Vengeance Throne (The Callistra Chronicles #2)

FOURTEEN

Chapter Fourteen

Circe looked up, hearing a soft knock on the front door. She had been so absorbed in her work that she suspected the persistent tapping had been going on for a while now, though the sound had only just registered to her sluggish brain. In front of her, the kitchen table was covered with piles and piles of paper, to such a point that the brown colour of the table was no longer visible.

"Ma!" she yelled automatically. "The door!"

When there was no response from her mother, only continual knocking, Circe sighed, remembering that her parents were at their jobs overseeing the export factory. It was strange to think that the normal witches of Medeis had a civic obligation to resume their normal lives even when a second war was looming over Callistra.

"Coming!" Circe finally shouted, climbing to her feet. All the blood rushed to her head as soon as she stood up, rendering her completely blind for a few seconds. She stumbled to the front door awkwardly.

To Circe's surprise, it was Yelena—who she hadn't seen in weeks—waiting on her front stoop, clutching something in her hands. The other witch brightened when Circe appeared, only to become puzzled in the next second.

"It's me. Saf left a few days ago," Circe clarified before Yelena could ask. She was wearing Pasiphae's spare cloak, since all of hers were dirty in one way or another, so she had anticipated the moment of uncertainty. "Come on in."

"My mother baked too many plates of food so I thought I would bring some over," Yelena explained, stepping in. "I remembered that you love organic apples and I haven't seen you in a while."

Circe smiled sadly. Though she had once been close friends with Yelena, they had always operated in a group, and the other members of that group were presently either dead or engaged to the Seelie Crown Prince. It wouldn't be strange for Circe and Yelena to casually spend time together in the aftermath, so much as a painful reminder of what they once were.

Circe tried her best to appear joyful when Yelena offered her the covered plate. "You didn't have to."

"It's no matter," Yelena assured. "I—" The other witch stopped, her attention catching on the blanket of paper lying atop the kitchen table. "What is this?"

"Failed plans," Circe answered with a grimace. She set the plate down on the counter. "Tell me, how does one annex a plot of land as big as our own sector without an army?"

Yelena hadn't made perfect grades as Circe had in school, but she had been especially good in one area: Earthen history. Circe spread her time to pursue sufficiency everywhere; Yelena knew what she enjoyed and she stuck with it intensely.

Now, her eyes darted across the papers, allowing herself a moment of visible confusion before she caught onto the situation quickly.

"The Isles is a dead-zone, is it not?" she asked, picking up one of the sheets. "Witches have no magic there. You are on the same playing field as the humans."

Now that she had had the time to ruminate over the operation, Circe was feeling regret creep deep into her bones. She couldn't fight like Pasiphae could: she could barely stomach the thought of war. All she could depend on was her magic, and without it in the Isles, she was weak, because she had never had to survive without it.

"What was I thinking?" Circe muttered, mostly to herself as she sat down and rested her head in her hands. If they were to march in, they were going to need to fight hand-to-hand combat with potential human defenders, just like she had done with Arche in the final Trial. Circe had barely made it out of that alive. How was she supposed to lead a whole operation on a far larger scale?