Chapter 7

T he walk to the chapel is short, but every step closer feels like lead. Without the chains around my ankles my steps should be light, but I'm so used to walking with them that my whole gait feels wrong…off. Never thought I would miss my chains. It's almost like I've had them for so long that without them I'm missing a part of me.

The weight of all the eyes on me feels like it's going to drag me down. Blending in and going unseen is what has kept me alive for this long, but now I'm receiving all this attention and my whole body screaming at me to run , to hide . They're going to see through the magic and the pretty dress to the dirty slave beneath. Mercifully, Jayne selected a pair of flat shoes for me to wear, but when you're used to walking barefoot, shoes just feel restrictive. The skin on my ankles is raw from my chains and were carefully dressed by Jayne before soft stockings were rolled up my legs. Wringing my hands, I can't help but fiddle with the metal cuffs circling my wrists and hiding my marks, making sure they're still firmly in place.

"Stop fretting. I can practically feel you rejecting the magic, it's making my skin itch," Grayson reproaches gently, as he links his arm with mine, pulling me closer to him.

Startled, I stop playing with the cuff and glance up at him in shock before looking down at our linked arms. Physical touch is something I learned to hate and fear. The guards' faces would always twist into disgust if they ever had to touch us, but Grayson's expression is impassive as he rubs small, soothing circles into my palm. I don't know whether to be pleased or disturbed by his touch, but I do find something about him soothing. Since we left his rooms, something about him changed. He stands straighter and his face has fallen into a careful mask, devoid of any emotion. We continue to walk in silence, but I play over his last words, something about them bugging me.

"Is it possible to reject your magic?" I've never heard of anyone doing it before, but my education is sorely lacking, especially where magic is concerned.

"It shouldn't be, unless you had your own magic." His voice is low to avoid anyone overhearing us and his eyes dart to me, taking in my stunned expression. "You don't," he quickly says. "I would've sensed it by now. Although, as I've told you, there is something different about you. Perhaps it's just because the Goddess has blessed you. She has plans for you, after all." Even though it's not the first time I'm hearing it, it's difficult to keep my expression neutral as he tells me I've been blessed…that I'm "different."

It's never been something I'd considered. Magic was only granted to those who the Great Mother deemed worthy, but with Grayson continually telling me I'm blessed, that I'm something special, a little part of me can't help but start wondering, hoping . After all, that's what all little girls dream about, right? Being told you're special and then swept away to learn magic? It's a romantic notion, even if our magicians are used as our best soldiers in the war. Even in the slave quarters that's something I hear whispered between the younger slaves before they get the hope beaten out of them. Some of the older slaves would get angry with the youngsters, hissing at them to quit their foolish dreaming, but I didn't mind. Anything was better than seeing the blank, zombie-like look that the broken slaves wear.

"I'm glad I kept the dress," Grayson starts, pulling me out of my thoughts. From the corner of my eye I can see him running his gaze down my body before quickly looking ahead, a small frown pulling at his brow. "After my sister died…" The pain in his voice is raw as he trails off. Looking up at him, I'm about to tell him he doesn't have to continue, that he doesn't need to explain, but as he meets my gaze, I see something harden in him. "I was going to get rid of it, but something told me to keep it. It suits you." His words are curt, and for a moment I wonder what I've done wrong to make him start acting this way with me. That's when I realise.

Shit.

I once overheard someone explaining illusion magic. They said it had to be based on something, you couldn't just will it into being. Therefore, for Grayson to change my hair like this, he would have had to base it off something—or someone —he's seen before. Standing there before him in his sister's dress, it's no great surprise where he got the inspiration from.

"How did she die?" The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, and I see his steps falter for a second, but he quickly recovers. I regret asking as his face darkens. I feel him pulling away from me, but just as I'm about to tell him not to answer, he clears his throat.

