Shadows of Change

by firedancer34

Summary:

Manon and Elide find themselves caught up in the political upheaval in the aftermath of the King's death and Morath's partial destruction. Separated from one another, they struggle on their individual quest's as they try to find a way to stop the coming storm. They will be forced to contend with new dangers and old demons, while discovering all that they are capable of as they are pushed to their limits.

Divergent take on the events in Empire of Storms with the focus on all our beloved witches. Second in this series.

Notes:

Hi, hello I am back from my....oof 2 year hiatus on this story. I am so sorry but Covid absolutely wrecked my muse and I needed to try my hand at some other stuff because I just could NOT focus for the life of me. Then I started going over what little I had and it was all over the place. So as you will see, I pulled the final chapter from the first story in this series, along with all the other chapters as I am re-posting them in a (hopefully) better order. It's also allowed me a chance to go through and edit them a little better. Things are still super busy for me, but I haven't given up on this and I finally found some free time to go through and start the massive overhaul of this story. So thank you all for your patience and also your comments for both stories.

Recap of where we left off:

Elide broke her own damn self outta prison and started a big ol jailbreak right before Kaltain went big bada boom
She came across the Yellowlegs and their demonspawn and put them all out of their misery just before Manon and coven showed up. Everyone got the hell outta there and Manon flew off with a traumatized Elide.
Plans were made and Manon and Elide spent one last night together saying goodbye (repeatedly) before Manon flew off to go report to the Matrons and Asterin took Elide to give her a jumpstart on her own journey to go find Aelin.

Chapter 1

Shortly after the sun reached its zenith, Asterin guided Narene to set down alongside the river they’d been following most of the morning. She’d taken Elide up high enough to show her that the river would be a solid guide for as far as the eye could see and pointed out various landmarks that would be visible from the ground in the days to come. “This is as far as we go by air. Any further north and we risk being spotted by scouts flying towards Rifthold. Given the events of the last few days, it is very likely the Matrons are trying to assess the situation there for tactical purposes. But you should be safe from Morath….for now.”

 

“For now?” Elide asked, her eyebrow lifting at the choice word.

 

Asterin snorted, the sound more nasally after having her nose broken and reset more than once recently. “Elide, you know as well as I, that with all the insane shit going on these days, nothing is a guarantee.They’ll likely think you dead, but I doubt that fat sweaty pig of a Duke or whatever the fuck he is, is going to just give up looking for that stone the Lady gave you. That said, I doubt anyone left alive will be sent out anytime soon. Even if they do, they definitely won’t be coming out this far for some time.”

 

Elide nodded in acceptance and pulled loose the pack she’d been given. “So what’s the plan?”

 

Asterin looked around. “We camp here for the night. The trees will provide enough cover for us. I will show you the basics of setting up a camp and some shelter for yourself and then we hunt for dinner.” If Elide had any hesitations about that part, she remained silent. 

 

The next couple of hours were spent showing Elide what to look for in the way of shelter, and how to make a crude one of her own should she not be able to find a natural one. Finally, Asterin pulled out a length of rope and showed Elide how to make a simple snare. It only took a couple of tries before Elide’s deft fingers caught on to the loop and knot needed and Asterin had her repeat it with a couple more lengths of rope before she had the witchling gather them up and follow her. 

 

They moved away from camp and a little further into the woods before Asterin looked around and paused. “You are exceptionally observant, Elide. That, more than anything else, is what will help keep you alive out here. Keep your wits about you, keep your eyes and ears open, and see . Now, I want you to clear your mind of everything and take in our surroundings and tell me everything your senses pick up.”

 

Elide swallowed a little nervously, feeling considerably out of her element and like she was about to fail a critical test. But she shook off the feeling as she closed her eyes and did as she was told. After a few moments she began. “I hear the wind through the trees.”

 

“What type of wind?” Asterin asked immediately. 

 

Elide frowned, her eyes remaining closed. “Warm. Gentle. Sporadic. A light breeze at best.”

 

“Listen to that for another minute or two. Tell me if you sense any changes.”

 

Elide did as she was told and then shook her head and opened her eyes and looked at Asterin. “I sensed no changes.” 

 

“Which means there’s no building bad weather on the horizon. Changes in temperatures, speed, frequency, can all be indicators of a storm building. Many witches can smell it in the air, but I am not sure your senses are that attuned.”

 

Elide shook her head. “I’ve noticed some heightened sensitivity when magic was released back into the world. Mostly in my hearing and my sight. Maybe a little boost to strength and speed, but that could have also been my survival instincts kicking in at the time.”

 

“Well whatever it might be, it will serve you well out here. Every little bit will give you an advantage. Now, back to our training.”

 

Elide nodded and closed her eyes once more. “I can also hear the water running in the distance.”

 

“Fast or slow?”

 

“Steady, but not raging.”

 

“Give me reasons why this is good.”

 

“Water means something to drink….for both myself and animals. It will be safer for me, and for animals. If it was too fast, I imagine many of them would look for other areas to drink from...offshoots maybe.”

 

“Excellent. It also means you can cross it if need be, or even use it to hide in to cover your scent. Now what else?”

 

Elide opened her eyes and let her eyes scan her surroundings. She squinted at several irregularities and moved towards them, Asterin calmly following in her wake. She watched as the younger woman frowned at the three broken branches and the scuff marks along a sapling. She waited patiently until dark eyes looked down and caught sight of the faint track still in the dirt.

 

“Deer?” 

 

“Very good. Over time you will be able to tell size, how fresh the trail is, if it is injured, but I will leave that to some of the others to go over. For now, this one is at least a few days old. What else do you see?”

 

Elide moved on to the next thing she’d noticed and forced herself to kneel down to examine it. “Is this a trail of some sort?”

 

“Small game. Likely rabbits and squirrels and such. Also a perfect place to set up one of your snares. Follow it a bit, quietly, and look for a narrow point. Then set it up like I showed you.”

 

She hung back while Elide did as she was told. The girl stopped at where the brush created a natural choke point on the small trail and she looked back at Asterin who nodded in confirmation. She then set the snare with only one minor error which she immediately caught and corrected. As soon as she clambered back to her feet, she looked back once more to see Asterin grinning in approval at her. “Good. Make note of where we are in relation to the camp and we’ll avoid this trail for the rest of the day and check these in the morning.”

 

The rest of the day passed with Elide trailing after Asterin as she showed her the basics in tracking as the witch picked up a fresh trail. Elide knew she made it more challenging as it was difficult for her to step quietly with her bad foot. She did her best, but she knew compared to Asterin who was absolutely silent on her feet, she might as well have been a lumbering bull trampling through the forest. Still, Asterin was relatively patient with her, and only threw her looks when Elide stepped in places that could have been avoidable such as the dead branch that snapped underfoot that she should have stepped over. 

 

Once they closed in on their dinner, the blonde had her fall back several yards and watch as Asterin carefully crept forward. She had been keeping them downwind of their prey, a small doe that was currently nibbling on a grassy patch in a small clearing. The witch had kept an arrow loosely nocked in her bow during their entire journey and when she reached a spot with a clear shot without compromising her cover, she took stance and drew the string back. Elide knew the witch could have drawn and fired within a heartbeat, she’d seen them all do it repeatedly in training, but she understood that Asterin was affording her the chance to watch the process carefully by drawing it out. So she focused on every minute detail, her mind cataloging it all away for further processing as the witch inhaled and then let the arrow fly on the exhale. 

 

As expected, the arrow flew true and sank deep into the side of the deer before it even sensed the threat. The creature bleated in pain as it took a few staggering steps to flee, only to collapse a short distance from its previous spot. Asterin looked back at Elide and gestured for her to follow her into the clearing. The animal was still alive, barely, and Asterin turned to look at Elide, her gaze firm, but not unkind. 

 

“This is where you need to suck it up witchling. I realize you’ve been through a lot this week, but your survival depends on you being able to force yourself past that right now to look after yourself out here when we aren’t here. Now, I can put an end to its suffering and then begin dressing it and showing you how to do it,” she said, her iron sliding out. 

 

“Or, you can take that knife and learn to do it yourself,” she continued, pointing to Elide’s hip. “Be quick about it. The longer you wait, the more she suffers.”

 

Elide knew she was pale, and her hands were trembling as one of them clamped tightly around the hilt. She swallowed against the bile that was rising in her throat, as she stared down at the creaturing that was weakly writhing in front of her. She tried to will herself to draw her knife and she finally managed to do so, but a sob tore out of her throat and her entire body shuddered violently before she could take a step forward. The knife fell to the ground as her hand flew up to her mouth, as she staggered to the nearby brush to heave up her guts.

 

Asterin sighed, disappointed but not surprised. Not after what she’d witnessed in that dungeon. Honestly, the fact that Elide hadn’t outright refused and had managed to even draw the knife with intent had been promising. She could work with that. She reached out to slit the doe’s throat, and then sat back on her heels until Elide finally managed to stumble back over. Asterin passed her the waterskin, and Elide used a bit to rinse her mouth and then took a few careful sips before handing it back. The blonde arched an eyebrow up at Elide. “You going to puke all over me if I start gutting and dressing this?”

 

Aha. So challenging the witchling was the way to go it seemed. Her jaw tightened, a furious look entered her eye and without a word she bent over to reclaim her knife and knelt next to the Asterin and the now dead carcass. The witch smirked to herself, before moving on with their lesson before Elide lost her nerve -and stomach- again. She kept things dry and technical, pointed out best kill zones, where to make the cuts and how deep, where to use the most caution when cutting, and the most effective ways to skin an animal. Elide gagged a few times throughout the exercise, but managed to power through it without becoming sick again. There was a highly questionable moment however, when she was elbow deep into the innards of the deer.

 

“Turn your head and exhale. Good. Bury your nose in your shoulder if you need to and inhale, better to do it through your mouth. There you go. You worked in the kitchens. This is no different than what you did there preparing our food. Focus on the familiar,” Asterin coached and Elide got through the worst of it, gutting the deer as instructed. From there things went relatively smoothly, the skills she’d picked up in the kitchens lending to her efficiency with the knife. Asterin took the time to point out some of the various organs that could also be consumed and their nutritional value, especially when food was scarce. 

 

“This holds true for just about any animal you might catch. Some of these may taste like shit, and you’ll be choking them down the entire way, but if you get to the point where you’re starting to starve, they’ll be critical to keeping you strong enough to survive long enough to find better sources of food.”

 

Elide nodded, but her entire demeanor was still very subdued. Unbothered by the lack of verbal response, the witch instructed the younger woman to wrap the meat in the skin they’d removed and start the trek back to the camp without her, to see how well she would navigate on her own. Asterin hung back, dragging the remains of the kill with her, not interfering when Elide made a couple of missteps along the way before stopping and correcting her course both times after a few minutes. Back at camp the witch brought what was left of the carcass over for Narene to snack on, her wyvern critically eyeing what was left before grumbling in dissatisfaction before tearing into it.

 

“I didn’t have to drag that stinking carcass all the way back for you, you ungrateful princess,” Asterin snarked, an iron talon poking Narene in the side. That earned her narrowed eyes and then Narene leaned in and deliberately licked her bloody tongue up along Asterin’s face before she could pull away. 

 

“Fucking hell, you disgusting….UGH!” Asterin sputtered wiping furiously at the slimy coating on her face and glaring at her mount. 

 

Behind her, Elide choked back a startled laugh and the blonde glared at her too, causing Elide’s composure to crumble even further. But the witch couldn’t be too upset as the incident seemed to help shake Elide out of her somber mood. Shoving Narene’s snout away from her and swearing under her breath at the creature, Asterin stomped over to the small camp they’d made and rinsed her face off with her waterskin, rinsing her mouth out for good measure and glowering the entire time. “You’re cooking dinner and refilling our skins.”

 

“Yes, Second,” Elide answered with false demurity, her eyes still alight with amusement. 

 

Dinner was relaxed and relatively enjoyable, but as the night grew darker and the fire began to burn low, both of their spirits grew more somber with it. “You will be returning to the host tomorrow, yes?”

 

“I have to,” Asterin answered reluctantly. 

 

But Elide nodded. “I will be okay. Desperate people can accomplish great things. I had a decent belief in my ability to survive out here on my own and that was even before you showed me what you could today. Even if the others do not return, I have a more solid belief that I will accomplish what I am setting out to do. I have even more incentive to succeed now,” she admitted with a slightly shy smile.

 

Asterin chuckled quietly. “That you do, Witchling. Please don’t get yourself killed. Decades old plans could all be undone if you get yourself eaten or dragged back to Morath and Manon goes and does something monumentally stupid.”

 

“You know I would die before going back to that place,” Elide answered with quiet conviction.

 

“I do. So be careful. Imogen has indicated that you play an important part in this convoluted mess that is unfolding right now. I doubt it’s just as Manon’s mate either. So keep your head down, trust no one, rely on those instincts and don’t hesitate if it comes down to your life.” It was the gentlest reminder she could give in regards to what had happened earlier. 

