Page 13 of First Ritual

I let a hum build in my throat like last night, but this time I released words into the melody. “Creoh, servah, senthre, custodhre.”

The chant was a thanks to the mother. A welcoming to the moon. And a reassurance of my servitude to the power she allowed me. The words and melody filled my circle, and power filled my body, swaying it rhythmically as my arms slowly rose. Moonlight filled me to the brim, and I’d watched my grandmother and mother enough times to know I’d be glowing near silver, a beacon with my white-gray hair.

Wild’s scoffing of my old-school ways? Well, I only had to feel the beauty of this moment to understand that I’d perfectly prepared to embrace the mother’s healing. The stress and worry of the last month ebbed away—and what a hellish, confronting, daunting month it had been. Every shred of angst was erased, washed away, and replaced by an infinite feeling of inner peace—a sensation that couldn’t be described, only felt.

I loved esbat.

I wished I could always feel this way. I lived for the few hours when I didn’t exist in dread and despair.

My arms lowered. My knees folded. I knelt in my circle, bowing my head, then leaned down to kiss the pink opal. I miss you so much.

Blinking my eyes open revealed that the surrounding magus had abandoned their perusal of me to attend to their own healing rituals some time ago. A few magus were done and sat in quiet contemplation. Some glowed at the height of their connection. Others were coming down, as I just had.

I banished my Syera’s opal, then absorbed the magic in my salt circle before sliding a bare foot through to break it.

“Nicely done.”

I glanced back at Varden. “Thank you, sir. You’ve done yours?”

He nodded, then peered at my severed salt circle. “It’s not often we see such preparation at esbats amongst your generation.”

Really? I peered around and did spot a curious lack of gems and salt circles amongst the younger magus.

So many were going solo too. Sometimes a person just wasn’t in the mood for a group healing, but Grandmother had mentioned the coven’s mass healings many times. There were a few small groups here and there, but nothing like what she’d described. The men wore amulets and layered necklaces. Most—except Wild—wore white. Otherwise they weren’t doing anything to augment their connection to the mother.

Wild’s earlier words took on a new meaning.

Maybe the things I was doing were considered old-school.

“Do magus here not smooth the passage of magic?” I asked Varden.

He inhaled. “There are not many who still do such things. Those of us who are older. Those who are younger with a very strong apothecary affinity. On occasion.”

I shuddered. Old customs were tried and true, a tip of the hat to those who’d come before us. Such things held real purpose in strengthening our magic and keeping us, as vessels of magic, whole and pure. Calm. My very being recoiled from abandoning such customs. Less insulting would be to slap my grandmother around the face. “I see.”

Varden flicked me a searching look but didn’t comment further. “Do I need to apologize for voting against your acceptance into the coven?”

I lifted a shoulder. “I’m sure you had your reasons. I didn’t take it personally.”

He cracked a smile. “I thought not.”

What I couldn’t decide is whether he’d believed me a danger to the coven, or the coven a danger to me. “What happens next?” Most had finished their rituals.

He held out an arm. “Now, Miss Corentine, you accompany me. It is time for the coven to decide whether you stay or go.”

I took his offered arm, not worried about mixing with male energy now the healing was over. We walked down a small slope to a meadow that hadn’t been visible from above. An ornate, stone pedestal sat in the exact middle of the meadow. Glass lanterns, glowing with the flames therein, hung from the pedestal. Wreaths of flowers adorned it.

Varden led me that way, stopping us before it. “If you sit on this pedestal, then you accept the verdict of the coven and our mother.”

Ominous. “Is there a reason I shouldn’t do so, sir?” Was this where they’d execute me? The tense undercurrent in the coven was beginning to get under my skin.

“Nothing is without reason,” he murmured. “Our reasons circle around each other, sometimes uniting and sometimes not. Yet circle on they will.”

I wasn’t smart enough to understand that. “Thanks?”

His lips parted in a second smile.

I climbed the small ladder and perched in the middle of the pedestal, settling my white dress around me and tucking my feet in. If this was my execution, then I was going to look hot for it.

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