"She was my shadow." I almost don't hear him, his voice low. A lord dressed up in a smart suit strolls down the corridor towards us and Grayson pauses, dipping his head in acknowledgement as the lord bows in respect. We continue walking through the castle in silence as the man passes, our steps slow because of my unsteady gait in these unfamiliar shoes. "As soon as I was accepted into the Magician's Academy, that was what she wanted to do too," he continues quietly, surprising me. "She was just about to attend her choosing ceremony and I'd managed to get leave approved so I could come back to see it. I was just a regular magician at the time." Hiding a smirk, I nod my head. Something makes me think that Grayson was never just a regular magician. "She travelled to the border to meet me, I told her not to, that it was too dangerous, but she did it anyway." My heart sinks, knowing what is coming next as I hear the pain in his voice. "There was an attack. The elves had been waiting for me. I don't know how they found out I was coming back, but they were there to intercept me. When Opal came through, they ambushed her carriage. I was rounding the corner and saw them attacking, but I was too late. She didn't stand a chance."

"What did you do?" I'm almost scared to know, but according to Grayson, I'm somehow a crucial piece to this war, so I need to know what I'm up against.

"I killed the first one with a bolt of power so strong it threw me back ten meters. As soon as they saw the smoking remains of their comrade, the others fled." A smile twists his lips, but there is no happiness there, only anger and pain. "I tracked the others down and killed them." He stops walking, pulling me to a stop next to him. "I wish I had taken my time, made them hurt. Instead, I ripped their hearts from their chests like they did to me when they killed Opal." His voice is dark as he tightens his grip on my arm, almost to the point of pain. "Do I scare you? Does it bother you that I killed those elves with my bare hands?"

This is a completely different Grayson to the one who had knelt down in front of me in his rooms, who told me an embarrassing story to make me feel better, and who rescued me from the executioner. This Grayson is one of the high magicians, who gained his position with magic, strength, and blood. I should be shaking, fearing for my life, bowing and grovelling for him to spare me, but I don't. I see beneath his mask because that's exactly what it is—a shield to protect him from what he's seen and had to do in the name of his king. I don't answer him, but whatever he sees on my face makes him frown before blowing out a large breath and brushing his hand through his hair.

"Let's go, or you'll miss your ceremony." He sounds resigned but straightens his shoulders and offers me his arm again. We walk the last few steps to a large door that leads out into one of the grand courtyards, the Queen's Courtyard. I've been here many times as a slave to collect fresh water to clean with, and have always admired the fountains with their bright, ceramic tiles and the exquisitely manicured flowers. However, seeing it now and being able to openly admire it is something different altogether.

The courtyard is made up of three castle walls and a fourth wall with a large, open archway that leads to the main courtyard at the front of the chapel. The main courtyard is a harsher place, made of cold, grey stone arches—a place of judgement—whereas this courtyard was created for peace and beauty. They say that the king crafted this courtyard for his love, so she would have a place to go to mourn the passing of a loved one. Although, if you believe the rumours, this loved one was more than just a friend. Not that anyone would dare say that, other than in the hushed whispers of the palace gossips.

The side door to the chapel stands open and I can hear the murmuring of nervous voices as the acceptees prepare for the ceremony. Fear lances through my core and I pull Grayson to a stop as I shake my head. He can't seriously make me do this. Why can't I have a private ceremony? He's one of the high magicians, for Mother's sake, can't he pull some strings?

"Stop." His firm voice cuts through my panic before he reaches for my shoulder and spins me around to face him. "Stop panicking. You've faced far worse than this." I can't look at him, my eyes frantically darting around in case anyone's watching. The courtyard is empty now, and the noise coming from the open door of the chapel is rising. The ceremony is about to start.

"They'll know, they'll see through me." My voice is quiet, but even I can hear the fear there.

Afraid they'll work out who you are, or that Grayson's wrong and you're not special after all? the dark little voice whispers, and my fear transforms into anger. But that soon falters. What if Grayson is wrong?

"They won't," he replies, shaking me gently until I finally meet his gaze. The mask is gone, and in its place is the young man I'm beginning to know. "Trust in the Mother. Trust in me." Staring into his eyes, I come to a shocking realisation. I don't trust him, not fully, not yet, which is no surprise, but I realise that I want to trust him.

