Chapter 20 Rhea
TWENTY
RHEA
Morning arrives with the scent of coffee brewing and the sound of Krath moving around the kitchen with careful deliberation. I lie in bed for a moment longer, savoring the novelty of waking without immediate danger, of hearing domestic sounds instead of the scrape of bone on stone.
Three days. We’ve had three days of peace in this cottage, learning each other in ways impossible during our desperate flight. Three days of cooking meals and tending the garden and making love without urgency or fear.
But I know we can’t stay here forever, no matter how tempting the isolation.
I find Krath in the kitchen, shirtless despite the morning chill, stirring something that smells of cinnamon and honey. The scars across his back catch the early light—permanent reminders of our final battle.
"You’re up early." I move to wrap my arms around him from behind, resting my cheek against the warmth of his shoulder.
"Couldn’t sleep." He covers my hands with one of his. "Keep thinking about what comes next."
"Me too." I press a kiss to his shoulder blade, feeling him shiver. "We can’t hide here forever, can we?"
"No." He turns in my arms, his expression serious. "Much as I’d like to. But there will be consequences for what we did. Questions that need answering."
He’s right. The magical explosion that destroyed the abbey would have been felt for miles. The sudden death of every necromantic construct the Marshal controlled would have sent ripples through the supernatural community.
"Then we face it." I rise on my toes to kiss him properly, tasting coffee and honey. "But first, breakfast. Confronting the world is easier on a full stomach."
We eat in companionable silence, both lost in thoughts of what awaits us. After we’ve cleaned up and dressed in travel clothes, we stand at the door, neither quite ready to take the first step.
"Whatever happens," Krath takes my hand, "we stand side by side."
"Not one unit, but two people choosing partnership," I clarify, and something shifts in his expression—appreciation for the distinction.
The walk back toward civilization reveals the explosion’s impact immediately.
Where the cursed abbey once stood, new life has taken root.
Young trees push through earth that had been barren, their leaves bright green with impossible vitality.
Wildflowers bloom in profusion, their colors almost aggressive in their cheerfulness.
The mountain itself has changed shape. Where before it loomed with sharp, threatening peaks, now its contours are gentler, rounded.
"It’s beautiful." I stop to stare at the transformation. "All that stolen life force—it’s returned to the cycle, but changed."
"Everything’s changed." His voice carries a note I can’t quite identify. "Including us."
He’s right. I can feel it in the way magic responds to my will now. No longer do I need components or complex gestures—the power answers to intention alone.
When we reach the first village, we discover time passed differently. The innkeeper—an older woman with sharp eyes—tells us it’s been five weeks since the abbey’s destruction, though it felt like only days in my childhood home.
"Thought the whole mountain was coming down that night," she says, studying us with undisguised curiosity. "Felt like the world was ending. And then—nothing. Just silence and new growth where there should’ve been dead ground."
We don’t offer details, just pay for a room and information. The news she shares is both encouraging and concerning. Other necromancers across the region lost their power overnight. Several cursed artifacts became inert. But there’s also fear—people don’t understand what happened.
"They’re saying a powerful witch and her orc companion destroyed the abbey." The innkeeper clearly hopes we’ll confirm or deny. "Some say they were heroes. Others claim they unleashed forces that could have destroyed us all."
"What do you think?"
She considers the question, her gaze flicking between us with new speculation. "I think the abbey needed destroying. And I think whoever did it paid a heavy price for the privilege."
We don’t confirm her suspicions, but I see understanding in her eyes. By tomorrow, everyone will know we were there.
"The coven will have heard by now," I say that evening as we prepare for sleep. "Sister Morrow will want answers. Explanations."
"Let her try." Protective fury colors his voice. "You owe them nothing."
"I owe them years of training and shelter," I correct, though my tone lacks conviction. "Even if they were manipulating me, they still taught me to control my power."
"They taught you to fear it." He pulls me against his chest. "There’s a difference between control and suppression."
He’s right, but the coven represented authority for so long. Walking away from that requires courage I’m not certain I possess.
But I survived the Marshal. I channeled forces beyond mortal comprehension. Surely I can handle one disapproving coven leader.
The journey to the coven’s holdings takes two days. With each mile closer, my anxiety builds. Krath senses it—he can read me now in ways that go beyond magical awareness—and offers quiet support without trying to solve the problem for me.
