Amriel followed Kortana's lead, stepping toward the seating area by the large bay window where sunlight pooled across the floor in warm, golden patches. Four chairs carved from the same pale white wood as the door were arranged around a small round table. Whether she knew it or not, Amriel picked the one closest to the door.
She sat stiffly on the plush chair, trying to ignore the way her pulse thudded in her throat. She wasn't afraid, exactly. But there was an unease curling in her stomach, a weight pressing against her ribs.
"You may leave us," Kortana said, casually dismissing the acolyte who was still hovering near the doorway.
But when the Coven Leader's eyes flickered to Niamh as she sat down, Amriel shook her head, her tone perhaps a touch firmer than she intended, "No. She stays."
Kortana's eyes narrowed for only half a heartbeat before she smiled slightly, "You truly are Nythia's daughter. Very well then, she stays."
She had come for answers. But the moment she spoke, the moment the words left her lips—there would be no taking them back.
Kortana, for her part, moved with unhurried grace, pouring a deep amber-colored tea into three porcelain cups. When she slid one toward Amriel, their fingers almost brushed.
Cold. Her fingertips were cold.
"Drink," Kortana said simply, before turning to pour a cup for Niamh. "It will settle your nerves."
Amriel hesitated. Was she that easy to read?
With a quiet inhale, she took the cup, wrapping her hands around the delicate porcelain. It was warm—comforting, even. She took a careful sip, the floral bitterness of morrow root and chamomile spreading across her tongue.
For a moment, silence stretched between them. Not awkward, but expectant.
Kortana did not rush her. The Coven Leader offered Niamh the cup of tea and settled down onto a chair near the window. The light pouring in created a silver halo around her head. She simply studied Amriel with that sharp, knowing gaze, waiting.
Amriel swallowed. The tea did little to calm the storm inside her.
She had rehearsed this conversation in her head. She had told herself that she would speak plainly, confidently. That she wouldn't let doubt creep in.
But now, sitting across from one of the most powerful witches in the realm, she felt like she was standing at the edge of a precipice, staring into the unknown.
She forced herself to breathe. In. Out.
And then, she spoke.
"I need your help," she said, her voice quieter than she intended. "I've come across something. Something… important."
Kortana raised a dark brow. "Go on."
Looking down, Amriel realized her knuckles had blanched white from her grip on the delicate cup. Fearing she might shatter it, she carefully placed it on the polished mahogany table between them.
"The tome of the Val'Dara, it's written in the language of the Fhemor, right?"
Kortana's eyes narrowed slightly. Any child or village idiot knew that, let alone someone who'd graduated from the Lyceum.
"Amriel, surely that cannot be the question you came all this way and demanded an audience for?" Kortana said. "I am a busy woman, and I would like to believe Nythia's daughter would know better than to waste my time. So why are you really here?"
Shit. Amriel cursed herself silently as she watched the doubt flicker across Kortana's fine features. Maybe not the best start to look like an idiot. Alright, no beating around the bush then, just get it out.
"Fine," She met Kortana's gaze head-on. "The Tome of Lygeness, I can read it."
The air in the room shifted.
Niamh, who had been quiet up until now, glanced between them, her fingers tightening around her own cup.
Kortana, however, did not blink. Did not react with the shock or disbelief Amriel had braced for.
She simply watched her. Dark eyes measuring. Calculating.
"And?" Kortana's expression bordered on irritation. "What, exactly, does the tome say, Amriel? Do tell, I'm dying of curiosity."
Amriel's throat felt dry.
She would have hesitated, were it not for the look on the Coven Leader's face. Evidently, she had more pressing things to attend to than a possible world ending prophecy.
"It's a prophecy." She blurted out before she had too much time to contemplate just how ridiculous she was possibly about to make herself seem. Even worse, that it was to one of the most intelligent, powerful and influential women in the realm.
The word hung in the air like a blade, sharp and heavy.
For the first time, something flickered across Kortana's expression. Something other than irritation, or sheer indifference.. A shadow of something that resembled worry.
Her pulse hammered against her ribs, but there was no stopping now. The prophecy tumbled from her lips, a whisper at first, then stronger—like a tide pulling her into deeper waters.
"When silver fire rains from the heavens and shadows stretch beyond the breaking dawn,
When the hymn of forgotten stars is swallowed by silence. When the last of the Starlight Witches falls—The door to Eternity shall open.
And from its boundless depths, the patient shall emerge— those who have kept endless vigil. Destinies shall unravel as easily as they weave them anew.
Beware, for not all who enter shall return, And those who do may never be the same."
Once more, the words seem to hang in the air, pressing against the silence like a held breath. Amriel exhaled, her eyes still held onto the Coven Leaders. She expected some kind of reaction.
Instead—nothing.
Silence.
The kind that stretched too long, that made the weight of her own words settle heavy in her bones.
And then—
Kortana leaned back, the tips of her long, slender fingers steepling on the polish surface of the mahogany table that stood between them, her expression unreadable.
"I see."
That was it. No shock. No disbelief. Just acceptance. Understanding.
That was what sent a shiver down Amriel's spine. The iron ring against her chest felt suddenly heavier, as if responding to the gravity of this moment.
Because Kortana already knew.
Or at the very least—she wasn't surprised.
Niamh let out a slow breath beside her, then snorted. "You see? That's all you have to say?" She leaned forward, incredulous. "How about an 'Oh shit'? On second thought, you know, I'd even take an 'Oh wow.'"
A ghost of a smile played on Kortana's lips. "What have I done that gives you the impression I would react with such poor taste?"
Niamh blinked, clearly at a loss.
