Chapter 1 #2
Calypso’s finger slid across the sharp edge of her dagger, drawing a bead of blood.
Thomas Haworth. Ker Beck. Hugh Davinger.
The names of her nightmares had become a comforting chant throughout the years. She repeated it over and over in her head until it was all she heard. It kept her focused. It kept her mad.
The list had been longer when she and her sisters had initially formed their pact, but they’d been busy throughout the years and names had fallen off in delightful ways. Infuriatingly, those three powerful men still lived, their names an echoing reminder.
“She seems to be recovering well.”
Astra’s voice broke through her thoughts.
Calypso turned to find her golden-haired sister walking up to her.
In a different life, Astra Katsaros would be hosting a ball and raising a drove of babes to honor her noble name.
Instead, the fickleness of magic had marked Astra’s hands when she came of age and branded her a witch.
“Who?”
“Marianna.” Astra glanced toward the other witches near the caravan. “The witch we rescued a few days ago.”
Calypso resumed sharpening her dagger. “I would imagine not being actively persecuted is an improvement in her situation.”
“No argument here. Do you have your things ready?” Astra asked, insisting on continuing the conversation with her.
“I have been ready every time you’ve asked these past two days.”
“You know we need to wait for Nyx to return.”
Of course, Calypso knew that. She was the one who sent her in the first place.
“Unless you are here to tell me Nyx is hiding behind you, this conversation has started to bore me.”
“Let me know if you plan on being an ass the entire journey or just until we set out.”
Calypso scowled at her but bit back a retort. “I am eager for the next step. Yet, I find myself . . .” She paused, uncertain how to describe what she felt.
“Anxious?” Astra finished for her with a small grin of amusement.
She glared at her and corrected through gritted teeth. “Unsettled.”
“I believe most would find it normal to be unsettled before murdering a district lord,” Astra said. “Don’t worry. It will go well.”
“I am not worried about Thomas Haworth,” she snapped, her efforts to contain her annoyance clearly pointless. “I just don’t understand why we need to take the others with us. It should only be me, you, and Nyx.”
The others in question were the witches that they had rescued over the past couple of years.
It wasn’t part of their pact to stop trials and break free witches about to be burned.
However, Nyx and Astra kept finding these tragic cases, and it served as an outlet for Calypso’s need for violence, which had appealed to her.
Now she was stuck with a dozen witches to cart around in a caravan. Their powers awakened but not yet developed, which made her feel like she was protecting a litter of stray kittens. Irritation simmered beneath her skin, testing the already thin thread of her patience.
“They have nowhere else to go. Also, we could use their help.” Astra was quick to put up her hands before Calypso could speak. “I love how you are so confident in our abilities that you believe we could storm the capital alone, but I think we may need more than three witches for this.”
Astra was wrong. They needed only each other. That’s the way it had been since their refuge at the Sanctuary of Mother Selene ten years ago, and that’s the way it should remain.
The difference was that then they were three girls fleeing Sanograd after the regent king’s decree made bearing a witch’s mark a death sentence.
Their magic was weak then, barely a couple of years from their awakening.
But what they didn’t have in power, they made up in rage for all they had lost. The trauma bound them as sisters in all ways but blood.
From that pain was born their pact of revenge against the men who had hurt them.
Now ten years later, they were no longer the fearful girls they once were. They had harnessed their abilities to become things that should be feared instead.
“Let me know when Nyx returns,” Calypso said before walking away from the conversation.
Questions of how long Astra would tolerate her volatile moods crept at the back of her mind. The black magic Calypso had infused herself with had transformed her into something more reactive and less in control.
Like a mocking reminder, the black tattoos along her forearms tingled. Her fingers automatically went to them as her eyes skirted to the women sitting together. Their expressions were light, their voices cheerful as they spoke to one another.
They should not be here.
She couldn’t tell if that was her own voice or the voice of the madness that was slowly seeping in.
The voice had been very distinct when it first spoke several years ago.
Gravely and deep, like the rumblings of a beast. It worried her that the voice was becoming indistinguishable from her own.
