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“Until we are in the position to engage in a full-scale war against the dark one, we must protect our communities where we can. The five members of the prime have decided to act on this immediately.” He gestured to a hunter, who took quick strides across the room and handed over a scroll. “We have decided on these actions in regards to the most recent events and all must be followed by oath, in all factions.”

He pulled the scroll open. “Witches of title or importance will have guards assigned to them from now until it is safe to remove them, and the guards will be made up by a cluster of hunting clans.” He looked over to where the Supreme sat as she glowered at him, power radiating from her gaze. She gave him a small smile. “Dedicating three hunters to each newly rising empress will protect the ascension that will take place at the Cold Moon, fourteen nights from now.”

Apprehension sunk deep into Emara’s stomach.

Fourteen nights!

Naya gripped her hand even more.

“The witching covens cannot afford for any of the promised empresses not to ascend, and with the murders becoming increasingly high among the witches, we must do everything we can to ensure the empress’ safety. Our kingdom depends on it.” The words rang through the hall, lying heavy on Emara’s chest. The kingdom depended on her ascension.

Once shown how, she would be the most valuable asset to the coven and anyone who aligned with them. She would be the one that her coven turned to.

Sick promised itself to her mouth. Her heart almost stopped. But a calming, ancient voice spoke lightly, “We will be right behind you every step of the way.”

She swallowed back the heaviness of her new duty.

The chief commander continued, “Between the prime leaders, we have arranged a list of names who will be required to be guarded at all times, not only in the magic-wielding factions, but with the elite humans too.” The chief looked over at the leader of the humans. “We have not forgotten how vulnerable the human faction is to the Dark Army.”

A pang of anger curled in Emara’s chest. It was the humans without coin who needed protection, not the elite who already had private guards. Did they need to swallow up the resources of the warriors of Thorin too?

As the chief commander began reading through the names on the list, Emara tried to make sense of who everyone was, trying to pinpoint where they sat in the crowd.

She let out an exhale.

“Something wrong?” Torin’s raspy voice reached her ears in a whisper.

“I’m not sure I am following everything.” She hated to admit it to him.

“The chief commander is running through the rankings of who will be protected. It will be down to how well a hunter performed in the Selection and how highly regarded they are that will determine the pairing of the guards with the witch. Of course, they will have taken into consideration how highly regarded the witch is too.”

“Aren’t the witches and the elite capable of protecting themselves?” Emara whispered, thinking of the poor humans who were unaware of what was pending.

“Of course they are, but there is only so much magic a witch can project before her body tires, and she burns herself out. A hunter’s body is built from birth not to tire in battle. We have the strength of conflict and destruction in our bones. We have war in our veins.”

The blood of Thorin.

“What I don’t understand is why witches haven’t been trained in combat.”

“Some will have, if they have asked for it, but it’s frowned upon,” Torin whispered back. “Witches are female. The prime agreed centuries ago that females didn’t belong in the affair of war unless it was for healing purposes, so they were never allowed to train. And they very rarely ever challenged it. Until you walked through the door, a female had never been trained in the Blacksteel Tower. But again, that is kind of our little secret. You can’t tell the prime we have been extending our training hours for you to practise with weapons and advanced combat.”

“I won’t,” she promised, feeling gratitude in her heart.

He smiled back at her.

“Emara Clearwater.” Her name reverberated off every wall. “The promised elemental heir of House Air.”

Her head snapped ‘round so fast, she almost broke her neck, as did Torin. Naya nodded in her direction, and Emara took in a deep breath. She stood before bowing and then straightened, her gaze on the chief commander’s focused stare.

“Do you swear upon the God of Rhiannon that the blood that runs in your veins is the same bloodline to the heirship of House Air?”

“I do,” she choked out, the inside of her mind whirling. “Chief Commander,” she remembered to add the appropriate etiquette.

The chief nodded. “From this point on, indefinitely, you will be placed under the protection of following hunters: Magin, of Clan Oxhound, Artem, of Clan Stryker.”

Both warriors stood to attention, but she didn’t dare look, not as the whole room watched her with curious glances of their own. She could see the inked warrior out of the corner of her eye, and the other hunter stood at the back of the hall.

“And Torin, of Clan Blacksteel.”