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It was just me and the water.

Eventually, nagging thoughts intruded. They could never leave me alone for very long. I opened one eye to look at the journals waiting for me on the bedside table. They sat there, mocking me. Taunting me.

Coward, they seemed to say. You can’t even bring yourself to look at me without your big strong Wolven Mage at your side.

With a growl, I snatched the soap and worked it through my hair, trying to ignore the journals.

But my gaze kept shifting to them, as if expecting them to grow legs and walk over to me.

When I was finished bathing, I opened the armoire, and my eyebrows shot upward. A dozen dresses hung in glittering opulence, ranging from a gentle lavender to a vivacious fuchsia.

And every single one was my size.

Something in my chest melted at the sight of them. Clearly, someone had gone to a lot of effort to design these gorgeous gowns just for me. I couldn’t imagine there was a noble lady staying in the castle who was my size. Heat pricked my eyes, and a hard lump formed in my throat. I swallowed hard before selecting a forest green dress that brought out my eyes. It had a low neckline and long sleeves with several slits that exposed my arms. The shimmering skirts flowed from my waist with a large gap revealing my left leg nearly all the way up my thigh.

No corset, though, which meant it was fairly easy to slip into. But when I gazed at my reflection in the mirror, I felt my cheeks flush. Never in my life had I worn a dress like this before. I felt like an imposter.

With a shaky breath, I forced myself to focus on more important matters: namely, the journals.

“I am not a coward,” I muttered to myself as I faced the stack of dusty books on the table.

No, you aren’t, responded the firm voice inside me.

With a resolute nod, I lifted the journal on top, which had a dark blue leather cover and worn pages. My hands shook as I opened to the first page. I frowned. It was certainly Elvira’s handwriting, but it was written in the witches’ tongue—a sacred language Elvira had taught me years ago as part of my studies. My brain spun as I tried to translate. It had been a long time since I’d worked with this language.

I found a quill and inkwell in the vanity and started scribbling notes in the blank spaces of the journal as I translated. It only went on for a few pages, and once I was finished, I flipped back to the beginning to read it over.

This journal documents the findings of Elvira, former High Witch of the Wind Court Clan, who hopes to uncover the inner workings of the Wolven Mages who have plagued our kind for far too long. They betrayed us from the beginning, slaughtering our innocent sisters with their unholy magic.

I suppressed a groan, skimming my translation. Elvira prattled on for an entire page about the evil ways of the Wolven Mages and how they had wronged the witches again and again. Toward the end of the passage, she finally made her point.

With the use of an ensnarement spell, I was able to trap the Wolven Mage I’d been hunting. It was dangerous and had feral tendencies. Upon his capture, I discovered this was no ordinary Wolven Mage—it had a gold trinket around its neck with a wolf emblem on it. The trinket had magical properties I did not recognize. But the spell contained within it was immensely powerful. So powerful that I was unable to break through the enchantment surrounding it. I resolved to uncover what kind of magic it held, as it was likely some powerful weapon that could be used against the witches.

My pulse quickened. So, Elvira had gotten the royal amulet from… the Rogue? Who was he?

And the amulet contained magic… but what kind of magic? On the last day I’d seen her alive, she’d been trying to unbind a magical totem. I had assumed a witch had put a curse or spell on the totem, but what if the magic of the amulet had actually come from the Mages?

Heart pounding, I read the rest of Elvira’s introduction.

My hope is that these findings can bring wisdom and understanding to my sisters, and provide justice for the daughter I lost at the hands of this feral Wolven Mage.

A deafening roar filled my ears as I re-read the sentence. I hastily checked the words in the witches’ tongue once more to ensure I’d translated them correctly.

I had.

A tingling sensation spread from my fingers all the way up my arms.

For the daughter I lost.

Holy Storms. Elvira was talking about my mother.

My mother had been killed by a Wolven Mage. This Wolven Mage. The same Rogue who had tried to kill me.

My stomach churned, and bile crept up my throat. After everything I’d learned about Elvira, I shouldn’t have been surprised she’d kept this from me.

But all those years of asking about my parents and where I’d come from and she’d never said a thing.

My breaths came sharp and fast, rage spiraling in my chest. I forced myself to keep reading, to see what else this horrible woman had been hiding from me.