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{CoRW: Book 3} Chapter 100 [Part Two]: A Voice of Division *Rough Draft*
🕑 Added 2023-02-24 23:04:38 +0000 UTC♝♝♝♝♝♝♝♝♝♝
Chapter 100 {Part Two}: A Voice of Division
Carina felt a tingling wave of nostalgia wash over her as she appeared in Hawthorn Forest, not far from the gathering of Covens. The primitive yet beautiful notes of harmonized voices singing at a distance seemed to lull the nocturnal creatures of the forest into a strange sense of security. A mother fox and her two small kits strolled out from the bushes, then paused at the sight of the ice witches. The Duchess offered them a reassuring smile and observed silently as the trio hastily scurried out of view.
“Something smells—foul,” Linby observed as he turned to sniff the breeze carried to them from the gathering.
“It would appear the Coven of Crows is also in attendance,” Carina replied, her smile fading at the memory of Abbess Mercy.
“Not exactly the allies I would have envisioned,” the Viscount commented grimly.
The Duchess pressed her lips into a firm smile and shook her head. “I do not wish to involve myself directly in the Covens under Lord Percy’s control.” She turned to glance at the ice witch elders behind her before issuing a subtle command, “So let us try to be on our best behavior.”
The four bowed their heads silently in acknowledgment. Linby was the first to straighten as his ice-blue eyes rose to the swaying limbs above them. “It would appear our Witch King has found us.”
Carina raised her gaze and blinked at the suddenly visible moon that beamed down through the opening forest branches as the two pureblood air witches descended into the forest.
“Thank you for waiting,” Percy said with a polite smile before gesturing toward the meeting spot. “Shall we.”
“After you, your Grace,” Carina replied cooly. She blinked in surprise at the sudden flush visible on the Earl’s neck and ears as he turned and hastily led the way forward. Marquess Winifred, who now carried a peculiar oak staff covered in carved runes, bowed his head respectfully to the Duchess before following the Coven leader deeper into the forest, leaving Carina and her elders to follow.
***
The groove itself was an imposing sight, despite its humble accommodations. Well over three hundred witches gathered around their respective banners or lingered cautiously in the nearby trees. The melodic hymn of voices died down quietly at the arrival of the Witch King and his guests. Waiting on a hastily erected platform of freshly cut timber was Marchioness Serilda, joined by the same nobleman who had attended her during the Royal Hunt. Carina recognized the man as Winifred’s son, Sir Eustice, and met his surprised gaze with a nod of recognition before moving to the opposite end of the platform.
If the silence and expectant gazes of the Covens and witches present affected Percy, the Earl did not show it as he moved gracefully to the platform's edge and raised his hand in greeting. “I thank you all for being here and apologize for the lateness of the hour. I have not called you without good reason. The purpose of our gathering was to inform the Covens’ of our intentions to remove the head of the Holy Snake of Zarus and drive its priests and dogs from our borders once and for all!”
The screen moonlit grove erupted in a storm of shouts and cheers that collided with the dark branches of the towering Hawthorn trees. Carina observed their jubilant expressions, the young laughing and almost dancing excitedly while the elders brushed away tears of long-held resentment.
“Your Grace!” The voice of a male witch from amongst the Twilight Coven managed to leak through the tumultuous din. “What about the prophecy?”
The Earl turned to the speaker and offered a political smile of reassurance. “If that is your concern, then know that the bloodline of Saints will not end with the Pope.”
The Covens appeared surprised by this revelation, although a few members of the Nocturnem Coven nodded as if this were to be expected. ‘It would appear the elders of Percy’s hereditary Coven are better informed than most,’ Carina observed.
“You mean,” the male witch pressed hesitantly. “There are others? But I thought the Pope’s family were all slaughtered by the Witch Emperor.”
“Not only have the holy descendants of the Bozidar line scattered bastards across the three great empires, but the Pope still has one living sibling.” Percy did not bother to mask his cunning smile as he watched the meaning of his words sink in. “We have identified this sister and will take her into our care to ensure no prophecy, or calamity, is triggered.”
Another resounding round of approval followed as the witches' faces, eager with anticipation, turned to each other with expressions of relief.
“And what of the boy king?” Asked a large stout woman from amongst the Twilight Coven. “When will King Henri’s son be removed from the throne?”
“She’s right. If we are to liberate ourselves from the Church, what need do we have for a King the Pope himself has blessed?”
“It would not be the first time a Havardur King suddenly died from an accidental fall!”
“Exactly! In all the chaos, no one would be surprised if the offspring of two tyrants suddenly meet their end.”
