Page 52 of The Unbound Witch
The door swung open, and a little old lady shuffled in, markings covering the majority of the skin that could be seen around her long sleeves and sweeping gown. Bastian, as himself, flew from his chair, circling the table to pull a seat out for the ancient witch. Atlas shifted into his wolf form, taking a corner of the room to guard as more of the elders from the Fire Coven poured in. The first old woman stopped before Bastian, taking his hands in hers.
“We were so worried,” she whispered. “My boy, we were so worried.”
“I am fine, Nonet. Nothing to be worried about. Please, take a seat.”
She smiled once more before dipping a chin to Torryn, now standing behind Bastian's chair. A guard's stance, far more than a friend’s. With Kirsi now invisible, and the shifters away from the table, all eyes landed on me. Seven coven elders, all steeped in markings and paper-thin skin full of wrinkles, looking down the table. I wanted to crawl under it and stay there until the meeting was over. No doubt they'd all been told I cast death upon the king. No doubt they'd all decided I was their enemy.
“Miss Raven Moonstone,” Bastian said, sweeping a hand toward me. “Please meet the elder members of the Fire Coven.”
He went around the room, calling them each by name and sharing a warm smile with everyone before finally taking his seat. These were the witches that had raised him into the king he was now. With his parents’ death at such a young age, they had watched him grow. Had likely all felt the searing loss when he’d died.
One of the men from the opposite end of the table stood, casting a spell around the room, a beautiful shade of purple glowing from a marking on the back of his palm.
“A sound barrier,” Bastian whispered beside me.
Another stood, a short woman with skin as smooth as a baby’s, though her silver hair gave away her old age. She hardly moved her fingers, and the room lit with golden light, pouring over each of us. The warmth of the spell started at the top of my head and inched its way down my body, as if searching for something. Though each of the witches experienced the same thing, all eyes fell to me as the magic ended.
“That one makes sure there are no imposters using magic to deceive us,” the older woman that had taken the king's hands said from his other side. “We are so pleased to meet with you now, Miss Moonstone.”
“Truly?”
A chuckle from down the table. “Of course. Though, I must admit,” another man said, his brown skin identical to Torryn's complexion, though his green eyes were markedly different from Tor’s gold, “we did think you were our enemy.”
“That is part of the reason we are gathered today.” Bastian stood, placing his palms flat on the table as he recanted our story to the elders of the Fire Coven. He spoke of the Trials, hinted at his feelings toward me, then told them of the coven leaders the night of the ball, Nikos' betrayal, everything.
“And now these witches have the Grimoires. And the decimation of the castle has proven they know how deadly those books are when combined,” the oldest woman said. She reached a hand over the table, placing it on top of her king's. “Sit, my boy. Let us discuss this.”
As if she commanded him and not the other way around, he plopped into his seat, silent as the rest of them.
“Pardon,” I said, far quieter than I'd intended to be.
“Speak up, girl,” a tall, thin man said. “No need to be shy here.”
“I only wondered, that is, I was curious. What do you know of the origin of the Grimoires?” I knew only what my grandmother had shared, and it was possible the story was different.
“Ah,” the man answered, standing. “That is a very good question. A long, long time ago, hundreds of years, the Grimoires were not individual books, and there were not seven covens. Only one. It was used to keep record of every spell and every curse, every conjuring and every marking. The original Grimoire, then known as the Book of Omnia, was used to guide the witches. It's said, all those years ago, the book itself spoke to our ancestors as a sentient being. But as the witches became eager for more power, it seemed to elude them. More and more of us were born, and the power of the witches diluted. As if we all shared a single well, and the well was running dry. Our ancestors believed the end to be near. Out of desperation, seven elders gathered in a secret place of power. They spent an entire moon cycle inside a salt circle chanting and casting magic upon the Book of Omnia. Splitting it into the seven Grimoires. They called it The Breaking. Thirteen family lines for every book. And so, the coven's were made.”
“Thirteen?” I repeated. “We learned from Eden that the Harrowing targets the thirteenth witch with power down every family line.”
“Yes. The Fire Coven's Harrowing is complete,” Nonet said.
“What does that mean for the rest of the witches?” Bastian asked. “Do we believe the increase of power will be the change in the world, to take out the shifters once and for all?”
Atlas, who'd been stoic and observant, shifted for the first time, his fur rippling down his back as he snorted.
“Only the goddess knows. But we can be sure of one thing. As long as those witches have the Grimoires, they are hiding, and they are dangerous. After all these years, we've accepted our fate with the Harrowing. But we cannot allow the estranged covens to access that much power,” Nonet said.
“Raven is the only witch to survive the Harrowing that we know of, and she’s been blessed by the goddess. Is it possible that it will still come back for her?”
The old woman's face fell, grave emerald eyes meeting his. “There is no way to know, my boy. Blessed by the goddess and cursed by Death. Unmarked and very powerful, she is a conundrum.”
“What does the elder council advise me to do?” Bastian asked.
“Give us a moment,” one of the seven elders said, recasting the sound barrier so that only they were within. We shared a glance as we watched them speak. Some didn't, and some were very animated as they gestured from within their private space.
“Will we do whatever they recommend?” I whispered to Bastian.
He took my hand and brought it to his lips, brushing my knuckles gently before speaking. “We will have our own council after this one has parted and decide together.” His eyes narrowed. “‘My decisions, my lies, my moves’ don’t work well, I’ve learned.”