Page 35 of The Coven of Ruin
“He’s blind, and that fucking mage hasn’t stopped them!”
Ares was blinking, attempting to regain his eyesight. And still he moved confidently, ensuring his back stayed toward the ring barriers.
Grae sighed as he eased himself back down. “Ares has fought blind before, but even so, that bastard is a cheat.”
“He fought blind?”
“TheGod Kingused to fuck with Ares a lot. He was blinded several times over the years for whatever slights Zeus thought he had committed. All in the name of making him a stronger warrior.”
She chewed on her bottom lip as she watched Illean’s sword and dagger fly, Ares’ own blade at his throat. Three. Illean was terminated. The other mage dropped his ax and shook his head as he leapt over the ring’s barrier, not even attempting to take the iron general on alone. The crowd quieted but then started up a chant that sounded like ‘Iron Coven.’ Illean shouted and cursed at his back from the sidelines, his face blotchy and red.
Trista stared at the god as he swung his sword, the swings somehow conveying both cockiness and insult, before sheathing it in a fluid motion. But it was her crimson ribbon around its hilt that made her heartbeat quicken.
Chapter XV
Thethirddayofthe tournament was much smoother and calmer. The biggest problem she had run into was whether or not to eat a third chocolate muffin.
“There are no limits to the amount of double chocolate muffins one should have,” Zyana explained as she picked up her fourth.
Before Trista could reply, a squire ran up to Zyana, huffing. “Zyana of the Mountain?” He put his hands on top of his head in an attempt to open his lungs. “They’re doing duals”— more panting—“now.”
Zyana froze. “It’s been moved up?”
He nodded. “There’s”—a huff—“a special event happening this afternoon afterward.”
Though the third day was to start the duals, there had been an archery contest scheduled beforehand. Zyana cursed, setting the muffin she had been about to eat down.
“I have to go.” She brushed off the front of her tunic. “I should be in the first lineup if it stays the same. I hope to make the Triune proud,” she said with only a slightly mocking tone.
“Of course you will,” Demurielle affirmed as she wrung her hands together, chewing on the inside of her cheek.
Zyana started to turn to follow the squire, but the sun witch grabbed her arm. “You didn’task,”Demurielle exhaled in quiet admonishment.
Zyana was immovable—only her eyes searching the other witch’s face was evidence she had heard her. Recognition dawned, her brows climbing before she dipped her head in acknowledgment. Then, keeping her head bowed, she got to one knee, planting a fist in the dirt.
“My lady Demurielle, would you honor me with your favor?”
Demurielle’s cheeks pinkened as she loosened not a ribbon from her wrist but a scarf she had tied around her hair. The rose-toned chiffon carried her scent with it, floral and bright. Placing it over Zyana’s head, she tucked it into the collar of her tunic.
“May my favor guide your sword true, warrior.” Demurielle cleared her throat and gestured for Trista to do the same. “Give her yours too.”
Trista quickly untangled a ribbon from her hair, a silky teal piece she knotted around Zyana’s upper arm.
As Zyana rose, she didn’t quite meet the other witch’s eyes as she nodded stiffly and then left on a turn of heel.
Demurielle watched her depart before taking a moment to straighten out her skirts. “Let’s go find our seats, shall we?”
Once they were seated again, both with a muffin each in hand, Demurielle was approached by two more mages asking for her favor simultaneously. Shaking her head, she apologized, informing them that she was already spoken for. As they walked away, they mused out loud who she could have chosen instead.
“I don’t want to accidentally favor someone who could go against Zyana,” she assured Trista.
Ares sat with the Iron Prince near the royal family and didn’t bother Trista with any more cryptic notes. But her eyes sought him out often as if afraid he was going to suddenly disappear. Mostly, the god just lounged, occasionally drinking from a goblet or giving terse responses when asked something. Again she wondered why he was even there to begin with. Did the Iron Prince know who he was? And, if he didn’t, how had he integrated himself so deeply into the coven that he was believed to be a high-ranking military member?
“Here she comes,” Demurielle announced sometime later, grabbing Trista’s hand worriedly. “What if she gets hurt?” The sun witch chewed on her cheek again.
“She isn’t going to get hurt,” Trista reassured her, “for the mere fact that there is no way we can stand to be calledthe Two.”
Her friend laughed nervously but didn’t let go of her hand. The witch truly was unsettled as she didn’t make a single remark about the participants as they were announced.
