The Elf Witch |Book 1|

Chapter 16

Imani scrubbed her hands down her face and looked at the clock on the Royal Library wall. Past midnight.

The weeks of searching in the palace library had yielded nothing. Not only did she find nothing even remotely close to a Royal Vault or a Southern Chamber, but she didn't find one hint of the History of Royal Bloodlines book either.

Days blurred together. Assessments started in the spring, and the grueling training required and scouring the library put her in a perpetual state of exhaustion.

Her emotions danced on a knife's edge these days. She'd had more dreams of her sister. Dreams that almost choked her physical fears as a man threatened Meira's life if she didn't recant the lie that she had five markings. Dreams of Meira's trembling hands as she explained to the kitchen staff at the pub that she was no master-level witch. The tears that sprang to Imani's eyes were not her own.

In these moments, these flashes, she felt like she couldn't breathe, and worse, she'd only received one letter from her siblings to assuage her concerns. They were supposedly doing well, but she felt cut off from her family, missing them. She felt like something wasn't right, despite the words on the paper saying otherwise.

Even more worrisome—she hadn't fed since her sister. Imani knew she needed to feed soon or these fever-like waking dreams would worsen. Elves who starved themselves of affection and connection began to go insane. Feral.

But an obsession worse than hunger gnawed at her. Meira did not want Imani to pursue the Drasil, but the more she read and reread everything she had, which was very little, the more her mind fixated on it. Chasing down absolutely nothing, she sometimes wondered if this wand ever existed in the first place. Or maybe it was so long gone that she'd never locate one, let alone use it.

Yet something in the vague context and one-off mentions told her it was real. Finding it—no, possessing it—was all she thought about most days.

The search remained at a frustrating standstill, though. Imani wanted to scream at Ara because whatever location the old witch wrote down on a scrap of paper proved useless. Imani read everything she could think of in meticulous detail, tried every combination, and grabbed any book that looked remotely relevant. Nothing.

There was one place that might hold the answer, and indeed she had a gut feeling it did, but she couldn't access that part of the library.

Standing up, she made her way to the back like she had every night recently—the same time and place. The library's massive size meant weaving through a maze of shelves to the far corner.

Her mind buzzed with more possible workarounds as she made her way to the cordoned-off area of the library, almost too distracted to hear the whispers from between one of the stacks and shelves.

But she did, and she stopped, her heart pounding. She crept to hide amongst a row of manuscripts and peered through an opening.

Imani's eyes widened, recognizing the form of the Heir Apparent with her new friend, the pixie witch.

Esa looked up at him as he shook his head. She started to unbutton his pants. He removed her hand, shaking his head once more.

Oh? They honestly thought they were alone. A sigh of relief escaped Imani's lips.

They weren't precisely arguing. But judging by Tanyl's furrowed brow and Esa's defiant lifted chin, they seemed to disagree. Imani strained to hear more.

"I told you; It was fun before, but I'm not interested in continuing," said the prince.

"What's changed?" she shot back.