Chapter 5

Chapter 5

P eople are remarkably predictable when they know they are going to die. Fey had killed enough of them to know firsthand that almost everyone reacts to their impending death in the same few ways.

It starts with bargaining. Bargaining is a type of denial, Fey reasoned, of refusing to accept the inevitable, even when it's standing in front of you, masked and deadly. Once the split second of shock wears off, and her victim realizes who—and what—is standing before them, most of her assignations launch straight into bargaining.

Fey had been offered gold. Sex. Power. She had been told that they could give her anything and everything if only she would spare their lives. They could give her things beyond her wildest dreams, her darkest wishes.

And when bargaining inevitably fails, they cry. Sometimes, they run, and very, very rarely they try to fight.

It's always more fun when they fight.

But the rarest cases are when someone simply accepts their fate.

Fey could count on one hand the number of assignations who had done so. Who had seen her, blades in her hands, and truly understood what was happening, that there was no way out, and… just accepted the in evitability of it. She respected them for it, respected them for being brave enough to accept death with their eyes wide open.

True to his word, Dameon brought Willow to them within the week, and when Willow saw the three of them, unmasked and waiting, their sigils and Blade's marks unhidden, Fey saw that awareness hit her. Saw the moment Willow realized she was going to die. And when Fey saw her accept that fate, and face her death head on, she loved her a little for it.

"Do you know who we are?" Lilith asked when Dameon brought the young Witch to their chambers. A black eye had formed from her fight, swelling blossoming under her eyes, turning her dark skin purple, but Fey recognized the tightly curled auburn hair that spilled messily from the bun at the base of her neck. Recognized the fierce glare in her wide brown eyes.

She had the heart of a Blade.

Willow was young. Eighteen, maybe nineteen. Short and curved, but she was strong. Well-defined muscles bulged under her brown skin. Something about the way she had fought in Solare made Fey think of a wolverine, and seeing Willow standing there now, her muscles tense and ready to fight, the resemblance only grew.

Willow swallowed under their gaze. She looked at each of them, taking in their matching tattoos and the sigils on their arms. "Yes," she answered. "You're the Queen's Blades."

Fey nodded. "And do you know why you're here?" she asked.

They already knew the answer. Dameon would have approached Willow with the same offer he'd made to Fey all those years ago—a chance to be a Blade, a member of the strongest Witches in the realm. A chance to prove you're worthy.

But if you fail…

Death.

The offer came with an escape. Any Witch could tell him no and continue their life as though the offer were never made. But to say yes meant giving up everything—your past, your family, your friends. Regardless of whether you were inducted into the Blades, you would cease to exist in the outside world. You would be a ghost.

Most Witches who joined the Queen's army had no family to speak of, anyway. In all the years the Blades had existed, no Witch had ever turned down the offer.

But many—far too many—had failed the trials.

Three tasks were required. Mental, elemental, and physical. It was up to the current Blades how the tasks were performed, up to them whether a potential recruit passed or failed.

"I do," Willow said, her head held high. Fire blazed in her eyes.

Lilith smiled wickedly at her. "Follow me, then."

Lilith's trial was first.

The room she chose was a small library, tucked away in the Eastern Wing. It held some of her favorite books—historical records from the aftermath of the War of the Fallen, and ancestry records of every Queen who had ever ruled. Fey knew Lilith could name them all, and could name each of their children, heir or not. It was an obsession of hers.

Lilith's other obsession was power.

"Fire and Earth," Lilith mused. She paced the bookshelf in front of her, fingertips tracing the spines until she found the one that she was searching for. Plucking the book from the shelf, she flipped it open and thumbed through the pages.

"One of the first four Blades had those powers, you know," Lilith said, her fingers trailing down a page.

From her seat by the desk, Willow's head lifted with interest. The history of the Witches, the history of their realm, was a closely guarded secret. Few knew anything about the first Blades or even the First Queen.

"Really?" Willow asked.

"Mmhm," Lilith answered. "Ah, here it is. Celeste. She was the First Queen's steadfast companion throughout the War of the Fallen. They were raised together, friends since childhood. A Fire primary, Earth secondary, just like you." Satisfied, Lilith snapped the book closed. "A strong combination. She could command metal; did you know that?"

