Page 73 of The Coven of Ruin
She noted that The Coven of Frost and Shadow was absent. Zyana had mentioned several days ago that Najim suddenly stopped showing up to their training sessions, and Demurielle had heard a rumor that they left in the middle of the night. What made them leave Spellspire so early without word or explanation?
The Convocation didn’t require the foreign covens in order to function, just the original six and the Witch King. The foreign covens were started by witches that originated from the six covens and, for whatever reason—exploration, freedom, expansion—left to distant lands. However, without being present, they forfeited the right to have a say on anything discussed and decided within the meeting.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Prince Nero said as he entered in long strides, Grae and Ares steps behind him. She wondered what they had been doing or plotting that had delayed their arrival.
The Witch King marked each coven and their second and third representatives before he nodded to Pavon, who stood beside him.
“Each Coven leader will make a cut on their palm and place their blood within the basin,” Pavon stated, unrolling a cloth that held seven small daggers.
The Majums filed through, swiftly making the cut and dripping their blood into the bowl. Prince Roan, not the Witch King, cut his hand last. As he did, Pavon’s magic rose to swirl the blood, raising the combined essence out of the bowl and into the air above it. At the same time, a glimmering portal appeared in a display of blood magic mixed with keying.
“Once we enter,” the Witch King stated, “we will be secured there. No one will be able to come through, and we will not be able to return until at least forty-eight hours from now, when all issues have been discussed and finalized. The majority will vote on whether to stay longer if there are still unresolved issues. Anyone find an issue with that?”
The blood magic kept them from leaving, a pact made by their life force. Trista had known that it took place over the course of two days, but she hadn’t known that they couldn’t leave before that. Though, she recalled reading about a past Convocation that had taken over three lunar cycles to complete.
Grumbled replies rose around the room. The Witch King and his retinue, which included guards and advisors, went through first. The six covens’ official parties stepped through next, followed by the True Citadel and the Southern Akeso. Following Eral toward the portal, Prince Roan stepped behind her.
“Healer Trista, good morning. My betrothed has spoken highly and often about you. It will be a pleasure to get to know you better.”
Betrothed.Demurielle.She had saved her friend from one danger, only to leave her for another. All she could do was offer a much too high-pitched ‘Yes, Prince’ in return.
“Trade?You want to speak about trade routes and agreements?” The Mountain Coven’s leader, Majus Igen, slammed his fists on the table. “How about we discuss why my son was foundmurderedthis morning,” he sneered.
The portal had led them to a hall in the skies with breeze-filled corridors and large openings that showed nothing but the tops of clouds. It reminded her of another palace in the sky she had seen in Ares’ memories. The floor was a sleek marble that mirrored a blurry image as if it, too, was a portal.
They had been led to sleeping quarters, where they were allowed only enough time to set their bags down inside the room and then were immediately steered into the chamber where they would be convening for the next two days. In the center was a table with seven chairs, one for each Majum and the Witch King. Engraved into the table’s top was a map of the six covens, centuries old at this point.
Behind each coven leader sat tables for their attendees. The Northern Akeso shared the space behind The Coven of Moon and Bone, giving Trista a perfect view of Ares and Grae. Refreshments had been brought in, and they were assured that there would be breaks before they started with the proceedings.
“Yes, trade. The Convocation, as you well know, is not for any one singular issue at hand. By the very laws set in place by our ancestors, all former agreements and accords must be reviewed,” the Witch King replied calmly. “We have many serious matters to discuss, and it will be best if we get these topics resolved first.”
“Curse the law. Why was Illean murdered by The Iron Coven?” Majus Igen snarled. “Why was my son mutilated when he should have been at the Channeling ceremony? I find it convenient that you made it seem the princess would choose a mage from my coven, Illean in particular, only for my son to end up dead, and her hand promised to that welp.” His angry tone warred with the sorrow evident on his face. He was a grieving father searching for answers.
“My son was a good mage, strong, and a skilled swordsman.” The mage stood up from his spot at the table, his finger pointing at Prince Nero. “Tell me, Iron, did you at least show yourselves, or did you just ambush him and tear him apart?”
Prince Nero spoke before the Witch King could. “Majus Igen, though it pains me to say it when you are so clearly struck with grief and blinded to your son’s offenses, he provoked and then attacked my men. They merely defended themselves. General Reas didn’t even have time to pull his sword at first.” He gestured to Ares, his lips moving into a thin line as if he regretted having to say it.
Igen scoffed. “The same mage who he fought at the tournament? Does no one see the absurdity here? My son was murdered in cold blood.” He looked around, but most of the coven leaders seemed uncomfortable, avoiding his gaze. “Ah, I see,” he muttered. “Cowards, the lot of you.”
“We will discuss the issue, I assure you,” the Witch King said as Majus Igen lowered himself into his seat.
As the discussions continued, Trista found herself daydreaming. At first, she enjoyed observing the leaders as they deliberated, watching their mannerisms, and noting who got along with who. When that became dull, her attention drifted to Ares and Grae.
Grae studied the Majus of Forest and Nightshade for some time as he languidly moved his wood pick from one side of his mouth to the other. Ares took note of not just those gathered but the room as a whole. He marked the entrances, and during breaks, he wandered around as if curious about the architecture. He would track the ghost-like staff that came and went with refreshments and food. The god did it in such a way that anyone else watching him would think him bored, but she knew that he didn’t do anything without reason.
Trade agreements turned into border issues, which turned into talks about lacking resources. “Witchlings are hardly being born, and when they are, they’re usually magic sick, but with the ancient Vaar forest dying, we can’t even harvest the usual herbs that gave them a fighting chance. And though we have the Lana forest right here within my coven’s and the capital’s reach, we are left fighting for sanctions still because of some curse wethinkis on it.” The Majus of The Coven of Sea and Storm, Saffon, frowned dubiously at the Witch King.
“It may not be cursed, but itisprotected. You not believing it doesn’t make it any less so.” The Coven of Moon and Bone’s leader, Maja Orna, was a short witch with straight gray hair braided all the way down her back. She spoke in a lyrical way but never seemed fully present in the conversation. It was always as if she was watching something occur elsewhere. Then again, the coven was known for its seers.
Elder Sarange addressed Majus Saffon, offering their coven’s healers to visit and learn the process they used to help sick witchlings, which seemed to placate him. While Elder Sarange was already standing, she mentioned supplies that the Akeso needed. Trista wanted to say what they really needed was to learn how to heal without using magic. If magicless mortals could keep someone alive who had their stomach sliced open, then that was what they needed to learn. Supplies, herbs, and more healers were necessary, but so wasknowledge.
The day turned to evening, and the natural light was replaced by torches magically enhanced to brighten further. Trista’s legs ached from sitting in a chair where her feet couldn’t quite touch the ground. Just as she wondered if they would be allowed to sleep at all, the Witch King stood up.
“This is as good a place as any to pause for the evening. Tomorrow’s proceedings will be far more tedious and emotionally charged. Use the next four hours to prepare yourselves and get some rest. We can’t afford any more than that, I fear.” Everyone stood as the Witch King departed.
The room was small, with the bathroom and bedroom sharing the same space. Trista hadn’t gotten a good look at it when she placed her bag in it that morning. On the same wall as the door was an empty fireplace with full logs ready for use. The far wall was all open space with a straight drop into nothingness. Thick curtains tied on either side could be drawn to keep the sun and wind out.
Trista had crept to the edge. A knee-high stone wall was the only barrier between her and an endless fall. Otherwise, it was all open night sky. The stars were so close she was tempted to reach out and see if she could brush her fingers against one.
