Chapter 15

Amriel and Nimah set off for the city after the twins were put down for a nap.

Minus the kiss, Amriel bid Simon farewell before she followed Niamh out of the house into the warmth of the afternoon sunshine.

Eager to be off, Niamh had already set off down the path towards the road that would take them into the city. Her long, quick strides had already carried her a good distance away. The wheat in the fields surrounding the house already stood knee-high. As Amriel rushed after her friend, the golden stalks gently brushed against her fingertips. This year was already looking to be a good year for the harvest.

Now, with each step closer to the city, that quiet ache gave way to tension.

The walk stretched nearly forty minutes, both of them lost in thought, neither speaking. Amriel didn't mind. The air between them had always been comfortable, whether filled with conversation or silence.

They wound through the familiar streets, past the estates of the wealthy that surrounded the Academy, their towering facades untouched by hardship. And then, finally, as they rounded a corner, the Coven Tower came into view.

Standing of an equal height to the Tower of Illumination, the Witches Coven stood bright and proud, a beacon of magic in the heart of the capital city. Its white marble walls gleamed under the afternoon sun, veined with silver and pale gold that caught the light and shimmered like starlight woven into stone.

The architecture was a blend of elegance and power, a seamless marriage of gothic grandeur and celestial beauty. Tall, arched windows lined the tower's façade, their glass inlaid with delicate tracings of enchanted silver that pulsed faintly with magic. Each window told a different story—scenes of witches past, the elements they commanded, and the knowledge they guarded.

At its base, the entrance was framed by a massive white stone archway, carved with intricate runes that seemed to hum faintly when one stepped close. The wooden double doors were tall and reinforced with wrought iron, but painted a deep blue—the color of wisdom and hidden truths. A pair of statues flanked the doors, a male and female Witch, in the midst of casting a spell.

Unlike most imposing towers that loomed, casting shadows, the Coven Tower seemed to invite rather than intimidate. Soft ivy and flowering vines curled around its foundation, small blossoms blooming. A stone pathway led up to the entrance, lined with lanterns glowing with witch lights that never flickered.

Niamh hesitated first. She stopped mid-stride, her sharp gaze fixed on the tower's entrance. "Are you sure you want to do this?" Her voice was quieter than usual.

Amriel's instinct was to turn on her heel and leave. No, she wasn't sure. She was far from sure. But turning back wouldn't change anything. If she walked away now, she would only be prolonging the inevitable.

She exhaled. "No," she admitted. "But I need to try."

Niamh studied her for a long moment, then nodded. A small, reassuring smile tugged at her lips. "Alright. If you're going in, I'm going in."

Without waiting for a response, she reached out and gave Amriel's hand a quick, firm squeeze. Then she started forward, and after a brief pause, Amriel followed.

The stone door of the Coven Tower loomed before them, its surface etched with ancient runes—symbols that time and weather had failed to erode. With a firm push, Amriel felt the weight of the door give way, creaking open just enough for them to slip inside.

The moment they crossed the threshold, the atmosphere shifted. The outside world, warm and bright, felt like a distant memory.

The air inside the Coven Tower was cool and scented with citrus, jasmine, and the faintest trace of cinnamon—a spell woven into the very stones, meant to brighten and warm the soul. Sunlight streamed in through the massive arched windows, filling the main hall with a golden glow that softened the sharp edges of its gothic architecture.

The floor was polished green marble, streaked with veins of deep blue and silver, reflecting the intricate patterns of the domed ceiling above. The ceiling itself was a masterpiece—vaulted arches carved with celestial maps and sigils, painted in rich sapphire and gold leaf.

A grand spiral staircase, its railing shaped into curling vines of enchanted silver, wound up the center of the tower, leading to the higher levels where the private studies, ritual chambers and Kortana's private quarters.

The soft glow of witch lights flickered in crystal sconces, their light adjusting to the natural cycle of the day—brighter in the morning, dimming to a soft candlelight in the evening.

Unlike many halls of learning, the Coven Tower was never silent. There was a soft murmur of students discussing theories, the rustle of parchment, the occasional sound of a cauldron bubbling in a distant alchemy chamber. And underneath it all, there was something deeper—a hum of magic woven into the very walls, as if the tower itself was alive, listening, remembering.

Here, magic and knowledge were not hoarded, nor locked away in shadowed vaults. They were meant to be discovered, shared, and understood. This was a place for seekers, for students, for those who dared to learn.

From across the sunlit hall, a slender figure emerged—a young acolyte no older than sixteen. She moved with the quiet grace of someone used to treading sacred ground, her copper robes swaying with each measured step. Her black hair cascaded neatly over her shoulders, framing a face both youthful and composed, her almond-shaped eyes reflecting the golden light streaming in from the windows.

"The Goddess welcomes you," she said, voice warm as she pressed her palms together in greeting.

Cerennis, the Goddess of magic, watched over the Witches of the realm, just as Frenrith ruled wisdom and knowledge. They were two sides of the same coin, their blessings intertwined.