Willow blinked, shaking her head, eyes wide in amazement.

"See, that's the true power of our elements, isn't it? It's not a single gift, but what you can do when you combine them. Together, your powers are more than just two parts of a whole. They can do something grander. Something bigger."

Standing at the edge of the room with Joy, Fey fought not to roll her eyes. She'd heard this all from Lilith before. Lilith was obsessed with the power that having control over two elements gave to Witches.

Obsessed, Fey knew, because she had command over only one. Fire .

"That's the real gift of having more than one power," Lilith told her. "It's not that you have control over an extra element. It's that you can combine those powers into something new."

Lilith grabbed a jar from the seemingly random assortment of trinkets and bobbles on the bookshelf and placed it on the desk. It was full of bits of metal—old pieces of jewelry, rusted screws. A hodgepodge of metal bits and shavings.

"Move them," Lilith commanded.

The metal shavings in the jar were rusted and dirty. Plenty of Earth for Willow to work with. She glanced at Lilith suspiciously, then turned her concentration to the jar before her.

Power pulsed in the room, and the metal debris shifted. Bits of jewelry clanked against the glass as they wiggled in the jar. They were like insects, batting their wings against the glass to get out.

"Good." Lilith nodded, appreciatively. "Now, form them into a ball."

Willow frowned, furrowing her brow in confusion.

"What do you mean?"

"Earth and Fire," Lilith said simply, like she was speaking to a child. "You just showed me you can move the earth around the metal. You have command over Fire too, don't you? So… burn it all and move them together to form a ball."

A pause. And again, that pulse of power. Again, the metal shifted. But try as Willow might, the pieces in the jar remained just that—pieces. Bits of metal stubbornly separated into fractions. The metal moved and shifted, but didn't melt together to form anything.

Fey could see Willow's jaw clenching as she focused that power. But the metal remained in the jar, unchanged.

"I can't," Willow said, finally, a hint of a growl in her voice. "I can feel it, but… I've never drawn Earth and Fire together, they're not…" She struggled with the words. "They're so different. It's like trying to breathe and swallow water at the same time. I can't call on them both at once like that. I can only do one at a time."

Lilith nodded, as though she had expected this. Leaning over the desk, she reached into a drawer to pull out a gold chain—the links pristine, untouched by time or rust.

"This is solid gold," Lilith told Willow. She held the chain out for her, letting the metal flow out of her hand and into Willow's palm. "Feel it. Get to know the metal. Gold is soft—soft enough you could scratch it with your fingernails if you tried."

Willow held the chain, running it between her fingers. She scratched it. Smelled it. For a moment, Fey thought she might even put it to the tip of her tongue and taste it.

"Feel the metal, Willow. Get a sense of it. Now, melt the metal and form the chain into a ball."

Willow frowned down at the gold in her hand, and there was no pulse of power this time. She sighed, shaking her head.

"I told you, I can't," she said, handing the chain back to Lilith. She hadn't even tried.

Lilith smiled at her. Smiled as she took the chain, and smiled as she walked behind Willow.

Smiled, even as she wrapped the gold chain around Willow's neck from behind and tightened it around her throat.

No one could interfere with the trials, but it wasn't an easy thing to watch. The chain bit into Willow's neck, straining against the skin, as Lilith lifted her from her chair with it. Willow fought her, of course, her hands coming to the chain at her neck, scratching at where it dug into her skin, scratching at Lilith's hands, at her skin. She struggled to speak, to scream, but Lilith only pulled the chain tighter.

"You have a choice here, Willow," Lilith said, voice strained as she fought to hold the struggling Witch still. "You can feel the metal. Feel it, feel every link in the chain, and command it to break . Or…" Lilith paused, tightening her grip for emphasis. "Or you could die. Choose fast. You only have a few minutes. Less, if your neck snaps. "

The chair fell as Willow thrashed. If she'd had breath, she would have snarled, would have spat like a cat.

No , Fey thought with a smile, not like a cat. Like a wolverine.