“Or we could give the boy a push off the fortress ramparts—much like we did his father!”
“Careful,” Percy growled as the air stirred ominously through his robes and mahogany curls. “One might think you were taking credit for the deed.”
The witch in question hastily bowed their head in apology as the Covens fell silent.
“We have decided,” Percy continued, crossing his hands over the crow head of his silver cane, “that if King Nicholas joins hands with the Church, our greatest persecutor, then we will treat him like the traitor he is.” A few ripples of applause stirred through the crowd, though only the Coven of Crows appeared to celebrate the news without reserve. “However, should Nicholas choose to stand with us and ban the church from Lafeara’s borders—” he pauses for a moment as if struggling to find the words, “—then we will consider how he may best serve the interests of the Covens’ future.”
Kirsi raises a brow slightly from behind the Earl.
“Then what of tomorrow?” An elderly witch noblewoman from the Nocturnem interjected. “I have no desire to pledge an oath to some mortal when a true Witch King stands before us!”
Many of the Nocturnem Coven added their voices in agreement as if eager to demonstrate their fealty and trust in their leader’s capability. Percy raised his hand again and lulled them once more into obedient silence.
“Any pledge you make tomorrow will be invalidated by the oaths you have already given to myself, her Grace,” he turned and nodded in Kirsi’s direction, “or Marquess Serilda Kensington.”
Carina followed his brief gesture to the pureblood in question and studied the Earl’s cousin, noting the pallor of her face and the agitated movements of her fingers along the silk fan she carried.
“I ask those of you summoned to attend tomorrow’s festivities to remain after the meeting. You shall receive further instructions, along with offensive and defensive enchants provided by Duchess Kirsi and the elders.”
Judging by the enthusiastic response of the crowd assembled—aside from the Coven of Crows, who, Carina could only assume, did not have many invitations to the ball—it appeared the Covens were more than ready for a battle.
“I suppose now would be an appropriate time to introduce our esteemed guest and ally,” Percy continued. “Allow me to present to the Covens, her Grace, Lady Kirsi Isbrand, Duchess of Bastiallano, first and last of the Isbrand Queens, and the true rightful ruler of Lafeara.”
Carina was admittedly astonished by this sudden and rather flamboyant introduction. With a quick breath to gather her thoughts, she stepped forward, accepted the Earl’s offered hand, and then moved to the edge of the crude stage to bear the full weight of the Covens. The memories and habits of Kirsi’s previous lives kicked in as she gracefully curled her hand against her chest and inclined her head slightly in a respectful greeting.
Murmurs of surprise and curiosity all fell silent as the Duchess leveled her gaze with the witches before her until one of the Coven of Crows stepped forward.
“So, you’re telling us—that this child—is the legendary Scarlet Witch?”
Percy furrowed his brow as Carina pulled her fingers from his grasp. “That is one of the titles Kirsi went by in her past lives.”
“How can we be sure?” Pipped in another silver-haired witch. “Just because an ice witch claims they possess Kirsi’s reincarnated soul—doesn’t mean they are the Scarlet Witch or even related to the Isbrand line.”
“You dare!” Marquess Winifred snarled, tightening his grip around the runed oak staff.
“We have done our due diligence,” Percy replied, his tone sharp as his political smile turned into a threatening glare. “Lady Kirsi—previously known as Lady Maura—was born from a mortal woman and Prince Basilius, who was the direct and last descendant of Kirsi’s bloodline.”
“So you say—” the silver-haired cannibal retorted with an indifferent shrug, “—but what proof do we have other than your word.”
“Alora!” one of the white-haired cannibals rasped nervously behind her.
An ominous silence filled the groove as the Twilight and Nocturnem turned their openly hostile gaze towards the most disreputable coven among them.
“I’m just saying,” Alora continued, glancing at her comrades for support before focusing her attention on Kirsi. “It’s not like it would cost you anything to prove your identity to us. It might even be considered reasonable considering the sacrifices we are being asked to make on your behalf.”
“That is ridiculous!” Winifred roared. The crows around the grove jolted from the trees in panic as they circled above the foreboding prickle of hostility that filled the air.
“So, you’re saying,” Carina said quietly, as she gestured for Viscount Linby to stand back. “That you would like a demonstration?” An audible silence fell over the gathered covens as Carina gracefully jumped down from the platform and strode confidently through the parting ranks toward the Coven of Crows. “Hmm, let's see, should I cover this grove in snow? Or turn Hawthorne Forest into a winter paradise? No, perhaps that is too simple. Then would bringing an early winter to Lafeara suffice?” The Duchess tilted her head mockingly as she approached the cannibals, whose wary gaze did not mask the insidious greed that glinted behind their soulless eyes and sharpened teeth. “No? Still not enough?”
