“Then why risk Ágota? She is needed! She is the Archwitch!”
Ágota lowers her eyes. “The pathway is important, Erjy. I have to open it. To not open it will mean your death.”
“You are lying,” I say, aghast at this proclamation.
“No, I am not. I am certain of it. I must perform the ritual and open the pathway, or I will lose you.” My sister says the words calmly, yet her eyes brim with tears. Lashing out, she grips my wrist with her long fingers. “Let Father prattle on about the protection of the coven, but we both know I will always protect you first.”
Ágota’s magic seeps through her fingertips into flesh and her voice forms in my mind to say, There is darkness on the horizon, Erjy. It is coming for you, and I must stop it.
Chapter 21
As the spell draws me ever closer to that fateful day when all was revealed, I am comforted by the memories of what came before. Those were precious moments, more precious than I realized at the time. I was loved, cared for, and safe in the arms of a family and coven. How I long for those days before my life was consumed in darkness!
Those lovely moments flutter past me, my mind grasping at them desperately. I wish to relive them all, but I am a slave to the spell.
One truth stands out starkly in these recollections. I doomed myself. I was maddeningly innocent, recklessly in love, arrogant in my abilities, and too strong-willed to listen to those wiser than I.
Ah, I was so young and foolish!
I see it plainly in these lost memories.
I observe myself preparing for a life far from the coven while ignoring Ágota’s declaration that darkness stalks me. I rebuff her worries and concentrate solely on my upcoming marriage. I had forgotten so many moments such as Ágota regarding all of the planning with a scowl and refusing to help. The spell draws me faster through the days, my glimpses of my past disappearing in a blink of an eye. I hear my voice demanding to know what secrets my sister is hiding from me and
her refusing to answer.
“Why, Ágota, why?” I call out
And then the spell ceases to spin me about in my own memories to leave me standing outside Ágota’s bedroom door. As always, my mind is subsumed by the younger aspect of me. I listen to my internal thoughts, eavesdropping on my worries of another time.
I am reconsidering my actions. I do not want to fight with Ágota. I love her with all my heart, but I am also lost without her support. I crave her approval in every endeavor I embark upon—from learning how to ride a horse, to cooking Balázs’s favorite pie. It is quite evident she is unhappy about my approaching marriage, but I crave her approval. I do not understand why she cannot be happy for me since I am finally becoming the noblewoman she saw in her portents.
I raise my hand to knock, hesitate, and ponder once again if this is the right course of action.
The door is flung open and Ágota stands before me in a black chemise, her hair wild about her face, and a smirk on her lips. “Was she too loud?” Ágota inquires. “I told her to stop screaming.”
Peering beyond my sister, I observe Marianna, one of the youngest of the coven, hurriedly pulling on her dress. Blonde hair tumbling around her flushed face, my sister’s newest conquest casts a sheepish smile in my direction.
“Actually, I did not hear her. Perhaps she was not as loud as you believe,” I say, grinning impishly.
“Oh, no. She was loud. Were you not?” Ágota sets a hand on her cocked hip and gives the other woman a sultry look.
“Please do not tell anyone. This is the first time I ever dared do this,” Marianna says to me while hopping on one foot while pulling on a slipper.
“But not the last,” Ágota replies.
“We shall see,” Marianna mutters, sliding past my sister, but from the pleased expression on her face I am certain she will return to my sister’s bed.
Watching the witch disappear down the hallway, I cross my arms and wonder at my sister’s abilities. “Do you spell them?”
She waves me into the room. “With my seductive ways, yes. With magic, no. I am insulted you would believe such a thing of me.”
“Isn’t Marianna in love with that tall, daft landowner who lives a few miles from here?”
Ágota shrugs. “Maybe. Why should I care? She is in my bed, not his.”
Whereas I am the hopeless romantic pining for a boy I haven’t seen in years, Ágota could care less about romance. When she finds a particular girl attractive and compelling, she lets it be known in her roguish, charming way that she desires her in her bed. I suspect she is rarely turned away.
“Are you intent on seducing all the women in the world?”