 

“I won’t. I promise.”

 

Asterin nodded at the trembling whisper and then stoked the fire up just a bit more and tossed a couple of logs on it before turning towards her bedroll. “Practice being on watch. It’s not something you will really do when you are out there alone, but I want you to stay awake for awhile and familiarize yourself with the normal sounds of the night. Go sit over there, away from the firelight and let your eyes adjust. Walk around at intervals if you need to. Practice keeping your steps light. You see that star there? When it reaches overhead, wake me for my turn. If anything approaches that has Narene on alert, wake me immediately.”

 

Elide nodded in understanding and pulled on the cloak she’d been given and stepped away from the fire. Asterin watched as she walked around the camp, and then finally chose to settle on a low outcropping of rocks that she was able to navigate without too much difficulty but still gave her a slight height advantage. Nodding to herself in satisfaction, Asterin curled up under her blanket and let herself drop off into sleep almost immediately.

 

Elide smiled slightly to herself as Asterin’s quiet snores joined the sounds of the night, and closed her eyes for a few minutes to just listen and take it all in. The night was so different from the daytime. More alive, almost. She’d known that many creatures were nocturnal, but she’d been admittedly too distracted every time she’d been out here with Manon on previous journey’s to fully appreciate the beauty of a night in the wild. It was frightening and alluring all at once, and she could see why Manon found refuge in its embrace when things were overwhelming. 

 

Manon.

 

Elide searched for that thin strand that connected them and felt her heart warm as she felt her mate reach back. They were both safe and unharmed and she drew comfort in that. She knew that could change tomorrow, but for now Elide was content to know that her mate was well and that despite the growing distance, she could still seek out that connection. Her gaze turned upwards, towards the starry heavens and she wondered what the Gods were playing at. “What do you want from us?” she whispered into the night. 

 

When no answer was forthcoming, she went back to keeping vigil, her mind turning over all the possibilities that lay before her. Elide Lochan had no idea what lay ahead of her, but as she sat there in the darkness, she firmed up her resolve that she would do whatever it took to bring her back into the arms of her mate. 

 

Chapter 2

Notes:

See the notes in chapter 1....this story is getting revamped/reposted because my brain was all over the place when I first wrote this and timeline wasn't making sense so hopefully this flows better.

Thank you again for your patience, kudos and comments!

Sorrel and Velda watched as the various search parties took off on their assigned tasks, both witches grimly silent. The missing scouting covens had located them earlier that morning, bringing with them a couple of very battered sentries they’d been able to locate as they’d done a quick reconnaissance of Morath before beginning to look for the rest of the host. The witches were in a bad way though, and Sorrell had a feeling anyone else found still alive would be even worse off. While they had several amongst their midst who were skilled and knowledgeable in the healing arts, Ghislaine amongst them, none had dedicated their lives to the practice. So the twins, with their sky blue wyverns, were tasked with discreetly starting a search for the small band of healers they’d help escape. The two covens that had rejoined, had been able to provide detailed information about multiple groups they’d seen fleeing the area as they searched for the rest of their sisters. The ones that cowered in fear and tried vainly to hide were most likely former staff and prisoners, and it was these that the twins were to focus on. With the Goddess’s blessing, they would be able to locate that boy and his companions without drawing too much attention to their location. Sorrel was willing to risk aiding them in return for their willingness to help their fallen witches through at least the worst of things until they could move them to a better location. 

 

“So,” Velda said, after making sure they were alone on the small hill that overlooked the encampment. “I take it Manon found her Witchling?”

 

Sorrel merely nodded. It was pointless to lie about it.

 

“And was she...untouched?” She’d overheard Asterin raging in hushed and horrified whispers to the rest of their coven the previous night about what had been done to the Yellowlegs and the creatures they’d been forced to spawn. 

 

Sorrel nodded again, her eyes darkening with the memories of what she’d borne witness to in those dungeons. “Physically, yes. But the Witchling is blooded now and that took its toll on her, along with the fact that she was moments away from being sacrificed to a Valg squatting in some mortal cunt’s body. We went as far north as we dared before landing so she could clean up and rest before she passed out. They said their goodbyes last night and Manon continued on this morning to relay to the Matrons what has happened here.”

 

“She’s turning the Witchling loose? After all of that?” Velda asked in astonishment. 

 

“It had to be done. It was too risky, on far too many levels, to have her remain anywhere near here or with Manon. She will make her own way in this world now.” Sorrel felt no need to inform her of the fact that they would help aid in that where they could. The less who knew the better, and Velda was still not to be completely trusted. 

 

Velda grunted and turned to look back at their combined forces. “Think we will finally be done with all of this bullshit and return back to our respective homes?”

 

Sorrel sighed heavily. “Perrington is still alive and out there somewhere. And I suspect he played a bigger part than he’s been letting on to. Manon does as well. If Manon’s grandmother still has a chance to keep grabbing at whatever power she thinks aligning with him will give her, I seriously doubt we will see Blackbeak Keep anytime in the near future.”

 

Velda just nodded, her massive shoulders slumping slightly. There were several more moments of silence. “Most of them would follow her, you know. Regardless of cloak. The matrons may have allied our people for this war, but Manon has managed to unite them. Well most of them,” Velda said quietly as she watched witches of all three clans work together efficiently within the encampment that was now sprawled along one of the plains, a safe distance away from the chaos and destruction at Morath. There had been some minor in-fighting, mostly between the lesser or younger covens. But even those from their own clans were tiring of their obstinate behavior and had been quick to step in and enact their own forms of harsh discipline before things escalated to a level that required any of Manon’s appointed commanders to step in.

 

“We know that, but she still needs to really see it for herself. Manon is not her grandmother, and she is not going to go around challenging the Matrons unless our people become too endangered. War will always have the expected sacrifices. What we’ve seen these last few months has not sat well with any of us, but most of all her. She knows her duties to her people. All of them,” Sorrel said with a nod to the combined witch warriors below them. “She will act in a manner befitting her station, if and when the time comes to take a firm stand.”

 

“I guess we will-”

 

A horn blared from one of the sentry’s posted on watch to the west and the encampment quickly mobilized below them. The two witches sprang into action, their wyvern’s by their sides as they mounted quickly and then were airborne, banking towards the signal. Within moments they were circling low over the witch who’d sounded the alarm. She raised her hand and pointed them further west and they turned to see a small speck just cresting over the hill in the distance. Guiding their wyverns towards it they circled the two battered looking wagons, the occupants of one hidden from view by a stained cover, while the other carried a familiar looking human who waved frantically at them as soon as they caught sight of the witches. 

 

“Is that the smith?”

 

“It is, and he has Manon’s favor so we need to check this out. Keep a close eye on the other wagon. That’s his nephew but who knows what’s in the back.”

 

They circled widely once more, making sure no one else was lurking about in the surrounding woods and then landed in the path of the wagons, both men stumbling off and making their way hastily to the back of the covered wagon. “Come quickly!” the boy was shouting frantically, his tunic covered in blood. 

 

Blue Blood.

 

Sorrel snarled and pushed past them both while Velda drew her sword and aimed it at both of them. The smith drew up short and grabbed the boy, his body relaxing into a non-threatening posture and gesturing slowly for the boy to do the same. Velda made no further movements to threaten them, but she didn’t back down either. At least not until she heard Sorrel’s sharp inhale.

Giving them both a warning look, she rushed to join Sorrel and gaped at the scene before her.

 

Half a dozen witches were either sprawled along the bottom of the wagon floor or propped up in the corners, two were barely conscious but stoically holding bloodied scraps of cloth to their fallen sisters, all of whom looked like they had one foot in the Darkness. “Oh, fuck .”

 

“We tried to get them here as quickly as we could! The soldiers….we nearly had to fight our way out but one of the Commanders finally gave us permission. We would have come sooner but one of them said there were more and she kept going back into the rubble. She was barely alive herself. Gods her flesh was half melted,” the boy was babbling. “But my uncle said we had to leave when she didn’t return after another couple of hours. He said if we didn’t find you that her efforts would be for nothing. I’m sorry.” The boy was weeping now and both witches turned to him to see genuine regret on both his face and the smith’s. 

 

They...actually cared about these witches. And the ones they left behind.

 

“Go bring help,” Sorrel ordered Velda who was airborne only seconds later. Sorrel looked back into the wagon and let her gaze travel over the faces before her. Four were some of their missing sentries. But two of them were what was left of Colletta Blackbeak’s coven. She met the gaze of the one who was still conscious. “What happened to your First?” she asked in a voice normally reserved for those closest to her. 

 

The witch looked down at her fallen coven sister, tears leaking from her eyes. “She...pulled us out of the ruins...then went back for anyone left.” She shifted and grimaced as a wave of agony ran through her burnt and battered body. “It was my duty to stay by her side…..I couldn’t….I couldn’t..” her voice cracked and gave out and Sorrel raised a hand in lieu of resting it on the witch’s body and causing her more pain. 

 

“Easy, Second. Your coven saved many of our sisters with your choice to remain behind and fight. We have more witches heading back to search through the ruins. Rest and heal now.”

 

The witch looked a mix of devastated but relieved and promptly passed out, as if she had been waiting to be given permission to do so. Sorrel turned back to the Olstein and Rom. “Thank you for returning our lost sisters to us. I’m sure Manon will be grateful once she returns. You are welcome to remain, but I will not intervene should anyone come looking for you. But,” and here Sorrel’s head cocked to the side as she inhaled deeply, confirming what she and a few of the others had suspected. 

 

“You should have no trouble taking care of yourselves now should you?” she paused, watching as their faces paled. “Magic- wielders,” she smirked.

 

 

Chapter 3

Summary:

Sorrell proving she can be top bitch in Manon's absence.

Notes:

Well hello there. Thank you again for all the lovely and encouraging comments. I'm glad you are still enjoying this and looking forward to more! Still can't promise a set posting schedule, but I am trying to make more time to write and so far I've been fairly successful!

The moment Sorrel and Velda landed, the remaining Thirteen were at their side along with several Firsts whose covens had proven themselves over the months and been given additional responsibilities. The two gently handed off the gravely injured witches they carried, Ghislaine and another witch from the Bluebloods having rounded up at least a few from within their Clans that had marginal skills in healing. Several more wyverns and witches followed, their riders passing off those they bore with the utmost care. 

 

Sorrel turned towards Vesta. “The smith and his apprentice are the ones who brought them to us. I have given them leave to remain within our encampment, however should anyone seek them out, they know their fights are their own. If anyone does have the balls to approach, tell the sentries they can intimidate all they want, but not to engage if the matter is pressed.”

 

“Understood,” Vesta nodded as she dashed off to relay the orders. 

 

“Lin, Imogen, take a team and go find our search party. Colletta may still be alive. Her Second said she was the one to pull some of them out. The boy says she was badly injured though. She is our priority right now. Bring whomever you want, stealth is no longer of concern. Kill anyone or anything that tries to interfere, with the exception of Vernon or the Duke.”

 

The two nodded and grabbed a couple of the Firsts and their covens as they ran towards their wyverns. Shortly after they left, a grim and already bloodstained Ghislaine came rushing back towards Sorrel. “We can handle a few of them, but three of them have one foot in the Darkness and are beyond our skills. If we have any hope of saving them or anyone else who shows up looking like they do, we need those healers and we need them soon. I doubt the Blueblood sentry will last another hour.”

 

“I’ll send out more riders to join the Twins in their search,” Sorrel said, looking past Ghislaine towards where the wounded were being tended to. She sighed heavily. “Do what you can, but the people from that hellhole scurried like rats off a sinking ship in every direction. It will still take time.”

 

“Time they don’t have,” Ghislaine said quietly.

 

“I know. I’ll have someone find Elya Blueblood. At least if we lose any now, they can go with the Mother’s Last Blessing.”

 

Ghislaine nodded somberly and headed back to the cluster of injured. Velda shifted next to Sorrel, drawing the darker witch’s attention.

 

“Sorrel, you just said that we would not fight for the smith or his nephew, and I think those two can handle themselves just fine. But if we bring those healers into the camp and it is either noticed or we are forced to go back there for whatever goddess forsaken reason, those people will be facing a fate worse than death and they know that. They will likely take their own lives or force us to give them a quick death before they get dragged back into those dungeons,” Velda pointed out quietly. 

 

“Do we have a choice? We have to try. Especially if Colletta-” 

 

Velda dragged Sorrel away from the others. “Why is she so important?” the massive witch demanded in a hushed whisper. 

