Page 3 of Spring's Descent
Cyrus’s long blond hair had been left down, stretching well past his broad shoulders and defined chest. Despite the crisp, early spring air, he was clad only in a thin tunic and pants, revealing the sword strapped to his waist. The sight of the weapon was almost enough to break the mounting tension in the clearing.
Though a strong grounder, Cyrus’s skills with a blade were pitiful. He was the type of man that relied on others for protection, his wealth and high rank in the Green Coven sheltering him from life’s bitter realities. I could’ve had him disarmed and at the pointy end of the blade in no time if it were a fair fight. But life wasn’t fair.
“I’ve asked Cyrus to help Korae through her transition,” Demeter said, her upper lip curling as she said my name. “And he has accepted.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.” A harsh laugh left my lips. “Cyrus isn’t even in our coven. He’ll barely increase the odds of my survival?—”
“Enough,” Cyrus snapped, his silver eyes blazing.
He strutted forward, scaring the stableboy into a retreat, until he was positioned just before me. Electricity pricked the air as Cyrus drew power toward him, but I refused to cower.
This asshole wanted me meek and trembling. He enjoyed the sight of me bruised and bleeding before him after one of Mother’s outbursts, waiting for him to heal whatever bones she’d fractured. I’d been many things in my short life—weak, useless, a complete fuck up—but never broken.
“I decide my future,” I challenged, lifting my chin in an attempt to hide how my hands shook both from anger and a hint of conditioned fear. Cyrus may be terrible with a sword, but he and mother wielded a lot of magic. Not to mention he was double my size.
“I’ve given Demeter my word,” Cyrus said. “You will be mine, Korae, in one month on the eve of your twenty-first birthday.”
“Ko-rae,” I said, enunciating each syllable as I gestured with my hands to be even more obnoxious. I hated my name, but he sure as shit was going to get it right. “Like a ray of fucking sunshine.”
“My apologies, Lord Cyrus,” Owen muttered, completely ignoring me as he held out a muddy hand for him to shake. “I had no idea she was yours.”
“I’m not anyones,” I growled through clenched teeth as my cheeks flamed, no doubt growing nearly as red as my hair.
Marriage was the one exception to covens remaining on their own. Cyrus and his followers joined us in hiding just after we split from The Crystal City. Unlike the strong casters of the Earth Coven, green witches were known for leading quiet lives focusedon healing, but they’d shown up one day kissing Mother’s ass and hadn’t left.
“Don’t let it happen again,” Cyrus warned, looking down his nose at the stableboy. “From this point on, Korae is my future wife and will be treated as such.”
“Of course.” Owen bowed—bowedto this asshole—before dashing from the field and leaving me alone with my two least favorite people in the world.
If it wasn’t for the threat of the Dark Faction finding me—finding us all—I would’ve fled ages ago. I was trapped here, or at least I had been. I’d begun realizing that this was all going to end one way or another, and when it did, I wanted to go out on my own terms.
Death was waiting for me.
It could be worse. I could be forced into marriage with the piece-of-shit-witch Cyrus, and have my powers bound to his for all time.
“I’m not marrying you,” I seethed, trampling over blossoms as I pushed past the two of them into the pine forest. The pads of my fingers grazed the fire opal dangling from the golden chain around my neck, seeking comfort in the stone.
I’d made it all of three steps before vines lashed at my ankles and chest, winding up my knees and across my shoulders. Others coiled along my wrists, jerking my arms behind my back until it was everything I could do just to remain standing.
“Do. Not. Walk away from me, child.”
Shame-tinted anger coursed through my veins as her magic spun me to face her. I worked to fix the flippant smirk in place—the one she liked so much. It wasn’t much, but it was the only form of protection I had. She might chip away at my body, force me to scream and cry, but I’d never let her see how wounded my soul was.
Looking at the loathing in her gaze, I wondered if she secretly prayed for Hecate to kill me.
“Do you have any idea how much of a mess you’ve made? I’m the head of the Earth Coven, the strongest witch ever known in The Realm of the Living, and yet my name has been dragged through the rat-infested gutters because my whore-of-a-daughter can’t keep her legs shut.”
The vines tightened, dragging a ragged breath from my lips as my skin split. My chest heaved and tears pricked my eyes, but I bit my lip against the cry, even as fat droplets of blood welled and splashed along the petals of wildflowers below.
My blood soaked her vines, the red linking together to carve trails down my fingers. All the while, the large emerald around Demeter’s neck flared, flashing with her power.
Gritting my teeth against the slicing pain along my ankles and wrists, I met Mother’s gaze, imparting everything I was too cowardly to say out loud.
Cyrus drank in my pain, his pupils dilating as my body shook. He tracked each slash across my skin, every flinch of agony I failed to conceal, before gazing at my mother with raw, unbridled desire.
Tears pricked my eyes, but I refused to let a single one fall. Instead, I focused on my rage. On the flicker of satisfaction I got from forcing my mother to expose who she really was. Nobody else saw this side of the High Matriarch—the vile, ugly soul lurking beneath her polished exterior—only me. And Cyrus.
She stepped closer, her pale eyes blazing with disgust. I ignored the way her revulsion pricked, the way my stomach clenched at her blatant abhorrence of me. I had stopped striving for her acceptance long ago.