Page 63 of The Frost Witch (The Covenants of Velora #1)

Garrick and I were granted one night of respite in the temple. Alize was already there. No one asked about Nash.

I imagined I could smell his blood in the fountain at the center of the temple. The Seven Gates had claimed his life. I had been their scythe, and I would carry that with me forever. But more than any other kill that I’d wrought, this was the one I did not regret.

At first light, Varian and her acolytes led us to the Devotion Gate.

The valley behind the temple was steeped in icy mist that cut through the thick layers of my clothing.

My linen shift, thick wool dress, and knee-length leather vest had always felt adequate when layered beneath a heavy cloak, even in the mountains.

But something about the mist permeated those reliable layers, slipping between the tightly-knit fabric and fur lining with impossible ease.

The hairs at the nape of my neck prickled despite the high neck of my vest and the thick layer of my hair.

Not cold, but magic and power. The mist itself was enchanted, I realized.

As we walked deeper into the valley, it slid beneath my gloves and into the recesses of my boots.

Places that were reliably protected yielded to the frigid mist.

I glanced over my shoulder, wondering if Garrick had come to the same conclusion. But he looked straight ahead, his face flat of affect.

Isanara was silent at my side. I’d learned she wasn’t much for mornings. Another unexpected similarity between us. But I was alert despite the unkind hour. I was the one about to go through the Devotion Gate.

Power hummed in my veins, my blood cooling as the frost swirled through me.

It had been quiet since Nash. Sated, perhaps, by the output and energy required.

That should have unnerved me. But since regaining control on the floor of the rented tavern room, I had not felt that overwhelming pulse of power.

Of all the gates, the Devotion Gate seemed the least intimidating.

Mercy and justice were as foreign to me as the curses that Garrick muttered under his breath when he became frustrated.

Sacrifice, I understood. Devotion had been the hymn of the three hundred and seventy-seven years since my resurrection.

Maura demanded devotion to the coven. I chose devotion to my sister’s line.

Those two causes had often been in conflict. My stomach clenched.

This is not the Memory Gate.

Remembering was dangerous.

I forced my mind back to the present, to the crunch of the frosted grass beneath my feet and the steady sound of Isanara breathing as she walked at my side.

Devotion had propelled me through the Seven Gates. This was a gate I could face.

The acolytes on either side of us walked in silence. They always had, yet in the mist-shrouded valley it felt ominous. Even Tomin had not cracked a smile.

Was the Devotion Gate really so heinous?

Or was this the first time that most of them had performed this ritual? This Devotion Gate was the fourth of the Seven Gates of Velora. The farthest anyone had ever gotten, if legends told true, was the fifth—the Memory Gate.

Each gate had been its own version of hell. But what awaited us here… maybe it was even worse.

My confidence shuddered.

But before I could try to steady it, the mist parted.

We’d reached the far edge of the valley.

A small cottage emerged from the mists, nestled between the sloping foothills that led back up into the mountains.

The materials were different than Kyrelle and Kyna’s cottage on the coast, but the construction was essentially the same.

Stone walls, thatched roof, windows covered by wooden shutters instead of glass.

But warm light leaked from the cracks where the shutters and door met stone.

A steady stream of smoke billowed from the chimney.

Two squat evergreens framed the entrance to the gate and the cobblestone pathway that led to the door.

After our long walk through the frozen mist, the cottage beckoned in welcome.

That must be the purpose of the mist—to enhance the cottage’s appeal. Garrick moved to stand at my side, putting Isanara between us. I appreciated the subtle offer of protection he extended to my familiar without speaking.

“I do not need protection,” she growled, her voice still rough from sleep.

“Of course not,” I assured her. She whipped her tail sideways in discontent, but did not harass me further.

The acolytes fell back, forming a line behind us.

Varian lingered longer, considering each one of the remaining supplicants in turn.

I wondered what her wide, dark eyes saw that the rest of us did not.

She’d presumably spent decades in the temple.

I’d put her age at around fifty years. Few mortals in Velora reached such an age anymore.

But with the bounty of the gods to sustain her, she might live several decades more.

When her eyes landed on me, I stared right back.

I still knew disturbingly little about the woman who had shepherded us through four of the Seven Gates.

She intimidated Tomin. Garrick did not trust her any more than I did.

But Isanara had not declared her stained or immediately react with visceral revulsion the way she had with both Alize and Nash.

But the priestess would remain a mystery for at least one gate more.

“Enter the cottage at will,” she said.

No direction as to order or whether we ought to enter together or alone. Then she led her band of acolytes back through the mist.

Waiting would get us nowhere. “I will go,” I said.

“We will go,” Isanara corrected.

“We go together,” Garrick said at the same time.

I rolled my eyes at my bonded and my familiar, who did not even realize they were talking over one another in their hurry to protect me.

“And if I asked you to stay and protect my bonded?” I said to one and then the other— “I’d rather she didn’t enter the gate.”

“No,” they said in unison.

For fuck’s sake. “Fine.”

I turned to Alize. Garrick and Isanara I could tolerate. But I’d rather freeze off my own arm than expose myself to vulnerability with the treacherous fae female at my side.

“By all means,” Alize said, crossing her arms. She dropped her pack and pulled out a bit of chocolate she must have swiped from inside the temple.

That was the least of my reasons to resent her, though it certainly did not help.

“Are you awake now?” I asked Isanara as the three of us approached the cottage.

She answered me with a growl. Moody ass teenager.

Garrick already had his favorite blade in his hand, though he left the greatsword sheathed and still hadn’t touched the bow or its arrows. I checked the two blades in my belt as we walked, but I knew my most effective weapon lurked beneath my skin.

Thick emerald ivy curled over the cottage’s door, its color more verdant than I’d seen in Velora’s foliage in years.

When we were halfway between the gate and the cottage, the doorway swung open and a blast of heat rolled over us.

A buttery scent floated on the wind. Everything about the cottage was meant to invite us in.

Maybe I should have reached for one of my daggers after all.

The sensations only intensified as we entered the cottage. The heat was hotter, the scent thicker. They pressed in on me, whipping my power up from a low hum to an anxious whine.

Without thinking, I reached for Garrick’s hand.

Once I saw who waited inside the cottage, I realized that was a mistake.