Page 49 of Blood Coven
THE YEAR OF THE CURSE
BLAEZ
On the morning that would change his fate, Blaez woke with stiff bones and an unshakable chill. Having fallen asleep in the living room chair with nothing but fur draped over him, he had allowed the fire to die while he slept. An ominous feeling settled over him, and he rose with creaking joints and a stiff neck.
He stretched, then rebuilt the fire, preparing for his daily chores. He milked the cows, then prepared a generous bath when he returned. He used the blazing fire to heat the water, pouring the near-scalding water over himself to cleanse away the sickness and worry. The hours moved slowly, like molasses, and he checked in on Ana as he counted down the time until he would save her. Outside in the bitter cold, the clouds promised snow. The forests stood calm and unmoving. I might never see her again, he thought. But it was something he could live with. His deal with the witch was his solution; he could escape Ana’s abuse without leaving her.
He wondered what she would do without him. He wondered what his life would be like after tonight. Best not to dwell too much, he thought. But he had very little to distract himself with. He knew he did not have to do it, that he could allow her to drift away and die. It would be the right thing for him, letting her illness take its course and finally being free. But Blaez knew it was not the moral thing to do, not if he could help her; doing what was morally right was more important than doing the right thing for himself.
Ana’s spirits had improved since he gave her the tonic. Though she still remained bedridden, she was able to keep food down, and color slowly crept back to her cheeks. As she thrived, Blaez came to terms with his choice to sacrifice whatever he had to in order to keep her alive.
Freshly bathed, he stepped outside, goosebumps prickling his exposed forearms. He looked at the setting sun and sighed. The moon rose, full.
All the dread and anticipation Blaez had been building hit him at once, creating an anxious knot in the pit of his stomach. He stepped back inside, threw another log on the fire, then dug for the parchment he bought the day before. It was costly, but some things are worth the price. With a quill and a scant amount of ink, Blaez sat down and began to write.
Dearest Ana,
It is with a heavy heart that I pen this letter. I know these may very well be the last words from me to you. To say them to you in person would have been ideal, but I have never been a man of many words. To convey them properly to someone as important as you, they must be put to paper. Please know there is no part of me that wishes to leave you. I won’t reminisce about our time together, because there was less good than either of us is willing to admit.
I made a deal with a witch to keep you alive; your life means more to me than my own, and it always has. I suspect I will not come out of this unscathed. The man that I am is the one you know, and so you must understand I would do anything to keep you safe. My trust in this witch is limited, but I do believe she will uphold her end of the deal. Should she not, I am truly sorry, and I will continue to find every way possible to save you.
Our life has never been an easy one. I know you never loved me. This is why I know I must get you through this, even if I do not—you deserve love, and I have already found it. It is you who gets us through; whenever I gaze upon your face and imagine my life without you, I am terrified. Once this is done, I will not see you again; I knew that before I agreed to whatever comes next. I can live a life without you if I know that you are safe.
I know I have not made you happy or met your needs. Though I always strive to find everything you need and give it to you regardless of its cost to me, this is the last testament of my love for you. To stay away from you will be hard, but knowing it will keep you safe will provide me with some solace. A long time ago, you wished for a child that I could not give you; if it was my indifference to children that made you store the herbs in the depths of a drawer to never look at again, I am truly sorry that I failed you.
Maybe when I am gone, you will find peace.
I truly hope you do.
Blaez.
So much of it was a lie, but their whole relationship together had been one. A façade to outsiders. Married for convenience but learned to love each other. Blaez shook his head. He didn’t think Ana knew how to love. Sometimes lying makes us better people. I hope this letter is enough.
Blaez folded the paper into thirds and scrawled Ana on it. Knowing he had to depart shortly, Blaez took one last look around the house, not daring to enter the bedroom, knowing that looking at Ana one last time would make it too difficult to leave.
Donning his hunting jacket, Blaez left the house and his marriage behind him. As he began to put distance between himself and his old life, he allowed himself to go numb. Just move your feet; left, right, left, right. The frozen dirt crunched loudly beneath each footfall as he walked.
He passed through the town, eyes averted. There were only a few faces out and about in the last hours of twilight, but not one greeted him as he passed.
Blaez reached the edge of the forest and pressed on before his legs failed him, stepping carefully around the roots and fallen branches. The last light of day could not penetrate the canopy above, plunging the woods into thick darkness. He embraced it, allowing it to overtake him. He felt safe for a few moments as if he were just on another hunt. His anxious thoughts disappeared, his only focus getting to the eerie house deep in the woods.
This time, there was no doe. No beautiful creature crossed his path to let him know everything would be alright.
All too soon, the house stood before him. The massive, lurking crow atop the peak glared down at him; he refused to meet its black eyes, walking up the creaking stair and knocking on the door that led to his fate.
His blood screamed not to do it.
34
SILVANIA
THE YEAR OF THE MOON
THE WOLF
He entered the house again. A fire burned in the hearth now, the quiet crackle of wood giving the illusion of cozy warmth. But no one felt it. Instead, a cold, sinister dread enveloped the room in its long arms, coaxing out the deepest hatred.
Two young women knelt on a floor covered in salt, dirt, and candles with flames like tiny orange dancers. Among the scattered remnants of the Craft was distinguishable blood; he could smell it. His taste buds recalled the flavor of it; it belonged to the grandmother.