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Everyone at the table raised theirs too, uttering Blessed be, saluting the Queen of Witches.

“It has been many a moon since all five witching covens ascended together.” Her magical eyes scanned the room, piercing each face as they moved. “Our kingdom has not seen a time like this since the ancients walked these very floors.”

A shiver ran over Emara’s body.

“May this be a monumental occasion for you, Kerrix Bellfield, of House Spirit.” The grand witch gestured to a girl with white hair flowing like a river down her back.

“And for you, Lillian Silverholme, of House Water.” Her goblet moved in the direction of where the Empress of Water sat, surrounded by her guards, her hair like wavy, soft sand around her chin.

“For Rya Otterburn, of House Fire.”

The girl that represented fire raised her chin up high and nodded, her dark hair spiked against the candlelight behind her. She was ready to take on the title, Emara could see it in her eyes.

The Supreme turned. “To Earth, and our Sybil Lockhart.”

Sybil’s face stained as red as her hair, but she smiled politely and raised her glass.

“And”—the Supreme’s eyes rested on Emara—“to our lost bloodline of Air, Emara Clearwater. Welcome home.”

Spirit, Water, Fire, Earth, and Air.

“All representations of the Witching Houses are here tonight, and what a fair representation it is that sits before me.” The Supreme lifted her chin and her gaze locked the hunters. “Have a drink with them—to them.”

Emara forced a smile onto her face to hide her tremble as she raised a glass with the others.

“May your reign as empress of your coven be longer than the last.” The Supreme raised her goblet again and took a drink.

Emara swallowed down a bitter taste in her mouth after the toast and wondered if it was the wine or the sentiment of the toast. Her pulse throbbed in her neck. She reached for a decanter that sat close to Magin and poured into her glass. She sunk the wine in one go, pushing down a darkness that urged in her stomach.

“Please, eat, my friends,” Deleine invited. She didn’t need to tell Artem Stryker twice.

Conversations from all of the covens flowed, and voices pinged from one end of the table to the next. A blue and green gaze caught Emara’s attention. She threw a polite smile towards Kellen again, but this time, he didn’t return it. Emara knew she had to have a conversation, one that she had been avoiding, and she would need to have it soon. She had to let him know that his secret was safe with her.

After a few chalices full of that delicious mulberry wine, Emara had finally plucked up enough courage to approach Kellen Blacksteel. He was standing in a quiet corner of the ballroom, away from the core crowd who were mingling after the Supreme had excused herself from the dinner. She had been stopped by both Rya Otterburn and Kerrix Bellfield to engage in a polite conversation about their Houses.

As she managed to slip away without another empress catching her, Kellen spied her walking towards him. The youngest Blacksteel brother swallowed, straightening his spine at her approach, placing his hands behind his back.

“Emara.” Kellen’s voice was fluffier than his brother’s, higher. His unusual eyes bore right through her skin, to her very soul.

“Kellen.” She mirrored him.

“You seem to look somewhat at home within the walls of the Amethyst Palace,” he complimented with a small bow.

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” She came to a stop in front of him. She would have to get used to the lush train that trailed behind her. “I think I am more suited to be under the roof of the tower. I am not used to settings fit for the hierarchy of the magic world.”

“You talk like you are not one of them.” He lifted one dark eyebrow, making his boyish face look more like the warrior he was.

He was sharp, and she didn’t expect it.

She wrinkled her nose. “And I hope for that never to change.”

His forehead creased at her response and a corner of his mouth tugged upwards. He released his knotted hands from behind his back, relaxing his shoulders. “I hope that doesn’t change either.”

She opened her mouth to speak, unsure of how she would approach what she saw at the Uplift. To assure him, regardless of what had happened, that it was none of her business. She wanted to reassure him that she would not breathe a single word of what she had witnessed to anyone, not even to the moon or the Gods.

Kellen’s eyes lifted to the sound of footsteps from behind her, but Emara didn’t turn to see who it was. She focused on Kellen’s face, which was twisting with fear and disdain.

“The guard regalia suits you, little brother.” Torin’s deep but lyrical voice floated past her.