“You’re telling me that coward didn’t even have the spine to face you?” If Diya’s fists clenched any tighter, her nails might just have drawn blood.

  “They say a cornered rat will chew off its own tail before accepting defeat…” Tamsin’s brow furrowed, then she allowed her eyes to drift out towards the rhythmic rippling of the river; it seemed to still her temper ever so slightly. “I just wish I could have seen the look on his face.”

  “How did you secure my release if he refused to convene with you?”

  The smile that creased Tamsin’s face was all at once modest yet more radiant than any shooting star. Skipping along, she grabbed Diya’s hand and guided her down the winding stone parapet that overlooked the river and the ruined city looming on the shoreline beyond. “Follow me, and I’ll show you.”

  Truthfully, she had always found being kept in the dark a rather unpleasant feeling. Prison afforded her more than her share of it. Awful really. Therefore, Diya’s first instinct was to demand to know exactly what had transpired. She was owed answers. However, there’s a time to pry, and there’s a time to allow someone the pleasure of seeing their meticulously planned surprise through.

  This felt like one of those times.

  As they rounded a corner, the unexpected scene that greeted her nearly made her trip over her own feet. She was glad that she didn’t, for if she had, there was a chance she might have literally died of embarrassment. Many hundreds of people were gathered below, and they chanted her name vivaciously. On the perimeter of the gathering, craftsmen were busy at work repairing the walls and wearily leaning buildings.

  Applause surged through the courtyard when they noticed her form crest the moss-covered bulwark. The situation felt surreal, like something out of a children’s story or a dream, and Diya pinched herself just to check it was all real.

  Tamsin’s hand found its way to her back reassuringly. “They were appalled to see their prophesized one imprisoned and treated in such a way. I tried to get Kromac to come to his senses. When he locked himself away and refused, I had no other choice but to act. His desperate schemes brought to pass the exact fracturing of our people that he feared. Over three-quarters of the coven sided with us.”

  “H-h-how?” Diya stuttered, stunned beyond belief and feeling as if she had swallowed a frog. While she had just spent days dreaming of murdering him, the thought of him abandoned by the very people he so desperately sought to control lit a bonfire within her—it was the sort of warmth that no length of imprisonment could chill.

  “I interrogated a web of coconspirators who all confirmed, then with some gentle spurring, testified that Leif was in fact coerced by Kromac to assassinate you during the Trial of Malediction,” Tamsin said.

  Diya grinned and winked at her. “Gentle spurring…of course. To say that I’m impressed would be the understatement of the year! You got a lot done in a single week!”

  “Let me tell you, it’s astounding what can be accomplished with the right motivation,” Tamsin mused, stare fixed on her like she was the only one in the crumbling fort. “When his lies were brought to light, all but his most devout followers were all too eager to act. In order to avoid civil war, as is often the first choice of the masses, I suggested we defect and build our own coven. One more equitable. Built on the principles that we stand for.”

  “That’s what this place is?” Diya said, taking in the old citadel. As with most of New Avignon, its glory days had long since passed. Verdant vines clung to the grand arches, and wildflowers sprouted from cracks in the cobblestone.

  “Sure, it needs some work to be made hospitable,” Tamsin said, then turning and pointing out at the winding river, the sun just beginning to set behind the city skyline, which reflected resplendently in the dancing waters. “But the view is to die for. I was thinking we could call it The Coven of the Fated Feather.”

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  As Diya stood soaking it all in, a gust of wind washed over them. From the clear skies above a familiar massive roc zipped by overhead, looped, then landed gracefully next to them. “Shikra!” She cried out with joy.

  The towering bird clutched a dead monarch elk, with large, many pointed antlers in her talons and cooed softly, as if to say I brought us dinner to celebrate the cessation of your most unfortunate, and now evidently wrongful incarceration.

  Diya closed her eyes, resting her forehead against the beautifully feathered nape. Breathing in the familiar scent of her oldest friend sent shockwaves of nostalgic delight through her synapses. After the hellish week she had endured, it felt like the fickle pendulum that was life had finally swung back, and things couldn’t get any more perfect. But the thing about pendulums is that they don’t naturally come to a rest at either end.

