Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
I smacked into the ground, the force driving air from my lungs. I didn’t know if it was the fall that had my teeth slicing into my inner lip, or Jaz’s knuckles as they cracked into the side of my face. Either way, I was bleeding…a lot.
Eleanor’s grimoire had fallen to the ground too, the leather cover making a pleasant sound as it skidded across the floor. Blinking away the stars behind my eyes, I spat out a gob of blood. Before I could reach for the book, sharp nails crested over my scalp as the water-witch snatched my head back. I hadn’t caught her name. It was as unimportant as the identity of the other two witches who allied with Jaz. Regardless, their intention was clear as day. They wanted me dead.
Shame I was going to disappoint.
‘Hold him steady,’ Jaz commanded as her coven surrounded me. I was on my knees, the water-witch still grasping my hair, a fire-witch and air-witch grasping my shoulders on either of my sides. Jaz stood before me, face flushed from the excitement. It didn’t take much to please her, since I was powerless and unable to fight back. Although her irises glowed with their emerald circle, her gift to cause pain was useless if mine wasn’t working. But her knuckles did the job just fine.
I spat more blood out my mouth, delighting as it splashed across her shoes.
‘What’s taking you so long?’ I asked, feigning a smile as if I enjoyed being beaten to a pulp.
Jaz tilted her head, smiling so wide her face split in two with the grin. ‘Are you so desperate for your own death that you’d beg me to be quicker? You really are no fun, Hector. Let a girl enjoy herself.’
The water-witch behind me giggled. I quickly silenced her by throwing my skull back and cracking it into her chin. Although she didn’t let my hair go, she did gasp in surprised pain. That sound alone was worth it.
‘Let him go, Terra, and you’re next,’ Jaz warned, forcing the water-witch to tighten her grasp on my hair. I felt every single strand begin to rip, one by one.
Of course Jaz didn’t care that I’d hurt a member of her coven. Jaz could surround herself with people and call them allies, yet she’d be the first to plough them down if the moment required it. I didn’t imagine she’d let any of them live when it came to the final Trial.
‘Now, are you going to open that door or not?’ Jaz asked for the fifth time. She’d not long taken the key from me by force, using it to unlock it. And still, it didn’t open. Whatever spell I’d used was stronger than any ordinary lock and bolt.
I just couldn’t tell her that.
‘You can ask me ten more times, and my answer will stand,’ I replied, blood smeared across my teeth no doubt.
Jaz’s eyes brightened, the emerald circle spinning faster. Knowing she longed to cause me pain with her gift, but couldn’t, was one of life’s greatest pleasures. ‘I don’t like being told no.’
‘Clearly,’ I said, until the wind was knocked from my chest as a boot collided with it. Jaz was quick. I couldn’t do anything but allow her to batter me as the three witches held me down.
Nails pricked skin as she clutched my chin and lifted my face back up. Our gazes locked and all I saw was pure hatred. It was the type of emotion I held for the people that killed my parents. And yet I’d never met Jaz before the Witch Trials.
‘We didn’t need to be enemies, Jaz,’ I heaved, fighting helplessness. I could see the grimoire in the corner of my peripheral vision, but I didn’t dare pay too much attention to it for fear Jaz would understand its importance. I’d not just risked going up against actual demons to lose it to her.
‘Do you think your mother said the same to mine before she killed her?’
The world stopped still at Jaz’s declaration. Everything made sense—the hate, the spark of revenge I recognised in Jaz’s expression. I hadn’t contemplated other contestants having family who partook in the last competition for the role of Grand High. Jaz’s entire life had probably led to this moment. ‘I didn’t know.’
‘No shit,’ Jaz sneered, her mouth so close to my ear that I felt the heat of her breath. ‘Because she was fucking killed, the same fate you’re going to meet. You know, I’m surprised your little coven-mates didn’t tell you. I wonder what else Romy keeps from you…’
Jaz pulled back. ‘I suppose we’ll never know, since she’ll be dead by dusk.’
Regardless of my precarious position, I couldn’t ignore the seed of guilt which sunk its roots into my gut. I swallowed it down, longing the viper to constrict around the guilt and devour it.
‘I’m sorry,’ I exhaled, making Jaz pause from completely withdrawing. ‘But if my mother killed yours, it was clearly because being a cunt is something that runs in your family. What’s the saying again… oh yes, the rotten apple doesn’t fall far from the rotten fucking tree.’
Jaz pondered my comment, chewing it between clenched teeth as though she tested it for poison. ‘Open. The. Door.’
