Page 51 of The Coven of Ruin
“Maybeyoushould,“ Trista replied, unable to hide the amusement in her voice.
“Drinks for the ladies.”
Trista turned her head to see the same witch that had fallen into Ares’ lap. She wore a strained smile as if she was uncomfortable with the situation. “Two of the Peach Spell for you,” she said with a forced cheeriness as she placed the cups in front of Demurielle and Zyana. “And a Saltatrix for you, Lady Trista.” She said her name as if she didn’t like how it felt in her mouth.
“Saltatrix?”
Demurielle excitedly wiggled her fingers. “That means whoever got this for you wants you to go dance. Not necessarily with them, more soforthem. You take the drink, then dance in return.”
The witch took that opportunity to leave.
“I most certainly will not,” Trista protested, glancing at Ares, but he wasn’t paying her any mind. Why would he give her such a drink?
Because it was precisely something she didn’t want to do. It was a challenge and a way to say he knew she had been watching him.
“Oh, why? Whoever it was, ordered us the drinks infused with magic. They were expensive. I wonder who sent it to you,” Demurielle mused, her eyes scanning the bar.
“It was General Reas,” Trista replied solemnly, against her better judgment.
”Iknewit! Hedoeswant to court you!”
“I think he enjoys annoying me, not so much that he enjoys…”
“You?” Zyana finished before happily taking a sip of her own drink.
“Unlikely,” Demurielle scoffed.
“Regardless, I will not be dancing.”
Demurielle stared at her for a moment, then shifted her gaze to Zyana. A silent pact was made.
“Drink it,” the bossy sun witch demanded, her tone suddenly more serious than the moment required.
“Now,” Zyana commanded.
Trista looked between them, picked up the small cup, and swallowed the sweet contents quickly. They both raised their own cups up before draining them. Demurielle made a face as she emptied her chalice, wincing at the drink’s bite. Then they were forcing her out of the booth.
They found a spot somewhere between their own table and Ares’.
“If he wants to truly see the goods, he will have to come to us,” Demurielle said salaciously.
As the Fates would have it, a low feminine voice sounded throughout the tavern, the beginnings of tragedy put to song—The Witchbane’s Curse.Trista laughed at the irony while forming a dance circle with her friends.
Chapter XXIII
Thewitch’svoicewassultry, making the song about Ares seductively dark. A thousand tiny fires tingled and sparked to life beneath her skin. The effect of the magically infused drink mixing with the witch’s voice was intoxicating. Even as the singer drenched her words in blood and the rhythm bowed deep, Trista found herself wanting to live in that moment forever.
“Spin us like this,” Demurielle said to Zyana, demonstrating.
Zyana took one of their hands each and held it up to twirl them. Trista spun until she felt dizzy. And then she laughed until she was breathless, and the room stopped wheeling.
A hand grabbed her elbow, causing goosebumps to travel from her neck down her arms. Turning, she didn’t realize she had expected Ares until it wasn’t him. Instead, standing before her, dark eyes wide with surprise, was Kace. His arms were around her in a familiar embrace before she knew it. Hesitating, she patted him on the back twice and then pulled away.
His smile was all teeth as he looked her over. “You look amazing, Trist. So, this is where you got away to. Ran all the way to the capital.”
She made her own assessment of him even as his words set her on edge. He had lost some of the roundness to his face in the last couple of months and somehow appeared harsher. Noticing a long dagger strapped to his waist, she wondered what other changes had occurred in the short time.
“How are you here?” she finally breathed out.
