Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 125083 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125083 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Hurt sliced her gut like a jagged blade. She hadn’t done a single thing to deserve them turning their backs on her. Not. One.
The coven wasn’t alone. A few mages were among them, and said mages glared daggers at her. They’d pestered Agnes to cast her out after ‘the incident’ when Wynter was ten. It didn’t matter that Wynter had been the true victim. Two teenage mages had died that night, and that was all they cared about.
Her coven had protected her from the angry families of those teenage boys over the years, but only because her grandmother had ordered it. With the exception of Agnes and Rafe, no one had comforted her after her ordeal, because they’d been too freaked out by the aftermath. They’d emotionally pulled away from her little by little over the years. And now they apparently wanted the Aeons to banish her just as they’d once banished her mother.
Wynter barely resisted snarling. “My magick might not be as ‘wholesome’ as yours, Esther, but I’ve proven my worth over and over.” She’d trained harder than anyone else, she’d mastered every skill necessary, she’d done everything expected of her.
Esther flicked her eyes upward in exasperation. “Wynter—”
“There isn’t one person more dedicated to this coven’s welfare than me.” Purely because it had been her mother’s greatest wish for the Moonstar coven to descend to the underground city; a dream Davina had given up in order to protect Wynter. In return, Wynter had vowed to herself that she would repay her mother by making that dream a reality.
It seemed like she might just have to break that vow.
Esther sighed. “Let us not drag this out. There is no point. My decision is final, I won’t change it. Once the banishment has been made official, Wagner will drive you to the border.” Her eyes briefly slid to the were-jackal who stepped out of the crowd—one of the town’s keepers.
He always looked so dignified. Always flashed gracious smiles. Always addressed people so politely. But there was a darkness in those pale-blue eyes. It made that thing inside Wynter stir. A thing that had been her constant companion since she was just ten. A thing she’d kept secret purely to survive.
Wagner had come for Davina all those years ago when she’d been exiled. Back then, as he’d lingered on the sidelines, he’d made Wynter think of a hyena waiting to pounce on whatever scraps were left by other predators. He had that same look about him now.
Wynter flexed her fingers. “You get that this isn’t a small thing, Esther, right? It’s not just that I’ll have nowhere to go—that I’ll be out there alone with no family, or protection, or coven—I’ll also have no memories. I won’t even know who I am.”
That was the thing about Aeon. If you ever left, your memories were taken from you—it was one of the prices to pay for the privilege of living in such a place of power and safety, though Wynter suspected that the Aeons simply didn’t want outsiders to know much about the town. If it hadn’t been for this ‘price,’ she’d have left years ago to reunite herself with her mother.
Wynter had begged Davina to take her with her when she was exiled, but her mother had insisted she stay—probably because she knew that Wagner was a big enough asshole to dump them in separate places so they’d each be alone, even if only to punish Davina for always rejecting his advances.
“Taking your memories would be a kindness,” said Esther. “Surely you would wish to forget some of the things that happened to you here.”
“A kindness would be for you to not make me suffer for something I have no control over.” It wasn’t like she’d wanted her magick to turn dark. Death always left a mark. And so her magick could no longer heal, calm, create or comfort. But it could all too easily kill, burn, infect, and destroy.
Esther let out a weary ‘you’re being dramatic’ sigh. “This is not about making you suffer. It’s not about you at all. I am Priestess; I have to do what is best for this coven.”
Recalling something her grandmother had said to her on her deathbed, Wynter couldn’t help wondering if Agnes had seen this coming …
Home isn’t really a house, you know, Wynter. It is a place where we feel safe and accepted and content—it could be a building, a piece of land, a group of people, or at a particular person’s side. You’ll find your home eventually, I promise.
Wynter understood why her grandmother wouldn’t have forewarned her that the coven might pull this shit. Agnes had liked to see the best in people, liked to hope that they would make the right decision in the end—even her bitchy successor.
Wynter shook her head at Esther. “You’re making a huge mistake.”