Page 102 of The Arcane God

It wasn’t until they’d set up their camp in the woods on the outskirts of the village that she began to relax again. But it was short-lived, because just as Perse used his spellword to light a fire, Greya’s Knowing alerted her to a presence.

She heard movement in the darkening woods—sticks snapping and leaves rustling—and within seconds, several figures emerged, surrounding them.

And one of them she recognized instantly.

“I’m surprised you’d be so bold as to cross the treaty line without permission, Greya. You seemed like a smarter witch than that,” Syrelle said. Her hawkish eyes watched them, as did those of the four other witches who accompanied her.

Greya stood up, preparing for violence or conversation, she had no idea, but she readied herself nonetheless.

“Seize them,” Syrelle said directly.

“There’s no need for that,” Greya said, placing her hands up and speaking with all the authority of her position.

The witches around her froze, waiting.

“I apologize for breaking the treaty, but I’ve come here to discuss something with you, and I’ve brought you something, as a peace offering.” Greya kept up her hands, but indicated with her head that she wanted to get something from her bag.

“An offering, you say?” Syrelle asked, intrigued. “Well, by all means, show us before we let the ocean take you.”

Gaia, she hoped that was just bravado. She knew she had one, very delicate, chance at convincing Syrelle to join them, because the woman was well within her rights, according to the treaty, to punish them as she saw fit. And she’d already been lenient with an Auster witch once.

Slowly, Greya bent down, digging around in her personal pack, until she found what she was looking for. She pulled out the small wooden box and unlocked it with her spellword.

{Clavis}

The interior mechanism clicked, and she swung the lid up. Turning it around, she presented its contents to the Occidens matriarch.

“I’m returning what was stolen from you, as promised,” she said. “And I hope, in exchange, you’ll hear what I have to say.”

The dark-purple amethyst glowed in the firelight, the symbols etched in its silver setting dancing as they reflected the light. Greya felt the witches before her take a sudden breath—she didn’t know if any of them, besides maybe Syrelle, had ever seen the amulet. There was, and always had been, an undeniable power about it. One that drew you in and mesmerized you, as dangerous as it was.

Through the dark, another figure emerged, as if they’d been watching from afar. A small, slight one, with large eyes and short brown hair.

“You should hear her out, Syrelle,” Mel insisted, their voice calm and clear as it cut through the tension.

Syrelle looked over at the seer briefly before her eyes returned to Greya, reluctant acquiescence on her face. She took several steps forward and reached out, taking the box with the amulet from Greya’s hands. “Mel has told me all about the unbinding, and the part you played in it.”

Greya steeled herself for retribution—for anger. For one Coven to do this without the knowledge or blessing of the other two was a violation—just as Northe had said. But it never came. Instead, her tone was filled with begrudging respect.

“Occidens has wanted it broken for centuries,” Syrelle said as she studied the amulet, then closed the lid on it. “And while I do not condone the spell being done behind our backs, I know that the way that it occurred was inevitable, given that Mel had seen it that way.”

Okay, so far, this was going better than she’d hoped. Maybe there was a path forward here for an alliance shift.

“Thank you for your understanding, Syrelle.” This was certainly not what she’d planned—she’d wanted to present herself, formally, to Syrelle tomorrow—not be discovered in the dead of night like a bandit. But this was what she had to work with, so she decided to do her best. “Please, can we sit? Now that I have shown you we are here in good faith, I have something else of grave importance to discuss with you.”

Syrelle looked at her suspiciously, no doubt assessing her with her Knowing, before nodding to the others. She and the rest of the witches came around the fire, joining them in its chaotic light.

“Say what you must,” Syrelle offered. “I will at least hear it before I decide how to proceed.”

Greya took a deep breath, then she began. “As you know, the bond to Iblis has been broken, and as such, there is a shift in the relations between witches and daemons.”

Syrelle nodded. “Yes, we have not been immune to the increased activity by daemons. It seems almost reckless, the way they interfere without retribution.”

“I agree,” Greya conceded. “But, in working with daemons to break the bond, as was Gaia’s will, it has become apparent that not all daemons wish for relations to be this way. Some want something different. And I’ve brought one here to tell you himself.”

Greya looked over at Steig, who had been dead silent as he watched them converse.

The witches around them murmured, but they didn’t seem scared like Northe had. Occidens had always had a different perspective on daemons.