Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
T he piercing cobalt eyes of the contestant who’d killed the water-witch haunted me in every shadow. It was usually Caym I would find in the dark corners of a place. But between almost dying and navigating the castle in search for a bedroom for us to share, I couldn’t put too much thought into where my familiar was. I had to trust that Caym was trying to get access into this place.
No matter how I tried to calm myself, it didn’t seem to work. My breath was ragged, and the tips of my fingers were tingling with anxiety.
Romy found us a room in the west wing of the castle. We had navigated up so many flights of stairs that my thighs practically begged for me to collapse. There was no ignoring the stinging of all the cuts across my face, but the few tarnished mirrors we passed proved that my wounds were superficial. If anything, it made me look dangerous, and I needed all the help with that that I could get.
Every other room we tried already had witches stationed inside. And just like the witch who tried to kill me, everyone was equally as welcoming—which was to say, they looked at us like they wanted to eat us alive. Not even an hour into the Witch Trials and covens were forming.
As Romy threw incredibly filthy curses at the other witches, I searched every face I saw for those bright blue eyes. No pair I saw matched. I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or disappointed. I kept looking until we reached what had to be the attic space of the west wing, where we finally found what Romy called our base.
‘It will do,’ Romy repeated for the third time, surveying the draughty room. ‘Yes, we can make it work.’
I admired her optimism. It was clear which one of us had a glass half full, as opposed to half empty.
I, for one, thought the space looked like shit.
There was a circular window at the far end of the room, but beside that there was no other source of light. Not that there was much to illuminate. Leaning ceilings left little room for furniture, let alone walking around freely.
‘I’ll take the couch,’ I nodded to the faded leather lump pushed against the right hand wall. I couldn’t tell if the patches on it were from cobwebs, dust, or worn areas mice had eaten away at.
Romy didn’t refuse my suggestion, at least not with words. She eyed the four-poster bed and the red material draped from the oak frame with trepidation. When she spoke, her words were muffled as if she held her breath.
She wasn’t wrong to either—there was a stale smell to the room, like a place in dire need of fresh air. ‘I would say there’s room for us both to share the bed, but who knows what creatures lurk beneath that duvet. I doubt you’d want to join me.’
‘That solves the debate of who’s little spoon and who’s big spoon.’ Looking at the bed again, I definitely preferred the couch.
Romy brushed my sarcasm off with a shrug of her shoulder. ‘We passed communal shower rooms on the lower floor. I’d say we could both do with a wash, but best wait until after the first trial.’
‘Which could be in a day or a week,’ I added, knowing I wasn’t prepared to be sitting in these clothes for long. Surely there had to be others available here. Hekate wouldn’t strand us without supplies. So I got to looking.
Most of the furniture was covered in dust sheets—not that it mattered, because there was still dust everywhere. The mite-eaten carpet was grey with dust, the window seat and sill layered half an inch thick with it. Snatching the dust sheet off one of the groups of furniture, I revealed what turned out to be a desk and cabinet set. Opening the drawers I found exactly what I was expecting. Clothes—similar training leathers like what we arrived in, with a spare set for each of us.
Besides that I found ink, a quill, rope, bandages, and a pestle and mortar. Most importantly, I found a key, a large brass monstrosity which fit perfectly into the bedroom’s door.
‘A locked door won’t stop the killings, but at least it will slow them down,’ Romy said as she tugged off her black tank top and replaced it with the clean one in the drawer. I did the same, kicking off the older clothes and changing. It felt good to get a fresh set on, although what I needed was a shower. And a nap.
My jaw cracked with a yawn. I needed sleep, but that would be when I was by far the most vulnerable. ‘We’ll take watches when we need to rest,’ I said slowly, realising that that would give Romy the perfect opportunity to finish me off if she wanted to.
She noticed, shooting me a glare. ‘You still don’t trust me.’
‘Am I wrong not to?’ I asked, chewing on the inside of my lip.
‘Well, no. We’re rivals I guess, but I’d rather keep you close. Until you give me a reason to think otherwise.’
‘Touché.’
Once I was ready to go, my stomach was practically growling with hunger. Romy’s too. The smell from the lower floors had drifted up to us, enticing us down despite the danger. I wondered if that was the point, to get all the witches in the same room together. Regardless, it would work. We all needed water and food to survive the first few days, let alone the full four weeks.
I had to duck slightly just to take a seat on my sleeping arrangements. Springs groaned beneath me, the material as stiff as dried wheat.
Romy took the sheet on the bed and lifted it up with flair. A cloud of dust billowed between us. She coughed as though she were choking.
‘Better,’ she said between coughs. ‘But if we’re going to survive, we are going to really need to brighten up the place.’
