“The girls should leave the room,” Fülöp says. “I come with important information.”
“My ward can remain,” Balázs answers. “She rather enjoys hearing about political maneuverings in the Kingdom of Hungary.” I have never said such a thing, but I suspect Balázs enjoys the flustered response he induces in his aide. “Furthermore, Ágota as Archwitch should be privy to any troubles that might face us.”
“Very well. If you insist. There are troops moving in this direction,” he says. “They are in service to the King of Hungary.”
“Oh?” Ágota rises to her feet in one graceful motion and stares at Fülöp with interest.
“He is attempting to move against Transylvania to solidify his power.” Balázs shakes his head with disapproval. “When will the king understand Ladislaus Kán will not relent?”
As a castle warrior beholden to the voivode of Transylvania, Ladislaus Kán, Balázs is naturally a target for King Charles. There has always been the threat of war with the King of Hungary as news of his battles against those who opposed his reign reached us by messenger. The gossip in the castle about the power struggle between King Charles and the oligarchs of Hungary has kept many tongues wagging, but the king’s forces had yet to arrive outside the walls of the castle until now.
“We are the bulwark between the king and the voivode. Our allegiance to Ladislaus is the cause for this impending attack. If we were to swear our allegiance to the King of Hungary, we would not be at risk. You must consider this option.”
Ágota scoffs at Fülöp’s suggestion, but maintains her silence as her father responds.
“King Charles will not stop until he has deposed all the oligarchs and replaced them with his own men. If we surrender to him, he will remove us from this castle and town and hand them over to one of his sycophants. This is the home we established when we arrived in this world. I will not surrender it to any mortal man and have him rob us of our land.”
Fülöp falls silent, chastised by the words of the Grandwitch.
Ágota folds her arms over her breasts and sneers at Fülöp with disgust. “How easily you buckle before your enemies.”
“I strive to protect us, unlike you!” he retorts.
Balázs stands and his face ripples as the glamour takes hold transforming his appearance to the much older version of him. “Sound the alarms, close the gates, and prepare for a possible siege, Fülöp.”
“Make the Archwitch useful and have her deal with this,” Fülöp says, the words clipped, his tone almost abrasive. “If she is all she is supposed to be, is it not time for her to stand for us just as the Archwitches did at the end of our world?”
Ágota’s eyebrows rise and her eyes widen in surprise as she swivels about to face Fülöp’s fury.
“We are warriors of the blade as well as magic. We will fight our own battle,” Balázs replies.
“You have foisted your daughter upon this coven and insisted she is our salvation, so let her act as such!” Fülöp insists. “Let her be more than a nuisance and a constant distraction to our coven!”
Clenching her hands, Ágota steps toward Fülöp. “Perhaps you are a nuisance and a distraction to my-”
“Ágota.” A warning is evident in the way her father speaks her name.
“We have all seen her little tricks, but where is her true power? Does it exist? How do we even know she is a true Archwitch? Perhaps she is glutted on our stolen powers and unable to use them for more than her childish pranks!” Fülöp trembles with anger. “You indulge her and she must now prove herself!”
“You wish for her to take on the king’s troops. Alone?” The incredulous look on Balázs’s face is shaded with growing anger.
“Send her as well,” he says pointing to me. “This is what the Archwitches did in the old world.”
My fingers clutch the hilt of my dagger while I regard Fülöp. Ice forms over my heart and murderous wrath steals my breath. I see vividly in his eyes that he wants us dead and has seized upon this moment to thrust us toward danger in hopes that we will fail. He is one of Soffia’s closest allies and I regret not finding the opportunity to sink my knife into her. Jealousy clouds her judgment and infects those around her. Now the poison she has spread might force my sister to do what comes so easily to me, but not her.
Kill.
