Chapter 12
Chapter twelve
Seraphina
He was late. Mister High-and-Mighty Captain was late.
Alistair had said dawn, and the sun was about to rise, so where was he? She dressed in her new uniform and leaned on the doorframe of the witches’ sleeping barracks, waiting.
Sera ran her fingers through her curls, doing her best to separate the knots from them without creating too much frizz. The thought had crossed her mind more than once that Alistair was doing this on purpose just to fuck with her, all while his comment from yesterday grated in her ears.
I know you had a crush on me when you were younger. Is that going to be a problem?
How conceited could he be? She hadn’t seen him in years, and the first thing he did was tease her when Nora was in danger? Then his comment about how the oracle came first? Even now, it made her blood curdle.
She thought storming out of his office yesterday had been an act of defiance.
Unfortunately, she’d gotten lost almost immediately and wandered around corridors for an hour or more.
A witch had seen her staring down the fourth set of hallways she’d come across and took pity on her.
She led Sera to the sleeping quarters and pointed out an empty bunk.
The moment Sera had lain down, she’d wished she’d just gone home and risked being late. At this point, it wouldn’t have mattered, since she was waiting for him.
Sera’s stomach grumbled.
A group of three Legion members passed her in the hall, looking regal in their uniforms. She was dressed the same, but they looked better, stronger.
Not even in matching clothes could she fit in.
Sera stepped out behind them, hoisted her pack, and hoped they’d lead her to the dining hall.
The soldiers were whispering to one another about their orders and exchanging gossip.
Nothing too scandalizing: something about a warlock getting demoted, another about a witch being ordered to the demilitarized zone.
While she followed the group, she passed more drawings of the Mesar, displayed at random throughout the halls.
Last night, she’d even seen one stuck to a mirror in the witches’ washroom.
Red-lipped kisses marked the paper, as well as hearts and inventive phrases full of innuendo.
It seemed the Legion worshipped the famed demon hunter.
She guessed she would have had more appreciation for the Mesar if she’d been placed in the Legion.
He was a sign of strength against their enemy.
Only one person at a time was selected for the role.
When the Mesar died, another was promoted—but there was no glory in it, since the Council kept the Mesar’s identity secret.
No ceremonies or medals, just killing. Why anyone would want the position was beyond Sera.
When they were children, Colton and Alistair used to take turns pretending to be the famed slayer. Sera and Dom were always low-life demons responsible for dying dramatic deaths.
As she rounded the corner, the scents of breakfast wrapped around her, and her mouth watered.
The sounds of cheerful conversation between soldiers filled a large room of tables, some occupied and some not.
Along the front wall, an array of food was stacked high. Any breakfast dish you could imagine.
Sera grabbed a tray and piled cinnamon buns, a cup of tea, a taste of oatmeal, and her favorite—a chocolate tart.
She found an empty table in the corner of the dining hall and sat, savoring the bliss of the cinnamon bun’s sweet frosting.
As it hit her taste buds, she closed her eyes and gave a little moan.
“You need meat.”
Her eyes flew open to Alistair sitting across from her, straddling the chair backward, his dark hair freshly cropped, his blue eyes striking under his brown brows. Frosting stuck to her cheeks and chin when she pulled the bun away. Frantically wiping her face, she said, “You’re late.”
Alistair gaped at the pile of baked-together dough and sugar in a heap before her.
“I’ve been here an hour already, Minnow. I got sick of waiting for you to wake up.”
She’d told herself not to let him bait her, not to react, so she focused on other things.
His uniform was different. The sun emblem was missing; a basic straight-collared navy shirt with rolled sleeves showcased his tanned forearms. His boots and pants were the same brown as hers.
She glanced at the sun on her shirt and then back at him. “Why do you get a plain shirt?”
“Because I’ve been here longer.”
She scoffed and sipped her tea.
“Really, though, you should eat something with more substance. In a few hours, you’ll wish you listened to me.
” He rose from his seat and stopped at several tables to converse with other soldiers.
All of them greeted him with a smile or a laugh.
Shadow help her; she couldn’t keep her eyes off him, the way he moved, commanding the entire room.
Instead of sly jabs, he patted his comrades on the back, gave them sincere congratulations. He allowed his colleagues to tease him. When she was fifteen, she would have sold her soul to get that kind of attention.
A moment later, he smiled at her from across the room and tilted his head to the door.
And now he’s caught you staring, Sera. Great job.
Sera wrapped the chocolate tart in a cloth napkin and placed it in her pack. Clearing off the rest of her lonely table, she followed Alistair Alcott outside.
The walls around the Citadel fortress were as white and pristine as the buildings themselves.
When they were little, Dominick and Nora would join her in sneaking up the ramparts to glimpse the sea.
The walls blocked most of the cool ocean breeze, knitted with brine and mist, from reaching the city streets.
Dominick always tried to spit on the sentries below, no matter how often his father punished him when he succeeded.
Sera adored the time she spent watching the waves and would stay as long as she could before Nora made an unconvincing birdcall to warn them of guards.
Nora. Was she eating? Was she hurt? Sera’s chest ached with the thought of her baby sister afraid and alone. The sooner she found this oracle and the doorways to Gehenna, the better.
Alistair led her through a steel-gated archway set into the northern wall and waved at the guard to let them through. The screeching of iron chains rang out as the gate lifted just high enough for her and Al to duck under.
“Why aren’t we traveling from inside the walls?” she asked. The area surrounding the Citadel was desolate swampland. The briny water that flooded the ground during storms killed the trees’ roots, leaving skeletons of twisting branches bleached corpse gray.
“Most coven members don’t know I’m a traveler, and I plan to keep it that way,” he said while mud sucked at the bottoms of their boots.
The sun had started to rise over their part of the world, its pink and orange hues glossing over the pale blue of the morning light.
She rarely watched a sunrise. She’d forgotten how beautiful they were.
“I’d think being a traveler would give you all kinds of special privileges.”
“My position requires… subtlety.”
Of course he would squander his power’s privilege. Sera grunted against the mud gripping her boot and pulled her foot free seconds before she stumbled.
“Are you ready, Wildrick?” Alistair held out his hand. She hesitated, lifting a brow at him. “Coven founders, Sera. I have to be touching you to travel.”
The darkness in her gut began to twirl. She swallowed and glanced from his hand to his face. This was it. She was leaving her home.
Alistair stood there, assessing her.
Sera beheld the golden spires glinting in the sunlight. She took in the white domes peeking above the tall walls that protected her coven from the outside world, and breathed in one more deep breath of the ocean wind.
Her sister needed her. It didn’t matter that she was terrified or that everything was about to change.
“Okay,” she said, but instead of putting her palm in his, she looped her arm through his elbow and waited. She could almost feel his eyes roll.
“Don’t puke,” Alistair said.
“Wha—”