“They were all bloodthirsty,” Elric interjected. Jessamine noticed his hands were clenched into fists against his ribs. “That is the least of our worries. I remember them all, Sybil. This is not one of the originals.”
“Ah, well.” Sybil set a cutting board down hard on the island. The sharp crack made Jessamine jump. “Might I suggest that with the Deathless One back in his physical form, more magic has been released into this world? Those who have a proclivity to magic may be feeling that power for the first time.”
“She knew the old words,” he said, the words almost sounding… sad. “She said them correctly. Someone trained her.”
“Then it is a witch we do not know who has decided to worship you after all this time.” Sybil appeared troubled. Her brows drew down in concentration as she placed a wrinkled green pepper and a mushy onion on the cutting board. “I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”
Jessamine was having a hard time following. “I’d imagine it’s good? You two were so adamant that I should accept who I was as a gravesinger, so I find it hard to believe you’re uninterested in this new person.”
Neither of them spoke.
Jessamine looked between them. They were either hiding something from her or they were both thinking the same thing. Elric was still looking at the floor, a frown on his face and those scarred brows creating furrows between his eyes. Sybil stared at her cooking, chopping the vegetables a little too hard. The knife in her hand left gouges in the cutting board, and the blade flashed unnaturally fast.
Neither of them spoke, clearly waiting for the other to say something. And here she was, in the dark, like she always seemed to be.
She leaned forward and braced her elbows on the kitchen island. “All right. Which one of you is going to explain this to me?”
Sybil flinched before cutting the green pepper so hard that the knife stuck in the cutting board. She sighed before leaving the knife where it was. “We wanted you to accept who you were as a gravesinger because you were the only person who could bring him back to life. A resurrection is done by a gravesinger and a gravesinger alone.”
“Yes, you’ve made it ever so clear that I am not the same as a regular witch.” A distinction that still stung a bit. “I don’t see how you’re fine with a gravesinger, but not a witch.”
Elric’s foot shifted on the floor, and both women froze to look over at him. His shoulders had lifted in discomfort, just slightly. Enough that Jessamine noticed how uneasy he was.
His voice was raspy and low as he replied. “Another coven member makes the coven stronger, that much is certain. But another witch brings about her own wants and desires. Needs we cannot control. Sacrifice makes me stronger and feeds into my power, but if I accept it, I must make another witch powerful in return.”
“And that is bad because?”
“Because a witch can ask for anything in return. A witch is unpredictable. We do not know this woman or what she will want. We only know that she worships me now, and that comes with its own chains.”
Looking at him, she finally understood where his fear came from.
More witches meant more people who might want to hurt him. Another witch could bring up the idea of sacrificing him again, depending onwhat she wanted or what the kingdom needed. Witches were selfish at the best of times. But then, who wasn’t when they lived in a kingdom that was crumbling at their feet?
Sybil’s honeyed voice broke through the silence. “Witches are stronger together. A coven is the most powerful group of women that has ever existed. We live and breathe for each other. Our magic comes from the Deathless One, yes. He gifts it to us as you have seen him gift it to me. He would need to bind himself in the same way to this new woman. He can give and take the magic that she has, and in return, the sacrifices we make in his name give him more power.”
Another woman. Another mind. She understood that things could be complicated, depending on who this woman was. But a particular phrase Sybil had said stuck with her above all else.
“Witches are stronger together,” Jessamine repeated. She reached for Nyx, dragging the cat into her lap so she had something soft to pet. “That’s what this all boils down to. It doesn’t matter what we think or want or fear. We are stronger together, and in times like these, I think we need to look toward strength.”
There was a flare of pride in Sybil’s eyes, and perhaps something a little greedy as well. Because the words that slipped out of the witch’s mouth were, “If we want to look toward power, gravesinger, then sacrifice is the only option.”
In a flash, Elric disappeared.
Not to the realm where he had once hidden, but somewhere else in the manor, most likely. He was no longer in the doorway, and Jessamine felt the absence of his presence so deeply. Even Nyx grumbled in her lap, the discontented sound of a cat who wanted to leave.
Sybil cursed. “I shouldn’t have said it like that. I should have known he would—”
“It’s all right,” Jessamine interrupted. “I’ll get him.”
“Jessamine.” Sybil grabbed her arm, forcing her to remain where she was. “You’re right, you know. We need to build a coven if we’re going to continue to support you. I know he believes a god can mold this world intohis own image, but it will be easier for people to see you as a queen if you do not have a god king at your side.”
The words echoed in her mind as she nodded and slipped out of the kitchen to find him. First, she looked in the room where the statues of his family still stood. But he wasn’t lurking in their shadows, as he so often was. Nor was he in the great room with the chandelier still broken in the center of the floor. She’d almost given up on finding him before she passed by the door to her bedroom and noticed that the curtain had been shifted.
Carefully moving it aside, she saw he was sitting on her bed. Back rounded, head in his hands, he looked like someone had left an old jacket there in a forgotten heap.
“Elric,” she murmured, stopping in front of him.
“Don’t,” he replied in that raspy tone. “I know what I have to do.”
