But the woman ignores her, already returning to the depths of the cave.
“Will you at least tell me who you are?” Seren calls out, trying to project her voice, but it comes out a broken rasp.
The woman spins, ragged onyx skirts billowing in an arc. She stalks toward Seren, eyes penetrating and terrifying.
“I am Lara of the Evening Star,” she says. “High Witch of The Dreaded.”
A pause.
“Keeper of The Harrows.”
The words linger, snaking through Seren’s bones like a serpent on the hunt. As if they mean something to the marrow of her.
The Harrows.
Seren doesn’t move.
“Ruler of The Perils, and the one who stands between you and the coven you think you’re entitled to without earning your place.”
Fuck.
Seren doesn’t move, only draws in labored breaths, waiting for the final blow.
“The Harrows are your tests, Seren Calvatere,” Lara continues. “Our black seas were your welcome. Pass again tomorrow, and your journey through them begins.”
But Seren is tired of waiting. Tired of living on the fringes of every damned thing.
So she stands taller.
A challenge.
“I’m staying.”
Because walking away would feel too much like every other time she’s been told she’s not enough to stay.
Seren prepares herself to be struck. Cursed.Something.
But Lara of the Evening Star studies her, a wicked grin almost taking form, but not quite.
“We do not pick the sisters of The Dreaded. The Widow does. Return tomorrow for your first Harrowing test.” No anger at Seren’s insubordination, just truth.
Lara spins, disappearing between a dozen witches who step forward, pushing Seren out through the cave’s mouth.
“Leave,” they chant in a chorus of overlapping voices. “Or The Perils will take you.”
Fucking Stars.
So Seren swallows the rejection, pulling a quill from her cloak and opening a Gateway back to Nymeris.
Away from her blood.
Away from her destiny.
And for the first time, she wonders if it was ever hers to claim.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The hardest weight a soul can bear
