Coven: a dark medieval paranormal romance (Witches of the Woods Book 2)

by Holmes, Steffanie

  “You—” I lunged at the door. But in my weakened state, I moved with all the speed of a snail. Clarissa stepped easily aside, and Barba slammed his club down on my head. I fell heavily back to the floor. My head spun.

  “Goodbye, Ulrich.” Clarissa blew me a kiss. “I’ll be seeing you very soon, my husband.”

  * * *

  That night I lay in my cell, staring at the ceiling and trying to come up with a way to stop Clarissa. But nothing came to me. She had probably already told my father the location of Maerwynn’s coven, and he will have sent his best soldiers to arrest them. I had a few days to catch them, of course, but I had no means of escaping the dungeon.

  Footsteps shuffled across the stone floor outside. The guards were doing their rounds. I continued to lay still, hoping that they would pass by without incident. Hopefully Damon would wait until the following day to send for me. Perhaps I would die in my sleep. Then Ada and I could find each other again in the afterlife.

  Unlikely, since you’ll be heading directly to hell, I reminded myself.

  The guard stopped in front of my door and coughed. I continued to stare at the ceiling. Go away. Just leave me alone.

  The guard coughed again. I cringed as some of his spittle landed on my face.

  “If you continue to hawk in my direction, I’m going to kick your testicles so far inside your body you’re going to cough them out next. “ I snapped.

  “Is that any way to talk to the person who’s come to bust you out?” came a familiar voice.

  “Tjard!” I rolled over and stared at the figure. He pulled down his hood and the thin moonlight shone over his dark beard and soft features. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’ve come to bust you out, of course. I’m only sorry it too me so long.”

  “You were supposed to be far away from the city by now.”

  “Since when did I ever listen to you?” Tjard held up the key ring. “Which one is it? We have to be quick now. I’m not certain how frequently the guard is changed. Are you going to be able to walk?”

  “Probably not quickly. Thank you, my friend. I could kiss you.”

  Tjard grinned wickedly. “Save the kissing for Ada. Now, stop thanking me and pay attention: which key?”

  I pointed to the square-shaped key on the end. He turned it in the lock and pushed open the door. I grimaced as it creaked loudly. In the next cell I heard some of the women stirring. “Quiet,” I hissed.

  “Don’t worry.” Tjard whispered in a way that was not remotely quiet. “I can be discreet. I’ll push you around a bit. They won’t even know.”

  He reached down and helped me to my feet. My legs, still shaking from the tortures of the week, threatened to give way beneath me, but I managed to remain on my feet. Tjard helped me hobble to the door.

  “By Lord Benedict’s steaming testicles, man. What have they done to you?” He hissed in my ear. “I’m not going to be able to help you down the hall, or the other prisoners will get suspicious. You ready?”

  I took a deep breath, and nodded. Tjard pushed me forward. My feet gave way and I toppled to the ground, my knees cracking painfully against the stone floor. “Get up,” Tjard growled loudly, in a strange accent. “You’re on your way to the torture chamber, so look lively or things will be even worse for you.”

  “Tone it down,” I hissed as he dragged me to my feet and pushed me along the corridor. The women in the adjacent cell watched with frightened eyes. “You sound as if you’re auditioning for a morality play.”

  “I can’t help it if I was born for the stage,” Tjard whispered back.

  I stumbled and shuffled along the full length of the corridor, with hundreds of doomed eyes watching me, their dual emotions washing over me. Grief, for a fellow prisoner being taken to that foul chamber, and relief that this time, this night, they were spared from suffering. I did not blame them for their relief, for I had felt it many times while I waited alone in my cell. (My father had been clever enough to give me a cell to myself. He knew that I would try to convince any fellow prisoner to work with me on an escape attempt.)

  As soon as we were out of view of the other prisoners, Tjard grabbed one of the torches from the sconce in the wall. “Come,” he looped his arm beneath my shoulder. “We’re almost there.”

  “Almost where?” A strange voice rasped.

  Tjard spun around. I kept my head bent down, trying to appear a willing prisoner. I didn’t need to turn around to know who was speaking. I recognized Barba’s harsh tone.