‘You say that as though someone hadn’t just tried to kill me. I’ll be lucky to last a week.’ I was confident I still had glass in my hair. The cut across my cheek had stopped bleeding at least, but unless I could find a witch with a healing Gift—and one who wouldn’t make an attempt on my life—I would have to wait for it to heal naturally.
‘Which is exactly why we’re going to stick together.’
I leaned forwards, elbows on my knees. ‘Last time I checked, you didn’t want me to partake in the Witch Trials to… how did you put it… better your odds of winning?’
Romy whipped around, fast as a viper. ‘Oh, Hector. Would you quit with the sarcasm and combativeness? Take me for what I am.’
‘And what are you?’ Besides the daughter of a traitor?
From the darkening of her expression, I’d struck a nerve. ‘An opportunity for an alliance. We both know that sticking in covens is what increases the chance of success. Plus, if we both agree, it keeps me from harming you and you from harming me.’
I shook my head before truly thinking. ‘No, sorry Romy. I’m better being solitary.’
‘Not better,’ Romy replied. ‘You’ve just had more practice being alone. Except, you haven’t been alone, have you?’
Fuck. Here we went. My silence was incriminating, but from the winning gleam in her brown eyes, Romy knew she’d gotten me in a corner.
‘Where’s your familiar?’
I swallowed hard. ‘Not here.’
‘Clearly, otherwise that attempt on your life would have failed before it truly begun.’
I stood from the couch, feeling uncomfortable beneath her gaze. Never had someone known so much about me. Well, anyone but Caym. Trust was a new concept, one that was going to take some getting used to. Plus, I had to work out Romy’s true intentions first.
‘Who’ve you told?’
Her brows knitted together, deep grooves spoiling her usually soft forehead. ‘What do you mean?’
‘About Caym. Who have you told about my familiar? Your father… I’m sure he would delight in knowing that I harbour an outlawed creature’
She raised her hands in supplication. ‘No one. Not a soul. Nor do I intend to tell anyone.’
The pause that followed was as thick as the dust in the room. It hung between us, as we each contemplated who would make the next move.
Turned out it was me. ‘Thank… you.’ I stumbled over the words.
‘Hell, that looked almost painful,’ Romy laughed, her expressive brows raising into her hairline. ‘I can see we have some work cut out for us to really build this alliance.’
‘I haven’t agreed to it yet.’ Clearly, my initial thought of using Romy as a human shield was pointless. The attempt on my life had proved that. I wasn’t sure if it was worth the danger, then, of being by her side.
‘Well, you haven’t refused it either. So, think about it. The two of us, facing all those… what, almost two hundred witches?’ In moments, Romy sat beside me, a hand rested upon my shoulder. Her expression softened. I found myself trying to read every line and crease, as though they held the answers to whether she was my…
‘Friend,’ I said. ‘How about we start there?’
‘I can do friend .’
The corner of my lip turned upwards, out of my control. ‘You’re going to have to forgive me, Romy, but I’ve not had much practice.’
Pity flashed across her eyes—only for a moment, but I don’t miss it. ‘Friends first. Then, when you’re ready, you can agree to coven-up with me.’
‘Coven-up?’ I repeated, my smile stretching the corners of my mouth.
‘Oh, you get it.’ Romy took a step back, drinking me in from head to toe. ‘Right, plan time. Tonight is the welcome feast. I think, considering half this castle clearly has it out for you, we should face them head on. No point hiding up here until the bell tolls and the true fun begins, right?’
‘Right,’ I said, although the idea of staying up here was enticing, dust and spiders aside. But I had to focus. There was a Witch Hunter here, in the castle, someone who could blend in with the rest of us. I had to find them before they found me.
‘And, before you come up with an excuse, tonight poses the perfect opportunity for securing more alliances. The bigger the coven, the longer we survive.’
‘No,’ I said too quickly.
‘Hector,’ Romy said, hand squeezing my shoulder. ‘It really wasn’t up for discussion. I know this is the right way to do it.’
‘I have my work cut out with you,’ I moaned, already regretting this alliance.
Romy winked. ‘Oh, you have no idea.’
I stood in the corner of what had to be a Great Hall, wishing the shadows would swallow me whole. If Caym were here, he could do it. But alas, I was alone with nothing but the glass of sparkling wine in my hand for company.
Romy, to her credit, had stayed with me for the majority of the evening, but had left my side to get us each a plate of food. Although, from the glimpse I got of her through the crowd, I could see she’d found someone—a woman with short flame-red hair, who kept looking my way—and was deep in conversation with her.
Already she was playing into her plan of finding more witches to build an alliance with. Whereas I just stood, back to the wall, face plastered with a ‘ don’t fucking talk to me’ expression.
