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I watched in silence and she muttered words of power and providence beneath her breath, her fingers still clenched tightly above the dark opening that divided us.

Moya sucked in a breath which stole the oxygen from the room for several seconds, her free hand reaching out to claim a burning twig from the fire at her side before she thrust the flaming end into the back of her closed fist.

The scent of burning flesh filled the air before she withdrew the brand, twisting her fist over and opening it so that the bundle of herbs and what looked like a small bone could meet the fire next.

My eyes stayed glued to the little bundle as it caught alight, burning green and purple while it tumbled from her hand and fell into the hole at the heart of the Close Space.

I couldn’t help but lean forward so that I could watch it fall away into the dark, tumbling through blackness and growing smaller and smaller, becoming a pinprick of light in the distance before finally disappearing altogether.

The rock groaned beneath us and my heart skipped a beat as a prickle of dread crept across my skin.

“One foot in the traitor’s nest, another sunk in snow,” Moya breathed, snatching my hand and yanking it towards her so that I was forced to lean over that endless drop.

The hole wasn’t big enough for me to fall through it but the dank air which rose up from the depths still set me on edge.

“Yet neither leg will balance you when the wind begins to blow.”

“Are you whispering prophecies in the dark now, Moya?” I asked, fighting against the disquiet her words had struck in my bones.

“You know well the stars don’t speak to me, child,” she replied, grinning darkly.

“I wasn’t accusing you of gaining insight from the stars.” I arched a brow at her and her smile widened.

“You’re leaving,” she stated, ignoring my accusations as always and yet again proving that she had access to some form of knowledge beyond that which was freely offered. “And you came here to beg for supplies for your stores.”

“And you’re deflecting while repeatedly making predictions about things which you shouldn’t have any knowledge of.”

Moya scoffed dismissively, releasing my hand and springing to her feet. “It’s an educated guess: You always come begging when the prince sets you lose.”

I pushed myself upright and followed her as she slipped out of the Close Space and into the slightly more welcoming parts of her chambers.

She moved to the wooden larder which stood against the wall of her main living area and I leaned my back against the stone wall of the cramped space to stay out of her way as she set to work gathering everything I might need and more.

The cavern roof above us was peppered with hooks where drying herbs hung, the flickering torch on the far side of the room making dancing spectres from their shadows. The scent of them surrounded me, the cloying warmth of this place making the air heavy and the weight of my exhaustion thicker.

I said nothing as the sound of jars clinking and wooden drawers scraping open and closed filled the silence, my soul heavy and heart thick with a sorrow which I knew would never leave.

“Are you going to tell me about it or am I dragging it free from the clutches of your reluctant soul?” Moya asked as she tossed a clump of dried lavender on the round, wooden table which divided us before turning back to the larder.

My gaze fixed on the tabletop, the wood scarred from years of use and countless cuts with the blades Moya used to prepare her potions and meals alike.

I felt like that table, marked and disfigured by the years of use the kingdom of Stormfell had already claimed from me, though my scars lay on the inside of my skin for the most part.

But I was just as used and punished as that table, still standing firm beneath the weight of all I’d endured but endlessly different from the child I must have once been.

Not that I could claim any real memory of innocence.

I’d been raised in the brutality of war to become a master of its creation.

Perhaps there had never been a single innocent thing about me.

“A spy managed to secret himself within the ranks of our army. He took the identity of a dead boy from one of the outer households and worked his way into my trust without me ever realising what he really was. At least not until it was too late.”

Moya dumped an armful of jars onto the table before springing up onto it, her bare feet padding across the scarred wood until she was dropping down before me.

We stood eye to eye as she reached for the neck of my leathers and though my gut lurched as she slipped a finger beneath the fabric, I didn’t stop her from tugging on the cord which held the vial of my sisters’ blood.

She pulled it loose, those startlingly blue eyes drinking in the sight of it as she held it up between us, the light from the torch spilling through it and painting her face in red streaks.

Moya sucked in a sharp breath. “There is great power in this,” she breathed, her fingers tightening on the cord, pulling it taught as if she might rip it from my neck.

I tensed but she forced an exhale, dropping the vial so that it fell heavily against my chest.

“I see,” she said softly, taking my face between her rough hands and forcing my gaze to lock with hers. “I see,” she reiterated and I knew that she was looking directly into the heart of me, the twisted, endless hurt of all I’d lost and the blazing fury which kept me moving forwards.

She leaned closer, the wild strands of her red hair brushing against my cheeks and I nodded slowly, knowing what she wanted, a taste of my pain in payment for her help.

She would offer up my grief in some spell or potion when it best suited her to do it or perhaps she’d hoard it away, keep it locked somewhere along with so many other pieces of me which I had offered her over the years in payment for her guidance.

