Chapter 33

Chapter 33

H ealing was an agonizingly slow process.

Fey was excused from her duties and assignations while she got back into shape, and she saw her sisters less and less as they took up the workload without her. Someone had finally reported Phillip Danvers's disappearance to the Crown, and seemingly inspired by the fall Fey had taken into the Western River, Dameon announced with sorrow that the professor had fallen to his watery death, his body having been discovered weeks previously but unidentified until just recently. The Crown sent condolences to his husband.

A tragic accident, and one the university and its students would mourn for the proper length of time and then move past.

The day after the news had broken, Dameon had come for a full day of combat training, and Fey had almost asked him about it. Had even opened her mouth the moment she'd seen him, ready to demand answers to the questions that still burned inside her. But Lilith had taken that moment to stomp very deliberately on her foot and shoot her a glare that reminded her just what her sister thought about questioning their orders.

So she'd dropped it. Dropped the questions, dropped the mystery.

She had lived. Lived, but at a heavy cost to her body, and for the next few weeks at least, she needed to focus on rebuilding everything she'd lost.

Instead of following the mysteries further, Fey trained.

From sunrise to sunset, and often even longer, she trained, pushing herself to her limit. She spent entire days in the gym, toning her body and her powers, building her strength and muscles.

It took time, but bit by bit, day by day, Fey began to feel like herself again. The muscles in her arms and legs grew and hardened with use, and her figure filled out once more. Even her powers felt strong, again, and she spent several hours every night drawing on Water and Air, filling herself with the elements available to her and rejoicing in her power.

By the time the Winter Solstice grew near, and planning for the Queen's Winter Ball was in full swing, Fey was ready to rejoin her sisters and take up her blades again.

The Winter Solstice marks the shortest day of the lunar year—the point at which the sun is at its furthest point from our world. For the Witches of the realm, it's a holy day, the first day of Winter, and the day when the Goddess makes Her transition from a giver of life to a destroyer. In the dark months of Winter, She will take more lives than at any other time in the year, and the world will grow as cold and dead as Her heart.

On the morning of the Winter Solstice, most Witches attend services at their Temple to honor the dead. It is tradition to make food—mostly baked sweets and chocolates—and leave them as offerings around the city. For their Faction, it is a time to honor the ones they have lost. A time of contemplation and prayer.

For the Queen, it's an excuse to throw a party.

The Winter Ball was the social highlight of the year for aristocrats in the Eternal City and inner octants, and many socialites spent months each year plying the Queen and her heir with gifts and social visits to earn themselves an invitation.

In the past, Fey loathed these events. Like the Princess's birthday months earlier, her role in the Winter Ball was nothing more than a show of the Queen's strength. Fey and her sisters would spend the party standing guard over the Queen and her daughter, still as statues at her back, little more than props.

But for once, Fey found herself looking forward to the celebration, looking forward to spending the evening alongside her sisters. They were typically situated just far enough behind the throne that they could whisper to one another—their masks hiding any sign of their lips moving.

The idea of donning her fighting leathers again, even just to stand there and look frightening, sounded like a dream to Fey. When the solstice finally came, and the hour of the Winter Ball approached, Fey couldn't help but be excited.