Page 49 of The Coven of Ruin
A consuming warmth that had nothing to do with the room’s temperature filled her.
Ares rolled on top of Grae, placing a forearm against the other god’s throat. “Yield, brother,” he demanded through gritted teeth.
The bronzed god was leaner than Ares, and The God of War’s full weight was on him. “Never,” Grae choked out, his face already red. “Brune, you’re going to let him”—a grunt as he heaved against Ares, trying to find a way to loosen his grasp—“kill me?”
Brune pushed away from the wall toward them with a low grumble. He blocked her view, but the eventual gasp for air let her know that Ares had let up.
“I’m going to bed,” Trista finally announced as she hurriedly moved toward the stairs. She disappeared into the stairwell, her heart hammering even before she began descending.
Chapter XXII
Demurielledeclaredtherewasno reason to go to dinner. And not hours after a vague ‘we are going out’ from the blonde, Trista found herself in a black dress that fit her a little too closely, accentuating her cleavage and hugging her curves. She forwent heels in favor of a pair of stylish flats that complimented the dark dress. Demurielle gave her a shawl to ensure ‘every mage in the street wasn’t blinded by their beauty.’
Zyana wore an orange silk blouse that amplified the glow of her rich skin and kept a long dagger strapped to her hip. “Just in case,” she said, noticing Trista’s curious gaze.
Their exit was blockaded by the guards.
“Your duties entail escorting us,” Demurielle argued. “That includes outside the castle walls. The prince said so quite recently.”
“We’ll even buy you a drink,” Trista added.
The two guardsmen looked at each other and then shrugged. “Fine, but make it two drinks, and if we say it’s time to leave, you listen.”
“Deal,” they all three said with matching saccharine grins.
The streets were bustling with witches. Vendors, musicians, and self-proclaimed seers all competed for attention and coin. Demurielle, Zyana, and Trista linked arms, not wanting to be separated, as their guards did most of the work getting them through the throng.
“You still haven’t told us where we are going,” Trista said over a street musician playing the capital’s fanfare for a crowd of witches.
Demurielle just offered a coy smile, but it was one of the guards who answered. “Where everyone that is anyone goes dressed like that in the evening,” he stated.
Moving out of the way, she could just see the wooden sign of the place he pointed to. It readStyx, its black paint pristine. The building itself was an ominous ashy color and extended far in either direction.
“I hope you’re able to pay the cost,” the guard said to Demurielle as she stepped forward and opened the door.
“Of course I can, sir.”
The tavern’s cacophony immediately swallowed any sound from the street before the door fully closed behind them. It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the dim and smokey space. When they did, she found they were in a cavernous hall held up by thick, wooden pillars, with bars and seating spread throughout. Herbed smoke hung heavy in the atmosphere. So enthralled by the crowd composed of Circes members and others, she didn’t notice a short mage step up to them.
“You may cross here, three witches you be.” His amber eyes sparkled boldly. “The cost? Only a story.”
Trista studied him before she looked at Demurielle questioningly. The blonde witch stooped to speak into the mage’s ear, and Trista witnessed his eyes narrow and then widen with delight. When she straightened again, he merely chuckled before looking their group over.
“Fair crossings,” he bid and stepped away.
Demurielle handed coins to the two guards with a warning not to get so drunk they couldn’t see them back to the castle, and they happily departed toward one of the bars.
As they made their way through the crowd, Demurielle offered her usual commentary. “Olland from The Coven of Forest and Nightshade,” she said, gesturing toward a long-limbed mage leaning against one of the pillars and speaking to two other mages. “He came here to try and join The Dragon Fleet, but he almost got himself killed during training, which isn’t anything remarkable except he almost got the dragon killed too.”
Zyana looked at him hard. “I’d kill to have a chance to try out for The Dragon Fleet,” she said wistfully as they found a table that was somewhat out of the way but allowed for a broad view of the tavern. “It is such a complicated process, though. You could be exceptional, and a dragon still might not pick you.”
Trista thought of the Dragon Commander and the dragon he had flown in on at the tournament. “Zy, did you see the dragon last week?”
Zyana shook her head. “I didn’t get a good look at him, unfortunately. I was too busy trying to not get trampled.”
Demurielle’s painted lips dropped into a frown. “That was supposed to be the special event, I guess. Dragons. I hope we get another chance to see them.” Her friend side-eyed her and then smiled prettily. “Youcould,“ she drew out the word, “ask the Dragon Commander.”
Trista didn’t bother answering her. They both knew that though Xerxes danced with her and seemed overly friendly while doing so, that didn’t mean he had any interest in her. The three of them even speculated that maybe the Dragon Commander was trying to make the princess jealous the night of the masquerade. After all, he never did come looking for her.
