Amara discovered very quickly that witch training was nothing like the fantasy books made it look.
There were no flowing robes.
No dramatic staffs.
No slow, graceful spinning moves.
Mostly, there was pain.
And repetition.
And Grandma yelling.
"Again."
Amara's hand shook as she drew the circle in the dirt with the tip of a small knife.
Not a huge, flashy ritual circle just a palm-sized ring, etched in a single, clean motion. The first time she'd tried it, the line had wobbled, she'd overthought it, and the knife had jabbed into the ground.
Now her wrist ached.
"Concentrate," Ma Dara said. "Don't fight the earth. Let it guide you. You're not forcing the circle; you're revealing it."
"I've been revealing it for two hours," Amara muttered. "The earth is clearly introverted."
"Less talking, more listening," Aunt Seyi snapped from where she sat on an overturned crate, scribbling in a notebook with one hand and holding a mug of coffee with the other. "Class in four hours, you know. Unless you've decided witch princesses don't need to graduate."
Amara gritted her teeth and finished the stroke.
The circle glowed faintly.
Soft, dim. But even.
Ma Dara's mouth tugged.
"Better," she said. "Again. This time with intent."
Amara stared at the thin glowing line.
"Intent for what?" she asked.
Ma Dara tapped the center of the circle with her toe.
"Shields," she said. "Your power woke loud. Too loud. Every vampire in range felt it. If you want to stop being a beacon for every bloodsucker with a death wish, you need to learn compress, shape, hide."
"That's comforting," Amara said. "Really."
Aunt Seyi didn't look up.
"You want comforting, go watch a rom-com," she said. "You want to live, focus."
Amara bent her head over the circle.
Focus.
Right.
She pressed her fingers into the dirt. It was cool under her touch, humming with a slow, old magic that had nothing to do with neon lights and exam timetables.
"Okay," she said under her breath. "If I were a shield—"
"You're not a shield," Ma Dara said sharply. "You're a witch. Don't become the spell. Cast it."
Amara's jaw flexed.
"Fine," she said. "If I were casting a shield…"
She inhaled.
Exhaled.
Tugged gently on the thread inside her chest, the same place the power had burst from on stage, the same place it had flared when Caius grabbed her necklace, when she met Lucian in the ruins and their hands touched
Her mark warmed.
An image came to her: not a wall or a dome, but layers of glass.
Transparent.
Strong.
Stacked.
She pushed that image into the circle.
The glow rose.
It climbed up her fingers, her arms, and spread around her like a soap bubble.
The cavern dimmed slightly at the edges as the magic settled over her skin.
Ma Dara tested it the way only a grandmother would: by throwing a rock at her head.
"Hey—!"
The rock hit something invisible a few inches from her face and dropped with a crack.
The shield rippled.
Held.
Amara stared.
"I could have died," she said weakly.
Ma Dara's eyes sparkled.
"You blocked it," she said. "See? You're not useless."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of Amara's mouth.
"High praise," she said.
Aunt Seyi finally looked up.
"Not bad," she said grudgingly. "But that's a basic static shield. It's about as subtle as a car horn. Any vampire with a nose will feel that energy spike if you do it in public."
The shield flickered, then faded as Amara's focus broke.
"Great," Amara said. "So what I'm hearing is: congrats, you made a shiny target bubble, try not to die."
Ma Dara chuckled.
"You're still thinking like a human girl," she said fondly. "One trick and you want applause. True witchcraft is layers. You learn bright shields, then soft ones. Hard walls, then veils. You will not master everything in a week, Amara."
Amara wiped her hands on her jeans, suddenly tired.
"Do I have a week?" she asked quietly.
Both Ma Dara and Aunt Seyi went still.
The only sound for a moment was the distant drip of water from somewhere in the cavern.
"We are buying you as much time as we can," Aunt Seyi said finally. "Yara is sending misdirection charms. Other covens are stirring. The vampires are not the only ones who can plan."
"But they already know who I am," Amara said. "And I already… kind of… made a deal with one of them."
Ma Dara gave her a look.
"'Kind of'?" she repeated.
Amara winced.
"I met Lucian," she said. "Again."
Silence.
Aunt Seyi's pen snapped in half.
Ma Dara's expression didn't change.
"Where?" she asked.
"The old field," Amara said. "He asked me to come. I went."
"Alone?" Aunt Seyi demanded.
"Yes," Amara admitted.
"What did we say about going alone to places where battles stained the ground?" Aunt Seyi said. "You think the ghosts will help you? They don't care. They just watch."
"They might care a little," Amara muttered. "One of them tried to show us something."
Both witches stared at her.
"What do you mean?" Ma Dara asked.
Amara hesitated.
She hadn't meant to tell them everything, not yet. Not the part where she shook hands with a vampire under a sky that seemed to split in two. Not the part where she believed him.
