Witch Born (32 page)

Senna stared at her plate, bile rising in her throat. She’d been enjoying herself, while Joshen endured who knew what. She’d even slipped and forgotten to hate Mistin.
Use her, just like she used you,
she repeated to herself.

Senna gestured toward the woman who’d allowed Mistin to stay. “Who is she?”

Mistin bent closer. “Her name is Fallin. She’s the leader of my order.”

Senna swallowed. “Order?”

“In Caldash, each Discipline has an Order attached to it. Witches can join an Order if their strengths are better suited for it. Mistin pointed to each of the unknown Witches in turn. “Beneath Water are the Strykers—we’re trained in the women’s art of war alongside the Guardians. We can even become Guardians if we choose. Under Plants are the herbalists and physicians. Merchants are under Earth. Under Sunlight are the teachers.”

Senna took another bite of the too-sweet lamb. “So Fallin answers to your Head of Water?”

“No more than the lakes answer to the sea.” Mistin took another bite of her food and went on. “Together, the three groups of leaders form the Triad. The Heads’ collective vote counts as one, the Orders’ vote as another. The Composer’s vote is the third.” She paused. “Like I told you, here we know that a Witch is more than just her song.”

Senna glanced at Fallin. She didn’t doubt there were knives hidden in her clothing. “Is it just the ones with weak songs that join an Order?”

Mistin grimaced.

“I’m sorry,” Senna said, though she wasn’t. “But I need to know.”

A bit of the tension eased from Mistin’s face. “Not always. Fallin is a level five.”

Senna nodded. That was at least as strong as Prenny. “So every Witch is in a Discipline or a specialized Order within that Discipline?”

Mistin nodded. “Yes.”

“And if a Witch doesn’t wish to be part of any of it?”

Mistin’s face went soft with pity. “They won’t let you go, Senna.”

“They can’t keep me here forever.” Though she wanted to shout, she whispered it so softly only Mistin could hear.

Mistin’s reply was just as soft. “After Haven is defeated, there won’t be anywhere else to go. And you’re not the kind of woman to abandon your kind. We need you.”

Senna’s insides hurt. Before she could answer, the conversation suddenly ceased and everyone at the table came to their feet.

Senna looked up as the Composer strode into the room. The woman’s presence made her feel queasy.

Mistin tugged on her arm. “You have to stand,” she whispered.

It galled her to show respect to this woman, not just for what she’d done to Senna, but for what she planned to do to Haven. Glaring at the lamb, she stayed firmly in her chair despite the murmurs of “Composer.”

Shocked silence descended upon the room. Feeling eyes on her, Senna looked up to see everyone, including Ellesh, watching her. But she didn’t stand.

With a sigh, the Composer moved to the brazier and filled mugs from a teapot simmering over the fire. She carefully poured and distributed the cups around the room.

Lastly, she held out a chipped cup to Senna, who didn’t move to take it from the old woman’s outstretched hand.

Mistin shot her a warning look, and the room grew very still.

Ellesh simply set the cup in front of Senna before taking her seat. Everyone sat down.

The Composer blew the steam off the top of her tea before taking a sip. “I have called this meeting to name my replacement.”

The Heads exchanged uneasy glances. The Guardians surrounding the room shifted their weight. Senna pushed the mug away.

Ellesh didn’t rise to the bait. “Guardians are charged with protecting Witches, Heads are in charge of nature, the Orders with the running of our people. And I” —she took a deep breath— “I am your judge. Our relationship is built on trust and mutual goals. But I have broken that trust.”

She folded her hands across her lap and stared at them. “When Haven cursed Tarten, Millay and I knew our time in hiding was at an end. We sent spies out into the world to learn how they were saved and by whom, as well as how to ensure we won the battle that was coming.”

Senna guessed Millay was the Head of Water sitting next to Fallin, as both women were dressed like warriors, though Millay looked rather old for it. Senna leaned toward Mistin. “I thought you couldn’t cross the barrier until recently?”

Her eyes never leaving the Composer, Mistin answered,
“We
were never able to return, but our
songs
could, remember?”

Senna felt a stab of sympathy for the women who’d left Caldash. She knew what it was like to leave her home, knowing she could never return.

