The High Priest's Daughter Read online

  She wore her dark hair in a severe bun, smelled like cumin, and enjoyed watching witches squirm in her presence. She maintained the tightest, straightest spine I’d ever seen. I’d only caught her smiling once, and even that had been debatable. Despite her rigid personality, she’d given me a charm bracelet last summer that had saved my life in a fight against the vilest witch of all: Miss Mabel. When I tried to return it later she refused, telling me to keep it in case I needed it later.

  Miss Scarlett had taught at Miss Mabel’s School for Girls when I attended, before Papa raised her to Head of Education over the entire Central Network after Mildred died. Head of Education was a stressful position, especially with all the schools that Mildred established. Education, and consequently the Network, had flourished under Mildred’s reign. Unfortunately, Miss Scarlett’s workload lent itself to a militaristic schedule when she taught.

  “The Eastern Network is a place of art, sophistication, and refinement,” Miss Scarlett began without preamble. “They respect creativity, live from the sea, and seek peace. For the last century, the ruling family of Aldana have maintained a tradition of hosting Ambassadors overnight. Your trip to the Southern Network was short, no doubt. But it would be an insult to Eastern Network culture to come and go the same day. Consequently, you shall spend the night, dine with the High Priest and High Priestess, and then meet with them to discuss business before you return.”

  “Why?” I blurted out. “It seems like a waste of time.”

  Or just another chance to mess up somehow. She shot me a severe glare. Exasperated, I raised my hand and waited for her to acknowledge me.

  “Bianca, you may now speak.”

  “Why do I have to stay the night?”

  “Because it’s custom. Something I’m hoping we can cram into your stubborn head before you leave in two days.”

  I fought back a sigh. She certainly wasn’t wrong that I lacked etiquette and social skills. Determining which fork to use out of ten choices didn’t appeal to me much, not when a forest with running trails awaited me outside. Still, it was my job, and though I was occasionally locked in a castle all day, working as Assistant to the Ambassador had definite perks. Traveling all over Antebellum was just one of them.

  “When you eat with a crowd of witches, it’s not polite to put your elbows or arms on the table.” Miss Scarlett stood at the end of a long table in the formal Dining Room. I stifled a yawn. “You also shouldn’t yawn or slurp your soup.”

  She walked behind me and grabbed my shoulders, straightening my posture. I grimaced but didn’t complain. She’d tackle me to the ground before she’d let me get away with poor form.

  “Keep your back straight.”

  “Yes, Miss Scarlett.”

  Although I was going on eighteen years old and had graduated from an intense foray into the Network educational system with my life intact—no mean feat when Miss Mabel was my teacher—I still lived under Miss Scarlett’s dutiful thumb. I wondered, as I dipped a silver spoon into a bowl of creamy soup, if Miss Scarlett felt as annoyed by it as I did.

  “What is the appropriate way to address another Network’s High Priest?” she asked.

  “By his chosen title.”

  I spoke before I ate and made certain not to slurp the soup from the spoon. She nodded in approval and continued her original course of pacing back and forth. I dipped the spoon carefully back into the bowl, unnerved when she stopped and stared at me. I froze. What could I have done wrong in five seconds? Something big, undoubtedly. I glanced up from underneath my eyelashes, the spoonful of soup hovering above the bowl.

  “Do I have something on my face, Miss Scarlett?” I asked. Last time I’d shown up for her etiquette class I’d had a stick in my hair.

  “What do you want out of your life now that your Inheritance Curse is gone, Bianca?”

  What did I want from life? What kind of question was that? I was only seventeen. Seventeen-year-olds didn’t have life figured out.

  Unless you’re Leda, I thought, considering my best friend. But she’s planned her life out since she was three. Considering how painful the last year of my life had been, I was doing exactly what I wanted. Living free.

  I opted for the safest route: innocence. “What do you mean?”

