Page 45 of The Coven of Ruin
Without the use of magic.
It was a lot of Demurielle ordering them around. The witch’s narrowed gaze assessed the structure as she declared, “The left side needs tending. It’s a little sloppy.”
“I’m going to tend to you here in a minute,” Zyana grumbled under her breath as she moved around the bed. The mountain witch was forced to do most of the work as the tallest member of the Triune.
“I’m justoverseeing. You know, for aesthetic purposes.” The sun witch clapped her hands together as Zyana fixed the sagging blanket. “Perfect!”
They lounged within their makeshift walls. Demurielle happily nestled into the middle while Zyana and Trista rested on their sides to face her.
“I mean, did you see the number of guards they have posted now?” The sun witch filled her in on what the Witch King said at breakfast. “He said no one needs to stay inside and not to allow it to ruin our time in the capital. If we want to leave the castle walls, we merely have to take guards with us.”
“Yes,” Zyana said, rubbing her forehead, “but don’t you think it odd that they didn’t acknowledge what happened yesterday? All they did was say the rest of the tournament had been postponed, mentioned security measures, and then strategically reminded everyone that the prince and princess had yet to choose a partner. It’s almost as if they’re trying to pretend it never happened.”
“I suppose so,” Demurielle replied, chewing on her cheek. “He assured us they questioned the two prisoners and that it was just a restless group of witches who didn’t agree with Prince Roan’s succession.”
“Maybe.”
Whoever they were, they were important enough that The God of War had come to Spellspire masquerading as an iron mage to dispatch them.
But Trista couldn’t share any of that information with them.
“Oh,” Demurielle exclaimed, “she was actually at breakfast—the princess. But she looked…”
“Tired,” Zyana supplied.
Demurielle nodded as she mindlessly reached for some of Trista’s curls. “Still no explanation as to where she’s been, though. They could have told us that if they really wanted to distract everyone.”
“That would have only worked on you, Dem,” Trista said with a smile.
“Seriously,” Zyana agreed. “I think they thought it would be enough for them to show the faces of the prince and princess and remind everyone of the fact that they are looking for their partners.” Zyana pulled a face that expressed exactly what she thought about that.
“Speaking of which, I’m not nearly as excited about Prince Roan as I once was.” Demurielle coiled a curl of Trista’s around her finger. “He’s going to start courting witches from each coven, and I actually don’twantto be chosen.”
The sun witch scrunched her nose in reply to her and Zyana’s identical looks of surprise.
“He is handsome, don’t get me wrong. And being queen, could youimagine?” she gushed. “But,” her smile faded a little, “I want to be able to go back to my coven too. When you marry the crown, you are all covens and none.”
Intuitively, Trista felt there was more to it than that. It hadn’t been that long ago that Demurielle relished the idea of being queen. What changed?
“Who is next in the queue?” she prompted instead of speaking her thoughts out loud. “I know you have a running list of suitors with their attributes and faults memorized.”
Demurielle laughed, a musical giggle, and then shrugged. “I’m not certain,” she said carefully before declaring, “but, well, there’s still plenty of time left to figure it out.”
Their conversation turned to their covens. Zyana bragged about the magic of the mountain air and how she couldn’t breathe the same in the city. “We have these beautiful underground watering holes with the purest springs you’ve ever seen.” Sighing contentedly, she rested her chin in her hand. “They’re the best things to soak in for when you have sore muscles.”
Demurielle told them about their festivals and celebrations at The Coven of Sun and Gold. “And Zy, you’d love it! We have the fire sword, and last summer, the handler was Vera. She was magnificent.” Enraptured, Zyana interrogated her about the ancient blade and the exact trials one must complete to handle it.
“You’ll have to visit me, both of you,” Demurielle said hopefully. “Next summer, so you can see the fire festival!”
Dem and Zy were friends unlike she had ever had before. She wished she could go with them when their time in the capital was over. With her life owed to the Akeso, it was unlikely she would be able to.
Though they asked her about the Akeso, Trista encouraged them to share more about their covens. She had missed out on ever knowing what it was like to grow up in a place where, if nothing else, they shared that. The Akeso did not have festivals, a forest full of magic, or naming ceremonies for witchlings. It made her homesick for a place she had never known.
“You don’t know which coven your parents were from?” Zyana asked sometime later, finishing the last bite of a lemon cake.
“No,” Trista replied, a sharp ache going through her at the missing part of her identity.
“We can claim you at Mountain and Moss,” Zyana offered, “but be forewarned, they’ll expect you to be well-versed in some sort of fighting skill.”