Kortana studied Amriel for a long moment, this time her fingers drumming against the armrest of her chair, before stilling. Her gaze drifted to the grand window where, beyond the city's sprawl, the royal palace gleamed like a jewel against the darkening sky. The Coven Leader's tea went untouched.
She turned back to Amriel, her decision clearly made. "The King must be informed. I assume you came here understanding that such things would not remain within these walls."
The words were too casual, too matter-of-fact.
Amriel should have been surprised. Should have felt some spark of hope that this was the end of the road for her—that someone with real power might not just take this seriously, but also relieve her of any further duty.
But deep down, she had known. This was only the beginning.
Niamh, however, recoiled. "Wait—what is this we stuff?" She gestured between them. "Amriel told you what she knows, why do we have to go before the King?"
"You need not worry, the invitation did not extend to you," Kortana said sharply, her gaze snapping to the redhead. "Not if we have any chance of being taken seriously."
Niamh bristled. "Like hell you're leaving me behind."
Kortana exhaled slowly, as though summoning patience. "We cannot afford your outbursts." Her voice was calm, but firm—unyielding. "The King, and more importantly, his advisor, Hemrich, do not take kindly to such behavior. And I do not have confidence that you can mind your tongue long enough."
Amriel could feel her Niamh simmering beside her, she noticed the way her friend's hands clenched into fists against her thighs.
And just as Niamh opened her mouth—likely to unleash a very pointed rebuttal—Amriel cut in.
"I'll go alone."
Niamh stilled, her expression flickering from anger to shock.
Amriel turned to her friend, her voice gentler now. "Please, Niamh. Let me do this by myself." Her gaze drifted briefly to where Niamh's hands had unconsciously come to rest protectively over the gentle swell of her belly. "I know you'd stand beside me anywhere, face anything... but this time, I need to walk this path alone."
She reached out, covering Niamh's hand with her own. "You have Simon, the twins, and this new little one to think about," she continued, her words soft but resolute. "If there's danger in this—and we both know there might be—I couldn't bear it if something happened to you because of me. Some burdens weren't meant to be shared."
Niamh's jaw worked, her fingers twitching against her knee. "Are you sure, Riel?" Her voice was softer now. "Don't let her push you into something you're not comfortable with."
Kortana remained silent, watching the scene unfold with that same measured intensity.
"I'm sure," Amriel said, holding her gaze, willing her to understand. "Please. Trust me."
She wanted to keep Niamh, and Simon and the girls by association, as far from this as possible. There was still no way of telling how this might go.
A flicker of understanding passed through Niamh's eyes, reluctant but present. Her lips pressed into a thin line, muscles tensing as though fighting the instinct to argue. Amriel could see the war happening behind her pale green eyes—the battle between her fierce loyalty and her reluctance to let go.
For a moment, Amriel wasn't sure which side would win.
And then—resignation.
Niamh sighed, "Alright, Riel." A small frown pulled at her lips. "If it's what you want. I don't agree, but…" She exhaled. "I won't push where I'm not wanted."
Amriel felt the tension in her chest ease—just slightly. She reached out, squeezing Niamh's hand briefly. "Thank you."
But as she turned back to Kortana, steeling herself for what came next, she couldn't shake the feeling that she had just set something irreversible into motion.
"Alright," she said, squaring her shoulders, forcing herself to meet the Coven Leader's steady gaze. "What next?"
"First?" She gestured vaguely in Amriel's direction. "We clean you up and get you properly dressed. You reek of herbs and earth and sun." As if such base things were distasteful.
A flicker of annoyance sparked in Amriel's chest. "I was in the fields," she muttered, brushing at the dirt smudges on her tunic. The scent of the sun drenched field still clung to her sleeves from the picnic that morning.
Amriel barely had time to catch her breath before Kortana was already in motion. Niamh's face was a picture of barely restrained fear as she shot her friend a farewell look, "Besides, I did promise Simon you'd be home before dark." Amriel gave her friend a reassuring smile, though her hands trembled ever so slightly.
With surprising agility for someone in her state, Niamh leapt from her chair and wrapped her arms around Amriel's neck and whispered, "You better stay safe."
"Promise." Amriel smiled. Gently she detangled herself from Amriel's limbs and turned to follow the elegant figure of the Coven Leader as she swept through a set of grand arching doors, and disappeared into the next chamber.
She resisted the urge to rest her fingers around the hilt of her blade. It could be taken as a threatening gesture. She didn't know Kortana well enough to know how it would be taken. Not that the Coven Leader would have anything to fear. A blade, no matter how cleverly wielding, stood little in the way of one as powerful as Kortana.
The great white doors closed behind her with a great thud, shut by nothing she could see. But she could feel it.
Magic. The Power.
Amriel couldn't use magic. She wasn't a Witch, one born attuned with the world of magic, but she could sense it. And that was even more odd.
As they moved through the Coven Tower's winding corridors, Amriel noticed the subtle shift in atmosphere. Coven servants and acolytes already rushed about, their glances at her were guarded.
Word travels fast in these halls, she realized. They already know something is happening. Or perhaps they can sense it—the subtle tension in the air that precedes momentous change.
"We are fortunate you chose your moment when you did," Kortana said over her shoulder as they walked, "There is a feast at the castle tonight for the princess Irina's birthday, and she has just come into her Power. The King and Queen will be more than receptive of the Coven tonight. But first, a bath."
Amriel swallowed hard.
The entire court was going to be there.
It had been bad enough when she thought it might just be an audience with the King and his advisor. Now she would face the full spectacle of royal politics—nobles jockeying for position, courtiers with honeyed words and hidden agendas, and at the center of it all, a king whose temper was as legendary as his might.
"But we won't get within a hundred feet of the King with you looking like a beggar forest witch," Kortana said bluntly, already turning toward an arched doorway.