Diya stepped out of the bath and allowed herself a moment to pause and breathe in the warm, lavender-scented steam. After the ordeal with the cemetery and that hellish mud, soaking in the hot water—something she easily might have taken for granted in years past—felt a bit like an affirmation that some higher power existed in the world. Once she stepped out of the bathhouse, she discovered a beautiful white gown draped over a trellis of wildflowers, waiting for her. Attached to it was a small handwritten note.

  For you, Diya.

  I saw it and thought of the way you carry yourself, bright even when the world is dim. I figured you deserved something that isn’t caked with mud, torn, or smelling of grave dirt. Don’t argue. Just wear it and I hope it helps you see yourself even half as lovely as I see you.

  -T

  Diya got dressed, looked at herself in the mirror and immediately felt self-conscious. There had never been a time in her life she had worn a dress so lavish. Just as she was considering stealing a cloak from some random witches’ home, a shy young woman appeared and after building up the courage, informed her that her presence was requested at a banquet.

  The girl led her through a corridor lit by torches to the same museum from the day she had arrived in New Avignon, only now furniture had been brought in adorning it for a banquet. Long tables exquisitely carved from oak were decorated with the most vivid bouquets of wildflowers she had ever seen—though it may have been the hundreds of candles lighting the space—they seemed to practically glow.

  Diya froze at the yawning double doors, staring in awe at the spectacle. The hall was cheerful, and the many members of the coven laughed and conversed. For the first time she noticed children playing, Diya had assumed the coven must have some population of adolescence, but seeing their innocence and purity in person turned some cog in her mind further humanizing the witches.

  Upon noticing her standing awkwardly in the doorway, a wave of applause echoed through the cavernous space. The crowd of faces were…happy to see her?

  How much difference a matter of weeks can make. She thought, finding it difficult not to smile like a fool in the wake of her unexpectedly warm reception.

  Before she could dissect the moment further as if it were some new concoction in her workshop, a wave of auburn locks fluttered by. Smelling of rosewater and lavender, Tamsin stared at her, mesmerized for a moment, before seizing her by the hands, and pulling her to a table positioned at the front of the gathering. Diya herself couldn’t help but marvel at the extravagant grey gown that Tamsin wore. She had only ever seen her wear more practical attire, simple trousers and blouses with a hooded cloak thrown over the top.

  “Wow,” Diya said, struggling to find words. “Where did you find the time to procure these dresses?”

  Tamsin chuckled, accidentally snorting, then laughing even harder. “Well, one of us hasn’t been engaged in life-or-death trials. What else was I supposed to do with my time? Anyways, something you might not know about me, I used to love needlework when I was younger.”

  “You made these?” Diya gasped, eyes practically popping out of her head.

  “After all you’ve been through and accomplished, you warrant so much more. This was merely my humble offering.”

  “It’s no humble offering!” Diya said. “Tamsin, I’ve never had anything this nice in my entire life.”

  Tamsin handed her a glass of mead, then lifted her own glass and offered it in toast. “Well, here’s to a new life packed with an abundance of niceties.”

  They clinked their glasses, shared a mutual gaze of admiration, and sipped. Diya clicked her tongue, the drink making her mouth buzz with a slightly sweet, floral taste reminiscent of white wine.

  A chorus of quiet flowed through the gathering as Kromac entered through a side door and made his way to the throne at the head of the gathering. Diya watched him through narrowed eyes, as his black tattoos seemed to dance in the candlelight. Strange. Perhaps her eyes were just tired and playing tricks on her.

  Addressing the gathering, and wearing his fox mask, the mountain of a man spoke in a boisterous voice. “Today my brothers and sisters, we gather in honor of our annual Trial of Death.”

  He paused for a moment, and the crowd rang out with triumphant applause. Like one truly self-confident and skilled in public speaking, he deftly waited until the crowd quieted again to continue.

  “This year saw six initiates attempt the trial. Of those six, three perished during their attempt. Let us now have a moment of silence for those no longer with us.”

  Silence fell upon the gathering and it struck Diya for the first time that she wasn’t alone in her aspirations. She scanned the crowd in an unsuccessful attempt at identifying the other initiates. However, the pockets of grieving individuals made it simple to observe the friends and families of those who had died. At once she felt grateful to still be alive, not only for herself, but for her people back home, suffering beneath the mass of a tyrant. It was a reminder that nothing was promised, and the path she walked was fraught with danger.

