Page 26 of The Coven of Ruin
The light sprites dashed in her face, looping in excited whirls. “Oh, can you take me there,” she whispered to them, wondering then if she had truly lost her mind.
Buzzing and brightening, they danced and weaved, guiding her further into the yawning deep.Fitting that it would be in the darkness where such tomes are housed.They led her to the shelf’s end, where more stacks branched out into the shadows, past what she could see. Further and further still. When she looked back at the way she had come, the light seemed far away, causing her to hesitate. She couldn’t stand the dark, not anymore.
“I think we should—” One of the wisps disappeared in a barely audible ‘pop’. She was concerned that something had happened to it before little ‘pops’ filled the space all around her, and there were suddenly more than a dozen flitting orbs.
“You brought friends,” she said in amazement. “Thank you. Very clever, little sprites.” They vibrated with her praise, sparks emitting from their brightening bodies.
Emboldened, they led her winding through more stacks. When they finally slowed, they looped around several books, illuminating their spines. Some were familiar from her studies, but most were not. She began plucking a tome here and there from the shelf but soon realized that there were so many more titles than she had ever realized that covered dark magic, spells, and rituals. Far more than she could carry or read in one sitting. Even if she was afforded years in the capital, she’d never be able to get through them all. She would have to ask Elder Sarange if there was any way she could take some back with her.
If I go back.
The thought was sudden, fleeting. Of course she had to go back. She hadn’t understood what Harlow meant by not doing so. Though witches treated her like she was a member of the Circes, she was still just a covenless healer with very few rights.
Storing the thought away in a compartment in her mind that she would open later, she went back to browsing. There were multiple shelves full of dark magic and related topics, but she found herself in an entirely new section as she rounded a corner.
Though there weren’t many volumes on the subject, she was staring at several books about the gods. Curiosity ruled her, and she took a thin book namedDamnation: Mages and The Divineoff the shelf.The light sprites pulsated inquisitively.
“You’re right,” she murmured to them as she scanned the other titles, picking up two more, “I’ll just add this to my pile.”
Finding her way back to her stack, she hugged the heavy load to her chest. Content with her discoveries for the day, she turned in the direction she thought they needed to go and let the bright wisps guide her back.
Moments later, she sequestered herself in a side alcove. Sitting down in the stuffy chair, she blew a thick curl out of her face. She had just opened the thin book on witchkind and gods when distant voices drifted and echoed their way to her.
“—you can’t just run away whenever you don’t get your way.” A male voice breathy with exasperation.
“Don’t youdare.”A feminine voice ignited with rage.
Footsteps. Trista couldn’t tell which direction they came from or how close they were to her seat. She could move, but she didn’t want to risk running into them and them thinking she had been eavesdropping.
“Don’t touch me,” the witch hissed with an accent of authority as their steps halted. “You’re going to be late meeting with my father and brother for dinner. You chose your side.”
“Ria, I can’t…” The male’s voice became muffled and faint. Two light sprites danced into the intersection of the shelves before her, and she could only imagine they were searching for the source of the voices. The name niggled at the back of her mind, but before she could contemplate it too much, she heard him say, “…yourself killed, and I’m not going to sit back and watch you do it.”
It was silent for so long that Trista hoped they had stepped away in another direction, but then came the witch’s voice, soft and resigned, “And I’m not asking you to.”
The footsteps resumed, the hurried gait bringing the stranger closer to her alcove. When she passed, Trista only caught a glimpse of glossy black hair and eyes shining with unshed tears before the witch pulled up the hood of her cloak and was gone.
Straining, she tried to hear if the mage departed in another direction. When all was silent for an entire minute, she let loose a breath between clenched teeth allowing herself to relax into the seat once more.
A huff of a breath was the only warning she got before someone she recognized was standing in the shelves’ intersection in front of her. Impossibly white hair, hard-angled features, and black armor with a dragon etched into it, readied for battle. Xerxes, Dragon Master and Commander of the Dracosian Fleet, and her first dance partner from the masquerade.
He paused, swiping a hand through his locks, his cheeks puffing as he blew out another hard breath. “Fuck,” he muttered. Straightening his back and schooling his features as if nothing had occurred, he continued onward.
It hit her then who the witch was. And though gossiping was never high on Trista’s priorities, she knew someone who would kill her for not telling herandif she missed dinner.
She waited five minutes before she started to stack her books behind the chair. “Can I leave these here?” Taking the wisps’ buzzing and twirls as a yes, she rushed out to meet her friends for dinner.
Her trek from the library to the dining hall was blessedly free of the pair she had witnessed in the library, and as she entered the hall, she spotted her friends immediately. The smile that involuntarily came to her at the sight of them dropped a moment later when she saw Grae on the dais with the Iron Prince that evening. It was always both a sense of relief and disappointment when it wasn’t Ares. She told herself it was because his absence fueled the perpetual question of just exactly what his purpose was in Witch Country.
Xerxes was also there, speaking to an advisor casually. He looked far more put together than he had in the library. The princess’ chair, however, was still vacant.
Trista couldn’t discuss what she heard in the library due to The Frost Coven’s Maja herself and two of her coven members already sitting beside her friends. Surprisingly, Demurielle was quieter than usual as if she were unsure how to start a conversation in her presence.
It took them all off guard when the icy witch side-eyed them and asked, “How long does the rain usually last here?”
Demurielle’s lips parted, but nothing came out. Trista had no clue and looked between the sun witch and the Maja. But it was Zyana who replied, “Not long. I was told it should be over in three days.”
“Mm,” the Maja hummed, taking another bite of her food.
