Chapter 1

Chapter 1

FEY

W ithin the quiet confines of her coven’s temple, Fey let the tight grip she held on her power slip, just a little. In the two years since her new powers had awakened—the two years since she’d taken the antidote that purged the Allium from her blood—only here did she allow herself that luxury.

Only here did it feel safe.

It was a little like untensing a muscle. Slowly, incrementally, Fey let the leash slip, and let all that dark, delicious power fill her. Raw and unfiltered, her elemental power thrummed beneath her skin as it rose to her call. And as it did, the world around her sharpened.

The temple smelled like rain. Never mind that the outside dawn rose crisp and cold without a single cloud in the sky. Day or night, snow or shine, the earthy smell of petrichor permeated the interior of the Water Coven temple, as though the Goddess herself were making her presence known to all the Witches in attendance. With her power filling her, Fey could smell every element in the air around her, every speck of moisture, every dust mote, could feel every blade of grass trying to push its way through the thick stone walls.

Fey loved this smell. It was nothing like the light citrus that perfumed the Air Coven temple, or the slight spice she often smelled on High Priestess Leandra and associated with the Fire Coven. No. This smell was different. It reached inside of her and tugged at something ancient, something that defined her very essence.

Fey breathed in deeply through her nose, filling herself with the smell of rain. Her power stirred in response. Not just Water, but all four elements, humming to life under her skin.

The smell was stronger deeper in the temple, but Fey rarely ventured past the first few pews. She preferred her spot here, seated as far as possible from Sana’s podium, tucked into a forgotten corner, close to the stone walls. Here, she could sit unnoticed, unbothered, and just be. She would have stood if she could have—would have leaned against the oak doors that led outside if it wouldn’t have brought undue attention to her. But the only Witch standing here was Sana. All the other Witches sat, backs straight in their pews, rapt with attention.

They came here to listen to their High Priestess speak.

Fey came to smell the rain, to feel the comforting presence of the Goddess. She came to let her magic off the leash, if only for a few hours. Here, where it felt safe. Here, where her magic felt more contained.

Where she couldn’t hurt anyone.

In the months following the night of the Blood Moon, the night Queen Edelin had fallen, Fey had tried to keep it together. But her new powers were unpredictable and messy. Anger came easily to Fey, especially then, with the deaths of Willow and Lilith so fresh and raw. And with that anger came Fire.

Fey learned to swallow it down, best she could. She learned to force those new powers down inside herself and leash them tight.

But Goddess , it felt so good to let that power out.

“Welcome, my children, on this beautiful day,” Sana spoke, hands resting gently on the wooden podium in front of her. She greeted them all with a matronly smile, and the congregation listened eagerly, all eyes on her.

All eyes but Fey’s. Sana’s words washed over her as she let her eyes close, her body attuned to the rhythms of the temple.

“Today, I invite you all to meditate with me on the virtue of balance. A virtue our Goddess holds most dear.”

For over a year now, Fey had attended Sana’s sermons but had listened to maybe a handful of them. She preferred the sounds of the temple itself, the gentle conversation of water on stone, the soft flow of breath. She let her attention drift, let her powers swell, and Sana’s voice became nothing but a gentle hum in the distance.

“Balance is all around us, my children. The balance of life and death. The balance of joy and pain. Remember that there can be no light without dark, no dawn without night. Even in the Goddess herself there is balance. Creator and destroyer. Compassion and vengeance.”

There was so much power in this room. So much strength. Her own gifts pulsed under her skin in recognition as she breathed it all in.

Here was sacred. Here was right. Here, Fey could unleash her power—just a little, but enough—to feel in control, to let it stretch before she pushed it deep down inside herself again.

What a tragedy to be given the gift of all four elements but have to keep them hidden inside.

“Consider the seedling. To grow, it needs both the rain and the sun, a balance of cloudy skies and nourishing light.”

The old queen had taken so much from them by cutting off entire generations of Witches from their full range of power, all to keep herself on the throne. In the end, her betrayal of her own Faction had cost the Queen everything, including her life. And though those Witches who had their powers taken away were free now, were learning to harness their newfound gifts, Queen Edelin’s greed had cost Witches the throne.

The council still held that fragile peace Fey and her sisters had sacrificed so much for, but the realm was a powder keg ready to erupt. And every day that passed without another Witch who could command all four elements—without another Witch like Fey—was another spark with the potential to set the realm ablaze.

The council might continue to rule the realm, but so many Witches were waiting, hungry for a new queen to emerge and set their world right once again.

Don’t think about that, Fey thought, scolding herself for the dark turn in her thoughts. Not here. Not now. This was her time to be close to the Goddess. This was her time to be herself.

And all too soon, it was over.

Sana’s melodious voice disappeared, replaced by a rising chatter as the congregation began to rise and converse among themselves. Through the rhythm of their conversations, Fey could make out sharp words and phrases directed at her.

She’s here, a voice said.

The Broken Blade.

The true queen.

Rage, hot and sudden, flashed through her. Fey opened her eyes, focusing on the pew in front of her, avoiding the stares of the congregation. Willfully ignoring their words.

Time to go.

It hurt to rein it in, to pull that power back inside of herself and lock it away once more. But she did it, just as she had done countless times over the last two years. She locked that power away, deep inside of herself, and rose to leave.

On the wooden pew she left behind, a charred imprint of her hands remained, burned into the wood.