Fuck.
“Loved ones are weaknesses. Nothing more than a weak point to exploit. To leverage. To cull. And The Dreaded do not allow such vulnerabilities.”
Seren exhales a shaky breath.
“Are you ready for the first question of The Harrows, witch?” Lara croons, and the words sound mocking.
But Seren is tired of giving. So fucking tired of handing herself over to whoever demands it. So she’ll take something.
Witches are loyal to witchkind, and that includes herself, right?
So she straightens, pulls her shoulders back despite her ribs screaming in protest. Despite the witch at her back.
“On one condition,” Seren announces, casting her voice into the cavern.
Lara scoffs and the cavern rumbles with soft laugher. Lara pulls herself away from Seren’s ear, stepping around her with predatory grace.
“Well, go on, witch. Make your demands,” Lara allows, waving a mocking hand.
Seren draws in a long breath, steeling her nerve. “A question for a question.”
The Perils go silent. Even the candles stop guttering. As if they, too, hold their breath.
Lara clasps her hands behind her back, her face an unreadable glare.
“You answer the first question from The Harrows, witch, and I’ll answer one of yours,” Lara agrees. She pauses for a heartbeat—not in uncertainty, but as a tactic. “Not because I owe it to you, and not because you’re entitled to it. Consider it a reward for your audacity.”
Seren searches the High Witch’s words, looking for a loophole or a lie. But she can’t find one, not in the heartbeat that’s passed. So Seren offers a tight nod, not wanting to do anything to make Lara change her mind.
“Then I’m ready for my question,” Seren confirms, preparing herself.
A wicked smile crooks Lara’s lips. “We’ll see,” she mocks, as she approaches The Widow’s Waters. Her arms throw wide. “The Harrows ask you, Seren Calvatere… what would you sacrifice to stand among us?”
Seren blinks, waiting for the gut-punch that is surely coming.
“A drop of your blood in The Widow’s Waters,” Lara commands. “And The Widow will commence your question—and you, Seren, will answer.”
Seren’s hands turn clammy, a cold sweat breaking out on her neck.
What will she be asked to sacrifice?
But before her mind can conjure a plan, her body is moving. Her hand stretches out toward Lara. Her eyes lock on the High Witch, unafraid and unyielding.
“Make me bleed.”
And Lara’s eyes glow with something akin to approval as she slashes a fresh wound into Seren’s palm.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Some powers do not rage or scream
They merely end what stands between
Kael does not decideto move. His body does it for him. The realization comes a heartbeat too late—after the shift in balance, after the subtle tightening in his limbs, after the world narrows to a single point of focus he did not choose.
The Decay does not ask permission. It recognizes a problem and resolves it.
Kael is aware of everything.
