Chapter 386: Witchly Concerns

The embers burned in the kitchen. It was a sight Marina was deeply familiar with. 

Alchemy, after all, was nothing if not temperamental. 

It didn’t matter if she weighed her ingredients to the gram or followed her own instructions with clockwork precision. Just having her reagents differ in which patch of dirt they’d been tugged from by a matter of inches was enough to tilt the scales towards a plume of smoke. 

… If she was lucky. 

These days, that was an occurrence rarer than a forbidden grimoire which didn’t contain a mistake in just the foreword.

However … whereas she always needed to have several buckets of water, an emergency [Frost Powder] charm and an alibi prepared, the woman in both human and witchly disguise held no such fear.

A fae of the Summer Court.

Marina could see her features clearly now.

Slightly unkempt tawny hair, brown eyes and a smattering of freckles. Were it not for the witchly regalia, she could have masqueraded as anyone and anything.

Providing that she also removed the wings.

They were as fae wings were. As if donated by a butterfly and then greatly enlarged. Beautiful, intricate and … also highly susceptible to flames. 

Or at least those of the other courts were. 

Marina had experiences with winter, spring and autumn–but this was her first encounter with a subject of the Summer Queen. And when it came to seeing any fae outside their twilight realm, then this would be her very first.

Laws more ancient than any magic bound the fae to their homeland.

For her to have broken them meant this fae was powerful. 

Enough that she could mute the magic which exuded from her. The telltale signs were absent. A cursory glance by any ordinary mage would reveal nothing but an apothecary with perhaps a dollop of talent power. Even the [Prismatic Barrier] had been faint, and that was no novice spell.

Marina stood with her hands ready.

Her mind was a jumble of whatever frost spells she could conjure. The incantations came slowly to her, as if wading through the flames beneath her skin first. But still they came. 

The fae didn’t care.

She busied herself by casually hauling new furniture from a large closet instead.

“This one will do … ah, and this one as well … oh, wonky, I need to replace this.”

Stackable bar stools. A folding dining table. Even detachable workstations complete with storage solutions.

On another day, Marina would offer a hum of acknowledgement. 

To have emergency furnishings prepared meant only one thing. This apothecary was a veteran of her craft. Yet when fae enjoyed far more time to indulge in their interests, such experience was the least of expectations.

As a result, she blew away a coat of dust from the foldable dining table with practised ease. She then gave it a little shake to inspect for durability, before seating herself down on a bar stool. 

A cat promptly hopped onto the table, a brick somehow held in its mouth as easily as the sardine which had utterly vanished. The fae nodded as the brick was lowered in offering. 

“It is quite tasty,” she said, gesturing towards the block of masonry material. “Red clay, roasted in a stove pot. The proprietor of the establishment you waited for me in makes it to my specification. I can vouch for its quality.”

Marina stared.

Still, her hands didn’t lower.

She had so many questions.

Why a fae of the Summer Court was wearing the guise of a witch.

How much was known about Marina or her objectives. 

What the price of her assistance would be.

But most of all … 

“... Pixie dust?” said Marina, her voice perfectly measured between outrage and grief. “Is this your work? Are you using a rare and expensive reagent in order to disseminate a hair glowing product?”

The fae blinked.

“Yes,” she replied simply.

Marina narrowed her eyes as she dared for a better excuse.

It never came

“For what reason … ?”

“Curiosity, of course. I was intrigued by the unique nature of your hair, and so I attempted to create an alchemical concoction which could replicate the effects–at least in appearance, if not in substance. Improving the duration is the next step.”

Marina was stunned. And horrified.

“You wish to make your concoction even more potent? More obvious?”

“Indeed. The current blend persists only upwards of 72 hours, after which it must be vigorously reapplied. The range of available colours is also limited.” 

“... But why?”

The fae merely tilted her head slightly, blinking with a look of puzzlement. 

“Why? Is curiosity not the compass which drives you into action? We fae may differ from mortals in more aspects than just longevity, but in this, we’re truly one and the same. I can. And so I do. A popular phrase used by both scholars in Rozinthe and the Summer Court.”

Marina narrowed her eyes as she studied the earnest expression.

Then, she let out a groan.

This fae … was one of those.

Not just a member of the world’s most ancient and enigmatic race, blessed with prodigious magical prowess and a bloody history of using it. 

No, she was far more dangerous. 

She was an academic. 

Marina recognised the type at once. 

She snorted at them so often that her nose hurt. 

Mages who could even make the thought of meteors falling from the sky sound dull. This fae was no different. The wings did nothing to distract from the complete lack of concern for practical affairs behind those eyes … including Marina’s lack of patience.

“Your curiosity is wasted,” she stated, her hands only now lowering–if not quite falling completely. “As are your reagents.”

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained. But I also like to think of it as ‘nothing lost’ instead. There is no wastage when it comes to innovation.”

“A convenient thought for someone who’s never had to budget for overhead expenses before. Is it necessary to create so much surplus? Your ridiculous concoction is being sold by every talentless merchant in town.” 

“So I hear. That’s excellent. It means the herbalists I source my ingredients from are happy to continue bartering with me. My products are what they ask for in return for both their reagents and their discretion. I consider this a reasonable exchange. Particularly as field testing is an important boon.”

Marina narrowed her eyes.

The field testing came at her expense … but that was an issue which would correct itself now that the cauldron responsible had been melted.

She had other concerns. 

And so did this fae.

“Who are you and why did you wait before showing yourself?”

“I am Countess Yrainde of the Cindered Bloom,” said the fae, her almost nonchalant demeanour at odds with all expectation. “I apologise for the wait between your arrival and this moment. Time is a concept I often forget. And I rarely show myself to those I’m not already acquainted with. Moreover, I wish to observe you first. Would you like to take a seat?”