  “The Lord’s Scharfrichter requests this man to be brought to his presence immediately,” said Tjard, his voice brisk. “You are delaying me from my duty, löwe.”

  Barba folded his arms. “Is that so? Funny, I have just this moment come from the Damon’s chambers, and he mentioned no such request to me.”

  Fuck. OK, we were screwed. I hoped Tjard had easy access to his sword.

  “Do you presume that Damon of Donau-Ries would tell an oaf like you all his secret plans?” Tjard shot back.

  “I presume nothing, friend. I am merely relaying my orders, which seem to contradict your own. It would suggest that one of us wasn’t being entirely truthful. Why are you carrying him like that?” Barba asked snidely, as he took a step closer. His hand rested against the hilt of his broadsword. “It seems to me as if you are helping him. And what need do you have for a torch? If you are going up to the castle, you would know it is well lit.”

  “I have a condition of the eyes. I see poorly in the gloom.” Inwardly, I cheered at Tjard’s fast thinking. But even though Barba was pretty thick, he was going to see through our poorly executed escape ploy.

  And sure enough, Barba drew his sword from its scabbard. “You are no scharfrichter I know,” he hissed. “You are an imposter, and you are helping this man to escape. You will die for your crime.”

  He lunged at Tjard. My friend dropped his grip on me to grab for his own sword. I fell heavily, landing on my side, the blow knocking the wind from my lungs. The torch clattered away. While I rolled over on the cold stones, gasping for air, I saw Tjard unsheathe his own sword, bringing the blade up to block Barba’s blow just in time.

  The narrow hall limited their movements, especially since both carried two-handed weapons. Tjard brought Barba to the cross, their blades jammed up against each other in a useless tug-of-war. Their faces contorted with effort as they shoved against each other, grappling desperately to win the upper hand. Even in the dim light from the flickering torch that lay some feet down the passage, I could see sweat pouring down Tjard’s face.

  I cowered on the ground, watching my friend fight for his life. I tried to get up, but my legs were shaking so badly they couldn’t support me. I was useless.

  Maybe not entirely useless. I kicked out with my legs, channelling all my rage and force behind the blow. The edge of my bare foot connected with Barba’s knee. His leg collapsed sideways, bringing him down like a sock of rocks. As he fell, he scraped the side of his face along the edge of his own sword, leaving a long gash across his cheek and forehead. By the look of the blood, he’d also sliced open his eye.

  Barba screamed incoherently, clutching his face with his hands as he writhed on the floor. His leg bent out at an odd angle. Tjard made to deal a killing blow, but I stopped his hand. “Let him suffer,” I said. “My father’s wrath when he hears of my escape will be worse than any death we can give him.” Tjard sheathed his sword.

  “Grab his weapon,” I hissed.

  Tjard bent down and pulled the belt from around the man’s waist. He grabbed me under my shoulders and helped me to my feet, steadying me while I tied the belt around my own waist, relishing the familiar weight of a sword against my body. He picked up the torch in his free hand and we hobbled as fast as we could to the storage room at the end of the dark hall, and crawled into the tunnel.

  Tjard’s torch lit the way down the passage. We scrambled along as quickly as we could, which wasn’t quick at all, because my legs still felt as if
they were made of meat jelly.

  Once outside, he led me to a cart he’d parked nearby. Willow and Sycamore were at the traces, Willow stomped her foot and snorted when she saw me. Tears sprung in the corners of my eyes to see that beautiful creature again. But there was no time for sentiment. Tjard pulled off his black robes and dressed in the attire of a trader. He then bundled me into the cart and covered my body with blankets and sacks. From the castle, I heard the horns blowing, signalling the guard to assemble. They were coming for us.

  “Where are we going?” Tjard called to me as he pulled away from the curb. I heard the thud of soldier’s feet as they rushed down the street in front of us.

  “We have to go back to Maerwynn’s coven.” I said. “We have to get there before my father does.”

