Page 5 of Traitor Witch

Opal gives me a contemptuous look that tells me she knows exactly how much bullshit I just spewed.

“You may not, but I deserve all the worship I can get. I want at least four devoted males who will remember to give me treats and ear scratches when my witch is too busy with her duty,”she sneers the last word.

My familiar has never approved of the High Priestess training me for the role of Shadow, but I began trainingbefore Opal was even born, and she knew what I was when she chose me as her witch.

I understand the Goddess’s logic; who better to take the position than an orphan with no living family?

Glenna’s asked me several times if I want to give it up and take a normal Lunar’s life—making contraceptive potions and exorcism charms—but my answer will always remain the same.

I’m good at what I do. Working with the Goddess as Her Shadow is my calling, and I feel it every time I’m called to work.

I chuck what’s left of my stuff in the vague direction of my bag, then retreat to the bathroom, washing the grime away. The protective sigils inked into my skin burn like ice under the hot water. The last of the power I borrowed to charge them dissipates and I let my guard drop.

Chapter Two

NILSA

Annalise has a very distinctive knock. Two taps, a pause, then another three. It’s a polite, formal knock that never fails to drag me out of bed in a foul mood. Add to that the fact that I’ve barely managed to steal four hours sleep, and I’m just about ready to stab her when I answer the door in my borrowed robes.

“I hope you’ve recovered from your moon pains,” she coos before I can say anything, and I make a mental note to hex Danika for her shitty excuse.

Yes, every single Lunar knows my monthlies are a thing of dread, but I’ve been trying my best to keep that weakness a secret from the Solars.

“If you’re feeling up to it, the High Priestess wishes to speak with you before you leave us.”

“I’ll be right there,” I promise, shutting the door in her face before I give into the temptation to stab her.

I've always made a point to remain unarmed in the SolarTemple as a sign of goodwill, but Annalise makes me rethink my idea every time I have to speak to her.

Technically, fosterlings are supposed to be devoted to making lifelong friendships in their foster coven, but in the first week all I managed to do was piss all of them off.

It turns out that having a holy assassin in a tower full of witches devoted to the study of saving lives isn’t a good idea—who knew?

A few balding hexes and a trip to the Mother Solar to apologise later cemented my decision to leave the diplomacy side of things to Ophelia and Danika. The Solar High Priestess, Felicity, isn’t so bad. She fostered in the Lunar coven back in her youth and understands how alien everything feels to the fosterlings.

But even she only meets with me during the daylight hours. That alone speaks volumes of her unvoiced fear of me.

It didn't take the other Solars long to notice, which is why they give me a wide berth as I hike up the millions of stairs to the top of the tower.

There’s no railing around the top of the flat tower roof. Nothing to catch us if we fall or obstruct the snowy view of Coveton and the grey sea of Hardhearth Bay beyond. The roof gardens make the town appear a beautiful, snow-dappled green from above. Almost like an oasis in the form of an urban jungle that spreads from the richest houses by the bay to the poor farmers and miners beneath the protective salt wall.

The Solars spend hours in the gardens, enchanting seeds and saplings to withstand the cold climate of Eldcrest. They're almost single-handedly responsible for keeping the people fed through winters that can freeze the bay solid on a bad year.

Even I have to respect that kind of dedication.

I pull my gaze back from the view and towards the goldensun mosaic which takes up most of the space on the tower roof. The witch praying with her arms outstretched in the centre is Glenna’s mirror opposite. Felicity is dark where Glenna is pale, her power is warm and soft rather than cold and playful.

“Mother Solar,” I say, kneeling. “You requested me?”

Felicity finishes her prayer, the gold beads of her long dress tinkling as she lowers her arms. The Solars traditionally wear white, but the High Priestess wears gold—the colour of the Sun Goddess. Lunars are the same except we wear black while Glenna wears silver.

The gold contrasts beautifully with the richness of Felicity’s skin and—not for the first time—I’m struck by the beauty of the witch before me. Even covered from head to toe in conservative robes, she manages to light up the space. She has the same delicate features which are a trademark of any witch, but her eyes are an enchanting deep brown that radiates warmth.

How she’s remained so open and compassionate despite centuries of seeing the worst the world has to offer is beyond me. It’s one of the many reasons why—to my surprise—I like her.

It’s easy to see why she was chosen as the Sun Goddess’s High Priestess.

“Nilsa,” her lips quirk into a genuine smile. “Happy name-day.”