Amriel and Niamh responded in unison, their voices a soft echo beneath the tower's vaulted ceiling. "Blessed are those touched by Cerennis." They lifted their hands to their foreheads in reverence, fingers grazing their skin before falling back to their sides.

The acolyte nodded in acknowledgment, her smile polite, expectant. "How may I be of assistance?"

Amriel didn't waste time on pleasantries. "Is Kortana in?"

The acolyte hesitated—just for a breath. A flicker of something crossed her face, but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared. When she smiled again, it was well-practiced, but her eyes betrayed the truth.

"Coven Leader Kortana is a very busy woman," she said, the words smooth but impersonal. "Perhaps I can help in her stead?"

Amriel's jaw tensed. That momentary hesitation, that flicker of uncertainty, told her all she needed to know—Kortana was in, and for whatever reason, this girl had been instructed to turn visitors away.

Beside her, Niamh shifted slightly, her stance casual but attentive. She had noticed it too.

Amriel met the acolyte's gaze, her own steady and unwavering. "No, but thank you." She let the words settle before continuing, softer but firm. "Tell her that Nythia's daughter is here. We'll wait."

The acolyte's expression flickered—recognition, curiosity, maybe even caution. She had heard the name before.

For a moment, Amriel thought the girl might refuse or insist on taking the message to someone else, but after a heartbeat's hesitation, she dipped her head. "As you wish," she murmured, her voice quieter than before. Then, with a practiced grace, she turned on her heel and disappeared through an arched doorway.

As soon as she was gone, Niamh let out a quiet breath. "That was interesting. Good move on throwing your mom's name around. Heavy hitter here."

Amriel shot Niamh a look and recieved a mischivious grin in return. Her gaze returned to the door the girl had disappeared through. something about the acolyte's reaction felt…off. The hesitation. The way her practiced composure had briefly faltered. Amriel had come expecting answers. Instead, she was met with closed doors and quiet resistance.

She exhaled, crossing her arms as she let her eyes wander the grand chamber.

The Coven Tower had always been a place of power, but unlike the cold, foreboding halls of the royal court, there was warmth here—an openness that belied the mystery woven into its foundations. Sunlight streamed through tall, arched windows, illuminating the polished green marble floors beneath their feet. Intricately carved pillars reached skyward, stretching toward a domed ceiling painted in deep blues and golds, celestial constellations glimmering faintly under the light of floating orbs.

All around her, students of magic moved about in clusters, their soft murmurs filling the air like a living current.

Though the Coven's true workings—its private chambers, study halls, and ritual spaces—were reserved for those gifted in the arcane, the ground level of the tower remained open to all. Knowledge, the Witches believed, should not be hoarded. Fear was born from ignorance, and ignorance could be mended with education.

A philosophy Amriel wished more people shared.

"Feels different than the last time I was here," Niamh mused beside her, tucking her hands into the folds of her cloak.

Amriel raised a brow. "How so?"

Niamh glanced around before answering. "Tighter. Warier." Her lips pressed together. "Like they're expecting something."

Amriel didn't respond right away. She had felt it, too—the careful glances, the measured steps, the way the acolyte's reaction to Nythia's name had been just a fraction too slow.

Something was shifting beneath the surface.

Before she could voice the thought, the arched doorway reopened, and the acolyte returned, her hands clasped neatly in front of her.

"Coven Leader Kortana will see you," she announced, her gaze lingering on Amriel for just a breath before shifting away. "Please, follow me."

Amriel and Niamh exchanged glances. That had been quicker than she expected.

They followed the acolyte up the spiralled stair case, twisting up high and higher, their footsteps softened by plush white carpeting embroidered with silver filigree. At the top, the acolyte led them down a hall.

At the end of the hall, tall double doors of white oak stood open, leading into a study bathed in golden light.

And there, standing with the quiet authority of a woman who knew far more than she ever let on, was Kortana.

She was tall and statuesque, her silver hair cascading down her back like spun moonlight, streaked faintly with black—a ghost of the youth she had once been. Her violet robes were simple but elegant, draping over her tall, elegant frame with effortless grace. The runes embroidered along the cuffs and collar shimmered faintly, as if alive with residual magic.

Her gaze settled on Amriel, sharp yet unreadable. Assessing. Measuring.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, Kortana inclined her head ever so slightly.

"Amriel, welcome."

A flicker of something passed through Amriel's chest, though she wasn't sure if it was relief or unease.

She straightened. "Coven Leader Kortana."

Kortana gestured toward the seating area by the large bay window, where a tea service was already set. Steam curled from delicate porcelain cups, as if their arrival had been anticipated long before the acolyte had even fetched her.

"Come," Kortana said, her voice smooth as silk, but with an edge that hinted at steel beneath. "Let us talk."

Amriel exchanged one last glance with Niamh before stepping forward, knowing this conversation could change everything.