Page 16 of Night of Death and Flowers

His eyes widen. “Me? I know nothing.”

“You.” I point at the eldest of them. “Come.”

Vaknor steps back, and the man steps into his place in front of me. His black eyes reveal his deep devotion to Volan, the God of Will, confirming his abilities of sight. “You saw the accomplice?”

He refuses to meet my stare, as if it might be fatal. “I…” He glances at Vaknor, and I step forward. I inch closer, the magic darkening the tips of my fingers as I bring them slowly toward his face. His gulp is music to my ears as he stares at them, wide-eyed.

“You have one chance,” I say, “before I send you to the Darklands.”

Vaknor pleads from behind him, “Please, Everist, don’t.”

“Her name is Calista,” Everist splutters as Vaknor falls to his knees, his palms covering his eyes. The elder continues. “Calista Bellevue.”

I tilt my head, looking over his shoulder to Vaknor. “You hide her out of sentiment?” I ask, my lips curling into a frown. “A traitor.”

With a shaky voice, Everist finally breaks the heavy silence. “She is his daughter, but he just discovered she is behind this. He will punish her for her crimes, familial ties or not. We will send her to the Incarcuri.”

“You will do nothing. You will leave her to me.”

Vaknor’s brows pull downward, his lips parting from behind Everist. I interject before he can speak. While they may be the most powerful in Dahryst, they answer to me. “Do you object?”

He leans back as my stare darkens. I know better than to kill an elder. I need them on my side, even if they are weak. But they still hold the power of all six, like diluted versions of myself.

“No.”

My eyes focus on him. “No, because I am certain you understand the ramifications a witch holding such deadly magic would have on your society. A society I built.”

He swallows hard, his gaze objecting, but his lips don’t move.

“Should you try to warn her, or tell anyone of this,” I say, untapped restraint behind each word, “the rest of your loved ones shall pay the same price as her.”

“Yes, I understand,” he says croakily, then bows his head, stepping back in line with the others.

The witch’s name swims in my mind, again and again—so familiar, yet so poisonous. As if the word, something so unimportant, can destabilize me.

Calista.

Her name becomes my obsession, and I caress the vowels on my tongue until I can taste her essence. The fated one, an echo of myself, and she is here.

So very close.

Dephina presses her hands together in prayer, then bends her knee, snapping me back to the present. “If I may,” she says, interrupting my thoughts. “Unfortunately, during this disruption, your statue was… destroyed,” she hesitates. “We were hoping, now that you have returned, you will choose the names for The Harvest?”

“You wish for me to complete The Choosing?” I ask, my tone measured, but my fingers flex at my side when I glare at them. “When you cannot even find the perpetrator? The boy?” I tilt my head. “They were allowed to pass into the church.”

“We were told Phovi were guarding the entrance,” Dephina says.

“Yes, because I sent them,” I spit. “You did not protect the church with any spells. Not even a simple curse?”

The elder coven is supposed to be my legacy, a coven built of the strongest of mortals to govern the people and keep them safe from the humans in our absence.

As my gaze travels across each generation, I shake my head as I notice the weakness in the younger ones, born from the false sense of safety they have lived in.

My fingers curl with the violent urge to rid myself of this embarrassment of a coven.

“Are you not more powerful than any other mortal in your world, holding the powers of all six covens? The people will not respect you if the boy is not found and punished. So, what am I to do with you now?”

The youngest of the seven steps forward, his hands shaky as he meets my stare. “We beg for your mercy, our most gracious god of death.”

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