Page 13 of The Coven of Ruin

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There it was.

“I’ve been sick,” she said evenly.

“And I’m the Witch King.”

“Eral, if you’re just going to call me a liar—“

“What was that magic earlier? What you saw…” He looked sickly at just the thought of it.

“I won’t tell anyone. It wasn’t on purpose—it’s familial magic. I usually need to have some sort of intention to eventryto access it, but it was just out of control earlier. I’m sorry. Maybe it is from being ill. I won’t answer any more summons until I feel better.“ The words tumbled out of her in an anxious explanation.

His concern was understandable. Elders were not allowed to fraternize with healers, and relations among healers were highly discouraged. Trista didn’t know what the punishment was for such misconduct. Somehow, not knowing made it seem more ominous.

Eral studied her for a long time, the angles of his face appearing sharper. Seemingly satisfied, he flicked his fingers forward again. She took Kace’s letters before he could think better of it.

“Yes, well, you don’t tell anyone what you saw while violating my privacy, and I won’t tell anyone the real reason for your disappearance or about how that rat of a mage sometimes stays here.” Eral grimaced, then turned on his heel and left without waiting for her to agree.

Chapter VI

Tristabecameadeptatavoiding people. Eral made excuses for her when there was another attack a week later. Though he expressed his loathing for her ‘weak constitution’ every time he saw her, she knew he also didn’t want her to see any more of his memories. They had paired him with a novice healer that was deciding her path of studies, leaving Eral to have to teach more than heal. It only served to sour his demeanor further.

Elder Sarange checked on her twice over the next fortnight but refrained from making any comment on her condition. Harlowhadspoken to her then. Kace had also tried forcing her window open four more times but didn’t leave any more letters. She had burned the ones Eral had given her without reading them.

Her anxiety had peaked, leaving her in a state where panic attacks happened suddenly and without provocation. Despite the frequency with which they occurred, she hadn’t learned any skills to help her get through them faster.

Trista decided she needed to do what she always did when presented with a problem she couldn’t solve—research it. She slipped into the library with a feverish determination for answers. Scouring the shelves for hours, she pulled every bound journal, rolled scroll, and decrepit tome that even looked like it would give her answers. Back in the safety of her room, she poured over the text hungrily.

There were few books on the gods at the Akeso. The Cursebringer was mentioned in some older texts, but only in relation to annotating the differences and shifts in their magic pre-death of the Mothers and after.

When she changed her search to magical bonds, she was met with more disappointment. Each tome stated clearly that they were unbreakable if done correctly and intentionally, which her life debt had been.

Lastly, she could not, it seemed, heal emotional damage through magical means. She could only find research on mending the mind from spell injuries. Though concerning, it wasn’t a surprise that the library held no such books. It was a failing she had noticed before in the Akeso with other subjects.

They relied on magic far too much. Most refused to practice healing by non-magical methods, but it seemed like a glaring oversight when healers were expected to burn through their magic in the hope that others may survive.

She glared at the stacks of books piled around her room and felt nothing but bitter defeat.

Just as she prepared to sulk from the hopelessness of it all, a sharp rapping of knuckles sounded at her door.

Opening the door with a frown already tugging at her lips, ‘what do you want, Eral’ was halfway out of her mouth.

“We are going to the capital,” the mage interrupted her, handing her a missive.

“What? Why?”

“For splendor and glory, of course. Spellspire is holding Circes, the social season. It’s the first in over two decades. And because you can’t heal anymore, your auntie convinced the Magister to send Elder Sarange as the Akeso’s representative. The official party requires three, and since I am her best healer and you are my althea, we will join her. You’re merely invited by association, I hope you know.” Eral scowled at her.

Trista ignored him in favor of reading the message over. They weren’t going there to heal. They wereguests.

An inkling of hope, at last.

The door was halfway shut on her althea when he said, “We leave in a fortnight. Hope you can dance better than you can heal.”

The eve before her trip to Spellspire, Kace was at her window again. He knocked, heavy-handed, and when she didn’t respond, he bellowed her name. Trista supposed she had avoided him for as long as she could. Regardless, if he kept that up, the entirety of the Akeso would hear him.

Opening the window, Trista pinned him with her best glare.

He looked pitiful. It had started raining, causing his hair to stick up at odd angles. His maple eyes took her in with uncertainty.