But she didn't. She had no breath, no air to hiss with. Her fingernails scraped on her skin, fighting for purchase, fighting to get between her skin and the chain. But it was too tight. There was no give to allow her access.

Her face was turning red, her eyes bulging.

Such a waste , Fey thought sadly, watching Willow as her struggle began to slow. Hands now slapping ineffectually at Lilith's. Dameon wouldn't ever let her forget this, either, if the Witch they'd been so certain of couldn't even make it through the first trial…

Willow's hand slapped at Lilith's one last time, softly, barely enough to make any noise, before going limp, her arm falling by her side.

The surge of power that fired through the room was enough to shake the books as the chain glowed white hot under Lilith's grip. Glowed and snapped .

Lilith swore, dropping the metal to the ground and stepping away, her hands red and coming up in welts from where the molten metal had burned her. The gold hit the ground as a liquid, a thick stream of metal that almost immediately cooled and solidified on the carpet.

Willow was on her hands and knees, coughing and gasping for breath, one hand still clutching her neck where the metal had bitten in. She hadn't been burnt, Fey noticed with an appreciation. The heat of the metal hadn't left a single mark on her skin. But she'd have some impressive bruises around her neck from the chain.

"You would have killed me," Willow gasped from where she knelt. Her voice was angry, shocked. She stared over her shoulder at Lilith, eyes blazing with fire. "You would have just killed me."

"Yes," agreed Joy, with a smile. "But she didn't."

"Fuck the Goddess, that hurts ," snarled Lilith, clasping her hands, ignoring Willow's glare entirely. "Joy, where's the damn elixir?"

"Serves you right, you fucking psycho," Willow gasped, still struggling to draw breath. Then she laughed, almost deliriously. She stared at the puddles of gold around her and whispered. "Holy shit. I did it. I melted it. "

Joy pulled a small Med Witch bottle from her pocket, taking her time uncorking it, before pouring the concoction into Lilith's hands. Lilith unleashed a stream of creative swearing as the elixir coated her hands, soothing the burns, and licking away the pain.

"Fuck, that hurts," she whimpered.

Rubbing the elixir into her hands, coating the burns and blisters there until they receded, Lilith reached over and took the jar of metal debris. She twisted it open, pouring the contents onto the carpet in front of Willow.

"Make it into a ball," she demanded again.

Willow snarled, face contorting in anger at the command.

But she reached out to scoop up a handful of metal, and it purred and glowed under her touch. It pulsed with a warm glow and melted. Willow held the molten metal in her palm and closed her fist around it. When she opened it again, a perfect sphere of metal sat there.

Lilith smiled, red lips twisting up in a near sneer.

"See, little sister? You could do it, after all. You just needed the right incentive."

Willow's only answer was a growl.

Joy's trial was next.

Mental.

This was where Joy truly excelled. While she may have been the most skilled Air Witch in history, her best strength was in her ability to look inside people and see them for who they really were.

Joy took them to her mediation suite—a large circular room, empty save for the hundreds of candles that lined the walls and a variety of cushions covering the floor.

"Sit," Joy instructed Willow, motioning to a cushion in the center of the room. When Willow did so, taking her time to settle into a comfortable seated position, Joy waved her fingers and one by one the candles around them lit, bursting to life with a flick of her Fire.

Joy took her time, walking around the edge of the room, lighting incense, and humming to herself. Smoke drifted through the air around them, thin tendrils that carried strong, heady scents.

Even with the candlelight, the room was dark and far too warm. Fey wrinkled her nose and leaned against the rounded wall. Next to her, Lilith did the same.

"Close your eyes," Joy instructed. From her seat in the center of the room, Willow closed her eyes, a hint of a smile tweaking her mouth.

This was not what she had expected. And this? Compared to Lilith's test, this would be easy, the little Witch thought.

Fey fought the urge to laugh.

Joy paced in a slow, lazy circle around the room. She moved with a cat-like grace, unhurried and exuding calm. Her aura was gentle and soothing.

"Don't worry, little one. I won't attack you, like my sister. I just want to look inside your mind. I just want to know you. Breathe in, little Witch, and feel the air around you."

