It was pain that woke Malina. It must have been only a couple of seconds, but her nose pulsed from the impact where she had fallen face first against the ground. For a moment, the young woman wondered if it was broken – but she took a deep breath and found no clogged nostrils, so that was one concern thwarted for the moment.

Groaning, she tried to stand up only to fall again, this time hitting her forehead instead of her already abused nose. Now that was going to swell, she had no doubt.

The dull thump of her head smashing against the ground was already mortifying enough, but it was the reason for her fall that made the Witch swallow thickly and try to reign in her shaky breaths. Pain. As if a pugilist had confused her stomach with a punching bag, Malina felt the ache pulsing from her entrails and suffusing every muscle, sending flames up to her brain that made her see specks of unworldly colors.

Her Core! The Witch heard someone calling her name, curled in a fetal position without noticing, and focused on important matters first. Her eyes closed, and Malina could see the chamber she had always envisioned the center of her magic being at. A sphere, floating across a room with a velvet carpet the colour of a storm’s cloud, spinning around its own axle in a motion that never stopped.

Now still, settled against the wall as Malina’s own mind translated her state of complete absence of power. The sphere had not a speck of purple light within, utterly drained. Malina stepped closer with trembling legs, her heart so tight within her chest she hiccuped, eyes wide as they took in her Core and confirmed it was–

–Whole. Merciful Third, praise be! The relief was so overbearing it translated into movement back in reality, which made the Witch slightly unfurl from her place in the ground, some of the tension leaving her. The pain, of course, was merciless – and Malina felt like a ragdoll being kicked out of a window with how violent the vision of her Core ended. The new headache was but another voice to her torture choir.

“Malina!”

That was another voice in the choir as well. The young woman had no energy to speak beyond a few muffled groans, and when she cracked an eye open Nin’s grin was tense at the edges as he kneeled before her, still holding Empress.

“You calamitous fool. What were you thinking – Oh, Blazes!”

Malina didn’t struggle against the bout of nausea that assailed her in the moment, making her vomit her dinner all over the Demon’s shoes. Smacking her lips together brought her little satisfaction, and the bitterness and acid sting of her stomach’s fluid made the mended flesh in her tongue send stars to her vision.

Damned new nerves. That’s why Kassia was so against using Healing Potions unless absolutely necessary – leaning on them too heavily was a quick way of making yourself vulnerable in a scramble. Also, the concoction wouldn’t regrow the lost chunk of flesh, and Malina knew Stella would be cross when she asked her to put the piece back in place.

Gods, she’d have to pick it up from the floor first. The revulsion almost made her puke again, but she managed to hold it down with a surprising amount of effort.

Malina managed to move her head enough to look at the remains of the ritual, and what she found was only ash. The Wayholders had been disintegrated by the sheer force of the spell, propelled by Nin’s power and her lack of stability. The fact it had stopped just before the backlash struck Malina as well was something she’d have to spend a day on her knees praying thanks for.

Another assault of agony made her groan once more, teeth so tightly closed she feared breaking them. Malina rode the wave with all the grace of a blind toddler, and by the time it was over she was gasping on the floor, her fringe glued to her forehead with sweat.

“Hmgh. Potion.”

The words were a bit weird to pronounce, leaving something of a slur to her voice that Malina wasn’t certain if it came from the pain or the missing muscle, but it worked well enough. Nin, however, opened his mouth only to disappoint her.

“I don’t have another. Can you stand? I’ll see what I can do with an anesthetic, but more than that will have to wait until we get home.”

“Anything!”

She wasn’t very proud of the screech. Another bout of pain left her hissing to the air, and Malina stopped tensing her muscles in an attempt to control the pain. The Witch gave in, and her body convulsed against the floor as she stretched in whatever way possible to lessen the ache.

The scene lit a fire under Nin’s feet, and the Demon worked quickly after that. Her Guardian was a trickster, but far from evil – though when he sliced her dress to better reach her stomach, Malina almost cursed him. The only thing that stopped her was his own swear.

