2
Out of time
ZARA
“I’ve condemned us?” I laugh bitterly, my hands curling into fists. “You’ve condemned us. All of you. You let the warlocks control us, use us for their power. You’ve bowed to them for years, and now you’re afraid of the one who’s not willing to.”
The coven gathers behind our leader, all my sisters sworn to me in ties more sacred than blood, their faces still torn between disappointment, anger, and betrayal. Ysolde, the other woman with the silver eyes, steps forward next, her magic a cold, calculated thing. I can almost feel it, like an icy hand on my throat.
“You don’t understand what it means to be a part of this coven, Zara. We belong here. We have a place. You’ve thrown it all away for what? A fleeting dream of freedom?”
I stand in the center of it, alone and unyielding. “Better a fleeting dream than a lifetime of chains.”
Ysolde’s lip curls, and her voice hardens. “You’ve doomed us all; do you understand that? The Senior Circle will see this as an act of rebellion. They won’t just punish you—they’ll come for the coven. All of us.”
“They already punish us,” I snap. “You just refuse to see it. Their protection is a leash, and you wear it willingly. They take more than they give and we were slaves without rights.”
A sharp gust of wind cuts through the clearing, whipping my hair across my face and carrying the scent of burnt magic and damp earth. The air feels charged, the residual energy of my spell clinging to the space like an unspoken accusation. Around me, my sisters tense, their magic simmering just beneath the surface. It’s instinctive, a shared reaction to danger—only this time, I’m the danger.
The ground beneath my feet trembles faintly as the earth itself shudders at what’s been unleashed. Ysolde’s silver eyes narrow, a flicker of unease breaking through her anger. The others exchange quick, furtive glances, their confidence cracking like fragile glass. Even Aleris looks at me with distrust, the trust built over years of working together undone in a few brief moments. For all the others talk of order and control, the raw, unspoken fear threads through the coven like a poisoned vein.
They’re not just afraid of the warlocks’ wrath.
They’re afraid of me.
Our High Mother steps forward again, her voice trembling with authority and fear.
“Zara,” she says, her voice soft but edged with pain. “You’ve broken us. We trusted you. We raised you. And now you’ve ruined us.”
I want to scream at her, tell her she’s wrong, but the lump in my throat swells. She was the first to believe in me, the first to teach me magic. She’s the one who showed me the powerthat could be mine, and now she’s the one who stands with them, condemning me for it.
The disappointment in her eyes cuts deeper than any spell could.
“What did you think would happen?” she asks quietly, almost pleading. “You can’t defeat the coven. You can’t defeat the warlocks. Power won’t betray you, but it will demand everything you have. And even if you think you have found freedom, you cannot be an island. You cannot be alone. No one can, child. Not if they wish to live.”
I don’t respond. I don’t need to. I already know what they’ll do. They’ll try to bind me, to break my spirit, to make me bow to their will. But they’ve underestimated me. I’m already lost to them.
The wind shifts again, colder this time, and the shadows of the trees stretch longer, darker. The power I’ve unleashed hums in the distance, a restless thing that refuses to settle. It answers to no one and its wildness mirrors the tempest building in my chest.
But the silence that follows contains only dread. There’s no relief in its quiet, no calm in its stillness. We’ve broken free from the chains that suppressed our power and every other witch has felt our bond of servitude snap, and the wild magic sparks in us, and a reminder of what we could be if we united against our common enemy. Of what we should be and of what is ours to claim.
The warlocks have felt it too. The tremors that traveled through the earth and air have stirred them and they’re already on their way here. The faint reverberations of their approach, heavy and inexorable, grow stronger with every passing second, and my skin simmers, sensing a storm gathering on the horizon.
“They’re coming,” Ysolde whispers, her voice tremblingwith a mix of fury and fear. “Do you feel that? They’ll be here soon.”
The wind howls, carrying with it a faint vibration that makes the hairs on the back of my neck rise. It’s faint, like a distant drumbeat, but unmistakable. The warlocks are moving, their magic slicing through the atmosphere like knives, sharp and deliberate, as they converge on us.
The oppressive thrum of approaching power grows stronger, an invisible tidal wave cresting closer with every passing moment. I feel it in my bones, a relentless vibration that resonates with the earth itself. My sisters shift uneasily, their magic curling defensively around them like shadows bracing for the light. Even the High Mother looks shaken, her gaze fixed on the distant horizon where the warlocks’ storm brews.
“What are we going to do?” someone whispers, her voice barely audible over the rising wind.
The High Mother doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, she squares her shoulders, the steel in her spine visible even as the weight of what’s coming bears down on her. It’s Ysolde who speaks first, stepping forward with that icy, calculated calm she’s known for.
“We need a plan,” she says, her silver eyes piercing through the gathering fear like a blade. “And fast. If we don’t act now, there’ll be nothing left to save.”
My heart hammers against the ribs that cage it, beating with the same frantic rhythm of the hearts of my coven. Adrenaline burns as my body responds to the pulse pouring through my blood, setting me on fire as my muscles and my fingers ready themselves to fight. My mouth falls open and I want to argue—to remind them that I didn’t cause this, that their years of compliance with the warlocks’ rule left us vulnerable—but the words falter on my tongue.
The truth doesn’t matter right now.