Chapter 14
I watch Balázs’s expression when Fülöp, his advisor and member of the coven, demands that Ágota, at last, embrace her role as Archwitch, defender of witches, and witness the struggle in his eyes. Balázs is a castle warrior, Grandwitch of the coven, guardian to me, and father to my sister the Archwitch. He survived the cataclysm that destroyed his world and has lived hundreds of years. He is a man of integrity, wisdom, and goodness. Yet, he will make a choice that will drive a wedge between me and him.
When he makes his decision, his shoulders slump and he averts his gaze from Ágota. Perhaps Balázs has been protecting her from this moment all along and can no longer stand between her and her heritage, but I will not forgive him. I am the killer, not Ágota. She is brash, strong, and independent of mind, but she is not capable of taking a life.
“You want me face the king’s troops with my sister? Just the two of us?” Ágota scoffs at Fülöp. “That is not how Archwitches dealt with enemies in the past!”
“Afraid?” Fülöp’s handsome face twists into a disapproving scowl. “I thought so.”
“No, you imbecile! The Archwitches always fought in groups of five. I will need four other witches as my siphons. You should know that.” Ágota glowers at her former lover’s husband with disdain. Despite her bravado, I observe what no one else in the room will detect. She’s unsettled by the thought of battle. “Or have you not ever been in combat?”
“Ágota,” her father says in a warning voice.
“I have fought my enemies with iron gripped in one hand and a shield held in the other,” Fülöp retorts. “I have waged war to protect our kind while you play tricks and lead young women astray!”
“Tricks? Astray?” Ágota’s eyes flame a bright green. “Continue to insult me and you will be shivering on the roof.”
“Ágota, enough!”
Her father’s voice straightens her spine and shuts her mouth. Pivoting slowly on her heel, she turns to face him. Balázs regards her with love, but also fierce resolve. “Ágota, we must completely thwart our enemy. There can be no survivors. King Charles must understand that to come against us is death for all his men. A crushing victory will keep him from our walls for a time. Your power can give us such a victory. Do you understand?”
Ágota visibly swallows, then nods. “I will need siphons. You cannot send me out with only Erjy.”
“Agreed. Choose your siphons, Ágota.”
“You,” she whispers.
“Wise.” Her father nods with approval.
Lowering her eyes, Ágota twists her hands anxiously. “I need the most powerful among the coven. So Soffia.”
“You dare not—” Fülöp starts, but Balázs quiets him with a stern look.
“I should not take Erjy. She’s too young. Not fully trained,” Ágota says.
“We have seen her power,” Fülöp retorts. “We know she is swiftly becoming what you are.”
Our lie has come back to haunt us. If not for Ágota funneling her power through the ring on my finger, all would know I am as weak as any mortal despite my mother’s blood in my veins.
“Erzsébet should be at your side,” Balázs says. Despite the gentleness of his delivery, it is clearly a command. “Choose your fourth, Ágota.”
Closing her eyes, Ágota sways on her feet. Finally, she says, “Henrietta.”
“What?” Fülöp gives Ágota a disbelieving look. “The English witch is one of the lowest witches in the coven. She is barely trained! She was an orphan taken in by mortal parents and barely understands her true heritage!”
“But she is more powerful than you are. Or any of the others in the coven except for Soffia
and my father.” Ágota exhales, her shoulders slumping. “I would rather cart your ass out there, but you would fail me. She will not despite her lack of proper training.”
Fülöp sputters, indignant at this insult, but it is the truth.
Barely hiding his smirk, Balázs says, “So be it. Your siphons are named.”
“Gather the coven in the great hall. We begin within the hour,” Ágota tells Fülöp.
He openly bristles at her order, his gaze switching to Balázs for confirmation.
“You heard your Archwitch. Do as she says.”
Fuming, Fülöp stomps from the room, more petulant than I ever was as a child. As the door shuts, Balázs approaches Ágota while she stares at him with her bottom lip trembling. Settling his big hands on her narrow shoulders, Balázs regards her somberly.
“It is time for you to fully embrace your role. I have indulged you long enough. You have trained hard, learned much, and are powerful. As Archwitch, it is your duty to protect the witches.”