If I needed a reminder to keep my wits about me, Romy’s secret conversation was certainly a wake-up call. Clearly, both women knew each other. It could have been for a number of different reasons, but my suspicious mind refused to contemplate any but the idea they were both working for Jonathan.
A sea of witches stretched out as far as I could see. Down the middle of the enormous room was a table completely covered in food. From among the roasted meats, potatoes, vegetables, and other unnamed delicacies, it was the desserts which snatched my attention.
What interested me most, though, was the large chalkboard hung in the centre of the main wall. Scrawled across it were so many names that they were minuscule and squashed together with little space between. It was the record of the witches partaking in the Witch Trials. In time, the board would change—there was already a small blank space, signalling the missing name of a witch. The one I had killed.
If you died during the contest, your name was removed.
If you withdrew, your name was cut out with a line.
And if you won, it would be the last readable name on the chalkboard.
I took another sip of the sparkling wine, delighting in the very real bubbles that popped across my tongue. The wine was very much exactly like that on the physical plane, and from the constant buzz of my magic, clearly not poisoned with thistlebane.
A hearth blazed next to me, casting the side of my body in the embrace of its warmth. Much like the magical appearance of the food, the fire burned without wood or coal. Burgundy flames danced across the stone, conjured by someone or something. Clearly the magic lacing the very walls of this castle was ancient, nearly forgotten. Even as I leaned against the wall, I imagined the old spell woven into the stone.
There was only one person with the knowledge of such power, the kind that no longer existed in our world. The Grand High—my mother. If I allowed myself to think about it for too long, I started to feel closer to her than I had in a long time.
I imagined her during the welcome feast of her Trials, likely traipsing the room, searching for alliances amongst the witches. Her story was written into the threads of this magic, and I only wished I could get a clearer picture of what it had been like for her.
But I didn’t get a chance to continue contemplating how my mother would have felt at her own welcome feast, because there was one witch who didn’t heed my resting bitch face. I caught him amongst the crowd, watching me. He probably had been for a while—the way my attention had been wandering meant I’d clearly had too much to drink, and I regretted the sparkling wine.
I could only see half of his face, but there was something so familiar about him. The witch had perfectly swept back hair, white at the roots until it turned brown halfway down his head. Of course, I looked at the colour of his eyes, searching for the bright shade of blue, wondering if this man was the one who’d slunk into the shadows after killing my assailant. But they were green, a pale green like sea glass. And he was smiling at me, tipping his glass up in salute.
Then the huddle of witches standing before him moved and I got a view of the other side of his face. I sucked in a breath. A violent, puckered scar sliced down his forehead, through his eye and ending at the corner of his lip.
The damage was horrific.
Before I could hide my shock, he was walking over to me. There was nothing threatening about his expression, but still I found myself flexing my gift, keeping it close.
‘Hector Briar,’ he said to me, extending a hand in greeting. ‘It is truly a wonder to see you.’ His accent was posh, confirming a good education and a family which clearly came from wealth. Although the scar down his face forced one eye permanently closed, there was still something strikingly familiar about him.
‘Can I help you?’ I left his hand hanging in the air between us.
‘That seems like a rather loaded question,’ he replied, lowering his hand to his side and fisting it. Clearly, my refusal of his handshake annoyed him.
Good .
‘No, it’s actually rather simple. So, are you going to answer it?’
He forced on a smile, flashing brilliantly straight teeth. There was no denying he was handsome. But I thought most of the allure came from his confidence. The way he never dropped eye contact, and the fact he was a few inches taller than me.
‘Well, I am doing as all our fellow contestants are doing and attempting to make allies for the weeks to come.’
I shrugged, spying Romy still talking to the red-haired witch. She was clearly nonplussed that I was being cornered by this man. In fact, I imagined she’d take our conversation as my attempt at finding another witch to join us.
‘Sorry, but I’m not one for making friends,’ I replied.
‘Clearly, since you were the first witch to kill someone today, or so whispers suggest. You have made people wary, but also quite interested in you.’
I was about to open my mouth and tell this man that I didn’t kill the witch when something stopped me. A memory. A sharp zap of something from my past as I lost myself in his eyes. ‘Do…do I know you?’
Once again, he extended his hand. ‘I was wondering when you would notice. It has been years, but believe me, you never left my mind. Poor Hector. I always wondered what became of you.’
My heckles rose at that. His pity was nothing but infuriating, even if his expression suggested complete sincerity. ‘Back to my initial question…’ I said, aware that my eyes were probably glowing, my power zapping through me.
‘Salem Tanner.’
My world fell out from under me. I almost dropped the glass as that name settled into my bones.
