Page 91 of Season Warriors & Wolves

“Melanthe will know you are here,” one said calmly, only how witches knew to keep calm. None were afraid of death. Death was their bitter blessing. But this batch should be scared of their deaths—perhaps not entirely scared, but wary of it. They all knew they had signed a faulty contract with Melanthe, even if they didn’t wish to accept it.

“I’m betting on it.” I propped my feet on the table. “Though hopes are faint considering Visha Delcour is outside and Melanthe could lay an egg before all of your heads hatch from your bodies.”

The witches exchanged incredulous looks amongst one another. “Visha…she is well?”

“Healthy and red,” I said. “Like the day she came to me.”

Guinevere shot up. “You cannot mean—”

“You heard me right. She came to me with her own two feet, safe and sound, and has been by my side for years I’ve now lost count of. Despite whatever lie Melanthe has told you.”

“What do you want?” the oldest of them asked. “We have nothing that will help you in any form.”

I tilted my head to the side, really trying to see their point from every angle. “One of you little airheads caused me to lose my kin, almost lose a sister, set me back months of work I had done in Isjord and even helped Melanthe keep me chained when you all knew better. And that is not even the worst. I cannot lose Eldmoor to my father. So, I will make sure to drain that air out of all of you and fill your head with some knowledge before I soak your lungs with blood.”

The same young-looking crone said, “Killing us will do nothing for you.”

“Wrong. Target practice with some willing participants. There is yet a book to be written on how to skin a witch. I’m hopeful about a writing journey. Now, priorities first, where is Urinthia?”

Dead silence until I made the girl on my right bleed a little. “We do not know,” one said.

I dug and dragged my dagger over the young Crafter’s throat, parting her head from her body in one cut. “I really do not like lies unless they are coming out of my mouth,” I said, standing and pacing the room. “Which head is next?” My feet stopped right before Guinevere. Clutching her long red hair, I barred her throat to me. “This one perhaps?”

“We don—”

Blood splattered on the table and on all of their faces and they all screamed murder. Mmm. That’s it. “Eeny, meeny, miny, moe,” I counted, pointing the end of my blade to another.

The girl began quivering when I approached her despite the empty look on her face. “In Isjord. She is in Isjord.”

I pressed the sharp edge harder to her neck. “You’ve got to be more precise, dear.”

She shook her head. “Physically she is in Isjord. To locate exactly where, you might have to find her astral form first. You…you cannot conceal Urinthia’s magic, she is tied to Eldmoor one way or the other like all of us, it would be easy to feel the surge of dark craft if she had started mending the sceptre, but—” Her eyes drifted to her sisters and filled with more fear.

“But?”

“None of us have. There are certain ways to conceal your magic. Like the Elder Crafters hid the sceptre pieces. If king Silas has begun the ritual of raising the guardian, even a simple Crafter would have felt it and known it. He must be doing it out…not in this realm.”

“Like a pocket realm?”

“Possibly. But those are impossible to open without the blood of an Elder Crafter. Even Melanthe would not be able to open one. No one of us can without permission from gods. Celesteel took that right from us after the Ater battles.”

“But Urinthia can?”

“I’ve seen it.”

Seen it? I leaned in. “And where would your Grand Maiden open these pocket realms? What god would still allow her?”

She blinked rapidly, her mouth opening and closing as she tried to think.

“Golgotha,” another said. “In Golgotha’s realm. She has been the Demon King’s lover for centuries. The only entity that would allow her to open a pocket realm between Numen and theirs would be him. Perhaps even step in it. His dark realm might be but ash and no air, but it is still a realm and a viable space to craft an in-between.”

Well, well. “Interesting.” Letting go of the girl, I walked over to Salma. The woman was glaring murder at her subordinates who had disobeyed her treacherous self. Her body recoiled a little when I sat right beside her. “Someone bring a pen and paper out. It’s homework time.”

Reluctantly, a few looked around and laid paper and ink on the table. Tapping the end of my blood-stained dagger on the edge of the white sheet, I said, “Every name of every Crafter on Melanthe’s side better be written down. Along with their location and preferably an encouraging message for me at the end. It looks like I have the work cut out for me now that fear of your god has left your systems.”

“We have no fear of our god. Death is our reward,” Salma mumbled between her clenched teeth. “Lest you all forget.”

Resting my feet on the table, I leaned back. “Lest you forget, dear, there might be sin and there might be flaws to condemn you not for as warden of Caligo and the in-between, but choosing to commit sin without regard of Numen or bearing fuel for flaws, will bring flame before word when you step in the land of your god. Cannot remember the chapter, but that exact line is in your holy book. Is it not?”