“Mother did not,” I say in a cross voice.
With a sorrowful smile, Balázs says, “Yes, she did. She took Ágota somewhere safe, therefore securing our future. With your sister’s return, the role of the Archwitch must once more rise to prominence in our coven. We have languished too long in our sorrows. We have mourned too long what was lost. It is time for you to remind us of the true power of the witch heritage.”
“Must I kill the soldiers? Is there no other way?” Ágota pulls on her bottom lip with her teeth.
“You are a wielder of death. That is one of your roles.”
Closing her eyes, Ágota nods.
“Ágota is not a killer. She is good to everyone. And even when they are terrible, she does not kill them. She just makes sure they learn their lesson,” I say in her defense. “I do not think it is fair that you are allowing Fülöp to force her into killing people because he is a coward.”
Balázs meets my angry gaze with a very somber one. “There has been too much strife in the coven—too much animus against Ágota and you, Erjy. It is time for me to stop protecting you and allow you to take your rightful places in our hierarchy.” Returning his attention to my sister, he says, “It is time for you to be an Archwitch not just in name, but in feat, Ágota.”
My sister bobs her head despite the trepidation in her eyes. “I understand.”
“Now, change your dress and cloak, brush your hair, and make yourself presentable.”
Ágota leans into his kiss on her forehead and clings to him for comfort. When he releases her, she takes my hand.
“Come, Erjy.”
As we depart, I stare at Balázs with fury. A sigh escapes his lips and he lowers his eyes. My anger against him wavers for he does seem to understand the gravity of his decision.
My sister impatiently pulls me along behind her through the corridors to our room. Her fingers are icy and her grip painful. I attempt to pull free, but she does not relent. Perhaps she’s afraid I will turn back to scold Balázs.
Once inside our room, she casts a spell to shield us from all prying eyes and ears.
As soon as the spell takes hold, I blurt out my fear, the one that I kept to myself in the study. “I am not a witch. You need four to stand as your siphons!”
“Do not worry.” She strips naked and bathes at the wash basin set near the fireplace.
“I will worry. I am your sister. You will not be properly supported by including me and that may cause you harm.”
“You are witch born. That is enough. When I pull the magic through you, do not fight it.” Ágota finishes and pulls on a fresh black dress. It is one of her fancier ones with ruffles, tucks, and black fur on the hem and sleeves.
“But siphons are supposed to pull magic from the elements to feed to you. I cannot do that. I will weaken you if I join you on the battlefield.”
Ágota smirks. “No, you will not. Do you think my father knows how powerful I am? He does not. I only reveal what I want to. I can make do with three siphons.”
I stare at her with both frustration and apprehension devouring my usually calm demeanor. “Ágota, they want you to kill.”
“It was only a matter of time.” Ágota draws the comb through her hair, wincing as it catches the tangles in her thick, unruly tresses. “Mother warned me eventually I would have to take a life. She said to not deny the seriousness of the matter and to do what is right. That it is my obligation as Archwitch.”
I give her a doubtful look. “Is it right that you are being asked to kill because mortal men are fighting for power?”
“It is right because I must protect this coven. We own very little in this world. This castle is one of the few sanctuaries for our kind.” Ágota finishes and her hair is wilder and puffer than before with all the snarls removed. Pressing her hands to her waist, she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “I am the Archwitch. This is my duty.”
Killing came easily to me, but I can see it will not for her. It hurts to know that she will suffer in the aftermath of performing her so-called duty. I wish our mother had never died and that we still lived in our small cottage far away. Then Ágota would not face committing this terrible deed to defend people who do not truly value her.
“Do as I say, Erjy, and do not be afraid. I can perform my duty.”
When we join the coven in the great hall, there is a victorious gleam in the eyes of Soffia’s sycophants. They already anticipate Ágota’s failure, which strikes me as particularly foolhardy. If Ágota fails, will not it fall to them to defend the castle?
