Page 1 of Traitor Witch (The Deadwood #1)

Chapter One

NILSA

F reezing, salty sea air slices through me as I perch on the edge of a rooftop garden, overlooking my mark’s study. It’s a posh room, better than most in Coveton, with a huge window that makes this job all too easy. The whole townhouse glows with the light of crystal-powered lamps, making it obvious why someone put a price on his head.

Who isn't jealous of that kind of wealth?

Most families have one crystal per house—if that—and this human has five in a single room. The mage-tech is ridiculously expensive, even more so in Coveton—where so few mages live.

Glenna mentioned the mark was supposedly some minor noble when she gave me the order to take his life. He's not important enough for his own title, but still one of only three people trusted by the Queen to oversee the city's crystal mine.

Not that I care .

The Goddess accepted the contract, so here I am.

The door to his study opens, revealing my mark in all his balding, middle-aged glory. My hand goes to my pouch, ready to get this over with, but the sight of a tiny blonde head in the doorway stops me.

The mark’s kid doesn’t need to see this.

I settle in to wait a little longer.

“You’re too soft,” Opal scoffs, twining her fluffy tail around my crouched body.

“No child should have to watch their parent’s murder,” I whisper back.

My familiar doesn’t answer, but her blue eyes meet mine for a brief second. It’s been a dozen years since she chose my scrawny, awkward thirteen-year-old self as her witch and I’ve still not figured out if she likes me or just tolerates me.

At times like this, I’m certain it’s the latter.

My mark bends, kisses his kid’s forehead, then ushers him out of the study. I wait until I’m certain the child is gone before withdrawing the poppet from my pouch. My sewing skills aren’t brilliant, but the doll is a close enough approximation of the mark. Besides, it’s the lock of his hair hidden inside that matters most.

“Goddess of the Last Sleep, lend your power to my work,” I whisper, feeling the Moon's answering throb as I lift the poppet into Her light.

Her magic cocoons me, feeling my intention, and flowing straight into the doll where it’s needed. Power swells and I don’t have to wait long for it to tether the man in the study to the doll in my hand.

Getting the hair was the hard part.

Killing him is as easy as clenching my hand around the doll.

On the other side of the window, my mark stumbles, clutching his chest. The poppet pulses in my hand, but I don’t let go.

The human collapses and the coolness of the Moon’s magic leaves me.

The whole thing only takes ten seconds.

I sigh, hold up the doll, and watch as it flakes away into ashes.

My work is done.

I catch a single flake of ash on the tip of my finger, take a tiny envelope from my pouch with my other hand, and smear the ash inside. Another swipe of my finger activates the magical seal, and the sigils covering the paper flare to life. Within seconds, the entire thing is a single piece of glass, just smaller than the palm of my hand, the ash preserved perfectly in the middle as a magical record of the death.

I take one final glance, confirming I’m still alone, before tucking it into my pouch and stepping off the edge of the roof.

I land as light as a feather in the alley three storeys below, unharmed thanks to a last-minute burst of power directed at the agility sigils on my legs. A last look up at the roof, confirms what I already know. Opal remains on the ledge, grooming herself like we have all the time in the world.

That cat has no sense of urgency.

“We need to get going,” I hiss up at her. “The Solars will notice if we’re gone much longer.”

Opal looks down her feline nose at me but obliges me, hopping from ledge to ledge before finally landing on my shoulders. After a moment, she curls up in her customary spot around my neck like a furry scarf. I check again for witnesses, then hurry out of the alley and into the shady, snowy streets of Coveton.

I can smell the blizzard coming, but I’ll make it back to the temple before the first flakes fall. The fresh sheet of snow will hide the few tracks I’ve left behind, wiping all trace of me from the alley. The slush from this morning’s snow is already refreezing into ice beneath my feet, making the trek back slower than it should be.

It’s easy to tell when I’m nearly home. The trembling pulse of magic-enhanced music and screams of revelry carry on the air long before the complex comes into view.

Like its Solar counterpart, the Lunar Temple is an imposing sight. But instead of a huge, geometric tower piercing the sky, it’s a one-storey, circular building, surrounded by columns strung with silver and black swathes of cloth. Plants cascade from the roof gardens which crown both the main temple and the sprawling complex of interconnected satellite buildings, contrasting against the white snow that’s our constant companion this far north.

