5. Calypso
Chapter five
Calypso
Bile burned her throat as her empty stomach spasmed, having freed itself of its contents long ago.
Brutal strikes echoed in the stone dungeons, each blow cutting through her heart. Her body flinched as if she were the one being beaten.
Was her mother even still alive, or were they just harming her corpse at this point? There were no more tears to be cried, and yet her eyes ached.
She put her hands to her ears to block out the sound.
The sounds didn’t stop. The sounds never stopped.
They just grew louder and louder and louder and—
Calypso sat up in bed, nightgown soaked in sweat and her hair tangled around her. For a moment, she was sixteen-years-old again and trapped within the blood-smeared walls of the castle’s dungeon. The week she spent there would forever be etched in her mind.
She swung her legs over the side of her bed, needing to move and remind herself she wasn’t chained anymore. Before her feet touched the floor, she spotted a dark figure ahead.
The lifeless black eyes of Ker Beck stared at her as the tall inquisitor stood in the corner of her room.
She told herself it was just a hallucination even as her heart sputtered.
Ker Beck had run the dungeons of Sanograd since she’d been born.
The man was tall and thin but always walked with a slight bend to his spine.
His skin was pale from lack of sunlight, and his dark eyes and hair only made his lack of eyebrows that much more apparent.
Many whispered about his odd demeanor, gossiped about his possible proclivities, but no one would ever dare say it to his face.
Calypso wanted to rip his face off for the torture he’d put her mother through.
He’d forced Calypso to listen to it all and relished in terrorizing her with what was to come.
It was almost a relief when he’d finally turned his attention away from her mother and toward her.
He touched Calypso only once before her mother used the last bit of her power to help Calypso escape.
Once was enough to leave its mark.
Calypso’s fingers traced the raised scar near her collarbone until she could stand it no longer and threw a ball of fire toward the hallucination. The image disappeared instantaneously, but the curtains behind it caught on fire.
“Damn it!” Calypso jumped out of bed and took a nearby vase, removing the flowers and pouring the water onto the flames to extinguish them.
With a resigned sigh, she dressed and headed downstairs to get some food. It was early in the morning, and the household would be asleep. Calypso could eat in peace before the others came and crowded her.
The plan was short-lived when she walked into the kitchen and found Paola stirring porridge on the stove. Without disguising her irritation, Calypso poured herself a cup of tea from the prepared kettle.
“I see the devil rises early.” The old woman gave her a look of disdain.
The stubborn crone had refused to leave the manor after they seized it. Calypso wanted to throw her out with the rest of the staff anyway, but Nyx had apparently developed a soft spot for the old woman.
“You would know,” Calypso shot back.
She took her tea into the dining room to sit in peace. A few minutes later, Paola slammed a bowl of porridge in front of her.
“If you try to poison me, I will turn you into a frog,” Calypso threatened, and Paola cursed her under her breath.
She stirred the porridge and decided she was hungry enough to risk poisoning. After a few spoonfuls, a curvy, cloud-haired witch entered with her own bowl and sat down with a cheerful smile. Calypso struggled to conceal her annoyance at not having a moment alone.
“It was nice of Paola to make us breakfast,” commented the chipper witch, whose name Calypso could not recall.
Calypso grunted noncommittally as she continued to eat. She was not happy to have the other witches here. The three of them—Astra, Nyx and herself alone—had made their revenge pact. The others were thankful to be rescued, but did not understand the danger that would come.
Nyx entered next, followed by someone who at first glance looked like a boy but was just a petite woman in trousers.
Gemma was in her preferred appearance, with a cap of short brown hair and cerulean eyes.
When they had rescued her many years back, she had taken the form of a bull-sized man and was trying to fight off a group of soldiers.
It wasn’t going well because while glamor magic altered the appearance, the witch’s strength and skills remained the same.
At that time, Nyx had just begun building her network of spies, but struggled with consistent communication. Gemma’s abilities were immeasurable in helping pass along directives and information from the capital.
“How do you like our new holdings, Gemma?” Calypso asked.
“It’ll do.” Gemma sat with her own food. “Ten gold coins says you won’t keep it past harvest.”
