Page 38 of The Coven of Ruin
“Why do you think I would know?”
“Stop,” she demanded, clenching her hands into fists. “Stop avoiding every question and acting so…so…” Groaning, she threw her hands up in the air in utter exasperation.
He pulled the tunic over his head and sat down across from her. “What do I get in return?”
She studied him for a moment. His breaths were shallow, and his cheeks were redder than she had ever seen them as if he had just completed an intensive workout. “What can I even give you?”
“The language, could you decode it if given the time?”
She looked into the fire as she thought over the letters. Linguistics was not her strong suit, but her aptitude for deep analysis and determination when presented with a puzzle would aid her.
“I think so,” she said carefully. “But if you’re here to accomplish something detrimental to us... We are dying out as is. I won’t help you destroy my own people. If I was—“ Braver. Smarter. She didn’t bother finishing the sentence out loud as she looked back to him in time to catch his lip curl in a slight grimace before he schooled his features again.
“I’m not the enemy you need to be worried about, witch.”
She stilled, goosebumps rising on her skin.
“The enemy,” he started slowly, his head tilted, “are those mages that appeared on the field earlier. They are my foe as well as yours.” His gaze moved over her hair as if he had never seen it before. It had come undone from the pins and ribbons she had earlier, and she could only imagine how it looked.
“Are they from The Iron Coven? Is this about the army they’re building? Wait, does the Iron Prince know who you are? Does the Witch King know?”
“A truth for a truth. That’s how this will work.”
Her brows lowered as she glared at him. “You didn’t actually tell meanything. What are they—“
He sat forward, resting his elbows on his thighs, and a knife was suddenly in his hand. She wasn’t sure if it had been there the whole time or if he had magicked it there. “This is the blade I got off Illean.” He tossed it to her, and she caught it clumsily. It gave her an immediate sense of dread. Even sheathed, the dark magic in it was detectable.
“This is…” The same magic that was killing him.
“Exactly. This means our illustrious warrior, Illean, is part of this group. I suspected before that encounter, but this sealed it.” His lips parted, his chest rising and falling with quick breaths.
“Are you well?” Other than his usual uncharming attitude, he wasn’t acting himself.
He waved the question off dismissively.
She eyed him further, but continued on with her questions. “Does Illean know who you are? Is that why he tried stabbing you with this?”
“No.” Ares held his hand out. She tossed the dagger back to him, and he caught it deftly. “He tried stabbing me with this because it wasn’t a magically dulled blade. Nevertheless, he may not be the greatest swordsman in Witch Country, but he is a problem.”
She had a thousand questions. “What do they want? Is this related to the demigods attacking us? Is—“
“A truth for a truth, witch.” A soft groan escaped his lips, his hand flexing in and out of a fist.
When he struggled to rise, she recognized it too late. He hadn’t been working out or doing other activities in the privacy of his chamber—he was ill.Veryill. She had treated many a witch who straddled the realms in such a way. And followed many of them to try and bring them back from it.
Trista stood up quickly and planted a hand on his chest to get him to sit back down in the chair. The heat of fever radiated through the fabric and scorched her palm. Grabbing her wrist, he pulled her into him instead, and suddenly there was fire everywhere. Up her arm. In his gaze. Lodged somewhere in her throat.
“You have a fever,” she noted, but she knew he wasn’t taking in what she said.
“Do you know,” he drawled huskily, “that you have jewels beneath your skin?” He brushed his knuckles across her cheekbone, where she knew a spattering of freckles lay. Sliding his calloused fingertips down, his thumb rested on her bottom lip.
“They’re freckles,” she breathed, her lips moving against his thumb.
“A truth,” he murmured. He looked at her like she was both his salvation and his anguish. Like he had been searching for her for a lifetime. She couldn’t tell if she was blushing or if it was the heat from his touch that blazed in her cheeks.
His knee buckled, and he leaned into her.
“Oh gods,” she managed to get out as she called on her magic before he could take them both down. “Ares, you are burning up.”