The instant I step over the boundary, the tension leaves my shoulders and my heart sighs out a welcome. Reaching up, I pull my hood down now that I’m safe among my own coven.

This is my home, no matter that I’ve not lived here for almost a year. Opal evidently agrees, because she purrs quietly, leaping from my shoulders towards the kitchens without a word. I watch her go for a second before turning back to the party.

The party tonight is larger than usual; the coven has obviously decided to get a head start on celebrating the winter solstice tomorrow. Scantily clad, highly intoxicated Lunars teeter around, giggling and dancing with their harems. Despite the snow, they wear black scraps of fabric which accentuate their every curve and show off the exotic whirls and lines of their sigil tattoos. They’ve got just enough presence of mind to grin and half bow at me as I pass, but I’m forgotten the instant I’m out of sight.

I scan their faces as I move through the crowd, but Glenna won’t join in until she’s debriefed me. Her men are dotted around, keeping an eye on things for the Mother Lunar. One of them nods at me as I sweep up the three steps into the temple.

Despite the round shape of the building, the central courtyard is a perfect square. Several strong enchantments ensure that the sound of the hedonistic revelry outside never penetrates the doors of the sanctuary, and the sudden transition from party to meditative silence always takes some getting used to.

In the centre of the courtyard, more steps lead down into a shallow pool. It’s lined with a gorgeous mosaic of the Moon in all Her aspects. The lotus flowers bob and glimmer with the Lady’s light, their leaves dipping under each tiny ripple only to surface again seconds later.

It's a peaceful place.

Glenna stands in the centre of the pool, her short, silver dress swirling in a magical wind, her arms raised high to the sky. The High Priestess shines with divine light, making it difficult to look at her directly. Her sigils are the only part of her skin which doesn’t glow under the Moon, and she has more than any witch I’ve ever known. The tattoos run in an unceasing line along her limbs and spine, with extra sigils crammed onto her shoulder blades. As children, we used to say she was so ancient that some of the sigils have been forgotten to time, and even she doesn’t remember their purpose.

Sometimes, I still wonder if that’s true.

We all know how painful each sigil is to receive, and it affords her almost as much respect as her age and position does.

“Mother Lunar.” I drop to one knee.

Glenna finishes her prayer before she turns, the motion makes a strand of her short, dark hair fall into her face. She tucks it behind her ear, grinning in a way that pulls at the two tiny sigils underneath her eyes.

“Nilsa.” She glides out of the pool, barely making the water ripple with the movement. Her hands pull me up by my shoulders before wrapping me in a familiar embrace. “You got my message, then?”

“It’s done,” I confirm.

“And you’re unharmed?” Her eyes, turned luminous silver by the Goddess on her ascension to High Priestess, scan me for injuries like a hawk.

“I’m fine.” I roll my eyes, because she never changes. “It was a simple job. Everything went according to plan.”

She smiles again and leads the way across the courtyard and down a small corridor, into the adjoining archives.

“Forgive me, I know you’re not supposed to carry out your duties during your fostering, but the Goddess would not have asked me to send her Shadow if it wasn’t important.”

“I needed it,” I sigh. “The temple is home and being a Shadow is my duty. A year away from both is far too long.”

“One day left." Glenna pulls the cord which activates the room’s crystal, sending a warm glow reflecting off thousands of tiny glass envelopes.

The records surround the room in neat little rows, held suspended in mid-air by the magic woven into the temple. The room’s enchantment makes it infinitely large, yet it takes up no more space in the temple than the broom-cupboard beside it.

The records are sorted into sections, organised by the name of the Shadow who made them. As the current Shadow, my section is closest to the door, and despite only having held the position for three years, it’s larger than many of the others who had served for longer. Over a hundred records lined up neatly, bearing my magical signature. I know that worries Glenna, who hums as she lines up my latest envelope .

“At least, after tomorrow night, I’ll be able to send you out knowing you’re a little more durable.” Her words bring back memories of the arguments we had when my first contract came through at age seventeen.