  Last summer, I won a magical fight against Miss Mabel on the night she murdered the High Priestess. Thanks to Leda, I also survived a curse and a binding that should have killed me when I turned seventeen. Staying alive despite my rampant magical powers proved difficult enough—every time I became agitated or emotional, magic flared with a little burst of life inside me. While mourning Mama’s death, the powers had spiraled out of control; I proved dangerous to myself and others. The powers were mostly tolerable now, as long as I gave them an outlet by running through my old home, Letum Wood.

  “You know what I mean,” Miss Scarlett said, pulling me from my reverie. I never could get away with feigning innocence around her, so I gave up trying and set the spoon back down. “Do you want to be a Council Member?”

  I recoiled, nose scrunched. Council Member? Live in an office surrounded by paperwork, scrolls, and messages? Never.

  “That’s what I thought,” she replied drily, studying my horrified grimace. “How about Ambassador? Your current job puts you in line for that perfectly. Marten is certainly training you well. He’s an attentive mentor.”

  My thoughts skimmed over Marten’s job. We traveled around the Central Network often and would soon venture to the Eastern Network. All things that no one else could do, according to the Mansfeld Pact. Although we stayed more active than Council Members, we spent just as many hours in the office as out. Did I enjoy my job? It wasn’t bad. Certainly wasn’t the worst.

  Did I want to dedicate my life to it? I didn’t know yet. I’d already heard word that a few girls I went to school with were engaged, but marriage wasn’t a route I’d considered much.

  “Being an Ambassador isn’t the worst,” I said.

  “You’re in a unique position,” she said in an almost word-for-word intonation of something that both Marten and Leda had already said. “You can get an early start on your future. By the time most girls your age start to make these decisions, you’ll be well established.”

  Defying all etiquette, I propped my elbows on the table and leaned forward.

  “What if there isn’t much of a future for me to plan for?” I retorted. Miss Scarlett’s eyebrows rose—the only indication that I’d taken her by surprise.

  “You mean because we may be at war soon.”

  “Yes.”

  Something lurked inside her annoyance with me. A flash of compassion, perhaps? Living in the castle meant I’d come to know Miss Scarlett much better in the past year. While she was unyielding on rules, I occasionally sensed a rarely-seen soft side. Miss Scarlett had a story, and I was determined to figure it out one day.

  “Set aside the war,” she said, shoving my elbows off the table with a spell. I pitched forward, nearly smacking my nose on the polished wood. “If there was something you could do every day that would make you happy, what would it be?”

  I reared back in surprise. No one had asked me that question. “Anything?” I asked, testing the waters. She nodded, her lips pursed.

  “What brings you joy?”

  “Joy?”

  What did happiness and joy have to do with planning my future? Weren’t adults supposed to suffer through their careers?

  “Yes, joy. Don’t you want a career that brings you joy?”

  “I’ve never thought of my career making me happy.”

  Miss Scarlett lifted one eyebrow. “If you don’t like what you do every day, you’ll live a pretty miserable existence.”

  I couldn’t fault her logic. “But I don’t know what I want.”

  A little smile crossed her face, as if she fondly remembered such aimless, youthful days. “Then I would recommend finding something that you’re passionate about so you aren’t ornery for the rest of your caree
r.”

  My whole life up until last summer had centered on survival, not passion. I wasn’t sure I knew how to plan ahead. Finishing a Network school like Miss Mabel’s School for Girls vaulted students from the protective bubble of school straight into adulthood. Considering that I’d finished two and a half years early, I’d embraced my freedom with open arms, but now had no idea what to do with myself.

  “How did you decide what career you wanted, Miss Scarlett?” I asked. A thoughtful look crossed her face, and for a moment I lost her to a memory.

  “A very dear witch encouraged me to discover what I wanted to do the rest of my life, to find out what brought me the most joy and to pursue it. That’s what I did. That’s what I’m trying to do for you today.”

  “Teaching? You wanted to teach for the rest of your life?”

  She smiled at my wide eyes. “Yes,” she said. “I wanted to teach.”

  “Where did you grow up?” I asked.

  “I grew up in an orphanage in the Northern Covens, near Newberry.”

