Page 50 of The Frost Witch (The Covenants of Velora #1)

“You may avail yourselves of the altar stones whenever you wish,” Varian said as we unpacked our bedrolls.

I rolled my eyes skyward, only to find Garrick waiting.

He’d never shown any indication of piousness.

But I did not actually know much about him.

We had traded precious little personal information.

Yet the curve of his mouth was so familiar as he met me with that knowing smirk.

And I knew from experience that he cared deeply.

Not necessarily about me, but about whatever had propelled him through the gates.

It kept him unflinchingly at my side. A loyal bounty hunter.

The prospect was almost as far-fetched as a witch with a functioning heart.

It was unusual to be laying out our furs beside one another instead of on opposite sides of the fire. But without a verbal agreement or direction, I’d set my pack beside Garrick’s and he’d unfurled his bedroll alongside mine.

Isanara was already scraping out a patch of snow on my other side.

I hated that they felt I was so helpless I needed their protection.

But the feeling that settled in my shoulders and chest wasn’t hate or even discomfort.

It was soft and new. Maybe it was not just about protection.

I could hate being protected… and appreciate being cared for. No one ever had before.

As I adjusted my furs, my sleeve pulled away from the edge of my glove, revealing the Lifebind inked on the inside of my wrist. The comforting weight I’d felt a moment before turned to ice.

Garrick was bound to protect me. As was Isanara. One by the gods, one by choice. But Isanara was an orphaned adolescent dragon in a dying land. Her decision to bond as my familiar could very well have been one of survival rather than preference.

I wanted to shove away the ice-cold burn. I wanted the softness I’d felt moments before.

Garrick straightened, a parcel from inside his pack in hand. I did not let myself turn to face him. Relief mingled with disappointment when he finally moved away to the other side of the fire.

“I will help you prepare the meal,” Garrick announced, adding our own provisions to the meat that Varian prepared.

We received enough food from the temple to sustain us between gates.

But the Seven Gates followed the curvature of the mountains, which meant that each one was further away than the last. There was no way we’d be able to carry enough food in a pack by the time we reached the final stretch after the Peace Gate.

Varian accepted Garrick’s help without a word, moving over to share the workspace she’d set up.

If I’d been in charge, we would have eaten cheese and bread for every meal.

Maybe I would have managed to chop up one of the apples that the acolytes included, the fruit so bright and juicy I hadn’t seen its equal in hundreds of years.

With the same cache of ingredients, Garrick had prepared dishes ranging from apples poached in wine and tarragon to a bacon, cheese, and apple jam sandwich that had earned a place of honor in my nightly dreams.

“He does not have to put in the effort, you know.”

“I am not taking romantic advice from a child.” Fuck. Since when was this thing between Garrick and me romantic?

Thankfully, Isanara was too busy being offended to latch on to that particular slip-up. “I am over one hundred years old.”

“And I have walked this blasted continent for four hundred years. Go flaunt your age to someone else.”

Of course, my familiar decided to do precisely as I suggested. She snapped her wings and walked past me, past Tomin kneeling before Seraxa’s altar stone, and shoved her head into his traveling pack.

“Isanara!” I stomped after her but stopped short of actually reaching down and yanking her head out of Tomin’s pack. Those spikes that ran from the crown of her head to the base of her tail were sharp. I’d seen them slice through leather like it was nothing. I did not fancy losing a finger.

Tomin managed not to jump away from her this time, but his lips continued to move in fervent, silent prayer. I hoped the Goddess of Peace was listening, because thus far my familiar had proved wildly unpredictable. And moody.

Not unlike her witch. “I’m sorry about her. She’s still learning her manners.”

“I am not a child.” But even spoken mind to mind, the words were muffled as she buried her head inside Tomin’s pack. What in the Dark Lord’s hell was she searching for?

“Then stay out of people’s packs without me having to remind you.”

Tomin rocked back on his heels, dividing his gaze equally between me and my little dragon. “And you are going to be the one to teach them to her?”

My stomach tightened painfully. But I deserved the barb, and more.

“Probably not,” I admitted.

My mouth opened and closed in an embarrassing approximation of a fish as I searched for the right words.

