Page 26 of The Frost Witch (The Covenants of Velora #1)

The second temple was just as ornate as the first. Per Garrick’s insistence, we arrived first—even ahead of Alize, who’d cracked open her eyes to watch us pass her in the night before turning over in her bedroll and dismissing us entirely.

My legs hurt, my feet hurt, my ankles hurt, all from the never-ending, brutal task of keeping myself upright in the deep snow.

Garrick watched every agonizing, humiliating step. He hung back behind me, only entering the temple once I’d passed safely over the threshold. Bastard .

Once we were inside, he went straight to the blood fountain, waving down an acolyte to call for food. I muttered a spell under my breath, and the water and ice clinging to my clothing evaporated. I did not extend the courtesy to my new bonded. I’d already wasted my power on him once.

Without any of the other supplicants to watch me, I rolled my shoulders and stretched my arms overhead, trying to appease the aching muscles.

Eat, and then sleep. The sun was well over the horizon now, but surely the priest or priestess who attended the Justice Gate would not force us through until the next day.

A plate of food arrived for Garrick. Maybe I would sleep first, just to avoid having to spend one more minute in his presence. I rolled my shoulders again, satisfied with the relief compared to the tightness of minutes before, and scanned past the altars in search of the entrance to the dormitory.

“You made it through!”

It took me a few seconds to place the voice. There had been so many new faces and names in the past few days, and this time I’d actually tried to remember most of them.

Tomin’s name came to me as he pulled down the emerald hood, revealing his deep brown skin, riot of curls, and honey-gold eyes. The disappointment or other feelings he’d experienced at my harsh dismissal in the first temple were either forgotten or forgiven.

“You are probably wondering what I am doing here?—”

I wasn’t.

“—since acolytes are assigned to specific temples, while the priestess or priest moves along with the cohort of supplicants?—”

Totally new information to me, and almost everyone else in Velora, I’d have wagered.

“—but Varian asked me to accompany her, since I am close to my final rites.”

Varian. I assigned the name to the dark-haired priestess with the unnerving eyes who’d overseen the supplicants at the Mercy Gate. But two other words snagged in my mind.

“Final rites?” That was not possible. He could not be more than twenty years old, and acolytes spent at least a decade in training, sometimes as long as two.

I knew I was bad at hiding my emotions, but my surprise must have been even clearer than usual.

Tomin shielded his reaction much better than me, just as he had at the previous temple. He had not quite mastered the unshakable composure of Varian, his teacher, but it was still impressive. Especially when he explained.

“I was dedicated when I was five. My mother had another child and could not afford to feed us both. She kept the baby. It was a girl. She wished I’d been a girl.

I have been here a long time.” Tomin’s throat bobbed, but he kept most of the emotion confined to his eyes.

With such soulful golden eyes, I doubted he’d ever fully master Varian’s mask of complacency.

“You must be talented to have advanced so quickly,” I said.

Once, I’d been a young and eager newcomer. But that sort of energy and dedication came at a price. Something was always lost in the giving over of oneself fully to another entity, be it temple or coven.

Tomin inclined his head. I thought I saw a flash of thanks there, before his gaze dropped to the floor. An emotion he intentionally let through—for me. An offering I did not deserve.

“You must be hungry,” he said.

I nodded, not trusting myself to talk. I had always been the youngest—sister, coven member. I saw too much of myself in Tomin, and that was dangerous. I had priorities already—protect Kyrelle, get back to my coven. Both of those depended upon me conquering the Seven Gates.

“You two arrived earlier than expected. No one will notice if you eat before you give thanks at the altars,” Tomin explained, nodding toward the blood fountain.

When he turned back, his eyes lingered between mine.

The paste must have worn away from my coven mark.

I had not bothered to reapply it. There hadn’t been much point after the Mercy Gate. “Rest. I will get your food myself.”

I wanted to protest the act of kindness.

Insist I did not need it. Growl or hiss or do something to put distance between myself and the young man.

But I was so tired. I let him lead me to the blood fountain.

And when he appeared a few minutes later and sat down beside me while I ate, I did not protest.