I leaned forwards, as much as the witches holding me allowed. Stopping inches from Jaz’s face, I bared my teeth like a trapped feral dog. ‘I said no.’
Her expression broken into a sudden, sickly smile. She snapped her attention to the witch at my side. I followed, catching glowing ruby eyes. Fire-witch.
‘Burn them out,’ Jaz commanded.
My blood spiked, my heart skipping a good three beats. The fire-witch released my arm, but that meant I could move. So I grasped his arm, sinking my nails into his flesh, anchoring myself to him. ‘Do it, and I’ll kill you’
Another fist. More blood. Stars exploded behind my eyes as I rocked into the grasp of the air-witch, his body acting as a cushion so I couldn’t fall to the ground. It was to his displeasure because he pushed at my limp body, complaining of my weight.
‘Be quick about it,’ Jaz commanded as she straightened before me, dusting herself off. Her knuckles had split, smudging her blood with mine.
I blinked through agonised tears, clinging to consciousness as I watched the fire-witch pace towards the door. Deep red tongues of fire rose across both his hands, angry and vicious. Heat crackled the air, dust partials popping like fireworks beyond his skin. His gift reminded me of Arwyn, who was helplessly laid out on the bed inside the locked room. Except this witch’s gift would burn and smoulder, not singe with the kiss of cold winds and ice.
Panic set in, but so did clarity.
I focused on the flames in his hands, scrambling for something to do. In the dark of my mind, a symbol spun like golden thread. I saw it, both before my eyes and behind them. A triangle of thick lines, its sharp tip pointing north. My fingers moved, blood-coated and stiff, painting the symbol onto the floorboard at my side. I knew with certainty that the symbol belonged to the element of fire.
And now, it belonged to me.
With intention as strong as iron, I painted the symbol over and over until it smudged over the wood. The fire-witch lifted his burning hands to the door, lowering his palms to the wood. My finger continued moving. Then, as his palms connected with the door, his flames dimmed to nothing but strands of dark grey smoke.
Gone. In a puff of smoke. No, not gone but shifted—transferred to another.
A moment of confusion followed. No one spoke. Not even Jaz made a comment as she watched, expectantly, for the witch to follow his command. He was busy looking at his cold hands, turning them over, shaking them, willing the fire to come. But it wouldn’t.
His flames were mine now.
Fire sparked across my fingers, sizzling skin but not burning it. The light caught across Jaz’s face, making her look back towards me, but it was too late. I kicked my head back into the water-witch’s chin for a second time, then reached up with my burning hand and grasped her face. Her screams rose so quickly, her voice cracked. Flames caught her hair, spreading over flesh with ease. There was no time for sorrow and thought. I’d grieve these deaths later, when mine was no longer an option.
I went to thrust my hand towards the air-witch, but before my fingers collided with him, the fire spluttered out. I didn’t need to look to the symbol on the floor to know it had been smudged away as the burning water-witch floundered about in horror.
‘How…’ Jaz said. Her eyes were glowing and yet her Gift still didn’t work on me. This magic was old, not something her Gift could affect. Clearly Jaz wasn’t one for feeling powerless—but neither was I.
More proof that whatever I’d done in the catacombs beneath the castle had worked.
Another symbol flashed to my mind. This one was overly familiar to me because it was the symbol for my element, air. A triangle pointed north like fire, but this had a horizontal line slicing through its middle. Unlike with fire, I didn’t need to paint this with blood. My familiarity and intention with the element were clear enough.
The symbol for air flashed before my eyes, burning into my retina.
Jaz reached for me with clawed fingers, but they barely brushed my face as my element came to my aid. It began with the rattling of wind against glass. The window at my side shook in its frame, stained glass quivering as the wind screeched outside.
It was a warning.
I ducked my head down, cowering into myself as the window exploded in a cloud of coloured glass. Cold winds wrapped into the room, a vortex of power like what I’d seen when Eleanor faced down the Hunters.
Except this storm belonged to me .
Jaz’s scream was loud and sudden, but it soon became distant. By the time the torrent of glass calmed, I opened my eyes to discover why.
Jaz no longer stood before me.
In fact, I couldn’t see anything of her. The air-witch who had held me down at my side had released me. I turned to find him cowering beside me, a shield of glass left around his body. Only one shard had hit him, slicing clean through his cheek. The rest had been stopped by the shimmering bubble he’d conjured around us. Conjuring a shield was a passive gift, but it had kept him, and me, alive.
‘She made me do it,’ he said, cowering before me as many Witch Hunters had before. Fear and apology spun in his eyes. I studied him, unable to act, as he retracted the shield from around us.
