by Donna Grant
She knew it was unfair to be angry with them, but she couldn’t help it. She was mad. At the world, at the injustice of what the Coven had done, at…everything.
“Synne, we can do this,” Lachlan said in a soft voice.
She swung her eyes to him and gave him a nod. Synne didn’t try to speak because the words wouldn’t come. They were lodged in her throat as she fought back tears for the family she’d known that was now gone.
“Follow me,” he told her.
Synne didn’t look back as she nudged her mare into a trot. She and Lachlan didn’t speak for another hour as they traveled through the forest. No matter how hard she looked, she didn’t see any more witches. She took every opportunity to touch the trees as she passed. None of them alerted her to danger. Still, she didn’t let her guard down.
She’d believed that after Sybbyl had destroyed the abbey, she would be safe as she found her way to Blackglade. Sybbyl had no way of knowing how many Hunters there were, so the witch couldn’t know if all of them had been killed in her attack or not. How then were witches after her? No matter how Synne looked at it, she couldn’t figure it out.
Then she realized that it was a moot point. Sybbyl had a bone of the First Witch. That gave her more power than any other witch in the Coven. That meant there was likely no end to what she could do. Which didn’t bode well for Synne, Leoma, or Helena.
Or the Varroki.
Synne thought about Malene. She was the Lady of the Varroki and supremely powerful in her own right. So much so, that Synne believed Malene could take out the Coven and Sybbyl by herself. But Malene didn’t see it that way. The Varroki had begun as a way to fight against the Coven, and they would continue in that vein until the very end.
When Lachlan finally slowed, Synne pulled herself from her thoughts. She came up alongside him as he halted his gelding. Their gazes met as their knees brushed. Something electric and energizing passed between them. It made her heart skip a beat, but if Lachlan felt it, he didn’t show it. So, she didn’t say anything.
But she couldn’t stop thinking about it.
“One of my clansmen is stationed just over that rise. I’m going to tell him what we’re doing,” he told her.
Synne shifted in the saddle. “How much are you going to say?”
“Enough that he knows this is important. I’m no’ daft enough to mention witches or magic, but the words I pass to my father will get the point across.”
“The forest has been quiet.”
Lachlan looked past her and nodded. “You expect another attack soon.”
“I do.”
“Hmm,” he said after a moment. “Me, as well.”
They continued on, and once they crested the steep rise, she spotted the man standing guard with his horse a few yards away. Lachlan waved, and the man waved back. As they approached, Synne spotted the man’s dark blond hair, and the wariness of his gaze when it landed on her.
“Alan, I need you to take a message to my father,” Lachlan said without dismounting.
Alan’s brown eyes narrowed on Synne. “Who is she?”
“Synne. I’m guiding her across our land, and I’ll be taking her farther north.”
Alan’s gaze jerked to Lachlan as he frowned. “North? We need you here.”
“I’m aware of the upcoming battle with our enemy, but a bigger foe is coming this way. Listen to me carefully, because I need you to tell my father these words exactly.”
Alan stood there for a moment, a muscle in his jaw ticking. Then he bowed his head slightly. “I’m listening.”
“I’m fulfilling my duty to protect our clan as I’ve vowed. Grandmother knew about this, and it’s finally come. Keep everyone close to the castle. What’s coming doesna care who we are. They’ll kill without hesitation.”
Alan repeated the words verbatim.
“Good,” Lachlan told him.
“Let me come with you,” Alan said and glanced at Synne. “You could use another sword.”
Lachlan moved his mount forward until he could lay his hand on Alan’s shoulder. “You’ve been my friend for as long as I can remember. There’s no one else I’d rather have by my side, but the clan is more important right now. I need you to watch over them in my place, help my father and the others. I ask this of you because I know I can trust you.”
“What are you no’ telling me?” Alan asked.
Synne wished it was as easy as speaking the truth, but not everyone knew about witches and magic. If the wrong person was told, she and Lachlan could be burned alive. She had shared with Lachlan on a whim, but also because she knew that if it came down to it, she could handle herself and get away. Both she and Lachlan could overpower Alan as well, but there were more lives at stake. The clan—all clans, actually—needed to be warned.
“A lot,” Lachlan answered. “Trust me.”
Alan bowed his head. “I always have.”
“Thank you. I doona know when I’ll be back. You might see strange things in the forest. Doona go after them.”
Synne flattened her lips because Lachlan was making things worse, not better. She caught Alan’s attention. “While you might not want to, I would advise alerting neighboring clans, as well.”
The way Alan looked at her reminded Synne that she wasn’t Scottish, and she’d just announced that to him by speaking. Just when he’d been about to let all questions drop, his gaze sharpened because she hadn’t been able to keep her mouth shut.
Lachlan straightened and gave her a hard look before he looked back at Alan. “Synne didna bring this to us. It was already headed this way. She’s only trying to stop it.”
“A woman?” Alan asked with scorn.
Lachlan’s expression hardened as he glared at his friend. “Aye, a woman. She saved my life this morning. Heed my words, Alan. I doona want to learn that the clan was attacked and people killed simply because Synne is a sassenach and a woman.”