  Kromac made a sweeping gesture with his arms. “Now, let us applaud the three brave souls who completed the Trial of Death. Having completed the trial, you now have been blessed by Mother Nature, and may begin practicing your scrying arts. Please stand, you three.”

  Momentarily, Diya felt the desire not to be singled out before the crowd, but a heartfelt nod from Tamsin eased it. Diya, a thin teenage boy with long blonde hair, and a middle-aged woman with many nose rings all got to their feet. Yet again, applause filled the hall, and nearly every face in the place looked up with admiration. Except for one. Diya could feel Kromac’s eyes burning a hole in her. She glanced over, and sure enough, his face subtly stated his indifference.

  Diya and Tamsin stood conversing with a group of hopeful witches on the terrace. Some had been friends from Tamsin’s childhood and were over the moon hearing about her worldly travels. When the night had grown late and most of the coven had returned to their homes, Diya found herself wishing that the night might never end. Hearing Tamsin recount her journey around the world searching for the promised one was incredible. Watching how much her search, no, how much she meant to them was sweeter yet.

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Out of the shadows, a man in a heavy wool cloak approached and whispered a message to Tamsin. The man had a glass eye the color of obsidian and bore an expression like he had just tasted something sour. He lingered a moment, just long enough to scowl at Diya, before turning and disappearing back into the ruins. Tamsin’s face went pale, and the mood on the terrace shifted.

  She leaned close to her friend and shared the messenger’s words. At that, they said farewell to the witches and reentered the museum. It was still decorated for a banquet, but now it was empty. Empty, except for Kromac, who appeared to have remained seated even after the last of the coven left the hall.

  The torches sputtered low, leaving the carved stone serpents that framed his throne half in shadow. It was an old seat—rather unworthy of all the fuss, Diya thought—and somehow deep shadows seemed to swallow him as he leaned forward, elbows on knees, fingers pressed together like a man lost in thought.

  He didn’t look up when Diya and Tamsin entered, only flicked two fingers toward the doors.

  “Close them,” he murmured.

  The slam echoed, a sound that seemed to jostle the dust from the rafters and shake the bones of the colossal whale. Motes of dust fell like rain, twinkling in the dim torchlight.

  Kromac finally lifted his gaze. It was the first time Diya had seen him without his horned fox mask. His face was angular and attractive much like Tamsin’s, only with a troubling callousness to it—as if he had lived a life utterly devoid of joy.

  “You understand,” he said quietly, “that what happened tonight threatens the stability of the entire coven.”

  Tamsin stiffened at Diya’s side. “The stability you built on lies.”

  Kromac didn’t flinch. “A lie can be a useful tool. A lie may have been the only thing that kept this place from tearing itself apart. A lie may have been the only thing that kept our entire coven fed, safe, and under a single banner rather than feuding like wolves or worse, scattered to the winds only to be hunted by the Skarlith.”

  He rose, not quickly, but with the steady inevitability of an ancient like Ghanesha traversing the continent. “And now the pool decides, on a whim, to upend everything I’ve maintained for the last eight years.”

  “It didn’t choose on a whim,” Diya said. Her voice felt small in the vast chamber, but she did her best to stop it from quivering. “It reflected truth.”

  Kromac snorted. “Truth is an interpretation. Power is real.”

  The way he said it made the air seem to shiver.

  Diya suddenly understood; this man did not fear losing belief. He feared losing control. And control, here, was the currency that held every corridor of this place together.

  Tamsin moved forward, fury starting to get the best of her. “You sent me across continents, Kromac. Across oceans. You made me scour ancient ruins, barter with thieves, reshape myself into the obsessive facade of a whisper merchant.”

  “It kept the elders pacified,” Kromac said. “They believed we were searching. They believed the prophecy was alive. And as long as you chased ghosts, I controlled the here and now. For that, I cannot thank you enough, sister.”

  Tamsin stared, jaw quaking. Her voice dropped to a whisper that somehow held far more power than a shout ever could. “Our mother died, and you denied me the opportunity to even say goodbye… all because of your selfish schemes.”

  For the first time, something flickered across Kromac’s expression. Guilt, thin as a hairline crack.

  But he buried it.