Ellesh looked up and her dark eyes met Senna’s. “That’s how we learned another Creator-touched had come into being. The cycle had come full circle—beginning and ending with two Witches of unequalled power.” Her voice dropped and she seemed to address Senna alone. “So you can imagine my dismay when I discovered you had aligned with Haven. I sent Mistin and Cord to fetch you if they could.”

The Composer’s gaze felt too intimate. Senna looked away. “It doesn’t have to be this way,” she said. “Let me talk to them.”

“You know they won’t listen.” Ellesh’s voice was thick.

Senna closed her eyes. Ellesh was right. Caldash’s alliance with Tarten had forever destroyed that hope.

Krissin cleared her throat. “I don’t see how you’ve broken our trust, Composer. We all agreed to this.”

Ellesh sipped her tea before carefully setting the cup down. “I bound Brusenna to a Guardian.”

Krissin winced. Gasps and murmurs of conversation flooded the room.

“But that’s only ever done by Witches who’ve married their Guardians!”

“The poor girl.”

“No wonder she refused to stand.”

Senna felt more than heard the unease from the Guardians at her back. A sharp spike of shame flowed from Cord.

One of the Heads spoke up louder than the rest. “Your actions served a higher purpose—surely we can understand that.”

Ellesh’s gaze was distant and unfocused. “I doubt Brusenna would agree.”

She felt the weight of their stares, the heft of their silence.

“On the brink of our war, we must think to the future. After we have defeated these Witches, we will ask them to join us, but we must give them something in return. One of them will take my place.”

Senna looked up sharply. Ellesh’s dark eyes were on her. “Haven will need some proof of our intentions. Brusenna as our Composer will accomplish that.”

Krissin said carefully, “Composer Ellesh, she is still a child.”

Ellesh grunted. “No. Just young. She will make mistakes, but no more than I did. Than I still do.”

Krissin opened her mouth to argue.

Ellesh held up her hand and stared Krissin down. “She is Creator-touched, Head. Have you forgotten what that means?”

Senna straightened under all the scrutiny. It meant she had been chosen by the Creators. She could hear the Four Sister’s songs, create her own songs. It meant power.

Krissin made no more arguments.

Ellesh stared at Senna and seemed to speak to her alone. “I offer you everything you’ve always wanted. A chance to change the Witches for good. A better way of living. Witches who are respected by their people. Witches who are powerful and good and do not abuse their power.”

Despite her animosity towards these women, Senna’s spirit stirred. Ellesh was right about much of it, but there had to be another way.

Ellesh lifted her tea. “To our Composer in Training.”

The women all slowly raised their cups and tipped them to their lips.

Through her stunned haze, Senna felt Cord’s worry and heard Mistin’s whispered voice. “Drink it.”

Senna stared at the brown liquid. She considered refusing, but what had Coyel said weeks ago? A position of power would mean the chance to change things—to protect the Haven Witches who survived. The power to make sure all the Witches were treated as equals. The mug felt as heavy as Senna’s heart as she lifted it to her lips. She forced down a couple of hasty swallows, but couldn’t finish the rest. It was too bitter. And somehow familiar, but she couldn’t place it. She suppressed a grimace as she plunked the cup down on the table.

Ellesh watched her. “You must finish it.” Senna tipped the cup to her lips and pretended to drink.

The Composer bowed her head. “After the battle is over, I shall step down, and Brusenna shall take my place.” She looked up at the many faces in the room. “If any object, I will hear you now.”

To Senna’s disbelief, no one did. Ellesh nodded. “Very well. Let it be written in the Chronicles of the Law.”

Millay rose to her feet, her hands splayed across the table. “As you know, I sent out orders this morning for our ships to stand ready. Even now, the last of our seeds and potions have been sent downriver. We begin moving out tonight.”

Low murmurs rose from those seated, but it was not the chatter of surprise or frustration. All of these women had known what was coming.

All except Senna. She slipped the cup beneath the table and poured the contents onto the floor. A small act of defiance, but it was better than nothing. She rubbed her eyes. It had been a long few weeks, and she was exhausted, but she had to drudge up the last of her reserves to find a way on those ships. If she could just manage to escape from Cord first.

