Page 16 of A Resistance of Witches

Vivian turned on her. “I beg your pardon?”

Lydia raised her chin. “How did an enemy witch get inside the academy?”

Vivian’s eyes narrowed. “Miss Polk, I don’t think I care for your tone—”

Lydia cut her off. “I see only two options. Either this enemy witch, and by extension, hercoven, is in possession of some great, unforeseen power, strong enough to bypass dozens of layers of our own warding magic—”

“Miss Polk—”

“Or,” Lydia continued, “the witches of the high council were powerless to protect against an enemy attack inside our own walls, which would make you lot no better than a bunch of half-rate parlor magicians. Frankly, I can’t quite decide which option is more unsettling.”

Vivian stared, stunned to silence. It felt good, offending her, after the way she’d spoken that night in the ceremonial chamber. The way Vivian had disparaged the grand mistress before the Great Mother herself not an hour after her death and felt not an ounce of shame.

Vivian screwed up her mouth before speaking. “You always have had a bloody cheek.”

“So I’m told.”

Vivian huffed. “I didn’t come to quarrel. I’m here to offer you an olive branch, if you will cease your insolence long enough for me to do so.”

Lydia waited.

“Sybil tells me you are considering accepting her nomination for grand mistress.”

“It would be my right, as Isadora’s apprentice.”

“The position of grand mistress is no one’sright,” Vivian snapped. “It is a grave responsibility, too heavy for most elder witches to carry, and you are a moody, ill-bred child.”

“Is this your olive branch?”

Vivian glared. “Do you plan on accepting the nomination?”

Lydia considered lying, if only to see the look on Vivian’s face. Instead, she opted for the truth.

“I haven’t decided. Do you plan to challenge me if I say yes?”

Vivian cast her cloudy gaze over Isadora’s paintings and baubles, her collection of books, which now lay strewn across the floor. She studied Lydia, barefoot and half-mad with loss, standing in the middle of Isadora’s parlor.

“I never liked Isadora. She was…showy.Arrogant. She saw tradition as something to be challenged, rather than respected.You, I trust even less. You’ve been under her influence for too long. You are rash. Obstinate. And you lack judgment.”

Lydia considered a thousand bitter words to fling at Vivian but held her tongue.

“I am eighty-seven years old. Too old, if you ask me. I have no interest in glory, and I have no desire to be grand mistress. What for? I’ll be dead soon enough.” Vivian paused, as if waiting to see if Lydia would offer any clever remarks. When she didn’t, Vivian went on. “You have a reasonable claim to Isadora’s seat, I’ll give you that. But if I were to challenge you, you would undoubtedly lose.”

Lydia knew it was true. Vivian had been on the high council for sixty years, with strong alliances inside the academy. And while no one could accuse Vivian of having charm, she did possess a certain gravitas that made others sit up and take note when she spoke. A challenge from Vivian would mean Lydia’s inevitable loss.

“Why challenge me at all if you don’t want it?”

“Because I want what’s best for the academy. If you were to become grand mistress, I have no doubt you would carry on in Isadora’s footsteps—sending witches gallivanting across Europe on these ridiculous treasure hunts. Playing at being soldiers and assassins. And for what? A country that would just as soon see us all hanged.” She scowled. “I can’t allow it.”

“You talk as if we were still in the Middle Ages. The world has changed, Vivian.”

“Has it?” Vivian’s tone was mocking. “Show me a world that does not hate a powerful woman, and I’ll show you a world without men.” She held Lydia in her gaze. “This institution was founded forus, Miss Polk. Entire generations of witches were orphaned during the trials—”

“I remember your history lessons, Vivian, there’s no need—”

“Their mothers and grandmothers hanged or drowned. Their daughters left untrained. The academy was founded in the midst of that tragedy, Miss Polk, to ensure that our knowledge could never be lost. To ensure that our own would be protected. Not so we could fight and die on behalf of a country that has always despised us.” She pursed her lips. “Why should witches care about Britain’s war, when Britain has never cared for us?”

Lydia felt her anger rising. “Because it’s the right thing to do.”

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