‘I figured as much,’ I spluttered, mind high on the use of such strange power. I felt the element as though it was a physical thing I could grasp, taste, smell and hear. ‘You and your friend better leave before I change my mind.’
‘He’s…’ the air-witch sobbed into his hand. Not sobbed—gagged.
I turned fast, filling in the gaps.
The fire-witch who had tried to burn the door down was dead. He was slumped against the wall, his back embedded with glass like a porcupine. Blood ran in rivers around his body. I smelled burning and shifted my attention towards it. Behind me was the smouldering corpses of the water-witch.
The guilt came thick and fast.
I pushed myself to standing, aching in every muscle and bone as I hobbled to the grimoire and picked it from the floor. The urge to vomit was strong, but I swallowed the bile down and turned my back on the dead. Jaz, and two of her witch allies, killed with old magic. I couldn’t see Jaz’s body, but the far-off screeches of creatures told me that the demons were coming to collect the bodies.
‘Run,’ I warned the shocked air-witch. ‘Get out of here before the true evil arrives.’
He didn’t require another warning.
If the sounds weren’t growing closer, I would’ve stayed and simmered in the guilt. The Trials praised the worst in us. It rewarded the witches who were monsters too. We turned on our kin, murdering each other for the sake of survival and success.
It sure as fuck didn’t feel good.
I turned my back on the ruined hallway and the dead. I limped, boots crunching glass, as I made it to the door. I laid my hand on the wood and willed for it to open. Maybe it would work, maybe it wouldn’t. But my intuition told me that the door would open for me, and it did.
As the screeching demons raced for their feast of dead witches, I slipped into the bedroom and closed the door behind me. By morning, we’d need to find a new place to hide out.
Pressing my back to the door, I slumped to the ground, clutching the grimoire to my bruised body. I blinked away remorse, taking a moment to catch my breath. Jaz had broken my ribs and split my skin, but I had killed her. Repeating history. A history I wasn’t even aware of.
I’m surprised your little coven-mate didn’t tell you. I wonder what else Romy keeps from you…
By the time my world settled, and the screams of enjoyment from the dark creatures outside the door settled, I opened my eyes to find legs before me. Looking up, Romy was standing above me. Hands on her hips, tired eyes creased with disappointment, she looked at me as though I had shattered her world.
No, not her world—her trust.
‘What have you done, Hector?’ Romy spoke as though her words were both an accusation and a question.
My arms shook as I lifted the grimoire up to her. ‘Did what…was required of me…to save him .’
Romy snatched the book from my hand. My arm fell back to my lap, even the tips of my fingers aching. ‘At what cost?’ she asked, voice dripping with disappointment.
I hung my chin to my chest, unable to look her in the eyes.
Romy didn’t say anything else. She didn’t need to. Instead, she turned her back on me, paced towards Arwyn’s side, and left me to simmer in pain and regret. I’d never felt exhaustion like this. It was as if my body punished me for betraying Romy, for risking my life. But although the regret was strong, if it saved Arwyn, it would be for something. It had to be for something.
I closed my eyes, giving in to the darkness. My head swam with symbols and images as though the ghost of Eleanor’s grimoire taunted me. The adrenaline finally left me, allowing me to slip into the ether until I was left tired and weak. My body was bloodied, bruised, and broken. Even if Romy’s body was not infected with thistlebane, smothering her gift, I don’t think she would’ve healed me anyway.
I deserved the punishment for poisoning her, even if it was an accident, I'd meant to betray her.
I was lucky to have gotten out of that alive, but it had come at the cost of three witches’ lives. As I slipped into sleep, I wondered if my mother felt like this during her time in the Witch Trials. Is this why she longed to never allow for the contest to happen again? Then another thought came, thick and fast.
The demons. Had she discovered a dark truth about the contest? More than just murdering witches and betraying friends? I wished I could ask her. I wished she could guide me through what was happening, the clash of old and new magic.
But alas, she was dead.
And I was lucky not to be.
I woke to fingers of light cutting through the window across the room. At least I thought that was what I woke to. Instead, it was the deep coughing that came from the bed. I snapped my head towards it, pain radiating from my body. None of it mattered when I saw who was sat up, rubbing sleep from their eyes.
‘Arwyn?’ My voice croaked. The bed sheet had fallen down from his chest, revealing skin no longer marred by dark black veins. He met my stare and for a moment I was confident I saw panic fill his sky-bright eyes.
‘What happened to you?’ Arwyn asked, voice hoarse from days of disuse.