A glimmer of pale blue light emerged from Carina’s chest and spread across her body, transforming the delicate fabric of her silver dress into hardened armor. The same cold magic filled the air around the Duchess in a swirl of glittering ice as she leaned closer to the stiff and silent Alora. All around the grove, whispers of startled delight emerged as snowflakes danced down from the gray twilight sky to burst upon the forest floor below.
Delicate plants of translucent ice grew and blossomed, reflecting the moon's light. Shimmering figures of frost raced around the witches' feet, appearing in the forms of squirrels, rabbits, birds, and even a silvery stag that strode majestically through the center of the cannibals, where it blew a cold mist of air into the faces of the caged children.
Carina seized the distracted Alora’s throat and yanked the alarmed witch closer. “Rather than simple tricks or a change in the weather, I could give you a personal demonstration of how savage the fangs of winter can be?”
“N-no. I—”
The Duchess pulled back sharply as an unfamiliar stab of pain throbbed in her chest. Beneath her snow-white hair, the ice witch’s pale-blue eyes, illuminated by Viktor’s power, bore into the frail-looking elder, who stood behind Alora, shrouded within her tattered robes.
“You,” Carina murmured, her voice sharpening with the undertones of a predatory growl. “I—remember you. I remember your scent—Verena!”
The Coven of Crows, sensing a threat to their founding elder, tightened their ranks around Verena as they edged cautiously closer to the Duchess.
“First Mercy—and now you. Just how many relics of your decrepit sisterhood survived?” Carina sneered as Verena’s dark eyes darted towards the platform where the other coven leaders waited.
“So you mean to rule us by intimidation? Is that it, Kirsi?” Verena spat out loudly as if to draw sympathy from the wavering covens around them.
Carina snorted as she tossed a quivering Alora aside. Linby and his elite elders appeared behind the Duchess with spears and blades of ice at the ready. “You both changed your tune quickly enough. What was the point of such bold demands if you were going to cower so easily?”
“I only meant—” Alora stammered, “—to alleviate—the concerns of the Coven.”
“By implying that your appointed Witch King is too blind to spot the fake standing before him?” Carina arched a mocking brow, then turned away from the sputtering cannibal with a smug smile as she returned to the platform. “Let me be clear. I have no interest in ruling the Air Covens—least of all the carnivorous vultures of the Coven of Crows.”
Percy pressed his lips together but stepped back as the Duchess took his place on the platform to face the covens.
“You have chosen Earl Hawthorne as your leader and representative along with Marchioness Kensington, and I respect that. We share a common enemy who has persecuted and oppressed us for nearly a century. Like you, I seek to extract that threat so that we may live in peace. In light of the danger many of you will face at our side tomorrow, I have come bearing gifts, enchantments that will provide you with as much magical protection as the witch hunter’s prized scarlet armor.”
The murmurs of surprise shifted into gasps of alarm as Carina summoned Isaac to her side. The towering elemental wolf barred his teeth with a warning growl before lying down at the Duchess’s feet.
“Much like your esteemed leader, I promise you, the heads of the Pope and his Witch Hunters will be delivered to the Covens to mark the end of the genocidal persecution of all witches. After tomorrow, this Kingdom, our Kingdom of Lefeara, shall become a place of refuge and safety for mortals and witches alike. And should any religion or government seek to oppress either class, I, Kirsi, the Scarlet Witch of Calamity, shall ensure they meet a similar fate!”
Beneath the overcast of storm clouds gathered above, Carina’s eyes took on an ethereal glow that matched the magic that illuminated the giant scriva beside her. As the roar of the Covens reached its crescendo, the Duchess directed her gaze at the silent Coven of Crows and offered one last parting phrase, “The only mercy I shall ever grant my enemies—is death.”
***
“She went too far,” Serilda muttered darkly as she and Eustice trailed behind the Earl and Marquess. “She all but threatened an entire coven publicly? How is that not an attempt to intimidate them? Krisi is acting as if she is already our Queen!”
“Aren’t you looking at this from the wrong perspective, Marchioness?” Winifred turned around to offer her a befuddled frown. “The Coven of Crows challenged the Duchess before the Covens. And Kirsi was right. Their questions could undermine the authority of our Witch King.”
“Not to mention, it was such a pointless argument,” Eustice added with a low chuckle. “Who on earth would challenge Kirsi’s identity after the Pope came all the way to Lafeara to hunt her down? Not to mention the appearance of the last Ice Coven, who have pledged themselves to her. That beast of an elemental she summoned from thin air. Just what were those old hags after?”