  Tamsin’s voice cut in, “our time is running short, Di.” Her smile paled and the stress she tried so hard to hide away from the world peeked out its dreadful face. “We only have a month until the eclipse…”

  Being reminded of something so ghastly was occasionally accompanied by an uncomfortable, disorienting effect. This was unfortunately the case in this specific moment, and she felt her stomach suddenly sink into the cracked stone beneath her feet. Struck by a bout of rapid-onset panic-induced vertigo, Diya was at once assailed by a flood of dark thoughts. The vision. Her people. Her home.

  They only had a month for her to complete her training, to return to Ghanesha, and to confront Arjun and Zoralia. Could she truly grow strong enough to stand any chance at defeating Arjun and the ancient weapon he wielded? She had experienced so much in the months since, and she surely felt more competent, but things had gone markedly poor her first attempt.

  Zoralia was an entirely different challenge. She was allegedly one of the most skilled scryers in coven history; as such, she would see Diya’s attempt to thwart her bid at immortality coming. How could she overcome the witch’s plans with her hand exposed for all to see?

  The weight of the world slammed down on her shoulders, and she felt like crying or curling up into the fetal position, she felt as if it might just crush her. The worst part is the fact that in that moment of vulnerability and fear, a most selfish thought swam to the surface of her reeling mind.

  Maybe I’m better off dead and crushed. At least if I were crushed into nothingness, I wouldn’t risk failing in front of everyone I care about.

  As if sensing the self-doubt fermenting within her, Shikra and Tamsin inched closer. “You don’t have to do this alone, Di. We’ll be here with you every step of the way.” Tamsin whispered into her ear, breath warm and soothing.

  Like wind clearing smoke, Diya found those two simple sentences transported her back to the present. Prevented her self-doubt and many insecurities from dragging her down into the dark pits of apprehension. Reassuring words were sometimes like a cup of hot tea on a cold night, they had a way of warming one’s heart. Running her fingers through her hair, then hugging her friends, the weight seemed to lessen. It was still present and perilous, but not quite so overwhelming.

  “One step at a time,” Tamsin said. “First, we need to get you a crash course in curses. Traditionally, Kromac, as the most experienced curse practitioner, instructed those who completed the Trial of Malediction. Obviously, that’s a no-go now.”

  Diya chewed her lip, “is there anyone amongst those who followed us here with enough experience to train me?”

  As if summoned by her question, a form appeared from a stairwell behind them. He was a round-bellied man with curly locks of white hair spilling over a boar mask.

  “Perfect timing. Diya, this is Orwell. He’s the most experienced curse practitioner we’ve got.” Tamsin said with a watery grin.

  Orwell limped over to them, his uneven gait appeared to be a side effect of the wooden peg fastened where his right leg should have been. “Well, color me an unworthy gent. Never thought I’d find myself standing afore the promised one herself.’ He muttered, offering an awkward bow.

  “You’re far too kind, sir. There’s no need at all to bow. And please, call me Diya,” she said, blushing as she rushed over to stop him from bowing. “And anyway, I should be the one bowing to you. You’re a master of curses after all, and kind enough to impart your wisdom on me!”

  Orwell’s face scrunched, and he looked over his shoulder. “Master of curses? Me? Afraid not, ma’am. I only learned the basics.”

  Diya shot Tamsin a surprised look, and she simply returned it with a smirk and a shrug. “Orwell here is the best option we have. He is the most experienced curse practitioner among us.” Tamsin said with a nervous laugh, then pulled an impressive-looking tome from her bag. “Fortunately for us, I did borrow my brother’s spellbook before we left. My hope is that with this to aid the two of you, Diya should be able to get to at least a practical level of proficiency.”

  The two ladies looked over at the plump old man who was in the midst of gulping down a healthy-sized flagon of ale. When he noticed them staring at him, he quickly hid the container behind his back and grinned.

  Tamsin scratched her chin and patted Diya on the back. “As I said, he’s the best option we have at the moment.”

  Diya found she was involuntarily shaking her head. “Perfect…”