The Elf Witch |Book 1|

Chapter 12

The carriage rocked back and forth along the rocky dirt road across the boggy terrain. The wind blew in from the approaching sea and whistled through the cracks of the coach.

Cold, tedious and with everything jostling about, she couldn't read; indeed, she could barely think. She wasn't especially fond of reading but was ready to do anything to stifle boredom.

To make matters worse, they planned to give her a traveling companion soon. It could be any number of kinds, but the nymphs and shifters already in their company seemed uninteresting. Half would die taking the board certifications anyways. Maybe more.

Despite already passing by her home territory and many elves possessing powerful magic, none of her kind was with them. It disappointed her more than she wanted to admit. But the government would never travel into the Draswood without an invitation, let alone barge in and demand elven witches.

They weren't fools.

Imani tried to keep to herself. But, as the only high bred Norn elf, she still drew attention, even with glamour.

The fascinating person in their group hadn't shown his face again, so she wouldn't either.

In the past three days, they'd left the nymph territories of the Riverlands and Meadowlands and entered the Moorlands. Pixie territory. The Neshuin coast and the capital were close.

Around midday, she sensed Stralas' magic long before she saw it, like a collective buzzing over her skin. The wards protecting the city started far outside the perimeter. Imani kept her gaze fixed on the horizon, heart hammering in anticipation.

Shadowed outlines of the great walls finally came into focus as they made their way up the rocky coast.

Structures rose on the peninsula in the distance, too. Then, as the massive capital of the Light Kingdom became more prominent, their company became hushed.

An hour later, they stopped at a crossroads, one in abject disrepair. While Imani had been keen to see the cityscape from this view, an invisible fog of uneasiness was hanging in the air. Even she could tell this was a different route into the city.

Their caravan halted entirely, and she whipped her head out the door to get a look.

Immediately, the wind ruffled her cloak and hair, which smelled like the sea, reminding her of the male nymph, the Master witch.

Soldiers shouted indiscriminate orders down the line, ordering them back into the carriages with the rest of the apprentices. A scuffle caused Imani to stand up straighter. She hopped down, scurrying to hide behind a tree near the dirt road they'd stopped at and surveyed the scene.

The breeze spun off the cotton grass in a field ahead and played with the blue hair of a diminutive woman pointing her fingers at the soldiers, shouting something indiscriminate. Upon closer examination, she looked like a child but was undoubtedly an adult.

Imani's brows shot up.

Delicate, translucent, moth-shaped wings snapped out and fluttered with surprising force.

While Draswood elves only seemed elusive, Moorlands pixies were truly rare. Only a small number remained after the Plains' populations were decimated years ago by several Fabric events, not to mention those taken captive by the more ruthless covens over the past century. As such, no one saw pixies in their larger forms outside the safety of their home territory.

Imani wanted to get her hands on some pixie dust of any variety, one of the most coveted magic items.

Some versions of dark pixie dust could raise the dead, according to rumors she'd heard in Fen's bed.