Page 33 of King of Moon and Claws

Serife dropped her hand to her side, her expression sunken. She looked far older than she had the day before. She looked like she, too, was grieving.

“I have no idea what you are referring to, but I can sense in your aura that you are convinced of your words. Come with me for a moment.”

Elora hesitated. She was a witch, too, and could sense, even with her layman abilities, that Serife had a mellow and genuine spirit. If she was lying, it would be written on her face like incantations in a scroll.

But Elora didn’t completely trust her judgment yet. So when she followed behind Serife, who led her into one of the guest rooms meant for a member of the military force, she stood at a good distance waiting for Serife to strike.

Serife did nothing of the sort. She kept her hands raised in the air as Elora closed the door, making sure not to lock it.

“I won’t move from where I am standing,” Serife said, remaining at the fireplace. “You can see into my mind from there and see I am telling you the truth. Come on, now. I know you can do it.”

The little that Elora knew about witches was acute in her mind, as clear as any wind chime clinking in the breeze. Her trust in them was triggered by a keen intuition. Serife had said that her powers were majestic but untethered. She had to believe she had been telling her the truth.

Whether her motivations were earnest or wicked.

“Come on,” Serife said, encouraging Elora by closing her eyes. “I believe in you. You are more powerful than you’d ever dreamed of being.”

Elora did as she was asked, closing her eyes herself, and cautiously used all she had left after such a grueling emotional day to creep into the mind of the witch ambassador.

She found herself surrounded by an iridescent glow, a galaxy of shimmering stardust, and a warmth that felt like an endless hug. Serife was an open book and showed no indication of having known who Elora was until she met her the day before. There were no sealed doors or places to cower inside that skull arena. It had the vibrating ambiance of a sweeping meadow on the cusp of summer.

“Do you see?”

Elora, having never dared to seep into the mind of another that starkly, pulled herself back into the room, crudely forced back into her own body. She banged against the door slightly and had to adjust the center herself. But when she did, she was enlivened.

“I do see," Elora said, rubbing her temples. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made such an accusation without…”

“Pish posh,” Serife said waving her off her concern. “It's not the first time my intentions have been prejudged. As a witch, you get used to it.”

Serife winked at her, and the feeling of returning home swooped back into her soul.

“Now, I think we have to get to the truth of the matter. What made you think it was me who brought you to Vasilis?"

Elora was feeling a little lightheaded but that didn’t dampen her convictions.

“Bastian said that he and Iagan realized it together, after talking today. He seemed off ever since they spoke…”

“How so?”

The words flowed fluidly as Elora continued rubbing at her temples.

“He has been insisting ever since I got here that I stay, and after our meeting yesterday, he told me that it was because I was his mate. He told him how intense it was, how he’d become physically ill without me. Now, it's so easy to just let me leave?”

The witch’s eyes were bright again. She came to Elora, placing a hand on her shoulder. She had that crooked smile on her face again, and she spoke with a placidness that felt nearly hypnotizing.

“Honey, when a shifter finds his mate, they never, ever let them go. That is a universal truth. There is something else in the water. Something poisonous."

Serife brought a finger to her lips, pondering. Her other hand remained on Elora’s shoulder, kneading softly. It was like the two of them were fused, contemplating the puzzle as one intellectual being.

Then it rose like a tidal wave, and the two witches locked eyes. It was a highly intimate moment.

“The shaman,” Elora said.

“The shaman,” Serife repeated, chewing on the title with a sour expression. “That son of a bitch. He pointed the king at me to corrupt your trust. That damn bastard.”

The women spoke more, conspiring in a way that only witches knew. It all made so much sense to Elora as they shared more and more details about what they had each learned about the supposedly respected and sage Iagan. Elora knew that it was going to be difficult to break the news to the king, but at the same time, they had no other choice.

“You are his mate, I have no doubt,” Serife said. “I felt it in the room yesterday. He hasn’t marked you yet, has he?”

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