Page 51 of Foresyth Conservatory
“You’ll have to excuse Dahlia—she’s not yet accustomed to our ways,” the Meister started.
“It’s fine, Renate.” The red woman sent him a glare. “You are offering me a reading? You must be Blackburne’s daughter for you are both foolish and brave.” Her words coiled around me like an asp. “Given your determination, I will humor you. But you will not be reading for me as that goes against our rules at the Council, so, I will read for you. After all, Tarot and similar divination techniques are all decision-making tools. We’ll let the cards decide whether or not they want to belong to you. Is this acceptable?” She looked straight at me, waiting for my answer.
“It sounds like a fair appraisal,” the Meister said, but his tone didn’t quite match his words.
“I was asking her,” the red woman repeated. The deference he wielded from the Council clearly did not extend to her.
I nodded without taking my eyes off the woman, but my stomach dropped. I had never had my cards read for me. I hated being on this side of the table, the side with no control. I couldn’t control the narrative of the cards. I just had to hope that the red woman had already made up her mind togive me the cards, and that decision would be reflected in the reading.
I shifted my gaze to the Meister, and he nodded in approval.
The red woman came closer to my table and took out the other chair tucked into it. She materialized the Skorn deck out of her cape, like she had known exactly what I had come for before I entered the room. I stared at the cards, their glossy golden backs casting a glare. Would the cards choose me, or would she?
She brought the cards up high, close to her chin and let them fall, rippling to her other hand, like they were all strung together by a string. I had to admit, the method was pleasing to the eye, but did a poor job of intermixing the cards. Was the woman planning on using this sleight of hand to keep the order of the deck as it was?
As if she read my mind, she switched her technique, letting her hands instead weave the cards into a farro shuffle. It was my preferred technique of choice as it statistically had the highest chance of randomization.
“Pleased?” she asked, her lips in a crescent shape.
“Of course,” I said, biting my lip. I had to be aware of my micro-reactions. She was no doubt reading me, just as I read others. I couldn’t give her anything she could use against me.
“I’m going to charge the cards with your energy for you, now. This should only feel like a pinch,” she said, placing them flat down. What did she mean? I typically had my inquirers do this part to help coax them into a suggestive state.
But then I felt it. It was a pinch like she said, right in between my shoulder blades, that made me erect my spine taller in my seat. My hand instinctively reached for my back, but nothing was there.
“It shouldn’t hurt that much,” she said.
I blinked at her. How was her power of suggestion so strong over me? I closed my eyes and steadied my breath. I had to sit very still and relax. I couldn’t give away anything. She’s already made up her mind about me, likely, and I needed to just remain calm. I’m sure even if I didn’t get the cards, I could do my research project on something else. And besides, I had plenty of other clues to investigate regarding Julian’s death.
She plucked a card from the top of the deck and set it down. “You recently had a magickal awakening,” she said, staring down at the card of Judgement. The card looked identical to the regular Rider-Waite-Smith deck that I used, save for the emblem of the lion-serpent at the top of the card. “You are skeptical about magick, just as your father was, but you’ve recently seen it before your very eyes.”
I swallowed. How was it possible that the red woman could know that?
“You’re here to discover a secret,” she said, plucking another card from the deck. I stared down at the High Priestess. “Something you have a special skill or talent for unearthing. You’re not here for magick.”
I stared blankly at her, willing my expression into stone. My heart began to palpitate, but I would not let it show on my face.
She pulled another card, and I strained not to hold my breath. I forced myself to inhale through my nose. I didn’tlook down on it until she leaned back, as if deciding how to interpret it. “Hm. The cards are saying that despite your lack of truthfulness, you have a purpose here at Foresyth. A divine one.” I finally broke my gaze from hers and looked down to see the Hanged Man.
I let out a breath.
We both knew that her interpretation of the Hanged Man was wrong. It didn’t mean divine purpose. The last time I had pulled that card, I interpreted it as Julian’s death. Did she also interpret it that way, but was refusing to say it in front of the Council? The way she was seated, with her back to the Council, and the cards stacked on top of one another, it would be impossible for them to see the cards. They must trust her.
But then, why was she lying?
The red woman picked up the upturned cards and shuffled them back into the deck. “The cards have spoken. They are willing to be loaned to Dahlia Blackburne,” the woman said as she stood.
I let out a quiet sigh.
“But on one condition. You’ll report your findings to me—personally,” the red woman said. And based on the tremor in her tone, I knew at that moment that she knew what the Hanged Man represented. She didn’t want to know the result of my research; she wanted to know my findings on who killed Julian.
I nodded in acceptance of her terms.
“If the Al-Ahmar votes in favor of loaning the deck to Dahlia Blackburne, then so do I,” said the eldest Council man in the middle of the line. The others stood and an echo of “I’s” followed.
“The deck is yours,” the red woman said, handing me the cards in their sheath. As I took them in my hand, an undeniable jolt of energy shot down my arm, as if the cards possessed a heating source of their own. My eyes widened, and the red woman smirked.
“I wish you the best of luck on your research,” she said before returning to the podium.
