The Cantrie smelled of damp earth, smoke, and secrets. Lanterns swung above narrow alleyways where shadows seemed thicker than night itself. Every corner whispered with the faint chant of spellwork, every cobblestone humming with the residue of charms older than Valemont's founding. Here, mortals strayed only once—and never returned the same.
Frida Morgan moved like fire through the mist. Her amber eyes caught the glow of every flickering light, pulling it into her aura until she looked less like a woman and more like a living ember. Witches bowed their heads as she passed. Others whispered her name like a warning, like a curse.
"Conduit," one muttered, clutching their rosary of bones.
"Traitor," another hissed.
Frida ignored them all. Power wasn't meant to be explained; it was meant to be wielded.
At the heart of the Cantrie stood the Stonewell—a pit that reeked of sulfur, charred offerings, and the iron tang of blood. It was here she summoned the Versiera, the coven exiled generations ago for their rebellion. A circle of hooded figures emerged, their voices threading into a song that bent the air itself.
"Valemont trembles," said one.
"The Draviennes are weakened," said another.
"The hybrid breathes," whispered a third, and their laughter echoed like broken glass.
Frida stepped into the circle, the amber flame pulsing at her fingertips. She raised her hand, and the witches' chanting died.
"Enough riddles. I did not summon you for amusement." Her voice cut clean, sharp as a blade. "Rand is gone. His sons bleed suspicion, his city festers in grief. If we do not strike now, we will never again have such an opening."
A hooded witch leaned forward, showing lips cracked with ancient hunger. "And you would lead us, Morgan? A witch who consorts with the very bloodlines that enslaved us?"
Frida's jaw tightened. "I don't consort. I infiltrate. Every step I take within their halls is a step closer to their undoing. Lucien trusts me. Cassien... desires me. Through them, we burn the Draviennes to ash."
The Versiera hissed approval, their eyes glowing violet in the mist. Power rippled through the air, answering the call of betrayal.
But in the shadows, not all eyes belonged to witches.
A figure lingered just beyond the Stonewell's glow, cloaked in silence. His chest rose and fell too steady, too controlled. His gaze did not waver when Frida's power flared. He had followed her from the vampire quarter, knowing she kept secrets, knowing her amber flame burned for more than spells.
Cassien Dravienne stepped back into the dark, heart hammering with something colder than rage.
She had lied.
She had chosen the witches.
And yet... he could not shake the fire in her eyes, the way her touch still lingered on his skin.
Valemont would drown in betrayal, but his first taste of it came wrapped in the form of a woman he could not let go..