Alan looked away and swallowed. “Fair point.” He blew out a breath and met Lachlan’s gaze. “If you doona return to us, your father will never forgive me.”
Lachlan smiled and clicked to his horse. Synne watched him before her gaze slid back to Alan. She glanced at the ground. “Everyone I knew and loved, as well as the home I had, was destroyed by what’s coming.”
“Then why no’ face it?”
Lachlan stopped and turned to look back at her. Synne stared into his gray eyes that were as steady as his hand. Radnar would’ve liked him. No doubt, Radnar would’ve taken Lachlan in and shown him everything he knew.
Her gaze slid to Alan. “I intend to face it. That’s why I’m going north. Others ready to fight are waiting for me.”
“Then you two better get moving,” Alan said with a nod. He turned and strode to his horse before mounting it. He spun the animal around and raced eastward.
Synne then nudged her horse to start moving.
“We’ve got another day of riding to get across my clan’s land,” Lachlan told her.
“And how much farther north can we go?”
He lifted a brow as their horses walked side by side. “Depends on how fast we travel and what we run across. Clans doona like others crossing their lands. We’re constantly at war with each other for one thing or another.”
“Sounds exhausting.”
He chuckled. “It’s life. I’ve never known anything else. Most times, the wars are settled by one laird offering a daughter up for marriage.”
“I can’t believe women agree to that.”
“They doona have a choice.”
She snorted and rolled her eyes. “Of course, they do. They have a brain, a mouth, and they can think for themselves. How would you like to be offered up to a woman as a way for a war to end? A woman you might detest.”
“I doona think I’d mind if that woman was you.”
She looked at him to see him grinning. Despite her ire, she found herself smiling in response. “You have to admit, you’d hate having that choice taken from you.”
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“Sometimes, the choice is out of a man’s hands, as well. I’m well aware that if I doona choose my own wife, there’s a chance my father will offer me to one of his enemy’s daughters as payment for a truce. When two clans are bound by marriage, they become allies. There is strength in numbers.”
“It’s ridiculous.”
“Perhaps, but we’re going to be crossing some of those allies’ lands on the way north.”
Synne wrinkled her nose. “If you ever have children, don’t make them marry someone they don’t want to. No one deserves that kind of life.”
“It’s no’ always bad. My mother was such a bride, and she and my father fell in love. It can turn out all right.”
“Perhaps,” she admitted. “But I wager that more times than not, it doesn’t. You doom a woman to a life of misery, while a man can find himself a mistress if he wants.”
Lachlan made a sound in the back of his throat. “Women do that, as well.”
“Aye. They do.” She flashed him an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. I grew up with vastly different beliefs, and just because I agree with mine, doesn’t make yours wrong.”
“It doesna, but I admit I like hearing different views. It makes me think, and it makes me consider that the way we’ve done things in the past isna always right or wrong. It’s worked, but it might no’ always work. And since I’ve a sister who is terrified she’ll be offered up as a wife to one of our enemies, I’d like to tell you I’d never do that. But if it means an end to the war, if it means a truce and allies? A laird must take into account more than just one person. He must consider his clan.”
Synne nodded slowly. “I hadn’t thought of it that way. You do have a point.”
“I think we both do.”
They shared a smile, and Synne was happier than ever that Lachlan was traveling with her. He wasn’t just a warrior, he was intelligent, as well. He would push her mentally and physically. Radnar had always said that a good warrior realized they never stopped learning. That there were always more skills out there to acquire.
“I’m glad you’re here, Lachlan.”
“Me, too, lass.”
8
Somewhere in northern Scotland
The magic of the Witch’s Grove moved over Sybbyl, wrapping her in a blanket of comfort. The wood was dense with ancient trees that the Gira used as camouflage, watching her as she stood in the center of the clearing. She was close to the Varroki. And soon, she’d find them and wipe them from existence.
Her fingers tightened around the Staff of the Eternal. Within the wood was the ancient thigh bone of the First Witch. The moment Sybbyl had touched the staff, she’d felt the power running through it. And that power was now hers.
She smiled as she looked at the weapon. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t pretty. Power didn’t need to be. It only mattered how that ability was used. And no one could use it like she could. She’d proven that when she decimated Edra and the Hunters the witch had trained to kill.
The very thought of Edra hunting her own enraged Sybbyl. It’s why she’d taken such pleasure in killing the witch. She had dared to think she could stand against the Coven. Sybbyl had wanted Edra gone for years, and that was when Sybbyl was only part of the Coven. Now that she ruled it, she would make sure no one could ever rise above her.
“There’s the Heart.”
Her smile dipped at the voice in her head. She ignored it as she had for days, but it was growing louder and louder. At first, she’d thought it was her conscience rearing its head and sowing self-doubt, but she had quickly realized that wasn’t the case. Then, she’d thought it might be remnants of magic from the elders she’d killed, but once more, she determined that wasn’t the case either.
There was only one explanation—it was the staff.
Sybbyl had wanted to ask the Gira if the bones of the First Witch could speak. Yet, every time she tried, she couldn’t get the words out. The Gira followed her because of her magic and the fact that she ruled the Coven. No one—absolutely no one—could know that there was even the slightest chink in her armor. Especially the Gira.
