Page 92 of Season Warriors & Wolves

Her mouth curled. “It is not so simple as you make it.”

“But it is. Witch betrays her Maiden. Witch plots against her Maiden. Witch aids a man who wants to make a god blessed land his own hell, contest your very god. Witch is bad. Witch is really bad. Witch burns. Witch gets no say. See?”

Someone sniffled across the table and I clicked my tongue. “Don’t get tears on my paper, dear, the ink will smudge.”

When everyone of them handed over a list with names, maps and all sorts of jingle they used in their usurping ventures, I stood and stretched my legs, ready to leave.

Salma didn’t even raise her eyes to look at me when I gripped her jaw hard, prying her mouth open and pressing my bloodied blade to her tongue. “Tell me, does betrayal taste bitter?”

She swallowed hard, tart tears skittering down her pale cheeks. “You will never win.”

That made me laugh hard. “I’ve already won. Over you. That is the only win you will ever remember.”

Blood sprayed on my face and leathers.

It was almost noon by the time I had come out of the dim coven. I stretched my arms out, trying to crack a kink on my neck when a yawn overtook me. “Well,” I said, yawning again. “That was relatively pleasant.”

Mal cringed at my sight. “Define pleasant.”

I threw him the map and the lists I’d collected which were marked with points where all of Melanthe’s supporters remained hidden. “The souvenirs.”

He looked at the map and the names, and his brow raised. “I'd better take that limb now if it isn’t late.”

I kicked my elbow back in his stomach and he threw an arm around my shoulders. “I’ll come with my men to search for them all.”

“Thank you, Mal.”

My witch stared at the blood orange distance as the sun faded beneath the dead forest trees. “Melanthe was like an aunt to me, a mother almost. I shared a room with Salma,” she said quietly, “along with most of my secrets, my concerns, my grief. Hera was one of my wetnurses. Guinevere’s mother brought me a lamb for my sixth birthday.”

“How domestic.”

She turned to me, blinking slowly. “Should I not be feeling something?”

“What a waste of energy it would be.”

“It is my fault, isn’t it? Why they all turned on my mother? Why Silas has come so far into destroying this realm. For what happened to you and the others. For what happened to Nia.”

“Blessed moon,” Mal cursed under his breath and turned to face the sunset, suddenly interesting to him.

It was not like Visha to think like this. But she did take someone’s life to give it to another and that must have some form of tax on someone’s soul. Despite what my witch showed the world, I knew that somewhat of a gentle soul laid beneath the granite exterior. Very, very, very, very deeply beneath. “Greed is the coin of the treacherous, witchling. It is no one’s fault how they deal their hands but their own. They believed Melanthe’s child would grant them the power they craved. Greed for more greed. That is no follower. That is a leech. Waste your tears for dying puppies and starved kittens.”

“Do you blame me?” she asked bluntly.

“I blame one. That one is not you.” If there was one to blame, it would be me. Should have gutted my father when I had my chance. My vengeance should have come second to the safety of those I care for.

Mal turned at my words and just stared at me. For some time. The look growing haunted, tortured and filled with the same monsters I saw in the mirror.

Someone else had once looked at me like that.

Not pity.

Pain. That’s what he’d told me.

I wanted to ask why he kept looking at me the way he did since we’d returned from Isjord, but I knew he hated being asked.

“Can we go now?” Visha asked. “The Deadlands are dangerous after sunset.”

Mal caught my arm when we faded back to Olympia, waiting till Visha returned to her chambers before saying, “Do you think no one has noticed how you touch your wrists and your neck? Or when they shake each time you lift them up because there is no longer weight to them—no more chains.”