Page 36 of The Frost Witch (The Covenants of Velora #1)

There was no sleep quite like that of physical exhaustion. It was still fully dark when I awoke. Or maybe it wasn’t. Even with my heightened sight, it took me several blinks to clear the sleep from my eyes enough to make sense of my surroundings.

The dormitory was smaller than the first two we’d slept in. The beds no longer had bunks above them. That was ominous, considering the temples dated from the original date of the curse, four hundred years ago. Even then, there had been no need for as many beds by the third of the Seven Gates.

The long room was mostly silent. None of Nash’s loud snoring. I scanned the rest of the beds, finding two occupied. The one right beside mine—Garrick. And on the far opposite side of the room, Alize. None of the others had arrived while I slept the day away.

My body creaked as I sat up. I just managed to clamp my hand over my mouth before the groan of pain left my lips.

The last thing I needed was Garrick awake and irritated that I’d woken him.

His eyes had lingered a little too long as I’d walked past him into the temple hours before.

Like he suspected the thoughts that had run rampant through my head in those moments of frozen indecision.

My thick leather tunic lay over the foot of my bed. So did the wool overdress. I’d managed to peel down to just my linen gown and stockinged feet before falling into bed. But with everyone else asleep, I did not bother reaching for the other layers. I had my power to protect me...

I took two quiet steps toward the door before turning back and cinching on the belt that I’d tucked beneath my pillow. Something about the weight of the two blades on my waist felt better, even if I was useless at wielding them.

Garrick rolled over in his sleep as I snuck past but did not rouse.

There was every possibility he was feigning sleep, as I had that night on the mountain.

It would account for the sense of awareness that prickled through my shoulders.

Also, for the heat that spread through my stomach and up into my chest… and lower.

I swayed my hips a little, just in case he was watching.

And then cursed myself. Lusting after a dangerous human was imprudent. Lusting after one who was in love with a fae? That edged toward desperate.

Awake or not, he did not stop me from slipping out of the dormitory.

The door swung free with blessed silence, allowing me to make my way into the heart of the temple without notice.

I passed the bathing rooms where I’d only stopped long enough to relieve myself.

In the morning I would take the time to bathe properly and wash my hair.

The temples had hot water—a luxury I had not enjoyed since being cast out from my coven.

All of the candles in the temple were extinguished except for the offerings of frankincense and palmarosa that burned at each of the seven altars. The blood fountain gurgled in the darkness.

I had no destination in mind. Food, maybe. But there were no acolytes in sight, and my feet carried me toward the center of the temple, to that coppery tang.

In the muted light, the blood appeared almost black.

I watched as it bubbled out of the top of the fountain, a feat of power bestowed by the gods.

It fell in a circular sheet down to the first pool.

Then a few seconds later, over the edge to the next, larger pool.

Was my blood already here? All of the supplicants had made our offerings before the Mercy Gate.

Was our blood still there, or had it been magically transported, mingled here?

Or maybe this fountain ran with the blood of all those who had died at the Sacrifice Gate over the last four centuries.

The minutes ran together as I watched. The scent of blood filled my nostrils, my mouth, and then my lungs.

I ought to hate it. But some part of me savored the idea of the blood of thousands of supplicants mingling with my own.

I was a creation of the Dark God, and those were his gifts that allowed me to sense the warmth that wafted from the blood in the fountain, as if it still belonged to the living.

I lifted a hand to my mouth expecting to see my fingertips coated in that thick red blood?—

But they were bare. Pale, rounded nails touched my lips.

“You made it.”

I startled out of my reverie.

It felt like waking all over again, blinking my way back to consciousness as I tried to make sense of my surroundings.

I stood in the temple before the blood fountain.

My hand… seconds before it had been coated with blood.

No, that was a vision. An imagining. Maybe I had dreamed while waking.

I’d never been physically exhausted like this before.

Steps echoed across the stone floor, the sound amplified by the emptiness of the temple. About the time his face came into view, framed by an emerald green hood, my mind placed the voice.

“Tomin,” I said, dropping my hand to my side. “Yes, we—I made it.”

His eyes crinkled at the edges, but that was all the question he let show. “We do not know until you arrive at the next temple. At least, the acolytes do not. Varian has not told me otherwise.”

I turned, sweeping the temple for what I might have missed in my earlier stupor.

I was not afraid of the priestess. But her dark eyes were too watchful for me to feel fully comfortable.

I still had no reason I could place for the help she’d offered me.

That alone was enough to keep my senses on guard around her.

“She is not here. Not in this part of the temple,” Tomin amended. “She is seeing to the other acolytes, the ones stationed here.”

Because the acolytes remained in the temples, and the priest or priestess traveled from gate to gate. That was what Tomin had said earlier. Another thought occurred to me. “How do you get from one gate to the next?”

“The same way as you,” he said. I knew he could have hidden his frown, but he let the distaste show on his face. He leaned down and pulled up the hem of his emerald robe, revealing a leather boot with a hole in the sole. “One painful step at a time.”

At least I was not the only one who found the journey agonizing. There was a strange comfort in that. Garrick made climbing through snowy mountains look like an afternoon jaunt to the sea. Bastard .

“Don’t they let you sleep?” His eyes were lined with the same exhaustion I knew must mar mine. Thankfully, mirrors were not in abundance in the temple.

“Someone must be here to greet arriving supplicants, no matter the hour.” Tomin nodded back toward the doors. For the first time, there were no guards.

I swallowed down that information. I truly could walk out those doors, and no one would stop me. It would be between me and the gods.

“I volunteered,” Tomin said, interrupting my thoughts. “I like the temple best like this.”

I lifted my brows, looking pointedly to the ominous, bubbling blood fountain. “Creepy?”