She nodded towards a vacant bar stool. And also the shiny red brick.

Both were ignored. At least until the black cat padded across the table. It paused at the edge, yawned, then pawed tellingly towards the waiting seat.

Marina rolled her eyes as she reluctantly sat down. The brick she still ignored.

“You already know who I am. I take it you understand why I’m here as well?”

“No. But I’ve an accurate supposition. There are only so many reasons why you’d be sitting at my table while not nibbling on the fresh brick. Something social convention tells me I’m not allowed to do until my guest does it first. I expect you have questions, Witch of Calamity.”

Marina squeezed her hands beneath the table.

She’d informed nobody. Only the abominable girl and … her father.

Neither should have been able to inform enough people that it’d reach the far south of the kingdom.

“... How did you know?”

“I am a titled fae,” said Countess Yrainde, as though that was all the answer needed. “Your eyes perceive magic like smoke rising from a cauldron. But mine see more than that. I see the volatility within you. The flames. The beating heart of calamity. It wishes to spread. To consume. That you’ve maintained your cognitive functions and sense of self is commendable. Seeking a witch in order to learn whether or not you’ll explode is only a sensible course of action.”

Marina gawped.

She’d never once considered if that was a possibility.

“Will I–”

“Oh, I’m afraid I don’t know.”

“What?”

“I’m not a witch,” said the fae, adjusting her witch’s hat. “I just dress the part.”

Suddenly, Marina’s beating heart of calamity became just a little bit more unstable.

“You are a titled fae, as you’ve just said. Can you not see what the effects of my powers are?”

“I can see your powers of calamity have recently awoken. And that if separated from your body, it would be enough to melt a marshmallow in 0.16 seconds. What that means for your continued state of existence is a specialised topic which requires a bona fide witch to advise on.”

“Yes, well, I was told there would be a witch here.”

“You were told wrong. But such is the rumour I sowed. I dress like a witch in order to invite those seeking them, who in almost all cases are other witches. But I also like the fabric.”

Countess Yrainde tugged at her robes with a smile of satisfaction. 

Marina had nothing to say. She was too busy feeling that familiar note of disappointment. 

“You’re using yourself as a signpost.”

“Yes. I’ve an agreement to fulfil. And while a delay of a few years is unlikely to ruffle any wings, I do pride myself on punctuality. Therefore, I myself am in need of a witch.” 

Marina wrinkled her nose.

Not even a click of her tongue was enough for this. 

“Then you’ve found the wrong one,” said Marina, standing up from the table. “Whatever your agreement is, I’m in no position to help.”

Countess Yrainde offered a tidy smile.

“You are incorrect. You require a witch–and so do I. In this instance, we may assist each other without transaction or bargain. While knowledge is what you seek, your status is all that I need. After all, only you may enter the village of the witches. Or more specifically, the home of the Hexenkreis Clan.”

Marina paused.

The Hexenkreis Clan. 

To hear the name spoken was the first confirmation she received. 

Of all the witchly clans to have once grown roots in this kingdom, they were the ones least documented. And that meant they were the most likely to have survived.

“Where is it?” she asked simply.

“Somewhere in the heart of the Ivywood. The exact location is untraceable. A unique barrier is in effect, itself unseen by either the naked or magical eye. Any attempt to enter results in severe discomfort and also a hamstring cramp. Given what I’ve observed, it’s reasonable to assume that only witches of the Hexenkreis Clan may freely enter.”

The fae pointed.

“That includes you.” 

Marina blinked.

Then … she slowly sat back down.

“Have you tried making contact?”

“Oh, plenty of times. Never a squeak in reply. Our goals are therefore one and the same. If you could please inform the elder to tone down the barrier just enough that I’m able to have a conversation, I’ll be able to honour my half of the agreement and finish up my research here.”

Marina creased her brows.

The village of the witches was a place of tales, where magic and dreams were said to interweave. And that meant its residents were skilled at subtly keeping the busy bodies and pilgrims away. 

The presence of a barrier wasn’t unusual. But the degree to which the witches were seemingly keeping themselves scarce was. A mystery few needed to solve. Until now.

She expected only the worst. As usual.

“How do I reach the village?” she said, refusing to dwell for even a moment on hesitation.

Countess Yrainde reached for the brick. 

She paused to allow Marina one last chance. 

When the offer passed, she began to nibble away. 

“A passageway to a nearby landmark can be provided,” she said, as the brick slowly vanished. “I use it to periodically inspect the barrier. So far, it’s failed to wane. A highly curious thing. Fascinating, even. But I’m certain you can judge it for yourself–should you deem the adventure worth the risk, of course.”

“A barrier is of no concern to me. Neither is whatever mystery has befallen the witches. I’m not here to indulge in riddles or adventures. Whatever is in my path, I will circumvent or break.”

The fae offered a curt nod. She gave the remains of her brick to the cat. 

To Marina’s slight horror, it also began nibbling away at it.

“In that case, I should offer a disclaimer,” said Countess Yrainde, wiping away the clay crumbs from her lips. “Your forays into the Fae Realm have not gone unnoticed, nor ungossiped about. And it’s not only my eyes which perceive the flames within you. It’s perilous to walk where others dream, Miss Lainsfont. Yet that’s the path you tread. The home of the Hexenkreis Clan is a detour which may prove a step too far. I advise caution. There are worse things than fae out there.”

Marina snorted.

A word of caution by the fae.

Now she knew to expect something even bleaker than her worst expectations.

“I’ve a question,” said Marina, as she stood up once again. “... Can the summer fae burn?”

Countess Yrainde raised an eyebrow.

There wasn’t a hint of negativity in the reaction. Only curiosity.

“Should the flames be bright enough–yes.”

Marina nodded.

It was all she needed to know.

After all, it meant everything else could as well.