That's a dangerous thought, but I don't have time to worry about that right now. Taking a deep, shaking breath, I nod sharply, cataloguing the slight look of shock that crosses his face before his mask slides back into place. Linking our arms, he strides towards the chapel, my skirts billowing out behind me as we hurry inside.

The inside of the chapel is beautiful, but in a cold, gothic way with tall stone arches and twisting columns. There are rows of chairs filled with finely dressed nobles and parents facing towards the altar where the high priest is watching us all with a stern expression. Behind him, a huge, stained-glass window depicting the Great Mother shines down on us, the only colour built into this otherwise dark and oppressive space. The sun has already begun to set, but a beam of light shines through and lands on us, bathing my pale skin in colours. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and imagine that I can feel the sun's warm rays on my flesh, taking strength from the heat.

"Clarissa." Grayson's irritated tone calls me out of my bubble of calm, and from his frustrated expression, and the amused looks from the people around me, I get the feeling it's not the first time he's called my name.

"Sorry…Grayson." I stumble over his name, aware of the eager expressions and listening ears around us. Jayne explained to me that while I was Clarissa, I would be expected to call him by his given name. A close friend wouldn't call him a high mage in public unless in a formal setting, but the words feel hot on my tongue, like I'll be struck down for uttering them.

"Relax. Look, the princes have arrived," he comments, and I welcome the distraction, following his nod toward the thrones that sit just to the left of the altar. There are five of them in total—the king's in the centre is the grandest, with the queen's throne to the left, and the three thrones to his right belonging to his heirs. All of the seats are empty save for the last two, and I see that Grayson's right, as the two youngest princes, Jacob and Michael, take their seats. The ladies that were standing closest to me must have heard Grayson's words as they eagerly look over at the thrones before turning to giggle and gossip with their neighbours. Fighting the urge to roll my eyes, I study the princes.

I've seen them around the castle, but never had the opportunity to actually look at them. The youngest, Jacob, is the tallest, and looks completely out of place in his smart, double-breasted uniform as he pulls at the neckline of his jacket. His hair is just slightly too long, and he keeps having to shake his head to keep it from hanging in his eyes. If rumours are true, Jacob prefers the company of books over people and has caused the queen many sleepless nights as he rejects all of the potential marital prospects she presents him with.

Michael, on the other hand, is the complete opposite—all charming smiles and dimples, not a hair out of place on his head. His ceremonial uniform fits him comfortably and he sits on the throne like it's his favourite place to be, not a hard, cold, marble pedestal.

A hush falls over the gathering people and heads turn toward the back of the chapel. Frowning, Grayson does the same, only for surprise to light up his face.

"The queen has chosen to attend," he tells me quietly, and I glance over my shoulder to see he's right. Her black dress flows out behind her as she strides towards her throne, her face tight with an emotion I'm struggling to place, her guards following closely behind her. "That's a bold choice of clothing to wear." At my confused expression, Grayson lets out a small sigh before explaining, "The queen has been in mourning since her…friend died. She always wears something black, usually a band on her sleeve, but for her to dress completely in black to the ceremony…" My eyes widen in understanding. Whatever reason the queen has for attending today, it's not for the ceremony.

I continue to watch the queen. She subtly nods to the lords and ladies who bow their heads to her, but she doesn't stop until she reaches her sons. Her blank expression cracks slightly as she bestows a smile on them both before taking her throne.

From what Grayson said, I get the impression the queen rarely attends the ceremony, so why would she choose to come today, and why in full mourning? Questions start to rise inside me, but before I can even think to voice them, haunting music fills the chapel, a single woman's voice joining in, her beautiful singing calling out melodious words that are not our own. Whatever language she's singing in just adds to the melancholy beauty of the song.

Grayson starts to move away and panic laces through me and, without thinking, I grab his sleeve, stopping him in his tracks. Frowning, he looks down at my hands on his uniform before raising his eyes to my horrified ones. I just grabbed a high magician, my life should be forfeit. However, he surprises me once again as he leans forward, his face pulled into a look of concern.

