thunderstruck | book #2 | discontinued

V I

Central Hall had been much more deserted since the Dark War, and Hilda understood why. As she had walked through the foyer, she had seen spots of blood that had not yet been cleaned, dark patches where portals had ran for too long before burning out altogether, and worse than all of that, grieving families being told by Council members that someone they loved had not made it back from the battle—a sentence warlocks and witches never prepared themselves to hear, for it was so rare for an immortal life to be lost. She might not have been able to walk past these families, head down and eyes to the floor, if it was not for the fact that she knew her own son should have been killed but wasn't. She was lucky, even if she did not deserve to be. Even if guilt was her constant companion, day and night, strangling her until she heaved and sobbed. Even if tonight she would have nightmares about the cries that echoed through the hall and remember the way some people dropped to the floor when they found out, as though their life had simply been taken out of them—stolen from them—along with their loved one's. Even if it was all her fault to begin with.

The corridor that lead up to the Principal Warlock's office was not of much more comfort. It was dark and unusually cold, and empty where usually there were secretaries and Council members striding in and out of other rooms. She almost did not want to knock when she reached his door, but forced her hand up, making a timid sound. Hilda did not remember the last time she had ever done anything timidly.

August answered only a few moments later. His grey eyes were narrowed and icy as he stood aside by way of inviting her in. "Hilda. I am glad you decided to come."

"Your message did not convey much of a choice, Principle," she responded. She had received a brief note on her timepiece shortly after Maksim had arrived home which told her of a meeting with August. It was quite clear to her that this was no ordinary meeting, and that August was bound to punish her in some way for her son's behaviour—either that, or he suspected the truth about Hilda. By now, people were bound to know something about Erika. Though the army did not reach her at Nil Lake, she would have been seen by someone. It was impossible for such a secret to be kept now, especially from the Principle Warlock, who seemed to know all there was to know.

"Yes, well, it is long overdue that we talk." He glided over to his armchair and sat down, motioning with his arm for Hilda to sit opposite him. His expression was neutral, but Hilda could sense something brewing inside of him the way one sensed the building up of magic in one's veins right before it was used. "Wouldn't you agree?"

She did not sit down, instead standing rigidly with her chin raised. She was desperate not to show weakness, not if she was about lose her place on the Council. "If this is about Ackmard, it is all I can do to apologise on his behalf. I never wanted this for him. I did not raise him to become this, and I have tried on more than one occasion to convince him to stop."

August raised an eyebrow and tilted his head to the side as though he found whatever Hilda had said quite amusing, though Hilda did not understand why at first, not until she saw a glint of something in his eye that told her he knew more than he had expressed. Dread caused her blood to run cold. "And what about your daughter, Mrs. Opal? What did you raise her to become?"

Hilda gulped, feeling her cheeks heat up as she finally sank into the chair, using the desk in front of her as support. She had known, of course, that her secret would not be hidden for much longer, but seeing the way that August looked at her now, with disgust and blame and all of the other things she had felt towards herself for centuries, was enough to pull her breath from her lungs. "I do not know what you mean, Principle," she said anyway, her voice cracking against her dry throat.

"No more lies!"

There were times, Hilda thought, when the Principle looked like an ordinary old man, so aged and bony that anyone would expect a sudden gust of wind to blow him over. Then there were times like these, when his voice was so loud and bellowing that the air felt static with his power, that she half expected his magic to burst from him and wipe Hilda out completely. This was one of those times, and though she refused to shrink back in her chair, she wished that she could.