A Court of Graves and Flowers

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

The next day, Callisto and Tamlin lay sprawled on top of their favorite hill. They were bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun. Laughter still lingered in the air from their playful banter. In Callisto's lap lay open a boo. It's pages were covered with intricate symbols and depictions of powerful women cloaked in dark robes.

"Did you know," Callisto began, "that each Illyrian witch has a right to choose which path of the goddess she would walk?"

Tamlin, lounging beside her, twirled a dark strand of her hair between his fingers. His green eyes watched her as if she were brighter than the fiery spectacle of the sun beyond. "No but tell me more. I like listening to your voice."

Callisto's eyes sparkled at his words. "Well, there were three paths. The Path of Shadows, the Path of Stars, and the Path of Whispers. Embracing the Path of Shadows meant embracing the darkness. The witches could move unseen. They could summon armies of shades and trap souls in the darkness."

A furrow appeared between Tamlin's eyebrows at the mention of those dark powers, so Callisto moved on. "Those who walked the Path of Stars drew power from the moon and the constellations. They could weave illusions and fate itself. They could read the future in the stars and guide the destiny of empires. They also had the ability to heal and to guide."

"Lastly, those who walked the Path of Whispers could charm with honeyed words and extract secrets from unwilling lips. The witches of the Path of Whispers could communicate with animals, the dead, and even the wind itself."

"Such devastating power," Tamlin mused, the setting sun painting his bronze skin in shades of gold. "And which one would you choose, my love?"

Before Callisto could respond, a sudden tremor shook the ground, followed by the unmistakable sound of thundering footsteps approaching from the edge of the hill. Both sat up abruptly, their playful demeanor instantly replaced by alertness.

Through the trees, they spied a unit of Autumn Court soldiers, their crimson armor glinting in the fading light. They marched toward the border of the Spring Court, their purpose unknown but their hostility unmistakable.

Callisto met Tamlin's gaze, a silent understanding passing between them. With a flick of her wrist, her silk dress shimmered and vanished, replaced by the familiar coolness of her Illyrian leathers. Black wings, powerful and sharp, unfolded from her back, casting a menacing shadow on the darkening landscape.

Tamlin, his jaw set in a firm line, mirrored her action. His baldric materialized around his chest, adorned with an array of gleaming daggers, each one a promise of swift retribution. The playful breeze now carried the tang of steel and the unspoken threat of battle.

The last rays of the sun cast long shadows as Tamlin and Callisto raced down the hill, their hearts pounding in unison. They skidded to a halt when Callisto came in contact with the invisible barrier that kept Callisto in place.

"It's alright. We'll meet them here," Tamlin declared. "Let's let them know they're not welcome on our lands."

Callisto scanned the approaching soldiers, counting about fifty in the platoon. "Are your sentinels on their way?"

Tamlin nodded. "They are. I also sent word to Rhysand through the sentinels. We just need to hold off Beron's men until they arrive."

A mischievous grin spread across Callisto's face. "That shouldn't be a problem. It's time to put Amren and Azriel's training to use, don't you think?"

Tamlin chuckled, a sharp sound that preceded the clashing of steel to come. He unsheathed his knives, their polished surfaces reflecting the fading sunlight. "I was just thinking," he leaned closer, his voice a husky murmur, "that I'd really like to kiss you before this little dance begins."