Page 46 of The Witch in the Dead of Night

I hesitated. “Relax,” he said, a smile playing on his lips. “I don’t bite.”

I wasn’t so sure.

I took his arm reluctantly, the soft fabric on his sleeve bunching between my fingers.

“Now, to cast magic is to cast a bit of yourself into the world.”

“I’ve read that somewhere before.”

“Good. It makes a useful visual for this kind of exercise. I want you to imagine that your will is a nautilus, reaching out across the empty space.”

“A what?”

“A nautilus? It’s a sea creature. With tentacles.”

My eyes widened. This beast sounded fearsome. “I’ve never seen the sea,” I admitted.

He cocked an eyebrow “Fine. Imagine your will is the weeping willow by the lake, with long, flexible branches that move independently of each other. The branches are what seep into the consciousness of your target.”

I glanced up at him to find he’d closed his eyes, his long lashes spilling over his cheekbones. He didn’t look that much like Mordric, I observed, apart from the color of his hair. I thought back to the portrait hanging in the great hall, of King Norrix, tall and broad like his firstborn, next to Mordric and Enhart’s auburn-haired mother. She was slender, with piercing green eyes and a kind smile.

Enhart cleared his throat. “I know it’s easy to be distracted by my handsome face, but it’s not actually the assignment.”

I flushed. “That’s not what— I was trying!” I lied.

“Then you’re worse at this than I thought you’d be,” he said, peeking at me through one eye. “You remember that you’ve actually done this before, right? Not that long ago?”

“But that was an accident,” I protested.

He shrugged as he closed both eyes again. “Still counts. Now focus.”

I exhaled slowly, allowing the gnarled tendrils of my will to unfurl. They poked and prodded at his consciousness, as sensitive as if they were covered in nerve endings. “You have walls up,” I observed, encountering an icy barrier.

He lifted a shoulder. “My wards are exceptional, and I have no intention of making this easy for you.”

My brow creased as I pushed further, searching for weakness. Beads of sweat sprouted on my brow despite the chill in the evening air. My will grazed his wards again and again, but no thoughts appeared in my mind. No memories. My nails dug into his shirt.

“That’s enough,” he announced finally, his eyes fluttering open.

I sat back in my chair, my breathing shallow. “I’m a particularly difficult target,” he said. “You’ll have better luck with humans or unpracticed vampires.”

“Are you suggesting I practice on unwitting strangers?” I asked.

“If that’s what it takes.”

I shifted in my seat. For weeks, Enhart had sifted through my memories in an attempt to train me, dredging up some of the worst moments of my life. I didn’t relish the idea of doing the same to someone else. “It doesn’t feel right,” I said.

He raised a brow. “Do you think the rest of the king’s council are concerned with doing what feels right?”

“Well perhaps I don’t want to be like the rest of the council.”

“How else do you expect to survive them? With that attitude, you’ll be fleeing to the Outlands after your first meeting.”

“I am not so easily frightened,” I snapped.

His gaze darkened. I resisted the urge to pull away as he leaned toward me, his fangs visible as his lips curled into a sneer. “Are you sure?”

My attention flicked to where my fingers were still curled around his sleeve. I released him like I’d been burned, coming to my feet. He watched me with a grave expression on his face.