Leering at me, Priscilla looked a lot like the Grinch who’d just stolen all of Christmas.
“I’ve told you time and again, that you are not to interfere with my staff.” Mother turned to the guard at the door. “Bring her in.”
My heart stopped.
No.
Turning, I watched with building dread as Mother’s guard dragged in the sobbing young woman who cleans my rooms.
“Stop crying,” my mother commanded.
The girl immediately quieted but continued to tremble fiercely.
Mother rolled her eyes. “Hold still.”
The girl obeyed—she had no other choice. That didn’t stop the terror in her eyes—the panic vibrating though her as she sucked in breath after breath. With her arms clutched to her chest, she kept her head bowed as she cowered before the Magnate and the entranced audience.
Because that’s what this was—a show.
“Take these.” My mother held up a pair of shears.
My stomach churned.
The girl stepped forward and took them. Now that the magic allowed her to move more freely, her hands shook violently.
“Mother, please.” My voice trembled.
Mother swiveled in her chair, unadulterated hate reflecting off her eyes. “There you go again, trying to interfere with what’s mine. What will it take for you to understand?”
“Hold the shears to your hand, right here.” She indicated to the base of her pinky finger.
My brain was trying desperately to come up with a solution. Anything I said would just make this worse. I couldn’t fight everyone in the room, and even if I could—what would it achieve? Mother would only find another way to get her point across. Her message was clear: she did not give up one speck of power—to anyone.
“This is your fault, Isla,” Mother said calmly, like a deranged sociopath. She nodded to the girl. “Cut it off.”
The girl screamed as she cut off her own finger.
After seeing that the girl received medical treatment, I found my way to the tower’s gym.
Starting up a treadmill, I ran—sprinting as fast as my legs would carry me. My lungs begged me to stop, leg muscles burning with the exertion, but the anger spurred me on.
When my body refused to continue, I stepped off. Over the course of my rage-fueled sprint, the room emptied. Nobody wanted to be near me, and I didn’t blame them. I didn’t want to be around me either.
Falling to my hands and knees, I let the tears fall. The squeaky whir of the belt circling the treadmill carried about the room, mixing with my sobs.
Acid churned in my stomach, rising higher until my chest burned. Picking myself up on trembling legs, I dashed to the ladies’ locker room, barely making it to a bathroom stall before losing the contents of my stomach.
Sitting on the cold floor beside the toilet, I banged the side of my fist hard against the metal wall.
This is not what I want. Where I want to be. Who I want to be.
Pinching my eyes shut, I took one deep breath after another. “Get your shit together, Isla.”
Climbing to my feet, I splashed myself with water from the sink. Glancing at my reflection, my disguised-self stared back at me.
I hate her.
The guilt at having taken the actions—as innocent as they were—that ultimately led to my mother’s evil performance, ate away at me.
“Why are you so useless?” I whispered.
I was the Heir, for terra’s sake. I was supposed to be powerful. One day, Mother was going to do something that pushed me past my boiling point. That point was almost reached today.
But then what? She’s arguably the most powerful mage in the world. Possibly the most amoral one too. Where do I even begin? The stupid thing was—being the Heir, I was the only one who could do anything about it.
I’m so hopelessly alone in this battle.
Unwilling to remain in the same building with the depraved woman any longer, I pulled the slip on my detail for the second time today and left the building. They would start looking for me, but that was future Isla’s problem. My mind needed clarity, and there was one place that could provide it—the library.
After exiting the building, I jogged a couple of blocks away and snagged a cab. As Barb had predicted earlier, it was raining—a fitting and somber reflection of my mood. Upon arriving, I jumped from the taxi, flinging a bunch of bills at the driver before running through the downpour to the entrance. Pushing open the double-doors, I inhaled deeply, a weight lifting from my shoulders.
Safe. I always feel safe here.
Taking one look at my distraught state, Maggie rose slowly from her perch on the ground, where she’d clearly been reorganizing the section on telepathy again. We made our way toward one another, meeting in the middle—the section on mage memoirs.
“What’s wrong, child?” she asked, gently touching my shoulder, her gray eyes burrowing into mine with intensity.
Blinking back tears, my resolve strengthened. I’d never brought my problems here before, and I wasn’t going to start now. I was already putting my friend at greater risk than I should have been.
My throat cleared. “Nothing. Just family stuff.” I waved dismissively, trying not to choke on the emotions still too close to the surface. “I was wondering what you have on source wells and the magic trade.”
She hesitated, then nodded. “Yes, yes. The talks should be starting soon,” she said, gesturing with her hand for me to follow.
We made our way to the back corner of the expansive room and up the spiral staircase to the second level. She was about a million years old, so it took forever.
Not really.
She was probably closer to one hundred and seventy, which was ancient even in mage years. Her long gray hair was piled haphazardly upon her head, held in place by a pencil. Her clothing was wrinkled and slightly askew. Her appearance always took second place to things more important to her—namely, books.
The center of the room was open to the floor below. My fingertips ran along the deep green wooden railing that lined the pathway as I peered down. Two large leafy trees were arranged in enormous planters in the center of the ground floor and stretched up toward the domed window in the ceiling. The room smelled of old books and fragrant herbs that would forever remind me of the elderly librarian.
As we passed, I glanced up at a large canvas map tacked onto the only spot on the wall that was barren of bookshelves or large arching windows. The map displayed all of North, South, and Central America, but instead of showing the borders as the norms knew them, it showed the territories of Splendor and Taramur.
Splendor extended as far west as the western point of Alaska. The border then traced a diagonal line from Western Canada, headed east to Idaho, then turned south, cutting a jagged pattern through the mountain states and Texas, and finally ended in the Gulf of Mexico.
Everything east of that line belonged to Splendor, and everything west and south of that line belonged to Taramur, aside from a non-magical no-man’s land that spanned the border and kept the peace.
Maggie eyed me over her shoulder. “I know you still have that leatherbound monstrosity I lent you a couple of weeks ago,” she said, raising a brow.
“Shit, Mags! I forgot. I’ll bring it back next time, I swear.”
“It’s alright, dear. Heaven knows no one is waiting in line for that one. Now, if it were the new mage romance by Welds, you’d have a real fight on your hands. There’s a waiting list about a mile long.” She chuckled, gesturing a great distance with her hands.