The Thirteen Keys of Corvynne Hall | Chap. 1
The Council of Shadows
The stone corridors beneath Corvynne Hall were narrow and cool, twisting in ways that would confuse those unfamiliar with them. Candles floated along the walls, their flames suspended without smoke, though tonight they flickered unevenly, as if even the Hall itself shivered in anticipation. Lynsandra Voss moved with quiet purpose, one of her closest friends and fellow professors, Callum Graves, close at her side, his hand occasionally brushing the walls.
“You feel that?” he murmured.
Lynsandra nodded. A pulse of weak magic ran along the walls, subtle and intermittent, like a heartbeat slowing. “I do.” Her fingers brushed a glyph carved into the stone. It pulsed faintly, barely responding to her touch. “The magic is becoming more unstable. And Ayodele is working her hardest to convince the council that the answer is nominating the most powerful candidates possible for this year’s Arcanum trials. It’s almost like they’ve actually deluded themselves into forgetting what happened during the last trials.”
Her mind flicked briefly to the past. A decade ago, during the Trial of Elemental Fury, a student named Amara Ellison had vanished completely. Lynsandra had tried to intervene, even going as far as performing the forbidden Veilroot Invocation when she sensed the school’s magic faltering to hopefully determine the cause, but was ultimately dismissed by Ayodele Marris, the school’s headmistress.
“When you consider the alternative, did you expect anything less? The Arcanum thrives off secrecy.” Callum pointed out.
“And that’s the problem,” she grumbled as they continued.
Though despite her annoyance, she couldn’t ignore that she herself held onto a secret from the morning Amara went missing. During the Veilroot Invocation, she’d seen more than just the warning about the failing magic. For a fleeting moment, she glimpsed a girl, without any magical signature, who seemed somehow tied to the Hall’s faltering power.
After years of exhausting effort, Lynsandra finally located the young woman seemingly destined to restore Corvynne Hall’s stability; now, all that remained was to battle Ayodele to admit the young woman as a student.
Lynsandra and Callum rounded a corner and entered a wider hall. The ceiling arched high above them, carved with ancestral symbols and sigils that shimmered faintly as their footsteps echoed through the space. Here, the failing magic made itself even more evident. A glyph that usually glowed steady blue now sputtered like a dying flame, and the air trembled faintly with static. Lynsandra’s jaw tightened. Even the oldest wards could falter, but she hadn’t expected the pulse to be this irregular.
“Do you think tonight is the best night to blindside Ayo about Briony? She’s already on edge with the trials approaching. An Arcanum council meeting might not be the best—”
“Admitting a student with no magical lineage or signature is unheard of and threatens the secrecy of our existence. According to the school’s bylaws, Ayo will have the final say.”
“Unless you can force a vote from the council,” Callum chuckled, shaking his head.
“It’s the only shot we have at correcting the magic’s balance, Cal,” Lynsandra sighed. “You saw what happened to Amara. I don’t even want to think about what could happen this year. This may be a bit unorthodox, but the timing of these events can’t be a coincidence. What are the odds of, after years of searching, suddenly finding the young woman from my vision just as the council convenes?”
With the Arcanum trials pending, the council of Arcanum alumni would soon cast their votes to select which students would be admitted into the society that year. A dozen names drawn from the incoming class, each chosen for their promise, lineage, or power. And though the university’s wider student body never knew the full extent of these rites, the alums treated the process with a gravity that bordered on holy law.
Since there wouldn’t be a meeting for another decade, this was the one chance Lynsandra had at using the council’s influence to her advantage.
“You know I’m behind you every step of the way, but I wouldn’t be a friend if I didn’t point out what a dangerous game you’re playing. If you go this route, every move you make this school year will be under a microscope.”
The hallway narrowed again, twisting downward, spiraling toward the hidden chamber.
“If you have an alternative suggestion, I’m all ears.”
Callum’s jaw twitched as he shook his head.
“That’s what I thought.”
“Watch it,” he warned, smirking. “You wouldn’t want to make an enemy out of me before the meeting. You need all the votes you can get.”
“Cal, I love you to the moon and back, but if you back Ayo on this instead of me, I have no problem ensuring you wake up a frog.”
His laughter reverberated through the corridor as they finally reached their destination. The massive chamber doors were carved from blackened oak, and inlaid with sigils that shimmered faintly in gold.
Lynsandra placed a hand on the center sigil, and it trembled under her touch, like the echo of a heartbeat. Callum did the same on the adjacent glyph, giving her a subtle nod.
With a quiet push, the doors opened, and they saw that most of the council was present and already seated. Candles hovered above the circular chamber, flames dancing unevenly in the failing magic. Members’ robes glimmered with sigils denoting their lineage, dark skin reflecting the candlelight. Ayodele’s sharp gaze found hers immediately, and her lips formed a tight line.
“This might be a little harder than I anticipated,” Lynsandra thought.
Lysandra and Callum took their assigned seats within the inner ring of the chamber, joining the other ten alums in a perfect circle around the raised central dais. Twelve stone chairs faced inward, each aligned to a carved rune set into the floor.
