Page 33 of The Coven of Ruin
He was all thick-bodied, overly muscled, and bulky. Trista had seen him once or twice before but couldn’t recall his name. “Ladies,” he said with a smile.
Demurielle recovered first. “Good afternoon,” she replied brightly, but Trista recognized confusion in her tone.
“Healer Trista?” he asked, looking over her slowly.
“Yes?”
“I’m Illean of The Coven of Mountain and Moss. I was wondering if you would do me the honor of showing me your favor for the sword bouts?” Demurielle and Zyana stepped back slightly so that they had a more direct line to each other.
“Oh,” Trista said, surprised at being approached in the first place.
She took a moment to study him. He was not someone she found attractive, though she assumed that many other witches would. And though a favor could be given merely as a show of support, it tended to holdmeaning.Too consumed with deciding how to turn him down, she hadn’t realized her mouth was working silently.
“I’m a friend of—“ His eyes left her to mark someone approaching. He bristled, his shoulders rolling back to puff his chest out.
Trista turned to find Grae and Ares there.
“Iron Coven,” Illean sneered, looking them up and down before turning his attention back to her. “So what do you say? Will you?”
Bringing her hand up, she was going to untie a ribbon from her hair when Ares caught her wrist between his thumb and finger.
“She won’t,” Ares said for her, causing her to look at him sharply. Though she didn’t want to, that gave him no right to speak for her.
“Why’s that? Are you going to fight for her instead, then?” Though the mage’s muscles were far thicker on his stockier form than Ares’, Trista already knew who would win. The entire tournament’s contestants could come for him, and The God of War would win.
There was a flash in Ares’ eyes, and Grae laughed with genuine amusement. “You must be trying to die today,” Grae declared, looking the mage up and down.
“I am the greatest swordsman in all of Witch Country. And I think The Iron Coven whoresons are cowards, who don’t want to get in the ring with the big mages,” he declared before gracelessly spitting at Ares’ feet.
Trista took a small step back as Ares’ gaze marked the spit and then returned to Illean. Grae’s smile remained, but his hand had moved to his sword’s hilt. When Ares didn’t say anything, Illean’s scowl indicated that he took his silence as passiveness.
“You’re dishonoring our coven with your actions, Illean,” Zyana scolded.
“Are you issuing a challenge then?” Ares asked before Illean could respond to her. His voice held a promise of violence.
“That’s right.” Illean grinned.
“Accepted.” The god squeezed her wrist lightly.
Illean’s confidence faltered, but he laughed it off. “All right then, let’s see how much Iron you’re actually made up of. I’ll meet you in the first bout of four fighters.” He turned to Trista again. “Lady Trista, I’d be honored to wear your favor as—“
“The lady will be favoring me, I’m sure you understand.” Trista didn’t see Illean’s reaction as Ares turned toward her and his hands were suddenly in her hair.
“You can’t kill him.” Trista tried to look up at him, but they were standing too close, and she could only see his chest. His spiced scent filled her nostrils, giving her a heady feeling she couldn’t shake. “And I don’t even think you can fight because you aren’t actually signed on for the tournament!” she continued, exasperated.
“I think they’ll make an exception.” He worked his fingers in her hair to undo the ribbon. “They think I’m part of a foreign coven that they distrust.” Lowering his voice further, he mockingly whispered, “And I’m theWitchbane, after all.“ When he pulled back, she felt the ribbon leave her hair. Rubbing the piece of crimson silk between his fingers, he gave her a very Grae-like wink.
When Ares turned away to talk quietly to Grae, she noted that Illean had already walked away.
“I can’t believe him,” Zyana muttered. “If Reas doesn’t take care of him…” she trailed off, muttering under her breath about honor.
“He was awful,” Demurielle said, staring into the crowd as if she could still see him. “Who would want to give their favor to such a brute? I, for one, am glad you gave your ribbon to the general. Let’s hope he teaches him a lesson or two.”
Trista felt like Illean would learn several things if he lived long enough to do so.
Moments later, despite her protests, Grae tucked her hand into his arm. “This is going to be great,” Grae said cheerily, swiping two more cakes before directing them toward the stands.
“He knows he can’t kill him, right?”