“Hellfire. Godsdamnit, Malina.”

The Witch looked down, and the sight made her widen her eyes in worry. A collection of purple, green and yellow bruises colored everything from below her ribcage to her navel, growing outwards from places of impact as if she had been stoned.

Or as if something had tried to come out from within her. Malina remembered the feeling of her Core spinning out of control during the ritual, and she had no doubt this was the price for that. She struggled to smother the desperate laugh that wanted to bubble out of her.

What followed the discovery was a rictus of painful prodding and enough hellish magic to make a Cleric of the Order have a heart attack. Nintrakilous – blessed be his sulphuric heart – had enough domain over his own heritage to produce more than poisonous words, and it didn’t take long for him to make something for her pain. The gel-like substance he had concocted out of spittle and green blood, before casting something under his breath, acted like a balm to her wounded skin.

Malina welcomed the absence of pain with a sigh, eyes roaming before they settled on the Guardian. The Witch hissed, as if expelling all the ache.

“Gods that hurt. And how come you only had one potion with you, Nin? What kind of Guardian isn’t ready for emergencies?”

“That was for emergencies. And you’re welcome, brat. I can’t believe you get up from that complaining already. Especially after all the mess you made.”

That she had made? Malina almost scoffed – then she looked back at the ritual and didn’t have the heart to deny that. Be stubborn or be stupid, the world doesn’t need to suffer someone that’s both. Stella’s lessons tended to be short, but the woman’s words stung for years after.

Malina shook her head.

“How bad do you think it was?”

The Demon half-turned towards her before tasting the air with his forked tongue. Malina wasn’t certain about which of the possible consequences she was referring to, but any answer Nin gave would suit.

“Well, the curse worked, that’s for certain. It did… something to them – but I don’t think it’ll behave as neatly as you wanted to. Besides that, we might need to burn down everything here. The chance of a Caster having felt all that wild magic is too high.”

The Witch bit down on her lower lip, lost in thought. Losing control of the curse was a particular sting on her pride. Having the chance to do something as grand as this and failing hadn’t actually been a notion that Malina had entertained. The sheer disappointment she felt with herself was already grand, but the chance of the curse being far more violent than she had expected was real and painful.

Malina might have killed them. Nintrakilous was far from the most powerful Demon out there, but being a named one gave him enough power to be a threat to many a weak Caster, even if direct fighting wasn’t his specialty. That intrinsic might, combined with the amount of magic she had poured…

In an ideal world, the effects wouldn’t have deviated much from the expected – but ideal worlds were the lies of other Gods. The Nameless Ones had taught her early that there would never be such a thing, only sacrifices that were more appealing to make than others.

Still, she’d find a way to discover how bad she had screwed up. If she had killed them – the Witch bit her lip harder, and stopped when she felt the sting of flesh rupturing – then she’d have to make amends.

A Witch always pays her debts. Gods, but that was true.

Closing her eyes for a second, Malina breathed out slowly.

“How long until the Witching Hour?”

“Another two hours, I believe. You should hurry – Stella will want you in the chapel early.”

“I know. Just… how quickly can you make one of those portals of yours?”

She had seen him use it from time to time – but that was a spell, not something inherent to his nature, and Malina knew those had a cost to the Demon. She wasn’t certain what it was, but there was no such thing as power without a cost.

“Not as quickly as you want, it will take some time to set it to the manor. What do you think?”

Malina rubbed a hand on her face and grimaced at the red on her palms. Gods but she needed a bath after all of this.

“My bedroom. Set it there. If the Coven sees this…”

Malina shuddered. It was one thing to cast a spell without telling them, it was another to fail at it. The Witch would have many of her privileges revoked for this little enterprise of hers.

Nintrakilous nodded at her, understanding, and sucked on his pointed teeth.

“Ten minutes. Then we’ll need to pass through fast.”

That would be cutting close if there was a Caster on her tail. The Wildguard wouldn’t hesitate to send a few of their men this close to the river – Gods, they could very well come from the river – but Malina knew it’d take some time for them to diffuse the gangs if they sent out agents.