 

“Her sister is in the Matron’s coven. She made her concern for Colletta's  well-being clear after Manon openly explained what was being done to the Yellowlegs and that the Duke was demanding a Blackbeak coven next,” Sorrel answered sharply, shaking Velda’s grip off her arm. Velda could take that however she wanted, but Sorrel had neither the time nor the trust to go into any further detail just yet. She turned and scanned the gathered Firsts and found exactly who she was looking for. “Selene Yellowlegs!” she called out, beckoning the reserved but always alert Yellowlegs First over. 

 

“You and your coven have been on special assignment from the Wing Leader meaning you are good at what you do and you know how to be discreet. Our Twins are out looking for a small group of healers that escaped from the dungeons. They can’t have gotten far. Alia Blueblood’s coven had the locations of several parties they spotted fleeing. Go find her and get what information you can and then split your coven up to cover greater ground. Take them if you feel you need to. Find the Twins and let them know what’s going on here. Tell them we want the boy and at least two others who possess healing magic. They’ll know who I’m referring to.”

 

She paused and glanced at Velda, a heavy look passing between them before she turned back to Selene. “When they are found, make sure they understand this is not a request. The price for us allowing them to escape unharmed is the boy and at least two healers with magic. In return for their services, we will offer those who come willingly full protection and we will keep their presence hidden from their former masters for as long as we can. Once they have stabilized our sisters enough that we can look after our own, we will provide them with safe passage to a border of their choosing. They have the word of Manon Blackbeak that in exchange for doing all that they can to save our sisters, we will do all that we can to spare them their previous fates in Morath.”

 

Selene’s eyes widened a bit. “You...would make such an offer to mortals in the Wing Leader’s name?”

 

“Manon may be a hard ass bitch, but she takes the lives of every witch under her Command very seriously- regardless of cloak. If there is a means to save even just one of our Ironteeth sisters, she will always consider it.”

 

“Does this include the Yellowlegs coven that volunteered for whatever the Duke wanted them for?”

 

Sorrel and Velda both froze at that pointed question, Sorrel’s features going pale at the memory of what she’d borne witness to. With a heavy sigh she decided to entrust the witch with at least some knowledge of what had befallen their sisters. “I think we all understood that their fates had been sealed the moment they offered themselves up. Your assignment has made you privy to some of the more secretive horrors bred in that place. When one of our own came across what was left of your fellow sisters, there was nothing more any of us could have done for them but mercifully send them into the Mother’s arms with honor. They welcomed the Darkness and their names are being brought to your Matron by the Wing Leader herself.”

 

Selene’s jaw clenched tightly, her dark piercing eyes staring hard at Sorrel for several drawn out moments trying to detect any hint of dishonesty or betrayal. All she saw was muted horror and simmering rage at what had been done to her Clan Sisters. Velda did not have the haunted expression Sorrel did, but then everyone was aware by this point that only some of the Wing Leader’s coven had followed her into the dungeons while the rest rallied the host. But the massive witch bore a dark scowl of disgust and it took the Yellowlegs by surprise. These Blackbeaks were genuinely upset by what had been done to witches of a different cloak. 

Her jaw tightened. “What happened to them?”she growled out.

 

Sorrel hesitated and Selene snapped. “They were my sisters. We deserve to know what was done to them!”

 

Sorrel remained silent for several moments longer, weighing her choices. She risked so much for both Manon and the rest of their coven if she answered. But Selene had the respect of nearly every other Yellowlegs coven in Morath and if they could ensure her loyalty to Manon, they had much to gain. They needed to play things carefully. “You need to understand that Manon was purposefully kept in the dark as to what exactly was to happen to them. We weren't even sure if the Matrons knew the specifics. Manon went to great lengths to try and uncover what was going on. As soon asl Manon uncovered the truth she began sending messenger after messenger to our Matron asking to break our alliance and slaughter these scum. When her grandmother sent that last messenger back, barely alive, it was made clear where she stood on the matter. Manon still tried to press the issue after we were called to a meeting between the Matron and the King and she was beaten for it. It was made clear to all of us that we are not to question the Matrons further. Just us talking about it is likely to incur the wrath snd punishment of all three Matrons.”

 

Selene’s eyes narrowed in frustrated anger but her silence indicated that she now understood the position she was putting Sorrel in. “Listen,” Sorrel continued, looking to where their sisters lay dying. “Some of our sisters do not have much time. Think upon the information I've given you so far.  If you still wish to know, then you have my word that I will tell you, and you alone, upon your return. In the meantime, our sisters are relying on you and your coven to succeed in finding those healers sooner rather than later. Swift winds, Selene Yellowlegs.”

 

Selene nodded and took the dismissal gracefully, understanding now was not the time to push matters that would still be there when she returned. After she and her coven left, both Sorrel and Velda relaxed somewhat. Duties had been delegated, more sentries had been posted, and the three Clans were now working together seamlessly to close ranks around their wounded and be ready to assist in whatever capacity they could. “Now what?” Velda asked looking things over to see if she could spot anything further that they might have missed.

 

“Now, I go satisfy my curiosity about our Master Armorer.”

 

“Good luck with that,” Velda grunted, having no patience to deal with all the hand signals and the stammering youth who looked about ready to piss himself anytime the intimidating witch was around him. 

 

******

 

“Do you really think we are safe here?” Rom whispered to his uncle as the older man inspected a sword he’d found sitting by the fire they were now sitting in front of. Its owner had snarled at him at first, iron on full display as he reached for the weapon. He’d immediately backed off and held up his hands in a gesture of apology, quickly signing to his nephew who stammered out that he’d meant no disrespect. The witch finally seemed to have recognized who he was and after a glare that warned him to ask first the next time, had begrudgingly allowed him to pick up the weapon.

 

At the boy’s question, Olstein snorted in wry amusement. “ Whispering is pointless around them, boy. Nowhere is safe ,” he reminded and Rom sighed as he took another look around them, clearly trying to reign in his terror. “ This is safest for now ,” he added, hoping to calm the boy at least some.

 

He reached out to grip his nephew’s shoulder reassuringly for a few moments before he turned his attention back to the blade in lap. Running his fingers along the length of the steel, Olstein tentatively reached out with his gifts for the first time in a decade. He felt his magic flow over, across, and through the sword, his eyes closing as his senses detected every careful fold of the steel beneath his fingertips, every miniscule imperfection that could never be detected with the naked eye. He noted they were minimal, the weapon clearly being well and lovingly crafted. He grimaced at the taste of all the blood the blade had been bathed in over the decades, being viscerally reminded as to why he’d focused his gifts towards the defensive and more ornamental arts, rather than offensive and practical weaponry. But even with that sickly metallic tang burning the back of his throat, Olstein continued on, forcing his will upon the steel to fix the tiny defects. It was exhausting, since the iron content was resistant as always to magical manipulation. Yet despite being a decade out of practice and left dizzy by the endeavor, he couldn’t help the grin that broke out on his face as he brought the edge of a weapon to a sharpness that no stone could ever hope to achieve. 

 

“And what’s got you grinning like a fool?” a sardonic voice asked, jolting him from his final inspection of the sword.

 

Olstein startled a little, his grin turning a bit sheepish as he looked up at Sorrel, who was staring down at him expectantly with an eyebrow raised. She’d already called him out for what he and Rom both were. With their heightened senses, it was likely that nearly every witch around them knew that he and the boy had at least some magical talent in them. Figuring there was no sense in hiding it, he plucked a hair from his head and then held the sword up. Its owner, who knew the blade had been dulled by recent use and had not seen him do anything other than look the blade over, now watched intently as he brought the hair over the edge. It was split as soon as it touched the steel, and everyone’s eyes widened at the demonstration. Olstein handed the blade back over to its owner, signing for a moment and then huffed and shoved at his speechless nephew who finally caught up and began translating.

 

“Your weapon was finely crafted. Ruhnn steel. Two dozen folds. Very few defects. It will serve you for many more decades to come.”

 

The witch thumbed the edge of her blade for herself, grinning ferally as it drew a small bit of blood. “It hasn’t seen an edge this fine in many years,” she mused, the compliment subtle, but there none the less. 

 

“The honor was mine.”

 

“Well. Keep that up and Manon will definitely drag you along with us,” Sorrel remarked wryly. “So. Does Vernon or any of the others know what you are?”

 

Rom looked to his uncle who nodded for him to answer. “We believe he suspects. My father had no gifts to speak of prior to the disappearance of magic. He…he was still executed during the Purge.” The boy swallowed a bit and Olstein gripped his shoulder, an old grief and guilt clear in his eyes. 

 

Sorrel’s brows furrowed. “How the hell did you survive then if Vernon suspected?”

 

“Uncle Olstein had always been taken by the work of the smiths…even as a boy. He trained under some of the finest smiths and artisans from Ellywe to Terrasen. He already had a solid skill base before he even began manifesting his abilities. He’s told me many times that a true Master doesn’t rely on just his Gifts but on his hard earned skills with his bare hands. He never openly flaunted his magic, and only certain high ranking individuals within the royal court truly knew of his ability to wield magic. You may be aware that we are originally from Perranth and Uncle began making a name for himself early in his apprenticeship. Vernon had to have been aware of his growing reputation. When the Purge happened, Uncle had been working in Orynth by then, but he managed to make his way back to Perranth to check on us. My father had already been executed alongside Lady Elide’s and anyone else Vernon deemed a threat to his power. Uncle was arrested before we could escape and we thought he would be killed immediately. Like I once told Lady Elide, Vernon may be a bastard, but he’s a shrewd one. He kept my uncle and several others so he could suck up to the Adarlanians. All had skills that were sought after and all of them could have those skills explained away by their well documented education or apprenticeships. They’d all been tortured and muted, and then forced into the service of Adarlan however Vernon saw fit. He keeps them in line by threatening to have their remaining loved ones killed in front of them. He brought most of us with him, but…we haven’t seen many of the others for some time,” Rom admitted quietly.

 

Sorrel met the eyes of the Master and then turned to the witches around the fire. “Leave us,” she ordered in a tone that brooked no argument. The Bluebloods and Blackbeaks obeyed immediately. A younger Yellowlegs glared and took far too long to stand. Thankfully, a more seasoned and disciplined yellow cloaked witch happened to be passing by and quickly intervened. After cuffing the insubordinate witch hard enough to send her sprawling forward, the older witch was back upon the younger witch faster than either man could track. The offender’s face was slammed into the dirt, her nose clearly breaking and blue blood pouring onto the ground as the older witch held her there with iron nails gripped tightly around her sister’s neck. 

 

“This one continues to fail in learning her lesson. Shall I kill her and let her be a warning to the rest?” 

 

Sorrel watched as the young witch froze at her own clan sister’s words. Around them, everyone had fallen silent and she saw Velda and several other Firsts and Seconds step into view as tension thickened the air. 

 

Fuck.

 

Sorrel pushed to her feet and walked slowly around the fire. Crouching next to the witch she drew a wicked looking knife from her boot, the quiet hiss of metal leaving its sheath causing the restrained witch to inhale sharply. Sorrel nodded to the older witch who’d been holding her down who gave her clan sister one final snarl and then stepped back, as Sorrell  grabbed the impertinent bitch’s hair and turned her head enough for Sorrel to hold her gaze while still grinding her face in the dirt. At least she had enough wisdom to not fight back any further. Not even when Sorrel caressed the tip of her knife along tanned skin, just below her eye. 

 

“One of my first kills was a yellow cloak,” Sorrel said in an almost conversational tone. The crowd around her shifted uneasily. “Took her down with my bare hands and then carved her up with her own knife. This knife,” she continued as she let the point dig into the tender flesh just enough to cause a small trickle of blue blood to drip down into the dirt. The witch held utterly still, but her eyes were widened in terror, and her breath was coming in harsh shallow pants. “We may be united in our hatred for the Crochan’s, but there has been plenty of animosity between all of our people. We’ve squabbled and killed one another for generations and where has that gotten us? Certainly no closer to our ancestral home. Or to breaking the Curse. And now we sit at the feet of an army that could wipe every living being off the face of this continent and perhaps beyond. I assume that our Matrons recognized the danger to our people and that if we were to survive the coming war, we needed to work together. I know for a fact that our Wing leader has. You have no idea what she has risked trying to ensure our safety from those fucking monsters. Yet here you are, some upstart little shit, bringing dishonor upon your entire clan for what? Some  grudge you couldn’t even begin to understand because you are barely off your mother’s tit? I should cut you down right now. Carve you up and throw your pieces outside of the camp for the animals to feast on as a warning that we will not tolerate this kind of undisciplined behavior any longer.”

 

The knife pressed slightly harder, and the witch gasped, a violent tremble running through her. The tension rose even more as those gathered waited for Sorrel’s judgment. Sorrel glanced at the older Yellowlegs, judging her reaction and was pleased when her stony expression met Sorrel’s and she nodded in grim understanding. She would accept Sorrel’s ruling on the matter, because this unruly bitch more than deserved it. Sorrel’s fist tightened on the witch’s hair pulling her head up at a painful and awkward angle, the knife moving until it was poised a hair's breadth away from her eye. 