I looked down, seeing dried blood across my clothes and skin. It was the damage beneath that really mattered. Arwyn then looked around the room, noticing the other detail I had missed in my relief.
Romy was gone.
‘Romy?’ I called out, looking in every corner of the room to find it empty. I shouted her name again, louder the second time. ‘Romy!’
I made a move to stand, despite the agony in my body. My boot knocked something. It was Eleanor’s grimoire, lying on the ground beside where I rested. A slip of paper was placed inside. I picked it up, opening it to a page that spoke of a salve to stave off evil and rejuvenate health. On the paper that was acting as a bookmark was rushed handwriting.
I read it once, and then again, letting the words sink in. I hope it was worth it.
‘Hector,’ Arwyn said, wincing as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. ‘Tell me what’s going on.’
Between his state, Romy’s disappearance and my shattered body, I didn’t know where to start. I crumpled the note in my hand, feeling the presence of my Gift returning beneath my skin. The thistlebane was wearing off, which meant I’d been out of it for hours.
Tears pooled in my eyes. I tried to swallow down the lump in my throat, but I couldn’t. Here I was, pathetic and weak, before a man who was on his deathbed only yesterday. My breathing came on thick and fast, aching my broken ribs and bruised chest. Through the pain, the sobbing began, so much so that I couldn’t form a word.
Arwyn forced his way out of bed. I couldn’t even tell him to stop, to rest. He hobbled over to me, wearing nothing but black boxer shorts that clung to his muscled thighs as he knelt beside me.
Without another word, he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me to him. I gave in willingly, human contact feeling like the only magic that could save me. He lowered his chin on my chest, anchoring himself to me as I cried. There were no questions, no expectations, no requests for information. Only gentle shushing as he rubbed his hand on my back, painting circles of warmth on my skin.
‘I’ve got you,’ Arwyn whispered beneath his breath. ‘I’m never going to leave.’
Those five words were my undoing. Weak, exhausted and with an aching heart, I cried into Arwyn’s shoulder, feeling the tears smudge between his warm skin and mine.
Arwyn held me like that for a long while. It took me that long to gather control back over my emotions. When my torso stopped trembling and the tears dried on my cheeks, Arwyn pulled back and roamed his eyes over me.
‘You look like shit,’ he said, giving me a tiny smile.
I sniffed, throat aching from the crying. ‘You smell like shit.’
He nodded. ‘Fair enough. How long have I been…’
‘Six days. Give or take.’
Arwyn’s gaze was lost to the wall beside me as he took this information in. ‘That explains why I feel like this. Are you ready to talk about it?’ he asked, carefully.
I shook my head, refusing to use my words because I was a coward. ‘Not yet.’
‘Ok,’ he said, looking around the room. It felt so empty without Romy. Even though she wasn’t here, I felt her disappointment in me press down like a solid weight. Arwyn reached for my jaw, brushing a firm thumb over my skin. I winced as he drew back, knowing I likely looked as terrible as my body felt.
‘I need to wash all this blood off,’ I said.
I need a distraction. I need to not think about any of this.
‘You need to rest first,’ Arwyn looked to the slightly open door. ‘Then we should gather our things and find a new place to stay. It’s not safe here anymore.’
‘What about Romy?’ I asked so suddenly that Arwyn rocked back.
He laid a hand on my cheek, soft fingers melting me to the core. ‘She’ll find us, when she is good and ready.’
‘Did you… did you see what she left?’
Arwyn paused before replying. ‘No. I didn’t.’
He was lying. I could tell that just by looking at him. But I had to trust it was for good reason, for protecting me against how much I’d hurt my friend. Friends weren’t something I was good at, nor used to. And the one who’d slipped with ease into that category had left me.
And I deserved it.
I tried to stand, but it took Arwyn to help me. My joints had locked, my knees screaming. Even the clicking of my bones sounded like a plea for me not to move. ‘I should be helping you,’ I said to Arwyn as he took my body weight.
His reply knocked the remaining wind out of my lungs. ‘You did, Hector.’
The moment of silence that followed was thick with tension. It distracted me from everything, until he was my only focus. Arwyn locked his gaze with mine until I lost myself in the blue of them. ‘I dreamt of you. I… I felt you at my side, even if I couldn’t tell you. It was you, Hector.’
What could I say to that? Nothing. No words could possible vocalise what I felt inside. But then I remembered something about Arwyn’s days of suffering. When he was haunted by his nightmares, he would shout out, forgive me, forgive me.
I couldn’t help but wonder—if he dreamed of me, what was he begging for forgiveness for?