Chapter Twenty-Three
Rain-soaked, Balis climbed onto his horse ahead of me. His beige shirt clung to his skin, and his wet hair dripped over his face and onto his shoulders. When his gaze locked on mine, there was no charming smile, no wicked smirk. He was still pissed. But that broody expression only made my mind wander to the exquisite sensation of that set jaw working to perfection on my middle until I climaxed harder than ever before. I was clenching my thighs before I could snuff out those thoughts, and Eiresh’s rocking saddle wasn’t helping.
We’d been on the road for a day. It was Eurok’s idea to forgo the carriage and ride the whole way on horseback, but I didn’t mind. Despite the unsettling knowledge I acquired about the horrors of these forests, I couldn’t help but find solace in it. There was a purity to the danger here, unlike the vile filth that littered Calrund’s streets.
Sidelle shifted and took off into the forest. She and Balis had been taking turns all day, enjoying the chance to run freely in their four-legged forms. If I had the opportunity, I would, without a doubt, abandon my body and run in the rain. For the next few hours, I pondered over which animal I might transform into and which one I’d pick if given the choice.
Eventually, the glacier-white fur of Sidelle’s wolf broke through the trees, icy-blue eyes full of momentary joy. She shifted back and climbed on her horse beside me.
“Did Annorah possess the ability to shift forms?” I asked. These flares of mana sparked an interest to know more about the princess—her identity, the extent of her abilities. Perhaps if I understood her better, I might recognize that part within myself the witch was so sure existed.
Sidelle shook her head. “No, but she could veil.”
Balis’ comment flitted through my thoughts. I had my suspicions once you did that veiling shit.
“So I’ve heard.” I readjusted my grip on the reins. “That’s what Balis called it when I killed his attacker.”
“Really?” Her brows shot up, as if delighted by the news. “See, Mira, you’re a natural.”
I smiled but was less sure. “What is it exactly?”
“Movement from one place to another, using mana. She’d been working to perfect the skill before she died.”
I considered this. Annorah had still been learning to control her power when she died, despite blooming when she was just a girl. Would I ever catch up?
I rolled my fingers over the small gilded snake dangling at the hollow of my throat. The jewels embedded along its back marked the distinct pattern of a forest adder—the most venomous snake in Calrund. It glinted in the sun every so often, casting rainbows in all directions. My beloved dagger, remade.
“Why does your wolf not have the same black eyes as your druid form? Balis’ are green either way.”
“We choose the form we take, but once the choice is made, it’s final. I chose blue for my birth mother.”
“Were you adopted?”
Her features softened, as if considering a distant memory that deserved regard. “In a sense.”
“Is that common among druids?”
“No, not really. But my case was… special.”
Her calm, relaxed tone suggested she didn’t mind the topic, so I raised my brows, urging her to go on.
Her laughter was as light and delicate as a feather. “You want to hear the story?”
“Unless you have someplace to be,” I deadpanned.
As if in answer, thunder rumbled overhead, and lightning streaked across the sky.
“Okay then.” She cleared her throat.
Details flitted through my thoughts as I pondered where to start. It’d been so long since I told it.
Mira waited, grabbing handfuls of her hair, picking through the ends, her hips swaying with Eiresh’s leisurely pace. Her new choker accented the burgundy in her eyes, and the brightness in her cheeks gave me a sense of elation. She seemed so pallid when we left the castle—and thin. Despite her days on the road with Balis, she put on some healthy weight. Her presence here breathed life into her, as if she’d been reborn.
And now she was showing an interest in our history—my history. I couldn’t help but feel hopeful again.
“The Drak War had been ongoing for nearly two centuries,” I began. “During which, humans were introduced to our variant as allies against the demons.”
“By the light god, Aethier.”
She was paying attention. “Correct,” I said. With the war coming to an end, there was an increasing sense of caution between druids and humans. Druids formed the council, made up of two elders from each clan, hoping to combat the growing tension. But, some time after the council’s formation, whispers stirred concerning the females” waning strength.”
“Only females?” Mira asked, brushing a scuff mark off her boots.
I nodded.
“So, what happened?”
“My mother, Astrid, happened.” A smile lifted a corner of my mouth. “She took it upon herself to find out what was happening to the females’ power by sneaking her way into a Gracing ceremony.”
Her nose wrinkled. “What’s that?”
I rolled my lips and drew in a deep breath, the weight of the atrocity still heavy on my heart. “The elders would bring newborns from each clan into the sacred lodge and use their direct line to the gods to ask for blessings for the child.”
Mira nodded in understanding, despite the unease shaping her sharp, elegant features.
“Females were not permitted on the council. When Astrid snuck into the forbidden meeting, and witnessed what happened behind those closed doors, she understood why.”
Mira’s brow pinched as though she questioned her decision to request this story from me.
“As she listened to the elders that night, she learned of their betrayal. They were using their decanting gifts, which we druids use to usher nature’s souls into the veil, to remove mana from female infants.”
