Page 71 of The Coven of Ruin
“Mother curse him,” she raged as she sat back on her haunches. Without the dagger, she had nothing to bargain with. She could still go to the meeting place in the gardens, but without anything to show for it, that could mean a death sentence for her and her friends. Releasing a frustrated growl of a breath, she stalked out of her room.
Trista didn’t go to the gardens but to the western tower to confront the god himself. Walking back from the Mothers’ temple had been an eerie trek through the abandoned hallways and creaking doors. At least on the main floors, guards still milled about—the unlucky few who didn’t get to participate in the night’s activities. Most looked at her with mild surprise, and it wasn’t until she was grumbling to herself about the number of cursed stairs that seemed to multiply every time she had to brave them that she recognized why. She was still dressed in the dainty gown from the ceremony.
She banged on the door and waited. A door from behind her opened instead. Turning, she found Brune tracing his eyes down her form as he let out a rumble of a noise as if she had disturbed him. Reining in her frustration, she offered the war god a small smile.
“Good evening.” A scarred brow arched, and it was all the reply he gave. “I’m going to wait for Ares if that’s all right. Could you let me into his room?”
Brune’s attention traveled to Ares’ door as he considered her request, but finally, the hulking god made his way over and opened the door. Not sure if he had used magic or if it had been open the entire time, she stepped into the cold and dark room.
Brune stepped in behind her, the fireplace coming to life a moment later with crackling flames. She guessed he trusted her about as much as she trusted them. Picking a seat where she could see the entryway, she plopped down. Brune sat across from her, the chair protesting against his weight.
“Do you know if he met with Illean?” she asked.
Not expecting an answer from him, she turned to investigate the dancing flames. Though she would have preferred to prevent any deaths, if it was between Illean or her friends, she would take the trade. But it would be better to capture him, question him, or use him as a means of exposing the group. In that way, they could maybe save the Witch King. Her friends’ lives were at risk if Ares refused to meet with him at all.
She had left the ceremony immediately after walking away from Ares. She hadn’t spotted Zyana or Demurielle as she did and didn’t even know if the prince had chosen the sun witch.
Should she go warn them? Her bones protested the very thought. She had expended so much magic just to get Ares’ reaction that she wasn’t even sure how she was still functioning. Illean wouldn’t do anything while they were at the ceremony, and when they did leave, they would be amongst other witches.
The Channeling had only been one part of the evening. They would spend the rest of it eating and dancing in another hall. By then, she would hopefully have the information she needed from Ares to keep them safe.
Without looking at Brune, she burrowed deeper into her seat and then said, “He calls you and Grae brothers. Do you consider him your brother too?”
“Yes.” The reply was instant and spoken with such depth that she knew there would be nothing else to his response.
“I wish I had siblings growing up,” she murmured after stifling a yawn. “But I have Demurielle and Zyana now. Illean threatened them, did you know? And I can’t let anything happen to them. Ares agreed to handle the situation, but…”
“If Ares says he is going to do something, he does it,” Brune assured her, his voice weaving a spell that had her closing her eyes with relief.
“I suppose it is the same for you three. You found each other, and would do anything for each other. Youchoseeach other.”
“They are more part of me than my own lungs and heart. I couldn’t get rid of them if I tried,” he rumbled, then after a pause, “and Ihavetried.”
She opened her eyes to peer at him. The silent god of war had made a joke. His face was stoic, absent of any humor. Settling further into the chair, he materialized a book, its title in a language unrecognizable to her. Trista knew enough about the god to know he wouldn’t say any more that night.
She must have fallen asleep at some point because she awoke with a start. A blanket lay sprawled over her curled form. She stretched her legs out carefully—her hips aching and creaking with the movement. Sitting upright, she attempted to situate her curls.
Brune had left at some point, and it concerned her that she hadn’t awoken with the sound. Turning to look around the side of the chair at the desk, she found Ares’ golden gaze on her. It was like the sudden realization of having fallen asleep in a den of beasts only to find they had come and gone while she slept.
“You,” she managed.
“Me,” he replied, his eyes wandering to her hair.
“What did you do?”
“I have a long list of transgressions. You’ll need to be more specific.”
“You stole the dagger from me. Did you meet with him? Are my friends safe? Did you kill him?”
“No, I merely reattained what was already mine.” Ares nodded as he rolled up a piece of parchment that he had been studying on his desk. “As for Illean, an unfortunate accident.”
Both relief and anger warred within her. She sprung up from her seat, thankful for the separation of the chair between her and Ares as she arranged the dress over her hips and thighs.
“An accident,” she repeated in a furious gasp.
But at that exact moment, the door opened behind her. Grae stepped inside, a roll from breakfast halfway to his mouth. “Trist,” he said with a slow smile, “to what do we owe this pleasure?” As if suddenly noticing her severe demeanor, he looked between them.
“Nothing,” Ares said.