"What's wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?" His voice is low as he steps toward me. When he flicks his gaze over my shoulder, I'm reminded that we're not alone.

"Where are you going? What do I do?" Even though I try to keep my voice equally as quiet, I can't help but wince when my voice comes out high and panicked. I get some looks from the people closest to us, their hushed whispers making me blush. Grayson frowns at them and they instantly fall silent, the thought of having a high magician's displeasure far outweighing their need to gossip.

"I keep forgetting you're…" he trails off as his face pulls into a frown again, stopping on the word.

"A slave," I reply bluntly. I have no idea where my audacity has come from. For twelve years I've followed the rules, stayed silent, completed their manual labour, but something has been awakened within me and it's not content to remain quiet anymore. Some emotion twists Grayson's features and he grabs my shoulder before pulling me towards the little side door we entered, moving me farther away from listening ears. I'm sure he's going to tell me off for speaking to him like that, especially when we are around other people, but he runs his eyes over me and something softens in his face.

"Not anymore," he assures me, his voice certain before he glances over his shoulder, frowning at whatever he sees there. "We don't have much time, but I'll try to explain the ceremony as best I can. I'm going to go stand with the other offerers, you'll stand with the acceptees. There will be a brief service and then the priest will call one person at a time. They'll ask who is offering you to the Mother, I'll step forward and say the ritual words. They will then ask you if you accept the Mother's blessing, which you respond with ‘yes.' You will then be blessed and will join me on the other side of the altar," he explains, his eyes tracking my face. "It's simple, just copy the other acceptees." A faint smile covers his lips as he tries to reassure me. "You'll be fine, trust in the Mother."

I open my mouth to speak, having no idea what I'm going to say, but we're interrupted by someone clearing their throat.

"Mage Grayson?"

As if he's been struck, Grayson's back straightens and his mask falls firmly back into place, every inch the high magician. "I'm coming," he barks, and I see one of the priests hurrying away to avoid any further rebuttal from the magician. Eyes still on me, Grayson seems to be waiting for something, so I give him a ghost of a smile and nod my head.

Walk up to the altar, say yes, then go stand with Grayson, sounds easy enough, I think to myself as I watch the magician tidy his uniform and walk into the chapel.

Now alone in the courtyard, I take a couple of moments for myself, closing my eyes and enjoying the peace of the fresh air against my skin and the soft sounds of trickling water from the fountains. If someone had told me this morning that I would be attending the ceremony in a beautiful dress as a lady, no longer a slave, I would have called them crazy. Even in my wildest dreams I had never seen this future.

Opening my eyes, I take a deep breath and walk back towards the chapel door, the words being sung calling to me, even in a language I can't understand. There is something magical about it. The music ends as I step through the door and the acceptees closest to me watch me with narrowed eyes, all except one who shuffles closer to me. One of the younger priests steps up onto the altar and bows low to the high priest, who nods his head and moves to the side where he proceeds to cast his gaze over us.

"Your Royal Highnesses," the young priest begins, pride lining every word as he addresses the queen and her sons before turning to the rest of the audience. "Lords, ladies, and esteemed guests, welcome. Today is a very special day for our acceptees, the day they will be blessed, and a very special few shall be chosen for a better calling." There is a pause as excited whispers break out from the acceptees standing with me. "These young people are about to turn twenty and as such will become part of our society."

I look around at the individuals standing with me with a new understanding. A part of me had thought that they shared a birthday with me, which was why the ceremony was today, but in reality that wouldn't be practical—there are too many young people here to share the same day of birth. Thinking back on what I know of the ceremonies, which isn't much, I know they take place four times a year, so they must invite the acceptees to the ceremony closest to their birthday. Glancing around at the people near me, I see a sea of taffeta dresses and smart suits, everyone's dressed in their finest clothing. A frown pulls at my brow, I'd thought the servants were included in the ceremony, but I seriously doubt any of them are standing with me now. I've overheard servants discussing the ceremony and how they have to save for years to afford a suitable outfit.

