Slowly, she lowered the blade and sat up, her breath caught somewhere between disbelief and wonder.
Below, the two girls ran faster, waving up at her as they spotted her perched high on the wall, watching.
‘Can I trust them?’ she asked the ghost that hadreturned to her side.
Hessa nodded, her voice as soft as it had always been. ‘Yes, you can, amira.’
Alina didn’t know whether it was the truth.
But she did know one thing. She could always trust Hessa.
Her brown eyes settled on the girls now reaching the gates, their white eyes wide and bright with hope at the sight of her.
She had thought she would never see them again.
And yet, here they were.
Isla and Arena.
Alina smiled, truly smiled, for the very first time.
Witches and warlocks are bound by witch law. A vast, intricate web of rules and rites that govern every aspect of our lives. It is long, detailed, and at times maddeningly precise, but it is the structure upon which our kingdom stands. It is forbidden for us to heal unless we are witch-healers, trained and prepared. From a young age, we are taught the foundations of every kind of magic. Then, at sixteen, we choose our path.
Some choose to become healers, journeying to the city of Velmoria to study the sacred art. Others become protectors, builders, or teachers. One of my closest friends has taken an interest in poisons. Though we all study them from childhood, it is possible to specialise in their craft. We are, after all, renowned for our expertise in poisons. Major exporters, in fact. Many kingdoms purchase from us, with the Desert Kingdom and the phoenixians among our most loyal clients.
I’ve often asked my mother why they’re so eager to buy them. She told me that Dunayans favour our poisons for their silence, killing without a trace. Phoenixians, on the other hand, prefer to use them for experimentation.
Once, I dared to ask whether we should stop selling to them, knowing full well how those poisons are used, how many lives they quietly end. But my mother only laughed. She said one does not halt trade for such simple, sentimental reasons. The coin is good, and if the poisons bring no harm to us, then why should we care?
But I wonder… if we all think this way, if we all turn our heads for the sake of profit…
Will there not come a day when it all comes back to bite us?
Tabitha Wysteria
Kai was beginning, somewhat reluctantly, to grow accustomed to the witch’s company.
Most of their days were spent in silence atop his shadow horse, the world slipping past them in a blur of dust and wind. At night, if he judged the land safe enough, he would stop and build a fire, offering her a measure of warmth, though rarely a word.
He should have stopped now. The light was dying, and danger walked freely beneath the cloak of dusk, but Dawn was fast asleep against his chest, and the thought of waking her stirred something unexpected in him.
His black eyes lingered on her throat, on the curve of it, wondering for just a moment what it might feel like to sink his teeth into that dark flesh. But the shadows were thickening, and instinct tugged at him to make camp before night fell. They’d seen no witches yet, but he wouldn’t tempt fate.
‘You’re poking me,’ Dawn murmured, her voice drowsy but edged with familiar sarcasm.
Kai rolled his eyes. So, she was awake after all.
‘I’m not touching you.’
‘You’re definitely poking me withsomething.’ She turned her head, peering over her shoulder at him with narrowed, amused eyes the colour of twilight. ‘I think it’s that mighty big warrior cock of yours, commander.’
Kai huffed, trying and failing not to laugh.
‘Big, is it? Thought you said it was tiny.’
‘I was just trying to be nice.’
‘That would certainly be a first,’ he muttered, bringing the horse to a stop. He dismounted and held out his hand, offering her the courtesy of assistance. As usual, she ignored it, leapingdown on her own and flashing him one of her infuriatingly smug smiles. ‘You do realise refusing my help accomplishes nothing, don’t you?’