 

She held it there for a long agonizing minute to drive home her point, before pulling the knife away and relaxing her grip. The Yellowlegs gasped in startled relief, though her eyes were still wide and terrified. Sorrel slid her knife back into her boot, sneering down at the witch at her feet. “There has been too much death and sacrifice of our sisters this night. I will not add to those numbers, however worthless I may feel you are right now. You will aid in the care of the fallen, and you will treat all those witches as if they were your own flesh and blood, because each and every one of them sacrificed something far greater than you can ever hope to achieve in your worthless little life. Once she releases you, expect to be on every shit job there is for the foreseeable future. And I will tell you now that if Ghislaine's report on your usefulness and care of our sisters is not favorable, I will make you suffer when I put you down. I suggest you pull your fucking head out of your ass because if you are allowed to live, there will be no more chances Ulwyn Yellowlegs, and I will make good on my threat. Now get the fuck out of my sight,” she snarled and watched in satisfaction as the witch scrambled away.

 

The older Yellowlegs witch smirked in approval at Sorrel’s handling of the situation and then gestured for the rest to leave the area. Once she was alone Sorrel turned her attention back to the smith. “We need to talk.”

Chapter 4

Summary:

Manon finds herself a new ally

Notes:

Thank you for the lovely notes and OMG I thought I had posted this chapter already, I swear I did. I blame the great AO3 blackout of 2023. Anyway....here you go. It's not really a whole lot of new content. I pulled this from it's spot in the first story to shift where it was in the layout of the story and felt it just fit better here timeline wise. Expect a double post to make up for the delay here.

Manon knew she didn’t have much time to waste. She’d already lost a day because of her final time spent with Elide, which she would never regret. The witch unconsciously rubbed her chest, feeling that little kernel of warmth that burned brightly in her normally cold and dark heart, and smiled faintly. No, she would never have any regrets when it came to her mate. But there was always a chance a messenger had already been on their way from The Gap and had taken one look at Morath and immediately headed back to the Matrons with the news of the devastation. Which would mean they would be expecting some word from Manon or whomever had survived and taken charge of their forces, and thus there would be no element of surprise or shock in her favor. At least she’d seen no one on her way north, which she prayed meant the Mother was looking down on her right now and cutting her a break. 

 

She pushed Abraxos as much as she dared, but it was nowhere near the brutal pace of the past week. They’d made good time however, and when she finally set down that evening on the northern edges of Silver Lake, just past Anielle, they were only a few short hours from the Gap. Abraxos easily found his dinner amongst the numerous flocks of various animals that dotted the hillsides. After gorging himself on a veritable buffet of mountain goat, sheep, horse, and alpaca, he dropped a fresh goat carcass at her feet and then lumbered over to the lake to drink his fill and splash in the shallows. She couldn’t begrudge him the killing spree that would likely piss off the locals, and just huffed fondly at him as he rolled like a overgrown dog in the water presumably to rinse off, but likely just because he could. The Wing Leader kept an eye on the skies, to the north, but all was quiet. So she unrolled her blanket and decided they would both get a few short hours of sleep before finishing their journey by sunrise the next morning. 

 

Upon arriving just as the inky black horizon to the east was beginning to give way to deeper blues, and seeing no extra flurry of activity below, Manon risked settling Abraxos onto a narrow cliff that gave them a good view of the Keep to watch and assess for a short while. 

 

Her covert observations paid off when a familiar figure clad in the elegant blue cloak of her station, walked out onto the northern launching platform with an unfamiliar wyvern in tow. They reached the end of the platform and both rider and mount seemed to contemplate the drop, which had been the final test for every witch and wyvern during their training. Beside her, Abraxos perked up and carefully shifted forward as his attention focused on the witch and wyvern across from them. Light began to trickle over the horizon, slowly chasing the shadows away and exposing the deadly, bloodstained rocks, shattered bones and rotting carcasses, littering the canyon floor. The hesitation from the Blueblood was clear, as was the patience of her mount. “Do you know that one?” Manon murmured, her eyes shifting towards Abraxos as he grunted in what sounded like approval and dipped his head slightly. Both of them were so very careful to keep their presence unannounced.

 

They watched as the witch finally turned away from the drop and began walking back towards the Keep and Manon felt her heart sink just a bit. As Blackbeak Heir, she was well versed in what Petrah’s gifts had been. She’d easily accepted that the Blueblood Heir had obviously suffered an injury to her mind with Keelie’s death. Just because they couldn’t see the wound didn’t mean it did not exist. She'd seen what Imogen had suffered through after the fall of magic and what Bonded suffered if a partner died. As with any deep and grievous wound, Petrah would need time to recover, but they were quickly running out of that and Manon needed strong allies if she was forced to issue challenges that could send their people into a civil war of their own. Just as she was about to resign herself to the fact that Petrah might not yet be up to the task, the Blueblood Heir stopped in her tracks, bent her head, sketched a sign the Ironteeth associated with asking the Three Faced Goddess for strength and then sprang towards her mount. He was already turning back towards the launch platform when she hurled herself into his saddle and began strapping in as he headed towards the drop in a lumbering run. With a challenging roar that answered Petrah’s own defiant yell, he leapt smoothly from the edge at full speed and they plummeted several hundred feet before his wings snapped open and they banked to the right, gliding along the cliffs beneath Manon and Abraxos who were already preparing to drop down as they passed.

 

==^^==

Petrah felt tears stream down her face even as she stretched her arms out to embrace the wind as it rushed past her. Despite the return of magic two days prior, the Blueblood Heir had yet to reach out with her now fully unshackled gifts, and merge her mind with Xander’s. She could clearly feel him and many of the other wyverns on the edges of her awareness now, and it had taken her a day to get used to even just that. She and Xander had been spending more time in the air the past several weeks, but they had been launching from the eastern platform or the nearby hilltops. Always slow, easy rides as they became more comfortable with each other and worked through basic verbal or physical commands. Never from the platform that either led to victory or death for a witch and her mount.The moment they’d dropped out over that edge and the stomach lurching plummet began, she’d flashed back to her last fading moments of consciousness after Iskra’s attack and had nearly frozen up at the memories that had been stirred up. But then she’d howled defiantly through the pain and terror, and had finally reached out and brushed her mind against Xander’s. Her ever patient partner gently brushed back for just the briefest moment, welcoming her with a swell of pride and encouragement before retreating until she initiated further contact. He once again roared his own victory as his wings snapped open, something that helped ground her in the moment, and she was finally able to embrace the thrill of the rush once more. She heard the second set of wings snap open somewhere behind her, and assumed it was her Second, Moreen, who’d been keeping a much closer eye on her after Petrah had revealed everything she’d overheard and begun to piece together these past couple of weeks. So she paid no heed to her companion as she settled fully into her saddle, leaned into the wind and finally Spoke.

 

Make me feel alive.

 

With pleasure, he answered back, his deep voice so different from her Keelie, but somehow equally soothing. Then he banked towards the nearest narrow canyon and began racing through it at breakneck speeds, his rider tentatively merging more fully with his mind as they truly became one. 

 

Manon and Abraxos followed behind, an approving look on the Wing Leader’s face as she observed Petrah’s form relaxing into the flight. She watched the Blueblood’s body moving at the exact same moment as her wyvern with such perfect synchronicity, the Blackbeak suspected there was more than just excellent aerial skills involved. Manon herself had more than proven her mastery on both broom and wyvern, but she found watching Petrah was bordering on an artform that could possibly surpass her own, given more time and practice with her new mount. As the wyverns shot out of the narrow canyon they’d been speeding through, the bull the Blueblood was now riding, slowed some, and Manon nudged Abraxos forward. 

 

She smirked at the shock clearly displayed on Petrah’s face when she saw who her tail was. There was a moment’s concern, and then the other Heir looked back, her expression smoothing out some when she noted that her own Second was behind them, and that the Wing Leader was alone. Manon had picked up the other witch’s presence only moments after they’d taken off, and had been careful to not make any moves that could be taken as threatening. Without looking back, she knew the Second had her bow out and an arrow knocked, fully prepared to defend her Heir. Keeping her hands visible and away from her weapons, Manon threw the Blueblood an approving nod. “Good to see you back in the saddle,” she called out as both witches guided their wyverns into an easy paced, close distance glide. 

 

Petrah stared at her for a moment and then glanced around once more before looking pointedly back at her Second. There was a gesture passed between them and then Petrah turned back to Manon. “I do not know why you have come, but we need to talk.” There was a short pause. “Away from the eyes and ears of our Matrons.”

 

Manon’s hands tightened on the reins as both hope and dread rose up in her. She looked back finally to see that Petrah’s Second had banked away and was steering towards a rocky ledge that would give a good view of everything to keep watch for any incoming riders, but would give her Heir the privacy she desired. It was also out of weapon range. Manon accepted the move for what it was: a huge sign of trust from one Heir to another. The Blackbeak inclined her head in a rare show of respect, and Petrah gave her a grim smile before her wyvern banked towards a small nearby plateau. 

 

Once they landed the two two Heirs slid from their mounts, neither male venturing away from their rider as they inspected one another closely. Abraxos went as far as posturing a tiny bit, his smaller body puffing out some as a warning growl rumbled quietly out from his throat. The larger male’s eyes narrowed and he seemed ready to respond in kind when his large emerald eyes snapped towards his mistress, who was looking at him serenely, her hand stroking along his neck as they communed for several silent moments. He settled instantly and then Petrah turned her gaze to Abraxos whose growling stopped with such abruptness, that the Blackbeak turned towards him and nearly barked out a laugh at the expression on his face. She had no idea what was being communicated between the two, but it was clear the temperamental wyvern had been caught off guard. 

 

“So they are as intelligent as I believed,” she said, breaking the silence after several lengthy  moments had passed. 

 

Petrah blinked, and then finally turned to Manon with an expression that was both pleased and pained. “I have only just begun to Speak again since…” her expression tightened and her voice grew hoarse as she looked away towards the spires where Keelie had died. Manon remained respectfully quiet, allowing her counterpart a moment to work through rawness of a bond broken. She inwardly mused that before Elide, she likely would have scoffed at such weakness. Now she had a clearer understanding of the pain that Petrah must have been enduring ever since. Manon is not sure she would have had the courage to willfully put herself back into that position with another so soon, and in the middle of war preparations no less. Petrah may not be as skilled a warrior as Manon or perhaps even Iskra, but the Blackbeak Heir had never doubted the Blueblood’s iron will. Especially given the training she was receiving to be High Priestess. 

 

“Xander and Abraxos are the first I’ve Spoken to since Keelie.” The name was exhaled in a broken whisper, filled with grief. Petrah remained turned away from Manon, another sign of trust from the other Heir. Abraxos made a show of settling back in a relaxed posture, and Manon moved forwards, holding her hand out towards the Xander. He stiffened some and she clucked at him. 

 

“Come now. I’m the Wing Leader of this host. Is that anyway to greet your Leader, who has her hand open to you? You should know by now I mean you no harm,” she chided patiently. But she paused her approach until his neck stretched forward and his massive head bumped her palm in greeting, inhaling her scent deeply, and allowed her to stroke along his snout. 

 

Her lips tipped upwards as she heard Abraxos grumble slightly behind her. “Oh hush. You get spoiled all the time.”

 

Beside her, Petrah chuckled quietly, the sound slightly wet, but still genuinely amused. “He’s got quite the sense of humor that one,” she informed Manon. 

 

“I can only imagine,” the Wing Leader answered drolly, as she shot her partner a look that he pointedly ignored. “Your flight through the pass was impressive. Xander is a mount befitting your station,” Manon settled on as she gave the bull a final pat before turning towards Petrah.

 

The other Heir was staring intently at her, and now  that they were standing within a few feet of each other she did not miss the surprised inhale. Or the slight widening of Petrah’s eyes. Or the pointed glance towards Manon’s neck. The Blackbeak grimaced slightly.

 

Fuck. 

 

Petrah considered the look that crossed Manon’s face for a moment. “I would offer my congratulations, but I take it this is something you do not want advertised?”

 

“It was an...unexpected development,” Manon muttered, her fingers drawn to the mark that lay hidden under her leather.

 

Petrah’s laugh broke through the awkwardness of the moment with its genuine amusement. “I would imagine so! With no offense meant Manon, but you would be the last person I would have expected to have taken a mate let alone the Bonding. You are married to your duty as Heir and of the three of us, have been the most devoted to honing your skills in both leadership and battle. I fully anticipated you becoming Wing Leader, and was content with that, as your dedication to perfecting your leadership is second to none. I have always privately believed that is why your Matron has been so unnecessarily harsh with you. She seeks to break you as much as she needs you to succeed as her Heir.”

