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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"Juda...your hand..."
Juda barely heard Roth the first time, too fixated on the open doorway and the empty space beyond it, the dark moon bruising the clouds with the same violet quartz hue that had stained Elara's fingers.
"Juda..."
It wasn't Roth's voice that roused him to move, but when his guardian reached for his wrist, the warmth of his hand sparking a revulsion that Juda knew was likely to either become some violent thing or make him vomit right there on the floor, between the blood and the spilt wine.
"I can do it," he said, snatching back his arm and ignoring the flicker of hurt in Roth's eyes. He didn't want Roth's needy fucking attempt at parenting then. He'd never wanted it. But his guardian had this awful ball-shrinking way of caring too much when Juda had never once asked him to.
Moving to the scullery, Juda grabbed a cloth and pressed it to his palm. She'd caught him well with the blade. It wasn't particularly deep, but enough to peel open his skin and sting like a bastard. Enough to make him bleed.
When he returned to Roth, his guardian was slumped at the table, his hand gripping the flask of wine. So typical of him now to drown it all away and sink into oblivion, but not before Juda got what he wanted. He'd make sure of it, even if it meant pinning his other hand to the wood with his scimitar.
"Speak then," Juda said, leaning his shoulder against the scullery doorframe, while wrapping the cloth around his hand and tucking the ends into the bind.
Roth didn't look up.
"She called you a butcher. What did you do?"
When Roth just lifted the flask and drank straight from it, the wine dripping down his beard, Juda's anger flared.
"Roth!"
Roth slammed the flask down onto the table. "I did what I was ordered, boy! Just as you do every time you fight to the death in the bloody square. Just as you did at the portside. Just as you will continue to do every bastard tide until the deed is done and the King is dead!"
His sudden burst of fury faded as quickly as it had come. "We do what we have to do," he mumbled. His expression flickered, suddenly remembering. "Did you get it? Tell me you got it."
There was a desperation in his tone that Juda cared not to hear. A nervous edge to his gaze. He thought about denying it, telling Roth it was nowhere to be found, but that would be pointless. His guardian would know him for a liar, especially as it was he who had concealed it in the Naiad catacombs in the first place.
Juda sighed. "Yes. Yes, I got it, segian."
Roth frowned at that but gestured with a nod of his head. "Then fetch it. Bring it here."
As Elara had been doing battle with her ghosts in the dark waters of the divining pool, Juda had found that which he had been searching for and concealed it inside his knapsack, the treasure wrapped in a strange cloth that had reminded Juda of a baby's shroud. He'd redressed in his leather vest and placed the knapsack on his back, ready for her return, or for him to leave—whichever path the dead gods sought for him.
