Page 15 of The Coven of Ruin
Climbing onto her mattress, she watched him get situated on the chaise. He was asleep in moments—his arm draped over his forehead.
The lies she told kept her awake for much longer.
And she found another thing that magic couldn’t mend—a broken heart.
In the morning, she was able to get rid of him with promises of meeting up with him at Saga. Kace didn’t even consider the fact that she wouldn’t want to return to the place she had been abducted from. When she returned from the capital, she may have to deal with him and the consequences of her lies, but that wouldn’t be for several moons. It would hopefully give her the time she needed to sort out her feelings concerning the mage and the situation.
Before he climbed back out of her window, she handed him the box of remaining items that she had been holding onto for him. When suspicion stole over his features, she quickly explained she didn’t want any stolen goods near her after what happened. Realizing their truce was brittle, he took it and left without remark.
Two acolytes were at her door an hour later to carry her trunk to the carriages. They walked ahead of her through the corridor. Trista slowed as an unexpected feeling of loss came over. As if she would never see the Akeso again. The stone halls that she had grown in, that she had been held by for her entire life.
The departure felt final somehow. But it also felt likefreedom.
The front doors of the stone keep opened to three carriages Spellspire had sent. Half a dozen armed guards stood around them. They’d be meeting with the main caravan on The Coven of Mountain and Moss’ border.
Eral glanced at her, raising a brow before responding to what Elder Sarange said. Paying him little mind, she was just about to ask which carriage she needed to be in when Auntie Harlow was suddenly before her, mid-lecture.
”—and always carry a dagger on you there. The capital is full of more dangers than just royals and coven leaders trying to get ahead.”
“Yes, Auntie, I will.”
“If you go out into the city, have one of the guards escort you. Those streets can be worse than The Mark if you can believe it.”
“I will. And thank you. For everything.”
“Hush, child. Go, heal, have fun, maybe meet a kind mage.” Harlow patted her cheek affectionately as she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.
Trista rolled her eyes. “I’m not going there to actually participate in the Circes.” Her only plan was to get lost in Spellspire’s extensive library.
Harlow scoffed. “My sweet witchling, you’ll have no choice but to participate. This is what they do. They invite all the covens, akesos and citadels too, so that they can conduct their political games under the guise of dances and frivolities. You’ll see soon enough.”
After snapping at two young acolytes to ‘stop dawdling and take Healer Trista’s trunk to the carriage this instance’, Harlow pulled her into a long hug. “Listen carefully,” she said low and hurriedly, “while you are there, go into the city and visit Seer Bena. Tell him I sent you. And, Mother willing, if you get the opportunity, don’t come back here, Trista. You are meant for so much more.”
Chapter VII
“Didyouknowtheyhave a fleet of dragons in Spellspire? Well, they don’tlivein the capital, of course. The training and everything happen on Mount Vov. I’ve heard their commander is todiefor.”
Even though they had been traveling for over a week and a half, the witch still hadn’t run out of topics to talk about. Trista had been placed in a carriage with two witches after Eral had taken the last seat in the main carriage with the other healers. Whereas Demurielle talked incessantly, the other witch, Zyana, napped a lot and occasionally snapped at her to be quiet. Though Demurielle usually met her barbs with small smiles and only short reprieves of silence.
“I’ve never seen a dragon, but wouldn’t it be amazing to fly on one?” Demurielle looked at Trista with wide eyes full of an unreserved wonder she envied.
Zyana snorted but then quietly admitted, “That would feel better than magic.” The witch didn’t bother to look at them.
It was all the encouragement Demurielle needed to keep talking. She rambled on about dragon facts for a while longer, but then she was grabbing their hands, despite Zyana’s snappy response of ‘don’t touch me’.
“You two promise to be my friends? I can’t imagine how the witches from the other covens will be.”
Trista nodded, uncomfortable with the earnest request. Just as she wondered how to get her hand back, the witch released it, picking up a new conversation about whether they would get to pick their rooms once they reached Spellspire. “I do hope we get to room next to each other…”
Tuning the other witch out, she let her mind wander. And, like usual, she found herself thinking about Ares.The Cursebringer.The thought of him and the life debt owed made her shift uncomfortably. She tried to envision a scenario in which he came to collect it. Most ended up with her dying a gruesome death.
Leaving the Akeso, though fortunate, left her feeling adrift and unmoored. She had looked back at the only home she had ever known, the towers engulfed by gray skies, and felt she had just set destiny into motion by leaving. That sensation lingered even now, this far into her travels. Except, even more unsettling was the thought that it had really started the moment she had been given a stolen necklace.
As if, no matter what she did, her path would have always collided with The God of War’s.
“What?” Demurielle’s eyes were wide. Trista realized she had been blankly staring at her.
“Do I have something on my face? Has my makeup done something weird again?”