I catch movement out of the corner of my eye. At the back of the chapel, the grand doors open to reveal a line of nervous, well dressed people the same age as me, along with what must be their parents still in their serving uniforms.

"I can't believe they still let them in." Spinning around, I see a stunning woman in a bright fuchsia gown glaring at the new group with disgust.

"Excuse me?" My voice is quiet, confused. She can't mean what I think she's implying. I'm not even sure if she's talking to me. Glancing around us, I see no one else is paying attention and she directs her icy blue eyes onto me.

"The commoners." Her disgust is clear in both her voice and her expression, and I feel that ball of anger light up inside me again, but thankfully someone else speaks up before I can get myself into more trouble.

"Are you saying they shouldn't be blessed?" a short, busty redhead with skin almost as pale as mine whispers, stepping closer to the two of us. "You know what would happen to them if they didn't receive it, right?" Disgust also lines her voice, but I get the impression she is revolted by the other lady's attitude, not the commoners. I can't help but wonder what she would think if she knew she was standing with a slave.

"No, that's not what I'm saying, Aileen," the lady in fuchsia responds with ice in her voice. I get the impression that there is no love lost between the two of them. "We'd never have anyone to serve us if we didn't allow it, after all. I'm just saying that they should have their own ceremony and let this one be private . They let any old riff-raff into this one," she says, looking Aileen up and down with a sneer on her face before turning to look at me again, her eyes taking in the grandness of my dress. "I don't know who you are, but you would be wise to take heed of who you are associating with."

Fighting to keep my face straight, I simply incline my head an inch, forcing myself to be polite and hoping she doesn't sense the anger that's burning within me. I don't want to be making an enemy on my first day of freedom. "Thank you for the advice."

Aileen snorts and the woman in fuchsia mutters something under her breath before turning and pushing her way to the front of the other acceptees. I guess I wasn't convincing enough.

"She's a piece of work," Aileen mumbles under her breath as she turns back to watch the ceremony, the high priest still droning on. I should probably be paying attention, but instead I focus on the redhead in front of me. Her dress is a mixture of greens and blues in crisscrossing patterns, and it's easy to see who her offerer is—a man with the same shade of ginger hair and a kilt in a similar crisscrossing fabric.

Opening my mouth, I go to reply, but the high priest calls the first acceptee forward. It's a woman, and although she looks nervous, an excited gleam in her eye tells me otherwise. Striding up onto the dais, she drops into a curtsy before the royals and then turns a bright smile to the high priest. He starts the ceremony, calling forth her offerer who speaks the ritual words, the woman eagerly accepting the blessing. I'm not sure what I was expecting to happen, but a tingle of electricity running down my spine was not it. Eyes wide, I look around the room to see if anyone else noticed it. A few others appear confused, startled, but as I glance over at Grayson, he watches me knowingly and gives me a reassuring nod.

What's that supposed to mean? Biting down on my lip, I turn my attention back to the woman on the platform, who's obviously trying her best to hide her disappointment before she is guided off the stage and the next acceptee is called up—this time, a young man. His footing is strong as he steps onto the dais, repeating the process of bowing to the royals and the high priest. The ceremony carries on much the same. One of the ladies is blessed and chosen to join the priesthood, a little cheer rising up from the audience as she's led away. A couple of the acceptees are partnered up in a blessed union, but no one has been chosen to join the magicians as of yet.

"Lady Clarissa of Lake Haven." There is a low murmur as people begin to whisper, and as the time stretches on and no one steps up, the high priest frowns before calling the name again. "Lady Clarissa."

"I'm assuming that's you, seeing as I grew up with all these idiots and none of them are Lady Clarissa or from Lake Haven," Aileen mutters, giving me a tiny push in the small of my back.

Mother above! I curse internally, before taking a deep breath and stepping forward. Totally unused to the name I had just been given, I'm shaken, and I pray to the Mother that no one notices, or if they do they just put it down to nerves.

