The barmaid clearly wasn’t happy, but she moved closer anyway. Then, in a low voice, she said, “A woman came through here about a week ago. She killed two men without even touching them. They just fell dead at her feet. She made the rest of us get on our knees before her.”
Brom knew it was a witch the barmaid referenced. However, most didn’t realize that magic was part of their world. When they saw it or found out about it, their reaction was to kill whoever wielded it. He could’ve told the maid exactly what was going on and probably helped the village. But he wasn’t going to. Not when the odds were that they would react by trying to harm him, leaving him no choice but to defend himself. It would only make things worse for the village and for him. So, he kept his mouth shut.
The barmaid raised her brow, waiting for the money. Brom handed it to her and pulled the bowl toward him. While eating, he took the opportunity to continue sizing up the individuals in the pub. Witches were a fact of life. They had been persecuted, which was why they usually kept to themselves. Except for those in the Coven. He knew the Varroki had warriors that searched for Coven members who had killed those without magic. He was also aware of a group of humans called Hunters, who also fought—and killed—witches who had harmed others.
While Coven members didn’t care about hiding, they didn’t generally come out and show themselves either. Then again, so much had changed after the three elders had been dispatched, and Sybbyl took over. The Coven was strong, always had been, even since the days after the First Witch. But something more had changed. Something Brom wasn’t aware of.
That didn’t sit well with him at all. Brom should’ve taken the time to learn what was going on in the world around him before setting out. If he wasn’t careful, he could find himself in a tricky situation. Though, as long as no one discovered that he had Varroki blood, he should be good.
He finished eating, then sat back and leisurely drank his ale. Try as he might, he couldn’t pick up snippets of any conversations around him. Finally, he gave up and placed a coin on the table as he grabbed his things and made his way upstairs to one of the rooms.
Once inside, Brom bolted the door and started a fire in the hearth. When it was blazing, he sat before it and closed his eyes. Bit by bit, his mind disconnected from the present and sought out the Varroki. He picked up voices but wasn’t able to discern words. It took several tries before he was able to make out anything.
“…we can’t just wait around,” a woman stated angrily.
Brom was surprised at the English accent.
“We can no’ rush out either, lass,” replied a deep Scottish voice.
Then, Malene, a woman Brom had heard before, said, “Synne, we’re well aware that Sybbyl has Asrail. They’re using her to get to you.”
“Because Sybbyl thinks we have the sword,” said the first woman.
Armir, the man who was usually with Malene, said, “If Asrail had her wish, she would rather us find Avis and Lachlan’s sword.”
“You doona believe the witch is taking my weapon to Sybbyl? You think she’s going to keep the bone within the pommel to use on her own?” asked the first man.
Malene released a breath and said, “I don’t. I believe Avis plans to use the bone for herself. Like Sybbyl, she wants power. The two of them are going to clash.”
“And my grandmother will be right in the middle,” Synne said.
Armir made a sound in the back of his throat. “Sybbyl wants to destroy the Varroki, and she wants to find another bone. She’ll do whatever is necessary to accomplish both goals.”
“Like I said, we need to find Elin,” Synne said. “She made me believe she was a friend. Then she released Avis from her prison. If we want the truth, we need Elin.”
The more Brom heard, the more intrigued he became. He wanted to know who Synne and the man were. More importantly, it sounded as if they’d had a bone of the First Witch—and lost it. Was he after Avis, the witch they’d said had stolen the sword? Or was he after Sybbyl? He wished he had a name to go with the face from his dream.
No matter how he tried to keep listening, the voices faded. For whatever reason, that’s all the magic allowed him to hear at the moment. A lot more had happened with the Coven and the Varroki since the last time he had listened in. He knew of the Blood Skull, the Staff of the Eternal, and the Heart of the First Witch, but he hadn’t known that another bone had been found.
There was only one more. And no one would ever discover where it was.
Brom opened his eyes and stared into the fire. Things weren’t going according to plan for Sybbyl. He really hoped the woman he was after wasn’t the new Coven leader. He wasn’t afraid to face her, but he knew from listening to the Varroki that she was incredibly powerful. Helena and Jarin had spoken in-depth about their battle with her.
Synne, Sybbyl, Malene, Elin, Avis. Any of them could be the female he was meant to find. Or, it could be none of them. Brom couldn’t focus on that right now. He would continue learning names and see who these people were in the grand scheme of things. It was the only way he could safely navigate this sea of magic and betrayal.
He wished he could speak to the Varroki. He might be able to get a lot more information if he did. But he had tried that numerous times. Brom wasn’t sure why he could hear them, and they couldn’t hear him. And no matter how he tried, he couldn’t see them either. Whatever connected him to the Varroki was done only through his hearing.
Brom rose and went to the bed to lay down. He rested his eyes, but he didn’t sleep. He went over everything he’d learned that day since waking up, seeing the woman’s face, and having every instinct within tell him he had to find her.
He was dressed and out the door before the sun rose. When he walked out of the building, a light dusting of snow had fallen, while more flurries swirled around him. He blew out a breath, watching it puff in front of his face. He looked first one way and then the other before he set out in the same direction as the previous day.
Brom was half a league from the city, making his way through a dense forest when something caused him to halt. He looked around but saw nothing—not even tracks in the snow other than his.
Yet he knew someone was near.
He turned in a full circle, searching for whoever it was. When he came back around, a woman stood before him with two short swords pointed at his throat. Clear blue eyes gazed at him from a visage of exquisite beauty. A face he knew all too well.
“Who are you?” she demanded in an accent he’d never heard before.
3
When the man didn’t respond, Runa quirked a brow and gently pushed the tips of her swords against his skin. She didn’t prick him, but it was a warning all the same. “Who are you?” she repeated.
What worried her was that, for just an instant, there seemed to be a flash of recognition in the man’s hazel eyes. As if he knew her. That wasn’t possible since she had never seen him before in her life.
“My name is Brom,” he said.
She heard the deep timbre of his voice as well as the brogue that pegged him as Scottish. Runa found herself unable to look away from his eyes. There was something magnetic about them. Just as there was something different about the man himself.