Chapter 213: Sorceress

Before the garden had become a place she hated, Airam had loved it.

She had been six years old then.

At six, she only knew that the garden was beautiful.

It spread across the southern side of the palace, vast enough that she could not see its far end from where she sat. Tall walls surrounded it, covered in climbing vines and pale flowers. Stone paths wound through carefully trimmed hedges. Fountains poured clear water into wide basins where silver fish moved beneath the surface. Trees with dark red leaves stood along the paths, their branches heavy with blossoms that smelled sweet in the afternoon heat.

Airam sat alone on one of the marble benches.

Her feet did not reach the ground.

She kicked them slowly beneath her pale dress, the heels of her shoes moving back and forth above the path. Her long dark hair fell around her small face. The strands had been braided that morning by one of the palace attendants, but several had already slipped loose near her cheeks.

She looked like an ordinary little girl at first glance.

Pretty and small.

But her eyes were too dark.

Her pupils did not reflect the sunlight properly. Even in the bright garden, they looked almost black, deep enough that anyone who stared for too long might feel intimidated.

Airam kept her head lowered.

Her mouth was drawn into an unhappy line.

Footsteps sounded along the path.

Airam recognized them before she looked up.

A tall man stopped beside the bench.

His black hair fell neatly around his shoulders. His eyes carried the same darkness as Airam’s, though his gaze held a far sharper intensity. He wore a dark royal tunic embroidered with silver threads at the collar and cuffs. A crown rested upon his head, not a large or ornate one, but a narrow band of black metal marked with the crest of Valmoris.

Emperor Sedhoran Van Valmoria.

Her father.

"Airam," he said.

Airam looked toward him.

"Father."

Sedhoran smiled.

He did not remain standing above her. He sat beside her on the marble bench, lowering himself until their shoulders nearly touched.

"Have you quarreled with Hermione again?"

Airam nodded.

"What was it about this time?"

She kicked her feet once more.

"Here."

"Here?"

"Hermione does not like the palace."

Sedhoran’s expression remained gentle.

"She said that?"

Airam nodded again.

"She says it is too big. She says the people here look at us strangely. She says she doesn’t like Sinmara," Airam said.

Sedhoran looked toward the fountain.

The water continued to run.

"What do you think, Airam?" he asked. "Do you dislike it here too?"

Airam looked at him quickly.

"No."

Her answer came so fast that Sedhoran’s smile deepened.

"I like this place," she said. "I love this place."

She turned fully toward him, her dark eyes brightening.

"It is so big. There are so many rooms. The beds are soft, and the food is good. The servants bring us warm milk at night, and everything is beautiful."

Her voice became quieter.

"And you are here, Father."

Sedhoran’s eyes softened.

He placed one hand gently on her head and brushed his fingers through her hair.

"I am glad you like it," he said. "This is your home. You, Hermione, and Esther are my little princesses."

Airam smiled.

The anger she had carried from arguing with Hermione loosened slightly.

"I think Hermione will like it eventually," she said. "She is just upset with Sinmara."

Sedhoran let out a faint breath through his nose.

"Sinmara is your sister too."

Airam’s smile faded.

"She is our half-sister."

"Half-sister," Sedhoran repeated. "Still your sister."

Airam looked away.

Sinmara had made her feelings clear from the moment Airam, Hermione, and Esther arrived at the palace. She was slightly older than Airam. She had lived within the Imperial household all her life. The rooms, servants, tutors, guards, and gardens belonged to her long before Airam’s mother brought them here.

Sinmara did not like sharing, and she showed it very well.

And Hermione knew.

Sinmara had been cruelest to her.

Hermione had a sharp tongue even as a little girl. She argued whenever someone tried to decide things for her. She did not bow easily. She did not pretend to like people she hated.

Sinmara had found that amusing.

And Hermione had begun talking about returning to the coven.

Airam hated hearing it.

She did not want to go back.

The coven had been their home once, and yes, she liked that place.