Tomin’s face remained neutral. For half a breath, I thought I’d offended him, a feat I’d previously thought impossible. I didn’t want or need friends, I reminded myself. But on my exhale, his mouth slashed into a wide grin, his freckles dancing in the low light.

“You are a witch,” he laughed. “Isn’t creepy your purview?”

I rolled my eyes. “I don’t have a coven to cast any powerful spells,” I said. My chest tightened. Witch ways were not to be shared.

But Tomin merely shrugged.

“You are not afraid of me,” I said softly.

Again, a shrug. The nonchalance of youth, I realized. And mortality. In some ways, things mattered more, with so little time, but in others…

“You have never threatened me,” he said. “You are a supplicant, the same as the others.”

We stared into the darkness of the blood fountain. This time, I kept full control of my mind. Even so, it was only the night and the darkness that allowed me to admit, “I do not want to be.”

I felt Tomin nod beside me. “Few do, anymore.”

“I want to leave.” Admitting it out loud made it sound every bit the pitiful plea that it was. I could not leave. The gods would punish me with death. Kyrelle would die in that seaside town, the gold I’d given her wasted on a father who would never do what was best for her. Wasted for love.

Tomin did not argue one way or another. He stood with me in silent understanding. He was young, but age could mean so many different things in a world of immortals and gods. Perhaps I’d misjudged him. He was not a newly minted acolyte, but one nearing his final rites.

He only spoke when I turned to look at him, wearing my confusion on my face. “I cannot offer answers. But I can try to help quiet your mind.”

I did not laugh at him, though the impulse was there. It would have been easier than accepting his offer.

“Are you allowed to help me?”

He shrugged. “There is no specific provision against it. The acolytes have two roles—assist the priestess and serve the supplicants.”

That did make me smile. “What about serving the gods?”

He grinned again, bright despite the darkness of the temple. “That, too. By serving the supplicants on their quest to prove themselves worthy and lift the curse, I serve the gods as well. Satisfied?”

“I am not the one you need to convince.” I looked pointedly at the altar over his shoulder.

His smile softened as he held out his hand.

Only days ago, he’d reached for me at the Mercy Gate and I’d angrily shook him off. Now, he extended his hand to me. Me, a witch. One who’d been unkind and cranky and downright murderous.

What must it be like to have that kind of goodness inside your soul and actually be able to act upon it and fulfill it? To have suffered, like Tomin had, like I had, but instead of turning to… whatever I was… remaining whole?

I could not help myself. I wanted to know. I took his hand.

Tomin led me away from the blood fountain, outside the ring of benches, toward the perimeter of the temple lined with altars.

Unlike the other two temples, this one boasted no windows.

Carved directly into the mountain, the only light came from the flames burning on each altar.

Instead of stone bowls on pedestals, the altars were carved into the walls of the temple itself, a shallow depression at the bottom housing the flames.

There were no offerings at the foot of the altar.

Few supplicants made it far enough to leave them.

But around each inset altar were intricate stone reliefs carved into the mountain. I’d barely looked at them when I first arrived. In the low light, they were difficult to see. Maybe that was part of the trick, to draw you in closer to the altar.

“You choose the god,” Tomin said from my side, still holding my hand.

There was no spark of heat like when Garrick’s skin touched mine. But there was a low, humming warmth. A comfort. What I imagined friendship might feel like.

I traced my eyes over the altars, considering.

“Xyta,” I decided. The ungendered Deity of Sacrifice. Beside me, Tomin lifted his brows. Without his hood up, his dark curls visible and wild, he looked even younger than he was. I let my lips curve, an action that was so rare it felt foreign. But right. “You expected me to choose the Dark God?”

“It is believed that the witches worship him exclusively.” But even as he said so, Tomin steered me toward Xyta’s altar.

“He expects a certain amount of homage, as our creator,” I agreed, the curves at the corners of my mouth deepening. “But I already know he is on my side. It’s Xyta that I am currently worried about.”

“Fair enough.” Tomin’s smile faded as he reached for my other hand, positioning us on either side of the opening carved into the stone. His expression softened into the mask of neutrality I’d seen him wear so many times in the past week. “Close your eyes.”

I was certain the doubt showed in my eyes as I closed them.

But there was no one else around to witness whatever religious nonsense I’d just agreed to.

If only Maura could see me now. The head of my coven, most adamant in the separation and superiority of witches above all other beings—humans, priests, fae.

The one who had sent me into the Seven Gates.

“Focus first on your breathing. Feel each inhale and each exhale.”

With my eyes closed, it was easier to focus on the physical sensations. I supposed that was the point. But my other senses were still as sharp as ever. I could hear the gurgle of the blood fountain, the soft whoosh of Tomin’s breath, the echoes of wind howling through the mountains outside.

“Notice the way your chest moves, then your stomach.” My stomach growled.

Not helpful. But I tried. I noted the concavity of my chest and shoulders when I inhaled, the fullness of my stomach as I exhaled.

I still smelled the coppery tang of the blood fountain, felt the cool rush of air from beneath the doors of the temple. But they were less fierce.

“Think of a place where you have experienced peace.”

My eyes snapped open. “Xyta is the Deity of Sacrifice.” Not peace. Even if we’d been at the Peace Gate, I would not have chosen Pava’s altar. Not when she’d ignored me for my entire life.

“Xyta will guide you,” Tomin soothed. His eyes were still closed. I stared at him for several inhales and exhales, but the constant pressure of his hands on mine finally convinced my eyelids to flutter back down.

Despite his methodic words, my mind resisted. Flashes of memory accosted me as I searched for something like he’d described. Peace. A place you felt safe. Peace. A sense of stillness. Peace…