Before I could find them, Isanara emerged from the recesses of Tomin’s pack, a chunk of brassy-yellow stone clutched between her jaws.

The warm tones contrasted with the lavender hue of her scales, as did the sharp, angular edges.

To my utter and complete shock, she flared her wings, slid her forelegs out in front of her, and crunched down on the chunk of stone. It disintegrated between her jaws as she chewed and then swallowed.

“What… what is it?” I stammered.

Tomin’s honey-gold eyes were as round as I imagined my own must be. “Pyrite.”

“Your familiar is sustained by the magic and power of the land itself,” Varian said.

She still crouched before the fire, an array of food spread before her, but she watched Isanara with the same fascination as the rest of us.

A little thrill of triumph bubbled in my chest. It was my dragon that had finally broken the priestess’s impenetrable composure.

But discomfort quickly replaced it.

The mysterious priestess knew more about my familiar than I did.

“Gems will sustain her longest, and then pure ores,” the priestess continued. “Even soil and stone will pacify her, though not for long, mixed and diluted as they are.”

“You could have told me this.” I sent the thought in Isanara’s direction, but she was too busy chewing to bother with a response.

But my stomach dropped as my mind made sense of Varian’s words. “The magic and power in Velora are dying, just like everything else.”

Varian’s mask of composure was back in place as she inclined her head. She could not argue with my statement. “And yet she is here.”

“I can go weeks without eating,” Isanara added in between mouthfuls.

The crunch of the pyrite in her jaws grated against my senses, overwhelming my ability to think or moderate myself. My power surged in response and all the energy I could muster went to holding it in check rather than my tongue.

“How do you know so much about dragons? You said yourself that they predate the gods.” The words came out like an accusation.

I supposed they were, in a way. Varian was more than she appeared to be and had motivations that could not be explained by or attributed to her status as a priestess of the Seven Gods.

I was fucking sick of being the last to know everything.

Her dark eyes did not waver. “I am the keeper of the Seven Gates.”

Whatever the fuck that was supposed to mean.

Varian clearly did not feel she owed me an explanation. She turned back to her meal preparations. I avoided Garrick’s gaze entirely, though I felt the weight of it. He’d been noticeably silent during the exchange.

Back at Seraxa’s altar, Isanara had finished the chunk of pyrite she’d extracted from Tomin’s pack. The acolyte was already digging and a moment later, pulled out another chunk of ore the size of his palm.

“You do not have to give that to her,” I said, planting a hand on each hip.

“Speak for yourself.” She snapped her jaws toward Tomin’s hand—which promptly started to shake. But he held out his offering, still.

“I will find you something else to eat. We have caused Tomin enough trouble,” I said aloud.

“You have caused him trouble. Not me.” Her head darted forward, snatching the pyrite from his palm without touching a single fang to his shaking hand.

“She can have it. All of it,” Tomin said, slowly lowering his hand to his lap. He grasped it with his other, trying to quell the shaking. But his eyes never left Isanara. “I still cannot quite believe that she is real.”

I tried to see her the way he might. I’d encountered a few dangerous creatures over the course of my hundreds of years in the coven lands.

They’d all been creations of the witches and more or less bowed to our power, unlike Isanara.

Dragons predated the Dark God’s creation of the witches.

I’d never seen one myself, but the power within her spoke to the power in me.

Maybe it was because she’d bonded herself to me as my familiar, but I suspected it had as much to do with the fact that we were both immortal beings.

Both tied to the power of Velora itself.

I was awed by her, but I did not fear her.

Her pale violet scales reflected the light as she moved, her sinuous neck and shimmering scales appearing almost white at times.

Like the frost that surged in my veins, she was at once beautiful and deadly, the spikes along her spine a visual reminder of the power of her species.

Not unlike the coven mark between my brows.

It felt almost as if we’d been carved from the same ancient stone.

“Me neither,” I admitted softly.

We watched her in silence, the quiet stretching out between us. It wasn’t exactly heavy, but I could still feel the weight of it. The responsibility for lifting it rested solely with me.

I sat down cross-legged on the ground behind Isanara, giving Tomin plenty of space to ignore me or walk away.