43. Chapter 43
43
Chapter 43
Adar
The room was small and dimly lit, the wooden table in the center scarred from years of use. Around it stood my father’s closest friends, men who had once been his confidants, allies in the hidden war against the Legion and vampires. These were the same men who had helped him smuggle vampires to Bronwen when we were children, ensuring she could pull without exposing herself to danger. Now, they stood here, voices raised, their faces lined with worry and anger.
Bronwen and I sat side by side at the table, though it felt like we were worlds apart. She hadn’t spoken in days, not since that night when everything fell apart. Her gaze was fixed on the vase in the middle of the table, its chipped edges and faded flowers an anchor for her distant thoughts. Her hands rested motionless in her lap, her fingers curled slightly as if even moving them took too much effort. Every so often, her chest rose and fell in a slow, measured breath, like she had to remind herself to keep breathing. The yelling and arguing swirled around her, but she remained utterly silent.
Questions raced through my mind constantly. What happened? How were they discovered? Did we have a traitor in the coven? Papa was always careful, and Mama—Mama couldn’t even practice magic anymore. She lost her connection when she was pregnant with us. We somehow pulled magic from her within the womb. Our first victim.
I couldn’t get the image of them hanging from the platform out of my head. Their lifeless faces would be forever engraved in my memory. The entire reason I joined the Legion was to protect our witches. And I wasn’t there to protect the two most important ones.
“You have to leave,” Jonah said, slamming his hand down on the table. The sound echoed sharply, cutting through the noise. “The Legion is tightening its grip. They’re interrogating anyone they think might know where you are. It’s only a matter of time before they find this place.”
“And what happens to the coven if we do?” I shot back, my voice sharper than I intended. My fingers dug into the edge of the table, the rough wood biting into my palms. “They’ve already lost their Father. If we run, they’ll be left defenseless. No one else can lead them.”
“This isn’t about the coven,” another man, Darrin, countered. His voice was calmer but no less urgent. “This is about survival. If they captured you, I would never forgive myself. Think about the bigger picture.”
“The bigger picture?” I spat. “What about the people here? The ones who look to us for guidance? You expect me to abandon them?”
The argument grew louder, voices overlapping as each man tried to make his point. Threats were made, accusations thrown, but through it all, Bronwen never said a word. Between the yelling, arguing, and threats made, she remained silent. The firelight flickered across her face, but she didn’t seem to register it. Even as the men’s voices rose around her, she didn’t flinch or shift in her seat. It was as if she was somewhere else entirely, her mind locked away where none of us could reach her.
I stole a glance at her, the hollow look in her eyes twisting something deep inside me. Her face was expressionless, but the way her shoulders slumped, the way her lips barely pressed together, told me enough. She wasn’t just quiet—she was drowning in something I couldn’t pull her from. She looked like a ghost of herself, and I hated that I didn’t know how to fix it. I hated that I didn’t know if I even could. It had been days since our parents died. The day after, I had tried to grieve, but there had been no time. There was never any time.
Every moment since had been spent making decisions I wasn’t ready for, trying to hold everything together when I barely knew how to keep myself from falling apart. We’d been too busy dealing with the fallout—organizing the coven, managing fears, and pretending we had control when, in reality, we were barely holding on. Every day felt like trying to plug holes in a sinking ship, and the water was rising fast. It felt like there was no space left for grief, only action.
“If we leave, the Legion might stop hunting, but they might not,” I said, raising my voice to regain control of the room. The men quieted, their eyes turning to me. “And if they don’t, then what? They’ll pick this kingdom apart while we’re gone. And even if we do get away, what kind of life would that be? Hiding, running forever? I won’t live like that.”
Jonah slammed his hand on the table again, his frustration boiling over. “You think I want to send you away? You think I don’t know what that means for the coven?” His voice cracked, and for the first time, I saw more than anger in his eyes—I saw fear. “I had a brother, Adar. The Legion took him three years ago. They dragged him through the streets and hung him just like your parents, leaving his body to rot. You think they won’t do the same to you?”
His words hit like a punch to the gut, but before I could answer, Darrin spoke up, his voice quieter but no less urgent. “I have a wife and daughter. They’re already packing what little we have in case we need to flee. If they find out we’ve been helping you, we won’t just lose our homes—we’ll lose our lives.” He exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “We all loved your father. We all loved your mother. But this fight doesn’t just belong to you anymore. We have families too.”
I clenched my fists under the table. The weight of their words pressed down on me. I had been thinking about survival in broad strokes—what it meant for Bronwen and me, what it meant for the coven as a whole. But these men weren’t just names on a list of allies. They had families, people who relied on them. And by staying, we were putting them all at risk.
The silence that followed was suffocating, pressing against my chest like a weight I couldn’t shake. The crackle of the fire seemed distant, swallowed by the enormity of what we were facing. I had no answers, only the overwhelming certainty that no matter what choice I made, people would suffer for it. I looked at the men around me, the ones who had stood beside my father for years. Their loyalty was unquestionable, but their fear was winning. I couldn’t blame them.
“I can end this. ”
The words were barely above a whisper. Every head turned toward Bronwen. Her voice—after days of nothing—cut through the tension like a blade.
“What?” I asked, my heart hammering in my chest.
Bronwen slowly lifted her eyes to mine, like it took effort just to move. And for the first time in days, I saw a flicker of something behind them—not just exhaustion, not just grief, but resolve, cold and certain. “I can stop this,” she said. “But you have to trust me.”