  My eyes widened again in surprise. I’d been to Newberry before with Mama and Papa. It lay near the border of the Eastern Network and not too far from the border of the Northern Network.

  “You were an orphan?” I whispered, following up with a lame, “Oh! I’m sorry. I-I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “It’s quite all right,” she said, straightening her jacket. “You had no way of knowing. My mother died giving birth to my younger sister. My father followed soon after.”

  My mind launched back to the afternoon my grandmother died while I was in school at Miss Mabel’s. Miss Scarlett had been at my side, helping me get through those first few moments of shock. And when I climbed into the carriage to go home, she had a look in her eyes that told me she’d known sorrow. Instead of saying something else insensitive, I waited to see if she would say more. When she didn’t, I turned the conversation.

  “And teaching was what you wanted to do for the rest of your life,” I repeated with a lingering touch of astonishment. I couldn’t imagine putting up with a bunch of teenage girls that, like me, really didn’t want to learn the things she had to teach us.

  “Yes. I’ve never regretted it. But we aren’t talking about me, are we? We’re talking about you, and you still haven’t answered my question, though you’ve done an admirable job of avoiding it.”

  I smiled sheepishly.

  If I could do anything that would make me happy, I’d run through Letum Wood every day. Plant a garden. Live under the thick canopy of trees that, while dangerous, felt far more like home to me than the walls of Chatham Castle did. But that could never happen. Papa was here at the castle as High Priest for the rest of his life, and my home and heart belonged to Papa. Besides, running wild under the trees would never move my life forward. I’d begin to despise the routine, knowing that I never really did anything important.

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “I honestly don’t.”

  She nodded once, looking as if she’d expected that answer all along. “It doesn’t have to be decided today, but it would be wise to attempt to figure it out before you turn forty.”

  She walked behind me, the skirt of her dress swaying, her back straight and perfect.

  “Now, let’s continue with your soup.”

  The soup had turned cold, so I warmed it with an incantation, my mind whirring with questions. The rest of the lesson passed in a blur of books on my head, straight spines, and constant shoulder correction. Once finished, I stopped in the doorway and glanced at her over my shoulder.

  “Thank you, Miss Scarlett. I’ll think over what you said.”

  She paused, seeming surprised, then nodded. Her tight lips softened. “You’re welcome, Bianca. Let me know what you decide.”

  Winter cloaked Letum Wood in a shroud of gray and white early the next morning. Even though most leaves had fallen months before, I still couldn’t see the sky through the canopy of branches and icicles. A low fog crawled across the ground and wrapped around my feet while I stared, waiting to begin my morning run.

  “Contemplating the mysteries of life?” asked a droll voice from just behind me. I whirled around, coming face to face with Merrick. He stood only a pace away from me, so close that I could feel the flush of his breath on my cheek. His proximity seemed to create new gravity, and for a moment my balance felt off.

  “Just looking at the forest,” I said, hating myself for sounding breathless. My mind told me to take a step back, put some space between us, but I didn’t. “It’s beautiful even in the winter.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Sometimes,” he said, glancing past me with his emerald green eyes. “Most of the time it just looks dead.”

  His blonde-streaked brown hair, worn to the shoulders, had been pulled back in a neat queue, leaving his stubbled jaw glimmering in sandy tones. A protective leather vest lined with pieces of metal along the edges hid his broad, strong shoulders. The fluid confidence of his movements made him more striking, if possible. His unfortunate attractiveness often flustered me. Even I would admit that. Although not out loud, of course. He’d proven to be a surprising friend that understood more of my strange, wild-child ways than most.

  Disconcertingly understanding, in fact.

  His eyes suddenly seemed to laugh at me, and I realized with a blush that I’d been staring at him. Heat flooded my cheeks. “Well,” I said, turning back to face Letum Wood and regain my equilibrium. “Shall we get going?”

  “I have a busy day today,” he said, adjusting his half-armor, which he always wore these days while out in Letum Wood. “So let’s just run for an hour.”

