Page 75 of The Coven of Ruin
“No, I want to hear it from them,” Igen demanded, gesturing to Ares and Grae.
The Iron Prince sucked his teeth before bowing his head in deference. Ares stood up, coming to his full height. She realized then that no one had weapons. Not even the few guards the Witch King brought. A law of the Convocation, she imagined, as it was supposed to be peaceful talks.
“After the Channeling ceremony, I took a stroll through the western gardens. They are close to our rooms. I was accompanied by General Grae. We were speaking of the ceremony when we were suddenly attacked by Illean and three of his men.”
“You had your swords on you after the ceremony?” Igen interrogated.
“Of course not. I had stopped by my chambers. I prefer not going anywhere without my blade, as I’m sure you can understand.”
Igen made a gesture for him to continue, though he seemed already committed to not believing anything that Ares said.
“Though Illean’s face was bare, the other three witchmen with him wore faceless masks.”
“Careful, boy,” Igen cautioned. “Are you claiming he was a part of this… this faction?”
Trista studied Ares carefully, but there was no indication that Igen calling him ‘boy’ had bothered him. Though Grae’s eyes had narrowed on the coven leader.
“I don’t know, Majus Igen. What explanation do you have for him keeping such company?”
Igen cursed, moving toward Ares, but a witchguard intercepted him before he could get to him.
The Witch King’s voice picked up over Majus Igen’s struggle until the mage eventually shrugged off the guards and retook his seat.
“I am sorry for your loss, Majus Igen. Unfortunately, the issue at hand is not who struck first. The issue is this group. They call themselves the Legion of the Abyss. They wield dark magic impetuously. And among their ranks are Circes members who have had access to each of us throughout these festivities. Some of whom may be in this very room. I must confess,” the Witch King drummed his fingers on the table, “my advisors and I thought them a radical group of common mages with parlor tricks and a vendetta against the capital. This is not an unprecedented occurrence, especially amid large events.
“When questioning the two prisoners before they succumbed to their wounds, they confirmed that theory—opposed to Prince Roan’s rule, wanting more of this and less of that, the usual. I thought that was the end of it. My sources corroborated similar findings, though there were rumors of darker dealings.” The Witch King inhaled, rubbing his hands together as if trying to warm them. “Prince Nero, could you please tell the leaders here what you told me yestereve.”
The Iron Prince stood and cleared his throat. “Dom, my brother, went missing several months back, around the same time my father became ill. If you listen to the speculations, they’d have you think my brother didn’t want to be a ruler. Ran away for adventure, a life free from responsibility, and so on. As someone who knows him quite well, I can tell you that is not the case. Dom has always looked to his duty as an honor. Just the moon before, he had cut a mage’s tongue out who had merely implied that he would make a poor king. He would not abandon the Iron throne.
“After his disappearance, I began to do some digging of my own and heard about this group. There were stories of seers, witches with extraordinary magic, and anyone that could further their cause being kidnapped. But also, the day before my brother went missing, he was seen conferring with someone who I now know to be in the Legion of the Abyss—a mage named Crede. If they have my brother, they have the iron throne too.”
A thoughtful silence followed the prince’s explanation as he sat back down. The Witch King finally spoke again, gesturing to The Moon Coven’s leader. “And Maja Orna, the same night, told me of a vision she had.”
Orna looked at him for a lengthy pause before she stood. “Yes, I had a vision. I saw—“ She stopped abruptly, her eyes rolling toward the ceiling and losing focus. The room was silent as all heads turned to watch her.
“Is she—“ someone started.
Gasping for breath, the coven leader’s head snapped back down to level her gaze past the Witch King, seeing something no one else could. Her lyrical tone gave voice to a tragedy. “We have been betrayed. They’re here.” Stepping back, her chair toppled over with the movement. Her second reached for her.
Trista followed her line of sight to see a form take shape. Shadow expanded into the body of a being, the room dimming as the light was pulled into it. Darkness gathering, it stood like a man, a jagged blade held in its hand. Before the kingsguard could even step forward, the shadow thrust its dagger into the Witch King’s back. It reappeared through the center of his chest, covered in blood.
Movement erupted as those assembled scrambled out of their seats. Prince Roan rushed toward his father at the same time a kingsguard reached for the shadow, only for his hands to grasp nothing, passing right through it. The Witch King’s mouth hung open in a silent scream, but then he began to speak.
“If you do not back away now, I will ensure he suffers.”
Trista looked between the shadow and the king. It was speakingthroughthe king’s mouth. The prince commanded the kingsguard to back off as the room fell deathly silent, except for the ragged breathing coming from the Witch King.
“I warned you.“ The voice was both of the Witch King and of something ancient and terrible. “And yet you chose to ignore me.“ The king sagged and still, the shadow’s blade stayed in place, holding his weight up.
“Your time is up. Prince, war is coming, and you can either be on the side that gains your power back or perish just like your father. And just like them.“ The shadow faded into nothing, releasing its hold on the dagger.
The Witch King fell forward with the blade buried in his back, slumping against the table. The prince moved toward his father at the same time spindling shadows appeared—two on the table, more on the walls. They crept forward, pulling themselves on claws formed out of wisps of black.
Orna turned toward her second, reaching for her face. But it was Trista she eyed first. “Don’t trust the god.”
Trista sought out Ares without thought. Grae pulled Prince Nero toward him by the back of his tunic while Ares lifted and smashed a chair to the ground, breaking it into a makeshift weapon.
Don’t trust the god.
