Page 130 of Traitor Witch
The instant she sees me she bows and I return the gesture.
"I'm Reva," she smiles, dark eyes glinting as she takes me in. "Enchanter and spirit worker."
"Nilsa," I mumble.
I don't use my title. I don't feel worthy of it. For the first time since I was seventeen, taking down my first target, I'm doubting myself.
"I know," she picks at her dress awkwardly for a second. "Want to find some clean clothes and then grab some food? You've been bunked right next door to my circle, so we're going to be your guides until you can find your way around."
I nod, still feeling a bit shell-shocked. Opal has disappeared somewhere, likely stalking down her own meal.Drowning the stone in my gut with whatever food I can find sounds like a pretty good idea right about now.
It's quiet as we travel across stone bridges and up several flights of stairs towards a door in the cliff side.
"This is you." Reva throws open a door in the cliff side revealing a neat, airy room.
There's a chest at the end of the harem-sized bed, and a wardrobe and nightstand. The large windows let in the sea air and the curtains are embroidered with privacy sigils. The whole space smells of sage and cedar, a dead giveaway that it's been magically cleansed.
"There are fourteen of us next door," Reva continues, "but they're probably already eating."
I nod and flop onto the large bed with a small groan.
Maybe I can ignore food. Maybe sleep will be better.
But Reva ignores my desire to curl up and just sleep and pushes open a second door further into the cliff face.
"There's a bathroom through here. I'll let you wash the seaweed out of your hair in peace."
She throws me a little smile but I don't have it in me to give her a response. It takes all my energy to drag myself back up and hustle into the warm light of the bathroom.
It's surprising what a little hot water can do to improve a situation. While I'm there, I say a prayer to the Goddess to make sure any lingering remnants of my magic on theDeadwoodcan't be traced back to me. Hyssop and lemongrass have been left for me and I crush them under the water before rubbing them over my skin to add extra power to the spell.
Removing the stench of the sea from my skin is cleansing in more ways than one and the pause gives me time to process.
Glenna betrayed the Goddess. Betrayed me.
I have a harem. Six of them.
I've killed innocent people, but I have the opportunity to make it right.
That last thought is what motivates me to pull on a clean black top and leather trousers.
But then I look down and see Glenna's athame, waiting for me next to my pouch. The gems in the handle glint under the lamplight, the moonstones flashing with opalescent fire.
I've carried it around believing she needed to be avenged. Now... I don't know what to think.
So I shove it in the chest at the end of my bed and clip my pouch back onto my belt. Reva watches all of this with a curious expression, but doesn't comment until I head for the door.
"So how big was your circle back home?" she asks, following me out and taking the lead down the steps once more.
I grimace remembering Ophelia and Danika. "There were three of us. More of a triangle than a circle, I guess, but there were more in the years above and below us."
The witch way is to raise children communally, in year groups, or 'circles.' Young witches spend time with their mother and fathers, but learn magic and live with their circle. That Reva still lives with hers means she's not immortal yet, but she seems much older than Elsie. There's a grim kind of maturity to her that the Solar witch is missing.
Reva just shrugs. "At least you had fewer people trying to steal your clothes."
I had never had to worry about that. My clothes were so conservative in comparison to Danika's. I never needed to worry about her helping herself from my wardrobe. My smile fades as I remember how different she'd looked when Alletta scried for her.
High Priestess Danika is different to the witch I grew upwith—I'm different. Of all of us, Ophelia is the only one whose life hasn't been turned upside down.
