Page 57 of The Coven of Ruin
Ares thought about it. “If he only saw it once he was there, no. They wouldn’t risk it even if he could give them a direct answer. Whoever is a part of this thing wouldn’t want to be connected to him. Who knows what he has raved about since he has been in there. They’ve wanted him dead, even before now. He wasn’t supposed to be detained. He was supposed to be killed.”
Silence consumed them again until Trista whispered, “The witch who raised me told me to visit a Seer Bena while I was here. They were friends at some point.” All three gods looked at her.
“Well,” Grae started, “hope you had a nice visit.”
Chapter XXV
“IneverthoughtIwould say this, but I amtiredof being courted,“ Demurielle muttered as she looked at herself from different angles in the mirror.
“You could always just say ‘no’,” Zyana offered in a way that indicated this was not the first time they had this conversation. She swung one leg over the edge of her seat, the other tucked underneath her.
“You know I can’t.” The blonde witch ran her hands down the fabric of her golden gown.
Zyana’s lips dropped into a dubious frown, but she refrained from saying anything as she continued wrapping her knuckles with strips of cloth.
“If Prince Roan does choose you,” Trista asked, “what then?”
Her friend thought about it, and though Zyana didn’t pause in her actions, she knew the mountain witch was listening intently. “My duty, of course,” the sun witch said firmly. “I just didn’t know that it would be a dyadic ceremony. They’ve become so rare, but royalty still practices it. I don’t knowhowI didn’t know that.”
Dyad couplings were all but obsolete. When a dyadic ceremony was performed, the pairs’ souls and magic were permanently tied together. It had been a rite that evolved from the Mothers’ ritual that brought about witchkind.
At the look on the sun witch’s face that practically begged for them to change the subject, Trista cleared her throat. “Well, you can say no, duty or not. But regardless, I hope you enjoy the walk. I heard the northern gardens have the most exotic flowers.”
“Right!” Demurielle exclaimed, clapping her hands together as if she could dispel the tension that way. “But where are you off to?” Pushing her finger into one of her dimpled cheeks, she made eye contact with Trista’s reflection in the mirror. “Let me guess, off to help General Reas? ‘For work’, of course.”
Trista leveled her with a glare. “Yes, for work. I have to go to the library first, though.”
None of them had been able to spend much time together. Demurielle had been chosen by Prince Roan as one of the witches he intended to court. That meant she was pulled away at all hours of the day for exclusive social events. Zyana had found a sparring partner in Najim, who she met with daily, often happily sporting bruises from it. On the other hand, Trista was still trying to interpret the rest of the missives. She had figured out the second one, but it held little to no information in it that she nor any of the gods could divine. And the last two were far more complex than she anticipated.
“When you came to the capital, did you imagine working so much?” Demurielle asked sincerely as she rotated her hips, causing her skirts to swish.
There was no way she could have ever imagined any of the events that had transpired since arriving at Spellspire. From their friendship to helping The God of War fight against faceless enemies, to visiting the Durge Pits just the other day.
“Not particularly.”
The dull droning of the light sprites piled in her lap let her know that she had stayed in the library later than she had intended. She had been searching for a specific rune that she didn’t understand and wasn’t held in any of the books she had already lugged up the tower stairs. Even though the light sprites hummed their apprehension, she had pulled the rest of the Hexick books from the shelves. And still, the rune was nowhere to be found.
As she carefully scooped up the handful of sleeping sprites, they pulsed and buzzed dreamily. “Keep resting,” she whispered as she stood up and placed them in her seat. She stacked her books in the usual spot behind her chair, gathered her things, and left the quiet library. What she hadn’t expected were even quieter hallways.
As late as she’d stayed, there were typically at least two guards in that very corridor at any given time. Darkness spread out before her, and she could just make out the light from a sconce at the end of the hall where it split off. No guards. No light. Straightening her back, she took quick, sure steps while keeping her eyes trained on the dancing flame ahead.
Trista had told Ares that she would meet him after she skimmed through the tomes. But their meeting time had long gone, and she was surprised he hadn’t sent Theron to retrieve her. She snorted at the memory of the witchling and his coin.
As she passed an alcove, the tapestry rippled, catching her eye. Just as she turned to scrutinize it, she was jerked by her arm into the nook so hard that it burned with the agony of stretched and torn muscle. A thick and heavy hand crashed over her mouth, bashing her nose and lips as it did, cutting off her scream. Her magic rushed to her hands, hot and frantic.
“Don’t, or I’ll snap your neck right here,” a harsh voice snarled into her ear.
She stilled, blinking as if she could clear the blackness away to see her assailant.
“You and that iron general have gotten real close. You’re probably on your knees for him most nights.” Trista didn’t have to see him to know that voice. He had asked her for her favor at the tournament just weeks ago. Illean. He removed his hand from over her mouth only to grab her other arm with it, gripping so hard a cry escaped her lips.
“While you’re there, you’re going to get my knife back from him and bring it to me.” Though incensed, his wrath held trepidation. “And if you don’t or you try to tell anyone about this,” he pressed his heavy body harder into her. Trapped between him and the wall, his weight was enough to crush the breath from her. “I’ll kill your friends. And ifIturn up dead, then my partners will finish the deed. Starting with the little pretty one. Get my meaning?”
“Yes,” she rasped out, and he let up. Only a little.
Shoving a piece of parchment into her hand, he instructed, “That’s where you’ll bring it after the Channeling ceremony.”
That was mere weeks away. Trista fisted the parchment as he pulled her away from the stone at her back and then shoved her into the corridor hard enough that she stumbled into the wall on the other side.
