To overthrow the cruel King who brutally slaughtered her foremothers, the last surviving water witch Elara Consuli must team up with novice warrior Juda Vikaris from the Serpent Order and realise an ancient prophecy, before the blood-thirsty ruler d...
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'How... what?'
But Juda knew how. He knew what.
As a child, the stories of the Naiad had fuelled his head with nightmares. Savage-looking beasts with scales covering their entire bodies. Forked tongues like a serpent. Mouths crammed with needle-teeth. Venom-laced claws on their webbed fingers and toes. It was said one scratch from their talons, and you'd follow the sound of their voice into the Setalah, unable to resist even as the deadly water surged into your mouth and throat and choked you with its rot. Their collapsible skeletons enabled them to crawl through the cracks, slithering through the fissures of the black rock of Druvaria, into Grimefell, where they would steal babies from their cots, and take them down to the ocean bed and tear the sweet flesh from their bones.
The Naiad were monsters. Their curse was eternal.
And yet, this creature was steeped in so much wicked sorcery, her identity was masked with the form of a woman, her long dark hair twisted over one shoulder, tiny droplets pooled in the indentation of her collarbone. Her skin was smooth and scale-free, glistening with the water and from the reflection of the dragon's gold on her body. Dressed only in her under-britches and vest, there was a leather belt around her waist, a dagger holstered upon her hip. Ghost bruises of a recent injury still haunted her face.
Pulling the scimitar free from the rock, Juda dropped to the cavern floor, bringing himself to full height slow and steady.
The woman hadn't moved, and the water rippled around her ankles, gently brushing delicate bones.
There was no other explanation for it. She looked nothing like the monsters his mother had warned him about, but no one ventured into the water and lived to tell the tale. No one would dare.
Juda took a step forward, and the woman cocked her head to one side, her gaze swallowing him whole. He felt the touch of it reach every part of him, especially when it rested upon his face in a way that made him wish he hadn't discarded his cloak in the enclave far above him and he could conceal the burn of the Batak oil with his hood.
Poison welled in her eyes, the hatred surging from her glare in waves.
'You're a long way from the citadel, novice.'
She bit down on that last word, her mouth twisting cruelly.
'As are you... witch.'
The witch raised her chin, an imperious look of pride on her face that Juda hadn't expected. He'd expected shame, guilt, fear even. He'd expected her to attempt to deny it, even as the water licked at her feet. Instead, he saw the power in the way she looked at him, the way her body rose to what he'd intended as a slur, and yet she'd absorbed it, relished it.
Ignoring him, she took a step closer. Juda's skin prickled.
He was used to the terror the Order instilled in Druvaria now, but not quite in the same way he had when he was a child. Then, he'd understood why people looked away, avoided eye contact, avoided attention. The Order were the ears and the eyes of the King. When they looked at you, it was Ban-Keren who saw your crimes. When they plunged their blade into your belly, it was Ban-Keren who watched you bleed. Now, he inspired the same fear he'd felt before his mother had been dragged to the dead fields. Now, he brandished the cold authority and dominion over the people in the name of the King. There was no room for fear in his heart. No place for unease.