And if there were Casters from other organizations… The Family of Thorns was rumored to have a Mage with them – and everybody knew there was a small circle of Druids that lived somewhere within the walls. And that was without counting the Sorcerers, Bards and whoever else lived in this part of the city.

Focus. The young woman chided herself.

“Would they be able to track it?”

“As much as one can track a bonfire from its ashes.”

She hated how easy that would be. Malina disliked gambling, but there was no certainty her boots could take her far away fast enough.

And she had no magic left to use them.

“Alright. Do it.”

“You remember the rules?”

She did.

“Don’t look, don’t speak, don’t walk.”

“Good.”

He said nothing else, turning to his task through whatever method it was that he used, and Malina set out to solve her own problems. She had diverted Nin’s idea of burning down the apartment, mainly because if she had to add another debt to her tab and seek a way to repay Miss Jakelyne she’d crack too much to not show it.

And already her debt would be unmatchable if she had killed them.

Malina swallowed thickly, hiding the tremor in her hands as best as she could. It would get better if she had a task for herself, it always did in times of disappointment, so the girl began to scrounge up whatever remained of witchcraft around the apartment inside her Bag of Holding.

If Malina was ever to tell of this night to someone, a sliver of calmer thoughts whispered, then at least she’d emphasize that she didn’t hesitate when the time to leave came. A Witch of the modern era was trained from an early age to take all her things and escape if needs must, especially one so close to the Order’s center. This was but another lesson of the Coven, and Malina wondered how many more of their teachings she’d use until the night ended.

With proper care given to whatever she could find – Malina had thrown the piece of flesh she had spat out inside her canteen after emptying most of it when cleaning the chalk from the floor – all that was left was to take the portal back home.

Nintrakilous seemed ready to finish it, and Malina waited expectantly for that. Her heart no longer hammered on her ears, and the bite of her nails on her palms had long since dulled, leaving warm and dark crescents on them. There’d be time to break later, when she had no one looking.

The cracks began to widen, her grip on them loosening as safety approached, but only for a second. The voices coming from outside, along with the sound of steps on the wooden stair that led to the second floor, made her bottle the feelings tight once again.

“Hellfire. How long, Nin?”

Malina cursed, lowering into a crouch. The window was far too dirty for anyone to see anything within the apartment, and with no candle burning she doubted there’d be great suspicion.

But they were tracing the magic, not a physical clue.

“Half a minute.”

Not great. They’d have seconds at most. Malina moved, first for the table – the sound of its legs rasping against the floor caused greater hurry outside, but the Witch managed to barricade the door – then turned on the lock.

How much time would that buy? Five seconds? If the Wildguard brought a Caster with them – which they probably did, considering this was no simple robbery they were after – they could break down the door with a single spell. Not enough time.

Maybe she could cast something first? The Witch had ingredients for it, but when she checked on her Core, the large sphere was still on the floor, empty and not refilling. Mana exhaustion. Malina swallowed and looked around her, finding nothing to use.

Slowly, the young woman took off a dagger from its scabbard around her waist and waited. When the knock came, it was with the intruders trying to open the door already.

“Wildguard, open up!”

“Oh Gods, just a second! I’m – naked, hold on.”

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

It was the best imitation of an old woman’s voice she could make. The fact Nin sent her a questioning look, even as he struggled against the end of the spell, made Malina cringe inwards. Still, she committed, and the young woman rubbed two fistfuls of her dress’s hem as loudly as possible to make sure the lie held.

Malina managed to buy entire ten seconds before the knock began again.

“Ma’am, open the door, now!”

She shot Nin a look, the Demon signaled five. Malina swallowed the rest of her pride and shouted at the Wildguard as she scrambled closer to him.

“I said hold on, young man! I’m getting my sandals! Would you have an old lady face the cold with bare toes?!”

A shoulder being rammed against the door was her response. The cheap lock exploded so violently Malina swore she’d curse its maker and three generations past before the week was over, but the table stopped the door from swinging open.

