Gwin’s first night within the austere walls of the Crimson Citadel had been a restless one. A thunderstorm swept in from the sea around midnight and although the storm’s rage had dissipated, a soft and persistent rain continued to fall, pattering against the thick plate glass of the window.

  She sat on the edge of the hard bed and looked down at the sleeves of the robes tapering across her lap, tracing one finger over the stiff stitches of the embroidered sigils. She could feel her own magick breathing inside her, moving in time with her heartbeat as she maintained the glamour disguising her hair and eyes. Her hair was a deep chestnut brown now, her eyes hazel. She couldn’t bring herself to look in the small mirror hanging beside the bed. The sight of a stranger in druid’s robes staring back at her through unfamiliar eyes made her chest tighten.

  Finally rousing herself, Gwin stood and pressed one hand to the place where Little Leaf was still sleeping soundly against her chest, her tiny body curled into a hidden fold of the robes. The minute movements of the slumbering koskin, the small warmth against her palm, gave Gwin some measure of secret strength. She pulled open the door and emerged into the corridor beyond.

  “Gwin,” a woman exclaimed, jumping back to avoid a collision. “It’s so nice to see you. Good morning.”

  “Good morning,” Gwin returned cautiously.

  Primm was a fellow initiate she had met the previous afternoon, during the day’s intake of new druids-in-training. The young woman had made a beeline for Gwin, seeming to find something about her face or mannerisms that appealed to her. She’d stayed by her side until they were shown into their own rooms for the night. Gwin wondered how long she had been hovering outside her door.

  “May I accompany you to breakfast?” Primm asked.

  “I have fruit in my room. I’ve already eaten, I’m afraid.”

  “I’m not hungry either. Perhaps we should go straight to the Rose Room?”

  Gwin nodded and they began to walk down the long stone corridor together. A damp chill lingered in the air of the citadel despite the season. It seeped into walls and furniture, making everything cold to the touch. Missing her heavy cloak, Gwin pulled the robes closer about her shoulders.

  “The citadel is so beautiful,” Primm said, her voice high and airy. “Do you agree, Gwin?”

  Gwin did not agree. She thought the citadel was too large and grandiose, too empty and echoing. But she favoured Primm with a small smile and the woman smiled back, seeming relieved. Gwin had not known the earnest initiate long enough to feel able to relax in her presence, but she was warming to her. She was shorter than Gwin, slim and delicate with fragile wrists protruding from the over-sized cuffs of her robes.

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  The citadel was quiet at that time of the morning. Beyond the arched windows running down the entire left side of the corridor was a courtyard garden. The branches of several stunted olive trees were bowing beneath the driving rain but Gwin could see that on a sunny day, it was a beautiful place. A stark contrast to the grey bleakness of the citadel’s interior.

  “I believe the Rose Room is this way,” Primm said as they reached the end of the corridor. Beneath their feet, a thin run of dusty red carpet forked in two directions.

  Gwin nodded again. At the end of a further corridor, high double doors studded with iron nails opened into the Rose Room. It was a cavernous, sweeping space, ringed with rows of high-backed benches on which many druids were already sitting. Gwin and Primm were obviously not the only new recruits wishing to make a good impression that morning by arriving early.

  Gwin glanced at her new acquaintance. She was beaming, obviously excited to begin her studies. They were not to start studying immediately, however. Gwin had been told this was an introductory address, delivered by Archdruid Aubriette herself. Following Primm’s lead, Gwin began to edge further into the room, squeezing past the druids already seated until they found an empty bench. As soon as they were settled, Primm began to talk.

  “I wonder what the Archdruid will be like? I’ve heard she can be fierce.”

  “I have not heard anything. I really have no idea what to expect.”

  “You’re right, she is fierce,” said a freckled, red-headed woman, turning to speak to them from the bench directly in front. “I entered the citadel yesterday still wearing my own clothes. What a mistake that was. I had my robes with me, of course. I thought I’d be able to change once I’d presented my Letter of Intent. Unfortunately for me, Archdruid Aubriette was there to oversee the initiates being ushered inside. She gave me a very stern talking to.”

  “Really?” Primm said. She leaned towards the woman. “What did she say?”

  “She told me in no uncertain terms that if I could not take the Crimson Order seriously enough to present myself within its hallowed walls properly attired, I should not be here. I had to practically beg her to let me stay. I’m Natalia, by the way.” She thrust a hand towards Primm who shook it without taking her eyes from her face. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Primm,” Primm said.

  Gwin took her turn to shake Natalia’s hand. “I’m Gwin.”

  “Are you from the Wounded Flats?” Natalia asked. “You have the look of a Wastewounder.”

  Before Gwin was able to think of a quick response, a sound resonated from the front of the room and all eyes turned towards it. The single, low note came from a moonflute—a thick wooden instrument so long, it had to be held aloft in two hands. This one was brightly painted with waxing and waning moon symbols. The musician was an older druid, bald and grizzled with a face that had seen too much sun. Gwin gazed longingly at the beautiful instrument in the man’s hands. The sound it made was so similar to that made by her own pan flute.

  Once he had the attention of those assembled, the druid began to play a deep, haunting melody that swirled about the round room and rebounded from the wooden roses carved into the high vaulted ceiling. Gwin experienced a brief moment of panic when the men and women on either side stood and began to sing; she was unfamiliar with the song and did not know the words.

  Her sleeping glamour magick began to rouse, fluttering in her stomach and beating at her rib cage. She had never kept a spell alive for so long before. The effort was already beginning to exhaust her. Fervently hoping no one would notice what she was doing, Gwin whispered a small word of power under her breath, quelling the magick threatening to rise and drain from her body, to strip the glossy chestnut from her waist-length hair and leave it a shimmering blue, brilliant against the candlelight.