  “Tamsin,” he said, “mother believed in the prophecy more than anyone. She would have wanted you to—”

  “Don’t,” Tamsin cut in. “Don’t use her belief to justify your cowardice. To act like this was her will and not merely your egotistical pursuits made manifest.”

  Kromac’s face hardened like cooling magma.

  “The Pool of Reflection confirmed that Diya is the promised one,” Tamsin said. “It’s over. The coven will rally behind her.”

  “No,” Kromac replied. “Not yet. The pool showed a vision, not a coronation. The coven reveres symbols, they don’t understand governance, or doing what is necessary, or resource management, or even the simple logistics of leading a fractured order. If they follow her blindly into a role she cannot shoulder, we will collapse.”

  Tamsin shook her head, laughing to herself. “You allow yourself to be blinded by power. If it wasn’t for Diya returning the Idol and scattering the Skarlith colony, our coven might already have faced destruction.”

  “What are you plotting?” Diya asked, stepping closer to the towering man.

  “Plotting?” Kromac chuckled. “You overestimate me. I’m already falling behind. Half the coven will wake tomorrow ready to declare you their guiding star. The other half—my half—will resist, and that fracture will widen. Some will call you a miracle. Others will call you a false prophet. Others still will claim you are merely a foreigner with no right to our legacies.”

  Diya swallowed. “And you?”

  “I call you an unknown variable.” His eyes locked onto hers. “And unknown variables do nothing for that which I hold most precious.”

  “Which is?” Diya asked.

  “Stability.”

  Tamsin stepped protectively between them. “She survived the pool. Then the Trial of Death. She deserves a chance. No, not deserves, she’s earned her chance.”

  Kromac leaned closer. “The pool doesn’t crown anyone. Perhaps if she is somehow able to complete all three trials and truly master all three disciplines of our magic my mind will be swayed. But if Diya fails, dear sister, the backlash will fall not only on her, not only on you, but on every witch foolish enough to put their faith in her. And that just might be the straw that breaks the camel’s back.”

  A pause settled in, heavier than even the fog in the graveyard.

  Kromac began pacing, each step deliberate. “Understand this; when the elders see a chance to redefine power, they seize it. When the warriors see a chance to align behind a new figurehead, they maneuver. And when prophecy stirs, everyone begins choosing sides. Alliances shift. Promises are broken. Old feuds resurface.”

  He turned sharply. “You, dear sister have been away too long. And you’ve seen only the surface of our coven, Diya. But beneath it? Every witch here has an agenda. The fact that you emerged from that pool glowing with ancient light does not erase that.”

  Diya forced herself to breathe steadily. “Then let them test me.”

  “Gladly,” Kromac said. “The trials were built to break pretenders. If you are not chosen, they will shred your resolve, your spirit, and your body. If you are chosen…” He paused. “Then they will forge you into something dangerous...something never before seen.”

  Tamsin stepped forward. “If she’s chosen, she saves us.”

  Kromac’s eyes narrowed. “Or she destabilizes everything our family has built.”

  “And you fear that,” Tamsin said softly.

  Kromac didn’t deny it, instead, he turned toward the door. “Prepare her, Tamsin. Your loyalty has already bound your fate to hers. But understand this; if she fails, I will not protect either of you, even if I wished to.”

  He reached for the torch bracket, then hesitated. “I spent half my life holding this coven together,” he said, voice lower, almost weary. “I will not let a prophecy—real or imagined—tear it apart.”

  He extinguished the torch, plunging the room into pure darkness as he left.

  The moment the latch clicked shut, Tamsin exhaled shakily. “He’s scared,” she said. “He’d burn the entire coven before letting it slip from his hands.”

  Diya nodded slowly. “Then we give him no excuse to. We face the trials. We win support. We show them I can be more than a symbol.”

  Tamsin looked at her, eyes still misty but steady. “And if the others move against you? The elders, the warriors, the factions he warned you about?”

  Diya lifted her chin. “Then I learn who my enemies are, and who stands with me.”

  A flicker of a smile tugged at Tamsin’s mouth. “I would stand with you. Even if the whole coven turns.”

  Diya squeezed her hand. “And that’s enough for me.”

  Outside, though she couldn’t hear it, the coven’s tunnels pulsed with shifting currents of magic and murmuring voices—already stirring with rumors of prophecy and doubt.

  Politics, Diya realized, wasn’t a battlefield. It was a storm.

  And she was walking straight into the eye of it.