Voices from the other side, a grunt of effort as the man pushed the table away. Gods Below, how many were there? Three? Five? How did they even fit the stairs? Malina looked at Nin, and the Demon’s mask had sweat dripping from its edge.

“[Hellgate].”

The Demon opened a palm against the floor, and as the guard of Pleariss barged through the apartment –

–They plummeted.

***

Malina adhered to the rules and did not move while she fell, trusting the hand that held her shoulder to guide them through even as the smell of acid made her nostrils burn.

***

They fell through the air in a heap of limbs. Nintrakilous, exhausted and sweaty, rolled over to take a breath in a way that was so mortal Malina would have committed to memory just to tease him later – but her own ugly fall left little space for such concerns, especially with her heart running so fast she felt sick.

That had been too close. A Wildguard retinue on her track, a half-baked curse and mana exhaustion to top it all off. Malina felt like an old rag, wrung out a hundred times and then beaten with a stick to remove the lint. Gods, even her dress was completely–

“Were you fighting Devils in the night or is this supposed to be a new welcome, Mal?”

Her eyes snapped open, and met the dead gaze of what should have been a corpse. Hollow and milky, they blinked at her and Malina noticed the faint lines on a pale face and a mop of spiky hair shaped like blades of grass, white and dead – the smell of smoke and roses so characteristic that even her tired mind could recognize the scent in a flash.

Malina covered her eyes with her forearm and chose defeat.

“Yarrien.”

“Yes, Mal.”

“What are you doing in my bed?”

She didn’t see it, but the boy smiled. He rolled over on the bed and spoke with his head hanging from the edge.

“I was napping. The Coven said you’d be here so I came to see you. But imagine my surprise when all I found was a pile of pillows and a couple blankets dangling from the window. You’re welcome, by the way, I pulled them from outside.”

Gods Below, but she was stupid. Malina gritted her teeth and raised her head a little, still lying down. The blankets were, indeed, resting in a pile just beneath it. She fell down without a word.

“So… what is it you two were doing?”

That made Malina refocus. For a second, she had forgotten about her Guardian. When she turned her head, the Demon was still fallen, groaning as he smacked his lips. Malina knew that look.

Mana exhaustion as well – or something similar to his constitution. His light gray skin was dull, half-dead like Yarrien’s, and Malina worried for a second. She lightly kicked the Demon with her foot, too tired to move her arms, and received a grunt in response as he rolled away and lay with his face to the floor.

“Well, you two seem perfectly fine.”

Malina laughed at that. A desperate sound that made her stare at the ceiling and guffaw. From the corner of her eyes she saw Yarrien flinch, then put back that same lazy smile.

“I’ll get Pim and Mip to prepare you a bath. You need something, Nin?”

The Demon mumbled something utterly incomprehensible from his place, sound muffled by the wood beneath them.

“Got it. Be back in a jiff, alright?”

Malina paid attention enough to hear him pick up his cane and limp through the door, calling for her attendants. It would take some time for them to get here and draw the water, but Malina felt it was time enough.

She closed her eyes, and decided to take a nap herself.

***

Her time in the bath was short, uncomfortable and utterly alone. Like the pricks that they were, Malina’s attendants were nowhere to be seen when they were actually needed, leaving the young woman to wipe and scrub her aching skin all by herself.

By the time it was over, Malina had left a soft pink tint to the bathwater, all the diluted blood turning it filthy enough that she gave up on washing her hair more thoroughly. Nin’s anesthetic balm also began to fade, leaving her feeling sore, and Malina used a small vial of ointment from her emergency kit on the bruises.

Poking them with her fingers also didn’t help. Malina just… couldn’t help it. She had gotten so close to losing everything before, well, everything even really began. The bruises would be the first half of a reminder, an uncomfortable one, of her own mistakes. A way to pay a debt to herself since she wanted to go around gambling more than she had.

