Chapter 30 Ditch
Ditch
Meera stood before her, all awkward diffidence and wringing hands, droning on about some mysterious strigoi attack on Valhalland.
She fussed with her drab skirt and shifted in those tragic flats—so sensible!
The demoness in Ditch wanted to fang them off her feet and thrash them to dust.
Worse, this interruption had dragged her away from the tantalizing reverie she’d been enjoying: the night before with Thane, the heat, the surprises.
She was on the verge of…something. Some grand thought, a revelation.
Or acceptance?
No. That word she could not stomach.
Meera finished weakly, “Until the Valkyries discover who transported those monsters into their territory, none of us will be safe from the shield-maidens.”
“Debatable,” Ditch said. “Did any witches have a hand in it?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Then send the Valkyries a fruit basket and condolences.” She folded her hands on the desk to curb her impatience. She’d promised herself restraint. Win hearts and minds, her new motto. The coven’s tolerance of her was paper-thin, their obedience thinner. “Anything else?”
“Yes, actually,” Meera said. “I, uh, yes. You see…” She stammered like a youngling witch caught in her own pentagram.
Only one thing could make Meera Newteye more tongue-tied than usual. Forbidden thoughts. And Ditch knew exactly what her brain had fixated on: her secret meetings with Lowell.
Ditch’s tail—still smug from the night before—flicked with annoyance. Does no one think I have eyes? Ears? Witchly intuition?
As Meera stuttered something else, Ditch cut her off with an impatient wave. “While you collect that thought, tell me all about Prince Straegan.”
Meera blinked. “The Lykae prince? He’s Thane’s younger brother. They were close as boys, but Straegan’s been lost to his beast for ages. At least two Accessions ago.”
As Thane had said. “What caused it?” Though such a sublimation could happen, it was rare.
“No one knows. The nymphs brought word of the prince’s decline, and none of the Lykae denied it.”
“Naturally it was the nymphs.” They were the true information getters in the realm. And they loved to act as if they weren’t. “Nothing travels faster than gossip from their smiling lips. So if Thane dies, Straegan ascends to the throne?”
“Yes. Some say his reign would be an age of pure Instinct—Lykae ruled entirely by their beasts. Some in their pack even want that.”
“The coven has never worried about such a development?” Lazara the Worthy hadn’t. Tsk, tsk, Lazara.
“Most figured a male as strong as Thane would live on for many millennia.”
“Unless he goes to war in an Accession, especially if he craves frontline action.”
Meera nodded. “True. I can try to learn more.”
“Do. And what else did you want to talk about?”
Meera inhaled. “I-I have concerns about food stores. Probably misplaced, ha-ha, but perhaps we should, um, review consumption rates and stockpiles.”
“How serendipitous,” Ditch purred. “Since the Red Riders are so preoccupied with cattle lately, they can conduct the audit you propose.”
Meera gawked. “You heard about that.”
“Everyone seems to forget that Akelarre appointed me for a reason.” And that reason might be fodder.
Ditch did have a lot of caste powers, but so did other witches with older blood and lighter reputations.
“I wonder if Rosewyn helped loose those strigoi on Valhalland to frame me. Actually, I don’t wonder.
She’s not that bold.” Yet. “So make sure the shield-maidens don’t suspect us of such nefarious deeds until we truly commit them. ”
Meera swallowed. “Will you ever divulge your abilities?”
Ditch’s tail flicked, a menacing metronome. “When we’re on equal footing with divulgences, young witch.”
Meera’s gaze darted, confirming all Ditch’s suspicions. Her feelings for Lowell would only burgeon. But he was a male who hadn’t found his mate in her and was probably spying for Thane, which meant heartache would follow.
I can use that. Nothing under the heavens was more dangerous than a heartsore witch.
A knock on the door spared Meera further floundering.
“Enter,” Ditch called.
Jastorgh filled the doorway—huge, cocky, shady—with his black wings furled and a sealed missive from Thane. Would this one be drenched in the king’s tangy swimmers? Who knew with that wolf!
She dismissed Meera with a flick of her fingers. “I want the audit on my desk by Monday. And keep up your training over the weekend.” A pause. Say something nice, Ditch. Hearts and minds. “You look…tired.”
Meera blinked in confusion, mumbled thanks, and fled.
Ditch accepted the envelope from Jastorgh. “Wait outside, Volar demon,” she told him, tail curling with anticipation. “Something tells me I’ll need you shortly.” Her witchly intuition simmered as she opened the envelope.
I will be gone for a few days, lass. Miss me.
Thane
Miss me. Not a question. A command. Delicious.
She hadn’t planned to see him again—no pleasure was worth the danger of craving it even more—but her own instincts shrieked to keep him close.
He’d promised to find a way for them to be together. And now he was striking off on a mission the day after she’d melted his brain with bliss. Had to be connected.
Would his life be in danger? During an Accession, any king leaving his territory might as well paint a target on his back.
She didn’t want him dead. Not yet. The threat of Straegan’s rule loomed large.
And what if Thane played dirty, seeking some kind of magic to turn the tides with Ditch? Rogue witches, Sorceri, and wizards all dabbled in dark love spells.
She imagined herself mystically compelled to adore Thane—yearning and pliant—and waited for revulsion to set in.
She called, “Return, Jastorgh.”
He traced inside.
“Did you transport the king recently?”
“Might have done.”
“I need you to take me to him.”
“The wolf won’t like it if I transport a female—obviously his mate—to the most dangerous place in the Skein.”
“You took him to the Helter?”
A shimmy of his wings. “Might have done.”
“Are you loyal to him?”
“I’m loyal to my Volar demonarchy and Rhun. I’m a hired hand to whoever else pays me best.”
“Then I’ll pay more than Thane.”
He grinned with fangs. “That’ll be difficult. The wolf’s no miser, and I’ve heard your coven’s not exactly swimming in gold.”
She narrowed her eyes. Make no bargains with demons. They were always angling for others to surrender something.
Treasures. Virtue. Souls.
She knew from experience! “You’ll get yours,” she said anyway.
His smile dimmed. “I don’t know what abilities you possess, but you’re going to need them all to get out of the Helter alive. I’ve watched seasoned warriors who could split mountains vanish into it. You’re too new to the Skein to be properly afraid.” His wings rippled with feeling.
“But I’ve lived long enough to have zero fears about anything.” Her tail did its ah-ah-ah dance at the lie she’d told. She had one fear, acquired only the night before: that Thane would get under her skin.
“Fine,” Jastorgh said. “My rules then. First: You vow to the Lore not to summon me if you’ve been bitten or scratched by the undead.”
A vow to the Lore was unbreakable by most, so she rarely gave them.
But his stare said he’d accept nothing less. “One bite, one scratch—you’re done anyway. Accept it and surrender to your new monster family.”
“Fine. I vow to the Lore that I won’t summon you if bitten or scratched.”
“Second: Don’t summon me mid-battle. I’ve traced into too many bloodbaths that way.”
So she couldn’t draw his symbols in the midst of a conflict? “Fair. I’ll clear the room first.”
“Last,” he said, eyes dark with something almost like pity, “payment in advance.”
“Why?” Her skin prickled at his sad smile. The Accession moved in silence, unseen, but Ditch could feel its current curling around her like smoke.
“Ah, beautiful demonkin. Odds are you’re never coming back.”