She scowled. “You mean stealing it!”
Mira darted a glare between the males. Both warriors, as if sensing the weight of her accusation, held up their hands in surrender.
“Don’t look at me. I wasn’t alive then. Good thing, too.” Eurok leaned to the side and spit on the gravel road. “I’d have broken their fucking necks had I known.”
“Don’t you worry,” I said, hoping to ease the discontent growing behind her wine-colored eyes, “they got what was coming to them.”
“What were they doing with it?” she asked.
“They were containing it within another vessel to be used however they saw fit, giving them an edge on the battlefield both with the drak and,” I shrugged a shoulder and shook my head, “the humans if it ever came to it.”
“What sort of vessel?”
I pulled my staff loose from its place on the saddle.
Mira froze, eyes locked on the stone affixed to the top. “A moonstone?”
“Once it contains a core of mana, it becomes a manastone. But yes, the males carried staves that, unbeknownst to females, contained the mana of their very own daughters, sisters, and friends.”
“What happened after your mother found out?”
“Well, part of the reason she was so compelled to uncover the cause of the female’s declining mana—she was about to give birth herself.”
The rain intensified, but we continued on our way, unfazed by the downpour.
“She was pregnant?”
I nodded.
“With you?”
I nodded again. “The very next day, her labor started.”
Mira swallowed as if she realized this story ended in tragedy.
“We druids have a tradition surrounding the birth of our children. When a pregnant mother begins labor, she must ascend the Aupex Mountain.”
An incredulous expression distorted her face. “You have to climb a fucking mountain while in labor?”
“It seems rather cruel, yes, but wherever that mother gives birth along the way determines how powerful her child will be.”
Her expression remained sour, as if she couldn’t decide how to feel about the topic.
“On the day Astrid’s labor began, so did another female’s. A female named Saura.”
“The two of them climbed for hours. Eventually, Saura was the first to slow. She came to a stop halfway to the summit. Astrid, however, kept climbing. Her labor was long and difficult, but she fought her way up the sacred mountain, fueled by fury and determination. Finally, when her pains became so intense that she could go no further, she dropped to her knees. When she looked up, she realized she reached the summit, and that was where she delivered her child.”
“You,” Mira said with an air of reverence.
“She is the most powerful female druid ever born,” Eurok said, riding just ahead of us. He turned to look at me over his shoulder with that same hungry stare he knew affected me so completely.
I embraced the flutter of butterflies that rose in my stomach, then turned to Mira. “Few mothers in druid history have reached the summit before giving birth, and those that did bore males. But Astrid made it, and for that, I am eternally grateful.” The sting in my eyes sent a flush of warmth over my cheeks. I swiped the moisture away. “But her lifeblood drained—rather quickly. She knew she wouldn’t survive the descent, and alone on the top of that mountain, she feared for her child’s life.
“Astrid descended as fast as she could, carrying her newborn child. She stumbled and fell over the treacherous terrain, but kept going until she found Saura.”
Mira’s knuckles were white, gripping the reins as she listened.
“Saura was sobbing, hysterical, covered in blood—curled around her stillborn babe. She wailed, pleading for the gods to return her child to her. Astrid approached and replaced the lifeless infant in Saura’s arms with her own daughter. Then, clutching the stillborn to her chest, Astrid lay beside the grieving mother.
“While they lay there, she told Saura everything she learned about the males’ betrayal and asked for her help. It was on that mountain, Saura made a mournful but devoted vow to protect me, raise me as her own, and put a stop to the transgressions committed against females. And then Astrid took her last breath.”
The road went silent—save for the crunch of shifting gravel, hoofbeats, and thunder. Mira stared off into the forest, her expression somber, and I wondered if she regretted asking the story of my birth.
After a long moment, her soft smoky voice asked, “So did she? Stop them?”
“My mother, Saura, and I did it together,” I answered with a triumphant smile. “She became a voice for the females, speaking against the atrocity, sharing Astrid’s story, effectively ending the cruelty that took place by demanding the blessing ceremonies be done publicly. She tried to convince them to allow females on the council, but they refused. Still, Saura raised me to recognize the power we females were meant to have, both of mana and spirit.
“When the conditions aligned, we came together with others who shared our conviction, adamant that a shift was necessary. We seceded from the males, formed the four covens, and the witches were born.
“Over the first century, a synergistic alliance took root. Annorah was a large part of that. She represented hope for all the wielders of Vylandria, that with someone capable of such power on the throne, we could achieve peace with humans. But, unfortunately, that never came to fruition.”
She paused a melancholy moment, then asked, “Did all the females leave with the covens?”
“No. We never expected them to. Some females chose to stay with the clans, with their bonded. And some bonded couples came to us together. Our goal was never to keep the genders separated. We aimed only to offer a place where, should something like that arise again, females could go. Someplace where they were appreciated—someplace they belonged.”