Recovering finally from his stupor, Baylor throws his head back and roars with laughter, the sound incredulous and hysterical. “Oh, Ravenswyrd, I’m going to enjoy watching Oskar peel the flesh from your bones. He wields the mist and the carnage, did you know? Imagine the torture he’ll enact on some arrogant, demandingcuntwho thinks she can tell a bloodwitch to come to heel!”
His hands clench into fists at his sides as the sigil on his face glows a little brighter. He takes one menacing step forward only to falter, stumbling back as the trees song becomes an enraged roar. My heart grows louder in my ears to match it, my gaze cold as I stare Baylor down, and the ancient prayer slips past my lips. A whisper at first but growing and growing until, finally at the top of my voice, I recite the blood call.
The forest answers immediately,The blood will return. The Favored Child’s call won’t go unanswered.
The bloodwitches edge even closer as the pull of the blood call winds around them, but Baylor stares at me, his jaw slack until indignant rage lights within his eyes. “You think youdeservemyloyalty,myservitude? The arrogance of the Favored fucking Children; what have the Ravenswyrd ever done forme?”
Screamed, begged for mercy, bled out—and then died. All at his hand to prove himself to the Betrayer, and now he’s fled to the high fae, begging at their feet for scraps. The words stay trapped within my throat, paralyzed now with the magic still cycling through my body and lighting me up until I’m a beacon, not of light but of power.
Of blood.
There’s a piercing whistling sound, like wind forced through a pipe, then a rushing—gushing—sucking noise, and then?—
A female appears, her robes rustling but her body unerringly still. She stands to my far left, the beauty of her face drawn tight now in anger as her gaze flicks over the bloodwitches crowding around me. A tumble of black hair in loose waves falls over her shoulder, dark lashes frame her silver eyes, and her full lips are stained red, a blush over her cheeks to match. Her robes are a soft blue hue, far kinder than the frosty Celestial shade I’ve grown accustomed to, and when Baylor scowls at her, Ahana stares back at him with the long, cold stare of her blood.
“A Mistwyrd? Why the fuck is some Mistwyrd bitch?—“
Ahana takes a single step forward, her robes shifting with the motion and the disgraced bloodwitches all scatter like the gutter rats of Yris that they truly are.
The black fighting robes are far more distinctive than my own, no questioning the declaration they make. With boning stitched into certain areas for structure and a leather binder around her stomach to assist in wielding; the blue stitching of the sigil over her heart the only marker left to say she’s a Mistwyrd witch.
“I am Ahana Reborn. I answer the Favored Child’s call.”
CHAPTER THIRTY NINE
Soren
There's an eagerness in the air around us from the regent’s guards as they all stare between Rooke and I, as though we're a spectacle they've been waiting for, the taste of it vile on the back of my tongue. There are far too many smug smirks lingering on their faces, whispers running through the crowd, and ignorance to the magic unfolding before us.
"Fatesfuckingmercies," Tauron mutters, his voice hoarse as he stares at the Reborn witch but my eyes stay fixed on the ashes-cursed male who murdered the Favored Children.
The whites of his eyes glow bright as he gapes at Ahana, all the bloodwitches do. They look at her like she’s the Fates in flesh form, and as the words declaring her allegiance to my croí echo through the valley around us, time seems to slow.
The song of the forest that fills my heart shifts, grows, and I feel its demands with a new sense of clarity. As still as the dead, every muscle in my body is drawn tight as something awakens within the trees. Something old, and forgotten, something that will no longer accept being ignored.
A pulsing beat, like that of a drum, washes over me. More than a sound, it melts into every inch of my being until my heart beats in the same rhythm and my magic surges in waves to match. It calls for blood, an inescapable demand building rapidly and my own magic responds by rallying against my restraint with such vehemence that a pulse bursts out of my chest.
When Cerson's protective gaze snaps away from Rooke to land on me, her eyes widen as she hesitates. The action grounds me, a reminder of the danger my slip could pose, and I let some of my magic fall away from me as a sacrifice to the earth. No matter how desperately we may need that power to escape this, I can't attempt to wield it if I lose my senses to the forest now exulting its witches return.
Glancing over, I find Gideon and Gage each flanking Rhosh as though they expect Ahana to slit her throat and bathe in her blood for fun. No one dares reach for a weapon, not even to rest their hand against a sword grip, yet they’re poised and waiting for her to strike at the sound of her name alone.
Roan murmurs in the old tongue, his tone harrowed. “The legion arrives, Soren. We need to get Rooke out of here before it’s too late.”
My brow furrowing, I glance at him then back at Reed only to find the same tension within the Outland soldier as their heads both tilt and I realize they can hear the legion marching—but I can’t. I can’t hearanythingover the demanding beat of my own heart, the cadence aligned with the song of the Blood Valley as its blood returns.
The rushing sound of magic breaks through the forest’s lust for blood, and another witch appears at before us. The female already wears the black robes, the stitching gold, and the blood-red glow of her witch marks are searingly bright. Her head snapsto look over at Rooke the moment her feet hit the ground, her eyes mournful and her voice strong but full of ghosts.
“I am Ashtor Ollwyn, born of Reborn blood. I answer the Favored Child’s call.”
Gasps ring out around us, more of the regent’s guards looking confused at this magic and the response the Reborn are receiving as they arrive, but then another witch appears, and another, and another.
“I am Faryll Reborn. I answer the Favored Child’s call.”
“I am Talamyr Kato, of Reborn blood. I answer the Favored Child’s call.”
“I am Moryn Reborn. I answer the Favored Child’s call.”
One by one, the Reborn answer Rooke’s call, all while the marching legion arrives at the regent’s command. Our fates balance on a knife’s edges while the trees sing out in delight to welcome its blood home.
