m more of a battle-axe than a rapier, if that makes sense. You need to teach me some basics, help me learn some control, is all.”

“That is not all,” Bexley snapped. “Control takes years. Centuries. You have had magic for all of…”

“Seven months, give or take.” I winced at the horror on his face.

“An untrained, uninitiated half-blood possessing the strongest magic in a millennium. And you expect me to teach you the basics?” He looked me over, his gaze sharpening before he let loose a long-suffering sigh. “Fine, then, come along.”

“Right now?” I squeaked in excitement. “We’re starting now?”

“Would you prefer to wait another seven months?” Bexley sniffed. “Because from where I stand, we do not have that much time.”

Training with Bexley was a bore.

I’d envisioned explosions and vicious hand-to-hand combat—well, given this was Bexley, maybe not vicious but still, I figured fighting would be part of tonight’s lesson. It wasn’t.

“Keep holding steady. I saw that flame flicker. You need to pay closer attention.”

I licked my chapped lips, concentrating on the singular flame floating in the air before me, not the bead of sweat working its way down my spine.

It took an hour, but we’d managed to isolate a single thread of witch magic amongst my Fae power, colder and icier, barely enough to ignite a delicate flame.

Bexley was reclined on a rock in what used to be a garden, book balanced on one knee, a cup of steaming tea in one hand as he read by the light of the flame I’d conjured. Behind him, water roared over the edge of the cliff, crashing onto the rocks below with a fury that shook the ground around us.

A broken fountain stood in the center of the stone veranda, half swallowed by shadow.

A regal, rearing horse had once formed the central focal point, but both front legs were broken off, one of them lying in the stagnant pool in the bowl, a few dry leaves floating on the surface.

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