It also worried her whether there would be a day when this wouldn’t bother her.
Unsettled by her thoughts, she rushed away from camp, heading deep into the woods until they were out of sight.
The vise around her lungs released a fraction when she spotted the river ahead. For whatever reason, she’d discovered water settled the voices.
Without wasting a moment, she shed her clothes and stepped into the cool water.
With a rapid plunge, she immersed herself underneath, allowing the cold to take her senses.
She stayed under until the burn in her lungs was too much, and she broke the surface once more.
Then she exited the river, choosing to remain naked for the moment. Her internal fire never left her cold.
She looked down at her body. Right above her belly button was the mark of magic she gained at puberty, three black lines forming a triangle—the alchemical sign of fire. The interlacing knots that ran up both her forearms and covered her upper chest, she had inflicted on herself.
As a witch’s power grew, their markings expanded as well. There was once a time a witch would display her vastly marked skin with pride in their mastery of witchcraft. Now, such a display was a death sentence.
Their markings developed with time and study, and only the practice of black magic could hasten this process, but not without its cost. Black magic required a sacrifice of life, with the blood of the victim used to tattoo more markings and forcibly gain more power.
Truthfully, she both loved and hated the evidence of her black magic.
The power she gained was intoxicating, and, most importantly, it would allow her to get her revenge.
What she hated were the intruding voices, the hallucinations, and the feeling that she wasn’t always the one in control.
But it was a price she was willing to pay.
“Just one more year,” she muttered to herself.
All she had to do was last one more year. If everything went according to their plans, the three men she hated most in the world would be dead, and she didn’t care what happened to her after that.
It was hours before Calypso felt in control again. Deep purple streaks crossed the sky, and the forest was darkening.
She dressed once more and walked back into the clearing. Spotting Nyx’s sleek raven hair in the distance, she cursed herself for being gone so long.
With a quick step toward camp, she passed Astra and gruffly asked, “Why didn’t you tell me Nyx had returned?”
“I didn’t want to disturb you,” Astra responded, heavy with connotation. Calypso’s ventures into black magic were not a secret amongst them, but her sister preferred not to witness it.
“I was just bathing,” Calypso snapped back before reaching into a basket of food and snatching an apple.
Catching Nyx’s eye, Calypso gestured toward the firepit. “Let’s speak.”
The three of them stepped aside, heading toward an empty spot by the fire to talk separately.
“Please tell me you have good news,” Calypso implored, unwilling to be camped out here a moment longer.
Nyx nodded briskly as she took off her cloak. “Things are moving along as planned. The orcs travel southeast toward Helios.”
“And Captain Von Ahlen?”
“Currently being debriefed by his guard about the oncoming attack. I would imagine they will be up in arms by tomorrow night.”
“Pity for the captain.” Calypso took a bite out of her apple. Everyone knew nightfall gave orcs an advantage. “I trust our tracks are covered?”
Nyx’s exhausted face turned incredulous at the offense. “Of course. Gemma took on the face of one of the captain’s newest guardsmen when she gave the report. Some young man by the name of Rupert.”
“And what is the actual young Rupert doing at this time?”
A rare smile broke the porcelain features of Nyx’s face. “He is at a brothel outside of Helios, being handed drink after drink. He will wake up with a massive headache, no recollection of the night before, and a story about how he spotted the oncoming orc horde.”
“Perfect.”
The Orc Wars had been going on for as long as Calypso could remember. While she normally didn’t care to involve herself in other troubles, they served as useful distractions.
Johann Von Ahlen was the captain of the guard in the northern district, responsible for keeping the peace, and for answering the beck and call of the district lords. She had no personal grudge against him. But she did need him far away from Taybe.
The bitter captain would not be able to resist the temptation of fighting the orcs and gaining some ground after having had several humiliating months. She didn’t doubt that he would gather his guard and head over to Helios.
Finishing her apple, seeds and all, Calypso faced her sisters with an eager grin. “We should get some rest. There is a lord whose head needs removed from his body.”