Despite her faith, Glenna thought me too young and perhaps, looking back, I was. I glance at the first record, a smeary drop of blood contained forever in glass. The mission went wrong in just about every possible way. And when I returned, I sobbed in her arms, dripping with blood from my wounds, but more certain than ever that I was doing what I was born to.

"Who knows," she continues. "Perhaps immortality is the key to unlocking the remaining Shadow powers you still struggle with?"

I doubt it, but I don't dare say that.

“I just want to come home,” I mutter, following as she strides out of the room.

“I remember my own fostering,” Glenna smiles fondly. “The Solars treated me well, and I made a few friends. Have things changed?"

I grimace. "They know what I am. Many of them objected to my being chosen as a fosterling in the first place. Danika and Ophelia don’t have the same problem.”

“The Goddesses chose all of you.” Glenna pauses at the water’s edge. “The Solars’ objections mean nothing. Tomorrow you’ll come home, and the Ladies will choose three new fosterlings for each of our covens.”

She’s quiet for a second before she glances over her shoulder, looking at me with enough indecision that I just know she’s going to broach the subject we’ve been dancing around for months.

“I scried again,” she finally says.

My hands fist by my sides. Not this again. “I’ve made peace with it, Mother Lunar. ”

“Even the Goddess’s dark face is surrounded by her stars.” Glenna moves closer, hands spread like she’s trying to comfort me, but it does the opposite, making me feel caged. “A coming of age ceremony without the gift of your own men…”

Why does she keep bringing this up? Talking about it isn’t going to change anything.

“I am the Shadow,” I remind her, dryly. “It’s not exactly the kind of job that complements maintaining a harem, anyway.”

“I’m going to keep trying,” she vows. “Nilsa, you deserve happiness.”

I shake my head. “I am happy. I don’t need a harem of humans to complete me. I have lovers when I want them, and I have the coven and my duties.”

“Perhaps they’ve just not been born yet,” Glenna continues, as if I haven’t spoken. “It has happened before; life partners being born out of sync. We live long lives, there is still plenty of time.”

She doesn’t mention the fact that in most cases, those people are few and far between, and destined for an existing harem. A Lunar witch reaching twenty-five winters and not being gifted a harem by the Goddess as she turns immortal is unheard of.

Except, apparently, for me.

“I’d better be heading back.” I pull her back into a hug and head for the door, cutting off the conversation before she can continue. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

“Nilsa, wait.”

I stop reluctantly and look back over my shoulder. “Please, Mother Lunar, I’d rather not talk about it.”

She must feel the begging in my tone because she purses her lips, then nods. “Alright. Then at least enjoy the party for an hour before you go. ”

I hesitate, but the temptation proves too much to resist. “Alright.”

As soon as we leave the courtyard, the pulsing beat hits me once again. I draw a little moonlight down, transforming my cape and leathers into a skin-tight dress, but leave the blades strapped to my hip and thighs as they are. Glenna hands me an amphora of sweet wine and I gulp it down before making my way into the crowd and losing myself to the sway of bodies.

Now that I’m off duty, my coven sisters waste no time in drawing me into the throng of dancers with hugs and grins. We’re a tactile bunch, and the contact soothes thoughts of the future away. The hedonism of the present consumes us all and I lose myself in the beats of the drums and the undulating waves of witch bodies.

I leave long before I want to, but somehow drink enough to need the offered sobriety spell from Glenna before I’m fit to walk back to the Solar Temple.

The Solars will have a fit if they learn what I’ve been doing. Their quiet, structured existence is the opposite of the Lunars’ hedonistic one.

Fortunately, I’ve stashed several sets of the white robes I’ve been loaned across Coveton for just such an occasion. The conservative clothes slip easily over my black leather dress, hiding the truth as long as no one looks too closely.

The Solar Temple has been my foster home for the last year. It shines like a beacon of light against the night sky. The white, salt-infused bricks reflect the light from the buildings around it, giving it an otherworldly feel that never fails to impress passers-by.

But inside, everything is sterile, cold, and serious.

Just thinking about it makes me shudder.

“Out for a moonlit stroll, Nilsa?”

Danika’s scarily accurate imitation of the Solars grates on me, but I ignore it as she falls into step beside me, our white cloaks swirling in the wind as we draw closer to the door.