Beyond the circle, the chamber widened into tiered rows that climbed the walls, filled with the remaining invitees.
Although she had her reservations about the Arcanum and disagreed with how it evolved over the years, she had to admit the convergence was always a sight to see. However, not every Arcanum alum was allowed to attend. An invitation was reserved for the exceptionally gifted. And even fewer were allowed to nominate new inductees. Twelve, to be exact. And it was those twelve she needed to convince to vote to admit Briony as a student. At least, the majority of those twelve. As an Orunmila alum and a master of forbidden theory, Lynsandra hoped the weight of her title and experience would sway her peers in her favor.
A few remaining members slipped in quietly, taking their places quietly. This whispers around the room ceased as the final person settled. Then, Ayodele stepped forward, her posture as rigid as always and her gaze sharp. She raised a hand, and the archways shimmered, sealing the chamber.
The ambient light dimmed slightly as the seal took hold, and a hush fell over the council.
“Council, we convene as we do each decade: to review candidates for the Arcanum Trials and ensure the Hall continues to operate according to our standards. Let us focus on merit, lineage, and proven potential. Distraction, speculation, or undue concern for imagined instabilities will not serve this chamber or the Hall,” she paused, glancing at Lynsandra.
Chuckling under her breath, Lynsandra shook her head. They’d barely been in the same space for a minute, and Ayodele had already thrown down the gauntlet.
“Each alumnus will present their candidate for this year’s Arcanum cohort,” Ayodele continued. “Please state their name, their merit, and their bloodline, if relevant. Objections will be heard and recorded. You may now proceed with your reports.”
Councilor Baines, a Shango alum, was first to rise, his voice deep and resolute. “I’m nominating Seraphina Whitlock,” he declared.
“And how has she earned this nomination?” Ayodele raised an eyebrow.
“For starters, she’s a Cinderglen University legacy, an heir to a line of fierce fire mages. I’ve watched her for some time now, and her affinity for pyromancy is unmatched. She’s disciplined, her grades are stellar, and she has the poise fit for an arcanum student.”
Ayodele glanced around the chamber. “Objections?”
Her question was met with silence.
“Very well. Since there’s no veto, let’s move on to the next nomination.”
Lenora Carver stood, her silver hair gleaming under the candlelight. “I move to nominate Imani Brooks.”
“Reasoning?”
“She’s also a Cinderglen legacy, and she wields light and shadow with clarity rare in one so young.”
Someone muttered, “Clarity, or instability?”
“While Imani is talented,” another councilor said, nipping the impending disagreement in the bud. “She bears a heavy burden from family expectation. Over the past few decades, two from her line have been nominated for the Arcanum and failed to complete their trials. The pressure to succeed could break her. We’ve seen it before.”
“That’s hardly a reason to dismiss her,” Lenora argued. “Pressure makes diamonds.”
“Or cracks them,” the same councilor replied coolly, earning a pointed glare.
“Let’s see how she does,” Ayodele intervenes. “If she fails, that will be the end of her lineage as far as nominations are concerned. Next.”
“I nominate Malachi Vale,” said Julian Marquette, a tall, broad-shouldered man with an impeccably trimmed beard. He was known for his exacting eye on lineage and ceremonial traditions.
A ripple of recognition passed through the chamber. Heads turned, eyes softened, and even Ayodele allowed the faintest incline of her chin. Malachi’s lineage was unquestioned. His bloodline was one of the oldest in Cinderglen University’s history, tying him to a legacy of magical royalty.
“He’s already demonstrated remarkable skill in necromantic forging,” Julian continued, voice measured, “and he carries the history of his family with the weight and dignity we expect from a Vale.”
No one raised a hand or made a sound to object. The instant approval was almost ceremonial.
“Agreed,” Ayodele said, voice calm but firm. “Malachi Vale is accepted.”
And so the nominations continued, some accepted and most vetoed, until it was Lynsandra’s turn to speak.
Standing, she smoothed the front of her robe. “Before I move forward with nominating my candidate for this year’s Arcanum selection, I feel it’s important to make the council aware of recent events and developments.”
“Lynsandra,” Ayodele interrupted exasperatedly, “This isn’t the time or place to—”
“As you all know,” Lynsandra continued as though she hadn’t heard her. “Ten years ago, a student was lost during a trial, due to Corvynne’s Hall’s fluctuating magic. While the remaining trials were executed smoothly and without incident, over the years, the magic has become even more unstable. Given these events, it would be remiss of me not to address what, until now, has only been disregarded as an old tale. I believe the Severance has begun, and—”
The chamber erupted. A dozen voices rose in unison—sharpened, overlapping, some dripping with derision, others thick with alarm.
“That old myth has been whispered about for centuries,” Julian made himself heard over the noise. “To no avail. It’s nothing more than a ghost story.”
“This group has come together to discuss and select Arcanum candidates,” Maeve Duvall hissed, her normally placid tone edged with fury. “Not to indulge in superstition.”
