Page 12 of The Witch and His Crow

We both looked towards the gaping doorway, sensing a shift in the atmosphere that no thistlebane could dampen.

‘Romy. Andwhatis the meaning of this?’ Jonathan shouted, knocking the table between us as he stood to face the open door.

She stepped through the door, eyes flickering downwards. It was not fear but awe that creased across her face. I quickly realised she was not looking at the floor, but the parchment that she held. It looked as though it had been sun-stained, like the pages of old books. Smoke slithered from the edges of the parchment, curling around Romy’s fingers.

‘Your suspicions where right,’ Romy said, barely glancing up. ‘The key was in his blood. He is the lost Briar.’

There was a knowing that passed between Romy and Jonathan. A beat of unspoken words, as she lifts the parchment which Jonathan promptly snatched.

He read the report to himself, eyes frantically scanning the page. I could almost see the dark ink through the back of the parchment, as though it had seeped through. Although I couldn’t make out the words, it looked to be more like a list than anything else. But it was the symbol at the top of the parchment that I recognised, the same one Jonathan wore around his neck, the very same symbol I had once seen my mother wear with pride.

It was the symbol of the Grand High. The triangle with the circle imprisoned within. A symbol all witches knew.

‘It would seem that your fate is no longer in the Coven’s hands,’ Jonathan said to me, whilst refusing to look up from the parchment. There was no denying the slight shake of his hands, nor the way Romy hadn’t stopped looking at me.

I was continuously drawn to the parchment, as though I sensed the paper beating like a heart. If my hands weren’t tied to the table, I would have reached out and snatched it from him. Like a moth to the flame, I was desperate to know what was written upon it.

‘Has the gateway opened?’ Jonathan asked Romy.

She nodded, one swift tip of her head. ‘Word has reached us from the cellar. The rune-marks have awoken.’

‘This is perfect,’ Jonathan purred quietly, before repeating it like a man overcome with joy. ‘This is absolutely perfect, Romy. Cause for celebration.’

Amongst all the sudden chaos, I had not noticed my familiar’s quietness. Perhaps I would wonder why later, but for now I waited to hear exactly who now held my fate.

Both Romy and Jonathan looked at me, as though they suddenly remembered I was in the room. Their silence spoke volumes, but it made my skin itch.

‘Care to explain what your ominous words mean, or are you going to just stand there gawping?’ I asked, heart thundering in my chest. I felt violently sick, as though my body knew what was coming even if my mind refused to admit it.

Nothing good came from that symbol. It caused my mother’s death, and it was the very thing I had hidden from. Now, the symbol hung from Jonathan’s neck, as though he was my judge and jury.

‘The chance we have been waiting for.’ Jonathan lifted his eyes from the parchment, his spare hand clutching the symbol on his neck as though it was the most important thing to him.

‘Congratulations, Hector Briar. You have been entered intothe Witch Trials.’

Something harsh and unkind bubbled in my stomach. I barely had a chance to seal my lips shut before it erupted upwards, scalding my throat and spilling vomit out across the table. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t catch my breath, couldn’t quell the ache behind my eyes as another bout of sick burst outs of me.

Whatever Jonathan said next, I didn’t hear it. It seemed like I was shut off from the world, my mind punishing me. All I could hear as the room floods with people, the rope unbound, before I was guided from the sick-covered table, was those three fucking words.

The Witch Trials.

The Witch Trials.

The Witch Trials.

CHAPTER THREE

Ihardly slept for the three days of my captivity. And yes, captivity was certainly the apt word to describe my stay with the Coven. Every night I laid awake, listening to the sounds outside of my guarded room, hearing the excited mummers which came with knowing the Witch Trials were imminent. Jonathan had stationed two witches outside of my locked door, powerful ones no doubt. I smiled at the knowledge that they were frightened of me. Or at least cautious. Although wasn’t that the same thing?

Not only had they found an unclaimed witch with no coven and a body full of revenge, but I was also the son to the last Grand high.

The key to the future of the witches.

I would be terrified of me too.

There was nothing more frightening than someone uncontrolled.

The food and drink they had offered was laced with thistlebane, but I finished it all anyway. There was no point weakening myself physically when I was about to be thrown into a battle to the death for power. There wasn’t any good to come from fighting out of this. I had failed.

---