  I started onto the trail, my feet clad in a protective pair of leather shoes and my braid bouncing between my shoulder blades. Merrick didn’t care that I wore pants—something that most witches gawked at. But running in a skirt rarely ended well.

  We didn’t usually speak much while running; sometimes we went the entire hour without exchanging a word. So when he interrupted the silence halfway into the run, I knew something had to be on his mind.

  “I spoke with Sanna today,” he said as he ducked a tree branch. “She says they’ve found a few more poachers in Letum Wood trying to kill the dragons.”

  “Seriously? They didn’t learn from the last poachers?”

  Last summer I’d caught two poachers trying to kill the blue dragon. Through a series of lucky events, and the first explosion of my rampant magical powers, I saved the blue. The poachers were executed for treason.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, barely out of breath although we’d been running for thirty minutes. “The dragons ate them.”

  His nonchalance in the face of such terrible deaths nearly made me laugh. Then I remembered the glisten of saliva over the dragon’s pearly white teeth and thought better of it. Poacher or not, death by dragon would be a horrid ending.

  “Angelina must be sending witches to kill the dragons,” I said, catching myself before I fell on a slippery patch of snow. “Miss Mabel certainly isn’t.”

  “Getting rid of the dragons would cripple Chatham Castle. Sanna thinks most of the poachers are associated with the Factios.”

  “Good,” I muttered. “One less gang member to worry about.”

  The idea of our castle in danger made me more uneasy than I’d admit. Chatham Castle stood as more than just a symbol of our Network—it housed nearly all of our leadership. A majority of Council Members kept houses in the Covens they oversaw, but most of the time all ten Council Members stayed at the castle. And, of course, other important figures like Papa, High Priestess Stella, the Head of Guardians, and the Head of Protectors dwelt within the castle’s walls. If the castle fell, so would the Central Network. I imagined this was only part of the reason that the dragons were under a blood oath to protect it.

  “Can I ask you a question?” I risked a peek over my shoulder on a straight stretch of trail. A flush had crept over Merrick’s skin, and his face looked more rugged than ever. I quickly turne
d back around, but not for fear of tripping.

  “Of course,” he said.

  I leapt a boulder and swung left when the trail forked. It would loop toward the castle, giving us another thirty-minute trail back.

  “If the Western and Southern Networks form an alliance the way we suspect, and the Eastern Network does nothing, we’ll have to face two Networks alone. Can we do that? Do we have the strength?”

  Merrick didn’t respond right away. “We may not have a choice,” he said, as if he’d realized it long before. Knowing Merrick, he probably had.

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  I shot him a brief glare. “Well, I don’t think we’re strong enough to hold back two Networks. No matter how much Papa prepares.”

  “We could hold them off.”

  “But not win. Miss Mabel attacked us with Clavas when she killed Mildred. That means she’s had access to at least some Almorran magic. Maybe the lesser scrolls? If not the Book of Spells itself,” I added grudgingly. The idea that Miss Mabel or Angelina might have already found the magic sent a little ripple of fear through me. The lesser Almorran scrolls were just rumors, but so was the Book of Spells until Miss Mabel showed up with Clavas. The nasty creatures originated from Almorran magic, which meant someone had the scrolls, the Book of Spells, or both.

  “Miss Mabel is in the dungeons, B. She can’t hurt you.”

  “But her mother, Angelina, is not.”

  He didn’t try to counter my statement. “My point is this,” I said, “we’re going to need some outside help. What if we sent two or three Protectors up to the Northern Network to see if they’d help us? Maybe they’ll join the war.”

  I monitored his reaction—despite the fact that we were running—to see what he thought. His eyebrows shot up. He skirted a large root sticking up into the path and landed hard in a pile of slush, spraying the back of my pants.

  “The Northern Network isolated themselves from the other Networks almost three hundred years ago,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “They won’t want anything to do with us now. Why enter a war that isn’t their own? Besides, some witches think that no one even lives up there anymore.”