Weather Witch

epic proportions to crush commoners and nobles alike. Everyone knew the most dangerous of the magickers were Weather Witches. Well, nearly the most dangerous …

But all people, young and old, rich and poor, ranked and Witches, knew tales of Galeyn the Weather Witch and the way, at only eight, she saved an entire ship of colonists from a vicious Merrow attack. Compared to the multitude of Weather Witches, other magickers seemed only rumors.

The Tester’s eyes found hers and held them until no one else in the room dared speak, dared move, dared breathe …

His hand reached out, long and thin with fingers that curled more than bent, turned palm up, and slowly slid in the air before them like a hunting hound scenting the air.

Someone whispered, “He is preparing for the Touch Test,” and another voice behind her agreed, “Said to be as simple as Salem…”

His hand paused a moment, fingers twitching like they’d been tickled by some invisible feather … then his hand darted out, fast and sure.

Jordan jumped when he grabbed her arm and sparks flew between them, the scent of something in the air burning, and he yanked her forward with a rudeness no one would ever show a member of the Fifth of the Nine.

“No,” she yelped.

Most were no longer seeing her because they all—the best of the higher ranks of the Nine—watched as Morgan Astraea’s face crumpled and fell, realizing what it meant that his daughter was a Weather Witch. That magick ran in her blood and not his wife’s.

And certainly not in his own.

“No…” Lady Astraea whispered, her face twisting in a mirror of his agony. “No. It cannot be,” she protested. “He is wrong!” Her voice rose as she took a sudden step forward. “No,” she said again, regaining control of her voice. “The Tester is wrong. There is no chance that she is what he claims. My blood is without taint and Lord Morgan Astraea’s blood is without taint and…” She raised her head, tipping her chin up nobly, but her hands trembled at the unspoken accusation. “It is utterly impossible due to my spotless reputation.”

Lord Astraea was still frozen, pain etched deep in his features, when the Councilman puffed out his chest and announced to the assembled crowd, “The Tester is beyond reproach. But it appears her ladyship is not.”

“No,” Lady Astraea protested. “I would never…”

But her lord turned away, his face drawn and his attention fixed to a glowing wall sconce by the doors, and the Tester shoved Jordan into the waiting hands of a Warden.

The Wardens spread out, snapping the steel-ringed butts of their heavy-handled canes on the marble floor so the sound rang through the hall. The servants stepped back, eyes lowered—thankful it was not one among their number this time.

Standing in the foyer, the Warden’s grip tight on her, Jordan swallowed hard. The carefully framed paper cuttings of the previous Astraea family members’ profiles all seemed to be pointing at her, their sightless silhouettes weighing her. Her grandmother, quite the debutante of her time, peered down her aquiline nose at her grandchild while Great-grandmother Silicia tipped her head heavenward as if to avoid the distressing scene being playing out beside her picture. Jordan even imagined that the silhouettes of her sisters (who seldom cared a whit for her) looked away, aware Jordan’s profile would never hang beside theirs.

Wringing her hands, Lady Astraea repeated a single word: “No.” It ran from her mouth so fast and smooth, over and over again so that soon it was just a trilling noise somewhere between a choke and a cry.

Jordan’s gaze latched onto her mother and she swallowed hard, uttering the one word that held all her emotion in its two soft syllables. “Mother?”

“No,” Lady Astraea snapped, head shaking, the word firm. “No. You are mine and you are his. Have faith, Jordan. The truth will out,” Lady Astraea insisted. Her eyes were wide, wild, and she took an unsteady step forward. “Test her.”

The Tester’s head jerked up, his eyes glinting at the challenge. “Test her?” he asked. His lips twisted into a grim smile. “Test your child? Here?”

“Test. Her.”

Catrina and Rowen both stepped forward.

“Be brave, Jordan,” Catrina said. “Yes. If you are so certain—test her. Before us all. Prove you are correct or leave this house.”

Rowen’s head lowered, but he caught Jordan’s eyes.

It was the surest way to prove her innocence.

The Warden released her but when the Tester drew his blade, Jordan pulled back, “No” tumbling from her lips as well.

Catrina stomped forward and looked Jordan in the eyes.

So many eyes were on her, so many intense stares seeking her out she had no idea who to turn to. So she chose the one closest. Catrina. Her best friend. The same one who had introduced her to Rowen. The girl who was so much like her sister … Jordan swallowed again and nodded.

“I will hold your hand,” Catrina offered. “It will only be a little cut—nothing that will mar your perfect skin for long,” she assured. “Surely it will not leave her scarred, will it?”

The Tester said, “One can never tell.”

Jordan trembled. All she had were her looks … and her rank.

The sky rumbled overhead and everyone jumped.

“But what harm is a small scar when it proves you’re innocent?” Catrina said, so close to Jordan’s face their noses nearly touched.

“Yes,” Jordan agreed. “Yes. Hold my hand,” she asked so gently the crowd stepped forward to hear. “Test me so my mother’s good name might be restored.”

Catrina clutched her hand and the Tester changed his position ever so slightly, the knife glimmering. Jordan closed her eyes and bit down on her lower lip, her fingers going white around Catrina’s as the blade nipped her right forearm.

Sparks flew up from Jordan, Catrina fell back, her face contorted in horror, and above them all the heavens opened and dumped rain until there was no noise save the rush of water.

Catrina trembled, clutching at Rowen, and Jordan fell to her knees, sobbing the one word on everyone’s lips—No.

The downpour stopped as fast as it had started and the brief silence that followed was somehow more deafening.

“The girl is seventeen, is she not?” the Tester asked.

Nods came from all around.

“The Astraea family is hereby found guilty of Harboring.”

“Noooo!”

The Wraiths swooped in with a keening cry, and, grasping Jordan by her arms, lifted her to her feet once more. Although her shoes scraped the floor, for a moment she stood only by the Wraiths’ will, her legs loose as rubber beneath her starched petticoats. Her eyes squeezed shut and tears trembled on her lashes, threatening to fall. But she drew in a ragged breath, found her feet, and forced her eyes open under the realization that this might be the last time she ever saw her home.

Her family.

Her friends.

Her Rowen.

“No!” Rowen shouted. “You cannot take her…” He protested, lunging across the space between the party guests, the Wraiths and the rest of them. “She is my—”

Meal-ticket, Jordan thought. If he were honest, that’s how the sentence would end. We are not lovers, we have never even kissed … And the idea they might exchange promises had set her nerves trembling just two hours before as she was laced into her gown by her best friend.

The Wraiths paused, their fingers tightening on Jordan’s upper arms as they hauled her farther from him. The Wardens cracked their canes’ butts against the floor in unified warning.