Like me, Danika is a Lunar witch, fostered for a year with the Solars to improve relations between our two covens. The Solar High Priestess, Felicity, requested us both—along with Ophelia—and in turn, Glenna took the Moon Goddess’s choices from their coven.

“Danika,” I acknowledge, keeping my voice purposefully level so as not to wake the Solars. “I must have missed you at the celebration. Did you leave early with someone?”

It’s no secret that Danika struggles with the idea of a year of celibacy more than Ophelia and I do. While tonight was my first chance to let my hair down in a full year, Danika sneaks out of the Solar Temple on a weekly basis to get the action she craves. Of the three Lunar fosterlings, she’s the one who’s usually in the most trouble with the Solars, and it doesn’t bother her one bit.

Which is probably why her blonde hair has a distinctly just-fucked look to it, and her lipstick is smudged.

I wish I could afford to walk into the Solar Tower with such an obvious disregard for their rules.

But I’m the Shadow of the Moon, the High Priestess’s left hand. If I pretend to be anything other than the perfect fosterling, the Solars will grow even colder toward me than they already are. Everyone believes that when I sneak out of their temple, it’s for a more sinister reason.

Something Danika knows, and delights in.

She may be flaunting the Solars’ celibacy vows but I’m the antithesis of everything they stand for.

The eunuch guards nod at us as we pass them. Like us, they’re covered from neck to toe in shapeless white fabric, but they also wear furs against the cold. We Lunar witches just don’t feel the chill as keenly.

“There were plenty of sailors in port who came to the party for a little fun,” Danika confirms, just before we’re out of the guards’ earshot. “I was going to have a last-minute snack, care to join me?”

I’m already shaking my head. “I’ve had a long night. I’m going to catch as many hours of sleep as I can before they get us up at dawn again.”

“Sisters!” Annalise’s shrill voice echoes down the halls. “Where have you been?”

I can’t help my groan. Annalise is the self-appointed busybody of the Solar witches. For all the centuries she’s been alive, nothing seems to entertain her as much as keeping tabs on the Lunar fosterlings. Her desperate need to be the one to catch our every slip up makes me her favourite target.

I raise a brow at Danika. “Two silvers if you deal with her.”

“Make it four and I’ll give you a convincing alibi.”

I nod, slipping the triangular coins out of my pouch and into her pocket.

Danika finger combs her locks before twirling with the grace of a born actress. “Oh, Sister Annalise, how lovely to see you.” Her fawning tone makes me smirk as I keep walking.

I manage to make it back to my room undisturbed, a small miracle considering how nosy the Solars are. I check the privacy sigils I etched on the door as I enter, then the ones at the window, only truly relaxing once I’ve reassured myself that they’re undisturbed.

With nothing left to distract me, the enormity of the situation finally catches up with me.

Tomorrow we’ve survived a year here and I finally get to go home. New fosterlings will be exchanged and we can leave the Solar Temple for good.

Tomorrow we’ll be immortal, our transition complete as soon as the Moon rises on our twenty-fifth winter solstice .

Danika and Ophelia will receive their human harems and settle down with Glenna’s blessing. I’ll receive a new target and continue my existence as the Shadow of the Moon. The assassin of the Lunar Goddess.

This whole charade will finally be over. Peace between both covens will be ensured and I’ll go back to late nights and even later mornings and doing whatever the fuck I want without a eunuch or a Solar glaring over my shoulder.

Goddess, that sounds like bliss after a year of living here.

I sigh as I start to pull together my things, stuffing them into the bag I’d come here with in no real order. Opal reappears silently midway through the packing and chooses to sit in the centre of the pile with a smug look on her face.

“The High Priestess says she scried again with no results.” The unexpected softness in my familiar’s voice is the one thing I don’t need to hear.

“I know my fate,” I growl, shoving a miniskirt into what little space she’s not taking up. “She doesn’t need to keep trying.”

“Glenna knew you’d say that.”

Flopping down on the single cot, I abandon my haphazard packing in favour of staring at my familiar.

“I’ve made peace with it,” I lie. “The Goddess hasn’t shown her anyone for my harem because I’m okay without one. I don’t need a bunch of human men worshipping me and getting in the way of my work.”

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 training before 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.