 

And there it was, all the opening into the conversation they were both delaying with small talk. Still, Manon felt the need to feel Petrah out on this topic a bit more before she dove into what they both wanted to talk about. “She will not approve of this Bond.”

 

“Is your mate not a witch?”

 

“Her blood is not pure and she was a...captive of one of the mortal nobles attending to Duke Perrington.” Manon startled herself with just how open she was with the information she was freely exchanging on something so personal, yet the strategic part of her also allowed that Petrah had shown two acts of considerable trust in the last few minutes and if Manon were to try to lay the groundwork for a future alliance she needed to show that trust in return here and now.

 

Petrah absorbed the information. “May I?” she asked, indicating the space between them and asking permission to move closer. Manon nodded hesitantly and Petrah moved within a couple of paces and inhaled more deeply as her eyes fluttered closed. She held the breath and her silence for several beats and then her eyes snapped open. The thin band of gold that ringed her vibrant blue eyes seemed to flare as she spoke next, her voice unlike anything Manon had heard before from the Blueblood. “Your mate may not be pure of blood, but she holds a power of her own doesn’t she?”

 

“How?” Manon croaked out, trying to mask her sudden concern. 

 

Petrah blinked, seemingly coming back to herself, and stepped back, giving them both space. A wry smile lifted her lips slightly as she touched the iron twisted about her head. “I apologize, Wing Leader. As Priestess in Training, I have become more attuned to certain elements of the world around me. I did not mean to cause alarm. It does explain how you, of all people, would manage to defy every expectation in such an intimate area of your life though. One you clearly have no wish to expose to your grandmother just yet.”

 

Manon tensed. “Is that a subtle threat?”

 

The Blueblood’s hands spread outward in a gesture of peace. “I owe you my life and that is a debt I take very seriously. I believe my earlier statement managed to politely convey my...personal feelings about how your Matron conducts herself. But I serve the Mother Goddess and your Bond is blessed with a strength I have sensed only in a rare few. That is sacred to me and it is my firm duty to protect,” she said with a seriousness that eased Manon’s fears. 

 

She forced her body to relax. “I was given advice on how to mask it, but the last few days have been chaotic and it slipped my mind.”

 

“Then it is a good thing I was the first one you came across. I can stall for some time so you can conduct a proper hunt before returning. I doubt your grandmother or the Yellowlegs will be any the wiser, but I would avoid being close to my mother if you can.”

 

“I appreciate your discretion in this matter.” Manon paused and sighed heavily as she turned her gaze towards the south. “Given all that has happened, it may no longer be an issue anyways.”

 

“I was not well for many of these past weeks since your half of the Ironteeth were sent to Morath, but I’ve heard some recent rumors that were highly disturbing. When I tried to feel my mother out about them, she shut me down cold and all but threatened me. What the fuck is going on down there Manon?”

 

The bluntness of the statement caught the Wing Leader slightly off guard, and she glanced towards her companion who was now wearing a deeply disturbed look. “What have you heard?”

 

Petrah relayed the conversation she overheard, the rumors the scouts brought back about the creatures being bred in Morath, the details her own spies had brought to her about the messenger that had been beaten and sent back half dead, and finally her own conversation with her mother. When she was finished, her eyes bore into Manon’s. “Tell me they were not being allowed to use witches as their breeding whores for whatever unholy experiments they are doing there,” she demanded in a tone that was both desperate and deadly.

 

“By order of at least one Matron, they were,” Manon answered grimly. “We all had a general sense of what was being done in those dungeons, though I was never privy to that exact information. So when the Duke demanded one of my covens, I delayed handing one over as I sent messenger after messenger to my grandmother stating my concerns and asking that I be given leave to deny the request. I had been ordered to comply with everything he demanded of me up to that point. Every single one was turned away without my request being heard. By the time I handed him over a coven, the Duke had made his request well known throughout our ranks, along with his displeasure at my hesitance. The Yellowlegs coven was one of the lower performing ones and volunteered in a bid to gain standing I suppose. I waited for as long as I could, and believe me when I tell you, that I will never forgive myself for what was done to them,” she told Petrah, who was taken back by the haunted look in the Wing Leader’s eyes. 

 

“What happened Manon? Why are you here?”

 

“So much. I don’t even know where to begin, but our time is limited. Morath is an absolute hellhole and the Duke is far more than he seems. The rumors are all true. They bring in beings from all over the continent that they have somehow managed to track down. All have latent or suppressed magic. They drag them into the dungeons and twist them into either lifeless obedient husks, or monsters that will kill without compunction. The Duke refused me access to my witches after I had not seen or heard any updates on their status for weeks. As I said, my mate was a captive of a noble stationed there, and as such was working various servant jobs. She was able to gain access where I could not, and informed me of what was being done to them. That’s when I sent the messenger who was beaten. My grandmother knew Petrah,” Manon ground out furiously. “As she was being beaten, Kirin managed to get out at least half the message before her jaw was broken. She said enough that my grandmother was aware of why she was being sent and still she turned my witch back without a proper answer.”

 

Petrah looked Manon over with a newfound respect. “What?” the pale witch snapped.

 

“You refer to all the witches under your command as yours, regardless of clan affiliation,” the Blueblood noted. “And you do so without prejudice.”

 

Manon paused at this, unsure of what to say for a moment. “We are all Ironteeth and I am their Wing Leader. They are all my responsibility. We are facing threats far more dangerous than we were led to believe and I will not let cloak color blind me to my obligations to defend all of our people.”

 

Petrah glanced at the red cloak that Manon wore and gave her an enigmatic smile as she hummed quietly. “And that is why you, above all else, deserve to lead our people.” 

 

That statement was so loaded with intent, Manon felt her breath freeze in her chest as she searched Petrah’s expression for the deeper truth behind those words. She couldn’t possibly mean…

 

“Given the conversation we had last week, my mother is obviously aware of what has been happening at Morath,” Petrah continued, voice now trembling with barely suppressed rage as her eyes burned with indignation. “How she can allow that to happen, which is a clear violation of everything we hold sacred….I cannot comprehend why she would partake in this. There are clear and severe punishments for those amongst the Goddess’s servants who would dare to carry out such blasphemous actions.”

 

Manon exhaled in relief and then observed the other Heir. Petrah was furious. Enough to be willing to take action against her own mother for what had been done. But she needed to understand the game they were all now carefully playing. “I won’t even begin to pretend that I share anything more than a fraction of your devotion, though I do respect our Mother Goddess. But there’s a lot more you need to know before we decide how to handle things. You are familiar with the Valg?” At Petrah’s sharp inhale and widened eyes, Manon took that to mean she was. “ That is who we are aligned with,” Manon hissed. “They have been careful to limit that knowledge, but the King and all these mortals who reek of the unnatural? They are Valg. Ghislaine gave me the basic rundown and I believe you understand that these creatures will not stop at anything. They are invading our world and we are about to hand over to them the weapon that will seal our own people’s fate once they are done with us. What they did to those Yellowlegs? That is just a glimpse of what they will do to all of our kind once we’ve helped them conquer this continent and they turn on us.”

 

“What weapon?”

 

“Witch mirrors. Massive rolling towers that are powered by witch mirrors.”

 

Petrah looked horrified. “Are they insane?!” she asked, her voice rising in despair.

 

Manon just looked even more grim. “That woman your scouts told you about? Her name was Kaltain and she had the ability to wield something we called shadow fire. She was one of the Duke’s experiments and I don’t know how he managed to get it so that her power worked despite the constraints on magic, but he did. I watched her wipe out an entire village in just a handful of minutes. It was a mercy for those poor bastards to be put down by our iron or steel. Arrogant prick thought he had her on a leash, but when magic returned, she made her way down to the dungeons that had birthed her and blew the whole fucking place to hell.”

 

“Morath is….gone?” Petrah asked, paling considerably at the news.

 

Manon shook her head. “Not completely, but at least a third of it was a smoking crater when we left.”

 

“Goddess,” she breathed, rightfully stunned at the news. “How many did we lose?”

 

“Not as many as you would think. Asterin and I were delayed in our return to the Keep after our meeting with the King and my grandmother last week. I realized after a few hours that my mate had been taken to the dungeons in my absence. I was just setting out to search for her when Imogen came stumbling in, frantic about a vision she’d had. Other Seers had become aware of an imminent threat as well. We didn’t have a lot of time, but it was enough to rouse and evacuate most of the host while half my coven went with me to search the dungeons.”

 

“I take it you found her?”

 

Manon couldn’t help the proud smirk. “She had already affected her own escape along with a number of the other prisoners when we crossed paths. We barely made it out in time.”

 

“But the host survived?”

 

Manon nodded, but her expression was still hard. “We have one full coven of Blackbeaks missing. A bunch of those creatures had escaped and despite the order to evacuate, they were holding the line to allow for others to escape. Last report of their position said that several had already fallen and given their proximity to the blast, it is unlikely they survived. There are a dozen or so sentries still missing along with two covens who were out on patrol. The sentries are a question but the ones on patrol likely had no idea where we pulled back to, and may be on their way here if our sisters were unable to make contact with them. I granted approval for a small force to return to Morath to scout the area for information and look for the missing. What was left of that Yellowlegs coven and the things they were forced to spawn were all given the Kiss of Mercy before the blast,” Manon added, grimacing at the harsh reminder.

 

Petrah swallowed hard. “They had an honorable death then.” Her jaw still worked furiously and Manon’s own teeth were grinding against the anger that continued to boil just beneath the surface every time she thought of those witches. 

 

“It is likely that several of your witches are amongst those missing Petrah, but per my orders after an attack on my coven by one of the Duke’s minions, no one was to travel anywhere alone. Everyone was to pair up and if they weren’t caught in the blast and remembered their training, they will be waiting for the rescue contingent. The scouts and search parties will be a mix of the best from each clan and lead by Sorrel and my Shadows. No one that is alive will be left behind”

 

Petrah’s brows ticked up. “This mix of scouts will work together?”

 

Manon drew herself up proudly. “With the exception of a few troublemakers that were being forced into line, my host has successfully integrated. Granted, recent events had expedited the process of being a cohesive unit, but I honored those who had earned it regardless of cloak. The Yellowlegs had a coven with exceptional scouting and tracking skills and I entrusted them with an important matter of security for all our people. And several in your cousin’s coven proved themselves as exceptional  spys and healers. My Shadows have been complimentary of working with them. Nadia and Dormah are likely among those who will be heading back to Morath to search for the missing.” 

 

Petrah allowed herself a small sigh of relief that her cousin was among those accounted for, but also that Manon seemed to have all of those under her command well in hand. That meant she had their respect. Something that would be needed in the coming days should things fracture between their people. “That sounds like the exact opposite of what’s been happening here. It pains me to admit that my absence all these weeks has only added to the problem. I have spent much of the past week just trying to keep the three clans separate enough to let tensions settle some,” Petrah said, her heart heavy with her failure to her people...and Manon’s. 

 

“Do not apologize for taking the time you needed to heal from a grievous injury. Especially not when that injury was inflicted upon you by a supposed ally, in an act of betrayal. Your clan would not have been served any better had you returned to your duties before you were healed enough to properly handle them,” Manon rebuked mildly. 

 

Petrah blinked, a bit stunned not by the rebuke, but that Manon seemed to grasp the depth of Petrah’s wound. The pale witch smirked. “Just because I can’t see the injury, doesn’t mean I am too stupid to acknowledge both its existance or the scars it can leave behind. I have a Seer remember? And a Bonded pair.” Her expression quickly sobered then and the Blueblood wondered at the cause of that. “As I have not been called to Witness, I take it you have not confronted that cunt yet for what she did to you and Keelie?”

 

Petrah allowed the rage to wash over her, but kept tight control of her emotions as she took a few moments to center herself. “Should I accuse the honorless bitch, she will lie just as she did about shoving you into that pit. Even if it were a fair duel, I am under no illusion that I would stand a good chance at beating her. But we both know she has no honor  and I will give her no satisfaction in allowing her to call for a challenge she will most certainly cheat at to ensure she wins.”

 

“I heard what she said, Petrah. I would give you my Witness.”

 

Petrah pulled back at this. It would certainly change things. While the Matrons could not side with either Heir on only their words against each other, at the word of a second witness,especially one such as Manon, they would be forced to take action against the Yellowlegs Heir. Given the gravity of what she’d done and that Petrah could bring forward her own Witness of what had occurred at the pits, execution would likely be the outcome. “Why? When she tried to kill you on the day of the Choosing  you let it slide. Why would you give up your own vengeance to allow me to now settle mine?”

 

“I lived, and ended up the better for it,” Manon said with a slight lifting of her lips as her gaze slid past Petrah towards where Abraxos and Xander were tentatively sniffing each other. “And I’ve made her life a miserable hell ever since,” she added with a definite air of satisfaction. Her expression quickly went stoic once more, however. “But she defied absolute orders from all three Matrons, gave the order to kill your partner which nearly killed you, and lied about it. Again. The bitch failed to learn her lesson the first time around and deserves a slow and painful death,” she hissed.