Her weakened Core would be the other half. It would take days before she was able to cast a cantrip, let alone a spell – and the idea of going unprotected through the Initiation was a physical ache – but Malina would persevere. It would be a penance worthy of the faithful of the Nameless Ones.

Putting on a new set of clothes, Malina entered her bedroom with still damp hair, a towel in her hands as she dried up most of the platinum strands. The Witch hesitated at the door for a second, noticing that neither her attendants nor Nintrakilous were around any longer, and sighed before pushing her newest guest for more space on her bed, laying down at his side. Malina hugged Empress to her chest with a familiarity born of years, the woven strands of her hair making her neck itch.

Yarrien tried to grumble, but she hissed at him and the young man settled quietly on the far corner. Side by side, the two stared at the ceiling of her bedroom, noticing the places where the blue paint had begun to flake. Malina spoke first, after a second of companionable silence.

“Where’s Nin? Did he say where he was going?”

“Not really. Just said he was going to ‘grab a bite’, whatever that means. He said you shouldn’t expect him before dawn.”

Malina closed her eyes at that, feeling her body unwind. Nin wouldn’t be able to partake or even watch whatever Stella had in store for her at the chapel, so it wasn’t disappointment she felt, but a smidge of loneliness at the thought of her Guardian not stalking her shadow like usual.

Maybe he’d even check on those she had cursed. See if they were alive…

The sound of Yarrien shifting on the bed pulled her out of her thoughts. The boy laid on his side, and Malina could feel the stare of those dead white eyes on her cheek, along with the sickly sweet smell of burnt Corpse Roses.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s going on? The Coven asked for you when I went calling for Pim and Mip.”

Malina opened her eyes wide, turning her head towards him.

“Did you tell them anything?”

Yarried snorted softly, rolling his eyes.

“I’m not a snitch, Mal. I told them you were busy with final preparations. They seemed to take it, at least those I saw – but Uncle was keeping them pretty distracted anyway.”

“Oh. Uncle Revold is down stairs?”

Yarrien nodded, and Malina could remember the older man that began as one of the few faithful still around and became a true asset to their Gods. Dead eyed like his nephew and all other Palefolk, with faint lines on his skin and a bald head that he kept covered with a feathered hat, the merchant was famous, funny, and a stark contrast to his nephew and apprentice. Where Yarrien was quiet, Revold was loud. Where the boy was shy, his uncle was confident. He, also, always brought gifts with him – which did great wonders for his reputation in Malina's eyes.

“He wouldn’t miss this for the world. You know him – Gods, sometimes I think he’s more excited for my Initiation than I am.”

“That’s good to hear. So… did he bring me anything?”

Yarrien clicked his tongue and poked her on the ribs, making her wince. Malina poked him back.

“Ow! Greedy. He said he had a gift for you. Nothing fancy I think, business didn’t go so well at the Archipelago, though we did bring new books.”

Malina didn’t contain the smile that sentence brought. Finally, some good news. Still, the Witch turned fully to ask about Yarrien’s weird turn of phrase

“Right, right. You wrote in your letter that you were going there. Did something go wrong at the Empire?”

“Wrong? Hah! Intra is a mess, Mal. Did you hear about their princess?”

Malina had, now that she thought about it. Rivia had brought the subject up a couple of months ago. The Witch nodded.

“Turned into a Warlock, right?”

“More than that. The Emperor stated she had been unworthy of the blood. She was supposed to inherit the throne, Mal. And a Sorcerer failing like that made people all the more fearful about it – even Uncle’s usual contacts refused to negotiate with us, saying they had to wait for the dust to settle.”

Yarrien sighed, closing his eyes for a moment as if reminiscing.

“When we got there the entire place seemed to be frothing with either rage or grief – she had been well-loved, but her Turning was… devastating, to say the least. They’ve lost an entire chunk of territory with it, and at least a couple of port towns. Every merchant we talked to had known someone that lost a relative at the tragedy, when they hadn’t lost one themselves. And that was before the Emperor called for the Order.”

