For a legendary agricultural relic that kept an entire people fed for centuries, The Sunroot Idol truthfully wasn’t much to look at. Merely twisted roots, petrified and bound together, curled around a chunk of amber that if viewed in just the right light glowed weakly. She had expected more.

  Still, Diya carried it in both arms, close to her chest, each step careful like it was a newborn. Something about nearly dying to obtain a thing allowed one to overlook even the most glaring of unmet expectations. As its faint warmth seeped into her skin, she couldn’t help but acknowledge that it was a welcome sensation on a frigid morning.

  Tamsin strode beside her with the swagger of one who had just spit in the face of impossible odds, all to spite a brother who had cunningly sent her to die. Diya could tell based on the spark in her eyes that she couldn’t wait to see her brother’s face when they presented him with the stolen idol.

  Was it foolish to hold the belief that proving someone wrong was one of life’s greatest joys? Thought Diya.

  The overgrown clearing ahead was packed with arguing individuals, say one thing about this coven, they seemed to love arguing. Dozens of witches cloaked in a patchwork of moss-green, earthen brown, and each at least partially obscuring their face with some form of mask. Their voices hushed as the two women and the massive bird walked wearily beneath a lazily leaning light pole covered in vines and wildflowers. All eyes snapped to the relic cradled in Diya’s arms.

  For a moment, it felt as though gravity itself had reversed, and they might all be heaved into the sky.

  Diya felt the coven possessed a certain peculiar air about them—being around them had a certain dreamlike quality—perhaps it was the fact that she was often the only one not wearing a mask. That morning was no different. The gathered members of the coven parted for them, their gazes sliding from the Idol to the gigantic warbird, and back again. Reverence for the artifact. Curiosity towards the rare creature and its rider.

  Kromac waited at the center. His cloak was a deep gray, stained by the elements, edges frayed, the garment of a practical man, one who cared little for ceremony. He wore a mask with many-pointed stag antlers at each flank. It extended down to the tip of his nose, so that his angular face was unreadable, save for the shape of his mouth and the glint of suspicion in his eyes. He stepped forward as Diya halted before him.

  “You returned,” he said. Flat. Unimpressed. There was no hint of gratefulness. Just… acknowledgement.

  Diya’s eyes went wide, head tilting ever so slightly, “you speak the common tongue?”

  “All here know it,” he said. “It has a way of scraping across the ears like rusted hinges.”

  A collective condescending laugh rolled over the gathering that made Diya’s blood boil. For a moment she nearly lost her head, then she took a breath and composed herself. It wasn’t clear if he was trying to agitate her, or if he was just an abrasive person, but she and Tamsin had already prevailed by foiling his cruel scheme.

  “As promised,” Diya said with a sly smirk, holding out The Sunroot Idol defiantly in offering.

  Tamsin said nothing, her eyes like hot coals, burning holes through her brother with her gaze. The more astute members of the coven seemed to have taken notice and watched with bated breath.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  An elder witch with hair like snowy thistle rushed forward. She took the Idol with both hands, murmuring words in the dialect that Diya didn’t know. A ripple of whispers spread outward as she raised it high. The glow from the amber center caught the eyes of the coven, and heads bowed, cloaks rustling.

  All but Kromac.

  He stood like a stubborn oak that refused to bend in the wind. His eyes stayed on Diya, unflinching. “Scouts brought word,” he said. “The Skarlith settlement in New Avignon has been abandoned. Not one left above ground.”

  A flicker of relief passed through Diya before she could stop it. But Kromac’s tone left no room for triumph.

  Tamsin, wasted no time at all filling that silence. “Sounds like we rattled their expedition. Bugmen packed up and ran. Can’t blame them.”

  A few of the younger witches chuckled. Others frowned.

  “When have we known them to run for long?” Kromac asked rhetorically, his voice as firm as stone. “They retreat. They learn. They wait. Sure as the stars, they will return when it suits them.” He let the words fall heavy. “This is not victory. It’s delay.”

  Diya swallowed. He might be right. The memory of the Skarlith arrayed in their chitinous plate armor, their alien precision, it all lingered too vividly. But still, she held his gaze and forced her voice steady. “Delay is enough. Every day they aren’t your neighbors is another day your people breathe easier.”

  That earned her a few nods among the coven. Kromac noticed. His mouth creased into a sneer.

  “You fulfilled your side,” he said finally. “That means I must fulfill mine.” His lip curled slightly, as though the words soured his tongue. “You’ll be taught our ways. But do not mistake this for acceptance—”

  “Believe me, I don’t,” Diya interrupted defiantly.

  “Even amongst our coven, most who try cannot learn,” Kromac pressed. His eyes narrowed, as if daring her to look away. “Blood answers to blood. If it rejects you, no stubbornness will change that. You’ll bleed, you’ll falter, and if you’re lucky, you’ll walk away with your life.”

  “And if I’m not lucky?”

  “Then you’ll break.”

  The words hung sharp in the air. The coven shifted, some watching her with pity, others with cruel curiosity, as though they’d seen such breaking before a thousand times and longed to see it again.

  Diya forced herself to breathe evenly. “Then I’ll risk breaking. Because I didn’t come this far to stop at the doorstep.”

  For a heartbeat, a flash of heat flickered in Kromac’s frigid expression. Not approval. Not quite respect. But recognition. He gave a curt nod. “So be it.”

  The elder witch lowered the Idol now, eyes looking at it wistfully like they never expected to rest on it again. Others clustered around her, murmuring prayers and pushing to get a look at it. The air grew thick with the scent of sage and iron, smoke curling from incense bowls that hadn’t been lit a moment before. The coven was already drawing the relic back into their circle, into their rites.

  Diya let them.

  Tamsin leaned close, her grin irrepressible. “Well. That went well.”

  “Did it?” Diya asked under her breath.

  “You’re not dead. He didn’t laugh in your face. And now you get a fair shot at the trials. That’s a win in my book.”

  Diya almost smiled. Almost. “I’ll remember you said that.”

  “Good. Because when you’re taking on the three trials, you’ll need a reminder that this was all your idea.”

  Digging through her satchel, Diya pulled out a folded piece of parchment covered in scribbles and handed it to Tamsin.

  “What’s this?” She asked.

  “The formula for the violet smoke bombs. Your people should start work on preparing a reserve of them in case the Skarlith return.”

  Tamsin shook her head and laughed. “We kicked them right back into their holes. I don’t see them returning anytime soon.”

  “Still,” Diya whispered. “It’s better to be prepared.”

  “No doubt,” Tamsin agreed and tucked the formula into a pouch on her belt. “I’ll see our reserves stocked.”

  The coven’s chanting rose in their strange rhythmic tongue, voices overlapping in strange harmony. The Sunroot Idol pulsed brighter, casting long shadows across their faces. Kromac turned away, cloak swirling, and barked an order Diya didn’t catch.

  But she did catch his final glance before he left the circle. That look carried no hint of accomplishment, no promise of change. Only a challenge.

  As the witches carried the Idol away, as the chants filled the air, Diya felt the shape of her path clear before her. Narrow. Perilous. Lined with blood.

  She squared her shoulders.

  If the path broke her, so be it. But she would walk it. Knowing that each step, no matter how difficult, would be a step closer towards saving her people.