  Ada

  I lost count of the days I lay in my cabin, gazing up at the ceiling, neither seeing nor registering anything in the living world. My mind resided only with Ulrich and the world we had created together. If I focused hard enough, I could conjure a vision of him that felt so achingly real my fingers reached out to touch his skin. He lay over me, his strong shoulders framing my wasting figure, his eyes boring into mine.

  My aunts flitted in and out of the room, taking in turns to watch over me worriedly (Aubrey) and scowl at me disapprovingly (Bernadine). Maerwynn did not visit. I had a feeling from the way Aubrey’s shoulders hunched that they had had some kind of disagreement.

  One day, my eyes fluttered open from one of my Ulrich dreams, and I found all three of them around my cot. Bernadine threw the fur off my stomach. “Get up.” She said. “You have mourned, and now it is time to move on. You are to go to the village.”

  I stared at her blankly, not even having the strength to argue. Surely she could see I was in no state to go a-wooing?

  “I can’t go. What about Aubrey?”

  “Her man has gone to Stuttgart to sell his wares.” Bernadine said. “She does not wish to sleep with another. I am in no state to take on the burden, but I have done my share over the years. It is your turn.”

  “But—” the idea of even touching another man made me feel sick.

  “Ulrich is gone, you saw it yourself,” Bernadine snapped. “We did warn you against using scrying, but you disobeyed us. So you cannot now throw back what you saw in our faces.”

  “You didn’t warn me!” I cried, feeling panicked. “You refused to tell me anything! I asked you if there was a spell I could use to see Ulrich, and you knew there was but you refused to even discuss it. At least Maerwynn isn’t wants me to learn about the craft.”

  “Yes, and where did your learning get you?” Bernadine retorted. “If you had heeded our warnings, you might not be heartbroken right now.”

  “You never warned me!” Suddenly, my humours shifted. Out of my hopelessness came a fiery anger. The tears that streaked my face now were not those of forlorn love, but hot, salty drops of rage. If I could not have Ulrich, then I would have revenge on those who took him from me. I would find them and I would tear them limb from limb.

  “Ada, stop this.”

  I whirled around, the rage still burning in my veins. Maerwynn stood in the door of my cabin, her white shift flapping around her lean legs.

  “I am sorry for your loss, but your aunts are right. You cannot dwell on this misfortune. There is too much work to be done, and with Ulrich gone, we have lost a powerful ally. I need every witch in the coven to do her part, and this is yours.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut, my body wracked with grief. “But—”

  Aunt Aubrey squeezed my hand. “It is too much to ask,” she said. “I will go again. There were many more men who visited the public house who would find me to their taste.”

  “It is too risky,” Maerwynn said. “You have already been seen in that village with the hunter. If you then return and seek out another, you will raise suspicions.”

  “I’ll wear my glamour.”

  “I will not have it. No, Ada must go.”

  Aubrey turned to me, using her soft finger to wipe a tear from the corner of my eye. “Do not listen to them,” she said. “If you do not want to go, then you do not have to. I will find a way.”

  For the first time, I looked into my aunt’s eyes, and what I saw there made me recoil in horror. Aunt Aubrey was sad. Her eyes were a mirror to my own emptiness. She could not bear the shame, the debasement, of showing herself at a common tavern, throwing herself at men, begging for sex. She had only recently lost a man she cared about, and now she had another, and I would force her to betray him.

  She has always been so kind to me, and here I am forcing her to do this horrid thing just to keep her powers. She will do it, too. Not for enjoyment, as she did with Andreas back at the village before the plague took him, or with her hunter friend now, but in a selfless quest to save our powers. Bernadine would never be so selfless. Am I any better than her, forcing Aubrey to take men against her will?

  Sucking in a breath, I shook my head. “Maerwynn is right. I am our best hope. Ulrich is gone, and remaining chaste will not bring him back. I will go to the village.”

  The words were the right ones, but every one of them felt like a knife twisting in my gut. The thought of another man touching me, kissing me, pushing his cock inside of me, made my skin crawl. But, I had made a promise to myself that I would get revenge on those who had killed Ulrich, and I would be ill-equipped to make good that promise if I no longer had my powers. And, I could not let my Aunt Aubrey suffer another indignity. She had already suffered so much. I was already suffering, so what did it mean to me?

