Chapter 22

We rode out of the mountains and straight into a brutal frozen landscape that made the ruination of Caladrius seem like a lush garden in summer.

Spikey gray stones jutted up from a flat, desolate plain, the wind blowing so hard the snow had drifted into every crevice, making our progress impossibly dangerous as we carefully picked our way across the tundra.

"The ward protecting this place is as ancient as any I've ever encountered," Dane warned, his eyes fixed on the line of cliffs above us.

"I can pass through because my blood has been keyed to the magic. Anaria can pass because she bears the scion mark. Adele has witch blood. The rest of you…" Dane looked uncomfortable as his eyes met mine. "Let's hope the magic recognizes you and Tavion as Anaria's court."

"What creatures does the ward keep out?" I asked quietly, urging my horse forward.

"Everything that's not invited," he said tightly.

"Well, then." I forced my frozen lips into a grin. "It would seem that?—"

I never got the rest out because with my very next step I was fighting for breath, trapped within the choking ward as foul, hideous magic strangled the life out of me.

Horrendous.

Like being swallowed by a ravenous beast.

Terrible magic tinged with an ancient evil, the flavor malevolent in a way I'd never encountered before. Thunder cleaved through my head while beside me, Anaria hissed and grasped her arm—right where that fucking tree was branded into her pale, perfect skin—her mouth parted in a silent scream.

That's when I knew.

The mark had triggered the ward, sending out some sort of warning.

Anaria had just announced herself to the coven.

Cold slammed into me like a wall when the ward spit me out on the other side, intact but gagging from the dark magic slithering through my veins, a headache pounding in my temples. I caught the reins of Anaria's horse when she stumbled through.

"Anaria?" I dipped my head to better see her face, her lips clamped into a tight line. "Are you hurt?" I moved my horse closer, brushing snowflakes off her flushed cheek. Even here, in the middle of a barren wasteland, she was so warm. The most alive thing I'd ever seen.

"I'm fine." She was not fucking fine.

None of this was fucking fine.

Adele turned enough for me to see the satisfied smile on her lips and the hair on my arms rose. She knew. She knew the second Anaria passed through the ward there'd be no going back.

"I want you to stay close to me, ‘Naria," I murmured, reluctantly letting her go, leaving a trace of jasmine behind. "Your mother has us walking into a trap. And I need you to stay right beside me until we figure out how dangerous this is."

I pulled out my bow and an iron-tipped arrow from my quiver.

The air here was thinner. Colder.

"Keep your eyes on the ground in front of you and follow me step for step. Avoid anywhere the snow has drifted over; chances are there's a deep hole," Dane ordered, casting a pointed look back. "Your horse breaks a leg, I'll have to put the beast down, and I'm not in the mood for spilling blood today."

We spent hours winding through a tangle of narrow, open-sky caverns, snow swirling like ghosts in the eddying currents. When the path opened up onto another flat plain edged with steep, hard-edged cliffs, Dane reined in his horse and waited until we caught up.

"We're close." His dark eyes picked over the cliff edge above us.

"They've got sentries posted every thirty feet or so. Archers." His face was uncharacteristically pale as he gazed upon the ancient, forbidding stronghold rising up from the flat plain, the twin arches of stone guarding the squat building like a watchful sentinel.

"Those are Stormfall's gates. Keep your hands off your weapons. Do not even look like you're thinking about violence. Once we're inside the gates, expect to be stopped and searched. They won't be gentle about it, either."

Fear—the kind I hadn't experienced in ten centuries—crawled up my throat like bile, leaving a sour taste in my mouth. My wyvern raged to be set free, especially when Anaria threw back her hood and kicked her horse forward, falling into line right behind Dane.

These witches…

The blood drained from my face. These witches and my kind had a dark, twisted past, and not one where my people came out on top. I was a fool for coming, but after Anaria's kindness…I couldn't leave her side.

I didn't know if this urge to remain close to her was the bond or the cursed magic at work, but something tied us together and I'd be godsdamned if I'd let her ride into this trap alone.