Taking slow, steady steps, I accept the hand of one of the guards who helps me up onto the dais. Dropping into an awkward and wobbly curtsy before the royals, I hold it for a second too long before hauling myself up again, my eyes catching on the princes as I start to move away. In doing so, I'm not looking where I'm going and my feet, so unused to wearing shoes, tangle up in my skirts and I begin to fall. Hands clutch my shoulders and my already flushed cheeks deepen to a shade of red as I realise Prince Jacob is kneeling in front of me and stopped me from sprawling on the dais before them. With a frown, I recognise he shouldn't have been able to reach me in time, and I notice a hint of sticky, sweet magic rolling over me.

Eyes wide, I scrabble back from the prince, my words breathy. "My apologies, Your Highness."

So much for staying under the radar, I chastise myself as I stand, brushing down my skirts and ignoring the fluttering feeling in my chest as the prince chuckles.

"I'm not used to ladies throwing themselves at me, that's more my brother's forte," Prince Jacob teases quietly with a small smile. I smile back tightly in return and take a step away from the charming royal. I'm sure Jacob has his fair share of female attention, despite his studious nature. "Are you okay, Lady…"

"Clarissa, Lady Clarissa of Lake Haven." I stumble over my name, but he simply smiles and nods his head.

"I look forward to seeing more of you in the future. Perhaps I can show you around the Great Library?" the prince suggests, and I open my mouth to respond but someone appears at his shoulder. I quickly lower my gaze as I realise it's his more intimidating older brother. I've heard rumours about Michael, the middle son. Other than his popularity with women, it's said that he has barely any patience and beats his servants. I want as little to do with him as possible.

"Brother, stop bothering the lady, no one wants to see those dusty books except for you." I feel his interested gaze on me and it twists something inside me. Jerking my head up, I look into Jacob's eyes and give him a small, but genuine smile.

"No, I would love to, Your Highness." The look of surprise on both their faces is almost worth it, but Michael's soon turns into something else—the thrill of a challenge.

"Your Highnesses, is there a problem? We must continue with the ceremony." I never thought I would be grateful to be interrupted by the high priest, but it's the excuse I need.

"Yes, you're right, thank you, High Priest. Please continue," Jacob says with a nod of his head, heading back towards his throne, his brother following behind. But as I take my final steps towards the altar, I can feel their eyes on me. The high priest who was conducting the ceremony waits a moment for everyone to settle, giving a few stern looks until the whispers drop away. Clearing his throat, he adopts the serene look of a benevolent priest.

"Who here is offering Lady Clarissa to the Great Mother?"

"I am." I almost sag in relief when I hear Grayson's voice, someone familiar. Knowing there is someone here on my side makes me stand taller as he reaches my side. "I, High Mage Grayson of Lake Haven, offer Lady Clarissa to the Great Mother. May Clarissa be blessed and chosen in a way that serves Her will." The room is silent with bated breath as the high priest turns to look at me with an expectant expression.

"Lady Clarissa, do you accept the blessing from the Great Mother and accept the path She has chosen for you?" His words hit me like a physical blow as I realise this is more than just accepting a blessing. I'm saying an oath that not only will I be blessed, but I am also accepting a goddess given fate. Until today, I hadn't thought that was possible, I wasn't even sure I fully believed in the Great Mother. What if the fate She has chosen for me is not one I would have chosen for myself?

You were a slave, anything is better than that, my inner voice comments, and I realise it's right. This truly is my chance to be something different, someone different.

"Trust in the Mother," Grayson whispers, his voice only loud enough for me to catch. Nodding, I look up at the frowning high priest and say the words that will seal my fate.

"I accept."

For a moment, nothing happens, and I begin to think I was overthinking the oath I just took.

After all, they're just words, right?

Electricity jolts down my spine, but it's different than how it felt when I was watching the others. With the previous attendees, it was like little shocks, varying in strength, but this is something different altogether, like I've been hit with a bolt of lightning. It doesn't hurt, but it's like my whole body is alive, every nerve ending alight with feeling, almost to the point where it's too much. My back arches as the sensation intensifies and I crumple to the ground, blackness engulfing me. The last thing I hear is Grayson calling my name.