The nymphs were particularly…vicious. They were great as allies, but if they ever turned on you, it was horrendous. They usually kept to themselves rather than aligning with any person or group. Still, there had been a handful of scenarios throughout history where they had chosen a side. While they had been allies with chosen witches, those witches had made great leaps in power. But when the Gira decided to sever that tie, the witches died brutally.
Sybbyl wasn’t going to be like those witches. She was smarter than that. She had worked her way up in the ranks of the Coven to take her rightful place as the leader. The idea that the Coven needed three elders was ludicrous. That stemmed from the First Witch’s sisters, who had all wanted control and nothing more.
But Sybbyl was nothing like any of the witches who had come before her. She was something altogether different. Edra and her Hunters had discovered that. So would the Varroki. And once Sybbyl had another of the First Witch’s bones, she would be able to easily thwart Helena.
Just thinking about the witch made Sybbyl furious. She should’ve been able to defeat Helena already, but the witch’s magic was more potent than any other’s. It was why Sybbyl had wanted her in the Coven. She hadn’t realized that Helena was a direct descendant of the First Witch, but it soon wouldn’t matter. Sybbyl knew that another bone was in Scotland, and she was going to find it before she turned her attention to the Varroki.
The bones wanted to be reunited. They had always called out to one another, but only those possessing magic and holding one of those bones could hear it. Sybbyl let those opposing her believe they were more powerful, but it was an illusion. Soon, she’d show them and everyone else that she was untouchable.
Then, every living thing on the planet would bow before her.
The idea of such power made her smile as she closed her eyes and imagined her future. It would be glorious, her castle massive and utterly magnificent. Once she ruled, there would never be another burned alive because of ignorance. Anyone with magic would have power. And those without…well, they would get a taste of what it was like to be hunted and to live in fear.
Something fell upon her cheek. Then her nose. Sybbyl opened her eyes to see the flurries of snow swirling around in the air as if some invisible hand controlled them. She watched them for a while, her mind emptying. The longer she stayed in the Grove, the more her magic was renewed. And with the Staff of the Eternal in her hand, it doubled.
“You’re the illusion. Nothing you have will be enough.”
She jerked to the present. The message was one voice, not the many of the Gira, so she knew it wasn’t them. Her gaze slid to the staff.
“Afraid? You should be.”
“I’m the leader of the Coven,” Sybbyl replied.
The voice laughed, the sound raspy and low. “You’re terrified. Just like you were as a little girl. You hold power before you like a shield, hoping no one can see your knees knocking.”
“Nay.”
“I can see inside you. There is no lying to me.”
Sybbyl stopped arguing. There was no need to continue. She knew the truth, and she felt the power of the staff. The scared girl she used to be had been gone a long time. She knew her place, and it was right where she was. She’d known that she would be queen eventually. And here she was.
She pushed her magic into the staff and asked, “Where is the next bone?”
The flurries fell quicker, swirling around each other to land in an arrow that faced southeast. She frowned because it had initially pointed north. Had she traveled so far that she now had to backtrack? Or was someone moving the bone?
That was a definite possibility. Had a Hunter found the relic? No. If that were the case, the staff would’ve told her. Wouldn’t it?
The laughter that rang in her head made her want to hit something. She took a deep breath and promised herself that she would ignore it. Syb
byl waited several moments to see if the voice had anything else to say. When it didn’t, she focused on the location of the next bone. She wasn’t quite ready to leave the Grove yet. There was something so peaceful about it that it made it hard to leave. But go she must.
She had to get that bone from whoever had it. There was no other option. If Braith, as Warden of the Blood Skull, came after her along with Helena, Sybbyl would need more than just the staff and the Gira.
“You have more enemies.”
The Varroki. How could she forget? Not that Sybbyl was too worried about them. They stayed hidden for a reason.
“How easily you forget Jarin.”
She gritted her teeth at the mention of the warlock. The fact that he had refused her advances was something she’d never forget or forgive. But he had also fought against her and alongside Helena. Then, he’d professed his love for Helena, and that was more than Sybbyl could take.
She lifted the staff and slammed the end of it into the ground in anger. The Varroki had warlocks. The ones who’d survived her attack would be used by witches to ensure that magic continued for future generations. The rest would be killed if they didn’t join the Coven.
Sybbyl debated whether to gather the black mist that allowed her to travel over long distances. She hadn’t yet learned how to pinpoint a specific location, and it used up a lot of magic. There was a chance that she might have to battle Helena or even the Varroki when she found the next bone, so she needed to conserve her magic. That meant she was walking.
Without a word to the Gira, she started in the direction the arrow in the snow indicated. The moment she exited the Grove, she felt its loss. The more time she spent in a Witch’s Grove, the more she wanted to stay. They were known sanctuaries for witches for a reason. Not only did others stay out, but they also gave witches solace and peace, two things they rarely found out in the cruel world.
Since she’d acquired the staff, the properties of the Groves had benefited her tenfold. She wasn’t as happy anywhere else as she was within the confines of those sacred places. Yet, if she were to complete her plans, she needed to leave the Witch’s Grove and travel.