 

“She does,” Petrah agreed. And she was tempted.  She was tempted to fly straight back with Manon and issue the accusation. But the timing. Goddess help her, she had to bide her time. “And I would love nothing more than to flay her alive with a knife made from my Keelie’s bones,” she choked out, tears springing to her eyes, but not falling as she reigned her emotions in tight. 

 

When the silence stretched, Manon nodded in quiet understanding. “Now is not the time.”

 

Petrah exhaled with a shuddering breath. “Now is not the time,” she agreed quietly. 

 

Manon’s hand twitched at her side, and inwardly, she fondly cursed her mate and all these fucking feelings she was now dealing with. But she took a risk and allowed her hand to lift and settled it on Petrah’s shoulder, gripping it firmly. “You have my word, that when the time is right, I will give you my support in whatever way you need it so that you may seek your vengeance, Petrah Blueblood. On my honor as Wing Leader and Heir to the Blackbeaks,” Manon told her with solemn sincerity.

 

“And I will gladly honor my life debt to you, however you may need it, Wing Leader,” Petrah said quietly as she bowed her head slightly in deference and respect. 

 

Manon’s hand slipped back to her side, trying not to look as awkward as she felt. She looked at her companion for several long moments, her golden eyes intensely searching gold rimmed sapphire, as she weighed her next words carefully. Trusting the Blueblood Heir with her intentions would be her biggest gamble yet. Her coven was going to be monitoring Vesta closely for some time to come, and they could easily deal with her, if deception and betrayal was her goal. Should they need allies down the road, Petrah’s backing was critical to her success, but she could also just as easily be Manon’s downfall. Still, it was a risk she had to take, and given Petrah’s visceral reaction to what had been discussed in the past half hour, there was no denying that the Blueblood was just as against the direction their Matrons were taking them. “Even if it leads us onto a road paved to hell with our Matrons calling for our heads?” she finally asked into the silence.

 

To her credit, Petrah seemed to have accepted that this is what the conversation had been leading up to. She did not draw back in fear and she did not react with shock. Instead she nodded once, an almost satisfied if resigned expression crossing her face briefly before she schooled her features into a mask of neutrality. “You intend to issue a challenge then?” was all she calmly asked. 

 

Manon barked a quick, harsh laugh. “Petrah, I might be ambitious, but I am not suicidal,” she answered with no humor in her voice. “If we are lucky, the Matrons will decide to be done with all of this nonsense now that the King is dead. Unfortunately, I suspect they are far too invested in their plans now to back out. I need time to figure out how best to handle this. I want our people to focus on finding a way home, not be leashed dogs to mortal scum or even worse, the Valg . I wish you could see what our people have accomplished at Morath. For the first time in remembered history, our people are truly working together. Blue and Yellow and Black. Even I had my reservations and prejudices to overcome, but we all managed to come through this hellish experience better for it. The last thing I want, is to see our people embroiled in a war against each other. Especially when a far greater threat still exists.” Manon paused her impassioned speech, a little surprised by her words, but she could see Petrah weighing their sincerity and could see that they were resonating with the other Heir. 

 

Drawing a deep breath Manon continued on. “The Matrons have been keeping critical information from us. Information that would not settle well with either of us or most of our people, and I believe that is because they have lost sight of what is best for our people as a whole. I do not claim to have their experience or wisdom, but in this, my gut tells me we are heading down a dark path that will lead to our eventual annihilation. I have a responsibility to this host, and while I will not stand ignorantly off to the side, I also acknowledge I need to learn to play their game.”

 

Petrah couldn’t help but smirk. “Who knew you had it in you Manon.”

 

The Wing Leader grimaced. “I fucking hate politics. This is utter bullshit and I resent that I can’t just bash this issue with my sword and be done with it,” she grumbled.

 

Petrah couldn’t help but chuckle quietly. “And there is the Manon Blackbeak we all love and hate.” Manon glared at her and Petrah smirked unrepentantly, despite the grimness of their conversation. “Well, I think it should be clear that I’m in. So what’s next if there is to be no Challenging happening?”

 

“For now? You head back to the Keep, I go on a quick hunt and then I show up unannounced and demand an emergency meeting with all the Matrons and Heirs to inform them of Morath’s demise. I will also be informing them specifically of the destruction of the Yellowlegs coven that was being used, just to see the reactions from everyone. You seem certain that your mother knew, I’d be interested to see if the Yellowlegs crone did as well. I’d also like to see Iskra’s reaction. I’m sure this will not go over well with my grandmother. I was already struck last week for my insolence,” Manon said with a smirk. “I will ask what my orders are. From there, we will gather information and plan.”

 

“You and I should not be seen together after this then. If this foolish and blasphemous treachery is to continue, then I will use trusted messengers. Let your coven know that if a messenger or scout arrives with blue threaded through her hair and bearing this talisman,” she said pulling a small amulet with the holy symbol of the Goddess, from under her shirt, “they will have a message for you and can be entrusted with one in return.”

 

“I will do the same with our black. Tell your witches to look for a knife or sword strapped to their waist bearing a wyvern on the handle. I have someone who can make them up for me in fairly short order if it’s needed.”

 

“What do you need most from me?”

 

Manon took a moment to ponder that. This was honestly more than she expected of Petrah. Perhaps her tacit support if and when the time came to take a stand against the Matron’s orders, but they were well and truly diving into treasonouse territory if they were forced to take action. “If we are to be sent back, I cannot afford to be left out of so much critical information. They risked my entire half of the host’s safety by withholding intelligence about the King and Duke’s fucking experiments.  Unfortunately, my reluctance to their plans and alliance with the mortals is already known and for me to act otherwise would arouse suspicions. Iskra is either fully ignorant or simply does not care.”

 

“Which leaves me,” Petrah finished with a heavy sigh as she looked towards her wyvern and seemed to get lost in thought. Or perhaps even discussion. Manon allowed the other witch time to process the gravity of her request. Goddess knew it would carry the most risk since Petrah would be imbedded here with the Matrons. If any of them got so much as a hint of what they were up to, Petrah could face a horrible death and Manon could be left none the wiser until it was too late. It was a lot to ask of someone who was still recovering from a deep psychological injury. 

 

But the Blueblood Heir squared her shoulders and met Manon’s gaze with a determined nod of her head. “As I said before, how my mother was swayed into agreeing to this, I cannot fathom,” she began, her voice tight with anger once more. “But I have walked on the path of our Mother Goddess for over a century now. I have given my body, my blood and my tears in devotion to her and I will not allow this desecration of everything we hold sacred to continue without a fight. So I will do as you ask of me Manon Blackbeak, and I give you my word on both my honor as Heir to the Bluebloods and High Priestess in Training, as well as on my blood,” here she drew her knife and pulled off her riding glove to make the ritual cut on the heel of her palm. But she paused and a cold warning look took over her features as she stared her Wing Leader down. Manon was both relieved and proud to see the iron enter the Heir’s spine and tone. “I give you my word that my sword and my allegiance are yours so long as your intentions continue to remain honorable and for the good of our people as a whole. But if you deviate from our plan, if you betray my trust in you or our people, if you in anyway corrupt our efforts for your own personal gain, you can be sure that I will see that you face not only the wrath of all three clans but that of the Vengeful Mother as well.”

 

Despite the shiver that ran down her spine at the terrifying threat (because Manon would rather be eaten alive than face a death so truly horrifying it had only been carried out twice in the past century) she grinned fiercely at the other Heir. “I accept your oath, and your terms, before the Mother Goddess.”

 

They deftly performed the ritual exchange of blood, keeping their cuts small and unobtrusive to avoid drawing unwanted attention. “Well spoken, Petrah Blueblood. I knew to never underestimate you,” Manon smirked as she pulled her glove back on. 

 

Petrah flashed her iron teeth. “You may be the more skilled warrior, but I have been through rituals that would make even you scream, Wing Leader. That kind of suffering will not be in vain.”

 

Manon chuckled humorlessly. “Iskra has no idea who she fucked with when she was stupid enough to go after you. I look forward to the day when you repay her in full. I need to leave if I am to hunt."

 

The two mounted their wyverns. “Two things before you leave,” Petrah said, before Abroxos moved towards the ledge. “Do not expect much if any visible support from me in public. If you see any, it will appear as reluctantly minimal because there is a life debt that I owe you. I must gain my mother’s trust and that means distancing myself from you.” Manon nodded in understanding and agreement. “Second, when you are out hunting, look for Goldenwhisps. As you know, they grow all over in these mountains….and my mother is highly allergic to them,” the Blueblood smirked. Then Xander turned and lept from his perch, he and his rider heading back towards the canyons they raced through, a second witch and wyvern joining them a moment later as Petrah’s Second fell in behind her.

 

Abraxos turned his head towards Manon, who watched the other Heir disappear into the many passes that surrounded them. “This just got a whole lot more interesting didn’t it?”

 

Abraxos grunted in reply.

 

“Well,” she sighed, sobering at the thought of facing all the Matrons once more and the political games she was about to potentially wade into. “Let’s go find us some flowers and mountain goats to go bathe in. I have some answers to push for and a beating to be done with. You know where the host is in case she sends me back unconscious?”

 

Abraxos growled at that. Manon snorted and patted his head. “Won’t be the first time you protective sap. Now do you know where the rest are?” He huffed, but nodded. “Good," was all she said before nudging him forward for take-off. Once they were airborne, the witch took one last lingering look towards the south and west where she could feel that small piece of her dark heart moving further away, but drew strength from the warm light that surrounded and protected it. 

 

 

Chapter 5

Summary:

Manon gives her report to the Matrons. It goes about as awesomely as expected.

Notes:

A treat. Again not much change in content from it's original posting but hopefully placement seems more fluid.

Manon wiped her bloodied talons into her leathers and grimaced slightly. She’d changed into the ones she’d worn during her deadly rampage through Morath’s dungeons, and the reek alone was sure to mask the scent of her Bonding. But she still crouched to scoop up a handful of the Goldenwhisp flowers growing amongst the tall grass and rubbed that into her leathers as well, before shoving  a couple into her pockets. She looked over to Abraxos who was just finishing his meal. 

 

“We go in hard and fast and make it look like we just pushed hard all the way from Morath. If shit goes sideways, you know what to do.”

 

He nodded solemnly and she climbed up into the saddle. Abraxos took off, and to his credit, did exactly as she asked despite the brutal pace he had been flying almost non-stop this past week. He poured on the speed, eating up the distance between where they’d doubled back and the Ferian Gap. They took lesser used canyon passes, their narrower gaps allowing only the smallest of the wyverns through, and came barreling out at high speed only meters from the southern walls. Not even the scouts had time to react as Manon bypassed the normal landing platform and brought her faithful mount in for a fast and hard landing right in the middle of the main courtyard, scattering Ironteeth and mortals alike. 

 

She leapt from the saddle, snagged a cowering servant that was trying to scramble out of her way and ordered for Abraxos to be seen to, before turning to the nearest Ironteeth, Yellowlegs by their cloaks, and began moving in their direction. “The Matrons. Where are they?” she demanded.

 

They hesitated a second too long and she lashed out with a powerful blow striking down one witch and then clamping an iron tipped hand around the throat of the second. “You dare defy me?” she snarled in the face of the witch she held.

 

Hatred filled the eyes that glared back at her, but the witch shook her head minutely. “No, Wing Leader,” she choked out, her eyes falling in submission finally.

 

“Where. Are. The Matrons?”

 

“Wing Leader,” a Blueblood beckoned calmly, stepping forward and bowing her head in proper respect. “They just finished their morning meals. They usually attend to their separate Clan duties until noon before convening in their private meeting chamber in the North Wing.”

 

Manon shoved the insolent Yellowlegs from her, her nails grazing the witch’s throat enough to draw blood. She pointed to a witch from each of the three Clans. “Gather the Matrons and their Heirs in their chamber. I don’t care what they are doing, this is urgent. I bring grave news from Morath that they need to know about immediately.” 

 

Manon looked back at the Blueblood who’d responded properly. “Much has happened and I had to push my mount to his limits. I don’t trust these mortal fools to see to his needs properly.”

 

“I would be honored to see that he is cared for in your absence, Wing Leader.”

 

Manon nodded. “Thank You,” she said, trying not to smirk when those who had gathered to see what the commotion was, gaped at her in shock. But she kept her cool mask of indifference and headed inside, ignoring the stunned looks of every witch she passed as they took in her appearance and the stony expression on her face as she stormed towards the Matrons’ chambers. 

 

There were a pair of guards outside, both Blackbeak, and they looked warily at each other as Manon approached, her pace not slowing. One stepped forward, a hesitant hand up. “Wing Leader-”

 

“Is she inside?”