Willow took a deep breath in. Incense curled around her, tendrils flowing into her nostrils.

"Breathe out and breathe out all of your troubles. All of your woes."

It went on like this for a while. Joy moved silently around the room, circling Willow like a cat, and Willow sinking deeper and deeper into a trance. The heat of the room was overpowering, the smell of the incense cloying and thick. Fey fought the urge to yawn, fought to keep her own eyes from closing. The room wanted to pull her down, pull her onto the cushions, and lull her to sleep.

"Can you hear me, little sister?" Joy asked.

"Yes," Willow responded, voice heavy. Relaxed.

"Good. Breathe in. Hold your breath with me. Three…. Two… One… release."

Willow exhaled.

"What was your name, again, little Witch?"

"Willow."

Joy smiled. Smiled and paced. "A strong name for a strong Witch. Tell me… why are you here, Willow?"

"I want to be a Queen's Blade."

"Why? "

Willow shifted slightly, uncomfortable.

"Find stillness," Joy instructed. "Breathe in with me. Hold. Three, two, one. Exhale. Good. Tell me…why do you want to be a Blade?"

"I want to be strong."

"Are you not strong already?"

A pause. Then, in barely a whisper, "Not enough."

Joy nodded, more to herself than Willow. The air grew heavier and warmer. Candles flickered and went out. The smoke from her incense followed Joy's path around the room, trailing behind her as she circled.

"What scares you, Willow?" Joy asked suddenly.

"Spiders," Willow answered immediately. Fey fought the smile that tugged at her lips. Oh yes, she liked this little Witch. This clever, disobedient Witch.

"Spiders," Joy rolled the word in her mouth, tasting it. Considering it. "No," she said, finally. "I think not. Not spiders."

"It's their legs," Willow explained. "They have no right to so many legs."

Lilith's harsh laugh was cut off by Fey's swift elbow to her ribs.

"It's not fair, is it?" Willow continued, opening her eyes a fraction and turning toward where Lilith and Fey stood. "Snakes don't have any at all."

"Breathe," Joy reminded her, trailing her fingers over Willow's shoulder as she passed. Willow recentered herself and took a deep breath.

"I think you're lying to us, little Witch," Joy said.

She paced around Willow in slow, steady circles. Calm, considering.

"You wrap yourself in jokes to protect yourself," Joy said, her voice suddenly heavy with sadness. Pain. "But you're scared. And your jokes won't protect you here. Not from me. You want to be strong. Not just strong , you need to be the strongest. The best of the very best. Why? What scares you so much you would risk it all for strength? What scares you even more than death?"

Willow's lips twitched but she didn't answer. The smoke curled in tighter and tighter circles around her, circling her like a storm.

Joy took a deep breath in and stopped pacing .

"They left you, didn't they?" she said, suddenly, and Willow's breath faltered.

"Breathe," Joy commanded. "Inhale. One, two, three. Hold. Exhale."

When Willow's breathing had resumed a measured pace, Joy continued.

"And you were young, weren't you? So young." There was a deep sadness in her voice. Fey thought she might be crying. "Not even Awakened yet, were you? Not even a real Witch. They didn't even bother to wait to see what you would become."

Willow said nothing.

"Just a child and your family left you. Left you to be raised by strangers, left you to die. Why did they do that, little Witch? Why would they leave you?"

"I don't know," Willow answered. Her voice sounded strangled.

"What did you do to make them leave you? To make them abandon you?"

The room heated.

"I didn't do anything," Willow said through clenched teeth. Her eyes were still shut, tightly.

Joy was shaking her head. "Oh no, you don't believe that. Don't lie to me. You say that, but you don't mean it. And if you don't believe it, why should we? You must have done something. Why would they leave you if it wasn't your fault?"

Willow's breathing wasn't calm anymore. It hitched and grew erratic.

"Maybe you were too much for them. Asking so many questions, making too many of your little jokes, wanting so much from them. Is that it? Were you just too much? Or maybe they just didn't like you. Maybe no one likes you."

The air heated. Some of the candles Joy had extinguished relit with a spark.

