Page 86 of The Coven of Ruin
“I’m sorry,” Trista breathed, tone drenched in guilt and sorrow. “Are you fine? Are you…”
Zyana let go of her hand after a quick squeeze. “I’m fine—looks worse than what it is. These mages throw weak punches and kicks,” she said casually, brushing it off. “Besides, I let them know exactly who they were trying to manhandle. Imagine what they look like, eh?”
“Please,” Trista rasped. “You don’t have to be strong for me, Zy. I know you’re in a lot of pain.” Because she was too. She was full of winter, her bones aching with an endless cold.
Zyana didn’t say anything for a long moment, her dark eyes reflecting the flickering lights from the scattered sconces outside their cage. “In the Triune, that’s my duty,” she said without even a hint of mockery at the word.
The Triune. Demurielle.She was almost too afraid to ask.“Dem?”
The sun witch’s name alone was what caused Zyana’s mask to drop. Regret and agony were etched into every line of her face. “She was last at the castle. I don’t know where she is now. I don’t know whereweare, for that matter. But I know this isn’t Spellspire—it doesn’t have the same magic. They brought me here some days ago. Though, I find it hard to track the time in the cells.”
This was her fault. She was responsible for Zyana’s capture and torture, for Demurielle being in the clutches of wicked mages who killed their own family without thought. If she had told them who Ares was or had left the hall instead of trying to get to the god…
“Want to tell me what’s going on?” Zyana prompted, pulling her from her spiraling thoughts.
Trista moved slowly from her back to her side to face Zyana entirely. She pressed her face and aching body against the bars that separated them, and Zyana, letting out a groan, did as well. “It’s a long story but…”
“We have plenty of time,” Zyana said with a small smile that pulled at her swollen lips.
She told her everything. The Arena, discovering who Ares really was, how she couldn’t heal anymore, and her erratic magic, Ares in the capital, and all the information she found out about the group, the Convocation. She told her it all, and Zyana listened intently without interruption, only emotions dancing across her features in response.
When she finally finished, Zyana let out a heavy breath. “So, this Legion now has majority rule over the covens. They brought the coven leaders to one controlled place and then killed everyone that wasn’t going to support Prince Roan’s reign and what backed it.”
Trista made a noise of agreement as she rubbed her arms in an attempt to warm herself.
“They’ve just declared war, not just on any witch that doesn’t agree with them, but on Olympus too.”
They sat in a shared contemplative silence as the weight of their situation settled into them. Eventually, Zyana puffed out a long breath. “I want to be angry with you. You should havetoldus, Trist.”
“I should have,” she murmured.
“I understand why you felt you couldn’t, but we could have helped,” Zyana croaked. “We could have helped you carry the burden. You didn’t have to do it alone.”
Zyana’s words sunk into her with a deep truth that she couldn’t escape. She had been so used to doing it alone. Doing everything alone. Studying alone, being alone, suffering alone. Even with the friendship that had blossomed between them, and their binding ceremony, she still felt she had to do it all herself. Dem and Zy had taken her in unquestioningly.
The mountain witch must have sensed the guilt from the cell over as she changed the subject, her tone becoming playful. “Also, you’re telling me that a god of war complimented my sword skills?” Zyana leaned back and folded her hands beneath her head. “Talk about high praise,” she muttered.
Trista laughed quietly through the thickness in her throat that could have easily been a sob.
“Honestly, I shouldn’t be surprised. I guess they blended in well enough, but when Reas fought at the tournament, his skill was beyond perfection. Exactly as if he had a very long lifetime to train. And they are incredibly large,” she added thoughtfully. “I assumed it was an Iron Coven trait, and Prince Nero just had the misfortune of not inheriting it.”
Heavy footsteps echoed toward them, and they both stiffened at the sound, listening with bated breath. Whoever it was stopped before their cells, but then moved on. It wasn’t until the steps faded that Trista asked, “Are there other prisoners?”
Zyana nodded and then finally said, “There were. They take them somewhere, and most don’t come back.”
A ripple of fear ran through Trista, but it carried the heavy weight of acceptance. “We are going to die here.” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.
Zyana pulled herself into a sitting position. Wrapping her hands around the bars, she pierced her with a determined gaze. “You will not die here, Trista.” Her whisper was a fierce vow.
Chapter XXXVII
“Youfailed?”
Ares’ jaw protested as he bit down on his back teeth so hard they could crack. “No, but it is more extensive than we originally thought. The prophecy is very much real, not just a tactic. And the weaponry they have has obviously been extracted from the source material and diluted with other metal or I’d already be dead, but that doesn’t negate the fact that it can and will kill gods.” Ares had already handed Illean’s dagger over to Zeus.
Zeus considered his words while a wisp of a nymph filled his goblet before dancing out of sight again. “Can you handle this, or do I need to bring in someone else? Athena perhaps?”
Grae, who stood on one side of him, threw out his arms and offered a roguish smile. “Zeusy,” he chastised, “look at who you’re talking to.” Grae made a broad gesture that encompassed all three of them.