But she was tired of lying.
"He told me the Court's plan," Amara said quietly. "Two paths. If I help willingly, they protect me. If I don't, they kill me. No pretending it's anything else."
Aunt Seyi swore under her breath in three languages.
"And you believe him," she said.
"Yes," Amara said. "No. I believe he thinks that's true."
"That's not better," Aunt Seyi snapped.
Amara lifted her chin.
"I told him our side, too," she said. "About Yara. About the Council. About how if he tries to break the curse in the wrong way, we'll kill him first."
Ma Dara's eyes sharpened.
"So," she said slowly, "you and the vampire boy have decided to betray both your people equally."
"Balance," Amara said weakly. "Everyone loves balance."
Aunt Seyi looked like she wanted to throw another rock. Harder.
Ma Dara, surprisingly, laughed.
"You are Serena's blood," she said. "Stubborn. Reckless. Heart first."
"I'm trying to use my head," Amara protested.
"I know," Ma Dara said gently. "That's why you're still alive."
She stepped closer and brushed a stray curl from Amara's face.
"Listen to me, nwa m," she said. "If you decide to trust this boy in any way, do it with open eyes. Love did not destroy Serena. Blindness did. She refused to see what Darian really was until it was too late."
"I don't love him," Amara blurted.
The words sounded too loud in the cavern.
Ma Dara's gaze was kind. Too kind.
"You don't have to," she said. "Not now. Not ever. Just… remember that wanting to doesn't make you weak. Acting like it has no consequences does."
Amara looked away.
Her cheeks felt hot; her chest felt tight.
"I'm not Serena," she said.
"Good," Aunt Seyi said. "We don't need another martyr. We need a survivor."
Ma Dara squeezed her shoulder once, then stepped back.
"Shield again," she said briskly. "This time, quiet. Make it small. Tight. Around your heart only."
"Symbolic," Amara muttered.
Aunt Seyi smirked.
"Maybe it will make you smarter about boys," she said.
Amara flipped her off mildly and knelt back down to draw another circle.
Lucian's training that same morning was less gentle.
"Again," Cassian said.
Lucian's knuckles were already split.
The bag hanging from the ceiling of the training room wasn't filled with sand.
It was filled with stone.
Every punch sent a dull shock up his arms.
"Tell me the Court's decision," Cassian said calmly, as if they were talking about the weather and not about the future of an entire cursed species.
Lucian hit the bag.
"The Concord supports our plan," he said. "They'll back us if Amara agrees to help. If not… they're already whispering alternatives."
"Alternatives like?" Cassian asked.
"Take her," Lucian said. "Break her. Use her blood. Sacrifice her to the curse and call it balance."
He hit the bag harder.
Canvas split a little at the seam.
"And what did you tell them when they asked what you would do?" Cassian asked quietly.
Lucian hesitated a fraction too long.
He felt it immediately in the air.
The bag swung back, unnaturally fast.
Cassian had nudged it with a tiny twist of his blood power.
It caught Lucian in the ribs.
He staggered, breath leaving his lungs in a grunt.
"Again," Cassian said.
Lucian straightened.
"I told them I'd do what was necessary," he said.
"Which means?" Cassian pushed.
"Which means I'll find a way to break the curse without her dying," Lucian snapped. "Or I'll die trying."
The room stilled.
Cassian's face didn't change.
But the temperature seemed to drop a few degrees.
"And what happens to the rest of us while you're busy dying for your scruples?" Cassian asked softly. "Do we burn for your conscience, the way we burned for Darian's?"
Lucian's jaw clenched.
"I'm not Darian," he said.
"Good," Cassian said. "He was sentimental. You can't afford to be."
He stepped closer, eyes narrowing.
"Tell me about the witch," he said. "Beyond her power. Beyond the mark. Who is she?"
Lucian swallowed.
Part of him wanted to say nothing.
Another part of him—tired, angry, protective—rebelled at that.
"She's stubborn," he said. "She jokes when she's scared. She thinks she's ordinary even when the ground listens to her. She cares too much about people who don't deserve it."
"Perfect," Cassian said dryly. "A soft heart and raw power. The universe has a sense of humour."
He circled Lucian slowly.
"And what do you feel for her?" he asked.
Lucian stared straight ahead.
"Connection," he said carefully. "Responsibility."
"And?" Cassian pressed.
Lucian's voice dropped.
"Guilt," he admitted.
Cassian's hand landed on his shoulder. Heavy. Cold.
"Good," Cassian said. "You should feel guilty. You are lying to her about why you're really there, and you will likely have to hurt her worse later. If you didn't feel guilt, I'd worry I raised a monster instead of a weapon."
Lucian gave a bitter laugh.
"I thought monsters were the goal," he said.
"Controlled monsters," Cassian said. "Ones who understand the cost of their actions. We do terrible things, Lucian, but we must not enjoy them. Pleasure is for other moments."
