1. Chapter One

Chapter One

Bronwyn

Year 26 of the Third Era

If it had been solely up to me, I never would have allowed something as powerful and dangerous as magic to be so easily accessible.

All one needs to attend the Academy of Magickers is a little bit of magical proficiency—something that three of the four people groups native to Ruskhazar are capable of.

Magic itself is no easy skill to hone, despite how many people are born with it in their blood. Indeed, it takes many years to even become remotely proficient at it. Spells are difficult to memorize and cantankerous like our cook's poison recipes; the slightest variation from the norm could have disastrous consequences. Most people need magic enhancers such as staffs and wands to aid them in using it. Only the most powerful family bloodlines can wield magic in its raw form.

And yet, anyone can attend the Academy of Magickers where they will have every resource needed to excel at magic practically at their fingertips. Whether they deserve to have it or not.

Perhaps it is my father's teachings, but power is something that should be sought by few and attained by even fewer.

After all, if everyone is equally powerful then no one is powerful. What is power if not an edge over your enemy?

Now, don't get me wrong, it isn't as if I think I'm better than everyone else. Quite the opposite actually, I know that I am one of the many who has no right to learn magic. I am well aware of where I hail from. By blood, I'm nothing more than a farmer's daughter. I was born to work the ground, not study magic in illustrious halls.

By all rights, I should be a nobody, just like my birth father was.

But that was not what the gods had in store for me and my sister. I don't know what caused us to catch Elwis the Eel's eye, but he chose us all the same. He chose to make us a part of his family, to call us daughters, and raise us up to a position above that of a farmer's daughter.

I don't remember much about my life before Elwis took us in, but I do remember the fear. And I still have a scar or two from the beatings.

But I'm a farmer's daughter no longer. Elwis saved me from that life by killing the man I called "father," and he didn't abandon me and my twin Natasya. No, he took us in as his own daughters. Through Elwis, perhaps, I am a little more deserving of this academy and the pursuit of magic. After all, my father is wealthy and capable of buying me any magical trinket my heart could desire.

But because of Elwis I can never be a mere magicker. I am the daughter of who might just be the most powerful man in Ruskhazar—not that anyone would realize it.

I glance at the walls around me, stained windows paint a pretty picture but also blot out the natural light of the sun. These hallowed and ancient halls offer a welcoming air, promising learning and mastery of magic to all that would seek to attain it.

The Sanctuary of the Seeker reads engraved in letters etched into the stone above the arched door that leads to the spiral staircase that would take me to the second floor.

All who come to the Academy to learn magic are welcome. It's a foolish policy, one that allows a crime lord's daughter to just walk through its doors.

I draw to a halt however when I catch sight of a flash of silver hair followed by an annoyingly sultry laugh. I curl my hand into a fist, grinding my teeth together as I take in the young man leaning against the base of the stairwell.

My father controls the mining and farming industries. What land he does not own is owned by his friends. Those in the council of notability seek his advice before they make a stand on issues. From the outside, he is a powerful, influential, and wealthy merchant. He is a good friend to have, and thus, he has many friends.

However, Elwis doesn't just rule the business and political sphere; under the surface, he is also the head of one of the most powerful assassin guilds there are. He also runs a ring of thieves and has the entire criminal underworld in a chokehold.

Which is why it is so difficult for me to keep my face stoic as I face my first-year tormentor. Wilder Zubkov.

Outwardly, Wilder has it all: family name, wealth, prestige. He is from a powerful magical bloodline; his family requires no magical trinkets to be formidable magickers. Not that his family spares any expense. After all, what is power if it cannot be enhanced?

To top it all off, he is handsome. The sort of handsomeness that allows him to get away with just about anything. When he looks at an unwitting victim with those dark eyes and gives a small smile, he is capable of melting the heart of even the most stoic professor.

While I hold some sway due to my adopted father's name, that sort of thing doesn't matter to someone like Wilder. Bloodline is everything, and unfortunately, my bloodline leads back to an abusive farmer I would rather have nothing to do with.

And so, Wilder has made it his life mission to make certain that I know I'm not welcomed here at the academy. If his mocking words making fun of my heritage and belittling Elwis's position weren't enough, he also hides my stuff. Conveniently, snakes find their way into my room. Somehow the professors—colleagues of Wilder's father—give me poor grades when I know I answered correctly.

It is a good thing that I learned to never look at an outward appearance; otherwise, I would have missed the fact that Wilder Zubkov is a vile, reprehensible toad with a fat ego and an annoying laugh.

I wasn't prepared for the anger that would course through my veins when I saw him again. His antics made my last year utterly miserable. I had to spend my entire break convincing myself that I was a better person, and I did not need to have my father assassinate his entire family. It had been difficult, but with all the distance, I was able to fool myself into believing I was a good person.

But here is Wilder standing there again with that arrogant smirk as he looks me over. "It seems that we are just letting anyone in here now. Even Eels."

Even though Eel is actually my name, since I took the name of the man who raised me, I bristle whenever I hear it come from Wilder.

