Page 33 of The Frost Witch (The Covenants of Velora #1)
BEFORE
A witch’s power originated from two sources—the Dark God and her coven. Her active power, derived from the manner of her death, was a gift directly from the king of hell himself. But her ability to cast came from her coven. Their collective power fueled every spell, whether uttered by one or all.
A witch is nothing without her coven.
She may utter the words, but the power would be weakened and temporary. The coven itself was only as strong as its weakest member. Its rules must be obeyed at all costs, or the power of the whole would suffer.
A witch is nothing without her coven.
Maura drove those words into me night after night. They were my new lullaby, the only prayer I said to the Dark God that had subsumed all others.
When my thoughts turned to my past, to the family I’d left behind, the sister whose life I’d ruined, Maura had an answer for that as well.
“You have true sisters now,” she murmured, catching a lock of my dark hair and pulling it free from where I’d tucked it behind my ear. “Sisters who truly understand you, as your others did not.”
Witches, who’d suffered violent or brutal deaths like me. Whose veins flowed with ancient power. Who had all managed to master their power. All except for me.
“Control will come,” Maura said, sitting back and nodding.
With a flick of her wrist, Aurienna transformed the singular stem on the ground between us into a beautiful, vibrant flower. She never spoke of what death had given her such extensive power over plants. I never asked.
Maura made no secret of hers. With a tilt of her hand, the bloom turned to ash.
Maura had been burned at the stake.
“Focus,” Maura breathed.
Weeks had blurred into months and then years, every single one of them narrated by Maura’s commands. Control. Sisters. Coven. Focus.
I focused my attention on the bare space between us, attempting to block out everything else around me.
I told my ears to ignore the whispers of my sisters, sitting at each point of the pentacle around us.
Ordered my eyes to see nothing but the bare patch of stone.
But the details seeped in. Elodie’s hum of disapproval from behind me.
The scent of the pine soap Maura used to wash her springy black curls.
Focus. Control.
A trail of frost spread from my fingertips, coating the ground in a thin layer of iridescent sparkle.
“More,” Maura urged.
The frost thickened, turning to ice.
The murmuring from my sisters increased.
“Now shape it.” Maura’s voice rose with excitement.
I’d spent hundreds of silent dawns alone, practicing this exact exercise of power. I’d formed lethal daggers, soft snowballs, delicate wine glasses, and more. But only when I was alone. Only when I could maintain control.
Wood snapped somewhere to my left. A swish, and then the scent of wine. Tiny cracks started to form in the layer of ice.
“Your power answers to you. Control it.” Maura’s voice had taken on a harder edge.
I dug my teeth into my lower lip, trying to center every sense on the frost and ice in front of me. But I could not keep everything else from pressing in.
Someone cracked her fingers. The ashes of the flower Maura had burned stank of brimstone. It was going to rain soon. That was petrichor pushing in with the fog?—
The ice shattered, tiny shards flying out in every direction.
My coven sisters dove out of the way or threw up walls of power to counter mine.
Maura did no such thing. She let the icy needles pierce her skin, drawing blood at her temple, chin, and collarbone.
Little streams of scarlet opened up as the shards melted against her burning skin.
I could feel the heat of her anger. She did not bother with words. Maybe she knew that nothing she said could be worse than the litany of disappointment I would heap upon myself.
I’d known it would end this way. But I’d dared to hope this would be the day I was something other than a disappointment.
I should have known it would end this way. It always did.