A fist slammed against the table, the sound cracking like thunder as the room fell silent. The normally docile Callum commanded the attention of everyone as he stood. “Am I to understand that such a large gathering of talented individuals as yourselves didn’t feel the weakness of the magic’s current when arriving at the Hall?”
Several pairs of eyes darted toward the vaulted ceiling, where the faint glow of glyph-light wavered, as though the wards strained to hold their shape.
Lynsandra took advantage of the silence. “You may regard The Severance as mere superstition if you wish,” she said, “But I have studied the Orunmila archives more deeply than any of you, and I’ve seen the signs in the wards. To deny it now is to invite disaster. Before the tragedy of Amara’s trial, I performed the Veilroot Invocation,” she ignored the collective gasps. “And the ancestors showed me a girl whom I believe to be the key to correcting the imbalance.”
“And what is this girl’s name?” Ayodele inquired, her tone dangerously low.
“Briony Knox.”
“From what line does she descend?”
“None that I’ve been able to trace so far.”
Ayodele folded her hands, and from the smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth, Lynsandra was sure the headmistress was convinced that she had her boxed in. “I see. And her signature?”
“Apparently, non-existent.”
“So, you stand before us, nominating a seemingly normal student for admission under the assumption she’s the fix to what you believe to be The Severance?”
“I’m humbly asking a group of my peers to consider the happenings over the past few years and take them into account. The Arcanum students are not just candidates to continue our founders’ legacy. They’re someone’s family. Someone’s children. And Corvynne Hall’s instability puts them in grave danger. It is our responsibility as their guides to protect them—”
“From a viable threat,” Ayodele challenged. “When the myth of The Severance is not.”
“It’s not a myth, Ayo. It’s a prophecy. And I’ve never heard of one that hasn’t come to pass. Have you?”
A murmur of conversation buzzed around the room as the two glared at one another.
“In any other situation, Ayodele would make the final decision,” Callum folded his arms with ease. “But given it’s been brought to the council’s attention, the admission of Briony Knox can only be decided by a vote.”
Ayodele’s gaze darkened. To give in would go against all she stood for, but to decline would reflect poorly on her with the council. After a pregnant, tense-filled pause, she finally responded, “So be it.”
The chamber darkened as the central glyph etched into the heart of the dais flared to life, rising into a great wheel of light that began to rotate slowly above the circle. Its spokes passed over each of the twelve seats in turn. When the wheel aligned, each councilor pressed a hand to the rune before them, the old magic ready to record their will.
Julian decided first, his lips thin. The glyph beside his hand flared red: Opposed.
Maeve followed, her expression torn, but fear won out. Opposed.
Marcus’s decision came fast and brutal. Opposed.
Callum’s fingers hovered over his rune. His jaw worked as though chewing glass. At last, he pressed down. The glyph sputtered, then bloomed into white light: For.
Two more alums cast their votes in quick succession, both votes crimson, making the tally five to three, in Ayodele’s favor. Then unexpectedly, one of the oldest Arcanum alums, who’d never sided against tradition, pressed white. Another hand, hesitant, trembling, lowered against the rune, but sure enough: white. Four.
Five to five.
The eleventh voter stepped forward, all eyes fixed on her. She closed her eyes, whispering something under her breath, and pressed white.
Six to five.
Now the room held its breath as the twelfth and final hand descended.
The rune flared white.
Seven to five.
Majority.
“Majority holds,” Callum announced.
Lynsandra felt the knot in her chest loosen. Not with triumph, but the inevitability of the fallout of her actions.
“So it shall be,” Ayo muttered, her jaw tight.
Releasing a long breath, Lynsandra squared her shoulders. “Now, to the matter of my trial nominee…”
Negotiations continued until all twelve Arcanum nominees were selected.
As the chamber began to empty, Ayodele lingered by the platform, her voice sharp as cut glass. “I’m sure you’re proud of yourself. But don’t think the council sided with you out of loyalty. It was either out of fear or out of a desire to watch you fail. And when you do fail, they’ll let you drown alone.”
Lynsandra laughed softly, shaking her head. “Or maybe, Ayodele, you’ve made yourself so unlikable you can’t recognize genuine support anymore.”
Ayodele’s mouth twisted into a cruel smile. “You always did think yourself superior, Lyn,” the words dripped from her mouth like venom. “But tell me this, how do you plan to admit a student without a drop of magic in her blood to a university full of it? What exactly is it that you plan to do with a student who’s just as ordinary as you?”
As she swept past, the wards in the walls trembled as faint cracks whispered through the chamber walls.
The insult rolled easily off Lynsandra’s back because she knew Ayodele’s dislike stemmed from envy. And because she was the bigger person, she had no problem admitting that Ayodele was right. Lynsandra may have won the battle regarding Briony’s admission to Cinderglen, but she hadn’t the slightest idea what came next.
Interested to find out what sparked the events in The Thirteen Keys of Corvynne Hall? Click the button below to grab a free copy of The Rootless Prophecy, A Corvynne Hall prequel.