Malina froze at the insinuation, eyes widening before a life of Rivia’s lessons kicked in and the implications unraveled in her mind.

“If they manage to take care of this… Gods Below, the amount of resources they’d be rewarded, the good will – it’d be enough to put them back on the map for good.”

Yarrien nodded, his face a reflection of Malina’s own spiteful expression.

“Yeah. I know. A new golden age for them, the bastards.”

Silence settled like an uncomfortable weight on top of their chests, Malina biting her lower lip in thought. The healed skin she had chewed on early tonight made her wince at the pressure, and the young woman relented.

Taking a deep breath, Malina forced herself to think of more possibilities beyond a total victory for the Coven’s enemies.

“What about the Ethereal Nest?”

“What about it?”

Malina tsked.

“Did it send any agents? They should be interested enough in sealing her they’d dispatch some of their faithful.”

“I don’t know. I didn’t see any of the bird folk when I was there. Uncle might know more. He might even be telling the Coven about it right now, as we speak.”

Malina grumbled non-comitally, still lost in the implications of a stronger Order. Yarrien shifted at her side again, meeting her eyes. He shot her a pointed look, and Malina raised an eyebrow in question. The young man pouted.

“C’mon, do I have to ask? I told you all about my trip already, I want to know what you were doing out there.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

Yarrien poked her below the ribs and Malina groaned as he struck a bruised spot. The young man saw her pain and flinched.

“Sorry. But that’s a lie, Mal – you fell from a bloody portal. The Coven thought you were safe and ready for the process to begin. Nin is out there, doing Gods’ know what. You did something.”

Malina scowled.

“I didn’t take you for a gossip.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. I care, you blasted fool. If we are to be siblings then the least you could do is trust me with these things.”

A moment of quiet settled between the two, as Malina recoiled. Her and Yarrien hadn’t talked much about what it meant to go through the Initiation together. Of what it meant to be reborn from the same womb under the Nameless Ones’ eyes.

Siblings. In craft, truly, but siblings nonetheless. Stella used to say that every Initiation marked the birth of a clan – and Malina knew the Flesh Matron was right. Still, she struggled.

Yarrien was… Yarrien. An annoying brat that appeared with his exuberant uncle soon after the Coven moved to Pleariss – then an aloof teenager, always tired, always sleepy and always traveling. It was only after the Coven managed to give him the needed medicine to slow down his disease that Malina felt she was able to truly meet him.

Then they began to know each other. She met him rarely, once every season if the year was good and Uncle Revold chose to sell his wares within the continent instead of travelling across the world, but his letters were something Malina enjoyed reading and replying to, despite how long it took between each of them.

The Witch remembered the letter where he talked of his disease. Of slowly losing his leg, despite the pills and Revold’s money. Of the search for a Sorcerous Core he could use and how he'd finally be able to repay the Gods Below for all they had given him.

Yarrien understood. He was as much of a faithful as Malina was, touched in truth by the Nameless Ones.

Still… she hesitated. Trust. She remembered the sting of a fist as those she trusted turned on her. The lies, the spite, the anger born out of envy.

Malina felt him poking her on the ribs this time, carefully. She opened her eyes – she hadn’t even realized she had closed them – and stared into Yarrien’s own pale orbs. The light blue in them was always uncanny to look at, like the irises of a drowned corpse, but behind the dead stare lied… an uncomfortable, warm realization.

He said he cared. Malina wondered if that was another debt she couldn’t repay.

“I made a mistake, I think. I thought I was on the right, that I was powerful enough to do it… but the ritual went badly, Yarrien. It was supposed to be a simple curse, a sour of relations, just so that they could view each other as the treacherous creatures they were.”

Malina remembered spitting a chunk of her tongue as her own magic revolted, trying to burn her to ash to see the spell complete.

“Who, Mal?”

Yarrien asked softly. The Witch edged away from him as if burned, but she still spoke.

