The Vampire & Her Witch

”Stop that,” Erkembalt said, reaching over to thump the Dark Feathered sorcerer on the back of his feathered head. He knew that his friend had invoked the founder’s art to peer into the future for a glimpse of the young Frost Walker’s fate when they debated about whether he should be freed from his curse or not, but the artificer had long ago turned away from the mysteries of the heavens and the words of fallen oracles.

More importantly, he was afraid of the price his old friend would have to pay if he gained a reputation as a man who could divine destiny or peer into the events of untold tomorrows. Each use of such forbidden sorcery carried with it a cost that must be borne by the sorcerer and one look at his friend’s dark, murderous aura even in the midst of the celebrations taking place should be enough for anyone with eyes to see it to understand that Aspakos had already paid far too great a price for the secrets he’d divined.

”Save the mysterious predictions for the festival booth where you read palms and cards for any fool with a few silver coins to rub together,” Erkembalt said with a dismissive snort. ”Even I can tell that the lad’s future is bright,” the artificer said, trying to lighten the mood that had grown heavy after his friend spoke. ”Don’t go sounding like you have some special gift to foretell the future when you’re predicting things that anyone with fingers and toes could calculate to know.”

”Haha, then don’t mind me,” Aspakos said, swallowing the last of the dark red wine in his goblet before turning back to Lady Nyrielle as she called for quiet once again. ”After all, what do I know? It’s just as you say, the young lad is talented and determined and men with such qualities are often destined for great things.”

Around the table, several people blinked in surprise, wondering if it was really as simple as Erkembalt and Aspakos made it sound. After all, Hauke possessed a rare iridescent horn, so it shouldn’t be a stretch to say he would have a grand destiny, and joining Ashlynn’s coven would only propel him to greater heights. Maybe it really was that simple.

Before anyone at the table could ask any questions, however, Ritchel stood up and bowed deeply toward Lady Nyrielle, lowering his horn until its tip pointed at the ground before he straightened up to speak.

”Your Eternity,” he began formally. ”Your Dominion. I may no longer be the Lord of the High Pass, but from the bottom of my heart, I thank you for your pledge of protection for my people. Already, your words have saved many lives,” he said, echoing Ipiktok’s earlier statement. Perhaps it was the wine in his own cup, or the joyous mood of an evening filled with impossible seeming unions, but tonight, he could even put aside years of bitterness and hatred to borrow the Tuscan’s words when the man spoke the truth.

”So I thank you both, and I thank my son as well,” Ritchel added, turning to face Hauke and lowering his horn once again. ”Thank you, Hauke, for doing what I couldn’t and carving out a path for our people to thrive once more.”

”Father,” Hauke said softly before giving his father an answering bow, lowering his horn even further and holding the position for half a minute before he straightened up again. He’d fretted for an entire day about telling his father what he planned to do tonight after discussing matters with Lady Ashlynn but in the end, he never managed to summon the courage to face his father before the day of the festival arrived.

At first, he told himself that it was because his father was still recovering from his injuries and that he shouldn’t be disturbed. Then, he told himself that he should be the only one to bear the blame if his people revolted because of his decision. Eventually, however, he was left to face the truth that it had been simple fear that stopped him from reaching out to his father to share his burdens or hear his thoughts before he made his decision.

He’d been afraid this entire time of his father’s reaction but now, it seemed like he’d been afraid for nothing.

”You see?” Virve said, giving the young Frost Walker a gentle poke in the ribs. ”I told you that he’d understand. Your father is a good man. Now it’s your turn. Show him with your deeds that you can be just as great as the image you have of him in your heart right now,” she said as moisture collected in the corner of her eyes.

Watching Hauke’s proud moment with his father, Virve felt her own heart swell with bittersweet joy. If her father could see her now, standing as the Oak Witch in the Mother of Trees’ coven, helping guide the young cubs around her, she knew he’d be raising his own goblet in celebration. The thought brought tears to her eyes, but they were warm tears, touched by the happiness surrounding them all tonight.

In her heart, her father was still the towering warrior who fought fearlessly in the War of Inches and whenever she thought of him, he was still a much stronger and greater warrior than she had ever been during her years of service to Lady Nyrielle. Only now did she feel like she could finally make him proud of the woman she’d become, but it was already more than twenty years too late for him to see his daughter become a witch.

But for Hauke at least, for the youngest cub in the coven that had become her new family, there was still plenty of time for him to shine in his father’s eyes, and she intended to help him every step of the way.

”I told you before, young Ritchel,” Nyrielle said, drawing all eyes in the room back to her lithe figure where she stood holding Ashlynn atop the dais. ”You are my friend, and I will always do what I can for you and your family. But to blend our nations together,” she said, turning her gaze to meet Ashlynn’s emerald eyes.

”My darling, you truly have offered me a dowry like no other. I can only match it with an appropriate betrothal gift of my own...”