Calypso laughed, finding Gemma’s cynicism refreshing.
The cloud-haired witch gasped in worry at those words. Nyx was unamused by their antics. “Don’t worry, Clio. They are just joking.”
Clio!
Calypso tried to commit it to memory, though it was a coin toss if she’d recall it by the evening.
“How long are you staying?” Calypso asked Gemma, knowing she didn’t linger in one place for long.
“For two nights, then I head back to Sanograd. Now that the prince is of age, there have been discussions of change.”
Prince Isaac was eighteen years old and could take the title of king, but Calypso doubted Davinger would give up power so easily.
They continued to eat as more and more witches joined them. Calypso hurried up and finished, feeling the room had become too crowded.
She took Nyx aside for a moment. “I will be gone for a few hours. If there is trouble, shoot off spark-light into the air and I’ll see it.”
“You are going to do that today?”
“It is as good a day as any.”
Nyx’s silver eyes were unhappy, but she didn’t stop her either. “Be back by sundown.”
Nyx didn’t believe in her hunt for the amulet, and she wasn’t exactly wrong. The search throughout the years had been futile.
Calypso rode off on her horse, feeling the touch of Astra’s wards as she left the estate. She followed the outskirts between the woods and the farms. In the distance, she could see families working the fields, their tasks still needing done even with their district lord dead.
As the sun beat warmly on her face, she relived the satisfaction of ripping Haworth’s heart out of his chest. Knowing he was no longer of this world was a comfort.
Then there were two.
Calypso knew Nyx desired to return to Sanograd and kill the inquisitor. As much as Calypso wanted to deliver Beck’s killing blow, the crimes he’d committed against Nyx rivaled Calypso’s own grievances.
Hugh Davinger would be a difficult one. Astra never shared why she wanted him added to their pact, but given all the recent information, he had to answer for betraying Calypso’s mother as well.
Getting concrete evidence against him remained a challenge. Hugh Davinger was meticulous in his efforts. It was this ability that had motivated her mother to vouch for him to the king for the position of royal advisor.
Hugh Davinger had only been twenty-one at the time—the youngest advisor in history.
More than his age, it was his heritage as a mere merchant’s son that had scandalized the nobility.
However, King Torin hardly denied her mother anything.
He’d also enjoyed portraying the image of unity between magic and mortals with having a witch and human work side by side as advisors.
It had been the picture of cooperation until, of course, it wasn’t.
The top of the sanctuary came into view.
Its structure was barely the size of a farmhouse, and its roof sloped sharpy on one end, speaking of a lack of upkeep that was left to fester.
If it weren’t for the classic golden eye motif shining bright above the wooden door, she may not have known it was a Sanctuary of Mother Selene.
She left her horse to graze outside and walked through the tall grass toward the entrance.
The sanctuary that had housed her and her sisters after Sanograd had been grand and rich in appearance.
No one invaded the holy sites, and they had been safe for a time, but it was a home they had never wanted.
Her hand brushed the unruly vines growing on the stones.
She liked the look of this sanctuary more, charmed by the way it battled with the encroaching wilderness.
She felt the wash of magic when she entered the sanctuary. How the priestesses possessed magic was unknown, as they didn’t bear marks on their skin like witchkind did. Their initiation and rituals were a secret. Not just because the priestesses wouldn’t say, but that they couldn’t say.
Such a powerful entity was allowed to conduct itself freely because of the power of foresight Mother Selene had possessed.
The royal family would visit the main sanctuary in Solar City in secret, but they would never give a priestess an official government title.
Instead, it was an understandable partnership.
The Crown didn’t regulate the sanctuary and, in turn, the sanctuary continued to provide its foresight services to the royal family. Due to this special status, the Crown overlooked the sanctuaries housing exiled witches after the decree.
Once inside the atrium, Calypso looked down the left hallway, and, as expected, the golden door was there.
That was always something she found so foolish with these sanctuaries.
It didn’t matter what corner of Shalimar they were, they all conformed to certain expectations.
Every priestess had to take the vow of secrecy, no priestess could ever leave the faith, and every sanctuary had a golden door leading to the prayer room filled with treasures for Mother Selene.