The Heart of Zorrah

Chapter One

Uncle Henry’s stern voice shattered the half-dream that had mercifully shielded me from his half-hour-long lecture. Stifling a yawn, I tried to make my gaze look at least somewhat attentive.

“Mirrah! Are you even listening to me?!”

“Of course, Uncle.”

“Mirrah, you must always be polite and well-groomed, listen carefully to your elders, and stop daydreaming when someone speaks to you! By the great Zorrah, you will disgrace me at the academy!” Uncle Henry exclaimed, rubbing his face wearily—an aging face that had grown even older in the past six months. The loss of his brother, my father, had left its mark on him. And a wild, untamed niece with no regard for decorum certainly didn’t make his life any easier.

I truly felt sorry for my uncle. But I felt even sorrier for myself.

The two brothers had always been like Mer and Tott. My father, naturally, was Tott in the flesh—a handsome, charming rogue with a penchant for reckless adventures. For as long as I can remember, trouble followed him like shadow—gambling debts, drunken brawls, scandalous affairs. And he paraded his many lovers before me, as if introducing them to his most cherished possession—his daughter.

Uncle Henry, on the other hand, was his complete opposite. A rigid upholder of rules and propriety, his reputation was as neat and polished as his always-perfectly combed hair. It was his pride, his badge of honor. And the fact that our family’s fate now rested on the shoulders of his irresponsible brother’s only daughter filled him with constant irritation—though, bound by his own rigid sense of decorum, he never let it show in public. At home, however, I endured endless lectures on duty and proper conduct.

That my father had been born first and destined to lead our family—it must have been a cruel joke of the gods.

To him, I had been a little princess. To Uncle Henry, a tool to be used for the family’s survival.

Shaking off my dark thoughts, I refocused on my guardian’s lecture. His pompous speech was an endless loop of “must,” “proper,” and “rules.” Nothing new.

At last, his grumbling began to slow, like a drying stream trickling down to nothing. His words came fewer and further between, until, at long last, silence filled my father’s study.

I rose quietly, glancing cautiously at my uncle. His chin had fallen onto his broad chest—his exhausted body finally succumbing to sleep.

Perfect. The sleeping drops worked.

Slipping out of the study, I closed the door softly behind me.

This room had once been my haven, where I curled up in a chair with a book and watched my father work. The entire estate breathed his presence. Every corridor, every object held fragments of the past. My fingers brushed over trinkets, relics of a life now lost.

How I wished I could see him one last time.

His departure had been so sudden, as if a thread connecting us had snapped, leaving only emptiness inside me. I was adrift in a stormy sea, utterly alone.

In my room, I quickly packed my trunk. It was time to leave. Perhaps forever. The path I had chosen could take me far, far away. And it began at the Academy of Zorrinia.

My illusory magic was far below average, but I was determined to work hard and stay at the academy for as long as necessary.

I was my father’s only heir. Since childhood, everyone had eagerly awaited the awakening of my Talent. But when my eleventh birthday passed and nothing manifested, whispers of doubt began to spread. It seemed that the lineage of Talents in our family would end with me.

So Uncle Henry sought a solution. And he found one.

That solution was the reason for my sudden departure.

A gifted husband—one who could lead our family and delay its decline—was our salvation. No one had bothered to ask for my opinion. But I had no intention of openly opposing them. I had a plan of my own. A plan that hinged on my time at the academy.

But there was something else. Something I had to keep hidden at all costs. Uncle was already beginning to suspect. I couldn’t let him find out about Iz.

From childhood, I had known my destiny—to restore our family’s place among the Ruling Elite. That was what was expected of me. But blind obedience to the Rulers was never in my nature. That desire to climb the social ladder? I never shared it. All thanks to my father.

He raised me on tales of power imbalances, of social injustice, of the Rulers’ iron grip on the world. He had been a revolutionary, a soldier in the Second War. Perhaps that was why our family had fallen, why we were exiled to the edge of the forest.

Uncle Henry longed to reclaim our noble status. My father despised the very idea.

He had sworn never to set foot in the capital again. Never bow to the Rulers. And he wanted me to follow in his footsteps.

That left me caught between hammer and anvil.

Which was why I never told my father about the strange episodes that began with my first moonblood. I hid my “fits” carefully. I didn’t want to attract attention. Least of all, I didn’t want to be labeled insane.

Packing was easy, though my mind kept drifting to the past. I took nothing unnecessary but stuffed my trunk with books. I couldn’t live without them.

One last sweep of my room, and my eyes landed on the small wooden box on the windowsill. My most precious treasure lay inside.

Holding my breath, I carefully pulled out the crumpled scrap of photograph.

A slender young woman.

My mother.

As a child, I had secretly studied this image, terrified my father would catch me. He never knew I had salvaged the fragment from the fire. Most of it had been charred, but her piercing gaze remained.

Lirria Amory. A beautiful name.

It was all I had of her. A name and this tattered piece of paper.

And now, I am standing on the threshold of a new life, hesitant to step forward, unwilling to let go of the past.

I wished I could rewind time seventeen years. Just to see it—the picture my father had painted with his stories. A happy family. A moment of peace. The warmth of a home at the edge of the Dark Forest. Their smiles.

“That’s impossible,” a voice in my head whispered. “Your new life awaits. Don’t look back.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” I muttered, sticking my tongue out at my reflection.

“Don’t be such a sourpuss, Mirrah!” Iz chimed in. “I, for one, am thrilled to finally escape this miserable backwater! The academy is where I belong—where I will shine!”

“You’ll shine us straight into the Rulers’ laboratories!” I growled. “Is that what you want?!”

“You’re such a pessimist,” she sighed dramatically.

“Shut up. And vanish for Zorrah’s sake, I need to finish packing!”

“Pffft! Fine!” she hissed somewhere near my left ear.

Figuratively speaking, of course.

Iz existed only in my mind—my deepest, darkest secret.

She was my so-called Talent, the one that had never properly manifested. She was also my friend, my confidante, and the mastermind behind all our mischief. She had everything I lacked.

Carefully, I tucked the photograph into the hidden pocket sewn inside my travel jacket.

That was it. I was ready.

The academy will be my home for a while.

But first, I had to pass the entrance exam.

I wasn’t worried about my magic—it was weak, but stable. What concerned me was the students. The academy was filled with the offspring of powerful magical families. Most were aristocrats, some more noble than others.

Among them, only a rare few possessed Talents. The rest wielded ordinary elemental magic.

As an Eshtar, I was expected to shine. But if anyone discovered how my Talent had actually manifested… I wouldn’t just be mocked. I’d be sent straight to the Rulers’ laboratories.

Better to stay quiet. Avoid conflict. Keep my head down.

One last look at the house.

A quiet farewell.

Then I crushed the teleportation sphere.

A swirl of gray mist. A moment of nausea.

And then the Academy of Zorrinia stood before me.