"Maybe you weren't strong enough, hm? Maybe you were nothing but a weak little girl, always in the way, always just a little too much for everyone to handle. That's why, isn't it? That's why they had to leave you. "

"It wasn't my fault," Willow snarled. Joy shrugged, though Willow couldn't see it.

"It doesn't matter, I suppose." Her voice was harsh as she circled. "It doesn't matter what you did to make them abandon you. They left you, and you were so young. So vulnerable."

Fey could feel sweat dripping down her back. It was insufferable, being stuck in this room, the heat of it, the smoke. It was all too much. The very air felt like fire, and it thrummed around her, coating her skin with oppressive violence.

"How did it feel, Willow? To know you were all alone? To know that no one would help you, no one would protect you?"

The ground shook, and the air crackled with power. Willow didn't answer, didn't make a sound.

"You're alone. You are nothing. And they will hurt you, Willow," Joy was saying, her voice growing pitched. "They will come, they will find you, and they will hurt you." Willow's breathing was erratic and unfocused, her chest heaving, but Joy showed no signs of stopping, no signs of giving up. "Who will protect you? Such an unlovable thing? Such a powerless thing? Who will save you when they come?"

The air was smothering. Lilith inhaled deeply, tilting her head back. Like called to like, and as Willow's power grew, Fey knew Lilith and Joy could feel it calling to them. Fire calling to Fire.

Fey was alone in not feeling it.

To her, all she felt was the clawing heat against her skin, the overwhelming blanket of smoke around them. Her stomach roiled, and for a moment she thought she might faint.

Joy stopped before Willow and crouched, their faces near to touching.

"Who will save you when they come, little Witch? Who will stop them when they hurt you?"

The heat in the room thrummed. It was a near-physical thing, licking at Fey's skin.

"You're alone , Willow." Joy's voice was low and cruel. Her lip curled in a sneer as she stared at the Witch before her. "Who will save you now?"

Willow's eyes snapped open, and the flames from the candles around the room arched, their tips reaching the ceiling, vanishing the dark in the room as they burst with light.

"I don't need anyone to save me," Willow snarled, meeting Joy's eyes. Her power filled the room, suffocating, intoxicating. She bared her teeth, eyes narrowed and dangerous. "I can save myself."

Power pulsed between them as Joy stared into Willow's eyes.

Then she smiled.

"Good," Joy said.

And just like that, the air lifted, the blanket of heat disappearing, vanishing under Joy's command. Cool air whispered against Fey's skin, washing away the heat, the smoke, the fear. It soothed where the heat had antagonized her flesh, Joy's gentle, seemingly endless font of power touching them all, comforting them all.

Joy took Willow's face in her hands, beaming at her, no trace of her anger or cruelty left. Only love, pure and unconditional love. "I believe you, little sister," she said, before planting a kiss on Willow's lips.

And then it was Fey's turn.

"This is your final test," Fey told Willow, leading her into the training room.

She stopped right over the threshold, taking a deep breath in, filling her lungs with the smell of the gym. With the obvious exception of her bedroom, this was Fey's favorite place in the entire palace. This was where she spent most of her time.

Willow blinked in the bright lights of the training gym, the atmosphere a stark contrast to the dark candlelit room where Joy had tested her.

"The rules are simple," Fey continued. She walked across the padded floor and grabbed a folded chair and an hourglass from the equipment closet.

Willow watched, wary, as Fey stalked back toward her, setting up the chair and placing the hourglass down on the metal seat.

"You have one hour. One hour to draw blood. That's it."

Willow eyed the hourglass skeptically. "That's it?" she asked .

Fey nodded. "No rules, no tapping out. You have one hour to make me bleed." Fey smiled, then—a cruel twisted smile that saw Willow's brown skin pale. "Or fail."

Lilith and Joy climbed onto a pair of benches at the side of the room to watch.

Years ago, this had been Alice's trial. She had been the one standing here, before Fey, giving her the rules. She had been the one to determine if Fey would live or die.

But Fey wouldn't think about that, not now. Instead, she plucked the heavy wooden hourglass from the chair and turned it over to start the countdown.

"Begin."