 

“No, but no one-”

 

“I don’t give a fuck, I’m not here on a pleasure visit. The Matron’s and their Heirs have been summoned. This is urgent. I’m waiting inside.”

 

The witch swallowed and then stepped aside, bowing her head. As luck would have it, Iskra was the first to arrive and she burst into the chamber as if she owned it, sneering at Manon. “You dare to summon me like some common-”

 

Manon was in her space, her iron at the other witch’s throat before she could even finish. “You forget who is Wing Leader, Iskra Yellowlegs. You also forget that I know you’ve made not one, but two attempts on an Heir during a time of treaty. I would watch very carefully what you say next or I will have your fucking tongue. And I did not just summon you, I summoned all the Matrons and the Heirs. So shut the fuck up and wait to hear why I am here in person,” Manon snarled so viciously, the other witch blinked in surprise before glowering and backing down.

 

Manon spun away from her and turned to see Petrah entering the room, her brow quirked at the scene before her. “I see you two are getting reacquainted,” she commented dryly. “My mother will be along shortly. She was in the middle of her morning Communion with the Goddess.”

 

Manon’s grandmother was the next to storm in, murder in the Matron’s eyes, as always. “Tell me you did not come all the way here because magic is free,” she sneered.

 

Manon’s head tilted to the side, assessing, her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “Despite all that I have done over the decades to prove myself, including winning the title of Wing Leader over the combined army of all three Clans, you still think so little of me.” It was an observation, not a question. A dangerous one on it’s own. But to be voiced aloud? In front of witnesses? Especially those not of their clan?

 

She sensed both Petrah and Iska freeze, and no one dared breathe as her grandmother stared at her, first in shock and then in fury. Manon braced herself as the crone delivered what was surely to be merely the first blow of this meeting. She watched as her blood dotted the flagstones beneath her feet and then lifted her head, and wiped the blood from her nose with a sleeve coated in the dried blood of multiple creatures. “No, I did not come here simply because magic fell,” she stated calmly.

 

“Then why?!” she demanded.

 

“Since we are one army, and the news I bring affects the entire host in Morath, I believe it would be the proper thing to inform all the High Matrons at once. Unless they are lesser to you?”

 

The Yellowlegs Matron had just entered, and Manon nearly smirked as the crone halted in her tracks and eyed the confrontation warily, but then focused on Manon’s grandmother who looked like she wanted to kill Manon where she stood, message be damned. “We are of equals,” she ground out. “If your news affects the host then of course we should wait, and hear as equals.”

 

Manon simply bowed her head and then stepped back into the middle of the room and waited patiently while the two Matrons settled themselves, the two Heirs taking up their positions as well. Cressida entered a few moments later, took in Manon’s appearance and then wrinkled her nose at the scents coming off the Wing Leader and steered clear of the Blackbeak as she made her way to her chair. 

 

“Get on with it,” her grandmother demanded. 

 

“The Duke lost control of one of his monsters after magic returned. The one who wielded the Shadow Fire, known as Lady Kaltain, blew at least a third of Morath to hell.”

 

The room went deadly silent. Manon noted with some satisfaction that even her grandmother paled at the news. Petrah, to her great acting credit, gasped and wavered slightly. “How many did we lose?” Cressida asked tightly. 

 

“When magic was set free, shit went to hell in and around the Keep. As you are aware, they’ve been breeding all kinds of unholy abominations there.” Oh and there was a deadly warning in her grandmother’s eye at that little information drop. “With that many people with magic running in their blood,and half of them no longer human, it took some time to get things under control. Thankfully, most of the host had been ordered to finally get some rest and were consolidated in the barracks for safety. Several Seers were able to warn us of the danger shortly before the event. I ordered our forces to evacuate, and took several of my own coven in an attempt to stop what was about to happen. Unfortunately, Lady Kaltain had begun freeing prisoners and creatures alike and we were forced to retreat because time was running out. Most of the host survived. We have a handful of missing sentries, two covens on patrol that we had yet to make contact with, and one coven of Blackbeaks that had last been seen holding the line outside one of the dungeons to buy the rest of us more time.”

 

She paused and then looked straight ahead so as to ignore her grandmother’s no doubt furious gaze and so she could better take in the reactions of the Yellowlegs and the Bluebloods. “And of course the Yellowlegs coven that I was instructed to allow to be breeders for more of the Dukes experiments was lost, as the blast originated from near or in the dungeons they were being held in. The creatures they spawned were likely incinerated with them.”

 

“What?!” Iskra demanded as she looked around the room in shock. 

 

Petrah looked equally sick. “Mother?” she whispered, her eyes pleading that this bit of news not be true. 

 

The Yellowlegs Matron rounded on her Heir, the blow resounding through the room and sending Iskra to her knees. Petrah’s mother made no move towards her daughter, but the look she gave the Blueblood Heir threatened equally violent retribution if her daughter dared to speak one more word. 

 

So. The Heirs were all being left in the dark, but the Matrons did know what was going on. 

 

Manon took a bit of comfort knowing that as despicable as Iskra was, given the look of horror and fury in her eyes, the Yellowlegs Heir was definitely not okay with her fellow Clan sisters being used in such a fashion. 

 

Heavy silence reigned in the room as the Yellowlegs and Blueblood Matrons glared at Manon’s grandmother and the witch rose slowly to her feet, approaching Manon with a killing calm. “Do you think yourself clever Manon?” she ground out, her iron sliding out.

 

“Since it seemed you were invested in that...project, I figured you would all want to know of their fate as well.” 

 

The next blow was swift and brutal. More blood decorated the stones. “Do you have anything else you would like to add?” her grandmother almost crooned, daring Manon to give her a reason to strike her again.

 

“Pretty sure she took half the creatures being spawned there with her. Including a good number of that other aerial army that someone neglected to inform me of.”

 

Petrah and Iskra both inhaled sharply, and as Manon bent over double when her grandmother slammed a fist into her gut, she noted the wide-eyed look being passed between the two. A knee was driven up into her face and Manon staggered, blood pouring down her face. She forced herself upright, and when her gaze met her grandmother’s she couldn’t help the tiniest lifting of her lips at just how out of control the witch looked right now. The other two looked almost on the verge of panic. “I suggest you choose your next words carefully, or they just may well be your last” she warned in a deadly tone. 

 

“I ordered the host to relocate away from the ruins of Morath and to reject any mortal lapdog that comes demanding our return.”

 

A fist gripped her hair tightly, jerking her into her grandmother's face. “And why would you do such a thing?” she snarled, furious. Manon, forced her tone to remain impassive.

 

“Because Aelin Galathyinus killed the King of Adarlan, his son has broken free of the Valg that was controlling him, and we are no longer beholden to these mortals as our alliance was with the King.”

 

Three more blows had Manon crashing to her knees, a foot to her chest sent her halfway across the room, but it was worth it to see their careful lies exposed for their Heirs. It was with great effort that Manon swayed back to her feet, her stance and her vision both unsteady. She managed to pull herself into a reasonable posture of attention. “The host is awaiting the orders of the Matrons as to how we proceed from here.”

 

“What about the Duke?!” her grandmother demanded. 

 

Manon was half tempted to shrug, but didn’t think she’d remain conscious much longer if she continued to antagonize her grandmother further. She’d said her peace, and gotten the reactions she was looking for. Now she just needed to make it out of there alive. “Unknown at this time. He was not at Morath when Kaltain blew it up.”

 

Manon tensed as her grandmother circled her slowly. “It would seem you dug into a great deal of privileged information while you’ve been away Manon.”

 

“As Wing Leader, I was entrusted with not only command of our army, but it’s well-being.  I followed your orders, and did what the Duke asked of me. You yourself taught me that an ally is an ally only for as long as they are useful, and to always be on your guard. I personally watched Kaltain decimate an entire village in a matter of minutes and there is little we could have done against a power like that. I did what anyone in my position should have done and that was to ensure the safety of our people so that we could be ready to serve when called upon. That means using whatever means at my disposal to root out and assess all potential threats and there were plenty to go around there. These mortals have been playing at gods and they lost control of their experiments time and again. Had that attack happened even a single day earlier, we would have likely lost over half our numbers.” By the end of her speech Manon’s voice was trembling with barely concealed rage. 

 

Her grandmother raised her hand once more, but interestingly enough, Cressida spoke up to stay her hand. “Our Wing Leader speaks truth,” she said before the blow could land and Manon almost sagged in relief at the intervention. 

 

Her grandmother whirled on the Blueblood. “We have been of agreement on all of this,” she snapped the High Priestess.

 

“I will remind you, reluctantly,” Cressida answered coldly. “We have all had our concerns about their control over these experiments. Yes, the wyverns were a success and one that we benefit greatly from. The rest were questionable, at best. It would seem the Three Faced Goddess spared us devastating losses. I myself, cannot fault the Wing Leader’s caution, even if her methods led to information that was not meant to be revealed just yet.”

 

“Thank you, High Priestess-”

 

“Your carefully crafted insolence has been noted by us all, Wing Leader. I suggest you remain silent unless directly spoken to,” the  Blueblood Matron snapped, cutting off Manon, who immediately fell silent and bowed her head once more. “While we three may not always agree on details, we have been of one mind on our course. It was decided that the Heirs did not need to be privy to every little aspect until such time as it directly affects you or your standing orders.”

 

“Forgive me, Mother, but would it not be prudent to have our host practicing with this other army that Manon spoke of? It took us months to become cohesive and unify our signals and commands,” Petrah pointed out in as submissive a tone as she could muster while keeping her gaze firmly fixed to the floor.

 

“The Duke was still making and testing them,” the Yellowlegs Matron snapped. 

 

Petrah fell silent, her mother’s gaze burning into the side of her head. Iskra, for once, wisely remained silent. Manon’s grandmother moved back to her chair, but continued to glare at her granddaughter. “I should kill you for what you pulled here today.”

 

The Yellowlegs Matron’s eyes glowed at that prospect and thankfully her grandmother caught it even as Cressida once more intervened. “Manon earned her rank as our chosen Wing Leader and while she has overstepped her bounds here today, she is responsible for saving a large number of our people it would seem. It would be foolish to change leadership in such...tumultuous times. I believe the punishment she received here today have reminded her of her place.”

 

Manon ducked her head lower, gritting her teeth behind the curtain of her hair. 

 

“One more step out of line, Manon, and it won’t just be you. Your entire coven will be forfeit,” her grandmother threatened menacingly and the white haired witch froze. “It won’t be swift and you will be forced to bear witness.”

 

“Yes, Matron,” Manon answered, barely able to keep her voice from trembling. Too far. She had pushed just slightly too far and now she’d endangered her coven as well. “What would you have me do with the host?”

 

There was a lengthy pause and Manon dared to lift her head just enough to notice that the three Matrons seemed locked in a silent battle. “Wait outside,” her grandmother finally snapped, the other Matrons giving dismissive gestures to their heirs as well.

 

Manon bowed stiffly and with some effort, marched out of the room without stumbling, despite the room spinning slightly. Iskra and Petrah were on her heels, and the three remained silent until the doors slammed shut behind them. The sentries stared at Manon and then shifted away as she wiped at some of the blood and glared at them. The Wing Leader moved over to the wooden bench that sat down the hall, and slumped onto it, not caring in the least what Iskra or Petrah thought of her lack of decorum right now. Her grandmother had not held back. Everything ached, the world continued to tilt around her, and she was pretty sure her recently healed ribs were at the very least bruised again if not broken. 

 

A shadow blocked the sunlight streaming through the windows from the other side and the Wing Leader squinted up at Iskra who for once, wasn’t sneering down at her. “What you said….about our coven…” she began, her voice barely above a whisper and shaking with an emotion she didn’t think the witch capable of. 

 

Manon wanted to twist the knife at this exposed weakness. It would be so easy to dig at this rare sign or emotion. But no matter how much she hated the bitch, this was probably her only chance to at least sow discord amongst the Yellowlegs. “I tried for weeks to put off handing a coven over. That was what all the messages were about. I knew whatever the Duke wanted them for, would be horrible given all that has been going on in Morath. In the end, my hand was forced and your coven volunteered. I have given several of your Clan honored duties as befitting their skills and discipline, but this one was younger and they knew they were not performing well. Nothing about what was done to them was honorable, but their sacrifice was,” Manon told her somberly and with a rare show of respect from one Heir to another. “They will not be forgotten….by any of us.”

 

Iskra actually took a moment to process Manon’s words, judge the sincerity in them, and exhale slowly her shoulders slumping slightly as a fraction of her normal hostility left her. “Do you even know the name of the First, so that I may see to it that their kin is informed.”