He stepped back.
"Tomorrow," Cassian said, "you will see her again."
Lucian stiffened.
"How do you—" he began.
Cassian's gaze sharpened.
"Do you think your little meetings are invisible?" he asked. "Power leaves traces. Your mark flares every time she's near. The air changes. The wards taste it. You are not subtle."
Lucian bit back a curse.
"She asked for more truth," he said.
"And you will give enough to keep her from running," Cassian said. "But not enough to arm her against us. There's a difference between honesty and suicide, Lucian."
He threw a small object.
Lucian caught it automatically.
A thin metal ring lay in his palm. Dark. Matte. Simple.
"What's this?" he asked.
"A limiter," Cassian said. "Courtesy of the Naelori. It dampens certain direct blood connections. Wear it when you're with her."
Lucian felt the metal thrum faintly against his skin.
"You want me to disconnect from her," he said quietly.
"I want you to be able to think clearly when she looks at you," Cassian said. "The mark pulls. The curse is a seducer. Don't let it decide for you."
Lucian slid the ring onto his finger.
For a second, his mark cooled.
Silence, where there had always been a hum.
He felt strangely… empty.
"What if this makes it harder to protect her?" he asked.
Cassian's mouth curved.
"Then you'll have to use your brain instead of your instincts," he said. "Consider it training."
He turned away, signaling the end of the conversation.
Lucian looked down at his hand.
The ring sat there, innocent and light.
For the first time since meeting Amara, he couldn't feel her.
He wasn't sure if that was a blessing
—or the first slice of a different kind of curse.
⸻
By the time Amara stumbled into her afternoon class, she was exhausted.
Her hands smelled like soil.
Her fingers were cramped from tracing circles.
Her head buzzed with new words veils, wards, anchors, bindings.
The normal classroom felt wrong.
Too bright.
Too loud.
Too… small.
Dami slid into the seat beside her with a bright grin and a giant bottle of iced tea.
"You look like death," Dami said cheerfully. "And not the hot vampire kind you refuse to admit you're into."
"I'm into my bed," Amara said. "And maybe a coma."
Dami laughed and pushed the bottle toward her.
"Drink," she said. "Hydrate or diedrate."
Amara's lips twitched.
"You need to stop saying that," she said, taking a sip.
Her attention drifted toward the door.
She hated that it did.
Hated that her chest tightened for a second when Lucian wasn't there.
Hated that she half expected him to saunter in late, making some sarcastic comment about human education.
He didn't.
He wasn't in any of her classes that day.
Which was normal.
He wasn't in all of them.
But still.
Her mark felt… oddly quiet.
No hum.
No pull.
Nothing.
Maybe he was busy.
Maybe he was hunting.
Maybe he was standing in a room full of vampires discussing the best way to slice her open.
Her hand tightened around her pen until it creaked.
"Hey," Dami said quietly. "You good?"
Amara forced herself to relax.
"Yeah," she lied. "Just thinking."
"Dangerous," Dami said. "Try not to hurt yourself."
Amara rolled her eyes, but the familiar banter soothed her a little.
Normal.
She needed normal.
Even if it was borrowed.
Even if it was temporary.
She tried to focus on the lecture.
She really did.
But halfway through, her phone buzzed once in her pocket.
She didn't need to look to know who it was.
She looked anyway.
Unknown Number:
Library after class? Need to trade treason notes.
Her heart did something very inconvenient.
She stared at the message.
Then at the board.
Then at the little ring hidden under her hoodie, glowing faintly against her skin.
Conditional alliance, she'd said.
This was part of it.
She typed back, fingers shaking slightly.
Amara:
Fine. But if this is an ambush, I'm setting your entire family on fire.
The reply came almost instantly.
L:
Understood. Will bring fire extinguisher.
Her lips twitched.
Dami leaned over, trying to peek.
Amara locked her phone.
"Who's that?" Dami asked suspiciously.
"No one," Amara said too quickly.
"Uh-huh," Dami said. "You only lie like that when it's someone wearing black."
"Shut up," Amara muttered.
She stared straight ahead, pretending to listen as the lecturer droned on.
Under the desk, her fingers traced a tiny circle on her knee.
Testing.
Directing.
Practising.
Little by little, the air tightened around her heart in a small, soft shield only she could feel.
If Lucian noticed
Good.
If he didn't—
Even better.
For the first time since the curse woke up in her blood, Amara didn't feel like a girl being dragged by fate.
She felt like someone sharpening a knife.
Quietly.
Carefully.
Under everyone's nose.
And the next time witch and vampire met, it would not be on an old battlefield or in the ruins of someone else's story.
It would be in the library.
Between shelves.
Between lies.
In a war neither of them had truly chosen—
—but both were finally, slowly, deciding how to fight.