Standing among her supporters, Soffia appears uneasy. When Balázs’s wife notices me watching her, she narrows her eyes and regards me with contempt. My fingers flex about the hilt of my dagger. I will never forgive her for attempting to kill my sister and her desire to see Ágota fail only stokes the fires of hatred burning in my soul. I force myself to look away so as to not reveal my murderous desire to end her. It is best if people do not regard me as any sort of a threat.
Standing apart from the others, Henrietta gives me a reassuring smile. She, too, is dressed in her best black dress and wears a thick black fur cloak over it. I am surprised to see that she does not look a bit nervous but rather proud. I return her smile even though I worry about what will happen to her and Balázs since I cannot act as a true siphon. I trust Ágota, but magic is a wild element.
Balázs raises a hand to silence the chatter before summoning the witches into a circle. There are sixty witches in the coven and we swiftly stride to our places. I stand at Ágota’s left side while Balázs stands on her right. Henrietta hurries to her spot next to me while Soffia joins her husband. The great cauldron bubbles over the fire in the hearth warming my back.
“Rather exciting, is it not?” Henrietta whispers to me.
I arch my eyebrows. “Battle?”
“Witnessing the rise of the new Archwitch,” she corrects. “Others think she might fail, but I know Ágota will show them all. I feel it in my very bones.”
“She will not fail,” I say, dread shading my words. “Which is awful. She has to kill.”
“War is terrible, but our enemies are forcing our hand. We have to defend ourselves and Ágota is the most powerful weapon in this castle.”
“I still do not like it,” I reply truthfully.
A weak smile flits across Henrietta’s lips. “You will understand one day why we must fight.”
Shoulder to shoulder, the men and women of the coven focus on my sister.
“Join together,” Ágota says, leading the coven for the first time.
The witches cross their arms and hold hands with the person next to them.
“Close the circle.”
Chills flow down my spine despite the warmth of the fire as the magic rises around us and seals us in its protective embrace.
“Summon the power.”
We release our hold on the people next to us to raise our hands over our heads. My fingertips tingle as magic fills the circle. Sparks
of light float before my eyes and a warm breeze ruffles my hair. The light continues to grow until its golden illumination obliterates all darkness within the circle. I have never seen the magic manifest so vividly when Balázs led the coven ritual. Scrutinizing the faces around me, I am satisfied to observe the others are astonished by the manifestation of Ágota’s abilities.
“Siphons, follow me,” Ágota orders, surprising the coven.
Ágota steps into the circle with me close behind. Balázs, Henrietta, and Soffia obey her while the others move to close the gap. Soffia gives Balázs a questioning look, but he shrugs in response. Henrietta, meanwhile, appears eager to do whatever Ágota asks of her. Though I an uncertain as to what my sister will do with the magic building around us, I know it will leave the coven breathless. My sister has always been a bit of a braggart and she will use this moment to her advantage.
Ágota’s dark hair flows about her, rippling like water. Arms still held aloft, her feet lift from the floor as she spins about very slowly to face the siphons. The magic swells in the circle as it answers to her beckoning. The magic never felt like this potent when Balázs summoned it. Arms outstretched, fingers splayed, and eyes lifted to the heavens, Ágota floats before us. The sweet fragrance of magic fills my nostrils and a low hum vibrates in my chest. Ágota is terrifying to behold, and, from the expressions on the faces of the coven, it is apparent that they are frightened by this exhibition of her power.
Ágota swings her arms toward her waiting siphons and the golden speckles filling the air rush toward us. I draw in a sharp breath an instant before I am flung into the air. I have not even finished my gasp when I find myself standing on a hillside alongside the other three witches with Ágota standing a few feet in front of us. The enemy camp spreads out at the base of the hill with banners fluttering in the wind over the sprawl of tents. While the chill in the wintry air turns our breath to frost, I blink against the harsh glare of the sunlight gleaming off the patches of snow.
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