But Valmoris had given her something she had never possessed before.

A father.

She wanted to remain in the palace.

She wanted her sisters to remain too.

She wanted them to eat together, study together, walk in the garden, and become a real family beneath the same roof. She wanted Hermione to stop looking toward the gates. She wanted Esther to grow up without fear.

And she wanted her Father to stay with them.

"I will try to get along with Sinmara," Airam said quietly.

Sedhoran nodded.

"That is all I ask."

Then he reached inside his tunic.

"I brought you something."

Airam looked up.

Sedhoran pulled out a small book.

Its cover was dark blue leather, worn along the edges. There were no jewels, no gold lettering, no royal crest. Only a single symbol had been pressed into the center of the cover: an old rune Airam recognized, though she could not immediately remember its meaning.

He placed the book in her hands.

Airam took it carefully.

Then her expression fell.

"I cannot read common language, Father."

Sedhoran’s smile returned.

"Open it."

Airam did.

Her eyes widened.

The pages were filled with runes.

Not Formula Rings. Not the simple magical symbols she had seen older witches use during training. These were written sentences, ancient runic language flowing in lines across the pages.

It was the language her mother had taught her.

The language of covens.

The language most people outside witch circles either feared or pretended did not exist.

Airam had expected a story written in the common language. She had expected words she would need tutors to explain. But the book was written in the only language she could already read.

Her fingers touched the first page.

The runes were old, carefully drawn, and different from the ones used in ordinary witch texts. Some symbols were so ancient that their shape had changed over the centuries. Yet Airam could still understand enough.

"It is a story," she said.

Her smile returned as she turned another page.

"Yes," Sedhoran replied. "A story about the first ages of our world."

"The first ages?"

"The time before the kingdoms. Before the Empires. Before men built great cities and wrote laws for themselves."

Airam tilted her head.

"Who is it about?"

Sedhoran looked at the book in her hands.

"The great Sorcerers and Sorceresses."

Airam’s eyes widened.

"Sorcerers?"

She had heard it only once before, when her mother thought Airam and Hermione were asleep near the fireplace. Anna-Maria had spoken to another witch in a low voice about people who had existed before covens, before the current branches of witchcraft, before the art had been divided into safer traditions.

Sedhoran placed a hand over the cover of the book.

"Witches are descended from them," he said. "The Original Covens formed from what remained after the Sorcerers and Sorceresses disappeared. Their ashes, their teachings, their bloodlines, their ruins, everything witches know began with them."

"Mother told me about them once," Airam said.

"I know."

"Were they stronger than Mother?"

Sedhoran was quiet for a moment.

Then he nodded.

"It is said that their power stood beyond anything the strongest witches of this era can achieve."

Airam looked down at the book again.

The first page showed an old illustration: figures standing beneath a black sky, their hands raised toward a broken moon. Runes surrounded them like stars.

"Even Mother?" Airam asked.

"Your mother comes closer than anyone alive," Sedhoran said. "She might actually become one."

His hand returned to Airam’s hair.

"And I believe you may come close too."

Airam looked up quickly.

"Me?"

Sedhoran smiled at her.

"You carry extraordinary talent, Airam. Your mana reacts differently. Your witch tree is stronger than it should be for a child your age. The covens see it. Your mother sees it. I see it too."

"A Sorceress?" Airam asked.

Her voice was full of excitement.

"Could I become a Sorceress?"

Sedhoran’s dark eyes rested on her.

"Yes," he said. "You could."

Airam held the book tightly against her chest.

Sedhoran leaned closer.

"The power of a Great Sorceress can change the balance of the world," he said. "It can create. It can destroy. It can protect those beneath her hand, or erase everything that stands in her way."

The garden remained quiet around them.

Airam did not understand the full meaning of his words.

She only knew that her father had smiled at her.

She only knew that he had called the palace her home.

And she believed him.

Until her hope and beliefs were destroyed.