I left Adele behind and caught up, not leaving Anaria's side as we crossed beneath the imposing arches and into a sheltered inner ward where the wind didn't cut so sharply.

Tavion and I pinned Anaria firmly between us as the host of black-armored witches surrounded us, ordering us to dismount. They were rough as they plucked knives from our belts, sorting through my quiver and testing the string on my bow. If it wasn't for Dane's glower, I would have yanked my weapons out of their hands, but he knew their ways better than any of us, and for now, I'd trust his judgment.

These witches were strong beneath their layers of leather armor, moving with a smooth confidence that indicated decades of weapons and combat training. The reek of spent magic hung so thick around them, they all possessed some manner of power.

My guess was, physically and magically, if we had to fight our way out, we were evenly matched.

"The High Priestess is expecting you," one of them crooned, her teeth sharper than was natural. "Leave the horses. You will not be needing them."

I met her coal-black gaze and let fire coat my hand as I took my twin knives back and slid them into their sheaths. They wouldn't do much against the wicked, curved blades that hung from the witch's baldrics, but they were better than nothing.

"Come. She is waiting." As if they were controlled by one mind, the host turned and marched into the fortress, the reeking smell—the utter coldness of this place—leaching into me like death itself.

Everything inside was spartan and simple. The witches—mostly women, plus a handful of large, brutal-looking men—were all dressed in black leather doublets, heavy matching divided skirts that were easy to walk in, or plain black pants, their boots ringing against the bare stone floors.

Their cuirasses were marked with the symbol of the triple goddess, a full moon and two crescents with a silver sword stabbed through the center, their gauntlets inscribed with the same symbol. The leader turned and met my eyes, her slow, menacing grin as much a challenge as a threat.

No rugs or tapestries or cushions, not a shred of softness to this place.

Not a single fire burning, except for the torches spilling acrid black smoke up the soot-stained walls.

We were escorted through a maze of cold, identical hallways and arched corridors, a deep, nervous quiet falling in our thundering wake. Some foul magic soaked the stones of this place, so much, every step hurt. My body already ached from three days on horseback, from the unplanned shift, from bone and flesh tearing then reforming.

This was a trap, my beast warned me, writhing as he tried to escape.

Now that my wyvern had emerged from hiding, I was constantly aware of his presence, how he shoved at my skin, trying to force those scales to crawl over me like impenetrable armor, for soft, pale skin to disappear beneath bone-melting flame.

I blew out a heated, shuddering breath.

Setting my beast free had been an epiphany after centuries in hiding.

Letting the whole world narrow down to fire and fury had wiped away some of my dark memories and made me realize something. My wyvern was a dangerous, stubborn arsehole, but he'd listened to Anaria. Obeyed her more readily than he'd ever obeyed me, something I'd thought on all last night while I damn near froze to death.

But I had to keep him hidden. Especially here.

These witches were dangerous. Ruthless. They'd use us—use Anaria—as tools to serve their magic. Sacrifices to their already dark power, carving us up into bits and pieces until there weas nothing left.

We shouldn't have come.

We should have waited for Raziel and Zor, fortified Nightcairn, defended the castle from their attack. On our own territory we might have stood a chance, but here…The witches were warriors, proven in battles beyond the killing fields of Solarys and Caladrius.

Now we were here—Adele had seen to that—and I wasn't about to leave Anaria unguarded for a single second. Tavion was of the same mind, pressing close against her other side as we continued our death march.

The witches escorting us were heavily layered with muscle, fully armed with an array of brutal blades, stone-faced, ready for violence. Craving violence like most of us craved food or sleep. These females didn't have a shred of mercy in their bones, and if we stopped, or fled, we'd be cut down before we took a single step.

But along the corridor, from darkened doorways, softer, curious faces watched us pass, some looking hopeful.

The High Priestess sat proudly on a throne of red spinel crystals, a black crown upon her head, her pale face as forbidding as she was beautiful and framed by a sleek fall of dark hair. Young, thirty at most, though according to Dane she'd ruled for three centuries.

