Page 22 of The Cursed and the Broken
But that couldn’t be right. Witches and táltosok lived separately. The coven demanded it.
Our coven, I realised. But maybe not all of them. Things might be different beyond our small village. Perhaps Mistvellen was different. I’d always thought it strange Mama had left my father. She never spoke of him, but I knew she’d loved him dearly. Had Caitlin interfered in their relationship?
My mother’s eyes burned with fury, and I recognised the rage lining her face, her muscles twitching with barely contained anger. The Bárány family were known for our tempers.
“Gods spare me,” Erika muttered before Mama lost it. “The enemy is out there in the woods, not among us.”
Mama took a breath, brown eyes shimmering from the glow of the brazier set in the hall’s centre. “Yes, you’re right, of course. Speak to your contacts, Iren. I will confer with Lord Sándor. We will need the aid of the Wolfblood Clan if the cultists are gathering. Should these extremists wish to purge our witches of their magic, they will find themselves a fight.”
I stared at my mother in awe, wondering who this warrior woman was before me. I followed the motion of her hand moving to her hip, and my eyes widened at the sword sheathed at her waist. The pommel bore the insignia of the Wolfblood Clan and a generous ruby worked into the gold hilt. A wolf indeed. The sword itself seemed to be of fine make, though I wouldn’t know for sure unless wielding it.
Whatever relationship my mother and father shared with Lord Sándor, it was a generous one.
Despite the drab brown skirt she wore and the worn shawl about her shoulders, I might have mistaken her for a noblewoman with the sword at her hip and the raised chin. A woman of fine stock.
Had she ever been to battle? Where did the sword come from, and why did she wear the táltos insignia? Mama had never married Father, had never taken his name, but she never spoke of him either. And Caitlin’s words …
There was more to this story. So much more.
The voices of the elders faded as I turned, sinking into the bush. My heart pounded like a war drum, the breath rattling from my lips.
We were Bárány women. Strong and stubborn and proud.
But we didn’t keep secrets or lie to each other, right?
Never.
NINE
The village was a tapestryof colour, woven from mother nature and the careful fingers of my witch kith. The last snow had long since fallen and the days grew longer, bright with the sun’s golden rays. Our garden had burst to life with renewed vigour, petals unfurling and vines curling free from their coils.
The apricot-coloured tulips were my favourite. Orange was a peaceful colour, vibrant and happy. It allowed no room for darker thoughts, unlike its red brethren planted farther along the gate.
Frowning, I gazed at the picturesque scene before me, studying witches who smiled and tittered as they walked arm-in-arm, new ribbons in their hands. Others weaved flowers through the maypoles or hung fabrics from rooftops and street signs so that they fluttered in the breeze.
Happiness. And ignorance.
This was the season of new. Only, this year, my every step carried the fear of the unknown. For fanatics to come blazing through our homes or for more girls to go missing. Weeks had passed with no sightings, nor the slightest hiccup from the usual plodding pace of our quiet town. Fear paddled in the pit of my stomach, churning the waters of my well every day as I waited for a sign. For an attack.
Life for all but a miserable few remained as normal as ever. The elders hadn’t told the witches about the cultists, keeping Hanna’s murder silent. Mama, after arguing at length with Caitlin about it, had all but told the crone to go shove her lies where the sun doesn’t shine, refusing to be the bearer of deception. She had said Hanna’s mother deserved to know the truth. It seemed Caitlin had no qualms feeding the woman lies instead.
I sighed, shaking my head. Since finding Hanna, I’d been under strict orders not to leave the village, or to do anything untoward—to do anything at all if Caitlin had her way. It was ridiculous, but maybe a little warranted. Naturally, the woods called, as did my need for answers and, in idle moments, my thoughts strayed to the táltos with his damnable dimple and that devilish smile.
Why was he on my mind at all? He was a secretive asshole and I was quite comfortable with never seeing him again. I certainly shouldn’t be wasting my time dreaming about those pants on that impeccable ass of his.
I sighed. Still, thinking about him was better than the alternative—I still couldn’t get past the lies my mother had told. I groaned, trying to force those thoughts from my mind. But unlike most things my mother served me, this was hard to swallow. Too hard to ignore. If I didn’t find answers soon, my head would explode.
Nudging a pebble with my boot, I set off down the path, leaning into the waning sunlight as it kissed the horizon. Spying on the elders a few weeks ago had made me paranoid and jumpy. The thought of fending off fanatics had me on edge so, naturally, I had asked Erika to up my training and teach me the way of the sword.
She hadn’t asked why. I hadn’t offered.
And as much as I wanted to interrogate her for more information regarding the cultists, I let sleeping dogs lie. In return, she kept quiet, training me in the early hours or just before dusk, before or after magic tutelage, history, and letters. We practiced in a clearing within the woods, after she made me swear to come alone and keep my mouth shut, of course.
Donning my hood, I glanced around one last time before entering the woodland border. The treeline beckoned with waving fingers, their branches shifting in the late afternoon breeze, green buds sprouting and blossoms bursting.
Their shadows swallowed me whole as I winded through roots and trunks, eyes scanning the forest floor, ears alert. The cultists may be watching, gauging our activities from afar and that helplessness had my stomach churning again. When had I become so afraid?
A twig snapped somewhere ahead and I stilled, spine rigid. Both hands gripped the twin daggers on my thighs. My heart thumped beneath my bones, so loud I feared it would sing the song of my doom. Not a single animal disturbed the stillness, nor could I spy any threats.