When we finally arrive at the gates, Sister Morrow herself is waiting. She’s aged since I last saw her, new lines bracketing her mouth and threading silver through her dark hair. But her eyes are as sharp as ever.
"Rhea." My name comes out flat, carefully neutral. "We’ve been expecting you."
"Have you?" I keep my voice equally neutral, though I’m acutely aware of Krath behind me, a solid presence at my back.
"When the abbey exploded and every construct within fifty miles crumbled simultaneously, we knew you’d been successful." Her gaze flicks to Krath, lingering with undisguised suspicion. "Though the stories about your companion were... surprising."
"Krath Ashbane." He inclines his head slightly. "Former prisoner. Current partner to Rhea."
The possessive edge to that last word makes Sister Morrow’s eyebrows rise. "Partner. I see."
She doesn’t see, not really, but I don’t correct her.
"I came to collect my personal belongings."
"You’re leaving the coven?" For the first time, emotion cracks her careful neutrality. "After everything we’ve invested in your training—"
"After everything you’ve invested in controlling my development," I interrupt, surprised by my own boldness. "I’m grateful for the training, truly. But I’m not yours to direct anymore."
"You’re making a mistake." Her voice hardens. "You don’t understand the forces you’ve been tampering with, the attention you’ve drawn—"
"I understand them better than you think." I step forward. "I’ve stood at the heart of necromantic power and survived its destruction. I’ve channeled forces that reshaped reality itself. Your restrictions feel... quaint now."
Sister Morrow’s face flushes with anger. "Arrogance. This is exactly what we feared—that power without proper guidance would corrupt—"
"I’m not corrupted," I cut her off. "I’m free. There’s a difference."
She opens her mouth to argue, but another voice interrupts from behind her.
"Let her go, Morrow."
An older witch steps forward—Sister Thane, one of the coven’s founding members. Her weathered face bears the marks of decades studying dangerous magic.
"She’s outgrown us," Sister Thane continues, her gaze assessing me with uncomfortable accuracy. "Whether we approve or not is irrelevant. She’s become something we can no longer contain."
"Thank you," I say quietly.
Sister Thane nods. "Don’t mistake acknowledgment for approval.
What you’ve done—what you’ve become—carries consequences we can’t yet predict.
But forcing you to stay would serve no one.
" She pauses. "However, know this: if your new power harms innocents, if you misuse what you’ve learned, we will respond. And we won’t be gentle. "
"I’d expect nothing less."
The threat is fair. I wouldn’t want it any other way.
Gathering my belongings takes only an hour. Walking away from the only home I’ve known since childhood feels momentous regardless of how few items I carry.
Krath waits for me outside the gates. When I emerge with my pack and a small trunk of books, his expression carries quiet pride.
"How do you feel?"
"Terrified," I admit. "Free. Both at once."
He takes my hand. "That’s a good sign. Fear means you understand the weight of choice. Freedom means you’re brave enough to make it anyway."
We walk in silence for a while. Eventually, practical concerns intrude.
"Where do we go now? We can’t just wander aimlessly."
"Why not?" His tone carries amusement. "We have no obligations, no duties, no one directing our steps. We could go anywhere."
The possibilities are overwhelming and exhilarating. "I’ve wanted to study at the Archives of Methran. They have texts dating back to before the Veil War."
"Then we go to Methran." He makes it sound simple.
"Just like that?"
"Just like that." He stops, turning to face me on the forest path. "Rhea, we destroyed a threat that had plagued this region for centuries. We’ve earned the right to do whatever we want with our lives."
Put that way, studying at the archives seems perfectly reasonable. "What will you do while I’m buried in dusty tomes?"
"Find work that matters." He considers seriously. "Use my abilities to protect people who can’t defend themselves. There’s need for someone willing to stand between the innocent and those who’d hurt them."
"We’ll need coin for travel and lodging."
"Then we work for it." He resumes walking. "Take contracts, solve problems, build a reputation as people who can handle situations others can’t."
Over the following month, that’s exactly what we do. We take on work that matches our abilities—clearing out a nest of shadow-spawn in a farming village, protecting a merchant caravan through dangerous territory, investigating mysterious disappearances in a mining town.