She was dressed in full armor, her boots crossed at the ankles, the triple goddess symbol on her chest marked with more of those glittering red stones. But her cold expression was tinged with hunger, full lips parted in anticipation as we approached, and I made damn sure my hand was wrapped around Anaria's when we were halted by a sea of swords pointed at our hearts.

When Dane dipped his head, the rest of us followed his lead.

Except for fucking Adele, who was determined to get us all killed by throwing back her hood and staring the priestess dead in the eye.

"Anaria Centaria Wynter, Adele Wynter." Dane kept his head inclined, though he never dropped his eyes, scanning the assembled witches warily. "Seeking sanctuary in the coven by blood and name."

"Indeed." The woman sneered. "I received your challenge. You almost did not make the deadline, Adele." The High Priestess leaned back in her throne, dove-gray eyes—slippery as mercury—raking over Anaria so slowly my beast began rising to the surface.

"We have until tomorrow, Vireena," Adele answered lazily. "The challenge will be honored, as is customary."

"The princess has our eyes." Vireena's grin was filled with cruel, ancient malice. "But does she bleed black when her feet are on her own soil?"

"She will bleed the color of our people."

"I suppose we shall see. That is, after all, why she is here." Her gaze darkened, something terrible creeping into it, a hint of hatred tinged with eternal rage, and every hair went up on my body.

I shared a look with Tavion and Dane, setting my hand on the hilt of my knife. I would rather have knocked an arrow, but my quiver was outside where I'd been forced to leave them. This wasn't a greeting.

This was a trial, and I wasn't sure we weren't all going to hang by the end of it.

"I have no wish to fight you." Anaria's voice rang clearly against the stone and the witches shifted on their feet, a low murmur humming amongst them. "I did not know what the mark meant, and I have seen enough war to last me a lifetime." Anaria stepped forward, and I fisted my hands to keep from pulling her back.

"I killed Carex and restored magic to Caladrius. But the world will not be safe until the Shadow King is dead. I have only come to ask for aid. Form an alliance with us. Long enough to defeat him, to rid the world of his darkness."

"And what do we get in return if we shed our blood for your cause?" Vireena leaned back, darkness wrapping around her like a cloak. You come here and ask us to die for you after you challenged my rule?"

"I did not…" Anaria swallowed. "I am not challenging you. I do not want your throne or your power, only your help."

Vireena nodded to Anaria's arm, to the unwanted brand hidden beneath her clothing. "And yet you carry the scion mark into my lands," she hissed. "Into my stronghold. Why else would you come but to take my kingdom for yourself?"

Anaria's wide eyes flickered up to mine. "I've spoken true. I have no wish to fight anyone. I do not wish to rule here or anywhere else. Take the mark away; I don't want it. I never wanted it."

"Shut up," Adele hissed, her voice a carbon copy of the High Priestess's. "Stop talking before you ruin everything."

"You sound weak," Vireena mused. "Saying you want nothing at all."

Vireena settled back into her seat, her eyes skimming over us coldly before landing once more on Anaria. "Strange because I heard what you did in Caladrius. You're powerful, I'll give you that, but you aren't a High Barrens witch. This is the first time you've ever set foot on our soil. You haven't gone through our training or been tested by our trials."

"My daughter will pass any test you give her to prove she's worthy."

Tavion's voice was death as he growled, "I'll cut your tongue out, Adele, if you speak another word."

"You do not command me, wolf. Here or anywhere else." Adele's mouth twisted as she stepped away from us and lifted her hand, pointing straight at Tavion's heart. "Here is the male who killed Alaric and Zephora. Cut their heads off in front of their own home."

All around us, the air shifted into something dark and dangerous.

We had to get out of here. I tightened my grip on Anaria, searching for a way out of this room, back to the open air where I could shift and carry her to safety.