 

“I know the names of all the Firsts, Seconds and Thirds under my command along with the name of every witch who has ever died on my watch, no matter their rank,” Manon snapped, wincing as her ribs protested. She forced herself to relax, exhaling slowly in relief as the ache eased some. “Claris Yellowlegs, Gela Yellowlegs, Semarah Yellowlegs, Wilma Yellowlegs, Delia Yellowlegs, Nuut Yellowlegs, Zemeer Yellowlegs, Davine Yellowlegs, and Krisjen Yellowlegs will not be forgotten by the Thirteen.”

 

Iskra showed no emotion one way or another, but she did not press Manon further. “What of their witchlings?” Petrah asked pointedly. Given her station, the question was a likely one for her to ask. 

 

Manon grimaced. “Whatever was done to them, the Yellowlegs bore no witchlings. They birthed monsters that bore little resemblance to our kind and had whatever evil that taints these creatures around us, oozing from their skin. I managed to see the end result for myself and they were abominations.”

 

Iskra inhaled sharply, her anger flaring back to life. Petrah paled once more, and Manon knew this time it probably wasn’t an act. Every time her mind flashed back to the horrors in that room, Manon felt sick as well. “No witch, of any cloak, deserved what happened to them and that is why I will gladly take any beating my grandmother sees fit to dish out.”

 

Iskra stiffened. “You border on treason Blackbeak.”

 

“I have followed every order given. But when the safety of our people is on the line, it is my duty as Wing Leader, to be sure that I am not blindly leading us to the means of our own slaughter. I came here to give a full report and receive my next orders. The Matrons would have been displeased no matter what and given my grandmother’s habit of violently reacting to anything that upsets her plans, I knew I would bear the brunt of that no matter how I delivered it. I was there, they were not. I needed to be sure that they were explicitly clear on what exactly was going on as even the Blueblood Matron acknowledged there was cause for concern to be had. My loyalties have been and will always be, to our people. All of our people,” Manon snarled back, ignoring her protesting body so she could lean forward and flash iron teeth in Iskra’s face. 

 

Iskra’s eyes narrowed at the challenge and the atmosphere grew tense. “Well before we all start trying to kill each other…..again,” Petrah broke in, her tone almost bored, though her gaze slid sideways towards Iskra who froze. “Don’t think my injury caused me to forget every detail of what happened that day….or the day at the Pits,” Petrah continued icily, the threat more than clear.

 

It took every bit of skill Manon had, to keep her composure as she watched the Blueblood Heir drop that threat on Iskra, and the Blackbeak would have to find a way to thank Petrah for letting her be witness to the expression on Iskra’s face right now. Petrah eyed the two guards and then lowered her voice before continuing on. “How do you know they are Valg?”

 

“Calculated guess,” Manon admitted. “We’ve all seen the collars and the rings, sensed the pure evil that all of these things reek of and how they bleed black if they are too far gone. Kaltain had something else entirely and perhaps that is what allowed her to retain her magic despite the barrier. Over time, it became clear to us that there are moments of clarity in the hosts, and I’ve managed brief conversations with more than one. Ghislaine helped narrow it down, and our Matrons did not deny it.”

 

Before the conversation could go any further the door slammed open, startling the two guards and Manon’s grandmother stood there glowering at them. “We didn’t send you out here to gossip about privileged information! Shut your fucking mouths and get back in here.”

 

Manon heaved herself to her feet, thankful Petrah stayed close enough to brace her with her body though it came off as her just passing by the Blackbeak as they trailed after the Matron. The heavy doors closed back behind them, and everyone could feel the tension in the atmosphere. Manon’s grandmother almost looked smug as she glared at her granddaughter. The Yellowlegs looked wary, but Cressida wore her most stoic expression that only Petrah recognized as barely controlled anger.

 

“Manon Blackbeak, you are to return to the host and bring them back to Morath where you will lock down whatever remaining assets are left and await the return of Duke Perrington. And he will return. Then you are to submit to his command and when I visit,” she hissed, leaning forward in her seat, sneer on her face, “if I hear any complaints of delays or disobedience, your title will be forfeit as will the lives of you and your coven.”

 

“What was spoken in this room is never to be spoken of again unless we say so. Defy us and you will find yourselves wishing for death,” the Yellowleg crone added. 

 

All three Heirs dared not move or even look at one another but the shared fear was palpable as they all knew how very real the threat was. Manon and Petrah also realized how much more dangerous their plan had become. While Manon had planted the seed of doubt in Iskra’s mind, she knew the Heir was too much of a coward to risk what little power she currently held. She would likely turn on them in a heartbeat. Better to let things fester there and hope that one day her own arrogance would be her undoing. 

 

But Manon had one more duty to fulfill and she groaned internally as she forced herself to risk speaking up one last time. It was a struggle to put so much submission into her tone. “Matrons, I have one final inquiry.”

 

“So eager to die?” her grandmother questioned, almost a little eagerly.

 

“I only wanted to ask if I could be given leave to divulge the names of those who have fallen at Morath so that their kin can have closure and perhaps the High Priestess could ask the Mother Goddess to look after their souls. It is likely your own Third is one such witch to be affected. Colletta Blackbeak and her coven were last seen giving their lives to hold the monsters at bay to buy our host time.”

 

There was a drawn out silence and Manon did not miss the daggers being thrown her grandmother’s way by Petrah’s mother. It was clear that she was perhaps the singular dissent, though she was obviously not fighting against them outright. But in this she would not be denied, and at least Manon’s grandmother recognized when to back down and nodded. Cressida’s piercing gaze bore down on the Wing Leader. “I am to understand you don’t have a complete list of the dead yet?”

 

“No, High Priestess. I waited less than a day to report here, because I knew this was something you all would need to know about right away and we had at least the majority safely accounted for. My Shadows, along with a handful of the stealthiest scouts from each Clan, were given leave to return to Morath in search of any who may yet live and have the bodies of those we recover sent back here for final rites and blessings. Unfortunately, that may be a small number. Lady Kaltain’s attack left little more than a smoking crater in that portion of the Keep.” And here Manon’s regret was genuine. She knew there was little more that could be done, but witches had still died under her watch and a few she’d known and fought with over the decades. 

 

“You have a list of the names of the missing?”

 

Manon once more recited the names of the Yellowlegs coven, then the Blackbeak coven and then those Asterin and Sorrel knew for sure were missing. She added the Firsts of the two patrols missing, but her point had been made that she knew her soldiers and that all their lives were of worth to her. She was not surprised to see her grandmother roll her eyes, but at least the Yellowlegs crone looked somewhat mollified, and there was a hint of actual approval on the High Preistess’s face finally. “You honor your sisters,” she commented.

 

Manon bowed as low as her battered body would allow, stifling the groan that desperately wanted to escape. “I may not be as….zealous in the ways of our Goddess as your Clan, High Priestess, but I do consider it my sacred duty to make sure every witch under my command is as prepared to face the Darkness as possible. I have learned over the decades that the best way to do that is to properly know each of my warriors, their skills and weaknesses, so that I may best know how to utilize them. The Darkness will embrace us all at one point or another, and any death is regrettable, but especially so if it is due to pure circumstance or neglect.”

 

“Obviously news of Morath’s partial destruction will quickly spread. The host here will be informed of those who lost their lives in the attack. Return those you can, keep us apprised of those who are missing. If they are not recovered within a weeks’ time, it will be assumed they are lost and I will personally oversee their final blessings with a ceremony befitting their sacrifice.”

 

“I will see to it that the dead are carried by one of their sisters and escorted with full honors by members of my own coven.”

 

“Such useless waste-” her grandmother began to deride, but she was cut off by Cressida. 

 

“As these are our first warriors to fall in this war, it is a fitting gesture.” Manon was crowing inside at the look her grandmother was being forced to endure. Oh there was quite the rift there and she wondered at how much Petrah might be able to carefully chip away at that because the Heir was watching everything very intently. 

 

“If I may take my leave then? I can rest and then-”

 

“You’ll get on that shit wyvern of yours and get back to the host immediately,” her grandmother shouted. 

 

Even the Yellowlegs Matron looked at her with a raised eyebrow at that, but no one interfered. Manon trembled with tremendous effort to keep her fucking mouth shut. She kept her head bent and her eyes on the floor because she was in no condition to keep the hatred out of her gaze. “Yes, Matron.”

 

It was in this moment that she had so much more respect for Asterin, because now she fully understood the loathing her cousin had for the old hag. It made Manon even more disgusted with herself for being so blind to this all for so long. She spun on her heel and walked stiffly out of the room, refusing to meet anyone else’s gaze. 

 

As she forced herself to walk down the hallway with her back straight, Yessenia rounded the corridor, her eyes widening at the state of Manon. “Wing Leader-”

 

Manon held up a hand and shook her head minutely, aware of the eyes of the guards who were tracking her. Without breaking stride she simply said “Silver Lake if you wish to know more. Do not be spotted,” the Wing Leader murmured as she passed by her grandmother’s Third without looking at her. 

 

She was grateful that the other witch continued on and that she’d not stop to speak with her because as she approached the archway, Goya and several of the other Seconds to the Matrons and Heirs came rushing up the stairs. Goya and Iskra’s Second smirked at Manon’s condition. She sneered back at them. “See if you are laughing when the Matrons fill you in on what happened,” was all she snapped at them, their jeering expressions falling from their faces as they fully took in the state of her leathers and the foul ichor that was mixed in with both mortal and witch blood.

 

She ignored Goya’s demand for more, and kept walking as briskly away as her battered body would allow. By the time she reached the wyvern pens, she was barely able to remain upright. Gods damn that rusty-ironed bitch. She staggered into the pen, snarling at the few witches who stared at her and the one who actually dared step forward to try and assist her.

 

“Leave us!” a voice barked out and everyone happily complied immediately. 

 

Manon blinked as the Blueblood from before, stepped around Abraxos. She watched as her wyvern allowed the other witch to trail her hand along his snout without his normal warning. “He has been fed and watered and I inspected both he and your gear carefully. All is well with both, though his wings ache from all the recent travel.”

 

Manon’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You Mindspeak.” she guessed as she immediately clamped down on her emotions, putting only her concern for the host at the forefront along with her pain. 

 

The witch in front of her winced, but smirked a bit in understanding. She nodded, being sure to turn her head just so, and Manon relaxed as she caught sight of the deep blue cord threaded into her hair and bearing the talisman Petrah had told her to look for. “I am, though I refrain from poking into anyone’s heads without their permission….unless ordered to. That was an effective trick by the way. Be sure to remember it.”

 

Be wary of the these two, she warned, an image of two witches flashing into the Wing Leader’s mind. They have orders to keep close eye on you when you are here. Thankfully, they are both out of the Keep for now. You were broadcasting your displeasure for your grandmother loud enough for me to hear you two floors away .

 

“Fuck,” Manon hissed quietly as she moved towards Abraxos. It was with difficulty that she got into her saddle, even with Abraxos’ concerned help. 

 

“You risk much agreeing to this,” she muttered as she settled in, allowing the scout to hand the reins up to her since she could barely bend over. 

 

You risked your life and the title of Wing Leader to save my Heir. And Manon sensed in that moment there was more to the emotions that colored those words. She knew this witch was Petrah’s Second but the undertones seemed more...intense. Kin? Lover perhaps? Your methods may be brutal, but you put our people above your own ambitions. Whether you realize it or not, you walk the path the Goddess has set before you and that is whom I am loyal to above all else.

 

Manon allowed her worry to surface, even as she gently nudged Abraxos forward. The scout kept pace beside her as the Wing Leader struggled to organize her thoughts. Tell Petrah if things become too dangerous then don’t risk it. I pushed hard and we will have to toe the line for some time to come. At least we have time while the Matrons regroup and the Duke tries to recover his losses. Perhaps there is still a chance to avoid a confrontation.

 

I will look after her Wing Leader. Safe journeys. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you in the future. Until then, practice your control. We are rare as you know, but you have four lesser Mindspeakers in your host that I am aware of, and only one is of your Clan. 

 

More faces flashed through her mind. Manon merely nodded slightly in acknowledgement and then guided Abraxos towards the southern platform. Her wyvern looked back at her, worry flashing in his eyes. “Set down at Silver Lake again. I think I can stay awake that long. If not, keep an eye out for my grandmother’s Third. She may come seeking answers. If not, dump me in the lake to wake me up.”

 

He huffed in displeasure, but turned and walked towards the edge of the platform, launching off with all the grace and care he could muster despite his own weariness. It wasn’t his smoothest take-off, but the effort was appreciated, and Manon settled in for the ride with a weary sigh. 

 

At least she’d found the perfect cover for her coven to check in on Elide as she’d hoped. And with that thought, she let her mind stray to her mate and wonder how her first couple of days of freedom had been going.

 

Notes:

Comments and constructive criticism always welcome. I appreciate people catchign any glaring errors because I am my own beta and we all know how that goes lol.

Please keep comments on relationships civil. I hate ship wars.

And feel free to drop me a line on Tumblr using Firedancer34 as well.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 2 of Light in the Darkness