I know that I shouldn't stop. I should just keep walking and pretend that I didn't hear him, escape to my room or a quiet corner of the library, and lose myself in a book. Instead, my boot scrapes to stone floor of the academy, a facility that is as large as a city, built entirely from ancient magic and massive stonework thus earning it the title "the city of stone".

I jut my chin as I draw to a halt right in front of him and two or three of his snickering imbecilic friends. "It must be a difficult concept for you to grasp," I say, tilting my head. "To have a loving father. Someone you would actually want to carry the name of. But I wish you the best in trying to wrap your mind around that concept."

I know it's a low blow, the sort of jab that Wilder would make, but my father always taught me to fight by turning my enemy's weapons against them. To be frank, if Wilder were not such a horrible creature, I might even pity him. His strained relationship with his father is no secret. After all, his father is a powerful and cunning magicker, a prominent name in the academy, and he expects his son to continue the family legacy of meddling in the magical world.

Wilder already has much to redeem himself for in his father's eyes, since he was born of an illicit affair with a servant.

Still, he is Zubkov and so things are expected of him. Doors are opened for him. And he is still his father's son even if neither of them particularly cares for that fact.

"If that is what you have to tell yourself to get through being an inn keeper's daughter."

I snort. It's true, the start of Elwis's empire was the inn that he gifted to my adopted mother Vala, but he was never a humble inn keeper. Around the time my father bought that inn, he was already a member of the assassin Family of Night, and over the years he became their leader, starting his own ring of thieves and becoming a ruler of a criminal empire, all while buying land and betraying business partners.

But, of course, Wilder has no idea of any of this. And so, like any ignorant person, he talks even when he has no idea what he is saying.

I fold my arms, studying the third button on his vest. I don't want to look up into his face because he is and has always been unfortunately handsome, and I have no time to deal with my own treacherous thoughts.

The button is engraved with an owl, it's a fine piece of craftmanship, and displays his family's wealth. Wilder is so rich that he can't even have plain buttons.

Maybe I should have my buttons engraved. Is that what people do to display power these days? Maybe it can finally earn me some respect around here.

Since Elwis is virtually immortal as both a Lower Elf and a vampire, I don't ever expect to inherit the business from him, but I will hold a place in power within it alongside my father. He has already been training me and my sisters to be ready. I am to be the magicker of the family.

I will be a somebody and Wilder will only ever remain a nobody.

But I can't say any of this because keeping my father's secret is paramount. The whole world believes he is a reputable businessman, and I will not be the daughter who betrays his secret.

I force a smile. "Anyway, as lovely as it was to see you again, Wilder, I would rather set myself aflame and slowly burn to death than talk to you any longer, so I think I'll be off."

I start to turn to leave, but just then he reaches up and snags my hair. I stiffen as he gives it a slight tug. It doesn't even hurt, but it's enough to boil my blood.

I have always had thick unruly hair; it falls half in cascading waves and half as tangled curls, and I have spent much of my life attempting to tame it. It is long and thick, and the slightest bit of moisture will cause it to become a frizzy mess.

My twin has hair much like mine, but she was blessed to have red hair which was always meant to be a bit wild. My hair is a dull color of brown and has always been a sensitive issue for me.

I do not appreciate Wilder having the audacity to lay his hands on it. Why if my father knew he would slice off each of his fingers. One by bloody one.

I whirl, balling my hands into fists ready to give Wilder a piece of my mind, but I freeze as I finally look him in the face.

Wilder has always been quite pale, a fact that is emphasized by his stark white hair, a token of his higher elf descent. He has always looked every bit the part of the aristocrat he is with his refined cheekbones and haughty brow, but there is something about his appearance that has a sharper look now. His jawline is more angled, his face narrower.

And his eyes… his eyes sparkle like twin flames. Like two rubies set in his face.

He smiles, his eyes flicking over me as he waits for my explosion. I think he lives for the moments when I go off on him. It must make him feel so superior that he is able to control his emotions, and I always explode with anger.

But I am frozen.

Slowly, I watch that smile slide off his face, but I can't seem to move or stop myself from staring.

Many have convinced themselves that vampires are nothing more than bedtime stories, told to children to keep them in their beds at night. Despite the numerous accounts of their existence, most people are content to believe that monsters existed only in the past, long ago wiped out by our bold ancestors.

Those that would acknowledge that vampires even exist choose to see them as wretched creatures. Things that are barely even human that hide from the sun and forget that they are not animals as they rot away in deep caves.

It is true that there are savage vampires, animalistic creatures that are nothing but instinct and bloodlust.

It's true that long ago the monsters were nearly wiped out, but what these people don't seem to realize is that as long as there are humans, there are vampires because any human is capable of becoming one.

And they forget that these vampires were at first humans.

So, no one thinks to look for them in society. No one expects a vampire to tell them good morning, or perhaps to tug on their ponytail while mocking their family name.

They expect vampires to rip out people's throats and hiss in the daylight.

I happen to be an expert on vampires. After all, I was raised by one.

I know a vampire when I see one, even if others would be willing to overlook the slight changes to a person's appearance.

And this year there is something different about Wilder Zubkov. This year, he's a vampire.