  And so, I agreed to go to the village.

  For the first time in days, I got out of bed, washed myself and put on clean garments. Maerwynn packed up some provisions for me and outfitted one of the coven’s smaller horses. My aunts could never afford a horse, so I’d never ridden one before, save briefly for Ulrich’s enormous black steed, but even then he had full control. The horse – a tiny chestnut-coloured mare named Cloud – snorted at me as soon as I walked near, and kicked out its back leg. I yelped, and cowered at the edge of the clearing. How was I ever going to ride that?

  “You can’t ride it from in the bushes,” Maerwynn said, her usual serious expression twisted into a grin. She grabbed the horse’s bridle and led him over to me. “Come, I shall show you what to do.”

  Cloud stood somewhat still while Maerwynn cupped her hands to form a step. I gripped Cloud’s mane and after a few unsuccessful tries, managed to swing myself up. Maerwynn showed me how to use my feet and the reins to control Cloud’s speed and direction, and how to control the horse in the village, so it looked as if I belonged there.

  “How’s this?” I asked as I trotted past her. Cloud took that exact moment to stop short, and bend down to nibble at a patch of wildflowers. I had to wrap my arms around her neck to avoid sliding off.

  “You’re a natural.” said Maerwynn, the corners of her mouth twitching.

  I didn’t have time to learn how to cast a glamour, so we decided to do it the old fashioned way. Ryia coloured my hair with dye made from berries, so it became a strange, dirty red. Maerwynn gave me some drab grey clothes and a basket to pottery. “If anyone asks you your business, say that you’re here to sell these,” she said.

  While I fed Cloud a carrot (I’m not certain what good deed she’d done to deserve the treat, since she obviously wasn’t scared of me), Maerwynn explained to me the layout of the town, and where I might find the beer hall and the town hall, the places most likely to be filled with suitors.

  “You are lucky,” she said. “For tomorrow night there is a festival in the village to celebrate the final days of winter. Many will be drinking in the streets and at the tavern, and it will be the ideal chance for you to fulfil your task.”

  “Lucky is exactly how I feel,” I replied, my voice hollow.

  “I know this is hard,” Maerwynn said. “But we must do many things in life that are hard. You will be stronger for it.”

 
I set off toward the village, trotting at an uneven pace through the forest. Every few feet Cloud would stop to eat the grass or wildflowers that were just starting to poke through the melting snow, and I had to constantly yank on the reins to get her back on the path again. Finally, after what seemed like hours, we met the road. As I followed it toward the village, I came upon several other travellers, some on foot, others in carts laden down with barrels of drink and sacks of food for the feast. We called out friendly “hullos” to each other. I squared my shoulders back and sat tall. I was beginning to feel a thrill as I realized I was getting away with this dangerous trip. No one had recognized me. Perhaps news of the escaped witches with the reward on their heads hadn’t yet reached this remote village.

  I was relieved to see no pyres of plague victims as I approached the village wall. The gates had been thrown open, and I entered the village without any fuss. It was the best time of day for trade and many people milled around in the streets, exchanging news with their neighbours and bartering the last of their winter crops and stores. A bustling market was set up around the square, and I found myself in the middle of it. I paid a silver piece to tie up Cloud behind the beer hall, picked up my basket, and jostled my way through the crowd. Men and women shoved their wares under my nose, offering to sell me baskets and knives and rosary beads and charms to protect against the plague. My stomach rumbled as I passed by the pie sellers and sausage stalls, and I purchased a meat-filled bread pocket, which I devoured quickly. I needed all my strength for what I had to do.

  I wandered back over toward the beer hall. A few traders were gathered around the low wooden tables, loudly discussing the plague driving prices up in Stuttgart and the crop problems and the witch trials. Many of the conversations were hushed and serious, but I heard a few groups laughing jovially. My stomach churned. Suddenly, that bread didn’t seem like such a good idea. What am I doing here? I don’t know how to do this. I don’t want to sleep with any of these men. I want Ulrich.