“Traitors. Friends. Does it matter? Does it matter after what I did? I think… I think I killed them, Yarrien. The curse was too much and Nin had to help me complete it, but his nature isn’t kind. It overwhelmed the spell. Changed it. I…”

Malina struggled to admit the last truth. She felt bile rising on her throat, tasting of broken pride, and turned her back to Yarrien. She felt herself taut at the recrimination that was sure to come, the disappointed lashing he’d give her.

Her teeth were already gritted when he spoke.

“Oh.”

The exclamation was so sudden Malina unwinded. A spark of outrage bloomed, and she turned back towards the young man – but what she saw made her pause.

Yarrien was looking at the ceiling. A hand was scratching his cheek, and she saw they had a yellowish-green tint to them as if they were bruised. There was an awkward pause as Malina narrowed her eyes, and thought he looked…

Embarrassed?

“Sorry, Mal. I don’t know what to say. It’s not everyday someone admits to… murder. Are you alright? Hm, physically, I mean. Not emotionally. I – think I hope that’s a mess.”

The Witch… snorted. Softly. This was just so – disappointing?

Honest?

Malina took her time to answer, shifting so that she could stare at the ceiling alongside him again, and when the words came she didn’t think much of it.

“I don’t think so. I… need to see it, Yarrien. I feel all weird because I don’t know anything yet – maybe the curse became weaker, or the effects weren’t murderous. Maybe it did grow worse and I killed five people I knew for years.”

Admitting it stung, but it was the truth. The unknown consequences made it harder for Malina to settle, and every moment she spent thinking of what could have happened sapped her energy like a drain. She felt Yarrien’s body relax beside her, shot his face a look, and saw relief etched in his expression.

“Oh, we can do that tomorrow. In the afternoon, maybe? I’m pretty sure Uncle has an Artifact that’d let us go unnoticed and it would be–”

“Wait, wait. You… want to go? With me?”

Now it was his turn to give her a quizzical look.

“Well, obviously. I won’t let you go out there all alone, that’s what friends are for. And murderer or not, I’ve got your back.”

Yarrien shot her a smile, and Malina saw red. Suddenly, the Witch was sitting, staring at the young man with anger as her finger poked him in the chest. Her words were boiling hot.

“I killed people, Yarrien! Five of them! I’m a murderer, a bad Witch like… like The Witch of Whispers or something. You don’t get to defend me – you don’t get to… push it all away. I can’t – I can’t repay it.”

Her eyes watered. The boy, for he was a silly boy promising her too much, turned into a blur to Malina’s eyes. She sniffed, used a hand to clean the tears before they were shed, and felt Yarrien grab her wrist. Not unkindly, but just pushing the finger away from his heart.

When she blinked, Malina saw that his smile was pained. Cracked at the edges. A lifetime of reading onto Nin’s subtle changes in expression made her notice the hurt. The sadness.

The loneliness.

“Maybe. Maybe you can’t repay it. I know you care about those debts. But this is my choice, Mal – that… that’s how it's supposed to go. We will be siblings, true and reborn, and we’ll protect each other. I can’t let this be ruined before it even begins.”

Malina hated it. Malina understood it. Her eyes met his own, twilight purple and corpse blue, and she could only imagine how it must have felt to travel for years with only a family member to call acquaintance. To be bound by a disease that would kill you before you grew old enough to fight it. No roots to tie you down and no sky to grow towards.

She could imagine how it felt to be promised company after all that. A lasting bond.

The Witch looked away, suddenly afraid of the depths she saw. Her hands shook, her throat was dry. A voice called her name from somewhere beyond the bedroom door, then called for Yarrien’s, and she took the opportunity to run from the young man.

He held onto her wrist, moving quickly despite the grunt of effort as his bad leg shifted suddenly, and when she turned to look into his eyes the hope in them was maddening. And the loneliness resonated with her own.

“Tomorrow?”

It was a quiet request, an eager oath. Malina had no words right now, could not speak with her tongue as heavy as lead and her heart beating far too fast after peering into a smidge of truth, so she simply nodded.

Yarrien smiled, wild and relieved, and the girl pulled her arm free.

She fled without looking back.