Page 98 of The Arcane God

“Well, no, I hope it won’t go that way, obviously,” Greya responded evenly. “But I do think that a show of good faith from a daemon will go a long way in convincing the other Covens to join our cause. Once they see how genuine you are, and are able to use their Knowing on you, they will believe us all the more.”

Steig went quiet for a minute as he ran his hand through his hair in agitation. “You realize how dangerous this is for me, don’t you? I already had to ditch the two daemons I came here with—I had to make up some random excuse to get away from them, and if I don’t come back, they’ll report my absence to the king. And now you want me to risk my life with the other Covens too? Haven’t I helped you enough these last couple months?”

“Yes, you have been very helpful, and I’m extremely grateful for it. I understand your concerns,” Greya said genuinely. She had sympathy for the man’s situation, of course she did. She knew he had a family, and that he wanted to protect them, just as she wanted to protect hers. “But deep down, I know that you know…with your king still in power, none of us will be safe. Not until he is gone. And this is the best way to make sure that we achieve that goal. With the stryx and Covens by our side, Cole and his allies won’t stand a chance.”

Steig hung his head, staring at the fire. Greya Knew he was conflicted, but that her words had hit home, and after a minute of silence, he raised his head, looking up at her with steel in his eyes.

“You’re right that it gives us the best chance, but you have no idea what he’s capable of,” he said. “It’s not a guarantee, by any means, but…I’d be a fool to not take this chance.” Steig sighed, as if in disbelief for what he was about to say. “Okay, I’ll do it.”

“Good,” Greya said, smiling triumphantly. “Because we’re going to speak to the matriarch first thing in the morning.”

Steig grumbled to himself, but didn’t walk back his decision, and Greya respected him all the more. “Now,” she added, gesturing at the pot beside her, “can I offer you some stew?”

Chapter Thirty-Five

Steig

It was just barely daybreak as Greya, Perse, and Steig approached the matriarch’s house. The old, two-story home was similar to most other witches’ houses—a mossy stone building with a thatched roof and a large garden that surrounded it on all sides—though this one was a bit bigger. But as they approached the arched, wooden front door, Steig noticed it had a large circular knocker attached.

“That’s one of ours,” Steig said, gesturing at the forged iron knocker.

“Really?” Greya asked, sounding surprised.

“Yep,” Steig replied, taking great pleasure in the irony. Daemons had been posing as mortal traders for centuries, surviving despite witches’ ostracization, so the fact that one of their goods was on the door of the Aquilo matriarch’s house was just another sign of their resilience, and it gave him some modicum of comfort to be reminded of that before doing what they were about to do.

He’d been up most of the night wondering if he should back out—if he was making the right decision by choosing to help Greya—because not only did openly approaching the Aquilo matriarch’s house feel wrong on so many levels, but he was potentially putting himself and his family at risk by abandoning his mission. But every time he went over it, he always came back to the same conclusion: he could do nothing, and things would remain the same. The same danger for his family. The same separation that he dreaded. The same horrors for the Underworld. Or he could do something different. He could take this risk—for himself, and his family—and hope to Iblis that it worked out in their favor. Because things couldn’t remain the same—he knew that. It was time to take risks, especially with Ty on his way back. So he’d decided again and again to go through with it.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t dreading it, or that he wasn’t prepared with daggers hidden all over his body in case he needed to fight his way out of this village.

Just then, the door swung open, interrupting Steig’s nervous thoughts and revealing a mousy, brown-haired witch, whom Greya had warned him was the matriarch’s apprentice, Pheeba.

“Greya,” the woman greeted in a friendly manner, her brown eyes crinkling in a smile. “Come on in.”

The three of them entered, per her invitation, and Steig didn’t miss the way Pheeba’s eyebrows raised as she fully noticed him. Thank Iblis, he had most of his tattoos covered up under his coat, but he was still larger than the average mortal or witch, not to mention a stranger.

Pheeba didn’t say anything, though, just simply led them down the hall to the matriarch’s altar room and brought them inside.

Steig was the last one in as they entered the dim, candlelit room. Northe, Aquilo’s matriarch, sat at her desk in the far corner, her eyes tracking the three of them as they approached. She was an older woman, maybe in her early sixties, with reddish hair that looked like it had faded to gray some decades ago. But her eyes were still lively, and she looked shrewd in the way he hated about witches. They were always scheming—or at least, some of them were.

Several chairs had been placed in front of her desk for visitors, but the rest of the room was surprisingly bare, aside from the rows and rows of shelves lining the walls that contained potions, journals, spellbooks, and a vast collection of ceremonial objects. It reminded Steig strongly of the night they had gone through the Auster matriarch’s altar room, only to be interrupted by Ena, and he was struck by how long ago that seemed now.

Northe smiled tightly as the three of them stood before her, her sky-blue eyes both curious and cautious as she, too, clocked Steig’s presence. “Greya,” she greeted with what Steig instantly recognized as feigned warmth. “So good to see you. I haven’t had a chance to congratulate you on your Ascension yet.”

“Good to see you as well, Northe,” Greya replied formally, nodding her head. Steig had half expected her to be friendlier with the woman, but her guard was up, and it was clear in that moment that Northe was not her friend—they were business associates.

“What is it you have come to discuss?” Northe asked with curiosity, her eyes flicking to Steig once more as the three of them sat down.

“I want to talk to you about the binding spell,” Greya said bluntly, interrupting the woman as she went to take a sip of tea.

Northe attempted to hide her reaction with a cough as she sputtered the drink, but it was obvious Greya had caught her off guard with that one. “The…binding spell, dear?” she asked, playing dumb. “I’m not sure if I’m familiar.” Northe’s eyes flicked meaningfully to her companions, as if to say, “we should not be discussing this in front of others,” and it made Steig have to force his ire not to rise.

He knew that the existence of the binding spell was a piece of knowledge that, up until recently, had been reserved exclusively for matriarchs, and it thoroughly pissed him off. Not only had that kept daemons subject to it for so long, but it was just another example of the many ways in which witches controlled the narrative to daemons’ disadvantage. But Greya hadn’t hesitated to blow those secrets and lies out of the water, and he begrudgingly respected her for it.

“It’s okay, Northe, my husband and…this man both know about the binding spell. We may speak freely,” she said confidently.

“You’ve told others about it?” Northe asked, her brow furrowed in confusion and shock. “This knowledge is forbidden beyond matriarchs for a reason, Greya. What gives you the right to break centuries of tradition?”

Steig tightened his hands into fists and had to hold his tongue to keep from telling this bitch to shut up and show Greya some respect. She was just as much of a matriarch as Northe was, and clearly a better one at that, and should be allowed to make her own decisions.