‘Salem?’ I exhaled, finding it hard to believe I spoke his name.
‘Hello, again,’ Salem replied with a smile. ‘Time has been kind to you, Hector. You look well.’
I couldn’t even begin to unravel how loaded his compliment was. Salem Tanner, my school bully when I was six years old. Except that wasn’t what had me frozen to the spot.
His scar. The damage to his face.
I wasn’t the only one to lose my parents to Witch Hunters eighteen years ago. Salem’s family was reported to have been murdered first, in some confusion as to where the Briars resided. And clearly, we both came away scarred. Salem was obviously more physically scarred than me.
This time, I didn’t let his hand hover. I took it, feeling as though I had no choice. Because deep down, I harboured guilt for what had happened to his family. They died because of mine.
Upon impact with his smooth palm, I felt the tingle of his gift. Just as he had when I was a child, taunting me with his ability to conjure and control electricity, he zapped me. This time, though, it wasn’t unpleasant. Actually, it sent a shiver of pleasure over my skin as he pulled me in and planted a kiss on my cheek.
‘We have much to catch up on, you and I.’
I swallowed, aware that my cheeks were flushing hard. ‘Do we?’
‘Well, I would say it’s the least you could do, you know, considering how much you owe me.’
Owe me. He wasn’t wrong, but that didn’t stop me from reacting negatively. I snatched my hand out of his, wanting nothing more than to put distance between us.
‘I should… go,’ I said, looking up for Romy but being unable to find her.
‘Of course,’ Salem stepped aside, sweeping his arm out as if that alone was my permission to leave. ‘But consider it, Hector. Even with all those years between us, we don’t need to be strangers. If, or when, you change your mind, I’ll be waiting for that conversation.’
I felt sick. It ached in the pit of my stomach, threatening to spill the wine and food I had consumed. Not wanting to spend another second in his line of sight, I bowed out of the party and moved straight for the doors to leave the Great Hall. All the while, I felt his eyes on me.
Salem Tanner’s presence made me restless. I had spent the most of my life hidden from attention, and here I was standing plainly for all to see. Facing demons that I thought had long been left in my past. Whereas the Witch Hunters tore my life apart, it was my name that ruined Salem’s family. I knew the guilt could become all-consuming, but also that it was a distraction I couldn’t afford.
And yet, the further I got from Salem, the deeper his presence wore into me. So much so that I felt us tied together in knots.
Being here and confronting my past wasn’t what I expected. If anything, it could easily destroy me long before another person had the chance.
The castle was eerily quiet. For a place so large, filled with countless bodies, there was something still about the air. Dead. Like sound didn’t travel far. I willingly lost myself to the task of memorising the layout, mapping out the corridors and rooms, stairs and wings, knowing such knowledge would undoubtedly come in handy.
This was an arena, after all. A place death would come to haunt. Instead of sand beneath my feet, there was old wood and carpet. But it would, in time, be coated with witchblood.
Barbaric. All of it was. I had a sense that this was why mother wanted to keep me away from the Coven.
It didn’t take long for me to find myself lost to the dark. The little light the gas lamps offered don’t help me. Beside the halo of light surrounding the wall lamps, the floor was practically a sea of shadow. But on I pressed, feeling the safest in the dark. It was familiar and comforting.
It was home.
My hand trailed the wall at my side. All the while I painted a map in my head, fixing it deep in the grooves of my memory. Confident I could find my way back, I continued deeper into the corridor. Then my fingers bumped over the edge of a doorframe. Light from a lamp at my side glanced off the dull brass of a doorknob.
I took the cold metal in hand, turned it, and pushed the heavy door open. I winced at the noise it made. If anyone was inside, they’d know I’d come in from the screech of the hinges alone.
I took in the grandeur of the room before me, quickly discovering that I was not alone at all. A man was standing with his back to me. He was framed by a wall of books—this room was clearly some old library. A hearth burned in the corner, coating the many reading chairs in a welcoming glow. And yet still I couldn’t take my eyes off his back.
He didn’t turn around when he spoke to me. Instead, he focused on the book he was holding, proving that he didn’t take my presence as a threat. ‘Do you mind?’
‘Sorry,’ I said, unsure what exactly I was apologising for.
Stepping backwards, I pulled the door closed again but stopped dead when the stranger finally turned to face me.
Bright blue eyes captured my attention. They were so brilliant they could’ve made the summer sky weep with jealousy.
It was him . The man who killed the witch whose death I had taken credit for.
‘You,’ I exhaled, unable to focus on one coherent thought as those eyes dragged me in.
He was expressionless as he regarded me. Then, ever so slowly, his full lips parted and he replied with a voice born from night and danger. ‘ You .’