Page 110 of Reckless Witch

Ethan snorts. “I can’t blame him for that one. I don’t think I would want to own up to having that bastard as a son, either. What does the Grand Witch think about all this?”

Two male students step from the trees to our left. They must have veered off the path. They look in our direction and Ethan and I start walking. The students walk ahead of us. Five minutes later, clusters of students emerge through the trees up ahead. Anticipation hums in my belly like a live wire. Nothing tests our skills and endurance like the War Games.

Through the trees beyond, I see the field where we are to begin. Raith is standing with three of our generals. Seton Alexander is there. Adrenaline pumps through me. I am going to enjoy kicking his arse this year.

We reach Raith’s group and Alexander angles his head toward me. “Blade.”

“Seton,” I reply.

Raith’s eyes shift past me and his pupils dilate. I turn and my breath catches in unison with Ethan’s audible intake of air. Leilah’s dressed in brown leather with a brown quilted waistcoat. A short sword is strapped to her belt along with Japanese curved blades. She’s even braided her hair…a hairstyle she wore in the late fourteenth century when Pope John XXII issued his super illius specula authorizing the use of inquisitorial procedure against witches.

I’ve never forgotten how magnificent she was, a sword in each hand, wisps of escaped hair whipping around her face in the gale-force wind, as if the gods themselves had joined the fight. Of course, Ciarah had called that wind. She and a dozen women accused of witchcraft stood against fifty soldiers sent by the church to arrest them for heresy. The soldiers were fortunate that Ciarah was the only true witch among the accused that day.

“Fuck,” Raith says under his breath, and I know even he is remembering that day.

Leilah stares, eyes wide. Then she breaks into a run. She passes Ethan and I, and we spin as she throws herself into Alexander’s arms.

Chapter Forty-Six

ETHAN

And so it begins…

My dragon roars to life. I take a step toward Leilah.

A hand clamps down on my shoulder and I spin toward Blade. He gives a tiny shake of his head and slants his eyes toward the small stage at the far side of the field where Olympia sits on the stage overseeing the assembly.

“Not this time,” I hiss with enough heat that fire flashes from my palms.

“Look at her,” he whispers.

I hesitate. Can I bear to see Ciarah in the arms of another man, yet again?

“Look,” the Fae says in a gentle voice, and I force myself to turn.

Leilah has buried her face in Alexander’s chest. He’s stroking her hair and making soft shushing noises. This isn’t the embrace of lovers, but of sister and brother. I send a questioning look to Blade.

He shrugs. “I guess they know each other.”

“Good guess,” I say with asperity.

I look at Raith, but he just gives a tiny shake of his head.

“Anyone want to tell us what’s going on?” Blade asks in a conversational tone.

“Not that it’s any of your business,” Leilah says, her face still buried in Alexander’s chest, “but I grew up with Seton.”

A sliver of relief eases the tension in my shoulders, but only a sliver. She’s not the fifteen-year-old girl who ran away. She’s a woman, and Alexander could easily fall in love with her.

She draws back and looks up at him. “What are you doing here?”

He winks. “You didn’t think you were the only High Potential in our neighborhood, did you?”

“You attend The Academy? Why didn’t you tell me? That would have made being here so much better.”

He laughs. “I graduated four years ago. Still, I didn’t know you were here until just now. I think I could bring you to task for going MIA for seven years,” his tone is airy, but I detect deep curiosity.

She gives him another tight hug, then releases him and steps back. “You’re one of the alumni here to take part in the War Games?”