“Perhaps they fear their very way of survival is at risk,” Serilda countered adamantly. “Kirsi did abduct their property—”
“Children are not property!”
The Earl and Marquess stopped abruptly and turned to face the startled Marchioness and her fiancé. Serilda stammered an inaudible response as she flinched beneath the Earl’s narrowed gaze.
“A strange choice of words, Lady Serilda,” Winifred observed with unsettling calm. “Given the fate those unfortunate children would have faced at the hands of the covens.”
“How exactly did Kirsi do it?” Eustice mused, either blind to the awkward tension or attempting to smooth over his fiance’s poor word choice. “They practically vanished into thin air.”
“Is that what you’re worried about?” Percy scoffed as his winter gray eyes left Serilda’s avoidant gaze to smile at her intended. “Perhaps you’ll be even more surprised when we get a true taste of Kirsi’s magic at tomorrow’s ball.”
Eustice’s eyes lit up as he shivered with anticipation.
“No.” The Marquess interrupted bluntly. “Ernest and I will represent the family before the King and court.”
“Ernest?” Eustice protested. “But I’m stronger than—”
“I will not place both my sons in harm’s way,” Winifred continued sharply. “Not for the sake of your vanity. In any case, Ernest will be expected as he is my successor.”
The Marquess’s youngest son drew in a short breath, then bowed his head in silent obedience.
“Good,” Percy interjected as he rubbed his thumb thoughtfully over the onyx signet ring. “I need a capable pureblood to lead a small force of storm witches that will wait outside Lily Palace.”
Eustice looked relieved even as his father scowled and attempted to voice his protest.
“Their mission will be to break down the balcony windows when given the signal should we be forced to retreat,” Percy explained adamantly. “They will provide minimal cover to slow any pursuit but not engage directly—so any potential danger will be minimized.”
The Marquess sighed and closed his eyes briefly. “I appreciate your intentions, your Grace. It’s just that I don’t trust my son to know how to keep himself out of danger.”
Eustice quickly raised his hands in protest. “If things are bad enough that even you, Father, must turn tail and run, I won’t be sticking my neck out more than is necessary.”
Winifred looked far from impressed. The Earl sighed and shifted his attention to the sullen, pale Marchioness, who glowered at the forest around them. “Which is why my cousin will be joining your son on this mission, along with any members of the Twilight Coven she may be inclined to bring.”
Serilda’s distracted gaze snapped towards him with an expression of startled anger. “What? No! Why? I cannot miss the Coronation Ball! As Marchioness, I must represent—”
“Are you so eager to pledge your loyalty to Nicholas?” Percy cut in sharply as he stepped towards her. “I worry your loyalties are misplaced, Marchioness Serilda. First, you rush to defend those abhorrent cannibals, going so far as to judge Kirsi for rescuing the children they intended to feed upon. And now you appear more concerned with the summons of a mortal king over the direct orders of your Witch King?”
Although he had only meant to offer her a gentle reproach, his words came out harsher than intended. Serilda had always been slightly unpredictable, but lately, her behavior—and the secret meeting she had had with the elder cannibal, Verena—had him worried.
‘Something’s off—if I had more time to pry it from her lips—’
The Earl blinked in surprise as Serilda clasped a hand over her mouth and then bolted off the path into the forest. A few moments later, all three men were greeted by the distant sound of the Marchioness retching somewhere beyond the trees.
“Ahh—what?” Eustice mumbled as he shifted awkwardly in place.
“Hmm,” Winifred murmured, a smile tugging at his lips. “Perhaps my future grandchild is already on their way.”
“But we—are not yet married—” Eustice winced as his father gave him a loud smack on the shoulder, pushing the startled witch toward his sick fiancé.
“Forgive my son,” Winifred said with a quiet look of pride as he watched the confused pureblood head off in Serilda’s direction. “Despite his looks and reputation—he is rather slow regarding matters like this.”
Percy shook his head, stunned into silence as he attempted to wrap his thoughts around this sudden revelation.
‘Could Seri already be with child?’ It hadn’t been that long since he had liberated her from the Countess’s prison. ‘Will she be okay? What should I do if something happens to this child after the trauma Seri has been through?’
“All the more reason for us to do as you suggest and keep my future daughter-in-law away from the front lines,” Winifred commented as he placed a hand on the dumbstruck Earl’s shoulder and turned them back in the direction of Hawthorn Estate. “Perhaps we should move up the wedding date now that our plans are finally coming to fruition.”
