Page 15 of Night of Death and Flowers

The witch will be next to die.

A chorus of hissing caresses the inside of my ear, guiding my attention to Morcidea’s tree line. From within the underbrush, a large Shadow Viper edges out onto the shoreline, its intelligent, red eyes fixated on me. Under the dove-gray sky, where a distant storm brews, the body of the creature glistens with red markings patched over black and purple.

Another shuffle sounds in the distance, along with footsteps. The elders are here. I can sense their array of powers.

Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath in and fix my composure before traveling the short distance from the shore of the Black Sea to the stone circle in the heart of the forest.

Their heartbeats are unstable, palpitating when they notice me, and their movements come to an abrupt halt. I observe the seven elders, their heads remaining bowed in reverence at the foot of the tall, weathered stones.

Striding to the center, I breathe in the burning incense from within a clay bowl nested in dry grass. My stare climbs from the bowl to the youngest looking elder. He slowly raises his head, and I notice his fingers trembling under the sleeves of his cloak.

My gaze travels over each of the stones. It has been two centuries since the stones were erected, yet still my sigil remains clearly etched on each of them.

“You no longer worship here,” I state, noticing the lack of prayer totems and ivy strangled between the cracks, destabilizing the structures.

Two elders flinch as my sharp tone slices through the winds.

“Azkiel, God of Death and protector of our realm,” a lone woman says, positioning herself in front of me first. She pulls her hood down, revealing her elegantly braided hair. Her captivating green eyes demand attention, their presence stressed by the wrinkles around them, a testament to the power she exudes.

All magic takes an exhaustive toll on mortals, but holding the power of all six gods is more than most can handle, even if it is a diluted version of our magic.

Yet, I can take it from her now. I can pull every ounce of magic from her bones until she is depleted. My jaw sets as I stare intrusively into her eyes until she speaks at my silent command.

“I am Dephina, my God.”

“Why did you come to me?” I ask, my tone gravelly.

“We caught signs of your return, and we hoped it was true,” she says, her wide-eyed traveling every line of my face, her gaze drifting to my tunic, then my blackened fingers. Her eyes snap back to mine, her lips parting, pupils dilating. “Our powers,” she says, then clears the croak from her voice. “They grew stronger two days ago. We all felt the surge. Then the crows were acting erratically, and we found what looked like stardust glowing in the nearby meadow.”

I hold my breath, suppressing the urge to roll my eyes and dash their hopes now, but the look of anticipation shared in their gazes keeps me silent, reminding me I did not always hate mortals.

In fact, I could swear I even liked them once.

I stare at her until she looks away first.

“We had an incident.” Dephina exhales shakily, understanding my silent question. She was correct not to wait for me to ask. Because if it is true, then they did not come to immediately. I can only hope they caught the witch.

She continues. “Two assailants entered the church. One was a warlock with illusion magic. We were not aware that he also possessed the ability to animate objects into reality. It’s rare to hold two powers, but—”

“What of the accomplice?” I ask, stepping forward.

“We believe it was a witch or warlock from your coven.”

My brows furrow as I wait for a name.

“We, um, we do not know who they are.”

“Then you have failed your people,” I state, and Dephina falls back in line. “You assume the accomplice is from my coven, yet none of you will speak the truth out of fear.”

Another man speaks this time. “I am Vaknor, my most humble god of death,” he says with a quick bow, lacking the grace of the others. “We found evidence that this accomplice used… decay magic.”

He holds his breath, and a gust of air clips midair, as if the very forest is holding its breath.

A low growl reverberates in my chest, and he watches me cautiously, before speaking, his tone low, and quiet. “We are searching for the accomplice. We have our best enforcers searching for them.”

My eyes narrow on the man. His heart races, fluttering in my ears, accompanied by uneven breaths. The longer I stare, sweat beads his forehead. Slowly, he touches the side of his neck, his eyes begging to look away.

“I sense your deception,” I say, voice shaking.

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