Her lips brushed against my cheek and though I could feel her desire for the pain in my heart because of the power it held, I could feel how much she yearned to take it away from me entirely, to free me from its burden altogether.

Moya loved me. There was nothing romantic in it but rather a maternal kind of care, the likes of which I had never known from any other.

She was strange and twisted by her devotion to ether and the blood magic she practiced all too often but she cared for me in a way no one else ever had.

And though neither of us had ever spoken of it, it hung there between us plainly enough.

The kiss she gave me was soft and sweet, the turn of her fingers against my cheeks painting runes in my tears as they fell without my permission.

My eyes fluttered closed and for the briefest moment I could see them there, standing beyond The Veil, grinning at me like the she-devils they were, throwing insults my way because I was wasting time on tears for them when there was blood to be shed.

The sharpest edge of my grief slipped from me as I looked at them from within the confines of my mind, my love for them brightening while I basked in the memory of their company.

Moya drew back, swiping the tears from my cheeks and dropping them into a small vial which I hadn’t even seen her grab.

I sagged against the wall as she stoppered it, my heart just a little lighter.

“Thank you,” I murmured, biting my tongue against the words which ached to follow.

Because I could ask her to take all of my grief from me.

I could ask her to drain every drop and use it however she wished for her magic.

But Moya had taught me well and I understood the true cost of such a sacrifice.

If I gave up my grief for them I would lose far more than just that.

I would lose all real sense of what they’d been to me and I would become a colder, harder creature for it. And I was already cold enough.

“Good,” Moya said once the silence had stretched long enough to make it clear I wouldn’t ask. She patted my hand then turned back to the table, grabbing rosemary, thyme, oregano and more herbs from their places hanging overhead.

I remained silent while she found a cloth and carefully folded the herbs within it for me. Once she was done she shoved them along with the gathered jars towards me. I didn’t bother checking them, simply took all she had offered and packed it carefully into a cloth bag she offered me.

“One last thing,” Moya called as I turned for the door. We’d long ago agreed against goodbyes.

I paused, shifting the pack over my shoulder as I looked to her.

“Ether is more than just the root of the land’s power,” she said slowly, pacing towards me with her fingers trailing across the rough lines of the table.

“It is the current which sweeps us all along in its path. We may access the bounty of its river through rite and sacrifice but we cannot control its flow.”

“I know this, Moya,” I told her and she smiled, taking a slim dagger from the belt of her layered dress.

“You do and you don’t. The world is a wild place, Vesper. It has long been so and will remain as such, no matter the cages Fae might build to tame it. The stars might whisper our names and lend us their magic, but never forget it is only on loan. They take it back when death comes calling.”

“But all bargains with ether are final,” I recited, causing her smile to widen.

“There is something stirring beneath the Close Place. A leash to a wolf as it were.”

“You speak of ether as if it were some beast with thought and function,” I accused and she snorted dismissively, waving a hand.

“It is no creature and holds no consciousness beyond the wants and needs of all that is and all that ever will be,” she replied cryptically. “But that is not my point.”

“Then what is?” I asked, my tone a little sharp. I had no time for her riddles today, no space in my mind to spend puzzling over her words for weeks or months on end the way she had always commanded me to during my training with her.

“The point is the leash. The whip. The collar. The muzzle. The cage. The ways of old are stunted and I cannot tell what binds them. But the dark whispers your name, Vesper Crossborn. And it wants you to come for it.”

“I have no need of another mission,” I growled.

“I’m already set on a hunt I have no desire to complete before I am able to exact the revenge which is owed to me.

If the dark wants me then it will have to wait.

I have enough claims on the tattered pieces of my soul and there isn’t room for another grasping hand to take hold of it. ”

I made to turn away but she caught my wrist, pressing the dagger into my palm. “Blood runs downhill, my sweet,” she purred, closing my fingers around the hilt of the blade. “Best to position yourself at the top of a mountain lest you drown in all of it.”

“Perhaps the time is coming when I will gladly let myself drown,” I replied flatly.

“Death is a petty, pointless thing far too often,” Moya countered. “But if you are so willing to run to it, then do me one favour and make it matter.”

The truth sat there between us then, the reality that I had no real intention of surviving beyond my destruction of the man who had called himself Cayde Avior. My lips parted on a goodbye despite the fact that we never offered them to one another but she shook her head to quiet it.

“Run fast, fly swift and remember what I told you. When the darkness calls your name again, I would suggest you listen.”

I gave her a nod of agreement then sheathed the little blade she’d gifted me in my belt and strode from her chambers.

I didn’t pause as I passed through the central cavern, the wails of the man trussed up and awaiting sacrifice falling against deaf ears.

He was a fool to look for mercy from me after all.

They didn’t call me a witch for nothing.