TRIAL BY BLOOD
Freya
“Is that… Nyssa? The blood-witch?” someone from the High Council whispers. “But she’s dead—”
“No,” Kade growls from his seat. “She’s not.”
I don’t know how he’s holding himself back from immediately killing her.
Nyssa spreads her arms as if welcoming the moonlight. “Did you miss me, Silvercrest?” Her voice carries smoothly to the rows. “You burned my name, buried my memory, but blood remembers.” Her gaze cuts to Thane. “And blood calls for balance.”
Thane smiles faintly. “You took your time.”
She smirks. “Chaos ripens best when left to rot. Shall we begin the Trial by Blood?”
Rowan rises to his feet, voice thunderous. “The High Council can’t allow this! It’s an outlawed rite!”
Esme protests, “We no longer recognise such a trial.”
“How the fuck did you get into the council?” Thane asks irritably. “Shut up, girl. A Trial by Blood will happen.”
The rest of the High Council members murmur in agreement, silencing Esme and two other members who raise their voices in support.
The High Council itself stands divided.
Izel joins her mother. “I won’t lose this time, Freya,” she sneers.
I step into the center, realising it’s me against the world now. “We’ll see.”
The blood moon hangs right above us now. The drums begin again, faster.
Thane announces, “You know what’s most interesting about this trial? There are no rules.”
Nyssa raises her hands, and black flame bursts from her palms. Izel mirrors her, witchfire glowing green. The crowd recoils, shouts breaking out, but Thane only watches, pleased.
I let go of restraint. Nyx roars in my mind, wild and eager, ‘It’s time.’
My bones crack, reshaping rapidly. My vision sharpens, silver bleeding into everything. My skin ripples, fur erupting from the surface—pale as moonlight, veined with silver fire.
Gasps rise.
“A High Luna?” someone whispers.
Izel stumbles back. “Impossible—”
I lunge.
Our bodies collide midair—flame against fur, witchfire against silver. The impact shakes the ground. Her claws slice through my flank, and pain bursts bright and sharp. Nyx howls through me, the sound echoing through the clearing, wild and strong.
I slam her to the ground, jaws clamping around her shoulder. She shrieks, the witchfire flaring between us, scorching fur, flesh, air. Sparks rain down like falling stars.
“Yield!” I snarl through Nyx’s throat, our voices doubled—one human, one wolf, both divine.
“Never!” Izel screams. She twists, eyes blazing, summoning a pillar of green flame that engulfs us both.
I charge through it. Fire licks my fur, but cannot burn me. The silver veins across my coat pulse brighter—moonlight drawn to fury. I leap, crashing down with enough force to crack the marble beneath her.
Izel gasps, clawing at the ground, witchfire guttering out. I pin her throat beneath my paw.
“Yield,” I say again, trembling with rage.
I will not kill her. Not yet. Death will be a mercy.
Her gaze flickers from defiance to disbelief. She tries to speak, but no sound comes. The fire in her palms dies to ash.
For a heartbeat, the world holds its breath. Then she collapses, chest heaving, eyes rolling back.
Slowly, I step away. My body reshapes—bone, fur, skin—and I’m standing again, clothed and breathless, moonlight washing over my shoulders. The silver glow still threads faintly across my arms like veins of light.
I look down at her. “It’s over, Izel. You’ve lost.”
The words ring across the silent arena.
Izel stirs faintly, whispering something I can’t hear. Then Esme’s hesitant voice cuts through the stillness: “Freya Vale-Thorne is victorious.”
Cheers rise, but I barely hear them, my attention shifting when I see Nyssa step forward. “No,” she says softly.
She lifts her hand.
The sky splits.
A ring of shadow spirals outward from her palm, sweeping through the arena. Wolves collapse, choking, their eyes turning black. Fire leaps from brazier to brazier, devouring cloth, wood, flesh. Esme drops to her knees, followed by another elder from Ravencourt.
Everything is chaos. I gasp in shock, my concerned gaze flicking to my children, Ivy and Finn. Tamsin protects them, forming a human cover. Then I look at Rowan, who’s shielding himself using a dagger that keeps the shadowy fire at bay.
“Mother, stop—” Izel gasps.
Nyssa ignores her. “You wanted to see power, Thane? Here it is.”
Thane backs away, face pale. “You were meant to control her,” he hisses to the other elders.
Nyssa laughs, high and manic. “Control? You should have learned—witches don’t kneel to wolves.”
The wind shrieks. Izel’s lifted into the air like a doll, her scream strangled. Nyssa turns her toward me. “See what power costs, child.” She hurls Izel down. The impact shakes the ground. Izel doesn’t rise.
I stare, horror and fury tangling in my chest. “You killed your own daughter.”
“She was weak,” Nyssa says. “I’ll birth something stronger from her ashes.”
She raises her hands again, fire gathering, and then directs it to the seats where Ivy is peeking between Tamsin’s arms, calling for me, “Mama, Mama, Mama.”
I move. Rowan moves. But the flames are faster.
Kade leaps.
The blow hits him square in the chest, letting his body become the target. He crumples, smoke curling from him.
“No!” My scream rips from both throats—mine and Nyx’s.
Blinding rage floods me. Nyx’s voice booms inside my skull. ‘End her.’
I run, every heartbeat sounding like a drum. Nyssa laughs, raising her arms to strike again, but my claws meet her chest before the spell leaves her lips.
She stumbles back, blood and fire spilling from the wound. Still, she smiles. “You think killing me ends this?”
“No,” I whisper. “Killing you begins it.”
I raise my head toward the moon. “By the Moon’s law and the pack’s blood, I name Nyssa—traitor, murderer, and corrupter of wolves. Judgment is death.”
The silver light pours through me, through Nyx, through every bond that ties me to this land. My claws ignite with pure moonfire, and the Moonshard sword materialises in my hand. I strike once, hard and final, cutting her from the middle.
Nyssa’s scream rips the night apart. Her body bursts into shadow and ash, twisting upward until no trace of her is left.
The arena falls silent.
Smoke drifts. The fires shrink back to embers.
When the dust clears, Izel’s body lies still. Kade’s chest barely rises. Rowan kneels beside him, shouting for Brin.
I stand in the center of the arena, breathing hard.
Elder Maelin from my pack, who emerged from the seats approaches slowly, his voice reverent and proud. “The High Luna has spoken.”