"Not only that, he is a wolf. A white wolf, sisters. He possesses a rare magic." The murmuring turned crueler, the circle closing in around us, witches drawing those deadly, curved knives, sharp enough to filet flesh from bone with the flick of a slender wrist.

"But more than that…" Adele's gaze landed on me, and I lost my breath. "I bring you an even greater gift, my sisters. A golden wyvern. The last of his kind. A mighty offering for a mighty priestess."

Fucking hell, Adele was staging a fucking coup and we were the asking price.

Anaria stepped in front of us both, spreading her arms. "No. Don't touch a hair on their heads. They are not part of this." Her magic thrummed in the air, but she didn't cast, keeping her power locked down.

I moved closer to Anaria, drawing my knife as every single witch turned to Tavion, pale eyes narrowing on the shifter. Gods, I hoped he shifted and disappeared into the snow. He'd be impossible to spot, to track.

Shift, you stupid oaf, and run. Do it now.

Tavion bared his teeth at the witches, but they were already moving and a second later laid ice-cold steel blades across our throats. Anaria was still trying to loosen her bands when we were separated. Two witches dragged her away, pinning her arms behind her back, and I went feral.

My pathetic knives and my magic left one witch bleeding out on the flagstones, another with a smoking hole in her chest. As for the brawny male with the torn-out throat—Tavion, it seemed, didn't need to transform to use his fangs.

By the time the skirmish was over, Tavion and I were both crushed on our bellies to the floor, sword points piercing the base of our necks, an inch from slicing through and rendering us worthless.

Because if we were dead, that left no one to protect Anaria.

Adele jerked her head toward Dane, as if he was an afterthought. "This one is a black wolf, admittedly not as rare, but I expect you'll find him useful."

Vireena focused on Dane, eyes glittering like polished diamonds.

"Montogomery has a longstanding pact with this coven, and we rely on his skills as a tracker and for information from the Fae realms. He is not to be touched." She lifted her index finger. "But the others…lock them in the aerie and post guards. After tomorrow's contest is over, we shall decide how best to carve them up."

"Get your fucking hands off them." The scream exploded out of Anaria before she was slammed into a wall by a witch twice her size, hard enough I heard her head crack against the stone.

The air exploded out of my lungs when they planted their boots in my back, efficiently stripping away every piece of armor until Tavion and I were in our shirtsleeves. Dane's gaze landed on the guards now yanking Tavion to his feet, one hand hovering over the hilt of his knife.

I shook my head.

Until Raziel and Zorander arrived, he was the only thing standing between Anaria and these creatures, and I had to believe they'd get here soon.

If not tonight, then tomorrow.

Tavion fought the whole time we were dragged through a labyrinth of corridors, past rows of cells, filthy fingers with broken nails reaching through the bars. How could there be so many prisoners up here in the middle of nowhere, I wondered before we were tossed into our own stinking cell.

My wyvern protested the stench down here, the hateful magic that writhed like maggots in the stones beneath me working its way inside me like an insidious poison.

Maybe the magic was what drove these people mad, the screaming growing louder, not quieter, now that our jailors stomped away down the hall.

"We have to get the fuck out of here," Tavion growled from across the hall. "She's up there. Alone. Dane won't be able to do shite against this many."

"Then transform. Get out of that cage."

His eyes narrowed, then he shook his head. "I…There's a…Fuck." He grunted out a sound of pure frustration. "There's a problem. I can't shift." His teeth flashed in the darkness. "But you can. Melt these fucking bars. We'll tear through everything standing between us and Anaria, then burn this fucking place to the ground behind us."

I tested the cold, damp air, filled with so much desperation I choked.

"If I transform," I said quietly, "there is an equal chance my beast will roast you alive inside that cell as set you free. There is no reasoning with the wyvern, no controlling him. Transforming is a death sentence for us all, especially Anaria."

"You're a coward," Tavion hissed, pressed against the bars.

"No more than you," I countered, tipping my head back against the wet, cold stone, because I knew he was right.

"No more than you, wolf."