She felt him watching her. No doubt he already knew her thoughts. There had to be a way around that. The impossibility of it made her limbs feel so heavy.

“And now, I must apologize to you again, Brusenna.” Ellesh surprised Senna by speaking from beside her. She took Senna’s cup and examined the dregs.

Not liking the way the woman towered over her, Senna stood. She was surprised how hard it was to keep from swaying. “For what, Ellesh?” She refused to call the woman by her honorific title.

The Composer motioned for Cord to come closer. “For drugging you.”

Senna sucked in a breath. She tested the unnatural heft of her limbs. Her heavy eyes. And she remembered the bitter tea. “But everyone drank the same tea,” she protested.

“The sleeping powder was already in the chipped cup.”

Senna felt Cord behind her, his hands outstretched in case she fell. But she hadn’t swallowed it all. That single act of defiance might save her.

But Cord would know that. She met his gaze and pleaded through the link. In return, she felt his fury, but not with her. Instead, his anger was directed at Ellesh.

His conviction spilled into her. He wouldn’t tell the Composer and give the woman another reason to violate Senna. He would watch her carefully and keep her safe. He promised it to himself and her even as Senna pitched into him.

In one smooth movement, he held her limp body protectively in his arms.

Ellesh rubbed her face tiredly. “I have done two great wrongs against you, child. I’m sorry for that. But it’s better this way. Better you wake long after we’re gone. Too far away for you to catch up to us. Too far away for you to interfere or risk yourself. Still, I am sorry.”

Senna was finding it difficult to concentrate. “When I am Composer, I’ll make you pay for this.”

Ellesh chuckled dryly. “We’ll see, Brusenna. We’ll see.” 

Senna woke to the sound of pacing. She sat up with a start. The drug still pulled at her, but she fought it with every bit of determination she had. It was still dark out. Maybe it wasn’t too late. But before she’d even reached the door, Cord was there. Knowing the link was betraying her every idea, she tried to think of a way to escape without actually
thinking
of a way to escape.

Cord took her arm and steered her toward the bed. “Go back to sleep.”

She was afraid if she lay down again for even a moment the warm bed would capture her. “What right do you have to even be here?” It wasn’t appropriate to have a man in her bedroom.

He blinked as if he was having a hard time keeping his eyes open. “The bond is considered practically a marriage anyway.”

Ignoring that, she narrowed her gaze at him. He seemed nearly as tired as she did. Was it possible the potion was affecting him as well, perhaps diluting its potency between the two of them? She hadn’t even drunk all of it.

Was that why he’d been pacing earlier? To try to stay awake?

She thought of potions she could use, but she didn’t have any potions—or seeds. All she had was herself.

She missed Joshen so much. She remembered another time when sleep had pulled at her, dragging her down to its soft depths. A song had saved her. It had been magic, not of power or potions, but the magic of one soul connecting to another.

Softly, she sang a lullaby her mother had sung to her as a child, when she was free from danger and betrayal.

Magic rings and moonbeams,

Star giggles and shadow schemes,

Gallantly slip the singing streams.

The lion basks in the flower’s beams

In the garden of your dreams.

Cord slumped against the doorway. Behind him, there were more Guardians assigned to watch her, but they were staring glassy-eyed at the fire.

With a start, Cord rubbed his face and looked at her blearily. “What are you doing?”

Firmly tamping down any thoughts of escape, she sank into the bed to allay his fears and sang again. It had an immediate effect. Behind him, one of the Guardian’s heads tipped back. The other rested his forehead on the table. Cord slumped forward, his eyes closed.

Focusing fiercely on the song, Senna sang again. Cord’s legs buckled. He caught himself with a start. Half asleep, he glanced at her, his mind fighting to wake.

Hoping against hope that it worked, Senna rose seductively. She crossed the room one swaying step at a time. She didn’t let her voice falter or hitch as she reached out and took his hand.

The connection between them surged again—the joy of finding something you never knew you had lost. He followed the seduction of her song. She had him captured in a spell. She didn’t question how. She pulled him down on the bed beside her. Propping herself up on her elbows, she sang over and over. It wasn’t enough. But it hadn’t been that other time, either.