The Herbwitch's Apprentice Ireen Chau (best life changing books txt) 📖

Theodora sighed. “No, I’m afraid we cannot teach you.” She looked to Miriam. “Tell her why.”

Miriam nodded. “Witches are split into two categories, generally speaking. Herbwitches have an affinity to the living world, to animals and plants. Charmwitches specialize in nonorganic magic, like enchantments and jinxes and protective spells,” Miriam said. “You, my girl, are an herbwitch.”

“What kind of witch are you?” I said.

“Me?” She winked. “I’m a businesswoman.”

“What Miriam is trying to say,” Theodora said irritably, “is that each witch specializes in magic from the organic world or the inorganic world. This simulation of outdoors, for example, is a blend of both kinds of magic.”

I shook my head, barely understanding. “What do herbwitches do, exactly?”

“The most common is potions and plant magic,” Rowena said. “Even then, each witch’s magic is unique and works differently. For example, some witches can talk to plants. Some can merely grow them out of thin air.”

“So you can’t tell me what the colors in my vision mean?” I said.

Rowena shook her head. “That’s for you to figure out, dear.”

When we finally reached the field at the base of the village, Miriam summoned the passageway by mumbling a few words. I figured from that she was a charmwitch.

We traversed the tunnel yet again. This time I was too overwhelmed to be afraid of the darkness. I didn’t know what to make of the stillness of Witch Village, Lana’s anger, or Seraphina, the name that seemed to cause so much trouble.

11

The colors were getting difficult to control.

Flashes of chartreuse, yellow, and magenta flickered before my vision. The mount I rode didn’t help my nausea. It was a spirited pony by the name of Thunderstorm, supposedly because her coat was as dark as a stormy sky. But I had been too distracted by the neon green fog on the stableboy’s pants to pay attention to what he was saying.

“Calm down, why don’t you?” I muttered into the beast’s ear as we trotted through the trees. Thunderstorm shook her head, whipping my face with her long mane.

I rubbed my stinging cheek. It was still morning, that much I could tell from the crisp air. Murmurs, giggles, and the tinkling of bells from the other debutantes could be heard amongst the crunching of forest debris underfoot. This was the day of the hunting party, where gold ribboned young men went on murdering sprees of wild animals to win the heart of their favorite debutantes.

“Amarante? Are you alright?” Genevieve’s voice sounded from my left. I didn’t need to see her to know her brows were knit in worry.

“Quite,” I said, keeping my eyes shut. Colors still danced before my lids, but it was better than the chaos I was faced with when my eyes were open.

“You look pale.”

“Thanks, it’s the lavender powder. Have you heard that fair complexions are in again?” I said, trying to keep my voice light. My stomach lurched as Thunderstorm increased her pace. I peeked down at the soldier leading my mount, wondering why in the world he was speeding up, and instantly regretted it when a sharp flash of silver cut through my vision. I flinched.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Genevieve asked. “Is it the pheasant?”

Lord Strongfoot had served his signature, blisteringly spicy pheasant last night. My mouth was still stinging by the time we went to bed. That discomfort, however, was nothing compared to my current dilemma.

“Probably,” I said. I couldn’t very well tell Genevieve about the colors.

“I told you not to eat so much even if you were being polite,” my stepsister said. “I hardly had a full bite.”

“Aren’t you hungry, then?” I asked as a burst of fuchsia bloomed in my vision.

“A bit. Good thing we’ll be picnicking soon.”

I was all too happy when Thunderstorm came to a halt. I opened my eyes gingerly.

“Miss?”

The soldier leading Thunderstorm extended his hand. A blinding, neon yellow dripped from his fingers. I shut my eyes and swung my leg over the saddle, but my foot came into contact with something solid.

“Oof!”

A thump and a clatter of metal sounded as I lurched off my mount, slamming bodily into the soldier who, it seemed, I had also kicked in the face.

Genevieve was the first to rush to my side. “Amarante! Heavens, are you hurt?” she asked. I couldn’t help but look at her. Splashes of peach and rose surrounded her hair like a halo.

“No, I’m fine,” I said. I turned to the soldier. He was now sitting up, a shock of red streaming down his nose into a sea of yellow. He gaped at me. “I’m so sorry,” I said, but he scrambled off before I could say anything more.

“You should have stayed at Tori’s if you weren’t feeling well,” my stepsister said, helping me up to my feet. My skirts were muddied by dirt and debris, and there was a sizable rip where the fabric caught on the soldier’s armor. A few debutantes passed, snickering. My face burned.

“I’m fine,” I repeated, brushing off my gown as best I could. Genevieve continued to say something, but I could only stare.

There were no more colors.

I looked around in wonderment. Why had it stopped?

“Amarante? Are you listening?”

“Huh?”

“You really ought to sit down. They’re building the shelter right now so we’ll have plenty of time to rest. Really, how could you go out in this state?”

The tents and shelter were built in about thirty minutes in the forest clearing. Sheets of canvas were stretched over wooden beams, providing shade from the emerging sun. The debutantes were escorted to one such structure, where stools and tables were set out for our comfort. We spotted Tori and Olivia and joined them.

“What happened to you?” Tori said when we approached.

Olivia made a soft noise at the back of her throat. There was large hole in my riding skirt where my knee had scraped across the road. Luckily, the trousers underneath were still intact.

“I’m perfectly fine,” I said, plopping myself onto a stool.

“Was it Pa’s pheasant?” Tori asked.

“It didn’t